Warnings: This story is not graphic and should therefore be SFW, though coarse language is used throughout.
"Please tell me, Selene, that our next visitor won't be so difficult, and that we will have only reasonable questions from now until the end of the day," the prophetess sighed, leaning on my shoulder, as I handed her a glass of water. It was my role, as her acolyte at the temple at Delphi, to watch and learn from her, as one day I would stand in her place, interpreting visions of the future for supplicants to the God Apollo. Part of this preparation was screening the visitors and refining their questions. I had full knowledge of each person on the list that day.
We had just emerged from a torturous session with the King of Thebes, who had spoken such nonsense – that he had fallen in love, and that he would fake his own death and leave the city, ridding Thebes of the curse upon his family. Pythia, the seer of Apollo's temple at Delphi, had endeavoured, in vain, to convince King Laius that this path was only foolishness, and that it was doubtful the curse on Thebes could be lifted without his actual death. Laius had persisted, asking her to see into what the future should hold, if he were to send the Queen a message he'd been murdered by highway robbers. Pythia, instead of an answer to this inquiry, had seen only strange visions in her bowl of water, about two travelers from a distant land fulfilling some destiny of Laius's. Laius had only waved his hands at this.
"I've met these two men already," he said. "One solved the riddle of the Sphinx, and thus gained an audience with me in thanks for ridding the city of the scourge which has plagued it. And the other is his friend, a good and pure man, who has – well, I suppose he's reminded me of my own youth. And yes, these strangers will alter my destiny," he said. "It is because of them that I have decided I would forsake the throne for love."
"But what of your queen?" had asked the prophetess, frowning.
"I cannot return to my wife," protested Laius. "I have only lain with her once in my life. You know how it is with me – I would prefer to lie with a man rather than a woman," he said, and Pythia nodded; this story was familiar to her. "Jocasta seduced me in my drunknenness, twenty years ago, and she bore a child, a child I pierced through the ankles and gave to a shepherd to leave on the hillside, to thwart the prophecy that he would grow up to kill his own father."
"King Laius," protested Jocasta. "The child is surely dead. You told me so yourself. I have looked for him in my visions many times, to be sure, and I receive the same words in answer, constantly – this child of yours does not dwell in this world, but the next one."
"And if I leave Thebes," Laius said triumphantly, "I will certainly not risk fathering another child, who will grow up to kill me."
"But you would leave Thebes with this young man, whom you have just met?" queried Pythia. "How can you be sure this is not infatuation, Laius?"
"It's difficult to explain," stammered Laius. "I saw him, and he was so like - a man I loved in my youth. It was as though he traveled through time, from twenty years ago, to meet me …"
"Chrysippus," whispered Pythia, her eyes wide. "Your first love, whom you taught to chase chariots when he was a young man."
"Yes," sighed Laius. "The very same."
"He is dead, Laius," chastened Pythia. "This is impossible. He's surely an impersonator, seeking to take advantage of you by his resemblance to Chrysippus."
"Look again," protested Laius. "It is him, I'm sure of it. Wherever he dwelt in these years, he is back. I've never been so sure of anything in my entire life."
Pythia's face grew solemn as she searched the bowl again for holy visions, the steam from the mountain crevasse washing over her with its intoxicating fumes. Laius watched her, transfixed. Pythia's eyes widened, and her hands shook as she held the vessel.
"The visitors return in this vision, along with their names," she murmured. "I cannot tell for certain this is the same Chrysippus – all I know is he shares the first part of his name. It is an odd name; he calls himself "Chris," and his companion has no name at all; just…" here Pythia grew silent and stared at the light flickering over the vessel. "Laius," she gasped. "These two visitors will bring about your death before they leave again."
"I know Chrysippus would never hurt me, so it must be this other man," countered Laius. "I will live out my final days in the arms of the man I love. I have waited so long for him. Pythia, I do not ask your permission; I make my last declaration as King, that I will do this, and I know as prophetess, you may speak of what I say here in confidence to no one, or else the Gods will curse you."
"The gods laugh at the will of Kings," Pythia reminded him. "Foolish is the man who thinks he can demand gifts of the gods, or trick them into lifting curses."
"Then I take my leave," bowed Laius. "Beware the stranger who seeks your counsel. Chrysippus warns me that his ears are closed to the gods and he will not listen to his own fate if it is not what he wishes to hear."
"How would Chrysippus know?" said Pythia. "He does not have the gift of prophecy."
"He knows," said Laius. "I am certain he knows."