heelies: (( mythos ))
Achilles, son of Peleus ([personal profile] heelies) wrote in [community profile] epidemiology 2016-11-13 01:24 am (UTC)

[Theirs has always been a love characterized by movement, with she the grain that bobs and sways beneath the suggestion of the wind when it passes over the plains, she the moon that draws toward its radiant bosom the wine-dark waves of the sea. When together they are never still, their hands ever hungry for reassurance that the other is there, their hips moving together to sing the raw music composed upon the instruments of their bodies, their chests softly sinking and swelling through the night as they slumber.

Such is the dance in which they share, as she had once so appropriately called it.

And it has always been she who seemed to search for reasons to step out of the rhythm which he first set all those many moons ago when Fate had crossed his path with hers. There in the verdant hush of the forest surrounding Oska she had turned from him, for his love had come so suddenly, and she thought herself unworthy of a prince's adoration - and with hands warm and words gentle like dew upon petals, he had promised that he would teach her of her own worth. There in the damp pall of the jungle upon Zeta-12 she had tried once more to slip from his grasp, for she wished not to be his weakness nor his cowardice - and he had taken her knee in supplication and ordered her not to go, insisted that she was his happiness too. In the silence that was left in the wake of black-hearted Koltira's frenzy, which left him before death's grim gates, which too left his pride bruised and his heart howling for reprisal, she had refused to lift her eyes to him - and he had thanked her for restoring the life to his limbs, for giving him reason to live.

Always he has managed to weave the words that shall ensnare her. Always he has tempted her closer, until the beating of his heart drowns out the doubts that whisper inside her own bosom, for better or for worse: for while some doubts hinder the heart, others are in place to protect it.

When Olivia draws near at last, a fire is crackling upon the hearth he has fashioned from the stones strewn about the desert. Arranged within the circle of the glow the flames shall cast when falls night are a few more stones upon which they might sit. Just beyond the fire stands the tent he had built from what supplies the wild-eyed Qorral could share. Although mean in appearance, these new accommodations are sturdy enough to suffice, and cozy enough to keep them warm through the bitter winter.

From one of the stone seats rises Achilles to greet her with a grin brilliant upon his lips.]


Now at last may my heart be at rest, for you have returned to me at the close of this long day, dear Olivia.

[As he speaks these words he clasps his hands around hers and shepherds her within reach of the fire's warmth. There beside where he had sat waits Patroclus, whose identity is made all the more evident by the manner in which he is clad: it is clear that he hails from the same dear native land as Achilles. The peculiar irony at present is that Achilles alone wears the garb favored by the Qorral, bundled too in an overcoat he had acquired that he might better stave off the cold. How he now laments the fine-woven cloak he had abandoned to burn in the saloon!]

Gentle-hearted Patroclus - here is the woman whom I love as though she were no less than mine own true wife. While by my side she has stayed, I have found joy such that I once thought I mightn't ever again hold in my heart.

Post a comment in response:

This account has disabled anonymous posting.
If you don't have an account you can create one now.
HTML doesn't work in the subject.
More info about formatting