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She had insisted on packing her own things at the archontikos, refusing the help of the servants who had been sent to make things go more quickly. It was almost as if she thought that by going more slowly, she could extend her time here rather than the reality of being forced to leave without everything she wanted.
She had not quite handled the eviction from the only home she’d ever known as well as her mother and sister seemed to be. It was almost as if they had expected it whereas, Sara had been completely caught off guard by the idea. Emilios had offered to let her stay, but she could not abandon her mother or Tasia, they both were suffering enough already without adding insult to injury. They all were.
The brunette sighed as she looked around her room, the crates of her books and personal belongings beginning to take up the space in a different way than they had when it had been spread across the space. She could really only take the things she really wanted, and even that might be subject to the whims of whomever was going to go behind her. She felt the tears in her eyes again and she reached up to angrily scrub them away. She hated this. All of it.
She stood on one of the small ladders she had, clearing off one of the last shelves that she had left to do, and so her balance was precarious as she used the back of her hand to wipe away her tears. She muttered a curse word under her breath, a rare occurrence for the usually bright girl. Today there didn’t seem to be any brightness left to her, with heavy clouds of reality bringing her down. She brought down some of the last of her things, carefully wrapping the breakables with cloth so that they might make the journey more safely.
With that, she dusted her hands off -- frowning as she looked across her former bedroom. It looked so strange without her things. She went to one of the crates, and used her will to pick it up. It was quite heavy, heavier than it looked, for the small young woman and she carried it with stiff arms and strained back out into the halls. Her sandals scuffed the floor as she shuffled along the marble floors -- headed towards where they were loading things. She turned one of the corners, jumping as she ran into someone -- stumbling back before dropping the crate with a loud clatter to the floor.
”By the gods.” She said in an uncharacteristically sour tone, dropping to her knees to check the contents for damage. She looked up once she was sure that her things were safe, and froze -- blue eyes wide. She immediately dropped her gaze and bowed her head, her shoulders stiffening. ”I’m so sorry, your highness.” She said, her hands protectively pulling the crate closer. ”I should have been watching where I was going.”
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She had insisted on packing her own things at the archontikos, refusing the help of the servants who had been sent to make things go more quickly. It was almost as if she thought that by going more slowly, she could extend her time here rather than the reality of being forced to leave without everything she wanted.
She had not quite handled the eviction from the only home she’d ever known as well as her mother and sister seemed to be. It was almost as if they had expected it whereas, Sara had been completely caught off guard by the idea. Emilios had offered to let her stay, but she could not abandon her mother or Tasia, they both were suffering enough already without adding insult to injury. They all were.
The brunette sighed as she looked around her room, the crates of her books and personal belongings beginning to take up the space in a different way than they had when it had been spread across the space. She could really only take the things she really wanted, and even that might be subject to the whims of whomever was going to go behind her. She felt the tears in her eyes again and she reached up to angrily scrub them away. She hated this. All of it.
She stood on one of the small ladders she had, clearing off one of the last shelves that she had left to do, and so her balance was precarious as she used the back of her hand to wipe away her tears. She muttered a curse word under her breath, a rare occurrence for the usually bright girl. Today there didn’t seem to be any brightness left to her, with heavy clouds of reality bringing her down. She brought down some of the last of her things, carefully wrapping the breakables with cloth so that they might make the journey more safely.
With that, she dusted her hands off -- frowning as she looked across her former bedroom. It looked so strange without her things. She went to one of the crates, and used her will to pick it up. It was quite heavy, heavier than it looked, for the small young woman and she carried it with stiff arms and strained back out into the halls. Her sandals scuffed the floor as she shuffled along the marble floors -- headed towards where they were loading things. She turned one of the corners, jumping as she ran into someone -- stumbling back before dropping the crate with a loud clatter to the floor.
”By the gods.” She said in an uncharacteristically sour tone, dropping to her knees to check the contents for damage. She looked up once she was sure that her things were safe, and froze -- blue eyes wide. She immediately dropped her gaze and bowed her head, her shoulders stiffening. ”I’m so sorry, your highness.” She said, her hands protectively pulling the crate closer. ”I should have been watching where I was going.”
She had insisted on packing her own things at the archontikos, refusing the help of the servants who had been sent to make things go more quickly. It was almost as if she thought that by going more slowly, she could extend her time here rather than the reality of being forced to leave without everything she wanted.
She had not quite handled the eviction from the only home she’d ever known as well as her mother and sister seemed to be. It was almost as if they had expected it whereas, Sara had been completely caught off guard by the idea. Emilios had offered to let her stay, but she could not abandon her mother or Tasia, they both were suffering enough already without adding insult to injury. They all were.
The brunette sighed as she looked around her room, the crates of her books and personal belongings beginning to take up the space in a different way than they had when it had been spread across the space. She could really only take the things she really wanted, and even that might be subject to the whims of whomever was going to go behind her. She felt the tears in her eyes again and she reached up to angrily scrub them away. She hated this. All of it.
She stood on one of the small ladders she had, clearing off one of the last shelves that she had left to do, and so her balance was precarious as she used the back of her hand to wipe away her tears. She muttered a curse word under her breath, a rare occurrence for the usually bright girl. Today there didn’t seem to be any brightness left to her, with heavy clouds of reality bringing her down. She brought down some of the last of her things, carefully wrapping the breakables with cloth so that they might make the journey more safely.
With that, she dusted her hands off -- frowning as she looked across her former bedroom. It looked so strange without her things. She went to one of the crates, and used her will to pick it up. It was quite heavy, heavier than it looked, for the small young woman and she carried it with stiff arms and strained back out into the halls. Her sandals scuffed the floor as she shuffled along the marble floors -- headed towards where they were loading things. She turned one of the corners, jumping as she ran into someone -- stumbling back before dropping the crate with a loud clatter to the floor.
”By the gods.” She said in an uncharacteristically sour tone, dropping to her knees to check the contents for damage. She looked up once she was sure that her things were safe, and froze -- blue eyes wide. She immediately dropped her gaze and bowed her head, her shoulders stiffening. ”I’m so sorry, your highness.” She said, her hands protectively pulling the crate closer. ”I should have been watching where I was going.”
He hadn’t intended to return to the archontiko. Everything was being taken care of, Theodora was overseeing the transfer of things to the palati, Emilios was handling everything else. Achilleas’ attention was needed elsewhere, with higher things. The new King had found however that something in him craved a bit of familiarity, and whilst he could not justify a trip out to Euttica, which truly felt like home, he could come here. The last place he had seen his father alive.
Any sign that the place had paid host to a wedding in the days before had long since been removed: there was no place for bright silks and lanterns when mourning, after all. And one had quickly turned to the other.
He had stood out in the courtyard for a while, marvelling at how you would never know if you were to take the place upon face value, all that had transpired here only days before. He stood in the same place he had stood then, gazed at where his father had fallen. There was nothing to mark the spot. Had it not been for the images burnt irrevocably into his memory, Achilleas would not have thought anything of that path between fig and rosemary, one of so many others in the gardens.
He couldn’t make sense of it yet, it didn’t seem real still. In the palati it was easier to forget, there was enough for him to throw himself into, but here he was reminded instantly of that hollow and numb feeling that had sunk into the background. Standing in the place his father had drawn his last breath he’d thought to prod at it because surely there must be more?
But there was no sudden rush of emotion, and that was amusing, in a morbid way. His father had always insisted there was no place for it in the life of a warrior, and now, as Achilleas looked on the place the man had died, he felt nothing. Those lessons had paid off perhaps.
Conscious of the eyes of the remaining staff upon him, the new King eventually made his feet move, though he wasn’t certain where he was going when he made his way inside the manor. Habit led him through the cool marble hallways towards his father’s study, but it was this lack of attention that saw him so unresponsive as to collide with someone coming in the opposite direction.
Achilleas rubbed absently at a spot on his chest where the sharp corner of a crate had impacted, blinking as looked down to find Sara gathering the offending crate to her. He frowned a little, wondering for a moment why she was doing servants work until he really took in the contents of the crate and then he realised uncomfortably what was happening.
Emilios had told him of his plans to evict Meena from the archontiko, he thought, but Achilleas hadn’t given much thought to the fact that such included Tasia and Sara too. He knew his brother had plans to enable the girls to stay if they so wished but didn’t know what they had chosen. He looked at Sara blankly as she apologised.
“It's your majesty now,” he said flatly, bending to help the girl with the box without thinking about it. But his half-sister was clinging on to it too and so as he stood again, they ended up each half holding it in some awkward standoff. Achilleas let go. Looking down at her, the man reached for something to say. The one person that had joined them was gone, and the connection that Achilleas had resisted at the best of times seemed even more fragile now. For him and his brother, their father’s death had thrust them forward in society. For Irakles’ illegitimate children, it was rather the opposite. But Achilleas couldn’t find it within himself to be dismissive, not when faced with the youngest who had always had a gentleness to her. His jaw flexed a moment as he considered what to say, and after a moment he spoke. “ I would ask how you are but it seems a rather stupid question, all things considered”
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He hadn’t intended to return to the archontiko. Everything was being taken care of, Theodora was overseeing the transfer of things to the palati, Emilios was handling everything else. Achilleas’ attention was needed elsewhere, with higher things. The new King had found however that something in him craved a bit of familiarity, and whilst he could not justify a trip out to Euttica, which truly felt like home, he could come here. The last place he had seen his father alive.
Any sign that the place had paid host to a wedding in the days before had long since been removed: there was no place for bright silks and lanterns when mourning, after all. And one had quickly turned to the other.
He had stood out in the courtyard for a while, marvelling at how you would never know if you were to take the place upon face value, all that had transpired here only days before. He stood in the same place he had stood then, gazed at where his father had fallen. There was nothing to mark the spot. Had it not been for the images burnt irrevocably into his memory, Achilleas would not have thought anything of that path between fig and rosemary, one of so many others in the gardens.
He couldn’t make sense of it yet, it didn’t seem real still. In the palati it was easier to forget, there was enough for him to throw himself into, but here he was reminded instantly of that hollow and numb feeling that had sunk into the background. Standing in the place his father had drawn his last breath he’d thought to prod at it because surely there must be more?
But there was no sudden rush of emotion, and that was amusing, in a morbid way. His father had always insisted there was no place for it in the life of a warrior, and now, as Achilleas looked on the place the man had died, he felt nothing. Those lessons had paid off perhaps.
Conscious of the eyes of the remaining staff upon him, the new King eventually made his feet move, though he wasn’t certain where he was going when he made his way inside the manor. Habit led him through the cool marble hallways towards his father’s study, but it was this lack of attention that saw him so unresponsive as to collide with someone coming in the opposite direction.
Achilleas rubbed absently at a spot on his chest where the sharp corner of a crate had impacted, blinking as looked down to find Sara gathering the offending crate to her. He frowned a little, wondering for a moment why she was doing servants work until he really took in the contents of the crate and then he realised uncomfortably what was happening.
