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Dionysios was livid. He was utterly rage filled that the nobility of Colchis should treat a Head of House in such a manner.
Whilst the Thanasi patriarch's connections had managed to secure a quick and easy path from the Order House where he had been contained to his own family's home in Midas, it had been with strict restrictions and ramifications. Whilst his influence in the Senate had overturned that of the Crown Prince's determination to have him confined in the headquarters of his own personal military unit, it had only been strong enough to secure the change in location rather than the determination for which he was being accused.
Such nonsense, he had never heard. Not only was he certain that he had done nothing wrong, Dionysios was damn angry that he was being accused of something as ludicrous as treason.
Had he always wanted the throne of Colchis? Entirely. He had never made any secret of the fact that he had desired the throne to be sat upon by those who bore the blood of Thanasi. But a throne garnered by usurpation and treachery was one that could never be held and kept. Dionysios played the game of politics better than anyone else in the kingdom and had never committed a crime that could ever have been proven to be masterminded by himself. He used those around him - his advisors, his servants, his daughters and offspring - to every advantage and was never so stupid as to commit an act of crime before the eyes of witnesses.
Whilst he knew his actions had been incorrect at the meal that welcomed the new and now former king to the throne, Dionysios could not see why it wasn't obvious to all involved that this was a pure misunderstanding. A dream, a drunken stupor, he wasn't sure of the cause... but he had, for a moment, believed that the returned King of Colchis had been a threat to the Court. And he had sought to remove it. Yes, it had been under inaccurate information, but his acts had been that of a hero. Not a traitor.
Yet, here he was, imprisoned within his own home like a common criminal.
For those were the restrictions that his influence had not managed to alleviate. He was permitted to be within his own home in the capital, with his children, but his visitors were all vetoed and reported back to the Kotas family and he was never permitted outside of the manor's walls without an armed escort to ensure his actions were never intended against the family in power.
Such cowards they all were. What threat could he be as an individual. Sharp as anything in the mind he might be but Dionysios was not unfamiliar with the way his body had aged over the decades. He had only acted against the king physically that once because he had felt it was his Colchian duty. Any man would have done the same. Yet, in general, he was a man who required the younger generations to carry out his desires. He, personally, could not compete with the youth that fate had taken from him.
So, placing guards on him as we went about the place was hardly the condition of a smart person and clearly the word of a coward. A cowardly crown prince who saw threat in a little old man.
Dionysios was torn between pity and hatred for the ruling House. Which was exactly as things had stood for many a year.
Either way, the concessions had garnered what he needed - the return to his own home. Where he could eat a dinner such as was laid upon the large table, with his children and plan their next moves as a family. Moves that would see him found innocent of such stupidity as treason and would set their House back upon the trajectory that it should have been. For this purpose, he had even summoned his youngest daughter Evras to the manor. Whether her wretch of her husband would let her attend or not was another matter but at least he had been permitted to send the damn letter.
Currently, he had sent his son Mihail to the market to collect some black cherries - a staple of his diet that he had found himself partial to - and Thea to collect her sister from the Kotas household. Nethis had been cooped up in her rooms replying to her correspondence and Dysius had been his dictator for the last hour in securing his own.
Now, it was time for his family to come together once more and for plans to be made. The dining table had been laid with plates of silver rimmed in onyx and black candles had been lit around the room. A fire blazed in the hearth - for the weather had turned colder and made the estate constantly cold as far as Dionysios was concerned - and there was even light flickering upon the embroidered screen that had been drawn across the shuttered windows, as if a second fire had been set in the grounds outside.
The place was warm, cosy and shut out the Kotas guardsmen who remained in their places upon every exit and entrance, besmirching the Thanasi name with the distrust of suspected treason...
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Dionysios was livid. He was utterly rage filled that the nobility of Colchis should treat a Head of House in such a manner.
Whilst the Thanasi patriarch's connections had managed to secure a quick and easy path from the Order House where he had been contained to his own family's home in Midas, it had been with strict restrictions and ramifications. Whilst his influence in the Senate had overturned that of the Crown Prince's determination to have him confined in the headquarters of his own personal military unit, it had only been strong enough to secure the change in location rather than the determination for which he was being accused.
Such nonsense, he had never heard. Not only was he certain that he had done nothing wrong, Dionysios was damn angry that he was being accused of something as ludicrous as treason.
Had he always wanted the throne of Colchis? Entirely. He had never made any secret of the fact that he had desired the throne to be sat upon by those who bore the blood of Thanasi. But a throne garnered by usurpation and treachery was one that could never be held and kept. Dionysios played the game of politics better than anyone else in the kingdom and had never committed a crime that could ever have been proven to be masterminded by himself. He used those around him - his advisors, his servants, his daughters and offspring - to every advantage and was never so stupid as to commit an act of crime before the eyes of witnesses.
Whilst he knew his actions had been incorrect at the meal that welcomed the new and now former king to the throne, Dionysios could not see why it wasn't obvious to all involved that this was a pure misunderstanding. A dream, a drunken stupor, he wasn't sure of the cause... but he had, for a moment, believed that the returned King of Colchis had been a threat to the Court. And he had sought to remove it. Yes, it had been under inaccurate information, but his acts had been that of a hero. Not a traitor.
Yet, here he was, imprisoned within his own home like a common criminal.
For those were the restrictions that his influence had not managed to alleviate. He was permitted to be within his own home in the capital, with his children, but his visitors were all vetoed and reported back to the Kotas family and he was never permitted outside of the manor's walls without an armed escort to ensure his actions were never intended against the family in power.
Such cowards they all were. What threat could he be as an individual. Sharp as anything in the mind he might be but Dionysios was not unfamiliar with the way his body had aged over the decades. He had only acted against the king physically that once because he had felt it was his Colchian duty. Any man would have done the same. Yet, in general, he was a man who required the younger generations to carry out his desires. He, personally, could not compete with the youth that fate had taken from him.
So, placing guards on him as we went about the place was hardly the condition of a smart person and clearly the word of a coward. A cowardly crown prince who saw threat in a little old man.
Dionysios was torn between pity and hatred for the ruling House. Which was exactly as things had stood for many a year.
Either way, the concessions had garnered what he needed - the return to his own home. Where he could eat a dinner such as was laid upon the large table, with his children and plan their next moves as a family. Moves that would see him found innocent of such stupidity as treason and would set their House back upon the trajectory that it should have been. For this purpose, he had even summoned his youngest daughter Evras to the manor. Whether her wretch of her husband would let her attend or not was another matter but at least he had been permitted to send the damn letter.
Currently, he had sent his son Mihail to the market to collect some black cherries - a staple of his diet that he had found himself partial to - and Thea to collect her sister from the Kotas household. Nethis had been cooped up in her rooms replying to her correspondence and Dysius had been his dictator for the last hour in securing his own.
Now, it was time for his family to come together once more and for plans to be made. The dining table had been laid with plates of silver rimmed in onyx and black candles had been lit around the room. A fire blazed in the hearth - for the weather had turned colder and made the estate constantly cold as far as Dionysios was concerned - and there was even light flickering upon the embroidered screen that had been drawn across the shuttered windows, as if a second fire had been set in the grounds outside.
The place was warm, cosy and shut out the Kotas guardsmen who remained in their places upon every exit and entrance, besmirching the Thanasi name with the distrust of suspected treason...
Dionysios was livid. He was utterly rage filled that the nobility of Colchis should treat a Head of House in such a manner.
Whilst the Thanasi patriarch's connections had managed to secure a quick and easy path from the Order House where he had been contained to his own family's home in Midas, it had been with strict restrictions and ramifications. Whilst his influence in the Senate had overturned that of the Crown Prince's determination to have him confined in the headquarters of his own personal military unit, it had only been strong enough to secure the change in location rather than the determination for which he was being accused.
Such nonsense, he had never heard. Not only was he certain that he had done nothing wrong, Dionysios was damn angry that he was being accused of something as ludicrous as treason.
Had he always wanted the throne of Colchis? Entirely. He had never made any secret of the fact that he had desired the throne to be sat upon by those who bore the blood of Thanasi. But a throne garnered by usurpation and treachery was one that could never be held and kept. Dionysios played the game of politics better than anyone else in the kingdom and had never committed a crime that could ever have been proven to be masterminded by himself. He used those around him - his advisors, his servants, his daughters and offspring - to every advantage and was never so stupid as to commit an act of crime before the eyes of witnesses.
Whilst he knew his actions had been incorrect at the meal that welcomed the new and now former king to the throne, Dionysios could not see why it wasn't obvious to all involved that this was a pure misunderstanding. A dream, a drunken stupor, he wasn't sure of the cause... but he had, for a moment, believed that the returned King of Colchis had been a threat to the Court. And he had sought to remove it. Yes, it had been under inaccurate information, but his acts had been that of a hero. Not a traitor.
Yet, here he was, imprisoned within his own home like a common criminal.
For those were the restrictions that his influence had not managed to alleviate. He was permitted to be within his own home in the capital, with his children, but his visitors were all vetoed and reported back to the Kotas family and he was never permitted outside of the manor's walls without an armed escort to ensure his actions were never intended against the family in power.
Such cowards they all were. What threat could he be as an individual. Sharp as anything in the mind he might be but Dionysios was not unfamiliar with the way his body had aged over the decades. He had only acted against the king physically that once because he had felt it was his Colchian duty. Any man would have done the same. Yet, in general, he was a man who required the younger generations to carry out his desires. He, personally, could not compete with the youth that fate had taken from him.
So, placing guards on him as we went about the place was hardly the condition of a smart person and clearly the word of a coward. A cowardly crown prince who saw threat in a little old man.
Dionysios was torn between pity and hatred for the ruling House. Which was exactly as things had stood for many a year.
Either way, the concessions had garnered what he needed - the return to his own home. Where he could eat a dinner such as was laid upon the large table, with his children and plan their next moves as a family. Moves that would see him found innocent of such stupidity as treason and would set their House back upon the trajectory that it should have been. For this purpose, he had even summoned his youngest daughter Evras to the manor. Whether her wretch of her husband would let her attend or not was another matter but at least he had been permitted to send the damn letter.
Currently, he had sent his son Mihail to the market to collect some black cherries - a staple of his diet that he had found himself partial to - and Thea to collect her sister from the Kotas household. Nethis had been cooped up in her rooms replying to her correspondence and Dysius had been his dictator for the last hour in securing his own.
Now, it was time for his family to come together once more and for plans to be made. The dining table had been laid with plates of silver rimmed in onyx and black candles had been lit around the room. A fire blazed in the hearth - for the weather had turned colder and made the estate constantly cold as far as Dionysios was concerned - and there was even light flickering upon the embroidered screen that had been drawn across the shuttered windows, as if a second fire had been set in the grounds outside.
The place was warm, cosy and shut out the Kotas guardsmen who remained in their places upon every exit and entrance, besmirching the Thanasi name with the distrust of suspected treason...
Mihail was livid in the way one was when the world seemed to be crashing down upon them, and yet there was little they could do stop it, regardless of whose fault it might have been. He did not see why the entire family should suffer punishment because Father had made a genuinely idiotic decision, and yet it seemed every Thanasi was being shunned more so than they usually were by virtue of relation to the man. As if others did not know that Dionysios had a less-than-sharp mind in his advanced age.
All that said, however, it seemed as if his father was well enough to be barking commands around the household again. Mihail already missed the days when the man had been hidden away in his chambers and only seemed to interact with Thea or Nethis, which had provided him with a fair degree of freedom to spend his days doing as he wished, and handling his own, private business. Instead, he was being ordered around as if he were some ordinary servant, sent to the market to collect cherries as if there was not some idle staff member loitering around the house who could not take on the arduous task.
He had wandered into the market alone, with all the moodiness of someone who could not think of something they'd rather be doing less, his dark brows furrowed into an irritable scowl. The market was crowded to a degree he did not enjoy, for it seemed everyone and their mothers had suddenly decided this was the moment in which they needed to purchase their fruits and vegetables. For someone who preferred their own company, this (combined with his lack of desire to be in the market that day) was nothing short of a nightmare, and the expression on his face did not lighten as he darted between individuals, making his way to the stand where the overly specific cherries were found.
"I need cherries," Mihail informed the vendor, determined enough to get home as soon as possible that he ignored those others crowding the stand, confident that their need of the tart fruit was significantly lesser, relatively unperturbed by the distasteful looks on their faces, for he already knew full well his family name had been dragged through the mud ten times over by now. Still, he did little to hide his association with them, his scarlet chiton trimmed with a line of beads in black glass which clinked together satisfyingly with every step. "Black."
He did not know how many cherries Father desired, nor how many he required, so his purchase had been suitably large that it might cover either extreme, and he had returned to the Thanasi home with good enough time that he could prepare somewhat for the dinner Father had requested. The basket of fruits dropped carelessly on some side table for collection by a waiting servant upon arrival at the archontikó, quickly disappearing up to his own chambers, the brief moment to himself an appreciated one.
When Mihail came downstairs once more, his cinched chiton had been paired with a black epiblema in pretty organza which Father would doubtless hate, draped delicately over his shoulders, and he had donned that same circlet the man had so cruelly torn from his hair at the feast, the silver snakes which intertwined his Stygian locks neatly matching his fibulae. He felt simultaneously gorgeous, Thanasi, and all set to stress out his father, and that was all that really mattered in the long run (or, at least, until he stopped being angered at the man for his recent actions).
It seemed Father too had made some degree of effort when it came to the meal, although the obviousness of the work done to decorate the dining room only served to worry Mihail somewhat, for it was rare they would have such an eccentric dinner without there being some ulterior motive. He crossed the room to find his usual place at the table, some ways down from the head and opposite where his youngest sister would sit were she to attend that evening, and tilted his head in vague yet polite acknowledgement of his father's presence before he took his seat. "Father."
There was an awkwardness to their momentary solitude, for their relationship had never been a strong one and had only grown weaker in recent weeks. Mihail drummed his painted fingertips on the edge of the elaborate plate before him as he sipped his first goblet of wine, trying to find the words that might make the entire situation less uncomfortable, though he struggled to come up with anything that wasn't somehow spiteful. "As I have now, apparently, been reduced to little more than the status of a servant within this household, you shall be glad to hear I have purchased your cherries." He leaned back in his seat, nodding towards one of the lingering servants to refill his already empty wine glass, entirely confident the evening would take more than a single drink to get through. "I do hope they live up to the dramatics of the evening, else I shall have wasted my coin on nothing."
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Mihail was livid in the way one was when the world seemed to be crashing down upon them, and yet there was little they could do stop it, regardless of whose fault it might have been. He did not see why the entire family should suffer punishment because Father had made a genuinely idiotic decision, and yet it seemed every Thanasi was being shunned more so than they usually were by virtue of relation to the man. As if others did not know that Dionysios had a less-than-sharp mind in his advanced age.
All that said, however, it seemed as if his father was well enough to be barking commands around the household again. Mihail already missed the days when the man had been hidden away in his chambers and only seemed to interact with Thea or Nethis, which had provided him with a fair degree of freedom to spend his days doing as he wished, and handling his own, private business. Instead, he was being ordered around as if he were some ordinary servant, sent to the market to collect cherries as if there was not some idle staff member loitering around the house who could not take on the arduous task.
He had wandered into the market alone, with all the moodiness of someone who could not think of something they'd rather be doing less, his dark brows furrowed into an irritable scowl. The market was crowded to a degree he did not enjoy, for it seemed everyone and their mothers had suddenly decided this was the moment in which they needed to purchase their fruits and vegetables. For someone who preferred their own company, this (combined with his lack of desire to be in the market that day) was nothing short of a nightmare, and the expression on his face did not lighten as he darted between individuals, making his way to the stand where the overly specific cherries were found.
"I need cherries," Mihail informed the vendor, determined enough to get home as soon as possible that he ignored those others crowding the stand, confident that their need of the tart fruit was significantly lesser, relatively unperturbed by the distasteful looks on their faces, for he already knew full well his family name had been dragged through the mud ten times over by now. Still, he did little to hide his association with them, his scarlet chiton trimmed with a line of beads in black glass which clinked together satisfyingly with every step. "Black."
He did not know how many cherries Father desired, nor how many he required, so his purchase had been suitably large that it might cover either extreme, and he had returned to the Thanasi home with good enough time that he could prepare somewhat for the dinner Father had requested. The basket of fruits dropped carelessly on some side table for collection by a waiting servant upon arrival at the archontikó, quickly disappearing up to his own chambers, the brief moment to himself an appreciated one.
When Mihail came downstairs once more, his cinched chiton had been paired with a black epiblema in pretty organza which Father would doubtless hate, draped delicately over his shoulders, and he had donned that same circlet the man had so cruelly torn from his hair at the feast, the silver snakes which intertwined his Stygian locks neatly matching his fibulae. He felt simultaneously gorgeous, Thanasi, and all set to stress out his father, and that was all that really mattered in the long run (or, at least, until he stopped being angered at the man for his recent actions).
