Age was not a fun matter to deal with. At the grand old age of thirty eight, he was not getting any younger himself. While he liked to believe that he was still in his prime, and memories of him receiving his first sword, or being anointed as General of the Taengean armies by his brother, even Irakles had to admit that his age and his profession no longer agreed with each other. He would wake up with the occasional twinges in his back or joints, and more often then once a week when he was back in the capitol, he would have to visit his mistress's residence in order to have Meena massage his aches and pains away. Of course, now that the said mistress was mid-way pregnant with their child, her movements were less able.
But more then what his life was, today was the day his eldest son would turn sixteen, and usually, it was on this age that the eldest would be presented with their own barony. Irakles had decided when the year began, that he would allow Achilleas to watch over Euttica, a small cozy town that while easy to handle, but with a large populace of people that would give Achilleas the training he would need to fulfill the dream that Irakles saw for him - to take his rightful place as an heir. His brother, while a just King, was not at all the sort that Irakles think would be successful in bringing great glory to Taengea. He was peaceful, too peaceful, and it was in there that the stepsiblings clashed in ideas.
To Irakles, things could be so much better for his home Kingdom, and one day, he wanted to see his dream come true. But for that to happen, he must ensure he had a strong heir, and one that he could trust to take up the mantle should anything happen to him. He had a long way to go before his career in the Taengean armies as General came to an end, but he wasn't wasting any second of it.
A feast was to be held that night at Euttica, where his son would be introduced as the new baron and general to the Taengean Lions, but for now as the afternoon grew warm, Irakles had sent a servant to summon Achilleas to the stables. He had saddled up two horses, one of them being his spirited warhorse Aeneus, who usually needed more then just a strong hand to calm. The other was Achilleas's usual choice.
Today, Irakles intended to start the stepping stones to success, and he hoped with all intents and purposes, that the son he had bore from his loins with his wife, would fit the dream he had imagined. Myrto was a gentle wife, but not at all the sort Irakles would want as mother to his children. Yet she had been the ideal choice at that time. He could only hope her gentle nature had not rubbed off on his sons. Emilios had a way to go before he could draw a conclusion, but Achilleas's whole future started today. Today was the day he would be recognized as a leader and a fighter in his own right, and Irakles had high hopes.
Cladded in a white chiton that ended at his knees, the man tucked the material under the golden belt, and then strapped his battle axe to his steed's saddle. While the barony was not dangerous by any means, no self-respecting military man would roam with no protection, and Irakles's trusty battle axe had seen him through the most dangerous of situations. With his feet in a pair of simple leather slippers, he waited for his son, intending to have a long chat with him before the return for the festivities.
It was his birthday. Achilleas perched on the edge of his bed, slid his feet into the brown leather sandals that the servant had laid out there. He had thought he might feel different, on this most auspicious of days, his coming of age, but so far, other than slightly disgruntled to be awake whilst the day was yet so young, he did not.
He stood, still with the slightly gangly look of youth, as if his muscles had not yet had time to catch up to his height, but for all intents and purposes, he was a man now. He knew how to wield the sword that he fastened at his hip. He had drawn blood, and watched his own spill in turn. And now...now his father would place in his care a tract of land.
There was a nervous kind of excitement - he told himself it was more excitement than nerves- at the summons he had received from hiM that morning, and Achilleas knew better than to keep the man waiting. So he walked out of his room and met with his family, dropped a kiss atop his mother’s head and cuffed his brother around the top of his before he went to make his way out into the sunshine.
“Achilleas,sit and eat something first please” came his mother’s voice, and he froze, sighing as he turned and made his way back to the table, the bench scraping across the stone floor as he sat. Begrudgingly, he ate the honeyed bread that was set before him, bolted it in fact, so Myrto scolded him and Emilios laughed and he had shoved his brother playfully as he rose to his feet. “There, mother” he mumbled through a mouthful of food. “I have eaten”
Myrto had watched her eldest disappear though the door with a pensive expression. Sixteen years already and he was brimming with excitement, a flower turned towards the sun at the message from Irakles. Yet she had seen it so many times, the boy would try and please, and it was so difficult to watch those times where he did not, and he would return with that desolate look about him. Noone had the power to tear him down like his father. Not today, she told herself. Her husband was not so cruel as that. Still, her smile was strained as she turned to her younger son. “Come Emilios, finish up now. There is much to be done to prepare for this night’s festivities."
