The fleet-footed daughter of King Thyestes could rarely be found where she was meant to be. She'd left
@Faustus behind in pursuit of their protectors, determined that she should not be left out of whatever excitement they might stumble upon.
«ἄγετε!» Andromache urged him once, but no further. She did not look back to see if he had followed.
The heat was oppressive and the sand chafed her soft paws, but she had decided she did not mind. These minor inconveniences bit like flies, yet she hardly felt them, for her heart was already torn asunder with her kingdom. The princess had scarcely eaten or slept since its fall. Yet her head was always held high; not once had she faltered. Her mother was watching, always.
Her steps slowed and then stopped when she caught sight of the two warriors stopped round a pool of water, under shade. She laughed softly to herself.
The Gods smile on us,
She called over her shoulder.
Try to frown a little less, Roman. They're watching.
He wasn't even sure why he followed her. Perhaps it was obligation, or some unfounded sense of familial loyalty, or pity; either way, that was where he was, a stalking shadowsilk hovering at her flank.
You are bold to speak of the Gods,
a silver-tongued curl of his lip as his tongue pokes out to run over pale gums. you do not know them like I do, Macedonian.
A bitter stare is given to the back of her head. He does not meet her eyes.
The sand is parched and seething against the pads of his feet. He whistles. How are you faring under this weather, femina?
his head crooks, a hint of condescension to the baritone of his voice. It is my job to ensure you are well.
She laughed and paid him little mind. What could the Gods want with him? He was much like any other Roman: boring and brutish, self-righteous; not even in any way she could call exciting. How a man could be dull even in his intensity, Andromache would never know.
Besides; she knew who she was. At her birth Ειλειθυια told that the spark behind her eyes would one day burn kingdoms. Her father had watched with mouth drawn. A powerful man, but in that room he had been the least of them. So it was now, though Faustus remained ignorant. He was not a wise man, so Andromache tried not to fault him.
But she would not be addressed as woman. This was a lesson his brother had learned swiftly. Andromache set off toward the two men again, desiring the quiet reassurance their presence brought her. These were her own men; her father's, once.
He had not left her. Him, his death; one and the same now. She felt it, there in her throat, always.
She does not respond in words. Perhaps this would have angered him if he were a worse man — but, he supposed, when your world has just collapsed around you, small talk does not come so easily.
He keeps his place at her side. She seeks the two other Greeks; the boys. He thought it odd how they hadn't been at their side to begin with.
His jaw clenches as his gaze searches her figure. What is our plan in these lands, femina?
his brow arches; searching. You're thinking of something, are you not?
scanning, begging for the turn of an evergreen gaze toward him.
Round and round the thoughts flutter through his head like a swarm of vultures — Gaius. Crispinus. Florentia. He wanted to go home. He longed to escape from this sea of sand, to return to his mountains and bittersalt seaside; the Roman woman he had his eye on with the sun-dappled freckles and the dazzling brown eyes. His mead, his warm meat, his bed; his rightful place in the white marble kingdom his father had built.
But was home even still there? Had it fallen just as the Greek-place had?
His chest tight; his eyes blown wide. I am not my brother.
No,
The chime of her voice was cold, and still her eyes did not find him. He was clever; he learned quickly that I do not answer to woman.
Not clever enough, in the end. Andromache was silent as she came to the water's edge opposite where her guards stood. She paid no mind to their quiet conversation. Instead she pondered Faustus's question. She studied the water as if it might give her some wisdom.
After a time, she answered. Nikolaos believes that we should settle,
She began, thinking of how her father had relied on the counsel of his own men. He believes your father's men will find us, in time; I disagree. We've been lost and surrounded by barbarians for weeks. We should settle, yes. Permanently.
Andromache's eyes found him then, odd green eyes with bursts of silver at the pupil that seemed to jump too quickly from one thing to the next.
She does not answer to woman. To that, a buttery laugh falls from his lips. My apologies, domina,
his head lowers to a bow. does that title suit you better? Or was that something Crispinus called you only in the bedchambers?
The water's edge feels like a saving grace from Iuppiter. Two forepaws graciously dip below the surface of the pool. Blackened lips part as slow sips are taken as if it is a flavorful wine. The word of settling makes his ears twitch.
Settle?
of course it would be the Greek's idea. A pearl of water drips from his chin as he raises his own head to look at her once more. She awaits his own thoughts — as if she would even take them into consideration.
He is quiet. The Romans were people who sought expansion, outreach, triumph — but an allegiance with the Macedonians? Would his father have ever approved of such a thing?
But then again, did he need to?
When was the last he had even seen him?
That needs to be discussed between the four of us,
nostrils aflare, he points his gaze to the pair of Macedonians. all four of us. That is a big decision. And besides,
his paw juts outward. what are Romans if not for the people?
and what did that make her?
