Greek words to know:
agora: the marketplace of Athens
eirena Alexandrois: the peace of Alexander
kleos: eternal glory
daimon: a divine spirit
I hate to do this, but quick comment on timeline: up until now, Annabeth's sections were two weeks behind the Babylon sections. By the middle of Annabeth's section in this chapter, she ends up two weeks ahead of Babylon. The rest of the chapter takes place two weeks ahead of Babylon as well.
"If you free yourself from the conventional reaction to a quantity like a billion years, you free yourself a bit from the boundaries of human time. And then in a way you do not live at all, but in another way you live forever." — John McPhee, Basin and Range
IV
Annabeth gets married in Athens. Demosthenes rejoices in his exile. Olympias mourns, but Kynane does not.
THE DAUGHTER OF ATΗENS
As much as busy was the norm in Athens, there was another buzz layered on top of the usual business of the city. Additional soldiers marched through the streets. More boys trained in the fighting yards. More speakers spoke at the Pnyx to demand freedom. Athens had changed in recent weeks. It was a palpable change. The city felt exuberant. The city felt ecstatic.
Everyday, her father would come home in giddy form. War! he would exclaim. Freedom! Word had reached Athens that Alexandros was building a fleet at Rhodes for an invasion of Libya. The challenge to Athenian naval superiority was apparently the final drop in the bucket for those Athenians who were tired of being chained by Babylon and Pella.
But there was tension, too. For every two speakers demanding freedom, there was one demanding caution. More often than not, Hyperides would make his firebrand case for rebellion, and Phokion would follow him, pleading for caution and reason.
Tension spilled from the Pnyx into the streets. Parading hoplites would run into patrolling city watchmen. A few times those encounters had broken out into brawls, even once leading to a stampeding riot across the agora. The watchmen, less well-off than most hoplites, were not as willing to break the eirena Alexandrois. They had heard from their fathers, or had experienced for themselves, of the constant battling between city-states that Alexandros' conquest had put an end to. And many of the more well-off agreed — the peace should stay.
Yet their pleas for caution went unheralded by the fervor of the masses who clamored for rebellion. Young men, eager to prove themselves every bit as heroic as Akhilleus or Odysseus combined with bitter men who dreamt of greater things than gold. Empire. Strike Alexandros before his fleet could make it out of Rhodes, secure Athenian safety from the North, and recreate the Athenian dominance enjoyed by Sokrates and Aristophanes. Or so they dreamed
This was what Annabeth had heard from second-hand sources. She had yet to be allowed outside her home since her marriage was proposed. Her father worried that she would run off. The idea was not foreign to her. Thus, most of her knowledge of political matters had come from dinner table discussions, through listening in on symposion discussions, or through Helen, who Annabeth was learning was far more perceptive than she let on. Helen told Annabeth everything that her father refused to believe — the dissent, the discontent, the riots. Through the tidbits of information Annabeth forced out of her stepmother, she learned more than just what was going on in Athens.
It was one of those obnoxiously propagandist dinners that Annabeth found herself at now. Her family sat with her betrothed, a young officer in the army. The war shall be glorious! her father told Antiphalos, her betrothed. The ekklesia's march towards war was not, of course, without the people's backing, her father would proclaim. There was a general attitude in the city for war, she had heard her father say. And a perfect time for her marriage, wouldn't you agree, her father had asked her husband-to-be.
"Oh yes, very much sir," her fool of a betrothed would reply.
"And when the time comes, it should be you, my boy, leading the van. Leading Athens to freedom once more!"
During these dinners, Annabeth's responses had become cyclical, repetitive. Whenever some stupid comment was made — about her, the war, politics — she would roll her eyes, and Helen would give her a stern eye in response. Annabeth would sigh, put on a smile, and heft out what tits she had. Helen would smile ever so slightly in approval.
Both had caught Antiphalos staring at Annabeth's cleavage a few times, and at her step-mother's more bountiful pair, at some servant girls' as well. He was a man who loved tits, her stepmother observed.
"Most men will pretend to care little for your body," she had said late one night over the past two weeks. "They will pretend that they are truly in love with little boys and their soft bodies — but they want you so badly. Their cocks get hard just at seeing a passing pornai or a beautiful singer. Let them think it's bad for them, that they shouldn't be thinking about you like that."
"But why? I thought I wanted them to try and fuck me?"
Her stepmother laughed, the cruel edge still stuck in her voice. "No, you beautiful little fool. You want them to want you. Yearn for you. And desperately. And a man loves what he can't have, whether that be a girl, a virgin, or another man's wife."
Helen, Annabeth was figuring out, was more right than wrong. Not that she would tell her as much, but she was beginning to act on her step-mother's advice. Their conversation on the oikos had been so brutally honest that it broke some invisible barrier that had existed between the two. Their relationship was not fixed with a snap of her fingers, but it was noticeable that Annabeth tried now, with subtle movements, to push her chest out, or give a shy smile to her husband-to-be. Inside, however, she felt gross for even attempting such actions.
"I would be honored to lead Athens to freedom once more sir. And when your daughter and I are married, our two demes will be the most respected in Athens once again!"
Her father thrust his wine cup in the air. "Hear hear!" He downed a larger portion of the cup than would have been polite amongst other guests.
"You see, when Plato told us of his philosophos-basileus it was not Makedonians he spoke of! It was Athenians! Aristotle once knew that, and knew it well! But he lost his way, whored himself out to Philip, same as Phokion. They were men without conviction, I say! Men without honor. Perhaps now they will run to Athens again and beg forgiveness. It is time once again for the Athenians to rule Hellas!"
Her father paused his speech to drink some more wine, by now positively drunk. "And once you lead Athens to victory, Hyperides can say nothing to me. It will be us at the forefront of Athenian politics. I will be the new Perikles!"
Her fool of a betrothed raised his glass to meet her father's once again. "May Athena grant us the strength of mind and Ares the strength of spear in this fight."
"And may Zeus grant us his justice!"
Men were just oversized boys, always dreaming of the glorious war in which they would be immortalized as heroes. Her father was the worst of them, she had once thought. Antiphalos might beat him, she now thought, observing the dumb smile spreading across his face. The gleam of glory was in his grotesque eyes.
"For Athens and for kleos!"
Once again, Annabeth could not resist the temptation to roll her eyes. Once again, Helen responded with a pointed gaze.
Π
"What is this even for?" As soon as they had entered into their room, Annabeth tore off her dress before tearing into her stepmother. The anger that had stirred and steamed within her all night had finally boiled over. She stared down at her breasts, angry at their existence. She hated it. She hated how low she had had to degrade herself. "A little bit of freedom to fuck whom I want in a year or two? They don't care about my tits or my body. They're boys — they want glory in war. To wet their swords with Makedonian blood," she said the last part derisively.
"A little bit of freedom in general," her stepmother replied, taking the outburst with cool indifference. "What do you think they do after wetting their blades with blood? They wet their cocks. Boys love sex just as much as they love war. It just doesn't make for half as entertaining dinner conversation." Her stepmother paused again. "And don't say it wasn't working. Because it was."
Helen disrobed as well. Her body was toned perfection. Her stomach remained flat and her legs long. But it was her breasts that always demanded the most attention. Everything within her focused at the largeness of Helen's breasts. She wanted to look away as tiny seeds of doubt and self-loathing seeped into her conscious. Why were her breasts not as large as Helen's? Why were her areolas not as dark? Why were her nipples not as pronounced?
No. Stupid, stupid.
Internally, Annabeth slapped herself. There was no practical reason she'd need a chest that large. In fact, large tits would easily be a nuisance, getting in the way if she was ever able to fight.
