Work Text:
Sweet mother, I cannot weave –
slender Aphrodite has overcome me
with longing for a girl.
--
“I worry about the progress of Diana’s studies,” Hippolyta tells you one morning as you stroll along the beach with her, “I worry that she will fall behind.”
As Diana’s tutor, this is hardly the most encouraging thing that you could hear.
“What raises this concern?”
“Well, when I went to see her in the Great Library during your last lesson, and she was asleep during what would typically be her recitation.”
You grimace a little, careful not to meet the Queen’s eye.
“She seemed tired,” You concede, “And it would’ve been useless to try and put her through her paces while she was in that state. It wouldn’t have been conducive to her education.”
You do look at the Queen, then.
“It was a singular occurrence, one that I assume was the result of a restless night. It happens when they’re young,” You shrug a shoulder before facing forward again. Hippolyta hums, conceding, and lets it go.
--
You do not like to lie to your Queen. Truthfully, it is not the first time Diana has been tired during her lessons. The young girl has been waning recently, and you’re not sure why. She’s also been arriving late. Diana is meant to arrive at the Great Library at noon, but these days, she’s been there closer to one, if your sundial is anything to go by.
You consider this as you stand before your loom that evening. Weaving is something you often do in the evenings - it keeps your hands busy, and helps you to quiet your mind. At least, it typically does, but… But now your mind is occupied with Diana’s studies and the queen’s displeasure.
You resolve to go looking for Diana the next day if she’s late for her studies.
--
The next morning, you don’t sit and wait. It’s simply too nerve wracking. You try to weave, and then you try to read - but you simply cannot focus. So you go for a walk.
What you find Diana doing makes perfect sense, and perhaps that is why you’re so irritated.
The General has… Never liked you.
Hippolyta has insisted time and time again that Antiope respects you, and you’re certain she equates this, in some regard, with liking you. But respecting and liking are quite different things. It’s alright with you - you’re not Antiope’s most ardent fan, either. The fact of the matter is the Hippolyta respects both of your opinions, trusts the both of you implicitly.
You are also quite certain that Hippolyta doesn’t know that Antiope is training Diana. You sigh softly, shaking your head and turning from where the two are training in an abandoned courtyard. Perhaps she won’t be late today.
--
She is, in fact, quite late. She’s got dirt smudged on her cheek; she can hardly keep her eyes open through her recitations.
You don’t blame her, frankly. You blame Antiope. She ought not work a child at such a pace. You’ve half a mind to tell her so.
But only half, as you’d rather not have to interact with Antiope unless it is absolutely necessary.
You and the General are cut from different cloth. You recognize her skill, her spirit. They’re qualities of hers that you may even admire if the woman did not always look down her nose at you. You can fight - as an Amazon, you have been trained, you know your own strength. But you prefer to keep your mind sharp, and set down your sword and lasso a long time ago. You are certain that for that reason, she holds your opinion in a lower regard.
--
“I think it would be best for Diana’s studies to begin first thing in the morning.”
The announcement comes at the end of your meeting with the Queen and her Council. You see Antiope tense out of the corner of your eye, and fight the urge to smile.
“May I ask the reason for this change?” The General’s tone is crisp, and not nearly as uninterested as she’s trying to seem.
“While her tutor has been keeping her engaged at present, it seems that Diana’s growth is catching up with her. Her current schedule is not conducive to her learning. I will also be bringing her to Council and Senate in the afternoons. She must begin to learn to lead.”
You give Hippolyta a nod when she turns to you, looking for any sign of argument. You have none, of course, and you fight the urge to smile more widely when you feel Antiope’s gaze turn on you. You don’t turn to meet it, of course; there’s no need.
The General does not follow you out of the meeting; she doesn’t come to reason you out of the new schedule, doesn’t entreat you to change the Queen’s mind. She likely doesn’t think you can. You realize that, if it were not for your place on Hippolyta’s Council, Antiope would likely not care who you are at all.
--
Diana is much more alert for your lessons now.
Alert and miserable.
She can recite, but she does so with a frown on her face and a pout in her voice, and her eyes drifting to the window, toward the field where she knows the others are training. You damn your soft heart and your affection for the child, but you can only stand her upset for a day or two.
On the third day, as Diana trudges into the library, you direct her to a text before you excuse yourself.
--
It’s been a while since you’ve been to the training fields. There are friends of yours there, surprised to see you. You cast them nods and waves before you spot the person that you’re looking for. You stride over to Antiope, who’s in conversation with Egeria.
“Excuse me,” You speak up with more conviction than you feel. And Zeus, you can’t believe you’re doing this, but you resolve not to back down when her cool blue eyes flit to you.
“Well well,” Antiope’s eyes narrow, flitting down over your dress, “The little fawn has made it out to our field. She comes ill-prepared for work, I see.”
“I need to speak with you, if you don’t mind,” You insist, pushing down the irritation. And you can see that she wants to say no, but she excuses herself from Egeria. The two of you step away from the others to a quiet and shady spot. You wrap your arms around yourself at the coolness that comes from being out of the sun. It’s a feeling that you’re accustomed to, but perhaps it’s the glare that Antiope is still fixing you with that’s chilling you.
“Diana is miserable without your training,” You tell her, and Antiope’s indignant irritation is replaced with surprise. You’ll allow yourself to revel in that look later, but you’re here for a reason, you remind yourself.
“I propose that I teach her in the first half of the morning, and you train her in the second half. You can use the grove-- it’s close enough to the library and provides enough cover that you likely won’t be caught. I can bring texts, linger nearby in case the Queen comes looking for Diana.”
Antiope’s eyes search your face for a few moments, for deception, for irritation.
“Why are you offering this?” She finally asks.
“Because Diana will go no further in her studies if she’s distracted by what she is missing. And she… She needs to learn to fight,” You concede, eyes darting to the Amazons in the field. You don’t like to agree with Antiope, especially not to her face.
“So?” You add, turning back to her.
Antiope nods once.
“The grove,” She agrees, “Ten. Do not be late.”
“I was about to say the same of you,” You retort sharply before turning and striding away.
--
You don’t tell Diana where you’re going the next morning - you merely bring three texts and inform her that you’ll be communing with nature as a means of study going forward. When she spots Antiope in the grove, shields and swords and training staffs leaning against a tree, Diana turns back to you, eyes wide with wonder. You nod toward the General, urging her forward, and Diana barrels at you instead. You laugh, nearly knocked over by the force of her hug, and place a hand on her head.
“Not a word to your mother,” You warn gently, still chuckling, “Now go on, you haven’t long.” Diana lets go of you, running to give Antiope the same treatment. You grin at the girl before your eyes flit to the joy on Antiope’s face.
She’s...Quite beautiful when she smiles.
You push the thought away as quickly as it arrives, almost startled by it. It’s nothing to be worried by, you tell yourself, nothing to be ashamed of. It’s merely an aesthetic appreciation of a fellow Amazon.
You lower yourself onto a nearby log, setting two of the texts aside and cracking open one.
--
“Are you quite engrossed, little fawn?”
You lift your eyes to find Antiope standing over you.
“Are you quite finished?” You return, glancing over at where Diana is laying, exhausted, in the tall grass. Antiope nods once, turning to look back at the child. You hum before turning back to the text. You mark your place before closing it.
“Same tomorrow?” You ask, rising from your place and dusting off your dress.
“Yes.”
You and Antiope exchange nods before you walk over to Diana and wave at her, “Up.”
The child groans, tired, but pushes herself up as she’s bidden.
--
“Diana’s interest in her schooling has improved,” Hippolyta tells you all later that month, “She’s much more engrossed-- I quite believe this shift to a morning schedule has improved her focus.”
You join in on an approving nod with the rest of the Council. But this time your eyes catch Antiope’s. To your shock, she gives you a secret little smile. You feel your lips pull to match it before you lower your eyes back to the table.
--
“Will you join today?”
The question catches both you and Diana off guard, and you frown at Antiope. Her eyes are bright with a challenge - she already knows that you’ll decline. Perhaps she only asks to embarrass you in front of Diana. You’re not sure what her point is, but you choose not to meet it.
“Not today,” Is your answer as you lower yourself to your usual spot on the log. You open your text to where you last stopped and settle in. You hear Diana ask Antiope why she’d asked you - you don’t hear Antiope’s answer. But it doesn’t matter. You can’t stop thinking about the question.
