To say that Mihail was excited would likely have been an understatement, though his face did not show it. He had spent his entire life practising his archery until he was confident that he could claim the title of master (one he had cemented only a few years earlier in a different Athenian contest), and he was more than prepared to showcase that talent to the rest of the Grecian world. It was rare that a Thanasi had the opportunity to show off a talent without being immediately regarded with disdain, and even rarer that the youngest of the family unit was given that same chance, so often throughout his life had he been ignored in favour of more prestigiously-named men. This was Mihail's moment.

He had foregone the Festival of Dionysus and all its joys to work further on his practice (a decision that would no doubt shock anybody who knew him well). For the full month prior, he had worked on every aspect of the sport in detail, so as to ensure he did his best at the event itself, even though he had no doubts about his abilities. He had left for Athenia earlier than was strictly necessary - shortly after the notice indicating the existence of the contest had arrived - so that he would have ample time to practice in the different conditions. There were no intrusions, and nothing would be left to chance. He was going to win.

An early riser his entire life, on the morning of the competition, Mihail had been awake as soon as the first golden light of day had shot into the sky. He was not a heavy eater, but had chosen to indulge in a little breakfast for once that day, requesting his secretly favoured dish of sliced quince which had been soaked in honey overnight, always having adored sweet tastes more than he did any other. The rich flavour was designed to bring his energy up enough for the rest of the day, so that rather than spend it lounging languidly on an overstuffed couch in a darkened room with that beloved pipe of his, he would have considerably more stamina than was usual for him. Not that he believed he required it, so confident as he was in his ability, but preparation was always crucial to success.

Once he had eaten his small meal, he had done exactly as he had almost every morning over the past fifteen years, and taken a dedicated half-hour to practice his sport without distractions, far less time than was typical, but he did not wish to over-exert himself on the day of, lest the gods choose to end his fine fortune and force him into an unsavoury performance. His dress was not that same delicate style of chiton with unnecessary decoration that he tended to wear when he practised at home, for this was not a silly private folly, and he had instead chosen a loose red that allowed for ease of movement, so that he would not be strained in pulling back his arm. Every detail of that morning was planned to the neatest aspect, because Mihail was pedantic when it came to these matters, and poor planning was the enemy of achievement, so he had learned from countless years of watching his sister's carefully-organised schemes.

Mihail was early to the event itself, concerned that he would otherwise arrive late and not have the opportunity to register. He had shunned his companions for the arrival, escorted only by the one guard he chose to trust, and 'trust' was a strong word. The burly man had been given very explicit instructions to ensure that nobody bothered his Thanasi charge, including a detailed description of precisely what he was permitted to do to those who did offend, which was far from pretty. Mihail did not have time to offer to random individuals any of his attention, which he liked to think he made highly apparent through the combination of his disdainful expression and the way he gazed scornfully at all passersby through his thick black eyelashes. He was wholly uninterested in other people.

There were too many people in the arcus, gathered together in their little family or friend clusters, through which Mihail allowed his guard to lead the pair, one hand clutching his bow tightly in case some senseless thief attempted to steal it away. Aside from Draco, the weapon was his pride and joy, and he would never allow it to fall into the hands of another for any reason, no matter how innocent (not even his sisters nor the staff at the Thanasi home were an exception to the rule). He stuck closely to the man, partially due to the protection he provided, and partly because he was handsome, sparing a glance for the rest of his competition. Those who were present thus far did not seem as if they would prove much of a fight, nor did he believe they had practised as often as he. To say that Mihail was a little arrogant about his abilities might not have been all that far-fetched.

"I would be most appreciative if there was a little more consideration of my participation today," he whispered gently to the guard as they waited for one of the scribes to appear for registration. They were taking an awfully long time to get to him, which would have ordinarily annoyed the lord had he not been reasonably patient. "Perhaps if you could do me the favour of spreading a little commentary on my favour to all the gambling men of Athenia, you may earn a little compensation." Just a few drachmae in exchange for the knowledge that people would place bets on the Thanasi and spread some word of his ability. It would be an efficient manner of raising his own prestige through gossip.

After what felt like an endless amount of time, one of the scribes finally wandered over to where Mihail was waiting, examining the condition of his bow as if he did not already know it was perfect. The Thanasi lifted his gaze towards him without raising his head, still more bothered by the condition of his weapon. "Yes?"

'Name, and the events in which you'll be competing.'

It seemed a stupid question, given the weapon that the young lord held, but these kinds of people were never all that intelligent, so he supposed he could not blame him. "Archery. Obviously." He would not have needed to give his name had he been at home, he liked to believe, especially as he had decorated his eyes with his most favourite serpentine patterns of stygian kohl, but it could not be helped here, where they could not have been expected to know such basic facts. "Lord Mihail of Thanasi."