No, not if — when she got to fight. She knew she would need to learn, one day.
Annabeth did not need large breasts to seduce a man. She did not need to seduce a man. She did not need Helen's help to gain her independence. What had it even gotten Helen? She yanked her eyes away from Helen's chest, but her stepmother had already caught her staring.
"Admiring the goods?"
"No," Annabeth snapped, feeling defensive. Helen's smirk irked her. Just because they were on speaking terms did not mean that they were on good terms.
"It's fine to look, Annabeth, many girls have done much, much more."
Hearing that, Annabeth spun back around to face Helen and blushed. "You-you what?" She sputtered.
"Come now, Annabeth. You've read Sappho, have you not?"
"I mean, I have, but…" The words got stuck in Annabeth's throat. Of course, she has had those thoughts about women before. It was as natural in girls as it was in boys, despite what the men would say. But having those thoughts about Helen? Weird, very weird.
"But?" Helen raised her eyebrow in the same way that would make men's pants grow tight and even Annabeth could not deny she felt her throat constrict. Slowly, Helen sauntered her way next to the younger girl. They were nearly the same height — her and Helen — with the latter being a little taller. Still, their breasts touched and Annabeth's breath hitched. This was the closest she had been with, well, anyone. The fact that it was her stepmother just made it… something more insane.
"That wasn't what I was thinking about," she managed to get out.
"Oh? And what were you thinking about?" Helen spun away with a wicked grin, before taking a seat on her bed. Her breasts jiggled as she spun. Her rear shifted, tempting, as she walked.
"How it doesn't matter if my tits are smaller than yours." The words came out half-forced, caught in her throat like a rabbit stuck in a hollowed log, squirming slowly out of the natural trap.
From her place on the bed, her hands behind her, supporting her, Helen raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "And why not?"
"Because I'm done seducing men." She slipped on a comfortable bandeau.
"After a night? Giving up so soon?"
Annabeth growled in response. She was not giving up. Annabeth did not give up.
"I don't need it."
"Don't need it? So you've solved your problem another way?"
"No. But I will. And seduction won't get me anything I want."
"It'll get you anything, any time, as long as men rule and their cocks still twitch when they see a beautiful woman."
"Only money and a little freedom. Even then, that freedom feels tainted. I don't want to be a glorified hetaira."
Helen had the tenacity to smile. "No offense taken."
Annabeth scowled at Helen's tone. Would she ever pin down her stepmother? One day, she's more or less torturing Annabeth. The next she's, what, flirting with her?
"Annabeth, dear," Helen sighed. "You're using me as your example."
"You're my only example."
"Not true. Do you remember Aspasia?"
"Of course I do."
"Then you know as well as I do that she wrote most of Perikles' speeches." Better than you, she thought, but wisely kept that comment quiet. "You think she received that opportunity just because she asked? No, she created her own opportunity by performing a few favors here —" Annabeth resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She doubted Aspasia was performing those types of favors to Perikles, but Helen was allowed to think what she wanted, Annabeth supposed. "— and a few favors there. Seduction is our one key to power, Annabeth. If you don't use it, you lose out on all that power, which is all that you've ever wanted, no?"
"I don't want power—"
"You do. The power to read, the power to make your own decisions. Honestly I bet you want more power than that."
Annabeth could not respond. The idea of holding as much power as her father was not an unattractive notion.
"You say I'm your only example," Helen continued. "And it's true. But think about it, I'm allowed to do one of the most taboo things in Athenian culture. Do you think there's nothing I couldn't do if I wanted to do it? After infidelity, what's a little information gathering? All of the information you've learned about Athens' current state, where do you think it came from? All it took was giving your father a little head here and there —"
"I did not need to know that."
"— and bam! Anything I want is within my fingertips. I just don't want the things you want. I've gotten you some of those things, if only because I pity you. Just know that if I wanted to look into Athens' finances, I could. If I wanted to know about troop movements, I could too. I just don't want to know. Innocence is bliss and all that shit."
Helen slithered her way to Annabeth's side. The younger girl nearly shivered at the contact their shoulders made.
"Do you see what I mean?"
Of course she did, she wasn't stupid. Still… It sounded wrong. Too good to be true, yet too repulsive to stomach. Why did it have to be this way? Why was she forced to sell her body in order to get the positions men were able to get with half the brains she had? The very idea of it was belittling. Was she that desperate to do this? Did Antiphalos even have enough power to offer her? He could quite possibly lead Athens' army against Antipatros and Alexandros. From there he would become either a hero or a corpse. She smiled a little bit. The latter option was more appealing than the former, but the former had its own perks. Power… Helen was right.
Annabeth turned to her stepmother, her smile growing wider. Was she willing? She still didn't know. But what she did know was that she wanted that power, that control Antiphalos had potential to offer.
"So if you asked, you could get me into Athens' books?"
Helen laughed, and Annabeth felt something with her stepmother for the first time since her father married her. "Yes, my dear, I think I could."
Π
The frigid water rushed over her body. Streams of cold filtered through her hair and down her sides. Annabeth shivered. It had been two weeks since her chat with Helen in their room; two weeks of anxiety, of waiting, of disgustingly flirtatious behavior with her soon-to-be husband, which were all to be washed away by the bath. Supposedly.
The water had been carried from Hera's temple to her house before Annabeth had even woken up. It remained cold through the heat of Athenian summer and the long walk from Hera's temple to her father's house. It was meant to purify her of, well what exactly she had no clue.
"Not just purification," Helen had added. "Fertility too."
"Yes," the two temple workers who had lugged the loutrophoros to her house replied. "Eileithyia who sits besides the Moirai blessed this water. Hera daughter of Kronos blessed this water as well."
Annabeth could not contain her discomfort with the situation. Not only were the two staring at her naked form, they were heaving blessing upon blessing for a marriage she did not want throughout the ordeal. "They wish you many happy years of marriage," the two girls continued in creepy unison, "and many beautiful young boys to serve Athens —"
"Thank you, priestesses—"
"Oh we are not —"
"But your duty has been performed," Helen continued, rubbing Annabeth's shoulders softly. Annabeth was thankful for Helen's interruption. "Go back to your temple, tell your mistress we are thankful for the gift, and wish to see them soon."
The two maidens bowed their heads and scurried off.
"I hate the Heraion."
Annabeth looked up at her stepmother in confusion. She had yet to hear her speak out against any god.
"Oh don't be too shocked, child. Do you think the goddess of marriage looks down kindly upon me?"
Annabeth blushed, but reset her face with an understanding shake of her head. "I suppose not."
The two fell into a comfortable silence as Helen massaged soap into Annabeth's back. Annabeth sighed as her body slowly relaxed.
"Are you ready?"
No. "Yes."
"Good." Helen ran her hands along Annabeth's sides, testing her curves. "You will need to be prepared."
"I thought you said it was easy."
"It was." Annabeth considered her stepmother's stiff words and took a deep breath of determination.
"Does it feel good?"
"After the first time. And that's only if you let it be." Helen moved her hands upward, caressing her shoulders and massaged her head, working the water and cleansing oils into her hair. "Which you won't."
"I might."
"You won't."
Annabeth sighed and leaned into Helen's hands. They were working wonders on her scalp but doing little for her nerves.
"Truthfully, I didn't enjoy my first time." Helen finally said. Annabeth had expected as such; she'd learned long ago from gossip that one's first time always hurt. But somehow, Helen's confession still sent a chill through Annabeth.
"What changed?"
"The pain goes away immediately."
"Immediately?"
"Well, by the next round."
"Oh."
"And I learned more."
"More about sex?"
"Yes, through practice, and through talking with other women."
