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"Did you see the way Prince Yiannis looked at that peasant?" a woman asks her friend. They are overheard by a young man who turns to his friend and says, "Is that gladiator turning the prince's head? How interesting."
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"Did you see the way Prince Yiannis looked at that peasant?" a woman asks her friend. They are overheard by a young man who turns to his friend and says, "Is that gladiator turning the prince's head? How interesting."
Rumor Best Around
"Did you see the way Prince Yiannis looked at that peasant?" a woman asks her friend. They are overheard by a young man who turns to his friend and says, "Is that gladiator turning the prince's head? How interesting."
Rafail had never been traditionally interested in most sports that weren't riding or chariot-racing. That wasn't to say he couldn't do them, or that he would not partake when the moment called for it, for he was perfectly glad to join his few friends in a game every so often, and he did not tend to perform too horrendously. But he did not like to compete unless he was more confident of a victory, and with the number of gladiators he was sure would have signed up to a competition that was not limited to the upper classes, it seemed an undesirable risk. The Marikas didn't want any humiliation in his future, especially not in front of that many people.
Nonetheless, the man had chosen to attend the event because he knew for sure that plenty of fine ladies would have chosen to be there to spy on those good-looking competitors. Although they were definitely the sort to attract attention, it seemed quite implausible that, in comparison, any girl was going to resist the wealthy lord with his blonde locks and handsome features. Besides, he was already closer to them by virtue of being in the stands rather than down in the dirt of the arcus, and he considered that nothing more than a bonus.
His arrival had been early enough to catch sight of the competitors before they dispersed to the individual games, and he had vaguely approached one of the men who ran around requesting bets to offer some coins in the name of the Colchian prince for the javelin event, if solely because the man thought it unlikely that those royals who had been raised in such a military fashion would do poorly. Somewhere in the crowd, Rafail was certain he had seen his niece flitting about, which did not surprise him in any regard, as the girl was never prone to sticking to the ladylike activities that most of her peers and her sisters knew were more appropriate. Perhaps later he might find her and attempt to introduce her to some man he thought would make a suitable match. Even the prince would do.
However, for now, Rafail was not in the rightly jovial mood to partake in any likely failed matchmaking and had directed himself into the crowd proper to enjoy his own proclivities. Upon entry to the arcus, he had caught sight of a pretty brunette with bright eyes who had appeared to be speaking to some man whose conversational credentials seemed faulty at best, and he was eager to give her something better. He now approached her with a coy smile which already gave away his intentions, tilting his head towards the men who were already battling for supremacy in the arcus, half-acting as if he was remotely interested in their games. A little casual conversation would do for now, and then perhaps he might lead her back to the Marikas home before the end of the day. "Enjoying the show?"
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Rafail had never been traditionally interested in most sports that weren't riding or chariot-racing. That wasn't to say he couldn't do them, or that he would not partake when the moment called for it, for he was perfectly glad to join his few friends in a game every so often, and he did not tend to perform too horrendously. But he did not like to compete unless he was more confident of a victory, and with the number of gladiators he was sure would have signed up to a competition that was not limited to the upper classes, it seemed an undesirable risk. The Marikas didn't want any humiliation in his future, especially not in front of that many people.
Nonetheless, the man had chosen to attend the event because he knew for sure that plenty of fine ladies would have chosen to be there to spy on those good-looking competitors. Although they were definitely the sort to attract attention, it seemed quite implausible that, in comparison, any girl was going to resist the wealthy lord with his blonde locks and handsome features. Besides, he was already closer to them by virtue of being in the stands rather than down in the dirt of the arcus, and he considered that nothing more than a bonus.
His arrival had been early enough to catch sight of the competitors before they dispersed to the individual games, and he had vaguely approached one of the men who ran around requesting bets to offer some coins in the name of the Colchian prince for the javelin event, if solely because the man thought it unlikely that those royals who had been raised in such a military fashion would do poorly. Somewhere in the crowd, Rafail was certain he had seen his niece flitting about, which did not surprise him in any regard, as the girl was never prone to sticking to the ladylike activities that most of her peers and her sisters knew were more appropriate. Perhaps later he might find her and attempt to introduce her to some man he thought would make a suitable match. Even the prince would do.
However, for now, Rafail was not in the rightly jovial mood to partake in any likely failed matchmaking and had directed himself into the crowd proper to enjoy his own proclivities. Upon entry to the arcus, he had caught sight of a pretty brunette with bright eyes who had appeared to be speaking to some man whose conversational credentials seemed faulty at best, and he was eager to give her something better. He now approached her with a coy smile which already gave away his intentions, tilting his head towards the men who were already battling for supremacy in the arcus, half-acting as if he was remotely interested in their games. A little casual conversation would do for now, and then perhaps he might lead her back to the Marikas home before the end of the day. "Enjoying the show?"
Rafail had never been traditionally interested in most sports that weren't riding or chariot-racing. That wasn't to say he couldn't do them, or that he would not partake when the moment called for it, for he was perfectly glad to join his few friends in a game every so often, and he did not tend to perform too horrendously. But he did not like to compete unless he was more confident of a victory, and with the number of gladiators he was sure would have signed up to a competition that was not limited to the upper classes, it seemed an undesirable risk. The Marikas didn't want any humiliation in his future, especially not in front of that many people.
Nonetheless, the man had chosen to attend the event because he knew for sure that plenty of fine ladies would have chosen to be there to spy on those good-looking competitors. Although they were definitely the sort to attract attention, it seemed quite implausible that, in comparison, any girl was going to resist the wealthy lord with his blonde locks and handsome features. Besides, he was already closer to them by virtue of being in the stands rather than down in the dirt of the arcus, and he considered that nothing more than a bonus.
His arrival had been early enough to catch sight of the competitors before they dispersed to the individual games, and he had vaguely approached one of the men who ran around requesting bets to offer some coins in the name of the Colchian prince for the javelin event, if solely because the man thought it unlikely that those royals who had been raised in such a military fashion would do poorly. Somewhere in the crowd, Rafail was certain he had seen his niece flitting about, which did not surprise him in any regard, as the girl was never prone to sticking to the ladylike activities that most of her peers and her sisters knew were more appropriate. Perhaps later he might find her and attempt to introduce her to some man he thought would make a suitable match. Even the prince would do.
However, for now, Rafail was not in the rightly jovial mood to partake in any likely failed matchmaking and had directed himself into the crowd proper to enjoy his own proclivities. Upon entry to the arcus, he had caught sight of a pretty brunette with bright eyes who had appeared to be speaking to some man whose conversational credentials seemed faulty at best, and he was eager to give her something better. He now approached her with a coy smile which already gave away his intentions, tilting his head towards the men who were already battling for supremacy in the arcus, half-acting as if he was remotely interested in their games. A little casual conversation would do for now, and then perhaps he might lead her back to the Marikas home before the end of the day. "Enjoying the show?"
Shaking off the competitive fervor Mihail inspired, the fluttering sensation brought on by Lesley, and the shame from his two defeats, Yiannis arrived at the javelin event. Performing this event after other men had competed gave Yiannis some sense of the mark to beat. That, combined with his years of training and natural talent gave him a confidence that this would be his most successful event- deeply necessary, after the embarrassments in discus and archery. With this javelin, Yiannis would do his family name proud.
As a man who used javelins frequently, Yiannis took the time to customize his experience. He adjusted the ankyle to ensure a proper grip, and selected his javelin carefully. He compared the weights of the different pieces, admiring their make- even an imperfectly made weapon deserved to be honored by its wielder, and so he took the time to honor it. He prayed to Apollo that this javelin, not one of his own favorites, would serve him just as well- better than had the arcus’ arrows. Apollo guided arrows to their destination, but so too did he carry the discus and the javelin. Yiannis had failed to rise above his limits, and in turn, Apollo had delivered him poor fortune. The javelin was his specialty, though. Surely Apollo could appreciate that. He kissed the tip of the javelin before he threw it.
Mind still and hand steady, Yiannis threw his first javelin. He listened to it whistle through the air, eyes unblinking as it landed. Only then did Yiannis move: a small, private smile, and then a broader, charismatic one for the audience. Stretching briefly, he picked up the second javelin. Readying himself for another throw, Yiannis quieted his thoughts. Nothing but himself: his shoulder, his arm, his hand, and the javelin, and extension of him. Yiannis threw and watched the javelin sail past the first. While the first throw had showed off his form, the second had added his strength to further detail the picture of his skills for the spectators. He relaxed his shoulders, stretching some more as he walked over to retrieve the third javelin.
Finally, Yiannis fired off the final shot, combining strength and precision with the quiet ferocity of a Kotas man at war. The javelin landed ahead of his second throw, marking his final distance well above the previous competitors. He stretched properly now, limbering himself up again for any potential post-competition activities that might commence. He watched as the judge left a marker to cement his victory in physical form. Perhaps another soldier might approach his mark, but Yiannis felt confident that none would surpass it. It might be termed arrogance, but the Kotas scion did not doubt his skill in this event.
Final event completed, Yiannis walked towards the edge of the arena to observe the field properly. Lesley had one more event to his name, Yiannis remembered. He kept an eye out for other competitors who had signed up for a larger number of events, as well; these men were the ones who trusted in their own endurance more than Yiannis trusted himself. He admired men like that, rather than envying them, since endurance was hardly the most important virtue in a commander of warriors. And there- Timaeus of Valaoritis and Valerius of Lands Afar, who had signed up for all of the events. Yiannnis considered going over to speak with them just to provoke their sense of competition, but there would be time aplenty after the day’s events. He would enjoy the remaining feats of athleticism from here, as an observer.
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Shaking off the competitive fervor Mihail inspired, the fluttering sensation brought on by Lesley, and the shame from his two defeats, Yiannis arrived at the javelin event. Performing this event after other men had competed gave Yiannis some sense of the mark to beat. That, combined with his years of training and natural talent gave him a confidence that this would be his most successful event- deeply necessary, after the embarrassments in discus and archery. With this javelin, Yiannis would do his family name proud.
As a man who used javelins frequently, Yiannis took the time to customize his experience. He adjusted the ankyle to ensure a proper grip, and selected his javelin carefully. He compared the weights of the different pieces, admiring their make- even an imperfectly made weapon deserved to be honored by its wielder, and so he took the time to honor it. He prayed to Apollo that this javelin, not one of his own favorites, would serve him just as well- better than had the arcus’ arrows. Apollo guided arrows to their destination, but so too did he carry the discus and the javelin. Yiannis had failed to rise above his limits, and in turn, Apollo had delivered him poor fortune. The javelin was his specialty, though. Surely Apollo could appreciate that. He kissed the tip of the javelin before he threw it.
Mind still and hand steady, Yiannis threw his first javelin. He listened to it whistle through the air, eyes unblinking as it landed. Only then did Yiannis move: a small, private smile, and then a broader, charismatic one for the audience. Stretching briefly, he picked up the second javelin. Readying himself for another throw, Yiannis quieted his thoughts. Nothing but himself: his shoulder, his arm, his hand, and the javelin, and extension of him. Yiannis threw and watched the javelin sail past the first. While the first throw had showed off his form, the second had added his strength to further detail the picture of his skills for the spectators. He relaxed his shoulders, stretching some more as he walked over to retrieve the third javelin.
Finally, Yiannis fired off the final shot, combining strength and precision with the quiet ferocity of a Kotas man at war. The javelin landed ahead of his second throw, marking his final distance well above the previous competitors. He stretched properly now, limbering himself up again for any potential post-competition activities that might commence. He watched as the judge left a marker to cement his victory in physical form. Perhaps another soldier might approach his mark, but Yiannis felt confident that none would surpass it. It might be termed arrogance, but the Kotas scion did not doubt his skill in this event.
Final event completed, Yiannis walked towards the edge of the arena to observe the field properly. Lesley had one more event to his name, Yiannis remembered. He kept an eye out for other competitors who had signed up for a larger number of events, as well; these men were the ones who trusted in their own endurance more than Yiannis trusted himself. He admired men like that, rather than envying them, since endurance was hardly the most important virtue in a commander of warriors. And there- Timaeus of Valaoritis and Valerius of Lands Afar, who had signed up for all of the events. Yiannnis considered going over to speak with them just to provoke their sense of competition, but there would be time aplenty after the day’s events. He would enjoy the remaining feats of athleticism from here, as an observer.
Shaking off the competitive fervor Mihail inspired, the fluttering sensation brought on by Lesley, and the shame from his two defeats, Yiannis arrived at the javelin event. Performing this event after other men had competed gave Yiannis some sense of the mark to beat. That, combined with his years of training and natural talent gave him a confidence that this would be his most successful event- deeply necessary, after the embarrassments in discus and archery. With this javelin, Yiannis would do his family name proud.
As a man who used javelins frequently, Yiannis took the time to customize his experience. He adjusted the ankyle to ensure a proper grip, and selected his javelin carefully. He compared the weights of the different pieces, admiring their make- even an imperfectly made weapon deserved to be honored by its wielder, and so he took the time to honor it. He prayed to Apollo that this javelin, not one of his own favorites, would serve him just as well- better than had the arcus’ arrows. Apollo guided arrows to their destination, but so too did he carry the discus and the javelin. Yiannis had failed to rise above his limits, and in turn, Apollo had delivered him poor fortune. The javelin was his specialty, though. Surely Apollo could appreciate that. He kissed the tip of the javelin before he threw it.
Mind still and hand steady, Yiannis threw his first javelin. He listened to it whistle through the air, eyes unblinking as it landed. Only then did Yiannis move: a small, private smile, and then a broader, charismatic one for the audience. Stretching briefly, he picked up the second javelin. Readying himself for another throw, Yiannis quieted his thoughts. Nothing but himself: his shoulder, his arm, his hand, and the javelin, and extension of him. Yiannis threw and watched the javelin sail past the first. While the first throw had showed off his form, the second had added his strength to further detail the picture of his skills for the spectators. He relaxed his shoulders, stretching some more as he walked over to retrieve the third javelin.
Finally, Yiannis fired off the final shot, combining strength and precision with the quiet ferocity of a Kotas man at war. The javelin landed ahead of his second throw, marking his final distance well above the previous competitors. He stretched properly now, limbering himself up again for any potential post-competition activities that might commence. He watched as the judge left a marker to cement his victory in physical form. Perhaps another soldier might approach his mark, but Yiannis felt confident that none would surpass it. It might be termed arrogance, but the Kotas scion did not doubt his skill in this event.
Final event completed, Yiannis walked towards the edge of the arena to observe the field properly. Lesley had one more event to his name, Yiannis remembered. He kept an eye out for other competitors who had signed up for a larger number of events, as well; these men were the ones who trusted in their own endurance more than Yiannis trusted himself. He admired men like that, rather than envying them, since endurance was hardly the most important virtue in a commander of warriors. And there- Timaeus of Valaoritis and Valerius of Lands Afar, who had signed up for all of the events. Yiannnis considered going over to speak with them just to provoke their sense of competition, but there would be time aplenty after the day’s events. He would enjoy the remaining feats of athleticism from here, as an observer.
Daniil paused in her weaving to find the bookie, her attention diverted momentarily by the words that floated on the wind around her dispite the din that was a mix of vendors, children, adults, and weapons. Her nose wrinkled at the topic of the rumor. Seriously, the inclinations of either man was not something that should have been the topic of conversation. It was rude, essentially when one of the men was a prince. She kept her peace on the fact that she knew that Yannis enjoyed the pleasures of the fairer sex.
She shook her head and resumed her trek to find the bookie. Once there she placed her bets. She favored Yannis in javelin.Lesle was her favorite in the climbing. Truthfully, she couldn't favor one over the other. She knew the skills of both men quite well.
She kept her cards close to her chest when it came to Yannis. She was not at all sure what, if anything her own family knew about their relationship. She was near sure that Pavlos would say or do when he discovered it.
Her bets were not to extravagant to be sure. She would have been competing if her archery skills were up to par, but as she was still learning. Maybe that would be her next skill to learn so that the next time she could take part and bring the possibility of fame and glory to the Marikas name.
Once her bets were placed she made her way through the crowd to fine a place to watch the compititions. She laughed as she spied her uncle and made her way over to him. "Hello Uncle, mind if I join you? Who do you favor in each event?" She asked him. She gave him a wicked grin and in a low voice said, "I hear that neither man is hard on the eyes."
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Daniil paused in her weaving to find the bookie, her attention diverted momentarily by the words that floated on the wind around her dispite the din that was a mix of vendors, children, adults, and weapons. Her nose wrinkled at the topic of the rumor. Seriously, the inclinations of either man was not something that should have been the topic of conversation. It was rude, essentially when one of the men was a prince. She kept her peace on the fact that she knew that Yannis enjoyed the pleasures of the fairer sex.
She shook her head and resumed her trek to find the bookie. Once there she placed her bets. She favored Yannis in javelin.Lesle was her favorite in the climbing. Truthfully, she couldn't favor one over the other. She knew the skills of both men quite well.
She kept her cards close to her chest when it came to Yannis. She was not at all sure what, if anything her own family knew about their relationship. She was near sure that Pavlos would say or do when he discovered it.
Her bets were not to extravagant to be sure. She would have been competing if her archery skills were up to par, but as she was still learning. Maybe that would be her next skill to learn so that the next time she could take part and bring the possibility of fame and glory to the Marikas name.
Once her bets were placed she made her way through the crowd to fine a place to watch the compititions. She laughed as she spied her uncle and made her way over to him. "Hello Uncle, mind if I join you? Who do you favor in each event?" She asked him. She gave him a wicked grin and in a low voice said, "I hear that neither man is hard on the eyes."
Daniil paused in her weaving to find the bookie, her attention diverted momentarily by the words that floated on the wind around her dispite the din that was a mix of vendors, children, adults, and weapons. Her nose wrinkled at the topic of the rumor. Seriously, the inclinations of either man was not something that should have been the topic of conversation. It was rude, essentially when one of the men was a prince. She kept her peace on the fact that she knew that Yannis enjoyed the pleasures of the fairer sex.
She shook her head and resumed her trek to find the bookie. Once there she placed her bets. She favored Yannis in javelin.Lesle was her favorite in the climbing. Truthfully, she couldn't favor one over the other. She knew the skills of both men quite well.
She kept her cards close to her chest when it came to Yannis. She was not at all sure what, if anything her own family knew about their relationship. She was near sure that Pavlos would say or do when he discovered it.
Her bets were not to extravagant to be sure. She would have been competing if her archery skills were up to par, but as she was still learning. Maybe that would be her next skill to learn so that the next time she could take part and bring the possibility of fame and glory to the Marikas name.
Once her bets were placed she made her way through the crowd to fine a place to watch the compititions. She laughed as she spied her uncle and made her way over to him. "Hello Uncle, mind if I join you? Who do you favor in each event?" She asked him. She gave him a wicked grin and in a low voice said, "I hear that neither man is hard on the eyes."
Yiannis started at Daniil’s voice, hiding his surprise with a cheeky grin. Daniil seemed to rather enjoy his company lately, which he found flattering. He was not looking forward to marriage very eagerly , since in the end, that was a matter of politics and reputation, but he found Daniil’s attention flattering. She had a spirit that he admired; so many other girls seemed to lack the passion and drive that he saw in men- that Yiannis himself burned with. He wished he could marry a girl like that. Strong and stoic, like the Kotas clan, but with a zest for life kindling underneath a demure exterior.
The only responsible way to respond to her grin and insinuation was with polite distance, but Yiannis had never been very responsible. His grin belied his amusement, for all that hearing gossip (and how could there be gossip already?) about this matter worried him. Instead of behaving properly, Yiannis responded leisurely, without even turning his head. Instead, he kept his eye on the competitors.
“In archery, I must favor Mihail of Thanasi, although favor is not the word I would choose. We have a healthy rivalry between us, Mihail and I,” Yiannis said, as though it was anything other than a one-sided grudge he held against the man’s entire clan for their manipulation of Zanon. “In climbing, perhaps the man called Lesley. Although we had never met before, he impressed me with his competitive spirit.” And if Yiannis had responded to that positive impression a bit too warmly, well, it was not something that needed to leave the arcus today. “Although he did not perform as well in some of the other events, it was not from lack of strength.”
“And in javelin, I think I’ll bet on that handsome, roguish fellow, with the dark, curly hair. You know, that younger son of Kotas? What was his name? Daniil, I’m sure you remember. Who could I be thinking of? He performed abominably in the discus, what was his name…Yonis?”
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Yiannis started at Daniil’s voice, hiding his surprise with a cheeky grin. Daniil seemed to rather enjoy his company lately, which he found flattering. He was not looking forward to marriage very eagerly , since in the end, that was a matter of politics and reputation, but he found Daniil’s attention flattering. She had a spirit that he admired; so many other girls seemed to lack the passion and drive that he saw in men- that Yiannis himself burned with. He wished he could marry a girl like that. Strong and stoic, like the Kotas clan, but with a zest for life kindling underneath a demure exterior.
The only responsible way to respond to her grin and insinuation was with polite distance, but Yiannis had never been very responsible. His grin belied his amusement, for all that hearing gossip (and how could there be gossip already?) about this matter worried him. Instead of behaving properly, Yiannis responded leisurely, without even turning his head. Instead, he kept his eye on the competitors.
