Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The funeral happened ironically in great timing for the both of them, Helen would say that however cruel it sounded.

They had been at each other’s throat for almost a month now, ever since Hermione’s last escapade. Their daughter thought it was a good idea to sneak out in the early hours, without both of her parents’ knowing. Only when a guard rushed in to report a sighting of the king’s chariot leaving the main gate after almost destroying the nearby market had the king and queen of Sparta realized the suspiciously lack of daily morning chattering in the palace hall from a certain voice. Helen ran to her bedroom and to her worst nightmare, the princess was nowhere to be found. There was no sign of intruders, no indication of fighting or repulsion, the room was perfectly clean and looked exactly like last night when the queen had left her daughter sleeping, yet her mind still played back that very memory over and over again, but except of her own face, it was now Hermione’s.

They rushed out of the palace on Helen’s chariot immediately with a small team of soldiers behind and after two hours of searching, they found the princess playing next to the small stream where Menelaus used to take her to fish. 

The queen rushed toward to hug her dearest child and sobbed in relief that she was not kidnapped, while the king said nothing for the whole trip back, yet his body was shaken with unreleased anger, the flesh on his palms turned white. Noticing this, Helen murmured to Hermione as they descended down into the ivory of the palace ground, with Menelaus walking in front of them,

“ Apologize to your father. He was worried sick when you were nowhere to be found.”

“ Father.” Hermione began, only for Menelaus to turn around and lash out first.

“ What were you thinking!? Do you know how dangerous it is? I told you time and time again, not to go out without me! Why don’t you listen!? You heedless child!”

“ Menelaus, she is safe. That all matters.” She tried to soothe out his quick-to-anger and quick-to-love husband.

“ No, she should have listened! All I’m trying to do is keep her safe.” His voice raised, a hint of his usual warcry voice crept in. This startled both the mother and daughter, along with the palace guards. Menelaus never raised his voice against them, until now.

“ By confiding her into the palace all day? Safety shouldn’t be exchanged for freedom!” Helen’s voice along with her entire body was shaking out of pure anger, yet there was a hint of something akin to uncertainty and worry to be found.

“ What do you know about it? Do you know what it is like to feel the knife of death at your throat at all times?” He walked closer, his shadow casted over her, but she did not yield.

“ And do you know what it’s like when freedom is taken away from you!?” She screamed back at him, raising an octave higher. 

A burst of cry overlapped their voices and their eyes both turned to the little princess, who had been standing between their parents now bursted out crying under their feet.

Without hesitation she hauled the sobbing princess into her arms while the king jolted out of his angered state and backed away in shock, as if the mother and the child were of hot coal and fire. Then he muttered something in audibly and just left, leaving Helen to deal with Hermione alone.

And for the whole month, they said nothing to each other outside of the necessity of business and parenting, and even when in bed they stayed lying far away on either side with their backs against each other. On her marriage bed now laid the beautiful Helen whose mind was racing and roaring like the wind of Zephyr blowing outside the quiet room, saved for Menelaus’s even breathing. Her feet and hands were ice cold but she could not turn to the soundly sleeping portable human blanket lying on the other side of the bed, out of pride and annoyance. She had to make do with the actual blanket over her shoulders instead, which warmed up too slowly for her liking. It was terrible. The queen of Sparta was warned by both her mother and elder sister that marriage never meant happy ever after, that there would be difficulties, trials and hardships. But in Helen’s naive mind those were supposed to be external problems against the both of them, not internally between each other. 

With the king of Sparta gone the day after tomorrow, she could spend some more time entertaining the new guest from Troy and maybe use it to forget the straining time for a while, and when Menelaus’s back, both of them could look into each other with a mind cleared of anger and full of empathy. Or at least that’s what she was hoping. She knew her husband, but to what extent his anger would reach she did not know. Helen could might as well end up as her deceased mother-in-law.

At least, the appearance of the prince of Troy last week proved to be interesting to put it mildly. Then man was everything her husband was not. He sweet talked to her while her husband nowadays communicated using grumbles and savage animal sounds, the prince preferred singing songs and poems while Menelaus would rather shout in animalistic warcry, he could play lyre and many instruments while the king of Sparta could only handle spear, shield and horses. Paris nodded along to what she was saying while the king of Sparta just looked at her deep in the eyes, saying nothing back. Suddenly the queen of Sparta would confidently say spending her time with Paris was more enjoyable than her own husband. It was a treacherous thought, but it was the truth for the current Helen.

The night before the king’s ship departure to Crete, she decided to pack Menelaus’ stuff as usual, as she was going through some of his clothes in their room, a small cough announced the king’s presence behind her back, although the sound of his steps along the hall was enough to tell.

Yet Helen decided not to turn back but continued folding his clothes, she was angry after all. However her husband did not leave, instead he shuffled uncomfortably behind her,  which meant whatever he wanted to say was important. But she still chose not to turn back and faced him.

“ My wife,” He decided to break the silence first,” I wanted to give you this.”

A delicately carved knife of gold and silver was put on the nightstand next to her side of the bed, and her husband now stood right behind her, his head almost resting on her right shoulder. Helen’s heart sank a little but her mind was firm.

“ Bribing me with gifts doesn’t work anymore, my dearest husband, as I am the queen of Sparta, not the innocent princess you used to court.”

“ It’s not about that.” He muttered against her ear, denying the allegation, “ This is for your safety- against the curse of House Atreus.”

The queen eyes’ widened in realization. And with a final difficult heave of breath to avoid revealing his already shaking voice, Menelaus said, “You know what to do with it.”

