"Why does this man yet live?" Diana's mother - Hippolyta - demanded, striding up to where Diana stood with Steve and Bucky.
Steve moved to block her approach to Bucky, and Diana faced her mother without flinching, without cowering.
"He is a friend," Diana said. "It was my honor to fight beside him in the Second World War."
"Second -?" Hippolyta repeated, then offered a wry smile. "Captain Trevor was wrong, then."
"Optimistic, but yes, wrong," Diana said. "The leaders of these men -" she gestured toward the column of smoke just beginning to rise over the treeline "- captured him during that war, tortured him. That he yet lives and fights for them suggests they have done far more than that."
"If they have turned him to their side, he should die," Hippolyta said.
"No!" Steve barely kept from shouting. He took a breath, let it out. "I understand your anger, Your Highness, but brainwashing can be reversed."
"Helping him will not bring back my fallen sisters."
"No," Diana agreed, "but do we blame the sword for the actions of the swordmaster?"
"What would you have me do instead?" Hippolyta looked torn, and Steve took a single step toward her.
"Let us try to help him," Steve said. "He was my best friend. I thought he died fighting beside me."
"He was an honorable man," Diana added, "one I was proud to call friend. That this has been done to him is reprehensible. It would be wrong to let him continue to suffer."
Steve wanted to say more, to try to persuade Hippolyta, but her severe expression kept him silent and still. It was her island, and her decision, and he'd never been good at waiting.
"Very well," Hippolyta said finally. "He may remain tonight, under guard, while we celebrate. He will go with you when you leave."
Steve released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. It was the best he could have hoped for. Now he hoped that they could, somehow, help his best friend come back to himself.
WW = CA = WW
Diana accepted a third bowl of roasted boar and vegetables with a smile and a word of thanks.
There would be time to mourn her fallen sisters tomorrow, and she would join her mother in mourning if she were allowed, but tonight was for celebration.
Diana took a sip of wine to disguise a glance over the hall where the warriors had gathered several hours before.
At a table to her two o'clock, Tony Stark was chatting animatedly - probably flirting - with several of her sisters. Behind him, the Iron Man armor stood sentry against the stone wall, the Trident of Atlan resting on the wall beside it.
At the far end of the table where she sat, Arthur appeared to be in some kind of drinking contest with Philippus, who had taken over the army after Antiope's death. Diana wondered idly if there were a betting pool and if so, what the stakes might be, but she let the thought slide away as unimportant.
A few places down from her own seat, her mother seemed to be questioning Steve about the American form of democracy - a republic, he was quick to correct her - and delving into the differences between that and the Greek version.
That debate looked like it might go on for hours, so there would likely not be a better time for her to slip out of the celebration without drawing too much attention to herself.
She excused herself from the conversation she'd been having with Menalippe and Artemesia, saying she wanted to talk to some of her other friends, and picked up her bowl and mug.
It was easy enough to slip out of the hall and make her way to the cells in the basement of the royal residence.
Diana had always wondered why they needed cells when disputes were few, and usually settled without the need for incarcerating anyone.
The one time she'd asked, her mother had answered, "Because it is a reminder both of our history and of what we may become if we are not ever vigilant."
She'd understood the first part of that answer easily enough, but the second part lingered in the back of her mind, itching occasionally to be taken out and examined. She still had no understanding that satisfied her, even if she hoped one day she would.
The darkness of the cellar was broken only by the occasional light of a torch in a wall sconce - just enough light for Diana to make her way to the far end of the corridor where the handful of cells were. Her sandals made soft slapping sounds against the dirt floor, almost drowned out by the rustle of her linen tunic in the silence.
"Who comes?" demanded a voice Diana remembered well, even after nearly a century.
"It is I, Diana," she replied. "I mean you no harm, Lydia."
The other woman stood outside the cell that presumably held James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes, sword in a sheath at her side, a spear in her hand. Her expression turned from suspicion to curiosity as Diana approached.
"Has the princess fallen so far that she is delivering meals?" Lydia asked, and while there was a hint of mockery in it, Diana thought she was mostly sincere - not an unexpected reaction, considering the circumstances.
"I have come to take watch, that you may join the others at the feast," Diana said.
Lydia's expression turned suspicious once more. "Why?"
"Because the man in that cell was my friend, once, my brother in battle, and I would see him fed and cared for. And because Themyscira is your home more than mine, now, and you deserve to feast at least as much as I."
Lydia hesitated, and Diana smiled. "Philippus is having a drinking contest with the king of Atlantis."
"I have won many such contests with Philippus. Who was winning, when you left?"
"In truth, I could not tell."
"I must challenge the winner of that contest. Thank you for taking the watch."
Diana nodded an acknowledgment as Lydia strode down the corridor. Then she set her mug and bowl to one side and removed the heavy bar holding the door in place. Moments later, the door stood open before her, and she took a torch from its sconce to light the two in the cell.
Bucky sat awkwardly against the far wall, still wrapped in the Lasso of Hestia. Diana paused in the doorway after she returned the torch to its sconce.
"Do you know me?" she asked finally.
Bucky turned a gaze as flat as his expression on her. "You were on the beach. We fought."
"We did, and I'm sorry for that. We were friends, and I dislike fighting my friends." Before he could respond to that, she added, "I've brought you food and drink. I will untie you and leave you to eat in peace. Do I have your word that you will not try to escape?"
"…Yes."
Diana brought the mug and bowl into the room, setting them on the ground near Bucky, and untied him, taking two quick steps back as soon as he was free.
He stretched his arms, making no apparent distinction between the flesh-and-blood arm and the cybernetic one, and Diana retreated to the doorway. Hestia's Lasso compelled people to tell the truth, but still she was cautious as she coiled the lasso loosely in one hand.
Then Bucky picked up the bowl and took a bite. "This is - good," he said, sounding surprised.
"You were expecting gruel?" Diana didn't try to hide her amusement.
Bucky shrugged. "Don't know that I was expecting anything."
He finished eating in silence, then drained the mug. He set the mug aside, then met Diana's gaze, light from the torches casting flickering shadows across his face.
"The man with you - who was he?" He frowned. "I knew him."
"You did," Diana said. "He was your best friend, your brother in arms."
Bucky nodded slowly, as though considering her words - or, perhaps, trying to remember.
Diana paused at the thought. Hestia's Lasso had helped Peggy Carter remember who she was long enough to have a conversation with Steve. Perhaps it might help Bucky remember who he was beneath whatever brainwashing Hydra had done to him.
"Will you let me try something?" She asked. He looked decidedly suspicious, even ready to bolt despite his earlier promise, and she added quickly, "It won't hurt, and it might help you remember."
"I - suppose."
Carefully, she uncoiled Hestia's Lasso. "I'm going to toss the end of this to you. Wrap it around your right hand."
"That's it?" Bucky couldn't have sounded more disbelieving if he tried.
"That's it," Diana promised. After a moment when he didn't react further, she knelt and skittered the end of the lasso across the floor toward him.
He hesitated a moment longer, then gamely picked it up.
When he had it wrapped loosely around his hand, she repeated what she'd said to Peggy Carter several months before. "Remember the truth of who you are, and where, and when."
She wasn't expecting him to scream.