As a man who’d been trained to fight and to protect others, Nic was while not hard, at least harder, or more used to violence, both meting it out as well as being on the receiving end. He bore a scar on his abdomen, and would until the day he died, which all the gods and goddesses willing would be many, many years from this day.
Nic sent her a quick, reassuring smile, his hand warm and steady atop hers, trying to instill confidence in her. She was strong, he’d seen that in the way she hadn’t fallen apart even when surrounded by chaos, destruction and death. All she needed was a tiny little reminder, which he was more than happy to give her.
If he’d known what thoughts had been passing through Selene’s mind, Nic would have been hard pressed from laughing rather than being offended by the just a guard bit. His primary focus of course had been and would always be ensure the safety of his princess. But he was a good man, raised to revere women, so there was no way he’d have abandoned Selene or her family that day at the circus.
Nic kept his steps slow, matching his pace to hers as they climbed up to the royal box. He dropped his arm when she moved to take her seat, sending one last grin her way before making his way over to where Emilia sat with her father and older sister. Pausing briefly to whisper in the ear of one of the extra guards on loan from the paláti. As Nic took his position, the other guard climbed up to take a position closer to Selene.
From the corner of her eye, Persephone noted the arrival of the Stravos' in the box to the left of the royal setting and tried to ignore it. It was hard when they had dressed themselves from head to foot in crimson though. Did they want their intention to steal the spotlight of the day to be any more obvious? Persephone was quickly realising that she might have made an underestimate of her father and his choice to dress her in shining gold. She often forgot in recent months that her father was just as skilled in court and politics as she - after all, who had she learnt her skills from? - and that she needed to trust him more. Even if he was externally weak, his mind was still strong.
It was this mind that she trusted in and turned to as the people of the stadium calmed after the initial cheers of the royal families' appearances. As the calls and yells turned to general commotion and simmered down in volume, her father raised a hand, his palm out flat towards the people. A sign that he was about to speak.
While no crowd of people this large was ever silent, no matter who was telling them to still their tongues, the calls turned to simple mutters and murmurs. While every face appeared a pale oval from this distance, it was clear to Persephone that the Athenian people were turning to their ruler.
"Athenians..." Her father began his address and Persephone felt the air in her chest stop as the king's voice rang out loud and clear. She prayed to the Gods that he would not cough or struggle, and knew that the air in her lungs would not leave until her had completed his short speech. "I open these games in celebration." He told them. His voice was not a shout but a strong call, his voice echoing around the arcus. It was likely those at the back were unable to hear but the rumours and whispers would pass fast enough during the fights or after during the celebrations. "A celebration of unity... of hope... of Athenia's future!" A cheer and applause went up at the mention of their kingdom as a singular force. Persephone felt her spine turn to stone as she kept her posture proud and her hand on Lord Iason's arm. She found herself swaying closer to his side.
"I open these games in celebration of a betrothal. Between Princess Persephone of Xanthos, Baroness of Arcana and the daughter of your King... and Iason of Dimitrou, Lord of Chaoedia of Taengea and Master of the Storm of Arrows Regiment." There was a pause of quiet shock amongst the people, the air permeating with anticipation. "Their marriage will cement the future of our kingdom and continue to honour and glorify Athenia... In their honour, we host these fine games for you today!"
Her father's words were followed by cheers and applause. A thunderous call of support was chanted amongst the crowd and the people of Athenia clapped and stamped their feet.
As they had planned, and as they had practised... Persephone and Iason raised opposing arms - the ones that were not joined between them - and in one synchronised motion, flung their hands out to the side, opening the games together... as they would do everything else, from now on... together.
Selene hadn't known at what point she'd lost her sense of reality. Sitting up in the box, she had tried to take Nicholai's advice. She tried to breathe through the stressors, tried to think of anything else other than the yells and screams that were intermixing with the yelling.
There was no screaming.
There was joy, excitement in the air. But Selene certainly couldn't differentiate between the reality and the one she was creating in her mind. The celebration could have easily dissolved into chaos, and the guest wasn't sure that she could handle this alone. There was no one to hold her hand, and she wasn't close enough to Jo to rely on her for support. As the King stood to make his announcement, Selene allowed the focus to shift and she slipped out the back of the box. As much as she thought she could be here, could experience it all, Selene realized that she couldn't. She wasn't surprised to find a guard following her, most likely sent by Nicholai. Her feet carried her out the way she came, a part of her feeling sorry for not being able to stay, but knowing that she didn't want to embarrass herself by breaking down in public.
The streets were still packed, and the carriage she was loaded into struggled to make it back to the palace. But the farther away she got from the arena, the better she felt. The more she could breathe.
Vilmar took his position opposite Parmenion as they awaited the speech. The masses shouted and cheered as the King offered up his words. Vilmar kept one hand the hilt of his sword as he watched. He offered Persephone a curt nod. It was the only recognition she would require. A sign that he was by her side, and if she turned, she would find Vilmar standing ready. Despite the happiness of the ceremony, Vilmar could not shake the feeling of unease on the back of his neck. Perhaps it was just the numbers of people. Vilmar had never seen so many.
