Brigit's Flame, October, week 4
Title: The Arrow
Author: keppiehed
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Word Count: 2475
Prompt: Cupid and cupidity
A/N: Written for week #4 at brigits_flame. A quick note here: Cupid is the Roman version of Eros. My area of study was the Greeks, and some of the characters I employed do not have an exact Roman counterpart, so I changed it to the Greeks. But no worries! Eros is our friend Cupid, so for purposes of the prompt, it should still be the same. Also, thanks to S. I am not great with plot, and I always appreciate all the help I can get. :)
“He arrives. Sisters, hearken. It begins.”
Androcles sensed rather than heard the whisper from the darkness, and he couldn't suppress the shudder the words brought forth. He had been forged in the fires of courage, but the reputation of The Graeae preceded them, and even he quaked a little at the prospect of having to face them. Androcles squared his shoulders and stepped into their lair.
The stench of decay was thick in the air like a low-hanging fog. Androcles forced his gorge to remain in his stomach; he would not disgrace himself by vomiting like an untried youth. He clenched his teeth and withdrew his sword from its scabbard, the sound of scraping metal echoing in the closeness of the cave.
“He comes with naked weapon, Sisters. He believes he is a threat.”
Androcles placed one foot in front of the other, allowing his eyes to adjust to the gloom as he made his way through the tunnel to where he knew the women waited.
“He is afraid. He fears us.”
“He should. He knows.”
“He reeks of terror from here.”
The passage widened, and Androcles saw his foe before him: the gray ones. He steeled his spine and stood firm.
“Sister, give me the eye. I smell him. He is a tasty morsel and I want to look upon his flesh.”
“Do not be hasty. It is my turn.”
They spoke in a hiss. Androcles' sword trembled. He was losing control. This would never do. He cleared his throat, but the sound was lost in the cavernous depths.
“He tries to speak! He falters.”
They moved forward as one, in the spaces between his blink. He never saw them step, and yet they were closer with every heartbeat. Androcles' breath fluttered.
“He is a poor, tender thing. He will taste so sweet.”
“He thinks his sword will protect him. They all do.”
“They are wrong, Sister.”
“Enough!” Androcles startled even himself. “You cannot harm me. I came here for your help. I compel you to aid me.”
They halted. “We owe you nothing. Not even a swift death, youngling. But we will give you that, for you amuse us. Isn't that correct, Sisters?”
“Yes, Sister.”
“We shall be merciful.”
“I know your secret.” Androcles swallowed. “Your are Deino, Enyo and Pemphredo. There was a fourth, Persis, but she is gone from here. I know your names, and now you must grant me the answer to a question and safe passage from here.”
Deino shrieked. “He knows, he knows!”
“How does he know, Sister?” wailed Enyo.
“It was Perseus. You should have killed him,” said Pemphredo.
“He had the eye!” said Deino. “What could be done? Hateful man!”
Androcles lowered his sword. “You shall answer my question. How do I make Roxane fall in love with me?”
The witches fell silent.
“He asks the question.”
“We knew he would.”
“It is not for him.”
“She is not for you,” Enyo said at long last. “Ask another question.”
“I fought my way here through many perils. This is my question. I ask it again: how do I make Roxane fall in love with me? Answer, witches. My patience grows thin.” Androcles waited.
“You know not what you ask, youngling. It is not possible.” Deino peered at him through the eye, the lens refracting and blinding him in warning.
“It is possible. You know a way.” Androcles blinked and raised his sword. “Tell me. I have the right to it.”
Pemphredo tilted her head. “You would have your way to the ending of the world?”
“I would not be told what is my right by you. It is within my grasp, and I will have it. Give it to me,” Androcles said.
Enyo waved her hand. “There is a way. Eros. But this will lead only to tragedy.”
“Eros?” Androcles frowned. “Eros … of course. His arrows make people fall in love!”
Deino squinted at him. “You are not fated for this woman. You will have to steal an arrow meant for another. Eros will not look kindly on that.”
“His path leads to ruin, Sisters.” Pemphredo rocked back and forth. “I have foreseen it.”
