FluffyClutchie : Thank you, I try to be picky about words.
Harmony-Caprice: Here you go!
Guest: Heres the update!
Carolina who: Thanks, the devils in the details.
RilianeD'Autrich: Well I do!
Anastasia The Goddess of Drama:Yes, angry affection...it works for them.
melina49: Your Greek? Then I'm so glad you love this story! Thank you!
Thanatos77 :Iris has to get truth giving water from he underworld.
TheDarkKunoichi: Well, we'll have to wait and see! And no, Hermes isn't born yet.
nlgirl17: You flatter me. And I'm so glad your drawn to Hera's character.
Vanessa Masters :Foresight is indeed Prometheus! And yes, like all quest, it is very, very dangerous.
PlunnyBreeder:Don't worry, we'll see more of the satyr...
0)o(0
chapter XI
Hera's parting words rebounded like lightening within her handmaiden's skull, with all the inescapable finality of the Moirai. And it was all the rainbow goddess could do to not collapse on the floor in a witless heap of horror. Attempting -and she feared failing- to keep her expression emotionless and dutiful as a soldier's bronze beaten helm as it should be, before Olympus' exulted Lord and Lady, it nevertheless took an unfortunate amount of her Power to ward off the darkness that invaded her vision when the Thunderer condemned her to this task...quest.
Moverover, she feared that the effort of maintaining that false serenity had ruined all the effects of her entrance, and left her looking more like a trembling little heifer calf, rather than the well matured goddess she'd intend for them to see.
So much for having a man's courage.
That was the one, self deprecating thought that successfully wormed it's way through the soft surface of her petrified mind. Her hands fumbled like timorous doves as they grasped the oinochoe's slim, snake-molded handles, irrationally fearful that they might bite her.
Drawing in a breath, the handmaiden pressed her rose colored lips together as she turned around and walked back to the halls towering doors, eager to be rid of such foolish thinking. Clay could not hurt her...and if she had any sense, she would be instead be concerning herself with the many, many, things that could (and would) harm her bodily on the way and in the realm of DOMOS HAIDOU (the House of Hades).
There were many goods reasons why the mortals who dwell on green Gaia feared to think, never mind say, the true name of the elder brother of Zeus. Iris remembered him well: and far better than goddess-maiden would have liked, had the choice been left to her. she remembered him from the darkest days of the Titanomakhia. She had never spoken at length to him...well, if one didn't could pleading to set free, when Awides (the Unseen One) had, by the means of his all cloaking helm, had found her toddler-self in the hollowed ruins of her father's house, after Poseidon's forces had invaded.
...And after he'd laid waste to their home -with earth tremors and the dreaded liquid fire- his troops both toppling and scorching the House of Thumuas' proud pavilions of alabaster and pearl; cracking it's marble foundations, while carrying all the household the invades could catch in bronze chains fitted around their wrists and necks. Like common mortal slaves.
And not even its Queen-Mistress had been spared this fate, though before she had been sundered from her husband's halls, Electra had taken pains to conceal her eldest daughter, her prised treasure, from the same barbarous marauders -skillfully hiding her in a patch of seaweed that grew in the garden.
When all was said and done, and all the screams had faded, the resulting silence had actually been more frightening to Iris. So much so, that it wasn't long before her own miserable sobs had filled the space, when she dared to come out into the desolate and broken hall. Sobs that had turned into shrikes of terror when a unseen, and unheard, force unceremoniously plunked her up, and tossed her over his shoulder like a small, squirming bundle of barley; muttering the whole time on how his brother was too much an lazy oaf to double check his work, and never failed to leave something behind for him to fix.
Terrified that an Umbrau (a shade) was going to eat her, Iris had cried and wept and used all the charming words she knew at the time to try and win her release...only to find that the future Giver of Wealth had a heart that could neither be moved with pity nor swayed with enticements. And while Iris could begrudgingly admit that Pluton had not been unfair to her -he had after all corrected her on the nature of her captor, when she'd asked, and dryly assured her that it was not his duty to eat her- it hadn't change the inevitable fact that it was by his duty that she had been delivered to the feet of the Thunderer's war-camp; condemned to either find a way to serve Zeus...or otherwise perish with the rest of the old order.
