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The lands of Aetaea are usually lush and green. But the summer has been dry and hot and the leaves and brush of the plant life are thin and crisp. So, when Lord Rafail of Marikas arrives in order to see justice done and a runaway Queen apprehended, it is easy enough for a simple flame; an accidental spark, a deliberate flash - to spark along the grasslands and move its way towards the lands of the Argyris estate. Yet, the men that come with torches burning bright cannot simply burn and leave. This time, there will be no excuse for a lack of body to prove the death of Queen Persephone...
Please Note: This thread is set as an Event thread because of its significance to global plot. It may be that, due to location, your character cannot roleplay in this event. If, however, you have a viable reason for why your character is in Aetaea at this time then feel free to be a part of the fun!
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The lands of Aetaea are usually lush and green. But the summer has been dry and hot and the leaves and brush of the plant life are thin and crisp. So, when Lord Rafail of Marikas arrives in order to see justice done and a runaway Queen apprehended, it is easy enough for a simple flame; an accidental spark, a deliberate flash - to spark along the grasslands and move its way towards the lands of the Argyris estate. Yet, the men that come with torches burning bright cannot simply burn and leave. This time, there will be no excuse for a lack of body to prove the death of Queen Persephone...
Please Note: This thread is set as an Event thread because of its significance to global plot. It may be that, due to location, your character cannot roleplay in this event. If, however, you have a viable reason for why your character is in Aetaea at this time then feel free to be a part of the fun!
Up In Smoke Event - Athenia
The lands of Aetaea are usually lush and green. But the summer has been dry and hot and the leaves and brush of the plant life are thin and crisp. So, when Lord Rafail of Marikas arrives in order to see justice done and a runaway Queen apprehended, it is easy enough for a simple flame; an accidental spark, a deliberate flash - to spark along the grasslands and move its way towards the lands of the Argyris estate. Yet, the men that come with torches burning bright cannot simply burn and leave. This time, there will be no excuse for a lack of body to prove the death of Queen Persephone...
Please Note: This thread is set as an Event thread because of its significance to global plot. It may be that, due to location, your character cannot roleplay in this event. If, however, you have a viable reason for why your character is in Aetaea at this time then feel free to be a part of the fun!
Rafail was feeling valuable. Was that the correct word for it? Perhaps not. 'Helpful' was probably a more accurate term because, despite constant underlying arrogance, he was not quite sure how valuable his aid was in the grand scheme of things. So far as he was concerned, Elias had all his plans more or less figured out, and when he required his best friend's assistance, then he was more than happy to provide, but there was plenty which could be done by any. Not the procurement of food for the starving people of the capital, however. That had been nothing less than a stroke of genius on Rafail's behalf, and, despite failure, he thoroughly considered himself a hero of the people as a result.
Find Persephone, and ensure her death. It was easier said than done, unless you were filled with enough hubris to believe that anything could be done if you willed it, which, luckily, Rafail was. He was heading a group of soldiers from his own unit that he considered to be both loyal and competent enough to help with the task at hand - which inexplicably and upsettingly included his Uncle Keikelius - and settled comfortably on the back of his always-favoured stallion Arion as they approached the Argyris home. The last time Rafail had been here was during that ill-fated hunting trip he had taken several months back, during which the baron's daughter had inexplicably rejected his advances (not that that was the story most of Athenia was hearing). Now, the old baron had passed, and that ridiculous girl was harbouring the missing Queen, so he had heard. It was a darling opportunity to obtain the vengeance he so desired for not one, but two foolish rejections. Let that be a lesson to the women who thought they could cross a Marikas.
He drew Arion to a stop some distance from the estate, signalling for the rest of the men behind him to do the same. They were well-armed, but several now carried torches ready for lighting, for there was an easy way to weed a pest out of a home (not that he ever handled such things in his own home), and that was to smoke it out. There would be nowhere for Persephone to hide, and either she would be captured and doomed to death, or she would perish in the fire, and only her charred remains would make it out.
"Light them," he ordered, not yet turning his gaze to the lieutenant who had urged his steed forward to hover beside him. The Marikas glanced towards the trees shivering in the light breeze, remembering one of the few tricks he had actually picked up from his military training, noting the way the leaves drifted away from the estate. "The wind is in our favour. They should not see us coming."
The man nodded, turning to pass the command to those few who held their torches, the produced smoke easily billowing away from the home they were approaching. "On your command, my Lord."
On his command. Rafail took a brief moment before speaking again, still watching the trees, though his eyes were not focussed on the direction of the wind any longer. Those within the condemned building deserved this, he was quite confident. It was House Xanthos that had stolen away Papa's deserved crown, and pushed Marikas to a lesser position than they deserved, and it was Persephone who had once rejected the man - the most undeniably eligible and handsome bachelor in Athenia (sorry, Elias) - and taken away his own chance at the throne as well. Now, there was only one viable contender to the throne in which he believed, and they were the only way Rafail was going to get what he wanted in the long run.
He turned Arion around, facing the others, straightening himself to full height, expression severe as he nodded towards the forest and the men moved to complete the action, the flames catching quickly onto the dry wood of the trees and spreading with ease. "Burn it all. I want nothing left: no forest, no estate, no survivors. And when the bitch burns, bring me her body."
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Jun 16, 2020 23:14:03 GMT
Posted In Up In Smoke on Jun 16, 2020 23:14:03 GMT
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Rafail was feeling valuable. Was that the correct word for it? Perhaps not. 'Helpful' was probably a more accurate term because, despite constant underlying arrogance, he was not quite sure how valuable his aid was in the grand scheme of things. So far as he was concerned, Elias had all his plans more or less figured out, and when he required his best friend's assistance, then he was more than happy to provide, but there was plenty which could be done by any. Not the procurement of food for the starving people of the capital, however. That had been nothing less than a stroke of genius on Rafail's behalf, and, despite failure, he thoroughly considered himself a hero of the people as a result.
Find Persephone, and ensure her death. It was easier said than done, unless you were filled with enough hubris to believe that anything could be done if you willed it, which, luckily, Rafail was. He was heading a group of soldiers from his own unit that he considered to be both loyal and competent enough to help with the task at hand - which inexplicably and upsettingly included his Uncle Keikelius - and settled comfortably on the back of his always-favoured stallion Arion as they approached the Argyris home. The last time Rafail had been here was during that ill-fated hunting trip he had taken several months back, during which the baron's daughter had inexplicably rejected his advances (not that that was the story most of Athenia was hearing). Now, the old baron had passed, and that ridiculous girl was harbouring the missing Queen, so he had heard. It was a darling opportunity to obtain the vengeance he so desired for not one, but two foolish rejections. Let that be a lesson to the women who thought they could cross a Marikas.
He drew Arion to a stop some distance from the estate, signalling for the rest of the men behind him to do the same. They were well-armed, but several now carried torches ready for lighting, for there was an easy way to weed a pest out of a home (not that he ever handled such things in his own home), and that was to smoke it out. There would be nowhere for Persephone to hide, and either she would be captured and doomed to death, or she would perish in the fire, and only her charred remains would make it out.
"Light them," he ordered, not yet turning his gaze to the lieutenant who had urged his steed forward to hover beside him. The Marikas glanced towards the trees shivering in the light breeze, remembering one of the few tricks he had actually picked up from his military training, noting the way the leaves drifted away from the estate. "The wind is in our favour. They should not see us coming."
The man nodded, turning to pass the command to those few who held their torches, the produced smoke easily billowing away from the home they were approaching. "On your command, my Lord."
On his command. Rafail took a brief moment before speaking again, still watching the trees, though his eyes were not focussed on the direction of the wind any longer. Those within the condemned building deserved this, he was quite confident. It was House Xanthos that had stolen away Papa's deserved crown, and pushed Marikas to a lesser position than they deserved, and it was Persephone who had once rejected the man - the most undeniably eligible and handsome bachelor in Athenia (sorry, Elias) - and taken away his own chance at the throne as well. Now, there was only one viable contender to the throne in which he believed, and they were the only way Rafail was going to get what he wanted in the long run.
He turned Arion around, facing the others, straightening himself to full height, expression severe as he nodded towards the forest and the men moved to complete the action, the flames catching quickly onto the dry wood of the trees and spreading with ease. "Burn it all. I want nothing left: no forest, no estate, no survivors. And when the bitch burns, bring me her body."
Rafail was feeling valuable. Was that the correct word for it? Perhaps not. 'Helpful' was probably a more accurate term because, despite constant underlying arrogance, he was not quite sure how valuable his aid was in the grand scheme of things. So far as he was concerned, Elias had all his plans more or less figured out, and when he required his best friend's assistance, then he was more than happy to provide, but there was plenty which could be done by any. Not the procurement of food for the starving people of the capital, however. That had been nothing less than a stroke of genius on Rafail's behalf, and, despite failure, he thoroughly considered himself a hero of the people as a result.
Find Persephone, and ensure her death. It was easier said than done, unless you were filled with enough hubris to believe that anything could be done if you willed it, which, luckily, Rafail was. He was heading a group of soldiers from his own unit that he considered to be both loyal and competent enough to help with the task at hand - which inexplicably and upsettingly included his Uncle Keikelius - and settled comfortably on the back of his always-favoured stallion Arion as they approached the Argyris home. The last time Rafail had been here was during that ill-fated hunting trip he had taken several months back, during which the baron's daughter had inexplicably rejected his advances (not that that was the story most of Athenia was hearing). Now, the old baron had passed, and that ridiculous girl was harbouring the missing Queen, so he had heard. It was a darling opportunity to obtain the vengeance he so desired for not one, but two foolish rejections. Let that be a lesson to the women who thought they could cross a Marikas.
He drew Arion to a stop some distance from the estate, signalling for the rest of the men behind him to do the same. They were well-armed, but several now carried torches ready for lighting, for there was an easy way to weed a pest out of a home (not that he ever handled such things in his own home), and that was to smoke it out. There would be nowhere for Persephone to hide, and either she would be captured and doomed to death, or she would perish in the fire, and only her charred remains would make it out.
"Light them," he ordered, not yet turning his gaze to the lieutenant who had urged his steed forward to hover beside him. The Marikas glanced towards the trees shivering in the light breeze, remembering one of the few tricks he had actually picked up from his military training, noting the way the leaves drifted away from the estate. "The wind is in our favour. They should not see us coming."
The man nodded, turning to pass the command to those few who held their torches, the produced smoke easily billowing away from the home they were approaching. "On your command, my Lord."
On his command. Rafail took a brief moment before speaking again, still watching the trees, though his eyes were not focussed on the direction of the wind any longer. Those within the condemned building deserved this, he was quite confident. It was House Xanthos that had stolen away Papa's deserved crown, and pushed Marikas to a lesser position than they deserved, and it was Persephone who had once rejected the man - the most undeniably eligible and handsome bachelor in Athenia (sorry, Elias) - and taken away his own chance at the throne as well. Now, there was only one viable contender to the throne in which he believed, and they were the only way Rafail was going to get what he wanted in the long run.
He turned Arion around, facing the others, straightening himself to full height, expression severe as he nodded towards the forest and the men moved to complete the action, the flames catching quickly onto the dry wood of the trees and spreading with ease. "Burn it all. I want nothing left: no forest, no estate, no survivors. And when the bitch burns, bring me her body."
It was but a rumor, but sometimes rumors needed to be followed. He was not the master informer, but their information had seemed to be sound. All it had taken was a few letters exchanged back and forth between himself, his wife, and his son... all of them burned when everything was said and done. And Keikelius had come out of his quiet exile with the intention of accompanying Lord Marikas on the hunt for Persephone. The course of action that Keikelius would take, however, that was still to be decided. A multitude of things were running through his mind, and though Elias did want Persephone dead, the man still did not think it a sound idea.
Because while many cried out in support of Persephone in public, how many called her name in private? How many vyed for her to return to her post as queen, especially with the hopelessness that Elias, whether intentional or not, had brought to the people of Athenia. Elias was intelligent and logical, even he had to see that burning the Queen of Athenia alive was bound to cause and uproar of massive proportions.
It was not the course of action that Elias should have taken, so while Keikelius agreed to go and help Lord Marikas with his task of burning the Aetaean forest and the Argyris manor, his mind was not actually on helping to complete the task. It was on maneuvering himself to play on the other side of the field. To bring Athenia back together with both halves, not just one. Burning Persephone to ash would do little but martyr her. People would scream her name louder and Xanthos would likely still come out the victor when the people fully rose up to put an end to the Stravos rebellion.
So there would be no Stravos rebellion.
The retired calvalry soldier had been mounted upon his horse for hours upon end, but even now he was still practiced and comfortable atop his stallion. He followed at a more casual pace to the soldiers that accompanied them. Once they fell into position, Keikelius was quick to ensure that all of the soldiers were distracted with their tasks. That was his chance to slip away, knowing that his nephew did not want him there to begin with, so he would be all but forgotten in the fray once the fires began to burn hot and bright with the first fires catching on try trees and underbrush.
Once upon a time, Lord Keikelius had walked the halls of Argyris manor. It was a stunning home. One that Lord Takis had taken great pride in building for his growing family. But the young grew old, and though the beauty of the manor was something that even Keikelius would eventually mourn, the only way to weed out the Queen and throw her into Keikelius' grasp was to smoke her out. Literally.
So he trailed his horse away from the group, fading into some of the thicker brush that would not catch fire for some time, even with the blazing heat that spread quickly from branch to branch, leaf to leaf.
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It was but a rumor, but sometimes rumors needed to be followed. He was not the master informer, but their information had seemed to be sound. All it had taken was a few letters exchanged back and forth between himself, his wife, and his son... all of them burned when everything was said and done. And Keikelius had come out of his quiet exile with the intention of accompanying Lord Marikas on the hunt for Persephone. The course of action that Keikelius would take, however, that was still to be decided. A multitude of things were running through his mind, and though Elias did want Persephone dead, the man still did not think it a sound idea.
Because while many cried out in support of Persephone in public, how many called her name in private? How many vyed for her to return to her post as queen, especially with the hopelessness that Elias, whether intentional or not, had brought to the people of Athenia. Elias was intelligent and logical, even he had to see that burning the Queen of Athenia alive was bound to cause and uproar of massive proportions.
It was not the course of action that Elias should have taken, so while Keikelius agreed to go and help Lord Marikas with his task of burning the Aetaean forest and the Argyris manor, his mind was not actually on helping to complete the task. It was on maneuvering himself to play on the other side of the field. To bring Athenia back together with both halves, not just one. Burning Persephone to ash would do little but martyr her. People would scream her name louder and Xanthos would likely still come out the victor when the people fully rose up to put an end to the Stravos rebellion.
So there would be no Stravos rebellion.
The retired calvalry soldier had been mounted upon his horse for hours upon end, but even now he was still practiced and comfortable atop his stallion. He followed at a more casual pace to the soldiers that accompanied them. Once they fell into position, Keikelius was quick to ensure that all of the soldiers were distracted with their tasks. That was his chance to slip away, knowing that his nephew did not want him there to begin with, so he would be all but forgotten in the fray once the fires began to burn hot and bright with the first fires catching on try trees and underbrush.
Once upon a time, Lord Keikelius had walked the halls of Argyris manor. It was a stunning home. One that Lord Takis had taken great pride in building for his growing family. But the young grew old, and though the beauty of the manor was something that even Keikelius would eventually mourn, the only way to weed out the Queen and throw her into Keikelius' grasp was to smoke her out. Literally.
So he trailed his horse away from the group, fading into some of the thicker brush that would not catch fire for some time, even with the blazing heat that spread quickly from branch to branch, leaf to leaf.
It was but a rumor, but sometimes rumors needed to be followed. He was not the master informer, but their information had seemed to be sound. All it had taken was a few letters exchanged back and forth between himself, his wife, and his son... all of them burned when everything was said and done. And Keikelius had come out of his quiet exile with the intention of accompanying Lord Marikas on the hunt for Persephone. The course of action that Keikelius would take, however, that was still to be decided. A multitude of things were running through his mind, and though Elias did want Persephone dead, the man still did not think it a sound idea.
Because while many cried out in support of Persephone in public, how many called her name in private? How many vyed for her to return to her post as queen, especially with the hopelessness that Elias, whether intentional or not, had brought to the people of Athenia. Elias was intelligent and logical, even he had to see that burning the Queen of Athenia alive was bound to cause and uproar of massive proportions.
It was not the course of action that Elias should have taken, so while Keikelius agreed to go and help Lord Marikas with his task of burning the Aetaean forest and the Argyris manor, his mind was not actually on helping to complete the task. It was on maneuvering himself to play on the other side of the field. To bring Athenia back together with both halves, not just one. Burning Persephone to ash would do little but martyr her. People would scream her name louder and Xanthos would likely still come out the victor when the people fully rose up to put an end to the Stravos rebellion.
