Being Human
"Yes."
Only barely on the verge of being awake, Antiope yawns. She's sprawled out in Menalippe's bed. She has half a leg over the edge, dangling in the air. The woven blanket has been kicked off onto the floor at some point during the night (her fault, always – and it annoys Menalippe to no end, but not enough to throw Antiope out). Menalippe is beside her, close enough to be near but far enough to avoid Antiope's nocturnal flailing.
Lying on her back, Antiope turns her head to look at her companion, one eye closed and the other half-open. "Hm?"
Unlike Antiope, Menalippe has probably been awake for some time. She always wakes up first but she likes to linger so long as Antiope is still sleeping. She's lying on her stomach with her head turned to the side. She seems unusually solemn but not unhappy. The word, Antiope thinks, is contemplative. "My answer is yes," Menalippe says.
Antiope would like to be asleep again. Her eyelids are heavy. After a week of marching back to the city from the border, she's glad for their one day of rest before the harvest begins. A day when she can sleep in… Antiope pries her closed eye open just enough that she can see Menalippe's face clearly. It's a consolation for being awake.
Menalippe has wrinkles that she didn't have when the Five first shaped the Amazons from clay. The wrinkles are laugh lines. Like the blanket on the floor, they are Antiope's fault. Unlike the blanket on the floor, Antiope is proud of them.
"What was my question going to be?" Antiope asks in a sleep-heavy murmur.
Sometimes Menalippe has a poor grasp of time and place. She Sees the future. On occasion, she confuses it with the present and the past. She's as skilled as any oracle (better, in Antiope's opinion) at sorting out larger events, but the details of small things can elude her.
Or so she says.
Hippolyta would like dearly if everyone would forget the time that Menalippe mistook it for common knowledge that the queen slept with the ambassador from Athens.
The ambassador had not yet arrived.
Antiope suspects Menalippe knew exactly what she was doing.
"When I try to get out of bed, you grab my hand and ask if I'll marry you," Menalippe says. There's a warmth in her tone that suggests amusement. Her face remains impassive, contemplative, solemn – except for the way her eyes tighten and the edges of her lips twitch. She's fighting a smile.
This. This wakes Antiope up.
Her eyes are now very much open.
A hesitant smile breaks across Antiope's face. "Are you asking me to marry you?"
"No, my love," Menalippe says. She reaches out and brushes her fingertips against Antiope's cheek. "I'm answering your question."
Menalippe is lying on the other side of the bed.
All of her is muscle and she spends so much time in the practice fields that her skin is pale in the shape of her armor. Her long dark hair is tied back loosely. There's a joy in her eyes that lights its answer in Antiope. Menalippe is the most beautiful of the Amazons and Antiope will fight anyone who would say otherwise.
Antiope being Antiope, she'll also win.
Menalippe is lying on the other side of the bed (while Antiope can sleep through elbowing Menalippe in the face, Menalippe can't) and that's entirely too far away.
Antiope rolls her way across the bed. With the blanket kicked to the floor, there's nothing to tangle her up in. She comes to a stop when her side rests against Menalippe's. She can feel the slight movement of Menalippe's chest as she breathes, in and out. On her back again now, she tilts her head towards Menalippe, looks into her dark eyes. Antiope wrinkles her nose in mock indignation. "You didn't have the decency to let me ask first?"
Menalippe sets her fingertips lightly in the center of Antiope's chest, just below her breasts, a ghostly touch. She draws butterfly-soft circles there. "Do you know how long I've been waiting?"
"To steal my question from me?" Antiope replies. "Since before we met, no doubt."
In all fairness though, Antiope has spent the better part of half a year looking for the right way to ask. But, knowing how Menalippe lives halfway in the future, it's entirely possible she has been waiting for the better part of a decade.
"You were going to be anxious," Menalippe says. "I did not want you to be anxious." Menalippe pauses, then. "You can still ask, if you like." Her eyes sparkle.
Antiope frowns. It has taken her half a year to not ask because she doesn't know how she wants to ask.
"Would you like me to tell you what you're going to say?" Menalippe offers.
Antiope doesn't dignify that with a response. She keeps thinking on it. When she does speak, her words come out measured. "Menalippe, I love you. Please marry me?"
Instead of answering – she's already done that, Antiope supposes – Menalippe kisses Antiope. It is a brief thing and not at all the kind of morning kiss that Antiope wants in this moment.
