Rumors

Common

NEW - Cyrodiil (The Gold Coast) | "I hear Attria has been seeing a fair amount of Maormer lately. Folk say a ship has been harboring in its waters without resistence. Odd, given the history of that island in recent years. Thought they hated Maormer more than most. Wonder what's going on, and why the ship is being permitted to stay close like that."

Cyrodiil (The Gold Coast) | "If you're sailing west, make sure to stop in the port in Attria. They have the best bath house this side of Tamriel, if I do say so myself, and their wine is to die for. And don't worry about the earth tremors out there. They're pretty common, what with that volcano they got. Attricus, I think it's called. City's named after it. Hasn't erupted in over a century now, I wouldn't be too concerned about it."

Cyrodiil (The Gold Coast) | "Attria? Yes, it's that island just off the coast. It's governed by the Ascentros family, if memory serves. Those people are resilient. The volcano that made their island has destroyed the township there seven times, if you believe the records. Seven! And they keep rebuilding. If it were me, I'd get out of there. I'm not that crazy."

Cyrodiil (The Gold Coast) | "If you're a pilgrim of Arkay, I can take you to Attria, for a fee, of course. Not to insult anyone going there or anything, but that city has a strange fascination with death. Has to do with how many times that blasted volcano has wiped out their town over the centuries. Guess I can't blame them. If death were at my door knocking all the time, I'd pray to Arkay, too."

Stories

Some of these stories, journal entries, and missives are of Lyre's past and may contain major spoilers regarding his history.Feel free to read them if you like, but keep in mind that your characters will likely not know of any of these things. I am open to having your characters be aware of Lyre's past, but please ask me about it first.I will always be adding new stories here as they are written, and you are welcome to follow along. You have been warned of spoilers!

• Short Stories
• Journals
• Correspondence
• Back

Short Stories

• Lyre and Hemedes
• Ronius
• Anton, the Mentor
• The Games
• Breaking Down Barriers
• Best of Brothers

• Back

Journals

THIS SECTION IS A WIPNothing yet -- WIP

• Back

Correspondence

• Letters to Zedvius (Updating)