When the scribe had moved away again, Mihail turned his attention back to the guard who towered above him, nodding towards the crowd. "I will need my hair fixed to shoot, then you can go." He'd have done it himself, but it was easier to have the other complete the task, else he might have had to set down his bow for a moment. The guard carefully pulled out a pretty red ribbon - Thanasi colours, of course - and used it to pull the boy's dark hair back, so that the strands would not fall into his eyes. It was the kind of move for which Dysius would probably tease him, but he did not care. Mihail's older brother would never have understood what was necessary for the sport.

He looked fine with his hair pulled back like that, and with the sharp lines of his jaw accentuated, but, more importantly, there was no danger of his line of sight being obscured while he shot, thus he was ready. Though, it did appear there was a while yet before the long-awaited archery round began; therefore, it seemed the rest of the gathered crowds were not so prepared. The scribes were still working their way around the rest of the participants, trying to collect more names. Typical. Mihail tended to find that most individuals were far slower at getting things done than he.

"You may go," he informed his guard, waving him away, though the order did not command him entirely away and, instead, only to stand aside for the time being. He was not so foolish as to altogether eschew protection. "Do make sure you do as I asked."

Now, he supposed he would just wait a while, and perhaps take a look at some of the other competitors. He could never be blamed for sussing out his opposition, nor for enjoying a glance at some of the handsome men and women who were lined up around him, though suitably distant from his precious bow.

Each of Yiannis’ brothers had cemented his place. Vangelis: disciplined, detached, and dutiful, who had earned the respect and fear of everyone for his towering height, physical might, and cruelty on the battlefield. Zanon: level-headed, patient, and strategic, whose strong jawline and strong leadership would right the ship of the Kotas clan. Silas: jovial, skillful, and capable of mustering a force of loyal soldiers by virtue of a smile and a nod. Yiannis could only imitate the successes of his brothers, or mislead and misdirect such that no one noticed his failures. It was a sore subject for the man, despite his accomplishments, that he was not uniquely suited to any one domain, except perhaps manipulation.

However, he had been a tolerable leader, functional soldier, and perhaps most importantly, an effective lone agent. Yiannis had performed miracles on the battlefield by sneaking or seducing his way past obstacles that might have stymied his brothers. And compared to many of the other Grecian men that would participate in today’s Games- Yiannis did not think it was flattering himself to say that his skill with the javelin was unparalleled in Colchis, even if the credit for that went more to his training than natural talent.

Yiannis could not offer himself to only one of the events. He intended to participate in the archery and discus competitions as well. While both involved a component of strength, there was also some need for dexterity and accuracy. The javelin had been his favored weapon when he had to resort to something besides his wits, although in his opinion, once wits and rumors failed, it was just as well to throw a punch or roughhouse with one’s opponent. The battle was already lost by then.

Yiannis reported his interest in archery, javelin, and discus to one of the scribes. None of his brothers had arrived yet, although he expected them. Vangelis might decline, on the principle that he was never allowed to enjoy himself. Zanon would be there, unless his harpy of a wife forbade it. Yiannis wondered if he would see Athanasia among the spectators. If he did, he supposed she would feel obligated to support her brothers equally. Shame. He would have liked to have someone rooting for his victory.

At the moment, it was still early. Few enough had arrived that Yiannis easily spotted Mihail of Thanasi, peacocking about the arcus. Yiannis had never had much cause to respect any of the Thanasi. If Zanon’s precious Evras had done nothing to redeem her family, there was no reason to expect Mihail would do any different. Yiannis saw no need to reconsider his first impression of the man. Like the rest of them, he valued beauty and himself above all else- where Yiannis wore a simple tunic, Mihail had come robed in red.

Seeing another of the competitors strike up a conversation with him, Yiannis was happy to interrupt. No need to allow another Thanasi to corrupt an innocent. Whatever this man’s story, nothing he had done deserved talking to Mihail. Yiannis approached, eyes only briefly flitting to Mihail- just long enough so that he would know Yiannis had ignored him.

“Hello. It’s a pleasure to meet my competitors. Yiannis of Kotas. And you are?”

Lesley raised an eyebrow at Yiannis then grinned cheerfully and reached out to clasp his hand. "Lesley." No more name than that, though the tattoos should make that unsurprising. The winding lines snaking their way around his wrists were a good deal more artistic than the tattoos more commonly used by Greeks to mark their slaves, but certainly were unique enough to serve the purpose. The wooden sword at his hip, however, marked him as having earned his freedom, which was as close to a pension as a former slave got. A foreigner might not recognize that, though; Athenia's tradition of bloodsport was not shared by the other kingdoms. Or, the other man might simply peg him as being from lands afar - Lesley was never entirely sure how to predict what first impressions he gave someone.

