I am Agony
A Greek Tragedy
Disclaimer: Pieces of dialogue used in this fic belong, rightfully, to Sophocles. As for the characters I think they're pretty much public property.
A/N: This story had been rated for slash (two males in a romantic/sexual relationship) and sexual content. I anticipate outcries from many hardcore Greek mythologians but DO NOT PANIC. All apparent mistakes will, I hope, be satisfactorily accounted for. If you read to the very end of this story and are still unhappy with my accuracy then feel free to tell me so. Also, since this has no particular explanation, I have messed about with timelines something chronic, just to warn you.
If I've done this properly, it should comply with Aristotle's definition of Tragedy. Check it, if you can be bothered.
Part 1 - Hamartia
Apollo watched, a cruel smile twisting his finely carved face, from the slopes above Thebes, as Oedipus ranted and raged at his prophet. Oh Oedipus, each cry of "Liar" digs your grave that much deeper.(1) His smile grew as every word the King uttered only compounded his lies and took him closer to the fate the God had planned.
He straightened slightly as an arm curled around his shoulders and he felt the brush of hot breath against the back of his neck. "Why do you delight so in tormenthing Oedipus? He is a warrior, destroyed of Hera's Sphinx. He makes a noble king, and is bloodline in that of Thebes' founder. What is your sport in fighting him?" Even as the sweet, firm voice went silent, Apollo felt the lips that issued it, trailed softly over his neck, pushing headily against his cool skin. Before he could allow himself to be caught in the sensation, however, his face hardened, the smirk leaving his mouth, and he reached up to pull Ares' arm away. Infuriated by the God's attempt to provoke him. Curse him, it was working...
"Let Athene play at helping heroes, not I. He calls himself my champion, freely proclaims that he is my loyal and valued servant, but I shall see that he pays for such lofty ideas. He only drives the sword deeper into his own chest with such arrogance and pride. He gives himself names about his worth."
Ares expression was equally unamused. "He is not a toy, Apollo." He firmly returned his hand to the other's shoulder, pulling him around so that he was forced to stare into the War God's gold-framed face. But Apollo stared back, quite unshaken, his gaze as cold and solid as a marble statue.
"And you, Ares, you are one to lecture me on playing with the fates of men? You? You will make me laugh, Ares. No God is more destructive than you, though I fear you take shall compliment from my insult."
Ares made no answer and so Apollo continued. "Oedipus, is he any less a toy than those armies that you drive pointlessly into each other's swords? Or the brave souls that Athene dangles in the jaws of death, just to see if they can worm their ways out?" He waited, unflinchingly, for Ares' answer, if he could find one.
"That is entirely different. My armies and Athene's champions are given a fighting chance!" He hated to defend the wretched wench and her chosen pastimes, but proving Apollo wrong was just more important at this moment in time. "Your dallying with Oedipus is no more sporting than a cat torturing an injured mouse. The man is already caught; you simply wait for him to throw himself under your claws."
Apollo was growing sick of this impudent bahaviour. Eyes narrowed into a fierce glare, he roughly pushed Ares' hand from his shoulder and took a step back from him. "I will not be spoken to like this Ares. You are so infatuated with your precious Oedipus," He spat the name, expelling the ugly word from his perfectly sculpted lips. "Then you can do what you can to deliver him from his fate. But it is sealed, War God. Your interference will be futile. You would do better to leave me to my amusements, such as they are, and not make more of an enemy of me. Zeus knows, you do not need more or worse enemies than you already have. Go back to your sniping, quarelling nymphs and seek you own diversions. Cease to meddle in mine." With that, he summoned his flaming chariot out of the air and vanished upon it, into the clouds, leaving Thebes and the staring Ares behind him.
A/N: More to come soon, if I don't have too much work to do. Hope you're liking so far. Keep an eye out for the next chapter "Peripeteia". Review, if you'd be so kind. Thankies .
(1) The Greeks more often cremated people rather than bury them, but traitors and others not considered worthy of funeral rites would not receive the same treatment.