#accepted: helenus

[babyrdie]

Do you think Neoptolemus wouldn't like Patroclus? I was curious about your opinion. In tsoa he doesn't like him. In some fics he doesn't like him. In some posts here people also think he wouldn't like him

Sorry it took me so long to answer!

PHILOCTETES: Now, for the gods' sake, what of Patroclus? On that occasion where was he? Tell me. Your father loved him more than anyone. NEOPTOLEMUS: He was also dead. I can tell you why in one brief saying — given the choice, war takes no evil men. It always wants to seize the good ones.

I don't know what these posts are (although, to be fair, I'm not that into mythology tags), but here's a part of Sophocles' play Philoctetes, translation by Ian Johnston. Neoptolemus considers him to be one of the good ones, he doesn't seem like someone who dislikes Patroclus. And although Neoptolemus is currently trying to deceive Philoctetes, he only lies about specific things precisely because he doesn't like the idea of ​​lying, so much so that he argued with Odysseus about this plan. He lies, for example, about the Achaeans having disrespected him. However, otherwise he seems to try to be as sincere as possible, almost like the strategy "if your lie has a lot of truths, it will be harder to be noticed. Even more so if you are a bad liar."

As for other sources, I don't remember having Neoptolemus's opinion about Patroclus. However, we do know from The Iliad that Achilles wanted Patroclus to go to Skyros after the war and be in charge of Neoptolemus. Neoptolemus had Lycomedes as a male role model growing up (as seen in Posthomerica and Imagines, for example), was so needy that he was manipulated by Odysseus (as seen in Philoctetes, for example), and in many versions he is together with Phoenix, formerly Achilles' kind-of-father, and seems to appreciate him (e.g. in The Returns/Nostoi). In more than one source, he is worried about Peleus being attacked by Iolcus in his absence (for example, Trojan Women), despite not even knowing him. Helenus was given to him as a slave, but Neoptolemus decided to leave Helenus as the king of Epirus rather than keep him, which I imagine is perhaps a sort of "reward" for Helenus keeping him alive in a way (Helenus' prophecies + Thetis' help are responsible for Neoptolemus not having the problems the Achaeans had in returning home).

There's nothing to suggest that Neoptolemus has a problem accepting male figures in his life. He follows what Odysseus tells him because he's more experienced, he becomes attached to Phoenix because Phoenix cares for him like he's Achilles, he apparently decides that Helenus deserves to be king as a reward for helping him (though honestly, it's not like Helenus had much of a choice in helping him considering he was a slave), he's worried about the idea of ​​Phthia being attacked by Iolcus while Peleus is an old man because he still sees him as his grandfather despite not knowing him.

What is so special about Patroclus that would make him the only one of them to attract Neoptolemus's immediate dislike? "Oh, he'd feel like he's trying to replace Achilles…" Patroclus plays a very similar role to Phoenix to some extent, being trusted by Peleus to advise and guide Achilles and be a role model. He's not the father figure Phoenix is, obviously, but he's still Achilles' role model. If Neoptolemus accepted Phoenix, why is Patroclus so different?

Neoptolemus is actually desperate for a connection with his father. In Posthomerica, the idea of ​​being like his father pleases him, even though he knows that this is alarming to Deidamia (because she is afraid that he will die like Achilles). He agrees to go against his own principles to please Odysseus because Odysseus promises that this will help him achieve the same glory as his father (in the play Philoctetes. Not all sources have Neoptolemus going with Odysseus to help Philoctetes). Before he dies, he goes to a temple of Apollo, and this is usually because he has not yet come to terms with Achilles' death (in Euripides' Andromache, for example, he even disrespects Apollo out of anger at him for killing Achilles). He is never shown having a problem with Phoenix's idea of ​​renaming him from Phyrrus to Neoptolemus in honor of Achilles (This is said by Pausanias. Neoptoemus means "new war", a reference to both Neoptolemus and Achilles being very young when they went to war). He agrees to sacrifice Polyxena because Achilles asks (general idea of ​​the myth). If anything, Neoptolemus would be more than okay with Patroclus not because Patroclus is Patroclus, but because Patroclus is Achilles' dear companion. If he knew that Achilles entrusted Patroclus, someone he cares deeply about, to take care of him… wouldn't he see a connection to Achilles in that? Something like "my father cares so much for me that he entrusted my care to his closest companion." Or "Patroclus knew my father better than anyone else, I can learn a lot about my father from him."

I think this idea of ​​Neoptolemus not liking Patroclus comes from a simplistic and stereotypical view where people see Neoptolemus as the son of a divorced couple who hates his father's new lover. But yeah, there's nothing to support this idea in the sources. Not only is Neoptolemus extremely receptive to other male characters who help him in some way (because he is desperate), but the only time he expresses an opinion about Patroclus in the surviving sources is to say that only good men die in war while saying Patroclus as one of them.

But of course, you may disagree with my opinion. I just think that an important point of Neoptolemus is that he is desperately seeking a connection with his father and will not eliminate ANY possibility of achieving that. He didn't eliminate even crimes that were considered horrible even in his social context (for example, killing Priam in the temple of Zeus), having an okay relationship with Patroclus is something very simple compared to that.

[littlesparklight]

Some general observations about archery in the epics in specific, and Greek myth more generally;

-archery/bow and arrow was never a particularly favoured weapon and could straight up be one signifier (among several) of a coward -at the same time, you do have culture hero characters like Heracles wielding bow and arrows! But, his most iconic representations are with the club, not as an archer, even when he has a couple myths where the bow and arrows are important (one very notably after Heracles has left the bow and arrows behind).

In the Iliad, here's the characters who actually use archery in battle; -Paris -Helenus, once -unnamed, general Locrians, though I believe these are also said to be armed with slings at another point? -Teucer (-general Trojans? I forget if they're specifically mentioned as such, but it's very probable) Meriones, once

Here's the characters who use/carry bow and arrow outside of battle; -Odysseus (night raid; he does not use it once despite Meriones giving him his own bow and arrows to bring along, not even to stop Dolon) -Dolon (on the night raid, presumably he also uses it in battle, however) -Teucer (funeral games) -Meriones (funeral games, again)

Odysseus is an interesting case, since both by how he takes (someone else's!) bow and arrows with him on the night raid, and the whole ~special bow~ subplot in the Odyssey we know he should be known as an archer. But despite this, he hasn't brought his own, special in some way, bow to the situation where it would be most useful (the war at Troy). In fact, as far as we know he seems to either not have/use bows of his own at all in the war, and specifically in the Iliad, having to borrow from Meriones when he does take one! (Though we have to give that for some reason neither Diomedes nor Odysseus had weapons with them to the night council and had to borrow others, who had brought weapons along.) Shrödinger's archer, in a way.

Tecuer does use archery in battle. However, while he's Achaean and closer to a "big name", is also very specifically not fully Achaean. He's half-Trojan. Half-barbarian, if you will, someone who "of course" would use such a weapon. He gets to be effective at it and gets no flak for it. But this is probably because he's technically Achaean, so he's partially "protected" from the more negative views of archery, while, as half-Trojan, he's a "safe" character to make a combat archer.

The unnamed Locrians are tertiary Achaean forces at best. Little Ajax, as their leader, is someone who also commits a specific sacrilege at the sack that gets both himself and the rest of the Achaeans in trouble afterwards.

Meriones only uses his bow and arrows outside a war situation (in which he only uses sword and spears, like a "proper" warrior). So this is similar to Odysseus' (non-)use of archery while still nominally being an archer. Edited to amend (11/12/2023): since I stumbled upon it while skimming for something else in the Iliad, Meriones does use bow and arrow, once, in his several appearances and multiples of attempted and succeeded kills. It doesn't, in the end, change much of anything in terms of the body of the text. Meriones' one kill with bow and arrow is passed over extremely quickly and he's very obviously not actually cast as an archer in combat like either Teucer or Paris.

Paris' use of bow and arrow, despite that he's effective with it, is basically our parade example of "using this weapon makes you less manly/less of a proper warrior". If some of the Achaeans present use of archery in an as "acceptable" form as possible, which is still treated as something secondary compared to other weapons, then Paris is on the other extreme. Diomedes shows us with sharp clarity how an archer is seen, despite that the weapon is clearly capable of getting any warrior off the battlefield.

[dhampiravidi]

ancient greek/trojan war reincarnation au

After he'd torn his hair, beat his breast, and screamed his voice hoarse, Akhilleus was done living. He was alive, yes, and he would be until someone killed him, but he was done living. Patroklos, his lifelong love and friend, was dead, taken away from him forever. And it was all his fault. So once he could find the strength to stand, he put on the armor his mother commissioned for him and clawed his way through Hektor's people until the prince, Patroklos's killer, showed himself. He avenged his love. Then he took his anger out on those marked as the enemy until Apollo's poisoned arrow granted him the death he so desperately craved.

Once he reached Elysium, he searched for Patroklos, who embraced him. The man was sad to know that Akhilleus had suffered, but happy to see him again. The two were glad to be together. But Akhilleus missed the land of the living. He told Odysseus as much when the man visited the Underworld for answers on his way home to Ithaca. There was no lyre to play, no sunlight to enjoy, and really nothing to look forward to. But there was the River Lethe, the River of Forgetfulness that could wipe a spirit's memories in preparation for their reincarnation. Patroklos proposed that he and Akhilleus be reborn, for another chance at life. Akhilleus agreed to the plan, but he needed to make sure that he'd see his love again--all of them.

---

September 9th, 2006

"My thanks, Lord Aidoneus. You are most generous," Pogue whispered in Ancient Greek, eyes closed as his body repaired itself and his mind wandered to days past.

