I'd Like to Believe

Chapter 4: It's Your Blood that's Red Like Roses

A/N: Still don't own MPAS. Warning for blood and horrifying emotional stuff. This one's a whiplasher.

The glass had turned out almost perfect. The curve he had ground in was just a slight touch off, but at the very least everything wasn't blurry anymore. He had to borrow a knife from a soldier to unscrew the frames, and pound them back to an appropriate shape with a rock. Primitive, but the job got done. And it gave him something to do while he left Charis to herself.

Peabody sighed, glancing back at the Temple of Apollo (she refused to set foot in the Athenian Temple). A strange choice of shelter, considering it was widely held that the god had been against the Achaeans, but he assumed she was more focused on the aspect of healing and knowledge that he represented. She didn't seem to know that young Prince Troilus had been slaughtered upon the altar; he sure as hell wasn't going to tell her.

It had been hours, and he didn't see a torch's glow from inside. Something was wrong.

He cautiously approached the temple, neglecting to grab his own torch. If something was going down, he'd need to be unseen. Alternatively, if everything was alright and he was just being paranoid, he wanted to be able to withdraw as if he had never been there.

The only light in the temple came from the moon shining in thick bars through the pillars. Half-concealed by shadows, Charis rested against the base of the statue of Apollo, angled away from Peabody. She appeared to be running her hands over the shield, as if she was trying to commit every splinter and gouge to memory in the darkness. Satisfied that she was alright, at least physically, he turned to leave.

"He was stopped to get some water."

Peabody paused, and she continued. "He was watering his horse, and Acamas ambushed him. The escaped handmaiden was his grandmother. He was one of ours, and was helping her leave. He was afraid she'd be pursued or punished," she sat the shield down, "and he was right."

The two were silent for a few moments. Whereas the past few nights had been lit by burning buildings and punctuated with rowdy shouting and screams of survivors, the temple was perfectly silent. Silvery light cast harsh shadows, painting the room in sharp black and white.

"They aren't putting his name on his grave."

Peabody was stunned. "...what?"

"He didn't die in battle. He died chasing an inconsequential fugitive. He will not be honored."

He moved towards her. "That's ridiculous! Look at his shield; there was obviously a fight! Is there no way to challenge the-"

Charis snapped her head towards him, her words vicious. "The last time I challenged a tradition, they murdered my son!"

The temple fell horrifically silent, save for the gentle panting of the infuriated woman. Peabody gaped; he had never heard such rage in Charis's voice, and both her tone and words frightened him. She realized this, and shook her head, backing up to lean against the statue once again.

"During a raid on the city, a helot woman killed several enemies in defense of a temple, before dying herself. I spread the idea that her sacrifice needed to be honored. That her name should be engraved. The Gerousia refused, and the public outcry was immense. In revenge, the elder in charge of examining infants for deformity and inferiority declared my son unfit to live."

Peabody had come over to sit with her, and had he been a human, he would've paled. He remembered the look on her face when she believed Sherman had been in the Horse, and could feel the bile rising in his throat. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, shining with old tears. "My son was a healthy child. We dipped him in the wine and he all but swam in it. He would've brought glory and victory to all of us, but he was thrown off a cliff because a group of ancient egos felt their comfort had been threatened."

"That's...an obvious bias. How could they get away with it?"

Charis spoke quietly, pointedly looking away. "The elder who ordered it did not."

Peabody didn't have to ask; the silence did that for him. Her voice was cold as ice. "I followed him when he was hiking one day, and when he stopped to rest, I brought a stone down upon his head. Some of the elders suspected I had something to do with it, but Helen and some of the priestesses asserted it was an act of Hera, punishment for unjustly ordering the death of a baby."

She turned to face him, tears streaming freely. "Do you consider me a murderer?"

The dog didn't even hesitate. He took her hands in his, speaking comfortingly with confidence. "No. I consider you a mother."

Peabody would carry the smile she gave him for the rest of his life, and it would never fail to spark one of his own.

The two were surprised to find that, despite the horrors and anxieties of the day, they were ravenous. So they gathered some figs and honey, and contented themselves with snacking messily by the light of a small torch. They ate in silence for a long time, until...

"So. What are we going to need to build it?"

