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Papers flew in all directions as he swept his arm across the table top. Scrolls bounced and rolled across the marble floor of his father's study, their soft swishing the only sounds. He covered his face with both hands and stared through his fingers at the mess. Panic gnawed just beneath his comparatively calm demeanor.
"Allow me to collect these for you, sire." Terra, his scribe, rose from his small desk in the corner. He kept his eyes averted from his king but the easy smile made heat rise in Stephanos's cheeks. He dropped his hands to his sides and took another look around. The other man's presence had totally slipped his mind. They hadn't spoken for hours.
"No, I've got it," he said, waving the older man off.
"Sire, it's no trouble." Terra's light tone made Stephanos glance over at him as the man bent over to scoop up a scroll.
Looking down at the white floor, he spotted the cracked ink pot. Liquid black bled out, pooling dangerously close to the copies of Taengean law he'd flung from the desk in a fit of temper. He had to get control of himself. Each day that he had to deal with the mounting pressures of kingship, of people staring at him and the whispers that dogged his steps, made him feel like he should have just run and allowed Irakles to get what he so clearly wanted.
Terra's eyes landed on the ink at the same time and they both made a dive.
"Damn!" Stephanos glared at the black now glistening on his palms and parts of his chiton. Their hands had tangled together, spinning the ink pot and spraying them both, smearing the floor, and blotting a few of the scrolls. They would have to be recopied. The process was painstaking and grueling, especially on top of everything else Terra already had to do.
"I'll fetch a servant, sire." The other man stood and offered Stephanos a hand up, which he took. Since his chiton was already ruined, he wiped his hands on it but the black smeared between his fingers, feeling sticky. With his hands mostly clean, he picked up an armload of scrolls and set them back on the table, inspecting them for blemishes.
He could have kicked himself. Irakles wouldn't have done this. It irked him that he'd begun comparing himself to his uncle. His aim had been to do what either his father or brother would have done but the truth was he didn't know; he'd never paid enough attention. Since Irakles was the one around, and the one he dealt with every morning and into he afternoon, it was his behavior he'd begun to try to mimic. That ever present calm, though made Stephanos want to knock the old man's teeth in.
When Terra was gone, Stephanos growled in frustration. He knelt down next to the still leaking ink pot and righted it. His fingertips were drenched in black and he was just wiping them on his chiton again when he realized he wasn't alone.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Papers flew in all directions as he swept his arm across the table top. Scrolls bounced and rolled across the marble floor of his father's study, their soft swishing the only sounds. He covered his face with both hands and stared through his fingers at the mess. Panic gnawed just beneath his comparatively calm demeanor.
"Allow me to collect these for you, sire." Terra, his scribe, rose from his small desk in the corner. He kept his eyes averted from his king but the easy smile made heat rise in Stephanos's cheeks. He dropped his hands to his sides and took another look around. The other man's presence had totally slipped his mind. They hadn't spoken for hours.
"No, I've got it," he said, waving the older man off.
"Sire, it's no trouble." Terra's light tone made Stephanos glance over at him as the man bent over to scoop up a scroll.
Looking down at the white floor, he spotted the cracked ink pot. Liquid black bled out, pooling dangerously close to the copies of Taengean law he'd flung from the desk in a fit of temper. He had to get control of himself. Each day that he had to deal with the mounting pressures of kingship, of people staring at him and the whispers that dogged his steps, made him feel like he should have just run and allowed Irakles to get what he so clearly wanted.
Terra's eyes landed on the ink at the same time and they both made a dive.
"Damn!" Stephanos glared at the black now glistening on his palms and parts of his chiton. Their hands had tangled together, spinning the ink pot and spraying them both, smearing the floor, and blotting a few of the scrolls. They would have to be recopied. The process was painstaking and grueling, especially on top of everything else Terra already had to do.
"I'll fetch a servant, sire." The other man stood and offered Stephanos a hand up, which he took. Since his chiton was already ruined, he wiped his hands on it but the black smeared between his fingers, feeling sticky. With his hands mostly clean, he picked up an armload of scrolls and set them back on the table, inspecting them for blemishes.
He could have kicked himself. Irakles wouldn't have done this. It irked him that he'd begun comparing himself to his uncle. His aim had been to do what either his father or brother would have done but the truth was he didn't know; he'd never paid enough attention. Since Irakles was the one around, and the one he dealt with every morning and into he afternoon, it was his behavior he'd begun to try to mimic. That ever present calm, though made Stephanos want to knock the old man's teeth in.
When Terra was gone, Stephanos growled in frustration. He knelt down next to the still leaking ink pot and righted it. His fingertips were drenched in black and he was just wiping them on his chiton again when he realized he wasn't alone.
Papers flew in all directions as he swept his arm across the table top. Scrolls bounced and rolled across the marble floor of his father's study, their soft swishing the only sounds. He covered his face with both hands and stared through his fingers at the mess. Panic gnawed just beneath his comparatively calm demeanor.
"Allow me to collect these for you, sire." Terra, his scribe, rose from his small desk in the corner. He kept his eyes averted from his king but the easy smile made heat rise in Stephanos's cheeks. He dropped his hands to his sides and took another look around. The other man's presence had totally slipped his mind. They hadn't spoken for hours.
"No, I've got it," he said, waving the older man off.
"Sire, it's no trouble." Terra's light tone made Stephanos glance over at him as the man bent over to scoop up a scroll.
Looking down at the white floor, he spotted the cracked ink pot. Liquid black bled out, pooling dangerously close to the copies of Taengean law he'd flung from the desk in a fit of temper. He had to get control of himself. Each day that he had to deal with the mounting pressures of kingship, of people staring at him and the whispers that dogged his steps, made him feel like he should have just run and allowed Irakles to get what he so clearly wanted.
Terra's eyes landed on the ink at the same time and they both made a dive.
"Damn!" Stephanos glared at the black now glistening on his palms and parts of his chiton. Their hands had tangled together, spinning the ink pot and spraying them both, smearing the floor, and blotting a few of the scrolls. They would have to be recopied. The process was painstaking and grueling, especially on top of everything else Terra already had to do.
