Memories in Mirrors
Deimos stood at the top of the mountain, the sun shining down on him, catching the light on his demigod armour. There was a small smile on his lips, and Thaletas’ heart fluttered; it fluttered, because he knew that smile was only for him. He only smiled when the two of them were there, on top of the mountain, alone together. And here they were, alone.
Deimos looked at him with those beautiful, untamed eyes, and the rest of the world melted away for Thaletas.
Closer. Closer.
They got so close that day.
------------------------------
Thaletas’ eyes opened, his fingernails digging into the old wood of the strategy table he was leaning on for support. Although the activity around his current garrison was low, you could never be too prepared.
He still remembered that trip. He remembered how deeply he had fallen in love with Deimos, a wild animal, and how he had to let that wild animal off his leash. Sparta would always call for him at the worst times, and it showed on Deimos’ face on Thaletas’ last day in Sparta.
Even now, around a year later, Thaletas wasn’t sure which of the two of them had more anger in their guts, all pointed at the officer, at Sparta, at the way they would get so close, then pull away, just at the last moment, like some sort of sick dance-
Thaletas rubbed his temples. No. No, all of this was just him reliving Deimos. How that man, even after cutting ties with the Cult, still managed to get himself in your head, like a weed. One that twists around your mind and just- keeps you there. Thinking about him.
“Get out of my head…” He mumbled to himself, even though it was like talking to a ghost, a ghost that was long gone. It would do nothing for the memories, or the butterflies that were birthed by Aphrodite herself in his stomach when he remembered Deimos’ goddamn smile.
“Er, sir?”
Thaletas’ eyes moved up, finding the soldier standing at his tent’s entrance. He was clad in Spartan armor, although his helmet was missing.
“What could be so important that you need to disturb me now?” Maybe his words themselves were harsh, but his tone was even, neutral almost.
The soldier shifted his weight from one foot to another, not meeting Thaletas’ eyes. “There’s a man, at the entrance. Er, of the fort. He wants to meet with you.”
Thaletas let out a soft sigh. “It’s late. I’m not currently taking visitors. Leave me.”
“Sir-” His voice raised an octave, and the soldier fiddled with his gauntlet. “You’re really going to want to see him. I think he killed a guard. Or two, you know, the ones patrolling down the road. Threatened the ones at the gate.”
Thaletas quirked an eyebrow. “What’d he say?”
“Huh?”
“To the guards at the gate.”
“Oh.” The soldier looked to be recalling something for a minute. “He said… that he’ll ‘run his sword through your groin’.”
Thaletas froze.
“Thaletas, if you don’t get back here this instant, I’ll-” Deimos huffed. “I’ll run my sword through your groin!” He glanced around the small clearing in the middle of the woods, a grin plastered to his face.
A red-faced Thaletas, who was hiding behind a large tree, couldn’t contain his laughter. He came stumbling out, smiling just as wide as his companion. “What?” He laughed some more after that, because who says that and tries to be intimidating about it?
Deimos didn’t answer him, not with words. He just kept laughing, too. They laughed, and Deimos smiled, and Thaletas forgot that the rest of the world existed.
Thaletas stood a little taller as he grabbed his sword off the table, putting it back in its sheath. “Bring me to him.”
The soldier seemed relieved when Thaletas said that; his shoulders dropped a bit, and he nodded frantically. “Right away, sir. This way, sir.”
He followed the soldier out of the tent, and down the path to the entrance. The whole way, everyone around them was silent. Not a single word was spoken, not a single noise uttered.
Thaletas was their leader. He should reassure them, tell them how everything was fine, to go back to their posts, or drinking, or laughing or pretending that they were guaranteed to live until the sun came up. But he had nothing for them. His throat was dry and sore, and his tongue limp.
Deimos. How did he figure out where Thaletas was? Why was he here? Was he still angry? Did he want to kill Thaletas? The officer didn’t doubt that he had the ability to not only kill him, but ruthlessly slaughter any other soldier that got in his way. Maybe he would.
He already had tonight, according to the soldier.
Thaletas let out a breath. He would handle this and keep his men safe.
As they reached the entrance, Thaletas’ pace slowed until he was stopped dead in his tracks. His arms felt weak, weak enough that he realized he probably couldn’t hold a sword properly anymore.
Deimos.
He looked different, yet the same. Same haircut, same beads, same build and the same armor, although with its fair share of new dents and scratches. Yet, he was so different; there were more scars on his arms and face, a particularly prominent one on his neck catching Thaletas’ eye. It looked more like a burn than a slash.
