Chapter Three

Our childhood passed in a haze of misery. Orestes and I were now prisoners in my uncle's house, though it had been a long time since it was called so. Aegisthus now ruled openly with my aunt. He claimed to be the rightful heir to the throne of Mycenae owing to a long-standing feud between his own father Thyestes and his brother, our paternal grandfather Atreus, who seized the throne years ago and had killed Thyestes' children.

Clytemnestra never laid a hand on me. She would claim that, of course. It was her lover's servants who pulled at my hair or slapped me every time I try to defend Orestes from being beaten. But I always see her watching me whenever I was physically hurt. And I could see she enjoyed it. She enjoyed it even more when I had bruises on my face. One time when I had a particular ugly welt on my cheek and my hair was pulled so much when I tried to force my body to come between Orestes' body and Aegisthus' fists, she came over to me and hissed:

"There, you won't be a beauty now. I'll stamp that out of you before you can become like a whore like your mother. Then you won't turn my husband's gaze away from me."

I understood then that she too was jealous of her sister's beauty. That was why she hated the sight of me too. Perhaps my mother with her accursed face had also attracted Agamemnon. But why should I pay for it? Why should the punishments for the parent's fault be inflicted on her child?

Orestes and I lived in constant fear of our lives, and it only increased as we grew older. Each time he was beaten, I worried that he would be killed. It would be the most logical thing for Aegisthus to do, for surely, Orestes was the only threat to his claim to the throne. Yet, surprisingly, Aegisthus always held back from finishing him off completely. I've often wondered why. Was it some form of torture he gave us? Make us suffer? Make us beg for death?

It was Arsinoe, Orestes' nurse and one of the servants who were loyal to us who finally provided the explanation.

"There are there many people out—common peasants who kept their faith on Agamemnon," she told us one night. "They believe he is still alive and is still the true king. Aegisthus is fearful that if my young lord Orestes is killed such an outrage would lead the people to rally against him."

Yet, despite this, no one dared to openly oppose Aegisthus without a leader to back them. Orestes could be that leader, but at present, a boy of thirteen, and a prisoner at that with barely any contact to the world outside the palace, could do little to lead an armed insurrection.

I knew Aegisthus hoped to break Orestes' will with the beatings. He no longer shouted back when he was beaten. And perhaps that convinced Aegisthus that his spirit was being broken. But I knew better. I could see behind Orestes' eyes his continued faith in his father's return and his thirst for vengeance. He trained everyday with any weapon—sword, bow, axe—whenever he was able. He slept with a dagger under his pillow and I knew he kept one on his person all the time when he was awake, usually conspicuously hidden at the side of his sandal. He was constantly vigilant of any danger, silently waiting for the opportunity to strike.

I was now a woman. One day, a few months short of my fourteenth year, I woke up in a panic when my robes were stained with my own blood. It was my nurse who explained it and told me that this marked my entry to womanhood. She forbade me to go up to Orestes' chamber. Still, I went there the next time he was beaten again. But something changed that night. Something I couldn't understand. After I had tended to his wounds, there was something about the way he looked at me that was different. Suddenly, the thin robe I usually wore to bed looked too revealing and I was conscious at the way he glanced at my budding breasts.

"What's wrong?" he asked when I turned away from his touch. He was expecting a kiss and a hug and I refused it.

"Nurse said I musn't stay here anymore. I'll go back to my chamber when you're settled."

"You're not staying with me tonight?" he asked. He didn't hide his disappointment.

"No, I cannot."

"But you always stay with me when I get beaten. Don't you want to anymore?"

"No, I do but I can't."

"Why not?"

I was at a lost. How do I tell him that I felt shy around him? It was so strange. He was Orestes. We grew up together, I've spent almost every night in his chamber since the beatings started. But now I couldn't bring myself to be near him.

"Fine," he said angrily when I didn't answer. "Go back to your own chamber and leave me. You don't care about me anymore and you'll leave me too. Just like the rest of my family."

"That's not true," I said. "I do care about you. I'm your family, I'm your cousin."

"But you won't stay with me tonight."

"No I can't."

"Then go," he said bitterly. "I never want to see you again."

