#tragic endings | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

birdie123au · 9 months

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mania

mania - a spirit who personifies madness and insanity

Grief has consumed your every waking thought. You are given an opportunity from a long lost ally to lose everything so that those you love can have it all.

tw: mentions of suicide and self-sacrifice

part five of five

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“The prince battled Odysseus for the armor of Achilles,” the doctor said, “When he had lost the battle, the young prince became mad with obsession– completely insane. It wasn’t until he finally found clarity did he realize the way he had disgraced himself, you, and his family. It was said yesterday night they found the prince after he had thrown himself on his own spear; right on the beach with the blood still fresh.”

The world around you ceased to spin. You felt as though your feet were glued in place. At that moment, nothing had felt real. You had known Ajax for almost twenty years and had been his lover for over half the time. You knew him. You knew he could never do such a thing. He would never lose his mind and disgrace himself severely over some silly armor.

“No,” you said, “I’m sorry, but this can’t be true.”

“Oh Y/n,” the queen said, eyes filled with tears as she approached you, “I’m so sorry, dearest,”

Queen Hesione then wrapped you in a hug, tears dampening your robe. You stood stiff, your expression completely blank.

The gods had completely turned their back on you that night. After discovering the curse of your father, your true parentage, and the death of your husband you were certain the night could not get any worse. It wasn’t until a young doctor came running down the hall to the door of your chambers where most of the royal family and staff were gathered did you realize something was severely wrong.

At the bedside of King Telamon you watched in complete shock as you saw his wife, your mother in law, cradling his limp body in her arms while screaming bloody murder. Princess Tonia had passed out at this point, so the handmaidens brought her to a nearby couch and began fanning her face.

“Don’t just stand there!” cried the doctor to his staff, “Fetch the medication, prepare to attempt revival!”

The night was chaotic. Doctors, handmaidens, and guards were sent running around the palace. This commotion had woken your children who then overhead of their fathers deaths through panicked and confused servants’ screams. Queen Hesione continued her screams even when the guards were forced to detain her off to the side of the room. Each time Tonia regained consciousness she only passed out once more. And so you stood, stiff as a board at the side of the late king’s bed, having not moved an inch.

“Mother!” Alex cried as he ran into the room.

“Mother, what's happening?” Simon said, running alongside his brother. The two boys stopped at either one of your sides. You placed an arm around each of their shoulders, pulling them in closer as you watched the frantic doctors' futile attempt to revive the dead king.

“Is it true?” Alex asked again, crying in grief, “Are they both dead?”

You said nothing to the boys, instead pulling them in closer to your bodies. Your boys, your poor, sweet boys, would now be forever without a father and grandfather. They would never know Ajax’s eyes, his mischievous smile, or his soft hair.

“Take the women out of the room!” a doctor yelled, “Prepare to make the incision into the chest!”

Queen Hesione began to scream louder; “No!” she cried, “What are you doing to him! Why is he bleeding from the mouth! What have you done!”

The guards then escorted the hysterical queen out of the room. Followed by several servants lifting the passed out Tonia after her. Followed by a guard placing his hand on your back and guiding the three of you out the door.

They brought you all to the queen’s chambers but separated you from your sons, promising to guide them back to their bedrooms. The shock of the evening had yet to wear off, but you once more watched in surprise as the guards locked the door from the outside.

The queen pounded on the door, still in hysterics, demanding the three of you be let out. She stood there for hours banging and pleading. Only then did you come up from behind her, dragging her away slightly. You expected her to fight back, but the poor woman was overwhelmed with grief, so she instead braced your touch. You had yet to cry, scream, or yell. You felt numb– completely incapable of expressing any other emotion beside neutrality. At this point you were on your knees, cradling the queen in your arms.

You began thinking. What had once been impartial feelings of denial began to change, transform, into much uglier, nastier feelings. You became consumed with a strong sense of anger. Anger at Ajax for his reckless actions.

How could he have possibly been so careless as to fight in a battle of a dead man’s armor. He had strong, durable armor of his own. Was that not enough for him? You wondered how losing in such a battle could have made him so erratic to the point he had been driven insane. Was he that desperate for a piece or medal? Or was it something more? Perhaps it was his final straw. He had been gone for a decade, not having seen his loved ones in many years. He was desperate to meet his children. When the boys had turned five years old he told you he had almost sent a letter to his father, beginning to go home, it was only when he realized that was the way of the coward to back down. Prideful he was, dead he is. You had to wonder if this superficial quality of honor and duty was worth the mental hardship he had truly endured over the decade.