So there would be no Stravos rebellion.
The retired calvalry soldier had been mounted upon his horse for hours upon end, but even now he was still practiced and comfortable atop his stallion. He followed at a more casual pace to the soldiers that accompanied them. Once they fell into position, Keikelius was quick to ensure that all of the soldiers were distracted with their tasks. That was his chance to slip away, knowing that his nephew did not want him there to begin with, so he would be all but forgotten in the fray once the fires began to burn hot and bright with the first fires catching on try trees and underbrush.
Once upon a time, Lord Keikelius had walked the halls of Argyris manor. It was a stunning home. One that Lord Takis had taken great pride in building for his growing family. But the young grew old, and though the beauty of the manor was something that even Keikelius would eventually mourn, the only way to weed out the Queen and throw her into Keikelius' grasp was to smoke her out. Literally.
So he trailed his horse away from the group, fading into some of the thicker brush that would not catch fire for some time, even with the blazing heat that spread quickly from branch to branch, leaf to leaf.
The feeling in the pit of her stomach was unlike anything she had ever felt in her life. She had spotted the curling tendrils of smoke from atop of her mare in the fading light of the evening. Her heart sunk in a way that she was sure meant it was dying in her chest. The overly dry heat of the summer had left Iris worried for the health of her forests, and even the recent storm hadn't done anything to help curb the danger that such a driness brought Aetaea. But seeing it now, now it made that fear realized. It made it solid and the heat of the summer held nothing to the flames that were starting to engulf her beloved lands.
If she had thought to cry rather than make her way quickly home in the literal heat of the moment, she would have. As it stood right then and there, she couldn't bring herself to cry. She couldn't bring herself to feel the grief she desperately wanted to in that moment simply because there were other lives at stake. The slaves that were with her, having been assigned the task of helping the lady of Aetaea hunt for more meat to put on their growning table, flanked Iris closely.
It hadn't occurred to the lady that there was anything amiss. There was no real reason, save for the catching of deadening brush, that the forest should be on fire. For a moment, she couldn't connect the fact that their enemies had come for the Queen and that they were willing to take everyone in Aetaea with them. Maybe one day, she would realize how low Elias had stooped to catch what he could not have, but her mind was on her family. Her mind was on Aimias and Gaios, on Persephone and Acantha, on Olena, on Iason and Praxiteles, Chrysanthe, even. All of them were on the grounds of the manor, and Iris was racing her hardest through the forest to make it back to the manor before the fire caught too far. Before it was able to pose any danger at all to her home.
Dismounting quickly, Iris burst back into her home. “The forest is alight!” she called loudly into the house. In that instant, it was as if the entire world had stopped. The few servants who were still working looked up with wide eyes and then fell into a frenzy, each going down a different hall to find one of the occupants of the manor.
Iris herself literally ran through her own halls, her himation unkempt as she burst into her husband's study, out of breath and looking worried. “The forest is on fire,” she said quickly, “I don't know if its in one place or another, but its not safe here. Where is the queen?” she asked Aimias pointedly, her brows furrowing. “The Queen and Lord Iason. Olena? Praxiteles and Gaios? Have you seen any of them?”
Her heart was pounding in her chest and she was surely not moving fast enough to make any of a difference in the outcome of this dawning, burning night.
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The feeling in the pit of her stomach was unlike anything she had ever felt in her life. She had spotted the curling tendrils of smoke from atop of her mare in the fading light of the evening. Her heart sunk in a way that she was sure meant it was dying in her chest. The overly dry heat of the summer had left Iris worried for the health of her forests, and even the recent storm hadn't done anything to help curb the danger that such a driness brought Aetaea. But seeing it now, now it made that fear realized. It made it solid and the heat of the summer held nothing to the flames that were starting to engulf her beloved lands.
If she had thought to cry rather than make her way quickly home in the literal heat of the moment, she would have. As it stood right then and there, she couldn't bring herself to cry. She couldn't bring herself to feel the grief she desperately wanted to in that moment simply because there were other lives at stake. The slaves that were with her, having been assigned the task of helping the lady of Aetaea hunt for more meat to put on their growning table, flanked Iris closely.
It hadn't occurred to the lady that there was anything amiss. There was no real reason, save for the catching of deadening brush, that the forest should be on fire. For a moment, she couldn't connect the fact that their enemies had come for the Queen and that they were willing to take everyone in Aetaea with them. Maybe one day, she would realize how low Elias had stooped to catch what he could not have, but her mind was on her family. Her mind was on Aimias and Gaios, on Persephone and Acantha, on Olena, on Iason and Praxiteles, Chrysanthe, even. All of them were on the grounds of the manor, and Iris was racing her hardest through the forest to make it back to the manor before the fire caught too far. Before it was able to pose any danger at all to her home.
Dismounting quickly, Iris burst back into her home. “The forest is alight!” she called loudly into the house. In that instant, it was as if the entire world had stopped. The few servants who were still working looked up with wide eyes and then fell into a frenzy, each going down a different hall to find one of the occupants of the manor.
Iris herself literally ran through her own halls, her himation unkempt as she burst into her husband's study, out of breath and looking worried. “The forest is on fire,” she said quickly, “I don't know if its in one place or another, but its not safe here. Where is the queen?” she asked Aimias pointedly, her brows furrowing. “The Queen and Lord Iason. Olena? Praxiteles and Gaios? Have you seen any of them?”
Her heart was pounding in her chest and she was surely not moving fast enough to make any of a difference in the outcome of this dawning, burning night.
The feeling in the pit of her stomach was unlike anything she had ever felt in her life. She had spotted the curling tendrils of smoke from atop of her mare in the fading light of the evening. Her heart sunk in a way that she was sure meant it was dying in her chest. The overly dry heat of the summer had left Iris worried for the health of her forests, and even the recent storm hadn't done anything to help curb the danger that such a driness brought Aetaea. But seeing it now, now it made that fear realized. It made it solid and the heat of the summer held nothing to the flames that were starting to engulf her beloved lands.
If she had thought to cry rather than make her way quickly home in the literal heat of the moment, she would have. As it stood right then and there, she couldn't bring herself to cry. She couldn't bring herself to feel the grief she desperately wanted to in that moment simply because there were other lives at stake. The slaves that were with her, having been assigned the task of helping the lady of Aetaea hunt for more meat to put on their growning table, flanked Iris closely.
It hadn't occurred to the lady that there was anything amiss. There was no real reason, save for the catching of deadening brush, that the forest should be on fire. For a moment, she couldn't connect the fact that their enemies had come for the Queen and that they were willing to take everyone in Aetaea with them. Maybe one day, she would realize how low Elias had stooped to catch what he could not have, but her mind was on her family. Her mind was on Aimias and Gaios, on Persephone and Acantha, on Olena, on Iason and Praxiteles, Chrysanthe, even. All of them were on the grounds of the manor, and Iris was racing her hardest through the forest to make it back to the manor before the fire caught too far. Before it was able to pose any danger at all to her home.
Dismounting quickly, Iris burst back into her home. “The forest is alight!” she called loudly into the house. In that instant, it was as if the entire world had stopped. The few servants who were still working looked up with wide eyes and then fell into a frenzy, each going down a different hall to find one of the occupants of the manor.
Iris herself literally ran through her own halls, her himation unkempt as she burst into her husband's study, out of breath and looking worried. “The forest is on fire,” she said quickly, “I don't know if its in one place or another, but its not safe here. Where is the queen?” she asked Aimias pointedly, her brows furrowing. “The Queen and Lord Iason. Olena? Praxiteles and Gaios? Have you seen any of them?”
Her heart was pounding in her chest and she was surely not moving fast enough to make any of a difference in the outcome of this dawning, burning night.
At first, Chrysanthe had thought nothing about the smell of smoke in the air. It was the time of the year where there was starting to be a chill in the air. The smoke could have come from any number of sources, from someone lighting a fire in order to warm a room, to the wind having changed direction so it was now blowing from where the fires constantly burned in the kitchen. Perhaps if she had been less distracted, Chrysanthe might have noticed that the smoke had a different edge to it than the normal kitchen smoke or the growing plume of smoke on the horizon, but she was instead sitting in the library attempting to work her way through a random book she had pulled off the shelf.
Chrysanthe had found herself a corner of the library where she wouldn’t be disturbed, nor would she disturb anyone else while she attempted to read. She had picked the book due to some pretty flowers that had been inked onto the spine of the book, but it was turning out to be a much less interesting read than she expected. As she sat there, finger following each line of text as she sounded out the words, it was becoming increasingly clear that this book held the history and lineage of some Athenian family, presumably with a flower as their family crest. Still, practice was practice and the only way to get better at reading was to read.
Chrysanthe had been trying to sound out what she was starting to realize had to be some sort of obscure name for what felt like five minutes when she heard frantic footsteps and Iris’s call that the forest was on fire. That had Chrysanthe jumping to her feet, the book left to fall to the floor as she rushed out of the room. She needed to get to Perse; she would know what to do. Whether or not she would be expected to stay and help fight the fire, or gather their things so that they could escape to safety, she didn’t want to just start out in the wrong direction before there was a chance to coordinate what they needed to do.
She burst into Perse’s room without knocking. “The forest is on fire! I heard Iris in the hallway saying so!” She hoped that Perse might have some idea of how to handle this situation. Chrysanthe.
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Jun 22, 2020 16:37:50 GMT
Posted In Up In Smoke on Jun 22, 2020 16:37:50 GMT
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At first, Chrysanthe had thought nothing about the smell of smoke in the air. It was the time of the year where there was starting to be a chill in the air. The smoke could have come from any number of sources, from someone lighting a fire in order to warm a room, to the wind having changed direction so it was now blowing from where the fires constantly burned in the kitchen. Perhaps if she had been less distracted, Chrysanthe might have noticed that the smoke had a different edge to it than the normal kitchen smoke or the growing plume of smoke on the horizon, but she was instead sitting in the library attempting to work her way through a random book she had pulled off the shelf.
Chrysanthe had found herself a corner of the library where she wouldn’t be disturbed, nor would she disturb anyone else while she attempted to read. She had picked the book due to some pretty flowers that had been inked onto the spine of the book, but it was turning out to be a much less interesting read than she expected. As she sat there, finger following each line of text as she sounded out the words, it was becoming increasingly clear that this book held the history and lineage of some Athenian family, presumably with a flower as their family crest. Still, practice was practice and the only way to get better at reading was to read.
Chrysanthe had been trying to sound out what she was starting to realize had to be some sort of obscure name for what felt like five minutes when she heard frantic footsteps and Iris’s call that the forest was on fire. That had Chrysanthe jumping to her feet, the book left to fall to the floor as she rushed out of the room. She needed to get to Perse; she would know what to do. Whether or not she would be expected to stay and help fight the fire, or gather their things so that they could escape to safety, she didn’t want to just start out in the wrong direction before there was a chance to coordinate what they needed to do.
She burst into Perse’s room without knocking. “The forest is on fire! I heard Iris in the hallway saying so!” She hoped that Perse might have some idea of how to handle this situation. Chrysanthe.
At first, Chrysanthe had thought nothing about the smell of smoke in the air. It was the time of the year where there was starting to be a chill in the air. The smoke could have come from any number of sources, from someone lighting a fire in order to warm a room, to the wind having changed direction so it was now blowing from where the fires constantly burned in the kitchen. Perhaps if she had been less distracted, Chrysanthe might have noticed that the smoke had a different edge to it than the normal kitchen smoke or the growing plume of smoke on the horizon, but she was instead sitting in the library attempting to work her way through a random book she had pulled off the shelf.
Chrysanthe had found herself a corner of the library where she wouldn’t be disturbed, nor would she disturb anyone else while she attempted to read. She had picked the book due to some pretty flowers that had been inked onto the spine of the book, but it was turning out to be a much less interesting read than she expected. As she sat there, finger following each line of text as she sounded out the words, it was becoming increasingly clear that this book held the history and lineage of some Athenian family, presumably with a flower as their family crest. Still, practice was practice and the only way to get better at reading was to read.
Chrysanthe had been trying to sound out what she was starting to realize had to be some sort of obscure name for what felt like five minutes when she heard frantic footsteps and Iris’s call that the forest was on fire. That had Chrysanthe jumping to her feet, the book left to fall to the floor as she rushed out of the room. She needed to get to Perse; she would know what to do. Whether or not she would be expected to stay and help fight the fire, or gather their things so that they could escape to safety, she didn’t want to just start out in the wrong direction before there was a chance to coordinate what they needed to do.
She burst into Perse’s room without knocking. “The forest is on fire! I heard Iris in the hallway saying so!” She hoped that Perse might have some idea of how to handle this situation. Chrysanthe.
Ariadne had spent her time Aetaea in a mixed state of mind. She was grateful (relieved, happy, overly emotional) to be with Persephone again. However, she was also worried about her family and feeling intensely guilty that she had left them behind. In the moment, there was only one decision for her to make, but with more time to reflect, she wondered if there wasn’t something else that she could have done. She had left a note for her father, but had he found it? She was half surprised that he hadn’t torn up the countryside looking for her, note or no. She tried not to reflect on that too much, knowing that would not lead to productive thinking. The girl couldn’t guess at what she didn’t know. It was the same as when Persephone was gone. And that had turned out better than she could have hoped.
It had been interesting getting to know Persephone’s new companions. She realized they had all been through something together, something that Ari would have no experience of. Ari was grateful to the women that had been with her mistress during this time, but in some ways she felt like an outsider in a group that she had been a part of half of her life. However, Ari made no mention of it to anyone—there were greater problems on everyone’s minds, hers included. Besides, she had no real reason to feel hurt anyway. It wasn’t as if anything they were doing was intentional. Ariadne wasn’t even sure if what she was feeling was quite real.
Today, after attending to Persephone in the morning, Ariadne left to wander the halls and explore some. Eventually, she ended up in the kitchens. That was where she always went to feel at home. Whether in the capital or someone else’s estate, it seemed that the kitchens were a place of comfort for her. They were also a place of valuable information. Ari let herself be put to work, forgotten, and would listen to the hearts and minds of servants. Most people paid her little mind, especially as she was a new face here.
The kitchens were also the first place news seemed to travel to. This was one thing that Ariadne always appreciated. Though, the news that morning wasn’t something at all that she wanted to hear. A boy burst in with news that the forest was on fire and immediately there was action within the room. Ariadne could tell that this was bad by the way that people were moving. She could have stayed to help, but her first thought was for Persephone and the other ladies. She wouldn’t be much use putting out a fire, but she could help organize an escape if that was necessary. And she prayed to the gods that it was not.
Immediately, Ariadne left her post, slipping out of the kitchens and into the hallway, making her way towards Persephone’s rooms. Nothing was more important to her than the safety of her queen. Ariadne moved through the halls, spotting Lady Iris. Although it was unbecoming of her to follow her into the study, it seemed that this was not a moment for decorum.
“How bad is it, my lady?” she asked, following the woman into the room. She had heard the last few questions the woman asked her husband and hoped she could still provide an accurate answer to one. “The queen was in her chambers earlier. Should we be evacuating?” If that was the case, then gods help them all.
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Jun 25, 2020 15:31:40 GMT
Posted In Up In Smoke on Jun 25, 2020 15:31:40 GMT
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Ariadne had spent her time Aetaea in a mixed state of mind. She was grateful (relieved, happy, overly emotional) to be with Persephone again. However, she was also worried about her family and feeling intensely guilty that she had left them behind. In the moment, there was only one decision for her to make, but with more time to reflect, she wondered if there wasn’t something else that she could have done. She had left a note for her father, but had he found it? She was half surprised that he hadn’t torn up the countryside looking for her, note or no. She tried not to reflect on that too much, knowing that would not lead to productive thinking. The girl couldn’t guess at what she didn’t know. It was the same as when Persephone was gone. And that had turned out better than she could have hoped.
It had been interesting getting to know Persephone’s new companions. She realized they had all been through something together, something that Ari would have no experience of. Ari was grateful to the women that had been with her mistress during this time, but in some ways she felt like an outsider in a group that she had been a part of half of her life. However, Ari made no mention of it to anyone—there were greater problems on everyone’s minds, hers included. Besides, she had no real reason to feel hurt anyway. It wasn’t as if anything they were doing was intentional. Ariadne wasn’t even sure if what she was feeling was quite real.
Today, after attending to Persephone in the morning, Ariadne left to wander the halls and explore some. Eventually, she ended up in the kitchens. That was where she always went to feel at home. Whether in the capital or someone else’s estate, it seemed that the kitchens were a place of comfort for her. They were also a place of valuable information. Ari let herself be put to work, forgotten, and would listen to the hearts and minds of servants. Most people paid her little mind, especially as she was a new face here.
