Chapter Text
Menelaus was sitting in the dark. He found no reason why he would need to open the curtains of his room or any other in the palace for that matter. As far as he was concerned, light had ceased to exist in the world; taken away as if Nyx had swallowed the sun to bear him in her holy womb once more, for one more eternity to come. An eternity of which the end Menelaus was never destined to have. The Son of Atreus was a shadow in the dark; blending as if he had no physical composition to begin with. Yes, that fitted him. Shadows didn’t exist in the dark. They only existed out in the light. And Menelaus could only exist under the light of his wife; the daughter of Zeus, Helen.
His eyelids were bruised and had black circles under them from lack of sleep and were on occasion sprinkled with aggressive red burns from crying. His own eyes were also red from tears and wine. He hardly moved from his place anymore, much less to take care of himself or bathe. He was still in such a state of confusion that he couldn’t decide what he could have done and what was left for him to do now. He could hardly grasp his own reality.
Helen was gone.
Helen had ran away.
Helen had run away with Paris…
Paris, the man he had taken in his house, cursed the moment he did, and offered him hospitality.
Helen was gone.
It was as if all the previous times they were together didn’t matter.
It was as if she had never chosen him among all her suitors
as if she had never made him once the happiest man in the world...a king arguably first and foremost of her heart.
His world was spinning and he wasn’t sure it was the booze at fault. It was almost one week since that dreadful night when Helen was gone like a thief in the night. He still didn’t know what to do. He had sent for someone chase after them but it was not enough. They had gone in a faster ship and they had hours ahead of them to escape. Now Menelaus just wasn’t sure.
Why did Helen embarrass him this way?
Why did she choose to soil their wedding bed and marriage with adultery?
Why did she choose that man so inferior to him to run away with after a decade of marriage?
Maybe he was the inferior one after all! That was how he felt right now. Who was he to begin with? He was just a second son of a cursed bloodline...someone without much to offer her but a good name. But then his anger spoke again. And who was Paris? A second son of a huge bloodline! He heard he was not even a good fighter! He saw that frail figure of his! He was a nobody! An archer for that matter! A coward who fought from a distance! Why had Helen chosen to leave him for him? Why did she insult his honor this way? Made him the laugh stock of all the Argives?
Why did Helen break his heart and leave him all alone..? Alone in the echoing walls of a palace that wasn’t his to begin with? A place he considered his home now...only because she was there.
His hand reached subconsciously for the jug that still rested by his side, picking it up. He raised it to his lips and tried to drink the last bits from it. He realized it was empty. In his hazy mind he remembered he had emptied it...he hadn’t even watered it…
I am turning into a savage!
He hadn’t even bothered to water his wine! It was bad enough he was allowing himself to befall in such a state but he didn’t even bother with the basic customs anymore. He realized he didn’t care and yet he just wanted to mourn himself and his lost honor...daresay his lost humanity… He let the jug go and it just rolled down the floor, somewhere close to that empty bed...somewhere in the ruin of the chamber he had caused… What would the best course of action be? Should he let go? Slowly sink into his shame till there was nothing left of him? Should he go after the lovers himself? Should he allow the entire land of the Achaeans know of his shame? The dilemma was so great. The sound of the door didn’t bother him much.
Let them see...let them see their king in this stage! Maybe they will kill me to escape their shame! Just like my father painted with his blood the floor of my ancestral home!
The figure that was standing there, at the open door with the light of the hall behind her. Her beautiful hair falling on her shoulders. A tall and lean figure, dressed in beautiful robes, was standing there, blurry behind the curtain of his tears; light was hurting his eyes as if he was staring directly at a goddess. His heart delighted.
“Helen!”
That whisper was something only a dying man could utter! She came back! He was mistaken! That accursed slave was mistaken when he reported his wife gone! Maybe this week he was tormenting himself had been a dream! He was maybe delusional all along!
“Father…?”
That small voice nearly made his heart stop. No! Not you! Anyone else but you! You shouldn’t see me like this! You can’t! Please not you!
“Papa…?”