“In archery, I must favor Mihail of Thanasi, although favor is not the word I would choose. We have a healthy rivalry between us, Mihail and I,” Yiannis said, as though it was anything other than a one-sided grudge he held against the man’s entire clan for their manipulation of Zanon. “In climbing, perhaps the man called Lesley. Although we had never met before, he impressed me with his competitive spirit.” And if Yiannis had responded to that positive impression a bit too warmly, well, it was not something that needed to leave the arcus today. “Although he did not perform as well in some of the other events, it was not from lack of strength.”
“And in javelin, I think I’ll bet on that handsome, roguish fellow, with the dark, curly hair. You know, that younger son of Kotas? What was his name? Daniil, I’m sure you remember. Who could I be thinking of? He performed abominably in the discus, what was his name…Yonis?”
Yiannis started at Daniil’s voice, hiding his surprise with a cheeky grin. Daniil seemed to rather enjoy his company lately, which he found flattering. He was not looking forward to marriage very eagerly , since in the end, that was a matter of politics and reputation, but he found Daniil’s attention flattering. She had a spirit that he admired; so many other girls seemed to lack the passion and drive that he saw in men- that Yiannis himself burned with. He wished he could marry a girl like that. Strong and stoic, like the Kotas clan, but with a zest for life kindling underneath a demure exterior.
The only responsible way to respond to her grin and insinuation was with polite distance, but Yiannis had never been very responsible. His grin belied his amusement, for all that hearing gossip (and how could there be gossip already?) about this matter worried him. Instead of behaving properly, Yiannis responded leisurely, without even turning his head. Instead, he kept his eye on the competitors.
“In archery, I must favor Mihail of Thanasi, although favor is not the word I would choose. We have a healthy rivalry between us, Mihail and I,” Yiannis said, as though it was anything other than a one-sided grudge he held against the man’s entire clan for their manipulation of Zanon. “In climbing, perhaps the man called Lesley. Although we had never met before, he impressed me with his competitive spirit.” And if Yiannis had responded to that positive impression a bit too warmly, well, it was not something that needed to leave the arcus today. “Although he did not perform as well in some of the other events, it was not from lack of strength.”
“And in javelin, I think I’ll bet on that handsome, roguish fellow, with the dark, curly hair. You know, that younger son of Kotas? What was his name? Daniil, I’m sure you remember. Who could I be thinking of? He performed abominably in the discus, what was his name…Yonis?”
Daniil saw Yannis' grin. He didn't miss her complement she was sure of it. Of course the youngest Lady of House Marikas knew more about him then she let on. She had heard that he was promised to be married. Not over her dead body. She was working on a way to spare him that hell and give him his dream girl. All she needed was for both sides to cooperate in the matter.
They were such an infuence on each other, but given the chance, they would find a quiet spot to discuss the rumor among other things as it had been some time since they saw each other.
Daniil listen to him speak. She knew the moment that the words came out of his mouth, that she had chosen wrongly in the archery competition. She was fine with it and she was doybly happy that she had not entered the competition.
She had chosen well, she knew, in picking in the climbing competition. Lesley was a man of many talents and she was tossing around the idea of suggesting Pavlos purchase him as the house's gladiator. She had not done so yet. Give her time and she would.
At Yannis' question, she chuckled and just as playfully replied "I do believe believe so." She left his title off as part of the game, much like he had ignored her own. She was also quite sure that their display would set the rumor mills tounges wagging. And she was quite sure she was about to be grilled by her uncle on the matter of how she could act in such a manner in public. She just needed to wait for it.
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Daniil saw Yannis' grin. He didn't miss her complement she was sure of it. Of course the youngest Lady of House Marikas knew more about him then she let on. She had heard that he was promised to be married. Not over her dead body. She was working on a way to spare him that hell and give him his dream girl. All she needed was for both sides to cooperate in the matter.
They were such an infuence on each other, but given the chance, they would find a quiet spot to discuss the rumor among other things as it had been some time since they saw each other.
Daniil listen to him speak. She knew the moment that the words came out of his mouth, that she had chosen wrongly in the archery competition. She was fine with it and she was doybly happy that she had not entered the competition.
She had chosen well, she knew, in picking in the climbing competition. Lesley was a man of many talents and she was tossing around the idea of suggesting Pavlos purchase him as the house's gladiator. She had not done so yet. Give her time and she would.
At Yannis' question, she chuckled and just as playfully replied "I do believe believe so." She left his title off as part of the game, much like he had ignored her own. She was also quite sure that their display would set the rumor mills tounges wagging. And she was quite sure she was about to be grilled by her uncle on the matter of how she could act in such a manner in public. She just needed to wait for it.
Daniil saw Yannis' grin. He didn't miss her complement she was sure of it. Of course the youngest Lady of House Marikas knew more about him then she let on. She had heard that he was promised to be married. Not over her dead body. She was working on a way to spare him that hell and give him his dream girl. All she needed was for both sides to cooperate in the matter.
They were such an infuence on each other, but given the chance, they would find a quiet spot to discuss the rumor among other things as it had been some time since they saw each other.
Daniil listen to him speak. She knew the moment that the words came out of his mouth, that she had chosen wrongly in the archery competition. She was fine with it and she was doybly happy that she had not entered the competition.
She had chosen well, she knew, in picking in the climbing competition. Lesley was a man of many talents and she was tossing around the idea of suggesting Pavlos purchase him as the house's gladiator. She had not done so yet. Give her time and she would.
At Yannis' question, she chuckled and just as playfully replied "I do believe believe so." She left his title off as part of the game, much like he had ignored her own. She was also quite sure that their display would set the rumor mills tounges wagging. And she was quite sure she was about to be grilled by her uncle on the matter of how she could act in such a manner in public. She just needed to wait for it.
"Oh, yah, I'm certain I'll be winning big today," the Marikas lord was agreeing, nodding his head towards the competitors as he informed the brunette precisely what he thought of the show thus far. "I've got an eye for these things, you know? I can always spot the best." He winked at her, proud of the coy giggle his words had elicited, the flirtation obvious. Everything was going finely, until he was suddenly interrupted by his niece, and forced to turn his attention onto Daniil with a frown. At least the discussion with the pretty dark-haired girl had gone well enough that she would likely not mind his absence. "I'm needed elsewhere, but I'll find you later, yes? I'd love to take you out with my winnings." Rafail smiled brightly, waving her off as he turned to look at his niece — though they were soon joined by the Kotas prince. Oh, well, wasn't that handy?
He offered the Colchian a slight bow of the head and a friendly greeting to introduce himself as a Marikas lord without significantly interrupting the conversation thus far.
Yiannis appeared to have excellent opinions on the subject of the contest occurring below them. Rafail supposed he would likely have far more educated ideas on their ability than any onlooker as a competitor. "Yes, I've shot with the Thanasi before," he commented, "he is rather good at the sport." Mihail had won the last contest in which they had participated together, at least, which had been a source of humiliation for Rafail at the time, given that the victory had thoroughly undermined the man's tries to woo Princess Persephone through his own skill. "I do hope you're right on the javelin, however. I'd hate to lose my bet."
The mood was changing, then, and Rafail supposed they were flirting. It was not quite how he did things, but, then again, even a prince could not expect to be as skilled with women as he, so things were bound to be a little different. It was awkward, and he half-stepped aside as they spoke, trying to pretend he was literally anywhere else (or rather, just in his bed with that fine girl from earlier). At least he was glad to see Daniil acting ladylike for once in her life, and he would have much to say on the matter once they got home.
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"Oh, yah, I'm certain I'll be winning big today," the Marikas lord was agreeing, nodding his head towards the competitors as he informed the brunette precisely what he thought of the show thus far. "I've got an eye for these things, you know? I can always spot the best." He winked at her, proud of the coy giggle his words had elicited, the flirtation obvious. Everything was going finely, until he was suddenly interrupted by his niece, and forced to turn his attention onto Daniil with a frown. At least the discussion with the pretty dark-haired girl had gone well enough that she would likely not mind his absence. "I'm needed elsewhere, but I'll find you later, yes? I'd love to take you out with my winnings." Rafail smiled brightly, waving her off as he turned to look at his niece — though they were soon joined by the Kotas prince. Oh, well, wasn't that handy?
He offered the Colchian a slight bow of the head and a friendly greeting to introduce himself as a Marikas lord without significantly interrupting the conversation thus far.
Yiannis appeared to have excellent opinions on the subject of the contest occurring below them. Rafail supposed he would likely have far more educated ideas on their ability than any onlooker as a competitor. "Yes, I've shot with the Thanasi before," he commented, "he is rather good at the sport." Mihail had won the last contest in which they had participated together, at least, which had been a source of humiliation for Rafail at the time, given that the victory had thoroughly undermined the man's tries to woo Princess Persephone through his own skill. "I do hope you're right on the javelin, however. I'd hate to lose my bet."
The mood was changing, then, and Rafail supposed they were flirting. It was not quite how he did things, but, then again, even a prince could not expect to be as skilled with women as he, so things were bound to be a little different. It was awkward, and he half-stepped aside as they spoke, trying to pretend he was literally anywhere else (or rather, just in his bed with that fine girl from earlier). At least he was glad to see Daniil acting ladylike for once in her life, and he would have much to say on the matter once they got home.
"Oh, yah, I'm certain I'll be winning big today," the Marikas lord was agreeing, nodding his head towards the competitors as he informed the brunette precisely what he thought of the show thus far. "I've got an eye for these things, you know? I can always spot the best." He winked at her, proud of the coy giggle his words had elicited, the flirtation obvious. Everything was going finely, until he was suddenly interrupted by his niece, and forced to turn his attention onto Daniil with a frown. At least the discussion with the pretty dark-haired girl had gone well enough that she would likely not mind his absence. "I'm needed elsewhere, but I'll find you later, yes? I'd love to take you out with my winnings." Rafail smiled brightly, waving her off as he turned to look at his niece — though they were soon joined by the Kotas prince. Oh, well, wasn't that handy?
He offered the Colchian a slight bow of the head and a friendly greeting to introduce himself as a Marikas lord without significantly interrupting the conversation thus far.
Yiannis appeared to have excellent opinions on the subject of the contest occurring below them. Rafail supposed he would likely have far more educated ideas on their ability than any onlooker as a competitor. "Yes, I've shot with the Thanasi before," he commented, "he is rather good at the sport." Mihail had won the last contest in which they had participated together, at least, which had been a source of humiliation for Rafail at the time, given that the victory had thoroughly undermined the man's tries to woo Princess Persephone through his own skill. "I do hope you're right on the javelin, however. I'd hate to lose my bet."
The mood was changing, then, and Rafail supposed they were flirting. It was not quite how he did things, but, then again, even a prince could not expect to be as skilled with women as he, so things were bound to be a little different. It was awkward, and he half-stepped aside as they spoke, trying to pretend he was literally anywhere else (or rather, just in his bed with that fine girl from earlier). At least he was glad to see Daniil acting ladylike for once in her life, and he would have much to say on the matter once they got home.
Yiannis nodded, watching Rafail’s retreating back. Another moment to reign himself in, and yet he had elected not to. He would never hear the end of this from Vang or mother. He took a bracing breath, looking out over the arcus. The action continued without him, as did the insipid gossip that would dog him for months to come. At least Daniil understand just how frustrating this was. Even Asia seemed to have no issue behaving like a proper Kotas lady. It was only Yiannis who struggled to meet his family’s expectations. Still, he had the requisite stoicism and passion alike. He straightened up, masking his emotions.
“Lady Danil,” Yiannis began, his tone more studied and polite now that her brother’s behavior had reminded him of the need to maintain decorum, “why have you decided not to participate in today’s activities? Surely a little rough-housing is still appropriate, at your age?”
It was not, of course, appropriate. Yiannis knew too well how Asia, Essa, and Imeeya had been expected to behave, and the idea of marrying a woman like that terrified the wits out of him. His own mother never seemed to have been dented in quite the way other women’s had been. Yiannis could not help but admire Daniil’s verve, and hope that she would never learn better. When she grew up, she would be quite the force to be reckoned with. He smiled indulgently at her.
“There’s no need to grow up just yet, you know, whatever anyone else says. You’re young, you have time to learn all the proper, lady-like things. Enjoy yourself as long as you can, before the shackles of adulthood take their hold,” he added playfully.
As he spoke, though, Yiannis returned his gaze towards the competitors. After all, their purpose here today was to partake in and spectate athletic competition. He awaited eagerly to watch those competitors who intended to perform in every event. It was an ambitious gamble, one that risked recurring foolishness. Very few men could be the best in every sport. Still, he wondered which among them would rise as the cream of the crop.
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Yiannis nodded, watching Rafail’s retreating back. Another moment to reign himself in, and yet he had elected not to. He would never hear the end of this from Vang or mother. He took a bracing breath, looking out over the arcus. The action continued without him, as did the insipid gossip that would dog him for months to come. At least Daniil understand just how frustrating this was. Even Asia seemed to have no issue behaving like a proper Kotas lady. It was only Yiannis who struggled to meet his family’s expectations. Still, he had the requisite stoicism and passion alike. He straightened up, masking his emotions.
“Lady Danil,” Yiannis began, his tone more studied and polite now that her brother’s behavior had reminded him of the need to maintain decorum, “why have you decided not to participate in today’s activities? Surely a little rough-housing is still appropriate, at your age?”
It was not, of course, appropriate. Yiannis knew too well how Asia, Essa, and Imeeya had been expected to behave, and the idea of marrying a woman like that terrified the wits out of him. His own mother never seemed to have been dented in quite the way other women’s had been. Yiannis could not help but admire Daniil’s verve, and hope that she would never learn better. When she grew up, she would be quite the force to be reckoned with. He smiled indulgently at her.
“There’s no need to grow up just yet, you know, whatever anyone else says. You’re young, you have time to learn all the proper, lady-like things. Enjoy yourself as long as you can, before the shackles of adulthood take their hold,” he added playfully.
As he spoke, though, Yiannis returned his gaze towards the competitors. After all, their purpose here today was to partake in and spectate athletic competition. He awaited eagerly to watch those competitors who intended to perform in every event. It was an ambitious gamble, one that risked recurring foolishness. Very few men could be the best in every sport. Still, he wondered which among them would rise as the cream of the crop.
Yiannis nodded, watching Rafail’s retreating back. Another moment to reign himself in, and yet he had elected not to. He would never hear the end of this from Vang or mother. He took a bracing breath, looking out over the arcus. The action continued without him, as did the insipid gossip that would dog him for months to come. At least Daniil understand just how frustrating this was. Even Asia seemed to have no issue behaving like a proper Kotas lady. It was only Yiannis who struggled to meet his family’s expectations. Still, he had the requisite stoicism and passion alike. He straightened up, masking his emotions.
“Lady Danil,” Yiannis began, his tone more studied and polite now that her brother’s behavior had reminded him of the need to maintain decorum, “why have you decided not to participate in today’s activities? Surely a little rough-housing is still appropriate, at your age?”
It was not, of course, appropriate. Yiannis knew too well how Asia, Essa, and Imeeya had been expected to behave, and the idea of marrying a woman like that terrified the wits out of him. His own mother never seemed to have been dented in quite the way other women’s had been. Yiannis could not help but admire Daniil’s verve, and hope that she would never learn better. When she grew up, she would be quite the force to be reckoned with. He smiled indulgently at her.
“There’s no need to grow up just yet, you know, whatever anyone else says. You’re young, you have time to learn all the proper, lady-like things. Enjoy yourself as long as you can, before the shackles of adulthood take their hold,” he added playfully.
As he spoke, though, Yiannis returned his gaze towards the competitors. After all, their purpose here today was to partake in and spectate athletic competition. He awaited eagerly to watch those competitors who intended to perform in every event. It was an ambitious gamble, one that risked recurring foolishness. Very few men could be the best in every sport. Still, he wondered which among them would rise as the cream of the crop.
Daniil's mood went from placating proper neice and girl toy in a blink of an eye, thought her smile stayed glued in place. Oh you self absorbed asinine peacock! she screamed silently at Rafail. Of course he claimed to want her married off, but just had to be an ass.
She was pretty likely going to have to listen to him prattle on about how her prince was anything from a barbarian to unskilled in bed compared to him. That would be the day. Aphrodite could you please take his ego down a few pegs? Better yet, dropping him flat on his lordly ass might get the message across. she thought full of venom.
Yannis' voice brought her out of her thoughts and she moved to stand near him, putting some distance between her Uncle and herself. Thank the Gods she was not reduced to chasing after the looser of her sex. Rafail would tear her from one end to the other once they were home but his opinion mattered little to her. Pavlos on the other hand......
Daniil remembered her manners and slid into a graceful curtsey. Friend, lover, confidant, he may be, but he was a blood royal and deserved that respect. She'd give it. After all, she was on a stage and expected to play a role.
"I am forbidden to participate in anything but the archery contests, my Prince. And my skills with the bow do not match my skills with a horse or blade unfortunately." she said sadly. That made its way into her hazel eyes, though her smile was as playful as his own.
Trapped bird in a gilded cage that would die a slow death having to pretend to be a quiet, biddible lady. Daniil moved to join him in watching the competitors curious as to his thoughts and feelings on not just the competitors.
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Daniil's mood went from placating proper neice and girl toy in a blink of an eye, thought her smile stayed glued in place. Oh you self absorbed asinine peacock! she screamed silently at Rafail. Of course he claimed to want her married off, but just had to be an ass.
She was pretty likely going to have to listen to him prattle on about how her prince was anything from a barbarian to unskilled in bed compared to him. That would be the day. Aphrodite could you please take his ego down a few pegs? Better yet, dropping him flat on his lordly ass might get the message across. she thought full of venom.
Yannis' voice brought her out of her thoughts and she moved to stand near him, putting some distance between her Uncle and herself. Thank the Gods she was not reduced to chasing after the looser of her sex. Rafail would tear her from one end to the other once they were home but his opinion mattered little to her. Pavlos on the other hand......
Daniil remembered her manners and slid into a graceful curtsey. Friend, lover, confidant, he may be, but he was a blood royal and deserved that respect. She'd give it. After all, she was on a stage and expected to play a role.
"I am forbidden to participate in anything but the archery contests, my Prince. And my skills with the bow do not match my skills with a horse or blade unfortunately." she said sadly. That made its way into her hazel eyes, though her smile was as playful as his own.
Trapped bird in a gilded cage that would die a slow death having to pretend to be a quiet, biddible lady. Daniil moved to join him in watching the competitors curious as to his thoughts and feelings on not just the competitors.
Daniil's mood went from placating proper neice and girl toy in a blink of an eye, thought her smile stayed glued in place. Oh you self absorbed asinine peacock! she screamed silently at Rafail. Of course he claimed to want her married off, but just had to be an ass.
She was pretty likely going to have to listen to him prattle on about how her prince was anything from a barbarian to unskilled in bed compared to him. That would be the day. Aphrodite could you please take his ego down a few pegs? Better yet, dropping him flat on his lordly ass might get the message across. she thought full of venom.
Yannis' voice brought her out of her thoughts and she moved to stand near him, putting some distance between her Uncle and herself. Thank the Gods she was not reduced to chasing after the looser of her sex. Rafail would tear her from one end to the other once they were home but his opinion mattered little to her. Pavlos on the other hand......
Daniil remembered her manners and slid into a graceful curtsey. Friend, lover, confidant, he may be, but he was a blood royal and deserved that respect. She'd give it. After all, she was on a stage and expected to play a role.
"I am forbidden to participate in anything but the archery contests, my Prince. And my skills with the bow do not match my skills with a horse or blade unfortunately." she said sadly. That made its way into her hazel eyes, though her smile was as playful as his own.
Trapped bird in a gilded cage that would die a slow death having to pretend to be a quiet, biddible lady. Daniil moved to join him in watching the competitors curious as to his thoughts and feelings on not just the competitors.
Lesley wasn't close enough to the spectators to hear any gossip, and it wouldn't have registered if it had. He could catch his name when he was focused, but even that usually needed to be louder than the rest of the chatter around him. He stretched lightly, making sure that his shoulders felt good after the javelin and discus events, then pulled his tunica off when it was his turn. Black, grey, and blue ink stretched and curled across arms, chest, and thighs, tangling with the scars angrily scrawled amid them, hiding some and harshly disrupted by others. His back, by contrast, held only the faded stripes of one particularly bad whipping, and a single complex pattern of red, black, and blue lines and dots an inverted triangle a palm's-breadth across at the back of his neck, just barely low enough to hide beneath the neck of his tunics. Most of the ink elsewhere looked at least a bit more like typical Greek art, though plenty of abstract doodles filled the spaces between recognizable drawings.
Tattoos might hide some of his scars, but they certainly did nothing to disguise the ripple of muscle under skin when the judge opened the valve on the water clock and Lesley practically jumped off the starting line.
