#if anyone else wonders its “Hektor”

[leynaeithnea]

“Just break it.” – he uttered coarsely in the momentary silence. – “I can’t stand. I wouldn’t be able even if you gave me more time. And even if I could, and I was lying about it, you don’t need an excuse.”

He was forced to stop and take a sharp breath against the vertigo and the headache. He pushed himself to lift his eye, despite the headache, to meet Ektor’s. He took another strained breath and spoke. “You won and I lost.” – he gestured vaguely about himself. – “This is your prize. I’m yours to break. Just… stop playing around and get it over with.”

Fanart of @holy-mother-of-whumpers 's "Odysseus in Chains"

[mythologyfolklore]

Ares and Athena through the years - Ch. 12

Chapter Twelve: The last days of the Trojan War

(A/N: Tw: Graphic depiction of violence, infanticide, horrific rape, sacrilege and basically war and pillaging in all its terror.)

.

Soon after Hektor's funeral, the Amazons came from Thrace to the aid of the Trojans, led by their queen Penthesileia.

Penthesileia was a daughter of Ares and the Amazon queen Otrera and had accidentally killed her beloved sister Hippolyta. And she craved only one thing: a glorious death in battle.

The Amazons were feared for their battle prowess and the Achaeans soon found out the hard way, that it hadn't been empty tales they had heard. They were small in numbers, but quickly overran the Achaean forces, until Akhilleus turned the tables.

The two demigods fought viciously, showing no mercy. The warrior queen was such a dangerous opponent, that the goddess Athena had to magically paralyse her limbs, before Akhilleus could fatally wound her with his spear.

He triumphed, but only for a few seconds; until he removed her helmet and beheld the splendour and beauty of a goddess, the charisma and strength of a daughter of Ares, that not even death could take away from her.

She was so beautiful that even his comrades and the Trojans around them stopped fighting and just marvelled at the fairness of the defeated warrior queen.

Akhilleus could practically feel, how the golden arrow of Eros pierced his heart.

Struck him with remorse and repentant love.

Made him mourn, that such perfection had to die.

It was the same intense grief he had felt, when Patroklos had died, which was strange, considering he had only known this woman for a few minutes and was currently staring at a corpse.

Still, he wondered if maybe he could have made her his queen and take her back to Phthia, where he came from.

.

All this happened before her father's eyes.

Ares saw his beloved daughter fall and felt like the ground was breaking away below him.

He saw Akhilleus standing over her, frozen and – Ares could tell – entranced by her unearthly beauty. Reaching out hesitantly to touch this impossibly fair face.

In a moment's notice, Ares was behind the demigod, invisible, but not inaudible, letting him feel his presence – and his anger.

“Do not touch my daughter, Peleídes”, the god of terrible war snarled into his ear.

Akhilleus pulled his hand back instantly. But he stayed where he was, staring down at Penthesileia's body.

Suddenly another Achaean opened his mouth, a really ugly fuck (Thersites, if Ares wasn't mistaken): “So the great Akhilleus is defeated by the beauty of a woman, like some ordinary skirt-chaser? Made weak by a woman, who wrought nothing but death and destruction on the Achaean army? I bet you want to strip her naked right on the battlefield and-”

He didn't get any further, because Akhilleus whirled around and sucker-punched the disgusting blusterer, killing him instantly.

“Anyone else?”, the son of Thetis asked the audience nonchalantly.

They collectively shook their heads in response, although there were a few agitated murmurs at the murder of one of their own.

But then Diomedes lifted his hand to silence them.

His bright blue eyes (so similar to those of Athena) stared right into the blood-red ones of Ares in sombre recognition. And in no way haughty or even disrespectful, just because he had been able to wound the war god once.

The Argive spoke: “Thersites had it coming and no one is going to miss him. Still, Akhilleus, you must be purified for the murder, even though you did a favour to everyone, including her divine father. Now choose wisely what to do with the Amazon queen, for I see murderous Ares and he is enraged over his daughter's demise.”¹

Uncomfortable silence.

Then Menélaos and Agamemnon exchanged a glance and a nod of agreement.

It was red-haired Menélaos, who spoke, to one of the surviving Amazons: “Penthesileia was a great warrior and truly the child of Ares Miaiphonos². Even though she was our enemy, she should not be done the outrage of being denied a proper funeral. Take her body back to Troy and bury her like the queen she was.”

“Take your fallen comrades with you. And keep her armour”, Agamemnon added, “We don't wish to incur the wrath of the fearsome Teikhesiplêtês³ by plundering his daughter.”

This gesture of respect was odd coming from the Achaeans, especially from the Atreides.

The god of war wasn't sure, if it could be attributed to his daughter's beauty or if his own adversary Athena had finally shown an glimpse of pity towards him and filled those simple mortal minds with respect and reverence.

It was a minuscule comfort to Ares, that his daughter's body would be treated with due respect.

But a comfort nonetheless.

Penthesileia was buried with the honours of a queen.

Priamos had her and her fallen companions laid to rest beside the tombs of his proud father, king Laomedon and his glorious son Hektor.

It was the least he could do for the radiant daughter of Ares and her companions, who had fallen in their effort to protect the Trojans, whom they had hardly known.

.

As Ares lingered by the side of his daughter's shroud, he met an interesting person.

He knew who she was, Apollon had often spoken of her.

“Lord Ares”, she whispered and fell onto her knees, shaking. “Teikhesiplêtês, Andreiphontês, Khrysopêlêx, Theos Miaiphonos, Deinos, Sunarogos Themistos-”⁴

“Enough”, he said calmly. “I'm not here as a god, but as a father.”

“Yes, Ánax⁵”, she answered.

“And you're Kassandra, daughter of Priamos”, he returned. “I have heard of you – the seeress, whom no one believes. Did you know, that you would meet me here?”

“Yes”, she whispered and added: “Though in my vision, you looked different. More terrifying than I can say.”

Ares smiled dryly. “So your vision showed you my true form, then. But gazing upon a god in reality would kill a mortal. When I walk the earth, I must use less frightening disguises.”

