Archive of Our Own

Court's stomach ached with a cold, sickening roll as he looked over the place he once called home.

He was thirteen when he had carefully planned each room; sixteen when he ordered its construction; eighteen when it was finished. The tall pillars let in natural light and fresh, salty air from the ocean. The tiled floors gleamed as colorful motifs lined the walls with tales of legends and myths. Nature interwove itself through the halls, merging until there was no distinction between what was outside and what was inside.

He had hardly had time to revel in its completion, drawn away by a war he wanted no part in at nineteen. But it was okay because his home wasn't built for him in mind, but for his little brothers. Everything he did was for them. When away, the memory of their bright laughter ringing through the clean open space helped remind him what he was fighting for.

Now his palace was no better than the worst whore house.

The tiles were dingy; the motifs chipped. The air hung heavy with the smell of smoke and rotten musk. The plants had been uprooted, only a few surviving in a valiant attempt at what seemed out of spite. And what was worse was the men and women who sat at long tables or lounged in comfort, like they owned the palace. Ate the hard-earned food from those living in Ithaca; drank without civility; fornicated openly in the halls as others watched; slept in his palace that he had lovingly crafted for his brothers. They tarnished everything.

Fitzroy, his mentor, had warned him when they were making their way to the palace, when they ran into each other shortly after Court swam to shore. Kept him safe in the home he shared with his niece, Claire, for a few days as the older man caught him up to what happened during the twenty years he was away. How his twin brothers— Colt and Ryland— had survived without his protection.

Being only thirteen when Court went away, neither of them had the chance to visit the Delphi to have their claim legitimized to Ithaca's throne. Neither had Court, but everyone was too afraid of him after he killed the previous king, their father. A man who ruled with an iron fist and tyranny to make everyone around him fall in line. Court was pretty sure that even if he hadn't killed the man in self-defense of the twins, the people of Ithaca would have let it slide. It was with the understanding that when the twins were of age, they would be the ones to take the throne, ruling side by side.

For the first few years, it was good; safe. His brothers were taught by the best teachers (of which Ryland had a knack of pissing off, much to Court's amusement). Ryland had taken more to handling politics, commerce, and science; Colt found his focus working on engineering, the arts, and strengthening their thin military. They had mysticism in their blood (whether it be from a long-gone ancestor or blessed by the gods, no one but Court was sure), scarily predicting things that no one else could have. Two halves of a whole who worked toward bettering Ithaca and the surrounding countryside.

But as the years dragged on, slowly, filth entered Ithaca's sacred walls. First, it was beguiling merchants and savvy politicians looking to take advantage of the twins' youth.

Court's heart was full of pride when Fitzroy explained that Colt had a knack for picking out those with the best intentions, even without the help of advisors. Allowing those people in, while kicking out those who would do them harm. Ryland was more naive, but always backed his brother.

And then the first tragedy struck when the twins turned eighteen.

Court was sick when Fitzroy described a famine that struck their shores. They weren't prepared. Then, like a miracle from the gods, a woman named Eva stepped forward to help the twins navigate this situation. Ryland and her became close— not romantically but definitely more than friends, Fitzroy had said in a quiet, morose tone. Which is probably why, when things fell apart for an expedition to find a solution for the famine, it was easy to drug Ryland and send him out to sea against his wishes.

Court had barely held in his rage at being told these events. The only good thing was that Colt had taken to banishing Eva from their land for her part. Perhaps another time, he would track her down and kill her, but for now, she wasn't a concern.

Four years. It took Ryland four years to return home. During that time, Colt bore the weight of an entire people on his shoulders. Court's face fell into his hands as he held back frustrated tears when hearing how his brother broke his back, the physicians saying he would either not survive or never walk again.

But the gods blessed their favor on Colt, or it had to do with what magic was in his blood, because against all odds, he clawed his way back to full health. Even married someone, a playwright named Jody, to help him rule and attempt to clean up Ithaca from the sneaky intruders who had taken advantage of the confusion and chaos to try and plant roots within the city.

Then Ryland returned, with a cure for the famine and with a whole group of people who had also suffered from the same affliction. The Eridians, the group, were very excited to work with Ithaca and establish trade routes, especially when one of their saviors lived there.

By the time the war in Troy was nearing its end, Ithaca slowly started to thrive again. What's more, Ryland and Colt had grown into strong, handsome men. Even if one of them was happily married, there was no denying the eyes that lusted after them. Though still unofficial rulers, there was also no denying the amount of power they each held over the city, making them even more attractive.

And so the suitors and challengers came.

Like festering wounds, they took advantage of Ithaca's courtesy; they abused her kindness. All the while, challenging the twins to the throne or trying to woo them.

Court didn't bother to hide his silent tears as he heard about Ryland's wit and Colt's strength.

Ryland used the excuse that since it had been so long since anyone heard from Court, he must be dead. So with the help from his Eridian friends, Rocky and Adrian, he was working on a death shroud for his older brother. He would take no suitors until he was done. But those closest to the twins, like Fitzroy, knew that Ryland undid everything he worked on during the night to prolong the suitors' advances. It had been Adrian's idea, having done something similar while their spouse, Rocky.

For his part, while many men and women attempted to become mistresses of Colt's, others challenged him to physical combat for the throne. Tried to take what was rightfully Colt's. But each time Colt won, the loser was left to lick their wounds before trying again. And if someone tried to challenge Ryland for his claim, appearing softer out of the two, the twins would switch places with the challengers none the wiser, it was Colt they were fighting.

Fitzroy described one memorable time when someone had tried to take Colt's place by framing him for murder. But that quickly was solved, even if his brother had to pretend to be dead for a day, before it was revealed to be a waiting suitor for Ryland.

Court was upset that this Ryder person was dead because he was the one who actually committed the murder. He would have loved to do it himself.

And so the years went like this, his brothers fending off unwanted advances and ridiculous challengers. And heaviness sat on Court's shoulders as he took the tale all in; weighed on his soul.

He should have been there for them. Should have taken the brunt of everything. That's what his only goal was in life— protect and cherish his siblings. Instead, he was forced to participate in a war of attrition, let each of his decisions get in the way of returning home quickly, and was held against his will by a lonely goddess.

He only wanted to be that soft brother again for the twins, the one before the war. He didn't want to be that ruthless trickster man the events of Troy had created him to be.

But because of his own hesitation, his own fear, the men and women he had taken with him had suffered and died.

