Disclaimer: guess what? That's right.
Spoilers: see prologue
Author's Notes: this is the chapter I longed for. All right, not longed for. That's what the real romance happens. But I've been looking forward to this chapter for a well. I'm so happy Farah and the Prince are reuniting!
Warnings: ah, nothing. Really. Yay! oh wait… there is some blood. Don't be a wimp.
/Chapter Six: "It is You"/
"But lest you be my enemy,
I must enquire.
"O no, my dear, let all that be;
What matter, so there is but fire
In you, in me?"
-Yeats, "The Mask"
When they reached the top, the Prince released Farah and she slid off his back. Exhausted from the long climb, the Prince dropped to knees, his palms digging into the dirt, and tried to draw in all the breaths he had been unable to take while ascending the mountain with Farah on his back.
Meanwhile, Farah kept her bow ready and notched with an arrow. Her head whipped around as she searched for any sign of those hideous creatures that had attacked them earlier. Her shoulders slackened when she caught no sight of them.
"They're gone…" she said, not facing the Prince as he raised himself shakily to his feet. Without speaking, he handed her his holster of arrows and she locked them around her waist, slinging the bow over her back.
Then the Prince grabbed her wrist and began to drag her toward the end of the flat top of the mountain. "C'mon. That woman might come after us. We need to get far away."
Farah's arm was throbbing and she glanced down at it. Tiny rivulets of blood flowed from where the creature had clawed her. It caused pain to vibrate through her but she ignored it and forced herself to keep up with the Prince as he dragged her.
The mountain came to an end with a steep, slanted hill. Rocks jutted from the ground and the sun bleached them white. Below the mountain were actual trees, their green leaves and thick, brown bark were a welcoming sight.
"We'll have to slid down," the Prince told her and glanced her way. Farah looked pale and frightened, but her chin was angled and she looked… strong.
"Alright," she agreed, her vision darkening in fear. We have to do this. He risked his life to save me. I need to trust him. Without thinking, she groped for his hand. It felt strong and warm in her own. She gripped it for strength.
The Prince grabbed her waist with his free hand, pulling her close to him. Farahs other hand wrapped around his neck as they jumped onto the slope. Beneath them the rocks gave way and they slid down, losing a battle with balance the entire way. Dust rose from the ground and blinded them. Farah released his hand so she could grip the Prince's neck with both of her hands, almost screaming.
They hit the ground, but had so much momentum from sliding along the slanted mountain top that they both kept on running. The Prince had more power and ended up dragging Farah headfirst into a tree.
The princess groaned as the Prince pressed her against the tree with his body. "Oh… ow… do you think you could do that a little more softly?"
He could help it. The Prince rolled his eyes and drawled sarcastically. "Excuse me. Next time I'll just throw myself to the ground and break my neck, alright?"
Farah pushed him off of her and gripped her head. Slowly, she dropped her rump on the dirt ground. She touched the earth and blinked. The dirt was soft, moist. A forest ground. The familiarity of it was pleasing to her, to be this close to something she knew again.
The Prince held out his hand. "We can't stay here. We need to go a little further so she can't find us." Farah stared at his hand for a moment and then slowly nodded her head. She gripped his arm and he pulled her to her feet.
Together they stumbled weakly into the forest, letting the canopy of trees cover them. Farah was tired, so tired, but she was afraid to fall asleep. She didn't know anything about this man and she didn't know if she could trust him.
But he saved me now… twice… Farah blinked and titled her head so she could look up at the Prince. Yes. He has to be that soldier from my balcony that night with the Vizier… I know he is.
She heard the splash of water and turned her head away from the Prince. A small waterfall was in front of them, the crystal liquid falling into a small, sparkling pool at their feet. The Prince walked toward it and dropped to his knees, cupping the water in his hands and taking a long gulp of it.
