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To his ardent defense; he hadn't said anything.  

Achilles was famous for many things, mainly because of his parentage and battle prowess; but to his closest acquaintance, he was particularly famous for always being too light in the mouth that his teacher once had once warned him that he would someday challenge the Fates by his remarks. Yes, he would be the first to admit that he had, indeed, said some unsavory things when he had heard about the Ithacan king's plan, but he barely said anything when the whole affair had transpired. If anything, Odysseus had done all the talking, so, would that make him still accountable for their current battle? 

"Have you ever seen women warrior before?" Achilles had said after Odysseus finished telling him about his next plan to interfere with the Trojans’ rendezvous with their reinforcement. 

The Ithacan king had made it clear that he preferred to avoid any fight if possible. They were winning against the Trojans; it was only a matter of who would relent first anyway. When the herald had come bringing news about the possibilities of another reinforcement for the Trojans joining the war, Odysseus abruptly decided that they should interfere. They couldn't afford the fight to stretch even longer, so they would either see if the reinforcements could be persuaded to join the Greek's side instead or if they refused, they would just decimate both the reinforcement and the envoy’s army before they could fully form an alliance. 

The idea of ending the war quicker sounded rather appealing, but Achilles was never interested in the fight that he had no business with. The only time he had fought all out against the Trojans had been simply to avenge his dearest friend's death, and he had been brooding ever since; contemplating to just leave the war completely to Odysseus and returned home to Phthia. That idea only lasted like a fleeting fancy the moment Odysseus informed him that it was the Amazons that would be coming to meet the Trojans, and another fascination bloomed inside his mind.  

Not many stories had been heard about the Amazons, but the most famous one actually piqued his interest; that their leader was the descendant of the god of war Ares. Achilles was never one to fight for the mere sake of glory, but more to satiate his curiosity about things that fascinated him; the fact that the Amazons were a group of female warriors was another one, he would even hold off his return home just to see them with his own two eyes. 

"I've seen witches and harpies, if that's what you mean..." The older man looked up slightly from his wine goblet, glancing warily at the younger man’s seemingly out-of-the-blue remarks.  

"No, I mean the kind that don armor and hold weapons and shield on ride horse with one leg on each side." Achilles swirled his wine goblet, the corner of his mouth turned up slightly, looking derisive.  

"I have never seen one before," Achilles continued on, didn't wait for the older man's response. He then scoffed—almost sounding like a childish snicker. He tilted his goblet slightly, as if offering a toast and took a sip before adding, "they must be as ugly as the Harpies, that's why they never showed themselves much, huh?" 

That was all he had said before he found himself on the outskirts of Trojan plain, looking dumbstruck at the spectacle before them. Several figures―a dozen at most―dressed in long chiton and armor adorned with animal pelts blasted through another army like savages, swinging their curved axe while arrows rained down on them. They had expected to face carnage if things went south, but they certainly hadn't expected to witness said carnage between two parties that they were almost sure to join forces. 

Confusion took both Odysseus’ and Achilles’ features as they recognized one of them as Deiphobus―the envoy from Troy―and the one who attacked them were most likely women, judging from their appearances; although their face was covered by plumed helmet, so they couldn't really tell. Would that mean that the Amazons came as Trojan's enemy? Either way, that didn't mean they wouldn't attack the Greeks too. 

As they got cautiously closer, they could see that they were indeed the Amazons and Deiphobus’ army engaged in battle. Most of the men were already decimated and was currently being chained. Achilles watched the Amazons fight with ever-growing fascination; almost forgetting their initial objective. Part of him still wanted to witness the fight, while the other part wanted to join said fight right away. It wasn't everyday he could see a group of female warriors fought, after all. 

"We do not wish to fight!" Odysseus announced when the Amazons finally realized their presence. 

The fight stopped as most of their attention was turned to the Greeks. Their body language didn’t show that they were surprised, but merely observing the newcomer; most likely to decide if they would open fire or not. Some of the remaining Trojans took that chance to scamper away, but that wasn't their problem right now. A few minutes passed by as both sides scrutinized each other. The Amazons' attention seemed to be heavily drawn towards Achilles, whose golden armor stood out among them—an effect that had become almost obligatory whenever he was on a battlefield. He wondered if the Amazons were aware of who they were. 

One of the Amazons dismounted their charger and calmly stepped towards the Greeks, who was stunned silent. Different from other women, she wore her chiton short. Her armor was carved with triskelion symbol, its lower half was partly covered with a blazing red sash that went down to her ankle. The spikes adorned her gauntlets, greaves, and the tip of her boots gave a menacing look to her appearance. Her spear was left tucked on her horse's saddle, but she had a pair of swords sheathed on both sides of her waist that she could access anytime if they ever got close enough. She was the only one carrying a long spear instead of battle-axe, and it didn’t take much to identify her as the leader.  

The other Amazons shouted their protests, but the approaching figure seemed unperturbed anyway as she kept walking, lifting both hands to reach her helmet and slowly exposing her face. The red plume of her helmet danced around her white mane, almost looked like a loose garland of roses as she stopped halfway, right in the middle of the space between both sides’ garrison. Her face was slightly turned to her side, eyes closed as she held her helmet with a hand and used her other hand to brush the hair away from her eyes. Every breath was bated when her eyelids and lips started to move. 

"Queen of Amazons, Penthesilea." 

To be perfectly honest, Penthesilea had no interest in weak men who couldn't even stand their ground against her and her women, but High Priestess of Diana had been nagging her about producing some offsprings ever since her mother passed away, and for that purpose the Amazons decided to join the Trojan war to obtain some loot and prisoners.  

The idea of using their war prisoner for breeding purposes never sat well with her. She was the daughter of God of War, Ares, surely she deserved someone better than these miserable soldiers, no? She thought disdainfully as they tore through the Trojans' envoy army. They had expected the Amazons to join forces with them, such audacity. The Amazons didn't wage war for a cause that didn't concern them, so of course it was unheard of if they joined the Trojan war just because they wanted glory or some petty revenge. Hektor’s death was, indeed, unfortunate, but she had no business with it as they weren’t even that close to begin with. They protected their own and their territory, enough to go by for the last few centuries. That was until another issue was brought up by the High Priestess of Diana. 

Amazons' tribe customs had been instilled into her since childhood but her father, Ares, liked to interfere sometimes when he felt like it. One thing she inherited from her father was his sense of superiority. She didn't feel like taking war prisoner as a groom, the mere idea itself disgusted her, not to mention that some of these Trojan soldiers actually begged for their life. Disgusting. Did the high priestess honestly expect her to copulate with these sad creatures? 

As much as she wanted to defy the custom, she knew it was created to insure the continuation of Amazons’ progenies. Besides, any sad creature could be honed to be formidable warriors with the right kind of nurture, so thinking how repulsive the process wouldn't help. She always placed her duty above personal taste anyway, and she should get the job done quickly and send the wretched prisoners away when the deed was done. Yes, she would do that. Them begging for their life meant they wouldn't put up much fight and this would end quickly, she thought, mood slightly escalated. 

What she and her women hadn't expected was the presence of another group of warriors. Looking at their banner, they didn't seem to be on the Trojans' side. Now, this could be troublesome since the Trojans had expected their alliance. If these people were not Trojans' ally, then there were chances that they would attack them. Getting more prisoners for their breeding purpose was another option, but these people seemed more guarded than the other one. Some of them wore strange armor; one was covered in striking gold color, a stark contrast to their otherwise dull-looking row of warriors. 

"We do not wish to fight!" the one that looked like the leader, garbed in pure-white armor, announced. 

That was what the other soldiers had said too, she thought derisively. But there was something that piqued her interest; the golden-armored figure. Her mother had spoken of him in her deathbed, and anyone who was aware of the Greek heroes wouldn't not know his legend. Son of Peleus and sea goddess Thetis, grandson of titan Nereus, heir of Myrmidon throne, and the one who defeated Hektor. Now, that sounded like someone worthy for a queen like her. But as per Amazon's custom, she, as a queen, wasn't allowed to actively seek her own opponent to defeat, that was for her women to do unless the individual itself challenged her to a battle. Besides, while they looked cautious, they didn't seem too eager to battle them, which was definitely a turn-off for her.  

So, she decided to humor them first and decide later if would just flat out refuse their request. If they decided to open fire after that, then that suited fine for an excuse to defeat more men, but if not, then she could always lead her warriors back home. No use wasting her time and manpower to something that couldn't be arranged to meet their purpose. 

Her women voiced their concern and protest when she jumped down from her mount and began walking away towards the Greeks, she had expected as much. The Greeks looked wary at her approaching figure, so she decided to take off her helmet, that usually did the trick to either provoke the opponent or leave them speechless, depending on their real intention. 

She stopped halfway, right in the middle of empty stretch between the Amazons and the Greek. "Queen of Amazon, Penthesilea," she announced herself. 

Judging by their mixed reaction, some of them probably had heard of her name or her father, which gave her some smug satisfaction at seeing their stunned silence. Now, show me your true face, Greeks , she thought smugly. The golden-armored figure mounted off and approached her, the spear on his hand was pointed downwards, while the white-armored warrior voiced his protest, but ended-up reluctantly followed suit and tailed behind the golden-armored man. She could hear her second-in-command, Prothoë, hastily running towards her side, weapons at the ready. 

"Son of Peleus, Achilles," the golden-armored man finally introduced himself when he was just an arm reach away from the Amazon queen. He stabbed his spear to the ground and used his now-free hands to slowly lift his helmet, almost as if mimicking her gesture not long before.  

Penthesilea wondered if he did that on purpose; like to mock her, perhaps? Him using spear and shield with no other weapon meant he was not a close combatant. They could still wrestle or resort to fistfights if needed, of course, but she had swords at her disposal. Was he really that proud of his own abilities that when it came to battle of any kind, he would win? Was he looking down on her? Why was she the one getting provoked anyway? They barely exchanged a word, and she hadn't even seen his fac- 

Her thought stopped right when their gazes locked at each other. 

The white-armored man took his helmet off too and began talking. Although obviously reluctant, Prothoë listened to his story. At that point though, nothing else mattered to both the queen and the great hero as they were too busy drowning in each other's lustful gaze. 

He was a fine man, physically speaking, and she had to admit that she rather enjoyed the spectacle. She had heard many stories regarding the great hero, but seeing the actual person was just different than merely imagining it. He stood tall and proud, golden armor matched his heated golden gaze. Knowing his parentage was exceptional, she wondered if their blood mixed, what kind of offspring they would make? She rather liked the prospect of strong offspring, and he wasn't bad-looking either—definitely way better than what she used to witness, and certainly far better than the begging, sorry-excuse of warriors that were their current prisoners. Coupled with her mother's words and her own desire she hadn't realized ever owned; she was beyond besotted with the blooming idea. She didn't know what had caused such reaction or if the feeling was reciprocated, but seeing he stared at her as intensely―if not more―she fancied that he was also charmed by her for whatever reason.  

She didn't think it mattered, because her mind was already preoccupied with a new objective; she had to own him, she wanted to bear his child, and to do that, she needed to conquer him first. 

"What do you say, your majesty?" Prothoë's voice brought the queen back from her trance-like state. 

Penthesilea could feel a warm sensation crept its way up her entire face in embarrassment, realizing that she had zoned out the rest of the world and didn't know what they had been talking about. On second thought, she decided it didn't matter. She had decided to wage war with the Greeks just so that she could defeat him personally and brought him back as her prisoner and groom. They needed to be provoked first. She needed to say the right thing so that everything would go as planned... 

"Let my arrows be your answer," she finally said haughtily, turning away from the bewildered Greeks and started walking away. 

Prothoë sounded flustered as she followed her queen. "Are you sure, my queen? We already have enough prisoners-" 

"That's for me to decide, Prothoë," Penthesilea cut her off, indicating that she was not open to anymore negotiation.  

She called the remaining Deiphobus' men, who was halfway their flight, to join them, which baffled all the present parties. Of course, she realized just how much she had surprised everyone today by her sudden urges, even she herself was surprised by her own decision. But she had set her eyes on one goal, and she would pursue it by any means, even if it meant defying the Fates. 

Why was she so fixated on him?  

Penthesilea had been asking herself the same thing ever since her encounter with the Greeks. While the answer was never clear, her decision to pursue him remained unwavering, although she also repeatedly questioned herself if waging war was for the best for both parties.  

Achilles was a formidable warrior, that was a fact. But several times they had been crossing swords, she realized that he was holding back. Not that she minded, she enjoyed their fight, and the idea that they could keep teasing each other with a never-ending battle sounded better than actually bringing him home and copulating with him just to create offspring. Where was the fun in that anyway? She was the daughter of Ares, God of war, and battlefield was her true domain. Achilles was also a man of war, and he was the very embodiment of ideal partner for her; be it as enemy or as potential groom. She preferred the former, though. The Amazons didn't wage many wars with other parties, but she always made sure she enjoyed every time they had the chance to. This time, though, she was beyond enjoying; she wished she could live in the moment forever. 

Then, there were the nosy third-party who served as a constant reminder that they weren’t alone there. True, she had asked Deiphobus and what was left of his miserable soldiers to join her conquest, but now she found them to be more of a hindrance than reinforcement. There was this one time, when she was busy exchanging blows with her golden warrior, Deiphobus himself decided to interfere. He took her side, naturally, and for whatever bizarre reason he had decided that she needed intervention by delivering a surprise attack on the Myrmidon prince so what... she could escape some mortal peril? 