The king turned away to leave but Helen beat him to it as she held back his arm to turn him around and kissed him right in his lips, the packaging and talking could be left for tomorrow they supposed.

Hermione and Helen saw him off at the dock, Hermione insisted on following her father but once again her wish was denied.

“ My horses would need a good rider when I'm away and who could do it better than someone who already knows them? Someone like my daughter.” He crouched down to the little lady's eye level.

“ But you’ll be back soon right?” The princess asked as her father wiped her tears away.

“ I’ll be back in no time.” He reassured both of them. And then straightened up so that his firm eyes could meet the queen’s. “ I promise.”

She nodded while her eyes tried to take in his form and memorize all of his auburn hair of Ares, his soft earthly brown eyes of Demeter and his smile unlike anything of this world, uncomparable to even the gods. It was a short trip, a month at best, yet somehow in the back of her mind, Helen felt this could be the last time she would see him as he was.

“ You’d better be. We still have things to sort out.” Why in Zeus Almighty did she decide to bring this up now? She slapped herself internally.

Her response soured the king’s mood but he chose not to open the can of worms, instead he just nodded and turned away to leave.

As Hermione decided to take her father’s chariot away for a ride, which was definitely to soothe out the little princess’ own mind, Helen was now sitting alone in the royal garden, hands tracing after the carves on the knife that was given her. It was a divine gift, beautifully crafted and made, yet it was not to strengthen their marriage but to physically cut ties when it’s of utmost necessity, how ironic. How stupid of her husband, to think their love is not stronger than his family's generational curse! But to think of it, they had spent the entire month sulking and not looking into each other's faces, out of a trivial thing no less. Then how could they fight against something as treacherous as the curse of House Atreus? Now she felt as if she was standing on the shaking ground, ready to burst open at any given minute.

Suddenly, a soft voice startled her, Helen out of pure instinct hid the knife away behind her back and had it under her belt.

“ Queen Helen,” It was Paris, “I hope I do not intrude on this quiet moment of yours.”

“ No, no you’re not,” She put on a friendly face, “ What is this that you need from me, prince Paris of Troy?”

“ You seem to be in distress.” The man slowly sat on the stone chair, right next to her. “ I don’t like to see the face of the most beautiful woman in the world ruined by the furrows and scrunches.”

Isn’t he beautiful? A voice of Aphrodite entered her mind. He cares how tired you look, how sad you are, what you have in mind. 

“ I am a queen, there are a lot of matters to scrunch about.” She said playfully.

“ I hope the king is not one of the contributors. He was a noble man as far as I can see.” Paris smiled seductively.

“ He is after all a husband, and a husband always makes his wife feel distressed.” 

“ A good husband would not,” Paris said, suddenly holding her left hand up, and kissed on the back of her hand, “ A good husband would not let his wife suffer under his reign.”

Paris cares about you. He loves you. Why stay with a man who has no regard for your turmoil, emotions and thoughts? Who could kill you at any time and blame it on the curse of his family. Who caged you like a pretty thing in your own house?

“ No he would not.” Helen breathed out.

And their lips met as the spell of Aphrodite blurred her mind.

Escaping to Paris’ ship was easy work. Helen knew the way in and out of Sparta as she had spent countless time racing chariots back and forth around the city. Paris put on a veil for her so that she would be unrecognizable among the crowds they were passing by. They laughed and smiled along the way as if they were a newly wedded couple enjoying their honeymoon, although the wedding had not yet even begun.

And Troy was as grandeur as Helen imagined, the stone wall built by the gods and dedicatedly decorated by generations of Trojans, looming over the returning crew. As the heavy door of metal and wood opened, the town came out to greet the returning prince, with the king and queen and their children in tow.

“ Welcome back, Paris my son,” the king Priam walked toward to hug Paris, “ How was the trip? Was the king of Sparta as what they told across the ocean?”

“ Father, the trip was splendid. However it is not that man who I want to speak of, rather this lady here,” Paris reached out his hand for the veiled Helen on the chariot to step down, “ was given to me by the goddess of Love herself to make her my wife.”

“ No-“ A voice of shock and dread could be heard among the daughters of Priam, “ Paris you treacherous swine, now Troy will burn under your hand!” 

A woman forced her way out of the crowd and tried to attack Helen, but another man stepped forward and blocked her, “ Cassandra, stop this madness at once!” 

“ She will be the death of us all, don’t you understand? You, me, father, all will die under her and her husband’s feet!” The woman screamed, “ You! Reveal yourself at once, so the entire Ilium can see what abomination has the swine brought home with!”

Helen complied and unveiled herself, and as the lady expected, the whole crowd fell into silence as her beauty was now in full display.

“ No-” muttered the woman Cassandra in horror as her eyes showed the unseeable nightmares which were yet to come. “ Father! You must send her back, or else we will all die!”

“ Enough!” A figure descended down among the mortals, a woman of divinity, Aphrodite herself in full glory. The people of Ilium, even the king and queen, immediately bowed to their feet against the mighty Olympian. With a voice of femininity and authority, the fair handed one spoke “ She was the gift that I, the goddess of Love, have personally given to Paris, I will be glad to give the newly wed a blessing of love and passion for your wedding.”

The whole Ilium bent to the Mistress of Love’s will and the wedding was soon organized and celebrated, with the blessings of the king and queen of Troy.

Helen was delighted. She was happy.

Finally she was free of the duty and responsibility, she could choose someone of her own liking, and not in the pressure of politics and war. Her and Paris were a match made in heaven, they spent hours together celebrating the lustful love blessed by Aphrodite.

