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Chapter Text

            Herodotus clutched his chest, the sound of his desperate wheezes sending a chill down Kassandra's spine. She felt paralysed, useless as she stood silent behind him, watching his shoulders buck with each painful gasp. He'd told her about his lungs, that they were weak and imperfect, that they'd worn further with age, but she'd never seen his ailing for herself. For a while, she thought he had exaggerated, as many do when it comes to their burdens, but in that moment she realised how wrong and iniquitous she'd been for thinking so poorly of the old man, who'd never given her any reason to doubt him.

            "Herodotus?" She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, but he jerked away instinctively, as if any sense of weight on his body was unbearable. "Herodotus!" she screamed, her voice mired in concern. "T-tell me what to do! How can I help?"

            He shook his head, his thin breaths now followed by harsh, strenuous coughs, which struck in Kassandra an intense fear the likes of which she'd never experienced.   She was used to solving every problem with her fists, with her blade, with her silver tongue, but this enemy was untouchable, and she hated it. She stared helplessly as her friend hunched forward, trembling as he tried to inhale air through his nose; and it was difficult to be sure, but it seemed as though he was trying to keep his mouth shut. His right arm quivered as he pushed his fist into the dirt, refusing to succumb, to fall, even though he could barely keep on his knees.

            Then Kassandra remembered. She sighed deeply, feeling suffocated herself, and recalled what Hippokrates had told her. When last in Athens, she had asked the good doctor about Herodotus's condition, and he was only too happy to share his knowledge. He explained that he was familiar with the subject, and that he'd even labelled the strange disease 'asthma'; which, as Kassandra was learning, was all too appropriate. Naturally, the other physicians disregarded his research, calling it the work of a heretic, but Hippokrates wasn't one to let the opposition stunt his curiosity. After much deliberation he was certain, in the very least, that the strange illness was connected to the environment.

            That's when it dawned on her. She and Herodotus had been walking all day, and she hadn't once thought to offer him a break. He had asked, pleaded even, but she encouraged him to press forward. She was so focused on finding her father, so blinded by rage and ambition, that she insisted they find his hideout before sundown. Even when the old man's fingers started to chafe and he needed help climbing the ruins, even when he nearly fell, even when she could feel his muscles straining as she pulled him up, she ignored it. A knot formed in her throat, which she swallowed back but knowing she deserved the blame. She'd make amends later, if given the chance, but Herodotus was growing more and more fragile. For his sake, she needed to stay calm.

            "Asthma is a terrible affliction." Hippokrates words echoed in her mind. "It's likely caused by irritants or noxious air. Also, the higher up you go, the harder it is to breathe. We know this. We've felt and observed it. The evidence is irrefutable! So, if at all possible, keep your friend away from high altitudes and acrid environments."

            Her heart sank. She'd taken him to Thera, a volcanic wasteland surrounded by toxic gasses, and worse, they stood on the cliffs overlooking the beach, miles away from the Adrestia. Although supportive at first, Herodotus was dissent when they arrived, refusing to accompany the expedition. It was an odd and sudden change, but instead of trying to understand why, Kassandra shamed him into compliance.

            "Herodotus, I've explored this island before. There are strange symbols and mirrors everywhere. Please, I could really use your help, your brilliant mind. Imagine the stories you could tell!"

            "Kassandra, I don't think you understa--"

            "Herodotus, please! My father could be here!"

            She felt her legs buckle. If only she'd listened, and if only she hadn't split from Barnabas and the crew to cover more ground. She needed to get Herodotus back to the ship and as far away from Thera as possible, but she knew he wouldn't be able to walk. She prepared to carry him, which she would do, even if she had to drag him the whole way, even though her arms had turned limp from the journey.

            "If he has an attack don't move him. Not immediately," she heard Hippokrates warn. "If his attack is severe and you bounce him around, he could go into shock. Instead, help him work through it."

            "Malaka, how?!" she roared, her patience waning.

            "It's important to stay calm," the doctor continued. "Make sure he's seated upright. This helps take the pressure off the lungs."

            Of course! That's what Herodotus was doing! Why he wouldn't lay down and wait it out, even though he could hardly keep himself steady. Kassandra obliged, bending to his level and giving him a careful nudge. With a whimper he fell back against her, and she held him in place, resting his head on her shoulder. He still grasped his robe, his knuckles white as the cloth bunched between his fingers.

            "Easy, Herodotus, easy. Slow, steady breaths." Just as Hippokrates instructed. "Lean on me and only focus on breathing."

            "K-Kassandra..." he choked, his brow scrunching with every gasp.

            He seemed so delicate, unable to perform even the simplest task. His nose whistled as his nostrils flared, and his voice cracked as what little air he could draw in rushed from his mouth. Every violent cough that followed, turning his cheeks pale, made Kassandra wince as if she shared his pain. Yet she managed to keep her composure. She removed his hand from his robe, which he was still gripping for purchase, and he responded by squeezing her fingers so tightly it hurt. She cringed, shocked that he had so much strength, but horrified that it was symptom.

