The chatbox has been hidden for this page. It will reopen upon refresh. To hide the CBox permanently, select "Permanently Toggle Cbox" in your profile User Settings.
This chatbox is hidden. To reopen, edit your User Settings.
There had been noise and commotion everywhere in the palace today, many of the servants that had been attending to them had been called away to other tasks. In the rooms they had been confined to it was all but silent, the sound of Desma’s latest project on the loom she had bullied the guards into relocating for her broke the stillness.
Olympia had been feeling well enough all day, but with little to do aside from worry and help her nursemaid with her task, she had taken to bed as the sun slowly began to sink. She had eaten little, just the bits that the older woman had brought them. Both she and Stephanos had chosen to eat nothing brought to them by anyone aside from Desma and Alastair. It was a drastic change from the way her pregnancy had been encouraging her to eat, but aside from feeling a bit light headed she was well enough. The same could not be said for her husband, but Stephanos’ troubles were not limited to lack of proper sustenance.
She had dozed at some point, comfortable in bed with the sound of Desma humming under her breath soothing her nerves. It was impossible to know what time it was when she woke, or what the exact cause of it was, but she hissed in pain and clutched at her stomach. For the past few weeks she had been experiencing slight contractions, just the body’s practice for the actual labor according to Desma, but this one felt different. It was stronger, and longer, and she found herself gasping for air against the pain as she struggled to shift into a position that hurt less.
There was silence now as the older woman abandoned her work to hurry to the bedside, ever in tune with the little differences in her mistress. As her body eased through the end of the contraction, Pia slumped back against her bosom to try to catch her breath, relief evident on her face.
”Is it time?”
Desma spoke softly, not wanting to alarm or alert anyone until confirmation was gained. Olympia nodded, taking in deep breaths and trying not to let the panic set in. This was exactly the sort of thing that would give Irakles the ability to get rid of them. As soon as her son was born he had his excuse for their natural deaths, and then Stephanos would be lost. She had expected the pain to be all consuming and constant, with no break between, but as it all subsided she found herself able to sit up on her own, and aside from some unease and discomfort it was as if it had never happened.
”Stephanos...I need you.”
Her voice echoed through the emptiness of the rooms, aided in her movements now by Desma before the old woman pattered off to gather what things she would need.
”He’s coming.”
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
There had been noise and commotion everywhere in the palace today, many of the servants that had been attending to them had been called away to other tasks. In the rooms they had been confined to it was all but silent, the sound of Desma’s latest project on the loom she had bullied the guards into relocating for her broke the stillness.
Olympia had been feeling well enough all day, but with little to do aside from worry and help her nursemaid with her task, she had taken to bed as the sun slowly began to sink. She had eaten little, just the bits that the older woman had brought them. Both she and Stephanos had chosen to eat nothing brought to them by anyone aside from Desma and Alastair. It was a drastic change from the way her pregnancy had been encouraging her to eat, but aside from feeling a bit light headed she was well enough. The same could not be said for her husband, but Stephanos’ troubles were not limited to lack of proper sustenance.
She had dozed at some point, comfortable in bed with the sound of Desma humming under her breath soothing her nerves. It was impossible to know what time it was when she woke, or what the exact cause of it was, but she hissed in pain and clutched at her stomach. For the past few weeks she had been experiencing slight contractions, just the body’s practice for the actual labor according to Desma, but this one felt different. It was stronger, and longer, and she found herself gasping for air against the pain as she struggled to shift into a position that hurt less.
There was silence now as the older woman abandoned her work to hurry to the bedside, ever in tune with the little differences in her mistress. As her body eased through the end of the contraction, Pia slumped back against her bosom to try to catch her breath, relief evident on her face.
”Is it time?”
Desma spoke softly, not wanting to alarm or alert anyone until confirmation was gained. Olympia nodded, taking in deep breaths and trying not to let the panic set in. This was exactly the sort of thing that would give Irakles the ability to get rid of them. As soon as her son was born he had his excuse for their natural deaths, and then Stephanos would be lost. She had expected the pain to be all consuming and constant, with no break between, but as it all subsided she found herself able to sit up on her own, and aside from some unease and discomfort it was as if it had never happened.
”Stephanos...I need you.”
Her voice echoed through the emptiness of the rooms, aided in her movements now by Desma before the old woman pattered off to gather what things she would need.
”He’s coming.”
There had been noise and commotion everywhere in the palace today, many of the servants that had been attending to them had been called away to other tasks. In the rooms they had been confined to it was all but silent, the sound of Desma’s latest project on the loom she had bullied the guards into relocating for her broke the stillness.
Olympia had been feeling well enough all day, but with little to do aside from worry and help her nursemaid with her task, she had taken to bed as the sun slowly began to sink. She had eaten little, just the bits that the older woman had brought them. Both she and Stephanos had chosen to eat nothing brought to them by anyone aside from Desma and Alastair. It was a drastic change from the way her pregnancy had been encouraging her to eat, but aside from feeling a bit light headed she was well enough. The same could not be said for her husband, but Stephanos’ troubles were not limited to lack of proper sustenance.
She had dozed at some point, comfortable in bed with the sound of Desma humming under her breath soothing her nerves. It was impossible to know what time it was when she woke, or what the exact cause of it was, but she hissed in pain and clutched at her stomach. For the past few weeks she had been experiencing slight contractions, just the body’s practice for the actual labor according to Desma, but this one felt different. It was stronger, and longer, and she found herself gasping for air against the pain as she struggled to shift into a position that hurt less.
There was silence now as the older woman abandoned her work to hurry to the bedside, ever in tune with the little differences in her mistress. As her body eased through the end of the contraction, Pia slumped back against her bosom to try to catch her breath, relief evident on her face.
”Is it time?”
Desma spoke softly, not wanting to alarm or alert anyone until confirmation was gained. Olympia nodded, taking in deep breaths and trying not to let the panic set in. This was exactly the sort of thing that would give Irakles the ability to get rid of them. As soon as her son was born he had his excuse for their natural deaths, and then Stephanos would be lost. She had expected the pain to be all consuming and constant, with no break between, but as it all subsided she found herself able to sit up on her own, and aside from some unease and discomfort it was as if it had never happened.
”Stephanos...I need you.”
Her voice echoed through the emptiness of the rooms, aided in her movements now by Desma before the old woman pattered off to gather what things she would need.
”He’s coming.”
The. Boredom.
He had never considered that while waiting for impending death, he could ever be so bored. There was nothing to do. To pass the time, he was half tempted to ask Olympia if she wanted one last romp between the sheets. But he wasn’t quite to that level of gone yet. Aside from the fact that her hag of a midwife nursemaid was constantly there. Gods how he hated that woman.
She was so cranky and mean. Not only was her temperament better suited for the royal stables, but she was just so hard to look at for any length of time. Stephanos had been playing a mental game with himself, trying to assess if she’d been born prior to the creation of man, or after. From where he was in the adjoining room, his desk was placed at such a position as to be able to see Desma, or be forced to see her, rather, at her loom. His blue eyes narrowed in the fossilized cow’s direction. He wondered how she could even work the loom anymore. Her joints were so swollen and he could hear them popping from here.
Why his wife insisted on keeping this withered up old wineskin of a woman as her midwife, he had yet to figure out. It wasn’t like Desma would move faster than a wounded snail when the time came. He finally looked down at his desk, where he was busy writing yet another asinine ode about Irakles. From there he’d probably move on to Meena, Irakles’s whore-wife. They were practically married, with two grown daughters. He hadn’t seen his aunt in a long time. So long, in fact, that he frequently forgot her existence.
The sounds of popping drew his attention and he watched Desma struggle to leave the loom. Her devotion to Pia was only comforting in times of crises. Otherwise he found it grating in the extreme. Olympia was a grown woman. She did not need to be constantly coddled. With those sorts of thoughts chasing each other through his mind, coupled with words like “aged” and “face of an ass” being written on the paper, he didn’t pay attention Desma fumbling about the room for her things.
At the sound of his name, he looked up, blinked, and then set his quill down. He sat back in his chair for just a moment, still trying to catch the exact phrase he wanted for how to describe the no doubt disgusting way that Irakles proferred himself to Meena, just to rub that in the old man’s face for trying to make him seem like the one with no control, when something in Pia’s voice made him lose the thought completely. The chair scraped against the floor as he stood and moved around the desk. At Desma’s back, he stuck out his tongue. It was childish but he was going to die fairly soon. Who cared?
“Who’s coming?” he asked without any real interest. “Irakles can come into this room all he likes but I won’t allow him to goad me again the way he did.” His cheeks colored at the memory from earlier. He hated that he could be inflamed and controlled by people so easily. If his uncle was right about one thing, it was that. His temper was far, far too quick and explosive.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
The. Boredom.
He had never considered that while waiting for impending death, he could ever be so bored. There was nothing to do. To pass the time, he was half tempted to ask Olympia if she wanted one last romp between the sheets. But he wasn’t quite to that level of gone yet. Aside from the fact that her hag of a midwife nursemaid was constantly there. Gods how he hated that woman.
She was so cranky and mean. Not only was her temperament better suited for the royal stables, but she was just so hard to look at for any length of time. Stephanos had been playing a mental game with himself, trying to assess if she’d been born prior to the creation of man, or after. From where he was in the adjoining room, his desk was placed at such a position as to be able to see Desma, or be forced to see her, rather, at her loom. His blue eyes narrowed in the fossilized cow’s direction. He wondered how she could even work the loom anymore. Her joints were so swollen and he could hear them popping from here.
Why his wife insisted on keeping this withered up old wineskin of a woman as her midwife, he had yet to figure out. It wasn’t like Desma would move faster than a wounded snail when the time came. He finally looked down at his desk, where he was busy writing yet another asinine ode about Irakles. From there he’d probably move on to Meena, Irakles’s whore-wife. They were practically married, with two grown daughters. He hadn’t seen his aunt in a long time. So long, in fact, that he frequently forgot her existence.
The sounds of popping drew his attention and he watched Desma struggle to leave the loom. Her devotion to Pia was only comforting in times of crises. Otherwise he found it grating in the extreme. Olympia was a grown woman. She did not need to be constantly coddled. With those sorts of thoughts chasing each other through his mind, coupled with words like “aged” and “face of an ass” being written on the paper, he didn’t pay attention Desma fumbling about the room for her things.
At the sound of his name, he looked up, blinked, and then set his quill down. He sat back in his chair for just a moment, still trying to catch the exact phrase he wanted for how to describe the no doubt disgusting way that Irakles proferred himself to Meena, just to rub that in the old man’s face for trying to make him seem like the one with no control, when something in Pia’s voice made him lose the thought completely. The chair scraped against the floor as he stood and moved around the desk. At Desma’s back, he stuck out his tongue. It was childish but he was going to die fairly soon. Who cared?
“Who’s coming?” he asked without any real interest. “Irakles can come into this room all he likes but I won’t allow him to goad me again the way he did.” His cheeks colored at the memory from earlier. He hated that he could be inflamed and controlled by people so easily. If his uncle was right about one thing, it was that. His temper was far, far too quick and explosive.
The. Boredom.
He had never considered that while waiting for impending death, he could ever be so bored. There was nothing to do. To pass the time, he was half tempted to ask Olympia if she wanted one last romp between the sheets. But he wasn’t quite to that level of gone yet. Aside from the fact that her hag of a midwife nursemaid was constantly there. Gods how he hated that woman.
She was so cranky and mean. Not only was her temperament better suited for the royal stables, but she was just so hard to look at for any length of time. Stephanos had been playing a mental game with himself, trying to assess if she’d been born prior to the creation of man, or after. From where he was in the adjoining room, his desk was placed at such a position as to be able to see Desma, or be forced to see her, rather, at her loom. His blue eyes narrowed in the fossilized cow’s direction. He wondered how she could even work the loom anymore. Her joints were so swollen and he could hear them popping from here.
Why his wife insisted on keeping this withered up old wineskin of a woman as her midwife, he had yet to figure out. It wasn’t like Desma would move faster than a wounded snail when the time came. He finally looked down at his desk, where he was busy writing yet another asinine ode about Irakles. From there he’d probably move on to Meena, Irakles’s whore-wife. They were practically married, with two grown daughters. He hadn’t seen his aunt in a long time. So long, in fact, that he frequently forgot her existence.
The sounds of popping drew his attention and he watched Desma struggle to leave the loom. Her devotion to Pia was only comforting in times of crises. Otherwise he found it grating in the extreme. Olympia was a grown woman. She did not need to be constantly coddled. With those sorts of thoughts chasing each other through his mind, coupled with words like “aged” and “face of an ass” being written on the paper, he didn’t pay attention Desma fumbling about the room for her things.
At the sound of his name, he looked up, blinked, and then set his quill down. He sat back in his chair for just a moment, still trying to catch the exact phrase he wanted for how to describe the no doubt disgusting way that Irakles proferred himself to Meena, just to rub that in the old man’s face for trying to make him seem like the one with no control, when something in Pia’s voice made him lose the thought completely. The chair scraped against the floor as he stood and moved around the desk. At Desma’s back, he stuck out his tongue. It was childish but he was going to die fairly soon. Who cared?
“Who’s coming?” he asked without any real interest. “Irakles can come into this room all he likes but I won’t allow him to goad me again the way he did.” His cheeks colored at the memory from earlier. He hated that he could be inflamed and controlled by people so easily. If his uncle was right about one thing, it was that. His temper was far, far too quick and explosive.
The pain subsiding was a relief, and she was able to breathe again properly in time to see her husband stick his tongue out at her nursemaid. There had been no love lost between the two, but here in captivity it was ever more obvious. It wasn’t as if they’d hidden it before but now she sent Desma out more often to try to prevent any further descent into madness. With her hand pressed firmly to her stomach, she blinked in surprise as Stephanos seemed to forget exactly who it was that had decided to make his ill timed entrance into the world.
Scowling at his perceived ignorance, the queen reached awkwardly for one of the pillows beside her, hurling it at her husband’s head with all of the indignant force she could muster. After months of worry and excitement and fear, the reason she had married Stephanos, she had little capacity to appreciate any joking. Her body felt alert, ready for any sign of the pain that had woken her in the first place as she gestured to her swollen belly.
”Your son. Or have you forgotten anyone but your cursed uncle.”
Desma waddled between them, fixing the king with a disapproving look as she settled a bowl of water and a packet of herbs at Pia’s side. It all suddenly was feeling far too real, and more than anything else she wished her mother was here, and Selene. Her child should come into the world surrounding by his doting aunts and grandmothers, father and grandfather just outside waiting to be introduced. Not in a prison. Not when she was all but alone.
”Desma, send someone you trust to find Selene, and my mother. Tell them he’s coming. Gods willing they will understand that message.”
The older woman gave a nod before exiting the room at a far slower pace than Olympia would have liked. She still feared the next contraction, and what would happen if Irakles got that message before her family. Perhaps since she had last seen any of them they would have found something to save their lives.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
The pain subsiding was a relief, and she was able to breathe again properly in time to see her husband stick his tongue out at her nursemaid. There had been no love lost between the two, but here in captivity it was ever more obvious. It wasn’t as if they’d hidden it before but now she sent Desma out more often to try to prevent any further descent into madness. With her hand pressed firmly to her stomach, she blinked in surprise as Stephanos seemed to forget exactly who it was that had decided to make his ill timed entrance into the world.
Scowling at his perceived ignorance, the queen reached awkwardly for one of the pillows beside her, hurling it at her husband’s head with all of the indignant force she could muster. After months of worry and excitement and fear, the reason she had married Stephanos, she had little capacity to appreciate any joking. Her body felt alert, ready for any sign of the pain that had woken her in the first place as she gestured to her swollen belly.
”Your son. Or have you forgotten anyone but your cursed uncle.”
Desma waddled between them, fixing the king with a disapproving look as she settled a bowl of water and a packet of herbs at Pia’s side. It all suddenly was feeling far too real, and more than anything else she wished her mother was here, and Selene. Her child should come into the world surrounding by his doting aunts and grandmothers, father and grandfather just outside waiting to be introduced. Not in a prison. Not when she was all but alone.
”Desma, send someone you trust to find Selene, and my mother. Tell them he’s coming. Gods willing they will understand that message.”
The older woman gave a nod before exiting the room at a far slower pace than Olympia would have liked. She still feared the next contraction, and what would happen if Irakles got that message before her family. Perhaps since she had last seen any of them they would have found something to save their lives.
The pain subsiding was a relief, and she was able to breathe again properly in time to see her husband stick his tongue out at her nursemaid. There had been no love lost between the two, but here in captivity it was ever more obvious. It wasn’t as if they’d hidden it before but now she sent Desma out more often to try to prevent any further descent into madness. With her hand pressed firmly to her stomach, she blinked in surprise as Stephanos seemed to forget exactly who it was that had decided to make his ill timed entrance into the world.
Scowling at his perceived ignorance, the queen reached awkwardly for one of the pillows beside her, hurling it at her husband’s head with all of the indignant force she could muster. After months of worry and excitement and fear, the reason she had married Stephanos, she had little capacity to appreciate any joking. Her body felt alert, ready for any sign of the pain that had woken her in the first place as she gestured to her swollen belly.
”Your son. Or have you forgotten anyone but your cursed uncle.”
Desma waddled between them, fixing the king with a disapproving look as she settled a bowl of water and a packet of herbs at Pia’s side. It all suddenly was feeling far too real, and more than anything else she wished her mother was here, and Selene. Her child should come into the world surrounding by his doting aunts and grandmothers, father and grandfather just outside waiting to be introduced. Not in a prison. Not when she was all but alone.