• Back

Lyre stood outside the library doors, staring at the frieze of scholars and stars that decorated its golden tiles. He didn’t often come to this part of the villa — not because he didn’t think education was unimportant, but he had always been the more athletic of his siblings and found other exciting pursuits following the end of his private studies as a youth. The library was not his domain, but it is was certainly where he would find Galen, and where Galen went, Tulios was sure to be also.He pushed the doors open and stepped inside, breathing in the familiar scent of crackled parchment, earthy inks, faded leather, and warm wood. The room was three stories tall, and was covered in shelves and books. Piles of books took up spare corners, scrolls littering the numerous desks. A staircase wound up the center of the library, and it, too, had platforms with bookshelves on it as it climbed upward. Sunlight streamed through a stained glass window decorated with scenes of the scholarly observation of the heavens, including the stars, moons, and sun, giving the room a warm, golden glow as shafts of light flooded in.Muffled footsteps caught his attention and Lyre smiled as a familiar voice came from behind one of the many overstuffed bookshelves.“Where did I put it?” Galen sighed out as a book was removed from the dense row of leather-bound spines, revealing his younger brother’s olive-toned face on the other side of the shelf.His copper eyes were not focused on his older brother, but, rather, on the book he had pulled free. His dark hair fell in front of his face, part of his usual ponytail having come loose so that it draped over one cheek and curled around the shell his ear. His gold-rimmed glasses flashed as he shook his head after only a moment of scanning the title in his hands before the book was discarded to his side, likely in a pile he had been creating.Lyre approached the newly made window between the books on the shelf and poked his face through.“Lost something?”Galen looked up and startled, stumbling back over his sandals and nearly falling flat on his ass.“Lyre!” he gasped out, straightening his glasses. “Why must you insist on giving me heart attacks?!”Lyre laughed before he slipped around the shelf.“Sorry,” he said, but he wasn’t really.It was fun to scare Galen sometimes, especially when he was so focused on everything but his surroundings.“Ha-ha,” Galen snorted, sarcasm practically dripping from his dry tone.“I am!” Lyre chuckled.“Your track record of heart attack attempts suggests otherwise,” Galen said, but his eyes were shining with mirth. “And, yes, if you must know, I have lost something. Viacos’ Lexicon of Daedrology, Third Edition. I stumbled upon some fascinating symbols in another book and I thought I might compare them to some Viacos had labeled in his chapter on—”He coughed and ran his fingers through his ponytail as he pulled it over his shoulder.“Apologies. I know such topics bore you.”Lyre smiled.“But they interest you, and I like listening to you get excited, Galen.”Galen’s dusky cheeks flushed and he smiled at him.“You jest.”“No!” Lyre insisted, putting his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I’m happy that you are happy, and when you find something new, I love hearing you describe your thoughts to me.”Galen bit his lips as a deeper color settled over his face.“Well, maybe I can tell you more about it when I locate the Lexicon and can study the symbols in greater detail. If there’s a correlation, I’d be happy to share my findings.”“Of course,” Lyre nodded, then he sighed. “Is Tulios in here with you?”“Yes,” Galen said, glancing over his shoulder. “He’s on the upper level trying to find the Lexicon for me there while I looked down here.”Lyre looked up, and upon not seeing his youngest brother anywhere, cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, “Tulios!”Galen cringed and floundered his hands at him.“Lyre,” he hissed. “This is a library!”Lyre’s wicked smile turned on him.“Yes, and?”“And you know Turea doesn’t like it,” Galen whispered, then groaned.Shuffled footsteps and the click of a cane heralded the arrival of a rather dusty, old Altmer, whose stooped presence silenced Galen and caused him to cringe. The mer was clothed in moth-white robes, complete with a rather large hat adorned with a dangling, golden bauble on the end of a braided tassel.His eyes, nearly as golden as his skin, focused on Lyre and narrowed.“Young Master, you know better,” he scolded, lifting his walking stick and rapping Lyre on the arm with it.“Ow!” Lyre laughed, even though the sting of the blow was not, truthfully, very painful at all.“That’s what I said when your screeching rang throughout this library and reached my pristine ears,” Turea huffed out. “This is a chamber of peace, reflection, contemplation, and—”“COMING!” Tulios called down as he practically flung himself over the banister to look down at his brothers.He grinned like a cat getting away with a canary as he swung one leg over the banister’s railing and proceeded to slide it down until he reached the ground floor. He leapt off at the last second and bounced on his toes, blowing a lock of black, curly hair from his green eyes before he stretched his arms out.“I’m here!”Galen facepalmed, and Turea smacked his dry lips together.“…Never mind,” the mer huffed, then approached Tulios and lightly swatted his butt with his stick, making the youngest Ascentros yelp and bounce away from him. “You, young rascal, keep your voice down in my library.”Tulios rubbed his probably-not-sore rear and gave the elder a sheepish grin.“Yes, Turea.”Turea grumbled a little as he then hobbled away.“I’ll be back if I hear any more rambunctiousness!”“How come Galen didn’t get a whack?” Tulios complained.“Because he respects the sanctity of this library’s peace!” Turea said before he vanished behind a bookshelf and out of sight.Tulios rubbed his ass again then he smirked up at Galen.“Teacher’s pet. I didn’t find your book.”“I am not,” Galen said. “And I didn’t find it either. We can look again later, I suppose.”Lyre smiled and then he sighed, flexing his shoulders.“I need to talk to both of you before Father does.”Both of his brothers blinked at him, and Galen’s brows furrowed.“Father? Oh, no, what did you do this time?”Lyre smirked at him. “Why do you think it’s anything I’ve done?”“It’s always because of something you’ve done,” Tulios chirped.“Not always! Sometimes its because of you.”“Yes, but I’m the baby, he forgives me more than you.”Lyre rolled his eyes and caught Tulios in a playful headlock.“Perhaps we should take this discussion to the balcony?” Galen coughed, putting his hands up to try and keep his brother’s from making more noise and incurring the grumpy return of their head librarian.“Good idea,” Lyre agreed, releasing Tulios.“Race you!” Tulios said, skittering past him.“You’re on,” Lyre laughed, giving chase and leaving Galen to fluster behind them before following.Tulios whooped as he threw the doors open to the library’s balcony, which overlooked one of the many private gardens that spanned the entirety of the Ascentros property.“I win!”Lyre held the door open for Galen, who glanced sidelong at him as he stepped out into the sunset air.Lyre sighed and closed the doors, making sure they would not be disturbed.“All right, it’s something I’ve done,” he admitted, making Tulios grin as his youngest brother hopped up to sit on the edge of the balcony’s railing.“I knew it!”“What did you do?” Galen asked, tucking his dark hair behind his ear and pushing his glasses up higher on his nose with his thumb.Lyre leaned back against the doors and folded his arms over his chest.“I invited a friend to live on Attria, and I’m securing property for him.”One of Galen’s brows arched.“Okay… why would that upset Father?”“Because he’s a Maormer,” Lyre said.Tulios blinked at him and Galen choked on air.“What?”“He’s a Maormer,” Lyre repeated.Tulios’ mouth fell open.Galen started coughing as he choked again.Lyre rubbed the back of his neck and winced with a lopsided grin at them.Galen finally caught his breath and blinked tears from his eyes.“You cannot be serious!”“I am,” Lyre insisted. “His name is Zedvius, and he’s been to Attria once before. He was the friend I invited to the baths while Father was away.”Tulios hopped down from the railing and skipped around Galen to reach Lyre.“Is he tall? Does he have white eyes? Does he look at people like this?”He gave his best impersonation of a holier-than-thou scowl, furrowing his brows and looking down his nose at no one in particular.Lyre chuckled and shrugged.“Yes. He’s less scowl-y than that. He actually has a great smile and laugh.”“Are Maormer capable of laughter?” Galen asked, taking his glasses off to clean them with the hem off his tunic.“Yes,” Lyre snorted. “Of course. They aren’t monsters.”“I’m trying to figure out how you befriended one in the first place,” Galen told him, squinting at his glasses to make sure they were free of smudges. “I seem to remember you recounting with great delight your escapades during the invasion, and talking of how you slaughtered an entire ship of them at the end. I never imagined you would ever become — what’s the word… chummy? — with one.”“People change?” Lyre shrugged. “I admit, when I first met him, I was more than wary. I did not trust him at all.”“So what happened?” Galen asked as he slipped his glasses back on.“Well… we more or less challenged one another to trust the other and we struck up a business deal.”“And so you trusted him on account of this business deal?” Galen squinted at him.Tulios looked up at Lyre, too, tilting his head, curious.Lyre opened his mouth and closed it again before he finally replied, “Well, yes, and no. We have been meeting for some time outside of business. Once or twice. And then I invited him to Attria.”Galen blinked very slowly at him.“What?” Lyre asked, tossing his hands into the air.“Maormer are scheming individuals,” Galen supplied dryly. “They are not exactly known for being kind to other races, or cementing deals that don’t eventually turn out poorly for the other people involved. How do you know this mer isn’t seeking revenge for your victory during the invasion? How do you know he isn’t looking to secure Attria in the name of his people and king?”“I don’t know that,” Lyre sighed, trying to be honest. “But I trust Zedvius. He proved to me his merit and his intentions when he gifted me one of their serpents.”Galen choked again and Tulios lit up with an excited gasp.“Is that the secret the servants aren’t supposed to talk about in your room?” he squealed. “You have a serpent in there?!”“Yes,” Lyre laughed. “I have been keeping her quiet for obvious reasons, and to let her settle in.”“Can I see her?!” Tulios begged.“No!” Galen yelped, grabbing Tulios’ arms. “Are you insane? Their serpents are dangerous!”“She won’t hurt you,” Lyre promised. “She isn’t vicious. She can be trained to be a beast of war, but right now, she’s merely a thief of shoes.”He chuckled at the thought of her curled up on his boots right this very moment.“I want to see her,” Tulios pleaded, wriggling free of Galen’s hold. “Please, Lyre?”Lyre laughed and ruffled Tulios’ hair.“All right, but later. Father is going to talk to Mother about Zedvius, and then you can come see my little love.”Galen frowned at Lyre.“You’re serious about this mer, aren’t you?”“What? Of course I am. I trust him, Galen.”“No, that’s not — yeah, okay.” Galen huffed and held up his hands in surrender. “I just don’t want you hurt. Or us. Or anyone. The people suffered enough during the war.”“You’ll meet him and be able to judge his character for yourself,” Lyre assured him, putting his hand on Galen’s shoulder. “But trust me for now, all right? I’m keeping an eye on him. I won’t let harm come to Attria.”Galen finally smiled and fell against Lyre to hug him.“Don’t be stupid, and don’t get killed.”Lyre smirked as he pulled both Galen and Tulios against him.“You know me, I’m always stupid and I never get killed.”That made them laugh, and Lyre felt a weight lift from his shoulders. His father had relented to the idea, he knew his mother would want to meet Zedvius, as kind-hearted as she was, and now his brothers were on board.He could breathe a sigh of relief — for now.

