All For You, I Gave; A Trilogy

His mighty battle cry echoes throughout the narrow, winding corridor of the Hot Gates as his blade slaughters the last of the enemy. Panting, Adonis lowers his sword, his raging, brown eyes scouring the wide expanse of land for more Persians to slay. But the last had fallen at his feet, and upon realizing this, shrieks of victory raise from his fellow warriors.

Long were the days and nights; the darkness was filled with battle strategies, and the first morning light brought bloodshed. Adonis reveled in it. He craved the crimson color of blood running free beneath his feet after he took down Persian upon Persian. He loved seeing his mighty Spartan brothers form together to create impassable barriers and plan intricate battle formations that led to the enemy's demise. He loved being a part of the madness, the glory, and the ravishing need to conquer.

Leonidas was a proud and valiant leader. He gave the soldiers hope, and the will to believe that they could beat Xerxes infallible army. But Adonis knew the truth of it, as did the others.

They would not be returning home.

He didn't say as much, but the men could see it etched onto the face of their king. See the eroding despair in his black eyes. But he never wavered in the carnage they swept upon the land. Nay, he was too proud for that, as were his gallant soldiers, and nor was it Spartan law.

No retreat, no surrender; that is Spartan law. And by Spartan law we will stand and fight... and die. A new age has begun. An age of freedom! And all will know, that three hundred Spartans gave their last breaths to defend it!

And so they stood strong, an army of one, unlike any army the world had ever seen. They plowed through the enemy without care and at the cost of their lives, for one thing and one thing alone: Freedom.

Though one man fought for more. His heart, his soul, his very being went into every offensive stance, every movement against the aggressor. Every roar of triumph, every scream of rage, and every breath that left his lungs went to living through another night, to fight another day, so he could hope to return to his home, and his love. Though the hope inside was quickly waning, and with each passing day, a little part inside the fierce, brave warrior, died.

---

A sennight passed over Spartan land, taking with it the sun and the warmth for good crop and happy spirits. Clouds seemed to be present over the city for days at a time, and with them came torrents of rain. This sudden change in weather coerced the townspeople to stay within the walls of Sparta, though Naia would not have gone out, rain or shine. Her heart lay in shambles at her feet, and unlike the rest of the women in the village, she did not want to remain strong, nor proud. She wanted to stay locked in darkness, and weep.

And so she did. Rarely eating or seeing the light of the scarce sun, Naia either sat in her room, looking longingly over the luscious wheat fields, who seemed to be the only ones benefitting from the rain, towards the mountains, or worked in the kitchen of her home, trying her best to keep her mind off of Adonis and the inevitable knowledge that shadowed her dreams of him.

She would never see him again.

Her mother urged her to go outside here and there, or to at least move around the house. But Naia barely spoke, let alone move about more than she had to. Her voice became weak and her body incredibly thin, her skin ashen, and her hair and eyes lost the luster she knew Adonis adored so much. She just could not bring herself to care anymore, for who cared for her? She became so unlike herself that she got sick more often than not and became disinterested in her usual hobbies. Her friends worried for her, her mother grew more and more concerned with each passing day, but they knew they could do nothing. Because deep down in their hearts they felt the pain Naia did, subdued at best, but it was there. Whether for a brother, an uncle, a father or a lover, pain lacerated their hearts, but they knew they had to be strong for one another.

But not Naia. She could not be strong, feeling as though her life had crumbled at her feet; and how could she care for her friends, when she could not even care for herself? When every night tears stained her pillow and her bed linens? When every day she dare not shed a smile, nor a peel of laughter? When with every day that passed, the hope that slowly died inside, took with it her heart and soul?

Nay, Naia would never be the same. Not until Adonis was in her arms once more. Not until she could look into his dark brown eyes and see her own reflection. Not until she could feel his skin under her delicate fingers once more. She strained to keep hope alive inside of her, to be able to believe that the few Spartan warriors that loyally followed their king would become victorious against the almighty Persian army.

But deep down in their souls, every Spartan left behind knew there would be no coming back for their heroes.

