The commotion below quiets. Like a sudden gust of wind had shaken the trees and leaves in its wake nothing but a deafening silence.
Slowly, the Queen gets up from his perch upon the bed, letting his grip on his axe handle slip, the handle leaning against the bed frame as he leaves it.
He breathes in and exhales out in increments. He may not have his husband's unnaturally great hearing, but he still knows how to pick up sounds, knows how to broaden his senses to more than just his immediate surroundings.
An approaching footfall echoes distantly behind his closed bedroom doors, fast approaching toward him. The sound echoes in different parts, as if the body is running in staggering, panicked momentum. The sound would come still from behind the doors but to the left then to the right, the left then right down the middle of the hall.
The doors rattle as the body knocks against it, the sound of the locks shifting. He keeps his stance firm, standing tall in the middle of the room.
A man appears before him. Battered, bloodied and wearing armour. Greying hair on his head and eyes that carry fear.
"Bruce!" He calls, letting out a sigh as if in relief, "Oh, I found you at last."
He takes in the man before him. He would've recalled this man's face if he were a suitor. Could it beāit couldn't be.
"My King?" He resolutely ignores the sudden stutter of his heart as the man's mouth lift into a smile.
There's something different about him. From his hair, greying, yes, but doesn't seem to carry the same waves and curls he so loves. His shoulders are broad but thinner, his arms longer.
The shape of of the man's face before him reminds him of an elongated vase more than the soft curved point that he can easily shape with his hands.
And his smile, his eyesāit carries the wrong lift, the wrong shade. His Kal's eyes never had the colour of grass and leaves in it. Kal's eyes always carried the sea, dark like wine.
That stutter in his heart changes to a clench, his lungs stiffen and his body tightens.
"Yes, my sweet, I'm home. I'm home." The man takes a step forward, in his armour and bloodied footwear creating tracks in the floor of the Queen's bed room.
Glancing upon the bed, he meets the man's eyes. "I am glad you're home, my love." He moves toward the bed and sits himself careful, making sure to tuck his flowing robes in the way he knows accentuates the lines of his hips and legs.
The strange man's gaze flit downward, darting before shooting up to meet the Queen's eyes once more. "I want our reunion to be sweet, love," he runs his palm along the top of the bed, over the sheet in the space beside him, "Do you not think it's time to change our wedding bed?"
Standing up again, he approaches the man, "Into a more... Appropriate bedding for our coupling?"
The stranger leans forward, lifting himself up on the tips of his toes as he tries to meet the Queen's chinārather unsuccessfully, though, however the man still tries.
Reaching out, he cups the man's face and, just as he suspected. This man is no husband of his. The shape of the man's face doesn't cup the Queen's palms like it should, like it always has been with his Kal, with his Jason.
A man claiming to be his husbandāhis kingāhas earned nothing but ire and anger from the Queen.
But, just then, over the man's head, he spots a silhouetted figure, moving through the dimly lit hall outside of his bed room. A slow, menacing, predator approaching.
Quickly, he goes back to looking upon the man in his hold, who now grins as if he'd partaken in a barrel of wine in a single sitting. Cheeks flushed and eyes dilated beneath the candle light, chewing on his bottom lip.
It's a rather disgusting display, if the Queen were asked honestly.
Giggling, the man seems to turn into putty in the Queen's hands, "Of course, of course! This wedding bed is rather off-putting now. The roots have overgrown so much. What was I thinking having this for a frame?"
"Then take it, we can have our bodies twine with our fur." He purrs as just in time for the man to lean away, and the shadow finally strike from the shadows where it was lying in wait by the door.
A lonely arrow used as a dagger, the man gasps and staggers.
Quickly, he lets the man go and darts for his axe. When he turns around, the man is facing whoever dared harm him, face twisted in a snarl.
"You littleā" He growls, only to be cut off as the sharp blade cuts cleanly across skin. His head flies.
It falls with a muffled, muted thump upon the floor, rolling along the roots of the tree. His mouth hanging open and eyes losing the glare it held seconds before.
The body the head has been detached from staggers, sways before it falls into a heap of limbs before them. A stump where his neck used to be connected to a head. Blood oozes, spurting out like a fountain as it gushes rouge across the floor.
A twitch, momentary and gone with a blink.
He can feel that tremble in his body, that moment of clarity as he stares at the lifeless body bleeding out, staining his feet in dirty crimson, still warm and stickyāstill clinging on to the last vestiges of a life.