You’re still thinking about it that evening, too, as you stand before your loom. Your fingers are a little more hesitant, a little less steady as you hear Antiope’s words in your head, see the way she looked at you.
Will you join today?
Why did she ask?
Perhaps she thinks you’ve been away from your exercises for so long that you’d only be a match for an untrained child.
You frown, and decide that it was a taunt - an insult. Antiope has never been known to do anything but scorn and deride you. You resolve yourself to stop thinking about it, to not care. You are doing this all for Diana. That is what is important.
With that in mind, you take a deep breath and refocus on your weaving, hands moving at twice the pace now, steady and sure.
--
“You’re too soft with her.”
Antiope has taken to speaking with you without the benefit of the Queen’s Council being assembled or Diana being present. It’s usually a criticism of how you conduct yourself, which you truly do not appreciate. You hardly look away from your text when you hear her voice, just hum uninterestedly. You hear Antiope take a few steps closer, presumably so that she doesn’t have to raise her voice in the middle of the library.
“She will come to expect coddling and sweetness from the world if you continue this way.”
You close the book and slide it into its proper place before reaching for another. Antiope’s hand stays it before you can unearth it fully, and you finally turn to look at her.
“... General,” You say after a moment, “I concede that the way I treat Diana, the manner with which I teach her, is somewhat indulgent. I do so because if she is shown harshness in the classroom, she will not enjoy learning, she will loathe it. Books and lessons are not the same as swords and shields. You are training her the way that you see fit and I take no issue with that. I will teach her the way that I see fit. Should I have any question as to how to do my job, I will come to you for advice. Until such a moment, however, keep your opinions to yourself. And move your hand.”
Antiope seems stunned as she lowers her hand, and you reach out, taking the book that you wanted.
“Perhaps you’re only a fawn when it suits you,” She says. You scoff, shaking your head.
“No, General. You have deemed me as such because it suits you.”
You skirt around her, heading into another aisle, and are relieved when she does not follow you.
--
“Aren’t you excited?” Dessa asks as you make your way toward the stadium for the games.
“Of course,” You laugh at her excitement, watching her high-knee toward the doors.
“Will you compete?” She asks, but when she asks, she does not do it the way Antiope does - Dessa asks with sincerity and curiosity.
Antiope has asked time and time again if you will join Diana in her training. You’ve always told her no. You’ve wanted to stop answering, in truth, but you answer for the sake of Diana’s presence. If it weren’t for that girl, you wouldn’t say a word; if it weren’t for that girl, you wouldn’t speak to Antiope at all.
You do love the games. You admire the tenacity and the skill of your fellow Amazonians, you’re excited to watch them show the skills that they work so hard at. You settle in the front row, anxious for the spectacle.
Antiope is in charge of the games, and you find yourself looking to her for what’s coming next. It’s a reflex - and if your eye lingers, you chock it up to that aesthetic appreciation you’ve recognized on the now… Multiple occasions that you’ve found yourself looking at Antiope.
Soon enough, the contest arrives, and the athletes line up… With Diana at the nearest end.
Dread fills your stomach. You see Antiope approaching her, and surely she’ll talk the child out of it-- but alas, Antiope steps away from Diana. You glance up to see Hippolyta watching her daughter, nodding, even.
You rise out of your seat as the gong is rung, unable to help yourself. It is not that you think Diana is incapable. You know how eager she is to prove herself. But you’ve seen some of your dearest friends - some of the most fierce warriors on Themyscira humbled by this contest.
You lower yourself back to your seat as Diana dives into the water, your stomach twisting, your hand sliding over your mouth to stopper any protest you might hurl at Antiope. It’s too late now, anyway. Diana is willful, and she’s been working hard.
You watch as the first blue marker is lowered, and a little bit of that dread drops away, knowing that it must be Diana.
The yellow, red, and green banners drop to match only moments later.
Time after time, the blue banner drops ahead of the others, until it just… Stops.
The dread rises up again, curdling in your stomach. You feel someone’s gaze, and you turn to find Antiope watching you. You can’t stand the look - you don’t know what it means and you’re not sure you care to know. It doesn’t matter - your attention is drawn by the sound of thundering hoofbeats, and you turn to see the contestants reentering the stadium - with Diana in the lead. You shake your head, frowning. How is that possible? She must’ve missed at least three markers--
You see her take hold of a spear - but Antiope is making her way toward the child.
You slide past your friends who have already risen out of their seat to cheer the combatants on, and watch as Antiope lowers Diana to the ground. You approach where Antiope is kneeling in front of Diana, watching as Diana barely staves off tears, and as her teacher explains her reasoning.
“You cheated, Diana. That is the truth. That is the only truth and truth is all there is.”
“But I would’ve won if you didn’t--”
“But you didn’t! … You cannot be the winner because you are not ready to win, and there is no shame in that. Only in knowing the truth in your heart and not accepting it. No true hero is born from lies.”
Diana turns to you, eyes wide and beseeching. You shake your head, and she wails, “No--”
“She’s right, Diana,” You say over her. Antiope turns to look at you as she straightens up. You glance back as Hippolyta passes you to comfort her daughter. You almost don’t notice Antiope coming to your side.
“Thank you,” She says quietly.
“You don’t need to thank me for that,” You eyes are still set on Hippolyta and Diana.
“...I’ve quite underestimated you, little fawn.”
You turn to look at her, but Antiope is already walking away.
--
“Will you join us?”
You glance over at where Diana is pouting, swinging her sword at the tall grass.
“No,” You answer simply before you return your eyes to your book.
“Why not?”
“This time is for Diana’s training, not mine.”
Antiope crouches down so that she’s in your field of vision.
“And when will it be time for your training?”
Your eyes dart to hers.
“You’re neglecting your student, General.”
“Perhaps while you’ve time, you can consider your answer,” Antiope straightens up and turns to call Diana’s attention. Your brow furrows. You don’t understand why the General insists on teasing you this way. You close your book and are ready to leave the moment Diana’s training is complete.
“Do you have an answer?” Antiope calls after you, but you’re already walking away from her with Diana in tow.
--
You work furiously at your loom later - so furiously that you nearly break your loom batten. You have to set it aside and step away from your work, the anger roiling through you.
You can fight - you can, and you choose not to. Who is Antiope to taunt you in front of Diana the way she does? Repeatedly? What is it that you do that makes you such an easy target?
You turn your eyes to your weaving for a few moments, fingers fidgeting for rougher work, if only to rid yourself of this feeling. You push a huff through your nose, shaking your head and reaching for your loom batten again. You can do this. You turn back to your loom.
And then you throw your batten again. Surely Dessa’s free to spar with you.
--
“What happened there?”
You swat Antiope’s hand away as she presses down on a bruise that’s blooming on your shoulder.
“Bumped into something.”
It’s not a complete lie - that something just happened to be the end of Dessa’s quarterstaff. It was aimed at your shoulder and you failed to move in time. You haven’t looked up as Antiope’s spoken, but you do look up when she straddles the bench beside you. You’ve been picking at your lunch, still working through the book that you brought to Diana’s training. You turn and look at Antiope and find her watching you. You raise a brow, giving her face a once-over.
“Can I be of assistance, General?”
“No.”
Your brow furrows, and your eyes dart to the smile on her lips before you turn back to your book. Antiope stays, and sits quietly beside you, reading over your shoulder now and again and picking off of your plate when you nudge it toward her.
You don’t think Dessa will’ve told Antiope about last night’s activities; you asked her not to, she keeps her word. You also trained in the grove, where Diana and Antiope train themselves, and it would’ve been difficult for anyone to see you. Besides, what would Antiope have been doing out there at that time of night? And surely she would’ve said something to you.
Whatever it is, Antiope doesn’t speak for the length of your lunch, and neither do you. You close your book when you’re getting ready to go, and freeze when you feel Antiope’s fingers smooth over the bruise. The pads of her fingers are slightly rough from her work, but the way she touches you is soft, penitent for her poking earlier. You fight back a shiver, lower your head and clear your throat.
“I’ve work to do. I’m certain you do as well,” You say.
“Of course, little fawn.”
You stand, taking your book with you, and the two of you go your separate ways.
--
Perhaps it’s a blessing in disguise, but the fact of the matter is that you and Antiope can now regard one another without open disdain during meals, Council meetings, or any other event that requires the both of you to be in attendance. You’re not sure what you’d call this newfound ease between the two of you. It certainly isn’t friendship, the two of you are merely… Congenial.
