Daniil led Yiannis, Dione, and, Linos, back to the family's home, the horses kicking up a torrent of dust as they moved. At one point, when they were side by Daniil gave him a smile that said her thanks in a quiet manner. The sight of Melissa waiting for her outside alerted Daniil that something just might be amiss. As she pulled up to her long time servant, Daniil tossed her the reigns and slid off her steeds back, landing with a thud on the ground.
"My Lady, are you hurt?" she asked looking her mistress over from head to foot. Daniil shook her head. "No Melissa I am fine. I just need a bath with lots of lavender, but for the moment could you fetch me a clean dress? I need to alert the menfolk that we have visitors." she said sounding tired, her exhaustion finally showing full force. "I will not have a fellow royal sleeping anywhere other then one of our guest rooms and the same goes for my noble cousins." she said flashing Yiannis a smile. With a nod Melissa ran off to retrieve a clean dress ad the led Daniil to a safe place so that she could quickly change.
Once she was back with Yiannis, she slid a hand into his and squeezed for a moment.
"This was in your room My Lady." the young girl said passing a pair of scrolls to her. Daniil took it with her free hand and frowned as she looked at them. It was uncommon for her to get one missive, so when she saw two, she was quickly on alert.
She tucked one under her arm ad them set to unroll the other as she said "Melissa? Rouse the menfolk if they are within. Aside from a guest it appears that news comes on swift wings." she ordered her voice going ice cold. The missive said simply It is with a heavy heart that I send this to you, but I was told to write and tell you of the loss of Lady Thailia who was taken by Hades after being injured at the race.
Daniil did not see who signed it, nor did she see Melissa run off with her ruined gown and heading to carry out orders. She couldn't through the tears that suddenly came as if Poseidon himself had turned on a waterfall. Thalia had been her childhood friend and playmate. Her loss was like a dagger in her back. For now the second was ignored as it fell to the ground. She glanced at Dione and Linos and wondered if they knew at all and how she was going to tell them if they did not.
When she heard footsteps approaching she reluctantly let go of Yiannis hand, but she stayed close to him fighting to stop the torrent of tears.
Yiannis always told himself that the good thing about battle was its unadulterated purity. There was no time for affectation. People didn't make stupid, over-calculating social judgments. It was all about reaction. The seamless connection between thought and body. Perfect expression, all of it both natural and true. It made battle the best form of interaction. Soldiers the best kind of people.
Daniil, for instance. Even in Colchis, he might've been eaten alive holding hands with a woman from outside his family. At the very least it would have set the rumor mill aflame. He had to imagine a land of effeminate gossips like Athenia would be a thousand times worse. He didn't care. Their sweat was co-mingled. She had seen his blood, and he would not be alive without her. They had earned the right to hold hands. They had a connection now that the world should be glad to recognize. Anyone too stupid do so shouldn't really be worth his time.
Still, he could understand. They were in her father's house. The consequences would be worse for her. It was no surprise when she slipped her hand away from his and started to see to some scroll. She might need to go deal with her relatives. A change of clothes woud be understandable. It would likely make things simpler, given how much they already had to report about the goings on at the palace.
But his blood still ran hot. He was attuned to the slightest physical shift. He heard her breath catch, then quicken and deepen. The slight tonal change as her nostrils filled. Somehow, she was hurting. Something she read? He didn't know. He was in battle mode still. The first principle was reaction. Without thinking, then, he spun her into his arms. Pulling her closer at the sight of her tears. Not a thought to how it looked. And he opened his mouth to comfort her. He meant to tell her that everything would be okay. That he would help her through whatever was happening. He made it about halfway through. Then his lips, of their own accord, were reacting. Closing on her cheek. . . Daniil of Marikas,
Lady Agathe of Marikas’s day had been...eventful, to say the least. Just that morning she had been roused to attend the late king’s funeral. Seeing her uncle in such a state had been somewhat jarring to the young woman regardless of how peaceful he appeared. The only funeral Agathe had previously attended had been for Justana of Marikas, her grandmother. Being only three years old when the woman passed, Agathe had scant personal memories and little attachment. King Minas was the first person she had lost with whom she had actually shared bits and pieces of her life.
Upon returning to the Marikas estate, Agathe had set her sights on a hot bath and turning in early. She had instructed her servant Eudocia to draw her a fragrant bath and turn down her bed. Her bath had been uneventful save for the servant who took it upon himself to remind her she had missed dinner and to inquire as to whether she wished to have something brought to her chambers. With a full belly and her aching muscles sufficiently soothed, Agathe finally retired, but her slumber had been short-lived.
