He’d been to the manor hills a few times. When the civil war had ended, he’d been courted by quite a few commanders of the era to see if they could employ him into their services permanently. While the fighting had ended, there’d be a need for capable, strong men under the new administration to make sure the system adapted to its new masters. For example, looking from here, he could see the grand manor of general Belisarius.

  He never took to the offers, though. He found the idea of a civil job in the military ughable. And then they’d send him to crush some rebellious peasants across the country and he’d have to put young boys dumb enough to hope into their graves.

  Not for him.… Maybe that’s why he found himself feeling a little cynical as their ascent took them to the gateway of this Dame Theodora’s manor. Dames were something akin to barons in rank, usually given to noble dies who had no living male retives to take care of the estate. While the system was technically equal and blind to gender, ancient noble traditions from far darker eras persevere everywhere.

  Noble dies had to often go through family rending tragedies to earn their freedom. He found it a little funny. They were likely about to interact with someone so bound to the concept of death once again- it followed their group like a stench. Maybe Maia’s little aura of necrotic energy was warping the whole world itself.

  There were no greeters. The only servant present was an old fellow tending to the garden who let them in after a little bit of yelling, chuckling and apologizing at the slowness of his bones. The man must’ve been over eighty years old at this point, but he still had a twinkle to his eye that told Homer he’d be here for a good few years more. That was inspiring, at least. This Dame likely took good care of her servants. Some nobles didn’t.

  They were instructed to wait at the reception hall, a quaint room with a long table, some comfortable sofas and beautiful decor reminiscent of fashion styles long gone out of date. Homer only knows bits and bobs about what nobles find *fashionable* and *hip*, but this sort of thing would’ve been seen as old fashioned even when he was young and touring these manors.

  Homer had to instruct Aymanah how to sit properly *multiple* times before they finally settled, although their cws still rasped against the floor uncomfortably. If they left scratches this would all be over, so Homer had to keep kicking their feet. Maia was nestled to the side, shy eyes darting about taking in the glory. She’s clearly not used to this.

  And then the Dame herself appeared.

  The whole air of the room shifted as she did- not towards dread, but dignity. She was… Hmmm, maybe ten to fifteen years older than Homer if he had to guess, but the age barely slowed her. She stood straight with no hunch, a cane of fine birch with a simple ivory nub at the top for the grip helping her walk at a respectable pace despite clear issues with her right leg. Silver hair flowed down to her waist, and… Her face carried the most terrible of burns- but the sweetest of smiles also.

  And then she sat on the opposite couch, and that same old gardener from before followed with a ptter full of pastries. Smelled nice. Freshly baked.

  “Go on,” she speaks, in a calm voice, “enjoy yourself a little. My name is Theodora. I’m the Dame of house Gakis.”

  There’s a few seconds of hesitation, but eventually Aymanah reaches over first. With their brazen cim the other two also grab some treats and eat slowly, bowing their heads in respect. Homer notes that even Aymanah seems a little wowed by Theodora’s presence- perhaps some respect for their elders can still be instilled in them with time.

  “Thank you,” Maia chirps. “Ah, um… This is for you.” And then she reaches into her robe and pulls out the small package, gently pcing it on the table. Theodora takes it, shakes it to her ear and smiles a little wider before handing it over to her servant, who hobbles away with it. Whatever the contents of the mystery package are will remain unseen by them for now, Homer supposes.

  “Thank you. Greikos mentioned you were here on business from Hermes’s office. He doesn’t usually send delivery people. Is everything alright with him? I know he left for one reason or another, but-”

  Homer lifts a hand and gently shakes his head.

  “We’re here on our own business too, and Hermes’s assistant simply suggested we act as their delivery people to make this a little easier. I hope that’s fine. We’re not here for alms or such things, so don’t worry.” He had to make it clear they weren’t some beggars trying to infiltrate her home; nobles- no matter how gracious and aware of their obligations to the lower csses- were very protective of their wealth…

  At least usually.It’s another case of his cynicism. He just finds the idea of this woman being such a saint to be hard to believe.

  “That’d make sense, I suppose… Then tell me. What is your story? Why come seek my aid? What exactly do you need?”

  In the end Homer lets Maia tell the whole tale, because only she has experienced all of it. This is her story after all. From her beginnings in her hovel to her meeting with Hermes to their encounter at that tavern, to their travels towards the Sawbone, their trials at the peak after their capture by the harpies, how they encountered Aymanah and how they together made their way back down after earning the respect of the harpies, their meeting with Euclid and their short boar hunt to acquire passage, their arrival here, and…

  How they were here.

  Theodra listened intently, pausing occasionally to ask questions about irrelevant details that Maia seemed happy to share regardless. The burns on Theodora’s face seemed to have a mind of their own sometimes, roiling with the movements of her expression, like fire crackling. She was still a very pretty woman even with half her face lost to soot and ash of yesteryear…

  Homer knows he shouldn’t stare, so he tries to spend his time taking in the decor and kicking Aymanah’s foot occasionally so that they stop scratching the fine floor. Eventually Aymanah just starts to scratch his foot instead.

  And then the tale eventually comes to an end, and Theodra is holding a cup of coffee. The exotic drink’s scent makes Homer’s mouth water a little, so he eventually pours himself a cup too. He’s missed this nectar of the gods, brought from foreign shores- oogh, he had a cup every day back when he was in the military…

  The tiny cup feels a little dainty in his hand.

