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Her fingers balanced the cold obsidian helmet in her hand, examining its shape and weight. A hum of interest and deep admiration reverberated in her chest as her eyes combed over the jet black plume. It was fairly large, belonging more to a giant than a man. It was adorned with a golden spine connected by horsehairs, a beautiful tail to decorate the head of any general. The museum lights shimmered across its surface, dancing along its shape.
This helmet, she learned, belonged to Agamemnon, a king of Mycenae who had commanded the sack of Troy. Her studies had transformed him into an area of great interest for the curator; a man who seemed unstoppable as a god, but fell to the blade of the one he loved. He was a complicated figure, many accounts differing in their perception of him. Some worshipped him as a mighty king, others recounted he was a faithless man with little valor. It was a common belief he was a complicated man, as all others. It was a truth that the armor was special in its appearance; she had seen none other like it and wondered how it would have been put on for war. These thoughts encompassed her mind as she returned the helmet to its place. Its color had faded over the years, leaving it a shell of its former self. Nevertheless, it still possessed a distinctive air about it. She could not help but ponder on the helmet and the man who wore it and she spent the next few hours of her time doing further research.
Later in the day, she spent time with the other museum curators to prepare for the tour. Ironically, she was tasked with presenting on Agamemnon and Odysseus and to display the armor. It didn’t take much convincing and it was agreed that she would organize the tour. When the meeting was over, a fellow curator took her to the side and led her to the display, where Agamemnon’s armor stood. It filled her with a warm rush, a buzzing emanating from every nerve in her body. She recalled holding it earlier, and how the mere fact that she held it, she could sense a great power within it. This feeling had not occurred when holding the other artifacts, which confused her.
“I heard that if you put on the helmet, you could see through the King’s eyes,” he said, walking up to the display.
“Who told you this?”
“It was a story I heard from a friend of mine.”
“He could be lying to you.”
“He told me that those who wear the helmet can see everything he went through. They can see his conquests and his demise.”
“Why would anyone want to see that?”
He shrugged. “Because they want to see through the eyes of a king. I wouldn’t blame them.”
“I wouldn’t believe them so easily. This story could just be a great way to get us in trouble for tampering with the armor.”
“I promise you, it isn’t. Just try it out with me. It might work.”
“You think so? It could just be a myth.”
“Might as well try it out.”
“Wait,” she exclaimed, holding out a hand in caution. “That armor is over a thousand years old. If we break it—“
“It won’t be,” he assured her. “Besides, the helmet is large enough to fit the both of us.”
“If it breaks, our boss will raise hell.”
“Thankfully, we won’t get to that point.”
“Tell me what you see when you’re finished,” she said with a wave of the hand.
She observed as he placed the helmet over his head. His eyes were shrouded, casting them in a shadow. Within a flash, his neck arched backwards and his body became tense. Behind his wide gaze, the shores of Greece and fires of Troy filled his eyes. The roar of the thousand men filled his ears. The scent of blood and iron sat heavy on his tongue. He swiftly removed it, catching his breath.
“What happened?”
He was speechless for a moment. Then, he said, “I…don’t know. I saw so many things. It all happened so fast, I couldn’t keep up.”
“I guess it worked?”
“Yeah,” he panted. “You try.”
“No,” she protested, shaking her head, “if that was the extent of what you went through, I don’t want to know what I will go through.”
“It didn’t hurt, it was just overwhelming.” He looked behind her at the door. “I will make sure the others aren’t around. Just try it. I’ll be back.”
He left her standing in place with the helmet. She glanced down at the cold helmet, a deep roar echoing in her ears. Although she was hesitant, she willed herself to lift the helmet above her and place it over her head. It was dark, the sharp edges licking sharply at her chin. Her head froze, her eyes aimed towards the upper limits of the curves of the helmet. It began slowly, fanfare and blood dripping through her teeth and tongue as she witnessed the great man’s death. The same images of war and action flashed behind her eyes and it wasn’t long until it all stopped. She went to remove the helmet but found that it wasn’t there. The museum floor was replaced with a sandy beach. The air billowing through her hair was cold and nippy. The far away rumbling of the ocean made it clear that she was no longer in the museum, but in some distant, idyllic place. Night had fallen, as the stars had covered the sky as far as the eye could reach.
At what she thought was thunder, she turned to find a collection of men on horseback. All were covered in resplendent armor. In the distance were tents of different shades and sizes. She attempted to disappear in the brushes, her dress catching in the tiny thorns and branches. In truth, her apparel was different. Her suit was replaced with a white shift, or what she thought it was. Upon further inspection, it was a tiered dress that was tied about her waist. Approaching a tent, she caught sight of a torn tunic. She shed her garments and wore the tattered material. She placed her hair up and observed her surroundings. At the sound of men, she ran the distance between the shore and the tent.
