Chapter Text
Helen’s eyes followed the mist-blurred figure of Odysseus as he swiftly headed into the dark of the night, carrying her will to live, her only anchor to this permissible mortal life for 10 years, further and further away. The moment the red curls of her son disappeared into the cloak of Nyx did Helen’s knees finally give out and hit the solid palace floor. Shoulders shaking uncontrollably, one hand clawing futilely into the stone cold floor while the other silencing her own screams and tears flowing out like streams of river.
Nothing. There was nothing for Helen to live for now. Her old life stolen, her husband gone, and finally her son, who was sent away on her own accord. There lay the former queen of Sparta, daughter of Achaea, all by herself among the cold stones of Ilium, alone against the whole world.
The warmth of the sunlight danced on her skin, and the songs of birds were filling the air as the wind breezed around the royal garden. It seemed Helen had fallen asleep in the corridor till morning. Soft mattress under her, as her face was laying sideways on a soft pillow. Perhaps someone had brought her back to her chamber. Before her mind had time to wonder, a soft touch caressed her tear filled cheek, lightly brushed the droplets away and she leaned into it instinctively.
“Are you sleeping my dear one?”
She leaned even deeper into the touch, yet her eyes still snapped shut.
“Hey,” A voice, which was a far cry from being beautiful or attractive, let alone being comparable to a siren call, but for Helen, it’s the sweetest of songs, rivaling the Muses themselves. Her hand grabbed on the wrist. Feeling its warmth beneath. No. It can’t be.
“ You’re twitching.” A hint of mischief and understanding filled the low voice. Stop. Please . “ I know you can never sleep in the garden alone.”
Her cheeks were dampened by tears once again. The other hand from the owner of the voice reached out, cupping her face, as if she was the most precious thing in this world. Could she still be one? To him? To her? To them? To anyone?
“What’s wrong?” Worry and sympathy. “ Helen, tell me.”
“ It’s- just a bad dream.” She croaked out finally, trembled in fear. “Nothing to worry about.”
“...” The voice did not answer. The hands left her face, Helen chased after the warmth out of instinctual fear that the dream would end. But mere seconds later, the mattress on the other side, next to her back, dipped. Oh by the name of Zeus, she hates whenever he does that. Lying there like a giant log, waiting patiently until she’s ready. But then, that was the only reason why she started telling him about those nightmares in the first place.
Silence engulfed them, saving for the sweet quiet lullabies of the birds harmonizing with the whisperings of wind, oh, and his not so quiet humming along, too. Her husband had never been fond of utter silence.
“By the Muses, stop.” She laughed, even when it sounded a bit hoarse due to all of the screams and tears, “Before Apollo comes down himself.”
“Why? You do it all the time. I can do it too.”
“ Have you even considered what your voice sounds like to other people?”
“It’s the same as how I hear it.”
“No it’s not.”
“Oh for the love of Apollo, stop.” He laughed.
“Why? You do it, then I can do it.”
“ Have you ever considered how creepy it is to hear my own voice from other people’s mouths? My own wife at that!”
“No, my dearest husband, since I'm the only one who can.”
“You’re horrible.” She giggled, trying to come up with something to bite back, but he stopped her the moment she opened her mouth, “ Ah! Don’t even think about it, both Castor and Pollux verified that, so I have the higher ground here.”
Silence once again filled the small space between them as the burst of laughter died down. Shuffling behind her back again, Menelaus was now lying on his side, facing her, she could even hear his breath right behind her head.
“But seriously, Helen, what’s wrong?” A loud sigh. “You can’t just cry your heart out and say it’s nothing.”
Clutching her hands to her heart a bit tighter. She mustered the strength to push through, as long as they had each other, Helen would keep her head high.
“ You’re gone, both you and Hermione.”
“ And you?” He asked quietly.
“ I- We were trapped,” She was not brave enough to tell him, “somewhere else, away from each other. An ocean apart.”
