A Poor Man's Adventures in the Age Undreamt

[Fallout5368]

Somehow, I doubt this record will ever survive the ages to come, but I feel the need to write this tale down, nonetheless. Funny, it feels like yesterday that I felt the warm sun of Aquilonia on my face. I can even hear Mother scolding you, Otho, about something or other. Even a decade after your death, I still miss you, brother. But that is for later, I feel. Know, whoever you are, that you read the life of Balor of the Heliograph Tower, born Gallen, called Archivist by his friends, and The Deceiver by his enemies. He, who was born in the fair city of Shamar, where Shadows still dance in its old catacombs.

Shamar, where it all began, and despite all the pain that city holds for me. I still love it, for it also still holds some of my fondest memories in this second life.

Fragmentary excerpt from the Tale of Exiles, recovered by Arkham Miskatonic University archeological team in Southern France circa 1954.

Month of the Bear, Year of the Cobra

For the young man who in this life is called Gallen. The city of Shamar has been his world. As he sits at his desk looking out over the family estate's garden from his room, he felt a sense of peace he had never known in his first life, even though the city smelled of sewage and unwashed masses. For him, Shamar was the most beautiful thing in the world. The perfumed drapes did help, though his mother did question why he preferred the harsh citrus scent.

The soft creaking of his door, followed by the pitter-patter of small feet and by the barely contained laughter, told him all he needed to know about what was about to happen.

Suddenly, a pair of arms wrap around his neck. Cutting off the vital air that all beings need. He brings his hands to claw at the arms, but their strength is too great. Already, he can feel the life ebbing away from him as his vision starts to blacken. His only thought was how he never got to build his Wizard Tower.

"Ati, tell Gal to stop being silly. I'm only hugging him." Little Daphne pouts as she hangs limply from her brother's back. Her hazel eyes were filled with mirth, drinking in everything in his room, captivated by the alchemical treatises and notes around him. Her brunette hair, undone, and her tunic, stained with mud, told him that his mother would be having words with the servants about letting her escape… again.

"I'm afraid, Lady Daphne, that Lord Gallen will only take that as a challenge and endeavor to be even more dramatic next time." A pretty young Argossean woman says with a fond smile on her sun-kissed face. Her chestnut hair, cut short to her cheeks, frames her emerald eyes handsomely. Though that beauty also belies a ferocity that compares to the wrath of a tigress.

"Ah, Atia, as ever, a loyal and just handmaiden to the Lady Daphne!" He says, trying his hand at speaking her mother's tongue. He feels like he has gotten it right this time and can't help but grin in pride.

"While I will not stop you from comparing me to gold and silver, my lord, I don't think you meant to call me Lady Daphne's literal hands." She says, trying to hold back her laughter. "It was a good try, my lord, but you still mix up the subject and emphasis of your words."

Cursing under his breath, he stands while shifting his sister into a more comfortable position on his back. "How is it that the language without a proper writing system is easier to speak than a peer of Aquilonia?" He grouses, getting a giggle from Daphne, before she looks back at his desk.

"It mayhap be because the good Lord Gallen has spent too long pestering the Barbarous Cimmerian Manwdyn? Everyone knows that barbarous tongues are easier to learn than the refined tastes of Corinth or even Aquilonia." Atia posits while falling into step with him. Only to laugh at his scoff, knowing his thoughts on the so-called superiority of any culture.

They fell into a comfortable silence as they left his room. They went through the storage room that he had taken for his personal quarters. Walking along the balcony that hangs out over the garden, he had no set destination, just enjoying their company. "So, I assume since you are here that means Otho is out causing some form of trouble?" He asks, cutting through the pleasant silence, "And mother wants me to go out and try and find my rambunctious half?"

At his question, Atia only shakes her head. "While your Lordly twin has vanished from his noon lessons, again, the Lady Hypatia has already sent Father out to collect him." She takes a glance at the garden. "She has, though, commanded that you prepare your elixirs in case he injures himself… again."

His eyes found their way back to looking out over the garden again. Sitting on a comfortable acre, the garden would be more accurately described as a personal park for his family and their servants. Aside from The Rock, it is one of the few green places in the city and is viewed with envy by the other noble families.

Surrounding the garden are the grey walls of the estate that had been his home in this life. If he were to describe his home, he would say it reminded him of a Roman Domus. Only stretched to encompass two and a half acres and three stories tall at its highest. Most of the space is taken up by grey stone walls decorated with winding serpent motifs, capped by a terracotta roof. The lower part of the wall takes up half of the Northern wall and the entire Eastern wall. Allowing the morning sun to bathe the garden in light.

