Lykourgos VII: Waking Dreams
The Twenty-Second Day of the Tenth Moon, 872 AD.
Haestinghen, Eastern Teleytaios, Klironomea.
His muscles screamed at him as he picked himself up off the floor, crying out for a respite that he knew wouldn't come. His lungs likewise burned with the need for air, the feeling only exacerbated by his continued exertion.
Where am I? Why are we fighting?
The space around the two of them was pitch black, though he could see just fine. His brother stood before him, axe and sword in hand, seeming only slightly less injured than Lykourgos himself felt.
He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.
Frustrated and confused, he picked his own sword back up and readied his shield.
He took a wheezing breath as he braced himself against the kiteshield in his left hand, rolling his sword arm to try and release some of the tension in his muscles.
Angels above, his brother could fight.
For certain, Rhema had always had an aptitude for personal combat, but this?
I guess he didn't stop training when I left.
He placed his left foot forwards, and readied himself yet again.
How long had they been here?
Did it matter?
A ferocious overhead sweep was parried by his own blade as he allowed his instincts to guide his actions.
Don't think, just act.
Three more strikes were parried with as much poise as he was able to muster in his exhausted state, before Rhema's axe struck his shield with so much force that the head peeked through the other side of the wood.
Rhema wrenched his arm back, and a small chunk of the bastard's shield came away with the axe.
Lykourgos was unwilling to simply react to his assailant's attacks, instead moving himself forwards with steady, even steps.
His own blade darted forwards, first stabbing at his assailant's stomach, then a rightwards downstroke looking to bisect his brother diagonally. Rhema caught the blow on his axe, his left arm darting forwards to impale Lyk with his longsword.
But for once, Lykourgos was faster.
Putting as much weight as he could behind his damaged shield, he surged forwards.
Rhema was knocked clean off his feet, but scrambled to right himself before the exhausted prince could press his advantage.
His brother wiped the blood from his mouth, and the rook on his shoulder cawed.
Wait... a rook? Was it... was it there the whole time? Why didn't I see it before now?
The young rook perched itself on his brother's shoulder. Their tiny eyes were as captured constellations, their plumage night-black tipped with a deep indigo.
They pressed themselves against Rhema's ear, and cawed once again.
Then the rook flew.
Neither of the brothers moved to continue fighting, each enjoying a moment of respite and mesmerised by the bird's flight. It was young, but it moved with such grace and skill that even the greatest of falcons and eagles would be put to shame.
He sheathed his sword blade-down in the dirt, and ran a hand through his hair.
His eyes were stinging with sweat, and the only reason his hair hadn't covered them in the fight was because it was so matted with ichor that it moved like a single block rather than thousands of hairs.
He tugged his fingers through to try and part the knotted mess and focused again on the bird's flight.
Eventually it settled once more, perching itself on the rim of Lyk's shield. The bird's head tilted, and the clusters of light in the black sclera seemed to crackle with energy. It nodded at him once, and moved to perch on his shoulder.
There was a flash of blue light, and his body surged with radiant energy.
His wounds did not close. There was no miraculous force that replenished his flagging vigour.
But his resolve? His spirit?
He found himself more determined to fight, to win, to live, than he ever had before.
Another hour had passed, and finally he seemed to have the upper hand over his brother
An hour of nothing but the monotony of endless duelling.
Strike, parry, riposte, strike, parry, riposte.
His shield was little more than an empty frame now, his armour twisted and bent. He was damn lucky his sword hadn't shattered from the ferocity of their fighting.
His brother's strength seemed to be flagging, his blows becoming less and less powerful, his parries more and more frantic.
Lykourgos threw the tattered remnants of his shield to the side as Rhema made another attempt to attack. When his brother's axe drew near it was shattered at the haft by an almighty two-handed blow.
The blade continued sailing forwards in its wide, swooping arc, drawing blood from the wide-eyed fighter's arm.
At that moment the rook let out another caw, somehow echoing through the darkness.
There was a second flash of light, and the last of the fight left his brother.
The bird swooped to his brother's broken form, and pressed its head against the prince's. Rhema closed his eyes and seemed to savour the contact while it lasted.
For a few seconds there was an expression of bliss on his brother's face, one he hadn't seen since they were children.
For a few seconds he knew his brother was happy.
