Ilias I: Through Another's Eyes
The Eleventh Day of the Third Moon, 873 AD.
Anaria, Western Teleytaios, Klironomea.
He went through the motions that had been drilled into him time and time again, not daring to disappoint the matron and master a second time. He still had a black eye from when he'd slept in and been woken up in a most stinging way, the master throwing out a punch really quite hard and the matron's temper being brought to boil, and for what? Because he'd accidentally slept longer than he'd meant to? He wasn't too worried anyway; the master hit hard, but the matron hit a hell of a lot harder. Not that he'd ever voice any of that out loud, of course. He wasn't suicidal, thank you very much.
He did his best to put the events of last week out of his mind and focus on his dancing, and the 'encouragement' of the master.
"Relevé my sweet, on point, en garde!"
He forced himself not to grit his teeth, nor to show any displeasure whatsoever. He needed to maintain complete composure if he wanted to get out.
There was someone new that night. He hadn't ever known royalty to enter such establishments before, especially someone as young as this one seemed to be; the boy that walked in couldn't have been much older than he was, maybe a little younger in honesty. And he was royalty, there could be no mistaking it no matter the roughspun cowl about his frame. He walked too surely, his face was too well-coloured and healthy, he was at the very least a lord.
Wait, was that... yes, surely it was. But Ilias had never... this wasn't his memory. This was... it couldn't be a dream, it was too real, but...
The young royal paid for the night with him. More than anyone had ever paid before as well, a full gold coin. Then there was nothing. No expectations, no disgusting acts, no fear. They just... sat there and talked for a while. Come the morning he was out of the matron's house and led in a featherbed in the honest-to-Saints royal palace whilst the prince curled up in a chair and tried to sleep there. Strange how it all worked out, especially as this wasn't his memory.
The young cupbearer shot awake with a heavy gasp. That dream, that memory, it all felt so real, but it couldn't have been his. He was all to aware of his own memories, but he could taste copper in his mouth, his feet still ached from the hours of dancing, and the area around his left eye still felt tender, as though he had really been punched.
Peculiar.
He shook his head and readied himself. He had work to do today, and he couldn't waste time on strange dreams and the like, no matter how much his prince seemed to do so in his spare time. Still, perhaps Seventh could be approached and asked about this matter? Ilias thought he got on well enough with the seer to warrant a few curious questions answered at least.
Then again, maybe not. The details of the dream were already being forgotten, flitting away like leaves on a cold breeze. He shook his head and left his room. First things first, getting his Grace his morning meal so that he might break his fast. Shouldn't take long.
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The previous day had been... tense, he thought as he moved with practiced ease through crowds of courtiers and throngs of petitioners, making his way through the palace. His Grace was well within his rights to do what he did, by Ilias' estimations anyway, but the young cupbearer hadn't been stupid enough to think that the execution of every dissident nobleman would leave no mark on the prince's reputation. Not that Ilias cared much for those fops.
Even so, there was a danger there. Rhema was supposed to be the wild and impulsive one, not Lykourgos. He would support his prince and ruler to the very end, with no reservations, but he knew others wouldn't see things this way.
But, he reasoned as he weaved through a particularly dense group of people, he wasn't being impulsive. Just extreme.
A chill ran up his spine at that thought. Lykourgos was caring and kind with a strange and, at times, mildly awkward sense of humour, but he was nothing if not practical. Ilias knew the royal would have his reasons, but then he had a rough idea as to what they might be anyway. He hadn't pressed for reasons when discussing it with his prince a few days prior, but he didn't need to. His Grace would have his own reasons, and that was good enough for him.
The lowborns had loved the display. The death of the last of the criminals who'd led the kingdom into two civil wars had filled the crowds of the poor and downtrodden with a sense of elation that was almost palpable. Admittedly you had to stretch the truth a little to reach the conclusion that the nobles had caused the civil wars, but they were if nothing else major factors and players both.
He shook his head and got his thoughts back on track, the motion earning him a confused glance from a serving girl he darted past. The tray in his hands moved slightly as he made to pass yet another early morning crowd, but he was very good at his job, and therefore not a single thing spilled or otherwise fell.