The kitchens were also the first place news seemed to travel to. This was one thing that Ariadne always appreciated. Though, the news that morning wasn’t something at all that she wanted to hear. A boy burst in with news that the forest was on fire and immediately there was action within the room. Ariadne could tell that this was bad by the way that people were moving. She could have stayed to help, but her first thought was for Persephone and the other ladies. She wouldn’t be much use putting out a fire, but she could help organize an escape if that was necessary. And she prayed to the gods that it was not.
Immediately, Ariadne left her post, slipping out of the kitchens and into the hallway, making her way towards Persephone’s rooms. Nothing was more important to her than the safety of her queen. Ariadne moved through the halls, spotting Lady Iris. Although it was unbecoming of her to follow her into the study, it seemed that this was not a moment for decorum.
“How bad is it, my lady?” she asked, following the woman into the room. She had heard the last few questions the woman asked her husband and hoped she could still provide an accurate answer to one. “The queen was in her chambers earlier. Should we be evacuating?” If that was the case, then gods help them all.
Ariadne had spent her time Aetaea in a mixed state of mind. She was grateful (relieved, happy, overly emotional) to be with Persephone again. However, she was also worried about her family and feeling intensely guilty that she had left them behind. In the moment, there was only one decision for her to make, but with more time to reflect, she wondered if there wasn’t something else that she could have done. She had left a note for her father, but had he found it? She was half surprised that he hadn’t torn up the countryside looking for her, note or no. She tried not to reflect on that too much, knowing that would not lead to productive thinking. The girl couldn’t guess at what she didn’t know. It was the same as when Persephone was gone. And that had turned out better than she could have hoped.
It had been interesting getting to know Persephone’s new companions. She realized they had all been through something together, something that Ari would have no experience of. Ari was grateful to the women that had been with her mistress during this time, but in some ways she felt like an outsider in a group that she had been a part of half of her life. However, Ari made no mention of it to anyone—there were greater problems on everyone’s minds, hers included. Besides, she had no real reason to feel hurt anyway. It wasn’t as if anything they were doing was intentional. Ariadne wasn’t even sure if what she was feeling was quite real.
Today, after attending to Persephone in the morning, Ariadne left to wander the halls and explore some. Eventually, she ended up in the kitchens. That was where she always went to feel at home. Whether in the capital or someone else’s estate, it seemed that the kitchens were a place of comfort for her. They were also a place of valuable information. Ari let herself be put to work, forgotten, and would listen to the hearts and minds of servants. Most people paid her little mind, especially as she was a new face here.
The kitchens were also the first place news seemed to travel to. This was one thing that Ariadne always appreciated. Though, the news that morning wasn’t something at all that she wanted to hear. A boy burst in with news that the forest was on fire and immediately there was action within the room. Ariadne could tell that this was bad by the way that people were moving. She could have stayed to help, but her first thought was for Persephone and the other ladies. She wouldn’t be much use putting out a fire, but she could help organize an escape if that was necessary. And she prayed to the gods that it was not.
Immediately, Ariadne left her post, slipping out of the kitchens and into the hallway, making her way towards Persephone’s rooms. Nothing was more important to her than the safety of her queen. Ariadne moved through the halls, spotting Lady Iris. Although it was unbecoming of her to follow her into the study, it seemed that this was not a moment for decorum.
“How bad is it, my lady?” she asked, following the woman into the room. She had heard the last few questions the woman asked her husband and hoped she could still provide an accurate answer to one. “The queen was in her chambers earlier. Should we be evacuating?” If that was the case, then gods help them all.
As Ariadne had accurately observed on the ground floor of the estate to their hostess, Persephone had indeed been in her chambers earlier in the evening. With a headache and the feeling of general lethargy, she had retired early, thinking that a good night's sleep would set her mind right for dealing with the decisions that lay before her. She had laid there in their shared bed until Iason had joined her and his breathing had fallen into a steady rhythm behind her. Yet, she had remained awake. Still, quiet, with her eyes closed and her breathing even, she might have appeared so, but slumber had been harder to attain than she might have hoped. Ideas racketed around her mind without mercy and she had felt the settling of nausea in her belly.
She hated this. She hated the waiting, hated the feeling that some brilliant solution was going to present itself before her so that she might claim it as her own. She was being a coward. And with the determination that only truly brave people felt in the wake of their own fearfulness, Persephone had left the bed.
Careful not to disturb Iason, Persephone had left their chambers with a grace of foot that saw her entirely silent. She moved through the upper levels of the house and attended to the second room that Iris and Aimias had placed at her disposal. Within it were locked their possessions. Including the significant documents of state and the crown. Both of which she had risked her life for back in the royal palati to take with her.
Collecting the crown and the bundle of parchments and papyrus, Persephone headed downstairs and out into the cool air. She had found a spot for herself beneath a tree, and set to reading the papers before her. The fact that there was no enough light to see by didn't matter. She knew the words on each sheath by heart. She needed only the vaguest of shapes for her mind to recall every line of the official documents that claimed the full power of the royal monarch. She read them all, searching for something in particular that she recalled from years of her childhood reciting it. She knew the words, but she wanted to read them in their finality. Soon, she found it.
It was the written oath that all monarch's vowed to uphold in taking the throne. They were never forced to recite it and it wasn't recorded in the coronation of new kings and queens. But it was understood that in accepting the crown one accepted the vow. It stuck her as unlikely that every head to support the piece had truly known or upheld it.
As monarch, our ruler vows to shed all loyalties and previous relationships. He stands as defender to His people, filial to only they. He is given ultimate power from his citizens, obeyed in every command, for only He has the objectivity to care for the greater means over personal connection. Athenia's monarch vows to be true to Athenia. To never bring her harm to her door or disgrace to her name. He vows to protect her borders, to grow her people and to honour her Gods. Our ruler is Athenia.
Her father had always told Persephone that, whilst his male heart loved her mother, his king's heart was for Athenia alone. That a monarch was not a person, but an ideal. They should be free of disgrace and sin and mistake. The human that presented the image could be flawed. But the image and morality that they upheld must forever be untainted; every choice for the good of the people, not personal gain.
Persephone hadn't realised that she was crying until she looked up to assess the land before her, the wind catching on the cool dampness on her cheeks. She felt the warmth in her chest, the cementing of her belly.
She loved Athenia.
She had spent over half her life, dedicated to seeing it grow, protecting it. Ensuring that all of those tasks that no-one wanted the responsibility or boredom of handling were completed so that the world could move on. She had seen to Court events, Senate meets, she had mediated lords and ladies, she had read every report from the Master Informer. She knew this land and its people better than anyone...
She loved it better than anyone...
For anyone could love the pretty waters and the grassy plains. They could love the native food or the culture or the fashions. But she loved the people. The nation as a whole. The way that it formed and flowed. The way the economy supported itself through fair trade. The way the seasons shifted to bring new festivals and travellers. The way the Athenian people held their own sense of pride and joy in their lives, whether they lived in the lowest and smallest of hovels or the greatest of palaces. The pride that Athenians held ensured that they did not give up. That they never dropped the standards of their crafts or duties.
Athenia had a right to its pride.
And it had a right to not see the source of that pride drift away...
Persephone thought back upon that festival... the harvest festival of Athenia had been the peak of all things that were great about her father's nation. It had been an open forum for traders and sellers to proudly show their wares - the efforts of the last year of labouring and devoted craft. And Elias had turned it into a promotional opportunity for himself and his friend, Lord Rafail.
They had entirely missed the point of what made the festival true and great. They had strangled it by limited the trade and letting tax adjustments lax. The farmers and providers didn't have the product to sell. And instead of supporting and correcting that, Marikas and Stravos had chosen to front their own successes and paint themselves as benevolent spirits. It helped not the community long term but it served their own purposes well.
Persephone felt a pain in her palm and realised that one of the spikes of the crown she held had dug into her skin. She was holding it so tight that her knuckles were white. Swallowing, she took the piece in both hands and, quietly, alone in the words, she set it upon her head.
She sat up straight, her neck long and true, her shoulders set and her gaze forward. She felt the weight of the crown and how it settled hard on her temples and about her ears. It had always sat higher on the head of her father. With a smaller shape her head, it settled fuller around Persephone's. It felt secure and strong. And heavy.
Persephone sat there for a few minutes, considering whether she could hold the weight she now supported. She knew what it meant. Probably better than anyone. She knew what being a reigning monarch entailed. She knew how she would be forced to sacrifice almost everything that she currently held dear...
The vision of Chaoedia, in that small estate, with Iason as her husband, dark haired children running the fields and her sister riding across the way to return home for an evening repast. She could visualise it all and felt that fear resurfacing. She felt it long for that vision. For the ease of running away to Taengea and never looking back. She knew that it would be so easy. To just say this wasn't her responsibility. That she didn't want the crown. She could leave and have the life that she had been painting in her head.
'Doing the right thing, is not always the easy.'
It was a favourite phrase of her mother's.
'You don't have to be Queen. Be happy.'
Her father's last words to her.
Could she be happy, though? Truly. If she caved to that fear? Allowed herself to seek solace in the arms of Taengean meadows and Iason's embrace? Could she sacrifice that which she loved just as strongly? Could she reject Athenia and all that it stood for to be placed into the hands of a man that could not see its virtue.
Could she give what she saw, in so many ways, as her own child... into the hands of an abusive custodian?
'You don't have to be Queen. Be happy.'
'Be happy.'
Persephone took the crown from her head and turned it in her hands. She looked at how it refracted the light and gleamed in the dim lights. She swallowed. She thought of how she felt when she witnessed a successful market day. She thought of how joyful she was when an event or festival went well. She thought of the pride she felt when she journeyed down roads to the provinces and saw men and women working the fields in a manner that was efficient and strong; how Athenia yielded its goods.
Athenia made her happy.
Closing her eyes, Persephone made a decision in that moment, sitting in the damp grass, beneath a tree in Aetaea.
She would be Queen of Athenia.
No short-term conflict, no spilt blood was worse than Athenia losing the pride, power and strength that it held now. Perhaps she was arrogant, full of hubris, to suspect that she knew what was best for the kingdom. But no-one knew what was best for it. And she could only believe herself to be the most qualified to at least try. She had no other perspective to claim as her own.
Her choice was simple.
Place the people of Athenia into a conflict that saw them fighting for their security and pride. Or set them on a path that saw that value and substance gradually deplete under the rule of man who neither deserved nor understood the sanctity of the throne he wished to take.
Her father had once told her that no man who wished for power should ever be given it. That the most powerful people in the nation should always be those who never wanted to be there. She had always thought that such a moral was easy to have when you had been born to the guaranteed role of king. But now she understood it a little better.
She didn't want to be Queen. She wanted Athenia to be what it was supposed to be: powerful, sustaining and rich in people and culture.
And if that meant that she had to be Queen. Even if she didn't want to. Then that would make her happy enough for her to claim the crown as her own.
As if the lands themselves knew of her new resolve, there was the flickering light of flames.
Persephone looked up, surprised by the way the light played against the dimming sky. Her lips dropped to part in a gasp, as she saw fire escalating over the forest. She knew the weather of the last few months. She knew that there would be no stopping such flames. The lands and trees were too dry. Only patches like the one in which she sat had been shaded from the hot sun enough to retain any kind of moisture.
Getting to her feet, Persephone looked at what she held and acted with an assurance that was more like her old self. Stripping the epiblema from her elbows, she was quick to wrap it around her parcel of parchments, tying it securely into a knot on top. She placed the bundle of cloth at her feet and then unfastened the band of silk around the waist of her night chiton. She looped the crown into the strand and then refastened it around her waist.
The crown latched to her waist, the fabric bound documents in hand, Persephone knew she had all that she needed from that second chamber. The rest could burn if necessary. She would miss the items from the Dimitrou estate and she would mourn for the memories that they held. But right now, the people were more important than the items.
For the first time in many years, Persephone set herself forwards and actually ran. On the power of her own legs, with her arms pumping at her sides and her hair streaming out behind her, she ran with a determination she didn't know she could infuse her muscles with. She was quick to get a stitch, her thighs burned quickly. She wasn't a servant who used her body so easily, she wasn't a slave that performed manual labour. She was weak and she was tired.
But she would grow stronger.
Her legs carried her to the servants’ quarters of the Argyris estate. She banged a fist on every door she came to, alerting the staff of the estate with calls -
"Fire!" She yelled. "Fire! Get the horses!"
The limited serving staff that Iris had not sent away for their privacy, stumbled over themselves in night clothes and raced to follow royal orders, following Persephone to the stables. It was there that she pulled at the reins of her own horse, drawing it out into the courtyard, followed by several others.
By then she could feel the heat of the flames through the air. It was scary how quickly they were headed towards the estate.
Persephone thought of that library - of all the books and memories of Iris' mother that she had proudly shown her on her first visit to the place. But she shut down such sentimentalities. If she let such thoughts infect her mind now, she would not be able to function. She would become the defenceless mess that she had been in the palati when Elias's troops had struck. She had feared for Emilia, she had been next to useless. Now, she would not feel. She would only think.
"Rouse the house!" She ordered the nearest serving girl. "All of them! Tell them to carry nothing. We are leaving!"
And with eyes burning with the fires of anger and urgency, Persephone mounted her horse with a straddling position that sent her night clothes rising to mid-thigh and her bare feet gripping the sides of the animal. She had already fastened her bundle of important papers to the saddle, and the crown was still fastened at her waist.
The horse stepped under her a little, back and forth as the smell of ash and burning set him nervous. She held him under control and looked to the back doors of the estate, regal upon her mount and certain now in her future.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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As Ariadne had accurately observed on the ground floor of the estate to their hostess, Persephone had indeed been in her chambers earlier in the evening. With a headache and the feeling of general lethargy, she had retired early, thinking that a good night's sleep would set her mind right for dealing with the decisions that lay before her. She had laid there in their shared bed until Iason had joined her and his breathing had fallen into a steady rhythm behind her. Yet, she had remained awake. Still, quiet, with her eyes closed and her breathing even, she might have appeared so, but slumber had been harder to attain than she might have hoped. Ideas racketed around her mind without mercy and she had felt the settling of nausea in her belly.
She hated this. She hated the waiting, hated the feeling that some brilliant solution was going to present itself before her so that she might claim it as her own. She was being a coward. And with the determination that only truly brave people felt in the wake of their own fearfulness, Persephone had left the bed.
Careful not to disturb Iason, Persephone had left their chambers with a grace of foot that saw her entirely silent. She moved through the upper levels of the house and attended to the second room that Iris and Aimias had placed at her disposal. Within it were locked their possessions. Including the significant documents of state and the crown. Both of which she had risked her life for back in the royal palati to take with her.
Collecting the crown and the bundle of parchments and papyrus, Persephone headed downstairs and out into the cool air. She had found a spot for herself beneath a tree, and set to reading the papers before her. The fact that there was no enough light to see by didn't matter. She knew the words on each sheath by heart. She needed only the vaguest of shapes for her mind to recall every line of the official documents that claimed the full power of the royal monarch. She read them all, searching for something in particular that she recalled from years of her childhood reciting it. She knew the words, but she wanted to read them in their finality. Soon, she found it.
It was the written oath that all monarch's vowed to uphold in taking the throne. They were never forced to recite it and it wasn't recorded in the coronation of new kings and queens. But it was understood that in accepting the crown one accepted the vow. It stuck her as unlikely that every head to support the piece had truly known or upheld it.
As monarch, our ruler vows to shed all loyalties and previous relationships. He stands as defender to His people, filial to only they. He is given ultimate power from his citizens, obeyed in every command, for only He has the objectivity to care for the greater means over personal connection. Athenia's monarch vows to be true to Athenia. To never bring her harm to her door or disgrace to her name. He vows to protect her borders, to grow her people and to honour her Gods. Our ruler is Athenia.
Her father had always told Persephone that, whilst his male heart loved her mother, his king's heart was for Athenia alone. That a monarch was not a person, but an ideal. They should be free of disgrace and sin and mistake. The human that presented the image could be flawed. But the image and morality that they upheld must forever be untainted; every choice for the good of the people, not personal gain.
Persephone hadn't realised that she was crying until she looked up to assess the land before her, the wind catching on the cool dampness on her cheeks. She felt the warmth in her chest, the cementing of her belly.
She loved Athenia.
She had spent over half her life, dedicated to seeing it grow, protecting it. Ensuring that all of those tasks that no-one wanted the responsibility or boredom of handling were completed so that the world could move on. She had seen to Court events, Senate meets, she had mediated lords and ladies, she had read every report from the Master Informer. She knew this land and its people better than anyone...
She loved it better than anyone...
