[The siege of the insects having been ceased, those dreadful beasts at last laid to rest and the wrinkles in time thus smoothed, Achilles expects to settle into the rhythm of ordinary life in the grand halls of Oska: sharing meals with Olivia, working his spear and running laps around the lake, unwinding in the hot springs at the day's close, and plucking idle melodies from his lyre. However he is quick to find a mislaid note in this steady rhythm, which diverts his day from its course as a stone would jar a chariot when over it the sturdy wheels try to fly. Olivia, whose sweet and gentle company he has grown so accustomed to, slips away for long hours, and when she is near she feels far still. Thus it is as the hours creep into the afternoon that he sends her this message.]
Lovely-haired Olivia, to where have you gone? It is your husband who inquires and wishes that you listen. How you presently seem to me like a ripple upon the water which ever eludes my grasp. What ill treatment have I inflicted upon you? What hard words have I spoken? Tell me, for I know not.
[He is a man who often is so deeply engrossed in his own cares that he sees not the cares which weigh upon the hearts of others, but the tenderness of love does broaden his gaze and he learns to listen to the rhythms of those whom he holds dear.]
[ the moment she receives the call, olivia feels a cold hand clamp over her heart. it had been easy, pretending everything was fine, going about their business as usual without any mention of all that had transpired. but she'd known it wouldn't last, as tenuous as that routine had been after carefully sliding back into it. to have him call her now, instead of seeking her out himself to approach her, is only further proof of the rift she has unwittingly (and, admittedly, not so unwittingly) created between them.
his words, of course, only serve to drive the cold further into her heart.
she hands her head low, dropping her hand from where it had been idly tracing the petals of a daisy. in the greenhouse all is quiet save for her small voice, answering his call. ]
...Where are you, my love?
[ because she knows she has some explaining to do, and he deserves more than the quiet call of a coward. ]
[With her voice so small he cannot help but think of flowers wilted beneath the harsh gaze of the sun. Although he cannot see her, he imagines the huddled shape of her shoulders, her hands perhaps wrung together and her eyes downcast.]
I sit now in our bed chamber, which lately seems more mine alone rather than ours together.
[Nor can he help but speak these words which he knows must pain her soft heart, for the plain truth is something he cannot keep caged within his thoughts for long.]
[ true to her words, it does not take her too long at all to get from the greenhouse back to their quarters. though she certainly could have gotten there faster, had she ran, but olivia had kept to an even pace, using the time to collect her thoughts. of course she'd known they would have had to have this talk eventually, but the rather selfish part of her had hoped she would have gotten more time to digest it all herself before foisting it onto someone else...
when she arrives, she lingers by the doorway after having pushed it shut behind her. she glances at him, but is quick to duck her head as she approaches. she keeps a distance, though, mostly out of her own shame. ]
I-I'm sorry I've been a little distant lately. I've... had a lot on my mind.
[He sits at the small table which stands at one corner of the room, the table upon which they have so often shared in food and drink, and when she enters his gaze greets her, alerted as he was by the quiet creak of the door. He does not stand to welcome her, for although she has lately made herself scarce she is not a guest of his quarters, but his lover, his wife who belongs close by his side. Thus he remains in his seat with his eyes heavy upon her, beckoning for her to come closer not through words but through the force of his body language. His words, however, fall softly and through them his hurt is plain, as is the bend of a blade of grass through transparent beads of dew.]
Know you not that what cares weigh upon your heart you may share with me, that the burden might be halved? As you have granted me such reprieve, so too do I wish to grant you, dear Olivia.
[It has always been he who pours out his grievances and she who opens her heart to accept this weight, yet now he wishes to be the one who listens, as he has listened to so few before.]
[ she misreads his gesture, thinking his inaction is a wish for their distance to remain, and so she lingers by the doorway, rooted there by her shame and guilt. when he speaks, she at least thanks to look up and meet his eyes, even though doing so only causes her further pain, because she knows the suffering she sees there is her own doing.
his words are like a balm to her aching heart, still left raw and burning from all the turmoil she had put herself through these past few days. many hours she'd spent curled by his side in bed, thinking herself unworthy of such a place, deriving herself of any reprieve that sleep might grant her. when he implores with her to share, as he has done so many times before, she feels a fragment of her heart break off, and with it, a small, quiet sob to escape her throat.
he is right, of course. in keeping things from him, she has robbed him of the chance to be a good partner, and thus she has only hurt them both in the long run. ]
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry... [ first she must apologize, because he has to know she had never meant either of them any harm.
finally she draws closer, half-stumbling into their shared space so that she falls to the ground at his feet, her hands coming to his knee so that she might press her brow there, and hid from him her tears. ]
I've — kept something terrible from you these past few days...