Two steps and a leap had him landing high enough on the dangling rope that he could immediately use his legs to help him shimmy up the rest of the way to the top. His palm hit the little clacker at the top, proving he had gone the whole way up, and in seemingly the same motion, he swung and lept over the next rope. No clacker at the top of the taller rope, instead he had to swing himself up onto the platform it hung from. The muscles of his shoulders bulged as he got one hand up on the solid wood and then swung his whole body up to hook a leg up and roll himself up onto the platform, rather then getting his elbows up first and shimmying up. There was a rope net to climb down on the other side, angled out at and awkward angle and then cutting back under itself at an equally awkward angle. Lesley scrambled down the first part somewhat carefully - sticking a leg through a hole would slow him down more than recklessness could gain him speed. The last part of the climbing course, a wooden 'ladder' with awkwardly spaced and angled cross bars, was a far enough jump to be difficult, especially from the uncertain footing of the net, but he had the wit to push off one of the supporting poles even though that made for a slightly further jump at an awkward angle. He ignored the sting of the wooden pole on his palms and didn't try to correct his position when he found he'd caught himself halfway around the closer upright. Instead he just scrambled quickly up the 'wrong' side of it, his feet unerringly finding the places there was an angle to brace against rather than the center of the bars where they would just slip. He hit the bell at the top, and the judge actually yelped in surprise as he marked the water level that recorded Lesley's time.
The gladiator laughed happily, and climbed back down only most of the way before simply dropping the last six or seven feet. No roll this time; he'd judged the distance as the highest he could manage to land comfortably enough in just a crouch. Straightening, he turned and raised a hand to the spectators, happy to advertise that he was proud of that performance, at least.
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Lesley wasn't close enough to the spectators to hear any gossip, and it wouldn't have registered if it had. He could catch his name when he was focused, but even that usually needed to be louder than the rest of the chatter around him. He stretched lightly, making sure that his shoulders felt good after the javelin and discus events, then pulled his tunica off when it was his turn. Black, grey, and blue ink stretched and curled across arms, chest, and thighs, tangling with the scars angrily scrawled amid them, hiding some and harshly disrupted by others. His back, by contrast, held only the faded stripes of one particularly bad whipping, and a single complex pattern of red, black, and blue lines and dots an inverted triangle a palm's-breadth across at the back of his neck, just barely low enough to hide beneath the neck of his tunics. Most of the ink elsewhere looked at least a bit more like typical Greek art, though plenty of abstract doodles filled the spaces between recognizable drawings.
Tattoos might hide some of his scars, but they certainly did nothing to disguise the ripple of muscle under skin when the judge opened the valve on the water clock and Lesley practically jumped off the starting line.
Two steps and a leap had him landing high enough on the dangling rope that he could immediately use his legs to help him shimmy up the rest of the way to the top. His palm hit the little clacker at the top, proving he had gone the whole way up, and in seemingly the same motion, he swung and lept over the next rope. No clacker at the top of the taller rope, instead he had to swing himself up onto the platform it hung from. The muscles of his shoulders bulged as he got one hand up on the solid wood and then swung his whole body up to hook a leg up and roll himself up onto the platform, rather then getting his elbows up first and shimmying up. There was a rope net to climb down on the other side, angled out at and awkward angle and then cutting back under itself at an equally awkward angle. Lesley scrambled down the first part somewhat carefully - sticking a leg through a hole would slow him down more than recklessness could gain him speed. The last part of the climbing course, a wooden 'ladder' with awkwardly spaced and angled cross bars, was a far enough jump to be difficult, especially from the uncertain footing of the net, but he had the wit to push off one of the supporting poles even though that made for a slightly further jump at an awkward angle. He ignored the sting of the wooden pole on his palms and didn't try to correct his position when he found he'd caught himself halfway around the closer upright. Instead he just scrambled quickly up the 'wrong' side of it, his feet unerringly finding the places there was an angle to brace against rather than the center of the bars where they would just slip. He hit the bell at the top, and the judge actually yelped in surprise as he marked the water level that recorded Lesley's time.
The gladiator laughed happily, and climbed back down only most of the way before simply dropping the last six or seven feet. No roll this time; he'd judged the distance as the highest he could manage to land comfortably enough in just a crouch. Straightening, he turned and raised a hand to the spectators, happy to advertise that he was proud of that performance, at least.
Lesley wasn't close enough to the spectators to hear any gossip, and it wouldn't have registered if it had. He could catch his name when he was focused, but even that usually needed to be louder than the rest of the chatter around him. He stretched lightly, making sure that his shoulders felt good after the javelin and discus events, then pulled his tunica off when it was his turn. Black, grey, and blue ink stretched and curled across arms, chest, and thighs, tangling with the scars angrily scrawled amid them, hiding some and harshly disrupted by others. His back, by contrast, held only the faded stripes of one particularly bad whipping, and a single complex pattern of red, black, and blue lines and dots an inverted triangle a palm's-breadth across at the back of his neck, just barely low enough to hide beneath the neck of his tunics. Most of the ink elsewhere looked at least a bit more like typical Greek art, though plenty of abstract doodles filled the spaces between recognizable drawings.
Tattoos might hide some of his scars, but they certainly did nothing to disguise the ripple of muscle under skin when the judge opened the valve on the water clock and Lesley practically jumped off the starting line.
Two steps and a leap had him landing high enough on the dangling rope that he could immediately use his legs to help him shimmy up the rest of the way to the top. His palm hit the little clacker at the top, proving he had gone the whole way up, and in seemingly the same motion, he swung and lept over the next rope. No clacker at the top of the taller rope, instead he had to swing himself up onto the platform it hung from. The muscles of his shoulders bulged as he got one hand up on the solid wood and then swung his whole body up to hook a leg up and roll himself up onto the platform, rather then getting his elbows up first and shimmying up. There was a rope net to climb down on the other side, angled out at and awkward angle and then cutting back under itself at an equally awkward angle. Lesley scrambled down the first part somewhat carefully - sticking a leg through a hole would slow him down more than recklessness could gain him speed. The last part of the climbing course, a wooden 'ladder' with awkwardly spaced and angled cross bars, was a far enough jump to be difficult, especially from the uncertain footing of the net, but he had the wit to push off one of the supporting poles even though that made for a slightly further jump at an awkward angle. He ignored the sting of the wooden pole on his palms and didn't try to correct his position when he found he'd caught himself halfway around the closer upright. Instead he just scrambled quickly up the 'wrong' side of it, his feet unerringly finding the places there was an angle to brace against rather than the center of the bars where they would just slip. He hit the bell at the top, and the judge actually yelped in surprise as he marked the water level that recorded Lesley's time.
The gladiator laughed happily, and climbed back down only most of the way before simply dropping the last six or seven feet. No roll this time; he'd judged the distance as the highest he could manage to land comfortably enough in just a crouch. Straightening, he turned and raised a hand to the spectators, happy to advertise that he was proud of that performance, at least.
’That’s more like it. At least someone here has the balls to admit they’re gonna fuck up today.’
Valerius smiled, a bit of an unpracticed gesture these past years, and accepted the jibe and the friendly touch his comrade offered upon his shoulder, giving Tim a nod and silently thanking his closest friend for talking him into coming to Athenia for this event at all, even though at the time, Val had not been certain he would participate in the competition. The proud captain nodded to each of his men that stepped forward, following his lead and putting their names down for all of the events that would take place that day. He clapped each of them on the back as they moved away from the scribe and offered a nod of approval to their courage to accept failure. There was more to being a good and loyal soldier than winning a battle; and these men had passed the impromptu test of character their captain had covertly issued.
’You ready to get your ass beat?’ Tim’s ensuing boyish grin, reminded Valerius how much younger than himself the Valaoritis lord actually was. Val held honest respect for Lord Timaeus, and he often forgot the age difference he shared with his friend.
Just then a horn blared, garnering the attention of all those gathered for the festivities of the day. Valerius smirked as he met his friends gaze, seeing the friendly challenge in his eyes. ”I think you will be the one taking the beating, my friend,” he challenged back, as they moved to take their places for the first events as all competitors were called to the arena. Who could have ever predicted that such a pair as these two men – a noble lord and a common born career militant – could have ever been genuine friends? But somehow, they were. Val walked beside the Eubocrisian lord. They would likely stick together so as to have the chance to see each other’s scores and have the best chance to out do the other. How else would they know who really won this little challenge of theirs?
Let the games begin.
The javelin toss was first up for the Captain of the Golden Shields. An event that Val was confident he could score perfect marks for, as his military unit - being primarily comprised of peltast soldiers - specialized and practiced daily with just such a long ranged weapon. Valerius watched intently as the first competitor – Lesley of Lands Afar – stepped forward, chose a javelin, and threw with confidence and a bit of skill. Val crossed his arms over his chest and nodded, taking note of the distance. The second throw was better, the third didn’t quite improve the mark. Not a bad start to the day’s competition, but Val knew he could do better than this first contender. This was a contest of form and aim more than anything else. Follow through with proper form and momentum, and the weapon would go far.
Casting Timaeus a confident smirk, Valerius stepped forward and chose his first javelin, weighing it carefully in his experienced hands. The first one did not feel quite balanced correctly, leaning more heavily towards the speared end; it would likely fall short of the mark – something that could prove disastrous in battle. Val returned it to the pile and chose another. This one’s weight felt much more well distributed, so Val took the time to adjust the leather of the grip. He repeated this process to choose two more, so that when he stepped up to the line, he set all three javelins at his feet. He took a moment to flex his hands and his arms, while his eyes gauged the distance needed to beat the mark of the gladiator that went before him. Confident that he could hit nearly perfect – if not absolutely perfect – scores for this challenge, Valerius of Arcaneas picked up his first javelin, too a few steps back from the line, and assumed a stance that was all too familiar and came naturally to the athletic man. His right arm was lifted above his head so that the javelin was poised with the tip pointed upward at about a sixty-degree angle, his torso turned slightly to the right, his left foot forward and planted firmly in the sand, his right leg extended behind him - but no less solidly planted. Val glued his eyes to the spot he wanted to hit at the very end of the throwing range; he sprung into motion, smooth and clean. His upraised arm, flexed back, and he side stepped (back foot coming forward and forward foot gliding ahead seemingly at the same time – propelling himself forward the two or three strides to the very edge of the foul line without stepping over – and the javelin launched from his hand. The missile landed exactly where the peltast captain intended. A smile of satisfaction graced Valerius’ features. Throws two and three went much the same way, leaving it with all three javelins having landed within inches of each other at the very end of the range. The judge laid the marker, a physical reminder or Valerius’ prowess that all succussing competitors would see. A mark that would be very hard to beat. (Though the captain from Arcaneas would learn later that day that Prince Yannis did indeed match that mark, which was as good as beating it as he was a prince of the realm!)
With a laugh of victory, Valerius turned to the Valaoritis lord with raised brows, a wide smile, and hands upraised. ”You can not possibly beat that score, my lord, but you are most welcome to make the attempt!” Valerius stepped to the sidelines to observe Timaeus’ performance at the javelin toss. When the Valaoritis lord was finished and rejoined Valerius, the captain was trying his best not to laugh, but to give a consoling – though a bit mocking - look. ”It was a valiant effort, Timaeus. The day is young. I am certain you will rank higher than at least a few.”
When Timaeus finished with the javelin event, Val clapped his friend on the shoulder, smiling at him genuinely as they made their way to the next challenge.
Archery. A sport that Valerius was less than skilled at. Much like the javelin, archery demanded both natural skill and a dedication. The proud captain had trained with every weapon since beginning his military career at the age of twelve, but despite his training with a bow, Val was not gifted with this particular weapon. He could aim and shoot a bow and arrow well enough to take down larger prey while hunting, or to injure and comprehensively hinder an enemy in battle. But he was far from a sharp shooter, that was for certain. Still, the Captain of the golden Shields had committed to performing in all events of the day and he was not about to back down from this one. What sort of example would he be setting for his men if he did? One hundred yards, six arrows, two targets. Completely doable. Val and Tim approached the archery range, just in time to see the last shot of the Thanasi lord. Val’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the split arrow, the third nestled neatly in the center of the first. Valerius, serving as a military captain in a Thanasi owned province, had heard of the archer, of course. Though Val had never had the pleasure of meeting Lord Mihail personally. Impressive, indeed. Val passed a look to his friend, one that said there was no way either of them was going to top that score. Valerius doubted that anyone would be able to top that score, quite honestly. Still… the Arcanean would not back down.
The confident way that Mihail of Thanasi walked away after observing his own handiwork had caught Val’s eye. And for the first time in three years, Valerius of Arcaneas found his gaze lingering with interest. Perhaps it was time to meet this particular member of the Thanasi family.
Prince Yiannis of Kotas stepped up to take his shots after Lord Mihail. Valerius paid his respects to the prince of Colchis by silently watching the man compete with the bow and arrow. But the captain nearly wished he’d missed the ‘feat’ as Yiannis’ first shot flew too high and the second fell far short of the target. The third finally hit the mark, though, and Val dared hope that the man would do better on the second target. But second verse, same as the first. Too high, too short, and a hit that didn’t quite strike center target. Val shot Tim a bit of a worried look, but kept it brief so that Yiannis would not glimpse it. Valerius bowed respectfully to the prince as he passed them, heading in the direction of the javelin toss. ”Well done, Your Highness.” Val’s tone was respectful enough, for no matter Val’s personal opinion of those above him in rank or societal standing, the militant made a point of giving them their rightful homage – especially those of the ruling family of Colchis. One never knew when the favor of such influential and powerful people could mean life or death.
So intent was the captain on the prince’s performance at the archery challenge, Valerius had entirely missed the fact that Lord Mihail had lingered to watch the competitors that succeeded him – at least until Val turned from the departing Colchian prince to see who was competing next. It was a young man, dressed in very plain and cheaply woven tunic and trousers. His hair was mussed and he appeared to have not bathed in a few days as his skin was seemed to have a bit of grime clinging to it, as well as to his clothes. Val heard a derisive snort and an ensuing comment on the low born man’s appearance. The captain looked in the direction of the voice to see the Thanasi lord standing not far away, hand on hip, bow clutched protectively in his other hand, and directing a superior gaze toward the peasant now firing his arrows at the target. Valerius found himself staring, watching the lord that was a member of the House that controlled his home province. Mihail was standing next to a finely dressed someone that Val did not recognize as he continued to judge the young commoner. Honestly, Val had to agree with the sentiments. He had been in much the same position as this dingy looking young man, but Valerius had risen above such a life simply because he had set his mind to it. People only reached the limits they put on themselves.
Just then, as if his lordship had felt Val’s eyes on him, Mihail looked the captain’s way. Valerius stood a bit taller under that scrutiny before inclining his head respectfully to the Thanasi, a smile gracing his features as he allowed his warm brown gaze to roam over the lord. It was an action that could have been taken lewdly and untoward, but something told Valerius that Mihail would appreciate such attention. (If Timaeus noticed this interaction and commented on the look Val had given the other man, Valerius would have, of course, denied that any such thing had transpired. Or indicated that Tim was reading too much into a simple polite acknowledgement of the lord’s presence. Val’s rare taste for male companionship was not something the proud militant advertised openly.) The captain then refocused on the archery competitors. As it turned out the peasant had finished whilst Val had been distracted with admiring the attractive lord, and he and Lord Timaeus were up next to compete.
Tuning to his dearest comrade, Valerius motioned with the sweep an outstretched arm and slight bow for Timaeus to take first shot at this challenge since he’d gone first in the javelin. ”After you, my lord.” Valerius moved to a position off to the side that would afford him a prime view of the range, with Tim to his left, the target to his right, and the view of the distance the small missiles would travel was unobstructed. He nodded approvingly when his friend finished both sets of arrows. Fair scores that Valerius would likely not be able to supersede.
Taking a deep breath, Val moved to select a bow and a set of arrows provided. He knew little about proper constructions of these items, so he simply chose what looked appealing to his eyes. Valerius approached the line and notched his first arrow. Val pulled the string back, lifting his left arm and leveling the bow in the same motion. Elbow bent and pointed back, arms level, fingers and arrow fletching grazing his slightly whiskered cheek. Val’s gaze locked on the target. It was a long way for an arrow to travel. The captain took a deep breath, dug his leading foot in the sand, and let the arrow fly. The string snapped forward, the thin wooden missile sailed the length of the range, and stuck in the lower right quadrant of the target. Val lowered the bow, narrowing his eyes at the placement of his shot as he notched the second arrow. He rolled his shoulders and again brought the weapon to bare. He aimed a bit higher this time before he released his taught hold of the bow string, the arrow soaring fast. Val thought he had adjusted his aim correctly, but this second arrow could be seen quivering in the complete opposite quadrant. How in Hades name was that even possible? Growling low in his throat, Val did not waste effort in aiming the third arrow, and simply raised and fired as quickly as he could. It did not land quite in the center of the bullseye, but it was definitely better than the first two.
Instinct. Do not think so much. Slow aim will over compensate, he mentally chastised himself as he moved to stand in line with the second target. Determined for this set to be better than the first, Val took his own advice and did not hesitate with his shots this time. One, two, three arrows were fired in rapid succession, just as he would have done in the heat of battle. Valerius lowered the bow as he surveyed the position of the arrows. Not one of them had struck center target, but nor were any of them as far off as his first two attempts with the first set of arrows. Nodding to himself and accepting the meager score – for it had indeed not been better than Timaeus’ own performance, perhaps had been closely matched, but Val could be not certain without seeing the scores the judges wrote down for himself – the captain returned the bow to the weapons table and rejoined his friend.
As the two of them made their way to the next challenge, Val glanced around the crowds casually – he was looking for the angular face of Lord Mihail, but it seemed the Thanasi had disappeared beyond his view. Val shook his head and put the lord out of his mind for now. Focus would be required if Val hoped to qualify for the one on one competitions later that day.
Discus throw was a sport that was more about brute strength than skill. Throw the discus three times with each hand, the average distance of the best throw from both right and left hands would be the spot where the competitor’s name would be marked. Simple enough. Distance was key to winning here, repeated distance at that. By the time Valerius and Timaeus reached the discus event, it seemed that Prince Yiannis had come and gone. But there were whispers circulating of the terrible score the Kotas man had garnered that day, setting an extremely low bar to the start of the event. Valerius winced inwardly in sympathy for the ridicule the man was receiving – less than great scores in both discus and archery? – but outwardly he was glad for this low bar as it would better his own chances for higher scores here. Val was a strong man, but not as strong as some of the other men gathered for the discus throw.
Lesley was just before Val, and he recognized the gladiator from the javelin toss. Val watched the man intently. There were already several markers in the sand from previous competitors; how would this man measure up to the others, and how hard would the Arcanean need to work to even make memorable marks with the judges? While Val watched his competition, he took the time to stretch his arms and back, making sure he was not going to tense and pull a muscle during this event. He still had a handful of events to compete in today before the final showdown of the one on one event that afternoon. Assuming he qualified, though he was fairly confident that he would. But today wasn’t about winning, it was about having fun, he reminded himself. Valerius looked towards Timaeus and cocked his head. Okay, maybe it was about showing up his friend just a bit, as well as having fun. Val’s lips curved up at one side into an amused grin, genuinely beginning to enjoy himself for the first time since his wife’s death three years prior. Val pulled his thoughts back to the present, not wishing to dwell on sad memories this day, and refocused his attention on Lesley’s performance with the discus throws.
Lesly had already thrown twice – he seemed to be alternating his throws rather than all of one hand at a time. Val found this an interesting technique, and honestly a good idea. The man’s next two throws were better than the first set. Val rose a brow, a bit impressed. ”Not a bad set,” Val commented to Tim. As Lesley walked past them after his last throws, Valerius extended his hand to the man with the intention of clasping wrists in a customary greeting. ”You performed admirably, sir. That was a smart choice to alternate your throws. I wish you well in the rest of your competitions.”
Then Val stepped up to the line and picked up his first stone disc in his right hand – his dominate hand. Taking a deep breath, he set himself into motion. He spun around and let his right arm swing out with the weight and momentum of the stone discus, releasing his grip at what he perceived to be the appropriate moment to allow the heavy item to fly in the correct direction. The discus flew wildly too far to the left and bounced over the impacted sands to cross the foul line. ”Damn it,” he muttered. Val rolled his neck and let out a long breath, then scooped up the next discus in his left hand. The captain planted his right foot and used his left to aid in the momentum as he spun his body; he used this same foot to stop his moment as he let fly that second discus but the stone still flew wide – to the right this time. But it did not cross the foul line. Progress. Back to the right hand with the third discus. He repeated the leg swinging aided moment and halted his spin sooner this time. The stone flew much straighter, but the distance was not optimal and only made it halfway down the range. The fourth disc, launched from his left hand, made it a little further down the range than the third throw. But not by much. These final two throws needed to go the distance if Valerius hoped to have decent scores for this event. Deep breath, let it out in a huff. And again. And again. Valerius picked up the fifth stone disc and launched into that whirling spin, throwing all of his weight into the throw with his right arm. The stone flew, descending and slid from where it landed in the sand until it halted well past the halfway point. The sixth throw took much the same trajectory. Not the best scores. But not the worst either.