"What will you be getting in on this morning?" Friendly and open, Lesley really was simply curious, rather than sizing up the competition. At least, not beyond the way he sized up everyone he met. Long habit, etc. Since this wasn't a competition where strategy or predicting an opponent came into play, though, he didn't really care.

When news had reached the rocky outcrops to the north that Athenia was going to be hosting an event that brought all the Kingdoms together, it was not that surprising that Timaeus immediately gathered up some of his best men and set sail. Even though Timaeus had a duty to fulfill in Colchis as a Captain, he had never been overly fond of the kingdom. It wasn’t that hard to despise the place. After all, it was nothing, but barren rocks, and after spending an entire childhood confined to the mountains of Eubocris; he had been more than ready to stretch his wings and see what the world had to offer. That’s exactly what he did the year he turned sixteen. With the help of his friend Adrestus of Nikolaos, Timaeus had fled Colchis and spent the best four years of his life at sea. He had been to every known corner of the realm -- Athenia included. The kingdom of scholars and fish merchants had actually been a frequent stop on their journey as this was Adrestus’s homeland. It had been a requirement from his family to even allow the boys to go this journey in the first place.

Timaeus might not have been the sort of lad who enjoyed being in one place for very long, but if he had to choose a kingdom to make a month-long stop halfway through their adventures, Tim wasn’t opposed to it being Athenia. The land was so culturally different from the rough and tumble Colchis he had grown up in and the people were pleasant enough for his tastes. He should know. After all, the last time he had been here, Timaeus had found himself in a whirlwind romance with one of the royal girls, Sofia of Marikas. With the sailor only having a limited time in Colchis, it had been a relationship that moved quickly and ended swiftly, but Timaeus wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. Sofia had been the highlight of his time in Athenia and even though he would have liked to think differently due to the mere fact that they had always been doomed to fail, there was a small part of him that would always have some sort of feelings for her. It was strange and intangible in the best sort of way, but truly Timaeus was fairly certain that he was never going to forget a girl like that.

Maybe that’s why his attention was not on the small group of men he had brought with him from Eubocris when they first entered the large arcus that would host the games. Instead, his eyes lingered on the crowd, scanning for that familiar bob of brown hair and a flash of yellow fabric. With Athenia being the host of such an extravagant event, he couldn’t imagine any reason why Sofia wouldn’t be here and Timaeus longed for a chance to speak with her again. At the very least to apologize for the way he left as he thought it wouldn’t hurt as much as a painful goodbye. He had been so foolishly wrong and being back in the Capital city was his chance to make that right and maybe even get a chance to rekindle what they had -- if only for a day. However, that would first require finding her amidst the din of hopeful competitors and supportive spectators filling the space as administrators took note of who was competing in which events.

It was going to be quite a challenge, especially as Timaeus could not turn to the few soldiers who proved themselves competent enough to join him and Maleos on this journey across the seas. He might have longed to do so and there was no doubt that some of the more astute men could notice that there was a certain pep in Tim’s step that wasn’t present in Colchis, but it was far too dangerous. The sort of relationship he had with Sofia was strictly forbidden and there was no way that her father would ever approve of his daughter having feelings for some second son of a Colchian Baron who watched over a backwater province. His daughter had the blood of kings going back centuries. Timaeus might be noble, but he was nowhere near worthy enough to merely be in the gaze of Sofia, let alone have the keys to her heart.

So, he attempted to be discreet when he glanced around, trying to find any sign of her. However, there were just too many people in the crowded arcus. If she was here, that she wasn’t making herself seen in this crowd of thousands. Although he would have liked to think that maybe it was just the sun in his eyes or something akin to that nature so she really wasn’t gone from his life forever, it was just impossible to tell.

Timaeus wasn’t going to get much of a chance to search for much longer though as he heard the men he had traveled with gave a shout for Timaeus to pay attention. Turning back to the men, Timaeus was surprised to see that in his quiet quest to find Sofia, an administrator of the event had approached them had taken the names and events that all the foot soldiers would be partaking in. A quick glance at the list showed Timaeus that the men had chosen three or four events, just enough to qualify, but only the ones that were suited to their talents so they might not make utter fools of themselves. They were playing it safe and their military captain was actually a bit disappointed in them. Had they not traveled all this way to have some fun and show these other Greeks why Colchis had the best military in the realm? Sitting out on so many of the activities was not the way to do that. However, he did notice that his favored lieutenant and closest confidante in the years since Timaeus had returned from the wide-open sea to take up his duties had not yet put his name down. Now Maleos was a grown man who could make his own decisions. If he was going to follow suit with the other soldiers and only confine himself to enough events to qualify for the later rounds then so be it, but Timaeus came here to have some fun and he was not going to take the easy route. Not when personal glory and bragging rights were on the line.