"Huh?" Reid and Ty had just come back from the vending machine. With one of their friends off on a suicide mission and the other in a coma, it was hard to simply sit quietly. But what else was there to do, other than take a few minutes to collect their thoughts?

---

Two Years Later

It was a shy kiss, one much softer than the first he'd shared with Jayn months before and the (technically not-first) one he'd gladly accepted from Caleb. But the moment his lips connected with Cassia's, long-forgotten magic sparked in the minds of the four young lovers. Jayn and Caleb regarded each other, first with curiosity, then with surprise, fondness, and a firm hug.

"Patroklos," Deidamia-Jayn murmured, "It's so good to see you again." She pulled back, and Patroklos-Caleb rested his forehead on hers as he smiled.

"What became of your son?" he asked her, and she frowned.

"Little shit gave me to his slave, Helenus. Not that the man wasn't handsome or kind, but--seriously?" She huffed, then looked over at the man who had fathered her child and joined her spirit with his.

Akhilleus-Pogue held Briseis-Cassia close. She was shaking, crying quietly. "You...y-you died, you both did...left me with them," she sobbed, and he didn't know what to say. He'd never been the best at consoling people. And she was right: he and Patroklos were her lovers, not to mention the only men who cared about her in the Achaean army. Once they died, she had nothing, and could do nothing but leave Troy for an unfamiliar man and his unfamiliar home.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, pressing another kiss to her trembling lips. She looked up at him, holding his face in her hands. Somehow, she managed to smile.

"You raided my city and treated me like your queen in Troy. And then you made sure I'd never be alone again. At least you did that much," Briseis-Cassia said, trying to hide her pain and shock. She glanced over at Patroklos-Caleb right when Akhilleus-Pogue did. With a small gesture, she told Akhilleus-Pogue to go on ahead. He let her go and took in the sight of a living, unharmed Patroklos-Caleb, his Patroklos.

"You're an idiot," Akhilleus-Pogue muttered before he yanked his childhood friend into a passionate kiss. It was so strong, Patroklos-Caleb groaned into it, slipping his hand into the shorter boy's hair to keep him close. They snapped and shifted, movements and sounds becoming more erotic and sensual than angry and mournful by the second. Even when they were both hard, they refused to part, so they didn't notice the girls in their own lust until they had all found release.

"What did you do?" Deidamia-Jayn asked Akhilleus-Pogue, once the four of them had all caught their breath, "They told me to go to the Lethe before I could be judged. I thought I fucked up so badly that I had to start all over." They laughed.

"It was Caleb's idea--"

"You said you didn't like being dead."

"I didn't! But I didn't want to live without you, either," Akhilleus-Pogue pleaded, "Any of you." Deidamia-Jayn squeezed his hand and leaned into him, the way she usually did when either he or she got upset. He kissed the top of her head. "I saw Hermes going by, so I asked him to ask Hades for an audience. I dunno if Hades would've agreed if Persephone wasn't there...He said we'd have to wait, but he'd let us live again, just once. But we wouldn't remember each other until we kissed."

"Good thing Cass wore her sexy lip gloss for you." The four laughed.

@in--somnium

[nausikaaa]

WIP Wednesday Thursday

well, wednesday was technically three hours ago, but tumblr only just thought to tell me i’d been tagged by @technetiumai @onepintobean @ic3-que3n and @ileadacharmedlife. thanks guys!

inspiration struck and i wrote a whole chapter of angst for my Trojan War novel. here’s a snippet, it’s Helenus’s POV. content warning for domestic abuse.

All at once pain lances through my body. Every broken bone, every scar I’ve ever earned, they all ignite at once, my body breaking and opening up in one horrible rush of agony. I drop to my knees, screaming soundlessly, the knife skittering off out of reach as I slowly curl in on myself. My ribs snap, my fingers bend, my vision is blurred by blood.

“Always so ungrateful.” Apollo’s voice rings in my head. “All these wounds I healed for you, and you would hurt yourself to spite me?” Somehow, through the layers of pain, every teenage scraped knee and war wound reawoken, I still manage to feel a pronounced kick to my stomach. “You would be dead a hundred times over, if not for me. Or you would be some forgotten slave, with nothing and nobody. You owe me everything!”

A moment ago he was still in my head, but now he is before me, grabbing me by the hair and hauling me up, my feet kicking uselessly a foot above the floor. I struggle like a half drowned kitten held by the scruff of its neck, tears streaking down my face as the pain intensifies, burning hot. “What do you say?”

“I’m sorry.” I gasp.

“Not that.” He tuts. His hair glows. His eyes glow. Darkness creeps into the edges of my vision. I truly hate him, in that moment. I know I’ll not forgive him this time, and I know he accepts that, because he won’t forgive me either. There’s no point in apologising.

“Thank you.” I cry, desperate for the onslaught to end.

“Good boy.” He drops me. The shards of his broken statue dig into my knees and the palms of my hands, but the pain abates. “And you’re welcome.”

this was in part inspired by Helen and Aphrodite’s altercation of book three of the Iliad. these gods do not take kindly to being told off.

it’s late but i’m tagging anyway! take this for next week’s WW, or this week’s SSS. @martsonmars @otherpeoplesheartachept-2 @ionlydrinkhotwater @confused-bi-queer @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @bazzybelle @castawaypitch @ivelovedhimthroughworse @gekkoinapeartree @erzbethluna @facewithoutheart @sillyunicorn @moodandmist @tea-brigade @whatevertheweather @wetheformidables @basiltonbutliketheherb and @theearlgreymage

[audaciiaearchive]

" use him. but never allow him to use you. " (Mion @ Pyrrhus. Probably about his grandpa lol)

The Serpent & the Wings of Night || Accepting

"I am not worried about Peleus, and you should not be, either. I do not really have any intentions of using him...Phthia is not my concern. I have my kingdom here, and I do think that that is enough."

Pyrrhus shrugs, absently plucking at the lyre in his lap. Helenus has been kind enough to teach him the things he never got to learn as a boy, but he finds himself too preoccupied some days to really focus on it. So he sighs, looking over at Hermione and tilting his head, inviting her to sit down next to him.

"Is there something on your mind, Hermione? You know that you are more than welcome to speak freely to me. I always want to hear what you have to say."

[angelcakealec]

Alec frowned at that. "Well...what does he want? Can't you just give it to him so he's goes away?" Hayden hadn't told them anything about why the fae was rampaging in the first place. At least not to Alec or even Jace it seemed. Which wasn't unheard of really. From what Alec understood about Hayden was he didn't offer information unless he was certain they needed to know it. He'd gotten used to being in the know back in New York. And was a little bitter about being kept in the dark like this. He puffed out a breath. He smiled a little when Helenus said he could handle it. "Yeah but...." He bit his lip. "You shouldn't really have to. If he's doing something potentially against the accords...its our job to take care of it. But..." He shrugged a little sullenly. "We're not meant to do it alone."

When Alec pulled back from the haphazard kiss, he ducked his head a little. Unsure of whether or not he wanted to see the expression on Helenus' face or not. But morbid curiosity won out and he looked at him. Then, he smiled. Helenus did. Alec was too stunned to smile really. And it was a nice smile, one that made a little flutter of anticipation bubble in his belly. And he did consider just leaning forward and doing it again. But caution was always the better part of valour. At least in Alec's case anyway. He bit his lip to keep from laughing at what Helenus said. "Sorry." He said soberly. Though it pleased him to know that Helenus felt his nerves were in question.

Alec took a little breath and nodded. "I'm sure. Probably more sure than I ought to be but..." He tapped his temple a little sheepishly. "Head trauma." And he laughed. Because really that's all he could do. Because bursting into tears was not an option for him. Not one he was willing to accept anyway. It really wasn't all that uncommon. Head injuries among nephilim. Jace had suffered quite a number of them. Probably indicative of his reckless behavior. Alec smiled sadly. Because Jace was still a point of contention.

"Oh..." Alec said, a little unsettled by the idea of needing to move. But, he supposed it made sense. The sheets were really dirty. And Alec himself was dirtier still. But he couldn't help but worry over the idea of a shower. Though as pleasant as the thought was. Mostly only because he was worried about his leg. But, whatever the fae had done healing wise, there wasn't any pain. So it was likely fine. He flushed a little at the offer of pjs. "You wear pjs?" He asked, letting his eyes hesitantly roam over Helenus's bare torso. "I mean. Thank you. That's very kind of you."

He was still rather reluctant to move, eyeing Helenus' offered hands with some trepidation. But he took them anyway and let the fae help him maneuver his tired and sore body off the bed. His legs wobbled a bit, but he was mostly fine. He met his eyes, and the look he found there caught his breath in his throat. It was a very vulnerable expression. One Alec found he didn't like on the handsome fae's face. His eyes softened, that overwhelming feeling still gnawing at him. The urge to cry still close to the service. But this was fine. This would all be fine. He had to tell himself that. Because knowing that it wasn't would only unravel him faster.

Helenus moved suddenly, wrapping his arms around Alec. Alec gasped in turn. Because he hadn't been expecting it at all. But something broke inside of him. Something that had been a part of him for so long he couldn't remember when it even got there in the first place. But, with his gentle touch. Helenus knocked it down. Like it was a tower of blocks. Alec took a shuddering breath, his body shaking with the effort of it. His arms came around Helenus in return, his fingers burying themselves in the soft feathers of his wings. He melted against him. Fitting there quite perfectly really. He would have laughed at the simplicity of it. But he was still so close to the edge, he found he couldn't. Pressing his face into Helenus' neck, he let go of his control, clutching at the fae. Even if it was just for an instant. Just so he could shed that debilitating fear, that panic, that rage, just all the things he had been feeling.