She ducked into the tent and saw the large table covered with maps and swords. Helmets and weapons from other civilizations hung on the walls; the gold and silvers of swords glistening in the firelight. Additionally, a large bed draped in the finest furs was planted near the corner of the room and a large throne sat in the center, streaked with gold. It amazed her, the imposing seat shining proudly at her.
The parted fabric of the tent was thrust to the side to reveal a soldier adorned in silver armor in front of a larger figure. He met her frightened eyes and furrowed his brows in confusion. The figure behind him asked what the matter was and he was met with a startled response. The large figure turned and stared down at her.
He was tall, a towering silhouette who would strike fear into the breasts of men. His armor married into the night, as if painted with the darkest shade of obsidian, his helmet reflecting the bright oranges and yellows of the flames. His broad shoulders were padded with thick leather and metal, pinned in the front by two golden plates. His face was hidden by the well placed shadows, obscuring the inquisitive gaze he bestowed on her. The armor encapsulated the man beneath, possessing him fully. His chin was the clearest part of his face, yet it was rough with stubble and his lips formed a straight line of nonchalance.
It struck her with frightening clarity that this was the man whose armor she wore. It was cleaner, darker, far more dignified. Almost no part of the man beneath the armor revealed itself to the eye; he was consumed in darkness, no, darkness itself. The mere fact that pieces of his face were exposed to the eye was a privilege to those who witnessed him.
“Who are you?” the soldier beside him demanded.
“I am a servant to the other generals. I was separated from my party. I mean no harm. I did not mean to enter so rudely.”
Her words came out in a rushed spill, as trickling water bubbling through the cracks of the earth. She hoped her attempt at decoy worked. She lowered her voice as best as she could to match a young boy’s and evaded their gazes as best as she could. He stood silent, a menacing statue of war.
“What shall we do?”
He regarded her, his lips remained attached in indifference. His hand rose, his fingers flinging backwards in certainty. The man left without a word, leaving her with the fearsome king himself. His sword was bathed in blood, licking along the rugged floor. It was dropped unceremoniously onto the table and he waited for her to speak.
“I was lost from my party. I foolishly assumed this tent was unoccupied.”
He took one step forward and she instinctively knelt before him. She felt his eyes follow her movement.
“Tell me, wanderer, which general did you have as your master?”
“Odyessus. I am subject to your mercy or ire, my king. I shall be of no interference to you or your men.”
“Your presence serves as that you proclaim it does not.”
“I shall only stay one night, in accordance with Zeus' law. You are at the freedom to act on your will; I only hope that it may align with my wish to find my master proper elsewhere in the morning.”
His eyes widened a little, glancing up at some hidden spot in the tent. He strode over to the throne, his steps unhurried.
“Very well. I suppose he will not mind your services elsewhere for this one night.”
He held his arm out. He did not turn or acknowledge her further and she knew what she was expected to do. Her fingers worked at unlatching the armor and to her surprise, she was able to dislodge the arms and legs of his armor. They were heavier than she remembered, their shade deep and vibrant. When she veered to place the armor on the table, she was ignorant of his gaze studying her. Returning to him, he caught sight of the shape of her face and the softness of her skin. His skin prickled alive when her fingers grazed the thin hairs of his arm to skim the faded scars on his skin. His fingers gripped her slender flesh. She innately met his line of vision and felt a molten rush of blood surge through her veins.
“You are a woman,” he announced in a gravely tone.
There was no anger, no shock in his voice. It alarmed her that he spoke so stiffly, that it was difficult to determine what emotion possessed him. The vestiges of emotion he displayed was exemplified by the gentle swiping of his thumb on her forearm.
“I do not—“
“Do not play coy,” he ejaculated, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“I apologize for my deception. I am only here due to Odysseus’ grace.”
“Allowing a woman in our ranks? He tests the fabric of our society and my tolerance,” he stated jovially.
He rose to his feet, peering down at her with an increased concentration. His breath bore down on her forehead as a warm summer breeze. She braved herself and incrementally raised her eyes. His light eyes were tinted dark by the cuts in the helmet. Within the channeled darkness, he wore a slightly amused expression.
“I did not think he would be so foolish to bring a woman or a woman could be so clever to infiltrate my camps.”
“A lesser man would call it stupidity.”
“Perhaps,” he whispered thoughtfully.