And that for the finding of Thaumas' only unaccounted for daughter, Pluton had been giving the reward of yet another epithet by his King: Agesander (Carrier).
Looking back, it was plain to see that even then, Zeus had known better to than to cross his eldest brother. Of his loyalty, Zeus could not afford doubt, so great was his power. So in a way, she had the Ruler of Many to thank for her task in the first place.
This wasn't a very comforting thought -and somehow the rainbow goddess highly doubted that the months Polysemantor had spent adjusting to his underground lair had warmed his nature any (and she equally disbelieved that her reappearance into his life would -the odds were more than likely that he would resent her, seeing that the favor and bounty he'd earned for himself in finding Iris had been the last received by him, before the Lots of the World had been drawn...and Cronus' eldest son was dethroned of his rights by his own younger brothers (oh why hadn't Queen Hera thought of this?).
After all...down there he was Zeus, and one of his many titles was Eubulus (Giver of Good Counsel).
...So how, by the great earth mother, was she suppose to "charm" the famously grim god into giving over an assent that only he, apparently, had access too?
...She didn't know. By Gaia, Iris didn't know.
0)o(0
"Lady Iris? Lady Iris? M-My Lady."
Embarrassingly, it was only on the third time the voice called to her attention that Iris could say she heard it. Blinking, the handmaiden was snapped out of her ghost-like trance of shadows and past, and returned to the living reality of the hall outside of the Zeus Kronides' Thronos Room.
Turning to her right, the rainbow goddess saw that before her was the satyr-servant, one of Zeus' cupbearers, whose hooves she had just about frighten off when she had first arrived; though he now looked a bit more recovered than when he first looked upon Thaumantias...though admitting, that wouldn't be so very hard to do. The poor goat man had given such a start at first, that one would have thought Iris was one of the Titans, escaped from the pit with wrath and fire to seek vengeance, instead of merely being their Queen's unimportant little doule (servant girl).
To dive home the point, the goat man still looked rather timid as he approached what was technically his better; nevertheless his hooves nervously pit-pattering atop the leaping-bull tiles...almost as though what he were doing, was being done against his better judgement. (The looks on the faces of his fellow satyr-brothers seemed to agree with him, to the point where it bordered on cruel mockery, as satyrs' were prone to be now and again.) But this didn't change the fact that he approached her nonetheless.
"My Lady, you looked aggrieved...like nymph who has forgotten how to dance," he said carefully. "Is...is there anything a satyr might do for you?"
Something in the goddess-maiden twitched at that -and she was certain that it was the hope-in-the-box, foolishly stroked to life by the goat-man's noble, if utterly uselessly offer. She was about to shake her head, and tell him no...when the thought occurred to her that yes...there was a task that he could do for her, to ease her burden.
So firmly, the goddess maiden nodded her bright, honey-colored head. "Yes," she said slowly, the violet in her eye gleaming. "There is -if you would be so kind, sir, could you please escort me to the living quarters of Lord Prometheus, Foresighted son of Iapetus?"
0)o(0
Quite frankly, Iris had well expected the shape gasps this drew from the goat-men around her, their impish faces paling with dread at the nature of her request. The poor satyr who had asked for it -Tumulus, if she wasn't mistaken- was looking at her as though a peacock of Hera's had just perched itself on the handmaiden's head.
"...Oh my l-l-lady," he stuttered, eyes frantic and his head shaking so hard, that the curls of his beard coiled even tighter. "Oh my lady n-no. This is...what you ask is impossible. Lord Prometheus quarters'...they are outside the gynaikeion. You might be the Queen's favored, but she would not forgive you the dishonor this would cause, if you did this thing, and you were caught. Think it not Lady Iris. Ask it not of m-m-me."
"I know Tumulus," Iris assured him, trying her best to keep her tone light, coaxing, and utterly innocent. With gentle care, she stepped between the satyr and his kindred, cutting off their influence, and making him focus entirely on her. Diaírei kaì basíleue, as the Olympians often proclaimed. Divide and Rule.