Too weak to even think about drinking, Farah dropped onto a rock protruding from the ground beside the pool. Her neck ached and she rubbed helplessly at it. Everything was just happening too fast. She couldn't comprehend it all. Being kidnapped, then being attacked by strange creatures, then being rescued by the same man that had saved her before.
"You're bleeding."
"What?" Farah was drawn from her daze by the regal sounding voice. She glanced up at the young man as he knelt down beside her. Slowly, he reached out and touched her arm. She glanced down at it, and saw the blood still flowing from the wound. "Oh, one of those… those things attacked me."
"I'll bind it," the Prince answered and pulled off a sash that was tied around his waist. He led her to the edge of the pool and doused her wound in the water, wiping away the blood that caked her arm. Then he wrapped the pale blue sash around her arm. "That should do it. It wasn't too deep…"
She was staring at him and couldn't seem to glance away. When he looked back up at her again it was as if the entire world had stopped spinning on its axis. His green gaze was so familiar… like a long lost dream. "It is you," she heard her voice say from far away.
"It is me?" the Prince repeated as he helped her to her feet. "What are you talking about?" His voice had a slight teasing tone to it, but there was an underlying seriousness to it. His gaze turned sharp as he waited for her answer.
Farah's eyes narrowed at the teasing tone and she shot her chin up defiantly. "I mean… you're the Persian from my terrace two years ago. The one who killed the Vizier. You had the fantastic story."
He dropped his gaze and Farah watched in slight surprise as a flash of sadness crossed his face. It was a handsome face, Farah supposed, and she was surprised that she hadn't noticed it before. But, of course, at the time she had been reeling from the fact that her Vizier—the loyal, old man who had served her father so well—had, in fact, been a traitor and would have sold her country to the Persian army.
"Yes," the Prince answered and moved away from her, toward the clearing of the trees. He tilted his head and examined their surroundings quietly.
Absently, Farah fiddled with the sash tied around her arm and tried not to look at the Prince. But it was hard not to. He was a handsome man, long and lean. It wasn't hard to imagine him running, nor was it hard to imagine him fighting. He moved with a grace that was not uncommon among fighters but was among soldiers.
There was a question plaguing her and it hovered on the tip of her tongue. For a moment, Farah tried to ignore the question and let silence wrap around them.
But she stood and walked over to him, stopping short of his side. "Why are you doing all this for me?" she demanded softly. He turned his head and their gazes locked again. Farah quickly looked away. It was too strange looking into his eyes, like staring into a looking glass that was too blurry to truly make out.
"Why? Why do you ask that?"
His voice sounded as if she was asking a most ridiculous question. Farah angled her chin again and placed her hands on her hips, sending him an annoyed glare. "You are a Persian soldier and I'm a maharajah's daughter. We are enemies. It seems only logical to ask you why. Do you think there is some reward in it? I can't tell you if there is for certain. I don't even know if my father's alive."
"He's alive," the Prince was quick to reply. He turned on his heel and strode away from her. Farah stomped her foot and hurried to catch up.
"And how do you know that?" she questioned, her voice louder than before.
"Because if your father was dead there would have been some news," the Prince retorted and sounded as if he was beginning to become annoyed himself.
Good. "So then you are in it for the money?" Farah was pleased when the Prince shot her a glare out of the corner of his eye.
"I do it because I have to." When Farah gave him a disbelieving look, he added, "If you are not taken home, your father will declare war on Greece. You're his only daughter, he'll go to war for you. The countries around it—including my Persia—would all be caught up in the act."
"So you're doing all this to stop a war?" Farah smiled at him, crossing her arms over her chest. "How very noble of you. You do not hope for money?"
"It was never about money," the Prince returned and there was something else lingering in his eyes before it was banked.
"Very well. Where are we going then, O rescuer?"
"It's too dangerous to just turn around and go home. Those creatures will probably look for us," the Prince answered in reply. "For now, I think we should go to Athens. If there's any clue as to what's going on it'll be there."