---

The night is raw with quiet celebration, yet littered with sorrow. Spartans speak with each other in small groups and eat hearty, their voices barely echoing throughout the corridor of the Hot Gates in which they are camped. Fires burn bright, their flames dancing wildly beneath the glimmering light of the moon and stars. The night air is thick with heat, thick with the thrill that came with victory, and thick with the souls of the honored dead that had passed this day. Even Leonidas seems pleased with the outcome of the day; though they had lost few; his Spartan warriors have proven to be more powerful than he imagined. He sits on the edge of the merrymakers, a tankard of fresh water in hand and a pondering smile on his handsome face.

Though one sits alone. Away from the others, not taking a part in the festivities at hand. Not a drink, nor a bit of food is in his hands, and his gaze is turned towards the stars above his head, while his back faces the hoard of men behind him.

He can see her up there, just as if she were truly in front of him. Her face glowing in the pale light of the moon, her eyes reflected in the stars. Oh, how his heart aches for her. How he longs to hold her in his arms just once more...

"Adonis!"

Turning slightly, brown eyes find cheerful green ones, as Dorian races up to his comrade, two tankards of refreshing water in hand.

"Come my friend! Why are you not celebrating with us?!"

Adonis smiles, good-naturedly taking the drink from his friend, but he refrains from taking a swallow of the liquid that could not quench his thirst. Dorian makes a sound of impatience and dashes off again, calling to more of his peers, his drink sloshing almost entirely out of his cup on his way.

Adonis sets down his own tankard and turns his eyes back to the sky. He tried not to let it show, for days on end, he truly did. But when darkness blanketed the land, he could not hold back his despair any longer. His heart had been broken, and lay in fragmented pieces at his feet.

"Why so quiet?"

Adonis looks up, startled, and becomes even more so when he sees his brave king Leonidas standing tall above him, a rare, kind smile on his face.

"You look up to the stars as if it is your last night on Earth, Adonis." Leonidas takes a spot beside the younger warrior, and turns his gaze to the stars as well.

"It very well may be." Adonis mumbles, his darkened eyes now lowering to the dirt beneath his feet.

Leonidas's eyes narrow on the young Spartan, and, gently, he says, "You love her."

Adonis jerks to face his king, his features etched with wonder.
"What?"

"I've seen the look many times, boy; even had it a few times myself." Leonidas admits, his gaze turning to the night sky once more. "You fight not only for freedom, but for her. You strive to live through the battle, hoping that it is the last, so you may return home and see her once more. You desire, more than anything, to feel her warm body in your arms, to feel her lips caressing your own." Leonidas chuckles, looking back to a stunned Adonis. "It is love, my friend."

Adonis looks away, ashamed that his emotions are so plainly read, his stare lingering on the ground as his fingers intertwine with themselves. His heart throbs in his chest, his eyes burning as he keeps the river of despair from breaking through the dam he had kept solid for so long.

"You are a Spartan, are you not?"

The question, with an answer so obvious, causes Adonis to arch a fine brow, his brown eyes narrowing on his king. "Aye."

"And what is Spartan law?"

Adonis scowls now, not knowing where his king is going with this conversation. "Never retreat, never surrender."

"Right!" Leonidas growls, a grin on his ruggedly handsome face. "Never retreat, never surrender! Fight for her! Do not spend your days and nights thinking of how you will never see her again. Fight so you can!" Leonidas's strong, sturdy hand grasps one of Adonis's shoulders, his voice low and powerful. "Fight for victory, fight for freedom, and at the very most, my friend, fight for hope."

And with that Leonidas stands, a sea of crimson following in his wake as he walks towards his mighty fellows. Adonis's eyes trail after his leader, before he tears them away, to look back at the stars, a soft smile upon his lips.

Fight for hope.

---

"Naia, please, you must eat something."

Dabbing at her forehead with a damp cloth, Calista lifts a trembling hand to her daughter's ashen cheek, to which Naia turns away weakly.

"I'm not hungry."

Her mother winces at the sound of Naia's voice, so delicate, so fragile, and barely there. Her daughter is sick, in bed, unable to move for lack of sleep and food, and poor health, that is steadily growing worse with each day that passes.