Under the cover of night her brother’s herald bore news so grave that the entire Marikas household had been startled out of sleep and the women shepherded to the temple for fear of spillover from the insurgent attack on the palace. It was during this journey that her youngest sister was discovered to be missing. The wail that had escaped Sera nearly stopped Agathe’s heart. She knew where Daniil had gone as soon as her absence was realized. Stupid girl, was she trying to get herself killed?
An ill feeling had settled in the pit of her stomach, relentless during her tenure at the temple which was spent comforting her mother. It was there, her mother tight in her embrace, that a young Marikas house slave found Agathe. The boy appeared to be frightened and quite overwhelmed. Quickly collecting herself, Agathe beckoned the boy—and he was certainly a boy, no older than thirteen—to her. She listened to his message, her face deceptively impassive as he regaled her with his tale of a courier hailing from Magnestis with news of Lady Thalia of Nikolaos.
Agathe cut the boy’s story short as she stood and quickly exited the temple, her feet guiding her actions. She had to be alone, she needed to be alone as a quiet sob escaped her throat. The Marikas and Nikolaos families had been entwined for many years; Thalia’s cousin even worked in the Marikas household! What were the gods playing at? Wringing her hands as she glanced around, her eye landed on a seemingly abandoned horse. Without a second thought, Agathe untied the beast and used the rope to create makeshift reins before leading him to the temple steps where she climbed onto his back.
Before anyone would have the chance to realize the eldest Marikas daughter had slipped away in the night, she urged the horse towards her family’s estate. What was she planning to do when she arrived? For once the cunning and careful woman had not thought ahead, she only knew that she had to intercept the courier’s message before it could fall into her sister’s hands. Agathe knew Daniil had been close to Thalia and she had to prevent her sister from receiving the scroll until she could figure out how to inform her of the Lady’s passing.
Half-formed ideas swirled through her busy mind as her attention was pulled in too many directions. She was concerned for all of her family members who were in the palace warding off the rebellion, she worried for her mother and sister whom she had effectively forsaken along with the other women who occupied the Marikas estate, but her greatest apprehension was caused by Daniil, the youngest Marikas. Knowing she had spirited away to prove her worth to Pavlos and what awaited her upon her return, Agathe feared the worst.
As she approached the estate’s courtyard, she could just make out figures standing in the darkness, illuminated only by an oil lamp held by one of the figures. For a moment, Agathe considered turning her mount around. What if these were the very insurgents who had been attacking the palace? Was she setting herself up to be captured or slaughtered? As fear pricked the corners of her mind, Agathe observed as the figure—she could now identify as a woman—commanding the oil lamp handed a pair of scrolls to another womanly figure.
Agathe’s blood turned to ice. She had witnessed a servant delivering the courier’s scroll to Daniil. Agathe pressed her steed into a gallop to cover the remaining distance separating her and her undoubtedly grieving sister. She pulled her steed up behind the other horses and flung herself to the ground in a hurried dismount. She rounded the small herd and quickly took in her audience. Recognizing Linos and Dione, her gaze was directed to the man who held her sister in a rather familiar embrace. She would have plenty of time to assess him properly at a later time. Daniil was her focus.
“Daniil—” her voice broke, sounding brittle even to Agathe’s own ears. What could she even say? What words could she offer the girl to bring her comfort as she mourned her friend? Without a word on her tongue, Agathe pulled Daniil to her with a look of warning to her companion to stave off any opposition. yiannisDaniil of Marikas
Danii let out a sound that was close to a sigh as she leaned against Yiannis for support. Everything hurt from her body, to her soul. Images from her early childhood, her time she spent with her cousin playing and the more recent battle to protect her other cousins throne. Her head rested against Yiannis as her body shook from the sobs. Her hands came up to rest on his chest as he held her, that action comforting in her time of need.
She looked up at Yiannis as she felt his warm breath against her wet cheek. Tears still slid out of her eyes as she watched him. Slowly her hand came up to rest on his cheek. Inside the part of her heart that was not being torn apart by this loss, wanted him to kiss her and she wanted nothing more then to be lost in their connection and shut out the world and its knives that it insisted in shoving into her back. She entertained the brief notion that the Gods had indeed conspired to make the lives of each Marikas a personal hell.
She sighed. She would have that kiss, just not here or now and she would enjoy it totally from her head to her toes and considering things, she was really hoping that her father would understand and not lock her away in the proverbial tower, like they did in the myths that were often quoted.
“Daniil—”
The voice shattered the quiet moment and she froze momentarily, fear mixing wit the exhaustion, the pain, the tears, and the longing. The voice belonged to her sister Agathe and from experience either her uncle or father was not far behind and at this point in time the youngest of Pavlos’ daughters, was in no state to deal with her father’s rage over what she had done with directly disobeying him. It would likely not matter to him why she had done it, just that she had.
