Alexandros laughed and she laughed, and then she really did forget what she had been mad about to begin. It was like when she and Kaia got angry at each other and nothing but rolling in the dirt would fix the rift.

“Oh no, Asia is still my friend, and Kaia is still my lover, but I thought giving only your relationship with them to be better for reasoning with you. I do think they will be miffed if you don’t return to the dinner or you return covered in blood. What makes you think they wouldn’t be? I want this to end because I don’t want to cause you any harm, by virtue of the feelings I have for your cousin and your status as a guest of my friend, I would prefer not to injure you. Is that so unreasonable?” Alexandros said.

Her laughter tapered off, her shoulders rising and falling slower now as it turned into a sparse giggle. “Yes, I’ve noticed you like to do that. Frame your words, that is. That is the...second, perhaps the third time you’ve done that? If you’ve done it more, I’ve missed it. I’ve done it a few times as well. It didn’t seem to work on you, either.”

She pushed the hair that had loosened from her braid out of her face. “No, I don’t think they’d be miffed. I think if we came in covered in blood, they would both be relieved because they would know that everything was fine. And they both trust me enough to know I’m coming back. Have you never settled your disagreements in such a way?”

One hand dropped to her hip and she leaned into her dominant leg, blood dripping from her forearm, to her palm, then down her fingers to dribble upon the ground. “And I'm incredibly easy to reason with. I just don't like being withheld things and talked down to, I suppose."

She shrugged, "I’ve been told ‘I don’t want to harm you’ a few times now. It’s quite maddening when nobody will fight me just because I’m a bit smaller. And then when they do, they assume they’ll win. You work for nearly a decade and a half on being able to do something well, and everyone assumes you don’t know what you’re doing without ever testing you—they just take one look at you and decide you can’t possibly do it. Or that if you attempted, you couldn't possibly succeed. Won’t even attempt to give you a chance to prove otherwise. It would be funny if it weren’t so fucking offensive. Has that ever happened to you? Not fighting, specifically, but with anything.”

She moved closer to him. Now only a few steps away, she held her chin with the digits of her free hand, studying him for a moment. He was a good grappler, she would give him that. Difficult to beat somebody who could match her kinetically. And he was quite handsome now that he wasn't so pinned up and perfectly neat.

A little grass and mussed hair did wonders for a person, she supposed, and he wore that mean smirk of his quite well. And yes, now that Alexandros was actually using them, he did have very nice arms. Now he looked like a warrior and not some pretty politician. Powerful and just a little unhinged, his control close to fraying. Now she could understand why Kaia had tripped into his bed so quickly.

But beautiful as he was now, he had still uttered words of combat and refused to take responsibility for them, and she was getting frustrated with him. If he'd cease fucking around and take her seriously, she could match her mind to her body and then take him down in truth. Psyche and surroundings were what would always carry her through a fight and never brute strength.

But it would be an empty victory if she used everything at her disposal and he did not, for then she would overpower him too easily. He would not be embarrassed if he held back and essentially fell over just so she would stop. But he would be embarrassed if he actually tried and failed. And then she could put this whole thing behind her because an injury such as he’d given her deserved an answer.

Who knew, perhaps he would win and then she would begin listening to him, Gods forbid—for that was the only way she would. If he could not beat her in a fight, then she would not do as he wanted. If he would not fight her to begin with, then clearly he did not respect her enough as an equal, and if he did not respect her as an equal and did not ever try to fight her in order to beat her, then she really would not listen to him.

As far as Aea was concerned, Vangelis was the only person she’d met outside of her blood that respected her ability enough to let her use her them in full, and skilled enough to defeat her at her best. She might not consider King Tython’s word to be her law, but she would listen to his son when it mattered...at least in public. Mostly. 

But for a man who thought so little of her that he treated her like a defenseless child, she would make a point to never give him her consideration out of spite.