And then the rook took flight again, and moved themselves back to Lykourgos' side.
As the rook made to perch on his shoulder, Lykourgos saw how the tension left his brother's body. Rhema collapsed to the floor, slumped in a heap and weapons clattering to the pitch-black ground.
Rhema looked up at him and gave him a tired smile before lowering his head once more.
Lykourgos raised his own sword, and-
No, wait, what am I doing? No, I don't want to-
The blade fell, and his brother's head rolled away into the dark.
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He shot awake with a strangled cry.
"That dream again?"
Nasos' voice cut through the uncomfortable silence of his room. The prince took a breath to steady himself before speaking, as the memories of all the times he had had this dream in the last week came back to him.
"Aye. It was different, though. I don't understand why I never remember when it's happening that I've dreamed it before. But it was different this time, definitely different."
Nasos' voice held a curious infliction as he moved around the room, tending to his chores.
"Different? How so?"
Lyk raised a clenched fist to his mouth as his actions washed over him.
"I can remember for one thing, but that's not the important part. I think I... Angels, I killed him. There was the rook again, but this time it moved to my shoulder rather than my brothers, then I..."
He bolted out of his bed and to a basin, where he threw up what remained of last night's dinner.
He spat the remnants of bile out of his mouth, before taking the proffered water from Nasos.
"Then you killed him?"
He nodded, unable to voice such a notion. Nasos sensed his unease, and kept talking to fill the silence while patting him on the back.
"It was only a dream, your Grace. For you, bad memories run through every brick and cobble of this town. It only makes sense you feel unease here."
Dreams have meaning. You studied theology, you know that.
But of course Nasos knew that. He was only trying to help, and Lykourgos knew that too.
"Thank you, Nasos. Tell me, where is Ilias?"
"Oh, he had to run an errand for Ser Romanos. I don't know what it was about, but I hear that Ser Aethel is in quite a bit of trouble with the Grandmaster."
A jolt of shock ran through him.
"Ser Aethel? Is he here? No, that's not possible he's two-hundred miles away, isn't he?"
Nasos smiled kindly as he spoke.
"Well, I heard that he came in last night with what he would only describe as 'valuable cargo' and nine other knights."
His voice took on a mildly joking tone as he continued.
"I haven't seen it myself, but I'm willing to bet that I know what that 'cargo' entails."
Lykourgos sprang back to his feet from his kneeling position, his priority immediately shifting.
"You mean... he risked the life of the unconscious man by bringing him across two-hundred miles of open terrain, despite his specific orders to stay with him in Aenirhen where it was safe?"
There was a dangerous tone to his words now, his 'sergeant voice' breaking through.
"That little... right, seeing as Ilias is indisposed you'll be helping ready me for the day. Get me my robes and sword, then we're going to Ser Romanos to sort out this mess."
Nasos sighed, but smiled nonetheless.
"As you command, your Grace. Will you be wanting your courtly clothes or armour?"
"Armour. I don't intend to wear those useless garments until this damnable conflict is over."
"As you command, your Grace. Is your hand healing well?"
He flexed the fingers of his right hand, curling them into a fist and then unfurling them once more. Some of the tension left his body as he did so.
"I believe it to be healing well... yes, it's healing fast. I have you to thank for that, Nasos."
The young presbyter beamed at the praise.
"It is no trouble, your Grace. I've had a lot of practice bandaging people up recently anyways."
Lykourgos snorted at the young man's remark.
"Well, that much is true I guess. Still, it's nice to know that when I next go into combat it won't be with my off-hand, and I can bring my full prowess to bear. Now that should be good."
Nasos' smile turned to a grimace as the prince finished fastening his greaves.
"I'm not sure I agree with that. I can't really think of any situation where you go into battle as a good one."
The prince rolled his eyes good-naturedly, to which Nasos gave an undignified splutter.
"Come on! It's not just me your grace, Ilias and Dreamwulf share the same misgivings. So do Eros and Ser Romanos, for that matter."
Lykourgos smiled.
"Not Elikoidi?"
He knew the answer already, but it was funnier to hear someone else say it.
"He's the most worried out of everyone. Did you know-"
Nasos stopped himself and leaned closer so as to whisper, almost conspiratorially.
