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A particularly peculiar maiden wandered the bustling streets of midsummer Sparta. To her vision appeared men and maids alike flourishing in the basking sun of a simmering summers’ day, throughout the ornate courtyards adorned with rhetoric-filled poets and bards. For each theatrically gifted thespian, a pair of lovers endlessly devoted to one another under the pious light of the gods danced sweltering side by side. Amongst the other sun-drenched artisan markets were young lovers exchanging gifts of perennial treasures and blooming flora or words of passion, yearning and lust.
Sentimental elders reminisced of their love’s tapestry, of heartache and hardships endured to relish in the company of those of whom their souls were tethered. A serenade of the heart this particular maiden had not yet been able to comprehend. She was wisened with age yet still ever oblivious to the soft mellow breezes that carried wings of passion to the destination of a heart's voyage. Of course, she was young in heart, much like that of her own lover, Icarius.
Though Icarius was now king of Sparta, he still lacked an air of regal and majestic stature, it had caused many of the neighbouring regions to scarcely take him seriously. Unlike Icarius, his ever mischievous yet loving wife had never once thought twice of others opinions of her or her lover.
The king often had moments in which he doubted himself, his judgment, capabilities, and whether or not he truly deserved the life he led as a ruler, a father, and a husband. Whenever these haunting insecurities wracked Icarius’ mind, there was one aspect of his life that always talked some sense into him, and it was her.
As she gazed across the mosaic-paved streets and marble-clad agoras and odeons the maiden would briefly see herself and her lover within the positions of the heart-struck youth that roamed the stoa.
Over time she gradually came to understand that humans had some sort of concept known as a “date” where lovers would spend concentrated time together to..
Well she’s not entirely sure what these so-called dates entailed. Recently all of Sparta seemed to be overcome with love’s eternal flame. During the beauteous maidens outings she would see lovers east and west ecstatic about each other, upon asking a fellow matron about the liveliness she was informed that many youth had received their parents blessings to date since the Ionian war and were enjoying their “first date.”
This sparked the maids' recent question, had she and Icarius ever had a “first date?” As a naiad, Icarius’ beloved could never truly comprehend his recurring want to celebrate the day of which they met, was that the day of their first date? Or was it the day they said they loved each other?
Though not for her, for Icarius that was the very same day. Icarius often reminisced of that day; A flowing river with stagnant lily pads rooted in place mellowly flowing with each splash of her arms. A nymph bathing in a cold April’s shower, clouds parting allowing late sunshine to highlight each of her soft features. Her lavish hair soaked and struggling to keep with the poised movements of her body. The vessel of hers was in every way and in every definition of the word, radiant.
She was imperfectly perfect, statuesque and picturesque, never had Icarius wished he’d pursued fine arts more than in that moment. Though she was nude, the lust of man was the last thing Icarius’ mind was set on, it was her beauty.
She was gorgeous, in every inhumane and unconventional way Icarius had been unfamiliar with, it had him utterly captivated. In her fair hands was clutched lush foliage, the hues of sublime eucalyptus complimenting her pale sapphire skin. Given the sun-dusted freckles, mongolian spots, and vascular birthmarks scattered upon the earth-kissed topography of her body it would seem more appropriate to relate the colouration of her to that of a lapis lazuli. Icarius was absolutely enamoured.
It was like witnessing a pristine marble column be enveloped by the gentle hands of mother nature, the pure ivory shades darkening as the ages passed with vines of ivy curving around its grand height. The interrelationship of something so man-made, accepted by the goddess Gaia, the blessing of being able to heal, to recover, from the cruelty of man’s purging of the naiad’s rivers and streams. The deity he was enchanted by took notice of his presence, despite the fact that for once in his royal life, he had stopped his words from overflowing and complaining.
The feminine esprit sank beneath the waters, vanishing from Icarius’ vision. In less than a moment her head breached the surface of the water enough to allow her eyes to readjust and gaze upon the stranger who studied her so in depth, he’d caught himself in a trance. He seemed to be a man— a boy, of such youth that surely he should not be in these parts of the region unsupervised.