She tilted her head and studied Alexandros’ expression. His smile wasn’t reaching his eyes, which meant he was smiling to get a reaction out of her. Calmness, perhaps. She was perfectly calm. After what she’d heard from Asia that evening, she was fairly certain that Colchian men did not think women should do much at all. Perhaps any woman that dared challenge what bizarre sensibilities they had was seen as some savage beast. Or a witch, an evil spirit.

Perhaps when a Colchian man encountered something they could not control or break, it frightened them. She could understand that, she supposed, though not really. Facing something that could not be controlled or broken was quite thrilling to her. Perhaps that was only because she felt a kinship to them. She’d already been broken and put back together, so it wasn’t like it could happen again or be any worse than the first time.

“You can stop looking at me like I'm a wild animal, you know. Nothing wrong with unshackling yourself—I wish you would just let go, that way I could let go fully as well, and then maybe we’ll both feel better getting our frustrations out on one another. You’re not even thinking about Panos anymore, are you?” Aea walked closer, fully intending to engage him again.

Maybe if she pissed him off, that would do the trick in making him cooperate. She felt better already, not so wound up, not so reflective upon all the things she did not want to think about, but she would feel absolutely content for the rest of the night if she let him have a taste of his own cruelty. “And if you told Kaia or Asia that you wouldn’t fight me because you were afraid of hurting me, they would both think you arrogant in your assumption that you could. Kaia, in particular, wouldn’t be pleased that you doubted me just because I was smaller, because it would mean that you would doubt her as well. If you aren’t going to kill me, and I’m not going to kill you, then I don’t quite see the issue here.”

She shrugged, “Why would I ever want to stop? I feel much better already, don’t you? I can barely remember what I was so angry about.”

“Good, that makes two of us. You attacked me out of the blue, with no hint of anger before, completely unprovoked from where I stood. I’ve been confused by that our whole fight.” Alexandros’ smile disappeared. “As for why you should stop, not knowing why you fight is a damn good reason as is returning to the dinner to fulfill our social obligations. Like I’ve been saying the whole time, I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t want to fight you, if you knew what caused all of this I would ask you to tell me, so that I might apologize. Why can’t we let this go? Go back inside, have a drink and some food?”

Aea made a thoughtful sound and closed her eyes, playing the sensations she felt in her head again, conjuring to mind why—what he’d said. Ah yes. That. She opened her eyes again and locked them onto him once more, “I’m going to assume you’re not lying about your unawareness, because that feels much easier than dancing about what angered me. My father died last night, though I suppose it was technically this morning. You couldn’t have known that, you couldn’t have known what he sounded like, or the things he used to say, but I have a feeling you were trying to crack me—given your practice at it—and figured out what you might say that would hurt me the most. So I cracked, and that is the result. I would have been able to stay still had this been any other night before this, I think, but since my father is not here anymore, I don’t feel the need to endure that sort of discipline. So I won’t. You struck me deeper than any stranger has ever struck, and I freely admit that I wanted to hurt you back. Be it pent up aggression or pent up stress, I suppose when you don’t act on it for long enough, something is bound to make you want to hit something.”

She closed the gap with one swift leap, butterflies and buzzing energy fueling her forward. Aea balled her fist and slung for his face, muscles singing. Her knuckles dashed against his mouth. Like the strike of a viper, forward and back so quickly she was only allowed to feel release for a single moment.

Bleeding and making others bleed was one of the only times she could feel alive. It was something she was good at. Like a lady at court or a dancer in the streets, she was in her element. Comfortable, perfectly safe from the sort of harm that really hurt, and able to express herself in ways that words simply could not. She was still angry at his audacity, still humiliated that he’d caught her so easily, but when she moved and sweated and strove for something, her mind could rest. Only mechanics and tactics entered, and never feeling or consideration. Nothing was confusing, nothing hurt, and something like a soul was allowed to emerge, even if it was just for one quiet moment. It was warm, it was home, familiar and comfortable like a hundred sweltering summer days when smiles were abundant and laughter rode from her lips to the wind.

She evaded and swung again, her knuckles catching on him before she darted back, her palms open and waiting for him to return. 

“I don’t actually have any social obligations. However, I’m not quite done with you yet, as we have both offended each other greatly, so I’m afraid you’ll be hungry and thirsty for a few minutes longer.”