• Back

Lyre’s footsteps carried him down the long hallway to his father’s office, his sandals clicking on the marble stone floor and echoing into the gold-tiled arched ceiling overhead. A warm breeze, carrying a faint whisper of salt and roses on its tail, fluttered through the white, sheer curtains hanging throughout the colonnade on either side of him. Warm sunlight painted the white hallway with a rich, golden glow that only sunset on the isle could bring.Lyre had timed his arrival perfectly.His father would be done seeing visitors and would be closing up his office. No one would be around to witness their conversation except for Razir, who followed closely at his side.His eyes cut to the Redguard, taking in his severe appearance. The other man’s amber eyes were set and focused, his dark face set in a grim expression, likely preparing himself mentally for the conversation he was about to overhear.Orien Ascentros had always been known as a stern man, one who didn’t easily sway, not even for his own children — especially not even for his own children. Not even for Lyre, his heir.Lyre cringed as he thought of one too many a time in which his father was most harsh with him. It was, as his father claimed, to ensure Lyre was not coddled and would be ready to eventually take his place as Attria’s governing ruler. More than once, Orien had made it difficult for Lyre to make headway in an argument. He could also recall several occasions in which their arguments had been rather public, and Lyre left with bruises to his ego after his father humiliated him in front of everyone in court.That would not happen again today.He adjusted his collar, making sure the gold chain of his tunic fell just so over his collar bone.The movement had Razir glancing in his direction.“Are you all right?” the Redguard asked him.“I’m fine,” Lyre said, rolling his shoulders. “Just going over what I’m going to say when he fights me on this.”Razir nodded, his expression unreadable as he stared ahead once more.Ahead, the doorway to his father’s office was still wide open, the last of his guests departing with a nod in Lyre’s direction.Lyre bowed his head to them, then knocked on the side door as he peered inside.Orien was at his desk, his grey head bowed over a rather lengthy looking document held between his ring-covered hands. He looked up, his green eyes finding those of his son, and he leaned back in his chair. The elder’s face had a neatly trimmed beard, even more grey than the hair on his head. Age clung to his dark face, leaving deep ridges by his eyes and around his mouth. Such lines were not from smiling, but, rather, from years of borderline scowling.“Lyre,” he said, removing a circlet of gold from his head and setting it on the desk before him. “Enter.”Lyre brought in a deep breath before he took the plunge, stepping into his father’s room with squared shoulders and a strong chin. He bowed to the man before he got too close to the desk, though.“Father, I hoped you would have a moment to speak with me about a matter of import,” he said, and then, as he straightened, he added, “of a personal nature.”Orien sighed and leaned further back in his chair, then laced his fingers together.“What is it?”Behind him, Lyre heard Razir close the door to ensure they had privacy, which only made Orien frown a little. It encircled the three of them in the dusty scent of parchment and ink, the room becoming almost immediately stale without the fresh air coming on from the colonnade. Braziers popped as a silence fell over the room, the heated glow making the frown on his father’s face appear even deeper, lengthening the shadows around his thin lips.“I wanted to discuss the matter of a personal friend of mine becoming a resident of Attria,” Lyre said without much preamble.Best to just get it out and over with quickly. Delaying the conversation would only make his father irritable — well, more irritable than he was about to become.“And why does mention of this… ‘friend’ constitute closing my office doors?” Orien asked lowly. “What manner of relation is this person to you?”“He is… a… captain,” Lyre started out, clearing his throat.His skin started to feel rather hot, and the walls around him felt ever so close.“A captain?” Orien repeated.Lyre nodded and rolled his wrist.“Of some renown.”Orien’s eyes narrowed.“Lyre, speak plainly, boy.”Lyre pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, then he dropped his hand with another sigh.“His name is Zedvius,” he said. “He is my friend, Father, and I would ask that you please try to understand that. He is a Maormer.”The silence that fell over them was so thick, Lyre almost forgot to breathe. His father’s eyes became slits as he slowly stood from his chair, pushing it back with his legs so that it scraped across the floor. The sound made Lyre’s arms prickle with gooseflesh.“You wish for a Maormer to live on Attria?” Orien asked. “Lyre, have you lost your mind?”“No,” Lyre said with a frown. “And I would appreciate some trust in this matter. I have been speaking with him for months. We have met many times and have written up contracts of business between — ”“He is the man you hired?” Orien’s brows shot straight up toward his hairline. “A Maormer? Lyre, now I know you’ve lost your mind. I would never have expected you, the Flame of Attria, the Shield of the Mountain, Sea-elf Slayer, to put your trust into the very creature that would have razed Attria to the ground! The fires that would have slaughtered our people and destroyed our homes would not have come from the mountain, but from those beasts!”Lyre’s hands formed tight fists as he stepped up to the desk.“They are not beasts!” he snapped back. “They are not creatures! I will not have you speak of them as though they are so, Father! We are Attrian, people of dignity and refinement, people of honor. And on Attria, we respect our enemies, or have you forgotten that? You were the one to teach it to me. Zedvius is my friend. He has done nothing to betray that trust.”“He is using you,” Orien growled out between his teeth. “Lyre, he is a siren and you are falling for his spell.”Lyre could hear his heartbeat in his ears, felt his blood pulsing in his throat. He took several deep breaths to calm himself before he found he could reply to that insinuation.“I am not a fool. I know when I’m being spun into a web. I am not being blind about this. I am being wary when I need to be, but Zedvius has given me no cause to doubt his intentions. You do not know him, but you know me. Look me in the eye and tell me, your son, whom you raised to be and know better, that I do not know how to be smart about those I keep in my company and extend my hand in friendship. Tell me, because then you would have to admit failure on your end for not teaching me to be more discerning.”Orien’s jaw clenched and a muscle twitched near his right ear.Lyre held his gaze and arched his brows at him.“Well?”Now it was Orien’s turn to take the deep breaths, and Lyre could see several emotions pass over his father’s face ranging from rage to frustration and everything in between.Lyre shrugged.“Can I tell you about him, please?”Orien glared at Razir, who moved to stand by Lyre’s side.“Fine,” his father sighed, sinking back into his chair. “Tell me of this… Maormer friend of yours.”Lyre smiled a little, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.“Well, he’s a captain,” he repeated. “He has a beautiful ship, I’ve seen it. It’s the ship that came into the harbor while you were gone on business that I wrote to you about.”Orien rubbed his temples.“I invited him to visit the baths,” Lyre continued. “He enjoyed them immensely, and he had nothing but good things to say of our island.”“How did you meet this mer?” Orien groaned.“I met him in Hew’s Bane. We started off talking business and I decided to give him a chance. I feel we can trust him.”“For now.”Lyre frowned.“He is trustworthy, Father. I promise.”“You cannot make any such promise,” Orien argued as he let his hands fall to drape over his lap. “He will have to prove it himself.”“You trust me,” Lyre argued. “If he does wrong, it is my fault. Can we agree on that?”Orien’s scowl deepened.“Why do you protect this mer? Lyre, you barely know him.”“That is not true, we have spent time together. You told me to trust my gut. That’s what I’m doing. Think of what this could mean for Attria, Father. A Maormer on our side? An ally? A friend? He might be able to help us protect our home, especially if it is his home as well. We may not have to fend off another assault, and even if we do, he might help us.”Orien heaved a final sigh as he stood from his chair.“And where would this mer live?”“We’re still discussing that,” Lyre admitted. “But I had suggested the lighthouse out on the reef.”“That could be a dangerous place to put him,” Orien said.“Or the best,” Lyre grinned. “He’ll be at home there, and if he is our ally, he can signal us if he sees trouble approaching. Please, a chance is all I ask.”“A chance is all we might have,”Orien told him as he circled the desk to put his hand on his son’s shoulder.“And if it goes poorly, Attria may suffer.”Lyre worked his jaw, but nodded.“I make a promise I can keep, then,” he offered. “If he betrays us, I will do everything in my power to protect our home and I will end him myself. But I have a feeling it may not ever come to that.”Orien met his eyes and then he retracted his hand, waving it as though shooing off a fly.“Very well. This mer of yours is welcome, then. He is yours to keep and guard and monitor.”Lyre chuckled.“He gave me a serpent, a sign of good will,” he said.Orien had been about to walk toward the door, but he halted at that. He glanced back at his son.“He must trust you a great deal, then,” the man murmured softly.Lyre’s smile became fond and gentle. “Yes. I know he does. And I trust him.”Orien looked between them both and shook his head as he opened the doors to his office.“I shall speak this over with your mother and brothers. They will want to know what to expect.”“I’m sure they will be as understanding as you have been,” Lyre smirked, teasing.“Do not push your luck,” Orien finally chuckled. “My grace extends only so far.”Lyre grinned as his father then took his leave, allowing the young man to nudge Razir.“That went well.”“I’m so glad I didn’t have to clean blood off the floor,” Razir answered with a dry smirk. “Last time you argued, fists flew.”“Cooler heads prevailed this time. I’m getting better.”“Or you’re getting more stubborn,” Razir suggested. “He’s got you acting this way.”“Who?” Lyre asked, blinking at him.Razir snorted and skirted around him to reach the door.“Who do you think?” he asked as he slipped out into the hallway. “That mer.”

