It was a week later when Conrad summoned the boys to see him. He presented them with the gray robes that signified their status as official apprentices. The robes didn't fit well. It was meant to be that way for the first few years. Countermeasure to growth spurts and the like. They also had been given official housing. Which was good, Damir had thought, because sharing a bed with his brother was starting to get old and fast. The housing was still small but it had actual beds in it. One for each of them, a wash area, and an area that Damir later learned was where all their gear usually ended up being dumped.

Damir dreamed of those first few months. They had been at the Castello for a little over a year now and training was grueling. Those first few months were heaven compared to what he suffered through now. Mentor Nikolai seemed to always know just when he was taking a break, or when his moves were sloppy. Hey! No one could fault him for that! He was just so darn tired some days. He would always, always get caught, too. Mentor Nikolai had a sixth sense that way, but he was never cruel, though. Strict maybe. But never cruel. He was a soft spoken man but dang, skippy did he know his stuff and was absolutely ruthless about form. Damir… wanted to dislike him for it. Oh so much did he want to hate the man. Every slap of the wrist or elbow to correct a fraction of an inch misplacement… HE HATED EVERYTHING. But then there was Angel, his poor little brother. He could only stand by and watch as Mentor Nikolai took away Angel's stable privileges in hopes that that would help him in the arena training sessions and stealth tactics. All it did, from what he could tell, was take the joy from his brother's life.

It nearly halted his training with the horses, but Syrus was able to set aside time a few times a week to help him. His confidence had grown and he could freely approach the horses without feeling like running away. Anxiety was still ever present and some days were harder than others, but he was improving. That had to mean something, didn't it? He knew, just knew that he could have been almost completely over his fear if Nikolai hadn't taken the stables away from Angel. Nikolai had to see that Angel wasn't doing any better in the ring because of it. Damir's riding skills were sketchy at best, but he could sit in the saddle and get the horse to walk. And stop. Which is kind of important, too. It angered him at how much he could have learned if they would just let Angel back in! If if if if if. He would have to do as Angel had done. Offer his help with training. He felt confident enough now that he could help his younger brother, and he knew that Angel needed the help. And didn't everyone know he needed the help… Hopefully that would get Nikolai to back off.

Damir's sessions with Conrad were going well. He thought. He hoped and prayed Angel hadn't figured out why he was visiting Conrad, and that it stayed that way. At least until he was ready to tell his brother he was afraid of heights. Or what would be amazing would be telling him that he had been afraid of heights, but no longer. Yes please.

The first few sessions had been cruel. Conrad had made Damir stand at the edge of that very same cliff/platform that he'd dangled him off of the first day and told him simply, "If you fall, you'll die. Or end up horribly mangled. I suggest you not do that." And then just stood there and watched him with arms crossed. Damir had tried backing up a few times away from the edge but Conrad only walked Damir back to the edge. He was such a kind man that way. So helpful.

After the first day Conrad didn't stay and watch. He did ask a time or two if Damir had fallen yet. Damir ground his teeth and replied with a snarky "No." Having to face forward and most of the time instructed to look down, he couldn't see the small smile that played about the master assassin's lips as he was watched. It had been baby steps, but the lessons stopped for a long while when Conrad had to leave on 'an important errand that required his immediate attention' he had said. The desensitization process had to be repeated when he returned. Which, was stupid and Damir hated it. But it wasn't as bad the second time. Progress!

After that, Conrad took Damir to a fenced off area behind the main building where he usually resided. Thick poles were stuck in the ground and staggered in a random pattern. "You will practice on these." Conrad said simply. Damir looked at the man incredulously and then at the poles. They had to be at least six feet tall, far surpassing his own height. "Well?" Damir sighed and walked over to the closest pole, dragging his feet all the way. He tried to climb the pole annnnd… he failed. He slid back down the pole. Conrad shook his head. He walked over to the boy that kept scrabbling at the pole with no luck. The master assassin bent and boosted Damir up until he could grab hold of the top of the pole.

It was an effort, but he was able to pull himself up onto the pole awkwardly. The training had paid off. More training and he would probably be able to pull himself up much easier next time. Damir looked down at Conrad for direction but his vision swam and he snapped his attention back forward. Desensitized to the cliff only? Apparently. "Have you been practicing your balance?" Conrad inquired.

"Yes." Damir answered without looking down.

"Good. Stand up."

Damir swallowed and struggled to stand up on the pole. It was thick enough that he could squish one foot and half of the other on it. He wobbled dangerously and considered falling just for fun (not), but managed to find his equilibrium. Conrad gave a curt nod of approval. And the crowd goes wild!

"Now you have more time to practice." He turned to leave. "You can either stay there or gain some skill." He meant hopping from pole to pole, Damir knew. The leap to the next closest pole looked daunting. "The poles will be raised tomorrow." With that said, Conrad left. Damir stood there looking as pitiful as ever. Wobbling on the pole, unable to look down. He considered climbing down and sitting on the dirt. He could always just scramble right on up the pole again when Conrad came back to get him, but he just knew that would result in him being introduced to the ground at the bottom of the cliff. So he stood there. And wobbled. All good. This was fun.

It had been another long day of training. Stealth + sparring. = the worst. The. Worst. At one point, Damir felt like he may actually wind up stuck in a permanent crouch. He hurt all over. It seemed like his whole body was always one big ache. Some days worse than others. He rest his forearm on a wall and pressed his forehead against it, closing his eyes.

"Oh loook, it's daaaddy!" One of the boys Damir sparred with regularly cat-called.

Damir looked up at the boy to find some other apprentices following him. His brow furrowed. "What?"