"Did you know that he paces endlessly when you're off at war? If anyone asks him he just says "The Prince is a big boy, he can take care of himself.", but the next moment his face turns to thunder and he starts ranting about how you need to stop being so careless and marching off to fight battles."
The prince found himself scoffing again.
"Careless? Does he not understand the amount of planning that goes into these marches? The amount of strategising and leadership required to move thousands of men from one town to another?"
"I'm not sure that's his main objection, your Grace."
"Oh? Then what is?"
Nasos gave a frustrated sigh as he helped the prince into his cuirass.
"If I may be so bold as to speak freely, your Grace?"
"Always. You needn't ask, at least not in private."
"Thank you, your Grace. You're an idiot."
Lykourgos spluttered, which quickly turned into a laugh. Have I ever heard Nasos insult someone before?
"Thank you for that piece of insight, Nasos. And why would that be?"
"For the same reason we all worry about you going off to battle. We're friends!"
Lykourgos froze for a moment. He knew that his new retinue were excellent companions, and he would have been extremely happy to be friends with each of them, but the fact that they might actually think of him as a friend?
For some reason that had never even occurred to him. He smiled.
He knew Elikoidi and Romanos were his friends. Alekos, far away in Polaeriopolis was another. Hell, he would even include his brother in that list, but the fact that his retinue were his friends?
That was a pleasing thing to know.
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"Ser Romanos. Where is Ser Aethel?"
Romanos turned to face him, having the decency to look at least a little embarrassed that one of his own knights had disobeyed his orders.
"Your Grace. He is being escorted here as we speak. The nine who rode with him are still standing guard, though Dreamwulf insisted on taking eight Men-at-Arms and standing guard with them. I feel he does not entirely trust my knights now that ten of them have gone against your own orders."
Lykourgos nodded stiffly as Ser Aethel was escorted into the room.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
"Good. At least someone here has sense."
Ser Aethel made to bow, and Lykourgos let him kneel a moment longer than was strictly necessary.
"Rise. I hope you have a very good explanation as to why you led an extremely valuable piece of cargo across two-hundred miles of dangerous terrain and didn't leave it behind the stone walls and sheer towers of the River Keep?"
Ser Aethel turned pink, and seemed unable to meet the prince's eye as he mumbled out his answer.
"Speak up man! Do not mumble in the presence of his Grace!"
"I dreamt it, your Grace."
Lykourgos made to speak, but Ser Romanos raised a hand to cut him off, his face contorting.
"I... I also dreamt of their arrival last night. I thought nothing of it, but perhaps it means something?"
Lykourgos thought of his own dreams, and nodded.
"Aye, it might do. Fine, you shan't be punished. Romanos, what do you advise?"
His friend raised an eyebrow.
"What I always advise. Pick out a few promising lads to act as your squires and help you with your duties."
Lykourgos gritted his teeth. How many times had they had this conversation now?
"This hardly matters at the moment. I don't want squires; I lack privacy enough as is. I was asking what you would advise on the matter of the unconscious man found at the Horndaal."
Ser Romanos ignored the latter half of his statement, instead continuing to press the matter of squires.
"But why? You claim to lack privacy, but you already have a cupbearer."
"I didn't want a cupbearer! Don't get me wrong, I'm glad Ilias is in my retinue, but I didn't want a cupbearer anyway."
Romanos gave an annoyed sigh.
"And yet when Elikoidi presses on you to take one you do."
The unspoken part of the statement was matched only by the pointed stare his old friend gave him, asking if he was really about to put one friend in front of another.
Lykourgos felt a spike of anger at the insinuation, and barked out a harsh laugh.
"Is this really what it means to be Crown Prince? To have my two longest, most trusted friends fighting to influence me? To fight for ownership of me like some child's doll? I will not have it!"
There was a stretch of silence in the room as Lykourgos rubbed his eyes and massaged his temples.
"I'm sorry, Romanos. I know... I know that wasn't your intention at all. Nor Elikoidi's, for that matter. Im... It's just been stressful recently, and I haven't been sleeping well."
His shoulders slumped in a mixture of fleeing adrenaline and embarrassment.
"Sorry."
He felt a weighty hand on his shoulder, grounding him.
"I know. I apologise too; I shouldn't have pressed or used Elikoidi's name like that. I know you hate it when we fight."
