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The prow of the small boat hit the sand with as little noise as possible. Perseus hopped out silently, landing with a thump on the sand. Behind him followed the two brothers, Deiphobus and Paris, far less subtle than he had been.
Getting to Lemnos had been tricky. They'd had to leave at night, under the cover of the darkness so the Achaeans did not suspect anything was amiss. But the journey had been a swift one—especially with the push he'd used his powers to give the boat, and in a matter of hours they had arrived at the small deserted island of Lemnos. The son of Poseidon turned to his two companions and said in a whisper, "Alright, you guys remember the plan?"
Deiphobus nodded, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Paris looked like he wanted to argue, but didn't say a word.
Perseus would have been okay with having just his brother as backup. Paris was a bit sceptical about their mission and needling him with questions. But Aeneas still hadn't woken up, and as efficient as Deiphobus was, this wasn't a one-man job. And as much as he disliked Priam's wayward son, he needed all the help he could get, especially since he didn't know which of the Kings the Achaeans had sent on this little expedition.
"Let's move in."
They darted up the dunes and into the cover of the trees. Helios had pleasantly offered to scout ahead earlier, and by the information he'd returned with, they knew where to find this Philoctetes and his magical arrows. Perseus hoped they had beaten the Greeks to the island, but he knew it was just wishful thinking. A fight was imminent, but he was pretty confident that their enemies wouldn't be escaping with those arrows that evening.
As silent as wraiths, they moved through the shadows and trees, dashing towards the centre of the island. The moon was absent tonight, and he knew it was because Apollo had asked his sister to take a break, only to allow their mission to go on in total darkness. The Achaeans would not know what had hit them. Finally, after what felt like hours of running, they emerged from the forest and on the outskirts of what seemed to be a small farm. Perseus quickly scanned their surroundings.
There was a mud hut a few yards away and a small lagoon right beside it. His guess had been right—they were on a farm, and he could see several vegetables and plants arranged in neat little rows and stacks around the hut. It seemed Philoctetes hadn't been idling about at all since the Achaeans had abandoned him all those years back. If the Fates were kind tonight, things would go as planned. Apollo had given him a brief history of good old Phil—he was some Greek King who had been left behind because he'd had a festering, smelly wound from a snake bite. It was a wonder he was still alive. But, hopefully, he'd still be injured, and killing him would not be much of a hassle.
He heard a shuffle at his right and turned to glare at Paris, who shifted and motioned to the hut with his head. Perseus followed his line of sight and they watched as three men walked out of the dark hut. He tried to identify them, but the darkness of the Island proved more of a hindrance in this endeavour. The men were arguing loudly, no doubt thinking they were alone on the island as they set about building a campfire.
Perseus strained to hear what words were being exchanged, a frown on his lips. The more he watched, the more something seemed off to him. None of the three figures were limping or crippled. They all walked…well, normally. In a matter of minutes, there was a roaring flame a distance from the hut. The men sat around it, and Perseus heard Deiphobus swear slightly as the orange glow of the campfire lighted up the faces.
Odysseus the Crafty and his trusty companion, King Diomedes of Thrace, were helping the other man set a skinned deer on a spit above the flames. The man had dark, roughish hair and the bushiest beard Perseus had ever seen. He was dressed in an assemblage of animal skins, with a quiver of arrows slung on his back and a bow around his torso. In a fluid movement, the man set the weapons on the ground beside a log. So, Philoctetes.
"Hundred drachma that's what we came for," Deiphobus whispered.
Perseus grunted in reponse. He was aching to pounce, but first, they needed to see what exactly was going on here.
"And why, do you think I would aid you in any way?" Phil was saying as he started to roast the meat.
"Well, Philoctetes," Odysseus gestured to the farm around them. "Certainly you don't want to live out the rest of your days here on this lonely Island, do you?"
"Your silver tongue isn't going to work here, Odysseus," Phil chuckled. "I've come to like my life down here. After you convinced the rest of my comrades to abandon me." His tone was sharp and hard.
Diomedes winced, "Alright, well, Odysseus regrets and apologises for that, I'm sure. No need to get harsh, we're all friends here."
"Are we?" Phil arched a bushy brow. "You left me to die. I owe you nothing."
"We did, and we were wrong," Odysseus set his hands on his knees. "We see that now, and we need you."
"No, you don't think you were wrong, Odysseus," The man said, gruffly. "You're here because you need me and Heracles' arrows. The snake bite would have killed me, and you knew it."
"Well it didn't, did it?" The Ithacan barked. "You're healed now, right?"