The elation of the crowd had been palpable, but the part that stuck with him was that he had not been immune to the twisted sense of joy that permeated the crowd as justice was passed down. They'd all known injustice at the hands of a lord, or else knew of someone who did, in the years since the rebellion. It made sense, in a strange way; before the rebellion the lords and ladies all had pretty stone castles far from their lowborn subjects, but with their exodus to the capital after the Twilight Rebellion there were so many more of them than normal in one place, with their 'noble rights' and 'privileges' and their Angels-damned self-aggrandisation that at some point almost everyone was bound to have known some noble twat flaunting their almost untouchable status to the lowborns around them no matter how they acted towards their lessers. He'd enjoyed stealing from them.
And the fact that he'd enjoyed watching them take a short fall with a sudden stop was... a little frightening, if nothing else. He'd at least covered up his joy as best he could under Master Elikoidi's judging eyes, but he couldn't hide it from himself.
At last he arrived at the hall he'd been meaning to get to. Before him was the door to the prince's chambers, guarded by a stern-faced Dreamwulf and a tired yet anxious Eros. Ilias smiled at the young squire as he approached, and received a half-smile half-sorry-about-the-shouting expression in response. Ilias turned away from the squire and did his best to appear as neutral as possible whilst he held out the tray of nettle-tea in his hands.
"Are they... still going?"
Dreamwulf sighed as Eros remained silent.
"Yep."
"This is his Grace's tea, with some food to break his fast."
"Indeed?"
Ilias nodded, before remembering who he was speaking with and verbally reaffirming his nod.
"Indeed. But... he cannot break his fast if he has not yet slept, can he?"
"Nope. I'll make sure he has something to eat and drink before he sleeps though, don't you worry."
Ilias sighed a little at the blind bodyguard before turning back to look at Eros. Eros was nice, if somewhat naïve, and though by his own admission he might not have conducted himself well in battle he was a fine swordsman. If Ilias had to guess then he suspected that a career as a bodyguard would be far better suited to the squire. It was the cupbearer's job to notice things like that, amongst a great many other things, according to Master Elikoidi. It wasn't his fault if he happened to notice a fair bit more when looking at Eros compared to anyone else.
He opened his mouth to speak to the squire when there was a crashing noise from inside the prince's chambers, followed closely by a great deal of what sounded like very angry shouting, some very tart retorts, and then a truly prodigious use of curses.
Ilias nodded at Eros, almost as though giving him permission to eavesdrop, and pressed his ear to the door.
"WHY WON'T YOU LISTEN TO MY FUCKING-"
"BECAUSE IT'S INSANE YOU SAINT'S-DAMNED WHORESON!"
That word. Whoreson. As soon as it was said all other noises fell quiet. There was a dangerous silence in the room now. Dreamwulf felt it, Eros felt it, Ilias felt it. The blind bodyguard's grip tensed on the haft of his billhook, and he seemed to be fighting the urge to march into the room himself.
Whoreson. There were very few words they all knew Lykourgos hated; he didn't mind being called a bastard, or illegitimate, or even base-born, though Ilias knew they stung more than the prince let on, but whoreson?
Ilias knew that Lykourgos had never known his mother. As far as he could tell very few people knew who she was, if she still lived at all. On most days being called a whoreson might have stung the prince a little, but for someone as close to Lykourgos as Ser Romanos was to insinuate that the prince had been conceived on some quite potentially unwilling camp whore whilst on the march to some battle somewhere, and all of that after some twelve constant hours of arguing and shouting... people used so often as a generic insult that Ilias had almost forgotten that there was a very real chance that Lykourgos was literally a whoreson.
It seemed Romanos may have forgotten that as well.
Whoreson. The word rang like a bell in the cupbearer's head as he took a few measured steps back from the door and swallowed. Eros shot him what was probably supposed to be a reassuring look, but really just conveyed what must have been a horrible mixture of bad feelings about what was going on in the room directly behind him.
The silence continued a few moments longer before the conversation in the room wrapped up with a few words spoken in hushed tones, far too quiet for Ilias to make out.
The door suddenly burst open, startling Eros and causing the squire to jump a mile. Ser Romanos stormed out of the chamber with a thunderous scowl on his face, whipping his neck to his left and motioning for Eros to join him with a slightly shaking hand.
"Eros. Fall in. Cupbearer. See to his Grace."
And then he marched down the corridor with very, very heavy footsteps. Eros moved to leave as well, shooting Ilias a small smile and a little wave, which the cupbearer gladly returned. It was nice of Eros to try and put him at ease, not that such a thing was needed; Ilias had seen a much tougher life than the squire, but it was the thought that counted. It was... endearing was the right word, he thought.