With her interests piqued she swam closer and Icarius, captivated yet fearful, stepped backwards. Icarius fell backward, tripping over a tree root poking out of the frothy soil, trying to grasp vines or branches as he fell to the ground, failing humorously in the eyes of naiad as his trip elicited a soft giggle from her.
“Aren’t you a pathetic soldier?~” She was cunning, a tease.
“Pathetic?”
Never had Icarius heard someone so bluntly insult him. The townspeople never had the gall to insinuate that their future king had negative faults or qualities. Even though this naiad was insulting him Icarius, to his own surprise, was not in the slightest enraged.
“You– really think I’m pathetic?”
Their eyes caught one another, Icarius’ coal eyes a shade mines of which depths have yet to be explored, meeting with the naiad's dark cerulean eyes. Within this naiad’s eyes Icarius could see a vast ocean of endless horizons, her soul seemingly hidden so far away from all who sought it.
Icarius, having no experience with wrangling the treacherous sea as the sailors in his kingdom, would commit to willingly swim those waters, if only she asked him to.
“Wouldn’t that make two of us?”
Such sass, as snappy as a snapdragon, beauteous in ways unfathomable to most and so.. fortitudinous, pristine and entirely original, true to herself and her being entirely.
She seemed as thorny as a rose, which each thorn the beauty worth three times more.
“Ah-ahem.. Would you happen to have a name with all of that, uh, sour demeanour?” Awkward Icarius, you are being awkward.
“Would a lonesome soldier such as yourself prefer a swooning maiden? Bellowing your name like a chant as a nightingale?”
The maiden’s manner of speech was fluent, yet olden, even for those times. It seemed she had not engaged with the civilians of Sparta often, given the developing, less formal means of languages spread across the seas.
“Well… of course not, on the contrary really.. I’d much rather a lady with half a word of intelligence, I would probably find that to be quite frightening.”
“What kind of soldier is scared off by a woman?” She teased again.
“Well I’ll have you know, despite your.. Different appearance, I don’t find you frightening at all. In fact I rather enjoyed watching—”
Their conversation was cut short by the sounds of soldiers searching for the prince of Sparta.
“I… I’d better be off, as should you I imagine. Oh I never quite caught your name throughout all of the snappiness you seem to possess. Grant me the honour?”
“Periboea…” She snickered behind her hand at his odd attempts of conversation, though she shouldn’t be laughing, she hardly had the opportunity to speak with humans.
“I am Icarius, of Sparta, ah right then.. Farewell Periboea…” Icarius, desperate to not allow the memory of such a maiden remain such, took the boldest leap he could ever say he'd done. “Say before I go, would you meet me here again? Say, three days time?” Throwing out such a request surely left Icarius to fluster under such cold air.
“Certainly, I don’t see why not. Perhaps next time whence you come around the river bend, you’ll leave your stiffness and blundering behind? Perhaps then I’ll learn more about you than your name.”
Periboea teased, would Icarius get used to this? He sure hoped so, he’d be blessed to have the opportunity to.
With that Periboea disappeared into the stream and the small fleet of soldiers dragged Icarius home to his father by the ear. He hardly heard his father’s lecturing and scolding words, with only one thought swimming in his mind; “Periboea… So charming, much more so than I, and ever so alluring, how could I survive these next days? The sun’s stretch is so long, and separates us so… Regardless, I shall persevere, to see such a pointed smile once again”
His father did not take kindly to his blatant ignorance.
“Icarius, hath your ears been ripped off by a minotaur? Or hath your brains been severed by Scylla? You insolent youth!” His father shouted in rage at his son's inexplicable disrespect for his father.
“Periboea…” Icarius was unaware that he’d said his next words aloud. “I love you.” Perchance that admission of affection was best kept within.
“I hardly think this to be the time for such a display son. Consequences are in place”
“Dang” Icarius briefly uttered.