Dawn Treader Valley nobody move, there's blood on the floor

It was time to face the music.
Towards what appeared to be a looming chain of mountains was a swath of drybrush cut apart by a growling river. Quiet; barren, as far as he knew, for no scents of barbarians seemed to linger.
He investigates only briefly before the call for the Greeks is sent out. He was sure @Andromache would be angry with him for having not held his promise to meet with her. But could one really blame him when he is met with unattainable demands and cut-throat eyes every time he speaks with her?
And then there was the matter of the other two. The bodyguards, @Nikolaos and @Euryalos, of which he knew next to nothing. For all he expected going into this, he would be tied with twine and roasted over a spit.
No matter. If they were to double down on Andromache's heinous plan, he found his patience dwindling anyways.

Where the royals seemed to flounder with each other and Nikolaos struggled with grief and guilt, Euryalos was thriving.

He had never been one for kings much anyway, and respected Andromache’s father only as Nikolaos’s friend. But every time he looked at him, all he could see was greed. It wasn’t his fault, or was it? Perhaps that was his only tripping point, that. Either way, he pushed past it. The harsh landscape was nothing he hadn’t survived before, and he could even do it in silence if he ranged far enough.

But, of course, this would come to an end at some point, and when he saw the little Roman boy in the distance and heard his howl, he internally groaned so long it actually morphed the stone of his face to something that seemed more petulant. The rock shifted though, and he was back to no expression beyond a hardening of his eyes.

Great. Time to get yapped at by a little man.

He would come stalking forward towards him, head lowered, one brow moving at glacier speed up towards his forehead.

He is not alone for long. Euryalos! At last, at last, the vulture has the chance to speak with him alone. His eyes scan for anyone that could have followed him — for now, none.
His mouth curves in a smirk fit for the slimy politician he is, eyebrow arched; Greek accented heavily with a Roman flare. Come, we will take a walk. We have much to discuss.
He motions for him to follow. Perhaps, if he were lucky, he could make a friend out of him — or something of the sort. Diplomacy was a skill he had yet to flex his proverbial muscles with, but he was a negotiator when it came to willing participants. Unlike Andromache. Andromache tells me you and your companion seek a settlement with the four of us. But there is an issue, he waves a raven paw for emphasis. she seeks the title of queen. And a monarchy is not something I will have any hand in establishing, nor continuing. What are your thoughts?

So the boy could do more than yap. Color him surprised. The smarmy little smile he wore, a politician’s greatest asset, made Euryalos’s gums itch. He ground his teeth together, feeling the audible screech of enamel.

There was one thing in this life that would always draw his ire, and that was a politician trying to get on his good side. Euryalos didnt have a good side, that was torn from him with every second of servitude he had lived through.

What did the boy think of him? Euryalos did not care.

He followed because he was ordered to.

He’s still talking.

Euryalos fixes him with an expressionless face. He’s a soldier, not a kingmaker. His tongue slid from inside his mouth, dragging over his gums and the side of his mouth. Then, very helpfully, he gave a shrug and a grunt.

This was shaping up to be a lot more difficult than he'd previously thought. The man before him now may as well be a slab of raw meat with no brain attached.
Okay, his eyes squeeze shut — deep breaths, count to five very slowly — before he gives the man another curling smile. You are not the type to discuss these sorts of things, are you? Let me guess, mismatched eyes flare wildly. in Myros, you were not in a position of authority. You were simply... ah, a tradesman, a soldier. Neutral. Because you had to be. and now, the vulture leans closer. I could change that. My friend, what is it that you seek? Truly, deep down. Think about it.

What did he seek?

The end of smart talking politicians and their swindling. For every king to look into the face of those he hurt, for every noble to spend a month in the shoes of a serf. For a spoilt little rich boy to taste the same blood a whipping boy did.

Euryalos’s eyes finally left the horizon to find the misbegotten whelp. He focused on him, head rising up above his shoulders, drawing him up to his full height. He would stare at him for a while, before sharply huffing.

I want nothing.

Nothing you can ever give.

Nothing.
Every man alive wants something, even if they do not admit it to themselves.
Nothing? Truly, nothing? Food, water, shelter, respect? his tongue flicks from between his teeth, nose wrinkled. I can see what you think of me, you know. You see this Roman senator coming to you and trying to persuade you to join his ranks when for what is presumably your whole life, you've wanted nothing to do with us. the whites of his eyes, a flash as they widen. You think I'm crazy. A fool, seeking nothing but power. Right? Because that's what we look like to you.
His body slinks into a stand. You do not have to trust me. No one is forcing you to sit here and speak to me right now. But some part of you wants to hear me out, because prejudice is a dangerous game, and you know it. Don't you?

The damnable boy.

You do not know me. He took a step forward, snorting a breath from his nostrils, like a bull being led into a slaughterhouse.

Do not presume you do, Roman. His ears went back, but his face did not move, no wrinkled lip, no flash of teeth.

Everything i have wanted, I have gotten. I am Free, I Freed myself and my sisters. I have never held respect for anyone but my fellow soldiers, and they have respect for me. He snorted.

I wish no part in politics. I wish no part in your politics. You will not gain my affection. You will not gain my ire. I am not made for them. Your quarrel lies with Andromache, and Andromache only. His eyes remained hard, but he slipped back into silence, only breaking it to clear his throat.

<333

A refusal.
He saw now that this was going nowhere.
I will leave you to it, then. caricature expressions now diminished, dimmed to but a tiny flicker; straight-lipped, eyes now hooded. But do not expect any favors from me.
Greeks.
With a chuff, he turns; disappears, with only pits of sand in the shape of narrow paws as his trace. He must find Andromache, and he knew it, even as his throat clenched with the thought.