Emilios had told him of his plans to evict Meena from the archontiko, he thought, but Achilleas hadn’t given much thought to the fact that such included Tasia and Sara too. He knew his brother had plans to enable the girls to stay if they so wished but didn’t know what they had chosen. He looked at Sara blankly as she apologised.
“It's your majesty now,” he said flatly, bending to help the girl with the box without thinking about it. But his half-sister was clinging on to it too and so as he stood again, they ended up each half holding it in some awkward standoff. Achilleas let go. Looking down at her, the man reached for something to say. The one person that had joined them was gone, and the connection that Achilleas had resisted at the best of times seemed even more fragile now. For him and his brother, their father’s death had thrust them forward in society. For Irakles’ illegitimate children, it was rather the opposite. But Achilleas couldn’t find it within himself to be dismissive, not when faced with the youngest who had always had a gentleness to her. His jaw flexed a moment as he considered what to say, and after a moment he spoke. “ I would ask how you are but it seems a rather stupid question, all things considered”
He hadn’t intended to return to the archontiko. Everything was being taken care of, Theodora was overseeing the transfer of things to the palati, Emilios was handling everything else. Achilleas’ attention was needed elsewhere, with higher things. The new King had found however that something in him craved a bit of familiarity, and whilst he could not justify a trip out to Euttica, which truly felt like home, he could come here. The last place he had seen his father alive.
Any sign that the place had paid host to a wedding in the days before had long since been removed: there was no place for bright silks and lanterns when mourning, after all. And one had quickly turned to the other.
He had stood out in the courtyard for a while, marvelling at how you would never know if you were to take the place upon face value, all that had transpired here only days before. He stood in the same place he had stood then, gazed at where his father had fallen. There was nothing to mark the spot. Had it not been for the images burnt irrevocably into his memory, Achilleas would not have thought anything of that path between fig and rosemary, one of so many others in the gardens.
He couldn’t make sense of it yet, it didn’t seem real still. In the palati it was easier to forget, there was enough for him to throw himself into, but here he was reminded instantly of that hollow and numb feeling that had sunk into the background. Standing in the place his father had drawn his last breath he’d thought to prod at it because surely there must be more?
But there was no sudden rush of emotion, and that was amusing, in a morbid way. His father had always insisted there was no place for it in the life of a warrior, and now, as Achilleas looked on the place the man had died, he felt nothing. Those lessons had paid off perhaps.
Conscious of the eyes of the remaining staff upon him, the new King eventually made his feet move, though he wasn’t certain where he was going when he made his way inside the manor. Habit led him through the cool marble hallways towards his father’s study, but it was this lack of attention that saw him so unresponsive as to collide with someone coming in the opposite direction.
Achilleas rubbed absently at a spot on his chest where the sharp corner of a crate had impacted, blinking as looked down to find Sara gathering the offending crate to her. He frowned a little, wondering for a moment why she was doing servants work until he really took in the contents of the crate and then he realised uncomfortably what was happening.
Emilios had told him of his plans to evict Meena from the archontiko, he thought, but Achilleas hadn’t given much thought to the fact that such included Tasia and Sara too. He knew his brother had plans to enable the girls to stay if they so wished but didn’t know what they had chosen. He looked at Sara blankly as she apologised.
“It's your majesty now,” he said flatly, bending to help the girl with the box without thinking about it. But his half-sister was clinging on to it too and so as he stood again, they ended up each half holding it in some awkward standoff. Achilleas let go. Looking down at her, the man reached for something to say. The one person that had joined them was gone, and the connection that Achilleas had resisted at the best of times seemed even more fragile now. For him and his brother, their father’s death had thrust them forward in society. For Irakles’ illegitimate children, it was rather the opposite. But Achilleas couldn’t find it within himself to be dismissive, not when faced with the youngest who had always had a gentleness to her. His jaw flexed a moment as he considered what to say, and after a moment he spoke. “ I would ask how you are but it seems a rather stupid question, all things considered”
”Oh.” She said lamely, not used to the title change. There had been so many changes in the last weeks, she didn’t even know what to call herself anymore. ”Sorry…your majesty.” She corrected, still not looking back up to meet his eyes. She awkwardly scrambled to her feet as he bent down to help her, both of them holding on to opposite sides of the crate.
She could not explain the surge of feelings that were awash over her at that moment -- the fear, frustration, hurt, but tossed in there also was the love that she had for her eldest brother. Their relationship had never been particularly close, but in her eyes they were blood. They should be sticking together, now more than before. A united Mikaelidas front, except...they’d never really been that, had they? There had always been a divide between them, a wound that no balm could soothe.
He let go of his side, and she had to struggle a bit to keep the box in her hands. It was heavy laden with some of her things, though it seemed the breakable items had been spared from the drop. She was surprised by the sudden rise of tears as he spoke again, forcing her chin up as if that could keep them within her. She smiled, but it was watery, and she knew she had to get the conversation away from her at least for a moment or else she would cry.
”Well, it’s the thought that counts.” She said with a pained sound that resembled a laugh. ”It’s a better question for you, though…” She trailed off momentarily. ”I know that you’ve been busy, but...have you been...well?” She asked, genuinely concerned. Her voice had been hesitant, cautious in case she invoked his annoyance. She did not know if he would grace her with the truth, but she could take a pleasant lie too.
She shuffled back on her feet, reaching to hold the crate from underneath as it might make it easier to hold. Her things rattled, and she blushed in embarrassment. ”I wanted to do this myself.” She explained, gesturing to the box with a nod of her head. The dark waves of her hair were pinned up, slowly slipping from the ties she had put them in and tempting fate to fall down her back. ”It feels...important somehow.” She said thoughtfully. ”To leave on my own terms.” She smiled again, a little less thinly. She would recover somehow. She just had to keep smiling.
Her blue gaze suddenly widened as she had a thought. ”Ah, I do...have something for you.” She said, clearing her throat. Talking to Achilleas was never going to get any easier, was it? She always felt as if she couldn’t be clear enough with him, as if she might offend him somehow. ”Unless…” She bit her lip, a nervous habit, before letting it go. Well, unless you don’t...want it.” She had tried so long to make a presence in his life, but by the eviction -- she felt the rebuff quite clearly. Some part of her knew that it was her mother that the elder men didn’t care for, but she worried that resentment trickled down to her in some fashion as well.
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”Oh.” She said lamely, not used to the title change. There had been so many changes in the last weeks, she didn’t even know what to call herself anymore. ”Sorry…your majesty.” She corrected, still not looking back up to meet his eyes. She awkwardly scrambled to her feet as he bent down to help her, both of them holding on to opposite sides of the crate.
She could not explain the surge of feelings that were awash over her at that moment -- the fear, frustration, hurt, but tossed in there also was the love that she had for her eldest brother. Their relationship had never been particularly close, but in her eyes they were blood. They should be sticking together, now more than before. A united Mikaelidas front, except...they’d never really been that, had they? There had always been a divide between them, a wound that no balm could soothe.
He let go of his side, and she had to struggle a bit to keep the box in her hands. It was heavy laden with some of her things, though it seemed the breakable items had been spared from the drop. She was surprised by the sudden rise of tears as he spoke again, forcing her chin up as if that could keep them within her. She smiled, but it was watery, and she knew she had to get the conversation away from her at least for a moment or else she would cry.
”Well, it’s the thought that counts.” She said with a pained sound that resembled a laugh. ”It’s a better question for you, though…” She trailed off momentarily. ”I know that you’ve been busy, but...have you been...well?” She asked, genuinely concerned. Her voice had been hesitant, cautious in case she invoked his annoyance. She did not know if he would grace her with the truth, but she could take a pleasant lie too.
She shuffled back on her feet, reaching to hold the crate from underneath as it might make it easier to hold. Her things rattled, and she blushed in embarrassment. ”I wanted to do this myself.” She explained, gesturing to the box with a nod of her head. The dark waves of her hair were pinned up, slowly slipping from the ties she had put them in and tempting fate to fall down her back. ”It feels...important somehow.” She said thoughtfully. ”To leave on my own terms.” She smiled again, a little less thinly. She would recover somehow. She just had to keep smiling.
Her blue gaze suddenly widened as she had a thought. ”Ah, I do...have something for you.” She said, clearing her throat. Talking to Achilleas was never going to get any easier, was it? She always felt as if she couldn’t be clear enough with him, as if she might offend him somehow. ”Unless…” She bit her lip, a nervous habit, before letting it go. Well, unless you don’t...want it.” She had tried so long to make a presence in his life, but by the eviction -- she felt the rebuff quite clearly. Some part of her knew that it was her mother that the elder men didn’t care for, but she worried that resentment trickled down to her in some fashion as well.
”Oh.” She said lamely, not used to the title change. There had been so many changes in the last weeks, she didn’t even know what to call herself anymore. ”Sorry…your majesty.” She corrected, still not looking back up to meet his eyes. She awkwardly scrambled to her feet as he bent down to help her, both of them holding on to opposite sides of the crate.
She could not explain the surge of feelings that were awash over her at that moment -- the fear, frustration, hurt, but tossed in there also was the love that she had for her eldest brother. Their relationship had never been particularly close, but in her eyes they were blood. They should be sticking together, now more than before. A united Mikaelidas front, except...they’d never really been that, had they? There had always been a divide between them, a wound that no balm could soothe.
He let go of his side, and she had to struggle a bit to keep the box in her hands. It was heavy laden with some of her things, though it seemed the breakable items had been spared from the drop. She was surprised by the sudden rise of tears as he spoke again, forcing her chin up as if that could keep them within her. She smiled, but it was watery, and she knew she had to get the conversation away from her at least for a moment or else she would cry.
”Well, it’s the thought that counts.” She said with a pained sound that resembled a laugh. ”It’s a better question for you, though…” She trailed off momentarily. ”I know that you’ve been busy, but...have you been...well?” She asked, genuinely concerned. Her voice had been hesitant, cautious in case she invoked his annoyance. She did not know if he would grace her with the truth, but she could take a pleasant lie too.
She shuffled back on her feet, reaching to hold the crate from underneath as it might make it easier to hold. Her things rattled, and she blushed in embarrassment. ”I wanted to do this myself.” She explained, gesturing to the box with a nod of her head. The dark waves of her hair were pinned up, slowly slipping from the ties she had put them in and tempting fate to fall down her back. ”It feels...important somehow.” She said thoughtfully. ”To leave on my own terms.” She smiled again, a little less thinly. She would recover somehow. She just had to keep smiling.
