Hmph. [ Despite the fact that he sounds like he doubts it, Mydeimos smiles at hearing his fearless declaration. ] Then come with me and show me what you're made of.
[ He gestures for Phainon to follow now, heading away from his throne, followed by a few guards who seem to jostle each other excitedly. He takes his captive-gift down to the training yards, finding a spot that's unoccupied.
Oddly enough, the people around do not seem surprised to see Mydeimos. Instead, he sweeps part of his cloak to the side, the gauntlets on his hands gleaming dangerously. ]
Use your sword; it won't help you.
[ And with that smug command, he rushes Phainon.
The spar is fierce. Phainon draws gold blood from Mydeimos and the king leaves his own bruises and scrapes courtesy of his gauntlets. The tide of the spar ebbs and flows; after an hour, it's clear to any spectators that they are evenly matched, unable to claim the win and refusing to lose.
It's only the appearance of an advisor looking flustered and worried that, when they are circling, has Mydei raising a hand to call an end to the spar. ]
The conqueror is smug, but Phainon has been moulded into a warrior, too. It is why he volunteered, why he came: he can survive whatever brute force this man offers, and he will come out the other side unscathed, stronger for it. The others in his hometown are strong, but his brawn is a fair trade for their brains, and he can admit where he falters.
Bruised and battered, he hurts, he aches, but he survives it. He doesn't have much of a choice, does he?
He has to keep his head high.
When they're done, he's panting, breathing hard, glaring at the man in front of him. His sword lowers as he sees the newcomer, and he nods. ]
[ Mydei leans his head down to listen to the advisor for a moment; irritation flares over his face but he merely nods before beckoning Phainon and a slave over.
As Phainon approaches, his eyes linger on him for a moment, taking in the sour expression and the way he catches his breath before he addresses the slave directly. ]
See that he's taken care of as a guest of mine. He can use the connected rooms to stay in.
[ That means Phainon will be treated like a royal guest; the room makes the slave look surprised for a moment before he smooths out his expression. It's not a guest room; it's reserved for the King's partner. After giving his instructions, Mydei gives Phainon another assessing look. ]
You're free to move around. If you wish to leave the Castrum itself, a guard will accompany you. If they bar you entry somewhere, don't push it.
You can take dinner wherever you'd like to; I won't be present for it today.
[ That is directed to both people in front of him, and with that statement Mydei moves to sweep away. ]
There's an implication there, one that he isn't entirely sure that he is a fan of. It's discomforting, and he watches the prince for a moment before he breathes out a sharp, irritated sound and nods his head.
It's not as though he has much of a choice, is it?
No.
His face doesn't flinch, and he turns to look at the servant before he pushes his hair from his face. ]
Fine. Thanks.
[ And off he goes, likely to be bothered that evening. ]
[ He's surprised he's thanked at all; then again, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae probably doesn't want to do anything that will disrespect him outright. He follows the advisor away, listening to them as they speak.
It's not anything dire, but it can't be put off; resupply requests, the needs of recently conquered towns - Aedes Elysiae among them; another letter from Okhema that he must read and respond to. It keeps him working past when he'd normally take dinner with his generals and, now, Phainon; he eats while he writes and dictates.
A few hours after that, he finishes, leaving his assembly in order to retreat to his rooms. The rooms are lavish, furnished in the spoils of war and relics from kings before his time.
And, the connected door is open. He doesn't know if a servant opened it; likely so. That Phainon has not closed it yet is a surprise. So, he strides to it, knocking a golden gauntlet on the doorframe. ]
[ Phainon spends the next few hours pacing in his room and thinking.
There's not much he can do about the people who are stuck under this prince's hand. He has to protect his people, first and foremost, no matter what else he might want to do, and that means he has to obey. It doesn't mean he has to like it, but he has to find more ways of ensuring that the people near him are safe, especially with how little he trusts the other man.