She felt Agathe pull her from Yiannis comforting grasp and her gaze went from his face to hers, her expression showing all the emotions as if she were an light display in the sky above before a storm broke and the land was witness to Zeus’ wrath.
As she landed against her sister, the tears started again coming in a fresh torrent.
He was just about to lay rest upon the back of his chair, his head was firmly laying back as his scroll was laying atop his canvas, eyes shut and nostrils flare to take in a deep breath. His night was about to start and He was really looking forward to a mini nap. That was until someone ushered themselves down the hallway way to promptly. The doors flung open and he slowly removed the scroll from his face as the messenger would whisper to his ear. "Damnit.." he raises up and quickly throws on his clothes. His golden and white sandals clank as he tied them against his feet. He grabs his dappled stallion and hoists himself upon its back with little to no effort. "YA!" he yells at him to hurry. He races to the main house, it was not as close as he would like it to be from his work quarters, but what could he do? Everyone else days was search from prime locations for their own homes. Upon arrival to his doors he lowered off his horse and lands with a firm scuffle against the ground. He could hear his daughters voices echoing through the halls and he was quick to move to their location. Anger spewed from his face upon seeing which of his daughters were there and he was quick to stand at their sides "You deliberately disobeyed my words!" once he was close enough he turns his attention to Yiannis, they were far too close for his liking. He turns to his weeping daughter as he holds out his hand "let me see that.." he states before stepping back and reading it. His eyes skim over the text, so Thalia had passed away, it was a shame yes but such were the things in life. Everyone either lived or died the next day and it was no time to dillydally with such emotions. "Rise that chin up - do you think Thalia would want to see you in such a state? No daughter of mine will show such a weakness.." perhaps that was a bit harsh considering the circumstance but he would not see his daughters weep over every known person that falls ill or dies.
He stands and rolls the scroll back up and hands it back to the servant who was standing at his daughters sides. He turns to their guests them as he holds out his arms "Forgive me, how rude. Please - come this way to the main halls." he would glare to his daughter, Agathe, as he whispers to her. "Have your sister cleaned and ready - I will not have her be an eye sore before our guests." no matter if they were family or outsiders, they had a reputation to hold. He walks into his main estate's quarters where a table lined with seats would be waiting for them. He finds his and quickly sits down with a set of his own scrolls pulling out of his back slip just tied around his waist. He calls forth his slave and demands wine to be present within seconds for a lashing would be rampit them all if he could not smell it on their breaths. He waits diligently for his daughters to return in a less of a messy state as when he arrived.
Pavlos of MarikasDaniil of Marikasyiannis The weight of her sister in her arms was all that held Agathe together. For the briefest of moments she was reminded of the days they had shared before their eyes had been opened to the realities of their sex, before Pavlos had so cruelly withdrawn his affection from his own children. Agathe was not deaf to the rumors that circulated the court, rumors that occasionally found their way onto the lips of the Marikas’s own servants. With every whisper of infidelity and the question of her paternity, Agathe would offer an icy glare and the sharp order to return to work.
She had often speculated how much of his distance was inspired by such rumors and how much was encouraged by his lack of sons. As she held Daniil and wiped at the fresh onslaught of tears with her own chiton, a rather maternal and uncharacteristic action for the eldest of Pavlos’s daughters, Agathe could not help but wonder if they would be holding each other if they had been born the sons Pavlos had so desperately desired. Her thoughts were not allowed to wander for long, interrupted by footsteps entering the courtyard.
Looking up, Agathe could see the unmistakable figure of their father approaching them. She gripped Daniil tighter, whether out of some protective compulsion or fear of their father’s wrath even Agathe could not decipher. She could feel his anger even before he stepped into the light as he came to stand by his daughters. The young blonde stiffened, straightening to her full height in a conditioned response to being in the man’s presence.
“You deliberately disobeyed my words!”
It was his reverberant accusation that lifted her chin in defiance. She watched with the astuteness of a seasoned hunter as her father reached for the scroll announcing Thalia’s death. He was far from the most empathetic member of the Marikas family, emotional displays were a sign of weakness after all. As Agathe suspected, he simply ordered Daniil to wipe her eyes and move forward. Agathe gritted her teeth, but released her sister, grasping her hand so as not to completely leave the mourning woman at the mercy of Pavlos.
Having herded their guests into the house, Pavlos once more turned his attention to Agathe, “Have your sister cleaned and ready—I will not have her be an eye sore before our guests.” A silent nod and Agathe took her sister by the elbow, leading Daniil to her chambers to wash her face and change into proper attire to attend to their guests.