plummet: I hope y'all enjoy this chapter. I'm trying to make this as compelling and logical as possible. XD Lol, I wonder how long I'll keep that up…
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters copyrighted by Frank Miller, nor am I the creator of the movie 300, so…yeah. Lol. But no stealing my Sophronia, or I'll steal…your face. : P
A Heart that Feels Not Is Dead
Chapter Three: The Storm
It took the Spartan and Arcadian armies a quarter of an hour to reach the entrance to the Hot Gates. The Hot Gates itself was a tall, narrow corridor composed of brown, weathered rock. It spanned a length of a few hundred feet and had a width large enough in parts to fit ten soldiers side-by-side, and small enough in others to perhaps fit only five. The majority of the Spartans observed the Hot Gates elatedly, the tragedy they had beheld recently not forgotten, but merely overshadowed by the rather bloody and glorious altercation to come.
The Arcadians, however, could not relate to the Spartans' utter happiness at the mere thought of warfare. To them, war was just that: war. It was the unfortunate outcome of a disagreement, nothing more. It wasn't their life; it wasn't what they were shaped to do. They were other trades by profession: potters, blacksmiths, sculptors…Their families were their number one priority, not administering death. As they beheld all the barely contained joy around them, their stomachs churned.
Though, there were a few amongst the Spartans whose attitudes could not be swayed by bloodlust. Leonidas, Amycus, and Dilios, the most seasoned of the Spartan warriors, were perhaps the only ones who understood – or cared to understand – the gravity of the situation at hand. If they failed in their attempt to thwart the Persian army, their city would burn, their families would be taken into slavery, and the rest of the men in their army reserves would eventually be slaughtered. Not that they lacked any faith in those remaining in Sparta, but they were realists. Xerxes numbers would eventually overtake them, and they would be finished.
King Leonidas himself gazed down grimly upon the battered woman he carried. He knew it was no fault of his that her village had burned, and its inhabitants had perished. There had been Spartan guards stationed amongst the villagers, and the attack had been a surprise one, but…He still held himself accountable. Every loss was his; he was a true king in every good sense of the word.
Eyes roaming over the woman's ashy face, he wondered absently what her name was, and what made her special enough for the gods to meddle in the Fates' affairs. At that very thought, she stirred, her hands immediately clutching at her head as the pain registered. She had a splitting headache, no doubt, what with the nasty, bruised gash on her right temple.
Panic struck her, and then, great sadness, as she adjusted to her physical agonies and recalled all that had happened. In the blink of an eye, she had lost everything: her loved ones, her home, everything familiar…and yet, as she took in her current predicament, she came to a realization. She still had her life, and as saddening a thought it was, soon the men around her would not have theirs. It was enough to halt her tears, though…at least, for now.
She turned her gaze to the man kind enough to carry her…her king, Leonidas. Her eyes flitted over his handsomely chiseled features, taking in his emerald-green eyes, light brown hair, tanned skin…Her gaze moved along the lines of the braid adorning the crown of his head, trailing down to the nape of his neck. The braid, symbolizing his kingship, meant everything and nothing. He was in a prominent position, she mused, but he was a man of flesh and blood all the same.
When she snapped out of her thoughts, a light blush crept across her soot-stained cheeks. Quickly averting her eyes, she bit her lip in embarrassment. Surely he would not appreciate such an open, unabashed stare! Berating herself mentally, she prayed he did not notice.
Unbeknownst to her, though, Leonidas had been watching her study him out of the corner of his eye, and he found her intense gaze unnerving. Later on, he would realize that he had never before cared or even thought about his feminine appeal…until that very moment during which her gaze had been so steadfastly fixed upon him.
"Where are we, my king?" She inquired in a soft, melodic voice, pulling Leonidas from his thoughts. Absently, he observed her voice was no longer hoarse, indicating that her lungs were healing.
"We are within the Hot Gates, milady," he answered not unkindly, looking down at her with a slight smile.
"So, we have arrived…" she spoke quietly, more to herself than him.
Leonidas' smile fell, his eyes searching hers, for what, she did not know. "You know of our fate?"
The woman nodded solemnly. "Yes. Here, you are to defend Sparta against the Persians, and…" She paused and would say no more, as if it pained her immensely to continue. He shared in her sentiments.