Suddenly, she rushed him and struck each of her limbs to curl and grasp and lock about him, giving him one free arm to move. Why was it that she was having to convince this man to fight her? Fucking ridiculous. And now he had a clear shot. Hit me. “You could punch me in the face. I could go all night—I never tire. And you’ll find my pain tolerance particularly annoying. We could end this now, and I’ll let you leave without staining that pretty outfit of yours. But first we will come to a few understandings that clearly you will not accept in words. There is not a person alive I will grovel for. There is not a person alive I will let speak to me like that. I am not your subordinate, I am not your daughter, and I am not your slave. I don't have to endure your cruelty if I do not wish it, and I do not wish it, so I will not. Do you understand?”

Instead of hitting her, he wiggled his arm from her hold and brought his free arm up, locking his hands to her neck and cranking her head down with a tight squeeze before hopping his other foot between her legs. That’s what she got for giving him an open shot. Cheeky bastard. And now, if she let go, he’d have her. Maybe she should just bite him and do away with everything else but teeth and nails—she was certainly close enough.

“Is that who hurt you? Is that who hit you? Is that who made you think you were worthless? Your father? Look, if you want to keep this up, I can hold us here, locked in this stalemate. I can keep this up all night just as easily as you can, so why don’t we talk instead? Keep calm this time, we can both talk about our fathers and the issues they left us.”

Aea bristled and endured the way his jaw moved against hers. She didn’t like it. Too close. This hold was a stupid fucking idea. What was wrong with this man? Why did everyone always want to talk? She didn't want to think about her father, that's why she was here in the fucking first place. Alexandros was making her think of Hektos and she wanted to hit him all the more for it.

Her father's head rolled from his shoulders, his corpse crumbled, and inside of the shock, there was relief. And then there was the realization that her father was absolutely and utterly gone—the only person in the world who could or would keep her safe from all others was no longer there. The only person who cared enough to teach her how to walk, how to cook, the only person who patched her up and knew all the spots she was ticklish in, the only person who understood her. Gone. She let it happen. And instead of sadness, the first thing she felt was fucking solace. 

Aea smiled and huffed out a laugh, “Is it you holding us, or me? You cannot take all the credit for this lock. A rather good one, I think, but I shouldn’t have left you with a free arm. I was hoping you’d swing with it, not sabotage our chances of a resolution.”

She shuffled her free foot back and looked for purchase, a hitch, a weakness in the space. Nothing. She was stuck until she could think of something else. Gods knew she didn’t want to stand like this all night.

And he'd posed such a ridiculous question; of course her father hit her. That’s what you did to things that made you angry. That’s how you made people stronger. That’s how you made people improve. Kaia didn’t get hit because she always did things right, and Aea got hit because she did things wrong. That, and Agolois didn’t have the stomach to hit Kaia to begin with. Kaia didn't need to get hit to do well, she just came by it naturally.

Had Aea’s father not hit Aea, she would never try hard enough, and then she really would be worthless. And Hektos had been right—it did make her stronger. She could withstand pain, and insult, and anything anybody threw at her. She just never met expectations enough that she didn’t need to be hit. Not anywhere near perfect. Not yet. 

Aea tried to crank Alexandros' head further in, but it wouldn’t budge. And she could have lifted a knee for his stomach, but he blocked any leg movement. A small, frustrated growl wormed through her chest and slowly ate away at the elation that usually filled her so thoroughly when she fought. “Gods Alexandros, am I not allowed to be angry with you? I never said I was worthless. Of course he hit me, what does that even mean? That's what fathers do.”

She shifted aside and tested her foot against his leg. If she rolled, he’d catch her and abort the movement. Fuck. “I don’t want to talk. I want to fight, then get drunk, then fight again, then go to sleep.”

