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Bravery.
They'll say it was bravery.
So had it been decreed by the King of Mycenae, leader of the Greeks poised for war in the name of honor and justice and… her father.
"I'll say you were brave, my worthy child," he whispered to her, as though the promise must have meant something to her. The only thing that meant something though had been the hefty blade he held and the cold flinty eyes, dispassionate and resolute.
She had not been brave.
Tricked, ambushed, and ultimately drugged—that is what Iphigeneia had been. The numb walk to the hill above Aulis, above the watchful, eager eyes of a bloodthirsty army, came with the dulled, muted experience of a poisoned mind, half-dead already and merely waiting for the body to catch up.
There, at the site to be a sacrifice to Artemis, the huntress, Iphigenia laid beneath her father's blade and smiled. She smiled at the irony of it. Artemis, the huntress. The fair-haired wolf, the willow-bound, the restless protector. Friend of girls? Savior? Keeper of children, guardian of births? Iphigeneia would have laughed, had her father's blade not plunged so quickly towards her heart.
The Princess of Mycenae died as she lived, foolish and blind, entirely too infatuated with fancies and fables, and too insulated from the grisly truths of the world.
Iphigeneia, the girl, awoke with a start and a sharp gasp. A near-twilight filtered through dappled leaves, and the cool moisture in the air brought goosepimples to her skin. She shivered and sat, looking around what must have been a canyon of sorts, thick with oak and hornbeam around the edges that hid it in shadows except during the most noonday sun. She lay on a soft bed of clover, the scent of which mingles with the nearby juniper and quelled the sharp throbbing in her temples at the sudden movement.
All at once, Iphigeneia found herself sick, retching from pain, poison, and the realization her father murdered her—or at least very much attempted to.
Movement crowded Iphigeneia's vision as it swam and began to regain focus. Silent foosteps, even across the layers of fallen leaves that tiny viola bloomed through. Sandals made of rich leather and rustic green fabric with gold decorations, though not ostentation. They clad feet the color of clay, leather winding over lissome calves that were trim and athletic.
Iphigeneia's eyes drew higher, across toned, sinewy thighs that disappeared beneath a short chiton the color of the forest, edged with hare fur. The flair of trim hips beneath a cinched belt and then the subtle curves of a feminine form, neither particularly muscular nor soft. The angular face with a soft pink bottom lip pressed into a stoic line drew Iphigeneia's gaze, framed by hair both fair and subtly green, like the frothy foam of the Myrtoan Sea washing up across the beach.
A face that the peeking sun framed in a wreath of light, accentuating the white antlers woven like laurels to flair out above her temples. Sharp sage green eyes did not linger on Iphigeneia, not as she stared so brazenly. Rather, they swept the treeline, attentive and alert, while dropping a simple spear to the ground beside Iphigeneia.
"Take this, and go forth to hunt your mark," neither demand nor ask, it was a simple instruction to be followed, or not. The consequences of following or not both terrifyingly clear and yet opaque to Iphigeneia.
She reached for the spear, hefting the length, feeling a kinship with the haft and sharp bronze tip, yet it was simultaneously alien to her. She was not the sort of princess to train in the arts of defense, far more her mother's daughter than her father's—the thought bringing the taste of bile to her mouth again. A fresh swell of nausea came and she clambered to her feet, beautiful silk robes crusted with dirt and stained from moss and grass. "Wait!"
But her savior, and of course though she spoke no name, Iphigeneia knew her to be Artemis and no other, as surely as she knew herself, already set off, back to her, the signature staple, a bow of extraordinary design, both delicately carved and majestic in its sweeping composite curves, across her back. "What do you mean, my 'mark'?" Iphigeneia called.
Artemis paused, head canting to the side, though she did not turn fully to face Iphigeneia again. "Your quarry. Your prey. Unless you intend to forage. You should find jujube and hazelnut downstream. Following it to the ocean, and there is plenty of fish."
"But where are you going?" Iphigeneia beseeched, already trying to follow, stumbling across roots and rocks.
"The great hunt," Artemis said, turning to resume her calm walk, appearing leisurely had her strides not been so long.
"You have your own, ah, 'mark'?"
"We do."
" 'We'? " Iphigeneia repeated, unable to understand the swell of jealousy inside of her. Who did Artemis hunt with, who was apparently more important than Iphigeneia to abandon her so cruelly?
"I do not hunt alone. You know this, Iphigeneia."
