True Sons of Achilles

The atmosphere in the Palace is joyful yet chaotic as the wedding of the century approaches. "Where is that blasted bouquet?" snaps an overwhelmed planner, her voice barely audible over the clanking of silverware and the shuffle of servant's feet. The air is thick with the scent of fresh flowers and the sweet aroma of baking pastries.

The son of Achilles is getting married today, and the proud King Demetrius II is in one of the side rooms, prepping his son Aloeus, who's tying the knot with the stunningly beautiful Pero. The room is a whirlwind of activity, with servants darting about, trying to keep the royal wedding attire unblemished. "Hold still, you oaf," chides a frustrated tailor, poking and prodding at the prince's tunic. "You're making me sweat more than a gladiator in a lion's cage!"

Aloeus however would probably not call Pero stunning or beautiful for one important caveat... She's 11.

"Father, don't you think Pero is too young for all of this?"

"You've already done the exchanging of rings, and her family has already sent the dowry, and we need this alliance if we're ever going to repel the Romans. Pero is from Sparta, she'd be important."

Aloeus swallows his saliva heavily at his father's words, he has no choice but to do this... And there's no guarantee he can secure Pero's safety at all, he might die tomorrow.

'Cruel.' Aloeus closes his eyes, he knows the fate of women in this world, his own mother had him when she was 16. Aloeus has always been soft, and for the longest time Abreas was the one to inherit the throne instead of him.

But after what happened to Larissa, Abreas was never the same, and Aloeus was recalled from the schools in Corinth and forced to train for an entire year, rigorous exercise in order to live up to Demetrius II's standards.

The death of Antigonos II has haunted the Macedonian Line for a decade. The war will only intensify from here. Rome must have wanted a piece of Alexander.

Aloeus takes one last look at the mirror. The reflection shows a man he hardly recognizes, his muscles bulging under the fine linen tunic. He's been told he's a good looking man, but today, he feels like a gladiator dressed up for the games. The wedding is a political play, a move on the grand chessboard of empire, and he's a pawn being sacrificed for the greater good. He's seen enough battles to know that sacrifices are a common theme.

But what he really worries about is Pero, she's only 11, and he's seen 11 year old kids playing outside in Corinth, and this is not how this is all supposed to be for her. Is there any sanity left in this world?

Or is it he who is truly insane, past leaders won't even blink killing and yet here he is. Maybe he is just unfit to be King.

The doors to the grand hall swing open with a dramatic flair, revealing an opulent space adorned with garlands and candelabras. The buzz of conversation momentarily hushes as all eyes fall upon the prince. Aloeus tries to ignore the weight of the crown on his head and the judgment in the gazes of his guests. He walks down the aisle, each step feeling heavier than the last. The room is a kaleidoscope of color, with the nobility dressed in their finest attire. Yet all he can focus on is the tiny figure standing at the end, dwarfed by the grandeur around her.

'I want to get this over with.' Aloeus walks over and asks for a dance, but as she steps over she disappears from the view of the spectators. How do you even dance with someone less than half your size Aloeus you sick bastard.

But he tries, he really does, he crouches down and holds out his hand to her, and she takes it, her small hand lost in his giant's grip. The music starts, a lilting tune played by a group of musicians in the corner, and they begin to move. It's awkward, to say the least, but he tries to make it as graceful as he can for her. The room seems to swirl around them, the laughter and chatter of the guests a distant murmur.

Aloeus had to stay for dinner, and they threw rice at him, they broke plates, and finally they shoved him and the little girl in a room. King Demetrius II doesn't really expect anything to happen to them tonight, since the usual age for childbearing is 16, but Aloeus just standing in this room makes him sick.

Pero on the other hand doesn't say a word, she looks enlightened for her age, which is not supposed to be the case. She approaches Aloeus and pats his shoulder.

"It's okay," she says in a voice that's surprisingly calm for an 11 year old. "I know you're not happy about this either, but we can still make the best of it."

"What in the hell is that supposed to mean?" Aloeus turns to her, his face a mask of shock and disbelief. He's expecting tears, or screams, or at least some kind of protest from his child bride, but instead he's met with a solemn expression that seems far too wise for her tender years. 

He shakes his head. Working in schools all his life he has studied the development of children extensively, by observing newborns to adolescents, this is not... not normal!

But here she is, his child bride, standing before him with a poise that seems to challenge the very essence of his beliefs. "You're too young to understand any of this," he says, his voice gentle despite the turmoil within him.

Pero looks up at him, her eyes shimmering with an understanding that seems to defy her youth. "I may be young, but I am not naive. I know the ways of our world, Prince Aloeus. I know what is expected of me."

"Oh good, who taught you to say that? Your mother? Your sick father? The King!?" Aloeus can't help but raise his voice.

Pero simply nods, unfazed. "They all did, Prince. I am here to serve the alliance between Sparta and Macedon. But I can also serve you, if you allow it."