Soon afterwards Master Elikoidi walked out, looking tired and taut but at least far less angry than Ser Romanos had.
"Ah, Ilias. I would like you to fetch his Grace some proper food as well as his tea. Ale as well may be appreciated. Oh, while I remember, I would like to speak with you tonight as well on some matters of great personal importance to the both of us. An old friend of yours will be in attendance."
Ilias nodded, ignoring the shiver that ran down his spine and the sense of vague dread in his stomach.
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Please don't be who I think it's going to be.
He was kidding himself, of course. There was only one person who it could possibly be, only one old 'friend' who had found work with the Master of Silver as Ilias had. He pushed it aside. There was little to be gained thinking of such things at the moment.
Instead he ran down to the kitchens, fetched a plate of roasted chicken and a pin of ale and then made his way back to the prince's chambers, once more weaving his way through crowds of people. Dreamwulf smiled as he approached, the blind man snagging a cut of chicken off of the plate with a conspiratorial wink as he scarfed it down, knocking on the door.
The door was opened by Lykourgos, who wore exhaustion like a cowl and held an expression of thunder on his face. He looked down at Ilias, expression softening just a touch, before nodding and wordlessly taking the plate of food and pin of beer, closing the door behind him.
Dreamwulf huffed out what seemed to be a mildly relieved or perhaps amused sigh.
"Don't worry, I'll make sure his Grace is alright. You go focus on the rest of your duties. Run along now."
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When he happened past the prince's chambers some hours later the door was being guarded not by Dreamwulf, but by Nasos. Ilias wasn't sure why Nasos was guarding the door, since he was pretty sure that even he could take on the kind and demure healer and there were other actual guards that could have been stationed as sentries, but he supposed that there were only so many trusted people to guard the prince and Dreamwulf needed to sleep sometimes.
According to Nasos his Grace had demolished almost the entire roasted chicken, downed a full yard of ale, and then immediately fallen asleep. He'd shaken his head and laughed a little at that, trying to put off the feeling of dread that was pooling in his stomach with regards to the upcoming meeting. Still, the moment came all too soon, and with a final deep breath he pushed open the door to the antechamber where he knew an all-too-familiar face would sit.
When he entered the dark antechamber there was exactly the man he had hoped not to see here waiting for him. Stefanos. Stefanos was a cutthroat and vagabond, a ruthless killer and extortionist whose talents he happened to know had been picked up by Elikoidi some years ago. He was a roguish and rough man, not without charisma but not outstandingly beautiful either. Ilias knew Stefanos was working with Elikoidi, but so far had avoided meeting with the man, thank the Angels. They knew each other from a long time ago, and Ilias wanted nothing to do with him now.
Still, here he was, and here was Stefanos. That was just how the world worked.
"Well, as I live and breath. Ilias. How long's it been? Four years, five? You left me for dead after that nasty business with the pot-shop."
"You-"
He swallowed thickly, his saliva feeling like tar as it slid down his throat.
"You made the butcher pay for the body of his own son, then took the cuts to the pot-shop. When the butcher and cook both realised what you'd done-"
"They had a few things to say, you're not wrong. Don't know why you're complaining, it's not like you've never-"
Ilias took two steps back before cutting him off, trying to put a little more distance between himself and the man.
"Don't you dare compare what I did to your murders."
The man leaned forwards a little, towering over him.
"Aw, why not? It ain't nothing personal to them what I do in. It's just good business for me, that's all. No use crying for the dead, is there?"
Ilias swallowed and did his best not to appear in any way intimidated, but that was a tall order when faced with so ruthless a man.
"Do leave him be, Stefan. There's little to be gained from you sending vague threats towards a child."
The man nodded sternly, his countenance shifting from easy-confidence to barely-feigned servility.
"Sure thing boss-man. Now, what's it you called me here for exactly? It's not often you need me to make any house calls in the palace, nice as it may be to be allowed in unchallenged for once."
Elikoidi sighed and beckoned the man towards a small stack of papers, perhaps a few more than a dozen in total, each one covered in the neat handwriting of the spymaster detailing names, places, and actions.
"Pages one through seven are investigations. I need information on happenings in the villages and towns mentioned in the first six pages, with page seven being much the same but with individuals rather than locations. I expect there to be some overlap between the two sections."