It seemed Father too had made some degree of effort when it came to the meal, although the obviousness of the work done to decorate the dining room only served to worry Mihail somewhat, for it was rare they would have such an eccentric dinner without there being some ulterior motive. He crossed the room to find his usual place at the table, some ways down from the head and opposite where his youngest sister would sit were she to attend that evening, and tilted his head in vague yet polite acknowledgement of his father's presence before he took his seat. "Father."
There was an awkwardness to their momentary solitude, for their relationship had never been a strong one and had only grown weaker in recent weeks. Mihail drummed his painted fingertips on the edge of the elaborate plate before him as he sipped his first goblet of wine, trying to find the words that might make the entire situation less uncomfortable, though he struggled to come up with anything that wasn't somehow spiteful. "As I have now, apparently, been reduced to little more than the status of a servant within this household, you shall be glad to hear I have purchased your cherries." He leaned back in his seat, nodding towards one of the lingering servants to refill his already empty wine glass, entirely confident the evening would take more than a single drink to get through. "I do hope they live up to the dramatics of the evening, else I shall have wasted my coin on nothing."
Mihail was livid in the way one was when the world seemed to be crashing down upon them, and yet there was little they could do stop it, regardless of whose fault it might have been. He did not see why the entire family should suffer punishment because Father had made a genuinely idiotic decision, and yet it seemed every Thanasi was being shunned more so than they usually were by virtue of relation to the man. As if others did not know that Dionysios had a less-than-sharp mind in his advanced age.
All that said, however, it seemed as if his father was well enough to be barking commands around the household again. Mihail already missed the days when the man had been hidden away in his chambers and only seemed to interact with Thea or Nethis, which had provided him with a fair degree of freedom to spend his days doing as he wished, and handling his own, private business. Instead, he was being ordered around as if he were some ordinary servant, sent to the market to collect cherries as if there was not some idle staff member loitering around the house who could not take on the arduous task.
He had wandered into the market alone, with all the moodiness of someone who could not think of something they'd rather be doing less, his dark brows furrowed into an irritable scowl. The market was crowded to a degree he did not enjoy, for it seemed everyone and their mothers had suddenly decided this was the moment in which they needed to purchase their fruits and vegetables. For someone who preferred their own company, this (combined with his lack of desire to be in the market that day) was nothing short of a nightmare, and the expression on his face did not lighten as he darted between individuals, making his way to the stand where the overly specific cherries were found.
"I need cherries," Mihail informed the vendor, determined enough to get home as soon as possible that he ignored those others crowding the stand, confident that their need of the tart fruit was significantly lesser, relatively unperturbed by the distasteful looks on their faces, for he already knew full well his family name had been dragged through the mud ten times over by now. Still, he did little to hide his association with them, his scarlet chiton trimmed with a line of beads in black glass which clinked together satisfyingly with every step. "Black."
He did not know how many cherries Father desired, nor how many he required, so his purchase had been suitably large that it might cover either extreme, and he had returned to the Thanasi home with good enough time that he could prepare somewhat for the dinner Father had requested. The basket of fruits dropped carelessly on some side table for collection by a waiting servant upon arrival at the archontikó, quickly disappearing up to his own chambers, the brief moment to himself an appreciated one.
When Mihail came downstairs once more, his cinched chiton had been paired with a black epiblema in pretty organza which Father would doubtless hate, draped delicately over his shoulders, and he had donned that same circlet the man had so cruelly torn from his hair at the feast, the silver snakes which intertwined his Stygian locks neatly matching his fibulae. He felt simultaneously gorgeous, Thanasi, and all set to stress out his father, and that was all that really mattered in the long run (or, at least, until he stopped being angered at the man for his recent actions).
It seemed Father too had made some degree of effort when it came to the meal, although the obviousness of the work done to decorate the dining room only served to worry Mihail somewhat, for it was rare they would have such an eccentric dinner without there being some ulterior motive. He crossed the room to find his usual place at the table, some ways down from the head and opposite where his youngest sister would sit were she to attend that evening, and tilted his head in vague yet polite acknowledgement of his father's presence before he took his seat. "Father."
There was an awkwardness to their momentary solitude, for their relationship had never been a strong one and had only grown weaker in recent weeks. Mihail drummed his painted fingertips on the edge of the elaborate plate before him as he sipped his first goblet of wine, trying to find the words that might make the entire situation less uncomfortable, though he struggled to come up with anything that wasn't somehow spiteful. "As I have now, apparently, been reduced to little more than the status of a servant within this household, you shall be glad to hear I have purchased your cherries." He leaned back in his seat, nodding towards one of the lingering servants to refill his already empty wine glass, entirely confident the evening would take more than a single drink to get through. "I do hope they live up to the dramatics of the evening, else I shall have wasted my coin on nothing."
In the days following the events at the Dikastirio, Thea had found herself spending more and more time at the Kotas manor, either visiting with Evras or spending time at Lady Selene's side. The world seemed to have shifted into something unrecognizable and foreign, with whispers of foreign war coupled with the seeming internal war and conflict among the Royal Houses.
That their father, Dionysios, had attempted to attack the returned King Tython resulted in him being detained for a number of days. Those days allotted a bit more selfish freedom for Thea within the Kotas walls, though the strange looks of distrusting eyes followed her simply for her name, as if they forgot the efforts she made to spare the then-King's life from poisioning - a mystery that had yet to be solved and continued to be under investigation. There were so many question in the air, and for the Kingdom built upon the stoic rocks of Colchis, things seemed as unsteady as if they were built upon sand.
Father's return to the Archontikó Thanasi was surprising and as welcome as it could be, with it being coupled by the surveillance of the Kotas guards. Thea could understand the measure, though the shame that it brought with them left a residual uneasiness in her stomach.
As much as she hoped to tend to her Father, particularly the lingering injury against his shoulder, Thea did such work from a distance so as not to find herself in conversation with him. It was much easier to send a servant or a slave in there to face his berating than face it herself, so she leaned into the privilege of doing so, urging them to continue slipping the pain-fighting herbs into his teas as she had done before when his joints began to ail him.
Dread filled her as she was given her instruction to gather Evras for the family to dine together, and before leaving, she saw the servants as they began their preparations and felt the pit form in her stomach again. This was to be quiet the familial event, with posturing and conniving.
Upon going to collect Evras, they spent a fair amount of time dragging their feet before setting out from the Kotas Manor, the dread of the evening shared between them. Family meals had once been a time for sharp quips and some darker humor, but now, with the way things were postured, this was not meant to be an evening of levity.
With her arm looped with Evras, they entered to find Dionysius and Mihail already in the room. Thea led her sister to her seat before her own seat was drawn out before her as Mihail sniped at their father for his task in all of this.
"Father...Mihail," Thea offered, acknowledging them both a moment before she very quickly wrapped her hand around her filled goblet of wine and set it to her lips, peering over the rim at the ostentatious setting before them all.
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In the days following the events at the Dikastirio, Thea had found herself spending more and more time at the Kotas manor, either visiting with Evras or spending time at Lady Selene's side. The world seemed to have shifted into something unrecognizable and foreign, with whispers of foreign war coupled with the seeming internal war and conflict among the Royal Houses.
That their father, Dionysios, had attempted to attack the returned King Tython resulted in him being detained for a number of days. Those days allotted a bit more selfish freedom for Thea within the Kotas walls, though the strange looks of distrusting eyes followed her simply for her name, as if they forgot the efforts she made to spare the then-King's life from poisioning - a mystery that had yet to be solved and continued to be under investigation. There were so many question in the air, and for the Kingdom built upon the stoic rocks of Colchis, things seemed as unsteady as if they were built upon sand.
Father's return to the Archontikó Thanasi was surprising and as welcome as it could be, with it being coupled by the surveillance of the Kotas guards. Thea could understand the measure, though the shame that it brought with them left a residual uneasiness in her stomach.
As much as she hoped to tend to her Father, particularly the lingering injury against his shoulder, Thea did such work from a distance so as not to find herself in conversation with him. It was much easier to send a servant or a slave in there to face his berating than face it herself, so she leaned into the privilege of doing so, urging them to continue slipping the pain-fighting herbs into his teas as she had done before when his joints began to ail him.
Dread filled her as she was given her instruction to gather Evras for the family to dine together, and before leaving, she saw the servants as they began their preparations and felt the pit form in her stomach again. This was to be quiet the familial event, with posturing and conniving.
Upon going to collect Evras, they spent a fair amount of time dragging their feet before setting out from the Kotas Manor, the dread of the evening shared between them. Family meals had once been a time for sharp quips and some darker humor, but now, with the way things were postured, this was not meant to be an evening of levity.
With her arm looped with Evras, they entered to find Dionysius and Mihail already in the room. Thea led her sister to her seat before her own seat was drawn out before her as Mihail sniped at their father for his task in all of this.
"Father...Mihail," Thea offered, acknowledging them both a moment before she very quickly wrapped her hand around her filled goblet of wine and set it to her lips, peering over the rim at the ostentatious setting before them all.
In the days following the events at the Dikastirio, Thea had found herself spending more and more time at the Kotas manor, either visiting with Evras or spending time at Lady Selene's side. The world seemed to have shifted into something unrecognizable and foreign, with whispers of foreign war coupled with the seeming internal war and conflict among the Royal Houses.
That their father, Dionysios, had attempted to attack the returned King Tython resulted in him being detained for a number of days. Those days allotted a bit more selfish freedom for Thea within the Kotas walls, though the strange looks of distrusting eyes followed her simply for her name, as if they forgot the efforts she made to spare the then-King's life from poisioning - a mystery that had yet to be solved and continued to be under investigation. There were so many question in the air, and for the Kingdom built upon the stoic rocks of Colchis, things seemed as unsteady as if they were built upon sand.
Father's return to the Archontikó Thanasi was surprising and as welcome as it could be, with it being coupled by the surveillance of the Kotas guards. Thea could understand the measure, though the shame that it brought with them left a residual uneasiness in her stomach.
As much as she hoped to tend to her Father, particularly the lingering injury against his shoulder, Thea did such work from a distance so as not to find herself in conversation with him. It was much easier to send a servant or a slave in there to face his berating than face it herself, so she leaned into the privilege of doing so, urging them to continue slipping the pain-fighting herbs into his teas as she had done before when his joints began to ail him.
Dread filled her as she was given her instruction to gather Evras for the family to dine together, and before leaving, she saw the servants as they began their preparations and felt the pit form in her stomach again. This was to be quiet the familial event, with posturing and conniving.
Upon going to collect Evras, they spent a fair amount of time dragging their feet before setting out from the Kotas Manor, the dread of the evening shared between them. Family meals had once been a time for sharp quips and some darker humor, but now, with the way things were postured, this was not meant to be an evening of levity.
With her arm looped with Evras, they entered to find Dionysius and Mihail already in the room. Thea led her sister to her seat before her own seat was drawn out before her as Mihail sniped at their father for his task in all of this.
"Father...Mihail," Thea offered, acknowledging them both a moment before she very quickly wrapped her hand around her filled goblet of wine and set it to her lips, peering over the rim at the ostentatious setting before them all.
Trying to find her way out of the Kotas manor unwatched and unattended proved to be tricky, especially when her own husband was the one who had set her to be watched. While the Kotas manor had only recently started to feel like home again, the recent turn of events only brought Evras back to square one - and even worst, with Dion's line up of classes and tutors, she did not even have her son to comfort herself with. Left to her own devices and an increasingly slow body from her pregnancy, her father's summons to their family home had been left on her desk for a few days now. How would she go? It wasn't as if she had the freedom to waltz in and out of her husband's family home now.
It was a good thing her sister had been visiting often. It was as if her own assistance in helping Thea when it came to ensuring Vangelis did not die of the mysterious poison were forgotten, as her husband watched her with wary eyes. Thea became her only confidante, and even then her sister seemed so wrapped up by the Taengean newborn princess, Evras was loathe to take Thea away from that.
What once was a life that seemed to be on the mend, now was thrown even further back, and it was as if her own father was to blame for this.
But to blame him went against Evras's grain. Sure, her father had outright attacked the supposedly alive King Tython, but her father had also long not been of his right mind, and surely no one would want to blindly kill an old man who could not even remember what he's had for his last meal? While she had been surprised Dionysios had been returned to the Thanasi archontiko, she held no wish to visit her father, for a small part of her now held resentment, holding Dionysios to blame for her own rife between herself and her husband now.
She had asked, questioned, even tried to find a reason to not go, but neither could she deny Thea when her sister came to fetch her. So in the end, despite the dragging of their feet, they both ended up in the manor, Evras never quite shying away from Thea's side. She had always relied on her sister for protection, now more so then ever as they prepared for an evening of what was to be, in Evras's mind, a lot of threat's and instructions, most of which Evras no longer wished to heed.
Quietly nodding her head to her father, brother and then to Dysius who walked in after them, Evras took her seat as silent as she had entered, ensuring her dark blue chiton covered her appropriately as she settled in. Her stomach was already showing a small bump, but with the news only told to those closest and dearest to her, she had intentionally worn a looser piece of her outfit so it would not be drastically obvious, especially not to her father and eldest sister, who she did not yet trust with the news.
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Trying to find her way out of the Kotas manor unwatched and unattended proved to be tricky, especially when her own husband was the one who had set her to be watched. While the Kotas manor had only recently started to feel like home again, the recent turn of events only brought Evras back to square one - and even worst, with Dion's line up of classes and tutors, she did not even have her son to comfort herself with. Left to her own devices and an increasingly slow body from her pregnancy, her father's summons to their family home had been left on her desk for a few days now. How would she go? It wasn't as if she had the freedom to waltz in and out of her husband's family home now.
It was a good thing her sister had been visiting often. It was as if her own assistance in helping Thea when it came to ensuring Vangelis did not die of the mysterious poison were forgotten, as her husband watched her with wary eyes. Thea became her only confidante, and even then her sister seemed so wrapped up by the Taengean newborn princess, Evras was loathe to take Thea away from that.
What once was a life that seemed to be on the mend, now was thrown even further back, and it was as if her own father was to blame for this.
But to blame him went against Evras's grain. Sure, her father had outright attacked the supposedly alive King Tython, but her father had also long not been of his right mind, and surely no one would want to blindly kill an old man who could not even remember what he's had for his last meal? While she had been surprised Dionysios had been returned to the Thanasi archontiko, she held no wish to visit her father, for a small part of her now held resentment, holding Dionysios to blame for her own rife between herself and her husband now.
She had asked, questioned, even tried to find a reason to not go, but neither could she deny Thea when her sister came to fetch her. So in the end, despite the dragging of their feet, they both ended up in the manor, Evras never quite shying away from Thea's side. She had always relied on her sister for protection, now more so then ever as they prepared for an evening of what was to be, in Evras's mind, a lot of threat's and instructions, most of which Evras no longer wished to heed.
Quietly nodding her head to her father, brother and then to Dysius who walked in after them, Evras took her seat as silent as she had entered, ensuring her dark blue chiton covered her appropriately as she settled in. Her stomach was already showing a small bump, but with the news only told to those closest and dearest to her, she had intentionally worn a looser piece of her outfit so it would not be drastically obvious, especially not to her father and eldest sister, who she did not yet trust with the news.
Trying to find her way out of the Kotas manor unwatched and unattended proved to be tricky, especially when her own husband was the one who had set her to be watched. While the Kotas manor had only recently started to feel like home again, the recent turn of events only brought Evras back to square one - and even worst, with Dion's line up of classes and tutors, she did not even have her son to comfort herself with. Left to her own devices and an increasingly slow body from her pregnancy, her father's summons to their family home had been left on her desk for a few days now. How would she go? It wasn't as if she had the freedom to waltz in and out of her husband's family home now.
It was a good thing her sister had been visiting often. It was as if her own assistance in helping Thea when it came to ensuring Vangelis did not die of the mysterious poison were forgotten, as her husband watched her with wary eyes. Thea became her only confidante, and even then her sister seemed so wrapped up by the Taengean newborn princess, Evras was loathe to take Thea away from that.
What once was a life that seemed to be on the mend, now was thrown even further back, and it was as if her own father was to blame for this.
But to blame him went against Evras's grain. Sure, her father had outright attacked the supposedly alive King Tython, but her father had also long not been of his right mind, and surely no one would want to blindly kill an old man who could not even remember what he's had for his last meal? While she had been surprised Dionysios had been returned to the Thanasi archontiko, she held no wish to visit her father, for a small part of her now held resentment, holding Dionysios to blame for her own rife between herself and her husband now.
She had asked, questioned, even tried to find a reason to not go, but neither could she deny Thea when her sister came to fetch her. So in the end, despite the dragging of their feet, they both ended up in the manor, Evras never quite shying away from Thea's side. She had always relied on her sister for protection, now more so then ever as they prepared for an evening of what was to be, in Evras's mind, a lot of threat's and instructions, most of which Evras no longer wished to heed.
Quietly nodding her head to her father, brother and then to Dysius who walked in after them, Evras took her seat as silent as she had entered, ensuring her dark blue chiton covered her appropriately as she settled in. Her stomach was already showing a small bump, but with the news only told to those closest and dearest to her, she had intentionally worn a looser piece of her outfit so it would not be drastically obvious, especially not to her father and eldest sister, who she did not yet trust with the news.
