Two weeks after the Senate vote in the Dikastirio of Athenia and the results of such a vote have come to pass far sooner than the people could ever have expected. With only the smallest of support margins, the passing of the legislative change made Persephone of Xanthos heir apparent to the Athenian throne. Now, sixteen days later, her father has passed, annointing her, by legal and divine right as Queen of Athenia. The first official arrangement and ceremony that she is to precide over, wearing her father's crown, is that of his funeral.
From what Persephone had told her, it was a stressful meeting which required Minas to stand and make decisions far more then he had done ever since he had fallen ill - and it showed upon his return. Physican after physician had been called, but Minas had taken a turn for the worst ever since that fateful Senate meet, and had been in his room for the past sixteen days.
Sixteen, long, days.
Emilia had been bouncing between handling the training of her new puppy and accompanying her ill father. Every morning, the young princess would go to the temple of the Gods accompanied by her retinue of guards and maids, and there she would make offerings to all the Gods and Goddesses available, praying for the health of her father and the safety of her sister. The passing of the legislative change meant that many were unhappy with the decision - especially when she was told that the margin of support was small.
And then that morning, Helen had woken her up before the crack of dawn, something that Emilia did not appreciate. As someone who enjoyed laying in bed, especially now that Labros would be curled up by her feet, Emilia disliked rude awakenings, and her maids knew that. Yet that morning, all it took was one look at Helen's sombre face for Emilia to start awake. Her heart had fallen to her feet the moment she was informed of the news, and with Labros running at her feet, Emilia had dashed to her sister's side without even pulling a night gown over her thin sleeping shift.
By her sister's side, Emilia had stayed (her maids had came to pull a thicker material over her later) as the servants prepared her father's cold, still body. And she had wept. Emilia had grown up her father's daughter, through and through. To lose him was like losing an essential part of her. Unlike Persephone, she barely remembered losing their mother - even if she was told that she cried as well at that ceremony, but it was a memory that was hazy at best, for she had been young.
But with Minas, Emilia had memories, laughter and joy, and could still feel her father's warm hand on hers every time she had came to tell him about some new suitor or other. She could still remember him telling her that it was always 'her choice', and that Minas wanted nothing more then her happiness in life. Even ill, he had smiled with warmth and love when Emilia introduced Labros to him on his sickbed, eager to see his youngest daughter laugh and smile. And Emilia had always been hopeful.
Now, that hope was dashed.
Eventually, her sister had told her to get changed. They would have to head for the proper funeral that would be held at the Naos of the patroness goddess of Athenia.
And Emilia had never dressed with such a heavy heart. Eschewing her usual bright colors of honeyed yellow and mauve, her maids had been instructed to bring out the black brocade she had, and bring one to Persephone. The other was draped across her body. The material was shimmery even despite the dull color, and held up with clasps and belts that was tied around Emilia's waist. Her hair was curled as they usually were, and it was the simplest silver circlet that she picked for her maids to place on her head, before the young princess finally slipped her feet into a pair of silver slippers, and headed down to await her sister.
Persephone wasn't entirely in her right mind. She was numb, she was cold, she was entirely devoid of thought. Not because she was shocked; for the king's death had been pre-ordained for some time and, unlike her blissfully hopefully sister, Persephone had known loss before. She had known that particular look in the eyes of the physicians when they claimed that by some miracle, the parent in question might recover. She had held onto that "might" the last time - the same way Emilia had done to this one. She had not this time around.
With the loss of her second parent, Persephone's emotions were not tempered by surprise or loss. But by certainty. She knew what it felt to lose a loved one. She knew what it felt to be inconsolable. To cry every night, to scream for their return. To deny herself food, drink and slumber in the hopes of making her own body feel bad. A self-destructive reaction to guilt that she was permitted to continue with her life while her previously healthy parent had not. She knew what it was like to be angry at the Gods for their decisions where the lives of mortals were concerns. The Fates with their strands of life, weaved and woven to their own amusement had been a source of much rage and hostility in Persephone for many months after the death of her mother.
Less so, this time.
With age and experience came maturity. And while Persephone was only twenty-two years of age - hardly an age where one would be used to the feeling of loss - she was indeed familiar with the natural reactions one experienced as they went through denial, anger, hostility and all the other processes that were required for an individual to accept in the death of a parent - or any other loved one, for that matter.
Persephone had realised and accepted long ago that her father would die, never trusting in that "might" in the same way her sister did. Ergo, she had done most of her grieving before she had been alerted the previous evening.
Her father's lead servant had come to her door - one of the first times he had left the king’s bedside in months, unless to sleep. He had been anxious and encouraging of Persephone to move down the corridors at a pace unladylike for one of her breeding but which she had no care for. They had collided with Emilia on the way back to her father's rooms, fetched by another servant and Persephone had held her sister's hand as they had rushed to the monarch's chambers.
There, their father was clearly dying.
Unable to breathe properly, almost entirely unable to move, he had only turned his gaze when they had entered his bedroom and a twitch of one of his prone hands had indicated a desire to reach for them.
They had stayed with him for several hours that evening, the King had said his goodbyes to both of his daughters and then Emilia had been sent back to her bed on Persephone's orders. After witnessing the dying breaths of their father, there had been no need for her to be present during the prepping of the body. Such a memory was not a pleasant one to have for the rest of your life.
By morning, the King was dead and the younger princess told of the event that the girls had witnessed for herself.
It felt almost insulting just how fast funeral preparations came together in order to be enacted on the same day but such a thing was to be expected. Funerals were expected twenty-four hours after death and the King's would be a large affair. As such, with the understanding that he was going to pass sooner rather than later, all of the plans and arrangements had been made ahead of time. The merchants and suppliers they had sought out and kept hanging on their word for the event to occur simply hadn't been made aware that it was for the king's future funeral.
A ceremony that was occurring in just under an hour.
Persephone was already dressed when the brocade was brought through to her. she simply added it over the top of her own outfit. The gown chosen for her ensemble was the one she had worn at the first gladiator games she had opened. Jet black upon the top, startling white at the bottom and a faded change between the two from the knee downwards, it was made of multiple layers of gossamer and the softest thinnest silks. When she moved it was as if she were walking through clouds.
Over the top of this gown, Persephone wore an epiblema, fixed to one shoulder and the opposing hip, in a bright yellow. Her father had been born of both Xanthos and Marikas after all.
The brocade was fastened next, muting the yellow into an accent and displaying the black sombre feeling of the occasion. She fixed it in place with a golden fibulae, designed in the shape of four feathers, two swan flanked by two owl, the design reaching down over her shoulder as it held the brocade in place.
She wore other jewellery too - the decorativeness of her accessories a sign of respect to her father and his heritage rather than inappropriate for the event itself. Large golden earrings hung from her lobes and her father's wedding band - a silver band to match that of her mother's was worn on her right thumb. Her mother's was missing from her right ring finger but, after an initial panic attack that she had managed to calm, Persephone had sent several servants to find the item within her study or the rest of the chambers in the palace. She had not left the palace in the last sixteen days so it had to be in the building somewhere. Though she would not feel content at heart until she had it back on her hand, paired with her father's that she now wore.
The only other piece to accessory her, was the obvious. It had taken her ten minutes to prepare herself to wear it.
The crown of Athenia was significantly different to the ivy tiara she had worn to other events. While her own crown was - hand been - golden and heavy, it had always been feminine. the ivy leaves curled from the back of the head to meet above the brow in a rising, elegant triangle. It had been front heavy and delicately woven into her hair.
The crown of the monarch was of a very different style.
Worn more often by men than by women, the item was a complete circlet two inches in thickness and then offered arrow head-like spikes around its circumference. It was smaller than the coronation crown which was of the same design just far larger and more impressive - for it was designed for all to see it from afar at such a large ceremony - but the "every day" crown, so to speak, was still heavy enough as she had allowed her servants to settle it upon her head. The weight was different from her own crown, her neck and spine supporting more of it, and the gold was buffed to a solid gleam rather than the bright shine of her own tiara. This crown was designed to state the power someone already had. The tiara of a princess was to offer a young woman power where she had none otherwise. It was an entirely different diadem with an entirely different purpose.