"I'll fetch a servant, sire." The other man stood and offered Stephanos a hand up, which he took. Since his chiton was already ruined, he wiped his hands on it but the black smeared between his fingers, feeling sticky. With his hands mostly clean, he picked up an armload of scrolls and set them back on the table, inspecting them for blemishes.
He could have kicked himself. Irakles wouldn't have done this. It irked him that he'd begun comparing himself to his uncle. His aim had been to do what either his father or brother would have done but the truth was he didn't know; he'd never paid enough attention. Since Irakles was the one around, and the one he dealt with every morning and into he afternoon, it was his behavior he'd begun to try to mimic. That ever present calm, though made Stephanos want to knock the old man's teeth in.
When Terra was gone, Stephanos growled in frustration. He knelt down next to the still leaking ink pot and righted it. His fingertips were drenched in black and he was just wiping them on his chiton again when he realized he wasn't alone.
Having taken the time to attend his nephew's wedding a few days prior, Irakles had now busied himself with arranging his own son's wedding. Planning on summoning Emilios and Achilleas in a few days once he's got all the information collected from the runners he had sent out, Irakles had had to split his time between running the Mikaelidas households and lands, as well as assisting the royal family in matters of the Kingdom. The Queen Mother Elise had pretty much allowed Irakles free reign of the palace as of now, and he spent more then half his time at the palace then he did at his own residence.
Today itself however, Irakles had not arrived at the palace till late in the afternoon. He had left the matters that were to be brought up in the Senate's meeting for later once he had returned from meeting the priestess at the Naos on his son's wedding. With the amount of paperwork and challenges that he had to figure out before any changes were enacted within the Senate's large conference to be held in another month or more, delayed due to the tragedy that had befallen the Kingdom, Irakles had given up on those the night before, and decided to do it the following day.
Passing his dark blue himation to the waiting servant as he entered, the elder male ran a frustrated hand through his cropped, graying hair. It was busy, he knew. But it wasn't as if he wasn't expecting this - Irakles knew this was what he had grown up training to do. And he was now doing it... except he did all the work now, but got none of the title. Mild frustration ate at him, yet as much as he wanted to do more, he knew Fotios had always encoraged him to play the long game. So he waited. And polished his reputation as he did so. He couldn't count on one hand the amount of profuse thanks the Queen Mother had given him as he shared a meal with her.
His black chiton swished around his ankles as he ascended the stairs, heading for his childhoom room he had converted into his own personal study where he left all of his work. Irakles had denied using his brother's study - not like Stephanos would have allowed him, probably, but he did not want to appear as if he was overtaking his nephew. People would whisper, and the old general did not need that now.
Yet as he passed that particular door, a loud curse caught his attention, stilling his steps. Interest immediately piqued, for Irakles had recognized the voice of his nephew, obviously frustrated at something or the other. Right where he stopped, the door suddenly opened, and Irakles finally had a scene to put to the noise and din he had heard, and frankly what the male saw, made him raise a wry brow. Unable to resist, Irakles changed course and took slow steps into the room, surveying critically.
Incompetent.
But this worked to his advantage. Stephanos was in no means a bad king. Irakles knew his nephew had his heart in the right place, and the young male had been thrusted into the role with not much practice. Given time, he would make a wondeful, albeit a reluctant King. But that was not the results Irakles wanted, so he was happy to exploit his nephew's inexperienced demeanor and clumsy mistakes, and making it look a lot worst then it was.
Sharp, military trained eyes were quick to catch the scrolls on the table, and then landed on one of the many parchments which had somehow found its way off the table and laid on the floor, opened to words that clearly detailed certain tax policies and methods to encourage trade again after the scare of the Creed, as well as the compilation of funds used during the Dionysus festival that they were supposed to go through one final time. Irakles had offered to do all of that, but it had been taken away from his study before he could even get to it, and the general was pretty sure who had instructed that.
Bending down to pick up the parchment which had scrawls of numbers and words written on it, Irakles's brows quickly furrowed as he went through, his eyes easily picking out minor mistakes he'll have to correct, as well as the balance which they would have to decide what to do with. They would need to speak to the Master of Coin for that, in order for it to be kept closer to the Royal Treasury. With ease, Irakles picked up another one, perusing the words that detailed plans to encourage further port activity, and then flickered his gaze to Stephanos.
"The Master of Coin should be brought in. He'll help you with the fund allocation." he dryly pointed out. "And these plans for port activity can be put to work, once the Master of Coin has calculated the funds that would be required from the Royal Treasury. Last I remembered, we had enough, unless it has been squandered." There was no doubt where Irakles's last comment had come from, as he flippantly slid his gaze away from his nephew's messy demeanour now, choosing to not comment on the mess that he looked like now.
"I'll send for my scribe. These new policies look uncertain. If you tax these provinces, they will not be able to survive harsh winters, House Skleros would not appreciate it." Striding over the table, as if he was used to it, Irakles reached and extracted a rolled parchment out, his eyes scanning the words quickly. "And these four provinces have been receiving more funds then they are entitled to. I'll have that looked into, so the Royal Treasury will not suffer too much of a loss. We can use further funds for port recovery and to fund our next festival." A knock on the door interupted him, and he turned to watch as Terra returned with servants, a bowl of warm water and cloth.
"Fetch Ujarak. I require his services." Irakles's sharp voice instructed the servants, who paused in their steps, wide eyed as if they suddenly did not know whose instructions to listen to.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Having taken the time to attend his nephew's wedding a few days prior, Irakles had now busied himself with arranging his own son's wedding. Planning on summoning Emilios and Achilleas in a few days once he's got all the information collected from the runners he had sent out, Irakles had had to split his time between running the Mikaelidas households and lands, as well as assisting the royal family in matters of the Kingdom. The Queen Mother Elise had pretty much allowed Irakles free reign of the palace as of now, and he spent more then half his time at the palace then he did at his own residence.
Today itself however, Irakles had not arrived at the palace till late in the afternoon. He had left the matters that were to be brought up in the Senate's meeting for later once he had returned from meeting the priestess at the Naos on his son's wedding. With the amount of paperwork and challenges that he had to figure out before any changes were enacted within the Senate's large conference to be held in another month or more, delayed due to the tragedy that had befallen the Kingdom, Irakles had given up on those the night before, and decided to do it the following day.
