Summary: The world is in chaos with Alexander the Great's death. In his wake flooded a stream of generals who had once called each other allies, but then began turning on one another to vie for control of Alexander's empire.
In Greece, the Antigonids take control, reestablishing Macedonian dominance over the Hellenic League. Yet when Athens and other city-states rebel against Macedonian rule, Antigonus II's response forces the leaders of Athens into a desperate gamble. The beautiful, young daughter of the main leader is sent to Asia Minor, to be the bride of the God King of Asia. It is, they believe the only chance Athens has to break free of Macedonian rule. What they don't realize, however, is that the young daughter is not willing to be anybody's bed slave.
In the South, the Ptolemys struggle to retain their grip over Egypt, as the King of Asia pushes in from the Northeast and the Macedonians eye them from the Northwest.
In the West, Rome and Karthage, two young republics, fight over control of the Western Mediterranean. In the heart of this war, a young commander finds himself in the chaos of battle. Meanwhile in Rome itself, two ambitious politicians battle each other in a political cold war.
And in the East, the King of Asia moves, a relentless tide, against the rest of the world. He has been given a mission by the gods to bring order into the world. He does not mean to disappoint.
Warnings: smut, underage, rape, abuse, violence, foul language, ancient philosophies
Book 1: The Wayward Seas
I
THE DAUGHTER OF ATHENS
The city had been dying all day, labouring to deliver its last breaths as the men of Macedon besieged its walls. They had cut off supply lines to the city for even longer than they had sat outside its walls. Thus, the city had been starving for months. How long ago was it that another Macedonian sat outside these walls and demanded fealty?
But Antigonus II was not, she knew, everyone knew, Alexander reborn. He could, perhaps, strengthen or solidify his grip over Hellas, but he would be unable to move East or West. The world was changing, she knew, and Greece would no longer move the game pieces but instead be a piece itself. Chremonides, her father, all the strategoi, the Assembly — none of them knew this. But she did.
Therefore, when her father had told their family the terrible, terrible truth the night before, she was not as shocked as she should have been. He had told them that no path did not lead to Antigonus ruling Athens before the sennight was out. The Spartans were no more. Worst of all, no Ptolemaic armada was coming to save them.
Although she expected defeat to a degree, the thought still made the fourteen-year-old girl sob. She didn't wish to see her city, that she loved so much — no matter how terrible it had been to her — gone. The rational part of her, the part that was her mother, told her to get over it. The city had been gone before and stood once more. It could go again and stand later.
But the people who made it her home would not live to see it, she realized. Her friends, not that she had many, but the few, like Chloe and Eupraxia. Those who had dreamed as she had, of living a life unchained from the restraints her society had forced upon them. To be able to read and write as their brothers and fathers could, to lead and think as their brothers and fathers would, to fight with their minds and limbs as their brothers and fathers did.
Now they would perish, consumed by a war for independence dependent upon another. Oh, she knew they depended upon Ptolemaic help even before her father had talked about it. She was not as helpless as the other women that quietly accepted their bondage. She had taught herself and her friends how to read in their twelfth year, learning from her father's documents. As the Athenians fought and died for their liberty – for it was not her liberty they fought for – she used their supply lines and movements to teach herself letters.
But the news that the Ptolemies were not coming to their aid was a shock to her. She had had no clue that there was ever a doubt, considering all of her father's letters had stated that the troops' movements depended upon Ptolemaic reinforcement. Annabeth had just assumed that they were coming.
The shocking news had been followed by a stunning command. Even at least an hour after the command had been issued, Annabeth still had trouble digesting it.
'Go to Anatolia. Flee!'
Why? Why Anatolia? Did her father not know who controlled the peninsula?
'Annabeth, my sweet girl. In Anatolia, in the city of Perseaopolis, awaits your duty. Give yourself to the King of Asia. Be his wife. Bear his children. Be the woman you were always meant to be.'
Now her feet pounded against pavements built by her forefathers. Her father's wife held on to her hands for dear life, her two young boys running ahead of them. All were careful not to make a sound as they tried to avoid detection.
Curfew was in place. A few guards milled about, but none had the morale to keep a vigilant watch. There was no need, either, as most people waited out the death of the city they loved with a mournful acceptance.