No, she was never in mortal peril―or rather, she had been constantly in it the moment Achilles’ spear crossed with hers that she didn’t pay attention anymore. If Achilles decided to kill her right away, she wouldn't still be fighting now, which was fine by her because if she lost and couldn’t marry him then, only humiliation awaited her anyway, she’d rather be dead than enduring those. Speaking of peril, Achilles was now busily engaged with Deiphobus, and she had never felt as indignant as she was now. How dare he interrupt her battle when she never asked for it! Even if she died in the battle with her chosen opponent, that would be entirely her own business! 

The sound of metal clashing brought Penthesilea back from her musings. Achilles could handle any kind of opponent, alright, but she was the one supposed to be on the other end of that tortoise-green spear―alive or otherwise. Even her women knew better than to disturb her battle, or they probably were just afraid of Achilles. Now the people who had begged and cowered at her feet before trying to be her knight in shining armor? Imbecile, she decided that enough was enough. Without warning, she attacked Deiphobus from behind, impaling him with her spear. The great hero looked surprised and backed away, wary plastered all over his body's movement as Deiphobus' now-lifeless body fell from his mount. He didn't waste time lashing another attack at her, though, but she brandished her shield just in time and backed further away from him. 

"That's it for today, son of Peleus," she said, immediately turning her mounts away from him and began rallying her women to retreat for the day. 

Her heart was thumping all the way back towards their camp. Today was a really close call. She still wanted to fight him, but she didn't want anyone's interference. The growing scale of their fight rendered such a thing inevitable, though. She wondered if he also thought that it was about time to end their farce. She had been infatuated by the idea of bringing him home as her groom, but she wasn't a fool who couldn't read the flow of battle. One of them would be killed if they decided to go all-out on each other, and while she wasn't afraid of death, the thought of causing mortal harm to him terrified her. 

For once, she wished she didn’t have to live just for the purpose of fulfilling a duty, and the more time she spent battling the great hero, the more she was aware of how much the idea had taken over almost everything of her. She knew the Greeks were already calling for reinforcement, and sooner rather than later, the fight would become bigger and not worth the risk anymore―at least by the Amazons’ standard. Her second-in-command, Prothoë, had been begging her to stop before their losses became too big, if the battle were to escalate into a full-swing war, then her very people would guilt-trip her into abandoning the whole thing. 

It was a foolish pursuit, she had known that from the start, but was living like a mere puppet anymore fulfilling? Ah, she wished she had never seen his glorious figure. She looked forward to the next day for their next encounter, but also dreaded it at the same time. Every blow, every strike, every battle roar that they exchanged was like a ticking time bomb. Why couldn’t she just cry out her feelings and let him know? 

"Don't overcomplicate things."  

She could hear her father's voice echoed in her ears and if she didn't know any better, she would have thought she was daydreaming as she was lying face-up on her bed one morning, fully dressed, but still contemplating her decision. When she turned her head, her old man was standing in one corner of her tent, arms crossed over his armored chest, red hair framing his sullen face, making him looked soft and younger. She sat up slowly and said, "Father."  

"Diana said the Festival of Roses is coming, what are you doing here lazing around all day? Forgot how to enjoy a good fight?"  

"I don't want to fight." She wasn't sure if she said that just to spite her father or if that was her true feelings. She couldn't think straight ever since she had laid her eyes upon him, her mind was full of too many fantasies that she didn't knew she could imagine.  

The God of War tilted his head. "Heard your mother spout some nonsense before Atropos cut her string. Was it contagious?"  

"You weren't even there then, what do you want now?" she snapped, fists balled, gathering a handful of bed linens. The mention of her mother made her all too aware of the very reason she ended up brooding about her situation in the first place. Or maybe she just wanted to blame something else on her current agitation. 

"I like Festival of Roses. Reminds me of how exceptional my bloodline is," he said in what seemed like a non-sequitur statement as he walked from one corner to another, seemingly admiring something in the air. "Are you going to deprive me of my entertainment now?"  

Penthesilea's brows furrowed. She didn't hate her father, respected him for his strength, even, but anyone would agree if she said he could be insufferable at times.  

"Mother didn't marry you by defeat. Why should I, the queen, marry a man who is clearly weaker than me?"  

Ares raised an eyebrow and said, "I am the God of War, why would a mere human waste their time trying to fight me when they know they would lose anyway? She asked for my blessings, and I like her spirit, which was why I graced her with the pleasure of my company." 

Of course, he would lose the point. Why had she even bothered to prove something to someone who was clearly too full of himself?  

"Don't tell me you are afraid of losing?"  

Ares was never the sharpest among the Olympians, some might even say that he had nothing but his strength, but that didn't mean he was entirely blunt. As her father, they shared some sort of empathy link. They might not be able to fully comprehend what each other felt as the link only gave them sketchy ideas, but it didn't take much to connect the dots between her unrest and recent occasion. Her heart almost skipped out of her ribcage when she was met face to face with her father, eyes flashing with predatory hunger or bloodthirst of some sort, she wasn't sure because her mind went blank in shock.  

"Who is it?" his eyes flaring, as if there were explosions in those amber orbs.  

She gulped. "The one in which the blood of titan running through his vein..."  

"Nereus' grandchild? That imbecile Apollo has been whining about?"  

She had almost expected him to explode in anger, telling her that the young man was no good or something along the lines just because he had some petty distrust against titans and their direct offspring, but his laughter exploded, instead.  

"You chose well, my girl," he said in between laughter, patting her shoulder. "Would like to see how your children will be. Must be exceptional, I don't doubt."  

She almost blushed at the mention of children as she diverted her glance and waited for him to finish laughing.  

"I don't see why you need to be afraid of losing. He's a half-breed, just like you, and his divine half is Thetis. She may have the undiluted blood of two titans in her, but she has no proficiency in battle whatsoever, I bet even Apollo could take her down without much effort. His father is an even more miserable cretin than his son. You can beat both of them blindfolded."  

"You think so...?" she asked as she glanced timidly at her father   

Ares stood straight and walked towards the trunk where her battle gears sat on the spread-out war-sash. "No daughter of mine is doubting her own power." He lifted her metal breastplate and offered it to her. "You will fight and win and bring him back as your prisoner and do whatever you want with him." 

Almost as if hypnotized, she got up from the bed and walked towards her father and took the offered armor. It felt hot to her skin, as if it had been infused with her father's passion for battle. She looked up to meet with her father's identical amber orbs, one of the things he passed down to his daughters, but his would always look like that there were supernova if one looked closely enough, and that alone was enough to spur her battle lust. 

"Show Thetis' whelp who's stronger." Then he was gone in the blink of an eye. He had the tendency to do that; taunting her thirst for battle and then disappeared as if to grab the front row to watch the show.  

She looked at the now-gleaming armor in her hand, all her previous brooding had been evaporated by her father’s words. She had her father’s blessings, she could do it, and she would. 

“Let’s just regroup back at Ilium and rally our soldiers for an even bigger fight with the Trojans,” Odysseus suggested when they rode back to their temporary camp, the sun was setting behind their back. 

“Whatever for? We’ve gone all the way here,” Achilles responded, didn’t miss a beat. His golden orbs were trained to the spear in his hand, thinking about today’s fight. 

“This fight has gone unnecessarily long, we might as well prepare ourselves for the worst,” Odysseus said, sounding exasperated.  

It wasn’t the first time the Ithacan King had suggested early return, but Achilles kept insisting that they could defeat the Amazons right then and there. Now, three days had passed since their initial encounter, and anyone could see that the fight kept dragging on. Most people were baffled at the fact that the Amazon queen could match the great hero to the point that they were calling for reinforcement. 

"I came all the way here at your plea, now you’re doubting my decision?" Achilles turned his head slowly, eyebrows furrowed deep, mouth curled into a scowl. "Let me just finish the business here and I’ll call it quit." 

Odysseus was prone to guilt trip, and he was not beyond using their friendship for his end. Why, Odysseus had done the same to him too, although never intentionally. Did he feel bad for manipulating their relationship? After he saw her; not at all. Too many months he had spent brooding after he had lost his dear friend, had even considered to actively seek death in the battlefield because he had lost everything anyway. But now he was running around like an adolescent boy on his first crush.  

The Amazon queen was pretty, anyone with functioning two eyes could see that—probably only took one—but his mother was the prettiest among the Nereids and many other beautiful women had been his company at some point of his life. There was something else that got them drawn to each other, but he still couldn't figure out what. Was his obsession with the Amazon's queen a fleeting fancy? It probably was, but he was living in the moment right now, and he needed more time to decide whether to continue this conquest. 

Achilles paused, the lip of his wine goblet a mere inches away from his mouth, realizing something. Did he really want to conquer her, though? 

Too many thoughts were running through his head when their eyes met, and his scatterbrain couldn't process all at once. He was never particularly good at expressing his feelings with words either, but he knew fight was a language he spoke fluently and fight they did. She was strong, alright, and for whatever reason seemed really intent on bringing him to his knees. While he enjoyed their interaction in the battlefield, that didn't change the fact that it was a rather confusing reaction to him, because he had seen how the pale pink color adorned her cheeks when they stared at each other for the first time—he probably had the same colorings on his face too. He would say they were besotted, but then she challenged them to battle where one of them might not be alive in the end, for what? That didn't make sense, nothing made sense, yet he found himself wanting more.  

He didn't care if Odysseus deemed the situation critical enough to call for reinforcement, he could bring the entire Greek force over for all he care. But the arrival of the reinforcement would further disturb his fight with the queen, and he didn't need any more intervention than the one he had today. The Amazon queen had killed the imbecile, and that only further bewilder him as to what her real intention on challenging the Greeks. What would she do if she won? And more importantly, what would he do if he won? He hadn't thought that far ahead, never had anyway, but this time he was painfully aware of it. The Amazon queen's intent aside, he had to have some clear objective, otherwise it would only be a waste of time.  

When he saw her at the battlefield again the next day, though, he didn't think he cared about objective or whatever. He knew he didn't want to lose nor simply defeat her, and he didn't want it to end with one of them losing. He just wanted to live in the moment forever, was it too much to ask? With the presence of other parties, it definitely was. 

They were riding their chariot this time, apparently had the same idea after the previous day's battle. To unassuming bystanders, it looked as if they were chasing each other, which wasn't something unusual given that Achilles himself was famous for his riding ability. But the moment she taunted him to start chasing, they both exchanged this look that basically said, ‘Let’s get as far away as possible from both the Greeks and the Trojans and settle our score,' then they started running their chariots, ignoring the shout from their subordinates.  

Their snarl slowly turned into a splitting grin the moment they were out of sight of the other soldiers and a few shoutings and attack was exchanged during the chase. The rest was their usual way of teasing each other; he would outrun her and thrust his spear backwards and keeping his distance just to show that he wasn’t called the ‘swift foot’ for nothing. She would then throw one of her swords, forcing him to duck from the attack and therefore messing with his weapon’s trajectory. She would later catch up to him and another series of teasing continued. If only they could just run away to the end of horizon... 

A quick pang of pain struck his upper right arm, jerking him back from his pretty thought. An arrow dug into the exposed skin of his biceps, nothing much, but it annoyed him to no end at the fact that he hadn’t seen that coming. No, he wasn't getting any weaker or slower, but simply zoning out too much whenever she was in his presence. Was he disappointed in himself that he had let his guard down that much? Not really. Every moment spent in her company was better than any battle or cold revenge.  

His chariot slowed, so did hers, and she looked horrified at the arrow as she lashed her head towards the direction where the arrow had come from, shouting something to the phalanx of Amazon warriors a good distance away behind them; they were the ones shooting the arrow that had burrowed its tip into his muscle and was preparing for another round. 

“...CEASE NOW OR I’M GOING TO DECAPITATE ALL OF YOU ONE BY ONE WHEN I RETURN!”  

Achilles could hear her bellowed angrily as he plucked the arrow out of his arm, blood dripping from its tip, and threw it away. He had briefly thought that this was part of her plan to trap him, but seeing her shouting murder to her own subordinates, apparently not. None of his or Odysseus’ men had tried to stop him or question his real objective―they wouldn’t dare anyway. But this was the second time the Amazons’ side had tried to interfere; another constant reminder that they couldn’t keep this farce up. It was probably only a matter of time before either Diomedes or Antilochus—maybe even Odysseus when he got over his guilty conscience—intervened anyway. 

But what did he have to do then? What could he do to end this? Going all out and defeat her so that he could bring her back as his bride?  

A thought struck him then; he was never a clairvoyance, but he would experience some gut feelings that would turn out to be almost always true. He could envision very clearly what would happen if he went all out. His speed and battle prowess were unmatched, anyone knew that, and the fact that she was already agitated by her interfering subordinates only amplified his fear that he would end up killing her instead. They had been teasing each other up until that point but circumstances were against them. One of them had to defeat the other, and that included killing if necessary.  