And looking at herself in it made her feel sick.
Standing and turning away from the mirror, there was a quiet knock at the door and Persephone was informed that it was time to leave the palace.
As her ladies’ maids finished with the large, heavy and very ornate braid they had completely down her back, Persephone nodded her thanks to the messenger and then left the room with all the grace, poise and etiquette that was befitting her new rank but that she did not feel.
Emilia was already waiting in the grand foyer of the palace, and Persephone was unable to offer her customary smile to her sister. Her mind wasn't functioning all that well with emotion and offering a crack in her wall to give her sister the comfort she probably should have would be open to the door to far more that they did not have the time to handle. She would speak with her sister after the ceremony - when she would no longer need to be on show.
Their father's body had been moved into a covered cart - a vehicle, embossed in gold and black ebony, that offered a flatbed for the body and a square tent of black gossamer over it, so as not to have the man on full display to the public. Inside the tent, the king was dressed in his finest, with a golden mask over his face and his frame entirely surrounded by flowers and dried incense. A carriage with the royal seal had been prepared behind the cart, ready for the sisters to embark.
Persephone hesitated.
When their mother had died, this had been the exact same set up. The Queen's body elegantly transported, the two princesses in the closed carriage behind. Her father, however, as monarch, had ridden up front. He had worn his crown and his royal cloak and had taken to horseback, leading the procession himself.
A servant came forwards offering Persephone a large, black, silken cloak.
Her words firm and without much volume, Persephone spoke before she could change her mind.
"Prepare my horse." She told the servants, who seemed to pause and look to one another. Diomedes of Nikolaos, head of the Athenian Guard, was up front of the procession and seemed to have heard her despite the distance, looking back at her momentarily.
Persephone's eyes narrowed.
"You heard the Queen." The lord of Nikolaos commented in a bark of instruction.
There was a scurry of motion and a flurry of footsteps as Persephone's black gelding - the one with two front white socks - was saddled, bridled and moved to the steps of the palace where Persephone was supported in ascending to his back. The stable hands were careful to arrange the cloak - now fastened around Persephone's shoulders, so that it hung down and over the horse’s hindquarters, the fabric so long and wide that it hid most of the back end of the creature from view.
Without another glance at her sister, the carriage or the covered litter that held her father, Persephone nudged the creature forwards and headed quickly for the front of the procession. She was in line with the Guardsmen when she drew the animal to a stop, her hands more commanded by her instinctive feelings than her thoughts. She suddenly found that her breathing was erratic, and her chest painful.
"Your Majesty?" Diomedes of Nikolaos asked calmly and with limited concern so as not to draw attention to her hesitation.
Your Majesty. Not Your Royal Highness. Royal Highness, Persephone could handle. She had been called it since the day of her birth. Your Majesty was a title reserved solely for the monarch of a kingdom. The ultimate head and ruler.
The most important and powerful person in all of Athenia.
Persephone felt her heart start to hammer, but kept her face plain - she hoped.
"One moment." She grated out between her teeth and then immediately got down from her steed and walked with speed back into the palace. She strode quickly, walked around three different corners, her brain simply telling her that she needed to be far enough away to be out of earshot. After which she beelined for the first decorative vase within her view. She hurried over, dropped to her knees and immediately vomited into the ceramic.
Her gut twisted, her belly wretched, her throat was sore and her eyes started to water as she threw up everything she had eaten in the last twenty-four hours which was, in its entirety, a few slices of bread and half an apple.
Breathing heavily and her hands shaking, Persephone closed her eyes and took a moment to hug the vase she had just violated with her nerves and anxiety.
She couldn't do this.
She had been planning for it, for months. She had been expecting it, for months. But there was something very different about the theoretical concept of being Queen, and actually being the ruler of a kingdom in charge of the previous leader's funeral. All Persephone could see in her head was her father's smiling face, from when he had been younger and she just a small girl. All she could feel in her hands was the way his skin has slipped over his bones, loose and paper-like, last night. The two memories convulsed and blurred, the reality of what she was about to do getting jumbled up inside it all.
"Father, what do I do?" The words weren't spoken but mimed against the vase, only air between her lips instead of sound.
She closed her eyes, desperate to hear her father's voice.
"The Senate is a formal proceeding..." The words of a memory she had recalled just sixteen days ago at the Senate Meet came back to her again... "In it, you are not Persephone. You are the princess. And to show emotion in that way only highlights you as my daughter, not as a regal role."
It took several goes recalling the words around and around in her head, before Persephone was able to push herself back up to her feet. Her hands still shook, her heart still pounded, but her breathing was calming down...
A formal proceeding... She reminded herself. I am a regal role... Not his daughter...
Her mind naturally shied away from what regal role that was in particular, despite the heavy crown on her head being a constant reminder.
Brushing at her mouth and thankful to find that she had been most efficient in her sickness and hadn't gotten any on her mouth, Persephone simply swallowed to try and clear her palette, gagged and then stood up straight once more, checking her appearance and visage. She hadn't actually cried or let the watering of her eyes reach a point where it would smear her aesthetics and her gown and layers were all in place. the crown was too heavy and too fixed to her hair to have moved, though it had shifted slightly, pulling her hair from its follicles as it went, so she reached up to ensure it was accurately in place. Squaring her shoulders, Persephone then headed straight back down the corridor, thankful that she had recovered so quickly as she passed a servant coming in the opposite direction, who would have found her bent over a vase if she hadn't gotten her nonsense sorted out.
Once back outside, the afternoon sun burned her eyes, but Persephone didn't allow it to hinder her as she headed straight for her horse, got back on its back, ordered the train of her cloak to be reset and finally took her place at the head of the procession.
She would not think about why she was there. She would not think about the cart behind her, or the future ahead. She would not consider herself or think of herself as ruler. She was Princess Persephone, leading a procession in honour of a late king of Athenia.
Feeling her stomach settle at that idea, Persephone kicked her mount into a forward walk and led the procession that immediately followed her out of the royal palati gates and on the path towards the great Temple of Athenia, outside of which, the king would be cremated, his life honoured in blazing flame...
The Senate meeting had happened over two weeks ago, and his plans had come near to completion. A plan that had been once more upended by the events entirely subsumed by the actions of the House of Xanthos. In this case, it was almost good news: the King was dead. But it was met with equal horror: per the passing of the law that had been made without his vote, they were also welcoming Queen Persephone.
And for this entire time, as they planned against him, stalled on enacting a trial that was planned to ruin his house, they let him suffer and wait, simpering in misery and growing obscurity while they parceled out the influence that they once held. And all he could do was wait, for sixteen days of absolute insufferable irritation.
Sixteen… long… days
But they had given him a pardon for the day, allowing him to go under armed guard to a sight that was of inarguable import to the young man, and the entirety of the Stravos clan. With the exception of his father, Minas was family. Minas was brother to their mother, and uncle to her children Elias, Danae and Chara. Of course, situations of late had made such a familial connection… considerably complex, but until very recently, Elias believed strongly that there was genuine love between himself and his uncle. Love that seemed he had poisoned in his plans to deny Elias the crown.
And it was that very object that he nearly first saw when he looked out from the grounds of this ornate ceremony’s staging, at the hushed whispering of the procession’s approach. There they came. The Crown of Athenia was abroad her temples, the golden circlet with its arrowhead prongs worn so proudly, and so confidently. She knew he would be there, and she exalted, resplendent, in her moment of glory and theft. The diadem held its purpose to insult and to claim her dominion over all her enemies - namely him.
And looking at her in it made him feel sick.
She made a solid effort at appearing distraught, at least, at the power she had claimed and the cost that she bore to have it. Seeing her stride towards the Temple of Athena where this, her throng, awaited, was uncomfortable to say the very least. When she neared, he joined all others in the proper actions, bowing and respectful to the ferrying of one of such importance to Athenia, and the welcoming of their new Queen to oversee this Kingdom in his stead. For the moment, he was the obedient servant, and passed only a thought for the clearly distraught young woman in its trail. Emilia seemed truly brokenhearted by this event, and he felt a pang of empathy for the young lady. Such raw, true pain was unable to be ignored.