Her blue gaze suddenly widened as she had a thought. ”Ah, I do...have something for you.” She said, clearing her throat. Talking to Achilleas was never going to get any easier, was it? She always felt as if she couldn’t be clear enough with him, as if she might offend him somehow. ”Unless…” She bit her lip, a nervous habit, before letting it go. Well, unless you don’t...want it.” She had tried so long to make a presence in his life, but by the eviction -- she felt the rebuff quite clearly. Some part of her knew that it was her mother that the elder men didn’t care for, but she worried that resentment trickled down to her in some fashion as well.
He didn’t know why he’d said it - he didn’t care what she addressed him as. The title still sat uneasily with him. It was habit...one that he’d learned from their father he realised. Irakles had hated it when people misused titles. “It doesn’t matter” he offered in response to the apology as they rose, awkwardly wrangling the box between them. “ I barely know what to call my self nowadays.” He had gone from Baron to Prince to King within a matter of weeks, and there was denying that some part of Achilleas - a well-concealed part - was still frantically trying to catch up.
Glancing down to the precarious tilt that the crate had taken with his grasp and hers, he let go, feeling a stir of guilt at the fact that Sara was gathering her possessions like this. The chance to take away Meena’s hold over what had been the family home was too tempting to pass over, but the collateral damage was jarring and uncomfortable to witness in person.
His attempt at a platitude wrought a brittle laugh from the girl, and Achilleas drew in a breath through his nose and released it again as she turned the question back on him.
“I have to be” He answered more honestly than he meant to. And he was, wasn’t he? He was getting things done, doing what was needed, what was expected. Seeing her struggle with the heavy box, Achilleas lifted a brow and took it from her without saying anything else. It looked like nothing in his arms. “Where are you taking it?” He asked simply, ready to follow the girl’s directions. Though Sara’s next words would make it an uncomfortable walk for them both. Dark brows knit together then and Achilleas sighed at the brave face his half-sister tried to summon. He almost wanted to say he knew how she felt. He too was having to leave behind his home as a result of their father’s death, and to step into the unknown, but he stopped himself just in time. It was not the same, even with those similarities.
Pensive a moment before he spoke, Achilleas chose his words carefully. He did not want to apologise, per se, but still…
“You understand, I hope, that this is not personal, Sara. It is unfortunate that you must leave, but you will be well taken care of. Emilios will see to it that you have all you need…”
A house, clothing, food. What they would be denied was the glory of the Mikaelidas name, a privilege that Meena had laid claim to for far too long, but that had never been truly hers. Nor did it belong to her daughters. Some part of Achilleas wished it did not have to be so cruel to the girl next to him, but it was no more than what his own mother had born all these years. She had retreated to Euttica, weathered the whispers and gossip. There was no way either of her sons would have seen her continue to have to endure the woman responsible now their father was gone.
Perhaps Emilios could use his connections to secure reasonable marriages for the girls at least. Merchants or lower sons of lesser nobles. Enough that they would have comfortable lives, but little enough that Meena could exploit for her own ends. He would mention it to his brother.
Sara’s voice, hesitant again, broke through his thoughts, and Achilleas shot her a sideways glance, his answer almost as reticent. “Something for me?”
She had something to give him, and with some belief that he would throw it back in her face. It was a reminder of how little faith she had in him, and Achilleas supposed he could not blame her. At fifteen, and sweet-natured as she was, how would Sara understand the complexity of the situation? Why should she? To her, the action of removing her mother from Vasiliadon must seem like petty vindictiveness. It was not pleasing that Achilleas could not claim the assumption entirely false.
“You realise…” The man gave a small hollow laugh. “You have a way, Sara, of shining a light on the worst of me...Here you are, here I hold a box of your things in my arms and you are offering gifts? I wish that things could be different. That you...” He tailed off because things were as they were, and paying lip service did not make them anything else. Pressing his lips together because he’d said too much, he shook his head slightly. “I wouldn’t be so ill-mannered as to throw a gift back in your face you know. Despite what you think”
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He didn’t know why he’d said it - he didn’t care what she addressed him as. The title still sat uneasily with him. It was habit...one that he’d learned from their father he realised. Irakles had hated it when people misused titles. “It doesn’t matter” he offered in response to the apology as they rose, awkwardly wrangling the box between them. “ I barely know what to call my self nowadays.” He had gone from Baron to Prince to King within a matter of weeks, and there was denying that some part of Achilleas - a well-concealed part - was still frantically trying to catch up.
Glancing down to the precarious tilt that the crate had taken with his grasp and hers, he let go, feeling a stir of guilt at the fact that Sara was gathering her possessions like this. The chance to take away Meena’s hold over what had been the family home was too tempting to pass over, but the collateral damage was jarring and uncomfortable to witness in person.
His attempt at a platitude wrought a brittle laugh from the girl, and Achilleas drew in a breath through his nose and released it again as she turned the question back on him.
“I have to be” He answered more honestly than he meant to. And he was, wasn’t he? He was getting things done, doing what was needed, what was expected. Seeing her struggle with the heavy box, Achilleas lifted a brow and took it from her without saying anything else. It looked like nothing in his arms. “Where are you taking it?” He asked simply, ready to follow the girl’s directions. Though Sara’s next words would make it an uncomfortable walk for them both. Dark brows knit together then and Achilleas sighed at the brave face his half-sister tried to summon. He almost wanted to say he knew how she felt. He too was having to leave behind his home as a result of their father’s death, and to step into the unknown, but he stopped himself just in time. It was not the same, even with those similarities.
Pensive a moment before he spoke, Achilleas chose his words carefully. He did not want to apologise, per se, but still…
“You understand, I hope, that this is not personal, Sara. It is unfortunate that you must leave, but you will be well taken care of. Emilios will see to it that you have all you need…”
A house, clothing, food. What they would be denied was the glory of the Mikaelidas name, a privilege that Meena had laid claim to for far too long, but that had never been truly hers. Nor did it belong to her daughters. Some part of Achilleas wished it did not have to be so cruel to the girl next to him, but it was no more than what his own mother had born all these years. She had retreated to Euttica, weathered the whispers and gossip. There was no way either of her sons would have seen her continue to have to endure the woman responsible now their father was gone.
Perhaps Emilios could use his connections to secure reasonable marriages for the girls at least. Merchants or lower sons of lesser nobles. Enough that they would have comfortable lives, but little enough that Meena could exploit for her own ends. He would mention it to his brother.
Sara’s voice, hesitant again, broke through his thoughts, and Achilleas shot her a sideways glance, his answer almost as reticent. “Something for me?”
She had something to give him, and with some belief that he would throw it back in her face. It was a reminder of how little faith she had in him, and Achilleas supposed he could not blame her. At fifteen, and sweet-natured as she was, how would Sara understand the complexity of the situation? Why should she? To her, the action of removing her mother from Vasiliadon must seem like petty vindictiveness. It was not pleasing that Achilleas could not claim the assumption entirely false.
“You realise…” The man gave a small hollow laugh. “You have a way, Sara, of shining a light on the worst of me...Here you are, here I hold a box of your things in my arms and you are offering gifts? I wish that things could be different. That you...” He tailed off because things were as they were, and paying lip service did not make them anything else. Pressing his lips together because he’d said too much, he shook his head slightly. “I wouldn’t be so ill-mannered as to throw a gift back in your face you know. Despite what you think”
He didn’t know why he’d said it - he didn’t care what she addressed him as. The title still sat uneasily with him. It was habit...one that he’d learned from their father he realised. Irakles had hated it when people misused titles. “It doesn’t matter” he offered in response to the apology as they rose, awkwardly wrangling the box between them. “ I barely know what to call my self nowadays.” He had gone from Baron to Prince to King within a matter of weeks, and there was denying that some part of Achilleas - a well-concealed part - was still frantically trying to catch up.
Glancing down to the precarious tilt that the crate had taken with his grasp and hers, he let go, feeling a stir of guilt at the fact that Sara was gathering her possessions like this. The chance to take away Meena’s hold over what had been the family home was too tempting to pass over, but the collateral damage was jarring and uncomfortable to witness in person.
His attempt at a platitude wrought a brittle laugh from the girl, and Achilleas drew in a breath through his nose and released it again as she turned the question back on him.
“I have to be” He answered more honestly than he meant to. And he was, wasn’t he? He was getting things done, doing what was needed, what was expected. Seeing her struggle with the heavy box, Achilleas lifted a brow and took it from her without saying anything else. It looked like nothing in his arms. “Where are you taking it?” He asked simply, ready to follow the girl’s directions. Though Sara’s next words would make it an uncomfortable walk for them both. Dark brows knit together then and Achilleas sighed at the brave face his half-sister tried to summon. He almost wanted to say he knew how she felt. He too was having to leave behind his home as a result of their father’s death, and to step into the unknown, but he stopped himself just in time. It was not the same, even with those similarities.
Pensive a moment before he spoke, Achilleas chose his words carefully. He did not want to apologise, per se, but still…
“You understand, I hope, that this is not personal, Sara. It is unfortunate that you must leave, but you will be well taken care of. Emilios will see to it that you have all you need…”
A house, clothing, food. What they would be denied was the glory of the Mikaelidas name, a privilege that Meena had laid claim to for far too long, but that had never been truly hers. Nor did it belong to her daughters. Some part of Achilleas wished it did not have to be so cruel to the girl next to him, but it was no more than what his own mother had born all these years. She had retreated to Euttica, weathered the whispers and gossip. There was no way either of her sons would have seen her continue to have to endure the woman responsible now their father was gone.
Perhaps Emilios could use his connections to secure reasonable marriages for the girls at least. Merchants or lower sons of lesser nobles. Enough that they would have comfortable lives, but little enough that Meena could exploit for her own ends. He would mention it to his brother.
Sara’s voice, hesitant again, broke through his thoughts, and Achilleas shot her a sideways glance, his answer almost as reticent. “Something for me?”
She had something to give him, and with some belief that he would throw it back in her face. It was a reminder of how little faith she had in him, and Achilleas supposed he could not blame her. At fifteen, and sweet-natured as she was, how would Sara understand the complexity of the situation? Why should she? To her, the action of removing her mother from Vasiliadon must seem like petty vindictiveness. It was not pleasing that Achilleas could not claim the assumption entirely false.
“You realise…” The man gave a small hollow laugh. “You have a way, Sara, of shining a light on the worst of me...Here you are, here I hold a box of your things in my arms and you are offering gifts? I wish that things could be different. That you...” He tailed off because things were as they were, and paying lip service did not make them anything else. Pressing his lips together because he’d said too much, he shook his head slightly. “I wouldn’t be so ill-mannered as to throw a gift back in your face you know. Despite what you think”
”Right.” She said in a regretful tone. His words had stirred concern in her, but she was unsure if that would be welcome. Then again, what more could be done to her than what had already happened? He asked her where she was going, taking the crate from her in a motion that barred no argument. She smiled briefly, letting him do this for her. She was still learning much about her brother, and he seemed to be more of a man of action. What his actions said right now were confusing to the young woman, but she would take his odd kindnesses where she could get them. There weren’t going to be many opportunities for them like this once she was gone and he was off to Egypt.