He had seen festivals before, but this seemed particularly crowded even given the occasion. Vilmar did not want to admit it deep down, but he knew one reason was that people assumed it might be the last time they could see their King. He made a good show of the speech, but it was a far stretch from his younger days. The King of Athenia was a legend to many. Vilmar took notice of Parmenion. Vilmar trusted the man and viewed him as a mentor of sorts. It seemed Parmenion had the same level of alertness as Vilmar. At least they were both ready for something.
In the shadows of the surroundings, Vilmar kept himself close to Persephone as she moved. He was never more than two steps away from her when she walked or stepped out. Vilmar did his best to provide her with enough space not to feel smothered by his presence. His instructions were quite clear though, and he had no intention of letting anything happen to her. She was soon to be the Queen, and she would have plenty to attend to without worrying about her safety.
He wondered what would happen to Athenia in the days to come. There were jealous city states close by that may view the change as a sign of weakness. Other cities might seek new alliances or to bury old rivalries. The nobles of the town would plan and plot in the square and the shadows. Would his home remain the same as the place he knew? Would the Princess hold the same demeanor that made her beloved by so many? He hoped that Athena would see them through the changing times. Perhaps her wisdom would guide them forward as they forged a new city.
Vilmar could not help but smile as Persephone was announced and her hand raised to the sky with her new husbands in unison. He sincerely wished them both the very best in all things to come. Vilmar would see the city through the storm to happen, and it would emerge on the other side, no matter the cost.
As the gladiator games started, Persephone was shocked to note that several of the fighters seemed nought but boys, and she was thankful when her father suggested her to move away from the edge of the balcony.
Finding her seat to the seat of her father - Iason now seated to her right, and Emilia on the other side of the king - Persephone was perfectly able to see the fighting that was happening below but as mostly uninterested in witnessing the violence, keeping her gaze either inward or on Iason as they spoke in hushed tones on occasion, throughout the progress of the games.
The announcements and cheers were impossible to block out as Persephone's ears filled in what her eyes were refusing to watch.
Fights between slaves, fights between man and animal... fights between professional gladiators. The manager of the Arcus had not held back in the plans for the event and every possible form of violent entertainment had been brought out for the Athenian populace to see.
Glancing towards her sister, Persephone wondered how Emilia was adjusting to the event and, upon noting the pale colour to her sister's normally rosy cheeks, Persephone reached out behind her father's throne in order to snag the few of her sister's fingers that she could reach and give them a squeeze of reassurance. Her gaze was firm as she met her eye.
Bear with it... Persephone's gaze instructed, while her touch offered comfort.
She sat like that, one arm wrapped in Iason's and the other hand curled around her sister's behind her father's back, until a particular horn was blown and an announcement was made regarding the final fight of the afternoon. Persephone straightened, as this was the only bout she had trying had a vested interest in and she dropped her sister’s hand in order to rest her fingers on her father's arm.
He had born the entire afternoon valiantly, and she knew that she was asking a lot for him to stand now, after her had held himself regally in his throne for the last few hours.
"Father, this is the man I have employed." She told him. "I believe it will be expected for Xanthos to stand behind their Champion." She nodded towards the balcony's edge.
Whether through his own health being too diminished to manage the task or legitimately for the excuse he now made, Persephone wasn't sure by the end result of his words was the same.
"You go, daughter mine." He told her with a pat to her hand. "This House will be yours soon enough. The people should know that the name Xanthos and the name Persephone are now one in the same."
Swallowing and licking at her now dry lips, Persephone glanced back at Iason, who nodded in encouragement and then extricated her arm from his own.
Standing gracefully - even if it was a task in so fitted a gown - Persephone ensured that her white chlamys was in place and covering the sheerer areas of her gown and then stepped forward to come into full and apparent view of the crowd, the sun glinting from her black hair and golden crown.
"Presenting..." The announcer called - heard only by the noble boxes and the first third of the stadium (no man's voice could travel further but whispers would spread the information to the other end of the arcus without much difficulty. "The Xanthos Champion!"
From the entrance to the announcement of her father, Emilia was dutifully quiet, as was ingrained in her training since she was a child. As a second child of, technically, no importance, Emilia was often taught to be seen and not heard in such occasions. It sounds worst then it is, to be fair, for the girl did not wish to be front and center in such occasions. She knew full well the responsibilities that came with being front and center, and the young princess was quite happy in being tasked to look pretty.
So as her father made the announcements, and then subsequently the formal announcement of the engagement between her sister and Lord Iason, Emilia remained silent by their side, or wherever she was needed. Her features had tightened when the marriage was announced - she was yet to come to terms with her sister's utterly emotionless marriage - but she did not speak a word. Caught up she was in the opening of the games and trusting the care of her guest to her retainers that she had assigned to the Taengean blonde, Emilia remained caught in her duties as a princess.
And then the gladiator games started.