• Back

Lyre should have been participating in the games long before now, but having been gone, training at a chapel to Stendarr in Chorrol, he hadn't had the chance.It was his eighteenth summer, and he was permitted by the chapel to celebrate it at home in Attria with friends and family, and consequently, he was finally able to take up his place in the island games.Ronius had come with him, the two having grown close in their friendship as they trained and lived with each other under the chapel's roof.Ronius had grown larger, more muscular, and even taller than Lyre over the years, but the other did not mind. He enjoyed these changes in Ronius, his eyes often roving over the older youth's features. He loved the ripple of muscle, the way his skin moved when slick with sweat. He loved the scent about Ronius then, too; it was musky, masculine, mixed faintly with almonds and honey.The latter part came from the lotion Ronius used for a dry skin condition he'd suffered from since childhood. The inner portions of his elbows and knees were red and flaky and itched when they got too dry or if he spent too long in freshly trimmed grass.Ronius turned, catching Lyre staring as he stripped off his tunic and tossed it aside in preparation for the first racing event of the games. His lips turned upwards in a toothy grin, and he cheekily rolled his shoulders to make those muscles bulge."Best seat in the house, huh?""What?" Lyre stammered out, his cheeks turning a bit red in embarrassment. "Oh, stop that, you know it's a tease!"The other laughed, and Lyre felt his blush start to fade away as he let an easy smile grace his own lips."I'll beat you today. I'm lighter on my feet. Quicker.""Little Rabbit," Ronius grinned back at him.It was a nickname Lyre had earned in recent years. While he was not as skilled with weapons and shields, Lyre was fast and light on his feet and had reflexes like a rabbit. So the other youths went to calling him that.Lyre's teeth flashed and he prepared himself for the race, slicking himself down with oil and removing his clothes until he was in the bare minimum.They weren't permitted to race nude. It was meant to protect the eyes of the young ladies in the crowd but he knew many of them would just as soon as see them all naked.Most were not as innocent as their parents would like to suppose; maybe they knew all along their daughters were likely running off in secret or flirting behind closed doors and between the neatly trimmed hedges in topiary gardens.He couldn't help but stick out his chest a bit as the ladies surrounding the track pointed him out and he tossed them a saucy grin."Going to take one or two as a prize if you win?" Ronius asked, making Lyre blush all over again and his confidence wavered slightly."No," he said defensively and then coughed. "I mean, they're pretty enough, but I'm not..."Not what? Interested? Was that the word?It wasn't that he found girls unattractive, because they were attractive, but there was something in him that didn't find them appealing in the way most young men found them. The curve of a breast or flash of thigh didn't make his mouth water. It was like looking at any other part of a woman as far as he was concerned.Ronius winked, the scoundrel, and bumped his thigh against Lyre's."You can stare at my ass for as long as you want when I pull ahead of you and win."Lyre's head went back to the games immediately, and he bumped him back."Keep dreaming, pretty boy."The racers took their places, and Lyre dug his toes into the sand. His eyes scanned the crowd for the faces of his family.Orien sat on a chair in the shade high above the other seated spectators. He was older than Lyre remembered him being. His skin was worn and had gained wrinkles, and his hair had lightened with streaks of gray and white. His mustache had suffered the same fate. He still sat as proud and tall as his son had ever seen him, with a violet cloak over his shoulders and a wreath on his head.To his right sat his mother, Dramita, who seemed to be aging better than her husband. Her hair retained its golden color, her skin was smooth and colored the same as creamed coffee. Her hazel eyes were fixed on him, and he gave her a smile, which she softly returned.Further down the line were his three brothers, Octavius, Galen, and Tulios.Octavius stared down at Lyre with some disdain. His brother had always been harsh toward him, and Lyre wished he knew why. His eyes were cold and dark as they glared, then his gaze shifted to a servant who offered him wine.Galen pushed his too-large-for-his-face glasses up on his nose as he waved his fingers at him and then toyed with his long, black hair. Galen was never one for the games, but he loved supporting Lyre when he had participated in years past.The last of the family, young Tulios, bounced in his chair and frantically waved his arms at Lyre to get his attention. The child had a goofy grin on his face that made Lyre laugh. He was the only brother to have received the same green eyes Lyre had.He waved up at him, which earned him a cheer from his brother in response.Suddenly, there were people rushing past him, and sand exploded on all sides. The signal had been given and he'd missed it entirely.With a hiss of surprise, he burst forward, racing after his peers.The sun was hot and high in the sky, making it uncomfortable to run at top speed for very long. And so he slowed, falling into a pace that was halfway between a jog and a run.He heard the crowd going mad around them, excitement washing over them as the athletes ran.Ahead, he could see their oil-slicked bodies shining, their long limbs propelling them forward, their bare feet gripping the sand with their toes.For a moment, Lyre felt like he was hunting deer with Anton in the highlands, and he wished his mentor were here to see him.It was as they rounded the last corner of the track that Lyre threw his energy into a quick burst at the first sign of the competitors ahead starting to slow.When chasing animals, Anton had taught Lyre to conserve his speed and strength, and focus on endurance until the animal had grown tired of the chase. Then he would charge, with more energy than they had, to make the capture and kill.Using this same strategy had proved fruitful as Lyre passed by one rival, then two...then five.He was second only to Ronius now, and the crowd was on its feet as they watched him go from last to second in a short amount of time.Ronius tossed a glance over his shoulder at Lyre.The look in his eyes said he knew Lyre would catch up.He always did.Back in Chorrol, Ronius might have tried a dirty trick to win, something that would make Lyre angry at first and laugh later, like tripping him up, or falling back to bump hips with him, but not today.Today it was important that the rules be followed and Lyre be allowed his victory.Orien was watching.Ronius didn't flat out give up, though, running as hard as he could as Lyre inched up closer and closer, and then eventually passed him at the last minute.The crowd erupted in cheers of Lyre's name, and he slid to a stop, breathless and beaming. His chest heaved like a horse's after a day's run, and then he dropped to his knees and rolled onto his back. Dirt was all over him, sticking to his skin, coating him, but he didn't care. His adrenaline was still high, and he was laughing. It was rewarding to win in more ways than one. It was honorable, yes, but he proved to himself he could do it, that he was fast enough, strong enough, smart enough to do it.Ronius offered him a hand up, and on shaky legs, Lyre let him lead him away to wash up.In the tent, Lyre was still trembling, and he bounced on his toes with a faint whoop. He was excited, and grinning like a fool."Stop," Ronius chuckled as he came over with a bucket of cold water and a rag in hand. "I can't wash you off if you keep bouncing around, Rabbit."Lyre laughed and stilled himself, his muscles tense and ready to spring again at a moment's notice, though."Did you see?" he asked, which was a silly question.Of course he saw.Ronius humored him and dipped the cloth in the bucket."You were beautiful," he said as he started to clean the dirt from Lyre's body."I've never run so fast in my entire life but I felt like it was waiting in my muscles to be–" Lyre had begun to ramble, and then abruptly stopped as he stared down at Ronius. "What did you say?""I said that you were beautiful," Ronius smiled, gently cleaning the dirt from Lyre's heaving chest. "Like an animal in flight for its life. Graceful."Lyre looked down at him, blinking slowly.A redness had started to creep into his cheeks."You really think that?""I'm not a liar," Ronius chuckled. "You of all people know I speak my mind. And loudly."Lyre found he was struggling to catch his breath, but it wasn't because of the exertion.Ronius' cleaning cloth was moving slowly across his skin, and his other hand was around Lyre's waist.When Ronius looked up again, Lyre swallowed.There was an intensity in the dark irises, a look of admiration."Did you let me win?" Lyre caught himself asking to break the silence.He could swear his pulse was pounding so loudly that Ronius could hear it."If you weren't capable of winning, I wouldn't cheat when it's just you and me." Ronius' dark eyes were dancing in the low light penetrating the canvas walls of the tent. "You won fair and square."Lyre's skin prickled as Ronius stood, dragging the cloth up his belly. He then used it to wipe the dirt from Lyre's face. One hand held Lyre's chin, his thumb brushing his lips."You said you didn't want any females as prizes," Ronius teased softly."No, I don't want any of them," Lyre said just as gently.That blush was coming back whether he liked it or not."It's a shame to let you go to waste," Ronius chuckled, his eyes meeting Lyre's gaze again.The intensity was now, somehow, stronger and more vibrant in them."Is it?" Lyre's question was barely above a whisper.The distance between them was suddenly gone, and Ronius' breath was sweet and hot on Lyre's mouth, coupled with sweat and dirt from the race.He melted, his knees going weak. Lyre had to wrap his arms around Ronius to steady himself, at least, that's what he said in his thoughts.Once he was clean and his breath caught up to him, Lyre presented himself before his father to receive the victor's prize.Orien, for once, had a look of pride about him as he placed the laurel wreath of victory on his son's head, where it nestled neatly in his black curls.Lyre didn't hear the cheers, though, or catch what his father said to him after that.His eyes kept glancing at Ronius, and every time their eyes met, he was rewarded with a smile.