"No thanks to you, my so-called 'friends'."
"Look, boys," Diomedes cut the conversation before Odysseus could quip back. "We are grateful to your friend Machaon for healing you. But the gods themselves sent us here. At least hear us out." Phil scoffed.
"Right," Odysseus said. "You joined us on our way to Troy, because like all of us, you had an oath to keep. You sought glory, and fame, and riches. Well, dear old Philoctetes, now's your chance."
"What makes you think I'm still the same man I was then?"
"You were Heracles' dearest friend back in the day," Odysseus leaned forward. "The Spirit of a Hero doesn't just die because of some dreary few years spent on a lonely Island. You itch for the thrill of a good battle. Tell me I'm lying. Otherwise, you wouldn't have bothered keeping the arrows for all these years."
Philoctetes shuffled. "Now a good time to attack?" Paris whispered. Perseus motioned for him to wait.
"I wouldn't part with the arrows," Phil grunted. "Which is all you're here for, if we're being honest."
"We know you're a package deal, Philoctetes," Diomedes reassured. "And that's why we asked for your assistance first and not your weapons."
"I mean, they were a gift from Heracles the Great," Odysseus shrugged. "I wouldn't leave them here to wither into ashes, definitely. If the greatest hero in all of Greece gave me his weapons, you know what I'd do? I'd use them so I could prove I was worthy of them. I'd perform exploits with those arrows. I'd carry his legacy with them until my dying days."
Perseus frowned. Odysseus was certainly deserving of his nickname. He was a silver-tongued fox.
The son of Poseidon raised a hand. At the signal, Paris notched an arrow. Perseus let his hand fall and at the same time, Paris released the projectile. It sailed through the air sharply, and a yell rang out through the night sky as the arrow pierced Diomedes in his sword arm. The Achaeans shot to their feet with cries of panic. "Good luck," Perseus whispered. Without wasting another second, Diomedes launched himself out of the trees, drawing his sword. Paris followed, hot at his heels.
Perseus hoped they would be okay. Paris wasn't the best at close combat, but he was okay, and hopefully, tonight all his training with Hector would pay off.
Odysseus snarled in outrage and drew his weapon.
"You led Trojans to my doorstep?" Phil sounded miffed as he drew one of the knives attached to his belt.
"I'd take the credit, but they couldn't have known about this," The King of Ithaca slipped into a stance. Diomedes cried out as he wrenched the arrow out of his arm. He bared his teeth and drew a sword. Perseus stiffened as they clashed.
Deiphobus swung high for Odysseus' head, but the man ducked and jabbed at the Trojan's midsection. The son of Priam sidestepped and slammed his elbow into Odysseus' neck, sending him right into the ground. Perseus watched as Hector's younger brother dodged a knife aimed at his neck and caught another on his gauntlet. Deiphobus struck hard with his own weapon and slashed at Phil's chest. Meanwhile, Paris continued to fire arrow after arrow in quick succession as he raced after Diomedes. The injured king snarled as he slowly inched forward, slashing the projectiles out of the air. Paris shifted and shot at Odysseus as the other man tried to rise, nailing him in the calf and sending him to his knees with a yelp. Just as quickly, he dropped his bow and drew a sword, raising it in time to block Diomedes' strike.
Now was the time.
With just a thought, Perseus melted into mist. He reappeared behind the fighting men, impossibly near the campfire. Perseus dove for the quiver full of arrows.
It felt normal in his hands. What the Hades made them so special?
Before he could mist away, a sharp and surprising pain erupted in his back, making him drop the quiver in surprise and turn. Phil spun another knife and hurled it at Deiphobus this time, who barely had time to duck before Odysseus tackled him to the ground. The Island king turned his attention to Perseus. Swearing, the son of Anchises scanned the ground for the quiver of arrows as he dug the knife out.
"Looking for this?" Diomedes called. The Thracian waved the quiver and grinned.
Immediately, his eyes sought the other Prince. Paris was groaning and clutching his head, which was bleeding. Perseus bared his teeth, "Gimme that."
"Don't think so," Diomedes darted aside, and before the demigod could follow, a boulder-sized man slammed into him from behind. He fell on his face with a cry, instantly struggling to free himself. Phil grunted as he slammed another knife into Perseus' flank, making the demigod cry out in pain. His ichor gushed out, and the Achaean gasped in shock, stilling momentarily and giving Perseus enough leverage to rise and throw Philoctetes off him. As the king fell, Perseus spun on his heel and dug out the offending knife before hurling it at Phil's falling form.