He had made himself look like an ordinary Trojan civilian, black-eyed and -haired, with dark skin. An innocuous-looking shape. One that no normal mortal would have pinned to be the war god in disguise.

“Now tell me, princess, what are you doing here?”

He hadn't meant to sound frightening, but still she trembled.

“I just came to pay my respects to your daughter Penthesileia. And to bring offerings. I didn't mean to disturb, I-”

“Sshhh. Easy, girl. I don't want to harm you.”

“The last god I encountered cursed me”, she whispered.

“I know”, Ares nodded, “But don't blame yourself. None of this shit is your fault. You didn't deserve to be cursed, just because you said no. He's a pretentious arsehole, most gods are. And on top of that, he can't get over his self-esteem issues.”

She snorted.

“Besides”, he continued, “It's not certain, if you could have saved yourself and others, if they listened to you. My father wanted this entire war to happen, then your jackass half-brother Paris was dumb enough to piss off my mother and half-sister and the entirety of Hellas and then he was too egotistical to put the well-being of an entire people over his own.”

Kassandra bit her lip and he saw a few stray tears run down her cheeks.

He sighed and crouched down in front of her. “Don't blame Helene, okay? She never asked for any of this shit either. She despises Paris more than anyone.”

“I know”, she choked. “Still it's not fair! What did we do to deserve this?!”

“You didn't do anything. Your ancestors screwed up and the Moirai and great Ananke are fucking bitches. I have never met either of them, but I would love to punch them in the face. Gods can't avoid their fates any more than humans can. Only the Primordials have the power to redirect the course of fate, but not even they can do it without consequence”, the war god explained.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want you to understand, that we Deathless Ones are no happier than you mortals are. We bargain, suffer and mourn. We just have all eternity to learn live with the pain. That doesn't make us happier.”

Ares sighed sadly and turned back to his daughter's shroud.

“It's a small comfort to me, that my dear daughter got the glorious battle death she wanted and the respect she deserved. Very few of my children get that luxury, ya know. They're like me, volatile and following their own laws.”

For a few moments neither of them spoke.

Then Kassandra finally approached the shroud to place down her offerings.

“She was a great woman”, she told the war god. “A true queen and warrior. You must be very proud of her.”

“I am. I really am.”

It was nothing more than a whisper.

He was Ares, god of the horrors of war, of the bloodshed, violence, murder, rage, the sacking of towns, rebellion, courage and fear.

He would not fall apart and cry in front of a mortal.

Soon he had composed himself and remarked: “You're a really unfortunate creature, even for a mortal. Ya know, Kassandra, with the shit you've gone through and that's still ahead of you, I'm surprised that you haven't killed yourself.”

“That would be the easy way out.”

“But still better than what you'll get put through once Troy is conquered”, Ares pointed out.

“I know, Lord Ares”, Kassandra replied, “But I will not run away. I'm not a coward.”

“Very brave. I'm impressed. And that's rare, believe me.”

“Thank you.”

“I can't save you from your doom – fate forbids me to.”

“I know.”

“But I pity you nonetheless and because I admire your courage, I want to give you something. Don't worry, I want nothing in return.”

“I …”

“Shhh. Open your mouth and hold still.”

He cupped her face and came as close as a few centimetres.

Then he breathed into her mouth, transferred some of his essence onto her and let go.

Kassandra blinked in confusion, but also seemed relieved, that he hadn't actually kissed her.

“How are you feeling?”, Ares asked.

“Better”, she marvelled, “Refreshed … stronger. What … what did you do to me?”

The war god smiled. “I've given you a better gift than your cursed precognition: the inner strength and courage to bear all the hardships ahead of you. I can't take your pain away, but I can take your weariness. Compassion isn't my strong suit, but you and your family have treated the remains of my beloved child and her companions with highest respect. Therefore, you're worthy of mine.”

“Thank you …”, the princess choked.

He didn't hug her, when she started to sob.

But he did hold her hand as comfort.

“I can't believe you got to kiss her!”, Apollon whined later, “When I asked her for a kiss, she outright told me to get lost!”

“I didn't kiss her, dumbass!”, Ares fumed, “I breathed courage and inner strength into her, so that she can bear her suffering and her terrible fate easier! I gave her a gift that is actually good for her, without asking for love or sex in return! Excuse me for not being a jerk for once in my life and pitying her more than you did! Get off my dick, Sunny Boy!”

“Why, you-!”

“He's right, you know”, Artemis threw in, “Sorry, brother, but I'm taking his side. He isn't into her and still was kinder to her than you. So leave him and her alone.”

Apollon huffed, but fell silent.

.

Shortly after, another deity wept for her son.

Êôs, Titanis of the dawn, was the mother of Memnon, an Ethiopian leader, who had been sent to help the Trojans. A wise and modest young man, yet a brave warrior; Êôs and Tithonos had raised him well.

He too fell against Akhilleus after a fierce duel, just like Hektor and Penthesileia before him.

The divine allies of the Achaeans cheered, especially Akhilleus' mother Thetis.

But Apollon, Artemis and Aphrodite mourned silently.

Êôs didn't care about silent.

She screamed, howled with rage, showered Thetis, Athena, Poseidon and even Zeus and Hera with profanities and curses.

She threatened to descend to the hidden depths of the netherworld and dwell with the dark Protogenoi, with holy Khaos and dark Nyx, Erebos and Tartaros and to never ascend to the skies to bring the light of day.

Zeus rose from his throne and it began to thunder outside, but Ares stepped in.

He placed his hand on her head and – Athena could see it – took away her rage, leaving only her motherly grief. Then he took everyone by surprise by embracing the dawn goddess and holding her tightly. He whispered something into her ear, she wailed loudly and cried into his shoulder.

Aphrodite looked really jealous at this display, but Apollon put a hand onto her shoulder and shook his head sombrely.

For a moment Athena was confused as to why Ares was being so tender. It was almost like he was showing sympathy …

Oh.

Stupid her.

It was sympathy.