When his son walked into the room, Dionysios did nothing to hide his curling lip of disapproval. Just what stupidity was this boy wearing like a prized garment? The child knew nothing of the world and perhaps that was his fault. Believing that his own inherited wisdom as a Thanasi would have bloomed within his eldest son when he came of age. Instead, such luxuries that came with the royal houses and a lack of discipline had led to the boy being an abomination of distaste. Dressed like a woman and appearing all the haughtier for it, Dionysios was glad that he had made the arrangements that he had, all the more now. Pleased that the child had not noticed the changes to his rooms when he had no doubt gone there to dress for dinner and that he would be able to see the impact of the lesson he had already set into motion.
When the boy huffed and harked at being used as a servant, Dionysios' lip curled enough that he showed teeth and he felt the desire - though he tempered it - to growl. Respect to one's elders wasn't the task of a servant, but that of a son, and he should have been happy to collect whatever Dionysios required in order to settle his happiness at this late stage in life. The child was selfish and pathetic and Dionysios regretted the time he had missed in the boy's development due to the Gods keeping him bedridden with health issues. Well, that would soon change.
"Do not pout, Mihail." He insisted. "No-one cares for your dramatics."
The other offspring of his family entered with more class and dignity, the two daughters whom Dionysios saw the most potential and see the most failings in now that compassion had become too significant into their lives, his son Dysius who still held some hope in how he was to be moulded in his barony, and his eldest daughter Nethis. Who entered the room as if she were empress of the underworld, with a calm and calculating gaze in her eyes and a haughty sense of arrogance that - unlike Mihail's - was actually supported by intellect and power.
Whilst he might not appreciate the means in which he was sure Nethis was attempting to take over the family from beneath him, he could not help but attribute pride to such a usurpation. For he knew she did it to progress the Thanasi name that she was as proud of as he.
"Sit down." He commanded, in a tone of voice that was hard and defiant, insisting that all in the room that were not already seated obeyed without question.
Once they were all sitting around the table, Dionysios took his own place at its head. The chair that he favoured was large and carved ornately in a serious of snakes that rose up to dance beyond his shoulders and around his head. He sat a little back from the table, his cane braced before him and his hands folded over the top of its silver snake-head pommel.
"My health has seen to the Thanasi name falling into a state of dust and decay." He began, accepting responsibility but not the blame for how the House had operated in the last few months and years. "This shall not be continued." His eyes narrowed as they looked down upon the table. "Make no mistake that I am the patriarch of this household and you will obey and honour me and my wishes, in the name of the family crest." His tone was deadly still, calm and while gruff with age was tranquil with certainty and determination. His gaze slid to Nethis. "There will be no undermining of my authority." Then it moved to her sisters. "Nor conflict of loyalties." His look slipped to Dysius. "I shall have an heir of worth." And then to Mihail. "And there will be no more embarrassments."
Straightening his back and refolding his hands upon the top of his cane, Dionysios stared down the table as his collective.
"You were born Thanasi and you shall die Thanasi. I will accept no more treatment of me as some invalid. Nor, the disregard of my position as Head of this House."
In a sudden and violent motion that had everyone in the room jumping out of their skin, Dionysios swung his cane in a singular arc that had it landing upon the table. There was a crash, the cutlery and place settings jumped upon the surface and all in the room were startled by the sharp and quick moment of violent outrage as Dionysios finally raised his voice to an angry, commanding growl.
"Is that clear?!"
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When his son walked into the room, Dionysios did nothing to hide his curling lip of disapproval. Just what stupidity was this boy wearing like a prized garment? The child knew nothing of the world and perhaps that was his fault. Believing that his own inherited wisdom as a Thanasi would have bloomed within his eldest son when he came of age. Instead, such luxuries that came with the royal houses and a lack of discipline had led to the boy being an abomination of distaste. Dressed like a woman and appearing all the haughtier for it, Dionysios was glad that he had made the arrangements that he had, all the more now. Pleased that the child had not noticed the changes to his rooms when he had no doubt gone there to dress for dinner and that he would be able to see the impact of the lesson he had already set into motion.
When the boy huffed and harked at being used as a servant, Dionysios' lip curled enough that he showed teeth and he felt the desire - though he tempered it - to growl. Respect to one's elders wasn't the task of a servant, but that of a son, and he should have been happy to collect whatever Dionysios required in order to settle his happiness at this late stage in life. The child was selfish and pathetic and Dionysios regretted the time he had missed in the boy's development due to the Gods keeping him bedridden with health issues. Well, that would soon change.
"Do not pout, Mihail." He insisted. "No-one cares for your dramatics."
The other offspring of his family entered with more class and dignity, the two daughters whom Dionysios saw the most potential and see the most failings in now that compassion had become too significant into their lives, his son Dysius who still held some hope in how he was to be moulded in his barony, and his eldest daughter Nethis. Who entered the room as if she were empress of the underworld, with a calm and calculating gaze in her eyes and a haughty sense of arrogance that - unlike Mihail's - was actually supported by intellect and power.
Whilst he might not appreciate the means in which he was sure Nethis was attempting to take over the family from beneath him, he could not help but attribute pride to such a usurpation. For he knew she did it to progress the Thanasi name that she was as proud of as he.
"Sit down." He commanded, in a tone of voice that was hard and defiant, insisting that all in the room that were not already seated obeyed without question.
Once they were all sitting around the table, Dionysios took his own place at its head. The chair that he favoured was large and carved ornately in a serious of snakes that rose up to dance beyond his shoulders and around his head. He sat a little back from the table, his cane braced before him and his hands folded over the top of its silver snake-head pommel.
"My health has seen to the Thanasi name falling into a state of dust and decay." He began, accepting responsibility but not the blame for how the House had operated in the last few months and years. "This shall not be continued." His eyes narrowed as they looked down upon the table. "Make no mistake that I am the patriarch of this household and you will obey and honour me and my wishes, in the name of the family crest." His tone was deadly still, calm and while gruff with age was tranquil with certainty and determination. His gaze slid to Nethis. "There will be no undermining of my authority." Then it moved to her sisters. "Nor conflict of loyalties." His look slipped to Dysius. "I shall have an heir of worth." And then to Mihail. "And there will be no more embarrassments."
Straightening his back and refolding his hands upon the top of his cane, Dionysios stared down the table as his collective.
"You were born Thanasi and you shall die Thanasi. I will accept no more treatment of me as some invalid. Nor, the disregard of my position as Head of this House."
In a sudden and violent motion that had everyone in the room jumping out of their skin, Dionysios swung his cane in a singular arc that had it landing upon the table. There was a crash, the cutlery and place settings jumped upon the surface and all in the room were startled by the sharp and quick moment of violent outrage as Dionysios finally raised his voice to an angry, commanding growl.
"Is that clear?!"
When his son walked into the room, Dionysios did nothing to hide his curling lip of disapproval. Just what stupidity was this boy wearing like a prized garment? The child knew nothing of the world and perhaps that was his fault. Believing that his own inherited wisdom as a Thanasi would have bloomed within his eldest son when he came of age. Instead, such luxuries that came with the royal houses and a lack of discipline had led to the boy being an abomination of distaste. Dressed like a woman and appearing all the haughtier for it, Dionysios was glad that he had made the arrangements that he had, all the more now. Pleased that the child had not noticed the changes to his rooms when he had no doubt gone there to dress for dinner and that he would be able to see the impact of the lesson he had already set into motion.
When the boy huffed and harked at being used as a servant, Dionysios' lip curled enough that he showed teeth and he felt the desire - though he tempered it - to growl. Respect to one's elders wasn't the task of a servant, but that of a son, and he should have been happy to collect whatever Dionysios required in order to settle his happiness at this late stage in life. The child was selfish and pathetic and Dionysios regretted the time he had missed in the boy's development due to the Gods keeping him bedridden with health issues. Well, that would soon change.
"Do not pout, Mihail." He insisted. "No-one cares for your dramatics."
The other offspring of his family entered with more class and dignity, the two daughters whom Dionysios saw the most potential and see the most failings in now that compassion had become too significant into their lives, his son Dysius who still held some hope in how he was to be moulded in his barony, and his eldest daughter Nethis. Who entered the room as if she were empress of the underworld, with a calm and calculating gaze in her eyes and a haughty sense of arrogance that - unlike Mihail's - was actually supported by intellect and power.
Whilst he might not appreciate the means in which he was sure Nethis was attempting to take over the family from beneath him, he could not help but attribute pride to such a usurpation. For he knew she did it to progress the Thanasi name that she was as proud of as he.
"Sit down." He commanded, in a tone of voice that was hard and defiant, insisting that all in the room that were not already seated obeyed without question.
Once they were all sitting around the table, Dionysios took his own place at its head. The chair that he favoured was large and carved ornately in a serious of snakes that rose up to dance beyond his shoulders and around his head. He sat a little back from the table, his cane braced before him and his hands folded over the top of its silver snake-head pommel.
"My health has seen to the Thanasi name falling into a state of dust and decay." He began, accepting responsibility but not the blame for how the House had operated in the last few months and years. "This shall not be continued." His eyes narrowed as they looked down upon the table. "Make no mistake that I am the patriarch of this household and you will obey and honour me and my wishes, in the name of the family crest." His tone was deadly still, calm and while gruff with age was tranquil with certainty and determination. His gaze slid to Nethis. "There will be no undermining of my authority." Then it moved to her sisters. "Nor conflict of loyalties." His look slipped to Dysius. "I shall have an heir of worth." And then to Mihail. "And there will be no more embarrassments."
Straightening his back and refolding his hands upon the top of his cane, Dionysios stared down the table as his collective.
"You were born Thanasi and you shall die Thanasi. I will accept no more treatment of me as some invalid. Nor, the disregard of my position as Head of this House."
In a sudden and violent motion that had everyone in the room jumping out of their skin, Dionysios swung his cane in a singular arc that had it landing upon the table. There was a crash, the cutlery and place settings jumped upon the surface and all in the room were startled by the sharp and quick moment of violent outrage as Dionysios finally raised his voice to an angry, commanding growl.
"Is that clear?!"
"Oh, do you like this? It's the same one you used to tear out my hair in front of the entire court," Mihail informed his father, noting the way the older man's lip curled in disgust at the serpentine diadem decorating his dark curls, unable to resist the smug upturn of his lips as he spoke. No doubt he would be punished for the alleged insolence of the comment later on, but for now, he would sit and see what his father had to say to them, if ignoring his snide remarks as to his melodramatic nature.
Mihail could think of plenty who cared for his dramatics, including himself. Solely because Father thought himself above caring for his children, it did not mean that the rest of the siblings were uninterested in the constant tragedies that seemed to befall their youngest brother, even if they were somewhat embellished when the time came to tell his tales. Instead of arguing, however, for Dionysios could be a terrifying man when angered, and even Mihail was unwilling to provoke him more than he already had, he only slumped further in his seat, sipping his wine as if it were capable of saving him from the dearest tragedies in the world.
The rest of his siblings filed into the room, mostly silent, seemingly also having understood from the sombre surroundings that something was clearly the matter, and that this was not to be a joyous get-together. He gave each of his sisters a nod of acknowledgement as they took their seats, mostly ignoring Dysius as he always did, never once thinking his brother was worth much more attention. There was a brief moment of silence, and Mihail let his eyes wander to find Nethis, as if to see if she thought this as ludicrous as he. Her expression gave away little, as it always did, and he felt irritably uninformed.
When everyone was sat down in their usual places around the table, only this time with the returned presence of Dionysios at the head, the man began to speak. It was the kind of speech his youngest son had been expecting, in truth. He ranted about how the family was falling into decay (a fact with which Mihail had not agreed until his father's foolish actions at the feast), and he demanded obedience from all of them. It was nothing new, and he found it almost wholly uninteresting until his father's gaze fell upon him, calling him an embarrassment, as always. It was tiring. What did the man know of what Mihail did in his spare time, or what greatness he could achieve when Father spent so long cooped up in his chambers, dying of some illness or another? He thought himself less a humiliation than his brother, but he imagined Dionysios was unlikely to see past the apparent infallibility he placed on his own thoughts.
"Born a Thanasi," Mihail repeated, muttering the words under his breath, doing little to hide the disdain which filled them. Perhaps he would die of that house, but he did not entirely believe that he was born of them, and, until shown definitive proof, would continue to fight his father on that front, even if he had returned home and seemed for all the world accepting of the family name.
But there was no real opportunity to interject, for Father seemed to burst into one of his typical fits of rage, despite this one being somehow conscious, and his cane was thrown upon the table with a force which made Mihail hurriedly grab his goblet, lest he spill some of the sweet liquid within as a result of the action. "Oh, perfectly clear, Father," he answered, the response seemingly agreeable and yet thoroughly contemptuous. Why couldn't the man return to his less-well state of mind? That had always been far more comfortable.
"Was that it, then? The sole reason you summoned us all was to remind us that we bear the name 'Thanasi', and that you remain our ever-competent and commanding father? I would have imagined the effort made for this occasion would amount to something more." There had to be some other, more significant reason for this meeting to have been called aside from Dionysios wishing to announce his continued rule over them all and toss unsubtle insults their way. "I have matters to which to attend." Although, locking himself in his chambers to smoke was not a drastically important matter, and Mihail assumed that putting a name to his desired afternoon activity would not go down well with his father.
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"Oh, do you like this? It's the same one you used to tear out my hair in front of the entire court," Mihail informed his father, noting the way the older man's lip curled in disgust at the serpentine diadem decorating his dark curls, unable to resist the smug upturn of his lips as he spoke. No doubt he would be punished for the alleged insolence of the comment later on, but for now, he would sit and see what his father had to say to them, if ignoring his snide remarks as to his melodramatic nature.
Mihail could think of plenty who cared for his dramatics, including himself. Solely because Father thought himself above caring for his children, it did not mean that the rest of the siblings were uninterested in the constant tragedies that seemed to befall their youngest brother, even if they were somewhat embellished when the time came to tell his tales. Instead of arguing, however, for Dionysios could be a terrifying man when angered, and even Mihail was unwilling to provoke him more than he already had, he only slumped further in his seat, sipping his wine as if it were capable of saving him from the dearest tragedies in the world.
The rest of his siblings filed into the room, mostly silent, seemingly also having understood from the sombre surroundings that something was clearly the matter, and that this was not to be a joyous get-together. He gave each of his sisters a nod of acknowledgement as they took their seats, mostly ignoring Dysius as he always did, never once thinking his brother was worth much more attention. There was a brief moment of silence, and Mihail let his eyes wander to find Nethis, as if to see if she thought this as ludicrous as he. Her expression gave away little, as it always did, and he felt irritably uninformed.
When everyone was sat down in their usual places around the table, only this time with the returned presence of Dionysios at the head, the man began to speak. It was the kind of speech his youngest son had been expecting, in truth. He ranted about how the family was falling into decay (a fact with which Mihail had not agreed until his father's foolish actions at the feast), and he demanded obedience from all of them. It was nothing new, and he found it almost wholly uninteresting until his father's gaze fell upon him, calling him an embarrassment, as always. It was tiring. What did the man know of what Mihail did in his spare time, or what greatness he could achieve when Father spent so long cooped up in his chambers, dying of some illness or another? He thought himself less a humiliation than his brother, but he imagined Dionysios was unlikely to see past the apparent infallibility he placed on his own thoughts.
"Born a Thanasi," Mihail repeated, muttering the words under his breath, doing little to hide the disdain which filled them. Perhaps he would die of that house, but he did not entirely believe that he was born of them, and, until shown definitive proof, would continue to fight his father on that front, even if he had returned home and seemed for all the world accepting of the family name.
But there was no real opportunity to interject, for Father seemed to burst into one of his typical fits of rage, despite this one being somehow conscious, and his cane was thrown upon the table with a force which made Mihail hurriedly grab his goblet, lest he spill some of the sweet liquid within as a result of the action. "Oh, perfectly clear, Father," he answered, the response seemingly agreeable and yet thoroughly contemptuous. Why couldn't the man return to his less-well state of mind? That had always been far more comfortable.
"Was that it, then? The sole reason you summoned us all was to remind us that we bear the name 'Thanasi', and that you remain our ever-competent and commanding father? I would have imagined the effort made for this occasion would amount to something more." There had to be some other, more significant reason for this meeting to have been called aside from Dionysios wishing to announce his continued rule over them all and toss unsubtle insults their way. "I have matters to which to attend." Although, locking himself in his chambers to smoke was not a drastically important matter, and Mihail assumed that putting a name to his desired afternoon activity would not go down well with his father.
"Oh, do you like this? It's the same one you used to tear out my hair in front of the entire court," Mihail informed his father, noting the way the older man's lip curled in disgust at the serpentine diadem decorating his dark curls, unable to resist the smug upturn of his lips as he spoke. No doubt he would be punished for the alleged insolence of the comment later on, but for now, he would sit and see what his father had to say to them, if ignoring his snide remarks as to his melodramatic nature.