For anyone could love the pretty waters and the grassy plains. They could love the native food or the culture or the fashions. But she loved the people. The nation as a whole. The way that it formed and flowed. The way the economy supported itself through fair trade. The way the seasons shifted to bring new festivals and travellers. The way the Athenian people held their own sense of pride and joy in their lives, whether they lived in the lowest and smallest of hovels or the greatest of palaces. The pride that Athenians held ensured that they did not give up. That they never dropped the standards of their crafts or duties.
Athenia had a right to its pride.
And it had a right to not see the source of that pride drift away...
Persephone thought back upon that festival... the harvest festival of Athenia had been the peak of all things that were great about her father's nation. It had been an open forum for traders and sellers to proudly show their wares - the efforts of the last year of labouring and devoted craft. And Elias had turned it into a promotional opportunity for himself and his friend, Lord Rafail.
They had entirely missed the point of what made the festival true and great. They had strangled it by limited the trade and letting tax adjustments lax. The farmers and providers didn't have the product to sell. And instead of supporting and correcting that, Marikas and Stravos had chosen to front their own successes and paint themselves as benevolent spirits. It helped not the community long term but it served their own purposes well.
Persephone felt a pain in her palm and realised that one of the spikes of the crown she held had dug into her skin. She was holding it so tight that her knuckles were white. Swallowing, she took the piece in both hands and, quietly, alone in the words, she set it upon her head.
She sat up straight, her neck long and true, her shoulders set and her gaze forward. She felt the weight of the crown and how it settled hard on her temples and about her ears. It had always sat higher on the head of her father. With a smaller shape her head, it settled fuller around Persephone's. It felt secure and strong. And heavy.
Persephone sat there for a few minutes, considering whether she could hold the weight she now supported. She knew what it meant. Probably better than anyone. She knew what being a reigning monarch entailed. She knew how she would be forced to sacrifice almost everything that she currently held dear...
The vision of Chaoedia, in that small estate, with Iason as her husband, dark haired children running the fields and her sister riding across the way to return home for an evening repast. She could visualise it all and felt that fear resurfacing. She felt it long for that vision. For the ease of running away to Taengea and never looking back. She knew that it would be so easy. To just say this wasn't her responsibility. That she didn't want the crown. She could leave and have the life that she had been painting in her head.
'Doing the right thing, is not always the easy.'
It was a favourite phrase of her mother's.
'You don't have to be Queen. Be happy.'
Her father's last words to her.
Could she be happy, though? Truly. If she caved to that fear? Allowed herself to seek solace in the arms of Taengean meadows and Iason's embrace? Could she sacrifice that which she loved just as strongly? Could she reject Athenia and all that it stood for to be placed into the hands of a man that could not see its virtue.
Could she give what she saw, in so many ways, as her own child... into the hands of an abusive custodian?
'You don't have to be Queen. Be happy.'
'Be happy.'
Persephone took the crown from her head and turned it in her hands. She looked at how it refracted the light and gleamed in the dim lights. She swallowed. She thought of how she felt when she witnessed a successful market day. She thought of how joyful she was when an event or festival went well. She thought of the pride she felt when she journeyed down roads to the provinces and saw men and women working the fields in a manner that was efficient and strong; how Athenia yielded its goods.
Athenia made her happy.
Closing her eyes, Persephone made a decision in that moment, sitting in the damp grass, beneath a tree in Aetaea.
She would be Queen of Athenia.
No short-term conflict, no spilt blood was worse than Athenia losing the pride, power and strength that it held now. Perhaps she was arrogant, full of hubris, to suspect that she knew what was best for the kingdom. But no-one knew what was best for it. And she could only believe herself to be the most qualified to at least try. She had no other perspective to claim as her own.
Her choice was simple.
Place the people of Athenia into a conflict that saw them fighting for their security and pride. Or set them on a path that saw that value and substance gradually deplete under the rule of man who neither deserved nor understood the sanctity of the throne he wished to take.
Her father had once told her that no man who wished for power should ever be given it. That the most powerful people in the nation should always be those who never wanted to be there. She had always thought that such a moral was easy to have when you had been born to the guaranteed role of king. But now she understood it a little better.
She didn't want to be Queen. She wanted Athenia to be what it was supposed to be: powerful, sustaining and rich in people and culture.
And if that meant that she had to be Queen. Even if she didn't want to. Then that would make her happy enough for her to claim the crown as her own.
As if the lands themselves knew of her new resolve, there was the flickering light of flames.
Persephone looked up, surprised by the way the light played against the dimming sky. Her lips dropped to part in a gasp, as she saw fire escalating over the forest. She knew the weather of the last few months. She knew that there would be no stopping such flames. The lands and trees were too dry. Only patches like the one in which she sat had been shaded from the hot sun enough to retain any kind of moisture.
Getting to her feet, Persephone looked at what she held and acted with an assurance that was more like her old self. Stripping the epiblema from her elbows, she was quick to wrap it around her parcel of parchments, tying it securely into a knot on top. She placed the bundle of cloth at her feet and then unfastened the band of silk around the waist of her night chiton. She looped the crown into the strand and then refastened it around her waist.
The crown latched to her waist, the fabric bound documents in hand, Persephone knew she had all that she needed from that second chamber. The rest could burn if necessary. She would miss the items from the Dimitrou estate and she would mourn for the memories that they held. But right now, the people were more important than the items.
For the first time in many years, Persephone set herself forwards and actually ran. On the power of her own legs, with her arms pumping at her sides and her hair streaming out behind her, she ran with a determination she didn't know she could infuse her muscles with. She was quick to get a stitch, her thighs burned quickly. She wasn't a servant who used her body so easily, she wasn't a slave that performed manual labour. She was weak and she was tired.
But she would grow stronger.
Her legs carried her to the servants’ quarters of the Argyris estate. She banged a fist on every door she came to, alerting the staff of the estate with calls -
"Fire!" She yelled. "Fire! Get the horses!"
The limited serving staff that Iris had not sent away for their privacy, stumbled over themselves in night clothes and raced to follow royal orders, following Persephone to the stables. It was there that she pulled at the reins of her own horse, drawing it out into the courtyard, followed by several others.
By then she could feel the heat of the flames through the air. It was scary how quickly they were headed towards the estate.
Persephone thought of that library - of all the books and memories of Iris' mother that she had proudly shown her on her first visit to the place. But she shut down such sentimentalities. If she let such thoughts infect her mind now, she would not be able to function. She would become the defenceless mess that she had been in the palati when Elias's troops had struck. She had feared for Emilia, she had been next to useless. Now, she would not feel. She would only think.
"Rouse the house!" She ordered the nearest serving girl. "All of them! Tell them to carry nothing. We are leaving!"
And with eyes burning with the fires of anger and urgency, Persephone mounted her horse with a straddling position that sent her night clothes rising to mid-thigh and her bare feet gripping the sides of the animal. She had already fastened her bundle of important papers to the saddle, and the crown was still fastened at her waist.
The horse stepped under her a little, back and forth as the smell of ash and burning set him nervous. She held him under control and looked to the back doors of the estate, regal upon her mount and certain now in her future.
As Ariadne had accurately observed on the ground floor of the estate to their hostess, Persephone had indeed been in her chambers earlier in the evening. With a headache and the feeling of general lethargy, she had retired early, thinking that a good night's sleep would set her mind right for dealing with the decisions that lay before her. She had laid there in their shared bed until Iason had joined her and his breathing had fallen into a steady rhythm behind her. Yet, she had remained awake. Still, quiet, with her eyes closed and her breathing even, she might have appeared so, but slumber had been harder to attain than she might have hoped. Ideas racketed around her mind without mercy and she had felt the settling of nausea in her belly.
She hated this. She hated the waiting, hated the feeling that some brilliant solution was going to present itself before her so that she might claim it as her own. She was being a coward. And with the determination that only truly brave people felt in the wake of their own fearfulness, Persephone had left the bed.
Careful not to disturb Iason, Persephone had left their chambers with a grace of foot that saw her entirely silent. She moved through the upper levels of the house and attended to the second room that Iris and Aimias had placed at her disposal. Within it were locked their possessions. Including the significant documents of state and the crown. Both of which she had risked her life for back in the royal palati to take with her.
Collecting the crown and the bundle of parchments and papyrus, Persephone headed downstairs and out into the cool air. She had found a spot for herself beneath a tree, and set to reading the papers before her. The fact that there was no enough light to see by didn't matter. She knew the words on each sheath by heart. She needed only the vaguest of shapes for her mind to recall every line of the official documents that claimed the full power of the royal monarch. She read them all, searching for something in particular that she recalled from years of her childhood reciting it. She knew the words, but she wanted to read them in their finality. Soon, she found it.
It was the written oath that all monarch's vowed to uphold in taking the throne. They were never forced to recite it and it wasn't recorded in the coronation of new kings and queens. But it was understood that in accepting the crown one accepted the vow. It stuck her as unlikely that every head to support the piece had truly known or upheld it.
As monarch, our ruler vows to shed all loyalties and previous relationships. He stands as defender to His people, filial to only they. He is given ultimate power from his citizens, obeyed in every command, for only He has the objectivity to care for the greater means over personal connection. Athenia's monarch vows to be true to Athenia. To never bring her harm to her door or disgrace to her name. He vows to protect her borders, to grow her people and to honour her Gods. Our ruler is Athenia.
Her father had always told Persephone that, whilst his male heart loved her mother, his king's heart was for Athenia alone. That a monarch was not a person, but an ideal. They should be free of disgrace and sin and mistake. The human that presented the image could be flawed. But the image and morality that they upheld must forever be untainted; every choice for the good of the people, not personal gain.
Persephone hadn't realised that she was crying until she looked up to assess the land before her, the wind catching on the cool dampness on her cheeks. She felt the warmth in her chest, the cementing of her belly.
She loved Athenia.
She had spent over half her life, dedicated to seeing it grow, protecting it. Ensuring that all of those tasks that no-one wanted the responsibility or boredom of handling were completed so that the world could move on. She had seen to Court events, Senate meets, she had mediated lords and ladies, she had read every report from the Master Informer. She knew this land and its people better than anyone...
She loved it better than anyone...
For anyone could love the pretty waters and the grassy plains. They could love the native food or the culture or the fashions. But she loved the people. The nation as a whole. The way that it formed and flowed. The way the economy supported itself through fair trade. The way the seasons shifted to bring new festivals and travellers. The way the Athenian people held their own sense of pride and joy in their lives, whether they lived in the lowest and smallest of hovels or the greatest of palaces. The pride that Athenians held ensured that they did not give up. That they never dropped the standards of their crafts or duties.
Athenia had a right to its pride.
And it had a right to not see the source of that pride drift away...
Persephone thought back upon that festival... the harvest festival of Athenia had been the peak of all things that were great about her father's nation. It had been an open forum for traders and sellers to proudly show their wares - the efforts of the last year of labouring and devoted craft. And Elias had turned it into a promotional opportunity for himself and his friend, Lord Rafail.
They had entirely missed the point of what made the festival true and great. They had strangled it by limited the trade and letting tax adjustments lax. The farmers and providers didn't have the product to sell. And instead of supporting and correcting that, Marikas and Stravos had chosen to front their own successes and paint themselves as benevolent spirits. It helped not the community long term but it served their own purposes well.
Persephone felt a pain in her palm and realised that one of the spikes of the crown she held had dug into her skin. She was holding it so tight that her knuckles were white. Swallowing, she took the piece in both hands and, quietly, alone in the words, she set it upon her head.
She sat up straight, her neck long and true, her shoulders set and her gaze forward. She felt the weight of the crown and how it settled hard on her temples and about her ears. It had always sat higher on the head of her father. With a smaller shape her head, it settled fuller around Persephone's. It felt secure and strong. And heavy.
Persephone sat there for a few minutes, considering whether she could hold the weight she now supported. She knew what it meant. Probably better than anyone. She knew what being a reigning monarch entailed. She knew how she would be forced to sacrifice almost everything that she currently held dear...
The vision of Chaoedia, in that small estate, with Iason as her husband, dark haired children running the fields and her sister riding across the way to return home for an evening repast. She could visualise it all and felt that fear resurfacing. She felt it long for that vision. For the ease of running away to Taengea and never looking back. She knew that it would be so easy. To just say this wasn't her responsibility. That she didn't want the crown. She could leave and have the life that she had been painting in her head.
'Doing the right thing, is not always the easy.'
It was a favourite phrase of her mother's.
'You don't have to be Queen. Be happy.'
Her father's last words to her.
Could she be happy, though? Truly. If she caved to that fear? Allowed herself to seek solace in the arms of Taengean meadows and Iason's embrace? Could she sacrifice that which she loved just as strongly? Could she reject Athenia and all that it stood for to be placed into the hands of a man that could not see its virtue.
Could she give what she saw, in so many ways, as her own child... into the hands of an abusive custodian?
'You don't have to be Queen. Be happy.'
'Be happy.'
Persephone took the crown from her head and turned it in her hands. She looked at how it refracted the light and gleamed in the dim lights. She swallowed. She thought of how she felt when she witnessed a successful market day. She thought of how joyful she was when an event or festival went well. She thought of the pride she felt when she journeyed down roads to the provinces and saw men and women working the fields in a manner that was efficient and strong; how Athenia yielded its goods.
Athenia made her happy.
Closing her eyes, Persephone made a decision in that moment, sitting in the damp grass, beneath a tree in Aetaea.
She would be Queen of Athenia.
No short-term conflict, no spilt blood was worse than Athenia losing the pride, power and strength that it held now. Perhaps she was arrogant, full of hubris, to suspect that she knew what was best for the kingdom. But no-one knew what was best for it. And she could only believe herself to be the most qualified to at least try. She had no other perspective to claim as her own.
Her choice was simple.
Place the people of Athenia into a conflict that saw them fighting for their security and pride. Or set them on a path that saw that value and substance gradually deplete under the rule of man who neither deserved nor understood the sanctity of the throne he wished to take.
Her father had once told her that no man who wished for power should ever be given it. That the most powerful people in the nation should always be those who never wanted to be there. She had always thought that such a moral was easy to have when you had been born to the guaranteed role of king. But now she understood it a little better.
She didn't want to be Queen. She wanted Athenia to be what it was supposed to be: powerful, sustaining and rich in people and culture.
And if that meant that she had to be Queen. Even if she didn't want to. Then that would make her happy enough for her to claim the crown as her own.
As if the lands themselves knew of her new resolve, there was the flickering light of flames.
Persephone looked up, surprised by the way the light played against the dimming sky. Her lips dropped to part in a gasp, as she saw fire escalating over the forest. She knew the weather of the last few months. She knew that there would be no stopping such flames. The lands and trees were too dry. Only patches like the one in which she sat had been shaded from the hot sun enough to retain any kind of moisture.
Getting to her feet, Persephone looked at what she held and acted with an assurance that was more like her old self. Stripping the epiblema from her elbows, she was quick to wrap it around her parcel of parchments, tying it securely into a knot on top. She placed the bundle of cloth at her feet and then unfastened the band of silk around the waist of her night chiton. She looped the crown into the strand and then refastened it around her waist.
The crown latched to her waist, the fabric bound documents in hand, Persephone knew she had all that she needed from that second chamber. The rest could burn if necessary. She would miss the items from the Dimitrou estate and she would mourn for the memories that they held. But right now, the people were more important than the items.
For the first time in many years, Persephone set herself forwards and actually ran. On the power of her own legs, with her arms pumping at her sides and her hair streaming out behind her, she ran with a determination she didn't know she could infuse her muscles with. She was quick to get a stitch, her thighs burned quickly. She wasn't a servant who used her body so easily, she wasn't a slave that performed manual labour. She was weak and she was tired.
But she would grow stronger.
Her legs carried her to the servants’ quarters of the Argyris estate. She banged a fist on every door she came to, alerting the staff of the estate with calls -
"Fire!" She yelled. "Fire! Get the horses!"
The limited serving staff that Iris had not sent away for their privacy, stumbled over themselves in night clothes and raced to follow royal orders, following Persephone to the stables. It was there that she pulled at the reins of her own horse, drawing it out into the courtyard, followed by several others.
By then she could feel the heat of the flames through the air. It was scary how quickly they were headed towards the estate.
Persephone thought of that library - of all the books and memories of Iris' mother that she had proudly shown her on her first visit to the place. But she shut down such sentimentalities. If she let such thoughts infect her mind now, she would not be able to function. She would become the defenceless mess that she had been in the palati when Elias's troops had struck. She had feared for Emilia, she had been next to useless. Now, she would not feel. She would only think.
"Rouse the house!" She ordered the nearest serving girl. "All of them! Tell them to carry nothing. We are leaving!"
And with eyes burning with the fires of anger and urgency, Persephone mounted her horse with a straddling position that sent her night clothes rising to mid-thigh and her bare feet gripping the sides of the animal. She had already fastened her bundle of important papers to the saddle, and the crown was still fastened at her waist.
