To The Strongest - A Hellenistic Resurgence AAR

[Eludio]

Prelude
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Do you know much of Alexander, my fair prince? Iskandar, I know your people call him. Do they curse his name, I wonder? Hate him as the destroyer of their great empire? Or has enough time passed that the Persian people are finally allowed to love our Great King? It matters little, I suppose. The warrior in you will surely respect the conqueror, even though you might not love the man. For of the many great kingdoms that have risen in the West and East, his was the greatest. He was King, Hegemon, Padishah, and Pharaoh. And above all he was Alexander, for no title bears more honour.

Yes, oh prince, it was Alexander that first brought my people to this land, when he himself stepped into this very hall, so many centuries ago. Perhaps you have heard the tale, or perhaps not, but in this room is where he first set eyes upon Roxana and fell in love. Alexander rode west, where he wept upon realising that even he might not conquer the entire world, Roxana rode east, to live as queen in Babylon, but the Rock of Ariamazes was not left emptied. We have remained, and still we remain.

Some of the mountain villages look to us for protection, and we are glad to provide it, be they former Hellenes or native Sogdians. For centuries we have kept our vigil, our shields never broken, our Rock never taken. I scoff at your servant’s threats of violence, for how can a man do what centuries couldn’t? But we needn’t be enemies, great prince. We have seen the breath of your armies, have admired the steel of their arms, and though we fear them not, we respect them. Your realm is strong, oh Persian prince, and through that, perhaps, you might claim our allegiance as Alexander’s true successor.

You think I jest, or attempt to flatter you, but I speak the truth. For the King left not the reins of his empire to his son, oh no, nor to any one man. On his death bed, Alexander willed his Kingdom to the only worthy successor. He willed the throne… “to the Strongest!”



Author's notes: I was working on a Hellenistic Renaissance submod for a friend (to be a counterpart for the vanilla Roman Renaissance decisions), and was looking for a quick play to test out the localisations. I'd wanted to try a game in Bactria and, one thing leading to another, ended up delving into the curious history of the Hellenistic kingdoms of the furthest East, in modern Afghanistan, Pakistan, Tajikistan and on the Indian borders, including some far-fetched ideas about their legacies. As the game continued, I found myself focused less on testing my mod, and more on the narrative that had evolved well beyond my initial plans. So, after some time away from AAR writing, I saw it as the right occasion to jump back in.

For Alice's Return to AARLand, I'll be using HIP (with all of its components) as well as my own submod for it. Our tale begins in 936 - the Iron Century Bookmark - in the court of the Hellenikos (custom culture for my submod), Buddhist countess of Badakhshan. The actual Sogdian Rock (or Rock of Ariamazes), was probably on the other side of the Pamir mountain range, in the region of "proper" Sogdiana, but I hope that my readers will pardon me this liberty, which I believe will be the first of several (second, if you count the Hellenistic ruler).​

 

[Specialist290]

This looks like it'll be worth keeping an eye on I've always been fascinated by Alexander and his Successors, and the Greco-Bactrian Kingdom was one of the more exotic and fascinating factions to arise from the ashes of the Hellenistic Empire.

 

[Eludio]

This looks like it'll be worth keeping an eye on I've always been fascinated by Alexander and his Successors, and the Greco-Bactrian Kingdom was one of the more exotic and fascinating factions to arise from the ashes of the Hellenistic Empire.

Indeed! I remember visiting a Buddhist temple in Japan and being told that the religion was first introduced there in the 550s CE. Some six hundred years after Ashoka’s missionaries has travelled the Successor Kingdoms, and seven hundred years after Ptolemy had Buddhist monks in Alexandria in Egypt!

 

[Flinteroon]

I'm a sucker for these alt-history stories of ancient Roman/Greek remnants. Consider my interest piqued.

 

[Eludio]

I'm a sucker for these alt-history stories of ancient Roman/Greek remnants. Consider my interest piqued.

I hope it will prove entertaining! Given my start with the Res Gestae, it's almost a return to form hahahaha

 

[Eludio]

One Thousand and One Persian Nights​

“Their keep, father, looks as if though one with the mountain itself, and I swear that if the Yunan had not led us there themselves, we would never have chanced upon it. But if from the outside it looks carved out of rock, it is only to better hide the treasures it protects. The walls are covered in marbles and silks such as I’ve only seen in Samarkand’s markets, and a strong incense floated through the air, though I know not where they would have purchased it, so removed they seemed from the rest of the world. If it were not for the amir Mohtaji standing next to me, I would have believed that I too had left this world for one of fables.”

