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Stephanos had been applying the tincture to his blisters when he posed the question to Achilleas and it was probably the ‘lady hands’ comment that earned him his cousin’s tart reply.
“Right. Like they couldn’t beat the stuffing out of you.”
The prince grinned and then clicked his tongue in a “tsk, tsk, tsk” at his cousin. “You’re so easy to bait,” he chided. By then, Achilleas appeared to be in the mood to move on and not continue their friendly bickering. The man’s hands were wrapped and Stephanos flexed his own fingers while Achilleas did the same. There was no sense waiting around and neither one of them sought to put the ointment back wherever the brother got it from. They simply left the left over linens and the jar sitting there; both were so very used to servants they could hardly pick up after themselves.
Like Achilleas, he’d been at least a little excited about the combat portion of what they would be learning. If this little silly idea of his father’s had only involved that, then he wouldn’t have been so adverse to coming here. Fighting he liked. Cleaning, he did not. Not to mention that they’d probably be booted out to guard one of the gates and stand there for hours or help fix a portion of the road, or build a house for someone, or assist in someone’s menial labor.
Boring.
He followed Achilleas outside and momentarily shielded his face from the blazing sun. His stomach growled but he ignored it as they walked back around to the stables, looking around for Alexi. Stephanos didn’t hate the man as much as his cousin did, but he wasn’t fond of him. He wasn’t quite as sensitive to being talked down to as Achilleas, but then, he didn’t have Prince Irakles as a father. He had a much better father - one who mostly left him alone to do as he pleased.
Until today, he thought sourly.
He glanced around the stone yard, his sight landing on the now full wagon, the stables, a two naked men, and a sandy fighting ring by the wall. Their nudity was hardly a shock. The Greeks were known to strip down to nothing in order to fight and give each man no excuse for failure. There was no clothing to get in the way, no shoddy sandals, no misaligned weapons. Just their knowledge and skill, pitted against someone else and was there anything more divine than the human form? No.
Although, the stocky short man did leave a little to be desired in his entire personage. His face reminded Stephanos of an unhappy potato and his body followed that same sort of shape, ending in stout, stumpy limbs that could have been the sprouts coming off his tuber body. Alexi, by comparison, was almost handsome. Even if he looked like a weathered leather bag who’d sucked on a lemon.
Stephanos glanced at Achilleas. Well. At least the two of them were good looking, if nothing else. He felt that he and Achilleas were gifts, really, but, beauty had nothing to do with fighting ability, it turned out. Despite himself, he was into the fight, not really invested as to who would win, so much as watching which one wanted the win more. Unconsciously, he stepped forward to get a better look and laughed, clapping, when Alexi ended up being the one to tap out.
“Well done,” he clapped, grinning. “A worthy display.”
Alexi apparently didn’t know when someone paid an actual compliment or was mocking. That, or he didn’t care. Either way, all Stephanos received was a glare and was told that it was now his and Achilleas’s turn. A quick glance at his cousin and he’d already decided the outcome of this fight. He, Stephanos, would win. A grin and he pulled the unpleasant material off his body, giving Achilleas a once over.
“You’re going to feel your mistake from earlier now, cousin,” Stephanos promised. He did not care if he was naked in front of the entire world, or just here in this court yard. There was nothing imperfect about his form and he didn’t think of it at all as he circled Achilleas, looking for an opening. What he didn’t want to do was rush straight into Achilleas’s reach, only to be grabbed and taken down. Feinting forward, he tested how quick Achilleas might be and jumped back, only to then rush forward to dive into Achilleas once the man had taken a step back, and was therefore, in theory, less balanced.
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Stephanos had been applying the tincture to his blisters when he posed the question to Achilleas and it was probably the ‘lady hands’ comment that earned him his cousin’s tart reply.
“Right. Like they couldn’t beat the stuffing out of you.”
The prince grinned and then clicked his tongue in a “tsk, tsk, tsk” at his cousin. “You’re so easy to bait,” he chided. By then, Achilleas appeared to be in the mood to move on and not continue their friendly bickering. The man’s hands were wrapped and Stephanos flexed his own fingers while Achilleas did the same. There was no sense waiting around and neither one of them sought to put the ointment back wherever the brother got it from. They simply left the left over linens and the jar sitting there; both were so very used to servants they could hardly pick up after themselves.
Like Achilleas, he’d been at least a little excited about the combat portion of what they would be learning. If this little silly idea of his father’s had only involved that, then he wouldn’t have been so adverse to coming here. Fighting he liked. Cleaning, he did not. Not to mention that they’d probably be booted out to guard one of the gates and stand there for hours or help fix a portion of the road, or build a house for someone, or assist in someone’s menial labor.
Boring.
He followed Achilleas outside and momentarily shielded his face from the blazing sun. His stomach growled but he ignored it as they walked back around to the stables, looking around for Alexi. Stephanos didn’t hate the man as much as his cousin did, but he wasn’t fond of him. He wasn’t quite as sensitive to being talked down to as Achilleas, but then, he didn’t have Prince Irakles as a father. He had a much better father - one who mostly left him alone to do as he pleased.
Until today, he thought sourly.
He glanced around the stone yard, his sight landing on the now full wagon, the stables, a two naked men, and a sandy fighting ring by the wall. Their nudity was hardly a shock. The Greeks were known to strip down to nothing in order to fight and give each man no excuse for failure. There was no clothing to get in the way, no shoddy sandals, no misaligned weapons. Just their knowledge and skill, pitted against someone else and was there anything more divine than the human form? No.
Although, the stocky short man did leave a little to be desired in his entire personage. His face reminded Stephanos of an unhappy potato and his body followed that same sort of shape, ending in stout, stumpy limbs that could have been the sprouts coming off his tuber body. Alexi, by comparison, was almost handsome. Even if he looked like a weathered leather bag who’d sucked on a lemon.
Stephanos glanced at Achilleas. Well. At least the two of them were good looking, if nothing else. He felt that he and Achilleas were gifts, really, but, beauty had nothing to do with fighting ability, it turned out. Despite himself, he was into the fight, not really invested as to who would win, so much as watching which one wanted the win more. Unconsciously, he stepped forward to get a better look and laughed, clapping, when Alexi ended up being the one to tap out.
“Well done,” he clapped, grinning. “A worthy display.”
Alexi apparently didn’t know when someone paid an actual compliment or was mocking. That, or he didn’t care. Either way, all Stephanos received was a glare and was told that it was now his and Achilleas’s turn. A quick glance at his cousin and he’d already decided the outcome of this fight. He, Stephanos, would win. A grin and he pulled the unpleasant material off his body, giving Achilleas a once over.
“You’re going to feel your mistake from earlier now, cousin,” Stephanos promised. He did not care if he was naked in front of the entire world, or just here in this court yard. There was nothing imperfect about his form and he didn’t think of it at all as he circled Achilleas, looking for an opening. What he didn’t want to do was rush straight into Achilleas’s reach, only to be grabbed and taken down. Feinting forward, he tested how quick Achilleas might be and jumped back, only to then rush forward to dive into Achilleas once the man had taken a step back, and was therefore, in theory, less balanced.
Stephanos had been applying the tincture to his blisters when he posed the question to Achilleas and it was probably the ‘lady hands’ comment that earned him his cousin’s tart reply.
“Right. Like they couldn’t beat the stuffing out of you.”
The prince grinned and then clicked his tongue in a “tsk, tsk, tsk” at his cousin. “You’re so easy to bait,” he chided. By then, Achilleas appeared to be in the mood to move on and not continue their friendly bickering. The man’s hands were wrapped and Stephanos flexed his own fingers while Achilleas did the same. There was no sense waiting around and neither one of them sought to put the ointment back wherever the brother got it from. They simply left the left over linens and the jar sitting there; both were so very used to servants they could hardly pick up after themselves.
Like Achilleas, he’d been at least a little excited about the combat portion of what they would be learning. If this little silly idea of his father’s had only involved that, then he wouldn’t have been so adverse to coming here. Fighting he liked. Cleaning, he did not. Not to mention that they’d probably be booted out to guard one of the gates and stand there for hours or help fix a portion of the road, or build a house for someone, or assist in someone’s menial labor.
Boring.
He followed Achilleas outside and momentarily shielded his face from the blazing sun. His stomach growled but he ignored it as they walked back around to the stables, looking around for Alexi. Stephanos didn’t hate the man as much as his cousin did, but he wasn’t fond of him. He wasn’t quite as sensitive to being talked down to as Achilleas, but then, he didn’t have Prince Irakles as a father. He had a much better father - one who mostly left him alone to do as he pleased.
Until today, he thought sourly.
He glanced around the stone yard, his sight landing on the now full wagon, the stables, a two naked men, and a sandy fighting ring by the wall. Their nudity was hardly a shock. The Greeks were known to strip down to nothing in order to fight and give each man no excuse for failure. There was no clothing to get in the way, no shoddy sandals, no misaligned weapons. Just their knowledge and skill, pitted against someone else and was there anything more divine than the human form? No.
Although, the stocky short man did leave a little to be desired in his entire personage. His face reminded Stephanos of an unhappy potato and his body followed that same sort of shape, ending in stout, stumpy limbs that could have been the sprouts coming off his tuber body. Alexi, by comparison, was almost handsome. Even if he looked like a weathered leather bag who’d sucked on a lemon.
Stephanos glanced at Achilleas. Well. At least the two of them were good looking, if nothing else. He felt that he and Achilleas were gifts, really, but, beauty had nothing to do with fighting ability, it turned out. Despite himself, he was into the fight, not really invested as to who would win, so much as watching which one wanted the win more. Unconsciously, he stepped forward to get a better look and laughed, clapping, when Alexi ended up being the one to tap out.
“Well done,” he clapped, grinning. “A worthy display.”
Alexi apparently didn’t know when someone paid an actual compliment or was mocking. That, or he didn’t care. Either way, all Stephanos received was a glare and was told that it was now his and Achilleas’s turn. A quick glance at his cousin and he’d already decided the outcome of this fight. He, Stephanos, would win. A grin and he pulled the unpleasant material off his body, giving Achilleas a once over.
“You’re going to feel your mistake from earlier now, cousin,” Stephanos promised. He did not care if he was naked in front of the entire world, or just here in this court yard. There was nothing imperfect about his form and he didn’t think of it at all as he circled Achilleas, looking for an opening. What he didn’t want to do was rush straight into Achilleas’s reach, only to be grabbed and taken down. Feinting forward, he tested how quick Achilleas might be and jumped back, only to then rush forward to dive into Achilleas once the man had taken a step back, and was therefore, in theory, less balanced.
As much as Stephanos was keen to win, his cousin had similar intentions. Losing was not a term that the elder of Irakles’ sons had ever really accepted into his vocabulary. Achilleas had learnt from a young age that such an outcome was considered highly unsatisfactory in his father’s eyes, and therefore had developed a competitive streak that was almost impossible to stifle. He knew Stephanos was no slouch, and he returned his cousin’s once over before discarding his own clothes, rolling his shoulders and shaking out his wrists as the pair of them circled one another like alley cats. Well bred and well-muscled alley cats.
He gave a huff of laughter at Steph’s taunting, shooting the man a haughty look “I don’t recall any mistake” he countered, watching the fair haired man closely to ensure he wasn’t caught off guard. He had no intention to rush in stupidly either, and when Stephanos made a lunge at him, his reaction was to shift sideways so if his cousin had followed through with the attack he would not have found much purchase. As it was, Stephanos pulled back and looked to capitalise on Achilleas’ weight being on the back foot, but it was not to be so. Instead, Achilleas braced himself to meet the leap, twisted so it was his cousin who would be off balance, meeting mostly air rather than the solid body he had anticipated.
Still, Steph managed to get a grip around his thigh, and Achilleas could feel where the impact of his shoulder mashed flesh against bone. That would bruise. Gritting his teeth, he grunted out a “Nice try” but brought his other knee up to crash into Stephanos’ ribs, whilst giving a shove to his shoulders in the hope he’d release the thigh hug he was currently giving him. As it was designed to, the lack of clothing made it difficult to get a grip on his opponent, less so than if they would have oiled up like in a proper contest. Luckily, Achilleas wasn’t seeking to grasp a hold of Stephanos but instead just to push him away.
The pair of them had grown up with brothers so were no strangers to brawling, and being the sons of the men they were, had been drilled in combat since they were twelve years old. They had some knowledge to call upon now. And just as their upbringing matched them well in terms of skill, they were of a height, though Achilleas tended towards a more solid build than the Prince. It was certainly no foregone conclusion who would emerge victorious.
At the edge of the ring, Alexei and his fellow brother of the Order looked on, drawing their own conclusions about the young Lords in their charge. As Krateros had briefed them, they needed to understand the raw materials they were working with in order to be able to mould the nobles into useful members of the order - this was but one of the methods of learning what their pampered proteges were made of.
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Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
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As much as Stephanos was keen to win, his cousin had similar intentions. Losing was not a term that the elder of Irakles’ sons had ever really accepted into his vocabulary. Achilleas had learnt from a young age that such an outcome was considered highly unsatisfactory in his father’s eyes, and therefore had developed a competitive streak that was almost impossible to stifle. He knew Stephanos was no slouch, and he returned his cousin’s once over before discarding his own clothes, rolling his shoulders and shaking out his wrists as the pair of them circled one another like alley cats. Well bred and well-muscled alley cats.
He gave a huff of laughter at Steph’s taunting, shooting the man a haughty look “I don’t recall any mistake” he countered, watching the fair haired man closely to ensure he wasn’t caught off guard. He had no intention to rush in stupidly either, and when Stephanos made a lunge at him, his reaction was to shift sideways so if his cousin had followed through with the attack he would not have found much purchase. As it was, Stephanos pulled back and looked to capitalise on Achilleas’ weight being on the back foot, but it was not to be so. Instead, Achilleas braced himself to meet the leap, twisted so it was his cousin who would be off balance, meeting mostly air rather than the solid body he had anticipated.
Still, Steph managed to get a grip around his thigh, and Achilleas could feel where the impact of his shoulder mashed flesh against bone. That would bruise. Gritting his teeth, he grunted out a “Nice try” but brought his other knee up to crash into Stephanos’ ribs, whilst giving a shove to his shoulders in the hope he’d release the thigh hug he was currently giving him. As it was designed to, the lack of clothing made it difficult to get a grip on his opponent, less so than if they would have oiled up like in a proper contest. Luckily, Achilleas wasn’t seeking to grasp a hold of Stephanos but instead just to push him away.
The pair of them had grown up with brothers so were no strangers to brawling, and being the sons of the men they were, had been drilled in combat since they were twelve years old. They had some knowledge to call upon now. And just as their upbringing matched them well in terms of skill, they were of a height, though Achilleas tended towards a more solid build than the Prince. It was certainly no foregone conclusion who would emerge victorious.
At the edge of the ring, Alexei and his fellow brother of the Order looked on, drawing their own conclusions about the young Lords in their charge. As Krateros had briefed them, they needed to understand the raw materials they were working with in order to be able to mould the nobles into useful members of the order - this was but one of the methods of learning what their pampered proteges were made of.
As much as Stephanos was keen to win, his cousin had similar intentions. Losing was not a term that the elder of Irakles’ sons had ever really accepted into his vocabulary. Achilleas had learnt from a young age that such an outcome was considered highly unsatisfactory in his father’s eyes, and therefore had developed a competitive streak that was almost impossible to stifle. He knew Stephanos was no slouch, and he returned his cousin’s once over before discarding his own clothes, rolling his shoulders and shaking out his wrists as the pair of them circled one another like alley cats. Well bred and well-muscled alley cats.
He gave a huff of laughter at Steph’s taunting, shooting the man a haughty look “I don’t recall any mistake” he countered, watching the fair haired man closely to ensure he wasn’t caught off guard. He had no intention to rush in stupidly either, and when Stephanos made a lunge at him, his reaction was to shift sideways so if his cousin had followed through with the attack he would not have found much purchase. As it was, Stephanos pulled back and looked to capitalise on Achilleas’ weight being on the back foot, but it was not to be so. Instead, Achilleas braced himself to meet the leap, twisted so it was his cousin who would be off balance, meeting mostly air rather than the solid body he had anticipated.
Still, Steph managed to get a grip around his thigh, and Achilleas could feel where the impact of his shoulder mashed flesh against bone. That would bruise. Gritting his teeth, he grunted out a “Nice try” but brought his other knee up to crash into Stephanos’ ribs, whilst giving a shove to his shoulders in the hope he’d release the thigh hug he was currently giving him. As it was designed to, the lack of clothing made it difficult to get a grip on his opponent, less so than if they would have oiled up like in a proper contest. Luckily, Achilleas wasn’t seeking to grasp a hold of Stephanos but instead just to push him away.
