To Bet on Losing Dogs - Lykourgos II: Recovery

3 0 0
                                    

Lykourgos II: Recovery

The Twenty-Sixth Day of the Second Moon, 873 AD.
Anaria, Western Teleytaios, Klironomea.


He woke once more to a scream that he only vaguely recognised as his own. It was not a scream of pain or terror, but one born of anguish and frustration, a mournful tone that spoke of anger already fleeting and despair still lingering. Every night since he'd been woken from his coma he'd had a lingering feeling in the pit of his stomach, melancholia and choler mixing to make an ice-hot cocktail that dripped up his spine all the way to his mind. It was rather petulant of him to hold this annoyance at being awakened before he was truly ready, but he couldn't help but feel a little put out at the knowledge that everything had very nearly collapsed around him whilst he'd slept.

It didn't matter anymore. What was done was done, and there was no way he'd be able to change it. He was still hardly able to stand most days, though he put that more down to his body surviving off of the bare minimum for so long. His strength was gradually returning to him, and he was occasionally able to walk around to try and regain some of the feeling in his legs, but for now he was limited to his own chambers. There was little point in showing weakness to the court, not with how thin he was at the moment.

Well, when he said he was thin what he really meant was that he seemed to be lacking some of muscle he'd possessed previously. It wouldn't take long to come back with some training, but spending two months with almost no food in his body followed by a sudden and large influx of rather delicious meals had certainly resulted in a little bit of pudge around his waist, so 'thin' was probably not the right term. The situation was only compounded by the lack of almost any exercise he'd been able to undertake these last five days, and was one of the first things he wished to rectify when his strength returned in full. A great many days of riding and sparring lay in his immediate future, it seemed.

Yes, that seemed like a good idea. Regular exercise and an eating regimen would not only serve to get him back in good physical shape, but should also be beneficial to his mind. Alekos had told him about that once, about how the body and the mind were linked in some complex web of blood vessels which carried air to and fro in the body. Lykourgos felt like he was almost certainly misremembering the specifics, but he at least knew that it would be good for his mind as well. Perhaps the exercise would help him shake off the remnants of his anger and annoyance at this whole situation? It certainly seemed worth a try.

The door creaked open quietly, and Lykourgos turned to see the scarred face of his friend. Elikoidi looked tired, almost as tired as he had all those years ago when Lykourgos had saved him from that hopeless situation he'd been stuck in. Their was a scowl on the man's face, tempered only by the sheer relief in his eyes as he looked at the prince.

"I fucking hate you sometimes, you know that?"

Lykourgos blinked twice in surprise, then snorted.
"Yeah, I missed you too."

Elikoidi shook his head, throwing his hands up into the air.
"NO! I waited nearly two months for you to wake up, and you choose to awaken in the one week I left the capital to look into something along the Owkrestan border. I can't ride like you can, Lyk. It took me five days to get here."

Lykourgos felt his mood darken a little, even if he knew his friend hadn't intended to strike a sore point.

"I didn't choose to awaken, Eli. If it were up to me, I'd still be asleep."

The spymaster looked at him in confusion.
"I know you didn't actually choose to wake up, no-one chooses when to wake from their sleep after all. Still, you sound as though something forced you to wake. What was it?"

An Angel Called EternityWhere stories live. Discover now