Hello :) Thank you for the heartfelt comments, they made my day!

Vocab:
pteryges is the leather skirt Greek warriors wore
Himation is a type of clothing
Tympanons are hand drums exclusively used by women
Astragaloi is the Ancient Greek version of the knucklebones game
Artos is a kind of bread
Alexander of Makedonia is Alexander the Great, just putting it here in case there's some confusion.

Eye of the Beholder

by Hazel Liebovsky

Chapitre Dix-Neuf

Kassandra blinked at the ceiling. Bleary-eyed, spent and barely awake as it was. She had wanted to stay the night at Hippokrates', to keep an eye on Phoibe, but talking with Aspasia had left her in such a foul mood that she had accompanied Lara back with a scowl on her face. The woman had bid her goodbye near the treasury, walking the rest of the way on her own again, and Kassandra hadn't even had it in her to joke about it. After extending Alkibiades' invitation to the symposium, she had brooded her way back to Hippokrates'. The man had given her one look before shooing her out.

"The young girl needs to sleep, and you are restless, Kassandra. It will hinder the healing," he'd said as calmly as possible, weathering her dangerous glower. "Come back tomorrow."

Kassandra had walked back to the Adrestia gritting her teeth, the moon high up in the sky. The ship had been asleep when she stomped her way to her quarters, save for her second-in-command. Barnabas had opened his mouth, but she'd stopped him with a flick of her wrist.

"Not now," she'd growled then blinked back at him, her face turning apologetic. "Please, Barnabas."

His lips had curved up, in that smile that stretched his face awkwardly on one side and bowed. She hadn't meant to snap at him, the poor man didn't deserve any of her ire.

Kassandra had thrown herself face first on the bundled up carpets, sheets and pillows that made her bed and closed her eyes.

"Trust me," Aspasia's voice now rang in her head. "If I'd had any doubt about Phoibe's safety, I wouldn't have sent her out. She wanted to help."

Aspasia's face had been stranded between pain and confusion, Kassandra had thrown her arms in the air, "She always wants to help," she'd barked."You can't send her to do your dirty work, Aspasia. She was whipped!"

That comment had ticked her, Kassandra noticed. The older woman had straightened her back, a predator ready to pounce."And where were you, when it happened?" Aspasia's coal eyes had narrowed. "Phoibe is a smart girl. And old enough that my words are naught, if she sets her mind to something. But she looks up to you, she would follow you into the Underworld in a heartbeat. She needed you then. Where were you?"

Kassandra's nostrils had flared, inner cheek trapped between her teeth. She'd looked away fleetingly from the woman studying her face.

"Of course," Aspasia had scoffed - and that wasn't what slashed the knife of guilt through Kassandra, but rather her next words: "Who is that woman?"

Who is that new toy?

"What do you know of her?" Aspasia had followed up with.

Phoibe was hurt because you were too busy with your toy.

Like whistling arrows on a battlefield, Aspasia's pointed remarks had hit their mark, leaving bruise after bruise on Kassandra's already harrowed mind. Something had flashed in her eyes - her lips had curled in a snarl; fingers itching to grab Aspasia's delicate throat and squeeze until the sound of a crushed windpipe resonated in her ears.

She'd taken a deep breath, then another one, calming the furious beast rearing its head inside her.

You're better than this, she'd repeated to herself. You're better than this.

The beast growled in affront, calling for violence, calling for bloodshed to wash away the insult.

No.

Kassandra had opened her eyes again, leveling her gaze on Aspasia. There was no point in arguing with the woman who had taught Sokrates to talk circles around people; she couldn't compete with the silver tongue of silver tongues, the woman behind Perikles' rise to power. Kassandra was no match against Aspasia. The woman wielded words like she did her grandfather's spear. With finesse and a precision that left no room for approximation. The world had chewed on Aspasia the same way it had her, spitting out a creature of eloquence - a wordsmith whose expert use of rhetoric had no equal. Someone that Kassandra simply couldn't defeat.

Wounded but still sneering, Kassandra had thrown her last strengths into a lost battle before she fled, "I know that she was there to help me with Phoibe and that's what matters."

The soft sound of knocking drew Kassandra out of her dark reminiscences, and she turned her head, looking at Odessa with one eye buried in the pillow.

"If I can't drink it or punch it, I don't want it," her words were muffled.

Odessa flashed her a coy smile, taking her hand from behind her back, waving the amphora. "Lucky you, Commander."

Kassandra dragged herself up on her knees, reaching over to snatch the handle. She took a large gulp before flopping down, leaning her back against the wall. "Thank you."

Odessa tilted her head. Ignoring the scornful face and gloom radiating off her commander, she settled next to her. "What has your chiton in a twist?"

Kassandra scoffed, taking another large gulp and wiping her lips with the back of her hand. "I don't want to talk about it."

She was not in the mood for anything that didn't involve siphoning that amphora until she forgot her own name and passed out drunk.

"You are no fun, Commander."

"I am no fun," she sulked, bringing the amphora to her lips again. "Let me drink."

The room was silent after that, but her lieutenant didn't seem to be inclined to leave. Odessa's hand crawled ever so slowly, her little finger drawing circles above Kassandra's pteryges. She tracked its patterns with her eyes and followed the sight of the woman's arm all the way to Odessa's face and her quirked eyebrow.

"Really...?" Kassandra questioned tiredly.

The woman shrugged. "You don't want to talk about it, so let's not talk."

Point taken.

