The tavern was nothing special - in fact it was rather the opposite of special. In here all manner of people came, people Thesus would not normally engage socially with. There were foot soldiers, small market traders, farmers… lowborn one and all. The small folk talked about all manner of things like small folk were want to do. Thesus sat quietly nursing his cup of ale, listening to the general news in and around Colchis. The tavern he had chosen was close to the harbour, with the hopes that sailors brought news and tongues wagged the more they drank.

It wasn’t the best place to get news, but it was the best Thesus could do at the moment. He had spent what meagre earnings he could make (through various contractless employment ventures) on a solid meal and drink. He had never been hungry before in his life - not when he was a lord, nor when he was enslaved. In all his long years, he had never worried about where his next meal would come from. Now that he was back in Colchis, he had barely a penny to his name, and it was all he could think about to wonder how he would get through the next day.

Thesus’ homecoming hadn’t been what he had expected. Truth be told he didn’t know what he should have expected really… but he knew he hadn’t expected the first sighting of his wife in sixteen years to end so quickly and abruptly. She had recognised him, of that Thesus was felt he was certain. But Tythra’s eyes had held so much more than recognition. And it was in that moment that he knew she had mourned him for long years. Maybe she still did. Maybe she had moved on. There had been another girl in the house. A girl who looked to be four-and-ten years, maybe fifteen. Thesus had spent many hours mulling over the idea that Tythra had birthed another child with another man.

It wasn’t a pleasant thought… to know that his place was lost to him. It felt like a lifetime since he had returned to the archontiko Drakos, though in reality it had been no more than a few days. Thesus took another long drag of his ale, praying to any God who would listen to help him find his path. Perhaps things would have been easier if he had remained enslaved, never to return to Colchis. He missed his family dearly: his beautiful wife who was still so radiant, and his daughter who had grown up to be just as beautiful as her mother. He wanted them back, though maybe they didn’t want him back.

He needed to come up with a plan of sorts. He couldn’t continue with this life of finding drudge work where he could. He was a Drakos, meant for more. Meant for so much more. But what could he do? He had presented at the palace, though Tython was still away fighting another war against Colchis’ enemies. Egyptians this time, that was the word from both small folk and the palace. Thesus didn’t itch to bear arms again - the last time he had he had been presumed dead and found himself enslaved for sixteen years. His time in slavery had been physically demanding, so his body was still toned and designed for battle, thankfully. He was not some wretched waif of a man… but he had not held a sword, nor a spear, nor any type of weapon in the longest of times.

Still, he hadn’t answered his question about what he should do. Did he try to see his wife again? The man ripped off a bit of bread from the small loaf on the plate and dipped it in the watery stew before him. He bent over his bowl and took a bite and then washed it down with some more ale. The staff was ghastly, truth be told, but it was better than suffering an empty stomach.