Ariadnê had no idea what went wrong.
One moment she was playing kickball with the body of Αἴας sending him this and that way through the air. And then in the next, she was crouching on the ground, eyes unseeing as she looked at the body before her.
Somehow Helénē had gotten through the gates and passed her family. The girl was determined to return to her Husband, never minding that Ariadnê had promised to return her during the exchange of prisoners after she had beaten Ahkilles into the ground and yet—
She had turned to see Helénē facing off the son of Thetis and she had been doing an admirable job of keeping him back. It had been easy to see that she was trying to press forward to get to her Husband while Ahkilles was trying to pass her to get to Hektōr.
Odyseús held Menelaos back, not wanting their alliance to be seen as fractured as it truly was. Unfortunately, Ariadnê had years of history lessons to know that already. And she, like Menelaos, was furious with Odyseús' audacity to keep the lovers apart when it was the entire reason for the war.
And when Ahkilles struck Helénē, piercing her lower belly, and loosening her limbs, screams equaled in rage and volume coated the land. The Spartan Queen's body let out a charge of lightning as her replying strike went astray, her gleaming sword being thrust out of her hand.
Ahkilles hurled his bronze and the spear sped from his hand and not in vain, striking Helénē where the ribs pressed on the beating heart.
She fell as an oak, a poplar or lofty pine falls in the mountains, downed by the shipwrights with sharp axes as timbers for a ship. Down she tumbled, and lay stretched out at her stolen horses' feet, groaning and clutching the blood-stained dust before her chariot.
There, struggling with death, the queen of the Sparta, straddled by Ahkilles, called out to her dear cousin: "Ariadnê, my friend, warrior of warriors, now you must wield the spear and battle bravely; now if you truly have fight in you, let dread war be your aim. Hold your ground with courage."
The resounding blast that came from Ariadnê nearly tore down the walls of Ilion, killing dozens of men as they were thrown back to land harshly on their necks and breaking them in half.
Grief clutched her heart and she rushed forward quickly, calling forth the water from the air and pressing it to her wound.
No, she wouldn't die. She couldn't die.
Ariadnê didn't even flinch when flickers of electricity danced alongside the edges. A cry of horror sounded not too far from her, but she didn't look up at the sound of the rushing feet or even when Menelaos fell to her side to place his hands oh-so gently on the cheeks of his wife.
"Helénē. Helénē. Please, no. Please, gods, no. I can't do this again."
Menealos didn't seem to hear the words spewing from the princess of the sea as he brushed the hairs away from his wife's face. He didn't even blink when another pair of hands joined the Trojan Queen, and amber like liquid was poured into her mouth. He wouldn't... he couldn't lose her. But if he did, he wanted the last thing for her to see was him as loving as he ever been and not raging for revenge that he was sure to have after he ripped Ahkilles' heart out with his teeth.
The Queen of Sparta smiled prettily at them both, blood pooling out of her mouth in rose-goldish color as it mixed with the nectar. "It's okay."
"The nectar won't fix all of this, Ari," Will muttered in english. "We need to get her away."
But Ariadnê didn't seem to hear him because— well, if they were being honest, Ariadnê wasn't really seeing Helénē at the moment.
"You foolish girl," Ariadnê cried. Helénē raised a bloody hand to the other's face. Ariadnê cradled it gently. "Why? Please."