When Menalippe pulls away, she's wearing her 'I know what happens next' smile.
Antiope smiles back. She knows what happens next too.
[] [] []
Antiope and Menalippe walk side by side through the white streets of Themyscira. The city commands the plain beneath the Rhodope along the western bank of the Nestos near the sea. The weather at midday is still warm even in late autumn and they both wear short tunics. All around the city, their sisters laze about. Tomorrow the harvest will begin but today is for rest. Among the Greek cities, Themyscira is more peaceful and more prosperous than most. The Amazons can afford a day of idleness.
More than once, rival states have thought the Amazons weak on account of their peace and their sex. Such states take no head that Themyscira has the strength to field a standing army, a feat few can match. Athens, in particular, has sailed often to challenge the might of Themyscira.
Antiope, Menalippe, and the rest of the army have always corrected this mistake firmly.
Athens, for all its silver and all its allies, cannot conquer the Amazons.
Sometimes Antiope thinks that the Five created her for the purpose of war. It's what she excels at. She is not strategos because she was the second-made of the Amazons and she is not strategos because she is Hippolyta's sister in a way that is more than the sisterhood of their comrades. She is strategos because she is the best. She is the best warrior, the best strategist, the best commander on the field.
She is Antiope of Themyscira.
And thinking that soon she'll be Antiope, wife of Menalippe, beloved of Menalippe – she wants to accost every person they pass in the street and tell them that she is the most blessed woman in all Greece.
But.
There is a proper way of doing things.
For now then, Antiope contents herself with walking alongside Menalippe and grinning like a fool. On a whim, she reaches out and takes Menalippe's hand. Menalippe obliges her, intertwining their fingers.
Hippolyta, if she had to hear second hand what her sister intended, would throw a dignified fit.
And so, Antiope and Menalippe are on their way to Hippolyta's palace.
It's Antiope's palace too. She has rooms there. She is nominally a member of her sister's household. When the army is in the city though, far more nights than not she stays with Menalippe in Menalippe's small house near the fields. Antiope likes it better there. Hippolyta's palace is cavernously sterile and too quiet for Antiope's liking. Antiope is a creature of movement and of clatter.
Also, Menalippe's house has Menalippe. Hippolyta's palace simply can't compete.
There is little question in either of their minds as to which house they will take the torches. This forms yet another reason for their visit to Antiope's sister, beyond mere custom.
The guards at the great golden gate of the palace are surprised to see them. They know better than most Antiope's comings and goings from the palace, or, rather, her lack thereof. The guards let them pass unquestioned though. It is, after all, Antiope's palace.
Antiope knows exactly where to find her sister. Hippolyta works. Hippolyta works compulsively. It's going to age her prematurely.
Antiope leads the way through the great white marble corridors of the complex, heading straight for the room that Hippolyta uses for her numbers.
[] [] []
Wearing a white tunic, a white cloak and a golden crown, Hippolyta sits at the great table in her quarters in the palace, pouring over a stack of slates. There is a mindboggling mess of figures scribbled over them. Merchants, supplies, stores of grain for the winter. Her blond hair is tied back loosely so she can scowl at her figures all the better.
Hippolyta looks up at whomever has been let in to see her. She takes in Antiope, come to the palace wearing clothes instead of armor. She takes in Menalippe, a half-step behind Antiope, stoic as ever. Her eyes narrow. Her brow furrows and her lips pull into a slight frown.
Hippolyta sets down her chalk with a sharp clack against her slate. "Strategos," she says, greeting Antiope by title before addressing Menalippe. "Lochagos."
Menalippe steps around Antiope and bows slightly. She straightens again and clasps her hands behind her back. "My queen." Her every movement is strength and grace. Behind Menalippe, Antiope does her best to borrow from Menalippe's solemnity and compose herself.
"Speak," Hippolyta grants. Her tone is that of a sovereign addressing a subject. Hippolyta does love her formality.
"My queen, I seek your permission to marry your sister," Menalippe says. Her voice is even and calm, every bit as regal as Hippolyta's.
There is a moment of confused silence. Then, Hippolyta smiles. Hippolyta's smile can only be described as smug. She is by no means surprised. Elbows on her table, she folds her hands under her chin and leans on them. "So am I paying a dowry or a bride price?"