"Naia please, listen to me, you cannot go on like this! You must move about, eat something! I cannot stand to see you like this..." Calista begs feebly, her fingers clutching the bed linen that covers her withering daughter. "I sent for the healer, but I do not know when she will come. Naia you must stop this at once, what would your father say? Orrin?"

Naia looks away from her mother then, turning her eyes to the torrents of rain pouring down outside the window of her bedchamber. Lightning strikes the sky, illuminating the horrific scene within the household riddled with despair.

Naia lies on her bed, her body sprawled atop perfectly clean linens, her skin tone matching the color of the ivory sheets. Her hair, lacking shine and body, falls limply around her pillow and body, whereas her eyes, if not closed, lack all life. Her breathing is shallow, dangerously slow, and her heart hardly beat enough to sustain life. She hadn't eaten in a week, and now could not even move from her bed. Death looms on the horizon for the young maiden, who gladly welcomes it. She would be with her love then.

"They are dead, mother. They say naught."

Thunder roars across the afternoon sky, and another slash of lightning shatters the darkness. Calista looks down at her daughter, her face impassive, her body rigid.

"How dare you!"

Naia closes her eyes at her mother's shriek, wishing she could close her ears as well. In a whirl of white peplos, Calista towers above her daughter in raging fury, pointing a quaking finger at Naia as tears stream down her face.

"You dare speak of your father like that, or your brother, when you know naught of their condition! They could be on their way home now, and there you lie, in filthy disgrace, and only the gods know why! You refuse to eat, refuse to move, and in doing so you refuse to support our warriors who are risking their lives for the likes of yours!" Calista's face is contorted in madness, her brown eyes blazing wildly. "Is that how you show your thanks, daughter? You lie there like a wounded dog, refusing to stand strong for our men, refusing to acknowledge that you are a Spartan woman, one who should stand proudly, waiting for her father and brother to return to her? And even if they do not, you should stand strong for those who need you! Yet you lie there, wallowing in your own grief? You shame me Naia, you shame me."

Tears slip from under the dulled, ebony lashes on Naia's face as her mother leaves the room with the fury of a storm, still screaming, and slamming the door behind her. A stifled sob escapes Naia's lips and she chokes on her cries.

Her mother is right. She is a coward.

---

"Spartans! Prepare for glory!"

The cry jerks Adonis from his sleep, though with a few, quick blinks of his brown eyes, he is alert and awake, his shield in one hand and his spear in the other.

All eyes are on Leonidas, who speaks with the Arcadian leader. Too far to hear what words are passed between the men, Adonis watches a moment later as the Arcadian takes to his horse once more, and dashes down the high, stone corridor in which the Spartans camp, leaving a trail of dust in his wake.

"Children! Children. Gather 'round..."

His words ring throughout the night, and each soldier that still stood tall and strong, listens with a keen ear. Firelight flickers over the grim faces of the wounded yet victorious men; already so many have been lost. A hand on his sword, Adonis proudly raises his fist with the others in the cry of the Spartan warrior, making known that he, too, is prepared for battle.

Even if it is going to be their last.

All falls to silence though, as Leonidas's dearest friend, and most loyal Captain, stumbles upon the group, and Adonis feels a slice of pain lacerate his heart. Today, the Captain had lost his most beloved son, and he now stands before their dwindling group a broken man, bathed in the blood of his enemies and the sweat it took him to put them in their grave. Adonis watches as the two men converse, his eyes flickering over his own brethren that still stand strong and alive.

Dorian stands across the fire from him, his green eyes trained on the Captain. Astinos had been a good friend of Dorian's, and though each Spartan felt the loss of a brother-at-arms, it is those closest to the fallen one that feel the pain of loss the most. Adonis then turns his gaze to rove over the others, and his brown orbs meet Thanos, who had been wounded severely today, but still stands to protect his land and fight for his freedom. Beside his father stands Orrin, a wide, dirtied bandage around his middle, already stained with the ruby of his blood. But he stands without a trace of fear and with the firm stance of a man who knows this will be his last battle. His chin is tipped up slightly, and his handsome, fine features are accented by the dancing luminescence of the flames at his feet. And then suddenly, brown meets brown as Orrin turns his gaze, ever so slightly, to meet Adonis's. The soldiers stare at one another, as the Captain still speaks, before, very subtly, Orrin inclines his head to Adonis, his eyes softening to show respect. Adonis returns the simple gesture, before taking his eyes from Orrin and placing them on his leader once more, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword.

