is it me, or is greek mythology not deeply weird?

"You're still awake?" Gemma pokes her head into Ben's tent, then tentatively steps inside. "Sorry if I'm intruding, I just saw your light. You...can't sleep?" She smiles gently. "Or won't?"

       I won’t get caught, she wants to say. She wants to promise him that. But the truth is she’d be a fool to do so. The truth is anything could happen while she’s on her own in the city. And if she were to get caught, she would be hanged as a spy. Without question.

“ I can only promise you I would be careful, ” she says, rubbing her thumb softly over his cheek. “ If you think the risks outweigh the benefits here, I won’t go. I believe I can do it, but it’s your call, Ben. I trust you, too. ”

Hermione nodded in silence, listening. The reputation of mother’s beauty dismissed the need for her to say or ask anything else about the subject to her father. She knew, of course. The world knew of it now - had it not been the reason Troy had fallen, after all? No important advice would come of it. Her situation was completely different and impossible to compare. She hardly expected this kind of devotion from her future husband - such things come with the privilege of being a mortal mirror of Aphrodite’s powers, supposedly - and her concerns surrounded the more practical side of marriage, rather than entertaining romantic notions over a man she’d never seen.

“Thank you, papa”, she answered to his compliment. “I understand. Only, we can assume Orestes will see this as bad faith. He has Agamemnon’s kingdoms now, and with Tyndareus’ promise he was this close to having Sparta, then I’m to wed Neoptolemus and his ambitions shattered. The news will reach Mycenae soon. I’m just saying we should prepare, diplomatically or… otherwise.”

Menelaus shakes his head. “I do not believe he will,” he says honestly. “Orestes has his faults, but I believe the bloodline of our family is stronger than the bitterness in mine. I will not see another royal house torn apart by in fighting. Decisions have been made for the good of everyone. Those that do not see will be made to see. Not all ends in war, daughter. Tyndareus has seen what Spartans do to those that stand in opposition to them. He will not seek to engage us in battle now. Besides, he has nothing I am interested in, while I have things he wants. But you are wise to exercise caution,” he adds. “And I think you are right that we should be sure measures are taken for our peoples’ safety. You will be a wise ruler. Never permit anyone to tell you there is no value in a gentle heart and clear mind.”

Having anticipated that he would have had that exact same reaction, Helen was able to dodge the thrust of his cock against her mouth by less than a second, so that its head still brushed against her lips. Her palm rose leisurely from his balls towards the base of his shaft, enclosing her fingers around it. Humming, she slid her lips down his length, feeling how he throbbed in her hand as it moved around him in a slow up-and-down motion, inhaling that manly scent that emanated from him, craving the salty taste of his flesh… “Let me savor it”, she murmured between damp kisses. “Put your fingers in my ass”, Helen said as she urged her body forward, lifting her hips a little more so that her mouth could reach his balls, where she left a few more kisses, spreading the wetness of her tongue along his skin.

Menelaus lets out a small breath of frustration when she pulls away from him, not genuine anger but restlessness at not being able to do as he wishes. But she dips her head only a moment later, and his fingers tangle in her hair, guiding her movements up and down on his length while his other hand remains holding tightly onto her thigh. 

Clara laughed, incredulous. “Why, yes! Please don’t tell me you’re oblivious to the certain beliefs that surround your type of upbringing. I mean no offense by this – truly – but were someone to show you a nude drawing, the assumption would very much be that you’d swoon on the spot.” She simpered. “I promise you, ‘interesting’ is not the word people use for my view of life.”

She glanced his way again, arching a brow. “I can assure you, Mr. Woodhull, that you are not the first, and undoubtedly won’t be the last man to use that line on me – though for what it’s worth I, too, find you interesting. It’s not every day I meet a rebellious preacher’s son at these dull parties.”

Monroe?

Clara searched her memory bank for a Mr. Monroe and came up short. “How very odd,” she said. “I was so sure I would know him…is he here, by chance?” Her eyes grew almost feline. “Because yes, perhaps I would like to interrogate him on your behalf. If he could shed some light on your secrets, it would be very much worth the effort…classmates tend to have rather loose lips.”

Applying pressure to his elbow, Clara encouraged, “Just remain quiet, for the time being – if Father speaks to you directly, that is a good sign.” She smirked up at him, then gently tugged until they were both standing alongside a tall, scarecrow-ish man with a powdered wig and sharp, beady little eyes beneath a pair of spectacles. He snorted through his bulbous nose while listening to one of his colleagues. “Father,” Clara entreated. “Father, would you mind taking a moment to meet my new friend?”

Jedediah Boyd’s eyes cut toward her, dark and shining with contempt. “Can you not see I am carrying on an important conversation?”

With her own gaze drifting toward the pompous braggart commanding the floor, she scoffed and replied, “Why yes, a conversation is certainly going on, but hardly one of importance. This…” She gestured. “Is Mr. Benjamin Woodhull. He hopes to be an attorney, as well.”

