Thread: Certain Doom, Interrupted (Methos and Autumn)

The mark of a true Greek was not measured by his ability to win in battles, but by the manner in which he feared and respected the mighty gods. Blessed were those who paid homage to the immortal deities, and cursed were those who did not. Every aspect of life was nurtured by some powerful being, whether it was Zeus bringing forth torrents of rain for the crops or Eos bringing the first light of dawn. The King and Queen of Aegina had ruled for nearly a decade without an heir. Every night, the solemn queen prayed to the Goddess of Fertility to give her a son to someday take the throne, and if she would only grant her this then her life would be forever indebted to the gracious Goddess. Somewhere in Mount Olympus, she must have heard her as a son was given to them. During childbirth, deluded by fever, the queen experienced a vision in which she immediately knew her body was to be claimed by death in exchange for the new life of her child. Instead, however, Aphrodite told her she was to name her son Kleitos for he would become famous as the gentle ruler Greece would need. Before she left, Aphrodite whispered a promise she would give the aging queen a miracle before her journey to the Elysian Fields began. Nearly thirty years passed before the promise would be fulfilled. The queen, ripe with age and wisdom, was steadily approaching the end of her mortality when her second miracle was delivered. A daughter so beautiful she must have been woven from the molds of Aphrodite herself, the pair knew that her birth was another gift from the immortal gods. Thus, they named her in honor that immortality Ambrosia. It was, as the cruelty of irony would have it, that very name that had earned her the predicament she was in at that very moment. The enemy, not unlike the Greeks, served their heathen gods by freely given them sacrifices. It was their belief that these actions were crucial in the aid of their power, the gods so pleased by their gifts they gave the mortals the honor of marauding and conquering Greece. Thus, the men did not choose their victims at random but selected only the most delicate maidens as fare. Having heard of the princess with the divine beauty of Aphrodite and the name of immortality, it was that very woman that brought their fleet to Aegina's shores. Two weeks passed after the capture of Ambrosia, the men keeping her bound in the dungeons that dug into the earth beneath the palace. Though they kept her limbs in leather cuffs, the men fed her with rich food and sweet wine made from the grapes in her very own vineyard. What was even more surprising was that none of them looked at her in lewd ways or touched her in a manner that seemed inappropriate. All the while, the troops anticipated the next full moon, the night the festival for the gods would begin. The captors had imprisoned three additional women from the palace, assigning them with the sole tasks of preparing the princess for her encounter with their immortal spirits. As the moon began to wane brightly in the sky, ever increasing in its fullness, the men announced the time would come the following night. There was a steady drip drip drip of water spilling from a crack in the dark walls of the damp dungeon. There was a single torch burning on the wall, the only source of light. Ambrosia was huddled in the corner, fingers working deftly to try to free the thick cuffs from her wrists and ankles. Try as she might, she couldn't break the strength of the bindings. From across the room, she heard the squeak of the door as the smoke from another torch tickled her nose. Without a word, two broad-shouldered men marched into the room and began to free her from the shackles bolted to the wall. Two meaty hands clutched her upper arms, effortlessly lifting her from the floor and carrying her out of the dungeon toward the staircases that led to higher ground within the palace walls. They threw her in the very room they had sought to abduct her from, tossing her onto the stone floor. Eyes that mirrored the Aegean Sea blinked through thick, dark lashes, settling on three figures standing at the foot of the bed. Princess, one of them began, we've come to prepare you for a festival in your honor. She bowed, stepping forth to help Ambrosia off the floor. Let us bathe you and strip you from your soiled clothing. The second one added, joining the first to lift up the young woman. A festival? She questioned, her knees creaking as she steadied herself on her dirty feet. Yes, your name is chanted outside the walls. The third one spoke softly, hiding the truth behind a facade. The three women led her down to the baths where they tore away the red fabric and submerged her in the warm waters. Three pairs of hands scrubbed grime from her olive skin, lavishing her body in oils of jasmine. They dipped her back, weaving their fingers in her long locks, smoothing the tangles from the strands. When they were finished, they took her back to her chamber where she slept peacefully in her own bed. When she stirred from her slumber, the sounds of cheering and music could be heard. Slender arms moved to push her into a sitting position, but the chains around her wrists prevented it. No longer was she in the soft folds of her bed, but placed on a slat filled with straw that prodded and that underside of her body. At each corner of this slab of wood and straw was a torch of fire. The four separate flames burned brightly enough that she could see ornate details around the edges that created this box-shaped bed. From somewhere inside this cell, which was much larger than the dungeon she had previously been held in, there was a rough breeze. The harsh winds blew at her hair, scattering white flowers from dark waves infused with flecks of honey into the chamber. Glancing down at her soft form, she noted she was draped in a thin shroud of crisp, white cloth. The fabric bent in the air like a flag, uncovering her long, shapely legs. Arms were covered in bracelets of gold and rubies, the weight of thick jewelry pulling down on her ears and pressing into her neck. A set of matching shackles were clasped around her ankles, holding the muscled weapons into place. Arching herself slightly, she twisted so that she could see the emblems cut into the wooden edges. The figures were bulky and large with horns and stood in an upright position like any man minotaurs. Painted lips fell agape, chest rising rapidly against the smooth fabric. It occurred to her then that this was not just any bed, but the pyre that would burn her body after these evil creatures had devoured her in ways she never would want to imagine.