In battle, Yiannis relived his glory days. For all that his father commanded the bulk of the Colchian forces, he contributed where surgical precision was needed rather than big-picture thinking. It worked like a synergistic balancing act, between Tython, Vangelis, and Yiannis himself. Damocles shot off like a loose cannon, as always, marshalling his forces with all the subtlety of a fire loosed from its torch. Still, Yiannis watched from a distance as the Damned claimed victories over the Egyptian forces. They admired the man, and continued to serve him ably. The men under Damcoles’ charge became as parts of his own body, performing whatever action he needed them to. They struck down the foreign soldiers, leaving a bloody trail behind them. Yiannis’ own forces had a smaller body count; they worked effectively but not efficiently, perhaps. If it were only them, the war would have been declared in the Egyptians’ favor, he thought darkly.

He recognized Damocles’ distinctive style in the movements of Colchian soldiers on the battlefield. Like his brother and father, Damocles exceled at strategic thinking and exuded a commanding presence. Yiannis, alone among the commanders, stood out for his choice of leadership style. Yet Damocles left his mark; his combined forces had declared temporary loyalty to the commander, despite the unofficial status of his leadership over quite a bit of his armies. Unlike Yiannis, who knew each of his soldiers as individuals, Damocles seemed to re-arrange and place his pieces on the board based on well-reasoned snap judgments and synergy and complementary fighting styles.

Despite everything that had passed between them, Yiannis admired Damocles for his determination and his ability to command his armies. Yet he could not help but wonder if individual soldiers’ talents were not being wasted within the mass of violence that Damocles pointed at their enemies. In his own case, Yiannis wondered if his troops could not benefit from a more direct hand from Tython, Vang, or Damocles. His father and brother were busy, but it did not take much to understand that Damocles no longer was. His recent injury had given him time to discuss important matters with the likes of Yiannis. His own time lie fallow, between missions with his elite fighters. Without something to lead them into, he found himself useless. On one such evening, when forces began the process of retiring for the night, Yiannis received a message penned in Damocles’ hand.

As the courier led Yiannis to meet with Damocles, he considered what the man might wish to discuss. After all, they had not left things on the most comfortable note when they last spoke. It had been polite, much cooler than some of his earlier, impetuous anger, but still respectful of one another’s boundaries and skills. Despite their tension over matters like Vangelis, the two mutually admired one another. Yiannis was happy to have drinks with Damocles. War reminded him what his priorities should be. His anger at Damocles had faded over time, leaving only cool resentment and cloying melancholy.

Making apologies to his soldiers, Yiannis left to attend the meeting. He elected to wear a red chiton under a white chalmys (obviously a representation of his house colors). Yiannis imagined the meeting during the journey there. Damocles would likely try to disarm him, encourage him to let down his guard. Somehow, the man had never understood why Yiannis had been upset enough with him to call off their arrangement. It was hardly complex; between Damocles’ association with that Thanasi baron, and his refusal to deny it, as well as mounting evidence that no apology was coming on the matter of Vangelis’ defeat at his hands- it had become a matter of loyalty, and Yiannis would not betray the Kotas. He had dressed accordingly, to remind Damocles of why things had ended so explosively.

Yiannis reached his destination, led in by one of Damocles’ people. He took in the man’s appearance- put-together as ever, excepting the scar running down his face and neck. Yiannis only allowed his gaze to linger for a few seconds, during which he nodded somberly, and then he looked down, thinking of what to say. What had he lost? An injury like that, and Yiannis would be surprised if Damo could speak comfortably. He took hold of one of the amphoras of wine with a slight smile, and took a swig. It would have been abominably rude behavior from anyone else (or to anyone else), but Yiannis and Damocles had never stood on pleasantries with one another. There was the usual slight thrill of pleasure that Damocles had decided to speak to him; Yiannis was rarely the Kotas man someone preferred to speak to, lacking as he did their clan’s traditional virtues.

Swirling the drink in the amphora around, Yiannis peered at it thoughtfully. This could very well be his last drink- their last drink together. He squashed the urge towards sentimentality; he did not need to be tempted into making a mistake so close to the highest stakes they’d faced in some time. Father and Vang needed him. Colchis needed him. All free people resisting the Egyptian invasion needed him. He would not be distracted during this final hour, not by Damo.