The Southern half of the estate is filled with the atrium, mother's study, and other such rooms where she would greet guests. Along with the shops that rent out the front of the estate, much to the slanderous gossip of the noble families. The most striking thing about his home is just how different its architecture is from the surrounding buildings, being more functional and poorer quality than the ancient building.

That alone told him the estate was old. With what little he managed to pry from his governor only adding to the mystery. According to him, the estate is almost as old as Shamar itself. No matter the financial highs or lows that befell his estranged family, they always refused to sell or renovate the estate. From what he remembered from his past life, that was something to be concerned about.

Old families such as his tended to have many secrets that reared their heads especially when it was most inconvenient. It also didn't help that he had found three secret rooms in the attic storage alone. He's fairly certain that they were hidden armories and archives. Judging from the rusted remains of weapons and armor, along with tattered remains of what may have been journals. The thing that disquieted him the most, though, is the fact that the rooms are bigger than they should be.

"Gallen," Daphne starts pulling him from his thoughts of his home as they make their way to the stairs. "Why do you live up here in the attic? Otho says you don't like people," her voice had taken on softness as though she was afraid of the answer. "… Do you not like us?"

Mulling over the answer, he stopped them by a relief carving of a man wrangling two serpents that stood proudly by the end of the balcony. The echo of the servants working, climbing up the stairs. "I don't dislike our family, Daph. I love all of you." He throws Atia a glance, letting her know she is a part of the family. "I just despise having to perform all of the social niceties that are expected of me." At this, he sets her down and faces her, putting both his hands on her shoulders.

"You and Otho can walk into a celebration and immediately understand the groupings and flow of the groups. I walk into said celebration, and I feel like a stranger one misstep away from insulting everyone, and a part of me doesn't really care." At this, he gives her a crooked smirk. "Plus, could you imagine me trying to entertain guests?"

"I'm fairly sure Father was about to fall asleep when you got into the differences between pressing and grinding materials," Atia says, a small grin on her face.

"Well, if Manwydan wasn't interested, he should have found something we both could have enjoyed." He snaps, standing to face her, only to grimace, regretting the outburst. "Atia, I apologize; that was unbecoming."

Atia's smile has taken a sad quirk, as she places a hand on his shoulder. "I know Galen; I know."

Looking at her, he searched for the words for the topic that had been hounding him these past months. The real reason for his troubled mood that made spending time with his family difficult.

"Gal, Ati, look, the snake's head twists!" Daphne's excited voice rings out. Causing both of them to turn in shock. Daphne looks back at them, a proud grin on her face as she twists one of the serpent heads. Before a loud click was heard, and the relief became slightly ajar.

Moving quickly before either could move to investigate, he seals the door. Their eyes are upon him now, and before he could come up with an excuse, Atia had already marched up to him. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, and her face scrunched in concentration. "A dislike of social niceties, you say."

He could only shrug as an awkward smile plays across his face. "Well, I never said it was the only reason why I lived up here." Before he could think of anything else, they heard a commotion below the balcony. Looking down, they saw a group of young men and women scaling the lower wall. Their lean forms told of a life on the streets that had just come into the good fortune of a wealthy patron.

Leading this group of ruffians is a familiar young man, his lean form like that of a wolf. His long hair was pulled back, and he laughed, a sound heard even from their height. His fine blue and gold clothes were practically dyed muddy brown.

"Otho!" Gallen calls out, "What in the name of the Gods do you think you're doing!"

Looking up, a roughish grin playing across his face. "Brother! I'm simply returning home after another successful adventure! Come on down and bring Daphne and the Lovely Atia so that I may tell it to you over a glass of Ambrosia!" Even from where he stood, Gallen could still see the bleeding wound on his brother's face.

"You're bleeding like a broken aqueduct, you damnable fool, and you are covered in mud! Mother will have both of our hides if you get any on her rugs." Already he can feel pressure building up behind his eyes. "Just go to my workshop and don't touch anything until I get there!"

With a laugh, Otho jumps down, followed by his gang of barbarous hooligans. Turning back to Atia and Daphne, he tries to make an excuse, only for Atia to cut him off. "Go, Gallen, I will inform the Lady Hypatia that Lord Otho has returned from his excursions." At this, her eyes hardened into ice. "I will not inform her yet about our discovery here, but you and I will be talking about this and any other such rooms you have found. Are we understood, Lord Gallen?"

