Xillia
zєηιтн νιχєη
Swooping hills, lush fields of grass and wheat, the gentle breeze that carried seagulls over their sapphire waters, they were all the blessings of the gods. Of the great temples and pantheons spread across Greece. A fine land carried along by its culture, its prosperity, and its might. There was never silence, not with the smell of salt from the sea, not with the fresh fish and produce being carried out and meshing over the Aegean, and most certainly not with the ripeness of spring, carrying about new bloom on the wind. Yet, in the calm of this prosperity, in the shadows of the light of Apollo, great power and danger formed, a poison to the boons granted. At first, the mere existence of the great war that had gripped Sparta and stripped it to ribbons against the Persians plummeted the entirety of Greece under one unit. A pledge to fight for their lands.
But after the fighting was all done, Athens had reaped the most profit--Thebes and Corinth both staggering behind in the grasp for leadership. So, it fell to the great Archons of Athens, who ruled with an oligarchy to control and contrive up schemes fit to hold unification. Unfortunately, power left in the hands of mortals, never ended in good favor. It was a Gods' job to garden that seed, and when the Archons grew with dissent towards one another, the power became divided, only bringing them back together with the insight of conquest. War would never end, not for good, one war merely brought peace for a time till the next reared its ugly head. Out of contrite, Athens first turned on Thebes, sparking the first great war that would lead to be known as the War of The Gods. Blessed by Hera, these men marched onto allied soil and struck them down, claiming Thebes for their own, showing the world their own military might.
Corinth was the first to appeal to Troy and Syracuse, calling forth their aid. Massalia, allied alongside Syracuse followed in suit, but eventually turned on the both of them, choosing to side with Athens after experiencing their might first hand. Macedon was the next to involve themselves in the conflict, never quite choosing their side, so they founded their own under the banner of Zeus and Poseidon. Of course, requisitioning aid from the Spartans, they were outright denied. Sparta, after the Persian War, were still licking their wounds, and after the betrayal and cowardice from all other Greek states, there was malice towards them all, letting their men die for nothing.
And as this war spiraled further and further, it drew attention away from the great empire forming in the west, that was becoming known as the Roman Empire. Oracles would forewarn their kings of such danger, but without proof, or a sign from the Gods, little believed in these men from over the western seas. They were right to be fearful at least, for a great cloud hung over the western sky, one that would--in the future, spell danger and havoc for those squabbling among themselves. That would be a story for another time, this story, is one of heroes who rose during this great war, and fought for their sides. They fought for love, they fought for power, they fought for glory, and some day, these great heroes, would become legends.
. . .
431 B.C
[THE YEAR THE SPARTANS JOINED THE WAR OF THE GODS (PELOPONNESIAN WAR)]
The sun hung high, it was mid summer and the air was crisp, hot. The sounds of lapping water grazed the shore as fisherman went about their daily routines, praying to Poseidon for safe voyages and fair weather. Children gathered on the sandy beaches and smacked at each other with sticks, occasionally drawing blood, but laughing it off with better sportsmanship than their forefathers may have had. Sparta, the land of the finest warriors Greece had ever seen, one where women had roles in society, one where men were trained from the ages they were merely boys. Urekon, a long, black haired Spartan swordsman discarded his helmet as he approached his residence, the faint smell of bread and quail filling his nostrils. He inhaled deeply, drawing upon his back muscles to rotate his refined shoulders, entering slowly. He was met by another black haired woman, who's hair was done up just right with braiding and wore fine jewels on her ears and around her neck.
She planted a small kiss on her husband's cheek, smiling softly as she welcomed him home. "Dear! It is so good to see you. I've prepared dinner early for you, I know you'll have a busy night tonight."
The man's lips curled upwards and he kissed her back on the cheek, patting her shoulder softly, discarding his armor and weapons, placing them in the corner of the entryway. "It's just late-night watch, there's not a lot to it."
The woman retorted with a chuckle, "It's never JUST late-night watch. I know how taxing those things must be on you." Her eyes glanced around a little, a worrisome looks slowly spreading. She wrung her hands together on her dress then went to sit with her husband at the table, who looked around--the same worrisome look crossing him as well.
"Where's Ericles?"
"Well... He's down by the beach again, getting some exercise and some fresh air, you know how it is, he's a boy, and he loves the sea."
"He should be out training, not gallivanting around like some bird without his wings. That boy, it to succeed me and become a Spartan worthy enough to serve our kings." His brows narrowed, his fingers moving up to rub away the fatigue from his eyes. "Foolish boy, I love him, he is my ocean and my sky, but he listens about as well as a deaf man on his last leg."
The woman stood, shaking her head, "I will go fetch him, it's right that he comes to eat supper with his father." She was just about to head out before the beefy hand caught her, and the gentle eyes of Urekon caught her, his tone low and calm.
"Heel, remain here, Teresa. I will go and get him, after all, you must be exhausted, the quail looks so eloquently made." The two shared a chuckle and Urekon kissed Teresa, seating her gently, "Don't wait to eat, you go right ahead, if I had to bet, he's off trying to learn to read again, or maybe he's trying to follow seagull patterns!"