[So too does his heart seem to split in twain to see her so wretched there upon the ground, knelt before him and clutching his knee as if in supplication. He finds, far from the first time, that he is drawn into her gravity in the way that a willow's boughs cannot help but reach for the ground in which the tree is rooted. His hand brushes first over hers, then his fingers flutter along one of the braids that sway against his calf. There in the curtain formed of her hair, he finds her cheek damp with tears and he urges her to lift her head.]
For what do you shed these tears? What are these cares which lie so heavily upon your tender heart? Speak, and I shall listen.
[Although it is she who kneels before him, his words sound as a plea more so than a command.]
[ she knows that this has all been a long time coming. that, if she were a better person, a better wife, he would already know these truths and reacted promptly. but it is for this very reaction that she has hesitated telling him for so long, more so than her own muddled mind attempting to put words to feelings and futures.
she is a coward, completely undeserving of him, and so despite being unaware of his culture's traditions, her subservience to him here is of blatant supplication... seeking his forgiveness and understanding where she knows she does not deserve it.
which is why, despite his efforts, she dares not life up her head, unwilling to meet his eyes lest she lose what nerve she has managed to gather for this. ]
Do... Do you remember? Your time as an adolescent here?
[As when a stone is dropped into a pool and across the water's surface it lets loose ripples that grow ever wider ere they jostle the banks, so too does Olivia's question ripple through his heart as the context for her tears sinks in. His fingers, which before stroked her tear-stained cheek, now fall still as slowly he must reach for his words.]
Indeed I remember, although these memories come to me as if through fog - as if the time I passed here were no less a part of my youth than the years I spent upon Mount Pelion with Patroclus by my side, while the two of us were in wise Chiron's care.
[The fluidity with which the passage of time had been imbued is far too unwieldy for him to comprehend. He doubts that even the gods can make a plaything of the years and cause time to turn back upon itself, and thus he is left thoroughly bewildered in the wake of the past week.]
And you, dear Olivia - you were no less radiant for your age. Even then I thought you akin to a goddess who had spared me from the savage maw of that beast. Yet you had married another man - you were another man's widow.
[Here his words grind to a halt like heels that dig into the dirt to slow a man's momentum. Although it may be unreasonable, he cannot help the jealousy that flares inside him like a flame irritated by a gust that inspires it ever hotter.]
Is it this that causes you to shy now from my touch?
[ as he speaks, still she does not lift up her head. keeping it low, almost bowed in deference to him, where there on her knees she already looks so small, so meek.
like achilles, too, memories of that part of her are foggy, distant. they are as much her past now as they are to be her future, and sometimes she cannot be too sure if she is even remembering correctly, or if it is not simply the manifestation of a wishful heart, or a guilty conscience.
still, there are things she knows are absolutes, or as absolute as anything dealing with timelines can be. and it's these things that her heart grows heavy for now. ]
He... is a prince from my world. Some few years from now, we marry and have children. [ she remembers their names, and their smiles, and how happy they had all been. reflexively, she closes her eyes at the memory of it, as if it were not something she had earned. ]
But a terrible war took him from me too soon. When you met me that time, I had never known you, and I was eight years his widow.
[ she shifts beside him, straightening up just enough that she does not lean so heavily on his knee anymore. ]
It was strange... waking up one day with a love for two different men in my heart. [ she is seized suddenly with the urge to cry again, but she tries to keep it at bay at least until her words are out. ]
[Upon her confession his heart aches as if bound by ropes within his chest, trapped there like the wild game out of which men might make their supper. Anger he knows well and anguish too, but how strange it is to be seized by these passions without having a target toward which to point them, for he knows not even the face of this man with whom Olivia has not yet committed any transgression against him.]
I must confess that it pains me sharply to think that you might one day be another man's wife - how I despair to think of you in his embrace, when you fit so perfectly in mine own! How I loathe to wonder at the joy you shall bring him as you now bring me, for what man would not rejoice to have you for his bride?
