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“A mute.”
The silence of the room was filled with the soft sound of quill scratching parchment, only quieted when it was lifted from said parchment to be dipped into the inkwell that sat neatly at the corner of the desk. Once, twice, and then returned to it’s task.
“At least, that is what grandfather calls him.”
At the other end of the desk, a visitor. Gaius van Baelsar, sitting rather uncomfortably in an imperial red armchair. Gaius always hated the furniture in the palace, everytime he had to come here. It was clear that it was built with form rather than function, expensive and prestigious looking - but far too plush for his liking. He’d been here for roughly a bell, and his ass was starting to hurt. He had shifted to put his weight on one hip, hoping to subtly ease it. Honestly, he thought he would’ve preferred a wooden stool rather than this overstuffed thing. But of course, he kept all of this to himself.
“He calls him that,” The other man in the room continued. The owner of this office and it’s uncomfortable chairs, Varis yae Galvus. Repeatedly scrawling his name across a stack of paperwork. Halfmoon glasses rested upon his broad nose, Gaius thought it was rather comical how small and quaint such an item was on the over eight fulms tall legatus. Another thing he kept to himself. “He calls him that, yet I know he is not.”
Gaius was not sure at what point the conversation had shifted. When he had been called to the palace on his brief return to the capital, he had assumed it would be business and nothing but. Reports on the state of Ala Mhigo, supply checks, etc, etc. But Gaius felt like the conversation could be about what color of grey paint is more preferable and it would somehow shift into Varis airing his woes about his errant son.
Gaius hummed in thought, the fingers resting on his chin tapping in the rhythm of an Imperial tune he’d gotten stuck in his head. “He is five, yes?”
“Six.” Varis corrected, “His name day was a but a week prior.”
“Ah, was it? I do need to make more of an effort to keep up with the goings-ons of the capital.” Gaius frowned, “Had I known I would’ve brought him a gift.”
“Don’t bother, he is terribly spoilt. Does not even appreciate the things he has.” Varis straightened his posture, grunting as he felt his neck pop. He really needed to pay more attention, so that he didn’t hunch so much… “I am at a loss of what to do, legatus. It is an embarrassment; a boy who will not speak to his own father. I will not lie and claim I was terribly fond of my caretakers when I was his age, but at least I responded when spoken to.”
“It is quite odd. When mine were his age it was a battle to get them to quiet themselves.” Gaius chuckled to himself, shaking his head at the memory. “Perhaps he is just shy?”
It was a jest rather than a genuine suggestion. He tipped his lips into a smirk and searched Varis’s face for a reaction, of any kind, really, he would’ve even taken a negative one. But he would receive none, other than a further furrowing of his brow and an acknowledging grunt.
The Prince was not a joking man, Gaius had nearly forgotten.
Gaius cleared his throat awkwardly. “Though, I can see why that is not a trait befitting one that is set to take the throne someday. I must ask, are you quite sure there is nothing wrong with him that might physically prevent such an action?”
Varis shook his head, a strand of platinum blond hair coming undone from his braid and falling across his shoulder. “For a while I thought the same, but I’ve had the medicus examine him a multitude of times and nothing of note was ever found.” He leaned against his hand, fingers rubbing into his temple. “Picture of health, they say, perhaps a bit underweight, they say - There are days I think about firing them.”
“Underweight?” Gaius pressed. That, to him, was not an observation to be taken so dismissively. Not for a six year old.
“Through no fault of mine own, mind you.” Varis was quick to defend himself. “‘Tis a battle to get him to eat anything, that boy has never finished a plate for as long as I have remembered - no matter what it is. He does not even like dessert.”
A six year old that didn’t like dessert. Now that was certainly a concept. A stomach illness, maybe? But if the medicus had given him a clean bill of health… And that would have nothing to do with his voice.
“Of course, I would never suspect you starved the boy. Just seeing if that thread went anywhere. I must admit this predicament is unfamiliar to even me.” Gaius decided to drop the thread, before Varis decided to take insult. “So he has not spoken to you at all? Not even once?”
Thankfully, Varis was all too willing to pick up his bemoaning again.
“Suppose I have given the impression of otherwise. Yes, he has the ability to speak, he has done so a handful of times. But ‘tis never more than a few words, I am lucky to receive a sentence. If I receive two, it means spring will come early and our crops will be plentiful.”
The statement was said with a venomous sarcasm, Gaius had to bite his tongue to avoid the small snort that wished to escape him.