Deimos looked, just… tired. Older, too. Like the year between them had not been kind at all, and Thaletas did not doubt that, considering the other man’s life luck.
“You killed my guards.” It was a stupid thing to say; anything else would have been better, really. But Thaletas’ mouth was dry, and it took him long enough to find those words on its own.
Deimos just smiled, and Thaletas felt a little better. “They were in my way.”
A beast. An animal, who had ripped off its leash and was free. It was free, and yet here it was, crawling back to Thaletas like it needed him.
“Come. I’ll fix you a drink.”
Thaletas could feel his soldier’s stares on the back of his neck and out of the corner of his eye. Sure, they would question his choice, and he would, too; but Deimos’ eyes were sparkling, even in the dead of night, and Thaletas found it extremely difficult to turn away.
“I need one.”
“You look like it.” Thaletas led Deimos through the camp, towards his tent. The walk was not long, but the Spartan officer noticed Deimos’ eyes the entire way. They were glued on the other soldiers, watching them as they watched him.
Like animals, sizing each other up before one of them pounced, tearing throats and scratching at eyes.
Thaletas remembered what happened during his visit. He remembered how Deimos’ eyes seemed to almost glaze over, like he wasn’t there anymore, it was just his anger and his strength that lunged for Stentor.
He’s still surprised he had the courage and strength to restrain an unrestrained beast like that. Deimos was not human in that moment, and it still terrified Thaletas.
He snapped back to attention when they reached his tent. Pushing the flaps aside for Deimos, he stepped in after, taking a cursory glance out before closing the tent completely.
Deimos was already looking around, running his hands over a map here or a chest there. Thaletas half expected him to break something, but he was so delicate and gentle with everything that he touched, that the officer wasn’t quite sure if he was really touching anything at all.
“What a small tent, yet it feels like you, Thaletas.” His voice was low, and soft.
Thaletas’ breath caught in his throat.
Deimos.
The man who spoke like he knew everything about Thaletas, and maybe he did, in a sense. Maybe he had said enough, done enough, during their time together that Deimos could anticipate his every move. Maybe he knew before they even properly met. It didn’t matter, because the way he said those words, it made his heart flutter.
“Why are you here, Deimos?”
Deimos let out a pleased hum at the sound of his name, taking a seat on the top of Thaletas’ personal chest. “I was in the area, heard of a Spartan garrison with a certain Polemarch leading his men. I thought, ‘to Hades, he left me once, might as well pop in and say hello’.”
Thaletas frowned, sighing softly. “You’re a horrible liar. And you’re guilt-tripping me.”
“You fucking left. We were getting somewhere, and-” He shook his head, and Deimos’ face when blank again. “I’m not angry. I’m learning to not be angry, Thaletas.”
“You’re getting somewhere.”
He smiled, just a bit, at Thaletas. Then, Deimos turned his attention to the chest he was sitting on. “What’s in here?”
“Personal objects.” Thaletas crossed the tent to Deimos’ side. “Some drachmae, maybe an old sword or a dagger…”
“The drawing?”
The drawing. The one of Thaletas that Deimos had sketched during the second-and-last week of his trip to Kassandra’s home. It was a stunning portrait, really; even if Thaletas thought that Deimos made him look a little too pretty.
Even still, he managed to capture every line, every scar, the glint in Thaletas’ eyes and the way his lips upturned ever so slightly when he didn’t want you to know that he was really enjoying himself.
“Of course. But it’s not in there.”
“Where is it?” Deimos turned back to Thaletas, crossing his legs slowly.
Thaletas almost fainted at the sight.
“I, uh-” He cleared his throat. “It’s in my armor. Here.” He dug his fingers into the space between his chestplate and his tunic, pulling out the folded up drawing. “I like having it on me. Gives me good luck in battle.”
“Does it now?” Deimos was grinning, and Thaletas’ head throbbed comfortably at the sight. “I wonder how that works.”
The officer put the drawing back, dipping his head down so Deimos couldn’t see his blush. “Why, uh, why are you really here, Deimos? There must be an actual reason.”
Deimos sighed slowly. “I heard you were hunting an old friend of mine.”
Thaletas’ eyebrows furrowed. “Who-”
“Kassandra,” He jumped in before Thaletas could finish his sentence. “She told me you were searching for an Athenian Cultist. Nefeli.”