Helenus could see the protectiveness blazing in Alec's eyes. It did something to his heart that it was for him. And it echoed the fierce protectiveness he'd felt for the nephilim tonight. Well, not just tonight he supposed but before tonight he hadn't be in a situation that had summoned it to that degree. He thought for a moment of the best way to describe it. "He sees me as an obstacle, someone keeping him from what he wants. But he's nothing I can't handle,"

This kiss was so sudden that it caught him off guard. His wings flared slightly to keep him balanced. It brushed the edge of his lips but he didn't think it was his cheek Alec had been aiming for. At least he found he rather hoped it hadn't been. He smiled again, a softer somehow more intimate smile. "Any time," he replied. And he would. He'd save Alec over and over again until the end of time if he had to. "Though I think my nerves would thank you if I didn't need to for sometime," he joked lightly. In reality the prospect that he could have lost Alec tonight terrified him. Not that he could claim he was his of course.

He stilled at Alec's words, surprised again. Pleasantly so. Because getting to sleep next to Alec, especially after what they'd just been through, was exactly what he wanted. To be close to him and know he was safe. "As long as you're sure," he said.

"I do think I should change the sheets though," he mused, his gaze drifting away from Alec for the first time in a long while, to the dirty sheets. "And I can lend you some pjs if you'd like to shower and change," he offered.

He stood then and offered his hands to help Alec up. His sisters words about how tired his body would be after everything ringing in his head. When he was up Helenus met his gaze straight on. He was once against filled with that strange mix of fear that he'd almost lost him and relief that he was ok. So he didn't bother resisting the urge to hug him.

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, KAY! You’ve been accepted for the role of HELENUS. Admin Rogue: I will be honest and say I must have read this app six times since we got it, minimum. There was something about your words that made me want to live in them forever, to tell Hugo all my secrets and let him tell me his. Hugo is so easy to turn saintly or push toward martyrdom, and your Hugo is a good person with all his flaws on display, humanity shining forth so clearly from him that he breaks my heart. He reminds us that sometimes God’s will brings down the crusades; he understands peace the same as he has made war, and Hugo knows the sanctity of blood in how he cannot wash it from his hands. I think I fell a little in love with him in this app, in spite of his Jimmy Buffet obsession, and that’s when I knew we couldn’t go another day without him! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Obiwan Kaynobi

Age | 25

Preferred Pronouns | She/her

Activity Level | I feel like I’m active on the dash at least twice a week, and if I’m not posting replies I’m able to lurk the dash on mobile and plot on discord. But, with the quarantine and finally getting into a rhythm, I think I’ll be able to get on the dash more often!

Timezone | The Twilight Zone jk it’s PST now!

Triggers | REMOVED

How did you find the rp?  | One day Pandora showed up in my brain and I couldn’t get rid of her. Now Hugo also lives there with his Catholic guilt and honestly it’s a nightmare.

Current/Past RP Accounts | Here’s Panda’s blog!

IN CHARACTER

Character | Helenus, Hugo Kim. Hu-go, (German); meaning mind. Kim, (Korean); meaning gold, iron.

What drew you to this character? | Honestly, the thing that struck me about Hugo was that he’s the guiding light for so many people - and it’s ironic. He’s the prophet of the people, telling them each Sunday to do well, to be good and then he turns around and commands the other Capulet soldiers to harm others. And honestly, I think there are times that Hugo questions the good word. His hands are stained with blood and it doesn’t matter how many confessions he sits through because they’ll be stained red forever.

I also love that despite his affiliation with the Capulets, he does hold sermons on Sundays. Religion is the one thing that he has left of his parents - his mother - and Cosimo can pry that from his cold, dead hands. There’s a sort of natural confidence Hugo exudes when preaching and it spills over into his missions. In his bio it says, “They flock and he guides them, a SHEPHERD to Cosimo Capulet’s people.” He’s someone that people will listen to regardless of whether he’s leading the mission or not.

But, the one thing that really stood out to me with Hugo is his devotion. Whether it’s to his mother, God, Halcyon, he’s 100% devoted no matter what. He puts the time needed to do a job well done and I think that’s something most people look over with Hugo. There is no person more devoted to the morals he’s bound to than him. It’s something that makes him stand out from the rest of the gang members.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

a. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. The Cathedral is technically Capulet territory, but Lawernce wandered in one night and let every sin fall from his lips, tethering the two of them together whether the liked it or not. This encounter is something that can and will tear Hugo apart. He’s bound to both the church and the Capulets - neither of which he ever planned on crossing. Watching him struggle between his faiths is something I would love to see happen on the dash.

b. Sister Saint Monica, you’ve got me on my knees. Halcyon, his personal angel sent from Cosimo. She’s his guiding light, his angel of mercy, the one he’ll pray to each night - and I would love to see how far he’s willing to go for her. How much blood will he spill in order to feed the person he sees as a God? And of course, how will that guilt manifest after he’s done it? How often will he find himself on the bathroom floor, shaking and sobbing from the faces that haunt his dreams and the souls that claw at his throat all for the sake of Halcyon?

c. Bathe me in holy water and erase my sins. Killing his own brother is something that Hugo has yet to forgive himself for. The memory of his parents on the floor, the gun in his hand, the sounds coming from his mouth after he pulled the trigger play on repeat in his mind daily. How does he deal with the constant onslaught of this? Does he find himself crying in the confessional over what he’s done or does he simply let the memory play out and avoid thinking about it? It’d also be interesting if another character knew what he did and used it as leverage over him.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | As long as he gets to marry Brat first, feel free to kill him. That can be the first and last thing I do with him, please just let him marry them.

IN DEPTH

In-Character Interview:

What is your favorite place in Verona? | We recommend looking at the location page and reading it over to figure out where your character’s favorite place is – if it’s not their own house/room.

He’s positive that the woman across from him expects to hear the Cathedral. But, the stained glass and golden pews have long since turned sour to Hugo. Now, they remind him of blood and guns and the rush of guilt that burns in his throat like bile. He thinks of the theater, how he and Albert used to hide underneath the seats to sneak into a second showing. The library, once a place that he was able to roam without hesitation and devour any book he desired, now stings in his memory since it became off-limits. Finally, the corners of his lips quirk up. “Twelfth Night Museum holds a dear place in my heart. I can’t say much about the attendees who show up at night, but during the day it’s beautiful.”

What does your typical day look like?

Hugo pauses for a moment, mulling over the words before he speaks. He glances at the watch on his wrist, then his shoes, and finally meets the eye of the interviewer. The interview is for a profile on him, a puff piece to lighten the city when all it knows is death and destruction. “Well, it’s Saturday. I host evening mass then head over to Phoenix and Turtle for the bread donation. My days are typically the same, depending on whether or not the farmers market is here.” He graces her with another smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. What he leaves out is that his nights are filled with the scent of gun powder and his fingers brushing eyelids shut, a prayer whispered under his breath.

What has been your biggest mistake thus far?

How was he supposed to pick just one mistake? There had been plenty of missteps through the years that would certainly be labeled the worst. The stolen liquor from the bodega, the moans in the backseat of a car, the night he killed Albert. Far too many things have been deemed his biggest mistake. “Even I’m allowed to have secrets.” Hugo glances out the window and watches the couples walk by. They’ll have to try harder than this to get him to reveal what it is. “That one is between me and myself.”

What has been the most difficult task asked of you?

His gut reaction is to say preaching his sermon. The words of the good book that fall from his lips and into the ears of the parish are nothing but lies - but now was not the time nor place to discuss that matter. “There are times I’m asked to stop helping those in need. I have to respect their wishes, but it’s not in my nature to walk away from those who need help.” He thinks of the dying who were left to bleed after he shot at them, of the unfortunate souls who end up injured by falling into debt with them, of the addicts who pump their veins with Theo’s latest experiment and can’t escape the warmth the drug gives them. Ignoring these souls only to have them haunt him later is the most difficult thing he’s done.

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

He nearly chokes as he takes a sip from the mug. As the interview continued, it seemed as if the questions were diving deeper and deeper into unsafe territory. Perhaps it would’ve been smart to let one of the emissaries approve the list of questions before he arrived. “As a man of God, I can only hope that no more bloodshed happens.” His lips press into a thin line. “Hasn’t our city seen enough?” His answer is honest, one that he never dared utter before now. The war his boss wages against the Montagues is one that he finds despicable. So much has been lost in the names of each family and yet, they continue to take more and more and more.

Extras: Bold of you to assume I don’t have any extras. Here is his mockblog, a Pinterest board, and as always, let me sprinkle some hcs here:

Hugo’s very into the arts. His favorite artist is M.C. Escher.

This man is not straight. Local disaster bi preacher is at your service.

There’s a photo of his parents tucked into his wallet so he’s able to carry them everywhere.

He does yoga whenever he gets the chance.

Hugo’s a huge Jimmy Buffet fan, I’m sorry but it’s true.

He’s also a huge Florence and The Machine fan so it balances out.

More often than not, there’s a bottle of cheap scotch in his chambers in the Cathedral. It’s hidden inside of a hollowed-out Bible.

[archivesdiveronarpg]

Congratulations, PIKA! You’ve been accepted for the role of HELENUS. Pika, I’ve been waiting for a Helenus application for a long, long time and I can say with utmost certainty that your application did NOT disappoint. Quite the opposite! You nailed every single aspect of Hugo down so perfectly I almost can’t believe it. His mannerisms and dialogue in your interview and sample were beautifully wary, and you get a sense of his devotion to God and why he’s so admired as a priest - but with one line you also nailed why he excels as an emissary. I can’t wait to see our beautiful, conflicted, weary priest on our dash. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within twenty-four hours. 