"Spartans! Ready your breakfast and eat hearty; For tonight, we dine in Hell!"

---

The strengthening light of the sun is bright, shedding warmth unto the warriors, though night still reigns above all else. Gulls cry high above their heads, waiting to feast on the corpses that are sure to be aplenty from this battle. Adonis can see, from behind his raised shield, the mighty Xerxes standing tall above the rest, his face etched in arrogance and disdain as he looks down upon Leonidas. The Spartan king stands still and listens to the soldier of Xerxes as he gives Xerxes's final offer to the Spartans. But his words fell on deaf ears, for every Spartan knows that their king did not give in to submission.

The only sounds coming from behind the raised shields are those of the heavy breaths of the Spartans, ready for battle, ready to die. Each grips his sword or spear with renowned vigor, anticipating the carnage about to unfold. Each can feel the exhilaration thrumming through their veins, the adrenaline choking their minds as they watch the Persians with sharp, bloodthirsty eyes.

Leonidas then kneels, and Adonis feels the shifts of the men around him, the nervous excitement of heat trembling the very bones in his body. Adonis narrows his eyes, flexing his strong fingers over the hilt of his sword, his heart pounding in the column of his throat. Sweat trickles down the sea of rippling tendons of his chest, and down the nape of his neck, soaking his cloak, but Adonis feels naught. The only thing he feels is pride, and the hope he clings to with every breath he takes.

Fight for victory, fight for freedom, and at the very most, my friend, fight for hope.

It all happens at once. Adonis watches as Stelios slays the Persian standing before Leonidas, and then stands before his king with a sadistic grin on his handsome face. Xerxes final roar rips through the warriors, and a melee unravels, causing every Spartan to lunge into battle.

Crying wildly, Adonis breaks from the protective barrier of Spartan shields and slashes at his enemy, causing many to fall at his feet. But there are too many. They are outnumbered, on all sides. Arrows slice the air, cutting down his brothers one by one, swords clash with those who still stand strong enough to fight. Adonis is fighting three at once, four at once, five at once...

His body is thrown by the force of a swinging Immortal's shield, and Adonis finds himself tossed from battle, to the very precipice on the cliff where the battle rages. Away from his brethren, away from the fight, Adonis finds himself surrounded, with only his shield for protection. He jumps to his feet, shaking off the lightheadedness that threatens to overtake him as he backs away from those surrounding him, back to the battle. But Immortals and Persians alike charge him, and a blade is rammed through his middle, rendering him unable to move as the sword is shoved into him, hilt to flesh. The putrid breath of the soldier who has slain him snarls out a feral chuckle as more slashes fall against Adonis's back, neck, arms, legs...

And then he falls, the sword ripped from his abdomen, a ribbon of blood flying from his body. His sword is knocked out of his hand and into the air while his shield falls atop him, painfully raking into his flesh. Crying out not as a warrior, but as a man, blood chokes his throat as he grabs at the dirt, trying to reach for his fallen sword. But it is no use. His breath leaves him quicker now, his body feels like heavy iron upon the molten ground. His eyesight blurs, and when he feels a grasp on his wrist, Adonis fears for his very life.

"A..donis..."

At the sound of his name on such weak lips, Adonis fights to keep his eyes open as blood pours from his wounds, and turns his head to face the voice as Leonidas, king and conqueror, stands tall above the rest, his arms raised to the sky.

"Adonis... I don't... Want to die..."

Adonis can barely make out the bloodied face of Orrin, gripping Adonis's wrist so tightly that it hurts. Adonis reaches to the younger man, placing a hand over his own as his eyes lock with Orrin's, for the last time.

"You... Fought valiantly... My brother."

Closing his eyes, Adonis's head slowly turns to face the warm rays of the sun as a sea of arrows takes to the sky above his head. He opens his eyes, fresh tears mauling his vision, yet a gentle, forlorn smile graces his lips. The last stars of the night fade from his view as the arrows stab the ground, the bodies around him, blood flying from his brave, proud Spartan warriors. Adonis closes his eyes once more, and, taking his last breath through blood-soaked lips, he thinks of her, one last time.