Hippolyta is not unobservant. She notes the new lack of sniping between the two of you, and has perhaps heard whispers of her General sitting with you, meals shared in silence, no words passing between you.
You haven’t asked Antiope why she’s begun to sit at the odd meal with you; you assume it’s for the same reason as she asks you to train with Diana. There’s some taunt there, some joke that she’s making that you simply don’t get - one that you don’t intend to prompt her to explain. You prefer this settled truce between the two of you - it suits, and it is for Diana’s sake. And, when Antiope isn’t offering unwanted advice, she’s… Almost pleasant to be around.
--
“Might I speak with you?”
You turn away from your conversation with Dessa to see Antiope standing behind the two of you.
“It’s… Council business,” She hesitates to add, and you know immediately that it’s not.
“Of course,” You nod and are turning back to excuse yourself from Dessa - but Antiope’s hand settles on your lower back and steers you away from her before you can say anything. You ignore the odd fluttering in your stomach at her touch, but can’t help your sputter of indignance.
“What has gotten into you?” You hiss.
“It’s urgent, ” Antiope insists.
“What is it?”
“Diana wishes to compete in the games again this year.”
You lean back a little at the news; you know that your worry shows on your face. It’s been a few years since Diana last competed. She’s matured since then - she’s more sure of herself, she’s a stronger warrior.
“Do you think that’s such a good idea?”
“I think she ought to be able to test her mettle against her fellow Amazons. I want to ask you if you’d come out to the forest for a few days. I want to put Diana through drills that will be too rigorous for the cover that the grove can provide. Go to Hippolyta and tell her you’re taking Diana for a lesson on Artemis before the upcoming festival. It’ll give us more time to train - space, and ample cover.”
You consider this for a moment, looking away from Antiope. You know it’ll be beneficial to Diana, especially if she wants to compete.
“Does the Queen know of Diana’s plan?” You ask.
“She may be suspicious.”
“And she won’t be even more suspicious that Diana and I are disappearing and you’re take a leave of absence as well?”
“There are set to be exercises for the games with certain of the warriors, away from the training grounds. Menalippe will lead the exercises in my absence.”
You consider for a moment, biting your lip.
“Come, little fawn,” Antiope lowers her voice and crowds closer to you, “You’re not backing down now, are you?”
And you’ve vowed to never give in to Antiope’s little challenges.
--
This is for Diana’s sake, that is the only reason you are on a horse right now.
The three of you have packed enough provisions for three days, dishes, blankets and bed rolls.
Diana has ridden out ahead of you, and you and Antiope have been keeping pace just behind for a few miles now. You’re not sure exactly where you’re going, trusting the General to have a clearing staked out.
“You will be teaching Diana?”
You glance over at Antiope before you nod a little.
“I will have to a bit, if we want this ruse to be believable.”
“I look forward to hearing what you have to teach.”
“...You don’t need to attend, General.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
You turn to look after Diana again, and pointedly ignore the smile on Antiope’s face.
--
When you arrive at the clearing, the sun is still high in the sky. Where you settle is a lovely spot - surrounded by trees, with room enough for the three of you to make camp and a fire. There’s a creek nearby, clear, fresh water for you all to drink and wash in.
Diana and Antiope prepare to train for the rest of the day. Before they go, Antiope catches and kills a rabbit for dinner. She offers to skin it, but you urge her and Diana to their task, reassuring them. By the time they return, you’ve a rabbit stew simmering over the fire. Diana flops onto her bedroll, exhausted, and you chuckle at the sight. You stir the stew as Antiope comes over. She lowers herself down to sit beside you.
“What did you do?”
“I had her practice leaping from branch to branch for the posts,” Antiope sighs, resting her elbows on her knees, “Tomorrow morning, we will swim early to prepare for the crossing to the beach.”
“The water will be freezing first thing.”
“Then it’ll wake her right up.”
You chuckle, shaking your head as you ladle out soup for Antiope. You pass her the bowl before you turn your head and call out for Diana. She whines, but manages to get up and join the two of you by the fire.
That night, the three of you peer up at the stars blanketing the sky. You have Diana point out the constellation of Orion. You tell the story of the giant Orion, who was once a companion to Artemis. Jealous of his sister’s companion, Apollo tricked Artemis into killing the giant with an arrow fired from a great distance. Aggrieved, Artemis placed Orion among the stars.
You can see Diana’s eyes closing in her fatigue, and you urge her to rest, knowing some of what’s in store for her tomorrow. You and Antiope take care of turning the small camp down for the night before settling down yourselves. You spot Diana shivering, and you cover her with your own blanket before you curl up.
--
You wake up freezing. Your teeth are chattering; the cold has wormed to your core. You glance back when you hear shuffling behind you -- and then you feel a blanket cover you. You frown and you hear,
“Where is your blanket?”
Antiope’s question is murmured; her arm slides around your middle and gathers you back against her chest. She feels solid and warm.
“I-- I gave it to Diana,” You mumble sleepily, “She was cold.”
“And now you are cold, little fawn,” Antiope’s hand is splayed across your stomach, firm and soothing. Your hand slides up of its own volition, fingers curling around her shoulder, as if she could get any closer. And you are sure that she could taunt you for this later, but right now, you just want to be warm. You sigh, feeling your shoulders relax a bit as Antiope’s warmth begins to spread through you.
“Sleep,” Antiope murmurs.
--
You awake, feeling the blanket moving a bit. You groan quietly, trying to lean back toward the warmth that’s pulling away from you. You hear a soft chuckle, and your hair is brushed behind your ear.
“Sssh,” You hear. The blanket is tucked back around you, and you settle back down.
When you come to fully, you’re alone in the clearing. You roll onto your back and prop yourself up on your elbows, looking around. You’re sure Diana and Antiope are already in the creek. You push yourself to fully up and look down at the blanket. You think about the night before, the feeling of Antiope pressed up against you, and you feel yourself warm with embarrassment.
Breakfast, you should make breakfast. You’re sure they’ll be hungry when they come back. You carefully fold Antiope’s blanket, set it atop her bedroll, and get up.
--
You hear Diana before you see her - she’s practically yelling as she comes into the clearing, excited, letting you know that she and Antiope found berries . She plasters herself against your back, and you shriek, because Diana is still soaking wet from her swim. You laugh, tipping your head back and looking up at her.
“Diana! You’re freezing,” You squirm.
“We swam!” She plops down on the ground beside you, “And then we found berries-- And Antiope’s bringing them-- You made eggs!”
You don’t understand how Diana is a mile a minute even now, after an early morning swim, but she’s already reaching for a plate and a piece of bread. You look up when you hear a twig snap behind you and smile a little when you see Antiope.
You must take care not to stare.
But it’s not often that you see Antiope in something other than her armor. The shift dress that she’s swum in is still damp, still hugging to her, and you can see droplets of water glinting on her arms and legs.
“Good morning,” You greet.
“Good morning.”
“I’ve been told there are berries?” You hold a plate of food out to Antiope, “Fair trade?”
Antiope holds a pouch of berries out to you. You take them from her as she takes the plate from you and sits on your other side. The three of you eat together, with Diana chattering throughout. You and Antiope sit in silence, the way you have your other meals. When you don’t finish your bread, you wordlessly hold your plate out to Antiope. She takes it from you, fingers brushing across yours as she does. As she finishes eating, you tell Diana about the hunter Aktaion. You tell her that he spied Artemis and her nymphs bathing at a spring. Angered by his actions, the goddess turned him into a stag.
“What happened to him?” Diana asks.
“Maybe the General knows,” You decide to turn and taunt Antiope for once, as she always does you. Antiope raises a brow at you, lifts her hand from her plate, sucks a bit of egg yolk off of her thumb, and you’re careful to keep your eyes on hers and not on where her lips are wrapped around her skin. She pulls it from her mouth with a soft sucking sound and lowers it.
“...He was pulled apart by his own hounds,” Antiope is telling Diana, but she’s watching you.
“Was he?” Diana asks. You nod, finally turning away from Antiope.
“Yes.”
--
That night, as you lay down on your bedroll, you feel Antiope shift closer. Her blanket covers the both of you, and she gathers you back into her chest again.
“You-- You don't have to--”
“I cannot sleep if your teeth are chattering,” She murmurs.
“...They did not chatter,” You mumble, though you know she’s right. You settle down, and after a few moments, you slide your hand over her arm again to rest on her shoulder.