He had lost two children and knew how she was feeling. And he sympathised particularly with Êôs' sadness, because she had once been his mistress. Because he knew that even with all her mortal affairs, she was still in love with him, albeit it was unrequited.

Athena had never felt compassion with the allies of Troy, but this got to her, almost like an epiphany.

She didn't show it, but she said nothing either.

There was nothing a virgin goddess could say to two heartbroken parents.

.

Apollon was the one to put Akhilleus down.

The demigod had caught a bad case of hubris and tried to break down the gates of Troy and take the city all by himself. And when Apollon had told him to cut it out, Akhilleus had given him the middle finger and told him to get out of his way.

For a god, who was lethal even from afar, this was one offence too many.

The Bringer of Plagues stepped behind Paris, who was standing on the city wall.

Whispered in his ear and guided his hand.

The arrow, dipped in the venomous wrath of the divine archer, flew and hit its mark: the only part of Akhilleus, that wasn't invulnerable.

Most people wouldn't think a shot to the heel as being really bad, but as mentioned before, the arrow had been poisoned. And it pierced a vital vein.

Akhilleus killed a few more Trojans, but he was dead in a matter of minutes.

Ajax Telamonides and Odysseus rescued the demigod's corpse from being plundered by the Trojans, but the Achaeans mourned his death for three weeks.

Apollon on the other hand was triumphant, as were the others, who shared his side. Especially Ares seemed to practically ooze with grim satisfaction at his half-brother's retribution. The war god didn't gloat or triumph aloud and in front of the other gods. He didn't have to; the twisted, grim smile on his face said it all.

Hera on the other hand was furious and showered Apollon with reproaches and insults.

The son of Leto bore it silently for a while and stubbornly stared at the floor.

But when she accused him of ingratitude, reminded him, that he had been at Thetis' wedding and claimed, that he had murdered Akhilleus out of envy, Apollon snapped.

“SHUT THE TARTAROS UP!!!”, he roared, “HE HAS OFFENDED ME MULTIPLE TIMES, MURDERED TWO OF MY SONS – ONE OF THEM IN FRONT OF MY ALTAR NO LESS, AND HE WAS STILL A CHILD! – KILLED A DAUGHTER OF YOUR SON ARES AND A SON OF ÊÔS AND TRIED TO TEAR DOWN TROY BY HIMSELF, SO THE ACHAEANS CAN COMMIT THE WORST WAR CRIMES!!! WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU EXPECT??? THAT I WOULD GIVE A FUCK, JUST BECAUSE I WAS AT HIS MOTHER'S WEDDING?! IT WAS AN HONOUR WE DID TO HER, NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND! WE OWE HER NOTHING! AND WE CERTAINLY DON'T OWE RESPECT TO THAT SHITFACE OF A HERO, WHO DOESN'T DESERVE ANY OF IT! YOU DON'T KNOW HOW IT FEELS TO LOSE A CHILD!!! GET OFF MY FUCKING BACK, YOU – YOU …!!!”

“Shhh! Easy!”, Aphrodite hushed him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Don't stoop so low as to throw petty insults. Your father's anger isn't worth it. And neither is she.”

She threw a hateful glare at Hera.

Ares placed a hand on his other shoulder and turned to Zeus: “Father, with your permission we'll see ourselves out.”

His father consented: “That would be wise. And Apollon, even though you're right with what you say, you must show respect to my wife. Remember that for the future.”

Apollon bit his lip, but nodded.

Artemis took her brother's hand and together with Ares and Aphrodite they left the assembly.

.

“I'm sorry for lashing out at your mother like that”, Apollon apologised as soon as the four were alone in the garden.

“Don't mind that”, the war god muttered, “Normally I'd be pissed, but you were right with everything you said. She's been nothin' but a bitch in the last decades. I'm mad at her anyway, for all the times she sicced Daddy's Owl on me. My mother is faithful to my father, but the price for that is, that she doesn't know parental grief. You know her. One day she's the perfect mother and the next day she's the worst. An' yeah, sure, Thetis suffers, but we all suffer more and it's partly the fault of her son – the rest is the fault of the other Achaeans.”

“Can I ask you something?”, Artemis inquired.

Ares nodded. “Sure.”

“How much do you really know?”

He gawked at her in amazement.

Then he laughed, for the first time since Penthesileia's death. “Ya know, you're the first person ever to ask me that! Ever! And I'm, like, 38 000 years old!”

“… That's depressing.”

“Yeah, but I'm used to it.”

“That's even more depressing!”

Ares grinned. “An' that's why we're friends! Hey, guys, wanna get plastered?”

Artemis shrugged: “Sure, I'm game.”

Apollon smiled weakly: “Me too. I really need a drink.”

Aphrodite chuckled: “Absolutely! Let's get roaring drunk at Dionysos' bar and talk about the future and the good ol' days!”

They spent the rest of the day and night doing exactly that.

.

Meanwhile in the assembly hall, the other Olympians sat in silence at the scene that just had occurred.

Until Zeus turned to his wife and rebuked her: “Not Apollon's wrath brought Akhilleus low, but his own hubris. He brought this upon himself. As the god of law I can't and won't make exceptions, not even for Thetis. I value her more than anyone, but that doesn't change the fact, that her son was ill-bred. After all the offences he committed towards gods and mortals alike, it would have been extremely unjust to grant him a longer life span. Why would I spare him, when I couldn't spare the children of mine and of Poseidon, Ares, Apollon, or Êôs? There is nothing more to say, Hera. He was fated to die and that's that. Be quiet.”

Hera fumed and was about to make a retort, but Athena put a hand on her shoulder.

“Let's not fight pointlessly”, the goddess of wisdom said. “Instead, let us attend Akhilleus' funeral, for the sake of Thetis.”

“And that of your friends Odysseus and Diomedes?”, Poseidon teased.

Athena glared at him. “Shut up.”

.

Thetis was relentless in her grief for her fallen son.

Her sisters came to her son's funeral to wail with her.

Even the Mousai came to attend and sing for the Nereid's sake.

