Who: Nike and Phobos What: Nike wakes up in a strange place. Where: Phobos's palace When: Shortly after Phobos leaves with Nike from Amphitrite's home. Rating: PG Status: Complete
Even Phobos was a bit queasy with what he saw of Nike. This wasn't exactly like battle with hacked off limbs, entrails and matter strewn about, blood everywhere and the wails and moans of the dying. That, he was used to. Death usually came quickly and those that suffered did so from wounds that weren't... well, it wasn't personal. War wasn't personal. It was all about glory or land or power. It wasn't... intimate. That was the word. This, what had happened to Nike had been very personal and very intimate. It made the torture of the goddess, her beaten appearance and denuded wings all that more heartbreaking and it made her situation that much worse and that much more disgusting.
It was a good thing she was passed out because Phobos didn't think he could transport her otherwise. Taking his leave of Amphitrite, he picked Nike up in his arms and sped her back to his palace that he shared with Deimos. Deimos was out probably on an errand for their father, thank goodness. It meant less questions and one less pair of curious eyes. Very gently, he set her down on his bed and hurried off to find Apollo or Aesculapius to come heal Nike. Amphitrite had done all she could but it hadn't been much given her resources and because of that Phobos actually feared for Nike's well being. He told himself it was purely because Hera, Zeus, Athena and his father Ares all would be absolutely livid should something happen to their beloved Nike under his watch.
***
When Nike had fallen asleep, it had been among the tinkling laughter of the sea-queen's handmaids. She'd slept on a bed of silk to cushion her broken body that had floated on a gentle current on a stream of buoyant salt-water running through the women's quarters.
That was not where she woke up.
There was no laughter where she woke, no gently rocking nest of silk, no soft sounds of running water. Instead, she woke in a bed with a mattress so thick she thought she might smother in its folds. It was covered with the silk she was used to, but the bed had a faint scent of fear to it, and her heart beat quickened in reaction to the perceived threat. Her wings lay spread to either side of her in a parody of flight, and only reminded her once more that she was yet broken and grounded.
Whimpering softly, she looked about her in the waning light, not recognizing the room, nor the view she could barely make out from the window.
Where was she?
And more importantly, since she was clearly no longer under the sea with her rescuer Amphirite, who had her?
Was it a friend? Or a foe? Or, her worst nightmare come true, was it Him?
Phobos had forbidden his servants from entering his sleeping quarters in order to keep Nike a better secret so it was he with a goblet of youth giving ambrosia who walked into his bedroom. Aesculapius had come and gone and his diagnosis had been a good one. She would be physically fine as she was a goddess and already on the mend. Her wings would regrow their feathers in a few days and she would be well enough to go then. A week at most, Aesculapius had said and then he could discharge his debt to Amphirite. "Good, you're awake," Phobos said sitting at the edge of his bed. He carefully kept his distance and his gestures non-threatening from what Aesculapius had advised and gestured to the goblet in his hand. "You need to drink to regain your strength. Do you need help sitting up?"
Nike turned her and looked at the god standing to the side of the bed holding a goblet that gave off the heady scent of ambrosia. Her body yearned towards that goblet, her hands shaking with need. Usually the need didn't manifest in physical symptoms. But then, usually the gods didn't find themselves in such a physical state.
She'd been able to rise and care mostly for herself over the last however long she'd been with Amphirite, and so it was painful but possible for her to sit up in the bed. It actually was harder than it had been under the sea, but not because of her weakened state. No, it was the clinging, suffocating mattress than resisted her efforts to reposition herself. Finally upright, she flexed her wings painfully, wincing at the still torn feelings they gave her along with the newest torment, the itchy prick of new feathers growing.
Silently, she reached for the goblet.
Other than a few mumbled apologies, she had been mostly silent of late, or at least not speaking. As he pressed the goblet to her hand, she took it, her hands shaking with both weakness and need, and drained it in a few gulps, closing her eyes as its soothing, sweet, warmth trickled through her, filling up the hollow place inside that had been starving, no matter how much food she'd eaten.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice still hoarse and raw. She wondered if it would ever heal, this reflection of how truly broken she was. Once, she'd had a sweet voice, and sung often. Now, she sounded like a crow when she spoke, rough and rasping and shrill all at once.
