𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑 ᵉᵖⁱᶜ ᵐᵘˢⁱᶜᵃˡ

˚＊✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・⚔️・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ＊˚

Chapter 34. GLIMMERS OF REDEMPTION

❝True redemption is when guilt leads to good❞

˚＊✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・⚔️・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ＊˚

Oenone led you and Neoptolemus through the winding halls of the Trojan palace, effortlessly navigating the corridors and avoiding prying eyes.

Thanks to her guidance you hadn't been spotted again—though the distant murmur of whispers carried through the air, the voices of palace servants and passing guards exchanging worried gossip: Be on the lookout for a Trojan soldier and a servant girl—rumors say they stole from the royal heirloom room.

Both you and Neoptolemus winced as Oenone flicked a knowing glance your way.

“You two wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Absolutely not.”
“Haven’t a clue.”

You and Neoptolemus spoke at once.

Oenone raised an eyebrow.

Thankfully she didn’t push the matter. Instead she turned a corner, leading you both through another winding hall.

As the walk continued, though, you began to notice how....distracted Neoptolemus was.

You didn’t bother paying attention to the hushed conversation between the two, but you did catch the way he hung on to her every word. The Son of Achilles' usual confident smirk softened, his bright green eyes bordering on filled with wonder.

If Oenone noticed she didn’t react.

After a few more turns and a flight or two of stairs, Oenone finally led you both into a secluded part of the palace, the air heavy with something ancient and divine.

You exhaled sharply as your eyes took it all in.

The Room of Sacreds. 

It was a grand room—larger than any you had passed. The ceilings arched into domes, their surfaces carved with divine scripture, ancient prayers woven into the very bones of Troy.

Marble pedestals lined the grand chamber, each holding items of reverence: divine weapons, celestial armor, sacred statues...all artifacts infused with the presence of long past.

The golden light of oil lamps flickered, casting shifting shadows over polished stone floors, making the entire room feel as if the Gods themselves were watching.

You and Neoptolemus exchanged a silent impressed glance.

Oenone barely spared the treasures a look as she led you both toward a smaller unassuming door nestled between towering pillars. “Through there,” She lifts a delicate hand and motion to it. “You will find the Palladium....”

Her words falter as her gaze trail off, locking onto something just beyond you both.

She froze.

A shudder ran through her as her breath hitched. “...Paris?”

Her voice was barely above a whisper, yet it struck like a deafening crack in the silence.

Your body tensed at the name. Neoptolemus stiffened beside you. Both of you whipped around, following her line of sight.

Just a few feet away was another doorway. There was no door, nothing obscuring the full view of what lay inside.

There—wrapped in pristine linen, prepared for the funeral pyre—was Paris.

The Prince’s body rested on a marble bier; his golden hair swept back as if he were merely sleeping, his face serene. A faint divine sheen lingered over him, suspending him in unnatural preservation—the same unearthly glow that had surrounded Patroclus’ body back when Achilles had refused to bury him for days in grief to let go.

Surrounding Paris were treasured items that would burn with him when his funeral was finally held—bows, arrows, fine silks, golden goblets—symbols of his once-princely life.

But none of that mattered to Oenone.

Her breath shattered into sobs, body stumbling forward before her knees nearly gave out. You caught her just in time, gripping her shoulders firmly as she clutched her chest in raw guttural grief.

Tears streamed down as she said his name between her cries. "It's my fault."

You began to panic.

"Okay—okay—shhh! Shhh!" You tried to soothe, glancing around nervously, praying to every God that no one had heard her cries. "Oenone keep your voice down—"

“I could have saved him!” she wailed, staring at his still form with wild eyes. “I—I refused to heal him when I knew I could—I knew I could have saved him! For Gods' sake I was blessed by Apollo himself!"

Her voice broke into a ragged gasp, her sobs spiraling into something dangerous and hysterical.

“I left him! I let him—”

You held Oenone's shoulders and shook her to snap her out of it. “Oenone listen to me—”

“He was in agony! Taking his last breath alone—”

You had enough.