“We have foreseen it.”
Androcles ground his teeth. “I don't care about your ridiculous prophecy. Tell me how to get Eros' arrow.”
“There is only one way.”
“There is a way,” Enyo smiled. Her teeth were rotten. “But you did not ask that question. We answered you.”
Androcles stomped his foot. “But that didn't help!”
“Your safe passage is not indefinite. We answered.” Enyo reached for the eye. “This is advice for you: you are on the path to doom. Turn away.”
“She belongs to another.”
The air began to turn cold, and though Androcles was unsatisfied with his answer, the walls of the cave felt like they were shrinking. The sisters were moving again, seeping closer when he chanced to blink. Though they didn't have eyes, there was a red haze of menace that troubled him enough for him to pick up his sword and back out of the cave.
“He runs, Sisters.”
“He will not escape his fate.”
The climb down from the mountain was arduous, but his heart wasn't pounding as hard at the bottom as it was when he left the company of The Graeae. When he looked up, Androcles knew he'd been one of the lucky few to escape from them with his life.
*
In the end, Eros's arrow was procured with surprising ease.
Androcles schemed and laid out scenario after scenario, each more complicated than the last. He began to despair of the enormity of the task before him. How would he ever find a god who spent most of his time invisible? Was it even possible for a mortal to predict the trajectory of love's arrow? Androcles made charts of every person in the village in every combination, but even if he could accurately assign the pairing, how could he be there at the moment Eros nocked his bow? The problem rattled Androcles brain until he could think of little else, day or night.
It was one of these sleepless nights when Androcles was wandering to cool his fevered temper that he found himself in the foothills near Hedone's estate. Hedone was known for her love of pleasure, and as a guardian of the concept, she welcomed anyone to her home who was in need of bliss. Though Androcles did not seek union with the woman, for Roxane was the only one to hold his affections, he did think that he could benefit from refreshment at her table. He changed his route and angled up the path to her door.
A form was entering the villa. Androcles frowned. Of course Hedone had a reputation for welcoming travelers, but she lived in relative seclusion, and it was very late in the evening. This was most unusual. Androcles' curiosity was roused. He watched the man unfasten a burden from his back and leave it outside on the porch before entering.
Androcles stayed in the brush and crept close to the house before peeking in the windows to see who would be imposing upon the lovely Hedone at such an hour. They were seated at the table. Hedone's back was to the window. Androcles could see the man's face. He was classically handsome, with curly hair and a straight nose, neither too long nor too short. His features were so even that he might even be called beautiful. Androcles frowned. The man was neither too young nor too old. He was a fine specimen, in fact. It was a bit unsettling to behold.
Then he turned, and Androcles caught sight of a tufted wing. Was this Eros? He ducked into the shadows. Of course! How could he have forgotten Hedone's father? Androcles heart raced. What had Eros left on the front porch? He couldn't possibly be so lucky?
Androcles picked his way to the door, and there, sitting unguarded and propped against the wall, was the quiver. It was empty. Androcles reached out a hand, and he could feel the arrows, even though they were invisible. Eros wouldn't miss one, then. He closed his eyes and reached for the fletching. This was it. This was his life, his love, between his fingers. It was what he'd fought so hard for. He withdrew the arrow from the quiver, feeling the shaft brush against its mates, the head catching, and then it was free in his hand. His fate was his own. Androcles wrapped it in a spare cloth so he didn't lose it or prick himself and ran into the night.
*
There was something about Roxane. He wished he knew what it was, that he could define her intoxicating presence. If he could, maybe he could duplicate it, or exorcise her. Androcles had always been a man in control of himself and his emotions, but not when it came to her. He was helplessly in love with her. He was at her mercy.
He didn't like it.
He had spent the better part of his life watching her, thinking of her, dreaming about her. Was she lovely? Yes. But it was something more than that. Androcles didn't believe in magic, but he was close to thinking that maybe she might be made of the stuff because there was no other explanation for the hold she had on him. He had gone to the ends of the earth and back, and still she haunted him. He'd grown up and become a man, he'd been places she would never see. He'd had women, all sorts of women, and most of them more beautiful than she! Yet she was a fever in his blood that called him home. He could not live without her.