"Isn't that what your brother calls you?"

"Calls me what?" Damir asked, totally lost on the subject.

"Daddy. That's gross, you know. Are you really his dad? His brother and his dad? Did your mom… do things to you?" The boy, taller and older than Damir, smirked. There were titters from the other boys. Damir had a sudden flashback of the incident in the alley when he and Angel had first stumbled upon the Brotherhood.

"What? No!" Damir said, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"Then why does he call you dad, huh?" One of the other boys crooned.

"It's… it's just a nickname." Damir stuttered. "I'm not his dad." He added angrily.

"Disgusting nickname…" Another boy laughed under his breath.

Damir's face heated. "I'm not his dad." He repeated, wanting ever so much to punch them all in the face but knew that fighting outside the sparring ring was forbidden. Even if he could take them all on, which wasn't likely, there was no way to prove that they had started it. He would have thrown the first punch anyway. Nikolai would not be pleased. He did not take kindly to being embarrassed by his students. Damir worked his jaw in frustration then turned and stalked off to his and Angel's dorm. Screw them. What else was he supposed to do? Tell Conrad? Hah! Yeah right. Whatever.

.xxx.

Things changed. Fast. Not for the better, either. At least not for Angel. He felt like he could see massive improvement in his brother, but none in himself. In fact, it often seemed as if he was going backwards. The day Syrus greeted him at the barn door, arms crossed and eyes stony, was the worst on record. He was spending too much time at the stable and not enough time learning what they were attempting to drill into his head. No more horses. Irriador screamed for him, a most unholy and heart wrenching sound he prayed to never hear again. Syrus sent the stallion away for a time, where he could no longer smell his former master and wonder why Angel had apparently deserted him.

If anything, it only made him worse. He couldn't understand the way things were taught. Nikolai was a firm taskmaster and though he tried, he really really did, he just couldn't grasp it. His Mentor made time after regular sessions to work with him. Nothing came of it. Without the horses, he only hung on for Damir. When private lessons were over, he came back again, and practiced on his own. Any improvements were very slight, and if they were noticed, no one pointed it out. He felt ridiculously stupid. Why was it all so difficult? How was it possible to pick up on everything horse-related so easily, but completely fail to do so in the ring where it really mattered? The teasing didn't help.

"Poor little helpless Angel."

"Aww, wings not working today?"

"They must have kicked you out of heaven. Were you useless there, too?"

It wasn't like he could defend himself. He was quick, and usually he could escape their grasp. Not always. Nikolai tried to coach him on that, but it was like talking to a wall. When Angel applied what he'd been told, it didn't work. Neither mentor nor student could quite figure out why. It surely wasn't for lack of effort on either of their parts. But at the end of the day, the reports just weren't good, although he had started to get a bit taller and had more muscle than he'd come in with. Finally. His poor performance, coupled with the continued harassment considering his name, only had his spirits sinking lower. What would he do if Conrad asked him to leave? He wondered. Cry in the corner, probably. He was trying so so hard, and hated that it didn't matter. The saddest part was he'd only been tasked with learning the basics. And if he couldn't master those, there would be no point at all in moving forward to more advanced training.

When the last session of the day ended, he hauled his miserable, aching body to Conrad's study, where he waited to be admitted. When he was, he stood in front of the desk with his eyes focused dully on the carpet, wondering how much the big man must despise him. After all, Conrad had taken a chance. While it would surely pay off with Damir, it wasn't for him. Surely people get kicked out of the program all the time though, right? Right?

"Master Conrad," he said quietly. "Um... Would it be against the rules here to change my name?" If Conrad couldn't figure out why, well...he'd be frightened for his intelligence.

.xxx.

Conrad stood on the other side of the desk with a big book of maps in his hand. He wasn't quite certain why Angelius had sought him out today specifically. Did he want to request additional training? How much more training could they possibly spare for him? Conrad had seen how hard Angelius had been working and still with little improvement. Was there something wrong with his coordination? He seemed perfectly capable on a horse, why on the ground, then, was he, well. Flat-footed? The grace he'd seen in the boy while atop the horses vanished completely and utterly in the ring. The contrast between Damir and Angelius was almost hilarious. There were things that could be done to… "help" the boy, but Conrad was strictly against them. Angelius was too young. Far too young for those methods, and those methods had been abolished since he had taken up Leadership of the Brotherhood. If Angelius didn't improve soon, though, his chances as an assassin were dwindling.

He ran his finger over the lines of the map on a particular page, mentally calculating the distance on it. There would have to be another… "trip" to take soon. The reports that were coming in weren't getting any better. The news that was good was only swallowed up by the bad. Guilds were looking to the Brotherhood for aid and he wasn't sure if he could provide it. Pulling his thoughts back to the present, he glared at the book in his hands. Ah, so Angelius was requesting a name change… "Why?" He asked without turning around and continued his map glaring. He had a guess as to the reason, but it didn't seem like Angelius to waltz right on into his office and ask for a name change. Who does that? Angelius apparently. Something, or someone was getting to him that had urged him into the study to request a new Naming. Not without good reason would he allow it. A 'just because' would not suffice.

.xxx.

Ah, here was where he would have to admit he couldn't handle the teasing of the other boys. Hopefully that wasn't a requirement of all assassins: must be able to take a joke. Even the mean-spirited ones. His eyes remained on the carpet, picking out individual threads as he tried to formulate a response. Conrad wouldn't care the other boys teased, he figured, but maybe if he phrased it right?