Unaware of her concern, Achilleas, rather regretting how quickly he had choked down that bread now, made his way toward the stables. He arrived to find his father waiting, two horses saddled and the youth bowed, smiled at the man.
“Father”
His gaze drifted to the animals, his father’s warhorse, and the irritatingly headstrong horse he had taken to choosing, just so he might demonstrate that he could master it. He had not told anyone that the beast had thrown him ten times over the first time he had gotten on its back, and that he had hobbled back to the house bruised and bloodied. A week he had repeated the cycle, until finally the bad tempered creature had deigned to allow him to stay put, and now he took pride in the fact that it would not let anyone else near.
Anyone except Emilios, he thought,with a hint of bitterness. His brother had a knack with horses that he did not. But Achilleas had learned young that not being naturally gifted at something was not an excuse. It was hard work that yielded results, and results were currency in this house. With the man who waited for him now.
He ran a hand down the neck of the chestnut, being sure to stay out of the way of Aeneus, before gathering the reins in his hand and swinging himself easily astride his own horse with all the spring of youth. He looked down at his father expectantly.
His son's voice was distinctive, something that Irakles was attuned to ever since Achilleas, and then Emilios had been born. Both boys were different, but Irakles held them to the same high standard he was held to by his own father, the former King of Taengea. Any son of his would be regarded as a prince, however far from the bloodline they may be, and he would accept nothing less. Achilleas's choice in a steed back when Irakles had presented it to his eldest was clear enough in his attitude - in that, Irakles had been pleased. The boy had not let him down in training the headstrong chestnut, and it was clear in the way he vaulted on the back of the handsome stallion.
Nodding in response, he clicked for the servants to bring his own snorting and stamping stallion forward. A sharp word from Irakles was enough to hasten Aeneus's temper, enough for the elder male to get himself seated, and then directed his horse with a firm hand towards the exit of the manor's walkway. The exterior of the manor was being given its final touches by the servants for all the invitees they would have tonight, and it was past these slaves and servants trimming the hedges and trees that Irakles led Achilleas, turning out of the gates towards the outskirts of the province.
Euttica was a province filled with people more then greenery, but that did not mean the gentle giant of Mikaelidas provinces had any less charm. The people of Euttica knew the Mikaelidas family, for Irakles had personally handled Euttica before he decided to hand it over to Achilleas's minding. Greeting the people as they passed them astride horseback, Irakles was the picture of a perfect prince as he rode, allowing Aeneus to go at no more then a quick walk as they passed people, knowing full well it would be dangerous for anything faster.
But it did not take long before the crowds finally thinned out, and they arrived at the rolling forests and fields that formed the border of Euttica. It was at the borders of a forest, that he eventually stopped his steed's progress, allowing Achilleas to draw up beside him, before he turned Aeneas around to face the sillouhette of the Euttica town.
"Do you know why, all first-born sons would be allowed a barony to rule upon their father's judgement that they are ready, Achilleas?" Irakles asked, voice devoid of his usual hardness. For once, he wasn't here to bring Achilleas to task for any misdeeds or mistakes. No, Irakles now simply wanted to see, if his son shared his ambitions. To grow their kingdom to more then what his brother seemed to be happy to let it to be. Peace treaties and negotiations would only get them so far.
But Irakles wanted more.
Now, as the breeze tossed with their hair, his dark strands still retaining their youth and matching to his brows and eyes, Irakles merely wanted to know. Know if his son was as much like him as people assumed Achilleas would be.
Achilleas was not much phased by his father’s silence as they rode. It was they way of it, the man would not speak until he was good and ready. Sometimes, it made him nervous, but it was hard to feel that way now, the sun warming them from above, the day bright with promise. His birthday.
The younger Mikaelidas man rode alongside his father, nodded to those who they passed and noted those Irakles spoke to. Much of his concentration was drawn into curtailing the horse he rode who seemed keen to take a bite out Aeneus - which would surely have been unwise- or if that was not an option to travel at a much faster clip than the walk Achilleas was asking for. Still, the youth kept a firm hold on the reins and contended with the resultant snatching at the bit and head tossing. It would not do to accidentally mow down a citizen of Euttica just as he thought his father might be about to present it to him.
