--

Nikos’ hands skimmed her body as they shifted positions so that she straddled him. His breathing was ragged as he explored her sides, up the sides of her ribcage, and then cupped her breasts, rubbing his thumbs abrasively over her nipples. Her hands held his as he fondled her, then she started moving her hips against his again. With him buried deeply inside her, they moved together, Andormeda leaning down to touch more skin to him, his arms curling around to her back, rubbing, massaging, running his fingers down the muscles that shaped her entire body as they thrust against each other.

Afterward, they lay as they had loved, both silent, taking in what could be their last moments. This night was so precious, warranting the gentle lovemaking. But more than that, because of what tomorrow would bring, they deserved to lie together, merely touching and not speaking. They deserved to forget the almost certain death that awaited.

--

Orders were given; warriors roused. The battle would be soon. Already the sun was marching quickly across the sky, soon it would be at its highest. A council of great and powerful Amazon women watched around them as their orders were carried out. Queen Hippolyta had made the final decision, but the council women and the four oracles that had arrived earlier in the morning had agreed with her. One last strike. If the Amazon nations had any hope of repelling the Greek men, this was it. All of the remaining forces would be combined, were even now being moved into position. This was either their dusk or a new dawn. It would be all or nothing.

Each of the council women realized what this meant. If they failed, if the Greek men proved more powerful than they—Artemis forbid—there would be nothing left their culture, their way of life. It was true that many of the children and the older women and men had been sent away, into the Sacred Place, and stood a chance of hiding there indefinitely, but their way as free women would be shattered.

It was either this final battle, or die off slowly so that they were not even remembered.

The tents that had been pitched the night before came down. Few ate anything, but food was swiftly put up, fires put out, things stashed away. Weapons readied.

Queen Asteria and Queen Hippolyta walked among their people. Hippolyta walked with a staff that was taller than she was, with a knob at the top coated in a bright metal. Some of the Amazon women were braiding each other’s hair into war braids. The paint flowed freely among women and men alike. Several times, the sisters came across couples, some locked in nothing more than a kiss, others striving desperately to be alive again, one last time, before the overwhelming oppression of the battle. All of these things were normal, and were good to see.

“What do we leave our young daughters, Hippolyta?” Asteria asked softly.

“We leave the young ones what we are, Asteria. The legacy either of our bravery in battle, or our survival. To live and continue on in Artemis’s way would be good, but if we cannot, we will perish in glory and to honor.”

“I cannot help but think…that it didn’t have to be this way. That something could have been done.”

Hippolyta’s green eyes were dark, but now they became almost dark grey. “Many things could have been done. But all come down to this—eventually we would have had to face these Greek men-bastards like this. They will never stop as long as they know we exist. It is the way of men.”

Asteria stopped walking and put her hand on her older sister’s shoulder. “If this is to be our end, my beloved sister, know that I have always loved and respected you.”

Hippolyta returned the gesture with her own. “And I you, sister.”

The Amazons were rallied and began to move from the shelter of the forest. The Greek men were camped on the other side of a great clearing, and according to the scouts, still sleeping off their drink. The plan was to cross the open and vulnerable field swiftly and melt back into the woods, their protecting mother, and destroy the Greeks, one at a time. This plan required swiftness and keenness and alertness on the Amazons’ part, but they were all those things naturally.

Andormeda marched shoulder to shoulder with sisters of her own that she did not recognize. Nikos was not near her, but she had glimpsed him several times in the spear thrust her people made. They were quiet except for the sounds of soft skin shoes in the ground and the inevitable sounds of weapons being jostled about. None spoke; the moment was too grave, too volatile.

Then suddenly a war cry—from a man—rang across the relative stillness of the meadow. And more followed it. Greek men swarmed from the forest that surrounded the meadow on three sides. Instantly, all were launched into battle.

As Andormeda broke from her formation as her sisters and brothers did to fight in single, close range combat, she thought the Greeks must have traveled from a short distance off very quickly, other wise they would not have been able to use the forest against the Amazons.

But it mattered not now.

Sobs of pain and conquest ripped through the air, now stifling and hot with the ringing metal and close bodies. There were so many Greeks, nearly four to every Amazon warrior. The People fought valiantly, but, as many had known in their deepest hearts, they were outnumbered.

Nikos killed his own countrymen, for he was Greek born and bred. But, as he cut down one bloodied man from behind and moved on to another, he chanted fiercely in his mind that he was an Amazon man. Andormeda’s man.

Thinking of her prompted him to look around in the fray for her. His breath came in raggedly and tears suddenly assailed his eyes as he recognized the layout of the land and the warriors to his left. It could not be—not yet, not yet, he pleaded, the tears tracing down his cheeks. Andormeda, beautiful and deadly as she wielded her spear, killing a Greek, came into his line of sight. Everything seemed to slow as he lunged forward to prevent what he had known would happen. He was blocked; one of the Greeks had shouldered him in the stomach, effectively knocking him away from Andormeda.

Nikos struggled, fought, but inevitably watched in horror as another Greek came up behind Andormeda as she placed a foot on the Greek she had felled to pull her spear free of his flesh. The man impaled her with his sword, through her lower back, the metal so sharp and thrust so powerfully that it protruded from her stomach a second later. Blood instantly flooded her mouth; her hand went lax and her spear fell. The solider twisted his blade then yanked it free and Andormeda fell to her knees.

Nikos bellowed, a cry of pain and fury and anguish. She turned to look at him, and a tear rolled down each of her cheeks. She tried to lift her hand to him, but the effort proved too much. He watched as her eyes went dead and she fell forward into the bloody mud of corpses.

His life ceased to have meaning as he stumbled, trying to get around the mass of warriors, to be at her side. He reached out to her still body, as she had to him, wishing with everything in him that it was not true. The pain that tore through him was physical, and too much to bear.

It was then that he felt the sticky blood coating his chest. As he fell sideways to the ground with the arrow still embedded in his body, never having reached Andormeda, he no longer had to bear that pain.

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This is the end for Andormeda. Truly, I have enjoyed writing this story, though it’s taken much longer to actually post it than it did to write. Another Amazon story is brewing, but I don’t know when I’ll actually get around to writing it or how. But it is there.

I’d like to give a thank you to everyone who read even a part of the story, and special thanks to my reviewers: BlueAki, K. S. Pakula, and Perennial Rhinitis. You all are the best. Thank you. ^_^

Happy Reading and Writing

~*DreamWeaver010