Annabeth knew Helen wanted her to ask for her help. She could hear the hope in her voice. But Annabeth was stronger willed than that. She could ask for aid, yes, but Annabeth was sure she could figure it out on her own. Sex was not that big of a monster. It was nothing compared to the endless nights she had spent miserable, begging the gods for a way out. So, she said nothing, and Helen continued to massaged her scalp.
"I could offer tips to make it better."
"I will figure it out."
This time, it was Helen who stilled to silence.
"...You won't make friends like this."
"I don't need friends."
"No. You've never had them. There is a difference."
"I've had friends!"
"None of which were at yesterday's proaulia." Helen tsked her, before reconsidering. "Or perhaps all of them were."
"I said I have had friends. Not that I do now. I have had friends, realized that I didn't need them, and moved on."
Helen did not reply as she helped Annabeth into her dress.
"You will need friends now." Helen finally responded once Annabeth's dress was secured to her young frame. "You will be isolated, and not by choice. All those times your father got upset with you? They will still happen but instead your husband will take you rough, as is his prerogative."
"It's not —" Annabeth paused her speech. As much as she did not want to admit it, Annabeth knew it was true. Not only that it was her husband's right by law to take her how he wished, but also that she was soon to lose everything she had ever known. Not that what she had known was some great thing, but all she had known was comforting in that she knew it. It was familiar. Her punishments were familiar, her disputes were familiar. Antiphalos had seemed remarkably docile, yes, but she did not know him as well as she knew her father.
"It is. Be prepared. It will be your life from now on. And if you isolate yourself even more? To whom will you turn on those nights when you cannot take it anymore? You will not have me there to cool your husband's head. You will not have anyone. Do you really want a life of lonesome suffering?"
Annabeth did not answer.
But the question stayed with her much after Helen had left to attend to her own duties. Her day, which should have been the most memorable of her life, passed by in a dull haze. The endless marriage rituals combined into one, long, immemorable day. She moved through the streets of Athens with her stepmother's words ringing around her head like never-ending bells. She greeted her groom with little emotion, her mind too preoccupied on answering that question. Pain or her pride; was there a choice to be made here?
She offered a lamb to Hera, praying for protection. She offered gold to Athena, praying for guidance that could lead her to a resolution to her dilemma.
For years, Annabeth's life had been a miserable monotony. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, all trapped inside her father's house. The only changing aspect of her day was when she would get in trouble. Even then there were only a few times of the day that would really be — in between meals. And then she would hide in her room while Helen went out, rereading the same few scrolls if she could. Annabeth's life was tiresome and terribly dull, but at least it was known.
Now, marching down the streets of Athens, beside her new husband, Annabeth realized how little she knew about the world. It had been so long since she had left her home and the world was much larger than it had appeared when she was smaller.
The streets were overflowing with people going about their day. The homes were not as big as she remembered them being, but there seemed to be more of them and closer together than they were before. The agora was an ocean of shouts, chitons, and aromas. The air was thick with people and their close proximity to her made the mid-summer's heat even hotter. Her dress started to stick to her as she sweated more. Like a flock of sheep when the approaching wolves close in, Annabeth felt herself panicking. This was new. Too new. Too much. Her mind had been sheltered and now like Zeus birthing Athena, it was bursting open.
Desperately, she turned around to try and glimpse at Helen. She found Helen walking alongside her father. Helen's white dress was sticking to her dark skin too, but Helen did not seem to mind that the sweat was showcasing herself to any lucky onlookers. Her father was too enraptured with Helen's exhibitionist nipples to notice Annabeth's gaze, but Helen was more perceptive than her father. She understood Annabeth's panic even from behind the girl's veil.
Helen simply gave Annabeth a pitying smile.
The young bride turned back around, her panic digging in.
"Athens is beautiful, isn't it?"
The question came from Antiphalos, who winked at her with an expression she'd never seen from him. It reminded her of the expression her father would use when talking to her half-brothers. Despite herself, she managed an answer.
"Y-yes," came Annabeth's meek reply to her husband.
"I love to walk around the Agora and just observe people."
She took a second to look at the crowds, unsure of what to say. She had gotten used to people who spoke without expecting a response. "Do they not notice?" She asked after he did not say anything for an uncomfortable amount of time.
He laughed, a laugh different than the deep laugh he exhibited with her father. This one was throatier and higher-pitched. His true laugh, Annabeth assumed. "No, most of them are too self-absorbed to notice someone staring at them."
"What do you get from it?"
"Nothing, I guess. I never know if I'm right, so I don't think I'm getting better at reading people. But maybe I am? I don't know. It's fun. No need to get anything from it."
For a moment there, Annabeth had thought her betrothed was not half the fool he appeared to be. Unfortunately, he was even more so. He had all this freedom to go and do whatever he wanted — train, read, learn — and he people watched. He sat down at the agora, and watched people for hours. To what end? Annabeth looked up at him again. He was smiling broadly at the people in the streets that were congratulating him on the marriage. Every once in awhile he would stare up at the sky and his smile would broaden.
"What in the sky has you so happy?"
"Well, it's just… it's a beautiful sky, isn't it?"
"I suppose." The sky was fair today, the blue expanse dotted with a few clouds to hand them the occasional shade. But the sun was shining too brightly and her dress was feeling the consequences. "But why does it have you smiling?"
"I'm just happy to be alive. I thank the gods every day for giving me life. Don't you?"
Oh, Zeus, son of Kronos, strike me down now, Annabeth thought.
"Oh yes. Everyday." Apparently he was not as good at detecting sarcasm as he was at reading people.
Π
They did not speak much after that. Annabeth did not really feel like initiating another conversation which would lead to her wishing for Hades to kidnap her. Her new husband kept similar silence, albeit, for a different reason. She couldn't understand how the simple-minded fool could be so enraptured by the blank sky and toasting crowds.
The long walk back from the agora had proven she was even more out of her element than she first realized. Her fear was driving her crazy, especially as the shock of the day's events began to wear off. She was married now. A woman, no longer a girl. Her husband… undying gods her husband. Just thinking of the phrase sent a shiver down her spine. She had desperately put off thinking about him the past two weeks. Once she did, it was too late. The terrifying reality of her new life gave her little chance to think of him as being anything more than an obstacle to her goal.
The long walk made other things apparent to her as well. The marriage procession from the temple to her home was longer on the way back, even though the route was the same. The long walk around Athens was more exercise than Annabeth had ever had, and it started showing. Her legs were wobbling, her feet crying in agony. And under the intense sun, she sweated more, her breaths becoming evermore ragged. She desperately desired water.
That, more than anything else about the day, angered her. For so long she had dreamed of being another Hippolyta or Atalanta. Instead, she was as weak as a lamb and just as sacrificial. Her arms were toothpicks compared to her husbands, her legs twigs. She had no endurance and no strength. Her body was not a hero's body. The realization brought tears to her eyes. By the time they had arrived back at her father's house, she was ready to collapse.
When she was finally parted from her husband — her husband! — to sit at a table amongst the other women at the marriage feast, Helen turned to the newlywed. "Look at you! You managed well."
"I…"
Helen ran her hand up and down Annabeth's back. Instantly, Annabeth felt herself relaxing. She let out long and shaky breaths, slowly recovering from the most demanding day of her life. "Why were we not born men?"
"Ask the gods, my dear."
Annabeth wanted to curl up and cry for hours alone. But she knew that was an impossibility.
"Come, drink some wine and eat a little bit."
"I'm going to vomit up anything I eat."
"Then wine and water."
Annabeth gave Helen a demure nod.
Annabeth gazed at her husband, laughing again in his fake laugh, drinking up a storm with his friends.