Menalippe opens her mouth to reply, but Antiope gets a word in first. "Both," Antiope says. She pauses, then, with a shrug, "If you're offering."
Menalippe clears her throat. "We spend very little time here in the palace," she says diplomatically.
"You're far too good for her, lochagos. As all Themyscira knows," Hippolyta remarks, voice dry. Reclining slightly in her seat, she picks up her long stick of chalk and twirls it through her fingers. "The dowry is no doubt cheaper."
A wry grin stretches across Menalippe's face. "And you know, of course, that I disagree, my queen."
"But I think Antiope sides with me in this matter," Hippolyta replies. Antiope catches Menalippe's eye and shrugs. Her sister is, in this matter, correct. "And so you are out-voted," Hippolyta finishes.
"Out-voted?" Menalippe replies. "My queen, we are not Athens."
Hippolyta scoffs. "Thank the gods."
[] [] []
The next day, the first day of the harvest, Antiope and Menalippe go down to the fields together. Menalippe has dragged them out of bed and gotten them there before most of the others. Apollo has only just begun to light the horizon. It's too early for Antiope to be alive, much less awake. And with so few of their sisters assembled, they can't even properly begin.
Half-awake, half-alive, Antiope totters over to Menalippe, who is standing a short distance away enjoying the sunrise.
"Sit," Antiope demands.
Menalippe turns and, instead of sitting, leans over and kisses Antiope on the forehead.
Antiope grunts unhappily. It is not fair that the gods made her short. And Menalippe is not that much taller than she is – she's not. The world is unjust.
Menalippe sits down, crossing her legs.
Antiope follows her down, puts her head in Menalippe's lap, and goes back to sleep.
(Menalippe's lap is not nearly as comfortable as an actual pillow. She is made out of muscle and muscle is not soft. She smells like home though, and that's enough for Antiope.)
[] [] []
Their fellows congratulate them, of course.
But for near every congratulation, there's an accompanying question of why it took so long.
For some reason, all Themyscira has concluded that it is Antiope's fault.
This is bull-crap.
But Menalippe is the sort of person who is never blamed for anything. And Antiope is the sort of person who, more often than not, is at the bottom of things. It is her job, after all, to lead.
It's the fifty-sixth time the issue arises. They're sitting around a cooking fire at the end of a long day of cutting wheat, Antiope, Menalippe, and two other lochagoi, golden Penthesilea and solid Artemis.
Penthesilea speaks from around a mouthful of bread and cheese. "So strategos, why'd it take you ten years? Sex not good enough 'til now? It's just like you to keep a woman waiting."
Penthesilea is known for many things. Her skill on the battlefield. Her beautiful hair. Her thing with Achilles. What she is not known for is tact.
"The sex is excellent and always has been," Antiope replies, not without pride. Penthesilea's needling is done with a good heart.
Artemis interjects, "We march with the both of you," she says. "We know." She takes a stick and pokes the fire to keep it burning steady. Sparks go up towards the dark sky. As autumn declines, the air is growing cooler at night.
"So," Penthesilea takes up again. She pushes more food into her mouth. "Why the wait?"
Antiope turns to Menalippe, seated beside her. "Why did it take you so long, hm?"
"If I'd asked any earlier, I wouldn't have been able to steal your question," Menalippe says, with absolutely no shame whatsoever.
This draws laughter from their companions.
"You would," Antiope grumbles. "I knew it."
Menalippe slides a hand across Antiope's lower back and puts her mouth near Antiope's ear. Her hot breath on the sensitive skin makes Antiope shiver and lean into her. "I'll make it up to you."
Penthesilea rolls her eyes. "Aphrodite's sake, get a room."
[] [] []
Menalippe could easily have set herself up as one of the great oracles of Greece and had pilgrims come from near and far to give her gold and gems in return for indecipherable half-truths. The gift that Hermes gave her rivals that of Apollo's Pythia or Zeus' Dodona. But, in her words, her god is a sheep-stealer. He did not give her the gift of prophecy for her to so abuse it.
What, exactly, abusing the gift of prophecy means escapes Antiope. More than once, Antiope has witnessed Menalippe refusing to locate pilfered livestock, claiming some sort of moral obligation to her patron. Try though Hippolyta often does to impress upon her the importance of Athenian tariffs, Menalippe also cannot be convinced to say much of anything about politics. Cryptic words of doom are also not things that much interest her. Weddings, on the other hand—
"It will rain that day," Menalippe advises.