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A moment's hesitation.That was all it took for searing pain, splitting of skin, and the sharp scent of iron.Lyre cried out, dropping his spear, stumbling over his own feet to land hard on the stones beneath him. His hand, now free, reached up to grab at his shoulder, and his eyes darted upwards to see the head of another spear cut through the air and hover less than an inch from his face. The enormous man holding its shaft let out a grunt and then his foot pressed into Lyre's bare chest."You hesitated."Lyre gasped for air, eyes wide, sweat making his naked body slick. He had no answer. He never had one."I'm sorry, Anton," he said, as usual."Your enemy will sense your weakness and take advantage," Anton told him, lifting his foot and relieving the poor youth of his great weight.He was a muscular, hulking beast of a man. His skin, the color of copper, shone in the bright beams the sun cast through the boughs of the twisted trees looming above them. Scars decorated the impressive expanse of his flesh, prizes hard-won in battles fought throughout his life. His hair was short and white, and his eyes were the color of near-ripened olives -- a murky brown, but not yet black. He towered over Lyre, even when the boy wasn't looking up from the flat of his back."I know," Lyre mumbled, sitting up and checking his arm.Blood blossomed from the wound that cut horizontally across his left bicep."You obviously don't know," Anton countered, kicking the shaft of Lyre's fallen spear up with his toes so that it spun in the air and put it within easy reach of his hand.He caught it with the deftness Lyre had come to expect from him. The old crusader still had the reflexes of a cat, even in his twilight years.Lyre stood, grinding his teeth at the uncomfortable cling of dirt to his sweaty body."I can't do it.""You say that a lot," Anton told him. "That is why you fail."Lyre blinked at him."What do you mean? There's nothing wrong with being honest with myself. Look at me!"He gestured to his body, still slender and wiry, with arms and legs too long."You're not being honest with yourself," Anton said, leaning the spears on the twisting trunk of an evergreen. "You're making excuses. You're doubting. You're selling yourself short. You tell yourself you can't do it, so your mind believes you.""I'm not as strong as the others," Lyre mumbled, his tone defeated and resigned. "I'm not as fast as them. I'm not as smart as them.""Stop comparing yourself to your peers."Anton walked past him to open the day pack he had hauled with them up the mountain. From it, he retrieved a water skin and drank deeply."I'm not training them. I'm training you.""But–""I don't care who runs the fastest, who throws the farthest, who grows the tallest. I don't care who can win a wrestling match. I don't care who is naturally gifted. And neither should you. You are not them. They are not you. They have their own strengths, but they also have their own weaknesses. Every man does.""My strength isn't in sparing with spears," Lyre huffed, eyeing the weapons."You think a man like me became a great crusader, a hero, battling in Stendarr's name, because I was just naturally good?"Anton gave him an even look as he drank again from his flask.Lyre didn't answer. It was hard to imagine Anton as anything but the great and mighty man he was today."We all start out young, awkward, and unskilled. The boys you compare yourself to have had training for most of their lives. You have not. You are coming into it late. That is not something to be ashamed of, but it means you have to work harder and give yourself credit where it's due. These other boys have had a head start."For a moment, Lyre eyed him. He watched Anton swallow another mouthful of water, watched a drip of the clear liquid wind its way down his strong jaw and dangle a moment on the edge of it."You weren't born with a spear in your hands? Or a shield on your back?" he finally teased, a tenseness in his shoulders relieving somewhat.Anton put the stopper back into the mouthpiece of the flask. Then he chuckled. It was a deep, rich sound."No. I was not. I was born with my thumb in my mouth."Lyre grinned at him, and then he eyed the spears again."You said the other boys have strengths and weaknesses. What are mine?""Confidence is your weakness," Anton answered with such aplomb that Lyre flinched. "As I said, you sell yourself short. In order to overcome this weakness, you must learn to see beyond your failures, and see your successes. Count those, because they are all that matter.""I haven't had–""You deflected my first blow." Anton walked back over to the spears, picked them up, and then tossed one to Lyre. "You dodged my second. You saw and tried to defend my third.""I didn't parry the third," Lyre sighed. "You hit me."His ribs still hurt from getting struck by the spear shaft right in the side."But you still saw it and did your best. You say you can't do things, but you never seem to quit."Lyre felt his brow tighten as he thought about this. He'd never considered himself a winner, but... never a quitter, either. He thought back to the day he spat olive pits with Ronius and didn't give up until he made at least one.Anton could see the gears turning in Lyre's brain, and it made him slowly smile."Your strength is you are stubborn. And when properly tuned, stubbornness can equal success and then confidence. Like the strings of a... lute.""You were going to say lyre," Lyre snickered."No, I meant lute," Anton grinned, and then he charged him with no warning.Lyre gasped and spun out of the way, throwing out his arm to deflect the blow in his surprise. He gasped for breath and stared at Anton, wide-eyed."I wasn't ready!""You must always be ready," Anton informed him. "To be prepared is to live. Always anticipate an attack and then you'll never be surprised!"And then it was a long day of strikes, parries, dodges, bruises, sweat, curses, and laughter. A grizzled hero of Stendarr Anton may have been, but he was also fatherly, and diligent, and Lyre took comfort in his presence -- and confidence.Someday, he thought, I will be as great as he. I won't let him down!And then he knew he was too stubborn to fail.***Lyre had expected warrior training to be all weapons and mock battles and dueling, but it wasn't. Three summers had been spent following Anton into the rocky, highland mountains, and learning to survive in more ways than just one."Survival isn't simply deflecting blows and outsmarting an enemy," he'd told Lyre as they hiked into the hills. "Nature's battlefield is as dangerous -- if not more so -- than that of men, beast-folk, and mer."At first, Lyre saw little joy in spending his summers training and surviving in the wilderness with the elderly crusader, but by the time the fourth annual hike had arrived, he was eager to go.Learning about plants, animals, and the land had proven to be more exciting than the art of battle and warfare. He was drawn to herbs, to learning medicinal practices associated with each leaf, root, flower, seed, and piece of bark.He had spent days upon days learning to track game in the rocky hills and evergreen woods.He learned to catch fish by net, lure, spear, and then by hand.This year, Lyre learned the constellations, the phases of the moons, how to tell time by the position of the sun, and how to sense approaching storms.When summer began to draw to a close, he was startled when Anton didn't pack up their camp of the past few months.Time dragged on, and soon, there was frost on the ground.Lyre had never seen frost before, and he marveled at it at