Sara turned her gaze back toward him when he tried to quell the internal doubts she had about their departure. Not personal, he assured her. Was it not though, at least in part? She was Meena’s daughter. ”That is very appreciated, Achilleas.” She said, hoping he could hear that she meant that. ”I hope this...brings all of you peace.” She said and gave the tiniest shrug of her shoulders.
She looked up when he laughed, the sound not quite right to her ears. She flushed, embarrassment turning her cheeks a soft pink. ”It’s not my intention at all, I hardly think you’re the worst...” She told him, hoping he would believe her. He was just different from her, and sometimes their mutual awkward tendencies did not mesh. ”I understand...why things are the way they are. I’m not a child anymore.” She murmured. The truth had been a hard thing to swallow, and had shed every interaction she’d ever had in her entire life in a new light. It was still uncomfortable sometimes, to know that you were a bastard and that most didn’t like you for that reason alone.
”That’s not to say that I’m...happy about any of it.” She frowned, feeling the tears at her eyes again. Her hand tightened around her wrist, the next words so quiet that she wasn’t sure she was even saying them aloud. ”I wish more than anything that I’d been born as your true sister. I loved this family. I love you and Emilios both, just as I love Tasia.” She said, the words a whisper and a secret that she held close to her heart. Clearing her throat, she pretended to fuss with the emerald green chiton she wore and then her hair briefly before gesturing vaguely to where she had been going. She would fetch his gift once they had returned.
She was quiet once they had begun to walk in the direction she had been headed. Her steps were measured, her hands tucking behind her back as they strolled the halls together to where all of the things from Tasia, Meena and herself were being gathered.
When they reached the place for her crate to be deposited, she waited until it had been handed off to a servant -- directing them where to place it so that she could find it once it was delivered to the new house. ”Thank you.” She told him as they turned to head back down the hall. ”I heard that Tasia gave you a sword.” She said, with a little grin. ”She always did know how to pick out gifts. I hope you will not be disappointed with mine.”
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”Right.” She said in a regretful tone. His words had stirred concern in her, but she was unsure if that would be welcome. Then again, what more could be done to her than what had already happened? He asked her where she was going, taking the crate from her in a motion that barred no argument. She smiled briefly, letting him do this for her. She was still learning much about her brother, and he seemed to be more of a man of action. What his actions said right now were confusing to the young woman, but she would take his odd kindnesses where she could get them. There weren’t going to be many opportunities for them like this once she was gone and he was off to Egypt.
Sara turned her gaze back toward him when he tried to quell the internal doubts she had about their departure. Not personal, he assured her. Was it not though, at least in part? She was Meena’s daughter. ”That is very appreciated, Achilleas.” She said, hoping he could hear that she meant that. ”I hope this...brings all of you peace.” She said and gave the tiniest shrug of her shoulders.
She looked up when he laughed, the sound not quite right to her ears. She flushed, embarrassment turning her cheeks a soft pink. ”It’s not my intention at all, I hardly think you’re the worst...” She told him, hoping he would believe her. He was just different from her, and sometimes their mutual awkward tendencies did not mesh. ”I understand...why things are the way they are. I’m not a child anymore.” She murmured. The truth had been a hard thing to swallow, and had shed every interaction she’d ever had in her entire life in a new light. It was still uncomfortable sometimes, to know that you were a bastard and that most didn’t like you for that reason alone.
”That’s not to say that I’m...happy about any of it.” She frowned, feeling the tears at her eyes again. Her hand tightened around her wrist, the next words so quiet that she wasn’t sure she was even saying them aloud. ”I wish more than anything that I’d been born as your true sister. I loved this family. I love you and Emilios both, just as I love Tasia.” She said, the words a whisper and a secret that she held close to her heart. Clearing her throat, she pretended to fuss with the emerald green chiton she wore and then her hair briefly before gesturing vaguely to where she had been going. She would fetch his gift once they had returned.
She was quiet once they had begun to walk in the direction she had been headed. Her steps were measured, her hands tucking behind her back as they strolled the halls together to where all of the things from Tasia, Meena and herself were being gathered.
When they reached the place for her crate to be deposited, she waited until it had been handed off to a servant -- directing them where to place it so that she could find it once it was delivered to the new house. ”Thank you.” She told him as they turned to head back down the hall. ”I heard that Tasia gave you a sword.” She said, with a little grin. ”She always did know how to pick out gifts. I hope you will not be disappointed with mine.”
”Right.” She said in a regretful tone. His words had stirred concern in her, but she was unsure if that would be welcome. Then again, what more could be done to her than what had already happened? He asked her where she was going, taking the crate from her in a motion that barred no argument. She smiled briefly, letting him do this for her. She was still learning much about her brother, and he seemed to be more of a man of action. What his actions said right now were confusing to the young woman, but she would take his odd kindnesses where she could get them. There weren’t going to be many opportunities for them like this once she was gone and he was off to Egypt.
Sara turned her gaze back toward him when he tried to quell the internal doubts she had about their departure. Not personal, he assured her. Was it not though, at least in part? She was Meena’s daughter. ”That is very appreciated, Achilleas.” She said, hoping he could hear that she meant that. ”I hope this...brings all of you peace.” She said and gave the tiniest shrug of her shoulders.
She looked up when he laughed, the sound not quite right to her ears. She flushed, embarrassment turning her cheeks a soft pink. ”It’s not my intention at all, I hardly think you’re the worst...” She told him, hoping he would believe her. He was just different from her, and sometimes their mutual awkward tendencies did not mesh. ”I understand...why things are the way they are. I’m not a child anymore.” She murmured. The truth had been a hard thing to swallow, and had shed every interaction she’d ever had in her entire life in a new light. It was still uncomfortable sometimes, to know that you were a bastard and that most didn’t like you for that reason alone.
”That’s not to say that I’m...happy about any of it.” She frowned, feeling the tears at her eyes again. Her hand tightened around her wrist, the next words so quiet that she wasn’t sure she was even saying them aloud. ”I wish more than anything that I’d been born as your true sister. I loved this family. I love you and Emilios both, just as I love Tasia.” She said, the words a whisper and a secret that she held close to her heart. Clearing her throat, she pretended to fuss with the emerald green chiton she wore and then her hair briefly before gesturing vaguely to where she had been going. She would fetch his gift once they had returned.
She was quiet once they had begun to walk in the direction she had been headed. Her steps were measured, her hands tucking behind her back as they strolled the halls together to where all of the things from Tasia, Meena and herself were being gathered.
When they reached the place for her crate to be deposited, she waited until it had been handed off to a servant -- directing them where to place it so that she could find it once it was delivered to the new house. ”Thank you.” She told him as they turned to head back down the hall. ”I heard that Tasia gave you a sword.” She said, with a little grin. ”She always did know how to pick out gifts. I hope you will not be disappointed with mine.”
Sara was not alone in finding her query as the new King’s wellbeing rebuffed. Never one given to talking about feelings, Achilleas wished people would stop asking him. It was much easier just to sink his head into what needed doing, to be busy and useful, because when he wasn’t he was left with this strange emptiness, and he didn’t know what he was supposed to do with that.
She was not wrong in observing that her older sibling seemed more comfortable in action than words. Achilleas knew he was not as adept at some at playing with words. He disliked it, much preferring to be direct when he was able. Of course, it was not always the case, but he had carved a reputation for being honest and fair in his dealings in the senate by being mostly honest and fair.
This situation with Sara and Tasia hardly seemed fair, and yet it was the brother’s way of addressing a wrong done before the girls were even born. They were unfortunate victims of that, and Achilleas was uncomfortably aware of that reality as he walked side by side with the young girl. It was what moved him to try and address it, to smooth what surely felt a deep cut to a girl who had done nothing wrong other than existing.
He didn’t respond verbally to her comment about peace, just turned his head slightly and rested the blue of his gaze on her steadily for a few seconds. It might bring his sweet Mother some peace, that was the hope. But Achilleas was beginning to realise he could not say the same, and he committed to asking Emilios about the arrangements for Sara and Tasia in more detail when next they spoke. It was going to gnaw at him otherwise, he could tell.
Sara’s assertion that she was no longer a child almost had him flinch. Of course, she was not: she had just lost her father, and now was experiencing some of the harsh realities of the world outside of the bubble of protection he had offered. He frowned at the box he was carrying, swallowed as her voice grew thick with the threat of tears.
Feeling an irrational surge of panic that she would cry, he wished they had not strayed into such talk. He wasn’t good at offering comfort, and he doubted she would take it from him anyway. But the girl’s next words, so quiet as he might not have heard them had he not been on alert, suggested he had gotten that wrong too, and the new King looked stonily ahead as they walked, wondering what precisely he was supposed to say to that. Love was not a thing that he thought on much, and certainly not a word he verbalised…had he ever? He had certainly not ever let himself entertain the notion of them as a family. Meena was an irritation he’d had to bite his tongue over for years and the girls...well they were part of his father’s choices to dishonour what should have been his family.
But Achilleas could not make himself be unkind to the young woman beside him, he could not leave Sara’s declaration hanging there in the air and not make some response. Somewhat awkwardly, he shifted the box within his grip and for the briefest of moments, there was the press of a large warm hand on the girl’s shoulder. “And as I said, there is no malice toward you, Sara. Even if this is not your home any longer, you aren’t without those who care about you in Vasiliadon.”
The brief touch was gone as quickly as it had arrived and though Achilleas’ jaw flexed, he said nothing more, not until some brusque words to the servant that he handed the box off too.
Falling back in to step beside Sara as she turned back the way they had come, his hands went to clasp behind his back as they walked, a habit. There was nothing relaxed about his posture, not the straight back, nor the shoulders held rigidly, nor the thoroughly uncomfortable expression he was wearing. This was not his forte, and he thought he could not have contrived a more awkward situation if he had tried. But he forced a smile anyway because none of this was Sara’s fault.
“I am certain not to be” he replied. “I was not expecting anything. Really Sara you should not trouble yourself so.”
If she didn’t, he would be spared situations such as these, Achilleas thought. But despite how uncomfortable this was, he supposed he was glad to have had a chance to speak with the girl before she had gone from the city and him to Egypt. Whatever her mother’s sins and however much he mistrusted her sister, Sara was perhaps the most undeserving of this relocation. And he would rather she took a different impression of him away than the one she currently held.
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Sara was not alone in finding her query as the new King’s wellbeing rebuffed. Never one given to talking about feelings, Achilleas wished people would stop asking him. It was much easier just to sink his head into what needed doing, to be busy and useful, because when he wasn’t he was left with this strange emptiness, and he didn’t know what he was supposed to do with that.