"The day after?" Antiope suggests.
"It's a big storm," Menalippe replies.
Lying in bed, Antiope groans and covers her face with her hands. "You could pick a day," she says, hope coloring her tone. She peeks out from between her fingers.
Menalippe's response comes with a small smile. "I think not," she says.
"You're enjoying this," Antiope says.
Menalippe's smile gets bigger.
If Menalippe is enjoying herself, Antiope isn't going to stop. "The day after the day after?"
[] [] []
In the end, they choose a day at the end of winter, one of the last days that the army will spend in the city before returning to the border. Once they have chosen their day, though, actually planning a wedding is not one of Antiope's many skills. And, though Menalippe is very good at foreseeing all the things that might go wrong, she's not much of an event planner either.
So it is a good thing that Antiope has a sister and that said sister is Hippolyta, mistress of all things involving organization, logistics, and bossing people around. She also has a superiority complex and all it takes is a whisper of a suggestion for Hippolyta to order them not to do anything lest they ruin her wedding.
From time to time Menalippe will go up to the palace at the end of the day of her own initiative to advise Hippolyta on something the queen is contemplating but otherwise the both of them let Antiope's sister enjoy herself.
It is a good distribution of labor.
[] [] []
Cutting wheat all day leaves Antiope sorer than marching, than fighting, than just about anything else, really. Her muscles, excellent for war, are unused to the motions of agriculture.
She thanks the Five, thanks Hermes, thanks all the gods that Menalippe has magic hands.
"Lower," Antiope says. She's sprawled out face down on Menalippe's bed. "Right under the shoulder."
Menalippe digs her thumbs into Antiope's back.
Antiope swears, loudly.
"Too hard?" Menalippe asks.
Antiope lets out a pained laugh. "No, just right."
[] [] []
The only time Hippolyta comes to consult them is on the matter of which gods they will honor and in what ways.
Menalippe's patron is Hermes. Antiope follows Ares. Neither Hermes nor Ares are lords of the household. Indeed, they are somewhat the opposite.
There have been only a bare handful of marriages among the Amazons before and none preceded by a wedding so elaborate as that which Hippolyta would like to plan. Insofar as the purpose of marriage is the begetting of heirs, the Amazons have little use for it. Insofar as the purpose of marriage is for the community to recognize the joinder of two souls, again, it adds little to the ways of life in Themyscira.
And so there are few rituals native to them; and many that could be taken from the Greeks are sorely wanting.
Hippolyta finds the both of them sitting together outside Menalippe's house as the sun sets on the fields where they've toiled all day.
Hippolyta seats herself next to Menalippe. She does not often sit on the ground now that the Amazons have built a city for themselves. More than once she has told Antiope that she finds it uncomfortable and she does not much like it. As she sits now, her white cloak is no doubt getting dirty.
"My queen," Antiope says. Menalippe follows her a half-beat later.
"Strategos, logachos," Hippolyta replies. "I have come to a snarl regarding my planning of my wedding for you."
"Have you now?" Antiope asks, not terribly concerned.
"Hermes will be offended if his presence is not requested at the beginning," Menalippe says, anticipating Hippolyta's question and leaving Antiope to piece together what is going on.
She doesn't mind. It's a challenge and she enjoys challenges. And she knows that if the few seconds it takes her to catch up were truly vital, Menalippe would pause to explain.
"Have you Seen it?" Hippolyta asks.
"No," says Menalippe. "But I know my god." This is an understatement. As an oracle, Menalippe serves as a priestess to the army when they're away from the city. She knows most of the gods. "I should offer to Hermes and Antiope should offer to Ares."
Hippolyta nods. "Perhaps if you make your offerings separately at the very start then?"
Menalippe frowns. "Perhaps, but not before the offerings to Artemis and Aphrodite."
As her sister and Menalippe go over the finer points of calling on the gods, Antiope's attention drifts. She is a general. The entire point of having queens and priestesses is so that they work out what to say to the gods on behalf of others. So, instead of trying to come up with opinions when she hasn't got any, she listens to the rise and fall of Menalippe's voice.
Menalippe always speaks with confidence.