Mihail could think of plenty who cared for his dramatics, including himself. Solely because Father thought himself above caring for his children, it did not mean that the rest of the siblings were uninterested in the constant tragedies that seemed to befall their youngest brother, even if they were somewhat embellished when the time came to tell his tales. Instead of arguing, however, for Dionysios could be a terrifying man when angered, and even Mihail was unwilling to provoke him more than he already had, he only slumped further in his seat, sipping his wine as if it were capable of saving him from the dearest tragedies in the world.
The rest of his siblings filed into the room, mostly silent, seemingly also having understood from the sombre surroundings that something was clearly the matter, and that this was not to be a joyous get-together. He gave each of his sisters a nod of acknowledgement as they took their seats, mostly ignoring Dysius as he always did, never once thinking his brother was worth much more attention. There was a brief moment of silence, and Mihail let his eyes wander to find Nethis, as if to see if she thought this as ludicrous as he. Her expression gave away little, as it always did, and he felt irritably uninformed.
When everyone was sat down in their usual places around the table, only this time with the returned presence of Dionysios at the head, the man began to speak. It was the kind of speech his youngest son had been expecting, in truth. He ranted about how the family was falling into decay (a fact with which Mihail had not agreed until his father's foolish actions at the feast), and he demanded obedience from all of them. It was nothing new, and he found it almost wholly uninteresting until his father's gaze fell upon him, calling him an embarrassment, as always. It was tiring. What did the man know of what Mihail did in his spare time, or what greatness he could achieve when Father spent so long cooped up in his chambers, dying of some illness or another? He thought himself less a humiliation than his brother, but he imagined Dionysios was unlikely to see past the apparent infallibility he placed on his own thoughts.
"Born a Thanasi," Mihail repeated, muttering the words under his breath, doing little to hide the disdain which filled them. Perhaps he would die of that house, but he did not entirely believe that he was born of them, and, until shown definitive proof, would continue to fight his father on that front, even if he had returned home and seemed for all the world accepting of the family name.
But there was no real opportunity to interject, for Father seemed to burst into one of his typical fits of rage, despite this one being somehow conscious, and his cane was thrown upon the table with a force which made Mihail hurriedly grab his goblet, lest he spill some of the sweet liquid within as a result of the action. "Oh, perfectly clear, Father," he answered, the response seemingly agreeable and yet thoroughly contemptuous. Why couldn't the man return to his less-well state of mind? That had always been far more comfortable.
"Was that it, then? The sole reason you summoned us all was to remind us that we bear the name 'Thanasi', and that you remain our ever-competent and commanding father? I would have imagined the effort made for this occasion would amount to something more." There had to be some other, more significant reason for this meeting to have been called aside from Dionysios wishing to announce his continued rule over them all and toss unsubtle insults their way. "I have matters to which to attend." Although, locking himself in his chambers to smoke was not a drastically important matter, and Mihail assumed that putting a name to his desired afternoon activity would not go down well with his father.
She watched carefully as her father took his seat. It had been a long time since Evras last felt as if she knew her father. In her younger days, the girl had loved sitting by Dionysios as he told her of stories. At her age now, Evras would recognize how the stories were merely the tellings of his dreams and desires, but young Evras was easily enthralled by a man she perceived to be the biggest hero of her life.
Oh how it had changed.
Ever since he grew older and the illness of the mind had took over him, the dark haired lady had grew more annd more wary of his presence, especially when Thea had taken to ensuring the old Thanasi patriarch remained mostly indoors, a decision Nethis had note exactly argued against. Evras trusted Thea, and knew there was a reason why her sister had done the things she did. A reason which had solidifed itself in that ill-fated dinner which was the sole reason why her father was basically on house arrest.
Despite her gentle, usually agreeable nature however, something within the pale skinned Thanasi clenched at the force of which her father wanted to dig his heels in and ensure his children obeyed him. She would not outright disrespect her father of course. Evras had basically risked her own marriage when she prevented a sword from being driven into her own father in the audience of the whole Colchian nobility, but that didn't mean she wanted to be a puppet to his machinations. Perhaps as a younger child, she would have obediently agreed, but now Evras not only had Dion to think of, she also had to factor in how her father's wishes would have an impact to her unborn child, whose fate was basically in her hands.
The sudden cane that arched on to the table had Evras startling, but her eyes slid to her father, even as her youngest sibling spoke. It was clear, despite the chosen words which seemed agreeable, that Mihail was not yet over his sulk. Not that it surprised Evras, for she knew her youngest sibling to hold hard emotions for a long time.
While she would've loved to dwell upon the wellbeing of the youngest Thanasi however, she also had other thoughts in her head, and couldn't help but furrow her brows after the long, pregnant silence in which her father's words sunk in. Her mind turned and considered the Thanasi patriarch's choice of words, before she asked in a tone none would consider challenging or fierce. "Are you saying I should defy my husband's family then, father?"
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She watched carefully as her father took his seat. It had been a long time since Evras last felt as if she knew her father. In her younger days, the girl had loved sitting by Dionysios as he told her of stories. At her age now, Evras would recognize how the stories were merely the tellings of his dreams and desires, but young Evras was easily enthralled by a man she perceived to be the biggest hero of her life.
Oh how it had changed.
Ever since he grew older and the illness of the mind had took over him, the dark haired lady had grew more annd more wary of his presence, especially when Thea had taken to ensuring the old Thanasi patriarch remained mostly indoors, a decision Nethis had note exactly argued against. Evras trusted Thea, and knew there was a reason why her sister had done the things she did. A reason which had solidifed itself in that ill-fated dinner which was the sole reason why her father was basically on house arrest.
Despite her gentle, usually agreeable nature however, something within the pale skinned Thanasi clenched at the force of which her father wanted to dig his heels in and ensure his children obeyed him. She would not outright disrespect her father of course. Evras had basically risked her own marriage when she prevented a sword from being driven into her own father in the audience of the whole Colchian nobility, but that didn't mean she wanted to be a puppet to his machinations. Perhaps as a younger child, she would have obediently agreed, but now Evras not only had Dion to think of, she also had to factor in how her father's wishes would have an impact to her unborn child, whose fate was basically in her hands.
The sudden cane that arched on to the table had Evras startling, but her eyes slid to her father, even as her youngest sibling spoke. It was clear, despite the chosen words which seemed agreeable, that Mihail was not yet over his sulk. Not that it surprised Evras, for she knew her youngest sibling to hold hard emotions for a long time.
While she would've loved to dwell upon the wellbeing of the youngest Thanasi however, she also had other thoughts in her head, and couldn't help but furrow her brows after the long, pregnant silence in which her father's words sunk in. Her mind turned and considered the Thanasi patriarch's choice of words, before she asked in a tone none would consider challenging or fierce. "Are you saying I should defy my husband's family then, father?"
She watched carefully as her father took his seat. It had been a long time since Evras last felt as if she knew her father. In her younger days, the girl had loved sitting by Dionysios as he told her of stories. At her age now, Evras would recognize how the stories were merely the tellings of his dreams and desires, but young Evras was easily enthralled by a man she perceived to be the biggest hero of her life.
Oh how it had changed.
Ever since he grew older and the illness of the mind had took over him, the dark haired lady had grew more annd more wary of his presence, especially when Thea had taken to ensuring the old Thanasi patriarch remained mostly indoors, a decision Nethis had note exactly argued against. Evras trusted Thea, and knew there was a reason why her sister had done the things she did. A reason which had solidifed itself in that ill-fated dinner which was the sole reason why her father was basically on house arrest.
Despite her gentle, usually agreeable nature however, something within the pale skinned Thanasi clenched at the force of which her father wanted to dig his heels in and ensure his children obeyed him. She would not outright disrespect her father of course. Evras had basically risked her own marriage when she prevented a sword from being driven into her own father in the audience of the whole Colchian nobility, but that didn't mean she wanted to be a puppet to his machinations. Perhaps as a younger child, she would have obediently agreed, but now Evras not only had Dion to think of, she also had to factor in how her father's wishes would have an impact to her unborn child, whose fate was basically in her hands.
The sudden cane that arched on to the table had Evras startling, but her eyes slid to her father, even as her youngest sibling spoke. It was clear, despite the chosen words which seemed agreeable, that Mihail was not yet over his sulk. Not that it surprised Evras, for she knew her youngest sibling to hold hard emotions for a long time.
While she would've loved to dwell upon the wellbeing of the youngest Thanasi however, she also had other thoughts in her head, and couldn't help but furrow her brows after the long, pregnant silence in which her father's words sunk in. Her mind turned and considered the Thanasi patriarch's choice of words, before she asked in a tone none would consider challenging or fierce. "Are you saying I should defy my husband's family then, father?"
There was a quiet rage building and burning in her as a mask or an obliteration for the heartbreak that threatened to make itself known without it. Feelings were not her strength, but recent events had proved to be the culmination of a descent that had caused her grief, half for the inconvenience of the thing, half for the loss of a man she had spent a lifetime admiring.
Dionysius was not what he once was; it showed in a thousand little things and more recently in an attempt at murder so ill-advised Nethis wouldn't have believed it possible had she not seen it with her own eyes. She prided herself on cleverness and cunning, for seeing what others missed, but even she had neither seen that coming nor was she entirely sure what might follow.
There was too much uncertainty regarding the man now. Were their roles reversed, had she been the one to do something so outrageous, he would not have hesitated to neutralize the threat of her. Only that was the right of a father. What right did she possess to do the reverse?
Perhaps none, or maybe she simply didn't want that burden. Tonight it was easier to come to dinner as bade and sit quietly, to watch things unfold and listen.
Without a doubt, she didn't need a lecture about what it meant to be Thanasi. Of all of them, she had always understood best what he was talking about, had always been the child who took whispers of ambition and meager threads of power and spun them to improvement.
Instead, the sin for which she was chastised was a different thing altogether. She had always believed that in his more lucid moments her father had to know that he gave orders and she altered them as necessary, that she ensured the business he saw was deliberately light and as insignificant as she could possibly manage without it being overtly offensive, at least when it came to their personal concerns. She could not be his heir, but she would act the part much as she was able anyway because someone had to given his condition and Gods knew they would all be damned if they waited for Dysius or Mihail to do it.
Yet, there was no evidence of that condition here and now. Instead, there was simply proof of what she had always suspected; he knew. Perhaps addled—and Nethis did think that the appropriate word because she could think of no other conceivable reason he might act as he had—at times and in the worst possible moment recently, their father was certainly lucid now and he was making damn sure they all knew it.
It was a pity that Nethis believed it would not last.
The cane hit the table and she winced at the impact, flinching despite herself. This was hardly a reaction she was proud of, but it was instinctual and some things were beyond her control. Her expression was less one of those though; impassivity wavered and then held, a mask well-perfected for moments where it was needed, this being one of them.
Still, Dionysios demanded an answer from all of them and Nethis gave hers in two words. "Yes, Father."
A show of deference, a quiet biding of time, this was remarkably calm for a woman with a sharp tongue that made itself known when her temper was pricked. However, beneath the table, nails dug into palms hard and she made her own private resolution: she would continue to do as necessary.
Then, in line with what he apparently seemed to desire, she stopped herself from hissing Mihail to quiet (must he antagonize?) or chastising Evras for idiocy (because what Dionysios wanted of her was obvious: appropriate prioritization in the form of putting Thanasi interests first). If he wanted to lay claim to his role as Head of Household without supposed undermining influence, then let him handle his more wayward children. She would continue to sit quietly and see what else—if anything—was in store.
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There was a quiet rage building and burning in her as a mask or an obliteration for the heartbreak that threatened to make itself known without it. Feelings were not her strength, but recent events had proved to be the culmination of a descent that had caused her grief, half for the inconvenience of the thing, half for the loss of a man she had spent a lifetime admiring.
Dionysius was not what he once was; it showed in a thousand little things and more recently in an attempt at murder so ill-advised Nethis wouldn't have believed it possible had she not seen it with her own eyes. She prided herself on cleverness and cunning, for seeing what others missed, but even she had neither seen that coming nor was she entirely sure what might follow.
There was too much uncertainty regarding the man now. Were their roles reversed, had she been the one to do something so outrageous, he would not have hesitated to neutralize the threat of her. Only that was the right of a father. What right did she possess to do the reverse?
Perhaps none, or maybe she simply didn't want that burden. Tonight it was easier to come to dinner as bade and sit quietly, to watch things unfold and listen.
Without a doubt, she didn't need a lecture about what it meant to be Thanasi. Of all of them, she had always understood best what he was talking about, had always been the child who took whispers of ambition and meager threads of power and spun them to improvement.
Instead, the sin for which she was chastised was a different thing altogether. She had always believed that in his more lucid moments her father had to know that he gave orders and she altered them as necessary, that she ensured the business he saw was deliberately light and as insignificant as she could possibly manage without it being overtly offensive, at least when it came to their personal concerns. She could not be his heir, but she would act the part much as she was able anyway because someone had to given his condition and Gods knew they would all be damned if they waited for Dysius or Mihail to do it.
Yet, there was no evidence of that condition here and now. Instead, there was simply proof of what she had always suspected; he knew. Perhaps addled—and Nethis did think that the appropriate word because she could think of no other conceivable reason he might act as he had—at times and in the worst possible moment recently, their father was certainly lucid now and he was making damn sure they all knew it.
It was a pity that Nethis believed it would not last.
The cane hit the table and she winced at the impact, flinching despite herself. This was hardly a reaction she was proud of, but it was instinctual and some things were beyond her control. Her expression was less one of those though; impassivity wavered and then held, a mask well-perfected for moments where it was needed, this being one of them.
Still, Dionysios demanded an answer from all of them and Nethis gave hers in two words. "Yes, Father."
A show of deference, a quiet biding of time, this was remarkably calm for a woman with a sharp tongue that made itself known when her temper was pricked. However, beneath the table, nails dug into palms hard and she made her own private resolution: she would continue to do as necessary.
Then, in line with what he apparently seemed to desire, she stopped herself from hissing Mihail to quiet (must he antagonize?) or chastising Evras for idiocy (because what Dionysios wanted of her was obvious: appropriate prioritization in the form of putting Thanasi interests first). If he wanted to lay claim to his role as Head of Household without supposed undermining influence, then let him handle his more wayward children. She would continue to sit quietly and see what else—if anything—was in store.
There was a quiet rage building and burning in her as a mask or an obliteration for the heartbreak that threatened to make itself known without it. Feelings were not her strength, but recent events had proved to be the culmination of a descent that had caused her grief, half for the inconvenience of the thing, half for the loss of a man she had spent a lifetime admiring.
Dionysius was not what he once was; it showed in a thousand little things and more recently in an attempt at murder so ill-advised Nethis wouldn't have believed it possible had she not seen it with her own eyes. She prided herself on cleverness and cunning, for seeing what others missed, but even she had neither seen that coming nor was she entirely sure what might follow.
There was too much uncertainty regarding the man now. Were their roles reversed, had she been the one to do something so outrageous, he would not have hesitated to neutralize the threat of her. Only that was the right of a father. What right did she possess to do the reverse?
Perhaps none, or maybe she simply didn't want that burden. Tonight it was easier to come to dinner as bade and sit quietly, to watch things unfold and listen.
Without a doubt, she didn't need a lecture about what it meant to be Thanasi. Of all of them, she had always understood best what he was talking about, had always been the child who took whispers of ambition and meager threads of power and spun them to improvement.
Instead, the sin for which she was chastised was a different thing altogether. She had always believed that in his more lucid moments her father had to know that he gave orders and she altered them as necessary, that she ensured the business he saw was deliberately light and as insignificant as she could possibly manage without it being overtly offensive, at least when it came to their personal concerns. She could not be his heir, but she would act the part much as she was able anyway because someone had to given his condition and Gods knew they would all be damned if they waited for Dysius or Mihail to do it.
Yet, there was no evidence of that condition here and now. Instead, there was simply proof of what she had always suspected; he knew. Perhaps addled—and Nethis did think that the appropriate word because she could think of no other conceivable reason he might act as he had—at times and in the worst possible moment recently, their father was certainly lucid now and he was making damn sure they all knew it.
It was a pity that Nethis believed it would not last.
The cane hit the table and she winced at the impact, flinching despite herself. This was hardly a reaction she was proud of, but it was instinctual and some things were beyond her control. Her expression was less one of those though; impassivity wavered and then held, a mask well-perfected for moments where it was needed, this being one of them.
Still, Dionysios demanded an answer from all of them and Nethis gave hers in two words. "Yes, Father."
A show of deference, a quiet biding of time, this was remarkably calm for a woman with a sharp tongue that made itself known when her temper was pricked. However, beneath the table, nails dug into palms hard and she made her own private resolution: she would continue to do as necessary.