Without waiting to see the results of his attack, he was chasing after Diomedes. He passed Odysseus and Deiphobus, grappling in the sand, and as he slid to a stop to help, the Prince shouted, "Go!" And then Perseus was bolting again. Diomedes was almost at the trees when another figure slammed into him, sending both of them flying. The quiver of arrows rolled in the dirt as Paris began to whale the Thracian king with punches.
Perseus lunged forward, snatching up the quiver from the ground. From beneath Paris, Diomedes cursed, kneeing the Trojan prince in the gut and pushing him off. He darted up and charged with a powerful swing aimed at Perseus. The immortal sidestepped, and the sword slashed through his black cloak, narrowly missing his arm. Diomedes yelled and swung again, and from the corner of his eye, Perseus spotted Deiphobus racing towards them. He blocked the blow with his gauntlet and thrust the quiver towards Hector's brother, who caught it mid-air.
"Get to the boat!" He shouted, quickly summoning his sword and deflecting another strike. The plan to mist travel in and out with the quiver had gone promptly to shit. And, short of abandoning his friends, Perseus wasn't sure how to get the quiver away from the three Achaean kings. Metal clanged loudly, the sound tearing through the silent night.
Deiphobus grinned and nodded, but his moment of victory was short-lived. As Diomedes pushed Perseus back, his eyes caught sight of another figure, quickly approaching. "Watch out!" But it was too late. Philoctetes took advantage of Deiphobus' distraction, quickly nocking an arrow—one of Paris' used ones—in his bow, and fired. The shot wasn't fatal, but it was enough to force Deiphobus to drop the quiver with a grunt, clutching his shoulder in pain.
The islander darted for the arrows, but as Perseus hurled Diomedes with a grunt, Paris was there, moving in to snatch the quiver before Philoctetes could get to it. He grinned and broke into a run. "Catch me if you can, old fox!"
But he hadn't even gone three feet before another figure barrelled into him from the left. Odysseus tackled Paris to the ground, panting, "Careful what you wish for, lad." The campfire reflected off his intelligent eyes, and for a moment, Perseus saw them grapple in the dirt, each clawing for possession of the stupid arrows. He had to help. Swearing to all the gods, old and new, Perseus raced for the fighting men. Just as Odysseus wrested the quiver free, Philoctetes was there and yanked him back to his feet. "Don't get cosy!" He barked. "We have to get out of here!" He slammed a foot into Paris' gut, making the Prince double in pain and groan in the grass.
Perseus was almost at them when he was wrenched back and thrown into a patch of tomatoes. Diomedes had quickly caught up, and he wiped a trail of blood from his lips. "You think?"
Snarling, Perseus hopped up and rejoined the fray, batting the Thracian aside with his blade. He blocked a knife from Phil and slammed the pommel of his sword into his nose, sending him reeling. Before Athena's favoured could move, Perseus seized the quiver and spun around him, blade slicing through his side. It was a wonder all the arrows were still inside. Some sort of enchantment, probably.
He swung it back over his shoulder with a triumphant laugh. "See you later, Odysseus!"
He grabbed Paris by the arm and hauled him to his feet. Perseus began to run, dragging the other man towards Deiphobus, who was clutching his bloodied shoulder, eyes screwed up in pain.
"I'm going to take out your other eye, Perseus!" Odysseus called, racing forward. Perseus, still holding Paris, turned, just in time to receive a brutal punch to his ribs, making him double over. Philoctetes darted forward, quick on Odysseus' heels, and made to grab the arrows from the quiver. Before he could pull away, Perseus delivered a right hook into Odysseus' face, and the man went reeling. Paris, with a burst of strength, grabbed the quiver and bolted away, towards the trees.
Perseus made to follow, but then Diomedes was there, grabbing him and slamming him into the ground. The king straddled him, hands moving to tighten around his neck. Perseus gasped for air, eyes daring around. He caught sight of Phil, nocking an arrow…one with a familiar fletching.
Philoctetes had managed to grab a single one from the quiver.
Perseus slammed his knee into Diomedes' groin, and the hands went slack. He pushed the king off just as Philoctetes fired the arrow.
It sliced through the skin at the same time Paris reached his brother Deiphobus—at the same time, the older Prince's warning pierced the night air.
"No!" Perseus went white as the arrow tore through Paris' throat.
The prince fell.
Dead.
Perseus yelled and slashed dove to his feet, driving his sword straight through Philoctetes' heart. The man's eyes went wide and with a snarl, the son of Anchises twisted the blade in deeper. Odysseus swore rapidly, stumbling to his feet. Diomedes groaned, rolling aside.