Nodding his head his gives Daphne a quick pat on the head before running down the steps to stop Otho or his friends from drinking something that would require him to induce vomiting in them… again, the things he does for his family.

 

[Fallout5368]

Otho de Malius laughs heartily and loudly as he entered his brother's workshop in the gardens, his most loyal companions at his side. The wound across his face still stung from where the rock hit him, but it mattered not, for he had returned such insult on that de Pollus cur.

Looking around, he saw that his brother's workshop was the same as it ever is. A cramped hovel with earthenware jars filled with foul-tasting pastes. Rare glass ampules sloshing with noxious liquids, and off to the side, in a haphazard mess, was the desk strewn with notes and diagrams.

"Hey, Otho," Eadgar called out, his mop of brown hair shifting as he looked up. Strong as an ox and quick with his fist, his stocky frame seemed to fill the cramped corner of the hovel, marking him clearly as a son of Gunderland. A calculating edge had entered his steel blue eyes as he stared at the dried alchemical ingredients hanging from the walls. "You think we can convince your brother to sell his potions? I know some street fighters down by the docks who would pay good silver for 'em."

Samiria scoffed, leaning her long frame against a desk strewn with vials and mortars like some large cat. Her raven locks were tied in a short braid that swayed against her shoulder as she weighed her battered truncheon, inspecting the wood for any egregious damage.

"Do you really think Gallen will just sell this?" She asked, picking up and holding one of the ceramic flasks from the desk. "The only reason any of us get anything is that Otho had to beg for it."

Otho, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rising, spoke up with a need to protect his brother's honor. "Now, friends, I know my brother can be a bit miserly. But I did not need to beg him to aid us."

Samiria and Eadgar's looks of disbelief spoke of how much they actually believed that.

"You do well to come to your brother's honor, my Lord. But Lord Gallen is quite protective of his domain," Harkouf said. He was leaning over a table, examining the leather mask and heavy gloves Gallen used for his more dangerous experiments. As he moved, the brass Ibis medallion bounced against his tawny skin, marking him instantly as one of the banished of Stygia. "He was quite cross with us when we drank that one potion."

At this, they all grimaced; not one of them liked remembering that incident.

"I wouldn't have had to do that if you idiots didn't decide to drink the quicksilver I was studying." Gallen snapped as he filled the doorframe. Just past his second cycle of life, he stood tall with his broad form. His face twisted into a scowl that made him look older than he was. His eyes quickly assessed their states. "Good, none of you are dying or trying to drink anything."

He then settled on Otho, striding forward to close the distance between them. Before Otho could even offer a greeting, Gallen reached out, catching his twin by the chin. Otho slapped at Gallen's wrist, causing Gallen to roll his eyes. But Otho didn't pull away entirely, letting his brother tilt his head toward the light. It was an old routine between them.

"And what, pray tell, gave you this, Otho?" Gallen asked, his voice tinged by a mix of amusement and exasperation.

Otho grinned, the movement pulling at the cut. "Well, you see, de Pollus decided he would much rather throw rocks than—"

"Save it," Gallen cut him off, squeezing Otho's jaw just hard enough to silence him while guiding him to a stool. "I'm going to need to stitch this wound up, and your boastful yapping will mess with my needlework. Sit."

Otho rolled his eyes but complied, dropping into the stool with a heavy sigh. "You're taking all the fun out of my glory, brother."

"Your glory is going to leave a scar if you don't shut up," Gallen countered. He turned back to the room. "Samiria, please hand me the catguts and my needles; they are on the shelf behind you. Eadgar, I'm going to need a bit of your wine and any leftover aloe, if you please."

Samiria seemed to materialize at their side with barely a sound, despite being half a head taller than the brothers. Standing over them, her dark cat-like eyes idly tracked the stark differences between the twins.

They shared the same young features, but their paths inside and outside the family's ancestral estate had already started to shape them differently. Gallen spent most of his days inside the manor walls, a luxury that left him broader than his twin, carrying a layer of soft heft and heavy muscle born from sitting over dusty texts rather than sprinting down alleyways. His hair was cropped short and practically barbaric. To Samiria, he looked like an overgrown mastiff pup—heavy, solid, and slow to anger, but formidable if pushed.

