ALEXIOS RETURNS BEFORE the sun rises. Antidote in hand. He hands it off to Irene, who trickles the vile-smelling mixture into Alkibiades' parted lips. Silence hangs heavy in the air as the princess holds her breath with Alexios and Barnabas. She exhales with a smile when Allie sits upright, sputtering, and asking for wine to wash away the taste. He recovers quickly after a cup of watered wine and a hunk of crusty brown bread —returning to the ongoing festivities with renewed vigor.
"Don't you have one last fight, Alexios?" Barnabas asks —the captain had kept Irene and Alkibiades company while the misthios was away. One last round of the pankration remains between the Eagle Bearer and victory. Irene purses her lips. The match is fast approaching, and Alexios has not slept a wink given everything that had transpired, but he nods and turns to report for the event.
Irene finds him before the match again —worried as many spoke of the prowess of the reigning champion. Alexios sits on a stool in his perizoma, the muscles in his back tensing and relaxing as he bends forward, rubbing rosemary-infused olive oil on his legs. He is unfazed by his opponent's reputation for it is Kallias who is his true adversary —a member of the Cult.
A shadow moves across the room and then soft, delicate hands come to rest on his shoulders. He leans his head back against her stomach, it is a good thing Irene arrived when she did. "Oil my back?" Alexios asks. It is tradition for athletes to compete in the pankration oiled —he'd broken tradition in the preliminary round, but the organizer kindly requested he abides by the sacred laws for this match.
The princess pours the scented oil into her hand and starts at his shoulders. His muscles are tense with anticipation, but when she finds a spot at the base of his neck a small moan leaves his lips. She laughs, continuing her ministrations. "Didn't want to get one of your admirers to do this?" Irene teases, pressing the heel of her palm into the base of his neck. Since his first victory, the Eagle Bearer had amassed quite the following in Olympia —children and would-be suitors alike.
"I don't care about them," he says, craning his neck back to look up at the princess. I love you is written in his dark eyes. Irene dips her hand into the oil for a final time, hands moving across his lower back. When finished, she steps back, wiping her hands on a strip of linen. Alexios rises from the stool and turns, holding his arms out, glistening in the sunlight coming through the window —it's the best he's smelled in weeks and one of strangest feelings he's ever had. He steps in front of Irene, tilts her chin up, and steals a kiss for good luck before the final pankration match beings.
SPARTA WILL TAKE the Olympian victory with Alexios's defeat of the reigning pankration champion. A crowd gathers opposite of the Temple of Zeus before the Kallistefanos Elea —a large olive tree standing atop a pedestal. Champions and contenders from the events line up along the street —Alexios standing among them. At the front of the crowd stands Irene, Barnabas and Alkibiades flanking her sides. "Alexios of Sparta!" Leander proclaims.
Leander reaches up, placing a wreath upon his head and steps back. The crowd offers a roar of applause. The Eagle Bearer looks around those gathered, his gaze quickly falling on Irene. She is smiling at him and everyone and everything but her fades. He does not join the fellow champions after descending the steps, instead his feet take him to the princess.
Irene runs a strigil over his shoulder, scraping off a layer of dirt, sweat, and oil. Several bruises from the match are beginning to blossom on his back and his knuckles are swollen and bloody. Besides a busted bottom lip, his handsome face remains unscathed. The princess sets the strigil aside and wipes over his neck and shoulder with a damp cloth. "You still smell like rosemary," she muses. He makes a gruff noise of disapproval, but the princess only laughs, gathering up his chiton.
"We should head back to the Adrestia," he remarks, adjusting the neck of his leather cuirass. Irene nods, straightening the scarlet scarf draped over his shoulders. Alexios catches her wrist when she turns to leave the contestant's quarters, tugging her back into his chest —arms wrapping around her waist. It feels as though they have hardly seen one another since the games started several days ago and it feels good to hold her if only for a few fleeting moments. She pulls from his embrace, turns to face him and places a quick kiss on the tip of his nose. He smiles.
Most in the streets do not give Alexios a second glance now that he is clothed in the armor of a simple misthios. That changes when they pass a small group of children who recognize him as a champion and as the mercenary who bears the eagle of Zeus. "We're being followed," Irene muses, catching a glimpse of the children trailing behind them.
Alexios looks over his shoulder and turns —going down to one knee before the small group. "Eagle Bearer!" One girl cries —the excitement and innocence in her eyes remind Irene of a brave little girl named Phoibe. He extends his arm and Ikaros dives from the sky, gracefully spreading his wings to perch. Irene watches from the side —a hand covering the wide smile on her lips. A swell of warmth rises in her chest seeing him with children. Despite his title as a misthios and his hot temper, Alexios is always patient, kind, and gentle if children are involved. He'll make a good father someday she thinks.
IRENE PERCHES ON the railing at the helm of the Adrestia, Alexios stands between her legs —hands holding onto her waist. She tugs on a matted lock of his hair. The euphoria of the games has yet to fade. It would be a shame to not let Barnabas and the crew bask in the joy for the rest of the night. Besides, Herodotus had yet to return from recording the accounts of the victors. "Let the crew have one more night of celebration before sailing back into war," she asks of him, tugging on a lock of his hair.
He smiles, catching her hand and raising it to his lips, kissing the center of her smooth palm. "As you command, princess." Irene pushes on his shoulder —rolling her eyes. She's no longer a princess though he is keen on reminding her that at one point she was. He glances over her shoulder at the crew and shouts. "The night's yours!" Cheers erupt on the deck. Given a few minutes, many take their leave to enjoy a final night ashore.
Alexios places the wreath he'd won atop Irene's head. It suits her better than him. "So champion," she begins, locking her ankles together behind his back and her fingers together behind his neck, "how do you wish to celebrate your victory?" Irene hopes their last night alone will not be wasted —a long journey lies ahead of them to reach Boeotia and the Spartan forces.
His warm breath dances over his cheek as he leans toward her, tightening his grip on her thighs. "First," Alexios starts, "I'm going to kiss you." Irene raises a brow —surely that is not the only thing he intends to do. He traps her in place with his tawny-gold gaze, eyes flicking down to her parted lips. "And then I'll take you beneath the stars," he adds in a low whisper. The princess smiles when his lips meet hers, making silent promises and hushed confessions.
The following morning the crew stagger back toward the Adrestia after a night of merriment and Irene discovers Alkibiades is waiting on the dock to see them off. "I couldn't let you leave without saying goodbye," he remarks, noticing her violet peplos has been replaced by a simple linothorax cuirass and dented greaves. She wears armor equally as well as the fine gowns of Athenian aristocrats.
"Of course not, Allie," Irene smiles, accepting his embrace and the two quick kisses on her cheeks. Seeing him here has been good and telling one oldest and dearest friend goodbye is still not an easy feat. He nudges her back toward the trireme, where Barnabas and Alexios are shouting commands to prepare the ship for sailing. Irene turns toward the ship but looks back over her shoulder, still smiling. Alkibiades catches the love-bites on her neck and his smile turns into a lewd smirk.