"No, I mean, yes, I do," blustery "Forgive me, Lady Artemis. But moments ago I thought to be betrothed to the warrior Achilles, and then the next thing I know, I wake up here getting sick in your forest—"
"The forest is not mine," Artemis interrupted. "It belongs to no one."
"I mean only to say, my mind is muddled and thinking is painful right now."
Artemis turns away and strides effortless across the uneven rocky ground. She pauses a few spans away and glances back to Iphigeneia. "But your body isn't. Keep up."
Bracing herself, and using the spear as a walking stick, Iphigeneia clamored along with far less grace and significantly more noise than the huntress in front of her.
In fact, Iphigeneia doubted any noise at all escaped Artemis, not until she paused, surveying their surroundings again, and asked in that low, almost whispered timber that made Iphigeneia think of honey and smoke. "Had you been eager?"
"Eager, Lady Artemis?"
"To be wed to Achilles. Did the idea bring you joy?"
"It would have been a great honor. I knew him to be a just man, his bravery and loyalty are famous. I assume he'd be a fair husband and father. I have no doubt our children would have been loved and legendary. What more is there?"
Artemis's eyebrow both rise in response, and she hums, giving a tip of her chin. "Interesting."
"It is?" Iphigeneia wondered, finding little about herself interesting. She wasn't raised to be interesting. If anything, she'd been taught to be the opposite.
"A hunter notices as much as what is absent as what is present. Both may reveal imbalances to the natural order of things. And you," a finger pointed, a short, polished and blunted nail wagged in Iphigeneia's direction," told me everything except the answer to my question, which I find illuminating."
Iphigeneia grimaced, the cold truth in Artemis's words, and the fact she'd been read so easily, leaving her cheeks hot with shame. "It doesn't matter what I thought. It was a lie, and I was meant to die for their glory, and in your name."
"It was a test," Artemis explains, turning back away from Iphigeneia, and she can't help but take a twinge of pride in that victory, glad Artemis can't look at her while talking about the sacrifice. "If Aegememnon was so keen to kill the children of Troy, then I wanted him to face the reality of his own child's death. To understand the price."
"And yet you rescued me."
Artemis nods, continuing their trek in silence again. "Thank you for not asking why."
"The only thing I wish to ask is… will you save the Trojan children in the same way?" It was an impertinent question to ask, and she played with fire, daring to converse with an Olympian. Iphigeneia knew better. Knew she should have simply taken the spear and ran as far away as she could, and count her blessings. She could have gone downstream and, fortune favoring her, perhaps ended up as some fisherman's wife, content in obscurity. She could have bartered fish in the market of… well, to be honest, Iphigeneia had no idea where they were. The mountainside they trekked across did not look like any part of Greece Iphigeneia knew.
"There are bigger forces at play than even I. Sadly, that is beyond my purview. But my brother watches the city as we speak, divining how the Fates will have the future unfold."
After that, they fell into a silence. Artemis appeared uninterested in conversing needlessly, and Iphigeneia needed every breath just to keep up, she did not have the extra for words.
The forest opened itself to them. One moment, a simple hedge of and tangle of trees, and the next it fell away into a veritable grove, lush and vibrant and, to Iphigeneia's wide eyes, full of hunters. Each moved with purpose and grace, even those that appeared in casual ease, laughing and conversing. And all, Iphigeneia could not deny, were beautiful and unearthly, some with braids of wreathed hair, but most left flowing, as were their feet bare, with steps so light they did not leave foot prints.
Nymphs, all of them. As Artemis entered, a hush fell across the grove, almond eyes, vixen eyes, doey eyes, all falling to watch her approach. No, not Artemis, but Iphigeneia. She was the stranger, the impostor. A step behind Artemis, and she felt the expanse between them widening into a gulf. Singled out, and gawked at.
"This is Iphigeneia. She will keep us company on the hunt until she is ready to move on. Teach her our ways, train her, give her what she needs to succeed," Artemis declard to the silent gathered before turning, stalking off towards a set of tents at the far edge.
Iphigeneia wanted to followed, to run after like a dog at her heels, desperate to not be alone. But she could not move. Swallowing hard, she felt rooted to the ground beneath all the eyes that watched her like prey, like the weak cut off from the flock, ready to be culled.
Slowly, interest in her seemed to fade. Soft murmurs of conversation returned and in twos and threes, the nymphs turned to each other until Iphigeneia had become an afterthought. Gone were the stares, the curiousity. Overgrown and replaced by a casual, almost cruel indifference. The nymphs did not care she was a princess, they likely saw her a waste of effort, another mother to feed with nothing to give. She would need to prove them wrong. She would need to make herself valuable.