In the beginning, Antiope was never really sure if Menalippe sounded so confident because she had Seen something or because she always sounded that way. Over the years, Antiope has come to conclude the latter.
She has also concluded that the difference matters little. Such is her trust in Menalippe.
[] [] []
At the end of the harvest, the Amazons celebrate Demeter and Kore with a great festival.
The unwatered wine starts in the morning and then it doesn't stop.
It is Antiope's favorite festival, even though she's not terribly clear on what happens during the middle of it.
The important part is that by the end of the day, Antiope celebrates Menalippe.
They stagger to Menalippe's small house together, leaning on one another for support, laughing. They open the front door by turning the latch and then practically falling through it. Antiope kicks it closed behind them as Menalippe teeters towards their bed. When she gets there, she sits down on the edge, facing Antiope. Her face is flush.
Antiope has gotten herself propped up against the doorframe. "You're beautiful," she announces. Talking is difficult – not because she has had more wine than is reasonable, but because it is hard to speak when one is grinning from ear to ear.
"You're talking too much," Menalippe replies. Her own smile is a more measured thing than Antiope's, but it is no less expressive of her mind.
Antiope pushes off from the door and crosses the room. When she gets to Menalippe, she nudges Menalippe's legs apart so that she can stand between them, knees against the edge of the bed. Her hands go to rest on Menalippe's shoulders. Menalippe sitting, Antiope standing – "Who's the short one now?" Antiope asks. She tries to sound aggressively smug, but she's smiling so much she thinks she doesn't do a good job of it. The wine is a pleasant buzz in her head.
"That would be you, my love," Menalippe says, looking up. Her own hands go to Antiope's hips. There's mischief in her eyes.
Menalippe has just issued a challenge. Antiope is sure of it. And Antiope has never said no to a challenge. Never.
Antiope pushes against Menalippe's shoulders. Antiope is Antiope. When she moves, things happen. She pushes hard and Menalippe folds, falling backwards onto the bed. She's laughing as she falls and that really needs to stop because nothing about calling Antiope short is funny, ever.
Antiope crawls up onto the bed as well, slips her thigh up between Menalippe's legs, uses her hands to push down on Menalippe's shoulders, and tries to make her stop laughing by kissing her thoroughly. She starts at the hollow at the base of Menalippe's neck, then makes her way up, occasionally letting her teeth threaten against the delicate skin, but never doing more than threaten.
It's not one of those nights.
For her part, Menalippe tilts her head back, exposing more of her throat for Antiope. Her eyes are closed. She smiles with her lips parted slightly. She has stopped laughing.
Menalippe is enjoying herself and so Antiope is pleased with her work. But Antiope can do more, can do better. And she will.
As Antiope makes her way up Menalippe's throat, one of her hands drifts away from Menalippe's shoulder. Her fingertips trail along the soft underside of Menalippe's arm, ghostly light. Menalippe shudders at the touch.
When Antiope finally sets her mouth against Menalippe's, Menalippe kisses her back. Menalippe's hands slide around the back of Antiope's head, fingers slipping through her hair, pulling her closer.
Menalippe tastes like the wine they've been drinking all day. It was very good wine.
Antiope nudges her thigh up further, applying a gentle pressure to Menalippe's center. Menalippe rolls her hips once, twice, then pulls away from their kiss. Her eyes are open now and there's a wicked grin on her face. "My love," she starts. "You're very short."
Antiope replies with a loud sigh. Clearly the kissing has not been entirely effective. But Antiope would be a terrible strategos if she didn't have a backup plan.
"Give me some room," Antiope says. Her voice comes out rough and urgent because there's a great anticipation sitting in her throat, in her chest, lower – the same sense of want and the same sense of want about to be fulfilled that she felt the first time she had Menalippe under her.
She would very much like Menalippe under her now. She would very much like contact. She wants as much of herself, all of herself, pressed against Menalippe, against this woman whom she desires and whom she loves more dearly than she has ever loved anything or anyone else in all her life.
Menalippe obliges Antiope's request, pushing herself backwards in the bed.
It's a large bed. It has to be. Antiope fights people in her sleep and Menalippe likes to sleep.
More securely away from the edge of the bed now, Antiope goes back to kissing Menalippe.
The nice thing about chitons is that they are all drapery. Getting them on can be a great ordeal but getting them off again is easy. Shoving them out of the way is even easier.