It was perfect. She had no lingering memory of the past life anymore.

Soon adding to the euphoric dream, she was soon announced pregnant, and the midwives believed it could be a boy. Paris was thrilled and they immediately feasted for this news. A party was thrown later that day to celebrate the expecting Helen in the delight of the whole family of king Priam. Everyone attended the party, even the ones who hated outwardly like Cassandra and Helenus. However she could not eat any of it, the pregnancy symptoms had made her appetite sour, yet she chose not to leave the table as it would be very selfish and immature of her to do so. Instead, she entertained herself watching Paris boasting about how mighty his sons would be, and how the lines of Priam would get stronger. At least listening to him and observing the whole table’s banter would keep the urge to hurl her stomach out. 

As she tried to focus on what Paris was saying to Deiphobus, a woman suddenly approached her on the other side, “ Are you alright?”

She was Hector’s wife, a beautiful and noble woman, with dark hair of coal and soft eyes of the black dirt, Andromache. 

“ I am fine.” Opening her mouth would be disastrous, but she needed to answer this kindred spirit. The lump raised up from her throat and Helen slapped her palm over the mouth to physically keep it in.

“ Nonsense! Come with me my dear, let’s go.” Andromache held her up and guided Helen away without announcing. Instead she just locked eyes with her husband Hector and the man simply nodded.

The pregnancy went even more disastrous than she could remember. This child was heavier than her last, and she became agitated more than ever. Easier to tears, easier to anger, to everything. Paris could do nothing to lessen her temper, only worsen it. He acted like a man child, and not a dutiful husband Helen needed. His love felt splendid, but the feeling alone was not enough to help them with handling the struggles of an actual marriage.

Her legs soon became swollen out of the sheer weight and the slaves had to massage them with brewing leaves almost every day. She would prefer her husband to do it but after almost being kicked in the face, twice, he said they had slaves for those types of jobs. He let her do as she pleased, screamed to him all she wanted, and as if the words were merely breezing air, it passed over his ears and left nothing behind. He actually never even sat back and considered what she had to say. Her body got colder at nights as well, yet Paris was not warm enough to her liking, his arms were there but not enough to cover her against the cold. Helen also tended to move a lot during sleep and she would sometimes physically kick Paris out of bed, for which he protested vocally, for example, right now. 

She only laughed out loud, “ I’m sorry for that is how I sleep, my dear. I thought you would be more like an unmovable log.”

“ Who could be unmoved by those impressive kicks of yours, my lovely Helen?” He said, sitting down on the floor, sulking. “ Your feet were cold as ice, I was woken by their touch alone.”

“ Well, Menelaus sure never-” She said but then the words died on her tongue as the river of a distant memory leaked through the invisible damp in her mind, the snippets of a different life, a different husband, a different love.

“ Helen. Why do you speak of that man again? He’s the past. Let him go.” Paris said uneasily.

“ Yes, he’s- the past.” She muttered inaudibly. Her eyes fixed on the remnants of the past as if they were played out on the wall on the opposite side of the room, and never did her gaze leave the face of a man with long auburn hair.

Who is he? Who is this Menelaus?

Her mind knew out of pure factual memory that he was her former husband, that she ran away from him to come with Paris. Her heart did not know of him anymore. Her heart held almost no love for this name, this person. Yet the larger her belly became, the more she felt as if she had known this man for all of her lifetime. There was indeed no passionate airy love of Aphrodite, but there were the familiarity, pride and steadiness of Hera’s blessing remained, as if she could ask him to lay down his life for her and her children, and this man would do it without hesitation. They might not be able to love and laugh like Paris and she did in their honeymoon, but they could spend hours talking about mundane things, like how Helen learnt to mimic birds in the garden out of boredom or how to hold a toddler properly. Their love might not of the bursting inferno, but of the fireplace in someone’s kitchen, enduring generations after generations, warming the parents, the children, then their children as well. She could love this man.

As if the fog of lust had been thinned out, she started to see Menelaus everywhere during her final month of pregnancy. The man used to haunt Helen’s every step when she was expecting her first child, he fumbled embarrassingly as well, the difference was that the man was anything but a quitter, he would endure all of the slaps on his shoulders and kicks to his face to finish massaging her legs, he would change the food immediately when she felt like hurling and he would hug her close with his strong arms on their bed so that Helen would stay still during her sleep. And some days, he would murmur to her about his inner demons so that she would be encouraged enough to talk about her own nightmares. For 9 years they had learned of their most beloved features along with their hideous parts, and they had decided to walk together toward the uncertain future, hand in hand, as the son of the cursed house of Atreus and the daughter born with the curse of beauty, with their hearts firm and their heads held high, as long as their fingers were laced together. She had loved him.

The day she gave birth soon came, and the palace was quite in an uproar. Who wouldn't want to see the child of the handsome Paris and the most beautiful woman of Greece? It was painful and miserable for 3 hours straight but Helen endured through it all with the help of her midwives and Andromache. And finally, a cry of the newborn child bursted out and Andromache wrapped the child in a warm blanket swiftly then passed him to Helen.

After regaining her consciousness and breathing could Helen properly see her newborn child, in this very moment, Paris and king Priam were also called up to the room. The prince of Troy eagerly reached to her bedside as she started to fix the wrapping blanket on the child’s head. He wanted to hold the newborn but Andromache slapped his arms away, as the child needed to experience the mother’s scent first to calm down. Slowly, the child could sense his mother’s warming presence and stopped his wailing, and gradually opened his eyes to experience the whole wide world for the first time.