It was only then when you imagined him, full of pain and deep sadness, wanting nothing more than to return home to your arms and back to his family, did the tears finally begin to flow.

–––––––––

The guards had locked the three of you in the queen’s chamber for thirteen days.

The only visitor allowed was that of your eldest son, Alexandros, the king of Salamis. You could tell he was scared, confused, and experiencing heavy grief at the loss of his father and grandfather. He remained strong and assured you that confining you to the chamber was by the order of the doctors, not him. The dowager queen yelled at him for this, calling him foolish and distrustful. The boy began to cry, assuring her that the doctor had your best interest in mind. He was only ten, you reminded the queen, ten and king of an entire kingdom– he is truly doing his best to rule during this time of great sadness, it was not his fault he had placed his trust in a man with sinister interest.

It took only a few more visits for the boy to command your release. The dowager queen was beside herself with pain, mumbling about how cruel the gods were to take not only one son but two as well as her husband all in a year. Tonia weeped constantly but, by the command of her husband, was forced to return to Sparta until the funeral would begin. Then there was you. Mother of the king, late wife of the crowned prince, and so you did the only possible thing you could imagine. You went to the temple of the gods and began to pray. You prayed to your father, the late priest, for guidance. You also prayed for your husband to have a smooth passage into the afterlife. He was a warrior, you thought, surely his great sacrifices would be honored. You developed bruises on your legs from the amount of time you sat praying.

The rest of your spare time was spent by your sons’ side. You counseled Alex on his leadership and decision making; you read academic passages and scrolls with Simon, making sure his reading ability stayed fulfilled.

Despite your tears and deep sadness, you held yourself together to the best of your abilities. That was until the funeral.

Something about watching Ajax’s bloody body, covered in a white sheet, being lowered into the ground caused you to snap. You began weeping, wailing even, and you needed to be held up by two members of the royal counsel to even stand up straight.

You went mad with grief. Locking yourself in your chambers, you refused visits from anyone but Dowager Queen Hesione and your two sons. Yet even when they visited with gifts and kind words to lift your spirits, all you could do was cry. Each day you would pace around your room, rereading the hundreds of letters from your late husband spanning back to your days as a teenager. This continued for weeks until one day when you had enough, tore up every single letter he wrote you during his time away at war, and threw them from your window.

When you told Hesione what you had done she cradled you in a hug, begging you not to destroy any more of his belongings or yourself. She thought it best to get you out of your chambers, going on walks with her. But each time you would pass by a statue of Hebe or emblem of a god you would begin to weep all over again.

During your time locked up in your quarters, you had shredded many of your royal dresses, opting to wear the same outfits as the servants, and developed a deep aversion for the ocean. Each time a person would walk in smelling of salt you would have a fit of sadness.

The queen, Alex, and Simon continued their best to not only process their own grief, but also help you with yours. In a final attempt, Simon wrote to his aunt, Rosaria, begging for help. It was then where you found yourself in a small carriage, being ushered off to the Temple of Athena.

–––––––––

“Y/n?” Rosaria said, helping you out of the carriage, “Do you need to sit down?”

You understood why she asked such a question despite the fact you were standing just fine. You had lost several pounds, due to the fact you hardly ever ate, and your eyes appeared sunken and dazed, because of all the tears you shed. The grief you thought you could once control had completely spiraled, driving you mad. You did not eat, sleep, or bathe. In fact, the very first thing Rosaria did upon your arrival was throw you in a cold tub of water.

She stayed by your side as you cried to her, complained, and cried some more. Rosaria spoke little to you, instead dedicating her entire presence as a sort of counselor. You appreciated her few words of wisdom, tales from the gods of tragedy and losses of love. It reminded you of your father. Oh how you wished he could be at your side.

Each morning at the temple you would take walks with one of the priestesses. They were short, low commitment exercises that the doctor had prescribed to you to ‘better your condition.’ You had no desire to go towards the beach, so you instead walked amongst the gardens and trees. The priestesses would tell you stories about the heroes and gods who had walked this very same path to the temple while you in turn would tell tales of the kings and warriors of Salamis.