Roxane was ever friendly to him, yet she did not seem to return his regard. This was a bafflement. How could she not see his worth? How, after all these years and all this time, could she not want a prize like him? Androcles could not fathom her reason, but he didn't need to. Not any more. He withdrew the arrow. He was not going to wait a moment longer. He had waited long enough for what was his, and now he would have her.
“Roxane!” Androcles could hear himself bellowing, but he was too excited to care. He was a prick away from everything. “Roxane! Let me in!” He pounded on her door.
“Androcles?” The door opened a crack. “Is that you? Is something amiss?”
Androcles pushed the door wide and stepped into her home. “Give me your hand. Nay, the merest finger shall suffice for my purpose.”
Roxane recoiled. “Are you ill? I fear you have taken leave of your senses!”
“Did you not hear me? Give me your hand.” Androcles waited a moment and then sighed. “I can see that we shall have some things to work out upon our marriage.” He reached for her arm.
“Our … what?” Roxane stepped away, avoiding his touch. “Androcles, you are not yourself today. Please allow me to fetch the physician.”
“You don't understand. All will become clear soon enough.” Androcles could see that she was about to run, so he closed the distance between them “Hold still! I don't think this even hurts!”
“What are you going to do to me?” Roxane struggled. “Help!”
Androcles unwrapped the arrow, but in the struggle it grazed her breast and he dropped it. “Now look what you made me do!” he complained. “I don't think that was enough ...”
But Roxane had stopped fighting him. In fact, she had gone limp in his arms.
“Roxane?” He gave her a shake, but her head lolled upon his shoulder. Panic flooded Androcles' veins.
A crack lit the house.
“What have you done?”
Androcles turned to see Eros, a hovering beacon, his face showing more wrath than a mortal could tell. He dropped Roxane out of his nerveless arms. “I ...”
Eros held out a hand, and the arrow that had fallen to the floor glowed to visibility and flew to his grasp. “You do not know what injustice you have wrought, mortal.”
Androcles bowed his head. “I'm sorry. Can you make her better? You have your arrow back. I only borrowed it.”
“Borrowed?” Eros' voice thundered in the small room. “You stole. You dared steal love from another. This was not meant for you, nor her. You think you can force what belongs to another, foolish mortal? It is poisoned. You have killed her with your cupidity. Set your gaze upon what you have done.”
Androcles looked at Roxane and saw her veins illuminated with inky darkness. It spread from the graze on her chest where he'd scratched her with the arrow. She was still and pale.
“You pierced her with hatred instead. She could not tolerate such a poison as you have visited upon her. She is gone. And so is the happiness of everyone who might have loved her or been loved by her. And so are the loves that this arrow was meant for, and the children that would have resulted from that union. You are a destroyer.” Eros eyes gleamed with cold vengeance. “Look upon me, son of man. For your sin of destruction and death I hereby punish you as you have seen fit to punish others. I withhold your own arrow.” Eros withdrew a golden bolt from his quiver and crushed it in his fist. The glittering fragments of it fell in a shower as dust at Androcles' feet.
There was a loss Androcles didn't even know existed as a place dimmed in his chest in response. He fell to his knees and wept. “It isn't fair! You pierced me so long ago. Where is the justice in that, to let me suffer so? I loved her. I have always loved her!”
“You think you are in charge of who you love, of who loves you? Every man feels such things. You are no god, but a mortal, with mortal wounds. It is in your nature to learn acceptance. This is the price you pay for such willful arrogance. You will walk this earth loveless and forlorn. You will never know the touch of another through anything other than service. This is my gift to you, as I repay your treachery in kind. May your life be long, son of man, though I fear you will be lost before long without love to sustain you.” Eros was consumed in brightness that obliterated his essence.
When Androcles' vision cleared, he was alone with Roxane. A life without love was nothing to fear when he gazed upon what he had done. He crawled over to her and held her in his arms and waited. Without her smile to call him home, he was already lost.