”Desma, send someone you trust to find Selene, and my mother. Tell them he’s coming. Gods willing they will understand that message.”
The older woman gave a nod before exiting the room at a far slower pace than Olympia would have liked. She still feared the next contraction, and what would happen if Irakles got that message before her family. Perhaps since she had last seen any of them they would have found something to save their lives.
He saw her face change about a second before she lobbed the pillow at him. Catching it, he thought about flinging it back at her but turned around and immediately pelted it at Desma. The old woman glared at him and called him a useless peacock under her breath but did not retaliate otherwise. Her refusal to engage in outright fighting only served to make him feel both guilty and agitated. He turned back to Olympia and twisted his mouth at her still irritated expression.
When she gestured to her stomach and made the biting observation that he had been just a little too preoccupied with his own betrayal, he dropped his gaze and moved toward her, only to have Desma cut across him. “Oh for the sake of Zeus!” he cursed at her, stepping around her pointedly so that he could get to Pia’s other side. If he had still been in power, his temper would have been less easily stirred but he was a raw nerve. Anything that grazed him the wrong way merely served to make him want to explode.
He sat on the bed beside her, his hand near hers but not actually touching her, watching incredulously as her nursemaid hobbled out of the door with the speed of a dying tortoise. It was easier to take out his temper on the old woman, rather than the pregnant one beside him. Waiting until Desma was through the door, he finally turned his attention back to Olympia.
“I don’t suppose it’ll do any good to beg you to stop…” an obvious jest that was said with a serious expression. His thoughts were very much in line with hers. This was exactly what they didn’t need. Then, “I’m sorry. I just...I wish I’d have been able to get you out somehow. Or have been less selfish and sent you out to the country somewhere.”
Looking back, he could see what he should have done but he’d been so sure he could outfox his uncle. Preparing for the inevitable had not been an option. Sending Olympia and the baby into hiding would have been the intelligent thing to do but he’d felt she would be safer at his side. Yet again, wrong.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
He saw her face change about a second before she lobbed the pillow at him. Catching it, he thought about flinging it back at her but turned around and immediately pelted it at Desma. The old woman glared at him and called him a useless peacock under her breath but did not retaliate otherwise. Her refusal to engage in outright fighting only served to make him feel both guilty and agitated. He turned back to Olympia and twisted his mouth at her still irritated expression.
When she gestured to her stomach and made the biting observation that he had been just a little too preoccupied with his own betrayal, he dropped his gaze and moved toward her, only to have Desma cut across him. “Oh for the sake of Zeus!” he cursed at her, stepping around her pointedly so that he could get to Pia’s other side. If he had still been in power, his temper would have been less easily stirred but he was a raw nerve. Anything that grazed him the wrong way merely served to make him want to explode.
He sat on the bed beside her, his hand near hers but not actually touching her, watching incredulously as her nursemaid hobbled out of the door with the speed of a dying tortoise. It was easier to take out his temper on the old woman, rather than the pregnant one beside him. Waiting until Desma was through the door, he finally turned his attention back to Olympia.
“I don’t suppose it’ll do any good to beg you to stop…” an obvious jest that was said with a serious expression. His thoughts were very much in line with hers. This was exactly what they didn’t need. Then, “I’m sorry. I just...I wish I’d have been able to get you out somehow. Or have been less selfish and sent you out to the country somewhere.”
Looking back, he could see what he should have done but he’d been so sure he could outfox his uncle. Preparing for the inevitable had not been an option. Sending Olympia and the baby into hiding would have been the intelligent thing to do but he’d felt she would be safer at his side. Yet again, wrong.
He saw her face change about a second before she lobbed the pillow at him. Catching it, he thought about flinging it back at her but turned around and immediately pelted it at Desma. The old woman glared at him and called him a useless peacock under her breath but did not retaliate otherwise. Her refusal to engage in outright fighting only served to make him feel both guilty and agitated. He turned back to Olympia and twisted his mouth at her still irritated expression.
When she gestured to her stomach and made the biting observation that he had been just a little too preoccupied with his own betrayal, he dropped his gaze and moved toward her, only to have Desma cut across him. “Oh for the sake of Zeus!” he cursed at her, stepping around her pointedly so that he could get to Pia’s other side. If he had still been in power, his temper would have been less easily stirred but he was a raw nerve. Anything that grazed him the wrong way merely served to make him want to explode.
He sat on the bed beside her, his hand near hers but not actually touching her, watching incredulously as her nursemaid hobbled out of the door with the speed of a dying tortoise. It was easier to take out his temper on the old woman, rather than the pregnant one beside him. Waiting until Desma was through the door, he finally turned his attention back to Olympia.
“I don’t suppose it’ll do any good to beg you to stop…” an obvious jest that was said with a serious expression. His thoughts were very much in line with hers. This was exactly what they didn’t need. Then, “I’m sorry. I just...I wish I’d have been able to get you out somehow. Or have been less selfish and sent you out to the country somewhere.”
Looking back, he could see what he should have done but he’d been so sure he could outfox his uncle. Preparing for the inevitable had not been an option. Sending Olympia and the baby into hiding would have been the intelligent thing to do but he’d felt she would be safer at his side. Yet again, wrong.
The slight confrontation between husband and nursemaid sparked her irritation and she shook her head at both of them. Now that the pain of the beginning had dissipated the fear was creeping in and taking hold, and her eyes darted about the room as if search for somewhere to run or hide. There was nowhere to go, no one to help them. Her son would be born and die all in one breath if Irakles had any say about it. Stephanos' hand resting close to her was the only lifeline she had left, and even he couldn't save them. Shaking her head as he asked weakly if she could wait, Olympia closed her eyes and sank back against the pillows, uncertain of the exact amount of time since the last pain.
"If I could, I would. At least it will be over soon."
She was referring to so many things. Their lives, their imprisonment, his boredom. The fear and pain of not knowing would be gone soon, she only wished she'd had a chance to say goodbye to her family, and to see her child grow. If it was a girl, perhaps Irakles would let them live. A horrible thought crossed her mind that if instead of the son she had been hoping so desperately for, a daughter would pose far less threat to the man who wished to kill them. Perhaps a daughter would be allowed to live, even if Pia chose to stay with Stephanos to the end, not producing a son might save their lives.
"I wouldn't have gone even if you tried. Neither of us could know what he was planning."
Reaching for his hand, she turned with a sad smile and gave a squeeze, face twisting as another pain began to rise. It felt as if she was simply about to start her monthly course at the beginning, uncomfortable but manageable, but it increased in discomfort and she gave a soft hiss of pain at the peak of it. As it eased off once again she could feel how tightly she'd been clutching at her husband's hand, and she relaxed her hold as she caught her breath again, shaking her head and trying not to let go of the tears she'd somehow managed to prevent.
"They'll need a name. Even if they don't manage a first breath."
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
The slight confrontation between husband and nursemaid sparked her irritation and she shook her head at both of them. Now that the pain of the beginning had dissipated the fear was creeping in and taking hold, and her eyes darted about the room as if search for somewhere to run or hide. There was nowhere to go, no one to help them. Her son would be born and die all in one breath if Irakles had any say about it. Stephanos' hand resting close to her was the only lifeline she had left, and even he couldn't save them. Shaking her head as he asked weakly if she could wait, Olympia closed her eyes and sank back against the pillows, uncertain of the exact amount of time since the last pain.
"If I could, I would. At least it will be over soon."
She was referring to so many things. Their lives, their imprisonment, his boredom. The fear and pain of not knowing would be gone soon, she only wished she'd had a chance to say goodbye to her family, and to see her child grow. If it was a girl, perhaps Irakles would let them live. A horrible thought crossed her mind that if instead of the son she had been hoping so desperately for, a daughter would pose far less threat to the man who wished to kill them. Perhaps a daughter would be allowed to live, even if Pia chose to stay with Stephanos to the end, not producing a son might save their lives.
"I wouldn't have gone even if you tried. Neither of us could know what he was planning."
Reaching for his hand, she turned with a sad smile and gave a squeeze, face twisting as another pain began to rise. It felt as if she was simply about to start her monthly course at the beginning, uncomfortable but manageable, but it increased in discomfort and she gave a soft hiss of pain at the peak of it. As it eased off once again she could feel how tightly she'd been clutching at her husband's hand, and she relaxed her hold as she caught her breath again, shaking her head and trying not to let go of the tears she'd somehow managed to prevent.
"They'll need a name. Even if they don't manage a first breath."
The slight confrontation between husband and nursemaid sparked her irritation and she shook her head at both of them. Now that the pain of the beginning had dissipated the fear was creeping in and taking hold, and her eyes darted about the room as if search for somewhere to run or hide. There was nowhere to go, no one to help them. Her son would be born and die all in one breath if Irakles had any say about it. Stephanos' hand resting close to her was the only lifeline she had left, and even he couldn't save them. Shaking her head as he asked weakly if she could wait, Olympia closed her eyes and sank back against the pillows, uncertain of the exact amount of time since the last pain.
"If I could, I would. At least it will be over soon."
She was referring to so many things. Their lives, their imprisonment, his boredom. The fear and pain of not knowing would be gone soon, she only wished she'd had a chance to say goodbye to her family, and to see her child grow. If it was a girl, perhaps Irakles would let them live. A horrible thought crossed her mind that if instead of the son she had been hoping so desperately for, a daughter would pose far less threat to the man who wished to kill them. Perhaps a daughter would be allowed to live, even if Pia chose to stay with Stephanos to the end, not producing a son might save their lives.
"I wouldn't have gone even if you tried. Neither of us could know what he was planning."
Reaching for his hand, she turned with a sad smile and gave a squeeze, face twisting as another pain began to rise. It felt as if she was simply about to start her monthly course at the beginning, uncomfortable but manageable, but it increased in discomfort and she gave a soft hiss of pain at the peak of it. As it eased off once again she could feel how tightly she'd been clutching at her husband's hand, and she relaxed her hold as she caught her breath again, shaking her head and trying not to let go of the tears she'd somehow managed to prevent.
"They'll need a name. Even if they don't manage a first breath."
He looked down at the joined hands but couldn’t bring himself to smile. This was unfortunate. His flat expression turned to a frown as he watched her face scrunch in pain. Shifting closer to her, he put an arm around her shoulders and placed the side of his body right up against her. There was very little he could do for her but he wished that she didn’t have to go through this, and he really, really wished she didn’t have to go through this right now.
“We knew he was planning something,” he muttered once her obvious pain wore off. Still. The past was the past and it was pointless to regret everything now. They could play the game of deciding who had the most blame at their door later. He wasn’t looking forward to that. Olympia was wholly innocent in all of this. She was so pure and kind. He didn’t deserve her and yet, here she sat with his child, in his palace, going to be murdered by his uncle.
He felt cursed.
When her hold on his hand finally eased, he took it away to flex his fingers while she asked what they should call the child. After all, the gods would need a name for him when they all crossed the Styx together in the afterlife. Assuming that Irakles was decent enough to give them the burial they deserved. Stephanos wasn’t totally counting on this, though. His brother’s body had been allowed to rot somewhere and they hoped rather than knew that his father found peace.
“Lysandros,” he said, smoothing his hand slowly across her stomach, lingering there to feel the baby, he searched her eyes for any hint as to how she felt about that name. Desma came popping in, apparently not having too far to go. The moment was broken and he sighed in aggravation as the old woman shot him a look. He couldn’t do this. Not to put too fine a point on it, but if Desma died first, he could enter the underworld with a smile on his face.
"Where isn't in the way?" he risked asking, only to have this bite him anyway.
"Where indeed?" Desma asked innocently.
He shot a look at his wife, half beseeching her to intervene and half warning that he might choke her nursemaid if she didn't.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
He looked down at the joined hands but couldn’t bring himself to smile. This was unfortunate. His flat expression turned to a frown as he watched her face scrunch in pain. Shifting closer to her, he put an arm around her shoulders and placed the side of his body right up against her. There was very little he could do for her but he wished that she didn’t have to go through this, and he really, really wished she didn’t have to go through this right now.
“We knew he was planning something,” he muttered once her obvious pain wore off. Still. The past was the past and it was pointless to regret everything now. They could play the game of deciding who had the most blame at their door later. He wasn’t looking forward to that. Olympia was wholly innocent in all of this. She was so pure and kind. He didn’t deserve her and yet, here she sat with his child, in his palace, going to be murdered by his uncle.
He felt cursed.
When her hold on his hand finally eased, he took it away to flex his fingers while she asked what they should call the child. After all, the gods would need a name for him when they all crossed the Styx together in the afterlife. Assuming that Irakles was decent enough to give them the burial they deserved. Stephanos wasn’t totally counting on this, though. His brother’s body had been allowed to rot somewhere and they hoped rather than knew that his father found peace.
“Lysandros,” he said, smoothing his hand slowly across her stomach, lingering there to feel the baby, he searched her eyes for any hint as to how she felt about that name. Desma came popping in, apparently not having too far to go. The moment was broken and he sighed in aggravation as the old woman shot him a look. He couldn’t do this. Not to put too fine a point on it, but if Desma died first, he could enter the underworld with a smile on his face.
"Where isn't in the way?" he risked asking, only to have this bite him anyway.
"Where indeed?" Desma asked innocently.
He shot a look at his wife, half beseeching her to intervene and half warning that he might choke her nursemaid if she didn't.
He looked down at the joined hands but couldn’t bring himself to smile. This was unfortunate. His flat expression turned to a frown as he watched her face scrunch in pain. Shifting closer to her, he put an arm around her shoulders and placed the side of his body right up against her. There was very little he could do for her but he wished that she didn’t have to go through this, and he really, really wished she didn’t have to go through this right now.
“We knew he was planning something,” he muttered once her obvious pain wore off. Still. The past was the past and it was pointless to regret everything now. They could play the game of deciding who had the most blame at their door later. He wasn’t looking forward to that. Olympia was wholly innocent in all of this. She was so pure and kind. He didn’t deserve her and yet, here she sat with his child, in his palace, going to be murdered by his uncle.
He felt cursed.
When her hold on his hand finally eased, he took it away to flex his fingers while she asked what they should call the child. After all, the gods would need a name for him when they all crossed the Styx together in the afterlife. Assuming that Irakles was decent enough to give them the burial they deserved. Stephanos wasn’t totally counting on this, though. His brother’s body had been allowed to rot somewhere and they hoped rather than knew that his father found peace.
“Lysandros,” he said, smoothing his hand slowly across her stomach, lingering there to feel the baby, he searched her eyes for any hint as to how she felt about that name. Desma came popping in, apparently not having too far to go. The moment was broken and he sighed in aggravation as the old woman shot him a look. He couldn’t do this. Not to put too fine a point on it, but if Desma died first, he could enter the underworld with a smile on his face.
"Where isn't in the way?" he risked asking, only to have this bite him anyway.
"Where indeed?" Desma asked innocently.
He shot a look at his wife, half beseeching her to intervene and half warning that he might choke her nursemaid if she didn't.
She didn’t know what to make of the night.
First, the sudden arrival from home to find her sister under lock and key, terrified for her life and that of her child. She hadnt expected it to come back to this, to know that things were so poor in the capitol that there was genuine fear in her sister’s voice. Every thing Stephanos said was filled with anxiety and anger. And both were certain that death was eminent.
Then, she was introduced to the Egyptian general. He overwhelmed her with his charm, and to be quite frank, it was a welcome distraction from everything else that was going on. After the absolute disaster with Vangelis, it was nice to feel like her old self again. She’d forgotten how much men liked to flirt with her, and how empowering it was to know that she was able to enchant them with more than just her looks. His obvious attention and desire had stunned her a bit, but she had kept on her toes and did as she was expected to do.
It hadn’t been long after that when she’d used that courage to corner Vangelis to try and gain his assistance in the escape of her family. He thought her plan foolish, even with the help of Alastair to get the guards good and drunk. She had thought it sound, knowing that half the guards would be focused on her and her dress before they noticed they were gone. Secret passages would provide enough time for them to escape, and they would at least be safe wherever Alastair planned to take them.
The moment he left, she was notified to come quick to her sister. That he was coming.
Her eyes widened, because at first, she thought it meant that Irakles was going to act tonight. But then, as she rushed back through the room, she noticed he was still firmly at the side of the General. Which meant the ‘he’ was the baby.
Hades’ balls.
She moved through the halls, making her way back to the quarters in which the King and Queen were housed. A quick rap on the door, opened by Alastair, and she was in the room. ”What happened? He’s coming? Now?” She moved to her sister’s side, face alight with concern.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
She didn’t know what to make of the night.
First, the sudden arrival from home to find her sister under lock and key, terrified for her life and that of her child. She hadnt expected it to come back to this, to know that things were so poor in the capitol that there was genuine fear in her sister’s voice. Every thing Stephanos said was filled with anxiety and anger. And both were certain that death was eminent.
Then, she was introduced to the Egyptian general. He overwhelmed her with his charm, and to be quite frank, it was a welcome distraction from everything else that was going on. After the absolute disaster with Vangelis, it was nice to feel like her old self again. She’d forgotten how much men liked to flirt with her, and how empowering it was to know that she was able to enchant them with more than just her looks. His obvious attention and desire had stunned her a bit, but she had kept on her toes and did as she was expected to do.
