Disclaimer:
Warnings: Shounen ai and Het. AU. Slavery. Polytheism. Mature language and themes.
Pairings: Main: 3x4 On the Side: 13x11, 1xR(+2), 6x9. Any other pairings are pending.
Note: I've been aching to put the GW cast into a Greek setting for quite a while.
Setting: Ancient Greece between the Classical Age: 462BC-404BC Athens.
The Sun
Twang Thunk
"Export-Import," the lawgiver read the scroll out loud. His deep green eyes traveled over the official document with intent, but little interest. (1)
The ink scratched the rough textured surface lazily. Lines thickened along points where he lost his interest, or his unusual brown bangs obscured his vision, and effected his fluid hand writing. "A three percent raise on exports should balance the budget," his reserved voice sliced through the silent room.
Twang Thunk
The feathered quill in his hand snapped. He sighed and unclenched his hand. Since when did he become so tense?
He heard the disruptive sound once again; he judged that it hit the branch right below his window. Two seconds of quiet contemplation was all it took for him to discard his stuffy papers.
With casual grace, not often synonymous with a lawgiver, he prowled down the stone steps. The man didn't even spare the elderly slave a glance when he passed her. She quickly tightened her grip on the basket of laundry she was taking outside. The woman relaxed as soon as her young master was out of sight. He always managed to give off a great, cold, intimidating aura. Standing next to him was like standing next to a tall statue.
"Catherine," his voice reached to the other side of the courtyard.
Sun glanced off the piece of iron on the tip of his sister's arrow before the weapon became aerial. Trowa didn't move an inch, as the arrow grazed his cheek. A small line of crimson formed along side his slightly tanned face.
"By the Gods!" exclaimed his sister. With her bow still in her dainty hands, she jogged the distance from one end of the courtyard to the next. "I can't believe you're actually outside!" she remarked with a mock tone inflicting her sweet voice.
He rose an eyebrow, but showed no more expression, otherwise. "It is very difficult to concentrate on work with weapons flying near my window."
She adapted a snide smirk. "Work is it? What you call a distraction, I call salvation."
"What's your point?" he retorted with a slight frown.
Catherine spread her arms, as if to embrace all the courtyard. "You see this?" she questioned. "This is Athens. All these plants were carefully sewn here, and content to stay within these walls, and that...," she added while pointing to a stray vine climbing desperately up the wall. "...is you."
"I have to remind someone to tear that thing's roots, it could weaken the wall's foundation," he deadpanned, letting the whole symbolic message drift right over his head.
She groaned and hid her face in her calloused hand. One grey eye peeked from her fingers. "What did I do in my life to deserve such a brother?"
"Take it up with the Fates," he advised. (2)
The warrioress crossed her arms and commented, "Like I have any means to communicate with gods?"
"I've looked at your vine; I've listened to your poor metaphors; is there anything else you require of me?" he questioned with slight irritation tingeing his words.
With both hands on her hips she scolded, "This isn't very nice, Trowa; you can't even spare a little time for your sister. I wanted to play with you a little." He had little warning before he heard the distinctive sound of metal unsheathing from leather; he had seconds to duck the heavy blade that was aimed for his neck. His hair ruffled slightly from the sheer speed of the strike.
He was crouched like a primitive beast. The flight or fight mode was activated. However, he refused to flee from the taunting of his sister.
She held up her sword with the same pride as other women displayed their fine jewelery. Unfortunately, his sister had that mischievous gleam in her eye.
Catherine pointed behind him with the shiny tip. Unsure whether this was a trick or not, he kept his eyes focused on the sharp weapon. With an exasperated sigh, she re-sheathed her blade. Trowa allowed himself the luxury of taking his eyes off his foe. Behind him, his own sword leaned against the wall. It seemed that his crafty sister was determined to spar with him long before he walked into the courtyard.
This time, he sensed malicious movement behind him. Catherine, the closest person in his life, had used that small distraction to attack him.
He instinctively dived to the right, his hands reflexively catching him. Instead of remaining on the dirt, he lifted his body up and performed a front flip. His flawless display of acrobats landed him near his weapon. He grasped the handle while twisting away from a vicious thrust, courtesy of one hell-bent sister.
With a small effort he blocked a heavy overhead swing with his sword still in its sheath. It took a fair amount of strength to heave the other weapon away long enough to free his own blade.
Their swords clashed in a standard face-off. Both weapons were intertwined, crossed at a perfect angle, giving neither side any leverage. He felt her foot sneak around his. Instantly, he used the other's underhanded tactic and jerked his own foot to unbalance her. She fell at an odd angle, but managed to roll away from her opponent, sword still clutched in her hand.
He charged her with his weapon lowered like a spear. The woman dodged to the left, and he quickly shifted his steps. Swords met in another assault.
The angry sounds of metal on metal vibrated against the walls of the courtyard. A few heads poked from doorways. Some slaves took a break from their momentary task to watch the colossal battle between the two siblings.
A younger slave girl commented, "Lady Catherine and Lord Trowa battle with such wild intensity!"