Passing his dark blue himation to the waiting servant as he entered, the elder male ran a frustrated hand through his cropped, graying hair. It was busy, he knew. But it wasn't as if he wasn't expecting this - Irakles knew this was what he had grown up training to do. And he was now doing it... except he did all the work now, but got none of the title. Mild frustration ate at him, yet as much as he wanted to do more, he knew Fotios had always encoraged him to play the long game. So he waited. And polished his reputation as he did so. He couldn't count on one hand the amount of profuse thanks the Queen Mother had given him as he shared a meal with her.
His black chiton swished around his ankles as he ascended the stairs, heading for his childhoom room he had converted into his own personal study where he left all of his work. Irakles had denied using his brother's study - not like Stephanos would have allowed him, probably, but he did not want to appear as if he was overtaking his nephew. People would whisper, and the old general did not need that now.
Yet as he passed that particular door, a loud curse caught his attention, stilling his steps. Interest immediately piqued, for Irakles had recognized the voice of his nephew, obviously frustrated at something or the other. Right where he stopped, the door suddenly opened, and Irakles finally had a scene to put to the noise and din he had heard, and frankly what the male saw, made him raise a wry brow. Unable to resist, Irakles changed course and took slow steps into the room, surveying critically.
Incompetent.
But this worked to his advantage. Stephanos was in no means a bad king. Irakles knew his nephew had his heart in the right place, and the young male had been thrusted into the role with not much practice. Given time, he would make a wondeful, albeit a reluctant King. But that was not the results Irakles wanted, so he was happy to exploit his nephew's inexperienced demeanor and clumsy mistakes, and making it look a lot worst then it was.
Sharp, military trained eyes were quick to catch the scrolls on the table, and then landed on one of the many parchments which had somehow found its way off the table and laid on the floor, opened to words that clearly detailed certain tax policies and methods to encourage trade again after the scare of the Creed, as well as the compilation of funds used during the Dionysus festival that they were supposed to go through one final time. Irakles had offered to do all of that, but it had been taken away from his study before he could even get to it, and the general was pretty sure who had instructed that.
Bending down to pick up the parchment which had scrawls of numbers and words written on it, Irakles's brows quickly furrowed as he went through, his eyes easily picking out minor mistakes he'll have to correct, as well as the balance which they would have to decide what to do with. They would need to speak to the Master of Coin for that, in order for it to be kept closer to the Royal Treasury. With ease, Irakles picked up another one, perusing the words that detailed plans to encourage further port activity, and then flickered his gaze to Stephanos.
"The Master of Coin should be brought in. He'll help you with the fund allocation." he dryly pointed out. "And these plans for port activity can be put to work, once the Master of Coin has calculated the funds that would be required from the Royal Treasury. Last I remembered, we had enough, unless it has been squandered." There was no doubt where Irakles's last comment had come from, as he flippantly slid his gaze away from his nephew's messy demeanour now, choosing to not comment on the mess that he looked like now.
"I'll send for my scribe. These new policies look uncertain. If you tax these provinces, they will not be able to survive harsh winters, House Skleros would not appreciate it." Striding over the table, as if he was used to it, Irakles reached and extracted a rolled parchment out, his eyes scanning the words quickly. "And these four provinces have been receiving more funds then they are entitled to. I'll have that looked into, so the Royal Treasury will not suffer too much of a loss. We can use further funds for port recovery and to fund our next festival." A knock on the door interupted him, and he turned to watch as Terra returned with servants, a bowl of warm water and cloth.
"Fetch Ujarak. I require his services." Irakles's sharp voice instructed the servants, who paused in their steps, wide eyed as if they suddenly did not know whose instructions to listen to.
Having taken the time to attend his nephew's wedding a few days prior, Irakles had now busied himself with arranging his own son's wedding. Planning on summoning Emilios and Achilleas in a few days once he's got all the information collected from the runners he had sent out, Irakles had had to split his time between running the Mikaelidas households and lands, as well as assisting the royal family in matters of the Kingdom. The Queen Mother Elise had pretty much allowed Irakles free reign of the palace as of now, and he spent more then half his time at the palace then he did at his own residence.
Today itself however, Irakles had not arrived at the palace till late in the afternoon. He had left the matters that were to be brought up in the Senate's meeting for later once he had returned from meeting the priestess at the Naos on his son's wedding. With the amount of paperwork and challenges that he had to figure out before any changes were enacted within the Senate's large conference to be held in another month or more, delayed due to the tragedy that had befallen the Kingdom, Irakles had given up on those the night before, and decided to do it the following day.
Passing his dark blue himation to the waiting servant as he entered, the elder male ran a frustrated hand through his cropped, graying hair. It was busy, he knew. But it wasn't as if he wasn't expecting this - Irakles knew this was what he had grown up training to do. And he was now doing it... except he did all the work now, but got none of the title. Mild frustration ate at him, yet as much as he wanted to do more, he knew Fotios had always encoraged him to play the long game. So he waited. And polished his reputation as he did so. He couldn't count on one hand the amount of profuse thanks the Queen Mother had given him as he shared a meal with her.
His black chiton swished around his ankles as he ascended the stairs, heading for his childhoom room he had converted into his own personal study where he left all of his work. Irakles had denied using his brother's study - not like Stephanos would have allowed him, probably, but he did not want to appear as if he was overtaking his nephew. People would whisper, and the old general did not need that now.
Yet as he passed that particular door, a loud curse caught his attention, stilling his steps. Interest immediately piqued, for Irakles had recognized the voice of his nephew, obviously frustrated at something or the other. Right where he stopped, the door suddenly opened, and Irakles finally had a scene to put to the noise and din he had heard, and frankly what the male saw, made him raise a wry brow. Unable to resist, Irakles changed course and took slow steps into the room, surveying critically.
Incompetent.
But this worked to his advantage. Stephanos was in no means a bad king. Irakles knew his nephew had his heart in the right place, and the young male had been thrusted into the role with not much practice. Given time, he would make a wondeful, albeit a reluctant King. But that was not the results Irakles wanted, so he was happy to exploit his nephew's inexperienced demeanor and clumsy mistakes, and making it look a lot worst then it was.