He was the great hero, he was beyond vomiting in public, but that didn’t stop the rolling waves of nausea from invading his stomach when he looked down on the spear in his hand. He had never had any qualms of killing enemies, but he couldn’t even stomach the thought of her; on the other end of his spear; bloodied and battered; lifeblood flowing out of the spot where his spear had gone through. It was supposed to be merely a baseless fear, but for some reason, it felt more like a déjà vu, and he didn't want to know where he had gotten such idea. 

No, he wouldn't let that happen, not in his watch, and definitely not if he could help it. Teeth gritted; it took all of his willpower to refrain himself from throwing his spear away in horror. The more he fed into his fear, the more vivid the image of her death became, he had to divert his attention while also thinking about a way where he could escape such horrific fate. He wouldn't outright surrender, that would mean humiliating her. He would feint distraction and let her strike him fatally instead. Yes, he would do that. Humiliation be damned. 

He was too deep in his thought that he hadn’t even realized that the Amazon queen had started charging at him again, and he just barely turned his head when her chariot crashed into his and throwing the both of them tumbling onto the dirt; their hands gripping the shield and spear loosened. The wound from the arrow grazed the edge of his chariot, sending a tinge of pain to his body, while on the other side of the chaos, she was clawing into the ground, trying to stop herself from being dragged even further by the overturned chariot rolling down the hill to no avail.  

Achilles stretched out his hand, trying to reach even the slightest bit of her, but she was too far away now, down the hill and eventually through to the mouth of the ravine. For a fragment of second, he could swear she looked like she was floating in the midst of all those havocs; her arms were stretched out, lips contorted into rictus of a snarl. The sun was right behind her, giving her white hair an almost ethereal glow. Her red sash was propelled by the gust of wind from her fall, spreading behind her back, almost looked like a pair of red wings with golden vein. Despite their current mortal peril, he thought she looked like an embodiment goddess of Mars, about to swoop down upon the earth to wreak havoc.  

Suddenly, he was jerked harshly by the neck of his armor, sending him flying backwards and landed slightly uphill where the ground was more stable. He could hear Odysseus' voice saying something, but his senses refused to recognize anything but her, and only her, no matter how far away. The last thing he remembered was her disappearing form in between thrashing horses and flying chunks of dirt, and then into the darkness of the ravine. 

Odysseus had to practically drag Achilles away from the battlefield, sulking and all.   

Of all the people he had expected to actually interfere, Odysseus was the last on his list. Well, the Ithacan king hadn't interfered in the most traditional sense; if anything, he had saved him from plunging down a ravine even. But he wasn't feeling thankful at all. He had almost gotten her, she had been right at his fingertip, even if it meant he had to take the plunge himself. But here he was now, looking like a little boy getting caught doing something he shouldn't and currently being dragged away by their angry parents. 

The other soldiers cheered at them when they walked past the throng, talking about how they had succeeded driving the Amazons away. Odysseus was now talking with the other kings, who had just arrived, as Achilles walked past all the people. He wanted to snap at all of them to shut up, but he didn't feel like talking to these fools. They wouldn't understand anyway, even if he explained—not that he could explain whatever bothered him at the moment. 

Achilles busied himself caressing each one of his horses. Some of Odysseus men had managed to lure them back after they had gone rampant after the chariot tumbled down the hills, and they also retrieved his fallen weapon. None of them was fatally injured, and he was thankful for that. He ordered several foot soldiers to tend to his horses and two of them were immediately taken away, leaving him only with Xanthus, waiting for another soldier to tend to his needs. He was about to elaborate his order when the foot soldiers exclaimed. 

"You're bleeding, lord Achilles!" two soldiers approached him instead, tugging at his sleeve. 

That graze? "I'm fine," he hissed grouchily, pulling his arm away. "I need you to tend Xanthus." 

"At least let us dress the wound first!" the other persisted, offering a cloth. 

"That was rather reckless of you," Odysseus' voice preceded before he could tell the foot soldiers to scram. 

Great, now he had to actually talk. He turned his head at the Ithacan king, didn't even try to hide the bad mood from affecting his face. "I had her," he said, leaving out the details of what he actually meant. 

"You did, yes, you drove all of them away for good this time. I am sorry to have ever doubted you," Odysseus said again, patting him on the shoulder. "But I was afraid you have gone mad or something when it all happened." 

No, he didn't need an apology for that but what could he say anyway? The man was still the same, old, gullible Odysseus, but that was exactly what made dealing with him even more difficult. The two foot soldiers that had been fussing with his wound were now bandaging it quickly while he was occupied. He was about to snap at them to leave it alone when another voice interrupted. 

"What are you two talking about?" Antilochus walked towards them, arms crossed. "We might have driven them away today, but there was no telling if they'd attack again the next day. Heavens know they're as stubborn as the gods they worship." 

Achilles glanced sharply at Antilochus. The man had only arrived here as their supposed reinforcement and herald from Agamemnon, he had no right talking as if he knew exactly what had transpired. At this point, he was more than livid to everyone present, why, they were all fools who knew nothing anyway. 

"Antilochus, it's good to see you," Odysseus said, once again preceding him. He almost suspected he did that on purpose before the great hero could say something that would cause some pointless arguments. 

"I heard our great hero is being overwhelmed by some savages?" Antilochus said, looking curiously at Achilles who was glaring openly at him. He knew the man was just being good-humored like he had always been, but he was not in the mood for some jest.  

While Odysseus and Antilochus continued talking, Achilles looked in the direction they had returned from. He could see the chasm a good distance away from their current position, but there were no Amazons in sight. He wondered just how deep the ravine went, or whether the queen survived the fall. Would they be able to meet again the next day? From the looks of it, the possibility was very unlikely, despite what Antilochus had said. Some of the Amazons clearly had some disagreement regarding their queen's action and if she survived the fall, they'd most likely drag her away like Odysseus did. 

If she survived the fall. 

Don't be ridiculous, he told himself. Of course, she would survive, it was only a fall, the ravine probably wasn't even that deep anyway. The Amazons surely had better understandings of the terrain of this place better than the Greeks, right? Why, they had arrived here earlier than them, after all, and this place was closer to their domain too. Moreover, they wouldn't do something that would endanger their queen; incapacitate her, perhaps, but not maim her completely, right? The more he thought about it, the more he sounded like he was trying to convince himself. Now it wasn't enough anymore. He needed to see for himself. 

"There, now you can use your hand freely," a voice said; the foot soldiers who had been bandaging his wound were now tapping lightly at his handiwork to make sure that it held on. He hadn't even realized that they kept working despite his apparent protest before, but he moved his arm to check anyway, then turning his attention back to his horse. 

"Xanthus is sweating," he said absently, rubbing his other hand to the horse's neck. He turned slightly to his side, where another foot soldiers stood waiting for order. "Scrape his sweat and give him some water." 

One of the soldiers led Xanthus away while the other began to set out to work while he looked at the ravine again, lost in thought when Odysseus voice interrupted for the umpteenth time that day. "Achilles, were you listening?" 

Achilles raised his eyebrows at Odysseus, of course he hadn't been listening. "No, what do you want?" he answered harshly. 

"We're heading back to our temporary camp, clean everything up, and then straight back to Ilium. See if the Amazons followed us there. If they didn't, then we shall assume that they're not joining the war and that we shall declare our victory against Amazon to further derail the Trojans," Antilochus supplied, didn't seem too annoyed by Achilles' apparent bad attitude. 

He stared at the two, mouth gaping slightly. "Whose idea was that?" 

Antilochus frowned at him as if he had said something weird. "I only relayed orders from Agamemnon." 

Of course, who else would have come up with such a stupid plan? " You two can go back to Troy. I'll stay here." 

The two Greek kings looked bewildered. "What do you mean by stay?" Odysseus was the first one to ask. Not that he needed to since he had seen himself how the great hero had been acting in the last few days, but to think that he would even go that far... 

Achilles shrugged. "Exactly what I said. With no Amazons' reinforcement, the Trojans might as well be doomed. I believe you can handle them without me." 

"We still don't know if the Amazons really won't join the Trojans, you know," Antilochus added, frowning even deeper.  

"No, they won't. I know that for a fact," Achilles said with finality. 

"What fact? You almost got yourself mauled by those women!" Odysseus finally snapped, looking exasperated. 

"And that indicates what, exactly?" Achilles retorted sharply, "they don't care about the Trojans, neither do they care about you lot. Get over yourself." 

This time, it was Odysseus and Antilochus' turn to gape. Achilles ignored both of them and returned his attention back to Xanthus, who was now drinking from the bucket offered by a foot soldier while another scraped his back. 

"I'll need his saddle set as soon as you're finished." He told the soldiers who tended his horse, who nodded slightly at his order. 

"What are you going to do now?" Odysseus asked, flustered. 

"Settle the score with the Amazon queen," he said, matter-of-factly, then immediately walked away towards his horse. 

Odysseus hastily followed him—as he had expected. "Have you gone mad? Agamemnon ordered us to return immediately-" 

"Since when do I care about whatever that old geezer says?" he looked at the older man, eyebrows raised as he checked Xanthus' rein. "If you don't scram now, I don't care, I'll go to the Amazon queen myself, but I won't have any of your interventions." 

"No, you can't do that. You'll only antagonize them further if you keep on with this!" The Ithacan king was beyond flustered now as he was flailing his hand, trying to describe just how much mess he would cause and consequently failed. 

He scoffed at the older man as he mounted his horse. "Watch me," he said slowly, then turning his attention to the other side, where rows of Myrmidon soldiers looked at him with a mix of awe and bewilderment. "Those who wish to follow me shall do it freely. But I'll have your head should you interfere with my fight!" 

Achilles galloped off, ignoring the ruckus he had caused. He could hear some of them following after him on their own horses while some others were still debating in the background. Nothing mattered, though. He would challenge the Fates itself if it meant he could be reunited with the Amazon queen. 

"I could understand Deiphobus being a moron, he was never part of us anyway, BUT WHOSE IDEA WAS IT TO SHOOT ACHILLES?!" 

The silence that met Penthesilea's explosion was even more deafening. It wasn't as if she needed to ask because she could still remember who had led the phalanx before. Just because she was busy pursuing him didn't mean she forgot to pay attention to her surroundings. Yes, she noticed less details about anything else that didn't concern him, but not everything was lost. 

Speaking of loss, the Greeks were nowhere to be seen anymore, and that was the main reason she actually had time to be angry—among other reasons. She hadn't completely fallen down the ravine but managed to hold onto a branch of tree midway down while her chariot kept falling down the abyss along with her horses. After shedding her armor to ease her movement, she immediately scaled the ravine up and reached the top in record time—quick enough to even surprise her subordinates who was on their way to the ravine, but not fast enough that the Greeks had already escaped. 

"Get me a horse!" she ordered as soon as she stood on her own two legs again, maybe she could still run after him- 

"Please stop, your majesty!" It was Prothoë who had dared to step in front of her. "You're in no shape to fight anymore!" 

Penthesilea actually stopped for a brief moment, quickly examining her own body and she couldn't say the second-in-command was wrong. She had plenty of nasty bruises along her upper arm and shins and some small gashes every here and there, maybe even cracked ribs because her side felt slightly sore, and she wasn't wearing her armor anymore to top it off. Was she going to let such trifles bother her when she had more pressing matters to pursue? Absolutely not. She'd rather die fighting him than being dragged back and forced to participate in the damned festival. But then her women seemed to have come to an agreement; to hinder her pursuit and bring her back. 

"We only did what we believe was for the best," Prothoë said after a few moments of silence, voice unwavering in the wake of her queen's wrath.  

How she hated it when they guilt-tripped her like that. But now that they dared to openly defy her, there was no tiptoeing around the subject anymore. She would never shed her kin's blood, but there were many ways to cause quarrel. Two could play this game. 

"What best, Prothoë? You mean to continue the Amazon's bloodline by mixing those inferior strains into our body? My father will disown us all!" Penthesilea screamed at the top of her lungs, pointing fingers at the direction of their temporary camp where the prisoners were being held. 

"Those miserable creatures won't have a hand in raising the children, you know that, Your majesty. Their inferior way would not soil the Amazons' bloodline. But there will be no more of Amazons' bloodline if we keep on with this farce." Prothoë said firmly. 

"Afraid of losing your precious, little war spoil now, Prothoë?" Penthesilea retorted. 

The queen's words threw Prothoë off-guard. "What, no! This isn't about my war spoil-" 

"Who's your prisoner?" The queen cut her short. 

Prothoë eyed the queen warily before answering, "he named himself Lykaon, I believe you have seen him the other day." 

"Oh, yes, yes, I believe I saw his drooping plume when he sank to the ground, right before your feet like some spineless pansy." 

"What?! No! We fought like warriors, and he admitted his defeat like any proud warrior!" 

"My, such enthusiasm towards a mere war spoil," Penthesilea said slyly as she began enjoying herself more than she had intended to. 

"I-I don't understand the point of this conversation..." Prothoë stammered, looking flustered. 

"I'll let you keep him, if you want." 

"What-but that's not how the festival works..." 

"It should work if I get to defeat my own prisoner." Penthesilea said, looking at the direction where she had battled the great hero. 

The silence dropped again for a few terse moments before Prothoë broke it by saying, "He will not return, your majesty. The Myrmidons never intended to fight us." 

