Iphigenia's Tears

By ElveNDestiNy

June 26, 2004

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended on The Iliad, or Troy, the movie. Credit to the references used is given in Part I.

Dedication: For those that have dreamed dreams broken by false lies and deceit.

Notes: The PG-13 rating comes in here, mostly for some mature themes. You may know the true story of the Trojan War as told by Homer's Iliad, in that case you are probably aware of the controversy surrounding Achilles' and Patroclus' exact relationship as lovers. In any case, very slight references will be made here, so it is open for interpretation. Keep in mind that I was very young when I first wrote this. If you would like to read something exploring the Achilles/Patroclus relationship, try my short story, "Wait for Me," which takes place after Patroclus' death. Like many Greek myths, Iphigenia's story can end many ways. I have chosen the one most suitable for my retelling.

Part III: Sacrifice from the Heart

To each their own craft, they say, although some crafts are deemed more worthy than others. I was born with the will to fight, to find something as precious and intangible as honor in shedding another man's blood. I was born to embody those noble ideals of valor and glory, although some may say neither can be found in taking lives.

It was early morning when the messenger-boy entered my tent and shook me awake. I rose from the tangle of limbs from last night's excesses, wryly noting that by harsher daylight there was little to be found of the goddess I had taken to bed. I had quarreled with Patroclus, although I soon forgotten the exact nature of what we dissented about, and she had been willing, as they all were.

"My lord, the daughter of King Agamemnon has arrived. Her name is Iphigenia, and she comes presently with the queen, her mother, Clytemnestra."

I could not recollect why I would arrange to receive Agamemnon's wench, and glanced sharply at the boy. He smiled in astonishing boyish earnestness and for a moment I was reminded of Patroclus when he was younger and naive.

"And am I to welcome them to Aulis, or serve as entertainment?" It was not meant as a harsh jibe, but from the way the smile disappeared from the boy's face, I knew he must have heard rumors of my temper.

"N-neither," he stammered. "I do not know."

Despite his attempt to blank his expression, a look flickered in his eyes. "But you know something," I pressed. "Well, boy?"

"My lord, I truly do not know. But I have heard rumors…"

"Then you do know."

"I t-thought it was beneath your notice," he protested. I would have baited him further just to see if he had the makings of a man in him, but Patroclus ducked his head into the tent. I was not certain that our wrangle had been laid to rest in forgotten memory, so I concentrated on the boy. He shifted nervously from foot to foot and finally raised his head to look into my eyes, only to shy away like a nervous colt in the next instant.

The gods could only help him, if he was like this when he came of age to fight. I pushed the irrelevant thought away and decided to find out the truth of the matter.

"What rumors are about the camp? Can you tell me why we are wallowing here instead of sailing to Troy this very instant?"

His eyes grew wide. "I have only heard that you are to wife, my lord."

I thought I heard a choked sound and looked up to find Patroclus still as a marble statue, and face just as bland. If not for his reaction, I would have dismissed the whole matter, but it seemed almost as if he had heard something of the like and had waited here to see if it would be confirmed.

"And who is the so fortunate maiden?"

"Iphigenia, who has come to-day. They say that she is fair," he offered in a wavering voice. "She is Agamemnon's favorite, out of all his daughters." He looked past my shoulder, and I turned to follow his gaze.

The first thing I saw was liquid eyes, the soft color of a doe's, almost overlarge in her delicate face. The rest of her seemed no less fragile, and the warrior in me laughed incredulously that she was to match me, even as I admired her somehow absolute vulnerability. She was not particularly fair, and she was the kind of maiden so wrapt in innocence that I usually would not take a second glance. But something, some expression of those tilted eyes, called forth a desire to protect, just as one cherishes a rare treasure.

"I am Iphigenia, daughter of Agamemnon," she stated gravely. "I have come here under my father's orders. Do with me what you will." That last statement seemed melodramatic, and when I looked back at her face I realized that the corner of her mouth was tilted just so slight, as if self-mocking.

The only thing I could think of was that she was most definitely peculiar. "I have had no word of this supposed arrangement until mere moments ago, girl." King's daughter or not, I could not bring myself to address her otherwise. It was not rudeness, merely a sort of inability to classify her as anything else.

