Ariadnê hid, frightened and alone, sheltered within Apóllōn's shrine. Her heart was cradled in the hands of the dreadful sons of Árēs.
She should have returned back to Dardania when she had been first captured years ago. Now she had to hide away as her second home was destroyed by those barbarians.
Twas only a matter of time before she too would be snatched away from home to be the wife of some long-haired Achaean.
Όχι! She will not.
She turned, placing her head at the base of the statue of her lover. "God with the silver bow, son of queenly Lētṓ and the mighty-king Ζεύς, hear my prayer: if I have ever pleased you with a holy shrine, or you have found pleasure within my presence–grant me my prayer. Protect my life for your seed is carried within my pregnant belly. Please do not let the son of Troy walk alone to Haides."
And now she alone was left, and was crouching by the altars.
She turned with a heavy heart, when her beloved lover, never before so brilliant to behold, came before her eyes, in pure radiance gleaming through the night, manifesting his deity, in beauty and statute such as he is won't to appear to the lords of heaven.
He caught her by the hand: "My love, come with me. I shall provide you cover to reach your family. Your brother will be there soon to see where you have left your father, age-worn Ankhises, whether Kreüsa his wife and the boy Askanius still live."
Tears gathered in her eyes as she nodded her head entranced by his words. She clutched to him as tightly as he allowed, meeting the eyes that he took on as he gazed at her. "Know that it is not the hated face of the Laconian woman, daughter of Tyndareus, it is not Paris that is to blame; but the gods, the relentless gods, overturn this wealth and make Troy topple from her pinnacle. Behold – for all the cloud, which now, drawn over your sight, dulls your mortal vision and with dank pall enshrouds you, I will tear away; fear no commands of the mother of your brother nor refuse to obey her counsels."
Dread shapes come to view and, hating Troy, great presences divine . . .
"Here, where you see shattered piles and rocks torn from rocks, and smoke eddying up mixed with dust, Poseidón shakes the walls and foundations that his mighty trident has upheaved, and uproots all the city from her base. Here Hḗrē, fiercest of all, is foremost to hold the Scaean gates and, girt with steel, furiously calls from the ships her allied band . . . Now on the highest towers – turn and see – Tritonian Pallas is planted, gleaming with storm cloud and grim Gorgon. My Father himself gives the Greeks courage and auspicious strength; he himself stirs up the gods against the Dardan arms. Hasten your flight, my love, and put an end to your toil. Nowhere will I leave you but will set you safely on your father's threshold .' He spoke, and vanished in the thick shades of night. He swept her away, and then, indeed, it seemed to her that all Ilium was sinking into the flames and that Troy was being overturned from her base.
When she had reached the door of her Father's house, her beloved brother, Aineías, was only seconds behind her. She turned and clutched to him tightly.
"You,' her Father cried towards her brother, 'whose blood has the freshness of youth and whose strength stands sound in native vigour, you must turn to flight . . . For me, had the lords of heaven willed that I should lengthen life's thread, they would have spared this my home. Enough and more it is that I have seen one destruction, and have survived one capture of the city. To my body, thus lying, yea thus, bid farewell and depart! I shall find a warrior's death; the foe will take pity and seek my spoils.'
Ariadnê dissolved in tears as her Father remained unshaken – Aineías' wife Kreüsa, Askanius and all their household – pleading that their father not bring all to ruin along with him, nor add weight to their crushing doom. He refuses, and abides in his purpose and his place.
Aineías rushed to arms, calling out to their Father: 'Did you think, my father, that I could go forth leaving you? If the gods will that naught remain of our great city, if this purpose is firmly set in your mind and it is your pleasure to cast yourself and your kin into the wreck of Troy, for this death the gate is open wide, and soon will come Pyrrhus, steeped in the blood of Priam – Pyrrhus who butchers the son before the father's eyes, the father at the altars. Was it for this, gracious mother, that you saved me amid fire and sword, to see the foe in the heart of my home, and Askanius, and my father, and my sister, and Kreüsa at their side, slaughtered in each other's blood? Arms, men, bring arms; the last light of life calls the vanquished. Give me back to the Greeks; let me seek again and renew the fight. Never this day shall we all die unavenged!'
Once more Aineías strap on his sword, pass his left arm into the shield, as he fit it on, and was hurrying forth from the house, when lo! on the threshold his wife clung to men, clasping his feet and holding up little Askanius to his father. 'If you go to die, take us, too, with you for any fate. But if from past experience, you place some hope in the armour you have donned, guard first this house. To whom do you abandon little Askanius, your father, and men, once called your wife?'
