Morning sunlight poured between the marble pillars, gilding the long dining table in a soft amber glow. The dining hall of the Dardan Valley estate wasn't just for family meals—it looked ready, at any given moment, to host a banquet. Woven tapestries of past battles lined the walls; the air shimmered with the scent of olive oil and freshly baked barley bread.
Aeneas's stomach gave a subtle growl. Great. Now I'm starving.
He entered with Terani skipping beside him—literally skipping, like a small deer on polished stone. As soon as they crossed the threshold, she tugged at his sleeve and whispered, "Come on, hurry! I'm starving to death!"
Aeneas shot her a sideways look and a helpless, affectionate smile. Is she my handmaid or just here for the food?
At the table already sat Anchises and Aresya, the very picture of nobility—dignified, poised, the lord and lady of the valley. Achates stood behind them, as immovable as a marble guardian, his sharp eyes sweeping the room.
Breakfast sprawled across the table like a miniature feast: mounds of golden bread, terracotta bowls brimming with olives and dried figs, cubes of soft cheese, amber honey, and dark red wine glinting in the light.
"Father. Mother," Aeneas greeted, bowing slightly—respectful in tone but with a mischievous glint that gently punctured the solemnity. He nodded to Achates before taking the seat across from his mother.
Terani positioned herself dutifully behind Aresya, all politeness and posture… except for her eyes. They were glued to the center of the table, as round and shiny as a kitten's, and her throat moved in a very audible gulp.
Following her gaze, Aeneas looked—and froze.
There, at the center of the table, sat a magnificent half-shell of an enormous egg, its golden contents gleaming beneath a garnish of fresh green herbs. It looked like something straight out of a divine banquet.
He blinked, leaned slightly forward, and had to bite back the first thought that popped into his head: Is that… an ostrich egg?!
This wasn't just breakfast—it was luxury incarnate. In the Aegean world, that thing was practically mythical rarity. You'd only find it in the markets of Africa or Arabia. Since when did my family start living like this?
"Mother, this is…?" he asked, eyes wide, half in awe and half in disbelief.
Aresya, clearly expecting that reaction, smiled faintly and gestured gracefully toward the dish. "Yes, my little hero. A gift from a merchant out of Cyrenaica. You've been through danger lately—I thought you could use some nourishment."
Her tone was serene, but the warmth in her eyes gave her away—a mother's quiet affection.
Anchises nodded once, grave but approving. Even Achates, stoic as ever, let his gaze linger on the golden egg a moment longer, something like curiosity flickering behind his eyes.
As for Terani—she was mesmerized. Her eyes sparkled like stars over honey.
Catching her expression, Aeneas cleared his throat and, when no one was looking, gave her a quick wink and mouthed, I'll share some later.
Her face lit up instantly—brighter than the morning sun—and she almost burst out laughing.
Meanwhile, Aeneas's mind was already racing. An ostrich egg… If I could find a way to hatch and raise them, we could actually farm these things. Forget rare delicacies—this could be a whole new trade route!
Even at the breakfast table, his inner "resourceful transmigrant" instincts never rested.
Time slipped by. Plates emptied; the sweetness of honey and goat cheese gave way to the lingering warmth of baked grain.
At last, Anchises set down his knife and fork with quiet finality. Aresya folded her napkin with the same elegance she brought to every gesture. Aeneas, out of habit, reached for his cup of wine, took a small sip, and let the rich flavor close the meal with a neat little full stop.
The servants immediately understood their cue, standing silently along the walls, hands folded, eyes cast downward. This was noble etiquette: until the masters set down their utensils, no one at all might touch the food. Even Achates, the ever-watchful captain of the guards, could only remain as still as a statue, though the twitch of his nose betrayed that he wasn't entirely indifferent to the aromas.
Terani stood just as straight, her gaze fixed forward—perfect posture for a handmaid. Yet her lips betrayed her. A tiny smear of golden honey clung mischievously to the corner of her mouth, catching the light.
Aeneas almost laughed. Heh, the little rascal's getting better at sneaking bites—just forgot to wipe the evidence. Caught red-handed.
More amusing still were her eyes. They darted subtly toward one corner of the table, like a kitten following a rolling ball of yarn—there lay the delicacy Aeneas had deliberately "reserved," especially that spoonful of ostrich egg.
