Work Text:
Pheris made his halting way along the passageways of the palace as quickly as he could, because he didn’t have long. If he hurried, he could call on Teleus and be back in time for the king’s dressing.
Teleus was reasonably familiar with Pheris’ signs, but this was a little more complicated, so he had written a note to explain. Perhaps he should simply leave it, or perhaps he should have sent it by messenger.
Get it done, don’t be a coward, he told himself.
He knew he hadn’t mistaken Moira’s message, although she hadn’t spoken aloud. She had danced with him: his infirmity meant he could never dance, but somehow the goddess had made it possible. Pheris was still astonished by that dance, equally exhilarated and awed. He hadn’t really slept, reliving the experience over again during the night, back in the familiar surroundings of his closet.
He thought again of Moira’s smile, and her kindness. And how after the dance she looked across at the one person who remained alone and morose, shaking his head at all invitations. She didn’t go to Teleus; instead she looked at Pheris, who nodded hesitantly, accepting her request even though he couldn’t immediately think how to help.
He liked Teleus, who had always been kind and rather more patient with him than Relius. And the loss of Relius had drawn them together in mutual grief.
He got up as soon as it was light enough to see. Teleus’ quarters were over at the barracks, but Pheris had been there often enough, carrying messages for Relius or the king, and the guards at the entrance let him through without question.
Since it was still so early, he decided to push his note under Teleus’ door rather than risk waking him, but as he came nearer the door opened and Teleus appeared, fully dressed and very much the captain of the royal guard.
“Pheris?”
Pheris quickly shoved the note between the fingers of his bad hand and signed: Not official. Not important.
Teleus reached out and took the note. He led the way back into his quarters. The room was a good size, appropriate for the captain of the palace guard, but very plain. There was a small shelf with books and scrolls, but no unnecessary decoration, and no paperwork lying about. Teleus’ office was elsewhere in the barracks.
Only if you’re not busy. Pheris knew Teleus well enough to be quite sure he would not be getting up before dawn unless he had to.
With difficulty, Teleus refrained from growling. “Not busy? With half the Sounisian and Eddisian courts here? And all the troops who got back with you yesterday? And the queen completely uninterested in discussing security issues?” He broke off, realising he was being teased.
Pheris grinned. Grumpy Teleus, always a joy.
What about last night? All those people on the roof? He was trying to keep to simple signs.
Teleus shook his head in wonder.
“The gods favour the Little Peninsula, it would seem. And as for you -”
Pheris hadn’t been sure how much of that Teleus had seen. Evidently it was quite a lot.
It was very surprising.
“Surprising, is that?” Teleus guessed. “Well, you’re right. I don’t know the signs for “astounding” or “miraculous”, or even “awe-inspiring”. But yes, definitely surprising.”
He sat down on the bed and gestured to Pheris to sit beside him, watching his signs. He liked Pheris, who went his own quiet and doggedly determined way, very different from the boisterous squabbling of the young recruits under his own command, always vying for the attention of their commanders. At court Pheris had previously been more or less ignored, but maybe that would change now. The new young Baron Erondites might be vulnerable to attack, even in the palace, he realised, since the king was naturally preoccupied with his family as well as being overwhelming busy with new arrangements for the Little Peninsula. Teleus would have to mention the issue to Eugenides, who would undoubtedly point out that palace security was the responsibility of the royal guard, and then argue when Teleus tried to increase protection for the boy. He might warn Pheris, though Pheris was probably quite aware of his danger.
“Good to see you alive and well,” was all he said.
Teleus had returned to the capital with the queens, while the king remained in Roa. Although he had received reports, they hadn’t included details of the well-being of the king’s attendants.
You too, said Pheris.
They looked at each other for a moment. Nobody returned from the fighting entirely unscathed.
“You all right?” Teleus had been too occupied to take much notice of Pheris during the campaign, but he knew, more or less, what had happened with Sejanus. He wondered that Pheris seemed to be on good terms with the king.
Pheris shrugged.
“Don’t do that. Tell me.”