I entreated him but he was angry and refused to speak to me. I tried to tuck him in bed at least but he refused all help. I finally left him alone and went to cry in my own bed. When I came to visit him in the morning, he was still sour. His temper didn't abate in the next days. After a week, he was well enough to go outside but even then he refused to speak to me. Aegisthus and Clytemnestra were in the countryside enjoying themselves at some sport and we had at least some freedom and a chance to relax. We always looked forward to times like these. But now I was lonely and miserable without him. I watched him practice with his bow and sword with the servants but whenever I attempt to talk to him he would huff angrily and ignore me. If I persisted in trying to make my peace, he would shout at me to leave him alone and go off to some corner to vent out his anger with his sword. It was the first time we ever argued so seriously.

After almost three weeks of misery I went to his chamber at night to plead once more. I found him writing a letter, I assumed, to Electra. For a moment, I stood there silently watching him at work, unaware of my presence. He had never appeared more handsome to me with his golden locks framing his now chiseled face. There was a bit of stubble on his chin, something I haven't noticed before. He had disregarded his robe and was just wearing a loin cloth and I could see his broad chest, strong and expansive, bearing scars from his many beatings. The more recent ones produced ugly welts near his shoulder that reached down to the small of his back. I longed to touch those scars and kiss them to ease the pain. I couldn't help myself and I reached out to touch his shoulder.

Suddenly, I felt myself flung to the ground so violently and a blade pressed to my throat.

"Orestes!" I gasped. Every vein of my being was pulsating as he looked at me so menacingly with his dagger poised to cut off my life.

He looked bewildered at me and lowered his dagger. But he didn't let me go. "Hermione," he murmured. He stared at me for a long time and his eyes studied my face as if he was seeing me for the first time. His gaze was overpowering. I felt my breath caught in my throat though there was no dagger there.

Finally he seemed to awaken and he got up and his expression changed. "I could have killed you!"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you but I—"

"What do you want?"

He sat back down on his chair and refused to look at me. I knelt at his side. "Please don't be angry at me. I want us to be friends again. I'll stay with you tonight if you want. Every night if you wish it, but please talk to me."

He refused to answer and I began to sob. Just as I thought he would never answer, he turned to face me.

"I'm sorry," he whispered awkwardly.

That one word made me burst out to tears even more and I flung myself at him and rained kisses on his face. For a moment it felt like what it used to be. I kissed him and patted him like when we were little. But when my lips accidentally touched his that strange feeling returned and I drew back. Before I could turn away, his lips were on mine again. It was nothing like I felt before. He moved his lips against mine and I found myself responding.

When we parted I felt my cheeks grow hot and my heart was still racing. I couldn't look at him.

"Your nurse is right. You shouldn't stay here anymore," he said quietly. "W-we'll talk tomorrow alright, I'm not angry anymore, but you better go now."

I nodded and ran from his room. All night I thought nothing but him and that kiss we shared. I knew then I loved him.

We tried to ignore what happened. We tried to carry on like used to. But there was always that awkwardness. I had the urge to kiss him again and I knew he felt the same. We couldn't resist it for long. Less than a week after that first kiss, Orestes took me by the hand to a secluded part of the garden. He didn't say anything but took me in his arms and kissed me. I kissed him back and reveled in the new sensation of being a woman loved by a man.

We spent our days like that. I never came to his chamber, but always we would steal away into the shadows and kiss and make promises of love. He vowed that I would be his bride when he had grown up and ruled Mycenae. I would be his queen and we would have children we will never lay a strong hand on. Even after my aunt and her lover returned and the abuses resumed, we had our love to hang on to and that was enough.

A/N: Here's an interesting tidbit for those of you who bothered to read this story (my grateful thanks to all those who do, and a large bucketful of thanks to those who reviewed), I was re-reading Euripides' Orestes-related plays (Electra, Iphigenia in Tauris, Iphigenia in Aulis, Orestes, and Andromache) and I discovered that Agamemnon is blonde, so is Iphigenia. Logically, I assume that all of Agamemnon's children are also blonde and perhaps so is Menalaus. You know how in the movies, Helen is usually portrayed as a blonde while Agamemnon is dark haired. Well I decided to get out of that stereotype. So in my story Agamemnon and his children are all blonde, Helen, Clytemnestra and Hermione are brunettes.