“Pardon if this is too obvious, but have you tried simply speaking to him yourself? Being the one to initiate?”
As they say, if looks could kill.
“I do not mean to sound a fool, but perhaps he does not speak because he does not feel…urged to? He does not have many friends, if I recall correctly?”
“None at all.” Varis slid his reading glasses off of his face, folding them neatly at the edge of his desk. “Despite my best efforts.”
“Therein may lie the problem.” Gaius finally felt as if he was getting somewhere, finding the last piece of that jigsaw puzzle that had fallen between the couch cushions. “If I may, I assume that the most socialization he gets in a day comes from his tutors and servants. In my own experience, servants are not typically the best conversationalists out of fear of upsetting their employer. And if your boy exceeds in his academics as I have heard tale of, he likely knows to be quiet and listen to his tutors. It is likely he doesn’t talk because he does not feel the reason to.”
Varis seemed to mull the idea over, which gave Gaius hope. The Galvus’s were stubborn by nature; if an idea of his could get through the most stoic of their family, then he knew he had struck gold.
The chair squeaked terribly as Varis stood up from his desk. One large hand scooping up his entire stack of paperwork to sort them to their place on another side of the room. The folds of his long coat brushing the legatus’s shoulder as he walked past.
It was not a hopeful sign, Gaius had been expecting too much.
“If…I may,” Gaius began, eyes locked and following as Varis returned to his desk with more papers and a heavy bottomed glass of whiskey. “I know you said you have tried to find him companionship have failed. But, if you would allow it, I could speak to him myself?”
“‘Tis a fruitless endeavor.” Varis took a sip of his drink, “But if you are so keen, you may try.”
Gaius grinned. “Well, you never know. I’ve quite a way with children.”
That is what Gaius had said at the time, at least. The idea stuck in his head confidently as he was escorted by one of Zenos’s nannies to his bedroom. He had believed so fully, so wholeheartedly, that if he could get an earnest conversation with Zenos, he would be able to solve this.
But now, looking at the back of a little blond head sitting on the floor, he was feeling…less confident.
Zenos was sat down on the rug of his bedroom floor. His legs were folded neatly beneath him, hunched over a book almost as big as he was. The only notion that he was alive and not a wax sculpture being the subtle moving of his eyes as he read across the pages. He didn’t notice the new presence in his room, or if he did, he did not acknowledge it.
“Master Zenos?”
The soft, wary voice of the caretaker broke the suffocating silence of the room. Then, and only then, did Zenos break his attention away from his book. He tilted his head up to look at her; staring with the dull, glassy eyes of a haunted man. A dead man, if Gaius wanted to be morbid. It was not the eyes he expected to be set in the face of such a small child.
Zenos blinked slowly as he met the woman’s eyes, he could not recall her name. Or, if he was being honest, he did not care enough to commit her name to memory. It just wasn’t really worth his time; all of the palace employees looked and acted the same, to him. He truly believed that, if he were able to reach, he could peel their faces away and find them made of rubber, with clicking clockwork components underneath.
But, regardless of the heavy silence, and his sour attitude, she smiled at him. It was a forced smile, one that did not reach her eyes and strained at the corners of her mouth. Polite enough that it could not be taken as an offense, but empty in all other places. Zenos knew that she was paid to only tolerate him and make sure his needs were met, she didn’t need to play the part of anything more than that.
Poor actors, as his grandfather would say.
“You’ve a visitor,” The nanny continued, regardless of his lack of response, “Would you like to say hello?”
Zenos could not think of anything he wished to do less.
He knew, even before this ‘visitor’ had crossed the threshold to his room, that it was no one he really wanted to meet. Very likely it was nothing but another child his age sent to force companionship upon him. Such was usually the case when ‘visitors’ were presented to him in this fashion.
He didn’t know why his father was so insistent upon it. Most children thought him strange, and even more found him scary. It had used to upset him, but it’d repeated so many times it was more of an annoyance now. He only wished his father would realize that it was pointless to keep pushing.
Zenos shook his head, indicating that no, he very much did not want to “say hello”.
“Oh, come now.” His nanny huffed. “Be polite!”
Of course, saying no never seemed to go anywhere for him. He didn’t even know why he tried. Maybe he should just stop answering entirely, if it meant so little.
The servant stepped out of the way to allow this ‘visitor’ to enter the room. Zenos was genuinely surprised to see that his guest as an adult man, rather than another child. But that did little to change the fact he very much did not want him here, and he certainly did not want to “be polite” to him.
