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The moment she sees the dark-haired baby in her sister's arms, Antiope feels love -- and it is strange.
She loves this child, their Diana, so much that her heart seems as if it can no longer fit within her chest. One look at Hippolyta's wonder-filled face makes it clear that her sister, their war-queen, loves her the same. This little Diana is a goddess, of the world and of their hearts, and Antiope feels fear.
That, at least, she is familiar with.
.
They argue often, her and her sister. Hippolyta knows, better than anyone, what their daughter is; what their daughter will become. Diana is not of Antiope's flesh or blood, but her love will not wither in the face of Hippolyta's objections. They can see how Diana, still small enough to ride a shield down the hills, longs to pick up a sword the way the Amazons do. Each time Hippolyta pulls their child away from their practices to return her to the tutors, Diana longs that much more.
Hippolyta has always been better suited as a queen than a general. She will defend her people, her women, with an ardor Antiope can only dream of matching. The decisions she makes are to keep them safe and healthy, away from the hands of men. This, Antiope knows.
Yet there is a reason why Antiope leads the warriors of Themyscira, and not her sister; she embraces peace, as do they all, but refuses to turn her heart from battle. Men still exist in the world beyond the shores of their island, and she has no doubts that Diana's fate will bring her to its dark core.
No warrior is immortal. No paradise is untouchable. No shield will protect their child forever, save for the shield Diana wields for herself.
So she gently shakes their little girl awake and says, "Come. We shall train."
.
Diana does not call Antiope mother. When she has fallen from a tree's branches, it is not the warrior-general she seeks for comfort. Instead, Antiope provides bruises from when Diana was too slow to avoid the slam of her shield, or cuts from where Diana did not deflect the point of her sword entirely.
Hippolyta does not need to command that Diana become greater than even herself, because Antiope has no intentions of stopping short. She cannot read their daughter to sleep or hold her when she is in pain; instead, she must train her even when the nights are long and tell her to stand even if her legs tremble. She pushes Diana harder, faster, demands more because cruel as she is, men are even crueler.
She gives frustration. She gives the flat of a blade, the edge of a shield. She gives Diana training that leaves her muscles sore and bones weary, because she loves this child too much to allow her to be defenseless against an unjust world. Themyscira is small, but it is all Diana knows; she will not allow the world to cripple their daughter with its corruption. The day Diana leaves their paradise will come, be it one hundred or one thousand years from now. Her sister thinks of that day with fear; Antiope, however dares to hope.
They cannot give her a righteous world, but Antiope will give all she can so that Diana will earn a place within it.
.
When the bullet comes, Antiope does not hesitate. Her body falls limp, and she falls to the ground.
Now, above her, is her daughter. Her beloved daughter, who looks so sad, though Diana should not cry. For just as Hippolyta is her queen, Antiope is her warrior. Everything she has, all of her knowledge and skill, she willingly gives to Diana, that she might thrive. That she might be strong against the tides of destiny, and happy despite all odds. She loves violently, with her blood and tears. Truly, there is nothing so fulfilling as a warrior dying for this, her love.
This is her final gift to her daughter, that her daughter may be a gift to the world.
.
Her breath passes.