“Of course not, little fawn.”
Her voice is lilting with a tease, and you’re glad that she can’t see you rolling your eyes or smiling.
--
You take Antiope and Diana’s absence the next morning to go for a quick swim in the creek. You were right - it is freezing. But you’re refreshed and in good spirits by the time you return. You feel oddly melancholy to be leaving the forest that day, but Diana and Antiope are finished with their additional exercises. Besides, the more time the three of you spend together this way, the more of a chance there is of Hippolyta catching wise.
“Will you tell another tale of Artemis before we depart?” It’s Antiope that asks you. You’re surprised when she does. The horses are already saddled and prepared; the three of you are only now finishing your lunch.
“Did you have one in mind?”
And you realize too late that you shouldn’t have asked, because Antiope has a sly look in her eye.
“The Alodae,” She answers.
“What are the Alodae?” Diana asks.
“Giants,” You turn your attention to Diana - to the reason you’re there in the first place, “Brothers named Ephialtes and Otus. They were the sons of Poseidon and the mortal Iphimedia. When they grew, they were so powerful that they managed to ensnare Ares. It is said that they might have overthrown all of Olympus. But their might was no match for their love of Artemis. Knowing this, she promised both of them that she would marry them in exchange for Ares’ freedom.”
“But I thought that Artemis was granted eternal virginity by Zeus,” Diana frowns. You nod.
“She was. Her promise was a trick. As soon as Ares was freed, she transformed herself--”
“Into a fawn.”
You don’t need to turn to Antiope to know that she’s smiling smugly.
“Into a doe,” You correct as you cast her a sidelong glance.
“I remember the story as a fawn.”
“I thought that we agreed that lying was no way to achieve our goals, General.”
Antiope’s smile widens, and you don’t have time to consider why it thrills you because Diana is urging you for the rest of the story.
--
Diana does not win the contest this year. You can see the disappointment in her eyes as she comes in a close second, but she congratulates the winner and shakes the hands of the other contestants. Any sorrow you feel for her is overtaken by your pride in her handling of this - the way she meets her competitor’s eyes and shakes their hands, chin held high. She is not yet a woman, but she is no longer a child - she does not pout or sulk or stomp off.
Your gaze catches on Antiope, and hers on you. The two of you share a small smile and a nod - one of relief, perhaps, or pride. Whatever it is, it is a small gesture, but it makes a home in your heart, one that has been building for some time, and one that you know you will steadfastly continue to ignore.
--
In truth, you do intend to ignore these… stirrings of -- affection? Interest? in the General.
You’ve known the woman for so long. It used to be that you encountered her on occasion, at the Queen’s Council; you would snipe at one another when you found cause, kept out of each other’s way, else. Gazes were met with scowls or glares. Contention was guaranteed.
Now you see one another at least once a day. And while Antiope still asks you if you will join them in their training, it doesn’t draw your ire as it used to. You do still train with Dessa some evenings, but not every single night. And you can shut Antiope out of your mind well enough in your waking hours, for the most part, so long as she is not present or Hippolyta or Diana or Dessa or Egeria do not mention her. You even manage to focus on your weaving sometimes.
But these stirrings are hardest to ignore when you’re asleep.
The first time you dream of Antiope, you do not realize it’s a dream.
In fact, you think you’re awake.
You’re in the forest again. You’re tucked under the blanket, and her body is curled around you. You can smell the leather of the armor she wears almost daily and the mint oil that she uses in her hair, feel the weight of her arm keeping you close. You hear her sigh, murmur, “ Awake, little fawn.”
And when you open your eyes, really open your eyes, you find yourself alone in your room. One of your hands is resting on a book; your other arm is pillowing your head. Sun is bleeding through your window, and a breeze pushes in the scent of sea air and the chamomile flowers that grow by your room. You sit up, and you find yourself looking over your shoulder.
Of course your bed is empty. Embarrassment courses through you, and you toss your covers aside. Whether it was the sun or her murmured words from your dream, you’re chased from your bed. When you bring Diana to the grove, and Antiope asks if you’ll join, you hardly meet her eye and wave her away as you settle at your spot.
You’re ushered out of bed the following mornings by the same dream, the same feeling of her curled against you, the same sweet murmur in your ear. You always awake to an empty and cold bed, with a feeling of idiocy coursing through you. It makes the sessions with Diana and Antiope no better. It makes you anxious through the meals that you share with the General, tense and hardly daring to take any deeper than a shallow breath as she reads over your shoulder.
And in the evening, as you weave, your stomach churns with unease.
Some nights, you rest your head on the pillow and sincerely try to sleep, putting your mind to what you’ll teach Diana in the morning. Others, you’ll set a candle aside and try to read. Your goal is the same: to try and delay the dream that will inevitably find you as the dawn breaks.
--
There’s no one you can tell this to. Not Dessa, not Naomi or Egeria, and especially not Hippolyta.
It is not uncommon for Amazons to find companionship in one another, but this… This is beyond the bounds. Antiope is the General, she’s Hippolyta’s sister, and she has somehow, against all odds, become your friend. You’ve other friends, of course, and you’ve had companions in the past. But that was a very long time ago.
And you’re not sure how to explain it, but Antiope has become… Dear to you. Her secretive smiles and her presence while the two of you share meals fill you with a warmth you’ve never felt. Perhaps it’s simply the mutual understanding that the two of you have come to for Diana’s sake.
--
“Will you join today?”
“Why do you always ask?”
The question is snippy as it leaves you, and it surprises you both. Antiope recovers faster than you do, and plants her hands on her hips and peers down at you.
“In case you say ‘yes’ one of these days.”
“And if I never do?”
Antiope shakes her head, murmurs, “I will go on hoping, little fawn,” And turns to find Diana practicing parries.
You stare after her, brow furrowed. Why would Antiope hope for you to say yes?
Holy Hera, she’s a confusing sort.
You spend the rest of the session with your nose in a book, but truly not taking in a word. Your mind is on what Antiope said, imagining what would possibly happen if you did agree to train with her and Diana. You’re certain you would be criticized on your form, embarrassed in front of your student, and told that you need quite a bit more work. You couldn’t possibly sit through more sessions after that.
“Perhaps tomorrow?”
You lift your head to find Antiope standing over you again. A glance behind her confirms that Diana’s lesson is completed; the girl’s leaning against a tree, out of breath, a shield loosely held in her grasp. You lift your eyes back to Antiope as you shut your book and stand. You’re not sure what to say, so you simply shrug a shoulder.
“Come, Diana. You need to get cleaned up before your mother comes to get you from the library,” You urge. Diana groans as she pushes herself off of the tree, and you chuckle softly, shaking your head.
“Will you be taking your midday meal soon?” Antiope asks.
It’s the first time she’s bothered to check, and you feel yourself balk. You lower your eyes, shifting your book in your hands.
“I cannot, I’ve work to do on Diana’s curriculum.”
If Antiope doesn’t believe you, she doesn’t call it out, just nods, “Perhaps we’ll do that tomorrow, too.”
And that turns your stomach. You don’t even meet that with a nod or shrug - you haven’t time, or at least you’ve an excuse, because Diana has come over and leaned heavily against you. You steer her around and turn down the path toward the library, refusing to turn and meet Antiope’s eye, though you’re sure she’s looking after you.
--
There are some nights where you cannot sleep at all -- and those are the nights where you have Dessa meet you in the grove or a deserted courtyard, and tire yourself out. Other nights, you go for a run, or a swim, then collapse in bed. It does vaguely register with you that you may be caught by Antiope-- it never occurs to you that you’ll be caught by Hippolyta.
“It’s late.”
Her voice makes you jump and you drop your lasso. You turn, spotting the Queen, and your hand comes up to where your heart is pounding in your chest.
“You startled me,” You grumble, and she smiles as she drifts closer.
“It was not my intention.”
“What brings you out at this time of night?” You crouch down and pick up your lasso, winding it up.
“I was merely going for a stroll. I heard you and thought I’d come and take a look-- though I am surprised to find you alone. I thought you might be with Dessa.”
Confusion courses through you and you tip your head to the side.
“I suspect she’s with Venelia,” You say, tucking your hands behind yourself.
“Mm,” Hippolyta nods, “If you’re planning on entering the games this year, I’m sure Antiope would be happy to have you at the training grounds after you’ve worked with Diana in the morning.”