Sharp, military trained eyes were quick to catch the scrolls on the table, and then landed on one of the many parchments which had somehow found its way off the table and laid on the floor, opened to words that clearly detailed certain tax policies and methods to encourage trade again after the scare of the Creed, as well as the compilation of funds used during the Dionysus festival that they were supposed to go through one final time. Irakles had offered to do all of that, but it had been taken away from his study before he could even get to it, and the general was pretty sure who had instructed that.
Bending down to pick up the parchment which had scrawls of numbers and words written on it, Irakles's brows quickly furrowed as he went through, his eyes easily picking out minor mistakes he'll have to correct, as well as the balance which they would have to decide what to do with. They would need to speak to the Master of Coin for that, in order for it to be kept closer to the Royal Treasury. With ease, Irakles picked up another one, perusing the words that detailed plans to encourage further port activity, and then flickered his gaze to Stephanos.
"The Master of Coin should be brought in. He'll help you with the fund allocation." he dryly pointed out. "And these plans for port activity can be put to work, once the Master of Coin has calculated the funds that would be required from the Royal Treasury. Last I remembered, we had enough, unless it has been squandered." There was no doubt where Irakles's last comment had come from, as he flippantly slid his gaze away from his nephew's messy demeanour now, choosing to not comment on the mess that he looked like now.
"I'll send for my scribe. These new policies look uncertain. If you tax these provinces, they will not be able to survive harsh winters, House Skleros would not appreciate it." Striding over the table, as if he was used to it, Irakles reached and extracted a rolled parchment out, his eyes scanning the words quickly. "And these four provinces have been receiving more funds then they are entitled to. I'll have that looked into, so the Royal Treasury will not suffer too much of a loss. We can use further funds for port recovery and to fund our next festival." A knock on the door interupted him, and he turned to watch as Terra returned with servants, a bowl of warm water and cloth.
"Fetch Ujarak. I require his services." Irakles's sharp voice instructed the servants, who paused in their steps, wide eyed as if they suddenly did not know whose instructions to listen to.
He groaned as his eyes fell on Irakles. They were in deep contrast; he golden and handsome, but standing in a mess of his own making and his uncle, dark, his handsome youth fading, and yet growing more regal and able as the years ticked by. Stephanos glared at his uncle as the other man’s gaze swept the room, missing nothing. Mercifully, however, he said nothing about the ink.
“Servants are coming,” Stephanos said lamely, but stopped, realizing too late that he didn’t have to explain anything. Irakles wasn’t here for a lecture. He stooped down, collecting papers, trying to get to them before his uncle could read them properly but he was treading water. There were too many scattered about and he already had his hands full.
Before he could stop him, Irakles bent down, plucking up scrolls and missives, one by one, reading them calmly as though Stephanos wasn’t a tornado of activity at his feet.
“I am well aware,” Stephanos snapped as Irakles reminded him about the Master of the Coin. Without lifting a single finger, his uncle reduced him to feeling like he was a wayward teenager, caught not keeping up with his lessons. “I was going to get to that...tomorrow, you know what?” He ripped the paper out of his uncle’s hands. “Thank you. I’ve got it.”
But Irakles moved onto another directive. Stephanos sighed pointedly and set down his pile of papers back on the table. He turned back around, plucking more papers from Irakles’s hands. Each thing he touched held black fingerprints.
“No need for your scribe, uncle,” he said through a clenched smile. “I have my own.”
Irakles continued talking, as though anything Stephanos said or did was of such little consequence, it was not worth the bother to break up his constant stream of chatter. “Festivals?” Stephanos glared. “No, no more festivals until we’ve sorted-” but here too he was interrupted by the servants and Terra coming back into the room. “Oh for gods’ sakes!” He raked his fingers through his hair and realized what he’d done a second too late. Five streaks of black marked him like he was ready for a barbarian battlefield.
Terra stopped and bowed to Prince Irakles before lightly pushing the servant forward. “Go ahead, lad. Clean it up,” the scribe directed gently.
“Do not get Ujarak,” Stephanos’s voice rang out, freezing the servant who had been about to leave the room. He stepped back so that the first servant could begin sponging up the ink and impatiently waved the second back inside the room to help. Terra was looking him over in some concern.
“Perhaps I could be of some help, my prince?” Terra bowed again to Irakles but before the older man could answer, Stephanos clamped a hand on his uncle’s shoulder, squeezing until his fingers dug into the other’s flesh. He hoped welt bruises would form.
“No, my uncle was just leaving. He’s so busy. I wouldn’t dream of detaining you when you’re not needed,” and then, under his breath so that only Irakles would hear, “Or wanted.”
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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He groaned as his eyes fell on Irakles. They were in deep contrast; he golden and handsome, but standing in a mess of his own making and his uncle, dark, his handsome youth fading, and yet growing more regal and able as the years ticked by. Stephanos glared at his uncle as the other man’s gaze swept the room, missing nothing. Mercifully, however, he said nothing about the ink.
“Servants are coming,” Stephanos said lamely, but stopped, realizing too late that he didn’t have to explain anything. Irakles wasn’t here for a lecture. He stooped down, collecting papers, trying to get to them before his uncle could read them properly but he was treading water. There were too many scattered about and he already had his hands full.
Before he could stop him, Irakles bent down, plucking up scrolls and missives, one by one, reading them calmly as though Stephanos wasn’t a tornado of activity at his feet.
“I am well aware,” Stephanos snapped as Irakles reminded him about the Master of the Coin. Without lifting a single finger, his uncle reduced him to feeling like he was a wayward teenager, caught not keeping up with his lessons. “I was going to get to that...tomorrow, you know what?” He ripped the paper out of his uncle’s hands. “Thank you. I’ve got it.”
But Irakles moved onto another directive. Stephanos sighed pointedly and set down his pile of papers back on the table. He turned back around, plucking more papers from Irakles’s hands. Each thing he touched held black fingerprints.
“No need for your scribe, uncle,” he said through a clenched smile. “I have my own.”
Irakles continued talking, as though anything Stephanos said or did was of such little consequence, it was not worth the bother to break up his constant stream of chatter. “Festivals?” Stephanos glared. “No, no more festivals until we’ve sorted-” but here too he was interrupted by the servants and Terra coming back into the room. “Oh for gods’ sakes!” He raked his fingers through his hair and realized what he’d done a second too late. Five streaks of black marked him like he was ready for a barbarian battlefield.