Shock flickered through her eyes for the instant before she dropped her gaze to the floor. I reached out to bring her chin up again, and to my surprise she twisted away, giving me a glare so filled with venom that I let my hand fall.

"Men talk much of the great Achilles," she said. "I see there is some truth in what they say."

Oh, she had wit indeed. Out of habit, I glanced over to see what Patroclus thought; he seemed no less surprised than I. "And what do they say?"

"That your face is pleasing to the eye, that you are a man half divine, that you are a warrior." One shoulder lifted in a graceful shrug, so utterly unimpressed that it completely captured my attention. "It matters not." Those dark eyes swept around the room, drinking in Patroclus' shadowed figure, and the messenger boy still watching with wide, round eyes.

Well, there was some use for him, at least. "Quickly, go fetch Agamemnon and tell him to come here directly," I told him. He seemed to balk at the idea of summoning a king, even under my orders, but I gave him a slight shove towards the bright daylight and he took off at a run.

"I will have the truth of this matter from your father," I told the girl, but I had not said more than that before and old man appeared, queen by his side. He must have been just outside my quarters, and I looked at him in some confusion.

"Who are you, and what is the meaning of this?" I demanded.

The old man did not answer for a long moment, but instead turned to the queen and her daughter, eyes shining oddly. It took me a moment to see that he had unshed tears, and a voice of scorn rose within me before I considered what I knew, and began to think of what might drive such a man to emotion.

"You know me, my lady, your father gave me to you, and I have served you since you were but a child. I have watched over you and later your children, and I feel greater loyalty to you than to your cruel, deceiving husband."

Clytemnestra's mouth opened in shock as she looked at the old man. "Why do you name him thus? Do you know why Achilles has no knowledge of any marriage plans, nor indeed had ever heard of my daughter until but a few moments ago?"

I listened as the old slave told of how Agamemnon had given him the letter to waylay the departure of the queen and Iphigenia, and how this plan had been thwarted by their early arrival.

"I believe he meant to save his daughter, but Menelaus discovered his attempt and tore the letter from my hand, confronting his brother and forcing him to carry out the prophecy. Now that Iphigenia is here, the whole of the Greek host will demand her life."

"And her betrothal to Achilles, all a ruse to bring her here, so that she would not suspect that aught was amiss, a lone girl coming into a warriors' camp," Clytemnestra said in a low voice filled with horror. "How could he? How could he have done this?"

Iphigenia stood still and quietly, her eyes reflecting only inscrutable thoughts, although what terrible grief she must be holding inside was more moving to me than if she had begun to hysterically cry in fear of death. It was her mother who began to weep, all her queenly bearing dissolving with this last blow of her husband's deception.

"He loves me," the girl said almost voicelessly. "But he loves power more. I understand."

I looked at her, and truly believed that she did. There was something powerful in her quiet dignity, faced with the pain of betrayal, when what should have been the happiest moment of her life turning into a nightmare of deceit.

I took a step towards her, not knowing what I intended to do, but the queen sank to her knees before my horrified gaze. "Achilles—" she began, and I found that I could not bear to listen to her pleas, to see the mother of such grace brought so low."

"It was my name that brought you here, and my name that Agamemnon has insulted, in using it for such a deception. Without my knowledge, he pledged me in marriage to his daughter, but I now consider her my true betrothed." Those great, dark eyes swallowed my words and gleamed with emotion, and I found that my promise was far easier than I had expected. From across the room, Patroclus eyes met my own, and I knew he could see that I was angry. "If any man dare do her injury, they will have to face me, though this man may be her own father."

Clytemnestra's gratitude fell on my deaf ears, my attention focused solely on the girl across the room. I would never have expected to here her voice in contradiction to my intents.

"You are but one man, Achilles, however great your valor, and no one man can stand against the full numbers of the Greek host. You say you consider me your betrothed; you are not at all what I expected. I would not have you die for my sake."

"What say you, Iphigenia?" Clytemnestra cried. "You cannot wish to die!"

"No," her daughter answered calmly, and she crossed the distance between us. I found myself looking down into an upturned face, by no means a great beauty, but suddenly more precious than much of what I had seen in the world. She reached out to me and laid a small hand on my arm, fair skin coloring rose from embarrassment by the small intimacy. "But I will die so that this man may live. I will yield my life in willing sacrifice for Greece, because it is my destiny."

