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Chapter Text

Odysseus felt the cold water surround him as the prongs of Poseidon’s trident pressed against his stomach. His lungs burned, threatening to open at any moment, replacing the last remnants of the breath of life with watery death. Panic overwhelms the tactician’s mind as he scrambles and fails to find a way back to the surface.  I can’t die! I need to get home! Penelope! Please Gods help me. This can’t be how it ends! I can’t…

“You can relax, my friend.” 

Odysseus turned his head to the left and saw Polites was next to him. His youthful smile illuminated the cold, murky sea as his hand gently stroked Odysseus’ curls. 

“Polites.” Odysseus said, his thoughts becoming words without him knowing how. “I can’t die! Penelope and Telemachus need me. I can’t…”

“I know, my friend.” Polites said, wrapping his arm around his waist to hold him closer. His form was that of a specter, but his eyes were one of the living, just as warm and beautiful as they were moments before his death. But something was added to them- something Odysseus hadn’t seen since they were kids- a glimmer of mischief. 

“Our family needs you.” Eurylochus agreed, appearing next to him. He squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “And the men and I will get you there- just as we promised you back before this all began.”

Odysseus turned to him confused. “But I was the one who was supposed to get you all home- not the other way around.” He turned away. “And I betrayed you.”

“No.” Eurylochus said. “We betrayed YOU. We all would be alive had I not mutinied against you. Had I not opened the windbag, This isn’t your fault- I see that now.” He looked away. “I am so sorry, Ody. I will never forgive myself for betraying you when you needed me the most.” 

The specter took a breath and turned back to looked down at Odysseus. He smiled. “I was wrong, Ody. We can get home-by getting you home. You will remember us- you will make sure we did not die in vain. You will care us in your heart, retell the memories we shared. Through that we will finally return home.  ”

“And possibly more.” Polites said mischievously. When both men turned to him confused, he laughed. “Just trust me, okay?” His eyes narrowed. “First we need to defeat this bastard. We need to bring him the pain he caused us.”

Eurylochus and Odysseus looked at him strangely. “Who are you and what did you do with Polites?” Eurylochus asked before Odysseus could. “That is unlike you, friend.”

Polites laughed. “Odysseus gave my way a shot- offered peace.” He turned to Odysseus and smiled. “I am very proud of you, Ody. You let down your guard and embraced Poseidon with open arms. Even after everything he did to you, you still lead from your heart, just as I would have done.  It’s clear to me you’ve learned the wisdom I wished to teach you, and that will always be my greatest accomplishment.” He grinned.  “Now that you know peace, my friend,  it’s time to show you what to do when that is not enough.”

“Not enough?” Odysseus said, confused. “Poli, you died believing this message. That embracing the world with open arms was the right way- the only way.”

“I never said that, Ody.” Polites said, chuckling. “Also what was I supposed to die thinking? ‘Well I guess I know what wine grapes feel like?”

Odysseus laughed- the first true laugh he had in nearly a decade. He looked around and frowned. “How have I not drowned yet?”

“A certain Goddess let me borrow some of her tricks.” Polites said nonchalantly. “But even still, our time is running short. My strategy didn’t work- you embraced Poseidon with open arms and he stabbed you- literally. Now we need to use Eurylochus’ method.” When he saw Odysseus was still confused, he chuckled. “Remember when we were kids and that bratty noble kept teasing Princess Ctimene?”

Odysseus nodded. He remembered. Ctimene was only a little girl- about eight. The boy was older- nearly a teenager- and should have known better, but he teased her anyway. He pulled her braids, pushed her into the dirt, and even punched her so hard he left bruises. Odysseus was so angry he bordered on madness. But the weight of the crown was already beginning to calm his raging temper, so before he acted, Odysseus decided to see what his friends had to say. 

“You came to us for advice.” Polites recounted. The specter turned to Eurylochus and chuckled. “Eurylochus wanted to kill the boy- he had a thing for your sister even back then. But I said to try diplomacy first- both to keep the peace in your court and to give you practice for when you became King. The last thing I wanted you to do was fall into the trap of fixing every disagreement with violence- as a royal kid it simply looks bad. As a royal grown-up, that shit causes wars.”

“So I talked to him first.” Odysseus remembered. “And he simply threatened to fight me. My mother pulled us apart before I could- address - the matter further.”

“And then you came back to me.” Polites said with a smile. “ You explained what happened and asked me what to do next. Do you remember what I told you?”

“To try again?” Odysseus guessed, truly not remembering.

Polites laughed. “No- I said since my method didn’t work, it was time to go with Eurylochus’ plan. We beat the shit out of the kid- I helped if you remember.” He placed an arm around Odysseus’ shoulder. “Here’s the thing, Ody. I am a pacifist- I truly believe that most will respond with peace if you give them the option to. But if you remember correctly, I also killed Trojans with little guilt. Why? Because they threatened to hurt the people I was responsible for protecting. They refused to meet me- a medic- with peace, instead trying to kill those I was desperately trying to save. So I killed them to protect my patients and myself. That is the situation you are in now, and what you will be in soon after. Your wife and son need your rescue, Odysseus. They need their defender, the suitor’s monster, to grant them the peace those assholes have taken from them. But you need to start with beating the shit out of Poseidon- which I will gladly help you with.”

“I will too.” Eurylochus said. His eyes lit up. “It will just be like old times!”

“I agree with Poli and ‘Locus.” A voice said. Odysseus felt himself embraced from behind and turned. “Mom?”

“Hello, sweetheart.” Anticlea said. She embraced him from behind, using her thumb to gently dry Odysseus’ tears, just as she did when he was a child. He was shocked that her touch was as warm and tender as it was in life. “Feel no guilt, my son. It was not you who delayed your way home to me- it was the asshole up above.” She saw Odysseus’ shock and giggled. “I know you’ve heard worse insults, my dear. In fact, I’ve heard you use them.”

“I’ve never heard YOU say them.” Odysseus said, shocked. “Even at your angriest.”

“Well then you know I mean what I say.” Anticlea said with a chuckle. Her blue eyes turned serious. “But Poli is right- our time runs short. You will see us again, my son, I promise. But first, you need to defeat Poseidon.”

“How?” Odysseus asked. “He’s a literal GOD. He’s one of the big three- there’s no way a mortal can defeat him.”

“You’re right.” Polites said. “No mortal could defeat him- alone. Luckily for you, you’ll have help.” Polites pointed to the bag which was floating about an arm length away from them. “Do you see what’s holding the bag closed?”

Odysseus looked at the bag and felt his mouth drop. On the bag was a strip of green linen, a turtle on a bed of cypress leaves on one side, a little owl on the other. “It’s your headband.”

“Yes- the one you dropped in the underworld.” Polites confirmed. He looked at Odysseus’ long, knotted curls. “It looks like you could have used it.” 

Odysseus’ eyes filled with tears. “I thought I had to forget you- to forget your methods and become the monster to get us home.” His shoulders began to shake. “I’m so sorry, Polites. I’m..”

Polites took him in a hug- one that felt suspiciously solid for a specter. “Shhh, my friend. You’re okay, my Godly-Ody. I forgave you before the headband even hit the ground.” His eyes sharpened. “The only one I became angry with was the God above us.” He smiled. “So I hope you can give me the privilege of helping you defeat him.”

“But Hermes said if I opened the bag, I would never make it home.” Odysseus said. “How do I know I wouldn’t defeat Poseidon just for it all to be for not?” 

“My Papa also said that no mortal - no man- could pass Poseidon’s storm.” Anticlea said, her eyes glittering. “But Ody, as you told the cyclops- “I am no man nor mythical.” You will figure it out- especially with our help.”

“So let me take the reins for a bit, okay?” Polites said. His eyes turned determined. “I promised Penelope I would get you home. I never go back on a promise- even in death.”

“Neither do I.” Eurylochus said. He touched Odysseus’ sword and it disappeared, replaced by his own broadsword. “I failed in life, Ody. I failed to protect you as an older brother should. I failed to bring you home to Penelope. Please let me rectify it now.”

“Let us all help you now.” Polites said. He smiled. “Put on my headband, Odysseus- we will take it from there.”

I must be dreaming. Odysseus thought. There is no way this is real. 

That means there's nothing for you to lose. His mind answered back, though his inner voice sounded different. If you are dreaming, you will have one fulfilling dream. If it’s real, you could make it home.

Odysseus nodded and grabbed the wind bag, tying it to his back. He carefully untied the headband, replacing it with his hand.

Polites smiled. “Here.” He said as he saw Odysseus struggling to put on the headband one-handed. “Allow me.”

Odysseus smiled and nodded, allowing Polites to tie back his curls. As soon as he secured the last knot, time went back to normal. Odysseus felt his lungs burn once more, moments away from forcing him to breath in water. 

“You can relax, my friend.” Polites’ whispered. “I have it from here.”

Odysseus nodded and let the water take his last breath. A voice whispered in his ear.

“That’s my Warrior of the Mind.”

With that, the windbag flew open and  Odysseus’ eyes began to glow.

Chapter Text

About 10 years earlier:

“Captain.” Polites called weakly. He could feel his bones had shattered, his abdomen quickly filling with blood. His body pulsed with agonizing pain, causing his vision to narrow and blacken. He knew that death was near but he tried to hold it back. He had to survive this- he couldn’t let his light be stomped out by a stupid cyclops. His men needed him- his friends needed him. Ody needed him. 

He saw the horror on Odysseus’ face and reached out to him, trying to assure him that everything would be all right. But he heard the club rise once more and moments later a wave of pain took him from the world of the living. 

When he came to consciousness once again, Hermes was by his side. Polites was surprised to see the anger in his eyes. 

“Hi, King Hermes.” Polites said cheerfully, bowing deeply and smiling, trying to break the strained silence. “Are you okay, my friend?”

Hermes turned to him and sighed. “No, Polites. I’m not okay.”

Polites frowned seeing the pain the messenger God was in. “May I give you a hug?” He chuckled. “I don’t know how it feels to hug a ghost, but hopefully the gesture will give you comfort if not the warmth it gave in life.”