"I am having..." What were the words his Mentor so often used? "Difficulty," he decided on the word. "Focusing. On. Improving myself." He paused for a moment but kept the sarcastic 'even though it's not working anyway' comment to himself. "When my..." Confounded English language! "...peers," ahah, that was the right word. "Like to focus on my name only." It was getting worse each day, and even harder to focus on Nikolai when he was being constantly nagged at with snippy little comments. A hard look from the Mentor usually quelled them briefly, but they weren't always in his earshot, either. "I believe I would...benefit," he continued, "from a change." Finally prying his gaze from the floor, he managed to get it as far as Conrad's general... Face area. "I'm trying," he said, his voice a near whisper. He thought back to their first meeting, and prayed once again that he'd just say yes. If he didn't, Angel wasn't sure how much more of the taunting he could manage while simultaneously failing miserably at life. Maybe Conrad would take a little pity on him. Just. Maybe.

.xxx.

Conrad listened patiently to Angelius struggle to find the right words to phrase his reasoning behind a request for a new name. Conrad does indeed have a lot of patience. His expression softened marginally so. He knew how hard Angelius was trying. He didn't doubt that, but he simply could not ease up on the boy. There would be no favoritism. That didn't mean he couldn't show him kindness. He wasn't so cruel as to deny Angelius such a simple request. He had suspected that Damir's quick nickname for his brother could, and looked like it was playing a part in the smaller boy's downfall. (Hehehehe….)

Conrad snapped the book shut and turned, setting it down on the desk. He assessed the boy and could very nearly see the frustration and pain wafting off of him. He did want to do well and it wasn't coming to him the same as it wasn't coming to his mentors. If the other students were torturing him over a name, that would indeed be a distraction. He did not need an added addition to his already growing frustration. "Did you have something in mind?" You can't just come into my office, ask for a name change and not have something in mind, child!

.xxx.

The slamming of the book made him jump. He sighed inwardly. Great. Another reason for Conrad to want to toss him out the window. Of course, then came the question.

It was greeted by a blank look.

Damn. In his exhaustion he hadn't even thought of a name he might actually like in the event Conrad said yes. He considered a moment. Their father's name had been John, but...would such a reminder hurt Damir? Probably. Unacceptable. He tossed that idea and tried to think of something else.

He proceeded to fail horribly. Oh look, a trend! Angel rubbed a hand over his eyes and berated himself for the 15th time about what an idiot he was. "I'm sorry, Master Conrad," he said. "I...wasn't sure you would agree and I didn't want to...pick a name I couldn't use." Well. It was true, anyways. Except. There he was again, feeling like the biggest idiot ever, in front of the man who had changed his and Damir's fates. But he knew that if he failed completely, Conrad wouldn't take it out on Damir. It was a small comfort, and he clung to it like the only raft in a storm.

.xxx.

Ah, no name. He had assumed as such. It was a good thing at least. If he had come in announcing that he wanted to change his name to… say, Hans, it would have been an immediate no. Hans… did not fit this kid. And children tended to pick names that did not suit them. Wild imaginations, they had. Although, Angelius and Damir had been forced to grow up in many ways. Their childhood had been stolen away from them. Some of it had been given back by coming to the Castello. Some. Training to be an assassin was not exactly considered a normal childhood. "Very well." Conrad said slowly, considering his options available for the serious young boy. He stalked around his desk and studied Angelius. He could see the pain in the boy's eyes. Improvements needed to be made or there was a dark path ahead of this young one.

He studied Angelius for a long moment and then… "Elias." He said simply. Conrad hadn't looked up to many assassins during his training and he had only worked with the one named Elias once. He'd never seen him again after that. His name wasn't in the Brotherhood's records either, not that he could find once he'd become Leader. The odds had been against them during that mission. Monumentally so. Elias had been the one to pull them out. It was fitting. Angelius-now Elias, would be able to overcome this and he would become the assassin that he knew he could be. Conrad turned back and headed to a set of shelves that bulged with more books of… maps to peruse probably. "You are excused." He said as he selected an old volume and opened it, the pages cracking as he did. Yay, maps.

.xxx.

Overwhelming relief crashed over him in a wave, and his thank-you was somewhat buried by it. He had a sudden and very, very brief urge to hug the assassin, but he was pretty sure that would only end in being tossed outside on his head. He hesitated a moment, watching him. If Conrad were his father, he wouldn't have even thought about it. But he wasn't, and Angel-no, Elias-could feel the tenuous relationship between them ready to give way at any given moment. He wasn't sure he could handle being pushed away. So instead, he bowed to Conrad's back and left before he could find out what a surprise hug would mean for either of them. Probably death.

He trudged down to the living quarters. Another adjustment. But Damir seemed to enjoy it, so he tried to do the same. Since his brother was already home, he quickened his pace. "Hey, Da," he said as he came through the door, completely unaware of the nastiness that had already been direct at Damir that day. "Guess what?" he sank into a chair and stared at his brother expectantly. "Conrad-Master Conrad," he corrected himself. "Let me pick a new name. Well. Actually he picked it. But now the boys won't make fun of it," he said. Not 'me.' They'd still probably make fun of him. At least there was one less thing to latch onto, though. "Elias," he added., trying it out for the first time. He liked it. Maybe everything would be okay after all.

.xxx.

Damir grimaced at the nickname, memories of the boys' taunts ringing in his ears. He went back to busying himself with attempting to fix the stupid hidden blade cuff. The mentors had been allowing him to use it in the rare underground sparring sessions he had been recently allowed to attend. They didn't usually let the younger apprentices handle the "official" weaponry. For now, it was only the sparring sticks that, at most could cause a broken bone if the blow was hard enough. The mentors prevented that from happening. Bruises, on the other hand, were the young apprentices' best friends.