Then, in line with what he apparently seemed to desire, she stopped herself from hissing Mihail to quiet (must he antagonize?) or chastising Evras for idiocy (because what Dionysios wanted of her was obvious: appropriate prioritization in the form of putting Thanasi interests first). If he wanted to lay claim to his role as Head of Household without supposed undermining influence, then let him handle his more wayward children. She would continue to sit quietly and see what else—if anything—was in store.
Thea could see where this was going, and her spine stiffened a bit more than usual as her eyes cautiously slipped between Mihail and her Father. Trying desperately to will Mihail to glance her direction so she could give him a curt and silent shake of the head, she knew it would be fruitless even if he did give her a glance - which he did not. Fortunately, as they sat down to dine, he slunk deeper down into his chair.
Nethis, per usual, seemed unflappable in the room, seeming to allow all the spat words to slip beneath her as if she hovered over the tumultuous water. Thea did not often feel envy, but she knew that Nethis was just as placid beneath the surface she presented. Her own inner workings? Well, the second daughter had always been perfectly wedged between the serene presentation of Nethis and the consistent knots of internal worry of Evras.
Dionysius' tone was unmistakable, stronger than his usual pestered, annoyed, and confused tone that plagued him at odd hours of the day. If those moments were berry hued, these were bloodied burgundy with the timbre and certainty in which he spoke.
Perhaps it was the change of location, from their Manor to the Dikastirio - a place he had been more than familiar with as the sole senatorial voice for House Thanasi - and then into the care of the Red Knights, a place foreign and surprising. Had that been part of his downfall, staying in the same place?
His words held a gravity that they had not carried in some time, and yet it almost seemed as if the weight of those words seemed to lead to the crumbling.
Looking back on the moment, Thea could have sworn that she saw the cane raise moments before. It was a familiar motion for him, and after the antics at the Dikastirio, she began to wonder as to his actual need for it - particularly combining his unpredictability with the hidden blade within the handle.
Still, reacting to the strike of the cane upon the table and the tremors it left among the plates and cutlery, Thea flinched slightly and looked away a moment, her hand gripping the arm of her chair as a deep breath allowed her gaze to raise once more.
"Yes, Father," Thea echoed, her voice a fraction of the strength of Nethis' response, but mirroring her just the same. After all, being second had it's perks - no one ever considered her anything but a follower and a wallflower among their household. It had its benefits in moments like this.
Mihail's reaction was predictable, and while she murmured his name, "Mihail, please..." her hand instinctively reached out to Evras' arm at her side, her attention turning to her younger sister with concern and caution as she spoke. Knowing how circuluar or heated this conversation could become, she tried to catch her sister's eye and give a soft shake of her head.
"Evras, don't, not here," Thea said, her voice barely audible to anyone but Evras as she hoped to talk her sister down from this inciting moment. If she did lead their father spinning down this path, she feared his cane would not be the only thing flying through the air, "Let this moment pass."
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Thea could see where this was going, and her spine stiffened a bit more than usual as her eyes cautiously slipped between Mihail and her Father. Trying desperately to will Mihail to glance her direction so she could give him a curt and silent shake of the head, she knew it would be fruitless even if he did give her a glance - which he did not. Fortunately, as they sat down to dine, he slunk deeper down into his chair.
Nethis, per usual, seemed unflappable in the room, seeming to allow all the spat words to slip beneath her as if she hovered over the tumultuous water. Thea did not often feel envy, but she knew that Nethis was just as placid beneath the surface she presented. Her own inner workings? Well, the second daughter had always been perfectly wedged between the serene presentation of Nethis and the consistent knots of internal worry of Evras.
Dionysius' tone was unmistakable, stronger than his usual pestered, annoyed, and confused tone that plagued him at odd hours of the day. If those moments were berry hued, these were bloodied burgundy with the timbre and certainty in which he spoke.
Perhaps it was the change of location, from their Manor to the Dikastirio - a place he had been more than familiar with as the sole senatorial voice for House Thanasi - and then into the care of the Red Knights, a place foreign and surprising. Had that been part of his downfall, staying in the same place?
His words held a gravity that they had not carried in some time, and yet it almost seemed as if the weight of those words seemed to lead to the crumbling.
Looking back on the moment, Thea could have sworn that she saw the cane raise moments before. It was a familiar motion for him, and after the antics at the Dikastirio, she began to wonder as to his actual need for it - particularly combining his unpredictability with the hidden blade within the handle.
Still, reacting to the strike of the cane upon the table and the tremors it left among the plates and cutlery, Thea flinched slightly and looked away a moment, her hand gripping the arm of her chair as a deep breath allowed her gaze to raise once more.
"Yes, Father," Thea echoed, her voice a fraction of the strength of Nethis' response, but mirroring her just the same. After all, being second had it's perks - no one ever considered her anything but a follower and a wallflower among their household. It had its benefits in moments like this.
Mihail's reaction was predictable, and while she murmured his name, "Mihail, please..." her hand instinctively reached out to Evras' arm at her side, her attention turning to her younger sister with concern and caution as she spoke. Knowing how circuluar or heated this conversation could become, she tried to catch her sister's eye and give a soft shake of her head.
"Evras, don't, not here," Thea said, her voice barely audible to anyone but Evras as she hoped to talk her sister down from this inciting moment. If she did lead their father spinning down this path, she feared his cane would not be the only thing flying through the air, "Let this moment pass."
Thea could see where this was going, and her spine stiffened a bit more than usual as her eyes cautiously slipped between Mihail and her Father. Trying desperately to will Mihail to glance her direction so she could give him a curt and silent shake of the head, she knew it would be fruitless even if he did give her a glance - which he did not. Fortunately, as they sat down to dine, he slunk deeper down into his chair.
Nethis, per usual, seemed unflappable in the room, seeming to allow all the spat words to slip beneath her as if she hovered over the tumultuous water. Thea did not often feel envy, but she knew that Nethis was just as placid beneath the surface she presented. Her own inner workings? Well, the second daughter had always been perfectly wedged between the serene presentation of Nethis and the consistent knots of internal worry of Evras.
Dionysius' tone was unmistakable, stronger than his usual pestered, annoyed, and confused tone that plagued him at odd hours of the day. If those moments were berry hued, these were bloodied burgundy with the timbre and certainty in which he spoke.
Perhaps it was the change of location, from their Manor to the Dikastirio - a place he had been more than familiar with as the sole senatorial voice for House Thanasi - and then into the care of the Red Knights, a place foreign and surprising. Had that been part of his downfall, staying in the same place?
His words held a gravity that they had not carried in some time, and yet it almost seemed as if the weight of those words seemed to lead to the crumbling.
Looking back on the moment, Thea could have sworn that she saw the cane raise moments before. It was a familiar motion for him, and after the antics at the Dikastirio, she began to wonder as to his actual need for it - particularly combining his unpredictability with the hidden blade within the handle.
Still, reacting to the strike of the cane upon the table and the tremors it left among the plates and cutlery, Thea flinched slightly and looked away a moment, her hand gripping the arm of her chair as a deep breath allowed her gaze to raise once more.
"Yes, Father," Thea echoed, her voice a fraction of the strength of Nethis' response, but mirroring her just the same. After all, being second had it's perks - no one ever considered her anything but a follower and a wallflower among their household. It had its benefits in moments like this.
Mihail's reaction was predictable, and while she murmured his name, "Mihail, please..." her hand instinctively reached out to Evras' arm at her side, her attention turning to her younger sister with concern and caution as she spoke. Knowing how circuluar or heated this conversation could become, she tried to catch her sister's eye and give a soft shake of her head.
"Evras, don't, not here," Thea said, her voice barely audible to anyone but Evras as she hoped to talk her sister down from this inciting moment. If she did lead their father spinning down this path, she feared his cane would not be the only thing flying through the air, "Let this moment pass."
Dionysios' eyes narrowed in a dangerous manner over Mihail's continuing sulky attitude. He was saved from having to say anything and condemn the boy with physical threat over verbal reminder when his sister stepped in to remind him of his own moronic determination to hold sway over the table. Instead, his eyes shifted to his middle born - his youngest daughter - also shushed for her part by Thea but with a direct question that could not go without answer.
"The fact that you must ask such a thing, daughter, is clearer evidence than any to me of your betrayal of your family name in months past."
He turned his gaze around the table, noting the deference in all of his other children; Evras and Mihail singling themselves out as the rebels to the moment. Yet perhaps only because the others were smart enough to keep their tongues silent.
"From now on this family will live together and will dine together." He insisted. "There will be no socialising elsewhere for the evening repast. Dysius you will remain here under my watch - your steward will do without you for a time." His gaze flickered elsewhere. "Your husband..." - he sneered the word - "...can have you for two meals of the day but, in the evenings, you will attend your ailing father without complaint."
His light eyes then turned upon his youngest.
"All save you, Mihail." He stated with a calm tone that almost hinted at a lilt of smugness about it. "You will no longer live here but with the soldiers of the province of Megaris. You are going to Egypt." The patriarch of the House's lips drew wide and thin with distaste. "Perhaps killing a few heathens of Africa will see you become an actual man."
Dionysios would see no argument to his instructions. He would bring his bloodline back into order and set them on a unified course for the throne of Colchis. He was tired of waiting for his youngest daughter to show some ambition in securing her son’s heirdom. Or for Nethis to woo and win the Crown Prince. He knew for certain that neither of his simpering sons would ever court the princess. So, it was time to play hard ball. Whether his children liked it or not, he was still the head of this family and he was going to ensure that a new world order came to pass over their lives…
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Dionysios' eyes narrowed in a dangerous manner over Mihail's continuing sulky attitude. He was saved from having to say anything and condemn the boy with physical threat over verbal reminder when his sister stepped in to remind him of his own moronic determination to hold sway over the table. Instead, his eyes shifted to his middle born - his youngest daughter - also shushed for her part by Thea but with a direct question that could not go without answer.
"The fact that you must ask such a thing, daughter, is clearer evidence than any to me of your betrayal of your family name in months past."
He turned his gaze around the table, noting the deference in all of his other children; Evras and Mihail singling themselves out as the rebels to the moment. Yet perhaps only because the others were smart enough to keep their tongues silent.
"From now on this family will live together and will dine together." He insisted. "There will be no socialising elsewhere for the evening repast. Dysius you will remain here under my watch - your steward will do without you for a time." His gaze flickered elsewhere. "Your husband..." - he sneered the word - "...can have you for two meals of the day but, in the evenings, you will attend your ailing father without complaint."
His light eyes then turned upon his youngest.
"All save you, Mihail." He stated with a calm tone that almost hinted at a lilt of smugness about it. "You will no longer live here but with the soldiers of the province of Megaris. You are going to Egypt." The patriarch of the House's lips drew wide and thin with distaste. "Perhaps killing a few heathens of Africa will see you become an actual man."
Dionysios would see no argument to his instructions. He would bring his bloodline back into order and set them on a unified course for the throne of Colchis. He was tired of waiting for his youngest daughter to show some ambition in securing her son’s heirdom. Or for Nethis to woo and win the Crown Prince. He knew for certain that neither of his simpering sons would ever court the princess. So, it was time to play hard ball. Whether his children liked it or not, he was still the head of this family and he was going to ensure that a new world order came to pass over their lives…
Dionysios' eyes narrowed in a dangerous manner over Mihail's continuing sulky attitude. He was saved from having to say anything and condemn the boy with physical threat over verbal reminder when his sister stepped in to remind him of his own moronic determination to hold sway over the table. Instead, his eyes shifted to his middle born - his youngest daughter - also shushed for her part by Thea but with a direct question that could not go without answer.
"The fact that you must ask such a thing, daughter, is clearer evidence than any to me of your betrayal of your family name in months past."
He turned his gaze around the table, noting the deference in all of his other children; Evras and Mihail singling themselves out as the rebels to the moment. Yet perhaps only because the others were smart enough to keep their tongues silent.
"From now on this family will live together and will dine together." He insisted. "There will be no socialising elsewhere for the evening repast. Dysius you will remain here under my watch - your steward will do without you for a time." His gaze flickered elsewhere. "Your husband..." - he sneered the word - "...can have you for two meals of the day but, in the evenings, you will attend your ailing father without complaint."
His light eyes then turned upon his youngest.
"All save you, Mihail." He stated with a calm tone that almost hinted at a lilt of smugness about it. "You will no longer live here but with the soldiers of the province of Megaris. You are going to Egypt." The patriarch of the House's lips drew wide and thin with distaste. "Perhaps killing a few heathens of Africa will see you become an actual man."
Dionysios would see no argument to his instructions. He would bring his bloodline back into order and set them on a unified course for the throne of Colchis. He was tired of waiting for his youngest daughter to show some ambition in securing her son’s heirdom. Or for Nethis to woo and win the Crown Prince. He knew for certain that neither of his simpering sons would ever court the princess. So, it was time to play hard ball. Whether his children liked it or not, he was still the head of this family and he was going to ensure that a new world order came to pass over their lives…
She did not fail to hear her sister's warning, and as usual, Evras was more then happy to comply. Of all her siblings, she would trust Thea's judgement the most when it came to her father's condition, especially one that is unbiased. Over the years, Evras had seen how much her eldest sibling would use the lord Thanasi's condition to her own advantage. Not that Dionysios had ever been sound of mind, but he at least had never been cruel - only ambitious. Just a pity that Evras had never inherited any of the ambitions, and instead got Ulla's soft heart.
Yet before Evras could meekly keep quiet and sit down as she would have done, the unsound mind of her father had to speak, the way his statement phrased clearly putting Evras between a rock and a hard place. Of all of them, Evras had perhaps been the closest with Ulla, as gently raised and soft spoken as their matriarch, Evras also clearly remembered her mother's words of advice, long before her health took an ailing turn and the Gods took her to return with them. Ulla had reminded Evras to be dutiful to her husband, and that once she married, her family was no longer hers - afterall, Ulla had been a full Thanasi upon her own marriage, and no longer was of Kotas descent in all manners and purposes. The fact that her father had practically spat our Zanon's existence to her further incited her irritation at her own father, which started her next words.
"I was not aware that my simple marriage and bearing of children to my husband is a betrayal of our family name - nor the fact that I stood in front of a moving sword and armed guards to ensure your life as it is right now, considered an act of betrayal, father." she paused, swallowing to calm her shaking voice before continuing. "That I would endanger the child I now carry for your life, seems to be the exact opposite, yet it falls on deaf ears and blind eyes, father. Mother had taught me otherwise, that upon marriage, my loyalty lies with my husband - I've found middleground, but I am unwilling to budge from my neutral grounds."
With a quick, apologetic glance to Thea - for her actions would surely cause great distress to her sister, Evras pushed her chair back and took a step away from her the table, an eye out for the cane should the man decide to sling it in her direction. She could not risk it hitting her midsection, for after three miscarriages, Evras was unwilling to lose this one after she's carried it for three whole moons and the life within seemed steady and growing. One standing a few steps away from the table, Evras flickered over to look at Dysius's slowly sullen look, and then at Mihail with one of softer, kinder understanding before finally sliding back to gaze at her father, the kind of stubbornness in which Evras had never displayed, even in her growing years.
"I will return to my home now, father, for I believe this evening repast is over for me. I will come to 'attend my ailing father' if my duties as a princess, wife and mother isn't needed where my son stays, but if there are other duties, I shall not be around." Evras finished off, before turning on her heels and heading out of the chamber, directly towards where her carriage waited to bring her home to the Kotas manor. The whole time she spoke, one of Evras's hands shook by her side, whilst the other rested on the belly that was just beginning to round, and her heart raced a mile a minute as she spoke, almost feeling her heart in her throat. The dark-haired Thanasi had never went against her father before, not so directly, but with the safety of an unborn child she had to concern herself with, she could no longer sit back and watch as her father and eldest sister tried to use her as a means of getting to the throne - not when that seat itself was rife with danger.
Because if her father was willing to kill to get to the throne - what's to save her own son if he wore a crown?
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She did not fail to hear her sister's warning, and as usual, Evras was more then happy to comply. Of all her siblings, she would trust Thea's judgement the most when it came to her father's condition, especially one that is unbiased. Over the years, Evras had seen how much her eldest sibling would use the lord Thanasi's condition to her own advantage. Not that Dionysios had ever been sound of mind, but he at least had never been cruel - only ambitious. Just a pity that Evras had never inherited any of the ambitions, and instead got Ulla's soft heart.
Yet before Evras could meekly keep quiet and sit down as she would have done, the unsound mind of her father had to speak, the way his statement phrased clearly putting Evras between a rock and a hard place. Of all of them, Evras had perhaps been the closest with Ulla, as gently raised and soft spoken as their matriarch, Evras also clearly remembered her mother's words of advice, long before her health took an ailing turn and the Gods took her to return with them. Ulla had reminded Evras to be dutiful to her husband, and that once she married, her family was no longer hers - afterall, Ulla had been a full Thanasi upon her own marriage, and no longer was of Kotas descent in all manners and purposes. The fact that her father had practically spat our Zanon's existence to her further incited her irritation at her own father, which started her next words.