The axe slips with a heavy thud and a metallic clatter. There's a splatter of blood soaking through the fabric of his robes, the sheerness of the top half of his clothes making it more apparent as the sticky liquid makes the fabric cling unpleasantly to his skin.
Another life, another body. He'd taken another one.
He'd taken another one when he swore a promise that the suitors he fell in the gardens were the last.
The person who'd come to his aid looks at him, wraps their fingers around his wrists and squeezes. "Ma?"
Air enters his lungs, cold in its abrupt return to his body. Blinking, he whispers, "Jason?"
"Ma." Just then, he finally notices the way his son is under-dressed, his torso wrapped in bandages, a spot of red blooming like a flower along his flank.
The panic sets in once again. "Jason! My sweet, sweet boy, who did this to you? Why are you standingāwho hurt you? You need to lie down, you're bleedingā"
"I'm all right." Jason says repeatedly through all the fussing, letting his mother take his face into large calloused hands, thumbs frantically rubbing along the skin of his cheeks and the space beneath his eyes in soothing gestures that he doesn't need but certainly wouldn't refuse. "I'm all right."
"You're bleeding." His mother ends with a whimper, sniffling as their eyes meet.
"I've been treated." Jason allows lips to press tenderly upon his forehead, eyes fluttering from the attention. He feels his body aching all over, and frankly, the wound at his side is throbbing but he hadn't escaped the physician's room just to be doted on. No. He came to his mother for a purpose.
And he doesn't want to stall any longerāhe's sure that he's being followed now, any way. He wants his mother to know before the big reveal.
Gently, he pushes back from his mother's hold, breathe held in his lungs as he leans away from the Queen's loving hands to stand on his own two feet.
"Ma..." He pauses, clears his throat, and ensures that his looking right into his mother'sāthe Queen's eyes as he starts once more, "I, the rightful prince of Ithaca, heir to the Great King, sacker of Troy, would like to have an audience with the wise Queen of Ithaca, if he shall permit it."
The Queen's eyes widen, body moving on instinct with a small step back. A hand coming up to place upon his chest as if in shock. "Iā..." But his mother only needs a breath, and suddenly, his shoulders straight, his back tall, his head held high. "Yes. I shall. Tell me o young Prince, what has happened upon your diplomatic mission. Speak, for your Queen asks of it."
Jason inclines his head in a bow before straightening up once again, meeting his mother's gaze steadily. "I have sailed the waters to the great and forlorn King Menelaus, who had spoken of his exploits with the sacker of Troy, King of Ithaca, Odysseus. I have gathered the information to conclude that your husband may still breathe the air we share, walk among the lands we stand upon."
A crack, then, as the facade softens the sharpened, rough edges of the Queen's face. "That'sā" His breath audibly stuttering with his stammer. Jason can feel his own heart, beating against his chest violently as he watches his mother's face awash in grief, sorrow, hope, and joy.
"That's joyous news, my Prince. We shall need to prepare for his arrival soon, then. We will need the servants to lay a feast. Gather the suitors for there is no need of them now that my husband has returned once more."
When no reply comes, the Queen's elation flattens, his body sagging, and Jason is suddenly too aware of the age on his mother's posture, the loose skin of his face, the silver among his hair.
The prince disappears as he goes to hide himself in his mother's arms, tucking his face against his mother's warm bosom, heedless of the blood no doubt rubbing off on his own skin. "Ma..." He says into the space between them, tightening his hold as his mother copies the action. Closing his eyes, he exhales rather frailly, "He'sāHe is... Father... Is here."
He can feel the way his hair is pressed upon, that familiar warmth of a cheek resting on the crown of his head. His mother's body trembles in his hold. "H-He's alive, Ma."
His mother's voice is deeper, echoing with his face tucked right up to the Queen's chest. "Oh... My Kal."
They stay, holding one another more a moment more, until Jason starts pulling away once again. "I'll send him to you, don't worry."
He's just about to start making out of the room, careful to not aggravate his wounded side even further, when his mother's voice calls out to him.
Turning, his mother remains standing, still surrounded in that pool of blood beneath his feet.
His mother's eyes sparkle and glisten, tears flowing out of ruddy cheeks as he smiles, parting his arms open. "I am so, so happy that you have returned to my arms."
Unable to help it, Jason comes running, back in to his mother's arm who readily catch him.