The words left your mouth before you could think.

“It was me!”

Oenone hiccuped, her sobs halting for a moment as she blinked at you confused.

“I’m the one who shot him.”

Silence.

Oenone's tears stilled as her eyes locked onto yours. "You..." Her voice wavered. “You shot him?”

You exhaled sharply, your grip loosening. A crooked smile found its way to your lips as you admitted, “Yeah. Shot him right in the dick.”

It was quiet.

Then—

A sniffled giggle.

It was small, breathy, and broken...but it was real. “That was a good aim,” she murmured, wiping at her wet cheeks.

Neoptolemus winced, shifting awkwardly with grimace as if he could physically feel what you said. Relieved, you grinned and began to laugh along with her.

But midway through her laughter, it soured. Her breath hitched again and the giggles collapsed once more into sobs. She crumpled against you, crying even harder.

"Oh Gods. He must have suffered." Her hands fisted against her chest. “I let him suffer. I let him die thinking I didn’t love him.”

Your smile vanished as a wave of exhaustion rolled over you. You pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaled deep—then swiftly pushed Oenone into Neoptolemus’ arms.

The teen startled, arms instinctively wrapped around the nymph to steady her as she sniffled into his chest.

“You.” You pointed at him. “Quiet her down,” You flicked a wary glance toward the open door where Paris lay. "Before we get caught.”

Neoptolemus looked panicked. “H-How am I supposed to—?!”

“You’re charming. Figure it out.” You clap a hand on his shoulder, already turning toward the door leading to the Palladium. “Gotta go steal a statue.”

And with that, you disappeared behind the small ornate doorway.

Neoptolemus was desperate as tried to console Oenone. “Hey hey it’s—uh—okay! Y-you shouldn’t cry!” he stammered, patting her too quickly as if she were a startled horse. "I—I mean not that you shouldn’t cry! But like you shouldn’t cry for him!”

Oenone hiccupped. “I killed him...” she whimpered.

Neoptolemus winced. “Technically you didn’t. You just uh...didn’t save him! There’s a—there’s a difference!”

Oenone wailed even louder at that causing Neoptolemus’ eyes to widen in alarm.

“O-Okay! Not what you wanted to hear! Gods—um—look!" He gently gripped her arms, pushing her back slightly so he could look at her. "Paris was an idiot alright? A complete, absolute idiot!"

Oenone blinked up at him startled.

"You think it’s your fault that he didn’t cherish you?" Neoptolemus continued, voice growing heated. "He was the fool who let you go! He was the one who didn’t see what was right in front of him! He had something rare, something precious, and he just—he just—"

Neoptolemus suddenly stopped himself with a shaky breath.

Oenone was staring at him now, her teary, brown eyes wide as if she were seeing him for the first time.

Neoptolemus’ face burned.

“I—uh—” He cleared his throat. “I just—I mean—loyalty matters ya know? Love is being devoted. It—it shouldn’t be—” He gestured vaguely, scowling. “Whatever Paris did!”

His grip on her tightened slightly, his fingers curling into the damp fabric of her dress.

"I know that much. Even if I've only known you for minutes, I can tell you are worth more than Paris ever deserved."

Silence.

Neoptolemus suddenly realized how close they were—her tear-streaked face inches from his, their bodies pressed together from the way he'd grabbed her.

His ears went red.

"I—I mean—" he stammered, his confidence breaking instantly as he quickly looked away. “You’re—uh—you’re really pretty too by the way. In case that wasn’t clear. But uh, not that that’s important or anything—”

Oenone’s lip trembled but this time she smiled faintly. “You’re right,” she murmured softly.

Neoptolemus visibly perked up.

Oenone wiped at her eyes, voice growing steadier. “I was the one by his side. I was his first love. And yet…” She exhaled as she gave a brighter smile. “Thank you.”

Neoptolemus grinned. “Yeah! Well—I mean—of course I’m right,” he said quickly, rubbing the back of his head. “Glad you finally—”

“Neoptolemus!”