The quartet passed by an old materials store that Annabeth had snuck into once or twice before the war had started. That had been so long ago. There was a brief period where the war had not yet reached the city, perhaps from the time she was nine to the time she was eleven. The city had been jubilant at first, excited to throw off the chains. And then they had lost Sparta and Corinth, and things had taken a turn for the worse. The city had quieted, as if it was falling into a slumber.
As it was now.
"Come on, Annabeth, we have to keep moving, get out of the city! To the docks!" Her father's wife spoke in a hushed shout. Annabeth felt her feet stumble behind her as if they wished to remain in their birthplace. She did as well, but she knew, unlike her feet, that she could not stay. Staying meant death. Staying meant witnessing her father's death, his eventual suicide. It meant enslavement and being raped.
Though perhaps her new life held that as well.
Annabeth followed her father's wife's lead in pressing herself against a marble wall as two guards walked past. They all held their breath, even the little boys who usually were so rambunctious, pretending even in their sleep to be battle hardened soldiers. Perhaps all that pretending had finally paid off, as they obeyed their orders with Spartan discipline.
The guards walked deeper into the heart of a dying city, guarding tomorrow's corpses. Annabeth let out her deep breath. Then took another to steady herself. Her mind, at least, for her father's wife yanked her arm. Losing her balance for naught but a moment – she had always been a somewhat reflexive girl – she regained her footing and followed once more.
At this point, they were no more than a few blocks from the docks. They would make it. They would make it.
Annabeth thought of her father as she pushed herself to move quicker. Her sandals made moving fast uncomfortable. Women were not able to have the comfortable, athletic sandals men wore to gyms or wars.
She thought of her father. Her father who had always encouraged her to be her best yet had never let her achieve a fraction of what she was supposed to achieve. Her father who had, instead of keeping her close in his final moments, had sold her off to a conqueror, a god amongst men, a beast.
'You have bled, my sweet girl. You know what that means. You are on your way to becoming a woman. You shall make a great wife and an even better mother.'
But she had wanted none of that.
The only thing she had ever wanted was a choice, freedom; was it not the same thing the sons of Athens fought and died for? It was, however, the one thing always denied to her. Even now, as the city that had chained her began its death crawl, as the chains began to crumble, she was still denied a choice. For once she left these walls, a new set of walls, of a different city, would settle upon her wrists. A slave once more in all but name.
Her father's wife could not – nay, would not – help her now. She was a woman who neglected the fact that she was a slave. She would not help Annabeth escape the chains she failed to see. Helen would take her all the way to Antioch, where she, as a dutiful wife, would sell off her husband's daughter to the God King in exchange for ships.
Why any King would save Athens for her, she did not know. She understood that she was considered beautiful, but she did not think this King, who was said to have a hundred concubines already, would spare her more than a passing glance as he took her and gave her his children. His children that would inherit nothing, for she would not be even the most important of wives.
However, that was all in the future. The King of Asia could wait. If they made it to him, she could deal with him then. Now she had just one more block before they met the smuggler who would take them through the blockade and to the rest of her life.
Just one more block.
Annabeth used a second of reflection to turn her head.
"Goodbye Father."
THE KING OF ASIA
Usually he called for Piper when he was frustrated. The pliable young girl was always so eager to please that whenever he needed to take out his anger sexually, he just took the woman. She seemed to enjoy it too, so it didn't guilt his conscious like it had sometimes when he had taken cities. His conquest of Pontus was particularly bad, and he had spent days in the ocean trying to relax.
The Θάλασσα pushed in a fresh breeze. The smell of the salt invigorated him. Perhaps he could use Piper as he usually had.
Perseus shifted in his bed. He felt the sore ache on his back from working down on the streets. Perhaps he shouldn't have partaken in such activities, as was his wont as a king, but he had felt the need to. Alexandar had failed to truly create a lasting empire, but his foundations had been enough for Perseus to use his lands to create one. If menial labor for a few hours was the price to pay for an eternal kingdom, then it was a price he was willing to pay.