She was not wrong in observing that her older sibling seemed more comfortable in action than words. Achilleas knew he was not as adept at some at playing with words. He disliked it, much preferring to be direct when he was able. Of course, it was not always the case, but he had carved a reputation for being honest and fair in his dealings in the senate by being mostly honest and fair.
This situation with Sara and Tasia hardly seemed fair, and yet it was the brother’s way of addressing a wrong done before the girls were even born. They were unfortunate victims of that, and Achilleas was uncomfortably aware of that reality as he walked side by side with the young girl. It was what moved him to try and address it, to smooth what surely felt a deep cut to a girl who had done nothing wrong other than existing.
He didn’t respond verbally to her comment about peace, just turned his head slightly and rested the blue of his gaze on her steadily for a few seconds. It might bring his sweet Mother some peace, that was the hope. But Achilleas was beginning to realise he could not say the same, and he committed to asking Emilios about the arrangements for Sara and Tasia in more detail when next they spoke. It was going to gnaw at him otherwise, he could tell.
Sara’s assertion that she was no longer a child almost had him flinch. Of course, she was not: she had just lost her father, and now was experiencing some of the harsh realities of the world outside of the bubble of protection he had offered. He frowned at the box he was carrying, swallowed as her voice grew thick with the threat of tears.
Feeling an irrational surge of panic that she would cry, he wished they had not strayed into such talk. He wasn’t good at offering comfort, and he doubted she would take it from him anyway. But the girl’s next words, so quiet as he might not have heard them had he not been on alert, suggested he had gotten that wrong too, and the new King looked stonily ahead as they walked, wondering what precisely he was supposed to say to that. Love was not a thing that he thought on much, and certainly not a word he verbalised…had he ever? He had certainly not ever let himself entertain the notion of them as a family. Meena was an irritation he’d had to bite his tongue over for years and the girls...well they were part of his father’s choices to dishonour what should have been his family.
But Achilleas could not make himself be unkind to the young woman beside him, he could not leave Sara’s declaration hanging there in the air and not make some response. Somewhat awkwardly, he shifted the box within his grip and for the briefest of moments, there was the press of a large warm hand on the girl’s shoulder. “And as I said, there is no malice toward you, Sara. Even if this is not your home any longer, you aren’t without those who care about you in Vasiliadon.”
The brief touch was gone as quickly as it had arrived and though Achilleas’ jaw flexed, he said nothing more, not until some brusque words to the servant that he handed the box off too.
Falling back in to step beside Sara as she turned back the way they had come, his hands went to clasp behind his back as they walked, a habit. There was nothing relaxed about his posture, not the straight back, nor the shoulders held rigidly, nor the thoroughly uncomfortable expression he was wearing. This was not his forte, and he thought he could not have contrived a more awkward situation if he had tried. But he forced a smile anyway because none of this was Sara’s fault.
“I am certain not to be” he replied. “I was not expecting anything. Really Sara you should not trouble yourself so.”
If she didn’t, he would be spared situations such as these, Achilleas thought. But despite how uncomfortable this was, he supposed he was glad to have had a chance to speak with the girl before she had gone from the city and him to Egypt. Whatever her mother’s sins and however much he mistrusted her sister, Sara was perhaps the most undeserving of this relocation. And he would rather she took a different impression of him away than the one she currently held.
Sara was not alone in finding her query as the new King’s wellbeing rebuffed. Never one given to talking about feelings, Achilleas wished people would stop asking him. It was much easier just to sink his head into what needed doing, to be busy and useful, because when he wasn’t he was left with this strange emptiness, and he didn’t know what he was supposed to do with that.
She was not wrong in observing that her older sibling seemed more comfortable in action than words. Achilleas knew he was not as adept at some at playing with words. He disliked it, much preferring to be direct when he was able. Of course, it was not always the case, but he had carved a reputation for being honest and fair in his dealings in the senate by being mostly honest and fair.
This situation with Sara and Tasia hardly seemed fair, and yet it was the brother’s way of addressing a wrong done before the girls were even born. They were unfortunate victims of that, and Achilleas was uncomfortably aware of that reality as he walked side by side with the young girl. It was what moved him to try and address it, to smooth what surely felt a deep cut to a girl who had done nothing wrong other than existing.
He didn’t respond verbally to her comment about peace, just turned his head slightly and rested the blue of his gaze on her steadily for a few seconds. It might bring his sweet Mother some peace, that was the hope. But Achilleas was beginning to realise he could not say the same, and he committed to asking Emilios about the arrangements for Sara and Tasia in more detail when next they spoke. It was going to gnaw at him otherwise, he could tell.
Sara’s assertion that she was no longer a child almost had him flinch. Of course, she was not: she had just lost her father, and now was experiencing some of the harsh realities of the world outside of the bubble of protection he had offered. He frowned at the box he was carrying, swallowed as her voice grew thick with the threat of tears.
Feeling an irrational surge of panic that she would cry, he wished they had not strayed into such talk. He wasn’t good at offering comfort, and he doubted she would take it from him anyway. But the girl’s next words, so quiet as he might not have heard them had he not been on alert, suggested he had gotten that wrong too, and the new King looked stonily ahead as they walked, wondering what precisely he was supposed to say to that. Love was not a thing that he thought on much, and certainly not a word he verbalised…had he ever? He had certainly not ever let himself entertain the notion of them as a family. Meena was an irritation he’d had to bite his tongue over for years and the girls...well they were part of his father’s choices to dishonour what should have been his family.
But Achilleas could not make himself be unkind to the young woman beside him, he could not leave Sara’s declaration hanging there in the air and not make some response. Somewhat awkwardly, he shifted the box within his grip and for the briefest of moments, there was the press of a large warm hand on the girl’s shoulder. “And as I said, there is no malice toward you, Sara. Even if this is not your home any longer, you aren’t without those who care about you in Vasiliadon.”
The brief touch was gone as quickly as it had arrived and though Achilleas’ jaw flexed, he said nothing more, not until some brusque words to the servant that he handed the box off too.
Falling back in to step beside Sara as she turned back the way they had come, his hands went to clasp behind his back as they walked, a habit. There was nothing relaxed about his posture, not the straight back, nor the shoulders held rigidly, nor the thoroughly uncomfortable expression he was wearing. This was not his forte, and he thought he could not have contrived a more awkward situation if he had tried. But he forced a smile anyway because none of this was Sara’s fault.
“I am certain not to be” he replied. “I was not expecting anything. Really Sara you should not trouble yourself so.”
If she didn’t, he would be spared situations such as these, Achilleas thought. But despite how uncomfortable this was, he supposed he was glad to have had a chance to speak with the girl before she had gone from the city and him to Egypt. Whatever her mother’s sins and however much he mistrusted her sister, Sara was perhaps the most undeserving of this relocation. And he would rather she took a different impression of him away than the one she currently held.
Her gaze turned upward to him, the rims of her blue eyes wet with unshed tears. She was getting better about keeping it in, working hard on perfecting the brave face that the rest of them seemed to be so good at keeping. Her smile was thin and pained, the warmth of his hand on her shoulder a surprise that was gone as quickly as it had been. She nodded, finding her words were stuck and unable to make it past the lump that seemed to have formed in her throat. If he had lingered any longer, she might have tried to cover his hand with her own -- to savor some of the kindness he was trying to show her. It did not bother her as much as one might think to not hear Achilleas return her sentiments of familial love out loud. She truly could not recall anyone saying such notions aloud, not even with her mother. Certainly not their father, who had kept himself at a distance -- albeit indulging her without letting her see it as such.
She would not continue to press the issue with him, trying to keep the balance between making sure he knew how she truly felt while simultaneously respecting the wishes of the Mikaelidas family. She hoped that someday she could be allowed to return, at least on friendly terms. Once they had dispensed of the crate, Sara led him back toward her rooms. It was a little strange, as she couldn’t remember if he’d ever seen them when they had been perfectly put together. They looked quite strange with her things in piles, sorted so that she would know how to find everything again when it was time to unpack in the new estate. She had found renewed strength by the time they had made the short walk together.
”I know you didn’t expect anything. That’s why they call it a gift, isn’t it?” She said, crossing the space the sunlight sprawled across the floor as her favorite time of the day approached. She had spent so many hours in this room, reading in the windows overlooking her small garden -- of which she did not know what fate would become of it -- practicing her instruments, dozens of talks with Emilios, the litters of kittens that she’d hidden under her bed from her mother. An orange cat watched from one of the shelves, his tail wrapped around his paws as he eyed Achilleas with scrutinizing eyes.
The young brunette felt the nervousness in her rising as knelt down beside her bed and pulled out a box. She had given Emilios his own gift when he’d come by to say goodbye, so only one remained. ”Come sit.” She said, gesturing for him to take a seat somewhere whether it be on one of the lounges or even her bed. Well, the bed. It didn’t really belong to her anymore did it?
Once he had taken his seat, she joined him holding out the box. ”I hope you like it.” She said, her smile nervous. Inside the box, he would find a fine pair of bronze arm guards that would cover from the wrist to the crook of the elbow. The lion symbol of the Mikaelidas house graced them, and she smiled as she looked from them to his face for his reaction. Tasia had given him something to go on the offensive with, but Sara had wanted to offer protection. And she had done it of her own power, using her own money and time to make sure that they would be perfect for him. Gods, she hoped he would like them.
Nestled too between the guards was a leathered pouch, and that was something she wasn’t sure he would like as much. It was not flashy or grand, nor was it very practical -- but she hoped he would at least pretend to like it. She smiled again, flashing her teeth this time. Inside of that bag was a leather cord bracelet, simple in it’s design. It too had the colors of the Mikaelidas house, strung with a set of four beads in alternating red and gold -- two of each color separated by the carved leather image of a lion in the middle. The beads while small were quite expensive, but subtle enough for a man to wear she hoped. She was quite proud of that one, because with a little help, she’d made it herself.
She held her breath, her young face tense with a desire to have it pleasing. She’d tried to balance sentiment with practicality and hoped that she had succeeded in her attempt.
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Her gaze turned upward to him, the rims of her blue eyes wet with unshed tears. She was getting better about keeping it in, working hard on perfecting the brave face that the rest of them seemed to be so good at keeping. Her smile was thin and pained, the warmth of his hand on her shoulder a surprise that was gone as quickly as it had been. She nodded, finding her words were stuck and unable to make it past the lump that seemed to have formed in her throat. If he had lingered any longer, she might have tried to cover his hand with her own -- to savor some of the kindness he was trying to show her. It did not bother her as much as one might think to not hear Achilleas return her sentiments of familial love out loud. She truly could not recall anyone saying such notions aloud, not even with her mother. Certainly not their father, who had kept himself at a distance -- albeit indulging her without letting her see it as such.