The Prince nodded weakly, and looked towards Romanos as he continued to speak.
"Although you must admit, he makes it very hard not to fight him at times."
Lykourgos laughed quietly, and took in a few deep breaths.
"I can't disagree with you there. Look, about the squires, I promise I'll at least give it some thought, okay? Just... not right now. Not with the war on. After the war, maybe I'll take one on then."
"Just one? Not two?"
There was a teasing nature to Romanos' voice this time.
"Don't push your luck, Ser."
Ser Aethel coughed politely, as if to remind them of his presence.
"Uhm... Ser, your Grace, May I return to standing guard now?"
Lykourgos rolled his eyes.
"Sure. Oh! Take one of the Men-at-Arms with you! Otherwise Dreamwulf 'll be annoyed he didn't take nine with him."
No sooner than Aethel left the tent did Ilias reappear, panting and red faced with his hands on his knees.
"Your... your... Angels, give me a moment your Grace..."
The prince looked on with Ser Romanos, mildly amused by the very out of breath cupbearer.
"Apologies, your Grace. Two people; a knight and a young boy, looks about my age, appeared at the gates. Asking to speak to you, your Grace. Claim to be from-"
He was cut off by his own panting breath for a moment.
"Sorry, your Grace. They claim to have come from your brother's court. Funny thing is..."
"Funny thing? What is it that's so funny, Ilias."
The cupbearer shook his head.
"Not funny, your Grace. Strange, really. The smaller of the two had a blindfold on, but... I think I've dreamed of the two of them before."
Lykourgos and Romanos snapped to attention and looked to each other.
"Angels above... me, you, Ser Aethel, and now you, Ilias?"
The cupbearer looked on, slightly confused.
"Your Grace? What do you-"
Lykourgos cut his cupbearer off by swiftly striding across the room.
"No time, Ilias. Get the two of them, meet us by the chambers we're keeping the cargo in. Now!"
The cupbearer, momentarily stunned, scrambled out of the door with his previous exhaustion seemingly forgotten. Lykourgos didn't like having to raise his voice at all, let alone to someone who had been as loyal as Ilias, but this was far too important to be left for later.
If he was right, then the next encounter was going to be extremely interesting.
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Well then, this certainly was a strange duo.
Before him knelt a large knight wearing battered, scratched armour. He seemed fine enough at a glance, but there was something undeniably... odd... about him. Something that set Lyk's teeth on edge and raised his hackles.
Kneeling beside him was another, far different looking person. Where the knight was weathered and scarred, this one appeared to be far younger, wearing a green sash about their eyes and a loose-fitting robe on their person.
"Rise. You claim to be of my brother's court? Tell me, why should I trust those who come to me professing loyalty having just betrayed their king?"
The knight made no move to speak, but the younger of the two smirked nonetheless.
"Would it put you at ease if I told you I was sent to kill you, your Grace?"
Ser Romanos let out a hearty chuckle, which he quickly disguised with a cough when Lykourgos raised an eyebrow at him.
"No, I suppose not. Who would you be?"
The younger of the two moved with a flourish.
"This is Ser Aenethar, whom was assigned by your brother to see me safely to you. As for us, well, we've met before, haven't we?"
Lykourgos blinked a few times in confusion before his brother's servant continued.
"In fact, we met last night, did we not? I can't say I agree with all your actions, but I suppose it needed to be done."
The Prince's eyes went wide as he realised exactly where he'd met this strange figure before.
"You- of course! Rhema told me he had a Seer in his retinue! You're the Rook, aren't you? Did you manifest yourself in my dreams?"
"Yes and no. I manifested within your dreamscape, that much is true, but I did not manifest myself there. That would have been your brother."
"Rhema- how-"
"Out of interest, your Grace, what other information did Rhema include within his little dream? I can't see through your eyes, so I don't know what you know and what you didn't."
Lykourgos thought long and hard as they walked through the large oaken doors of the central keep of Haestinghen.
"Your eyes, that's the first thing I remember. Your eyes are powerful, dangerous even, hence the blindfold I presume."
"Anything else?"
"Hmm. Ah, that is odd. Despite the fact you never spoke, not counting bird cries, I found myself consistently referring to you as a 'they', not a 'he'. Is this coincidence or indicative of your gender?"