He was indeed a beautiful boy, whose eyes were as blue and round as Helen’s. There were her soft features hidden underneath too, yet the thing that captured her undivided attention was among none of those, but the hair on his head, which was now revealed as the wrap had slightly fallen out.  

Short wavy hair.

Of auburn color . 

She loves him still.

Always.

Chapter Text

Music:

Reflection - Secession Studio
Experience - Ludovico Einaudi

Art - by yours truly 

 The moment the flaming hair entered his peripheral vision, Paris flinched and jolted away from the bedside, as if the mother and son were made of fire. Standing next to the bed, eyes widened in disbelief as realization slowly sunk in, the prince of Troy had no words coming through the gaping mouth of his. King Priam was in no better condition, as his gaze zeroed onto the red locks of the newborn’s head. Andromache looked at the two men in confusion as her brows furrowed, then her eyes snapped toward the exhausted mother and the bundle in her arms.

She raised her head up and said coldly, “ Father, Paris, it’s best for you to leave now. Helen needs to rest.”

The old king was the first to snap out of the shock, “ Of course.” 

Then he signaled the prince to follow him out of the room, leaving the women behind.

Only when the door of the delivery room was closed did Andromache release the breath she was holding, and carefully sat down next to the tired mother, who also sighed in relief.

“ How are you feeling?” She asked softly.

“ I- don’t know.”

This bundle of life is of Menelaus’ blood, a Greek prince made out of the love between the king and former queen of Sparta, was born within the walls of Troy.

What would be of him, to be born and live within the walls of a foreign land, not knowing anything of his heritage, his birthright, and his family across the ocean? Would he be safe here? Would he be loved here? A million questions were racing into Helen’s mind, filling it with static, every muscle of her body froze as if she was one of the men facing the Gorgon Medusa, her legs were trapped by vines of ill-intent and the dirt of impending doom would then open up from beneath and swallowed her and her son whole. A light from above suddenly tore the dim gray sky open, a bright fair arm from above reached down, as strong as the combined strength of a thousand men, gently lifted the drowning Helen out of the deep ocean of thoughts. 

“ You don’t have to face any of it now. Let’s think of something else, happier,” The fair hand of Andromache was now on her shoulder, then another came up to her face, and put the failing strand of hair to the back of her ears, away from the forehead which was glistening with sweats, “ Like what do you want to call this little one?”

Without hesitation, Helen answered while looking at the boy’s hair once again, “ Megapenthes. His name is Megapenthes.”

Priam led Paris to a secluded place within the royal garden, only when he made sure there was no one around, did he begin, 

“ My son, I understand that the goddess of Love has promised you fair lady Helen, but now you must consider. The boy she bore was of the king’s blood. We could right now hold the next king of Sparta, what would happen if Menelaus knows of this? He has many powerful allies, like his older brother, king Agamemnon of Mycenae. War against both Sparta and Mycenae would be one of the last things we want.”

“ Helen is given to me, father, and by Aphrodite is that the final verdict. We can simply deal with the boy while there’s still time. Menelaus would not know any of this.”

Standing in front of the old king’s eyes was no longer the prince of Troy but his younger self, talking about how he should abandon the newborn son of his for the greater good of the nation, how a life of an innocent being, who had not even been able to even flip himself onto his stomach, was worth it. Did Paris know how that decision had eaten Priam out for 20 years, knowing he had tried to kill his own son for the fate of the nation, how much anger and hate had Priam felt against himself, being a blood father but yet was the one to pass the verdict of death onto his own son. How much relief he felt when by the will of the gods did his boy return in one piece, unharmed, healthy and strong. On that day, he had sworn to himself, fate would be damned, as long as his children were here and alive. 

“ The child has no fault in this,” He said with determination, “ You will not lay a finger on him.”

“ But father,” Paris tried to argue but an arm reached out from behind and stopped him from marching forward to Priam.

“ Father is right,” The crowned prince Hector glared at his brother, “ Any harm against him would prove disastrous to us. You have already violated the xenia against Sparta, don’t you dare add killing their future king to the filthy ledger of yours.”

And then he murmured into his brother’s ears, “ I’ll end you before your hand could reach him.”

Although he was favored by the most beautiful Olympian, it did not guarantee her aid at all times, even her own son Aeneas had no guarantee of his mother’s protection, so Paris decided to lose this fight against the king of Sparta. He would leave the boy alone, but then again, there was still the matter of Helen, which would definitely be aided by the goddess of Love.

No sooner after the birth of Megapenthes did they receive some alarming news. There was a rumor across the sea that a mighty fleet of multiple city states in Greece had been seensummoning in Aulis. The reason had not yet been fully confirmed but within the safety and quietness of her room, Helen had her own speculation. The oath of Tyndareus, the only reason no blood was spilled that day, is now ironically used to wage war against the land of Ilium, which meant hundreds of black ships and thousands of men of Greece, which meant war, bloodshed, pain and death. As Helen was pacing back and forth, contemplating how to use this information to save the ones like Andromache, Hector, king Priam, or even Paris, the man in question entered the room. 

Paris had been avoiding her for a good while, since she was glued to Megapenthes around the clock, and she knew how much he detested the blood prince of Sparta. Yet she did not feel sorry for not spending time with him, her priority and devotion was now offered fully to the toddler, who was sleeping soundly in the crib across her room.He asked her to take a walk to the palace garden and had a chat. Paris walked forward quietly as Helen was tracing behind him, as they entered the section full of myosotis blooming, the prince stopped and began,

“ Hector and my father will kill me if I dare lay a finger on the boy, but I can’t let Menelaus take everything from me. Aphrodite has given you to me, and that alone has more power than any marriage vow you have with him.”