It hadn’t been long after that when she’d used that courage to corner Vangelis to try and gain his assistance in the escape of her family. He thought her plan foolish, even with the help of Alastair to get the guards good and drunk. She had thought it sound, knowing that half the guards would be focused on her and her dress before they noticed they were gone. Secret passages would provide enough time for them to escape, and they would at least be safe wherever Alastair planned to take them.
The moment he left, she was notified to come quick to her sister. That he was coming.
Her eyes widened, because at first, she thought it meant that Irakles was going to act tonight. But then, as she rushed back through the room, she noticed he was still firmly at the side of the General. Which meant the ‘he’ was the baby.
Hades’ balls.
She moved through the halls, making her way back to the quarters in which the King and Queen were housed. A quick rap on the door, opened by Alastair, and she was in the room. ”What happened? He’s coming? Now?” She moved to her sister’s side, face alight with concern.
She didn’t know what to make of the night.
First, the sudden arrival from home to find her sister under lock and key, terrified for her life and that of her child. She hadnt expected it to come back to this, to know that things were so poor in the capitol that there was genuine fear in her sister’s voice. Every thing Stephanos said was filled with anxiety and anger. And both were certain that death was eminent.
Then, she was introduced to the Egyptian general. He overwhelmed her with his charm, and to be quite frank, it was a welcome distraction from everything else that was going on. After the absolute disaster with Vangelis, it was nice to feel like her old self again. She’d forgotten how much men liked to flirt with her, and how empowering it was to know that she was able to enchant them with more than just her looks. His obvious attention and desire had stunned her a bit, but she had kept on her toes and did as she was expected to do.
It hadn’t been long after that when she’d used that courage to corner Vangelis to try and gain his assistance in the escape of her family. He thought her plan foolish, even with the help of Alastair to get the guards good and drunk. She had thought it sound, knowing that half the guards would be focused on her and her dress before they noticed they were gone. Secret passages would provide enough time for them to escape, and they would at least be safe wherever Alastair planned to take them.
The moment he left, she was notified to come quick to her sister. That he was coming.
Her eyes widened, because at first, she thought it meant that Irakles was going to act tonight. But then, as she rushed back through the room, she noticed he was still firmly at the side of the General. Which meant the ‘he’ was the baby.
Hades’ balls.
She moved through the halls, making her way back to the quarters in which the King and Queen were housed. A quick rap on the door, opened by Alastair, and she was in the room. ”What happened? He’s coming? Now?” She moved to her sister’s side, face alight with concern.
Vangelis continued to stare at the tablet he held. It was thin, finely made and carefully procured by the servants of the Order House when he had insisted on a piece of clay that would work for a formal missive. Since then, he had inscribed it with the necessary information, baked it himself for to have anyone see it would be to destroy everything he had worked towards so far, and had now sat staring at it for the past hour. Despite time being of a certain amount of essence.
His jaw tightened as he read it over for what felt like the hundredth time, the tip of his fingers tracing several of the key words. He had written the message in clay over parchment so that he could not be edited. Even clever carvings into the hardened dough were obvious. The exact, original content would remain clear. Including the formal seal of his house and the signing of his own name at the bottom. The entire article made him feel a little sick.
Setting the piece aside for a moment, bracing his elbows on the desk and pressing his fingers to his eyes, Vangelis rubbed at first his lids and then his face in its entirety. He folded his hands together in the air and then braced his forehead upon them, taking a few calming breaths to easy the nausea in his stomach. He closed his eyes and imagined circumstances if he did not step in. A man he had come to consider as his friend, the sister of another of his closest and an innocent child would all die if he was not able to find some way of helping them. And yet if he did so, the entirety of Colchis was put at risk by opening the door for claims of international sabotage and espionage - actions that were in direct violation of the Peace Treaty between the three kingdoms.
A treaty that was his father's single proudest achievement.
Vangelis unmatched his hands, curled one into a fist that he pressed against his mouth and the other reached to his neck where he found the pendant he had worn since he was ten years old. His father had given it to him. A Colchian blood stone, an Athenian shark's tooth, one of the first gold coins of Taengea. Three pendants, three symbols, one message. Unity and collaboration.
Vangelis exhaled long and hard.
He was not a man. He was a prince. His actions determined that of so many more than those he knew or cared about. Sacrifices had to be made. For the good of his kingdom.
And yet... he could not bring himself to step aside and allow innocent lives to be taken. It was the right thing to do. He knew that, in order to avoid the risk of massive bloodshed and untold deaths if Irakles ever used his actions to justify war between the Grecian kingdoms once more... three lives - no matter how innocent - were a small price to pay. If he was to do what was right, he had to let them die. That was the true and right sacrifice to make.
Vangelis looked over the clay tablet again.
This time... this time he didn't feel that he could do what was right.
Swallowing, Vangelis took up the whetted clay to one side and started moulding the encasement for the letter. His large hands morphed the grey substance into a flat and simple envelope that was purposeful if not pretty. He wrapped the letter inside, sealed it and then held it carefully in his hands as he left the study he had not exited since returning from the court sessions that afternoon, and headed down to the kitchens. He left the exterior - usually marked with the recipients address and his own seal of certification - entirely blank, as he set it into the covered fire, using it as a kiln.
He stood back and folded his arms as he watched the flames lick at the clay up and around the metal grating it rested up, his fingers smearing grey dust and water over the arms of his shirt.
There was no going back now.
Well, he could take the slim piece of clay and smash it into pieces on the floor but there was something committing and conclusive about sealing it in its second layer. It was symptomatic of a choice he had to have made, or he wouldn't have found his way to the furnace.
And, like with any of the decisions he had made in his life, as soon as the clay hardened, so had his resolve.
Vangelis fished the piece out of the oven, secured it in a thick blanket and held it close as he headed straight to his chambers without hesitation or stillness in his gait. The heat of the brick he held burned its warmth into his chest and only served to invigorate his zeal, reminding him of his decision every step of the way.
His first stop along the way to his rented bedroom was the chamber that had been assigned to Magnus upon his arrival in Taengea. Vangelis knocked once and then opened it, heedless of whether the man was asleep or not, given the now late hour. All he cared about was whether the man was alone. And, as far as he knew, Magnus was never improper enough to bring a woman to the crown prince's rented home abroad whenever they happened to stay in the same lodgings.
Sure enough, only one human shape was in the bed, the man startled into consciousness at Vang's entrance.
"Ready the girls." He told his Master Informer without pause or explanation. "Athanasia and Imeeya. They're to be at the docks, ready to board by midnight. Move silently. No-one is to know that we're leaving. You are to stay on in Taengea."
It was all he imparted on the man before asking him to confirm the instructions - just to ensure Magnus was in fact awake enough to hear and understand them - and then shut the door before continuing about seven steps to the door of Nike. There he knocked and performed the exact same routine. It didn't matter that Nike was a woman. As far as he was concerned, he treated her like a man and would continue to do so because that was the life she had chosen to lead. And if Nike was a man, he would have walked straight into her chambers - as proven by his earlier performance with his Master Informer.
It turned out that Nike wasn't asleep, which saved any awkwardness on their part and, this time, Vangelis stepped fully inside, shutting the door behind him.
"Nike, I need a word." He instructed, his tone serious and his expression even more so. With a man as stoic as Vangelis, it was hard to tell when severity was deliberate or a simple state of being, but Nike had been with him long enough to be able to tell the difference. He set the blanketed bundle, still warm, on the side of the desk she was seated at, finishing up paperwork from her role as Commander. "We're leaving. Tonight. I need you to have the ship ready within two hours. If I am not there by dawn, you're to sail to Colchis-" He talked over her as her expression appeared to turn into one of protestation. -"with Athanasia and Imeeya and deliver this-" He stabbed the bundle with a strange index finger. "To my mother. To no-one else, regardless of any circumstance." His gaze turned incredibly sharp on this last point, before he carried on... "If I do arrive at the ship before you sail, you smash this to dust and scatter it in the ocean on our way back to Colchis. No-one is to read what is inside here barring my mother. Do you understand, Nike?"
After receiving her assent, he refused to let her question or argue which he knew she might want to on a personal level but doubt she would do so out loud anyway. Nike was a soldier first and foremost and a damn good one too. She would know from his tone that this was a serious matter that he wasn't about to take negotiation or advice upon. And he wasn't going to explain himself either. The less she knew of his progressing plans the freer of accusation she would be and the less danger he was in of such schemes being discovered. Not that he thought Nike would ever betray him. But knowledge made you subconsciously act a certain way and he wasn't about to burden her with something that could become her weakness.
Instead of speaking on the subject further. Vangelis simply repeated himself. "Two hours. At the docks." And then left the room.
He deliberately didn't seek out his sister or his cousin. He didn't have the time now to explain or divert their questions away from what he had planned. Instead, he made a direct and purposeful pace towards his own bedchambers where his actions were quick and efficient.
Shutting himself inside, he didn't pause to consider the duality in his behaviour. He had thought and considered and stressed over his choice for more time than he normally would have any other choice. But once made, he was as proactive as ever. Not a man for regrets nor second-guessing, Vangelis was washed and ready to dress within five minutes of entering his chambers. Calling to a servant to relay a message to his guards as he pulled on his clothes, Vangelis was quick to ensure that his things were packed and sitting in the centre of his bed for Nike to take when she readied the ship and his attire appropriate for his plans.
He glanced at himself only once in the full-length mirror in the corner of the room - in his usual riding pants and shirt with a leather tunic, arm and leg guards and a pauldron in place over his left shoulder, strapped securely across his chest. By the time he was equipped with both long swords, knives in his boots and belt and inside his thigh bracers, his hair was starting to dry, curling at his ears and the nape of his neck - after which he turned towards the door and didn't look back.
That was the thing about being a soldier. You made a choice in the heat of battle. You commit to it. And you didn't look back. And Vangelis was a very good soldier.
Twenty minutes later and Vangelis was being permitted entrance into the Mikaelidas Palati through the eastern wing. It was the section of manor that was furthest from where Stephanos and Olympia were being kept which meant it had only a single guard on the simple servant exit. To say the man would have been surprised to see the crown prince of Colchis turn up intending to use it was an understatement but he didn't have the option as Vangelis sent one of his men down the garden to start sneaking around. His instructions on what the two guards who accompanied him were wearing had been very specific and it did not include Colchis or Kotas colours. The guardsman was sharp and spotted an intruder, but not where he was from. And Vangelis watched with satisfaction as his personal guardsman Ecktor was able to carefully slip between bushes and storage huts on the far side of the garden in a way that had the palati watchman frowning, unsure whether the shadow was some form of animal, human or just the breeze shifting foliage and throwing out shadows.
Deciding, finally, to step out and see for himself, Vangelis waited for the man to move at an angle that placed Vangelis out of eyeline and then looked up to inspect the patrol guards that walked the surrounding balustrades on the roof. When each had their back to his position, Vangelis jogged forwards across the gardens, quickly and quietly, his second man behind him, and slipped inside the unguarded door with a silence that had the portal closed again within seconds. Inside, they were in the servant’s quarters. There was nothing of value and no prisoners kept here so no guards to avoid. Instead, he simply moved his way to an open chamber of marble - a small foyer at the bottom of a flight of stairs and headed to the western window where he was able to secure safe and silent passage inside for Ecktor.
Remembering the rough layout of the palati from his last visit to the place with Stephanos, Vangelis thanked the Taengean pride for their masonry and the fact that his guide had, at that time, insisted on showing him everything before proceeding to the war room. At least now he knew where he was going.
Throughout the first two wings of the manor, progress was easy. He and his two men walked with the silent step of those trained in subterfuge. They knew how to walk so as not to cause their riding boots to tap upon the marble. They knew how to hold their swords so that the metal didn't clink against their legs. They breathed easy, stepped lightly and walked with a confidence that ensured both speed and quiet. What most people didn't realise was that the easiest way to sneak, but to be bold. Less noise was made when you walked with ease.
It wasn't until they reached the western block of the palati that guards became a problem. It was here that the royal family slept, it was here that the royal family was being kept under guard. It became clear when they reached the first man, however, that, despite his insistence that she did nothing of the sort, Selene had continued with her plans for rendering the palace soldiers useless. The first they came to was passed out. And judging from the smell of him, it was a deep slumber brought on by excessive alcohol consumption.
His jaw tightening, Vangelis hoped to the Gods that the girl had been smart enough not to offer the cups of wine to the men herself. All the Prince would have to do come morning would ask those who had been unconscious who had served them the wine. Prior to killing them for poor performance, of course. Death would have been a kinder mercy to these men than forcing them to appear inept at their jobs.
Not about to correct the situation now, though, Vangelis continued forwards, his own men following behind him swiftly and silently - three wraiths wandering the halls.
Occasionally they stopped to allow a patrolling guard to walk past. Sometimes they found one snoozing. Another they managed to step passed while his indulgences came back upon him; he was vomiting into a nearby vase and his attentions were not focused on his place of duty.
They reached the corridor on which he had been reliably informed Stephanos and Olympia's rooms were located entirely unseen. Which was to be expected. It was the getting out that was going to be difficult by all accounts.
Vangelis neither hovered at the corner of the corridor, nor attempted to deceive the two guards left on duty outside Stephanos' rooms. Both stood with a burly strength and impressive height, their spears in hand and their tunics of royal colours carefully secured. These were not men left for show but warriors carefully chosen. Which meant playing to their egos would be his best angle.
Vangelis walked down the corridor with all confidence, a domineering stride that befit his rank in the military and his birth-right as crown prince. He had been at royal functions enough in the last two weeks that he was recognised almost immediately by one guard and only a few seconds later by the other. They glanced at him surprised, then at his two men - a limited number for a crown prince to walk around with and hardly a threat and then down the corridor behind him, curious as to who was accompanying his royal person.
He also noted their gazes drop to his weapons. For, every time he had visited the palati, he had been removed of his swords and blades. He watched a frown settle over the brow of one of the men, whilst the other remained simply cautious.
“I’m here to see the King.” Vangelis stated in a tone that brokered no argument or suspicion and came with a deep timbre of certainty that strongly indicated it expected no refute.
Luckily – or perhaps unluckily for him now – Stephanos’ palace guards were no idiots and initially would not budge.
“No-one is to see the king without written permission from Prince Irakles.” The first man detailed. “He wishes to be aware of all eventualities with the King.”
“Then enter with us. I have nothing to hide and Prince Irakles currently sleeps. It’s your choice if you’d like to be the one who wakes him now or tomorrow with news that the crown prince of Colchis is displeased with the consideration given to his person.” Vangelis stood deliberately too close to the man, arms folded, eyes dark. ”Or, you can let us in, enter with us and report every second of it to His Highness in a manner that befits his requirements and doesn’t cause an inter-kingdom incident.” He leaned in. “Which is it to be soldier?”
The two men glanced at each other before giving in and moving to indicate his admittance to the room. Vangelis stayed where he was. He raised a brow and gestured towards the door.
“That man is a supposed Kingslayer and murdered his own brother. You can go in first to assure me he’s not waiting behind a door with knife in hand to murder another crown prince.”
As he had suspected, the inferred flattery of the guardsmen’s skills was the way to break into their concern for regulation and within a moment the wooden bar the kept the door from opening was lifted and the doorway breeched as the two guards stepped forwards into the royal chambers.
Instantly, Vangelis senses were assaulted. The room was still lit with candles, despite the later hour, whilst the corridors outside were dark. He blinked in the light. His ears were hit with the sound of heavy breathing, held in groans and the sound of movement from the room that could be seen beyond an open archway. Vangelis spotted the figure of a white clad female rolling around in pain and the side profile of Stephanos’ frame standing beside the bed. Anyone else in the room was hidden from view.
“What’s going on?” One of the guards asked, taking a step in the direction of the bedchamber before he was halted by a noise of anguish, his features a classic masculine distaste for the awkwardness of female difficulties.
Using the opportunity, Vangelis glanced at one of his men, and they both acted in unison. Whilst Ecktor shut the door soundlessly behind them, Vangelis and his other soldier Furon had their arms around the neck of each guard. In a second, they had cut off their ability to speak, in three they had pushed down hard on the back of the neck to ensure the blocking of air and within a minute, each of the palace guardsmen had crumpled unconscious before them. Furon was smart enough to follow Vangelis’ lead in ensuring neither the man nor his spear hit the floor with any kind of noise.
After ensuring both men were out cold, Vangelis stepped over the prone bodies lying just inside the room and moved to the doorway of the bedchamber. His eyes fell on Olympia, her faces glazed in pain and her hand clutching at her swollen belly. It didn’t take a genius to work out the answer to the now unconscious guard’s question. Vangelis’ jaw tightened.
”Well, that’s going to make this difficult.” He said.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Vangelis continued to stare at the tablet he held. It was thin, finely made and carefully procured by the servants of the Order House when he had insisted on a piece of clay that would work for a formal missive. Since then, he had inscribed it with the necessary information, baked it himself for to have anyone see it would be to destroy everything he had worked towards so far, and had now sat staring at it for the past hour. Despite time being of a certain amount of essence.
His jaw tightened as he read it over for what felt like the hundredth time, the tip of his fingers tracing several of the key words. He had written the message in clay over parchment so that he could not be edited. Even clever carvings into the hardened dough were obvious. The exact, original content would remain clear. Including the formal seal of his house and the signing of his own name at the bottom. The entire article made him feel a little sick.
