Work Text:
Tell me what you saw.
No, this is no interrogation. I only ask so you can bring it into the world, make it real, make the long day finally end.
You will feel better when you do, I promise. Take a deep breath and lay everything down at your feet. Are you ready?
How did it feel there, next to the altar? It was so hot that day, the sun high and oppressive in the cloudless sky, with no wind to provide reprieve. How much hotter was it next to the pyre? Did you drip with sweat as you anointed her? Did you feel cleansed?
Did you keep your hands steady, pouring the holy water across her brow? Your hands have always been so strong and sure, you always knew one day a life would be taken by those hands. You did not fear witnessing death when you came to Aulis.
You did not think the first time would be like this. I would not blame you if you wavered.
How was she up there? Most of the men only saw her pass as she marched to the altar, two large soldiers at either side and her wedding procession in tow. They did not see her face. They did not hear her cry. All they saw was her back was straight, and her head was held high, a posture becoming of a young queen.
She had the attention of the whole beach with how she spoke, with her father’s authority and her mother’s conviction. She gave her instructions for how her death was to be, her eyes piercing and sure, red but no longer wet. She set the camp alight, a blaze of awe, fear, triumph and outrage. The Ithacans stood sentry along her path to keep the blazes of soldiers, of fathers and brothers, from getting near.
Almost everyone could see your face, though. You were in your armor, proud and golden as you always were, waiting dutifully for your bride. Your face was tense, but they saw how you melted when you saw her approach. You were no match for the sight of her, you would never have been able to hide your grief.
How did she look? You must think hard on this, paint her portrait in your mind. Was her makeup running? Was her hair still intact? Was she beautiful, and splendid, lively as any lover, brave as any soldier, and shining as any god? Was she halfway to divinity already?
All I know is that she was nothing lower than a human. I know she was no animal.
You held her close before she took her final steps. What did you say to each other? Did you make promises to her, swear you would ensure Ilium would fall and her family’s honor would be restored, that she would not die in vain? Did you swear you would remember her? Did you swear you loved her? Did she say it back?
You must remember what you swore to her. Whatever happens, you must remember. Whatever you are, whatever you will become, you are no oath-breaker.
Did her resolve waver when she laid on the altar? Could she not hold back her tears when she looked upon the knife? I will not make you tell me if she did. I would understand if you protected her memory.
It was only you, her and the priest on the hill. Her father had disappeared, her mother was held back, and her people stood at the base, not wanting to bear witness to their eldest princess’s blood spilling on the sand. This kept the illusion that she could turn back, that, if she willed it, you could easily knock down the priest and run with her into the forest to safety.
But who can defy a goddess’ will, really? Neither you, nor her, nor any man, woman or army on earth could have bargained with the wild itself.
This is why I know you did not see a deer.
Breathe, child. I know you are no fool. A girl, a daughter of Greece, was cut down by her own people today. I do not know if her eyes were resigned or terrified when the knife went in, but I know they were hers.
The mind is an awful, tricky thing. Maybe you saw her eyes go dark and dumb when she died, and thought they could not possibly belong to the young woman in front of you not more than a moment ago. Maybe because you saw her being bled like a deer, you thought her no different from one.
It was nightfall when you were found, the winds now howling like the beginnings of a tempest. You thought it was a cruel kind of joke, that the gods had sent a storm for the king of Mycenae’s arrogance, and the entire fleet would be blown to pieces. You did not care. The only thing you could think to do was to keep running, keep running, keep running. Your lungs heaved, your body screamed in protest, your godlike speed unable to take you any closer to her, but you kept running. You ran until your body, still growing into itself, still so small compared to the vast coastline, failed, and you collapsed. You pleaded when you were found that you had to keep going, that you had to find her, but you could not force yourself to go any further, and the ships had waited long enough. You were horribly, uselessly human.
I do not know how you saw her in her final moments, but I know you saw a girl. You did not see a deer. Please do not torment yourself. You cannot turn rotting meat back into something divine.
Did her blood ever wash off your face? Is it still stuck in your teeth? How much more will you need to spill for you to not feel it anymore, do you think?
When they find your body, what game will they think they have caught?