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[aycyu]

Source: https://www.youtube.com/watchv=Mw4O9pNa1g&list=PLB7701ACF16A10321

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To Die a Hero: Killias’ POV

The eruptions of cheers from the large masses of my army pounded against my eardrums like a war-chiming mantra. I began picking up my pace as I charged head-first into a deadly sea of uniform spears and shields. Despite my inexperience in warfare, I made sure that each of my strides exuded confidence alike my brother’s; my blade seemed to be a person of its own as it pierced and fell one body after another. It was almost as if the victorious goddess, Athena, herself was help me override the battle. A mix of absolute fear and excitement seemed to take control of my every instinct. 

For the very first time in my life, I felt strong–almost invincible. 

Since my older brother’s birth, the gods above have prophesied that he would live a hero and die a glorious death. I wondered if the army would still be so fervently cheering my brother’s name into this battle have they known that underneath my brother’s insignia-engraved armour–a rare piece of bronze rumoured to have been carved by the blacksmith Hephaestus himself–was actually a boy who lived in cowardice under his brother’s shadows all his life. 

Yet the tables have turned now; it was somewhat ironic, almost laughable, how I–the irrelevant, weaker brother–now fought to protect their hero.

Breaking suddenly through the horde of ash-gray armours, I suddenly clashed swords with a man of tremendous strength. I gasped and faltered back slightly for a split second. For the very first time, since I’ve trained alongside my brother, have I felt the muscles in my blade-wielding arm sting and ripple. 

Whether it was from excitement or fear–I could not tell.

[aycyu]

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Time seemed to come to a stop, as the spilled blood, dismembered bodies, and cries of horror and pain around me slowly faded into a mesmerizing blur. It was only then when I came face-to-face with my destined archenemy did I notice how truly intimidating the bigger man was. 

There was no question why the man that stood before me was the barbarian of barbarians. This was the monster that notoriously reduced an entire city to ashes on his own, challenged the gods, and injured my brother to a near-death state. But what chilled my very being to the bones was the regal stature in his body and how his eyes morphed into two pit-less, empty holes embedded deep within the Spartan helmet. Rather than directly lunging at me, the Spartan warrior stealthily circled around me, cornering me the way a hungry, predatory lion would to its prey before delivering the final blow.

I took an unwilling step back and felt my knees buckle slightly underneath me, threatening to give way. I swore under my breath at my pathetic vulnerability as I felt a cold break of sweat trickle down my face. 

My heart clamoured against my ribs. Ariston of Sparta was indeed a man to fear. 

But this was the moment that I’ve been trained for. I must win this battle to have my story told for generations to come. My name will be remembered and I will prove my brother, the gods above, and the prophecy–wrong.

Taking one last deep breath, I stared into the depths of those stone-cold orbs–and lunged.

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To Fight a Mortal: Ariston’s POV

My army has long awaited Athanasios’ arrival. I’ve assembled my army since daybreak–six-hundred Spartans who have endured pure agony of arduous training since the day they’ve turned seven. Trained to adhere to strict regimens and discipline, the men that stood by my side are the epitome of perfect Spartan indoctrination. 

I watched the sun slowly peak through clouds of searing bright orange. It wouldn’t be long until Athanasios’ army assemble themselves along the far horizon.

(via Pinterest at https://www.pinterest.it/pin/483855553712313869/)

There was nothing to fear. My last battle with Athanasios has left the young Theban warrior heavily injured. I do have certain regrets for delivering a particularly lethal blow to the enemy, as I forward to crossing paths with him again. 

Suddenly, there seemed to be a change of wind. The hairs at the back of my neck bristled with excitement. 

Here he comes.

My army braced for impact as hundreds of Thebans swarmed down the valley. The battlefield suddenly warped into a massive clash of bronze and red as both armies conjoined into one. 

Scanning the battlefield, I quickly closed in on my intended opponent. He was clad in his beautifully-etched, bronze armour that now adorned a ragged mark beneath his shoulder-plate, courtesy of our previous battle. Noticing the lack of the repercussions from his previous injury, I couldn’t help but marvel at this young man’s strength and perseverance. 

The prophecy was meant to come true.

I slammed my sword down on him, sending him back a few steps. Nothing excited me more than the challenge of a worthy opponent. As I circled around him, I eyed his right shoulder, surprised to see the wound gone.

Initiating the first move, I rammed my shield into the right of Athanasios’ body. Athanasios gasped and staggered a few steps backwards. Not letting him regain his composure, I continued the onslaught with a few hard strikes. I watched Athanasios clumsily managed to block my blows. 

I frowned. Perhaps the Theban prince was indeed injured.

I blocked more open blows that were directly aimed at my head before I struck back with particular might. Athanasios’ sword whistled far above the Theban’s head – the momentum was so strong that the wielder was momentarily stunned.

Seeing an opportunity open, I lunged forward and slashed him clean across the throat. 

I watched Athanasios’ knees buckle under him as his body crumbled to a lifeless heap. My confusion slowly morphed into suspicion. 