The officer nodded slowly, taking in every last bit of Deimos’ words.
“I know where she is. She’s around here, sitting on Cultist wealth.”
Thaletas breathed. “You’re joking.” He leaned against the table for support, tracing his fingers over his helmet next to him as he stared at Deimos. “That’s not funny. We’ve been searching for over two fucking weeks!”
Deimos held up his hands in defense. He was still smiling, but just barely. Thaletas didn’t remember him smiling much until the end of his trip. Had he smiled after Thaletas was gone? Or was he saving it until now, when they could reunite? Or was he even really smiling at all, or was this just an act he'd learned in their time apart? Thaletas particularly despised that last thought.
He breathed heavily.
“I’m not joking!” Deimos didn’t seem to notice the inner war Thaletas was fighting; or, if he did, he didn’t bring it up. “She told me where she would go if things went South. I consider their current situation quite ‘south’.”
Thaletas swallowed hard. “What do you know about her?”
“Only everything.” Deimos ran his fingers over the wood of the chest. “She’s captured and killed many Spartans, she’s always had a particular distaste for you men clad in red. Her father was Spartan, and he defected from the cult, so I can see why.”
He nodded. Any information is good information, even if he didn’t particularly care about what her daddy was and what he did.
“She won’t have many guards, not like she used to. After I left, parts of the Cult crumbled. The men and women who specifically followed her had diminished in numbers.” Deimos shrugged.
Finally, something he could actually work with. Thaletas grinned. “Where is she?”
“In the mountains, north of here. I’ll take you to her hideout.” He paused, his smile slowly dissipating as he stared Thaletas down. Thaletas knew he wasn’t really looking in his eyes. “On one condition.”
“And what’s that?”
“I get to kill her.”
Thaletas went quiet for a long, long moment. He nodded slowly, taking more time to stall before speaking. “Deimos, are you sure that’s what you want?” His voice was low and even, a warning.
“Goddammit, Thaletas, yes!” He slammed his fist onto the desk, and Thaletas winced at the noise. “Yes. She… she pretended to be my friend. Got close to me. She wasn’t. She was just making sure I was cemented in the Cult. That they could-” His sentence trailed off.
Thaletas frowned, standing up. He took slow steps towards the other man, his hand awkwardly half outstretched, half not. “Deimos… I just don’t know if revenge is what you should be going for-”
Deimos stood up, moving away from Thaletas before he could touch him. “No, no. See, I should never have come. You’re still trying to tell me what I can’t and can do, like everyone else. I’m my own fucking person. I’m not Alexios, I’m not some soft, broken man- I can handle those fucking people! I handled them my whole life!”
Deimos breathed heavy, and then his shoulders slumped. Hiding his face in his hands, the man groaned softly.
Thaletas sighed, walking over to him. Gently, he placed a hand on Deimos’ shoulder, and when he wasn’t shrugged off, he brought the broken pieces of a man to his chest.
“Breathe.”
Deimos did so, his chest rising and falling as he inhaled and exhaled softly.
“We’ll kill her. Together.” Deimos’ voice was slightly muffled against his chest, but he heard every word, every meaning and syllable.
Thaletas felt a cold, scarred palm on the top of his hand. He smiled, just a bit.
“Together, then.”
They stayed like that for a moment, until Deimos pulled away. He looked Thaletas in the eye, any hopes of getting a smile out of him one last time that night gone when Thaletas saw the look on his face. It was one of concern, like he had something to tell him, but was debating in his head. Gods forsaken him, Thaletas suddenly realized how much he hated seeing Deimos in pain like that. An internal kind of pain, one he could not remedy, even with Sparta's best field doctor.
He asked the question that had weighed heavily on his mind during the entirety of the conversation, hoping to at least give Deimos something to say. "Why kill my guards outside, then?"
"That's the problem, Thaletas..." Deimos moved completely away from him, rubbing his wrists. "They recognized me."
"Huh?" He felt like an idiot, saying that, but Thaletas was momentarily lost.
Deimos let out a breath, clearly holding in frustration. "From the Cult. They wanted to take me in, as a sign of good faith to the Sages. I had to slaughter them, and fuck Thaletas, I didn't want to." He looked at his hands before clenching them into fists.
"Wait-" Thaletas held up a hand, and Deimos turned to face him again. "So what you're saying is..."
Deimos nodded, his eyes steely and cold. "You have traitors among your ranks, my dear."