To Yumemakura for opening my inner eye to the possibilities and beauty of drabble. Also for Stony Knight for knowing and understanding how I feel about history. I hope I do justice.
White.
They have braved deceit and the Elements . Have defied Phobos, Atropos and Thanatos and now they have arrived in this land, where everything seemed to turn to white in the glare of the angry midday sun. From underneath the meagre shade of the protection afforded by his petasos, his gaze languidly stroked the edge of the landscape where Demeter relinquished her hold into barren nothingness. His blue orbs taking in the beige/brown monochrome scenery that seemingly dissolved into blinding whiteness- undulating, mercilessly teasing the eyes with deceptive images in the shimmering heat.
The village, where the locals have come in waves, having unabashedly left the relatively cool confines of their brick mud dwellings or their cave houses that they have sequestered from nature herself to satisfy their curiosity over the newcomers, to the others who have come with them on this incredible journey and have now, together with the camels, have sought cooling shelter under the shadows of the ancient palm trees.
To the pool of the sun, which as the local guide was now explaining was coolest at midday and warmest at midnight.
The pool of the sun. The cerulean-eyed man could not help but grin at the guide's explanation. How very much like the nature of the man who now had come to this place called Siwah to have his origins in the firmament of the gods confirmed. The golden haired boy, who now has become a man and has made inroads to greatness like no other. The lad who just a little over a decade ago gave his heart to him and who also owns his heart. The King and Warrior who was at his coolest when the heat of the battle raged the most and was his warmest when they lay together sated, safe in each others arms in those cold, moonless winter nights.
Just as the villagers break into murmurs that steadily crescendos, he turns toward the direction of the temple to see him coming down it's steps after having conferred with the high priest of this sacral place far-famed. The others rush towards him, protective and eager. He however stays rooted where he stands as they gaze at each other from afar in pregnant silence -wordless communication that only they knew how to decipher. He responds with a beautiful smile -long and slow as his King's rivals that of Helios in its noonday brilliance. He thinks, let them have him, bask in his glory and ply him with questions for which no distinct answers would be forthcoming. For now, he could remain where he was with the exuberant happiness he felt for both of them-which like a warm wool cloak on a bitter cold day was slowly draping every corner his heart. He has seen the answers. He has seen the glory and radiance of his Phile –his very own pool of the sun.
But with Helios however, came lurking in the small corners of his heart unbidden, Phobos.
