Let's kick off Episode 7 back in Rider's camp :)

EPISODE 7 - CHOICE

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Scene 1: Knowing

2020 B.C.

It was just silly. Stupid, really. To pretend that she might've chosen differently; to pretend that there had even been a choice to make. During her latest visit to the Cave, before the Loom, regarding her own thread enlaced so happily in its place-happily, in spite of the heartbreak. Considering whether to stay, today. Knowing that she'd rather wake up to a cold, empty bed, so long as it was his bed, than anyplace else.

And so she awoke. Almost silly enough to hold out hope that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be empty... but not quite that stupid.

She blinked into the space beside her, midmorning sun filtering through the tent, its golden rays tracing the same path as her gaze: the folds and ridges in the fabric of this modest bed, where he had laid. The fading imprints that his back had made, his shoulders, broad and beautiful and strong enough to carry any burden in the world, it seemed to her. She was sure that there was far more strength in Rider's mortal frame than in her own immortal soul.

Lachesis heaved a silent sigh. Had she been stronger, then she might've had a choice to make, back in the Cave. Might've been able to resist her human heart's desire. To remove her thread, to disengage it from her husband's, set it somewhere faraway instead. Knowing full well in her most broken heart of hearts that she did not belong beside him. That their marriage was built on an act of mercy. Her frail sense of happiness sustained by delusion, denial, and... sometimes, Lachesis felt to her dismay, fueled by defiance of the very force of destiny.

She released another sigh and shut her eyes. That notion made no sense at all; it was just silly. She was the force of destiny. One third of it, at least. It shouldn't matter if it seemed, more often than not, that her little sister held all the true power. That she herself was just a figurehead, forever tending to an empty task, when in fact everything was already determined and decreed by forces of which she could never even dream. Forces well within Clotho's comprehension and control. Granted, for now, the youngest sister couldn't read the Book of Fate-but how long would it be until that changed? Clotho always found a way. The right way, the good way.

Just as Atropos had said. Lachesis had never felt closer to her elder sister than when she had heard those words, slicing through the tension of the Cave and shoving all of Clotho's righteous virtues in her face. Perfect little Clotho, fumbling and faltering. Flawed, for once. Failing to fulfill something herself. Overstepping her limits, forced to impose on another Fate to finish what she had so foolishly started.

Lachesis bit her tongue, even though the stream of spiteful thoughts had not been given voice. She stayed, still and silent in bed. In Rider's bed. Her husband's bed. Her fingers, of their own accord, slid in a slow, possessive dance along the coarse cloth of the pallet, where he'd slept. Maybe Clotho deserved this, she mused, powerless to stop the thought from slithering inside her head. To know just what it felt like to have something sacred overstepped on, taken, by a sister...

"Awake at last?"

With a startled jolt, Lachesis sat upright and turned to face the entrance of the tent. She had known straightaway that the voice was not her husband's, which brought her disappointment even when she'd never hoped.

"Awake indeed," her green-eyed guest observed, approaching to set down a plate of simple fare beside the bed. "Here. A bite to eat."

Lachesis recognized him as Chrysaor, whom she knew to be Rider's closest companion. She blinked at him, then bit her lip, looking down blankly at the sorry crust of bread and scattered berries.

He canted his head. "Not hungry?"

A low grumble from her belly answered for her. She shifted at the unfamiliar, ungraceful sound, briefly disgusted with her mortal form.

Chrysaor chuckled. "There's no shame in human hunger," he assured her, a wistful gleam flickering through his impish greens, lip lifting slightly in a sad and stunted smile. "So I was told, not long ago."

Lachesis had nothing to say to that. Started picking at the bread, wondering why this man had brought her food in Rider's stead.

"Rider is busy with... things," Chrysaor responded to the unasked inquiry. "Assessing his recently acquired riches, making plans for the days ahead and whatnot. Asked me to bring you breakfast, once you'd woken, and to see if there is anything you need."

I need my husband. She bit back the words with a mouthful of fruit.

After a while's pause, he spoke again. "Well, if there's nothing that you need, and if you haven't much to say, may-may I ask you something?"