The horse stepped under her a little, back and forth as the smell of ash and burning set him nervous. She held him under control and looked to the back doors of the estate, regal upon her mount and certain now in her future.
Sleep had not been easy for him since the day they had been discovered, most nights he laid beside his betrothed and stared into the darkness, listening intently for every sound that might signal danger, or the return of Demetrius if by some miracle Hector had been able to get to him. By the time Persephone had slipped from the bed Iason had found an uneasy rest, dagger beneath his pillow clutched in his hand. He didn't notice the shift in bed as she left aside from a little murmur under his breath as he rolled toward the space she'd vacated.
He was dreaming of nothing, for a while only the darkness of sleep wrapped around him until distant flames flickered, feeling so real he could smell the smoke they brought with them. His brow furrowed and the baron had slowly begun to surface in consciousness when the door flew open and there was no more time for a slow waking. Sitting upright in bed with the dagger gripped in his fist, Iason reached towards where Persephone had been sleeping only to find an empty place where she had been and a shocked looking Chrysanthe staring at him. Her words took him only moments to process and without thinking he leapt from bed.
Where was Persephone? Had she already left because of the fire without waking him? Had she been taken somehow? How and why was a fire now suddenly so close to the mansion when they had been inundated with so much rain when they had first arrived? His mind was preoccupied as he grabbed the closest chiton and yanked it on to preserve what little dignity Chrysanthe hadn't already seen of his bare form. A cloak and his sword were ripped from the wall, sandals and a water skin thrown in a small bag along with his stag brooch and the letters he'd started writing to his father.
"Where is she?" The voice from outside told him what he needed to know and Iason took hold of Chrysanthe's arm. "Go find Olena. Get her to the courtyard a quickly a possible, Ariadne as well if she isn't already out. No excuses from Olena. Go."
Once he'd released the woman, Iason ran bare footed from the room down to the courtyard, oblivious to the panic and scurry around him. His first destination once he saw his betrothed on horseback was to the stable, throwing open the doors to help the grooms. A grey gelding he'd been riding since his arrival at Aetea was quickly tacked up as the others were lead out to the courtyard. They would need to release the animals and ensure that their way back into the stables was blocked so they were forced to run. It would be their best chance at survival for those not leaving with them, else horses would always return to their stall for security and burn with the rest of the building.
Swinging up onto the back of the grey, he drew him in small circles until he was calm enough to approach Persephone and her mount, eyes scanning the courtyard for those of their party to be sure they were out of the house.
"Are you alright?"
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Jun 28, 2020 20:08:40 GMT
Posted In Up In Smoke on Jun 28, 2020 20:08:40 GMT
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Sleep had not been easy for him since the day they had been discovered, most nights he laid beside his betrothed and stared into the darkness, listening intently for every sound that might signal danger, or the return of Demetrius if by some miracle Hector had been able to get to him. By the time Persephone had slipped from the bed Iason had found an uneasy rest, dagger beneath his pillow clutched in his hand. He didn't notice the shift in bed as she left aside from a little murmur under his breath as he rolled toward the space she'd vacated.
He was dreaming of nothing, for a while only the darkness of sleep wrapped around him until distant flames flickered, feeling so real he could smell the smoke they brought with them. His brow furrowed and the baron had slowly begun to surface in consciousness when the door flew open and there was no more time for a slow waking. Sitting upright in bed with the dagger gripped in his fist, Iason reached towards where Persephone had been sleeping only to find an empty place where she had been and a shocked looking Chrysanthe staring at him. Her words took him only moments to process and without thinking he leapt from bed.
Where was Persephone? Had she already left because of the fire without waking him? Had she been taken somehow? How and why was a fire now suddenly so close to the mansion when they had been inundated with so much rain when they had first arrived? His mind was preoccupied as he grabbed the closest chiton and yanked it on to preserve what little dignity Chrysanthe hadn't already seen of his bare form. A cloak and his sword were ripped from the wall, sandals and a water skin thrown in a small bag along with his stag brooch and the letters he'd started writing to his father.
"Where is she?" The voice from outside told him what he needed to know and Iason took hold of Chrysanthe's arm. "Go find Olena. Get her to the courtyard a quickly a possible, Ariadne as well if she isn't already out. No excuses from Olena. Go."
Once he'd released the woman, Iason ran bare footed from the room down to the courtyard, oblivious to the panic and scurry around him. His first destination once he saw his betrothed on horseback was to the stable, throwing open the doors to help the grooms. A grey gelding he'd been riding since his arrival at Aetea was quickly tacked up as the others were lead out to the courtyard. They would need to release the animals and ensure that their way back into the stables was blocked so they were forced to run. It would be their best chance at survival for those not leaving with them, else horses would always return to their stall for security and burn with the rest of the building.
Swinging up onto the back of the grey, he drew him in small circles until he was calm enough to approach Persephone and her mount, eyes scanning the courtyard for those of their party to be sure they were out of the house.
"Are you alright?"
Sleep had not been easy for him since the day they had been discovered, most nights he laid beside his betrothed and stared into the darkness, listening intently for every sound that might signal danger, or the return of Demetrius if by some miracle Hector had been able to get to him. By the time Persephone had slipped from the bed Iason had found an uneasy rest, dagger beneath his pillow clutched in his hand. He didn't notice the shift in bed as she left aside from a little murmur under his breath as he rolled toward the space she'd vacated.
He was dreaming of nothing, for a while only the darkness of sleep wrapped around him until distant flames flickered, feeling so real he could smell the smoke they brought with them. His brow furrowed and the baron had slowly begun to surface in consciousness when the door flew open and there was no more time for a slow waking. Sitting upright in bed with the dagger gripped in his fist, Iason reached towards where Persephone had been sleeping only to find an empty place where she had been and a shocked looking Chrysanthe staring at him. Her words took him only moments to process and without thinking he leapt from bed.
Where was Persephone? Had she already left because of the fire without waking him? Had she been taken somehow? How and why was a fire now suddenly so close to the mansion when they had been inundated with so much rain when they had first arrived? His mind was preoccupied as he grabbed the closest chiton and yanked it on to preserve what little dignity Chrysanthe hadn't already seen of his bare form. A cloak and his sword were ripped from the wall, sandals and a water skin thrown in a small bag along with his stag brooch and the letters he'd started writing to his father.
"Where is she?" The voice from outside told him what he needed to know and Iason took hold of Chrysanthe's arm. "Go find Olena. Get her to the courtyard a quickly a possible, Ariadne as well if she isn't already out. No excuses from Olena. Go."
Once he'd released the woman, Iason ran bare footed from the room down to the courtyard, oblivious to the panic and scurry around him. His first destination once he saw his betrothed on horseback was to the stable, throwing open the doors to help the grooms. A grey gelding he'd been riding since his arrival at Aetea was quickly tacked up as the others were lead out to the courtyard. They would need to release the animals and ensure that their way back into the stables was blocked so they were forced to run. It would be their best chance at survival for those not leaving with them, else horses would always return to their stall for security and burn with the rest of the building.
Swinging up onto the back of the grey, he drew him in small circles until he was calm enough to approach Persephone and her mount, eyes scanning the courtyard for those of their party to be sure they were out of the house.
"Are you alright?"
The young baroness of Aetaea could not sit and wait for her husband to answer her. Not when the world around them would soon be ash. Instead, Iris shot a soft, "Get out of the house," at Aimias, her mind already on a million other things that were all happening at once. There was something in her that grasped desperately at the fact that her entire world was about to go down in flames. Over ten years of working at her father's side, caring for her province and making both easy and difficult decisions. Just like the caring touch of her father, Iris had approached the work of her province with the same keen affection for the land and its people.
Aetaeans were hardworking and hardy. They enjoyed the trees and the rivers as much as they enjoyed the flora and fauna. They rejoiced when their crops grew in abundance. They lived and breathed Artemis' forest in the same way that Iris did. At first, stepping out into the hall of her home. Her mother's home. The name given to the manor that her father had toiled over with his own two hands. It was like everything relating to Demetra was about to go down in smoke.
The panic that lit a fire under her heart left her struggling to breathe even though the flames hadn't yet hit the manor itself. But now she had her own mission. Just a few tokens. Just a few things that would mean she wouldn't lose absolutely everything.
Not listening to whether her husband protested with her or not, Iris streaked down the hall, only pausing long enough to turn to Ariadne, her gaze wild. Iris was trying desperately to keep her temper in check, to keep her mind calm as she went about what she saw were important steps to keeping her heart from shattering. She could not rebuild if she was broken. Swallowing sharply, Iris nodded once to the young woman, "The whole of the forest and this home will burn before long. You need to get out of the manor, Ariadne. Find everyone you can and take them with you," Iris said simply, reaching out once to place a lingering hand on the girl's shoulder and then she turned away quickly, sprinting down the halls of her home.
The first place she stopped was her own chambers, and she clambered for the small box of fine would and color that she kept some of her more favored pieces of jewelry. The only things she kept here now were her mother's necklace, her father's signet ring, now hers, and her father's favored fibulae. Loosening her himation, she worked at tying it around her waist instead so that she could stow the few precious pieces of finery that she desperately needed to take with her. Searching through the second box, she grabbed the other few signet rings that she could not afford to lose to a fire, and then streaked back out of her own rooms.
Her mind had settled quickly on her mother's library. All of the priceless books and tomes that were well-read and well-loved. There was one in particular she could bear to lose and she shouldered her way quickly into the room, rushing to the shelf to pull her mother's favorite book from it. Wedging it under her arm, she ghosted from the room on light feet, turning back toward the door for a single moment to get one last look at the privacy and security that she had once held in such a place. Iris squeezed her eyes shut and then turned back down the hall with all the swiftness that years of wandering the forests had brought her. The last room she stepped into was her father's office, only to see Gaios going through a mound of paperwork.
Her steward looked up with a pained expression, "I'm grabbing everything vital," he said quickly, "You should leave, my lady. Before it's too late," he said softly, swallowing and then went back to searching. Shaking her dark curls, Iris stormed over quickly, helping him go through the rest of the papers to find the only things they really needed to take with them. The papyrus with the Argyris titles and Iris' will. Then, Iris was reaching for Gaios' wrist and tugging him back toward the door.
"Hurry. We need to go," she said sharply, not letting him argue with her as she dragged him through the halls, her grip on his wrist a vice and her mind jumping from this thing to that. For a moment, she tried to memories the halls of her home, thinking on how badly this would all hurt when it was all gone. But for now, it was still standing, and hopefully she wouldn't get to see it burn. Her mind drifted to her husband and she jerks Gaios ahead of her. "Take the papers. I need to make sure Aimias got out," she said softly, turning to head back toward her husband's study.
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Jun 29, 2020 13:40:16 GMT
Posted In Up In Smoke on Jun 29, 2020 13:40:16 GMT
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The young baroness of Aetaea could not sit and wait for her husband to answer her. Not when the world around them would soon be ash. Instead, Iris shot a soft, "Get out of the house," at Aimias, her mind already on a million other things that were all happening at once. There was something in her that grasped desperately at the fact that her entire world was about to go down in flames. Over ten years of working at her father's side, caring for her province and making both easy and difficult decisions. Just like the caring touch of her father, Iris had approached the work of her province with the same keen affection for the land and its people.
Aetaeans were hardworking and hardy. They enjoyed the trees and the rivers as much as they enjoyed the flora and fauna. They rejoiced when their crops grew in abundance. They lived and breathed Artemis' forest in the same way that Iris did. At first, stepping out into the hall of her home. Her mother's home. The name given to the manor that her father had toiled over with his own two hands. It was like everything relating to Demetra was about to go down in smoke.
The panic that lit a fire under her heart left her struggling to breathe even though the flames hadn't yet hit the manor itself. But now she had her own mission. Just a few tokens. Just a few things that would mean she wouldn't lose absolutely everything.
Not listening to whether her husband protested with her or not, Iris streaked down the hall, only pausing long enough to turn to Ariadne, her gaze wild. Iris was trying desperately to keep her temper in check, to keep her mind calm as she went about what she saw were important steps to keeping her heart from shattering. She could not rebuild if she was broken. Swallowing sharply, Iris nodded once to the young woman, "The whole of the forest and this home will burn before long. You need to get out of the manor, Ariadne. Find everyone you can and take them with you," Iris said simply, reaching out once to place a lingering hand on the girl's shoulder and then she turned away quickly, sprinting down the halls of her home.
The first place she stopped was her own chambers, and she clambered for the small box of fine would and color that she kept some of her more favored pieces of jewelry. The only things she kept here now were her mother's necklace, her father's signet ring, now hers, and her father's favored fibulae. Loosening her himation, she worked at tying it around her waist instead so that she could stow the few precious pieces of finery that she desperately needed to take with her. Searching through the second box, she grabbed the other few signet rings that she could not afford to lose to a fire, and then streaked back out of her own rooms.
Her mind had settled quickly on her mother's library. All of the priceless books and tomes that were well-read and well-loved. There was one in particular she could bear to lose and she shouldered her way quickly into the room, rushing to the shelf to pull her mother's favorite book from it. Wedging it under her arm, she ghosted from the room on light feet, turning back toward the door for a single moment to get one last look at the privacy and security that she had once held in such a place. Iris squeezed her eyes shut and then turned back down the hall with all the swiftness that years of wandering the forests had brought her. The last room she stepped into was her father's office, only to see Gaios going through a mound of paperwork.
Her steward looked up with a pained expression, "I'm grabbing everything vital," he said quickly, "You should leave, my lady. Before it's too late," he said softly, swallowing and then went back to searching. Shaking her dark curls, Iris stormed over quickly, helping him go through the rest of the papers to find the only things they really needed to take with them. The papyrus with the Argyris titles and Iris' will. Then, Iris was reaching for Gaios' wrist and tugging him back toward the door.
"Hurry. We need to go," she said sharply, not letting him argue with her as she dragged him through the halls, her grip on his wrist a vice and her mind jumping from this thing to that. For a moment, she tried to memories the halls of her home, thinking on how badly this would all hurt when it was all gone. But for now, it was still standing, and hopefully she wouldn't get to see it burn. Her mind drifted to her husband and she jerks Gaios ahead of her. "Take the papers. I need to make sure Aimias got out," she said softly, turning to head back toward her husband's study.
The young baroness of Aetaea could not sit and wait for her husband to answer her. Not when the world around them would soon be ash. Instead, Iris shot a soft, "Get out of the house," at Aimias, her mind already on a million other things that were all happening at once. There was something in her that grasped desperately at the fact that her entire world was about to go down in flames. Over ten years of working at her father's side, caring for her province and making both easy and difficult decisions. Just like the caring touch of her father, Iris had approached the work of her province with the same keen affection for the land and its people.
Aetaeans were hardworking and hardy. They enjoyed the trees and the rivers as much as they enjoyed the flora and fauna. They rejoiced when their crops grew in abundance. They lived and breathed Artemis' forest in the same way that Iris did. At first, stepping out into the hall of her home. Her mother's home. The name given to the manor that her father had toiled over with his own two hands. It was like everything relating to Demetra was about to go down in smoke.
The panic that lit a fire under her heart left her struggling to breathe even though the flames hadn't yet hit the manor itself. But now she had her own mission. Just a few tokens. Just a few things that would mean she wouldn't lose absolutely everything.
Not listening to whether her husband protested with her or not, Iris streaked down the hall, only pausing long enough to turn to Ariadne, her gaze wild. Iris was trying desperately to keep her temper in check, to keep her mind calm as she went about what she saw were important steps to keeping her heart from shattering. She could not rebuild if she was broken. Swallowing sharply, Iris nodded once to the young woman, "The whole of the forest and this home will burn before long. You need to get out of the manor, Ariadne. Find everyone you can and take them with you," Iris said simply, reaching out once to place a lingering hand on the girl's shoulder and then she turned away quickly, sprinting down the halls of her home.
The first place she stopped was her own chambers, and she clambered for the small box of fine would and color that she kept some of her more favored pieces of jewelry. The only things she kept here now were her mother's necklace, her father's signet ring, now hers, and her father's favored fibulae. Loosening her himation, she worked at tying it around her waist instead so that she could stow the few precious pieces of finery that she desperately needed to take with her. Searching through the second box, she grabbed the other few signet rings that she could not afford to lose to a fire, and then streaked back out of her own rooms.
Her mind had settled quickly on her mother's library. All of the priceless books and tomes that were well-read and well-loved. There was one in particular she could bear to lose and she shouldered her way quickly into the room, rushing to the shelf to pull her mother's favorite book from it. Wedging it under her arm, she ghosted from the room on light feet, turning back toward the door for a single moment to get one last look at the privacy and security that she had once held in such a place. Iris squeezed her eyes shut and then turned back down the hall with all the swiftness that years of wandering the forests had brought her. The last room she stepped into was her father's office, only to see Gaios going through a mound of paperwork.