Perhaps, if this had been held before her witness of the massacre in the Taengean circus before she had the screams of terror echoing in her nightmares, Emilia would have been able to handle the sight of violence well. After all, gladiator fights were not foreign in their culture, and she's grown up hearing of it.
But this time was different.
Never mind the fact that some of the gladiators pitted against one another were her age, a fact that Emilia realized with slow horror. What made matters worst were the stark showcase that people enjoyed such displays of violence, the various fights of various species and ranks of men pitted against each other. King Minas leaned back in his seat to watch silent, but Emilia had begun shivering in hers, her fingers on her father's arms growing cold, her eyes fixated as if glued to the sights, violence that she found herself unable to tear her gaze away from.
Her breathe had stilled, blood slowly draining out of her face. The sudden brush of fingers against her bare upper arm had jolted her. Upon turning and catching her elder sister's gaze on hers, however, Emilia found her breathe rushing back when she noted just how her sister too, did not seem to be enjoying the spectacle. If all else failed, Persephone's presence would always do best in grounding her - her sister had been the one calm, definite presence in her life growing up. With the loss of her mother and the imminent lost of her father, Emilia clung even more to her sister's survival and was happy to allow the other's fingers to curl around hers, the brunette returning the grip, as they waited out the matches.
Eventually, Persephone's grip slipped away from hers, and on instinct, Emilia turned to watch her sister's conversation with their father, nodding when their father waved for Persephone to go. "I'll be with Father, Sissy." the younger one assured, curling her fingers around her father's arm and sharing a smile with her doting parent. It was high time he returned for his rest, but Emilia knew there was still some time to go for the gladiator fights - she can weather the rest of it without her sister for once.
The younger princess’ raised brow and the undercurrent of a warning in her words would be difficult for any eye or ear to miss. Of course, such was expected; Iason was not expecting Emilia to accept him upon their first meeting, especially since their circumstances weren’t exactly ideal. He did not love Persephone, and Persephone did not love him. Their engagement was political, and although arranged marriages were no foreign concept among the Grecian people, it was almost fictitious to their families. Therefore, Iason understood exactly what the younger Xanthos was telling him and he could not supress the faint smile that began to tug at the corner of his lips as she turned to her sister, once again ignoring his presence, and by doing so, adding weight to her subtle warning. He already liked her.
“Thank you, Princess.” Iason bowed his head slightly in thanks to Persephone’s compliment and took his bride-to-be’s arm in his and for a moment allowed for his discomfiture to show through his features “Awkward? Trust me, you will never appear as such. I doubt it is even possible. I on the other hand.” He grinned jokingly and followed the King and the guards down to the carriages. Iason noticed the guards, some of which he was not acquainted with personally, but he was aware of who they were and what their rank was.
Vilmar, the Stalwart Sword, nodded towards Persephone, and although Iason was aware it was not directed his way, he still locked eyes with the man and felt it only respectful to nod in greeting. Among them were also Diomedes of House Nikolaos who has been rumoured to be poisoning the King. How much truth in that, if any at all, Iason knew not, but he wasn’t keen on jumping to any conclusions about a man he has never met. Another guard who stood out grabbed Iason’s notice, however, the man Iason knew as Emilia’s protector, Nicholai, did not hold his attention for long as his eyes shifted to the man known as Parmenion of Arcana, someone Iason has heard plenty of before. The man was certainly experienced, and well suited for the task of protecting the Princess Persephone. Although he wore new armour and carried new weaponry while mounted upon a great new steed, all of which barely seen any real combat, he knew the man had been through more than a shiny chest plate could cover.
Once inside the carriage, twenty minutes or so away from the arena, Iason could feel the silence fill the space and searched his mind for words to say, however, she had beat him to it. “Yes, neither have I.” he smiled as they both stated the obvious, but the smile turned to one of reassurance “I will be by your side every step of the way.” He said in a soft tone, looking into her eyes encouragingly before noticing the people of Athenia gathered at the sides of the path to the circus “Look,” he gestured towards the window of the carriage “They have come to see you.” And so they have, and so they should.
Athenia was at the brink of drastic change, the whole Kingdom knew it, in fact, other Kingdoms were not unaware of it either. Persephone has done well winning over the people of her Kingdom, and from what Iason could gather through mere rumour was that she has gained favour with most of The Senate as well. The engagement was to be the final push they needed; the last bit of reassurance. For most of the trip they stayed silent, but it did not feel awkward, and every now and then Iason would join in and wave to the people. He knew this was good for Persephone, and for what they were trying to accomplish.
As they arrived Iason stepped out, offering an arm to Persephone and smiling warmly to any who greeted him. However, few did, everyone’s eyes were on the princess and understandably so, all Iason could really do at this point was follow in her lead. He was happy to do so, after all, he was in a strange place filled with - aside from the nobles and a few guards - people he has never seen before. It was a strange feeling; he was feeling some nerves but appeared calm and seemed to be excited. They ascended the grand marble stairs, King Minas spoke to the manager who informed him of the gladiators, and after waiting a few minutes they continued to the top box within which the royal family and their retinue were situated. Iason took in a deeper breath than usual, the arena reminding him of Taengea and what happened at the chariot race before he came to Athenia. He tried not to alarm Persephone who now stood next to him at the centre in front at the railing, keeping himself calm.