For the first time, I believed that I truly would have taken her as wife, if fate had not willed it differently, and I perhaps would even have loved her. I longed to save her from her selflessness, to urge her to think of her own life and what she would be sacrificing. Before I could make any reply, we were interrupted again by the arrival of Agamemnon and the messenger boy I had sent out earlier.

"I know everything, father," Iphigenia said to him, even as he took in all the people who were present. "But I shall not hate you for it, nor tell you how much sorrow your betrayals and deceits have caused me."

"Iphigenia," Agamemnon started. "I did not mean—"

"No, you have no right to call her name!" Clytemnestra's voice rose and filled with hate, and she threw herself at Agamemnon, hand rising to strike him hard across the cheek, as fast as a snake. Agamemnon made no sound, and the only evidence of the blow was the fading redness of the skin where she had struck. He bowed his head, unable to face his sobbing wife, who clasped Iphigenia to her.

I knew that if Agamemnon were here, the time must have drawn nigh for Iphigenia's sacrifice. She knew it as well, as she looked at me over her mother's head.

"The guards no doubt will come for me soon. Mother, dear one, do not cry for me."

"Let me come with you," Clytemnestra pleaded.

"No, I do not want your last memories of me to end so. Nor do I want you to endure such an agony, for I know you do cherish me dearly." She said it as if she had been unsure, and Clytemnestra's eyes filled with fresh tears as she kissed Iphigenia's forehead.

"I will always think of you with joy and pride, my child." Iphigenia nodded, and turned to her father. I watched, torn between anger and awe as she threw herself into the embrace of her near-murderer and told him again how much she loved him.

I could not let her die so alone and forsaken, amidst so many unfamiliar men and unfriendly faces. "I will take you there, and be at your side so that my face will be the last you gaze upon. Do not refuse me, Iphigenia." Her name was a lovely caress.

"Very well, I would be glad of it. I am honored indeed, to have the greatest warrior Greece will ever know as witness to my death."

I took her outside, her hand clasped in mine, and she walked as if she knew already exactly where her path would lead her. The alter of Artemis was unadorned, and when we reached it she let me go, knowing that I could not follow her into the shadowed lands.

The high priest stood at the top of the steps, and Iphigenia floated up to him as if she did not know that she was completely surrounded by men eager for what her death would signify: a fair wind for Troy, to a land where more blood would be shed. The priest took her roughly by arm, leading her to the darkly stained stone where the blood of countless sacrifices had been spilled.

None would be as noble as this girl. I have always thought that the most glorious death was in battle, but that day I realized it was not. The crowd was silent as if it was not there, expectant, waiting. The priest murmured something into her ear and she gracefully lay upon the stone altar.

The deadly knife was ceremonially raised high, its blade blinding in the strong sunlight. But the next moment it seemed as if the sun had disappeared, swallowed up by the clouds, and the priest paused, looking to the sky. The watching men did, as well.

Knowing that I would offend the priest, I walked up the steps, intending to stand next to Iphigenia, to hold her hand as she passed into death. But the wind began to blow strongly, as if before a storm, and what had just been a clear summer's day grew dark and misty.

The knife fell before I reached her, and I was sure I saw dark eyes, startled and luminous in their pain, before the mist passed and all was revealed to the watchers.

Bright blood soaked into the stone and doe eyes gazed limpidly to the heavens in death. It was not the maiden I had known for so little time, whose bravery I had half fallen in love with, who had chose to sacrifice herself with poise and beauty. She had been spirited away, no doubt by the goddess herself, and a hind lay before us all.

Was it her voice I heard in the wind, whispering farewell in my ear?

Farewell, Iphigenia.

Author's Notes: I'm sorry that I totally forgot that I never put the third part up; I wrote this story almost four years ago and it's been a while since I even opened the documents. I suppose my "Troy" stories can all be classified as original, since they are a retelling of popular mythology, or as fanfiction for Homer's Iliad (or in this story's case, even for Euripides), but most people these days know Achilles best as Brad Pitt, so I suppose any of these three categories applies. And the movie is the most recent, after all - I doubt Homer will be suing me any time soon over copyright issues... Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this, and please review!

- ElveNDestiNy