Hermes simply nodded. Polites brought the god to his chest and held him close. He felt tears on his shoulder as Hermes' shoulders began to shutter in quiet sobs.  “Shh, my friend.” Polites soothed, rubbing the God’s back. “I promise everything will be okay.” 

They stood together for several moments, the mortal comforting the deathless one. Once his shoulders had stopped shaking, Hermes looked up.

“I’m sorry, Poli.” Hermes said, sniffling. “This isn’t how you should be conducted to the underworld.” He sighed, looking at where Odysseus still stood, his horrified face covered in Polites’  blood, a sight that broke Polites' heart.  “I just hate seeing my kin in pain-pain he did nothing to earn. And it’s only going to get worse for him.”

Polites nodded. He would be lying if he said his cheeriness was not for show, that his heart was not shredded seeing his beloved Odysseus in agony. But ever the healer he pushed his feelings aside and returned to the one who was hurting. “I understand, King Hermes. It hurts me too, and it saddens me that he’ll face more pain, because of me.”

“No.” Hermes said sharply, his golden eyes flashing. “Due to Zeus.”

Polites frowned. “What did I do to earn Zeus’ wrath?”

Hermes sighed. “I will have Hades explain. But for now, we need to get you to the underworld.”

Polites nodded, trying to hide his fear. What did I do that was so evil Zeus would wish to spite me? Is Hades angry at me too? Am I going to Tartarus??”

His internal panic must have shown on his face as Hermes placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Polites. I promise you are not going to Tartarus. You didn’t do anything to warrant such punishment.”

Polites took a breath and calmed, comforted by the swift-footed God’s words. Hermes smiled and waved his wand, bringing Polites to the underworld. Much to Polites’ surprise, however, it was not gloom he expected to meet him, but an bright, intricate study. The walls were made of a bright, yellow-hued marble, lit with torches and olive lamps with multi-colored flames. One wall was covered in bookshelves filled with scrolls and strange-looking rectangular objects. Most shockingly, however, was that flowers bloomed all around him, making the air sweet with the smell of roses, lilacs, and honeysuckle. The only dark object was a large walnut desk that stood in front of him, where the King of the Dead sat, surrounded by parchment. He looked up from his word when he heard them come in and his eyes widened in surprise.

“Polites?” Hades said questioningly. “What are you doing here? I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon- or frankly at all.”

Not at all? Polites thought confused. I’m a mortal, surely I was going to get judged at some point, right?

“It was your brother, Zeus.” Hermes answered. He sighed. “I think he took your complaint a bit too literally.”

Hades placed his head in his hands. “Fates this is going to cause a mess.” He took a breath and turned to Polites. “I owe you an apology, healer Polites. My brother misunderstood my venting as a request.”

Polites frowned. “What did I do to anger you, King Hades?”

“Nothing really.” Hades said. “I was just frustrated you kept taking my subjects, messing up my paperwork system.” He sighed. “But I was frustrated at the paperwork- not you. I was complaining to Zeus about the work you were causing me NOT that you were healing people. Killing you simply makes my life so much harder- as well as hurts those already in so much pain.” 

“Why was my healing causing such headache?” Polites asked. “I merely fought Thanatos as every other physician does. I’m not even the best at it.”

Hades chuckled. “Oh my humble Polites. Have you not noticed that you didn’t lose a single patient throughout the war? That you brought back men whose chest stopped moving, seemingly magically?”

Polites nodded. “I noticed, but I took it as  King Apollo’s blessing, not my own skill. I was merely an instrument for him to heal the men- and for that I’ll always be grateful.”

“It wasn’t Apollo’s blessing, my friend.” Hermes said, a small smile gracing his lips. “It was his blood and your own magic.”

“Magic that could resurrect those whose healing had failed.” Hades added. “You snatched souls from Thanatos, causing an bit of a mess down here.”

“I’m sorry.” Polites said. “I didn’t know.”

Hades smiled. “It’s okay, Polites. We truly needed a different system anyway- you just gave me the motivation to actually revamp it. You should be thanked, not killed.” He sighed. “But unfortunately, since Zeus sent you here you have to stay. But Elysian Fields isn’t so bad, I promise. Your family and more  ill-fated friends are already there. Your other loved ones will meet you there when it is their time- including Odysseus.”

Polites looked at him, confused. “But only Demi-Gods and their direct descendants are sent there. I’m just a normal mortal.”

“That is where you’re wrong, my friend.” Hermes said, smiling. “Your father is not the one who raised you but the one who blessed you.”

Polites’ eyes widened. “I’m the son of Apollo?”

Hades nodded. “And much beloved by him too- he’s going to be pissed when he finds out Zeus ended your life.” He shook his head. “Losing Patroclus and Hector  was hard enough for him. I know he was hoping to watch you have a happy life.”

Hades saw Polites’ mind fill with hundreds of questions and chuckled. “Don’t worry, Polites. There will be time to answer your questions later. But for now, let’s get you where you need to go.”

Polites nodded. He was grateful that his mind was reeling from the news as it blocked the explosion of pain he knew would come later. He followed Hades and Hermes to his final resting place, dreading the pain he knew even paradise could not heal.  

****

10 years and 23 songs later 

Polites brushed the dapple-gray coat of his sweet Nephele, a mare he had raised since she was a foul. She had passed away a few months before the war began, giving the youthful Polites his first taste of heartbreak. But in Elysian they reunited, just as he had with all his childhood pets. They helped soothe his soul from the pain that still clung to him, even ten years since his death. 

He felt arms wrap around his chest and a kiss on his cheek. He turned and saw Achilles holding him, giving him comfort he didn’t know he needed. He melted into the familiar embrace, putting the brush down on the shelf next to him. 

“Poli, honey, come rest with me.” Achilles said. “You’ve been here for hours.”

“And you’re getting bored?” Polites asked, a grin gracing his lips. "Didn't like being alone with your thoughts?"

Achilles chuckled softly. “Yes, but that’s not the point." He frowned. I’m worried about you.”

“Why?” Polites asked, though he knew the answer. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Patroclus said, coming out of the stall next to Nephele’s. “You’ve been brushing Nephele’s coat none-stop since this morning. You only do that when you’re ruminating on something- when something is truly causing you pain.”

“So please, Poli, talk to us.” Achilles said. “Let us give you the comfort we so wish to.”

Polites sighed. “There’s nothing really to say. My poor Ody is caught on an island, far away from his family and anyone who truly loves him.” A tear slipped down his face. “Because of me.”

“Poli.” Patroclus said, bringing Polites into a tight embrace. “I know how it feels for your loss to cause your love pain. I know how easy it is to blame yourself for it. But it isn’t your fault.”

“If I hadn’t listened to the Lotus eaters, we would have been home year 10.” Polites argued. “If I had avoid the Cyclops' club, he would have never told the Cyclops his name.”

“And if I didn’t push the Trojans back to the gate I wouldn’t have been killed.” Patroclus countered. “But the Gods will always have their way, Polites. Apollo wanted to stop me from killing Hector so he made me lose myself and I died. Zeus thought he was helping his brother out by letting the cyclops kill you before your time. It was neither of our faults and even if it was, it doesn’t matter now- it can’t be changed.”

"And in fairness, Odysseus got into this mess by his own mistakes, not yours.” Achilles added. “Just like how I made the mistake of staying in my tent instead of helping the Greeks. While Agamemnon caused me insult, prompting my action, in the end it was my own fault. The same goes for Ody. He was hurt by your death, yes, but he’s the one that didn’t listen to the Goddess of Wisdom.”

“Speaking of the Goddess of Wisdom, she wants to see you, Poli.” Hermes said, appearing besides them. Polites turned to him and shuddered. The usually light-hearted God looked pale, his eyes filled with true terror. What is bad enough to spook the mischief God?!” Polites wondered. Why doesn’t Athena show up here herself? Other Gods can visit- Apollo has visited me often.

“If she wants to see me, why isn’t she here?” Polites asked. “I’d think Hades would allow her to.” 

Hermes sighed. “Because she might be joining you here.” When he saw Polites’ confusion he explained further. “Athena is on her deathbed, Polites.”

“What?!” Polites responded. “How?”

Hermes took a breath. “Athena saw Odysseus’ plight and was as heartbroken as you or I.” Hermes began. “Even though she acts cold, I’m sure you know that she loves her friends and mentees more than the world itself and would do anything for them.”

Polites nodded. He remembered the several jams she got him out of, and the countless more she did for Diomedes and Odysseus. Even Eurylochus- one who was mentored by her younger brother Ares- was saved several times by her hand. Though she’d never say it, she truly loved the three boys from Ithaca and their Argos-King friend, and wanted them all to return home. Fate had only granted her one, and Polites could only imagine the anguish it caused her.

“So she asked Zeus for help.” Hermes continued. “He was in a mood for some reason- it might have been because Hera has had him on a rather short leash lately- so he didn’t just grant her wish as he usually would. Instead he had her play a game. A game she won with ease.” Hermes placed his head in his hand. “ So Zeus decided to smite her for winning it.”

“He smoted his favorite daughter?!” Achilles asked, shocked. “Over a game?”

“That, my friend, is the proper reaction to that news.” Hermes said. He shivered. “To say it’s made the rest of us leery of him is an understatement. Especially poor Ares.” 

“Has Zeus never smoted a God before?”  Patroclus asked. “While we all know he’s level-headed and just ALL the time, at some point over the last few millennia he must have snapped.”

Hermes chuckled, appreciating the clever use of sarcasm to hide potential blasphemy. “Yes, but usually he comes to his senses and just snaps them back to health.” His face dropped. “But this time he’s so consumed with grief and shame- which, yes, are emotions he can feel- I was shocked too- that he can’t. Apollo is tending her the best he can but..”

“She’s still dying.” Polites completed. A wave of sadness went through the gentle Polites. He had missed her greatly. I shouldn’t have pushed her away. Polites thought. Even though she hurt Ody doesn’t mean I deserved to abandon her too. I can only imagine how lonely she's been. 