The air was filled with the iron tang of blood. From the border of the trees, Deiphobus called, "Perseus, we have to go!"
Perseus wrenched his sword out as Phil's eyes fluttered closed. He shot a glare at Odysseus and pivoted on his heel, racing towards Priam's son.
"Get, up, Diomedes," Odysseus barked. "We have to go after him!" He heard shuffling, then chasing. Deiphobus held a very dead Paris in his arms. Perseus huffed, hearing the Greeks closing in.
And then suddenly he felt hands around him, a rush of wind and then he was airborne.
The demigod started in surprise and then relaxed when he noticed who had swept down from the heavens to their rescue. Selene held him bridal-style as though he weighed nothing, a worried expression on her face. "You okay?" They were streaking through the sky at unimaginable speeds, and he could see a dust of silver left in her wake.
"Yeah," He panted. "Great timing, but my friends—"
"Are okay," Helios pulled up beside them, also airborne, and leaving behind him a trail of fire. He held Deiphobus and Paris by their cloaks. The living prince, eyes wide and lips shut in shock waved the quiver in his hands. Behind them, the island of Lemnos was rapidly growing smaller.
Perseus exhaled, "Thanks."
"You know I'll always come to you," Selene said, seriously.
"I won't—" Helios chipped in.
The Titaness rolled her eyes and ploughed on, "But you have to stop putting yourself in dangerous situations."
"My whole life is a dangerous situation," He said, wryly.
"Touché."
They continued arching through the sky, until finally, Perseus spotted the city walls come into view. In a matter of minutes, Selene and Helios dropped them on the ramparts.
"Your friend bled out all over my sandals," Helios wrinkled his nose.
"He's dead, brother," Selene set Perseus down on the ground. "They tend to do such things."
Impossibly, the immortal only seemed more irked. "Oh, the things I do for love." Helios made a face.
Deiphobus cleared his throat. He slid down to the ground beside Paris' still bleeding body. The prince clenched his jaw and handed the quiver to Perseus. "Do what you must. I have to inform the family, and get his funeral rights underway."
"I'm sorry for your loss, Deiphobus," Perseus patted his friend on the shoulder.
The Prince shrugged, reaching out to take Paris into his arms. He rose to his feet, carrying him in the same fashion Perseus himself had been flown from Lemnos. The arrow was still lodged in the dead Prince's throat. "Paris had no love for or from me. Or from you either, Perseus," He shook his head. "It's a pity he's dead, truly. Father will be wrecked to lose another one of us, after…after what happened to Hector. And maybe it's our fault, for dragging him along. But his foolishness is what got us into this whole mess of a war in the first place."
Perseus silently agreed. "Maybe now we can still have the peaceful way out. Return Helen."
Deiphobus chuckled with a shake of his head. "You really think returning Helen is still the whole point of this war?"
"No," The son of Poseidon admitted after a heartbeat. It was much, much more than that now.
"Helen is the loveliest woman in creation," Deiphobus was saying as he began to walk away. "Maybe with Paris gone…" He trailed off and disappeared down a corner.
Perseus watched him grow. Paris was dead, and here his brother was, already thinking about taking his wife. Oh, well. He shrugged and turned to find Helios and Selene, with thoughtful and faraway expressions on their faces. "I'll never understand mortals and their selfishness," Helios was shaking his head. "Prometheus did something when he made you lot, and it wasn't anything good."
"They're not all bad," Selene gave the demigod a secret smile, which Perseus returned. She looked at her brother, a perfect brow raised. "Pandora and the gods are to blame for how most of them turned out."
Helios snorted. "Even still."
Sighing, Perseus raised the quiver. All that trouble, just for a handful of arrows. "What's so special about these anyway? Apollo didn't say."
"Centaur blood," Selene frowned, eyes narrowing. "Heracles dipped them in centaur blood, which makes them lethal to mortals, and excruciatingly painful and poisonous to immortals."
"Which could allow the Greeks to incapacitate me and Memnon," He guessed. "Take us out of the fight. Wonder who gave them that idea."
"Athena, definitely," Helios snorted. "She thinks she's so smart, whispering to the mortals and making them do her bidding."
He frowned and then snorted as it hit him. "She spoke to Calchas," Perseus realised out loud. "Made him think he'd communed with the Fates or Apollo or something.'' The wisdom goddess really didn't like him. If he was being honest, he thought her hatred was illogical and a little far-fetched. He wasn't the first mortal to be made everlasting by the gods. Perhaps most of her disdain stemmed from her hatred for his father and her support of the Achaeans.