“ Did we manage to find each other?”
“It would not be a nightmare if we did.”
He didn’t say anything for a while, and then abruptly stood up and left. Ah, so that's how this dream is going to end. Everything as an almost , almost touch, almost see, almost feel, because she is a coward. Does not have enough strength to open her eyes, to look at him, to see the terrors she has committed to her loved ones, and finally, to say sorry when she died. Helen decided to open her eyes, before this short-lived, all too happy dream could turn into a nightmare. But a small hand blocked her fluttering eyes, preventing them from opening all together.
“Father said you’re sad,” A small voice whispered into her ear like a secret. Her brow furrowed into confusion under his little palm, and then widened of realization as tears flowed out freely again. The small child climbed up onto the couch, and made himself comfortable by lying next to her belly. His tiny hand had left her face, yet Helen listened to her young child and closed her eyes once again, even when her mind screamed in protest, yearning to see his face again,
“And he said I should tell you that I am right here, I am fine and nothing to worry about. We will chase whatever nightmare you have away and we will always find each other here, at home.”
“Dumb brother!” Her daughter climbed up from the other side, half leaning on Helen. “You can’t just read out everything father said like that!”
“But he told us to tell mother.” The prince argued back from his spot.
“ We need to rephrase it first!”
“Alright, stop arguing.” The other side of the couch dipped again. Helen’s stomach made a flip, or five, or a trip to the Underworld then to Olympus and back, oh, she had no idea. “Nap time.”
“Father, we can not all nap on the couch,” Hermione was fighting with Menelaus for space, again, “There is not enough space!”
Helen huffed out a laugh and quietly moved both her and Megapenthes toward her edge before her husband lost the tug of war, which he always does, especially against their lovely daughter. Luckily, her son decided to climb over, claimed the place between his father and sister and played the “meditator”. The noise died down slowly as the hyperactive children became too tired to even whisper to each other, and it seemed her husband had also been taken by Hypnos. Turning herself around, her hand reached out blindly, feeling each of her children’s soft locks and chubby cheeks, and then her husband by his dry, calloused, spear holding hand. She knew the moment she opened her eyes, this would all be over, and as a dream, it is not real. But maybe, just maybe, the ten years before was just a bad dream, and this is her true reality. That she is happy, loved and safe. Gathering all of the courage within herself, Helen opened her eyes to see,
“Helen!”
“Helen! Are you alright?”
In front of her was not the sight of her husband and children sleeping soundly within the royal garden of Sparta, not the sight of her homeland, of her family, but Cassandra, the cursed princess who was always berating her, in the cold stone ground of the Trojan palace corridor, on a cold morning of late autumn. Immediately, she brushed away her tears and composed herself, once again as cold as ice. Standing up in wobbly legs, she lightly pushed the woman away,
“ I am fine, Cassandra. Thank you.” She swiftly turned on her feet to leave. But their business was, however, unfinished.
“He was gone, wasn’t he?” Helen’s footsteps froze abruptly on its track.
“ Your son, Megapenthes.” Her head slowly turned back to Cassandra. Fear, terror and anger filled her gaze. The other woman didn’t spare a glance, rather gazing mindlessly at the horizon further away, where the Achaean camp resided, “Oh, he’s far away on the other side now. Lucky bastard.”
“No one’s going to believe you.” Helen said coldly, “My son’s fate is beyond all of your reach now.”
“Indeed it is,” The princess sighed in defeat, her gaze filled with resignation and sadness as she looked dead into the eyes of the Achaean woman, similar to the one in Helen’s eyes when she gave her son away yesterday, “The curse of a prophet, to be able see the fate but not be able to stop it.”
“Don’t worry, I am the crazy lady, no one will believe what I have to say. Spin as many tales about your missing son as you want. Everyone in Troy will believe the beautiful Helen, darling of Aphrodite, rather than Cassandra, birth daughter of Troy, cursed woman of Apollo.” Cassandra spat out bitterly, and left.
