"What would you talk about? Besides the deep philosophical conversations on the purpose of godhood, that is." Phoebe leaned back on the marble stairs, stretching her powerful shoulders.
To her horror, Artemis felt her face heat up.
...
"We talked about… many things. Early on, it was a mutual hatred of being so far from home, but that grew into more- "Artemis stumbled as she reasoned what to tell her hunters. The torch lit nights at Babylon seeped into her mind without her own volition, and she snarled despite herself. Before her hunters couldn't question her, she hurried into her explanation, "At Tyre, we began to be true friends. I have told you many stories of some encounters we went through together, but in reality, most of the days were long, and contain an ongoing boredom. Most of the days at Tyre were spent in hard labor, building the mole, or guarding it at night. Skirmishes happened regularly, but seldom were there conflicts that rivaled the battle with the Lernean Hydra on the mole."
The crisp oceanic air blew over Artemis's face as a gentle breeze. Having been familiar with the wrath of the seas, Artemis was confident that her uncle wouldn't seek to punish her for entering his domain.
She edged down the sand dunes, gingerly stretching her back and the knots there screamed in discomfort from the regular day's work. She had been joining Perseus and the work crews for about a week now, since the monster attack on the mole. While she still hadn't told Perseus, his comments had gotten to her. Her purpose in the world wasn't something she usually dwelled on for long periods of times, but her situation gave her plenty of time for reflection.
At the water's edge, she stared down the shore, past the newly arrived rows of Greek ships that had beached themselves along the mole. One of the Hydra's severed charred heads was mounted on a wooden spike alongside the mole in the water. The mole now extended at least double the distance where the head was hung on the pole. In the distance, Artemis could see faint figures tirelessly hauling rubble and dirt to the end of the mole. They were close enough to Tyre now that two twin siege towers were being constructed. By tomorrow evening, Artemis estimated they would be within artillery range of the Tyrian walls. Perseus had been leading the effort yet again, but she had called it for the day. Already, the sun arced down towards the horizon guided by Apollo, racing across the sky.
The thought of her sibling came as a surprise to her… since she found herself missing him. The only contact she had gotten from him was his gift: her black yew bow. Though her knives, forged by the Macedonian blacksmith, had snapped while fighting the Lernean hydra, her bow hadn't been worn down at all. Apollo's blessing had endured the elements so far. Instinctually, she knew why Apollo hadn't come to converse with her. Even coming down to confront Anahita had probably earned him a severe warning from Zeus, if not worse.
Artemis stared over the expanse of the Mediterranean, the small wake lapping against her sandaled feet. So much of her life was so distant now. Greece lay far over the horizon, her homeland, her seat of power, her priests and priestesses, and most importantly: the hunt. Under the watchful eye of Athena, they would be safe, had the goddess answered her plea. Aphrodite was a cunning and formidable goddess to war against, but even she would think twice about daring to challenge Athena's wile and warrior mind. Once, she had stood in a similar situation, when she was young, and far too foolish. The shores where Alexander had crossed into Anatolia weren't far from the landing of the Greek expedition against Troy, almost a millennia separating the two crossings of the Aegean. She had remained in the East then for a decade, fighting for supremacy in a war where gods moved pieces in a game.
And it was where she had demanded a sacrifice for strong winds.
The cool breeze swept through her hair again, but this time, she only felt the cold bite of bitter memories. Perseus was right, damn him. Her pride wasn't something she lorded over mortals anymore. Despite herself, the mortal world was working as an instrument of change. Welcomed or not, she had to face the bitter pangs of morality.
Her feet carried her over the wet sand, along the shore. She passed ambling groups of seamen, workers, followers, and soldiers alike. They paid her little attention, beyond passing glances. By now, most knew her as Cleoxene, the Amazonian guide. Only three knew her as Phoebe Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt.
Her path guided her past ships, down towards the mole, but eventually, she feet steered her to her tent. It was in the heart of the Macedonian camp, which was still full of trade, crafting, and general ongoing of a siege. The frontlines, so to speak, were exclusively guarded by soldiers, but here, the camps blended into a mix of camp followers, venders, and artisans. Artemis glanced over at one particular blacksmith, seeing the heavyset man who had made her former hunting knives. His business was crowded with an assortment of allied Greeks. She was glad that she didn't have to shoulder he back there. The weight of her newly forged hunting knives was a comforting presence. Alexander had kept his word, for what it was worth, and had two knives commissioned for her.
He clearly hadn't used the blacksmith in the camp where she had her's forged, because the knives she now owned were a much higher caliber of blade. They glowed a dull gold in the sun, blades forged with bronze and iron in a dazzling mix of metals.
