Chapter Text

Phainon knows three things about the Kremnoan Detachment;

1) Mydeimos is his kindred spirit; a soul that knows his own.

2) Krateros doesn't think too highly of Phainon, and fair enough.

3) Little Gorgo is the jolliest, most doe-eyed Kremnoan Phainon has ever met.

Not that Phainon has met a lot of Kremnos-folk. Back when he was younger, when he was more boy than man and fool more than warrior, Phainon had meant to head for Castrum Kremnos. Meant to chase down the lumbering fortress and join with the children of Strife and hone his skill with the sword. But that dream sort of… fell to the wayside. Not when Aedes Elysiae fell around Phainon, and he wandered, lost in heart and with his feet, until Lady Aglaea and the Teacher Tribios found him near what is now Okhema and took him in. Called him Phainon and dressed him in fine Okheman garbs.

He didn't meet any Kremnos-folk until a few years after his own arrival to Okhema.

The infamous Kremnoan Detachment; red and gold they are, though they flew no banners, and walked with no mobile fortress. Headed by the so called 'Crown Prince'; the one they called Mydeimos the Undying.

Phainon stood at the gates of Okhema alone, greatsword in hand, and met the Kremnoan Detachment. The Kremnos-folk approached the Kephale-lit gates like blood spreading through cloth; red, slow, but sure. Phainon remembers their leader, the golden haired prince himself. More lion than man; regal, fearsome, daunting and beautiful .

Then a little copy of him steps out from behind him. Doe-eyed, with that same spiky head of gold, and dressed in rich reds and well-worn armor, fitted for such a short and slight form. The little golden lion beams at Phainon, before tugging at the bigger golden lion's arm and chattering away in a language Phainon can't hope to parse. The tongue of Kremnos, most likely.

Whatever the little lion said made the bigger lion laugh; full-bodied and free and honest, and Phainon saw the prince's cold and austere mien go warm , eyes softening in affection as the bigger lion looked at the little one. He brought a gauntleted hand up, more claws than human fingers, but the playful brush he gave the little lion's chin is gentle and playful . The younger squealed, tried to jab at an exposed side (that Phainon wasn't ogling at, thank you very much). The prince took the mild rough housing with just an amused snort, not even moved a milimeter at that frankly fawn-weak blow.

Phainon was smiling at the scene before he can stop himself.

The Prince of Kremnos had caught him smiling at them, and probably took offense, because when he spoke - and he spoke common, with just the faintest growl of his Kremnoan accent - his voice was thunderous. Defensive. An armor clad arm herded his little copy closer to his side, hiding the little one from Phainon.

"Okheman!" Thundered the undying prince, the golden warlord, the son of Nikador. Phainon didn't bother correcting the wrong assumption on his nationality. "Who dares stand in the way of Kremnos?!"

Phainon had replied by lifting his sword, offering a mild smile, and proceeding to meet the prince in a brutal fight lasting ten days and ten nights.

Throughout those ten days and ten nights, the little one - Gorgo - had cheered and hollered for the both of them in equal measure. Not quite understanding what's at stake, but merely enjoying because there is a fight, and it is a good fight.

As a general rule, any Kremnoan enjoys a good fight. 'Tis a phrase on the same surety as Kephale bears aloft the Dawn Device and that the Black Tide ebbs ever closer. Kremnoans enjoy a good fight, but even then the children of Nikador are merely human, and even their spirit can be chipped at, weathered down, damaged. Most Kremnoans meet has a particular air to them; the slightly rigid line to their proud shoulders. A tenseness at the corners of their eyes and lips. Eyes that refuse to be still; flickering every which way in a constant state of watchfulness.

Even proud, sure Mydeimos is just as battle worn as his kinsfolk, though he wears his experience like a well-worn cloak. He takes the burden easily, with nary a complaint nor break to his world-stopping face. It's both awe-inspiring and terrifying, really, Phainon thinks.

However…

However, there is one Kremnoan who seems to be almost an exception to this rule.

And it is Gorgo, daughter of Mydeimos the Undying, princess and heir to the throne of Strife after her father.

Phainon has always liked curiosities, and he can't deny he is most curious over this unexpected father and daughter duo. And despite what Professor Anaxa says, Phainon is a good student, and thus the white haired Elysiaean does the only thing he can do in this situation.

He tries to get to know them.

Chapter Text

Phainon is quite aware (from a distance!) that Little Gorgo is almost a perfect copy of Mydeimos, but up close it's whoa Little Gorgo really is almost a perfect copy of Mydeimos. Save for her dark eyes (ringed at the center with gold), and the softer lines of her jaw, she really is a tinier copy of her father, with 700% more smiles and cute noises.

He tells Mydei as much, and the Kremnoan prince snorts, looking down at his little copy and mussing Little Gorgo's own golden mane. The child giggles, loud and free and clearly so, so loved, and she tries to bat away her father's hands with the cutest tiny growls. Phainon barely stops himself from cooing over the whole scene.

"This one," Mydeimos begins, tone fond, teasing. "Was carried by her other father for nigh ten months and had the gall to copy almost every single bit of me. Shameless."

'Other father'? Phainon can't help but perk up at that; this is the first time Mydei willingly volunteered information about his own person and Little Gorgo himself, and perhaps Phainon has been chomping at the bit this past several months with his want to know this father and daughter duo.

(So they've captured his attention. What of it? Those who are in their right minds should be fascinated by the curiosity of Mydeimos the Undying and his daughter, Gorgo the Younger.)

Phainon sidles a little closer to Mydeimos, waiting for Little Gorgo to scamper a ways off before springing his question.

Only, Mydei beats him to it.

"You're curious about her other father," the golden prince murmurs, eyes never leaving Gorgo. Phainon pauses, assesses Mydei's calm countenance (too calm, it makes Phainon a little nervous), then nods once. Mydei breathes out softly. "Hephaestion carried her for me."

"Husband?"

Mydeimos shakes his head. "No, but he's one of my closest confidantes, one of my dearest friends. He granted me this greatest honor before falling." There's not an ounce of forlorness in the prince's tone, only quite pride, surety, and gratefulness. "He didn't want me to be alone when he realized he'll be joining the rest before me."

Something in Phainon melts at that; moved to both sorrow and something else that he's not quite sure how to name.

It's saddening, how the people of Okhema cannot see the man beneath the red, beneath the armor. How they only see the son of warmongerers, how they only see that bloody spectre that chases battlefields and leaves trails of blood and broken Titankin and death behind him. They only see a beast that is rejected by even Thanatos, a tyrant of war and Nikador's second coming.

They don't see the leader who cares so much for his people, whose royal blood means naught in the face of providing comfort and assurance to his kinsfolk. They don't see a most steadfast brother-in-arms, a general who fights at the fore amongst his own men. They don't see the father who loves his daughter so much, don't see that man who is so loved in return.

That's alright. Phainon can see enough for himself, and he shall bear witness both to the beast and the man that is Mydeimos the Undying. He wants to get to know all the faces of this golden hair prince, this blood-drenched lion.

Carefully, playfully, Phainon bumps his shoulder with the prince, and save a brow raised in askance, Mydei didn't react much. The white-haired Elysiaean smiles softly.

"I'm glad you're not alone." Phainon tells him sincerely. He know what it feels like, that all consuming loneliness. He doesn't wish it on anyone, most especially Mydeimos.

Said man just looks at him for a while, gaze clear and assessing. Phainon lets him look but reveals nothing. 'What does he see?' Phainon wonders. Does he see a fool boy, a too-friendly Okheman? They're no friends, at least not yet (Phainon hopes), but ever since that battle by the gates of Okhema, the prince is… well, is tolerant of him, and other Kremnoans are impressed enough with his martial prowess that the treat him respectfully.

Mydeimos looks away, and Phainon feels sort of sad about that.

"No, I'm never alone." Mydei murmurs, eyes unerringly finding his little lion. "I never have been."

Phainon looks at Little Gorgo then, so bright and cheery a child. A proof of people who loved- who loves Mydeimos.

"I'm glad, then."

Little Gorgo is in the training grounds. The lone speck of red amongst the whites of the Okheman soldiers, and Phainon is both curious and very much alarmed, because-

"Little one, where's your father?" Phainon asks, stopping next to the little lion who is staring at the weapons with intensity no child (pre-teen????) should have. But then again, this one is a Kremnoan child, so… "Little Gorgo?"

She mutters something in Kremnoan, gesturing towards the weapons, and Phainon quickly realizes two things;

1) He doesn't speak a lick of Kremnoan.

2) Little Gorgo also doesn't know either common or the Okheman dialect.

And from Little Gorgo's wide-eyed look (and wow, this little Mydei copy with the dark, doe-like eyes sure is cute), it's clear that she's realized the same thing as Phainon. But instead of stressing about it, Little Gorgo just giggles. A bright, tinkling sound that uplifts Phainon's weary heart. No wonder Mydeimos treasures this little lion so much; a sliver of the sun's warmth given physical form.

