The carriage that brought Lord Nemos and his brother was carved with flowing symbols of the Emperor’s authority- yew trees with long branches that had eagles perched atop, and peacocks feeding down below. The panels were brilliantly realized, but faded, no doubt weathered from age. Markos had learned of this symbolic scene before from his tutors: it was a joyous commemoration of the end of the civil war, showing the three symbols of imperial authority in harmony with one another. The war had ended well before Markos was born, but its scars still ran deep for many of the older folk.
The occupants of the carriage stepped down carefully, with gangly Uncle Ignatios stepping out first, and helping Lord Nemos down shortly afterward. Father looked older than he had during his last visit. Much older. The black hair that was the pride of any Nemos had turned a solid gray, only peppered with reminders of its former color. As he drew nearer, Markos also noticed the bags under Father’s eyes had grown even darker, though that was hardly a surprise. The capital always seems to take its toll on him, Markos thought, but he dared not mention it. Mother would surely be furious if anything uncouth was said on these occasions, as if she was afraid Father would leave if he were displeased even a little. Markos did not understand why it could not be as it once was, but he had grown tired of pondering the hypothetical. We do not live in the land of ‘what if’, as Mother used to say.
Once the baggage cart had been unloaded, Father finally made his way towards the line, no, throng that was waiting to greet him. Every member of the family, every servant, and every freeman that Father patronized was ready to say something sweet, yet perfunctory to Lord Nemos on his arrival. They did just that, too, as they always did. Smiles, handshakes, and banal platitudes quickly filled the atmosphere before dissipating at Uncle’s wave of a hand, as if to say the customary flattery is done, back to work. It was only then that Father stepped toward Markos, and spoke to him for the first time in a year:
“Markos” he said, “I…trust you have kept to your studies?”
“Yes, sir.” Markos replied coldly. Before another word could be said, Mother mentioned his tutors’ opinions on his work, mentioning the progress he had made in the subjects of Elvish language, Imperial history, and natural philosophy. Lord Nemos smiled at this, though his eyes seemed more sad than joyous.
“Good, that will serve you well” he said, before placing a hand on Markos’ shoulder. “A shame I could not see it for myself. Would that we were fated to live in less interesting times...”
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Lord Nemos then turned toward Mother and Theo, and embraced them warmly. Their conversation was much less gloomy, and quickly they ushered Father into the dining room where a great meal had been prepared. Markos was ready to join them when Uncle stopped him.
“Too big to say hello to your uncle, Markos?” he asked, sharing Father’s same sad eyes but a far more genuine smile. Uncle Ignatios was Father’s only brother, and their sisters had married and moved away to the provinces long ago, leaving him the only paternal relative Markos had whom he knew well.
“No, Uncle Ignatios, I just thought-”
“That I was busy? I am, do not doubt that. I’ll have my work cut out for me, trying to set up shop here!” Uncle said. He let out a sad chuckle, before briefly stretching to crack his back. It was not Ignatios’ way to let servants handle the mountain of books he had stowed away as luggage, though the spindly scholar was not much good at hauling them around either. After clearing his throat, he turned to his nephew again.
“Do you like it here, Markos?” he asked, stroking a short, patchy beard.
“I don’t know Uncle, I haven’t really lived anywhere else.”
“Ah yes, that’s right. How silly of me! But you know, I hadn’t lived anywhere else when I was first shipped off to Illia, but I made a good life for myself. I just needed to push ahead of my doubts and strive for success! I host your father in my own villa, did you know that?”
“Yes, Uncle, my father told me that before, when he wasn’t in the capital as often.” Markos replied. Ignatios had left the family villa as a young man, studied at the university in the capital, became a valuable courtier, et cetera. Before Father was called away to court for most of the year, Uncle Ignatios had been something of a figure of pride for the family- the mysterious younger brother who had friends at court. When Markos was young, Father almost seemed to idolize the idea, but now it seemed more like the family curse than the family pride.
“Right, of course.” Ignatios said, adjusting his glasses before returning to grab a box of books that had been left behind. “Help me with these, would you? The servants have gotten the rest, even though I told them! I told them not to handle them without my explicit supervision!”
Markos complied, and trudged along carrying the box to Ignatios’ room, where several other boxes had been strewn about.
“Oh, they’re all wrong!” Ignatios pouted, before stopping in his tracks and letting out a deep breath. “Mmmm, I’ll have time to be furious later, I suppose. Where was I? Oh yes! Your father, he wanted me to ask you about your ambitions, given you are getting closer to manhood. Not much younger than myself when I left Archiopoli.”
“My…ambitions?” Markos paused, and his heart skipped a beat, if only for a moment. Could it be possible? Could Father, at long last, be considering it? Could it finally be the year that Father took him to court?