"“What does Hades do when a deathless one dies?” Achilles asked. “I’m sure that sends the Fates into a frenzy.”

“That’s the thing- none have died before.” Hermes said. “So we honestly don’t know.” He sighed. “I’m sure it’s not going to be good for the Greeks above us. A world without knowledge or wisdom will descend into chaos.” He shook his head. “Regardless, she wants to see you, Polites.”

Why me? Polites wondered. He pushed his questions to the side and nodded. There wasn't time for questions. Instead he simply said. “Please bring me to her.”

Hermes nodded and took Polites’ hand. With a wave of his hand, they were gone.

Chapter Text

Polites and Hermes appeared in a pure white infirmary. Floating beds made out of clouds lined the walls, all empty except for one. Polites looked and felt his face turn white as he saw the wounded warrior- or what was left of her. The beautiful Goddess’ face was burned and marred,  fern- like scars covering her cheeks. One eye was clouded, the pool of silver now one of milk. Her veins, once golden, were blacken and blown, spilling red blood under her ashen skin. Her body was entirely still save for her chest, which moved in worryingly fast, shallow movements as she gasped for air. Her lips turned a sickly violet as her lungs hungered for air her body could no longer supply. 

Apollo was by her side and by his disheveled state, he had been there for several days. His eyes pupilless as he whispered spell after spell- many of which Polites had never heard before. His brow creased with sweat as he struggled to keep her life force running through her burnt and broken body. In his hand he ground a combination of magical herbs, ones so powerful they were rarely combined for fear of adverse effects their mixing would cause. The fact Apollo was grinding such a mixture made a shiver go down Polites’ spine. She truly must be dying. 

A man was at her bedside, holding Athena’s hand and weeping softly. Polites was shocked to realize it was Zeus. The King God was a husk of his glorious self, looking more akin to an elderly shepherd than the most powerful Olympian. His golden hair had somehow grayed, his curls twisting and knotting into painful-looking mats. His face was gaunt and wrinkled, his eyes bagged and blinded by grief. His chiton was rumpled and dirtied, stained with immortal gold and mortal crimson from where he held his fallen daughter, the one he now saw dying in front of his all-knowing eyes. 

Athena must have heard them come in as she stirred, her face contorting in pain as she forced her head to turn. Her eyes looked at Polites, flitting around his form as if she was desperately trying to recognize him. After several tense moments, her face relaxed and she smiled.

“Thank you for coming, Polites.” Athena rasped. “It’s nice to see you again before my soul is sent to an unknown afterlife.”

Polites rushed to her side. “Of course, friend.” He forced himself to  smile. “Though I’m certain your soul will not be sent to the underworld anytime soon.” His eyes filled with tears. “I’m so sorry, Athena. I…”

Athena shook her head. “You did nothing wrong, Polites. You had every right to be angry at me- I abandoned you beloved Odysseus and let him be met with unrelenting h hardship for the last decade.” She sighed, causing her to descend into coughs. When she had caught her breath she continued. “ I’m sorry I abandoned Odysseus, Polites. I am sorry I punished him for following your wisdom- for failing to follow it myself. I should have never denied his friendship.” 

“I forgive you.” Polites said. He gripped her hand tighter. “I forgive you, friend.”

Athena nodded her thanks as she struggled for air. She saw Polites’ eyes and gave him a weak smile. “I didn’t call you here for you to feel guilty, Polites, and I pray to the Fates someday you forgive yourself for the wrongs you think you did against me.” She wheezed, fighting for the air needed to speak. “Instead I wished to give you one last piece of wisdom, and entreat you to follow it.”

“Of course, friend.” Polites said. “Tell me what you wish me to do and I shall do it.”

She took a stuttered breath. “You need to tell him, Polites. You need to tell Odysseus you love him.”

Polites felt his stomach drop and turn, anxiety tightening his throat. He was about to respond when Athena continued.

“It’s my final wish to you, Polites.” Athena said. She squeezed his hand gently. “Please let him know you love him- he’s going to need all the love he can get.”

Polites wanted to argue. There was no way he could tell Odysseus he loved him- Polites was dead. But one look at Athena’s condition was enough to silence him. Instead he just nodded, blinking tears from his eyes. “Of course, Queen Athena. I will do so.” 

Athena nodded. “Thank you, Polites.” With that, Athena’s head drooped and she talked no more.

Apollo’s eyes dim as he comes back to reality. He looks at Polites and sighed. “I don’t think I can save her, Polites. I’ve tried every spell and potion I know yet she still lies dying.  He shook his head. “If the Queen of Wisdom dies, Greece will be plunged into 400 years of darkness. The people will forget reading, writing, arithmetic, even sewing. They will be plunged back to the years of Prometheus, living in a chaotic anarchy, dying from the sword of those they once considered comrades.”

Polites sighed, taking in the weight of his father’s words. If she dies, Odysseus will not have a home to come back to. He shook his head. No- I cannot let that happen. I cannot let the world fall nor let his friend die. I have to heal her- but how? 

He was taken out of his thoughts when Apollo cursed loudly. “Oh fuck!” His eyes widened in panic as he desperately murmuring  moved his hands, tricking golden magic into Athena’s chest.  Polites placed his fingers on Athena’s wrist and felt nothing. Panic buzzed through his mind as he tried to think of anything that Apollo was missing- any trick that might save her life. An idea struck him- one so crazy it might work. He rushed over to Zeus and carefully took out a lightning bolt. Therapeuo* Polites whispered. Much to his surprise, the sparking white-gold lightning bolt turned a gentle green. He took a breath and stabbed it into Athena’s chest as hard as he could. 

The sudden movement jolted Apollo out of his meditation. He reached to stop Polites but moved a second too late. He watched as the green lightning bolt plunged deeply into Athena's chest and turned to Polites, scowling .“Are you cra..”Apollo started but stopped. His eyes widened as sparks of green energy flowed through her, color returned to the goddess’ body. Polites immediately grabbed Athena’s wrist and nearly cried in relief when he felt her pulse once again beating strong. He looked at the veins and saw the black fading back to green then gold. 

Apollo’s eyes went  pupilless once more and he shook his head in amazement. “Her heart is beating normally, and the scar tissue is reducing. It seems like your magic lightning bolt cleared her vessels, allowing my magic to finally penetrate her tissues and heal her." Apollo’s eyes went back to normal. “My fates, my son- you saved her.” His face broke into a grin and he picked up Polites in excitement, swinging him nearly two feet off the ground. “You saved her! You defended a Goddess from death!” Apollo gently placed her down and caught Polites’ gaze. “I didn’t know it was possible to be more proud of you than I already was. But by the fates, Poli- you just proved me wrong.”

Polites simply nodded, a relieved smile spreading across his face. “Thank you, Father. I..”

“Does that mean she’s going to be okay?” Zeus interrupted, red, wet eyes looking up from his hands. “Is my sweet daughter going to live?”

“She’s going to live, Zeus.” Apollo confirmed. "Her recovery will be slow, but if what I am seeing now continues, she should recover fully.”  His eyes narrowed. “My son- the one your rashness killed before his time- just saved your favorite daughter’s life. I hope you realize the debt you owe him and plan to recompense him accordingly.”

Zeus nodded his agreement. “I am forever in your son’s debt, Apollo. I promise you  he has earned a place among us .” He turned to Polites and smiled. “I cannot begin to express how grateful I am that you saved my daughter, Polites. Please tell me how I can repay you. You may request anything- even the world- and I will grant it to you. Just name it and it shall be done.” 

Polites smiled. It’s time to get my beloved home. 

****

“Okay I found it.” Hermes said. In his hand was a tattered bag, one once filled with a storm released by men too curious to keep it closed. He shook his head. “Do you know how much of a pain in the ass this was to find?”

“An “Aeolus” sized pain in the ass?” Polites retorted. “I’m sure that was SUCH a sacrifice. Where do I send the flowers?”

“You are a brat- you know that?” Hermes said, trying and failing to keep a straight face. 

“I grew up with Ody- I have to be.” Polites said. “He’s a *bit* of a bad influence. I don’t know where he possible could have gotten it from.”

Hermes grinned. “It serves you right.” He chuckled. “No, fucking Aeolus wasn’t the pain in the ass-he’s a very patient and attentive lover. Fighting the damn giants, however, wasn’t nearly as pleasant.”

“Why didn’t you just summon a new one?” Polites asked. “You have magic, after all.”

“No.” Hermes said. “A bag that has an infinite capacity can only be made, not summoned. Specifically it needs to be woven- and our goddess of weaving is out for the count. And even if we could simply summon one, that wouldn’t have made the fucking Odyssey I had to go on around the underworld collecting all your men any easier. Why couldn’t they stick together?!”

“They were stuck living next to each other for close to fifteen years.” Polites said. “I’d want to spread out too.” He looked at the swollen bag and smiled. “I’m just glad they were willing to help.”

“Of course, Poli.” Eurylochus said, walking over. “Most of them were killed by Poseidon- they’re ecstatic that they have a chance to get revenge.” He sighed and looked away. “And those of us killed by Zeus’ thunderbolts realized we were wrong years ago. We miss Odysseus and want to make it up to him.”

Polites came up and hugged Eurylochus closely. “I forgive you, ‘Lochus.” He whispered. “Odysseus will too. What you did doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that we get Ody home.”

Eurylochus hugged Polites closely. “Thank you, Poli.” He sighed. “I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself. But you’re right- it doesn’t matter. All that matters is to help Ody defeat him.”

Polites smiled and nodded. He was about to speak when a voice interrupted him. 

“What about me?” Anticlea said, floating up to them. “Did you think I was going to let you leave me behind?”

Before Polites could speak, Anticlea held up her hand. “I’m not going to let my baby boy confront a GOD without my help- end of discussion.”

Hermes laughed. “That’s my girl.” He saw the Queen’s expression fall and took the Queen in his arms. “I’m sorry you’ve had to see him go through this, sweetheart. I promise, his suffering will end soon.”

Anticlea nodded but said nothing, feeling the comfort the messenger God offered her. 