Thousands of eyes staring at you were somewhat nerving, especially knowing what would be announced in but a mere few seconds and then what violence would unfold in your honour in the next few hours. The gladiators were now in the arena, and Iason was no stranger to the game; having grown up watching and even training with them. He understood this was entertainment, but to him it lost that value as soon as the odds became unfair or when animals were pitted against man. It was difficult for the Dimitrou to watch the animals being killed for mere sport and frustrating to see the injustice that unfolded to merely get a louder response from the audience. It was an event Iason did not look forward to sitting through and he could see that neither was the Princess beside him. Iason placed a hand on hers in comfort, but it was rather more to reassure her that she was strong enough to push through it. Although they might not share a passionate love for one another, they understood one another, and therefore would be there for each other in times like these.
Briefly Iason noticed the Stravos family filling the box to the left, but he payed little attention to the crimson figures as King Minas raised his hand to call for silence. There was never complete silence, but it was as quiet as Iason had ever heard it get. He addressed his people and Iason could sense Persephone tensing up and so gave her hand a soft squeeze, accompanied by a gentle smile before he dropped his hand back to his side, getting ready to open the games. The King announced their engagement and for a moment it felt even quieter than before, however, the air was now filled with whispers, none of which Iason’s ears registered as his heart felt like it was standing still. For a moment he felt like he was standing face to face with every Athenian, asking for their acceptance, and he was not even sure if he deserved it. Yet, as the King continued, here they were, cheering and clapping, stamping their feet. Iason was not sure whether they liked the news, fully comprehended what it meant, or just simply wanted the games to begin. Either way, it felt like a weight was lifted from his shoulders and so he, along with Persephone, opened the games.
As expected of a gladiator fight, it was violent and merciless and cruel. People cheered, people gasped, some screamed and there were even those who laughed. Iason kept his face expressionless for the most part, though every now and then he would stay focused on a fighter, observing their skills while occasionally speaking with Persephone. The fights were nearing to an end and Iason felt a slight tug at his arm and saw Persephone reaching for her sister. Iason sighed inwardly, his eyes shifting to the floor for a moment before he refocused them back onto the bloodied arena. She was still too innocent for things like this.
Not long after, the last fight was announced, and so Persephone turned to her father who told her to stand for their House’s champion. Iason didn’t know whether the King was too tired to do so himself, or whether he truly thought it best for Persephone to take his place. Either way, Iason agreed with the King and nodded encouragingly. He watched her as she freed her arm from his and gracefully stood, moving to the railing as the afternoon sun glistened off the gold on her dress and for a moment allowed himself to forget about the past few hours and the following to come.
Vilmar kept his eyes wandering the surroundings of the event. It seemed calm for the moment, but in a moment things could change. His hand rested next to his sword, and his fingers twitched with a mixture of caution and eagerness. He kept his nerves in check, but unlike battle or a patrol, there was a certain formality to the event he found unsettling. There was no way to see the enemy coming, not in a gathering this large. This event would not be like his trail for the position if someone approached he would have to strike first and apologize later on when the damage was done.
It was not the bloodshed that shook Vilmar but the casual nature with which the nobles watched the bloodsport. He had heard of such things in his time. He knew these kinds of games were held on different occasions. Vilmar did not feel saddened by the loss of life or even the violence, and he felt frustration in the fact that the nobles knew so little of battle. To them this appeared real, this was what they thought a battle looked like, and Vilmar began to consider this was how they thought a war went.
Ares had his uses, especially when it came to violence. Vilmar had called upon him in the heat of battle. Cruelty and violence were often part of the tools needed to end a conflict quickly. In the city of Athenia though admittedly there was more to combat. There were no tactics in this, no strategy, just blood for blood sake. Some of the older nobles might have known of combat in their younger days of glory. Now they were all spectators, watching as other men died for them.
Vilmar kept his stature and position standard. His posture was impeccable from years of standing in formations. He looked like a soldier was expected to appear. Despite this, his youthful visage could not hide a slight bit of disdain everytime someone laughed or smiled as the men battled below. He had never been a slave or fought in a pit, but Vilmar had fought for his life before, and he knew he would again. Nothing was entertaining about it.
The young warrior felt some relief when he saw the future queen and her sister not thrilled with the event. At least he was not alone in his dislike of the game. Perhaps it would be something she could change when the Queen came into her role officially. The crowd seemed to enjoy the spectacle all the same, and he wondered if such a thing could be swayed. Persephone probably had a long list of tasks and duties that would require the goodwill of many of the people now gathered enjoying the bloodshed.
He hoped she would be a strong ruler; there were many forms of strength. Vilmar felt honor at being given his new position. He felt honor in protecting the royal family that would rule Athenia. He had put his faith in them, and in Persephone, he hoped the future of the city would reward his loyalty. Only time would tell what was to come next.