"I was not aware that my simple marriage and bearing of children to my husband is a betrayal of our family name - nor the fact that I stood in front of a moving sword and armed guards to ensure your life as it is right now, considered an act of betrayal, father." she paused, swallowing to calm her shaking voice before continuing. "That I would endanger the child I now carry for your life, seems to be the exact opposite, yet it falls on deaf ears and blind eyes, father. Mother had taught me otherwise, that upon marriage, my loyalty lies with my husband - I've found middleground, but I am unwilling to budge from my neutral grounds."
With a quick, apologetic glance to Thea - for her actions would surely cause great distress to her sister, Evras pushed her chair back and took a step away from her the table, an eye out for the cane should the man decide to sling it in her direction. She could not risk it hitting her midsection, for after three miscarriages, Evras was unwilling to lose this one after she's carried it for three whole moons and the life within seemed steady and growing. One standing a few steps away from the table, Evras flickered over to look at Dysius's slowly sullen look, and then at Mihail with one of softer, kinder understanding before finally sliding back to gaze at her father, the kind of stubbornness in which Evras had never displayed, even in her growing years.
"I will return to my home now, father, for I believe this evening repast is over for me. I will come to 'attend my ailing father' if my duties as a princess, wife and mother isn't needed where my son stays, but if there are other duties, I shall not be around." Evras finished off, before turning on her heels and heading out of the chamber, directly towards where her carriage waited to bring her home to the Kotas manor. The whole time she spoke, one of Evras's hands shook by her side, whilst the other rested on the belly that was just beginning to round, and her heart raced a mile a minute as she spoke, almost feeling her heart in her throat. The dark-haired Thanasi had never went against her father before, not so directly, but with the safety of an unborn child she had to concern herself with, she could no longer sit back and watch as her father and eldest sister tried to use her as a means of getting to the throne - not when that seat itself was rife with danger.
Because if her father was willing to kill to get to the throne - what's to save her own son if he wore a crown?
She did not fail to hear her sister's warning, and as usual, Evras was more then happy to comply. Of all her siblings, she would trust Thea's judgement the most when it came to her father's condition, especially one that is unbiased. Over the years, Evras had seen how much her eldest sibling would use the lord Thanasi's condition to her own advantage. Not that Dionysios had ever been sound of mind, but he at least had never been cruel - only ambitious. Just a pity that Evras had never inherited any of the ambitions, and instead got Ulla's soft heart.
Yet before Evras could meekly keep quiet and sit down as she would have done, the unsound mind of her father had to speak, the way his statement phrased clearly putting Evras between a rock and a hard place. Of all of them, Evras had perhaps been the closest with Ulla, as gently raised and soft spoken as their matriarch, Evras also clearly remembered her mother's words of advice, long before her health took an ailing turn and the Gods took her to return with them. Ulla had reminded Evras to be dutiful to her husband, and that once she married, her family was no longer hers - afterall, Ulla had been a full Thanasi upon her own marriage, and no longer was of Kotas descent in all manners and purposes. The fact that her father had practically spat our Zanon's existence to her further incited her irritation at her own father, which started her next words.
"I was not aware that my simple marriage and bearing of children to my husband is a betrayal of our family name - nor the fact that I stood in front of a moving sword and armed guards to ensure your life as it is right now, considered an act of betrayal, father." she paused, swallowing to calm her shaking voice before continuing. "That I would endanger the child I now carry for your life, seems to be the exact opposite, yet it falls on deaf ears and blind eyes, father. Mother had taught me otherwise, that upon marriage, my loyalty lies with my husband - I've found middleground, but I am unwilling to budge from my neutral grounds."
With a quick, apologetic glance to Thea - for her actions would surely cause great distress to her sister, Evras pushed her chair back and took a step away from her the table, an eye out for the cane should the man decide to sling it in her direction. She could not risk it hitting her midsection, for after three miscarriages, Evras was unwilling to lose this one after she's carried it for three whole moons and the life within seemed steady and growing. One standing a few steps away from the table, Evras flickered over to look at Dysius's slowly sullen look, and then at Mihail with one of softer, kinder understanding before finally sliding back to gaze at her father, the kind of stubbornness in which Evras had never displayed, even in her growing years.
"I will return to my home now, father, for I believe this evening repast is over for me. I will come to 'attend my ailing father' if my duties as a princess, wife and mother isn't needed where my son stays, but if there are other duties, I shall not be around." Evras finished off, before turning on her heels and heading out of the chamber, directly towards where her carriage waited to bring her home to the Kotas manor. The whole time she spoke, one of Evras's hands shook by her side, whilst the other rested on the belly that was just beginning to round, and her heart raced a mile a minute as she spoke, almost feeling her heart in her throat. The dark-haired Thanasi had never went against her father before, not so directly, but with the safety of an unborn child she had to concern herself with, she could no longer sit back and watch as her father and eldest sister tried to use her as a means of getting to the throne - not when that seat itself was rife with danger.
Because if her father was willing to kill to get to the throne - what's to save her own son if he wore a crown?
All of the placating in the world could not seem to stop the dissolution that was happening around the edges of their dining table, and Thea wished to the gods above that she could have been anywhere other than there. House Thanasi was aging poorly, like their father, and Thea knew it. It was why Nethis spent most of her waking hours in various machinations to either fuel their fiscal status or to maneuver their way into closer ties with various other connections. Yet, much as no mortal man wanted to face down the sharp, poisoned fangs of a viper, neither were so many willing to place their trust and concern with the serpents of Thanasi. It was not hard to see.
Their father's words and ferocity did manage to take Thea off-guard however, her delicately sharpened brows raising at his demands, and eyes blinking uncharacteristically at the sniping comments targeted towards Evras. Her eyes drifted over to her sister for a moment, an arm midway through reaching out when Dionysios declared Mihail's fate as well.
Evras words landed with the same impact of their father's cane on the table, including the revelation of her pregnancy and the risk that had been taken on the night of the feast. Thea would have hoped that such news would have softened the conversation as of now, but having dined with her family for the entirety of her life, there was no denying that tensions had flared too far for anything to be recovered now.
As Evras stood, Thea shot a questioning glance to Nethis. One of them needed to follow her. After a moment of silent conversation, Thea murmured the quietest "Pardon me, Father," as her chair also scraped away from the table to allow her to follow Evras. Gripping the front of her skirts, Thea swiftly left the room in a flurry, doubling the time of her steps to meet Evras in the entryway.
"Evras, wait," Thea said, immediately reaching out to place both arms on here sister's shoulders, not in a way that restrained by any means but in a way that had always been comforting. It was an attempt to calm her sister, particularly in her condition. Too much stress on the child at this point could prove dangerous at this stage. Gingerly, she wrapped her arms around her sister, the rare embrace that she shared almost exclusively with Evras at this point.
As their embrace brought her close to her sister's ear, she whispered, as if fearing her father would hear them even so far away from where he sat.
"We will find some way around this," Thea whispered, placing a comforting hand on her sister's back, "Nethis can see further than he right now and will not let it grow too far out of hand. Do not worry or strain. For their sake." Pulling back to see her sister's eyes, she let her hand rest over her sister's on her abdomen.
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All of the placating in the world could not seem to stop the dissolution that was happening around the edges of their dining table, and Thea wished to the gods above that she could have been anywhere other than there. House Thanasi was aging poorly, like their father, and Thea knew it. It was why Nethis spent most of her waking hours in various machinations to either fuel their fiscal status or to maneuver their way into closer ties with various other connections. Yet, much as no mortal man wanted to face down the sharp, poisoned fangs of a viper, neither were so many willing to place their trust and concern with the serpents of Thanasi. It was not hard to see.
Their father's words and ferocity did manage to take Thea off-guard however, her delicately sharpened brows raising at his demands, and eyes blinking uncharacteristically at the sniping comments targeted towards Evras. Her eyes drifted over to her sister for a moment, an arm midway through reaching out when Dionysios declared Mihail's fate as well.
Evras words landed with the same impact of their father's cane on the table, including the revelation of her pregnancy and the risk that had been taken on the night of the feast. Thea would have hoped that such news would have softened the conversation as of now, but having dined with her family for the entirety of her life, there was no denying that tensions had flared too far for anything to be recovered now.
As Evras stood, Thea shot a questioning glance to Nethis. One of them needed to follow her. After a moment of silent conversation, Thea murmured the quietest "Pardon me, Father," as her chair also scraped away from the table to allow her to follow Evras. Gripping the front of her skirts, Thea swiftly left the room in a flurry, doubling the time of her steps to meet Evras in the entryway.
"Evras, wait," Thea said, immediately reaching out to place both arms on here sister's shoulders, not in a way that restrained by any means but in a way that had always been comforting. It was an attempt to calm her sister, particularly in her condition. Too much stress on the child at this point could prove dangerous at this stage. Gingerly, she wrapped her arms around her sister, the rare embrace that she shared almost exclusively with Evras at this point.
As their embrace brought her close to her sister's ear, she whispered, as if fearing her father would hear them even so far away from where he sat.
"We will find some way around this," Thea whispered, placing a comforting hand on her sister's back, "Nethis can see further than he right now and will not let it grow too far out of hand. Do not worry or strain. For their sake." Pulling back to see her sister's eyes, she let her hand rest over her sister's on her abdomen.
All of the placating in the world could not seem to stop the dissolution that was happening around the edges of their dining table, and Thea wished to the gods above that she could have been anywhere other than there. House Thanasi was aging poorly, like their father, and Thea knew it. It was why Nethis spent most of her waking hours in various machinations to either fuel their fiscal status or to maneuver their way into closer ties with various other connections. Yet, much as no mortal man wanted to face down the sharp, poisoned fangs of a viper, neither were so many willing to place their trust and concern with the serpents of Thanasi. It was not hard to see.
Their father's words and ferocity did manage to take Thea off-guard however, her delicately sharpened brows raising at his demands, and eyes blinking uncharacteristically at the sniping comments targeted towards Evras. Her eyes drifted over to her sister for a moment, an arm midway through reaching out when Dionysios declared Mihail's fate as well.
Evras words landed with the same impact of their father's cane on the table, including the revelation of her pregnancy and the risk that had been taken on the night of the feast. Thea would have hoped that such news would have softened the conversation as of now, but having dined with her family for the entirety of her life, there was no denying that tensions had flared too far for anything to be recovered now.
As Evras stood, Thea shot a questioning glance to Nethis. One of them needed to follow her. After a moment of silent conversation, Thea murmured the quietest "Pardon me, Father," as her chair also scraped away from the table to allow her to follow Evras. Gripping the front of her skirts, Thea swiftly left the room in a flurry, doubling the time of her steps to meet Evras in the entryway.
"Evras, wait," Thea said, immediately reaching out to place both arms on here sister's shoulders, not in a way that restrained by any means but in a way that had always been comforting. It was an attempt to calm her sister, particularly in her condition. Too much stress on the child at this point could prove dangerous at this stage. Gingerly, she wrapped her arms around her sister, the rare embrace that she shared almost exclusively with Evras at this point.
As their embrace brought her close to her sister's ear, she whispered, as if fearing her father would hear them even so far away from where he sat.
"We will find some way around this," Thea whispered, placing a comforting hand on her sister's back, "Nethis can see further than he right now and will not let it grow too far out of hand. Do not worry or strain. For their sake." Pulling back to see her sister's eyes, she let her hand rest over her sister's on her abdomen.
Mihail ignored Thea's muttered advice for silence, although he had nothing further to say as he awaited a response from their father, his gaze fixed viciously on the older man. He had never really cared for him as one typically did their parents (most of his affections had been reserved for his sisters, who had been his actual caregivers most of his life thus far), and at this moment, he was brimming with dislike, though it had not quite turned to thorough hatred. He did not care if the man intended for them to live and dine together, for he spent most hours in the Thanasi home regardless and, save for those few evenings when he either chose to hide in his chambers and ignore food outright or sleep with some flirtation, the fair majority of Mihail's meals took place within this same dining room. Whether the rest of his family were there at the time was not a matter he could force.
However, the moment Father's eyes dropped upon him, and even before he had spoken the introduction to the exception, the youngest Thanasi knew something was coming. He could almost feel his body physically brace itself for whatever nonsensical punishment was about to be inflicted upon him. For what? Being upset over a claimed adoption? The way Father had attacked and humiliated him and the rest of the family at a public event? Or perhaps for having too much attitude when he had been unnecessarily assigned a servant's task? Anything could be the case when it came to Father's insanity - and Mihail did very much believe the man was insane now, even if he had not entirely done so in recent years. He frowned, and did not shift his steely expression, as if challenging every word the imposing man had to say.
When the words came, they were not something he could have expected, and Mihail was stunned into momentary silence.
Soldiers. Egypt. War. Mihail couldn't go to war. Though he possessed undeniably skill in archery, it was little more than a hobby designed to pass the time, and any other possible military inclinations were entirely absent in the boy. He had never been raised to the possibility that he should one day have to fight (Colchian blood be damned), and his stunned expression betrayed the surprise which underlined his present thoughts. For a moment he was silent, because he did not know what he could say, and he was so caught up in his shock that he barely noticed as two of his sisters rose from their seats at the table, instead preoccupied in trying to find some appropriate response to express his distaste for Father's absurdity.
In the end, however, nothing came. What could he say, when the older man was so steadfastly up his own arse that he would likely disregard any response his youngest son gave? There was only one person, really, who could compete against the man's will, and Mihail's eyes naturally drifted across the table to settle on the eldest of his sisters, silently pleading that she would do something to help even before the half-whined request left his lips. "Nethis...?"
He didn't want to go to Egypt. He didn't want to live with messy soldiers and fight in battles and quite possibly die. He was more politically than militarily minded (and that was a stretch), and he wanted Father to see where his skills lay rather than attempt to force them upon him where they did not exist. Maybe that was what he could do. If Father was so insistent that he go to war, and if Nethis couldn't stop it, then Mihail would have to dig out his apparently hidden abilities, prove them to the man and, most importantly of all, make him pay.
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Mihail ignored Thea's muttered advice for silence, although he had nothing further to say as he awaited a response from their father, his gaze fixed viciously on the older man. He had never really cared for him as one typically did their parents (most of his affections had been reserved for his sisters, who had been his actual caregivers most of his life thus far), and at this moment, he was brimming with dislike, though it had not quite turned to thorough hatred. He did not care if the man intended for them to live and dine together, for he spent most hours in the Thanasi home regardless and, save for those few evenings when he either chose to hide in his chambers and ignore food outright or sleep with some flirtation, the fair majority of Mihail's meals took place within this same dining room. Whether the rest of his family were there at the time was not a matter he could force.
However, the moment Father's eyes dropped upon him, and even before he had spoken the introduction to the exception, the youngest Thanasi knew something was coming. He could almost feel his body physically brace itself for whatever nonsensical punishment was about to be inflicted upon him. For what? Being upset over a claimed adoption? The way Father had attacked and humiliated him and the rest of the family at a public event? Or perhaps for having too much attitude when he had been unnecessarily assigned a servant's task? Anything could be the case when it came to Father's insanity - and Mihail did very much believe the man was insane now, even if he had not entirely done so in recent years. He frowned, and did not shift his steely expression, as if challenging every word the imposing man had to say.
When the words came, they were not something he could have expected, and Mihail was stunned into momentary silence.
Soldiers. Egypt. War. Mihail couldn't go to war. Though he possessed undeniably skill in archery, it was little more than a hobby designed to pass the time, and any other possible military inclinations were entirely absent in the boy. He had never been raised to the possibility that he should one day have to fight (Colchian blood be damned), and his stunned expression betrayed the surprise which underlined his present thoughts. For a moment he was silent, because he did not know what he could say, and he was so caught up in his shock that he barely noticed as two of his sisters rose from their seats at the table, instead preoccupied in trying to find some appropriate response to express his distaste for Father's absurdity.
In the end, however, nothing came. What could he say, when the older man was so steadfastly up his own arse that he would likely disregard any response his youngest son gave? There was only one person, really, who could compete against the man's will, and Mihail's eyes naturally drifted across the table to settle on the eldest of his sisters, silently pleading that she would do something to help even before the half-whined request left his lips. "Nethis...?"
He didn't want to go to Egypt. He didn't want to live with messy soldiers and fight in battles and quite possibly die. He was more politically than militarily minded (and that was a stretch), and he wanted Father to see where his skills lay rather than attempt to force them upon him where they did not exist. Maybe that was what he could do. If Father was so insistent that he go to war, and if Nethis couldn't stop it, then Mihail would have to dig out his apparently hidden abilities, prove them to the man and, most importantly of all, make him pay.
Mihail ignored Thea's muttered advice for silence, although he had nothing further to say as he awaited a response from their father, his gaze fixed viciously on the older man. He had never really cared for him as one typically did their parents (most of his affections had been reserved for his sisters, who had been his actual caregivers most of his life thus far), and at this moment, he was brimming with dislike, though it had not quite turned to thorough hatred. He did not care if the man intended for them to live and dine together, for he spent most hours in the Thanasi home regardless and, save for those few evenings when he either chose to hide in his chambers and ignore food outright or sleep with some flirtation, the fair majority of Mihail's meals took place within this same dining room. Whether the rest of his family were there at the time was not a matter he could force.