"Would you kill me, Father?" Ariadnê turned to her Father, hands cradling her swollen belly. "For I would rather depart to the realm of Haides with joy than begated with the love of those monstrous beast!"
So crying, the two women filled all the house with moaning; when a sudden portent appears, wondrous to tell. For between the hands and faces of his parents, from above the head of Askanius a light tongue of flame was seen to shed a gleam and, harmless in its touch, lick his soft locks and pasture round his temples. Trembling with alarm, they quickly shake out the blazing hair and quench with water the holy fires.
But their father Ankhísēs joyously raises his eyes to the skies and uplifts to heaven hands and voice: 'Almighty Ζεύς, if you are moved by any prayers, look upon us – this only do I ask – and if our goodness earn it, give us your aid, Father, and ratify this omen!'
Scarcely had the aged man thus spoken, when with sudden crash there was thunder on the left and a star shot from heaven, gliding through the darkness, and drawing a fiery trail amid a flood of light. They all turned their eyes to the heavens, watching as it glided over the palace roof and buried itself in Ida's forest the splendor that marked its path; then the long-drawn furrow shines, and far and wide all about reeks of sulfur. At this, indeed, their Father was overcome and, rising to his feet, salutes the gods, and worships the holy star. 'Now, now there is no delay; I follow, and where you lead, there am I. Gods of my fathers! save my house, save my grandchildren. Yours is this omen, and under your protection stands Troy. Yes, I yield, and refuse not, my son, to go in your company.'
Aineías ceased, and now through the city more loudly is heard the blaze, and nearer the flames roll their fiery flood. 'Come then, dear father, mount upon my neck; on my own shoulders I will support you, and this task will not weigh me down. However things may fall, we two will have on common peril, one salvation. Let little Askanius come with me, and let my wife and sister follow our steps at a distance. You servants, heed what I say. As one leaves the city, there is a mound and ancient temple of forlorn Dēmḗtēr, with an old cypress hard by, saved for many years by the reverence of our fathers. To this one spot we will come from different directions. Father, take in your arms the sacred emblems of our country's household gods; for me, fresh from fierce battle and recent slaughter, it would be sinful to handle them until I have washed myself clean in running water . . . '
So Aineías spoke, and over his broad shoulders and bowed neck he spread the cover of a tawny lion's pelt and stoop to the burden. Little Askanius clasps his hand in Aineías, and follows his father with steps that match not his. Behind comes his sister and his wife.
Nearing the gates, and thought they had accomplished all their journey, when suddenly, crowding on their ears, seemed to come a tramp of feet, and peering through the gloom, their Father cries: 'My son, my son, flee; they draw near! I see their glowing shields and glittering brass.'
At this, in his alarm, some malign power stole his distracted wits. For while he plunge down byways and leave the course of the streets they know, alas! Kreüsa was snatched from him by an unhappy fate. Did she halt? Did she stray from the path or sit down in exhaustion?
Ariadnê does not know. Never again was she restored to their eyes, nor did they look back for the lost one, or cast a thought behind, until they came to the mound and ancient Dēmḗtēr' hallowed home.
Aineías hid them, Askanius, their father Ankhísēs, his sister Ariadnê and the household gods of Troy; Aineías put in charge of their fellows and hid them in a winding vale. He himself seek again the city, and gird on his glittering arms.
Alas as he searched, a vast number of new comrades streamed in, mothers and men, a band gathered for exile, a piteous throne. From all sides they have come, with heart and fortune ready for Aineías to lead them over the sea to whatever lands he will. And now above Ida's topmost ridges the day star was rising, ushering in the morn; and the Danaans held the blockaded gates, nor was any hope of help offered.
Aineías gave way and, taking up their father, sought the hills.
And Ariadnê gave one glance back, an ache in her heart and wished she had listened to Laokoön and Kassandra when they warned them of the Achaean even when bearing gifts.
|JUNE NINTH - dies religiosus to Vesta|
Octavian was hiding within the Iovis Optimi Maximi Capitolini.
He had already banished all Collegium Pontificum members, especially Rue since the child of Ploutōn had horrible control of their powers. He was sure that the only skill that Rue showed was the few methods of divination that he was able to show her through his own limited skill of necromancy.
He had Pranjal's stupid hearing aids in his ears, turned all the way down. He didn't necessarily need them. He could hear just fine, but... he could admit that they were useful, and he was learning three different versions of sign language. He was even creating his own language and codes. It was hard work, but he could do it. Probably. (No, Daniele, that did not make him an overachiever!)