Now he was the only one left. That blood will be on him forever. That and the journey home changed him, and he knew he could never go back to the way he was before.

But he did not defeat Poseidon, did not let himself become a monster, just to watch his home succumb to ruin.

With the sun high overhead, Court stuck to the shadows Erebus created. He dressed as a beggar to see the full damage that Fitzroy had described. He didn't want anyone to recognize him— if anyone could, that was. He was no longer the youthful man who went away twenty years ago.

He made his way to the throne room. Here, most of the men and women congregated, laughing and speaking amongst themselves. Court curled his hands into fists to stop from reaching for the nearest weapon to slit everyone's throats.

He focused to the back of the room, where the thrones for the twins were that he specifically designed himself. He paused, rage and irritation cooling into a bit of confusion. His siblings were absent, which, given the company, Court wasn't truly surprised by. But the last time he had seen the throne, the dais had two chairs sitting on it; one for Ryland and the other for Colt. But they had been moved off the platform to be on the same flooring as everyone else. And rather than sit side by side, there was a large gap between them. It highlighted the lone throne chair that now sat where they once were.

Before he could figure out the new configuration, the sound of doors opening loudly caught his attention.

The world suddenly went very quiet as Court's heart stopped beating. Colt and Ryland strode in with the confidence of men who were made to rule, their steps in sync as they crossed the room side by side. They were no longer the lanky children Court remembered them as, with wide smiles and sticky hands that reached for him.

Fitzroy was right. Ryland did appear to be the softer of the two. But his head was held high with his eyes constantly scanning everything around him. His hair was cut shorter, and it looked like he hadn't shaved in a day or two. He wore a purple chiton with a blue himation wrapped around his waist and over one shoulder, the end of the fabric lying against his chest. Around the collar and hem of the chiton were geometric shapes, and, though from his position, Court couldn't be sure, there was a pattern stitched all over it. Court dared to say they looked like constellations. The most horrific change to his brother was that his entire left arm, up to his neck, was badly burned. Had Fitzroy not warned him about it, Court would have abandoned all pretext of stealth just to hold his brother. The most unsurprising thing was the pair of reading aids hanging loosely on his chest, clipped to his collar by a silver chain. He had to use a pair since he was a child.

Colt appeared broader in his shoulders. He wore a loose smirk as he kept his focus ahead. His hair and beard were longer with the ruggedness of a man who knew what he was capable of. He also wore a purple chiton, but it didn't have geometric shapes along the hem and collar of the garment; it had flowers. Which contrasted with the scene of a fight stitched into the bottom half of the outfit. Perhaps it was a challenger fight or a battle from legends. Court sort of hoped it was the former, so it would serve as a warning to those who challenged his brother. If it was, it matched well with the xiphos strapped around his waist. It wasn't proper to wear a weapon inside the home, but given the circumstances, Court understood why Colt would; their 'guests' hadn't removed any of their weapons either. Unsurprisingly, with all the fighting he did, there were scars littering his arm. His nose also appeared to have been broken one too many times. Court wanted to kill whoever hurt his little brother like that.

Diadems of gold sat atop their heads; simple bands of gold inlaid with precious gems. Each wore two rings on each of their hands, mostly situated on their pointer and index fingers. However, Colt's left hand had a ring on his middle finger.

On the opposite side of Colt, a blonde-haired woman, golden strands piled in an elaborate fashion, in a blue and purple Peplos, walked beside him with their arms interlaced, heavily pregnant. She had a wonderful smile and looked at his brother with an expression Court would only describe as loving. And when Colt would glance at her, his eyes would soften with adoration. It must be his wife, Jody.

On Ryland's opposite side, two people walked next to him. Their skins were darker than what was common in the area, with thick hair fluffed out to an extreme or in neatly decorated dreadlocks. Much like Jody's painted face, theirs were also decorated with colors of reds, greens, purples, and yellows. The man— at least Court thought it was a man with their flat bare chest, which was also decorated with color and scars (some of which looked intentional)— walked directly next to his brother with a disgusted expression when he looked around the room. The other person— a man or a woman, Court couldn't tell by the way their garment draped— was better at hiding their distaste when they also peered around. They had the same intentional scarring as the man on their visible arms, as well as matching sets of jewelry to their partner.

Fitzroy told him Rocky and Adrian were visiting from Erid, so that's who must be next to his brother.

Court sank slowly down to the floor, legs weak, as his brothers stood in front of their respective thrones. It wasn't until Colt gave Judy a kiss on the lips and Ryland hugged both Rocky and Adrian that they sat down at the same time, which indicated how in sync they were. Servants guided the Lady of the House and their guests to sit at a small, remarkably clean area next to the dais.

A chasm sat in Court's chest as he looked at his brothers who he hadn't seen in twenty years. He wanted to scream, "Look! I am home!" but bit back the urge until he tasted copper in his mouth. Now was not the time; it wasn't the right time. But by the gods, they were right there. So close within his reach, but still so far. What wouldn't he give to cast off his cloak and embrace them as his own again? The chasm throbbed. His empty hands ached.

As Colt stood, Court ducked his face. He knew he was well hidden, but for one wild moment, he was truly terrified that if their eyes met, Colt would recognize him. He couldn't have that, not yet. He still had to plan what to do with the situation.

He placed one hand over his face and startled slightly at the wetness that met him. He quickly attempted to erase his tears when he heard Colt start to speak.

"Guests," Colt greeted with a tight smile, clearly looking like he wanted to say something else. "Most of you have been waiting a long time for a chance at something…."

Cold dread drenched down Court's spine as excited whispers erupted.

"My brother," Colt continued, with a tilt of his head to Ryland, "has informed me that our brother's death shroud has been finished."

Court almost screamed. No, he was right here. HE WAS RIGHT HERE!!!

He dug his nails into the back of his hand to stop himself.

Around him, the whispers grew louder. Court ignored them.

Instead, he watched Ryland grip the armrests of his throne, fingers going pale. But he didn't look scared, but determined, with his lips pressed together in a thin line. Colt's easy smile didn't lessen, but the pure contempt in his eyes was on full display.

Court frowned when Colt peered over his shoulder at Ryland. They held each other's gaze with a look in their eyes until Ryland nodded. It reminded him so much of when they were younger.

What were they planning?

Colt's clap reverberated throughout the room, drawing attention to him again. "Don't get excited, guests!" He held his arms wide. "It won't be so simple!"