Under normal circumstances, the goat-man would be absolutely right in his response to her. In other circumstance's, Iris would never have asked it. In all the time she had been on Olympus, the Handmaiden to Hera had never departed from the extensive woman's gynaikeion (female space) of the highest ranking Olympian ladies; where they lived and conducted their duties, and their female servants did the same.
Gaia's blood...even before she had been taken to Olympus, Iris had never been allowed outside of the woman's quarters -the space set entirely aside for the women of any well-off, respected household. It simply wasn't done. Certainly, there were moments of going out, like the trip down to the stream to wash clothes, but even then, they had took roads to avoid the men-servants.
It was funny...but the only time Iris had been ever been let out of this delicate cage of house chores and spinning golden wool was when she was serving Lord Zeus during the war, relying his messages to his allies. Needless to say of course, that time of running and flying and being expose to a world rendering itself to pieces had been absolutely terrorizing -terrorizing beyond all reason and imagining.
But... it also had been thrilling; like a child who dare to peek behind a curtain, brave enough to want see what lay behind it...and bring a little bit of color back to a dark and defiled space. And that trill was returning now...gods above, she must've been weaving linen in the Loom Room for too long. What else could cause her to suddenly think of this mad adventure before her in terms akin to...cautious optimism?
"The Queen has given me permission to venture there this one time," she tactfully lied...well, not really lied now, was it? Hera had told her to seek out Foresight. "No harm will come to me -especially with an escort. Will you please help me?"
"I-are you certain, Lady Iris?" Tumulus stressed. "Certain beyond all doubt? If you ask it of me, I must do it as you will...but your fate must not be on my psyche."
Iris lifted her chin, and offered the goat-man a skillfully painted smile of charm and confidence that she certainly didn't feel, at least not all the way through. But what she had would have to be enough. "I am sure."
Tumulus' licked his lips. "T-then...it is not safe now...come this evening, when the men of the halls are away. I shall do as you command."
0)o(0
"Now my lady, it is imperative that you remain absolutely silent," Tumulus warned her in a fast whisper, as they crept down the mostly vacant men's halls like robbers. It was almost as thought the satyr's words were afraid to be caught with them, and so burst free in a great rush. "Queen's permission or no-"
"I know, Tumulus," Iris replied, once again. For the shake of politeness, she tried to keep an edge out of her voice...the last thing she needed was for the goat-man to scamper off, if he did so, then she'd surely never find her way out of here. "The fewer people who know I'm here the better. But do we really have to be so careful? All the men are outside in the training grounds, receiving agōgē by the hand of Chiron..."
"Yes and thank all the gods for it. And that satyrs are exempted from that," Tumulus shuddered. "Move quickly now."
Iris held back a sigh...as well as a pointed comment on how it was him who could move no faster that poor Chelone's new form. And that if she never heard the word "imperative" "silent" or "move quickly" again, it would be all too soon.
How could one be so...panic stricken? Especially when nothing had gone wrong with their plans yet? Iris truly wondered at it. She had never meet such a satyr before. Most, while admittedly rather sly in older age, and lusty in young age, were content to blindly follow a decision once they chosen it. But this one seemed to rethink every last half-step he trotted, before he'd even took it. To distract herself from this frustration, Iris focused curiously on the men's halls about her.
Admittedly, they weren't so very different from the woman's halls, at least in the way they had been created. The halls were all of the same limestone design, sturdily built upon the Mountain with bronze foundations, while surrounded by a host of cloistered courtyards with golden pavements. The only things that really differed here were the paintings that covered the walls.
In the woman's quarters the imagery of dancing, child rearing, and loom work adorned their living space with flowing grace...while here, the dancing and music pictures were alotted in part, but instead of peaceful family life the images of the war, ones that Iris remembered well (and couldn't forget if she tried) were displayed in all their glory. Of shields smashing, spears breaking, and warriors overcoming each other in bloody dominance...in which Zeus was ruler of all.