Otho, by contrast, sat coiled on the stool like a scrawny wolf pup. He was all lean muscle, sharp angles, and nervous, predatory energy, his obsession with the streets written in his wire-thin frame. His dark hair fell past his shoulders, though for the fight it had been pulled back into a rough, frayed ponytail that kept the wild mane out of his eyes.

Eadgar grumbled but complied with the request, handing over his wineskin and the last of their aloe paste with only mild reluctance. Unlike Samiria or Harkouf, who were the children of estate servants and business partners respectively, Eadgar was the only one actually raised on the street before he had fallen in with Otho's band, and he guarded his meager belongings fiercely.

"Now then, while I'm sewing my fool of a brother up, someone please tell me Crassus is still alive. None of us need the Baroness to come down on our heads." As he said this, Gallen reached over to one of the few glass ampules in the workshop. The clear liquid burned their noses as he poured it into a bowl and laid his needle in.

Setting it aside, he took the wineskin from Eadgar and splashed it on Otho's temple, washing the wound of dried blood and dirt. Before applying the aloe to help clean the wound.

Otho lets out a slight hiss as his brother cleans his wounds. His hands gripping the stool, he forced his face back into a tight smirk. "Of course he's alive, brother; I'm not a fool."

"Well, you just scaled the walls like a common thief after taking a stone to the temple. You are lucky it didn't fly truer and strike your head." Gallen said, while threading the catgut. "You would be missing an eye, if you were lucky."

Otho doesn't flinch as Gallen started sewing the wound shut, though his jaw tightened. His mind went back to the alley just off the main spoke from the Covered Market. The de Malius and de Pollus feud was almost as old as Shamar itself by some scholars' reckoning. Every generation or so, one member of each of their families would take up the age-old feud and ensure their family's hold remained strong.

"He breathes," Harkouf chimed in from the corner, his fingers tracing the stitching on Gallen's heavy hide gloves. "But his pride is thoroughly bled out, Lord Gallen. Lord Crassus was left face down in the lower markets. His fine velvet tunic and saie cape ruined, and his retainers scattered like rats."

"Velvet can be washed," Gallen sighed, pulling the loops tight. Otho's eyes flared in pain, but he did not flinch away. "But murder can't so easily be written off. The Solstice is just around the corner, and a murder of even a minor noble like us would be seen as a poor omen."

Gallen pulled the final stitch taut, watching the raw edges of the wound pucker together. With practiced ease, he snipped the trailing catgut and tied it off before using the leftover aloe paste to clean the wound one last time. Gallen took one last look at the stitching before nodding, satisfied with his work.

Smiling, Gallen clapped his brother on the shoulder. "Well, since we don't need to worry about any bodies or angry de Pollus family members. How about we try and get your story straight before mother comes asking questions about how you got that little scar?"

This managed to draw grins and smiles from everyone in the room, pleased that Gallen was helping them. Before they could start constructing their story, Atia appeared in the doorway. Her sharp green eyes took everything in with a glance. Otho's eyes lit up the moment he saw her; his posture straightened as he tried to adjust himself into a more gallant position. He flashed her a practiced smile meant to look naturally roguish, though the sudden movement yanked at his freshly stitched temples. Before he could speak, Atia cut him off.

"I'm afraid, Lord Gallen, that it is a little too late. The Lady Hypatia has already been told about Lord Otho's little skirmish in the Covered Markets. She has ordered him to her study with all due haste."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, beautiful Atia, for as you can see, I am absolutely filthy." At this, he flung his arm around Gallen, his face shifting into a mask of regret as he smeared dirt on his twin's relatively clean tunic. "Gal will have to go in my place. I'm sure Mother will understand." The unblinking look of exasperation on Gallen's face was his only answer.

Raising her hand, a trio of servants stepped into view, carrying fresh linen, buckets of water, and sponges. "I thought as much, Lord Otho, which is why I have already had replacement linens collected and water prepared."

Swiftly, Gallen snapped his gaze to the servants. His expression practically dared them to splash those buckets around. "Atia, I would like to remind you that I store many of my personal notes in here." His eyes seemed to bore directly into the men holding the water, causing them to shift uncomfortably under the usually mild-mannered lord's stare. It was a rare thing to see the quiet young man angered, and the staff knew better than to test his boundaries within his own domain.