Well, now… what to do?

Apparently Little Gorgo, as decisive and striaghtforward as her father, already has something in mind because she grabs one of Phainon's hand with her, then gestures back to the swords. She says a Kremnoan word, slowly but clearly, then she peers up at Phainon with what seems to be an encouraging look. Tugs on his hand and gestures to the swords again.

Phainon isn't sure what she means, unless-

Phainon crouches next to her, not letting go of her hand, and he points to the swords first. "Sword," Phainon says, and he grins when Little Gorgo's eyes glitter in delight and excitement, quietly mouthing the new, unfamiliar word to herself. The white-haired Elysiaean chews on his lip for a moment, then throws caution to the wind.

Quietly, Phainon repeats this word, but this time in the lost tongue of Aedes Elysiae.

As if catching onto the secret, Little Gorgo repeats the Elysiaean word, just as silent as before. She repeats 'sword' and it's Elysiaean translation a few times herself, before nodding her head. She points at the swords again. Names it in Kremnoan, then common, and Elysiaean.

She beams at him, proud, so proud, and Phainon can't help his own bubbling excitement, and the feelings threatening to burst out of him. Unable to himself, he tweaks the little lion's very cute nose, and almost gets bitten for his effort. So cute.

"I know what we're doing today."

It's around Parting Hour when a mildly frazzled Mydeimos finally finds Phainon and his daughter by the dromases' pen, the white-haired Elysiaean laughing loudly and Little Gorgo squealing happily as she's being held up by the former, the source of her delighted squeals being the dromas - a young one - nosing at the golden-haired child in curiosity.

Phainon spots the prince first, and offers only a slightly nervous (but fully unrepentant) grin. "Oh, uh, hey there!" He holds up Little Gorgo towards Mydeimos, who finally sees her father and practically shrieks 'PAPA!' and started making grabby hands towards him. Without trying to squirm out of Phainon's hold, seemingly content to be held up like a particularly large kitten. "Found your kid, by the way."

Mydei looks them over, one brow climbing up his forehead in incredulity. "I… see that." He finally walks over and stops just outside of Little Gorgo's grabbing range. Judging from the little lion's plaintive whine, that's not acceptable. What a strict father, this Mydeimos is! "I hope she wasn't a bother."

A bother?! "Um, excuse you, Little Gorgo has been a delight." Phainon argues, because, she was! Language barrier aside, the whole day has been fun, and even if it was just to a single child, it was… Freeing, and heartening, to speak again in his mother tongue and teach it to the younger generation. It helps that Gorgo herself is a bright, cheerful child, and if Phainon would just close his eyes, ignore the lyrical (haughty) Okheman dialect, he could almost imagine himself back home. Assisting the teachers with corralling the children. "She's is the farthest thing from a bother."

Mydeimos just blinks. "I see." His golden gaze shifts to his daughter, who is still dangling from Phainon's grip. Unbothered. Phainon feels sort of bad, dangling a princess like it's a kitten, but.

The princess is a kitten, and her father is a full grown lion.

Mydeimos asks Little Gorgo something in Kremnoan, and the child replies promptly and brightly, all smiles and glittering eyes. She still hasn't asked Phainon to put her down, and the white-haired Elysiaean isn't about to show weakness now. Not when Mydeimos is in front of him.

Anyways, the father and daughter talk for a few more moments, until-

"Are you not going to put my child down, Deliverer?"

Phainon barely swallows a wince at that nickname, and instead, slowly, carefully, brings Little Gorgo back close. Holds her securely at his hip. Phainon blinks slowly at Mydeimos.

"… I mean, she hasn't asked to, yet?"

A furrow appears between the Kremnoan prince's brows. "That's your reason?"

Phainon shrugs, and discreetly taps Little Gorgo's back. A signal they've developed to make sure Little Gorgo has a secure hold on Phainon, a signal that Little Gorgo thankfully obeys without much fuss or question. Phainon makes sure his hold on his precious cargo is secure. Shifts one foot carefully.

"I don't know my prince… This lowly one has been asked to be Her Royal Highness' steed for the day. I can't exactly deny her now, can I?" Phainon's teasing tone must've translated well despite the language barrier, because the little lion in his hold is giggling now, and Phainon can't help the grin stretchis his lips wide. It helps that Mydei's face is becoming more and more incredulous, golden gaze jumping wildly between Phainon (a traitor of a soulmate!) and Little Gorgo (a traitor of a spawn!). "Unless she tells me she no longer needs her horse, then I, Phainon, am at her service. I have sworn this before Kephale!"

Well, the mural by the main square, but details.

The Kremnoan Prince's eye twitches. Says something terse in his tongue at his daughter.

Little Gorgo hums, hands tightening where they have a good grip on Phainon's coat.

Then, in clear, Kremnoan-accented common, she looks her father in the eye, and says-

"No."

Phainon is already turning away to bolt before the very incensed father lion is done yelling, and Phainon isn't too scared of the whole thing when Little Gorgo is laughing her delight for everyone to hear, urging Phainon to run faster (the only Kremnoan word he knows (for now)) in between peals of wild laughter.

So, Phainon runs, with the Kremnoan prince's royal daughter in his arm laughing wildly and freely, and doesn't have an ounce of regret.

Okay so maybe Phainon regrets just a little, after Mydeimos beat him black and blue (Phainon did make of with a royal child, after all) but he's not entirely too bothered by it. Not when Little Gorgo squirmed out of old man Krateros' hold to run to Phainon, hug him real tight, and whispered a soft 'thank you' before returning home to the Kremnoan District with her caretakers.

It makes the ass kicking Mydeimos gave him (which, Phainon made him work for, just to be clear) worth it.

And considering Mydei's own exasperated but fond expression, he's not really mad about the whole thing. Phainon wonders if anyone has ever played or indulged the little lion like that before outside of Mydeimos, of if Little Gorgo had the chance to play at all during all the years they've wandered Amphoreus before making for Okhema.

Phainon wonders, and he so badly wants to ask, but-

"You know, I can watch her if I'm free from my duties," the white-haired Elysiaean offers from where he's sprawled out on the ground. His coat has been discarded… somewhere. "Little Gorgo really is a delight, Mydeimos. She's a credit to your line."

"She is a credit, period," the shameless but proud father declares, and Phainon can only laugh a little. Fair enough! Mydei's expression shutters, just a little, and looks at Phainon. "… Are you sure? She doesn't know common or Okheman…"

Phainon shrugs. "And we had a blast today, despite it. Besides, I've been teaching her a little bit today," he replies. Little Gorgo picks up the knowledge fast, to Phainon's surprise, and he's starting to entertain thoughts of asking Mydei's opinion on sending her to the Grove. Get her proper education. "If she had a proper teacher and a stable learning environment-"

"No."

Phainon blinks up at the Kremnoan prince, whose relaxed air is now gone. "No?" Phainon repeats.

"No, she is going nowhere." Mydeimos the Undying snarls, and there's a warning there now. An advice for caution.

Phainon has played with a lion cub the whole day, and has forgotten his place, it seems. The father tolerates him, for now, and he really shouldn't push it. At least, not more than he already has; taking liberties and all.

Phainon ducks his head, chastised. "'m sorry," he mumbles. "Didn't think of that."

Mydei is silent for a while, fuming in silence, but then he breathes deeply and lets out a slow, heavy breath. As if physically expelling the tension, with how his shoulder loosened, the stressed furrow between his brows smoothing out once more.

"… At least, not right now." Mydei says, all of the sudden, and it takes Phainon an embarassingly long while to understand what he means. "When she's a little older, maybe, I'll… ask if she wants to learn at the Grove. I doubt it, but I'll tell her she has the option."

Phainon brightens, and he can't help but beam up at the prince. "If it helps, I graduated from there!" He chirps, and instead of an impressed exclamation, Mydeimos merely looks down at him-

And scoffs, shaking his head before walking away to retire home with his people.

Phainon gasps in offense.

"Hey, what are you scoffing for? Answer me Mydeimos- HEY!"

Chapter Text

Phainon blinks, and before he knows it, five years have passed. Looking at Okhema and its never ending daylight, one wouldn't be able to tell, so the white-haired Elysiaean used other means to mark the passage of time.

Like how some of the older shopkeeps in Marmoreal Market has been replaced by their younger apprentices or heirs. Dromases growing up to their full heights and the older ones retiring. The Kremnos District turning from a refugee camp into it's own little town within Okhema, flourishing in its own way. And most of all-

How Little Gorgo is not so little anymore, now at ten-and-three years old.

At the thought of the not so little lion, Phainon's steps gain an exuberance to them, a small smile curling his lips.

After all, he hasn't seen his favorite princess for nigh three weeks now, considering the Lady Aglaea had sent him out on a scouting-slash-hunting mission beyond the borders of Okhema.

