Disclaimer: Alas, Greek Mythology is not my own.

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One week.

One reprehensible, endless, gut-wrenching, stomach-turning, tormenting week aboard the Gorgophone. And still there was time even more to pass before they reached the shores of Kos. Wonderful.

Anassa grasped onto the railing of the cluttered vessel, her mind reeling and the smell of filth, sweat, salt and urine permeating the air that she breathed. The disguise that had become her barrier against the world of motion and tiresome work that operated around her had become stained, and torn, and her short, crudely shorn man's braid had proven itself as a perpetual bother. Her splintered, rope burned hands were another constant pain, quite literally, and Cora's attitude had done everything but put an abrupt end to the worsening of their predicament.

Shockingly, the word that Anassa was not exactly who – or what – she had claimed to be seemed to be circulating aboard the ship, and the occasional, if not slightly infuriating, slap to the backside had also become a significant portion within Anassa's daily routine. At first, the very prospect of discovery had terrified her, but, now that she had been convinced that the men could not care less concerning whether or not she was truly a male, a female or Hermaphroditos himself (what a skinny lad ye are, love), Anassa's frayed nerves began to subtly and steadily repair themselves.

"You really need to calm down," Cora had said, whilst she nibbled on a handful of dried dates that she had stolen from the storage compartments below the deck. "Stress is not a convenient for recuperation or the treatment of wounds."

To her disappointment, surprisingly, Anassa had not seen very much of Ianthus at all. The tall Athenian usually seemed to be preoccupied at the rigging, rowing with the teeming tumult of other rude, annoyed men, or otherwise engaged some activity or another within the sleeping compartments that were concealed beneath the scrubbed, cracking floorboards that irritated the feet even through the leather of the sandals. It disappointed her a little, although she did not know the reason as to why. Unwilling to further spoil her already perfectly awful day, she surmised that it certainly would be beneficial for her if she were to avoid him, and left her heated reasoning at that. If only. She was finding that it was becoming more difficult to restrain her flustered responses to his uncomfortable nearness, something especially humiliating, taking into consideration that she shared her sleeping area with him – it confused her, and Anassa did not like it.

Glancing upward and squinting against the unbearable brightness of the midmorning sun, Anassa swept her gaze across the perimeter of the enormous vessel to search for the final member of their mismatched trio. Truly uncaring for the wretched hopelessness that only Anassa seemed to feel, Cora was diligently busying herself with an enthusiastic bout of arm wrestling against a man who looked as though he could have promptly ripped her arm from its tender socket. It was strangely embarrassing. The fact that he – whoever he was - was devoid of even a stitch of clothing also did nothing to lessen Anassa's mortification.

Kneeling at the dilapidated loading crate that had been procured and erected to the side of the main mast, the unknown man's, well…maleness jerked irregularly with each strained movement that Cora offered opposite where he stolidly sat. Of course, Anassa had gleaned the rare glimpse of her father's manhood as she had passed by the corridor that wound gracefully outside of their villa's bathhouse, yet, she had never, ever seen one that was so huge. And she had seen quite a few. One method that Caryatis found remarkably effective toward her campaign in remaining within the community's wealthiest social circles was hosting the occasional orgiastic dinner party, ostensibly to 'honour the gods'.

Anassa's presence had been demanded at quite a number of such 'gatherings'. Admittedly, finding her step mother crushed between – or, more appropriately, beneath - a group of ridiculously attractive males who most definitely were not her father had been less than appetizing.

A wave of nausea immediately swept from Anassa's stomach to within a dangerously close proximity of her mouth.

-

Cora rubbed viciously at her arm, glaring disdainfully at Anassa, who did reveal any hint that she noticed at all.

"What's the matter?" She asked, noting, with concern, the darkly purple half circles beneath Anassa's eyes. "Is it that time of the month, again?"

Anassa looked up. "No, it's not that. I've just been sick again. The water, the smell…" She pressed her fingers to her mouth, her skin a pale, waxy green.