A mildly flustered smile came over their face as Lykourgos finished speaking. Well, I guess I was right on that assumption.
"Indeed, your Grace. That does not bother you?"
Ser Romanos cut in with a chuckle.
"I don't imagine the prince much minds what you'd rather be referred to by. If nothing else, I bet he's just glad he wasn't wrong in that assessment. There's little he hates more than embarrassing himself in these matters."
"Oh, shut it, Ser."
The Seer seemed to loosen up somewhat with their good-natured ribbing, some tension visibly leaving their shoulders.
"Thank you, your Grace. Your sister was... less understanding."
Lykourgos schooled himself as he found his face growing stormy at even the mention of his sister.
"Somehow I remain unsurprised by her opinions."
After an awkward moment of silence, the Seer spoke again.
"Did Rhema perchance explain why I took the form of a corvid?"
Lykourgos paused in though, and the Seer bumped into him when they kept walking with a soft "oof".
"I don't believe so, why?"
The Seer tutted.
"Of course. Trust your brother to hammer home my gender but not to explain the link between me and the Rook. Typical."
There was no bite to the words, and a fond smile crossed the young Seer's face.
"Anyway your Grace, it is of no matter right now. Besides, you haven't even asked for my name yet."
"Seventh."
All eyes turned to Ilias, who wore a triumphant, somewhat conspiratory smile.
"That's your name, isn't it? I told the prince your name earlier, so he needn't have asked."
You told me no such thing you little trickster! Despite himself Lykourgos found himself grinning at his young cupbearer's antics.
"Ah, my apologies in that case your Grace. I was not counting on such a diligent young man being in your retinue."
As Ilias spluttered in a mixture of embarrassment and indignity Seventh continued walking. Ser Romanos once again had to stifle his laughter, and Lykourgos ruffled Ilias' hair.
"Cheers for covering for me back there. You're a credit to your role, Ilias. Come on, lets catch up before we get left behind."
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They'd only just reached the doors to the chamber when a familiar face bumped into the prince. Literally.
"Elikoidi? When the fu-"
"Ah, your Grace! So good to see you again! Here, let me just-"
The prince barely had time to react as Elikoidi wrapped him in a bone crushing hug that lasted no more than ten seconds, as was his rule.
"That worried this time?"
His friend schooled himself, and nonchalantly checked his nails.
"Who, me? Not in the slightest. No, I came to speak with you on a matter of urgency from the capital."
Lykourgos shook his head.
"It'll have to wait. We're in the middle of something at the moment."
"I'm afraid it can't."
His friend pulled on his arm as he made to enter the chamber where the others were gathered. He turned to Seventh, Ilias and Ser Romanos.
"You three, go on in. I'll only be a moment."
He waited for the others to leave before rounding on Elikoidi.
"Well? What must you tell me?"
"I believe I've gained a more solid idea of the amount of support you can count on in the capital."
This caught the prince's attention.
"Oh? I assume that we'll have supporters in the north and east, but you would've hardly rode here to tell me that. What other news?"
"As you said, when you assault the capital we can count on some measure of support from locals in the eastern and northern districts, after all, support was always high for you there, and seems to have remained strong throughout the war. What you may not have known is that, due to relatively recent developments, it's likely that the western district will support you as well."
The prince's found his face morphing into one of confusion. The west?
"You believe I can count on support from the west? Why is that?"
Elikoidi smirked, as he always did when he knew something Lykourgos didn't.
Angels he knows how to annoy me. Still, it's what makes him perfect for this job I suppose.
"Well, reports from within the city have been sporadic at best since the start of hostilities, but it seems either your sister or brother have taken to burning any prominent citizens who refuse to recognise the authority of the New Church."
Lykourgos grunted in discontent.
"Well, seeing as Rhema isn't a follower of the New Church I'm going to assume it wasn't his doing. I know his reputation as a bit of a sadist, but I'm willing to bet most of that has been slander spread by pompous nobles in the capital. Besides, this has my sister’s handiwork written all over it."
Elikoidi pursed his lips, the motion causing the dead skin on his face to go taught.
"So you say, your Grace. He does have somewhat of a vicious streak though, that much you must admit."
Lykourgos stared at his old friend, and deliberately changed the topic of conversation.