The man squatted down to meet his level, and it was only out of curiosity that Zenos lifted his head up to look the stranger in the eye. Grandfather never liked it when he stared like that - told him to “knock it off” and “stop being creepy”.
Zenos was never sure how to feel about the fact that his great-grandfather found his appearance frightening.
“Hello, Zenos.” The man said, in that chipper tone that every adult used with him. It was the same tone that he heard used around his father’s dogs when they were on good behaviour. Zenos was not a dog, he did not like that tone. “It’s been quite a while since I’ve seen you, do you remember me?”
Why did so many adults in Zenos’s life say that to him? He’d never know. He never did, but when he said that truthfully, they would get offended. (Yet another reason to not answer questions anymore, he supposed.) It wasn’t like people had much uniqueness to them anyways - why should he remember?
No matter how hard he tried, Zenos had never been able to figure out how others were able to recognize each other by looks alone. What about a person’s features made them unique? The parts made sense to him enough - eyes, nose, mouth, and a pearl. (And, he had been taught that some people did not have a pearl. That concept had always been strange to him - Zenos struggled to grasp how those people were able to see with only two eyes.) He knew well what those were, and how they were supposed to sit on one’s face - but he wasn’t sure what was supposed to make one nose different from any other nose, or anything of the like.
Quite frequently; people (usually women) at the royal events he was forced to attend would chatter and coo about him. They would gossip about how “darling” he was, and how round and pretty his pearl was. Zenos often found himself staring in the mirror, trying to decipher what about him made those women talk about him so much. He would try to work out the features of his own face, what made his pearl “pretty”, what made him “darling”.
He always came up blank.
But, while it was hard for him to decipher the uniqueness of a face, he was very apt at reading expressions. He acutely noticed when the man’s smile had began to falter, the corner of his mouth twitched - there was a flash of confusion in his eyes.
The message was received; Zenos had no clue who he was.
The strange man sighed, grunting as he switched from squatting to sitting cross-legged on the floor. The noise reminded Zenos of his great-grandfather; he made a similar noise, that groan, when he was made to stand up from a chair. Zenos had deduced that only old people made pained noises when they moved, so by that logic, his visitor must’ve been old.
“That is quite alright, I’d have been impressed if you could. I don’t think I’ve seen you since you were but a babe.” The man finished adjusting his seating position, bracing his hands against his knees. “My name is Gaius, I’m a friend of your father’s.”
People always said that in an attempt to disarm him. As a shorthand for saying “See, you can trust me. Your family trusts me, so you should too!” - But to Zenos, it proved absolutely nothing. If anything, it only served to further twist the knife of distrust. His father was an awful, miserable person; ergo, the only people who would willingly call him a friend must be just as miserable. Why else would they associate with someone like that?
At the age of six, Zenos had already learned that nobody on the face of this star was truly worthy of his trust.
Gaius was not worthy of Zenos’s trust, and neither was he worthy of his attention. Then and there, Zenos had made up his mind - he did not like Gaius, and he would very much like to go back to his book. He turned away to do just that.
“Hm. You seem awfully interested in that book.” The disappointment on Gaius’s voice was thick. Well, this at least had been an outcome he came prepared for. “Your father has told me you do not like to talk, that’s quite alright. Is there anything else you like to do?”
Once again, Zenos did not answer. His harsh stare deepened, eyes squinting and little brow furrowing together. Honestly, the expression was the spitting image of his father, and in any other circumstance, it would’ve made Gaius laugh. But given the context, it was just another expression he was not comfortable seeing worn by the face of such a small child. It unsettled him.
Zenos was not an ugly child - far from it, in fact. Spiffied up and less angry, he would be quite adorable. His downy blond hair, wide, ceruleum blue eyes, and perfectly round pearl gave him the appearance of a porcelain doll. But, if Gaius thought about it harder, that might’ve been just exactly why Zenos was so unnerving.
He looked just like a porcelain doll, and there was nothing there to break that illusion. Nothing behind those glass eyes - no lively movement to give the appearance of a real child. Hells, Gaius was not even sure he’d seen the boy blink.