It was hard to do work during this time. Not that there was much work to do on such a sacred day, but he was keeping himself occupied with something.
Like why his visions kept showing him a glass jar... why they were showing him images of his deceased sister... Why did they keep showing him Perseus for some godsforsaken reason? He didn't care about the boy any further than tracking down his Mother and sticking a sword through her throat for breaking his sister's heart before she was even old enough to understand. (She had better be dead because if Octavian got his hands on her... well it wouldn't be pretty. She wasn't the one who wiped away tears when his little sister wondered why her mommy didn't want her.)
But for all that Octavian tried to read into the future, nothing pertaining to the real reason that he was searching was coming up. Not anymore. He knew Jason was out there. He knew that he was. He could tell from the whispers of the wind. He could feel it within his bones. He could see it as the visions chased him into his dreams; different futures that disappeared into an edge of darkness.
It was hard and he was contemplating on talking to Reyna the longer Jason was missing. Reyna! As if the harlot had been making moves on him since the day she joined the camp.
It was Octavian's fault, of course. He had gotten arrogant. Jason was his. Annia and Augustus were still alive. His aunt and uncles were still alive. They had a chance to beat out the curse. He told himself that he had time. He and Jason would have time to work everything out. He had managed to sneakily draw out suggestions for their future children's names and even worked out who would be surrogates. Heck, he had even started contemplating the wedding details.
And then his aunt died and then his uncle. Then Annia died. And then Augustus died. And suddenly, Octavian was all alone, and Reyna was making moves on the love of his life and then Jason went missing and Perseus showed up looking almost exactly how his little sister would have looked if she had grown up except he had a dick, an adam's apple, green eyes, and a Y chromosome.
Octavian began to sew another bear together.
Despite what the Legion thought, every bear that he mauled was given a new life when he was finished. He was quite skilled at it. In fact, he was so skilled that he received a returning customer discount at Build-A-Bear. He probably knew the store and its website better than the employees did.
He shifted as his skin started to feel a little irritated. It was probably from staying in the temple for so long and only leaving to use the utilities. He actually needed to wash this robe. He had been using it as a pillow since Monday.
Maybe that was what the issue was even with his visions. Self-care removed any blockades he inwardly faced. He sighed as he sat the teddy bear down — this one as Lord Iovis, ready to be dressed and taken down to the nearest children's hospital or maybe to the street kids? Everyone needed a little comfort. The street kids even more. As the sole heir to the Verus fortune, he had more money than he knew what to do with and he snuck the kids spending cards with a $1000 limit; enough for them to get by and whenever he saw it getting low, he fed more money to it. And Medea owed him a favor or two, so it was easy to track the cards and their owners to make sure the kids were okay.
(He had been thinking of buying out a warehouse or some type of building for them to live in and make their home base.)
(He wondered what the Legion would say after he died and realized that despite sending people to New Roma for the past century, no one else would be coming after him.)
Octavian shook his head, turning to leave the temple when something moved in his peripheral. He turned, ceremonial dagger twirling in his hands. He would have to move quickly so he wouldn't spill blood on such sacred grounds, but he'd be damned before he let alone steal from the temple except...
Except there was nothing there, but the chilling breeze of the wind.
He turned the hearing aids up, not flinching at the familiar booming of thunder but he couldn't hear anything else. One of the Lares, maybe? Some of them tended to hover.
He sighed, leaving once more.
"Octavian..."
He tensed.
Hazy figures appeared before him on the steps. A dozen of them. He looked around trying to see if Rue or any children of the Netherworld was around him. He couldn't find anyone.
"Octavian..."
He turned around deciding that he was just going to skip his self care day and instead participate in mental breakdown day because that... that sounded like his Mother.
More shades appeared around him, right outside the temple entrance and blocking his way in. He was surrounded on all sides by a plethora of blondes and gingers looking like a goddamn sunset.
"Octavius..."
He turned slowly. And found himself tongue-tied. It was his Mother, Aelia Verus, dressed in jeans and hiking boots and with a Green Lantern t-shirt, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. She held a backpack and a walking stick like she was prepared for a long journey.
"It's time to go home, darling," she murmured, hand moving to hover over his check. She seemed to look right through Octavian with no recognition. "The way is complex. We have to protect it. Keep the son of Tydeus away."
"Mother?" he said. His voice was soft, watery just like a child. "Mama?"
"Oh, my darling child," she said dreamily. "Protect your sister. She will be the best of us."
His heart broke and he took a step back. "Mama... they're dead. Lyn and Via. They're not... they died."