The pair of them had grown up with brothers so were no strangers to brawling, and being the sons of the men they were, had been drilled in combat since they were twelve years old. They had some knowledge to call upon now. And just as their upbringing matched them well in terms of skill, they were of a height, though Achilleas tended towards a more solid build than the Prince. It was certainly no foregone conclusion who would emerge victorious.
At the edge of the ring, Alexei and his fellow brother of the Order looked on, drawing their own conclusions about the young Lords in their charge. As Krateros had briefed them, they needed to understand the raw materials they were working with in order to be able to mould the nobles into useful members of the order - this was but one of the methods of learning what their pampered proteges were made of.
His plan had been solid. Solid and foolhardy. Achilleas was a tall, broad young man and Stephanos had been counting on his cousin not to be able to move quite that fast. He’d intended to barrel straight into Achilleas’s gut and take him down to the ground, where he could then straddle him, giving himself the upperhand in the wrestling match. If he could keep the other man pinned, then he could likely get him in some sort of choke hold and force him to tap out, thus securing a quick victory. But his vision didn’t play out in that clean, smooth way.
The world blurred around him as he flew and he watched, helpless to stop his cousin, as Achilleas slid out of the way, leaving the dirt ring to be Stephanos’s landing zone. Reaching out an arm, he managed to hook it around his cousin’s thigh, though that didn’t stop his knees from crashing into the dirt ring. He paid no attention to the stinging pain as he grappled with Achilleas. To the other man’s credit, his reflexes were quick and Stephanos scowled at the knee driven up into his ribs. That didn’t stop him from tightening his hold on Achilleas’s leg, keeping his shoulder to the other man’s hip, and twisting to the side, intending to upend Achilleas by hauling his leg out from underneath him so that the other would tumble over Stephanos’s back and into the dirt.
He wasn’t concentrating on anything but flipping Achilleas over his back. The blinding sun beating down on them, the whispering of Alexi and the other brother standing at the ring’s edge, the sliding shadow of the hawk flying over them in that moment; Stephanos didn’t notice any of it. His breath hissing through gritted teeth and his own heartbeat were the only things liable to distract him from his purpose. Achilleas would be in the dirt before long and once he was, the prince planned to leap on him and finish this decisively.
It wasn’t that he wanted to impress any of these brothers, exactly, though that would be nice. It was mostly that he couldn’t allow himself not to give his absolute best, where Achilleas was concerned. If he let up even a fraction, Achilleas would win. The man had the single best focus of anyone Stephanos had ever met. Which meant that he needed to keep his wits about him and there was no room for a lax attitude.
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His plan had been solid. Solid and foolhardy. Achilleas was a tall, broad young man and Stephanos had been counting on his cousin not to be able to move quite that fast. He’d intended to barrel straight into Achilleas’s gut and take him down to the ground, where he could then straddle him, giving himself the upperhand in the wrestling match. If he could keep the other man pinned, then he could likely get him in some sort of choke hold and force him to tap out, thus securing a quick victory. But his vision didn’t play out in that clean, smooth way.
The world blurred around him as he flew and he watched, helpless to stop his cousin, as Achilleas slid out of the way, leaving the dirt ring to be Stephanos’s landing zone. Reaching out an arm, he managed to hook it around his cousin’s thigh, though that didn’t stop his knees from crashing into the dirt ring. He paid no attention to the stinging pain as he grappled with Achilleas. To the other man’s credit, his reflexes were quick and Stephanos scowled at the knee driven up into his ribs. That didn’t stop him from tightening his hold on Achilleas’s leg, keeping his shoulder to the other man’s hip, and twisting to the side, intending to upend Achilleas by hauling his leg out from underneath him so that the other would tumble over Stephanos’s back and into the dirt.
He wasn’t concentrating on anything but flipping Achilleas over his back. The blinding sun beating down on them, the whispering of Alexi and the other brother standing at the ring’s edge, the sliding shadow of the hawk flying over them in that moment; Stephanos didn’t notice any of it. His breath hissing through gritted teeth and his own heartbeat were the only things liable to distract him from his purpose. Achilleas would be in the dirt before long and once he was, the prince planned to leap on him and finish this decisively.
It wasn’t that he wanted to impress any of these brothers, exactly, though that would be nice. It was mostly that he couldn’t allow himself not to give his absolute best, where Achilleas was concerned. If he let up even a fraction, Achilleas would win. The man had the single best focus of anyone Stephanos had ever met. Which meant that he needed to keep his wits about him and there was no room for a lax attitude.
His plan had been solid. Solid and foolhardy. Achilleas was a tall, broad young man and Stephanos had been counting on his cousin not to be able to move quite that fast. He’d intended to barrel straight into Achilleas’s gut and take him down to the ground, where he could then straddle him, giving himself the upperhand in the wrestling match. If he could keep the other man pinned, then he could likely get him in some sort of choke hold and force him to tap out, thus securing a quick victory. But his vision didn’t play out in that clean, smooth way.
The world blurred around him as he flew and he watched, helpless to stop his cousin, as Achilleas slid out of the way, leaving the dirt ring to be Stephanos’s landing zone. Reaching out an arm, he managed to hook it around his cousin’s thigh, though that didn’t stop his knees from crashing into the dirt ring. He paid no attention to the stinging pain as he grappled with Achilleas. To the other man’s credit, his reflexes were quick and Stephanos scowled at the knee driven up into his ribs. That didn’t stop him from tightening his hold on Achilleas’s leg, keeping his shoulder to the other man’s hip, and twisting to the side, intending to upend Achilleas by hauling his leg out from underneath him so that the other would tumble over Stephanos’s back and into the dirt.
He wasn’t concentrating on anything but flipping Achilleas over his back. The blinding sun beating down on them, the whispering of Alexi and the other brother standing at the ring’s edge, the sliding shadow of the hawk flying over them in that moment; Stephanos didn’t notice any of it. His breath hissing through gritted teeth and his own heartbeat were the only things liable to distract him from his purpose. Achilleas would be in the dirt before long and once he was, the prince planned to leap on him and finish this decisively.
It wasn’t that he wanted to impress any of these brothers, exactly, though that would be nice. It was mostly that he couldn’t allow himself not to give his absolute best, where Achilleas was concerned. If he let up even a fraction, Achilleas would win. The man had the single best focus of anyone Stephanos had ever met. Which meant that he needed to keep his wits about him and there was no room for a lax attitude.
Stephanos wasn't letting go. He shouldn’t have been surprised, shouldn’t have expected anything less from his cousin who he knew had the lion heart of a Mikaelidas. The other instead tightened his grip, and threw his weight into Achilleas, whose balance was a little less certain after that knee he’d sent into the Prince’ ribs. At first he thought he could stand it, just braced himself and leant into it, despite the ache he could feel where Stephanos’ bony shoulder was digging into his hip. But he underestimated the strength his cousin threw behind his offence, and he realised just that little too late to be able to counter, felt his weight lifted just enough for Steph to tip him over his shoulder and then Achilleas threw his hands out to stop himself planting face first in the gravelly sand of the fighting ring.
There was no graceful way to pull out of the fall, all the young lord could do was tuck his chin into his chest and let momentum carry him onwards, his breath leaving his body in a whoosh as he landed heavily on his back, little fiery pinpricks of sharp heat where his skin met the rough surface.Godsdammit.
He couldn’t afford to lie still though, despite that inglorious landing. Stephanos would be on him in a flash and so Achilleas rolled to his side, trying to find some purchase quickly before his cousin could capitalise on that little misstep. He got his knees under him and threw himself forward at his cousin, looking to ensure Stephanos got a healthy dose of sand burn too, and thinking he might use the weight advantage to his benefit if they were both low to the ground.
It was a satisfying feeling, crashing into the other and sending him sprawling back, but it seemed Steph wasn’t keen on getting pinned either, and Achilleas took an elbow to the face as he tried to get a choke hold around the other’s neck. “Mphff”. He grunted as he pulled back, eyes tearing from the bash on his nose. He hoped it wasn’t broken. “You did that on purpose” he muttered, and then realising how ridiculous it sounded given that everything they were doing was on purpose, redoubled his efforts to try and snake an arm round Steph’s neck so he could cut off his air.
As much as the Prince was keen to win and prove his mettle in this bout, Achilleas had the added incentive that he was sure his father would hear of their successes and failings from Krateros and the brothers who watched, and he did not want to be the one to concede first, so was vicious in throwing all his weight atop his cousin in an attempt to subdue him so he could get that deciding lock hold in place.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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Stephanos wasn't letting go. He shouldn’t have been surprised, shouldn’t have expected anything less from his cousin who he knew had the lion heart of a Mikaelidas. The other instead tightened his grip, and threw his weight into Achilleas, whose balance was a little less certain after that knee he’d sent into the Prince’ ribs. At first he thought he could stand it, just braced himself and leant into it, despite the ache he could feel where Stephanos’ bony shoulder was digging into his hip. But he underestimated the strength his cousin threw behind his offence, and he realised just that little too late to be able to counter, felt his weight lifted just enough for Steph to tip him over his shoulder and then Achilleas threw his hands out to stop himself planting face first in the gravelly sand of the fighting ring.
There was no graceful way to pull out of the fall, all the young lord could do was tuck his chin into his chest and let momentum carry him onwards, his breath leaving his body in a whoosh as he landed heavily on his back, little fiery pinpricks of sharp heat where his skin met the rough surface.Godsdammit.
He couldn’t afford to lie still though, despite that inglorious landing. Stephanos would be on him in a flash and so Achilleas rolled to his side, trying to find some purchase quickly before his cousin could capitalise on that little misstep. He got his knees under him and threw himself forward at his cousin, looking to ensure Stephanos got a healthy dose of sand burn too, and thinking he might use the weight advantage to his benefit if they were both low to the ground.
It was a satisfying feeling, crashing into the other and sending him sprawling back, but it seemed Steph wasn’t keen on getting pinned either, and Achilleas took an elbow to the face as he tried to get a choke hold around the other’s neck. “Mphff”. He grunted as he pulled back, eyes tearing from the bash on his nose. He hoped it wasn’t broken. “You did that on purpose” he muttered, and then realising how ridiculous it sounded given that everything they were doing was on purpose, redoubled his efforts to try and snake an arm round Steph’s neck so he could cut off his air.
As much as the Prince was keen to win and prove his mettle in this bout, Achilleas had the added incentive that he was sure his father would hear of their successes and failings from Krateros and the brothers who watched, and he did not want to be the one to concede first, so was vicious in throwing all his weight atop his cousin in an attempt to subdue him so he could get that deciding lock hold in place.
Stephanos wasn't letting go. He shouldn’t have been surprised, shouldn’t have expected anything less from his cousin who he knew had the lion heart of a Mikaelidas. The other instead tightened his grip, and threw his weight into Achilleas, whose balance was a little less certain after that knee he’d sent into the Prince’ ribs. At first he thought he could stand it, just braced himself and leant into it, despite the ache he could feel where Stephanos’ bony shoulder was digging into his hip. But he underestimated the strength his cousin threw behind his offence, and he realised just that little too late to be able to counter, felt his weight lifted just enough for Steph to tip him over his shoulder and then Achilleas threw his hands out to stop himself planting face first in the gravelly sand of the fighting ring.
There was no graceful way to pull out of the fall, all the young lord could do was tuck his chin into his chest and let momentum carry him onwards, his breath leaving his body in a whoosh as he landed heavily on his back, little fiery pinpricks of sharp heat where his skin met the rough surface.Godsdammit.
He couldn’t afford to lie still though, despite that inglorious landing. Stephanos would be on him in a flash and so Achilleas rolled to his side, trying to find some purchase quickly before his cousin could capitalise on that little misstep. He got his knees under him and threw himself forward at his cousin, looking to ensure Stephanos got a healthy dose of sand burn too, and thinking he might use the weight advantage to his benefit if they were both low to the ground.
It was a satisfying feeling, crashing into the other and sending him sprawling back, but it seemed Steph wasn’t keen on getting pinned either, and Achilleas took an elbow to the face as he tried to get a choke hold around the other’s neck. “Mphff”. He grunted as he pulled back, eyes tearing from the bash on his nose. He hoped it wasn’t broken. “You did that on purpose” he muttered, and then realising how ridiculous it sounded given that everything they were doing was on purpose, redoubled his efforts to try and snake an arm round Steph’s neck so he could cut off his air.
As much as the Prince was keen to win and prove his mettle in this bout, Achilleas had the added incentive that he was sure his father would hear of their successes and failings from Krateros and the brothers who watched, and he did not want to be the one to concede first, so was vicious in throwing all his weight atop his cousin in an attempt to subdue him so he could get that deciding lock hold in place.
He’d have paid quite a lot to see Achilleas’s face when he upended his cousin. The image of a big youth, tumbling with his legs stuck for one hilarious second up in the air, then crashing down. Just as Achilleas assume, Stephanos’s every intention was to pin him into the dirt and choke him. Rounding like a leopard, Stephanos pounced, but his cousin slithered just out of reach, leaving Stephanos to land on his hands and knees. Grit bit into his palms and kneecaps. Aside for a single, stray thought about the mark it’d make, he didn’t allow the dirt to distract him, but it was too late. Even though he had his wits about him, Achilleas was ferocious and aiming to win.
Stephanos didn’t have time to counter the shoulders that slammed into him, or do much about the octopus arms coming around him. He was bowled over, and even though Achilleas was a little bit bigger, he didn’t feel that he was out for the count just yet. Letting his body go completely limp, he forced Achilleas to be the one to exert the energy in keeping hold of him, which allowed him to slip down just enough to free one of his arms from this bear hug. With the new found freedom, he shoved his elbow up and back, connecting with his cousin’s nose.
“You did that on purpose,” Achilleas whined but shut up quickly and Stephanos couldn’t have dignified that response even if he wanted to. He was too busy pushing his back into Achilleas’s chest, attempting to get away from the chokehold that the other was locking him into. He gritted his teeth, forcing his own arm up into the crook of the other’s elbow. Making a fist, he slid his forearm against Achilleas’s, almost using the bone of the other’s arm as a guide.
Panic threatened to seize him, but he puffed out his cheeks and hissed through his teeth, trying bracing his feet against the sand, but he fought it back. He could get out of this. He already had his own wrist against his neck, which made it impossible for Achilleas to carry out his choking plan. It hurt, though, especially on the one side. If this was a strict wrestling competition, he would not strike his opponent. Alexi had said anything went and Stephanos decided to take the man up on that offer. With his free hand, he slammed his fist back into Achilleas’s face and twisted his whole body sideways, pulling the two of them into a tumble, attempting to get Achilleas to let go.
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He’d have paid quite a lot to see Achilleas’s face when he upended his cousin. The image of a big youth, tumbling with his legs stuck for one hilarious second up in the air, then crashing down. Just as Achilleas assume, Stephanos’s every intention was to pin him into the dirt and choke him. Rounding like a leopard, Stephanos pounced, but his cousin slithered just out of reach, leaving Stephanos to land on his hands and knees. Grit bit into his palms and kneecaps. Aside for a single, stray thought about the mark it’d make, he didn’t allow the dirt to distract him, but it was too late. Even though he had his wits about him, Achilleas was ferocious and aiming to win.
Stephanos didn’t have time to counter the shoulders that slammed into him, or do much about the octopus arms coming around him. He was bowled over, and even though Achilleas was a little bit bigger, he didn’t feel that he was out for the count just yet. Letting his body go completely limp, he forced Achilleas to be the one to exert the energy in keeping hold of him, which allowed him to slip down just enough to free one of his arms from this bear hug. With the new found freedom, he shoved his elbow up and back, connecting with his cousin’s nose.
“You did that on purpose,” Achilleas whined but shut up quickly and Stephanos couldn’t have dignified that response even if he wanted to. He was too busy pushing his back into Achilleas’s chest, attempting to get away from the chokehold that the other was locking him into. He gritted his teeth, forcing his own arm up into the crook of the other’s elbow. Making a fist, he slid his forearm against Achilleas’s, almost using the bone of the other’s arm as a guide.
Panic threatened to seize him, but he puffed out his cheeks and hissed through his teeth, trying bracing his feet against the sand, but he fought it back. He could get out of this. He already had his own wrist against his neck, which made it impossible for Achilleas to carry out his choking plan. It hurt, though, especially on the one side. If this was a strict wrestling competition, he would not strike his opponent. Alexi had said anything went and Stephanos decided to take the man up on that offer. With his free hand, he slammed his fist back into Achilleas’s face and twisted his whole body sideways, pulling the two of them into a tumble, attempting to get Achilleas to let go.