Hermes  looked at the bag. “Are you sure your plan will work? What if he doesn’t open it?”

Polites looked at Hermes incredulously. “Hermes, when has Odysseus ever followed instructions?”

“Never.” Anticlea said with a smile. “He has always gone his own way.” She chuckled. “Tell him not to open something and he’ll open it, guaranteed .”

Hermes laughed. “You are right, my dear.” He sighed. “I better go give it to him.” He looked at Anticlea and embraced her tightly. “Don’t worry- I will get your son to Ithaca- I promise.” 

Anticlea nodded. “Thank you, Hermes.”

“Anything for you, my dear.” Hermes said, his voice dripping with uncharacteristic sincerity. He kissed her forehead and turned to leave when Polites stopped him.

“Wait- let me make sure it’s secure.” Polites said. He took off his headband- the one Odysseus had dropped all those years before- and tied it to the bag’s opening. “There- now its ready.”

Hermes smiled and nodded. “Perfect. May I leave now?”

“You actually want to do your job for once?” Polites asked. “That’s unlike you.”

Hermes chuckled. “Anything is better than being forced to listen to your bratty ass.” Hermes’ face turned serious as he placed a hand on Polites’ shoulder. “He will be okay, Polites. I will make sure of it.”

Polites smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Hermes.” 

Hermes smiled. “Don’t thank me friend- there’s a lot of work left to do. Toodle-loo!”

With that, the messenger God was gone. Polites watched as he left.

“Son?”

Polites turned and saw Apollo standing behind him. The God  smiled. 

“She’s awake.”

Chapter Text

Apollo brought Polites up to the infirmary once again. This time, however, Athena was looking much better, her skin now differentiable from the bed she lay upon. The goddess still lay on her back, her ribs obviously still healing, listening as Zeus read to her from a scroll about iron-age military tactics. The King God looked as if he was fighting Hypnos but continued to read anyway, knowing Athena’s eyes were still healing from the lightning bolt he had attacked her with. Athena, on her part, was enthralled, looking akin to a young child listening to the epic adventures of the heroes of old. Polites smiled at the scene- Gods or not, it was still sweet to see a father reading to his daughter.

Zeus paused his reading when he saw Polites and Apollo enter, his face greeting them with a large smile. Polites might have imagined it, but he could have sworn he saw a glimmer of thankfulness in the God’s azure eyes- and not just for saving his daughter. He had little time to ponder it when Athena spoke. 

“Thank you for saving me, Polites.” Athena said, smiling. “Apollo told me I was quite close to causing Hades a bunch of paperwork.”

Apollo chuckled. “That you were, my sweet sister. Hades apparently was so panicked about it Demeter let Persephone go comfort him.” His eyes darkened. “And to help with- other- preparations.”

Polites was taken aback by his father’s sudden change in tone. He had never heard the Light God sound so angry before.  What do you know? What are you hiding from me? Polites wondered. He opened his mouth to ask when Zeus interrupted him. 

“I am so sorry about that sweetheart.” Zeus said. He sighed, placing the parchment down. “I’m sorry- both for hurting you originally but also for getting so caught in my own mourning and self-hatred I didn’t heal you completely when I had the chance to.”

Athena smiled at him, and with great effort gently cupped the King God’s face. “It’s okay, Daddy- I forgive you. Even the King God is allowed to be emotional sometimes.” She shook her head “I was out of line anyway- I shouldn’t have demanded your action when I was asking for your a favor. I was just so angry at Calypso I wasn’t thinking straight.” The wise Goddess chuckled. “I guess I get my temper from you.” 

"That you do, my love." Zeus said, chuckling. He carded his hand through Athena’s hair. “Thank you, sweetie. I promise, I will never do it again.”

“At least to her.” Apollo muttered just loud enough for Polites to hear him. “Ares, on the other hand, may not be so lucky.”

Polites stifled a laugh and turned back to the Goddess. “I am glad to see you recovering well.”

“I am getting there.” Athena said. She turned to Apollo and smirked. “Mr. “God of Healing” is keeping me from doing to much, which while it is annoying I can conceded is wise.” She smiled. “I am glad you came to see me. I need to…”

Suddenly a door slammed behind them, one that Polites didn’t even know existed. He turned and felt his mouth open in shock as Patroclus pushed his way past the nymphs who attempted to stop him, his form made solid not by life but by pure rage. Polites was not sure if he had ever seen his friend so angry- not in decade at war nor in the half-decade on Mount Pelion. He reached out a comforting hand to his friend but it was violently swatted away. 

“I need an audience with Zeus- NOW!.” Patroclus yelled, his gray eyes flashing as brightly as Athena’s. “They said he was in here- I will not leave until I see the King God and make him listen to my plea. I…”

“Pat, wait!” Achilles interrupted, running up behind him. The mighty warrior’s ghost was somehow paler, the same shade of  white as the clouds around him,  terrified of the disrespect his lover was giving to Zeus. His eyes were wide with panic, obviously not expecting their roles to change so severely. Despite being transparent, Achilles somehow accessed the strength he had in life and used it to bring his lover into a tight embrace. 

 “Love, I know you’re angry…”

“You SAW what they did to him, Achilles!” Patroclus shouted, pushing him back with a surprising strength. “What they are STILL doing to him. I will not let that stand. I will not stay in Elysian with my thumbs up my ass, knowing he’s being treated like that. I don’t care if I get smited. I will NOT let this stand! That fucker needs to pay! All those assholes need to pay!”

Zeus looked at Patroclus, clearly as unnerved by the calm mortal’s unusual anger and rashness as the rest of them, flinching at the fowl language falling from his normally poised mouth. “Patroclus, son, please calm down.” He shook his head. “What the fuck has gotten the most level-headed of the Greeks this angry?”

“They hurt him!” Patroclus roared, tears streaming down his cheeks. “They hurt him like I was hurt, Zeus. He’s just a boy! Yet the suitors hurt him and  continue to do so- I wouldn’t let it continue.” His voice cracked. “I can’t let another go through that pain!”

“I know, Patroclus.” Ares said, appearing before them. Much to the shock of all watching, he brought the upset mortal into his arms, stroking his back as Patroclus sobbed into the God’s chiton. “He’s going to be okay, Patty. I promise, I will help him as I helped you- his abuser’s days among the living are limited.”  Once the mortal had calmed, Ares turned to Zeus who nodded. 

“I give you my blessing, Ares.” Zeus said. He chuckled. “I was going to do it anyway- you’re doing me a favor for once instead of just being a disappointment.”

Ares rolled his eyes and waved Achilles over to him.  He placed a hand on both of their foreheads and whispered a spell. The ghostly mortals turned solid once more, their skin shining with the brilliance of the deathless ones they had become. 

Athena smiled, turning to Patroclus. “Now that you have the ability to do so, may I ask you a favor?”

Patroclus nodded, his head cooling enough to realize that he should probably listen to the powerful deities that surrounded him. 

“I need someone to train Telemachus.” Athena said. She moved to sit up, groaning at the effort. “As you can tell, I am in no condition to fight, not to mention teach another to. While Ares is a formidable fighter, I fear his hand might be a bit harsh on the sensitive Telemachus. Would you be willing to help train him? So he may get revenge on those who wronged him?”

“Will I get to stay for the battle?” Patroclus asked, his eyes developing a disconcerting gleam. Did Ares make him a war God?  Polites wondered. Because he’s definitely acting like a war God. 

Athena’s mouth tilted upward. “Of course. I wouldn’t want you to leave your mentee alone.”

Patroclus’ mouth broke into a deprived grin and bowed. “Than I will gladly assist King Ares in training the Great Telemachus.”

“What about me?” Achilles said indignantly. “I am the Greatest of the Greeks- I know a thing or two about the sword and spear, you know! I trained under Chiron and in battle for over 10 years.”

“Yet your forms still could use work.” Patroclus teased, his face finally softening as he chuckled. He kissed his lover gently. “But if it doesn’t displease the Gods, I would like you by my side. I might struggle to control my anger otherwise.”

“Is this wise?” Apollo asked, concerned. “To send three powder kegs down to the mortal world below?” He shook his head. “Before today I would say the gentle Patroclus was a great choice- a talented warrior blessed with Athena’s cool head. But it seems as if even the he has a trigger, and we are sending him down to face it.” He waved his hand lazily at the other two. “Do I even have to MENTION the trouble these two could cause?”

“Don’t worry, King Apollo.” Patroclus said. “The suitors are not going to need to worry about us.” He grinned. “They may not even need to worry about Eurylochus or Odysseus. Polites, on the other hand, will be their worst nightmare, his anger second to that of Nemesis herself.”

“And it is going to be so fun to watch.” Achilles said. “Watching our little pacificist get so angry he meets them with fists instead of open arms is going to be epic. My little tantrum with the Trojans will look like nothing.”

“We might even need to hold him back.” Patroclus said, his eyes shining in glee. “Oh those assholes are going to regret the day they were born.”

Polites stared at his friends as if they went mad until his stomach dropped. There was exactly one thing that would trigger such an uncontrollable rage. “What did they do to Telemachus?”

Achilles came next to Polites and placed an arm around him, his face now serious. “Before we tell you, swear on the River Styx that you wouldn’t pull an Odysseus.” When he saw Polites’ confusion, he laughed. “Oh come on, Polites. I know you love him, but even YOU must admit that he has done some stupid shit when he was angry and decided to act unilaterally. We need to make sure you control yourself from, say, killing over 100 people by yourself. Right now.”

“What did they do to Telemachus?!” Polites said, his voice raising. “Tell me or else they will not be the only ones I will be enraged at.”

“Polites, son.” Apollo said, embracing him tightly and rubbing his back. “I am angry too- Telemachus is a dear friend of mine, one who have used the blessings I've given him to bring the world some light, both with his song and with his skills as an exceptional healer. I promise you, he will get justice. But we can’t have you going off the handle, okay? So please, just make the oath.” He looked away. “You’re my best healer and my beloved son- I can't to lose you again.”

Polites sighed. “Okay. I swear on the River Styx that I will not pull an Odysseus and act unilaterally.” He looked at Patroclus. “What did they do?”