A particular priestess who you took a great liking to, besides Rosaria, was an elderly woman by the name of Xanthia. Because her name reminded you of the headmistress who had grown up despising you or at the very least mistreated you, you did not trust Xanthia. However, these cruel assumptions were quickly shattered when you took your very first walk with her. She shared a story about her little sister, how her late husband was a great warrior built in battle, and how the girl was visited by the goddess Persephone one late night in the spring. She said this following was forever lasting, just like the memories she shared with her dead husband.

Xanthia had a maternal quality about her, a certain warmth not many of the priestesses possessed. This intrigued you, as Xanthia had never married nor mothered any children. Walking with linked arms reminded you of the Dowager Queen Hesione, who you missed dearly.

“Y/n?” Xanthia said with a frail voice, “Why don’t you tell me a story.”

“Oh course,” you replied, “About what?”

“I would like to hear,” she paused for a moment, “A story about your mother.”

“Ah,” you said, “I never really knew my mother… I was born a bastard and was raised entirely by my father.”

“If your mother showed up in front of you now, not at all dead” she said, “would you show her any ill will? Or would you place value on xenia and tradition over personal grievances?”

You thought for a moment.

“Well, I must confess,” you began, “If she showed up in front of me many years ago, I would have slammed the door in her face.”

Xanthia looked disappointed in your answer, but allowed you to continue with your words; “But…well, now I am a mother too. I understand there are certain sacrifices we must make. Sacrifices our children may never truly understand, but if they are to protect them, then who are we to judge and show ill will? It doesn’t excuse the way she made me feel, but it does bring me peace.”

“The gods will reward you for your graciousness,” Xanthia said, “Just you wait.”

The two of you continued on a path down to where a stream raced over a path of sharp rocks. Typically this is where the priestess would turn the two of you around, but Xanthia continued marching you forward. Her grip was strong despite her old age.

“Princess?” she asked, “Do you know how to skip rocks?”

You laughed, immediately being transported to a memory of when you and Ajax were 14. It was a bright summer day, and he had managed to sneak out of class, literally, through a window. His teacher was so exhausted he hadn’t even noticed the boy had left. It was there where he attempted to teach you how to skip rocks. You were terrible. For every distance Ajax’s rock would travel, you traveled a quarter of the way. The two of you spent hours pelting rocks into the sea, and by the end of it you were no better from where you had started.

“Oh– no,” you said, still giggling, “My husband tried to teach me once when we were very young, but I was no good.”

“You said you were a cupbearer, were you not?” Xanthia replied with another question, “I’m sure you have good hand-eye coordination. Come. Let us practice skipping rocks.”

You agreed, not wanting to turn down such an offer. It had been many years since you had last tried, maybe you would yield some better results. As you watched the elderly woman fetch you a rock, you began to ponder a peculiarity from earlier in your conversation: how was it she knew your mother was ‘dead’?

–––––––––

“I remember now!” you laughed, “He hit you right on the center of your face. There was so much blood, I thought father was going to pass out then and there!”

“It was ridiculous,” Rosaria clarified, patting Simon’s head, “He had no right to laugh at me– you don’t either, Y/n. Or should I remind you of the chum incident?”

“Oh please, that was with a prince! You got your ass kicked by a serving boy. What was his name again? Theon?”

“Theon,” she confirmed, “How could I forget.”

Today was one of the many days in which Simon was able to visit you and the fellow priestesses. Alex, your elder son, was often not able to accompany you due to his many duties as king. He was heartbroken over this, Simon assured you, and would write to you often demanding to know when your treatments were over and you could finally return home.

It had only been several weeks since you had left, but your children, mother-in-law, and handmaidens were said to have been itching for your return. You tried not to focus on such matters whenever Simon would visit. You instead tried to keep things light hearted by sharing stories, just as the priestesses had done for you. You were getting better. Some days you woke up incapable of getting off your bed, but others, most days, you found the motivation to pull yourself up and live through the day to the fullest of your abilities.

All was going well. Yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched. That someone or something was around the corner, reading again to tear down the walls you had built up for yourself.

“Well,” Rosaria said, “It’s time for me to relight the candles and bless the halls. Simon, stay with your mother and read her some more stories. I’ll be back as soon as I can to fetch you for dinner.”

“Yes Aunt Rosaria,” Simon replied, shifting in his seat to locate his textbook.