            "Breathe, Herodotus! Like me!"

            She took small, shallow breaths, pressing down on his chest when it didn't align with hers. It seemed cruel. He grunted loudly, spitting mucus onto the ground as he thrashed beneath her, but it was necessary. The fast, irregular beating of his heart, which pounded against her palm, forced her to pray to the Gods for the first time since she was thrown from Mount Taygetus. She begged them, whoever was listening-- if listening at all-- to spare his life and end his suffering. After all, the whole situation was so unfair. Herodotus was a good man, the best, and he didn't deserve such blatant torture.

            He tried to speak unexpectedly, but the words, if one could call them such, were completely incomprehensible. His eyes closed, his teeth gritting, but he was determined to show Kassandra what he needed. He clawed at her hand, groaning when she swiped it away, and guided it to his pouch. It didn't take her long to understand after that. She quickly unbuttoned the flap and pulled a small bottle from inside, a clear liquid swishing around as she raised it. She had no idea what it was, but she hadn't the time to ask. Herodotus reached for it frantically, his fingers slipping off the glass.

            Then, suddenly, his arms dropped with a thud, stirring up a cloud of dirt and sand that muddied his sleeves. His chest heaved as, for the first time years, he couldn't retain a single trace of oxygen.

            "Hang on, Herodotus!" She popped the lid, and immediately a sweet, pungent odour burst from the bottle. It wasn't bad, but the potency brought tears to her eyes. "What do I do with it?"

            With the last of his spirit, he tugged at his robe, and that was all she needed. In a daze, she tore the collar to expose a bit of his chest, then applied the oil sparingly. As she rubbed it into his bluing skin, he too took a drop on his finger and wiped it under his nose, then touched the remnants to his tongue. It must have been a remedy mixed by Hippokrates, which assured Kassandra that Herodotus knew how to manage his attacks, but she hardly felt inspired as his legs twitched and his fingers dug into the earth.

            After a few more moments of coughing and listless panting, which seemed like an eternity to Kassandra, Herodotus finally began to relax. It wasn't over yet, though. A cold sweat soaked his clothes and he began to shiver, prompting the shaken Eagle-Bearer to wrap her cape around his shoulders, loosely. He was exhausted, his mind and body drained. She realised he needed time and space to recover, but they were still on that cursed island; a fact that wracked her with guilt. She whistled for Phobos, hoping he was close enough to hear and that he'd run fast enough to aid her. She'd left him on the beach, but the horse was a free spirit that roamed when she was away, and surely his Pegasus wings would help him scale the cliffs with ease. He couldn't fly-- a common myth-- but he could certainly soar and glide with a grace and agility second only to Ikaros; who, to her dismay, she hadn't seen since stepping foot on Thera.

            "Ah..." Herodotus rasped, his eyes batting.

            "Are you alright now?" Kassandra asked, doing her best to keep him comfortable.

            "Th-thank you, Kassandra."

            Those words cut deep. She felt her stomach turn when she heard them. How dare he thank her when the whole catastrophe was her fault to begin with. She'd done nothing worth praising. Nothing but help her friend through an attack she induced. Some saviour of Greece, she thought, as his head rolled on the ball of her shoulder. His breaths were still trying and noticeably tender, and she could tell the ache in his lungs hadn't yet subsided. Each inhalation was followed by a soft but stressful whimper, and he moaned at every attempt at a deeper breath, which caused him obvious pain.

            "I'm so sorry, Herodotus. I'm such a malakas idiot!"

            "Kassandra..." he whispered, patting her arm. "I'm fine now. You should keep going. F-find your father."

            She shook her head, overcome with sorrow and moved greatly by his kindness. He'd forgiven her, unconditionally, and worse, encouraged her to continue, to leave him behind like a hindrance. She held back her tears, but couldn't help but sob when she saw Phobos appear on the horizon, the light shining off his mane. He dashed down the hill and nuzzled his nose between them, sensing Kassandra's grief and Herodotus's anguish.

            "It's okay, Phobos. I'm okay. But ... Herodotus."

            The old man laid silent in her arms, drifting in and out of consciousness. As Phobos nibbled his dishevelled hair, offering his own comfort, Kassandra gathered her strength, swallowed her emotions, and carefully lifted him off the ground. He felt unnaturally light, as if the attack had robbed him of everything.

            "Kassandra?" he wheezed as she helped him onto the saddle.

            "I'm taking you back to the Adrestia." She hopped on, gripping the reigns and letting Herodotus rest against her chest.

            "But ... your father."

            She flicked the rope, sending Phobos into a quick but gentle gallop. "I told you I was an idiot. I'm just sorry I didn't realise it sooner."

            "I don't ... understand."

            She smiled, holding him close to keep him steady. "It's okay, Herodotus. I have all I need."