Vilmar observed the spectacle as he kept himself within arms reach of the princess should anything occur. Then the Champion began to charge the Royal dais and Vilmar took a step forward. One hand on the hilt of his sword. He grimaced as the man charged forth. It was early in the day to start the games with death, but Champion or not, the protection of the princess was his charge. The metal of his sword glimmered as he began to remove it from the sheath. Something flickered behind Vilmar's eyes; a look Persephone had witnessed once before.
Persephone had not organised the events to be carried out in the gladiator games. Such an idea would have been scoffed at by the arcus manager had she even tried to make a suggestion. Persephone knew better than that. There were just some areas in which a woman's opinion was neither valued nor needed. Including - and sometimes especially - when that woman was noble, or even royal. The choreographing of violent fights within a solely male gladiator arena? That would be one of them.
And so, Persephone knew little of what to expect, as she had stood from her throne and made her way to the balcony's edge. She had looked out over the crown, her spine straight, her gaze forward as she had expected the men to appear from below.
Make an event of it. She had said. It needed to be big and spectacular. Something that made the gladiator she had chosen for champion of her House seem as impressive as possible.
Planning this event - an event that would turn the people of Athenia (or at least the ones who weren't already) to the loyalty of House Xanthos - since she had first laid eyes on Androkles and the effect he had on the denizens of the kingdom, Persephone had been making large donations to the arcus in the king's name. She had done so from her personal pocket and so the coin had not showed up in the kingdom's budget and, as it was a donation and not an income the manage of the arena had not had to pay tax from it.
He had been highly enthusiastic about following her instructions to the letter.
What Persephone had failed to do, however, was take in the man's creativity. For as what seemed like a whole garrison of men strode out into the Arena from the opposite end of the stadium, Persephone was surprised but highly amused to see them wearing the colours of the House of Stravos. Not that anyone could really claim such a thing. Red and Gold were popular shades for royalty or noble Houses and - in fact - the last enemies they had faced, as a kingdom, to the east had worn red and yellow. Plenty of coincidental argument to be had there...
Persephone was careful to keep her smile to herself, even if her eyes brightened.
What then happened, however, Persephone had expected even less.
As the men came forward, marching to the beat of a drum and the sounding of a horn, the people had roared their appreciation for the full battle reenactment they were clearly about to receive for their patience throughout the afternoon. The cheers were strong and eager, a feeling of tension and curiosity flowing around the tiers as the crowds wondered at the identity of the champion announced.
Would he be someone they had seen before? Some wild man the Xanthos House had had hidden away? A foreign gladiator from Colchis or Taengea?
And then everything went quiet for a moment. The people stilled, the opposing army halted. People looked to Persephone...
She froze. Unwilling to show fear or awkwardness on her face. She kept her features plain, her confidence in place. Despite her inner mind being in turmoil. She had no idea if the man was even going to show up. Where the hell was he? What was he waiting for?
Gasps and calls of surprised stuck up from her left and Persephone looked to see nobles and citizens hastening out of the way of something.
She frowned and watched with surprise as - like a charging bull - her championed gladiator came bursting through the crowd, sending everyone recoiling in shock and barrelling right for her, a look of determination on his face that scared her and had her instinctively taking two hurried steps backwards.
The dress made it hard to move, she wobbled a moment and then her back was being supported by a hand. She snapped her head around to see Vilmar reach for his blade as Androkles drew close and Persephone - belatedly realising his aim - reached out to stop the man, a hand on his own where he had reached for the hilt of his blade.
"Hold." She informed him in a tone that was calmer than she felt as she watched with heart in throat as Androkles darted for the balcony.
With a heavy boot slamming into the wall of the dais and sending him through the air like a massive bird of prey - or perhaps a leaping mountain lion - Persephone hurried back to her position and broke propriety to place hands on the railing and lean down to watch as he landed with a somersault and roll.
Her heart pounding with the shock of it all, Persephone placed a hand to her chest and took as deep a breath as she could against the constraints of her gown, feeling light headed. She felt like a foolish and delicate lady of the court - the ones for whom a simple fanning of oneself was too strenuous but she couldn't seem to help it. His arrival had shocked her and the outfit wasn't helping, as she tried to inhale and calm herself down again.
As she did so, she felt animosity rising, wondering if it had been the fighter's idea to keep her ignorant of this whole production or the arcus director's. Either way... someone was going to be getting a strongly worded letter.
Emilia was placed behind her sister as the annoucement for the Xanthos men had been blasted throughout the arena. As the younger of the two sisters, her only duty was to be seen, her presence there so their family and house would look united and strong. So as her sister gazed at the procession with what Emilia could surmise was mild amusement, the younger of the two kept her seat, one hand gently laid on Minas's arm. She found comfort in keeping her father close these days, not at all eager to come to terms with the truth that was his health.
As the cheers reached a great crescendo to greet the line of men who had waited long for their introduction, the girl's hazel eyes flickered over to them... only for her to suddenly realized a chilled silence had fallen across the stadium.