Setting the piece aside for a moment, bracing his elbows on the desk and pressing his fingers to his eyes, Vangelis rubbed at first his lids and then his face in its entirety. He folded his hands together in the air and then braced his forehead upon them, taking a few calming breaths to easy the nausea in his stomach. He closed his eyes and imagined circumstances if he did not step in. A man he had come to consider as his friend, the sister of another of his closest and an innocent child would all die if he was not able to find some way of helping them. And yet if he did so, the entirety of Colchis was put at risk by opening the door for claims of international sabotage and espionage - actions that were in direct violation of the Peace Treaty between the three kingdoms.
A treaty that was his father's single proudest achievement.
Vangelis unmatched his hands, curled one into a fist that he pressed against his mouth and the other reached to his neck where he found the pendant he had worn since he was ten years old. His father had given it to him. A Colchian blood stone, an Athenian shark's tooth, one of the first gold coins of Taengea. Three pendants, three symbols, one message. Unity and collaboration.
Vangelis exhaled long and hard.
He was not a man. He was a prince. His actions determined that of so many more than those he knew or cared about. Sacrifices had to be made. For the good of his kingdom.
And yet... he could not bring himself to step aside and allow innocent lives to be taken. It was the right thing to do. He knew that, in order to avoid the risk of massive bloodshed and untold deaths if Irakles ever used his actions to justify war between the Grecian kingdoms once more... three lives - no matter how innocent - were a small price to pay. If he was to do what was right, he had to let them die. That was the true and right sacrifice to make.
Vangelis looked over the clay tablet again.
This time... this time he didn't feel that he could do what was right.
Swallowing, Vangelis took up the whetted clay to one side and started moulding the encasement for the letter. His large hands morphed the grey substance into a flat and simple envelope that was purposeful if not pretty. He wrapped the letter inside, sealed it and then held it carefully in his hands as he left the study he had not exited since returning from the court sessions that afternoon, and headed down to the kitchens. He left the exterior - usually marked with the recipients address and his own seal of certification - entirely blank, as he set it into the covered fire, using it as a kiln.
He stood back and folded his arms as he watched the flames lick at the clay up and around the metal grating it rested up, his fingers smearing grey dust and water over the arms of his shirt.
There was no going back now.
Well, he could take the slim piece of clay and smash it into pieces on the floor but there was something committing and conclusive about sealing it in its second layer. It was symptomatic of a choice he had to have made, or he wouldn't have found his way to the furnace.
And, like with any of the decisions he had made in his life, as soon as the clay hardened, so had his resolve.
Vangelis fished the piece out of the oven, secured it in a thick blanket and held it close as he headed straight to his chambers without hesitation or stillness in his gait. The heat of the brick he held burned its warmth into his chest and only served to invigorate his zeal, reminding him of his decision every step of the way.
His first stop along the way to his rented bedroom was the chamber that had been assigned to Magnus upon his arrival in Taengea. Vangelis knocked once and then opened it, heedless of whether the man was asleep or not, given the now late hour. All he cared about was whether the man was alone. And, as far as he knew, Magnus was never improper enough to bring a woman to the crown prince's rented home abroad whenever they happened to stay in the same lodgings.
Sure enough, only one human shape was in the bed, the man startled into consciousness at Vang's entrance.
"Ready the girls." He told his Master Informer without pause or explanation. "Athanasia and Imeeya. They're to be at the docks, ready to board by midnight. Move silently. No-one is to know that we're leaving. You are to stay on in Taengea."
It was all he imparted on the man before asking him to confirm the instructions - just to ensure Magnus was in fact awake enough to hear and understand them - and then shut the door before continuing about seven steps to the door of Nike. There he knocked and performed the exact same routine. It didn't matter that Nike was a woman. As far as he was concerned, he treated her like a man and would continue to do so because that was the life she had chosen to lead. And if Nike was a man, he would have walked straight into her chambers - as proven by his earlier performance with his Master Informer.
It turned out that Nike wasn't asleep, which saved any awkwardness on their part and, this time, Vangelis stepped fully inside, shutting the door behind him.
"Nike, I need a word." He instructed, his tone serious and his expression even more so. With a man as stoic as Vangelis, it was hard to tell when severity was deliberate or a simple state of being, but Nike had been with him long enough to be able to tell the difference. He set the blanketed bundle, still warm, on the side of the desk she was seated at, finishing up paperwork from her role as Commander. "We're leaving. Tonight. I need you to have the ship ready within two hours. If I am not there by dawn, you're to sail to Colchis-" He talked over her as her expression appeared to turn into one of protestation. -"with Athanasia and Imeeya and deliver this-" He stabbed the bundle with a strange index finger. "To my mother. To no-one else, regardless of any circumstance." His gaze turned incredibly sharp on this last point, before he carried on... "If I do arrive at the ship before you sail, you smash this to dust and scatter it in the ocean on our way back to Colchis. No-one is to read what is inside here barring my mother. Do you understand, Nike?"
After receiving her assent, he refused to let her question or argue which he knew she might want to on a personal level but doubt she would do so out loud anyway. Nike was a soldier first and foremost and a damn good one too. She would know from his tone that this was a serious matter that he wasn't about to take negotiation or advice upon. And he wasn't going to explain himself either. The less she knew of his progressing plans the freer of accusation she would be and the less danger he was in of such schemes being discovered. Not that he thought Nike would ever betray him. But knowledge made you subconsciously act a certain way and he wasn't about to burden her with something that could become her weakness.
Instead of speaking on the subject further. Vangelis simply repeated himself. "Two hours. At the docks." And then left the room.
He deliberately didn't seek out his sister or his cousin. He didn't have the time now to explain or divert their questions away from what he had planned. Instead, he made a direct and purposeful pace towards his own bedchambers where his actions were quick and efficient.
Shutting himself inside, he didn't pause to consider the duality in his behaviour. He had thought and considered and stressed over his choice for more time than he normally would have any other choice. But once made, he was as proactive as ever. Not a man for regrets nor second-guessing, Vangelis was washed and ready to dress within five minutes of entering his chambers. Calling to a servant to relay a message to his guards as he pulled on his clothes, Vangelis was quick to ensure that his things were packed and sitting in the centre of his bed for Nike to take when she readied the ship and his attire appropriate for his plans.
He glanced at himself only once in the full-length mirror in the corner of the room - in his usual riding pants and shirt with a leather tunic, arm and leg guards and a pauldron in place over his left shoulder, strapped securely across his chest. By the time he was equipped with both long swords, knives in his boots and belt and inside his thigh bracers, his hair was starting to dry, curling at his ears and the nape of his neck - after which he turned towards the door and didn't look back.
That was the thing about being a soldier. You made a choice in the heat of battle. You commit to it. And you didn't look back. And Vangelis was a very good soldier.
Twenty minutes later and Vangelis was being permitted entrance into the Mikaelidas Palati through the eastern wing. It was the section of manor that was furthest from where Stephanos and Olympia were being kept which meant it had only a single guard on the simple servant exit. To say the man would have been surprised to see the crown prince of Colchis turn up intending to use it was an understatement but he didn't have the option as Vangelis sent one of his men down the garden to start sneaking around. His instructions on what the two guards who accompanied him were wearing had been very specific and it did not include Colchis or Kotas colours. The guardsman was sharp and spotted an intruder, but not where he was from. And Vangelis watched with satisfaction as his personal guardsman Ecktor was able to carefully slip between bushes and storage huts on the far side of the garden in a way that had the palati watchman frowning, unsure whether the shadow was some form of animal, human or just the breeze shifting foliage and throwing out shadows.
Deciding, finally, to step out and see for himself, Vangelis waited for the man to move at an angle that placed Vangelis out of eyeline and then looked up to inspect the patrol guards that walked the surrounding balustrades on the roof. When each had their back to his position, Vangelis jogged forwards across the gardens, quickly and quietly, his second man behind him, and slipped inside the unguarded door with a silence that had the portal closed again within seconds. Inside, they were in the servant’s quarters. There was nothing of value and no prisoners kept here so no guards to avoid. Instead, he simply moved his way to an open chamber of marble - a small foyer at the bottom of a flight of stairs and headed to the western window where he was able to secure safe and silent passage inside for Ecktor.
Remembering the rough layout of the palati from his last visit to the place with Stephanos, Vangelis thanked the Taengean pride for their masonry and the fact that his guide had, at that time, insisted on showing him everything before proceeding to the war room. At least now he knew where he was going.
Throughout the first two wings of the manor, progress was easy. He and his two men walked with the silent step of those trained in subterfuge. They knew how to walk so as not to cause their riding boots to tap upon the marble. They knew how to hold their swords so that the metal didn't clink against their legs. They breathed easy, stepped lightly and walked with a confidence that ensured both speed and quiet. What most people didn't realise was that the easiest way to sneak, but to be bold. Less noise was made when you walked with ease.
It wasn't until they reached the western block of the palati that guards became a problem. It was here that the royal family slept, it was here that the royal family was being kept under guard. It became clear when they reached the first man, however, that, despite his insistence that she did nothing of the sort, Selene had continued with her plans for rendering the palace soldiers useless. The first they came to was passed out. And judging from the smell of him, it was a deep slumber brought on by excessive alcohol consumption.
His jaw tightening, Vangelis hoped to the Gods that the girl had been smart enough not to offer the cups of wine to the men herself. All the Prince would have to do come morning would ask those who had been unconscious who had served them the wine. Prior to killing them for poor performance, of course. Death would have been a kinder mercy to these men than forcing them to appear inept at their jobs.
Not about to correct the situation now, though, Vangelis continued forwards, his own men following behind him swiftly and silently - three wraiths wandering the halls.
Occasionally they stopped to allow a patrolling guard to walk past. Sometimes they found one snoozing. Another they managed to step passed while his indulgences came back upon him; he was vomiting into a nearby vase and his attentions were not focused on his place of duty.
They reached the corridor on which he had been reliably informed Stephanos and Olympia's rooms were located entirely unseen. Which was to be expected. It was the getting out that was going to be difficult by all accounts.
Vangelis neither hovered at the corner of the corridor, nor attempted to deceive the two guards left on duty outside Stephanos' rooms. Both stood with a burly strength and impressive height, their spears in hand and their tunics of royal colours carefully secured. These were not men left for show but warriors carefully chosen. Which meant playing to their egos would be his best angle.
Vangelis walked down the corridor with all confidence, a domineering stride that befit his rank in the military and his birth-right as crown prince. He had been at royal functions enough in the last two weeks that he was recognised almost immediately by one guard and only a few seconds later by the other. They glanced at him surprised, then at his two men - a limited number for a crown prince to walk around with and hardly a threat and then down the corridor behind him, curious as to who was accompanying his royal person.
He also noted their gazes drop to his weapons. For, every time he had visited the palati, he had been removed of his swords and blades. He watched a frown settle over the brow of one of the men, whilst the other remained simply cautious.
“I’m here to see the King.” Vangelis stated in a tone that brokered no argument or suspicion and came with a deep timbre of certainty that strongly indicated it expected no refute.
Luckily – or perhaps unluckily for him now – Stephanos’ palace guards were no idiots and initially would not budge.
“No-one is to see the king without written permission from Prince Irakles.” The first man detailed. “He wishes to be aware of all eventualities with the King.”
“Then enter with us. I have nothing to hide and Prince Irakles currently sleeps. It’s your choice if you’d like to be the one who wakes him now or tomorrow with news that the crown prince of Colchis is displeased with the consideration given to his person.” Vangelis stood deliberately too close to the man, arms folded, eyes dark. ”Or, you can let us in, enter with us and report every second of it to His Highness in a manner that befits his requirements and doesn’t cause an inter-kingdom incident.” He leaned in. “Which is it to be soldier?”
The two men glanced at each other before giving in and moving to indicate his admittance to the room. Vangelis stayed where he was. He raised a brow and gestured towards the door.
“That man is a supposed Kingslayer and murdered his own brother. You can go in first to assure me he’s not waiting behind a door with knife in hand to murder another crown prince.”
As he had suspected, the inferred flattery of the guardsmen’s skills was the way to break into their concern for regulation and within a moment the wooden bar the kept the door from opening was lifted and the doorway breeched as the two guards stepped forwards into the royal chambers.
Instantly, Vangelis senses were assaulted. The room was still lit with candles, despite the later hour, whilst the corridors outside were dark. He blinked in the light. His ears were hit with the sound of heavy breathing, held in groans and the sound of movement from the room that could be seen beyond an open archway. Vangelis spotted the figure of a white clad female rolling around in pain and the side profile of Stephanos’ frame standing beside the bed. Anyone else in the room was hidden from view.
“What’s going on?” One of the guards asked, taking a step in the direction of the bedchamber before he was halted by a noise of anguish, his features a classic masculine distaste for the awkwardness of female difficulties.
Using the opportunity, Vangelis glanced at one of his men, and they both acted in unison. Whilst Ecktor shut the door soundlessly behind them, Vangelis and his other soldier Furon had their arms around the neck of each guard. In a second, they had cut off their ability to speak, in three they had pushed down hard on the back of the neck to ensure the blocking of air and within a minute, each of the palace guardsmen had crumpled unconscious before them. Furon was smart enough to follow Vangelis’ lead in ensuring neither the man nor his spear hit the floor with any kind of noise.
After ensuring both men were out cold, Vangelis stepped over the prone bodies lying just inside the room and moved to the doorway of the bedchamber. His eyes fell on Olympia, her faces glazed in pain and her hand clutching at her swollen belly. It didn’t take a genius to work out the answer to the now unconscious guard’s question. Vangelis’ jaw tightened.
”Well, that’s going to make this difficult.” He said.
Vangelis continued to stare at the tablet he held. It was thin, finely made and carefully procured by the servants of the Order House when he had insisted on a piece of clay that would work for a formal missive. Since then, he had inscribed it with the necessary information, baked it himself for to have anyone see it would be to destroy everything he had worked towards so far, and had now sat staring at it for the past hour. Despite time being of a certain amount of essence.
His jaw tightened as he read it over for what felt like the hundredth time, the tip of his fingers tracing several of the key words. He had written the message in clay over parchment so that he could not be edited. Even clever carvings into the hardened dough were obvious. The exact, original content would remain clear. Including the formal seal of his house and the signing of his own name at the bottom. The entire article made him feel a little sick.
Setting the piece aside for a moment, bracing his elbows on the desk and pressing his fingers to his eyes, Vangelis rubbed at first his lids and then his face in its entirety. He folded his hands together in the air and then braced his forehead upon them, taking a few calming breaths to easy the nausea in his stomach. He closed his eyes and imagined circumstances if he did not step in. A man he had come to consider as his friend, the sister of another of his closest and an innocent child would all die if he was not able to find some way of helping them. And yet if he did so, the entirety of Colchis was put at risk by opening the door for claims of international sabotage and espionage - actions that were in direct violation of the Peace Treaty between the three kingdoms.
A treaty that was his father's single proudest achievement.
Vangelis unmatched his hands, curled one into a fist that he pressed against his mouth and the other reached to his neck where he found the pendant he had worn since he was ten years old. His father had given it to him. A Colchian blood stone, an Athenian shark's tooth, one of the first gold coins of Taengea. Three pendants, three symbols, one message. Unity and collaboration.
Vangelis exhaled long and hard.
He was not a man. He was a prince. His actions determined that of so many more than those he knew or cared about. Sacrifices had to be made. For the good of his kingdom.
And yet... he could not bring himself to step aside and allow innocent lives to be taken. It was the right thing to do. He knew that, in order to avoid the risk of massive bloodshed and untold deaths if Irakles ever used his actions to justify war between the Grecian kingdoms once more... three lives - no matter how innocent - were a small price to pay. If he was to do what was right, he had to let them die. That was the true and right sacrifice to make.
Vangelis looked over the clay tablet again.
This time... this time he didn't feel that he could do what was right.
Swallowing, Vangelis took up the whetted clay to one side and started moulding the encasement for the letter. His large hands morphed the grey substance into a flat and simple envelope that was purposeful if not pretty. He wrapped the letter inside, sealed it and then held it carefully in his hands as he left the study he had not exited since returning from the court sessions that afternoon, and headed down to the kitchens. He left the exterior - usually marked with the recipients address and his own seal of certification - entirely blank, as he set it into the covered fire, using it as a kiln.
He stood back and folded his arms as he watched the flames lick at the clay up and around the metal grating it rested up, his fingers smearing grey dust and water over the arms of his shirt.
There was no going back now.
Well, he could take the slim piece of clay and smash it into pieces on the floor but there was something committing and conclusive about sealing it in its second layer. It was symptomatic of a choice he had to have made, or he wouldn't have found his way to the furnace.
And, like with any of the decisions he had made in his life, as soon as the clay hardened, so had his resolve.
Vangelis fished the piece out of the oven, secured it in a thick blanket and held it close as he headed straight to his chambers without hesitation or stillness in his gait. The heat of the brick he held burned its warmth into his chest and only served to invigorate his zeal, reminding him of his decision every step of the way.
His first stop along the way to his rented bedroom was the chamber that had been assigned to Magnus upon his arrival in Taengea. Vangelis knocked once and then opened it, heedless of whether the man was asleep or not, given the now late hour. All he cared about was whether the man was alone. And, as far as he knew, Magnus was never improper enough to bring a woman to the crown prince's rented home abroad whenever they happened to stay in the same lodgings.
Sure enough, only one human shape was in the bed, the man startled into consciousness at Vang's entrance.
"Ready the girls." He told his Master Informer without pause or explanation. "Athanasia and Imeeya. They're to be at the docks, ready to board by midnight. Move silently. No-one is to know that we're leaving. You are to stay on in Taengea."