Her steward looked up with a pained expression, "I'm grabbing everything vital," he said quickly, "You should leave, my lady. Before it's too late," he said softly, swallowing and then went back to searching. Shaking her dark curls, Iris stormed over quickly, helping him go through the rest of the papers to find the only things they really needed to take with them. The papyrus with the Argyris titles and Iris' will. Then, Iris was reaching for Gaios' wrist and tugging him back toward the door.
"Hurry. We need to go," she said sharply, not letting him argue with her as she dragged him through the halls, her grip on his wrist a vice and her mind jumping from this thing to that. For a moment, she tried to memories the halls of her home, thinking on how badly this would all hurt when it was all gone. But for now, it was still standing, and hopefully she wouldn't get to see it burn. Her mind drifted to her husband and she jerks Gaios ahead of her. "Take the papers. I need to make sure Aimias got out," she said softly, turning to head back toward her husband's study.
The timing was working out perfectly, and the Stravos lord was content to remain perfectly out of view of the house. The fire around them spread quickly, but not quickly enough to not give the people within the Argyris manor the time to run along and get out. Whatever Lord Marikas' hopes had been for the burning of the forest, Keikelius himself was sure that the man would not get the full satisfaction of his intentions.
Because Keikelius would not allow the Marikas lord to kill the Queen of Athenia. There was far more at work here than even Elias or Rafail knew and the Stravos lord was not keen on giving up that small bit of control that he had seen fit to take in the entire process of taking his leave from his family. To kill Queen Persephone would bring only more toil and hardship to the Athenian people, and though Keikelius was keen to see his son on the throne, he was not keen to see the kingdom razed to ash in the process.
Not only did that make the wrong people look weak and tyrannical, but it opened the Kingdom up to attack from all sides. While Elias would work on getting his footing after killing the queen and marrying Princess Emilia, the world would be watching, looking for any and every opening possible to bring down one of the three Kingdoms of Greece. There was more to a grab for power than simply getting rid of your competition, especially when killing the queen would mean war with the people of Athenia. Because Keikelius, for his part, was very sure that their people, commoner and nobility, would not stand for it. Not now that they had the hope in their hearts that Persephone's sighting at the Harvest Festival had brewed within them.
Many of the citizens were like oil and fire. Set to be lit alight and then so very ready to make anyone and everyone who stood in their way pay for the things they had done.
The Stravos lord loved his family, but he also loved his Kingdom, and there were certain ways to go about putting his son on the throne. And that would mean that the queen would not die today or any day from here until the end of what would be her long life.
Gripping the reins of his horse, Keikelius clicked his tongue at his companion and they jolted forward suddenly. Catching sight of the queen, he knew there was only a matter of time, a short window in which Keikelius could make his case and spirit the queen and her companions to safety from the razed forests of Aetaea.
He could see her at the stables, mounted atop her horse and speaking to Lord Iason of Dimitrou. And Keikelius did not wait to be invited, putting a rushed and harried expression on his features as he galloped up before the queen, pulling hard on the reins of his horse to get the creature to slow, though the large stallion's hooves slipped just slightly, sending a bit of a spray of dirt up into the air. "My queen," Keikelius declared, looking quickly behind him with an expression caked in worry. "I tried to outrun them," he said quickly, his dark gaze flicking back toward the queen. "I fear I was too late, and my son has taken his quest for power too far. As he has in every single step of his forced grab for your crown," the man brought his arm up against his face, clearing his throat against the haze of smoke that was starting to weave through the trees.
"And I will not stand by while he decimates your Kingdom."
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Jun 29, 2020 14:01:03 GMT
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The timing was working out perfectly, and the Stravos lord was content to remain perfectly out of view of the house. The fire around them spread quickly, but not quickly enough to not give the people within the Argyris manor the time to run along and get out. Whatever Lord Marikas' hopes had been for the burning of the forest, Keikelius himself was sure that the man would not get the full satisfaction of his intentions.
Because Keikelius would not allow the Marikas lord to kill the Queen of Athenia. There was far more at work here than even Elias or Rafail knew and the Stravos lord was not keen on giving up that small bit of control that he had seen fit to take in the entire process of taking his leave from his family. To kill Queen Persephone would bring only more toil and hardship to the Athenian people, and though Keikelius was keen to see his son on the throne, he was not keen to see the kingdom razed to ash in the process.
Not only did that make the wrong people look weak and tyrannical, but it opened the Kingdom up to attack from all sides. While Elias would work on getting his footing after killing the queen and marrying Princess Emilia, the world would be watching, looking for any and every opening possible to bring down one of the three Kingdoms of Greece. There was more to a grab for power than simply getting rid of your competition, especially when killing the queen would mean war with the people of Athenia. Because Keikelius, for his part, was very sure that their people, commoner and nobility, would not stand for it. Not now that they had the hope in their hearts that Persephone's sighting at the Harvest Festival had brewed within them.
Many of the citizens were like oil and fire. Set to be lit alight and then so very ready to make anyone and everyone who stood in their way pay for the things they had done.
The Stravos lord loved his family, but he also loved his Kingdom, and there were certain ways to go about putting his son on the throne. And that would mean that the queen would not die today or any day from here until the end of what would be her long life.
Gripping the reins of his horse, Keikelius clicked his tongue at his companion and they jolted forward suddenly. Catching sight of the queen, he knew there was only a matter of time, a short window in which Keikelius could make his case and spirit the queen and her companions to safety from the razed forests of Aetaea.
He could see her at the stables, mounted atop her horse and speaking to Lord Iason of Dimitrou. And Keikelius did not wait to be invited, putting a rushed and harried expression on his features as he galloped up before the queen, pulling hard on the reins of his horse to get the creature to slow, though the large stallion's hooves slipped just slightly, sending a bit of a spray of dirt up into the air. "My queen," Keikelius declared, looking quickly behind him with an expression caked in worry. "I tried to outrun them," he said quickly, his dark gaze flicking back toward the queen. "I fear I was too late, and my son has taken his quest for power too far. As he has in every single step of his forced grab for your crown," the man brought his arm up against his face, clearing his throat against the haze of smoke that was starting to weave through the trees.
"And I will not stand by while he decimates your Kingdom."
The timing was working out perfectly, and the Stravos lord was content to remain perfectly out of view of the house. The fire around them spread quickly, but not quickly enough to not give the people within the Argyris manor the time to run along and get out. Whatever Lord Marikas' hopes had been for the burning of the forest, Keikelius himself was sure that the man would not get the full satisfaction of his intentions.
Because Keikelius would not allow the Marikas lord to kill the Queen of Athenia. There was far more at work here than even Elias or Rafail knew and the Stravos lord was not keen on giving up that small bit of control that he had seen fit to take in the entire process of taking his leave from his family. To kill Queen Persephone would bring only more toil and hardship to the Athenian people, and though Keikelius was keen to see his son on the throne, he was not keen to see the kingdom razed to ash in the process.
Not only did that make the wrong people look weak and tyrannical, but it opened the Kingdom up to attack from all sides. While Elias would work on getting his footing after killing the queen and marrying Princess Emilia, the world would be watching, looking for any and every opening possible to bring down one of the three Kingdoms of Greece. There was more to a grab for power than simply getting rid of your competition, especially when killing the queen would mean war with the people of Athenia. Because Keikelius, for his part, was very sure that their people, commoner and nobility, would not stand for it. Not now that they had the hope in their hearts that Persephone's sighting at the Harvest Festival had brewed within them.
Many of the citizens were like oil and fire. Set to be lit alight and then so very ready to make anyone and everyone who stood in their way pay for the things they had done.
The Stravos lord loved his family, but he also loved his Kingdom, and there were certain ways to go about putting his son on the throne. And that would mean that the queen would not die today or any day from here until the end of what would be her long life.
Gripping the reins of his horse, Keikelius clicked his tongue at his companion and they jolted forward suddenly. Catching sight of the queen, he knew there was only a matter of time, a short window in which Keikelius could make his case and spirit the queen and her companions to safety from the razed forests of Aetaea.
He could see her at the stables, mounted atop her horse and speaking to Lord Iason of Dimitrou. And Keikelius did not wait to be invited, putting a rushed and harried expression on his features as he galloped up before the queen, pulling hard on the reins of his horse to get the creature to slow, though the large stallion's hooves slipped just slightly, sending a bit of a spray of dirt up into the air. "My queen," Keikelius declared, looking quickly behind him with an expression caked in worry. "I tried to outrun them," he said quickly, his dark gaze flicking back toward the queen. "I fear I was too late, and my son has taken his quest for power too far. As he has in every single step of his forced grab for your crown," the man brought his arm up against his face, clearing his throat against the haze of smoke that was starting to weave through the trees.
"And I will not stand by while he decimates your Kingdom."
Iason’s sudden appearance at her side was of no surprise to Persephone. Whenever there was a hint of danger around her person he was there, a defending shield between her and harm. It was as if he gravitated towards her, regardless of the arguments the two of them had had in recent times that had amounted only to more indecision and repeated changes of mind. Now there was no indecision. Now she had made her choice. For better or for worse. And Iason was not going to like it when she told him.
Whilst she could offer up her own hopes for the future and relegate the life that she wanted for the life she was duty-bound to take, she could live with her choice for the benefits of all involved. The only regret she had was that it was not what Iason wanted. That in surrendering her own, personal happiness, she was forced to also surrender his. Even after all that he had done for her over all these months. Even after how much he had loved.
As her horse steadied beneath her, Persephone called to the servants -
"Where is your Lady?" She demanded. Knowing Iris' stubbornness and recent loss of her father, Persephone didn't trust the woman to leave the estate without attempting to salvage all that she could. She would see herself burnt to ash if it would save a little of her family's legacy.
A strength, a durability that hadn't been a part of Persephone's persona before was rising to the surface. Now that she had determined her path as princess and Queen, she had found some of that cool disdain for the tumultuous world around her that she had held before. A little of the Ice Queen that she was unaware Iason had dubbed her.
"Find her and Lord Aimias and insist that they come to the stables by royal command!" She would not see her friends burn for the sake of a petulant drama by Elias. One that would cost them all that they held dear. She would not see it cost them their lives also. "Where are my maids?!"
It was as she had issued this order that Persephone noted a rider approaching the grounds. He rode with the carriage of a nobleman and was unclear in his dark clothing. The dim light of the evening and the air that was rapidly filling with smoke turned his appearance hazy.
Persephone had hoped that the rain that had fallen on their first arrival in Athenia might have dampened the landscape enough to slow the burn but it had been nothing but hot sunshine for the two weeks since. The lands were dry and withered once more, ready to be set sparking like kindling.
When she witnessed the face of the man who rode towards her, Persephone instantly suspected an assassination attempt. Despite Keikelius of Stravos being so much wiser than to enact such an attempt himself, he was the father of the man who had set these blazes (of that Persephone could not doubt now, with his appearance) and she did not trust him to have come to finish the job Elias could not see done.
Yet, before she could do more than wind the reins around her hands to secure her steed ready to bolt, the man spoke over the harsh air, his words declaring him loyal to the legal ruler of Athenia. Her brow lowered into a frown of distrust and Persephone found her spine straightening. It didn't matter that she was dressed in a night gown, with the crown on her hip instead of her head. That her feet were bare and her hair falling about her shoulders in the muss of a sleepless night. She held herself as a Queen did.
Persephone's mind worked quickly unsure of the action to be taken here. Did they keep Lord Keikelius at sword point until they were away from such disasters? Did they send him away, only to reveal her existence before any that still doubted her presence in Athenia?
She could not see him beyond their sight if she feared him to be a spy or traitor. It would take only a well-placed arrow to see her own life ended in this mess, with a convenient flame to burn the evidence.
"Lord Keikelius..." She greeted, without any warmth. "Your presence is more auspicious than it is welcome." Her jaw tightened as she thought upon things quickly. The scent of ash was sending her mount into fearful steps once more. "You'll forgive me for bowing to circumstance and insist that you ride ahead of us with an arrow trained between your shoulder blades." She offered an icy smile. "I have little to lose by insulting political friendships you understand."
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Jun 30, 2020 18:21:24 GMT
Posted In Up In Smoke on Jun 30, 2020 18:21:24 GMT
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Iason’s sudden appearance at her side was of no surprise to Persephone. Whenever there was a hint of danger around her person he was there, a defending shield between her and harm. It was as if he gravitated towards her, regardless of the arguments the two of them had had in recent times that had amounted only to more indecision and repeated changes of mind. Now there was no indecision. Now she had made her choice. For better or for worse. And Iason was not going to like it when she told him.
Whilst she could offer up her own hopes for the future and relegate the life that she wanted for the life she was duty-bound to take, she could live with her choice for the benefits of all involved. The only regret she had was that it was not what Iason wanted. That in surrendering her own, personal happiness, she was forced to also surrender his. Even after all that he had done for her over all these months. Even after how much he had loved.
As her horse steadied beneath her, Persephone called to the servants -
"Where is your Lady?" She demanded. Knowing Iris' stubbornness and recent loss of her father, Persephone didn't trust the woman to leave the estate without attempting to salvage all that she could. She would see herself burnt to ash if it would save a little of her family's legacy.
A strength, a durability that hadn't been a part of Persephone's persona before was rising to the surface. Now that she had determined her path as princess and Queen, she had found some of that cool disdain for the tumultuous world around her that she had held before. A little of the Ice Queen that she was unaware Iason had dubbed her.
"Find her and Lord Aimias and insist that they come to the stables by royal command!" She would not see her friends burn for the sake of a petulant drama by Elias. One that would cost them all that they held dear. She would not see it cost them their lives also. "Where are my maids?!"
It was as she had issued this order that Persephone noted a rider approaching the grounds. He rode with the carriage of a nobleman and was unclear in his dark clothing. The dim light of the evening and the air that was rapidly filling with smoke turned his appearance hazy.
Persephone had hoped that the rain that had fallen on their first arrival in Athenia might have dampened the landscape enough to slow the burn but it had been nothing but hot sunshine for the two weeks since. The lands were dry and withered once more, ready to be set sparking like kindling.
When she witnessed the face of the man who rode towards her, Persephone instantly suspected an assassination attempt. Despite Keikelius of Stravos being so much wiser than to enact such an attempt himself, he was the father of the man who had set these blazes (of that Persephone could not doubt now, with his appearance) and she did not trust him to have come to finish the job Elias could not see done.
Yet, before she could do more than wind the reins around her hands to secure her steed ready to bolt, the man spoke over the harsh air, his words declaring him loyal to the legal ruler of Athenia. Her brow lowered into a frown of distrust and Persephone found her spine straightening. It didn't matter that she was dressed in a night gown, with the crown on her hip instead of her head. That her feet were bare and her hair falling about her shoulders in the muss of a sleepless night. She held herself as a Queen did.
Persephone's mind worked quickly unsure of the action to be taken here. Did they keep Lord Keikelius at sword point until they were away from such disasters? Did they send him away, only to reveal her existence before any that still doubted her presence in Athenia?
She could not see him beyond their sight if she feared him to be a spy or traitor. It would take only a well-placed arrow to see her own life ended in this mess, with a convenient flame to burn the evidence.
"Lord Keikelius..." She greeted, without any warmth. "Your presence is more auspicious than it is welcome." Her jaw tightened as she thought upon things quickly. The scent of ash was sending her mount into fearful steps once more. "You'll forgive me for bowing to circumstance and insist that you ride ahead of us with an arrow trained between your shoulder blades." She offered an icy smile. "I have little to lose by insulting political friendships you understand."
Iason’s sudden appearance at her side was of no surprise to Persephone. Whenever there was a hint of danger around her person he was there, a defending shield between her and harm. It was as if he gravitated towards her, regardless of the arguments the two of them had had in recent times that had amounted only to more indecision and repeated changes of mind. Now there was no indecision. Now she had made her choice. For better or for worse. And Iason was not going to like it when she told him.
Whilst she could offer up her own hopes for the future and relegate the life that she wanted for the life she was duty-bound to take, she could live with her choice for the benefits of all involved. The only regret she had was that it was not what Iason wanted. That in surrendering her own, personal happiness, she was forced to also surrender his. Even after all that he had done for her over all these months. Even after how much he had loved.
As her horse steadied beneath her, Persephone called to the servants -
"Where is your Lady?" She demanded. Knowing Iris' stubbornness and recent loss of her father, Persephone didn't trust the woman to leave the estate without attempting to salvage all that she could. She would see herself burnt to ash if it would save a little of her family's legacy.
A strength, a durability that hadn't been a part of Persephone's persona before was rising to the surface. Now that she had determined her path as princess and Queen, she had found some of that cool disdain for the tumultuous world around her that she had held before. A little of the Ice Queen that she was unaware Iason had dubbed her.