A hollow smile graced her features; her gaze turned away from him and to the water. In our bedchamber, he called only for Clementia,
The lightness to her voice belied the tension in her shoulders. She regarded the men for a moment, and softened with a distant fondness for them. She didn't know them. Nikolaos, a little; Euryalos not at all. But they were good, loyal men. What did Faustus know of loyalty?
They go where I go,
She said quietly. They answered to the blood of kings in her veins, the blood of Gods. Some men still know their place.
Perhaps if all men did, her father would still live. She wondered then if she blamed Faustus, if she blamed his people for the unrest of her own. Just as quickly she decided that she did not. The traditions she kept, the ways of her father, were dying; already the change had come to so many of their allies across the mountains and rivers. It was inevitable.
I will never know what he saw in you,
a rap of his tongue against the roof of his mouth, bitterness lining the edges of every word. In his mind, he had the right to feel such disdain; perhaps if they had never married—
Well.
He knew little of the two that breathed down the back of Andromache's neck. Her father's men, he'd been told; he could not remember if he'd ever even spoken to them beyond sidelong glances and casual greetings up until now.
She fires insults and he dodges the metaphorical hurl with a duck of his head. Do I have reason to trust them?
pupils pinpricked, he leans into the curve of her neck, voice lowered to a venomous whisper. All the while, he holds his smug grin; she had told him to smile more, had she not? Better yet, do I have reason to trust you?
He saw an army. He saw the touch of the Gods. Crispinus had been much like the other men who had hoped to claim her as a bride; the difference was that he'd brought something of worth to her father, something new. What that was, she would never know. Both men were dead, and their secrets with them.
The pieces they'd left behind didn't quite fit together. Faustus leaned close; his nearness repulsed her. So like his brother. Andromache was tense, careful, aware that Faustus was a man who fancied himself better than most. His cruelties would come to her delicately, in pretty wrappings.
If you distrust me, you were a fool to stay after the storm,
Her gaze followed Nikolaos a few seconds longer. You live, and as a free man. We slow our journey for you. We use this black tongue full of spiders. This can be changed if you prefer. Would it better fit your image of us?
She was right.
Faustus is alive, fully with the freedom to step away. And if there was one thing he knew of the senate of his homeland, it's that it was dirty work — sour smiles and the patting of shoulders to those who offer their wills of servitude for the betterment of the regime. Petty arguments set aside for the sake of a common goal, at least in most cases.
Compromise, even when you cannot stand each other.
I will settle,
he trills. but know that you are not the only one in charge. I demand equal say as paterfamilias. We must uphold the Roman way in some form,
his eyes narrow, hard as gemstone. Lest we forget why you married into the Aemilii.
He pulls sharply from her side, hips asway as he wades further into the pool. It is lukewarm and nearly just as hot as the sand itself at the surface, but a bath would do him good. He dips his muzzle down and begins to scrub himself with gentle strokes.
So what do you and your men suppose we do, considering we are in a no-man's land of barbarians?
honeyed eye trails over his shoulder in search of her. Do we seek recruits? Conquer? Or live only amongst ourselves with this... peanut gallery?
Oh, how he must have been waiting for this moment! To claim something for his own, to pronounce himself a man of utmost importance. Andromache would have laughed to hear his declaration if not for a single word which caught and held her even as he moved on. Equal. Even her father, who allowed her so many freedoms, never dared to use that word with her. It was not a kindness, she felt, but cunning she had not thought Faustus capable of.
Equal to a woman. No Roman would ever dream of it. Perhaps he meant to coax her into marriage, but she would not allow it.
Andromache let her shoulders loosen as his presence fell away from her. She stretched out by the water, lounging while her gaze roamed shamelessly over his figure. I will be Βασίλισσα. Call yourself βασιλεύς if it soothes your pride,
She meant it to provoke, knowing that he would not. The locals will know our presence soon. I don't mean to go around begging the loyalty of barbarians. Let them come to us.
The men will find some local women to warm their beds, I'm certain. Others will follow,
Perhaps Nikolaos would take a new wife. Perhaps she would command him to do this, and then it would be assured. Andromache pondered.
King? Queen? Ha!
his laugh echoes. You are gravely mistaken, Macedonian. There have not been kings of Rome for centuries, let alone queens,
condescension, smugness; If anything, I will take the title of dictator. Imperator. Princeps Senatus. You would be lucky to claim the title of paelex in the eyes of Iuppiter.
his tail snakes up to flag high above his haunches. You are even more lucky I'd offer you a chance at being a co-conspirator, out of the goodness of my heart. But is that not what women have sought for eons? Equality?