"I did not think the outer villages learned of the happenings in the main city so quickly," Leonidas responded lightly, attempting to lift the veil of tension that had fallen over them.
Her lips curved into a wry smile. "You would be surprised by how fast word travels when there are mouths to speak and ears to hear."
The king chuckled in agreement, the low, resonating sound sending a sensuous shiver down her spine. Internally, she was ashamed of her reaction to him. He was married, for goodness' sake! What was wrong with her?
'Well, as long as you only look,' her mind reasoned, 'how is that wrong?' To that, she had no retort.
"Look, Persians!" someone yelled from the front of the pack, drawing the attentions of the king and woman away from each other and to the vast expanse of sea before them. Floating on it were hundreds upon hundreds of Persian ships, their small, orange, square-shaped sails blowing violently in the strong sea wind. The ships were not at all threatening, considering how easily they were tossed about by the angry, churning water. The sky itself was much more menacing, shadowed with dark, foreboding storm clouds. Lightning flashed, its golden hue blinding; the succeeding thunder boomed loudly, its aftershock almost painful.
"Let us witness as these motherless dogs are embraced by the loving arms of Greece herself!" Dilios exclaimed with mild amusement, a small smirk adorning his face and Amycus' alike.
Leonidas just grinned cockily; to him, the irony of the present situation was most welcome. "True," he said. "It does look like rain."
The young woman craned her neck reflexively up towards the heavens, held captive by the lightning's rhythmic dance and the thunder's heavy tempo. It distracted her, and for that, she was grateful.
For most, the excitement in the air was palpable. Some of the younger Spartan soldiers clapped each other enthusiastically on the back; most everyone – including the Arcadians – wore a grin from ear to ear. The gods were on their side, after all.
Suddenly, Leonidas felt a tap on his shoulder. His head moved downward of its own accord to gaze upon the woman he was cradling, his face expectant.
"My king, you may put me down, if you like," she spoke tentatively, smiling shyly. "I may be injured, but I believe I am capable of standing."
Leonidas laughed lightly and set her down gently on her feet, his arm resting on her back should her legs be too weak to support her. "Of course, milady…" he drew out his sentence as if asking for her name.
"Sophronia," the smiling woman responded. "My name is Sophronia."
"Sophronia…" Leonidas said slowly, testing out the unfamiliar syllables of her name. "That is not a name I am familiar with."
Sophronia was silent beside him so long he figured she had not heard him. Finally, she responded, her face drawn and eyes shining with unshed tears, "No, it is not very common...Though it was my aunt's name." She left it at that.
Leonidas, his observation skills sharp, knew the wound he reopened went deep and was not fresh, but then…who was he to pry? Everyone had a right to their secrets. He would know; he kept many himself.
"My deepest sympathies for your loss," Leonidas murmured. Even to him, though, it sounded empty and meaningless.
Sophronia said nothing. Instead, she wrapped his cloak tighter around her form. Her haunted eyes stared intently into the distance, the tears trapped within them magnifying her multi-colored irises.
Then suddenly, the sky burst open, rain pounding down around and on them mercilessly. Everyone was soaked within minutes, though no one seemed to notice or care. What had their attention was the angry Grecian sea as she violently claimed what she deemed hers: the hundreds of helpless, Persian vessels.
The soldiers were frenzied in their joy, pumping their weapons of choice high in the air and shouting victoriously. A few stood out in their grim stillness.
King Leonidas studied the woman beside him, her dark, wet hair whipping out behind her in the storm winds, rain droplets streaming down her face. Somehow, he knew she was crying. He saw it in her eyes and the utter defeat of her posture. All the aspects of happiness he was no stranger to, as well as anger and hatred…but sadness? He had never cried. At least, not since he was a wee babe. He was taught to despise such weakness, but now, as he watched the innocent, broken woman before him, her heart so trustingly exposed to the cruel, groping hands of the world…He knew that even free men wore chains, and, for the first time ever, their weight was almost suffocating.
plummet: Sorry it took me so long to finish this. I had tons of skewl work to do. Plus, for some ungoshly reason, wouldn't lemme upload my chapter:-(
Oh, and about the 'not-saying-Sophronia's-name' thing, it just seemed weird writing it in. I mean, with my omniscient point of view, you know? Because like, nobody else featured in the chapter knew who she was at first. So anyways, R&R pwease. -le happy dance-