I’m all right, just bad dreams sometimes. Petrus gave me some lethium. He didn’t say that Petrus knew nothing about nightmares, that the drug was just what he usually had by him for his infirmity.
“Some time I hope you’ll tell me about what happened in Roa. The reports didn’t exactly go into detail about how Eugenides pulled that off.”
Some time. If you tell me why you didn’t dance with Kamet.
Teleus frowned. “I should apologise.”
Yes.
That was unusually blunt for Pheris. It hurt.
“Yes. All right. It’s just people here” - he gestured at their surroundings – “bastards keep trying to set me up.”
Pheris grimaced. Kamet though.
Another sharply pointed remark. “Yes, all right. I’m sorry.” He knew Kamet meant nothing but kindness.
Pheris smiled a little. Relius used to do that sometimes, try to set you up. Before the war, Pheris had sometimes spent his free evenings in Relius’ apartment, and his lessons with Relius had taken place at dawn. As a consequence he had learned rather more about Relius’ love affairs than was altogether appropriate for his age.
Teleus scowled. “He was joking. Or he was usually joking.”
Pheris hesitated. He didn’t want to embarrass or anger Teleus, and he certainly didn’t understand the complexities of their relationship. It had sometimes seemed to him that Relius was conflicted between loving Teleus and being intensely irritated by him.
He didn’t like the thought of leaving you alone, perhaps.
He looked at Teleus and changed the subject.
It must be better, though, being back here? However busy Teleus was, it was surely preferable to war.
Teleus rubbed a hand across his head.
“Better now I’m finished with all the letters for the families of the guards who died. But it had to be done. It’s better for people to know.”
I wish we knew.
Teleus sighed. “I admit I was hoping there might be news when I got back. But there was nothing. We may never know what happened, Pheris.”
Pheris had his own letters to send. I promised Sejanus – my uncle – I would write. To his mother, his brother, my brother. I don’t know how to write to Ferria – to another country. Pheris had never written a letter of any kind.
“Sejanus, you mean?” Teleus scowled. “He asked you to write? Why load that on you? What about all his family? There were plenty of them there.”
He died, the man who was leading them. My cousin, I suppose, added Pheris with an air of discovery.
“Erondites not a close family? what a surprise. Well, I can help with sending letters at least. Or you could ask the king. He does that all the time, of course.”
Pheris shook his head. You, please. The king is busy. He certainly didn’t want to involve Eugenides, after everything that had happened.
I want to ask a small favour. He gestured, though he was feeling more hesitant than ever about this scheme.
“So.” Teleus looked down at Pheris’ note. “You’re writing about the war?”
I made notes. Now I need to write them into the books he gave me.
Teleus was a little taken aback. In his own grief, he had forgotten how bereft Pheris must feel at losing his mentor and friend, and the only person fluent in his signs except the king. Pheris wanted to write the journal because Relius had asked him, even though there was no-one to read it now.
“Of course. I can see that a closet in the attendants’ quarters might not be ideal.” He had never seen the attendants’ accommodation, but Pheris had joked about it occasionally.
It’s a bit dark and noisy. And a table would be good.
“Well, I don’t see any problem. Nobody’s using the workroom. And no, there’s nothing of mine in there. When were you thinking you might want it?”
When I’m not so busy, signed Pheris. He grinned, and Teleus punched his arm, not hard. When Sounis and Eddis have gone, maybe. And it would be very early, like this. Or maybe sometimes very late, after the king’s undressing.
Teleus didn’t know the sign. Pheris gestured at Teleus’ uniform and tried to mime helping an impatient Eugenides remove his evening finery. He managed to make Teleus laugh.
“I get it. So, very late. Because you’re so very busy.”
Pheris sighed. I have to give my oaths today to the queen and the annux. As Erondites. He was not looking forward to the occasion.
“How does that work? Are you planning on signing?”
I would prefer that. It would be less embarrassing in front of all those barons and people. But I have to write them out.