"Find her and Lord Aimias and insist that they come to the stables by royal command!" She would not see her friends burn for the sake of a petulant drama by Elias. One that would cost them all that they held dear. She would not see it cost them their lives also. "Where are my maids?!"
It was as she had issued this order that Persephone noted a rider approaching the grounds. He rode with the carriage of a nobleman and was unclear in his dark clothing. The dim light of the evening and the air that was rapidly filling with smoke turned his appearance hazy.
Persephone had hoped that the rain that had fallen on their first arrival in Athenia might have dampened the landscape enough to slow the burn but it had been nothing but hot sunshine for the two weeks since. The lands were dry and withered once more, ready to be set sparking like kindling.
When she witnessed the face of the man who rode towards her, Persephone instantly suspected an assassination attempt. Despite Keikelius of Stravos being so much wiser than to enact such an attempt himself, he was the father of the man who had set these blazes (of that Persephone could not doubt now, with his appearance) and she did not trust him to have come to finish the job Elias could not see done.
Yet, before she could do more than wind the reins around her hands to secure her steed ready to bolt, the man spoke over the harsh air, his words declaring him loyal to the legal ruler of Athenia. Her brow lowered into a frown of distrust and Persephone found her spine straightening. It didn't matter that she was dressed in a night gown, with the crown on her hip instead of her head. That her feet were bare and her hair falling about her shoulders in the muss of a sleepless night. She held herself as a Queen did.
Persephone's mind worked quickly unsure of the action to be taken here. Did they keep Lord Keikelius at sword point until they were away from such disasters? Did they send him away, only to reveal her existence before any that still doubted her presence in Athenia?
She could not see him beyond their sight if she feared him to be a spy or traitor. It would take only a well-placed arrow to see her own life ended in this mess, with a convenient flame to burn the evidence.
"Lord Keikelius..." She greeted, without any warmth. "Your presence is more auspicious than it is welcome." Her jaw tightened as she thought upon things quickly. The scent of ash was sending her mount into fearful steps once more. "You'll forgive me for bowing to circumstance and insist that you ride ahead of us with an arrow trained between your shoulder blades." She offered an icy smile. "I have little to lose by insulting political friendships you understand."
There were no longer any secrets between both his wife and his queen. They’d know what he had done, but what was far more important to him was that they’d know why he’d done it. There had been no desire for the suffering of the Queen. He wanted her to prosper on the throne, had always wanted the Xanthos line to succeed. And yet, Elias had played on his own weaknesses and had threatened everyone he cared about. And with that knowledge, knowing the power he had, there had been little he could have done.
He was struggling with his guilt, but at least it was no longer a secret.
What he had needed the most was exactly what he’d gotten. The support of his wife, who was sympathetic to his reasons and loving nonetheless, let him back in her bed. And he had vowed never to leave it again. He had promised to no longer keep her out, to be by her side through it all, and there was little he would do to go against that now. And while he was still uncertain how Persephone took his forced betrayal, he was glad that it was out.
Now, they just needed a plan.
In his study, he had scattered notes that were opposite to what his original task had been. For while he had been spreading rumors as told, he’d also been sending out letters to seek out sympathizers. The letters, should they have been found, could have appeared as if he was trying to punish those who went again Elias. But those who knew the sender understood the intent, and he was working on a list of those who the Queen could truly trust. And at the top of the list was Hector.
Settled into his seat, pouring over letters, he could hear the sounds of rushing and panic outside his door, but did not think much of it. It was not until his wife burst through the door, frantic, that he even gave any sort of concern as to the rising roar of those within the house. “Fire?” He said, standing quickly to move towards her. She was taking a head count of those she needed to get out, of those who would be in danger if they stayed. He was trying to keep up with her panic, but as quickly as she was in, she was gone.
There was the desire to chase after her, but the need to divide and conquer was just as great. He would not slow her down in her tasks, for there was a chance that her beloved home would go up in flames. Shoving the list into his small leather bag, he tossed the rest of the letters into the fire. If someone decided to go through the home, he wasn’t going to chance anyone getting wind of his communications. His will was already out of the home, so there was no need to try and make sure it was on his person. Instead, he ran to his daughter’s room, knowing that the few things that belonged to her mother were kept in the small box that had been passed down to her on the day of her birth. Everything else was replaceable, but this was the only legacy of her that was left.
The jewels within, though small and few in number, were most of inheritance. It was placed in his bag with the list before he was in the halls, following the sounds of the loud voices towards the courtyard. He, too, was directing servants out of the house, demanding that they run and find shelter. There was little they could do to save them all, but fire was not as uncommon as they would think. Lightning often caused the trees to catch fire. This could have been caused by the Gods themselves, and yet he had seen nor heard any other side of the possibility.
The fire had been set to kill them.
“Iris!” He yelled as soon as he saw the dark head of hair turning back towards his study. “I am out!” He knew that she was going back for him, closing the distance to grab her arm to pull her out. “We’ve got to go. Is everyone else out?”
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There were no longer any secrets between both his wife and his queen. They’d know what he had done, but what was far more important to him was that they’d know why he’d done it. There had been no desire for the suffering of the Queen. He wanted her to prosper on the throne, had always wanted the Xanthos line to succeed. And yet, Elias had played on his own weaknesses and had threatened everyone he cared about. And with that knowledge, knowing the power he had, there had been little he could have done.
He was struggling with his guilt, but at least it was no longer a secret.
What he had needed the most was exactly what he’d gotten. The support of his wife, who was sympathetic to his reasons and loving nonetheless, let him back in her bed. And he had vowed never to leave it again. He had promised to no longer keep her out, to be by her side through it all, and there was little he would do to go against that now. And while he was still uncertain how Persephone took his forced betrayal, he was glad that it was out.
Now, they just needed a plan.
In his study, he had scattered notes that were opposite to what his original task had been. For while he had been spreading rumors as told, he’d also been sending out letters to seek out sympathizers. The letters, should they have been found, could have appeared as if he was trying to punish those who went again Elias. But those who knew the sender understood the intent, and he was working on a list of those who the Queen could truly trust. And at the top of the list was Hector.
Settled into his seat, pouring over letters, he could hear the sounds of rushing and panic outside his door, but did not think much of it. It was not until his wife burst through the door, frantic, that he even gave any sort of concern as to the rising roar of those within the house. “Fire?” He said, standing quickly to move towards her. She was taking a head count of those she needed to get out, of those who would be in danger if they stayed. He was trying to keep up with her panic, but as quickly as she was in, she was gone.
There was the desire to chase after her, but the need to divide and conquer was just as great. He would not slow her down in her tasks, for there was a chance that her beloved home would go up in flames. Shoving the list into his small leather bag, he tossed the rest of the letters into the fire. If someone decided to go through the home, he wasn’t going to chance anyone getting wind of his communications. His will was already out of the home, so there was no need to try and make sure it was on his person. Instead, he ran to his daughter’s room, knowing that the few things that belonged to her mother were kept in the small box that had been passed down to her on the day of her birth. Everything else was replaceable, but this was the only legacy of her that was left.
The jewels within, though small and few in number, were most of inheritance. It was placed in his bag with the list before he was in the halls, following the sounds of the loud voices towards the courtyard. He, too, was directing servants out of the house, demanding that they run and find shelter. There was little they could do to save them all, but fire was not as uncommon as they would think. Lightning often caused the trees to catch fire. This could have been caused by the Gods themselves, and yet he had seen nor heard any other side of the possibility.
The fire had been set to kill them.
“Iris!” He yelled as soon as he saw the dark head of hair turning back towards his study. “I am out!” He knew that she was going back for him, closing the distance to grab her arm to pull her out. “We’ve got to go. Is everyone else out?”
There were no longer any secrets between both his wife and his queen. They’d know what he had done, but what was far more important to him was that they’d know why he’d done it. There had been no desire for the suffering of the Queen. He wanted her to prosper on the throne, had always wanted the Xanthos line to succeed. And yet, Elias had played on his own weaknesses and had threatened everyone he cared about. And with that knowledge, knowing the power he had, there had been little he could have done.
He was struggling with his guilt, but at least it was no longer a secret.
What he had needed the most was exactly what he’d gotten. The support of his wife, who was sympathetic to his reasons and loving nonetheless, let him back in her bed. And he had vowed never to leave it again. He had promised to no longer keep her out, to be by her side through it all, and there was little he would do to go against that now. And while he was still uncertain how Persephone took his forced betrayal, he was glad that it was out.
Now, they just needed a plan.
In his study, he had scattered notes that were opposite to what his original task had been. For while he had been spreading rumors as told, he’d also been sending out letters to seek out sympathizers. The letters, should they have been found, could have appeared as if he was trying to punish those who went again Elias. But those who knew the sender understood the intent, and he was working on a list of those who the Queen could truly trust. And at the top of the list was Hector.
Settled into his seat, pouring over letters, he could hear the sounds of rushing and panic outside his door, but did not think much of it. It was not until his wife burst through the door, frantic, that he even gave any sort of concern as to the rising roar of those within the house. “Fire?” He said, standing quickly to move towards her. She was taking a head count of those she needed to get out, of those who would be in danger if they stayed. He was trying to keep up with her panic, but as quickly as she was in, she was gone.
There was the desire to chase after her, but the need to divide and conquer was just as great. He would not slow her down in her tasks, for there was a chance that her beloved home would go up in flames. Shoving the list into his small leather bag, he tossed the rest of the letters into the fire. If someone decided to go through the home, he wasn’t going to chance anyone getting wind of his communications. His will was already out of the home, so there was no need to try and make sure it was on his person. Instead, he ran to his daughter’s room, knowing that the few things that belonged to her mother were kept in the small box that had been passed down to her on the day of her birth. Everything else was replaceable, but this was the only legacy of her that was left.
The jewels within, though small and few in number, were most of inheritance. It was placed in his bag with the list before he was in the halls, following the sounds of the loud voices towards the courtyard. He, too, was directing servants out of the house, demanding that they run and find shelter. There was little they could do to save them all, but fire was not as uncommon as they would think. Lightning often caused the trees to catch fire. This could have been caused by the Gods themselves, and yet he had seen nor heard any other side of the possibility.
The fire had been set to kill them.
“Iris!” He yelled as soon as he saw the dark head of hair turning back towards his study. “I am out!” He knew that she was going back for him, closing the distance to grab her arm to pull her out. “We’ve got to go. Is everyone else out?”
Little work had been done on the length of white cloth that sat on the end of her bed. It was difficult for her to think about a wedding when she could barely keep her meals down. And it was even more impossible to manage her nausea when she thought about the unknown-- that Dima could be dead.
He had left her with child and would abandoned them for the honor of the Queen.
Olena tried to pick up the cloth, threading the needle with a steady hand to work on the pattern that would be their marriage cloth. And yet, when it was time to pierce the fabric, she could not bring herself to do it. The sight of white on red broke her for two reasons. First, the idea that she would work on the traditional sign of marriage to never get to be his wife felt crushing. And second, the red against the pure color brought up images of him bleeding and broken and dead. Both feelings quickly emptied her stomach.
It was mocking her. No matter how she tried to convince herself to have hope, it felt impossible to do so.
The girls helped to keep her distracted, when they could pull her out of the room that she had once shared with him. She had gone from a fairly vocal presence to a muted soul, unable to express the depth of her feelings in Greek. There were plenty of words in her own language that would truly convey what she was going through, but speaking them did little for her. The pitied looks she received by those who also knew she was with child was enough of a burden to bear.
She was angry. She was sad. There were too many emotions for her to handle alone. And yet, even with the woman who had circled around her to offer comfort, there was little they could say to make it better.
As she did most days, Olena had completed her duties to the Queen and hid herself in his room. He’d left clothing there, and Olena often found herself wrapped in the dark chiton he wore. There was no denying that time had softened his scent on it. The terror in the idea that it would lose the last memory of him was crushing, and yet she could not help but press herself close to it to try and remember the way his arms felt around her. Her condition had her so exhausted that she often accidentally fell asleep in here.
The commotion within the house awoke her, the voices rose in panicked concern. As she tried to remember where she was, it was the smell of smoke that caused her eyes to widen. There was no explaining what happened to her next-- she was not the young teen she had been. She was not in her parent’s home. And yet, the crescendo of the staff and the familiar scent of smoke blurred the lines of past and present.
Was the masculine voice that of her father, pounding on her door to hide? Was the screams those of her sisters? Could she hear her mother’s voice, begging them to leave her alone?
The scene was the same-- fire consuming everything around them. Her village had been peaceful up until it wasn’t. Pirates came and burned it to the ground, taking captives to sell into the slave trade. Her hands were over her ears and she tried to block out the cries of her mother, the sounds of the men having their way with her. From her place on the bed, she found herself underneath it.
Hadn’t this been where she and her sister had hid, only to be found and dragged out later?
Pulling the material that had been Dima’s closer around her, her eyes dilated as history morphed around her. This must have been what her sister’s felt like as they were locked into the house as it burned. Why was she alone? Would her father come find her, come hold her as she moved into the afterlife?
She could almost hear the cries of her sisters, begging their Gods to save them from this fate.
The flames danced in the shadows of the room, heat surrounding her as she balled into the smallest form she could make. Perhaps she would finally be reunited with them, and maybe the calm voice of Dima would be the first thing she heard as she passed over. But with the door to the room closed, it would have been impossible to see her tucked under the bed, save for the two pieces of fabric that peaked out of the corner from underneath. Olena found herself reliving her past, stuck in a time where fire consumed her village and killed everyone she loved.
Perhaps if she was quiet, she would make it out.
There was no way she would let the pirates have her again.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Little work had been done on the length of white cloth that sat on the end of her bed. It was difficult for her to think about a wedding when she could barely keep her meals down. And it was even more impossible to manage her nausea when she thought about the unknown-- that Dima could be dead.
He had left her with child and would abandoned them for the honor of the Queen.
Olena tried to pick up the cloth, threading the needle with a steady hand to work on the pattern that would be their marriage cloth. And yet, when it was time to pierce the fabric, she could not bring herself to do it. The sight of white on red broke her for two reasons. First, the idea that she would work on the traditional sign of marriage to never get to be his wife felt crushing. And second, the red against the pure color brought up images of him bleeding and broken and dead. Both feelings quickly emptied her stomach.
It was mocking her. No matter how she tried to convince herself to have hope, it felt impossible to do so.
The girls helped to keep her distracted, when they could pull her out of the room that she had once shared with him. She had gone from a fairly vocal presence to a muted soul, unable to express the depth of her feelings in Greek. There were plenty of words in her own language that would truly convey what she was going through, but speaking them did little for her. The pitied looks she received by those who also knew she was with child was enough of a burden to bear.
She was angry. She was sad. There were too many emotions for her to handle alone. And yet, even with the woman who had circled around her to offer comfort, there was little they could say to make it better.
As she did most days, Olena had completed her duties to the Queen and hid herself in his room. He’d left clothing there, and Olena often found herself wrapped in the dark chiton he wore. There was no denying that time had softened his scent on it. The terror in the idea that it would lose the last memory of him was crushing, and yet she could not help but press herself close to it to try and remember the way his arms felt around her. Her condition had her so exhausted that she often accidentally fell asleep in here.
The commotion within the house awoke her, the voices rose in panicked concern. As she tried to remember where she was, it was the smell of smoke that caused her eyes to widen. There was no explaining what happened to her next-- she was not the young teen she had been. She was not in her parent’s home. And yet, the crescendo of the staff and the familiar scent of smoke blurred the lines of past and present.
Was the masculine voice that of her father, pounding on her door to hide? Was the screams those of her sisters? Could she hear her mother’s voice, begging them to leave her alone?
The scene was the same-- fire consuming everything around them. Her village had been peaceful up until it wasn’t. Pirates came and burned it to the ground, taking captives to sell into the slave trade. Her hands were over her ears and she tried to block out the cries of her mother, the sounds of the men having their way with her. From her place on the bed, she found herself underneath it.
Hadn’t this been where she and her sister had hid, only to be found and dragged out later?
Pulling the material that had been Dima’s closer around her, her eyes dilated as history morphed around her. This must have been what her sister’s felt like as they were locked into the house as it burned. Why was she alone? Would her father come find her, come hold her as she moved into the afterlife?
She could almost hear the cries of her sisters, begging their Gods to save them from this fate.
The flames danced in the shadows of the room, heat surrounding her as she balled into the smallest form she could make. Perhaps she would finally be reunited with them, and maybe the calm voice of Dima would be the first thing she heard as she passed over. But with the door to the room closed, it would have been impossible to see her tucked under the bed, save for the two pieces of fabric that peaked out of the corner from underneath. Olena found herself reliving her past, stuck in a time where fire consumed her village and killed everyone she loved.