However, the moment Father's eyes dropped upon him, and even before he had spoken the introduction to the exception, the youngest Thanasi knew something was coming. He could almost feel his body physically brace itself for whatever nonsensical punishment was about to be inflicted upon him. For what? Being upset over a claimed adoption? The way Father had attacked and humiliated him and the rest of the family at a public event? Or perhaps for having too much attitude when he had been unnecessarily assigned a servant's task? Anything could be the case when it came to Father's insanity - and Mihail did very much believe the man was insane now, even if he had not entirely done so in recent years. He frowned, and did not shift his steely expression, as if challenging every word the imposing man had to say.
When the words came, they were not something he could have expected, and Mihail was stunned into momentary silence.
Soldiers. Egypt. War. Mihail couldn't go to war. Though he possessed undeniably skill in archery, it was little more than a hobby designed to pass the time, and any other possible military inclinations were entirely absent in the boy. He had never been raised to the possibility that he should one day have to fight (Colchian blood be damned), and his stunned expression betrayed the surprise which underlined his present thoughts. For a moment he was silent, because he did not know what he could say, and he was so caught up in his shock that he barely noticed as two of his sisters rose from their seats at the table, instead preoccupied in trying to find some appropriate response to express his distaste for Father's absurdity.
In the end, however, nothing came. What could he say, when the older man was so steadfastly up his own arse that he would likely disregard any response his youngest son gave? There was only one person, really, who could compete against the man's will, and Mihail's eyes naturally drifted across the table to settle on the eldest of his sisters, silently pleading that she would do something to help even before the half-whined request left his lips. "Nethis...?"
He didn't want to go to Egypt. He didn't want to live with messy soldiers and fight in battles and quite possibly die. He was more politically than militarily minded (and that was a stretch), and he wanted Father to see where his skills lay rather than attempt to force them upon him where they did not exist. Maybe that was what he could do. If Father was so insistent that he go to war, and if Nethis couldn't stop it, then Mihail would have to dig out his apparently hidden abilities, prove them to the man and, most importantly of all, make him pay.
Dionysios remembered with such clarity a particular event in his childhood. He had found a snake in the grounds of the estate and, despite the horror of the nurse maids and servants that had raised his in the place of parents he had never had, he had picked it up to inspect the creature. There was little that could have stopped him given the family emblem and his continuous curiosity in the animals because of the way they were emblazed upon every room in the house.
When he had found one, alive and slithering in the grass, he had picked it up, more through luck than judgement happening to grip it behind the head in a manner that prevented it from striking and stinging.
Immediately the creature had writhed. Its mouth had opened to bear its fangs as if it were screaming and the long tendril that comprised its body had slithered and wiggled and curled in upon itself like it had been set alike with fire. It had not liked the control that had been exactly upon its movements.
Curious, Dionysios had shown his calculating and patient nature but waiting out the animal. He had not let it go, nor caved to its demands as it tried to shuck its captor, hissing and bending back its jaw in its scream of silence. And slowly... lo and behold... it had stilled.
Realising that struggle was useless, the animal had decided to conserve its strength or, perhaps simply give up and it had hung limp beneath his grip and surrendered to the superior force of his human master.
That was the memory that came to mind now.
As his children bucked and writhed and squirmed.
They had been left to be free, slithering the grounds of his estates, protected under his name and honoured by the wealth and riches that his efforts had put upon them. He had provided them with a home, the finest of goods, money to buy their gowns and chitons. Fine marriages and clever games to ensure their minds developed beyond that of basic education afforded by other houses.
In those years, so much had been achieved. Dysius had become a man who could rule his barony with at least some alacrity. Mihail's uselessness had been funnelled into archery lessons that Dionysios had funded until he could actually shoot an arrow straight. Nethis had developed into a woman of great cunning and power. Thea had been left to her own devises and investigations into medicine and poisons - all the resources of which had been provided by the money bestowed by her father. And Evras had achieved a union with a prince.
Now, his health having declined to the point of being bedridden for several years, the children had been left in the gardens. The snakes set loose under their own means.
And what had they achieved?
Nothing.
They had gone their own ways, sought their own means of gratification in their plans or their men or their intoxications. They had drifted apart and forgotten who had damn well given them everything that they now held dear.
And the Gods had now blessed him with a return to health that permitted him to remind them.
Now he had picked them up, around the necks. And they were squirming. Because their lives of perfect idleness were being forced down a pertinent road. But eventually... if he squeezed long and hard enough... they would still, and they would conform.
"Do not whine to your sister, Mihail." Dionysios stated to his youngest, with a disgusted curl to his upper lip. "Be a man and accept your mission with a determination to prove to me that you aren't a waste of the air you breathe."
He then looked towards Nethis herself.
"Go and fetch your sisters." He demanded with an ordering tone that was not to be disobeyed. He had remained silent whilst his youngest female offspring had decided the cave to the hysteria of her sex and Thea had followed at least with a politeness of excusion. "No-one leaves a meal without the permission of the host. If they are not each returned her, you'll feel the punishment that would otherwise go to them."
See if that didn't ensure they both returned, to be ungrateful in the same room as he at least.
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Dionysios remembered with such clarity a particular event in his childhood. He had found a snake in the grounds of the estate and, despite the horror of the nurse maids and servants that had raised his in the place of parents he had never had, he had picked it up to inspect the creature. There was little that could have stopped him given the family emblem and his continuous curiosity in the animals because of the way they were emblazed upon every room in the house.
When he had found one, alive and slithering in the grass, he had picked it up, more through luck than judgement happening to grip it behind the head in a manner that prevented it from striking and stinging.
Immediately the creature had writhed. Its mouth had opened to bear its fangs as if it were screaming and the long tendril that comprised its body had slithered and wiggled and curled in upon itself like it had been set alike with fire. It had not liked the control that had been exactly upon its movements.
Curious, Dionysios had shown his calculating and patient nature but waiting out the animal. He had not let it go, nor caved to its demands as it tried to shuck its captor, hissing and bending back its jaw in its scream of silence. And slowly... lo and behold... it had stilled.
Realising that struggle was useless, the animal had decided to conserve its strength or, perhaps simply give up and it had hung limp beneath his grip and surrendered to the superior force of his human master.
That was the memory that came to mind now.
As his children bucked and writhed and squirmed.
They had been left to be free, slithering the grounds of his estates, protected under his name and honoured by the wealth and riches that his efforts had put upon them. He had provided them with a home, the finest of goods, money to buy their gowns and chitons. Fine marriages and clever games to ensure their minds developed beyond that of basic education afforded by other houses.
In those years, so much had been achieved. Dysius had become a man who could rule his barony with at least some alacrity. Mihail's uselessness had been funnelled into archery lessons that Dionysios had funded until he could actually shoot an arrow straight. Nethis had developed into a woman of great cunning and power. Thea had been left to her own devises and investigations into medicine and poisons - all the resources of which had been provided by the money bestowed by her father. And Evras had achieved a union with a prince.
Now, his health having declined to the point of being bedridden for several years, the children had been left in the gardens. The snakes set loose under their own means.
And what had they achieved?
Nothing.
They had gone their own ways, sought their own means of gratification in their plans or their men or their intoxications. They had drifted apart and forgotten who had damn well given them everything that they now held dear.
And the Gods had now blessed him with a return to health that permitted him to remind them.
Now he had picked them up, around the necks. And they were squirming. Because their lives of perfect idleness were being forced down a pertinent road. But eventually... if he squeezed long and hard enough... they would still, and they would conform.
"Do not whine to your sister, Mihail." Dionysios stated to his youngest, with a disgusted curl to his upper lip. "Be a man and accept your mission with a determination to prove to me that you aren't a waste of the air you breathe."
He then looked towards Nethis herself.
"Go and fetch your sisters." He demanded with an ordering tone that was not to be disobeyed. He had remained silent whilst his youngest female offspring had decided the cave to the hysteria of her sex and Thea had followed at least with a politeness of excusion. "No-one leaves a meal without the permission of the host. If they are not each returned her, you'll feel the punishment that would otherwise go to them."
See if that didn't ensure they both returned, to be ungrateful in the same room as he at least.
Dionysios remembered with such clarity a particular event in his childhood. He had found a snake in the grounds of the estate and, despite the horror of the nurse maids and servants that had raised his in the place of parents he had never had, he had picked it up to inspect the creature. There was little that could have stopped him given the family emblem and his continuous curiosity in the animals because of the way they were emblazed upon every room in the house.
When he had found one, alive and slithering in the grass, he had picked it up, more through luck than judgement happening to grip it behind the head in a manner that prevented it from striking and stinging.
Immediately the creature had writhed. Its mouth had opened to bear its fangs as if it were screaming and the long tendril that comprised its body had slithered and wiggled and curled in upon itself like it had been set alike with fire. It had not liked the control that had been exactly upon its movements.
Curious, Dionysios had shown his calculating and patient nature but waiting out the animal. He had not let it go, nor caved to its demands as it tried to shuck its captor, hissing and bending back its jaw in its scream of silence. And slowly... lo and behold... it had stilled.
Realising that struggle was useless, the animal had decided to conserve its strength or, perhaps simply give up and it had hung limp beneath his grip and surrendered to the superior force of his human master.
That was the memory that came to mind now.
As his children bucked and writhed and squirmed.
They had been left to be free, slithering the grounds of his estates, protected under his name and honoured by the wealth and riches that his efforts had put upon them. He had provided them with a home, the finest of goods, money to buy their gowns and chitons. Fine marriages and clever games to ensure their minds developed beyond that of basic education afforded by other houses.
In those years, so much had been achieved. Dysius had become a man who could rule his barony with at least some alacrity. Mihail's uselessness had been funnelled into archery lessons that Dionysios had funded until he could actually shoot an arrow straight. Nethis had developed into a woman of great cunning and power. Thea had been left to her own devises and investigations into medicine and poisons - all the resources of which had been provided by the money bestowed by her father. And Evras had achieved a union with a prince.
Now, his health having declined to the point of being bedridden for several years, the children had been left in the gardens. The snakes set loose under their own means.
And what had they achieved?
Nothing.
They had gone their own ways, sought their own means of gratification in their plans or their men or their intoxications. They had drifted apart and forgotten who had damn well given them everything that they now held dear.
And the Gods had now blessed him with a return to health that permitted him to remind them.
Now he had picked them up, around the necks. And they were squirming. Because their lives of perfect idleness were being forced down a pertinent road. But eventually... if he squeezed long and hard enough... they would still, and they would conform.
"Do not whine to your sister, Mihail." Dionysios stated to his youngest, with a disgusted curl to his upper lip. "Be a man and accept your mission with a determination to prove to me that you aren't a waste of the air you breathe."
He then looked towards Nethis herself.
"Go and fetch your sisters." He demanded with an ordering tone that was not to be disobeyed. He had remained silent whilst his youngest female offspring had decided the cave to the hysteria of her sex and Thea had followed at least with a politeness of excusion. "No-one leaves a meal without the permission of the host. If they are not each returned her, you'll feel the punishment that would otherwise go to them."
See if that didn't ensure they both returned, to be ungrateful in the same room as he at least.
It had not been a mistake to sit back and watch what would come. As everything unfolded around her, Nethist got the distinct impression that she and Dysius were the only smart ones at this table right now, a sentiment shared in a glance as Dionysios began to speak, addressing Evras. With that, her attention didn’t remain on commiserating with Dysius; as their father spoke Nethis landed a shrewd, narrowed gaze on the man and wondered about two words said cuttingly: ailing father.
There was no denying the truth of it, but that wasn’t what she found interesting. No, her interest was snagged by the self-awareness inherent in it; there were questions on the tip of her tongue, suddenly, meant to probe just what ailing meant, just how far this bout of clarity and self-awareness went, or if it was simply manipulative phrasing but she knew better than to loose them here and now, most of all in front of the rest of her siblings.
Perhaps later, if she were lucky, she could coax that conversation from him in the name of following a motto she knew her father held dear: forging victory.
Right now it would keep because there were other problems; Evras responded badly—which really only made Nethis roll her eyes—another protest spilling from her lips as she stood, before revealing truth Nethis hadn’t known. A quick glance to Thea followed as Evras began to walk out, and she noted, with some irritation, that Thea seemed completely unsurprised by this news and privately resolved she was going to have a conversation with her sister about keeping secrets since this was the second in a short time that mattered.
But that was for another time, something to be done softly after other pieces set themselves in place.
For now, Thea caught her gaze, and Nethis upheld her half of a—necessary—conversation regarding which of them would follow after her. By Nethis’ view, there was no question as to who it should be; she canted her head toward the door minutely in a silent statement that it should be Thea and nodded a little as if to promise she would take care of what was left here. Sure, Nethis’ concern was more the sake of a child unborn than for Evras herself, but what did it matter? Someone needed to follow after her and make sure that—in her emotionality—Evras got home safely, that she did nothing (more) foolish. Nethis had little faith in Evras, but she had some in Thea.
Plus, it was an out for Thea who likely wanted to be here as little as the rest of them, and was softer than Nethis herself. For everything Nethis had handed off to her in terms of household duties, despite the fact that Nethis asked Thea to see to their father day-to-day, she would not ask her to stay now and take more than was her due. That was for Nethis, instead, because when they were both at their best, was there not an argument to be made that Nethis matched Dionysios best?
Best to let them each play to their strengths; Thea would soothe Evras, she would manage the rest of this.
But, of course, that was only half the moment, that was Thea and Evras and there was still Mihail and his half of this, which was in some ways more impactful; the answer Dionysios had for him, well, even she—with her tenuous grasp on kindness—found it spiteful.
Her attention was drawn elsewhere not long after the announcement, but underneath, in the back of her mind, there was a brewing unease with Mihail’s silence; on some level, she understood him best – whims and impulse with a perpetual undertone of impossible longing, the longer he was silent the more worried she became. She did not know him to be quiet.
The silence extended longer than the half of this that belonged to Thea and Evras did, so much so that she found herself with spare moments to wonder how this had come about, how Mihail going to war was fait accompli. She certainly hadn’t arranged it nor had she seen anything that would hint at it, which meant either Father had managed it himself, or Dysius had helped him. She suspected the latter, and found herself glaring at Dysius now instead of commiserating with him, simply because she knew he had been helping Dionysios put his affairs in order earlier. If he were involved as she suspected, she could kill him for this.
Why had he actually followed through instead of bringing it to her and asking if he should?
Except, she knew there was an easy answer too. If Dysius had played a part in facilitating this, he had probably done it without blinking because he had a meanness to him that she sometimes echoed and put simply, her brothers didn’t like each other.
There was nothing to do now, though, most of all because finally, Mihail spoke, displaying the impulse she had spent so much time instilled in him. It was practically natural he should want her to fix this; they had their ups and downs, but didn’t she always look after him?
Immediately her heart ached, a vicious reminder that she had never been able to kill it so thoroughly as she pretended or would have liked, but before Dionysios even spoke, Nethis quietly shook her head and set her gaze on the table for lack of anything else to look at. If she was going to fix this, it wasn’t going to be here or now, it wasn’t going to be by trying to argue with Dionysios. It would take more clever maneuvering than all that.
Only, beneath the emotional response, the slick, sick dread of contemplating Mihail with his incompetence at nearly all manly pursuits involved in a war, her guile—a wildly unemotional, unchecked thing—saw the advantage of sending him. With the realization, she suddenly knew that would be what won out. Nethis was what she was. She would serve ambition and cleverness over something so weak as emotions nearly every time. There was a reason she had all but killed her heart.
Her gaze snapped up toward Dionysios when she found herself addressed once more, though she was somewhat unsurprised by the content. There had been moments in the last several years where she had taken his seat and were she there now, she’d be livid. Evras never should have left. With that in mind, she should have pushed back her chair and stood, should have offered quiet assent and done as she was told, most of all if she was going to take her part of his chastisement to heart, but had she not also dug nails into palms and promised herself that she would continue to do what was necessary?
This was not how she had anticipated things might go, but Evras had made a choice, Thea had made a choice, and so had Mihail. It followed that she should as well, leaving only Dysius without one, perhaps because his position was clearest, or because it simply had not reached that point yet, or because he had no problem with what was being asked of him. If the last was the case, she envied him, because this choice was poised at the edge of a precipice and she knew it. She could back away and go get her sisters, caution them to sit quietly in the name of letting this end or she could refuse and tip this into something unrecoverable, but she could no longer passively exist within this.
Truly, Nethis had no desire to take the combined weight of both Thea’s and Evras’ punishments for walking out. Selfishly, she was impulse-driven toward avoiding it especially because this wasn’t her fault; thus far, she had sat quietly and done as she was told for once. Yet, how did she justify bringing them back when Evras was pregnant and could ill afford to be upset in that state and Thea was best put to use in Evras’ company? How did she justify upsetting them further when she suspected the retreat of whatever ailed Dionysios was only temporary?