Part of Penthesilea wanted to rebuke her subordinate's words harshly, but some part of her knew that she was right, she just didn't want to believe it. But now that she had seen him, she didn't think she would be able to return to her old life without dreaming of what could have been. It was true that she had initially thought that he would make a great addition to Amazons' bloodline, but the more they fought, the more she realized that she wanted more than that. It was as if she had bitten into the forbidden fruit the moment their eyes met; all those possibilities that she had never considered before overwhelmed her, she didn't even know what she actually wanted anymore. 

With the Greeks gone now, her desires began fading slowly but surely. All those arguments and provocations she had thrown earlier were merely a last-ditch effort to hold onto the fleeting dreams, and the more she thought about it, the sadder she became. As much as she didn't want to admit that Prothoë had been right, she knew that her time with him had come to an end. Yes, she still wished for some miracle to happen; for the fantasy to be kept alive, but if the Greeks really had gone away for good, then it was only a matter of time before the guilt consumed her completely. 

"The Greeks has returned!" one of the Amazons shouted, breaking Penthesilea out of her reverie.  

Penthesilea's head jerked up right away, heart skipping a beat. At first, she saw nothing but waves of mirage mixed with her own tears, but the longer she stared at it, sure enough, several Greek soldiers were coming their way, and he was right in the middle of it, his golden armor shone under the sunlight, everything else blurred in its wake—or maybe those were her bubbling tears. Her mouth opened slightly, blinked the tears away to make sure she wasn't seeing things, but he was still there; getting closer, even. 

Penthesilea felt like shouting something to express her exalted feeling, but nothing came out of her lips; or maybe she just couldn't hear her own voice. She took a step first, then another, and before she even realized it, she was already running at full speed towards his approaching figure. She didn't even remember snatching someone's spear that she was now holding, but it didn't matter. Her warrior had come back seeking her, her feeling was reciprocated, and she couldn't wait to fight him again. 

When they got even closer, she could see him dismounting his charger and began running towards her. She hurled the spear in her hand towards him, which he deflected with his shield, then proceeded to draw her swords, ready for another fight; all of her previous doubts were forgotten as if it had happened in another lifetime. 

She raised her swords when was in his range, but then a blunt force hit the side of her head, and everything blacked out. 

It was only a small drip of blood, but it was enough to make the great hero Achilles look utterly and indescribably horrified. 

Head wounds bled a lot no matter the position of the wound, and seeing not that much blood poured out of the small gash at the side of her head meaning the wound was superficial, but that wasn't the point. He hadn't intended to strike her, curse his reflect! She had thrown a spear at him and as he deflected that spear, she was suddenly already in his range, swords drawn, and he let his body respond in the only way he knew as a warrior. He had intended to surrender himself to her, even reminded himself multiple times during the ride there. But everything went to smoke the moment they saw each other again, as if the whole thing was just one big curse placed upon him by some vindictive god. Maybe they actually had. 

Achilles dropped his shield and sword and slowly kneeled down to her side. There was a shouting voice of a woman from distances away, followed by another of his own men, and the sound of bows drawn, fletching plumes, and javelin throws; almost like a full-blown war. But those were slowly fading away into mere cacophonies in the background as he got closer to her lying form. He noticed that she wasn't wearing her armor anymore, revealing a very much tattered white chiton and sun-kissed skin that had been marred with multiple small cuts and bruises, presumably from the fall before. Her white hair lying messily around her face, one side was stained with blood from the small gash on the side of her head where his shield had struck her. 

He wanted to touch her, to check if she was still breathing, but she looked really vulnerable in this particular moment that he was afraid he was going to break something of hers the moment his skin made contact. This was the closest he had ever gotten to her and it felt almost surreal at the moment he didn't want to break the illusion in case it was one. 

"Stay away from our queen, you monster!" 

A sword was pointed to his forehead following the angry threat but even that didn't register fully into his head. 

"Lord Achilles!" another shout was getting closer from behind him, and this time he was fully snapped back to reality. 

Achilles held a hand up to signal his men to stop their advance. Judging from the sound of their footsteps, he knew they halted a couple dozens of steps away from him as he slowly lifted his head up towards the Amazon in front of her; the tip of the swords followed his movement closely. They could have just killed him right then and there, but then realized that his swords and shield was still lying around in his hands' range, meaning they couldn't risk him fighting back before they could ensure the safety of their queen first. When he finally could meet face to face with the Amazon that threatened her, he recognized her as the one who was always by the queen's side. 

"Get up!" she commanded, slightly tilting her sword that was now resting dangerously close to his Adam's apple. The flank of Amazons behind her had their arrows at the ready, but he didn't feel the slightest bit intimidated because half of his mind was still pretty much blank. 

"I do not wish any harm to your queen," he said slowly, looking straight at the Amazon's eyes, who looked slightly taken aback by his response. 

"Liar! You intended to steal and shackle her to be locked away inside your pigpen or wherever you live, didn't you?!" she shot back, hand visibly tightening around her sword's hilt. 

That was a really strange accusation to make to him considering who was more intent on bringing the other down all those other times. Her trying to stop her own queen before was enough proof and he knew they both were aware of that. 

"What are you laughing at, Myrmidon pig?" she asked again, sounding snappish. 

Achilles hadn't even realized he was scoffing and that the corners of his mouth turned up slightly. No, this wasn't time to be smug, he had more pressing matters to worry about. "Can you check if she's still breathing?" 

"Why do you care? To see if your objective has been fulfilled?" she said venomously. 

He was not surprised at the reaction, but it still grated on his nerves anyway. "If I wanted to kill her, I would've done that already." Almost as quickly as the words left his mouth, he realized that they could have taken it the wrong way, which kind of brought them back to her initial point. 

"I bet you wished you've done that now, huh?" 

He almost sighed in frustration at the seemingly pointless arguments they were having, and the fact that he couldn't explain himself any better to somehow mend the situation made him painfully aware of how he could never win against Odysseus' persuasion if that was the only rhetoric skills he could muster.  

"You can kill me if it turns out that I have caused mortal harm to your queen," he finally offered straight to the point, eyeing the unmoving figure of the queen. The wound was still bleeding, and he was afraid that his fear was becoming true the longer they continued on with the arguments. "Just check on her first." 

Again, the Amazon was taken aback by his response, eyes following him on her queen and saw that he actually had a point. Without turning back, she commanded, "Meroë, come here and check on our queen!" 

One Amazon from the phalanx warily ran towards them, weapons lowered as she kneeled by the queen's side, while the other one was still pointing it at him, never once letting her guard down. 

A low groan escaped the queen's lips before the Amazon's hand touched her, and the three figure closest to her gasped at the sight; even the Amazon before him lowered her sword and kneeled right by her queen's side, forgetting their supposed conflict just now. The queen was still barely moving as she stirred slowly from her unconscious state, but it was a sure improvement from her previous state. 

"She's alive!" Meroë announced, sounding breathless and he could feel himself releasing a long sigh after unconsciously holding it almost for the entire ordeal. The other Amazon, who looked like she remembered what she was supposed to be doing at the moment glared at him, but her expression softened when their eyes met. Her hand clenched and unclenched around her sword's hilt that was now resting by her side. 

"What is your intention, son of Peleus?" she asked, voice calm this time. 

It was now his turn to be taken aback by her sudden change of tone as his mind still couldn't process the entire thing that had happened in a short span of time. "I—" he was about to answer when he realized that he still didn't know the answer to that particular question that had been haunting him ever since he had laid eyes on the Amazon's queen. 

"Defeating us won't bring victory to the Greeks. We are impartial to your conflict with the Trojans. There is no meaning in continuing this..." 

Yet another strange remark for her to say as he knew perfectly well that she definitely had more ideas as to what had transpired inside the queen's mind more than he ever could. "That goes both ways, you know," he answered solemnly. "Your side isn't the only one having arguments about when we should leave this forgotten plain." 

She glared at him sharply, so he knew he had hit quite close to the mark. "If you're pursuing her for something as trivial as personal conquest, then I swear by the name of Diana and Mars, we will rain you down with our arrows." 

"And if I'm not?"  

While he still couldn't comprehend his own action in regard to his encounter with the Amazon's queen, he came to the conclusion that it wasn't merely 'personal conquest' as she had put it. Because if it was, then he could just immediately drag her unconscious body from that place and had his way with her, no need for the prolonged play of chasing and dodging each other's attack and dragging people around them while they were at it. No. This was definitely not one of his old ways. 

Now she was openly scoffing at him, but still not raising her sword again, which he took as a definite improvement. Her face scrunched up in disgust when she said, "That is ridiculous. You are the ruthless Achilles who know nothing but kill." 

"Call it whatever you want. But I'm not the one holding the weapon right now." 

"Then I was right, huh? That you just want our queen as one of your frivolous conquest-" 

"I've said it before and I'll say it again; I could've done that long ago if I really wanted it," he cut in, getting tired at the seemingly endless accusations that were thrown at him for no reason. 

"Then, what is your intention?" 

Meroë, who was busy dabbing at the queen's wound, glanced nervously at the two other kneeling figures near her, and looked visibly horrified when he stole a glance at the queen. The queen was out of mortal peril for the time being, and he would like to keep it that way. He didn't know if the feeling was reciprocated or not, but since he was the only one who could make the decision between the two of them at the time being, he would try to not be his usual, arrogant self. That would mean trying really hard, though.  

"Your queen," he answered, this time without arrogance that usually slipped into his tone whether he intended to or not. Looking at her almost-peaceful expression now gave him some clarity. He returned his attention back to the Amazon, looking straight into her eyes as he added, "if she's willing."  

The Amazon's mouth opened and closed, and he could almost hear another accusation that was already formed at the tip of her tongue, but ended up holding back, hopefully knowing that further provocation was futile. He would not succumb to a fit of passion, he could do better than that.  

"Leave this place, Myrmidon." 

His first reaction was to stifle a frustrated groan. This was never going to end, even if the queen herself were to wake up, he still didn't know what her reaction would be this time. Everything could just repeat itself like an infernal cycle. 

"Listen here-" he was about to protest, but it all died down when he saw her defeated expression. Her words still didn't make sense, but for some reason, he knew he had won this argument. 

"Tell your men to go away, I'll talk to her..." 

There were some missing details in the way she addressed the queen and himself, and he didn't miss that. His face must have showed that confusion none too subtly that she added after another low groan escaped the queen's stirring form. 

"Make haste! Shed your armor and hide it behind that oak tree. Stay out of our sight until I call you out!" Prothoë urged, looking nervously at her queen. 

Her words only stirred more questions and was he supposed to trust everything to her? It wasn’t in his nature to, but it wasn't like his option was abundant at the moment and he couldn’t just let this chance go. There was no guarantee that he could get this close with both of them still alive next time. Asking more questions wouldn’t help, he had no choice but to trust her words, so he turned his head slightly and shouted. 

“Leave, NOW!” 

The men looked obviously confused at his order, some of them even looked at the brink of protesting, but then they retreated hesitantly. He wished he could explain more but decided that they'd be better off not knowing. They probably hadn’t seen what had actually transpired between him and the queen during their brief fight with the Amazons, and they'd think he was captured and would surely return with reinforcement, but by any luck, he'd have been long gone with the Amazons by then. He knew he was taking a very huge gamble on this one, but he wouldn’t hesitate any longer now that he managed to get this close. He could always improvise what he’d do later if needed.  

With one last glare towards the men, they finally quickened their pace away from him and the Amazons.  

It was hot, even hotter than the sandy plain she had visited once with her sisters before, but she hadn’t been lying on the ground then like she was now. Her whole body felt so light that she expected she could just lift her upper body without much effort, but then she also realized she couldn’t even move a single finger.  

A shadow fell upon her, and she couldn’t see who was blocking the sunlight as the figure got closer to her, extending a hand towards her face. Her mind was still blank when the figure yanked her helmet off her head and stopped moving. She couldn’t see the figure’s face clearly because of the shadow but she could make out a few lines of their face started moving, as if saying something. 

Ah, this dream again... she thought as the pain slowly overtook her body that was now shaking uncontrollably. 

She had seen the dream several times now that she wasn’t suprised anymore; she was dying in that dream, and it felt real while it lasted; even the pain before she abruptly awakened This time, though, she didn’t feel like waking up. She could still feel everything; the heat, pain, and even the grain of sand mixed with dirt under her body, also the shadow that blocked the sunlight too. 

When she had seen the dream more than once, she consulted the high priestess of Diana, fearing it might be some bad omen of sort, especially after her mother’s abrupt death. Could it be that it actually came true now? 

“Are you feeling alright, your majesty?”  

Prothoë’s soft voice could be heard quite clearly when she squinted, trying to clear her vision as well as her mind. Part of her thought that she was still dreaming, but the clearer her sight became, the more she was aware that this was completely different than her dream. The situation was similar, she was aware of that particular detail, but she just knew that this wasn’t it even though she couldn’t point out exactly what was different.  

One of the first things that she noticed when she tried to move her head to better see her surrounding was the wet, trickling sensation from the side of her head, definitely not some sweat that poured when the weather was simply too hot, but from a wound since that would explain the pain too. 

