A/N: So, I wrote this for an English exam…. I was proud. I got full marks. Thought I'd share it with you. And for Prompt 47: Heart.
On the Topic of Love and War
War, Hyakinthos often thought, was thoroughly annoying. That, of course, was not a very Spartan attitude and his soldiers would be disappointed if they could read his thoughts. But they couldn't. With a long sigh, the young Greek contemplated the man who could read his thoughts from a mere glance at his face.
"Sire?" came a tentative voice and the Prince turned, shaken from his reveries.
"Yes?" His piercing pale indigo eyes fixed on the straight-backed soldier whose own fearful eyes could be seen through the slits on his helm.
"There's a messenger here to see you, my lord." Hyakinthos could tell from his voice that the news was bad and he sighed, running a hand through his raven curls. Tightening his sword belt, the Prince nodded, stepping out of the shade into the bright Greek sun. Upon looking up, he saw a young man, dressed in a chiton, panting as he clutched at a note.
"S-sire!" called the man. "Prince Hyakinthos of the great and might Sparta!" The Prince himself almost sighed. He really hated his titles sometimes. Prince. Warrior. And yet, the fairest mortal in all of Greece as his shining lover often reminded him. After restraining an exasperated noise, he inclined his head as an invitation for the messenger to continue.
"Athean forces have been spotted on the horizon. My lord… they out number us 6 to 1…" Hyakinthos's heart crawled into his mouth. He knew that that could easily spell destruction for their small force and for Sparta itself however, Zeus be damned if they weren't going to go down fighting. Nodding curtly, he said,
"Gather my centurions in the council area. Get the phalanx armed and the hoplites ready. We do battle soon." With that, the prince swept away, pale blue cloak flapping against his armoured back.
When Hyakinthos reached the council area, his centurions were already stood there, stern-faced and battle-ready.
"What is the situation, my lord?"
"The Atheans outnumber us 6-1."
"Sire, I'm not sure the phalanx can withstand such an attack, even with the high ground."
"I am aware," sighed the prince. "Which is why we're sending in the hoplites first." There was an outcry of negatives until the Greek held up his hand. "We have no choice. I will not lose our entire phalanx to the Atheans when we have the hoplites who can take out much more of their army!"
"With all due respect, sire, the most logical option is to retreat and regroup."
"No!" Hyakinthos nearly yelled, rage swelling in his heart like a bull before it charged. "We will not run. We are Spartan! Our hoplites are the best soldiers in all of Greece. Spartans do not flee, not with odds like these. We are warriors and we will fight! We will fight to our last breath, to the last drop of Spartan blood because I know our men will not let Sparta fall. We will defend our home at all costs and I have no doubts that my hoplites and my phalanx soldiers share my views. Do you?" His unusual eyes picked out each of the fearful men until they all stood tall. "Good. Prepare the army." Without so much as a nod, the prince stormed away. Despite his strong words and sharp eyes, the young prince was scared. He felt like his heart resided somewhere in his gut as he trudged back to rally the troops. Everybody knew a battle was upon them; the air was thick with tension and dark clouds rolled in as though Zeus himself was watching.
"I give thanks for my army and my friends and pray that we live to see sunset," muttered Hyakinthos, face turned towards the skies in a plea to his gods. Then, without delay, he made his way towards the front lines.
Never had the earth seen such a bloody battle with so many lives lost; Spartans and Atheans alike lay strewn upon the blood-splattered ground.
"Retreat! Retreat!" roared a Spartan centurion, the highest ranking officer still standing and the Spartan forces fled. But the Atheans had lost too many men to pursue. In an act of mercy, spurred on by their patron goddess Athena, they called a true to honour the dead. Slowly, the Atheans and the Spartans picked their way through the bodies, looking for any that still lived. But the Spartans also searched for their prince who had gone missing in the heat of battle.
"Here!" cried out a young soldier, kneeling beside an ominously still body. A medic and the centurion ran over and dropped to their knees beside him. Before them lay the broken and bleeding form, raven hair matted with thick blood, helm missing, usually tanned face as pale as fresh milk. The medic pressed his fingers to the prince's jugular, looking for a pulse.
"He lives, but only just. He will not survive these injuries."
"We must pray to Apollo," pleaded the naïve soldier, worried to the bone at the thought of losing their beloved prince. "He will surely come for Prince Hyakinthos."
"Of course he will…" murmured the medic as he gently turned over the fallen prince's arm to show the brand on the underside of his tanned wrist. Perfectly formed in black charring, was a small sun with an arrow through the centre, surrounded by a lyre.
"The mark of Apollo…" breathed the soldier, awed, and the centurion nodded. Suddenly, the medic jumped, for he had been checking the fallen warrior's pulse throughout.
"We are losing the prince!"
"Oh, mighty Phoebon Apollo, Zeus-loved Apollo, god of medicine and healing, we pray you assist Prince Hyakinthos of Sparta who is mortally wounded…" Before the soldier had even reached the end of his sentence, there was a blinding light beside them, causing the three conscious men to cower. As it died down, it revealed a young man with golden curls and sky-blue eyes framed by high cheekbones. He had the body of an athlete, glittering in the blazing sunshine but for all his glory, Apollo looked worried, verging on terrified. Dropping to his knees on the blood-stained ground, apparently uncaring about the state it would get his chiton into; he cradled the prince's head.
"Hyakinthos, can you hear me?" The soldier, centurion and medic scrambled away to give the god room to save his prince. Panic swelled in the Olympian's throat at the sight of so much blood. Immediately, Apollo was very aware that if Hyakinthos died, he could not be returned to life, as a mortal and the god would be without his lover for all eternity. So, he searched for the boy's injuries. It appeared that the Spartan prince had taken an arrow to the shoulder and then another to the gut. It was bitterly ironic, Apollo thought as he began to tend to the wounds, that the only mortal to ever truly capture his heart was dying of wounds created by a weapon he himself had crafted. Murmuring a blessing, he healed Hyakinthos's wounds with his godly powers before scooping the boy up.
"I shall look after him until he is well again. Tell his family," muttered the god, sadness clear in his voice. As the two of them vanished into light, the medic murmured mournfully,
"All that is love and war is heartbreak, nothing more."