“Damn Zeus”, the sea goddess wailed, “Damn him, damn him, damn him! He forced me to marry a mortal man against my will and gave my son – the only comfort of my unwanted fate – a short life span, while at the same time promising me, that he would gain everlasting fame! What do I care about glory, now that I had to bury my son, while he was still young! To Tartaros with all of them! When the other gods bound him, it was me who saved him and in return I had to endure all of this?! What did I do to deserve this! I will go up to Olympos and remind him of all the things I have done for him and all the things I had to go through, because of his ingratitude, so that he might be ashamed-”

“Shut up.”

Everyone whirled around and in amazement stared at Kalliope, the Mousa of epic poetry.

She was frowning, but as she continued, her voice was gentle: “Don't be so foolish as to invoke the wrath of both gods and men. You're not the only one suffering. Kronion too had to see his dear sons suffer and die, without being able to save them. Herakles became a god, but only after endless torment. I had to endure many pains for the sake of my son Orpheus, only to see him die in a most cruel manner, torn apart by the Bakkhai. Several of the Dodekatheoi are mourning for their children, who fell in this cruel and pointless war – some of them were felled by your son. Be as tactful to them as you expect them to be with you. Troy will soon fall, just like your son, that is the decree of the incorruptible and unyielding Moirai. As for Akhilleus: as long as civilization exists, he will be remembered in song, poetry and stories – he will not be forgot by mankind. So great is his glory. That shall be your comfort.”

Then Helios descended from the sky and primordial Nyx brought darkness and the relief of her gentle son Hypnos.

.

During the funeral games for Akhilleus, Athena had interfered several times, to the favour of her dear favourite Odysseus.

In the end, he had even won the armour of the great hero, that Hephaistos had made for Akhilleus, before he had gone to slay Hektor.

The other contender had been Ajax the Greater, who had been so furious at his loss, that he had plotted Odysseus' demise.

Athena admitted, that he'd had a right to the armour just as much as Odysseus, but still she couldn't let him slay one of her favourite heroes, so she had struck him with madness.

When Ajax came to his senses and realised, that he had killed a whole flock of sheep in his attempt to kill those who had wronged him, he was filled with deep despair.

After a tearful goodbye to his concubine and son, he threw himself into his own sword.

Agamemnon and Menélaos had wanted to deny the almost-murderer a proper burial.

But Odysseus, ridden by conscience and fear of the gods, had reminded them, that Ajax had been a great hero and a great support to the Achaeans against the Trojans. And besides, disrespecting the dead meant disrespecting the gods.

The Atreides were surprised at Odysseus generosity, but wouldn't object to his reasoning.

“I hated him as long as it was appropriate”, the wily king of Ithaka explained, “But now that he's dead, I have no reason to hold grudges. Besides, it is my fault that he lost it.”

He turned towards Ajax' family: “I promise, that you will not be scorned or mistreated, because of his mistake. If you want, I can help you bury him too-”

“No thank you”, Teukros declined flatly, “My brother's spirit is likely still angry at you, so he wouldn't want it. I will do it alone – it's all I can do, because I can't return home without him. But we appreciate the support.”

.

Athena had revealed to Odysseus and the seer Kalkhas how they would gain the final victory over the Trojans.

So they had enlisted the help of Akhilleus' teenage son Pyrrhos (or Neoptolemos, as he was also called) and of Philoktetes, an archer, whom they had abandoned of an island before the war, because he had been incapacitated by a snake bite, which had given off an unbearable stench, as well as mortal agony. But he wasn't just any archer; he owned a very special bow – the very weapon that once had belonged to the great Herakles. The then mortal hero had gifted it to him, along with the poisoned arrows, as reward for lighting his funeral pyre to relieve his suffering.

Neoptolemos had been easy to persuade, but Philoktetes had only buried his righteous grudge after the now deified Herakles had appeared before his old friend to reveal his destiny and his role in the end of the war. Now he had calmed down and agreed to help, much to the delight of the Achaeans.

The unerring arrows of Herakles, dipped in the Hydra's venom, felled many Trojans, but they weren't too important.

The only one whose death mattered was Paris, who had caused this entire war and brought unending suffering over both sides.

He was wounded by two of the poisoned arrows and in desperation dragged himself to his ex-wife Oinone, an Oreade and great healer, to save him. But Oinone, still hurt that he had dumped her for Helene, told him to go and fuck himself.

And so Paris died a long, agonising but well-deserved death.

Overcome with remorse, Oinone built him a funeral pyre and jumped into the flames to die with him. She had been the only one to whole-heartedly mourn this ominous man.

The Trojans mourned him as a formality, but in truth no one was really sad as he had been hated by all.

.

Helene of Sparta wept, but not for him; she cried for things that had been out of her power and because she was now forced to marry Paris' brother Deiphobos, who was just as unpleasant.

She refused to share his bed; that man was no match for a daughter of Zeus.

Instead she sneaked out and wandered the streets, homesick and wishing she was dead or better yet, could turn back time and stop all this from happening.

She was wandering through a dark alley, when she came across two beggars.

“Mild alms, kind lady”, the shorter one rasped.

Pitying him, she took off the golden armlet she was wearing and gave it to him.

But then their eyes met and she recognised him, of course she did; she would have recognised those sly, knowing mossy green eyes anywhere.

“Odysseus!!!”

“Shhhh!”, he hissed. “Be quiet, Helene! Do you want to get us killed?!”

“Sorry”, she whispered. “Wait, Diomedes? You're here too?! How did you two get in? What are you doing here?”

“How we got in here doesn't matter”, Diomedes grumbled, “As for why we're here, how can we trust you not to rat us out? You abandoned your husband and daughter twenty years ago, not to mention-”

“I didn't abandon them!”, she lamented, “I was abducted by Aphrodite and Paris! And here in Troy I have been met with scorn and animosity from everyone except Priamos and Hektor, but he's dead! I hate being responsible for all of this! You have no idea how often I have wished, I … I … I just want to go home! I miss Sparta, I miss Menélaos and I miss Hermione! I … I never got to see her grow up!”