It's a task Phainon (and Mydei) often undertakes, as the city's strongest combatants. Rarely are they sent together (and usually THAT bodes ill because what manner of Titankin or Black Tide monster requires two of the Chrysos Heir's strongest?) and it's much more common that Phainon and Mydeimos are sent out separately, most often by their lonesome. It's a risk to send a troop with the Chrysos Heirs, for none can keep up with them save their rival kindred spirit so for everyone's sake, and the Heirs', they are sent by their lonesome where they can fight and act as they see fit, with their only absolute order is to 'return home'.

And now Phainon is back, under the gentle light of the Dawn Device, with the towering white marble of Okhema just in front of him, and just the faintest sound of the dromases' bellows drifting in the air to reach him.

His steps hastens, the exhaustion from his travels sloughing off of him somewhat at the thought of going back to his quarters, rest a few quints, possibly drop by Kremnos Town around Parting Hour and bring back the souvenirs Gorgo the Younger has asked (read; pleaded) for him to bring back for her. He's a little excited for that one, as he made sure to get her only the best - for she is still royalty, and his dearest rival's soulmate's precious child - knick knacks her 13-year-old mind would go crazy over.

However, before he could follow through his plans, someone is already running out of the gates to meet him.

Wearing the red and gold of Kremnos.

"Lord Phainon!" This Kremnoan calls, and the voice clicks immediately to Phainon, having known the owner these past few years as an acquaintance and, dare Phainon hope, a friend. It's Mnemosyne, one of Mydei's trusted. "Lord Phainon, we need your help!"

Alarm bells are ringing immediately in Phainon's mind. A Kremnoan doesn't ask for help, not unless it's something beyond them.

"Who and where?" Phainon immediately asks, exhaustion fleeing body as adrenaline replaces it, meeting the guard halfway down Okhema's massive walkway leading up to the gate. He sets his knapsack of goodies down, helps hold up the panting Kremnoan woman. "Speak!"

"Her Highness-" she gasps through her labored panting. "At the Kremnoan District-"

"Retrieve your breath, and bring my things later," Phainon murmurs tersely, before he's off like a shot; golden blood empowering his leap as he runs for Kremnos Town, where Little Gorgo is possibly in danger.

The Okhemans cry out in alarm as he bounds over roofs and bolts through streets in a blur of white and blue, and he tunes them all out, his vision tunneling, urging him faster and faster until the whites and golds of Okhema bleeds into red and gold. Until people dressed in soft cloths and leathers are replaced by scarred and rugged people wearing armor and heavier leathers, bronzed skin marked with red war paint.

Phainon is granted easy entrance, the Kremnos-folk having shared their space with the white-haired Elysiaean the past five years. They greet him as one of their own, and Phainon slows his superhuman speed to something more restrained. Something less destructive. He know how loud it is when a Chrysos Heir bears their full might, and he knows how loud he and Mydeimos can be.

(Mentally, he pointedly ignores the other meaning of that sentence. There's no time to ponder his thoughts attraction to his rival soulmate.)

Old Man Krateros meets him halfway as Phainon enters the main square, and something heavy and leaden drops in the white-haired Elysiaen's stomach when the old lion approaches him willingly. Something really is dire.

Phainon dips his head in a respectful greeting when the old lion falls into step with him, the old Kremnoan tilting his head towards the direction of Mydeimos' residence to direct the both of them.

"Teacher Krateros."

"It was during training," the old lion begins without preamble, cutting straight to the chase. His voice is tighter than usual, the lines around his eyes deeper and the set of his jaw tense. "She's not injured badly, but something else happened."

"How bad is it?" Phainon asks, and he tries not to let his anxiety to choke him up, for his thoughts to turn dark and rampant. He can't lose his composure right now. He can't.

Somehow, Old Man Krateros' expression turns even more tense. "Her Highness has golden blood," he declares, and Phainon's blood turn to ice within his veins. Krateros looks at the white-haired Elysiaean in the eye. "She is a Chrysos Heir."

Phainon has to stop for a moment, closing his eyes, and he chokes out the panic- the terror building in his chest. Gorgo needs him right now. Calm and composed and steady. She doesn't need his fear, doesn't need his uncertainty. Phainon breathes deeply, takes in the familiar scent of Kremnos Town - much more familiar than the scent of his quarters over at the Okheman side of the city - and lets it ground him. He can do this. He can be the rock Little Gorgo needs, until her father comes back from his own assignment. Speaking of-

"What about her Royal Father?" Phainon asks, his tone steady and calm, and he leads their walk this time, the old lion following him as easily as Krateros follows their golden-haired prince. "Is he back before me?"

Krateros shakes his head no. "Nay, and right now I don't think Her Highness wants her father." Phainon's confusion must be clear on his face, because the old lion clarifies. "Gorgo is asking for you and you alone."

… That's worrying. Gorgo never denied her father anything, nor chose anything else over him. Something must be really wrong.

"I got this," Phainon says, and he hopes he's truly as confident as his bold proclamation. "Keep an eye out? I'll have Gorgo calmed before he's home."

'He' being Mydeimos, of course. Phainon truly hopes he can calm the little lion before the bigger lion returns from his own hunt.

Krateros nods, and parts from him, presumably to assure the rest of his kinsfolk and make sure their daily routines aren't disturbed despite the situation.

Phainon takes another fortifying breath, and lengthens his strides. Soon enough, he reaches a familiar room, and he knocks. Firm but gentle. The same pattern he's always done to let Gorgo know it's her Big Brother Blue that's waiting at her door.

"Gorgo?" He still calls out, as an extra assurance. "It's me."

He hears nothing behind the door, at first, but a small voice - wrong - floats through. Barely audible with the door between them. "Come in."

Phainon opens the door, keeps his eyes lowered at first, and enters.

From what Phainon can tell, there are no attendants in the room, and on the way Phainon encountered no guards. This wing of Mydeimos' house truly is empty, and the white-haired Elysiaen tries not to let his thoughts go rampant with worry and fear. Gorgo doesn't need that from him, not right now. Not ever.

Phainon only lifts his eyes after a moment longer of silence, and he finds the little lion seated by her window, the one facing the inner courtyard of their home. Behind Gorgo, her kline is messy and unkempt, her favored shield and spear lying haphazardly next to the place. By her desk, scrolls and slates are not as orderly as they usually are, and Gorgo's teleslate is on there as well. Facedown.

She never puts her teleslate facedown.

Gorgo finally looks away from the window, and the smile she gives Phainon is small and scared. "Hi." She says, and it's all so wrong. It's so wrong, how her voice trembles in fear, how thin it is.

She's Gorgo the Younger, the Little Lion, the pride of Mydeimos the Undying, and the Princess of Kremnos. It's so wrong, to see her fearful and trembling. Phainon's heart aches.

"Hello, Your Highness," Phainon greets, mustering a warm smile for this dear girl, and after getting her permission, takes a seat next to her on the bench by her window. The little lion wastes no time sidling up next to him, curling up into a tiny ball, and Phainon's laugh becomes a little pained, but he doesn't hesitate to hug the child. Maybe he's holding her for both their comfort. Maybe not. Phainon's telling no one. "Are you alright?"

"No," comes the honest reply, and Phainon's heart breaks. "I'm scared. I shouldn't be, but I am."

Ah, yes. 'There is no word for fear in the Kremnoan language'.

Horseshit, Phainon thinks.

"What scares you?" Phainon asks anyway, because he knows Gorgo appreciates blunt honesty more than careful words. "Let me share your burden while your dad's not here, hm?"

At the mention of her father, Gorgo stiffens, then her shoulders tremble. Her hands curl into Phainon's dusty overcoat, and there's desperation in her grip

"I have gold blood," Gorgo mumbles into his chest, her voice barely audible. "I have gold blood and I'm a child of Kremnos and I have the Name of Kings. I don't- I won't be a Chrysos Heir."

Phainon cards fingers through her blonde-and-red mane, and doesn't answer immediately. How does one answer such words? How can one reassure a person in this predicament? Phainon dares not to give Gorgo false platitudes, because that is not his way, and that is not what Gorgo deserves. No, she deserves the truth, and what little comfort Phainon can scrounge up for her.

"There is no prophecy for you, I don't think." Phainon says, and his chest twists painfully at the sound of Gorgo's relieved sob. He holds the child close, this daughter who isn't his but might as well be. "You have Kephale's blood in your veins, like your father, but I do not think you are fated for the Flame-Chase."

And Phainon, then and there, desperately prays that he speaks true, that he has not doomed her, this beloved child. If to be a Chrysos Heir is to be doomed, then he'll gladly carry his curse with his own willing hands. Just let Gorgo be spared. Just let Mydeimos' treasure and love be spared.

"But what if-" Gorgo pulls back violently, and her gold ringed eyes, are wide with fear. "But what if something happens to my father- what if another prophecy comes up? Father was supposed to be the last royal of Kremnos, he was supposed to be the end, but I was born. I was born, so I am now the final heir of Nikador, not my father the rightful prince. What if the prophecy changes, all because I existed?"

Oh. Oh this dear child.