"Don't say that!" Her blue eyes flared a striking gold. "She took them from me. From us. From you. You have to keep her away. She wants us all."
"Who? Who wants us? Minerva?"
"Don't speak her name!" The ghosts hissed in symphony drawing closer to him... boxing him in. "They stole her from us and took her back! Sacked her city. Took her identity. We fixed her. And she did this." The ghosts growled, flickering at the edges as they moved closer to him. "They will never take her to their home."
"Mama," Octavian whispered. "Please. It's me, Tav. Your son. Your little prince of Troy."
"Of Troy..." Aelia repeated. "Yes, the Son of Troy walks alone. You will destroy the Greeks, Thieving, conniving, and barbaric Greeks. Kill them all. Avenge our family. Avenge Troy!"
"Mama, this isn't you." Octavian's heartbeat thumped in his ears. "They don't have children. We can't go to war with mortals. And... and Troy is gone, Mama."
"TROY LIVES!" another voice snarled. Octavian turned, a sob ripping from his throat. That was his grandmother. "You live. Avenge us. They took Troy. Sacked her. Looted like a trophy and carted off—away from her beloved homeland."
Another ghost stepped forward, beautiful, auburn-blonde with bountiful curls, soft pink lips, and with a beauty mark under her right eye. "I lost so much. I swore I would never forgive. Neither would my children." She focused more closely on Octavian. "You are my son?"
"Yes," His Mother said. "The Son of Troy."
"The son of troy walks alone," the woman said, stepping closer to wrap her hands around Octavian's forearms. "Avenge us. The Curse of Athena burns."
"Who... who are you?"
"Hm?" The lady blinked. "I am the Mother of Roma."
"Ariadnê?"
"My son," she smiled, fingers digging into his skin. Blood began to stream from her eyes. "My children are in danger. I need your help."
"I can't," he muttered. "You want me to commit genocide!"
"The Achaeans killed us!" Her smile turned into a snarl and her hold tightened on his arms. "You would let them live? No. No. Anyone who helps the Achaeans must perish. If you would join them, you are no child of mine. You have already failed me."
"Ariadnê!" He turned to look around him. "Mother?"
"Kill him," Ariadnê ordered. "Kill the Greek lovers! Find the Curse, follow it to its source. DESTROY IT! PLEDGE YOUR VENGEANCE. AVENGE YOUR FAMILY."
"What is wrong with you?"
"Avenge us or leave us. You are no child of mine."
"No," he murmured. "No." His Mother and Grandmother... his Family turned away from him. Ariadnê's features softened, becoming confused and unfocused.
"My son," she whispered, trailing off and muttering in greek. "My children." Blood streamed down her face, pouring out of her nose and eyes and ears. "Avenge us."
"Avenge us."
The ghost closed in all around him, each grabbing onto his skin.
"Avenge us."
"No. No. NO!"
He pushed through them as much as he could, but they chilled the air around him as they followed him out of Temple Hill. "The Son of Troy walks alone."
Octavian screamed.
He fell to his knees, and they converged on him. As they tore into his skin as if it were paper.
Arms cradled around, catching him before he could hit the ground. The ghosts around him kept screaming over — "Avenge us." — and over — "Octavian." — and over. "Son of Troy."
He could feel them, touching his chest, carving into his skin. Let me go, he thought. Let me go. Please. Let me go.
Phantom hands gripped his heart with its touch of death. Octavian seized.
"The Son of Troy walks alone."
Something pulled at him in two different directions. His eyes shot open, but Octavian couldn't see. He couldn't see. It was so dark.
"The Son of Troy walks alone."
The hand around his heart tightened. "Death is inevitable," a voice whispered at his ear. "It would be wise to yield."
That chill of death was cast away and it was as if he stepped in a patch of sunlight. "He is both a storm and a wildfire," another voice said, brushing away the hand on his heart. "He was born from my flames. His family has kept the hearth going within their souls as the cold chill of death followed them like an old friend. So long as the sun touches the sea, you will not have them. Tis as I speak it as tis I command."
"The Son of Troy walks alone."
The ghosts disappeared from around him as a scream echoed through the air.
That second, musical voice placed a feather like a kiss on top of his head. "He must fall, but he will rise again."
Word Count: 3,794
Comments from the Author:
1) Most of this is from the Aeneid, reconstructed to fit the narrative.
2) You'll notice that Ariadnê is singing a different tune than she was in ARC I. That was done on purpose.
3) If you hadn't already guessed it, this is Octavian's POV of the scene from ARC II.