As he spoke, Ryland closed his eyes and took a slow breath in. When he released it, he pushed himself up.

"Courtland," he started, taking an extra step forward from Colt so people focused on him, "is— was our protector. Our strength."

Court froze as he listened.

"Our brother is the smartest out of those who went to Troy," Ryland continued. "It was his idea of sneaking into the statue of a horse to breach the impenetrable walls of Troy that allowed his allies to claim final victory."

Around Court, there were murmurs of agreement, but all he wanted to do was deny it. That didn't make him smart; it was just the next best option when hitting something over and over again wasn't doing anything. He had such a hard time convincing people to go along with the plan because it wasn't honorable, but he wanted to go home. Just like so many others.

"Our brother made sacrifices no man should have had to make." Ryland's voice was even, soft, but carried throughout the room. "Killing our father in order to protect I and my brother."

And he would do it again, too, if he needed to. He was even willing to kill a baby in Troy when the gods told him that the babe presented as a threat to Colt and Ryland's future. (He didn't have it in him, though. He could never hurt a child. Could never live with himself. Instead, the baby died on the way back to Ithaca— a small blessing, he supposed.)

"I will have no one who is not equal to my brother!" he declared. His eyes flashed with excitement and glee. "Let's see if any of you can live up to him."

Large murmurs erupted as Ryland clapped. Servants moved silently to the center of the room.

Court was alarmed when some of them had axes, but they didn't brandish them like a proper weapon. Instead, they set up a stand. They broke the axes heads off from the handle, and hollowed out where it had been broken off. Then they set about to have one blade of the axes embedded in the wood of the stand, the holes facing each other. They didn't stop until there were twelve all set in a neat line.

Letting out a quiet, shaky laugh, Court covered his mouth as tears gathered in his eyes. He knew what this was. He did the same thing when the twins were children, and they were testing how good their brother could be with a bow and arrow; a ridiculous challenge they had created for Court. And well… they had been stunned when Court had accomplished their test without a sweat.

"There will be a series of tests." Ryland's voice carried Court out of his stupor. When he looked, Colt stood next to his twin, their hands clasped together by their side. "Each one based of something Courtland has done."

He waved the hand that wasn't holding Colt's. Another servant— no, the arms master, Court realized, the man was new— came over, holding a case in both arms. He knelt at their feet, holding up the case.

Ryland's hands were shaking as he opened it.

For a moment, neither of the twins moved as they stared at what was inside. Court couldn't see what it was, but his heart broke at their pained, bittersweet expressions. What could make them have such a look?

Then Colt grabbed whatever it was and raised it above his head.

The air was stolen from Court's lungs.

"Whoever can string our brother's old bow," Ryland explained, "and shoot through twelve axes cleanly, will go onto the next challenge."

Around Court, the murmurs picked up again. This time, he heard some of them brag about how easy that sounded.

Court ducked his face to hide his smirk. Fools.

That bow wasn't an ordinary bow. He still remembered the day it was bestowed upon him by Athena herself, his patron. He still remembered her words when she passed it unto him: "Use this only in defense of others."

It was why he had left it in Ithaca. The war hadn't been in defense of his home. And if something did happen to him… He wanted something for his brothers to remember him by that couldn't be taken away from them.

It was a palintonos bow. It was bent fully backwards. Only those with the greatest strength could string it.

His clever brothers.

"And what of the challenges?" a voice cut over the cacophony.

Court snapped his gaze up to where the voice came from. He immediately wanted to go over and punch the man.

The slim-looking man had dark, calculating eyes. He wore a fine chiton, no purple to indicate he was royalty, but certainly had an air of wealth to him. His smile made Court's skin crawl, as if he were already ahead of whatever his brothers had planned. Next to him, a dark-haired woman was side-eyeing him, but made no move to move out of everyone's line of sight.

"Don't we as guest get to know what the challenges are?" he pressed.

"No," Ryland answered. "You will only be told the next challenge once you complete the previous one."

A murmur of discontent went through the crowd. Ryland tensed.

"Guests, think of it this way!" Colt interjected. "It is a game!" His mouth twitched like he wanted to scowl, but forced himself not to. "And in a game, you don't know what to expect. It would be cheating to let everyone know so they can plan ahead before the first challenge is even over with!"

There was a round of laughs and nods of agreement. Ryland relaxed slightly.

"And how many challenges will there be?" the same man who tried to instigate something asked. Court bit back a smile to see he was frowning.

For a second, a look of panic flashed in Ryland's eyes but disappeared with determination. "Seven."

Court's thoughts paused. He couldn't think of seven things he did that was remarkable in the presence of the twins. Maybe three, at most. Baring killing their father.

Colt also looked surprised as he glanced at Ryland. They shared a look and Court knew they were having a conversation without any words needed. It used to drive their peers crazy. Court never had an issue with it, since he was the one who took care of the twins from birth.

A new ache touched his bones when he realized he couldn't understand what they were talking about. He had been gone far too long….

Then Colt's eyes lit up before he looked back at the crowd. Clearly, Ryland explained perfectly why he had chosen seven.

Pushing back his pain for now at what he had lost, Court focused on those around him. The murmurs of excitement. The thrill of a chase.

Court tightened his jaw. As if any of them would pass. As if he would let any of them succeed the first challenge.

Watching the twins but the bow back in the case, he watched them both touch it at the same time. Their touch lingered. What were they thinking? Were they praying to the gods that these challenges would be enough time to come home? He selfishly hoped so.

With a deep breath, Colt commanded over the crowd, "Your first challenge has been set!"

"Take as long as you like," Ryland added, trying to make it sound pleasant, but it came out sarcastic.

Court hid his smile.

Colt must have caught it, too, as he playfully grinned at Ryland. "We will leave you for today."

Then, without another word, both of them stepped back to their thrones. Jody, Rocky, and Adrian joined them, and soon, with the retinue of servants they arrived with, they left.

Court forced himself to stay where he was. He was tempted to follow, oh so tempted. But his brothers weren't safe. He needed first to gauge what he was dealing with here.

Sticking to the shadows, he watched as the men and women crowded around the axes. The arms master enforced people to follow some sort of order, allowing one person at a time to try and string the bow. It was with great satisfaction that he saw them all fail.

He peered around the room. With an enticing distraction in place, many had abandoned their spots and, rivetingly foolish, had left their weapons behind.

Well, there was something he could work with.

