Greek myths fanfic:

Chapter 1:

Greece was no longer a country. The Greeks were no longer a people. For almost five hundred years, they were only a part of an Empire. The Greek War of Independence was raging throughout the province. The Turkish would leave, or die.

With the end of the Greek nation, their religion was also dead. The glorous temples to Zeus and Hera, Aphrodite and Athina, they lay in white piles on some hill somewhere. The people had long deserted their gods, and had instead converted to one of the "One True Gods" that now governed churches and mosques everywhere. Maybe this was why Greece had been conquered, maybe Zeus had sent his thunder in the form of gunpowder and steel to conquer his former people.

A man walked down the streets of Constantinople. He was a Greek, and proud to show it, wearing his nationalistic cap as a topping to his salvar kamiz. His dark hair fell to his shoulders, and orbited around his soft face. He was walking as if he ruled the city.

"Hey, who are you?" cried out some faces from the bazaar. "We haven't seen you around here before." He didn't speak Turkish. Everything their smiling, hooked faces, holding out embroidered and golden trash, everything they said was simply nonsense to him. As he walked further, his irritation rising from the constant calling out, another man called out to him.

"Hey, Greek! Come over here a minute!" he said. The two men met. "What is your name?"

"Why do you care?" answered the Greek coldly. A Turk who knew his speech. That was different.

"I am studying ancient Greece. Would you care to help me?" He could see fear and desperation in the Turk's eyes. He was holding his hand out, as if begging for his help.

"Alright, I suppose it won't hurt," replied the Greek. "Oh, and, my name is Alexander."

"Alexander! That is an old name! I have only ever heard it once before! Why not go by a more modern name?" The Turk's first interview question. He hoped they would get more interesting.

"I like Alexander. It reminds me of our history. And besides, why hold a Christian name when I am not Christian, or a Muslim name when I am not Muslim?" On hearing this, the young Turk's face crumpled in confusion. Alexander clarified himself: "I still worship our ancient deities, ... well, when I have time. Most of the time I'm quite busy." His clarification seemed to make the Turk even more confused.

---

"These Greek campaigns will all fail! They will all fail, I shall not allow them to succeed!" Zeus's voice thundered around Olympius. "They have deserted us and will perish for that!" Looking down, he smiled at his own work - the greatest thunderstorm the world had ever seen was destroying the nearest city in sight.

He had been experiencing bouts of anger for years, and in his bad mood, his former pride had suffered all manner of storms, ripping apart the infrastructure, destroying every church, mosque, or synagogue in sight, but leaving the old shrines to his own comrades intact. Pressuring the people into worshipping him was not an excellent strategy for credibility.

Aphrodite looked down also, viewing everything with a dismal gaze. "I wonder who this One True God is anyway. Perhaps its just one of us. Probably you, Zeus. Try to calm down, you've chased everyone away."

"I WILL NOT CALM UNTIL I HAVE THE SAME GLORY I USED TO HAVE!" Zeus's reply was accompanied by a thunderbolt.

"Well, if you're going to be like that, I'll leave as well. And then you'll have no-one up here to keep you company." And with that, she turned her back, and descended the mountain, and was gone. Zeus was the only one left. His isolation aggravated him further.

"YOU SHALL NOT SUCCEED, I SAY YOU SHALL NOT SUCCEED!" he boomed, throwing down yet another storm.

As Aphrodite walked down the mountain, she couldn't help shedding a tear. This was her father, this was her father who had become a raving lunatic, this was her father who was killing his own people and destroying his own family. She wished to be a Muslim or a Christian, wished to be anything but what she was, she was not going to bow down to this king of gods, this King of Madmen.

Staring out at the horizon, she looked out to the east, wrapping herself and covering her head in her veil. She stared out to the east. To Istanbul. Ayasofya. The greatest mosques in the world. She was no longer a goddess. She was a Muslim.

---

Alexander was lead by his Turk through Istanbul, until they reached a quiet, green place by the Dolmabahçe. The European-imitation block towered over them. It looked so much like Versailles that ... Alexander's mind was drifting. He would have to keep his wits about him, in case this man was a Turkish spy. After all, it was war time.

"Sorry, I haven't yet told you my name. My name Daryush."

At once, Alexander was awake. Daryush. Darius. Persia. Now he was in trouble. Cooling his racing heart, he turned. His turn to question Daryush's name.

"I swear that's a Persian name. And an old one."

"Yes, my father was Persian, and my mother was Indian." Alexander splashed awake again. India. He was not dealing with one enemy here. He was dealing with three. His heart rising towards the Great Gods, he prayed for help.

Nothing. Istanbul was still the same. Daryush had not been struck by lightning. Waves had not engulfed Ayasofya. Earthquakes and volcanoes had not destroyed Istanbul. His heart heavy, he forced himself to look at Daryush's clueless face. By Zeus, Daryush certainly was a good actor.

Turning his attention to the assignment, he sighed, and at last spoke again. "So, Daryush, what do you need to know? And why are you studying us anyway?"

"Oh, I, ... I want to help peace between you and us. I don't want the war to continue-"

This was enough for Alexander. Getting up, he thundered at Daryush. "Why, so you can keep us as subordinates! So your Regime can keep us in its clutches! So you can continue the same things you have been doing for five hundred years!"

Alexander turned his back, and stormed off. He hated the Turkish. He hated Turkey, the Sultan, the Paşas, the Sipahiler and Yeniçeriler, the Saraylar and the Camiler. Enough messing about in this damned city, to Hades with this accursed city. He had had enough. After three months of espionage in Istanbul, he had had enough. Back home he went, slamming his cap onto the floor and stomping over it. He walked.