It was to the point that Gaius flinched when Zenos finally did move. He put his book down, sitting upright on his knees and leaning forward. Gaius was not proud to admit that he had to fight the urge to lean backwards. Zenos put his small hand out - stretching, reaching for something. Confusedly, Gaius put out his own hand, palm up. Was Zenos trying to hold his hand? Handholding was not something he had been expecting to get out of this interaction, but he would take it if -
Zenos ignored his offered hand completely, passing it up and instead reaching to grab a fistful of Gaius’s hair. He yanked - rather hard - and the legatus leaned forward to avoid the whole thing being torn from his scalp. Zenos buried his nose into his hair, taking a very long, deep, whiff of it.
Gaius smelled of armor polish and gunpowder. It was stronger on him than it was on his father, who smelled more of an office desk than of war. Laced underneath with a scent that was new to him, something hot and earthen. (Later in life, he would come to know that this was the smell of the desert.)
Satisfied with his findings, Zenos released his iron grip on the man’s hair. Gaius did not hesitate to straighten up - his spine ached, and his scalp stung. He rubbed his hand against his hair. Hells, that boy was stronger than he looked.
Gaius was unsure what - that - had been about. But he guessed it was harmless enough, as long as the habit of grabbing people and sniffing hair didn’t continue as he aged. Sometimes small children just tended to be grabby, nothing else to it. A couple of his own had been, at his age. Eventually a caretaker would chide him enough that he would learn it was wrong, or he would simply age out of the habit.
At least, that’s what Gaius hoped. Then again, the caretakers acted so skittish around the boy, he wondered if they chided him at all.
Zenos had gone right back to his book.
Gaius was finding it increasingly difficult to communicate with someone that would not reply. He had been hoping that the opportunity to speak to someone that was not a servant, or his father, would coax Zenos into opening up a little. But Zenos seemed perfectly content within his little bubble, reading his book and not speaking his mind. If anything, he was irritated at Gaius for even trying.
Gaius guessed he couldn’t blame him too much, it probably was not the most comforting thing to receive a surprise visit from a strange man while he was doing something he enjoyed.
“I can leave, if that’s what you want.” Gaius offered, “But I have to admit I’m very worried about you, as is your father. He says you do not eat.”
That seemed to be the exact wrong thing to say. Zenos’s face twisted up in a scowl, his little hands curling into the fur of the rug beneath him. His father? Worried about him? That was a joke. His father hardly even cared about him - Gaius was lying, and he was not going to fall for it.
Interesting response. Gaius filed that away to analyze further at a later point.
“Do you dislike the food the palace chefs prepare?” He pressed, deciding to focus on that - assuming the reaction was only in response to his dietary habits being called into question. Zenos didn’t look particularly skinny, but then again, he was hunched over on the ground. Maybe Varis had been exaggerating.
Zenos just shrugged.
“If you do not like what they give you, you can say so, you know.” Gaius tried to emphasize that Zenos was allowed to use his voice. “Eating is important, and you shouldn’t have to force yourself to eat things you don’t like.”
Zenos gave no indication he heard, nor cared, about what Gaius was saying to him.
This was…becoming frustrating. Gaius was trying his damndest here - but he felt like he was talking to a cornered animal. Every gesture either went ignored, or would make Zenos raise his hackles and metaphorically growl. Hells, at this point he wished Zenos actually would growl; at least it would be something other than dead silence.
Zenos acted like he’d ever seen another human in his life, and he was mad at Gaius for breaking the illusion that nobody existed in the star beyond his slew of caretakers and immediate family.
Speaking of servants. Gaius turned to look over his shoulder at the entryway of the bedroom. The nanny that had escorted him here had left, and if he strained his ears, he could not hear any footsteps indicating she was still close by.
“...Do they treat you well?”
Gaius asked the question in a hushed voice, just to be sure he was not overheard. He’d be thrown out of the palace by the scruff of his neck if anyone found out he was questioning the inner workings of the royal family. He believed quite firmly that Zenos would not tattle on him, and he was too young to know how to lie yet.
Ah - now that had gotten through to him. Gaius saw Zenos’s eyes stop moving, no longer scanning the pages of his book. His eyebrows scrunched together just slightly so, looking very deep in thought about it.
Was he treated well…? Zenos wasn’t really sure. He knew that the servants’ politeness was faux, an act put on to not upset him nor his family. But, regardless of their stellar manners, his father always regarded them with exasperation or disdain. His grandfather even went so far as to not even deign to speak to them past grunts and vague hand gestures.