"Last night was fun," Odessa continued as her fingers became bolder, reaching the belt that kept Kassandra's leather skirt in place.

Last night had been fun, alright.

Kassandra frowned, mulling over the proposition. Odessa's hand had halted its progression, waiting for her go-ahead. She could feel its warmth through the leather, through the fabric of her chiton, stroking the familiar coil of want in her belly.

Odessa smirked, sensing her hesitation.

Kassandra did need to take her mind off of things. Get rid of the guilt, of her anger. Not think about Phoibe's bruised back and tear-streaked cheeks, or Aspasia's scalding glare, or how she'd wanted to gouge her eyes out.

She let out a long-suffering sigh, setting the amphora on the ground before turning around to meet Odessa's eyes. And her offended frown.

"What?" she asked. Odessa took a long breath, ready to launch into a painstaking tirade. Kassandra stopped her with a kiss before pulling back. "No talking. No strings attached and you—"

"Leave before sunrise," the woman cut her off, climbing on Kassandra lap. "I know the rules, Commander," she nibbled at her pulse point, unbuckling the shoulder straps with expert fingers.

Odessa had learned the rules throughout the years. She knew to feign ignorance when Daphnae's name would inadvertently slip out of Kassandra's mouth, muttered, moaned or screamed. Odessa knew what to expect when her eyebrows furrowed and her eyes were closed. She knew Kassandra's heart wasn't hers and would never be, and frankly she didn't want it. Their little arrangement suited them both. It made long nights at sea less lonely for Odessa, and Kassandra didn't need to pretend, seduce or string women along at every port. The moment she hopped off the bed, she'd be back to work, to be the loyal lieutenant, and Kassandra her commander. They never spoke of it outside of Kassandra's private quarters.

Pounding her anger away until the wee hours of the morning had helped Kassandra forget for a while. It had left her nightly companion pleasantly sore but with more questions than answers.

Not one to shy away from uncomfortable questioning, Odessa propped herself up on her elbow to look at Kassandra.

"Who were you thinking about, this time?"

Kassandra didn't even look at her. "No one."

Her lieutenant hummed, seeing right through her lie. "Was it the same person as last night?"

She shot her a look. A warning. "I said no talking."

If Odessa argued, that would spell the end of their deal. Kassandra wanted something uncomplicated, and this was the kind of complication she didn't have the time nor will to deal with.

Something flashed in Odessa's eyes, a kind of defiance. Kassandra could see the thoughts bouncing about in her head before her lieutenant smacked her lips and flopped back down, joining Kassandra in her ceiling contemplation.

"You are no fun."

"I am no fun," she agreed.

Cinnamon.

It's the first thing Lara's nostrils catch. The sweet aroma with a tinge of spice, slowly creeping into the room. She breathes it in and exhales slowly; Winston is making breakfast in the kitchens. If she focuses, she can even hear the clattering and chinking of the whisk in the bowl. The serenity is relaxing, her senses dulled to a bare minimum and her body stripped of its usual high-alertness.

Home.

Muffled chirping of birds in the gardens. The sun is filtering through the window, warming her skin, because she forgot to close the blinds the night before. Lara shifts, stretches, body arching off the mattress before falling back on it. The bed is comfortable; a warm familiarity she's somehow missed.

She isn't alone, the silky sheets are spread out, signaling the presence of another. Lara feels the warmth radiating from their proximity, followed by the ghostly caress of fingers running along her naked spine. It doesn't startle her.

Featherlight pads trail down the small of her back, but Lara doesn't want to open her eyes, feeling the prickles on her skin, the soft press of lips on her shoulder, body chasing after the sensation.

A smile tugs at her lips. Lara wants to stay like this.

She wants to stay exactly like this.

For as long as they have.

The untimely thought buzzes about in her head, furrowing her brow in confusion and squeezing her heart painfully.

The temperature drops, forcing Lara to inch closer and snuggle to the other body, yearning for warmth, but there's no one else.

The bed is empty.

-0-

Waking up alone and shivering after a hazy – but not exactly nightmarish – dream wasn't really on Lara's top-ten list. It wasn't like she had expected anything when the fog of sleep dissipated, and her body awoke to the chill of the early morning with the sun barely filtering through the window...

Really, she hadn't.

Maybe the thought of waking up huddled in Kassandra's warmth had crossed her mind fleetingly, but it wasn't like she had expected to wake up like that again.

(Although, if Lara was being honest with herself, she'd have liked that, a lot.)

The archeologist brought the covers around her frame, bundling and burrowing further in on herself. She breathed deeply, inadvertently catching a whiff of Kassandra's scent still lingering on the cold pillow next to her.

Threads, blurry images, of the rapidly fading dream flashed behind her closed eyelids. Sunlight on her skin, feathery touches along her spine. A real bed. Content and safe. Home.

Together.

Nope, that was a terrible idea.

Lara frowned, shifting to her back and throwing the covers away with a frustrated sigh. She immediately regretted that decision when her skin broke in goosebumps at the low temperature of the room. Bleary eyes flickered to the side, noting that all the candles had died.

Mornings were always so chilly in Greece. It didn't compare to the toe-curling freezing cold of Siberia that had turned the ends of her hair to ice, but still.

Lara blinked at the ceiling, lifting one hand to rub the exhaustion off her face, acutely aware of her mood souring by the minute. With nothing better to do, her brain retreated into itself, presenting her with a frame-by-frame replay of the previous night's events:

Kassandra knocked out on the table.