  “Beloved by Death…”Something about the way Theodra says those words makes Homer bristle. There’s a familiarity in her words that rings uncomfortable.“... I see. Unlike many of the other Gods, Death’s very presence would ripple the fabric of our world, so she must make appearances at predetermined times and points after much preparation.”

  Theodora takes a long sip from her cup of coffee and then pces it down on the table, fingers drumming against the nice wooden sheen of her cane as it rests on her p. Her form has changed considerably during this conversation; a dignified older woman as she walked in, a far more rexed one as she listened, and now she has steeled herself to match the noble bearing of a Dame, as expected.

  “Each noble household is given a quota for the ceremony. So and so guests per household and family, so and so… My family’s quota has not been adjusted despite the diminishing size of my house, and thus, I do have space for all three of you.”

  She points the cane to Maia.

  “Your reasoning I’ve heard,”the cane tilts to Aymanah,“and you’re a traveler, your curiosity is reasonable.”and then to homer.“But you, gentleman, I cannot pce a read on. You’re her protector, of course. Her companion. But you have brought her to her destination all the same. What motivates you to see her to the very end of the finish line?”

  She leans forwards, kind smile reaching her kind eyes as they peer right into his. Homer knows this has turned from a business meeting to an interrogation.

  Homer leans back and lets out a grumbling, steamy sigh. Muscles flex and then rex as he gets comfortable. No need to hide this matter from a Dame, what with her understanding of the gods and their whims.

  “I’m a descendant of War. If you’ve met any of my kin, you might know that we have issues controlling our rage and anger. I’m a very, very distant retive, barely any embers in my bloodstream, and I still steam and bze sometimes. I’ve learned to control it over the years, but I’m becoming an old man. Either I die alone in bed, burning like this, I hurt some family one day when I lose control… or I solve the problem the way anyone born of War ought to.”

  His fist gently, gently drops down on his knee, to emphasize the point. His other hand is still holding the cup of coffee though.

  “I’ll fight War. Challenge them to a duel and either kill a god and reach heights no man has ever reached, fulfilling the destiny of my blood… Or I die, and I die with a sword in hand, happy that I fought my birthright and came out on top. I might lose the battle, but I will win the long war that has ravaged my body for so long.”

  Maia has started to gently pat his arm in what can only be described as pity, and even Aymanah’s incessant rasping cw has come to a stop.

  They pity him.… Theodora does not, though. Those kind eyes have fire in them now, her smile a little wider, stretching the burn scars uncomfortably.

  “Good answer. Interesting answer. I like your goal the most out of all three, my good man… I too have my issues with a certain god. I understand the desire to bring down divinity. I don’t have the heat and the skill to do so myself, and my opponent is even more fearsome. But I like that. Hmmmm, what can I do for you…”

  Well, she could just give them the attendance permission without any hoops, but Homer knows that’d be too much to ask. He just sips his coffee and ponders. A problem with a god? And someone more fearsome than even War? Maia too seems confused, idly fiddling with the sleeves of her robe while waiting as Theodra ponders for a moment.

  “I’ll give you what you seek if you do me a favor. You don’t even have to succeed. Just trying will be enough. What you just brought me with that package was a fine bottle made from Godsgss. It’s a craftsmanship item from the other end of the continent. Greikos is filling it with our finest wine right now. I merely need you to deliver it and have a chat with someone. Come back and tell me how it went, and you’ll have my support.”

  That was it? Simple errand job, just a chat?

  “You- you said something about succeeding… Well, the delivery we have to do, so what else are we to succeed in?”

  Maia caught onto it just as fast as he did, and Homer smiles to himself in satisfaction. She’s learning. No blind trust, question everything.

  Theodora leans forward.“I’d like to see if you could convince this person to stay in the city. They’re attending the ceremony and leaving after… I’d like for them to stay.”

  Now this gets interesting. Homer also leans in, taking over for Maia. The servant, Greikos, arrives in time to pce the gss bottle on the table between the two parties, hobbling away with a content hum.

  “And who are they?”

  Theodora lifts her cane from her knee and points the blunt tip towards Maia.

  “Like her. Beloved by a god. Beloved by life. My brother, Callistis. The true heir to my house who left to cajole with Life some sixty, seventy years ago, when he was barely a man grown. When the manor first burned and the whole family besides I perished, he denied his inheritance and became Life’s consort in full, cutting off his mortality.”

  The tip of the cane falls downwards and taks against the floor, with Theodra’s smile slowly dying. The burn scars still seem to have a mind of their own. A brand of a woman who’d lost everything.

  “Every year he comes with Life, and every year he leaves. Every year I try and talk to him, to have him stay, because I miss him, and every year he goes. I don’t care if you succeed. But I want you to try, in case you can do what I cannot. And once you’ve tried, and come back, I will give you what you seek. That sounds fair, doesn’t it?”

  Homer had to agree. Sounds fair.… Sad, but fair.

  “W-We’ll do it,” Maia chirps, “... I’m sorry.”

  Theodora’s ugh is long and soft.

  “You’re not the first to say sorry. Won’t be the st. Just do this for me and I’ll help you.”

  Long, soft and sad.