Antiope's hands move quickly, skimming across skin, sometimes pausing to press down, occasionally digging slightly with short, blunt nails. She covers Menalippe with her body, sets her hips against Menalippe's – when she moves, she moves them both.
Menalippe reciprocates, of course, but this is Antiope's night and so Antiope tries not to dwell overly much on what it is that Menalippe is doing to her. She wants Menalippe to feel, to know, her heart.
And so she must focus.
When she judges that she has neglected nothing, Antiope shifts her attention lower.
Antiope gets her face between Menalippe's legs quickly, but then she goes slowly. With one hand, she dances her fingertips across Menalippe's stomach and along her side, tracing ghost-light patterns on her skin.
Antiope knows Menalippe's body better than she knows her own. She finds Menalippe's rhythm, listens to her sighs, reads her motions. She pushes to Menalippe's edge and then she stops. She lifts her head back up, work unfinished. Grinning triumphantly, "Who's the short one now?"
There's a moment where Menalippe covers her face with her hands and groans. It lasts just long enough that Antiope is sure that she's won. And then Menalippe's knees lock hard around Antiope's torso and suddenly Antiope is on her back and this was not at all part of the plan.
Antiope's Menalippe is a seer and tall and also the third-best warrior among the Amazons and life really isn't fair.
"You, always," Menalippe says. She sets her mouth right next to Antiope's ear. "I still owe you for taking your question."
And then it's her turn.
[] [] []
The day after the festival, Antiope and Menalippe don't get out of bed.
The harvest is over. The army is home. There's still work to be done, but it will not be done today.
Antiope nestles herself in Menalippe's arms.
(Antiope is a little bit hungover. Just a little bit. The hangovers are getting worse as time wears on – created in the full flower of youth, the Amazons are slowly aging. Antiope does not mind so much growing old, so long as she can do it with Menalippe at her side.)
Menalippe is warm and she is safe.
Antiope closes her eyes and enjoys the day.
[] [] []
There is, of course, the matter of gift-giving.
It is not by any means required by custom or by law, but Antiope would like very much to give a wedding gift to Menalippe.
Getting anything for Menalippe is always a challenge. Not only does she live halfway in the future thus always knows what it is that Antiope plans, but it is already the case that everything Antiope has is Menalippe's. There is no way around it. Menalippe can't help but See and, insofar as Antiope has everything she wants for, so does Menalippe. And so, over the years, Antiope has just learned to forge ahead regardless.
She speaks, briefly, with her sister, only to ensure that they do not end up at cross-purposes. They are sisters in a greater sense than the sisterhood of the rest of the Amazons and they often think alike.
This time, however, they do not.
Hippolyta is having the smiths craft a crown to match the pair that she and Antiope wear. It will be a queenly gift, the sort that must be given by Hippolyta and can only be given by Hippolyta. Thus, Antiope is free to apply herself.
She prowls the market. She roams the riverbank. She scowls at her breakfast, her lunch, and her dinner.
Menalippe does not comment on Antiope's intensity. She no doubt knows what it is Antiope is working at and how it will end. It is out of the question though that she should offer any assistance in the matter.
Antiope can forgive Menalippe stealing her question out from under her.
Should Menalippe intervene now though, that Antiope will not forgive.
So instead, Menalippe gives Antiope a kiss as they leave her house in the morning and goes off to do something she won't tell Antiope about and leaves Antiope to mull.
[] [] []
The idea comes to her one morning as she, shamefaced, is picking up the blanket she's kicked on the floor again.
And when the idea comes to her, her eyes light up and she grins from ear to ear. She has solved the unsolvable problem.
[] [] []
Antiope has not woven anything in years but when she marches into the loomhouse, she pretends that she is not desperately intimidated by the clatter of loomweights and the judgement of her peers who know what they are doing. She is Antiope of the Amazons. Weaving is not so hard.
[] [] []
She requires assistance locating where the thread is kept.
She requires assistance arranging the warp threads.
She requires assistance tying them to their weights.
She requires constant supervision to keep her cloth from becoming oddly bunched and lumpy.
Her weaving takes her a week longer than anyone thought it would.
The result is oddly bunched and lumpy.
And then there's the embroidering.
Outside the loomhouse, late autumn turns to winter.