“Don't cry”, Odysseus told her in a gentler tone, “I miss my wife and son too. I too want to go home to Ithaka, spend the rest of my days at Penelope's side and see my son grow into a fine man. I know how you feel, trust me. And if you help me, we can finally end this damn war and get out of here.”

“How is Menélaos?”, Helene inquired.

“He's fine”, Diomedes said, “As brash and volatile as ever. I'll be honest with you, he's furious at you. But I'm sure he'll change his mind as soon as he sees you again.”

Helene smiled drily: “Then my cursed beauty would be useful for once in my life. But still, why are you here?”

In the end she assisted them in stealing the Palladion by showing them the way and helping them get out unseen.

As they said their goodbyes, Helene took off the locket she was wearing.

“Menélaos gave it to me”, she said gently. “Tell him, that I have kept it for all these years. It was the only thing I had left of him and my home.”

.

The giant wooden horse had been Odysseus' idea.

In retrospect, he couldn't believe it hadn't come to him sooner.

But that didn't matter now. They had a city to conquer.

It took several weeks to build the horse and a few days to select the warriors that were to hide inside the hollow structure.

But someone had to trick the Trojans into taking the horse into their city.

The man chosen for this task was Sinon, a cousin of Odysseus and equally sly dog. He had them whip him and then they dragged the horse in front of the city gate. There the poser claimed, that the horse was dedicated to Athena as penance for the theft of the Palladion and that they had tried to sacrifice him, but he had got away.

It worked.

The Trojans tore off a part of their impenetrable city wall, because the wooden horse was too big for the gates. After that they pulled it into their city, not suspecting that it was hiding a bunch of Achaean warriors.

Princess Kassandra and the priest Laokoon warned, that it was a ruse, but no one believed Kassandra and Laokoon was quickly silenced by Athena, who sent a pair of serpents to kill him and his sons.

Kassandra grabbed a torch and was about to set the horse on fire and kill the Achaeans inside, but was held back by the Trojans – much to the relief of the hidden warriors.

They waited until nightfall, until most Trojans were asleep.

Then Sinon gave the signal to the troops waiting outside, the contingent hidden inside the horse crept outside and the massacre began.

.

“Regretting your support yet?”, Apollon asked frostily. “Or are you actually proud of the Achaeans' poor conduct?”

“What do you mean?”, Hera frowned.

Now Ares stepped forward. He was holding a huge scroll, probably metres long.

“Glad you ask!”, he sneered. “Do ya know what I have here?”

Everyone but Zeus, Apollon and Thémis (she was here too) shook their heads.

The war god smiled coldly: “As Zeus' heir, one of the duties I have is looking through my father's mail. It's a real nightmare, but sometimes it does come in handy. This is a list of complaints and revenge prayers, mostly about certain members of the Achaeans. If I read ya the entire list, we'd be here all night. So I'll give you a summary. Starting with Agamemnon: blasphemy against several gods, sacrileges, attempted murder of his own daughter and human sacrifice towards Artemis, offence of a priest of Apollon, offence of a demigod, violation of the laws of hospitality, murder. Akhilleus: rape, violation of the laws of hospitality, blasphemy against several gods, murder of several other demigods, attacking of a god. Diomedes: physical harm of several gods, attacking of a god, attempted murder of a demigod. Odysseus: attempted perjury, judicial murder …”

How dare he talk shit about Diomedes and Odysseus!

Ares probably guessed what she was thinking, but didn't show it.

With a scoff he looked over his fellow gods. “You didn't expect that, did ya? That I keep track of everyone's bullshit? Y'all keep forgetting, that aside from terrible war, I'm also a god of civil disturbance, crime and order. But ya know what? Why waste the night by rattlin' down this huge ass scroll? Why don't we just look at what's goin' on right now and let that speak for itself? Father, may I?”

“You may”, Zeus consented.

Ares threw a red ball of light at the ceiling, opening a screen of what was happening in Troy.

Several of the gods gasped.

The war god had finally stopped smirking and was arching an eyebrow at the scene.

“They're really goin' at it, aren't they? Pretty poor sportsmanship, eh?”

“Silence!”, Zeus ordered.

His eyes were wide with appal, as he stared at one particular scene:

Hektor's widow Andromákhe was fleeing from Neoptolemos, son of Akhilleus, with her infant son Astyanax in her arms, but he quickly caught up to them. What the young man did then was terrible: he brutally ripped the child out of his mother's arms and pierced him with his sword. Andromákhe's anguished screams were so heart-wrenching, that even Poseidon averted his eyes.

Apollon furiously pointed at that scene: “Look at this! Aren't you so proud?! Some fine grandson Thetis got there! He's even worse than his father! He just brutally murdered an infant! A defenceless little child and tore him out of his mother's arms!”

“Shut y-”, Hera started, but then Zeus cried out: “Oh my me!”

Neoptolemos had entered one of Zeus' temples and found king Priamos, seeking shelter at the altar together with a few others. Priamos stepped in front of his wife and the others to at least try to protect them and scolded the young man for his impiety. But Neoptolemos, still holding the corpse of Astyanax, clubbed the old man to death with it in front of the horrified onlookers.⁶

Zeus looked like he wanted to puke.

Athena felt like puking too. This was just …

But before she could end that thought, Ares sneered: “Pretty inhuman, that boy. How old is he, fifteen? Most boys at that age go to school or learn a craft, play silly games and dream of silly things. And he's beating an old man to death with a child's corpse at father's altar! Good thing his grandmother isn't here – oh great, it gets worse!”

“Worse???”, Poseidon responded incredulously, “What could be a worse crime than-?”

A piercing scream cut him off.

The focus had shifted to a different scene.

They saw Ajax the Lesser enter a temple of Athena, where he found princess Kassandra clinging to a statue of the goddess.

Athena blanched and burst into tears at what happened next.

Even Ares squeezed his eyes shut, as the Lokrian committed the one crime he considered unforgivable (and it wasn't sacrilege).

“Abominable”, he snarled. “Some hero, that. Of all the war crimes he could have committed, it had to be the worst one, the one even I can't stand … and you call me barbaric.”