So that was what he’s been thinking? Ending an innocent life out of jealousy and hate? She had loved him then for his beautiful face and voice, but now when it was twisted in pettiness and the poisonous tang of inferiority in his voice, all love could not help but vanish.

“ I am married to you under the blessing of Aphrodite, true.” She stopped on her track as well and looked into his eyes fiercely, “ But my marriage with Menelaus was protected by Hera herself, do you think the mere love goddess could win against the Queen of Gods?”

He was taken aback by Helen's response, his eyes widened.“ This should not have happened, Aphrodite promised that you would love me!”

“ Maybe.” She laughed bitterly, “ My love for you is not comparable to my compatibility with my husband and my daughter. Admit it, dear Paris, that you and your lovely patron goddess have been defeated. And pray that the loathsome former queen of Sparta can convince her mighty husband not to lay waste of your land.”

“ Or maybe.” A hand came right onto her throat, circling it, “ Pray that I will not throw you and your wretched spawn into the ocean right now.”

“ Aphrodite,” Helen turned around as far as the grip of the goddess allowed. The goddess appeared out of thin air in golden light of divinity, her golden locks falling down like willow over Helen’s shoulders as her words crept into Helen’s ears, “ I may not be able to defeat Hera, but you, even as the daughter of Zeus, is nothing. Cry and weep over Menelaus all you want, but you would never be able to leave Troy, as long as Paris is alive. Or else, you and your little one would know that my hate could be as strong as my love.”

And so the former queen of Sparta quailed and bent to the will of love and Paris once again, in the name of the little one in the crib.

Soon, as she predicted, the mighty fleet of Greece had appeared on the horizon of Ilium, one thousand ships strong, blackened the sea and blocked out the rising sun. This show of might and then the scenes of horror did not sway Paris from his tight possession of the most beautiful cursed woman and for ten years, the war ranged on. 

And for ten years, Helen contented herself in confiding inside the royal walls as she knew how much the people of Troy loathed her. Husbands, fathers, sons, wives, mothers, daughters of Troy, young and old were dying all around her feet. They knew that she was a mortal being, a mere prize, a pawn of the gods. But then aren’t they all pawns as well? Then why do they have to die and suffer under the hands of her kin, and she lives in the safety and richness of Troy, which was paid by their own Trojan blood and sacrifice? What makes her a better pawn than them? Just because she is beautiful? Yet they could not return her to the Achaeans, could not throw her to the other side of the wall, could not stone her to death, could not touch the body without being stunted by the beauty first, and worse, damaging her meant upsetting the fair handed Olympian Aphrodite. 

For a long time had Helen been wondering when the time would come, the moment the gods became bored of this little play game, when they had a new toy to mess with, when the burdened anger of the Trojans and Achaeans alike would finally be released upon her and tear her apart. And guess what? She would welcome it with open arms, she would let a slave girl strangle her in her sleep, a well-aimed stone in the back of her head, or even being torn apart by horses, whatever of their choosing. Helen of Troy would accept the deserved punishment with a smile on her face. 

But Helen of Sparta would not give up now, not while her prince was still presented within these walls and danger still lingered behind his back. Sitting within the shades of the trees in the garden, her eyes followed the movement of her son playing with his wooden sword, Helen’s mind was once again being reminded of the reason why she was still sane. The boy had grown up a lot during the war, ironically a perfect mix of his parents. Red hair and blue eyes, pleasant and headstrong, loving and caring. 

The boy started running towards his mother, his voice mixing with intakes of air, his arm waving the wooden sword, 

“ Mother, do you see how cool my moves are? Like, this, and this, this too!” 

“ Yes, they are indeed.” She smiled.

“ You don’t seem to sleep well. Is Paris bothering you?” The boy had always been too sharp for his own good, he might have noticed the tired look in her eyes.

“ No, my dear, no.” Her existence and well-being might be secured, but her boy, as the foreign child, not so much. She did not know what would come to pass if he had crossed the line.

“ You don’t have to lie to me.” The child became irritated. “ I can protect you from him.”

“ I am fine, Megapenthes. Please don’t speak like that here.” Helen pleaded, holding his hands. The boy nodded in acceptance as his gaze casted downward their linked hands, even though it seemed that there was something left unsaid between them.

She reached one of her hands up to brush his wild locks, “ How about you go and feed the horses, they would be delighted to see you.”

“ I can?” Children had always been easily distracted, and the horse trick seemed to work for both of their offspring.

“ Just tell Aethre to accompany you, and we’ll see each other at dinner.” With one final squeeze, she let him go and her melancholic gaze followed his running trail until the boy was away from view.

Weaving had never been Helen’s favorite pastime, it required being still and delicate, which she was not very excelled at. She had envied Pelenope and Clytemnestra for their amazing weaving hands and carefulness, yet never did Helen wish to compete against them in this field. The former queen would rather spend time waltzing around Sparta on her chariot, breathing the cool air in the morning as her horse ran past Castor’s or laughing out of her lungs when Menelaus screamed as their chariot jumped up to the air. 

But now, long was the cloth that Helen had weaved out, the only way to convey her longing for home, rage, guilt, blood and her love for what’s left, and in the end she would always add the color red. It was fitting after all.