Days later, wordlessly, a foot nudged her awake in the predawn light of the morning, beckoning her to follow. She followed. She would say silently, but every snap of a branch or crush of leaf made the nymph in front of her bristle, glare back at her, and press her fingers to her lips.
'I'm trying!' Iphigeneia wanted to shout, but she bit it down. After an hour, they'd returned to camp. The nymph leading her said nothing to her, merely stormed off, muttering to others who shared in laughs and cast looks at her that made her want to wither.
Her first foray to hunt had been a failure. After that, she accompanied others to forage. Picking berries she could do, even as it left her fingers scratched and stained. She was not used to this labor, her fingers soft by any comparison. Still, she did not complain, and seeing the fruits of her labor shared in a meal and tasting it was reward in its own right.
It was weeks before they let her go out hunting again. She didn't ruin it, at least. Still, it was not her greatest skill, and she worked better cleaning the animal afterward. She did not mind the sight of death and meat—perhaps that was her father's blood inside of her.
Two moons had past, and after that first successful hunt, she'd been included among the nymphs. Each of them kind and helpful, in their own ways. They misjudged strangers, and that was far. They owed nothing to her. But now, all of them wanted to gift her their skills and unique knowledge. Earlier, she held the bow, a nymph cradling her, their small breasts pressing into her back and breath on her ear as they helped her aim. Elbow up, eyes open. When her hand had cramped, they even offered to massage it for her.
By the end of the training, Iphigeneia felt flushed and warm in a way she'd not ever felt, and began to suspect the goal had not really been to help her wield the bow, at all. Come dinner, the nymphs danced around the small cook fire, the warm orange light wash over their skin, making it shimmer and glisten, while the starry sky filled with their laughter.
Iphigeneia stumbled away, out of breath and elated. She danced thrice already, each time with a nymph as lovely as the last, and she feared she would keep dancing with them until her legs gave out and feet fell off. Each of them seemed hungry for the chance, each with wandering hands. Some curious, some bold, none of them wholly appropriate.
Breathless, Iphigeneia fell onto a seat beside Artemis, who never joined in the festivities, when she was present. She always watched, smiled and partook the feasts, but the levity and freedom never quite made it to her.
"You should dance," Iphigeneia panted, only after realizing to her horror what she'd done. She hadn't meant to speak so recklessly to the goddess, telling her what she should do. It was impuden. Iphigeneia's throat tightened.
"They have a bet," Artemis said quietly, setting down her bow so the knock of it tucked under her chin.
"And what is the stake?" Iphigeneia asked, relieved that Artemis said nothing of her faux paus. Perhaps she had not heard? If only Iphigeneia could be so lucky.
"On which can bed you first."
"First?" Iphigeneia repeated indignantly. "Not even at all?"
"They are impertinent, and stubborn," Artemis smirked. "I can tell them to cease, if you wish. Otherwise, join them, and make merry."
"Oh, I rather not."
"They are many, and multi-talented. I am sure there is at least once who's fancy you could endure and find comfort in."
"Oh, they are all most lovely and I don't doubt their skills," Iphigeneia agreed, eyes roaming over the shapely forms mingling around the fire.
"And yet you do not join them. Why?"
"Did you wager anything, Lady Artemis?"
"No," Artemis spoke quickly, eyes darting away from Iphigeneia, avoiding her look and drew her bow back down across her knees. "Had I," Artemis hummed. "I would have wagered on Rhanis. She is fierce and passionate, keen to take. I suspect that is the type of warrior for you."
"That is the type of warrior the Princess of Mycenae is expected to admire," Iphigeneia agreed, but she could not say without experience if that were true. In all honesty, what little their interactions had, Iphigeneia did not find Rhanis particularly charming, no more than any of her other sisters.
"You did not wager on yourself, Lady Artemis?"
"Myself?" Artemis's head shot up, staring at Iphigeneia with surprisingly wide eyes. "What? No! I mean, no, I haven't—I wouldn't—that would be improper."
Iphigeneia did not know goddesses could stammer, and perhaps it was a trick of the firelight, but she suspected the darkening rose of the cheeks was a blush. She found it completely endearing, and her own grin lifted her cheeks.
"Are you to say you have never… joined in their frivolities?"