He turned to Athena and she loathed his pitying expression.

“Tell me, Daddy's Owl, is that how you define 'war for a just cause' or 'justice in war'? Where is the heroism, the virtue and sense of honour you always talk about? Does this correspond with your idealism, if the side you support rears its ugly head like that? Is this what you're willing to tolerate, as long as your side wins? I'll repeat Apollon's question from earlier: are you proud, Daddy's Owl? Are you?”

“Shut up!”, she howled and cried into her hands.

Poseidon gently touched her arm and tried to give his niece at least a modicum of comfort, but there was nothing that could console Athena now.

And to her distress Ares went on, this time addressing Hera: “And you, mother? Do you feel proud and triumphant? Do you condone all of this, just because that moron Paris didn't pick you to be the fairest? The extent of your pettiness and spite are truly pathetic. Rejoice all you want, but your victory is hollow.”

“That's enough”, Zeus finally told him. “No more of your taunting, Ares. No one is the victor in this war, just like you wanted. The Achaeans have won, but their divine allies haven't. As for you, this is your war now and the mortals are under your cruel sway, but you had to bear too great losses for this to be worth it, for this to satisfy you.”

“No”, Ares agreed. “We both have always known, that it wasn't worth it. Then again, father, this was your will, wasn't it? You pulled the strings through all of this, like the manipulator you are. And yet, even you lose, even you suffer. Not even you saw this coming, even you can't bear this and that is the price you pay for allowing this to happen. This is my definition of justice. Because I'm right and you all know it, that's one of the reasons why you hate me. How does it feel to finally have to face the fact, that you're all terrible people, just like me?”

Now he finally ended his sardonic speech and turned to leave. “Either way, I have no more business here. I'll pack my things and leave Olympos. My work won't be needed anytime soon, so I'll go back to Thrake and then maybe see the world. Enjoy the next centuries of relative peace and recovery for mankind.”

No one stopped him, as he grabbed his cloak and strode out of the hall with his head held high.

.

It seemed like an eternity, until the ensuing silence was broken.

Poseidon was the one who did: “Zeus, I don't think they deserve a full victory. Only those who are granted a triumphant return are truly victorious. And I don't think they have earned the right to come home in triumph or even at all.”⁷

Zeus agreed: “No, they really haven't. I hereby decree, that only those who have acted honourably and with piety will be granted a safe and triumphant homecoming and a good life for the rest of their days.”

“… Revenge.”

The King of the Skies blinked. “What was that, my daughter?”

Athena lowered her hands.

Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, her cheeks flushed with shame and fury and her face was a hideous grimace of unbridled hatred.

“Revenge”, she snarled, “I want revenge!”

She stared at the scene on the screen, which was still on the ceiling.

The Achaeans were currently failing to punish Ajax for his sacrilege, despite Odysseus' fierce demand to have him stoned to death to appease the wrathful goddess.

“LET ME DESTROY THEM!”, Athena roared all of the sudden, terrifying everyone, “LET ME DESTROY AJAX, HIS BAND AND ALL THOSE WHO DIDN'T PUNISH HIM!!! I WON'T HAVE A MOMENT'S REST, BEFORE I HAVE SEEN THIS DISGUSTING BASTARD SUFFER AND PERISH AT MY OWN HANDS!!! LET ME HAVE RETRIBUTION, FATHER! GIVE ME JUSTICE!!!”

“You shall have it”, Zeus pacified her, “Take my lightning bolts, my armour and my sceptre. This once, the sky, the winds and storms shall obey your command. Unleash your wrath and avenge all offences to your heart's content.”

Poseidon stepped forward. “The sea shall assist you as well”, he spoke grimly, “For I too am angered and only seeing them drown after a helpless struggle can appease me now.”

He chuckled coldly: “Ares was right; we really are terrible people. But so were they and I don't see why we should let them get away with it.”

“We won't”, Zeus assured him. “I won't.”

.

It's said, that the sea is a cruel mistress.

And that she never releases, what she claims.

That was certainly true for the Lord of the Sea.

Even the greatest fleet of ships was nothing more than a bunch of tiny papyrus boats on Thalassa's⁸ seemingly endless surface, small and breakable.

The Lord of the Deep and the Bright-eyed Goddess easily tore them to shreds in their relentless wrath.

Many of their crew drowned, but most importantly the one who had desecrated the sacred ground of Athena with the vilest of crimes.

Some were favoured for good conduct and reached their homes quickly and safely.

Some came home only to find nasty surprises waiting there.

Then there were those, who only came home after years of troublesome journey, because one or the other god was wroth, but not enough to outright kill them.

One of the last ones was favoured by Athena and his name would be known by his insanely long journey home:

Odysseus.

.

---

.

1) According to one source, Diomedes throws a hissy fit, disrespects Penthesileia's corpse and is ready to throw hands with Akhilleus, because Thersites is a cousin of his. But this makes no sense for a lot of reasons (like Thersites being a common soldier, while Diomedes is one of the Argive leaders), so I ignored that version and decided to make him more sensible than that. I went with the version, which is most detailed, but doesn't mention anything of this. I also decided to let him keep the magical sight Athena gave him, so he always recognises a god, when he sees one. 2) Miaiphonos: "Blood-Stained One / Defiled with gore or murder" 3) Teikhesiplêtês: "Stormer of Cities / Stormer of Walls" 4) "Stormer of Cities, Destroyer of Men, Of The Golden Helmet, Blood-Stained God, Terrible One, Ally of Thémis" (Yes, this was my excuse to list as many epithets as decently possible.) 5) Ánax: "Lord, King" 6) I'm not making this up! There are a lot of depictions on ancient Greek pottery, showing Priamos' death like that, or as similarly brutal. 7) This is an actual concept: One important part of a war is the return home afterwards (Nostos). Only a triumphant return would make the victory truly complete. 8) Thalassa: The primordial personification of the sea's surface. A daughter of Aither (the bright, upper air) and Hemera (the day) and the spouse of Pontos, the primordial deep sea.