“Fables indeed, my lord, which the young prince maybe appreciated more than this aged commander,” the Mohtaji amir, lord Abu Bakr, intervened, interrupting prince Nuh’s – perhaps exceedingly – passionate narration. The prince stared daggers at him, but Nasr, Sultan of the Samanid dynasty, gestured his councillor to continue. Nasr bore his son great love but would trust the opinions of the amir far more than the young boy’s, especially when it came to matters of armies and castles.
​

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“I will admit to the might of the fortress, and the so-called Yunan did show good tactics on the battlefield. They held together, like a rock on which the Turkic riders smashed themselves like a tide,” the Mohtaji amir admitted. “But I would not think them so different from the many other barbarians that dwell like mountain goats on the peaks of the Pamir. My scouts are wont to find such tribes from time to time, with curious customs and looks, but they are of little consequence.”

“I disagree, father, I think them of much consequence,” young prince Nuh insisted, his voice now loud enough to echo on the painted walls of his father’s rooms. “I have had the chance to speak with their princess when I was invited to their hall, and she has told me their story. These are indeed Yunan, Greeks from the time of great Iskandar and, surely, they know many secrets that would bring us great benefit!”

Amir Mohtaji grinned as he exchanged a quick glance with his lord, for what else can an adult do when a child tells them a wild tale? “As I said, lord Nasr: fables. Told by a beautiful woman to a smart but very young prince.”
​

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Before Nuh could protest further, the sultan raised a hand: “If truly it is as you say, my son, should we not conquer these Yunan with steel? Avenge our ancestors, and then force their secrets from subjugated mouths? Take their princess captive and send their warriors to serve with our Ghulam?”

The sultan hid his smile behind a half-closed fist, pretending to rest his chin, as young Nuh stammered a series of excuses, certain as he was that he had just made a great mistake in reporting the Greek princess’ story. Nasr could not help but see the justice in amir Abu Bakr’s comments, though he could neither bring himself to judge the boy too harshly. When he felt that the young prince had made enough of a fool of himself, he once again raised a hand to silence his son.
​

​

“Or perhaps, is it the princess herself that you find of much consequence, and not the secrets of her people?” the sultan asked coyly, barking with laughter as his son turned to a shade of red hitherto unseen in the great palace. But he loved his son dearly and could not bring himself to be mean: “I will not bear my armies against your Yunan princess’ keep, and if she truly has offered to swear her fealty, I will not refuse to receive jizya from these people. Nor will I forbid you to amuse yourself with this woman, for I am too wise to believe it would accomplish anything. But know this, my son: I will not have you bring an infidel to my palace, and neither will I accept you losing your way and forgetting your duties.”

The smile of amusement had left Nasr’s face completely, his last words being spoken with deadly seriousness. And he knew that they had struck true, because the redness of embarrassment had similarly abandoned Nuh, leaving the young prince as pale as well-washed linen. The boy nodded, and they spoke no more of magical princesses, Sogdian Rocks, and Iskandar, Amir Mohtaji continuing his report on the state of his Amirate by moving to southern affairs, to the Saffarids and Zaydi Buyids, whose armies worried the sultan much more than a curious but ultimately insignificant tribe of Sogdians in the Pamir.
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The Persianate Dynasties of the Iranian Intermezzo​

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The Rock of Ariamazes, for such was the name with which the princess Aphrodisia had introduced her castle to him, somewhat reminded prince Nuh of the Ark of Bukhara, in which his father held court. The two fortresses could not differ more in the shape of their walls, the nature which surrounded them, or the fact that one rested in the centre of an important city, whilst the other sat amidst the snowy peaks of the Pamir. And yet the Rock reminded Nuh of his home because, much like the Ark, Aphrodisia’s castle was a sumptuous palace hidden beneath the coarse shell of a military fortress.

Once, he’d been awed by the idea of such a mythical palace in such a remote corner of the world. Now, as he lazed on the princess’s vaunted Chinese cushions, tracing the outline of Aphrodisia’s lower back whilst listening to a story about King Demetrios and his discovery of the enlightened Buddha, he could not imagine a world where such a place did not exist. A world in which she was not a part of his life. A world where he would not occasionally run away from his guardian’s lesson to take solace in the princess’s arms.
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Amir Mohtaji kept voicing his disapproval of Nuh’s dalliance with the “infidel witch” whenever he spoke to his ward, but as the months passed it became more of a custom than an actual complaint. In truth, Nuh knew that the amir was just as fascinated by the hellenes as he was, although the prince’s own interest might have been more personal than his guardian’s. Still, the princess Aphrodisia had managed to win over even the sour amir, Mohtaji’s scepticism of the infidels melting away just as the Turkic raids did. The gift of a bronze warrior’s panoply also assisted in softening his opinion, of course.