Hermione was standing there, at the open door with the light of the hall behind her. Her beautiful auburn hair falling on her shoulders. Her lean figure dressed in her beautiful robes. She was tall for her age and the traces of childhood had slowly began taking leave from her features. He lowered his head; too embarrassed in his own weakness to speak up or even face her. She was beautiful. His Hermione was beautiful; resembling golden Aphrodite...just like her mother. Sometimes he wondered if this child was his best achievement in life (given that his wife apparently wasn’t!). He mopped his sweat off his face with his palm.
“Oh...” he breathed out, “My light...f-forgive me… I...”
“Are you ill, Papa…?” his Hermione asked innocently almost, taking small steps towards him
Menelaus knew she knew! His daughter was smart. Her mind rivaled that of her mother’s. He didn’t need to explain. He wasn’t sure if he knew how! He felt weak before her. Ruined. Destroyed. She was walking towards him like a human wishing to tame a dog. She knew. He knew she did.
“Please...” he murmured trying very hard not to slur or confuse his words, “Please...don’t come closer than that...”
She knelt before him. His beautiful Hermione. Her hand touched his. He tensed. His emotions didn’t allow him to think straight as on impulse he touched her cheek. He was trembling. It was as if he wished to get back in the shadows; hide his face from her, and yet he craved for this light she provided. It was as if the shadowy self he had finally came back to life. Her small hands touched his own cheeks, soothing the beard decorating them.
“If you are ill, papa, we can deal with it together...I shall call a physician or something...”
Tears oozed from his already bruised eyes. He knew she could feel them. He tried to lower his head again. He felt so ashamed! So nullified! He didn’t know which was the greatest shame he was feeling himself accountable for; his wife’s infidelity or the condition he had allowed himself to befall.
“Delight of my heart...” he murmured emotionally, vulnerable in his state
He cupped her hands with his. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead.
“You know I love you...more than life itself right?”
“Of course I know, papa...” his daughter replied immediately, “How can you believe I ever doubted it?”
“Then believe me when I tell you, there is nothing in the world I wouldn’t do for you… But I cannot face you just yet...”
“But...why…?”
“Because you are too pure for me, my child...” Menelaus sighed, lowering her hands and squeezing them in his calloused ones, “I cannot bear your eyes on me now...please, I shall need some time. I will need to think what the next course is...”
He was speaking nonsense and he knew it. It was the last hazes of wine that was clouding his judgment, that was for sure, and sorrow and shame. He couldn’t explain to her and yet he knew she knew. His Hermione understood...his Hermione cared.
“I might need to go away for a few days...I shall leave you to the care of your noble grandfather. I need you to trust me, when I tell you...it is for your own good...”
He couldn’t see clearly; booze and tears blocking his vision, the same way that sobs were blocking his throat. However he distinguished a slight look of disappointment passing from her face. She sighed and stood up.
Yes, my child...do not associate yourself to me...not yet. By Hera, I am ashamed beyond words! How can you face me like this? How can ANYONE face me like this?
He stopped a moan coming up from his throat with his hand.
And how can I face YOU? How can I answer to your questions when I am like this? How can I answer you when you ask me, where is my mother? What happened to her? Is she coming back? Oh, gods how can I answer you that your mother has betrayed and shamed us all? How can I ever admit my failure as a father and as a husband..? How can I explain my failure as a king?
“Papa...I will not pretend to understand everything...” his daughter said in wisdom beyond her young years, “However if something torments you, you will have people to understand you...be with you...”
The king of Sparta forced a half-smile to his lips.
“I know, my sweet princess...I know...”
He followed her footsteps with his ears. Her breathing in the house was the only reason he was still standing. How much pain! How much sorrow! He sighed and rubbed his head that throbbed like all Kabeiroi were forging armors for the sake of wily Hephaestus inside his skull. He forced his feet to hold his weight once more as he rang for a slave to rush in.
“Prepare my horse!” he ordered to the slave when he did, “And provisions for a couple of days! I am leaving!”
“Going where, master?”
To Tartarus if gods are merciful...to release me from this! Save me from the dilemma!
“I’ll leave for my ancestral land...I am visiting my brother!”
Yes...Agamemnon. Agamemnon always supported him...Agamemnon always understood and had good advice for him. He always relied on him to the worst moments of his life. He should know what to do! He would be the only one who could truly understand him!