And then, the gasps and surprised calls made Emilia turn to Persephone, a confused look in her gaze. Did her sister plan for this? Persephone had put great thought in ensuring this festival went off without a hitch. Surely she would know what was to come? But to Emilia's surprise, her sister appeared just as surprised as her when the gladiator she had heard her sister had chosen came barreling out into the royal box itself.
The young brunette's first reaction had been to want to stand up to head to Persephone, an instinctive reaction the sisters had during times of duress, to come together and protect each other. But King Minas was quick to lay a hand on his daughter, stilling her actions. Emilia turned a questioning gaze to her father, to see the ailing monarch shake his head at her. "Leave your sister, she has to show her courage in such situation. Besides," he gestured at her with his chin, wearing a proud smile. "She has chosen well for her guard. He does his duty."
Following Minas's gaze, the erratic heartbeat slowed down when she saw the one by her side almost unsheathing his blade, had Persephone not hold his movements. Her eyes followed the movements of the gladiator - noting his muscled body, and tanned skin, before he landed below and out of her view.Eventually settling back into her seat, it was obvious that the King saw his daughter's worried look, for he gently brushed the top of Emilia's hands in a soothing manner. "Do not fret, little one. Your sister knows what she's doing." he murmured, even if he did frown a little to see Persephone's oddly uneven breathing, hand to her chest. It was a sight Emilia had noticed as well. But she chose to trust her father's judgement, and settled back down in her seat again to watch the proceeding fight, her body all tense in anticipation of more blood and gore.
Dawn's gaze darted this way and that as she took in the scope of the arena and all the people within it. Oh look at that woman's chifton, isn't it lovely? Oh what is that man hawking? She inhaled deep but her nose failed to catch the scent and instead was bombarded by ten others. Her eyes closed as she tried to sort through and identify them. So engrossed in this small side project that when she opened them she was a bit befuddled why everyone was so tense...
Her brown eyes wondered around the arena searching for anyone that may be bathed with crimson silk, nope. Her gaze looked down to her lady and she bent down asking in an ever chipper voice, yet quiet enough for it to remain between the two of them. "Wine to ease the excitement, my Lady?" An innocent question. Ah yes, sweet Dawn.
As soon as the gates to the gladiator pits had opened, men dressed in crimson red filed out into the arena and Iason’s eyes flashed towards the Stravos family - who wore the same colours - and then to the King. Was this intentional, perhaps a message of sorts? Iason has heard one or two rumours, and although none he could confirm to be true, he knew that they did not support King Minas’ wish for his daughter to succeed him. The crowds cheered loudly, but the tumult quickly died down and so Iason returned his gaze upon the field. It was quiet, suspense filled the audience and just when some seemed like they could no longer bare it a roar erupted from behind the dais and a gladiator dressed in black and silver came running from beneath.
The warrior set his direction towards the balcony where Persephone now stood and charged at it with a menacing cry, his sword lifted in the air. Iason has seen his fare share of battles such as the one about to unfold, and every time a champion of a House was introduced they would attempt some dramatic display to gain favour early on with the crowd. This one was no different, in fact, it was barely unique and most certainly reckless given their situation. As soon as the gladiator set his sights towards the Royal family Iason knew this man’s intention was merely to gain favour, and not to harm the Princess. However, he stared at the spectacle with little amusement, instead far more taken by the reaction it got out of Vilmar who stood at the ready, hand on his swords' hilt. Iason looked to his own men who stood further back than the guards of Athenia. They were at the ready, their eyes were focused and yet they were standing perfectly still. Like Iason, they too could see from the gladiator’s approach that he was no threat and so they stayed firm.
Iason nodded towards Ptolemy, the head of his guard, in assent. It would not have been favourable for too many to act out against the gladiator’s approach; some may view it as a sign of weak judgement on the Princess’ part. The entire event was so that they may win over the people, the Senate and other Houses. How can they do so if they see Xanthos as incapable of choosing a steadfast champion. Rising from his seat he walked up to Persephone’s side, placing an arm loosely around her before smiling down at her, hoping to ease her nerves and excitement. ”Breathe,” he said, half teasingly, as the crowd quieted down enough for his voice to be heard. Although her reactions were normal, and the excitement that caused her shoulders to heave ever so slightly something none should be denied, she needed to stand taut and regain her decorum.
Focusing his gaze back towards the gladiator who now cut through the crimson force with what seemed like ease he was thankful that the man at least possessed skills on the battlefield as opposed to his skills in judgement. Once the arrows and spears came raining down on those who were still left standing, Iason pulled Persephone in closer, his arm still securely placed around her lower back.
Persephone was thankful that the battle below had not halted or stood for dramatic effect. Instead, the Xanthos Champion had stormed over the balcony, landed agilely on the sandy ground and stormed towards the enemy, leading a battalion drenched in the colours of the House of Xanthos. Such a clash that was met in the centre of the stadium had everyone's eyes pinned on the fight below, allowed her a few seconds to compose herself.
While it was only those who were within spitting distance that might have noticed her distress anyway, the tension she felt in the back of her mind that someone might witness the supposed heir to the throne being jostled and set off balance by the appearance of her own gladiator was a fear that only took her difficulty to breathe higher.