At least he can stand up to him in a fight. His training has paid off - though he thinks in a bout with real swords and proper aggression behind it, then he might end up on the back foot. That's something to keep in mind.
If Phainon thought for a moment he wouldn't get scolded or shamed for shutting the door, he would've demanded some privacy for himself - but he knows why he was sent here. He's a prize to be claimed and a hostage in negotiation, and the expectation there is that Prince Mydeimos will use him for his pleasures, whatever those might be.
Turning at the sound of the knock, he tries to school his face. ]
[ Mydeimos stays in the doorway, folding his arms over his chest. He seems to be assessing the room's state and Phainon himself again before he speaks. ]
Evening. Have you eaten yet, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae? Bathed?
[ He assumes the former; he's not sure of the latter. ]
[ Phainon has to physically resist the urge to scowl.
This is Mydeimos' kingdom. He is a pawn, here, sent to protect his people, and he can't risk them or their future. His own life might not matter, but theirs does, more than anything else in the world. That means he has to play the game of being polite. ]
I've eaten, but I wasn't certain where the baths were.
[ Mydeimos gives Phainon a flat look before he raises a hand, gesturing with armor-covered fingers for Phainon to follow him. ]
Most baths are shared. Kremnoans have little to hide.
[ So don't be surprised if he bathes elsewhere. For now, Mydeimos may be undying, but his status means that he's afforded the privacy of a bath attached to his room. He leads Phainon through the door, where the water is kept hot.
He waits for Phainon to step in before he shuts the door behind both of them. ]
[ Phainon opens his mouth to argue, to say something about that doesn't help me find them, does it? before his jaw snaps shut, and he forces himself not to.
He has to be good. It's a mantra in his head.
It's easier to follow after the prince, slipping through the room towards where the bath is. When the door closes behind them, his shoulders tense, and his head turns, expression tightly controlled.
[ Mydeimos makes no move to get closer to him, with killing intent or otherwise. Instead, he drops his gaze to his gauntlets, beginning to undo the clasps that keep them in place. ]
You're welcome.
[ So the prince turned king does have manners after all. He continues to not pay attention to Phainon as he continues removing his armor and setting it aside, and then shrugging off his cloak, stripping perfunctorily. ]
[ Phainon blinks, and stares, and then it dawns on him. People in this culture bathe together, which surely means that Mydeimos intends for them to share a bath, and the utter irritation he feels is a bitter pill to swallow. He instantly wants to turn around and walk away, to come back later, but at the same time he has no desire to lose some imaginary contest of wills.
He has to play along.
Slowly, he begins to tug off his own things, his own leathers, his coat, hesitating as he folds them and places them aside.
It feels awkward, but he knows it isn't. He's bathed with other warriors before, but it's never been as tense as this, and he can feel it in the air. ]
[ Mydeimos would surely make conversation if this was a bath shared with a comrade in arms. Instead, the silence is stifling and almost oppressive, and he acts as if he doesn't feel it at all. Stripped bare, as if uncaring if Phainon is hiding a blade anywhere, he strides to the bath. (The tattoos, indeed, cover all of his body.)
He leans over to test the heat of the water and then steps in with a faint sigh - as if he's done anything of note to warrant the ache in his muscles, outside of the spar with Phainon. He finally turns his head to follow Phainon's movements with his gaze. ]
[ It feels wrong, and awkward, and entirely out of place. It also speaks to the prince's belief in himself, willing to strip down and be bared in front of someone who absolutely wanted him dead; if Phainon was somehow less honourable, he might try to attack him where he stands. The fact that he is confident enough in his own abilities is irritating, even if Phainon does respect it.
Even if his eyes do trace tattoos.
Skin prickling from the gaze of another man on him, he bites back the urge to protest, shedding his layers. The collar remains in place, resting around his neck, but everything else is placed gently aside before he makes his way over and settles into the warm water, too, eyes closing and a soft sigh stumbling from his lips. ]
[ In truth he expects an attempt on his life at some point. He'd respect it, as much as it wouldn't stick for long. Many people assume the undying moniker is a title and not a fact, after all.