Suddenly a woman’s voice startled her, the voice of Laodice, announcing to her the unexpected duel between Menelaus and Paris.

The ending was expected, of course Aphrodite would never let her favored being harmed by the Achaeans. And of course his wife was forced to soothe him after his humiliating defeat as if he was unjustly wronged.

As Helen was lying next to an unconscious Paris after they shared bed, the scenery of what had just happened started to replay in her mind. After 10 years, she had finally been able to see her former husband clearly without the interference of the chaos in the battlefield. She could not fully make out his face but his body language was enough to tell. He was tired, angry, and drained. It soothed her worried heart, as Helen could still read him like the good old days. But there were scars she had not seen before, there was confidence and bloodlust she had not borne witness, and there was the horror that he was able to commit in front of her eyes. 

Fear struck her like lightning. He had changed too much.

But does it matter? It’s not like Helen would be able to waltz into the old life like nothing happened. She is not his wife. Not anymore. And what if he wants to kill her after all of this? What if either of them die before things come to an end? This could probably be the only time she could see him this close. Hugging the cold blanket a bit closer to her heart, Helen let out a silent cry. 

As the morning came, and after Hector dragged Paris away to the battlefield, did Helen return to her son, whose room was a bit further away. The child was sitting still in his room, hands messing with his wooden toys. She immediately scooped the smaller one into her arms, his scent calmed her and grounded her troubled mind, chasing the demons away.

The boy said nothing, only clinged to her as if she was his lifeline, while in truth, his tiny arms were the only thing keeping her from falling into the abyss.

“ What’s wrong mother?” The boy turned to her and asked softly. He had always tried his best to be her protector, just like his father. This filled her heart with sorrow.

“ It's nothing.” She lied and she knew he saw it through, as he started to fidget with her hands. But he also knew she would never say the reasons out loud.

“ Can you tell me about father for bedtime tonight?”

“ Of course my dearest.”

Helen knew the boy would question his heritage sooner or later, so whenever the dark blanket of Nyx had covered the land, the people of Troy had fallen into slumber and her presence wasn't required by Paris, she would murmur to the boy of his family across the ocean. How gentle his grandparents were, strong-willed his sister was, and how noble his father was. As her own shadow casted on the chamber’s wall in front of them by the flickering candlelight, she started to point at it,

“ Your father is at this height, skilled in spear and strong in voice. His battle cry echoes like thunder of Zeus, stills the fear into their heart and makes them quail and run away like sheeps.”

“ He sounds scary,” Megapenthes commented.

“ Fear not little one, as he is the most gentle person I have come across.” She looked at her own shadow as if her former husband would walk out of it at any moment, “ He would never wish any harm upon you, and when you return to him, he will give you the best hug and cheer the prince of Sparta has returned to his home .” 

“ When we return to him,” The lost prince smiled. “ You are his queen and my mother.”

Helen froze, but she recovered in mere seconds. She walked toward him and pushed the boy up, ushering him to bed, “ It’s late. You should sleep.”

“ Can I hear more, mother? You can’t end the story like that.” The child started to complain but still followed his mother’s guide as she draped the blanket over him. 

“ Maybe another time. It’s very late now.”

The ill-news eventually flooded the land. Hector, her beloved brother in law had perished, and Helen had lost one of the only few people who had treated both her and her son kindly.

Andromache was merely a husk of her own self after the funeral, she barely spoke to anyone but rather spent the great chunk of her day weaving. Their little prince was taken care of by a maid instead, as the face of the young child was enough to send the wife of Hector closer to the edge of grief and sorrow.

As Andromache weaved mindlessly and purely out of instinct, she did not bear notice the sudden appearance of a second canvas right next to her, even the quiet appearance of the former queen of Sparta, who chose not to utter any word but rather start weaving immediately after settling herself in the room. They weaved together for a week in silence, the only sound prevailed was of their hands and their canvas. 

Mourning was a long process, that much Helen knew. She had not exactly mourned anyone close, but rather the good old life and her old self in Sparta. Things would never be the same, and a part of one’s soul would forever be lost, and as a human, all they could do is try to live with what’s left of it.

The light of Andromache eyes’ did eventually reignite, on one faithful morning when the beloved of prince Hector decided to acknowledge the presence of the other woman next to her,

“ How did you do it?” She stopped her weaving and asked in a quiet voice, one could be mistaken as an echo from far away, carried by the morning breeze.

Helen, for the first time, turned her face to her friend. Andromache’s eyes met hers.

“ How did you survive all of it?” 

“ I persist.” And her eyes guided Andromache’s ones toward the now opening doors, as Megapenthes, who was carrying Astyanax on his shoulders, sheepishly appeared on the other side, “ For him.” 

Paris replaced Hector as the new chief commander, but no sooner did he fall into the same darkness. Helen, although loathed him for everything he had done, did feel sorry for the ill fate of her husband. She attended the funeral like a dutiful wife, and shared the family’s laments as one should. She might not shed tears of sadness and sorrow like Andromache to Hector, but they had shared more than 10 years of life together. She did somewhat know him as a person, and Helen’s heart was filled with pity as his pyre burnt brightly. Maybe in another life, in which he had never been found by the goddesses, in which he had never known of her existence, or had never been found again by king Priam, maybe, just maybe he would never have had to be buried young like this. 

Seeing Paris gone, she wondered if the game of the gods had truly ended, and maybe now, as she had become masterless, would the Trojans just toss her back? What would Aphrodite do to her now as the favored one had gone? The war is the habit now, both Achaeans and Trojans have all gone too far to back down, returning Helen changes nothing. Either of them will burn to dust eventually, just like the corpse of her ill-fated husband just now.