Phainon slides out of the bench, kneeling by Gorgo's feet, and he gathers the weeping child just as the dam of her emotions breaks, shatters. In respect for her proud blood, he lets her hide her tears in his shoulder, covering her further with his hand, his body. She's never hidden her fears from him, and so Phainon will hide her. It's one of the few ways he can protect this child, this dear soul.

Her muffled keening tears at Phainon's heart, and he hastily blinks them away. Soothes his free hand down her back - small, so small, she shouldn't shoulder the world, she should be free - and rocking them side to side, just a little.

"If it's a reassurance, let me ask the Teachers Tribios later, hm?" Phainon murmurs, when Gorgo's crying has subsided somewhat. He's aware that the Oracles could barely Hear anything nowadays (nay, the past few decade, if not the past century) but they're still the experts on the prophecies. The Demigod Who Has Heard and Told. "Want to come with? I'm sure Tribbie, Trianne and Trinnon has missed their favorite little lion."

Gorgo clearly hesitates, her fingers spasming where they're digging into Phainon's coat. "What if… What if they say something?" She whispers. The fear truly has dug itself deep within Gorgo's mind, and Phainon has never felt so helpless, so useless. Hand him a legion of Black Tide monsters and Titankin, and he shall prevail. But against this child's fear, this intangible enemy… "What if they tell me that father-"

Her mouth snaps shut, then, and her shuddering begins anew. Worse now, now that she's began to speak the words aloud. Shared her fear.

"What about your father?" Phainon doesn't want to do it, but he needs to ask. Poison, more often than not, needs to be bled to get it all out. "Speak to me, Gorgo, little lion?"

She doesn't reply. Not at first. Frozen, still, paralyzed by her own thoughts, fear gripping her soul deep.

When Gorgo finally pulls away from Phainon, the pure fear in her eyes paralyzes him too. Her words, when she speaks them, feels like a hand reached into his chest and crushed his heart.

"What if the Oracles tell me father must kill me for the Flame-Chase?"

Later - Phainon can't tell how many quints it has been; maybe just one, maybe a few? - a knock comes to Gorgo's door, and the white-haired Elysiaean looks from the sleeping child to regard it. Phainon chews on his lip for a moment, debating on whether or not to get up from where he's seated beside her kline.

A voice from the other side of the door decides for him, and he recognizes Mnemosyne's deep voice. "My lord, I've left your possessions in your room," She says. Pauses. When she continues, her voice is barely audible. "And… His Highness is sighted outside the gates."

Phainon breathes out. Slow and deep.

Time to face the father, he thinks, and after making sure Gorgo is well and truly asleep - exhausted and drained from her emotional turmoil - he carefully gets up from where he's taking vigil, and makes his way to the door.

He opens it carefully, meets Mnemosyne's worried eyes. "She's asleep," Phainon says quietly, stepping through the threshold and closing Gorgo's door behind him. "Exhausted herself."

"Is Her Highness well?" The Kremnoan guard asks, and Phainon thinks that if Mnemosyne were any less disciplined, she'd be wringing her hands bynow. "What… What ails her?"

Phainon chews on his lip, debating with himself, before he finally answers. "She's not well, wouldn't be immediately," Phainon answers honestly, in the end, and the Kremnoan's face tightens in worry. Gorgo truly is loved; by her father, by her people, by Phainon himself. "But I'll do my best to fix it. Where's Mydei? The gates, no?"

"Will you meet him, my lord?"

Phainon nods, and begins walking, Mnemosyne falling into step with him. Further down the hallway, Phainon isn't surprised when the old lion joins them, seemingly melting from the many corridors of Mydei's residence. Phainon just spares Old Man Krateros a nod, and the older Kremnoan returns the gesture in silence.

"I have to speak with him alone, about Gorgo. She's physically safe, for now," Phainon adds, for Krateros' benefit. Honesty is much appreciated amongst the children of Nikador, and Phainon doesn't want to lie to them anyways. "But I'm afraid the situation is… much more complicated than expected. It'll have to come down to Gorgo and her father to resolve… this."

"A curse?" Krateros mutters, and Phainon can't stop the deprecating laugh that escapes him.

Damn Kremnos and it's ritualistic patricide. Phainon wants to spit at the feet of the first idiot king of Kremnos that started such a stupid tradition. Maybe punch them in the face too, while he's at it.

"Something like that." Phainon turns to the two Kremnoans when they reach the exit, regarding them with a heavy look. "Give Gorgo space, for now. She really is safe, but I'll bring Mydeimos back as soon as we're done. Keep everyone calm and focused on their task, because if Gorgo catches wind of anyone being shifty, it'll set her off again."

Krateros' eyes narrow, and Mnemosyne chews her lip in worry. Phainon offers them no clarity, just a final nod of farewell before turning on his heel and heading towards the Gates of Okhema, where hopefully he can catch the prince on his return just outside the city.

As luck would have it, Phainon does meet Mydei outside the gates, and the golden haired prince cocks a brow at the sight of him.

"Greeting me yourself?" The prince calls out, already teasing. "Have you missed me so, Deliverer?"

Playing along for a bit, Phainon puts a hand over his heart and sways a little. "Alas, I yearned to see the gold of your eyes and hair, for the Dawn Device lacks their warmth, and when word of your sighting reached me, I simply had to meet you." Phainon grins a little when Mydei barks a laugh, and straightening from his swoon, he plants his hands on his hips. Tilts his head and smirks at his rival. "Also. I won, by the way."

Mydeimos looks him up and down, humming, before tipping his head in regal acknowledgement. "So it seems," he agrees. "So, what reward shall you demand of me, Deliverer?"

Here comes the hard part.

Phainon takes a fortifying breath.

"… So there's this kid…"

"Uh-huh."

"The kid is discovered to have golden blood."

Mydeimos blinks in surprise, straightening from his lax stance. "Oh? Then their parents must be proud, to have a hero born to their line."

Phainon barely manages not to cringe. Barely. "Thing is, the kid's terrified?" Phainon laughs nervously. "Chrysos Heirs don't usually have, uh, excellent life expectancies."

Mydeimos' expression shutters, just a little, but his expression firms up. "To conquer fear is the first trial every gold-blood must go through. They might not embark on the Flame-Chase, but a hero will find their path and write their own tale, given time." He says, and Phainon is helpless to do anything but admire Mydei's steadfast belief in the strength of people. "They are young still, no? They have time."

Phainon smiles, and he's sure his expression is heartbroken.

"It's Gorgo."

Phainon is shoved against the nearest pillar in a blink, Mydeimos's clawed gauntlets fisting his collars tight, and his expression is cold.

So cold.

"Say that again." It was worded like an order, a demand, but Phainon hears the warning. The threat.

Phainon takes hold of his rival's wrist, not to push him away, but to ground the prince, to keep him from losing himself. Pulling the lion's attention all to himself, putting himself in the line of fire. He'll take Mydeimos' ire, his destruction, his all. Phainon can take all of Mydeimos. Ever since the beginning, Phainon, and only Phainon, is Mydeimos' equal, after all.

"Gorgo had an accident with training earlier, and they found out she's gold-blooded. Like us. Like her father," Phainon says quietly. "Locked herself in her room in a terrified fit. Only got her to calm down and sleep just before word of you coming back reached us. She's scared, Mydeimos."

Conflict flickers over Mydei's face. And isn't that funny? Conflict. Strife.

The very ideal the Kremnoans chase and worship is now giving Mydei grief and distress.

"How so, what is there to fear? She's of my blood, and Hephaestion, though no Chrysos Heir, is the best of them!" Mydeimos tries to shove away from Phainon, but the white-haired Elysiaean refuses to let him go far, twisting a hand into the front of Mydei's robe to get a handhold so he can shove the prince against the very same pillar he shoved Phainon into. The golden lion snarls at him. "Unhand me, Deliverer!"

"Gorgo is scared Tribios will tell her- tell you that for your prophecy to come true, and to progress the Flame-Chase, you must kill Gorgo. Your own child." Phainon tilts his head, sees the distress replacing the furious scowl on that dear face. He presses forward, voices out the fear even Gorgo herself was scared to tell him, but heard anyways. "What if she has to kill you? What if she is actually the Chrysos Heir for the Flame-Chase, the one who will inherit The Wrath of The World?"

And just like that, Mydeimos sags against the pillar, against Phainon, and the white-haired Elysiaean holds his dear friend close, standing strong for the Kremnoan and giving him time, as much as he needs. He ignores the prince's ragged breathing, the hand gripping his cloak tight. It's not Phainon's place to point them out.

"She's not- I'd never-" Mydeimos isn't sobbing, Phainon tells himself, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes. "My own daughter…!"

Phainon brings a hand up, clamps it down tight over the back of Mydeimos' neck. An anchor and a beacon both, dragging the man out of his own spiralling thoughts. "Then take her fear away, Mydeimos. Don't you love telling me the word doesn't exist in the Kremnoan tongue? Prove it to me- nay, prove it to her, your child, your pride and joy. Tell her, teach her she never has to fear you."

