InsaneJournal

WHO: Hermione and Orestes
WHEN: Friday evening
WHERE: Oreste's place
WHAT: Hermione has complicated feelings about her lover boy but happy reunions are here

The evening was clear and calm as Hermione made her way to the address Orestes had given her.

She'd slept terribly the night before, her head too full of made up conversations that they'd probably never have, too full of the happy memory of his lips and hands on her body, too full of darker days when she'd looked at him with fear. With Orestes there was a lot of history, and not all of it had been good. As much as she'd always loved her husband, he had given her reasons in the past not to entirely trust him.

When Orestes had killed his mother, he had also killed the woman who had raised Hermione for ten years, the woman who had been more of a mother to her than Helen ever had been. Hermione had no loyalty or love for Agamemnon, but Clytemnesta had brushed her hair and sung songs to her, promising her that Helen hadn't left because she'd been naughty. Clytemnesta had called Hermione a good girl, a sweet girl. And Orestes had killed her.

And even though Hermione understood why he'd done it (why he felt he had to do it), it had still left a mark.

Another mark had been when Orestes had appeared suddenly in her home before their marriage and attempted to kill her. It hadn't been the finest of moments: him holding her at the edge of a roof, a sword pressed hard enough against her throat to draw a thin line of blood, her father far below begging for her life. He released her only at the command of a god. Hermione had gone, within horrifying moments, from hostage to bride.

It was hard for Hermione to remember how it all went though. She remembered marrying Orestes when he saved her from Neoptolemus, running away with him and becoming wife by choice. But she remembered also the forced marriage to a man who terrified her. A man she'd known in youth who now used her as nothing more than a pawn to hurt her father.

It would be easier for Hermione if only one of these stories was true, but both were equally valid. She was both of these wives, and Orestes was both of these husbands.

And so Hermione knocked on his door, eager to see him but nervous. It was hard to always love someone who had tried to kill her. (Yes, it had been such a small part of their lives together, but it was hard to forget the sting of steel against one's throat.)

She knew, though, that she wanted to see her husband, wanted to be with him. There was nowhere that at once felt safer and more dangerous than being in his arms. It was a difficult thing to come to terms with, but Hermione long ago had. She loved him, and if her fear occasionally showed in her eyes, Orestes had always been quick to reassure and calm her. It mostly worked.

Hermione brushed her hair back behind her ears and waited, nervously, for the door to open.