She remembered almost everything up until she fell down the ravine, but everything after that was a hazy blur. She remembered seeing him again; alive and glorious, or had it been merely an illusion? She didn't know, but she remembered the feeling of despair at the prospect of never to be able to see him again at some point but couldn't remember the occasion that surrounded the thought itself. If he had really been there, where was he now? Did Prothoë know something? Why was she so calm? She wished she could just remember the whole thing, but the pain from the side of her head was giving her a really hard time to just focus.  

"Please rest, your majesty, we're bringing the healers in soon," Prothoë put a hand over her torso to hold her back; she hadn't even realized that she had tried to get up despite the pain. 

"I'm fine," Penthesilea said, grumbling, as she stubbornly got herself up into a sitting position. The wound on her head pounded like crazy, but those were slight discomfort compared to the mess that was her memories. She raised a hand to touch her head and was welcomed by another sharp pang of pain from her side; most likely bruised ribs but ignored it.  

Her suspicion was confirmed when she looked at her hand and it was almost soaked red. "What happened?" she asked, now scanned her surroundings, still a bit disoriented but otherwise alert. The ground was sprinkled with fallen weapons sticking out here and there―not like the full-blown war ground like she had seen before but considering that this was merely a clash between two small parties, it looked considerably in chaos. At least there were no dead bodies this time, not one she could spot anyway, but that could also mean that they might have finished cleaning up the place before she regained her consciousness back. 

A few other Amazons a few distance away from them were talking among themselves and she found herself wondering what they were talking about when one of them glanced nervously at her. Then she realized something else; Prothoë still hadn't answered her question, and it was an unusually long stretch of silence for such a simple question. Only when she returned her attention to her second-in-command that she opened her mouth. 

"The son of Peleus has returned, your majesty," Prothoë blurted out before their eyes met. 

Penthesilea's eyes widened, mouth opened and closed as her brain went on overdrive, trying vainly to connect the dots when the dots themselves weren't all there. Yes, she remembered exactly until that moment, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't remember everything that followed. To top it off, the revelation that came out of Prothoë's mouth only further derailed her attempts. The constant pain that plagued her entire body didn't help matter either. 

"Was he-" 

"You defeated him, but-" Prothoë cut in almost hastily, "but one of his men struck you from behind! Such cowardice!" 

"I-what?" 

"We've driven them away for now, of course," Prothoë continued, seemingly ignoring her queen's shocked reaction. "And we managed to hold him prisoner, your majesty!" 

That was too much to process in her dumbfounded state. Excited, confused, disbelief; all the contradicting feelings were running amok inside her head. Part of her wanted to believe it, but the hazy part of her memories only gave her more headache the more she tried to make sense of things.  

"Is that..." she paused, trying to get a coherent word out. "...true?" 

Prothoë smiled, eyes looking sad as she said, "Don't you trust me, your majesty?" 

Oh, how she wanted to, but it was still too surreal for her. She was also becoming painfully aware that she still hadn't decided what to do if she actually defeated him—if what Prothoë had said was true—because she had never thought that the time would come. If anything, her dying by the tip of his spear sounded more like a foreseeable future than the mere nightmare she had one of the other days. 

But Prothoë had no reason to lie to her about this matter, she had been the one being hell-bent on stopping her before, after all. There was only one missing piece left in this; Achilles himself. If what Prothoë said was true, he should have been here, bound and chained like the other prisoners. 

"Wh-where is he now?" she asked, cringing at how impish she sounded, conflicted between wanting to know and not at the same time—afraid of what she would see; afraid of the unknowns. 

"Meroë, bring him forward!" Prothoë shouted in the direction opposite to that of the other Amazons. 

Penthesilea whipped her head in the same direction, still not sure if this whole situation was better off a mere bad dream or anything other than any possible realities. No, this couldn't be true, any time now she would wake up and found herself at the brink of death like that one time... 

He didn't look defeated as he walked behind Meroë from behind the oak tree a few steps away from them, if anything, he looked straight into her eyes. She could feel her cheeks getting warm, almost like a reminiscence of their first encounter. Meroë's mouth moved but she couldn't hear anything and as soon as he kneeled right before her sitting form, everything turned into an absolute silence to the point of deafening. Not that there weren't any noises from her surroundings, but just like that time, everything else blurred in its wake. 

No, this couldn't be real... 

He looked so jarring without his golden armor and both arms behind his back. He didn't look subdued, though, even managed to hold his gaze at her long enough almost as if challenging her and she was grateful for that. She didn't want to see his miserable form of any kind; defeated or otherwise. But it also made the whole situation even more unbelievable. 

This couldn’t be real... 

They were close enough that if she stretched her arms forward, she could touch him, but she didn’t want to. What if he turned into a puff of smoke the moment they made contact? What if she had some severe concussion from the wound on her temple and she was merely seeing and hearing things? She remembered the last moment before her mother’s death filled with feverish dream and incoherent words. Could this be merely flashing regret at the end of her life? Was she actually dying right now? 

“...dress your wound right now,” Prothoë’s voice and a light touch to her shoulder snapped her back to reality as she turned her head to her side, ears ringing like she had just been boxed at the abrupt movement but then it stopped just as abruptly. 

“I’m fine,” she repeated, looking back at Prothoë, confused as to why her second-in-command looked at her with a deep frown on her forehead. While the answer might sound like lip service, she actually felt what she had said. The wound didn’t hurt as much as when she had woken up and while she wasn’t sure how much time had passed since then, it might not have been that severe to begin with. 

“Can you leave us here for a little bit? Tell the others that we will begin preparations for our return home,” she said again, almost automatically. The two Amazons hesitated as they glanced at each other but said nothing when they slightly nodded their heads and began walking away from the two of them. 

When the two other Amazons were out of her earshot, she turned her head slowly back to the kneeling figure before her. He still hadn’t taken his eyes off and was now sporting a slight frown on his forehead, as if he was worried at her bloody temples but said nothing. From his stance, she could see that his right arm and left knee supported his weight while his other arm rested awkwardly by the side of his folded leg. His expression looked as if he wanted to move forward and touch her but restrained himself. 

Penthesilea studied him once more, noting every detail of his that she couldn’t appreciate during their several clashes before because he had always been moving too fast. He wasn’t called the swift foot for nothing, she thought absently, which made his still form only adding to the surrealness of the situation. If his eyes weren’t following hers, she would have been convinced that he was a statue. She still couldn’t remember what had actually happened, but she decided that it didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was that he was right in front of her, and she could touch him if she wanted to, and maybe he would answer too if she asked. 

“Are you afraid of me?” was what came out of her lips even though there were many other things she had wanted to ask him. But her lips moved on itself when she changed to kneeling position so she could see him better and closer, but not too close. 

He stared back at her, still with a slightly deviant look in his eyes that mixed with some other emotions that she couldn’t decipher. “Even if you were to end me right here and now,” he started, not taking his eyes off her, “I have no reason to be afraid of such fetching creature like you.” 

Her heart almost leaped at that, but maintained her frigid stance, not wanting to fall too easily to such cheap trick in case it was one. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere.” 

The green-haired man shrugged slightly and replied, “I am merely stating a fact.” 

This couldn’t be real, she decided. There was something off in Prothoë’s explanation that didn’t add up to this whole situation, and his relaxed manner rubbed her off the wrong way―not the bad way, but at that point, she realized that things could not have happened like what she had been told. Even she herself was still having a hard time accepting that this situation was real. But he was right in front of her now, kneeling, talking calmly, and being really still; a rather stark contrast to the one that she knew from the few times they had exchanged blows. She had decided that how they ended like this didn’t matter, but that didn’t stop her from thinking about it. Now she had to figure out what to do with him next. 

“You are my prisoner now,” she said after what felt like forever since the last time she opened her mouth. 

“I am well aware of that.” He answered, not missing a beat. 

“We will bring you back with all the other prisoners and start the Festival of Roses,” she continued, voice void of any emotion. She hadn’t actually decided if she would actually do that, she just wanted to see how he would react. “Your esteemed bloodline will make a nice addition to ours.” 

His eyes widened slightly, probably now understanding the real reasons behind their fight. He was quick to compose his face back before she could decipher, though, when he said, “So, that’s why your people came to this plain.” 

“Exactly.” She was almost disappointed at how flat his reaction was. Where was the passion that he had shown when they had been chasing each other? Where was the thrill and exhilarating feeling of constantly being at each other’s throats? What would she do after this?  

He was going to be released when they were finished with the festival, as per the tradition, and that was it. She’d return to her normal life in Themiskyra, bearing and rearing the child－ his child－and life would go on for the Amazons. That was the only thing to be expected from here on. 

Again, the thought of him leaving made her sad. She had been sad when her sister and mother passed away, or when her nephew, and people that she had practically grown up with left her to be carried away by Charon to the other side. But she had only met him for a few days now, what was she sad about? She barely knew anything about him, this was ridiculous. 

“What would you do once your people get what you needed?” 

His voice snapped her back to reality. She had been zoning out too much lately and she was right in front of him now. She knew he wouldn’t do anything reckless because her women were still around to watch his every move, but she reminded herself that she only had so much time to be with him now that he was her prisoner. 

“We won’t kill you; we’ll even send you all away with gifts as a thanks for your cooperation,” she answered, looking at him, trying to read every subtle change to his facial lines to find any sign of deception. 

“That’s probably a worse fate...” he said, eyebrows raised slightly, and he actually looked sad, even as she tried to be skeptical. 

Was this normal? Was he just playing around with her? She had never interacted with men outside her families, and all the other men she had met in other settings mostly looked at her with varying degree of contempt, fear, awe or even slight that eventually turned into one of the former the moment they clashed with each other, so she wouldn’t know what was considered normal. 

Achilles, he was different. The moment they locked eyes with each other, she could only see passion. Many other people she had met before had passion too in their eyes, but they weren’t looking at her. He looked at her with that passion and while it could mean anything from bloodlust to mere bodily lust, the more they encountered each other, the more she found herself not caring much about what was behind that passion. She wanted more of that, even if only for a bit longer, and now she had the chance.  

In another normal circumstances, this kind of reaction might be regarded as absurd, but they were never normal to begin with and she had thought about every other scenario, but her desire remained unchanged, even now.  

“Don’t you...” she started again, letting her lips move on itself. “Won’t you miss your homeland? Your family and friends?” 

Again, he shrugged calmly, shoulders rolling like gentle waves. “Some of them have gone before me, the remaining ones, especially my mother, didn’t expect me to return alive.” 

His tone sounded too nonchalant for something that morbid, but his face actually softened when he said it, so she tried not to judge, but she was curious, to say the least. 

“Your mother is the Goddess Thetis, correct?” 

“Oh, you know about my mother? Well, she didn’t like being called ‘goddess’, actually, but people keep referring to her as one,” he responded and suddenly, the air between them lightened for he had actually talked in a rather long sentence compared to the previous one. 

“Wouldn’t your mother be sad if you don’t return?”  

“She once told me that I could choose to live a long, quiet life, or a short, glorious one, and I immediately chose the latter. I didn’t think much about it at the time, but then-” he stopped, turning somber. She waited for him to continue. 

“You know what...” he continued, completely changing the subject. “I hate to think of it as a prophecy, because I don’t like the implication that those so-called gods interfering with my life, and my mother was never fond of them anyway. I think she meant it more as a metaphor, because anyone can die in a war.” 

“But you’re the invincible-” 

“They just said that because they refused to acknowledge that they’re weaker than me,” he cut in, voice bitter. 

“What if we just- we defy the gods and our people and just disappear into the horizon?” she blurted out rather abruptly, suddenly feeling like she could understand him; that they were indeed looking for something similar. Their current conversation might not make much sense if someone else overheard it, but she felt like they were communicating more without barely using coherent sentences. 

He smiled slightly, the corner of his eyes crinkled and she found that she rather liked that because it made him look more human. “That’s a pretty thought.” 

She shook her head, scooting closer that she was now on all four, face really close that she could feel his sharp intake of breath at the sudden movement. “Say it,” she said, “say the word and I’ll run with you.” 

He looked surprised and at loss for words because his mouth opened and closed, as if trying to formulate a coherent response. She looked straight into his golden orbs and decided that there was never deception in him. The condition that surrounded their current situation was a completely different matter, but she couldn’t care less about it now. 

“...run...?” he finally said, still looking surprised. 

“We can still choose to live a long, quiet life, you know...” she pressed, feeling her cheeks growing warm at the thought. “Leave all these behind and go to a faraway place until we’re forgotten.” 

Achilles’ golden orbs widened, once again unable to answer immediately, but she waited patiently as she backed away slightly so that he wouldn’t be too hard-pressed to answer. She felt like they had all the time in the world anyway, there was no need to rush. 

Almost immediately as the thought crossed her mind, a battle cry rang from afar, and it sounded very eerily like her women. They both whipped their heads to where the voice came from, right when the two parties clashed at each other, and the headache returned. 

She turned again to look at him, but her head was slammed to the ground before she even started to move, and she could feel a knee pressed to the small of her back while a hand locked her arms around her body so she couldn’t move. 

“...t are you doing here?!” His voice sounded angry, and she tried to look up to see his face. 

What was this? What had happened? 

Her mussed hair blocked most of her field of vision, and she couldn’t hear what he was saying to the people that were now surrounding them because there were too many voices buzzing around them. She thought she heard Prothoë approaching, voice angry and all, as she was having difficulties breathing. The wound from the side of her head and bruised ribs came haunting back as she tried desperately to meet his eyes. 