It was in that moment that a hand found its way around her waist and Persephone looked up to find the smiling face of Iason looking down at her. The smile was kind, the eyes compassionate and the single instruction he voiced, low enough for only her to hear, was said in a manner that was neither chastising or penalising. There was no judgement in Iason's manner, face or voice - just a simple fact that she needed to obey and follow.
Swallowing, Persephone did as he said, straining the confines of her gown for several deep breaths that would allow her mind to clear and the thoughts to calm.
Smiling back at her new fiancé when she felt her collected manners fall back into place she dipped her eyeline in thanks.
Looking out across the arcus where her people had been roused to their feet to cheer at the victory of the Xanthos Champion and his brethren against the evil Stravos-decorated enemy, Persephone took a quick glimpse towards the Stravos box, curious as to their reaction.
Upon meeting the eye of her cousin, Lord Elias, she did little besides twist her lips into something that might have been considered a smile and leant into Iason's side as he tightened his grip around her waist.
Standing as a couple now, the two of them watched the fight progress only to have Persephone stiffen once more when a shower of arrows suddenly bombarded the Xanthos warriors from above.
Keeping her lips close together and her chlamys in place, only Iason - standing so close and their sides together - would have noticed Persephone's short gasp of horror as the raining weapons struck shields but also bodies.
Had the fighters been told this would happen? Clearly not, for many of them fell to the onslaught.
While she understood that gladiator fights were real and not some show, this entire event was orchestrated to show the greatness of Xanthos - not to kill off its most prosperous young fighters.
Tense and taut beside her betrothed, Persephone found her gaze seeking out the only one of the Xanthos fighters who wore more obvious silver in his armour and had lost sight of the man entirely, beneath the roof of shields the unit had formed.
It wasn't until the Xanthos fighters were sent back towards the other end of the stadium - her end of the stadium - that she spotted him backing away from the fight, his shield raised protectively.
As he drew close she noted the blood running down one of his arms - clearly, he had not escaped the first foray without injury - and she found her heart hammering in panic. The man was going to think she had talked him into becoming her House's Champion only to be waylaid in the arena and sent to his death. He would never trust her or their arrangements again!
Persephone had half a mind to seek out the arcus director and put a stop to the fight here and now, but of course she knew this to be impossible.
She would simply have to trust in her choice of fighter - that he would survive not only the match but his suspicions regarding her honesty also.
It was when the fighters in Xanthos colours were backed all the way towards the gladiators' entrance beneath the royal box that Persephone's will was tested again.
This time, it was tested by the people, as they dropped to a quiet and curious hum of noise over the apparent defeat of the Xanthos forces. Standing straight and proud and placing a hand on the railing of the balcony to show her relaxed state, Persephone simply stood and waited, internally praying that the day was not about to fall into one of desperation and humiliation for her House and father.
This had been one thing she had been able to do for her ailing king. The one thing she had set out to do herself, through her own initiative. They could have simply held the games. There had been no need for the addition of a Champion of Xanthos. There had been no desperation to have a representative among the people. But Persephone had thought it a good idea and had been proud to act upon it. To make that choice on behalf of her father and king.
She offered up a silent prayer to Ares that she had not been mistaken in her choice.
It was at that moment - as if in answer to her prayers - that the gladiator she had indeed chosen, had somehow made it to the upper walls at the other end of the arena.
Like a wild animal he sprinted across the high ledge that ran the length of the structure, ducking and avoiding arrows as he got close enough for the enemy archers to spot him.
Leaping for his foes, the warrior hacked and destroyed the men who had dared to fire down upon him and his men, throwing bodies over the side of the ledge and down into the stands.
Another moment of tension flowed through Persephone as she noted the bodies to be falling on the innocent members of her populace but she was pleased to see them quickly stepping back and out of the way.
The denizens of Athenia roared their approval of the brutality of it all as the Xanthos Champion succeeded in removing the last of the archers from the game. For it was a game that he was playing. That Persephone did not need to be close in order to see. He ran and moved with energy and exuberance. Like a child accepting a challenge. She had seen it in his eyes when the man had refused to bow to her authority and she saw it in the swing of his muscles now.
To Androkles, the balance of life and death - the walking of the fine tightrope between - was all simply a game...
Princess Persephone's voice was one of the only things that could stay Vilmar's hand and blade. He still found it difficult to not give into his battle lust. The fires of youth ever burned in him eager for the release of battle. He had trained himself to listen for her voice, the tone of it. She did not give direct orders often, but when she did, he attended. Vilmar was still young, but he took the role of bodyguard seriously. When he observed the skill of the gladiator, he was glad his blade was not tested that day.
Vilmar improved the impressive display of battle skill that the gladiator provided. It was different than that of a soldier. There was a certain flair to the way the man moved. He could understand the appeal of it to the crowd. It seemed the Princess had chosen her champion well. He made quick work of his opponents in a bloody assault. He doubted the other fighters had much chance.