Despite Alexander's recent actions, she could only admire the workmanship. They were no godly weapons, which were extensions of her own self. But they would do the trick.
Artemis finally weaved her way to her tent, a much more solid structure than previous encampments. Wooden beams and ropes provided a frame that the oiled tent fabric was stretched over. Two guards from the Pellian accompaniment stood by the door, both familiar faces to Artemis. Yet two of them meant only one thing: Perseus was back.
She nodded to both of the men- both had fought besides her at the mole with the Lernean Hydra- and stepped through the heavy linen flap.
She immediately saw Perseus, who was sitting in one of the small unbacked chairs, poring over a document on their small table. He was shirtless and wrapped in a fresh cloth.
He looked up as she entered, with sharp eyes, and an ever-growing beard that twitched in amusement.
"Nice of you to bathe before coming in."
Artemis rolled her eyes, and walked towards her cot, her separating curtain around rolled open. She deposited her quiver, bow, and hunting knives on a chest with a dull thunk before joining Perseus in the common room.
"I suppose next time, I should leave all the work to you men then. My day will consist only of sharpening arrows, and imagining you as a target while I brood here."
"That would be a lot of arrows." Perseus laughed, before turning the document to her. "What do you think of this?"
Artemis took the roll of parchment, intrigued. After a quick scan, she realized it was a description of the battle of the Granicus, along with several half-written scribbles on Alexander cutting the Gordion knot.
"What is this?" Artemis asked, her mind spinning different directions, "Surely Alecander is not writing poetry about himself?!"
"I wish," Perseus responded, before he took a sip of wine from a cup on the table, "Alexander just showed me this as I was finishing bathing. This is an excerpt from Callisthenes, Alexander's personal historian, who has been writing the history of Alexander's expedition since we arrived in Anatolia."
She stared at Perseus for one moment, before looking back to the text. After a brief skim, she was shaking her head. It was a description of the Battle at the Granicus; however, the battle was poorly described, at best. She had been there after all, and Perseus had fought in that battle!
She looked back to Perseus but already found him grinning ear to ear. "It's wonderful, isn't it Cleoxene?"
"Wonderfully horrid, yes." She responded dryly, his use of her cover name reminding her of the countless time that Perseus was always cautious. "Both of us were at that battle. I could certainly describe it better than this upstart."
Perseus shrugged, "From what Alexander told me, Callisthenes is a relative of Aristotle, his mentor in Philosophy."
Artemis snorted, "A philosopher in name only, then."
The kings of Greece had seen countless inept rulers, only counteracted by upheavals or new systems of governance. Yet, the witless still sometimes seeped through the cracks into places of power. "I remember the battle well. At the time, what struck me most was your decisive action, Perseus. You single-handedly saved the expedition that day."
"What do you mean?" Perseus cocked his head, taking back the scroll from her outstretched hand. "I was following Alexander the entire battle, he led the charge across the Granicus. His boldness won the day, not me."
But she shook her head, "Don't be so modest. Your king would have been cut from collarbone to navel had you not sliced that Persian's hand off just in time." She neglected to mention that she had sorely wished that he had not done such a valiant move, back when she had been quite bitter with her constant vigil over the Macedonian Expedition.
"Oh. That." Perseus rubbed his beard, "It was the right time, right place. I certainly did what any companion of Alexander would've done that day."
"Maybe you should go keep moving rubble, you are still being far too selfless," Artemis ground out, before pointing to the text, "Kleitos gets the credit for saving Alexander, according to Callisthenes."
Perseus hummed, scanning the parchment, "Kleitos still has it out for me. He is the more experienced general, and though we've settled most of our… disputes, I'm not surprised that he'd pull something like this."
"You'd have him be remembered, and not you?" That was the underlining point, and Artemis found herself looking forward to Perseus's reply. She knew enough by this time that Perseus was no idiot, and was far more thoughtful that some on Mount Olympus. Where many found glory to be the most coveted of prizes, Perseus avoided it like the Furies themselves.
"I don't want glory or immortality. I came here for a friend, honor, and for duty. I still owe Alexander for what my father did to Philip. No matter how the Gods interfered, its my job to set it right." Perseus set the scroll back on the table, a tired look on his face, "Even if Alexander does something like this."
She took the jug of wine from the table and poured herself a cup, drinking deeply from the warm beverage. Its dry fruity taste soothed the stress of the day away within moments. There was a small period of silence, and Artemis took that time to unbuckle her armor, and find a change of tunic.
There wasn't a lot of space within their tent, but Artemis didn't really mind. Perseus had proved to be respectful, and hadn't even paid her a glance when she changed out of her sweat-soaked tunic.
...
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