"How do you propose we get there?" Farah asked as she touched the string of her bow, strung across her small chest. The Prince did not ask for it back and he had given her the arrows so she supposed she would keep it. A strangely crafted bow, with an ivory base and a silver string. "Are we taking a boat at Troy?"
"No. That's too dangerous. That woman might be looking for us as well," the Prince answered. "There's small port city nearby. It's called Phocaea. We'll get a boat there."
"Alright. Lead the way." Farah smiled cheekily and clasped her hands behind her back. "You do know where we're going, don't you?"
"Yes. I know where we're going," the Prince answered, sounding annoyed.
She almost laughed but decided that would be cruel. So instead, she was satisfied with the mischievous smile on her lips as she folded the young prince.
"You're a long way from Persia," Farah said once they had cleared themselves from the woods. She watched his powerful muscles move beneath the back of his tunic and felt a small heat rise on her cheeks.
"I decided I would do some exploring," the Prince answered and, thankfully, didn't turn to look at Farah. "See the world. I'm the youngest prince in my family so I wasn't tied down by so many obligations like my older brothers."
"So you just left? I wish I could do that," Farah admitted softly, keeping her head. "Before I… was kidnapped, I was supposed to be getting married. The whole time I had just wanted to run away, as far away as my legs could carry me."
She didn't notice it, but the Prince's back went stiff. At his sides, his fingers clenched into fists. But he didn't saw anything. His jaw went stiff to keep all his rage inside. It wasn't Farah's fault, after all. She didn't even remember. It was his fault that he did…
"He's dead now…" Farah said, her voice whispery soft. "I—I didn't even feel sad when he died… I suppose I should have but I didn't… I—I…" Tears clouded her vision and she stopped walking, her shoulders slumping.
For a long moment she stood out in the heat, fighting the tears that fell across her face. She kept her head bowed, feeling weak and lost.
Then a finger brushed away the tear that fell across her cheek. She blinked the tears away and found herself once more looking into the Prince's green gaze.
It was an odd feeling, being this close to him. It was a familiar feeling and at the same time new and strange. There was something that hinted a forgotten memory that refused to surface in her brain. But his eyes calmed her and the tears stopped as she stared softly up into him.
Around her, her world was falling apart but at least he was right there with her. If she needed to she could cling to him. His eyes said that much. And that soothed her in a way nothing else could.
"Are you alright?" he asked softly, tenderly. His fingers dropped down to her cheek and cupped it.
"Fine," Farah replied. Then she shook her head and he dropped his hand from her face. It hung loosely at his side, as if it was not quite sure what to do with itself.
Then they fell into silence and went back to walking, the Prince in the lead with Farah trailing behind. She felt awkward and kept her head lowered. Though the Prince had soothed her tears, it still seemed odd that he could. She had barely known him for more than a few hours—including the ones on her balcony two years ago—he still had the ability to shake off all her doubts and fears.
But she wasn't going to complain. It was nice having him around, Farah had to admit. He wasn't an enemy as far as she could tell. And he had risked his life to save her. At least she owed him her cooperation.
"I've never been to Persia," Farah said suddenly, blinking as the thought entered her mind. "What's it like?"
When the Prince looked over at her he was smiling. "Well, it's a little different from your India but not that much…"
During their walk, they talked. Eventually, they ended up bickering over one thing or another, but it was mostly in good fun. Though her feet were aching, Farah found that she didn't mind as long as she could focus on talking to the Prince.
The Prince stopped suddenly and Farah almost crashed into him. She sent him a glare as he said, "It's night."
"Yes," Farah agreed, her voice exuding sarcasm. "That's what usually happens when the sun goes down." She crossed her arms over her chest and titled her hips.
He rolled his eyes at her and then retorted, "What I meant was that since it's night it's hard to see where we're going. We should camp here and wait for the sun to rise again." In the dim light of the dying sun, he examined the place they stood with a nod. "This will do well enough."