Kassandra slurring her words, her easy smile and twinkling eyes.

Kassandra looking at her like that.

Lara kissing her.

Lara's mind was already running in circles, but her mood took a serious nosedive when she remembered what happened after. Kassandra on the verge of tears, the visceral pain on her face, her embrace, bruising as she squeezed and squeezed, and squeezed, like she wanted to sink into the archeologist and hide.

"I can't." Kassandra had stuttered last night.

And so many times before that, yet it hadn't hit Lara until now that perhaps there was something else behind her careful choice of words. Maybe she only meant the kiss - because the reasons for that being a bad idea were many - but something tickled the archeologist about the peculiar phrasing. She'd said something similar back on Andros, when Lara had tried to drag her away from danger, urging Kassandra to escape with her.

"I am not going to die, Lara."

It took two years for her to finally understand:

Kassandra didn't—couldn't?—die, she'd said as much when they were on Mykonos, but maybe there was more to it? Jacob's immortality had been tied to the Divine Source, to his duty to keep it away, hidden from the world until he'd asked Lara to destroy it. Kassandra had told her she was a keeper, that her mission involved some kind of balance, a fight. Would it carry on until some obscure condition was met? Had Kassandra's weak objections last night been her trying to shield Lara from the truth?

Her brain was running a thousand miles per hour, leaving the archeologist on the brink of an existential crisis. Her heart was in her throat when the unexpected thud at the door made her gasp and shoot up to her feet, wide-eyed as a fully cloaked and masked Kassandra barged into the room.

"Good morning," the woman threw in passing, keeping her head low, precariously balancing a few plates, and a bag in one hand, while holding a flat stone in the other. The thing was scorching hot, enough to draw a couple of curses and grunts out of her mouth.

She made a beeline to the table, giving her back to Lara as she placed the food down and literally threw the stone on the empty space before plunging her half-boiled palm in the nearest water pot to cool it off, and sighed in relief.

"I had to walk all the way outside the walls to find pomegranates, would you believe?" Kassandra picked up, unloading the bag with one hand, and went to remove the planks from the window, peeking out quickly, before emptying the pot she'd just used, as the timid rays of the rising sun filled the room. "Those rich malákes are passing on fruits like—" she turned around, tilting her head at Lara's flabbergasted face. "Something wrong?"

"Uh..."

I woke up alone, and I panicked.

My brain is an arsehole.

Did we kiss last night?

Better keep that for herself.

"No," Lara smiled, hoping her poker face was on point.

Kassandra removed the mask, revealing a frown and pursed lips. She assessed the archeologist for a couple of seconds before stepping aside and motioning to a plate and the hot stone with a proud nod.

"I stole eggs for you."

Silence and incredulous blinking followed before Lara finally burst out laughing, shaking her head at Kassandra's antics. Here she was, obsessively making up worst case scenario after worst case scenario while the other woman was out… stealing eggs to make an omelette.

Approaching Kassandra, Lara hesitated for half a second before running her fingers down the woman's sleeve, squeezing the hand still holding the mask. An innocuous move not to be picked up on in case Lara had dreamed the events of the night before.

"I'm flattered," she smiled up at her.

Kassandra flashed her a beautiful grin and gestured to the water pots in the corner.

"The fire on the roof is still going if you want to wash. There are already several pots," she said. "The water should be warm enough now."

Not only had Kassandra gone out to fetch them food, but she had also managed to prepare something resembling a hot shower, the first one Lara would have in almost a year. All while the young woman was busy contemplating the meaning of life and feeling glum over hypothetical maybes.

"Thank you," Lara breathed out, feeling awkward under the curious scrutiny of Kassandra's gaze.

"Is everything alright?" she tried again, tilting her head to meet the archeologist's eyes.

Nope, because Lara's brain's favorite activity after archeology was finding new ways to torture her, and this time going as far as to convince her that last night had been a fabrication of her mind.

Lara nodded quickly, pulling away from Kassandra to grab her bag. "I—I'm going up," she blurted to the floor, rejoining the door in two large steps before feeling herself being tugged backwards by the wrist.

Sluggish reflexes aside, Lara took a mouthful Kassandra's cloak before the older woman cupped her cheeks, forcing the archeologist to stand on her tiptoes as she pecked Lara's lips, just long enough for her brain to short-circuit again.

Kassandra pulled away, a smirk that spoke volumes when her thumb caressed Lara's cheek. "It did happen," her hand travelled up, poking at the young woman's temple with her knuckle. "Tell it to that big head of yours," she joked and twirled Lara's body around to nudge her towards the door.

"Now go. The stone is getting cold."

Sometimes, Kassandra wished she could just shut up. Sometimes, she wished she could keep her smugness in check.

(It wasn't as bad as it used to be – as bad as her imperious younger self - although she still had trouble putting a lid on it, sometimes. The years hadn't eroded her to the point of personality whiplash yet.)

Today was one of those times she wished she'd held her tongue.

At least Lara was having a good laugh. Even if it was at her expense. It had started innocently enough, the two of them wandering through the marketplace, stopping by the stalls, Lara pretending to be wholly absorbed by the intricate mechanics of carpet making. Marveling at the silky feel or vibrant color of an himation.

Then buying it. And buying, and buying some more, using Kassandra as her personal human cart until the woman was half trinkets, half fabric and could barely carry anything.

"What am I?" she hissed in English, her remark muffled by the mask. "Your glorified donkey?"