"He seems… not bad?" Helen suggested.
"He spends his days people watching," Annabeth replied as if people-watching was akin to serial murder.
"Annabeth…"
"What?"
"That's a good sign."
"How? It's…"
"It's..?"
"Well, it's pathetic and useless."
"Wouldn't you rather have someone pathetic and useless than overbearing and aggressive?"
"But I thought I wanted someone who could get me things?"
"That doesn't mean ambitious or even strong. His position is from his deme, not his personal ambition. Though the way he acts around your father, I would not doubt his ambition."
"So you think he has a shot at being important?"
"If enough people in his family stand up for him. And remember, your father is going to make him the head of the army against Alexandros."
Annabeth let silence still between them. "So it's true, then? War is upon us?"
"From what I've heard around the town and from your father, it's closer than it is afar."
"Will I go with him, if that is the case?"
"If your father allows it."
"Will he?"
"I don't know, child. Now, push those thoughts out of your head and enjoy the wine. It's from Krete."
With aching feet and a sweaty dress, she was too tired to argue much further. So Annabeth followed Helen's example, sipping her wine and nibbling at her lamb. It was good lamb, but Annabeth's stomach was not strong enough for meat now. Instead, she ate a bite or two of couscous. Her eyes rarely left her new husband throughout the night. He caught her gaze a few times and gave her a smile. At first, Annabeth did not return them. Helen soon corrected that.
"Smile back at him," she instructed.
"Why?"
Helen sighed and took a sip of wine. "Must you always question every bit of advice I give?"
"I just want to know why I should smile."
"So he likes you. It's easier if he likes you."
"Well, I don't like him."
"Anaïta Bethzatha, fucking smile at him or else."
Annabeth grumbled. However, the next time Antiphalos caught her eye, she gave him a shy smile.
"Good job."
The praise made her glow a bit. Judging from Helen's smirk, it was a glow that did not go unnoticed.
The feast progressed, without anything interesting, through multiple jars of wine. No one spoke of war for the first time in weeks. Perhaps everyone was war-weary already. She exchanged a few, painful, flirtatious eye-exchanges with her husband. He even winked at her at one point. Annabeth had giggled in response. At the very least she was learning how to act.
The night was nearing its end when the boring monotony of it was interrupted by a servant, one of the doormen, stumbling into the dining room.
"What is the meaning —" her father began, but he was cut off.
"A messenger, sir, at the gates. I… this news is of utmost importance. And urgent. Important and urgent, yes."
The messenger looked winded, but the sprint from the front gate the dining room was not that far. Maybe he was as out of shape as her. But it was bigger than that, she knew. The whole room fell silent, waiting for her father's verdict.
Annabeth looked from her father and servant to the direction of the gates. She looked back at her father.
"Well? Let them in. If he claims it is so urgent as to demand entrance into an officer of Athens' house, he will be allowed entry."
Whispers broke out around the room as everyone asked each other, in vain, what they thought the message was. To break them out of their futile conversations, a disheveled, sweaty man of lean stature burst through the noise of the night. "Pherekrates, sir, I have news from the East!"
Her father arched an eyebrow and looked to reply, but the messenger beat him to it with a heave.
"Alexandros III is dead!"
THE ORATOR
...but if they attempt to continue malicious, I appeal to you all to rally to my aid and not allow the enmity of these men to prevail over the gratitude due to me from you. Farewell.
Demosthenes sighed, placing down his ink pen. The scroll in front of him was far longer than the last one he had sent to Athens. Not a particularly bad thing, but he had rambled on for a while. Writing a speech was not as easy as giving one. In the midst of a speech, with the people clamoring for this thing or that, with the people behind him, roaring in approval, Demosthenes felt at home. Most of his speeches were barely planned.
Writing these letters was not the same. How could he know what the audience would think ahead of time, or what the reader of the letters would omit. He had learned long ago that crowds were such fickle things, as susceptible to the tides as an unmoored boat. Demosthenes scowled. Damn Hypereides. He had taught the younger orator too well. Demosthenes could not bring himself to hate the man because he knew he would have done the same if he were in Hypereides' position. But he came close. Really close.
He tried breathing again and said a quiet prayer to Athena for guidance. "Slave!" He called out, "come get this out to Athens, quickly now."
With a sleek gaze, Demosthenes watched the sway of the slave's rear as she hurried to his side.
"Yes, sir." The scroll was picked up with ginger hands, so as to prevent the ink from staining.
With his hands now free, he grabbed her dress and laughed with absolute abandon. The stress that had built up writing his plea left with the cheery laughter. He gazed upon the greatest scroll to ever be created, pinned in front of his desk. He re-read it while palming the slave's ass. It still did not seem real, but the source was reliable. Oh, how great the gods could be! After so long!
"Dead!" Demosthenes could not control his laughter, his exuberance. "Alexandros, the half-God — DEAD! By wine! Oh, Dionysos…"
How long had he dreamed of this new freedom? The informant had told him that not only was Alexandros dead, but that there were no heirs to take up his throne, that his army, mutinying in India already, would not be held together much longer. The trusted companions of Alexandros were squabbling as well, concerned over petty things such as who ruled what insignificant portion of Asia of Africa. The time was perfect for rebellion.
Oh, how he would erect a statue in Athens for whichever man brought about this misfortune on the once-King. Even if he was but a lowly cupbearer he would enjoy the greatest honors Athens had to bestow! For this great man had given Demosthenes the chance to once more create a free and prosperous Athens! An empire it would be anew, throwing off the yoke of the barbarian Makedonians and their Persian-loving ways.
He smiled to the heavens once more, and pulled the well-bottomed slave closer. "Bring me some wine and let us enjoy this momentous day!"
"Yes sir... right away." She kept her head bowed and her tone was insufficiently happy. That would not do. Demosthenes' hand went for her plump rear, happily taking in the soft flesh. Even his old body could still enjoy these pleasures. Aphrodite had not robbed him of that skill.
"Are you not happy? Alexandros, the great slaver, the oh-so-great tyrant, is dead! By a glass of wine! Of all things! Oh, how the gods are good. Bring me a glass of wine so I can toast Dionysos properly."
"It is a glorious day for Athens," she said monotonously. Demosthenes chose to ignore the fact that she was repeating his words back to her. It was expected, he doubted she had anything intelligent to say about the matter anyways. "Freedom. Liberty."
"Yes, yes, now wine."
The slave nodded demurely. She reached over to the jug of wine that sat just out of his own reached. His hand slipped around into her thigh. She poured him a cup, then cut it with water. She remained silent the whole time, head bowed.
Demosthenes' fingers rushed to enter her dry core. He turned to face her, accidentally bumping the cup he had just demanded be refilled. Wine spilled down his tunic, staining it red, but he cared little. His cock was hard, whether from the wine, girl, or the news he did not know.
THE MATRIARCH
The guards were dismissed aeons ago. No one had stood near her for months. She had been crying for years — millennia, even. Time had stopped working properly. How else could she describe this deep injury, so recently delivered, if not in terms of the gods themselves would have used; her misery was as eternal as Zeus. For was she not a goddess now? A goddess of misery and of despair, she could reside on Mount Olympos too, if she wanted. Olympias would haunt those marble hallways, singing her songs and weaving her tapestries of death and misery. Her tears would flow next to the Styx in the undergloom of Hades and her pain would be worse than Herakles'! She could be just as treacherous and as cruel as the gods above, they would see! How dare they take her son from her, her most prized possession. They took him away without even the promise of an heir. Curse them to Hades!