Neoptolemus turned at the sound of your urgent voice, watching as you stepped out from the sacred chamber. Your arms were wrapped around a wooden figure.

Neoptolemus blinked.

“That’s it?” He had expected something...grander. Something huge. “It’s so small.” It stood no taller than a child, the emotionless face of Athena carved into the wood with basic detail.

You raised a brow. “You want to carry it instead?”

He hurried forward.

As his hands touched the statue a strange heaviness settled over him. A sense of foreboding—as if the statue itself was aware of betrayal unfolding. Neoptolemus shivered.

The weight of Troy’s fate pressed down on his shoulders.

You opened the messenger bag, shifting it so the statue could slide inside.

Neoptolemus hesitated. "Will it even fit with the—uh—bodies?"

“Oh yeah.” You didn’t even look up. “I said it has unlimited space for a reason~"

"...Right."

"Besides," you casually add, "I dumped the bodies where the statue was sitting, so it balances out."

Neoptolemus froze. "...you what?"

You huffed as you shove the rest of the Palladium into the messenger bag. “Let’s go golden boy.”

Neoptolemus shook his head with a mutter under his breath but ultimately followed suit. With the statue now secure, you exhaled, dusting yourself off before grinning up at him. “We did it!”

Neoptolemus grinned back.

A successful mission deserved a quiet celebration. The two of you exchanged a high five, the slap of your palms ringing through the otherwise sacred air of the chamber.

Neoptolemus, grinning wider, turned toward Oenone. “High five—”

His face drained of color.

You followed his gaze and felt your stomach drop.

She was standing at the ledge of a window, facing the open sky as the sheer curtains billowed around her, her figure silhouetted against the soft glow of the moon and stars.

"Oenone?" Neoptolemus’ voice cracked slightly.

She turned to face you both, her watery smile illuminated by the moonlight.

"I'm sorry..." she whispered.

Neoptolemus inched forward, hands raising slowly, trying to calm her. “Oenone—"

"He was the only one who ever truly loved me," she murmured. Her eyes glistened with fresh tears. “And I let him die.”

She lifted her arms and spread them wide. Neoptolemus moved before she even fell.

“OENONE!”

The nymph toppled backward and Neoptolemus lunged. His fingers caught the fabric of her dress, yanking her into his arms, his hand cradling the back of her head as he twisted midair—positioning his body to take the full impact of the fall as they tumbled out the window.

Your breath caught painfully in your throat.

The sacred chamber was high. Too high.

You bolted, your body moving before your mind could, rushing to the window and gripping the stone ledge as you frantically searched below expecting to see—

The surface of a pond....

A fucking pond.

Moonlight shimmered off the water’s surface, illuminating the two figures as they break through the surface. Oenone's head appeared first, gasping, before Neoptolemus surfaced right after, his arms still wrapped protectively around her.

Your legs weakened, hands tightening against the sill as as your body tried to process the sheer emotional whiplash.

The palace gardens—of course. The sacred chamber had been positioned along the palace gardens where hundreds of plant life and ponds scattered throughout.

Neoptolemus spat water from his mouth, coughing loudly before tilting his head up toward you. Even from this distance he could hear your exasperated shout.

"ARE YOU SHITTING ME?!"

Your hysterical laughter was cut short when the sudden slam of a door echoed behind. You whipped around to see multiple Trojan guards pouring in, swords drawn, one of them pointing directly at you.

"Halt!"

You did not.

You scrambled onto the windowsill, gripping your messenger bag tightly.

One guard realized immediately what you were about to do. "Archers!" he barked.

An arrow shot through the air just as you leaped.

The last thing Troy heard was your strangled scream of—

"FUUUUUUUCK!"

*･:*:★☽✧⚔️ BONUS  ⚔️✧☾★:*:･*

The early morning of pre-dawn hung heavy over the Greek camp, but Penelope barely noticed. She paced restlessly outside the entrance, arms folded tight, her fingers digging into her arms.