And it gave him pause, to reflect in this moment of love and respect offered to the fallen Monarch, upon how his heart had weeped to feel so betrayed by the old King. He harnessed that feeling, that frozen moment in his soul, and thawed it free. Allowing himself to feel that anger rush through him also allowed him to know why it angered him. He allowed himself to feel deep pain at the knowledge of the loss of this man who meant so much to him for so long, who had guided and cherished him.
Tears found themselves at the edges of his eyes, emotions summoned from an ether he thought long lost.
The youngest advisor had been torn over his loyalties.
His first responsibility was to the king, to the man who had supported him through his youth and who had given him a family. The man who had forced him out of his shell to be the man he was today. His daughters had become like sisters to him, having grown up with them. They came to him for advice, came to him for support and an understanding ear. After the Senate meeting, when the king had taken to his bed, Aimias was hesitant to leave his side. There was still he wished to learn, still things he wanted to make himself available for him, should he need something. And he didn’t wish the man to be alone.
But a new responsibility had arisen. Shortly after the Senate meeting, another set of needs arose to his attention. But, with the King’s blessing, he left to assist Iris and her father, who was too worried about her lands and her father to sort out her mind. Aimias didn’t stay long, just over a week to see to matters that needed attending. But a missive with the worsening condition of the King was just as urgent. So he left to head directly back to the monarch’s side.
He made it two days prior to his death.
The man had hardly left his side, save to give him moments alone when he wished it. But when Persephone stepped into the room for what would be the last moments with her father, Aimias simply exited the room. Standing outside the door, he did as he felt the need to do. Not intruding, but wanting to be there for her should she need it, all the man could do was pray for the new monarch. To pray for a King who was moving from one life into eternity. While he believed in the Gods, he had never been an overly religious man. His focus had always been in education, in the search for understanding through knowledge and books. There had only been one other instance in which he turned to the higher powers for answers, and the other had been when his wife died.
Death seems to make you realize just how short life really was.
He knew the moment the princess left the room that she was now the Queen. But he did not offer her comfort, nor did he give her a chance to seek him out. She would have her moment to grieve later. For now, she needed to focus on her duties, on the task at hand-- burying the king and ascending to the throne. Her mind would be numb, remembering the feeling himself, and she would need him and Votis to keep her on track. Most of the preparations could be handled without her, but there were decisions she needed to make.
And he tried to help her make them as matter of factly as possible.
Before she left to dress, Aimias allowed one moment of quiet support. There was hug of support, a kiss pressed to the top of her head and a kindly whispered word before they went their separate ways.
There was no alternative attire for the event, as mourning dictated. He had always had a preference for the darker tones, which seemed more professional than those others in court decided to wear. But now, they felt heavy against his skin. His tunic was plain, as he had never had money to accent his outfits in anything finer than plain linen. He had no fine jewels to add, and he left Aetaea without any indicators that his status had changed. Iris would have followed behind him, to mourn with the rest of Athenia. He didn’t even have anything to show his new status.
But perhaps that was for the best. They were not there to speak of him, for today would be about the dead king and the new Queen.
He left his chambers, his daughter kept with her governess. He would not be able to keep her at his side for the proceeding, and certainly wouldn’t want to expose her at such a young age to death. She would be safer, more content, in the palace with someone she cared for. And it wasn’t a lesson he wished to share with her today.
The palati was fairly empty, which wasn’t surprising to him. There was much to be done, but everyone would wish to mourn the death of a beloved king. So it was surprising to hear the sound of someone retching around the corner. He would have gone to aid the woman, but the moment he realized it was Persephone, he let her be. This was not a moment in wish she wanted support. She would not wish for him to see her like this, to acknowledge the moment, nor would she want him to offer comfort to her as she obviously was trying to find the strength to go on.
He remembered this feeling, of complete and utter devastation, at the loss of something that was so crucial to survival. The death of his wife may have been sudden and expected, it didn’t make the prolonged and eventual death of her father any different. The man she loved, who had raised her, was now dead. It didn’t matter that she would be Queen. The only thing that mattered was the man who had been the center of her life was now gone. She was alone, her main support system swept out from under her feet. Eventually, she would seek a soft place to fall. Whether that was with her fiance, or with her close familial circle wouldn’t matter. Strength at this moment was the most important thing she could find.
And by the way she finally stood, he assumed that she had reach deep within her soul to pull it to the surface.
He smiled softly to himself, knowing that she would make an amazing Queen.
As she took her leave to do what she must, Aimias gave her a moment before following out to the courtyard. He would not be on horseback. No, he would walk behind the carriage like the rest of the advisors. His place was towards the back of the group, as he had no formal title within the palati and mostly worked under Votis. It didn’t matter that the King had been a father figure to him. It didn’t matter that he, too, was grieving in his own way. It was not his place.
So he did as was expected of him. He followed his king till the end.
Persephone didn't remember the procession from the palace to the temple of Athena. She noticed but didn't really recall the way the people bowed and then knelt before the passing carriage to show their respect. What she had memorised in great detail instead was the skyline of the buildings and the exact colour of the azure sky and wispy clouds that she had been focusing her gaze on the entire way. For if she saw the look of sympathy in anyone's eye, she felt she would crack. Instead, she surrendered herself over to being a no-person. A mindless, thoughtless and hard as stone in body and expression, leader. She would not be expected to make any great speeches, or lead in any discussion or militant attack. She did not need to be some great king or ruler this day. Instead, she just needed to get through it without shaming herself, her family or the name of her belated father.
When they arrived at the temple a particular person - entirely surprisingly - helped in this endeavour.
As the procession moved into the open space before the great temple, and the cart and carriage was settled over a bed for wood and kindling already in place, the servants and advisors and guardsmen who had made up the procession split in opposing directions and moved to form a crowd on either side of the courtyard. Persephone remained on horseback, her position one of central attention until she was certain that everyone else had moved and that the horses had been detached from her father's cart and led away.
In those few minutes of protocol, Persephone's gaze was drawn to a man who stood flanked by Athenian guards. He watched her closely, his stare one of determination and hostility. He showed it not externally. Elias of Stravos was too skilled a courtier to allow his personal feeling to be so clearly etched on his face when he had had time to anticipate her arrival and the reaction he would have to it. She simply felt it in his gaze; a supreme hatred and genuine anger. She couldn't blame the man. And Persephone knew that, were she aware of any of her feelings at present, she would have returned the sentiments. But for now, she just allowed the hostility to be shot her way like arrows and returned it with no such malice.
Instead, she simply focused on it. Holding Elias's eyeline without blinking or judgement, her dark eyes firm and unyielding, before she turned away and dismounted from her horse. She took Elias' anger. Took his resentment. She let it hit and attack her in ways she would never have if she was in her right mind. Felt it maul at her heart and claw at her mind. In later hours she would realise that what she was doing was exactly as she had done after Lucille's death. Allowing herself harm in guilt for her survival. For now, though, allowing herself to feel miserable over his judgement, somehow made her right to wear the crown and lead this ceremony that much easier.
Bizarre where such support could come from at times...
Walking up an open space of steps so that she stood on the same level as Elias but dead centre before the temple, some several yards from the miserable excuse of a Stravos, Persephone simply turned in the way her governess had taught. Operating a quick flick of the wrist so that her cloak with fan out to land central instead, of off to one side. And there she stood waiting for all other attendees, as her sister was escorted from the carriage and then moves to join Persephone, standing by her side as she looked out over the crowds of nobility before turning her attention to the carriages and horses still arriving. She refused to allow her gaze to drop low enough to glance even the top of the covered cart that contained the late king.