Phainon pulls away, but not too far, just enough to knock his forehead against Mydei's. If he knocked heads a little too aggressively than warranted, well… He had to make sure there's no more stupid thought within his rival's mind, no? It's his duty as the prince's friend and rival and soulmate.

"Fear makes mockeries of us, and it doesn't always make sense." Phainon would know. Phainon's steps has always been dogged by his fears. His shadow is riddled with it, staring at him from the corner of his eyes ever since Aedes Elysiae burned around him. "You know your daughter, and your daughter knows you. Prove to her she has nothing to fear, that you have nothing to fear. The ritual ended with you, Mydeimos, I know it."

Phainon pulls back, and helps straighten Mydei. Gets his friend back to his feet, because Mydei unmoored and lost is wrong. No one, not even Phainon, should ever witness Mydei faltering. No one.

"You'd rather ruin this world than ruin even one hair on that child's head." Phainon murmurs. Offers a smile when Mydei finally looks at him. "You could never hurt her."

The Dawn Device burns ever eternal. The Black Tide ebbs ever closer. The wheat fields of Aedes Elysiaea is a sea of gold. And Mydeimos loves his child more than anything in the world.

Those are the truths Phainon knows, and holds to.

A week later, Phainon bears witness to Mydeimos presenting first to Aglaea and the Tribios his gold-blooded daughter, and then to their people. The roars of the Kremnos-folk was akin to thunderclap and a thousand war drums, venerating and cheering for their princess as she bravely stands next to her fellow gold-blooded father. Phainon was shouting himself hoarse, of course, and it's worth it for the grateful grin Little Gorgo gives him.

Maybe her fear isn't completely gone, not yet, but in the end, Gorgo is Kremnoan through and through. Child of Mydeimos the Undying and Hephaestion the Fierce. Named with the Name of Kings, heir to Kremnos, to Strife, to war. A lion in the making.

She'll be fine.

(However, later, after Gorgo's presentation ceremony, Phainon is going to rethink his statement of Gorgo being fine when the little lion asks him to be her teacher. Not her own father, not the old lion Krateros. Phainon.

Phainon will turn to his soulmate, and say, "Mydei, your kid is saying weird things."

Mydeimos will laugh at him, raucous and mocking, but will not answer. Gorgo will pout cutely and insist, and then Phainon will fold because if Mydeimos is ever weak to Gorgo, the same applies to the white-haired Elysiaean. Phainon will agree, but he will also express his doubt, because what right does he have to teach Gorgo , the heir of Mydeimos?

This soul mate will smile, languid and easy, and will simply say;

"Because you are my equal.")

Chapter Text

When Gorgo was but ten-and-three years old, she told her royal father;

"Father, I want Lord Phainon to be my teacher."

She did not choose her own father, who is the greatest of all the warriors of Kremnos the past several centuries. Not Krateros who was her father's own teacher and peer of Gorgo the Elder. Gorgo the Younger chose none of her kinsfolk, instead picking the 'Deliverer', as lauded by the Okhemans.

But to Gorgo's surprise, her father didn't even put up a fuss, merely nodding in satisfaction.

"I trust no one else with you," he declared with neither shame nor hesitation. "If you are to be heir of Kremnos after me, Phainon will be the best man to teach you."

Gorgo who was three-and-ten didn't get that second statement, back then, but now, she understands it, mostly if not fully.

Now at ten-and-six, Gorgo had spent the past three years studying intensively and persistently under her Elysiaean teacher, and to her delighted shock she has learnt so much more about her dear teacher and - to her surprise - her own father.

Gorgo at ten-and-three has posited that she'd better learn from Lord Phainon, as both of them are weapon users, unlike Gorgo's royal father. She's was right in her assumption, but she has not expected how right she'd be. Everyone in the Kremnoan Detachment has seen how well matched the Elysiaean is with their prince, but they didn't know that by learning from Lord Phainon, they are also to learn about Mydeimos, their prince and leader.

Not that it was a conscious kind of teaching; more a by-product than a dedicated training regimen in order to combat a specific foe (namely, the Crown Prince of Kremnos). Still, Gorgo learnt it all; everything her white-haired teacher was willing to teach her and then some. Her spear and shield are now as familiar to her as her own limbs, their weight and heft a comfort. The callouses have roughened her hands, and she welcomed them. She's seen her gold blood spill across the training ground so often it has become a common occurence, and at the sight of it and Lord Phainon's mild smile served as a warning that had she met her teacher on the battlefield as an enemy and not friend family, she would've been long dead.

She learnt how her teacher fights her father, and at the same time learnt how her father fights through each bout with Lord Phainon. It was… very illuminating.

The past three years, Gorgo pushed herself to her very limits. Learnt all she could, both in scholarly pursuits and warfare. She might not be her father, but she's brilliant in her own way. She had once boasted she is the blood of Kremnos, a child of warriors Nikador Themself would welcome into Their warband, and had boldly declared herself to be Gorgo, named with the Name of Kings. She talked the talk, and she has walked the walk.

And now, three years after she claimed Lord Phainon as her teacher and began her study under him-

He declared her training complete.

And with that declaration comes the last trial Gorgo must overcome before she's declared an adult and a warrior by her father and by her people.

The Trial of Acknowledgement. A final examination where either the student wins-

Or dies.

Gorgo's Trial of Acknowledgement coincides with the Month of Gate, on it's 16th day. Gorgo thinks it's a rather auspicious month to have her final trial, despite Grand Teacher Krateros' insistence that her final trial be held during the Month of Strife instead. For one, the Month of Strife is too far away, and holding her final trial during the month where the old is left in the past and the new is embraced in full, it's a little more promising. A little more hopeful.

Gorgo steps out onto the arena to the roars of her kinsfolk and the blares of horns and the drmbeats, and she's a little shocked when she realizes the stands aren't just holding Kremnoans; there are some Okhemans as well, a lot more subdued in their reactions but just as caught up in the revelry. Next to her royal father stands the Demigod of Romance and the Demigod of Passages; the Ladies Aglaea and Tribios. The latter are zipping around the royal stand, chattering at their fellow Chrysos Heirs and watching everyone and everything. One of them, Lady Trinnon, sits by the railing and spots Gorgo looking their way, offering a small wave in her direction.

Gorgo beams, and in acknowledgement for such prestigious guests and witnesses, Gorgo bangs her spear against her shield, the sound akin to a distant thunderclap, and points to her royal father and his guests. The crowd roars ever louder, and Gorgo can feel Kremnos, can feel strife waking up in her blood. Warming it, setting her ablaze slowly but surely.

On the opposite end of the arena, a white-haired warrior walks out. Kephale's golden light lights him like something holy, reminds everyone his moniker of 'Deliverer'. One Who Shall Carry the World.

Lord Phainon, her teacher, her father's other half, brings his sword to bear and offers her one of his well-worn, kind smiles.

"Gorgo, Child of Mydeimos, Child of Kremnos!" He calls out, his voice ringing strong and resolute throughout the arena. A hush falls over the place; anticipatory. "I've declared your training with me complete. Are you ready to declare your competency?"

Gorgo nods . "I am!"

"To battles you may not return from, to enemies that may strike you down; are you ready to prove your might?"

"I am!"

"To your people, the Warriors of Kremnos, and to your father, Mydeimos the Undying, the Crown Prince, The Heir to Strife and Wrath," a quick pause, barely noticeable. "Are you ready to stand beside them?"

Gorgo lets out a resolute breath. Drops to her preferred fighting stance, and hefts her weapons into position.

"I am." Her final declaration is quite. Resolute.

Lord Phainon smiles at her, and it's so, so proud.

"Glad to hear it." He murmurs, barely audible over the distance-

And then he moves.

Gorgo brings her shield up just in time, enforced by the powers granted to her by her golden blood, but even then she almost buckles under the force of her teacher's greatsword. Truly, mighty is the arm of Phainon of Aedes Elysiae, He Who Will Carry the World! But even so, Gorgo doesn't let it scare her, and she tilts her shield arm just so, the metallic shriek of sword sliding off shield a piercing, ugly noise. She forces away Lord Phainon's weapon, aims a quick jab towards the older man's throat with her spear.

She's not surprised her teacher dodges the viper-fast jab, and so she lets the flame of her golden blood blaze free, further forcing Lord Phainon back lest the blood red flames catch him in its ever burning grip and eat away at his flesh. He hops back, just a little space, but Gorgo is quick to pursue him, shield forward and the lionhead upon its surface alight with Gorgo's crimson fire. It roars, blasts a wave of flames in front of it, and Phainon jumps over Gorgo to dodge, swinging his greatsword at her head as he twists midair.

Gorgo blocks the quick blow with her spear this time, only to turn on her heel to face Lord Phainon, twirling her spear, guiding the sword safely away from her, and stabbing forward once more, all in the same motion.