"I didn't notice any blankets on your back," Farah pointed out and shook her head. "Are we going to sleep on the ground?"
"Well, do you have any blankets? All I've got is some food and water for us," the Prince answered and rolled his eyes. "Your kidnapping was all kind of sudden. I didn't have all that much time to plan for it."
"Sorry to inconvenience you," Farah snapped and shrugged. "Lucky, it never gets very cold in this place."
"Anyway, we should be in Phoceae in less than a day. So you won't be sleeping on the ground for very long, princess." He walked away, looking for someway to create a fire. As he went, Farah heard him mumbling. "—risked my life to save hers. Didn't have to… this is the thanks I get?"
She rolled her eyes and plopped down on the ground. For a moment she glared at his back, making faces at him when he wasn't looking. Then he turned and caught her in the act. Instead of looking enraged—and Farah was ready for a verbal fight—the Prince's face twisted.
Then suddenly, he was laughing. He fell down beside her and laughed wildly. Farah stared at him in confusion for a long moment before she felt the insane laughter bubbling at her throat as well. Unable to control herself, she leaned against his shoulder and laughed with him.
The Prince wiped tears from the corner of his eyes and stood when at last the laughter had died down. "I'll—I'll find some wood."
Farah nodded and replied, "I'll try to find something to make fire with."
--&--
Athens is burning… the fire destroying the city and causing pieces of architecture to crumble to the ground. People scream and run from the fires, tripping over one another in their haste to escape. Bodies litter the ground, some gutted, some trampled, some charred.
"Please spare us!" a woman cries as she holds her baby to her breast, its squeals muffled. "We have done nothing to you."
There is a laugh, a hideous, twisted laugh and the woman screams as a sword cuts through her baby and then into her chest. The two bodies go spinning to the ground, blood flying into the air.
The royal couple of Athens are already dead, their limp, lifeless bodies hanging from the walls of their palace. They are nailed there for their people to see and wail at. The first step toward the destruction of the city. Destroy all hope.
And the next…
"Storm the temple," Hades orders sharply, looking like a handsome dark cloud in his battle gear. His sword is out and he ruthlessly swings it, slicing a teenage boy as he tries to escape the sacked city.
There is no question of which temple—even though there is close to ten of them—to storm. The army knows. The army Hades has risen with Ares' permission. He has his own problems with Athens.
They are being led by a heartless woman, her twin blades swinging in the lights of the all-consuming fire. Her bare legs are splattered with blood and her face carries a healing cut from an enemy's sword.
Her face is smooth, indifferent as she leads the armies of Hades into Athens' core. She slices down anyone who stands in her way, anyone who stops her from gaining access into the temple.
But… when she gets into the temple…
She wishes someone had stopped her.
Blood pools at the stone feet of the statue… the eyes… the eyes staring at her through the darkness of her cold, dead heart.
"One day you're going to save people like me."
Anthria snapped awake, gasping for breath. Her knuckles were white, clenched around her sword. She stared down at them for a long moment before releasing the breath she didn't know she had been holding and letting the swords clatter to the ground.
Swinging her legs over the side of her small cot, she pressed her forehead into her hands. She tried to take deep, calming breaths but they came out shaky. She couldn't get a steady hold on herself and she was forced to fold against the covers, seeking dim comfort against her pain.
She cupped her ears, trying to block out the screaming of her head. It was so long ago… why can I not forget it? Her body was covered in a cold sweat and the liquid slipped down along her skin, leaving dark trails on her flesh. Anthria grabbed the water basin that had been left beside her bed and scrubbed herself until her flesh was red and raw.
"One day you will save people like me…"
It was nothing. She told herself it was nothing. In a series of long, cold years she had learned to ignore the voice that haunted her at her weakest moments. She used every ounce of her willpower to push her memories behind her.
Once the panic in her had ceased and her fingers had stopped their trembling, she sat up from the bed once more. Someone had laid out a new chiton for her. It was longer than her normal clothing and a light, see-through blue. But it had slit on one side of its leg so she doubted it would constrict.