It was all he imparted on the man before asking him to confirm the instructions - just to ensure Magnus was in fact awake enough to hear and understand them - and then shut the door before continuing about seven steps to the door of Nike. There he knocked and performed the exact same routine. It didn't matter that Nike was a woman. As far as he was concerned, he treated her like a man and would continue to do so because that was the life she had chosen to lead. And if Nike was a man, he would have walked straight into her chambers - as proven by his earlier performance with his Master Informer.
It turned out that Nike wasn't asleep, which saved any awkwardness on their part and, this time, Vangelis stepped fully inside, shutting the door behind him.
"Nike, I need a word." He instructed, his tone serious and his expression even more so. With a man as stoic as Vangelis, it was hard to tell when severity was deliberate or a simple state of being, but Nike had been with him long enough to be able to tell the difference. He set the blanketed bundle, still warm, on the side of the desk she was seated at, finishing up paperwork from her role as Commander. "We're leaving. Tonight. I need you to have the ship ready within two hours. If I am not there by dawn, you're to sail to Colchis-" He talked over her as her expression appeared to turn into one of protestation. -"with Athanasia and Imeeya and deliver this-" He stabbed the bundle with a strange index finger. "To my mother. To no-one else, regardless of any circumstance." His gaze turned incredibly sharp on this last point, before he carried on... "If I do arrive at the ship before you sail, you smash this to dust and scatter it in the ocean on our way back to Colchis. No-one is to read what is inside here barring my mother. Do you understand, Nike?"
After receiving her assent, he refused to let her question or argue which he knew she might want to on a personal level but doubt she would do so out loud anyway. Nike was a soldier first and foremost and a damn good one too. She would know from his tone that this was a serious matter that he wasn't about to take negotiation or advice upon. And he wasn't going to explain himself either. The less she knew of his progressing plans the freer of accusation she would be and the less danger he was in of such schemes being discovered. Not that he thought Nike would ever betray him. But knowledge made you subconsciously act a certain way and he wasn't about to burden her with something that could become her weakness.
Instead of speaking on the subject further. Vangelis simply repeated himself. "Two hours. At the docks." And then left the room.
He deliberately didn't seek out his sister or his cousin. He didn't have the time now to explain or divert their questions away from what he had planned. Instead, he made a direct and purposeful pace towards his own bedchambers where his actions were quick and efficient.
Shutting himself inside, he didn't pause to consider the duality in his behaviour. He had thought and considered and stressed over his choice for more time than he normally would have any other choice. But once made, he was as proactive as ever. Not a man for regrets nor second-guessing, Vangelis was washed and ready to dress within five minutes of entering his chambers. Calling to a servant to relay a message to his guards as he pulled on his clothes, Vangelis was quick to ensure that his things were packed and sitting in the centre of his bed for Nike to take when she readied the ship and his attire appropriate for his plans.
He glanced at himself only once in the full-length mirror in the corner of the room - in his usual riding pants and shirt with a leather tunic, arm and leg guards and a pauldron in place over his left shoulder, strapped securely across his chest. By the time he was equipped with both long swords, knives in his boots and belt and inside his thigh bracers, his hair was starting to dry, curling at his ears and the nape of his neck - after which he turned towards the door and didn't look back.
That was the thing about being a soldier. You made a choice in the heat of battle. You commit to it. And you didn't look back. And Vangelis was a very good soldier.
Twenty minutes later and Vangelis was being permitted entrance into the Mikaelidas Palati through the eastern wing. It was the section of manor that was furthest from where Stephanos and Olympia were being kept which meant it had only a single guard on the simple servant exit. To say the man would have been surprised to see the crown prince of Colchis turn up intending to use it was an understatement but he didn't have the option as Vangelis sent one of his men down the garden to start sneaking around. His instructions on what the two guards who accompanied him were wearing had been very specific and it did not include Colchis or Kotas colours. The guardsman was sharp and spotted an intruder, but not where he was from. And Vangelis watched with satisfaction as his personal guardsman Ecktor was able to carefully slip between bushes and storage huts on the far side of the garden in a way that had the palati watchman frowning, unsure whether the shadow was some form of animal, human or just the breeze shifting foliage and throwing out shadows.
Deciding, finally, to step out and see for himself, Vangelis waited for the man to move at an angle that placed Vangelis out of eyeline and then looked up to inspect the patrol guards that walked the surrounding balustrades on the roof. When each had their back to his position, Vangelis jogged forwards across the gardens, quickly and quietly, his second man behind him, and slipped inside the unguarded door with a silence that had the portal closed again within seconds. Inside, they were in the servant’s quarters. There was nothing of value and no prisoners kept here so no guards to avoid. Instead, he simply moved his way to an open chamber of marble - a small foyer at the bottom of a flight of stairs and headed to the western window where he was able to secure safe and silent passage inside for Ecktor.
Remembering the rough layout of the palati from his last visit to the place with Stephanos, Vangelis thanked the Taengean pride for their masonry and the fact that his guide had, at that time, insisted on showing him everything before proceeding to the war room. At least now he knew where he was going.
Throughout the first two wings of the manor, progress was easy. He and his two men walked with the silent step of those trained in subterfuge. They knew how to walk so as not to cause their riding boots to tap upon the marble. They knew how to hold their swords so that the metal didn't clink against their legs. They breathed easy, stepped lightly and walked with a confidence that ensured both speed and quiet. What most people didn't realise was that the easiest way to sneak, but to be bold. Less noise was made when you walked with ease.
It wasn't until they reached the western block of the palati that guards became a problem. It was here that the royal family slept, it was here that the royal family was being kept under guard. It became clear when they reached the first man, however, that, despite his insistence that she did nothing of the sort, Selene had continued with her plans for rendering the palace soldiers useless. The first they came to was passed out. And judging from the smell of him, it was a deep slumber brought on by excessive alcohol consumption.
His jaw tightening, Vangelis hoped to the Gods that the girl had been smart enough not to offer the cups of wine to the men herself. All the Prince would have to do come morning would ask those who had been unconscious who had served them the wine. Prior to killing them for poor performance, of course. Death would have been a kinder mercy to these men than forcing them to appear inept at their jobs.
Not about to correct the situation now, though, Vangelis continued forwards, his own men following behind him swiftly and silently - three wraiths wandering the halls.
Occasionally they stopped to allow a patrolling guard to walk past. Sometimes they found one snoozing. Another they managed to step passed while his indulgences came back upon him; he was vomiting into a nearby vase and his attentions were not focused on his place of duty.
They reached the corridor on which he had been reliably informed Stephanos and Olympia's rooms were located entirely unseen. Which was to be expected. It was the getting out that was going to be difficult by all accounts.
Vangelis neither hovered at the corner of the corridor, nor attempted to deceive the two guards left on duty outside Stephanos' rooms. Both stood with a burly strength and impressive height, their spears in hand and their tunics of royal colours carefully secured. These were not men left for show but warriors carefully chosen. Which meant playing to their egos would be his best angle.
Vangelis walked down the corridor with all confidence, a domineering stride that befit his rank in the military and his birth-right as crown prince. He had been at royal functions enough in the last two weeks that he was recognised almost immediately by one guard and only a few seconds later by the other. They glanced at him surprised, then at his two men - a limited number for a crown prince to walk around with and hardly a threat and then down the corridor behind him, curious as to who was accompanying his royal person.
He also noted their gazes drop to his weapons. For, every time he had visited the palati, he had been removed of his swords and blades. He watched a frown settle over the brow of one of the men, whilst the other remained simply cautious.
“I’m here to see the King.” Vangelis stated in a tone that brokered no argument or suspicion and came with a deep timbre of certainty that strongly indicated it expected no refute.
Luckily – or perhaps unluckily for him now – Stephanos’ palace guards were no idiots and initially would not budge.
“No-one is to see the king without written permission from Prince Irakles.” The first man detailed. “He wishes to be aware of all eventualities with the King.”
“Then enter with us. I have nothing to hide and Prince Irakles currently sleeps. It’s your choice if you’d like to be the one who wakes him now or tomorrow with news that the crown prince of Colchis is displeased with the consideration given to his person.” Vangelis stood deliberately too close to the man, arms folded, eyes dark. ”Or, you can let us in, enter with us and report every second of it to His Highness in a manner that befits his requirements and doesn’t cause an inter-kingdom incident.” He leaned in. “Which is it to be soldier?”
The two men glanced at each other before giving in and moving to indicate his admittance to the room. Vangelis stayed where he was. He raised a brow and gestured towards the door.
“That man is a supposed Kingslayer and murdered his own brother. You can go in first to assure me he’s not waiting behind a door with knife in hand to murder another crown prince.”
As he had suspected, the inferred flattery of the guardsmen’s skills was the way to break into their concern for regulation and within a moment the wooden bar the kept the door from opening was lifted and the doorway breeched as the two guards stepped forwards into the royal chambers.
Instantly, Vangelis senses were assaulted. The room was still lit with candles, despite the later hour, whilst the corridors outside were dark. He blinked in the light. His ears were hit with the sound of heavy breathing, held in groans and the sound of movement from the room that could be seen beyond an open archway. Vangelis spotted the figure of a white clad female rolling around in pain and the side profile of Stephanos’ frame standing beside the bed. Anyone else in the room was hidden from view.
“What’s going on?” One of the guards asked, taking a step in the direction of the bedchamber before he was halted by a noise of anguish, his features a classic masculine distaste for the awkwardness of female difficulties.
Using the opportunity, Vangelis glanced at one of his men, and they both acted in unison. Whilst Ecktor shut the door soundlessly behind them, Vangelis and his other soldier Furon had their arms around the neck of each guard. In a second, they had cut off their ability to speak, in three they had pushed down hard on the back of the neck to ensure the blocking of air and within a minute, each of the palace guardsmen had crumpled unconscious before them. Furon was smart enough to follow Vangelis’ lead in ensuring neither the man nor his spear hit the floor with any kind of noise.
After ensuring both men were out cold, Vangelis stepped over the prone bodies lying just inside the room and moved to the doorway of the bedchamber. His eyes fell on Olympia, her faces glazed in pain and her hand clutching at her swollen belly. It didn’t take a genius to work out the answer to the now unconscious guard’s question. Vangelis’ jaw tightened.
”Well, that’s going to make this difficult.” He said.
The entrance of Selene was both welcome and bad time. The palpable tension in the room had him standing with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, glaring at Desma, even as Olympia scolded them both. He chewed the inside of his cheek to keep the insults in check that he wanted to hurl at his wife’s infuriating midwife. While Pia breathed through another contract, and Desma bungled about collecting this and that, Stephanos made himself useful by continuing to be near his wife. Mostly he occupied himself with dark fantasies of Desma’s demise.
These were interrupted by Selene who came in looking both harried and resplendent. Her concern, though, grated. It only served to ratchet up the tension in the room and remind them that the baby would have a few hours, at most, before Irakles found out and had his agents do their worst. Every contraction his wife had, the pain across her face, he felt his own life slipping through his fingers. And there was nothing they could do.
With the affirmative that Irakles was occupied, Stephanos moved to the door, leaning against it and listening for sounds of the guards. He then went to the bed, knelt on it, and cupped his wife’s face in his hands. “Pia, I know it hurts but do not cry out. We’ll have more time if they do not know you’re in labor. We might even be able to hide the baby for a day or two…” Though he was trying to think how to keep an infant from crying. It was cruel to hold a cloth over a baby’s mouth to prevent noise but he couldn’t think of another option.
So long as no one knew…
He knew the suggestion wouldn’t go over well but he was much less concerned with his wife’s feelings or what her sister thought of him in that moment. They needed a plan. Not coddled.
An hour crawled by. He was restless and pacing. The night grew late but still their room blazed with lights. He’d wanted to put them out to act like everything was normal but Desma insisted she needed to see what she was doing. Even the woman’s putrid eyes were old.
Muffled voices sounded from outside the door but he didn’t move from his place. It wasn’t Irakles’s voice. Still. When the door opened, he finally tore his gaze away from Pia and stared at Vangelis blinking rapidly in the light. Stephanos nearly leaped out of his skin. He leaped over the bed, instead, reaching Vangelis just as the two guards were laid on the ground.
The dispatching of their jailors told Stephanos all he needed to know; Theodora had relayed their plea and Vangelis had actually answered. That was a shock in and of itself. There were no words.
He flung his arms around Vangelis and hugged him tight enough that he felt the man’s spine pop. “You Ass!” Stephanos laughed and then stepped back a fraction, rubbing his knuckles into Vangelis’s hair. “You considered leaving us to die, didn’t you? That’s what took you so long.” He didn’t give Vangelis a chance to answer before he forced yet another hug on him, then shoved off Vangelis and went to Pia. She may or may not need him to help her along but he was feeling too optimistic now to allow any thought that they would not survive. He’d toss his wife over his shoulder and carry her the entire way if she asked him to.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
The entrance of Selene was both welcome and bad time. The palpable tension in the room had him standing with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, glaring at Desma, even as Olympia scolded them both. He chewed the inside of his cheek to keep the insults in check that he wanted to hurl at his wife’s infuriating midwife. While Pia breathed through another contract, and Desma bungled about collecting this and that, Stephanos made himself useful by continuing to be near his wife. Mostly he occupied himself with dark fantasies of Desma’s demise.
These were interrupted by Selene who came in looking both harried and resplendent. Her concern, though, grated. It only served to ratchet up the tension in the room and remind them that the baby would have a few hours, at most, before Irakles found out and had his agents do their worst. Every contraction his wife had, the pain across her face, he felt his own life slipping through his fingers. And there was nothing they could do.
With the affirmative that Irakles was occupied, Stephanos moved to the door, leaning against it and listening for sounds of the guards. He then went to the bed, knelt on it, and cupped his wife’s face in his hands. “Pia, I know it hurts but do not cry out. We’ll have more time if they do not know you’re in labor. We might even be able to hide the baby for a day or two…” Though he was trying to think how to keep an infant from crying. It was cruel to hold a cloth over a baby’s mouth to prevent noise but he couldn’t think of another option.
So long as no one knew…
He knew the suggestion wouldn’t go over well but he was much less concerned with his wife’s feelings or what her sister thought of him in that moment. They needed a plan. Not coddled.
An hour crawled by. He was restless and pacing. The night grew late but still their room blazed with lights. He’d wanted to put them out to act like everything was normal but Desma insisted she needed to see what she was doing. Even the woman’s putrid eyes were old.
Muffled voices sounded from outside the door but he didn’t move from his place. It wasn’t Irakles’s voice. Still. When the door opened, he finally tore his gaze away from Pia and stared at Vangelis blinking rapidly in the light. Stephanos nearly leaped out of his skin. He leaped over the bed, instead, reaching Vangelis just as the two guards were laid on the ground.
The dispatching of their jailors told Stephanos all he needed to know; Theodora had relayed their plea and Vangelis had actually answered. That was a shock in and of itself. There were no words.
He flung his arms around Vangelis and hugged him tight enough that he felt the man’s spine pop. “You Ass!” Stephanos laughed and then stepped back a fraction, rubbing his knuckles into Vangelis’s hair. “You considered leaving us to die, didn’t you? That’s what took you so long.” He didn’t give Vangelis a chance to answer before he forced yet another hug on him, then shoved off Vangelis and went to Pia. She may or may not need him to help her along but he was feeling too optimistic now to allow any thought that they would not survive. He’d toss his wife over his shoulder and carry her the entire way if she asked him to.
The entrance of Selene was both welcome and bad time. The palpable tension in the room had him standing with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, glaring at Desma, even as Olympia scolded them both. He chewed the inside of his cheek to keep the insults in check that he wanted to hurl at his wife’s infuriating midwife. While Pia breathed through another contract, and Desma bungled about collecting this and that, Stephanos made himself useful by continuing to be near his wife. Mostly he occupied himself with dark fantasies of Desma’s demise.
These were interrupted by Selene who came in looking both harried and resplendent. Her concern, though, grated. It only served to ratchet up the tension in the room and remind them that the baby would have a few hours, at most, before Irakles found out and had his agents do their worst. Every contraction his wife had, the pain across her face, he felt his own life slipping through his fingers. And there was nothing they could do.
With the affirmative that Irakles was occupied, Stephanos moved to the door, leaning against it and listening for sounds of the guards. He then went to the bed, knelt on it, and cupped his wife’s face in his hands. “Pia, I know it hurts but do not cry out. We’ll have more time if they do not know you’re in labor. We might even be able to hide the baby for a day or two…” Though he was trying to think how to keep an infant from crying. It was cruel to hold a cloth over a baby’s mouth to prevent noise but he couldn’t think of another option.
So long as no one knew…
He knew the suggestion wouldn’t go over well but he was much less concerned with his wife’s feelings or what her sister thought of him in that moment. They needed a plan. Not coddled.
An hour crawled by. He was restless and pacing. The night grew late but still their room blazed with lights. He’d wanted to put them out to act like everything was normal but Desma insisted she needed to see what she was doing. Even the woman’s putrid eyes were old.
Muffled voices sounded from outside the door but he didn’t move from his place. It wasn’t Irakles’s voice. Still. When the door opened, he finally tore his gaze away from Pia and stared at Vangelis blinking rapidly in the light. Stephanos nearly leaped out of his skin. He leaped over the bed, instead, reaching Vangelis just as the two guards were laid on the ground.
The dispatching of their jailors told Stephanos all he needed to know; Theodora had relayed their plea and Vangelis had actually answered. That was a shock in and of itself. There were no words.