Her teacher laughs in delight as he roughly catches her spear just behind its head, looking at the spearhead with something akin to fondness, and he turns his twinkling blue gaze on her, lips spreading in a smile. "You really are your father's child," he says with absolute fondness, and Gorgo can't help but beam proudly, no doubt lighting up at the praise. "Vicious, this lion cub!"

Gorgo leaps forward, momentarily letting go of her spear, and almost succeeds and slamming the edge of her shield against her teacher's temple. Keyword being almost, as the man was quick to jump out of the way, staying safely outside of Gorgo's immediate range.

"To be praised by teacher is always an honor!" Gorgo enthuses, because it's true! If there's someone's opinion she values as highly as she values her father's, then it is Lord Phainon's. After all, the man has been with her- been around the Kremnoan Detachment for a long, long while. Practically welcomed them at the Gates of Okhema almost a decade ago, what with that duel with her father…

And to honor her fondness and her own care for Lord Phainon, she brings her shield to bear once more, and charges straight for him.

Gorgo had three years to hone her skills with her favored weapons, and the new fire her golden blood gave her. If she's being truthful, Gorgo's raw prowess is equal to her father's strongest generals, if not more; after all, Kephale's blood now runs through her, and her flames are both hearth and pyre both. Save her father and Lord Phainon, none can disarm Gorgo; her shield remains steadfast upon her right arm, and her spear is forever in her left hand's grasp.

But despite all that, Lord Phainon simply outstrips her in experience and power, not to mention he is the man who taught Gorgo everything she knows about fighting, and thus knows her like a book. Front to back. Maybe even wrote footnotes and annotations.

But Gorgo persists. She blocks and parries as much as she could, could feel her knees and arms shake under the onslaught of her teacher's unforgiving blows, dodges every time when Lord Phainon swings at her neck. Which is almost every other attack.

She persists, because she could never hope to win against Lord Phainon-

Clarity passes through Gorgo, and she leaps away just as her teacher aims a horizontal swipe with his greatsword at her neck. Again. A beheading swing, had it connected. Had Lord Phainon meant it.

Gorgo feels oddly weightless and jittery with her enlightenment, and it must've shown on her face, because her teacher gives her reprieve from his quiet but brutal onslaught, and smiles at her knowingly.

Her shield arm lowers to her side. Gorgo plants the butt of her spear to her side, hand around its worn shaft. She's shaking, but it's not fear. It's the adrenaline, of finally realizing something, and she has the power to act on it.

Parted from the vicious clash with her teacher, Gorgo finally realizes how silent the arena has become - she may have forgotten then had an audience… - but it only made things easier for her.

"My Teacher!" She calls out to him, and Lord Phainon rests his own greatsword in front of him, hands hanging limp from the pommel as he regards her with a grin. "I have learnt a lesson!"

"Oh?" Her teacher's eyes shine brighter, and Gorgo knows she's correct, that she realized that there was one final lesson, that there's a reason why Lord Phainon volunteered to be her last trial when it could've been her own father, or Grand Teacher Krateros, or anyone else from the Kremnoan Detachment. "Then tell me, Gorgo!"

It's simple, really.

Gorgo takes to a knee, feels how the silence had become charged, tense, and she lowers her head. Surrenders.

"I yield!"

Gorgo's proclamation is met with startled silence, and she holds fast to her decision. She knows, in her heart, in her burning, golden blood-

It is the right decision, for her.

Her teacher has approached, and then he's crouching in front of her, his expression open and considering. He's resting his greatsword on his shoulder with one hand, and the other is draped lazily over his knees.

"Kremnoans do not yield," Her teacher murmurs in quiet Elysiaean. A little piece of his home and past that he shared with Gorgo and Gorgo alone. A safe haven that he started since she was young, when they spent that fateful day together the first time. "There is no word for 'retreat' in the Kremnoan tongue."

Gorgo nods in agreement, and replies, in the same soft, lilting Elysiaean. "But death does, teacher." She looks at Lord Phainon in the eye. "I want to win. Therefore I will not die here, by your blade."

Her teacher just watches her quietly for a moment, before he nods and gets back to his feet. Gorgo is unsurprised by the blade now pressing against her throat, so she keeps still. Keeps her head lowered.

"Gorgo of Kremnos, of Mydeimos! Do you yield?!" The pronouncement is more for show and ceremony than anything, so Gorgo goes along easily. Her shoulders are unburdened, her mind clear.

"I do!"

The blade bites, just a little; scores a line down the side of Gorgo's proffered neck and making golden blood drip in a thin, singular trail. A mark of her loss.

Then her teacher is putting his sword away, dismissing it in a shower of light motes. Gorgo only rises to her feet when Lord Phainon holds his hand out to her, helping her up. They exchange placid looks; neither of them missing the stilted silence from the audience. A quick glance show that the Okhemans are confused and worried, while her kinsfolk are…

Well.

Unhappy would be putting it lightly.

But even so, Gorgo has made her decision, and if it comes with the scorn of her own people, then so be it.

She is the daughter of Mydeimos the Undying, the heir of Kremnos and Nikador and Strife, and she is named with the Name of Kings.

She may have given up the fight with her teacher, but she doesn't think he has lost. Not when she has gained wisdom. Not when she has learnt something far more important than simply winning. Perhaps scandalous- nay, blasphemous for a Kremnoan to say, but.

Anyways-

Her teacher guides her over to where her royal father and their prestigious guests are seated, presenting Gorgo after her yield and admittance of loss.

"Mydeimos the Undying," Her teacher calls out, tone formal. Completely unlike how they usually are. Friendly. Always bickering. Forever driving each other to new heights. Familiar and casual and easy. "Your child, Gorgo the Younger. She has yielded."

Gorgo meets her father's eyes. Sees them placid and clear. Like freshly minted Balance Coins, or an open flame in the Forgemasters' workshop.

Then he nods, and as simple as that, the matter is over.

At least, for now.

Gorgo feels slightly bad that her father had to deal with the political fallout of her loss- no, her yield (because of course, to the bloodied children of Kremnos, a loss is a lot more forgiveable than yielding) but. She has made her choice, and she sticks to it. Besides, her father only told her to stay in her room while he talks to the little council, with instructions to wait for him.

So that's what Gorgo does, dressed in softer clothes and her armor in its stand and her weapons on their places of honor. She's just done with caring for her gear when there's a knock on her door.

It's her father, with that same specific way Lord Phainon knocks as well.

Gorgo hastily moves to stand at the edge of her kline, smoothes her hair out of her face, and calls out, "Come in!"

Her door opens, and her father steps through. He's still dressed in his armor and his blood red robes, but his clawed gauntlets are nowhere to be seen. He gives her a lopsided smile when he closes the door behind him.

"Don't act all demure now, Gorgo, you know what you did." Despite his words, her father's tone is warm and amused, so Gorgo lets herself grin. Unrepentant and impish. Gorgo is sure she looks like a certain white-haired Elysiaean, and judging from his amused snort, her father has realized the same thing. If he hasn't, Gorgo would be disappointed; how dare her father not see his soulmate when it should be seared within his mind's eye! Hmph!

"I did," Gorgo concedes with a dip of her head, watching her father take the seat by her desk. "I do not do not regret it."

"No, you don't," Her father agrees with an amused snort. "Still, I agree with you."

That both surprises her, and not at all. After all, Gorgo is her father's dearest daughter, and she knows her father in a way his advisors, teacher and generals don't. Gorgo long knows about her father's opinions on some… certain things.

Alas, but those are topics she cannot speak with her father at the current moment - ironic that they cannot speak freely in their own home - so instead, she changes the topic, and asks-

"Are you really fine with how my trial ended, father?" Gorgo is aware with how her trial ended, and the repercussions she - and her father through her - will have to face fromher kinsfolk.

After all, essentially, the princess of Kremnos has shamed herself and her line with her surrender. Soiled her line with her weakness.

Her father, Mydeimos the Undying, simply shrugs.

"I am."

Gorgo tilts her head.

Her father waves a hand dismissively. "Had I wanted you to win no matter what, I would teach you myself. Or even throw you at that old lion." He gets up to his feet, and the click of his armored legs is familiar and comforting as he approaches. "I backed your decision to have Phainon as your teacher for a reason-"

Her fathers hands are warm and rough and comforting, and as he cups Gorgo's face, she leans into her father with all the trust and love she has for her family. The kiss he presses onto her brow is gentle. Full of his love. Of his care. He kneels down next to her, then, still gently holding her face. Gorgo wonders whether he sees his own father, or his mother's, or even Gorgo's other father, Hephaestion. Perhaps even all of them, superimposed upon over each other until they're indistinguishable from Gorgo's own face.

"If I wanted you to win, and only win, I would've given you to any Kremnoan, myself included, as your teacher. But I want more than that for you." Her father says. "I want you to survive."