No, Nuh could in truth no longer fathom a world in which he hadn’t met the Hellenes of the Sogdian Rock, a world in which he hadn’t found this small corner of earthly paradise. Soon, he knew, he would have to go back to Bukhara and rule at his father’s side until the day came when he would have to succeed him. But even then, he looked forward to the idea of always having a small magical corner in his kingdom, where he could run away to and forget of the rest of the world for a while. One small, wondrous corner, removed from everything and everyone. How could the Amir Mohtaji ever have felt threatened by such a thing, prince Nuh wondered?
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Author's notes: used to do these on my other AARs, so why not keep with tradition? This chapter is pretty much a Prologue Part 2, but given how little the "official" prologue said, I don't think anyone will mind. Aphrodisia is the first character to have my custom culture, for gameplay purposes it is simply a reskinned Greek culture, removing most christian and/or Romano-Byzantine influences from the names and titles. In the submod, it's supposed to be a fabricated culture, much like the Roman culture in game is born when an Emperor actively tries to recreate a defunct culture, but as far as the AAR goes its simply an undiluted Hellenistic culture.

As for real history, as far as I can tell the Samanids were at this point styling themselves either still Amirs or Shahs, depending on who they were interacting with. I'll go with CK2's titulature, however, just to avoid any confusion.

 

[Eludio]

The Weight in One’s Heart​

The air of the mausoleum felt heavy, heavier than water. And hot as well, as if some fiery djinn were standing vigil with the last of the mourners. Nuh almost wished that it were so. Then, at least, he could have asked the creature to leave, and have been well withing his rights. But there was no djinn to blame, the incense sticks had long burned out, and the air was cool as befitted a Sogdian autumn.

No, Nuh thought, it was not the air that was heavy, but his heart. For there, beside the tomb of blessed Ismail, beside the greatest men of his line, now rested Nasr, Emir of Khorasan and Sogdiana, heir to legacy of the Sasanian Shahs and protector of the Caliphate’s furthest borders. And a beloved father, for little else mattered as much to Nuh.

​

That, however, might be a lie. Nuh had loved his father, Nuh was grieving his father and Nuh would miss his father. But now he had to be his father. He was now Nuh, Sultan of the Samanid dynasty and Emir of the Eastern Province, and that responsibility weighed upon him as much as grief itself. He had been preparing for this moment since the day of his birth, and yet he now felt wholly unprepared to take up the mantle of his ancestors. In a single, terrible, night, he had been thrust into the circle of the world’s most powerful men. And, somehow, Nuh took no joy in his newfound power.

The Amir Mohtaji, his onetime mentor – or rather, Abu Bakr Mohammad, his faithful vassal – had done his best to reassure the young sultan: first, by reminding him of all the lessons that he had so easily and so skilfully learned, and second, by telling him of his own father’s youth when he had ascended to his throne. Nuh was but twenty, Nasr had been half his age, Abu Bakr had told him, and yet had grown into one of the finest rulers the lands had ever seen. The comparison managed only to further Nuh’s uncertainty, and as for the great lessons, all he could remember was how much he missed the Sogdian Rock and its princess.

​

It had been six long months since last he’d seen her. Six months in which he had to be son and heir, and could not afford to be Nuh. Even on his death bed, sultan Nasr had refused to have the Yunan pagan at court. Once, Nuh would have perhaps even preferred it this way: the secrecy of it all, the nigh unreal aspect of their meetings, the magic of the ancient fortress. And yet, loneliness trumped any desire for mysticism, and he once again wished that a djinn were mourning along side him. Then he could rub his ring, and the magical being would transport him to Aphrodisia’s embrace.

Perhaps, a djinn truly was in the crowd. Perhaps the Greatest had seen it fit to console his worthy servant, or perhaps one of Aphrodisia’s people’s curious spirit gods had willed it so. Or perhaps, mortal men can do great acts when inspired by love, and so need but a god’s inspiration, and not its intervention. Whatever the case may be, like a beam of sunlight to break the fog that shaded Nuh’s mind, she walked into the mausoleum just as he rose to leave it. She was veiled like a woman of Baghdad, robed like a merchant from the furthest east, but Aphrodisia’s beauty could not be kept a secret, especially from her lover’s eyes.

For a brief moment, Nuh felt afeared. Of his father’s ire at his order being ignored, of the disappointment in the man’s eyes. And then, finally, he felt a sultan in earnest, because his will now triumphed, and he took her hand in his, and they walked together into the sun. He spoke no words, and she dared not break the silence, but he could see Aphrodisia’s smile beneath her veil, and was sure that she could see his eyes, red with imprisoned tears, shine with the light of happiness.