How many stars are in the sky, Adonis?

---

Sunshine and warmth envelop Sparta once more, as another sennight takes the stronghold. Sparta's army is ready and prepared for battle, with no word from their king and the final consent from the Council. Queen Gorgo stands with her son by her side, watching as men pour into the square, her head held high. Generals give orders to which troops they command, though most of the army stands outside the city walls, waiting for the final order.

Naia stands beside her mother, looking healthier than what she truly is. But her mother was right, she realized that night she was slain by Calista's words. She was acting like a disgrace. Spartan women did not show weakness, and when their men took to war, it was their duty to support them all that they could.

And so she stands, with a gentle shawl around her shoulders, her skin still pale and barely shining in the morning light. Her long, brown hair gently billows in the wind, her brown eyes locked on what is taking place before her. She stands on the edge of the crowd, her proud queen in sight, as general after general approach Gorgo and kneel at her feet, pledging their allegiance to Sparta and already speaking of victory.

"My queen! Look!"

Gorgo jerks her head to who had spoken, and then follows the point of their finger to the crowd of soldiers before her. The sea of valiant generals part before her, revealing a single man in a crimson cape.

Dilios, one of the three hundred who had left Sparta a little over a fortnight ago, walks to his queen slowly, his eye set only on her; his other eye is covered by a cloth, noticeably maimed. Naia's breath is lost as her throat tightens, and her heart begins to pound wildly within the cage of her chest. She hears her mother's gentle gasp beside her, and all is silent as the wounded Spartan warrior stops in front of his queen, his look fierce, but defeated.

It is then Naia, and everyone knows for sure, that grace had fallen.

Lifting a single arm, Dilios reaches out to his queen, a small trinket held in his grasp. Gorgo looks down upon it, and then, trembling all the while, extends her hand as well, ready to receive whatever it is that Dilios has to offer.

As the necklace of the king falls into Gorgo's hand, a cry is ripped from her throat, and she is the first to fall to her knees in despair, her weeps of pain and sorrow cutting through the crowd about her.

Tears stream down Naia's face, but she dare not turn her gaze from her fallen, sobbing queen. Others around her begin to cry, for they, too lost a husband, a father, a brother, or an uncle, in the battle that will now lead their country to war. Naia feels her mother collapse next to her, and her shrieks are some of the loudest as she clutches her daughter's peplos, begging the gods to bring back her Thanos, her Orrin. But it is no use, for the cries of Spartan women, children and elders fall on deaf ears.

---

Another sennight has passed since the loss of the brave three hundred. Efforts are being made to assemble every free Greek, for the story of the bold Leonidas and his three hundred Spartans travels far over the lands. New men are gathered each day from every country around the globe, each pledging to fight for freedom against the god-king Xerxes and his terrible army.

Life appears to have returned to the daily routine of Spartan life, though sorrow is now laced upon every feature Naia comes across during her day. Some cannot come to terms with the fact that all, save one, are lost. Most try to be strong for the others, but it is so hard, when so many of their people grieve.

Naia walks the marketplace, her eyes uninterested in the fruit she is supposed to be purchasing. The sun is bright, and warms her skin, yet she feels it naught, nor the gentle caress of the summer breeze on her flesh. She strives, so hard, to appear strong on the outside, for her mother and for her friends, but inside, she knows she will never be the same. Sorrow has taken her like a plague, withering her insides, taking her emotions with her. She passes the days as a void, doing what is necessary to soothe her mother and keep the house from falling to shambles on the ground. It is the only reason she lives now.

Because her heart, her soul, was dead.

"Man the gates!"

The call echoes throughout the square, and for a moment, all eyes are turned towards the open, city gates. There, in the distance, gaining ground, Naia can see a contingent of men riding hard and fast towards Sparta.

More allies, Naia thinks, turning back to her fruit. Nevertheless, Gorgo is summoned, and patiently she waits, with her son by her side, for the leader of the riders to approach her, like so many others have.

"Good queen!"