***

Patroclus’ jaw clenched. “They raped him, Polites. First Antinous forced himself upon him in front of the suitors, to “put the little wolf back in his place.” Then they threatened Penelope, showing him that they had maids on their side- ones who would open her room for them unless Telemachus let them abuse him instead.”

“No!” Athena yelled, trying to get up. “I am going to.. Ow!”

 Apollo quickly settled her back down. “Shh, Atty. It will be okay- your mentee will get justice.” His golden eyes alighted on his son and he chuckled. “I’m sure Polites will make sure they realize your- distaste- for bullies.”

Polites nodded, fighting the rage that threatened to turn his vision red. How fucking dare they hurt my nephew?! I am going to fucking kill them. No- death is too kind for them. I am going to fucking torture them like they did that sweet boy. Polites’ mouth broke into a sadistic grin. Oh yes, they will feel pain. They will all feel pain. Starting with Poseidon.

Chapter Text

Ares, Achilles and Patroclus arrived in Ithaca, disguised as guards as Athena had suggested. But none had ever been to the island of the infamous Odysseus, and after a quarter hour found themselves quite lost. They were about to ask their way to the palace when a young man came up to them, speaking a tongue only one could understand. 

“Sires, may thee please help me?” The youth asked in Opus. “ Where are we?”

"Thee are in Ithaca, Lad.” Patroclus responded in his native tongue. He looked at the boy curiously. Despite the heat, he wore a nice if worn chiton and traveling cap, one which concealed all but his lips. “ Do thee know Greek?”

“A little.” The boy responded. “Enough to get by.”

“Can you tell us your name?” Achilles asked. “So we may help you better?”

“My name is Phillip, son of Atticus.” Phillip said. “I was on my way to Pylos. My ship was caught in a storm. So I’m here.” He looked at Achilles. “Can you point me to the palace?”

“We were waiting to be conducted.” Ares said. “We wish not to be rude.”

“Are you not the royal guards?” Phillips asked, confused. “Why would it be rude?” He shook his head, mumbling a question in a seemingly made- up language. Much to Patroclus’ and Achilles surprise, however, Ares responded automatically, the question apparently inspiring fondness. 

“Ares would be the better choice if you wished violence.” Ares said, his tone gentle and genuine. “If you wish for peace, Athena should be your choice.”

The boy nodded before immediately bowing. “King Ares, I apologize for not recognizing you sooner.”

Ares started. “How did you know it was me? Is my disguise so poor?”

“No.” Phillips said. “It has nothing to do with your disguise nor intelligence, King Ares, but your kindness. Queen Athena would have called me a fool for asking such a question. Hermes would have replied with a riddle. Apollo would have asked why I was asking the question. The rest would simply ignore me. But King Ares- as bloodthirsty and terrifying as he is- does not require such tests to answer the question of one asking, does not ask for a price for helping those who need it.”

Ares chuckled. “You seem quite intelligent. I am surprised my sister hasn’t mentored you.”

The boy’s face fell. “I fear I lost her favor, King Ares. She helped me through a battle- the kind Queen keeping me alive and unscathed despite the experience and size of my opponent. But even with her help, I lost. I haven't seen her since.”

"She's a bit- busy at the moment." Ares responded. He placed a hand on the youth's shoulder causing him to jump. His lips moved and a pulse of green energy pulsed through the boy, calming him. "I am sure she'll appear to you again when she is ready."

"I sure hope so." Phillip said. He looked down. "I thought we were becoming friends."

Achilles paused. Strange- I have not heard of many who befriended the grey-eyed goddess. Then again, he is also just a boy- one who does not seem to have had an easy life. “Tell me, Phillip.” Achilles said finally. “Do you know the Prince of this land at all?”

Phillip shook his head. “I haven’t heard much of this land. I…

“Prince Telly!” A little girl yelled as she ran up to Phillip, her eyes wet with tears. “Pwease help!”

Phillip chuckled and kneeled down to the little girl. “ Iris! What do you need, my little love?” He saw the girl’s knee was bleeding. “Did you scrape your knee?”

The girl nodded, eyes full of tears. “It hurts bwadly.”

“I’m sure.” Telemachus responded. "Scrapped knees smart much more than they have any right to." He smiled, reaching into a bag on his hip. “May I tend it for you, my flower? Or did you just need reassurance that you are okay?”

“Tend me.” Iris responded. “It hwrts.”

“Okay, my dear.” Telemachus said. He gently removed a clean linen cloth and a small vial of soap. “This might sting a little bit, but its important I see what’s under all this grime.” 

The girl nodded, closing her eyes to prepare for the pain. Carefully, Telemachus rinsed her knee with a water skin from his hip, added a tiny bit of soap to the cloth and gently wiped away the blood and dirt. He rinsed the skin once more and patted it dry, examining it closely. The cut was small and nearly clotted, but the boy decided to be safe and disinfect it anyway. 

“You are such a brave one, little love.” Telemachus said. “Now it’s time for the part that will sting at first and then feel better. Are you ready?” When he saw the girl nod, Telemachus gently began to disinfect the wound, placing the tinture on a clean linen cloth and dabbing the skin gently. 

Patroclus was surprised when the girl did not cry out- instead her face seemed to relax further with each touch. He had disinfected many wounded and had many of his wounds disinfected- it stung severely no matter how gentle the healer cleaned it.  He looked closer, wishing to make sure the disinfectant was made correctly. But in his investigation he saw something much more unusual- golden light radiate from the lad's deft fingers, healing the wound and blocking the girl's pain. He turned to Achilles who nodded, confirming he saw the boy's magic too. 

“There!” Telemachus said as he finished securing the bandage. He beaming. “You did such a good job!”

Iris frowned. “But you didn’t kiss it. Prince Telly kisses are magic.”

Telemachus laughed. “Silly me. Here.” Telemachus gave a tiny kiss on the bandage, causing a wave of golden light to flow through the little girl. “Feel better now?”

Iris nodded. “Thank you, Prince Telly!” The girl threw her arms around him. Telemachus tensed, his eyes glazing to another time and place. But he quickly took a breath and relaxed, not wanting to scare the innocent child, and simply hugged her back. Achilles noticed that the prince took the opportunity to slip a silver piece in the girl’s bag.

“Of course, Iris!” Telemachus said as he gently broke their embrace. “Now please be more careful next time! Remember the rocks near the water can be slippery.”

“Okay!” Iris said. “See you later, Pwince Telly!”

“Goodbye, Iris! Telemachus called. "See you later, my little flower!"

He chucked and turned to the deathless ones, taking off his traveling cap. “I guess my ruse has been discovered- I should have led you further from town. The children always recognize me, and I refuse to ignore them when they need me, even if it breaks my disguise.” He smiled. “I would suggest you drop your disguise, strangers. My mother and I both know each one of our guards by name. We know most of their family members as well, especially young men who may wish to come into our service." He shook his head. :I fear if I conduct you to the palace as you are, my mother will have you killed. Too many have tried such tricks to take the throne from us, to hurt our people. Neither of us will allow that to happen."

His smiled, bowing deeply. “ But I none of you- King Ares, King Achilles and King Patroclus have to worry for such inconveniences as death." His face fell. "I am sorry for the deception, but my title means little to our seemingly countless enemies. I am too much of a disgrace to protect my kingdom in many ways, but I can at least try not to bring trouble to it by hiding myself from strangers.”

“How did you know it was us?” Achilles asked, obviously impressed. “We didn’t give you any information.”

“I didn’t- I just made an educated guess, one you so nicely confirmed.” Telemachus grinned. “As soon as I saw you I knew you weren’t one of my guards- as I mentioned before, the royal family are quite close to our guards. But since I do not know every one of their family members- especially ones from the mainland- I spoke a language I knew they would not know. Opus is much further than any of them have traveled or at least spent enough time in to learn the land's tongue. 

His breath stuttered a moment, his voice cracking slightly. "I then wanted to confirm that you weren’t  a few of my f- the King’s men returned from Troy. It has been nearly twenty years since they left I knew not what tongues they have learned. But I do know that most were born and grew up in Ithaca, and the palace has been in the same place since my great-great grandfather- my father simply rebuilding his palace where his forefather's once stood. So I asked for the direction of the palace- any man who fought under my father would know the answer. 

His face lightened once more.  "Finally, when I realized King Ares was in your group, I deducted that the two he brought were not any mere mortals. I have read the Epics so so many times I have them memorized, and listened to them be retold countless times. Even disguised as Gods, King Achilles and King Patroclus' beauty is not well hidden. Since I know the latter is from Opus- the only one from Opus if my memory is correct- I deducted that it must be the two heroes, alive once more, made Gods by the King God himself. 

“Impressive.” Patroclus said. He looked at the youth, his gilded ringlets and blue-eyes glistening in the sun. “You are a spitting image of him at the beginning of the war. If your cunning mind wasn't enough to convince me you are as you say, your appearance would. There is no doubt in my mind that I am gazing upon the beloved son of Odysseus."

"If my mother is to be believed, the famous Odysseus is my father." Telemachus responded. He sighed "I struggle to see how this could be- that someone with such heroic blood could turn into such a disappointment." 

“You are no disappointment, Prince Telemachus- you’re untrained.” Ares said. “There’s a big difference. We can train the untrained but not the unwilling or unable.”

“That is why we’re here.” Patroclus added. “Athena sent us to train you in her place.” He smiled. "She truly wished to come herself, but as Ares said, she is busy at the moment with something of upmost importance. But I promise you this, Prince Telemachus, you have her favor and friendship, as you have ours.” Patroclus looked at Achilles who nodded. The famous Heroes bowed to the prince, much to the shock of the young man. Patroclus spoke for both of them.  “ It would be an honor to train you.”

“From what I’ve seen, it’ll be fun too.” Achilles chuckled. He smiled. “I promise, Prince Telemachus- things are going to get better, okay?”

Telemachus’ eyes lit up. “Thank you. Thank you!” Telemachus looked as if he was about to hug them but froze, a look of terror flashing across his eyes. Patroclus frowned, a tear slipping unnoticed down his face. Achilles squeezed his hand gently.