As Val stepped back to give Timaeus room for his own throws, Val caught snippets of the conversations around him. ’Did you see the way Prince Yiannis looked at that peasant?’ ‘Is that gladiator turning the prince's head? How interesting.’ Interesting indeed. With arms folded over his chest, Val glanced around, trying to spot the Prince or the gladiator in question. Given the descriptions being discussed of the man, Valerius deduced that it had to be the Lesley character he had congratulated as they had left the discus area just minutes before. Val had to admit that the man did hold a certain physical attractiveness. Perhaps Yiannis’ day would not be a total loss, Val thought amusedly. Val finally spotted Prince Yiannis some distance away, appearing to be settling in to simply observe the rest of the competitors. Val supposed the Kotas prince had completed the events he had committed to already. Valerius of Arcaneas honestly hoped Prince Yiannis had done better in his other events than with the discus and archery – it would not bode well in the public eye for a prince of Colchis to not have some victory from the day’s festivities. Before Val looked away to refocus on the competition, Val noticed what appeared to be Rafail and Daniil of Marikas speaking with the prince. It appeared, too, that Yiannis and Daniil were enjoying the conversation far more than Rafail, who soon walked away. Interesting indeed.
Sprint Laps. Like the javelin toss, this was an event at which, the proud Captain of the Golden Shields knew, he would not easily be bested. He was one of the fastest runners in his militia unit and his long legs provided a fine advantage over many other competitors. A straight run spanning the length of the entire arena had been mapped out for the sprint, with enough room for three people to run at once. Along this straight track, were seemingly randomly placed beams standing perpendicular to the direction the competitors would be running. Some of the beams were high, some were low. At the end of the line were hanging side by side, three brass bells. The message was clear, be the first to ring the bell. A test of speed and quick reflexes was the goal for this event.
Valerius took up a starting position between Timaeus and another competitor. ”Are you ready to eat sand, Valaoritis?” Val smirked, taunting his friend good naturedly. Within moments, the sharp chime of a starting bell filled the runners’ ears. Val wasted no time, springing forward, his feet pumping, propelling himself as fast as he could down that lane. He gained momentum with every stride until reaching the first obstacle in his path. A leap over the first hurdle that barely came up to the tall man’s knees, then three running strides brought him to a beam sitting at chest level. He ducked quickly, never slowing as he passed under the obstacle; he straightened and ran on. A few more easier obstacles cleared, until he came to a hurdle that sat at waist level – too low to duck under, but more of a challenging jump. Val barreled down the way and pushed off the ground with every bit of strength he could muster. As he vaulted over, he brought his knees up, pushed his hands down to touch the beam, using his fingers to push himself forward and add a bit of momentum. When he’d cleared the hurdle, he extended his legs once more, his feet already moving before he even touched the ground ad allowing him to never miss a stride. He let out a huffed breath of relief and pushed onward. The way was clear, the bell was drawing closer with every stride. Valerius could feel the muscles in his legs beginning to sting, could feel his labored lungs beginning to burn. But he pushed on. Finally, he was within reach of the bell! He extended his hand and slapped it as he ran past the pole his was dangling from, the ring of the brass sounding out. Val was bent over a few more strides past the bells trying to catch his breath when the other bells began to chime in. Valerius straightened, raising his arms behind his head to help expand his lungs and take in more fresh air. He turned around, an exhilarated smile on his face as Tim joined him. ”Nothing gets the heart pumping quite like a good race.” His breath was still labored, but Valerius felt amazing after that rush.
After taking a few minutes to recover and to find a drink of water, Val meandered his way towards the balance beams with Timaeus.
The balance beam appeared to be a fairly straightforward challenge. A long wooden and very narrow beam had been erected some four feet off the ground and measuring about thirty or forty feet long. The task was simple: walk the length of the beam from one end to the other and back again without falling or stepping off.
Val watched with Tim as a couple of other competitors went before them, one of them being a woman. Neither one made the length of the beam without nearly falling off from lack of proper balance. Val let Tim take his turn on the beam first. It seemed like the younger man was more than ready for this challenge. Val watched his friend navigate the balance beam; Timaeus made it look so damn easy! Down the length, turn and come back to the beginning. Val clapped his hands and congratulated his friend when Timaeus rejoined him.
When Val stepped up to the beam, it was with a bit of caution. The skilled captain knew his way around any weapon, he could run faster than most of his own men, would willing rush into battle and fight against his kingdom’s enemies no matter the cost to himself. But heights… well, that was a different story. Valerius had never done well with heights. He used to climb trees with his cousins as a young boy. Going up the tree, limb by limb, was fine. But the minute Val looked below and realized how far from the ground he was, he always grew faint and fearful. As he grew older, Valerius learned ways to control this reaction better and to hide it. But to this day, heights tended to make Valerius very ill at ease.
Deep breath in. Slowly let it back out. Once more, and Val hoisted himself up onto the beam. It took a moment for him to get his feet under him and gain a well enough balance to stay aloft. The beam was much narrower than he had anticipated – not even as wide as he feet! This was not going to be easy. One foot, carefully placed, in front of the other. And again. Steady progress. Val tried to only focus on the beam and not the fact that he was off the ground on this very narrow piece of wood. He began to gain a bit of confidence, and so he increased his pace. As it turns out, he should not have done that. Val was looking forward instead of at his feet. He shifted his back foot to the front, but he misjudged the alignment needed to land on the beam properly. His slipped, ankle twisting. Val tried to his best to regain his balance, but it was a losing battle. Val groaned as he hit the sand, muttering curses for his own failings. Val pulled himself to his feet and dusted himself off as limped away from the balance beam – bracing himself for Tim’s teasing as well.
Now how the hell was he going to manage the climbing course with a twisted ankle?
The climbing course was a feat of strength, endurance, and skill all in one challenge. This combination, along with the risk of falling from a height that could do real damage, was the reason Val had insisted to his friend that they do this event last. The course itself looked easy enough. Climb a rope, hit a clacker, swing to the next rope and make it to a raised platform, navigate a webbing of interwoven ropes from there. This web of ropes would bring the competitor near a wooden lattice. The best scores would be given to those men that did not let their feet touch the ground. The jump between netting and wood would be difficult, but not entirely impossible. At the top was a brass bell, the sound of which would mark the end of your time. The fastest to ring this bell would undoubtably have the highest scores for this event, provided their feet did not touch the ground. Easy, right? Perhaps not so much. Val figured he could manage the staying aloft part of the challenge well enough (if he could keep from looking down and his ankle held up), but he doubted that he could maneuver the course faster than Lord Timaeus for his friend had grown up in the mountainous province of Eubocris. Much like the balance beam, Tim most certainly held the advantage in this feat of skill, he knew. The heights of the climbing ropes alone were almost enough to make Valerius back out. But that would be a coward’s way out. The proud captain was no coward. Like with everything other challenge that day, Captain Valerius of Arcaneas would not back not back down.
Ready to get it all over with, Valerius stepped up the to the starting line first. The first rope loomed before him; his stomach flipped a little at the sight. Deep breath in. Long breath out. Val grasped the rope and began to shimmy up the tether until he was able to hit the clacker at the top. Don’t look down. Don’t look down. He swung the rope close enough to the next one that he could grasp it in his hand. Completely transferring from one rope to the next was a bit tricky, but he managed without losing any progress. Don’t look down. Up the rope he went, to scramble onto the platform at the top. Val’s chest heaved as he got to his feet to survey the next leg of the course – but in doing so he inevitably look down, and the distance to the ground sent his head reeling. He clenched his fists; in doing so, Val realized his hands were covered in sweat, and so he tried to wipe it away on his trousers. Clenching his jaw, Val set to work navigating the web of netted ropes. It was not easy, and the captain nearly lost his grip more than once. Finally, he reached the end of the netting, but that was not necessarily good news. Valerius eyed the distance between the ropes he now clung to and the wall of interlaced wooden planks. His ankle throbbing, his senses going wild with the sensation of hanging a couple dozen feet from the ground, Valerius attempted the leap. His hand touched the lattice work, but he couldn’t quite get a solid enough grip. He began to slide down, grasping for a hand hold the whole way, until he hit the ground with a thud. Groaning in pain and humiliation (and a bit of relief for begin back on solid ground), Valerius rolled from his back and onto his stomach. He pushed himself onto his feet. With a hand rubbing at his lower back, Val limped his way towards Lord Timaeus. ”Yes. Yes, laugh all you wish. It’s not as easy as it looks.” Val waved his friend on, collapsing onto the ground at the sidelines. This was where he would watch the lord of Eubocris complete the challenge with much of the same skill he showed when running the balance beam.
Valerius was glad that there would be some time to recover from the events before the one on one challenges began; his whole body was aching from that fall. When Tim rejoined him, Val forced himself to his feet somewhat stiffly. ”Well done! You are a genuine mountain goat!” He laughed, his tone teasing and good natured. ”I need wine. Shall we find the food and refreshments, my lord?”
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’That’s more like it. At least someone here has the balls to admit they’re gonna fuck up today.’
Valerius smiled, a bit of an unpracticed gesture these past years, and accepted the jibe and the friendly touch his comrade offered upon his shoulder, giving Tim a nod and silently thanking his closest friend for talking him into coming to Athenia for this event at all, even though at the time, Val had not been certain he would participate in the competition. The proud captain nodded to each of his men that stepped forward, following his lead and putting their names down for all of the events that would take place that day. He clapped each of them on the back as they moved away from the scribe and offered a nod of approval to their courage to accept failure. There was more to being a good and loyal soldier than winning a battle; and these men had passed the impromptu test of character their captain had covertly issued.
’You ready to get your ass beat?’ Tim’s ensuing boyish grin, reminded Valerius how much younger than himself the Valaoritis lord actually was. Val held honest respect for Lord Timaeus, and he often forgot the age difference he shared with his friend.
Just then a horn blared, garnering the attention of all those gathered for the festivities of the day. Valerius smirked as he met his friends gaze, seeing the friendly challenge in his eyes. ”I think you will be the one taking the beating, my friend,” he challenged back, as they moved to take their places for the first events as all competitors were called to the arena. Who could have ever predicted that such a pair as these two men – a noble lord and a common born career militant – could have ever been genuine friends? But somehow, they were. Val walked beside the Eubocrisian lord. They would likely stick together so as to have the chance to see each other’s scores and have the best chance to out do the other. How else would they know who really won this little challenge of theirs?
Let the games begin.
The javelin toss was first up for the Captain of the Golden Shields. An event that Val was confident he could score perfect marks for, as his military unit - being primarily comprised of peltast soldiers - specialized and practiced daily with just such a long ranged weapon. Valerius watched intently as the first competitor – Lesley of Lands Afar – stepped forward, chose a javelin, and threw with confidence and a bit of skill. Val crossed his arms over his chest and nodded, taking note of the distance. The second throw was better, the third didn’t quite improve the mark. Not a bad start to the day’s competition, but Val knew he could do better than this first contender. This was a contest of form and aim more than anything else. Follow through with proper form and momentum, and the weapon would go far.
Casting Timaeus a confident smirk, Valerius stepped forward and chose his first javelin, weighing it carefully in his experienced hands. The first one did not feel quite balanced correctly, leaning more heavily towards the speared end; it would likely fall short of the mark – something that could prove disastrous in battle. Val returned it to the pile and chose another. This one’s weight felt much more well distributed, so Val took the time to adjust the leather of the grip. He repeated this process to choose two more, so that when he stepped up to the line, he set all three javelins at his feet. He took a moment to flex his hands and his arms, while his eyes gauged the distance needed to beat the mark of the gladiator that went before him. Confident that he could hit nearly perfect – if not absolutely perfect – scores for this challenge, Valerius of Arcaneas picked up his first javelin, too a few steps back from the line, and assumed a stance that was all too familiar and came naturally to the athletic man. His right arm was lifted above his head so that the javelin was poised with the tip pointed upward at about a sixty-degree angle, his torso turned slightly to the right, his left foot forward and planted firmly in the sand, his right leg extended behind him - but no less solidly planted. Val glued his eyes to the spot he wanted to hit at the very end of the throwing range; he sprung into motion, smooth and clean. His upraised arm, flexed back, and he side stepped (back foot coming forward and forward foot gliding ahead seemingly at the same time – propelling himself forward the two or three strides to the very edge of the foul line without stepping over – and the javelin launched from his hand. The missile landed exactly where the peltast captain intended. A smile of satisfaction graced Valerius’ features. Throws two and three went much the same way, leaving it with all three javelins having landed within inches of each other at the very end of the range. The judge laid the marker, a physical reminder or Valerius’ prowess that all succussing competitors would see. A mark that would be very hard to beat. (Though the captain from Arcaneas would learn later that day that Prince Yannis did indeed match that mark, which was as good as beating it as he was a prince of the realm!)
With a laugh of victory, Valerius turned to the Valaoritis lord with raised brows, a wide smile, and hands upraised. ”You can not possibly beat that score, my lord, but you are most welcome to make the attempt!” Valerius stepped to the sidelines to observe Timaeus’ performance at the javelin toss. When the Valaoritis lord was finished and rejoined Valerius, the captain was trying his best not to laugh, but to give a consoling – though a bit mocking - look. ”It was a valiant effort, Timaeus. The day is young. I am certain you will rank higher than at least a few.”
When Timaeus finished with the javelin event, Val clapped his friend on the shoulder, smiling at him genuinely as they made their way to the next challenge.
Archery. A sport that Valerius was less than skilled at. Much like the javelin, archery demanded both natural skill and a dedication. The proud captain had trained with every weapon since beginning his military career at the age of twelve, but despite his training with a bow, Val was not gifted with this particular weapon. He could aim and shoot a bow and arrow well enough to take down larger prey while hunting, or to injure and comprehensively hinder an enemy in battle. But he was far from a sharp shooter, that was for certain. Still, the Captain of the golden Shields had committed to performing in all events of the day and he was not about to back down from this one. What sort of example would he be setting for his men if he did? One hundred yards, six arrows, two targets. Completely doable. Val and Tim approached the archery range, just in time to see the last shot of the Thanasi lord. Val’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the split arrow, the third nestled neatly in the center of the first. Valerius, serving as a military captain in a Thanasi owned province, had heard of the archer, of course. Though Val had never had the pleasure of meeting Lord Mihail personally. Impressive, indeed. Val passed a look to his friend, one that said there was no way either of them was going to top that score. Valerius doubted that anyone would be able to top that score, quite honestly. Still… the Arcanean would not back down.
The confident way that Mihail of Thanasi walked away after observing his own handiwork had caught Val’s eye. And for the first time in three years, Valerius of Arcaneas found his gaze lingering with interest. Perhaps it was time to meet this particular member of the Thanasi family.
Prince Yiannis of Kotas stepped up to take his shots after Lord Mihail. Valerius paid his respects to the prince of Colchis by silently watching the man compete with the bow and arrow. But the captain nearly wished he’d missed the ‘feat’ as Yiannis’ first shot flew too high and the second fell far short of the target. The third finally hit the mark, though, and Val dared hope that the man would do better on the second target. But second verse, same as the first. Too high, too short, and a hit that didn’t quite strike center target. Val shot Tim a bit of a worried look, but kept it brief so that Yiannis would not glimpse it. Valerius bowed respectfully to the prince as he passed them, heading in the direction of the javelin toss. ”Well done, Your Highness.” Val’s tone was respectful enough, for no matter Val’s personal opinion of those above him in rank or societal standing, the militant made a point of giving them their rightful homage – especially those of the ruling family of Colchis. One never knew when the favor of such influential and powerful people could mean life or death.
So intent was the captain on the prince’s performance at the archery challenge, Valerius had entirely missed the fact that Lord Mihail had lingered to watch the competitors that succeeded him – at least until Val turned from the departing Colchian prince to see who was competing next. It was a young man, dressed in very plain and cheaply woven tunic and trousers. His hair was mussed and he appeared to have not bathed in a few days as his skin was seemed to have a bit of grime clinging to it, as well as to his clothes. Val heard a derisive snort and an ensuing comment on the low born man’s appearance. The captain looked in the direction of the voice to see the Thanasi lord standing not far away, hand on hip, bow clutched protectively in his other hand, and directing a superior gaze toward the peasant now firing his arrows at the target. Valerius found himself staring, watching the lord that was a member of the House that controlled his home province. Mihail was standing next to a finely dressed someone that Val did not recognize as he continued to judge the young commoner. Honestly, Val had to agree with the sentiments. He had been in much the same position as this dingy looking young man, but Valerius had risen above such a life simply because he had set his mind to it. People only reached the limits they put on themselves.
Just then, as if his lordship had felt Val’s eyes on him, Mihail looked the captain’s way. Valerius stood a bit taller under that scrutiny before inclining his head respectfully to the Thanasi, a smile gracing his features as he allowed his warm brown gaze to roam over the lord. It was an action that could have been taken lewdly and untoward, but something told Valerius that Mihail would appreciate such attention. (If Timaeus noticed this interaction and commented on the look Val had given the other man, Valerius would have, of course, denied that any such thing had transpired. Or indicated that Tim was reading too much into a simple polite acknowledgement of the lord’s presence. Val’s rare taste for male companionship was not something the proud militant advertised openly.) The captain then refocused on the archery competitors. As it turned out the peasant had finished whilst Val had been distracted with admiring the attractive lord, and he and Lord Timaeus were up next to compete.
Tuning to his dearest comrade, Valerius motioned with the sweep an outstretched arm and slight bow for Timaeus to take first shot at this challenge since he’d gone first in the javelin. ”After you, my lord.” Valerius moved to a position off to the side that would afford him a prime view of the range, with Tim to his left, the target to his right, and the view of the distance the small missiles would travel was unobstructed. He nodded approvingly when his friend finished both sets of arrows. Fair scores that Valerius would likely not be able to supersede.
Taking a deep breath, Val moved to select a bow and a set of arrows provided. He knew little about proper constructions of these items, so he simply chose what looked appealing to his eyes. Valerius approached the line and notched his first arrow. Val pulled the string back, lifting his left arm and leveling the bow in the same motion. Elbow bent and pointed back, arms level, fingers and arrow fletching grazing his slightly whiskered cheek. Val’s gaze locked on the target. It was a long way for an arrow to travel. The captain took a deep breath, dug his leading foot in the sand, and let the arrow fly. The string snapped forward, the thin wooden missile sailed the length of the range, and stuck in the lower right quadrant of the target. Val lowered the bow, narrowing his eyes at the placement of his shot as he notched the second arrow. He rolled his shoulders and again brought the weapon to bare. He aimed a bit higher this time before he released his taught hold of the bow string, the arrow soaring fast. Val thought he had adjusted his aim correctly, but this second arrow could be seen quivering in the complete opposite quadrant. How in Hades name was that even possible? Growling low in his throat, Val did not waste effort in aiming the third arrow, and simply raised and fired as quickly as he could. It did not land quite in the center of the bullseye, but it was definitely better than the first two.
Instinct. Do not think so much. Slow aim will over compensate, he mentally chastised himself as he moved to stand in line with the second target. Determined for this set to be better than the first, Val took his own advice and did not hesitate with his shots this time. One, two, three arrows were fired in rapid succession, just as he would have done in the heat of battle. Valerius lowered the bow as he surveyed the position of the arrows. Not one of them had struck center target, but nor were any of them as far off as his first two attempts with the first set of arrows. Nodding to himself and accepting the meager score – for it had indeed not been better than Timaeus’ own performance, perhaps had been closely matched, but Val could be not certain without seeing the scores the judges wrote down for himself – the captain returned the bow to the weapons table and rejoined his friend.
As the two of them made their way to the next challenge, Val glanced around the crowds casually – he was looking for the angular face of Lord Mihail, but it seemed the Thanasi had disappeared beyond his view. Val shook his head and put the lord out of his mind for now. Focus would be required if Val hoped to qualify for the one on one competitions later that day.
Discus throw was a sport that was more about brute strength than skill. Throw the discus three times with each hand, the average distance of the best throw from both right and left hands would be the spot where the competitor’s name would be marked. Simple enough. Distance was key to winning here, repeated distance at that. By the time Valerius and Timaeus reached the discus event, it seemed that Prince Yiannis had come and gone. But there were whispers circulating of the terrible score the Kotas man had garnered that day, setting an extremely low bar to the start of the event. Valerius winced inwardly in sympathy for the ridicule the man was receiving – less than great scores in both discus and archery? – but outwardly he was glad for this low bar as it would better his own chances for higher scores here. Val was a strong man, but not as strong as some of the other men gathered for the discus throw.
Lesley was just before Val, and he recognized the gladiator from the javelin toss. Val watched the man intently. There were already several markers in the sand from previous competitors; how would this man measure up to the others, and how hard would the Arcanean need to work to even make memorable marks with the judges? While Val watched his competition, he took the time to stretch his arms and back, making sure he was not going to tense and pull a muscle during this event. He still had a handful of events to compete in today before the final showdown of the one on one event that afternoon. Assuming he qualified, though he was fairly confident that he would. But today wasn’t about winning, it was about having fun, he reminded himself. Valerius looked towards Timaeus and cocked his head. Okay, maybe it was about showing up his friend just a bit, as well as having fun. Val’s lips curved up at one side into an amused grin, genuinely beginning to enjoy himself for the first time since his wife’s death three years prior. Val pulled his thoughts back to the present, not wishing to dwell on sad memories this day, and refocused his attention on Lesley’s performance with the discus throws.