Atia only nodded her head in agreement. "That is correct, Lord Gallen, but that is on your brother. He can either take the sponge, or we have been ordered to dunk him." Atia said blandly, before turning her eyes to the band. "Samiria, Eadgar, report to the kitchens; the chef needs help preparing the afternoon meals. Harkouf, your family has asked to see you."

Nodding, Samiria and Harkouf bowed before marching out. Eadgar moved a half step behind them, his movements tense, still not used to service in a noble house.

As they left, Gallen finished putting his tools and notes securely away before joining Atia. "Well, I dare say that is the end of that. If either of you have need of me, I'll be in the attic reading some fascinating Stygian treatises on poultices."

Before he could go, Atia had placed a hand firmly on his shoulder. "I'm afraid not, Lord Gallen." Atia said, her tone level, "The Lady Hypatia has also asked for your presence."

At his silent question, Atia only shrugged.

Otho, realizing his escape attempt had failed, stepped forward and snatched the sponges and water bucket from the servants, while directing the one carrying the linen to lay them on the desk. He aggressively scrubbed the dirt from his arms and face, refusing to let the servants wash him or see him flinch when the water stung his stitches. With that done, he quickly changed his clothes

He stepped out of the workshop to join Gallen and Atia; he gave a cold, dismissive flick of the wrist. Not bothering to offer a glance or a word of thanks. To Otho, the servants not a part of his band are nothing more than added fixtures of the estate. The servants looked to Atia for confirmation, and only after her subtle nod did they bow and file out of their workshop with the buckets and clothes.

"Well, brother," Otho started adjusting his tunic and smoothing the trousers, his grin not quite reaching his eyes. "It looks like we must pay the Ferryman a bit early today."


AN: Well, I'm happy that people are finding this at least enjoyable. To give a bit of information about where I'm pulling ideas to help flesh out the world. I'm using mostly the late great YouTuber Grim Dark Half Off. Along with the Modiphius TTRPG. I hope you all continue to find it enjoyable, and if you have any ideas, I'd be happy to hear them. This is something I'm kind of nervous about, but I'm happy people seem to be at least giving it a chance.

 

[Despacitoleo]

Coolio chapter

 

[Fallout5368]

As they march through the garden into the main estate, it is like walking into another world. Servants scurry about. Washing the walls and putting up decorations. All for the coming Great Bear's Feast celebrations. Gallen found it all utterly fascinating to witness; he also knew that for everything he saw, the rest of the city was even more of a fit.

The Baroness was inviting everyone who mattered in the city to one of her more public parties. Whether you did or didn't get such an invitation has made or broken many a family. If a minor family, such as theirs, was invited to such an event, it would be a very good sign for their mother.

Maybe even enough of a windfall that Grandfather would finally reply to his letters.

As they walk through the garden, Otho and Gallen fall into an easy half-step behind Atia. A glance showed Gallen where Otho's eyes had fallen.

"Brother, please have some decorum. Ati is practically our sister." Gallen's voice was tinged with a hint of disgust. Otho's love for Atia had grown beyond what he considered healthy, and he had started to try everything he could to curb it.

Otho, in turn, only blushed and looked away. "She is the daughter of Camilla and Manwydan, Gal. While she has played with us since we were babes, she isn't related to us by blood; there is no harm in looking." As he said this, his eyes tried to go back to where they had previously rested.

Gallen didn't hesitate. He brought his hand down in a sharp, heavy swat that echoed around the hedges and bushes. Otho winced, rubbing at the reddening skin while muttering curses under his breath, but his eyes did move forward.

"You are lucky you are my brother," Otho said, his jaw tight as he almost growled out those words.

"And you are lucky I care enough to always keep you civilized," Gallen said, eyes narrowed, trying to ensure his warning got through his thick-headed brother. "Be that as it may, she is still practically our sister. So, mind your decorum, Otho,"

Gallen didn't like having to play at the disciplinarian for his brother, but certain things should never happen. Otho trying to woo Atia is most certainly one of those things.

As they move deeper into the estate, the garden quickly falls away to the serpentine carved walls of the main domus. Looking around, Gallen always found himself struck by just how prevalent serpents were in his family's artwork. Scales and coil-winding bodies seemed to twist and crawl across every wall and doorway.

He remembered a quiet afternoon when the family was eating in the triclinium, asking his mother why the creatures were such a heavy part of their estate. She had looked up at that as if she was just realizing how many vipers actually decorated her home. A fond, almost whimsical, mood had taken her then.

