The brothers rise early the next morning at the crack of dawn, the dim light spilling through the tall window in the guest room. They prepare for the day, their minds filled with remnants of their discussion last night, and with anticipation for their new roles. When a knock comes at the door, they’re both pleasantly surprised to find a servant there, giving them their new uniforms. The servant explains that their armor is being worked on, but their uniforms will tide them over until then. The servant steps out to give them time to get dressed, and the brothers admire their new clothes, adjusting them until they fit perfectly.

  The uniform consists of a long tunic, made of fine linen, dyed a deep, rich blue, with intricate gold embroidery at the cuffs and hem. They cinch the tunic at the waist with a wide, ornate leather belt, adorned with detailed metalwork. Beneath the tunic, they wore loose-fitting breeches, also crafted from linen, in a darker crimson hue. They tuck the breeches into sturdy leather boots which rose to mid-calf and were fastened with straps and buckles. They take a moment to look at each other, their eyes taking in the materials and detailed patterns. They can't help but feel a bit of pride seeing themselves in these garments, a stark difference from their usual raggedy clothes. Thekkur turns to his brother and gives him a small, satisfied smile.

  “This is much better,” he says, his voice almost reverent as he straightens out his tunic. He runs a hand over the intricate gold embroidery along the hem. “You know, I don't think I've ever worn anything this nice before,” he adds, a hint of excitement in his voice.

  “We're in the real world now, brother. No more fighting in the sandpits or killing for sport. Now, we'll be protecting the most powerful man in the world.” Oleksandr responds, straightening out his collar.

  “Come along, my lords.” The servant says, peeking in the door. “Collect your belongings and follow me.”

  The twins quickly do as they're told, Thekkur flashing his brother a smirk. “You hear that? We're ‘lords’ Oleks.” They gather their few personal belongings and follow the servant out the door. As they walk, they take in the sights and sounds of the palace around them: the high ceilings, the intricately decorated walls, the grand staircases and long halls. Oleksandr glances around, trying to memorize the layout of the palace. He's a little wary of the unfamiliar surroundings, but also excited at the prospect of exploring the opulence of the Imperial residence. The servant leads them to a chamber where they are met by a tall, imposing man dressed in a rich crimson uniform, standing with his arms crossed. He has a long red braid down his back, and a thick mustache capped with bronze beads, his one-eyed face stern and hardened. He looks like a seasoned warrior, every inch of him radiating authority and power. The brothers can't help but stand a bit straighter as he gives them a once-over, his gaze critical and searching as he sizes them up. They can feel his single green eye on their every move, and a sense of tension starts to set in.

  He nods at the servant, dismissing him. He speaks, his voice commanding and gruff, overlaid with a thick accent they’ve never heard before.

  “Right then, listen up. I’m Samorix, yer captain. I’m the one ye’ll answer to, the one ye’ll report to, an’ the one who’ll get ye squared away with yer duties. Now, speak up—what are yer names?”

  “I am Oleksandr,” he says, speaking for both of them. “And this is my twin, Thekkur.” Samorix looks the brothers up and down, his eye taking in their muscular frames and tall stature. He notes their stoic expressions and their lack of fear in his presence, and nods to himself.

  “So, you’re the new lads I’ve been hearin’ all the chatter about,” he says, his voice gruff and deep. “Twin brothers, eh? Well, that’s bound to make things a wee bit more interesting.” He pauses, his gaze shifting between the two of them. “Right then, tell me a bit about yerselves—keep it short, mind ye.” Oleksandr and Thekkur both straighten up, their eyes meeting Samorix's one-eyed gaze. Oleksandr speaks up first, his voice steady and collected.

  “We are from Siberia, and we grew up doing gladiatorial fighting. We are warriors, and we spent the last three years wandering the steppe as mercenaries. We are eighteen.” Then Thekkur takes his turn to speak, his face and tone just as stoic as his brother's.

  “We have trained our entire lives. We are well versed in the use of the sword, spear, and other weapons. We are strong and fast, and we work well together as a duo.” He pauses, taking a moment to choose his next words. “And we are loyal. We will always serve our commander with honor and respect.” Samorix cocks an eyebrow, seemingly impressed by the brothers' brief but concise introduction of themselves.

  “What in the hells brought a pair o’ Siberian gladiators traipsin’ all the way to the Eastern capital o’ the Empire?”

  “We wanted to be a part of something greater than ourselves.”