Lesly had already thrown twice – he seemed to be alternating his throws rather than all of one hand at a time. Val found this an interesting technique, and honestly a good idea. The man’s next two throws were better than the first set. Val rose a brow, a bit impressed. ”Not a bad set,” Val commented to Tim. As Lesley walked past them after his last throws, Valerius extended his hand to the man with the intention of clasping wrists in a customary greeting. ”You performed admirably, sir. That was a smart choice to alternate your throws. I wish you well in the rest of your competitions.”
Then Val stepped up to the line and picked up his first stone disc in his right hand – his dominate hand. Taking a deep breath, he set himself into motion. He spun around and let his right arm swing out with the weight and momentum of the stone discus, releasing his grip at what he perceived to be the appropriate moment to allow the heavy item to fly in the correct direction. The discus flew wildly too far to the left and bounced over the impacted sands to cross the foul line. ”Damn it,” he muttered. Val rolled his neck and let out a long breath, then scooped up the next discus in his left hand. The captain planted his right foot and used his left to aid in the momentum as he spun his body; he used this same foot to stop his moment as he let fly that second discus but the stone still flew wide – to the right this time. But it did not cross the foul line. Progress. Back to the right hand with the third discus. He repeated the leg swinging aided moment and halted his spin sooner this time. The stone flew much straighter, but the distance was not optimal and only made it halfway down the range. The fourth disc, launched from his left hand, made it a little further down the range than the third throw. But not by much. These final two throws needed to go the distance if Valerius hoped to have decent scores for this event. Deep breath, let it out in a huff. And again. And again. Valerius picked up the fifth stone disc and launched into that whirling spin, throwing all of his weight into the throw with his right arm. The stone flew, descending and slid from where it landed in the sand until it halted well past the halfway point. The sixth throw took much the same trajectory. Not the best scores. But not the worst either.
As Val stepped back to give Timaeus room for his own throws, Val caught snippets of the conversations around him. ’Did you see the way Prince Yiannis looked at that peasant?’ ‘Is that gladiator turning the prince's head? How interesting.’ Interesting indeed. With arms folded over his chest, Val glanced around, trying to spot the Prince or the gladiator in question. Given the descriptions being discussed of the man, Valerius deduced that it had to be the Lesley character he had congratulated as they had left the discus area just minutes before. Val had to admit that the man did hold a certain physical attractiveness. Perhaps Yiannis’ day would not be a total loss, Val thought amusedly. Val finally spotted Prince Yiannis some distance away, appearing to be settling in to simply observe the rest of the competitors. Val supposed the Kotas prince had completed the events he had committed to already. Valerius of Arcaneas honestly hoped Prince Yiannis had done better in his other events than with the discus and archery – it would not bode well in the public eye for a prince of Colchis to not have some victory from the day’s festivities. Before Val looked away to refocus on the competition, Val noticed what appeared to be Rafail and Daniil of Marikas speaking with the prince. It appeared, too, that Yiannis and Daniil were enjoying the conversation far more than Rafail, who soon walked away. Interesting indeed.
Sprint Laps. Like the javelin toss, this was an event at which, the proud Captain of the Golden Shields knew, he would not easily be bested. He was one of the fastest runners in his militia unit and his long legs provided a fine advantage over many other competitors. A straight run spanning the length of the entire arena had been mapped out for the sprint, with enough room for three people to run at once. Along this straight track, were seemingly randomly placed beams standing perpendicular to the direction the competitors would be running. Some of the beams were high, some were low. At the end of the line were hanging side by side, three brass bells. The message was clear, be the first to ring the bell. A test of speed and quick reflexes was the goal for this event.
Valerius took up a starting position between Timaeus and another competitor. ”Are you ready to eat sand, Valaoritis?” Val smirked, taunting his friend good naturedly. Within moments, the sharp chime of a starting bell filled the runners’ ears. Val wasted no time, springing forward, his feet pumping, propelling himself as fast as he could down that lane. He gained momentum with every stride until reaching the first obstacle in his path. A leap over the first hurdle that barely came up to the tall man’s knees, then three running strides brought him to a beam sitting at chest level. He ducked quickly, never slowing as he passed under the obstacle; he straightened and ran on. A few more easier obstacles cleared, until he came to a hurdle that sat at waist level – too low to duck under, but more of a challenging jump. Val barreled down the way and pushed off the ground with every bit of strength he could muster. As he vaulted over, he brought his knees up, pushed his hands down to touch the beam, using his fingers to push himself forward and add a bit of momentum. When he’d cleared the hurdle, he extended his legs once more, his feet already moving before he even touched the ground ad allowing him to never miss a stride. He let out a huffed breath of relief and pushed onward. The way was clear, the bell was drawing closer with every stride. Valerius could feel the muscles in his legs beginning to sting, could feel his labored lungs beginning to burn. But he pushed on. Finally, he was within reach of the bell! He extended his hand and slapped it as he ran past the pole his was dangling from, the ring of the brass sounding out. Val was bent over a few more strides past the bells trying to catch his breath when the other bells began to chime in. Valerius straightened, raising his arms behind his head to help expand his lungs and take in more fresh air. He turned around, an exhilarated smile on his face as Tim joined him. ”Nothing gets the heart pumping quite like a good race.” His breath was still labored, but Valerius felt amazing after that rush.
After taking a few minutes to recover and to find a drink of water, Val meandered his way towards the balance beams with Timaeus.
The balance beam appeared to be a fairly straightforward challenge. A long wooden and very narrow beam had been erected some four feet off the ground and measuring about thirty or forty feet long. The task was simple: walk the length of the beam from one end to the other and back again without falling or stepping off.
Val watched with Tim as a couple of other competitors went before them, one of them being a woman. Neither one made the length of the beam without nearly falling off from lack of proper balance. Val let Tim take his turn on the beam first. It seemed like the younger man was more than ready for this challenge. Val watched his friend navigate the balance beam; Timaeus made it look so damn easy! Down the length, turn and come back to the beginning. Val clapped his hands and congratulated his friend when Timaeus rejoined him.
When Val stepped up to the beam, it was with a bit of caution. The skilled captain knew his way around any weapon, he could run faster than most of his own men, would willing rush into battle and fight against his kingdom’s enemies no matter the cost to himself. But heights… well, that was a different story. Valerius had never done well with heights. He used to climb trees with his cousins as a young boy. Going up the tree, limb by limb, was fine. But the minute Val looked below and realized how far from the ground he was, he always grew faint and fearful. As he grew older, Valerius learned ways to control this reaction better and to hide it. But to this day, heights tended to make Valerius very ill at ease.
Deep breath in. Slowly let it back out. Once more, and Val hoisted himself up onto the beam. It took a moment for him to get his feet under him and gain a well enough balance to stay aloft. The beam was much narrower than he had anticipated – not even as wide as he feet! This was not going to be easy. One foot, carefully placed, in front of the other. And again. Steady progress. Val tried to only focus on the beam and not the fact that he was off the ground on this very narrow piece of wood. He began to gain a bit of confidence, and so he increased his pace. As it turns out, he should not have done that. Val was looking forward instead of at his feet. He shifted his back foot to the front, but he misjudged the alignment needed to land on the beam properly. His slipped, ankle twisting. Val tried to his best to regain his balance, but it was a losing battle. Val groaned as he hit the sand, muttering curses for his own failings. Val pulled himself to his feet and dusted himself off as limped away from the balance beam – bracing himself for Tim’s teasing as well.
Now how the hell was he going to manage the climbing course with a twisted ankle?
The climbing course was a feat of strength, endurance, and skill all in one challenge. This combination, along with the risk of falling from a height that could do real damage, was the reason Val had insisted to his friend that they do this event last. The course itself looked easy enough. Climb a rope, hit a clacker, swing to the next rope and make it to a raised platform, navigate a webbing of interwoven ropes from there. This web of ropes would bring the competitor near a wooden lattice. The best scores would be given to those men that did not let their feet touch the ground. The jump between netting and wood would be difficult, but not entirely impossible. At the top was a brass bell, the sound of which would mark the end of your time. The fastest to ring this bell would undoubtably have the highest scores for this event, provided their feet did not touch the ground. Easy, right? Perhaps not so much. Val figured he could manage the staying aloft part of the challenge well enough (if he could keep from looking down and his ankle held up), but he doubted that he could maneuver the course faster than Lord Timaeus for his friend had grown up in the mountainous province of Eubocris. Much like the balance beam, Tim most certainly held the advantage in this feat of skill, he knew. The heights of the climbing ropes alone were almost enough to make Valerius back out. But that would be a coward’s way out. The proud captain was no coward. Like with everything other challenge that day, Captain Valerius of Arcaneas would not back not back down.
Ready to get it all over with, Valerius stepped up the to the starting line first. The first rope loomed before him; his stomach flipped a little at the sight. Deep breath in. Long breath out. Val grasped the rope and began to shimmy up the tether until he was able to hit the clacker at the top. Don’t look down. Don’t look down. He swung the rope close enough to the next one that he could grasp it in his hand. Completely transferring from one rope to the next was a bit tricky, but he managed without losing any progress. Don’t look down. Up the rope he went, to scramble onto the platform at the top. Val’s chest heaved as he got to his feet to survey the next leg of the course – but in doing so he inevitably look down, and the distance to the ground sent his head reeling. He clenched his fists; in doing so, Val realized his hands were covered in sweat, and so he tried to wipe it away on his trousers. Clenching his jaw, Val set to work navigating the web of netted ropes. It was not easy, and the captain nearly lost his grip more than once. Finally, he reached the end of the netting, but that was not necessarily good news. Valerius eyed the distance between the ropes he now clung to and the wall of interlaced wooden planks. His ankle throbbing, his senses going wild with the sensation of hanging a couple dozen feet from the ground, Valerius attempted the leap. His hand touched the lattice work, but he couldn’t quite get a solid enough grip. He began to slide down, grasping for a hand hold the whole way, until he hit the ground with a thud. Groaning in pain and humiliation (and a bit of relief for begin back on solid ground), Valerius rolled from his back and onto his stomach. He pushed himself onto his feet. With a hand rubbing at his lower back, Val limped his way towards Lord Timaeus. ”Yes. Yes, laugh all you wish. It’s not as easy as it looks.” Val waved his friend on, collapsing onto the ground at the sidelines. This was where he would watch the lord of Eubocris complete the challenge with much of the same skill he showed when running the balance beam.
Valerius was glad that there would be some time to recover from the events before the one on one challenges began; his whole body was aching from that fall. When Tim rejoined him, Val forced himself to his feet somewhat stiffly. ”Well done! You are a genuine mountain goat!” He laughed, his tone teasing and good natured. ”I need wine. Shall we find the food and refreshments, my lord?”
’That’s more like it. At least someone here has the balls to admit they’re gonna fuck up today.’
Valerius smiled, a bit of an unpracticed gesture these past years, and accepted the jibe and the friendly touch his comrade offered upon his shoulder, giving Tim a nod and silently thanking his closest friend for talking him into coming to Athenia for this event at all, even though at the time, Val had not been certain he would participate in the competition. The proud captain nodded to each of his men that stepped forward, following his lead and putting their names down for all of the events that would take place that day. He clapped each of them on the back as they moved away from the scribe and offered a nod of approval to their courage to accept failure. There was more to being a good and loyal soldier than winning a battle; and these men had passed the impromptu test of character their captain had covertly issued.
’You ready to get your ass beat?’ Tim’s ensuing boyish grin, reminded Valerius how much younger than himself the Valaoritis lord actually was. Val held honest respect for Lord Timaeus, and he often forgot the age difference he shared with his friend.
Just then a horn blared, garnering the attention of all those gathered for the festivities of the day. Valerius smirked as he met his friends gaze, seeing the friendly challenge in his eyes. ”I think you will be the one taking the beating, my friend,” he challenged back, as they moved to take their places for the first events as all competitors were called to the arena. Who could have ever predicted that such a pair as these two men – a noble lord and a common born career militant – could have ever been genuine friends? But somehow, they were. Val walked beside the Eubocrisian lord. They would likely stick together so as to have the chance to see each other’s scores and have the best chance to out do the other. How else would they know who really won this little challenge of theirs?
Let the games begin.
The javelin toss was first up for the Captain of the Golden Shields. An event that Val was confident he could score perfect marks for, as his military unit - being primarily comprised of peltast soldiers - specialized and practiced daily with just such a long ranged weapon. Valerius watched intently as the first competitor – Lesley of Lands Afar – stepped forward, chose a javelin, and threw with confidence and a bit of skill. Val crossed his arms over his chest and nodded, taking note of the distance. The second throw was better, the third didn’t quite improve the mark. Not a bad start to the day’s competition, but Val knew he could do better than this first contender. This was a contest of form and aim more than anything else. Follow through with proper form and momentum, and the weapon would go far.
Casting Timaeus a confident smirk, Valerius stepped forward and chose his first javelin, weighing it carefully in his experienced hands. The first one did not feel quite balanced correctly, leaning more heavily towards the speared end; it would likely fall short of the mark – something that could prove disastrous in battle. Val returned it to the pile and chose another. This one’s weight felt much more well distributed, so Val took the time to adjust the leather of the grip. He repeated this process to choose two more, so that when he stepped up to the line, he set all three javelins at his feet. He took a moment to flex his hands and his arms, while his eyes gauged the distance needed to beat the mark of the gladiator that went before him. Confident that he could hit nearly perfect – if not absolutely perfect – scores for this challenge, Valerius of Arcaneas picked up his first javelin, too a few steps back from the line, and assumed a stance that was all too familiar and came naturally to the athletic man. His right arm was lifted above his head so that the javelin was poised with the tip pointed upward at about a sixty-degree angle, his torso turned slightly to the right, his left foot forward and planted firmly in the sand, his right leg extended behind him - but no less solidly planted. Val glued his eyes to the spot he wanted to hit at the very end of the throwing range; he sprung into motion, smooth and clean. His upraised arm, flexed back, and he side stepped (back foot coming forward and forward foot gliding ahead seemingly at the same time – propelling himself forward the two or three strides to the very edge of the foul line without stepping over – and the javelin launched from his hand. The missile landed exactly where the peltast captain intended. A smile of satisfaction graced Valerius’ features. Throws two and three went much the same way, leaving it with all three javelins having landed within inches of each other at the very end of the range. The judge laid the marker, a physical reminder or Valerius’ prowess that all succussing competitors would see. A mark that would be very hard to beat. (Though the captain from Arcaneas would learn later that day that Prince Yannis did indeed match that mark, which was as good as beating it as he was a prince of the realm!)
With a laugh of victory, Valerius turned to the Valaoritis lord with raised brows, a wide smile, and hands upraised. ”You can not possibly beat that score, my lord, but you are most welcome to make the attempt!” Valerius stepped to the sidelines to observe Timaeus’ performance at the javelin toss. When the Valaoritis lord was finished and rejoined Valerius, the captain was trying his best not to laugh, but to give a consoling – though a bit mocking - look. ”It was a valiant effort, Timaeus. The day is young. I am certain you will rank higher than at least a few.”
When Timaeus finished with the javelin event, Val clapped his friend on the shoulder, smiling at him genuinely as they made their way to the next challenge.
Archery. A sport that Valerius was less than skilled at. Much like the javelin, archery demanded both natural skill and a dedication. The proud captain had trained with every weapon since beginning his military career at the age of twelve, but despite his training with a bow, Val was not gifted with this particular weapon. He could aim and shoot a bow and arrow well enough to take down larger prey while hunting, or to injure and comprehensively hinder an enemy in battle. But he was far from a sharp shooter, that was for certain. Still, the Captain of the golden Shields had committed to performing in all events of the day and he was not about to back down from this one. What sort of example would he be setting for his men if he did? One hundred yards, six arrows, two targets. Completely doable. Val and Tim approached the archery range, just in time to see the last shot of the Thanasi lord. Val’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the split arrow, the third nestled neatly in the center of the first. Valerius, serving as a military captain in a Thanasi owned province, had heard of the archer, of course. Though Val had never had the pleasure of meeting Lord Mihail personally. Impressive, indeed. Val passed a look to his friend, one that said there was no way either of them was going to top that score. Valerius doubted that anyone would be able to top that score, quite honestly. Still… the Arcanean would not back down.
The confident way that Mihail of Thanasi walked away after observing his own handiwork had caught Val’s eye. And for the first time in three years, Valerius of Arcaneas found his gaze lingering with interest. Perhaps it was time to meet this particular member of the Thanasi family.
Prince Yiannis of Kotas stepped up to take his shots after Lord Mihail. Valerius paid his respects to the prince of Colchis by silently watching the man compete with the bow and arrow. But the captain nearly wished he’d missed the ‘feat’ as Yiannis’ first shot flew too high and the second fell far short of the target. The third finally hit the mark, though, and Val dared hope that the man would do better on the second target. But second verse, same as the first. Too high, too short, and a hit that didn’t quite strike center target. Val shot Tim a bit of a worried look, but kept it brief so that Yiannis would not glimpse it. Valerius bowed respectfully to the prince as he passed them, heading in the direction of the javelin toss. ”Well done, Your Highness.” Val’s tone was respectful enough, for no matter Val’s personal opinion of those above him in rank or societal standing, the militant made a point of giving them their rightful homage – especially those of the ruling family of Colchis. One never knew when the favor of such influential and powerful people could mean life or death.
So intent was the captain on the prince’s performance at the archery challenge, Valerius had entirely missed the fact that Lord Mihail had lingered to watch the competitors that succeeded him – at least until Val turned from the departing Colchian prince to see who was competing next. It was a young man, dressed in very plain and cheaply woven tunic and trousers. His hair was mussed and he appeared to have not bathed in a few days as his skin was seemed to have a bit of grime clinging to it, as well as to his clothes. Val heard a derisive snort and an ensuing comment on the low born man’s appearance. The captain looked in the direction of the voice to see the Thanasi lord standing not far away, hand on hip, bow clutched protectively in his other hand, and directing a superior gaze toward the peasant now firing his arrows at the target. Valerius found himself staring, watching the lord that was a member of the House that controlled his home province. Mihail was standing next to a finely dressed someone that Val did not recognize as he continued to judge the young commoner. Honestly, Val had to agree with the sentiments. He had been in much the same position as this dingy looking young man, but Valerius had risen above such a life simply because he had set his mind to it. People only reached the limits they put on themselves.
Just then, as if his lordship had felt Val’s eyes on him, Mihail looked the captain’s way. Valerius stood a bit taller under that scrutiny before inclining his head respectfully to the Thanasi, a smile gracing his features as he allowed his warm brown gaze to roam over the lord. It was an action that could have been taken lewdly and untoward, but something told Valerius that Mihail would appreciate such attention. (If Timaeus noticed this interaction and commented on the look Val had given the other man, Valerius would have, of course, denied that any such thing had transpired. Or indicated that Tim was reading too much into a simple polite acknowledgement of the lord’s presence. Val’s rare taste for male companionship was not something the proud militant advertised openly.) The captain then refocused on the archery competitors. As it turned out the peasant had finished whilst Val had been distracted with admiring the attractive lord, and he and Lord Timaeus were up next to compete.
Tuning to his dearest comrade, Valerius motioned with the sweep an outstretched arm and slight bow for Timaeus to take first shot at this challenge since he’d gone first in the javelin. ”After you, my lord.” Valerius moved to a position off to the side that would afford him a prime view of the range, with Tim to his left, the target to his right, and the view of the distance the small missiles would travel was unobstructed. He nodded approvingly when his friend finished both sets of arrows. Fair scores that Valerius would likely not be able to supersede.
Taking a deep breath, Val moved to select a bow and a set of arrows provided. He knew little about proper constructions of these items, so he simply chose what looked appealing to his eyes. Valerius approached the line and notched his first arrow. Val pulled the string back, lifting his left arm and leveling the bow in the same motion. Elbow bent and pointed back, arms level, fingers and arrow fletching grazing his slightly whiskered cheek. Val’s gaze locked on the target. It was a long way for an arrow to travel. The captain took a deep breath, dug his leading foot in the sand, and let the arrow fly. The string snapped forward, the thin wooden missile sailed the length of the range, and stuck in the lower right quadrant of the target. Val lowered the bow, narrowing his eyes at the placement of his shot as he notched the second arrow. He rolled his shoulders and again brought the weapon to bare. He aimed a bit higher this time before he released his taught hold of the bow string, the arrow soaring fast. Val thought he had adjusted his aim correctly, but this second arrow could be seen quivering in the complete opposite quadrant. How in Hades name was that even possible? Growling low in his throat, Val did not waste effort in aiming the third arrow, and simply raised and fired as quickly as he could. It did not land quite in the center of the bullseye, but it was definitely better than the first two.
Instinct. Do not think so much. Slow aim will over compensate, he mentally chastised himself as he moved to stand in line with the second target. Determined for this set to be better than the first, Val took his own advice and did not hesitate with his shots this time. One, two, three arrows were fired in rapid succession, just as he would have done in the heat of battle. Valerius lowered the bow as he surveyed the position of the arrows. Not one of them had struck center target, but nor were any of them as far off as his first two attempts with the first set of arrows. Nodding to himself and accepting the meager score – for it had indeed not been better than Timaeus’ own performance, perhaps had been closely matched, but Val could be not certain without seeing the scores the judges wrote down for himself – the captain returned the bow to the weapons table and rejoined his friend.