"Oh, my sweet Little Pup, vipers have always been our symbol." She had said with a soft laugh. "Other houses may choose the preening falcon or the oafish boar, but we have always been the viper. It shows the world that no matter how dangerous it is, as long as we are coiled together, no danger can ever truly harm us."

The echo of her laughter fades as he feels a hand land heavily on his shoulder.

"Gal, you alright? You've been staring at the pool." Otho asks, concern evident in his eyes. Blinking away the fog, Gallen realized that while he was lost in thought, they had stopped in front of the impluvium. Otho, Atia, and even a few of the passing servants had stopped to look at him, clearly worried that one of his dark moods had taken him again.

"I'm fine, O. Just lost in thought." He said, while brushing off the hand. "Just thinking about the estate again."

Otho's grin didn't quite reach his eyes, but he did nod, visibly relieved. "Aye. Maybe mother has finally decided to let you and your little retinue dig up the cellar. Mitra knows, you've made enough of a mess out in the northern fields"

Gallen felt a flash of annoyance at that. As he started to argue the merits of his excavations, they resumed their way to their mother's study. Atia and the servants gave little relieved smiles. They all remembered the dark days when Gallen would seem to withdraw into himself, barely reacting to the world around him. Seeing him snap back to his familiar, petty academic frustrations was a welcome sight.

By the time Gallen had finished defending his team's grid-like search of the northern fields, they had reached the heavy, blood-red mahogany of the study door. Older than even his grandfather, the door had gained an aged warping to it that made the wood look like a snake's overlapping scales.

Atia paused to take one last look over them before quickly reaching over to straighten Otho's cape, which caused him to beam in joy, then shifted her attention to Gallen. She glared at the many stains on his tunic and the stubborn ink on his hands, earning her a simple, unbothered shrug in return.

Releasing an exasperated sigh, Atia turned and formally rapped upon the door.

"Enter," Hypatia commanded from behind her desk. Her eyes quickly danced over to Daphne playing with beautiful Camilla, sending her a playful look that earned a soft giggle. Her gaze rose from the trade ledgers and focused on her two troublesome sons.

As the heavy doors opened, she looked on as all the siblings entered. The serpents danced along the walls, making them all look like beasts that had just marched into a great snake's den. Otho was lean and tense, with his near immaculate face that was only marred by the dark wild mane of hair that was aggressively held back by a leather strip, and a newly sewn wound at his temple.

Gallen was broad where his brother was lean; his skin was lighter than his brother's. His dark hair was cropped shorter than what most barbarians would have tolerated. Though she would admit it did suit her son. Ink stains marred his fingers, and there was a yellow stain that clung to the shoulder of his tunic.

With a soft click, the door closed as Atia remained outside, taking her position at the door to ensure that no one would disturb or listen in on the family.

To people of Shamar, they were a strikingly mismatched pair. Bold and uncaring about what the world thinks of them. But to Hypatia, she saw more of them acting more like the Northern Hillmen than the Proud Aquilonian she claimed as their father.

"Oh, Little Wolf," Camilla said from her desk, rising and quickly striding over towards Otho. "Where did you get this cut? Did you get into a fight with a wall? Did our Little Hound have to use up all his good catgut again?"

Otho let Camilla move his head without much fuss, though he couldn't escape the sharp side-eye from his brother.

"Tis but a scratch, Auntie Camilla. I misjudged a sharp turn and hit my head," Otho said. His grin took on its usual roguish charm.

Watching from her desk, Hypatia felt a twinge of regret and fondness. That grin was all hers, the same look of reckless pride and defiance that had also made her father laugh and broken so many hearts in Tarantia. It was a dangerous expression to wear, especially in a city like Shamar.

A snort escaped from Gallen, dragging her back. It was a dry thing that reminded her disquietly of her brother Titus whenever he caught her misbehaving.

"If by sharp turn, you mean Crassus de Pollus almost caving your skull in with a rock," Gallen said, crossing his arms over his stained tunic, "then yes, I'm sure it was a very sharp turn."

A chill ran down her spine at those words, but she caught it before it could show on her face, pulling on the mask of the matriarch. The same look that her own mother had worn whenever she came home from her own adventures. Right now, she had to be the Matriarch, not their Mother.

Camilla's face had twisted into a cold mask as she continued to examine the stitches. Even Daphne had quieted down from her little corner. Seeing how the room had grown cold. Leaning back in her oaken chair, Lady de Malius took in her sons fully.