He’d have paid quite a lot to see Achilleas’s face when he upended his cousin. The image of a big youth, tumbling with his legs stuck for one hilarious second up in the air, then crashing down. Just as Achilleas assume, Stephanos’s every intention was to pin him into the dirt and choke him. Rounding like a leopard, Stephanos pounced, but his cousin slithered just out of reach, leaving Stephanos to land on his hands and knees. Grit bit into his palms and kneecaps. Aside for a single, stray thought about the mark it’d make, he didn’t allow the dirt to distract him, but it was too late. Even though he had his wits about him, Achilleas was ferocious and aiming to win.
Stephanos didn’t have time to counter the shoulders that slammed into him, or do much about the octopus arms coming around him. He was bowled over, and even though Achilleas was a little bit bigger, he didn’t feel that he was out for the count just yet. Letting his body go completely limp, he forced Achilleas to be the one to exert the energy in keeping hold of him, which allowed him to slip down just enough to free one of his arms from this bear hug. With the new found freedom, he shoved his elbow up and back, connecting with his cousin’s nose.
“You did that on purpose,” Achilleas whined but shut up quickly and Stephanos couldn’t have dignified that response even if he wanted to. He was too busy pushing his back into Achilleas’s chest, attempting to get away from the chokehold that the other was locking him into. He gritted his teeth, forcing his own arm up into the crook of the other’s elbow. Making a fist, he slid his forearm against Achilleas’s, almost using the bone of the other’s arm as a guide.
Panic threatened to seize him, but he puffed out his cheeks and hissed through his teeth, trying bracing his feet against the sand, but he fought it back. He could get out of this. He already had his own wrist against his neck, which made it impossible for Achilleas to carry out his choking plan. It hurt, though, especially on the one side. If this was a strict wrestling competition, he would not strike his opponent. Alexi had said anything went and Stephanos decided to take the man up on that offer. With his free hand, he slammed his fist back into Achilleas’s face and twisted his whole body sideways, pulling the two of them into a tumble, attempting to get Achilleas to let go.
Trying to hold onto Stephanos was a little like trying to hold onto sand, Achilleas was finding. And he had slipped an arm to his neck already, reserving himself that little bit of space so that Achilleas could not cut off his air as he managed to wrap an arm around the blonde youth’s neck. It was not comfortable, not with Steph grinding the bones of their arms together in an attempt to see his cousin let go.
Achilleas grimaced at the unpleasant sensation but just tightened his hold, determined to force a tap out. It was a fruitless ambition though, because the other had done just enough to ensure he could still draw breath, and whilst he could still draw breath he could still mount an offence, an oversight on the young baron’s part that cost him dear.
He wasn’t expecting the fist that Stephanos threw back, the blow catching him full in the face and sending a bright, hot flash of pain through him. Stars erupted across his vision for a moment, and Achilleas loosened his hold, a little stunned.
It was all the invitation his cousin needed, and before Achilleas has regathered his senses, the Prince had twisted, shifted the balance so they were both tumbling sideways into the dirt. Blinking, coming back to himself and incensed by the heavy numb sensation left behind by that flying fist, Achilleas grabbed at the back of Steph’s head, looking to grind it into the sand and pin the young man by straddling his shoulders.
It was not honourable, nor kind, but given that his cousin had clearly dispenses with such niceties then the elder of Irakles’ sons thought it only fair. He threw all his weight at Stephanos, one hand on the back of his head, the other between his shoulder blades, his breath coming out in short huffs at the exertion of trying to bend the others body in a direction Steph was clearly keen to avoid.
He could feel the bite of sand beneath his knees, but there was little consideration for it, nor for what would surely be an impressive black eye by the morning. Again Achilleas considered how their successes and failures would be reported and it made him push only harder to force a submission from Stephanos before the Prince could get a proper look in. If he were to be bested by his cousin then it would only be another thing that he would have to somehow strike from his father’s mind by being better. By being the best. He grit his teeth and shoved harder.
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Trying to hold onto Stephanos was a little like trying to hold onto sand, Achilleas was finding. And he had slipped an arm to his neck already, reserving himself that little bit of space so that Achilleas could not cut off his air as he managed to wrap an arm around the blonde youth’s neck. It was not comfortable, not with Steph grinding the bones of their arms together in an attempt to see his cousin let go.
Achilleas grimaced at the unpleasant sensation but just tightened his hold, determined to force a tap out. It was a fruitless ambition though, because the other had done just enough to ensure he could still draw breath, and whilst he could still draw breath he could still mount an offence, an oversight on the young baron’s part that cost him dear.
He wasn’t expecting the fist that Stephanos threw back, the blow catching him full in the face and sending a bright, hot flash of pain through him. Stars erupted across his vision for a moment, and Achilleas loosened his hold, a little stunned.
It was all the invitation his cousin needed, and before Achilleas has regathered his senses, the Prince had twisted, shifted the balance so they were both tumbling sideways into the dirt. Blinking, coming back to himself and incensed by the heavy numb sensation left behind by that flying fist, Achilleas grabbed at the back of Steph’s head, looking to grind it into the sand and pin the young man by straddling his shoulders.
It was not honourable, nor kind, but given that his cousin had clearly dispenses with such niceties then the elder of Irakles’ sons thought it only fair. He threw all his weight at Stephanos, one hand on the back of his head, the other between his shoulder blades, his breath coming out in short huffs at the exertion of trying to bend the others body in a direction Steph was clearly keen to avoid.
He could feel the bite of sand beneath his knees, but there was little consideration for it, nor for what would surely be an impressive black eye by the morning. Again Achilleas considered how their successes and failures would be reported and it made him push only harder to force a submission from Stephanos before the Prince could get a proper look in. If he were to be bested by his cousin then it would only be another thing that he would have to somehow strike from his father’s mind by being better. By being the best. He grit his teeth and shoved harder.
Trying to hold onto Stephanos was a little like trying to hold onto sand, Achilleas was finding. And he had slipped an arm to his neck already, reserving himself that little bit of space so that Achilleas could not cut off his air as he managed to wrap an arm around the blonde youth’s neck. It was not comfortable, not with Steph grinding the bones of their arms together in an attempt to see his cousin let go.
Achilleas grimaced at the unpleasant sensation but just tightened his hold, determined to force a tap out. It was a fruitless ambition though, because the other had done just enough to ensure he could still draw breath, and whilst he could still draw breath he could still mount an offence, an oversight on the young baron’s part that cost him dear.
He wasn’t expecting the fist that Stephanos threw back, the blow catching him full in the face and sending a bright, hot flash of pain through him. Stars erupted across his vision for a moment, and Achilleas loosened his hold, a little stunned.
It was all the invitation his cousin needed, and before Achilleas has regathered his senses, the Prince had twisted, shifted the balance so they were both tumbling sideways into the dirt. Blinking, coming back to himself and incensed by the heavy numb sensation left behind by that flying fist, Achilleas grabbed at the back of Steph’s head, looking to grind it into the sand and pin the young man by straddling his shoulders.
It was not honourable, nor kind, but given that his cousin had clearly dispenses with such niceties then the elder of Irakles’ sons thought it only fair. He threw all his weight at Stephanos, one hand on the back of his head, the other between his shoulder blades, his breath coming out in short huffs at the exertion of trying to bend the others body in a direction Steph was clearly keen to avoid.
He could feel the bite of sand beneath his knees, but there was little consideration for it, nor for what would surely be an impressive black eye by the morning. Again Achilleas considered how their successes and failures would be reported and it made him push only harder to force a submission from Stephanos before the Prince could get a proper look in. If he were to be bested by his cousin then it would only be another thing that he would have to somehow strike from his father’s mind by being better. By being the best. He grit his teeth and shoved harder.
The sun beat down on them in a wash of white hot haze that discolored the entire courtyard and sent up shimmering air from the stones. Just before Achilleas leapt onto his shoulders, Stephanos had glanced up at a tree that stretched its branches over the top of the wall surrounding the Order House and noted that the green of the leaves was faded and listless. He did not have the same drive to win as his cousin. He wanted to win, but he didn’t need it and breathe it the way that Achilleas did. Stephanos did not have the same self reputation at stake. If he lost, all it would do was wound his pride for a few minutes and he’d bounce back. He would not hear the same soul crushing abuse from his father that his uncle liked to do to his sons.
“Hey!” he shouted, once Achilleas leaped on him, the full weight of his body pressing down on Stephanos’s shoulders and driving him down toward the sand. The unequal weight distribution made the prince curl his body to keep from face planting, dirt digging into his knees and shins, but that was precisely what his cousin was trying to get him to do.
The muscles in his arms tightened, his veins corded, and he tilted his chin up, all in an effort to withstand the pressure of Achilleas’s hands on the back of his head. Breath hissed from between his teeth. His body betrayed him. His arms wobbled, his back gave out, and he fell, face first, into the grit of the ring. Dirt sprayed out in a brown puff as he blew out, turning his head to breathe without having to suck in sand. With eyes squinted and legs splayed out behind him, Stephanos reached out and slammed his palm into the ground several times.
“Get off!” he bellowed, continuously slapping the ground, giving Achilleas the victory. The only thing he had managed to do was to keep sand and dirt out of his mouth, for which he was profoundly thankful. Later, when he would see Achilleas’s spectacular black eye, he’d be properly proud of that too. As it was, he was willing to lose this fight just to get it over with and to be able to get dressed. As much fun as it was to wrestle naked with his cousin in front of two complete strangers, he’d almost rather be shoveling manure.
Once Achilleas’s weight shifted off him, Stephanos pushed up from the dirt and gave Achilleas a rather unsportsmanlike shove, but grinned by the end of it. “Who were you fighting?” he quipped. “Because it wasn’t me.” He’d never had his cousin bear down on him like that or be so hyper aggressive. It was good to see and he wasn’t at all sorry to lose to such an opponent. Of course, he’d have liked to win if he could have, but that was a goal for another day.
“Can we get dressed now?” he stood up, brushing himself off as best he could but he and his cousin were a filthy nightmare. Again. Sweat, sand, a little bit of blood, and a lot of dirt saw them far more covered now than they had been when they started. Alexi eyed them both, not overly impressed with the entire performance, despite how hard each of them had fought each other. He glanced at the shorter man with him, turned, and spit on the ground. Stephanos wrinkled his nose.
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The sun beat down on them in a wash of white hot haze that discolored the entire courtyard and sent up shimmering air from the stones. Just before Achilleas leapt onto his shoulders, Stephanos had glanced up at a tree that stretched its branches over the top of the wall surrounding the Order House and noted that the green of the leaves was faded and listless. He did not have the same drive to win as his cousin. He wanted to win, but he didn’t need it and breathe it the way that Achilleas did. Stephanos did not have the same self reputation at stake. If he lost, all it would do was wound his pride for a few minutes and he’d bounce back. He would not hear the same soul crushing abuse from his father that his uncle liked to do to his sons.
“Hey!” he shouted, once Achilleas leaped on him, the full weight of his body pressing down on Stephanos’s shoulders and driving him down toward the sand. The unequal weight distribution made the prince curl his body to keep from face planting, dirt digging into his knees and shins, but that was precisely what his cousin was trying to get him to do.
The muscles in his arms tightened, his veins corded, and he tilted his chin up, all in an effort to withstand the pressure of Achilleas’s hands on the back of his head. Breath hissed from between his teeth. His body betrayed him. His arms wobbled, his back gave out, and he fell, face first, into the grit of the ring. Dirt sprayed out in a brown puff as he blew out, turning his head to breathe without having to suck in sand. With eyes squinted and legs splayed out behind him, Stephanos reached out and slammed his palm into the ground several times.
“Get off!” he bellowed, continuously slapping the ground, giving Achilleas the victory. The only thing he had managed to do was to keep sand and dirt out of his mouth, for which he was profoundly thankful. Later, when he would see Achilleas’s spectacular black eye, he’d be properly proud of that too. As it was, he was willing to lose this fight just to get it over with and to be able to get dressed. As much fun as it was to wrestle naked with his cousin in front of two complete strangers, he’d almost rather be shoveling manure.
Once Achilleas’s weight shifted off him, Stephanos pushed up from the dirt and gave Achilleas a rather unsportsmanlike shove, but grinned by the end of it. “Who were you fighting?” he quipped. “Because it wasn’t me.” He’d never had his cousin bear down on him like that or be so hyper aggressive. It was good to see and he wasn’t at all sorry to lose to such an opponent. Of course, he’d have liked to win if he could have, but that was a goal for another day.
“Can we get dressed now?” he stood up, brushing himself off as best he could but he and his cousin were a filthy nightmare. Again. Sweat, sand, a little bit of blood, and a lot of dirt saw them far more covered now than they had been when they started. Alexi eyed them both, not overly impressed with the entire performance, despite how hard each of them had fought each other. He glanced at the shorter man with him, turned, and spit on the ground. Stephanos wrinkled his nose.
The sun beat down on them in a wash of white hot haze that discolored the entire courtyard and sent up shimmering air from the stones. Just before Achilleas leapt onto his shoulders, Stephanos had glanced up at a tree that stretched its branches over the top of the wall surrounding the Order House and noted that the green of the leaves was faded and listless. He did not have the same drive to win as his cousin. He wanted to win, but he didn’t need it and breathe it the way that Achilleas did. Stephanos did not have the same self reputation at stake. If he lost, all it would do was wound his pride for a few minutes and he’d bounce back. He would not hear the same soul crushing abuse from his father that his uncle liked to do to his sons.
“Hey!” he shouted, once Achilleas leaped on him, the full weight of his body pressing down on Stephanos’s shoulders and driving him down toward the sand. The unequal weight distribution made the prince curl his body to keep from face planting, dirt digging into his knees and shins, but that was precisely what his cousin was trying to get him to do.
The muscles in his arms tightened, his veins corded, and he tilted his chin up, all in an effort to withstand the pressure of Achilleas’s hands on the back of his head. Breath hissed from between his teeth. His body betrayed him. His arms wobbled, his back gave out, and he fell, face first, into the grit of the ring. Dirt sprayed out in a brown puff as he blew out, turning his head to breathe without having to suck in sand. With eyes squinted and legs splayed out behind him, Stephanos reached out and slammed his palm into the ground several times.
“Get off!” he bellowed, continuously slapping the ground, giving Achilleas the victory. The only thing he had managed to do was to keep sand and dirt out of his mouth, for which he was profoundly thankful. Later, when he would see Achilleas’s spectacular black eye, he’d be properly proud of that too. As it was, he was willing to lose this fight just to get it over with and to be able to get dressed. As much fun as it was to wrestle naked with his cousin in front of two complete strangers, he’d almost rather be shoveling manure.
Once Achilleas’s weight shifted off him, Stephanos pushed up from the dirt and gave Achilleas a rather unsportsmanlike shove, but grinned by the end of it. “Who were you fighting?” he quipped. “Because it wasn’t me.” He’d never had his cousin bear down on him like that or be so hyper aggressive. It was good to see and he wasn’t at all sorry to lose to such an opponent. Of course, he’d have liked to win if he could have, but that was a goal for another day.
“Can we get dressed now?” he stood up, brushing himself off as best he could but he and his cousin were a filthy nightmare. Again. Sweat, sand, a little bit of blood, and a lot of dirt saw them far more covered now than they had been when they started. Alexi eyed them both, not overly impressed with the entire performance, despite how hard each of them had fought each other. He glanced at the shorter man with him, turned, and spit on the ground. Stephanos wrinkled his nose.
The sound of protest from Stephanos was not enough to see Achilleas let up on him. If nothing else, the dark-haired youth had a competitive streak a mile long, and it was hard to stifle when he considered the consequences of losing. He would not lose this. He just needed to break through the resistance the Prince was putting up, use gravity and force to his advantage. If Stephanos would just unlock his arms...
Achilleas released the downwards pressure on his cousin’s back and neck for just a moment, took some of his weight off just long enough for the other to think he had fumbled before he threw it all back on again, using all of his strength, half off his knees as he put all of his weight behind the attempt to floor his competitor. The effort was enough to see the prince’s arms buckle, and his face meet the dirt just as Achilleas had intended. The ‘Get off’ that spat muffled from Stephanos’ confirmed his success.
There was a grim smile of satisfaction as his cousin signaled his surrender, and immediately, Achilleas let go of his hold, slumped back to rest on his heels and catch his breath. That had been no easy victory, not that he would expect such from Stephanos. The sand and grit stuck to him, bit into his knees and stung where it mixed with sweat on broken skin. Now he had a moment to think about it, his face felt hot and heavy and he raised a hand to his nose. It came away bloody, and he shot a look at his cousin as the blonde man got up from the dirt.
He should perhaps have anticipated the shove and not let it send him sprawling backwards as it did, and Achilleas rolled his eyes as he clambered back to his feet muttering something about ungracious defeats. But as always, Steph was quick to shake off his temper and return to a better spirit. His teeth were very white as they grinned out of a face that looked like it had been ground into the dirt, as indeed it had.