He tapped the rim of his cup, a mischievous glint flashing in his eyes. Good thing I saved some. Fine things are meant to be shared. Although rules were strict in this era, he couldn't let decorum starve anyone. Later, he'd secretly slip a taste to Achates and Terani, as a little reward for their loyalty.
Aeneas looked up just as their eyes met. Terani's pupils sparkled like tiny stars, silently thanking her young master for his generosity.
He smiled, lifted a hand to mimic wiping his mouth.
Terani's face fell in mock shame—but without realizing, she dabbed at the honey with the back of her hand, smearing it further.
Aeneas pressed his lips together to stifle a laugh. The solemn aristocratic breakfast had suddenly transformed into something closer to a secret gathering among friends.
Anchises set down his heavy terracotta cup. His low, deliberate voice cut through the murmurs and the clinking of utensils. He wiped his beard meticulously with a linen napkin, then cleared his throat with intention.
The sudden sound silenced the table completely.
Aeneas lifted his head to meet his father's gaze—stern yet calm. He knew this was more than a mere throat-clearing; something important was coming.
Anchises' eyes were as severe as always, yet a subtle warmth lurked behind the sternness.
"Aeneas," he said, his voice steady, almost like carved stone, "your wounds… how are they?"
Across the table, Terani straightened instantly, stealing anxious glances at her young master as if she were even more worried than he was. Achates, silent as ever, subtly tightened the fingers behind his back, betraying his concern.
Aeneas felt a gentle warmth in his chest. He straightened deliberately, giving a reassuring smile to his parents. "Father, no need to worry. Only superficial cuts—they'll heal after a good sleep. Look—" He flexed his arms, muscles taut, sharp and confident, "I can still train this morning as usual."
Anchises' brow relaxed slightly, as if a small stone had been lifted from his heart, though he didn't fully loosen. He ran a finger absently along the edge of the table, pausing in thought before speaking.
"Since your injuries pose no hindrance… what about the offering we discussed earlier? Are you prepared to perform it today?"
Aeneas froze for a heartbeat, then understood the weight behind his father's words. An offering was no casual ceremony—it carried honor and sought divine favor.
Anchises' tone deepened, solemn as an ancient oath. "As you intended, the adult wild boar you struck down with the wooden sword… present it to your mother goddess, Aphrodite, in gratitude for her protection. And the sword itself… dedicate it to the goddess Athena, to signify our respect for the courage and wisdom she has granted you."
The words fell, and the air seemed to thicken, holding a momentary stillness.
Aeneas' eyes flickered slightly. A wooden sword, a wild boar—mundane enough to a modern eye, perhaps, yet here, they carried weight: symbols of faith, of duty, of what it meant to be the son of a lord.
At the table, Terani couldn't hide her expression. Her bright eyes danced back and forth between Aeneas and Anchises, as if this wasn't a solemn ritual but the opening act of an adventure.
The last glint of wine clung to the rims of the cups, catching the light, while the servants quietly cleared away the plates and cutlery.
Aeneas arched an eyebrow and let out a deliberately easy smile, easing the mood. "Well, I suppose we'd better prepare properly, eh? Otherwise Lady Athena might think the show's a bit lackluster."
In that delicate calm, Aresya set down her linen napkin slowly. Her brows knitted faintly, worry brushing her features like a thin cloud over the moon—subtle, yet unmistakable.
"Anchises," she turned to her husband, her voice soft but edged with concern, "Aeneas was startled and injured only yesterday. Perhaps he should rest today."
Aeneas, lifting his water cup, nearly choked. A few coughs later, he managed to regain composure. He knew the look in his mother's eyes—an exquisite blend of love and reproach.
Sure enough, she had already shifted her gaze to him, her tone gentle yet chiding. "I hear from the servants that you were training in the yard at dawn, making quite a stir. My son, healing takes time—you mustn't rush."
Terani, standing nearby in perfect posture, nodded vigorously at this, her little head bobbing as if to say, Master, you ought to listen to your mother.
Aeneas could only wink at her, earning a scrunched-up nose from the girl, scolding him silently for treating her like a child.