She didn't expect a smile, but even watching her eldest sister come down with the crown was a stark surprise for Emilia. All her life, she and Persephone had worn similar headpieces - delicate diadems, small tiara's embedded with precious gems, nothig ornate, nothing big, and nothing grand. But now when Persephone had descended with the royal Athenian crown, she felt her chest lurched - the future was, for the first time, a murky unknown. She knew that not all of the Senate had been happy with the decision, least of all the royal houses. What would happen to them? Just two girls now, with no more Dad to protect them.
Silently, Emilia fell in step behind Persephone, more meek and quiet then she's ever showed herself. The brunette had always been a source of joy, her smile infectious and her laughter even more so. But now with her hands folded delicately in front of her, her rounded cheeks and bright eyes were dimmed and serious as she stepped forward.
The youngest princess did not question, nor did she show any outward reaction. As the head of the Athenian guard prepared the horse as instructed, Emilia was dutifully escorted to her carriage by her handmaidens. Helen would ride up back, the rest would follow on the procession behind the carriage. The windows would be drawn - and for that, she was thankful. To see the covered cart she knew carried her father's body was another wrench to her heart. Emilia did not want to acknowledge the fact that her once gregarious and bright father was now reduced to a lifeless body manhandled by others. It just didn't seem right.
What seemed like a short time - but was fairly long, passed as she fidgeted in her seat within the carriage until it finally lurched into motion, towards the temple of Athena. She heard the people outside gather, watching the procession as a solemn air seem to settle over the kingdom, the knowledge of the death spreading like wildfire.
It wasn't until her sister was assisted in dismounting, was Emilia finally fetched from the carriage. The opening of the door brought with it a blast of the warm air, slightly cooled as the months turned. Taking the offered hand of her guard, the brunette stepped down, careful not to let her step land on the edges of her skirt, before she landed on the dirt ground of the temple courtyard. There, her guards seem to shuffle around her in close protection, bringing her to her sister's side where Persephone stood in the middle of the courtyard before the temple. Emilia turned once she arrived there, standing just behind in the shadows of her sister facing the rest of the nobility as they arrived to pay the final respects to her father - and like Persephone, Emilia made a hard attempt to not glance at the covered cart carrying her father.
”I’m not going!” The voice echoed through the home when she had first received the message about her brother. Circenia had left everything up in the air. She had kept herself locked away at home unwilling to face anyone. Not to mention, they were all afraid what she might do or say if she was allowed to go to the palati. The consequence of this being that her last words to her brother were not in kindness. She never thought they’d be the last, even if he had been ill.
Circenia kept up the childish tantrum for a few hours as she stared at the chitons she had to choose from. Only a couple were even appropriate for mourning. Her fingertips paused at one as she started to get ready. It wasn’t a complete commitment that she would make the ceremony. It was just a start to the crack in her strong stance against everything Minas had done to her and her family. Elias was wrong and he did a bad thing, but uprooting any and all tradition over it was still wrong in her opinion.
The house seemed vacant without the excess of servants and slaves buzzing around her. This new lifestyle was not something she wanted to get used to. And she knew that with Persephone now being called Queen, it didn’t bode well for anything to get better in the future. Circenia’s gaze darkened as she stared at her own reflection in the looking glass as her own fingers had to do her own hair. Her own hair. It was almost something of a tragedy as they intertwined the gold ribbons. Ribbons that matched the jeweled princess tiara from her younger years to top off the do. If she was going to be in public with that charlatan, she was going to prove a point. Circenia of Stravos was still a princess of the people, no matter what Persephone wanted to do.
While her husband and children were going to keep to the sidelines and watch as the procession would go down. The princess had other plans. She found herself at the procession just behind her nieces and next to her sister Sera. Circenia masked her emotions to put forth a strong face. Eyes like daggers against the back of Persephone who had been her enemy now. It wasn’t what Minas would have wanted, not at all for his baby sister he had always doted on for many years. He had been her keeper until handed off to Keikelius. Even then, she kept a close relationship even then. One that only ended up being complicated in the end. One that caused her more tears than his actual death had. He joined his one true love in the afterlife, who would be sad about what her brother always wanted?
She accepted the help dismounting just as the other had been. Minas had left all of them behind to figure out how to move on without him and his idiotic decisions. His eldest daughter being the biggest of them. Her jaw tightened as she gave one last glance at her majesty. Circenia could have killed her right now, if she would have thought it would have fixed everything. Just another funeral for the sake of what was right for Athenia. Half the country must have been thinking it too. A woman on the throne and such a young one. Her head shook, but still silent it no one would be able to read her thoughts as her attention was on the ground before joining her own family.
A hand petted against Elias’s arm as she stood next to him. One of those moves that was meant to support him. They had a plan that was going to work. This was all going to be theirs in a matter of time, even if Minas was dead and Persephone got to wear that gaudy crown for now. That silly girl would fall.
The air carried a somber aura as it brushed passed Stelios’ cheek, faces filled with sorrow and sympathy for the Xanthos family starred up at him as he rode past them on his way to the temple of Athena. The King had passed, and the Kingdom was in mourn. Stelios, however, was not. He was loyal to King Minas and he had respect for his family and their ideals and honesty, but that loyalty was betrayed weeks before the King’s last breath and suddenly their word meant little to the Athenian Commander. Antonis was a respected House and had one of the longest running royal bloodlines in Athenia. The House may have been military focused for many generations, but Alehandros had been groomed to become the next King of Athenia ever since birth and even more so since the Queen passed and failed to produce a male heir. He had been a political force within the Senate as soon as he was old enough to step within its bounds and was the rightful King and the rightful heir. Despite the fact that Alehandros did not want the crown upon his head, he was more than willing to bare its burdens for his Kingdom and its people because that was his duty. Power in duty. Do your duty. Serve your Kingdom. These were the ideals of the Antonis house. Ideals Xanthos betrayed and insulted the moment they placed the crown on Persephone’s head.
Still, Minas was his King, and he would go pay his respect for the good that was done in the Kingdom whilst his reign. The crowd grew thicker as he neared the temple and so he slowed his horse down to a steady pace as people parted way for the Lord and the rest of his party. The late King had yet to arrive along with the procession and several noble and royal families. He dismounted his horse and handed the white mare off to a slave who took her out of the way while he made his way to stand amongst the rest. The air smelled faintly of incense which only got stronger when a breeze blew by and it was oddly quiet aside from the murmurs amongst the crowd. It was dull and dreary, and it was strange.
As a warrior death was no stranger to the man. He witnessed it almost daily and had come to pay little mind to it. Many times death was left unrecognized in war. Bodies could not always be recovered, could not always be burned. It was loud and it was messy more often than not. Even those who were lucky enough to be granted a funeral died without many knowing their name. Death was meaningless; it was your legacy that held meaning. King Minas’ passing into the afterlife was not what he came to witness today, but the legacy that would be born as his vessel was set aflame. After all, one should not fear death, but fear a lack of legacy.
Perhaps King Minas feared he would not leave a legacy behind as his days neared its end and thus, he began his campaign to overrule the law which stated a crown may only pass to a male heir. It was foolish and if anything it only tainted his legacy. She had no right to wear the crown upon her head and neither did Elias who so wrongfully believed the crown belonged to him. Neither was fit, neither was ready and neither was even meant to be considered for such responsibility. Athenia was not a playpen for children to run amok in. It was a Kingdom, one he continuously put his life on the line for. He was disappointed and ashamed, and it probably showed in his features as the new monarch entered upon her horse.
Bowing his head in falsehood, his eyes turned to one of the Queen’s ladies in waiting and for a moment he forgot about the whole ordeal. Kleio of Laconis, a beautiful distraction he could always turn to. He allowed his eyes to linger for a moment on her dark hair dancing over her caramel skin which glistened in the sunlight as she moved. Her hazel eyes met his for a moment and he reacted with a faint, barely noticeable smile. It was a funeral after all. In this moment his desire for her was stronger than his desire to stand there amongst some of those responsible for the humiliation his House had gone through the last few weeks. Though he may have to refrain himself from having his way with Kleio for the time being he would make sure to make up for it very soon.