Piper slipped into his quarters, a loose chiton made of a more see-through material. Her large bosoms, even for such a young girl, always made his spine shiver. Her dark skin, a product of her Semitic heritage, made her a different type of exotic than the other girls he had had in his bed since beginning his conquest forty years ago. The gentle curves of her hips, and the flat belly he wished would soon round to accommodate a child for him.
"My King," she spoke, her accent causing a twitch in his cock. The door closed behind her, and she slipped off the joke of clothing she had on to allow him a glance at everything she had to offer him.
"Come here, you gorgeous woman, you." She giggled at his praise, this buxom young girl of five-and-ten years. Gods he was happy when he found her as he established Perseaopolis in the lands of old Sumer. She dropped to her hands and knees, as she knew he liked, her breasts swaying to her slow steps.
"I heard you were doing hard work today." Her words dripped down from her mouth like honey.
"It was difficult."
Indeed, getting these words out of his mouth was quite difficult. Keeping his eyes off of her was impossible – and unwanted – so he decided instead to ravage every part of her body with his eyes as she crawled to him. His throbbing, large cock tightened and hardened against his nude, sweat-coated belly.
"Let me reward you, for keeping us safe and prosperous, my King."
She reached his bed, and he slid to meet her. His feet touched the floor. His muscled, strong legs formed two parallel walls, keeping her focused on his thick cock. His hands lazily ran through her caramel hair, gripping it slightly. She kept it loose for him; he always wanted a handful to fuck her face with.
However, the young girl knew that he was not in the mood to fuck her face. She slipped her tongue out, her eyes staring up mischievously into his sea-green irises. Her soft tongue lapped up and down his sweaty phallus. He hummed in praise.
The praise seemed to excite the girl on her knees. She let a slight giggle out of her mouth and her ass wiggled happily. She planted kisses all along the shaft, her hands covering whatever her mouth could not – which ended up being a lot. Her tongue traced the mountains of veins that ran up and down his cock, like the Apennine mountains through Italia.
Her movements sent Perseus into overdrive. No longer was he just content to sit back and let her work on him. His hands dug into her head, finding themselves traction like men building ditches before a siege.
"Open your mouth, my girl."
Joyously, she complied. Her mouth dropped open, eyes wide and eager to receive his penis. He brought her head to his tip, then slowly pushed her down. Inch by inch, her throat gobbled up his dick; it was not enough to take it all the way. Piper usually could not, like some other girls and boys he had taken to bed. No, instead she got stuck a little past halfway. The first time it had happened, and her throat could accommodate no more, she had been beyond tears at what she perceived as an inadequacy. It had taken Perseus a quarter of an hour to calm her down.
Now, however, knowing she could take no more, she just hummed on his cock, using her soft hands to work the rest. Even as he pumped her head up and down half his shaft, she still worked her hands. Sometimes they would slither down to cup his balls, once or twice they would push a finger into his anus.
Perseus groaned at her expertise in pleasing his body. Piper, indeed, was a gift from the gods. Yet he did not wish to unload inside her mouth. That was… that was not what he wanted. His cock pulsed, thinking of filling her womb with his sperm.
"Come off, my Piper."
His hands slid her throat off of his thick shaft, a trail of spit hanging onto him as she left him. She stared up at him, a smirk forming as she realized what her king wanted. His hands slid down to cup her face, planting a kiss on her forehead. Then, his hands on her waist, Perseus lifted her up. Her young body was light, even with her heavy breasts; possibly it was his immortal strength that made picking up things easy.
Piper's smile shined brightly as she slipped onto his lap, squirming up around his cock. Her slick cunt pressed against his dick, cradling the sides as she ground her hips against him. His fingers dug into the flesh of her arse. Perseus cradled her bountiful breasts in his mouth. His lips attacked her bosom. He wanted to leave as many marks as possible upon her. He wanted to claim her.
The King's hands pressed up into his bedwarmer's arse as he lifted her from his lap, then up, up his chest. He positioned her right over his cock. Piper's kaleidoscope eyes desperately tried to gain his attention, but he was too focused on suckling her dark nipples. "My… my King! You know it won't –"
Perseus did not care. He wanted to watch her bounce on him. Piper was released to fall onto his fat shaft, screaming out in terror as his head hit her womb with one fell swoop. She had become so used to his cock that there was nothing she could do to stop him from claiming all of her vagina. She made it almost to his balls but could go no further from there. Every part of her pussy screamed in pleasure. It terrified her mind to be like this, suspended on him; her body craved it.