[His fingers tremble now upon her cheek, the soft curve of which he has held steady and caressed countless times, and it may be anger and anguish that string him so tightly yet it is confusion that binds these two tempers.]
I know not what I ought to think in so strange a matter as this. Lately I have tried to hold you all the more closely, and yet you seem to pull away from me. Thus I have but one question that I command you answer truthfully: do you, as you kneel before me at present, harbor love still for this other prince?
[ it is not a question she takes lightly, and thus it is not one she answers right away. in truth, it is one she has been mulling over for days now, her thoughts and emotion too much of a muddled mess for her to sit down and parse through clearly. perhaps, too, it had been a little bit of fear to keep her from actually successfully finding the answer... worried over what truth she'll be led to find.
but there is no avoiding it now, when he asks her so plainly. it's an answer he deserves, though, even if it may be one neither of them want to hear, and so she takes the time now to really look deep into herself...
what she finds is not the best of answers. for she does, in some way, feel that love still. it aches in her chest much like her love for achilles does, but it is a far more distant feeling, like a mere echo in the wind. like a shadow of a memory, only it is from a past she hasn't experienced yet, and so it is both real and not real.
but she thinks, what matters here, is that it is not real enough.
and so she shakes her head, albeit slowly, tentatively. ]
[He tries to interpret her bowed countenance as a seer might seek to decipher the signs of birds in flight, and when at last she makes her answer he can see that she has sincerely weighed its worth and gravity. For this he trusts her as he might not have trusted an answer made in haste. Thus when he exhales he can feel his heart swell to fill his chest as if its fetters have been loosened. His hand is steady now against her cheek and his fingers stroke the shell of her ear, curving down her jaw.]
Then you have not broken your fidelity with me, Olivia, pleasure of my heart. How can I disdain you for what you shall do years from now? The woman I met in my youth - you are not yet she. Perhaps you shall become her someday, and you shall indeed be wed to this other man and bear his children...
[Years from now, after all, he shall no longer walk through the world of the living, and his shade shall dwell in the House of Hades where he hopes to be reunited with the son of Menoetius. He wonders if Olivia, should she ever return to her home, shall remember him. If indeed those of ALASTAIR can place them in the precise moment from which they departed, then does that mean it shall be as if all the time passed in service to their house never happened at all? He knows not if he can believe such wild claims, yet he knows Olivia has faith in their truth, and he has beheld all manner of impossibilities in his time here.]
But it is not for a mortal man like myself to know all that Fate decrees. I know not where to lay my trust while still all I behold is so strange to me, so difficult to comprehend. I can trust, however, that in this moment you love me as strongly as ever woman has loved man, and I cherish you in equal measure.
[His hands have now fallen to find hers and claim them gently.]
[ she's not sure what she'd been expecting forgiveness to feel like, but it is strangely cold and hollow in the circle of his hands around hers. in her mind, memories of a future far from her grasp still haunt her, and she is desperate to hold on to them as much as she is to bid them away so that she might know a semblance of peace again.
perhaps this is her penance, for ever entertaining such thoughts in the first place, though it isn't as if she had any real hand in that in the first place. but whatever the reasons, they persist, like ghosts of murmurs in the back of her mind, and they cloud her thoughts now, refusing to allow her the comfort in his words alone.
she struggles past it, that turmoil, and hastens instead to give him as warm a smile as she can muster. she is grateful, that much is certain, and she had meant it when she told him of her love for him. where his hands were gentle, she squeezes firmly in her desperation, almost clinging where she knees still before his feet. ]
...For that, I am grateful.
[ she finally rises up to her feet, though only for a moment, for a second later she has climbed onto his lap and tucked herself into the folds of his arms. selfish or not, she seeks his reassuring touches as much as she does his words, perhaps even more so. ]
[When she purposes to rise, he tugs her upward that he might better support her balance. He expects that she shall join him by taking her proper seat in the open chair, as they have so often enjoyed one another's company, but then she settles there upon his lap as would a child. As his arms wreathe her a grin warms his countenance for this parcel of intimacy she grants, and for the smile that radiates from her lips where before pressed a solemn line.]
As have I missed you. Yet we need not miss one another any longer.
