📖 The Immortal Gazette: The Siege of Troy – Trickery, Misinformation, and the Fall of a City
The Immortal Gazette studio hummed with the usual air of sarcasm and wit. Loki was lounging on a cushioned chair, spinning a golden coin between his fingers, while Alice was perched on her usual spot, sipping tea with an air of blasé indifference. Rumplestiltskin stood by a large, ancient map, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who was about to break down one of history’s most famous—if not disastrous—strategic failures.
"Ah, the Siege of Troy," Rumplestiltskin said, his voice thick with amusement. "A city so renowned, even its downfall has become legendary. But let's be honest, the Trojans—oh, sweet summer children—did nothing to prevent their inevitable destruction. Nothing.” He waved his hand in the air, his voice dripping with mock pity. “But then again, when you’ve got a bunch of war-hungry Greeks at your gates, what’s the worst that could happen?"
Alice rolled her eyes dramatically, leaning back in her chair. “Oh, please. You’re going to sit there, looking all overly pleased with yourself, and tell me that you, Rumple, could have saved them? Is that it? Because last time I checked, you would’ve just found a way to take over Troy and sell it to the highest bidder."
Rumplestiltskin threw her a look of mock indignation. “Sell it to the highest bidder? I’m insulted, Alice. I would’ve done more than just sell them out. I would’ve used a little tactical finesse.” His fingers twitched, and he turned his gaze to the map again. "Imagine it—no Trojan Horse. Just misinformation, deception, chaos." He smirked. "A little sabotage here, a few carefully placed rumors there...and boom, Troy still stands, at least for a few more years."
Loki chuckled darkly. "Oh, I love this. You're telling me that instead of building a giant wooden horse and filling it with soldiers, you’d have just told the Greeks, ‘Hey, it’s all fine, we’ll open the gates for you?’ Really, Rumple?"
Rumplestiltskin gave Loki a pointed look, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Oh, I wouldn’t open the gates for them, Loki. I’d have made them think they were winning already. Let them believe they’d succeeded. Create tension within their ranks. A little whisper here, a rumor there, of course, but with a strategic twist." He leaned forward, a dark gleam in his eye. “I’d get inside their heads. Feed them false intel—say there’s an internal revolt brewing in Troy. A political crisis, perhaps. Let them start questioning if it’s worth fighting for anymore. Meanwhile, they’d be so busy debating whether they should siege the walls or withdraw...”
Alice tilted her head, clearly intrigued despite herself. “Misinformation, you say? Oh, that’s rich. Let the Greeks fall apart from the inside, eh? Make them think the Trojans are on the verge of chaos, and then—?”
“Exactly,” Rumplestiltskin continued, his voice lower, savoring the idea. “Once the Greeks start doubting their own position, you start sewing chaos—inside their own camp. Send some fake deserters to slip away from Troy and tell tales of the Trojans breaking. Make it seem like the gods themselves have turned against Troy. Then, at the very least, the Greeks begin to question their every move." He made a snapping gesture with his fingers. "Minds start unraveling. You don’t even need to fight. The seed of doubt is the most powerful weapon."
Loki nodded, clearly liking this more than he’d care to admit. "I’m liking this line of thinking, Rumple. No fighting—just make them second-guess themselves. How very… Loki-esque of you."
"Exactly," Rumplestiltskin said, a grin spreading across his face. "The Greeks would have turned on themselves long before they even thought of the Trojan Horse. And as for the horse, that would have been a triviality. The horse was a foolish spectacle. I’d have manipulated their insecurities instead."
Alice, ever the sharp one, cut in. "Wait, so you’re telling me, Rumple, that the Greeks—who’ve already been fighting for years, mind you—would’ve just given up because they heard some lies? You seriously think they would’ve packed up and left without at least trying to get through those gates?"
Rumplestiltskin shrugged casually. "You’d be surprised what a little doubt can do to a soldier’s morale, Alice. Besides, I wouldn't have let the Trojans rely solely on the Greeks’ lack of faith. I would’ve had them prepare for the worst, while simultaneously throwing them off balance. Think of it like a game of chess—their pieces are already scattered, they just don’t realize it yet."
Loki snickered. "Ah, now I’m imagining you stirring the pot from both sides. Getting inside the Greek camp, whispering sweet nothings into the ears of their generals... convincing them that Troy was already on its knees. You’d make the Trojans look like they were ready to crumble without lifting a finger."
Alice let out a low whistle, swirling her tea cup. "That’s almost brilliant, Rumple. No grand heroic last stand, no horse, no gods involved—just pure, chaotic trickery." She leaned forward, her voice turning mockingly sweet. "But of course, you’d make sure to sell it all back to the highest bidder, right? Maybe Hector should’ve hired you as his chief strategist."
Rumplestiltskin shot her a wry smile. "Hector was a brave man, but he wasn’t exactly playing the game. Strategy is all about adaptation, not sticking to the script. I would've adapted."
Loki’s eyes gleamed. "So, instead of having Achilles slaughter the Trojan defenders, you’d have had them thinking about betrayal and weakness. Interesting. It’s certainly a Loki-worthy way to play the long game."
Alice stood up, stretching with a dramatic sigh. "You know, this is the kind of thing I enjoy—watching you two pretend like this was some grand battle when it was all really about who could outwit who. But hey, that's history for you, right? Just a few gods and mortals trying to out-trick each other until somebody ends up with an arrow in their heel."
Rumplestiltskin winked at her. "Precisely, Alice. History is just a series of tricksters trying to see who can outwit everyone else, until—bam—you have a city burning, and the gods laughing in the background."
"And let's not forget," Loki added, voice dripping with sarcasm, "that Troy's greatest defense was, in fact, one giant wooden horse. Because who wouldn't trust that to save their city?"
Alice snorted, shaking her head. "Troy’s downfall? It wasn’t the Greek army—it was pride and stupidity. Thinking the gods would save them and that a giant wooden horse could solve all their problems. If only they’d trusted in a bit of clever misdirection instead. Maybe they’d still be around."
Rumplestiltskin gave a soft laugh, his fingers twirling around the edge of his teacup. "If only. If only."
As the trio lapsed into a comfortable silence, the conversation shifted back to the usual nonsense—no more history, no more warfare.
But the shadows in the studio hung heavier with the knowledge that, at the end of the day, the Trojan Horse was merely a symbol of how, sometimes, the smartest play in the game isn’t to charge forward with your sword raised, but to sit back, wait, and let your enemies destroy themselves. And if you’re really clever? You make them think you’re the one who did it.