As the two of them made their way to the next challenge, Val glanced around the crowds casually – he was looking for the angular face of Lord Mihail, but it seemed the Thanasi had disappeared beyond his view. Val shook his head and put the lord out of his mind for now. Focus would be required if Val hoped to qualify for the one on one competitions later that day.
Discus throw was a sport that was more about brute strength than skill. Throw the discus three times with each hand, the average distance of the best throw from both right and left hands would be the spot where the competitor’s name would be marked. Simple enough. Distance was key to winning here, repeated distance at that. By the time Valerius and Timaeus reached the discus event, it seemed that Prince Yiannis had come and gone. But there were whispers circulating of the terrible score the Kotas man had garnered that day, setting an extremely low bar to the start of the event. Valerius winced inwardly in sympathy for the ridicule the man was receiving – less than great scores in both discus and archery? – but outwardly he was glad for this low bar as it would better his own chances for higher scores here. Val was a strong man, but not as strong as some of the other men gathered for the discus throw.
Lesley was just before Val, and he recognized the gladiator from the javelin toss. Val watched the man intently. There were already several markers in the sand from previous competitors; how would this man measure up to the others, and how hard would the Arcanean need to work to even make memorable marks with the judges? While Val watched his competition, he took the time to stretch his arms and back, making sure he was not going to tense and pull a muscle during this event. He still had a handful of events to compete in today before the final showdown of the one on one event that afternoon. Assuming he qualified, though he was fairly confident that he would. But today wasn’t about winning, it was about having fun, he reminded himself. Valerius looked towards Timaeus and cocked his head. Okay, maybe it was about showing up his friend just a bit, as well as having fun. Val’s lips curved up at one side into an amused grin, genuinely beginning to enjoy himself for the first time since his wife’s death three years prior. Val pulled his thoughts back to the present, not wishing to dwell on sad memories this day, and refocused his attention on Lesley’s performance with the discus throws.
Lesly had already thrown twice – he seemed to be alternating his throws rather than all of one hand at a time. Val found this an interesting technique, and honestly a good idea. The man’s next two throws were better than the first set. Val rose a brow, a bit impressed. ”Not a bad set,” Val commented to Tim. As Lesley walked past them after his last throws, Valerius extended his hand to the man with the intention of clasping wrists in a customary greeting. ”You performed admirably, sir. That was a smart choice to alternate your throws. I wish you well in the rest of your competitions.”
Then Val stepped up to the line and picked up his first stone disc in his right hand – his dominate hand. Taking a deep breath, he set himself into motion. He spun around and let his right arm swing out with the weight and momentum of the stone discus, releasing his grip at what he perceived to be the appropriate moment to allow the heavy item to fly in the correct direction. The discus flew wildly too far to the left and bounced over the impacted sands to cross the foul line. ”Damn it,” he muttered. Val rolled his neck and let out a long breath, then scooped up the next discus in his left hand. The captain planted his right foot and used his left to aid in the momentum as he spun his body; he used this same foot to stop his moment as he let fly that second discus but the stone still flew wide – to the right this time. But it did not cross the foul line. Progress. Back to the right hand with the third discus. He repeated the leg swinging aided moment and halted his spin sooner this time. The stone flew much straighter, but the distance was not optimal and only made it halfway down the range. The fourth disc, launched from his left hand, made it a little further down the range than the third throw. But not by much. These final two throws needed to go the distance if Valerius hoped to have decent scores for this event. Deep breath, let it out in a huff. And again. And again. Valerius picked up the fifth stone disc and launched into that whirling spin, throwing all of his weight into the throw with his right arm. The stone flew, descending and slid from where it landed in the sand until it halted well past the halfway point. The sixth throw took much the same trajectory. Not the best scores. But not the worst either.
As Val stepped back to give Timaeus room for his own throws, Val caught snippets of the conversations around him. ’Did you see the way Prince Yiannis looked at that peasant?’ ‘Is that gladiator turning the prince's head? How interesting.’ Interesting indeed. With arms folded over his chest, Val glanced around, trying to spot the Prince or the gladiator in question. Given the descriptions being discussed of the man, Valerius deduced that it had to be the Lesley character he had congratulated as they had left the discus area just minutes before. Val had to admit that the man did hold a certain physical attractiveness. Perhaps Yiannis’ day would not be a total loss, Val thought amusedly. Val finally spotted Prince Yiannis some distance away, appearing to be settling in to simply observe the rest of the competitors. Val supposed the Kotas prince had completed the events he had committed to already. Valerius of Arcaneas honestly hoped Prince Yiannis had done better in his other events than with the discus and archery – it would not bode well in the public eye for a prince of Colchis to not have some victory from the day’s festivities. Before Val looked away to refocus on the competition, Val noticed what appeared to be Rafail and Daniil of Marikas speaking with the prince. It appeared, too, that Yiannis and Daniil were enjoying the conversation far more than Rafail, who soon walked away. Interesting indeed.
Sprint Laps. Like the javelin toss, this was an event at which, the proud Captain of the Golden Shields knew, he would not easily be bested. He was one of the fastest runners in his militia unit and his long legs provided a fine advantage over many other competitors. A straight run spanning the length of the entire arena had been mapped out for the sprint, with enough room for three people to run at once. Along this straight track, were seemingly randomly placed beams standing perpendicular to the direction the competitors would be running. Some of the beams were high, some were low. At the end of the line were hanging side by side, three brass bells. The message was clear, be the first to ring the bell. A test of speed and quick reflexes was the goal for this event.
Valerius took up a starting position between Timaeus and another competitor. ”Are you ready to eat sand, Valaoritis?” Val smirked, taunting his friend good naturedly. Within moments, the sharp chime of a starting bell filled the runners’ ears. Val wasted no time, springing forward, his feet pumping, propelling himself as fast as he could down that lane. He gained momentum with every stride until reaching the first obstacle in his path. A leap over the first hurdle that barely came up to the tall man’s knees, then three running strides brought him to a beam sitting at chest level. He ducked quickly, never slowing as he passed under the obstacle; he straightened and ran on. A few more easier obstacles cleared, until he came to a hurdle that sat at waist level – too low to duck under, but more of a challenging jump. Val barreled down the way and pushed off the ground with every bit of strength he could muster. As he vaulted over, he brought his knees up, pushed his hands down to touch the beam, using his fingers to push himself forward and add a bit of momentum. When he’d cleared the hurdle, he extended his legs once more, his feet already moving before he even touched the ground ad allowing him to never miss a stride. He let out a huffed breath of relief and pushed onward. The way was clear, the bell was drawing closer with every stride. Valerius could feel the muscles in his legs beginning to sting, could feel his labored lungs beginning to burn. But he pushed on. Finally, he was within reach of the bell! He extended his hand and slapped it as he ran past the pole his was dangling from, the ring of the brass sounding out. Val was bent over a few more strides past the bells trying to catch his breath when the other bells began to chime in. Valerius straightened, raising his arms behind his head to help expand his lungs and take in more fresh air. He turned around, an exhilarated smile on his face as Tim joined him. ”Nothing gets the heart pumping quite like a good race.” His breath was still labored, but Valerius felt amazing after that rush.
After taking a few minutes to recover and to find a drink of water, Val meandered his way towards the balance beams with Timaeus.
The balance beam appeared to be a fairly straightforward challenge. A long wooden and very narrow beam had been erected some four feet off the ground and measuring about thirty or forty feet long. The task was simple: walk the length of the beam from one end to the other and back again without falling or stepping off.
Val watched with Tim as a couple of other competitors went before them, one of them being a woman. Neither one made the length of the beam without nearly falling off from lack of proper balance. Val let Tim take his turn on the beam first. It seemed like the younger man was more than ready for this challenge. Val watched his friend navigate the balance beam; Timaeus made it look so damn easy! Down the length, turn and come back to the beginning. Val clapped his hands and congratulated his friend when Timaeus rejoined him.
When Val stepped up to the beam, it was with a bit of caution. The skilled captain knew his way around any weapon, he could run faster than most of his own men, would willing rush into battle and fight against his kingdom’s enemies no matter the cost to himself. But heights… well, that was a different story. Valerius had never done well with heights. He used to climb trees with his cousins as a young boy. Going up the tree, limb by limb, was fine. But the minute Val looked below and realized how far from the ground he was, he always grew faint and fearful. As he grew older, Valerius learned ways to control this reaction better and to hide it. But to this day, heights tended to make Valerius very ill at ease.
Deep breath in. Slowly let it back out. Once more, and Val hoisted himself up onto the beam. It took a moment for him to get his feet under him and gain a well enough balance to stay aloft. The beam was much narrower than he had anticipated – not even as wide as he feet! This was not going to be easy. One foot, carefully placed, in front of the other. And again. Steady progress. Val tried to only focus on the beam and not the fact that he was off the ground on this very narrow piece of wood. He began to gain a bit of confidence, and so he increased his pace. As it turns out, he should not have done that. Val was looking forward instead of at his feet. He shifted his back foot to the front, but he misjudged the alignment needed to land on the beam properly. His slipped, ankle twisting. Val tried to his best to regain his balance, but it was a losing battle. Val groaned as he hit the sand, muttering curses for his own failings. Val pulled himself to his feet and dusted himself off as limped away from the balance beam – bracing himself for Tim’s teasing as well.
Now how the hell was he going to manage the climbing course with a twisted ankle?
The climbing course was a feat of strength, endurance, and skill all in one challenge. This combination, along with the risk of falling from a height that could do real damage, was the reason Val had insisted to his friend that they do this event last. The course itself looked easy enough. Climb a rope, hit a clacker, swing to the next rope and make it to a raised platform, navigate a webbing of interwoven ropes from there. This web of ropes would bring the competitor near a wooden lattice. The best scores would be given to those men that did not let their feet touch the ground. The jump between netting and wood would be difficult, but not entirely impossible. At the top was a brass bell, the sound of which would mark the end of your time. The fastest to ring this bell would undoubtably have the highest scores for this event, provided their feet did not touch the ground. Easy, right? Perhaps not so much. Val figured he could manage the staying aloft part of the challenge well enough (if he could keep from looking down and his ankle held up), but he doubted that he could maneuver the course faster than Lord Timaeus for his friend had grown up in the mountainous province of Eubocris. Much like the balance beam, Tim most certainly held the advantage in this feat of skill, he knew. The heights of the climbing ropes alone were almost enough to make Valerius back out. But that would be a coward’s way out. The proud captain was no coward. Like with everything other challenge that day, Captain Valerius of Arcaneas would not back not back down.
Ready to get it all over with, Valerius stepped up the to the starting line first. The first rope loomed before him; his stomach flipped a little at the sight. Deep breath in. Long breath out. Val grasped the rope and began to shimmy up the tether until he was able to hit the clacker at the top. Don’t look down. Don’t look down. He swung the rope close enough to the next one that he could grasp it in his hand. Completely transferring from one rope to the next was a bit tricky, but he managed without losing any progress. Don’t look down. Up the rope he went, to scramble onto the platform at the top. Val’s chest heaved as he got to his feet to survey the next leg of the course – but in doing so he inevitably look down, and the distance to the ground sent his head reeling. He clenched his fists; in doing so, Val realized his hands were covered in sweat, and so he tried to wipe it away on his trousers. Clenching his jaw, Val set to work navigating the web of netted ropes. It was not easy, and the captain nearly lost his grip more than once. Finally, he reached the end of the netting, but that was not necessarily good news. Valerius eyed the distance between the ropes he now clung to and the wall of interlaced wooden planks. His ankle throbbing, his senses going wild with the sensation of hanging a couple dozen feet from the ground, Valerius attempted the leap. His hand touched the lattice work, but he couldn’t quite get a solid enough grip. He began to slide down, grasping for a hand hold the whole way, until he hit the ground with a thud. Groaning in pain and humiliation (and a bit of relief for begin back on solid ground), Valerius rolled from his back and onto his stomach. He pushed himself onto his feet. With a hand rubbing at his lower back, Val limped his way towards Lord Timaeus. ”Yes. Yes, laugh all you wish. It’s not as easy as it looks.” Val waved his friend on, collapsing onto the ground at the sidelines. This was where he would watch the lord of Eubocris complete the challenge with much of the same skill he showed when running the balance beam.
Valerius was glad that there would be some time to recover from the events before the one on one challenges began; his whole body was aching from that fall. When Tim rejoined him, Val forced himself to his feet somewhat stiffly. ”Well done! You are a genuine mountain goat!” He laughed, his tone teasing and good natured. ”I need wine. Shall we find the food and refreshments, my lord?”
Expressive blue eyes had watched the opening ceremony in unbridled enthusiasm, completely enthralled with the colorful pageantry of performers. From acrobats to magicians, live musicians and thespians entreating the public to bits of theatrics performed in punctuated skits, the grand Athenian contest unfolded before the spectators’ eyes. It promised an entertaining day for those who came to watch, and golden opportunity for those willing to play the game, either with their talents or their money. The youngest member of House Nickolaos, Rene, sat amid the sections of stands reserved for aristocracy alongside her handmaid, Melba, the late middle-aged woman who’d practically raised her in the absences created by her family’s duties and political involvement. Holding a fringed sunshade over the two of them, Melba kept the lovely fair blonde shaded, nourished and protected, a dutiful and conscientious servant, who maintained constant vigil over her young ward.
Seated on a velveteen cushion, the pristine Rene watched the spectacle in vast delight, in a chiton of the softest yellow, gathered at the top of one shoulder with a silver cord, another segment of it tied around her tiny waist with metallic tassels draped down one pleated thigh. A wreath of large white fresh-picked flowers encircled the young girl’s head like a halo, long blonde hair pulled back on either side and tumbling from beneath it down to her backside in relaxed curls. She sat up straight and well poised, the undisputed bearing of noble ilk, knees bent, feet with fine-grained leather sandals daintily tucked beneath her seat and crossed at the ankle. A light and airy fragrance wafted off of her each time the wind kissed her features, the lovely little angel that she was. Beyond immaculate, as if she’d never been defiled by so much as a speck of dirt, Rene’s clean face beamed out from beneath the parasol as the morning events began, the contestants taking their marks at each station. A small stack of parchment rested in her lap, as she nibbled on pieces of fire roasted vegetables from a small bamboo spit, occasionally licking her fingers at the delightful messiness of such a secular meal. Beside her, Melba’s face was far more serious, perhaps on account of her protective proclivities, or perhaps because she wasn’t entirely thrilled to be here. It was hard to tell.
Rene was entirely too far from the field to hear any of the jabs and jeers amongst the competitors, simply excited to have been let out of the estate to partake. Amid the gathering, she could not readily identify anyone she knew, but then again, Melba had all but prohibited her to do any wandering, having promised her parents Dastros and Ianthe that the girl would remain absolutely safe at an event chock full of brawling and potential danger. And Rene was just fine with that, happy to attend, to enjoy the spirit of competition and physical prowess of those hellbent on emblazoning their names into the ledgers of merit.
Young Rene finished her snack, Melba right there to provide a linen for her hands and goblet of water. With such out of the way, she divided her attention across the field, watching those below vie for the highest place.
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Expressive blue eyes had watched the opening ceremony in unbridled enthusiasm, completely enthralled with the colorful pageantry of performers. From acrobats to magicians, live musicians and thespians entreating the public to bits of theatrics performed in punctuated skits, the grand Athenian contest unfolded before the spectators’ eyes. It promised an entertaining day for those who came to watch, and golden opportunity for those willing to play the game, either with their talents or their money. The youngest member of House Nickolaos, Rene, sat amid the sections of stands reserved for aristocracy alongside her handmaid, Melba, the late middle-aged woman who’d practically raised her in the absences created by her family’s duties and political involvement. Holding a fringed sunshade over the two of them, Melba kept the lovely fair blonde shaded, nourished and protected, a dutiful and conscientious servant, who maintained constant vigil over her young ward.
Seated on a velveteen cushion, the pristine Rene watched the spectacle in vast delight, in a chiton of the softest yellow, gathered at the top of one shoulder with a silver cord, another segment of it tied around her tiny waist with metallic tassels draped down one pleated thigh. A wreath of large white fresh-picked flowers encircled the young girl’s head like a halo, long blonde hair pulled back on either side and tumbling from beneath it down to her backside in relaxed curls. She sat up straight and well poised, the undisputed bearing of noble ilk, knees bent, feet with fine-grained leather sandals daintily tucked beneath her seat and crossed at the ankle. A light and airy fragrance wafted off of her each time the wind kissed her features, the lovely little angel that she was. Beyond immaculate, as if she’d never been defiled by so much as a speck of dirt, Rene’s clean face beamed out from beneath the parasol as the morning events began, the contestants taking their marks at each station. A small stack of parchment rested in her lap, as she nibbled on pieces of fire roasted vegetables from a small bamboo spit, occasionally licking her fingers at the delightful messiness of such a secular meal. Beside her, Melba’s face was far more serious, perhaps on account of her protective proclivities, or perhaps because she wasn’t entirely thrilled to be here. It was hard to tell.
Rene was entirely too far from the field to hear any of the jabs and jeers amongst the competitors, simply excited to have been let out of the estate to partake. Amid the gathering, she could not readily identify anyone she knew, but then again, Melba had all but prohibited her to do any wandering, having promised her parents Dastros and Ianthe that the girl would remain absolutely safe at an event chock full of brawling and potential danger. And Rene was just fine with that, happy to attend, to enjoy the spirit of competition and physical prowess of those hellbent on emblazoning their names into the ledgers of merit.
Young Rene finished her snack, Melba right there to provide a linen for her hands and goblet of water. With such out of the way, she divided her attention across the field, watching those below vie for the highest place.
Expressive blue eyes had watched the opening ceremony in unbridled enthusiasm, completely enthralled with the colorful pageantry of performers. From acrobats to magicians, live musicians and thespians entreating the public to bits of theatrics performed in punctuated skits, the grand Athenian contest unfolded before the spectators’ eyes. It promised an entertaining day for those who came to watch, and golden opportunity for those willing to play the game, either with their talents or their money. The youngest member of House Nickolaos, Rene, sat amid the sections of stands reserved for aristocracy alongside her handmaid, Melba, the late middle-aged woman who’d practically raised her in the absences created by her family’s duties and political involvement. Holding a fringed sunshade over the two of them, Melba kept the lovely fair blonde shaded, nourished and protected, a dutiful and conscientious servant, who maintained constant vigil over her young ward.
Seated on a velveteen cushion, the pristine Rene watched the spectacle in vast delight, in a chiton of the softest yellow, gathered at the top of one shoulder with a silver cord, another segment of it tied around her tiny waist with metallic tassels draped down one pleated thigh. A wreath of large white fresh-picked flowers encircled the young girl’s head like a halo, long blonde hair pulled back on either side and tumbling from beneath it down to her backside in relaxed curls. She sat up straight and well poised, the undisputed bearing of noble ilk, knees bent, feet with fine-grained leather sandals daintily tucked beneath her seat and crossed at the ankle. A light and airy fragrance wafted off of her each time the wind kissed her features, the lovely little angel that she was. Beyond immaculate, as if she’d never been defiled by so much as a speck of dirt, Rene’s clean face beamed out from beneath the parasol as the morning events began, the contestants taking their marks at each station. A small stack of parchment rested in her lap, as she nibbled on pieces of fire roasted vegetables from a small bamboo spit, occasionally licking her fingers at the delightful messiness of such a secular meal. Beside her, Melba’s face was far more serious, perhaps on account of her protective proclivities, or perhaps because she wasn’t entirely thrilled to be here. It was hard to tell.
Rene was entirely too far from the field to hear any of the jabs and jeers amongst the competitors, simply excited to have been let out of the estate to partake. Amid the gathering, she could not readily identify anyone she knew, but then again, Melba had all but prohibited her to do any wandering, having promised her parents Dastros and Ianthe that the girl would remain absolutely safe at an event chock full of brawling and potential danger. And Rene was just fine with that, happy to attend, to enjoy the spirit of competition and physical prowess of those hellbent on emblazoning their names into the ledgers of merit.
Young Rene finished her snack, Melba right there to provide a linen for her hands and goblet of water. With such out of the way, she divided her attention across the field, watching those below vie for the highest place.
Smiling encouragingly as Daniil cooperated with his little pantomime, Yiannis nodded. Of course she could not participate the way she might have liked- very few women could. He wondered why none of them pushed harder against societal restriction, only to think of his mother’s disapproval when its scorching rays scoured him. He couldn’t imagine how Yanni would react if Asia tried to participate in climbing. He wished he could see Daniil perform in events she was best suited for. Very few people were more impressive than when they acted in their element.
“Regardless of your skill, I am sure you would have impressed us all with your daring. Stubbornness is a virtue in athletics, if in nothing else.”
Yiannis watched intently (perhaps too intently) as Lesley removed his tunica. He admired the man’s bare chest and arms for a few moments before realizing he had been staring. He turned away from Lesley’s patchwork of scars and tattoos to look ahead at the course. Competitors would need to swing from one rope to the next before climbing onto a platform. Then, they would climb down a rope net before finally climbing up the makeshift ladder. By the time Lesley had swung to the second rope, Yiannis’ eyes were on him once more. The judge yelped at Lesley’s impressive speed, and Yiannis found himself somehow shocked as well. Clearly, the man was strong, but more importantly, he was skilled. He had not expected that out of the gladiator; no matter how many battles they won, after all, they lacked the training available to princes. Yiannis clapped vigorously, cheering.