Another stout laugh before he exited. Without his armor, and in his loincloth and sandals, the man was imposing, riddled with muscles and hair alike, an overall beast, who bore nothing more than the utmost heart of a lion. His mane flowed behind him as he descended the pathway down to the coast, where so many other young Spartans in training spent their days. If his son, if Ericles were like them, then he'd have been just fine in his eyes. But the boy was gentle, soft. He had all the makings of a warrior down the line, but no desires. It infuriated him at times. When other fathers could spend quality time teaching, Urekon spent about half of it just searching for his boy.
As he drew nearer and nearer, the line of boys practicing against one another thinned out. All bowing in respect to their senior, and the only one acclaimed enough to actually be a Spartan. Even the older brothers who'd just survived their training and were going through the necessary ropes with their younger halted, paying him respect. Due so as Urekon was not just a Spartan, but a commander who served the kings' right hand. The further he went along the shore, the less boys he began searching and eventually laid eyes on his target. There, just beyond the wharf, and before the near-land coral, stood two figures. Ankle deep in the waters.
One was taller, and the other--his son. Exhaling firmly through his nostrils, he approached. He recognized, the taller, but his focus was on Ericles. A boy who was taking lousy, uncoordinated strokes at the target. Urekon stopped just on the sand, folding his arms across his chest and watching.
"On Spring days, the Gods did not falter, instead, Apollo emblazoned the land with his glow and Poseidon swept in with the cool breeze, gently tussling the grass from its rest, bearing more beauty than Aphrodite, and holding more grace than Hera. The trees shimmered and on that day, when the world stood still and peace was attained, Hermes stood still."
His strokes were thrown off, when the taller figure finally riposted and gave him a good whack on the leg. Ericles gasped in pain and slipped, falling into the water and splashing it all over himself. "W-Wait... I messed it up again."
The taller figure, a female, spoke. Her voice was eloquent and her hair, tied long behind her, line a golden tail, swaying in the breeze. She rested her stick at her side and nodded her head, "You did. Hermes is the Gods' messenger. You were looking for Hades, but you almost had it."
"Althea!" Urekon finally approached, moving in as the third figure in their triangle. "You're out here teaching him poetry?"
The woman shrugged, turning to face him, her ocean blue eyes glancing over him. "He said he wanted to learn more about the Gods and about the poems that tied them to our physical realm."
Urekon shook his head. The woman had sunkissed skin, she was well endowed, fluent, literate, melodic and fair. She had a slender figure and light toning on her muscles to define her as a warrior. But that was not the way she had been when she'd first shown up on the very beaches. She was a woman fit for a king, one to be queen of some land, that much he had figured. His shoulders relaxed some and he chuckled as his son scrambled to his feet, stumbling over excuses. "F-Father, I'm so sorry, did I miss supper!?"
"Almost..." He glanced at Althea, "You should be teaching him how to swing a sword, or wield a spear, not poetry. He doesn't need to hear it. Useless distractions will get him killed some day."
Althea tossed her stick onto the sand and smiled, a pleasant, white toothed smile, "Your son is no warrior. I know that, most everyone in Sparta knows that. But he would make a fine acolyte to the Gods when he gets older." This warranted a glare from Urekon as the woman went over to the boy and offered him her hand. Her tan tunic, belted around her waist, stopped at mid thigh for the hem, and her calf-high sandals were just on the sand, next to Ericles' own.
When the woman had first arrived, she'd been frail, weak. A child with no meaning or purpose in life. She hadn't even been able to recall where she'd come from, and yet, she'd become so fascinated by the Spartan warrior's lifestyle that she decided to make it her own. At first, no one supported her, so she grew strong on her own until she found someone willing enough to vouch for her. From there, she survived her training and quite literally fought her way to approval. She was far stronger, and far more cunning than most had given her credit for, landing her as the first female Spartan. The first and only, but what he found most queer of the situation, was that the woman hardly believed in the Gods' abilities herself. She despised them in fact, for cursing her to landing on a shore with no memories. And yet, they'd not struck her down--they'd blessed her with strength, speed, intellect and charm.
Urekon gritted his teeth and walked over, snatching her arm and tossing it aside, leaving Ericles to fall back into the water with another loud grunt. "You don't tell me what my boy isn't. He is a warrior, and he will make a commander of Sparta some day."
Althea laughed at his gesture, her arm held in the air as Urekon tightened his grip. At the tightening, the woman's eyes narrowed and she shook her head, "You don't want to do that. You should listen to your son. If he does not want to be a warrior, then he will never make a warrior. If he does not have the mind or spirit for it, then you're trying to turn a cat into a dog."
Urekon's brain was set on fire from this insult, malice now burning through his gaze. From brown eyes, to those of the foreign blue. "Listen here... Girl. You may be a Spartan, but I don't particularly like you, I don't like your attitude, I don't like your words, I don't like anything about you."