"Anyways, what do you mean about the war being bad for your informants? Surely the chaos is good for your network, what with the chaos of war making it easier to slip in and out of the palace without much effort?"
Elikoidi scoffed.
"Oh my friend, chaos isn't war's doing! Wars are about the only time the highborns like you or I so much as look at the common folk. That's not chaos. Chaos lives in the day to day! Chaos is the huddled masses, starving on the streets and in their hovels. Chaos is the untimely death of an heir, the scheming of a spurned lord, the dispossession of treasures and morals both. Chaos is not forged in war; chaos is found in peace!"
The prince grimaced at his friend's words, as Elikoidi gave a small, mocking flourish with his arms.
"Angels, and the others call me cynical. We'll talk later. I've got business of my own to attend to."
"Certainly. Best of luck working out whatever's going on with your unconscious man."
With that his spymaster walked off, sauntering to the nearest bottle of wine, no doubt.
"Angels above, grant me the strength to see this through."
With that quick prayer on his lips, he entered the chamber.
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The man had yet to show any sign of waking, nor even of movement in his slumber. The only progress they seemed to have made was that he was breathing regularly now, unlike when they had found him a month and a half ago.
"You wish to wake him?"
The voice of the Seer took him out of his thoughts. Lykourgos made to answer, but his gaze remained glued to the unconscious man on the stone altar.
"He will not wake, no matter what is tried. We do not wish to harm him, so we have yet to see how he responds to painful stimuli. If he does not wake soon, it would surely be worth attempting. Nothing extreme you understand, merely pricking his thumbs or some-such thing."
Seventh nodded, seemingly happy that the figure was unharmed.
"I know of him. I can wake him, if you will only grant me the chance."
Lykourgos sucked in a breath, and nodded. What had he to lose? The young Seer took a knife out of their sleeve, and cut open the palm of their left hand. They walked over to the sleeping form of the strange man, before turning their hand and letting the blood fall over the man's face. Next they removed their blindfold, but Lykourgos couldn't see if their eyes were as star-filled as they had looked on the Rook in his dreams. Their mouth moved, and what seemed to the prince like a whispered prayer was said, before the Seer took seven backwards steps towards Ser Aenethar, never ceasing to look at the sleeping man even as they deftly tied their blindfold back in place.
At first it was a twitching of his fingers, barely noticed by the members of the room. The droplets of the Seer's blood trickled down exposed skin and worn cloth to the stone plinth, leaving thin, pink streaks behind. Suddenly a hand shot up, then fell, grasping frantically at the table. The long-buried man all-but launched himself to his feet, and took a few stumbling steps. He grasped at thin air with his right hand, and launched into a furious tirade of words aimed at men long-since dead.
"HARALD! HARALD! TO YOUR KING, YOU FOOLS! DON'T LET THE KING FALL!"
The man stumbled forwards further, and gripped at the shoulders of Ser Aethel.
"DAMN YOU KORVANUS, DAMN YOU THROUGH ALL THE HELLS! PROTECT YOUR KING! HARALD!"
Two more knights moved to restrain the man, but Lykourgos held up his hand, stopping them. The figure took a few more stumbling steps towards the door.
"WHERE ARE YOU? WHERE IS MY SWORD! HARALD! Harald! Harald..."
His voice grew weaker and weaker towards the end of his tirade, ending in little more than a whispered name as he slumped to the floor, and returned to unconsciousness. The prince looked at the young Seer, who's face displayed a curious mix of elation and sorrow.
"I have done as you commanded."
Lykourgos started.
"I have not ordered nor commanded you to do anything. To what do you refer?"
The Seer turned to look at the prince. Despite the blindfold covering the young man's eyes, Lykourgos knew the Seer could see him perfectly well.
"I wasn't speaking to you."
Ser Aenethar's eyes were wide, visible through the slit in his visor, but his gaze was not fixed on the awakened one, but rather the Seer. The expression he wore was not one of shock, that much Lykourgos could make out, but he wasn't the best with emotions. If he had to guess it was something approaching... satisfaction? No that wasn't right... understanding? It was the expression of someone who had just seen a belief proved true, but in a way they hadn't expected. Lykourgos didn't like that look, and he liked it even less on Aenethar.
"Ser Aethel. Escort the Seer to their chambers. Double their guards. I have questions that need answers."