He flung his arms around Vangelis and hugged him tight enough that he felt the man’s spine pop. “You Ass!” Stephanos laughed and then stepped back a fraction, rubbing his knuckles into Vangelis’s hair. “You considered leaving us to die, didn’t you? That’s what took you so long.” He didn’t give Vangelis a chance to answer before he forced yet another hug on him, then shoved off Vangelis and went to Pia. She may or may not need him to help her along but he was feeling too optimistic now to allow any thought that they would not survive. He’d toss his wife over his shoulder and carry her the entire way if she asked him to.
Vangelis was entirely flummoxed by the King's behaviour. The two of them had fought side by side several times. Stephanos had confided in him his fears regarding Irakles and he in turn had offered aid in the form of Magnus investigating further - a task he would continue to do after they left for Colchis, in the hopes of finding both the true mastermind behind King Zenon and Prince Zacharias' deaths and the weak link in Irakles' web of lies that they could exploit in order to have Stephanos returned to his position as king.
And why their association had only been that of three months, Vangelis had certainly come to terms with Stephanos being his friend. Fighting in life and death situations a few times, shoulder-to-shoulder had that sort of bonding effect. But none of his friends had ever shoved their knuckles into his head and rubbed as if he were a five-year-old. It threw him off balance for a moment and clearly shocked Ecktor and Furon to the high heavens, but Vangelis quickly straightened and regained his comportment once more. Clearly, Stephanos was losing his mind from the solitude of house arrest and the stress of what appeared to be the imminent arrival of his heir. He would give him a pass, under those circumstances.
Turning to his men, his order was a simple nod, without verbal confirmation, for he had given his men the full explanation of his plan ahead of time. Instantly, Ecktor and Furon worked to relieve the two palati guards of their clothing, shifting and shoving the men's unconscious limbs from within the garments and setting their clothing and weapons to one side. They then proceeded to remove their own clothes: their helmets, armour, boots and tunics, revealing a second, lighter tunic in the style of palati servants.
Ignoring his men as they worked, Vangelis turned his attention back to the words addressed his way: Stephanos' mocking yet accurate accusations that Vangelis had been planning to leave them to die. Taking a steadying breath, Vangelis' lips twisted, the upper lifting a little in distaste at the truth in Stephanos' question as Stephanos drew him toward the bedroom and Olympia's midwife and Selene came into view. Vangelis turned his gaze quickly back to Stephanos.
"Would you feel better or worse if I told you yes, I did." His gaze was unapologetic and his tone firm, before his gaze flickered a pointedly look towards Selene, his gaze almost... angry. "But I was convinced otherwise."
Turning his attention back to Olympia and his eyes narrowing in an almost wince as she went through what appeared to be a surge of pain, Vangelis' next words took in everyone in the room.
"I have a plan to get everyone out but..." He jaw tightened as his gaze met Olympia's. "If anyone knows how close your child is to birth, no story will save you from the guards we must pass. You'd have to walk... without any indication of your labour." His eyes narrowed, not in a doubting manner but in a way that expressed the seriousness of her next answer. "Can you do that, Your Highness?"
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Vangelis was entirely flummoxed by the King's behaviour. The two of them had fought side by side several times. Stephanos had confided in him his fears regarding Irakles and he in turn had offered aid in the form of Magnus investigating further - a task he would continue to do after they left for Colchis, in the hopes of finding both the true mastermind behind King Zenon and Prince Zacharias' deaths and the weak link in Irakles' web of lies that they could exploit in order to have Stephanos returned to his position as king.
And why their association had only been that of three months, Vangelis had certainly come to terms with Stephanos being his friend. Fighting in life and death situations a few times, shoulder-to-shoulder had that sort of bonding effect. But none of his friends had ever shoved their knuckles into his head and rubbed as if he were a five-year-old. It threw him off balance for a moment and clearly shocked Ecktor and Furon to the high heavens, but Vangelis quickly straightened and regained his comportment once more. Clearly, Stephanos was losing his mind from the solitude of house arrest and the stress of what appeared to be the imminent arrival of his heir. He would give him a pass, under those circumstances.
Turning to his men, his order was a simple nod, without verbal confirmation, for he had given his men the full explanation of his plan ahead of time. Instantly, Ecktor and Furon worked to relieve the two palati guards of their clothing, shifting and shoving the men's unconscious limbs from within the garments and setting their clothing and weapons to one side. They then proceeded to remove their own clothes: their helmets, armour, boots and tunics, revealing a second, lighter tunic in the style of palati servants.
Ignoring his men as they worked, Vangelis turned his attention back to the words addressed his way: Stephanos' mocking yet accurate accusations that Vangelis had been planning to leave them to die. Taking a steadying breath, Vangelis' lips twisted, the upper lifting a little in distaste at the truth in Stephanos' question as Stephanos drew him toward the bedroom and Olympia's midwife and Selene came into view. Vangelis turned his gaze quickly back to Stephanos.
"Would you feel better or worse if I told you yes, I did." His gaze was unapologetic and his tone firm, before his gaze flickered a pointedly look towards Selene, his gaze almost... angry. "But I was convinced otherwise."
Turning his attention back to Olympia and his eyes narrowing in an almost wince as she went through what appeared to be a surge of pain, Vangelis' next words took in everyone in the room.
"I have a plan to get everyone out but..." He jaw tightened as his gaze met Olympia's. "If anyone knows how close your child is to birth, no story will save you from the guards we must pass. You'd have to walk... without any indication of your labour." His eyes narrowed, not in a doubting manner but in a way that expressed the seriousness of her next answer. "Can you do that, Your Highness?"
Vangelis was entirely flummoxed by the King's behaviour. The two of them had fought side by side several times. Stephanos had confided in him his fears regarding Irakles and he in turn had offered aid in the form of Magnus investigating further - a task he would continue to do after they left for Colchis, in the hopes of finding both the true mastermind behind King Zenon and Prince Zacharias' deaths and the weak link in Irakles' web of lies that they could exploit in order to have Stephanos returned to his position as king.
And why their association had only been that of three months, Vangelis had certainly come to terms with Stephanos being his friend. Fighting in life and death situations a few times, shoulder-to-shoulder had that sort of bonding effect. But none of his friends had ever shoved their knuckles into his head and rubbed as if he were a five-year-old. It threw him off balance for a moment and clearly shocked Ecktor and Furon to the high heavens, but Vangelis quickly straightened and regained his comportment once more. Clearly, Stephanos was losing his mind from the solitude of house arrest and the stress of what appeared to be the imminent arrival of his heir. He would give him a pass, under those circumstances.
Turning to his men, his order was a simple nod, without verbal confirmation, for he had given his men the full explanation of his plan ahead of time. Instantly, Ecktor and Furon worked to relieve the two palati guards of their clothing, shifting and shoving the men's unconscious limbs from within the garments and setting their clothing and weapons to one side. They then proceeded to remove their own clothes: their helmets, armour, boots and tunics, revealing a second, lighter tunic in the style of palati servants.
Ignoring his men as they worked, Vangelis turned his attention back to the words addressed his way: Stephanos' mocking yet accurate accusations that Vangelis had been planning to leave them to die. Taking a steadying breath, Vangelis' lips twisted, the upper lifting a little in distaste at the truth in Stephanos' question as Stephanos drew him toward the bedroom and Olympia's midwife and Selene came into view. Vangelis turned his gaze quickly back to Stephanos.
"Would you feel better or worse if I told you yes, I did." His gaze was unapologetic and his tone firm, before his gaze flickered a pointedly look towards Selene, his gaze almost... angry. "But I was convinced otherwise."
Turning his attention back to Olympia and his eyes narrowing in an almost wince as she went through what appeared to be a surge of pain, Vangelis' next words took in everyone in the room.
"I have a plan to get everyone out but..." He jaw tightened as his gaze met Olympia's. "If anyone knows how close your child is to birth, no story will save you from the guards we must pass. You'd have to walk... without any indication of your labour." His eyes narrowed, not in a doubting manner but in a way that expressed the seriousness of her next answer. "Can you do that, Your Highness?"
She couldn’t tell how much time had passed, only that the sun had eventually started to fade in the sky. Desma had done the best she could with the assistance of sister and husband to make her comfortable, and with some time between each pain she was able to breathe and gather her thoughts. Dark thoughts since she was certainly about to die. Stephanos’ request that she remain as silent as possible was difficult to achieve, but she did all she could even in the midst of the contractions to muffle any sounds she might make. After she’d bitten nearly through her bottom lip Desma had handed her a twist of cloth for her to sink her teeth into instead, wiping the blood from her chin as Pia cried quietly as she could.
It felt as if it had been hours when the sound of the door opening pulled her attention away from the contraction that was far stronger than the others had been, her nails biting into the skin of those who held her hands even with Desma rubbing a salve on her lower back to try to ease the pain. Panting for breath, she was able to look around and felt a sense of relief at the sight of Vangelis instead of Irakles or some of his men. Perhaps they were saved after all, or at the very least they could ask him to save the life of her child. If she could only send Selene and the baby away with him, she would gladly die with the knowledge they at least were safe.
Her husband’s antics were barely noted as her nursemaid wiped the sweat from her brow and helped her get comfortable again as the last edge of discomfort faded once again. She offered a smile to their saviour and looked to Selene, reaching for her sister’s hand and giving it a squeeze of thanks. Whatever her eldest sister had said, whatever Theo had said, both of them had a hand in saving them now. The prince’s question though had her hesitating, looking down at her stomach and taking a deep breath. She had no guarantee that she could move much without showing any pain. Desma had her up and walking around between contractions, and she had moved with a waddle for the past month as her stomach grew even more, but if a contraction hit as they were passing a guard…
”I can try. If not...cut him free and take him with you. Desma knows how. Then at least he and his father will have a chance to escape.”
The queen’s face was set and determined, and with Desma’s help, she stood slowly and braced herself against the bed while the older woman found a cloak to wrap her in. It would hardly do much in way of disguise, but it might shield her enough if they moved fast enough. Reaching for Stephanos’ arm to aid her in staying upright, she held out a hand for Selene on her other side, staying for further instruction and sending up a prayer to Hera to keep her pains at bay until they were safe.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
She couldn’t tell how much time had passed, only that the sun had eventually started to fade in the sky. Desma had done the best she could with the assistance of sister and husband to make her comfortable, and with some time between each pain she was able to breathe and gather her thoughts. Dark thoughts since she was certainly about to die. Stephanos’ request that she remain as silent as possible was difficult to achieve, but she did all she could even in the midst of the contractions to muffle any sounds she might make. After she’d bitten nearly through her bottom lip Desma had handed her a twist of cloth for her to sink her teeth into instead, wiping the blood from her chin as Pia cried quietly as she could.
It felt as if it had been hours when the sound of the door opening pulled her attention away from the contraction that was far stronger than the others had been, her nails biting into the skin of those who held her hands even with Desma rubbing a salve on her lower back to try to ease the pain. Panting for breath, she was able to look around and felt a sense of relief at the sight of Vangelis instead of Irakles or some of his men. Perhaps they were saved after all, or at the very least they could ask him to save the life of her child. If she could only send Selene and the baby away with him, she would gladly die with the knowledge they at least were safe.
Her husband’s antics were barely noted as her nursemaid wiped the sweat from her brow and helped her get comfortable again as the last edge of discomfort faded once again. She offered a smile to their saviour and looked to Selene, reaching for her sister’s hand and giving it a squeeze of thanks. Whatever her eldest sister had said, whatever Theo had said, both of them had a hand in saving them now. The prince’s question though had her hesitating, looking down at her stomach and taking a deep breath. She had no guarantee that she could move much without showing any pain. Desma had her up and walking around between contractions, and she had moved with a waddle for the past month as her stomach grew even more, but if a contraction hit as they were passing a guard…
”I can try. If not...cut him free and take him with you. Desma knows how. Then at least he and his father will have a chance to escape.”
The queen’s face was set and determined, and with Desma’s help, she stood slowly and braced herself against the bed while the older woman found a cloak to wrap her in. It would hardly do much in way of disguise, but it might shield her enough if they moved fast enough. Reaching for Stephanos’ arm to aid her in staying upright, she held out a hand for Selene on her other side, staying for further instruction and sending up a prayer to Hera to keep her pains at bay until they were safe.
She couldn’t tell how much time had passed, only that the sun had eventually started to fade in the sky. Desma had done the best she could with the assistance of sister and husband to make her comfortable, and with some time between each pain she was able to breathe and gather her thoughts. Dark thoughts since she was certainly about to die. Stephanos’ request that she remain as silent as possible was difficult to achieve, but she did all she could even in the midst of the contractions to muffle any sounds she might make. After she’d bitten nearly through her bottom lip Desma had handed her a twist of cloth for her to sink her teeth into instead, wiping the blood from her chin as Pia cried quietly as she could.
It felt as if it had been hours when the sound of the door opening pulled her attention away from the contraction that was far stronger than the others had been, her nails biting into the skin of those who held her hands even with Desma rubbing a salve on her lower back to try to ease the pain. Panting for breath, she was able to look around and felt a sense of relief at the sight of Vangelis instead of Irakles or some of his men. Perhaps they were saved after all, or at the very least they could ask him to save the life of her child. If she could only send Selene and the baby away with him, she would gladly die with the knowledge they at least were safe.
Her husband’s antics were barely noted as her nursemaid wiped the sweat from her brow and helped her get comfortable again as the last edge of discomfort faded once again. She offered a smile to their saviour and looked to Selene, reaching for her sister’s hand and giving it a squeeze of thanks. Whatever her eldest sister had said, whatever Theo had said, both of them had a hand in saving them now. The prince’s question though had her hesitating, looking down at her stomach and taking a deep breath. She had no guarantee that she could move much without showing any pain. Desma had her up and walking around between contractions, and she had moved with a waddle for the past month as her stomach grew even more, but if a contraction hit as they were passing a guard…
”I can try. If not...cut him free and take him with you. Desma knows how. Then at least he and his father will have a chance to escape.”
The queen’s face was set and determined, and with Desma’s help, she stood slowly and braced herself against the bed while the older woman found a cloak to wrap her in. It would hardly do much in way of disguise, but it might shield her enough if they moved fast enough. Reaching for Stephanos’ arm to aid her in staying upright, she held out a hand for Selene on her other side, staying for further instruction and sending up a prayer to Hera to keep her pains at bay until they were safe.
When the heavily pregnant Queen of Taengea attempted to get up from her bed, rounded belly shifting as she moved like a giant obstacle in front of her, an expression of equal parts pain and determination on her face, Vangelis couldn't help the flash of intimidation he felt. As far as tales had always been told by his mother, childbirth was far more painful than anything felt on a battlefield. And Vangelis knew what those injuries could be like. Queen Yanni had once described it to him as the greatest of pains for a lifetime of pleasure: the greatest sacrifice a mother could make for her child beginning right at the start. Whilst, as a man, he had absolutely no way of knowing if this was the truth, he trusted his mother, assumed the worst in terms of Olympia's thus far and future experience in the matter and decided he was mighty impressed with her determination to get vertical.
His secondly reaction was surprise and a raising of his hands as Stephanos and Selene moved to help the woman. Whilst they were in a hurry to avoid Irakles - and now on an even more pressing deadline with the birth on its way - it seemed as if Olympia would have limited strength. It made sense for her to remain seated until they needed her to move. Her reserves had to hold out until they had left the palati.
"Rest for a moment, Your Highness." He told her with shushing movements of his hands, his palms out front. "We need to be ready to leave first so that you're not using your energy until you have to." He looked towards the little old lady who, if he had been told was one of the Moirae herself, he would have believed them - but clearly she was devoted to her mistress whom she fussed at the side of. "Ma'am." He said, addressing her as if she were a valued retainer or ladies’ maid rather than a slave in Olympia's keeping. "I know I'm ignorant of these things but if there's anything you can do to slow the birth, please do." He watched as she pulled the cloak in place. "The cloak will be useful but she does not have to be disguised. Just so long as her labour is hidden, the rest I can work with."
And giving her a very light bow as he turned away, Vangelis gestured for Selene and Stephanos to follow him back into the main room. He heard over his shoulder, a little huff and the woman grumbling something about "At least some men have brains in their head..."
Upon reaching the living quarters, several lush loungers to one side, a desk to the right that appeared to have some kind of poem laying on its surface several side bureaus that supported trays of uneaten meals, Vangelis moved with precision and speed as he directed Ecktor and Furon and then bent to pick up the palati guard's uniformed tunics from the where they had been left beside their previous owners. As he did so, Ecktor and Furon stepped forward, one in front of Stephanos, the other Selene, holding out their armour. It was thicker made, with more leather than the tunics the guards had worn and would disguise them better than a simple chiton.
"Put those one." He told them with a nod of his head. He had chosen Furon and Ecktor carefully from his half a dozen men he'd brought with him from Colchis. Furon was the smallest and closest in size to a woman, whilst Ecktor was tall like the King. "Then you'll wear these over the top." He said, holding up the tunics they had stolen from the guards, now folded in his hands. The uniform of the guards in the palace was simply to wear the appropriate chiton and colours, everything else, he had noticed upon his visits, was down the individual. They would simple appear as more heavily armoured palace soldiers. He had made sure that Furon and Ecktor were wearing helmets. Selene would have to tie her hair up beneath it but hopefully, if Stephanos played the lead, no-one would look at her too closely. And if Stephanos adjusted his voice if he had to speak, no-one would recognise him. It was the art of the human mind. The few guards in the palace who would know Stephanos well would only have seen him in his position as Prince and King. As soon as any uniform was added, it would be too strange a jump for most minds to manage with just a fleeting glance. Their aim was going to have to be to not be stopped so that anyone could catch a closer look.