Only now did Lachesis realize that her extended silence had been a bit rude. She nodded, gaze still lowered toward the food. "Yes."

"Would you... happen to know anything about..." Chrysaor began.

Something in his voice, in the way that it faltered and faded, made Lachesis raise her gaze, to find his still lit with the same wistful gleam.

"...about her?" he murmured, elaborating in response to Lachesis's blink. "I mean the girl — petite, brunette — who saved you at the seacliffs?"

'Saved'?! Ugh! Rider was the savior at the seacliffs! Lachesis tore off a tough chunk of the crust in her hands. Clotho tried; Clotho failed.

"I had just thought that... perhaps you knew," Chrysaor continued, "or at least might have some clue, as to where she had gone."

If her earlier silence had been rude, Lachesis knew, her silence now bordered on cruel. But what was she supposed to say? Certainly not the truth.

"Well, I — I reckon you know no better than we do," Chrysaor figured. "I am sorry to have asked you. Rider hadn't wanted to."

Her present bite of bread went stale and tasteless on her tongue. Rider hadn't wanted to ask her. That meant he'd thought to ask, before deciding not to bother his wife with inquiries about another girl; that he wanted to know. Of course he did. Of course his heart belonged to Clotho. And of course Lachesis loved him even more, for the pathetic mercy that he'd granted her, in refraining from asking the question himself.

It was all so stupid. Truly, terribly stupid. So engrossed was she in her own twisted tragedy, the tortured throes of her humanity, that Lachesis had hardly noticed the commotion outside. It was the sound of Rider's voice over the stir that finally broke her momentary trance.

Chrysaor had already crossed the tent. He stepped outside; Lachesis hastened to follow, just a few steps behind. She stared up at her husband, standing at the center of the camp, addressing those assembled around him. Announcing that they were headed to a place called Argos. That there would be no detours or delays along the way.

The words had turned Chrysaor to stone. "Oh, this is not good."

She creased her brow, coming up close beside him. "What is it...?"

"Shit," he muttered, promptly moving away. "Not good. Not good."

Lachesis lagged a bit behind, partially paralyzed by the chills that now coursed down her fragile spine. Her gaze trailed after him as he approached an elder man, whom she recognized as Rider's mentor, Dictys. Their words were just within earshot, from this distance.

"Have you talked to him?" Chrysaor hissed. "About this?"

"Tried," Dictys replied, shaking his head. "Damned if I didn't try."

Chrysaor growled through gritted teeth. "Damned is right."

Shortly thereafter, Rider's decisive speech was over. The camp was quick to disband, to set about packing, as per his command.

"Argos? Now? We're nowhere near ready," Chrysaor spoke, words still directed at Dictys alone, while the others all busied about breaking camp. "Wealthy, sure, loaded with gold and fucking gemstones, but that doesn't mean that we're prepared for... shit! Look at them-they're like godforsaken sheep, heeding his every order."

The elder man sighed. "They've no cause to protest; no one else here has a clue what this means. What awaits us in Argos."

Lachesis wished she had a clue. Her ignorance on this was frightening; then again, she sensed, knowledge of what this meant would probably be more fearsome yet.

Dictys shook his grey head again. "A shame. Rider had all but abandoned this mission, of late."

"He said as much, to you?"

"He didn't have to. I could tell."

"Well, now he's clearly back at it, with a vengeance," Chrysaor remarked, green eyes dark. "What in hell's name made him change?"

"Not what. Who," Dictys corrected him. "You know as well as I do."

Chrysaor let out a mirthless laugh, blood visibly ablaze. "What, just because she's gone? That gives him the right to cast reason aside, because he's angry, hurt, because he fucking misses her? Why does it matter so much? First her presence in our lives, now her absence-why should that matter? Why did she change us?" he blurted out, voice trailing off into a cough. "...him. Change him. Shit, this is all so damned stupid."

Dictys shrugged and set off to start packing. "The heart always is."

From where she stood, Lachesis heard. Every word. Wishing that she had not, especially those final few, as they were far too true.

She could deny it all she wanted. And she did. But still, she knew.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

... Any thoughts? Any guesses as to what awaits in Argos? ;)

Next scene, we'll revisit Cloe in modern-day Athens...

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