Achilleas gave a shrug, not wanting to admit that it was the idea of his father’s disapproval that had seen him push so hard for a win over his cousin. “You weren’t exactly taking it easy yourself” he answered, gingerly prodding at his face. “I think you might have broken my noth”. It better not be crooked Achilleas pushed it experimentally but it made him feel a bit sick so he stopped, turning to the Brothers as if he’d just remembered they were there.
What kind of impression had they made? Judging by the expression on Alexei’s face and the wad of saliva he spat on the dirt, it was not favourable, and Achilleas felt a twist of unease. They had fought hard, hadn’t held back. What was it the man looked for that he hadn’t seen? Perhaps technique - it had been an untidy sort of brawl, admittedly. But it was Alexei himself that had said anything goes?
Sliding his eyes sideways towards his cousin, the Mikaelidas lord raised a brow at the blond’s question. He did feel pretty sweaty and disgusting, and there was sand in places that sand had no place being. And the longer they stood there, the more he could feel the throb throb of his nose and there was a small part of him vain enough to want to make sure it was still in the right place at least.
The taller of the men of the Order let his unimpressed gaze pass over both of his young charges and then he gave a grunt which might have meant anything. The other man laughed and then replied to Stephanos’ question “Go then. Get yourselves clean, see to your injuries and then head to the meeting chambers. Don’t hang about”
He had picked up the tunics they had shed and now threw them to the younger men, Achilleas catching his and debating for a moment if he wanted to pull it on only for it to get covered in everything that was stuck to him. He decided it was slightly preferable to walking around entirely naked and tugged it over his head without further ado.
Alexei was staring at them and gave a jerk of his head toward the order house. “Go on then! You’ve had your orders”
And it appeared they were not to dawdle, Achilleas giving a nod of his head and bending to retrieve his sandals which had been discarded at the beginning of the bout. He glanced briefly at his cousin before beginning to cross the courtyard again. Presumably they would be going back the room they had used previously to clean up in. What a waste of time that had been.
As soon as they were out of earshot of the older men, Achilleas blew out a sigh. “Did you see the look on Alexei’s face? I don’t understand what he was expecting? I hope he’s not going to tell Krateros we’re useless” The subtext was ill hidden. I hope my father isn’t going to hear that they think we’re useless, but the Mikaelidas lord did not allow much time for it to be addressed, turning to look at his cousin, his hand going again to his nose. “ Did you break my nose? Is it wonky? You idiot.”
When Stephanos looked, it was a little hard to see with all the grime and the drying blood but he did think that maybe he could see a tiny bump on what had been the previously straight bridge of his cousin’s nose. There was little time for him to confess his sins though, for as they stepped back into the cooler temperature of the Order House, they were apprehended almost immediately by the cook, who took one look at their sandy, bloodied faces and waved a rag at them.
“No. Out. Out. Get that muck scraped off.”
There was a young serving girl quietly chopping vegetables who glanced sideways at the Lord and the Prince where they had paused in the doorway, a flush blooming over her cheeks, but the cook was wise to such distractions and wouldn't have his kitchen disrupted. “You’ll find hot water in the scullery by the time you’ve scraped off the worst of that” he barked, “ Now go”.
And so obediently, Achilleas accepted the strigil and oil that was pushed at them and turned with it in his hands to head back outside. It felt a little like he imagined sheep must feel as they were herded from one spot to another and he couldn't say he much liked it. But getting the sand and grit off their skin could only be a good thing, and thankfully there was no sign of Alexei nor the other brother when they rounded the entryway. “I guess we’re doing this here then” the young baron muttered, setting the oil and the bronze strigils down. At home, it would have been a servant who performed this duty of scraping away sweat and dirt before he would bathe, but apparently for the general populace , this was a task one saw to oneself.
With a hard done too sigh, Achilleas stripped off again, and first liberally doused himself in oil, which only served to spread around the sand and felt like it was stripping off the top layer of his skin as he did so. Delightful. At least the sun was warm where it hit them, for it would have been entirely more unpleasant had it been cold as well. Smearing around the oily sandy elixir until he was covered head to toe, Achilleas began to use the strigil to scrape the goop from his skin, flicking it off the curved edge of the metal when it became too heavy with the stuff.
It was oddly therapeutic, watching the lighter gold appear in uniform stripes from beneath the sludgy brown sand and oil mixture as skin became visible again, and Achilleas tried to ignore the slightly thick feeling in his head and the fact that his nose felt all stuffed up. He ignored his cousin too for the most part, just wanting to get this done and be clean again. And when the strigil had scraped most of the grime from his body, the Mikaelidas Lord waited for Stephanos to be done before trudging back into the scullery where, as promised, there was a tub of hot water awaiting them.
Achilleas dipped a rag from the nearby pile into the clean, hot water, wrung it out and then wiped his face gingerly, wincing. It wiped away the blood that had dried there, and he tried to catch a glimpse of his reflection in the surface of the water to check the damage but it wasn’t very clear so he resigned himself to needing to wait until he could find a looking glass of some kind. Stephanos wasn't recoiling in horror, so presumably things were still where they should be.
It was just a matter of sluicing themselves off then, ignoring the sting of the water over scuffed skin, and then when that was done, Achilleas dipped his head into the tub to rinse his face off properly and get the sand out of his hair. Fuck, his face was sore. He’d get Steph back for that at some point.
Standing upright again and blinking the water out of his eyes, Achilleas pushed his hair back away from his face and picked up the mostly clean tunic that he’d taken off earlier. It cling a little to damp skin, but it was nice to be clothes again and he leant back against the cool stone of the scullery wall as he waited for his cousin to stop preening. There was a gulley carved into the floor which let the water run out, and he watched the sluice flow away, feeling tired and starving hungry after they’d missed the earlier midday meal. Almost as if he’d woken it by acknowledging his hunger, his stomach gave a hollow sort of grumble.
“I’m so hungry” he said morosely, wondering if they might try and persuade the cook to part with some food before they reported to the meeting room for whatever the next part of their day entailed. Thus far, the experience had not been at all as he had envisioned it. Achilleas had thought that they would be launched straight into learning, or perhaps performing some of the civic duties that he knew the Order were responsible for. Perhaps patrolling the streets or guarding at one of the temples. He had fully intended to be the model recruit.
Instead, they'd been stripped of their possessions, assigned chambers that he could only imagine were intended for slaves, and then been given the menial and rather insulting task of cleaning out stalls. Worse than that was the indignity they had brought upon themselves of having been caught brawling like children in the muck by non other than the Head of the Order himself. And after what he could only surmise was an unsatisfactory show of their fighting skills, Achilleas didn’t like to think about what words the surly Alexei was imparting to Krateros. What if the man really did throw them out? Surely they could not measure lower than those common boys from the streets who found a place with the Order? It didn't bear thinking about. He silently vowed to correct the course the day had taken and perform better in whatever their next opportunity to shine might be.
Stephanos finally seemed finished, so Achilleas pushed off the wall and trailed after his cousin this time, almost making out of the scullery before he turned to look at the tub of dirty water they’d left behind them. His question to his cousin as to whether he thought they should dispose of it was met with an outraged look, but after a bit of cajoling, Stephanos helped drag the thing outside to empty it and the pair of them returned the scullery to something approaching the state they found it in.
Stepping into the kitchens, Achilleas sniffed appreciatively at the smell of whatever the cook had on the go, though he was sure it wouldn't compare to what they ate at home he was so hungry he didn't think he cared. He didn’t even realise his steps had slowed until Stephanos careened into the back of him. “Watch it” he muttered, but he was still obviously making moony eyes at the great pan that was bubbling away over the fire, because the cook paused in his stirring and lifted a thick shaggy brow in their direction.
“Missed noon mea did ye?”
They must have looked truly pathetic - later Achilleas would claim it was his battered face that earned them the small kindness - but the swarthy man called over to the young kitchen girl. “Here, Eliani, give these two a bit of bread and wine will ya. Make it quick boys and you can eat before you go on”
Had he not been so hungry, Achilleas would have refused, not wanting to possibly be counted as late for whatever their next calling was, but he was a teenage boy who had not eaten since very early that morning. And judging by the look of Stephanos’ face, his cousin was taken with either the idea of food, or the girl who had set down her task to gather it for them. She was not unattractive, dark hair and dark eyes that were almost shy as they flickered over to the two young men she had been asked to serve.
It was simple fair, some heavy bread laden with herbs and wine that was warm and little tart. The bread was hard, had been left out too long, and usually would not have proven nearly so tempting. But as Achilleas and Stephanos sat down on the long bench that edged the table they fell upon it as if it were a feast, and it was gone without touching the sides. As he chewed and swallowed, Achilleas did not miss the glances shared between Eilani and his cousin, and he pulled a face. When the girl moved away it was under his breath that he muttered "Please don’t get us slung out for sleeping with the servants, Stephanos.”
His cousin was not at all shy when it came to the fairer sex and and possessed an irritatingly easy charm about him that girls seemed to flock to. Of course the kitchen maid would be taken with him. “It's just because my face is busted up” he complained, with an elbow into Steph’s ribs. Achilleas delivered a very heartfelt thanks to the cook before he was pushing to his feet and urging his cousin along, the fear of being late becoming more worrisome now his stomach had been reassured that his throat had not been cut.
“Come. We’d best go present ourselves in the meeting chambers”
He wasn’t actually sure which room that indicated, but decided that perhaps it was the first one they'd been shown to, and so that was where they were headed. Pausing outside the closed door, Achilleas gave a brisk knock to the wood, and there was a muffled ‘Enter’ called from within. It was Krateros’ voice and the dark-haired youth hesitated a moment with a worried look towards his cousin before he pushed the door open and led them within.
The space was big enough to be called a meeting chamber, Achilleas noted as they filed in. There were a number of chairs gathered around to face a large fireplace, currently unlit, but providing a backdrop to the broad and muscled form of the Head of the Order. Krateros gestured for Stephanos and Achilleas to stand before him, and then stood and appraised them, arms clasped behind his back. His unreadable gaze drifted over the scuffed knuckles and the rapidly darkening bruises, and he was silent for a horrible long stretching moment in which Achilleas felt certain he was about to tell them that they had been deemed unsuitable candidates for the Order of Vasiliadon.
Indeed, the Mikaelidas heir was already formulating his very mature and considered argument as to why the man should afford them another chance to prove themselves when Krateros finally relented and addressed them, his voice matter of a fact.
“A less than auspicious beginnings perhaps, Stephanos and Achilleas, but you have promise, both of you, despite an apparent lack of focus for those tasks that you perhaps think beneath you. But those are the true tests of character, young sirs. The Order are first and foremost servants of Vasiliadon. We do not cater to our own wants and desires. They are immaterial. We do what is required of us, what is needed, and we do it without complaint, and with integrity and discipline.”
He unclasped his hands, lifted one finger as if to stay any comments that might have been on the edge of their tongues, and continued on. “You are young yet, and this is all a change for you I am sure, but heed my words. Today has not been a test. You cleaned the stalls because the stalls need cleaning every day. Tomorrow you might be in the kitchen. The day after you might be rebuilding in the city. What is important is that you have the commitment and the fortitude to do anything that is asked of you. It may not be there yet” here his gaze met each of theirs in turn. “But today you take the first steps.”
Achilleas was standing and paying close attention, trying not to picture the look on Stephanos’ face because he could not think that his cousin would be taking this seriously. Achilleas was of course. He took everything seriously, because everything felt as if it were a point he had to prove.That he could do it, that he could do it well. This couldn’t be any different. Especially given that he knew Krateros had his father’s ear. And if there were anything to be spoken in that ear, he wished it to be positive. Perhaps if Krateros thought him worthy, then some small part of that might be believed by the man Achilleas sought to impress the most.
He blinked, his nose still stuffy and throbbing slightly and a distraction to the fact that the Head of the Order was still speaking. The older man seemed to have moved on from the vagaries of his previous speech and was now looking quite intently at his young charges. Achilleas panicked that he might have missed a question or something and was just standing there like and idiot, but he looked at Steph and he was doing the same, so perhaps he had not. Or perhaps his cousin was an idiot. It was possible, he thought ungenerously,as he pressed the bridge of his nose surreptitiously.
“...there are things we will make allowances for, that you will learn along the way, but there are also things we ask of you from the beginning. To demonstrate your commitment to this undertaking. One - you will commit to chastity for the period of six months. This demonstrates restraint.”
He paused, and Achilleas wished he would not because there was a very real fear that his cousin would laugh or just walk out. It was not news to him but he doubted Steph had done any homework. He couldn’t imagine that the man would have turned up if he had.It wasn’t that Achilleas particularly relished the idea of not lying with another for such a stretch. It sounded like a miserable endeavour. But the truth was he didn’t tend to make an awful lot of time for it anyway, and that was a thing he did not [/i]have in common with the prince by his side. His eyes closed in a momentary relief when Krateros started speaking again before Stephanos felt compelled to spit his outrage.
“You have given up your titles. And yet we ask for more. Given that you both have your duties outside of this order, after the first week of service you need present yourselves to the Orderman for at least one day in a week. Here you will be given tasks which you will complete without fanfare or reward. Like a servant. This is how you prove humility”
The bearded man spoke the words as he had countless times before, and yet with the same conviction. These were the principles that set his order apart from any common band of soldiers. His dark eyes shifted between the two young nobleman. He knew their fathers both, and held his opinions of the King and Price close. It was interesting to see the children now as men before him. The young prince wore his arrogance more plainly, and he had little control of his emotions. They buffered him about like the winds of a storm, but perhaps that was youth, and he would grow steadier with maturity. And then the cousin, who was so eager to please, and yet not as controlled as he would like to think he was. Would he trip himself over in his rush to succeed? An entertaining contrast, though Alexei did not seem particularly taken with them. Time would tell.
“And finally, you shall set aside vanity. This evening, before repast, your hair shall be shorn and then shall commence your initiate period. You will spend the next months proving yourselves, and in return for your dedication, we will begin to train you in the ways of the Order. We do not fight as other men fight, for we face a different kind of foe. And to defeat them we must set aside preconceived notions of battle and learn other techniques. This is how we protect Vasiliadon." He stopped and took a breath, dipped his head to the side before speaking again, this time very slowly and deliberately.
“I will ask you this only once, and only today, for if you fail in this endeavour you bring shame not only upon yourselves but also onto this Order. You must make the choice to commit yourselves to this”
The manner in which Krateros looked at them both so steadily made Achilleas wonder if the man had an inkling that perhaps joining the Order had not been entirely their own idea.
The eldest of Irakles’ sons had known it would be an expectation at some point, so it had not been a surprise when his father had called him to his study the prior week and informed him that he would be expected at the Order House this day. He saw the merit in it, wanted to be part of defending their city against those who would threaten it, and even if he had not, he would not have argued with the man. So Achileas was quick to nod at Krateros when the man lifted a questioning brow. “ I make the choice, sir”.
And he really hoped that Stephanos would too, for despite their differences, his cousin did make some entertainment sometimes. Achilleas had rather gotten the impression that the Prince was here under duress though, so he waited with almost the same expectancy as the Head of the Order to hear the answer from the other young man. He shot his cousin an encouraging nod and smiled a little when the other’s response came in the affirmative. That was that then. They were both doing it.
For a moment, Achilleas tried to imagine reaction he might have gotten had he answered otherwise- if he had just told Krateros no thankyou and gone back to Euttica and told his father it simply wasn’t for him. It was almost amusing, but made him nervous too, so he shoved it away for the ridiculous notion that it was, snapped his attention back to the older man who was nodding, apparently satisfied with both of their pledges.
“Very well” He lifted his voice a little, called over their shoulders, and Achilleas turned to find that at some point during Krateros’ little speech, Alexei and the other brother had entered the room behind them. He frowned, it was disconcerting that they had been able to do so without drawing notice. He hoped that perhaps that short of stealth was one of the things they might be taught eventually.
Each of the two brothers carried a pail, and they stood before their leader, who gave a simple command - for it could be interpreted as nothing else - for Achilleas and Stephanos to kneel.
When the young noblemen complied, the floor was cold and hard beneath their knees, stone that had not been warmed by the sun, and which was a little unforgiving after the scuffs and grazes of earlier. Achilleas braced his hands upon his thighs and dared a look at Stephanos. Despite knowing how foolish and petty it seemed, the shaving of their heads had been one of the things he had not looked forward to. He did not consider himself vain, but still…
Looking up, he eyed the flash of metal at the razor that Alexei had drawn out, and tried not to pull a face at the fact that it was the miserable faced brother who would be carrying out this ritual. It seemed as if Stephanos was to receive the same treatment from the shorted, bald man. Though his lack of hair did not appear to be by choice.