She was lifted up and down on him, over and over. Her ass would jiggle every time his hands let her fall all the way down his cock, every time his hands hoisted her back up. Her large breasts mirrored her rear. His mouth claimed every part of them he could. Perseus buried his head between them, kissed up and down them, suckled on her wonderful nipples. He was insatiable.
Piper's mind lost track of reality as he hit every sensitive portion of her insides and sucked and spanked every sensitive portion of her outsides. Her eyes rolled back, as her mind neared a delirious state. With her mind leaving center stage, her base reflexes quickly snuck in to steal the show. Her dainty hands worked down, one fisting the breast which Perseus was not attached by the mouth to, one sliding over her clit repeatedly.
She worked herself into an uproar, an orgasm. Her cunt clenched around his thick shaft, gripping it in place as she fell down one more time. The King could only grunt as it took his cock double time to reach every bit of her interior. By the time his cock had hit her cervix once more, she had finished her orgasm.
Perseus was determined to give her one more.
He sped up his pace, bucking his hips into her now. To allow him better access, he laid down on the bed. Her body followed his obediently, unable to move much on its own. Each of these new thrusts sent his balls slapping her ass. Over and over he rammed into her.
"My King! I'm close again! So close!"
He bit into her neck, enough to draw a reddening, but no blood.
"Cum on my cock, little Piper. Cum with me."
His voice was low, belying his lustful mood. By the gods he wanted to unload in her again, to make sure she was with his child. His cock pulsed, bottoming out in her. The beautiful Semitic girl threw her head back with one final burst of energy to announce to the whole castle that she had just had a mind-blowing orgasm.
Piper's increasingly tight cunt sent her lover's cock into overdrive. His balls clenched. His cock beat with his heart. Finally, he unloaded his thick, white seed into her. It rushed out of his dick and into her womb, looking for a potential mate.
The King let her collapse onto his chest. Both were covered in a sheen of sweat. Both breathed deep, heavy, and shaky breaths of recovery. Both were deep in a state of post-orgasmic bliss.
Finally, Piper slid off of him, her womb filled with his seed and possibly his child. She mewled softly, her body moving slowly as she redressed. Her smooth breasts jiggled as she moved around; her ass shook as she wiggled the chiton on.
"You are so beautiful, little Piper."
Perseus noticed the blush that adorned her cheeks as he told her this. He could tell the girl was infatuated with him — he was used to it, it was part of the territory of being immortal — but he knew it was nothing more than a simple crush. Countless girls had developed crushes on him. They all, as was mandated by the gods, faded. This one would as well. Whether it would be when he had to leave, or when she had her child, it was unknown. But it was inevitable.
The girl walked, limping, to the door. Her hand pressed against the dark alder door. The hinges creaked ever so slightly; her push was not that strong or deliberate.
"Would you... would you like me to stay, sir?"
Taking Piper may not leave him feeling guilty, but letting her leave always did. There had been times, in those first, initial encounters they had had, where he let her rest her soft young body on top of his eternally young and hard one. But those moments were ephemeral, and never meant to be permanent fixtures.
Still, hearing the hope in her voice left his heart aching for that wanting it had always known. For someone to wake up to, to go to bed with, to enjoy the fruits of his labour with. But that was not to be. The gods, in their infinite cruelty, had not decreed it as such.
He sighed, his stomach churning in want. A want for her to stay, to sit with him as he worked on boring, tedious papers and letters.
"I would, little Piper, but alas I cannot. You are so gorgeous," his tone was lighter than he felt, "that I would be so terribly distracted I could not work!"
She giggled in response, but it was neither genuine nor long with respect to time. He gathered she was hurt, and it pained him to see her upset. Some, his enemies and detractors, would claim he was a cruel barbarian, prone to fucking whichever woman or boy he came across. Yet that was not the case. He cared for many of the girls and boys who entered his chambers, and he was not prone to having multiple bed warmers at once, especially on a march. They were all always so sweet, willing, and eager to please that it pained him to let them down. To let them know their place.