​

Nuh’s Ghulam soldiers kept prying eyes and sympathetic smiles alike away from their sultan, wise in the knowledge that either was equally undesirable, and so the lord of the Eastern Province and his eastern princess of western birth were allowed a bubble of peace and secrecy as they walked the streets of Bukhara. In a way, this moving intimacy was as magical as the princess’ secret retreat in the mountains, as if though a mystical force kept the world at bay so that they could talk in peace.

At first, they spoke no words, content to bask in each other’s presence, until Nuh could wait no longer, and had to voice his disbelief. “How?” he simply asked. Aphrodisia smiled, her coy, wily smile, the one that she usually reserved for him when telling him her ancient legends. The one that had blessed her face as she’d told him of Alexander’s two fathers, or of the magic that had preserved the King’s body. Things he could not understand, and yet loved listening to, as long as they came from her lips.

“Thanks to you, my fair prince, we are not so removed from the world any longer,” she said, almost with a laugh, before growing dour. “We have heard of the great Nasr’s fall, and, against my better judgement, I could not bring myself to leave you alone. Fortunately, your grim Amir has not kept me locked into a castle, and I have enough influence with the silk merchants that they would not refuse me passage, as you can see,” she smiled again, gesturing at her curious vestments.

Nuh almost laughed himself, though the shadow had not yet lifted enough from his heart. Amir Mohtaji had told him that the princess Aphrodisia’s men, Yunani and Sogdian Buddhists alike, had begun to patrol the roads of the Bactrian valley, almost as far as Balkh, which they called Bactra. Sultan Nasr, in his last months, had disapproved of the fact, but neither his Amir nor his son had shared his concerns, this one out of love for and blind faith in the princess, that one having learned to appreciate the peace that this brought to the rebellious eastern reaches.

“You are weary, my love,” she squoze his hand tighter as she spoke the words. “It is a heavy burden you now carry, that much I can see. You carry now the burden of kings. The burden of Alexander’s legacy, whose tale first brought us together. But take heart, my Great king, for you will not be alone as you carry this burden.”

Aphrodisia stopped as she spoke the words and, as she still held his hand, made Nuh stop with her. He would have resisted, had he not been so distraught. He though he well knew what she was about to ask him, the offer she was about to make. And he well knew that he could not assent to it, even now. He was a fool. The princess made no offer, asked nothing, but took his hand into her robe, onto her stomach.

And then, the world stopped for Nuh, Sultan of the Samanid dynasty and Emir of the Eastern province. Grief and suffering were dispelled, worries about the eastern raiders and the southern enemies disappeared. So did any words that Nuh might have wished to speak. As he looked down at his hand, he felt it: a small foot, kicking with all its might against its father’s hand. He raised his gaze to meet hers, and she smiled, not the coy smile of the storyteller but one of pure joy. As a tear finally made its way from Nuh’s tired eyes, they laughed together, and the air was suddenly no longer heavy.

​

Author's Notes: quick historical note, the RNGods saw it fit to kill Nasr in 943, the same year his historical counterpart died, although my guy died of Typhus, whilst the real one died of Tuberculosis (according to the wisdom of Wikipedia, at least). Almost ten years have passed since game start, but little has changed in Iran as far as borders go. We'll get more into that next time.

 

[Specialist290]

From dutiful (if reluctant) son to powerful (if still reluctant) ruler in one fell swoop. Nuh now has the one thing he dreamed for at his side, even if he cannot have her as his queen.

Of course, one cannot help but wonder if Lady Aphrodisia had some ulterior motive in seducing the heir to the throne, as well as where her ambitions may turn next -- but then, it's not improbable that a genuine affection has grown for the newly minted sultan in her heart as well.

 

[Eludio]

From dutiful (if reluctant) son to powerful (if still reluctant) ruler in one fell swoop. Nuh now has the one thing he dreamed for at his side, even if he cannot have her as his queen.

Of course, one cannot help but wonder if Lady Aphrodisia had some ulterior motive in seducing the heir to the throne, as well as where her ambitions may turn next -- but then, it's not improbable that a genuine affection has grown for the newly minted sultan in her heart as well.

Indeed, Specialist! I’m sure Aphrodisia will sweeten the grief, even though she might not be wife material as far as religious authorities are concerned.