Achilleas’ shoulders grew a little tense as Alexei stepped up to him and laid a hand upon his head, and it was harder still not to flinch as he felt the man's fingers rake through the thick dark hair that had so often been the despair of his mother. A slight snicking sound and he saw the first clump of it fall to the floor, just like that, without ceremony. He supposed he should not have expected anything more from the brother, who continued in the same ilk, pushing Achilleas’ head in whichever direction he wanted it as he continued to cut away the lengths of hair.
From lowered eyes, the young baron could see where it fell, dark in sharp contrast to the pale marble of the floor, and when he glanced to his left, he could see in his periphery that his cousin was facing the same fate. His knees were beginning to ache by the time that Alexei switched to running the blade of the razor close to his scalp, but Achilleas did not dare move,not with the scrape scrape of the razor close to his ear. It was a strange sensation, as was the slightly chilled feeling of being without the dark curls that he usually wore.
“Done” Alexei’s voice was flat, and accompanied by the clatter of the razor being dropped back into the pail, and Achilleas looked up and immediately raised a hand to run over his now shorn scalp. It felt..odd.
“Get up, Achilleas” Krateros sounded at least a little kinder, and Achilleas complied, turning his head to see his cousin and trying not to be shocked at how different he looked without the hair upon his head, save for the small patch that was still to be shaved. The skin there was paler than the rest of him, and Achilleas realised his must be the same. Gods. He hoped it grew out quickly.
The floor was covered with evidence of the rite of passage, and Achilleas could feel the prickle of it down his collar, brushing off his shoulders uselessly. It was a little disgusting actually. And he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that when Stephanos was done too, the pair of them were instructed to clean it up, and then to clean themselves up before the evening meal.
When the Head of the Order and the other brothers had left the room, Achilleas turned to his cousin and eyed him critically. “ You look strange. Do I?” He kept running his hand over his head as if to remind himself that his hair was gone. But it was there, all over the marble floor, and so with a sigh, the young man began to sweep it into a pile. He didn’t want to touch it with his hands, so once that was done, made do with tipping one of the buckets on to its side and shoving the mess into it with the broom.
“Just thank the Gods you don’t have a strangely shaped head” he observed as he looked up at Stephanos. “ At least now maybe that kitchen girl won’t look at you like she’s never even seen a man before.” Achilleas paused then, set the bucket and the broom down and crossed the room to where a burnished bronze plate hung upon the wall. It’s reflective surface was a close to a looking glass as he was likely to find, and the lord felt a slight twinge of apprehension as he drew near enough to get a good look at himself.
What met his gaze was a little alarming. In the process of getting his hair shaved off, Achilleas had all but forgotten about the fist to the face he’d taken earlier, and now he leant in closer to the bronze, brows drawing together. He twisted his head to the side and narrowed his gaze.
“My nose is crooked!” It was there, true enough, a little bump where there had been none before and Achilleas turned to Steph in outrage. “That was you, you’ve bust my nose!” He was going to look a right state tomorrow when the bruising came out. Bald head as well. There was a look of dismay on the young baron’s face as he threw one last glance at the reflection. This had all better be worth it.
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The sound of protest from Stephanos was not enough to see Achilleas let up on him. If nothing else, the dark-haired youth had a competitive streak a mile long, and it was hard to stifle when he considered the consequences of losing. He would not lose this. He just needed to break through the resistance the Prince was putting up, use gravity and force to his advantage. If Stephanos would just unlock his arms...
Achilleas released the downwards pressure on his cousin’s back and neck for just a moment, took some of his weight off just long enough for the other to think he had fumbled before he threw it all back on again, using all of his strength, half off his knees as he put all of his weight behind the attempt to floor his competitor. The effort was enough to see the prince’s arms buckle, and his face meet the dirt just as Achilleas had intended. The ‘Get off’ that spat muffled from Stephanos’ confirmed his success.
There was a grim smile of satisfaction as his cousin signaled his surrender, and immediately, Achilleas let go of his hold, slumped back to rest on his heels and catch his breath. That had been no easy victory, not that he would expect such from Stephanos. The sand and grit stuck to him, bit into his knees and stung where it mixed with sweat on broken skin. Now he had a moment to think about it, his face felt hot and heavy and he raised a hand to his nose. It came away bloody, and he shot a look at his cousin as the blonde man got up from the dirt.
He should perhaps have anticipated the shove and not let it send him sprawling backwards as it did, and Achilleas rolled his eyes as he clambered back to his feet muttering something about ungracious defeats. But as always, Steph was quick to shake off his temper and return to a better spirit. His teeth were very white as they grinned out of a face that looked like it had been ground into the dirt, as indeed it had.
Achilleas gave a shrug, not wanting to admit that it was the idea of his father’s disapproval that had seen him push so hard for a win over his cousin. “You weren’t exactly taking it easy yourself” he answered, gingerly prodding at his face. “I think you might have broken my noth”. It better not be crooked Achilleas pushed it experimentally but it made him feel a bit sick so he stopped, turning to the Brothers as if he’d just remembered they were there.
What kind of impression had they made? Judging by the expression on Alexei’s face and the wad of saliva he spat on the dirt, it was not favourable, and Achilleas felt a twist of unease. They had fought hard, hadn’t held back. What was it the man looked for that he hadn’t seen? Perhaps technique - it had been an untidy sort of brawl, admittedly. But it was Alexei himself that had said anything goes?
Sliding his eyes sideways towards his cousin, the Mikaelidas lord raised a brow at the blond’s question. He did feel pretty sweaty and disgusting, and there was sand in places that sand had no place being. And the longer they stood there, the more he could feel the throb throb of his nose and there was a small part of him vain enough to want to make sure it was still in the right place at least.
The taller of the men of the Order let his unimpressed gaze pass over both of his young charges and then he gave a grunt which might have meant anything. The other man laughed and then replied to Stephanos’ question “Go then. Get yourselves clean, see to your injuries and then head to the meeting chambers. Don’t hang about”
He had picked up the tunics they had shed and now threw them to the younger men, Achilleas catching his and debating for a moment if he wanted to pull it on only for it to get covered in everything that was stuck to him. He decided it was slightly preferable to walking around entirely naked and tugged it over his head without further ado.
Alexei was staring at them and gave a jerk of his head toward the order house. “Go on then! You’ve had your orders”
And it appeared they were not to dawdle, Achilleas giving a nod of his head and bending to retrieve his sandals which had been discarded at the beginning of the bout. He glanced briefly at his cousin before beginning to cross the courtyard again. Presumably they would be going back the room they had used previously to clean up in. What a waste of time that had been.
As soon as they were out of earshot of the older men, Achilleas blew out a sigh. “Did you see the look on Alexei’s face? I don’t understand what he was expecting? I hope he’s not going to tell Krateros we’re useless” The subtext was ill hidden. I hope my father isn’t going to hear that they think we’re useless, but the Mikaelidas lord did not allow much time for it to be addressed, turning to look at his cousin, his hand going again to his nose. “ Did you break my nose? Is it wonky? You idiot.”
When Stephanos looked, it was a little hard to see with all the grime and the drying blood but he did think that maybe he could see a tiny bump on what had been the previously straight bridge of his cousin’s nose. There was little time for him to confess his sins though, for as they stepped back into the cooler temperature of the Order House, they were apprehended almost immediately by the cook, who took one look at their sandy, bloodied faces and waved a rag at them.
“No. Out. Out. Get that muck scraped off.”
There was a young serving girl quietly chopping vegetables who glanced sideways at the Lord and the Prince where they had paused in the doorway, a flush blooming over her cheeks, but the cook was wise to such distractions and wouldn't have his kitchen disrupted. “You’ll find hot water in the scullery by the time you’ve scraped off the worst of that” he barked, “ Now go”.
And so obediently, Achilleas accepted the strigil and oil that was pushed at them and turned with it in his hands to head back outside. It felt a little like he imagined sheep must feel as they were herded from one spot to another and he couldn't say he much liked it. But getting the sand and grit off their skin could only be a good thing, and thankfully there was no sign of Alexei nor the other brother when they rounded the entryway. “I guess we’re doing this here then” the young baron muttered, setting the oil and the bronze strigils down. At home, it would have been a servant who performed this duty of scraping away sweat and dirt before he would bathe, but apparently for the general populace , this was a task one saw to oneself.
With a hard done too sigh, Achilleas stripped off again, and first liberally doused himself in oil, which only served to spread around the sand and felt like it was stripping off the top layer of his skin as he did so. Delightful. At least the sun was warm where it hit them, for it would have been entirely more unpleasant had it been cold as well. Smearing around the oily sandy elixir until he was covered head to toe, Achilleas began to use the strigil to scrape the goop from his skin, flicking it off the curved edge of the metal when it became too heavy with the stuff.
It was oddly therapeutic, watching the lighter gold appear in uniform stripes from beneath the sludgy brown sand and oil mixture as skin became visible again, and Achilleas tried to ignore the slightly thick feeling in his head and the fact that his nose felt all stuffed up. He ignored his cousin too for the most part, just wanting to get this done and be clean again. And when the strigil had scraped most of the grime from his body, the Mikaelidas Lord waited for Stephanos to be done before trudging back into the scullery where, as promised, there was a tub of hot water awaiting them.
Achilleas dipped a rag from the nearby pile into the clean, hot water, wrung it out and then wiped his face gingerly, wincing. It wiped away the blood that had dried there, and he tried to catch a glimpse of his reflection in the surface of the water to check the damage but it wasn’t very clear so he resigned himself to needing to wait until he could find a looking glass of some kind. Stephanos wasn't recoiling in horror, so presumably things were still where they should be.
It was just a matter of sluicing themselves off then, ignoring the sting of the water over scuffed skin, and then when that was done, Achilleas dipped his head into the tub to rinse his face off properly and get the sand out of his hair. Fuck, his face was sore. He’d get Steph back for that at some point.
Standing upright again and blinking the water out of his eyes, Achilleas pushed his hair back away from his face and picked up the mostly clean tunic that he’d taken off earlier. It cling a little to damp skin, but it was nice to be clothes again and he leant back against the cool stone of the scullery wall as he waited for his cousin to stop preening. There was a gulley carved into the floor which let the water run out, and he watched the sluice flow away, feeling tired and starving hungry after they’d missed the earlier midday meal. Almost as if he’d woken it by acknowledging his hunger, his stomach gave a hollow sort of grumble.
“I’m so hungry” he said morosely, wondering if they might try and persuade the cook to part with some food before they reported to the meeting room for whatever the next part of their day entailed. Thus far, the experience had not been at all as he had envisioned it. Achilleas had thought that they would be launched straight into learning, or perhaps performing some of the civic duties that he knew the Order were responsible for. Perhaps patrolling the streets or guarding at one of the temples. He had fully intended to be the model recruit.
Instead, they'd been stripped of their possessions, assigned chambers that he could only imagine were intended for slaves, and then been given the menial and rather insulting task of cleaning out stalls. Worse than that was the indignity they had brought upon themselves of having been caught brawling like children in the muck by non other than the Head of the Order himself. And after what he could only surmise was an unsatisfactory show of their fighting skills, Achilleas didn’t like to think about what words the surly Alexei was imparting to Krateros. What if the man really did throw them out? Surely they could not measure lower than those common boys from the streets who found a place with the Order? It didn't bear thinking about. He silently vowed to correct the course the day had taken and perform better in whatever their next opportunity to shine might be.
Stephanos finally seemed finished, so Achilleas pushed off the wall and trailed after his cousin this time, almost making out of the scullery before he turned to look at the tub of dirty water they’d left behind them. His question to his cousin as to whether he thought they should dispose of it was met with an outraged look, but after a bit of cajoling, Stephanos helped drag the thing outside to empty it and the pair of them returned the scullery to something approaching the state they found it in.
Stepping into the kitchens, Achilleas sniffed appreciatively at the smell of whatever the cook had on the go, though he was sure it wouldn't compare to what they ate at home he was so hungry he didn't think he cared. He didn’t even realise his steps had slowed until Stephanos careened into the back of him. “Watch it” he muttered, but he was still obviously making moony eyes at the great pan that was bubbling away over the fire, because the cook paused in his stirring and lifted a thick shaggy brow in their direction.
“Missed noon mea did ye?”
They must have looked truly pathetic - later Achilleas would claim it was his battered face that earned them the small kindness - but the swarthy man called over to the young kitchen girl. “Here, Eliani, give these two a bit of bread and wine will ya. Make it quick boys and you can eat before you go on”
Had he not been so hungry, Achilleas would have refused, not wanting to possibly be counted as late for whatever their next calling was, but he was a teenage boy who had not eaten since very early that morning. And judging by the look of Stephanos’ face, his cousin was taken with either the idea of food, or the girl who had set down her task to gather it for them. She was not unattractive, dark hair and dark eyes that were almost shy as they flickered over to the two young men she had been asked to serve.
It was simple fair, some heavy bread laden with herbs and wine that was warm and little tart. The bread was hard, had been left out too long, and usually would not have proven nearly so tempting. But as Achilleas and Stephanos sat down on the long bench that edged the table they fell upon it as if it were a feast, and it was gone without touching the sides. As he chewed and swallowed, Achilleas did not miss the glances shared between Eilani and his cousin, and he pulled a face. When the girl moved away it was under his breath that he muttered "Please don’t get us slung out for sleeping with the servants, Stephanos.”
His cousin was not at all shy when it came to the fairer sex and and possessed an irritatingly easy charm about him that girls seemed to flock to. Of course the kitchen maid would be taken with him. “It's just because my face is busted up” he complained, with an elbow into Steph’s ribs. Achilleas delivered a very heartfelt thanks to the cook before he was pushing to his feet and urging his cousin along, the fear of being late becoming more worrisome now his stomach had been reassured that his throat had not been cut.
“Come. We’d best go present ourselves in the meeting chambers”
He wasn’t actually sure which room that indicated, but decided that perhaps it was the first one they'd been shown to, and so that was where they were headed. Pausing outside the closed door, Achilleas gave a brisk knock to the wood, and there was a muffled ‘Enter’ called from within. It was Krateros’ voice and the dark-haired youth hesitated a moment with a worried look towards his cousin before he pushed the door open and led them within.
The space was big enough to be called a meeting chamber, Achilleas noted as they filed in. There were a number of chairs gathered around to face a large fireplace, currently unlit, but providing a backdrop to the broad and muscled form of the Head of the Order. Krateros gestured for Stephanos and Achilleas to stand before him, and then stood and appraised them, arms clasped behind his back. His unreadable gaze drifted over the scuffed knuckles and the rapidly darkening bruises, and he was silent for a horrible long stretching moment in which Achilleas felt certain he was about to tell them that they had been deemed unsuitable candidates for the Order of Vasiliadon.
Indeed, the Mikaelidas heir was already formulating his very mature and considered argument as to why the man should afford them another chance to prove themselves when Krateros finally relented and addressed them, his voice matter of a fact.
“A less than auspicious beginnings perhaps, Stephanos and Achilleas, but you have promise, both of you, despite an apparent lack of focus for those tasks that you perhaps think beneath you. But those are the true tests of character, young sirs. The Order are first and foremost servants of Vasiliadon. We do not cater to our own wants and desires. They are immaterial. We do what is required of us, what is needed, and we do it without complaint, and with integrity and discipline.”
He unclasped his hands, lifted one finger as if to stay any comments that might have been on the edge of their tongues, and continued on. “You are young yet, and this is all a change for you I am sure, but heed my words. Today has not been a test. You cleaned the stalls because the stalls need cleaning every day. Tomorrow you might be in the kitchen. The day after you might be rebuilding in the city. What is important is that you have the commitment and the fortitude to do anything that is asked of you. It may not be there yet” here his gaze met each of theirs in turn. “But today you take the first steps.”
Achilleas was standing and paying close attention, trying not to picture the look on Stephanos’ face because he could not think that his cousin would be taking this seriously. Achilleas was of course. He took everything seriously, because everything felt as if it were a point he had to prove.That he could do it, that he could do it well. This couldn’t be any different. Especially given that he knew Krateros had his father’s ear. And if there were anything to be spoken in that ear, he wished it to be positive. Perhaps if Krateros thought him worthy, then some small part of that might be believed by the man Achilleas sought to impress the most.
He blinked, his nose still stuffy and throbbing slightly and a distraction to the fact that the Head of the Order was still speaking. The older man seemed to have moved on from the vagaries of his previous speech and was now looking quite intently at his young charges. Achilleas panicked that he might have missed a question or something and was just standing there like and idiot, but he looked at Steph and he was doing the same, so perhaps he had not. Or perhaps his cousin was an idiot. It was possible, he thought ungenerously,as he pressed the bridge of his nose surreptitiously.