Throughout though, her sisters are kind. They keep their laughter to a minimum. And at the end they look at her masterpiece, a lumpy blanket with a lopsided black horse on it, and they assure her that Menalippe will like it. Antiope does not require their assurances. She knows Menalippe will like it.
[] [] []
Antiope does not wait for the wedding to give her gift.
It is winter and winter is cold. And Menalippe knows what the gift is already anyway.
Knowing that Menalippe will like it doesn't diminish the flutter of impatient anticipation in Antiope's heart as she sits at Menalippe's table with her gift hidden behind her, waiting for Menalippe to return home for the evening. She wonders if this is how Menalippe always feels.
The days have grown short and before long night falls. Antiope props her head on her hands with her elbows on the table. Waiting is boring. She doesn't know how Menalippe does it.
Antiope is dozing at the table when the front door finally opens. At the sound of the latch, she perks up immediately.
Menalippe enters. Her face has a smudge of dirt across one cheek. She's holding a circular shield, bronze, gleaming. There is one long scratch across the face but otherwise it looks as if it has never seen so much as a training sword. Menalippe looks somewhat sheepish. "I am sorry to have kept you waiting," she says.
Antiope's smile comes easily. "I'm always keeping you waiting," she says. She reaches behind her for her gift, then stands, still holding it behind her back. "I brought you something."
Menalippe hefts the shield. She is strong and so, from the effort raising it seems to take her, the shield is clearly heavy. There's a reason most shields are made of wood and leather. Menalippe offers Antiope a small smile, proud. "I brought you something as well." The shield goes onto the table with a thud.
Antiope has to restrain herself from immediately reaching out to touch the bronzework. She very much wants to feel the metal under her fingertips. She can see a design etched into its face, but she is standing at the wrong angle to examine it. There is no doubt, of course, that the shield is of the highest quality. Menalippe is as good a judge of arms as any of Antiope's officers. Moreover, the long scratch across the face of the shield is a testing mark. Someone struck the shield with a blade or shot an arrow at it to be assured it would survive battle.
Knowing all this, Antiope wants to hold the thing, to get to know it. It will be serving her well for a long time, she thinks.
But, for the moment, there remains something far more important than her pawing at her new shield.
Antiope takes the blanket, neatly folded, from behind her back and offers it to Menalippe.
Antiope watches greedily as Menalippe's smile widens and her eyes light up. Though Menalippe often gives Antiope her smiles, that Antiope has received many has not diminished their value to her. They are, each and every one, precious.
In addition to the shield and her smile, Menalippe kisses Antiope thoroughly in thanks.
That night, Menalippe wraps herself up in her new blanket on her side of the bed while Antiope gets hopelessly tangled in Menalippe's old blanket as she fights all sorts of men and monsters in her sleep, dreaming of all the things she can do with a bronze shield that she couldn't with one made of wood.
[] [] []
After the intensity of her weaving and embroidering, Antiope is forced to come to terms with how utterly boring winter in Themyscira is. They are not in a place where it snows much. Instead, the weather is just cold enough to be miserable and always uncomfortably damp.
Late spring through early fall Antiope and most of their warriors patrol the borders of the Amazonian kingdom, fending off raiders and watching for invasions. In the winter though, there's less need for them in the field and many prefer to spend the season in the city with roofs over their heads.
Worse than boredom, all Themyscira knows that the wedding of Antiope and Menalippe is coming. It will be attended by every Amazon. The excitement is palpable as Antiope walks the streets of the city. She is no stranger to the attention of her fellows, but she is starting to tire of people staring at her like they have nothing better to do. In the lull of winter, even though spring will soon come, they actually don't have anything better to do, but, still, the point is that Antiope is becoming restless.
She is ready to be married already.
Between the two of them, Menalippe is far better at finding ways to be useful and occupied when away from the field. As Antiope understands it, Menalippe is off consulting with the farmers about planning the next season of crops – a combination of choosing days and seeds and also deciding on appropriate sacrifices.
Dreadfully dull work, in Antiope's opinion.
So Antiope takes to bothering her other lochagoi.
Her other lochagoi do not take well to being bothered.
[] [] []
Antiope locates Penthesilea in the hall of the potter's studio. She's painting a bowl. Deep in concentration, she doesn't notice that Antiope has come up behind her until it's too late.