She recognized the god standing next to her, but she couldn't remember his name. She knew it, but like so many other things, it was slipping her mind at the moment. She blushed, ashamed that she couldn't even thank him by name for his hospitality, and also because she never would have forgotten Before. But she forgot a lot of things now. And apparently the name of this god whom she'd only met once was one of them.
"Phobos," he prompted with surprising gentleness. He noticed how she struggled with the mattress and frowned thoughtfully. With a careful wave of his hand, he firmed the mattress up so that she wouldn't have to struggle so much. Turning his eyes back to Nike, he took the goblet back and set it on the floor. "I'll get you some more in a bit. You're probably wondering why you're here. I had a debt to repay Amphitrite and since every day you stayed at her palace, you were in danger of being discovered, she asked me to take over the supervision of your convalescence as this would be the last place Poseidon would look for you. How are you feeling? Do you need anything? Do you have servants I can contact to bring here to take care of you?"
She shook her head no. "I... my siblings and I... we do not keep separate residence from the Palace on Olympus and so do not have our own servants. I... I'm sorry," she said, blushing again and looking down, knowing that he didn't want her here. No one wanted her around. Amphirite hadn't wanted her at her palace, and now she was being a burden on Phobos. "But... I'm sure you have better things to do than care for me. I will manage, don't worry." Hell, she doubted anyone even missed her. Her siblings certainly hadn't been around lately.
Maybe it was seeing this once very proud and strong goddess cut low and seeing her so vulnerable now, but Phobos felt a softening in his heart. "There isn't much for me to do on Earth. Everyone seems pretty peaceful and healthy down there, the war with Troy is at a standstill and Pan can take care of the few minor cases until the next battle but you should be well by then. So you're not being a burden. Trust me, I'd let you know if you were." He cracked a small rare smile and picked up the goblet from the floor. "Rest. I'm going to get some more ambrosia so I'll be back in a little while. I'll send a servant in to take care of any of your needs while I'm gone." He had one very loyal and most trusted servant whom he knew bore a lot of ill will toward Poseidon who'd be perfect to watch over Nike while he was away. "Is there anything you need me to get for you while I'm out?"
No matter what he said, she knew she was a burden on him. At the very least an inconvenience. But his mention of the war made her shudder, then her eyes widened. The war! Her mission! Her message! She'd failed! She had failed in her sacred duty and now... now the war continued! And it was her fault! Everything was her fault. She couldn't even be trusted with her duty. She was worthless. A worthless burden. Her heart sped up as she realized the magnitude of her failure. She didn't deserve to be a goddess anymore. She didn't deserve the ambrosia he had offered. With a strangled sob of hopelessness, she collapsed back on the bed, curling on her side, her denuded wing covering her and quivering with the force of her suppressed sobs. She hadn't cried yet. Not since the first day of her imprisonment. But now, knowing that she was the most worthless creature on the face of the planet, that she should really do them all a favor and will herself out of existence, she couldn't hold back the tears anymore.
Phobos sat with his jaw on the floor in shock and helplessness. He didn't deal with crying women, but crying goddesses were something else entirely. Goddesses, on a whole, didn't cry, they got angry and destroyed things or internalized their pain or grief and formed it into hard revenge either swift or slow because after childhood, goddesses just didn't cry. So Phobos was at a complete loss as to what to do with a sobbing Nike, crying as if her soul had just been wrenched from her body. "Are you all right?" he asked, reaching over to lightly pat her hip as he couldn't reach her shoulder due to her wings and her wings just looked too painful to touch. They did look better even now than when he brought her home, more like a molting bird here and there than a newborn hatchling everywhere.
His hand on her hip made her jerk away, her sob turning into a gasp as his fingers brushed her through the linen tunic Amphirite had given her to wear. Had Amphirite passed her from Poseidon to another man who would use her? Perhaps that was all she was good for, since she couldn't manage her duties. Maybe she was going to replace Aphrodite as the whore of the gods.
Jerking his hand back like he'd burned her or been burned, he absently rubbed his palm with his thumb. "If you have no need of me, I'll be back with more ambrosia. My servant Aclys will assist you." With one last worried and wary look, he stood from the bed with his goblet and went to find his servant.
He explained the situation to the demi-god, actually one of his children from a woman, in a soft hushed voice and outlined specifically that no one was to know of Nike's whereabouts. With that, he left to get Nike more nourishment.
The sound of soft voices reached her ears, but she couldn't make out the words, and so she buried her face in the bed and let her tears wet the pillow as she slowly drifted off to sleep.