Telemachus took a breath and straightened. “When do we begin?”

****

An hour later, Telemachus began his training under the three masters. All three deathless ones were shocked with how quickly Telemachus took to the sword- as soon as his father's weapon was placed in his hand, it seemingly fused to his arm, adding the sensation of life to the cold bronze, so sensitive that it could detect a single iota of dust on its very tip. Combined with his cunning, analyzing mind, Telemachus soon found opportunities and applied their lessons to his advantage. His quick feet, given by Hermes’ blood and trained by the relentless attacks by the suitors, allowed him to dodged attacks with ease, shifting his weight to fight back twice as fiercely. The four worked until the last of Helios' rays died behind the horizon, the deathless ones promising they would return.

The three deathless one and their mentee soon fell into  routine, meeting him every day at the far end of the palace orchards, a place far away from the infuriating suitors. The deathless ones - specifically Patroclus- realized the boy would not stop to eat or rest without prompting, so entrapped with his training that he cared for little else. He suspected Telemachus continued his training even after they left, practicing late into the night. Ever the physician, however, Patroclus forced him to eat and rest, making sure that the mortal did not accidentally train himself to death. But even he could not deny the boy's dedication and talent were paying off-Telemachus improve rapidly, mastering techniques many would take a decade to learn

Strangely though, the boy struggled using a spear. His throws always wobbled as he seemingly struggled with the weapon’s weight, which was odd as the boy lifted much heavier objects with ease. While he soon could use his sword to disarm the great Achilles with relative ease (even when the warrior didn’t hold back), he couldn’t hit a large oak tree with his spear no matter how far he was away. His stabs would also often missed their targets. The masters were confused and Telemachus frustrated. Nonetheless, Telemachus pushed on, his frustration buried with the many other emotions hidden behind his blue eyes. 

It was Achilles who discovered the problem when they had to move their practice further into the forest to avoid the increasingly suspicious suitors. Telemachus and Ares were sparing when the Prince suddenly stopped, barely avoiding being disarmed by a frustrated Ares.

“What are you distracted at?” Ares spat. “What is so important for you to waste my time?”

Telemachus turned to him and bowed. “I’m so sorry, King Ares. The white stag in the distance stole my attention as they are rare around here. My mother used to say that if you caught one it would grant you a wish.”

The three deathless ones turned and sure enough there was a white stag in the distance, so far away that its form could barely been distinguished from the forest that surrounded it. 

"I've never been this close before." Telemachus continued. "Maybe I can catch it. 

“Nonsense.” Ares grumbled. “It’s pointless- there’s no way…”

Before Ares could finish talking, Telemachus gracefully took the bow off his back and shot two arrows, hitting the dear in the front left  and the back right legs. The arrows flew true and hit their small target. The four watched as the graceful stag staggered and fell.  Much to the confusion of the war God, Telemachus began to sprint, his long legs and Hermes' blood propelling him through the his native forests at an impressive speed. 

“He realizes the stag isn’t going to run away, right?” Ares said. “He seems smart enough to realize the stag can’t run with two broken legs? Why waste the energy to run up to it?”

“He wants to save it.” Patroclus realized. ”That’s why he’s rushing after it- he only wished to injure it enough to get his wish. He plans to tend it and let him go, but feels the need to get there quickly to prevent infection and blood loss.”

"He's the son of a SPARTAN yet he doesn't want to kill a STAG?! Ares said incredulously. He shook his head. "First Polites and then Telemachus. What is it about Ithaca that inspires such an avoidance to killing animals? Is it the water they drink?"

"I think it's just because they are compassionate people." Patroclus responds. He looks at the boy and sighs. "We should catch up to him- make sure he doesn't get into trouble." Achilles nodded his agreement and the pair was about to run after the Prince when Ares gave him a strange look. 

“We’re Gods.” Ares said simply. “We can teleport.” With a snap of his fingers, the three deathless men were by where the stag lay, the boy coming moments later. 

Telemachus was barely winded as he knelt down and smoothed his hand over the terrified stag. “Shhh, my dear." Telemachus hushed softly. "You’re going to be okay- I’m not going to take you as a prize. I merely wished to talk with you. I promise I will tend your wounds and let you go.”

“Why did thee shoot me if not to take me?” The white stag asked. “If not to take me as a prize?”

“Because I wished to learn from you, dear Stag, if I am able.” Telemachus said. “I have no need for a prize as it would impress no one. I don't see the point of killing you just to stroke my own ego.”

The stag watched him suspiciously as Telemachus gently tended his wounds. Shockingly not only was Telemachus able to hit his targets, he was also able to control how deeply the arrows imbedded into his target. He made sure the wounds he inflicted would stop the stag but not cause serious injury. With quick, deft hands, Telemachus had the wounds mended, his healing touch and skill reducing the stag’s pain significantly.

“I’m impressed, mortal.” The stag said. “Your cunning mind is second only to Hermes, your aim is second only to Leto’s twins, and your heart as golden as Helios. I shall grant you one wish, child. Tell me what you wish and you shall have it.”

“I want my father to return.” Telemachus said. “Ithaca needs her king, and his beloved wife needs his protection.”

The stag stared deeply into the youth’s eyes and seemingly frowned. “Oh you poor child- how much pain you’ve been through. Your father will be home to you within the year, but as that was fated, I'll give you another wish.”

Telemachus though a moment before smiling. “If you can, bring back the men who left their families, so they may experience the same joy as my family and I.”

The stag smiled, touched by the boy's selflessness. “I will do as you ask, Lad. The men shall return behind your father, their loyalty to the crown unshaken despite what’s happened. They will defend your family and their homeland from the violence that is to come.”

Telemachus nodded. “Thank you.” 

The stag simply nodded before fading into the darkness once more. 

“So that’s why you struggle with the spear.” Achilles said. “You’re treating it like an arrow, modifying your arm as you would with the bow. But since your understanding is lacking, you struggle.”

“I guess so.” Telemachus said. He sighed. “I taught myself the bow- it was the only weapon I figured out. It didn’t come easily at first but I pushed on because archery fascinated me. Not just how to shoot an arrow, but how it flew, how it worked.” A small smile graced his lips. “I experimented for hours- testing different angles, different tensions, shifting my aim to the left, to the right, hundreds of small changes just to see what would happen. I read every source I could find that even mentioned the bow, and asked my tutors to explain the science to me until I understood. My mother was even able to bring Archimedes and Daedalus to Ithaca to teach me everything they knew. It was only then, when my mind knew all I could find to know, that I was able to train my body to follow.”

"Then I guess our next session is going to be in the library.” Patroclus said. He looked at the grumpy warriors and chuckled. He saw them both about to protest, but the smile of pure joy on the boy’s face - one they hadn’t seen in all the weeks they’ve trained- killed any arguments before it even touched their lips. Instead the others silently nodded their agreement and smiled back at the young man. The son so like his father- one known for his mind, but whose true power was finding his way into other’s hearts. Like his father before him, the mortal-borns felt their mentee invade their hearts and become their friend. 

*****. 

They continued to train for months, watching in amazement as the untrained prince turned into a proper warrior. No more did they need to hold themselves back, to pull their punches or let the prince win. Instead every sparing match made their young friend a more terrifying opponent, his raw talent fine-tuned to deadly skill. Even Ares, God of War and Bloodshed, often found himself on the ground, with the young man’s sword to his throat. He hated to admit it, but the mortal was nearing him in terms of skill and speed- with sword and spear. He hated it almost as much as how pained Telemachus was becoming.

His training or dedication never wavered, his determination to help his father when he came back and saving his kingdom becoming stronger by the day. But his self-esteem deteriorated, and more worryingly, his mood did as well. His smiles were becoming more forced, his cheer more empty. His eyes- now duel-colored, his left darkening to a beautiful gold- were weighed down by heavy black bags, evidence the Prince no longer felt the relief of sleep. His pallor was so white it even worried Ares- his cheeks as ashen as those of a man robbed of his blood by the sword of his enemy. Even as the summer grew hot, he refused to take off his traveling cloak, instead switching it to an even heavier chlamys to better hid his form from everyone, even the Gods he knew would not hurt him. It became harder for the deathless ones to keep their restraint, to keep themselves from to kill his abusers and free the lad they had learned to love as their own from his tormentors. But the Fates kept them honest, only letting them enter the palace unarmed, leaving them to simply counted the days until Odysseus would return. 

One day the three Gods and the Prince were sparing when the sky suddenly darkened. The cloudless sky turned black, a rumble of thunder warning of what was to come.  

“We should get back.” Patroclus said as Telemachus helped Ares up.  “We don’t want to catch chill.”

“You’re Gods- you can’t die.” Ares said incredulously. “Don’t tell me the great-hearted Patroclus is afraid of a little rain.”

“No- but we’re training a mortal.” Patroclus said, smiling at Telemachus. “We do not want our Prince to grow sick. Besides, it’s not good for the swords to get wet.”

“So come, Prince.” Achilles said. “We’ll bring you back to the palace. WE can stay awhile today- to give you some respite from those pig’s behavior.” 

“You don’t have to.” Telemachus said. “I am already taking so much of your time- time, attention and friendship I don’t deserve.”

“You are, Telemachus.” Area said. He smiled. “I’m not known for my charity work, Lad. I only spend my time training those who are worthy of  my help- which you are. I promise, you’ll get your revenge on those who hurt you, who tormented your mother for so many years.”

“Besides I could use some wine anyway." Achilles said. "I know Odysseus always said Ithaca had the best wine in all of Greece.”

Telemachus chuckled. “It is quite delicious. I don’t know if I’d say the best- but then again I’ve never seen lands beyond my kingdom so I wouldn’t know. I’ll have to trust your judgement.”

“I know Dionysus loves Ithacan grapes.” Ares said. “Apparently he found here is the best environment to grow the most delicious and delicate of his grapevines. As long you mortals didn’t make a mockery of his wine-making methods, I am sure it is decent.”

