They go out into the place where the demigod Aeneas had led the Greek slaughter, more than a year ago. Red flowers grow now where their comrades fell. All else is quiet.
Ophellios releases the string of his bow and a bird falls from the sky. It was only a small thing, but the arrow pierced neatly its heart; there will be enough meat for feasting later.
There is hunger in the camp.
He turns, looking to his lone companion. “How many have you caught, Lord Aetos?”
Aetos still has not let go of his hands.
“By the gods, you are the most cryptic of the Achaeans. Tell me of your story, then, for all that you reference it.”
"Now is not a time for the telling of tales." He squeezes harder, uncaring. "I could not choose only one of those tales to tell. This is the path down which men like you die, Ophellios, and I- no, I could not allow you to suffer such a fate. See reason, I charge you, and do not go alone across the plains."
The intensity frightens him, but not for the reason Aetos would want.
“Very well.” Ophellios is guarded now.
He stares at the younger man and doesn't break away.
"This is folly."
He says it after a long break, too late, he thinks. He stares, deep, into sky-blue eyes and his fingers dig scars into the wood of this crude kingly chair.
"You would risk yourself - why? Why go alone? You have often scorned glory, called great kings fools for desiring glory over life - why change now? You expect me to believe you will heed my words - why should I, when you care nothing for honour?"
He glares, standing without thinking.
"You think yourself different, greater than the rest of us; perhaps you are, for indeed I know more than you think of your heritage. You think us fools, brief and wretched, mortal as we are; so be it, but whether it cost me life or limb you shall not go alone."
Stars dance at his fingertips as the numbness begins. The strength of Zeus lies in the King of Crete’s palms.
He tugs only gently, only enough to draw his attention to it.
“If you are implying something then speak it.”
"You are no fool, nor cunning nor expert enough in counsel to deceive me: you know indeed that I have learned of your parentage, that I have long since known that Phoebus Apollo got fair Alphion with child, when He was among the Pylians; and you know that I have held my tongue these long years." He squeezes hard enough that it will just begin to hurt. "Know then that if I ever wished you ill I could have done you injury, and did not. Now I tell you, see sense, and do not go alone across the dangerous plains."
Something in him shifts. Aetos watches as the young king’s eyes darken.
“You tell me this now. Why? Are you to blackmail me with this secret you know? I have told you that I will heed your counsel, King of Crete. Do you know no other method of negotiation but force?”
The godling stands too, meeting his great height.
“Release my arms.”
In one dreadful lurching motion he has the Pylian king pinned by the wrists up against the wall of his tent - he still thinks of it so, years old and strongly reinforced though it may be, a great trunk of a tree he hewed in the first year of the war forming the pillar against which he now pins the Pylian boy, soft golden skin bruised under his grip-
"Don't be a fool, boy, if I had wanted to take you by force I would have done so long since. It was many years past that I suspected your heritage, many years past that I felt the keen cut of the injury to my friend, the great king of the Pylians Hyranon; the man you call your father, long since dearly departed; had I wished to use it against you I would have done so. Rather, being your friend and long-time protector and counsellor, I know when there are notions you keep hidden on your heart, and indeed I do not trust that you will be honest, when you plan to venture far from the hollow ships, to seek out this omen you think you have found: am I, I charge you to tell me, I call the immortal gods to witness, am I wrong???"
He just stares at him through his eyelashes, his head tilted proudly back and his lips pressed together. All his muscles are tense like steel, but he does not flinch.
Calmly.
“Phoebus Apollo is my sire, but Hyranon was my father. They say that blood is thicker than water, but our blood fell together on the battlefield, indistinguishable. Red. To his name I am no insult.
“You see liars in every face, Lord Aetos. You must be so lonely. If you treat all allies like this– Perhaps I saw that. Perhaps that is why I have tried to befriend you.
“I am an honest man.
“Let me go.”
He releases him as though burned.
His gaze is like knives, as his eyes meet Ophellios', and he holds that gaze for long moments.
"Perhaps you speak truly, Lord Ophellios. Perhaps you know more than I; perhaps you are wiser. Go then: and may the gods go with you."
"I am insulted: you suggest that there was any way this conversation could end, such that I would not come with you."
Ophellios steps a pace backwards, gazing at him warily.
“Your loyalty takes me by surprise after the insult you have dealt. Is this friendship? Or do you seek to supervise me?”
He caresses his bruised wrists, flexing his numb fingers to coax some sensation back into them.
“You shared your food with me. I will attribute your behaviour to hunger, and I will forget that you ever raised a hand against me. Do not touch me like that again.”
He ignores him.
"We set out an hour hence. Gather such supplies as you can, and meet me by the gate. We have precious little time, if we are to complete this mad caper before Achilles is moved to action."
"Tired of waiting. If you have something to ask me, then ask; or else go from here and ready yourself, and I shall meet you by the gates."
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