“Have fun!” you said, exaggerating your wave as Rosaria was walking towards the exit door of your chambers.

“Y/n, before I forget,” she said, turning around to face you once more, “Sister Xanthia would like to meet with you after the sun goes down.”

“Interesting, do you know why?” you question as Simon snuggled up next to you, ready to start reading.

“No,” Rosaria said, “But she does want to meet you at the beach. I think it's part of your prescribed treatment. Let me know if you want me to be there.”

The beach? You froze. You took a deep breath, regained your composure, and nodded. You and Rosaria would meet Xanthia at the beach.

“Try not to have too much fun while I’m gone,” Rosaria said, shutting the door.

You placed your head on your son’s shoulder, and so the two of you spent the rest of your afternoon reading tales of great heroes and their triumphs.

–––––––––

“It’s getting late,” Rosaria said, annoyed, “I don’t understand what could possibly be taking her so long.”

“Maybe she fell?” you replied, worried, “What if she lost her balance on the walk and is stuck waiting for our help?”

The two of you remained in the same spot for several minutes before deciding it was best to head back to the trail. Afterall, if Xanthia had truly fallen or gotten lost, it was best to find her as soon as possible and bring her back to the temple.

You and Rosaria walked in silence while holding hands. You were not nearly as mad with sadness as you thought you would be, returning to the beach for the first time in many weeks, especially at night. It was calm. Oddly calm, as if the beach had been blessed by the lord of the sea himself. The two of you had only made it for several steps when you both stopped in your tracks.

A feeling, unlike any you had before, began to consume your chest. You looked at Rosaria and realized very quickly from the way her eyes widened that she too was feeling it. It was a mixture of anxiety, the feeling of being watched by something far greater than yourself, and happiness. It was then when you noticed a faint glow from behind you. The two of you whipped your heads around in unison, breaking your hands apart in the process.

Behind you stood a sight out of an epic. Xanthia, or whoever it truly was, stood behind you. Though she was not the woman you had grown to love. She was younger, far younger, and significantly taller. She had long, brown hair that curled like a princess. Her beauty was breathtaking, but the sight of her strong arms disrupted the image. Despite this, her aura in which she stepped confidently was unbreakable. She was no mortal.

“Xanthia…?” Rosaria was first to ask after a few moments of silence.

The unknown woman’s face changed from a neutral expression to one with joy; “Yes, you could call me that.”

She began to walk towards the two of you. The closer she got, the more you and Rosaria understood that it was you who she was approaching. You who she had looked eyes with.

“Or,” she said, grabbing both of your hands into hers; they were soft and had a welcoming warmth, “You could call me my true name: Hebe.”

“Mother?!” you blurted out, stumbling backwards in your place.

“What.” Rosaria said, exasperated.

“Hello my child,” she said, removing one of your hands to stroke your hair as mothers often did, “How you have grown since I’ve last seen you in my true form.”

“I–I,” you stumbled, “What are you doing here?”

“To wish my dear daughter a happy birthday, of course,” she said, smiling with a warmth and beauty you had never seen before, “I also wish to speak of something important.”

You held your breath; “I have learned from a recent… discovery of yours that you have finally learned the truth of your father’s conditions. Or perhaps, your family's condition. I’m sure your knowledge is not vast, but it is true that my own father is responsible for a certain… curse that haunted my late lover.”

“Yes..yes because of his,” you paused, “His hubris, yes?”

“Well, sure,” the goddess responded, “But again, that is not the truth entirely. I’m sure he had not gone into great detail, but his own father lost his wife at a young age. His father’s father did as well, and so for many generations this was true. It was a great curse from the goddess Aphrodite, who was angered by an ancient ancestry of your family for being more beautiful as she and so she cursed her. She made it so a husband who she truly loved would die young and in pain. The goddess made it so any of her descendants would suffer the same fate. It was I who tried to lift this curse from my husband, but it only ended up making it worse as he sacrifices his virtues for love.”

“Mother,” you said, tears forming in your eyes, “Why do you tell me this?”

“Because,” her face grew stern, sad almost, “I wish to offer you a proposal.”

Your eyebrows bent in suspicion and anticipation.