Aloeus laughs, an exasperated laugh, a 'what the fuck' laugh. 

"We can meet tomorrow! You can sleep in another... I'll take another room!"

But the little girl shakes her head and tugs at his tunic, "No, Prince, I'm scared of the dark."

"Don't touch me! I said get away!" Aloeus falls on his ass.

"This is not right! Is Greece so devoid of women that you are their only fallback? Do you not have sisters? Do your parents even care about you? Huh? Answer, answer me!"

Pero's eyes finally fill with tears, and she nods. "Yes, I have a sister," she whispers, her voice trembling. "But she's too young to marry, and my mother is... she is not of royal blood. So they gave me to you, to secure our future."

"You don't understand, I'm not supposed to feel this way! Everyone expects me to just lie down and accept this, me of all people! I am a teacher, not a rapist, I teach kids I am enlightened, a scholar! I..." Aloeus bites his tongue, he realizes it, there's no use yelling at a kid, he should be yelling at his father, her father, her lousy ass City, or these shit for brains Zeus worshippers.

But instead, he's here, in this room, with a girl who's supposed to be his wife. The room feels smaller, the air heavier, and the weight of his crown suddenly unbearable.

"You know, there's another future... because of the Romans the world order of Greece is falling apart. There's another future for you." Aloeus stands up and moves to his desk, rifling through the countertop.

"Pero, can you read? Do arithmetic?"

The girl nods, her eyes wide with hope. "Yes, I can read and write, and I know my numbers. My mother taught me."

"I'm telling you, don't rely on me or anyone to save you but yourself, you make your own future Pero, not a marriage with me, or who else. Maybe, one day you'll see your sister and mother again and take them with you to study in Pergamum." Aloeus hands her a book.

"Read the title."

Pero wipes her eyes and takes the book, her curiosity piqued. "The Iliad," she reads, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Have you read his before?"

Pero shakes her head, her eyes widening even more. "No, I haven't."

"Read it, read it all, and if you can read the Iliad and recount to me the story, then... then I'll teach you everything I know!" Aloeus sighs, slumping on the floor mentally exhausted.

Pero grips the manuscripts tightly to her chest, her eyes lighting up like stars in the night sky. "I promise, Prince Aloeus," she says, her voice steady. "I will read it, and I will learn from it."

Aloeus nods, his own eyes misting over with a mix of relief and admiration. "Good," he says, his voice gruff. "For now, get some rest. We'll talk more tomorrow." He gestures to the bed, which seems almost comically large next to her small frame.

The room falls into a tense silence, the only sound the distant echo of the party outside their chamber. Aloeus knows he can't sleep in the same bed with her, not tonight, not ever. He spreads out a fur on the cold stone floor and lays down, his chest piece clanking as he tries to get comfortable. He stares at the ceiling, his thoughts racing with the weight of his decision.

Pero sits on the edge of the bed, her legs dangling over the side, the book in her hands feeling heavy. She opens the leather-bound tome, the pages crisp with age. The words are foreign to her, but she's eager to understand, eager to escape the fate that has been thrust upon her. Her eyes scan the first line, and she whispers the words to herself, tasting them on her tongue, feeling their power.

...

..

.

Abreas walked home after giving an offering in the temple. As he entered the hall, he could see the remnants of a celebration inside, and clearly he wasn't invited.

He didn't mind it this much though, he had been busy all morning and afternoon, training his body, and in the tactics of the Roman, in order to lead the Macedonian infantry against them in the near future. 

It's as if Macedonia lost it's vitality, will to fight and its heart.

Abreas walks into the east wing, sweat dripping down his back, the stench of his armor a testament to his day's hard work. The corridor is eerily silent compared to the raucous festivities happening elsewhere in the Palace. He had been avoiding the wedding preparations, the thought of his brother marrying a child making his stomach churn. He had hoped that maybe, just maybe, it would be called off. But here he is, returning to his quarters, the echo of his heavy boots on the marble floor the only sound.

As he turns the corner, he collides with a figure dressed in a wedding tunic, knocking a scroll out of the person's hand. "Aloeus," he says, his voice laced with surprise and a hint of anger. "What are you doing here?"

Aloeus looks up, his eyes bloodshot and his face etched with exhaustion. "I could ask you the same," he replies, bending down to retrieve the scroll. "I've been busy, you know, with the wedding and all."

"You married a child, aren't you sick of yourself?" Abreas scoffs. "You didn't even try calling it off."

Aloeus' jaw clenches tightly, "What do you know, Abreas? You're the one who's been playing soldier while I've had to deal with this shit storm! Just yesterday you were in the Temple of Aphrodite playing with whores!"

"At least I'm not playing husband to a girl who still plays with dolls!" Abreas shoots back, his own anger flaring up.

"I am a true son of Achilles!" they both yell out in unison.