Althea's right hand curled to a fist, hidden behind her thigh, "Good, then the feeling's mutual. But I am adamant about your son. If he wants to follow literary arts, then you should let him. He wants to chart maps of the ocean and become a sailor, did you know that? He longs for the sea and you aim to keep him here landlocked like a tyrant." Her tone dropped to a venomous hiss. Though her arm was released, Urekon's nostrils pressing out hot air as he studied her figure, taking a few steps back.
"Sundown, you will meet me in the Pantheon of Zeus, and I will disgrace you. You have been challenged to a duel, you're there, or you leave Sparta for good, I will have the King brand you an exile."
"My-my, touchy aren't we?" She glared back, shuffling her toes beneath the sand. "Very well, if it's a duel you want, it's a duel you'll have. But, should I beat you, you recognize your son's wishes and let him pursue his dream. If you can beat me, whether I show or not, I leave Sparta for good."
Ericles' jaw practically fell off of his head, a sharp gasp escaping him. No one like Althea had treated him with such respect, with such maturity. As if he was an actual human being for a change and not just the son of the great Urekon. To his surprise, his father agreed, and moved over to him in haste, gripping him just as harshly by the arm, dragging him off. But just before he was forced to walk and face front, he caught a glimpse of Althea, casting her face towards the sky and inhaling slowly--then, a smile.
. . .
SPARTA [LATER THAT EVENING...]
Althea had returned to her home along the cliff, overlooking the shore and grabbed her armor. Her greaves, her gauntlets, and breastplate, along with her shield and sword. Once she was finished fastening it on, she scooped up her helmet and gazed into the bronze, shaking her head slowly as she coiled the armament between her waist and elbow, setting off towards the great Pantheon at the top of the hill. As she approached, she noticed that quite a crowd had gathered, and much to her dismay. Even the two kings of Sparta were watching.
She inhaled slowly and exhaled. Hell, it seemed like all of Sparta was here, making way for her to enter the barren space of the Pantheon, with the large statue of the sitting Zeus overseeing her kneeling opponent. His spear was erect from the ground, the sharpened edge and polish on his shield made it seem like he was ready for war. Althea cocked her lip and glanced at her own weapons. She'd assumed this would've been a small duel, or at least something with a smaller crowd. She hadn't quite prepared in the way he had, his gaze, from beneath his angled helmet... He wanted to kill her.
As she entered, he arose, slamming his shield and spear together, letting our a fierce warrior's call. Althea took her place and stared across the field at her opponent. Unamused, she slipped her hand down to her belt and unhooked a wine skin, taking a sip from it. Urekon did not take kindly to her belittlement and shouted at her. The man was angry. "DO NOT SCOFF IN MY PRESENCE FOOLISH CHILD! TODAY IS THE DAY YOU FACE ME AND YOUR DEATH WITH HONOR!"
Althea coughed and nearly spilled the wine down her chin, wiping away the loose stream. "Yeah, okay. Whatever you say."
The king--well, the one who headed the militaristic force of the Spartans arose from his throne, his gaze sharp and heavy. "Warriors. Prepare yourselves, and pay homage to the mighty Zeus, to who's presence you conduct battle in!"
Urekon spun on his heel and saluted the statue, whereas Althea did no such thing, her eyes narrowly fixated on Urekon. This bore many shocked gasps and whispers from the crowd. But a vicious snarl from her opponent. Who, now spoke in a low growl, "So, you not only disgrace yourself but the might of the Gods? Your blood will stain the tile."
Althea reached back and unhooked her shield from her back, slipping her gladius out from her belt and tossed it a few times in her hand. "You haven't forgotten our deal have you?" Her coy smile pressed across her face, slipping her helmet out from her waist and letting it clatter against the ground. Urekon's teeth bared like a wild animal. "Yes, when I win, you are dead--or if I'm merciful, exiled from Sparta."
"Mmm..." Althea retorted, "And when I win, you acknowledge the wishes and dreams of your son to pursue sailing."
Urekon said nothing, and began building up energy in his toes, hunching down and waiting for the signal. Althea, remained calm however, and stood tall, her shield resting with her arm lazily at her side, her sword, the mirror image of it. Silence between the two, the terms were set and the entirety of Sparta was watching. The commander against some woman grunt, who he clearly had no holds barred against killing. It was in his eyes, in the tenseness of his arms.
The king raised his spear, and let the shaft of it slam against the ground. Urekon did not hesitate, charging Althea with his shield covering nearly the entirety of his body, from his lowered position, spear poised forward to plunge through her. Althea backed up quickly, drawing on her agility to press herself against the wall and waited for the impact, At the last possible moment, she rode the impact from his spear up the marble column, her feet skipping up it before she flipped over him, slamming her heel down against the back of his knee on the way down, rolling out of it after sensing impact.