It was a place he had spent a fair amount of his time, his father taking a personal interest in the seemingly sleepy town. And on this trip, Achilleas himself had been paying more attention than usual to the place and its people. It was not as grand as some provinces, nor as beautiful as others, but there was an appeal to its laid back charm. It certainly felt a million miles away from the capitol, which wore its beauty as a veil to hide the uglier faces of political maneuvering.
The town itself soon fell away, and the stones that had marked the road turned to dust as the pair wound their way through the fields that stretched their way to the border of Euttica. Achilleas sighed, he longed to give his horse its head a little, but by his side, his father seemed content at their sedate pace. So he waited, and soon enough, Irakles had halted and as the boy did the same, his father swung around to look down upon the vista of the white stone houses nestled amongst the surrounding hills.
His father’ question was not unexpected, exactly. But Achilleas always felt liable to trip himself up when he was asked to answer such things, so he was a quiet a moment as he constructed a response.
“I suppose it is...a rehearsal of sorts? To prepare one to take on the responsibilities of leadership of the House, when the time comes.” he ventured, looking sideways at his father to see if it was the sort of answer the man was looking for. He had not missed the ‘when they are ready’ comment, and hoped against hope that he had done enough to prove himself. His Captain had been pleased with him on their latest exercises, he knew. And word of his failures always seemed to make their way back to his father’s ears, so Achilleas was hopeful the same was true of his successes.
“You would not put a man in charge of a stable if he could not care for one horse” he said. “So perhaps it is a chance to prove oneself able.”
He was able. He was, and he willed the man next to him to see it. It would be a just reward for all of his efforts to be the best.
Irakles had never been one with much words - a man of actions more then words, he always ensured he worked more then he spoke, for he found speakers full of hot air, big dreams but little action. Irakles preferred to walk the talk, and speak less, and it was the way in which he raised his little family. The whole way they rode, Irakles noted the way in which Achilleas controlled his steed - occasionally losing such control. Young, but almost capable. Nowhere near as good as Emilios when it came to handling the working beasts, but he would remind his stable master to see to extra lessons for Achilleas when it came to it.
Irakles himself kept a firm hand on his trained war horse, who angrily snapped at the other horse when he got too near. Aeneus is a territorial beast, and while he was fine with war and blood, he disliked it when anyone else got too close in proximity in a regular setting.
As his son spoke, Irakles kept his gaze on the horizon, where movement could be seen as the sleepy province got ready for the evening. Farmers and workers alike were returning homes to their hearth, where wives were preparing the evening meal and children greeted the reurning labourers in delight. That kind of common, normal life however, was not something Irakles nor his offspring would ever enjoy. They were born for greater things, and in such, Irakles would ensure they achieved greater things.
He accepted nothing less.
"Correct." he replied in a clipped tone, that allowed no space for nonsense. His gaze still did not fall on his son, but it was no mistake that Irakles was speaking to Achilleas. "The firstborn son is born, destined to be a leader. Of their province, of the Dynasteia... sometimes, even of a Kingdom. Such preparation takes years, and years of practice." Below him, Aeneus stamped, but Irakles clicked his tongue firmly, and tugged at the reins to remind Aeneus of his behavior, before continuing.
"Do you think yourself able, Achilleas?" The prince's eyes now finally flicked to his young son's. His tone was not undermining, nor was it meant to make Achilleas feel as if he was questioning his capability. Instead, his tone was kept neutral. The man was genuinely curious - was his son aware of his own abilities? He had watched Achilleas grow up of course, and his very own Captain had came to report to Irakles on Achilleas's latest achievements, not at all small for a man of his age. For any other father, a son like Achilleas would have been a son they would be proud of.
Irakles was no ordinary father though.
"You will no longer be a simple soldier. You will lead a troupe of men. General of your own troop, meant to assist the Kingdom in times of great trouble. Can you shoulder such responsibility?"
Achilleas had turned his horse in a tight circle to stand next to his father, and now he tightened the reins, shifted his weight back so to steady the fidgety, flighty horse and tried at the same time to listen to the next words the older man imparted. None of this was news to him, it had been drilled into him all of his years.
He could not be average, for one day he would need to lead men, and to lead by example.
The message had been subtly woven through all of the things he had been taught, and not just by Irakles himself. His tutors, his Captain, the stablemaster who had tutted and advised him to choose a less challenging mount. ‘It would not do for others to see you fall, My Lord’
Achilleas had heeded it all. The yearning to live up to these expectations that had been upon him from the moment he was born. The desire to make the man beside him proud, to make him happy. He felt his throat tighten a little as his father asked him if he had done it, if he had succeeded. The blue eyes of the boy met those of Irakles when he finally turned to look at his son, and the youth swallowed, tipped his chin a little and straightened his shoulders.