Zenos did not like Varis, this he was very sure of. But his grandfather… Hm. His grandfather wasn’t so bad, he guessed. Though he might’ve only felt that way because Zenos rarely ever saw him. Being the Emperor proper, he was busier than Varis ever was. More untouchable, more - unreal.
Solus had always regarded him quite strangely. Zenos would often notice how much Solus stared at him. Zenos never saw him look at anyone else with that much intensity, and like with Solus finding him frightening, he wasn’t sure what to make of it. Besides that, Solus didn’t seem to care about anything else, not even his own son. He only cared enough about Varis to mock him relentlessly.
Once, Zenos had giggled at something Solus said that offended Varis very much. He remembered that moment very vividly, the shocked expression that crossed Solus’s face before he quickly reigned it in.
“Find that funny, did you?” Solus had asked, “Do you see that, Varis? Even the boy agrees.”
Zenos didn’t even remember what it was he was supposedly agreeing on, or what he had found so funny; only that it was the first time he’d seen his grandfather show any emotion other than contempt.
Solus enjoyed the theatre, and he would often drag others along. Zenos never did understand why he insisted on Varis attending, if grandfather despised him so. Zenos knew he had an uncle - Titus, if he recalled? - though he had never met him in person. He didn’t think Solus had ever invited him to the theatre, only Varis and himself. Varis would spend half the time openly complaining about how stupid he found the plays; so Zenos figured that it was just another way to bother him.
Maybe Solus found his grandson’s complaining more amusing than the play itself.
However, the theatre was one of the only things outside of his books that Zenos found interesting. He especially liked the ones about heroes, and would lean over the railing of the family’s balcony seating to try to get a closer look at the stage. Solus would take notice, when Zenos was especially enraptured, and though he knew Zenos would never respond, he would speak to him about whatever show they were seeing that night. What he liked, what he didn’t, his scalding opinions on the acting and the plot. Zenos absorbed all of it, bobbing his head along in agreement - he found he had more shared ground with his grandfather than he ever would with Varis.
Though, he also recognized that when Solus would talk to him, it was more akin to speaking to a pet performing a cute action. He was not being spoken to as a person.
Then again, it’s not like anyone else spoke to him like a person.
Zenos was smart enough to know that Solus was not long for this world. Sometimes he would point this fact out, when he heard the servants talking about his worsening health.
“Why does it matter…?” Zenos would ask, genuinely. In one of the rare instances he actually spoke. “He is going to die soon, anyways.”
Everyone around him always gasped and made him hush when he said things like that. Which was rather confusing, when at all other times they tried so hard to encourage him to speak.
The servants always cared about the comments more than Solus ever did. Zenos saw the amusement that would lit up in his sunken, golden eyes when he said things like that. Sometimes, he would even get him to laugh. (It was a raspy, sickly sound.)
When Solus passed, Zenos didn’t think he would be taken to the theatre anymore.
But - all those things considered, did he feel well treated? Cared for?
Appreciated?
Well, logically, he was fed, sheltered, and clothed; with servants at his beck and call. He was never left wanting for much of anything. His room was warm and comfortable, and he had plenty of books to read. Those were marks of being well treated, yes? The answer must’ve been yes, then.
The answer that he had come to was yes, but he could not seem to bring himself to answer that way. So instead, he just shrugged.
Gaius didn’t like that answer, giving a low hum that Zenos recognized as disappointment. Maybe he should’ve answered better, or not at all…
“I see.” Gaius sighed, “I know it probably doesn’t seem like it, but your father does worry for you. He may not show it very well, he’s never been very good at that-”
Zenos responded to that with a snort. It was the first verbal noise he had made since Gaius had begun. Gaius raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“Oh? You’ve something to say to that, then?”
Zenos had many things to say about that. Like wondering what sort of lies Varis must’ve been feeding this man, and how gullible Gauis must’ve been to believe them.
But Gaius wouldn’t listen to him - why would he? Nobody else ever did. So Zenos remained quiet, and returned once more to his book.
Gaius studied Zenos for a long time, hoping that he’d eventually find the courage to speak his mind. It was overlong before he realized he had been hoping for far too much, and gave up with a sigh.
Gaius had been told multiple times that he had the patience of a saint, and he would at most times be inclined to agree. But he must’ve gotten too cocky, let all of those compliments go to his head. For the first time in a long time, he really felt like he was at the end of his rope. There was only so many things you could say to a brick wall…
“You’re allowed to say things, you know,” Gaius finally said bluntly. “I know how hard it must be to get anyone to take you seriously. If you’re worried I’ll report back to your father, you have it on my honor I will not. I’m sure you don’t have many people in your life to vent to, do you?”