It was surprisingly easy to spin a tale about the disappearance of the young child, as the prince Helenus also went missing roughly at the same time. And they were both deemed taken by Achaeans, as Deiphobus also described vaguely seeing an Achaean lurking within the wall of Troy yesterday, however due to being quite drunk, he could not make out the face clearly.
Priam dismissed everyone else, but asked Helen to stay back. He walked down the throne, then raised his old wrinkled hands, overlapping her fair ones,
“I am sorry, my dear child. The loss of a child is always hard to bear. I know it’s unfair of me to make you continue the wedding with Deiphobus while the pain is still fresh, but I wholeheartedly believe that my son, a good man as he is, will soothe your bleeding heart. And he needs a pillar to lean on, to have the strength to continue this wretched war that the gods have made us participate in. If you want to talk, please know that I am always here to listen.”
“My dearest father-in-law,” Helen said in earnest, as she held the hands of the old king, who had lost too many children in his mortal lifetime, imagining them as her father’s, “I am most grateful to call you one.I now understand the pain in your heart, and your worry for the future. Troy is in desperate times and I will do my part, by marrying the prince and chief commander, Deiphobus.”
She bowed down to him before leaving the throne room. Surprisingly, unlike whatever she just said and what people believed after the disappearance of her son, she was not filled with utter sadness and despair. There lies a glimpse of hope within those thorns of pain, a dream that her family would be whole again. She did not know where she would lie within the scenario, but her treacherous heart hoped that at the very least, Helen could see it with her own eyes, all three of them together, before her shoulders were lightened by the loss of her head. The unexpected dream filled her with happiness she had not felt for many years ever since her son was born, a sight of a perfect family, which she did dreamt to have with Paris, until the mist of Aphrodite was cleared. And then Cassandra, oh the Cassandra , saying that her son had made it to the other side. She was the crazy prophet, whom they warned not to believe in, but then again, Helen had always been a bit of a stubborn one.
Andromache was fixing her hair in Helen’s room, as the former wife of Paris was draped in a beautiful gown for the wedding with her new husband. The woman was a blessing of the gods indeed. Although Helen’s stubborn mind still hung onto the fact that her son was safely sent to the other side, she was not spared from the constant feeling of agitation and loneliness. Andromache had caught on quick and immediately, she was graced by the widow and her child’s accompany everyday. There was still someone within this wall, who loved her despite all the pain, blood and loss that were painted by Helen’s every step to the future. She did not know what future would bestow onto them, but she prayed it would be a merciful one.
The wedding was organized early so that Deiphobus could muster enough courage to get out and fight again. The Trojans have been caging themselves within the god built wall for almost two months now. The Achaeans had some new recruits, the son of Achilles was their most notable, as mighty as father and twice as savage, who was released on the battlefield a few weeks after the death of his father. Now, after a good while to get used to the blood soaked soil of Ilium, the gore and horror had become his fuel, the scene of terror and the smell of death had become his reasons, the sharpness or sword and the sound of metal as his allies, the new warrior soon bathed in the same red glory as his father once was. Without a great man like Hector to lead the charge, the Trojans fell apart like sheeps against the jaws of hungry lions and wolves. So once again, the high wall of Troy became their sanctuary against the assault of the Achaeans. But not for long, they needed a brave and strong commander in chief to push the enemy out of their soil for good. The appearance of an intruder only speeded up the marriage process.
Now Helen was sitting in silence in front of a large mirror, so Andromache could finish by adding various jewelry and flowers on top of her hair. Amidst the work, the wife of Hector suddenly asked, her face full of worry, ”How are you feeling?”
“I- don’t know.” Curiosity, worry, fear, anxiety, loneliness, sadness, desperation, relief, hope, all were swirling in her mind like a typhoon. “How about you?”
“I don’t know either.” Andromache sighed.
Both of them then fell into silence, as each mind was occupied by a different kind of storm.