It was astonishingly easy to stalk his away around the room. Picked up weapons and hid them beneath his cloak. There was a room nearby where he stashed his gains, locking it each time he left.

His only worry had been the servants who stuck around the room to watch what was happening. To be the eyes and ears of the twins; to be unnoticed.

Of course, he knew he caught their eyes. Could feel them watching him as he worked. He watched them back. None of them approached the clamoring crowd. Good, he would hate to kill one of them because they were going to reveal his plan.

Well, what little plan he had.

For now, his goal was to disarm the invaders. With all of them in the room now, he counted how many there were.

108.

There were 108 men and women who had no business being in the sanctuary he built for his brothers. 108 people who thought they could just come in his home and lay claim to it.

A fiery coldness settled in his stomach. His jaw hurt from how hard he clenched it. But he couldn't relax. There were intruders in his home. And they needed to be taken care of if his brothers were going to be safe.

"Excuse me, Sir." Court froze. "Would you like to have your feet washed?"

Glancing at the woman who suddenly appeared next to him, his heart stopped when he saw who it was. Margaret. If Fitzroy was his and the twins father figure, then Margaret would be their mother. Kind but had a firm hand if any of them acted out of line. She taught Court how to take care of his brothers. How to heal wounds their father inflicted. Even if she could never intervene, he always knew who to turn to when he needed help.

Her smile was very sharp as she looked him over with a basin in her hands. Like Fitzroy, she was of high rank in Ithaca and shouldn't be demeaned to washing him. It twisted something in his gut.

She stepped toward him. "I insist, dear guest," she said lowly, almost threateningly, "you let me wash your feet."

Court glanced at the crowd. None of them noticed what was going on. He needed it to stay that way. And he knew Margaret would bully her way into getting what she wanted.

With few options, Court nodded, and the older woman led him over to a chair.

He slowly sat down, eyeing her as she was eyeing him. She didn't seem to recognize him, but he didn't have a clue why she approached him. Sure, his bare feet were dirty, but it wasn't like it would ruin the floor.

The water was warm on his skin. Court wished he could enjoy the feeling, erase the memories of the cold waters of the ocean that nearly drowned him. To humbly accept his pseudo-mother's firm touches.

Yells and rough banter drew his attention to the crowd. His hands curled into fists as it was starting to get rowdier as one person after another failed to string the bow. How long did he have before they got bored and went back to their seats? He still had a number of weapons he needed to grab.

A sharp intake of breath had his eyes dropping back down to Margaret. Her dark eyes were no longer his, but his leg.

Once upon a time, there was a boar not far from Ithaca. A beast that outwitted every hunter, took down any warrior who faced it, and wreaked havoc in the countryside.

The King of Ithaca had thought it a grand idea to send Court, shy of fourteen, to handle the creature. To help him further 'become a man.' He had a small group of people to help hunt, but they were his father's men, who would rather leave a child just entering young adulthood to his own devices.

Court couldn't say he was sad when the boar killed them.

Rather than running away, knowing if he did, his father would hurt the twins because of him, he spent many days and nights hunting and evading this supernaturally smart beast. The entire time, it felt as if he was being watched, being assessed.

And he wasn't wrong. When he finally killed the boar, he tricked the goddess Athena into thinking he could see her so she would reveal herself. She had been amused by his ploy and announced that Court would be one of her Champions.

Court had no time to appreciate anything, as the moment she announced it, he fell unconscious. He had been woozy during their first meeting, but he thought it was a minor wound he had received from the boar. The reality was that the boar had delivered a grave cut on his left leg; Athena healed his wound while he was out, leaving him a harsh scar that traveled the length of the appendage.

A scar that was visible to Margaret.

Her wide eyes snapped up to him. "You—"

Court curved his body forward until his face was only inches away from hers, resisting the urge to cover her mouth. "Don't say a word," he ordered, lowly. "Act like nothing is wrong."

Margaret's eyes danced over his features with new ferocity. Court didn't know what she was looking for, but her eyes were lit with new fire when she nodded and went back to her work.

Over her head, Court peered at the crowd. They were still distracted.

"When Fitzroy sent me a message through Claire to look for a beggar in a red cloak, I never imagined it would be you," Margaret whispered, voice awed, as she worked, her body relaxed as if nothing were wrong.

"We can say our greetings and peace later," Court murmured, eyes firmly on the group to witness the dynamics.

"…If you want to know who to look out for," Margaret offered, "The man who spoke up about how many challenges there will be, he is the de facto leader of the group. His name is Carmichael."

Court's eyes zeroed in on him. The man was grinning mockingly at those who were handling the bow.

"How much of a problem will he be?" Court asked.

"Not much." Margaret shrugged. "He's more bark than bite, but knows how to control the room. The real people to be wary of is his second-in-command and his guard dog."

Court glanced at the dark-haired woman next to Carmichael, who still hadn't moved away from him. "The woman next to him?"

Margaret gave a short nod. "Second-in-Command. She is Suzanne."

As she wrung out the rag, she ordered, "Look for a man with his hair slicked back and a mustache. He should be the loudest in the group."

That was easy. Through the spaces in the crowd, Court found him in the center. He laughed boisterously, mocking people openly for failing. He waved a knife in one hand.

"Hansen," Margaret said. "The guard dog."

Court didn't look away from the man, taking in each scar and muscle. Analyzing how easy he laughed— too easy and open, almost bordering on madness.

"…His mustache is terrible," Court voiced.

With a huff, Margaret shook her head. "Don't let it fool you."

Looking down, the older woman met his eyes with a solemn stare. "He is the worst of the bunch," she explained. "A real son of a bitch. He enjoys hurting people. He has hurt other visitors when he is bored."

All Court heard was to take him out first.

She grimaced. "He has been one of the more ardent—" she spat the word— "ones of Prince Ryland's suitors."

Court's jaw clenched. That animal would never touch his baby brother again if Court had anything to say about it.

Taking a deep breath, Margaret went back to her work. "Do you have a plan?"

"Working on it," Court replied, looking back at the group. At least he hoped to have one soon.

"…Whatever happens," he started and felt the older woman pause, "can you keep my brothers away from the worst of it? Preferably in the inner sanctum?" He looked down.

A wistful smile graced Margaret's face. "No surprise you want them to be protected," she murmured gently.

Court's heart squeezed. He would always protect them.

With a deep breath, Margret finished washing his feet and stood. "I will do what I can," she reassured. "Prince Colt will try to fight it, but I will do my best to keep him away from the throne room."