Politics aside; he felt some sympathy for two daughters who just lost their father. Though to say such emotion lasted long with the Antonis Lord would be wishful thinking. Unfortunately, as all royal and noble families knew all too well, things would always be more political than it would be anything else. Especially the funeral of a King.
The letter that had brought Aimias back from Aetaea had been enough to pull the entire Argyris house back from their province home. Once again, her father had been adamant about not staying put, leaving Iris in a silent rage of tears and frustration that she hid the entire way back into Athenia. Her father had slept the entire way, once more settled with Aimias' daughter, her daughter now, she supposed, pressed against his side, also dozing after being woken so early in the morning.
But they had landed back in Athenia two days before the King's death. Iris had seen very little of her husband since. Takis hadn't stopped pacing for hours, days, until the news finally came. The King was dead. All at once, things had devolved. Her father had sunk into a chair and wept for his friend that morning. Iris had swallowed back her own tears as Phillipa wandered out of her bedroom, rubbing tiny eyes and asking for breakfast.
Takis had promptly staved off his tears and carried Phillipa to the dining room, sitting quietly with the girl as they ate a sombre meal, the toddler chatting wildly with her new grandfather. Iris had settled on the other side of the girl, hoping to shield the child of sadness of the day. It was a complete relief when Acantha breezed into the manor, taking over readying the child for the day before leaving her with the girl's governess. Takis' own retainer guided the man to his own chambers to wash and dress for the funeral.
They had walked with the procession, toward the back, Takis' arm in Iris', his other hand occupied with the cane that helped him make each painful step. Takis had hardly contained himself, the loss of his closest friend settling like a stone in his chest. Iris could see that every step her father took was painful, his own body failing him as it had been for years. It was a relief when the procession halted, allowing Iris to guide her father off to the side.
Iris' gaze drifted briefly to Aimias, her expression completely unreadable. She knew he would do his grieving in private, just as she would. She only hoped her new husband would know to lean on her if he needed the help, the comfort. Tearing her gaze away from her husband's back, she pressed her hand over top of her father's, vaguely aware of her cousins standing close by. She paid little attention to anyone besides her father, her husband, her new queen, and the late King that she had admired so deeply over the years.
Takis squeezed her arm slightly and Iris breathed in sharply, taking his hand with her free one and lacing her finger's with his. She was here. She would stay here as long as he needed. A long as all of them needed.
The king was dead and those four words ushered in the end of an era; the end of a monarch and a changing of the guard. Thalia of Nikolaos had no idea that two weeks ago, when the laws of the land had been changed, that the results of it would take effect so soon after ink had been set to parchment. Less than a fortnight and the announcement of Minas’s death spread through the city like a Colchian wildfire and a crown was passed from man to woman. It was the future. It was boldly progressive and flaunted the vote of two of the biggest noble families in the Kingdom. And she couldn’t help but feel somewhat responsible for it.
Three weeks ago she’d stood on a ship with a pirate and a princess and gave away her freedom and her objectivity in favor of Persephone. For what she saw as right over wrong and in so doing, threw the weight of the monarchy to every woman who stood in succession after Minas. She was but a stone tossed into a pond and from it ripples spread out all around her; changing the course of history because of her story. Because of what she knew and because of what she’d told Persephone.
So why did she feel so rotten over it all?
She’d sat at dinner that night as the men of her family discussed the politics of it all at length; disbelieving that the law could change so easily; that so many could dismiss tradition and the place in society and before the Gods of a man and a woman so easily. And she; silent in disbelief that they wouldn’t be more accepting.. That they wouldn’t praise her if she told them her place in it all. Where had she gone so wrong? ...When had she found herself standing at odds with her family in blind loyalty to Xanthos? She’d thought she was right. She thought she was just. She thought she’d sacrificed Lukos for a good cause. And she was wrong. Because despite the course of events that transpired and how the crown was passed, she’d never intended to stand on the opposite side of the law as her family. If there was one thing more important to her than who sat on the throne, it was who sat at the dining room the evening after the vote.
And so instead of rejoicing in the outcome as she’d hoped to do, she’d remained silent; the secrets she’d kept for Persephone.. For Lukos eating at her core. Three months she’d been back in Athenia. Three months she’d denied her family an explanation and now on the eve when she’d thought she would be able to unburden herself, she’d been forced to stifle her testimony again.. For how long, she didn’t know.
Relief came with Dysmas. Advisor and the level head that he was, she’d poured out to him; unable to stopper the words as they flowed. As if a dam broke, she’d told him everything. Of Lukos. Of her kidnapping and her time on the island. Of her sale to the slaver and the three murders she’d committed in her time away from Athenia. She told him of how she fought.. How she won, and how she came upon the information that would change the fate of a kingdom. And he’d answered her with his calm demeanor; all the while she knew his emotions raged inside. It all just gave her an incredible headache. A feeling of guilt and remorse the likes of which she didn’t believe she was capable of.
But their stance as a family was clear. As the law was changed, so it would be that they would honor it and continue serving the Princesses and House Xanthos. Because law and fealty to the crown did not always walk hand in hand. They would bend their knee and serve Xanthos as her grandfather had before her; even through scandal. And may the Gods have mercy if her voice somehow changed Their will.
She stood with her mother and father.. With her brother as a show of unity as the procession of royals came behind the king's body. She’d known he was ill, but the extent of how ill, she’d never been made aware of. All were silent out of respect and reverence. Only the birds in the trees seemed to hold no regard to the solemnity of the moment. It was warm for Agrianios and she held her arm looped through Dysmas’s for support as nausea roiled through her. Nausea that had nothing to do with the body on the funeral pyre and everything to do with the fate of her own life changing. In the coming days, she would see her contract of marriage with Patros of Antonis dissolved and her reputation utterly destroyed. When her pregnancy became obvious, all rumors as to what had happened on the Island would now become truths and there would be no absolution for her. Her father would bring her to the country. Her child likely taken as soon as it was birthed; lost to her and her face paled. She closed her eyes and willed the feeling to pass; the clamminess that stole over her skin and the dizziness that threatened to fell her. Fingernails dug into Dysmas’s arm as she drew in a deep breath.. Then another. Her need for equilibrium could easily be taken for grief over the loss of the king but was truly anything but.
Dysmas. After everything she’d told him only a few days ago… there was yet one more piece to the puzzle he was unaware of. A piece that she hadn’t been aware of at the time she’d spoken to him; only coming to the conclusion of her parturiency the next day. ...But even as adverse to the effeminate as she was, there was no denying the symptoms. The timing.
Her mother turned absently to look at her, but stayed her glance in concern and Thalia opened her eyes; meeting hers before offering a forced half smile of assurance. She nodded her ascent that she was ok and reluctantly her mother turned away.
It was hard not to watch Persephone and Emilia; the whole kingdom did; tuned in to their grief. That they show their emotions. And while Emilia seemed appropriately distraught, Persephone’s visage was blank and devoid of emotion; her shoulders sharp and straight, she would allow no one to know of her grief. It was both a bold statement of strength and a dismissal of the appropriate response. She stared at the back of her own father’s head; his hair long since greying and his beard full and thick. He’d grown up with Minas and his mortality had become starkly apparent to her in the hours after the king’s death. One day, he would be gone as well. He would enter Elysium and leave them to toil without him and the idea sent a wave of despair rolling through her to even consider such a thing. How odd, these emotions.. How strong they were and how utterly uncontrollable they seemed. She choked on the lump in her throat and turned her attention away from her father to Alehandros of Antonis; in attendance with his own family; with what would have been her family. Her betrayal of him.. Of them was too much and she frowned and looked at the ground.. As it seemed it was the only place she could look that didn’t fill her with an emotion that didn’t make her feel completely inept, vile or desperate.
It was with a heavy heart that morning when Alehandros, now the former crown prince, learned that his dear Uncle Minas had passed. He knew it was coming but still he hurt nonetheless over the news. Every day after the grand day in the Senate that had altered the country’s and his fate, Alehandros had either visited the King's household or sent a servant to check in. The emergency status of his presences in Aetaea had consumed much of his time in the past few weeks, causing several servants to be ride on Antonis's swiftest horses to carry any important news of the king's heath. Giving the full caring support of house Antonis, to their King but on a far more personal level than was required of him.