Traces of boyishness clung to him still; his limbs still more slender than an older man, the angles of his face not as sharp as would come with maturity. And in his gaze, Irakles could see that eagerness for approval that was so often present in his eldest. But Achilleas’ voice, when it came, was steady.
“ I do, Father. It is all I have worked toward, is it not?” And he had worked indeed. Things he was not good at, he was tenacious in his practice. Driving himself hard until he could at least equal his peers, if not better them. And the things that he had naturally affinity for? He pushed himself to his limits, always wanting to be better, to be the best. It showed in his swordplay, where he could hold his own against those older and more seasoned than he, and he took pride in his skills there, pride that bubbled over into his voice as he spoke on.
“Croesus says I am one of the best swordsman he has had” he said, wanting to convince his father of the truth in his claim to be able.” I bested Miltiades last week, and he has won at the games the past three years!” Achilleas glanced at his father’s inscrutable face, and pressed his case. “ Soldiers can respect skill, even if I am young in years compared to they.” And younger than him had made their names fighting wars in distant lands, Achilleas thought.
“I am not afraid of responsibility” he went on, with all the confidence of one who had not truly known it yet. “ I will not let you down.” Such seriousness upon his face as he spoke,Irakles could not doubt his conviction, whatever other reservations he might nurse about his eldest son.
If anything at all, Irakles was thankful that at least, Achilleas had the determination to do better. Had that not been present in his son, Irakles would have lost a lot more tempers then he had as his two sons grew up within his household. Emilios was more of a wild card, for the younger one acted out quite a bit, tested boundaries. Yet in a way, Irakles could see how most of those actions were a result of him having a well-performing elder brother, and while he was watchful of Emilios actions, neither did he discourage them. As the second son, he would have to find a way to make it in life.
Achilleas however, was destined to lead a different life. One that would have him right in the center of the spotlight as everyone watched the eldest offspring of the Taengean General and prince grow up. What he did, would be a direct reflection of Irakles and how he was as a father.
Irakles would not have imperfection mar his record.
He nodded his confirmation - it was the only goal Irakles had Achilleas worked towards. All his tutors, trainers, riding masters, all were interviewed personally by Irakles and offered one instruction only. To ensure the boy was fit for a leadership position one day. To train the boy as if he would be King one day, and nothing less. Achilleas's upbringing had been unlike any other noble family's son, for he was not simply a baron or a royal family member - he was royalty himself, and Irakles accepted nothing less. If he was a prince, so his offsprings would be.
The prince could hear it in the younger Mikeliadeas's voice, as if he was trying to convince Irakles of a truth that his father was unable to see. Yet what Achilleas wouldn't see yet, was that as good as he got, Irakles would always have greater wishes, larger goals for him to achieve. It was never enough. "So are you satisfied with all of that? Or do you wish for more?" he asked in an even tone, his shuttered gaze flickering over to the other, as if daring him to grow better, stronger, fiercer.
The serious claim Achilleas made though, finally made a smile break through his firm, strict lips. It was a rare sight, not entirely happy. More satisfied in its lopsided view. The father finally turned to face Achilleas fully, chin held high as he nodded his satisfaction for now. "That, you will not, Achilleas. You are my son, the offspring of a prince of Taengea. And so therein, you are royalty whether you like it or not. People will look up to you for leadership and guidance, and trust you to care and protect them, their families, their home, and their Kingdom. You have to be ready for that. Do you hear me?" He paused, scrutinizing the boy, even as their horses shifted uneasily below them. "It is your loss should you ever be satisfied with just what you have. There will always be more you can achieve, if you only work at it."
He faltered at the question put to him, some of that confidence that bolstered him falling away, and Achilleas frowned, realising his mistake. He should not be complacent.
“No” he said quickly, reaching for the answer that he thought his father looked for as the man’s gaze rested upon him briefly, almost challenging The young man set his jaw and said with some determination. “No, I would best him always. He will not win again”.
