[One Shot] The Curse Lifted in Blood...

[casterofcolchis]

It was all done.

Medea sat in a small chair before the beach. Her clothes and hair both smelled of smoke and fire. Slowly a smirk played across her painted lips. Jason’s paramour had made it all too easy.

Jason’s wedding to his lover Glauce was supposed to be today. Medea had gone to the celebratory venue and begged her husband’s forgiveness. Her pleas were met with a strike from the back of Jason’s hand and a command for her to leave. Medea had left, feigning the whimpering reaction of a meek and battered wife. But once Jason was out of sight she used her magic and appeared before the bride-to-be. Of course Glauce was terrified at first, but Medea convinced her that she was only there to give wedding presents.

To the bride, Medea presented her with a fine dress - one far more lovely than the dress already made for Glauce. Unsure if she should take it, Glauce sent for her father, King Creon. When the king arrived he too was apprehensive, but he couldn’t deny the beauty of the gown, and he would have his daughter looking divine on her wedding day. He convinced Glauce to wear the gown Medea had given her. In thanks, Medea presented to King Creon a golden coronet, which he donned without hesitation.

Both the gown and the golden coronet were covered in poison - King Creon and his daughter Glauce were killed within minutes of wearing the items Medea had given them.

Medea smiled as she stared at the water, a goblet of wine in her hand as she reminisced about the day’s events. She sipped it slowly, content in her personal victory. But soon enough she heard the sound of heavy footfalls. Medea glanced over her shoulder to them and smiled; her four sons stood behind her, looks of fury upon their faces.

“Ah, my sons have come to pay their mother a visit. To what do I owe the pleasure?” she made no effort to stand up from her seat.

“Mother. We know what you’ve done,” Tisander spoke first, she saw that his hand was on the hilt of his sword.

“What could you possibly mean, my son?” Medea finished off the wine in her goblet before standing slowly and moving to refill it from the decanter on the small table near her seat.

“You killed father’s bride,” Thessalus snapped. “We found her and King Creon dead in her chambers. Father was beside himself with fury and anguish. How could you do this!?”

Medea had refilled her goblet, and when Thessalus finished speaking she slammed the decanter of wine down on the table, nearly cracking it. She wheeled on her sons and glared at them with all of her fury.

“How could I do this!? You jest, surely! What of your father? What of his vows to honor and cherish me above all others!? Have you given no mind to any of that!?” She exclaimed.

“Don’t be ridiculous! Father may do as he pleases,” Alcimenes scoffed. “Glauce could have given him a kingdom. You can only give him your witchcraft and parlor tricks.”

Medea slapped Alcimenes in the face. Almost immediately, his three brothers had their blades drawn on her. Medea froze, her eyes narrowed. Slowly she glared at the four young men, only just then realizing their resemblance to their father.

“You would dare train your weapons on your mother?” she hissed. “The woman who carried you, bore you, cared for you...this is the thanks I get in return?”

“You’re no mother of ours,” Thessalus snapped, the tip of his sword pointed directly at her throat. “You’re just a miserable witch.”

The word ‘witch’ set her eyes to glow bright pink in fury. All her magic focused in her palms, and Medea sent it out in a wave of pure energy from her center. All four young men went down, hitting the ground hard.

“So be it then,” Medea growled as she held her hand up, magical seals of pink light appearing behind her. She did not hesitate in the slightest as she brought her hand down in a sudden arc, and beams of pink light shot from the seals. All four sons stared up, caught off guard by the expanse of their mother’s magic. Thessalus dropped to avoid being hit, while his three brothers were not so quick to move and ended up being impaled in multiple places, their blood splattering on the ground, over Medea’s face - everywhere. They were dead almost instantly.

Only Thessalus remained. He stared all around him, at the bleeding and broken bodies of his brothers. Slowly his eyes came upon his mother and he dropped his sword, then fell to his knees.

“Mercy, mother,” he begged, looking up at her with wide, pleading eyes. “Please...have mercy.”

Medea stepped up slowly to her kneeling son. She wrapped her fingers around his jaw and tilted his head up. Her dark blue eyes stared into his own; indeed, of all things he had inherited, he had gotten her eyes. Medea just stared at him for a long moment.

“You lead your brothers on a mission to slaughter your mother. You raise your sword against her, and your brothers brandish their steel, following your lead. Now they lie dead before you, and rather than die with them, you beg for mercy,” her lips twisted in disgust and fury. “I didn’t raise you to be a coward, boy! You started this. You led your brothers to this fate, you will not abandon them and walk away. You will see this through.”

Tears filled Thessalus’ eyes, but he bowed his head and braced himself. There was no escaping his fate now, and he knew it. Medea truly saw his father in his eyes and the way he trembled so childishly. She hesitated for a moment, remembering when Thessalus was young and sick, how she had nursed him to health and held him until his illness abated. For a moment, she did consider letting him go.

Her dark eyes turned cold as steel, and Medea hardened her heart at the sight of her snivelling son. Magical pink seals appeared in the air behind her, and beams of pink light fired from them, impaling Thessalus in multiple places. He gasped and gagged, coughing up blood and spattering her with it. He died almost instantly.