Lara's eyes twinkled, crinkling with the wide grin glued to her lips as she added yet another item in one of the overflowing wicker baskets. "What was it you said? That I needed to make a good impression?"

Take that.

Kassandra huffed, shaking her head and walking away with her arms full. Twirling around herself, she skillfully dodged Lara's attempt to fill the other bag she was carrying on her back with a bundle of soft fabric.

"No more," Kassandra said tersely. "You made your point."

It was still early enough for the agora to be draped in the morning mist, the rare passersby dragging themselves through the streets, limbs still heavy with sleep. The women had some time to themselves before Kassandra would have to keep silent, lest someone overheard and recognized her voice.

"Do I need to bring something?" Lara asked behind her. Kassandra tilted her head. "A gift, for the host," the archeologist clarified, when she approached her.

"Who is hosting?" Hopefully not Aspasia.

"Alkibiades," Lara said, before frowning at Kassandra's quiet chuckle.

"Figures," she shook her head. "Bring yourself, he will be happy," she paused, bouncing the baskets in her arms. "Or maybe a goat."

Something halfway between a snort and a scoff spilled out of the young woman's mouth. "That's what the Eagle Bearer said too," she continued. "Do I want to know?"

Kassandra turned around fully, slow-walking backward. "Better not, you just had breakfast."

Lara was still smiling at her, the sun was in her face, forcing the archeologist to squint a little.

Kassandra drank in the sight, an army of butterflies fluttering in her stomach. It was silly, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Silly was good. Silly was making her heart thump in her ribcage and her cheeks ache from smiling too much behind the mask. Silly was making her crave and dream of things she couldn't have.

"You're staring," Lara said, confusion fleeting in her eyes.

Of course, Kassandra was staring.

Because you're beautiful. The woman shook her head - as foolish as the thought was, she wouldn't be saying it out loud… not yet. Kassandra turned around to keep walking, Lara joining her a few moments later. They were silent, eyes lingering on the awakening city as they strolled from the agora all the way to downtown Athens. It was the first time since they'd arrived that Kassandra was taking the time to look around. Her mind had been too preoccupied for her to stop and take a moment.

"It's odd being back here…" she mused, just loud enough for Lara to hear her.

The archeologist hummed. "I can imagine," she paused for a moment before turning her head, "Did you come back to Greece often?"

"No," Kassandra shook her head. "Unless it was absolutely necessary," too many ghosts awaited her here. The odd trips to Thera, however far in between, were a painful reminder of her shortcomings. "I did stay a while, after Alexander's death. The powers at play were too… unstable. I had to intervene."

His passing had been unexpected, even for her. Kassandra hadn't been in Babylon, there had been other matters elsewhere. His men were too stricken by grief to give her any information. Fever, poison, fate or just a stroke of bad luck, nobody knew – the circumstances of Alexander of Makedonia's death would remain a mystery, even for Kassandra.

It took a couple of seconds of rummaging through her extensive repertory of historical figures for Lara to connect the dots. Kassandra could pinpoint the exact moment the archeologist realized which Alexander she was referring to.

"You can get your jaw off the ground, Lara," she smiled at her, stepping closer to nudge the archeologist's shoulder and draw her out of her stupor. "I've been around for a very long time."

The young woman took a moment to gather her bearings. "How well did you know him?" she asked, bouncing on her feet, eyes sparkling at the prospect of getting unprecedented information.

Kassandra stopped her before she could start rapid-firing questions. "I met him once, when he was nine. That's it."

She'd had no idea of who he would grow up to become, back then. He'd been a long-limbed but short boy, standing on willowy legs. Aletheia had urged her to keep an eye on him for a few weeks. Kassandra had observed the young prince from afar. Fine blond hair, fiery dark eyes and scraped knees. Nothing remarkable, save for his rank.

Nothing remarkable, except for that time he had been surprised by a bear four times his size, while out fishing. Where grown men and seasoned warriors would have been cowering in fear, hiding and praying, the young Alexander had stood tall, hurling insults at the animal and dodging its deadly paws. One single hit and he would have been sliced in half, but the fire in his eyes and the sheer determination radiating from his small body kept the bear at bay.

Kassandra had been transfixed, watching that bundle of anger and recklessness jump out of reach every time the animal got too close, and hitting its snout with his fishing rod. Miscalculating his next jump, Alexander had slipped and fallen, scrambling backwards to get back up as the enraged bear stalked towards him with a threatening snarl.

Kassandra had moved fast, nocking an arrow from where she'd been watching the ordeal. She aimed, catching the bear just as it opened its jaws to roar again.

One swift hit and the animal had collapsed on Alexander. Afraid that the weight would crush him, Kassandra had leaped from the vantage point she'd been perched on, and taken hold of the fur to heave the corpse away. She had expected him to weep, to shake and cry. Drenched in bear blood, Alexander had looked right back at her, dark eyes boring into hers, his brows knitted in confusion.

"Who are you?" was all he'd asked.

Kassandra had smiled, offering her hand to haul him up on his feet. "No one," the woman had escorted him back at the edge of the forest and crouched down. Flashing him another grin, Kassandra had poured water from her waterskin on a cloth, and used it to wipe the dried blood off his face. "Be careful, little prince. I might not be here to save you, next time."

Alexander had given her a resolute nod, eyes shining in wonder.

Standing up again, Kassandra had ruffled his hair. "You do that," she had turned around, walking back to the forest when his voice rang behind her.

"Are you Artemis?"

"Maybe," Kassandra had replied with a small laugh.