“...there are things we will make allowances for, that you will learn along the way, but there are also things we ask of you from the beginning. To demonstrate your commitment to this undertaking. One - you will commit to chastity for the period of six months. This demonstrates restraint.”
He paused, and Achilleas wished he would not because there was a very real fear that his cousin would laugh or just walk out. It was not news to him but he doubted Steph had done any homework. He couldn’t imagine that the man would have turned up if he had.It wasn’t that Achilleas particularly relished the idea of not lying with another for such a stretch. It sounded like a miserable endeavour. But the truth was he didn’t tend to make an awful lot of time for it anyway, and that was a thing he did not [/i]have in common with the prince by his side. His eyes closed in a momentary relief when Krateros started speaking again before Stephanos felt compelled to spit his outrage.
“You have given up your titles. And yet we ask for more. Given that you both have your duties outside of this order, after the first week of service you need present yourselves to the Orderman for at least one day in a week. Here you will be given tasks which you will complete without fanfare or reward. Like a servant. This is how you prove humility”
The bearded man spoke the words as he had countless times before, and yet with the same conviction. These were the principles that set his order apart from any common band of soldiers. His dark eyes shifted between the two young nobleman. He knew their fathers both, and held his opinions of the King and Price close. It was interesting to see the children now as men before him. The young prince wore his arrogance more plainly, and he had little control of his emotions. They buffered him about like the winds of a storm, but perhaps that was youth, and he would grow steadier with maturity. And then the cousin, who was so eager to please, and yet not as controlled as he would like to think he was. Would he trip himself over in his rush to succeed? An entertaining contrast, though Alexei did not seem particularly taken with them. Time would tell.
“And finally, you shall set aside vanity. This evening, before repast, your hair shall be shorn and then shall commence your initiate period. You will spend the next months proving yourselves, and in return for your dedication, we will begin to train you in the ways of the Order. We do not fight as other men fight, for we face a different kind of foe. And to defeat them we must set aside preconceived notions of battle and learn other techniques. This is how we protect Vasiliadon." He stopped and took a breath, dipped his head to the side before speaking again, this time very slowly and deliberately.
“I will ask you this only once, and only today, for if you fail in this endeavour you bring shame not only upon yourselves but also onto this Order. You must make the choice to commit yourselves to this”
The manner in which Krateros looked at them both so steadily made Achilleas wonder if the man had an inkling that perhaps joining the Order had not been entirely their own idea.
The eldest of Irakles’ sons had known it would be an expectation at some point, so it had not been a surprise when his father had called him to his study the prior week and informed him that he would be expected at the Order House this day. He saw the merit in it, wanted to be part of defending their city against those who would threaten it, and even if he had not, he would not have argued with the man. So Achileas was quick to nod at Krateros when the man lifted a questioning brow. “ I make the choice, sir”.
And he really hoped that Stephanos would too, for despite their differences, his cousin did make some entertainment sometimes. Achilleas had rather gotten the impression that the Prince was here under duress though, so he waited with almost the same expectancy as the Head of the Order to hear the answer from the other young man. He shot his cousin an encouraging nod and smiled a little when the other’s response came in the affirmative. That was that then. They were both doing it.
For a moment, Achilleas tried to imagine reaction he might have gotten had he answered otherwise- if he had just told Krateros no thankyou and gone back to Euttica and told his father it simply wasn’t for him. It was almost amusing, but made him nervous too, so he shoved it away for the ridiculous notion that it was, snapped his attention back to the older man who was nodding, apparently satisfied with both of their pledges.
“Very well” He lifted his voice a little, called over their shoulders, and Achilleas turned to find that at some point during Krateros’ little speech, Alexei and the other brother had entered the room behind them. He frowned, it was disconcerting that they had been able to do so without drawing notice. He hoped that perhaps that short of stealth was one of the things they might be taught eventually.
Each of the two brothers carried a pail, and they stood before their leader, who gave a simple command - for it could be interpreted as nothing else - for Achilleas and Stephanos to kneel.
When the young noblemen complied, the floor was cold and hard beneath their knees, stone that had not been warmed by the sun, and which was a little unforgiving after the scuffs and grazes of earlier. Achilleas braced his hands upon his thighs and dared a look at Stephanos. Despite knowing how foolish and petty it seemed, the shaving of their heads had been one of the things he had not looked forward to. He did not consider himself vain, but still…
Looking up, he eyed the flash of metal at the razor that Alexei had drawn out, and tried not to pull a face at the fact that it was the miserable faced brother who would be carrying out this ritual. It seemed as if Stephanos was to receive the same treatment from the shorted, bald man. Though his lack of hair did not appear to be by choice.
Achilleas’ shoulders grew a little tense as Alexei stepped up to him and laid a hand upon his head, and it was harder still not to flinch as he felt the man's fingers rake through the thick dark hair that had so often been the despair of his mother. A slight snicking sound and he saw the first clump of it fall to the floor, just like that, without ceremony. He supposed he should not have expected anything more from the brother, who continued in the same ilk, pushing Achilleas’ head in whichever direction he wanted it as he continued to cut away the lengths of hair.
From lowered eyes, the young baron could see where it fell, dark in sharp contrast to the pale marble of the floor, and when he glanced to his left, he could see in his periphery that his cousin was facing the same fate. His knees were beginning to ache by the time that Alexei switched to running the blade of the razor close to his scalp, but Achilleas did not dare move,not with the scrape scrape of the razor close to his ear. It was a strange sensation, as was the slightly chilled feeling of being without the dark curls that he usually wore.
“Done” Alexei’s voice was flat, and accompanied by the clatter of the razor being dropped back into the pail, and Achilleas looked up and immediately raised a hand to run over his now shorn scalp. It felt..odd.
“Get up, Achilleas” Krateros sounded at least a little kinder, and Achilleas complied, turning his head to see his cousin and trying not to be shocked at how different he looked without the hair upon his head, save for the small patch that was still to be shaved. The skin there was paler than the rest of him, and Achilleas realised his must be the same. Gods. He hoped it grew out quickly.
The floor was covered with evidence of the rite of passage, and Achilleas could feel the prickle of it down his collar, brushing off his shoulders uselessly. It was a little disgusting actually. And he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that when Stephanos was done too, the pair of them were instructed to clean it up, and then to clean themselves up before the evening meal.
When the Head of the Order and the other brothers had left the room, Achilleas turned to his cousin and eyed him critically. “ You look strange. Do I?” He kept running his hand over his head as if to remind himself that his hair was gone. But it was there, all over the marble floor, and so with a sigh, the young man began to sweep it into a pile. He didn’t want to touch it with his hands, so once that was done, made do with tipping one of the buckets on to its side and shoving the mess into it with the broom.
“Just thank the Gods you don’t have a strangely shaped head” he observed as he looked up at Stephanos. “ At least now maybe that kitchen girl won’t look at you like she’s never even seen a man before.” Achilleas paused then, set the bucket and the broom down and crossed the room to where a burnished bronze plate hung upon the wall. It’s reflective surface was a close to a looking glass as he was likely to find, and the lord felt a slight twinge of apprehension as he drew near enough to get a good look at himself.
What met his gaze was a little alarming. In the process of getting his hair shaved off, Achilleas had all but forgotten about the fist to the face he’d taken earlier, and now he leant in closer to the bronze, brows drawing together. He twisted his head to the side and narrowed his gaze.
“My nose is crooked!” It was there, true enough, a little bump where there had been none before and Achilleas turned to Steph in outrage. “That was you, you’ve bust my nose!” He was going to look a right state tomorrow when the bruising came out. Bald head as well. There was a look of dismay on the young baron’s face as he threw one last glance at the reflection. This had all better be worth it.
The sound of protest from Stephanos was not enough to see Achilleas let up on him. If nothing else, the dark-haired youth had a competitive streak a mile long, and it was hard to stifle when he considered the consequences of losing. He would not lose this. He just needed to break through the resistance the Prince was putting up, use gravity and force to his advantage. If Stephanos would just unlock his arms...
Achilleas released the downwards pressure on his cousin’s back and neck for just a moment, took some of his weight off just long enough for the other to think he had fumbled before he threw it all back on again, using all of his strength, half off his knees as he put all of his weight behind the attempt to floor his competitor. The effort was enough to see the prince’s arms buckle, and his face meet the dirt just as Achilleas had intended. The ‘Get off’ that spat muffled from Stephanos’ confirmed his success.
There was a grim smile of satisfaction as his cousin signaled his surrender, and immediately, Achilleas let go of his hold, slumped back to rest on his heels and catch his breath. That had been no easy victory, not that he would expect such from Stephanos. The sand and grit stuck to him, bit into his knees and stung where it mixed with sweat on broken skin. Now he had a moment to think about it, his face felt hot and heavy and he raised a hand to his nose. It came away bloody, and he shot a look at his cousin as the blonde man got up from the dirt.
He should perhaps have anticipated the shove and not let it send him sprawling backwards as it did, and Achilleas rolled his eyes as he clambered back to his feet muttering something about ungracious defeats. But as always, Steph was quick to shake off his temper and return to a better spirit. His teeth were very white as they grinned out of a face that looked like it had been ground into the dirt, as indeed it had.
Achilleas gave a shrug, not wanting to admit that it was the idea of his father’s disapproval that had seen him push so hard for a win over his cousin. “You weren’t exactly taking it easy yourself” he answered, gingerly prodding at his face. “I think you might have broken my noth”. It better not be crooked Achilleas pushed it experimentally but it made him feel a bit sick so he stopped, turning to the Brothers as if he’d just remembered they were there.
What kind of impression had they made? Judging by the expression on Alexei’s face and the wad of saliva he spat on the dirt, it was not favourable, and Achilleas felt a twist of unease. They had fought hard, hadn’t held back. What was it the man looked for that he hadn’t seen? Perhaps technique - it had been an untidy sort of brawl, admittedly. But it was Alexei himself that had said anything goes?
Sliding his eyes sideways towards his cousin, the Mikaelidas lord raised a brow at the blond’s question. He did feel pretty sweaty and disgusting, and there was sand in places that sand had no place being. And the longer they stood there, the more he could feel the throb throb of his nose and there was a small part of him vain enough to want to make sure it was still in the right place at least.
The taller of the men of the Order let his unimpressed gaze pass over both of his young charges and then he gave a grunt which might have meant anything. The other man laughed and then replied to Stephanos’ question “Go then. Get yourselves clean, see to your injuries and then head to the meeting chambers. Don’t hang about”
He had picked up the tunics they had shed and now threw them to the younger men, Achilleas catching his and debating for a moment if he wanted to pull it on only for it to get covered in everything that was stuck to him. He decided it was slightly preferable to walking around entirely naked and tugged it over his head without further ado.
Alexei was staring at them and gave a jerk of his head toward the order house. “Go on then! You’ve had your orders”
And it appeared they were not to dawdle, Achilleas giving a nod of his head and bending to retrieve his sandals which had been discarded at the beginning of the bout. He glanced briefly at his cousin before beginning to cross the courtyard again. Presumably they would be going back the room they had used previously to clean up in. What a waste of time that had been.
As soon as they were out of earshot of the older men, Achilleas blew out a sigh. “Did you see the look on Alexei’s face? I don’t understand what he was expecting? I hope he’s not going to tell Krateros we’re useless” The subtext was ill hidden. I hope my father isn’t going to hear that they think we’re useless, but the Mikaelidas lord did not allow much time for it to be addressed, turning to look at his cousin, his hand going again to his nose. “ Did you break my nose? Is it wonky? You idiot.”
When Stephanos looked, it was a little hard to see with all the grime and the drying blood but he did think that maybe he could see a tiny bump on what had been the previously straight bridge of his cousin’s nose. There was little time for him to confess his sins though, for as they stepped back into the cooler temperature of the Order House, they were apprehended almost immediately by the cook, who took one look at their sandy, bloodied faces and waved a rag at them.
“No. Out. Out. Get that muck scraped off.”
There was a young serving girl quietly chopping vegetables who glanced sideways at the Lord and the Prince where they had paused in the doorway, a flush blooming over her cheeks, but the cook was wise to such distractions and wouldn't have his kitchen disrupted. “You’ll find hot water in the scullery by the time you’ve scraped off the worst of that” he barked, “ Now go”.
And so obediently, Achilleas accepted the strigil and oil that was pushed at them and turned with it in his hands to head back outside. It felt a little like he imagined sheep must feel as they were herded from one spot to another and he couldn't say he much liked it. But getting the sand and grit off their skin could only be a good thing, and thankfully there was no sign of Alexei nor the other brother when they rounded the entryway. “I guess we’re doing this here then” the young baron muttered, setting the oil and the bronze strigils down. At home, it would have been a servant who performed this duty of scraping away sweat and dirt before he would bathe, but apparently for the general populace , this was a task one saw to oneself.
With a hard done too sigh, Achilleas stripped off again, and first liberally doused himself in oil, which only served to spread around the sand and felt like it was stripping off the top layer of his skin as he did so. Delightful. At least the sun was warm where it hit them, for it would have been entirely more unpleasant had it been cold as well. Smearing around the oily sandy elixir until he was covered head to toe, Achilleas began to use the strigil to scrape the goop from his skin, flicking it off the curved edge of the metal when it became too heavy with the stuff.
It was oddly therapeutic, watching the lighter gold appear in uniform stripes from beneath the sludgy brown sand and oil mixture as skin became visible again, and Achilleas tried to ignore the slightly thick feeling in his head and the fact that his nose felt all stuffed up. He ignored his cousin too for the most part, just wanting to get this done and be clean again. And when the strigil had scraped most of the grime from his body, the Mikaelidas Lord waited for Stephanos to be done before trudging back into the scullery where, as promised, there was a tub of hot water awaiting them.
Achilleas dipped a rag from the nearby pile into the clean, hot water, wrung it out and then wiped his face gingerly, wincing. It wiped away the blood that had dried there, and he tried to catch a glimpse of his reflection in the surface of the water to check the damage but it wasn’t very clear so he resigned himself to needing to wait until he could find a looking glass of some kind. Stephanos wasn't recoiling in horror, so presumably things were still where they should be.
It was just a matter of sluicing themselves off then, ignoring the sting of the water over scuffed skin, and then when that was done, Achilleas dipped his head into the tub to rinse his face off properly and get the sand out of his hair. Fuck, his face was sore. He’d get Steph back for that at some point.
Standing upright again and blinking the water out of his eyes, Achilleas pushed his hair back away from his face and picked up the mostly clean tunic that he’d taken off earlier. It cling a little to damp skin, but it was nice to be clothes again and he leant back against the cool stone of the scullery wall as he waited for his cousin to stop preening. There was a gulley carved into the floor which let the water run out, and he watched the sluice flow away, feeling tired and starving hungry after they’d missed the earlier midday meal. Almost as if he’d woken it by acknowledging his hunger, his stomach gave a hollow sort of grumble.
“I’m so hungry” he said morosely, wondering if they might try and persuade the cook to part with some food before they reported to the meeting room for whatever the next part of their day entailed. Thus far, the experience had not been at all as he had envisioned it. Achilleas had thought that they would be launched straight into learning, or perhaps performing some of the civic duties that he knew the Order were responsible for. Perhaps patrolling the streets or guarding at one of the temples. He had fully intended to be the model recruit.
Instead, they'd been stripped of their possessions, assigned chambers that he could only imagine were intended for slaves, and then been given the menial and rather insulting task of cleaning out stalls. Worse than that was the indignity they had brought upon themselves of having been caught brawling like children in the muck by non other than the Head of the Order himself. And after what he could only surmise was an unsatisfactory show of their fighting skills, Achilleas didn’t like to think about what words the surly Alexei was imparting to Krateros. What if the man really did throw them out? Surely they could not measure lower than those common boys from the streets who found a place with the Order? It didn't bear thinking about. He silently vowed to correct the course the day had taken and perform better in whatever their next opportunity to shine might be.
Stephanos finally seemed finished, so Achilleas pushed off the wall and trailed after his cousin this time, almost making out of the scullery before he turned to look at the tub of dirty water they’d left behind them. His question to his cousin as to whether he thought they should dispose of it was met with an outraged look, but after a bit of cajoling, Stephanos helped drag the thing outside to empty it and the pair of them returned the scullery to something approaching the state they found it in.
Stepping into the kitchens, Achilleas sniffed appreciatively at the smell of whatever the cook had on the go, though he was sure it wouldn't compare to what they ate at home he was so hungry he didn't think he cared. He didn’t even realise his steps had slowed until Stephanos careened into the back of him. “Watch it” he muttered, but he was still obviously making moony eyes at the great pan that was bubbling away over the fire, because the cook paused in his stirring and lifted a thick shaggy brow in their direction.
“Missed noon mea did ye?”
