Kneeling at your temple

[gwenchan]

Fandom: Iliade
Prompt: Sacrificio

 

Peleus  had chosen the most beautiful lamb in the flock, a lovely beast barely weaned with a soft coat of fluffy white curls that had become event whiter and softer after the bath.

If left alive, it promised to grow into a strong and fertile ram. 

In Peleus' arms, it bleated quietly, then tried to snuggle against the man's chest while he slowly climbed the steps to the temple, the leaves the wind had blown there scrunching under his sandals. 

Passed a row of columns, the inside was pleasantly fresh against the sun burning without respite outside. It had been a hot spring and it would be an even hotter summer. 

Before the altar, on the left and the right, stood two imposing braziers, in them some embers still glowing. They drew little orangey tongues onto the giant marble statue behind, refracting in the folds of the dress.

Another bleat broke the quiet. There was too much quiet recently, with half the population gone from the kingdom. Phthia looked like a whole different place. 

It would take a while to adjust. 

The lamb pawed as Peleus put it down, the other extremity of the rope secured around its neck wrapped around the man’s wrist so the animal wouldn’t walk away. But after a moment the lamb stood quietly, obediently waiting in place while he rekindled the fire, beads of perspirations sliding down the back of his neck.. 

He brushed his sweaty palms onto the tunic before grabbing a handful of grains. They clinked softly to the ground. 

“Silver-footed Thetis,” he called over the cracking of the flames, unable to hide a certain uncertainty in his voice, the knife tight in his left hand.

 “I humbly beg you to accept this offer and watch over my son who -”

“Your son?”

A gust of sea breeze made the fire flicker. A shiver ran down the man’s spine and the knife fell to the floor with a loud thudding sound. Peleus whipped around so fast he craned his neck.

“Thetis…” It was hard not to stutter, as he faced his spouse, trying to divine her mood. “I did not—”

“You didn’t expect I would come.”

She raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t a question.

“No… I mean, I thought.”

He hadn’t even completed the sacrifice yet. But he had long renounced to understand her. He took a slow, deep breath to recollect himself. It did go as well as previewed, tongue once more twisting.

“I wanted to—” he tried. She must have been close to come so fast and the thought left a strange, bittersweet taste in his mouth. He wasn’t as sentimental as to believe she’d heard his call wherever she may be. That was reserved to Achilles. 

“I know. Well, continue. It is a nice beast.” 
For a moment he thought she would cross the space and caress the lamb herself, but she stood on the threshold in wait.

So he retrieved the knife and yanked back the lamb's head. Black blood showered the floor, his hands and a little of his white tunic. He could feel her scrutinizing gaze piercing the back of his head. 

It left him wondering what expression she would have if he turned, if disgusted or pleased at the offer.

Only when the meat had been put on the embers and he had thoroughly washed his hands in the basin, did he dare to face her.

Thetis was frowning. It didn’t promise anything good. And paradoxically it was almost reassuring in its familiarity. 

“You do not have to tell me to protect my son or do sacrifices for that.”

“I know. It was not an order. I would never. Only a humble request. You are still a goddess."

He'd never ask anything from a god without the proper compensation. Something in her person shifted, glowed, the remainder of her inhumanity. 

"Indeed am I. Only a lamb, though."

Peleus’ shoulders slumped. It was ridiculously little, he knew it. "We're a little short of cattle at the moment. The army took a good portion and then.."

"Of course." Glowering she didn't let him finish. She was right.

Luckily for him, Phthia was a rich and prosperous kingdom and the cattle or flock never lacked, no matter how many livestocks were sacrificed to the gods.  

He would have to fix things as soon as possible. “There would be two calves, ochre furs, just weaned, giant liquid eyes. I think you saw them once.”

She hummed, pensive. “Yes…”
”Or, well… maybe a ox? Two years. It’s quite big.”

“That is more acceptable. And for the record, it'll be a while still before the army leaves for Troy," she continued. "The wind stopped blowing."

“What do you mean?”

“What I said. The wind does not blow. The ships sit on the shore, the sails stay limp.”

A silly, egotistical hope shot through him for a moment; the hope the war was not meant to be, the army would pack away the camp and turn the way around. But it couldn’t be. It wasn’t the Myrmidons’ way.

“Why?”

“I guess some god is upset. Do not ask me which one. I kept away from Olympus in the past days. I was not in the mood.”

It was understandable. She had never approved of the warrior life, never wanted for their son to leave for war. 

“Did they consult a seer? What does Achilles say?”
”He’s impatient. Full of energy. It’s—I do not wish to talk about it,” she stopped abruptly and looked at him like it was his fault, the very bane of her existence. This, too, was familiar. 

He wanted ask for more, but he couldn’t find the words; words to tell to stop thinking she loved their son more than he did. Words to smooth thing. 

Ask if she would stay a little longer. But when he lifted his eyes, she was already gone. 

He tossed the lamb in the woods.