Urekon, caught her escape and swung his spear overhead, bringing it to the side of her head, giving her less than a second to react. She rolled under it, her shield coming up to bounce the weapon into the air, and her sword slipping from beneath her roll to thrust at the weakness in his armor, his legs. He met her assault again with his shield, slamming it down on her blade and out of her hand, kicking it away from them before his spear came thrusting forward at blinding speeds. She pivoted on her hip, rolling on shoulder and smashing the weapon away with her own shield, then dashed towards her weapon, grabbing it in a roll and rising to her feet.
Urekon, enraged at his failed attempts, walked over to his spear, picking it up with his foot and flipping it to his hand. The two began circling one another, Althea now loosened and bouncing on her feet, rotating her head on her neck until it popped. Eventually, the two halted, and there was silence. One could hear a babe crying for his mother from the other end of the archipelago. And yet, the two warriors did not break hold, aggression fueling between them. Eventually, that fuel turned into an inferno as Althea took the offensive, dashing from side to side as she closed the gap, almost weightlessly, jumping in the air and slamming into his shield with the point of her gladius.
Urekon caught the impact and spun, holding up his shield and spinning it over his shoulder, his spear thrusting out at her legs. She could just barely feel the wind of the tip miss her thigh by inches and she vaulted over him again, striking his helmet with her shield as she crossed. Howling in rage, he spun, spinning with his spear and knocked her off her feet as soon as she landed. His helmet had been dented, and rightfully so. The younger warrior was agile, most definitely. She'd never made much progress in shield walls or unbreakable defense. But she was good at manipulating her surroundings and moving around them.
Urekon had to give her that, she was quick. He'd let her stand. But to his surprise, the woman predicted this and laid there a few more moments, exhaling slowly before rising to her feet. As she gathered her bearings, Urekon cast off his own helmet, now dented and useless, he charged forward, leading with a shield bash that pressed her back and nearly slid her off her feet. She extended one leg behind the other and bent her knee, dashing beneath his charge, plummeting the blunt of her gladius into his chest, gathering herself another charge, she flipped her entire body, her feet extended in one graceful move and threw her shield right into Urekon's face, knocking him off his own feet.
As he landed to the ground with a thud, his weapon's discarded, Althea began moving again. Circling him and waiting for him to arise. And he did, with energy that practically seethed off of his figure, the billowed rage consuming him as he threw his spear aside, raising his own sword from his belt. No more shields, no more helmets, no more spears, no more words. There was no protection left to the two of them anymore, and Althea had him right where she excelled. The two met in a flurry of clashes between their blades, with the younger being just a little faster and more agile, turning her defense into her offense.
Minutes of this passed before she worked him right where she wanted him and slammed her foot on the ground, hitting the edge of the curvature of the shield, flipping it up. And in one fell move, she extended her leg and kicked it with all her might into her opponent, knocking him off balance long enough for her to spin out of the kick, Althea's blade spinning in her hand and blasting his sword away from him. Disarmed, she moved in, tackling him, and mounted his chest, the tip of her gladius poised at his throat, teasing at his skin.
The two were heaving and panting, as Urekon reached up and gripped her arm, pulling it closer. "Do it... You have bested me."
Althea shook her head and retracted her arm with a powerful yank, slipping her sword arm away. She then sheathed it and glanced over at the King who bowed his head to her. She had won. And without a second of hesitation, she bolted from the Pantheon, the crowd cheering her name. And on that night, she discarded her armor and sword, everything, and fled the country of Sparta.
. . .
CORINTH [AUTUMN]
431 B.C
The city of Corinth was ripe with noise, even in the later part of the evening. It was a subtle peace, but one before a storm. Mercenary caravans and taverns were bustling with foreigners and soldiers alike, all in preparations for the war against Athens. Women bedded their husbands for one final night before sending them off to their unsettled fates, and sons and daughters made and purchased gifts. Commerce had never been higher, and neither had fear--nor joy. This would be the first great war that Corinth had fought in in years, and their soldiers, while not the most suitable for combat, were numerous and their generals, intelligent. Odds were favorable.
To Hericles, things were a tad different however. He tossed a coin pouch between hands as the wine in front of him glistened with a crimson red, the candlelight brooding many such companies as the ones he partook in. Though, for the Children of Zeus, it was a completely unnatural situation. From the moment they'd arrived in Corinth, they'd split and gone about their own ways, to meet up on the day of battle after some rest and rejuvenation from many of the towns pleasures. Hericles was more focused on business, as a vanguard spearman for the Children, it was about getting himself out there, to find nobles fat off their own vineyards to bet on him, to endorse his company and gain profit for them--and in turn, himself. It was always a gamble, but those who survived war often made it out rich.
Hericles moored over the coins a few instances longer, before taking his jeweled fingers to the goblet and drowned himself in the poisonous grasp of wine. Odds were favorable, yes, but for the Children of Zeus, they'd need more men, more men to devote themselves to the cause. They were the only company that had never been on the losing side of the war, and he didn't want to start tomorrow. Men--they needed men. Young men, experienced men, inexperienced men even, just for the sake of bloodying themselves and building. He let out a sigh, the tremors of war tomorrow ringing in his mind and his heart. Killing had always been so easy for him, it got easier at least. But survival, that was another topic entirely, not many men in the vanguard had been around as long as he. Not long enough to grow the greys he had in his hair, nor to witness a generation of families come and go.