Not many, if any, Gaius thought.
Zenos just didn’t know why this old man wouldn’t leave him alone. He didn’t want to talk about it, or “vent” as he said. Especially not about his family - especially not about his feelings. He wanted to sit here, and read his book. He had tutoring in half a bell, and he would like to spend that time doing anything other than this.
“Master Zenos?” That soft, wary voice came from the doorway again. Zenos squeezed his eyes shut and grunted. Oh, wondrous. Half a bell had already come and passed.
“Ah, is it that time already?” Gaius said cheerfully, a complete switch from the seriousness he had held before. He pushed himself up off the floor, smoothing out his pants.
Zenos dogeared his novel, sliding it under his bed. He had been almost finished with that chapter - could’ve finished it, too, had Gaius not been pestering him the whole time. Likely he would have to start the whole chapter over to actually understand it.
Zenos made his annoyances very known as the servant reached down to take hold of his hand. The icy glare Gaius received on his way out would have put even the most hardened soldiers to shame.
It was always a great honor to be invited to the dinner table of the royal family. Or, well, it was supposed to be; but Gaius had been invited so many times that at some point it had lost it’s charm. Charmed or not, Gaius made sure to put on all the pomp and circumstance that such an occasion would typically call for. Dressed in his formal legatus wear - medals, furs, and all, and followed only the utmost table manners. If he’d done anything less, Solus would’ve likely exiled him from the entire capital.
However, the Emperor was not present today. For what reasons, Gaius was not made privy to. Titus refused to play nice with his nephew if his father was not present, and Nerva followed suit; which left Gaius alone with Varis tonight. Well, Varis and of course Zenos.
The absence of people made the whole thing extremely tense. Varis was not a very talkative man, and Zenos was…well, no need to be redundant. It was usually Solus who kept the noise of the table alive, even if it was mostly complaining - with him gone, Gaius wasn’t sure what to even talk about.
The food he was eating was solyanka, which Gaius found amusing. Not that there was anything wrong with the dish, in fact he quite liked it, but there was a humour to be found in eating such simple fare with the royal family of all people. Solus usually demanded something spectacular, something fitting of a royal’s dinner! But Varis had no taste for the finer things, and he would rather eat the food he actually liked. Which tended to lean more towards things one could find whipped up in a pinch on the battlefield rather than freshly made steak tartare.
Varis was, admittedly, not of much interest to Gaius at the moment. The man was stagnant and rarely changing - and not the best conversationalist over meals. He treated food with the same amount of duty as his work, something to be done quickly and efficiently. And he would appear frustrated if someone tried to make the process of eating any longer by trying to talk to him.
The far more interesting feature of the table was, of course, Zenos.
To any passing glance, the boy fit the perfect picture of a well mannered young man dutifully eating his supper. The boy sat ramrod straight, and had the most well-trained table manners Gaius had ever seen. But, if one were to stare at the act for too long - and oh, did Gaius stare - the illusion would quickly falter. Zenos was disinterested, and held a far away look in his eyes. Which, to be fair, Gaius had learned was just a standard feature when it came to Zenos - but far more concerningly, Zenos made no attempts to eat the food in front of him.
Zenos did not change except for minute details in his expression as he stirred the broth around with his fork. He picked up a piece of boiled carrot, and brought it up to his nose - his face scrunched up in distaste, and he let it fall back into the bowl with a plop.
Now, Gaius was very used to children that did not eat their veggies, but there was something different going on here. Zenos was not interested in any part of the meal. He did the same sniff test to multiple other aspects of the stew; none of them seemed to pass. Until aha! There it was, Zenos had found what he was looking for in a piece of cubed beef. It was the first thing Gaius had seen him bring to his mouth. The nagging worry at the sight of a child going hungry eased from Gaius’s heart, but only slightly.
Perhaps Zenos just preferred meat? But then, that assumption was quickly dashed when Zenos rejected a slice of sausage. Hm…just very picky, then. Gaius was sure if someone took the time to map out what Zenos actually did like to eat, this wouldn’t be so much of a problem. But he suspected that was asking too much.
At least Zenos was eating at all, Gaius thought, turning his attention away from the boy and back to his father. Varis had picked up a wine glass in the time Gaius had been distracted by observing his small son. A look was given to him that read something along the lines of `Absurd, isn’t it?` , before Varis shook his head and took a sip of his drink. Gaius only shrugged in response.