Also different were that in the woman's quarters, the small of perfume had always lingered in the air...melia blossoms, and the white lilies called krinon, or even libanos-frankincense, imported by the winds from Arabia...but here the smell was different. It was like...well, Iris didn't rightfully know what it was like. But it was different.
But they were similar in that the smell of burnt meat offerings to the high Olympians hung about the blazers, a constant sign of respect.
"Alright my lady, Lord Prometheus' rooms are directly at the end of this hall, in the courtyard of the high ranking lords," Tumulus told her after turning a few more corners. He sounded immensely relived, and stood up straighter. Reaching out a hand, he pressed it to the handmaiden's back to hustle her forward. "He is exempted from agōgē by Lord Zeus on account of his studies, so then you'll-"
But as Moirai would have it, this would be where their luck began to turn on them. Tumulus wound up pushing Iris directly into the bronze stomach of a fully armored Oros, who judging from his newly bandaged arm, had been forced to return early from training. He was a towering primordial god of the mountains, older than its foundations, and just as strong and burly.
And utterly astonished.
Iris felt her own stomach drop to somewhere around her ankles, while her heart went to her throat. Poor Tumulus on the other hand was so pale, he looked as though he wanted nothing more than to just lie down upon his own funeral pyre, have the torch dropped himself, and let it be done with -then and there.
Oh dear.
"In the name of-" the Oros gasped out lord, his voice like the tumble of a land side that sometimes buried a mortal village, his onyx-brown eyes bugled in outrage from the slots of his helm. "What is this?!"
Iris open her mouth instinctively to reply, to lie really...but here the satyr surprised her, for he quickly reached out again and pulled the goddess maiden so that she was half behind him, half besides him; a calculated moved she realized, executed carefully as to not outright challenged the armor clad deity, but yet provide some measure of protection, and guardianship even, for herself.
She'd be lying if she said she wasn't thankful. Oros were old gods, stubborn and unmovable in the great Mother's ordained ways. Their duty now was to preserve the honor of DOMOS OLYMPUS...as thoroughly as they defended their own households.
"O great lord of the mountain," Tumulus intoned desperately, hands clasped before him like a common mortal beggar. "Mighty son of the m-most Excellence Gaia, who is the sweet m-m-Mother of things. Great in war, sure welder of the s-s-shield and doru-"
"By my mother's blood," the Oros snarled like a boar, his thick bead catching the flecks of his spit (the rest landing on the victims who didn't even reach his knee in height). "Silence your tongue before I remove it!"
Tumulus' mouth closed with an audible snap. Then the Oros eyes narrowed. "You are a cup-bearer in the Thronos Hall."
It wasn't a question -accusation would be the more appropriate term. Tumulus swallowed, the apple in his throat bobbing painfully. "Well, I..." he faltered, "it's only a part time occupation really-"
"And you," the Oros said turning to Iris. "You are the handmaiden to Basileia Hera."
Iris nodded at once, quickly perceiving that like most of his kind, this mountain lord respected both honesty and firm duty. "Yes, my lord," Iris said promptly, hands folded demurely at her waist. She raised her voiced an octave, and widened her eyes to seem as youthfully earnest as possible. "I am."
"...What business does a handmaiden have, sneaking about the men's halls with a satyr?" the Oros asked sternly, "Your honor, and your Queen's, demands that your hands belong at your loom, young parthenos, not in seeking your own delights. In the days you have been here, you have not struck me as a wanton fool."
Iris felt her limbs turn to water with relief at the honorable title bestowed to her, as well as the scolding tone of his voice- one that promised lecture, but not destruction. He must be a father, she thought. With an unusually rebellious daughter. Besides them, the goat-man had relaxed a little too, sensing the same thing.
"Yes, my lord," she replied. "I-"
"And you," the Oros snarled, whirling upon Tumulus, who shrank back. "Who are you, to take a fatherless girl from the halls of your Most Excellent Mistress?!"
Yep, most definitely a father.
Unfortunately, at this point Tumulus couldn't form a replied if his life depended on it -which it very well could, under the circumstances. Alarmed, Iris stuck her courage to the sticking place and stepped forward.