Chapter Text

            Herodotus laid peacefully on deck, the fresh air a relief, and Barnabas, turning the wheel, kept watch as they sped further and further from the island, the sea waves splashing against the keel. He could tell Kassandra was exhausted, too; perhaps more so than the old storyteller, but she didn't complain. As she sat on her knees with Herodotus tucked in her lap, her whole body trembled. The position was clearly uncomfortable, but she dared not move, worried it would trigger another attack. The worst was over, undoubtedly, but his pain was still apparent, as every now and then he'd let out a cough or a wheeze that bolstered Kassandra's guilt.

            "You should lay down," Barnabas said, joining them when the ship was free. "You're tired. I can see it in your eyes. Leave him with me and I'll have him taken down to the barracks."

            After their return, Kassandra nearly collapsed. Between walking and running and climbing cliffs, then rowing and carrying Herodotus back to the ship, her body was spent. In a twist of fate, Barnabas and the crew returned shortly after her, at a complete loss. They hadn't found her father's lair nor were they able to solve the mirrors, and with nightfall approaching, they decided to retire. Luckily for Herodotus, this meant they could set sail. The moment Barnabas stepped foot on board, Kassandra screamed at him to depart, and of course he did so without question.

            "I don't want to move him," she argued, her voice nearly a whisper. Then, she brushed back his hair, her mouth twitching as the sweat on his forehead confirmed he was still unwell. "Let him sleep, Barnabas."

            "Kassandra, he's fine now. Safe. I think you've earned a rest, too."

            "'Earned'?" she hissed, her frustration eminent. "Barnabas, this was my fault. He wanted to stay on the ship but I wouldn't listen. I swayed him into following me by making his refusal seem selfish. Not only that, I split us up! What if something happened to you?"

            "It did!" he cheered. "This island is swarming with lynx! We managed to slay a few. Our men will dine like kings tonight! Ha, ha!"

            But Kassandra wasn't amused. She shook her head, plagued with thoughts of what might've happened had the lynx overwhelmed them. There were snakes on the island, too. She knew that. She'd killed several during her first visit. Yet when faced with the prospect of finding her father, she somehow forgot every danger. She was careless, a trait she rarely fell victim to.

            "Kassandra," Barnabas sung as he placed a kind hand on her shoulder. "Let it go. There's no point in dwelling. We've all made mistakes, and what's so wrong with wanting to find your father? You were blinded by excitement, that's all."

            "B-Barnabas--"

            "And we were all happy to help! You're a good captain, one that we're honoured to follow! We're just sorry we came up empty handed."

            "The mirrors...” Herodotus rasped, woken by the chatter. Kassandra looked down, seeing his brown eyes fluttering open. "I ... I think I understand."

            "Herodotus! Are you feeling any better?" she asked, completely missing his comment.

            "Yes," he sighed. "Much better. Thank you, Kassandra."

            "Don't thank me," she groaned. "I almost got you killed."

            "So dramatic," he beamed, giving her his best smile. "It was a pretty serve attack, yes, but I've had worse. Luckily, you handled it impressively well."

            "But I forced you to--"

            "I should've been more firm," he added. "Should've explained myself better." He took a deep breath, still fending off the elements. "Let's not pretend you're a bad person. You didn't 'force' me to do anything. I knew the risks and decided to push myself. I'm just sorry you were on the receiving end as well."

            "But I was mad at you," she peeped. "When you said you didn't want to travel I was mad at you ... even though I had no right to be. You don't owe me anything."

            "Truthfully, I also partially agreed in order to slake my own curiosity. I too wanted to find your father, but because I was hoping for a story. I wasn't giving your thoughts and desires any consideration. So in that moment, I guess we were both being a little selfish."

            Kassandra flashed half a smile, then grunted as the old man squirmed to sit himself up against the bow. Feeling all that weight shift from her legs brought the blood rushing back, causing pings of tiny needles throughout. She watched, rubbing her knees as he slumped back against the wood, finding an agreeable stance, and she soon followed, finally allowing herself to unwind.

            "Good! Perfect!" Barnabas cried, grinning widely. "Now we've all apologised, we've all forgiven each other, and we're all feeling better! I'll get the wine!"

            "N-none for me, thank--!” But he was already halfway across the ship. Herodotus chuckled, his head dipping as he did so. "Did you hear what I said?" he asked. "About the mirrors?"

            Kassandra flinched. "Oh, barely. Sorry, I was distracted."

            "That's alright. I was just about to say, I think I know what they're for and how they work. I think they open that humongous door we saw, using light."

            "We'll talk about it later," she moaned, her eyes heavy. "Thank you, Herodotus. I'm ... so sorry for today."

            "As am I," he replied, grasping her hand. "But thank you ... for saving me."

            Barnabas returned, wine in hand, his laugh thunderous. "I have it! The best this side of Greece! It's got a kick strong enough to--!" He raised a brow, realising both Kassandra and Herodotus had fallen asleep, the ship rocking them gently as Herodotus leaned on her shoulder. To that, Barnabas simply shrugged. "Well, more for me!"