Inwardly , the he considered how he would achieve such a thing. Miltiades had been their best for years, a brute of a man who lifted his great sword as if it were no more than a feather. Achilleas had felt the jolt tremor up his arms and into his skull when their blades had met, even with the wooden practice swords. He had thought the Gods had smiled on him when he had defeated the man on the sparring field, had surprised himself, his speed setting him ahead even if he could not match the man in strength. But, it was not enough. He would have to train harder, longer. He would have to find the hours in the day to do so.
Already he chafed at the bit watching others his age lay down their swords and head off to their families, to play the fool with their friends when training was done, and he knew he would turn in another hour at least before he would go. He did not really have...friends. There were those that courted his favour, because of who he was. But when they were being measured against one another and Achilleas would better them again and again, such admiration became resentment fairly quickly. And he did not have the time and inclination to smooth ruffled feathers like that, nor to make allowances for other’s ineptitude. His cousins, his brother,they would do him well enough for company.
It did not stop him wishing that he might occasionally be able to cut loose, and cast off the expectations that sometimes felt like shackles. He wondered what it must be like to be able to slack off if the mood took you, to skip a lesson when the suns were high and the beach would be cooler. Emilios would do such a thing, he thought with perhaps a tinge of jealousy. .
But not him.
So still he looked to convince Irakles that he was ready for all that was asked of him, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction as the older man relented, smiled one of his rare smiles that never looked quite comfortable on his face, Achilleas thought. He would take it though, for it was...close to approval. Possibly as close as he would get from the man across from him, and his exacting standards.
As if not to let his son get too comfortable, Irakles went on to couch his approval in a lesson as well. It was the same thing the youth had heard over and over, and he let in sink into where it had settled over time. Not ordinary. Good was not good enough.
“Yes Sir” Achilleas replied, meeting his father’s gaze which sat unerringly upon him now. He did not flinch under it though he felt the scrutiny, sitting a little straighter instead. And then “I will work at it...I will continue to, I mean. If you think I do not do enough”
The younger man turned then, to look back over the town they had ridden away from, unable to prevent himself from asking “ You do think me ready, don’t you?” His tension, returned all of a sudden, transmitted itself to the sleek chestnut stallion, who laid back his ears and swung his quarters around and Achilleas cursed and corrected the animal, wishing for a moment he had chosen a more sedate creature, if just for today.
He had thought- presumed perhaps- with the festivities planned for that evening, and his coming of age that things were settled.It would be a harsh disappointment to find his father was having second thoughts, now. And the shame too, how it would scald him for it to be so obvious that his own father thought him lacking. That almost put his mind rest, the Prince being nothing if not a proud man. He would not want to suggest to the kingdom that his own child was incapable. But Achilleas watched his father then, because he could not decide if he wanted the man to answer him or not.
The man was satisfied. Apparently he had done better then he thought he had, for it would seem that Achilleas was quickly catching on to all he implied, be it subtly or directly. There was no such thing as impossible, at least not when it came to his expectations of his sons. Even if one was stronger in terms of physique, he trusted that his sons, Achilleas especially, would be able to find an alternative way to come out on top, for military prowess was a lot more then just brute strength. And because he knew that, as the General of the Taengean armies, Irakles accepted nothing less then victory.
Play was a foreign concept to him, time wasted, the same time that could be used to build on character, strength, technique, mental capacity. A moment played is a moment wasted, and it was why Irakles clashed so much with his own wife. Myrto wished to coddle them, but Irakles would not see such things happening to his own offspring. His two sons were destined for glory, and he would see it such. Slacking off was not tolerated at all, and he kept a close watch on his eldest son particularly.
The only response he gave to Achilleas as he tried to meet his father's scrutiny, was to give a small hum of agreement, a low rumbled that started at the bottom of his chest. It was as far to approval as Achilleas would ever get, for Irakles was stingy with praise, and stingier with commendments. "Whether I think you do enough matter's naught. You must always continue to work at it." Irakles believed too much, that hard work was the foundation of success, and nothing was impossible.
Reaching out when the chestnut stallion swung his quarters, Irakles sharply admonished the animal, tugging tightly at the reins, and flashed the same admonishing look at Achilleas, even as he returned the control of the reins to the Mikaelidas offspring. He expected Achilleas to have better control over his mount, and it was clear in the way Irakles had looked at the younger one, that the father was expecting no less then utter control over the animal the next time they rode. Aeneus had been headstrong as well, but Irakles broke the stallion within a week, and accepted no misbehavior from the animal.