“I recently had one of my other, godly children, wed a child of Aphrodite’s,” she began, “And so I sat down with that insufferable woman and negotiated a deal. A deal for your children, my grandsons. An agreement that would end the curse that has loomed over your family for generations. Your children would not have to live a life of misery as their lovers, children, or themselves are stolen away too soon; they would live long, happy, fulfilling lives. But the cost…is one very grim.”

“Tell me mother,” you said, squeezing your hands around hers in desperation, “How can I protect them?”

“A soul for a soul,” she told you, sadness consuming her being, “Well, a soul for two souls is more accurate.”

“I don’t understand?” you whispered, “Are you saying I need to…”

“Yes,” she responded without needing to hear the rest of your sentence, “The greatest sacrifice. You said to me, Y/n, that you believed mothers were capable of making sacrifices beyond their child’s ability to comprehend. You have always had great respect and love for your father, you threw away everything he ever knew and loved so that he could raise you.”

You pinched your eyes shut, debating what was the best choice for you to make. But then, you imagined a moment from several months ago when the boys chased their little cousin around. The looks of pure childhood innocent and fun in their eyes made your choice as clear as day.

“My children will not be alone,” you said, defying the very nature of grief, “They will grow stronger, and I will be united with my love once more.”

“So you will do it?” the goddess asked, “Oh Y/n, I knew it would be you. It always was going to be.”

“Um,” Rosaria said, “What on earth is happening.”

Instead of responding to her shock, you let go of your mothers hands and instead wrapped Rosaria in a hug.

“Rosaria,” you said, tears freely streaming down your face “My first friend, my ally, my sister. Please, promise me you’ll take care of them.”

Several moments later, without saying a word, Rosaria returned your hug. A silent sign of support.

And so your mother took your hand and the two of you walked deep into the water, never to return again. As the waves reached higher on your body, you looked towards where you mother stood. But there in her place was another figure, Ajax, grasping your hand and leading you through the ocean. He smiled at you. You smiled back.

–––––––––

The king stood on the great rocks, peering over the hill of Salamis into the great big ocean. His ginger hair, which fell down to his chin, moved as freely as it could under the weight of his golden crown. Every morning after breakfast at the very same time on the very same rocks he would look out into the very great sea. Sometimes he was joined by his brother, on occasions his grandmother, on holiday’s his priestess aunt, and oftentimes his wife.

The king was known throughout the land as being good. He was fair and ruled with jurisdiction. He was pious and had great respect for the gods. Each day he dressed in clothes of mourning, honoring his late parents who died when he was just a boy. Alexandros had been king of Salamis for eighteen years, a husband for twelve, and a father for ten.

The king loved his subjects, his family, and his role as their protectors. He had a rough childhood. No father, a tense situation at court, and growing up in the midst of one of the greatest wars Greece had ever seen. Still, he was deeply loved by those around him and was never seen as corrupt or unjust. However, one thing from his childhood that never ceased to shake him up was the death of his mother, the Princess Y/n.

The king’s brother, Prince Simonides, became the scribe of history. He too was loved by the people, but for very different reasons than the kind. He was seen as just, a historian who took into account several perspectives, and far less consumed by the grief of losing his mother. He worked alongside his aunt, Princess Tonia of Sparta, and his ward, the Princess Eudora. Despite their great distance in location, the two brothers remained extremely close and would visit often.

The king not only honored his deceased mother in his daily actions, he also remembered the father he never knew. Ajax the Great was sure to be remembered by all as a strong warrior whose skill was only less to Achilles. Statues, caves, and even a festival was created, by command of the king, to honor his name.

The king would spend the rest of his life mourning his parents. Still, he shared great moments of joy and fulfillment. He also found comfort in the fact that his parents were reunited in the afterlife, their love now eternal. From the love of his wife, brother, Aunt Rosaria, the Dowager Queen Hesione, and his children he understood why his mother did what she did. She chose love, and so he would too.

“Father?” the voice of his oldest child, a girl, called out to him, “Won’t you come inside? Mother is requesting your presence. Uncle and your Spartan Aunt have arrived.”

“Excellent,” King Alex responded, “I’ll be there in just a minute to greet them, Y/n.”

#ajax genshin impact #ajax x reader #childe genshin impact #childe x reader #tartaglia genshin impact #tartaglia x reader #rosaria genshin impact #major character death #tragic endings #angst #angst with sort of happy endings #partially inspired by the barbie movie lmao

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