  “Can ye read?” Oleksandr glances at his brother before turning back to Samorix, responding hesitantly.

  “Read? No," he admits, a slight edge in his voice. “Where we came from, education was not a luxury we could afford. We learned how to fight, how to survive.”

  “Ye don't have to justify such things to me, lad. I was illiterate as well. I am a Gael, brought up in a highland tribe. And ye do not strike me as dullards. Ye possess cunning, I can see it in yer eyes, yer mad dogs.”

  “You are correct,” he says. “We may not be well-educated, but we are far from fools. We have survived on wit and cunning more than just raw strength. We have the ability to learn and adapt quickly.”

  “Good. Now, Oleksandr and Thekkur, listen up. Ye’ll be learnin’ most o’ it as ye go, but here’s what ye need to know. Ye’re up with the crack o’ dawn, same as the rest o’ the lads. Ye report straight to me—or to whoever I’ve put in charge at the time. They’ll give ye yer post for the day. Stay sharp, stay vigilant. We don't tolerate even a blink o’ negligence here. Ye keep yer eyes peeled an’ yer wits about ye, no matter who it is yer dealin’ with. I don't care if they’ve a crown on their head or a thousand titles to their name—threats come from within more often than not. Mark my words." Thekkur and Oleksandr listen intently, their serious expressions indicating that they are absorbing every word that Samorix speaks. They nod in acknowledgement, understanding the gravity and importance of their new responsibilities.

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  “Ye’ll be given a basic schedule to follow, lads, and it’s not just swordplay and brawlin’. Ye’ll get an education, like it or not. Ye’ll be taught language, literacy, theology, strategy, philosophy, law, an’ history. It’s as much about sharpenin’ yer mind as it is yer blade. Of course, there’ll be plenty of hours set aside for martial trainin’—ye’ll need to earn yer keep on the field as well as off it.” The brothers nod, this time more enthusiastically. The prospect of receiving an education is both daunting and exciting, and they both feel a sense of anticipation.

  “We will commit ourselves fully to our training and studies, Captain.”

  “Good. Not that ye’ve got any other choice in the matter. I’ve no doubt ye’ve got the brawn and a bit o’ brains to back it, but an illiterate, ignorant guard is a liability. And liabilities here, boys, can cost us everything—our lives, our honor, and worse.”

  “We understand.”

  “Come now, lads. I'll show ye the barracks.”

  They follow Samorix out of the castle into the back courtyard, and into the training field. Oleksandr and Thekkur take in the sights around them. They can hear the sound of weapons clashing and soldiers calling out orders, and the various sparring pairs are all engaged in intense combat training. Thekkur watches the soldiers with a mixture of admiration and determination, while Oleksandr scans the surroundings, taking in the layout of the area and the strength of the other soldiers present.

  “These men are yer peers. Ye'll dine with them, cohabitate with them, train with them, receive lessons with them, and possibly even die with them.” He says, motioning towards the men, before he motions for them to continue following him. Oleksandr and Thekkur nod, their expressions serious as they take in this information. They can sense the bonds of brotherhood amongst these soldiers, and understand that they will become part of this close-knit community. They walk silently behind Samorix, their eyes taking in every detail of the training field and the soldiers around them. As they continue on, they pass by the main guardhouse, a large building made of stone, and several smaller structures, including a bathhouse and a blacksmith's workshop. Thekkur and Oleksandr look at all of this with a sense of awe and respect, feeling a sense of belonging and purpose as they are led further into the heart of the Varangian Guard's headquarters.

  “Alright, lads. This is yer new home. Best get cozy in it, eh?” He says, pushing open the door to the main barracks. It’s spacious, with a living area full of chairs and tables, a fireplace, some decorative shields and furs, and book shelves. It's way nicer than any barracks they've ever seen that are usually cramped bunks with no privacy or comfort. “This is nice, Captain. Nicer than we have seen.” Oleksandr says quietly.

  “Aye. Ye'll be treated well here in the imperial palace, lads. But don't get too spoiled.” Thekkur grins, his eyes roaming the room again. He can't help but feel a slight sense of comfort and luxury, a far cry from the harsh and barren life they were used to back home. But he remains composed, and nods to Samorix in agreement.