Vangelis nodded his head towards the bedchambers.
"We can't disguise a woman of the Queen's condition. But we can have the prisoner relocated by her guardsmen..." He said, lifting the tunics he held in illustration of his plan.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
When the heavily pregnant Queen of Taengea attempted to get up from her bed, rounded belly shifting as she moved like a giant obstacle in front of her, an expression of equal parts pain and determination on her face, Vangelis couldn't help the flash of intimidation he felt. As far as tales had always been told by his mother, childbirth was far more painful than anything felt on a battlefield. And Vangelis knew what those injuries could be like. Queen Yanni had once described it to him as the greatest of pains for a lifetime of pleasure: the greatest sacrifice a mother could make for her child beginning right at the start. Whilst, as a man, he had absolutely no way of knowing if this was the truth, he trusted his mother, assumed the worst in terms of Olympia's thus far and future experience in the matter and decided he was mighty impressed with her determination to get vertical.
His secondly reaction was surprise and a raising of his hands as Stephanos and Selene moved to help the woman. Whilst they were in a hurry to avoid Irakles - and now on an even more pressing deadline with the birth on its way - it seemed as if Olympia would have limited strength. It made sense for her to remain seated until they needed her to move. Her reserves had to hold out until they had left the palati.
"Rest for a moment, Your Highness." He told her with shushing movements of his hands, his palms out front. "We need to be ready to leave first so that you're not using your energy until you have to." He looked towards the little old lady who, if he had been told was one of the Moirae herself, he would have believed them - but clearly she was devoted to her mistress whom she fussed at the side of. "Ma'am." He said, addressing her as if she were a valued retainer or ladies’ maid rather than a slave in Olympia's keeping. "I know I'm ignorant of these things but if there's anything you can do to slow the birth, please do." He watched as she pulled the cloak in place. "The cloak will be useful but she does not have to be disguised. Just so long as her labour is hidden, the rest I can work with."
And giving her a very light bow as he turned away, Vangelis gestured for Selene and Stephanos to follow him back into the main room. He heard over his shoulder, a little huff and the woman grumbling something about "At least some men have brains in their head..."
Upon reaching the living quarters, several lush loungers to one side, a desk to the right that appeared to have some kind of poem laying on its surface several side bureaus that supported trays of uneaten meals, Vangelis moved with precision and speed as he directed Ecktor and Furon and then bent to pick up the palati guard's uniformed tunics from the where they had been left beside their previous owners. As he did so, Ecktor and Furon stepped forward, one in front of Stephanos, the other Selene, holding out their armour. It was thicker made, with more leather than the tunics the guards had worn and would disguise them better than a simple chiton.
"Put those one." He told them with a nod of his head. He had chosen Furon and Ecktor carefully from his half a dozen men he'd brought with him from Colchis. Furon was the smallest and closest in size to a woman, whilst Ecktor was tall like the King. "Then you'll wear these over the top." He said, holding up the tunics they had stolen from the guards, now folded in his hands. The uniform of the guards in the palace was simply to wear the appropriate chiton and colours, everything else, he had noticed upon his visits, was down the individual. They would simple appear as more heavily armoured palace soldiers. He had made sure that Furon and Ecktor were wearing helmets. Selene would have to tie her hair up beneath it but hopefully, if Stephanos played the lead, no-one would look at her too closely. And if Stephanos adjusted his voice if he had to speak, no-one would recognise him. It was the art of the human mind. The few guards in the palace who would know Stephanos well would only have seen him in his position as Prince and King. As soon as any uniform was added, it would be too strange a jump for most minds to manage with just a fleeting glance. Their aim was going to have to be to not be stopped so that anyone could catch a closer look.
Vangelis nodded his head towards the bedchambers.
"We can't disguise a woman of the Queen's condition. But we can have the prisoner relocated by her guardsmen..." He said, lifting the tunics he held in illustration of his plan.
When the heavily pregnant Queen of Taengea attempted to get up from her bed, rounded belly shifting as she moved like a giant obstacle in front of her, an expression of equal parts pain and determination on her face, Vangelis couldn't help the flash of intimidation he felt. As far as tales had always been told by his mother, childbirth was far more painful than anything felt on a battlefield. And Vangelis knew what those injuries could be like. Queen Yanni had once described it to him as the greatest of pains for a lifetime of pleasure: the greatest sacrifice a mother could make for her child beginning right at the start. Whilst, as a man, he had absolutely no way of knowing if this was the truth, he trusted his mother, assumed the worst in terms of Olympia's thus far and future experience in the matter and decided he was mighty impressed with her determination to get vertical.
His secondly reaction was surprise and a raising of his hands as Stephanos and Selene moved to help the woman. Whilst they were in a hurry to avoid Irakles - and now on an even more pressing deadline with the birth on its way - it seemed as if Olympia would have limited strength. It made sense for her to remain seated until they needed her to move. Her reserves had to hold out until they had left the palati.
"Rest for a moment, Your Highness." He told her with shushing movements of his hands, his palms out front. "We need to be ready to leave first so that you're not using your energy until you have to." He looked towards the little old lady who, if he had been told was one of the Moirae herself, he would have believed them - but clearly she was devoted to her mistress whom she fussed at the side of. "Ma'am." He said, addressing her as if she were a valued retainer or ladies’ maid rather than a slave in Olympia's keeping. "I know I'm ignorant of these things but if there's anything you can do to slow the birth, please do." He watched as she pulled the cloak in place. "The cloak will be useful but she does not have to be disguised. Just so long as her labour is hidden, the rest I can work with."
And giving her a very light bow as he turned away, Vangelis gestured for Selene and Stephanos to follow him back into the main room. He heard over his shoulder, a little huff and the woman grumbling something about "At least some men have brains in their head..."
Upon reaching the living quarters, several lush loungers to one side, a desk to the right that appeared to have some kind of poem laying on its surface several side bureaus that supported trays of uneaten meals, Vangelis moved with precision and speed as he directed Ecktor and Furon and then bent to pick up the palati guard's uniformed tunics from the where they had been left beside their previous owners. As he did so, Ecktor and Furon stepped forward, one in front of Stephanos, the other Selene, holding out their armour. It was thicker made, with more leather than the tunics the guards had worn and would disguise them better than a simple chiton.
"Put those one." He told them with a nod of his head. He had chosen Furon and Ecktor carefully from his half a dozen men he'd brought with him from Colchis. Furon was the smallest and closest in size to a woman, whilst Ecktor was tall like the King. "Then you'll wear these over the top." He said, holding up the tunics they had stolen from the guards, now folded in his hands. The uniform of the guards in the palace was simply to wear the appropriate chiton and colours, everything else, he had noticed upon his visits, was down the individual. They would simple appear as more heavily armoured palace soldiers. He had made sure that Furon and Ecktor were wearing helmets. Selene would have to tie her hair up beneath it but hopefully, if Stephanos played the lead, no-one would look at her too closely. And if Stephanos adjusted his voice if he had to speak, no-one would recognise him. It was the art of the human mind. The few guards in the palace who would know Stephanos well would only have seen him in his position as Prince and King. As soon as any uniform was added, it would be too strange a jump for most minds to manage with just a fleeting glance. Their aim was going to have to be to not be stopped so that anyone could catch a closer look.
Vangelis nodded his head towards the bedchambers.
"We can't disguise a woman of the Queen's condition. But we can have the prisoner relocated by her guardsmen..." He said, lifting the tunics he held in illustration of his plan.
At Vangelis’s insistence that they allow Olympia to remain abed, he followed the Colchian prince out into the main room. As soon as Desma muttered under her horrid breath that Vangelis, at least had brains, he closed his eyes and clenched his teeth together. “She’s going to be dead soon,” he promised himself in a voice less than a whisper. “She can’t live forever. Greece wasn’t even founded when she was born...Irakles is going to string her up by her skinny ankles from the ceiling-” because, by the gods, there was no way in this world or the next that they were taking that painfully slow old goat with them. He’d see her thrown over the balcony first.
He noticed when the other man looked over at the desk, and he had the urge to snatch the poem he’d been working on away but ended up leaving it. It was a foolish bit of nothing, meant to waste time, and, after all, it wasn’t like Vangelis was a connoisseur of poetry. He was willing to bet that whatever poems Vangelis came into contact with, he neither thought them good nor bad. They were just ‘words’.
Colchians were so uncultured.
The poem was forgotten the second that he and Selene paused next to the supine guards. He looked down into their slack faces. This whole experience had been surreal. He knew these men. By name. Knew that one of them had children. One was newly married. And yet - they had chosen to obey the regent. Better they die now.
Once Vangelis started speaking again, he looked up to find a uniform and armor being pushed towards him. Without asking why, he simply put on the armor, securing it by its clasps, and placed the uniform over that. He placed the helmet on and grinned at Vangelis. “If we make it through this alive, I will go to whatever battle you want. You just say the word.”
Placing his hands on his hips, he glanced around for Selene, waiting for her to change, since she’d likely need to slip out of the dress she was wearing and into the men’s tunic. Then he looked back at Vangelis. “Women take forever.” And then he looked Vangelis over again. “Not that you’d be acquainted with that problem, I suppose.” He remembered the last time he’d tried to get Vangelis to loosen up. That hadn’t gone well. Instead of the two of them ending up with girls in their laps, they’d wound up naked in the public baths together. A mental image he wished he didn’t have.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
At Vangelis’s insistence that they allow Olympia to remain abed, he followed the Colchian prince out into the main room. As soon as Desma muttered under her horrid breath that Vangelis, at least had brains, he closed his eyes and clenched his teeth together. “She’s going to be dead soon,” he promised himself in a voice less than a whisper. “She can’t live forever. Greece wasn’t even founded when she was born...Irakles is going to string her up by her skinny ankles from the ceiling-” because, by the gods, there was no way in this world or the next that they were taking that painfully slow old goat with them. He’d see her thrown over the balcony first.
He noticed when the other man looked over at the desk, and he had the urge to snatch the poem he’d been working on away but ended up leaving it. It was a foolish bit of nothing, meant to waste time, and, after all, it wasn’t like Vangelis was a connoisseur of poetry. He was willing to bet that whatever poems Vangelis came into contact with, he neither thought them good nor bad. They were just ‘words’.
Colchians were so uncultured.
The poem was forgotten the second that he and Selene paused next to the supine guards. He looked down into their slack faces. This whole experience had been surreal. He knew these men. By name. Knew that one of them had children. One was newly married. And yet - they had chosen to obey the regent. Better they die now.
Once Vangelis started speaking again, he looked up to find a uniform and armor being pushed towards him. Without asking why, he simply put on the armor, securing it by its clasps, and placed the uniform over that. He placed the helmet on and grinned at Vangelis. “If we make it through this alive, I will go to whatever battle you want. You just say the word.”
Placing his hands on his hips, he glanced around for Selene, waiting for her to change, since she’d likely need to slip out of the dress she was wearing and into the men’s tunic. Then he looked back at Vangelis. “Women take forever.” And then he looked Vangelis over again. “Not that you’d be acquainted with that problem, I suppose.” He remembered the last time he’d tried to get Vangelis to loosen up. That hadn’t gone well. Instead of the two of them ending up with girls in their laps, they’d wound up naked in the public baths together. A mental image he wished he didn’t have.
At Vangelis’s insistence that they allow Olympia to remain abed, he followed the Colchian prince out into the main room. As soon as Desma muttered under her horrid breath that Vangelis, at least had brains, he closed his eyes and clenched his teeth together. “She’s going to be dead soon,” he promised himself in a voice less than a whisper. “She can’t live forever. Greece wasn’t even founded when she was born...Irakles is going to string her up by her skinny ankles from the ceiling-” because, by the gods, there was no way in this world or the next that they were taking that painfully slow old goat with them. He’d see her thrown over the balcony first.
He noticed when the other man looked over at the desk, and he had the urge to snatch the poem he’d been working on away but ended up leaving it. It was a foolish bit of nothing, meant to waste time, and, after all, it wasn’t like Vangelis was a connoisseur of poetry. He was willing to bet that whatever poems Vangelis came into contact with, he neither thought them good nor bad. They were just ‘words’.
Colchians were so uncultured.
The poem was forgotten the second that he and Selene paused next to the supine guards. He looked down into their slack faces. This whole experience had been surreal. He knew these men. By name. Knew that one of them had children. One was newly married. And yet - they had chosen to obey the regent. Better they die now.
Once Vangelis started speaking again, he looked up to find a uniform and armor being pushed towards him. Without asking why, he simply put on the armor, securing it by its clasps, and placed the uniform over that. He placed the helmet on and grinned at Vangelis. “If we make it through this alive, I will go to whatever battle you want. You just say the word.”
Placing his hands on his hips, he glanced around for Selene, waiting for her to change, since she’d likely need to slip out of the dress she was wearing and into the men’s tunic. Then he looked back at Vangelis. “Women take forever.” And then he looked Vangelis over again. “Not that you’d be acquainted with that problem, I suppose.” He remembered the last time he’d tried to get Vangelis to loosen up. That hadn’t gone well. Instead of the two of them ending up with girls in their laps, they’d wound up naked in the public baths together. A mental image he wished he didn’t have.
Selene hadn’t been sure that Vangelis had a plan that would work, and she hadn’t been about to not follow through with her own. So the guards along the way had been rightfully inebriated with the help of Jo. But her part of the plan hadn’t come into play because she’d been called to Pia’s room for the baby. It would figure that this would happen, because a laboring Queen had not been a part of the plan. But there was little she could do about it now.
As she tried to settle into the bed with Pia, the door opened and Vangelis walked through with his own guards. From the looks of it, he had a plan of action to get them out of the room.
And her heart soared, ignoring the pointed look in her direction.
Her focus was on her sister, only half listening to Vang as they worked to get her up. But then, they were directed to move the Queen back to the bed so she could rest until they were ready. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, Selene moved to follow the men out of the room. She followed without a word, unsure exactly what her role would be in this whole thing. And then he pointed out his plan, and she was blinking as she was offered the armor. Looking down at her dress, then the armor, then back at the men, she blinked again. ”And you thought my plan was crazy.” She said under her breathe, not quite sure how anyone would believe that she was a guard. Especially not with her feminine gait.
Pulling up the skirts, refusing to look at either of the men as she exposed her legs, Selene pulled the leather pants on, tucking the intricate skirts into them. With the top, she turned so just her back was to them. Her fingers flicked the necklace with expert precision as the silks flutter down. She was quick to put the rest on, pulling the tunic down over the top. Turning back, she glared at Stephanos, ”Speak for yourself, pretty boy.” she said, playfully slapping his shoulder. Pulling the small combs from her hair, she let it all fall around her shoulders. With practiced speed, her blonde curls were twisted into a high bun, combs rearranged to keep it in place.
She felt silly.
Grateful, but silly.
”Now what?”
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Selene hadn’t been sure that Vangelis had a plan that would work, and she hadn’t been about to not follow through with her own. So the guards along the way had been rightfully inebriated with the help of Jo. But her part of the plan hadn’t come into play because she’d been called to Pia’s room for the baby. It would figure that this would happen, because a laboring Queen had not been a part of the plan. But there was little she could do about it now.
As she tried to settle into the bed with Pia, the door opened and Vangelis walked through with his own guards. From the looks of it, he had a plan of action to get them out of the room.
And her heart soared, ignoring the pointed look in her direction.
Her focus was on her sister, only half listening to Vang as they worked to get her up. But then, they were directed to move the Queen back to the bed so she could rest until they were ready. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, Selene moved to follow the men out of the room. She followed without a word, unsure exactly what her role would be in this whole thing. And then he pointed out his plan, and she was blinking as she was offered the armor. Looking down at her dress, then the armor, then back at the men, she blinked again. ”And you thought my plan was crazy.” She said under her breathe, not quite sure how anyone would believe that she was a guard. Especially not with her feminine gait.
Pulling up the skirts, refusing to look at either of the men as she exposed her legs, Selene pulled the leather pants on, tucking the intricate skirts into them. With the top, she turned so just her back was to them. Her fingers flicked the necklace with expert precision as the silks flutter down. She was quick to put the rest on, pulling the tunic down over the top. Turning back, she glared at Stephanos, ”Speak for yourself, pretty boy.” she said, playfully slapping his shoulder. Pulling the small combs from her hair, she let it all fall around her shoulders. With practiced speed, her blonde curls were twisted into a high bun, combs rearranged to keep it in place.
She felt silly.
Grateful, but silly.
”Now what?”
Selene hadn’t been sure that Vangelis had a plan that would work, and she hadn’t been about to not follow through with her own. So the guards along the way had been rightfully inebriated with the help of Jo. But her part of the plan hadn’t come into play because she’d been called to Pia’s room for the baby. It would figure that this would happen, because a laboring Queen had not been a part of the plan. But there was little she could do about it now.
As she tried to settle into the bed with Pia, the door opened and Vangelis walked through with his own guards. From the looks of it, he had a plan of action to get them out of the room.
And her heart soared, ignoring the pointed look in her direction.
Her focus was on her sister, only half listening to Vang as they worked to get her up. But then, they were directed to move the Queen back to the bed so she could rest until they were ready. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, Selene moved to follow the men out of the room. She followed without a word, unsure exactly what her role would be in this whole thing. And then he pointed out his plan, and she was blinking as she was offered the armor. Looking down at her dress, then the armor, then back at the men, she blinked again. ”And you thought my plan was crazy.” She said under her breathe, not quite sure how anyone would believe that she was a guard. Especially not with her feminine gait.