                                                                         WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | pika.

Age | eighteen.

Preferred Pronouns | she/her/hers or they/them/theirs, i’m honestly not super picky.

Activity Level | tbqh…not great? i can’t promise anything more than my best, which is usually activity at least every other day (though i try to get on daily!). probably a 6/10, if i were to give it a number.

Timezone | pst.

Permission | ye sure!

In Character

Character | helenus ;; hugo kim

What drew you to this character? | i’m not gonna lie, hugo definitely snuck up on me. the paradoxical image of the sinning holy man was striking, but as i never read troilus and cressida, i didn’t quite feel comfortable enough with the character to apply the first time i peeped around diverona. so, this became an application for puck. anyway, fast forward a few days: i missed the friday acceptances, i looked into helenus a little (both the shakespeare and greek versions), and hooooo boy the inspiration just kind of…came? i mean, there’s a lot to draw from between the bio, the mythology, and the play.

to actually answer your question, i think what drew me to hugo was his internal conflict. hugo is a study in dichotomy, in balance. as a priest, he lives in a world of black and white, yet his reality bleeds an ugly, mottled grey (except for when it bleeds red, kek). he walks a precipice between faith and doubt (or more accurately, faith and love), and more than anything, i get the feeling he dreams on wings broken by reality. i’m not normally one partial to the good guys (i’m more of a chaotic-neutral kinda gal), but the thing with hugo is that he both is and isn’t a good guy, if that makes any sense. he’s a good man who does (has done, will do) bad things. he’s got vices that’ll come back to bite him in the ass. he’s an angel in free-fall, and i’ll be damned if that’s not intriguing to me.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

► 001. i am the lord thy god (comedy at its highest reveals a tragedy, and darling, you’re the biggest laugh of all)

living such a juxtaposed double life isn’t healthy. i’d like to explore how hugo is affected by the hypocrisy of his actions. how can a man preach kindness to all in one moment, then turn around and promise threats in the next? one of hugo’s biggest struggles is between balancing his role as a man of god and a man of the montagues. and obviously, this causes a lot of moral conundrums. at some point, the balance must tip.  i want hugo to make a choice one way or the other: fate or faith? it doesn’t have to be an explicit choice (in fact, it likely wouldn’t be), but rather, defiance or compliance with an order.  i want to see an embittered hugo, a cynical hugo. a hugo questioning his faith (or really, his identity). faith is such a central part of hugo’s character; what is he without it? is he anything without it? gimme a hugo wrecked by the war—just another casualty. how will this affect him? he is, essentially, pitting his family against his personal ethics—two fundamental aspects of himself. i imagine it may very well tear him apart, either figuratively or literally, depending on his choice.

► 002. thou shalt have no other gods before me (vacant eyes and hearts and hands)

all of hugo’s connections are fun, but oho, cinead’s. cinead’s. cinead terrifies hugo. hugo believes in one God, but to deny the power of the witches is a unique kind of heresy in which even hugo is reluctant to partake. there is only one way to reconcile this: hugo believes cinead to be the devil. well. perhaps not the devil, but his devil. i’d like to see the evolution of their relationship, how the unstoppable force meets the immovable object. hugo…doesn’t pride himself on being good at manipulating people, exactly, but he is aware he’s good at it. however, he’s outmatched by the witch, and i don’t know that he knows it. it might take him a while before he even realizes how easily he’s manipulated by cinead. interestingly, this is a plot that could break hugo, but is also possibly the only one that allows him to be truly free—after all, the hedonist is slave only to his own desires. so. yeah.

► 003. ye shall erect these stones which i command thee (though you shroud yourself in white, even you bleed red)

as a priest, hugo’s first and only devotion is to god. and he’s been good about that. but he’s still only a man. i’d like to see hugo form a romantic attachment to somebody. bonus points if it’s a guy (i hc hugo as being panromantic demisexual), because hi internalized institutional homophobia. the world of romance is a dangerous new frontier for hugo, and exploring that has a 70:1 chance of ending in angst, because, y’know…jesus.

In Depth

What is your favorite place in Verona?

“You’d probably expect me to say the Cathedral, wouldn’t you?” Hugo chuckles, steepling his fingers on his desk. “I mean, I suppose I ought to say the Cathedral, seeing how it is my home parish. And I do love it, I do. It is, without a doubt, the most beautiful house of worship I have had the honor of laying my eyes upon, much less preaching in. But—”

(…but in Verona, the Cathedral is not a place for the Lord. It is a place for Them, and Hugo cannot help the seed of resentment that buds in his heart when he thinks of their arrogance, of their flagrant insistence to squander their power in the futile pursuit of more. They have deluded themselves into playing god, have lost sight of His way in their games of war. Pride is perhaps the most deadly of the sins, but it is not the only one.)

“—but I must admit to be rather partial to the library. I love books.” His small office is a testament to his statement. Books and writing are strewn across the room in an organized sort of chaos; there appears to be some kind of system, but it’s incomprehensible to the untrained eye. “Stories, facts…you could live entire lives in a library.”

What does your typical day look like?

“Busy.” There’s a rueful twist to Hugo’s smile. “It’s Lent, which means we must prepare for the Easter Triduum alongside regular mass…which means, basically, there’s a lot going on.” And that’s before he factors in his emissary work, which has been anything but typical since Alvise’s death. “Still, my day is pretty structured. I’ll wake up, pray, eat something light. Then I’ll go to the Cathedral and assist with business there for the day. How long I stay varies, depending on my, ah…personal business. Eventually, I’ll find my way home for the night. I always end the day with a prayer.”

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

Hugo heaves a heavy sigh. “War is…” Ugly. Profitable. Terrible. Beautiful. He trails off, seemingly unsatisfied with the direction of his thought.

A moment passes. Another. He tries again. “One misconception people have about the Lord, I feel, is that He is responsible for war, for suffering. I think people misunderstand his power; God is Almighty and omnipotent, but also gifted us with autonomy. One of His greatest gifts is the freedom from him—the freedom to make our world. He relinquished control so that we may be free.” His voice lightens with a levity that only feels somewhat forced. “I don’t know that I’d call this war, yet, but for all our sakes, I pray it doesn’t become one. Things are already enough, as it is.”

He stands up; there is business to attend to. “There are a lot of things I could say about the war, but let’s leave it at this: may God have mercy on their souls.” He sighs. “On all our souls.”

In-Character Para Sample:

One truth that Hugo couldn’t deny: emissary work was not unlike addressing a congregation. In both, the man was the messenger—an arm of a higher being, with no real power of his own. An effective messenger understood this; an effective messenger didn’t need power. After all, why waste your breath preaching your own insignificance when you can channel the will of a god? No, persuasion was the most effective tool available to the mortal man. Though the body belonged to the Lord, the heart belonged to the individual.

And there were few people as good as playing heartstrings as the man who looked back at Hugo in the mirror. The man sighed, tugging one hand through his hair and another across his plain black shirt. Hugo’s vestments laid neatly folded behind him, the celebratory white and green a flash of brightness from the mass he concluded only an hour earlier. The mass’ other holdover, the joyful buzz from performing a service, had long since faded, only to be replaced by a new (though not unfamiliar) sensation: the buzz of anticipation. There were fewer things Hugo hated more than being called to work immediately following a mass. He had been acting as the Montague’s emissary for long enough that it didn’t phase him—he even had taken to wearing all black under his alb and vestments, just in case—but switching from a celebrant to a businessman was immeasurably draining.

Still, when duty called, he answered. Casting his reflection one more sigh, he grabbed the mobile off the corner of his desk and exited his tiny office. He took his time walking through the Cathedral’s hallways, nodding to everyone he passed in greeting but not making any effort at initiating conversation. He couldn’t help but blink when he exited the building; it was an overwhelmingly sunny day, truly worthy of being called the Lord’s Day.

Hugo headed toward the spot of darkness in the light, a sleek black sedan parked on the street corner. He nodded at the driver, an unremarkable associate whose name always escaped Hugo, in greeting, and settled into the passenger’s seat as the vehicle roared into motion.

“You’re late, Father,” the driver said.

Hugo caught the sigh that threatened to escape by the skin of his teeth—it was a terrible habit, the sighing, really. “Yes, well. Patience is a virtue, you know. Besides, I had a few matters to attend to at the church before I left.”

The driver snorted, an inelegant sound. “Pft. The church has been around for a couple thousand years. It could’ve waited ‘til after you did your business for the Family. Should’ve. Apparently you’re meetin’ with someone important.”

“More important than the—!” Hugo was scandalized. Did this heretic not realize that Easter was in a month? No, he reasoned, composing himself, probably not. The priest coughed into his fist, and continued in a more measured tone. “Ahem. Yes. I’ve been told this is a…delicate deal.”

That morning, Hugo had been told to pay a visit to a dealer associated with the Montagues. Apparently, the fool had been keeping a higher portion of his profits than the family liked, so they had decided to send the priest in to remind the man of the immorality of theft. Well, Hugo had supposed, you couldn’t deny the Montagues had a sense of humor.

Their conversation lulled into silence as the drove through the city. Hugo watched as it flew by in the window, nice neighborhoods bleeding into slums bleeding into historical centers. They slowed in a middling part of town—you wouldn’t take a tourist there, perhaps, but the area had a familiar vibrancy unique to locals. The driver pulled up to a rather nondescript home that looked to have been repurposed as an apartment complex.

“Ya got a gun on you, Father?” The driver asked.

“Unfortunately, yes.” It weighed heavily in Hugo’s pocket, another habit adopted in Verona. “Wait here until I get out. I pray the proceedings won’t escalate, but it never hurts to be prepared.”