“Maybe the king doesn’t trust you to sign something entirely different.” He grinned at Pheris’ expression. “Don’t worry about the barons, Pheris, I’ll make sure to be there to laugh at you.”
Strangely this did make Pheris feel a little better.
“And I have to see my commanders now, before the early practice, because this morning I have to begin discussions with my king and Pegistus and Trokidis and Casartus and the finance minister and a number of other people about the deployment and funding of the army and navy of the Little Peninsula under the new Charter, as well as the various royal guards. Oh yes, and veterans’ pensions, and repatriating prisoners, and the new fortifications.”
I thought the Charter would cover all that.
“The principles are agreed, certainly. The practicalities have yet to be worked out.”
That could be a very long meeting.
“Just the first of many,” he sighed. “Make sure Ion reminds the king about your oath-swearing.”
The king probably chose the time so your meeting could not be so very long.
“Probably,” said Teleus. “I hope it works.”
Me too, said Pheris. It occurred to him that there would be many such meetings in his future as well, attending the king.
I thought you liked numbers?”
It’s the arguing that is boring.
“Yes, young baron. Just think of all those gatherings of the greater patronoi where you’ll have to stay awake for a change.”
I’ve never actually fallen off my stool.
“Not really something to be proud of, Pheris.” He laughed as Pheris frowned at him.
I have to be back now for the king’s dressing.
“And that’s “dressing”, then, right. I have to go as well,” said Teleus. “Another time, when things are calmer, we’ll talk.” He reached out and gave Pheris a brief hug and the boy smiled up at him, happy to have their friendship renewed, even if they couldn’t easily spend time together.
******
It was a little while before Pheris had a chance to visit Relius’ workroom. After Naupent, he and Ion were the only surviving attendants still with the king. Ion had perforce treated him as his assistant, and found him useful enough. Only two other attendants had so far returned from fighting alongside their families, and so Pheris was continuing to work long hours. He didn't mind: he wanted time to adjust to this unexpectedly early inheritance, for which he felt completely unprepared, and he hoped that if he made himself useful it was less likely he would be packed off to be a baron.
A few days later Helen issued a declaration at breakfast. “Gen, Irene, we have to leave you. The goddess spoke to me last night: I need to be in Sounis before the baby arrives. The winds are favourable and the Sapphire is ready: we can take ship and be back there in a few days.”
After they had gone, Eugenides announced he had enough of formality and politics and wanted to spend some private time with his wife and the new babies. He sent his attendants away. “Go and play. You can come back before the evening meal.”
While the others were still debating whether he meant it or not, Pheris hurried out of the attendants’ quarters, carrying his notes and the special blank books Relius had given him.
The workroom was unlocked, but it was obvious that no-one had used it for months. Pheris dropped his papers on the table and went to ask a servant to help him clean the room. He tidied up papers, books, maps and scrolls, filled lanterns and replaced candles with the efficiency of his attendant’s training. He looked into the bedroom, which was less messy but equally dusty and unloved. He took clean bedding from the chest in the corner of the room and made up the bed, just to make the room seem less abandoned. Then he spread out his notes, pens and ink and climbed onto the stool at the worktable.
Later that evening Teleus, avoiding court dinner, came to look around. Pheris had gone, but the table was covered with his scrawled notes. Teleus opened the nearest leather-bound notebook and glanced at the much tidier and surprisingly legible pages of the journal. He smiled, remembering Relius’ struggles with the boy’s writing in the early days of his tutelage, and returned the book carefully to its original position. Then he looked across at the armchairs and frowned. It would be quiet and peaceful, and he would be undisturbed, but he wasn’t ready to be alone here.
Two nights later Pheris found time to return. He carried a small lantern: it was late, and there were few lights burning in the palace corridors.
In the lamplight he saw that his papers had been moved along the table just far enough to make room for the chessboard he remembered from winter evenings spent here, when he studied by the fire while the two men talked or played cards or chess. Relius had taught him to play too, but there had been no opportunity since he left.
The chess pieces had been set out, and Pheris smiled as he saw that the first move had been made.
******