Court nodded, some tension leaving his shoulders.

Margaret started to walk away, but halted next to him, facing away from the crowd. He didn't turn to look at her, but her next words washed over him like a bucket of cold water dumped on his head.

"Welcome home, my King."

Court almost broke to snap at her that he wasn't a king of anything as she walked away. It was a near thing, but he managed to resist.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep, calming breath. He would address that later; whatever that was. Right now, he needed to complete the first part of his plan.

Opening his eyes, he quietly stood and crept back into the shadows.

He nearly finished absconding with the abandoned weapons when the energy of the group changed.

"Screw this challenge!" Hansen cried over the throng of people. He had been getting more belligerent with each passing failure. He had even failed on his attempt. That probably contributed to most of his anger. "We have been doing this for hours!"

Court glanced out of the room, between the tall pillars. The sun was slowly finishing its final dip into the horizon.

"This seems to be another trick of the prince." Carmichael's voice echoed. Court watched the group again. The man still sat at his table with a calculating expression. "None of us can string this. We don't have the power."

"We are being played," Suzanne backed up. "They know none of us can do this."

"Are they still holding onto the belief their dear, older brother will return?" Hansen groaned. He spun around the group with his arms wide. "What is with these ridiculous brothers!"

"It seems like it." Suzanne sighed before she took a sip from her cup. "It is a good stall tactic."

"And we will die of old age before anyone is able to finish, just this one challenge," Hansen spat.

As they spoke, Court continued to collect the discarded weapons but paid close attention to each word. The group was now more focused on the three leaders than the bow. The arms master stood to the side, the weapon gripped tightly in his hands.

"I thought you liked a good challenge," Suzanne said mockingly to Hansen.

"Why do a challenge when we can just take what we want?"

Court's insides went cold at Hansen's words.

The room was now very quiet. Many of the group stared wide-eyed at the man who just uttered such crazy words. Hansen grinned as if he had just found the answer to all their problems.

"Are you insane?" Suzanne hissed. "Not only to think that, but to say it out loud?"

"Oh, we are all thinking it, Suzanne!" Hansen snapped.

"Where is our pride?" he asked, looking around. "Aren't you all tired of waiting? The throne has been empty for so long." He turned to Carmichael. "How long are you going to keep waiting?"

Staring back, the other man folded his hands together and brought them to cover his mouth.

"You came for that," Hansen pointed to the single, empty chair. "All you have to do is take it."

Suzanne sneered. "We will take it. Properly. With a formal challenge."

Huffing, Hansen put his hands on his hips. "See how far that has gotten you?"

For a moment, the two of them stared each other down. Then, quietly, Carmichael said, "…You will give me the throne?"

Suzanne's gaze snapped down as Hansen grinned.

"It's all yours," Hansen replied with a mocking bow. "You know what I want." There was a sickening, lustful heat in his eyes.

With a gaping mouth and horrified eyes, Suzanne started, "You aren't-"

"We have been here too long," Carmichael yelled, slamming his hands on the table. He glanced up at the woman with a hard gaze. "I will not be kept waiting."

He looked back at Hansen. "You can leave, if you want, but I am not about to go home empty handed."

The room was quiet again. Suzanne appeared torn about the decision. Yet, ultimately, she sat back down next to him.

Nodding, Carmichael waved at Hansen. "What is your plan?"

Hansen grinned as he sat down at the table. And Court listened.

He heard the description of how they would overtake Colt and Ryland. Force them to watch as they took everything they held dear. Torture them; hurt Colt's wife and Ryland's honored guests; rape his brothers, and when they were done with them, cut up their bodies and throw them into the sea. All of them.

No one walked away as the three planned everything in graphic detail. No one told them to stop. Instead, they were all grinning like loons, bloodlust dancing in their eyes. They laughed and offered their own sick perversions to the table: the types of torture, where it would hurt the twins the most, anything and everything.

Court was cold— empty— as he watched this from the shadows. Watched as men and women guffawed and jeered as they spoke of horrendous things. Hansen even started standing up and moving around, hopping on his feet.

Suddenly, he wasn't in the throne room anymore. He was in a smaller, darker place; what could be mistaken for something extravagant but was more of an imitation. The air was colder, and it stank of smoke, sex, and musk.

Shadows danced at the edges of his sight, but all he could focus on was the giant of a man standing over two small boys. The back of their heads were in each of his palms as he dunked, and dunked, and dunked their heads underwater, ignoring the children's cries.

The man was saying— yelling— words, but Court couldn't hear any of them. It felt like he had cotton in his ears.

Calmly, Court felt his body moving. He grabbed a quiver of arrows.

Strapping them to his waist, he approached his bow. Still unstrung— waiting for him.

Grasping the weapon, he bent it to its proper form, the wood bending effortlessly under his palms. He tied the string tightly to each end.

The entire time, the man holding the boys down grew in size. He was a giant— another one he would have to slay.

This time, he would do it right.

He pulled the string back. The arrow flew through the air.

There was a satisfying 'shnk' of flesh being pierced.

The vision vanished.

The man— Court's father— was gone. In his place was Hansen, who had climbed onto the table at one point, with an arrow clean through his throat. He gasped, blood pouring from either side of the wound, as he stared at Court. For the first time, Court saw fear mixed with the anger.

Hansen stumbled until he was off the table, somehow still standing. No one helped him.

But on his next step, he fell to his knees, then laid on the floor, arms outstretched. He twitched until he stopped.

The room was quiet again. The group stared at Court.

For the first time since hearing everyone's words, Court felt like he could breathe again. The main threat had been taken care of.

Now it was time to take care of the rest.

"Twenty years." His words carried coolly throughout the room. "For twenty years, I suffered." He met every single person in the eye.

"From the wrath of gods and monsters to the screams of comrades slain." He inhaled. It was warm.

"I come back and find my palace desecrated, sacked like Troy." He tightened his grip on his bow. Something hot clawed on his spine.

"Worst of all, I hear you dare to touch my brothers. Hurt my boys!"

The heat spread into his blood, his mind, and his limbs. All he could see were enemies who had no place in the space he built for his younger siblings. All he could see was red. Like he did when fighting the God of the Seas.

In his mind, he distantly heard a joyous cackle. "Show them why even Poseidon fears you now!"

Then something softer— familiar. Time appeared to slow. "Don't lose your head."