A beat passed in which she tried to find an answer within herself, any answer, that would convince her to go. A second was spent resigning herself to the fact that there was none to be had, that whatever the promised punishment would entail was better than more upset and furthering the risk of Evras losing a child; she’d be a fool for playing a part in possibly making things worse between Evras and Zanon because of the loss. Within a much longer third, she tried to figure out how best to refuse the demand.
On another night, she would simply refuse him bluntly without fear of consequences. However, tonight Dionysios was more present as a force than she had seen him be in ages and the promise of consequences already existed; he was actually dangerous so the approach needed to be carefully done. Briefly, she gave consideration to the opposite end of the spectrum, toward pleading with him not to make her do it, but she discarded it quickly, knowing it would do no good. Dionysios was not a man moved by pleas.
Instead, if she managed this well, it would be because she found the way to walk the line between the extremes. If she could just find the way to offer enough well-reasoned disagreement that he might choose to change his mind, but not refuse with so much challenge that she made things worse, she might resolve this without consequence.
It might have been an impossible task, but she tried best as she could manage given the few moments she had to plan any of this at all.
"I apologize, Father, but I will not," she murmured, deliberately choosing to refuse without the challenge of eye-contact, if only for the possibility that might soften the offense. A moment’s hesitance followed before she let her gaze find his. "You have every right to be angry, of course, but Evras cannot be upset further given her condition. She needs to be calm and there is too much rage within this now. Let Thea soothe her."
She gave this its momentary due, gave him time to at least start to consider before she spoke again. "If you wish to punish me for the refusal and their departures, then so be it," she added with quiet acceptance. Still, her voice sharpened slightly as she added, "But I will not follow a course I know to be ill-considered." Yes, this was an accusation that would prick deeply, but there was something in her gaze that was a plea too: Father, think and play a longer game than this moment with me. Please. No matter that she didn’t believe a later moment would necessarily come.
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It had not been a mistake to sit back and watch what would come. As everything unfolded around her, Nethist got the distinct impression that she and Dysius were the only smart ones at this table right now, a sentiment shared in a glance as Dionysios began to speak, addressing Evras. With that, her attention didn’t remain on commiserating with Dysius; as their father spoke Nethis landed a shrewd, narrowed gaze on the man and wondered about two words said cuttingly: ailing father.
There was no denying the truth of it, but that wasn’t what she found interesting. No, her interest was snagged by the self-awareness inherent in it; there were questions on the tip of her tongue, suddenly, meant to probe just what ailing meant, just how far this bout of clarity and self-awareness went, or if it was simply manipulative phrasing but she knew better than to loose them here and now, most of all in front of the rest of her siblings.
Perhaps later, if she were lucky, she could coax that conversation from him in the name of following a motto she knew her father held dear: forging victory.
Right now it would keep because there were other problems; Evras responded badly—which really only made Nethis roll her eyes—another protest spilling from her lips as she stood, before revealing truth Nethis hadn’t known. A quick glance to Thea followed as Evras began to walk out, and she noted, with some irritation, that Thea seemed completely unsurprised by this news and privately resolved she was going to have a conversation with her sister about keeping secrets since this was the second in a short time that mattered.
But that was for another time, something to be done softly after other pieces set themselves in place.
For now, Thea caught her gaze, and Nethis upheld her half of a—necessary—conversation regarding which of them would follow after her. By Nethis’ view, there was no question as to who it should be; she canted her head toward the door minutely in a silent statement that it should be Thea and nodded a little as if to promise she would take care of what was left here. Sure, Nethis’ concern was more the sake of a child unborn than for Evras herself, but what did it matter? Someone needed to follow after her and make sure that—in her emotionality—Evras got home safely, that she did nothing (more) foolish. Nethis had little faith in Evras, but she had some in Thea.
Plus, it was an out for Thea who likely wanted to be here as little as the rest of them, and was softer than Nethis herself. For everything Nethis had handed off to her in terms of household duties, despite the fact that Nethis asked Thea to see to their father day-to-day, she would not ask her to stay now and take more than was her due. That was for Nethis, instead, because when they were both at their best, was there not an argument to be made that Nethis matched Dionysios best?
Best to let them each play to their strengths; Thea would soothe Evras, she would manage the rest of this.
But, of course, that was only half the moment, that was Thea and Evras and there was still Mihail and his half of this, which was in some ways more impactful; the answer Dionysios had for him, well, even she—with her tenuous grasp on kindness—found it spiteful.
Her attention was drawn elsewhere not long after the announcement, but underneath, in the back of her mind, there was a brewing unease with Mihail’s silence; on some level, she understood him best – whims and impulse with a perpetual undertone of impossible longing, the longer he was silent the more worried she became. She did not know him to be quiet.
The silence extended longer than the half of this that belonged to Thea and Evras did, so much so that she found herself with spare moments to wonder how this had come about, how Mihail going to war was fait accompli. She certainly hadn’t arranged it nor had she seen anything that would hint at it, which meant either Father had managed it himself, or Dysius had helped him. She suspected the latter, and found herself glaring at Dysius now instead of commiserating with him, simply because she knew he had been helping Dionysios put his affairs in order earlier. If he were involved as she suspected, she could kill him for this.
Why had he actually followed through instead of bringing it to her and asking if he should?
Except, she knew there was an easy answer too. If Dysius had played a part in facilitating this, he had probably done it without blinking because he had a meanness to him that she sometimes echoed and put simply, her brothers didn’t like each other.
There was nothing to do now, though, most of all because finally, Mihail spoke, displaying the impulse she had spent so much time instilled in him. It was practically natural he should want her to fix this; they had their ups and downs, but didn’t she always look after him?
Immediately her heart ached, a vicious reminder that she had never been able to kill it so thoroughly as she pretended or would have liked, but before Dionysios even spoke, Nethis quietly shook her head and set her gaze on the table for lack of anything else to look at. If she was going to fix this, it wasn’t going to be here or now, it wasn’t going to be by trying to argue with Dionysios. It would take more clever maneuvering than all that.
Only, beneath the emotional response, the slick, sick dread of contemplating Mihail with his incompetence at nearly all manly pursuits involved in a war, her guile—a wildly unemotional, unchecked thing—saw the advantage of sending him. With the realization, she suddenly knew that would be what won out. Nethis was what she was. She would serve ambition and cleverness over something so weak as emotions nearly every time. There was a reason she had all but killed her heart.
Her gaze snapped up toward Dionysios when she found herself addressed once more, though she was somewhat unsurprised by the content. There had been moments in the last several years where she had taken his seat and were she there now, she’d be livid. Evras never should have left. With that in mind, she should have pushed back her chair and stood, should have offered quiet assent and done as she was told, most of all if she was going to take her part of his chastisement to heart, but had she not also dug nails into palms and promised herself that she would continue to do what was necessary?
This was not how she had anticipated things might go, but Evras had made a choice, Thea had made a choice, and so had Mihail. It followed that she should as well, leaving only Dysius without one, perhaps because his position was clearest, or because it simply had not reached that point yet, or because he had no problem with what was being asked of him. If the last was the case, she envied him, because this choice was poised at the edge of a precipice and she knew it. She could back away and go get her sisters, caution them to sit quietly in the name of letting this end or she could refuse and tip this into something unrecoverable, but she could no longer passively exist within this.
Truly, Nethis had no desire to take the combined weight of both Thea’s and Evras’ punishments for walking out. Selfishly, she was impulse-driven toward avoiding it especially because this wasn’t her fault; thus far, she had sat quietly and done as she was told for once. Yet, how did she justify bringing them back when Evras was pregnant and could ill afford to be upset in that state and Thea was best put to use in Evras’ company? How did she justify upsetting them further when she suspected the retreat of whatever ailed Dionysios was only temporary?
A beat passed in which she tried to find an answer within herself, any answer, that would convince her to go. A second was spent resigning herself to the fact that there was none to be had, that whatever the promised punishment would entail was better than more upset and furthering the risk of Evras losing a child; she’d be a fool for playing a part in possibly making things worse between Evras and Zanon because of the loss. Within a much longer third, she tried to figure out how best to refuse the demand.
On another night, she would simply refuse him bluntly without fear of consequences. However, tonight Dionysios was more present as a force than she had seen him be in ages and the promise of consequences already existed; he was actually dangerous so the approach needed to be carefully done. Briefly, she gave consideration to the opposite end of the spectrum, toward pleading with him not to make her do it, but she discarded it quickly, knowing it would do no good. Dionysios was not a man moved by pleas.
Instead, if she managed this well, it would be because she found the way to walk the line between the extremes. If she could just find the way to offer enough well-reasoned disagreement that he might choose to change his mind, but not refuse with so much challenge that she made things worse, she might resolve this without consequence.
It might have been an impossible task, but she tried best as she could manage given the few moments she had to plan any of this at all.
"I apologize, Father, but I will not," she murmured, deliberately choosing to refuse without the challenge of eye-contact, if only for the possibility that might soften the offense. A moment’s hesitance followed before she let her gaze find his. "You have every right to be angry, of course, but Evras cannot be upset further given her condition. She needs to be calm and there is too much rage within this now. Let Thea soothe her."
She gave this its momentary due, gave him time to at least start to consider before she spoke again. "If you wish to punish me for the refusal and their departures, then so be it," she added with quiet acceptance. Still, her voice sharpened slightly as she added, "But I will not follow a course I know to be ill-considered." Yes, this was an accusation that would prick deeply, but there was something in her gaze that was a plea too: Father, think and play a longer game than this moment with me. Please. No matter that she didn’t believe a later moment would necessarily come.
It had not been a mistake to sit back and watch what would come. As everything unfolded around her, Nethist got the distinct impression that she and Dysius were the only smart ones at this table right now, a sentiment shared in a glance as Dionysios began to speak, addressing Evras. With that, her attention didn’t remain on commiserating with Dysius; as their father spoke Nethis landed a shrewd, narrowed gaze on the man and wondered about two words said cuttingly: ailing father.
There was no denying the truth of it, but that wasn’t what she found interesting. No, her interest was snagged by the self-awareness inherent in it; there were questions on the tip of her tongue, suddenly, meant to probe just what ailing meant, just how far this bout of clarity and self-awareness went, or if it was simply manipulative phrasing but she knew better than to loose them here and now, most of all in front of the rest of her siblings.
Perhaps later, if she were lucky, she could coax that conversation from him in the name of following a motto she knew her father held dear: forging victory.
Right now it would keep because there were other problems; Evras responded badly—which really only made Nethis roll her eyes—another protest spilling from her lips as she stood, before revealing truth Nethis hadn’t known. A quick glance to Thea followed as Evras began to walk out, and she noted, with some irritation, that Thea seemed completely unsurprised by this news and privately resolved she was going to have a conversation with her sister about keeping secrets since this was the second in a short time that mattered.
But that was for another time, something to be done softly after other pieces set themselves in place.
For now, Thea caught her gaze, and Nethis upheld her half of a—necessary—conversation regarding which of them would follow after her. By Nethis’ view, there was no question as to who it should be; she canted her head toward the door minutely in a silent statement that it should be Thea and nodded a little as if to promise she would take care of what was left here. Sure, Nethis’ concern was more the sake of a child unborn than for Evras herself, but what did it matter? Someone needed to follow after her and make sure that—in her emotionality—Evras got home safely, that she did nothing (more) foolish. Nethis had little faith in Evras, but she had some in Thea.
Plus, it was an out for Thea who likely wanted to be here as little as the rest of them, and was softer than Nethis herself. For everything Nethis had handed off to her in terms of household duties, despite the fact that Nethis asked Thea to see to their father day-to-day, she would not ask her to stay now and take more than was her due. That was for Nethis, instead, because when they were both at their best, was there not an argument to be made that Nethis matched Dionysios best?
Best to let them each play to their strengths; Thea would soothe Evras, she would manage the rest of this.
But, of course, that was only half the moment, that was Thea and Evras and there was still Mihail and his half of this, which was in some ways more impactful; the answer Dionysios had for him, well, even she—with her tenuous grasp on kindness—found it spiteful.
Her attention was drawn elsewhere not long after the announcement, but underneath, in the back of her mind, there was a brewing unease with Mihail’s silence; on some level, she understood him best – whims and impulse with a perpetual undertone of impossible longing, the longer he was silent the more worried she became. She did not know him to be quiet.
The silence extended longer than the half of this that belonged to Thea and Evras did, so much so that she found herself with spare moments to wonder how this had come about, how Mihail going to war was fait accompli. She certainly hadn’t arranged it nor had she seen anything that would hint at it, which meant either Father had managed it himself, or Dysius had helped him. She suspected the latter, and found herself glaring at Dysius now instead of commiserating with him, simply because she knew he had been helping Dionysios put his affairs in order earlier. If he were involved as she suspected, she could kill him for this.
Why had he actually followed through instead of bringing it to her and asking if he should?
Except, she knew there was an easy answer too. If Dysius had played a part in facilitating this, he had probably done it without blinking because he had a meanness to him that she sometimes echoed and put simply, her brothers didn’t like each other.
There was nothing to do now, though, most of all because finally, Mihail spoke, displaying the impulse she had spent so much time instilled in him. It was practically natural he should want her to fix this; they had their ups and downs, but didn’t she always look after him?
Immediately her heart ached, a vicious reminder that she had never been able to kill it so thoroughly as she pretended or would have liked, but before Dionysios even spoke, Nethis quietly shook her head and set her gaze on the table for lack of anything else to look at. If she was going to fix this, it wasn’t going to be here or now, it wasn’t going to be by trying to argue with Dionysios. It would take more clever maneuvering than all that.
Only, beneath the emotional response, the slick, sick dread of contemplating Mihail with his incompetence at nearly all manly pursuits involved in a war, her guile—a wildly unemotional, unchecked thing—saw the advantage of sending him. With the realization, she suddenly knew that would be what won out. Nethis was what she was. She would serve ambition and cleverness over something so weak as emotions nearly every time. There was a reason she had all but killed her heart.
Her gaze snapped up toward Dionysios when she found herself addressed once more, though she was somewhat unsurprised by the content. There had been moments in the last several years where she had taken his seat and were she there now, she’d be livid. Evras never should have left. With that in mind, she should have pushed back her chair and stood, should have offered quiet assent and done as she was told, most of all if she was going to take her part of his chastisement to heart, but had she not also dug nails into palms and promised herself that she would continue to do what was necessary?
This was not how she had anticipated things might go, but Evras had made a choice, Thea had made a choice, and so had Mihail. It followed that she should as well, leaving only Dysius without one, perhaps because his position was clearest, or because it simply had not reached that point yet, or because he had no problem with what was being asked of him. If the last was the case, she envied him, because this choice was poised at the edge of a precipice and she knew it. She could back away and go get her sisters, caution them to sit quietly in the name of letting this end or she could refuse and tip this into something unrecoverable, but she could no longer passively exist within this.
Truly, Nethis had no desire to take the combined weight of both Thea’s and Evras’ punishments for walking out. Selfishly, she was impulse-driven toward avoiding it especially because this wasn’t her fault; thus far, she had sat quietly and done as she was told for once. Yet, how did she justify bringing them back when Evras was pregnant and could ill afford to be upset in that state and Thea was best put to use in Evras’ company? How did she justify upsetting them further when she suspected the retreat of whatever ailed Dionysios was only temporary?
A beat passed in which she tried to find an answer within herself, any answer, that would convince her to go. A second was spent resigning herself to the fact that there was none to be had, that whatever the promised punishment would entail was better than more upset and furthering the risk of Evras losing a child; she’d be a fool for playing a part in possibly making things worse between Evras and Zanon because of the loss. Within a much longer third, she tried to figure out how best to refuse the demand.
On another night, she would simply refuse him bluntly without fear of consequences. However, tonight Dionysios was more present as a force than she had seen him be in ages and the promise of consequences already existed; he was actually dangerous so the approach needed to be carefully done. Briefly, she gave consideration to the opposite end of the spectrum, toward pleading with him not to make her do it, but she discarded it quickly, knowing it would do no good. Dionysios was not a man moved by pleas.
Instead, if she managed this well, it would be because she found the way to walk the line between the extremes. If she could just find the way to offer enough well-reasoned disagreement that he might choose to change his mind, but not refuse with so much challenge that she made things worse, she might resolve this without consequence.
It might have been an impossible task, but she tried best as she could manage given the few moments she had to plan any of this at all.
"I apologize, Father, but I will not," she murmured, deliberately choosing to refuse without the challenge of eye-contact, if only for the possibility that might soften the offense. A moment’s hesitance followed before she let her gaze find his. "You have every right to be angry, of course, but Evras cannot be upset further given her condition. She needs to be calm and there is too much rage within this now. Let Thea soothe her."
She gave this its momentary due, gave him time to at least start to consider before she spoke again. "If you wish to punish me for the refusal and their departures, then so be it," she added with quiet acceptance. Still, her voice sharpened slightly as she added, "But I will not follow a course I know to be ill-considered." Yes, this was an accusation that would prick deeply, but there was something in her gaze that was a plea too: Father, think and play a longer game than this moment with me. Please. No matter that she didn’t believe a later moment would necessarily come.