[He cannot say for how long they both shall remain here, but is that not all the reason more to cherish this time that they share? He cannot help but think, however, that the more cherished the treasure, the harder it becomes to give up.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
( audio ) before perdition's rest
Lovely-haired Olivia, to where have you gone? It is your husband who inquires and wishes that you listen. How you presently seem to me like a ripple upon the water which ever eludes my grasp. What ill treatment have I inflicted upon you? What hard words have I spoken? Tell me, for I know not.
[He is a man who often is so deeply engrossed in his own cares that he sees not the cares which weigh upon the hearts of others, but the tenderness of love does broaden his gaze and he learns to listen to the rhythms of those whom he holds dear.]
no subject
his words, of course, only serve to drive the cold further into her heart.
she hands her head low, dropping her hand from where it had been idly tracing the petals of a daisy. in the greenhouse all is quiet save for her small voice, answering his call. ]
...Where are you, my love?
[ because she knows she has some explaining to do, and he deserves more than the quiet call of a coward. ]
no subject
I sit now in our bed chamber, which lately seems more mine alone rather than ours together.
[Nor can he help but speak these words which he knows must pain her soft heart, for the plain truth is something he cannot keep caged within his thoughts for long.]
--> ( action )
[ true to her words, it does not take her too long at all to get from the greenhouse back to their quarters. though she certainly could have gotten there faster, had she ran, but olivia had kept to an even pace, using the time to collect her thoughts. of course she'd known they would have had to have this talk eventually, but the rather selfish part of her had hoped she would have gotten more time to digest it all herself before foisting it onto someone else...
when she arrives, she lingers by the doorway after having pushed it shut behind her. she glances at him, but is quick to duck her head as she approaches. she keeps a distance, though, mostly out of her own shame. ]
I-I'm sorry I've been a little distant lately. I've... had a lot on my mind.
no subject
Know you not that what cares weigh upon your heart you may share with me, that the burden might be halved? As you have granted me such reprieve, so too do I wish to grant you, dear Olivia.
[It has always been he who pours out his grievances and she who opens her heart to accept this weight, yet now he wishes to be the one who listens, as he has listened to so few before.]
no subject
his words are like a balm to her aching heart, still left raw and burning from all the turmoil she had put herself through these past few days. many hours she'd spent curled by his side in bed, thinking herself unworthy of such a place, deriving herself of any reprieve that sleep might grant her. when he implores with her to share, as he has done so many times before, she feels a fragment of her heart break off, and with it, a small, quiet sob to escape her throat.
he is right, of course. in keeping things from him, she has robbed him of the chance to be a good partner, and thus she has only hurt them both in the long run. ]
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry... [ first she must apologize, because he has to know she had never meant either of them any harm.
finally she draws closer, half-stumbling into their shared space so that she falls to the ground at his feet, her hands coming to his knee so that she might press her brow there, and hid from him her tears. ]
I've — kept something terrible from you these past few days...
no subject
For what do you shed these tears? What are these cares which lie so heavily upon your tender heart? Speak, and I shall listen.
[Although it is she who kneels before him, his words sound as a plea more so than a command.]
no subject
she is a coward, completely undeserving of him, and so despite being unaware of his culture's traditions, her subservience to him here is of blatant supplication... seeking his forgiveness and understanding where she knows she does not deserve it.
which is why, despite his efforts, she dares not life up her head, unwilling to meet his eyes lest she lose what nerve she has managed to gather for this. ]
Do... Do you remember? Your time as an adolescent here?
Do you remember me?
no subject
Indeed I remember, although these memories come to me as if through fog - as if the time I passed here were no less a part of my youth than the years I spent upon Mount Pelion with Patroclus by my side, while the two of us were in wise Chiron's care.
[The fluidity with which the passage of time had been imbued is far too unwieldy for him to comprehend. He doubts that even the gods can make a plaything of the years and cause time to turn back upon itself, and thus he is left thoroughly bewildered in the wake of the past week.]
And you, dear Olivia - you were no less radiant for your age. Even then I thought you akin to a goddess who had spared me from the savage maw of that beast. Yet you had married another man - you were another man's widow.
[Here his words grind to a halt like heels that dig into the dirt to slow a man's momentum. Although it may be unreasonable, he cannot help the jealousy that flares inside him like a flame irritated by a gust that inspires it ever hotter.]