first.The intricate, silvery patterns left on the tent and plants each morning was a wonder, even if he found himself cold.Still, he was starting to ponder why they were still here.He really worried when the first flakes of snow came."Anton?" he asked, walking up to the grizzled warrior. "Why have we not returned to Chorrol?""You have little to learn there," came the answer. "There is still much to experience here. Pack up the tent and your travel bag."Lyre frowned."But... it's winter. And it snows this high up in the mountains. We'll freeze.""You will not always have the privilege of living in warm climes," Anton answered him with a smile. "You tell me you dream of becoming a sailor or a soldier in the navy. The navy will take you all over Tamriel. What will you do if you ever become shipwrecked in Skyrim? Or find yourself displaced by a mage in the heat of battle only to end up standing in the middle of an icy tundra?""That sounds pretty far-fetched," Lyre snorted, raising his brow. "The displacement, not the shipwreck."Anton laughed."What have I told you about being prepared for anything?"Lyre shivered as a cold wind blew through the camp."This is crazy.""It's crazier not to learn, boy. Pack the tent and your bag. We're going north."Unable to object – partially because his body was too busy shivering to protest – Lyre obeyed and the pair were soon moving northward.From there, it only grew colder and more desolate.After days of travel, they arrived at a cave in a cliff side, and Anton started teaching Lyre how to find and dry wood for fires using the dirt to draw the moisture out by burying collected branches and twigs.They huddled together for warmth at night, since the process took time, and Lyre found he had a hard time sleeping. His limbs were numb and he couldn't use them.It was a welcome relief when Anton finally dug up the wood and taught Lyre various methods for starting a fire. With the warm flames bringing movement and feeling back to icy fingers, Lyre was happier, and more responsive to Anton's future lessons.They spent most of their time indoors, wind-proofing the cave but ensuring there was plenty of ventilation to prevent the dangerous build-up of smoke.Lyre learned how to carve wood, and practiced making his own spear and arrow shafts, and even practiced carving for artistic purposes. It helped pass the time between lessons. His fingers grew calloused and earned many a splinter and blade scar, and most of his earliest wooden figures looked more like melting wax than anything of true semblance.He learned to hunt in the snow, to trap hares and fowl, those which had not migrated south to warmer climes, in snares.He also learned to run as fast as his legs could carry him when wolves decided they wanted his meal more than he did.From the furs of his catches, he cured and tanned them under Anton's instruction, and made mittens, shoes, caps, and muffs for his ears.They marked off the days until the first thaw, and Lyre paid close attention to the passing of time and the changing of the height of the sun as the weeks marched on.After a day of ice fishing, Lyre turned his caught salmon over the fire spit, his mouth practically watering.He eyed Anton, who was hanging his own furs near the fire to dry. As his mentor turned, the warm light danced off the scars that raked down his body. They looked angry in the glow of the flames."Anton?" he asked softly as he watched the old man start to then work out his shoulder with a wince. "You've never told me of your battle wounds."Anton raised a brow at him, and chuckled as he folded his legs beneath him to sit."Most of my scars come from stories you'd never believe," he said, winking at him."Well, what happened to your shoulder?" Lyre inquired, gesturing to the man's left arm. "You've been rubbing it a lot since we came here. Is it the cold?""My shoulder."He rubbed it, as if talking about it was flaring up any aches or pains he experienced with it."When I was a young man, about your age, I finally joined my mentor in battle. We had heard tales of werewolves in the highlands, and one had slaughtered a young shepherd girl. We were assigned to find and eliminate the threat. I had never before faced a real foe, let alone one as savage as a feral hound of Hircine."Lyre studied him, and turned the fish as it started to sizzle without taking his eyes off the man. He'd never thought about facing down a werewolf."What happened?""We tracked the monsters for days," Anton explained quietly, his eyes on the flames in the pit. "And then for weeks. We finally found them holed up in a glade protected by the God of the Hunt himself, but we pressed on. We had a duty to fulfill, a mission of justice for the community that the werewolves had been terrorizing. It was our sworn duty."It was a slaughter on both sides. The wolves had been waiting, but we had been armed and prepared. The price we paid for victory was high. By the end of the assault, all but myself and my mentor were dead. One of the beasts had torn open my shoulder, and it was by the mercy and grace of Stendarr that I remained unscathed by the curse that had befallen the wretches that I cut down with my own sword."Lyre stared, and had stopped turning the fish."All of the others were dead? And the werewolves, too?""It was a mercy," Anton said softly, reaching out to spin the fish for Lyre, and then he met the boy's eyes with his own."What was? Killing the werewolves? But they're monsters. You said it yourself! Followers of... of Hircine!"Anton held his gaze."But they were once men. Once beast-folk. Once mer. All were tainted, mutated, and tortured by the Prince of the Hunt himself, and for his own pleasure and gain. If asked, they would have said they resented their curses, or most of them would have. While necessary to see justice served, it was mercy that drove us. Mercy to end their torment and their regrets.""Wouldn't mercy have been to spare their lives?" Lyre's eyes narrowed."Lyre, my lad," Anton whispered, reaching out to put his hand on the youth's knee, "sometimes the most merciful thing you can do is to end a life. Many instances may call for it, and you must have the wisdom and courage to do what is necessary when you are forced to make that choice someday. Whether that be in war, or putting down a dangerous creature...there will be times when you must choose whether or not you are merciful, and how best to extend it."Lyre studied his face and thought in that moment that Anton looked ancient and full of wisdom. Lyre knew he was a strong warrior, but he would never have thought him to be this way."What if I can't kill a man?" he asks softly. "What if... I struggle to fight because I don't want to shed blood?"Anton smiled at him."Lyre, I've known that about you from the day we first sparred with spears in the woods. You have the light of Stendarr within you, and it shines brightly in your eyes. You show mercy in the sparing of pain, the relief of it. You are a healer, boy. A protector. I have taught you medicine and alchemy for this reason. I have studied you, watched how you are swift to make a killing blow to your hunted prey, and I have seen the guilt in your eyes, even when you know that taking the life of a creature means it will extend your own. It is not a bad thing. But you must remember what I have said about the mercy of ending a life, and being wise enough to determine when. Someday, you may have to make that choice."The boy's cheeks flushed red, and he looked down at the fire."You aren't ashamed of me?""No, Lyre," Anton smiled, squeezing his knee with his calloused fingers. "I'm so proud of you."