No matter, it had to be done.
Piper pushed the door all the way open and straddled the threshold. "Goodbye, my King."
"Goodbye, sweet Piper."
Perseus turned to his desk the moment she closed the door behind him. From behind the closed doors, he could hear a slight sob. He wrapped a silk towel around his bronzed waist. Piper's sadness haunted the bed.
The stack of papyrus on his desk had never looked so daunting.
THE TRIBUNE OF THE SOLDIERS
Iason sat in his tent, reading over a letter from his mother. He smiled as she discussed the current gossip of the Senatorial wives. Nothing terrible, nothing that might derail his campaign, just fun, light. It reminded him how much he loved Rome, how much he missed his home. Nothing of great import had happened for the past two years as he sat and waited for a battle to occur. Home would be much better than here, truly. Iason had an eye for wars, but he did not enjoy the political maneuvering of the army, nor the senseless way in which his conscripted soldiers acted.
He had longed for a real battle, with a serious campaign that he had been told of so many times before. He was a young man, two years below twenty, and he needed to prove himself quickly, before all of the good opportunities had passed him by. His mother wanted him to prove himself so that he could come back home and run for office, but Iason did not wish to leave the military, as much as he hated the insidious manner in which his troops and superiors behaved. Iason dreamed of one day running the Roman Army, turning it into the greatest, most efficient military machine the world had ever seen. It would rival, even best, the armies of the King of Asia. No elephants would stop it; no navies would block its path.
Perhaps, though, he should return to Rome. Run for Consul. It would be far easier, that way, to reform the military. Iason had already written one treatise on the army, that he had not yet published. It was written in the years of inaction he had had, where he surveyed the Roman army with immense disgust. Although unpublished, one of his superiors – luckily, the good one – had found it. After reading the large manuscript, he had sent a recommendation to the arriving consuls. Before he knew it, Iason was called over to the consular tent, almost the moment they had arrived.
It had scared him, at first, the summons. Iason was not used to being noticed. Usually, he kept his head down and did what he was told. But Iason had walked out of that tent not a chained man, but a man with a cognomen.
Iason Iulius Corrector, tribunus militum.
Corrector… Yes, perhaps he could be.
Iason happily picked up his pen, dipping it in the ink he kept on his desk. Too excited to even think about sitting down, he began to pen a reply to his mother.
annō L. Postumiī Magellī et Q. Mamiliī Vitulī, ante diem IV idus Aprilem.
Flaviae Iuliō…
A/N:
Back at it again with the big stories. And this is a big one. Let me know what y'all think about it so far - comments on characters, the minuscule amount of plot I've given y'all, etc.
This is a fic modeled off of big ones from the GoT/aSoIaF fandom like The Lost Emperor by House_Blackfyre and A Song for Dragons by Doublehex. Both are massive, complex, and stunning fics, fics which I feel are lacking in the PJO fandom. I understand that the GoT/aSoIaF fandom is older, oriented to people in their twenties-and-up, not young adults, but c'mon, the original PJO fans are now college kids. We should be producing higher quality shit, feel me?
Kingpin K's Journey of a King is doing this pretty well, right now, I believe. With both the depth of words, the grey characters, the focus on character and plots over relationships, they're doing a great job. I just decided to make a fic that was more focused on the ancient/classical world rather than the medieval world.
If you want more, I'm currently 5.5k words into chapter 2, and probably only about a third of the way in or so at that. I hope most of the chapters reach 10k+ words each time, but we'll see. Some chapters are slower than others, with less information to push across. In order to keep up the level of interest, however, like A Song for Dragons, there will be many, many viewpoints. Percy, Annabeth, Grover, the Kanes, Piper, Reyna, Frank, Hazel, Clarisse, Leo, etc. Not entirely sure where each one of them will fit into the major story, but I know that they will.
Anyways, I hope y'all enjoy it so far!
Striving to provide Southern Hospitality the world over,
LoverBoi (yes, I'm a guy)
P.S. - I haven't abandoned Preppy (though Dealer is dead. I hate that fic. Sorry, not sorry.), and am currently working on a rewrite of about seven to eight chapters of that fic.