"Exactly," Helios nodded. He turned to his sister. "You picked a smart one this time."
Perseus rolled his eyes at the teasing. "How do we destroy them?"
"Brother, if you're done being an ass," The former moon deity motioned to the arrows. Grumbling, Helios took the quiver from Perseus. His eyes blazed to light with orange flames. Fire coated his hand, quickly surrounding the quiver, incinerating it and burning the arrows to ashes.
"There. Gone."
"Thanks," Perseus nodded in appreciation. His gaze drifted to the city spread out beneath him. Every day it was in mourning. He sighed. It had to end.
He had to end it.
BREAK.
IT WAS MERE DAYS AFTER PARIS' death that the fighting began.
Priam's sons—it didn't matter if they were already married or not—were always arguing, stalking the poor girl in the hallways, and punching each other at court. It was preposterous. Chief among them were Helenus and Deiphobus, and as of now, Perseus could not tell who was more stupid. He'd just come from checking up on Aeneas, who, since that morning days before, had not yet returned to the land of the living.
It was nearing a week now, and Perseus was getting worried.
It didn't help that he'd had to break up several brawls between brothers trying to prove themselves worthy of a Greek woman, who was most likely in love with Menelaus again now that Paris was dead. He snorted to himself as he continued to walk towards the throne room. Paris had been an idiot, gods bless his soul, but he had fancied himself in love. And people did stupid things for love.
His mourning period wasn't even over yet, and here his siblings were, eager to wed his wife. If Perseus were him, he'd be rolling in his grave.
As he passed a balcony, he heard shouting. Perseus huffed under his breath, wondering what was happening once again. The sounds seemed to be coming from the courtyard, and there were a gaggle of palace maids leaning over the balcony, watching what was going on below and giggling to themselves. At other windows and balconies of the palace, people peeked down, also drawn by the ruckus. Perseus shouldered his way through the servants, muttering excuses politely and trying to get to the front.
He stopped with a start when he caught sight of the figures circling each other below.
Deiphobus and Helenus looked like hungry wolves, swords drawn, moving in a circle and dipping in offensive stances. Perseus swore under his breath, ignoring the chattering maids around him. He hadn't realised it had gone this far—were they really going to fight for Helen's hand?
Did Helen even want this?
He should probably go down there before they did something stupid.
But, as worried as he was, Perseus had to admit he also wanted to see how this would end. The war was at a standstill for now, with both sides calling a truce to bury their dead. Perseus knew the Achaeans really wanted the cease-fire so they could get those arrows. But with the death of Prince Paris, the truce was much-needed on their side so the city could mourn the death of another of Priam's beloved sons. Everything was dreary and stilted, and maybe the brothers would be some nice entertainment.
He'd hop in and stop them before things got too serious. Perseus glanced around. Deiphobus and Helenus had certainly drawn an audience. Advisors, court officials, priests, servants, and even Priam and his royal family, scattered about the palace, watching through their balconies and windows and doors. A few soldiers were littered around the courtyard, along with some of Priam's daughters and their maids. But none moved to stop the brothers. He could feel the raw tension in the air.
Deiphobus raised his sword and pointed to a balcony on his left. Perseus followed his blade and noticed Helen standing alone amidst flowers and marble. She looked conflicted and stricken.
Trapped.
"This is for you, O fair Helen. My brother thinks himself worthy of your affection because he bears the male form of your name." This drew out laughter from their audience. Perseus cracked a smile. "Today I'll prove to you, and everyone gathered here that he's not."
Helenus grunted in reply. Perseus pursed his lips. Cassandra's brother was a good fighter, but not as good as Deiphobus. This was asking for trouble. "Dearest Helen. You deserve someone as intelligent and caring as you are. Not a brute who delights in murdering little boys on the battlefield."
"No, you deserve someone strong enough, powerful enough, to take care of you and protect you from the Achaeans," Deiphobus called to the widow. "Someone like the new Heir Apparent? Someone like me."
Helenus scoffed and lunged. Deiphobus launched himself forward to meet him in battle. Perseus could tell what this was really about—and it was not just a woman…it was a clash between two brothers torn apart by pride, ambition and fate. Maybe this had been building up for a while now, and the two were just using Helen as a means to release their frustrations on each other.
Neither of them noticed Paris' widow cry out, hand moving to her cover her mouth in horror, and dash back into her chambers. On his own balcony, Perseus snorted. The brother's faces were lit by the low sun casting long shadows over the courtyard. As they clashed, the sound of metal on metal filled the courtyard. Priam's knuckles were tight on the marble at the other side of the palace as they bounded apart. But he didn't stop them. Everyone seemed to accept that these two needed to get it out of their system.