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Lyre had never been landlocked in his entire life.His family, with their estate on the island of Attria, had always lived by the sea. The scent of salt and water was the lifeblood of his childhood memories. He had spent his years racing Hemedes on the beach or scouring the tide pools for shells and starfish. Every once in awhile, they'd found unique treasures like glass fishing baubles, fancy hooks, and even jewelry that had either washed ashore or been accidentally dropped by sunbathers that often lounged on the beaches during the warm summer months. Rare were things like coconuts, but they did sometimes wash up, and the boys had cracked them open to drink the milk inside after they'd stolen themselves away to enjoy their treat in the privacy of their favorite rocky coves. From there, they could watch the water lazily roll in and out at the whim of the moons, and they used to point out ships coming into the harbor. They would make up wild stories of where those ships had been, what they were carrying, and whether or not they might be pirates."I never want to meet a pirate," Hemedes had said one day as they watched a large ship arrive.It had a rich benefactor, as its sails were dyed a bright blue. Most sailors didn't have money to spend on sail dyes. Lesser vessels all had white sails."They sound horrifying. I've heard stories of them gutting men and feasting on their innards.""That's disgusting," Lyre had gagged back. "I hope to meet a pirate someday, though. I want to help find the bad ones and stop them from hurting people and stealing.""What, like the navy does?""Yeah."“You’d sail away from Attria, all over Tamriel?”“Of course. What an adventure!”"Your father would never allow that," Hemedes had scoffed as he kicked his feet out over the edge of the cliff they were perched on."Father doesn't allow a lot of things. He doesn't allow me to come up here, or drink milk from coconuts just lying around on beaches."Hemedes had laughed then, and taken the coconut they had split open to dip a finger through the broken husk. His finger came out dripping with the sweet milk, and he popped it into his mouth with a hum.Those days seemed very far away now, as Lyre sat on his reed bed and counted ceiling tiles. Chorrol was about as far from the sea as he could imagine. It was nestled in the Colovian Highlands, bordering the Great Forest to the east. There was no water for miles except for the well outside the chapel. There weren't even any rivers. The air held little moisture. It was dry and hot.He flinched as an olive pit landed in his folded lap, and his head snapped up so he could squint at the boy bunked across from him.Ronius was a tease and was always getting into trouble at the Chapel of Stendarr. The priests and crusaders were always saying his name with heavy sighs or punishing him for being brash or disobeying the rules. He wasn't poorly featured at all, Lyre had decided upon closer inspection of him after they'd been bunked for some weeks together. He had fair skin, and even fairer curls, which was not entirely common. His eyes were as dark as flint, though, and made his emotions hard to read."Why so glum?" Ronius grinned at him, popping another olive into his mouth."I'm hot," Lyre offered as his excuse, not wanting to admit he was feeling homesick or missing Hemedes.Ronius rolled the olive around in his mouth, the fruit bulging his cheeks a little."Me, too. Want to play a game?""A game?" Lyre arched a dark brow at him. The thought of playing games made his skin feel even hotter somehow. He was already sweating without exerting himself goofing off. "What kind of a game?"The other spat the pit out at him, and Lyre frowned sharply as it hit his lap like the first one had."Well, we have an urn. And olives." He held the bowl up and shook it, making the olives roll around. "Let's set up the urn on the other side of the room and we'll see how many pits we can get in."Lyre blinked at him, and then he tilted his head. He wasn't a great aim at much of anything, so his teachers had always pointed out. He couldn't land a spear or arrow to save his life."You'll win," he said."You don't know that," Ronius replied, already on his feet and fetching the decorative urn in their room to set up near the door."I do know that. You've landed two in my lap already," Lyre mumbled, feeling a blush crawl across his cheeks."Beginner's luck!" Ronius pranced back to Lyre's reed bed and used his hip to force him over with another wide grin that showed off all his white teeth. "You could use the practice, don't you think? And it'll be fun."Lyre's blush made his face feel like it was really on fire then. He hated that he wasn't as skilled as the other youths in the art of weaponry and combat. He didn't aim to miss when he threw his spear or drew his arrows."I'll never be very good at it.""Not with that attitude," Ronius chuckled, popping an olive into his mouth.Lyre squinted and grabbed an olive for himself. That was a challenge whether or not Ronius meant it to be one."Fine, you first," he said, rolling his own olive over his tongue.Ronius had already stripped the fruit and the pit was clasped between his teeth. He flashed Lyre a cocky grin and then spat. The pit missed, bouncing off the rim and falling to the floor.He licked his lips and chuckled."See? Your turn."Lyre huffed and swallowed the fruit of his olive before trying to spit his pit into the urn. It, too, bounced off the rim.Undeterred, he grabbed another, and the pair went off shooting pits across the room until, finally, one of his landed. By then, Ronius had bagged three, but Lyre didn't care.With a whoop of success, Lyre flashed Ronius a smile, his eyes dancing."See!" Ronius laughed and gave him a challenging grin. "Come on, beat me if you can!"They spent an hour playing this game, laughing until their sides were sore. Lyre got better with his aim, but only just, with Ronius scoring far better than he did. Eventually, they stopped shooting at the urn and started taking aim at each other.
When it was time for dinner, they were sick off of olives and giddy laughter, having no stomach for a meal.They went to bed that night still giggling about landing terrible hits on each other, and Lyre had to force himself to try and sleep. Ronius was great fun and was just the antidote for his homesickness he didn't know he needed.He had a new friend, making him feel less alone.