The remaining conversation between the two adults was really nothing of note. Varis asked him about the state of Ala Mhigo, and Gaius was happy to tell him all about it. He’d become quite passionate about their culture, he found it rather interesting. He thought that the Ala Mhigan’s exports were unique and interesting, and that they would make a wonderful addition to Garlemald’s trading empire once they had settled in.
A tiny voice cleared it’s throat; Gaius had never in his life seen Varis jump. He suspected he never would again. Sharp yellow eyes immediately went towards the other end of the table, where Zenos was calmly awaiting his turn for attention.
“I am finished…” Zenos croaked, his voice dry and hoarse from disuse. It made him sound like he had a cold. “May I leave?”
Varis looked at the bowl of stew in front of Zenos. It had been picked clean of every scrap of beef, leaving the remainder of it completely untouched and ever increasingly growing cold. Zenos started at him as if possessed by voidsent; it was hard to tell if he was even breathing, with how little he moved.
His food was very much not finished, and Gaius was expecting Varis to call him out on that fact. He was prepared to have to turn his attention elsewhere if it came to Varis scolding his son at the dinner table right in front of him. While Gaius had many issues with that method of parenting, he wasn’t about to correct the crown prince of all people. Thankfully, the only noise that came from Varis’s mouth was a deep, exhausted sigh. He waved his hand in a shooing motion.
“Go.”
Zenos did not need to be told twice. As soon as the word left his father’s lips, he was excusing himself from the dining table. Sliding down from his chair and exiting the room at a brisk pace.
The conversation did not pick up again, after that.
“If I may, Varis.”
The chair that Gaius sat in was just as uncomfortable as it had been that morning. He was to leave and return to Ala Mhigo on the ‘morrow, only having to wait out the next airship to take him there. There was some last minute paperwork he needed done before he could leave that Varis was to attend to personally, to make sure it was done in a timely manner. But, Gaius did have an ulterior motive here, in wanting the prince’s audience. He would not have a chance to discuss Zenos again for a very, very long time.
Varis did not look up from his work, only responding with an acknowledging grunt.
“I think that there may be something to Zenos that we are not seeing.” Gaius chose his words carefully, as to not suggest that Zenos had something deeply wrong with him. He knew that Varis would only take it as an insult.
Varis’s writing ceased, his eyes rolling up to stare at Gaius over the rim of his glasses. Ah - well, so much for not offending. Gaius cleared his throat before resuming his speech.
“What I mean to say, is that Zenos is very - “ Different? Unique? Strange? What was the softest way to put this? “Well, he doesn’t at like any of the children I’ve interacted with in my time. I really do not think this is a case of him being particularly defiant.”
“What are you suggesting?” Varis drawled, clearly annoyed at the idea that his child could be - defective, in some way.
“Nothing in particular, just that you may wish to have him looked at again. Admittedly, this is a bit outside of my field of expertise.” Gaius shifted to lean forward, “If you would like my earnest advice, I would suggest to start with a child psychologist and go from there. They would likely be able to tell you more than I could. They can put a name to whatever he may be going through, and suggest things that could help him.”
Varis stared for a very long time. Gaius felt cold sweat dripping down the back of his neck. He coughed, and was the one to break eye contact. “Of course, that is just an idea.”
Varis refreshed the ink upon his quill, committing it to paper again. “If that is your advice…”
Well - he wasn’t rejecting it outright. There was a glimmer of hope there. Gaius sat forward in his chair, talking excitedly. “It is. And, if it would not be overstepping, I would be very interested to hear about whatever they might find-”
A stack of papers shoved at his chest cut Gaius short. His mouth shut so fast he felt his teeth clack together.
“Your requests, legatus,” Varis explained. “We will relocate forces from the capital to Ala Mhigo to make up for shortages. Will that be all…?”
“Yes - Uh, yes, your radiance.” Gaius stammered. He knew when to take the hint. He calmly stood from that horrendous chair, gathering his paperwork into a neat pile and retrieving a clip to keep them together. He’d crossed a line, and if he wanted to not get shot for trespassing, he would have to carefully make his retreat.
“Thank you sir,” Gaius bowed lightly. Familiarity was gone, it was back to titles now. “No further assistance is needed from the capital at this time.”
Varis waved his hand, “Then you may be dismissed.”