“Aw, Father, you don’t need to worry. Who in their right mind’s gonna shoot at a priest? That’s, like, a one-way ticket to hell.”

And extorting drug dealers isn’t? The sardonic thought went unsaid as Hugo gave the driver a final acknowledgement and exited the car. A cursory glance at the tenant list gave him his final destination, and he entered the building with a pride he didn’t feel, a one-man processional sent to deliver the word of God to the heretic. Upon reaching the intended’s door, he knocked once, twice. A man, presumably the target, opened it—what a fool, Hugo thought—and regarded the priest with a wary glance, hand snaking to the waistband of his pants. So he knew why the angel had been sent to his door. Good. That made Hugo’s job much easier. Primly, he adjusted his shirt collar.

“Tell me,” he said, voice gentle but knowing, “did you know that theft is a sin?”

Time to go to work.

Extras:

a playlist–

ultralight beam ;; kanye west

( i’m tryna keep my faith, but i’m lookin’ for more / somewhere i can feel safe / and end my holy war )

talking to myself ;; gallant

( how’d my own molecules forsake me? / atoms changed behind my back )

blessings ;; chance the rapper

( don’t believe in kings, believe in the kingdom )

fall away ;; twenty one pilots

( every time i feel my selfish ambition is taking my vision / and my crime is my sentence / repentance is taking commission )

in the woods somewhere ;; hozier

( his bone exposed / his hind was lame / i raised a stone to end his pain )

day n nite (nightmare) ;; kid cudi

( within his dreams he sees the life he made / the pain is deep / a silent sleeper, you won’t hear a peep )

fade ;; kanye west

( when no one ain’t around / i think i think too much / ain’t nobody watchin’ / i just fade away )

medicine ;; daughter

( you’ve got a warm heart / you’ve got a beautiful brain / but it’s disintegrating )

hc’s & misc. bits

hugo is technically ordained as an eastern catholic priest, but is familiar with roman catholic tradition.

hugo is fluent in russian and italian. he speaks the latter with a trace of an accent of the former. he also speaks pretty good english, and is fair in classical latin.

this was kinda obvious in the para sample, but hugo sighs a lot?? the man is tired; let him live. other ticks include pacing and holding his hands on his hips. he gesticulates a lot when he speaks, especially when impassioned.

he keeps an extensive collection of herbal teas. his favorite is oolong, though his daily staple is earl grey.

hugo and albert used to call each other every week. hugo feels guilty because he’s been letting their phone calls slide recently.

hugo tries not to curse, and is usually pretty successful. when he starts breaking out the expletives, you can safely assume shit has hit the fan.

hugo claims that his plain choice in clothes is strictly a practice in practicality and professionalism. this is true. it is also true, however, that he’s otherwise hopeless at picking outfits. don’t bother flashing your rolexes and red bottoms at him, because it’ll go right over his head.

i feel like i was a little heavy on the angsty/struggling side of hugo in the app, but he really doesn’t come across as such in his interactions. he’s kind of a nerd tbh.

anyway, thanks for reading! i wanna apologize for playing hard and loose with catholicism; i’m a minimalist catholic, but there are definitely aspects here that may or may not reflect the actual rl church haha

[pelideswhore]

Soooo, I want an essay. Please tell me how the Trojan would have gone in any level of detail had Paris given the apple to Hera or Athena.

I’m afraid I can’t go into too much detail, and this is more personal musings than essay, but nevertheless thank you for asking! Also thank you to @mitsybubbles for helping me out with this :)

First of all, technically, there could be no other path for the Judgement of Paris because fate rules it. Fate says there had to be a war in which Troy would fall, so that will happen. But for the sake of this ask, I’ll ignore that for a moment.

Now, regardless of who Paris would’ve chosen, a war would’ve started. Agamemnon was using Helen’s kidnapping as an excuse anyway, he had been waiting to start a war for actual political/economical purposes for a while now.

I’ll start with Hera’s route:

If Paris chooses Hera, he’d be king over a large kingdom—that was the promise. This is not a Barbie film (sadly) so we have to use some logic here, he can’t just become king automatically. When he is accepted back into the Trojan royal family, he is at least 4th in line to the throne. He has no inheritance to any other kingdom so becoming king would require the deaths of at least Priam, Hector, Deiphobus and Helenus before him. There is no way they would all die shortly one after the other excluding illness (unlikely since they’re favored by Apollo) and targeted murder. Either way, it’s depressing for Paris. Beyond that, he really wouldn’t make a great king? He’d be depressed and out of place. And, like I said, it wouldn’t prevent a war. The larger a kingdom gets, the bigger threat it poses to other kingdoms. If the Achaean army didn’t consider Troy a threat at that point and start a defensive war, Trojan leaders would get power drunk and start the war themselves. Using the oath, the Greeks would win.

Conclusion: Hera path is a bad path.

Athena path next.

Athena promised Paris skill in battle and victory in war. In that sense he’d be taking over the current position Hector or Achilles have in the Iliad respectively. Only problem: Both Hector and Achilles die. Paris would be the target of every opponent. Not fun. Beyond that, Athena has a thing for controlling her heroes’ every step and she isn’t scared of using manipulation or psychological tricks on her heroes. Odysseus and Diomedes deal with that pretty well because they’re on Athena’s level in some way or another. Paris has close to no points if similarity with Athena (unlike Aphrodite). Athena would quite literally drive him mad. Also, like before, Paris explicitly says in the Iliad that he has no interest in the military. He would be out of place. As for the start of the war, Helen might not be involved, but Agamemnon would find a reason to start a war anyway. Paris would still die in a war that the Greeks will inevitably win.

Conclusion: Athena path is also a bad path.

As for Aphrodite’s path, we all know how that goes.

Another change that Paris’ decision would make is obviously which gods are on which side of the war. This obviously especially effects Athena, Hera, Aphrodite and by extension Ares.

Okay, technically answered your question (i hope), but I wanted to say a little more on the judgment of Paris in his defense.

Paris was chosen to select the most beautiful of the goddesses because he’s honest and impartial. He has virtues, he’s not just horny. Obviously, we can’t judge, but personally I think it’s clear that Aphrodite is the most beautiful of the three. She’s the goddess of beauty. Maybe Paris wasn’t regarding their bribery at all, maybe he was just making an honest decision. After all, the competition was regarding their beauty not their bribery.

If that’s not what Paris was thinking of, maybe he was making what he considered a politically smart move. I mean, how is Paris supposed to know that the “most beautiful woman on earth” was going to be the sister-in-law of the most powerful king in Greece and that he was prince of Troy, their biggest enemy? How was he supposed to know that getting married was going to start a war? In comparison to Athena and Hera’s routes, getting married seems harmless.

Also, I mentioned this briefly before, but Paris and Aphrodite have loads of similarities. It makes sense that she’d be his patron goddess, hence him choosing her.

[babyrdie]

hcs about platonic relationships in trojan family?

I actually have some, but I'm only going to answer hcs with Paris because I already made a post that's kind of about that, so it makes the whole thing easier (it's in my pinned post).

I have a headcanon that Paris, being raised as a lower-class person with extraordinary beauty, became attached to beauty. Like everyone else, he worked under the sun and really couldn't afford to buy those Phoenician fabrics and expensive gold jewelry from the merchants, but the reality is that Paris didn't need to be adorned with jewels and colors to be considered beautiful. In a way, what was most impressive was how, despite the simple clothing, the often practical-tied hair, and the lack of adornment, Paris looked extremely beautiful.

Paris obviously noticed this. He couldn't help but care very much about this, something special he had that could give him some advantages. It was always so much easier to bargain for wool prices when he smiled sweetly and gently touched the seller's hand, everyone seemed so willing to accept his prices. Whether it was because they wanted him, or because people had a bad habit of assuming that beauty equated to goodness, or because they were too distracted admiring him.

However, he also became irritated by his beauty. It seemed ridiculous to him how the most he could obtain was a few simple advantages. In the end, Paris was still a shepherd like any other shepherd. And it's not that he hated what he did, but it was just that it was frustrating just being able to look at the beautiful merchandise without ever being able to have it for himself. At the same time that he was proud of being beautiful, he was irritated that his beauty ultimately couldn't really give him the things he wanted.

When he became a prince again, Paris suddenly had access to things he hadn't before. So many jewelry, so many quality fabrics. It seemed foolish and wasteful not to use as much as possible, even if anyone looking would believe he was pompous for it. No one, at least, would have the audacity to lie and claim that he looked anything other than fantastic. Perhaps he was beautiful as a warning to his fate after all. He was a prince in his own right and, like so many other princes out there, he would have an amazing life. He was destined for this, Aphrodite even promised him the most beautiful woman. He always knew there was something missing in his life, and now he would get it back.

Due to their different experiences, his relationship with his brothers and sisters was a bit complicated. After so many years of not seeing them, knowing that he was a shepherd while they grew up in wealth, it was impossible for Paris not to feel somewhat bitter about this. He didn't blame them for his life, of course, but he couldn't help but look at Helenus' soft hands and compare them to his rough, calloused, tanned hands from working in the fields. It was infuriating that beautiful Laodice looked so much like him, but her hair was clearly the kind that had been nourished her entire life with only the most precious things. But even though Priam and Hecuba were his parents, they didn't raise him and he couldn't trust that they wouldn't just abandon him again. Therefore, Paris has always made a point of appearing constantly content, to the point where he has been considered extremely carefree and easy to please by others.

His most complicated sibling relationships, in fact, were with Cassandra and Hector.