Terra stopped and bowed to Prince Irakles before lightly pushing the servant forward. “Go ahead, lad. Clean it up,” the scribe directed gently.
“Do not get Ujarak,” Stephanos’s voice rang out, freezing the servant who had been about to leave the room. He stepped back so that the first servant could begin sponging up the ink and impatiently waved the second back inside the room to help. Terra was looking him over in some concern.
“Perhaps I could be of some help, my prince?” Terra bowed again to Irakles but before the older man could answer, Stephanos clamped a hand on his uncle’s shoulder, squeezing until his fingers dug into the other’s flesh. He hoped welt bruises would form.
“No, my uncle was just leaving. He’s so busy. I wouldn’t dream of detaining you when you’re not needed,” and then, under his breath so that only Irakles would hear, “Or wanted.”
He groaned as his eyes fell on Irakles. They were in deep contrast; he golden and handsome, but standing in a mess of his own making and his uncle, dark, his handsome youth fading, and yet growing more regal and able as the years ticked by. Stephanos glared at his uncle as the other man’s gaze swept the room, missing nothing. Mercifully, however, he said nothing about the ink.
“Servants are coming,” Stephanos said lamely, but stopped, realizing too late that he didn’t have to explain anything. Irakles wasn’t here for a lecture. He stooped down, collecting papers, trying to get to them before his uncle could read them properly but he was treading water. There were too many scattered about and he already had his hands full.
Before he could stop him, Irakles bent down, plucking up scrolls and missives, one by one, reading them calmly as though Stephanos wasn’t a tornado of activity at his feet.
“I am well aware,” Stephanos snapped as Irakles reminded him about the Master of the Coin. Without lifting a single finger, his uncle reduced him to feeling like he was a wayward teenager, caught not keeping up with his lessons. “I was going to get to that...tomorrow, you know what?” He ripped the paper out of his uncle’s hands. “Thank you. I’ve got it.”
But Irakles moved onto another directive. Stephanos sighed pointedly and set down his pile of papers back on the table. He turned back around, plucking more papers from Irakles’s hands. Each thing he touched held black fingerprints.
“No need for your scribe, uncle,” he said through a clenched smile. “I have my own.”
Irakles continued talking, as though anything Stephanos said or did was of such little consequence, it was not worth the bother to break up his constant stream of chatter. “Festivals?” Stephanos glared. “No, no more festivals until we’ve sorted-” but here too he was interrupted by the servants and Terra coming back into the room. “Oh for gods’ sakes!” He raked his fingers through his hair and realized what he’d done a second too late. Five streaks of black marked him like he was ready for a barbarian battlefield.
Terra stopped and bowed to Prince Irakles before lightly pushing the servant forward. “Go ahead, lad. Clean it up,” the scribe directed gently.
“Do not get Ujarak,” Stephanos’s voice rang out, freezing the servant who had been about to leave the room. He stepped back so that the first servant could begin sponging up the ink and impatiently waved the second back inside the room to help. Terra was looking him over in some concern.
“Perhaps I could be of some help, my prince?” Terra bowed again to Irakles but before the older man could answer, Stephanos clamped a hand on his uncle’s shoulder, squeezing until his fingers dug into the other’s flesh. He hoped welt bruises would form.
“No, my uncle was just leaving. He’s so busy. I wouldn’t dream of detaining you when you’re not needed,” and then, under his breath so that only Irakles would hear, “Or wanted.”
He was a mess.
But then, Irakles guessed he couldn't expect anything less. Standing there with a half-assed, unenergetic response even as the elder male rifled through the papers, Irakles almost wanted to laugh at the sight his nephew produced. Splattered in ink, papers everywhere, scattered around the study with no semblance of order? This was who was running his beloved Taengea? Irakles would cross the River Styx before he allowed that to happen. In no way was he about to let the Kingdom he had protected and nurtured all his life to go to waste under the rule of his flippant, errant nephew. And this very study was proof that he should have went against Fotios's suggestion and killed Stephanos anyway.
No matter. What's done was done. He will follow the plans.
Raising a skeptical eyebrow when Stephanos snapped, the old general scoffed softly as if to say 'Sure you did, it just slipped your mind, right?', a disbelieving look but allowing Stephanos to slowly pick all the parchments he perused out of his hands. Just like what he had been doing. The new king tried to take everything out, even when Irakles knew he could do a better job. Stephanos was inexperienced, and he was doing his duty simply by helping him. Queen Mother Elise apologized for her son's behavior, but Irakles did nothing to stop her. He wanted to let him continue. Let him ruin his reputation all by himself. He didn't have to lift a finger at this point.
Petulant child.
He allowed it as Stephanos went against his directives at every turn, until the final straw when his nephew finally lay a hand on his shoulder. That, he could not let go. Irakles froze in his steps to the remaining scrolls on the table, and for a long dangerous moment, he simply remained standing, his breathing slow and even. Hearing Stephanos's hiss, words meant only for his ears, he turned, and it was an impassive look that greeted the young king. Cold, emotionless, Irakles slowly rolled his shoulders, a move that was meant to shrug Stephanos's offending hand off his shoulder. Turning on his toe, Irakles levelled a gaze at his nephew, with a careful flicker over to the servants that stood staring, wide-eyed.
"Send Ujarak to my quarters. I have work to do there as well." he murmured, waving the servants away with a slow flick of his fingers. Yet the whole time he spoke, he never let his gaze leave his nephew, a dangerous glint in his dark brown eyes. To Stephanos, he responded. "As you wish, nephew."
His eyes slowly roamed to the stack of scrolls, some stained by blank ink, a few which definitely needed to be recopied due to the extensive damage by the ink, and then slowly let his gaze trawl over the sorry state Stephanos was in now, before Irakles wore a slow smirk. "Do remember, that festivals are geared towards charity work and helping to gain economic traction for the kingdom. They will garner more coin for the treasury, and remind people of better times, rather then wallow on the bad times. You have tax policies to review, due in the Senate meeting at the end of this week. You'll also have to present the finalized suggestions to improve port activity. On top of that pile is the Taengean law due to be reviewed and perhaps refurbished after a decade, due at the final Senate convening in a months and a half time. Missives from all your noble houses require your response - a quick response is key, you do not want them to think their king is unable to deal with his duties and respond to their needs. They await your help to deal with their barony - a king's advice is key. It is time to pay a visit to the Taengean army, they await your address after the passing ov the previous King. Visitations to the ones who died in the protection of civilians are also in order. The new king is not a heartless one, now is it?"