Now, though, he watched the other competitors. During his own events, Yiannis had paid less attention to those performing in other events, except those he had spoken to personally. Now, spectating from the audience, he took in the whole arena. He spotted Valerius, who he knew had participated in some of the same events as him already, although he had not noted his performance at the time. He watched as the man took his starting position in the sprints. Standing alongside Timaeus of Valaoritis, the two made quite the pair- Yiannis recalled their earlier boasting about intending to complete all of the events. He wondered which of the two had racked up more victories so far.
“Lady Daniil, which of those men is favored to win here today? They both vowed to complete all six events, but no man can master all skills. What rumors have you heard of Timaeus and his companion’s chances?”
As the sprinters raced, Yiannis watched in eager anticipation. Unlike the discus, javelin, or archery events, climbing and sprinting had a forward momentum to them, and a more urgent, immediate competitive fervor. If Yiannis had been even a bit faster, he would have much preferred to take part in such events. Instead, he watched, living vicariously through Valerius, Timaeus, and their less ambitious (all events!) competitors. When Valerius rang the bell, Yiannis cheered, loud enough to be heard as a distinct voice by some of the nearby athletes.
“Perhaps you and I should practice with blades together,” Yiannis said off-handedly, not even looking to see Daniil’s reaction. “If your family would allow it, of course. I would be glad to see you perform in events that is better suited to your skills.”
Next, these all-events performers moved on to the balance beams. Valerius moved cautiously, making admirable enough progress, until he slipped off the beam. Wincing sympathetically, Yiannis looked away from the man’s fall, before looking back to satisfy himself that there had not been serious damage. Despite his fall, Valerius continued on to the climbing course. Yiannis wondered if it was just the sheltered young princeling in him that blanched at the thought of competing on a broken ankle, but he would never have kept going if he had fallen off the beam in a similar manner, no matter how much it embarrassed him and his family. Yiannis kept an eye on Timaeus as well. He knew that this would likely be one of the man’s better events.
Ultimately, despite his stellar performance during the sprint, Valerius’ ended his day in the arena poorly, after falling from both the balance beam and the rope net, falling short of his goal. Yiannis reminded himself to congratulate the man on his efforts anyway- he had only tried for three events, himself, wanting to minimize the day’s failures. Yiannis clapped politely as contestants began completing their final events. Soon, it would be time for food, drink, and less formal competitions. He looked forward to meeting some of the other athletes once more.
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Smiling encouragingly as Daniil cooperated with his little pantomime, Yiannis nodded. Of course she could not participate the way she might have liked- very few women could. He wondered why none of them pushed harder against societal restriction, only to think of his mother’s disapproval when its scorching rays scoured him. He couldn’t imagine how Yanni would react if Asia tried to participate in climbing. He wished he could see Daniil perform in events she was best suited for. Very few people were more impressive than when they acted in their element.
“Regardless of your skill, I am sure you would have impressed us all with your daring. Stubbornness is a virtue in athletics, if in nothing else.”
Yiannis watched intently (perhaps too intently) as Lesley removed his tunica. He admired the man’s bare chest and arms for a few moments before realizing he had been staring. He turned away from Lesley’s patchwork of scars and tattoos to look ahead at the course. Competitors would need to swing from one rope to the next before climbing onto a platform. Then, they would climb down a rope net before finally climbing up the makeshift ladder. By the time Lesley had swung to the second rope, Yiannis’ eyes were on him once more. The judge yelped at Lesley’s impressive speed, and Yiannis found himself somehow shocked as well. Clearly, the man was strong, but more importantly, he was skilled. He had not expected that out of the gladiator; no matter how many battles they won, after all, they lacked the training available to princes. Yiannis clapped vigorously, cheering.
Now, though, he watched the other competitors. During his own events, Yiannis had paid less attention to those performing in other events, except those he had spoken to personally. Now, spectating from the audience, he took in the whole arena. He spotted Valerius, who he knew had participated in some of the same events as him already, although he had not noted his performance at the time. He watched as the man took his starting position in the sprints. Standing alongside Timaeus of Valaoritis, the two made quite the pair- Yiannis recalled their earlier boasting about intending to complete all of the events. He wondered which of the two had racked up more victories so far.
“Lady Daniil, which of those men is favored to win here today? They both vowed to complete all six events, but no man can master all skills. What rumors have you heard of Timaeus and his companion’s chances?”
As the sprinters raced, Yiannis watched in eager anticipation. Unlike the discus, javelin, or archery events, climbing and sprinting had a forward momentum to them, and a more urgent, immediate competitive fervor. If Yiannis had been even a bit faster, he would have much preferred to take part in such events. Instead, he watched, living vicariously through Valerius, Timaeus, and their less ambitious (all events!) competitors. When Valerius rang the bell, Yiannis cheered, loud enough to be heard as a distinct voice by some of the nearby athletes.
“Perhaps you and I should practice with blades together,” Yiannis said off-handedly, not even looking to see Daniil’s reaction. “If your family would allow it, of course. I would be glad to see you perform in events that is better suited to your skills.”
Next, these all-events performers moved on to the balance beams. Valerius moved cautiously, making admirable enough progress, until he slipped off the beam. Wincing sympathetically, Yiannis looked away from the man’s fall, before looking back to satisfy himself that there had not been serious damage. Despite his fall, Valerius continued on to the climbing course. Yiannis wondered if it was just the sheltered young princeling in him that blanched at the thought of competing on a broken ankle, but he would never have kept going if he had fallen off the beam in a similar manner, no matter how much it embarrassed him and his family. Yiannis kept an eye on Timaeus as well. He knew that this would likely be one of the man’s better events.
Ultimately, despite his stellar performance during the sprint, Valerius’ ended his day in the arena poorly, after falling from both the balance beam and the rope net, falling short of his goal. Yiannis reminded himself to congratulate the man on his efforts anyway- he had only tried for three events, himself, wanting to minimize the day’s failures. Yiannis clapped politely as contestants began completing their final events. Soon, it would be time for food, drink, and less formal competitions. He looked forward to meeting some of the other athletes once more.
Smiling encouragingly as Daniil cooperated with his little pantomime, Yiannis nodded. Of course she could not participate the way she might have liked- very few women could. He wondered why none of them pushed harder against societal restriction, only to think of his mother’s disapproval when its scorching rays scoured him. He couldn’t imagine how Yanni would react if Asia tried to participate in climbing. He wished he could see Daniil perform in events she was best suited for. Very few people were more impressive than when they acted in their element.
“Regardless of your skill, I am sure you would have impressed us all with your daring. Stubbornness is a virtue in athletics, if in nothing else.”
Yiannis watched intently (perhaps too intently) as Lesley removed his tunica. He admired the man’s bare chest and arms for a few moments before realizing he had been staring. He turned away from Lesley’s patchwork of scars and tattoos to look ahead at the course. Competitors would need to swing from one rope to the next before climbing onto a platform. Then, they would climb down a rope net before finally climbing up the makeshift ladder. By the time Lesley had swung to the second rope, Yiannis’ eyes were on him once more. The judge yelped at Lesley’s impressive speed, and Yiannis found himself somehow shocked as well. Clearly, the man was strong, but more importantly, he was skilled. He had not expected that out of the gladiator; no matter how many battles they won, after all, they lacked the training available to princes. Yiannis clapped vigorously, cheering.
Now, though, he watched the other competitors. During his own events, Yiannis had paid less attention to those performing in other events, except those he had spoken to personally. Now, spectating from the audience, he took in the whole arena. He spotted Valerius, who he knew had participated in some of the same events as him already, although he had not noted his performance at the time. He watched as the man took his starting position in the sprints. Standing alongside Timaeus of Valaoritis, the two made quite the pair- Yiannis recalled their earlier boasting about intending to complete all of the events. He wondered which of the two had racked up more victories so far.
“Lady Daniil, which of those men is favored to win here today? They both vowed to complete all six events, but no man can master all skills. What rumors have you heard of Timaeus and his companion’s chances?”
As the sprinters raced, Yiannis watched in eager anticipation. Unlike the discus, javelin, or archery events, climbing and sprinting had a forward momentum to them, and a more urgent, immediate competitive fervor. If Yiannis had been even a bit faster, he would have much preferred to take part in such events. Instead, he watched, living vicariously through Valerius, Timaeus, and their less ambitious (all events!) competitors. When Valerius rang the bell, Yiannis cheered, loud enough to be heard as a distinct voice by some of the nearby athletes.
“Perhaps you and I should practice with blades together,” Yiannis said off-handedly, not even looking to see Daniil’s reaction. “If your family would allow it, of course. I would be glad to see you perform in events that is better suited to your skills.”
Next, these all-events performers moved on to the balance beams. Valerius moved cautiously, making admirable enough progress, until he slipped off the beam. Wincing sympathetically, Yiannis looked away from the man’s fall, before looking back to satisfy himself that there had not been serious damage. Despite his fall, Valerius continued on to the climbing course. Yiannis wondered if it was just the sheltered young princeling in him that blanched at the thought of competing on a broken ankle, but he would never have kept going if he had fallen off the beam in a similar manner, no matter how much it embarrassed him and his family. Yiannis kept an eye on Timaeus as well. He knew that this would likely be one of the man’s better events.
Ultimately, despite his stellar performance during the sprint, Valerius’ ended his day in the arena poorly, after falling from both the balance beam and the rope net, falling short of his goal. Yiannis reminded himself to congratulate the man on his efforts anyway- he had only tried for three events, himself, wanting to minimize the day’s failures. Yiannis clapped politely as contestants began completing their final events. Soon, it would be time for food, drink, and less formal competitions. He looked forward to meeting some of the other athletes once more.
Ophelia seldom had reason to leave the Kingdom of Taengea: typically she remained where she was, travelling only provincially. But an event like this was certain to be a spectacle moth worthy of her witness, furthermore she had heard rumours that several men in her acquaintance would be competing. She felt it would be a slight upon them not to attend. After all, were she participating in an important event, she would certainly want her friends there to cheer her on, and so she had resolved to do exactly that. She might herself have decided to participate in the archery contest, for she was known to be very proficient with her bow, but Mihail of Thanassi was participating. Indeed, this was one of the main reasons for her journey. Mihail was a particularly good friend of her brother's. It would not do to compete against him, nor would she wish to.
She had made provisions of course, first acquiring her family's blessing before arranging a retinue of guards and servants to accompany her on her journey. To the actual event, she had brought only two of these servants and one of the guards, as they had mostly been for her convenience on the road.
She had managed to acquire one of the best seats in the stands, one with an excellent vantage point of both the arcus and the crowds. The games had yet to begin, and the scribes were circling the competitors, taking their names and making note of which games they would be entering. Bookies worked the crowd, their silver tongues whispering promises of great fortune to those who could only name the ones that the Gods would favour.
She soon spotted Mihail in the centre of the arcus, though he had yet to notice her. She doubted he would, for he was clearly focused only on the competition. She noted that his style of dress was drastically altered and his bow one of the finest she had seen in a long time. There was still a while before the games were due to begin. She considered making her way over to him, but his disdainful expression deterred her. He needs to concentrate, she told herself. He would not appreciate your company at present.
She had just resolved to make her greeting later when she noticed a man she knew not approach Mihail, followed by another. Who is that? She wondered. She had never seen either before. Were they foreign, then?
Before she had much time to consider them, a tall man approached her. He was larger than most, his hearty stomach wobbling with each step he took, but the smile he offered shone with genuine warmth. "Would the beautiful lady like to place a bet?" he enquired, his voice a little high for a man of his age yet not unpleasant in tambre. Ophelia's gaze swept the arcus once again, taking in each and every competitor. "Do you have a list of the competitors and which events I can expect to see them in?" she questioned. This day was supposed to be about fun, after all. There was no harm in a little innocent betting. "Why, of course! If you will permit me, I will enlighten you, my dear Lady of Condos."
She granted the man permission to sit with her, sending one of the servants away to fetch freshments, though she kept the other, and her guard, close at her side. The man unfolded a long piece of parchment and began to read off the names of different competitors to her. To his credit, he would add information about those he knew, providing her with what seemed like an honest analysis of their strengths and weaknesses. He spoke very highly of Mihail's archery skills, though she needed no encouragement to place a bet on him. "Yiannis...he is a foreign Prince, is he not?... I shall place my bet on him for the discus, Lesley for the climb..." she thought a moment longer, evaluating all he had told her about the competitors. "That newcomer, Phaedros...I believe I will place my bet on them for the javelin." "Is that wise, My Lady?" "Perhaps, perhaps not, but mayhaps if will give them some confidence to know they have a supporter." The kind man chuckled. "I daresay it will. And...for the balance, My Lady?" "Captain Valerius."
Naturally she placed the most money on Mihail, but she was careful not to bet too much. Even the man with the paternal smile noted her wisdom on this. As the horn rang out, she bid him adieu before settling back in her seat. Her servant had at this point returned with sweet red wine and a platter of food. She took a quail's egg from the spread, unshelling it delicately.
Next came the entertainers. While the arcus was being readied, the stands came alive. Ophelia beckoned forth a girl no older than twelve, smiling encouragingly at the instrument she held in her hand. "Play your lyre, little one," she instructed gently, receiving in response a beautiful and intricate melody. She handed the girl a few coins, praising her lovely tune.
At present, Lesley was taking his turn at the javelin. He was good. Not the best she had ever seen, but far better than most. But as she flicked her eyes to the archery station, she noticed Mihail about to take his turn. She watched him carefully as he took his designated spot, his moves graceful and efficient. There was no way that she would have won if she had competed against him. Skilled archer though she was, he was on an entirely different level. She grinned as his arrow soared like a bird through the air, burying itself in the target's very centre. Two more arrows followed, the second and third landing within a hair's breadth of the first. She brought her hands together, though her applause was lost to the much louder cries of other members of the crowd, all clapping and cheering for other competitors of different games, though she knew that some -- if not much -- if that applause had to be for Mihail. The first shot of his second target was pure perfection, a mirror image of his very first shot, but Ophelia could tell that he was displeased with his second. Some might have missed it, but that slight smile that curved at the corners of his lips only a moment ago was gone now, much to her dismay. She had thought it an excellent shot, but what did she know? He was far more practised than she. Perhaps he had made some minor error that she had failed to catch. She noticed that he took far longer with his third arrow. Over the three years that she had known him, she had come to realize that Mihail was meticulous in everything he did. He was even more of a perfectionist than she was, which was one of the reasons she had such great respect for him. He missed nothing, left nothing to chance.
And it payed off.
His arrow buried itself right in the centre, splitting the wood of another to centre them both. Again she brought her hands together, more enthusiastically this time.
Yiannis was making his way over to the discuss. Ophelia followed him with her gaze, deciding to congratulate Mihail on what would certainly be a win later on. Oh, dear...he was most definitely not going to win this competition. His left handed throws were abysmal, and that was being polite. Still, it mattered not. She had bet little on him as she knew little of him, she would not lose much. At least he seemed to be a nice man; he was still smiling, so perhaps he was competing merely for the fun of it. His right hand throws were better at least. Or at least they were...until his final throw. Ophelia sucked in a sharp breath as the man lost his grip on the discuss, the item crashing to the ground at his feet. He mouthed something under his breath, but she had no idea what it was. Probably a word she would not have known the meaning of even if the had heard it. Pity welled inside her for the man as she watched him give his curt salute to the crowd, but there was nothing she could do to soothe his wounded pride. Perhaps he would make a later appearance at another event; perhaps would be do better there and all would be mended.
Oh, now he was going for the archery...
Interested to see how he did in comparison to Mihail, she turned her gaze on him once more. She was soon satisfied, however, that Mihail had nothing to worry about. She was torn between a mixture of relief -- for she had bet quite a bit more on Mihail than on the other competitors -- joy, because her friend was one step closer to victory, and a deepening sense of pity for the unfortunate foreigner who seemed to be suffering one humiliation after another.
Oh. So javelin was what he was good at...
With Yiannis's skill finally revealed, Ophelia's hope for Phaedros faded, but she did find happiness in the fact that the foreigner had been able to redeem himself.
Ah, it was time for the balance, and there was Captain Valerius. As she spotted him, a small snippet of conversation caught her attention. Two ladies were whispering excitedly in the seats above. It had been the name 'Yiannis' that had caught her attention. At first she thought that they might be discussing his performance, but she was very wrong. "...a Prince with eyes for a commoner." "NOt unheard of." "No, but certainly unseemly."
A commoner? Which commoner? She was just about to turn and ask them when Valerius took his place on the beam. She watched intently, hoping that his footwork would be sure and his movements lithe. But no. He was too cautious. He was overthinking, she could tell. And then he looked down! He actually looked down! Does he not know looking down is the stupidest thing you can do?! She let out an exasperated sigh, already knowing that this was not going to end well. Looking down would be his downfall. Oh, maybe I was wrong, she thought, watching as he carefully placed one foot in front of the other. There had been no disasters thus far. I really must learn not to be so pessimist --
And then he fell, toppling from the beam and onto the ground, his ankle twisting in the process. She let out a sigh, disappointedly shaking her head. Oh well, his ankle will hurt more than our treasury.
As she averted her gaze, it fell upon a pair of large, expressive blue eyes. Ophelia had never met this girl in person, but she did recognize her. From portraits she had seen, she was able to identify the youthful beauty. The girl was undoubtedly Lady Rene, youngest member of the House of Nickolaos. Her portraits had certainly rendered her well, for she was just as Ophelia had imagined her -- the very epitome of youthful innocence. Ophelia too gave off an appearance of sweetness. Her peplos was on the palest lilac with golden thread subtly woven into the silken fabric, pinned at both shoulders with fibulae in the shape of golden roses. Golden bangles encrusted with amethysts sparkled at her wrists, and a delicate chain of braided gold from which dangled an amethyst pendant in the shape of a teardrop clung to her slender neck. Her hair dark was left loose, a circlet matching her necklace crowning her lustrous waves.
She did not know what it was that caused her to approach Rene. Perhaps it was that the girl was sitting alone, like she had been. She had gone without company for far too long. Perhaps Rene would welcome an introduction from a Lady of another noble house. Was that not why ladies attended such events, after all? Although of marriageable age, she doubted the girl would be too concerned with finding a suitor at present, but perhaps she would not turn turn away a female acquaintance, especially one of more advanced years.
"Keep a distance but ensure I do not leave your field of vision," she instructed her guard, not wanting the man's presence to alarm the young girl. Her servants she instructed to remain within her sight. Then she approached, sinking into a curtsy before the girl. "You are Lady Rene of House Nickolaos, are you not? I am Lady Ophelia of the House of Condos, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
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Ophelia seldom had reason to leave the Kingdom of Taengea: typically she remained where she was, travelling only provincially. But an event like this was certain to be a spectacle moth worthy of her witness, furthermore she had heard rumours that several men in her acquaintance would be competing. She felt it would be a slight upon them not to attend. After all, were she participating in an important event, she would certainly want her friends there to cheer her on, and so she had resolved to do exactly that. She might herself have decided to participate in the archery contest, for she was known to be very proficient with her bow, but Mihail of Thanassi was participating. Indeed, this was one of the main reasons for her journey. Mihail was a particularly good friend of her brother's. It would not do to compete against him, nor would she wish to.
She had made provisions of course, first acquiring her family's blessing before arranging a retinue of guards and servants to accompany her on her journey. To the actual event, she had brought only two of these servants and one of the guards, as they had mostly been for her convenience on the road.
She had managed to acquire one of the best seats in the stands, one with an excellent vantage point of both the arcus and the crowds. The games had yet to begin, and the scribes were circling the competitors, taking their names and making note of which games they would be entering. Bookies worked the crowd, their silver tongues whispering promises of great fortune to those who could only name the ones that the Gods would favour.
She soon spotted Mihail in the centre of the arcus, though he had yet to notice her. She doubted he would, for he was clearly focused only on the competition. She noted that his style of dress was drastically altered and his bow one of the finest she had seen in a long time. There was still a while before the games were due to begin. She considered making her way over to him, but his disdainful expression deterred her. He needs to concentrate, she told herself. He would not appreciate your company at present.
She had just resolved to make her greeting later when she noticed a man she knew not approach Mihail, followed by another. Who is that? She wondered. She had never seen either before. Were they foreign, then?
Before she had much time to consider them, a tall man approached her. He was larger than most, his hearty stomach wobbling with each step he took, but the smile he offered shone with genuine warmth. "Would the beautiful lady like to place a bet?" he enquired, his voice a little high for a man of his age yet not unpleasant in tambre. Ophelia's gaze swept the arcus once again, taking in each and every competitor. "Do you have a list of the competitors and which events I can expect to see them in?" she questioned. This day was supposed to be about fun, after all. There was no harm in a little innocent betting. "Why, of course! If you will permit me, I will enlighten you, my dear Lady of Condos."