He muttered in frustration and jerked at the leather that wouldn't give way to let the mechanism release the tiny blade. And tiny it was indeed, because, really it was basically a kid's toy for the older assassins. A needle in comparison to their own hidden blades. He finally gave up and threw the cuff. It hit the far wall and the mechanism clicked, releasing the small blade. He glared at it, spotting the reason why it hadn't come free the way it should have. The blade was bent. Damir sighed and dropped his head into his hands. "I don't know why they make fun of it, anyway. There's nothing wrong with Angelius or Angel." Damir commented, his annoyance at the stupid cuff, at the boys for making fun of him, and exhaustion all added together had made him grumpy. Really, he knew that 'Angel' was the perfect name for the perfect insults. And perfect pickup lines. His frustration just had to aim itself at his brother, too. Just a tiny bit.

"Okay, Elias." He muttered under his breath. Damir wasn't annoyed about the name change, technically, the name actually suited Angelius… it would be… an adjustment and he would miss calling his brother by his nickname but hey. It was the bullies that annoyed him. The bullies that had driven Angel, no, Elias to Master Conrad to ask for a new name. He rest his chin on the palm of his hand. "Can you… not call me 'Da' anymore, then?" Fair was fair, right? Sort of. It was a part of their brotherly bond, but, well, he didn't want to be tormented either…

.xxx.

Elias watched Damir fight with the cuff for a long moment before refocusing his gaze on his hands. He was getting very good about no longer making any sort of eye contact. It just took too much energy, and he didn't have much of that to spare anymore. Plus, Damir was getting to work with weapons now when he still hadn't moved on to anything more than a slightly bigger stick. Granted, they were small and maybe insignificant to a full grown assassin, but it meant everything to the boys old enough...and good enough...to have one. He winced at the crookedness of the blade. It was an honor to get one of those. Now wasn't a good time to remind Damir of it, though.

"I guess not," he said of his name. "I never thought it was so bad before." he shrugged. "Elias is better." He hoped to use it like a shield against his tormentors. He would fail at that, too, but for the moment it gave him some comfort.

Then the hammer dropped.

"...what?" he asked, and wondered where the hell this numb feeling had been for the past year or so of hell. How convenient for it to show up now, of all moments. "I mean. Why?" It was nearly unimaginable to think of never calling Damir by the nickname again. It symbolized so much! Why would he not want it now?

.xxx.

Damir knew that one was coming knew that lying wouldn't have solved anything. He rubbed at the back of his head uncomfortably. What the boys had said had struck a nerve in his poor little teenage body. That stupid acceptance one. The one that made him wish he could be accepted by everyone and not he, nor An-Elias, he mentally corrected himself. That really was going to take some getting used to. But, they were right. He wasn't Elias's dad. He'd never taken on that role. The idea made him extremely uncomfortable as he tried to picture himself in place of his father and it almost made him sick. "Because… Because I'm not your dad." He said lamely. "I'm not Father." He reiterated, hoping that that sounded better. It didn't.

"The other apprentices think that you think I'm your father… so… maybe just… say it privately?" He looked at his brother helplessly. He didn't know what to do either. The silence hung there and Damir thought he was going to suffocate on it but a barely audible knock on the door probably saved his life. He rolled to his feet and opened the door a crack and could only stare in shock. Conrad stood on the other side of the door.

"Damir." He greeted. Damir bowed quickly and opened the door a little wider so his brother could see who it was. Conrad looked over Damir's head and nodded to Elias. "Elias." He said in greeting to the younger of the two. The master assassin turned his attention back to Damir. "Will you walk with me?"

Damir glanced back at his sullen brother worriedly and then nodded. "Yes, Master Conrad." He stepped out of the little housing and closed the door behind him. Conrad began walking down the stone pathway, away from the housing complexes. Damir followed and watched the tall man, waiting for him to say something. It was an eternity of just their breathing and the soft sounds of their boots on the path. Damir's more than Conrad's. Maybe in time he'd be as quiet as Conrad? He sure hoped so.

"Stop dragging your feet." Conrad instructed, breaking the silence. "You will give yourself away."

Damir caught his sigh of annoyance from escaping, but just barely. "Are we having another session, Master Conrad?"

"No," he replied quietly. He was quiet for another long moment. "Elias's skills are not improving as quickly as they should. Has he taken extra time to practice?" Conrad knew that he had to be, but confirmation helped quell any doubts. He needed to know for certain in the case that it should be corrected.

"Yes. Mentor Nikolai spends a lot of time with him, too. He's trying, Master Conrad. Nobody knows how to help him." Damir said sadly.

"Do you?"

Damir blinked. "Well… I… Don't know. I was going to ask him if he wanted me to… help him. Because he helped me with the horses. But I wasn't sure if I was advanced enough to help him. Maybe that would be better?"

Conrad nodded. "Your brother's skills have not improved much since he was first brought on. That is not a good sign. Do you understand, Damir?"

Damir stopped, trying to piece together what Conrad was implying. "Is he…"

"You need to help him succeed or he will not make it here. He will not be fit for this life, Damir. He would only be a hindrance. If he does not succeed there is not much else I can offer him. I do not wish to lose you as well, you are a quick student, but I know you will follow your brother."

Damir stared blankly at Conrad. If Elias didn't improve, they were gone? Out of there? Well… Elias was but… like Conrad had said… he would never leave his brother's side. "The stables." Damir said quickly. Conrad arched a brow. "The stables," Damir repeated. "Syrus and Mentor Nikolai took that away from Ang… um, Elias. That didn't help him. It made him worse. Give those back to him and I'll try and help him."