As for her motives, I’ll just say that I had a certain narrative in mind when I set up the campaign, but a mix of RNG and actually writing it up made me change a few characterisations

 

[Midnite Duke]

I LOVE THIS! I goggled several entries to get more info. Oh RNG, such a wonderful companion but often so cruel! RNG often takes one down paths that one did not know that he wished to travel!

 

[Eludio]

I LOVE THIS! I goggled several entries to get more info. Oh RNG, such a wonderful companion but often so cruel! RNG often takes one down paths that one did not know that he wished to travel!

Thank you Duke! I'll admit, I found myself quite ignorant on the history of the Iranian intermezzo, and it's been a hell of a learning experience! One of the reasons I love this game. As for RNG, I must say I usually tend to "steer" it when I'm working on an AAR, but for this one I've let it run amok and its given me quite the joys

 

[Eludio]

Cleopatra of Alexandria​

Spring, the ancients said, is the time when the goddess Persephone, queen of the Underworld, comes back to the world of the living. The joy in her mother, grain-gifting Demeter, is great and together, mother and daughter, they spread beauty and wealth throughout the mortal world. Even at the feet of the Pamir, on the very roof of said world, in a place isolated from everything and everyone, Persephone’s return is heralded by emerald grasses and bright flowers.

The valley of Bactria. Aphrodisia’s kingdom. It was a curious feeling. She had once dreamt of glorious conquest, of bloody war and the noble restoration of her people. She had felt cursed with the knowledge that it would never have been possible. The Hellenes of the Pamir were few and far between, she was a woman, and one with no training in the skill of arms, and her small fortress was surrounded by mighty kingdoms and empires. She had dreamt of being a reborn Alexander, and instead felt like a modern Hippolyta: her people proud, her nobility great, but ultimately doomed to fall into oblivion as stronger men forged a new world.

And yet no fall had happened. No oblivion had taken her. Not through the strength of arms, but through her wiles and beauty she had assured peace and prosperity for her people. Not in a single great conquest, but slowly and methodically their influence had spread from the Rock into the lower Bactrian valley. In Bactra itself, which the Persians called Balkh, she had been acknowledged as an Amira of the Sultanate. From the city of Kabul in the South, to the borders of ancient Sogdiana in the North, she ruled, like a Satrap to the ancient Emperors.

The Emirate of Bactra in the year 954​

She had even wept during the Amir Mohtaji’s illness, and grieved after his death. In the end, the man had felt like an old friend, having been more of a reluctant ally than a rival. And part of her hated him for it. Because she had dreamt of bloody conquest, of noble strife. And so found her own ascendence underwhelming. It is a great man, he who can conquer without raising a sword, that much she had been told, and yet she would have wanted to at least hold one.

“Admiring your realm, my Lady?” Aphrodisia turned to see that Theophilos, formerly just a friend of her father’s, now a Lord in a valley of the Kush, had snuck up behind her, silent as a cat as he walked out into her balcony. She hugged the older man, the closest thing to kin that she had.

“Admiring the beauties of spring!” she replied, offering him a seat and a cup of eastern tea.

“The gifts of Demeter,” added the man, smiling a curious smile which Aphrodisia did not recognise on him. “Indeed, it is a fair valley that my princess has conquered for us.”

She had to laugh. “Conquered? Nay, Theo, I would say was gifted. Iskandariya, my lovely Nuh calls it, as he comes here to dream himself in the shoes of the Great King. If there was ever any conquest, it was the conquest of the man, not of the land.”

“Just as Aphrodite, your namesake, conquered Ares. Your late father chose your name, you know? He would certainly approve of peace and love triumphing over hate and strife.”

Aphrodisia simply smiled, her pride near offended, rather than soothed, by the comparison. As if though, even in her greatest achievement, she had somehow been outshined by an ancient goddess. She simply sipped her tea, silently, until the silence was too heavy to bear.

“In any case,” Theophilos continued kindly, aware that he had somehow made a false step, “I have to admit I am not only here in a visit of pleasure, though it always is a joy to see you.”

“Flatterer!” she laughed, much to the older man’s own amusement, before gesturing him to continue. He was curiously cautious in his speech.

“Whilst the King Nuh has shown great nobility in keeping the other Islamic warlords from threatening our people, I am afraid that some of his own men are a bit less… open minded, with regards to the presence of what they deem unbelievers in their lands and markets.” Theophilos quickly stared towards the valley, coughed, and continued: “Specifically, I have received complaints from some of our merchants. They were apparently cast out of the market in Samarkand, had their goods seized and their stalls burned.”

​

“That is outrageous! You are certain of this?” Aphrodisia found she had raised her voice. “Be sure, my dear Theo, that I will speak to the Sultan about this. I was assured that our people would be free in their worship, and I will have that respected. To think that Nuh had even assured me that there would be a place for a place or worship in Bukhara.”