“THIS IS IT ALL ALONG, HUH?!” Prothoë bellowed, voice loud and clear, filled with righteous fury. 

Achilles shouted something as reply, but she couldn’t hear him anymore as tears started filling her eyes, blurring her vision. The weight on her back lessened as well as the grip on her arms as she was being pulled away, abruptly forced into a standing position, Prothoë supported most of her weight as she still couldn’t put much energy into her legs. 

“GO AWAY! DON’T EVER COME BACK, YOU PIG!” Prothoë’s voice thundered, drowning every other voice like an angry roar of an animal. 

Penthesilea lifted her head slightly, and from behind the curtain of her hair, she locked eyes with him, now a considerable distance away. He was being held back by several of his men, red-faced as vein popped on his visible skin, but his lips were sewed shut. 

Say Something! Anything! She wanted to urge him, but the pain now ravaged her body even more than before. Maybe it wasn’t merely physical because she couldn’t find the strength to say something herself as she clung desperately to her second-in-command's arm. 

She remembered the dream where she was dying and thought that this situation was even worse than that. Maybe this, too, was nightmare? She couldn’t see anything clearly now that the tears streamed down her cheeks, and the voices turned into cacophonies, so she closed her eyes, hoping that she would wake up from this... whatever this was. 

Penthesilea had felt like she could even defy the gods if she was with him. But no , she realized with a pang. This was what happened when humans tried to defy gods. 

Penthesilea always adored the Festival of Roses.  

They would dress her sisters in their best chiton, layered with sheer fabric that looked like ethereal veils around their body, added with ample garland of roses; mainly red roses for the queen, around their neck and head. It wasn't every day the Amazons get to dress up in mostly clean, white garments, and it wasn't in their nature to anyway, but they'd make sure to enjoy the occasion while it lasts. Life was fleeting, after all. 

They'd hold hands and dance all day like they have all the time in the world. The prisoners would start out looking glum, but after a few drinks and coaxing, they'd soon be part of the festivities. Her sisters said that the main event would start deep into the night, but she was never allowed to watch. She'd know when the time came, they'd say. She didn't really care, though, because at the end of the day, that was the only part of the festival when her supposed duty was to be fulfilled.  

That shouldn't be that much fun, maybe that's why she was never allowed to watch , was what she shrugged it off with.  

They'd continue the festival for seven days straight, repeating the same thing each day as everyone grew increasingly intoxicated with wine and affection. Then they'd send the prisoners away with shower of gifts and life would go back to normal for them; going hunting and conflict for maintaining their livelihood and territory. She had never questioned that kind of life, not until recently, at least. 

Penthesilea sat under a tree, hiding in the shadow of its lush foliage. It was a fine day as Apollo smiled at them from up above, and she didn't feel like ruining the mood with her obvious reluctance. Everyone was having fun as if they hadn't just returned from a literal battlefield less than a day ago, but that was exactly the point of having a festival, right? So that they could forget about unsavory things in life and indulge oneself in momentary fun. 

What fun? It wasn't real fun if she couldn't even do as she liked. What would her father say when he came to visit later? Would he be disappointed that she failed to beat Thetis' son and bring him as her prisoner? She hoped he was being his usual self and just forgot to visit for whatever reasons; for she didn't feel like explaining what had transpired. It wasn't as if his presence was needed at this event anyway. 

Several girls began running towards her direction, holding a basket full of roses. "Here's the garland for you, your Majesty," one of them said, handing a garland of red roses. 

She looked at the flowers, then at the girl who was holding it with hopeful eyes. The other girls behind her had the same expression too, and she couldn't help but smile back. "They're really pretty," she said, almost automatically and lowered her head so they could put it on her head. 

They squealed, complimenting her and tugging at her sleeve excitedly. If it was one of her women, she would have dismissed them, but she couldn't do that to these girls for she once had been one of them too. Reluctantly, she stood up and followed their lead, drowning in their giddy chatter and squeal until they reached a crowd of older girls, all around her ages and would be participating in this year's festival. Absently, she realized that she was the only one wearing the red roses. 

The sun filtered through her crown casted reddish shadow on her shoulder and when the girls started tugging at her sleeves, causing her to slightly stumble forward, for a fragment of second, she felt like her vision turned completely red. There was movement around her, and it took several seconds to realize that they were dancing while she was being dragged along the movement. She looked around, trying to make out anything, but her vision was only filled with reddish, hazy blur. She knew the dance, had seen it many times and could even repeat the movements in her sleep. But this was the first time she actually participated in it and panic started to overtake when she realized that her body refused to follow her bidding, although that wasn't her biggest problem since the others didn’t seem to care if she did the movements right for they were too busy laughing and dancing. 

Penthesilea tried to wrench free, even expected her body to fall to the ground anytime now, but there was always a hand that grabbed her wrist as part of the dance's movement and her body followed suit even though all of her sore limbs and joints twisted painfully for each turn and stumbling step she made. She had kept her mouth shut because she had been afraid of how her voice would come out in her distraught state, but now she couldn't even get anything out of her gaping lips but short gasp of breath. This started to feel like one of those nightmares she had. If this continued on, she might literally choke to death. 

"Your majesty!" 

Prothoë's booming voice sounded like music to her ear as the other girls abruptly stopped. They were still holding hands, so she was saved from the fall. Regaining focus of her vision, Penthesilea turned her head to where the voice had come from. Prothoë had been participating in the dance too, it seemed, because she caught glimpse of her releasing hands from the crowd on the other side and was now running towards her with an older woman behind her, seemingly out of breath. 

"A herald-" the older woman said in between breath. "A herald from the Myrmidon has come." 

Penthesilea remembered all of her subject's names because that's the least she could do to respect them, but for a fragment of—or maybe even several—seconds, she couldn't remember this particular one, and the names that came out of her mouths. 

Myrmidon? What's a myrmidon?   

Her head was still hurting, and she could still see some specks of red in her field of vision. She wanted to ask but couldn't as her mind went overdrive to make sense of what the woman was saying, leaving no more space for other action. Prothoë and the other woman whose-name-she-still-couldn't-remember looked at her with deep creases on their foreheads and now she wondered why. Was it because those so-called Myrmidons were evil people? Was them sending a herald meant an inevitable war or something along the lines? Was it really a dire situation? Or was it because she was simply being silent for one second too long? What? 

"He brought a message from Achilles; inviting you to a duel." 

The dance had felt like a dream, and now she was being abruptly and harshly awakened, like a hard slap in the face, or even one of her previous encounters with Achilles himself. Her heart lurched, then started beating uncontrollably. She had been confused at the mention of the unfamiliar names, but his name brought everything to clarity; too clear even that she was now bombarded with a series of events that happened in the last few days in a barrage of images. She had been struggling to breathe then, she still struggled to breathe evenly now. 

Calm down, she told herself to no avail. She had cried silently when they finally parted ways just less than a day ago, the tears now threatening to swell up again the more she remembered everything. This was ridiculous, she told herself again. Her father would be disappointed if he saw her being a whiny, crybaby over a mere man who failed her time and time. If her father knew about this, he would kill the man on the spot, or worse; torture him until the man begged to just be killed, and he would then laugh and start torturing him all over again.  

That could be an option, she thought darkly, or she could just spare him the trouble and finish him quickly. Her father didn't need to be troubled by such trifling matters, right? The ideas were quite tempting, but she didn't like the effect those thoughts had on her body. She was still queen, after all, and lashing out like some wild beast was never an option. Hence the need to calm down. 

"Where is the herald?" her voice sounded calm and alien to herself, because her mind was still pretty much in so much cacophony. 

The creases on the two women's foreheads deepened as they glanced at each other, avoiding eye contact with their queen and answered with low voice, almost sounding timid in comparison to her inner thunderous thought. She followed the two of them to the gate, where a little boy was standing, guarded by a couple of soldiers, looking nervous and probably even shaking when he saw them approaching. 

"Did Achilles sent you here?" she asked the boy, who, by now, was obviously shaking. Again, she felt like her voice sounded really weird, like it wasn't hers, and wasn't even spoken according to her bidding. She blamed the dance for that, as her head stil felt partially spinning. 

The boy nodded, and while he was still too young to develop an Adam's apple, he visibly gulped really hard. Silly boy, she thought, she wasn't even talking loudly, what did he get intimidated about? She could understand if he felt uncomfortable from being in the midst of possible enemies, but why was he looking at her like she was going to swallow him whole? 

"Tell him that I will meet him at the hill near the oak tree," she said after observing the little boy in one quick glance. He wasn't as pretty as Achilles, but she could see some similar, prominent features of people from Grecian land. His almost scrawny torso still looked awkward, but he would definitely grow up to be a fine man if trained properly, she imagined. Not as fine as him, of course, but she wouldn't object if he was to be added to the Amazon's bloodline. 

Silly thought, she berated herself. No one would ever be as fine as him. He, who had the blood of the titan running through his vein, blessed by Zeus, whose impenetrable golden armor only adding to all those shines, making him a nigh unapproachable figure. 

The boy nodded vigorously and started walking backward, glancing warily around him before taking off in a sprint across the hill. She watched the boy's disappearing back, then turned back where Prothoë, alone this time, waited, worry lines creasing her face. 

"I'm going with you, your majesty." 

Penthesilea was sure they both still remembered how their last encounters with Achilles had unfolded, and Prothoë had been rightfully furious at the time. It only happened the day before, why didn't she try to stop her from potentially replaying the rather traumatic experience? She felt strangely alienated by her current surroundings, she thought they all acted weird, although the same could be said about her.  

Why did she accept the invitation? It could be another trap, or the other Greeks might compromise their encounter—whatever that was, Fate seemed really intent on not intertwining their strings, might as well spare her the emotional turmoil and avoid the temptation altogether, but she had answered with clarity, or she thought she had been being very clear and firm. 

That still didn't answer why, though. 

Penthesilea then remembered his soft expression in the brief time they had actually talked without trying to kill each other. It wasn't even a day before, but she felt like it had happened a lifetime ago. He had looked sad that time and she had felt sorry for him. She wanted to kiss him and embrace him, and hold hands with him, kiss him again, and then run towards the horizon and just disappear. 

It would be beautiful. 

Furry skin brushed against both her legs, and she looked down, finding her hunting dogs curled around her legs and looking up at her. She kneeled, hugged and nuzzled each of their necks. "Good boys," she said fondly. 

"Your majesty?"  

Prothoë's voice sounded really far behind and lost in the low rumbles of her dogs around her. She stood up and started walking towards the gate, grabbing a bow and quiver that was rested near the guard's post. She liked to use spears and swords better, but with her dogs following her, she really got into the mood for hunting so she absently picked something that would be most suitable for the task.  

She then noticed that several lions had joined their pack, making their way towards her and demanded attention as any cat would—albeit a huge one. She petted them lovingly on the head, satisfied that after all those years accompanying her hunting, they were still able to read her mood better than any of her women ever could. 

"Let's go," she said to them as she started running. 

Belatedly, she realized that she was still wearing her layered dress, and that the rose garlands still adorned some parts of her body, but found it didn't hinder any of her movement, so she brushed it off and kept running. The sensation of silk dress brushing against her moving legs actually felt really good—a really nice change of sort. Besides, she wanted to look pretty for a change, it wasn't everyday she got to dress like this after all and got to see him again too after what felt like forever. 

She had been hurt by his silence before; he could've said something then, but it wasn't only the two of them in this whole mess because she could—should have said something too. But this was the first time she was involved in this kind of conflict, so she hadn't been sure how to react properly. She felt like blaming anyone wouldn't do anything, and if she could still try it again, she would. Right now, various emotions were running through her mind like it always did whenever she was about to meet him. One thing for sure was that she longed for his presence no matter how many battlefields she had to trample through. If anything, she would defy the self-serving gods over and over again if that meant she could be with him. 

Ah, there he was, she thought when she saw a figure standing under the familiar oak tree a distance away. She slowed, legs shoulder apart, lifting her bow and pulled an arrow from the quiver. The plume was as red as the roses around her wrist, and she found it to be almost poetic. It was part of the tradition to give her chosen man the rose garland, but she didn't really care about that, she just thought red would suit him.  

Yes, she would give him the garland, she decided as she pulled the draw weight. 

The arrow soared across the plain and blended right in with its surroundings. She could see his face now that he was turning her way, still a distance away, but clearly, nonetheless. His lips moved, seemingly saying something but she couldn't hear him, what's with all her dogs barking around her. The arrow had disappeared completely, and she didn’t care much. Why had she brought it here anyway? She didn’t remember as she stared, confused at the instrument in her hands, then tossed both the bow and quiver away as she started running again. The invitation to duel was just a cover up, she was sure of that. No one had ever gone through all the trouble just to see her, no one but him. He had earned his right to be with her, and she wanted it too. She wanted to kiss those lips, embrace that body of him, and maybe, just maybe... 

They would get their beautiful escapade, after all. 

“I’ve told them to stop, but Agamemnon insisted on bringing you back,” was the first thing Odysseus said when they saw each other again. 

Achilles looked at the older man flatly. “It doesn’t matter. I hate you all anyway,” he said, voice betraying the emotion that was still raging inside his head. A bigger part of him was already tired of the seemingly unending tug-of-war, only they were the only ones competing while he stood holding the other end of the rope, unrelenting and uncaring.  