Conrad gave Damir a calculating look and then finally said, "I will speak with Syrus. Ultimately, that is his decision. I expect to see improvement in your brother soon. Is that clear?"

"Yes Master Conrad." Damir gave a quick, curt bow.

Their conversation concluded, Damir waited a little longer before returning to his and Elias's rooms. It had been awkward when he left. He did not want to return to that awkwardness. He wanted to wait for his brother to fall asleep before returning. He estimated his timing right and when he slipped into the place… with the rooms, his brother was sleeping. Go team Damir! Except, he felt extremely guilty for doing it. Cowardly, really. Avoiding a conversation with his own brother about denying him the use of a nickname that they had shared since… forever? Great. Just great.

The next morning Damir got up before Elias as he usually did, dressed, and headed down to meet Mentor Nikolai at the arena. Nikolai immediately set Damir to work at the Mook Yan Jong (*cough wooden post dummy cough*) dummy practicing his hand to hand combat. Time stretched on and Damir's worry increased. His gaze kept wandering to the pathway leading in to the arena in search of his brother. No sign. Another one of his glances cost him a smack to the elbow when his form strayed. "Ow!" He complained.

"Where is your brother?" Nikolai demanded.

Damir pulled away from his moves and rubbed at his now sore elbow. "I dunno."

"Keep practicing." Nikolai instructed and left Damir to, well. Keep practicing. The man… left, in search of Conrad. Yes he did. He found him easily enough. He bowed deeply to the master assassin. "Master Conrad." He greeted. "Angelius," he began.

"Elias," Conrad corrected, absentmindedly. Okay well Nikolai didn't know but whatever.

He accepted it and continued. "Elias has not come to sparring practice this morning. I know the boy is struggling but I'm not sure what else to do with him. Perhaps you can speak with him?"

Conrad's eyes flashed dangerously. "Thank you, I will speak with him." He moved past the mentor and stalked off to where Elias would surely be hiding. Oh yes. He's in trouble now.

.xxx.

Well. That was it. He felt like a bomb had just gone off in his personal bubble, eradicating everything he could ever hope to know. So Damir's sparring partners thought he was a stupid child who called his brother "dad." It figured. His partners just thought he was an idiot, but he wasn't slow. Not like that. Was he? How could he tell? It took a long moment before he trusted his voice to speak, and he never once looked up at Damir.

"Yes, I understand," he said, repeating a phrase he'd said to Mentor Nikolai so many times now it almost felt like a lie. "I know you're not Father." He paused a moment, reflecting. "I…don't think I ever called him that." Father had been Father, or sometimes, rarely, papa. Only Damir had been Da, the stabilizing force in his life so like a father, but not replacing their father. He rubbed at his forehead, a gesture that would soon become habit if he wasn't careful, a tell for discomfort or unhappiness. Well. He didn't want to be called Angel. So. It was fair that Damir no longer wanted to be called Da. If he was getting picked on the way Elias was, he could completely empathize. It didn't mean his words felt any less like rejection of some kind.

The knock on their door ended the conversation as Master Conrad appeared like a specter in the night. Elias put his head in his hands and stared at the floor for what felt like an awfully long time.

Irriador was gone, and he wasn't sure he'd ever see the little stallion again. Mentor Nikolai tried not to show his frustration with the boy, but he knew it was there. Damir…well. Was Damir. Good at nearly everything. Except the horses. And now Elias didn't even have that. What did he have? He tried to think. Coming up with…well, not very much besides Damir himself, he shoved himself into bed, rolled into a ball to better protect the bruises he continually built upon day after day, and went to sleep. Bad dreams stalked him, blending from their father's death to Damir's own funeral, to Damir sneering at him and pushing him out the front gates himself. Would it be better to leave on his own?

Needless to say, it was not a restful night. When he woke, Damir was gone. To his lessons already, Elias assumed. It was all he could do to actually sit up. Once he did, it was as if he'd used his energy quota for the day in doing so. He dropped his head to his hands, fingers curling in his hair, and felt much, much older than his age. He'd been a failure before, he reasoned. All the time, in fact. But that day in the alley was the first time someone had seen something in both of them, not just Damir. And it was over. Had to be. He felt it in the churning of his stomach as nerves threatened to gnaw through his heart and into the open air. John would've been so disappointed. He knew it in his bones. Their father had always encouraged him, never outwardly bothered by his size, and only asked that he keep trying. Did it count as giving up if all the trying in the world didn't make one bit of difference?

And…perhaps, was it worse? He'd disappointed Conrad.

Damir.

Would Damir be disappointed? Relieved? Elias knew for certain he was a burden to his brother at this point. Unable to help with his horseback riding and too far behind to be useful in physical studies, he was…emotional baggage. Wouldn't Damir be able to focus better with him gone? Perhaps now that he wasn't quite so tiny and pathetic, he could get work down in the city and visit sometime. Maybe he could send Conrad some…money. Or something. To cover the expenses he'd wasted trying to turn a shrimp into a shark. Because that is a great seafood metaphor and YOU KNOW IT.

.xxx.

Nikolai's report was concerning, to say the least. After his little... talk with Damir the previous night, had he gone and told his younger brother what was to happen if he didn't show improvement? It wasn't meant to be a threat, but to a 14 and 11 year old it would seem as such. Conrad mulled over that thought. No. Damir wouldn't scare Elias like that, he was smarter than that.