She granted the man permission to sit with her, sending one of the servants away to fetch freshments, though she kept the other, and her guard, close at her side. The man unfolded a long piece of parchment and began to read off the names of different competitors to her. To his credit, he would add information about those he knew, providing her with what seemed like an honest analysis of their strengths and weaknesses. He spoke very highly of Mihail's archery skills, though she needed no encouragement to place a bet on him. "Yiannis...he is a foreign Prince, is he not?... I shall place my bet on him for the discus, Lesley for the climb..." she thought a moment longer, evaluating all he had told her about the competitors. "That newcomer, Phaedros...I believe I will place my bet on them for the javelin." "Is that wise, My Lady?" "Perhaps, perhaps not, but mayhaps if will give them some confidence to know they have a supporter." The kind man chuckled. "I daresay it will. And...for the balance, My Lady?" "Captain Valerius."
Naturally she placed the most money on Mihail, but she was careful not to bet too much. Even the man with the paternal smile noted her wisdom on this. As the horn rang out, she bid him adieu before settling back in her seat. Her servant had at this point returned with sweet red wine and a platter of food. She took a quail's egg from the spread, unshelling it delicately.
Next came the entertainers. While the arcus was being readied, the stands came alive. Ophelia beckoned forth a girl no older than twelve, smiling encouragingly at the instrument she held in her hand. "Play your lyre, little one," she instructed gently, receiving in response a beautiful and intricate melody. She handed the girl a few coins, praising her lovely tune.
At present, Lesley was taking his turn at the javelin. He was good. Not the best she had ever seen, but far better than most. But as she flicked her eyes to the archery station, she noticed Mihail about to take his turn. She watched him carefully as he took his designated spot, his moves graceful and efficient. There was no way that she would have won if she had competed against him. Skilled archer though she was, he was on an entirely different level. She grinned as his arrow soared like a bird through the air, burying itself in the target's very centre. Two more arrows followed, the second and third landing within a hair's breadth of the first. She brought her hands together, though her applause was lost to the much louder cries of other members of the crowd, all clapping and cheering for other competitors of different games, though she knew that some -- if not much -- if that applause had to be for Mihail. The first shot of his second target was pure perfection, a mirror image of his very first shot, but Ophelia could tell that he was displeased with his second. Some might have missed it, but that slight smile that curved at the corners of his lips only a moment ago was gone now, much to her dismay. She had thought it an excellent shot, but what did she know? He was far more practised than she. Perhaps he had made some minor error that she had failed to catch. She noticed that he took far longer with his third arrow. Over the three years that she had known him, she had come to realize that Mihail was meticulous in everything he did. He was even more of a perfectionist than she was, which was one of the reasons she had such great respect for him. He missed nothing, left nothing to chance.
And it payed off.
His arrow buried itself right in the centre, splitting the wood of another to centre them both. Again she brought her hands together, more enthusiastically this time.
Yiannis was making his way over to the discuss. Ophelia followed him with her gaze, deciding to congratulate Mihail on what would certainly be a win later on. Oh, dear...he was most definitely not going to win this competition. His left handed throws were abysmal, and that was being polite. Still, it mattered not. She had bet little on him as she knew little of him, she would not lose much. At least he seemed to be a nice man; he was still smiling, so perhaps he was competing merely for the fun of it. His right hand throws were better at least. Or at least they were...until his final throw. Ophelia sucked in a sharp breath as the man lost his grip on the discuss, the item crashing to the ground at his feet. He mouthed something under his breath, but she had no idea what it was. Probably a word she would not have known the meaning of even if the had heard it. Pity welled inside her for the man as she watched him give his curt salute to the crowd, but there was nothing she could do to soothe his wounded pride. Perhaps he would make a later appearance at another event; perhaps would be do better there and all would be mended.
Oh, now he was going for the archery...
Interested to see how he did in comparison to Mihail, she turned her gaze on him once more. She was soon satisfied, however, that Mihail had nothing to worry about. She was torn between a mixture of relief -- for she had bet quite a bit more on Mihail than on the other competitors -- joy, because her friend was one step closer to victory, and a deepening sense of pity for the unfortunate foreigner who seemed to be suffering one humiliation after another.
Oh. So javelin was what he was good at...
With Yiannis's skill finally revealed, Ophelia's hope for Phaedros faded, but she did find happiness in the fact that the foreigner had been able to redeem himself.
Ah, it was time for the balance, and there was Captain Valerius. As she spotted him, a small snippet of conversation caught her attention. Two ladies were whispering excitedly in the seats above. It had been the name 'Yiannis' that had caught her attention. At first she thought that they might be discussing his performance, but she was very wrong. "...a Prince with eyes for a commoner." "NOt unheard of." "No, but certainly unseemly."
A commoner? Which commoner? She was just about to turn and ask them when Valerius took his place on the beam. She watched intently, hoping that his footwork would be sure and his movements lithe. But no. He was too cautious. He was overthinking, she could tell. And then he looked down! He actually looked down! Does he not know looking down is the stupidest thing you can do?! She let out an exasperated sigh, already knowing that this was not going to end well. Looking down would be his downfall. Oh, maybe I was wrong, she thought, watching as he carefully placed one foot in front of the other. There had been no disasters thus far. I really must learn not to be so pessimist --
And then he fell, toppling from the beam and onto the ground, his ankle twisting in the process. She let out a sigh, disappointedly shaking her head. Oh well, his ankle will hurt more than our treasury.
As she averted her gaze, it fell upon a pair of large, expressive blue eyes. Ophelia had never met this girl in person, but she did recognize her. From portraits she had seen, she was able to identify the youthful beauty. The girl was undoubtedly Lady Rene, youngest member of the House of Nickolaos. Her portraits had certainly rendered her well, for she was just as Ophelia had imagined her -- the very epitome of youthful innocence. Ophelia too gave off an appearance of sweetness. Her peplos was on the palest lilac with golden thread subtly woven into the silken fabric, pinned at both shoulders with fibulae in the shape of golden roses. Golden bangles encrusted with amethysts sparkled at her wrists, and a delicate chain of braided gold from which dangled an amethyst pendant in the shape of a teardrop clung to her slender neck. Her hair dark was left loose, a circlet matching her necklace crowning her lustrous waves.
She did not know what it was that caused her to approach Rene. Perhaps it was that the girl was sitting alone, like she had been. She had gone without company for far too long. Perhaps Rene would welcome an introduction from a Lady of another noble house. Was that not why ladies attended such events, after all? Although of marriageable age, she doubted the girl would be too concerned with finding a suitor at present, but perhaps she would not turn turn away a female acquaintance, especially one of more advanced years.
"Keep a distance but ensure I do not leave your field of vision," she instructed her guard, not wanting the man's presence to alarm the young girl. Her servants she instructed to remain within her sight. Then she approached, sinking into a curtsy before the girl. "You are Lady Rene of House Nickolaos, are you not? I am Lady Ophelia of the House of Condos, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Ophelia seldom had reason to leave the Kingdom of Taengea: typically she remained where she was, travelling only provincially. But an event like this was certain to be a spectacle moth worthy of her witness, furthermore she had heard rumours that several men in her acquaintance would be competing. She felt it would be a slight upon them not to attend. After all, were she participating in an important event, she would certainly want her friends there to cheer her on, and so she had resolved to do exactly that. She might herself have decided to participate in the archery contest, for she was known to be very proficient with her bow, but Mihail of Thanassi was participating. Indeed, this was one of the main reasons for her journey. Mihail was a particularly good friend of her brother's. It would not do to compete against him, nor would she wish to.
She had made provisions of course, first acquiring her family's blessing before arranging a retinue of guards and servants to accompany her on her journey. To the actual event, she had brought only two of these servants and one of the guards, as they had mostly been for her convenience on the road.
She had managed to acquire one of the best seats in the stands, one with an excellent vantage point of both the arcus and the crowds. The games had yet to begin, and the scribes were circling the competitors, taking their names and making note of which games they would be entering. Bookies worked the crowd, their silver tongues whispering promises of great fortune to those who could only name the ones that the Gods would favour.
She soon spotted Mihail in the centre of the arcus, though he had yet to notice her. She doubted he would, for he was clearly focused only on the competition. She noted that his style of dress was drastically altered and his bow one of the finest she had seen in a long time. There was still a while before the games were due to begin. She considered making her way over to him, but his disdainful expression deterred her. He needs to concentrate, she told herself. He would not appreciate your company at present.
She had just resolved to make her greeting later when she noticed a man she knew not approach Mihail, followed by another. Who is that? She wondered. She had never seen either before. Were they foreign, then?
Before she had much time to consider them, a tall man approached her. He was larger than most, his hearty stomach wobbling with each step he took, but the smile he offered shone with genuine warmth. "Would the beautiful lady like to place a bet?" he enquired, his voice a little high for a man of his age yet not unpleasant in tambre. Ophelia's gaze swept the arcus once again, taking in each and every competitor. "Do you have a list of the competitors and which events I can expect to see them in?" she questioned. This day was supposed to be about fun, after all. There was no harm in a little innocent betting. "Why, of course! If you will permit me, I will enlighten you, my dear Lady of Condos."
She granted the man permission to sit with her, sending one of the servants away to fetch freshments, though she kept the other, and her guard, close at her side. The man unfolded a long piece of parchment and began to read off the names of different competitors to her. To his credit, he would add information about those he knew, providing her with what seemed like an honest analysis of their strengths and weaknesses. He spoke very highly of Mihail's archery skills, though she needed no encouragement to place a bet on him. "Yiannis...he is a foreign Prince, is he not?... I shall place my bet on him for the discus, Lesley for the climb..." she thought a moment longer, evaluating all he had told her about the competitors. "That newcomer, Phaedros...I believe I will place my bet on them for the javelin." "Is that wise, My Lady?" "Perhaps, perhaps not, but mayhaps if will give them some confidence to know they have a supporter." The kind man chuckled. "I daresay it will. And...for the balance, My Lady?" "Captain Valerius."
Naturally she placed the most money on Mihail, but she was careful not to bet too much. Even the man with the paternal smile noted her wisdom on this. As the horn rang out, she bid him adieu before settling back in her seat. Her servant had at this point returned with sweet red wine and a platter of food. She took a quail's egg from the spread, unshelling it delicately.
Next came the entertainers. While the arcus was being readied, the stands came alive. Ophelia beckoned forth a girl no older than twelve, smiling encouragingly at the instrument she held in her hand. "Play your lyre, little one," she instructed gently, receiving in response a beautiful and intricate melody. She handed the girl a few coins, praising her lovely tune.
At present, Lesley was taking his turn at the javelin. He was good. Not the best she had ever seen, but far better than most. But as she flicked her eyes to the archery station, she noticed Mihail about to take his turn. She watched him carefully as he took his designated spot, his moves graceful and efficient. There was no way that she would have won if she had competed against him. Skilled archer though she was, he was on an entirely different level. She grinned as his arrow soared like a bird through the air, burying itself in the target's very centre. Two more arrows followed, the second and third landing within a hair's breadth of the first. She brought her hands together, though her applause was lost to the much louder cries of other members of the crowd, all clapping and cheering for other competitors of different games, though she knew that some -- if not much -- if that applause had to be for Mihail. The first shot of his second target was pure perfection, a mirror image of his very first shot, but Ophelia could tell that he was displeased with his second. Some might have missed it, but that slight smile that curved at the corners of his lips only a moment ago was gone now, much to her dismay. She had thought it an excellent shot, but what did she know? He was far more practised than she. Perhaps he had made some minor error that she had failed to catch. She noticed that he took far longer with his third arrow. Over the three years that she had known him, she had come to realize that Mihail was meticulous in everything he did. He was even more of a perfectionist than she was, which was one of the reasons she had such great respect for him. He missed nothing, left nothing to chance.
And it payed off.
His arrow buried itself right in the centre, splitting the wood of another to centre them both. Again she brought her hands together, more enthusiastically this time.
Yiannis was making his way over to the discuss. Ophelia followed him with her gaze, deciding to congratulate Mihail on what would certainly be a win later on. Oh, dear...he was most definitely not going to win this competition. His left handed throws were abysmal, and that was being polite. Still, it mattered not. She had bet little on him as she knew little of him, she would not lose much. At least he seemed to be a nice man; he was still smiling, so perhaps he was competing merely for the fun of it. His right hand throws were better at least. Or at least they were...until his final throw. Ophelia sucked in a sharp breath as the man lost his grip on the discuss, the item crashing to the ground at his feet. He mouthed something under his breath, but she had no idea what it was. Probably a word she would not have known the meaning of even if the had heard it. Pity welled inside her for the man as she watched him give his curt salute to the crowd, but there was nothing she could do to soothe his wounded pride. Perhaps he would make a later appearance at another event; perhaps would be do better there and all would be mended.
Oh, now he was going for the archery...
Interested to see how he did in comparison to Mihail, she turned her gaze on him once more. She was soon satisfied, however, that Mihail had nothing to worry about. She was torn between a mixture of relief -- for she had bet quite a bit more on Mihail than on the other competitors -- joy, because her friend was one step closer to victory, and a deepening sense of pity for the unfortunate foreigner who seemed to be suffering one humiliation after another.
Oh. So javelin was what he was good at...
With Yiannis's skill finally revealed, Ophelia's hope for Phaedros faded, but she did find happiness in the fact that the foreigner had been able to redeem himself.
Ah, it was time for the balance, and there was Captain Valerius. As she spotted him, a small snippet of conversation caught her attention. Two ladies were whispering excitedly in the seats above. It had been the name 'Yiannis' that had caught her attention. At first she thought that they might be discussing his performance, but she was very wrong. "...a Prince with eyes for a commoner." "NOt unheard of." "No, but certainly unseemly."
A commoner? Which commoner? She was just about to turn and ask them when Valerius took his place on the beam. She watched intently, hoping that his footwork would be sure and his movements lithe. But no. He was too cautious. He was overthinking, she could tell. And then he looked down! He actually looked down! Does he not know looking down is the stupidest thing you can do?! She let out an exasperated sigh, already knowing that this was not going to end well. Looking down would be his downfall. Oh, maybe I was wrong, she thought, watching as he carefully placed one foot in front of the other. There had been no disasters thus far. I really must learn not to be so pessimist --
And then he fell, toppling from the beam and onto the ground, his ankle twisting in the process. She let out a sigh, disappointedly shaking her head. Oh well, his ankle will hurt more than our treasury.
As she averted her gaze, it fell upon a pair of large, expressive blue eyes. Ophelia had never met this girl in person, but she did recognize her. From portraits she had seen, she was able to identify the youthful beauty. The girl was undoubtedly Lady Rene, youngest member of the House of Nickolaos. Her portraits had certainly rendered her well, for she was just as Ophelia had imagined her -- the very epitome of youthful innocence. Ophelia too gave off an appearance of sweetness. Her peplos was on the palest lilac with golden thread subtly woven into the silken fabric, pinned at both shoulders with fibulae in the shape of golden roses. Golden bangles encrusted with amethysts sparkled at her wrists, and a delicate chain of braided gold from which dangled an amethyst pendant in the shape of a teardrop clung to her slender neck. Her hair dark was left loose, a circlet matching her necklace crowning her lustrous waves.
She did not know what it was that caused her to approach Rene. Perhaps it was that the girl was sitting alone, like she had been. She had gone without company for far too long. Perhaps Rene would welcome an introduction from a Lady of another noble house. Was that not why ladies attended such events, after all? Although of marriageable age, she doubted the girl would be too concerned with finding a suitor at present, but perhaps she would not turn turn away a female acquaintance, especially one of more advanced years.
"Keep a distance but ensure I do not leave your field of vision," she instructed her guard, not wanting the man's presence to alarm the young girl. Her servants she instructed to remain within her sight. Then she approached, sinking into a curtsy before the girl. "You are Lady Rene of House Nickolaos, are you not? I am Lady Ophelia of the House of Condos, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Daniil returned his smile, a gleam entering her hazel eyes as she scooted closer and ran her hand up his back and then back down as a reminder that the cat was near to the surface.
She blushed at his words, playing the part of the demure little lady to a tee in that moment before she replied. "I would hope so my Lord. It is said that I inherited my father's stubborn manner among other things. I hope that there is a day where I can show off those skills in a non life threatening display."
She followed his eyes and noted that his gaze fell on Lesley. Oh now this is interesting. Maybe I should introduce them to each other?
She licked her lips at the idea that tumbled through her head. Her hand never left his back. They had shared much more imamate touches then this so she had little care for what anyone thought, though she knew that she should.
Daniil shifted her gaze to first Timaeus, her eyes narrowing slightly as she looked him over taking him in and making notes as she did so. She did the same of Valerius before she turned her gaze back to Yannis.
"I have not heard anything in the way of rumors, but I would agree with you. Competing all events would begin to wear one down and that would lead to mistakes and that could lead to injuries and the like." she told him. "Personally, I do believe that they are evenly matched."
She turned to watch the competition and then joined Yannis in cheering the winner of the event.
At his words Dani broke into a smile and said, "Oh I think Father would enjoy watching that show. I would gladly indulge you if my Prince so wishes." She gave him a small bow before she gave Yannis the smile that she reserved just for him and the gleam sparkled in her eyes.
"You have yet to meet my father? I could arrange it if you wished." she told him.
Dani fell silent as she watched the competitors on the beams. This was likely something she would have done well at thanks to her small feet. The key is to move lie you own the beam, not be timid and shy. she thought, sucking in air as she watched Valerius slip. She cringed in sympathy and her hand on Yannis' back moved as if to let him know everything was all right.
"There is someone, along with my father, I would like you introduce you too once this is done." she said as she moved her hand off his back and joined him in applauding the competitors.
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Daniil returned his smile, a gleam entering her hazel eyes as she scooted closer and ran her hand up his back and then back down as a reminder that the cat was near to the surface.
She blushed at his words, playing the part of the demure little lady to a tee in that moment before she replied. "I would hope so my Lord. It is said that I inherited my father's stubborn manner among other things. I hope that there is a day where I can show off those skills in a non life threatening display."
She followed his eyes and noted that his gaze fell on Lesley. Oh now this is interesting. Maybe I should introduce them to each other?
She licked her lips at the idea that tumbled through her head. Her hand never left his back. They had shared much more imamate touches then this so she had little care for what anyone thought, though she knew that she should.
Daniil shifted her gaze to first Timaeus, her eyes narrowing slightly as she looked him over taking him in and making notes as she did so. She did the same of Valerius before she turned her gaze back to Yannis.
"I have not heard anything in the way of rumors, but I would agree with you. Competing all events would begin to wear one down and that would lead to mistakes and that could lead to injuries and the like." she told him. "Personally, I do believe that they are evenly matched."
She turned to watch the competition and then joined Yannis in cheering the winner of the event.
At his words Dani broke into a smile and said, "Oh I think Father would enjoy watching that show. I would gladly indulge you if my Prince so wishes." She gave him a small bow before she gave Yannis the smile that she reserved just for him and the gleam sparkled in her eyes.
"You have yet to meet my father? I could arrange it if you wished." she told him.
Dani fell silent as she watched the competitors on the beams. This was likely something she would have done well at thanks to her small feet. The key is to move lie you own the beam, not be timid and shy. she thought, sucking in air as she watched Valerius slip. She cringed in sympathy and her hand on Yannis' back moved as if to let him know everything was all right.
"There is someone, along with my father, I would like you introduce you too once this is done." she said as she moved her hand off his back and joined him in applauding the competitors.
Daniil returned his smile, a gleam entering her hazel eyes as she scooted closer and ran her hand up his back and then back down as a reminder that the cat was near to the surface.
She blushed at his words, playing the part of the demure little lady to a tee in that moment before she replied. "I would hope so my Lord. It is said that I inherited my father's stubborn manner among other things. I hope that there is a day where I can show off those skills in a non life threatening display."
She followed his eyes and noted that his gaze fell on Lesley. Oh now this is interesting. Maybe I should introduce them to each other?
She licked her lips at the idea that tumbled through her head. Her hand never left his back. They had shared much more imamate touches then this so she had little care for what anyone thought, though she knew that she should.
Daniil shifted her gaze to first Timaeus, her eyes narrowing slightly as she looked him over taking him in and making notes as she did so. She did the same of Valerius before she turned her gaze back to Yannis.
"I have not heard anything in the way of rumors, but I would agree with you. Competing all events would begin to wear one down and that would lead to mistakes and that could lead to injuries and the like." she told him. "Personally, I do believe that they are evenly matched."
She turned to watch the competition and then joined Yannis in cheering the winner of the event.
At his words Dani broke into a smile and said, "Oh I think Father would enjoy watching that show. I would gladly indulge you if my Prince so wishes." She gave him a small bow before she gave Yannis the smile that she reserved just for him and the gleam sparkled in her eyes.
"You have yet to meet my father? I could arrange it if you wished." she told him.
Dani fell silent as she watched the competitors on the beams. This was likely something she would have done well at thanks to her small feet. The key is to move lie you own the beam, not be timid and shy. she thought, sucking in air as she watched Valerius slip. She cringed in sympathy and her hand on Yannis' back moved as if to let him know everything was all right.
"There is someone, along with my father, I would like you introduce you too once this is done." she said as she moved her hand off his back and joined him in applauding the competitors.
