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when they are first wed, it's quiet. it's tension in the muscles and trepidation in the bones. it's walking on eggshells (or is it knives?) as they stare at each other across the room.
they don't consummate their marriage that first night. it felt too foreign and awkward for them both. they barely knew each other beyond stories. stories of the other's parents or stories from the long since passed trojan war. the only thing they did that night was hold each other.
hermione held neoptolemus's ankle in a bruising grip as she laid in the bed, her auburn hair (her father's, not her mother's blonde curls) splayed out on the sheets, her eyes the color of raw umber1 bright in the moonlight and staring resolutely at the ceiling rather than straying to neoptolemus's green. neoptolemus gently gripped her bicep, the moonlight that creeps in through the window shining on his fiery curls (he's been told his whole life that he looks like his father, acts like his father, but he does not feel it. his father had someone to ground him, someone to love, a philotatos. neoptolemus did not have someone like that. he hoped hermione would be that person one day. one day, he'll see her as his philotatos, his best friend in life and his most beloved), feeling the somewhat defined muscle from what she told him about her interest in horse-riding. he had the same interest in horse-riding too. he wants to know more about her interest in horse-riding, she arrived with a horse of her own after all.
they fell asleep in their wedding bed, their clothes untouched by the other.
what do you tell a man that you have not seen in years?
"what do you tell a man who is already dead?" neoptolemus shot back in the dark of the night.
hermione was still intent on gripping neoptolemus's ankle since that first night. he can't wrap his mind around why she does it. he's asked once. she responded by saying she was curious. tales of how achilles was untouchable except for his ankle were regurgitated to him. he laughed, saying "those tales are false. he was shot in the heart." hermione responded in her scratchy voice (it wasn't melodic or mellifluous, but neoptolemus preferred it that way. it made her seem more approachable than her mother, made her seem more mortal than immortal. he found it ironic that he found comfort in the ways that reminded him hermione was mortal than in the ways that reminded him hermione had divine blood flowing through veins when he himself had divine blood flowing through his as well), "well, that just means that love hurts more than any wound could, doesn't it? he was driven mad by his grief of his one love." neoptolemus still didn't know how to feel about the fact that his father had left him and his mother for another person simply because he loved him more. he responded somberly, "i suppose so." since then, hermione still grips onto his ankle. neoptolemus doesn't know if it's because it reminds her of the tales of his father or because she's done for months now that it feel foreign to simply stop doing it.
hermione huffed a laugh. "i guess we both have our own issues. no one seems particularly unscathed by the war."
"didn't your cousins kill their mother after she killed her husband?" it was less a question and more an acknowledgment. an acknowledgment of what's happening in other parts of the world. on the other side of the family.
hermione's umber eyes sobered a bit. "they did." she paused, silently squeezing neoptolemus's ankle. he squeezed her bicep in turn, wordlessly telling her to take her time. (he supposed he wasn't that different from hermione in that way. he kept his gentle grip on her bicep since that first night.) hermione sighed. "i don't think clytemenstra and agamemnon were happy together." she spoke into the quiet of the night. "but i suppose that was obvious. you'd need to spend multiple months fueled by rage in a marriage in order to kill your spouse if you ask me. i mean, my mother's cousin and her husband certainly seem much happier after all."
neoptolemus hummed. "didn't they have a kid too? i've heard mention of him in passing in the markets before." neoptolemus didn't often venture into the markets... but hermione had persuaded him to join her. it was fun with hermione. he still wasn't clear on his feelings for her. he doesn't think she is either. the both of them act like the married couple they are in public and around other people, but when it's just them, signs of physical affection is fleeting except for when they are curled up in bed while signs of care linger. he doesn't know what love is like since he never found someone to love. is this relationship what love is? perhaps it is, perhaps it isn't. it's not like he'll know, he wasn't raised by two parents who were in love. (some part of him is bitter regarding that part. it made the creature of jealously and resentment rear its ugly head. he was bitter about how the man, patroclus was more important to his father than him and his mother. some part of him is still that small child from many years ago, upset that his father wasn't with him.)
"they did. i've seen him once, while he was visiting sparta." hermione answered. "he was looking for answers regarding his father. he believed that his father was dead given the twenty years since the kingdom of ithaca had last seen its king. my father gave him news of how his father was still alive and was stranded on an island."
"stranded on an island?" odysseus seemed quite intent on returning home if his expression of longing was anything to go by. (a part of him wasn't bothered by the fact that the king of ithaca was stranded on an island. the man brought neoptolemus into the war anyway. he remembered how the man dropped that infant from the wall, stony-faced as the infant fell. neoptolemus was in the line of sight of the man and the infant. he struggled to get the image out of his mind for weeks after that, kept thinking: how could he do that without shedding a tear? how could he do that when he had an infant of his own when he left for war? what would he do in the face of his son being put in that situation? actually. neoptolemus thinks he already had an idea of what he would do. the king of ithaca cared deeply for his family. neoptolemus doesn't think odysseus would spare anyone who dared to hurt someone of his family.)
"from what i've heard, the island was under the command of a goddess." hermione's eyes bore into his. in the dark, they looked like pools of quicksand, ready to grab him and pull him down into its depths. (he wondered what hermione saw when she looked at him, what she saw when she looked into his eyes. did she see anger in them? did she see trepidation in them? what did she see in the green?) neoptolemus found himself breathless as he looked into her intense eyes. "you know gods are more powerful than mortals. so there likely wasn't much he could do without the threat of being smote." she whispered.
"being intertwined with the gods," neoptolemus remarked. "what a terrible thing to be."
hermione chuckled. it was a low sound, just as how her voice was within the lower vocal range among the women neoptolemus has meant. neoptolemus adored it and he equally adored her voice. perhaps he was in love. "truly what a terrible thing to be," she agreed lowly. "rarely catch a break from the fates' plans." she murmured.
it was a shock when he asked her.
"do you want to learn how to fight?" his breath ghosted her shoulder from where they curled up in the bed.
"the women of skyros rarely do little less besides their womenly activities." she murmured.
"you're dodging the question, hermione," pyrrhus said. "do you want to learn how to fight?" he repeated.
hermione hesitated before she answered. women in sparta were well-educated. sometimes, they were encouraged to participate in athletic activities. however, none of the women she knew had knowledge of how to fight. should she take him up on his offer? surely, it'll come in handy at some point in her life. possibly if someone tries to touch her where she doesn't want to be touched.
"i'll take you up on your offer." hermione whispered against his bare skin.
"it'll be fun." pyrrhus said, less to reassure her but more to fill in the void of conversation. "and i'm interested in how much you already know from your close bond with your father."
hermione didn't need to fight someone for a long time. even after pyrrhus's death, she still practiced what he taught her.
hermione didn't need to fight someone. until she truly did need to fight.
she died in the fight, but that wasn't before she landed fatal wounds against her attacker.
as she slumped to the ground, blood spilling from her wounded abdomen, she couldn't help but wonder, will i see you again, pyrrhus?