By now she was well past patience.

Standing with her was a cleaned-up Nestor, his beggar’s disguise now discarded in favor of more appropriate attire. Polites, his usual nervous energy worse than ever, kept shifting from foot to foot as he fidgeted with rim of his glasses.

Next to him was Eurochylus, the as always stoic soldier standing in composed silence as he observed the distant horizon. Diomedes and Menelaus, both with their hands resting on their weapons, exchanged occasional looks, their postures wary.

Agamemnon was also present (much to Penelope’s irritation). The Mycenaean King, wine cup in hand, lounged as if this were some kind of gathering rather than an anxious wait for a dangerous mission’s outcome.

"It’s been hours," he huffs dramatically. “Should've known not to send them. The brat’s eighteen and Gods know our dear Second-in-Command is barely holding it together.”

Penelope’s eye twitched. “Shut up Agamemnon.”

And he actually did....

For a moment.

A sudden splash echoed nearby, but before anyone could turn toward the sound, Agamemnon resumed his whining, launching into another tirade.

“Seriously, why did we send them?” He swirled the wine in his cup lazily. “Sneaking into Troy shouldn’t be that hard—unless they’ve both been caught, in which case, congratulations to them for being the first Greek soldiers to die dressed as wome—”

"You never stop complaining do you?"

The sharp bite of your voice cut through the air like a blade causing the group to jump in surprise, all turning at once to see you standing before them.

And Gods you were pissed.

Your maiden disguise was drenched; fabric clung to your frame as small puddles formed at your feet, trailing behind you with every sluggish step you took forward.

Smudged makeup streaked down your face, black trails from kohl lining your eyes mixing with what little remained of the rouge on your cheeks. And your hair—your hair. It had already begun to frizz and puff out wildly making you look half-mad.

You looked like a drowned corpse that had crawled out of the sea out of sheer spite.

Agamemnon was the first to snap out of his shock. With a half-chuckle he raised his cup up in a mock toast. “You look like shit.”

You scowled.

You were tired, you were cold, and now was not the time.

Menelaus quickly intervened. "What he means is...” He sends his brother a warning glance before turning to you with a measured, diplomatic tone. "How did retrieving the Palladium go?”

You exhaled through your nose. Saying nothing, you simply unfastened your messenger bag, tilted it just enough for the collected water to pour out onto the ground in a heavy rush.

Agamemnon made a disgusted noise as his sandals narrowly missed getting splashed.

Ignoring him, you reached into the bag, moving your hand carefully—every small movement sent a aching throb through your body. The group others watched in stunned silence as you finally pulled out the sacred statue.

You tossed it at Menelaus like it was a sack of grain.

The Spartan fumbled, cursing under his breath before gripping it properly. He blinked at the relic, then blinked at you, hesitation creeping into his voice. “...That still doesn’t explain why you’re wet.”

From beside him Nestor hummed, "Yes...I surely don’t recall leaving you two near any bodies of water."

Your expression soured as you rubbed your temple.

“We were nearly caught by guards.” That made a few expressions tighten. “Luckily,” you dryly continued, “we had a readily available freshwater nymph who can teleport between bodies of water.”

You tilted your head toward the horse stables. Several eyes followed the motion to where the giant water trough sat, its surface still rippling from movement.

There was a pause.

The only sound being Agamemnon taking another a slow sip of wine.

Polites took a step forward, concern creeping into his expression. “Wait—if you were almost caught...were you injured?”

Your exhausted posture stiffened. Slowly, you shifted your messenger bag to the other side.

A sharp intake of breath rippled through the group as the sight of an arrow embedded deep into your left side.

The arrowhead was lodged just below your ribs, the shaft having been snapped off, leaving only a few inches of wood protruding. Your drenched clothing had done little to hide the wound, faint traces of washed-out red still visible against the fabric.

Penelope and Polites reacted instantly.

“You’re hurt?!” Polites cried.

Penelope’s eyes darkened, already reaching for you. “You should have told us sooner!”