Perhaps if she was quiet, she would make it out.
There was no way she would let the pirates have her again.
Little work had been done on the length of white cloth that sat on the end of her bed. It was difficult for her to think about a wedding when she could barely keep her meals down. And it was even more impossible to manage her nausea when she thought about the unknown-- that Dima could be dead.
He had left her with child and would abandoned them for the honor of the Queen.
Olena tried to pick up the cloth, threading the needle with a steady hand to work on the pattern that would be their marriage cloth. And yet, when it was time to pierce the fabric, she could not bring herself to do it. The sight of white on red broke her for two reasons. First, the idea that she would work on the traditional sign of marriage to never get to be his wife felt crushing. And second, the red against the pure color brought up images of him bleeding and broken and dead. Both feelings quickly emptied her stomach.
It was mocking her. No matter how she tried to convince herself to have hope, it felt impossible to do so.
The girls helped to keep her distracted, when they could pull her out of the room that she had once shared with him. She had gone from a fairly vocal presence to a muted soul, unable to express the depth of her feelings in Greek. There were plenty of words in her own language that would truly convey what she was going through, but speaking them did little for her. The pitied looks she received by those who also knew she was with child was enough of a burden to bear.
She was angry. She was sad. There were too many emotions for her to handle alone. And yet, even with the woman who had circled around her to offer comfort, there was little they could say to make it better.
As she did most days, Olena had completed her duties to the Queen and hid herself in his room. He’d left clothing there, and Olena often found herself wrapped in the dark chiton he wore. There was no denying that time had softened his scent on it. The terror in the idea that it would lose the last memory of him was crushing, and yet she could not help but press herself close to it to try and remember the way his arms felt around her. Her condition had her so exhausted that she often accidentally fell asleep in here.
The commotion within the house awoke her, the voices rose in panicked concern. As she tried to remember where she was, it was the smell of smoke that caused her eyes to widen. There was no explaining what happened to her next-- she was not the young teen she had been. She was not in her parent’s home. And yet, the crescendo of the staff and the familiar scent of smoke blurred the lines of past and present.
Was the masculine voice that of her father, pounding on her door to hide? Was the screams those of her sisters? Could she hear her mother’s voice, begging them to leave her alone?
The scene was the same-- fire consuming everything around them. Her village had been peaceful up until it wasn’t. Pirates came and burned it to the ground, taking captives to sell into the slave trade. Her hands were over her ears and she tried to block out the cries of her mother, the sounds of the men having their way with her. From her place on the bed, she found herself underneath it.
Hadn’t this been where she and her sister had hid, only to be found and dragged out later?
Pulling the material that had been Dima’s closer around her, her eyes dilated as history morphed around her. This must have been what her sister’s felt like as they were locked into the house as it burned. Why was she alone? Would her father come find her, come hold her as she moved into the afterlife?
She could almost hear the cries of her sisters, begging their Gods to save them from this fate.
The flames danced in the shadows of the room, heat surrounding her as she balled into the smallest form she could make. Perhaps she would finally be reunited with them, and maybe the calm voice of Dima would be the first thing she heard as she passed over. But with the door to the room closed, it would have been impossible to see her tucked under the bed, save for the two pieces of fabric that peaked out of the corner from underneath. Olena found herself reliving her past, stuck in a time where fire consumed her village and killed everyone she loved.
Perhaps if she was quiet, she would make it out.
There was no way she would let the pirates have her again.
There was a moment of confusion as Chrysanthe found Iason, not Perse curled up in her mistress’s bed. While unexpected, the arrangement made enough sense that she wasn’t about to give it a second thought. Not with a fire approaching. She stepped back quickly as he woke up clutching a knife, but as his confusion faded it was quickly apparent that he was no real threat. His concern, like hers, was the location of Perse. But if she wasn’t here in her room, Chrysanthe didn’t know where Perse might be. “I thought…” but Chrysanthe’s voice was cut off by the sound of Perse’s voice from outside. Chrysanthe almost immediately looked relieved.
Then Iason was giving her clear, simple orders about what she needed to be doing. That was good, she had a task and she only had to focus on completing it. Perse was safe. She only had to find the other handmaidens and make sure they got out of the house. That she could do.
Chrysanthe hurried through the house, back towards the room she shared with the others. She would at least start there if they weren’t there, she wasn’t entirely sure where to look. "Olena! Ariadne! Where are you? We need to get out of the house now!" Hopefully, they’d hear her if she wasn’t able to find them.
On the way to their room, she passed by Dima’s old room. Chrysanthe knew Olena often spent time in that room when she had nowhere else to go. She burst into the room, hoping that she might find Olena in there, but she was nowhere to be seen. Thinking that she needed to look elsewhere, Chrysanthe had almost turned to go out of the room again when she saw the piece of fabric on the floor. She frowned, a bit. Wasn’t that one of Dima’s chitons? Instinctively she bent down to dig the garment out from under the bed. She knew Olena wouldn’t want it left there where it could get dirty. It didn’t even occur to her the absurdity of this thought given that anything left here was likely to be burned in the fire. That would be a thought for later, once the reality of the situation finally sank in.
As she dropped to her knees, to reach under the bed for the chiton, and suddenly she saw a pair of eyes staring back at her. It was Olena, wide-eyed, curled tightly as far back from the edge as she could manage to get. She must have been scared by the fire; there had been a lot of shouting. Chrysanthe automatically switched into the mode that she might use when talking to a scared child. “Olena,” she said gently, trying to make sure that she would feel safe and comfortable to come out from under the bed. “It’s Chrysanthe, and it’s safe for you to come out.” In her mind, the thoughts were swirling. How did she convince Olena that she needed to leave quickly, without scaring her further about the fire, as that was what required the urgency of action? “I need you to come with me,” she said with a smile, trying to make it sound like perhaps it might be something fun, and not an urgent request that she escape a fire.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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There was a moment of confusion as Chrysanthe found Iason, not Perse curled up in her mistress’s bed. While unexpected, the arrangement made enough sense that she wasn’t about to give it a second thought. Not with a fire approaching. She stepped back quickly as he woke up clutching a knife, but as his confusion faded it was quickly apparent that he was no real threat. His concern, like hers, was the location of Perse. But if she wasn’t here in her room, Chrysanthe didn’t know where Perse might be. “I thought…” but Chrysanthe’s voice was cut off by the sound of Perse’s voice from outside. Chrysanthe almost immediately looked relieved.
Then Iason was giving her clear, simple orders about what she needed to be doing. That was good, she had a task and she only had to focus on completing it. Perse was safe. She only had to find the other handmaidens and make sure they got out of the house. That she could do.
Chrysanthe hurried through the house, back towards the room she shared with the others. She would at least start there if they weren’t there, she wasn’t entirely sure where to look. "Olena! Ariadne! Where are you? We need to get out of the house now!" Hopefully, they’d hear her if she wasn’t able to find them.
On the way to their room, she passed by Dima’s old room. Chrysanthe knew Olena often spent time in that room when she had nowhere else to go. She burst into the room, hoping that she might find Olena in there, but she was nowhere to be seen. Thinking that she needed to look elsewhere, Chrysanthe had almost turned to go out of the room again when she saw the piece of fabric on the floor. She frowned, a bit. Wasn’t that one of Dima’s chitons? Instinctively she bent down to dig the garment out from under the bed. She knew Olena wouldn’t want it left there where it could get dirty. It didn’t even occur to her the absurdity of this thought given that anything left here was likely to be burned in the fire. That would be a thought for later, once the reality of the situation finally sank in.
As she dropped to her knees, to reach under the bed for the chiton, and suddenly she saw a pair of eyes staring back at her. It was Olena, wide-eyed, curled tightly as far back from the edge as she could manage to get. She must have been scared by the fire; there had been a lot of shouting. Chrysanthe automatically switched into the mode that she might use when talking to a scared child. “Olena,” she said gently, trying to make sure that she would feel safe and comfortable to come out from under the bed. “It’s Chrysanthe, and it’s safe for you to come out.” In her mind, the thoughts were swirling. How did she convince Olena that she needed to leave quickly, without scaring her further about the fire, as that was what required the urgency of action? “I need you to come with me,” she said with a smile, trying to make it sound like perhaps it might be something fun, and not an urgent request that she escape a fire.
There was a moment of confusion as Chrysanthe found Iason, not Perse curled up in her mistress’s bed. While unexpected, the arrangement made enough sense that she wasn’t about to give it a second thought. Not with a fire approaching. She stepped back quickly as he woke up clutching a knife, but as his confusion faded it was quickly apparent that he was no real threat. His concern, like hers, was the location of Perse. But if she wasn’t here in her room, Chrysanthe didn’t know where Perse might be. “I thought…” but Chrysanthe’s voice was cut off by the sound of Perse’s voice from outside. Chrysanthe almost immediately looked relieved.
Then Iason was giving her clear, simple orders about what she needed to be doing. That was good, she had a task and she only had to focus on completing it. Perse was safe. She only had to find the other handmaidens and make sure they got out of the house. That she could do.
Chrysanthe hurried through the house, back towards the room she shared with the others. She would at least start there if they weren’t there, she wasn’t entirely sure where to look. "Olena! Ariadne! Where are you? We need to get out of the house now!" Hopefully, they’d hear her if she wasn’t able to find them.
On the way to their room, she passed by Dima’s old room. Chrysanthe knew Olena often spent time in that room when she had nowhere else to go. She burst into the room, hoping that she might find Olena in there, but she was nowhere to be seen. Thinking that she needed to look elsewhere, Chrysanthe had almost turned to go out of the room again when she saw the piece of fabric on the floor. She frowned, a bit. Wasn’t that one of Dima’s chitons? Instinctively she bent down to dig the garment out from under the bed. She knew Olena wouldn’t want it left there where it could get dirty. It didn’t even occur to her the absurdity of this thought given that anything left here was likely to be burned in the fire. That would be a thought for later, once the reality of the situation finally sank in.
As she dropped to her knees, to reach under the bed for the chiton, and suddenly she saw a pair of eyes staring back at her. It was Olena, wide-eyed, curled tightly as far back from the edge as she could manage to get. She must have been scared by the fire; there had been a lot of shouting. Chrysanthe automatically switched into the mode that she might use when talking to a scared child. “Olena,” she said gently, trying to make sure that she would feel safe and comfortable to come out from under the bed. “It’s Chrysanthe, and it’s safe for you to come out.” In her mind, the thoughts were swirling. How did she convince Olena that she needed to leave quickly, without scaring her further about the fire, as that was what required the urgency of action? “I need you to come with me,” she said with a smile, trying to make it sound like perhaps it might be something fun, and not an urgent request that she escape a fire.
It was all happening so quickly, she thought, as she received a hurried response from Iris. Of course, fires waited for no one. Ariadne took a brief moment to wonder how the fire had been set and could only hope that it was an accident. However, given their circumstances, she felt that it might be something more sinister. That made her want to find Persephone and the others all the more. They needed to get out. Nodding as Iris directed her to get everyone out, Ari hurried back in the other direction, in the halls leading towards their rooms. She had nothing personal that she needed to get of her own items. Her abscondment with the royal party had been thoroughly unplanned and she had nothing important on her. However, she thought the others might be near their rooms.
Just as Ariadne turned the corner, she saw Chrysanthe disappear into a room where Olena would often spend her time. She gathered that it was the place that she had stayed with Dima, though Ari was too polite to ask much more than that. She could tell that the woman was upset and broaching the subject never seemed to be a great idea.
Rather than continue on, at least without Chrysanthe, Ariadne hurried to the room, slipping in the door behind the other woman. Ariadne was naturally very quiet and wasn’t prone to shouting for others—even an emergency situation like this one. She was glad for that once she took in the room. Chrysanthe was on her knees by the bed, speaking softly to someone. Ariadne was confused at first by what was happened, but quickly gathered that it was Olena under the bed. Her heart ached for the other woman, wondering what had happened to make her so scared. But they would not leave her behind, no matter what.
Quietly, she made her way over next to Chrysanthe, setting her hand gently on the woman’s shoulder to let her know she was there. Then, Ariadne knelt down next to her, peering under the bed as well. She didn’t know either of the women well yet, but hoped that the three of them might be great friends some day. They all held a love for the woman they served. Gently, she added, “Hello Olena, it’s Ariadne. Please come join us.”
She wondered if there was anything from the room that she could pack, but realized that she wouldn’t know what was important to Olena. It was often the insignificant thing that held the most sentimental value. If they could just get her out, then perhaps she could find out. They still had some time to make their escape, though they should not dally. The panic in Iris’ voice told her that much.
Softly, hardly above a whisper so not to be overheard by Olena, she asked Chrysanthe, “Is there anything special I can pack?”
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It was all happening so quickly, she thought, as she received a hurried response from Iris. Of course, fires waited for no one. Ariadne took a brief moment to wonder how the fire had been set and could only hope that it was an accident. However, given their circumstances, she felt that it might be something more sinister. That made her want to find Persephone and the others all the more. They needed to get out. Nodding as Iris directed her to get everyone out, Ari hurried back in the other direction, in the halls leading towards their rooms. She had nothing personal that she needed to get of her own items. Her abscondment with the royal party had been thoroughly unplanned and she had nothing important on her. However, she thought the others might be near their rooms.
Just as Ariadne turned the corner, she saw Chrysanthe disappear into a room where Olena would often spend her time. She gathered that it was the place that she had stayed with Dima, though Ari was too polite to ask much more than that. She could tell that the woman was upset and broaching the subject never seemed to be a great idea.
Rather than continue on, at least without Chrysanthe, Ariadne hurried to the room, slipping in the door behind the other woman. Ariadne was naturally very quiet and wasn’t prone to shouting for others—even an emergency situation like this one. She was glad for that once she took in the room. Chrysanthe was on her knees by the bed, speaking softly to someone. Ariadne was confused at first by what was happened, but quickly gathered that it was Olena under the bed. Her heart ached for the other woman, wondering what had happened to make her so scared. But they would not leave her behind, no matter what.
Quietly, she made her way over next to Chrysanthe, setting her hand gently on the woman’s shoulder to let her know she was there. Then, Ariadne knelt down next to her, peering under the bed as well. She didn’t know either of the women well yet, but hoped that the three of them might be great friends some day. They all held a love for the woman they served. Gently, she added, “Hello Olena, it’s Ariadne. Please come join us.”
She wondered if there was anything from the room that she could pack, but realized that she wouldn’t know what was important to Olena. It was often the insignificant thing that held the most sentimental value. If they could just get her out, then perhaps she could find out. They still had some time to make their escape, though they should not dally. The panic in Iris’ voice told her that much.
Softly, hardly above a whisper so not to be overheard by Olena, she asked Chrysanthe, “Is there anything special I can pack?”
It was all happening so quickly, she thought, as she received a hurried response from Iris. Of course, fires waited for no one. Ariadne took a brief moment to wonder how the fire had been set and could only hope that it was an accident. However, given their circumstances, she felt that it might be something more sinister. That made her want to find Persephone and the others all the more. They needed to get out. Nodding as Iris directed her to get everyone out, Ari hurried back in the other direction, in the halls leading towards their rooms. She had nothing personal that she needed to get of her own items. Her abscondment with the royal party had been thoroughly unplanned and she had nothing important on her. However, she thought the others might be near their rooms.
Just as Ariadne turned the corner, she saw Chrysanthe disappear into a room where Olena would often spend her time. She gathered that it was the place that she had stayed with Dima, though Ari was too polite to ask much more than that. She could tell that the woman was upset and broaching the subject never seemed to be a great idea.
Rather than continue on, at least without Chrysanthe, Ariadne hurried to the room, slipping in the door behind the other woman. Ariadne was naturally very quiet and wasn’t prone to shouting for others—even an emergency situation like this one. She was glad for that once she took in the room. Chrysanthe was on her knees by the bed, speaking softly to someone. Ariadne was confused at first by what was happened, but quickly gathered that it was Olena under the bed. Her heart ached for the other woman, wondering what had happened to make her so scared. But they would not leave her behind, no matter what.
Quietly, she made her way over next to Chrysanthe, setting her hand gently on the woman’s shoulder to let her know she was there. Then, Ariadne knelt down next to her, peering under the bed as well. She didn’t know either of the women well yet, but hoped that the three of them might be great friends some day. They all held a love for the woman they served. Gently, she added, “Hello Olena, it’s Ariadne. Please come join us.”
She wondered if there was anything from the room that she could pack, but realized that she wouldn’t know what was important to Olena. It was often the insignificant thing that held the most sentimental value. If they could just get her out, then perhaps she could find out. They still had some time to make their escape, though they should not dally. The panic in Iris’ voice told her that much.
Softly, hardly above a whisper so not to be overheard by Olena, she asked Chrysanthe, “Is there anything special I can pack?”