Peabody responded mid-chew, manners temporarily cast aside. "Build wha?"

"The temporary WABAC."

Oh hell. He had almost forgotten about the WABAC. "Well, first we'd need to actually build a sphere with enough structural integrity to survive the speeds necessary."

"We have stones, bones, and steel."

"Crude, but beggars can't be choosers. I can easily build a rig to spin it fast enough to go, but it'll need a secondary thrust system if it starts to lose speed in the time stream."

"Explain thrust system."

"Right," he broke off a piece of charcoal from a discarded torch, and drew a simple diagram on the floor, "thrust engines work by spitting flame with enough force to push whatever they're attached to forward. To achieve suitable thrust would require a massive amount of fire."

"We could prepare more thermite," Charis offered.

"Good, but the time required to prepare enough would be improbable; we have to supplement it."

"Yak's fat burns; after the sacrifices there's plenty of that to go around."

"Also helpful, but most of it would be needed to grease the spinning mechanism. Anything els-"

"Have you ever seen what happens when black soup boils over into the fire?" she asked with a wry smile.

Peabody stopped drawing, and glanced at her with a mix of awe and reverence. "You amaze me sometimes. And just out of curiosity; is it sacrilege that I just doodled all over Apollo's floor?"

Charis chuckled, shaking her head as she got up to search for supplies. "If it is, then it's the most innocent sacrilege this place has seen. I'm sure the god of wisdom much prefers an informative drawing over the blood of his son."

So much for keeping the death of Troilus from her.

Troilus.

Of course!

"Wait!"

He jumped up the follow her, catching her at the entrance. She shot him a questioning look, wondering what was so important as to delay the building of the WABAC. His words were fast and urgent. "Charis, I owe you more than I could ever repay. You've saved my life and continue to trust me despite the implausibility of my being here, and you still want to do more. I think it's time I helped you for a change. The innocents of Troy are still in danger, and I know who is in the most dire need."

Her eyes went wide. "How? Who?"

"The Women of Troy is another popular subject in the coming centuries. It's already too late to protect Cassandra, but soon their attentions will turn to Princess Polyxena, Prince Astyanax, Princess Andromache, and Queen Hecuba. The latter two live as wives to high ranking Achaeans, but the former are slated to die."

"What? Prince Astyanax is a child! And why Polyxena; she'd be a more desired bride than her sister and mother!"

"They fear the prince would grow to seek revenge, and there's been rumors that she betrayed the weakness of Achilles to Paris."

"That's ridiculous! The girl was willing to marry him to end the war, Paris simply took advantage of the distraction and was lucky enough to hit the right spot!"

Peabody shook his head. "You know these men; they don't care how in love they were. They demand a sacrifice to keep the wind steady, and it's easier to believe that someone betrayed their friend than an enemy got lucky."

Charis clenched her fists. "Idiots. We need to have a talk with Agamemnon."

For all the adventures Peabody had experience, he had never actually seen anybody literally kick down a door. It was once a thick wooden one, but was reduced to a couple of splintered planks.

Good lord. She's got the legs of a startled horse.

"AGAMEMNONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!"

As well as the roar of an angry lion.

The Mycenaean king nearly jumped out of his skin. "Whoa, Charis! Are you alr-"

Charis cut him off, marching across the room menacingly. The man might as well have been a child before a vicious wolf, and he backed up against the wall as she yelled. "What the HELL is all this I hear about your men planning on killing Polyxena; she is a princess and a former betrothed of Achilles and I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS AGAMEMNON ARE YOU HEARING ME?"

The king cowered and nodded. "I hear ya! I don't have anything to do with this; I've been busy searching for Shermanicus!"

"Shermanicus isn't here; he already found his way home! Now I'd very much like to send Peabody home as well, but that's hard to do when all of the soldiers who could be helping are busy trying to slaughter innocents! Why the hell hasn't Menelaus stepped in?!"

"He's been with Helen since the fighting stopped!"

Charis's furious gaze was aimed directly at Agamemnon, but Peabody swore he could feel hateful shrapnel bouncing off the walls. She spoke through gritted teeth. "If he has done anything to harm her-"

"Are you kidding? He's been crying like a big baby the past two days! She's done nothing but give him back rubs and reassure him that she doesn't hate him."