"I think, that you are prepared to take on the barony." he murmured, once the situation had calmed and the evening breeze had picked up again. The birds were returning to roost now, the occasional disturbance in the trees above them causing the few leaves to fall around them. Irakles had urged his stallion forward in a slow walk, a signal for Achilleas to do the same, as he led them back to the city. The festivities would start soon, and then he would introduced Achilleas as the new baron to the people of Euttica. On the morrow, he would leave, and his eldest would handle the responsibility of leadership alone for the first time. Did he think Achilleas was ready? That was a matter to be seen.
But he had no choice. The years waited for no one. "Whether you're ready or not, that is a matter you have to prove to me, Achilleas. Do not forget, the barony is mine to give, and mine to return if necessary." He turned to his son, as they rode back to the main province center towards the manor that would house Achilleas and his future family. "Would you wish for such a matter to befall you?" For a barony to be taken away would be the height of shame, but if necessary, Irakles would do it. The prince would do anything for the benefit of the Taengean people. Even if it meant shaming his own son.
The boy swallowed down the urge to laugh. As if his father could sit there and say that his opinion did not matter. Achilleas knew without doubt that if it were the case, if his father thought him slacking, he would find his practice drills doubled, his lessons suddenly longer, his tutors inexplicably sterner. But he knew as well the point that his father laboured, and to that he nodded his acceptance. He would always strive to be better.
It did not negate his following question though, and the youth was on tenterhooks as he voiced it. It did not help settle his nerves then when his father leant over- actually leant over to take the reins - as if he were a child upon his first pony. Achilleas grit his teeth, perfectly capable of correcting the horse himself and he so nearly said it, so nearly snapped sullenly that he was not a boy anymore, and to back off. “I have it!” He managed to temper his reply just a little, but he was young still and fits of pique still seemed to triumph over his common sense sometimes, a fact he became aware of in the next moment as he caught his father’s eye. Scowling, he busied himself with settling the horse when in fact it was his own annoyance he struggled with, inopportune given he had just assured the man next to him of his maturity and capability.
They rode in silence for a few moments, and Achilleas used that time to let the sudden flare of irritation die away, so he was more amenable by the time Irakles spoke again, finally answering that question. His response had the boy frown a little. Prepared for was not the same as ready he thought, and as if echoing his thoughts, when his father spoke on it was to stress that nothing was certain, nothing was guaranteed.
The son blinked, turned to his father in surprise as he actually suggested he might revoke the barony. The comfort Achilleas had drawn in the thought that he would not do so, if only to save his own face, abruptly disavowed.
He could not bear such a thing. To bear private remonstration was one thing, to have so public a failure upon his shoulders...the thought made him cold. “ I would not wish for it” he said quietly, all hint of his earlier defiance gone. It did not dawn on him then that the barony would become a thing his father would have to hold over his head for many a year- the youth rather too concerned with the present, and what he might need to do to assure such a disgrace never happened.
“I would like Argus to stay” Achilleas said, voicing something he had given some thought to. “ Not just as my tutor, but as my advisor. For when you are not near” Unsure whether the man beside him would see this as a lack of confidence, or rather the the wisdom that Achilleas hoped it displayed, he could see no reason that his request would be denied. The elderly man had been his teacher for many a year, so his father clearly trusted him. And it was common, usual, for a baron to have those who he might delegate to.
It would seem that Achilleas had forgotten Irakles's power over the ownership of the barony, if he were to judge it based on the surprised look he received from his son as they rode back to the main city area. Irakles would not want to do so of course, and such a drastic measure he has yet to do against any of the barons he had chosen to safeguard Mikaelidas land in his stead... but if situations called for it, he was not beneath such an action, even if it were against his own son.
Achilleas's quiet response however, was not surprising. Of course the younger one would not wish such public remonstration. It would be a shameful display,one he would be hard pressed to recover from, both as the son of a royal lineage and as a general in charge of his own armies.
The suggestion from his son was not one that he could dismiss, for it had its merits. Argus was experienced, both as a trainer in military, but also posesses wisdom that comes from years of experiencing both political and military life. Yet to have him remain would, if noticed by the public, likely be assumed that Irakles had no confidence in his own boy, and that was not a good message to be sending out as well.
So for a short period of time after Achilleas had suggested his intentions, Irakles remained silent as he mulled over the thought, only speaking after a couple of minutes. "He can remain, but decisions come from you and you alone, Achilleas." His tone was firm as he briefly turned to look at his son.