Cassandra looked at him so terrified when she saw him, anxiously playing with her own long, loose hair with trembling hands. It was as if she had seen a haunting, it was as if she was terrified at the idea of living in Troy where Paris was, as if she wished he had remained lost. He was told not to worry about Cassandra as she was crazy and nothing she said made any sense. She used to be a normal kid, but something happened and she suddenly changed, they explained. You shouldn't take her seriously, they said, after all, not even Helenus can believe her and he's a seer. Paris eventually realized, the few times he heard Cassandra speak (she seemed strangely irritated at the idea of speaking, like it was a waste of time. Maybe she was just repressed?), she really only said nonsense. It was impossible for anyone to believe her. And yet, Paris couldn't ignore how clearly she didn't want him there.

Hector was something more ambiguous. He seemed genuinely concerned and caring, the perfect big brother that he was and that Paris never thought he would have. But that was the problem: Hector was too perfect. The crown prince, his parents' favorite, a formidable warrior, was everyone's favorite brother and even the horses seemed to love him. As caring as he was, he cared too much about his values. This meant that, if he disapproved of an attitude, you would probably know because Hector had a moral duty to let you know. And, of course, he let Paris know everything about it.

Paris couldn't help that it was a bit hypocritical of Hector. A man like him, growing up as the favorite while Paris was left out, living in the luxury of royalty while Paris was a shepherd, wanting to teach lessons about vanity and how beauty and material possessions weren't everything seemed like a annoying joke. Hector never lived without being surrounded by these things, so who was he to say anything? Maybe he should give all his precious things to Paris and go live as a hermit in the forest then. What's more, Hector certainly took some pride in his abilities in himself. Why couldn't Paris have his own pride as well? For a long time, that's just what he had.

Laodice, at least, understood him in that. She was always so well dressed, enhancing her already remarkable natural beauty. And she was a sweet person, offering to teach Paris about aspects of royal fashion that he had never been taught before. It was no wonder that they were both so similar physically, it was because they knew how to appreciate what was given to them.

Troilus was sweet and accepting, so he was nice to everyone, which included Paris. He just thought it was cool to have a new big brother. But Paris couldn't help but think that he didn't really look like he was Priam's son, although he didn't question it because he didn't know if it was a sore point in the family (truth be told, he didn't know a lot about his family. Initially, it was like suddenly live among a bunch of strangers)

Helenus spent way too much time with Cassandra, so Paris kind of avoided him (because he avoided Cassandra. He didn't need to have her looking at him desperately, it was disconcerting) but for the most part he seemed okay. Paris tried to ask him about his future, but Helenus simply said that the power was not his, but Lord Apollo's, and he was simply given the opportunity to be a spokesman for the god. Therefore, Helenus couldn't choose what he saw, he could only see what Apollo allowed him. His choice was only whether he would share the visions of Apollo's blessing with anyone, and how he would share them. Paris expected Lord Apollo to share his bright future soon.

And of course there are others, but there are so many people in Troy, it would take forever to talk about. But yeah, it's noticeable that my Paris is a little bitter. I don't know, I like the contrast of a person who appears almost cartoonish being internally complex.

Anyway, be free to send others asks!

[classicschronicles]

Hi lovelies,

I recently came across a very interesting book entitled ‘Cassandra’ so I thought I should probably do some background reading before reading Christa Wolf’s alleged masterpiece. And so today I thought it would be a nice idea to talk about the story surrounding the infamous Trojan princess, Cassandra. Just a quick trigger warning- this entry contains mentions of r4p3 after the sack of Troy.

Cassandra was the mortal daughter of King Priam (side note- why do this man and his 100 children constantly crop up in every area of classics, it’s starting to stress me out) and Hecuba. Now as you may expect from a man with 100 children, some of them were very notable. Cassandra’s brothers included Hector, Paris and her twin brother Helenus. But Cassandra is also due her fair share of fame as a seer (i.e. having the gift of foresight, although in her case it was more of a curse).

Cassandra grew up to become the most beautiful of all Priam’s daughters and so naturally had plenty of suitors- both mortal and immortal, including the god Apollo. In the most popular version of Cassandra’s story, it is Apollo who gifts her with the power of prophecy. In this version of the story, Apollo is enamoured with Cassandra’s beauty and tries to seduce her. He tells her that in return for something he will turn her into a seer. Cassandra accepts this offer, but after Apollo gives her foresight he reveals that what he wants in return is for Cassandra to sleep with him.

Now, as is the nature of the gods in Greek mythology, Apollo thought that the concept of consent was below him and so when Cassandra (as is fully her right) refused to sleep with him he felt as though he had been cheated. A repudiated Apollo could have simply taken her powers away, but in an act of blind rage, he cursed Cassandra instead. And so from that point on, whatever Cassandra professed would indeed come to pass but no one would ever believe her. Because of this, Cassandra then thought her twin brother Helenus how to see into the future and so good was she as a tutor, that Helenus’ predictions always came to pass (but with the added advantage of people believing him).

Cassandra gains much of her fame in mythology, as many do, because of the events of Troy. The first commonly known prediction of Cassandra is when Paris returns to Troy. Cassandra tells everyone that he will be the reason for the destruction of Troy and talks about how, because of him, she sees Troy in flames. But because of her curse, she was ignored. Paris would then go on to abduct Helen and so began the Trojan war, leading to the inevitable destruction of Troy as Cassandra had foretold.

Another very famous prophecy of Cassandra can be found within the Aeneid when Aeneas tells the story of the Trojan Horse. The Achaean army came up with a plan to sack the city of Troy by gifting them with a seemingly empty wooden horse- you all know this story. Cassandra knew that if the Trojans were to accept the horse Troy would fall overnight, but no matter what she said no one would believe her. Thus the Trojans let the horse into the walls of Troy and that very night the city fell to the Achaeans.

After the Greeks took possession of Troy, Cassandra sought refuge within the temple of Athena. However, the temple provided no refuge as Cassandra was found by Ajax the Lesser, who dragged Cassandra from Athena’s altar and r4p3d her. It was because of this act that Athena caused the storm that scattered all the Greek heroes and took them so long to get home.

With the fall of Troy, Cassandra became a spoil of war, with Agamemnon forcing her to become his concubine. Cassandra would bear two sons for Agamemnon. Despite being his slave, Cassandra tried to warn Agamemnon to not return to Mycenae, for Cassandra knew that his wife (Clytemnestra) was having an affair with Aegisthus- who would murder Agamemnon. Sure enough, when Agamemnon returned to Mycenae he and the children Cassandra bore for him, were murdered by Aegisthus.

Little to nothing is known about what happened to Cassandra after the events of Mycenae but given her previous luck, we can probably assume that it wasn’t pleasant. That being said, I hope you all enjoyed reading about Cassandra and that you have a lovely weekend!

~Z

[aguecheek]

Can you tell us about that gender bent midsummer night's dream production you did lights for?

Oh boy oh baby oh boy ive been waiting for this one

So in 2019, I ran lights for a Free Shakespeare in the Park production of Midsummer that took the characters of Lysander and Helena and genderswapped them. Lysander became Lysandra, and Helena became Helenus. And dude???????? It changed...SO MUCH??? It literally lives in my head rent free, i still think about this production every goddamn day. More under the cut.

When Hermia’s father insists that she marry Demitrius or face death, it becomes much less a matter of a man exerting control over his daughter as if he owns her, although it still definitely is that, but now takes on a new dimension. Egeus has delivered an ultimatum: be straight or be killed. Absolutely fucking terrifying, and for modern audiences especially, the stakes suddenly become much more personal and much more real. (We also kept a running tally of every family who left in the middle of the show when they realized it was gay LMFAO our highest record number was 18 families in one night. Gotta love PA!) So in the scene immediately following that, you get this really gorgeous tenderness in the “how now my love, why is your cheek so pale” scene, you know the one. The agreement to elope, the overwhelming joy that comes from the notion of leaving your homophobic father and going to live with your girlfriend’s accepting aunt...it’s good, it gave me the warm and fuzzies.

The Helenus comes on, and oh boy oh boy oh fucking boy. Because in the first scene, you have this line from Lysandra about Demitrius promising himself to Helenus, and Egeus looking absolutely horrified at it, and Demitrius denying it fervently. And Helenus is lost, confused, and desperate, and he’s seeking comfort in two other openly gay people, his childhood best friend and her girlfriend—and the’re both leaving athens. Together. When he gives that fucking goddamn how happy some o’er other some can be speech (which ive had memorized since i was eight because its so unbelievably fuckign good) it’s absolutely HEARTRENDING. Demitrius was his, and they were in love, and then demitrius got cold feet and backed out, and now hermia and lysandra are leaving too, and helenus is going to be alone in athens.

Then you get helenus and demitrius’s first scene together, the “you draw me you hardhearted adamant” scene, the “spurn me like a dog” scene. And this scene was hard for me to watch every single night. Because, now forgive me for getting a little personal, I struggled with a lot of internalized homophobia for a pretty significant portion of my life. And there was this awful heartwrenching moment the actors did where demitrius grabbed helenus by his shirt and their mouths were inches apart and demetrius like tore himself away and stumbled away shouting and it just...i’ll say, okay, i named my sword demitrius(That’s not a euphamism, I have a sword hanging on the wall of my apartment named demitrius, I intend to name all my swords after shakespeare cahracters)because of this character. I don’t like demitrius within the text, i think he’s an asshole LMAO. But this version of demitrius really just grabbed my heart ripped it out of my chest and stomped on it, because he wasn’t a misogynist freak, he was a real dude struggling with some serious significant internalized homophobia. It gave him a reason to reject helenus, it gave him a reason to pursue hermia, and it gave him an actual in-depth character reason to be a dick other than just...hey, this is demitrius, he’s a dick to women.