Lara listened to her tale with rapt attention, her brows were furrowed. "And you never saw him again?" she said.

The other woman shrugged, moving her head left to right. "I was around sometimes, to help," she bounced the baskets on her arms. "Nowhere where he could see me, though," when the archeologist's mouth opened again, Kassandra raised her hand. "Don't. I don't know how he died."

"Oh," Lara's lips twitched down, the light in her eyes dimmed, the disappointment obvious on her face. She let out a sigh as they resumed their stroll.

The rest of their impromptu walk was spent in comfortable silence. The archeologist would sometimes talk, but more people were tickling down the streets now, forcing Kassandra to stay quiet. The soft notes of lyres and steady thump of tympanons echoed near the agora, praises and shanties to Helios, a few Athenians swaying to the music.

The sun festival would come up soon. But the plague would hit before though.

Kassandra's eyes flickered around, lingering on a young couple swaying and dancing in rhythm. Lost in their world and smiling at one another, almost floating as they glided on their feet. The woman twirled again and again, guided by her lover's gentle hands. A laugh spilled out of her when she missed a step, grabbing on his shoulder as he leaned over to catch her. The man dropped a kiss on her skin, growling playfully in the crook of her neck, making the woman laugh even harder. Blissfully in love they were. Blissfully ignorant to their fate.

They would die, like hundreds of thousands of people here, they would die. Athens would fall like Kephallonia had succumbed.

Kassandra needed to get Phoibe out of here, sooner rather than later.

"What will you do?" Lara's voice startled her. She blinked, forced out of her thoughts by the sudden question.

Lost in her mind, she hadn't even realized they were so close to the treasury. Kassandra tilted her head to meet the archeologist's eyes. The inn came into view a few minutes later.

"When I am at the symposium, what will you do?"

The question was loaded; Lara had seen every flicker of thought unfolding in her head. Kassandra would have been impressed, if being on the receiving end wasn't so exasperating. And to think she ever thought living with Aletheia roaming in her head for more than two thousand years was inconvenient.

She pushed the door open with one arm, taking advantage of their fleeting proximity to whisper, "I don't know yet."

Lara sent her a warning look. Kassandra rolled her eyes, and waited until they were back in their room to speak. "I won't," but the archeologist was still staring. "I promise you. I won't."

Her stern frown smoothed out. She took the baskets from Kassandra's arms, putting them on the table. "You still haven't told me about your plan," she said after a while.

Kassandra took the time to remove her mask, slinging the bag off her back and shucked out of the cloak. She approached the archeologist. Her fingers lingered on the small of Lara's back, giving her a gentle push to reach the table.

"Because I'm winging it," she cracked a smile, fishing in one of the baskets for the sky-blue fabric they'd bought. "Hold this for a minute."

"And winging it implies bleeding yourself dry?" Lara chastised with a scowl, unrolling the linen and holding it to her chest.

Kassandra was only half-listening, eyes trailing from Lara's face to the fabric. She squinted and scrunched her nose. The color suited her complexion, but needed something else. "Brown or white?"

The young woman blinked at her, lips pursing in a thin line "You're deflecting."

Hazel eyes focused on Lara. "I'm not," she leaned over the baskets again, finding the white and brown bundles Lara had sneaked in earlier. "One thing at a time," Kassandra said and wrapped the shawls loosely around the archeologist's neck.

Better.

She nodded to herself. "I will tell you," a sigh came out of her mouth. Kassandra knew Lara wouldn't let go until she gave the young woman a clear answer. "After the symposium. There is no need for you to know now," she waved her hand, motioning at the bags and the fabric. "You have a big event to focus on."

The look on Lara's face told her she had only managed to convince the archeologist halfway. Kassandra smiled, closing the distance between them to cup Lara's cheeks, "Hey," Kassandra's thumb trailed down her chin, lifting it up gently to meet her gaze. "I am not doing this without you."

Lara's eyes softened, boring into hers, and Kassandra lost herself for a moment. She felt her heart pick up again and soar when the young woman eventually nodded, lips spreading in a timid smile that made her melt.

"White."

-0-

It took them most of the afternoon, countless fittings, compromises and a ridiculous number of pins to make a Franken-dress that was just the right mix of Athenian fashion and foreign exoticism to catch the eye. Lara was going to destroy that symposium, Kassandra mused, feeling very proud of their hard work coming to fruition.

"I don't think Sam would recognize me if she saw me right now," Lara said, her face breaking into a huge smile.

Kassandra snorted, running her fingers along the dress to smooth out the ends. "You know you can keep it after tonight. Bring it back with us," she looked up, meeting Lara's face. "Wear it for one of those balls your people are so fond of?" her voice was teasing, a smirk tugged at her lips. "Do you know how to waltz?"

"Do you?" Lara shot back with a smile.

(She did.)

Kassandra stood up and took a step back, assessing her work with a critical eye. The V-neck could have been a little deeper, but she had caved under Lara's shrill protestations and stubborn refusals. The light blue and white layered linen did wonders, standing out against the archeologist's skin.

"You don't talk about her often," Kassandra said, picking up their conversation. "Sam," she clarified, when the archeologist's brows furrowed.

"Oh," Lara's eyes clouded, head hanging low. Her fingers fidgeted, a nervous tell Kassandra knew all too well by now.

Guilt.

"I-I miss her," she said timidly – there was more to that particular topic, the other woman could hear it. She didn't press on. "I miss them all, I try not to…" the archeologist shook her head. "I try not to think about it but…"

Kassandra came closer, running her fingers along Lara's naked arm until she reached her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, prompting the young woman to lift her face.