"I… have had enough."

The last light of the sun disappeared, leaving impenetrable darkness wherever a torch could not reach.

Court deftly moved.

The group scrambled.

"Our weapons are missing!" someone yelled.

Court spotted a person under a torch and let another arrow fly. They went down.

There was more yelling.

"Gather up!"

"Scatter!"

"We are stronger together!"

"Haven't you heard of his prowess in Troy!? He plans for every fight! We can't even do a surprise attack!"

Court took down another intruder.

"Where is he!?"

"Keep to the shadows! He can't see you!"

"We can't see him."

"He has an advantage!"

"So do we! We know these halls!"

Court's arrow found that last person. As they fell, he murmured, "You don't think I know my own palace? I built it."

He took down five more before Carmichael stepped under a torch.

"Dear king!" he called as he looked around the room. His eyes darted frantically around, and sweat dripped from his forehead. "Our leader is dead! Don't you see? Clearly, with him gone, we aren't a threat anymore!" Acting like Court hadn't seen everything.

Court grabbed the shaft of his arrow as he approached.

"Forgive us!" Carmichael yelled. "Let's stop this bloodshed!"

Though he kept his back to the pillar, Court slipped between the two and grabbed the man. Carmichael didn't even have time to scream when the arrow's point pierced his throat.

When their eyes met, Court simply said, "No."

He pulled the arrow away and returned to the darkness, leaving the body to crumple.

With the leader taken care of, more chaos erupted. People turned over tables to create cover. Plates used as small shields. The cries of individuals running into each other echoed.

"Grab someone!" Suzanne's voice shouted, tinged with desperation. "Use Ithaca's people as shields!"

The fire under Court's skin grew stronger. How dare they? How dare they attempt to use the city's people— his people— to try and protect themselves? His journey had made him become a monster; what excuse did these intruders have?

"Do not let this cowardice go unpunished!"

"…Remind them why you are Ithaca's protector. Her king."

Ithaca's citizens scrambled away or fought back.

Taking a xiphos off the dead body of a person, if Court's arrows could not bring someone down, he would move in quickly for a kill. No one would harm any of his people.

He heard a scream and witnessed Suzanne push Margaret out of the way of something. Claire screamed when the woman grabbed her wrist and yanked her to her feet.

"You are Fitzroy's niece," Suzanne hissed, "No way your king would hurt me when I hold something as precious as you."

Not even a second later, the older woman let go with a scream of agony as an arrow embedded itself in her arm.

With swift steps, Court was on her just as she rounded toward him. He met her fearful gaze, her hands on a dagger on her hip. But before she could even pull it out, he stuck his xiphos up between her ribs.

A small gasp escaped her. He felt her hands on his wrist with some strength, but it only made him push the sword further.

"Mer-Mercy," she gasped, voice shaking.

Court didn't say anything as he pulled his sword out and watched her body fall.

By then, Margaret was back on her feet and leading Claire away from the battle.

Court watched them leave, the haze over him softening a touch at Claire's wide-eyed expression while she still looked back at him. Only a young woman, she had probably never seen such deaths; never experienced the cries of the terrified.

Court wished she didn't have to see it, but he could— would— not offer any mercy to those who threatened his home. As long as they were around, his family's lives were left unknown.

His mercy was dead. Died a long time ago. For the sake of him returning home to his brothers. His boys.

Death was the only fate for those who wanted to destroy it.

Heart hardening, Court went back to his task.

Time was no longer a concept to Court. He stalked and hunted down each man and woman who thought they could hurt his brothers. Their screams became a symphony of death. Their expressions frozen in horror as they met their end. No amount of begging, crying, and fighting would stop Court on his mission.

At some point, he knew Fitzroy had come with backup, Ithaca's soldiers. They couldn't kill the city's guests, but halted them from escaping, making it easier for Court to cut them down. Servants barred escape routes or shouted the locations of those hiding for Court. Ithaca finally fought back after baring its belly for too long.

The only times Court lost focus was when he saw a flash of short blond hair out of the corner of his eye. Fear strangled his lungs until he made his way to where he saw it, only to be met with nothing. He had to remind himself that his brothers were safe. Margaret assured him this. He had to trust that.

Then, just as swiftly as the massacre started, it stopped.

Court released a soft breath as he lowered his bow, the final intruder lying dead not far away with an arrow in their back. The bodies of others lay at his feet.

Around him, there was silence.

A gentle breeze touched his face. He turned to see that he was standing in a walkway. He hadn't even realized.

Where he stood gave a perfect view of Ithaca and the ocean. He could make out the buildings, silent and untouched by the reckoning above her. Peaceful. How Court always loved to see her.

Out on the ocean horizon, he saw the rays of Helios beginning to break through the darkness. It made him realize just how tired he was. His muscles ached with bone-deep weariness he had never felt before, even during his time against Troy. The haze of battle hunger was gone from his mind; time now seemed to flow normally. He was hollow now, unsure of what to do.

Footsteps drew his attention. An armored woman approached him, an empty bow by her side. The chlamys she wore was decorated with her station within Ithaca's military— a strategos, the highest rank. She didn't appear to be a threat to him, but she definitely would be a challenge to take down if she decided he needed to be eliminated.

Court frowned, her walk and stern expression familiar. When she removed her helmet, it suddenly fell into place when he saw her shoulder-length hair. "Miranda."

One corner of the woman's mouth quirked up as she slid her helmet under her arms. She bowed her head with a soft greeting, "My king."

"Not your king," Court fired back without much heat.

"Hm," she offered, clearly not heeding his words. Rather than be annoyed, Court shook his head with a huff.

With his free hand (speckled with drying blood; both of his hands were), he motioned to her. He smiled, and it felt warped, wrong. He couldn't remember the last time he smiled. "You did it."

His childhood friend always dreamed of becoming one of the heads of the military. She never said it out loud, but Court saw the aspiration in her eyes when she listened intently to Fitzroy's teachings.

But that wasn't the reason he convinced her to stay in Ithaca when Court was called upon to help his allies. His main reason was that the twins trusted her, and Court trusted her with their lives. Of course, she had been rightly crossed with him when he ordered her to stay in the city, but she understood his reasoning before the ships set sail.

Something throbbed deep in his chest. Something he had ignored for the past ten years, where he kept the memory of the men and women he lost. Had sacrificed.

Court tensed his jaw and pushed that wound back down. He would let that injury bleed another day; another time.