Phainon doesn't, and even joins him in the bath, as reluctant as he obviously is. That pleases Mydeimos; something about this man intrigues him despite himself. Makes him want to prod at him and delight in his reactions, good or bad.
He cows some of that urge as he reaches down to cup water and run it through his hair, reaching up to begin to undo the braid on the side of his head. ]
You won't be able to hide in the room forever.
[ He states it blandly. ]
Should you wish to read up on your enemy, I can show you where the library is tomorrow.
[ Phainon sits, tense, for a long while, not sure of what he ought to do - other than the obvious, and just bathe.
It's infuriating and baffling to see the prince so casual, but he's earned that right. He's earned it through his strength and dedicated to the craft of war, and even if Phainon doesn't respect him, he can respect that. He recognises and understands a good warrior, thinks he can see it in himself sometimes, and so he just... Sits.
Wallowing in his own misery, in the most literal of senses.
[ Despite the taunt in his voice, there's a curl of curiosity despite himself, one he doesn't bother to hide. He keeps an eye on Phainon as he speaks, taking the time to observe his body closer.
That the collar remains almost makes him smirk. He knew Phainon had to be in shape to keep up with him during their duel, but now he can drink in the fruits of that labor - the broadness of his chest and shoulders, the scars he sports that Mydeimos himself lacks. The golden sun and its path swooping across his neck has him pausing.
[ It feels like more of a confession than anything else he's offered so far.
Phainon doesn't want to be more vulnerable with this man, doesn't want to offer any of that softness to someone who was nothing more than a conqueror. He's rational enough to know that sharing a part of himself will ease the tension between them, and they might be able to at least tolerate each other.
... Even if he can feel those eyes on him, his skin prickling. ]
There weren't too many to find at home, but I could read about them.
[ It sound dismissive, like it might be the end of it - and then Mydeimos speaks again as he reaches for a hair oil to work into his. ]
Not everyone has a history that endures like the Kremnoans. It is a respectable effort to learn of those societies who came before us, especially those who have been lost to time or war.
[ Archeology is not much of a pasttime in Kremnos, when you can find slates and paper dating back to the first Gorgo. That is not the case with other nations, and Mydeimos knows Castrum Kremnos has had a hand in those lost societies. ]
[ There's an easy jab to be made there - that few places have the history the Kremnoans have because they have been invaded or conquered - but Phainon bites his tongue. He doesn't want to start another fight, especially not here, where they are both so unguarded.
Instead, his eyes dark to one side, away from the naked slope of the prince. ]
That is what I enjoy most. Seeing what people, what societies were left in the past.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ He stands from his throne, sweeping his way down - brushing past Phainon, clearly with the expectation that he'll follow him. ]
How experienced are you in combat?
[ Lest he think Mydei intends to renege on his statement: ]
I desire a sparring partner who can keep up with me.
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[ And Phainon is confident in that, lifting his head to stare at Mydei. He's not afraid of him.
Maybe he should be, but he isn't.
That fear was ripped from him with his freedom. ]
I'll be able to keep up with you.
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[ He gestures for Phainon to follow now, heading away from his throne, followed by a few guards who seem to jostle each other excitedly. He takes his captive-gift down to the training yards, finding a spot that's unoccupied.
Oddly enough, the people around do not seem surprised to see Mydeimos. Instead, he sweeps part of his cloak to the side, the gauntlets on his hands gleaming dangerously. ]
Use your sword; it won't help you.
[ And with that smug command, he rushes Phainon.
The spar is fierce. Phainon draws gold blood from Mydeimos and the king leaves his own bruises and scrapes courtesy of his gauntlets. The tide of the spar ebbs and flows; after an hour, it's clear to any spectators that they are evenly matched, unable to claim the win and refusing to lose.