Deiphobus, broad-shouldered and fierce, gripped his sword tightly, his knuckles white as he sneered at his brother. "A seer thinks he's fit to hold a warrior's prize?" He spat. "What use is your gift of sight if you always have to be begged to wield a blade?"
Helenus didn't flinch, and Perseus had to give him credit for that. "War isn't the only path to strength, brother. And you don't deserve her. But if this is the only way to make you see reason, then so be it."
Deiphobus lunged, sword glinting in the fading light as he aimed a sweeping strike at Helenus. Helenus sidestepped just in time, his movements fluid and precise, as if he'd already seen this play out in a vision. He struck out with his own sword, catching Deiphobus across the ribs with surprising force and tearing through his armour. A collective gasp rang out through the courtyard. Several soldiers moved, and Perseus himself was tempted until the Prince held up a fist, ordering them to stay back.
He held his breath, as Deiphobus recovered quickly, bringing his sword down in a powerful arc that Helenus barely managed to deflect. Then he went on the offensive, pushing his brother back with barely controlled rage. "Give it up, little brother," Deiphobus growled. "You don't belong on the battlefield, or at the side of the fairest in the land. Go back to your temple, and to your visions."
"I'm fighting for her," Helenus' gaze hardened, parrying a strike. "Just as much as you are."
With a sudden burst of strength, he swung his sword low, sweeping Deiphobus off balance. The second son stumbled, but his reflexes were quick. He twisted, swinging the hilt of his sword toward Helenus' temple. The blow connected, and Cassandra's twin staggered, nearly dropping to one knee.
Perseus watched as Helenus steadied himself, blood trickling down the side of his face. He took a deep breath, gripping his sword tighter as he rose, face set with quiet fury. He could see the strain in his stance, and he tensed to jump down and intercept them. Helenus charged again, reckless now, his movements wild with frustration. Deiphobus waited, grinned, timing it perfectly, and at the last moment, drove his sword forward. It was a feint, and as Helenus dodged, the other prince moved to slam the hilt of his sword into his wrist. Helenus yelped and dropped his sword, and just as quickly Deiphobus backhanded him, sending him reeling. The dark-haired prince darted forward again, sliding Helenus off his feet. Before the blond son could fall, Deiphobus grabbed him by the head and connected his skull with his knee.
Perseus winced.
Definitely a broken nose. Okay, time out. Bracing himself, he jumped off the balcony and into the courtyard.
The immortal landed with a thump on his feet, and called, "Enough! You boys have had your fun. Let him go, Deiphobus." The heir apparent scoffed, and with a grunt, raised his brother high, then slammed the seer into the dirt. Helenus grunted as the air was knocked out of him. Brushing himself off, Deiphobus stepped away. He scanned the courtyard, "I think we all see who is to marry Helen now! Not this dickless seer, that's for certain. Any objections?"
Perseus rolled his eyes as he came to a stop beside the Prince. "Are you quite done humiliating your younger brother?" He moved and reached out to help Helenus up, but the seer swatted his hand away and stumbled to his feet.
"I hate you," He hissed, glaring icily at his brother. His gaze slid to Perseus. "All of you."
"But what did I do?" Perseus frowned with indignance.
The prince replied him with a scoff and pivoted on his heel, before marching away. Perseus frowned and shook his head, turning to Deiphobus with a glare, "See what you've done?"
The warrior prince shrugged indifferently, sheathing his sword. Huffing, Perseus pinched the bridge of his nose. Around them, people were shuffling away, whispering and murmuring. It was going to be a busy day. There was a wedding to plan, it seemed.
BREAK
HE WAS ON WHAT seemed to be a mountain path, dusted in snow. Aeneas blinked owlishly as his senses kicked in and he tried to identify where he was. He could see vast fields and a city a few ways behind him—Troy. What was he doing out of Troy? The place looked familiar like he had been there before…And then it kicked it. Ida. He was going up Mount Ida.
Aeneas heard footsteps crunching the snow in front of him. He glanced up in slight surprise. Who would be travelling in such perilous times? And more pressing, how had he gotten out of his bed in the infirmary and onto a bloody mountain? He glanced at himself. He was in the same clothes, so short of an out-of-body excursion, Aeneas didn't have any explanation for this.
He paused.
Wait.
Perhaps the gods had sent him a dream.
Apollo had taught them about such things, once, a long time ago. He couldn't recall ever being in one though. But…yes, that had to be the answer. He was dreaming.