Alehandros had looked up to the man when he was just a boy. Who else was better to aspire to for a fatherless boy but the King himself? So he aided where he could, offering his own well known physicians to aid the ones already helping the Majesty. Or any other comforts he could give his sweet younger cousins, Persephone and Emilia. Having experienced the girls grow up next to his own daughters over the years made his heart cry out to them to see them go through the inevitable. Oh how he wished his arms could give a comforting reassuring hug in this hard trying time while they endured the worst of the emotional storms.
Alas, Alehandros wasn’t sure if his kind comfort would be received well but it would not stop him from still offering it. A sorrowful day like today, the man forced all political concerns and displeasure aside. It wasn’t the time to be so selfish that he could not honestly give genuine love and comfort to those in need. He was a bigger man than that. He was above letting politics control his actions when it came to caring for those he loved. Alehandros had not been old enough to feel the traditional grieving loss of his father, damn them all to Tartarus if they judged him for showing his love and compassion to two girls that had just lost their father. Their last living parent.
Alehandros took it upon himself to wake up and inform everyone of the grave news that morning, not willing to slight off this task to a servant to deliver. His wife and daughters needed to know first hand and that the funeral ceremony was to be happening within hours in Athenia. Alehandros made sure his uncle, the other Head of Antonis knew the news as well. No one was to be missed in all of Antonis on the Death of the King. The family was going to be there, no matter what. Even though there was still bitter feelings towards Xanthos from Antonis over the Senate vote, Alehandros reminded everyone as they prepared to head out and join the processions, that there was more to Minas than the last thing he ever did on the throne.
Clad in colors of the monotone spectrum, mostly black long chiton and chlamys draped over his shoulders. Everything very simple but yet enough silver and gold thread to make gentle accents that gave him a subtle majestic elegance. He let the women bother with the fancier stuff for gowns. He wore something extra for this occasion, a ring he hadn't dawned in years that once belonged to his father. For such an occasion of remembrance, it seemed fitting to honor others who too had been lost to them over the years in Minas's reign.
Even with the alterations to the law, Alehandros was still the first male heir in line to the throne, and therefore still the first lord for the crown to fall to, if for any reason, Persephone, Emilia and Sera were not there to uphold the duties of the throne. It was a humbling moment, when he was alone, to look upon his reflection in the mirror just as he had so many times as Heir to the Throne, and no longer bear the title. Today of all days . To know, the honor of being Minas's predecessor had been stripped from him, especially now at the Majesty's funeral. It was not his right anymore, even if he hadn't originally desired it. He'd grown accustomed to honoring his duty over the years to only have it, in the end, mean nothing.
Alehandros cleared his sorrows from his face, ensuring himself to be a pillar of strength and dignity for all of Antonis to look up to. Even for his Barons and Baronesses that could be attending that day, he wanted them to be able to pull strength from his stoic strength. So when Alehandros' family arrived, earlier than most, for the beginning proceedings, he kissed and hugged his wife and every daughter. Whispered encouragement in their ears and to respect the day by respecting the great man Minas had once been.
Being a direct blood relative to the King, Alehandros was to join the processions and he did so on one of the most honored dappled grey warhorses that had come to reside on the Antonis property. He allowed his daughters to decide if they should join him in the processions or watch from the sides, being escorted by their Lord cousins of Antonis and then join him with their mother, Sotiria at the temple. Sotiria not having any relation to the king except through him, was not obligated to join the procession. Also Ale understood and respected her tempered feelings towards Xanthos at the current time, he did not blame or chastise her for them. Each had the right to feel how they felt about certain things.
Bowing his head in respect to his Aunt Circenia, formerly of Stravos, only giving her a hug if she welcomed it, and giving a hug to his mother Sera of Marikas. Being true to his courteous nature, he helped his wife and then both aunts into their saddles just before the start of the processions. Then when they stopped at the temple, Alehandros dismounted first and helped each of the three regal ladies off their mounts after having ridden next to them. He was honoring both of his aunts for their proper royal relations to the king but doing a servant’s duty.
Ale’s stormy blue eyes kept a keen eye on everyone in the proceeding and the crowds as things went, not much escaped his watchful gaze. It saddened him that not everyone could withhold their grudges against each other. His gaze scanned over all from House Nikolaos, nodding with a gentle smile to Thalia as she was to join the Antonis household soon. Momentarily locking gazes with Stelios and then Mateos as his horse slowly walked by, willing them through his strong but loving gaze to respect the day and set differences aside. He commended, mentally, to the ones that held their composure out of respect for the grievous day all of Athenia was going through at that very moment. Many shed tears while just as many held stoically statue cold visages as to shield themselves from showing external weakness in public
Once at the temple and before the funeral pyre, Alehandros entered alongside Sotiria and summoned his four daughters to his side, to join him next to his mother and aunt. Kissing each daughter on the top of their heads and then holding Sotiria’s hand in his. He offered the other for his mother to hold, if she needed it. This was about family being there for family and giving respect to a once great man. Giving him a proper send off to the Underworld was their honor and duty, where they could only pray that Hades would allow King Minas to reside in the Elysian Fields with his beloved forever in peace. May the gods be merciful in the judgement of the man’s soul.
The younger of Antonis's Heads had offered Lord Takis of Arygis and his newly wedded daughter Iris to join Antonis, knowing how close Takis had been to the now former King. It was only fair to let a good and loyal friend to Minas like Takis be near to the deceased during the ceremonies. Alehandros had known they had been in the rear of the proceedings and wanted to give Takis the honorable respect of being up front and close for the rest of the ordeal.
It was no secret within House Antonis that Sotiria was especially displeased with the outcome of the senate vote some weeks ago -- and that was putting it mildly. Minas was a good man; a good king. So how he could come to the conclusion that Alehandros was unworthy of the crown after twelve long years of close relations with their family and Antonis’s loyalty to the monarch was beyond her. It was insulting that the crown was now passed to a woman no older than Alehandros’s eldest daughter who was far less experienced than Alehandros in all aspects of politics and lacked the wisdom of his years.
Had Persephone any sense in her pretty head she would have balked at the very idea of amending the law of succession to permit immediate family regardless of gender to inherit the crown. The change placed no family but Xanthos on the throne for any foreseeable future -- as if Xanthos had ruled for more than a single generation, when their house didn't even exist until two generations ago. King Minas was the first Athenian King to carry the Xanthos name. Had he truly desired a legacy and to keep the crown within the House of Xanthos, he would have remarried after Lucille’s death had left him heirless.
All this time Sotiria had thought Minas to have been honorable and true in the high praise he always had of Alehandros.
All this time she was wrong.
For any man who believed in Alehandros’s capability would not have forced the pressures of the crown unto a woman. It was as though Athenia itself had turned on the might of House Antonis whose courage and military strength protected their homes and families. Sotiria may not have yet given Alehandros a son, but even so, Lacides’s branch of the Antonis had plenty of males to carry the crown beyond Alehandros. And morseso than Xanthos had proven to be, Antonis was a strong house that stood together as a unified force.
Sotiria was proud of her house, and proud her daughters could claim the royalty and military honor that dotted every generation of their father’s Antonis lineage. More than that, Sotiria loved Alehandros, and while she selfishly grieved for the loss of her crown to the stupidity of men, she was sickened by the injustice that ripped Alehandros’s birthright from him.
Her husband had never wanted the throne, though understood it was his honor, duty, and responsibility to accept it and serve the people of Athenia. Sotiria recognized his hesitance was not out of apathy or selfishness, but the true mark of a noble, just, and benevolent ruler. Behind Alehandros, peace would have reigned in the kingdom rather than the tension, fear, anger, and division that ushered in Persephone’s reign. And she, now, with no mentors to guide her but her two aunts, who themselves had no sense or necessary support to govern a kingdom. A shame she hadn't the Queens of Colchis and Taengea for aunts like Sotiria had.
