An Angel Called Eternity

To Bet on Losing Dogs - Rhema II: The Princes March

Rhema II: The Princes March

The Eighteenth Day of the Third Moon, 873 AD.
Anaria, Western Teleytaios, Klironomea.

His brother's nineteenth name-day had come and gone last year, and he hadn't been there to celebrate it with him. Now his brother was set to march back to war again with his twentieth name-day coming up, marking another year without celebrations and merriment, not that anyone else seemed to realise that. If they did they hadn't mentioned it; even Lykourgos himself had been rather subdued about the prospect of the whole thing. It was odd, but not unexpected; his brother had yet another war to win, after all. It made Rhema feel a little self-conscious, to be honest. He was willing to bet that before the year ended his brother would have won his third war, whilst he had only ever lost one. Not that such selfish reasonings were truly why he felt this way; his brother, despite still recovering and, though no-one was willing to admit it, still rather frail, was taking on the monumental task of planning and organising what was needed to defend his kingdom and strike back against the invaders when they were put on the backfoot, and what was Rhema doing?

He was losing himself in memories and wine, just as he had always done.
No. No more. He wouldn't let his brother try and take this task on alone as he always had. Rhema would break himself out of this funk and return to that diligent servant of the realm he had been whilst his brother was comatose. Just because Lyk was back that didn't just give him a blanket excuse to abandon his duties, and it was time to act like it. He was going to help his brother win this war with everything he had, not because he was hungry for glory or for battle, but because he couldn't afford to leave his brother alone anymore, because his brother couldn't afford to be alone any longer. Sure, he had his advisors, but Rhema found it hard to trust any of them anymore, any other than those on the council that is. The others all smacked of treason to Rhema, real or imagined, and he needed to become a commander, a leader, that his brother could rely on to do whatever was asked of him.

It was decided. He would speak to his brother today, and prove to him that he was worthy of being one of his commanders. He hadn't the natural aptitude of Lyk, that was true, but he was far from an incompetent commander, especially since his studies after... after that day. He would ask his brother to trust him to act at his right hand, and to help him with whatever he could moving forwards.

He knew exactly where he'd find his brother at the moment; if he wasn't in a council meeting, hearing petitioners, or sparring with Rhema himself, then he would almost certainly be in a private chamber next to his own, empty save for a table and a couple of chairs, with a map on the table that seemed to change every time Rhema walked in and stacks of papers around him. He'd be in there, as he seemed to be rather a lot these days, brooding more than a little and glaring at some of the papers with such an intensity he seemed to be daring them not to burst into flames. The hour was late, very late, but Rhema knew that's where he would be.

There were more people in these halls than there were a month ago; the prince admitted to himself that he may have, just a little bit, been overreacting when he ordered the section of the palace around his brother's chambers cleared of almost all servants whilst Lyk lay comatose and sleeping. Regardless, things seemed to be going back to normal now, what with his brother waking up and the endless paperwork he needed to wade through, and so life in the palace had slowly begun to return to the standard dull buzz of activity that seemed to characterise the hustle and bustle within its walls.

He entered the small chamber with not a word, merely a curt nod to the Squire Eros, who seemed to be guarding the door. His brother was within as he'd predicted, staring at maps and sheets of numbers and reports of troop movements and logistics and road repairs and complaints from merchants stuck billeting the sellswords of the Starlings and-