The man nodded, an easy smile on his face all the while. Ilias wasn't a big fan of Stefanos; you could never quite tell what he thought of you, nor if his thoughts on anyone mattered whatsoever. If something benefited him, he would do it. Thievery, blackmail, extortion, kidnappings, even murder; if he stood to benefit, there was little he wouldn't do. In some ways Ilias counted himself lucky; the man was at least on their side, seeing as a beleaguered nation with an absent king would never lack for opportunities when it came to spies and other such blackguards. There was still something about him that set the young cupbearer's teeth on edge however, likely his memories from when he'd known this man in the past, not to mention the fact that if Elikoidi ever did find himself at odds with the king Ilias knew that, seeing as he was working for both of them, he'd find himself potentially targeted by the man.
Still, there was little chance of that happening.
Many would have decried their circumstances at finding themselves the unwilling member of a circle of rats, but Ilias had no such qualms. He may have once, when he was younger and more idealistic, before he'd watched pestilence and hunger and the bitter cold claim his friends and his home, but he knew better now. This was just the way the world worked; cutthroats and blaggards made the rules and ruled the roost, and the rest of them needed either to find their places or fall through the cracks and be forgotten. If his place was to serve the king his ale and report what he was thinking to Elikoidi, then that was what he did.
Of course he was under no illusions when it came to the fact that he wasn't really following his own philosophy of keeping his head down and his senses sharp. He'd stepped away from safety and into danger the moment he'd began relaying what Elikoidi was thinking back to Lykourgos without either side knowing that he was doing the same for the other. It was stupid, really. They'd spent so long as the closest of friends, but still neither of them could fully bring themselves to trust the other. He was worried that one day he'd need to choose between them, to choose between honour his safety, but he pushed such thoughts away. Such trails of thought always led to a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, and a tingling at the tips of each of his fingers that made him want to shiver no matter the temperature.
"Why exactly is the kid here anyway? You don't normally call us both here at the same time."
"He's his Grace's right hand, just like you are mine. Except as far as I am aware, you aren't reporting to his Grace on my... secret affairs."
The man let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a scoff.
"Come on, I know I'm not most people's idea of a smart guy, but I ain't stupid neither. I know exactly where my bread's buttered and exactly where it ain't. I'm also not stupid enough to think there's no-one who watches me from the shadows neither, just like him."
Stefanos gestured offhandedly towards Ilias, who watched as a small smile formed on the Master's face out of the corner of his eye. Never mind that Elikoidi hadn't actually answered the man's question as to why he had felt the need to have Ilias present as well, he was already moving on to the next part of what he wanted to tell them.
"Quite so. What I need you both to remember is that, whether his Grace is awake or asleep, our job remains the same. I still have yet to tell you of the rest of the pages, correct?"
"Yeah, but you don't need to. I can read between the lines on each of them, literally and figuratively. Pages eight and nine are people and groups I should try and make contact with that might end up being useful to your rats, and their nests. The last pages-"
"Are for something else entirely that does not need to be spoken of aloud. They're all traitors, planning to make their way east to join up with Lieutenant Isen and Lord Blackoak. You know what to do to those people. Do it quickly, do it quietly, but above all else do it thoroughly. There's a special task on the back of the tenth page from his Grace himself. Do not hide what you do; make it look like the ambush it is. I want our Owkrestan friends to be goaded into doing something stupid that our king can take advantage of."
The man's countenance and air of confidence slipped for a fraction of a second, and for a brief moment Ilias saw the look of anger and glee that slipped through his features; anger at being reprimanded by someone a decade his younger, and glee at being able to-
No. He had been told not to worry about that. Not if he enjoyed his position as cupbearer to his Grace.
Blackmail. Extortion. Murder. I helped gather evidence on some of those people. Am I responsible for what's going to happen?
He broke himself from his thoughts, deciding that it wasn't his job to worry about such things. It was how the world worked, after all.
"And the kid? Wait, don't tell me. You're worried about his loyalties, aren't you?"
Stefanos turned to face him, a ghastly smile on his face and malice in his eyes as he knelt down to Ilias' height, the man's hands firmly gripping the cupbearer's shoulders as he looked into his eyes. Ilias stayed perfectly still, unmoving. Somewhere behind him Elikoidi patted him on the back in a gesture of half-genuine, half-mocking support.
"Partially, yes. I trust you to protect his Grace, Ilias, but there are... other things that worry me."
He swallowed hard.
"Other things, Master?"