At the end of the lists of duties he rattled off, Irakles took a deep breathe, and then smiled again. "But I'm sure you..." his gaze looked at the mess, and then back at Stephanos again. "... have it all under control, Your Highness." it was a slow drawl that Irakles used on the term of address for the new king, as he laced his arms behind his back and gave a small dip of respect towards Stephanos. Yet on Irakles, it looked more mocking then anything.
"Good day." he murmured, and turned to exit the study of his brother, smiling when he met Ujarak on the way to his own study. "Get your parchment and quill, Ujarak. I am writing a missive to Lord Konstanos, and a few other senators. I have... news for them." he murmured, pushing his way into his study, eyes ablaze with plans. His nephew was incompetent, and Irakles was not about to see Taengea crumble in his hands. Not if he had a say in matters.
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He was a mess.
But then, Irakles guessed he couldn't expect anything less. Standing there with a half-assed, unenergetic response even as the elder male rifled through the papers, Irakles almost wanted to laugh at the sight his nephew produced. Splattered in ink, papers everywhere, scattered around the study with no semblance of order? This was who was running his beloved Taengea? Irakles would cross the River Styx before he allowed that to happen. In no way was he about to let the Kingdom he had protected and nurtured all his life to go to waste under the rule of his flippant, errant nephew. And this very study was proof that he should have went against Fotios's suggestion and killed Stephanos anyway.
No matter. What's done was done. He will follow the plans.
Raising a skeptical eyebrow when Stephanos snapped, the old general scoffed softly as if to say 'Sure you did, it just slipped your mind, right?', a disbelieving look but allowing Stephanos to slowly pick all the parchments he perused out of his hands. Just like what he had been doing. The new king tried to take everything out, even when Irakles knew he could do a better job. Stephanos was inexperienced, and he was doing his duty simply by helping him. Queen Mother Elise apologized for her son's behavior, but Irakles did nothing to stop her. He wanted to let him continue. Let him ruin his reputation all by himself. He didn't have to lift a finger at this point.
Petulant child.
He allowed it as Stephanos went against his directives at every turn, until the final straw when his nephew finally lay a hand on his shoulder. That, he could not let go. Irakles froze in his steps to the remaining scrolls on the table, and for a long dangerous moment, he simply remained standing, his breathing slow and even. Hearing Stephanos's hiss, words meant only for his ears, he turned, and it was an impassive look that greeted the young king. Cold, emotionless, Irakles slowly rolled his shoulders, a move that was meant to shrug Stephanos's offending hand off his shoulder. Turning on his toe, Irakles levelled a gaze at his nephew, with a careful flicker over to the servants that stood staring, wide-eyed.
"Send Ujarak to my quarters. I have work to do there as well." he murmured, waving the servants away with a slow flick of his fingers. Yet the whole time he spoke, he never let his gaze leave his nephew, a dangerous glint in his dark brown eyes. To Stephanos, he responded. "As you wish, nephew."
His eyes slowly roamed to the stack of scrolls, some stained by blank ink, a few which definitely needed to be recopied due to the extensive damage by the ink, and then slowly let his gaze trawl over the sorry state Stephanos was in now, before Irakles wore a slow smirk. "Do remember, that festivals are geared towards charity work and helping to gain economic traction for the kingdom. They will garner more coin for the treasury, and remind people of better times, rather then wallow on the bad times. You have tax policies to review, due in the Senate meeting at the end of this week. You'll also have to present the finalized suggestions to improve port activity. On top of that pile is the Taengean law due to be reviewed and perhaps refurbished after a decade, due at the final Senate convening in a months and a half time. Missives from all your noble houses require your response - a quick response is key, you do not want them to think their king is unable to deal with his duties and respond to their needs. They await your help to deal with their barony - a king's advice is key. It is time to pay a visit to the Taengean army, they await your address after the passing ov the previous King. Visitations to the ones who died in the protection of civilians are also in order. The new king is not a heartless one, now is it?"
At the end of the lists of duties he rattled off, Irakles took a deep breathe, and then smiled again. "But I'm sure you..." his gaze looked at the mess, and then back at Stephanos again. "... have it all under control, Your Highness." it was a slow drawl that Irakles used on the term of address for the new king, as he laced his arms behind his back and gave a small dip of respect towards Stephanos. Yet on Irakles, it looked more mocking then anything.
"Good day." he murmured, and turned to exit the study of his brother, smiling when he met Ujarak on the way to his own study. "Get your parchment and quill, Ujarak. I am writing a missive to Lord Konstanos, and a few other senators. I have... news for them." he murmured, pushing his way into his study, eyes ablaze with plans. His nephew was incompetent, and Irakles was not about to see Taengea crumble in his hands. Not if he had a say in matters.
He was a mess.
But then, Irakles guessed he couldn't expect anything less. Standing there with a half-assed, unenergetic response even as the elder male rifled through the papers, Irakles almost wanted to laugh at the sight his nephew produced. Splattered in ink, papers everywhere, scattered around the study with no semblance of order? This was who was running his beloved Taengea? Irakles would cross the River Styx before he allowed that to happen. In no way was he about to let the Kingdom he had protected and nurtured all his life to go to waste under the rule of his flippant, errant nephew. And this very study was proof that he should have went against Fotios's suggestion and killed Stephanos anyway.
No matter. What's done was done. He will follow the plans.
Raising a skeptical eyebrow when Stephanos snapped, the old general scoffed softly as if to say 'Sure you did, it just slipped your mind, right?', a disbelieving look but allowing Stephanos to slowly pick all the parchments he perused out of his hands. Just like what he had been doing. The new king tried to take everything out, even when Irakles knew he could do a better job. Stephanos was inexperienced, and he was doing his duty simply by helping him. Queen Mother Elise apologized for her son's behavior, but Irakles did nothing to stop her. He wanted to let him continue. Let him ruin his reputation all by himself. He didn't have to lift a finger at this point.