“Ah, princess…” Theophilos smiled, almost apologetically. “I would not imply that the lord Nuh has somehow turned back on his word, but I am afraid that he has contented himself with the idea that our people, Hellene and Pashto and Soghdi alike, worship solely the Great Buddha’s teachings.”

Aphrodisia, herself content in that idea, raised a quizzical eyebrow. “These merchants, those that brought the petition to my ears, were from one of the mountain villages,” Theophilos explained. “Hellenes through and through, and they kept the older gods. It seems that the propitiation of Hermes during an exchange is what caused the ire of the guards.”

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The Amira was left dumbfounded. She’d learned the myths, of course, she knew the gods of her ancestors, and as a child had even assumed that all of those myths and all of those gods were real. But it had been years since she’d last heard someone offer prayer to them, and she’d certainly never seen a merchant ask for a god’s favour during a trade. To Aphrodisia, the gods of her ancestors were a thing of the past, much like the ancestors themselves.

But she had once dreamt of glorious conquest and proud battle. “It matters little, they are my people and they are to be protected,” she claimed, regaining her composure. “I shall speak to Nuh, and ensure that such a thing never happens again. You can tell you petitioners that they have indeed been heard.”

Theophilos thanked her, bowing deeply in the eastern manner. Deep in thought as she was, Aphrodisia did not see the smile of satisfaction on the older man’s lips.

“Hera, Goddess of mothers, mother of Gods, help me now, I beseech you!”

Aphrodisia had been taught to pray for peace and serenity, to pray as a way to clear her mind and strengthen her resolve, to overcome desires and sufferings. But as she felt the blood warm between her thighs, as her own screams echoed through the valley, she needed neither peace, nor a clear mind. She needed help.

The midwives had told her that the first pregnancy is always the hardest, that the second birth would come easier, and that girls were less of a burden than boys. They had lied. Himerios had had so peaceful a birth she’d almost feared the boy stillborn. Cleopatra was clawing her way out of her mother’s body with the fury of a wild animal.

As the child finally screamed her first cry, Aphrodisia felt her head go blank. All around her, the sounds grew distant, and her eyes were slowly filled by blinding white light, and nothing else. They had not lied, she thought, it is peaceful indeed.

Luckily, however, she had not prayed for paradise, or peace. She had prayed for help.

​

Author's notes: it had to happen sooner or later, it turns out the AI is smart enough that it happened sooner. Since CK2 is quite terrible at mimicking religious syncretism (can't really blame it, since it originally was supposed to be centred on the Crusades), I had originally cheated in some Hellenic characters in Aphrodisia's court. Some had Hellenic as their religion, some as their secret religion, to try and mimic both people who had rejected Buddhist proselytism under the Greco-Bactrian kings, and those that worshipped both.

The count of Rasht, whose name presently eludes me, founded a religious sect (I had given him a few temples in the hopes that he would get a sufficient piety boost, which worked) and Theophilos Eumenid decided to invite his own liege. Lucky for him, that liege was me, and I was hoping for this to happen eventually. On the historical side of things, I have no idea what the religious balances in Bactria were before the Arabic conquest. The article I linked in my first post speaks of present day "lost greeks" who still worship the Olympian Pantheon, but that sounds more like neo-paganism/revisionism than a continued form of worship, and the article itself is more fluff than an accurate source.

In other news, Aphrodisia has expanded quite nicely under the protection of her lover, and baby Cleo is born!

 

[Midnite Duke]

Baby Cleo to the Rescue!

 

[Eludio]

Baby Cleo to the Rescue!

Hadn’t thought of it that way! Though in a sense...

Also, I imagine baby Cleo to be incredibly cute. No effect on the story, but I believe it has to be specified

 

[Eludio]

The Pariah at the Court of the Shah​

Shah. Nuh almost laughed at the word, though Amir Mohtaji certainly meant it as flattery. Tahir Mohtaji, lesser son of a lesser son of a great man, failed rebel where his ancestor had been the most faithful of servant, and now a failure also at flattery. Still, he’d tried, and Nuh had rewarded him with a damp cell instead of the headsman’s axe. Such was the mercy of the Shah. As Tahir was escorted out, Nuh allowed himself a chuckle.

​

That was what she had called him as well. His Yunani princess, back when she had been his. Now, perhaps, he though himself as such as well. The Buyid Sultans of the Parsa province, who maybe alone could rival his claim, now offered him tribute. The honour of Shah did not seem like a feverish dream anymore. Now, however, she called him nothing at all.