Is it this that causes you to shy now from my touch?
no subject
like achilles, too, memories of that part of her are foggy, distant. they are as much her past now as they are to be her future, and sometimes she cannot be too sure if she is even remembering correctly, or if it is not simply the manifestation of a wishful heart, or a guilty conscience.
still, there are things she knows are absolutes, or as absolute as anything dealing with timelines can be. and it's these things that her heart grows heavy for now. ]
He... is a prince from my world. Some few years from now, we marry and have children. [ she remembers their names, and their smiles, and how happy they had all been. reflexively, she closes her eyes at the memory of it, as if it were not something she had earned. ]
But a terrible war took him from me too soon. When you met me that time, I had never known you, and I was eight years his widow.
[ she shifts beside him, straightening up just enough that she does not lean so heavily on his knee anymore. ]
It was strange... waking up one day with a love for two different men in my heart. [ she is seized suddenly with the urge to cry again, but she tries to keep it at bay at least until her words are out. ]
I f-felt like I'd hurt you somehow..!
no subject
I must confess that it pains me sharply to think that you might one day be another man's wife - how I despair to think of you in his embrace, when you fit so perfectly in mine own! How I loathe to wonder at the joy you shall bring him as you now bring me, for what man would not rejoice to have you for his bride?
[His fingers tremble now upon her cheek, the soft curve of which he has held steady and caressed countless times, and it may be anger and anguish that string him so tightly yet it is confusion that binds these two tempers.]
I know not what I ought to think in so strange a matter as this. Lately I have tried to hold you all the more closely, and yet you seem to pull away from me. Thus I have but one question that I command you answer truthfully: do you, as you kneel before me at present, harbor love still for this other prince?
no subject
but there is no avoiding it now, when he asks her so plainly. it's an answer he deserves, though, even if it may be one neither of them want to hear, and so she takes the time now to really look deep into herself...
what she finds is not the best of answers. for she does, in some way, feel that love still. it aches in her chest much like her love for achilles does, but it is a far more distant feeling, like a mere echo in the wind. like a shadow of a memory, only it is from a past she hasn't experienced yet, and so it is both real and not real.
but she thinks, what matters here, is that it is not real enough.
and so she shakes her head, albeit slowly, tentatively. ]
...No, my Lord. My love is just for you.
no subject
Then you have not broken your fidelity with me, Olivia, pleasure of my heart. How can I disdain you for what you shall do years from now? The woman I met in my youth - you are not yet she. Perhaps you shall become her someday, and you shall indeed be wed to this other man and bear his children...
[Years from now, after all, he shall no longer walk through the world of the living, and his shade shall dwell in the House of Hades where he hopes to be reunited with the son of Menoetius. He wonders if Olivia, should she ever return to her home, shall remember him. If indeed those of ALASTAIR can place them in the precise moment from which they departed, then does that mean it shall be as if all the time passed in service to their house never happened at all? He knows not if he can believe such wild claims, yet he knows Olivia has faith in their truth, and he has beheld all manner of impossibilities in his time here.]
But it is not for a mortal man like myself to know all that Fate decrees. I know not where to lay my trust while still all I behold is so strange to me, so difficult to comprehend. I can trust, however, that in this moment you love me as strongly as ever woman has loved man, and I cherish you in equal measure.
[His hands have now fallen to find hers and claim them gently.]
no subject
perhaps this is her penance, for ever entertaining such thoughts in the first place, though it isn't as if she had any real hand in that in the first place. but whatever the reasons, they persist, like ghosts of murmurs in the back of her mind, and they cloud her thoughts now, refusing to allow her the comfort in his words alone.
she struggles past it, that turmoil, and hastens instead to give him as warm a smile as she can muster. she is grateful, that much is certain, and she had meant it when she told him of her love for him. where his hands were gentle, she squeezes firmly in her desperation, almost clinging where she knees still before his feet. ]
...For that, I am grateful.
[ she finally rises up to her feet, though only for a moment, for a second later she has climbed onto his lap and tucked herself into the folds of his arms. selfish or not, she seeks his reassuring touches as much as she does his words, perhaps even more so. ]
I have missed you so...
no subject
As have I missed you. Yet we need not miss one another any longer.
[He cannot say for how long they both shall remain here, but is that not all the reason more to cherish this time that they share? He cannot help but think, however, that the more cherished the treasure, the harder it becomes to give up.]