His hazel eyes glanced around the tavern, absently sipping from his nearly empty cup. The night was young--but tomorrow, the day would be old and long.
But after the fighting was all done, Athens had reaped the most profit--Thebes and Corinth both staggering behind in the grasp for leadership. So, it fell to the great Archons of Athens, who ruled with an oligarchy to control and contrive up schemes fit to hold unification. Unfortunately, power left in the hands of mortals, never ended in good favor. It was a Gods' job to garden that seed, and when the Archons grew with dissent towards one another, the power became divided, only bringing them back together with the insight of conquest. War would never end, not for good, one war merely brought peace for a time till the next reared its ugly head. Out of contrite, Athens first turned on Thebes, sparking the first great war that would lead to be known as the War of The Gods. Blessed by Hera, these men marched onto allied soil and struck them down, claiming Thebes for their own, showing the world their own military might.
Corinth was the first to appeal to Troy and Syracuse, calling forth their aid. Massalia, allied alongside Syracuse followed in suit, but eventually turned on the both of them, choosing to side with Athens after experiencing their might first hand. Macedon was the next to involve themselves in the conflict, never quite choosing their side, so they founded their own under the banner of Zeus and Poseidon. Of course, requisitioning aid from the Spartans, they were outright denied. Sparta, after the Persian War, were still licking their wounds, and after the betrayal and cowardice from all other Greek states, there was malice towards them all, letting their men die for nothing.
And as this war spiraled further and further, it drew attention away from the great empire forming in the west, that was becoming known as the Roman Empire. Oracles would forewarn their kings of such danger, but without proof, or a sign from the Gods, little believed in these men from over the western seas. They were right to be fearful at least, for a great cloud hung over the western sky, one that would--in the future, spell danger and havoc for those squabbling among themselves. That would be a story for another time, this story, is one of heroes who rose during this great war, and fought for their sides. They fought for love, they fought for power, they fought for glory, and some day, these great heroes, would become legends.
. . .
431 B.C
[THE YEAR THE SPARTANS JOINED THE WAR OF THE GODS (PELOPONNESIAN WAR)]
The sun hung high, it was mid summer and the air was crisp, hot. The sounds of lapping water grazed the shore as fisherman went about their daily routines, praying to Poseidon for safe voyages and fair weather. Children gathered on the sandy beaches and smacked at each other with sticks, occasionally drawing blood, but laughing it off with better sportsmanship than their forefathers may have had. Sparta, the land of the finest warriors Greece had ever seen, one where women had roles in society, one where men were trained from the ages they were merely boys. Urekon, a long, black haired Spartan swordsman discarded his helmet as he approached his residence, the faint smell of bread and quail filling his nostrils. He inhaled deeply, drawing upon his back muscles to rotate his refined shoulders, entering slowly. He was met by another black haired woman, who's hair was done up just right with braiding and wore fine jewels on her ears and around her neck.
She planted a small kiss on her husband's cheek, smiling softly as she welcomed him home. "Dear! It is so good to see you. I've prepared dinner early for you, I know you'll have a busy night tonight."
The man's lips curled upwards and he kissed her back on the cheek, patting her shoulder softly, discarding his armor and weapons, placing them in the corner of the entryway. "It's just late-night watch, there's not a lot to it."
The woman retorted with a chuckle, "It's never JUST late-night watch. I know how taxing those things must be on you." Her eyes glanced around a little, a worrisome looks slowly spreading. She wrung her hands together on her dress then went to sit with her husband at the table, who looked around--the same worrisome look crossing him as well.
"Where's Ericles?"
"Well... He's down by the beach again, getting some exercise and some fresh air, you know how it is, he's a boy, and he loves the sea."
"He should be out training, not gallivanting around like some bird without his wings. That boy, it to succeed me and become a Spartan worthy enough to serve our kings." His brows narrowed, his fingers moving up to rub away the fatigue from his eyes. "Foolish boy, I love him, he is my ocean and my sky, but he listens about as well as a deaf man on his last leg."
The woman stood, shaking her head, "I will go fetch him, it's right that he comes to eat supper with his father." She was just about to head out before the beefy hand caught her, and the gentle eyes of Urekon caught her, his tone low and calm.
"Heel, remain here, Teresa. I will go and get him, after all, you must be exhausted, the quail looks so eloquently made." The two shared a chuckle and Urekon kissed Teresa, seating her gently, "Don't wait to eat, you go right ahead, if I had to bet, he's off trying to learn to read again, or maybe he's trying to follow seagull patterns!"