“Cowards, the whole lot of you!” Timaeus jokingly shouted at his own men as his gaze drifted over to Maleos as a bout of laughter sailed past his lips. “It’s a shame isn’t it? We came all this way and they’re too afraid of sticking their necks out and taking a loss. Why don’t we make this a real competition Maleos?” As the Captain of the Men of the Heights captured the scribe’s attention, signaling that he was ready for his name to be recorded. Once the poor man had his quill at the ready, Timaeus was quick to give the man his name and his chosen events, a statement that was succinctly summed up in only seven brief words for the man to scribble down. “Lord Timaeus of Valaoritis. All of them.”

His men immediately snickered at Timaeus suggesting that he was going to take part in all six of the qualifying events as they knew that there were certainly a couple of categories that he was going to do poorly in. That much was true, Timaeus was not going to fight it. After all, he wasn’t much of a discus or a javelin thrower, but that wasn’t the point of why he had bundled up his men and shipped them all the way to Athenia of all places. If he wanted to do perfectly and have everything go to some plan where he looked amazing at everything, he would have stayed in Eubocris and have the men do drills based around the events that he was good at. However, Timaeus didn’t see these games through that lens. It was a chance to have fun and the odds that anyone was going to remember him coming in the middle of a pack in any of these events was slim at best. So why not enjoy the day? After all, the feeling of regret was one that Timaeus was quite familiar with as he had not come back to Colchis in time to see his father before he passed. That loss had taught him that he needed to take every opportunity before him as that was not a feeling he enjoyed wrestling with.

However, he had no idea if others thought the same way and saw the second round of the competition as far more important than the first. Timaeus didn’t really care for it, seeing no need to reserve his energy when he knew already that he was not going to win the whole competition. It could very well be that the curly-haired second in command by his side preferred the foot soldier’s logic over the Captain’s. Ultimately it was his decision to make in regards to whether or not he was going to join Timaeus in going all in. With no idea on which side of the needle Maleos was going to fall, Timaeus looked expectantly to him, waiting to see what his best friend was going to do…

Somehow, Lesley managed not to snort, or otherwise inform Mihail what he thought of his attitude. He didn't take issue with the Lord's proud assessment of his own skill - the gladiator would be a damn hypocrite if he expected humility out of anyone, and he certainly didn't have any evidence that his confidence was misplaced - but he wasn't fond of the way nobles always felt the need to look down on people who enjoyed any activity they didn't personally excel at.

"Not archery, no," Lesley agreed easily enough. "Never had the time to learn a skill that served no purpose." Plus he sucked at it. But if Mihail was going to bring uncalled-for snark into the conversation, Lesley had no difficulty doing the same. The gladiator, however, had a smile on his lips. Teasing, even if it held a bit of a bite, rather than unconscious arrogance.

"Discus, balance, javelin, and climbing," Lesley conveyed his own choices, speaking as much to Yiannis now as to Mihail. "I expect the boys'll have a wrestling ring going soon as the official stuff's over, too." He didn't comment on the assumption he didn't have a lot of endurance. He could last longer in a fight than most might guess, but he didn't mind being underestimated in that sort of way. It was true enough he wasn't anything impressive in a footrace.

This contest was bullshit. Sure, when she was told of the games, Phaedra had been immediately interested. Of course, that interest had waned ash she had learned further details. Women were only allowed to compete in archery, that she understood, what with it being the only weapon they were allowed to fight with, and….balance beam of all things. Therefore they wouldn’t be eligible for the one-on-one competition Fuck that.

No, she was going to compete, and she was going to compete in the final one on one competition, even if she had to pretend to be a man to do it. She had no reason to believe that she couldn’t fight just as well as any of them, so it should be no reason to give herself away. Phaedra had made sure that she could look like as much like a man as possible. Her physique was already fairly masculine, and binding her chest flat only accentuated that. In addition, she had cut her hair short without even a second thought. It was only hair, it would grow back soon enough. She had also purchased a chiton in a more masculine cut than her usual. Now all she had to do was pitch her voice down a bit and claim to be a good two decades younger than she actually was.

As she stood in the Arcus, Phaedra looked around nervously to make sure to avoid anyone who might recognize her right off the bat. She wasn’t sure how well her disguise actually worked and she had no desire to get kicked out, at least not so early on. Then the scribe came around and asked her name and the events she was participating in. “Uh…” she hadn’t thought of a name. That was an oversight she should have prepared for, but at least she could think on her feet. “Phaedros,” she answered, pitching her voice down “Archery, climbing, and javelin.” The scribe barely gave her a passing glance as he recorded that in his ledger.

That he hadn’t even questioned her gave her some hope that her disguise was working well. As she looked around, she saw too many of her own countrymen gathered as well for the competitions. No, she wasn’t going to risk it. Not yet. Not until she was more comfortable that her act was successful. Perhaps there would be some others that she didn’t recognize around that she could perfect this voice and these mannerisms on.