Her old chiton(1) slipped off her body easily, almost falling apart in her hands. She threw it across the floor and picked up the new one. She slid it over her head. It was more elegant then she was used to. There was another piece of thin, bluish cloth that came down over her chest, connected to the chiton by two golden buttons on her shoulder. The chiton had also come with a leather belt that was too big for her; it had a golden buckle in the center with a carved wild stag which Anthria knew to be Artemis's symbol. So the belt hung on one of her hips and her thigh the next.
Every part of her being was focused on preparing herself for the day. None of her mind was allowed to wander. She knew that if her thoughts trailed away she would once again be dragged into her past. She couldn't go there. The one thing she could not afford was to lose herself in the hideous memories of her past, of the deeds she had down without thought or mercy.
For now, there could only be revenge…
The memories lingered for a moment longer, pressing against her skull, screaming to be freed. But her walls were up and soon the memories and nightmares died away, like the remnants of a hurricane slowing, lessening its crashes against the shore.
Anthria knew what she had to do. She had to seek out Farah and her young rescuers. Not to capture them, but to find Hades and Ares. The gods would seek them out for Farah was still necessary to their plan but they would find her in the possession of Anthria.
They would have to make a deal with her, those two gods. Or Anthria would kill Farah. That would be her revenge, putting a stop to their plan. It had been in the works for years. And it would be a kick to their egos. A mortal ending everything?
As she washed her face in the water basin, she caught her reflection. In the water, Anthria's face twisted as she reared her hand back and slapped it, sending the water into wild ripples. She couldn't stand looking at her face anymore. It was too familiar. There was no change to it.
She wiped water from her cheek and felt her muscles clenching in her jaw. She massaged the tense features until they were slackened.
Dawn was breaking through the tiny, dirty window beside the cot she had taken residence in last night. That was the signal that she had to move.
If she was to catch Farah then she had to move swiftly.
No longer was she interested in bringing Farah to Sparta. No longer was she interested in Farah. All that mattered in her world was getting revenge on Hades and Ares, the men that had betrayed her.
And when they had paid, and paid dearly, she would seek out the final wrong that had been done to her. Her sword would be bright with blood then. At last, after so long of waiting, revenge would be hers.
She had been young, once. Young and innocent. But that had been so long ago. Like the ruins of Troy, her innocence had been burnt to the ground. In a single night and day everything she had believed in and stood for had been destroyed.
She made her way out of the inn, her sandals making noises against the wood planks of the floor. Her tiny noises did not disturb any of the sleeping residence. After years of war and farm noises, they had become heavy sleepers.
Outside, the sun was already spilling onto the dead ground. She grabbed some of the dusty dirt and smothered her hands in it, making them dry and less moist. She hated to have wet palms while handling her swords. It made the hilts of her blades slippery and hard to manage.
It would take time to track down Farah and her mysterious rescuer. The young man had known how to fight, which meant he probably knew how to hide as well. Anthria would have to track him down fast, so she didn't lose their trail.
There was smoke in the air, filling the sky. Fires had been doused the night before but the smell of it lingered in the air.
Before she left, Anthria approached the ruins of Troy. It was almost all that was left of the once grand city. Closing her eyes, she could almost imagine Priam, his sons and Helen of Troy looking down at the soldiers from the high walls. Hades had told her stories of the city once, of Hector and Paris and Achilles.
Her fingers reached down to touch the charred stone of the rubble. She said a silent prayer to Artemis, the one god she felt she hadn't betrayed, and turned on her heels. Without one backwards glance she started to run.
When she stood in Troy she was reminded of how much innocence had been lost. And not only for the city. She had been young once, young and vibrant and happy. But it had all come crashing down around her. In a single day and night her world had given way and she had… lost… everything.