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Lyre sat with his back pressed against the gnarled feet of an olive tree with Hemedes, a lute resting on his belly, and the other boy's head in his lap. His fingers idly plucked the strings of his instrument, the tune one he often heard being sung by his mother when he had been very small. She sang it to all of her children, and it was his favorite lullaby."Lyre?" Hemedes asked as a cool breeze somehow managed to make its way up the hillside and kiss their dark faces."Hmm?" His fingers stilled on the lute strings.Hemedes rolled onto his back to look up at him with eyes the color of pale stones. He had freckles on his cheeks, and Lyre loved to trace them with his fingers sometimes. They often joked that he had constellations in them. Chestnut curls framed his face in such a way that it made him look like a perfectly painted picture."Why is your father sending you away?"The inquiry made Lyre suck in a breath and one corner of his lips tugged down sharply."Because he wants me to train under the priesthood of Stendarr. He thinks my life needs direction and discipline. I don't think it's permanent, but...so I can learn to be a strong man, prepare to be the head of the household someday."A silence fell between them, thick and heavy, like the scent of the olive tree at Lyre's back.
Then, Hemedes asked in a soft voice, "Is it what you want?""I don't know."The answer was almost a lie, but not quite a truth. More than half of his heart wanted to remain here, to stay on his family's island, to be near his friends. This was all he had ever known. Thirteen years of life in these hills was almost all the world his eyes had ever seen. And because of that, he did want to leave. His young heart yearned for adventure, his soul tugging his imagination to foreign lands, and his mind further exploring the origins of his father's office trinkets."Would you miss me?" Hemedes asked.Lyre met his gray gaze evenly, and he smiled. It was easy to do around Hemedes.They were best friends, having been almost their entire lives. Over the years, they had sprouted from plump children with baby-fatted cheeks and high pitched voices into long-limbed youths sporting knobby knees, and strengthening features. Lyre loved the way that Hemedes' jaw had started to widen a little, and his nose had become more defined. Lyre thought that he, himself, was too disproportionate and that his arms and legs were growing faster than the rest of him. He felt gangly, like a willow tree that had yet to come into its own branches."Of course I would miss you," he answered, putting his lute aside. "But maybe father would let you go with me.""I'm your servant," Hemedes reminded him. "Or...his, rather. Assigned to you. In a temple, you'd have no need of me.""I'd have need of my friend," Lyre argued. "And you're the best one I have.""Your father won't care about that," Hemedes sighed back. "The priests might not either."It was all so unfair, and it struck Lyre hard then. Why couldn't he have his best friend go with him? And why should any stuffy adult care if he did? He huffed, blowing a black curl from his face -- a curl that Hemedes reached up to brush away with long fingers."I would miss you," Lyre repeated.
Hemedes' eyes may have been the color of rock, but they were as soft and warm as sunlight. They shone then.The gleam in them made Lyre admire him. His cheeks were high, adding length to his face, and his chin was forming a bit of squareness to it rather than being sharp. When he swallowed, the flash of a bulb forming in this throat drew Lyre's gaze. He couldn't believe how much his best friend was starting to look grown-up. His fingertip reached out to trace Hemedes' lips, and an urge stirred inside his belly.He had never really kissed anyone before, but he had seen it done many times. The guards of his father's estate often stole kisses from the servant girls in dark corridor corners when they thought no one was looking. Once or twice, he'd accidentally stumbled upon them doing more in the off hours, late at night, but he'd always hurried away as quietly as possible, his face flushed at the amount of flesh he had seen after getting past the shock that came with witnessing such intimacy. The thought of love had embarrassed him, and the making of it even more so.And yet, here he was, staring down at the boy he'd grown up with, and the impulse to lean down and meet his lips with his own was too strong to resist.It was clumsy, and he missed half of Hemedes' mouth. It ended up being kind of a corner ordeal that, blushing terribly, he tried to correct. He worried the other would pull away, or show disgust and object, but he did not. Their lips moved just a little in a way that was shy and inexperienced.
Lyre drank in his taste and his scent. It was slightly like olive oil, likely from the soap he used to wash his face and hair, and a touch of roses. It was a scent that before now, he'd associated with him only in friendship, and now, it was something more.They parted, panting slightly for breath in the excitement of the moment, eyes wide and staring at each other. Their cheeks were both flushed as if the sun had been shining on them for far too long. Heat flushed up Lyre's throat and spread across his entire face. His belly was fluttering, his heart thundering."I will miss you," he said for a third time, and then kissed him again.