Quoted By:
Your lips part, and you sing of your father:
<span class="mu-b">"Behold my son, my father said,
the strength of Hellenic stone.
When I pass, it will endure
As the kingdom and the throne.
Stone on stone with Hellenic hands
A wall for order to hold
Where beat hearts of loyalty
The dam shall remain...</span>
You sing of the words that you <span class="mu-i">should</span> have heard - that you were <span class="mu-i">meant</span> to hear, from your father. Your song becomes the mournful cry of every son who has lost his father; of the cruelty of a world that strips boys of their happy childhoods.
You sing of Thessaly, and the roving bands of barbaroi in the darkness beyond.
You sing of <span class="mu-s">the Dam</span> - the altar to your father that you built of blood and slaves and gold - so that his memory might live a little longer.
Your tongue is unburdened, full of grace - your fingers dart across the lyre with stolen agility; somehow, they know exactly where to go. Drawn by the music, your pacing is perfect - your chorus's support, immaculate. You are outside of yourself, as you sing - with hundreds of eyes on you, you feel yourself vanish - into the memories of a Thessalian boy who daydreamed of what his life could have been.
And as you sing, you weep freely - the audience blurring indistinctly. The prickling pressure of the goddess' sight is on you once again, and beneath your sorrow - you are glad. This is where you are meant to be - in the competition, in the fight! Between lyrics, you make a silent prayer to your goddess, to Nike - <span class="mu-i">hear me, O winged daughter of Styx, and be pleased...</span> and you are absolutely confident that she hears you...
When the emotion recedes, and your eyes are wiped clean of tears, you are standing to the left of Odysseus, looking at you with wonder and intensely relieved, and on his right, Andros, who look as if he has forgotten his collapse in the poetry contest earlier this morning. The crowd hails the three of you - showering you with applause. When Anios pins the silver pin on your robes, a stylized face with open mouth, he leans close to you, saying:
"Well done, Nikandros - and know that your father Hippomedon will hear of this in the Elysian Fields." The words stun you - you had not ever considered that your father's shade might learn of your actions - and be proud.
>Nikandros has earned one point of Kleos for his general performance within the Lesser Delia, including a second-place finish in the penultimate event!
The rest of the feast is a true celebration - all hostility forgotten amongst the competitors, you drink excellent wine, eat excellent food, trade stories of the day's accomplishments and failures, and toast to one another's competitive spirit. Odysseus thrives - crowned as the champion of the Lesser Delia, he wears his laurel crown proudly, and you are relieved as well. You are learning to fear an angry Odysseus - and he has been appeased, for now. Finally, Anios stands to make some final remarks as the day of contests comes to a close...