"What are you working on?" Antiope asks, sticking her head over Penthesilea's shoulder.
Penthesilea startles, swears, drops her project.
Antiope catches it.
She's not the best warrior in Themyscira for nothing. She holds the bowl aloft and turns it this way and that, examining Penthesilea's work. There's a man in armor, painted so tall that he's bending over to fit inside the frame of the bowl. "Oh, is that Achilles?" Antiope asks.
Penthesilea makes to grab the bowl back, but Antiope dodges, barely even looking at her.
"And there's a woman too," Antiope remarks. "Is that you?" Antiope squints at the scene in confusion. "What is he…? What are you do-"
Blushing madly, Penthesiela snatches the bowl back from her commander. "Shouldn't you be planning your wedding?" she asks.
"Hippolyta is doing that," Antiope replies.
"Then go bother Menalippe," says Penthesilea. She has not resumed work on her bowl. Instead, she seems to be hunching over it to hide it as best she can.
"Menalippe is being a productive member of society," Antiope complains.
"Why can't you be a productive member of society?" Penthesilea asks, rather pointedly.
"Because I'm royalty," says Antiope.
Penthesilea's aggrieved sigh is the sort of aggrieved sigh that a poet could write an entire epic about.
[] [] []
Antiope finds Artemis meditating under a local waterfall. She thinks that she approaches quietly, or, at least given the roar of the water, not loud enough to be heard – but Artemis knows she's coming anyway, even without opening her eyes.
Antiope is only a few horselengths away when Artemis speaks. "Strategos," she says, still not opening her eyes.
"Artemis," Antiope answers.
"Not now," Artemis says.
Antiope sighs.
[] [] []
The last of Antiope's lochagoi is Philippus.
Philippus, when the army is in the city, is never far from Hippolyta. That the two are desperately in love is common knowledge to everyone except Philippus and Hippolyta.
Three winters ago, Antiope made it a personal campaign to alert Hippolyta to the presence of an incredibly eligible suitor right in front of her. The campaign failed. Hippolyta insisted, morosely, that Philippus was her best friend and didn't think of her like that.
Two winters ago, Antiope set out to convince Philippus that Hippolyta would very much like to have a lot of things done to her. By Philippus.
That conversation did not end well. In retrospect, Antiope was maybe a little too blunt about things.
Last winter, Antiope gave up on them both and spent her time shooting the ambassador from Athens dirty looks every time he came within ten feet of Hippolyta.
The point being – being in the same room as Philippus and Hippolyta drives Antiope crazy. The one time she told them both to just kiss, Hippolyta decided Antiope was drunk and told Menalippe to take her home. And so, Philippus is last on Antiope's list of lochagoi to harass with her idleness.
She finds Philippus in the early morning sitting beside Hippolyta at a table and behind a pile of slates in queen's chambers. Both of them look incredibly cross when Antiope waltzes in.
"Yes, strategos?" Hippolyta prompts.
"I need something to do," Antiope says.
"Where's Menalippe?" Philippus asks.
"She's busy," Antiope groans.
"So are we," Hippolyta says. She frowns and tilts her head to the side, thinking. "Why don't you go catch a deer?"
"A deer?" Antiope asks.
Hippolyta nods, to herself as much to Antiope. "Yes. Go get a deer. White, if you can find one. But brown is fine too. Alive."
Antiope tilts her head to one side, mimicking her sister. "A live deer?"
"You can sacrifice it at the start of your wedding," Hippolyta tells her. "To Artemis. If you can't find a deer, we'll just use a sheep. But wildlife would probably be appreciated."
Catching on, Antiope grins. Late winter is hardly the season for hunting deer, but she does love hunting. She has never had to bring back anything still alive and the novelty of it fascinates.
[] [] []
As Antiope departs from the outskirts of the city with her bow and spear and enough provisions for half a week, Menalippe comes running after her. She's come from the clear other side of Themyscira at a dead sprint and when she comes to a halt beside Antiope, she has to pause, hands on her knees, to catch her breath.
She's brought her spear, provisions of her own, and she has a great length of rope coiled around her shoulder.
Antiope helps her to stand up again and lets Menalippe lean on her for support. "You've decided to join me?" Antiope asks.
Menalippe waits to catch her breath before answering. "You're going to need an extra pair of hands for your bear."