A few were awed by the display of strength, speed, and agility that the two warriors displayed. This battle equalized the strengths of both sexes. The woman used her smaller size and speed to slip past her brother's defenses at every opportunity. While, he used extreme physical force to weaken her attempts and try to wear her down.
The sound of a sword thumping on the soft ground signaled the end of the fight.
Trowa held his blade to the woman's neck. The sharp edge kissed her skin, yearning to bite into it. "I win," Trowa proclaimed softly between haggard breaths.
A small pressure between his ribs alerted him to the presence of a second blade, a dagger, held at a perfect angle to pierce his heart. "It looks like a draw," Catherine boosted. Both of them, breathing heavily and glistening with sweat and dirt, stepped back and placed their weapons back in their proper sheaths.
Catherine attempted to place her mussed hair in somewhat of an orderly fashion. However, her curly, red mass still fell messily above her shoulders.
"It seems that you've lost your touch, little bro," she playfully teased.
He retorted, "Only because you cheated."
"There are no rules in war Trowa. Besides, you should have expected that, or have your senses dulled in this philosophy infested city?" she said coolly; though, her eyes still held a fire from the previous battle.
"Damn it Cathy," hissed the vexed soldier. He noticed his small audience and quickly reprimanded, "Isn't there work to be done?" The slaves quickly scurried to finish their tasks. "It's not my fault we're here, and it's definitely not my fault that you live here. You have all the freedom imaginable to return to Sparta."
"But Trowa," she argued. "I have to stay here for you. I can't let your soul decay alone."
He shook his head sadly, "Sparring does little to lift my spirits."
"Then leave," she argued.
"I'm grounded to this place by obligation," he said while cradling a headache.
She growled at that word. "Father is unfair. Pushing you into this terrible arrangement and binding you to it with his death!"
"Sis," he scolded.
"Sorry," she apologized with a pout. "I shouldn't say such thing's about the deceased (3), but I don't know if I'm able to forgive him for what he put you through."
Trowa put his hand on her shoulder and soothed, "It's not the worst possible situation. I'm a tad homesick, and I have the most boring job. But I can't help but to count my blessings. You are a free woman. You are a Spartan woman, and no one can take that away from you. However, it appears I am where I'm suppose to..."
"No you're not!" she argued. "You were not raised here! You were raised a Spartan man, as well! A dead man's words should not bind you to this city!"
"I was born here."
"It's not your home!"
"We should clean up; I'll get that one girl to bring us a basin of fresh water. We don't want to offend at the evening meal," he said while walking away. Catherine was still ready to argue; however, she was hungry. All that exercise left her with little energy, and little room to argue with her brother.
She made one last remark, "Delia, might throw a fit when she sees the way I look."
Trowa remarked in a flat tone, "At least she would do something a little interesting. Of course, my presence might prevent her from speaking out of turn."
Delia was Trowa's wife. It was part of their father's will. He wanted his son secured in a healthy marriage to promote his status as a citizen of Athens. Unfortunately, his son couldn't stand to be in the woman's presence for more than twenty minutes. He most often commented that his paper work was more interesting than her. Delia was...she was the perfect image of an Athenian woman: meek, soft-spoken, talented in the domestic arts, and she never questioned her position in society. She wore the latest trends, the finest clothing, and the best perfumes, but could never win her husband's good opinion. Catherine had too much heart to tell the woman that Trowa preferred his own company, or any one else's, to her's.
That night Trowa slept on the floor of his study. He couldn't get away from work, and he didn't feel like crawling to his bedroom. The hard surface was rather comfortable actually. It reminded him of his youth in the barracks, and he fell asleep as easily as a child.
He woke up to an annoying persistent tapping on his shoulder, and a soft voice in his ear, "My Lord, I wish to go to market today. May I..." The sweet perfume and overly soft voice alerted him to the presence of his wife.
"Go," he commanded without opening his eyes.
It was another ten minutes before he was able to sit up. The foggy blanket of sleep was swiftly thrown off of him. He was wide awake and ready to tackle those papers.
His quill had barely touched the paper when he heard a familiar sound.
Twang Thunk
Not today Catherine.
Between trying to ignore the constant thumping of the arrows, and trying to suppress his growing boredom, he was having a cosmically difficult time with his papers. By the Gods, did Plouto (4) himself assign him this particular task?! It had been stretching for nearly an eternity.
A second eternity later, he flexed the last cramps out of his fingers.
The sun was directly over the city; in his most vain hour, he showered the world with his brilliance, and yet never allowed anyone to reach his golden splendor. Icarus tried once, and his reward was to plummet to his death. That should be a lesson for all: never reach for the miserable sun.
The sun had settled closer to the horizon by the time a tentative knock resounded on his door. "Dinner is ready, Milord," the dried voice spoke. He recognized the tone to be one of the slaves. His household came with three domestic slaves actually.
Gaia was presently knocking at the door. She was a competent worker. However, her age was unknown, even to herself. They all supposed her to be a little older than Zeus himself. She ran the household, and was second only to his wife... Wasn't she planning on freeing the old slave? Trowa wasn't sure, and he didn't care. The household and all it's occupants were Delia's responsibility.