At least Miranda wasn't part of what happened.

Speaking of, his friend's eyes softened with a tilt of her head. "Do you want to see them?" she asked quietly.

He didn't even need to ask who she was talking about.

He took a deep breath, and for the first time in a long time, his heart felt light, warm, and new. His weariness disappeared with renewed energy— new purpose. He nodded.

Nothing more was said as Miranda led the way through the palace. It was odd walking so out in the open, where he could be seen. The shadows had been his friends for so long that the light from the torches made his skin crawl. Yet what was more unsettling were the eyes of people.

Already, the bodies were being taken away. Those injured were being attended to. People were even starting to clean the blood off the floors. But whenever he would walk by, everyone would stop and stare. This, Court expected; it was the way they looked at him that made him troubled. There was no fear; they watched him with expressions of awe and relief. He might even go as far as to say delight. Some even bowed to him as he passed. Like he hadn't just slaughtered over a hundred men and women.

He couldn't understand what any of them were thinking.

His observations were pushed to the side as Miranda continued to guide him through the palace halls. To the inner sanctum.

Court noticed there were changes in this area. Different structures; rooms had been added or repurposed. Some of the designs on the walls were unlike things Court had ever seen. Not tiled, but carved to have raised edges. When a breeze passed over them, or the charms hanging from ceilings, there would be a distinct sound of music— like the wall itself was singing. He was charmed by the additions.

And then they were there.

At the top of the steps they had just climbed was a large group of people. Raising an eyebrow, Court took in the faces of his friends and family— Fitzroy, Margaret, and so many others. All of them wore smiles with a sense of calm excitement everywhere. And beyond them, a set of double doors.

Court stopped. His chest was so tight with indiscernible emotions. It was a storm that rivaled any that the God of the Seas could conjure, climbing up his throat to try and escape. He managed to keep it at bay as he blinked rapidly to soothe the sudden stinging in his eyes.

Fitzroy and Margaret came up to him. They didn't touch him or say anything, but he could read it in their eyes. Go to them, they said, they are waiting.

Nodding, both of them parted. So did the rest of the group, giving Court an unimpeded path to the door. With a shaky breath, it took everything in him not to run.

With steps far steadier than he felt, he only paused when he realized he was still holding his bow. The xiphos he had lost in the fray, so that wasn't an issue, but he didn't want to greet his brothers with a weapon in his hands.

His eyes found the arms master amongst the crowd, right by the doors. It was an easy decision to hold it up to him, understanding he had taken care of this weapon far longer than Court had used it. It had been well taken care of; it withstood breaking, not even a splinter, after not being used for so long.

He almost laughed at the man's surprised and confused expression. But then someone hissed quietly, "Just take it, Carl," and the man gingerly took the weapon. Court gave him a nod in thanks.

Empty-handed, Court gazed at the metal doors. It wasn't the original wooden doors he remembered, but he wasn't going to complain. They were certainly more beautiful and decorated than the others.

He took a deep breath and held it as he placed his hands on the metal, cool to the touch.

Then he pushed. The hinges gave way easily with loud creaks.

And just like that, he was inside the first place he built for his brothers.

As the doors closed behind him, Court took everything in. The dawn's light still rising, everything was still lit with torches hanging from the solid walls and at the four corners of a square of pillars in the center of the room.

To his right were a set of doors that led down to other living spaces and bedrooms, Court's intention being that the space could expand for more rooms. The perfectly placed pillars in the middle of the room helped hold up the ceiling, with a hole in it to allow for more natural light. Below the opening was a familiar pond that he had painstakingly laid the foundation of before the artisans came in to finish it. The wall in the back of the room was new—it had been pillars that allowed a view of Ithaca—but he could see two doorways leading to a covered balcony.

And, finally, the left side of the room. The first wall that was erected, flanking a hearth Court had built with his own hands. And currently surrounding it was a group of ten people.

Colt, Adrian, and Rocky stood up immediately, hands going to their weapons. Ryland remained seated, right next to where Colt had gotten up, his hands still holding bandages. Jody was the furthest from the door, a dagger in her grasp, as she crowded against five little bodies. Two of the children's faces looked nearly identical to Colt and Jody; the other three were a mix of Rocky and Adrian.

Court felt a small throb in his chest at the reminder of how much he missed in his brother's lives.

Forcing himself to look and not shy away as before, Court met Colt's eyes. The stinging in his eyes renewed as he watched the hardness in his brother's face soften into confusion. He wanted to say something, but his tongue now felt like cotton, too thick and dry to say anything. So he waited as his younger brother's gaze caressed his face, whatever fight Colt had in him fading.

"Court?" Colt whispered. His voice was rough, but Court's name carried in the air as if he had said it normally.

Court almost closed his eyes to savor it. Not even the sweetest sounds from a lyre could compare.

Instead, he turned his attention to his other brother and watched as Ryland slowly stood up. His eyes were wide as he moved to stand next to Colt.

"Are…," he started, voice shaking, "Are you really Court?" He clasped his hands together, but Court could see how hard they were trembling.

"I am," Court murmured, attempting a smile. But then he thought about it for the first time since reaching Ithaca's shores. Suddenly, he was very cold. "I'm not," he found himself adding, his mouth's corners turning down.

Unable to bear their expressions, he bowed his head as he curled his hands into fists. He was no longer their kind, older brother who held them tightly to shield them from the world. He couldn't say soothing words of comfort and encouragement. He had forgotten how to laugh and smile. He felt so tired.

He was no longer the same person.

But by the gods, what wouldn't he give to have his brothers allow him to love them again…

"What does that mean?"

With a deep breath, Court raised his face. Colt's expression contorted into deeper confusion that matched Ryland's. "What do you mean you aren't Court?"

Court was half tempted to turn away then. To walk out and leave his brother's to their lives. But that was his cowardice speaking. His fear of what would happen when they learned the truth of all he had done.

They deserved to know, however, what he became.

"I…" His throat felt like it was trying to choke him. He swallowed and tried again, "I have hurt so many innocent people." He fought the urge to curl in on himself as he allowed himself to remember everything that had happened. Losing Athena's favor; the men and women he lost to Poseidon's wrath; Circe; the Underworld; Scylla; the betrayal of his remaining friends because he betrayed them first; and, finally, Zeus's retribution.

"I left destruction and blood on almost every island I set foot on," he gasped, lungs hurting. "I didn't care about my friends after so many years away from home."