"A leader must not waver, nor be seen to ask for assistance in making a decision from someone else other then himself, understand? To be trusted as a leader, you must show up as one." It was evident that Irakles walked the talk to, for even astride a steed, his back was straighter then a ramrod, and there was a perpetual air of confidence around Irakles regardless of where he was. His royal upbringing was clear in his ever action and movement, and he expected no less of his sons.
“Yes sir” Achilleas had worried the man was going to reject the idea when there had been that stretching silence, and he swallowed his relief that it was not so. It wasn’t that he did not trust himself- he was prepared for this, as his father had pointed out, but with the responsibility came a lot of room for error as well. Achilleas did not like errors.
But the decisions would be his, yes. There was that slight tremor of nervous excitement again in his stomach as he thought on it. His] barony. And his father would be back in the city and not breathing down his neck all of the time. He puffed his chest, sat straighter and looked at the town they rode through with new eyes. Histown.
The boys eyes slid sideways towards his father and he nodded, sat straighter again, conscious of eyes upon them. He did not struggle with confidence at all when he was away from the man beside him. If anything he could be criticised for having too much of it, for being arrogant even. But something about his father undercut all of that bravado and left him scrabbling for approval, begging for scraps of it like a dog at a dinner table. This was his chance, finally, to prove himself, and he felt almost giddy with the possibility of it.
As far as conversations with the man went, Achilleas thought it had gone rather well. Aside from the veiled threat of revoking the barony he was about to bestow, the youth thought perhaps he had come close to appeasing his father. And so as they rode on, he swallowed thickly and spoke the words that he had rehearsed earlier that day.
“It is a great honour you give me Father. I am grateful for the opportunity to show you what I am capable of. To represent our family.I..wanted to say thank you.”
He fell silent before he tripped over his own words, lifted his chin and looked to Irakles. Man to man, he hoped, for that is what he was now.
His son agreed - too quickly, sometimes Irakles though. To a certain extent, the general wondered if the young Mikaelidas was becoming too eager to please, a trait that was worrisome in a leader. Irakles knew a leader to be one who only fought for what they believed in, not what would please as many people as possible. It was why he clashed with his brother so often, for it would seem Zenon is too much of a pacifier, eager to ensure as many people's happiness as possible, he's forgotten that he worked for the greater good of the Taengean kingdom. Irakles could only hope his son would not turn out as such.
The remainder of their ride back was peaceful... or quiet, depending on how one looked upon it. The prince was not a man of many words, preferring to use his actions to show his worth. And it was obvious in the past few years, with the amount of victorious fights and battles Irakles had won in the name of Taengea.
Not addressing Achilleas the whole way back, instead Irakles chose to connect with the people of Euttica, who has long come to know of Irakles as a generous baron in charge of their province. Occasionally, he would gesture at Achilleas and introduce his son, reminding them to attend the feast he was holding in the name of his son and the passing over of the barony to Achilleas, before they continued on their way. To anyone watching, it was obvious that it was Irakles personable aura that has made him a well-loved public figure in the provinces he frequented outside of Vasiliadon, where he took up permanent residence.
By the time they made it back, the afternoon had whittled down some, and the preparations for the feast was in full swing. The tables were now laid in the courtyard that would be filled with the people of Euttica as the sun began to set, and the servants were beginning to load the prepared food. Decorations were abound, from the releasing of the peacocks, to the Mikaelidas lion statues out front, it was obvious the feast was not going to be of small proportions.
Irakles made an irritated sound as he dismounted, and Myrto started forward. His wife had been awaiting their return, and it was obvious for what reason, when the fussy spouse of his descended upon Achilleas, fussing over his rumpled chiton and dusty hair, hurrying him to bathe. "Do not treat him like a child, Myrto. He is a baron of his own right." Irakles scowled, his low baritone annoyed. Handing off the irritable Aeneus to a stablehand, the man allowed his gaze to flicker over Achilleas. he said nothing, but the look was enough to convey his message - that Achilleas could not be late, and was to be dressed appropriately.
With that, he turned his back on both son and wife, heading swiftly abovestairs to prepare himself, after sending a servant to remind Emilios to be dressed within the hour. Outwardly, Irakles wanted nothing wrong to be presented to the world. His family was of royal status, and their reputation must remain as such.