They must have looked truly pathetic - later Achilleas would claim it was his battered face that earned them the small kindness - but the swarthy man called over to the young kitchen girl. “Here, Eliani, give these two a bit of bread and wine will ya. Make it quick boys and you can eat before you go on”
Had he not been so hungry, Achilleas would have refused, not wanting to possibly be counted as late for whatever their next calling was, but he was a teenage boy who had not eaten since very early that morning. And judging by the look of Stephanos’ face, his cousin was taken with either the idea of food, or the girl who had set down her task to gather it for them. She was not unattractive, dark hair and dark eyes that were almost shy as they flickered over to the two young men she had been asked to serve.
It was simple fair, some heavy bread laden with herbs and wine that was warm and little tart. The bread was hard, had been left out too long, and usually would not have proven nearly so tempting. But as Achilleas and Stephanos sat down on the long bench that edged the table they fell upon it as if it were a feast, and it was gone without touching the sides. As he chewed and swallowed, Achilleas did not miss the glances shared between Eilani and his cousin, and he pulled a face. When the girl moved away it was under his breath that he muttered "Please don’t get us slung out for sleeping with the servants, Stephanos.”
His cousin was not at all shy when it came to the fairer sex and and possessed an irritatingly easy charm about him that girls seemed to flock to. Of course the kitchen maid would be taken with him. “It's just because my face is busted up” he complained, with an elbow into Steph’s ribs. Achilleas delivered a very heartfelt thanks to the cook before he was pushing to his feet and urging his cousin along, the fear of being late becoming more worrisome now his stomach had been reassured that his throat had not been cut.
“Come. We’d best go present ourselves in the meeting chambers”
He wasn’t actually sure which room that indicated, but decided that perhaps it was the first one they'd been shown to, and so that was where they were headed. Pausing outside the closed door, Achilleas gave a brisk knock to the wood, and there was a muffled ‘Enter’ called from within. It was Krateros’ voice and the dark-haired youth hesitated a moment with a worried look towards his cousin before he pushed the door open and led them within.
The space was big enough to be called a meeting chamber, Achilleas noted as they filed in. There were a number of chairs gathered around to face a large fireplace, currently unlit, but providing a backdrop to the broad and muscled form of the Head of the Order. Krateros gestured for Stephanos and Achilleas to stand before him, and then stood and appraised them, arms clasped behind his back. His unreadable gaze drifted over the scuffed knuckles and the rapidly darkening bruises, and he was silent for a horrible long stretching moment in which Achilleas felt certain he was about to tell them that they had been deemed unsuitable candidates for the Order of Vasiliadon.
Indeed, the Mikaelidas heir was already formulating his very mature and considered argument as to why the man should afford them another chance to prove themselves when Krateros finally relented and addressed them, his voice matter of a fact.
“A less than auspicious beginnings perhaps, Stephanos and Achilleas, but you have promise, both of you, despite an apparent lack of focus for those tasks that you perhaps think beneath you. But those are the true tests of character, young sirs. The Order are first and foremost servants of Vasiliadon. We do not cater to our own wants and desires. They are immaterial. We do what is required of us, what is needed, and we do it without complaint, and with integrity and discipline.”
He unclasped his hands, lifted one finger as if to stay any comments that might have been on the edge of their tongues, and continued on. “You are young yet, and this is all a change for you I am sure, but heed my words. Today has not been a test. You cleaned the stalls because the stalls need cleaning every day. Tomorrow you might be in the kitchen. The day after you might be rebuilding in the city. What is important is that you have the commitment and the fortitude to do anything that is asked of you. It may not be there yet” here his gaze met each of theirs in turn. “But today you take the first steps.”
Achilleas was standing and paying close attention, trying not to picture the look on Stephanos’ face because he could not think that his cousin would be taking this seriously. Achilleas was of course. He took everything seriously, because everything felt as if it were a point he had to prove.That he could do it, that he could do it well. This couldn’t be any different. Especially given that he knew Krateros had his father’s ear. And if there were anything to be spoken in that ear, he wished it to be positive. Perhaps if Krateros thought him worthy, then some small part of that might be believed by the man Achilleas sought to impress the most.
He blinked, his nose still stuffy and throbbing slightly and a distraction to the fact that the Head of the Order was still speaking. The older man seemed to have moved on from the vagaries of his previous speech and was now looking quite intently at his young charges. Achilleas panicked that he might have missed a question or something and was just standing there like and idiot, but he looked at Steph and he was doing the same, so perhaps he had not. Or perhaps his cousin was an idiot. It was possible, he thought ungenerously,as he pressed the bridge of his nose surreptitiously.
“...there are things we will make allowances for, that you will learn along the way, but there are also things we ask of you from the beginning. To demonstrate your commitment to this undertaking. One - you will commit to chastity for the period of six months. This demonstrates restraint.”
He paused, and Achilleas wished he would not because there was a very real fear that his cousin would laugh or just walk out. It was not news to him but he doubted Steph had done any homework. He couldn’t imagine that the man would have turned up if he had.It wasn’t that Achilleas particularly relished the idea of not lying with another for such a stretch. It sounded like a miserable endeavour. But the truth was he didn’t tend to make an awful lot of time for it anyway, and that was a thing he did not [/i]have in common with the prince by his side. His eyes closed in a momentary relief when Krateros started speaking again before Stephanos felt compelled to spit his outrage.
“You have given up your titles. And yet we ask for more. Given that you both have your duties outside of this order, after the first week of service you need present yourselves to the Orderman for at least one day in a week. Here you will be given tasks which you will complete without fanfare or reward. Like a servant. This is how you prove humility”
The bearded man spoke the words as he had countless times before, and yet with the same conviction. These were the principles that set his order apart from any common band of soldiers. His dark eyes shifted between the two young nobleman. He knew their fathers both, and held his opinions of the King and Price close. It was interesting to see the children now as men before him. The young prince wore his arrogance more plainly, and he had little control of his emotions. They buffered him about like the winds of a storm, but perhaps that was youth, and he would grow steadier with maturity. And then the cousin, who was so eager to please, and yet not as controlled as he would like to think he was. Would he trip himself over in his rush to succeed? An entertaining contrast, though Alexei did not seem particularly taken with them. Time would tell.
“And finally, you shall set aside vanity. This evening, before repast, your hair shall be shorn and then shall commence your initiate period. You will spend the next months proving yourselves, and in return for your dedication, we will begin to train you in the ways of the Order. We do not fight as other men fight, for we face a different kind of foe. And to defeat them we must set aside preconceived notions of battle and learn other techniques. This is how we protect Vasiliadon." He stopped and took a breath, dipped his head to the side before speaking again, this time very slowly and deliberately.
“I will ask you this only once, and only today, for if you fail in this endeavour you bring shame not only upon yourselves but also onto this Order. You must make the choice to commit yourselves to this”
The manner in which Krateros looked at them both so steadily made Achilleas wonder if the man had an inkling that perhaps joining the Order had not been entirely their own idea.
The eldest of Irakles’ sons had known it would be an expectation at some point, so it had not been a surprise when his father had called him to his study the prior week and informed him that he would be expected at the Order House this day. He saw the merit in it, wanted to be part of defending their city against those who would threaten it, and even if he had not, he would not have argued with the man. So Achileas was quick to nod at Krateros when the man lifted a questioning brow. “ I make the choice, sir”.
And he really hoped that Stephanos would too, for despite their differences, his cousin did make some entertainment sometimes. Achilleas had rather gotten the impression that the Prince was here under duress though, so he waited with almost the same expectancy as the Head of the Order to hear the answer from the other young man. He shot his cousin an encouraging nod and smiled a little when the other’s response came in the affirmative. That was that then. They were both doing it.
For a moment, Achilleas tried to imagine reaction he might have gotten had he answered otherwise- if he had just told Krateros no thankyou and gone back to Euttica and told his father it simply wasn’t for him. It was almost amusing, but made him nervous too, so he shoved it away for the ridiculous notion that it was, snapped his attention back to the older man who was nodding, apparently satisfied with both of their pledges.
“Very well” He lifted his voice a little, called over their shoulders, and Achilleas turned to find that at some point during Krateros’ little speech, Alexei and the other brother had entered the room behind them. He frowned, it was disconcerting that they had been able to do so without drawing notice. He hoped that perhaps that short of stealth was one of the things they might be taught eventually.
Each of the two brothers carried a pail, and they stood before their leader, who gave a simple command - for it could be interpreted as nothing else - for Achilleas and Stephanos to kneel.
When the young noblemen complied, the floor was cold and hard beneath their knees, stone that had not been warmed by the sun, and which was a little unforgiving after the scuffs and grazes of earlier. Achilleas braced his hands upon his thighs and dared a look at Stephanos. Despite knowing how foolish and petty it seemed, the shaving of their heads had been one of the things he had not looked forward to. He did not consider himself vain, but still…
Looking up, he eyed the flash of metal at the razor that Alexei had drawn out, and tried not to pull a face at the fact that it was the miserable faced brother who would be carrying out this ritual. It seemed as if Stephanos was to receive the same treatment from the shorted, bald man. Though his lack of hair did not appear to be by choice.
Achilleas’ shoulders grew a little tense as Alexei stepped up to him and laid a hand upon his head, and it was harder still not to flinch as he felt the man's fingers rake through the thick dark hair that had so often been the despair of his mother. A slight snicking sound and he saw the first clump of it fall to the floor, just like that, without ceremony. He supposed he should not have expected anything more from the brother, who continued in the same ilk, pushing Achilleas’ head in whichever direction he wanted it as he continued to cut away the lengths of hair.
From lowered eyes, the young baron could see where it fell, dark in sharp contrast to the pale marble of the floor, and when he glanced to his left, he could see in his periphery that his cousin was facing the same fate. His knees were beginning to ache by the time that Alexei switched to running the blade of the razor close to his scalp, but Achilleas did not dare move,not with the scrape scrape of the razor close to his ear. It was a strange sensation, as was the slightly chilled feeling of being without the dark curls that he usually wore.
“Done” Alexei’s voice was flat, and accompanied by the clatter of the razor being dropped back into the pail, and Achilleas looked up and immediately raised a hand to run over his now shorn scalp. It felt..odd.
“Get up, Achilleas” Krateros sounded at least a little kinder, and Achilleas complied, turning his head to see his cousin and trying not to be shocked at how different he looked without the hair upon his head, save for the small patch that was still to be shaved. The skin there was paler than the rest of him, and Achilleas realised his must be the same. Gods. He hoped it grew out quickly.
The floor was covered with evidence of the rite of passage, and Achilleas could feel the prickle of it down his collar, brushing off his shoulders uselessly. It was a little disgusting actually. And he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that when Stephanos was done too, the pair of them were instructed to clean it up, and then to clean themselves up before the evening meal.
When the Head of the Order and the other brothers had left the room, Achilleas turned to his cousin and eyed him critically. “ You look strange. Do I?” He kept running his hand over his head as if to remind himself that his hair was gone. But it was there, all over the marble floor, and so with a sigh, the young man began to sweep it into a pile. He didn’t want to touch it with his hands, so once that was done, made do with tipping one of the buckets on to its side and shoving the mess into it with the broom.
“Just thank the Gods you don’t have a strangely shaped head” he observed as he looked up at Stephanos. “ At least now maybe that kitchen girl won’t look at you like she’s never even seen a man before.” Achilleas paused then, set the bucket and the broom down and crossed the room to where a burnished bronze plate hung upon the wall. It’s reflective surface was a close to a looking glass as he was likely to find, and the lord felt a slight twinge of apprehension as he drew near enough to get a good look at himself.
What met his gaze was a little alarming. In the process of getting his hair shaved off, Achilleas had all but forgotten about the fist to the face he’d taken earlier, and now he leant in closer to the bronze, brows drawing together. He twisted his head to the side and narrowed his gaze.
“My nose is crooked!” It was there, true enough, a little bump where there had been none before and Achilleas turned to Steph in outrage. “That was you, you’ve bust my nose!” He was going to look a right state tomorrow when the bruising came out. Bald head as well. There was a look of dismay on the young baron’s face as he threw one last glance at the reflection. This had all better be worth it.
The second his cousin let up, Stephanos flew up from the ground, wiping the dirt from his nose and mouth on his sweaty, gritty forearm. Glancing over his shoulder as he pushed himself up, he grinned at Achilleas’s alarmed look. “I didn’t mean to break it,” Stephanos said, but was unable to keep his tone totally contrite. Just a little bit of satisfaction laced his voice. After all, Achilleas had won, he’d lost. He had to savor what victory he could find. The little shove was the last of it and he laughed, apologizing as he offered to help his cousin to his feet. He laughed as Achilleas tested the break, and then bit it back when he realized that the other wasn’t finding this very funny. As one, they turned to watch Alexi spit in the dirt and Stephanos glanced at his cousin, wondering how he’d take it. He, for one, didn’t think they’d done half bad.
The tunics they’d shed were thrown unceremoniously back at them and while Achilleas tugged his right back on, Stephanos did not. Unlike his cousin, he’d prefer to go naked than have to put on dirty clothes once they were clean again and had no issue trotting behind Achilleas while they went to wash up.
“Did you see the look on Alexei’s face? I don’t understand what he was expecting? I hope he’s not going to tell Krateros we’re useless.”
“Relax,” Stephanos said easily, walking beside him, bare feet slapping against the stones. “Even if they think we’re useless today, they’ll change their mind sometime. It’ll be alright.”’
“Did you break my nose? Is it wonky? You idiot.” Achilleas complained and Stephanos made a big show about looking.
“I dunno. It looks better all puffy and crooked like that. You were too perfect before. Adds character.” He grinned, knowing his cousin didn’t exactly see it that way and, truthfully, Achilleas looked frightful. No sooner had he teased his cousin than they were practically chased out of the kitchens by the cook. Stephanos had basically enough time to register the servant girl’s blush at seeing him, flashed her a cocky grin, and followed Achilleas to where they’d been directed for proper washing.
Like Achilleas, he applied oil over himself and set about the task of scraping off the outer layers of dirt. This was not the first time he’d been this dirty and not the first time he’d had to do this himself, though it had been a while. His mind wandered as he performed the boring task, wincing every so often when he found cuts and scrapes he hadn’t been aware of. He did have to help Achilleas with the man’s back, and have his own back scraped in return.
They went back in and occupied themselves with the two wash rags, cleaning the oil and in Achilleas’s case, blood, off of their faces and bodies. Once he’d done the same as Achilleas, being all clean and dunking his head in the water to clear out the sand and dirt from his hair, he sighed in appreciation. Occasionally he’d give his cousin an apologetic smile but he was really and truly proud of himself for landing that hit. It hadn’t been intentional but even though he hadn’t won the fight, he figured Achilleas would be thinking about it long after he, Stephanos, had forgotten it.
He shrugged into his clean tunic, having to dust off the two fist imprints of dirt, but otherwise, feeling pretty clean, all things considered.
“I’m so hungry,” Achilleas groused and Stephanos patted him on the back.
“They say eating too often isn’t good for you.” He slapped his own hard, flat stomach. “Easiest way to maintain this is not to eat too often or too much. The girls will thank us,” he promised, like women were all that mattered and their bodies were merely built to accomodate what women liked. As though in retaliation for such a comment, he found himself having to help Achilleas, like he was some kind of slave. He didn’t like it and complained most of the time. This must have irritated his cousin because once they were heading into the kitchens, Achilleas stopped hard on purpose and then griped at Stephanos to ‘watch it’. Stephanos shoved him, but then saw the stars in his cousin’s eyes at the food and the cook must have been moved by the wanton desire on Achilleas’s face, because they suddenly had wine and bread in their hands from the scullery made.
“Thanks,” Stephanos gave her another grin when she handed him his portion and did not hide his interest as she wandered back to her chores. If he’d had another choice of girl, he wouldn’t have looked at this one twice, with her sweaty face and red cheeks, inflamed from the kitchen heat, but he didn’t’ and she’d do. He liked flirting, even if he had no intention of sleeping with her.
"Please don’t get us slung out for sleeping with the servants, Stephanos.” Achilleas murdered and Stephanos merely grinned and tore into his bread.
“Like she’d tell,” he said instead of promising he wouldn’t. Achilleas ribbed him with a sharp elbow and Stephanos frowned, but he couldn’t make a sound with this much bread in his mouth. A soft giggle from the corner made the whole thing bearable and by the time that Achilleas was urging him up and out the door, Stephanos was making eyes at the scullery maid who seemed to have forgotten her own name at this point, as though bewitched by some teenager.
