"I see him sometimes," Olympias said, "so I'll ask him to be so kind as to provide. He is a generous benefactor, my lord." She had only ever spoken to of Dionysus to Alexander with great reverence. She had taught him that while all the Olympians were to be respected and shown allegiance, it was Dionysus' trickery and transformative powers that were to be most admired.
Of course, the boy had to choose his own path, son of Zeus that he was. Even as a young boy she had known his destiny did not lie with the Maenads. He was to be a greater thing than a servant to the gods. He was to be a god of his own, and Olympias had encouraged that in him since the day of his birth.
"I understand little of military ways," Olympias admitted. "Politics I know and can use, but not such strengths as yours. My gender always barred me from such public displays and I've found the underhanded path is still useful to me, especially in business."
In Macedonia plenty had died by Olympias orders, either very publicly or by the cover of night and secrets. There was plenty of blood on her hands but Olympias saw no problem with any of it. Everything she had done, she had done to secure the legacy of Alexander.
She didn't know anymore whether she had killed his father. Philip had been murdered, that much was sure, but historians had so many ideas and theories about the who and the why. Olympias was among some of them, and so was Alexander. She remembered what honor she had bestowed on his killer though. Whether it had been by her quiet orders or not, Olympias had been glad to see Philip dead.