Petulant child.
He allowed it as Stephanos went against his directives at every turn, until the final straw when his nephew finally lay a hand on his shoulder. That, he could not let go. Irakles froze in his steps to the remaining scrolls on the table, and for a long dangerous moment, he simply remained standing, his breathing slow and even. Hearing Stephanos's hiss, words meant only for his ears, he turned, and it was an impassive look that greeted the young king. Cold, emotionless, Irakles slowly rolled his shoulders, a move that was meant to shrug Stephanos's offending hand off his shoulder. Turning on his toe, Irakles levelled a gaze at his nephew, with a careful flicker over to the servants that stood staring, wide-eyed.
"Send Ujarak to my quarters. I have work to do there as well." he murmured, waving the servants away with a slow flick of his fingers. Yet the whole time he spoke, he never let his gaze leave his nephew, a dangerous glint in his dark brown eyes. To Stephanos, he responded. "As you wish, nephew."
His eyes slowly roamed to the stack of scrolls, some stained by blank ink, a few which definitely needed to be recopied due to the extensive damage by the ink, and then slowly let his gaze trawl over the sorry state Stephanos was in now, before Irakles wore a slow smirk. "Do remember, that festivals are geared towards charity work and helping to gain economic traction for the kingdom. They will garner more coin for the treasury, and remind people of better times, rather then wallow on the bad times. You have tax policies to review, due in the Senate meeting at the end of this week. You'll also have to present the finalized suggestions to improve port activity. On top of that pile is the Taengean law due to be reviewed and perhaps refurbished after a decade, due at the final Senate convening in a months and a half time. Missives from all your noble houses require your response - a quick response is key, you do not want them to think their king is unable to deal with his duties and respond to their needs. They await your help to deal with their barony - a king's advice is key. It is time to pay a visit to the Taengean army, they await your address after the passing ov the previous King. Visitations to the ones who died in the protection of civilians are also in order. The new king is not a heartless one, now is it?"
At the end of the lists of duties he rattled off, Irakles took a deep breathe, and then smiled again. "But I'm sure you..." his gaze looked at the mess, and then back at Stephanos again. "... have it all under control, Your Highness." it was a slow drawl that Irakles used on the term of address for the new king, as he laced his arms behind his back and gave a small dip of respect towards Stephanos. Yet on Irakles, it looked more mocking then anything.
"Good day." he murmured, and turned to exit the study of his brother, smiling when he met Ujarak on the way to his own study. "Get your parchment and quill, Ujarak. I am writing a missive to Lord Konstanos, and a few other senators. I have... news for them." he murmured, pushing his way into his study, eyes ablaze with plans. His nephew was incompetent, and Irakles was not about to see Taengea crumble in his hands. Not if he had a say in matters.
Stephanos knew he had a viper by the tail when Irakles looked him over with that dead expression. The muscles of his uncle’s shoulder rolled under his hand but he didn’t remove his own. Instead, he stepped a little closer so that they were actually in a side hug, as close as family should be. With his arm now around his uncle’s shoulders, he wondered how everyone would react if he just hooked his elbow around the old man’s throat and slowly squeezed the life out of him.
Irakles turned out of his grip, leveling him with glittering malevolence. Stephanos stepped back, a smile playing about his mouth but his eyes were hard. In public, at least, Irakles had to defer. It was satisfying in the extreme.
His victory in making his uncle uncomfortable was short lived. Irakles said nothing further as he looked about the room once more, his eyes lingering longest on himself and the ink stains littering almost every surface. It was the way he didn’t say anything that made Stephanos start to feel small.
As Irakles reminded him of why they had festivals, Stephanos glanced at Terra who was nodding along with every word out of the prince’s mouth, occasionally interjecting with a, “That’s right, my prince,” or “I agree with his highness, sire.” By the time that Irakles rattled off the responsibilities of answering letters and visiting the army that he’d been putting off, Stephanos found himself leaning on the table, his arms folded, looking over Irakles’s head instead of meeting his gaze.
He couldn’t bring himself to say anything because nothing his uncle said was wrong. That made the daggers twist deeper. In that moment, he wondered if Irakles was right; if he should just hand it all over.
He still had nightmares about his father’s slack face and the weight of the head in the bag as he’d held it. Sometimes he could almost smell the congealed blood in the bottom of the burlap sack. The fleeting, goading smile that Irakles had flashed him at the funeral was enough to make Stephanos’s spine stiffen and his jaw set. No. He would not hand over the kingdom just because his uncle was a skilled liar and able leader. He was also a backstabbing murderer and Stephanos had no illusions that Irakles wanted him dead. The only question, was why Irakles hadn’t made a move yet?
Irakles’s eyes swept the mess again, the servants cleaning it, and back up to Stephanos. "But I'm sure you... have it all under control, Your Highness."
Stephanos swallowed, letting his own gaze falter as he looked over. The ink sat in smeared swirls as the rag circled it over and over in an effort to clean it up. The water in the bowl was black.
"Good day,” Iralkes said in a mockingly cheerful tone.
Stephanos watched him go, unable to match the game. His whole body sagged as soon as Irakles was gone. He looked up at the ceiling, his hands lax in his lap, and wondered which god, exactly, he’d angered so badly.
“Don’t worry, your majesty,” Terra stood up from the mess and gave Stephanos a hearty pat on the back. “Prince Irakles didn’t mind the mess. He was just worried, that’s all. We all know you’re under a lot of strain but we’re behind you. You’ve got your father’s blood, after all.”
“So does he,” Stephanos murmured.
“Pardon?” Terra had turned away to attend the mess again.
“Never mind,” Stephanos said, finally half turning and picking up one of the ruined documents. It was about an upcoming festival. “Let’s...see how many bulls are going to be required and how many can be spared.” He spent the rest of the afternoon doing exactly what Irakles had advised him to do, hating himself and his uncle the entire time, and despising how much better it all went as he followed the poisoned advice.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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Stephanos knew he had a viper by the tail when Irakles looked him over with that dead expression. The muscles of his uncle’s shoulder rolled under his hand but he didn’t remove his own. Instead, he stepped a little closer so that they were actually in a side hug, as close as family should be. With his arm now around his uncle’s shoulders, he wondered how everyone would react if he just hooked his elbow around the old man’s throat and slowly squeezed the life out of him.