She would not continue to press the issue with him, trying to keep the balance between making sure he knew how she truly felt while simultaneously respecting the wishes of the Mikaelidas family. She hoped that someday she could be allowed to return, at least on friendly terms. Once they had dispensed of the crate, Sara led him back toward her rooms. It was a little strange, as she couldn’t remember if he’d ever seen them when they had been perfectly put together. They looked quite strange with her things in piles, sorted so that she would know how to find everything again when it was time to unpack in the new estate. She had found renewed strength by the time they had made the short walk together.
”I know you didn’t expect anything. That’s why they call it a gift, isn’t it?” She said, crossing the space the sunlight sprawled across the floor as her favorite time of the day approached. She had spent so many hours in this room, reading in the windows overlooking her small garden -- of which she did not know what fate would become of it -- practicing her instruments, dozens of talks with Emilios, the litters of kittens that she’d hidden under her bed from her mother. An orange cat watched from one of the shelves, his tail wrapped around his paws as he eyed Achilleas with scrutinizing eyes.
The young brunette felt the nervousness in her rising as knelt down beside her bed and pulled out a box. She had given Emilios his own gift when he’d come by to say goodbye, so only one remained. ”Come sit.” She said, gesturing for him to take a seat somewhere whether it be on one of the lounges or even her bed. Well, the bed. It didn’t really belong to her anymore did it?
Once he had taken his seat, she joined him holding out the box. ”I hope you like it.” She said, her smile nervous. Inside the box, he would find a fine pair of bronze arm guards that would cover from the wrist to the crook of the elbow. The lion symbol of the Mikaelidas house graced them, and she smiled as she looked from them to his face for his reaction. Tasia had given him something to go on the offensive with, but Sara had wanted to offer protection. And she had done it of her own power, using her own money and time to make sure that they would be perfect for him. Gods, she hoped he would like them.
Nestled too between the guards was a leathered pouch, and that was something she wasn’t sure he would like as much. It was not flashy or grand, nor was it very practical -- but she hoped he would at least pretend to like it. She smiled again, flashing her teeth this time. Inside of that bag was a leather cord bracelet, simple in it’s design. It too had the colors of the Mikaelidas house, strung with a set of four beads in alternating red and gold -- two of each color separated by the carved leather image of a lion in the middle. The beads while small were quite expensive, but subtle enough for a man to wear she hoped. She was quite proud of that one, because with a little help, she’d made it herself.
She held her breath, her young face tense with a desire to have it pleasing. She’d tried to balance sentiment with practicality and hoped that she had succeeded in her attempt.
Her gaze turned upward to him, the rims of her blue eyes wet with unshed tears. She was getting better about keeping it in, working hard on perfecting the brave face that the rest of them seemed to be so good at keeping. Her smile was thin and pained, the warmth of his hand on her shoulder a surprise that was gone as quickly as it had been. She nodded, finding her words were stuck and unable to make it past the lump that seemed to have formed in her throat. If he had lingered any longer, she might have tried to cover his hand with her own -- to savor some of the kindness he was trying to show her. It did not bother her as much as one might think to not hear Achilleas return her sentiments of familial love out loud. She truly could not recall anyone saying such notions aloud, not even with her mother. Certainly not their father, who had kept himself at a distance -- albeit indulging her without letting her see it as such.
She would not continue to press the issue with him, trying to keep the balance between making sure he knew how she truly felt while simultaneously respecting the wishes of the Mikaelidas family. She hoped that someday she could be allowed to return, at least on friendly terms. Once they had dispensed of the crate, Sara led him back toward her rooms. It was a little strange, as she couldn’t remember if he’d ever seen them when they had been perfectly put together. They looked quite strange with her things in piles, sorted so that she would know how to find everything again when it was time to unpack in the new estate. She had found renewed strength by the time they had made the short walk together.
”I know you didn’t expect anything. That’s why they call it a gift, isn’t it?” She said, crossing the space the sunlight sprawled across the floor as her favorite time of the day approached. She had spent so many hours in this room, reading in the windows overlooking her small garden -- of which she did not know what fate would become of it -- practicing her instruments, dozens of talks with Emilios, the litters of kittens that she’d hidden under her bed from her mother. An orange cat watched from one of the shelves, his tail wrapped around his paws as he eyed Achilleas with scrutinizing eyes.
The young brunette felt the nervousness in her rising as knelt down beside her bed and pulled out a box. She had given Emilios his own gift when he’d come by to say goodbye, so only one remained. ”Come sit.” She said, gesturing for him to take a seat somewhere whether it be on one of the lounges or even her bed. Well, the bed. It didn’t really belong to her anymore did it?
Once he had taken his seat, she joined him holding out the box. ”I hope you like it.” She said, her smile nervous. Inside the box, he would find a fine pair of bronze arm guards that would cover from the wrist to the crook of the elbow. The lion symbol of the Mikaelidas house graced them, and she smiled as she looked from them to his face for his reaction. Tasia had given him something to go on the offensive with, but Sara had wanted to offer protection. And she had done it of her own power, using her own money and time to make sure that they would be perfect for him. Gods, she hoped he would like them.
Nestled too between the guards was a leathered pouch, and that was something she wasn’t sure he would like as much. It was not flashy or grand, nor was it very practical -- but she hoped he would at least pretend to like it. She smiled again, flashing her teeth this time. Inside of that bag was a leather cord bracelet, simple in it’s design. It too had the colors of the Mikaelidas house, strung with a set of four beads in alternating red and gold -- two of each color separated by the carved leather image of a lion in the middle. The beads while small were quite expensive, but subtle enough for a man to wear she hoped. She was quite proud of that one, because with a little help, she’d made it herself.
She held her breath, her young face tense with a desire to have it pleasing. She’d tried to balance sentiment with practicality and hoped that she had succeeded in her attempt.
Following Sara into what had been her bed chambers was odd it itself. It was not a place Achilleas had been, not since she was small and he’d been peeling her off his leg and handing her back to her nursemaid. How the years had slipped by and she was now almost grown he didn’t know. He didn’t really know her at all.
Smiling stiffly at her words because there wasn’t exactly much he could say without sounding ungrateful, he let his gaze roam around the space that she had called her own, met the judgemental stare of a ginger cat and lifted a brow. That was something he did know. More than once he’d witnessed an argument about some new animal that had found its way into the manor, only for its origins to be traced back to the girl in front of him. He was pretty sure she had attempted to keep one of those goat kids that Stephanos had loosed a few years back.
Shaking his head minutely at the memory, he tried not to let thought of his cousin overtake his mind. Stephanos was safe and well at least. For now he could console himself with that. Achilleas looked over at Sara as the girl bid him sit, and after casting a look around, perched on a kline that rested against one of the walls, resting his arms along his thighs and folding his hands loosely before him.
It was hard to stomach, the notion of accepting a gift from the girl even as she packed her things to leave her home based on a decision Emilios and he had made. Were it Tasia, Achilleas might have deigned she had chosen the locale deliberately, but Sara was not so manipulative, and he hadn’t told anyone he was intending to return to the archontiko today.
When the girl presented him with a weighty box, the man ducked his dark head so as to see what he was unveiling, and when he opened the lid and revealed the bronze bracers within he was taken aback a moment. Turning one over, he traced the etched lines of the lion with his finger, the symbol of their shared heritage. The heritage he was asking Sara to give up. Achilleas swallowed and pushed down on the feeling that he had done wrong by the girl. Wetting his lips with his tongue he was still slow to come up with an appropriate response..
“These are very fine, thank you.”
A warrior a long time, Achilleas had armour of course, but such a thing did not change the fact that Sara had put thought into this gift, and he was touched. “ I will wear them with pride”
As he resettled the moulded bronze back into the case, he noticed the small bag there, and shooting a questioning look at Sara, he opened that too, the woven strand of leather falling out into his palm as he shook the bag. The box was rested on his knees as he lifted the bracelet and glanced from it to the girl beside him, seeing the want for approval written all over her face. For a moment, he faltered, because it was entering new territory for them, but whether it was just that he felt guilty or that it was maybe something he could do to make her happy, he offered out his wrist so she might put it on. It cost him nothing, but even Achilleas could see that it would mean a lot to Sara. He let the bracelet dangle from his fingers for her to take.
“ Will you?” Her fingers, small and nimble would no doubt make quicker work of the task than him trying, and Achilleas watched her face as she worked, opened his mouth to say something and then shut it again and sighed. When it was fastened in place, he turned it around his wrist and the ghost of a smile touched his lips. “ You’re a sweet girl Sara. In spite of…” He bit the words off before he spoke her mother’s name, though they seemed to linger even unsaid. “Thank you. I really didn’t expect..any of this”
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Following Sara into what had been her bed chambers was odd it itself. It was not a place Achilleas had been, not since she was small and he’d been peeling her off his leg and handing her back to her nursemaid. How the years had slipped by and she was now almost grown he didn’t know. He didn’t really know her at all.
Smiling stiffly at her words because there wasn’t exactly much he could say without sounding ungrateful, he let his gaze roam around the space that she had called her own, met the judgemental stare of a ginger cat and lifted a brow. That was something he did know. More than once he’d witnessed an argument about some new animal that had found its way into the manor, only for its origins to be traced back to the girl in front of him. He was pretty sure she had attempted to keep one of those goat kids that Stephanos had loosed a few years back.
Shaking his head minutely at the memory, he tried not to let thought of his cousin overtake his mind. Stephanos was safe and well at least. For now he could console himself with that. Achilleas looked over at Sara as the girl bid him sit, and after casting a look around, perched on a kline that rested against one of the walls, resting his arms along his thighs and folding his hands loosely before him.
It was hard to stomach, the notion of accepting a gift from the girl even as she packed her things to leave her home based on a decision Emilios and he had made. Were it Tasia, Achilleas might have deigned she had chosen the locale deliberately, but Sara was not so manipulative, and he hadn’t told anyone he was intending to return to the archontiko today.
When the girl presented him with a weighty box, the man ducked his dark head so as to see what he was unveiling, and when he opened the lid and revealed the bronze bracers within he was taken aback a moment. Turning one over, he traced the etched lines of the lion with his finger, the symbol of their shared heritage. The heritage he was asking Sara to give up. Achilleas swallowed and pushed down on the feeling that he had done wrong by the girl. Wetting his lips with his tongue he was still slow to come up with an appropriate response..
“These are very fine, thank you.”
A warrior a long time, Achilleas had armour of course, but such a thing did not change the fact that Sara had put thought into this gift, and he was touched. “ I will wear them with pride”
As he resettled the moulded bronze back into the case, he noticed the small bag there, and shooting a questioning look at Sara, he opened that too, the woven strand of leather falling out into his palm as he shook the bag. The box was rested on his knees as he lifted the bracelet and glanced from it to the girl beside him, seeing the want for approval written all over her face. For a moment, he faltered, because it was entering new territory for them, but whether it was just that he felt guilty or that it was maybe something he could do to make her happy, he offered out his wrist so she might put it on. It cost him nothing, but even Achilleas could see that it would mean a lot to Sara. He let the bracelet dangle from his fingers for her to take.