Jedediah looked Ben over with a cold, calculating eye. “Why are you not serving the Crown? You seem plenty able-bodied.”

“Oh, Father, surely men and women alike can serve the Crown in ways beyond war? He doesn’t need to be a soldier to do his part,” Clara replied. When he snorted, she nodded to Ben. “Go ahead, Mr. Woodhull. Tell him what you hope to do.”

Ben can’t help but laugh, shaking his head. “Oh no, I’m well aware,” he says. “I would hope it would take slightly more than that to make me swoon. Oh?” He shakes his head. “I’ve often found that people’s judgments on my life can be well meaning in some respects but irritatingly close-minded. It’s the way of things, sometimes.”

He shrugs, smiling and taking a sip from his glass. “Doesn’t make it any less true,” he says. “Glad I could make your evening a little more interesting, then.”

He shakes his head. “I’m afraid I’m here in his place,” he says. “Odd fellow, really, but a good study partner.” He chuckles. “My secrets? I don’t think I’m keeping any secrets, am I? I’ve answered all your questions.” It brings a genuine smile to his face, even if it’s not for the reasons it would seem.

Ben nods. “Alright, I can manage that,” he says. This feels like a chaotic idea at best, but he lets Clara tug him along to her father’s side. He manages not to grimace, and to keep his expression even and neutral, and, he hopes, pleasant. 

“I do not fear him”, Helen replied, while her eyes ran over the figure of Menelaus, ten years older than he had been the last time they’d been this close - war-weathered, scarred, sweaty, bloody and most of all, victorious - then the urge to discuss Agamemnon’s deed was gladly delayed, replacing the necessary king-and-queen conversations with the much needed moment of intimacy between husband and wife. Taking another step in his direction, she took his face between her hands and kissed his lips.

“You fought beautifully, my love”, she told him afterwards, overcome with emotion, keeping her gaze softly connected to his own, which she adoringly watched. “My king. Blessed by Ares. Relentless warrior”. Helen smiled, brushing her thumb against his cheek. Her nose slid upwards, following the curve of his neck in a path towards his ear, where she left another gentle kiss, then murmured softly against it: “A Spartan, through and through.”

“I would not claim to know you if I thought you did.” Helen has always been fearless. She would not be here if she was a timid-hearted girl. Angry as he was at her choices, he could not call them cowardly. 

He does not protest the kiss he receives, and puts an arm around her to pull her closer to his chest. “I’d’ve fought the gods themselves to have you at my side again,” he tells her. “My wife. Our people will rejoice when they see us both returned.”

With the rest of the servants rushing about to rouse the household, the tension in the stairwell had diminished. Brow creasing, Elizabeth blinked up at him and apologized, “I’m sorry, but this home is not my own, so I can’t grant you that sort of permission…though surely, my employers will be merciful. They are advocates for the cause.”

Taking a candle from a wall sconce, she motioned for Ben to follow her up the stairs. She detected the slight warmth in his voice when he spoke of his brother – also named Samuel, apparently – and she allowed a melancholy smile to touch her lips. “I had a sister once,” she replied, “but she died before she was even born. I never had any other siblings…I was my parents’ miracle child.”

Why was she telling him this? She doubted some stranger gave a damn, and embarrassed, Elizabeth quickly pressed on, “Yes, his name is Dr. Jacob Nash – he is serving as an army surgeon, so I am uncertain of whether or not he lives in the actual encampments. He wrote to me for a fair amount of months, but then his correspondence just…trickled to a stop.” A sharpness overcame her chest, but she refused to cry. At this point in her life, she was accustomed to loss.

Coming to a halt at the top of the stairs, Elizabeth peeked through the door, then gestured to Ben that it was safe to enter the top floor. As she stepped through, she nearly collided with Jonathan, a dark-haired servant with a penchant for babbling. “Oh, good, I’m so glad it’s you!” she cried. “Can you fetch some extra clothing for the major?”

Trying not to pout, Jonathan asked, “My clothing, Lizzie? Oh come now, how am I to court anyone if I only have my liveries?” When she spared him a withering glare, he grumbled, “Fine, fine! Gad-so! You sure make it hard to enact my dreams of foppery.” To Ben, he warned, “Don’t stretch out my seams, or I’ll lump your jobbernole!”

“Just go get the clothing!” Elizabeth hissed. When Jonathan gave a mocking bow and rushed off, she apologized, “I’m sorry, Major Tallmadge, but I’m afraid the rest of this household isn’t as patriotic as my employers. Some are loyalists, while others are wholly indifferent…though I must confess, I only care because of my family’s interest.” Turning toward him, she added, “What if those men outside choose to break in? Shouldn’t we round up the menfolk and create a line of protection?”