And now there was nothing left for her. Nothing but revenge.
notes: (1) I just wanted to make note of Anthria's clothing. Actually, most women from the Greecian times did not wear those short chitons we all think they do. However, Spartan women were known to. That's mostly because Spartan women were allowed to participate in the games (not the Olympic games, just average things like footraces) and a long shift would make a feet impossible. Hence, short leg-bearing chitons. And, remember, Anthria's from Sparta.
Reviews
bluetinkerbell: I've always been fond of Farah. Mostly because she always seemed easy to throw the Prince throw loops if necessary. Sure, she got in trouble once or twice, but I like to think she was smart enough to get out of them if necessary. That, and she wasn't the one to stab the Dagger in the Hourglass, was she?
The One and Only Red Wulf Riot: when I first heard New! Farah's voice I thought she was… from the South. But I overlooked that fact just because she as back in it and I did enjoy the game. I also liked the ending because (other than the whole 'full circle' thing) it left us open to believe that Farah and the Prince stayed together. Which, obviously, I did.
Specter Von Baron: I love making OCs… and then torturing them to no end! Maybe it's my revenge against the Mary-Sues?
Sakura123: yeah, I know. I hate making a whole chapter focusing solely on an OC. But it was necessary.
Miss Trippy: thank you so much! I strive to keep true to the owner's original work when it comes to character personalities and plotlines. Which is mostly why I did a SoT extension, since I love British! Prince. I also hate Mary-Sues. I can't understand why anyone has one since there is a clear formula on how to make a M-S and it's easy to avoid.
Sorceress Cassandra180: you haven't seen half of it yet, let me tell you!
mozu the dark angel: I'm glad you enjoy it. I do try XD
Lin-chin: my writing style is modeled after my favorite author. She's Nora Roberts. Pretty sure just about everyone has read Nora Roberts. If not… boy, you don't know what you're missing.
Delirium Trigger: I've got nothing against Warrior Within. I just like British people more. Or I just found SoT more compelling WW. Being a female gamer I look for a durable, deep plotline. And yeah, I know Kaileena was modeled after Monica Bellucci. She's a pretty woman, I'll give her that. But I don't know… her anatomy looked kind of disproportional to me. I liked Kaileena better in T2T, even if her face was kinda… wince worthy.
ChatterBox101: I love doing that. Like I hated Kaileena for a bit (based on others opinions for a while) but I felt bad for her in T2T. Not bad because she didn't get the Prince but like dying, knowing it, and continuing on anyway. Note also, Farah/Prince moments will be slow because… I do romance slow. Eh.
Next Chapter Preview…She glared at him and shot her chin out. "I am perfectly capable of looking after a fire for a few hours. Or did you think I wasn't?"
"No," the Prince returned and rolled his eyes as he turned away. "I was just trying to do you a favor."
Farah crossed her arms over her chest and the Prince bent down to douse the fire out with the sand of the ground. "Well, next time, don't."
"Fine. I will get you up at the rude hours of the night next time. See how happy you are then," the Prince muttered as he examined the land that was just beginning to be bathed in sunlight. In the new light, everything was easier to make out.
"Well, which way are we going?" Farah questioned as she came up to his side, tilting her head to look at him. "You do know, don't you?"
"Of course I do," the Prince retorted, sounding insulted. "Phoceae is south of here. All we have to do is follow the mountains down." He motioned to the looming silhouettes in the distance. "We should arrive either late today or tomorrow if we decide to rest."…
…Anthria was suddenly aware of the heady power of the immortal. It was always easy to sense the works of the immortals. Perhaps it was the ambrosia they drank on Mount Olympus. But whatever it was, when an immortal was near there was a sense of magick in the air, a sense of power and danger.
There was no difference now.
She withdrew her twin blades from her back as she approached. In the blinding sunlight she could make out Ares' horde, their skin decaying in the blistering heat.
What was more, she saw the man who controlled them. And it wasn't Hades.
"Ares."
