Mother. Goddess.

"Scyros blazed hotter than any other kingdom," Achilles said, wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes, "yet, nothing could have prepared me for the damp furnace that lay in wait for me on Mt. Pelion."

"No relief at all? Odd, for such a mountainous region."

"Yes. The winds missed that assignment." His palm covered my forehead and I felt his fingers tremble softly upon my temple. I looked up at him, his blue eyes staring down at me in mirth. His hand slinked down my face, aiming coyly for my right breast. I quickly grabbed the intruder, placing his hand back on my head. He pinched my chin and conceded his hand to remain on my hairline. "You only deny yourself…" he mused softly.

"You will not stop…" I whispered back.

He shrugged.

"I am scarcely clothed on the beaches of Troy, Achilles, and you properly garbed. I will not be found disheveled with you."

"With me how? On you? In you?" His smile grew wider as my face grew hotter. "I am not baking myself in that damn tent for decency's sake."

I laughed at this. "Oh, child of the Mediterranean breeze. This is frankly nothing."

"Child…she calls me. Well, princess of the East's fire, I am merely a visitor of this land of yours."

He was, was he not? Merely a visitor. One that I could not escape. One that I did not want to escape.

"Mt. Pelion?"

"Oh, yes. Hades' playroom. Chiron struck Ajax and I whenever we winced from the sweat burning our eyes. 'Builds character' he said. 'Builds character,"…every man in power uses that same adage when they cannot think of a better reason for their implementation of irrational torture." He looked down at me, rubbing the faint stubble on his jaw, a look of playful realization dawning across his features. "I have uttered that same line to Patroclus far too many times."

Smiling, I turned my head to the left to see the waves of the water ebbing and flowing towards me, leveled with my head. Achilles suggested we escape the heat of the day by the waters. My dress was bunched at my waist, in his guise of helping me cool down. To my comfort, we were perfectly hidden from other soldiers. Although, a number of women collected jugs of water from the Scamander, away from us but still quite visible. A hint of guilt had washed over me as I took in the sight of these women, battered by the day's work and their men, as I was enveloped in the arms of Achilles, without worry nor fear.

"What if I had perched myself behind another warrior's tent, that first day? Somebody evil?" I blurted.

"Am I not evil by your standards, Ismene?" he asked cheekily.

"No, you are not," I immediately answered. Sincerely, he was not.

The waves sang their trickling song as his mind ticked.

"I would never have known you," he said matter-of-factly. "Another would have claimed you. I do not know…you might have easily been killed."

I sat up, pulling by dress over my breasts. "No light in adversity, for me, at least."

His hand pulled my head closer and his lips were on mine, deeply.

"I would never have known you," he said, pulling away from me. In his eyes, I saw all of trepidation, anxiety, wonder, astonishment.

Love.

I settled into his arms. "Women have a way of complicating things?" I said, repeating Odysseus' old quip.

I would have missed it minutes later, in the soft crashing of waves. Barely above his whispering lilt, he responded.

"No."

There was much that I kept from Achilles, and I was sure that there was much that he kept from me. I preferred it this way. It seemed a necessary caution. The same air that lights is the same air that snuffs. If it were all to crash, I would not leave myself grasping for nothing. Not again.

That night, after our lounge by the sea, I called on Cybele. My mother's goddess. My goddess. The mother of Phrygia. I had never prayed directly to her within the two years that I had been on the Greek beach. I felt that I must keep her clean from this war, from this love, for my betrayal. I was not ashamed enough and I did not have the will to feign anything of that kind.

Yet, I called on Cybele that night. I stood waist-deep in the Scamander, in the blank of night. My body wrapped in black, my head veiled in black, my hair framed upon my shoulders. My neck was bent accordingly to the moon, which shone so bright, I knew in my heart that she was looking down at me. Mother. Goddess.

I could feel the mud of the banks digging into my toes as I practiced the ritual that I had performed so enthusiastically as a young girl in the sea of Propontis. The ritual that my mother, father, and brother watched me perform every seven days. The Call to Cybele, mother goddess.

I felt the water ripple as another entered the river.

"Kuvava…Kuvava…"

I trembled as I heard the familiar call.

"Kuvava…" he said, as he joined me, his voice growing a hair above a whisper.

It was the Lydian name for Cybele. I had heard the name many times as I had prayed with the Lydian settlers in Troy, before the war.

He stood by me now, the revolutionary priest. I could feel a sense of comfort due to our mutual worship of Cybele.

Yet, I did not share this comfort.

I looked behind me to see Eione, calm in her own meditation. More importantly, I faintly traced the tent of Achilles in the background.

Did he believe that this outing of mine was purely spiritual? He could taste and pinpoint any sign of weakness. And, I was full of it. He would have sensed it.

This I could not hide from him.

The humming continued, "Kuvava…kuvava…" The priest turned to me, urging my eyes forward in worship.

"Cybele," I drawled in my native tongue, "Cybele…Cybele…Cybele…

Protect Achilles…

Thank you for reading! :)

So, I'm going to pick back up thanking reviewers by name. I really liked doing that before I got lazy :D

Mia - thanks so much. I really want to EXTEENNNNDDDD the storyline.

Vanessa R and gw82 - thank you. I like adding descriptions, dialogue and things that really make it relatable or as much as I CAN make it relatable.

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