One of the worst and best scenes every night was the fight scene. Now the fight scene fucking gets me, no matter what, but with the sexuality dynamics, god, it’s just so fucked up. Because when demitrius first starts acting all lovely-dovey towards helenus, there’s this awful heartbreaking look of longing on helenus’s face, and then when “oh, spite, oh, hell” comes bursting out, ur heart breaks ight the fuck along with him. Not to mention now here’s hermia, who ran away from her father to be with her girlfriend, to escape the confines of heterosexuality, so they could be together, and now lysandra is turning away from her and trying to get all cozy with helenus. Helenus’s heart is breaking because he thinks that he’s being betrayed by his own community, being mocked for something that they above all else should support him for. Hermia’s heart is breaking because she’s losing the one person she sacrificed everything to be with. Lysandra and demitrius are fine lmao they’re asleep, they don’t know whats going on.

But like okay. Okay. god. Okay. listen to me. When theyre all running exhaustedly through the woods and they eventually collapse on the ground, sound asleep, and puck comes out with the cure for the spell...he cures them both. HE CURES BOTH LYSANDRA AND DEMITRIUS. Because unlike in the original text, demitrius doesn’t need to be under a spell to love helenus. He loved him all along, he never stopped loving him, he just...wouldn’t let himself. So wheras in the heterosexual midsummer, puck usually cures lysander but not demetrius, in this version, you have them both being cured, both being brought back to themselves. 

And when they wake up, and the lights went all purple and blue and soft and the music started playing (it was fucking moon river. The music was fucking moon river please im going to cry) and they’re all just standing there, holding the person they love, swaying softly, whispering in amazement at their fantastic dream…”are you sure that we are awake?” oh my fucking god. Oh my fucking god. Oh my god.

Then everybody comes storming on, theseus and hippolyta and egeus and such, and demitrius has that line...that fucking line… “The object and the pleasure of mine eye Is only Helenus. To him, my lord, Was I betrothed ere I saw Hermia. But like in sickness did I loathe this food, But as in health come to my natural taste, Now I do wish it, love it, long for it, And will for evermore be true to it.” DUDE ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME THAT’S SO GOOD. Because unlike with the magic flower route, he actually is returning to his natural tastes. This is the story, this is his story, this is him giving up on his attempts to hide that part of himself. This is him accepting who he is and wishing for Helenus, loving him, longing for him, will forevermore be true to him….god. It got me every single fucking night. Every goddamn single night that line made me tear up.

And then they all got married and it was lovely and beautiful blah blah its a comedy everybody gets married you know the drill <3 but yeah, i still think about that production every single fucking day of my life. I dont think ill ever stop thinking about it.

[kallistcs]

Couldn't he?

Well, he barely did already---

Except that wasn't true. Not exactly, anyway. If he lingered on his guilt, on the blame he had for this, he'd be overwhelmed. Not just by what he had or hadn't done in the war, his firm refusals to give up Helen at every turn, but also by the dream. Not his dream, of course; rather Hecuba's dream omen.

He'd been sixteen, when he'd finally asked their mother why he alone of all her children - all of any of Priam's many, many children - had been exposed.

And as certain as he'd been - laughingly waving the whole thing off - that the dream had been wrongly interpreted, when he'd been nursed by a bear and rescued, now...

Now he couldn't say the same.

But Paris didn't even need to blame himself. Everyone else did so plenty, and all he had to do was stand there and accept it.

But Hektor was dead, and he---

"Helenus," Paris said, half of a plea maybe.

It was relief to hear his own thoughts echoed back at him, thoughts that he wouldn't raise in defense because what did it matter, in the end? A relief, but it hurt. Some small part of him wondered if Helenus was talking to himself, in talking to him - but that was a cruelty his gentle brother didn't deserve. Helenus meant every word, and wouldn't even realize they should be for himself, as well.

Paris smiled instead, surprised to find himself doing so, the expression blushing sweet in the middle of the sinking weight on his heart as Helenus called him beguiling and indeed maddening but also not so great as to be solely responsible. For a moment, his laughter, unchained by grief, was light in contrast to Helenus' broken one.

It hurt, hearing it.

Helenus' hands on his cheeks were hot, and the touch as gentle as his repeated use of Paris, of telling him it wasn't his fault. Fingers through his hair and Paris trembled, squeezing his eyes shut as he touched Helenus' wrist.

"Helenus, stop that." That was begging, now. Paris wasn't sure he could handle hearing Helenus insist Hektor still loved them all, loved him. Not right now. Not even if he could convince himself Hektor's anger wasn't true. "It is worth it - my love for Helen, for Hektor, for all of you, no matter what. He said--- the things he's been saying, it hurts because I love him, but now he won't ever say them again and I... I wish he could."

Even if he had to listen once more to that litany of insults, of Hektor thinking he should be dead, which always hurt more than from anyone who didn't know about the dream omen.

Words catching thick in his throat, Paris swallowed a noise. Put his cup away - he could, and would, drink more later - and instead surged forward, pulling his brother close as he wound his arms around Helenus' shoulders. Brushed a hand down the curls, mimicking Helenus' earlier touch.

"I could have--- I could have killed him. Achilles. When he was taking his chariot off towards the camp. I could have, but Apollo said we couldn't do it yet, we wouldn't be allowed," Paris whispered into Helenus' curls, desperate for someone to know he had tried to do something and yet not daring to speak it aloud. Not to anyone else, for would they not deem it too little, too late, until he might already have Achilles dead by his arrows?

Tears welled up, burning hot while he tightened his hand around the cup until his knuckles were white and his fingers ached.

There was no edge in Helenus' voice.

No anger, no frustration, no disgust.

Paris couldn't remember the last time he'd heard anyone use that name with affection that wasn't Helen. And even Helen voiced it with an edge, more often than not. Barely even heard it said neutrally, for in every one of those laid the seed of the other emotions.

Swallowing back the tears, Paris wiped the ones that'd escaped away and flapped a hand in welcome. Not that it was needed; Helenus was moving his legs to sit just as he lifted his hand. Paris watched his brother, then looked down into his refilled cup for he couldn't quite handle the blank grief on Helenus' face.

"It's like..?" he prompted quietly, clearing his throat in the middle as his voice thickened.

One couldn't think he was used to perform in front of a whole hall and more, the way his voice sounded right now. A short, struggling little laugh on his lips, Paris reached over to squeeze Helenus' wrist.

"You cry, Helenus. Even if - or perhaps especially then - it's too late. That's---"

Wine spilled - over his hand, dripping down his wrist and spattering the couch's mattress and cushions as he lurched, freezing in the same moment. Paris choked silently on the rest of his intended words, couldn't breathe.

Wide-eyed and unseeing for a heart-shot moment, Paris stared at his brother without quite finding either thought or words. It wasn't until something hot, and wet, fell on his wine-cooled hand that Paris twitched again, blinking tears away and staring at the watered-down wine sliding down to drip once more from his hand.

Nine years. Almost ten, in another week or two.

In all that time, no one had said that.

And he didn't expect anyone to. Not really. They weren't wrong, after all. His heart trembled, and Paris felt a little ill.

"Not my fault Hektor is dead? No, of course not. I'm not Achilles, am I?" Focusing back on Helenus, Paris smiled shaking his head minutely. But it hurt, from the corners of his lips down to somewhere in his chest. "But you don't need to give grace where none is deserved, Helenus. Hektor wouldn't, after, after all... be dead now if there wasn't a war."

The smile struggled to remain, and only barely did Paris manage to keep it from becoming a grimace. The softened expression was a brittle acceptance veiled in a seeming unconcern despite the wet gleam in his eyes and shaking hand, threatening to spill more wine. It did feel rather odd to offer up the opportunity for harsher words - though he hadn't heard Helenus speak any in his life - instead of having them thrust upon him and simply agreeing, however.

Because it wasn't as if Hektor - or anyone else, if they said anything to his face - was wrong. With no war, with no Helen, without the judgement and without the judge, Hektor wouldn't be dead.

[nausikaaa]

WIP Wednesday

thanks for all the tags the past few weeks @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @facewithoutheart @forabeatofadrum @martsonmars @confused-bi-queer @ivelovedhimthroughworse and @takitalks!

it would seem nanowrimo really wiped me out, because i’ve barely had the motivation to write almost anything since. but then our of nowhere i was struck with an idea for ANOTHER original story.

more info below the cut because as usual i ended up rambling

so, the new story is also about greek mythology, and my favourite Trojan twins Cassandra and Helenus, but it’s a short story told through letters from Helenus to Cassandra, going on past her death as he continues to write to her whenever something significant happens in his life. the Trojans technically didn’t have written language, but i am clearly taking liberties.

the story will span their childhood, the rift that develops between them when Cassandra spurns Apollo and is cursed while Helenus accepts his advances and is blessed, their lives during the war, Helenus’s capture and torture at the hands of the Greeks, and then his life after the war as he rises from a slave to a king and father of dynasties. seriously, Helenus is so overlooked, most people who aren’t that into the myths have never even heard of him, yet he’s over here outlasting everyone and marrying both Hector and Achilles’s widows! his grandson goes off and founds FRANCE.

so anyway, in a haze of inspiration when i was supposed to be trying to sleep, i grabbed my phone in the dark and wrote my idea for an epilogue, a single letter from Cassandra in reply, written from the Underworld. here’s it in full, it’s not too long:

Helenus,

You once told me you could see not only through time, but through space also. While we could both see the outcomes of the future, you could see the present across the sea, to far distant lands. A rare gift I am glad I did not possess. It would only tire me out.

Perhaps you can see the present in other realms as well. Perhaps you can see me now, through whatever veil or crust of earth separates the living from the dead. Don’t look at my face. Watch my hands. You wouldn’t believe the deals I had to make to get my hands on paper and ink down here.