"You don't have to bottle that up," Kassandra muttered. "Talk to me about them, I want to know about your friends," she smiled, something soft, genuine. "You've met Ikaros, and he is the closest thing I had to a friend, to a family for a very long time. You've met Phoibe, too."

Lara's eyes crinkled with mirth when she chuckled. "And Alkibiades."

She joined her a few seconds later, "And Alkibiades," Kassandra's hand went up, gathering a strand of hair behind Lara's ear and paused, seeing the two silver rings there. She'd never noticed before. Subtle.

"What I am trying to say is that you can talk to me. About Sam, about that butler of yours, and anyone in your life. If it helps you, if you want to," she breathed, her tongue sliding across her lower lip. "You will see them again, I will make sure of it," her voice was low, but resolute.

She could tell her words had impacted Lara. The younger woman nodded slowly, the tension in her shoulders ebbing with her sigh. Her mouth curved up in a small smile before Lara's eyes were drawn to Kassandra's lips.

Don't.

This morning had been a mistake. A lapse in judgment Kassandra had rationalized by convincing herself that she'd kissed Lara for the young woman's sake after seeing how her face was stranded, plagued by self-doubt, guilt and confusion.

This was completely different, this was a self-indulgent impulse that would inadvertently lead to more, turn whatever was brewing between them into something real. Tangible. Serious. Something dangerous and ultimately painful.

Don't…

But it tugged in her, a pull of warmth, urging Kassandra to lean and kiss Lara. Because she wanted to. Because she knew she could. Because Lara wanted her, too.

Don't do it.

For a split second, she couldn't see why not, and that was all it took. A blink and her lips were on Lara's, a breath and the soft pressure became more frank. Unburdened, the kiss held none of the hesitation of the previous night, none of the lip-bruising hunger Kassandra could feel building in the pit of her stomach. Each caress unhurried and sweet. Breathtaking, in a whole other sense of the word.

When Lara pulled back, flushed cheeks, clouded eyes and a little disoriented, Kassandra looked at her - really looked - committed every detail to memory, the caress, the feel and taste of Lara's lips on her tongue.

No more, her mind chastised. You can't do this to her.

Taking advantage of the young woman's momentary inertia, Kassandra draped the white shawl across her shoulders, turning Lara around to fix the back and cover her scars.

"It's not see-through," she said, holding a pin between her lips. "But close. Do you want to cover your arms too?"

She heard Lara clear her throat and saw her look down at herself. One of her hands went up, over the angry mangled line on her bicep, the one that stood out the most among the crisscrossing of white and faded-pink lines marring her exposed skin. Kassandra could only see the side of her face, looking grave for a second, unreadable the next. She could feel the nervous energy radiating from the archeologist's body as silence stretched between them.

"No," Lara eventually said in a breath. "Don't cover them."

"Okay," Kassandra walked around her again, deft hands fixing the ends of the shawl on the shoulder straps of the dress and tying it with an intricate knot. The young woman's mood had plummeted, the tension in her muscles had come back. Lara had retreated into her head, a haunted look on her face.

"If you're looking for cheap entertainment at the symposium," Kassandra began, drawing the archeologist's attention back from her musings. "Or an out from Sokrates, get me drunk," she smirked. "And I'll sing."

That managed to get a hearty laugh from Lara. The archeologist turned around to let the other woman drape the grey cloak they had customized around her shoulders. She chanced a glance behind her. "Is that why you never got drunk in front of me?"

Her grin mirrored Lara's. "...maybe," she ran her hands down the archeologist's arms, smoothing out wrinkles and guiding Lara around to face her.

The young woman looked up, feeling Kassandra's gaze travel up and down, breath itching slightly. "How do I look?"

Kassandra beamed at her. "Stunning."

Phoibe was positively bored. One full day of nothing (Hippokrates called it rest) had been enough to make her restless, her body buzzing with nervous energy – desperate to go out and enjoy the sun, play with the stray pups she had seen roaming near Perikles' house, anything really; she just wanted to move. She had alternated between staring longingly out of the window and walking a hole in the floor. Kassandra's visit in the morning had made her smile. The woman had assaulted her with questions about her back, shuffled and fussed around her like the mother goose they used to own on Kephallonia, the one with a crooked wing that would peck, honk and hiss at anyone who got too close to her goslings. Even Kassandra hadn't dared to approach without proper gear.

They had spent most of the day together, the woman filling her in on her adventures, on how she had won Phobos at the Arena of Pephka, had talked to a "really big" Sphynx, and met a "really nice" cyclops who wrote her a beautiful poem. Phoibe, starry-eyed and a huge grin on her face, had hung onto Kassandra's every word.

Her own tales paled in comparison and only involved an update on the latest Athenian gossip and how Aspasia was starting to worry about Perikles' health. Nothing as remotely interesting as meeting a Sphynx. Or a gentle cyclops.

Catching up had been nice, but Kassandra had needed to leave at sunset. She'd promised to come back tomorrow morning and take her horseback riding, if Hippokrates approved. The cheetah had stayed, though, watching her from the corner of the bed where he laid, curled up on himself.

Phoibe tossed the pebble in her hand, catching it swiftly before tossing it again. She looked to the side, finding the animal staring at the small stone with rapt attention, following its motions with his eyes and his head.

"Want to play?"

His ears perked up as he stood, long legs stretching with his yawn. He hopped off the bed and trotted towards her before freezing mid-stride to stare at the window.