“The highest praise.” Telemachus laughed. His eyes glanced to the sea and his face fell.  In the distance was a man clinging to a tiny raft, struggling to navigate the increasingly rough surf. As rain began to fall, he saw the waves began to slam the poor raft, nearly capsizing it. He took a breath. 

“I just remembered!” Telemachus said. “I said I would check on a patient this afternoon. He was suffering such a horrible cough yesterday- I wanted to ensure his condition had not gotten worse.” He turned to the deathless ones. “If you wish to, go to the palace- I will be following close behind.”

“Fine.” Ares growled. “Be quick.”

Telemachus bowed. “Of course, King Ares. I promise I will be as fast as possible.”

Ares nodded. Patroclus was about to say something, suspicious of the Prince's true intentions, but before he could form the needed words, Ares snapped his fingers and the deathless ones were gone.

Telemachus turned and ran to the harbor where he knew a ship was docked, one small enough for him to sail himself. He often took it when he wanted to visit his aunt Ctimene on the island of Same or to treat patients on the mainland. While it wasn’t very big, it was sturdy and sea-worthy, much better than the handmade raft that currently fought the sea. He looked at the crashing waves and took a breath, pushing away the fear that threatened to paralyze him. If you do nothing, Telly, the raft will be consumed by the storm, and the man with it. You are the only one who can save him- to let anyone else would make you a murderer. To let him die makes you a monster.  

By the time he reached the dock it was abandoned- the dozens of traders having long since gone to the safety and warmth of their homes. Telemachus knew he should do the same- make a prayer to his patron Apollo and King Poseidon to take pity on the poor soul paddling desperately towards his shore and leave it in their hand.  But he simply couldn’t- whether it be Hermes’ blood, Ares’ training or simply his own golden heart, Telemachus could not let another innocent person suffer, couldn’t let them die while he saved his own life. He did not see his life as better than any other- why should he protect it?

With one more look towards the palace, Telemachus shoved off and began to paddle, to save the man who so desperately wished to come to their shores. 

Chapter Text

Poseidon was about to let his monster formed of water fall and return to his palace under the waves when he heard a distinctive splash- the sound of a man surfacing once more. 

“Come for seconds, King of Ithaca?” Poseidon snarled. “Want to watch as I…”

Poseidon’s voice died as he saw the mortal fully, a glimmer of fear entering his sea-green eyes. He had never seen the mortal so angry- his face formed into a snarl, his body shaking with rage. But what was more worrying was the glow that now surrounded Odysseus- a golden glow that only his kin shared.  His duel-colored eyes stared at him, their warmth forgotten and seemingly unknown, reflecting the uncaring, freezing winter and angry, burning Helios that shared their color.

But as they stared at him, Poseidon saw them change- first their color then their shape- until he was looking at the eyes of another. They continued, showing one man after another, showing the King of Tide the eyes of every man he had killed, either directly or by his actions and that of his kin. Eyes the colors of deep sea and of the celestials, of Gaia’s soil and of Atlas’ sky,  of rich green springs and cold silver winters, of the morning sky and of the darkest night flashed within his opponents’ eyes, each lasting long enough for Poseidon to truly see them, for their images to be burned into his memory as his had theirs. Odysseus’ eyes began to slow, seemingly slowing time with them, as they  shifting to those of the mortal’s closest friends- the copper brown of his second-in-command and his dueled-eyed best friend, ones that Poseidon was shocked now caused sadness to swell in his cold heart. 

Poseidon had thought his eyes would turn back to normal, now that he had seen all 600 of his men, but he was wrong. Instead his eyes turned to ones the God had never seen before- the eyes of girls and women, young boys and elderly men, of infants fresh from the womb. In his ear a tune rung, one that inspired anger and sorrow, but most surprisingly, fear. 

*Widows,

Widows four hundred waiting

Widows

They are home now praying

For men taken by the sea

Six hundred men killed by thee

Listen to the children’s pleas

Eighteen hundred children, fatherless

Parents

Four hundred fifty do mourn

Parents, mourn for  the sons that you killed

Siblings yearn for their brothers

As each day work becomes harder

As family drifts further

You make them face the future alone

Six hundred men you did kill

Six hundred’s blood you did spilled 

Six hundred killed for your thrill

Yet thousands innocents pay the price. 

For mercy upon yourself

Why should I care? Poseidon thought. Their just mortals. I am a God- I can do what I like. 

Odysseus’ eyes took Poseidon out of his thoughts. For a moment, Poseidon was sure his eyes had gone back to the ones the mortal usually wore- his dueled-colored eyes, the ones that supposedly could see what others could not. But he noticed his right eye was different. Instead of an icy blue he saw a breathtaking blue, the color of a glistening stream. They were much gentlier and loving, as if killing a stag would break his heart. They did not hold the wisdom his enemy’s’ did but the naivety of youth. A youth which has suffered so much undeserved pain, despite being born not long before the Trojan war began. It must be Odysseus’ son. Poseidon thought. 

Yes. The voice answered. The youth you wished to maim, to kill. The one who needs his father back. The one that will get his father back. 

Ha! Poseidon thought. He will ne….

Poseidon was taken out of his thoughts by bright light. The eyes he had been staring into changed once again, the colors cycling faster until they began to glow a pure white so bright it was nearly blinding even for the immortal King of the Sea. The Lord of Tides stood stunned, not quite believing what he was seeing. The mortal was not just glowing like a God, but shining with the brilliance of a God’s true form, the one kept hidden to spare the mortals. But this can’t be. Poseidon thought. Odysseus is a just a man! 

Yet in front of him, Poseidon saw his enemy grow brighter, his golden skin breaking out in beautiful birthmarks, the ones only sported by his kin. He had never seen them before- or at least, he had never seen them like this. The mortal was covered in the marks of his Olympian family, each glowing their district color. They crowded the mortal’s skin, casting the mortal in a flashing rainbow light. Poseidon felt his cheeks redden with rage as he realized his family had betrayed him, but found himself transfixed anyway, unable to turn from the beautiful site in front of him. 

On Odysseus’ right shoulder rose a sun with rays turned to arrows, stretching their light behind Odysseus’ back, glowing a yellow the shade of Helios. Six of these rays lit six torches, their bright flame illuminating his brother’s bird-tipped scepter. Down his right arm was a spear the color of blood and covered in glowing pink roses, its tip impaling an apple the color of a scarlet dusk.  On his hand was an anvil, growing a dark, smoky maroon of the forge. On his left shoulder was a silver moon shining down on a glowing wine-purple grapevine the grew around his left arm, one  heavy with grapes- 46 bunches of 12 if Poseidon counted correctly- ending in a copper cornucopia filled with 37 lightning bolts. A purple crown wrapped under his retrieved wedding band, causing the metal to glow white-hot on his left ring finger. His other seven fingers were adorned with six lightning bolts, their color as bright as the ones which lit the sky above them. In the center of his chest was a small hearth with four, warm-orange flames. Their warm light illuminated a symbol which lay over the mortal’s heart, one previously unknown the the God of Tides- a simple wooden staff with a snake coiled around it, glowing the softer yellow of a spring morning.  

His main patrons - and Poseidon’s main betrayers-  were blatantly obvious as their gifts went beyond simple marks. His niece had gifted Odysseus an owl-shaped helmet formed from sparking blue lightning bolts, with matching armbands and grieves and her silver shield lay clutched in his right hand. On Odysseus’ back, his mischievous nephew had formed his kin a pair of wings made of light the color of the sky, with matching wings on his temples and feet.  Most worrying, however, was the caduceus that Hermes had granted his favorite mortal, one currently flashing between all the colors of Iris as it buzzed with power. 

The mortal’s fate face contorted into a sadistic grin as he flew closer to his water form. His eyes were pupilless and he stared down at the Earth Shaker. 

“I don’t think you seem to get it, Poseidon.” Odysseus boomed, his voice amplified so loud they must be able to hear it on his precious Ithaca and beyond. “I can’t afford to die. Because I WILL get back to my son! And I Will get back to my WIFE!”

The caduceus turned into a large sword- the same as the one his second-in-command once carried.  He suddenly dashed, his father blessing him with his swiftness as he had his gift of flight. The length of the sword allowed Odysseus to stay out of his reach while still striking him, making the swats of his water form all but useless. In mere milliseconds, Poseidon was in agony and his skin sticky aswarm, golden ichor beginning to slide down his side. He tried to quicken his movement and catch the damn mortal in his monstrous, watery hands. But the combination of his pain, the mortal’s quickness, and the energy required to keep his watery projection in one piece made his attacks fruitless. 

But it seemed as if he would soon get the upper hand- Odysseus coming right at him,. The God smiled as the mortal came closer to his reach, pulling back to finally deal the final blow. But Odysseus flew in a spiral, avoiding any attempt his cumbersome hands made to harm him. Poseidon barely had the time to blink before Odysseus’ sword was at his through, its wooden handle pressing into his torn-up chest, much too close for his water form to attack. Seeing it was only costing him energy, Poseidon let his water form drop, the water splashing into the rough sea below. 

As soon as his water form dropped, Odysseus lowered his sword and gave Poseidon an infuriating smile. But before he could attack, large ropes were cast over his shoulders, pulling him down. Poseidon looked to his left and saw his second-in- command, his ghost as solid as it was in life. His usually soft eyes were hard, glaring at Poseidon with pure contempt, one fed by the pain of loss. Poseidon realized he had seen the same tragedies Odysseus had- being the last of his crew to survive. From his memory, he had laughed as the strong warrior shed tears over his dead friends, just showing how truly pathetic he was. 

But he was not the only one tying him up. A noose was thrown around his neck and Poseidon’s head was jerked to the right. There he saw his other attacker- one who made his blood run cold. 

It was Odysseus' “friend”- one the dumbass didn’t even realize he was in love with nor that his feelings were reciprocated. He was the first one his boy had killed- he called him “Polites”. The only Greek who had refused to fight his son, seeing his mental facilities were not much above a child. The only Greek  to show his son empathy- even he admitted the man had seemed truly sorry for the death of his sheep, and had even tried to heal it. Polyphemus remembered his eyes were so soft, one the color of spring sunlight and the other off the grass it brought from the melting snow. He killed him first as he didn’t think his gentle heart could take watching his friends die- he didn’t want him to suffer.  