Helen would stay till the end. That was the only thing she was sure of. She needed to meet her punishment through and through, with her head held high and her heart firm. But what of her innocent son? The former queen of Sparta would not let his prince face the consequences his mother brought upon herself. How would she send him away? Who could she trust within these walls? 

The answer to Helen’s fate soon came as the younger sons of Priam battled each other like wild dogs to take Helen’s hand of marriage, even Helenus who at first blamed her for the fall of Troy. It seemed Helen the prize had been settled for the prince Deiphobus, who had claimed victory over the other. A wedding would too soon be organized, next week to be precise.

Another pass of prize, another life within the walls of Troy, Helen sighed as she was pacing around the garden alone at night, contemplating what to do next. She did not know much of Deiphobus and after the passing of Hector, the safety of her son was ever more uncertain. 

Suddenly, a sound of people whispering echoed to her ears, but these were not the Trojans. The accent was a bit off, and the voices sounded vaguely familiar. Hiding behind one of the decorating statues, she peeked out just a little to make out the intruders in the dark.

“ I think you are mistaken. This part is the royal garden.”

“ Longer way round, sure, but we can bypass this to get to the vault without being noticed. It’s west of here.”

“ You don’t seem to trust Helenus that much.” 

“ Trust a Trojan? Do you trust Glaucus? No. Figures.”

That way of biting back, there was only one person she knew with that specific type of tone, as she had read probably hundreds of them from letters of Penelope and witnessed them firsthand in the hall of her father. She rushed out of her hiding, but one of the intruders was faster as he circled around her and secured Helen’s arms behind her back.

“ Scream and I’ll cut your throat.” A small knife was placed right under her chin and against her skin.

“ As I expect of the king of Argos.” She huffed and met his eyes with determination and a hint of glee, “ You live.”

“ Helen.” Odysseus turned to her, “ What are you doing here?”

“ That I should have asked you, Odysseus of Ithaca.” She looked back at the other man, “Two of the most important generals of the Achaeans inside the walls of Troy, how happy would the Trojan generals feel seeing their enemies being surrounded.” 

“ You would do no such thing.” The knife moved a bit closer, her throat started to feel the pressure.

“ And I will not.” She answered, “ Whatever you hope to find within the walls of Ilium, I will help you achieve it.”

“ How can we trust you?” Odysseus asked again. But a sound from afar interrupted them. Someone was approaching.

She signaled both of them with her eyes, and eventually the knife left her throat as the two men hid among the bushes further away. It was Andromache who appeared under the flickering light of the torches along the corridor. 

“ Do you have trouble sleeping?” The woman asked kindly.

“ Yes.” Helen spoke out loud and did not advance toward the other woman who was now standing still in the corridor next to the garden, she needed to gain the hiding Achaeans’ full trust for what would come next. “ Just tired, and worrying about my future.”

“ Do you want to talk about it?” It was Andromache who moved towards Helen, trying to soothe out the worry, but the actual reasons for Helen’s fidgeting, which were hiding in the bushes a few meters away, was still blissfully unbeknownst to the wife of Hector.

“ Thank you, but now I just want to be alone.” She looked down to avoid the gaze of the kind woman.

“ I have just the right herbs for a good night's sleep, may I prepare and bring it to your chamber?”

“ Please do.” 

Andromache nodded and turned away to leave, for that Helen sighed in relief, but she decided to end the talk on a better note.

“ Andromache, thank you and Hector for everything.”

“ You’re welcome, my dear.”

As the figure of the woman faded from view, the two Achaeans started to leave their hiding post. 

“ Alright, you’ve earned my trust.” Odysseus crossed his arms, “ Now we need to find the Palladium.”

“ The Palladium?” She had heard of this legendary statue before, when Hector and king Priam talked about the forming of the land.

“ Only with it can we defeat Troy.” He confirmed her suspicions.

“ I can help you find it. But then you have to do something for me.” She struck the bargain.

Odysseus huffed, “ We will do what you ask if we make it to the end.” 

Then he patted Diomedes on his shoulder, his gaze pointed at Helen and the other simply nodded.Helen started to leave the garden but Odysseus stopped her by putting his hand on her shoulder. 

“ We cannot simply walk out together like this.”

She looked at him in confusion, but Odysseus beat her to it, “I have an idea.”

...

“ You are enjoying this way too much, don’t you think?” Asked the former queen of Sparta without looking back, while walking along the massive empty corridor of the Trojan palace, glittering with treasure jewels and stones of the earth as the moon of Selene hung high on the sky, with way more speed than usual. Behind her, two men were carrying two large plates of fresh fruits and lamb while walking relaxingly without uttering a sound, except for a munching of apple.

“Uh huh.” She did not need to turn back to imagine Odysseus’s full blown grin.

With Helen leading them, the trio simply bypassed every guarding post and every Trojan in the palace. Finally they could see the gate leading directly to the temple of Athena. Helen quickened her steps, but a voice startled all three of them, leaving the swift-minded king of Ithaca choking on the final piece of the apple, the mighty king of Argos almost toppled all of the larger plate of lamb onto himself, and the former queen of Sparta slipped on her final step descending, luckily saved by clawing her nails to Odysseus’ reaching arm.

“ Isn’t it a bit too late for an offering, lady Helen? Or should I say my future bride?”

