PART 1From Pandora
After years of struggle, betrayals, and an unfathomable spilling of blood from countless innocents in my useless fight for the throne, I ended up here. In front of me, the decaying capital of the kingdom of the elves, with about one million inhabitants and only 50,000 guards; behind me, an army of 750,000 soldiers ready for war, who, with the help of multiple mechanisms and a lot of shovels, dug for weeks to reach this place without being detected.
Attacking the capital and pretending it is a retaliation for the coup d'état led by Damaso against my grandfather could give me legitimacy, if I were thinking of taking the throne of this kingdom to fulfill my final objective, but it would be something slow and very exhausting.
—Sir Homero. —I summoned my adviser with a voice that sought to convey firmness and power, although due to my high-pitched voice and soft, delicate body, which showed a rather contradictory contrast, it felt as if something was wrong, although I couldn't recognize what it was.
Soon after, an older man approached accompanied by some soldiers, who helped him stand upright or tried to guide him on his way; but as a proud and somewhat elderly man, he reprimanded many with his gaze while acting like a complete crank. Despite his attitude, everyone cleared his path and showed their respect, for they knew his temperament hid great determination, concern, and dedication to our cause.
After many stumbles, I signaled Penelope to go for Homero, who, despite his resistance, ended up mounting her back. For a second I couldn't hold back my laughter, although if I'm honest, it was impossible for anyone to put up resistance, for Penelope was the strongest person in my army, feared on the battlefield by men, women, and the four-ton beasts our enemies released; this reached the point where many even compared her to one of the seven heralds, although those of us better informed knew Penelope would never stand a chance against one of those great powers.
Upon arriving in front of me, Homero managed with difficulty to get down from Penelope's back, his left leg wobbling and his right hand on his back, trying to hide it from me, since from what I heard it had been taken from him by Etolo after I was freed from the dungeons. And although he hid it from me during the entire journey, the soldiers did not stop praising his valor, for even if he was already old, in his time he had occupied Penelope's place as the inquisitor arm of the king of Zarcades, Deucalion, my father, and he was also known as one of the seven great heralds of his time.
—Your Majesty, forgive the lateness of your loyal… —I immediately stopped Homero when I saw how he began to lean on his clearly injured leg and attempted to bow.
Homero looked me in the eyes, somewhat astonished, while I observed his battered and wounded body. Seeing him like that only made me remember the time when Homero was still young and had a large and strong body, with a hard but kind face, green almond-shaped eyes, long reddish hair framing his face, which barely had a few wrinkles—just enough to recognize he no longer had 20 years—but the rest of his body was so worked and so full of vitality that it was impossible to tell at first glance. I wouldn't lie if I said that when I was a child, Homero was my first love, but now he was a completely worn-out man, with dark circles under his eyes from not sleeping for days, his once perfect and flawless face now had several wrinkles, most centered on his eyebrows and lips due to all the worried grimaces he made for me and the future of this war; his eyes were sunken from not sleeping for days while guiding this enormous army while I was still indisposed due to the poison, his once reddish and vibrant hair now was stained with gray everywhere, the beard he once never showed now more present than ever, for he no longer cared about his own appearance; but even so, he was the only man left in my life. I kissed his forehead, hugged him, and then cried; after all, perhaps Deucalion was my father for 8 years, but Homero was for the next 12, and no daughter wants to see her father die—much less two.
—Silly girl, you're supposed to be the queen, you shouldn't treat a foolish knight gone to seed like that. —He gave me a soft tap with his palm, but for me, my guard, the soldiers, and our dead, it was simply his way of giving affection.
—Don't be silly, dad. —I began to laugh and cry. Moments like these were worth living for.
—Don't say nonsense, silly girl, can't you see that everyone doubts your heritage because of your incestuous mother?
—Don't even dream of it, sir.
—No one doubts the princess, sir, that is what you are; you are a father to all of us here.
—When Penelope defeats me, I will ask her to give me Her Majesty's hand in marriage.
Everyone fell silent, although thinking that someone could defeat Penelope among all my soldiers only made me burst into a shrill laugh. Soon everyone began laughing while Homero and other souls fond of his strict and stiff figure tried to contain their annoyance, with one or two soldiers attempting to silence everyone.