Medea let Thessalus crumple to the ground. It was only then that she glanced around to observe the carnage surrounding her.

Alcimenes. Tisander. Mermerus. Thessalus. They were all dead, but even in her fury Medea had killed them quickly. Despite their disrespect, they had felt minimal pain. Medea reached up, dragging her fingers over the blood on her face. Guilt overwhelmed her as she stared at her bloody fingers.

She was their mother, and these were her children. She had raised them from little boys to the young men they had become. So quickly she had passed judgment upon them and slaughtered them like young lambs.

No, actually that wasn’t quite right. She had tried to raise them. Jason had done the bulk of it, truth be told. He had formed those small boys into young men just like him.

Arrogant. Manipulative. Callous.

With Hera’s spell removed and her vision clear, Medea could never have allowed such insolence in her sons. And at their ages, there would be no fixing it. Any way she looked at it, it was far too late. She had done what had to be done.

“Mother?”

The small, feminine voice behind her made Medea freeze. Her dark blue eyes glanced up over her shoulder, and she saw her daughter Eriopis standing there. The look of horror in her eyes grasped Medea’s heart in the coldest vice grip.

“Mother...what have you done?”

“Only what needed to be done, little love,” she replied, turning to face the dead forms of her sons. “They raised their blades against me, they meant to kill me. I had no choice.”

“Mother…” she heard Eriopis’ voice crack as she took a step forward. But still Medea did not turn around. “...Mother, I could understand what you did to father’s betrothed...but this...please, please tell me you didn’t do this!”

Medea did not reply. There was no denying what she had done. She would not shy away, she would accept responsibility for her actions. Medea heard a slight shuffling of cloth behind her, and suddenly there were rapid footfalls. Running. Eriopis was running. But why?

Eriopis had drawn her small dagger from the belt at her waist and bolted towards her mother. With tears flowing down her face, she rushed forward and plunged the dagger into Medea’s back, screaming in anguish as the blade made contact and pierced into her mother’s flesh. Blood poured down along her fingers and dripped onto the ground. Eriopis continued to cry, her shoulders heaving as she sobbed and pressed her forehead against Medea’s shoulder. As her mother had said, she had no choice - she had to avenge her brothers.

“A very good try, my daughter.”

Eriopis cried out in alarm as she whirled around, following the direction she had heard her mother’s voice. Medea floated in the air behind her daughter, her cloak fanned out like wings with mystic symbols glowing against the fabric. Eriopis’ green eyes were wide as she turned towards the figure before her, the one she had stabbed. Only the body faded into smoke and disappeared; a fake, a trick of Medea’s magic.

Trembling, Eriopis dropped her knife and fell to her knees, but not as Thessalus had. Eriopis was in shock, Thessalus had been grovelling. Medea floated to the ground and touched down with hardly a sound.

“I commend you for avenging your brothers, little love. Or at least trying to. I would have preferred if you attacked your enemy from the front, rather than behind. But you take whatever advantage you have,” Medea spoke softly as she stepped forward. “You would raise your blade to your mother as well?”

“...I understand, mother,” Eriopis whimpered. “But...but it’s not right. You are angry with father. You should have taken your vengeance upon him, not his betrothed, not her father, and not your children.”

Medea considered her daughter’s words. Slowly she raised her hand and a pink magic seal appeared behind her.

“An excellent point, however, as I told you my daughter, I will not tolerate threats. Not even from my children,” Medea replied.

“I know,” Eriopis looked up slowly, her tears gone and a sad smile on her face. “I understand, and I forgive you, mother.”

Medea’s eyes widened and her breath caught in her chest. That remark caught her completely off guard. Medea trembled a little, but again she hardened her heart, set her jaw and focused her magic. A single ray of pink light shot from the magic seal behind her and pierced Eriopis straight through her heart. Eriopis twitched a little, but fell forward.

“Mo...ther…”

Medea caught Eriopis in her arms, and as her daughter died in her arms, tears flowed down Medea’s face. She buried her face into her daughter’s soft lavender-blonde hair. Her jaw clenched as she held Eriopis tight and trembled in fury and sorrow.

“...Ridiculous...I...I did not ask for your forgiveness,” she growled, even with her daughter unable to hear her now. “I do not need your forgiveness. It did not have to be this way!”

Truly, Medea had intended on allowing Eriopis to live. She would flee this horrid land and take Eriopis with her; to Athens, to Colchis - anywhere. But now...now she had nothing.

Now Jason had nothing.

Medea carefully set Eriopis upon the ground, resting her hands over her abdomen and closing her eyes, as though her daughter were merely sleeping. Slowly Medea stood up, and with a wave of her hand, she summoned two copper coins.

“Pay the ferryman, little love. Travel safely to Hades, and may you prosper even in death,” Medea continued to cry, her tears cutting through the blood spattered on her face.

After a long moment, Medea pulled up the hood of her cloak, casting shadow over her face. Focusing her magic, Medea cast a spell to keep the wildlife away from the bodies of her children. Let Jason find them; at the very least she would respect the dead enough to leave them whole and undisturbed. She left without sparing a passing glance for her sons.

There was nothing now tying her to Jason. Medea was free - but at a cost she had never expected nor intended to pay.