Her father falls silent for a moment, his gaze far away, and Gorgo is content to let him think. Happy to hold her father's hand against her face to bask in his affection. Hums a little tune Lord Phainon taught her, one he's known since his own youth in Aedes Elysiae. She's happy to wait like this, and when her father returns from wherever his mind took him to, Gorgo refocuses all her attention back to him.

"Phainon is the Deliverer because I know he will survive, no matter what." Mydeimos the Undying declares, and Gorgo carves the declaration into her heart, to her very soul. She agrees, after all. "He will Deliver Amphoreus to Era Nova, upon his strong back he shall carry the fate of this world, and I… I might be cursing you a little, my little lion."

Her father smiles at her, and it's a little heartbroken. A whole lot more proud.

"I want you to be our people's very own Deliverer. I want you to save Kremnos, my Gorgo, my treasure, my love."

Well so much for not talking about The Thing while at home, but at least her father is speaking in the softest tones.

Lowering her voice to a hush as well, Gorgo asks her father, "Save Kremnos from whom, father?"

When Mydeimos smiles, and it's a wan, tired thing.

"From itself."

Chapter Text

Phainon has been having a relaxing evening at the baths when familiar footsteps approach his way, closing in at a rather rapid clip, and he can't stop himself from smiling and moving the towel off of his eyes to survey his new companion.

He grins up at the exhausted looking Mydeimos.

"How much did the elders scold you?" Phainon asks, and at the blank look the prince gives him, the white-haired Elysiaean throws his head back and laughs. Tosses the towel covering his face to the side as he watches the golden haired prince practically flop face first into the bath as he steps into it. Phainon grimaces in sympathy. "That bad?"

Mydeimos blurbles into the water in exasperation.

Phainon nods. He gets it.

He tips his head back once more, leaving his dear friend to mope face down in the water as long as he needs to.

He doesn't blame Mydeimos for acting as he is right now; as cruel and callous as it sounds, Phainon being the last of his people means he has no politicking, appeasements, and painful compromises to deal with amongst his fellow Elysiaeans. Well, not that Phainon thinks it'd happen with his people in the first place; Elysiaeans are easy, peacable people, and the extent of their politics only deals with who does which chores that week. That's all.

The Kremnoans, however, like their politics bloodier. Literally and figuratively.

And considering the stunt Gorgo (and by extension, him) pulled earlier today…

"I don't regret it." Phainon says out loud. Looks down in time to see Mydeimos rise from the water, slicking water away from his face and looking like something straight out of a wet dream. A literal wet dream. "You know I don't."

The looks Mydei gives him as he finally lounges back is fond but wry. "Oh, I knew, no need to worry about that. Doesn't change the fact the elders tried chewing my ear out like I'm still some green boy," he shakes his head, pushing his hair back further and revealing more of his devastatingly beautiful face. "Sometimes, I wonder what would happen if I lock my council with the Okheman politicians."

Phainon cringes. "Please, don't; I don't need that visual." Mydei barks out a laugh, and Phainon joins him. The white-haired Elysiaean falls quiet, thoughtful. "… How's Gorgo?"

"Equally unrepentant, what do you think?" The words sound like a rebuke, but Mydeimos is grinning widely and fiercely. Proud and smug and very, very amused. Gorgo truly could do no wrong is his eyes. Not that Gorgo did anything wrong, in Phainon (somewhat biased) opinion. The grin slowly slips off of Mydei's face, and his expression becomes thoughtful. Somber. "She's no Flame-Chaser, my Gorgo, but I've given her a burden just as thankless and herculean. I have faith in her, she's the best of everyone who ever came out of that blood-soaked empire, and yet-"

Mydei breathes deeply, interrupting his own words in an effort to calm down. Absently stirs the water for something to do as he puts himself back together. Phainon waits him out patiently, quietly, encouragingly.

"She'll lead Kremnos to greater heights, I'm sure." Mydei concludes, in the end. "But not at the cost of her heart."

Phainon can only smile, at that proclamation, and he feels his chest fill to bursting with something warm and soft and overwhelming. His rival, his dear friend, this man who is his kindred spirit…

Truly is a person with kindest heart.

"You really love her." Phainon says. Not a question. A statement, a truthful phrase whose undeniability cannot be contested. Not by men, not by beasts, and not even by gods. "You're a great dad, Mydeimos."

They fall silent after that. Nothing more needs to be said, after all. At least, nothing pressing. They're here to rest and unwind, and that's what they're going to do. Both Heirs know how demanding their lives can be, and how each lazy moment like this are a luxury they could barely afford. On the morrow, they'll return to their duties. To Okhema, to their peoples, to the survivors that still walk Amphoreus. They would no longer be just Phainon and Mydei, but Deliverer and the Undying. They have to be Chrysos Heirs once more, once this day ends.

But for now, they are just Phainon and Mydei. A soldier and a father respectively; both exhausted, both united in their want for rest.

Beneath the water, Phainon brushes his foot against Mydei's calf. A quiet nudge and assurance both, and the two men bask in their own bubble as long as they could. Takes this moment just for themselves. Right now, they rest.

Together.

Chapter Text

Two years since Gorgo's rather disastrous Trial of Acknowledgement, and while the treatment towards her and her father aren't really that different… There's a significant coldness towards them from their own kinsfolk since then. Her father is unbothered, or to be specific, uncaring of the harsh words, the cutting looks. He carries on, proud and resolute, and his back never wavers.

So Gorgo does the same.

She meets the disapproving stares head on, doesn't look away until the other party does. She hears the the unpleasant words, acknowledges them, and lets it go. It hurts, she won't deny it, but she grew up never fearing pain. She takes it; their rancor, their hate, and forgives them. Keeps her head high, and her shoulders back.

Two years pass like that, and the exceptional (infamous) Gorgo the Younger grows. Blooms.

From a young lady to a woman grown, Kremnos' little lion is not so little now; young still, true, but almost as tall as her royal father, with the breadth and width to match. Tall and strong and resolute, both in body and mind and heart, she cuts an awe-inspiring figure. Radiant and defiant both, with the grace and allure of a nymph, as well as the ferocity and prowess of Titankin. In the face of her exquisiteness, even the most disapproving of her kinsfolk had nothing to say.

And in the face of her exquisiteness, well…

Suffice to say it surprised no one when it attracted attention. From several someones, to be exact.

"Who do they think they are, demanding audience?!" Her father Mydeimos snarls, barely refraining from lobbing his goblet at the wall had Lord Phainon not caught his arm and rescued the poor cup. Her father snarls again, and Gorgo absently thinks that they'll never be free from the lion allegations. "Who do they think they are?!!"

"Now, now, Mydei, calm down, lest you bust a blood vessel somewhere in that poor head of yours-" The white-haired Elysiaean throws his hands up in a placating gesture when Gorgo's father whirls on him, eyes blazing in anger, but Lord Phainon is still grinning, amused despite himself. Gorgo herself is busying herself with breakfast, so she too wouldn't laugh at her poor father who is so red in anger. "I'm just saying! You and Gorgo are too beautiful for us mere mortals. Are you really surprised someone is wholly taken by either of you?"

Golden eyes squint at the white-haired Elysiaean. "You're calling me pretty?"

Gorgo looks away and wonders why these two still aren't courting, if not married. It's been 10 years since that battle at the gates, and to a Kremnoan that was one of the grandest declaration of intention of union. If not the grandest. Gorgo is sure she isn't the only Kremnoan who is still watching their crown prince and his soulmate expectantly. Waiting.

At ten-and-eight, Gorgo is a lot older now, and just a little bit wiser. Coming of age as an adult, it comes with certain expectations. It's a little looser with them, with Kremnoans; marriages and unions are decided in a duel, in battle. Acceptances and rejections handled simply and as straightforward as possible. 'Frivolity' is a word that doesn't exist in the Kremnoan language, and it is kept true in the simplicity of their lives and traditions.

However, as they live in Okhema, the last bastion of humanity…

Gorgo surfaces from the depths of her thoughts, looking at these men who raised her, loved her, and cared for her as parents would. These men she loves like fathers.

"Who asked for me, father?" Gorgo asks, and her golden-haired father goes utterly still in the middle of squabbling with his soulmate, who also blinks at her in surprise. "Are they Okheman?"

Gorgo has already rejected her Kremnoan suitors; surviving sons and daughters of of Mydeimos' generals. Politically, marrying one of these peers would be the best, but Gorgo cannot feel a connection amongst them. A camaraderie, a rivalry, a familiarity that goes soul-deep. A bond like that of Mydeimos the Undying's and Phainon the Deliverer. They're not the ones for her, Gorgo had realized.

Perhaps Gorgo is being too much of a romantic, utterly un-Kremnoan as she yearns for a love that feels like finding your equal, a love that feels like meeting your oldest and dearest friend.

A love that doesn't just burn, but persists. A well-tended hearth in a home made of trust, unity and knowing.