So why was Elias not in sparring? All apprentices knew that unless you were completely incapacitated to spar, illness was no excuse to skip your training. Elias had acted perfectly healthy the previous night. Conrad had spoken with Syrus earlier and his friend had said he would consider the option of allowing Elias access to the stables again. The way that Damir had spoken, the stables were important to Elias. Well obviously, all that grace that Elias lacked in the ring was upon the horses. Maybe there could be some connection made there that could help the boy. Time was running out. It needed to be soon. He would honor Damir's wishes and see just how the brothers could help each other.

Coming up on Elias's and Damir's rooms, he paused and took a moment to control any anger that might present itself. Naughty children or tantrum-throwing children were something that he did not have much patience for. Elias was struggling. He understood that much. Elias was trying. Things were not working. But there was absolutely no excuse to give up the day after he had just given the boy a new name. None. That should have given him him some hope. Without so much as a knock, Conrad unceremoniously opened the door. "Why are you not at sparring, Elias?" He inquired. He kept his tone level and awaited an explanation, and it had BETTER be good, Buster.

.xxx.

The silence and his churning thoughts were interrupted by the opening of the door. Damir wouldn't dare skip out on training to come back, which told him well enough who it was. Elias didn't look up at Conrad. It was like he felt the storm coming, and was now perfectly okay with the lightning striking him off the map. He's very morose, okay. Give him a break.

"I think we both know it won't do me any good," he said, and his voice sounded strange to his ears. Exhausted. Older. Different. "I can't understand. Mentor Nikolai gives me an instruction, and somewhere in the space between my ears and his face, it gets…jumbled. I don't know what it is. I can't fix it. Not his fault," he added, quick to defend the Mentor even though he was not very easy to work with seeing as Elias hardly ever had correct form on the ground. "It has to be mine," he muttered, almost to himself. Still completely stuck to where he was, he tried to look at Conrad, and couldn't manage it.

"I let everyone down," he said, for the first time out loud. Himself included. His best just wasn't good enough, and even though it wasn't the first time he'd faced it, this time, it cut deeper. He felt like he was stuck at the bottom of some stupid, stupid dark pit and had no way to get out. "I'm sorry, Master Conrad," Elias said finally. "It wasn't my intention to..." His voice trailed off. Suck at life, the universe, and everything. Yeah. Well. It happened. He waited for Conrad to do something. Like. Throw him off a cliff. It seemed appropriate at the time.

.xxx.

Ah, children. They had a difficult time grasping the future. Or at least in Elias, he was having trouble putting hope in the future. Conrad couldn't exactly put himself in the boy's shoes and view it from his perspective. He still could not figure how having given him the new name should have given him something of a fresh start. Bolstered his morale and given him some new hope for the future. This here, was the epitome of Eeyore. It wasn't much like Elias to act so overly dramatic. What had spurred it on? Where was the drama coming from? Some of the frustration leaked through. He didn't have time for this. Especially given that, he had little doubt that Syrus would deny Elias stable privileges again. The boy was an excellent student there, at least.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and he exhaled a slow breath. "Elias," he said quietly, his tone neutral. Patience with disobedient children is a virtue! "You will get up. Get dressed. And go to sparring. Right. Now. I will not have any of this. You are better than this." He moved dirty clothes aside with a sweep of his foot—oh, Damir would get a talking to for that—and hauled Elias to his feet by one arm, though his grip was gentle. "Now. Move." He commanded curtly, his voice sharp. He released his hold on the boy and pointed to the door.

.xxx.

The gesture reminded him so much of his father that it was almost physically painful to be pulled to an upright position. How many times had he seen that frustration? Don't give up. It doesn't matter what anyone else says! Conrad could not replace John, he reminded himself. And he most likely really didn't want to. Cuz. Honestly who would, wtf children. So, since he'd so nicely moved Elias into a standing position, he…stood there. Completely and totally unsure of how to tell Conrad no, I don't think I'mma do that. Thanks for your concern. Plz to contact customer support if you have any questions. Ask for Jamie. :}

"Conrad," he said, completely forgetting himself in his pile of sadness, "I can't. I want to be good at this. Don't you understand?" Some tiny flicker of anger sputtered to life somewhere deep inside him. Like Mordor. All it takes is one. And then, like he'd been quiet too long and built up a reserve of words, they decided now was a great time to escape.

"I know I'm not doing well, I know I'm disappointing everyone who put any faith in me, especially you…and you wouldn't know, but you're the only person who has ever thought I might be worth something, besides Damir and Father, and I…it…it…" He wanted to punch something. Words were hard. "I just wanted to live up to the faith you put in me," he said finally, still 20000% too scared to look at the man. How do you look into the eyes of your idol, whom you know you've now annoyed and disappointed? It just wasn't happening. Elias waited, some semblance of fear curling in his chest that he really, really, might have to leave now. Would he get to say goodbye to Damir? The thought nearly broke his heart. But he'd want his brother to stay. Damir was good at this. Damir…could be somebody. Somebody great.

.xxx.

Conrad's eyes narrowed dangerously as Elias missed properly addressing him as all apprentices were supposed to, but as the words tumbled from the small boy's mouth his expression softened. His request yesterday was only a minor piece to Elias's resolve, it would seem. It was cracking. It had been for a while. There was more going on. Teasing was a given. It always would be. For one so young it shouldn't have been the case. He had put too much pressure on such small shoulders because his attention had wandered and he was not paying as close attention as he normally would have to his apprentices. His assassins. That brought about guilt and anger at himself.