Ben shakes his head. “My apologies,” he says. “I thought you were the lady of the house. I would not have intruded otherwise, I don’t want to bring them-- or anyone-- more trouble.” He feels bad enough about all this as it is. But he’s also desperate. “Thank you for your assistance. It will not be forgotten.”

Ben follows Elizabeth upstairs, doing his best to keep his steps light and himself silent. There’s no promise he’ll be well received here, even if the owners of the house are supporters of the cause. That’s not always enough. “They’re lucky to have a daughter that shows such kindness to others. It’s in short stock these days.

He nods. “I’ll inquire about him,” he promises. “And send word when I can. I’m afraid surgeons are in short supply these days too; there’s a chance he’s been moving around too much to write. We’re stretched rather thin in some parts.”

He can’t give her more detail or reassurance, but sometimes it’s enough. Just to have someone grant a little more hope.

          rachel can’t help shaking her head then. one of the stoll brother says something that causes everyone to chuckle, but rachel’s eyes are on percy instead, stifling her own matching grin. ❛ you’re the worst, ❜ she mouths in return, giving his palm a squeeze. there’s a scar on one of her fingers, probably something he got in battle, and she wonders what it’d look like if molded to plaster. just an ident, barely noticeable –– she’d name that piece: ‘the time my boyfriend fought a giant, probably’. 

at some point chiron calls a break since they’re getting nowhere –– they have twenty minutes to get some lunch if they’re hungry. but rachel just narrows her eyes at him. ❛ you are a sick and twisted person, percy jackson. ❜ but if the sparkle in her eye wasn’t enough, she lifts up her free hand to wave all five fingers at him. ❛ since when is my hand more interesting than a fidget spinner? ❜

Percy is relieved when they go on break, and snaps his full focus over to Rachel. He’s all but beaming at her. “I hardly see how I’m sick and twisted for wanting to hold your hand.”

Clara gasped, clear amusement lighting up her eyes. “No!” she exclaimed, a laugh bubbling in her throat. “Well, as delightful as I’m sure your father is, I very much doubt he would approve of you speaking to me. He’d probably fear for your immortal soul just by us breathing the same air.” Her lips quirked into a smile. “For what it’s worth, you don’t seem like a preacher’s son…though I suppose your possible prudishness remains to be seen.” She lifted a brow. “You are repressed in some way, I imagine? Then again, it’s usually the holy men’s children you need to watch out for. Should I actually be the one fearing for my immortal soul in your presence, Mr. Woodhull?”

Long Island… It wasn’t what Clara had expected, and idly, she traced a finger along the lace of her low neckline. “It’s not the most deplorable of accents,” she assured him. “If anything, it’s the preacher’s son angle you should wish to hide, not your accent. These cullies wouldn’t wish to be represented by someone they believe to be a milquetoast.” She huffed at his question and nodded. “What gave it away? My ‘princess in the tower’ syndrome, perhaps? We’ve lived here all my life, and only Father has gotten to take the truly exciting trips. I yearn for more than…well…social groveling and wondering if people – yourself, included – are interested in me for me, or what my father can give them.”

Not wishing to dwell, Clara returned her hand to Mr. Woodhull’s arm and began leading him through the crowd. “A colleague?” she echoed, intrigued. “What’s his name? Perhaps I’ve met him…” Slowly, a coy smile filled her face and she glanced up at him beneath her lashes. “Flattered? Perhaps I just like to see you squirm,” she teased, though the light press of her hand belied her words. “Despite being a bit of a greenhead, I think Father would like you…well…the potential in you. He doesn’t much like anyone, truth be told. He’s rather brusque, so don’t be offended if he tells you to sod off. That’s rather commonplace with him, I’m afraid.”

Ben can’t help but laugh a little. “There are many things he does not approve of,” he says. “I have found it’s best to be selective about the wisdom of his I actually follow. He had always hoped I would join the Church.” His brows go up. “Prudishness?” he repeats. “You have an interesting view on life, Miss, truly. I would hope that your immortal soul is safe in anyone’s presence, but certainly in mine.”

He chuckles, nodding. “I shall do my best to conceal that,” he promises. “I would’ve said your manner, but if that’s what you wish to call it. Ah ha.” He nods. “Well you did approach me and not the other way around, so I hope that that can be a point in my favor if I say I’m truly interested in getting to know you.”

“So you can interrogate them for more details?” he says, nearly teasing. “Monroe, if you must know, he’s a classmate of mine.” And a loyal friend, one he hopes won’t blab all of his secrets.

A smile spreads across her face at his words, unable to hide her joy at the meaning behind them. “Of course I’ve thought about it,” she replies. “About what the end of the war might bring us.” 

She’s thought about it many, many times – even before the war. Sharing a life with Ben. Praying that one day he would return to Setauket to sweep her off her feet and take her back to Connecticut with him.

She squeezes his hands and nods. “I love you too, Ben. I want to spend my life with you.”

“You have?” It’s an odd relief to hear, but it makes Ben smile with relief.