Author: keppiehed
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Word Count: 2475
Prompt: Cupid and cupidity
A/N: Written for week #4 at brigits_flame. A quick note here: Cupid is the Roman version of Eros. My area of study was the Greeks, and some of the characters I employed do not have an exact Roman counterpart, so I changed it to the Greeks. But no worries! Eros is our friend Cupid, so for purposes of the prompt, it should still be the same. Also, thanks to S. I am not great with plot, and I always appreciate all the help I can get. :)
“He arrives. Sisters, hearken. It begins.”
Androcles sensed rather than heard the whisper from the darkness, and he couldn't suppress the shudder the words brought forth. He had been forged in the fires of courage, but the reputation of The Graeae preceded them, and even he quaked a little at the prospect of having to face them. Androcles squared his shoulders and stepped into their lair.
The stench of decay was thick in the air like a low-hanging fog. Androcles forced his gorge to remain in his stomach; he would not disgrace himself by vomiting like an untried youth. He clenched his teeth and withdrew his sword from its scabbard, the sound of scraping metal echoing in the closeness of the cave.
“He comes with naked weapon, Sisters. He believes he is a threat.”
Androcles placed one foot in front of the other, allowing his eyes to adjust to the gloom as he made his way through the tunnel to where he knew the women waited.
“He is afraid. He fears us.”
“He should. He knows.”
“He reeks of terror from here.”
The passage widened, and Androcles saw his foe before him: the gray ones. He steeled his spine and stood firm.
“Sister, give me the eye. I smell him. He is a tasty morsel and I want to look upon his flesh.”
“Do not be hasty. It is my turn.”
They spoke in a hiss. Androcles' sword trembled. He was losing control. This would never do. He cleared his throat, but the sound was lost in the cavernous depths.
“He tries to speak! He falters.”
They moved forward as one, in the spaces between his blink. He never saw them step, and yet they were closer with every heartbeat. Androcles' breath fluttered.
“He is a poor, tender thing. He will taste so sweet.”
“He thinks his sword will protect him. They all do.”
“They are wrong, Sister.”
“Enough!” Androcles startled even himself. “You cannot harm me. I came here for your help. I compel you to aid me.”
They halted. “We owe you nothing. Not even a swift death, youngling. But we will give you that, for you amuse us. Isn't that correct, Sisters?”
“Yes, Sister.”
“We shall be merciful.”
“I know your secret.” Androcles swallowed. “Your are Deino, Enyo and Pemphredo. There was a fourth, Persis, but she is gone from here. I know your names, and now you must grant me the answer to a question and safe passage from here.”
Deino shrieked. “He knows, he knows!”
“How does he know, Sister?” wailed Enyo.
“It was Perseus. You should have killed him,” said Pemphredo.
“He had the eye!” said Deino. “What could be done? Hateful man!”
Androcles lowered his sword. “You shall answer my question. How do I make Roxane fall in love with me?”
The witches fell silent.
“He asks the question.”
“We knew he would.”
“It is not for him.”
“She is not for you,” Enyo said at long last. “Ask another question.”
“I fought my way here through many perils. This is my question. I ask it again: how do I make Roxane fall in love with me? Answer, witches. My patience grows thin.” Androcles waited.
“You know not what you ask, youngling. It is not possible.” Deino peered at him through the eye, the lens refracting and blinding him in warning.
“It is possible. You know a way.” Androcles blinked and raised his sword. “Tell me. I have the right to it.”
Pemphredo tilted her head. “You would have your way to the ending of the world?”
“I would not be told what is my right by you. It is within my grasp, and I will have it. Give it to me,” Androcles said.
Enyo waved her hand. “There is a way. Eros. But this will lead only to tragedy.”
“Eros?” Androcles frowned. “Eros … of course. His arrows make people fall in love!”
Deino squinted at him. “You are not fated for this woman. You will have to steal an arrow meant for another. Eros will not look kindly on that.”
“His path leads to ruin, Sisters.” Pemphredo rocked back and forth. “I have foreseen it.”