Aresya paid no mind to the small gesture, her voice steady, carrying the dignity and authority of a priestess. "Moreover, Anchises, today is the second day of the waxing moon. Tomorrow marks the birthday of the goddess Athena. It would be more fitting for Aeneas to present the wooden sword in Ilion then—the timing will better express our devotion."
She paused briefly, fingertips brushing the edge of the tablecloth, eyes lingering on her son as if planning how to make the offering both grand and proper. "The day after that will honor Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty. Presenting the boar on that day, making the walk from the estate to the temple, will show true reverence. There could be no better arrangement."
As she spoke, candlelight caught the pearl ribbon in her hair, casting a soft glow and transforming her from mother to temple priestess before Aeneas' eyes.
Warmth stirred in his chest, though he made a show of obediently nodding. "Thank you, Mother. We'll follow your plan," he added with a light, teasing tone, easing her worry.
Anchises said nothing, his palm resting on his oak staff. His gaze shifted between wife and son, lingering thoughtfully, then relaxed at last, giving only a slow, steady nod and a single, firm, "Mm."
The atmosphere at the table softened, cozy as embers quietly burning in a hearth.
Breakfast finally concluded. Only cores, crumbs smeared with olive oil, and half-cold cheese remained on the long table. Aeneas, under the watchful eyes of his parents, performed the standard etiquette flawlessly, movements precise and graceful.
Then, almost as if propelled by eagerness, he practically bolted from the dining room.
"Oh, gods," he groaned inwardly, feet darting down the hall as if dodging enemy scouts. "A forty-five-year-old singleton stuck in a house with my parents fussing over me… it's—well, it's both heartwarming and terrifying! Sweet burden? Worse than reader nagging—I can't refuse either."
He pictured turning around and crashing straight into his mother's worried eyes and his father's stern frown. Just imagining it almost sent him headfirst into a stone pillar.
And then there was the little sprite—Terani—bouncing alongside him, stifling a giggle as she jabbed, "Master, your face just now—totally frozen! Like a fish on the grill!"
Aeneas rolled his eyes, reaching out to tussle her brown hair in playful retaliation, only to have her spiritedly swat his hand away.
Yet, as he stepped out of the dining room, a quiet warmth settled in his chest.
Allen's parents are long gone, a voice whispered within. But Aeneas' parents genuinely care about me. Not… too bad, actually.
He drew a deep breath, shaking off the jumble of emotions, straightening his back. His pace regained the calm confidence of an officer.
"All right," he muttered to himself, a small grin tugging at his lips. "Time to put my—estate reconnaissance plan—into action."
With that, he strode into the sunlight outside the estate. His black-gold curls swayed in the morning breeze, and he felt every inch the young lord on the verge of a grand expedition.
But just then, Achates nearly stuffed half a breadcake into his mouth, chewing furiously, chasing after him through the side door. Half the cake still clutched in one hand, he looked ready to wield it as a weapon if needed.
"Hey!" he panted, voice firm despite the rush. "You're just healed, and you're running off alone? Want me to come along?"
Aeneas slowed along the stone walkway of the forecourt, turning to see Achates standing firm, mouth crumbs-streaked, looking like a human barricade.
"Ha! That face of yours," Aeneas laughed, clapping the solid shoulder, "Relax, brother! I'm Aeneas, son of the goddess! Besides, just wandering the family estate—how dangerous could it be?"
Achates' brow remained furrowed, clearly not convinced.
Aeneas rolled his eyes inwardly, jotting mental notes: reconnaissance is the priority! Economic conditions, tech levels—probably peak Bronze Age—and troop dispositions… Without this intel, how could his Trojan Farming Rise Plan even get started? Daydreams alone won't do.
He plastered on a cheerful grin, soothing like one would a child, and said, "All right, here's the deal. You go finish your meal and keep an eye on the offerings. I'll just take a little stroll and be back quick." The tone sounded casual enough, yet subtly carried a hint of "mission assignment."
As expected, Achates hesitated, wiggling the half-eaten breadcake in his hand, before finally giving a reluctant nod.
"All right then, Master," he said, voice low but still uneasy, "just don't keep me waiting too long. Otherwise, I'll have to come find you."
Aeneas stifled a chuckle, waved, and turned toward the sunlit courtyard.