Mydeimos marches over to her, his face tense, but when he cups her face, presses kisses to her forehead, he is ever gentle. He'd never hurt her, this father of hers who is kind and full of love. Gorgo can't help the pleased giggle escaping her, hands coming up to keep her father's hands on her cheeks, grinning up at him sunnily. Despite the man's earlier wretched disposition, it falters at the sight of his daughter's unbridled joy. A fact of life Gorgo takes advantage of pretty often; just as her father cannot bear her to be troubled, Gorgo seeks to make sure her father also has joy in his life. Peace and calm.

Now only if Lord Phainon finally gets the memorandum…

Gorgo asks again, "Who asked for me, father?" She prompts, and even she cannot deny that her father, Mydeimos the Undying, the Lion of Kremnos, Heir of Nikador-

Is pouting.

"They don't deserve you." He declares; resolute and grave and petty. Lord Phainon is laughing silent behind her father, and Gorgo fights to not yield to her own laughter.

Instead, Gorgo grins up at her father, taking advantage of his love for her with neither shame nor hesitation. "But don't I deserve someone?" She asks, implores, and her father's pout deepens. Truly, Gorgo's father is one of the funniest people alive. "I want what you have, too, father."

Her father's brows twitch towards each other. "What I have? I'm not-" Gorgo gives her silly, silly father A Look. One that had her father pausing, leaning back to look at her as he pieces together her words. When he does, his eyes widen, something like realization in his expression. Gorgo tries not to roll her eyes, because Nikador's Lance, had her father never realized…? All this time???

"Well." Mydeimos clears his throat. "Well."

Both of them don't look at the white-haired Elysiaean, who has busied himself with breakfast that they should've partaken a quint ago, had Mydeimos the Fussiest Father Alive not lost his mind at the courtship letters sent to his only daughter.

Gorgo smiles, and grants mercy upon her father. Holds her hand out, blinking imploringly. "Papa?" The childhood term might be fighting dirty, but Mydeimos would forgive any and all transgressions Gorgo the Younger has and will commit.

Her father grumbles, petulant and pouty, but nonetheless he takes his leave briefly. Muttering about how he should've burnt those letters the moment he saw them until he disappears from view. Gorgo can only laugh lightly, joining Lord Phainon and resuming her meal. Well, what constitutes for a meal with her, with how she's mostly just picking and pecking at the food today.

"He's just worried," her teacher says, grinning around his food. "You know how your father is."

Gorgo sighs, but there's a smile on her lips. "I do," she agrees. She knows her father the most, save perhaps this man beside her, who is his soulmate. "Doesn't stop him from being silly."

Lord Phainon tilts his head in agreement, eyes alight with mirth. He gestures at her then. "You're oddly calm in the face of the dreaded courtship letters," he observes, voice light and tone curious. "You don't mind?"

… Well. "It's not that I don't mind," Gorgo begins, pouring herself a cup of pomegrante juice and taking a generous sip. "Not that I don't mind, it's just the most efficient way for me to meet people right now. At least, people my age who are interested in me. I do not know where they are, but they know where I am. 'Tis faster if they approach me first."

Her Teacher looks at her in marvel and amusement. "And I thought your father was the most pragmatic person I know," shakes his head. Amused. Gorgo can't help but grin; not because it's funny, but because she's so happy that Lord Phainon is confident enough in her father to declare such things. It warms her, this closeness of theirs, and she wants it too. She wants a partnership, a rivalry, a closeness akin to the of the Deliverer and the Undying. "Then? Do you have a partner in mind?"

A good question.

Gorgo hums, staring down at her cup of blood red juice as she swirls it around absently.

"Strong. Steadfast. Mighty. But also kind, compassionate, and gentle." Gorgo smiles at the words pouring out of her. It seems her heart already has an ideal in mind! How fortunate. "I want someone who can challenge me and uplift me; to be by my side and not below me or above me. I want this person to stand next to me, and I can tell them, 'I know you'. That's the kind of partner I want."

Lord Phainon stares at her. Stares at her for a long time. Long enough Gorgo is starting to get maybe-sort-of-kind-of nervous.

"Um, did I say something wrong?" She asks, her voice soft. Timid.

Her teacher jerks in her seat, almost as if he's twitching back to life, and his dazed expression blooms back to life, his lips stretching out into a grin and his eyes curving up into happy crescents. Rests his chin on a propped up hand.

"No, you said nothing wrong, dearest Gorgo." He answers, voice warm. It soothes her, her teacher's voice. Just as familiar and trusted as her father's deeper, rumbling tones. His eyes flit over towards the doorway, and he lights up, straightening in his seat. "Ah, your dad's back."

Gorgo looks over as well, about to greet her father, but her voice is taken from her, as she takes in the sheer amount of scrolls her father and Grand Teacher Krateros and Mnemosyne carry into the room.

"Um." Gorgo says intelligently.

Off to the side, her teacher is laughing his head off, delighted and absolutely tickled pink, and Gorgo pouts at him in betrayal. The man just laughs harder, not even repentant even when her father growls and lands a kick on his backside.

"Her Royal Highness is well sought after," Mnemosyne is at least nice about it, Gorgo thinks. The guardswoman sets her burdens down the nearest available space and bows towards the Kremnoan princess, a smile curling at the edges of her lips. "I pray to Nikador that you find your ideal companion."

"Speaking of ideal companions-" Her traitor of a teacher pipes up, still giggling and wiping tears from his eyes. He looks at Mydeimos after nodding at Gorgo. "Ask your kid what her ideal partner is. C'mon."

Gorgo can feel herself flush, and it's her magnanimity and composure that helps her resist the urge to summon her spear (Hah! She can finally do the thing!) and throw it at her teacher's head. Beloved teacher or not, her father's soulmate or not, she won't stand for this treason! Treason!!!

She scowls at him though, at Lord Phainon, and the white-haired Elysiaean only grins back at her in response.

Slowly, cautious and intrigued both, her father turns to her, and Gorgo is sure her face is flushed a horrible shade of red. An equally golden brow cocks up as her father regards her. A quick look around the room reveals that the others are now also paying close attention to her (there is no word for gossip in the Kremnoan language, but by Nikador's Lance, these people sure are doing it!) and Gorgo wants to maybe throw a table out of the window. Just maybe.

But she is Gorgo the Younger, Daughter of Mydeimos the Undying, she who is Lionflame, Heiress to Kremnos, named with the Name of Kings.

So she straightens her back, meets her father's expectant gaze with a sharp look, and repeats her answer from earlier.

"I want a companion who is mighty just as they are kind. Strong and gentle. Steadfast but compassionate. I want someone who is strong enough to push me to my limits, but never crush me under their heel. I want someone who I can chase, as a goal and an ideal, and not have to worry about leaving them behind." Did her declaration sound a lot more ridiculous than before? Maybe. Gorgo doesn't care right now. "I want an equal; a rival and best friend both. I want someone who sees me and can confidently say 'I know you', and I wish to find someone who I can say the same as well. Am I asking too much?"

Her impassioned speech rant is met with silence, at first. Everyone seemingly struck silent save Lord Phainon, who is watching his rival, his soulmate with eager anticipation. Gorgo waits in tense silence as well, an embarassed sort of defiance in her eyes as she looks at her people in the eye.

The silence is broken by a soft chuckle.

Gorgo almost gapes when she finds her father to be the source, her golden-haired father smothering the sound behind a hand.

Gorgo thinks this is betrayal.

"Father…!" Gorgo can't help but gasp, tinged with so much emotion, and it's the soil that broke the dromas' back.

Her father, her flesh and blood, braces himself on his knees as he howls with laughter. It's long and loud; a noise Gorgo has only heard on one hand with fingers to spare, and she's torn between watching her father in amazement and kicking her meanie of a father in the gut for laughing at her plight.

In the end, Gorgo just pouts and moodily finishes all of the pomegranate juice (leaving none for her father, HAH!) while the crown prince finishes up with his laughing fit. When her father is finally done laughing, he practically beams at everyone, even at Grand Teacher Krateros, and Gorgo thinks she should've left the room when she had the chance.

"You know what? My daughter isn't the one I should be worried over." He proclaims, and-

???????

Gorgo watches her father march over to the food table in a couple long strides, grabbing the pitcher for the pomegranate juice. He lifts it, looking at his people with something like pride and unholy glee. If Gorgo inches away from her own father discreetly, who can blame her.

"Let's drink!" The Crown Prince of Kremnos declares, voice weirdly cheerful and excited. "In honor of the poor bastards who has to deal with my daughter's punishing standards!"

That pronouncement somehow makes everyone laugh, and Gorgo could only roll her eyes. Alas, what she could do now? She had said her piece, and she cannot- will not take it back. Besides, despite her pouting, she knows her people aren't actually making fun of her.

She rolls her eyes one last time, shakes her head, and snatches the pitcher from her father's grasp to drain the last of the pomegranate juice.

(If Mydeimos the Undying chased his daughter Gorgo Lionflame throughout the Kremnoan district, that's their business. Besides, it was rare to see their golden royals happy and unburdened, so who will stop them? Who would dare destroy this rare gift? None, that's who.)