"Damn you, Zeus! Damn you, Hera! Damn you, Ares! And you too Athena! Damn you Apollo! Damn all the gods! Damn you all for bringing this misery out upon my house!"
Her fingernails dragged across her tanned forearms. It hurt. Good. They dug into her skin, warm blood coated her nails. She roared like the lioness who had lost her cub. Her nails ran up, up her arms. They made a furious journey to her elbows, then dug back down. She wailed more.
She had wailed for days on end. She had cried for days on end. She had bled for days on end. She had wailed until her voice had given out, and cried until her eyes had dried up and bled till she had no more blood to shed.
Her tears had betrayed her. They had ran out too soon, and so she cried dry tears. Her boy, her baby boy, gone! How long had it been since she had held him too? Too long.
Oh, he would be so beautiful now. Ageless, graceful, immortal.
Immortal! He had claimed it in one of his letters to her. She, the fool, had believed him. How could her son, the light of the world, the gods' Chosen, truly die? His kléos would live forever, yes, but his body would not. His soul had been stolen by Hades, that greedy lord of the undergloom. His kingdom was so vast already, why did he need her son?
Someone might have brought in wine at some point. Someone might have brought her food. They may have even fed her, or bathed her. They might have carefully placed her in bed with her babies. Her children may have slitherer around her, may have coiled around her and comforted her as she wept. Or maybe they had left like all the others, not willing to deal with her pain. She did not remember. The grief was too much. It was all she knew for certain.
Π
For two days, she was consumed by that grief. Thanatos came to her, the same as he had come to her son. He got close, too. The god of the dead nearly took her to see her boy one more time. But she was not so lucky. The world of the wretched living still demanded her. And thus, two days removed from the most horrid day of her life, the Queen found herself outside — sitting on her balcony, fuming. The heat of midday in a Greek summer, kept at bay only by a cup of wine, was not the only reason for her heated temperament. No, it was the damn noise.
The markets, slowly growing with the city into that worthy of an empire, had been closed for mourning since the news arrived. The streets were mostly barren. No singers or Thespians gave their voice to the sky.
All of that was gone, replaced by the relentless, overwhelming, unending sound of marching. Constant marching.
Antipatros drilled his troops all day, and then the city guard all night. Their shoes fell, synchronized with one another, in a mind-numbing rhythm. Left, right, left, right, left, right. On and on they marched, twelve-thousand pairs of shoes hitting the ground with that synchronized 'thump'.
She did not hate the fury that rose within her at the relentless marching. It was something to feel as opposed to the mind-numbing misery she had endured so much of recently. Still, she wanted silence. It was not that big of an ask, compared to what she could ask for. What did Antipatros think she had shut down the markets for, anyways?
Antipatros, the bane of her existence, a daimon sent by the gods to torment her, she was sure. Olympias was furious with him. Not only was this noise sending her into fits, but Antipatros had lied to her. Her! The Queen of Makedonia! The Queen Mother of an Empire! Whomever he thought he was, he was obviously not. No one defied her. Not even her son. Especially not her son. And especially not some over-jumped soldier. He doubted her, Olympias felt that. But that was his mistake. She was not out of this fight yet. She still had skin in the game. Her skin, her son's legacy, her family's legacy. Olympias refused to be outdone by an old man with no vision and a brat of a son. He could not even raise a proper son, so how did he expect to outwit her, whose child was the greatest of men!
"Wine!" She commanded. She needed to stop thinking so much. Damn the gods for taking her son and leaving her in this position!
A young slave hurried in to pour water and wine into her cup. "Bless you, Dionysos," she mumbled, praising the one god who had not deserted her, as she raised the wine glass to her lips.
"And bring me Antipatros!" She added. "I want his head!"
"His head, my Queen?!" Her dumb steward cowered a bit, in hopes he had heard her wrong.
"Yes, his head. Detached or attached I don't care. Bring it to me!"
"Sh—should I command his presence?"
"No, just ask. He will come."
"And… about his head."
"Oh, leave it on him." The Queen smiled as a little wine trickled down her neck. "For now."
The steward trembled, but nodded. The Queen waited. "Well, what are you waiting for? Go get him."
"O-of course, my Queen. A-at once, my Queen!" He scurried off, tail between his legs, the Queen's laughter chasing him.
"Bring me his head," she muttered distastefully. Her eyes looked over her loyal guards, scattered about the balcony. "You would bring me his head, yes?"
They said nothing. She did not mind, she was used to their reticence. Their presence alone, solid as marble, gave her comfort. Olympias was certain that they would do anything she asked of them. They would bring her Antipatros' head.
The same young slave girl refilled her wine, smart enough to do it without being asked. "Smart girl," the Queen praised. The slave girl blushed. "Bring me Apollo."
The little girl paused for a moment but nodded quickly enough.
"Now he will give me Antipatros' head!" The Queen cackled.
It took a moment after the slave girl disappeared into her bedchambers. The Queen sipped her wine. Then she heard a hiss. Her head turned to find the large snake, taken from Aegyptos, slithering towards her. His coat was a gorgeous copper and iron mixture. His scales were harder than leather yet felt as smooth as the finest silks.
She reached down to pet him, and he let her. It was a sign from the gods. Most others who tried approaching him so closely perished. Truth be told, the Queen did not know whether or not the girl she had sent to fetch him still lived. Olympias hoped that she had. She had done such a good job pouring her wine.
Apollo coiled himself around her legs, silently waiting for some type of reward. Olympias sighed. "Meat!"
"Behind you, Mistress." Olympias turned quickly, finding the slave girl standing behind her with a bowl of diced meat and a fearful expression across her face.
"Give it to him," the Queen commanded. The slave girl did nothing. "Are you deaf?"
"I do not know how, my Queen."
"Put it in your mouth and present it to him," the Queen said without a hint of humor. The way the girl's eyes widened made it worth it. The pretty little thing stared down at the bowl in her hands in horror, then back up at the Queen with pleading eyes.
"M-my…" She was so pathetic that she could not even bring the words out of her throat. The Queen rolled her eyes. Maybe all she was good for was pouring wine.
"Oh, I should have had one of you do this," she told her guards. They did not reply but the girl searched hopelessly for whomever the Queen was talking to. That was good. They blended in well. "I was joking, girl." Her eyes rolled as the girl's posture lightened. "Throw it towards him. He likes to pounce."
The young girl with ink-black hair nodded in relief at the far more reasonable request. She chucked a piece of meat in the general vicinity of the snake. Apollo's head opened up, flattening in the beautiful way of a predator. He was showing the meat who was boss. His head reared upwards, his tongue flickered outwards, and his body slinked forwards.
He lunged at his prey. Once. Twice. Thrice. The meat was gone. He looked around the room. Olympias clapped. "Congratulations boy. You killed a dead deer."
The snake took no offense at the jest.
"Feed him more."
The young slave girl obeyed. She flung meat across the room for the snake to attack. Olympias reverted back to staring at the open city. Left, right. Left, right. Left, right. The goddamn marchers. She should have every last one of them slaughtered for annoying their Queen!
"Mistress… he's, uh…"
"Coming at you?"
"Yes…" The young girl sounded scared out of her mind. Olympias chuckled.
"Leave. Before he figures out he can kill live meat too." The queen tilted her head. "Do not run. It'll just ignite his instincts."
The pair of dainty feet scurrying from the balcony broke up the monotony of the infantry marches.
"Apollo…" the snake curled up around her legs once more. "You cannot eat the serving girls. Otherwise, mommy won't have any more wine. And you cannot do that to mommy, dearest." She stroked his soft head, narrowed after his display of power. He gave no response. She sighed and took a sip of wine.
"My Queen."