“ Will you?” Her fingers, small and nimble would no doubt make quicker work of the task than him trying, and Achilleas watched her face as she worked, opened his mouth to say something and then shut it again and sighed. When it was fastened in place, he turned it around his wrist and the ghost of a smile touched his lips. “ You’re a sweet girl Sara. In spite of…” He bit the words off before he spoke her mother’s name, though they seemed to linger even unsaid. “Thank you. I really didn’t expect..any of this”
Following Sara into what had been her bed chambers was odd it itself. It was not a place Achilleas had been, not since she was small and he’d been peeling her off his leg and handing her back to her nursemaid. How the years had slipped by and she was now almost grown he didn’t know. He didn’t really know her at all.
Smiling stiffly at her words because there wasn’t exactly much he could say without sounding ungrateful, he let his gaze roam around the space that she had called her own, met the judgemental stare of a ginger cat and lifted a brow. That was something he did know. More than once he’d witnessed an argument about some new animal that had found its way into the manor, only for its origins to be traced back to the girl in front of him. He was pretty sure she had attempted to keep one of those goat kids that Stephanos had loosed a few years back.
Shaking his head minutely at the memory, he tried not to let thought of his cousin overtake his mind. Stephanos was safe and well at least. For now he could console himself with that. Achilleas looked over at Sara as the girl bid him sit, and after casting a look around, perched on a kline that rested against one of the walls, resting his arms along his thighs and folding his hands loosely before him.
It was hard to stomach, the notion of accepting a gift from the girl even as she packed her things to leave her home based on a decision Emilios and he had made. Were it Tasia, Achilleas might have deigned she had chosen the locale deliberately, but Sara was not so manipulative, and he hadn’t told anyone he was intending to return to the archontiko today.
When the girl presented him with a weighty box, the man ducked his dark head so as to see what he was unveiling, and when he opened the lid and revealed the bronze bracers within he was taken aback a moment. Turning one over, he traced the etched lines of the lion with his finger, the symbol of their shared heritage. The heritage he was asking Sara to give up. Achilleas swallowed and pushed down on the feeling that he had done wrong by the girl. Wetting his lips with his tongue he was still slow to come up with an appropriate response..
“These are very fine, thank you.”
A warrior a long time, Achilleas had armour of course, but such a thing did not change the fact that Sara had put thought into this gift, and he was touched. “ I will wear them with pride”
As he resettled the moulded bronze back into the case, he noticed the small bag there, and shooting a questioning look at Sara, he opened that too, the woven strand of leather falling out into his palm as he shook the bag. The box was rested on his knees as he lifted the bracelet and glanced from it to the girl beside him, seeing the want for approval written all over her face. For a moment, he faltered, because it was entering new territory for them, but whether it was just that he felt guilty or that it was maybe something he could do to make her happy, he offered out his wrist so she might put it on. It cost him nothing, but even Achilleas could see that it would mean a lot to Sara. He let the bracelet dangle from his fingers for her to take.
“ Will you?” Her fingers, small and nimble would no doubt make quicker work of the task than him trying, and Achilleas watched her face as she worked, opened his mouth to say something and then shut it again and sighed. When it was fastened in place, he turned it around his wrist and the ghost of a smile touched his lips. “ You’re a sweet girl Sara. In spite of…” He bit the words off before he spoke her mother’s name, though they seemed to linger even unsaid. “Thank you. I really didn’t expect..any of this”
Sara waited, as if on pins and needles as he inspected her gift -- the bronze was an easy thing to give. It was useful and practical, suitable for her brother who was similarly inclined. She had to resist the urge to gush at him, as she was inclined to do at such an age. But this was not Imma, or any of her other friends -- this was the king of her homeland, her eldest brother who was not so fond of the more...bubbly parts of her personality. She smiled, the expression reaching her eyes for the first time as she squeezed her hands happily in her lap.
”You’re welcome.” She said, brushing back a length of her hair that had fallen over her shoulder. She scooted closer to him on the kline, until her knees were nearly brushing him. ”May the gods protect you. May they bring you a fine victory, and bring you home to us again safely.” She said, wanting desperately to touch him -- to press that wish into the skin of his arm, but she resisted. Home, she knew, would be devoid of her presence but she had good faith that while she was ousted from the upper castes of society that she would see him again.
She almost looked away when he went for the smaller bag nestled inside the box. The breath in her lungs stilled, her jaw setting in a familiar way as she held on tightly to her feelings. Don’t be offended. She kept whispering in her mind. She had done her best, and if he only wanted to take the arm guards then she could be happy with that. Her expression was sheepish when he glanced from the bracelet to her, the hope unable to be truly hidden. Her sister would be so disappointed, always trying so hard to teach her younger sister to keep her emotions hidden. But Sara just couldn’t, everything she felt was written across her face as if she had put it there in ink.
It was pure joy that shone from her as he offered his wrist and her bracelet, taking it from his extended hand. ”Yes, of course.” She was light with her touch, carefully taking the leather cord and tying it around his wrist. It was neither too loose nor too tight, easy enough for him to move around without being in the way. She tucked the loose ends around it, rolling them until the cord appeared to be one continuous bracelet. Her fingers lingered even as he turned it around to inspect it, and she clasped his hand suddenly without warning or thought.
”In spite of my mother.” She finished for him. It would always be a painful subject, she was afraid. Her mother, Meena, was of a similar age to her brother, so it was unlikely that the tension would ever truly go from their family. Their father was dead, but the results of his actions would be long lasting. She wished that he wouldn’t hold such things against her, but neither could she fault him. The older she became, the more she learned of just how her mother and father had come to be. It was shameful. She couldn’t say she would not have harbored ill feelings either.
”You’re welcome.” She said softly, still holding onto and feeling the king’s hand which was calloused from his swords. She gave it a little squeeze before pulling back, using her cat as an excuse to look away. Portokáli had stalked down from his perch on her book shelves, jumping to land gracefully on the floor. The young woman got to her feet then, looking around at all her things. ”Well, I…” She began hesitantly. ”I probably should keep going with all of this.” The sadness was starting to creep upon her again, coating her skin like a sticky spider web. She took a step back, inclining her head respectfully as their moment seemed to be wrapping itself up. It was not a goodbye that she had expected, but she was glad that she had it now -- even if it hurt a little. When the older man was on his feet, she felt the impulse and followed through with it -- stepping forward quickly before she could reconsider and throwing her arms awkwardly around his middle.
”Sorry.” She whispered even as she hugged him as tightly as her small arms could manage. ”But if this is goodbye, then you’re going to get a proper hug from me.” She held him for just a breath and then let him go again, stepping back and running a hand through her hair nervously. She had not hugged her father as much as she would have liked to, and it was a regret that ate at her even now. He was gone now. She was not going to let the same stand with Achilleas. Portokáli had come to thread himself through his mistress’ legs and she leaned down to gather him up in her arms, a blush high on her cheeks.
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Sara waited, as if on pins and needles as he inspected her gift -- the bronze was an easy thing to give. It was useful and practical, suitable for her brother who was similarly inclined. She had to resist the urge to gush at him, as she was inclined to do at such an age. But this was not Imma, or any of her other friends -- this was the king of her homeland, her eldest brother who was not so fond of the more...bubbly parts of her personality. She smiled, the expression reaching her eyes for the first time as she squeezed her hands happily in her lap.
”You’re welcome.” She said, brushing back a length of her hair that had fallen over her shoulder. She scooted closer to him on the kline, until her knees were nearly brushing him. ”May the gods protect you. May they bring you a fine victory, and bring you home to us again safely.” She said, wanting desperately to touch him -- to press that wish into the skin of his arm, but she resisted. Home, she knew, would be devoid of her presence but she had good faith that while she was ousted from the upper castes of society that she would see him again.
She almost looked away when he went for the smaller bag nestled inside the box. The breath in her lungs stilled, her jaw setting in a familiar way as she held on tightly to her feelings. Don’t be offended. She kept whispering in her mind. She had done her best, and if he only wanted to take the arm guards then she could be happy with that. Her expression was sheepish when he glanced from the bracelet to her, the hope unable to be truly hidden. Her sister would be so disappointed, always trying so hard to teach her younger sister to keep her emotions hidden. But Sara just couldn’t, everything she felt was written across her face as if she had put it there in ink.
It was pure joy that shone from her as he offered his wrist and her bracelet, taking it from his extended hand. ”Yes, of course.” She was light with her touch, carefully taking the leather cord and tying it around his wrist. It was neither too loose nor too tight, easy enough for him to move around without being in the way. She tucked the loose ends around it, rolling them until the cord appeared to be one continuous bracelet. Her fingers lingered even as he turned it around to inspect it, and she clasped his hand suddenly without warning or thought.
”In spite of my mother.” She finished for him. It would always be a painful subject, she was afraid. Her mother, Meena, was of a similar age to her brother, so it was unlikely that the tension would ever truly go from their family. Their father was dead, but the results of his actions would be long lasting. She wished that he wouldn’t hold such things against her, but neither could she fault him. The older she became, the more she learned of just how her mother and father had come to be. It was shameful. She couldn’t say she would not have harbored ill feelings either.
”You’re welcome.” She said softly, still holding onto and feeling the king’s hand which was calloused from his swords. She gave it a little squeeze before pulling back, using her cat as an excuse to look away. Portokáli had stalked down from his perch on her book shelves, jumping to land gracefully on the floor. The young woman got to her feet then, looking around at all her things. ”Well, I…” She began hesitantly. ”I probably should keep going with all of this.” The sadness was starting to creep upon her again, coating her skin like a sticky spider web. She took a step back, inclining her head respectfully as their moment seemed to be wrapping itself up. It was not a goodbye that she had expected, but she was glad that she had it now -- even if it hurt a little. When the older man was on his feet, she felt the impulse and followed through with it -- stepping forward quickly before she could reconsider and throwing her arms awkwardly around his middle.
”Sorry.” She whispered even as she hugged him as tightly as her small arms could manage. ”But if this is goodbye, then you’re going to get a proper hug from me.” She held him for just a breath and then let him go again, stepping back and running a hand through her hair nervously. She had not hugged her father as much as she would have liked to, and it was a regret that ate at her even now. He was gone now. She was not going to let the same stand with Achilleas. Portokáli had come to thread himself through his mistress’ legs and she leaned down to gather him up in her arms, a blush high on her cheeks.
Sara waited, as if on pins and needles as he inspected her gift -- the bronze was an easy thing to give. It was useful and practical, suitable for her brother who was similarly inclined. She had to resist the urge to gush at him, as she was inclined to do at such an age. But this was not Imma, or any of her other friends -- this was the king of her homeland, her eldest brother who was not so fond of the more...bubbly parts of her personality. She smiled, the expression reaching her eyes for the first time as she squeezed her hands happily in her lap.