“Then let’s think about something simpler,” Helen was the first to break the deafening silence. She would let hope push through, as her treacherous mind suddenly played back the dream from before, “Like how this veil would look so bad on me.”
“Oh dear, not beige!” Andromache laughed as she inspected the various veils in the maid’s hands, who was holding them all out for the two royal women to see, “Take blue, it suits your eyes better.”
“Of course you would say that!”
“Blue is my favorite color.” The woman above Helen shrugged not so innocently, “Sit still dear, you act like a young lass on her wedding day.”
“I am on my wedding day!” She laughed again, her shoulders shook uncontrollably.
“By Hera this would take forever.”
The wedding was quick and less luxurious, compared to her old one with Paris. As she was standing on the high altar of the palace ground, looking at the faces of the people below, her mind zoned out as the priest and king Priam were making offerings to the gods, and mindlessly wandered toward the tall bright pyres of burning carcasses on the other side of Troy, and then to the battle ground between, now always carried a hint of blood soaked red within its soil, and finally to the horizon, where the Achaean camp lay, where half of her family resided.
She snapped back as the couple must step up and said their own prayers, so she offered a prayer to her children and king of Sparta, and a small one for herself, for a glimpse of hope for the dark days.
The banquet passed as a blur, and soon she must joined her new husband in his chamber. Helen had learnt at that fateful night that Deiphobus’s hands were even colder than Paris, and she once again shivered against the icy touch of the man as he approached.
“Even after all these years, you’re still so beautiful,” He whispered, “Do you know how long I have waited for this, to have you as my wife? Maybe I should have joined Paris to go to Sparta that day.”
A sound of alarm stopped both of them, as Deiphobus looked out of the window. There was the smell of smoke in the air. There was light on the horizon, but not from the sun of Helios. No. Fire . On the horizon . He rushed out of the chamber. She followed suit, running like a mad woman toward the high wall. A lot of Trojans and royalties were already there. Bright ashes surrounded them. The smell of smoke filled their nose. The bright light on the horizon reflected it all in their eyes. The Achaean camp was burning, consumed by a red flame of anger, as if Zeus had struck down a lightning himself.
Her son was there.
Her son .
With her husband.
Her husband .
Her family.
Her love.
A sound of something broken was the last thing she heard, and then in her blurry eyes, for some reason lying sideways,as countless faces filled her vision. And then darkness.
Blood.
Why is the river red?
Smoke.
Fire.
Ashes.
Why are they standing there?
Get them out.
Get them out.
Get
Them
Out
Helen woke up with a scream of terror, but soft hands immediatelly rested on her shoulders, stopping her spiraling further into madness.
Another forehead touched her, grounded the sorrowful woman from drowning in the dark sea of despair and pain.
“I’m sorry.” Andromache croaked out with a hoarse voice, as if she had been crying too. “I’m so sorry, my dear.”
Helen tried her best to even her ragged breathing, her hand came up to futilely clean the overflowing tears, which did not stop.
They said there, shoulder to shoulder, for god knows how long, until a maid timidly creeped in,
“ Lady Andromache, Lady Helen, the king summoned you.”
“ I will go,” Andromache sat up, she tried to clean Helen’s face like a mother soothing her daughter, “Stay here a bit my dear, I’ll be right back.”
“Lady Helen must go too, he said it’s important.” The maid closed her eyes, cringing at every word she said.
“ I see,” Andromache said coldly, then turned to the wailing woman in bed, smiling softly, “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”
“ I want to,” Helen said between hiccups, slowly she moved to the side of the bed, and stood on her feet. As the former queen of Sparta moved around the room to prepare herself, her sobs subsided as well and by the time she turned back to Andromache and the maid, she was putting on her veil, with her face dried of tears, her expression cold and hard, “Let’s go.”