Pulling up the skirts, refusing to look at either of the men as she exposed her legs, Selene pulled the leather pants on, tucking the intricate skirts into them. With the top, she turned so just her back was to them. Her fingers flicked the necklace with expert precision as the silks flutter down. She was quick to put the rest on, pulling the tunic down over the top. Turning back, she glared at Stephanos, ”Speak for yourself, pretty boy.” she said, playfully slapping his shoulder. Pulling the small combs from her hair, she let it all fall around her shoulders. With practiced speed, her blonde curls were twisted into a high bun, combs rearranged to keep it in place.
She felt silly.
Grateful, but silly.
”Now what?”
Stephanos' comments on the old lady had Vangelis' lips twist and a heavy exhale leave his nose in amusement. Clearly, there was no love lost there. Which suited Vangelis just fine. He didn't need another passenger to try and rescue from the palace. The old woman would stay behind. Not that he would leave her to be - as Stephanos eloquently put it - hung from the ceiling by her ankles. But he would simple ensure that she returned to her rooms and was never connected with the escape. They were already going to be laboured with one woman who could barely walk. He wasn't about to be saddled with two, if he could help it.
When the two of them started to change and Stephanos commented on the debt he would owe to Vangelis, the Colchian simply shook his head.
"Sure, you'll owe me your life, so I can send you into battle." He commented dryly at the irony of that and left it be. He was uncomfortable at the idea of owing Stephanos anything. Mostly, because he was doing this for two reasons. One, it was the right thing to do – no thanks or debt required. And the second he didn't want to contemplate right now. But it made him severely uncomfortable. So, he wasn’t about to idle away time on a conversation that simply reminded him of the dangers he was putting himself and his kingdom in by doing this. Or the reasons why he was here in spite of that. Instead, he focused on simply narrowing his eyes at Stephanos comments regarding his experience with women.
Really? Now, the man wanted to crack jokes? Luckily, Selene didn't give him a lot of opportunity to be proven right.
Watching as Selene changed, his brows rising slightly in surprise at the flash of long, slim legs, Vangelis was quick to glance away when she turned her back to remove the top half of her chiton. Once she had the armour in place, her feminine frame was bulked out, her legs were covered by pants (thank God, as no man would believe the limbs he'd caught sight of would belong to a man) and then tugged on the uniform over the top. She piled her blonde locks atop her head, which would be hidden well inside the conical shape of the helmet she still held in her hand. She then asked him what was next.
Frowning, his expression remaining cold, Vangelis quickly assessed the woman was being far too obvious. It was one thing to disguise a woman as a man – his key reference they being Nike. But apparently it was entirely different to cloak a woman of Selene’s breeding and appearance as a member of the harsher sex. Looking around for something that might fix the problem, Vangelis quickly bent down to rub his hands, one at a time, over the dusty tops of his boots. He then stepped towards Selene, hands outstretched, and, too quickly for her to back away from, cupped her face between his palms.
The touch should have been intimate, but his thumbs brushed over her cheeks quickly and his expression remained blank and remote as he worked. He wiped the residue across her face in a way that dimmed her appearance rather than making her appear dirty, smoothing out any clear streaks or marks; the earthy tone of the dust diminishing some of her radiance that shone from her skin. She walked around as she was and her pale face was going to shine like a beacon. No man - no soldier - was ever that clean. They were tanned, darkened with the heavy sun and turned sturdy by their duties.
As Vangelis felt the curve of her jaw against the base of his roughened palms, his touch turned, just for a moment, from fast and efficient to slow and considering. It was only a second and only as the pad of his thumb moved from the bridge of her nose down and over the apple of her cheek. And then he had let her go, reaching for the neck scarf he wore around his throat. He took the fabric and, before protests could be made, wrapped it around Selene's neck, tugging it high to cover her chin and lips. The snatched the helmet from her hands and put it on over her hair. What was left was a limited amount of her face and even that was now murky with tan.
It wasn't brilliant, but it would do for a passing glance.
"You'll have to try and walk straighter." He told her, worried that she would be too short. "Don't sway. Take heavy steps."
Taking a step back, and appearing to dismiss her from his thoughts entirely, Vangelis withdrew a long knife from his belt, the metal keening in the air and the light of several candles flashing over its smooth surface. He turned upon the two unconscious guardsmen. He moved himself to one knee in front of the first, his knife high and in hand. He glanced back at Selene.
"Turn away." He told her, not wanting to commit such an act of violence against an unsuspecting man before her gaze. He glanced towards Stephanos in the hope that he understood the need to get her to turn around. The guards on the floor had lived only this long because he couldn’t get blood on the uniforms they needed to use. But the men had seen Selene enter the room, had seen himself and his guards come in. All it would take would be for them to wake up in a few hours, sound the alarm and inform Prince Irakles of exactly who had entered the rooms. Guilt would fall on all of them. And whilst none of them would be free of suspicion come morning, theory was not fact without witnesses and evidence.
Only once he was assured that she wasn’t looking, did Vangelis throw his enclosed fist – holding his knife downwards – into an arching strike. The blade sunk through sink, between the ribs and into the guard’s torso, stilling his heart almost instantly. His body had jerked, his eyes opened, as if shocked from his slumber by his own death, but then he fell back quiet. Vangelis repeated the action over the other man, his face grin but his actions as merciful as he could make them.
“Put their weapons in their hands.” He told his own men, who quickly picked up the blades they had set aside, unsheathed them and placed them in the loose and open grasp of their deceased owners. Vangelis wiped the blood from his blade onto the tips of each. At least now the men would be buried or cremated as loyalists who died with honour following the regents’ orders. A man who died in the name of their ruler received recompense for his widow. A man who died a traitor or incompetent were heralded as criminals and their children left to starve. Having just taken their lives, it was the best he could do.
Unable to equip, Stephanos and Selene with the swords of the now dead guardsmen, Vangelis simply unsheathed several of his own weapons and handed them over. The sword he gave to Stephanos, the long knife he had used on the men, he wiped down over his pant leg and gave to Selene. It was a better size and weight for her and would fit in the sheath Furon held out to her, appeared as a long-sword at her hip.
“Now, we see if Her Highness is able to walk.” He told the two of them before setting a hand on the hilt of the sword he still wore and headed back towards the sleeping quarters of their royal suite.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
Deleted
Deleted
Stephanos' comments on the old lady had Vangelis' lips twist and a heavy exhale leave his nose in amusement. Clearly, there was no love lost there. Which suited Vangelis just fine. He didn't need another passenger to try and rescue from the palace. The old woman would stay behind. Not that he would leave her to be - as Stephanos eloquently put it - hung from the ceiling by her ankles. But he would simple ensure that she returned to her rooms and was never connected with the escape. They were already going to be laboured with one woman who could barely walk. He wasn't about to be saddled with two, if he could help it.
When the two of them started to change and Stephanos commented on the debt he would owe to Vangelis, the Colchian simply shook his head.
"Sure, you'll owe me your life, so I can send you into battle." He commented dryly at the irony of that and left it be. He was uncomfortable at the idea of owing Stephanos anything. Mostly, because he was doing this for two reasons. One, it was the right thing to do – no thanks or debt required. And the second he didn't want to contemplate right now. But it made him severely uncomfortable. So, he wasn’t about to idle away time on a conversation that simply reminded him of the dangers he was putting himself and his kingdom in by doing this. Or the reasons why he was here in spite of that. Instead, he focused on simply narrowing his eyes at Stephanos comments regarding his experience with women.
Really? Now, the man wanted to crack jokes? Luckily, Selene didn't give him a lot of opportunity to be proven right.
Watching as Selene changed, his brows rising slightly in surprise at the flash of long, slim legs, Vangelis was quick to glance away when she turned her back to remove the top half of her chiton. Once she had the armour in place, her feminine frame was bulked out, her legs were covered by pants (thank God, as no man would believe the limbs he'd caught sight of would belong to a man) and then tugged on the uniform over the top. She piled her blonde locks atop her head, which would be hidden well inside the conical shape of the helmet she still held in her hand. She then asked him what was next.
Frowning, his expression remaining cold, Vangelis quickly assessed the woman was being far too obvious. It was one thing to disguise a woman as a man – his key reference they being Nike. But apparently it was entirely different to cloak a woman of Selene’s breeding and appearance as a member of the harsher sex. Looking around for something that might fix the problem, Vangelis quickly bent down to rub his hands, one at a time, over the dusty tops of his boots. He then stepped towards Selene, hands outstretched, and, too quickly for her to back away from, cupped her face between his palms.
The touch should have been intimate, but his thumbs brushed over her cheeks quickly and his expression remained blank and remote as he worked. He wiped the residue across her face in a way that dimmed her appearance rather than making her appear dirty, smoothing out any clear streaks or marks; the earthy tone of the dust diminishing some of her radiance that shone from her skin. She walked around as she was and her pale face was going to shine like a beacon. No man - no soldier - was ever that clean. They were tanned, darkened with the heavy sun and turned sturdy by their duties.
As Vangelis felt the curve of her jaw against the base of his roughened palms, his touch turned, just for a moment, from fast and efficient to slow and considering. It was only a second and only as the pad of his thumb moved from the bridge of her nose down and over the apple of her cheek. And then he had let her go, reaching for the neck scarf he wore around his throat. He took the fabric and, before protests could be made, wrapped it around Selene's neck, tugging it high to cover her chin and lips. The snatched the helmet from her hands and put it on over her hair. What was left was a limited amount of her face and even that was now murky with tan.
It wasn't brilliant, but it would do for a passing glance.
"You'll have to try and walk straighter." He told her, worried that she would be too short. "Don't sway. Take heavy steps."
Taking a step back, and appearing to dismiss her from his thoughts entirely, Vangelis withdrew a long knife from his belt, the metal keening in the air and the light of several candles flashing over its smooth surface. He turned upon the two unconscious guardsmen. He moved himself to one knee in front of the first, his knife high and in hand. He glanced back at Selene.
"Turn away." He told her, not wanting to commit such an act of violence against an unsuspecting man before her gaze. He glanced towards Stephanos in the hope that he understood the need to get her to turn around. The guards on the floor had lived only this long because he couldn’t get blood on the uniforms they needed to use. But the men had seen Selene enter the room, had seen himself and his guards come in. All it would take would be for them to wake up in a few hours, sound the alarm and inform Prince Irakles of exactly who had entered the rooms. Guilt would fall on all of them. And whilst none of them would be free of suspicion come morning, theory was not fact without witnesses and evidence.
Only once he was assured that she wasn’t looking, did Vangelis throw his enclosed fist – holding his knife downwards – into an arching strike. The blade sunk through sink, between the ribs and into the guard’s torso, stilling his heart almost instantly. His body had jerked, his eyes opened, as if shocked from his slumber by his own death, but then he fell back quiet. Vangelis repeated the action over the other man, his face grin but his actions as merciful as he could make them.
“Put their weapons in their hands.” He told his own men, who quickly picked up the blades they had set aside, unsheathed them and placed them in the loose and open grasp of their deceased owners. Vangelis wiped the blood from his blade onto the tips of each. At least now the men would be buried or cremated as loyalists who died with honour following the regents’ orders. A man who died in the name of their ruler received recompense for his widow. A man who died a traitor or incompetent were heralded as criminals and their children left to starve. Having just taken their lives, it was the best he could do.
Unable to equip, Stephanos and Selene with the swords of the now dead guardsmen, Vangelis simply unsheathed several of his own weapons and handed them over. The sword he gave to Stephanos, the long knife he had used on the men, he wiped down over his pant leg and gave to Selene. It was a better size and weight for her and would fit in the sheath Furon held out to her, appeared as a long-sword at her hip.
“Now, we see if Her Highness is able to walk.” He told the two of them before setting a hand on the hilt of the sword he still wore and headed back towards the sleeping quarters of their royal suite.
Stephanos' comments on the old lady had Vangelis' lips twist and a heavy exhale leave his nose in amusement. Clearly, there was no love lost there. Which suited Vangelis just fine. He didn't need another passenger to try and rescue from the palace. The old woman would stay behind. Not that he would leave her to be - as Stephanos eloquently put it - hung from the ceiling by her ankles. But he would simple ensure that she returned to her rooms and was never connected with the escape. They were already going to be laboured with one woman who could barely walk. He wasn't about to be saddled with two, if he could help it.
When the two of them started to change and Stephanos commented on the debt he would owe to Vangelis, the Colchian simply shook his head.
"Sure, you'll owe me your life, so I can send you into battle." He commented dryly at the irony of that and left it be. He was uncomfortable at the idea of owing Stephanos anything. Mostly, because he was doing this for two reasons. One, it was the right thing to do – no thanks or debt required. And the second he didn't want to contemplate right now. But it made him severely uncomfortable. So, he wasn’t about to idle away time on a conversation that simply reminded him of the dangers he was putting himself and his kingdom in by doing this. Or the reasons why he was here in spite of that. Instead, he focused on simply narrowing his eyes at Stephanos comments regarding his experience with women.
Really? Now, the man wanted to crack jokes? Luckily, Selene didn't give him a lot of opportunity to be proven right.
Watching as Selene changed, his brows rising slightly in surprise at the flash of long, slim legs, Vangelis was quick to glance away when she turned her back to remove the top half of her chiton. Once she had the armour in place, her feminine frame was bulked out, her legs were covered by pants (thank God, as no man would believe the limbs he'd caught sight of would belong to a man) and then tugged on the uniform over the top. She piled her blonde locks atop her head, which would be hidden well inside the conical shape of the helmet she still held in her hand. She then asked him what was next.
Frowning, his expression remaining cold, Vangelis quickly assessed the woman was being far too obvious. It was one thing to disguise a woman as a man – his key reference they being Nike. But apparently it was entirely different to cloak a woman of Selene’s breeding and appearance as a member of the harsher sex. Looking around for something that might fix the problem, Vangelis quickly bent down to rub his hands, one at a time, over the dusty tops of his boots. He then stepped towards Selene, hands outstretched, and, too quickly for her to back away from, cupped her face between his palms.
The touch should have been intimate, but his thumbs brushed over her cheeks quickly and his expression remained blank and remote as he worked. He wiped the residue across her face in a way that dimmed her appearance rather than making her appear dirty, smoothing out any clear streaks or marks; the earthy tone of the dust diminishing some of her radiance that shone from her skin. She walked around as she was and her pale face was going to shine like a beacon. No man - no soldier - was ever that clean. They were tanned, darkened with the heavy sun and turned sturdy by their duties.
As Vangelis felt the curve of her jaw against the base of his roughened palms, his touch turned, just for a moment, from fast and efficient to slow and considering. It was only a second and only as the pad of his thumb moved from the bridge of her nose down and over the apple of her cheek. And then he had let her go, reaching for the neck scarf he wore around his throat. He took the fabric and, before protests could be made, wrapped it around Selene's neck, tugging it high to cover her chin and lips. The snatched the helmet from her hands and put it on over her hair. What was left was a limited amount of her face and even that was now murky with tan.
It wasn't brilliant, but it would do for a passing glance.
"You'll have to try and walk straighter." He told her, worried that she would be too short. "Don't sway. Take heavy steps."
Taking a step back, and appearing to dismiss her from his thoughts entirely, Vangelis withdrew a long knife from his belt, the metal keening in the air and the light of several candles flashing over its smooth surface. He turned upon the two unconscious guardsmen. He moved himself to one knee in front of the first, his knife high and in hand. He glanced back at Selene.
"Turn away." He told her, not wanting to commit such an act of violence against an unsuspecting man before her gaze. He glanced towards Stephanos in the hope that he understood the need to get her to turn around. The guards on the floor had lived only this long because he couldn’t get blood on the uniforms they needed to use. But the men had seen Selene enter the room, had seen himself and his guards come in. All it would take would be for them to wake up in a few hours, sound the alarm and inform Prince Irakles of exactly who had entered the rooms. Guilt would fall on all of them. And whilst none of them would be free of suspicion come morning, theory was not fact without witnesses and evidence.
Only once he was assured that she wasn’t looking, did Vangelis throw his enclosed fist – holding his knife downwards – into an arching strike. The blade sunk through sink, between the ribs and into the guard’s torso, stilling his heart almost instantly. His body had jerked, his eyes opened, as if shocked from his slumber by his own death, but then he fell back quiet. Vangelis repeated the action over the other man, his face grin but his actions as merciful as he could make them.
“Put their weapons in their hands.” He told his own men, who quickly picked up the blades they had set aside, unsheathed them and placed them in the loose and open grasp of their deceased owners. Vangelis wiped the blood from his blade onto the tips of each. At least now the men would be buried or cremated as loyalists who died with honour following the regents’ orders. A man who died in the name of their ruler received recompense for his widow. A man who died a traitor or incompetent were heralded as criminals and their children left to starve. Having just taken their lives, it was the best he could do.
Unable to equip, Stephanos and Selene with the swords of the now dead guardsmen, Vangelis simply unsheathed several of his own weapons and handed them over. The sword he gave to Stephanos, the long knife he had used on the men, he wiped down over his pant leg and gave to Selene. It was a better size and weight for her and would fit in the sheath Furon held out to her, appeared as a long-sword at her hip.
“Now, we see if Her Highness is able to walk.” He told the two of them before setting a hand on the hilt of the sword he still wore and headed back towards the sleeping quarters of their royal suite.