Nerves churn in your stomach, and you loose a quiet laugh to cover them, “Oh-- No, this--” You draw the lasso out from behind your back and glance down at it, “I just couldn’t sleep, is all.”
“And this helps you?”
“Sometimes.”
“May I ask what makes you restless?”
“It is nothing, my Queen.”
“If it were nothing, you would be very much asleep.”
Hippolyta comes to a stop in front of you, and you find yourself as intimidated as when Antiope watches you. It’s in moments like these that you can see the family resemblance.
“...I’ve had dreams that have caused some unease as of late,” You admit.
“Nightmares?”
“No,” You shake your head. Hippolyta’s brow furrows.
“But they’ve power enough to chase you from your bed.”
“I tried weaving, but… it wasn’t enough.”
“I haven’t seen you at any rougher task than book shelving in quite some time.”
“Book shelving has its own challenges.”
Hippolyta smiles.
“If these dreams are not unpleasant, then I wonder what about them causes your discomfort.”
“It is nothing for you to concern yourself with, my Queen.”
Hippolyta arches a brow.
“...It embarrasses you?”
Deeply, but you can’t bring yourself to admit it.
“It is a fantasy. One that I shouldn’t indulge in.”
“Because it will hurt someone?”
“No.”
“Because it will hurt you?”
Your eyes dart to the floor as your heart drops to your toes, and Hippolyta lets out a soft, understanding hum.
“...I will let you back to your task,” She says softly, and you nod in thanks as she leaves. Panic shoots through you - the idea that she might mention this-- you and the lasso to Antiope, somehow.
“If you could not mention this to anyone?” You ask, and she stops, “I only-- Well, Diana wishes to learn to fight, and I wouldn’t want to put those thoughts into her head while she’s trying to learn.”
And it’s a rotten excuse and a rotten lie, and you feel even more rotten as Hippolyta casts you a thankful smile and a murmur of agreement. As soon as she’s gone you throw your lasso to the ground and clench your fists. Guilt and shame well up in you, hot and ugly, and you walk away, leaving your lasso on the ground.
--
Dessa drops it onto the breakfast table beside you, uncaring of the dust that it deposits.
“Found this,” She says, casting you a sidelong glance, “Long night?”
You don’t answer that, just grunt before saying, “You can take it to training if you like.” You think for a moment, and then add, “You can keep it.”
Dessa doesn’t seem to believe you, but she sees the pensive, dejected look on your face and takes the lasso back up again.
“I’ll hold onto it,” She counters, “When you want it back, you’ll know where to find it.”
--
Anticipating Antiope’s request, you entreat the Queen to allow you to take Diana to the forest for a few of weeks prior to the games. You tell her that you wish to teach the girl more about Zeus - the God gave you all life, and the games are, after all, in his honor. Hippolyta agrees.
You tell Diana to pack an extra blanket.
--
The clearing is just the same as you remember it. You didn’t expect it to change, but-- There’s something almost jolting about it, seeing it somewhere besides your dreams.
“Will you be running the same drills as last year?” You ask Antiope, if only to break the silence that’s prevailed throughout your journey -- it’s odd: before you could go on who knows how long and be perfectly content to not hear her speak, but now you crave the sound of her voice, every phrase and each lilting syllable.
“No,” She tells you, “Diana wishes to sharpen her skills in particular areas-- though I do not know if my sister will be pleased to see that.”
“What do you mean?”
Antiope grimaces, steps closer to you as she eyes where Diana is by the edge of the clearing.
“You know that Diana is exceptional.”
You nod, desperately focusing on Antiope’s words and not on the warmth coming off of her-- the scents of leather and mint--
“There are certain things that Hippolyta may concede Diana learned by watching her follow Amazons, or by her nature, her gift. But others…”
You frown.
“You worry that Hippolyta will know you’ve been training her.”
Antiope nods, and you hum, thoughtful as you turn to look at Diana.
“It is a wonder that we’ve managed to keep it quiet for this long,” You comment.
“It is,” Antiope chuckles softly, “And I know that Diana is very grateful to you, little fawn.”
You shake your head.
“She is grateful to the both of us.”
When you turn back to Antiope, you find her watching you. The words are briefly knocked from you at the sight; you’re startled by the warmth in her eyes, the soft smile she’s offering you. You clear your throat and mumble something about starting dinner as you step around her. You feel her fingers brush against your hand as you go and chills trip up your arm and across your shoulders.
--
That night, as the three of you sit around the fire, you have Diana tell you the story of Prometheus. Diana tells it slowly, fatigued from the trip and her day of training, and you braid her hair with nimble fingers, unable to weave with your loom so many miles away.
That night, Diana shuffles to your bedroll and asks for your blanket. You fight down a groan and remind her that she was meant to bring an extra.
“I forgot,” Is her answer, mumbled and directed at the ground, and you sigh as you hand her yours. Perhaps you are too soft with her - you can hardly picture her shuffling over to Antiope with the same look and excuse. You lean back on your bedroll, shaking your head a little, and then still as the hairs on your neck stand on end. You feel as though you’re being watched. You daren’t look over -- you don’t need to. Antiope is murmuring, “Here, little fawn,” Already.
You don’t dare look still, you simply take up your bedroll and draw it beside hers. You lay down beside her, and her blanket is laid across you. You mumble your thanks and lie on your back, eyes set on the sky. Antiope’s fingers trail over your shoulder, and you close your eyes as your heart rabbits in your chest.
--
Her fingers don’t stop at your shoulder. They slip across your neck, track the path from your collarbone to the clasp at the front of your dress. You can’t see her face; you can hear her breathing, you can feel her touch, the cool slide of her fingertips as they dip under your collar--
--
You sit up in the middle of the clearing and gasp in a breath. Waking from this dream is more jarring than the others. You’re overheated and drowsy. The fire that you’d stoked and cooked dinner over has embers that flare like a heartbeat when a breeze brushes by.
A hand settles between your shoulder blades and you jump, turning your head to find Antiope blinking sleepily up at you in the early morning light. Guilt coils in your stomach, and you reach down, resting your hand on her blanket-covered thigh in a silent apology. You glance over at Diana and find her blessedly still asleep.
You frown when you feel a tug on the back of your dress, but you go when Antiope pulls again. You settle back against the bedroll and peer up at the streaks of pink and orange that are bleeding into light blue as the sun lifts into the sky.
“What’s wrong?” Antiope murmurs.
“Nothing,” You mumble.
“What woke you?”
“... I don’t know.”
And maybe it’s because you hesitated, or maybe it’s because Antiope has a low tolerance for it when she’s just awoken, but--
“You mustn't lie, little fawn,” Antiope’s nose nudges your shoulder, and you squeeze your eyes shut, “It’s unbecoming.”
--
Diana and Antiope go for a race while you make teganitai. They zip back into the clearing together and Diana lands on her bedroll in a heap of limbs. Antiope takes longer to reach you, and when she sits down beside you, she holds a wineskin out. You nudge it back toward her, and she frowns.
“You need it more than I do, you just went for a run.”
Antiope doesn’t answer, just holds the wineskin out again. You frown before you take it from her and take a quick, obliging swig. You pass it back to her, and she takes a drink as you stack a few teganitai on a plate. You pass the plate to Antiope, and she hands the wineskin back. You set it in your lap, cradling it between your legs as you dish Diana’s portion onto her plate.
“Did you eat already?” Antiope asks. You nod a little. It’s technically true; you burned a couple of pieces while you were cooking and you took those for yourself. You pass the wineskin to her and hand Diana her plate when she finally comes over.
“Did you get any more sleep?” Antiope adds.
The question makes Diana’s ears perk up, but before she can ask, you begin to tell the story of Zeus, Deucalion, and the flood.
In the afternoon Antiope and Diana go swimming, and then they spear fish for dinner. You spend the time working on your curriculum for Diana for the upcoming months, though you’re not sure there is much more you can teach her. Even with the time you’ve spent teaching her halved, she’s an exceptionally quick study. You think that she may learn more with Hippolyta going forward, as much as it pains you to admit. You cannot teach Diana how to rule.
--
That night, Diana’s hair is quick enough to braid as you tell her about Leto, the mother of Apollo and Artemis, and the tribulations that followed her as a result of her relationship with Zeus. You’re not finished with your story, but your fingers are itching for more work. You frown when Diana shifts away from you, and you look up to see Antiope lowering herself down in front of you.