She leaned her head against Alexandros’ shoulder, the muscles of her neck beginning to thrum beneath the hard squeeze of his palms. Her laughter was quiet, she didn’t know what she was laughing at. The butterflies in her stomach had gone, emptied until it was a vast and empty cavern once more. A place where nothing but the whistle of the wind might live. Alexandros had taken that warmth from her and she didn’t know how to get it back. Fuck, she was tired of this. Just fucking hit me, please. “If you wish to talk, fine, then tell me about your father. But I’m not sitting down. I can’t.”

If she stopped moving, she’d break. She knew it, felt it. Aea drew in a deep breath and stifled a sob. Keep going. She couldn’t. She was trapped and she couldn't move, but she couldn't give up, either. Stagnated and stalemated. 

All at once, without provocation, she dropped her guard and all the strength in her limbs sapped. She rested her forehead upon Alexandros’ shoulder fully, her arms hanging uselessly at her sides, her muscles sagging, breath puffing fast to keep everything within her control. Almost giving up, keeping it together by the sheer determination that she would not to let this man, or any other, have her vulnerability.

But if nobody would fight her, then what was the point of everything? That was her purpose, that was what she’d been raised to do, nothing more or less than that. What was a woman when you took away her identity, and then her purpose? She was nothing but what she had left.

Days and days of dirt, silence, and the spray of blood.

Nothing more than that ahead of Aea. That was what they did—creatures. They were born, they endured this life, and then they perished. Thirteen years was not a long time in retrospect, but it was to her. She was not so old, but she felt it. Thirteen years of her life dedicated to one thing, and nobody would give her a chance to fulfil her purpose.

She had none. She only thought she did.

Aea sniffed and took a deep breath, her exhale shaking out of her. She did not think she could go on like everyone else. How could she keep marching forward if the only thing that sat on the horizon was death, and nothing between here and there but pain, yet no reason for it other than suffering for the sake of suffering? Nothing. There was nothing to do, nothing to be.

She didn’t know why she thought there was. The mind willing the body to keep going just so it could keep living and thinking, maybe. Her father was gone, and she was free to live. But what was life? Forward, jab, forward, perry, eat, sleep, forward, jab, forward, block.

She did not know why she was crying again. Never sobbing, always just leaking. Only a crack to the surface, like dawn, but never enough to burn through and blaze as a sun. Reaching for catharsis, for a purging, a deliverance, a relief, a release, and yet never finding it. Not knowing where it was, what it looked like, how to grasp it. She did not know what she was looking for anymore, what was acceptable to feel or do or be, what was not.

If she was not a fighter, then what was she? Too harsh, she’d been told. Too soft, other times. Not honest, too forthcoming. Talked too much, yet spoke too little. Too morose, too happy. Too childish, too serious. Too bizarre, then too common. Too aloof, too open. Too bold, too cowardly. Too unyielding, too permissible. She was mixed up, confused, did not know how she should act or who she ever was to begin with. And who would want to be around somebody like that?

Dirt, silence, blood. She was so fucking tired of fighting. Of destroying. She wanted to create something, nurture it, but all she was good at was obliteration. But there was nothing else, had never been, would never be. It was this, or death, and she did not want to go yet. She didn’t know why she clung to life so tightly regardless of never joining it in truth. Scared of letting go, perhaps.

Aea moved away from Alexandros, wiping at her new tears with both hands, capping the flow of of them and stuffing them back into herself where they would remain. She took a breath and opened her mouth, to warn him, but no. He would find out that Kaia would reject him when she rejected him. And it would not be out of malice, but because Kaia knew what she wanted and what she wanted was not Alexandros. Not because of who he was, but how he saw the world, how he saw other people. 

Kaia would reject his ideas. Alexandros would not conceptualize that he was not his ideas, that his ideas were simply a product of living his life and were subject to change upon further living—he would think that because Kaia could not accept his ideas, she could not accept him, but that was not true.

Kaia would accept him, but his ideas of the world, his superego, and the way in which he went about fulfilling his human identity would have to change. And although Aea loved her cousin, and cared about her, it was not fair of Kaia to ask Alexandros to change.

Nor was it fair for Alexandros to ask Kaia to change.