For all I exaggerate, Asphodel is not so bad. There are no more visions to plague me, and the wound barely stings. Stop staring at it. I know you are. Pay attention.

It’s mostly just very grey down here. Mist hangs in the air, white flowers bloom underfoot, and shades chatter about you, but it’s easy enough to find a quiet spot and be left to your memories if you wish.

My memories... Brother, I saw your future whenever I looked at you. So much suffering, but so much joy, too. I got your letters. I watched you write them through your eyes, that last time we saw each other, before fate took me to my death and you to a new life.

It took some time to figure out the order they were written in, but time is what the dead have an abundance of. It passes differently here, thick as molasses yet fast as a sparrow, but don’t worry about that. Just take each day as it comes. You’ll look very regal as an old man, and your children will make you proud.

Speaking of your children, I’m flattered you chose to name your daughter after me. I don’t know why I was surprised, you always were sentimental.

I won’t keep you any longer. Give Andromache my love. I look forward to seeing you again.

Cassandra.

[audaciiaearchive]

i love you in every language and in every song. ( helenus to apollo )

It's about the yearning || Accepting

"Oh, careful, Helenus. You're flattering me, and I might just not leave you alone if you keep up your pretty words."

Apollo smiles, a thing as bright and as lovely as the sun itself. He's no stranger to people singing their praises to him, but he'll always have a soft spot in his heart for Helenus. A hand reaches over to caress his cheek, his skin warm to the touch, and he leans forward, gently pressing their lips together for a moment before he pulls away.

"I love you, too," he murmurs, their lips brushing as he speaks. "And no matter where you are or what you do, all you have to do is call my name, and I'll be there. I'm always listening. You never need to fear that I'll abandon you. It will never happen."

[neoptolemid]

Middle of the night

This is a story between Helenus and Deidamia, a talk between the two during the night discussing the future but also a lot of the past

It was late at night and the weaving room was lit by only a single candle and the room was lit by a single candle and the sound of a single loom being used. It was Deidamia who sat alone weaving a new piece. The design was simple and more akin to something of a blanket, a piece to be used to warm and comfort a person.

She had been working on this blanket for the past month and she made blankets like this one every year in the same month.

She had long since worked out a pace for herself and hummed to move along the time as she went.

Her hair no longer was kept wrapped and high but she wore it loose and let it fall over her shoulders, her hair had lost some of youthful shine and took on more luster and gray.

She had no care to mind though her life was full, she had loving children and partners to keep from any thoughts of vanity in gray hairs.

She worked her speed and hummed a single tune, something mostly solem.

Work was interrupted with quiet footsteps, and she knew the intruder far before they gave a slight knock on the doorframe and came in.

"Hello deia, what are you doing up so late?" The question and voice belonged to her husband, the priest king of Eprius Helenus. He spoke hushed in the quiet room and walked to her pulling a seat next to her.

He too was aged by time, his hair had grown long and also gray. She remembered from when they had first met and his hair was black and cut short, he had been shorn quickly and roughly with no care put into it but she supposed that was the nature at the time.

When they had come to Skyros all those years ago.

"I couldn't find sleep and I wished to continue my work on this piece, what made you awake also at this hour?"

"I admit I was looking for you, I wanted to speak to you about your trip to Delphi, if I have the dates correct you'll be going in the next few weeks?"

"Yes that is correct"

She knew well enough that this would be the set up to a conversation, she didn't know exactly what the end of the conversation would bring. She knew well enough he was trying to breach a subject that was causing him thoughts, he was always a bit of the type to dance around things. He meant all the bust but he would always start out with making small talk and speaking on all things around him first.

And like she thought he wouldn’t quite get to his point yet “did you intend to take Kassandra with you like you did last year?”

His voice was quite like prior but there was hesitation in his voice now, worry clung to him a bit.

“If she wants to go with me then I will welcome her company, if she doesn’t wish to come with me again then that is fine. I would not push her.”

“Andromache and I wanted to make the request that even if she asks to not bring her.”

This had her stop, this had her turn and finally turn and look helenus in the face.

“Why not, if she wishes to come then I would allow it and she is my daughter she ought to be at my side how I will it to be” Her voice punctures the air, she speaks hard for a moment with him, looking him in the eyes and burying her gaze.

She knew this was coming, this house wishes to put the past to rest and all she wishes to do is give simple remembrances. Her grief swallowed her once and after climbing back she simply wanted to give small tokens and things as remembrances, as small offerings.

She knew the tainted nature of the past in this house, it was not something she could deny or hide, not something she could apologize for and she accepted all that.

Helenus looked somewhat taken aback from how Deidamia came to be, but his offense wasn’t taken so hard that he simply slipped back from her, he couldn’t meet her eyes and his shoulders slumped a bit.

He kept his arms close to himself and softly rubbed the back of his hand with his thumb, seemingly working out words and what he would say.

“Look Deidamia, we simply think it would be best for you not to take her, she is so little and Delphi is not close, it is a journey and for such a small girl”

She didn’t care to hear anything but the reason that had drawn him to seek her out in the middle of the night. “Cut it out. Helenus.”

“You going to Delphi is fine but just don’t take Kassandra”

“Why Helenus?”

Her tone was sharp with him, if he were to continue this charade of answers her tone would do nothing but grow with him.

"Andromache and I simply don't think it's the best, recently kassandra was asking about Neoptolemus and it is not a topic I or Andromache really want to entertain any growing interest in."

She signs, she softens, her shoulders relax and she turns her gaze from him and to her work, "alright, I can understand that, I can be fair, I will not take her."

Silence slinking back in and the only sound to be heard is her making her work, the sound of fabric passing by fabric, but he does not leave.

Something in the silence bothers him and keeps him from leaving just yet, something in the air keeps him where he is, there is more to be said he can simply feel it. He doesn't know yet what must be said but the words will surely fall from him, but while he collects his thoughts he turns to look at her work.

It is a rather simple blanket, the patterning is minimal and the color is teal.

"I'm am sorry if I have upset you Damia, I simply worry for you and for Kassanadra, I do not want this grief to consume you"

The shuttle drops from her hand with a thunk as she turns around to him.

"Consume me! Do I not live here, do I not govern here, do I not raise my daughter here! Do I not love you here! How am I not present, in what way do you need me to be more present. Pray tell me Dear Helenus how I am not present here"

Her voice pitches and it is very nearly a yell, while her mood might have settled had he left, he said what he supposed he was supposed to, he spoke what he believed necessary.

She stands taking his arm. Eyes boring into eyes she speaks and cries to him.

She weeps to him, in that moment she cries and breaks to him "You barely let me grieve alone, I know what my son did, I know he wasn't perfect, I know he did harm, I've seen the harm first hand. But I can't not grieve for him, I can't not, he was my baby! My baby that I raised by my hand"

"Oh, Damia . . ."

"I know his crimes!” her anger breaks to a quiver as she continues “but I can’t stop loving him, he’s my son and I’ve no more sons now, I love Kassandra I truly do but I’ve lost my sons, I’ve lost my last bit of Achilles and Patroclus.”

It falls out like that, and part of that hurts Helenus, he knows that he is forever loved in her arms but such old names still hurt. Years elapsed and still those names sting.

It is unfair that such old names should still sting and hurt him.

Between the two boys Pyrrhus was the image of Deidamia with Achilles’ eyes and while Oneiros was alive he took mostly after Patroclus, it was forever clear the boys did not share a father. It was forever funny that while alive, although Pyrrhus was the elder of the two brothers, Oneiros outgrew him. Who would know that he would be taken from the living age while still young, no one would know how tall he would grow be.

He loved her so much but such words like these acted on old fears that he truly was no one's first choice, he was not wanted ever first.

“I .. . I’m sorry you feel that way Damia, I really am sorry you feel that way” he pulls her close and kneels to the floor with this, he holds her with his person. He folds around her and holds her with all that he can.

If he just truly holds her as tightly as he can then nothing can get to her, nothing can harm her as long as he holds her and hides her within himself. He can go through so much in life, he has seen the hardships of life first hand and none of that is anything that she deserves.

It is her voice that breaks the moment of silence between the two of them.

“He left me,, I let him leave me, I couldn’t keep my baby boy safe and simply keep him at home on skyros. I couldn’t even do that much as his mother! I let him leave me, I let my boys leave me and they died!’

Her breaths come quick as she speaks.

So much of everything she has felt pours forth to him, she wept for her son when he left, she wept for the child she has raised and cared for.

Grief swallowed her when black sails came in the direction of skyros, one could think it was simply the ending of a war and that people might be returned. However the only sails were those of black sails not a single other ship, and this was only trouble, this was only a sign of grief to be had. True to nature these sails came with nothing good, they took what was good to her, they took her peace.

They came with gifts and promises, they came with fortunes.

Nothing but empty things.

They came the same way when Achilles and Patroclus left her.

What's a child to do when they are offered all the things of a king, what is a child to do when they are told of glory to be won and gifts to be given. She remembers distinctly the gifts promised.

She remembers promised arms, surely too big. She remembers the promising of a shield, surely too heavy for her boy. She remembers the promise of a daughter to be a wife, surely he was too young to care for such things.

“I did NOTHING! I did nothing, Helenus, I did nothing but weep, I did nothing but look sad. I was an ideal wife and mother to some known force as I just sat where I was and wept for what I had lost and all I stood to lose. I should have done something, I could have done something I could have and I did nothing!”

Her sorrow rang out and filled the room, it made an effort to swallow both. He felt for her, he felt for her position and the emotion that hung on her back and weighed her down.