You can’t speak for a moment. You wish that the sun was still shining so that you could take in the sight properly, but you know that you’ll savor this. This is the first time you’ve seen Antiope’s hair this way. You’re so accustomed to the sight of her hair cleanly braided back, her diadem in place--
Now it’s unbound before you, damp from their swimming, wavy from the braid it was bound up in before.
You realize that you’ve hesitated a moment too long when Diana says your name.
You reach up and lightly comb your fingers through Antiope’s hair, gently untangling and sectioning it as you resume your story. It’s soft, and longer than you’ve imagined. Now and again your fingers will brush her bare shoulders or back, and you’ll hesitate. But Antiope never jumps, never leans away or flinches. You find yourself growing sleepy even as you braid her hair, your mind going quiet as you finish the story with Apollo’s birth and the island of Delos.
You let Antiope steer you back to your bedrolls and bundle you up with her. Her heart beats beside your ear and her hand soothes over your shoulder, and your dreams are swirled with mint and shine like gold.
--
The morning that you pack up the camp leaves you feeling strangely empty. You’re not sure what it is, but there’s an undercurrent, a shifting feeling that you can’t place. It follows you out of the camp, lingers with you when you’re unpacking. You’re sure it’s to do with Diana, and you tell yourself it’s to do with her schooling, your knowledge that there’s not much left that you can teach her.
She’s particularly tired in the days leading up to the games, and you’re not sure why - you don’t ask, she doesn’t tell you. You find out by accident, and it makes perfect sense.
Maybe you shouldn’t feel so betrayed about it - you’re sneaking around late yourself that night for a similar reason, only-- the girl needs her rest.
You round the corner to a darkened courtyard, where you can already hear the clashing of sword and shield - but rather than finding Dessa as you expect, you find Antiope and Diana. Your heart plummets to your stomach, your mind harkening back to the evening not long ago when Hippolyta found you. You render your most stern expression, plant your hands on your hips and clear your throat.
Diana gasps, startled, and drops her sword; Antiope goes still, eyes narrowing on you in seconds. You won’t bicker with the General now. Instead you set your attention to Diana:
“You ought to be in bed.”
“I wanted to go over something--”
“You can do so in the grove tomorrow. Do you really want to be yawning your way through the games?”
Diana lowers her head, chastened, and crouches down to pick up her sword. You hear approaching footsteps and you take a step back, looking down the path and spotting Dessa. You wave her off with a shake of your head. She frowns, and you raise her hand, signalling for her to give you a moment. Then you turn your attention to Antiope.
“Who is it?” Antiope asks.
“...Dessa,” You admit.
“Why is she here?”
“She was coming to meet me.”
Antiope’s head tilts to the side, and her eyes narrow at you for just a moment. It twists something deep in your gut, but you haven’t the time to consider it-- you fold your arms across your chest and direct your ire to Antiope.
“You ought not to be working her so hard.”
“She can handle it.”
You’re briefly taken aback; there’s an edge to her tone, the likes of which you haven’t heard in some time.
“You say so because you haven’t seen her using her books as pillows these last few days,” You retort before turning back to Diana.
“Get to bed. I expect you on time tomorrow -- and awake,” You tell Diana. You don’t meet Antiope’s eyes as you turn away and leave. Dessa is waiting for you back down the path, and you grip her arm and steer her away.
“Where are we going?” Dessa asks, frowning.
“Somewhere else,” You shake your head, “Someone was already training in that courtyard.”
--
Diana is still somewhat sleepy the next morning, but she makes more of an effort to focus on her work.
When you bring her to the grove to train, Antiope greets Diana. She meets your eye for a moment before she turns to put Diana through her paces. She doesn’t ask if you will join.
--
The morning of the games finds you restless. Your dreams were of weaving golden hair, but your fingers tangled and plucked clumsily. You can’t sit still through breakfast; you’ve hardly spoken to Antiope in days, and while that used to be a boon, it’s now a source of disquiet. You’re not sure what it is; maybe it’s the way she’s been steadfastly ignoring you during Diana’s training sessions, or the fact that you’ve been alone during your meals. Antiope’s quiet grace has left a noticeable absence in your days.
You take your usual place in the stands, eye set on Diana at all times. She competes in three categories: archery, the sword, and the lasso.
She’s hesitant.
Diana is a strong warrior, but something is making her falter. You don’t know what it is, but there’s no advice that you can offer, nothing that you can do from where you are. You find yourself rising out of your seat, however, when Diana is set to compete for the lasso. You’ve seen what’s in her hands before -- many times.
You hurry out of the stands, rushing to Antiope’s side. You catch hold of her wrist, getting her attention.
“Where did she get that?” You ask.
“What?”
“The lasso.”
“Dessa lent it to her,” Antiope frowns, “What is it?”
You raise your eyes to Hippolyta and watch as the Queen steps forward, watching her daughter closely.
“...It’s mine,” You say quietly, “And Hippolyta knows that.”
Antiope’s face falls.
“I didn’t know,” She murmurs, repentant and soft under the roar of the crowd. Your hand falls from her wrist, a worry burrowing its way into your chest. You’ll catch hell later.
“Don’t tell Diana,” You tell Antiope before you turn from her and leave the stadium.
--
Diana does not win any of the categories, and you think, at first, that that is why Hippolyta doesn’t come to you for answers.
The real reason comes to you not four days later, in the middle of one of your training sessions.
You’re sitting beside, watching Diana and Antiope train with swords (blunt, but weighty enough; Diana did not win that category, but she came close -- close enough to draw the attention of other Amazons).
You grin when Diana lands a blow to Antiope’s torso, and wince when, not a moment later, Antiope lands one between Diana’s shoulder blades and sends her to the ground. You sigh, lowering your head to your book as you hear Antiope lecture her,
“You keep doubting yourself, Diana.”
“No I don’t,” Diana argues as she gets back up, but you can hear a shake in her voice.
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t.”
It’s only another few moments before Diana is on the ground again, and Antiope is leaning in:
“You are stronger than you believe. You have greater powers than you know, but if you don’t try harder--”
“Diana!”
Fear shoots through you, and though it was not your name that was called, you slam your book shut and rise to your feet as Hippolyta and a few of her Guard ride into the grove. Holy Hera.
Antiope glances back at you before she takes a step in front of you, as if to hide you from view. You step closer instead, coming to stand by her side, to take whatever punishment is doled out alongside her and Diana.
Diana looks as chastised as you feel, lowering her eyes to the ground as Hippolyta dismounts from her steed and approaches the three of you.
“Are you hurt?”
“No, mother, I’m fine, I was just--”
“Training,” Hippolyta interrupts her daughter, turning on you and Antiope, “It seems I’m not the revered Queen I should be. Disobeyed? Betrayed by my own sister? And by my wisest Council--?”
“No, mother, it was me! I asked them to,” Diana hurries to intervene, stepping in front of Hippolyta, but the Queen is already turning from you with an order of, “Take her to the palace.”
She looks down at Diana with a firm nod, an, “Off you go,” And you don’t dare turn to watch as the girl is led away from you. Antiope does, but you are sure that she has an ease around her sister where you do not, a leniency. The bickering that follows, the fight between the sisters, sets your teeth on edge, but brings relief. Diana will be permitted to train freely. No more secrecy. But then Hippolyta’s eyes catch on you.
You’ve often wondered if and when this day would come, if you would be discovered. Are you to be banished from Themyscira for disobeying your Queen? Your only defense is that what you’ve done, you truly believe was in Diana’s best interests, but you are not her mother, and that may be a weak defense, if not an honest one.
Antiope steps in front of you again, and for a moment it draws your irritation. But as Antiope’s hand reaches back to steady on your arm, your chest aches at it. She is not diminishing you - she is taking this action to protect you, as she has been trying to protect Diana. Hippolyta’s eyes dart to Antiope’s grip on you before lifting to her sister’s face. Something passes between them, unspoken, and Hippolyta gives her a single, short nod.
“We will have words later,” Hippolyta warns you before she strides away. You feel Antiope’s grip tighten on you, but neither of you move until Hippolyta and her guard have ridden away. Even when you feel that you can move again, you let out a shaky breath and lower your forehead to rest on Antiope’s shoulder, closing your eyes. Her grip slackens, and you fear that she’ll push you away, but her fingers slide down, tangling with your own.