"A rock, you say?" Her voice had taken a dangerous edge now, her hand gripping the hard oak armrest. Her eyes flickered quickly to the large shadow by the shades. The lean shade only shifted minutely under her brief glare. "Pray tell, what exactly would cause Crassus de Pollus to escalate this game into almost killing his cousin?"

Otho's face twisted into a scowl. The mere reminder of the shared blood with Crassus made his blood boil. He tried to pull away from Camilla, but she quickly snapped his chin back into place with a firm, silent warning.

"It wasn't my fault, mother." Otho snarled, "We met them at the alley right off the road to the docks. That cur Crassus, his man lost to Samiria, and the next thing I know a rock almost takes my head."

Otho looked ready to spit on the rug, but a slight narrowing of her eyes reminded him this is her study. He swallowed the urge, his jaw tight in barely held disgust. Camilla offered a sharp nod of approval to her as she finished her inspection of the stitches, before quietly stepping back to the corner to join the Little Songbird

Hypatia's gaze slides back to the lean shadow by the window. "And you saw no reason to inform me of this injury, Manwydan?"

From the seated bench by the window, a low, gravelly voice rumbled. "The boy is fine. I saw the rock flying, and had it been true I would have intervened." A low, menacing beast-like laugh rumbled out. "It should teach the boy to mind his surroundings."

Sighing, Hypatia turned back to her sons. "I will have words with Gaius about this. But know that this cannot happen again so close to the Feast." Steadying herself, Hypatia said, "As such, Otho, you are confined to the estate till after the Great Bears' Feast."

Otho's eyes widened in shock, and he moved to protest. Only for a sharp elbow from Gallen to silence him.

Hypatia's eyes narrowed into a scathing gaze, acknowledging the silent intervention. "Good, now all of you leave; I must speak with Gallen, alone."

Her broad-shouldered son stiffened, and his eyes widened in shock. His face visibly scrunching as he searched for why he was singled out. Otho, again, looked ready to speak up, no doubt to protect his twin. Only to be stopped by a lighter nudge and a shake of Gallen's head.

Everyone filed out of the study, throwing concerned glances back over their shoulders. The moment they stepped over the threshold, the heavy red door swung shut, and an ominous click echoed through the room.

Releasing a deep sigh, Hypatia could feel herself slump back in her chair. Gallen was still trying to puzzle out what he had done. Despite everything she had tried to teach him. His face was still too expressive to be anything other than a map for his heart. She loved that about her son, but she was terrified that others would use it against him.

Reaching into her desk, she pulled out a set of letters. "Some letters arrived today. Letters from Belverus."

At this, Gallen's face brightened, and he moved to collect them. Only stopping when she raised her hand.

"I have known about your correspondence with my mother, and I am even pleased that you are talking to her," Hypatia said, her voice softening. "Mitra knows she and your grandfather aren't talking."

Before the warmth could linger, the mask of the Matriarch slamed back into place. "But I cannot condone that they are written entirely in Nemedian."

His face shifted into one of confused trepidation. "Mother, please, I'm just writing to Grandmother about us. She's grown lonely in her age, and she's even sent me a Nemedian-to-Aquilonian dictionary to help with my structure."

"There have been skirmishes on the border, Gallen." Hypatia snapped, her hand coming down on her ledgers. "If anyone, or gods forbid Lucilla de Pollus, found out you were sending letters to Belverus, you would be swinging from the gallows before noon. And our family would be under far more suspicion than we already are!"

She raised her voice, desperate to get her son to see this for the absolute foolishness that this was. "What could make you-"

"At least she acknowledges us!" Gallen roared; the booming echo of his voice seemed to shock him, and he instantly looked down at his ink-stained hands in deep shame. "She acknowledges us, Mother. She wants to know about us and she talks about Belverus and about… everything." At this, his voice took on a raw, almost broken quality that cut through the cool air of the study.

Standing from her desk, Hypatia quickly moved to comfort her son. She had seen his dark moods and knew that the distance her grandfather put on them all hurt him more than he let show.

Embracing him, she could feel the tremors that he fought to control. "Why won't he at least write to us, Mamam?" Gallen whispered, his voice carrying a raw vulnerability she had not heard since he was a child, back when he used to sit in the dark and sing to himself in that strange, rhythmic tongue when he thought he was alone.