This man did not fight like the Theban legend. He was neither nimble on his feet, aggressive yet precise in his attacks, nor tactfully graceful in his parries. I’ve noticed amateur mistakes in his combat, yet I excused them as his injury.

Suddenly, realization dawned upon me.

Towering over the lithe body, I grabbed a hold of the bronze helmet, tugging it off to reveal dark strands of brown hair adorning a face too youthful and soft to be Athanasios’.

I was shocked. I was fighting a mere boy. 

A fury of emotions overcame me – shock, disbelief, confusion, distain, anger – and then pure agony as I peered into large, soulful hazel eyes and saw the streaks of tears stream down. I felt my mind numb as I saw traces of my own son reflected in this child.

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Never before have I felt such empathy for an enemy. Never before have I considered myself a murderer of an innocent life. And never before have I so hated the idea of taking a life.

But this was the battlefield. This was war.

Rejecting myself of any thoughts and emotions, I unwillingly raised my sword before bringing it down with a cry.

It was not a cry of victory. It was a cry of agony.

[aycyu]

Source: Troy (2004)

[aycyu]

To be remembered: Killias/Ariston’s POV

Killias’ POV: The rustic taste of blood rush like a broken dam into my mouth. Lying motionlessly in the middle of field, I felt a surge of intense disappointment, anger, shame, and worst of all–fear. 

I feared for my life as I lay there, feeling so vulnerable and small. The fear of dying was something that has never occurred to me until this very moment. 

I’ve grown up in awe heroes and in envy of the men who carry their pride and humility to their deaths. As I continued to cough up blood, my mind recalled a particular childhood memory. When I was around eight, I witnessed a foreign mercenary bring down a titan thrice his size. I remembered being awe-struck as I witnessed the glory of a hero that I’ve only known of in legends. 

I remember approaching him and incredulously asking, “How?”

He laughed and ruffled my hair. 

“And that–child–is why no one will remember your name.”

That was the moment I found my resolve–to practice hard alongside Athanasios to change my fate and to have my name remembered for generations to come. 

But our differences were striking. Athanasios was a man I could never even dream to be, regardless of how hard I trained and pushed myself to strive to be faster, stronger–better. 

Now, awaiting my doom, I laid there–bloodied, battered, and silently begging with unwilling tears.

Ariston wore a face of mixed emotions. I first saw pity and incredulity – then something akin to anger and sadness. I was immediately taken aback by the vivid expressions that flickered within his softening eyes. Never could I have imagined to see a Spartan–especially one infamous for being so barbaric–to display such empathy and agony.

After a long pause, he brought his blood-stained sword above my breastplate. I felt fear course through my entire body, causing me to cough and shake uncontrollably. Choking and gurgling on my blood, my lips subconsciously mouthed a silent plea to be spared.

I didn’t want to die. And I hated myself for desiring to live.

Oh, the irony. For the gods to have blessed an atheist with such power and glory. Yet perhaps it was because Athanasios’ lack of faith and disinterest in the politics of war that would allow him to die a true hero.

As I watched Ariston deliver the final blow, I prayed to the gods a final time. 

Let Athanasios avenge my death. Let him bring Sparta down to its knees. 

Let him fulfill the prophecy.

[aycyu]

Source: Troy (2004)

[aycyu]

A coward dies a thousand times before his death. The valiant never taste of death but once.

English Proverb

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Ariston’s POV:

The winds have calmed. My men have retreated to their tents to rest for the journey home. I sat alone on the cliff of the ravine, overseeing the aftermath of the battle and the river that ran red.

Something about the child’s death did not sit well with me. His face would plague me for the nights to come.

“The boy you killed was not Athanasios.”

I took a deep breath. “No, he was not.”

My general sat down beside me. “Athanasios was injured. He couldn’t have traveled very far. We could have very well pursued him.”

“There is no need to. There has been enough killing for a day.”

My general furrowed his brows. “This isn’t like you. Are you becoming senile, old man?”

My mind wandered off to the day my son was pitted to fight-to-the-death. I recalled my heart sinking when I saw him lose the spar. As punishment for losing an accepted challenge, he was to be put to death.

As a Spartan, I knew it was the right decision. My son had no right to live if he was of no used to the state.

But as a father–it was wrong. What father would condemn his son to death?

“Just don’t regret your decision,” my general said as he got up.

I chuckled, “Am I supposed to be scared of some prophecy?”

“Just be careful, Ariston.”

I looked towards the direction where Athanasios escaped. If the prophecy was to come true, I would not be able to stop him the next time we crossed paths. Sparta would fall into ruins.

I took off my helmet and laid it on the hilt of my short sword, facing the setting sun in the West.

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“You won’t be forgotten,” I whispered. “May you find your peace.”

[aycyu]

Ariston contemplates on the mixed feelings he has post-battle. He takes off his helmet and decides to leave it on the battlefield as a token of respect for the fallen boy.