alexander heroux. (ousado) wrote in mythopoeics, @ 2012-02-16 13:51:00 |
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Entry tags: | !mini-log, !zurvan, aeneas, artemis |
It isn’t complicated to hide his thoughts. Aeneas has a lot of practice; hiding his opinion of royals and commons alike, focusing on his task rather than higher business. He is good at it. So good that probably only Menelaus would know him to be bothered. Maybe Elaine. Likely Elaine. One is busy with his own family (as it should be) and the other is far and out of reach.
For the first time though, he wishes to speak with someone. The brunette’s eyes search the trail in front of him and return to the carriage where his niece travels. Artemis rides by the side, apparently against spending too much time confined to a space, her eyes more drawn to the nature around them than her brother in law. Menelaus, he cannot be sure where he is. None to speak, none to bother, the general keeps quiet and brooding. Wonders. If they have noticed his share of food at times keeps untouched, that he is far more skittish and rushed than it’s normal for himself.
It will pass. Aeneas knows it will. Camlann awaits him, so does his task, so does his people. He never planned in marrying anyway, a ring in his finger more akin to a shackle than anything else. No matter how many times he repeats ‘what if’, things won’t change one whit. No matter how much he rushes his horse forward. What can he do? Two days before the event, throw himself in front of her and propose another choice? Now?
No. His Queen would disown him. His right-hand would likely murder him. And Elaine would never agree to it.
“Are you alright?”
Artemis’ voice barges against his thoughts with the strength of a blow, blunt and unexpected. She is good at noticing small things; she just doesn’t care much most of the time in order to interfere. He is family though, Aeneas reads in her movements, in the way her icy eyes roll over his features, and she is making an effort.
But the general is better at hiding, not so bad at lying when the situation requires it.
“Yes.”
Artemis doesn’t persist in her inquiry and the matter is dropped in her eyes; her head turning when a childish voice calls for its mother just as he opens his lips to say something, anything, even if not connected to the subject at hand.
His hand slaps against his forehead. Hard. Maker help him, he is ridiculous.