Another stout laugh before he exited. Without his armor, and in his loincloth and sandals, the man was imposing, riddled with muscles and hair alike, an overall beast, who bore nothing more than the utmost heart of a lion. His mane flowed behind him as he descended the pathway down to the coast, where so many other young Spartans in training spent their days. If his son, if Ericles were like them, then he'd have been just fine in his eyes. But the boy was gentle, soft. He had all the makings of a warrior down the line, but no desires. It infuriated him at times. When other fathers could spend quality time teaching, Urekon spent about half of it just searching for his boy.
As he drew nearer and nearer, the line of boys practicing against one another thinned out. All bowing in respect to their senior, and the only one acclaimed enough to actually be a Spartan. Even the older brothers who'd just survived their training and were going through the necessary ropes with their younger halted, paying him respect. Due so as Urekon was not just a Spartan, but a commander who served the kings' right hand. The further he went along the shore, the less boys he began searching and eventually laid eyes on his target. There, just beyond the wharf, and before the near-land coral, stood two figures. Ankle deep in the waters.
One was taller, and the other--his son. Exhaling firmly through his nostrils, he approached. He recognized, the taller, but his focus was on Ericles. A boy who was taking lousy, uncoordinated strokes at the target. Urekon stopped just on the sand, folding his arms across his chest and watching.
"On Spring days, the Gods did not falter, instead, Apollo emblazoned the land with his glow and Poseidon swept in with the cool breeze, gently tussling the grass from its rest, bearing more beauty than Aphrodite, and holding more grace than Hera. The trees shimmered and on that day, when the world stood still and peace was attained, Hermes stood still."
His strokes were thrown off, when the taller figure finally riposted and gave him a good whack on the leg. Ericles gasped in pain and slipped, falling into the water and splashing it all over himself. "W-Wait... I messed it up again."
The taller figure, a female, spoke. Her voice was eloquent and her hair, tied long behind her, line a golden tail, swaying in the breeze. She rested her stick at her side and nodded her head, "You did. Hermes is the Gods' messenger. You were looking for Hades, but you almost had it."
"Althea!" Urekon finally approached, moving in as the third figure in their triangle. "You're out here teaching him poetry?"
The woman shrugged, turning to face him, her ocean blue eyes glancing over him. "He said he wanted to learn more about the Gods and about the poems that tied them to our physical realm."
Urekon shook his head. The woman had sunkissed skin, she was well endowed, fluent, literate, melodic and fair. She had a slender figure and light toning on her muscles to define her as a warrior. But that was not the way she had been when she'd first shown up on the very beaches. She was a woman fit for a king, one to be queen of some land, that much he had figured. His shoulders relaxed some and he chuckled as his son scrambled to his feet, stumbling over excuses. "F-Father, I'm so sorry, did I miss supper!?"
"Almost..." He glanced at Althea, "You should be teaching him how to swing a sword, or wield a spear, not poetry. He doesn't need to hear it. Useless distractions will get him killed some day."
Althea tossed her stick onto the sand and smiled, a pleasant, white toothed smile, "Your son is no warrior. I know that, most everyone in Sparta knows that. But he would make a fine acolyte to the Gods when he gets older." This warranted a glare from Urekon as the woman went over to the boy and offered him her hand. Her tan tunic, belted around her waist, stopped at mid thigh for the hem, and her calf-high sandals were just on the sand, next to Ericles' own.
When the woman had first arrived, she'd been frail, weak. A child with no meaning or purpose in life. She hadn't even been able to recall where she'd come from, and yet, she'd become so fascinated by the Spartan warrior's lifestyle that she decided to make it her own. At first, no one supported her, so she grew strong on her own until she found someone willing enough to vouch for her. From there, she survived her training and quite literally fought her way to approval. She was far stronger, and far more cunning than most had given her credit for, landing her as the first female Spartan. The first and only, but what he found most queer of the situation, was that the woman hardly believed in the Gods' abilities herself. She despised them in fact, for cursing her to landing on a shore with no memories. And yet, they'd not struck her down--they'd blessed her with strength, speed, intellect and charm.
Urekon gritted his teeth and walked over, snatching her arm and tossing it aside, leaving Ericles to fall back into the water with another loud grunt. "You don't tell me what my boy isn't. He is a warrior, and he will make a commander of Sparta some day."
Althea laughed at his gesture, her arm held in the air as Urekon tightened his grip. At the tightening, the woman's eyes narrowed and she shook her head, "You don't want to do that. You should listen to your son. If he does not want to be a warrior, then he will never make a warrior. If he does not have the mind or spirit for it, then you're trying to turn a cat into a dog."
Urekon's brain was set on fire from this insult, malice now burning through his gaze. From brown eyes, to those of the foreign blue. "Listen here... Girl. You may be a Spartan, but I don't particularly like you, I don't like your attitude, I don't like your words, I don't like anything about you."
Althea's right hand curled to a fist, hidden behind her thigh, "Good, then the feeling's mutual. But I am adamant about your son. If he wants to follow literary arts, then you should let him. He wants to chart maps of the ocean and become a sailor, did you know that? He longs for the sea and you aim to keep him here landlocked like a tyrant." Her tone dropped to a venomous hiss. Though her arm was released, Urekon's nostrils pressing out hot air as he studied her figure, taking a few steps back.