He slowly raised his hand to her cheek, planing the curve of her chin with the back of his fingernails. The touch, while soft, seemed out of place for the feared spectre of a man. He caresses her face with inspection disguised as affection. His index finger travels the line of her chin before leaping up to trace the bend of her nose, ending with a sketch of her upper lip. His touch is clever enough to elicit a trembling exhale.
“You are trembling, girl.”
He speaks with certainties, each word seeping into her ears as thick honey. His voice, resonant and low, makes her bones rattle with excitement.
“I shall keep the truth of your sex a secret, if you grant me your entire devotion.”
He speaks faintly on the topic but the intention is clear nevertheless. He wishes to have her in the sole way he knows how to have a woman. His lips, tinted in the color of ripe peaches, hang above her own as low hanging fruit. He closed the final millimeters of distance with a pressing kiss, his tongue demanding entry. Her lips part in recovery and he seizes the chance to lap the warm heat of her mouth. His tongue is thick, strangely warm despite the chill of his armor. The contours of her mind melted into a haze as he licked deeper. Her hands find his armored shoulders and a stifled moan hums between their mouths as he lightly clamped on her bottom lip, slowly pulling it before letting it go with a satisfied rumble.
“I wonder if you are not a reward from the gods sent to tempt me.”
She can only utter an exhale before he captures her lips again. As was always his character on the battlefield and off, he selfishly runs his hands on her arms, clasping his rough fingers onto her skin as a vice. He was granted the delicacy of her softness, the warmth of her skin as she was only presented with the hard coldness of his armor. She resigned herself to savoring the heat of his mouth.
He sits on his throne, beckoning her with a curled finger. When she was a step away from him, he pulled her towards him and placed her hand over his growing bulge. He left his hand over hers, a silent instruction to free him. She unraveled him and he wasted little time in doing the same, exposing her skin to the evening firelight. His eyes are smarting, but they soon lessen in scrutiny as he devours the sight of her above him and senses the feverish heat of her thighs against his hardened flesh.
“You are a divinely crafted being,” he sighed with rapture.
She could see the hint of his appreciative gaze as his head was angled back. She wrapped a hand about his neck as his thumb circled the apex of her heat. His large fingers journeyed between their bodies to find his waiting mouth and he tasted her.
“Free me from this aching care,” he rasped.
She feels him press into her. He kisses her chin in reverence as he drags his weeping tip along her slit. His free hand swept down her front, palming a supple breast. He hummed softly as it molded in his grasp. Her nipple hardened under a line in his palm and he chortled as she shivered due to a flick of his finger against the now sensitive bud. The small, sharp, biting pain was replaced with the wetness of his tongue. Her hands find the rough bristles of his crest, running her fingertips over the hairs. They bent under her touch and stood erect when her hand passed over them. A distant voice told her to remove the helmet; yet there was an ominous charm in it. Against her bare skin, the armor was hard and smooth. The contrast of its sleekness with the king’s body made her body sing as it was showered in a thousand sparks.
“Please,” she begs in chants of three.
A superior smile crosses his face and he shifts, burying himself deeply inside her. His strong hips and thighs power his movements and she feels immensely filled with him. Their hips meet with a resounding clap as their moans fill the tent. His unwavering thrusts rob her of speech, her senses succumbing to the dominance of the sensations caused by him. Her head is held up straight and she is made to stare into the void to meet his eyes.
It was often said that when one stares into darkness, it stares back. His eyes, dark and shrouded in the shadows of the helmet, met her wide gaze with an ardent glare of his own. His mouth roughly met hers, licking every corner he could reach. His grip on her became tighter, marks of possession he was sure would be left on her for days to come.
“You shall be mine in all forms of the word, in return, I will grant you everything I conquer.”
He snaps his hips, now a slave to his own desires. They converge at the peak, their cries mixing in a lustful harmony. She falls into his arms, the armor now warm against her breasts. His arms come about her, cradling her limp form as her fingers find the edges of his helmet. As they raise an inch, she feels the weight of it in her hands as she lifts it above her own head.
She holds it in her hands, gaping at the vivid memory of what she experienced. She placed it back on the display and headed out the door to find the museum had opened and patrons were coming in. Her thighs burned and the nape of her neck held a strange warmth. She suddenly discovered that all she went through was real, every sensation, every perception, was vibrant and real.
Her friend enters the room with an expectant smile. “How was it? Was it real?”
“Yeah,” she answered. “It was real.”
“See, I told you! The people are here. Are you ready?”
She nodded, following him. Before she stepped out, she glanced back at the armor display. She could hear the king’s pants in her ear, her skin still burned where he touched. It was a fantastical experience, dancing on the line of reality and fiction. She turned to leave, not without a final glance at the helmet that brought her such beautiful bliss.