A starter! @ofprevioustimes
Four days since Penthesilea came to Troy, and a brief fight with Achilles yesterday had ended with them parting as darkness fell. Today, she'd injured him so that his divine mother came to his rescue, snatching him off the field.
It hadn't been a lethal injury, she'd known that even as she thrust past his guard and in under his arm, into the soft, vulnerable, and most of all unguarded at that angle, armpit. If she'd had a couple more moments to change her angle and twist her sword, she could have done far more damage.
But alas, his Nereid mother was sharp-eyed and quick to act, and she'd been left behind on the battlefield, bloody sword in hand.
It was still a victory, and Troy was celebrating.
As was she, which meant she took the opportunity while the most stunning of the Trojan king's sons were entertaining the hall to approach the woman he could name himself husband of.
Daughter of Zeus, shining where she sat in the glow from the braziers and lamps. She was exactly all one might expect from what Penthesilea had heard of her - and more. Far more than simple words could describe by the sharp glance of her eye Penthesilea had caught in these past few days, the thick, dark hair bound up, teasing the imagination of what it would look like if let down.
Helen sat somewhat aloof, though still within the sphere of the royal family - the tension aimed at especially her husband, but her, too, wasn't difficult to pick up on, but for the moment it was gone, chased away by the clever dance of Alexander's fingers on the strings, his rich voice rising up. Her beauty sat her even more apart, especially when she was for the moment alone.
"A moment of your time," Penthesilea said as she walked up to Helen's chair, the only question in the arch of her brow as she glanced to the empty chair beside her.
She wouldn't sit down unless invited, of course, but that was the only deference truly offered. Penthesiea was relaxed and quiet only in respect to the skill on display out there in the middle of the hall. This close, there was a faint scent in the air, but it was in all honesty hard to tell if it belonged to Helen or might be lingering from her husband's presence.