Her lips hardened against the cool silver cup. The wine paused at her lips.
She hated his voice, hated it even more so as he aged. Gravely, deep, pompous. The Queen had no need to turn to know that his large presence stood ramrod straight, his pride the stick up his ass keeping him upright. Yes, she knew he was at the zenith of his power but that did not mean he deserved to act like this in her presence. He had always been bad but now it was only worse. With her son stolen from her, the old man was the most respected man in the empire now. Perseus was a close second, perhaps. Or maybe Krateros. Regardless, it was Antipatros on top. It was Antipatros who had stood next to Philip as he conquered all of Hellas. It was Antipatros who stood next to Alexandros as he conquered all of Persia. And right now it was Antipatros who stood behind of her, pissing her off.
"Antipatros," she began with little to no veil of pleasure guarding her words. "Sit."
"I dare not sit, my Queen. I am so old I may never get up."
"But not so old as to conduct constant marches through my streets? I am sick of the damn noise. Day and night! Without end, their feet run over my mind. Is my son's death not enough of a punishment for me? Must I now be subjected to this terror?"
He had positioned himself in front of her now. His hair was once a dull brown but now succumbed to the same grey that consumed those near death. He had retained his overwhelming build, but it was gaunt now, not enough skin stretched over too much bone. His eyes were as tired as hers. Too many battles danced across his vision as he tried to sleep, she assumed.
"They march to be prepared. They march so that the glory of Makedonia is ensured for future generations."
"Yes, yes of course." She sipped some wine and deliberately avoided his gaze. "But all day and all night?"
"Should they not be ready for anything?"
She huffed in exasperation. "I've heard of rumblings from the south. Do we fear Athens?"
"Your son had many enemies who will rejoice in hearing of his demise."
"Athens."
"Irrelevant. No, I fear those across the Hellespont."
Olympias looked him over and snorted. "Old age has muddled your mind."
"Athens is not a concern. They have never been a concern. No, I truly concern myself with those like Perdikkas and Antigonos."
"Loyal servants of my son! Have you lost your mind!" Apollo hissed in agitation, following the mood of his mother. Antipatros looked down and visibly stiffened. What fool would forget about her snakes!
"Loyal servants of your son, yes. But of his wife or his son?" Or you?
It was Olympias' turn to stiffen. "I did not realize I was a grandmother."
"The rest of the report that you received, did you not read it?"
"I can't say I did."
"Rhoxana. She is pregnant, might have given birth by this point."
Olympias smiled at the news. She had begged her son to give her grandchildren, but he had so far been inept. She wondered what the little boy would look like. She hoped he favored his father. Persian had never been a good look, she believed. Her son apparently thought otherwise, but there was no doubt that the girl he had married was a great beauty. After all, so was her son.
"Well, that is good news. But I still do not believe that the Cyclops or even the Silver General would raise their banners against my son!"
Antipatros shook his head gravely. "They would for Arrhidaios."
Olympias scowled. Damn that bastard boy and his wench of a mother. If she had not been so much a fool she would have killed both of them the moment the half-wit was born. Instead, she had relied on blasted poison to do its job. Oh, how she regretted that decision so.
But would anyone really follow him though? She may have failed to kill him, but she had killed his mind. The boy was nothing more than a shell, a body. No one would bother rallying to a brain dead bastard...
People rally to anything, her son had written to her as his armies tracked down Bessus. The Persian had been more or less nothing before he killed his King and named himself King. She supposed that was proof enough. Still… Arrhidaios was less than nothing. He had no mind, no ambition. He was just a shell.
"How dare they!"
"They will use him, no doubt about it, for their own means. A figurehead, if you will."
Olympias drank more wine, tapping her finger against the cup. Her mind spun, racing to envision how her son's generals' twisted ambitions could tear apart everything they've built so far. "So you march into Asia, put an end to any madness like declaring for Arrhidaios and then what?"
"Ensure your grandson's safety as regent."
"Oh? On whose authority."
"Your son's."
"My son? When?" And why had she not been informed of such a request! It had been at least two days. The Empire should run through her now. And Antipatros would not have been her first choice as regent. Someone more controllable, someone younger. Ptolemy, or Perseus. Both would do what she asked. Or maybe one of the younger somatophylakes.
"In the letter reporting his death, they added his call for me to serve as Regent for his unborn son until he is capable of rule."
That explains it. The damn messenger had apparently not deemed her sane enough to read the rest of the letter. She would kill that boy if she ever found him again.
But that matter could wait. The brute that now stood in front of her was the prerogative.
"When do you leave, then?"
Her eyes cast themselves onto the city below. The marching drills were as bad as ever. Damn, Antipatros. She hoped he left sooner rather than later.
"When our troops are ready."
"Which will be…?"
"Soon."
"Good. Get these damn marchers out of my city."
Antipatros said nothing in reply. She sipped more wine. Olympias stared at him as he took in the view from her balcony. "And what of Athens?"
"Not even a nuisance."
"As you've claimed. But I disagree. They have been agitated since the Exiles' Decree, and looking for any excuse to go to war —"
"A war for which they have neither the funds nor experience to win! A war which would be laughably one-sided. Athens is no threat."
"They have a fleet of two-hundred ships! Where is our fleet?"
"Half of their fleet has sat idle in Peiraieus Harbor for months without crews!"
"And if they find crews?"
Antipatros laughed. "Whence will they find enough men for a hundred ships?"
"You said my son has many enemies, did you not?"
"There are not enough here."
"They are all here! Athens, Sparta, Korinth!"
"The poleis of Hellas are distraught, disorganized and mismanaged. What forces they muster tonight, for the next campaign season, are beside the point. All of them are puny compared to the might Babylon possesses."
"Which is in our hands!"
"It is in no one's hands right now; that is the issue."
"We have no clue of that!"
"Clue? My queen, the ambitions your son held for the empire far surpassed what it could properly hold. Revolts will come, in Hellas yes, but also in Persia, Mesopotamia and Aegyptos. The conquests are still fresh; the life of your son's Empire is still young; loyalties are untested. I cannot — we cannot — afford to wait for news. We will fall behind if we wait for such, further behind than we currently are. Which means that we have to catch up. Which is why," he gestured to the marching troops, "I am moving into Asia as soon as possible."
Olympias fumed but said nothing. If he wished to play this game, he could. He forgot, though, that she held the cards. Yes, they were his troops nominally. But they would not move without her permission. All she had to do was deny him that permission. She had dealt with him enough tonight.
"That is all, Antipatros. You are dismissed."
He nodded curtly. With one last, lingering look at the snake, Antipatros left. Olympias drained her wine before continuing to stare out upon the city. Pella — how quickly the fortune of the city had altered. The marching had not ceased, but the footsteps felt farther away now. Still, they agitated her. He agitated her.
"Take his head next time, yes?"
Her guards did not respond.
THE PRINCESS
There was something tragic in her mother's grief. The King was her brother and her only fit one at that. They must have had some form of a relationship growing up, Eurydike assumed. Regardless of all that, Kynane gave nothing more than a resigned nod as she received the news of her younger brother's demise.
"Are you upset, mother?" Eurydike asked, tiptoeing into the treacherous waters as soon as the messenger departed.
"Now is not the time to be upset, love. That time was months ago when he truly passed. By this point, his body is cold ash." Her mother's voice was as cold as that ash. "No reason to mourn. Nor do we have that luxury. We must play catch-up."
"But he was your brother in more than just name, yes? I mean, you spoke of him rarely but there must have been some good memories?"
"Why do you persist on this subject?" Her mother turned her back on Eurydike as she moved her way across their study to the scrolls.