"I know my Little Hound, I know," Hypatia said, rubbing small circles in his back as she held him close. "I am not saying you must stop, but just for this month. Please pause your letters."

She pulled back slightly, her sharp hazel eyes softening as she stared at her academic son's face. Looking past the map of his heart. "You can keep practicing your Nemedian, gods know you still mix up your words, but please only practice them within these walls. No dispatches until the Feast has concluded."

Hypatia watched as her son seemed to struggle before nodding, collecting himself. 'Good, he's using that mind of his.' Hypatia thought as she made her way back to the desk. Sitting back down in her oaken chair, she smoothed out her dark silks. "On less sordid news, let us speak of the Northern Fields."

"Vispania." He almost seemed to growl out the name.

Hypatia watched as his face rapidly went from confused to annoyed, a reaction that brought a faint smirk to her lips. "Correct, the young Lady de Pollus has been stalking your dig site again," she said, tapping her fingers against the dark oaken desk. "Harkouf reported that her ridiculous little band of thieves has been loitering around our lands. They're tearing up your trenches under the guise of finding treasure."

Her son almost seemed to let out a low, frustrated growl, as he started calculating how best to deal with what he called "An annoying mole more interested in fighting than history."

Hypatia knew Gallen wouldn't have cared all that much if Vispania had actually wanted to learn about the past. But, as he had ranted at more than one family dinner, the young Lady de Pollus, a girl of four and ten, was more interested in trying to get a rise from him than actually digging in the dirt.

Gallen was no hoarder of the junk he dug up from the ground; Hypatia knew that he regularly sold a few of the less impressive finds to help fund his digs. The entire household had laughed themselves hoarse when they saw old Lord de Velius proudly displaying shattered pottery at his spring gala. Gallen had smirked through the entire party, listening to the old man make grand proclamations about it being the sacred drinking cup of some mythical member of the de Velius lineage. Afterward, Gallen had privately confessed to them that he had most likely just sold the arrogant fool an ancient, glorified chamber pot.

But where Gallen sold redundant relics while respecting the context, Vispania's 'Eagle's Feathers' were just thieves, casually destroying any site they descended upon to tear out any perceived treasures.

Nodding, Hypatia waved dismissively, "You will have to deal with your Little Mole tomorrow, Gallen. After morning drills with Manwydan, if Otho must suffer his confinement, it is better that he should have a cell mate." Hypatia almost laughs at the sudden, deep grimace that crossed her son's face. "Spend the rest of the day with your siblings and out of your den." At this, she turned her focus onto the trade ledgers. "Please send back in Manwydan and Camilla."

Giving a bow, Gallen quickly collected the letters before making his way to the door. Storing them in an inner pocket of his tunic. Opening the door, he couldn't help but smile as Daphne almost tumbled in. Earning a sharp bark from Manwydan and a light giggle from Camilla.

Turning to the two adults, Gallen gave a slight nod. "Mother would like to see you now."

Nodding, the adults slipped past the siblings. As they did, Gallen felt his eyes staring at Manwydan's face, desperately wanting to talk to the old guard about what he knew. But speaking to him, even in the comfortable, familiar tongue of Cimmeria, would draw too much attention from the others. So, he kept his tongue silent, masking his expressive face as the heavy mahogany door swung shut with a final click.

Left alone, the siblings stood looking at the door for several seconds. Before Atia turned towards Gallen, her eyes filled with a pack's quiet questions. Only for Daphne to interrupt her.

"Gal, are you grounded too?"

Shaking his head, he gave his little sister a quick, affectionate pat on the head. "No, but I will be joining him for morning drills with Manwydan for the foreseeable future." At this, Otho grimaced as well; no doubt his twin was already dreading the bruises and welts that this particular training brought.

"Come," Gallen said, offering a relaxed, crooked smirk. "Mamam said I should spend the rest of the day outside my den, and if I remember right, it's Samiria's turn to make the sweets." At this, Gallen gave a canine-like grin that was instantly mirrored by the rest of them. "So, let's see how flustered we can get our resident Shemite wild cat," Gallen teased, throwing a sharp side eye at his twin, "and see if Otho will take over."

At this, Otho let out a bark of protest, his face flushing crimson as Atia let out a knowing giggle. Earning a hearty laugh from them all, Gallen felt the lingering stresses of their grandmother's letters fade away. For one brief instance, he could completely forget their strange family dynamics and simply enjoy the warmth of his pack

AN: Hope you all enjoy.