Naia stills, watching as the rider lunges into the marketplace on the back of a black stallion, scattering the patrons of Sparta as he goes. His horse rears up in front of Gorgo, but she does not waver in her stance, and waits for the rider to dismount. He does so, and kneels at her feet, his breathing hard and heavy as his fellows fill the wide square.

"Arcadian." Gorgo inclines her head, and the man stands. "What business do you have in Sparta?"

"Fair queen," The man is a warrior, no doubt. He wears brown leather, a sword upon his back with crisscrossing leather straps across his chest. His head his shaved, and his beard is braided into two separate plaits. Behind him stands his fellows, still mounted upon their fierce war horses. "Fair queen, you have my deepest regards and most sincere apologies. We were with your king, we followed him into battle, but at the last moment I could sacrifice no more, and so I left. I turned my back on Sparta."

Naia stiffens, watching as the riders behind the Arcadian leader prance their horses to one side, and foot soldiers come forth, each baring the body of a fallen Spartan.

"I have brought back the bodies of your loved ones, bold queen, in hopes that you will forgive our treacherous deeds, led astray by my despicable decision." The Arcadian bows again, a hand on his sword, and Gorgo raises her chin as the body of her king can be seen in the arms of two, strong Arcadian men.

"There is nothing to forgive. You fought gallantly beside my husband, I am sure, and deserve praise for you and your men's vigor." Gorgo's voice wavers, though very inaudibly, as her eyes train on the slowly decaying body of Leonidas.

"But good queen, we were cowards; we could've been there and helped them to defeat Xerxes army."

Gorgo smiles, ever so gently, and all but whispers, "No, you couldn't."

Cries anew wreak havoc upon the crowd as families are reunited with their fallen loved ones. Gorgo strains not to let weakness show upon her face as bodies are laid at her feet, bodies of those she knew and cared for well. Leonidas, the Captain, Stelios...

A flash of crimson catches her eye, and Naia feels her heart leap to her throat. True, there are many crimson cloaks in the square, wavering in the gentle wind that sweeps the city. But Naia knows this cloak, had felt it with her very own hands, had felt it spread over her own flesh. Her eyes tear themselves away from Gorgo, and Naia nearly collapses to the ground as two soldiers hold up the body of her dearest love, Adonis.

"But, good queen, there was one..."

Tender, brown eyes meet Naia's, brown eyes that she had dreamed of for so long, that she thought she would never see full of life again. A cry of anguish is ripped from her throat, before Naia drops her basket full of fruit and brings her hands to cover her gaping mouth as rivers of tears streak down her face.

"He survived. We don't know how or why the gods chose him, but he lived. We found him just in time..."

Adonis smiles as he gazes at his Naia, and the soldiers bring his wounded and ragged body before his queen. Though cleaned, by the good graces of the Arcadians, Adonis is wounded near fatally; Naia can tell from the many bandages that maul his skin. All is silent in the square as Adonis is brought before Gorgo, his face contorting in pain though he tries his hardest to stand proudly on his own two feet.

Naia cannot help but let out a sob as Gorgo smiles, and nods at Adonis, and the warrior bows his head in respect. The Arcadians holding the Spartan between them gently shift him in their arms, and, finally finding her voice, Naia rips from the awed crowd and dashes to her love's side.

"Adonis!"

She falls to his feet, weeping, grabbing the hem of his scarlet cloak with trembling pale fingers. She feels his body gently laid to the ground beside her's, and Naia nearly comes undone when she feels Adonis's arms encircle her once more. He holds her tenderly, his head laid gently atop her own, and though he feels excruciating pain slice through his body, he dare not move, not wanting to soil the moment he had been dreaming of for days on end; when he would look upon the face of his precious Naia once more.

"Adonis... Oh, Adonis..."

The warrior smiles, his fingers finding Naia's as they pull back to gaze at one another. With cracked, dry lips, Adonis kisses Naia's quaking fingers, one by one, before he gently slips something into the palm of her hand.

"You must promise me that you will wear this, for all time."

Tears blurring her vision, Naia looks down into her hand at the trinket that lies there. It is her necklace, as precious as ever. Smiling, Naia lifts her eyes to Adonis's as she raises a hand to his scarred cheek, as all those around them watch in muted joy.

"I promise, my love."