"It feels odd that you would not feel even the tiniest grief. If I had a sibling—"
"But you don't. Is that what this gripe is about?"
"It is merely a statement mother, nothing mo—"
"Nothing is merely a statement, daughter." Her mother paused her search around the room for something, what Eurydike did not know, to stare at her daughter, her mouth set in a hard line. "If your father were to have been less of a failure of a man than he was, perhaps you would have had a sibling. You were lucky you turned out like me. I couldn't take the chance again."
Eurydike did not respond. This was not a subject she liked to dwell on either, but every once in a while she had the strength to bring it up.
"You wish to hear about my glorious," she spoke the epithet with such sarcasm it bordered on hatred, "brother? Aye, there were good memories, just as there are the bad ones and the nonexistent ones. Perhaps those are the best. Regardless, memories do not make one mourn."
Eurydike disagreed. After all, what were memories if not the only reason to mourn? That all you had left of a loved one was memories, not they themselves? But she did not put her words into the air. No need for such a needless confrontation.
Her mother moved around the room, a goddess of fury tearing apart their letter library. Kynane, the smartest woman in the Makedonian empire, had long kept every letter she had ever received — or intercepted — or written in a library organized by sender, recipient, and date. It was an impressive system that very few knew about. Her mother seemed to undo most of that organization now, however, in minutes as she shredded the library, then the desk, then the shelves. She opened every drawer, checked every cubbyhole. Eurydike was about to ask what she was looking for when her mother continued.
"Do not mourn the dead, my dear. The dead are the only happy ones."
Eurydike stayed quiet, twirling her knife through her fingers. If her mother was rolling, she was rolling. Eurydike could feel a rant coming on. The knife went from slowly dancing around her thumb to furiously spinning between her middle and pointer fingers. She looked up. Apparently her mother was not rolling. Instead, she still continued on her search for whatever.
"What are you looking for?"
"Information."
Eurydike paused. Then: "I wish I had met him."
"No, you don't."
"I do."
Her mother sighed, pausing her mad scramble momentarily to assume a position, with her hands planted firmly behind her on the desk, her legs crossed underneath. It was a position at once innately youthful for no reason and dominant for no reason either.
"Do you fancy that he would have revealed something Heavenly to you? That he would have bathed you in the light of the Gods?"
"You speak to me as if you don't know me at all."
"There's a reason you never met him," her mother continued without acknowledging her daughter.
Eurydike turned her head and sighed. Why had she even bothered? She knew exactly which lecture she would get the moment she had opened her stupid mouth. Why could her mother, for once, have something positive to say about their king, about their family?
"He was corrupted early by his mother. Not a single original thought had ever passed through his head. He's an extension of her." Kynane paused. "Or was."
"Yet you let me near Perseus."
"That is different." Her mother scowled with predictable timing. If there were two things her mother always repeated, it was that Alexandros was a carbon-copy of his mother and Perseus was different. Mother, do you ever get bored of hearing yourself? Eurydike would ask herself. Perhaps she did, considering the way her mother would give a slight flinch whenever the subject was brought up. She knows I'm right and she can't stand it.
The younger brunette smiled. Her mind wandered away from this repetitive conversation to her old companion, wondering how he was doing, how he was handling the King's death. Poorly, if she knew Perseus half as well as she believed she did. A small part of her wished she was able to comfort him. Those moments were the ones Eurydike remembered the most fondly. "Yes, he was," she finally replied with a breathy voice. Her mother frowned.
"Eurydike…" the warning was implied, left unspoken.
"I'm not going to stop. One does not simply stop thinking about Perseus."
"Don't let it cloud your judgment."
"When had it ever?" Eurydike replied, feeling snarky. Her mother gave her a stern gaze in response but Eurydike did not flinch. She was no longer a child, despite her mother's strongest convictions. "Don't look at me like that. Like I'm a child who cannot make my own decision. I know what I'm doing. I learned from you, after all."
Her mother's gaze softened. "Well, you learned flattery well enough."
"See?"
"I do not warn you out of habit, however." The moment of connection was gone, like most of them. It was not that her mother was mean or was not proud, moreso that her mother had a difficult time showing her true emotions. Eurydike learned to get over it. "You will see him again soon."
"What?" This was unexpected — an arrow from an unseen assailant. "I will?"
"Very soon, if my gut leads me right."
"What have you heard?" Seeing Perseus again, after all these years, would be something else. Would he be willing to pick up where they left off? Would she? How much had he changed? Even with all that uncertainty, she wanted to know him now. She wanted, desperately, feel his scars, the new and the old, feel his muscle. She wanted too to feel him sliding inside her again, feel him taking her as rough as he could. She wanted to hear him growl Dike into her ear.
"That Athens is going to blow."
"But we just learned of his death! How could they know—"
"They don't. But the city was always going to blow regardless, between the Harpalos affair and the Exiles Decree. My brother was too soft on that damn city. Even Olympias agreed."
"So what does that have to do with Perseus?"
"In Rhodes, my brother realized the flaw of his empire. It covered all of the Thalassa yet Athens remained the most dominant Navy in his empire. Athens, his biggest enemy—"
"I thought that was Persia," Eurydike muttered.
"His most persistent enemy, then." Her mother conceded.
"So what does this have to do with Perseus."
Her mother gave her a look she associated with 'Do Better'. Eurydike scowled. She hated that look. So she thought for a second. Really, it did not take that long. She understood why her mother was upset.
"...That's his fleet."
Her mother nodded.
Eurydike gulped.
His fleet. Perseus, her Perseus, commanding a fleet? The boy she had grown up with so innocent and naive about everything, the boy who was always so eager to help others… leading a fleet of warships with the sole purpose of sacking a city. It was almost unbelievable.
Almost.
She still remembered too that feral glint in his eyes when he fought on the training grounds. The way he beat men twice his age and twice his size into submission.
Perseus was a good person, she knew that. But she also knew he was a killer.
And scary good at it.
"He'll be on his way." It took Eurydike a moment to realize her mother was giving her a look, one of those looks that forced you to remember something. She hated it when her mother continuously tested her. The young Princess could not remember a time where she had a conversation with her mother that did not end up as a rhetorical battle.
"What?"
"With the Navy at his back and the Queen's trust," a wave of jealousy washed over Eurydike as she realized her mother meant Rhoxana too, "Perseus will be the most powerful man in the world. I would not be shocked either if my brother had named him his successor."
Perseus, a King? Eurydike shuddered at the thought. It did not suit him, a crown. It would fall crooked on his head.
"Olympias would support Perseus?"
"She thinks she groomed him. And the boy is blindly loyal to the Dynasty. Perfect material for a King she can control. So, of course, she will. That is, if Alexandros' Persian bride has not yet been knocked up. Gods know it has taken him a while. The Dynasty must continue someway, however, and if my brother has no legitimate heir, there is another way." Her mother paused. Eurydike thought. Her eyes widened.
"No, mother!"
"Perseus would arrive with a Navy, and he will return to Babylon with an army. Olympias' army. And, he will return with a Queen. You will marry Perseus and in doing so keep the bloodline of Herakles alive."
Eurydike sat in stunned silence. If her mother had told her this ten years ago, she would have rushed to his side and cried with gay tears. Yet she was older now and it was not so simple. Marriage had gone from a cute childhood dream to a drain on passion. A marriage of convenience — for that was what this truly was — worked even better at drying out romance or lust. After all, half of the fun of their relationship was in its youthful, energetic nature.
Of course, she still wanted Perseus as her friend and as her lover. But to lock them together in the chains of marriage? It would lead to boredom. And if there was anything Eurydike hated with the vilest of passions, it was boredom.