”You’re welcome.” She said, brushing back a length of her hair that had fallen over her shoulder. She scooted closer to him on the kline, until her knees were nearly brushing him. ”May the gods protect you. May they bring you a fine victory, and bring you home to us again safely.” She said, wanting desperately to touch him -- to press that wish into the skin of his arm, but she resisted. Home, she knew, would be devoid of her presence but she had good faith that while she was ousted from the upper castes of society that she would see him again.
She almost looked away when he went for the smaller bag nestled inside the box. The breath in her lungs stilled, her jaw setting in a familiar way as she held on tightly to her feelings. Don’t be offended. She kept whispering in her mind. She had done her best, and if he only wanted to take the arm guards then she could be happy with that. Her expression was sheepish when he glanced from the bracelet to her, the hope unable to be truly hidden. Her sister would be so disappointed, always trying so hard to teach her younger sister to keep her emotions hidden. But Sara just couldn’t, everything she felt was written across her face as if she had put it there in ink.
It was pure joy that shone from her as he offered his wrist and her bracelet, taking it from his extended hand. ”Yes, of course.” She was light with her touch, carefully taking the leather cord and tying it around his wrist. It was neither too loose nor too tight, easy enough for him to move around without being in the way. She tucked the loose ends around it, rolling them until the cord appeared to be one continuous bracelet. Her fingers lingered even as he turned it around to inspect it, and she clasped his hand suddenly without warning or thought.
”In spite of my mother.” She finished for him. It would always be a painful subject, she was afraid. Her mother, Meena, was of a similar age to her brother, so it was unlikely that the tension would ever truly go from their family. Their father was dead, but the results of his actions would be long lasting. She wished that he wouldn’t hold such things against her, but neither could she fault him. The older she became, the more she learned of just how her mother and father had come to be. It was shameful. She couldn’t say she would not have harbored ill feelings either.
”You’re welcome.” She said softly, still holding onto and feeling the king’s hand which was calloused from his swords. She gave it a little squeeze before pulling back, using her cat as an excuse to look away. Portokáli had stalked down from his perch on her book shelves, jumping to land gracefully on the floor. The young woman got to her feet then, looking around at all her things. ”Well, I…” She began hesitantly. ”I probably should keep going with all of this.” The sadness was starting to creep upon her again, coating her skin like a sticky spider web. She took a step back, inclining her head respectfully as their moment seemed to be wrapping itself up. It was not a goodbye that she had expected, but she was glad that she had it now -- even if it hurt a little. When the older man was on his feet, she felt the impulse and followed through with it -- stepping forward quickly before she could reconsider and throwing her arms awkwardly around his middle.
”Sorry.” She whispered even as she hugged him as tightly as her small arms could manage. ”But if this is goodbye, then you’re going to get a proper hug from me.” She held him for just a breath and then let him go again, stepping back and running a hand through her hair nervously. She had not hugged her father as much as she would have liked to, and it was a regret that ate at her even now. He was gone now. She was not going to let the same stand with Achilleas. Portokáli had come to thread himself through his mistress’ legs and she leaned down to gather him up in her arms, a blush high on her cheeks.
Achilleas had watched with a furrowed brow as she fastened the leather around his wrist, but it still caught him by surprise when her little hand slipped into his. The words that he’d almost said were finished by the young girl, and he sighed, not knowing how to sidestep that which saw him keep his distance from her. It was not easy to do though, not when she was so open with her want for them to be as proper siblings. Achilleas disliked disappointing people at the best of times, let alone when it was worn so openly on the face of one so young.
“I’m..”
‘You're welcome’
Their words crossed each other as they seemed to do so often and Sara had pulled back. It was a good thing because her half-brother had not really known what he intended to say, and when it came to soothing feelings, he could admit he was hardly the best at thinking on his feet. Some of his interactions with Theodora had proven that.
He sat back, toyed with the bracelet a moment as Sara got to her feet and made some statement towards getting on with her packing, feeling the weight of the decision he and Emilios had taken regarding Meena and the girls heavily at that particular moment. He stood too, gathering the box with the vambraces to him and looked pensively at the few scattered belongings that remained in Sara’s room.
“Emilios spoke with you about..options?” he queried hesitantly. He didn’t know the detail but he knew his brother had intended to offer the girls the opportunity to stay in Vasiliadon if they so wished. They had both agreed that it could be only a good thing if they were less under Meena’s influence. Of course, that would mean them deciding part from their mother so soon in the wake of losing their father. Achilleas swallowed at that, it had escaped him before now but seemed a cruel suggestion now he thought on it.
His smile was a little strained as she offered a small bow, and Achilleas wished there was a way he could soften all of this without seeming to neglect his mother’s happiness. Though perhaps Myrto too would not see the justice in punishing the girls for the actions of their father. He felt torn.
The hug was unexpected as anything, and at first, Achilleas tensed beneath the slender arms that wrapped his waist. It took him a moment before he lifted his arm to pat Sara on the back as she squeezed him tight. There’s had never been a household to encourage such affections. Irakles had hardly been huggable, and he had been scathing of Myrto when she had coddled her sons in such a way. It made it difficult for Achilleas to know how to respond.
“It's not goodbye” he reassured her. “ If..perhaps when I am back, you can visit, at the Palati if you wished to?” The invitation was as grand a gesture as he was capable of, and he felt almost relieved when Sara stepped back, needlessly readjusting his grip on the box he held and clearing his throat. “ I’ll get Erica to send someone to help you with the rest of the boxes,” he said crisply, reestablishing some of his usual demeanour. “ Thank you again for the gifts, Sara.” And with that, Achilleas gave the girl a small nod, reached out to pet the cat briefly before he took his leave, feeling oddly unbalanced by the whole encounter.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Achilleas had watched with a furrowed brow as she fastened the leather around his wrist, but it still caught him by surprise when her little hand slipped into his. The words that he’d almost said were finished by the young girl, and he sighed, not knowing how to sidestep that which saw him keep his distance from her. It was not easy to do though, not when she was so open with her want for them to be as proper siblings. Achilleas disliked disappointing people at the best of times, let alone when it was worn so openly on the face of one so young.
“I’m..”
‘You're welcome’
Their words crossed each other as they seemed to do so often and Sara had pulled back. It was a good thing because her half-brother had not really known what he intended to say, and when it came to soothing feelings, he could admit he was hardly the best at thinking on his feet. Some of his interactions with Theodora had proven that.
He sat back, toyed with the bracelet a moment as Sara got to her feet and made some statement towards getting on with her packing, feeling the weight of the decision he and Emilios had taken regarding Meena and the girls heavily at that particular moment. He stood too, gathering the box with the vambraces to him and looked pensively at the few scattered belongings that remained in Sara’s room.
“Emilios spoke with you about..options?” he queried hesitantly. He didn’t know the detail but he knew his brother had intended to offer the girls the opportunity to stay in Vasiliadon if they so wished. They had both agreed that it could be only a good thing if they were less under Meena’s influence. Of course, that would mean them deciding part from their mother so soon in the wake of losing their father. Achilleas swallowed at that, it had escaped him before now but seemed a cruel suggestion now he thought on it.
His smile was a little strained as she offered a small bow, and Achilleas wished there was a way he could soften all of this without seeming to neglect his mother’s happiness. Though perhaps Myrto too would not see the justice in punishing the girls for the actions of their father. He felt torn.
The hug was unexpected as anything, and at first, Achilleas tensed beneath the slender arms that wrapped his waist. It took him a moment before he lifted his arm to pat Sara on the back as she squeezed him tight. There’s had never been a household to encourage such affections. Irakles had hardly been huggable, and he had been scathing of Myrto when she had coddled her sons in such a way. It made it difficult for Achilleas to know how to respond.
“It's not goodbye” he reassured her. “ If..perhaps when I am back, you can visit, at the Palati if you wished to?” The invitation was as grand a gesture as he was capable of, and he felt almost relieved when Sara stepped back, needlessly readjusting his grip on the box he held and clearing his throat. “ I’ll get Erica to send someone to help you with the rest of the boxes,” he said crisply, reestablishing some of his usual demeanour. “ Thank you again for the gifts, Sara.” And with that, Achilleas gave the girl a small nod, reached out to pet the cat briefly before he took his leave, feeling oddly unbalanced by the whole encounter.
Achilleas had watched with a furrowed brow as she fastened the leather around his wrist, but it still caught him by surprise when her little hand slipped into his. The words that he’d almost said were finished by the young girl, and he sighed, not knowing how to sidestep that which saw him keep his distance from her. It was not easy to do though, not when she was so open with her want for them to be as proper siblings. Achilleas disliked disappointing people at the best of times, let alone when it was worn so openly on the face of one so young.
“I’m..”
‘You're welcome’
Their words crossed each other as they seemed to do so often and Sara had pulled back. It was a good thing because her half-brother had not really known what he intended to say, and when it came to soothing feelings, he could admit he was hardly the best at thinking on his feet. Some of his interactions with Theodora had proven that.
He sat back, toyed with the bracelet a moment as Sara got to her feet and made some statement towards getting on with her packing, feeling the weight of the decision he and Emilios had taken regarding Meena and the girls heavily at that particular moment. He stood too, gathering the box with the vambraces to him and looked pensively at the few scattered belongings that remained in Sara’s room.
“Emilios spoke with you about..options?” he queried hesitantly. He didn’t know the detail but he knew his brother had intended to offer the girls the opportunity to stay in Vasiliadon if they so wished. They had both agreed that it could be only a good thing if they were less under Meena’s influence. Of course, that would mean them deciding part from their mother so soon in the wake of losing their father. Achilleas swallowed at that, it had escaped him before now but seemed a cruel suggestion now he thought on it.
His smile was a little strained as she offered a small bow, and Achilleas wished there was a way he could soften all of this without seeming to neglect his mother’s happiness. Though perhaps Myrto too would not see the justice in punishing the girls for the actions of their father. He felt torn.
The hug was unexpected as anything, and at first, Achilleas tensed beneath the slender arms that wrapped his waist. It took him a moment before he lifted his arm to pat Sara on the back as she squeezed him tight. There’s had never been a household to encourage such affections. Irakles had hardly been huggable, and he had been scathing of Myrto when she had coddled her sons in such a way. It made it difficult for Achilleas to know how to respond.
“It's not goodbye” he reassured her. “ If..perhaps when I am back, you can visit, at the Palati if you wished to?” The invitation was as grand a gesture as he was capable of, and he felt almost relieved when Sara stepped back, needlessly readjusting his grip on the box he held and clearing his throat. “ I’ll get Erica to send someone to help you with the rest of the boxes,” he said crisply, reestablishing some of his usual demeanour. “ Thank you again for the gifts, Sara.” And with that, Achilleas gave the girl a small nod, reached out to pet the cat briefly before he took his leave, feeling oddly unbalanced by the whole encounter.