Aea did not know about Alexandros, but she knew Kaia would never ask him to change because there was no incentive for her to need him. If she did not need him, then she did not have to attempt to endure his views of the world. She would simply walk away. 

Still, it would hurt Alexandros when Kaia said no. And Aea could not remember if she hated him or not, but even her worst enemy did not deserve pain of the heart. She could do nothing for that, but she could prepare him. Maybe it would do nothing, maybe it would help guard his soul. Maybe it would fall on deaf ears.

But he hadn't been listening thus far, why try to discuss abstract ideas of the mind and its functions with him now? Likely he would laugh at her and call her ignorant. She wondered how he thought the mind would work, how he thought two such different people could co-exist and accept each other as they were. She wondered if he even thought about the abstract and intangible values and ideals of this universe. Likely not. Likely he would think her as heretical as Dasmo believed her to be.  

Suddenly, a man’s voice clapped through the night, one she didn’t recognize, calling her faux name. That’s right. She wasn’t supposed to be Aea.

“Coming!” She called in a bright, accented voice that did not match at all the tired expression on her face.

She gave Alexandros a glance, wiped at her eyes again, and murmured, “Later, perhaps.”

Turning away from him, she walked toward the patio and into the light, smiling at the stranger standing above her on the paved stones. He was one of the men from the table; she’d glimpsed him before.

“Apologies, I don’t know where the time went,” she said.

Aea undid her braid and fingered it until it was loose. As she walked up the stairs to the patio proper, she combed it down with her fingers as well as she could. Her objective had not been fulfilled. She did not scare Alexandros away from Kaia, but perhaps Kaia would do that all on her own.

Aea was exhausted of acting as a barrier. People beat themselves upon her and still it was not good enough. Let them come, then. Kaia could fight her own battles well enough, she did not need Aea to do it for her. Beautiful, kind, perfect Kaia, who could do absolutely no wrong. Like a princess in a high tower, she was unreachable and lofty. Aea was very tired at standing at the bottom of the tower, warding off the dragons and lions who came for her flesh.

She didn’t know what else her life was supposed to be outside of that, but she was tired of standing guard. And maybe it was selfish, but she would rather death than a lifetime of protecting somebody if it meant that she could never leave the same valley for the rest of her life. No doubt Kaia was tired of Aea hovering over her shoulder—how could she prove herself if Aea never let anything dangerous near or always forged the path for her?

If nobody would value Aea’s blade or her skills, then what was her worth? She would never find out if she kept it attached to her cousin, but she knew she was worth more than rolling around in the grass with a strange man, begging him to fight her just so she could forget about real life for a while.

She’d been foolish and out of control. Alexandros had seen her at her worst and treated her as if she were a wild animal, so he did not deserve to see her at her best when she was past this night. 

Aea didn’t need him in order to feel alive, she didn’t need him for a roof or a meal, to make her life mean something, and she’d be damned if she let him believe for a second that she did. Kaia didn’t need him for those things, either, and he would learn that soon enough.

Aea and Kaia didn’t need Alexandros to swoop in like some Greek hero and save them. They could save themselves.

“Thank you, Lord…?” 

Stelios of Antonis. A handsome man, and certainly an unexpected one.

“It’s nice to meet you. I am—” Lilifjer of Nattergal, but call me Lili or Lady Adoni if that is easier. “You can call me Aea if you wish. No need to be so formal.”

Fuck it. Take her to the stocks, she’d have a fun figuring out how to wiggle out of trouble. Aea of Molossia. That felt good. Aea. That was her name.

She walked with the blonde man to the door and almost told him that she could find her own way so that she could sneak around the building to the carriages. But then she stopped and thought about it, truly thought. Was she ashamed of how unkept she looked to herself? No, not particularly. Should she care that anyone else took offence at her untidy state? No. She might even find the scandal of it amusing. Asia certainly would.

So, instead of slinking around the side of the building and cleaning herself up to be presentable as she’d done all her life, she merely opened the door of the Dikastirio Chamber and walked inside, giving no thought to the crimson pearls that dribbled from her arm to the floor.

(continued in Table Talk...)