She threw her hands up in the air, frustrated. "Not that I'm not overjoyed that they can work this out but for the sake of the Gods could that not wait until later?! Come on, Peabody, we have wrongs to right."

Off in the distance, a woman began shouting. The duo looked at each other, and Charis's stomach dropped.

They started running.

The group surrounding the grave of Achilles was massive, comprised of nearly every surviving Achaean soldier. Off to the side, Queen Hecuba struggled in the arms of several guards, screaming and reaching out for the hand of her daughter. Polyxena reached back, though she didn't fight her captors.

"LET HER GO, ODYSSEUS!"

The crowd turned Charis, standing by the city gates and huffing with exertion as Peabody caught up. "You will not murder this girl."

Neoptolemus was the first to speak up, his young voice wavering with emotion. "This girl murdered my father, Charis. This will not go unpunished!"

Her gaze could melt steel. "You know that's a lie, boy. Your father was murdered by a prince too cowardly and selfish to give up our queen. She loved him, and he loved her; do you honestly think he'd be pleased to see you slaughter his intended?"

The men spoke in hushed tones, growing impatient in their bloodthirst. Neoptolemus was shaking, tears threatening to betray his fear. Peabody was struck by the sight; what was such a young boy doing here? They had brought him to fight, and let him watch his father die; now he was little more than a terrified and grieving child pressured to take an undeserving life. The soldier could barely speak. "Even if...if that w-were true...we need a sacrifice. We need the wind."

He suddenly grabbed Polyxena and drew her close, knife pointing at her face. Hecuba screamed, Charis moved to lunge at him, and all hell would've broken loose if Peabody hadn't pulled her back. Soldiers drew swords, and the tension in the air was palpable.

"STOP, PLEASE!"

Everyone paused, turning to the youths in their midst. Neoptolemus nearly dropped his dagger, startled by the shout of the princess in his grasp. The girl stood as straight as possible, and though there was obvious terror in her eyes, she maintained a face of dignity. Instead of pushing the knife away or scratching at the arms of her potential murderer, she simply held her dress closed against her chest. She glanced to her mother with a gentle, reassuring nod, and the queen fell to her knees sobbing.

Polyxena then turned her head to make eye contact with Charis, who was frozen in shock. The girl's voice was soft, innocent, and sweet. "I will not fight this, my lady. I advise you not to either. I would much prefer death at the feet of Achilles, than to serve a another man's slave or whore. Let me find my family, please. Let me have my peace."

The crowd was silent, every breath held tight. A gentle wind from the sea swept across the dirt, rustling hair and fabric.

With a sudden, anguished cry, Neoptolemus dragged the knife across Polyxena's throat.

As her blood mingled with the dirt, the twin screams of Charis and Hecuba did the same.

The shattering of glass brought Peabody sprinting into the kitchen, skidding to a stop just before the spill. The ruined glass pitcher and spreading pool told a story, confirmed by the startled and crying child by the counter.

"I'm sorry Mister Peabody, I didn't mean it!"

He gently but firmly placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, guiding him away from the mess. "I'm not mad, Sherman," he insisted in a soft voice, "just step away from the glass; it's dangerous."

He continued to softly comfort the child, escorting him from the room as he glanced over his shoulder. The red juice continued to spread sluggishly across the floor.

Peabody all but dragged the catatonic Charis back to the city gate, his reassurances nearly drowned out by the shouts and cheers of the soldiers. He carefully lead her to sit down and lean against the wall, holding her hand all the while as if guiding a lost child. Her eyes were wide and unblinking, and she stared right through him as her mouth moved silently.

"Charis? Charis, what are you trying to say?"

Though she remained motionless, her lips continued their quiet mantra. He leaned closer, desperate to understand.

"The baby. They'll kill the baby. We couldn't save her, we can't save the baby. He's just a baby. Just a baby-"

Prince Astyanax. She was right; if they found him, he would die just as surely as his young aunt had.

Something had to be done.

Off in the distance, obscured to all but the most sensitive of ears, thunder crashed over the sea. Peabody stood, fists clenched, and growled as he turned to face the crowd.

Something would be done.