[justkeeptrekkin]

Celestial Bodies: the OCs!

Hi everyone! So, my 1920s ineffable husbands fic, Celestial Bodies, was received with the most ridiculously unexpected praise- I was fully prepared for people to hate this fic because it had so many original characters. But you all seemed to love them just as much as I do, and that really means a lot.

I had a think about this, and figured, hey, some people might be interested in hearing a big of back-story. If you want to find out more about their appearances, you can find it in this post here. 

Julian Knackerton (Jules)

Jules has always stood out amongst the rest. As a child, people immediately identified him as ‘the strange quiet one’, the child who stood at the periphery and measured the situation before joining. So introspective and, to his teachers, almost frighteningly advanced in his studies. Jules has never considered himself that strange, really, just different. The two needn’t mean the same thing. 

His was born in Kensington. His mother, nee Edi Abramovich and daughter of Russian-Jewish immigrant Lev Amramovich, married local businessman Fenston Knackerton. They had just one child, Julian, who showed signs of being incredibly empathetic and kind, if not very quiet. They had no concerns for him at all, despite what his school peers (and their parents) said about him. 

Julian went to a local grammar school and subsequently to Cambridge, where he met Dodders and Bingy. They fast became friends, as not a single one of them performed any pretence- unlike some of the boys at the University. Jules never had so many friends as he did at Cambridge, and it’s for that reason that he loved the experience quite so much. He is unfailingly loyal to each of them. His parents often asked whether he had met any nice girls in Cambridge, their letters regular and comforting. He always responded: not yet, mother. I’m not at all interested in marriage and daresay I never shall be. I hope that doesn’t disappoint.

Perhaps it did disappoint, at first, and likely neither one of them understood. But they didn’t mention it any further, and when they saw just how comfortable he was without any prospect of a wife, they didn’t feel like they had to press the matter. 

Jules has never had a job, living off the rewards of his father’s successful mattress business. Or at least, that’s the impression that the others have had. 

His employers, the British Secret Service, know otherwise.

Xenophon Smith (Xeno)

Xeno will never work for the British Secret Service, and we can thank God for that. But that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t have a wonderful way of looking at the world that we could all learn from.

Xenophon Smith is one of four children, a middle child; the oldest, Alcibiades; second, Agrippina; then, Xenophon; then the youngest, Hektor. Each of the Smith children shone in one particular way or other. Alcibiades became a minor politician, being fairly skilled in rhetoric and encouraging the crowd. He is quite fierce, to this day. Agrippina is a spectacular sportswoman, and became one of the few women to play at the Olympic games, in swimming. Hektor is a chef, and cooks at the Ritz. (How he came upon this job is unknown to anyone in the Smith family. Xeno had told Crowley that his little brother was looking for a job, so perhaps it something to do with that? Xeno will never really know.)

Xeno’s skill, meanwhile, lies in his optimism. It is not a skill to be downplayed, although people have done so throughout his entire life. He is one of the only people amongst his friends to have not gone to university, instead, enlisted in the War. 

He is a survivor of The Somme. 

Stronger than anyone in his family, including his athlete sister and rhetorician brother, Xeno emerges from the tragedies of World War I and re-enters the social scene in London, living with his parents. He finds good in all things and all people, finding joy in many things that might help him forget the rest. Very few people can mentally survive such monstrosities as he’s seen, but Xeno does. 

He meets Jules one day in the post-office queue, when Jules helps him find the right sized envelope to post a letter to his sister. How they ended up being so close, it’s hard to say, though it may have something to do with the fact that after their post-office meeting, they went to The Ritz and got extraordinarily drunk.

Shortly before Crossley Hall in 1923, Xeno thinks he’s actually quite ready to live on his own. After the heart-break at Crossley Hall, and no longer living with his family, he thinks he might, in fact, need a little help to get back up on his feet. And thus he meets Evans. 

Evans is the first person to speak to him neither with patience nor impatience; only with interest, and perhaps something close to admiration. Xeno, at last, feels special.

Tilly Topping (Tilly)

Tilly is from a large family based in Birmingham. During the industrial revolution, her father, Samuel Topping, worked in a cutlery manufacturer, it being a city well-known during the Industrial Revolution for its metalwork. The owner of the factory, Gerald Smythe, had been a cruel employer and overworked his men and women. Samuel had led a rebellion against Smythe Metalworks, and ended up, inadvertently, being elected its new leader. Samuel Topping thus came into a sudden influx of wealth, formally bought the factory off of Gerald Smythe, and renamed it: Topping’s. 

Samuel and his wife had already two young children, and moved from their smog filled little home to a countryside mansion. They had two more children before they had Matilda, aka Tilly. She is the youngest of the family and by far the feistiest. Her father, ironically, has never been keen on her attitude, fearing it would bring a bad name up on their family; her mother keenly encouraged it. Tilly still likes to spend time with her parents, but moved to London once she finished at school to see a little more of the world. Samuel Topping hoped that this would earn her a good husband from a wealthy, London-based family. 

Tilly was dazzled by London and its nightlife. During her younger years, she found that boys were quite entertaining, but only to laugh at. This hasn’t changed in her adult years. It wasn’t until her first burlesque show in Hackney that she realised that she was extraordinarily interested in women, and not just in the mischievous girlish way she’d always told herself had been the case. 

She has a brief but tumultuous relationship with a dancer from a club in Hackney, waking up one day to find that she’s been both robbed and left for a man, of all things. She mends her broken heart by finding some silly men with little pretence and nothing to hide- running into Dodders, Bingy, Xeno and Jules at Henley rowing regatta. They take her under their wing like they’ve known her all their lives, and they are immediately dedicated. 

Although she has never been afraid of entering social spheres alone, with no recognisable name title, no one to link arms with her, she is far happier having her boys around. She especially loves how no-nonsense Jules is. And it is through Dodders that she meets a certain girl, pretty and perpetually pink cheeked. Constantly smiling and gentle in way that Tilly has never encountered. 