They walked out of the big square of the city, in front of the temple of Zeus, there lay a giant horse made of wood. The creation was so bizarre and baffling that everyone was looking up onto it. Right under the horse’s front feet, however, there was a commotion, between Cassandra and a man. King Priam, Queen Hecuba and the young princess Polyxena were standing in disbelief and fear, while Chief commander Deiphobus and prince Polites were holding Cassandra back, as she tried to jump right into the man, as if she would crawl his eyes out with her bare nails.
“Burn this thing at once!” The woman screamed, “Don’t you understand!? This man, this thing would be the doom of us all! Troy will doom if this thing stays any longer! Kill this man and burn it!”
“What is happening, mother in law?” Andromache asked in worry, glancing back and forth between her, Cassandra and the giant construct.
“They found it today in front of the gate, saying it was from the Achaeans. By committing too much horror, they had angered the King of Gods himself, so they tried to build this to appease him and asked for forgiveness, but it was too late. Zeus struck the camp and no one survived.”
Helen’s stomach dropped, as she looked up at the giant horse. Her feet mindlessly carried her closer to the structure, circling around it, as if there would be someone, just someone she knew, would crawl out of it, so that she could question them about her family.
This thing, this wretched thing, was the only thing that survived the fire?
By the gods, couldn’t it be her son? He was an innocent boy!
Maybe, what if this was a trap? Odysseus could come up with anything out of this world, this thing as absurd as this could be a part of their plan! But the fire, the fire, it consumed everything, and this thing was too small for the whole army of multiple city states. She kept pacing around the giant construct, looking for any crack, in the hope that she could see a glimpse of an Achaean soldier. But it was tightly made, no cracks, no fault, no man.
Her voice spoke up in absolute desperation, and before she knew it, Helen was singing her favorite tune, the one that she used to coax her daughter to bed, in her chamber in Sparta, of her old life. Then her voice, as if sung by a dying siren, turned to the voice of a happy Clytemnestra humming her favorite song during the morning makeup session, to the voice of Penelope singing her lullaby while weaving a new dress, and then Aegialia as she mentioned of the richness of Argos and the weirdness of her young husband during their visit to Sparta, and then another Achaean wife, another Achaean mother, another love of their life.
By the time her voice became dry and raspy, there was still no answer, except for the wind and the quiet chattering of the Trojan surrounding the horse. Her knees gave out, and Helen’s eyes became as dull as the sand under her feet. She did not sense the moment Andromache stepped up and guided her to her chamber, did not hear the whispering of the widow asking her to drink some herbs to sleep, did not feel the hand that tried to soothe out her face and dry up her tear filled eyes. And yet by the time she closed her eyes, she could still feel her chest hollowed as the gods had finally taken her heart out, crushed it in front of her with their merciless hands and burnt it to dust.
A scream of terror filled the room and broke Helen’s out of her deep slumber. Immediately her eyes looked toward the direction where the sudden deafening sound originated. There was a storm of fire right in front of the window. As she rushed toward, leaning herself out of it to see, her vision was bombarded with the scene of pain and horror: the streets of Troy were burning, fire consumed every corner of the rich city of Ilium, people were running away from soldiers, Achaean soldiers! Looking down to the palace main gate, she could see two Achaean warriors fighting all Trojan soldiers in sync. Her hands shook uncontrollably as she backed away from the window. Terror and fear filled Helen’s heart, but also glee and hope. Her family could have survived! Her family-
A hand circling her throat, tightened it so hard that Helen could no longer breathe. In front of her was the bloody face of Deiphobus, injured, tormented, and twisted. One arm on her throat, while the other raising a sword. Helen could once again hear echoes of screams filling her room. She could smell the smoke in the air. She could taste the tang of blood as her mouth opened wide to gasp in any air.
“You bitch! You knew! You knew!” He shouted incoherently between tears and pain, “You fucking knew!”