He barely remembered the other slave named Iulus. She was as dull as they came. Worse, she was completely and utterly submissive. She was in charge of Delia's son. At the tender age of four, the child had already learned that he had complete control over her. He caught Iason several times demanding unquestionable things...like having Iulus pull his small chariot like a common mule. Again, Trowa didn't feel inclined to interfere. He disagreed with how their son was raised, but it was her responsibility not his. Sometimes, Catherine scolded him, but it mattered not. He viewed no one as an authority figure other than Delia. Often, his sister would mutter, "If only I was allowed ten minutes alone with him."
The last slave was a girl that his wife adored. He knew she had long, dark hair and wide blue eyes. However, he couldn't remember her name. Normally, he caught the small girl peaking around a corner at him..., too frightened to be in his presence.
As he descended the stairs, the smells of fish, peppered lightly with spices, floated in the air. Gaia's cooking would be sorely missed, if she ever left.
He sat right next to his sister, who was sipping lightly on some wine. "Has the Lady of the House returned yet?" he questioned. He was slightly distracted by Iulus struggling to settle a hyper Iason.
"Nope," she punctuated with a smack of her lips. Her eye twitched slightly when the plates rattled from a well-aimed fist to the table. Who knew such a tiny creature could put up so much fuss?
"Lord Iason," the slave addressed the struggling child. "Lady Delia insists that you eat and be still at every meal." Her arms secured a firmer hold on the child. For her efforts, she received a kick in the thigh and two punches in the arm. She didn't protest to either.
"Momma's not here. I don't wanna listen to you! I want mamma!"
Under her breath, Catherine muttered, "Just ten minutes."
"Steady, Delia should be home soon," her brother reminded. As much as his wife's presence irritated him, she was a necessity during meal time. She was the only one who could calm their possessed son.
Like a blessing, she arrived, her arms curiously empty. Her face was beaming with post-shopping pride. "Iason," she cooed. "Are you eating your lunch like a good boy?" The miracle of a child-mother bond happened. He stopped fussing and picked at his food, as if he had always been starving.
"Welcome back, Milady," the abused slave greeted. Her breath was a little haggard.
"I apologize for being so tardy," she added softly to her husband, as she sat directly across from him. He, in turn, waved the apology off with a simple hand gesture.
He responded disinterested, "I assume you couldn't find anything worth purchasing."
"On the contrary," she said with a smug smile firmly planted on her face. "I found a rare treasure with the countenance of spun gold-something that even a God can boost about..."
"Well don't keep us in suspense," Catherine interrupted with her lips barely peeking over her wine glass. "It sounds like you found happiness in a box."
Delia offered her a demure yet condescending smile, before replying, "Close to it. He will make a lovely addition to this house."
Trowa lifted his eyes from his half-consumed meal.
"He?" he questioned.
"He's with Gaia right now. She's instructing him briefly. You should have seen the smile on her face when I told that she was being replaced. She can live the rest of her years a free woman. Oh, and did you know she had saved up a small sum? I couldn't believe it myself. My, she has enough money to buy her own house, and dare I say even a slave. Imagine that. Though, I have confidence that she will run her household in a fair manner. Don't you agree? She does...did such a wonderful job helping me manage my own home," she chatted. Her voice was a controlled stream of information.
Trowa picked up his full glass of wine. He could have sworn he emptied it. Briefly, he caught a glimpse of black hair scurrying into the kitchen with a huge jug. The girl was like a shadow sometimes.
All of the dishes were cleared when Gaia made her appearance. "Lady Delia," she requested.
"Yes Gaia-Dear," Delia spoke in an affectionate tone.
"He's ready to meet the whole family," the elderly slave announced.
She practically hopped out of her seat. "Milord. Catherine," she addressed in a reserved tone. It was evident she was trying to suppress her enthusiasm. "You have to see him, and tell me if he's not beautiful." Both of the siblings were willing to oblige while their tummies were full, at least.
Trowa fixed his eyes on the kitchen doorway, expecting nothing spectacular. Gaia ushered in a young man, and Trowa never forgot the moment that his eyes laid on the most breathtaking being. It was on that day, at that very moment, that the sun decided to descend upon him.
Phew...there it is. Oh yeah, notes.
(1). I gave Trowa the boring job of a lawgiver. I was originally going to make him a defense attorney. However, after studying the ancient Greek court system excessively, I discovered that there was no official position for a lawyer.
(2) The Fates-- I don't think it's very necessary, but they were also called the Graeae. They were the three sisters in charge of...well the fates: the fate of man, of gods, and the world. The three were:
Clotho the spinner
Lachesis the dispenser-she assigned destiny
Atropos the unchangeable, who cut the thread of life
I guess, most people would be familiar with them from their debut on Disney's Hercules.
(3) In Athens, one was forbidden to speak ill of the dead.
(4) Plouto is another name for Hades. It was considered 'unlucky' to speak the name of the Lord of the Underworld. He not only controlled the dead, but everything that came from the earth (crops). After all, the Underworld was thought to be located underground. Plouto was more of a respectful name to address him as. Romans adapted the name Plouto, as well.