"Sundown, you will meet me in the Pantheon of Zeus, and I will disgrace you. You have been challenged to a duel, you're there, or you leave Sparta for good, I will have the King brand you an exile."
"My-my, touchy aren't we?" She glared back, shuffling her toes beneath the sand. "Very well, if it's a duel you want, it's a duel you'll have. But, should I beat you, you recognize your son's wishes and let him pursue his dream. If you can beat me, whether I show or not, I leave Sparta for good."
Ericles' jaw practically fell off of his head, a sharp gasp escaping him. No one like Althea had treated him with such respect, with such maturity. As if he was an actual human being for a change and not just the son of the great Urekon. To his surprise, his father agreed, and moved over to him in haste, gripping him just as harshly by the arm, dragging him off. But just before he was forced to walk and face front, he caught a glimpse of Althea, casting her face towards the sky and inhaling slowly--then, a smile.
. . .
SPARTA [LATER THAT EVENING...]
Althea had returned to her home along the cliff, overlooking the shore and grabbed her armor. Her greaves, her gauntlets, and breastplate, along with her shield and sword. Once she was finished fastening it on, she scooped up her helmet and gazed into the bronze, shaking her head slowly as she coiled the armament between her waist and elbow, setting off towards the great Pantheon at the top of the hill. As she approached, she noticed that quite a crowd had gathered, and much to her dismay. Even the two kings of Sparta were watching.
She inhaled slowly and exhaled. Hell, it seemed like all of Sparta was here, making way for her to enter the barren space of the Pantheon, with the large statue of the sitting Zeus overseeing her kneeling opponent. His spear was erect from the ground, the sharpened edge and polish on his shield made it seem like he was ready for war. Althea cocked her lip and glanced at her own weapons. She'd assumed this would've been a small duel, or at least something with a smaller crowd. She hadn't quite prepared in the way he had, his gaze, from beneath his angled helmet... He wanted to kill her.
As she entered, he arose, slamming his shield and spear together, letting our a fierce warrior's call. Althea took her place and stared across the field at her opponent. Unamused, she slipped her hand down to her belt and unhooked a wine skin, taking a sip from it. Urekon did not take kindly to her belittlement and shouted at her. The man was angry. "DO NOT SCOFF IN MY PRESENCE FOOLISH CHILD! TODAY IS THE DAY YOU FACE ME AND YOUR DEATH WITH HONOR!"
Althea coughed and nearly spilled the wine down her chin, wiping away the loose stream. "Yeah, okay. Whatever you say."
The king--well, the one who headed the militaristic force of the Spartans arose from his throne, his gaze sharp and heavy. "Warriors. Prepare yourselves, and pay homage to the mighty Zeus, to who's presence you conduct battle in!"
Urekon spun on his heel and saluted the statue, whereas Althea did no such thing, her eyes narrowly fixated on Urekon. This bore many shocked gasps and whispers from the crowd. But a vicious snarl from her opponent. Who, now spoke in a low growl, "So, you not only disgrace yourself but the might of the Gods? Your blood will stain the tile."
Althea reached back and unhooked her shield from her back, slipping her gladius out from her belt and tossed it a few times in her hand. "You haven't forgotten our deal have you?" Her coy smile pressed across her face, slipping her helmet out from her waist and letting it clatter against the ground. Urekon's teeth bared like a wild animal. "Yes, when I win, you are dead--or if I'm merciful, exiled from Sparta."
"Mmm..." Althea retorted, "And when I win, you acknowledge the wishes and dreams of your son to pursue sailing."
Urekon said nothing, and began building up energy in his toes, hunching down and waiting for the signal. Althea, remained calm however, and stood tall, her shield resting with her arm lazily at her side, her sword, the mirror image of it. Silence between the two, the terms were set and the entirety of Sparta was watching. The commander against some woman grunt, who he clearly had no holds barred against killing. It was in his eyes, in the tenseness of his arms.
The king raised his spear, and let the shaft of it slam against the ground. Urekon did not hesitate, charging Althea with his shield covering nearly the entirety of his body, from his lowered position, spear poised forward to plunge through her. Althea backed up quickly, drawing on her agility to press herself against the wall and waited for the impact, At the last possible moment, she rode the impact from his spear up the marble column, her feet skipping up it before she flipped over him, slamming her heel down against the back of his knee on the way down, rolling out of it after sensing impact.
Urekon, caught her escape and swung his spear overhead, bringing it to the side of her head, giving her less than a second to react. She rolled under it, her shield coming up to bounce the weapon into the air, and her sword slipping from beneath her roll to thrust at the weakness in his armor, his legs. He met her assault again with his shield, slamming it down on her blade and out of her hand, kicking it away from them before his spear came thrusting forward at blinding speeds. She pivoted on her hip, rolling on shoulder and smashing the weapon away with her own shield, then dashed towards her weapon, grabbing it in a roll and rising to her feet.