Nuh had not seen her since the disagreement about her second daughter. The Amir Mohtaji, the second one, Tahir’s uncle, had taken on the duty of escorting the young Himerios to a from his father’s court, and Nuh had had no further reason to visit the mystical Rock of Ariamazes. Still, sometimes he wondered about the woman who he had loved so deeply, and sometimes even about that daughter who he had not had the courage to acknowledge.

And then, still lost in thought, Nuh found himself once more believing in magic, for there she was. He forced himself to blink. Once, twice, and yet she was still there. Standing hidden in a corner of the Ark’s throne room, lightly veiled and yet immediately recognisable. Aphrodisia.

​

She was speaking to a courtier, or perhaps one of the lesser lords. His empire grew so fast that Nuh often found himself not recognising his own governors. They were whispering, and Nuh felt the call of a painful feeling. His pride would have called it curiosity, but he knew himself jealous. Him, to whom men bowed as they would not bow even for the Caliph, was jealous. Of a little nameless lord.

Nuh did not even try to go through the rest of his audiences. He had enough conscience of himself to know that he would not be able to calm his heart. He gestured to his Vizir and dismissed the other courtiers. Throughout it all, keeping his gaze on her, trying to ensure that she would not sneak away. Aphrodisia did not offer him a single glance.

He felt like a fool, sneaking to the sides of his own hall, running towards a lover that had spurned him. But he did, nonetheless. He sneaked, and he ran, until finally he was with her. The nameless lord saw his liege approach and, wordlessly, bowed out of the hall. Before Aphrodisia could do the same, Nuh planted himself in front of her, placing a hand on her arm in what he hoped could be a tender gesture.

Evidently, it was not, as she shook it off like a filly shakes off a fly. “My lord,” she hailed him coolly, her gaze still fleeing his. Sadness followed rage which had followed humiliation, and the Sultan found himself swallowing words of apology. “How?” he asked, as he once had, almost twenty years before, when she had magically appeared to console him after the loss of his father.

He let himself believe that she too had thought back to that sweeter time when her magically azure eyes quickly darted to meet his. That hope was quickly bashed by a grimace. “Very easily,” she answered, her voice almost cruel in its calmness. “I might be just a foreign barbarian, but few things are ever refused to the mother of the Sultan’s only known child.”

Again the feelings washed over Nuh like a wave, and again sadness triumphed. “I wish…” he began, only to notice that he was staring at his own feet. He took her hand instead, their stares finally meeting. “I wish things had been different between us.” She said nothing, and so he found himself filling the silence, afraid that she would otherwise turn away: “I swear, oh princess, that the choices I made, I made them bound by my duties. Not through my own volition, that much I can assure you.”

Aphrodisia’s features once more contracted into a grimace, though Nuh saw this as a moment of confusion rather than distaste. And indeed: “I too, have wished things were different,” she said, her beautiful eyes stuck on his chest. Thus Nuh, as men everywhere are wont to do, misinterpreted. He tried to draw her closer, only to be stopped by Aphrodisia’s arm stretching between them. As she pushed the Sultan away, the grimace turned to steel. “But it is too late for that, I’m afraid.”

Nuh stammered some words, as weak in the face of the woman he still loved as he was strong in the face of an enemy army. “She tried to have me killed,” Aphrodisia stopped him. “Your darling wife. One of them, at least. Did you know?”

​

The Sultan grew silent. Of course he knew. He had, to his shame, not even dreamt of stopping the conspiracy. “Are you here to take revenge?” was the only thing he found himself asking. In truth, he did not know which answer he hoped to hear, or what he would do if she told him yes.

“On little Mahdokht?” Aphrodisia laughed, a crueller laugh than the one Nuh remembered from their days of bliss, though she seemed genuinely amused. “No, no, my dear Great king,” she said with a somewhat coquettish smile. “Your wife is but a child, thrust into the game of the great lords. In my lands, when a child misbehaves, it is the parent that is held accountable. One cannot bear the child itself any ill-will.” She smiled and bowed, excusing herself as a general requested the Sultan’s attention, much to Nuh’s chagrin.

​

“The best tea in the world, from the Emperor of Qin’s very plantations!” Sultan Nuh felt incredibly cheated, disproportionately annoyed by how bad he found the beverage. He forced himself to finish another cup, hoping that it might be a question of acquired taste, but found the second none the more enjoyable than the first. Not only was it bitter beyond any reason, but it left him with a curious itch in the back of his throat, that no amount of coughing could rid him of.