"Ah," Cora said. "You should have told me sooner." She pulled the leather top of her medicine bag free and began to noisily rummage amongst whatever was inside. Cora procured a securely tied cloth pouch, and lifted from within it a solidified globule of transparent reddish matter which she placed onto Anassa's palm, closing her fingers protectively over it. "Here, take this. You should allow it to dissolve complete in your mouth before you swallow it, mind."

"Will it help with the nausea?" Anassa asked, laying it onto her tongue.

Cora snorted. "Absolutely not. That's a laxative."

"What!"

"It'll help to cleanse your bowels, and settle your stomach to keep the food from being rejected. I've noticed that it's been a while since you've excreted. That's not good. If I had any mint, I would have brewed you something to ease the cramps, but, as it is, I have none," Cora explained, smiling ruefully. "They should calm, in a while."

"I hope so," Anassa said, worriedly wrapping a forearm around her middle and blushing violently.. She did not expect to pass the following evening in reasonable comfort.

As it happened, later on that very night, Anassa discovered that her assumptions were painfully accurate.

-

Apollo found himself bothered. Bothered, and hot, and impossibly filthy, and sunburned beyond belief – flakes of his peeling skin were visible already against his stained clothing. He hadn't bathed in days; salt water was useless.

Beside him, Stelios, one of the Gorgophone's many rowers, noticed Apollo's struggles and grinned. "I know how ye feel, Ianthus. Life aboard a ship's hard enough as it is, without Helios and his sense o' humour."

"You can say that again," Apollo replied dryly. He mentally berated himself for doubting the older god's dedication to his duties. "How do you do it, Stelios?"

The man wiped his brow with a forearm, before fixing his companion with an amused stare. "When ye've been aboard a ship for as long as I have, ye get used to it, I suppose," he said. He took a swallow from the skin at his elbow, revelling in his temporary escape from the oars. "Wine, Ianthus? If ye can't cope, ye may as well be dead drunk."

Apollo readily agreed, drinking deeply. He felt the warmth from the wine ease his aches, and sighed. "Thank you."

"Don't ye mention it."

A group of men that Apollo now recognised as fellow rowers of the Gorgophone saundered past, shouting boisterously and calling greeting to their comrades. One sailor pressed an eye against the wall that formed a separation between the deck and the compartments below, straining to overcome the darkness that blanketed the area within. Even an idiot would have been able to fathom that he intended to search for Anassa.

Solid rancour flooded Apollo's throat.

A warm breeze drifted from the churning waters that surrounded the boat, carrying with it the pungent odours of salt and urine, men and rope, doing little to soften the harsh onslaught of the sun. Apollo thought of his father, feeling bilious, and cursed. The bastard... More often than not, those who found themselves the target of Zeus' anger lived to regret it. It had not been the first time.

He hoped that Anassa would not attract his attention; the pompous fool drew women as skilfully as if with magnetism.

He spat a mouthful of saliva into the sea.

"So, how's that pretty friend of yers?" Stelios' voice interrupted his musings.

"Which friend?" Damn those men.

"Meles."

Apollo frowned. "What of Meles? What's happened?" He asked quickly.

"Calm down," Stelios said, raising his eyebrows. "I was only asking. We all know that he's really a girl."

Apollo sighed. "I've said this before, to both yourself and to the others; nobody has any business with him- her." And he had - rather furiously.

"All right. Don't worry - the worst that we would've done is have a bit of fun with the sod. But I doubt that ye'd allow that," Stelios said, grinning ruefully.

"I would not."

"Right. There's still one thing that I want to know, though, Ianthus. How's it that her parents have sent her on such a voyage with only yerself and Dorus as escorts? She's a comely girl, as ye can no doubt can see. It's unseemly to stay with two men."

Stelios truly seemed bemused. Apollo turned to face him, the corner of his mouth lifting, and burst into laughter.

Bloody Cora.

-

Anassa cracked open an eye.

It was obviously morning, and, amazingly, she did feel a little better. Well, perhaps more so than a little. However, she did not wish to feel gratitude toward Cora following the previous evening's strenuous ordeal. As skilled as the woman was, her methods were flagrantly unscrupulous. Anassa swore, and wrenched herself from her sleeping pallet, scratching fruitlessly at her scalp. A single week without bathing...