Irakles turned out of his grip, leveling him with glittering malevolence. Stephanos stepped back, a smile playing about his mouth but his eyes were hard. In public, at least, Irakles had to defer. It was satisfying in the extreme.
His victory in making his uncle uncomfortable was short lived. Irakles said nothing further as he looked about the room once more, his eyes lingering longest on himself and the ink stains littering almost every surface. It was the way he didn’t say anything that made Stephanos start to feel small.
As Irakles reminded him of why they had festivals, Stephanos glanced at Terra who was nodding along with every word out of the prince’s mouth, occasionally interjecting with a, “That’s right, my prince,” or “I agree with his highness, sire.” By the time that Irakles rattled off the responsibilities of answering letters and visiting the army that he’d been putting off, Stephanos found himself leaning on the table, his arms folded, looking over Irakles’s head instead of meeting his gaze.
He couldn’t bring himself to say anything because nothing his uncle said was wrong. That made the daggers twist deeper. In that moment, he wondered if Irakles was right; if he should just hand it all over.
He still had nightmares about his father’s slack face and the weight of the head in the bag as he’d held it. Sometimes he could almost smell the congealed blood in the bottom of the burlap sack. The fleeting, goading smile that Irakles had flashed him at the funeral was enough to make Stephanos’s spine stiffen and his jaw set. No. He would not hand over the kingdom just because his uncle was a skilled liar and able leader. He was also a backstabbing murderer and Stephanos had no illusions that Irakles wanted him dead. The only question, was why Irakles hadn’t made a move yet?
Irakles’s eyes swept the mess again, the servants cleaning it, and back up to Stephanos. "But I'm sure you... have it all under control, Your Highness."
Stephanos swallowed, letting his own gaze falter as he looked over. The ink sat in smeared swirls as the rag circled it over and over in an effort to clean it up. The water in the bowl was black.
"Good day,” Iralkes said in a mockingly cheerful tone.
Stephanos watched him go, unable to match the game. His whole body sagged as soon as Irakles was gone. He looked up at the ceiling, his hands lax in his lap, and wondered which god, exactly, he’d angered so badly.
“Don’t worry, your majesty,” Terra stood up from the mess and gave Stephanos a hearty pat on the back. “Prince Irakles didn’t mind the mess. He was just worried, that’s all. We all know you’re under a lot of strain but we’re behind you. You’ve got your father’s blood, after all.”
“So does he,” Stephanos murmured.
“Pardon?” Terra had turned away to attend the mess again.
“Never mind,” Stephanos said, finally half turning and picking up one of the ruined documents. It was about an upcoming festival. “Let’s...see how many bulls are going to be required and how many can be spared.” He spent the rest of the afternoon doing exactly what Irakles had advised him to do, hating himself and his uncle the entire time, and despising how much better it all went as he followed the poisoned advice.
Stephanos knew he had a viper by the tail when Irakles looked him over with that dead expression. The muscles of his uncle’s shoulder rolled under his hand but he didn’t remove his own. Instead, he stepped a little closer so that they were actually in a side hug, as close as family should be. With his arm now around his uncle’s shoulders, he wondered how everyone would react if he just hooked his elbow around the old man’s throat and slowly squeezed the life out of him.
Irakles turned out of his grip, leveling him with glittering malevolence. Stephanos stepped back, a smile playing about his mouth but his eyes were hard. In public, at least, Irakles had to defer. It was satisfying in the extreme.
His victory in making his uncle uncomfortable was short lived. Irakles said nothing further as he looked about the room once more, his eyes lingering longest on himself and the ink stains littering almost every surface. It was the way he didn’t say anything that made Stephanos start to feel small.
As Irakles reminded him of why they had festivals, Stephanos glanced at Terra who was nodding along with every word out of the prince’s mouth, occasionally interjecting with a, “That’s right, my prince,” or “I agree with his highness, sire.” By the time that Irakles rattled off the responsibilities of answering letters and visiting the army that he’d been putting off, Stephanos found himself leaning on the table, his arms folded, looking over Irakles’s head instead of meeting his gaze.
He couldn’t bring himself to say anything because nothing his uncle said was wrong. That made the daggers twist deeper. In that moment, he wondered if Irakles was right; if he should just hand it all over.
He still had nightmares about his father’s slack face and the weight of the head in the bag as he’d held it. Sometimes he could almost smell the congealed blood in the bottom of the burlap sack. The fleeting, goading smile that Irakles had flashed him at the funeral was enough to make Stephanos’s spine stiffen and his jaw set. No. He would not hand over the kingdom just because his uncle was a skilled liar and able leader. He was also a backstabbing murderer and Stephanos had no illusions that Irakles wanted him dead. The only question, was why Irakles hadn’t made a move yet?
Irakles’s eyes swept the mess again, the servants cleaning it, and back up to Stephanos. "But I'm sure you... have it all under control, Your Highness."
Stephanos swallowed, letting his own gaze falter as he looked over. The ink sat in smeared swirls as the rag circled it over and over in an effort to clean it up. The water in the bowl was black.
"Good day,” Iralkes said in a mockingly cheerful tone.
Stephanos watched him go, unable to match the game. His whole body sagged as soon as Irakles was gone. He looked up at the ceiling, his hands lax in his lap, and wondered which god, exactly, he’d angered so badly.
“Don’t worry, your majesty,” Terra stood up from the mess and gave Stephanos a hearty pat on the back. “Prince Irakles didn’t mind the mess. He was just worried, that’s all. We all know you’re under a lot of strain but we’re behind you. You’ve got your father’s blood, after all.”
“So does he,” Stephanos murmured.
“Pardon?” Terra had turned away to attend the mess again.
“Never mind,” Stephanos said, finally half turning and picking up one of the ruined documents. It was about an upcoming festival. “Let’s...see how many bulls are going to be required and how many can be spared.” He spent the rest of the afternoon doing exactly what Irakles had advised him to do, hating himself and his uncle the entire time, and despising how much better it all went as he followed the poisoned advice.