"It is not so," Artemis adjusted, clearing her throat. She glanced to the fire, then back to Iphigeneia. Her voice was slow, considering the words as she spoke them with all the careful intention of divine decree, yet still they fumbled out. "They are… I do not know how to express it. They are not my children, but I care for them as such. I could not— I don't think of them like that."
"I see. It is noble of you, fair Artemis, and I can see how much you love them," Iphigeneia followed her gave to the fire again. She did not stare at the nymphs, but the fire itself, the way it licked and writhed. Even it seemed to enjoy itself in a passion, twisting skyward in heated ecstasy, "but do you not get lonely?"
"Thank you, Iphigeneia. Perhaps?" Artemis tipped her head, considering it, and Iphigeneia could not deny herself the pleasure of watching the goddess's eyes. Artemis met them, and for a moment neither looked away. Iphigeneia's breath hitched, trapped in her chest. "Loneliness for someone like me just reminds me to strengthen the bonds I already have. It has always been my choice, even if I sometimes find myself jealous of their inhibitions."
Artemis, a goddess, jealous? Of her nymphs? Iphigeneia could not believe it.
"I have also found myself jealous since my time with you," Iphigeneia said, the words escaping her before she thought better.
"Have you?"
Iphigeneia closed her eyes. She should say nothing. Flee back to the fire. But Artemis asked, and she was bound to answer. Not in half-truths. There was no lying on the hunt. They trusted each other completely, and Iphigeneia would not ruin that because of her own modesty. Heart fluttering in her neck, Iphigeneia's fingertips traced over her pulsepoint and along her own collarbone. When she opened her eyes again, she let her gaze drift from Artemis's face, across her toned body and strong hands to the bow she gripped.
"After you first rescued me, I was jealous of them, for you fled so quickly back to them. Then later, I was jealous of the hunt itself, for you focus so intensely on it, I ache to be stared down and seen so thoroughly. And now, I find myself jealous of your bow, stretched across your knees."
"My bow," Artemis repeats, hand falling to the smooth, polished surface, gliding her fingers over it as she surely had countless times before.
"Iphigeneia, I know the stories that humans tell of us, but I am not my kin. I am not—" Artemis began her rejection, setting her bow aside. Iphigeneia felt the bravery and freedom gifted to her by the nymphs crumble away.
"I would never assume," Iphigeneia whispered, then sank onto her knees before Artemis. "I would never imply— It is only my own mortal mind I speak of, my flesh that is weak and desirous. Forgive me, please."
Artemis's eyes flashed, and the frisson left in their wake as they skated down across Iphigeneia's soft curves was undeniable.
"Your flesh is hardly weak, Iphigeneia, but it is desirable." Then she scoffed, and reached forward to take Iphigeneia by the elbows and haul her up. "Up, off of your knees. I am prayed to enough, I do not need it from you. "
"Then what is it you need?" Iphigeneia breathed, elated by the contact, the way Artemis's hands lingered, sliding from her elbows to her wrists. She surged forward, following them, some invisible string compelling her forward and into Artemis's lap. She straddled it, biting her bottom lip.
"Iphigeneia—"
"I will give it. Do you need the hunt?" Iphigeneia found her hands on strong shoulders, squeezing them as she leaned closer to her words were for Artemis alone, ghosting against the Olympian's ear. "I will run through the forest, if you would give chase. I would be your prize, to tie and taste as you desire."
Artemis groaned. Fingers dug into the softness of Iphigeneia's hips, dimpling the skin and drawing her more tightly to the huntress's lean, muscular form. "You would be my prey?"
"I would be whatever you desire." Iphigeneia gasped, heat swelling through her.
And then Iphigeneia felt the unimaginable. Teeth, possessive, firm, on the side of her neck. Artemis bit her, pain and pleasure both shocking Iphigeneia's senses and leaving her little more a beast, truly. A beast, full of hunger and need. She keened, fingers sliding up across the back of Artemis's neck, dipping into silky hair.
"I want you to be free. Show me who you are, Iphigeneia," Artemis whispered, words hot across her skin and she shivered, body arching, desperate to be closer, closer. Could she ever be close enough?''
Free.
Iphigeneia didn't get to be free, surely? She was a Greek princess. She was a commodity, bought and sold. But here, in Artemis's lap, hands sliding down along her thighs, she could be so much more.
Her hands cupped Artemis's face, pulling back to stare down at it's perfection. It blurred, fresh tears filling her eyes. They slipped off her lashes, sliding down her cheeks. "Thank you," she said, and then kissed Artemis roughly.
Behind her, nymphs cheered.