Elias excelled with the horses and that had been ripped away from him. Where it most counted as an assassin, this child felt like a failure. Elias felt like he had failed himself, his brother, the Brotherhood, and him. Conrad saw so much of Damir in the boy at that moment. Trying to take the weight of the world on his small shoulders. A weight he simply could not bear alone. A family trait then, he took it?

The master assassin knelt and placed his hands on Elias's shoulders. "Elias, this life is difficult. You have started out younger than most. I chose you. For a reason." He said softly. "Giving up now would disappoint me. Would disappoint Damir." He straightened and looked down on the boy. "Syrus is to meet with you. After you have met with him, you will go to sparring with your brother. Is that understood? You will not like the consequences if I find you in here again when you should be at sparring." Boy howdy, would that boy not like the consequences at. All.

.xxx.

Funny, isn't it, how a few words can completely change the course of things? It was like the sun suddenly shone again where there had only been darkness before. For a young boy, it was a very dramatic moment and immediately seared into his memory. It was the first real challenge in his life he had been ready to give up on. In anything else, he was entirely tenacious, determined and...well, let's not say focused because hello, 11 year old here. But this...a real, true challenge, and Conrad had snatched him back from the brink of failure. In an instant, he went from feeling as if he had already let everyone down and was only fit for the scrap pile, to realizing that giving up would mean he was only fit for said scrap pile. While it might not be good enough, trying mattered. Trying mattered to Conrad. Like it had to Father. And to Damir. Damir never stopped trying, and he hadn't exactly chosen this life in the first place.

The mention of Syrus brought light into his eyes that had been gone for months, well and truly flattened with endless repetitions of complete and utter failure. "Irriador?" he whispered, hardly daring to believe he might be allowed back to his beloved horse. Wasn't it a fitting punishment for being a terrible, terrible terrible apprentice? Hope flooded his chest and he felt his attitude physically shift even as he totally tuned out the consequences bit because hey, not relevant. He wouldn't let Conrad down again. And Damir...need not know of this. Ever.

Still high on his fluffy little cloud now that the assassin had seemingly hauled him out of the bottomless pit, he gave in to the urge he'd had earlier, and hugged the older man. "Thank you," he said, although the words might have gotten eaten by the copious layers and weapons lurking on Conrad's person. Before the moment could turn (more?) awkward for Conrad, a horses' scream split the air. A certain black stallion had arrived home again and, finding little scent of his friend, was not. Happy. For all his stumbles and utter lack of grace in the ring, Elias dipped around Conrad like someone practiced in the art of no-grabby-grabby. That would be evasion. Words mean things. Skidding to a halt at the door, he whirled around and dipped a bow to the assassin and managed to spit out another, heartily grateful "Thank you, Master Conrad!" Before he turned and ran. There was a shout, the sound of wood breaking, and hooves on cobblestone as the irate horse came to find his human.

Considering he still had quite a ways to go in the height department, it was lucky he managed to be fast regardless. Something else that apparently failed him in the ring when faced with a smirking douchey child ready to pummel him into the dirt. One would think it'd come out even more strongly at those moments, but one would be wrong. Syrus' voice rang out over the Castello as boy and horse met again for the first time in months-and of course, because Irriador had not forgotten and Elias had not lost the strength required, the horse charged him, and he caught mane, just as they had that day in the ring before everything had gone to utter shit. Though Irriador had lost some weight in the stressful absence, Elias fit just as neatly and snugly as before.

"You scrawny little beast! Get your ass back here before I fillet it for dinner!" Syrus was not happy with the. Um. Utter destruction of the fence. Rather than go over, as the little stallion still had a ways to go in the height department, too, he had just...gone through. His voice could and did carry all the way up to their rooms. Good thing nobody was home, huh? Except Conrad. Oops.

"I'll fix it, Syrus!" Elias called out to him from Irriador's back, and he meant it. For the first time in many dark months, he felt powerful again. Like he could do something.

"You will, or…" the man paused, watching the two of them come racing back down the hill. He sighed. Okay. Maybe a broken fence was worth it just to see the confidence come rushing back to Elias. Maybe. He truly hadn't liked separating the two of them. His warhorse was his pride and joy, and losing him would be like losing an arm. And both legs. And everything else. He could sympathize. Still… "You were supposed to be here an hour ago," the assassin said, his voice clipped with equal measures annoyance and amusement. Elias just stared at him in utter shock. "If you had been here," Syrus emphasized. "This would not have happened."

"Oh," Elias said.

"Oh, indeed," Syrus replied. He snagged Irriador's nose firmly in his hand, brooking no argument from the spunky little thing. "Go away. You have sparring to get to. Come back here when you are done and attend to this...this…" Iri employed fully puppy-dog eyes. Syrus scoffed at him as Elias slid to the ground. "Beast," Syrus finally settled on. More than happy to obey now that his horse was home, Elias turned on his heel and went to find Damir. He couldn't wait to tell him. Not the part about giving up. That he didn't need to ever know. But he finally felt purposeful again, and that he knew Damir would like.

.xxx.

The hug, Conrad was a bit surprised by. No touching the master assassin plz. All he had told the boy was not to give up. That merited a hug? How? It seemed to have boosted his spirits. (Obviously.) That and the implication that the horses-more accurately Elias's horse would be returned to him. Syrus would be the one deserving of the hug. Not him. It wasn't the first hug he'd received from apprentices. Why they felt the urge to hug him, he'd never quite understand, but it seemed to satisfy whatever need they had. Maybe one day he'd have an understanding why many of them felt it was a requirement upon certain circumstances.