There was a small thud, something scraping against rough stone. The distinctive sound of someone climbing silently up the wall.

Phoibe's heartbeat picked up, eyes flickering between the window and the cheetah next to her. She contemplated making a run for it, but he wasn't hissing. Kassandra had trained him well against intruders, which meant whoever was out there wasn't a threat.

"Who's there?" Phoibe called loudly, grabbing an empty plate to use as a weapon.

There was no response, only more scraping. She approached on her tiptoes before the cheetah jumped on his back legs, sniffing the air and meowing. A gloved hand shot up a few seconds later, catching him by the snout to give him a gentle push. The silhouette of a big figure popped up from the edge of the window and waved at her timidly.

Phoibe gasped and tensed for all but two seconds before she realized who it was. She sighed in relief, clutching at the chiton above her chest and smiled. "Hello!"

The woman didn't answer, only tilted her head in greeting before gesturing inside with her free hand.

"Yes," Phoibe nodded eagerly, "You can come in!"

She swung her legs and landed in a crouch; arms already stretched out to ward off the clingy cheetah meowing for attention. It made Phoibe chuckle. For all the aggression he would show in the face of danger, the animal turned into a literal ball of fluff as soon as he took a liking to someone.

"He really loves to cuddle," her face broke in a big happy grin. Finally, someone else to talk to. "Are you hungry?" she asked a moment later, looking around. "I have apples. And a bit of meat, I can go fetch wine if you're thirsty?"

The woman only shook her head, looking a bit stiff. She gave the cheetah a good belly rub, enough to satiate him for a while. After a few minutes of awkward staring, she gestured behind her shoulder, making back and forth motions at Phoibe.

Her brows knitted in confusion for a second. "Oh," she gave her a brisk nod. "Yes, it doesn't hurt as much anymore," Phoibe bit her lower lip, taking a breath before she spoke again, "Thank you for saving me."

The woman acknowledged her with a tilt of the head and moved from her crouched position to sit by the wall. Another bout of silence stretched before them and Phoibe mirrored her position, sitting cross-legged by the bed.

"You don't talk, do you?" the woman shook her head. "Do you have a name?" another shake of her head. "No one, then? Like Odysseus?" she gave Phoibe another bow that made her smile.

The woman lifted her gloved hand a minute later, burrowing the other in her cloak to fetch a small leather pouch that she emptied on her open palm, revealing a little pile of small bones.

Phoibe's face lit up. "Astragaloi?" she asked. "You know how to play?" she received a brisk nod.

They set the game in motion, the woman emptied a pot through the window and placed it in a corner of the room before joining Phoibe on the opposite corner. The girl was bouncing with excitement; holding her set of bones in a tight fist.

"I've never played like this," she said, pointing at the jar. "We would dig a hole in the dirt with Kassandra and Markos," the woman stiffened a little at those words, before shrugging. "But it's fine," Phoibe added quickly. "It's harder like this, I like it!"

They both crouched in position. Phoibe held out her hand, assessing the distance with one eye closed before she threw her first bone. It hit the rim, flying sideways and completely missed its target.

It took her a second to realize the short noise she had just heard was very discreet snort. "Hey!" her head whipped around, nudging the masked woman with her elbow. "Don't laugh. It's my first try," she just needed more practice.

The apology came in the form of a head tilt. The woman lifted her chin, holding the small bone between her thumb and curled index finger, bending her arm. The bone flew in a nearly perfect arc with a flick of her thumb, landing in the jar with a soft clink.

"Show off!" Phoibe blurted, thoroughly impressed. This was the kind of trick Kassandra would pull. She blinked at the woman, frowning before standing right in front of her. "Show me how you do it."

One or two drops would suffice. Three was too much - Perikles' health would deteriorate too fast and draw suspicion. Aspasia tilted the vial, watching the clear liquid drop into the amphora before rearranging the wooden tray meticulously. Apples on the right, grapes on top, easy to reach. Artos on the side, just dry enough to leave Perikles parched and reaching for the wine.

It had taken a few months of careful planning. Iokaste had provided the herbs, nothing lethal if given occasionally. The Daughters of Artemis used it to cure ills from the inside. The ones no prayers and no healers could sooth. It healed, but given daily for months on end, it killed.

Aspasia hadn't wanted it to happen like this. Perikles' death was the last thing she wanted, selfishly hoping there was another way. But ideologies were the legacy of dead men. He needed to die for the greater good, for Order. For the philosopher king to emerge, fueled by the convictions of Aspasia's Athenian consort and her careful advice.

For the prophecy she had seen to accomplish. For the athánatos to rise and find her.

Perikles needed to die. Like all good things, like the memory of their son, Aspasia would lock him away in the confines of her heart to revisit when no one could see her grieve. Order and peace demanded sacrifices.

The Cult wouldn't survive. Ancient grudges had swayed the previous Ghost in making the poor decision to hunt Leonidas' family, choosing the wrong weapon to mold. The wrong God to worship.

Kassandra's potential was extraordinary – Aspasia had seen her in action. Raw power and a heart of clay. Where the Cult had seen weakness, she had seen the strength and resolve. The resilient compassion that shone despite the wretched torments paving her life.

All the things that would make a great leader of the Greek World and beyond. All the things Aspasia needed her to be.

But the Cult had wanted Deimos, and so dread they received. His ruthlessness would be their demise. The sacrificial girl they had disregarded all those years ago was picking them out one by one. Their ranks thinned at every meeting, whispers rose, hiccups and tears filled their call for help.