“We have foreseen it.”
Androcles ground his teeth. “I don't care about your ridiculous prophecy. Tell me how to get Eros' arrow.”
“There is only one way.”
“There is a way,” Enyo smiled. Her teeth were rotten. “But you did not ask that question. We answered you.”
Androcles stomped his foot. “But that didn't help!”
“Your safe passage is not indefinite. We answered.” Enyo reached for the eye. “This is advice for you: you are on the path to doom. Turn away.”
“She belongs to another.”
The air began to turn cold, and though Androcles was unsatisfied with his answer, the walls of the cave felt like they were shrinking. The sisters were moving again, seeping closer when he chanced to blink. Though they didn't have eyes, there was a red haze of menace that troubled him enough for him to pick up his sword and back out of the cave.
“He runs, Sisters.”
“He will not escape his fate.”
The climb down from the mountain was arduous, but his heart wasn't pounding as hard at the bottom as it was when he left the company of The Graeae. When he looked up, Androcles knew he'd been one of the lucky few to escape from them with his life.
*
In the end, Eros's arrow was procured with surprising ease.
Androcles schemed and laid out scenario after scenario, each more complicated than the last. He began to despair of the enormity of the task before him. How would he ever find a god who spent most of his time invisible? Was it even possible for a mortal to predict the trajectory of love's arrow? Androcles made charts of every person in the village in every combination, but even if he could accurately assign the pairing, how could he be there at the moment Eros nocked his bow? The problem rattled Androcles brain until he could think of little else, day or night.
It was one of these sleepless nights when Androcles was wandering to cool his fevered temper that he found himself in the foothills near Hedone's estate. Hedone was known for her love of pleasure, and as a guardian of the concept, she welcomed anyone to her home who was in need of bliss. Though Androcles did not seek union with the woman, for Roxane was the only one to hold his affections, he did think that he could benefit from refreshment at her table. He changed his route and angled up the path to her door.
A form was entering the villa. Androcles frowned. Of course Hedone had a reputation for welcoming travelers, but she lived in relative seclusion, and it was very late in the evening. This was most unusual. Androcles' curiosity was roused. He watched the man unfasten a burden from his back and leave it outside on the porch before entering.
Androcles stayed in the brush and crept close to the house before peeking in the windows to see who would be imposing upon the lovely Hedone at such an hour. They were seated at the table. Hedone's back was to the window. Androcles could see the man's face. He was classically handsome, with curly hair and a straight nose, neither too long nor too short. His features were so even that he might even be called beautiful. Androcles frowned. The man was neither too young nor too old. He was a fine specimen, in fact. It was a bit unsettling to behold.
Then he turned, and Androcles caught sight of a tufted wing. Was this Eros? He ducked into the shadows. Of course! How could he have forgotten Hedone's father? Androcles heart raced. What had Eros left on the front porch? He couldn't possibly be so lucky?
Androcles picked his way to the door, and there, sitting unguarded and propped against the wall, was the quiver. It was empty. Androcles reached out a hand, and he could feel the arrows, even though they were invisible. Eros wouldn't miss one, then. He closed his eyes and reached for the fletching. This was it. This was his life, his love, between his fingers. It was what he'd fought so hard for. He withdrew the arrow from the quiver, feeling the shaft brush against its mates, the head catching, and then it was free in his hand. His fate was his own. Androcles wrapped it in a spare cloth so he didn't lose it or prick himself and ran into the night.
*
There was something about Roxane. He wished he knew what it was, that he could define her intoxicating presence. If he could, maybe he could duplicate it, or exorcise her. Androcles had always been a man in control of himself and his emotions, but not when it came to her. He was helplessly in love with her. He was at her mercy.
He didn't like it.
He had spent the better part of his life watching her, thinking of her, dreaming about her. Was she lovely? Yes. But it was something more than that. Androcles didn't believe in magic, but he was close to thinking that maybe she might be made of the stuff because there was no other explanation for the hold she had on him. He had gone to the ends of the earth and back, and still she haunted him. He'd grown up and become a man, he'd been places she would never see. He'd had women, all sorts of women, and most of them more beautiful than she! Yet she was a fever in his blood that called him home. He could not live without her.