It dawned to him that he hadn’t once lashed out during the whole ordeal; at least not as bad as it had with Hektor, maybe they thought he was growing soft, so they thought they could get away not heeding his warning. If he hadn’t been trying to find a way to be with the Amazon queen, maybe he would have killed them all, but alas, if he had the time and energy to murder these fools, he might as well use the resource to devise another plan so that he could return to her side now that he knew where they stood at.  

His face blushed involuntarily when he thought about how close her face had been that he could feel her breath tickled his lips. She smelled like roses and ambrosia and slight sulphur, which was a rather odd combination, but he liked it, intoxicated even because he knew it was uniquely hers. She had looked worse for the wear with multiple cuts and bruises marring her body, and her clothes hadn’t been in their best condition either, but she had never looked more beautiful in his eyes. The dried blood that smeared part of her lower lips looked like rouge and light pink flush adorned her cheeks. He liked how she could be fierce and unrelenting one moment but could also look so innocent and lovestruck in another. He hadn’t been able to answer her then because he had been fantasizing about kissing those blood-caked lips and holding her calloused hands−to then walk away and disappear into the horizon with her. 

The mighty Achilles reverted back into a blushing virgin at the mere thought of her. Of course, he would have no more space in his head caring for the cacophonies that was the men that he had considered to be comrade-at-arms once upon a time. The bumbling idiots them all, he thought derisively. 

What should he do now? He didn’t want to be around these fools more than he needed to and if he didn’t get a whiff of her soon enough, he felt like he was going crazy. The woman who had always been by her side, he didn’t remember her name, had suggested that he needed to pretend to be a defeated prisoner then, and the queen herself hadn’t seemed like she remembered about what had actually happened during their encounter and had assumed that he had been her prisoner. So, if he wanted to be welcomed back there again, he needed to be her prisoner, it seemed. Perhaps he should challenge her again, but he didn’t want to accidentally wound her either, but would she try to kill him if he didn’t fight back? But she had been the one suggesting them to run away, no? Even if they didn’t manage to run away, he could still be with her, and they could always devise another plan to actually run away later. He needed to go to her side first. 

Should he send a herald? Not too fast, he needed to find some ways to not being dragged away by these fools. What would he tell them this time? He had made his intention clear to them before, and Odysseus actually seemed like he had started to give up trying to convince him. Now, if he could convince him to convince others to not pursue him too, it would speed matters up. Should he try to convince someone else too, though? Because the more the better, right? And Odysseus definitely possessed better rhetorical skills than him. 

“Just give up already, you know there’s no stopping Agamemnon when he orders something to be done,” a familiar voice snapped him out of musing, and when he looked up, Diomedes was talking with Odysseus, who, he just realized, was standing near him. Their eyes met briefly when the man noticed that he could hear them talking. 

“Although we could say the same with this rascal here,” Diomedes added, smirking lopsidedly at him. 

A day had passed since their last altercation, and he basically ignored all of the other men preparing for their return by Odysseus’ orders. He had no intention of following them back, of course, but he still hadn’t decided what his next course of action would be, so he stuck around until the others left or he left them, whichever came first. Although he didn’t like Diomedes only adding to the cacophonies, he was absently relieved that it was him that came because at least he knew he could stand the man without actually murdering him and possibly causing civil war among their own ranks. 

“You’re right,” he quipped in. “I said I’m not coming back to Troy; Agamemnon could bite the dust and use that willpower to just kidnap Helen back himself.” 

Odysseus glanced down at him, slightly surprised. For what, he guessed for the fact that he was still talking after he had dismissed him the day before and hadn’t talked to ever since. 

“You are serious about this.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement that sounded rather placid, coming from Odysseus. 

“Seriously, what’s the deal with those women? Can’t you just drag one of them back to the camp or something?” Diomedes asked, looking curious. 

“You’ve seen them fight, I don’t think it would be economical to try to drag one of them away now, would it?” Achilles answered. 

Diomedes crossed his arms and contemplated for a second, then said, “you’re right. We’ll just be wasting manpower and possibly senselessly sending them to Hades.”  

The conversation sounded rather bizarre even for Achilles; it was as if they had completely forgotten why they were here in the first place. But both Odysseus and Diomedes were one of the people who was more than used to Achilles’ antics, so they probably were only ignoring it. Maybe he should confide to them after all so that they wouldn’t repeat the whole tomfooleries over and over again. He wouldn’t tell them his whole intention, of course, just the convenient one to convince them enough to let go of him and not try to drag him back a mere second later. 

“I will send a herald to her, to challenge her to another duel,” he said, more to himself now that he was sure of what to do. 

“Huh? I thought you just wanted to have some fun with her?” Diomedes asked again. 

“Yes, but I’ve learned the only way I could get closer to her is that to become her prisoner.” 

“Oh,” it all then dawned upon the two other men. Odysseus actually blushed and started fumbling, “I, I’ve heard of such mating ritual, but wouldn’t that mean you have to be sl... away for quite some time until... until, you know, the purpose is... finished?” 

If he hadn’t been so set about this matter, he would have teased the man, but he just answered flatly and matter-of-factly, “Two, three months, probably.” 

The two other men glanced at each other, at loss for words now that things had been exlplained from a rather serious-looking Achilles. The only other times the man had been this serious was when he plotted for revenge to Hektor. 

They still hadn’t said anything when he called for a herald to send his duel invitation to the Amazons. The boy looked rather horrified at his request but carried on anyway. He then walked back to where the other two men were still standing and sat back down on the log he had been sitting 

“Aren’t you going to prepare another set of armor or weapons?” Diomedes asked after a few moments of awkward silence. 

 “No, I’m going to yield to her anyway,” he answered. It all dawned upon him that they hadn’t asked about what had happened to his armor that had been obviously missing when he was being forcefully dragged back before. But he had also dismissed them as soon as they saw face to face, and with all the bizarre conversation that had ensued afterwards, they probably were still trying to process what had happened and what would happen from now on. He was still trying to process the whole thing himself. 

What if she refused to duel with him? She had looked hurt when they parted before, so it was a possibility. What if she decided that she didn’t want to be with him again, what was with all the altercation that always happened whenever they encountered each other. The thoughts made his stomach churn, and waiting for the herald to come back didn’t help matter either. Waiting was torture, after all.  

“I’m going to prepare my horse,” he finally said, knowing that sitting down and waiting wouldn’t help. Both Odysseus and Diomedes mumbled something when he started to walk away, and he was surprised when he realized that one of them was following him. 

“Are you sure about all this?” It was Diomedes who asked him, concern lacing his voice. 

He looked at the man, smiled slightly, then busied himself with setting the rein of his horse. “I’ve been thinking about leaving once I have succeeded avenging Patroclus.” 

That wasn’t news to both of them because he never hid his intention (and disagreement) before anyone, but Achilles’ reminiscing tone struck the other man as unusual. “As in going home, right?” 

“Funny that I never thought about returning back either,” he replied, shrugging. “Maybe I just want to disappear altogether, I don’t know.” 

“Who are you...” Diomedes started, “and what have you done to the butthead Achilles?”  

He laughed at that, lightheartedly and the other man followed not long after. Everything was all right in the world, at least in that moment. They continued the conversation with some mundane topics, like they were merely preparing for another siege like every other day in Troy. The situation still struck Achilles as bizarre, but they had been in a decade long war up until this point, so what was normal anyway? Not knowing if they would see each other again the next day was an everyday occurrence back in Troy, so it wasn’t that much of a change after all. Besides, he had this ominous feeling that he would die sooner rather than later anyway, he would spend every remaining last second of his life doing whatever he wanted. 

“Lord Achilles!” 

The two men snapped their head at the shout and saw the herald came running towards them, breathless. Achilles stiffened and just stood rigid when the boy stopped right before him, trying to catch his breath. He wanted to urge the young man to relay the message as quickly as possible but wasn’t sure if he was ready to hear it himself. The questions that had been haunting his mind came bombarding back.  

“Sh-she said she accepted the duel!” The boy finally said, trying to catch his breath again and continued, “-and that she will meet you near the oak tree...” 

Achilles’ mouth opened and closed, not sure what to say when he felt a slight tugging at his wrist and saw Diomedes looked at him, face serious. 

“I guess this is it, huh?” 

Why did the man speak like he was never going to return? He was sure we would not return, yes, but the other man didn’t know about it, no? Was his intention shown too clearly in his face or something? Maybe it did, and they weren’t strangers to each other too. Now he felt bad about ever thinking of hating them. They would have arguments like any friends did, but they were also the first ones to understand if something was amiss about each other. Odysseus, Antilochus too, and several others who weren’t here at the time, and his mother. For a fragment of second, he felt sad knowing that he would never see them again, but he was never going back anyway, he had known that when he agreed to set for Troy and was even more convinced after he had killed Hektor. At least now they knew he went off willingly and without regret. 

He nodded at Diomedes, returning the grips on his wrist. Odysseus walked over to them when he released his grip on Diomedes’ arm, offering his hand and he grabbed his wrist too as they smiled slightly at each other, no word said. Part of him still felt like being in a strange dream when he started walking away from the two of them with his horse in tow. He looked up at the sky and smelled the wind, then mounted his horse and picked up the pace. He thought he caught a faint smell of her, or maybe he was even more crazy for her than he had expected.  

Should he think about something to say to her when they meet again? An apology, perhaps? Or should he just play the part of being a prisoner and tell her when they were alone later on? But he still didn’t know what to say. He had been in many life and death situations before this, but never had his heart beating uncontrollably like this time.  

Ah, yes, he needed to get a whiff of her first, and he would think about what to say later. Right now, he had to focus to get there.  

He wasn’t sure how long it took him to the place because the sun had been up high in the sky for as long as he remembered, creating mirages in his field of vision, but he finally reached the oak tree where his armor still lay under it, carefully hidden in between the protruding roots of the tree. He dismounted his charger, looking around. There was still no sign of her, so he just stood there, waiting.  

A small part of him still felt sad about leaving his comrades, but for the most part, he felt rather nervous, giddy, and impatient, not sure what to expect from now on. He felt like everything would fall into its place when they met, so there shouldn’t be anything to be worried about, but that didn’t stop him from thinking about the what ifs anyway. What if she was mad after all that altercation? What if she had only agreed to meet him just to tell him off? She had all the right and reasons, he could understand that, but he was willing to risk it all. He would fight tooth and nail just to be with her, even if he had to face her wrath. 

A soft breeze of wind whipped his hair, and for a fragment of second, he caught a whiff of Ambrosia. His head snapped, a sharp pang of pain to his nape when he turned his head to look around, trying to find her because the smell was only getting stronger, a sure sign that she was really nearby. She was a few distance away from him and closing in, roses adorned her pretty head. He had thought she looked beautiful, even when she was beaten and battered, now she simply looked divine.  

He stretched an arm to her as she was cutting through the mirage. Her face looked reddish from the shadow filtered through her crown of roses as she smiled at him and looked even more beautiful than any goddess ever could. The roses on her head only amplified her scent and he was beyond intoxicated. He could see that the roses adorned her wrists too, when both her hands captured each side of his face. Rough, calloused palms brushed against his cheeks as she was closing in on him. 

Red really suited her, he thought as he lost himself in her fiery amber orbs, and the next thing he knew, everything was dyed red. 

Penthesilea had always imagined that his hands were calloused, much like hers, for he was a formidable warrior whose mastery of arms was unquestionable.  

Holding hands with him would probably be like holding hands with any of her women because, for one she rarely mingled with anyone whose hands were not calloused anyway, only his would probably smell like ambrosia and salty breeze and wet sand. She liked his smell; it reminded her of the sea that she had only visited once before. She remembered looking out at the horizon, trying and failing to see what was beyond the line where the sea met the sky and left her wondering with fascination. His presence, his smell, almost all of him reminded her of that feeling, the fact that he was easy on the eyes and had impressive parentage were only added bonuses. She didn’t mind if she had to spend the rest of her life surrounded by his fragrance. And, oh, his hand, how she had wanted to intertwine her fingers with his! 

Her hands weren’t dainty like one of those women who lived in the city, but his hands were visibly still bigger than hers. She wondered−fantasized−that it must be really warm if those calloused palms were closing in on hers. Ah, it wasn’t good. Why was she acting like some silly girls on their first crush? He was her first crush, technically speaking, but it wasn’t as if it was her first time interacting with men, and why was she particularly fixated on his hands? 

Penthesilea’s nose twitched, as well as her hand when she felt something grazed slightly on her palm. The touch was fleeting, akin to a brush of feather to her skin, but she realized that the hand that touched her were calloused. There were rustles of wind and her nose twitched again; it smelled like the salty breeze and ambrosia–could it be...? 

Blinking the light that peeked through her bangs, she tried to focus her vision. All she remembered up until this point was red, but then the color melted away and everything turned black and white for a moment. Another touch, wet and cold this time, and she flinched as the colors other than red began returning to her vision. 

The first thing that she saw was her hand; dripping with water as familiar hand brushed it lightly as if washing away whatever had been on her hand before. Her legs were folded under her, posture slumped, and numb pain was crawling all over her body. And what was with the salty smell? Was he still around that she could still smell him so strongly? Or were they currently near the sea? 