It was love that had Sotiria at her husband’s side this day, for nothing else could have held the doubt and anger she felt toward Minas at bay. Never had Sotiria looked forward to Minas’s passing, but when such a time came, she had always expected she would be among those wearing delicate tiaras. Instead, neither she nor Alehandros wore crowns upon their brow as they gathered with the others preparing to take part in the procession.
As would be expected, the lack of glittering headpieces would garner attention as a somber reminder to all those who would see them of what had transpired a mere sixteen days ago. Alehandros helped Sotiria into the saddle of the palomino Antonis warhorse she would be riding beside his dapple grey. The procession itself was slow and wordless as they rode toward the temple. Once arrived, Alehandros, gentleman he was, helped Sotiria to dismount the horse.
They joined their daughters within the temple, standing in close proximity to Elias and his entourage of guards. Were it not for him, the Stravos barons may have even recognized keeping the law as it was would benefit them. She hoped those varonos fools felt the consequences of their mistake now. Sotiria passed the disgraced Stravos without a look, taking her place beside her husband, and ensuring her daughters were as far away from the alleged traitor as possible. She wanted no one associating her family with Elias through anything but blood -- which was an unfortunate coincidence that was beyond her control.
She could feel herself choking up at the sight of Minas on the pyre, ready to be sent to join Lucille in the Elysian fields. Her eyes were only watery for now, and she was able to blink away her emotions that were finally catching up to her. No matter how angered she may be toward Minas for the last few weeks, she would not deny he had been instrumental in their lives.
Sotiria wrapped her arms around Alehandros, the flowing pleats of her dark chiton pressing against his. The only word to describe the lifeless form in front of them was: sad. The tone of the room reverent. Everyone was here to pay their respects, and it showed. Sotiria leaned her head against Alehandros’s shoulder. Crown or no crown, he was what mattered to her. She couldn’t bear the thought of one day sending him or her children off to Charon and into Hades’s underworld.
The memories of when her own father had died flooded her mind, and the amount of grief and sorrow she carried with her for years afterward. She could imagine what Persephone and Emilia felt right now. It was on this level that Sotiria could empathize with the Princesses who now carried the titles of Queen and Heir.
She quickly wiped away a tear that had escaped down the side of her face, a sniffle following after.
It seemed she was the only one brave enough in the temple to show an ounce of sentimentalism and humanity.
He had been just about to leave Athenia upon concluding his business, having spent way too long then he'd like in one place already. A man who roamed the seas in his ship, Kreios did not enjoy remaining in the same Kingdom for long, and with his supplies depleting, the dark-haired male had been geared for an extra long 3 week trip upon the Azazel to head to the Egyptian shores to stock up on some of the more wanted herbs that people usually found hard to procure, and grew easier in the sandy deserts of the other realm.
But the news filtered and travelled fast.
The morning he was supposed to set sail, Captain Garvey of the Azazel and Descat found to their surprise, that the owner of the black ship had instructed them to wait till he returned, despite it being only daybreak when they had came on deck.
Truth was, Kreios had already left the ship at the first town crier who arrived in the middle of Athenia. He was amongst the first who knew of the news, and by the time the procession arrived at the Temple of Athena, Kreios was amongst the people of Athenia who had crowded the sides of the streets in order to watch the royal procession. As royals and nobles alike all dressed in mourning made it past them, Kreios remained just behind the first few lines of the commoners, his eyes ever watchful. He was no Athenian, and as such had no vested interest in the death or rise of a new royal monarch. What he did have an interest in however, was the attendance of the royal families and noble houses. His clientele consisted of them, and he was curious.... if anyone had bought his wares to culminate in this funeral procession? He never questioned the usage on the purchases his clients made... but he was curious to a certain extent.
Garbed in his usual leather black pants and dark gray tunic, his boots made the heavy gravel crunch as the procession entered and people of lower birth stood respectfully on the entrance of the temple once the ones of higher ranks had taken their place. At the entrance was where Kreios remained, ever watchful, but not conversing. He was curious, that was all.
It may have seemed cruel to say of a man just passed, but the man cared not if he was regarded as harsh. He was not so stupid that he would reveal such a fact before others, but he entertained the private thought. It was a Marikas arrogance, a deep-rooted belief that they should have kept the throne - that Papa should have had it - and the man's opinion did not change just because another had died. The notion of a woman now seated on the throne did little to reassure him either.
Quite honestly, he may not have considered attending were it not for the honour he owed his family, and an understanding that, despite his perhaps biased opinions, the princesses - or the princess and the queen, as the case now was - had lost a parent who loved them. The Marikas name would not be shamed because Rafail was feeling stubborn or did not like funerals.
Less than amicable feelings was no excuse not to dress to the best of his ability, especially for someone who so favoured excess and extravagance. The Xanthos black was not a colour he minded, the dark shade contrasting nicely with the silver thread which trimmed the seams of the chiton. Papa would likely make a point of it not being appropriate to decorate himself extravagantly as this was no day for him to force himself into the centre of attention, and Rafail had decided not to give him an opportunity to complain, only selecting his standard signet ring and a pretty pin which somewhat resembled the Xanthos sigil with which to hold up his chiton. He appeared both as handsome as he preferred and as courteous as he was expected.
With less time spent on his appearance than the usual, it had not taken long for Rafail to greet his family in the entrance of the Marikas home and, as a result, they had been well on schedule. It was the sort of speediness he would usually have expected praise for but, for once, no words on the matter had left his mouth as he'd mounted his handsome prized stallion. It was a sombre occasion, and an equally melancholy procession to the temple.
He would have been loath to admit it, but a part of his mind could not help but feel sympathy for the new Queen and her sister. He did not like funerals because they reminded him so dearly of Mama's death, and those were not memories he ever wished to dredge up. Rafail had been distraught at his young age, and his loss had been of only one parent, regardless of her being his dominant guiding force in the first seven years of his life - he could not fathom the horror and the grief of losing both, no matter the gap of so many years between their deaths. It may not have appeared it by the sheer number of people come to see the King off, but the two of them had been left alone in the world.
He had not cried for Mama's funeral, and he had not thought he would ever feel for another's loss, but his face was clouded with sorrow, and he could not help but dip his head in respect.
Death, so often, was a much more unifying force within family than love and, though Rafail might not have cared all too much for either woman, he was thankful that, at this moment, they at the very least had each other, and that was more than he could say he had had.
When the news reached Daniil's ears, she was not sure if she should laugh or cry, so she chose to laugh, but it was not necessarily out of joy.
The sides were not necessarily trusting of each other. Daniil kept her cousins at arm's length, though she may fake it and make it seem elsewise when she needed to, each side knew how and which side the butter landed on the pita bread, in accordance to each House.
And now, Cousin, your backside warms a throne that is supposed to belong to House Marikas. A throne that would have been mine had the Gods not had other ideas. And to add insult to injury, the next ruler is a woman, when it should have gone to Alehandros! So tell me, how is it okay for her to warm that throne and not me or my sisters, or our brother? she thought as she looked over her clothes.
She chose a chiton that was an appropriate smokey grey and piped around the edges with the light gold that was indicative of the houses colors.
Her hair was nicely braided and her adornment was sedate as fitted the occasion, no matter how she felt on the inside. She tapped her lip in thought and reached for her dagger and tucked it into her gown where no one would see. Reaching for her sword, she tucked it with her dagger. She'd leave that tucked under her saddle when she was not astride Muse, her horse.
If she could have skipped this whole affair, she would have, but she was Marikas, and a princess in her own right, and her rage, though possibly justified, was best kept under tight control in public.
This was the first death that Daniil had to face. She knew that others in the family had faced the specter before, with the loss of her great aunt, and she imagined that it had been a hellish time, especially for Rafi. And in that moment her heart went out to her uncle.
She sent instructions to a few of the servants to make sure the horses were readied for the journey, something that she actually enjoyed doing. She was one of the few allowed to handle her uncle's beloved stable of horses, and she relished in that.
When that was done the horses would be hooked up to the family carriages if her father wished, or they would each ride their own steeds, so they could get this business out of the way, and life could go back to normal.