Roxane was ever friendly to him, yet she did not seem to return his regard. This was a bafflement. How could she not see his worth? How, after all these years and all this time, could she not want a prize like him? Androcles could not fathom her reason, but he didn't need to. Not any more. He withdrew the arrow. He was not going to wait a moment longer. He had waited long enough for what was his, and now he would have her.
“Roxane!” Androcles could hear himself bellowing, but he was too excited to care. He was a prick away from everything. “Roxane! Let me in!” He pounded on her door.
“Androcles?” The door opened a crack. “Is that you? Is something amiss?”
Androcles pushed the door wide and stepped into her home. “Give me your hand. Nay, the merest finger shall suffice for my purpose.”
Roxane recoiled. “Are you ill? I fear you have taken leave of your senses!”
“Did you not hear me? Give me your hand.” Androcles waited a moment and then sighed. “I can see that we shall have some things to work out upon our marriage.” He reached for her arm.
“Our … what?” Roxane stepped away, avoiding his touch. “Androcles, you are not yourself today. Please allow me to fetch the physician.”
“You don't understand. All will become clear soon enough.” Androcles could see that she was about to run, so he closed the distance between them “Hold still! I don't think this even hurts!”
“What are you going to do to me?” Roxane struggled. “Help!”
Androcles unwrapped the arrow, but in the struggle it grazed her breast and he dropped it. “Now look what you made me do!” he complained. “I don't think that was enough ...”
But Roxane had stopped fighting him. In fact, she had gone limp in his arms.
“Roxane?” He gave her a shake, but her head lolled upon his shoulder. Panic flooded Androcles' veins.
A crack lit the house.
“What have you done?”
Androcles turned to see Eros, a hovering beacon, his face showing more wrath than a mortal could tell. He dropped Roxane out of his nerveless arms. “I ...”
Eros held out a hand, and the arrow that had fallen to the floor glowed to visibility and flew to his grasp. “You do not know what injustice you have wrought, mortal.”
Androcles bowed his head. “I'm sorry. Can you make her better? You have your arrow back. I only borrowed it.”
“Borrowed?” Eros' voice thundered in the small room. “You stole. You dared steal love from another. This was not meant for you, nor her. You think you can force what belongs to another, foolish mortal? It is poisoned. You have killed her with your cupidity. Set your gaze upon what you have done.”
Androcles looked at Roxane and saw her veins illuminated with inky darkness. It spread from the graze on her chest where he'd scratched her with the arrow. She was still and pale.
“You pierced her with hatred instead. She could not tolerate such a poison as you have visited upon her. She is gone. And so is the happiness of everyone who might have loved her or been loved by her. And so are the loves that this arrow was meant for, and the children that would have resulted from that union. You are a destroyer.” Eros eyes gleamed with cold vengeance. “Look upon me, son of man. For your sin of destruction and death I hereby punish you as you have seen fit to punish others. I withhold your own arrow.” Eros withdrew a golden bolt from his quiver and crushed it in his fist. The glittering fragments of it fell in a shower as dust at Androcles' feet.
There was a loss Androcles didn't even know existed as a place dimmed in his chest in response. He fell to his knees and wept. “It isn't fair! You pierced me so long ago. Where is the justice in that, to let me suffer so? I loved her. I have always loved her!”
“You think you are in charge of who you love, of who loves you? Every man feels such things. You are no god, but a mortal, with mortal wounds. It is in your nature to learn acceptance. This is the price you pay for such willful arrogance. You will walk this earth loveless and forlorn. You will never know the touch of another through anything other than service. This is my gift to you, as I repay your treachery in kind. May your life be long, son of man, though I fear you will be lost before long without love to sustain you.” Eros was consumed in brightness that obliterated his essence.
When Androcles' vision cleared, he was alone with Roxane. A life without love was nothing to fear when he gazed upon what he had done. He crawled over to her and held her in his arms and waited. Without her smile to call him home, he was already lost.