“Jamshed!” Nuh bellowed, calling for his steward. “Be mindful never to purchase this swill again. To call it tea is an offence to the real drink.” He found himself coughing again, still unable to get rid of the itch.

“Is the tea disagreeing with my lord?” a voice, certainly not Jamshed’s, called from behind him. Before he could turn around, Nuh was bent over by another fit of coughing. “That is quite sad! With the stress of these last days, and this dreadful heat, tea might do my lord good.” Every breath became heavier, as if that voice were draining the very air around the sultan.

“We would not want my lord’s poor old heart to give out, would we?” Nuh finally turned towards the speaker, and as a fit of sharp pain pierced his lungs, he understood. He would have cursed the traitor, a minor courtier he’d rarely seen before, but Nuh still could not remember his name. He never had a chance to.

​

Had the sultan looked out from his window again, he would have seen that, certainly by a stroke of pure luck, his would be heir was just crossing Bukhara’s gates, headed for the Ark with a royal escort. Hellenic spearmen with shining shields, Sogdian archers mounted on splendid horses, even a pair of elephants with their Indian mahouts. And, amidst them all, rode Himerios, son of Nuh, prince and now King of Samanid Khorasan. To his right was Cleopatra, sister much beloved, and to his left Alkaios, brother-in-law and Amir of Kabul.

As for Aphrodisia, Amira of the Eastern provinces, and mother to the new Shah, she had not entered the city. The princess of the Rock had remained in the encampment where, for two days, Himerios had awaited the signal to march into Bukhara. In her mind, however, she was back amidst the peaks of the Pamir, her heart light and young, and her lover’s hand soft on her naked back. A single tear touched the ground, in that tent outside Bukhara, but many more were shed.

​

Author's notes: the King is dead, long live the King! Stress, they called it. Actually, scratch that: it was stress. Three plots against him, all of which Aphrodisia supported with her impressive 21 Intrigue, and Nuh of the Samanid Dynasty had the gall to die of severe stress. Which is not entirely surprising, given that he had suffered rebellion after heartbreak after rebellion, but I chose to ignore that for the sake of this story.

 

[Midnite Duke]

Never allow facts to get in the way of a good story. Will we now have a Magistros instead of a Court Vizier? Thank you for the update.

 

[Eludio]

Never allow facts to get in the way of a good story. Will we now have a Magistros instead of a Court Vizier? Thank you for the update.

CK2 immediately switched between the two titles (although right now I can't remember what I put as a name for the various council positions), but I like to imagine Himerios kept the Samanid institutions intact for a while. Maybe a long while

 

[Midnite Duke]

CK2 immediately switched between the two titles (although right now I can't remember what I put as a name for the various council positions), but I like to imagine Himerios kept the Samanid institutions intact for a while. Maybe a long while

The top four council positions are named by culture with the fifth by religion. My favorites include Court Vizier, Protostrator (Greek Marshal, I see as protector) and Mystikos (Greek Spymaster, I see as mystery man). For religion, either Court Chaplain or Court Imam is good. Will we go from Sunni to Buddhist to Hellenic?

 

[Eludio]

The top four council positions are named by culture with the fifth by religion. My favorites include Court Vizier, Protostrator (Greek Marshal, I see as protector) and Mystikos (Greek Spymaster, I see as mystery man). For religion, either Court Chaplain or Court Imam is good. Will we go from Sunni to Buddhist to Hellenic?

Still haven't checked what I'd put as the councillor names for my submod, but as far as religion is confirmed I will say that Himerios is Buddhist through and through. Cleo is the only one in the family that bothered listening to her mom! Of course, I chose her a husband to match, Alkaios being the son of that same Theophilos that rekindled Hellenism in Bactria a chapter ago

 

[filcat]

Apologies for the late comment. Very good opening, and characters are nicely blended into the story, very enjoyable to read. Kudos.

One of the neat details, "I swear that if the Yunan had not led us there themselves", as using the exonym for the greeks in arabic-persian script (through ionians; the exonym yunan later borrowed into even turkish), is showing that the story is a shining example of AARs. Again, kudos.

That is why voted for this AAR in Q2 ACAs 2021 (on Friday, 16 July).


Unfortunately have to issue an apology with great remorse to @Eludio: The AAR has started on 7 July 2021, a fact that I have realised today, but after my vote for it. It is specifically written on Q2 ACAs thread that it is limited to the ones written between 1 April and 30 June. This fact makes my vote ineligible for this beautiful AAR, therefore I have to formally apologise to you, @Eludio, that I have mistakenly voted for your AAR at Q2.

Sincere apologies for my mistake, terribly sorry for causing trouble. I will make up for it in the next ACAs.