—Don't be so stiff, Homero, I'm not queen yet, and if we cannot get the support of the elves, this can drag on much longer. —I said still laughing, though trying to calm myself a bit. —In any case, I should be the one showing you my respect; because of me, the invasion was discovered—if only I hadn't tried to rescue the servants and guards of the palace, Etolo wouldn't have discovered me, and you wouldn't have needed to rescue me.
In that moment my throat closed, I took Homero's stump in my hands and began to cry. It wasn't common for me to cry this much, but he wasn't only my second father; he was the only family I had left in this world, for my older brother died at the hands of his fiancée, my father and my younger brother were poisoned, and finally my uncle took his life when he discovered that my mother had killed my father and brother—she was the master of poisons. All of this was discovered only because I survived; I don't know if it was luck or some intervention, but fortunately I survived, and when my mother tried to cut my throat, she was discovered by my uncle, who took her life and in the end stabbed his own throat.
While I was crying, some dry and cracked lips touched my forehead, and soon after a soft tap hit my head.
—Stop crying, silly girl, we are here because we believe in you.
Perhaps your father was a drunken idiot and your mother a crazy incestuous woman, but at least they did something good with their lives—you. You have your father's white hair, with his graceful and beautiful figure and his relentless drive to save everyone, along with your mother's red eyes, with her obsessive nature and that need to show the world your worth. —Then he leaned close to whisper in my pointed ears. —But don't let those idiots discourage you; I know many may say big breasts are the best, but most of them have a pinky finger's worth to judge with.
◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇
After a few hours guiding the construction of the camp, Penelope and I took a tent to rest; after all, we needed to prepare ourselves, because although it sounds easy, bringing 750,000 soldiers requires many resources, to the point that our reserves would only last a few weeks and the morale of the most inexperienced was beginning to falter. It is moments like this when I wonder: How did my father inspire his troops? Perhaps it sounds naïve—I know it does—but I want to believe it wasn't for gold, or for promises of plundered goods, or worse, promises of impunity for war crimes such as enslavement, rape, or kidnapping. I want to believe it was part of his charisma and his ability to do what was necessary for his people, that people trusted him because of how capable he was.
Thus everyone began to set up the camp, assign guards, store weapons, dig holes for latrines at a good distance, and prepare food. All this was a torment, and I had to manage everything with the help of only a few generals, my adviser, and my right hand. But after finishing all of this, instead of thinking about the future, my gaze fell only on Penelope.
At first Penelope was a servant, but when Homero found out who her husband was, he trained her day and night until her bones broke; he pushed her to the limit, and until she met his expectations he didn't let her go—and in that time I went from being a girl to a woman. At first I was jealous; I didn't understand what marriage was, but I could see she and Homero spent a lot of time together, so seeking for Homero to look at me again, I joined them—but Penelope was sixteen and I was only nine. Over time, she became my rival, and I forgot my childhood love while slowly falling in love with her. Right now, being alone with Penelope was dangerous for me, for there were many things at stake, and she was still a married woman.
—Your husband really is fortunate. —I said without being able to suppress a certain longing in my voice.
—Y-your highness shouldn't say that, it's a bit embarrassing to go to another woman to speak of my husband, especially when I haven't been able to see him for some time.
—W-well, that's true, but think of it from my side—he's a great warrior, surely he will be fine.
—Haha, you almost make me think you're trying to steal him from me.
—Pfffft, please, Homero would kill me—he can't stand the sight of him.
—Oh right, I forgot, he defeated him and took his place as the second herald.
That was true—Homero had once been defeated by none other than a thirteen-year-old boy. No one thought that could ever happen, but when Homero lost his shajar, it was sealed for ten years. I remember it well, because not a day goes by when I don't think that if he had all his power, we could have won the war long ago. But as time has passed, his body has grown weaker and weaker. All I have left is the hope that he tells the truth and that when those ten years are up, he can recover all of his shajar—which will give him unbeatable strength and allow him to face entire armies with one hand tied behind his back… although maybe it's just me wanting to believe in childish tales.