"I thought you'd be happy." Eurydike was at least comforted by the frown playing across her mother's lips.
"Marriage is boring," Eurydike complained. "A forced coupling of two people who will change. I don't want to be chained like that."
"Perseus? Boring? My, my if I hadn't heard you say it for myself I would never believe it."
"Perseus isn't boring, mother. It's marriage that makes people dull."
"The greatest thing your uncle ever did was kill your father." Her mother had made the comment with an off-handed nature, which made it hurt just a little more.
Eurydike flinched. Yes, she had been young. Yes, she had known him very poorly. Yes, she had not heard good things about him. But the fact that her father, an Argead king once, was killed by her uncle, an Argead King as well, did not sit right within her. The Dynasty, Hellas' greatest, should stick together in her opinion. Division never ruled.
It had always irked her that her uncle had only ever brought along his retarded half-brother on his conquests. Why not her mother, or her? Reward the family, make it his top crop of generals and governors. Instead, the Dynasty was scattered and dwindling, leading to only a few princesses and a half-wit prince left. Perhaps some bastards too, if it was indeed Roxanna who was the infertile one.
"Gods he was dull," her mother continued. "Not a single shred of ambition or self-preservation in that man. A shell of a man, really."
Kynane stared at her daughter's forlorn expression. She sighed, pausing her rant, and walked over to her daughter.
"Do not grieve for your father, my daughter. He does not deserve your tears."
"What will happen to us? To our family? Our legacy, it's falling to dust."
"Dust? What nonsense do you speak of?"
"What is left of the Argeads, Zeus' chosen?" Eurydike stood up from her chair, walking over to the window that overlooked most of Amphipolis. "We are nothing but a half-wit, a bundle of bastards, and a few princesses. We were once more numerous than any royal family of Greece."
"Which is why when he comes, you must marry Perseus. He may not be an Argead, but he was as close to Alexandros as any man ever was. It is up to you to continue the family legacy. Do you understand? Olympias can do nothing; she is too mad with grief to be rational. Arrhidaios will never be crowned King of anything, and if there is a babe, Alexandros' son is half Persian. The nobles of Makedon would never accept such an heir. The fate of our lineage, of Herakles' lineage, rests with you, my dear."
Eurydike watched the cobalt seas merge with the radiant sun. Apollo drove his chariot onwards, dragging the sun behind him. The gorgeous variance of the sky, from purple to yellow, must be how Elysium looked all the time. Eternal sunset. Eurydike hoped that was her moira, to end up there. Were you eternally young in Elysium? Or was the gods' final joke to give you eternity in heaven as a frail old woman, unable to enjoy the pleasures that made life enjoyable? Or perhaps Elysium was only reserved for those who died young.
Eternally young. What she would not give for an eternity back in her youthful ignorance with Perseus, who, somewhere leagues away, was dealing with the same difficulties as she? It gave her a small bit of solace to know what was happening in his life again. They had not been able to write to each other for many moons. Eurydike wondered what he was thinking. Was he as burdened as her? Did he feel the pressure to carry on a legacy of insurmountable greatness? Did he still dream of reuniting with her?
She missed him, so badly. But instead of hope, as she should have felt knowing her best friend was on his way home, her mother's knowledge only filled her with dread.
Yeah, it's been a bit. Sorry but not. Writing's difficult. Life's a bitch. I'll try to update consistently but sometimes life and/or writer's block get in the way. Also writing 12k words is not easy. Or quick. But I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I definitely enjoyed parts of it — I'm very proud of the dialogue, and of Eurydike. Finally, on the whole confusing timeline — this FF post is mostly a beta run before a main post on AO3. You all might have to deal with some plot issues or timeline weirdness, but I promise it will a) eventually make sense and b) be rectified in a final, refined post on AO3.
Good reviews get reviewed, cause apparently I'm doing this now. #wordcountinflation #hahanotreally #yeahoakyitsortais
From JC RH:
Fuck you man. I have to use Google to search for the meanings of some words every paragraph. Seriously though, incredible stuff. It's apparent you put a lot of effort into this.That Percabeth part is just the wishfullment and more fanfiction-y part of me. No need to take that serious. And I don't want Percy to be perfect, I hate OP stories. Just not a stupid guy. The way you described him in this was perfectly fine. Instinctual.
On this chapter I liked how you used Annabeth's name. Most stories set in ancient Greek simple use it as Annabeth so this was refreshing and good to see.
I liked the way the plot progressed as well. The names and stuff are slowly becoming familiar so that's a plus. If I had to say I'd say that parts with Annabeth are weakest and it's not surprising given her current situation compared to where the main protagonist finds himself in. I like how HBO this is as well. Plot is progressing nicely but there isn't much to speak of since we can't really put two and two together yet. So hopefully you'll update as soon as possible.
And like always, don't abondon the project. Ohh and looking forward to reading your stories with maps and all.
Fuck you too. Less Greek. You happy now? Cause I'm not.
Also, names becoming familiar? Hahahaha just you wait. I don't even understand my own plot anymore so if you can you get a karrot. Yeah Annabeth's situation is important for her but doesn't seem important for the story. Yet. I'm trying to update ASAP but sometimes chapters are just difficult to start and difficult to finish. I bs-ed my way through a lot of this chapter. There are some fun chapters coming up though. Also AO3 publishing will be dope — maps, images, playlists, etc.
Anyways, thanks for reading! Always appreciate your reviews.
From Dretoven:
I was thinking literally the same thing as JC RH when he talked about how these types of stories often take long to write and are abandoned and why. This "genre" so to speak of PJO fanfic is, however, definitely one of my favorite. I think you have written it spectacularly so far. All the behind the scenes work and background research is clearly evident. I definitely like how you don't sugarcoat anything from those times. Im sure some will be offended, as usual, but I think it gives the story a much realer feel. I also definitely get the epic vibe of this story, and I fw it hard. The exploring of different themes, motifs, and values, developing characters, heroic deeds, and spanning more than just a couple years: love it. I've always wanted to write something like that, but never have. On that note, you mentioned beta-reading offers. While I have zero experience as a beta for anybody and honestly don't know everything it entails, I'm willing to step up to the task if there is nobody more experienced, because this is definitely an epic tale I would like to see finished. Plus I love history, especially the classical era, so that helps lol. Anyways, sorry for the long review, but I can't wait for the next chapter! Keep up the great work!
Thank you for your beta offer, first off, but I've got that covered. Just sit back and enjoy the (slow-moving) show.
Yeah the lack of sugarcoating is going to get a lot worse soon, so I hope you enjoy that... The story is epic (or should feel that way) but grounded too. It's a hard balance to strike so I appreciate the fact that you think it's hitting both themes well.
Much thanks to my Beta-reader, Vanadium Oxide — so much of this chapter would not have been possible without him. Thanks man.
As always, thank you for reading and reviewing!
Up next on Game of Thrones-but-it-is-Percy-Jackson-and-not-half-as-well-written:
"I won't hurt you..." Antiphalos kissed Annabeth's neck. "I promise."
...
"What in Hades do you think you were doing?"
"I was getting rid of a threat." Perseus stood his ground, glaring at the spitting Perdikkas.
"You acted without thinking, that's what you did."
...
Aegyptos... his. Ptolemaios smiled. If Perdikkas thought Kleomenes could contain him, he was sorely mistaken. Ptolemaios would not be denied his prize.
...
Perdikkas doubted even Peithon or Leonnatos were truly his allies anymore. He doubted anyone was his ally anymore. Eumenes, perhaps, but the Greek scribe was utterly useless.
Striving to provide Southern Hospitality the world over,
LoverBoi (yes, I'm a guy)