He eases down into a sit, shoulder deep now in freshwater. His eyes, burning. I grant you the opportunity of freedom from the reigns of whatever sorry life your Macedonian king had you living. You are widowed. You have free choice of whatever man you see fit. You could even marry for love, if you wished.
an impish, curling grin that stretches to push his cheeks upward. His tone is dark and thunderous; traitorous in regard to his expression. I see your ambitions and why you are eager to settle here. You have an opportunity to rule alongside me in a new world. But you will never be above me. Do I make that clear?
He preened and he blustered; he hurried to correct the feminine malady of ignorance; perhaps he thought himself subtle, his passing words of marriage, freedom, love. Andromache hid her smile. Call yourself what you like, Roman,
She cast him a brief, teasing glance. Men will call me Βασίλισσα, and if you must argue every decision, it will be kept out of their hearing. These are my conditions. A unified front - and to be called queen.
This time she did not hide her smile; it crept slyly over her features as her glance turned to a lingering look. Ironic, she thought, that she should marry one brother and be queen to the other. She wondered if there was a third.
he's being super mean here LOL lmk if this isn't okay! <3
Now. Now, she was just testing his fucking patience.
There will be no queens if I have anything to do with it,
he all but seethes, snorting as air blows from his nostrils. what, do you suppose you will be a monarch? That your children will be of divinity? We are beneath our Gods. Do you know what happened the last time we allowed a monarchy to use us as a plaything?
his chest juts out as he wades closer to the wispwoman; hovering. I grant you the title of domina; κυρία. Lady. You will take it, or I will take my business and my protection elsewhere.
Burning, his muzzle glides close to her cheek. His teeth shine as they poke from between his lips, threatening to graze. But you wouldn't want that, would you? For my father to find out you slipped from my grasp? Think of what remains of your family, and what would become of them.
Give me allllll the drama
Andromache was very still as he cut his seething path toward her. In a moment he was looming over her, hot breath against her cheek, threatening her with hollow words. Her father had other children, it was true, some perhaps already settled in Florentia after the fall of Myros. They were nothing to her.
You feel threatened,
She murmured, brushing her cheek blithely against his bared teeth.
As your brother did.
Her cheek trailed along his muzzle, slow and unflinching.
Then he met my mother.
After that it was only hunger in his eyes; his undoing. Faustus thought himself different.
I am not my brother.
But she had been here before.
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The only threat to me is tyranny,
his tongue a pink blaze as it flicks from between his lips. She tries to prey upon his masculinity; his hunger. But all he thinks when he looks upon her is his brother that had once been in his place.
A fiery thing, this one. Crispinus must have had his hands full.
A paw breaks out from the water and brushes beneath her chin, claws pressed into her pulsepoint, knotted in russet fur. He was a fragile man, Crispinus. Simple. But you do not know me, domina.
his devotion lies with order, prosperity — power, perhaps, in some ways.
Breath is drawn from deep within his chest; his throat rattles with a shaky growl. Do you want me to fuck you? Is that what you think is going to get you your way?
Andromache laughed.
His claws were at her throat and she felt her pulse there, under them, and she had never felt so alive. No man has had that pleasure,
A marriage unconsummated; a terrible, scandalous thing. She wore it proudly. There was no reason to hide any longer. Her voice was low as she went on. What makes you worthy of being the first?
Her eyes held his, unwavering, knowing that he would not have her, just as his brother had not. A soft touch, a kind word, a well-placed silence; these were the things Andromache desired in a man. Faustus spoke too much and too loudly, and the tangle of his claws in her fur held an undertone of violence. If he wanted her, he would have to try harder than this.
You are so full of yourself it astounds me, sweetheart,
a clench to the muscles within his paw, knuckles whitened. when did I ever say I wished to lie with you?
His touch is gone as soon as it had been there, yanking himself back and coolly wading back onto the sandbank as if nothing had happened at all. I need some time to think about all of this,
he gives a shake of his shoulders, oilslick pelt spraying droplets of water wherever they cared to land. away from you. Make sure those other two get into no trouble. I will speak to you by tomorrow's evening.
He doesn't look back as he begins to saunter away, heavy-footed; off into the desert. Who was she to demand he settle in these foreign lands, and to take supreme leadership and the title of queen? Better yet, what lies had those within Myros fed her to enable her delusions of grandeur? Her mother had been bad enough!
Women, he swears.
She watched him withdraw to tend his stung pride, and said nothing. Some of the tension went out of her right then, but Andromache would not breathe easily until Faustus was gone from her sight. Her gaze turned to the water.
He meant to deny her birthright; the very title she would have held in Myros with her father's passing. She thought of Thyestes again, and her throat closed with grief. He was a man, and cruel in the ways men were, but all the same she had loved him, and had always known just as surely that he loved her. He had given her all that he could of freedom, power.
And now, it was left to her to take the rest for herself.