The meeting was one he was barely paying attention to. Krateros was just so much less interesting than the girl that Stephanos was now thinking on a lot more generously than he had at first. While Achilleas was doing the two of them great credit by presenting himself as the best Mikaelidas had to offer, Stephanos was standing just as straight and tall, and letting his mind completely wander far away, only giving one word answers that may or may not be correct. His brain was back on the girl and all the things she’d very probably let him do with her. That was much more pleasurable, when all of a sudden, he found that something upsetting had been said.
“Wait, what?” He’d missed all of it. The speech about how they’d been alright-ish, how they needed restraint. What he’d tuned in for was his hair. “My hair?” He rubbed it, afraid for his golden locks. Obviously this shouldn’t have come as a shock. He knew this would happen but right now? Right right now? He looked around like other people were going to get their heads shaved instead of him and Achilleas. But Achilleas was promising and then Stephanos could only bring himself to do the same when he saw the desperation in his cousin’s eyes, practically begging him not to back out. As if he even could.
“I make the choice,” he said at last. The rest of the time was a blur. They made pretty speeches, and then he was kneeling beside his cousin, watching his blonde hair fall around him. He reached out and fingered a little bit of it, feeling like an idiot for being upset it was gone. Hair grew back and once he had his head completely shaved, he’d be fine. But while he was in this weird, in between stage? This was horrible. At last it was done and his head was cold. He didn’t hide his irritation when he ran his palm over the smooth skin of his scalp.
“Ugh,” he groused under his breath and then grinned. Achilleas looked gods awful.
Once they were alone, Achilleas said, “You look strange. Do I?”
“You were handsome until about ten minutes ago,” Stephanos couldn’t stop the grin on his face. “Now we’re both hideous. Congratulations.”
“Just thank the Gods you don’t have a strangely shaped head.”
“I don’t have a strangely shaped anything, but thank you for that weird compliment,” Stephanos stood.
“At least now maybe that kitchen girl won’t look at you like she’s never even seen a man before.”
“Oh we’ll see about that,” Stephanos said and started sweeping up his hair into the bucket. He stopped when Achilleas did and watched his cousin cross the room to look at himself in the burnished bronze. Letting his own broom drop to the floor, Stephanos followed him, gawking at his reflection. “Uh...yikes. Maybe no kitchen maid….”
And then, Achilleas freaked. “My nose is crooked!”
Stephanos held up his hands, laughing. “But it looks good on you! You carry it well! Don’t. Hit. Me!” and he ran from his cousin, skidding on the hair by the buckets and taking up the broom handle as a weapon. His laughter echoed off the walls and he couldn’t stop. Unlike Achilleas, Stephanos was now looking forward to their time in the Order. They’d already enured quite the day. There was no possible way any of it could be worse..right?
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The second his cousin let up, Stephanos flew up from the ground, wiping the dirt from his nose and mouth on his sweaty, gritty forearm. Glancing over his shoulder as he pushed himself up, he grinned at Achilleas’s alarmed look. “I didn’t mean to break it,” Stephanos said, but was unable to keep his tone totally contrite. Just a little bit of satisfaction laced his voice. After all, Achilleas had won, he’d lost. He had to savor what victory he could find. The little shove was the last of it and he laughed, apologizing as he offered to help his cousin to his feet. He laughed as Achilleas tested the break, and then bit it back when he realized that the other wasn’t finding this very funny. As one, they turned to watch Alexi spit in the dirt and Stephanos glanced at his cousin, wondering how he’d take it. He, for one, didn’t think they’d done half bad.
The tunics they’d shed were thrown unceremoniously back at them and while Achilleas tugged his right back on, Stephanos did not. Unlike his cousin, he’d prefer to go naked than have to put on dirty clothes once they were clean again and had no issue trotting behind Achilleas while they went to wash up.
“Did you see the look on Alexei’s face? I don’t understand what he was expecting? I hope he’s not going to tell Krateros we’re useless.”
“Relax,” Stephanos said easily, walking beside him, bare feet slapping against the stones. “Even if they think we’re useless today, they’ll change their mind sometime. It’ll be alright.”’
“Did you break my nose? Is it wonky? You idiot.” Achilleas complained and Stephanos made a big show about looking.
“I dunno. It looks better all puffy and crooked like that. You were too perfect before. Adds character.” He grinned, knowing his cousin didn’t exactly see it that way and, truthfully, Achilleas looked frightful. No sooner had he teased his cousin than they were practically chased out of the kitchens by the cook. Stephanos had basically enough time to register the servant girl’s blush at seeing him, flashed her a cocky grin, and followed Achilleas to where they’d been directed for proper washing.
Like Achilleas, he applied oil over himself and set about the task of scraping off the outer layers of dirt. This was not the first time he’d been this dirty and not the first time he’d had to do this himself, though it had been a while. His mind wandered as he performed the boring task, wincing every so often when he found cuts and scrapes he hadn’t been aware of. He did have to help Achilleas with the man’s back, and have his own back scraped in return.
They went back in and occupied themselves with the two wash rags, cleaning the oil and in Achilleas’s case, blood, off of their faces and bodies. Once he’d done the same as Achilleas, being all clean and dunking his head in the water to clear out the sand and dirt from his hair, he sighed in appreciation. Occasionally he’d give his cousin an apologetic smile but he was really and truly proud of himself for landing that hit. It hadn’t been intentional but even though he hadn’t won the fight, he figured Achilleas would be thinking about it long after he, Stephanos, had forgotten it.
He shrugged into his clean tunic, having to dust off the two fist imprints of dirt, but otherwise, feeling pretty clean, all things considered.
“I’m so hungry,” Achilleas groused and Stephanos patted him on the back.
“They say eating too often isn’t good for you.” He slapped his own hard, flat stomach. “Easiest way to maintain this is not to eat too often or too much. The girls will thank us,” he promised, like women were all that mattered and their bodies were merely built to accomodate what women liked. As though in retaliation for such a comment, he found himself having to help Achilleas, like he was some kind of slave. He didn’t like it and complained most of the time. This must have irritated his cousin because once they were heading into the kitchens, Achilleas stopped hard on purpose and then griped at Stephanos to ‘watch it’. Stephanos shoved him, but then saw the stars in his cousin’s eyes at the food and the cook must have been moved by the wanton desire on Achilleas’s face, because they suddenly had wine and bread in their hands from the scullery made.
“Thanks,” Stephanos gave her another grin when she handed him his portion and did not hide his interest as she wandered back to her chores. If he’d had another choice of girl, he wouldn’t have looked at this one twice, with her sweaty face and red cheeks, inflamed from the kitchen heat, but he didn’t’ and she’d do. He liked flirting, even if he had no intention of sleeping with her.
"Please don’t get us slung out for sleeping with the servants, Stephanos.” Achilleas murdered and Stephanos merely grinned and tore into his bread.
“Like she’d tell,” he said instead of promising he wouldn’t. Achilleas ribbed him with a sharp elbow and Stephanos frowned, but he couldn’t make a sound with this much bread in his mouth. A soft giggle from the corner made the whole thing bearable and by the time that Achilleas was urging him up and out the door, Stephanos was making eyes at the scullery maid who seemed to have forgotten her own name at this point, as though bewitched by some teenager.
The meeting was one he was barely paying attention to. Krateros was just so much less interesting than the girl that Stephanos was now thinking on a lot more generously than he had at first. While Achilleas was doing the two of them great credit by presenting himself as the best Mikaelidas had to offer, Stephanos was standing just as straight and tall, and letting his mind completely wander far away, only giving one word answers that may or may not be correct. His brain was back on the girl and all the things she’d very probably let him do with her. That was much more pleasurable, when all of a sudden, he found that something upsetting had been said.
“Wait, what?” He’d missed all of it. The speech about how they’d been alright-ish, how they needed restraint. What he’d tuned in for was his hair. “My hair?” He rubbed it, afraid for his golden locks. Obviously this shouldn’t have come as a shock. He knew this would happen but right now? Right right now? He looked around like other people were going to get their heads shaved instead of him and Achilleas. But Achilleas was promising and then Stephanos could only bring himself to do the same when he saw the desperation in his cousin’s eyes, practically begging him not to back out. As if he even could.
“I make the choice,” he said at last. The rest of the time was a blur. They made pretty speeches, and then he was kneeling beside his cousin, watching his blonde hair fall around him. He reached out and fingered a little bit of it, feeling like an idiot for being upset it was gone. Hair grew back and once he had his head completely shaved, he’d be fine. But while he was in this weird, in between stage? This was horrible. At last it was done and his head was cold. He didn’t hide his irritation when he ran his palm over the smooth skin of his scalp.
“Ugh,” he groused under his breath and then grinned. Achilleas looked gods awful.
Once they were alone, Achilleas said, “You look strange. Do I?”
“You were handsome until about ten minutes ago,” Stephanos couldn’t stop the grin on his face. “Now we’re both hideous. Congratulations.”
“Just thank the Gods you don’t have a strangely shaped head.”
“I don’t have a strangely shaped anything, but thank you for that weird compliment,” Stephanos stood.
“At least now maybe that kitchen girl won’t look at you like she’s never even seen a man before.”
“Oh we’ll see about that,” Stephanos said and started sweeping up his hair into the bucket. He stopped when Achilleas did and watched his cousin cross the room to look at himself in the burnished bronze. Letting his own broom drop to the floor, Stephanos followed him, gawking at his reflection. “Uh...yikes. Maybe no kitchen maid….”
And then, Achilleas freaked. “My nose is crooked!”
Stephanos held up his hands, laughing. “But it looks good on you! You carry it well! Don’t. Hit. Me!” and he ran from his cousin, skidding on the hair by the buckets and taking up the broom handle as a weapon. His laughter echoed off the walls and he couldn’t stop. Unlike Achilleas, Stephanos was now looking forward to their time in the Order. They’d already enured quite the day. There was no possible way any of it could be worse..right?
The second his cousin let up, Stephanos flew up from the ground, wiping the dirt from his nose and mouth on his sweaty, gritty forearm. Glancing over his shoulder as he pushed himself up, he grinned at Achilleas’s alarmed look. “I didn’t mean to break it,” Stephanos said, but was unable to keep his tone totally contrite. Just a little bit of satisfaction laced his voice. After all, Achilleas had won, he’d lost. He had to savor what victory he could find. The little shove was the last of it and he laughed, apologizing as he offered to help his cousin to his feet. He laughed as Achilleas tested the break, and then bit it back when he realized that the other wasn’t finding this very funny. As one, they turned to watch Alexi spit in the dirt and Stephanos glanced at his cousin, wondering how he’d take it. He, for one, didn’t think they’d done half bad.
The tunics they’d shed were thrown unceremoniously back at them and while Achilleas tugged his right back on, Stephanos did not. Unlike his cousin, he’d prefer to go naked than have to put on dirty clothes once they were clean again and had no issue trotting behind Achilleas while they went to wash up.
“Did you see the look on Alexei’s face? I don’t understand what he was expecting? I hope he’s not going to tell Krateros we’re useless.”
“Relax,” Stephanos said easily, walking beside him, bare feet slapping against the stones. “Even if they think we’re useless today, they’ll change their mind sometime. It’ll be alright.”’
“Did you break my nose? Is it wonky? You idiot.” Achilleas complained and Stephanos made a big show about looking.
“I dunno. It looks better all puffy and crooked like that. You were too perfect before. Adds character.” He grinned, knowing his cousin didn’t exactly see it that way and, truthfully, Achilleas looked frightful. No sooner had he teased his cousin than they were practically chased out of the kitchens by the cook. Stephanos had basically enough time to register the servant girl’s blush at seeing him, flashed her a cocky grin, and followed Achilleas to where they’d been directed for proper washing.
Like Achilleas, he applied oil over himself and set about the task of scraping off the outer layers of dirt. This was not the first time he’d been this dirty and not the first time he’d had to do this himself, though it had been a while. His mind wandered as he performed the boring task, wincing every so often when he found cuts and scrapes he hadn’t been aware of. He did have to help Achilleas with the man’s back, and have his own back scraped in return.
They went back in and occupied themselves with the two wash rags, cleaning the oil and in Achilleas’s case, blood, off of their faces and bodies. Once he’d done the same as Achilleas, being all clean and dunking his head in the water to clear out the sand and dirt from his hair, he sighed in appreciation. Occasionally he’d give his cousin an apologetic smile but he was really and truly proud of himself for landing that hit. It hadn’t been intentional but even though he hadn’t won the fight, he figured Achilleas would be thinking about it long after he, Stephanos, had forgotten it.
He shrugged into his clean tunic, having to dust off the two fist imprints of dirt, but otherwise, feeling pretty clean, all things considered.
“I’m so hungry,” Achilleas groused and Stephanos patted him on the back.
“They say eating too often isn’t good for you.” He slapped his own hard, flat stomach. “Easiest way to maintain this is not to eat too often or too much. The girls will thank us,” he promised, like women were all that mattered and their bodies were merely built to accomodate what women liked. As though in retaliation for such a comment, he found himself having to help Achilleas, like he was some kind of slave. He didn’t like it and complained most of the time. This must have irritated his cousin because once they were heading into the kitchens, Achilleas stopped hard on purpose and then griped at Stephanos to ‘watch it’. Stephanos shoved him, but then saw the stars in his cousin’s eyes at the food and the cook must have been moved by the wanton desire on Achilleas’s face, because they suddenly had wine and bread in their hands from the scullery made.
“Thanks,” Stephanos gave her another grin when she handed him his portion and did not hide his interest as she wandered back to her chores. If he’d had another choice of girl, he wouldn’t have looked at this one twice, with her sweaty face and red cheeks, inflamed from the kitchen heat, but he didn’t’ and she’d do. He liked flirting, even if he had no intention of sleeping with her.
"Please don’t get us slung out for sleeping with the servants, Stephanos.” Achilleas murdered and Stephanos merely grinned and tore into his bread.
“Like she’d tell,” he said instead of promising he wouldn’t. Achilleas ribbed him with a sharp elbow and Stephanos frowned, but he couldn’t make a sound with this much bread in his mouth. A soft giggle from the corner made the whole thing bearable and by the time that Achilleas was urging him up and out the door, Stephanos was making eyes at the scullery maid who seemed to have forgotten her own name at this point, as though bewitched by some teenager.
The meeting was one he was barely paying attention to. Krateros was just so much less interesting than the girl that Stephanos was now thinking on a lot more generously than he had at first. While Achilleas was doing the two of them great credit by presenting himself as the best Mikaelidas had to offer, Stephanos was standing just as straight and tall, and letting his mind completely wander far away, only giving one word answers that may or may not be correct. His brain was back on the girl and all the things she’d very probably let him do with her. That was much more pleasurable, when all of a sudden, he found that something upsetting had been said.
“Wait, what?” He’d missed all of it. The speech about how they’d been alright-ish, how they needed restraint. What he’d tuned in for was his hair. “My hair?” He rubbed it, afraid for his golden locks. Obviously this shouldn’t have come as a shock. He knew this would happen but right now? Right right now? He looked around like other people were going to get their heads shaved instead of him and Achilleas. But Achilleas was promising and then Stephanos could only bring himself to do the same when he saw the desperation in his cousin’s eyes, practically begging him not to back out. As if he even could.
“I make the choice,” he said at last. The rest of the time was a blur. They made pretty speeches, and then he was kneeling beside his cousin, watching his blonde hair fall around him. He reached out and fingered a little bit of it, feeling like an idiot for being upset it was gone. Hair grew back and once he had his head completely shaved, he’d be fine. But while he was in this weird, in between stage? This was horrible. At last it was done and his head was cold. He didn’t hide his irritation when he ran his palm over the smooth skin of his scalp.
“Ugh,” he groused under his breath and then grinned. Achilleas looked gods awful.
Once they were alone, Achilleas said, “You look strange. Do I?”
“You were handsome until about ten minutes ago,” Stephanos couldn’t stop the grin on his face. “Now we’re both hideous. Congratulations.”
“Just thank the Gods you don’t have a strangely shaped head.”
“I don’t have a strangely shaped anything, but thank you for that weird compliment,” Stephanos stood.
“At least now maybe that kitchen girl won’t look at you like she’s never even seen a man before.”
“Oh we’ll see about that,” Stephanos said and started sweeping up his hair into the bucket. He stopped when Achilleas did and watched his cousin cross the room to look at himself in the burnished bronze. Letting his own broom drop to the floor, Stephanos followed him, gawking at his reflection. “Uh...yikes. Maybe no kitchen maid….”
And then, Achilleas freaked. “My nose is crooked!”
Stephanos held up his hands, laughing. “But it looks good on you! You carry it well! Don’t. Hit. Me!” and he ran from his cousin, skidding on the hair by the buckets and taking up the broom handle as a weapon. His laughter echoed off the walls and he couldn’t stop. Unlike Achilleas, Stephanos was now looking forward to their time in the Order. They’d already enured quite the day. There was no possible way any of it could be worse..right?