"Oh, my lord," she began pleadingly. "I-"
But then, another voice spoke up, joining their dialogue with a fascinated interest the rainbow goddess had rarely ever heard.
"Now what is this? A rehearsal for a new comedy?" This voice that spoke now was entire different from the three that, so far, had been exchanged in the broad corner -and in contrasted to themselves, it's tone was light, flowing, well at ease, and amused. A voice with power -Iris would bet her position as Handmaiden to Hera on it.
Almost as one body, one face, the three of them turned to look upon the forth member to join their little gathering. And before them they saw a lord both tall and steady, like an apple tree; with an blue chlamys woven with golden arrows folded neatly around his shoulders over a homespun chiton; matched well with the simple saddles he wore, the end of the cloak draped elaborately over one arm like the mane of a lion.
The god's mischievous gray eyes peered at the scene before him with acute intelligence, shown clear to them with his hind-strip headband holding back curls that were a shade too light, in all honesty, to be considered brown. They sent a chill down the spine when they looked at you. Those were eyes, Iris perceived -with some awful insight, feeling rather exposed before their storm cloud grayness- that knew more about this occurrence and its circumstances without evening having inquire about it. (She wasn't sure if this was a turn of good fortune for them or not).
There was no doubt about it, however, to her mind. This was Prometheus. And the Oros confirmed her thoughts.
"My lord Foresight," the mountain deity rumbled, bowing low. "Far-seeing son of Iapetus. This need not concern you. I have apprehend this rouge carrying off a doule of Basileia Leukolenos-"
But at this, Prometheus tossed back his bearded head, and roared with laughter. "Tumulus, carry off a handmaiden?" the god gasped out in pure mirth. "My good Oros, I'd sooner be worry that a rabbit would carry off a maiden than him."
"This is so my lords," Tumulus chimed in, having found his voice again, now that it had an additional and more powerful ally. Standing a little taller, he added, "The Lady Iris had been sent here on the business of the Queen."
"To the men's halls?" the Oros said in perfect disbelief.
"Yes," Tumulus answered firmly. "I am her escort."
The Oros face curled up like it smelled something bitter, but he did nothing, as Prometheus merely raised a sandy eyebrow. "You have heard him Oros," the god proclaimed. "...this seems to be my affair now. I commend you for your duty."
After a moment, the Oros bowed. "Yes my lord."
Then he departed, though not before giving Tumulus one final glare, that succeed in its goal of turning the goat-man deathly pale again.
"You'll have to excuse the man," Prometheus explained to the satyr in a rather calm, orderly fashion; the god himself being as unperturbed by this new developments as a dew drop that formed on tree-leaves following the rainstorm. "One of your brethren nearly carried off his daughter last year, so now he is on guard with all of you."
Tumulus flushed at that, but didn't look surprise to hear it. The behavior of young satyrs -who often had difficulty knowing when their fun went too far- was nothing that hadn't been heard before, by many a father. Tumulus was slightly older in his mind, thanks to the war, and had been blessed with maturity in that age had enabled him to survive his youth, while his disgraced friends perished in misery for their offences. So he nodded once, and cleared his throat at that.
"...Unders-standable caution, m-my lord," he managed to squeak out. Clearing his throat, he added, "His daughter is fortunate to have so loving a protector."
The god of Foresight chuckled again, and looked as though he had just feasted on a rather satisfying meal at a fine banquet. But then the merriment of the moment apparently passed the end of its life thread. So as soon as it was sheared, he turned, and focused his clever gaze directly on Iris, who struggled to match it.
"So little Thaumantias," he told her, not kindly. "Why don't the three of us retire to my chambers, and there, we'll discuss this business of Hera Basileia? Hmm?"
Reviews make me happy, so tell me what you thought and I'll update sooner.
Sorry for the hiatus, I gave up greek mythology for the Lent Easter season, and then I just wait for the right idea. So how was this, Iris' first thoughts on her task, and the first steps she takes to complete it. And how do you like how I write the male characters in this story -I want them to be true to their time era and be three demential. How was poor Tumulus?