He looked down at the dirt and blood covered faces of the archers tossed down. For a brief moment, he felt doubt as he looked around at his surroundings. The lifeless eyes of the men on the dirt floor looking back at him. The spectators were cheering approval of the open display below. Was there any honor in this? They had died a warriors death at least, and he would see them when the end came perhaps. One final field of battle to test them all.
Vilmar often wondered what his life might entail if he had chosen a different path or been born to another family. Would he still be a warrior? Perhaps he would be one of the men resting in the sand below now. Life seemed so fleeting at times and squandered so recklessly. Had he done well with his own life? He tried to use the gifts the gods had provided him, and yet he wondered if he squandered his opportunities. Would he be remembered, or just another face in the sand when it was all done. In the quiet of the shadows behind the Princess, he swore to himself that whatever came next, he would not waste the chances he was offered.
The royal bodyguard observed the rest of the battle below unfold much the same. The champion carving his way through any opponent. Vilmar kept one hand steady on his sword. It rested back in the hilt as commanded. He was still uneasy with so many armed individuals around the Princess. There were undoubtedly less now that the event was coming to an end. He would be glad when the whole celebration was over.
The last match was appropriately deadly, gruesome, loud and all done to showcase the greatness that was the elected gladiators to represent the royal house -everything that Emilia flinched at. Her father perpetually soothed his youngest with his thumb rubbing over her hands, as the young one sat stock still, pale and disliking every second of witnessing the barbaric fight that went on below. Why again, did humans enjoy watching such dastardly acts?
The end of the fight as the Xanthos fighters were sent back, only then did Emilia breathe again, her shoulders losing their rock-hard like state upon the conclusion of the rampant brutality that had taken place in the arcus. The cheers of the people as the Xanthos champion her sister had picked out tossed aside archers and foe alike as if they were sacks of potatoes - they may like it, Emilia simply found it brutal. Dawn's offer of wine had done well in easing her dislike and horror, and she had downed two chalices of it by the end of it all.
No one more eager then her to exit the arcus, as the announcement went up on the victory of the gladiator representing their house, Emilia found herself rising with her father, who headed to Persephone with an approving smile for his elder offspring.
After an appropriate time had went past for the crowd to sufficiently cheer and for the royal family to ensure all was well, the guards were well versed in their duty to come forward and begin escorting their charges to the arranged closed carriages that were readied at the entrance of the arcus to ferry them to their next destination of the day. Emilia gave one last sweep of the arcus and the royal family boxes - watching with a raised brow as the Stravos family left along with everyone else before she was shuffled to the exits by her guards and slaves.
Behind them, the horn blasted loud and long to signify the end of the Arcus games, while people poured out the commoner entrances, chattering, and adrenaline obvious in the crowds. At the foot of the private steps designated for the usage of the royal family and their retainers, Emilia kissed her father's whiskered cheek as he was led with assistance to a separate carriage to return to the palace, before waiting for her sister to arrive so that they could take the same carriage to the central palateia.
Arrows and spears rained down upon the unsuspecting warriors and though some fell, unable to raise their shields in time, others were quick, reflexes and dexterity not failing them today. The champion was among the first of the men to have his shield up, and he was also the first to call to the others to urge them to rally together; an idea no other Gladiator seemed eager to turn down. They gathered together, forming barriers at their sides and atop their heads as they moved in unison towards the entrance. However, there will always be weakness in such a defence and a good archer would know where to find them and so those at the sides fell easily as the champion and a handful of men managed to scurry away like a turtle hidden underneath its shell.
The Xanthos warriors disappeared from his view completely and by simply listening to the crowd Iason had known that they were no longer even in the audience’ sightlines. Had the champion retreated? No, perhaps the men that were with him would lay down their shields and curse at the walls in defeat, but not the man that made a spectacle of himself upon his entrance. Men like that would rather fight to the death, until their very last breath, before they just retreated into the shadows.
Persephone stood firm, strong, and although Iason could sense she felt slightly fearful due to all the uncertainty, she showed her resolve to her people as they instinctively looked to her for answers. Suddenly, as if to assure their King of their devotion, the crowd began to cheer out for Xanthos, calling for the warrior they seen but moments ago. Out of the corner of Iason’s eye he noticed a body drop, and soon two, three, four had followed. The gladiator seemed to have a few more braincells than what Iason had previously given him credit for, and for the first time the Lord found himself intrigued. However, his facial expression remained unresponsive, his eyes merely following the sight of bodies splintering into the stands. A mixture of panic and excitement came from the crowd as they moved accordingly, and thankfully so. It was often part of the game, even in Chariot races, that the spectators would get involved and somehow injured. It was part of the promise of the entertainment. Still, the last thing they needed was for the casualties to be unfavourable.
The last archer fell and the champion along with the gladiators that aided him in his victory stood triumphantly. It was over.
The fighters were gone, the crowds’ cheers were dulling down, and some were already hurrying toward the exits to make it to the next event in time. After the King was escorted safely to a separate carriage that would be heading to the palace, Iason, along with Persephone and the younger Princess, Emilia, set off to their next destination.