He looked at his brothers, fighting back his tears. "Keeping me away from the both of you."

The realization of his deeds almost had him falling to his knees. "All I ever wanted was to be your brother," he choked out. "But I'm not the same person you knew." He felt himself starting to shake. "I can't change who I am— who I've become."

Colt and Ryland stared at him with wide eyes. "I'm sorry," Court whispered, wishing he could be better. "I'm sorry."

Colt appeared at a loss for words, lost and unsure. He kept looking at him and then at Ryland. Court desperately wanted to cross the gap between them and hold him close, to alleviate his internal strife.

Ryland's expression wasn't any better, but then something flashed in his eyes that Court couldn't place. Anger? An idea? He didn't know.

His little brother took Colt's hand. They looked at one another, shared another silent conversation before Colt gave a curt nod. They looked at Court.

"If what you say is true," Ryland murmured. "If you aren't the same person— aren't our brother— then can you do us both a favor?"

Court almost said, 'Anything,' until his brother pointed at the hearth.

"Remove that hearth," he announced. "And take it far away from here."

Colt blanched, looking at Ryland with surprise. The shock on everyone's face was clear as day, all staring at the man as if he had gone mad. But Ryland only looked at him.

Court couldn't stop his full-body shakes. So this was to be his judgment. His punishment for leaving his boys for so long, for keeping them waiting. All while Court turned into a monster. They would not call him their brother.

It wasn't like he didn't deserve it. He had done too much. He understood, but— "I can't," he murmured through gritted teeth.

Both twins looked at him again. Court noticed how tightly their hands gripped each other's before he closed his eyes while he bowed his head.

"I won't," he said harshly. He covered his face with his hands.

"I built that hearth for you two," he said steadily, even though he wanted to scream. "I crafted it so the olive tree we planted together would grow and merge with the stone."

It was a unique idea. Something the twins had wanted to try after hearing a merchant talk about a land that used living trees as homes and furniture. Court knew they couldn't replicate it fully, but he didn't want to disappoint the then four-year-olds.

So they planted an olive tree sprout, and Court took meticulous effort to combine the olive tree and the stone. At the time, it had just been something to entertain his boys with, until it stopped being that when it became a spot all three of them would go regularly.

When their father beat them, when the twins argued, when Court felt like the world was going to crash down on him any moment, the dreams and laughter they shared, when he introduced the twins to Athena— the olive tree bore witness to it all as it grew taller and taller.

And when Court finally killed their father, finally able to build a place far away from the bad memories, he swore—

"I promised you a home," Court breathed, lowering his hands. His body felt heavy. "I told you that no one would be able to take this from you because it would be impossible. No one would get close enough to touch it."

He released a shaky breath. "And if someone were to try, the only way to get rid of the hearth is to remove the roots of the olive tree. Because no one else but you two should have it.

"I said that no matter how far away either of you go, no matter how much you change as you grow older, that this place will always stay. It will always be your home."

Silence filled the room. Court's breath came out ragged, his throat rung dry from all the words he spewed forth.

He would take any punishment the twins would give him. But not this. He would not destroy the hearth. Never. Even if he turned into a literal monster, he would never-

"Only our brother knew that."

Court froze, air knocked out of his lungs.

Looking up, both his boys were crying. Ryland's mouth was covered with one hand while Colt was frantically rubbed his tears away. Neither of them had let go of the other.

"Only our brother knew that," Colt repeated, face red. He heaved a sob. "Only knew about the tree and his— your— promise to us!

"How can you say you aren't our brother?" Colt demanded. He started shaking. "Don't fucking say that! Why does that promise between us not apply to you too?"

Court's heart threatened to burst out of his chest, too big to be contained. It crushed it lungs and pounded in his head. "Colt…"

"You're always going to be our brother!" Ryland gasped, trembling. "No matter how long and how far you go, you will always be our brother!" His voice raised at the end. And then he really started to sob. "D-don't tell us y-you aren't!"

Court felt something on his face, and it took him a moment to realize it was tears. He didn't bother to wipe them away. "Ryland…"

"W-we're not the same either!" Colt stared at Court, no longer attempting to hide his tears. "We've changed too! Does that mean we aren't your brothers!?"

Court vehemently shook his head. They would always be his boys.

"So how is it different for you!" Colt sobbed. He leaned into Ryland. "W-Why is that so fucking different!?"

Ryland pushed up against Colt. "Y-you can't just decide for us you aren't our brother," he lamented.

Colt waved a hand around the room. "We didn't decide to keep everything the same—"

Ryland nodded his head. "W-We knew you would return to us—"

"—even-even when everyone told us that it wasn't worth keeping it—"

"—B-Because that's what you always did—"

"—when this place was almost d-destroyed—"

"—you a-always came back to us—"

"—because this we-we wanted you to have some place familiar. This is your—"

"—We've been waiting for you to return—"

"Home," they wailed together.

When they spoke over each other, Court's feet moved before he realized what was happening. He stopped just an arms length from them.

Though both his brothers were grown men, the last image he had have them— the day he left for Troy—, mixed together. They had clung to each other the same way. Cried the same as they spoke over each other, begging him not to go. Still looked at Court in pain.

But this was a different type of hurt. One Court hadn't meant to give them. But unlike last time, where he could do nothing, this one he knew how to fix.

All he had to do was be their older brother again.

Court wasn't sure who moved first, him or the twins. All he knew was that he reached out and they were in his arms. His boys hid their face in each of his shoulders, heartbreakingly bawling as their hands latched onto him. He wasn't much better; he cried as he cradled the back of their heads tightly, marveling how different, yet, familiar it felt.

As the fabric of his clothes grew wet, Court kissed the top of his brother's heads and whispered words he thought he longed forgot he could say.

"I'm here."

"I'm home."

"I love you both."

"I'm sorry I have been away for so long."

It felt like forgiveness as they clung to him, crying harder.

Knees growing weak, Court slowly lowered them to the ground. His brothers were too big now to sit in his lap, but that didn't stop them from trying. Almost like attempting to meld into him. He closed his eyes and held them even tighter. His world was right in his arms again. It felt like he could breathe for the first time in twenty years.

Then a familiar sensation came to the back of his mind. There was a touch on his shoulder, but he didn't look up. Athena didn't seem too perturbed by his rudeness if the squeeze on his shoulder was anything to go by.

"Welcome home, Courtland."

Yes, he was finally home.