"Yes. His Grace is awake and for that I am grateful, but none can deny his experiences have changed him. I need to know if his Grace is still who he says he is, I need to know if he plans to continue committing extreme actions such as the mass execution of the entire remaining Teleytaian nobility, and most of all I need to know his plans for the future conflicts he speaks of."
Ilias trembled a little, the almost hollow stare of Stefanos boring into him as the man remained completely silent while their Master spoke.
"What would you have me do, Master?"
Elikoidi took a few steps forwards and looked off at nothing in particular, entering the young cupbearer's field of view.
"What you were originally supposed to do. To compile what his Grace does, has done, and will do, and then report back to me. I like you, Ilias, which is why you have received the benefit of the doubt from me these last few months, but I need to start seeing some results from you. I was the one that found you on the streets, and I'm the one who made his Grace take you on as a cupbearer. I don't like being harsh, I normally leave that for my subordinates, but at the end of the day our line of work is a very ruthless business, as you know."
Ilias spoke softly and carefully, not wishing to antagonise his boss at this moment in time.
"I am sworn to his Grace, Master. I have to serve him, by oath."
Elikoidi turned to look at him, an almost sympathetic smile on his face as Stefanos' hands tightened their grip.
"My dear boy, you will not be serving your Grace by allowing him to make rash decisions without consulting his council! I want you to tell me what he's going to do so I can make him talk it out with his councillors rather than charging ahead like his brother has always been want to do. I want to help him, but if he will not let me help him then I need to use other ways to stop him from making mistakes, you understand?"
Ilias looked over at Elikoidi and nodded, breaking eye-contact with Stefanos. He didn't understand, not really, but for better or worse he did trust Elikoidi to genuinely want to help Lykourgos, and the Prince had become increasingly unwilling to open up to his friends like he once had. He wasn't surprised, given the attempt on his life by someone whom he may well have considered a friend, but it made sense nonetheless.
He nodded, and Elikoidi returned the gesture, face softening a little.
"You're worried. Don't worry, I understand. You're worried I'm planning something against his Grace. Rest assured, I am not. I would never betray my prince; I owe him everything I have. Everything. I wasn't worried about you not reporting in on him before, for I never needed to know what he was doing, but given the attack on his person and his... rash actions recently, that has changed. Please understand that I only wish to protect him from himself if needs be, and I can't do that unless I know what he's up to."
Ilias nodded again, making sure to give away nothing in his body language. Elikoidi nodded in response, seemingly satisfied.
"Good. I'll be taking my leave now. Stefanos, I believe you have work to attend to?"
The man grunted his affirmation, and Elikoidi swept out of the room in his usual, flamboyant manner. The grip on his shoulder tightened again.
"I don't think you ought to lie to him, little boy. Not if you enjoy your station."
"I don't-"
"I know you don't understand. But you told him you did. You're close to his Grace, and not just because of your job. He treats you like a kid brother, not just a servant."
"His Grace is most kind to me. It allows me to better perform my job."
The man darted his right hand from Ilias' shoulder to hold his chin, forcing him to lock eyes with the cutthroat once more. He was silent for a good, long moment, and despite his skill at reading people there was not a hint of what was going on behind his assailant's eyes. It was like searching for the sun on a stormy day, so impossible was the task. When eventually his old 'friend' did speak the words were quiet but forceful, and chilled him through and through. There was malice in the man's tone, as well as something deeper that he couldn't even get close to identifying.
"One day I'm going to kill you. That's not a threat, or a promise. It's the truth. One day, it won't actually be a day of course, since it'll be under the cover of night, you'll slip up in front of the Master. Then I'll kill you."
Without another word the man released him and walked away, collecting his papers before walking off.
Ilias slumped to the floor, his breathing deep and fast as his whole body shook. It took him a few minutes to collect himself, but when the shaking was little more than a tremble he stood and made his way back to his quarters, eager to put the whole meeting behind him. He knew he was being stupid by informing on both sides of this meaningless divide, not to mention how stupid he was for thinking that a meeting involving Stefanos could possibly end well, but he was so spent by the events of the day that he practically threw himself into his bed and tried to blot out the look in the almost dead eyes that had judged him as worthless and the conciliatory tone of the Master, but even for someone in his line of work it proved hard.
When he at started to drift off he was scared and strangely cold. Sleep did not come easy to him, but eventually he managed to close his eyes for long enough to begin the long and arduous process of passing out.
That night he dreamed of dancing and silent companionship, of black scars as well as the taste of copper.
That night he bore witness to memories that were not his own once more.