The footsteps got louder, and Aeneas continued to watch warily for whoever was approaching. He noticed a blond head, brown eyes, and an angry expression—Helenus. Cassandra's twin, dressed in travelling robes covered by a brown servant's cloak, marched on the path. In one hand, he held a large oak staff. In the other, he carried a sac across his shoulders.
Aeneas frowned. What was his brother-in-law up to? Surely, Helenus wasn't running from the war? The son of Aphrodite was confused. Priam's son was many things, but Helenus wasn't a coward. Aeneas tried to call out but found he couldn't. It felt as though a block of tar had been dropped into his throat. He reached out and then blinked in surprise when he spotted the six fingers on his hand.
Yep. Dreaming.
Helenus breezed by without sparing him a glance, and Aeneas realised he probably couldn't see him.
The son of Priam continued to march up the mountain, and Aeneas darted to follow. If he couldn't speak to him, perhaps he could follow Helenus and find out why he'd landed in this dream. Was this evening happening in real-time? Or was it a vision of the past? Future? Or was it just something his addled brain had cooked up?
He would soon find out.
Aeneas continued to follow as Helenus walked.
And walked.
And walked.
Finally, the sun dipped on the horizon, and night fell. In the cool night breeze, Helenus stopped at a fairly large ledge and set up camp there. There was a cave in the mountain, and Aeneas watched as the prince began setting up to spend the night. Time trickled by slowly, and he was beginning to get bored. Helenus was trying to start a campfire in front of the cave, but failing miserably.
What exactly was the point of all this? Which of the gods had brought him here? Was it his mater? Or Apollo?
Just as Aeneas was contemplating hurling himself off the ledge to wake up, he heard a curse, and then shuffling in the snow. Instantly he perked, and if he could have made a sound, he would have gasped. But he could only watch—and so watch he did.
Aeneas felt mild horror fill him as a familiar Greek king pounced on Helenus from seemingly thin air, barely giving the Trojan enough time to fight back before he slammed a rock into his head.
Odysseus the Ithacan panted from Helenus' prone body and threw a sac off his back. He produced a long twine of rope, and set about tying Helenus up.
Now, Aeneas was interested.
Where had Odysseus come from? Where was Helenus going? What the bloody Zeus did anything mean anymore?
Finally, Odysseus was done, and he propped the man up on the mountain wall. A glint filled Odysseus' eyes as he smacked Helenus once, then twice, and then a third time. The prince started awake, attempting to move, but finding himself very much bound. Aeneas felt worry grow in him—Odysseus wouldn't let Helenus leave alive after he got what he wanted.
And he couldn't speak or try to stop him; they couldn't see him.
"What's a pretty prince like you doing out here all by your lonesome?" Odysseus asked an eyebrow arched.
Helenus spat at him.
"Okay, sure," The King wrinkled his nose. "No pleasantries got it. Here's the deal. You answer my questions, you live. You get the rest."
"I'll never help Grecian scum like you—" Odysseus silenced him with a slap. Aeneas winced.
Helenus coughed, "How did you get here? How did you find me?"
"Had help from a certain wisdom goddess," Odysseus stood, drawing a knife from his side. "Ready to cooperate?" Helenus glared hatefully at the man. But Aeneas knew that as much as the Prince hated the Greeks, he wanted to live even more.
"I got into a fight with my brother," Helenus said, reluctantly. His eyes pierced arrows into Odysseus. "My family took his side. He weds Helen by dawn, and he humiliated me in front of the entire palace. So I left."
Odysseus scoffed. "You Trojans. Never going to stay and fight, are you? Always running, hiding and playing tricks. Your feelings were hurt so you desert your city? Shameful." Aeneas found himself, for the first and probably only time, in agreement with Athena's favourite mortal.
"What do you want from me?" Helenus snarked. "Kill me, or begone, demon."
"Oh I wish I could," Odysseus slid into the snow. "But first, I have some questions for you. I have it on good authority that you're some kind of seer."
"What's it to you? Yours get too rusty?"
"I want to know how we can win this war," Odysseus' voice turned hard. "How we can finally end this and take Troy down."
"You want my help destroying my own home?" Helenus frowned. "I might have squabbled with my brother, but that doesn't mean I want him or anyone in that city dead. You'll have better luck trying to seduce a cow."
"Oh?" Odysseus' hand shot forward, and he grabbed Helenus by the wrist. He wrenched the hand up and brought it close to his face. Helenus swallowed, and Aeneas had the feeling he was trying to remain calm, not let his fear bleed through the mask of indifference. "Tell me, Prince Helenus…which finger do you like the most?"