  “We won't get too spoiled, sir,” he replies. “But we appreciate the treatment here.” Oleksandr and Thekkur follow Samorix as he leads them down the hall and into their room. They look around, taking in the sight of the two beds, a desk, and a small window that lets in some light. Thekkur sits on his bed, testing its comfort, while Oleksandr strides around the room, checking it out. They both look satisfied with the accommodations, and glance at Samorix appreciatively.

  “Thank you, Captain,” says Oleksandr, his voice earnest. For the rest of the day, Samorix gets the brothers settled in, introducing them to some of their new off-duty comrades, and they immediately feel a sense of familiarity and kinship with the various men of different origins. They notice the mostly Nordic nature of the group, but there are also some Celts, Gaels, Rus, and Saxons. However, they don't mind, and they feel a sense of acceptance and respect from the other men. Samorix also shows them to the blacksmith, explaining that this is where they'll have to go for repairs and upkeep for their armor and weapons. Once the brothers get settled into the barracks, he takes them on an extensive tour of the castle. Oleksandr and Thekkur pay close attention, their sharp eyes taking in every detail of the castle's layout and security. They listen intently to his explanations and instructions, committing all the information to memory. They pay special attention to blind spots, guard rotations, and entrances, knowing they'll be crucial for their duties. Samorix leads the brothers to Golden Hall, a banquet hall where the Emperor and his guests are enjoying performances of dancing and music for entertainment and relaxment. Samorix leans back against the outer hallway wall to peak in.

  “Now, ye'll often find the emperor and his family here. We usually have plenty of guards stationed here, since it's a prime location for something to go wrong, with so many guests and drinks and whatnot..." He explains quietly as a band is playing and singing. The brothers nod in understanding as they glance around the hall, taking in the layout and observing the occupants relaxing and watching their entertainment.

  The music changes into another song, a slower one. A tall woman enters the middle, her brass-colored hair in an intricate updo, under a wide jeweled headdress. She wears a vibrant, draped silk dress with golden embroidery, and long wide sleeves that flow elegantly. She follows the music, her rhythm graceful, as she begins her dance. The brothers watch with admiration as she dances, but Thekkur is especially captivated. Oleksandr grins slightly as he notices Thekkur's gaze, seeing the look of rapt attention on his face as he watches the woman dance. He nudges Thekkur gently, and leans over to whisper in his ear.

  “Looks like you have a favorite, little brother,” he teases in a low voice, a hint of humor in his tone. Thekkur ignores him as he continues to watch her. Oleksandr chuckles lightly, as he watches him watching her, amused by his brother's obvious desire. After a while of watching in silence, he leans over again and pokes Thekkur, trying to get his attention.

  “You're drooling,” he teases again, a smirk on his face. Thekkur shushes him as the woman twirls and her green, kohl-lined eyes land on him for a moment, causing his heart to flutter. Oleksandr's grin widens when he sees this. “Ah, now she's seen you,” he teases him again, “she caught you staring.”

  Oleksandr and Thekkur snap out of their daze, a little startled as Samorix's voice pulls them back to the present. “Come on lads, lets carry on.” They both follow him, reminding themselves to stay focused. However, Thekkur is still distracted and can't help but glance back at the woman as they leave the hall. He walks quickly to catch up with Samorix. “Captain.. who was that girl?” Samorix looks over at Thekkur, noticing the eagerness in his face. He chuckles lightly, a knowing look in his eye.

  “Ah, that was one of the, court dancers, the wee niece of one of the emperor's courtiers. She's an actress. I believe her name is Amalthea, or something of the sorts.” Thekkur absorbs the information, committing the name and description to memory. He nods slightly, still clearly intrigued by the woman. Oleksandr, walking beside them, notices his brother's interest.

  “Quite the dancer, eh?” He comments, a hint of amusement in his voice.

  “Uh… Yeah, she's not bad.” Thekkur responds, feigning nonchalance.

  “Not bad?” He echoes, a smirk playing on his lips. “You still have drool on your chin, Thek.” Oleksandr jokes as he flicks his cheek. Thekkur swats Oleksandr's hand away as he grumbles under his breath before Samorix cuts them off sharply.

  “Lads, yer still on duty. Keep walking.” They nod sheepishly in understanding. As they continue the tour, Thekkur's mind still lingers on the court dancer named Amalthea. He can't help but think of her graceful movements and captivating presence. Meanwhile, Oleksandr can still see the spark of interest in Thekkur's eyes, and he smiles internally, knowing that his little brother has a crush.

  (My sketch of Samorix)