Cora was absent, the gods be thanked, and the stench of sickness had subsided somewhat. Anassa breathed deeply, noticing the pile of clean linens beside her bed - clean! - and launched herself to her feet, scrubbing with purpose at her bites and scabs.

She sat with her knees drawn to her chin after she had bathed (if it could actually be called bathing), and mulled.

Anassa was at a complete loss as to what to do once she and Cora landed at Kos. She didn't think that Cora had set any plans either, although she had learned to expect surprise when it came to Cora and whatever occurred within that mad, brilliant, shameless mind of hers. It would be best to leave that to her.

She wondered whether or not her father - Acacius, she corrected herself roughly - had learned of her absence. Most likely, he had, and most likely, he was spitting fire. He had only Caryatis to tolerate him, now, although it was simply a matter of time before her discovered her infidelity and either took another wife or killed her. It was unlikely that he would blacken his name with murder - and, as it was, Caryatis was beautiful. Too beautiful to mar. Perhaps he would have the decency to merely rape her and leave her be.

The door to her right creaked open, and Anassa, thinking the intruder to be Cora, released a lengthy groan and began to whine. "For goodness' sake, Cora, what was that? I could barely sleep!"

"Cora is helping at the deck," Apollo replied.

"Ianthus?" Anassa flushed deeply red. "I though you were...somebody else."

"Evidently," he replied, smiling gently.

"May...May I help you?" Anassa said, painfully aware of the state of the cabin.

"Actually," he replied, "I came here to see you."

"Me? Why, whatever for?"

"Cora told me that you were ill."

"Oh..."

"Well?" Apollo said, following a moment's silence. "How are you?"

"I am...all right, I suppose," Anassa said. "As 'all right' as I can be expected to be on this ship. I doubt that that'll be the case for much longer, though." Reeling, she placed a hand to her stomach.

It was the most that she had ever spoken to him at once, and Apollo was secretly delighted. Smug, he found himself laughing. "I see what you mean; quite well, in fact. It shouldn't last for much longer. We should reach the port within the week."

"That is wonderful," Anassa said. "Another week."

Ah...Sarcasm. Apollo didn't say anything - he didn't want to spoil them moment as she huddled and twisted her pale little hands around eachother - but merely stood there and smiled calmly at her.

It would have been a lie had Anassa claimed Ianthus to be any less extraordinarily handsome - a foul lie. He was beautiful - the chiselled jawline, the wide chartreuse eyes, the perfect Grecian nose. There were times when the heat would flare within her belly simply by glancing at him, and there were others times when he'd say something and she'd laugh and it would almost seem as though they were comrades - friends. That thought, however, was preposterous, and Anassa knew it - men and were were never 'friends'. Any man to whom she was not directly related by blood was either a lover or a husband, and Ianthus was neither.

But he could be.

Yes, Anassa agreed, he could be, but she would never allow that to happed. Standing in such a proximity to the man - to the lover, Anassa corrected - stirred thoughts of her own lowliness in comparison to his beauty, and to escape the sudden rush of resentment that flooded her, Anassa's eyes glued themselves to Ianthus' injured arm. It was healing itself quite well.

"Why, that'll hardly leave a mark!"

"Pardon?" Apollo said.

"The cut; it's incredible. It's almost perfectly healed. I've never seen anything like it!"

Apollo arched an eyebrow, as if to say you are a healer? "Really? I have barely noticed it."

"It was horrible a few days ago. Especially when you first came to her. I've never really appreciated just how skilled Cora truly is, actually," Anassa admitted, ashamed. "And she's helped me so many times."

"Perhaps you should beging doing so, then," he said.

Anassa sighed. "I can't argue with that."

"Anassa," Apollo said. "Come up to the deck. It does you no good to linger here. It is foul." He sniffed the air, wincing.

"I can't. They know about me."

"And you think that they will not try anything even though you are down here, hidden away? If they had wanted to cause you trouble, they would have done so already," he pointed out.

"I suppose that you are right," Anassa admitted.

"I am right. Now let us leave this place."

He opened the door wide, ushering her through it.

She certainly didn't want to go.

But who could resist such a spectacular man?

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And so the chapter has been read. Until next time - and, no, I certainly do not mean to imply next year.