Crawling against his arm futilely, as the hold tightened even harder, Helen tried her best to fight back death. But isn’t this what she wanted, a deserving death? Her son is no longer in peril, there is nothing holding Helen onto this mortal life. Now she could let the anger of Trojans unleashed onto her, in the form of Deiphobus, a sword right in the heart would be a merciful and honorary death. She should accept this. And Helen’s hands on Deiphobus’ face and arm lowered gradually to her side. Her eyes closed once again. She waited for the strike.
This time.
For good.
The strike came. Clean, fast and ruthless.
Yet her blood did not spill. Her breath did not cease.
Deiphobus, however.
The lifeless arm of Deiphobus left her throat and fell along with his body to the ground.
Her eyes cracked open, looking at the body of Deiphobus, with a sword impaled deep on his back. Helen’s dress, somehow she was still in her wedding dress, was coaxed with his blood.
Standing in front of Helen of Troy, was a true nightmare incarnate.
Deep inside her heart, she knew that her worst fear was never a death under the hands of angry and bitter Trojans, nor under the hands of bloodlust and hateful Achaeans. Or even the gods.
No, it was under the hand of her loving, tired, bitter, and hateful former husband, Menelaus Atreides, the second prince of Mycenae, the king of Sparta himself, now standing in front of her. He was still as she remembered him, just like the first day he set foot on Sparta as a suitor, taller than both Paris and Deiphobus, looming over the smaller Helen. He, however, wore a full armor that she had seen when he battled against Paris, with his helmet covering most of his face, leaving only a pair of red brown eyes, so full of anger, of hurt and of hate.
Helen backed down, although she knew she shouldn’t. This is a nightmare, but also the most fitting execution. And he, her former husband, the betrayed one, was the most fitting executioner.
Menelaus stepped forward, a knife taken out instead, not just any knife, her old one. The one that she sent away with Megapenthes. A fitting weapon of execution.
His hand was ready. They were at arms length from each other.
With a deep breath, Helen stopped backing down.The former queen of Sparta had waited ten years for this. She was ready. She took out the veil on her head, let it fall freely onto the ground and looked at her executioner, the love of her life dead in the eyes.
“You know what to do.” She mustered the word out with all of her heart.
He stopped on his track. His eyes widened.
“Do it!” She shouted against his face. He needs to do it before it’s too late.
“Do it! Menelaus, are you a coward or not?”
The pair of eyes bore deep into her soul. There was now confusion and sympathy in his eyes. The hand holding the knife lowered, but her hand reached out and stopped it from falling onto his side.
“Damn it! Do it already, Menelaus!” She held it right at her heart.
His hand shook hers away, the knife clattered on the ground. Along with it, the clang of his heavy helmet.
“No.”
That was the only word Menelaus uttered as her husband, the man that she knew for ten years, finally looked up again. His face, after a decade of war, was now decorated with scars, wrinkles, and bruises. Her hands instinctively creeped up to caress his worn out face, and then the unhealed scars. He instinctively leaned into it without hesitation. His hands overlapped with hers. Finally her blue eyes met his red. Both souls were tired, beaten, hurted, broken and pained and yet found solace, comfort and love in each other, once again. She broke out another soft sob and rested her forehead on his chest, hearing the beating of his heart.
A pair of arms moved her towards him then scooped her up gently. His left arm with the shield moved to her shoulder, while his right arms were under her knees. Slowly king Menelaus of Sparta, now carrying his queen Helen in his arms, the catalyst of this 10 years of war, the ultimate cursed prize of the gods, the bane of the Trojans and Achaeans alike, descended down the palace stairs. His shield blocked out the view of fire and death, his beating heart against her ear triumphed over the sound of terror and pain around them, his smell surrounded her like a comfort blanket instead of the smell of blood and carcasses. They walked down the streets that Helen had resided in for ten years, walking past the massacre between Achaeans and Trojans as if they were mere static, past the open battlefield that Menelaus had sold his blood and soul for, and toward the rising sun of Helios.
As king and queen of Sparta
As son of the cursed house of Atreus and the daughter of cursed tragic beauty
As Menelaus and Helen
Always