“Are you alright?” She murmurs. You nod a little bit, though you’re not, quite. You wish that Hippolyta would’ve dealt with you just then, with the others - even if it was to send you away. You don’t like this, this waiting. Antiope turns her head, rests it against yours, murmurs, “All will be well, little fawn.”
And you don’t know why, but you believe her.
--
“How long?” Is the Queen’s first question.
“...Quite some time,” You admit.
You haven’t had to wait long. Once you’d collected your book and left the grove, Egeria had arrived at your room with a summons from Hippolyta for that evening. The moon is high over Themyscira, and it’s a little chilly on the balcony, but you stand by the fire pit with your chalice of wine and don’t dare complain.
“And when did it begin?”
“...When Diana’s schedule changed to mornings.”
Hippolyta’s brows raise.
“Quite long indeed,” She agreed, “And very unexpected. I was certain that the two of you disliked one another.”
You frown. Surely the Queen is discussing how long Diana has been training?
“Pardon?” You shake your head.
“Of course, I did think that there was something, briefly with Dessa. You have always been quite close to her. But my sister can be a...Secretive sort, it is no wonder she’s never said anything to me.”
You feel yourself warm with embarrassment and you hate to ask, but:
“Forgive me, my Queen, but we are discussing Diana’s training, are we not?”
And now Hippolyta’s brows furrow.
“I certainly was not,“ Her head tips to the side, amusement taking confusion’s place as she adds, “You needn’t pretend anymore. I did see the way she was with you.”
“I do not know what you mean.”
“Antiope.”
“I know who you mean, but--” You fumble with your words, and the Queen has the grace not to laugh outright.
“Perhaps I am mistaken,” She concedes (though she sounds like she’s mistaken nothing at all), turning away from you to look out over the water, “Tell me, then, how it came to be that Diana trained in the morning.”
And you latch to the change of topic willingly, even if it means getting in some trouble and perhaps shocking your Queen; even if your mind is, instead, back in the grove, with your head on Antiope’s shoulder and her fingers tangled in yours.
--
“I meant to return this sooner.”
You lift your head from your book and balk at the sight of your lasso.
“Oh,” You shake your head, turning back to your book, “No-- Diana can keep it.”
Antiope doesn’t answer that. You expect her to leave - but she straddles the bench beside you. You have to push away a smile, but it’s been some time since you’ve had her settle down this way with you.
“How did it come to be in Dessa’s possession? She has her own,” Antiope asks. You shrug, and in response, Antiope reaches out and shuts your book. You turn on her, mouth agape, and she simply smiles at you.
“What did you do that for?”
“I would like an answer.”
“I told her to keep it.”
“And now you say that Diana can keep it.”
“You keep up quite well. Perhaps you should’ve handled Diana’s tutoring as well as her training,” You open your book again.
“And where were you and Dessa that it came to be on offer? … Your room, perhaps?”
The question is posed innocently enough, but your exchange with Hippolyta is still sharp in your mind. You also consider the night that you caught Antiope and Diana training before the games, and Antiope’s sharp rejoinders after your mention of Dessa’s name.
“No,” You answer simply.
“Well?”
“Why do you wish to know?”
“Because I’ve a feeling that you have been holding out on me.”
“Why is that?”
“If a lasso is left unused, then the rope becomes stiff, difficult. Dessa told me that she has never used this one.”
“...Diana has used it.”
“It was in a fine shape when Diana came to use it.”
Perhaps it was pointless to ask Hippolyta not to mention your nightly excursions to anyone - Antiope seems to have you caught.
You feel the warmth of her as she shifts closer, her knees bracketing you, and while your eyes are settled on the page, they don’t take in a thing.
“Why do you hide from me?” she murmurs.
“I don’t,” You argue.
“Then tell me the truth.”
You don’t dare look at her again - you know that you’ll find those bright blue eyes glinting at you, and you’ll bend to them in seconds.
“...It was only sometimes, when I couldn’t sleep.”
“Like the night in the clearing?”
You grunt, and it’s confirmation enough.
“...We’ll never go back there, will we,” You say, before she can press again. And the question takes Antiope aback, you know it does, because it takes her a few moments to answer.
“We can,” she says, “But it won’t be like before. We can go whenever we like now, without the lie.”
And that’s a weight lifted from your shoulders. You nod a little.
“I wanted to go yesterday,” You admit, “But I couldn’t remember the way.”
“I’ll take you.”
She says it without a beat of hesitation, and you turn to find her waiting for you to decline, waiting for you to dart off like the little fawn that she thinks you are. But instead you nod, and a smile spreads out over her lips, warm and beautiful.
--
It’s odd to be there without Diana. You swear you can see the place she usually rolled out her bedroll, but you’re certain that your eyes are playing tricks on you. She wanted to come with you both, but Hippolyta told her that she needed to stay at the palace and work on policy - the sort of thing you could never teach her.
That night, you and Antiope lay your bedrolls out beside one another. You bundle under your blankets together, and she points out constellations. You tell her the story of Theseus and the Minotaur; you tell her about Heracles and the Lion; you tell her about Crius Chrysomallus, the flying, golden-fleeced ram, and Jason and the Argonauts.
You know that she’s heard these stories before. You don’t care that she’s asking you to tell them again. She’s curled up on her side and watching you, hanging on your every word; her fingers drift over yours under the covers. As you fall asleep, you take a leap, and intertwine your fingers, as she did in the grove.
--
“Awake, little fawn.”
When you open your eyes, you are not in your room. It’s still early - light has barely begun to seep into the sky. You glance behind yourself and your heart soars when you find Antiope there, smiling.
“Come,” She murmurs, “Let us swim.”
You huff, and turn your head from her again.
“It is too early,” You argue, petulant and sleepy. Antiope chuckles and throws the blankets off of the both of you. You groan at the rush of cool air. She’s standing over you in a moment, taking hold of both of your hands and tugging you up. You grumble, but you go with her.
You remember the rush of chilling water, you know what to expect, but the plunge still makes you sputter. You come up for air, taking a deep breath and swiping the water back from your eyes. Antiope is not far off, and she laughs at your sputtering. You splash water in her direction, and the second you do, you know it’s a mistake.
--
When you finally make it to shore, you’re a different kind of tired. Your arms and legs are heavy from swimming, your stomach, sore from laughter. Antiope is close behind, climbing to shore where you clambered, an arm hooking around your waist as she steers you back to camp. You shiver through the cool shade of trees, and sigh when you step into the sun-warmed clearing.
“Are you hungry, little fawn?” She asks, and you nod.
“Build the fire,” You urge, “I’ll make the mix for teganitai.”
You change out of your wet dress while she’s occupied and hang it over a low-hanging branch nearby to dry. When you return, Antiope leaves to do the same. She returns with a wineskin. The pan you’ve brought is not hot enough to cook in yet - you’ve put in a small bit of batter and are waiting for it to brown. You watch as Antiope lowers herself to sit beside you, and take your time in looking. She stretches out, toes pointed toward the fire; her hair is unbound again. You have come to savor the sight of her in something other than armor. You lower your eyes as she turns to look at you.
Antiope holds the wineskin out to you, and you roll your eyes a little bit.
“Again?” You tease, remembering your last trip to the clearing, her insistence at your taking the first drink. She hums quietly, and you take a sip from the skin before passing it to her. You shift up to your knees as the pan heats and the batter begins to sizzle.
Breakfast is passed in silence. It is not uncomfortable; Antiope’s arm and side and thigh press up against yours. When she uses her thumb to swipe up the last bit of honey left from her food, and watches you as she laps it up, you fight the urge to turn away like some prudish priestess.
--
“Tell me,” Antiope urges that night.
You’re drowsy, and you’ve just recounted the tale of Demeter, her mortal lover Karmanor, and their son, Eubouleos, and daughter, Khrysothemis. The two of you are under your blankets and pressed side by side and you’re already loathing leaving in the morning and sleeping in your bed alone tomorrow night.
“Tell you what?” You ask, ready to draw up the next story she wants to hear. But, “Dessa,” Is her answer. You frown, turning your head to look at her.
“What?”
“The night that she was coming to meet you,” Antiope pushes herself up, turning on her bedroll to look down at you, and you watch her, brow furrowing, “When we were in the courtyard-- Why was she coming?”
“To spar.”
“...That is all?”
“Yes. Why else?”
You see Antiope hesitate, and you consider something that Hippolyta said.
“Dessa and I are not involved. She is with Venelia.”