Death had a name, and she carved it on their skin with the tip of her broken spear.

There was shuffling to her side, at the threshold of the room. Aspasia lifted her head, expecting to welcome Phoibe for a split second, but that wasn't who she saw.

(Something bitter on her tongue, an uncomfortable pinch squeezed at her heart, remembering the events of yesterday, but she disregarded it quickly – there would be a time and place to think about that later.)

The little girl at the door – Ione - barely ten, hands to her chest, was throwing wary looks at the guards flanked like columns of granite on either side of the entrance.

"You're scaring the poor girl," Aspasia tutted. The Cult's soldiers were really something else, even without their silver armor. The men stood straight, but lowered their weapons. "Please come in, sweetheart," her lips stretched in a warm smile, beckoning Ione inside. "Don't mind them."

Aspasia rose up to her feet, demure and slow, she held the tray in her hands and crouched. "Would you be so kind as to bring this meal to Perikles?" her voice was soft, curling around the words, cajoling more than demanding - never demanding.

The little girl's nod was brisk, eager to please as she was. Her smile was missing a few teeth, giving her a slight lisp. "Yes, Aspasia."

The woman smiled, chuckling to herself at Ione's apparent struggle to pronounce her name. "Thank you, sweetheart," she fished inside the doubling of her himation, producing a small purse from which she picked a few drachmae. "For your trouble," she said, pressing the coins in the girl's small palm.

"It's too much…" Ione lamented, though the flush of her cheeks and sparkling eyes told Aspasia she wouldn't refuse it.

The woman shook her head, "Go now, before the bread gets cold."

Only the crackling of fire filled the room when she left. Aspasia walked back to the table, and frowned. Alkibiades' symposium would be starting soon - Aspasia didn't like to be late - but there was another issue she needed to deal with first.

She wouldn't showcase herself until it was time, but she liked to watch. Kassandra, especially.

Loud footsteps echoing through the staircase interrupted her musings. Aspasia kept her face carefully blank, but the lack of discretion irritated her. Too much noise drew attention, and she liked to be careful. One didn't become the Ghost of Kosmos by overlooking details.

The man trudged his way to her chambers, letting out a heavy breath when he greeted her.

"So?" she asked, still staring at the flickering flames.

"I did as you said and waited until the slave left," the guard shuffled in place, the creaking of leather and clinking of steel told her as much. "I found a register of scrolls between hard leather," he replied, before handing it to her.

Aspasia turned around, eyeing him cautiously. "Did you open it?" she held the register in her hands frowning at the letters on the cover. She couldn't read them.

"No."

One couldn't survive the sharks of Athenian and Spartan politics without being able to spot a lie. Aspasia gave him a small smile and tilted her head.

The register wasn't heavy in her hands, the scrolls were all filled with writings and small sketches. Fingers skimmed through the pages rapidly before they froze.

Kassandra was looking back at her, wearing foreign garments and a mischievous grin. Aspasia's eyes retraced the woman's features, from the scar on her lip to the slight crinkle of her eyes. The foreigner – Lara – certainly knew her craft, she mused, her attention to detail had rendered the portrait almost lifelike, enough to make Aspasia's heart skip a few beats when she saw it. Only sculptors were capable of this. She frowned; eyes drawn to the necklace halfway hidden by Kassandra's clothes.

Interesting...

Aspasia turned to the next page, and the next, stopping every time there was a drawing of Kassandra. Jumping off a cliff, scaling through mountains. She bit the inside of her lip, using the coppery tinge of blood to tamper her excitement. The woman closed the register, careful to leave it just as it was.

"Put it back where you found it and make sure no one sees you," she instructed before handing it to the guard.

"At once," the man bowed, holding the register close to his chest as he walked out.

She turned away, facing the small fire again. Now she understood why Iokaste had failed to seize control over the Daughters of Artemis, even with Deimos by her side.

A demigod couldn't beat an athánatos.

"Kill him when he comes back. Don't make a mess," she told the other guards, gesturing to the vial. "Twelve drops."

The information in that register was too sensitive to reach the sages' ears.

Things were finally falling into place. The pyramid under the temple of Delphi had shown her what had happened. What could happen. It seemed the athánatos had risen early, and brought a companion with her.

Aspasia grinned.

She wouldn't fail. Not this time.

Athánatos means immortal, Thanatos is the personification of death in Greek Mythology, the prefix a means without or not. So, 'no-death' basically. I couldn't put it up there in the vocabulary for obvious reasons.

Sorry, no symposium, but it's coming next! Will Lara get EB!Kass drunk and subject everybody to her awful singing? Stay turned to find out!

So, back in the days and I really mean, BACK in the days, wearing two earrings in one ear usually suggested you were swinging both ways. But again that was 40 years ago. And I'm telling you this because 2013 Lara had three silver rings, two in one ear and that's enough for my thirsty ass to speculate. The devs removed them in Rise and Shadow but I don't care. She has them here. Fight me.

Phoibe and Kassandra play the Roman variation of knuckleheads called Tropa – with a vase. Children in Ancient Greece would draw a circle or dig a hole in the dirt. I always found super cute how Phoibe's VA would draw out the word "reeeaally" every time. I feel like that something Kassandra would pick on to poke fun at her sometimes, like she did with the little girl who couldn't say jewels.

HOW DO WE FEEL ABOUT THAT LAST SCENE, EH? :D