It's only the appearance of an advisor looking flustered and worried that, when they are circling, has Mydei raising a hand to call an end to the spar. ]
Enough.
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It is what he was born for.
The conqueror is smug, but Phainon has been moulded into a warrior, too. It is why he volunteered, why he came: he can survive whatever brute force this man offers, and he will come out the other side unscathed, stronger for it. The others in his hometown are strong, but his brawn is a fair trade for their brains, and he can admit where he falters.
Bruised and battered, he hurts, he aches, but he survives it. He doesn't have much of a choice, does he?
He has to keep his head high.
When they're done, he's panting, breathing hard, glaring at the man in front of him. His sword lowers as he sees the newcomer, and he nods. ]
Fine with me.
"would he have slaves" yeah ....
As Phainon approaches, his eyes linger on him for a moment, taking in the sour expression and the way he catches his breath before he addresses the slave directly. ]
See that he's taken care of as a guest of mine. He can use the connected rooms to stay in.
[ That means Phainon will be treated like a royal guest; the room makes the slave look surprised for a moment before he smooths out his expression. It's not a guest room; it's reserved for the King's partner. After giving his instructions, Mydei gives Phainon another assessing look. ]
You're free to move around. If you wish to leave the Castrum itself, a guard will accompany you. If they bar you entry somewhere, don't push it.
You can take dinner wherever you'd like to; I won't be present for it today.
[ That is directed to both people in front of him, and with that statement Mydei moves to sweep away. ]
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There's an implication there, one that he isn't entirely sure that he is a fan of. It's discomforting, and he watches the prince for a moment before he breathes out a sharp, irritated sound and nods his head.
It's not as though he has much of a choice, is it?
No.
His face doesn't flinch, and he turns to look at the servant before he pushes his hair from his face. ]
Fine. Thanks.
[ And off he goes, likely to be bothered that evening. ]
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It's not anything dire, but it can't be put off; resupply requests, the needs of recently conquered towns - Aedes Elysiae among them; another letter from Okhema that he must read and respond to. It keeps him working past when he'd normally take dinner with his generals and, now, Phainon; he eats while he writes and dictates.
A few hours after that, he finishes, leaving his assembly in order to retreat to his rooms. The rooms are lavish, furnished in the spoils of war and relics from kings before his time.
And, the connected door is open. He doesn't know if a servant opened it; likely so. That Phainon has not closed it yet is a surprise. So, he strides to it, knocking a golden gauntlet on the doorframe. ]
no subject
There's not much he can do about the people who are stuck under this prince's hand. He has to protect his people, first and foremost, no matter what else he might want to do, and that means he has to obey. It doesn't mean he has to like it, but he has to find more ways of ensuring that the people near him are safe, especially with how little he trusts the other man.
At least he can stand up to him in a fight. His training has paid off - though he thinks in a bout with real swords and proper aggression behind it, then he might end up on the back foot. That's something to keep in mind.
If Phainon thought for a moment he wouldn't get scolded or shamed for shutting the door, he would've demanded some privacy for himself - but he knows why he was sent here. He's a prize to be claimed and a hostage in negotiation, and the expectation there is that Prince Mydeimos will use him for his pleasures, whatever those might be.
Turning at the sound of the knock, he tries to school his face. ]
Good evening.
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Evening. Have you eaten yet, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae? Bathed?
[ He assumes the former; he's not sure of the latter. ]
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This is Mydeimos' kingdom. He is a pawn, here, sent to protect his people, and he can't risk them or their future. His own life might not matter, but theirs does, more than anything else in the world. That means he has to play the game of being polite. ]
I've eaten, but I wasn't certain where the baths were.
[ He wasn't going to just wander off to look. ]
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Most baths are shared. Kremnoans have little to hide.
[ So don't be surprised if he bathes elsewhere. For now, Mydeimos may be undying, but his status means that he's afforded the privacy of a bath attached to his room. He leads Phainon through the door, where the water is kept hot.