Urekon, enraged at his failed attempts, walked over to his spear, picking it up with his foot and flipping it to his hand. The two began circling one another, Althea now loosened and bouncing on her feet, rotating her head on her neck until it popped. Eventually, the two halted, and there was silence. One could hear a babe crying for his mother from the other end of the archipelago. And yet, the two warriors did not break hold, aggression fueling between them. Eventually, that fuel turned into an inferno as Althea took the offensive, dashing from side to side as she closed the gap, almost weightlessly, jumping in the air and slamming into his shield with the point of her gladius.
Urekon caught the impact and spun, holding up his shield and spinning it over his shoulder, his spear thrusting out at her legs. She could just barely feel the wind of the tip miss her thigh by inches and she vaulted over him again, striking his helmet with her shield as she crossed. Howling in rage, he spun, spinning with his spear and knocked her off her feet as soon as she landed. His helmet had been dented, and rightfully so. The younger warrior was agile, most definitely. She'd never made much progress in shield walls or unbreakable defense. But she was good at manipulating her surroundings and moving around them.
Urekon had to give her that, she was quick. He'd let her stand. But to his surprise, the woman predicted this and laid there a few more moments, exhaling slowly before rising to her feet. As she gathered her bearings, Urekon cast off his own helmet, now dented and useless, he charged forward, leading with a shield bash that pressed her back and nearly slid her off her feet. She extended one leg behind the other and bent her knee, dashing beneath his charge, plummeting the blunt of her gladius into his chest, gathering herself another charge, she flipped her entire body, her feet extended in one graceful move and threw her shield right into Urekon's face, knocking him off his own feet.
As he landed to the ground with a thud, his weapon's discarded, Althea began moving again. Circling him and waiting for him to arise. And he did, with energy that practically seethed off of his figure, the billowed rage consuming him as he threw his spear aside, raising his own sword from his belt. No more shields, no more helmets, no more spears, no more words. There was no protection left to the two of them anymore, and Althea had him right where she excelled. The two met in a flurry of clashes between their blades, with the younger being just a little faster and more agile, turning her defense into her offense.
Minutes of this passed before she worked him right where she wanted him and slammed her foot on the ground, hitting the edge of the curvature of the shield, flipping it up. And in one fell move, she extended her leg and kicked it with all her might into her opponent, knocking him off balance long enough for her to spin out of the kick, Althea's blade spinning in her hand and blasting his sword away from him. Disarmed, she moved in, tackling him, and mounted his chest, the tip of her gladius poised at his throat, teasing at his skin.
The two were heaving and panting, as Urekon reached up and gripped her arm, pulling it closer. "Do it... You have bested me."
Althea shook her head and retracted her arm with a powerful yank, slipping her sword arm away. She then sheathed it and glanced over at the King who bowed his head to her. She had won. And without a second of hesitation, she bolted from the Pantheon, the crowd cheering her name. And on that night, she discarded her armor and sword, everything, and fled the country of Sparta.
. . .
CORINTH [AUTUMN]
431 B.C
The city of Corinth was ripe with noise, even in the later part of the evening. It was a subtle peace, but one before a storm. Mercenary caravans and taverns were bustling with foreigners and soldiers alike, all in preparations for the war against Athens. Women bedded their husbands for one final night before sending them off to their unsettled fates, and sons and daughters made and purchased gifts. Commerce had never been higher, and neither had fear--nor joy. This would be the first great war that Corinth had fought in in years, and their soldiers, while not the most suitable for combat, were numerous and their generals, intelligent. Odds were favorable.
To Hericles, things were a tad different however. He tossed a coin pouch between hands as the wine in front of him glistened with a crimson red, the candlelight brooding many such companies as the ones he partook in. Though, for the Children of Zeus, it was a completely unnatural situation. From the moment they'd arrived in Corinth, they'd split and gone about their own ways, to meet up on the day of battle after some rest and rejuvenation from many of the towns pleasures. Hericles was more focused on business, as a vanguard spearman for the Children, it was about getting himself out there, to find nobles fat off their own vineyards to bet on him, to endorse his company and gain profit for them--and in turn, himself. It was always a gamble, but those who survived war often made it out rich.
Hericles moored over the coins a few instances longer, before taking his jeweled fingers to the goblet and drowned himself in the poisonous grasp of wine. Odds were favorable, yes, but for the Children of Zeus, they'd need more men, more men to devote themselves to the cause. They were the only company that had never been on the losing side of the war, and he didn't want to start tomorrow. Men--they needed men. Young men, experienced men, inexperienced men even, just for the sake of bloodying themselves and building. He let out a sigh, the tremors of war tomorrow ringing in his mind and his heart. Killing had always been so easy for him, it got easier at least. But survival, that was another topic entirely, not many men in the vanguard had been around as long as he. Not long enough to grow the greys he had in his hair, nor to witness a generation of families come and go.
His hazel eyes glanced around the tavern, absently sipping from his nearly empty cup. The night was young--but tomorrow, the day would be old and long.