You held up a hand before either could get close, your soft tired smile doing little to ease their worry. “I’m fine,” you assured them. “It didn’t hit anything vital. Nothing a little rest and my healing salve won’t fix.”

Though clearly unconvinced they relented (for now). Seeing the conversation settled, you turned, ready to disappear into Achilles’ tent and sleep for a century.

"Wait!"

Polites' nervous voice called out again making you pause. He swallowed thickly under your unimpressed and very exhausted gaze, wringing his hands awkwardly before stammering out “...W-where’s Neoptolemus? Did he...did he die?”

Your scowl deepened as your teeth clenched. “No...”

Polites exhaled in relief.

“But oh how I wish he did.”

The group barely had time to question what you meant when a light giggle cut through the air.

Heads turned in unison.

Emerging from the shadow's edge, drenched and dripping, were Neoptolemus and Oenone. The nymph was still nestled securely in his arms as they grinned at each other, their faces alight and dazed with expressions of infatuation.

Diomedes was the first to break the silence, his voice flat with disbelief. “…What in Zeus' name?”

The spell broke.

Both Neoptolemus and Oenone freeze, their giddy little bubble bursting as they snapped their heads toward the group.

Oenone immediately flushed realizing there was an audience. A deep blue filled her cheeks as she tried to squirm free, hands pressing lightly against Neoptolemus' chest. “O-oh! My apologies!” she stammered embarrassment.

She moved to step away, but Neoptolemus was completely unfazed. If anything his grip tightened. His arms held her firmly against him in refusal to let her go.

Oenone gasped lightly at that, blinking up at him in shock before promptly melting, releasing a soft dreamy sigh as she relaxed into his hold and nuzzled into his shoulder.

Half-distracted, she introduces herself. “My name is Oenone of Mount Ida...” she murmurs, never once looking away from Neoptolemus.

Silence.

All eyes were locked on the nymph, their expressions ranging from confusion to utter bewilderment.

Even Agamemnon, who had been leisurely sipping his wine, froze with his goblet mid-air. His eyes flickered between you, Neoptolemus, and Oenone before finally putting down at his goblet. He squints at the cup, then without a word, promptly pours the remaining contents onto the ground.

“...need to cut back on drinking.” he muttered to himself.

Polites looked stuck between shock and some sort of religious crisis. His gaze darted rapidly between you and Oenone—identical features stacking, layering, and overlapping—until his eyes stretched impossibly wide.

For a moment he looked like he was about to blurt something out until he caught the warning glare from Neoptolemus.

The deadly, unmistakable glint in the young warrior's green eyes made Polites swallow hard, rapidly backtracking with a clear of his throat. “P-Pardon me,” he said, voice higher than usual, “but...isn’t that the name of Paris' scorned lover?"

Oenone visibly tensed. Her smile faltered for half a second—but then she straightened. The heartbreak flashed only briefly before she had lifted her chin and schooled her expression into one of confidence.

“Used to be,” she said simply. “That was the past.”

And then—as if the weight of that confession had been lifted from her shoulders—she turned back toward Neoptolemus, a goofy smile curling her lips as she breathed out in a lovestruck whisper, “For my heart has already been claimed by another.”

Neoptolemus beamed in delight, leaning in to press a lingering kiss on her temple as if he hadn't already been holding her like a prize all this time.

Then, with youthful enthusiasm, he turned to you and the others. “I need to show her the things I brought from home! And—I need to write to my mother! I have to tell her the news!”

Oenone allowed herself to be taken away, practically floating on cloud nine as Neoptolemus eagerly began trekking to his living quarters.

Neither of them looked back.

It was quiet as the group stood there, watching the two scurried off into the distance, their laughter drifting behind them.

The only thing that finally broke the silence was a hum.

“Well...”

You turn to see Penelope already looking at you, thoughtful as she loosely crossed her arms with an appraising glance and a single brow raised.

“Guess I was wrong about Paris choosing you over Helen if he ever saw you first?”