Aeneas blanched.
Helenus didn't answer. Odysseus grinned maniacally. "Oh, well." He slashed. Helenus cried out as his left little finger dropped into the snow. His eyes were wide with pain. His forehead was beaded with sweat, which seemed impossible, given the snow.
"How do we end Troy, seer?" Odysseus wasn't here to play, it seemed. "I know you have looked. I know you see several outcomes. Several futures. I want the one which leads Greece to victory."
Helenus didn't speak. His teeth were gritted. Odysseus clenched his jaw. His knife moved to Helenus' left eye. "You've seen your friend Perseus, haven't you? I can stab your eye out, Helenus. It'll be painful. You won't die, and I'll take out your other eye right after."
"I am blessed by Apollo," Helenus scoffed. "I have the eyes of the divine. Take these if you want. Detach me from the realms of mortality."
Odysseus growled. Aeneas could see he was getting fed up, and silently he applauded Helenus. With a jerk of his hand, his knife slashed through his skin, and Helenus doubled over with a scream as Odysseus sliced through his eye. Blood coated the side of his face rapidly. Odysseus grunted, grabbing Helenus by his hair. He yanked his head back and placed his knife at his throat. Aeneas wanted to tackle him. He could feel the anger in him rising steadily.
"Ready to take me seriously now?"
Helenus laughed through his pain. "Go to Hades."
Odysseus snarled and his knife moved to Helenus's crotch. His laughter died in his throat. Odysseus' voice turned into a very low, dangerous whisper, "Enough games, Prince. Tell me what you've seen or so help me—" His grip on the knife tightened and Helenus cried out. The son of Aphrodite felt horror replace his fury.
"Okay!"
Aeneas sagged, partly in disappointment, the other part in relief. Helenus was panting. "Okay. I'll tell you what you want to know."
Odysseus scoffed but didn't take his knife away. "Should have started with that." Aeneas, again, had to agree. Men, after all, would always be men.
"First, to get Troy to fall," Helenus swallowed, pausing. His one working eye burned with hatred. Aeneas felt a deep sorrow fill him. In the few minutes he'd been awake last time, he had seen Perseus with a scar running down his face and a single eye remaining. He'd thought he had been dreaming, but now Odysseus' words had confirmed it. And here was Helenus, no different. These Achaeans and their blinding kink.
"Go on, Prince," Odysseus barked. "We don't have all day."
"Promise that you'll honour your word," Helenus' throat bobbed. "That you'll let me go unharmed." Odysseus rolled his eyes, but Helenus glared at him.
"Fine. I swear on the Styx not to harm you once you tell me what I need to know."
Aeneas jerked as thunder boomed overhead.
"Your turn," The Ithacan told him, "Swear that you're being truthful and everything you tell me from now is with full honesty." Aeneas felt his skin tighten as Helenus repeated the words. There was another blast from Zeus overhead.
"Alright," Helenus rolled his neck. "Give me a minute." He lifted his head to the night sky, and then gasped, throwing his head back. Aeneas shifted on his feet as the Prince's eyes burned gold. In a minute he sagged once more against Odysseus.
"Great parlour trick," The king grinned.
"Shut up," Helenus inhaled. "There are three things you must do to defeat my people. The city will not fall while it holds the Palladium."
"What—"
"Figure it out."
Helenus shifted in the snow. "The safety of Troy depends on the Palladium's presence. It makes it Holy, and untouchable. Much like Poseidon's walls." Odysseus frowned, but nodded, motioning for him to move on.
"Next, the bones of Pelops, the rival of Elis, have to be brought on Trojan soil." Helenus sounded bitter, as though he couldn't believe what was happening. Aeneas couldn't either. A slow-building panic was rising in him.
"Right," Odysseus nodded. "That all?"
Helenus gritted his teeth.
"The last thing needed to be done…" He trailed off. Aeneas was stiff, watching with bated breath. "Is bring Achilles' son Neoptolemus from Skyros. Let him join your foolish war." Odysseus looked taken aback. Then he was nodding, slowly, at the same time Aeneas began shaking his head. The Achaean sheathed his knife, a smile threatening to break his face into two. "See, that wasn't so hard, now was it."
"Bastar—"
Aeneas sat up with a jerk, eyelids flying open.
He was panting, his hair matted with sweat, heart beating rapidly. A surge of panic coursed through him. Aeneas' gaze went to a figure, still asleep in the bed beside him—his son, Ascanius. He swore silently to himself. This was bad. This was bad.
He had to warn them.
He had to stop them.
Or else Troy was going to fall.