Daniil of MarikasRafail of MarikasKreios of Phossissotiria @kleio @alehandros @thalia Iris of ArgyrisStelios of AntonisCircenia of StravosEmilia of XanthosPersephone of XanthosAimias of ArgyrisElias of Stravos The news of the King’s death was met with a hollow indifference from Agathe of Marikas. His passing was far from surprising, the man had been ill for some time and Sera had been spending an increasing amount of time at the paláti as of late. While Agathe had no bad memories of the man, the Marikas had intentionally held the Xanthos at arm’s length, despite their close familial ties. Agathe’s mind traced their respective family trees and their intertwining branches as her fingers absently traced the signet pendant at the hollow of her throat.
Sera had gifted the necklace to Agathe when she made her debut in court, telling her it had belonged to Sera’s—and Minas and Circenia’s—mother, the late Queen Nepheli of Marikas. Her fingers closed around the seal as she met her own gaze. Agathe hardly recognized her own reflection. While she was disciplined and intentional with every exchange, the woman who stared back at her was severe with vacant, olive eyes as servants flitted about behind her. It was Eudocia who was barking out orders to the other women while Agathe just sat and stared.
She felt as though she were in a waking dream, hyper aware of every movement, but feeling like she was moving through the sea against the current at the same time. Her hair was curled and silver ribbon was laced with the intricate braids, almost resembling a circlet. Eudocia was gentle as she urged Agathe to stand in order to dress the woman in a deep grey chiton, attaching the garment at the shoulder with a pair of ebony and silver fibulae resembling owl feathers. Once her sandals were slipped on her feet, Agathe was shepherded from her chambers to join her family under the portico.
The procession was equally as solemn as Agathe felt. Astride her beloved mare, she rode just behind her mother and aunt as the procession made its way to the temple. The winding trip was a blur for the eldest Marikas who was far too caught in her own thoughts. She had been too young to remember Justana’s funeral and while she had cared for her aunt, her relationship with Lucille had been much more superficial. Minas had been connected to her twice over and she felt his death despite the distance that had been forced between their families.
Not a book in sight, Linos stood beside the rest of his family, quiet and pensive. Death wasn't something new to him. It was all around him, in theories, in his memories, in the streets... Death was a fact of life. Everyone here, all around him: the citizens, his acquaintances, his friends, his family, himself... They would all, one day, succumb to death. Hades would reap their souls and pull them into the underworld to reunite with the friends and family of their lives. Oh, how life was so short and how people had to be taken before those around them were ready. Even with all the time in the world, though, Linos didn't know if anyone could be ready for death.
This death, though, was for the king. He had him and his family to thank for so many things. His current position, his family's nobility, the way he kept rule over Athenia... Even if Linos might not have agreed with some of the things he stood for or had said, it was still a somber passing. He meant so much to so many people. There were those in the crowd who no doubt knew the man on a personal level. And Linos knew, for he had faced it before, that those hearts were breaking.
Linos's eyes slowly made their way to his own father. Why did he seem to look much older now than he did yesterday? It was as if time was rapidly passing, aging them all. Linos closed his eyes. What a dreadful thing to think. He exhaled, slowly. With everything he had been going through, he just wanted a day of rest. No, he needed one. His emotions were sporadic recently and the death of the king wasn't helping. He dared another look to his family again, noticing Thalia seemed tense. His heart sank a tad, sad to see the death of the king was affecting her in such a way. He watched the exchange between her and his mother before looking at the ground. He wasn't convinced and slowly made his way to her other side, hesitating at first before placing a soft hand on her shoulder. He hoped it was comforting, a sign of solidarity. It was all he could offer in such a place such as a funeral.
The scholar then looked out into the crowd once again, pondering how Persephone would be like a queen with her father having passed on. All he could do was hope that she would be able to keep the kingdom together and at peace. Linos feared for war to be at their doorstep and just hoped that the reign under Queen Persephone would be one of peace and bounty. He looked up to the sky, silently praying to the gods that Athenia would continue to be the great kingdom it had always been, no matter who sat upon the throne.
No sadness plagued the elder Marikas the morning of the Late King Minas' funeral.
He had respected the man, for all he had accomplished in his life, and his rule, but the legislation vote had passed, and with that, so had his tolerance for the man. While his death had come sooner, much sooner, than anyone had expected or hoped, it seemed almost poetic that it should happen this way, after he single-handedly destroyed the sacred and long standing traditions of his country - for the sake of his childish daughters.
Love was the problem, love mixed with such incredible power, the flame to ignite the oil spill that had become Athenia. Now, Persephone, the insufferable eldest of the Xanthos line, was now, as per the new legislation, Queen. That was the sad part. That was what brought a deep frown to Panos' features.
It was as if the Gods had chosen to be silent on such a day, but if that were the case, then Panos could not place why there was no drama as of yet in the event of organizing his family to attend the proceedings. Even Rafail, the most difficult during such events, was less inclined to act out today, for reasons Panos refused to question. It was about time the boy checked his emotions at the door.
Pavlos and his family were the last to be organized, as, after all, Sera was distraught. She was maybe the only one baring the Marikas name who was, given she was the King's sister. All on horse back, Panos, Ivra, Rafail, Pavlos and his family, and Sofia all solemnly, though unlikely genuine save for Sera, played their part in the King's funeral procession to the Temple. Panos kept the deep frown of his discontent with the new Monarch to feign his own sadness for the King's passing.
Zoe was all but surprised when the news of the king's death came. She knew that he was ill from one of her closest friends, Princess Emilia. In fact, when the news came, the one and only thing that possessed her mind was Emilia. Her sweet, younger friend was rather fond of her family, from what Zoe knew of her and she was sure that such news as her father's passing wouldn't do so well to stir in her mind. And so it was, the morning of the funeral, that Zoe pledged to herself to meet up with her close friend afterward, to see how she was fairing and to act as a pillar of support if needed.
The young woman woke up much earlier than she usually did, beckoning the servants to dress her in a floor-length, dark smoky peplos, fastening a beautiful dark himation over it. She asked to be adorned with gold, but only subtly. Although she loved to be beautiful, today was not about her. Today was about the king and the legacy he had left. And, most importantly, today was about Emilia and how she was feeling.
Death wasn't anything new to Zoe. Death was something she beckoned to others, a plague that she carried out, assistant to a reaper of souls. Death was art, it was passion, it was a beauty. And from what Zoe knew of the king through Emilia, she no doubt knew that his death must have been like a beautifully crafted song, dancing its way through the air and to the gods. Having an entire city captivated by death was like the climax of a story to the young woman. She knew that everyone there would be able to see a dead corpse at once. Something she loved seeing but made others sad. And, perhaps, for once, Zoe might feel sad this time too. For the corpse wasn't nameless to her. He carried a resemblance to her friend, he carried a face she knew and a personality she heard of. While Zoe wasn't versed in politics, she knew much of him. King Minas. Maybe a body she could cry when seeing. Maybe.
The lady grasped at the small pouch she kept at her bedside after the servants finished her dressing. She looked inside it once more, making sure the contents were, indeed, still there. She had painted some stones as gifts to Emilia, hoping that even something so small as puppies and flowers painted upon smooth rocks would give her a small inkling of joy. On what Zoe would assume would be a somber, sad day, she only wanted to cheer Emilia up.
It was soon time to go and Zoe followed her cousin, Iris. Her sisters and mother also followed suit. Zoe was never really close to her older sisters, but she knew that their image wouldn't be tainted today. All the Agyris women were dressed respectably, ready to face the sad day. Their family was going to walk in the procession, albeit in the back. Zoe wished she could be closer to Emilia, but it wasn't the case. She was going to have to wait until after the solemn parade. As they readied themselves, Zoe felt a hand on her shoulder and she glanced up to see Elpis giving her a weak smile, holding back her tears. The death of a king surely brought out sadness... Zoe did her best to give her a reassuring smile in return, disappointed that the thought of her best friend's father's passing couldn't bring tears to her own eyes. No...