“Do you wish that things were different?”
“I do not care for Dessa in...That way,” You shake your head. Antiope nods, and lowers her gaze, and you feel her fingers drift over the back of your hand. You shiver at the touch, one that has become ordinary between you in these past two days.
“Do you care for anyone in that way?” She asks. The question is soft in its prying, fragile in the breath it was murmured in.
Your skin prickles with heat, and is sharp with where she touches you; you look up at her, and her hair is spun gold silhouetted by the fire that you’ve built. She’s watching you, and the weight of her gaze should be strong enough to crack the earth in two, but you’ve come to find comfort in it.
You can’t bring yourself to speak. Instead, you turn your hand over in hers and skim your fingers along her palm. You hear her breath hitch, and you can’t help the pride that courses through you - the idea that you might’ve caught the most fierce warrior in Themyscira off-guard. You brush the pads of your fingers over her wrist before you take gentle hold. You draw her hand up from under the covers and cradle your cheek with it for a moment, allowing your eyes to slip closed. You feel her fingertips soothe soft over your skin, and you smile.
You turn your head and press a soft kiss to her palm. When you open your eyes, when you find her eyes on your lips, you turn your head and press a kiss to the pad of each finger. She watches you with bated breath, holds perfectly still, like if she moves, you may skitter away. You place her hand back on your cheek before you push yourself up. Your chest brushes against hers, and you hold her gaze as you raise your hand to her cheek. She turns her head, pressing tender kisses to your palm, the pads of your fingers. You lean in, nosing against her cheek and allowing your lips to skim along her jaw.
She turns her head back and rests her temple against yours, murmurs, “Sweet girl,” In a soft, airy voice, “Please.”
That plea is a lightning bolt through you. You curl your fingers around her jaw and turn your head, brushing your lips against hers. She looses a moan as she presses in for more. You raise your other hand, sliding it through the hair she’s left unbound and gripping her by the nape. Antiope’s hand slips down your neck to your collar, her fingers skimming over your throat as the other lifts to thumb the clasp holding up your dress. Her hands settle there, even after you nod, even after you mumble her name against her lips to urge her on.
Impatient, you reluctantly pull your hands from her and undo the clasps on your shoulders yourself. You shiver as you're exposed fully to the chill of the night air. Antiope sucks in a gasp at the sight of you; she rises to her knees and draws you up onto yours. You go willingly, leaning into her as she tugs you against her. Her hands wander you reverently as your dress is shoved further down, and you reach up, fingers nervously settling on the clasps of her dress.
“Go on, sweet girl,” She mumbles against your neck, her hands sliding over your shoulders. You fumble with them, not nearly as confident or sure in your movements as you had been with your own. When you manage to undo the clasps, you greedily push the fabric from her body, sliding your fingers down her arms and squeezing. She leans away, tugging the dress off and tossing it aside before drawing you back in. You go easily, sucking in a soft breath as Antiope’s mouth wanders your chest. You reach down, palming her breasts and toying with one of her nipples as she sucks and laps yours. You groan quietly, pressing your hips down against where her thigh is wedged between yours.
“Antiope,” You sigh, letting your head fall forward as she seeks out another kiss from you. You give it to her, sucking her lower lip into your mouth and nibbling at it when she clutches to you more tightly. Antiope holds you in a way that you know will bruise, and you thrill and delight in the knowledge.
You break your kiss for a moment to suck your fingers into your mouth, wetting them before you reach between her legs, sliding over the thatch of hair there. You watch her eyes grow darker, see her mouth fall open as you find the sensitive spot and rub soft circles there. She sighs and begins to flex her thigh, gripping your waist and encouraging the lazy grinding you’ve been doing. You smile and lean down, lapping into her mouth as you continue to work your fingers.
She mumbles your name over and over quietly, a sweet, murmured little prayer as you run your fingers along her slit. You feel the wetness that’s gathered there, moan at the fact that you’ve done this to her.
“Sweet girl,” She mumbles, her hips working more harshly against your fingers, “ I --”
Her eyes are squeezing shut, and you realize what’s happening, and you duck your head and suck one of her nipples into your mouth, teasing at it and tugging it with your teeth. She gasps out your name, high and sweet, her hips driving against your hand, and you moan as you feel her shake. You lean back, kissing up to her neck and mouthing along her collarbone and shoulders as she settles.
It’s only a second before you’re on your back, and you squeak indignantly. Before you can complain or question, however, Antiope is shoving your thighs apart and has her mouth on you. You let out a moan that you’re certain can be heard all the way back to the library. Antiope just hums against your clit, her eyes hazy and glinting up at you in the firelight. You reach down, sweetly carding your hand through her hair as she teases her tongue along your slit. You fight to keep your eyes open as the lids grow heavy with pleasure, but you can’t tear your eyes away from her. You don’t want to.
One of her hands slides up to your hip and settles and squeezes. She lifts her head, murmurs that you’re sweeter than honey as she dips a finger into you. You tighten your grip on the bedroll, trying not to tug her hair. But you can’t help yourself when a second finger joins the first. You pull -- and Antiope whines in a way that makes your hips stutter. You push yourself to sit up, then, and use your grip on her hair to drag her up with you as you lap the taste of yourself from her lips.
Her fingers fuck into you and the heel of her palm grinds against your clit. You pant against one another’s mouths, tongues dipping out to taste when you can manage-- but soon you feel that coiling in your gut.
“‘Tiope--” You warn in a whine, and she groans, her fingers pistoning faster.
“Come for me, sweet girl,” She urges you, and you do, squeezing around her fingers as you tumble over the edge. She rests her forehead on your shoulder and slips her hand away as you come down from it.
You’re shivering, and you don’t know if it’s what’s just happened, or the breeze sweeping around your sweat-sheened body. Antiope hums and gently steers you to lay back down on the bedroll as she covers you back over with the blankets again. You bracket her hips with your thighs and wrap your arms around her shoulders and keep her close, fingers sleepily combing through her hair.
--
“Awake, little fawn.”
The words are spoken against your neck, chased with kisses.
“...I am not going swimming,” You mumble, and you hear Antiope chuckle.
“No,” She agrees, “Not this time. We must get ready to leave soon.”
You pout, and you open your eyes. You’re alone under the blanket, though Antiope is leaning over you. The sun is higher than you expected - Antiope has let you sleep later than she should’ve. You take in her face, her smile. To your dismay, her hair is braided back already, but you suppose that’s to be expected. She’s to return to the training grounds as soon as the two of you arrive.
You reach up and stroke your knuckles along her cheek, tentative. Antiope turns her head, brushing her lips along them.
“Come,” She murmurs, “We’ve time to eat, and then we must go.”
--
Things seem almost abysmally normal when you return. Antiope goes to her training fields, you to the library. When you stop for your midday meal, you find yourself accompanied not only by Antiope, but Diana as well. The girl (politely) demands a recounting of the stories that she missed while the two of you were away. You oblige and tell her, but Antiope spends the meal reminding you to eat, and filling the stories in while your mouth is occupied. The two leave together, and you return to your work.
The evening finds you alone at your loom. The batten is in your hands, mostly unused, and you stare at the wool. You try to work at it again every few minutes, and find that you’ve either stopped, or have made a mistake and need to redo your work. Your mind is elsewhere , it has been so for months. It’s almost worse, now that you know so acutely what you’re missing.
Finally you give up, sighing heavily and setting your batten aside. You shake your head, and are wondering if Diana is awake and will object to your borrowing your old lasso when you hear,
“What troubles you, little fawn?”
You whirl around to find Antiope in the doorway. She’s asked the question, is gazing at you as though her presence should calm you and not set your heart singing.
“I--” You wave your hand back toward the loom, “I can’t focus.”
“What is it?” She straightens and steps further into your room, and you feel a shyness well up in you as you fold your arms over your chest.
“...I was thinking of you,” You admit in a mumble. You expect her to make fun, but Antiope just smiles and gives you a sweet kiss, and murmurs, “I thought of you all day.”
Her hands settle on your shoulders; your arms unwind and curl around her to draw her close to you.
“Will you stay tonight?” You ask quietly.
“I will stay until you want me to go, sweet girl.”
You nuzzle into her neck and close your eyes and take a deep breath.
That night you braid gold, and you fall asleep with the scent of mint in your nose, and your love in your arms.
--
Sweet mother, I cannot weave –
slender Aphrodite has overcome me
with longing for a girl.