He was grateful it was brief. Too long would require him prying the boy off of him which might make for even more awkward between the both of them. He was already uncomfortable enough. He blinked as Elias suddenly possessed the very assassin-y skills that they had all been trying to beat into his little body for months and just vanished. A second look and he could see Elias halfway down the path to meet his horse and Syrus shouting after it. The snapping of the fence had him sighing and dropping his head into a palm, rubbing at his eyes. Lifting his head again, he caught sight of the discarded cuff that Damir had thrown earlier. He collected it and frowned in disapproval. Not being properly taken care of. That needed to be corrected. The assassin tucked the cuff away in his stash of pockets, shut the boys' door behind him and left.

Damir's furtive glances to the entrance of the arena continued after Mentor Nikolai left. Had the mentor gone to drag Elias in by the ear? It wouldn't be beyond the assassin to do so. Damir practiced a few more moves but decided to take advantage of the lack of supervision. He draped an arm over one of the wooden arms of the dummy and as if on cue, Elias practically floated down the path into the arena. Damir could almost see little fireworks of joy emanating off his brother. "Let me guess… Master Conrad let you back into the stables?" He asked. Ha-ha, he knows things.

.xxx.

Hugs were magic. Conrad just didn't know it. :} That sort of affection was reserved for the people he truly cared about, such as their father and Damir. Jillian had never received the privilege.

He found Damir practically draped over one of the practice dummies and had an instant flash of his brother as an adult-languid, relaxed, but perfectly dangerous if he wished to be. He practically bounded forward to greet him. "Technically, Syrus let me back into the stables," Elias said, his words running into each other with the pure excitement and joy. "Irriador is back!" He nearly vibrated with the happiness spilling out of him. And Conrad hadn't killed him. That was a plus. He didn't mention the hug. Nobody needed to know about that. At all. Ever. "I feel like I can breathe again," he said, suddenly sounding like his older self. Who was coming. Later. And for the first time since they had actually started working, he looked at Damir. Saw the new muscle. The new...confidence? He liked it. And, another first, he was excited to try to learn this whole form, balance and combat thing again. He didn't know yet that he would still suck at it, just with a better attitude, but he'd find out. Poor shrimpy bby.

Syrus surveyed the damage and shook his head. He'd repair it. Irriador milled about the ring, suddenly completely docile now that everything was right in his world. Not even a single scratch marred his coat. Conrad wouldn't appreciate the destruction of the property, but, well...he was the one who had brought the boys here in the first place. So technically, it was all his fault. The thought gave him a strange sort of cheer as he worked to replace the shattered boards.

.xxx.

Damir grinned at his brother, his own spirits lifting at the sight of Elias happy again. Master Conrad had listened to him. Which gave him hope… and a small sliver of anxiety. It meant that Master Conrad would be expecting Damir to teach Elias and expect improvement… most likely in the immediate future. Gulp. He recovered his smile quickly. "Good, maybe you can start helping me with the horses again? Syrus is a good instructor, but I think I have a better time working with you." Damir considered his options for a moment, "Want to help me today? I have a… um… another… session with Master Conrad after sparring, but then after?" Oh geez. (Goat cheese!) He was stumbling over it again. Elias was going to catch on and then he was done for.

He pushed away from the wooden dummy. "I'll trade." The taller boy walked over and picked up a set of short, thin sparring sticks. "I'll help you with sparring?" He held the pair of sticks out to Elias. "If you want, I mean," he added quickly. No need to shove it in his brother's face if he didn't want his help. Hey, come on now!

A short, shrill whistle, much like the one they'd heard forever ago in the alley where they'd first met Conrad put Damir in a panic. He thrust the sticks in Elias arms, picked up his own set and moved to a complicated set of beating the wooden dummy. I was doing this the entire time, I swear. He furiously thought at Mentor Nikolai as the assassin stalked back to the boys. "Damir! I saw that!" Yeep. Wrong! You saw nothing! I am the perfect student, Mentor!

.xxx.

"Yes!" Elias said, overwhelmed with a sense of relief that Damir still needed him, at least in some ways. While he was steady in knowing he would always need his brother, he wasn't always so sure it went both ways, though he did know Damir would always love him. At the mention of a session with Conrad, his head tilted and he eyeballed his brother with that telltale, curious I'm-going-find-out-what-you're-doing sort of look. "Hmm," he said. But he would never turn down help, not from Damir, and not for this. "That would be nice," he admitted. Perhaps Damir could phrase things in a way that made sense. Nikolai's teaching methods worked just fine for everyone else, but he sometimes struggled with...well. More physical things. It had taken him over a month (and no less than four sprained ankles and sore areas) to learn how to climb a tree, and then he had to re-learn with every other tree he wanted to climb. The poor guy was just not the most coordinated physical learner in the world.

Ever. Or at all. Elias looked at the sticks in his hands and sighed as Nikolai came stalking back. Oh goodie. Here it came. He listened more carefully than he ever had before, and he tried to follow the instructions given to the letter. Except for where he kept nearly falling on his face, couldn't hold his form for more than 10 seconds, and absolutely could not execute a roll or dive that didn't end in him slamming his face into the floor, it wasn't that bad. Really. (Yes, yes it was.)

He couldn't help the relief when it ended, though. As tempting as it was to follow Damir to see what his "sessions" with Conrad were about (come to think of it, the older boy hadn't actually ever said what they DID during these times...), knowing that Irriador was back called to him more strongly than his curiosity, and so he went there first. Damir would know where to find him. He was determined to be hopeful about the sparring with his brother. Damir was doing so well, maybe there was something to it he just was missing. Somehow. A puzzle piece or a key his brother would be able to share with him. Now that would be nice.