With the reluctant help of a still choking Odysseus, Helen stood up straight and turned herself back, meeting the owner of the voice face to face,

“ I am merely seeking guidance from the gods, prince Deiphobus.” She smiled and tried her best to block out his view of the other two. With a hand behind her back, she signaled the other two scram.

“ You have no need to worry about your future, my beautiful bride. I will be the one to secure everything.”

“ It would bring relief to my heart, as my future husband is very keen on taking his role dutifully. Yet an ask from Athene would still do you, the new chief commander, a lot of favor. We mere mortals can not be compared to the wisdom of a god after all.” 

“ That is indeed true, so please proceed with your task. I’m glad that my future wife will take her duty so eagerly.” He smiled and caressed her face. The touch was cold, even more than Paris but Helen stood still, so that his eyes would only focus on her. As the hand left her cheek, the former queen turned around in an instance and swifty left.

Odysseus seemed to have recovered from his choking and now was waiting for her with Diomedes right beside the palace gate. She almost nodded affirmatively, but Deiphobus had not yet left his post.

“ You look familiar.” He was eyeing Diomedes. The king of Argos immediately lowered his head, seeming to avoid the other’s questioning gaze. Helen stepped swiftly between the two, but Diomedes inched forward, physically bumped her out of the way, making him standing directly face to face against Deiphobus, who had now reached their place.

The prince of Troy looked at the slave in front of him quizzically, and the moment his eyes widened, the head of Diomedes collided hard against his nose, effectively knocking out Deiphobus. The Argive caught the falling unconscious body and let it slump quietly on the floor.

Both Helen and Odysseus stood still in shock with their mouths opened.

“ What did you do that for!?!?” Odysseus screamed as loud as an infiltrating mission into the lair of the enemy allowed. 

The other man did not even spare him a glance, but rather looked at Helen, as he took the sack of wine from Odysseus and poured half of it on Deiphobus’ face and threw the sack right next to the unconscious prince’s feet.

“ He was drunk and slipped on his own wine sack.”

“ I cannot tell him that!?!?” She screamed as loud as her scheme of leading two wanted Achaean men deeper into the hostile land allowed.

“ He’ll believe whatever you say, now let’s go”, the king of Argos left the scene of crime and stepped out of the palace, as if he had merely squashed an unpleasant bug. “ It’s getting late.”

“ Is he always this unbelievable?” She asked Odysseus as they both started moving again.

“ You have no idea.” 

Luckily the streets at night were fully deserted, left for some guards patrolling around. 

Soon they reached the temple of Athena. The stone statue of the goddess of tactical war looming over them with her sharp eyes and stern gaze. They left the offering on her altar, and each made a prayer of their own. Helen asked her for wisdom and guidance to figure out the next step of her life and her son’s. She was now in utmost loss, she would need whatever guidance she could get. After the prayer, they circled behind the statue and right next to its foot they found a closed door to the underground vault. Diomedes’ strength proved useful as he lifted the heavy door up and one by one they descended down to the vault, with Helen was the first to enter and the king of Argos as the last. The wooden statue was placed on a small table, with flickering candlelight surrounding it. With a cloth lying on the side, Helen wrapped the statue carefully then handed it to Odysseus. 

“ Now what do you want us to do?” He asked

She asked one of them to follow her back to the palace, and Odysseus decided to accompany her while Diomedes would then wait at the secret passage with the Palladium, so that he could leave the moment things went south.

Helen led him into her own quarter, then asked the man to wait for her at a more excluded corridor. Helen entered her chamber alone, and saw a bowl of warm medicine as Andromache had delivered it to her as promised. Taking the bowl, she brought it to her son's room. The boy had already fallen asleep, but she needed to make sure that he would only open his eyes when he was delivered to the other side of the battlefield.

“ Wake up my dear.” Helen woke him up by shaking him with more force than usual, “ Wake up.”

The boy seemed to have felt the urgency in her demeanor, as he opened his eyes in haziness but soon regained focus, and jolted up immediately.

“ Mother, what’s wrong?” He asked worriedly.

“ Can you drink this for me?” She pleaded.

“ What is this? Mother, what is happening?” He had always been able to see through her.

“ There’s no time! Please do as I say, just this once.”

Their eyes met and Megapenthes wordlessly drank the bowl to the end, then Helen once again gathered him up to her chest, rocking him lightly. The boy's eyes started to close again, yet he tried his best to fight against the medicine.

“ Tomorrow when you wake up,” With her hand soothing his eyelids, she started to murmur goodbyes, even when her own eyes started to glitter with tears and her voice shook with cries and hiccups, “ You will be able to wake up in the safety of your father’s arms and you will get to know him and your sister Hermione. They will teach you how to fight, how to throw a spear, how to ride horses but also how to love and laugh. They will both love you my dear child, and remember, your mother loves you too.” 

As the boy had fully been taken by Hypnos, Helen opened the cupboard on her bedside, revealing the knife that her husband had given her 10 years ago. Her fingers caressed the nice carving of the handle reliving the memories for one last time, and tied it on her son’s belt. She then wrapped him into a light blanket and rushed out of her room, with the prince of Sparta in her arms. Odysseus stood up as the figure of Helen appeared.

“ This is the son of king Menelaus,” She said as she handed the boy to him, “ Please bring him to his father.”

Odysseus’ eyes softened as he gazed upon the young child, “ He will be returned to his father.”

“ Go now,” Helen pleaded, “ While the chance is still there.”

The king of Ithaca nodded and turned away, but then halted on his step all of a sudden,

“ Do you want to say anything to him?” He turned back to her, his eyes full of sympathy.

“....”

“ Tell him you know what to do.”

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