He waits for Phainon to step in before he shuts the door behind both of them. ]
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He has to be good. It's a mantra in his head.
It's easier to follow after the prince, slipping through the room towards where the bath is. When the door closes behind them, his shoulders tense, and his head turns, expression tightly controlled.
Seems silly to kill him here, doesn't it? ]
... Thank you.
no subject
You're welcome.
[ So the prince turned king does have manners after all. He continues to not pay attention to Phainon as he continues removing his armor and setting it aside, and then shrugging off his cloak, stripping perfunctorily. ]
no subject
He has to play along.
Slowly, he begins to tug off his own things, his own leathers, his coat, hesitating as he folds them and places them aside.
It feels awkward, but he knows it isn't. He's bathed with other warriors before, but it's never been as tense as this, and he can feel it in the air. ]
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He leans over to test the heat of the water and then steps in with a faint sigh - as if he's done anything of note to warrant the ache in his muscles, outside of the spar with Phainon. He finally turns his head to follow Phainon's movements with his gaze. ]
no subject
Even if his eyes do trace tattoos.
Skin prickling from the gaze of another man on him, he bites back the urge to protest, shedding his layers. The collar remains in place, resting around his neck, but everything else is placed gently aside before he makes his way over and settles into the warm water, too, eyes closing and a soft sigh stumbling from his lips. ]
no subject
Phainon doesn't, and even joins him in the bath, as reluctant as he obviously is. That pleases Mydeimos; something about this man intrigues him despite himself. Makes him want to prod at him and delight in his reactions, good or bad.
He cows some of that urge as he reaches down to cup water and run it through his hair, reaching up to begin to undo the braid on the side of his head. ]
You won't be able to hide in the room forever.
[ He states it blandly. ]
Should you wish to read up on your enemy, I can show you where the library is tomorrow.
no subject
It's infuriating and baffling to see the prince so casual, but he's earned that right. He's earned it through his strength and dedicated to the craft of war, and even if Phainon doesn't respect him, he can respect that. He recognises and understands a good warrior, thinks he can see it in himself sometimes, and so he just... Sits.
Wallowing in his own misery, in the most literal of senses.
Jumping a little as Mydeimos blinks, he frowns. ]
I'd rather read the histories.
[ He's not going to cheat to win. ]
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[ Despite the taunt in his voice, there's a curl of curiosity despite himself, one he doesn't bother to hide. He keeps an eye on Phainon as he speaks, taking the time to observe his body closer.
That the collar remains almost makes him smirk. He knew Phainon had to be in shape to keep up with him during their duel, but now he can drink in the fruits of that labor - the broadness of his chest and shoulders, the scars he sports that Mydeimos himself lacks. The golden sun and its path swooping across his neck has him pausing.
Tattoo, birthmark, or blessing? ]
no subject
[ It feels like more of a confession than anything else he's offered so far.
Phainon doesn't want to be more vulnerable with this man, doesn't want to offer any of that softness to someone who was nothing more than a conqueror. He's rational enough to know that sharing a part of himself will ease the tension between them, and they might be able to at least tolerate each other.
... Even if he can feel those eyes on him, his skin prickling. ]
There weren't too many to find at home, but I could read about them.
no subject
[ It sound dismissive, like it might be the end of it - and then Mydeimos speaks again as he reaches for a hair oil to work into his. ]
Not everyone has a history that endures like the Kremnoans. It is a respectable effort to learn of those societies who came before us, especially those who have been lost to time or war.
[ Archeology is not much of a pasttime in Kremnos, when you can find slates and paper dating back to the first Gorgo. That is not the case with other nations, and Mydeimos knows Castrum Kremnos has had a hand in those lost societies. ]
no subject
Instead, his eyes dark to one side, away from the naked slope of the prince. ]
That is what I enjoy most. Seeing what people, what societies were left in the past.
[ He almost smiles. ]
Their stories, their beliefs, their worlds.