“...ere?” She could barely squeak as she realized that her throat was burning, like the kind of pain she would endure after too much shouting. 

The familiar hand stopped, followed by a familiar voice. “Your majesty?” 

“Prothoë...?” she said, realizing whose hand it had been. “W-where...?” 

The hand that held her tensed, and the voice that followed sounded stiff and strained. “What do you mean, my queen?” 

Her ears buzzed with voices, or maybe it was only her thought that was trying to make sense of things that were currently happening to her. She was still wearing the silk dress that was now tinted pink with deep red blotches every here and there. But she had been seeing red before this, so was that supposed to mean something? Anything? The corner of her vision was still hazy at best and the smell of ambrosia and sea that had been stuffing her nose were now being replaced by the foul smell of blood and death. 

Right, she was nowhere near the sea right now, she realized, which meant that the smell of sea, most likely, came from him , or she was merely imagining things. She blinked again, belatedly realizing that she didn’t know where she currently was, although she had some ideas judging from the smell alone. She had been on many battlefields before this and was more than used to the smell, but then she flinched again and gagged when she realized what the red blotches were, and also what possibly Prothoë had washed away from her hand.  

Prothoë’s hand was gripping hers now, worry lacing her voice when she asked, “Are you okay, your majesty? Do you need to drink something?” 

That was probably a good idea since her throat was still burning with pain and acid, but thinking about swallowing something made her gag even more. Unable to hold it any longer, she turned her head to the side and retched, throwing out whatever was left inside her decidedly empty stomach. She tried catching her breath after that, the putrid smell of blood now mixed with acidic taste at the tip of her tongue and burning throat. Lips curling, she let out a low whimper akin to a cornered prey as tears fell from the corner of her eyes. Her body shook as she sank lower to the ground and she now almost curled up into a ball, moaning and choking on her own breath. Prothoë shouted something by her side, most likely orders to the other Amazons, but she couldn’t hear what was said because her ears were ringing. 

Achilles was nearby, she thought when she realized that his smell was still around, although was currently being overpowered by the stench of death and vomit. She still couldn’t make sense of things because her mind was a jumbled mess. Why was it always like this whenever she remembered something that was even remotely involving him? Something was definitely wrong with her, and something horrible had definitely happened that led up to this situation. 

Was she dying? Was she bleeding profusely that she was now almost covered in blood? No, she could still sit up, so whatever wound she got couldn’t be that bad now, could it? Was it Achilles’ blood, then? Where was he? What had happened to him? 

Grabbing Prothoë’s forearm, she sat up as straight as her current feeble body would allow, she managed to formulate a coherent sentence to ask, “Where is he now? Where is Achilles?!” 

Prothoë looked visibly flustered at her sudden movement, and possibly her question too because the color drained from her face as she fumbled for answer. “A-Achilles? What-what are you talking about, my queen? He betrayed us, remember?” 

It was clear that she was not going to get an honest answer. Prothoë had always been trying to protect her, even if she had to outright lie or use force to accomplish just that. When she thought about it again, there were most likely several instances where Prothoë did exactly that. That was why she always felt like several things just didn’t make sense.  

Instead of protesting or pointing out the obvious, she used Prothoë’s arm as leverage and lifted herself up. She managed to stand on her feet, despite slightly wobbling before gaining her balance, and taking the first step away while Prothoë protested in the background. If she wasn’t going to get an answer, she would look for it herself. She was sure that something had happened, possibly not too long before this because she was still in a sort of mess, so chances were she could still find out what. 

Some other Amazons were scattered around and looked at her with varying degree of surprise; some even them even paled worse than Prothoë had. None of them tried to interfere, if anything, they scooted away as if she were a plague. She couldn’t blame them considering the state of her dress, and she didn’t care anyway. She would just take in whatever was in her vision, and her attention now was drawn to a flock of women gathered around and talking among themselves. The smell of ambrosia now started filling her nostrils again, although it still mixed with the smell of blood. 

One of the women realized that she was approaching, all the colors drained from her face when she squealed, “Y-your majesty?!” 

Soon after, the other women around her followed suit, and instead of dispersing like the other women, they huddled even tighter as if trying to protect something. 

“Your majesty, you can’t!” Prothoë shouted from behind her, footsteps frantic as a hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her harshly. “We need to dress your injury-” 

Penthesilea said nothing and jerked her hand free from the other woman’s almost deadly grip. She was now sure that the answer lied behind that barricade of women before her. Various emotions ran through her mind; the loudest one actually echoed Prothoë’s; that she couldn’t–shouldn’t see it because it would hurt her. But how many times did she have to run away now? How many times had she hesitated before the answer? Some of her women had tried to stop her several times with Prothoë being at the forefront of everything, but she knew that she was the one that held herself back the most with her own hesitation. 

She had hesitated because she hadn’t been sure about what she wanted with him, but after their last encounter, she was sure what she wanted; to just disappear with him to the horizon, rules and tradition be damned. They had been close to that goal, and she wouldn't miss another chance again. If he was incapacitated after whatever had happened, she would carry him away; far, far away from anything and everything. Nothing could stop her now, not even the gods, she thought as she tore through a flock of stunned women. Prothoë’s frantic voice was slowly turning into cacophonies when she reached the center of the throng where a figure was lying on the ground covered with a piece of dark cloth. The voices inside her head now screamed at her to stop, but she ignored it and pulled the piece of sheet away. 

If nightmares could turn into reality, she would imagine this was one of them, except she wasn’t dreaming now and the grotesque sight before her was as real as the smell of sea and blood and death that still invaded her nose−all at once now. A wave of nausea hit her again, harder and harsher this time but she fought the gag reflex from retching. There wasn’t anything left to spill out anyway, or of him too... 

“WHO DID THIS?  WHO IS THE WRETCHED SOUL THAT DARED TO DO THIS?!” Pain forgotten, Penthesilea screamed at the top of her lungs that the women around her visibly flinched at that.  

There was terse silence for a few excruciating moments as everyone held their breath for fear of invoking fury from their mad queen. Penthesilea started hyperventilating now and tried really hard not to make it too visible as she scanned every single one of them with her blazing amber orbs. None of them dared to meet her in the eyes and she could imagine why. But then her eyes fell on Prothoë, who was still standing right in the middle of the restless throng of women, and she actually looked at her straight in the eyes, face emotionless and passive, which she took as a challenge.  

The other women scurried away when she walked towards her second-in-command, every step felt like dragging a steel ball as she tried to not immediately lash out in anger. It wasn’t as if the other women were picking a fight with her, but they definitely sparked her infamous temper with their silence–or boldness, in Prothoë’s case. She stopped a few steps away from Prothoeë, and although they were around the same height, she tilted her head slightly so that she could look down on her. 

“Do you have something to say?” she asked, voice icy. 

“You did it yourself, my queen,” Prothoë's answer was calm compared to the explosive fury that now overheat her head. 

“That is preposterous,” she responded almost instantly, but then wavered when Prothoë held her gaze to her as if to prove that she was telling the truth this time, no holds barred. 

Penthesilea then looked around again, and every other woman still refused to meet her gaze, but then she realized something else. The growl of her hunting dogs was mixed with the murmurs of the women and, true enough, when she looked around, she could see that they were being chained and held back by several women on the other side of the crowd while several lions stood by their side, looking at her with their big, cat's eyes. Her heart dropped to her feet when she saw that their teeth and claws were dripping with fresh blood. She then lifted both her hand and scrutinized her palms; the rose bracelets still adorned her wrist, although looked visibly in shambles after Gods knew what had happened. 

The red of the petals disconcerted her, especially after the rather gruesome sight she had just seen, but then she saw it; the dried dark liquid that lined the petals almost like frosted blood. Her conviction now began to crumble as she tried to piece everything together, despite the gaping maw in her recollection that she felt like she couldn’t fill unless she asked. 

Asked who? Prothoë? She was obviously the only one who knew the whole thing and wasn’t afraid of invoking her wrath. But what if she lied again? Prothoë had said that she had done this herself, but there was no way she could do this horrible thing now, could she? She might be mad, but she wasn’t some rampaging, wild beast now, was she? 

Absently, she touched her lips with the tip of her finger. The salty smell of sea and blood tickled her nose again and also the tip of her tongue. Several ideas began forming as to what might have happened, but no, that couldn't be any of it now, could it? 

She began hyperventilating again but didn’t try to hide it this time as she whipped her head back to where the body of Achilles was still lying; bloody and motionless. She walked with stumbling steps towards him again only to fall to her knees when she reached his side. Her sight was blurred with blooming tears, but she had never seen anything clearer than she was now seeing. 

Claw marks of various sizes marred, no, destroyed most of the upper part of his torso, and his face-oh, his pretty face. She had fantasized about kissing his lips, but there weren’t any more lips for her to even look at. Droplets of tear now fell on his bloody form, and she was grateful for that since she didn’t want to see this abomination of a sight any longer. She didn’t think even wild beasts could do this and Prothoë said that she had done this?  

While she had harbored some doubts due to her previous deception, she knew that Prothoë had been telling the truth this time, because she had been very calm and actually looked at her straight in the eye. Her face, although passive, carried some traces of defeat, as if admitting that there was nothing more that they could do at this point; Achilles was dead, after all, there was nothing to lie about anymore. That didn’t make it any easy to swallow, but she knew that she had to accept it sooner rather than later or she would choke herself to death trying to contradict her own rationales.  

On second thought, that might not be a bad idea, she thought as her throat began to constrict. 

A hand touched her shoulder and she turned to see what she thought was Prothoë because she couldn’t see very clearly with her teary eyes. 

“We’ll prepare a worthy funeral pyre for him,” Prothoë's voice was calm and soothing, and she felt strange again, just like that one time before she departed to meet him under the oak tree. Were they happy now that the thing that had created this mess was gone for good now? They did a really good job pretending to be sad and afraid regarding the whole thing. Was she happy that the only reason she had put her people in jeopardy was now well gone and dead?  

Nothing, she felt nothing, and she wouldn't assume that any of her women felt anything except probably horror, judging from their pale countenance. 

“What did I do, Prothoë...?” Penthesilea croaked, still sobbing, head hung in between her arms that were now propping her weight.  

There was no answer, and she didn’t need it anyway. “I thought I would kiss him and embrace him, but what is-” she had to stop because she was choking in between sobs and hiccup before finally finishing her sentence, “...what is this...?” 

“You bit him, my queen, and the dogs followed after you.” Prothoë's words were placid, but to her, it sounded really harsh and unforgiving because that was, apparently, the gruesome reality of what she had done in her brief state of madness. 

But why? 

Penthesilea’s heart still ached when she thought about what could have been. Sure, there had been many obstacles that they had gone through–or would−if it were to become even remotely true, but she believed that they could go through it as long as they were together. Why, she was the daughter of God of War Ares, and he carried the blood of titan inside his vein, surely not even the gods would dare to mess with such formidable combination, no? But then there was no use if their destinies had been decided long before by the goddesses of Fates. What happened in their lives was not written in detail, but the blueprint had always been there; in the court of Fates. 

Why did it need to end like this, though? She didn’t think she had asked too much; not glory, not power, nothing that would tip her ego any more than she already had. If anything, she just wanted to disappear with him and be forgotten from the face of the earth. From another standpoint, that might be rather selfish of her because she had gone from prioritizing her duty to then just running around aimlessly trying to catch the wind. Maybe this was her punishment for that. 

And him? What had he done to deserve this kind of fate? Killing Hektor? Or something else that he had done before and after that? Or maybe his pursuit of her had been selfish like her too? Thinking about it wouldn't change anything, she was aware of that, but she wondered about it nevertheless. And to think that she had been the one delivering such cruel fate...? 

The Amazon queen lifted her head, dry tears adorned her cheeks, amber orbs looked dull as she studied the mangled body before her once again. She then lifted her hands and studied every inch of deathly pale skin and dirty rose garland that adorned it. Prothoe had washed away the blood, but the smell of his divine blood was as strong as if it were still dripping from her entire arms. She couldn’t remember exactly what had happened but could almost picture how her hand had tried to reach his heart–literally speaking. Again, her heart ached at the horrendous thought that she rested her hand on the spot where she could feel the faint beating of her own heart; the spot where she felt hurt the most. Somehow, her hands had ripped easily through his divine flesh, surely it could tear through her flesh as easily too. 

“Your majesty?”  

Prothoë’s voice sounded really far behind even though she could feel her hand lightly touched her shoulder, just like that time when her madness started to rein her in, only this time, she welcomed it as the hand on her chest clenched tighter, spreading pain to her entire body. Her lips moved to say something, but she couldn't hear anything anymore as her vision, once again, started to dye red. 

She would follow−no, chase after him to another world, maybe even to another lifetime, if possible, because she had determined not to let even the gods to hinder her pursuit. Death was not the end, nor could it stop her. If the gods wouldn't grant her wish, then she would stay in limbo to search for anything that could fulfill her wish. The world beyond the horizon was as unknown as whatever was inside the pit of Tartarus; there was bound to be something that could fulfill her wish. She would grasp that chance with the same, bloodied hand that had ripped through his heart, her heart, and through every possible reality out there. 

Even if she failed again next, she would still try, again and again and again until their destinies intertwined.