Tilly has a pet guinea-pig called Sausage. This surprises any guests who come to her flat. Lottie Swaddle-Swidworth loves both of them. 

Lottie Swaddle-Swidworth (Lottie)

Lottie went to Hanford Girls’ School in Dorset. Lottie specifically chose this girls’ school in the countryside because it has a lot of horses. There is very little that brings her as much joy as riding a horse, answering to no one and feeling no pressures of the world other than whether Sugar-plum the horse needs to stop for a drink.

The Swaddle-Swidworth family go back generations. They hail from Wiltshire and own half of the county. Lottie has a sister called Phillida, who is substantially more intellectually endowed than Lottie but not necessarily any better for it. The Swaddle-Swidworth parents were sad not to have borne a son, but were happy, at least, with two content daughters, should they marry well might inherit the estate. Phillida is three years older than Lottie and does just this; she finds a silly but impressionable man from Lancashire and they both inherit the family home. Phillida reigns there for many decades.  

Lottie quickly realises that she, in her family’s eyes, is now superfluous. She is loved, but nothing she will do will make any of them proud. In a way, she is relieved; she has never had her sights set on greatness. But it naturally, of course, makes her feel dull and unappreciated (when she is in fact shining-bright and wonderful). 

Seeing little else that she can do, she moves to London to live with a school friend. She misses the countryside enormously, and dreams of cuddling chickens and mucking out the stables. At night she dreams of fields, but during the day, she dines at the finest restaurants, shops at Harrods, and drinks at the best watering holes. It is at one of these watering holes that she meets Humphrey Doddering-Heights, and the both of them get on enormously well. 

It makes perfect sense to get engaged the following day. It pleases both of their families enormously. 

Lottie likes all of his friends, and they all like her. It all seems like it’s going perfectly, could she want anything more? It’s only when she meets the most astoundingly beautiful, powerful, witty woman on the planet that Lottie reassesses everything she knows about herself. (Perhaps those midnight games she played with the girls when she was at school, kissing each other for a dare, were a bit more meaningful than she’d realised at the time.) Tilly is larger than life, but kind and intelligent. She is unabashedly herself and she sparkles. 

Tilly makes her feel like she can sparkle too. 

Humphrey Doddering-Heights (Dodders)

Dodders comes from an old Devonshire based family. In England, you do still get these types of families, even after the economic drain of the war; they have generations of history, having owned estates in the countryside, having owned their land and seemingly going back forever and ever. If you walk down the corridors of Crossley Hall, you’ll see the esteemed Doddering family, once a strong line of soldiers, wise and sometimes cruel. You’ll see them marry into the Heights family for peace-keeping reasons, and over the years, each Doddering-Heights master portrait becomes a little less intimidating, a little less foreboding, and there’s possibly a little more creative licence used in making their jaws appear squarer than they probably were.

Dodders is the gentlest of them all, the softest product of the Doddering-Heights lineage. But by no means the least brave or good of heart. He has a younger brother, Eustace, whom he has done all he can to help out of the Doddering-Heights home; an oppressive place that was filled with dread and anxiety during their childhood. He’s learned to cling onto his golden-retriever smile and bouncing attitude, if not just to make his little brother smile. Life was often spent tip-toeing quietly downstairs so as not to disturb their parents, playing loudly in Humphrey’s room with toy soldiers. They weren’t allowed to play outside, or on the beach. 

Sometimes, the butler Thomas would sneak them away to the dinghy for an afternoon, conspiring with their tutor (who would tell their parents they’d be going for an educational trip to the Roman ruins in Bath). Thomas would be the one to come running if they had nightmares; and Dodders would be the one to wipe his little brother’s nose when he cried.

Shortly after graduating (with an underwhelming qualification from Cambridge, having just scraped by in his exams) he left the Doddering-Heights estate and moved to London, where he lived off a monthly allowance from his parents- who assumed he was training to be a lawyer, soon to return to Devon. He ended up being fired quite swiftly from his job, and did not tell his parents. His little brother, hating Cambridge just as much as he had, ran away to live with him in London. 

His parents think they’re supporting his training in London up until 20th February 1924, when he tells him he’ll be moving in with Bingy (who does end up having a job, and can hold one, too.) He adds to this that he is no longer engaged to Lottie. Their parents do not take this well. 

Eustace marries a lovely girl from a Lincolnshire family, more old money that doesn’t look like it’ll dry out soon in the wake of the war. He is very happy walking dogs and doing little else. This, at least, pleases the parents.

Dodders is a naturally joyful man who’s used this demeanour to brighten everyone’s lives. 

Particularly a certain-

Alistair Bingham (Bingy/Bing)

Bingy does not come from old money, but he does come from a background of relative privilege. His father is a doctor from a small town North of London, and his mother is an History teacher. Bingy inherited their wits, and gained something more that neither of his parents had; a sense of humour. 

When he joined Eton, he prepared himself to hate it, knowing that his peers would all be children of politicians and Lords and Dukes, people who were far higher up the food chain than himself. At the tender age of 11 he ended up being put in a dorm with two rather brutish boys, twins of the Earl of Kent, and another boy. This boy was quite short and round; little did either of them know he’d shoot up to six foot five by the time he was seventeen. This boy was Humphrey Doddering-Heights, and he was the first person Bingy met at Eton. 

When the others teased him for his relatively low social standing, Humphrey didn’t seem to care. More than that, he seemed to like Bingy, despite his serious demeanour. Perhaps because, through it all, Dodders knew how to identify someone who was actually dull, actually cold. Bingy warmed around Dodders immediately. 

They became a duo very quickly, the other boys singling them out at first, hiding their books or leaving dog turd on their desks. After a while, people grew bored of teasing them. Bingy never retaliated, only coolly dealt with said dog turd without comment or a turned nose. There was something disappointing in that, for the bullies who lived with them. 

Bingy has known that he loves Dodders since pretty much the beginning. 

He graduates with a 2:1 at Cambridge in History, going through it all with Dodders. They find something in each other that they’ve never known from anyone else. 

It seems perfectly natural to spend the rest of his life with Dodders.