A Study of the Hero
Icarus
If imagination served as her wings, then Sarah soared – high, long, daily flights of fancy that took her beyond the mundane world she considered so far beneath her. Like Icarus, her wings were made by the crafty people who came before her – the Brothers Grimm, Anderson, Homer, Bullfinch, Yolen, Yeats, Tolkien – stories and schema the feathers in her wings and her dreams of them the wax that let her fly. Firmly she strapped those wings to her arms, tirelessly she worked those muscles to ride balmy thermals, confidently she used the insubstantial to lift her ever higher.
Like Icarus, her wings took her too high, too near to the threatening heat of the sun – and like Icarus, her melting wings cast her too low until she nearly sunk beneath the world she sought to escape.
But ah, Sarah Williams, mortal and foolish though she was, was not Icarus – and so she glided on those melting wings, sinking deep and giving the wax time to harden again before testing their strength and, finding her feathers once more secure, brought herself back to the heights she'd reached before – though perhaps with a wary eye on the dangerous sun and a form of overconfidence born of experience.
Helene
Sarah had seen the Williams family crest, proudly displayed in her father's study – the elegant helmet and scrollwork surrounding the shield with a golden lion rampant. Well, she was no golden beauty – she'd leave such a lot to her stepmother – but she fancied herself a lioness after the family crest, a daughter of the house and a fierce one at that – not a lion rampant but a lioness couchant gardant, relaxed and aware.
Yes, beneath that dark mane and green eyes lay a clever lioness and when that cunning lion challenged her, well, she couldn't leave a standing challenge, especially not with her brother involved – while she might not like her brother much, the boy was hers, and to think he could be stolen from under her… The challenger was in for a long battle.
Not that this lioness would be remembered for her battle – no, indeed, all references to her hereafter would refer first to her treachery in wishing the boy away, followed shortly by allusions to the mortal beauty that captivated the immortal king while her claws ripped into him and her teeth tore through him. And as she would be indelibly marked by this battle, so too would she always be named by it as Sarah of the Labyrinth.
Ajax
There was something to be said for being great but not the best. It meant that victory was hard-won and well-respected and that each challenge was welcomed as another chance to prove herself. Admittedly, it often led her to feint at shadows and challenge any authority she encountered – but with the king staring down at her with mocking eyes, she thought the habit would serve her well.
For such a warrior this was more than merely a battle, more than just the prize at stake. With fame and glory in mind, she made the first, heady step into what she was sure would be her greatest triumph.
Oro: This is an idea I've been toying with for a while... I'm not sure how long it will be, but I'm limiting myself to Greek mythology (admittedly not my forte or even preference, but that's the challenge).
Quill: Labyrinth isn't ours... but myth is public domain, so there! (rucks up feathers)
Hob: There's at least another chapter to this and possibly one long one on Odysseus.
Oro: Something to bear in mind: a Greek hero isn't made by the morality or justice of their actions but by the fame of their exploits - which is why I think the comparison suits Sarah.