The man that stood next to him, however, looked as terrifying as the great Achilles, looking at Poseidon as the great warrior had Hector. His eyes locked on the God of Tides now, burning as brightly as Odysseus’, the raging rays of Helios and terrifying green of a deadly lightning storm slipping occasionally, brightening to show godly true-form he struggled to keep from showing. His rage made his face- one Poseidon had only ever seen smiling- turn to stone, his gentle features hardening into a terrifying grin, one with no mirth, only sadism. With a twist of his wrist he tightened the rope around the Gods neck so tightly the immortal found it difficult to breath. The peaceful mortal nearly laughed as the King of Tides struggled against his restraints, and simply tied the slack onto a harpoon and threw it into a strange island that floated above them. The rope tightened even more, so much so his eyes began to bug out of their sockets. 

Poseidon felt his hair yanked painfully and saw an old woman, ones with eyes as deep as his domain- Queen Anticlea, Poseidon realized, an old follower of his niece, Artemis. He had watched her over her long life and he’d reluctantly admit her patience and kindness always fascinated him. No matter how poorly her children acted, no matter her annoyance at the nobles and business partners, no matter how cruelly the world was to her, she always smiled, her eyes always kind. 

But Poseidon had obviously pushed her over- the-edge, doing something even she could not forgive. Her soft eyes were filled with hatred, her nails scratching his skin as they moved down his face. He felt her thumbs digging into his eye- digging that increased in pressure as her nimble fingers forced their way under his browbone. Pain rippled through him as she ripped his eyeballs from their sockets, spraying warm ichor all over his face. “

“That’s for threatening my grandbaby.” The woman snarled. “For threatening, my dear, I will make you suffer.” A smile broke across her face. “But first, be a good God and listen to what my son says next. I’ll even let you see him.” 

Anticlea placed his eyes in the palms of her hands and pointed them towards Odysseus. It was then that Poseidon realized he could still see through his eyes even though they no longer resided in his head. He felt them sting as they began to dry out. He tried to close them but found it no use- it neither allowed him to coat his eyes with needed tears nor look away from the scene playing out in front of him. 

The mortal raised his sword to his temple, his eyes shining with a blinding light as his voice rang through the realms he and his brothers ruled. 

“For every comrade. Every one of my friends. Almost all of whom were slaughtered by your hand.” He bellowed. “All of whom died trying to avoid you or your kin. Their blood is on your hands as it is on mine. While I will never lose the blood on my hands, I can punish you for the blood held on yours. I can give them the chance to avenge themselves.”

The mortal- is he still mortal?- pointed his sword- now the one usually yielded by his mentor- towards the sky and slowly raised the caduceus above his head. Anticlea was “kind” enough to move his eyes around, so he may see what the action accomplished. Six hundred ghosts now surrounded them, their forms solid and their eyes holding the same life as the ones he had seen previously. They raised their swords with their Captain, waiting for his command. After a few agonizing seconds, Poseidon hears the mortal call out. “Six hundred Strike!”

Anticlea turned his eyes so he could watch his body as it was attacked. His second-in-command made the first blow, his large sword cutting deeply into his shoulder. He felt an intense wave of pain as his sword slashed into him- as he had expected. But what he didn’t except was that the blow would share his attacker’s name, identity and memories with him.

King Eurylochus Polybátos** of Same, Husband of Ctimene, sister of King Odysseus of Ithaca. A memory played- Two lovers in a garden, walking in the fresh spring air, ones not yet touched by the pain of age.

“‘Lochus?” The woman- Poseidon realized it must be Ctimene- said. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, darling.” Eurylochus said, squeezing her hand. “Ask whatever you like without fear of judgement or anger. For you, my darling, are my world- there is nothing you can do to change that.”

“Can we try?” Ctimene asked sheepishly despite her husband’s assurances. “Try for a baby?” The young woman looked away, blushing slightly. “I have loved taking care of Telemachus so much, but it has made me yearn for a baby of my own. A child for us both to cherish, the beginnings of  a family of our own.”

Eurylochus gently turned the face of his wife towards him and kissed her deeply. “Yes, ‘Timy.” He said against her lips. “Yes!” 

“Really?” Ctimene asked, her voice rising in excitement. “You would like a child too?”

The man nodded, unable to speak, his eyes glistened with tears. “It would fill my heart with endless joy if you gave me such a give, my darling. A gift worthy of the Gods themselves. A child, the ultimate testament for our love. One that will be just as wonderful as you are.”

“And you too! The woman said, chuckling. “Telemachus is my brother’s son- he’s going to need someone like you to keep him out of trouble.”

Eurylochus laughed. “That is an awful lot to put on a child that’s not even born yet.” He smiled. “But even if our baby is the troublemaker, I will love them anyway, because they came from you.”

Ctimene nodded and kissed her husband deeply. “Thank you.” She whispered against his lips, tears sliding down her cheeks

The man smiled as he dried his wife’s tears and brought her to his chest. “Of course, ‘Timy. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you.” He kissed her forehead before leaning his against it. “I should be thanking you.” 

  A glint of mischief filled Eurylochus’ eyes. “Well, there’s no time like the present.” Eurylochus said coyly, scooping his giggling wife into a bridal carry and brought her into a passionate kiss. “I’ve been hungry for you all day.” He said, his voice low. “So I beg thee, my darling, please let me bring you to our marriage bed so we may make love until Helios rises again tomorrow.”

“Fine!” Ctimene responded with playful indignation, running her finger down his chest teasingly. She was about to begin sucking bruises on her husband’s neck when she saw her brother, her face dropping at how broken he looked. 

Eurylochus gently placed his wife down, his face a reflection of his own. Before he was able to speak, Odysseus placed up his hand. 

“Eurylochus, I need to talk to you.” Odysseus said. “Now.”

Poseidon watched as the Eurylochus  nodded, giving his worried wife a gentle kiss. “Don’t worry, darling- I will take care of your brother.” He smirked. “Then I will be back to take care of you.”

Ctimene smiled but said nothing, her eyes showing she knew her life was about to change forever.

You were the reason he never came home. A voice whispered in his ear. You were the reason their family could never start. 

Poseidon was going to argue- to say it was in fact his brother’s fault he died when another wave of agony  brought a new name.

  Perimedes Eurysthátos of Ithaca, brother and only family of Eirene, twin-flame of Elpenor Polybátos. 

As it had last time, the name came with an accompanying scene. This time it was two young men, no older that 16, laying together under the shade of an apple tree.  

“Elpi?” Perimedes asked, carding his hand through the curls of the youth laying on his chest. “May I ask you something?”

The youth smiled and kissed Perimedes’ hand. “Of course, my friend.” He saw the other’s nervousness and continued. “Peri, nothing you can ask will make me think less of you- you know that. Well, unless you ask me to give you my sister- then you will get punched.” 

Perimedes smiled for a moment, but soon  his face fell again, his nervousness chasing away his smile. He took a deep breath and for a moment it seemed anxiety would block any words from leaving his teeth. But Elpenor squeezed his hand gently, nodding his encouragement. 

“I love you, Elpi.” Perimedes said finally. “I love you more than a friend, more than a brother. I love you as Apollo loved his darling Hyacinthus.” He shook his head.  “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. Whether you are a friend or lover, I need you in my life. I cannot imagine a life without you in it- it pains me to even try. So please don’t be…”

Perimedes was stopped by a sudden kiss. 

“I love you, Peri.” Elpenor said. “I love you so much it aches. I love you as much as Apollo loved his dear Daphne, but I stayed silence for fear Eros had condemned me to a similar fate, having shot me with an arrow of love and you of lead.” His face broke into a beaming smile. “But now I know our love is mutual, one we have our entire life to explore!”

“What about…?” Perimedes said, but Elpenor silenced him with a kiss, one seemingly intent on swallowing the worries and doubts of his young love. When he finally let them part, Elpenor brought them to meet eye-to-eye.

“We will figure it out, my heart.” Elpenor said. “We will find a way to be together no matter what. I promise.”

Perimedes smiled and brought Elpenor into his arms. “Thank you, Elpi.” He caressed his cheek. “I love you.”

Elpenor smiled and kissed his hand. “I love you too, Peri. I love you too.”

Poseidon was forced to watch the scene playing over and over again, the love of the two youths more evident with each repetition. It reminded the God of his many lovers, making his heart long for ones he had forgotten, the ones he had left behind on his chase of the ill-fated Odysseus. After several moments, when  regret had filled the King of Tides so much  his heart hurt as badly as his throbbing body, a sword connected with his broken skin and began the process anew. 

Agonizing wave came in relentless succession, each sword revealing another name, another relation, another story. Pregnancy announcements, births, love declarations, engagements, birthdays, sibling adventures, fatherly advice, motherly comfort, stories of family chosen and of birth played in his brain, each as special as they were similar. Experiences that showed Poseidon the tragedy his actions had truly caused, the countless innocents his actions had also harmed, the darkness he had released into the world. For the first time in eons, Poseidon felt himself fill with guilt as he was forced to see the men he killed as complex people, as souls as similar to himself as they were different, instead of merely pawns to torture Odysseus with. Ruthlessness had a price, a price he was finally being forced to pay. 

Once he was down to the last man, Poseidon’s heart and soul were as mangled as his body. His eyes burned as they had dried, unable to even produce the tears he so wished to shed, taking away his ability to release the emotional load he had been given. He so wished to close his eyes when he felt the last sword fall, to turn away and finally be done with the pain,  but the hands of Anticlea made him watch as the last man made his mark. 

Polites Apollátos, beloved friend of all, and the tri-flame of Odysseus and Penelope. 

Poseidon braced himself for yet another memory but instead he saw significantly more painful- what could have been had his actions just a few hours before had been different.

Odysseus stood before him, his eyes filled with tears. “Aren't you tired, Poseidon? It's been ten years, how long will this go? We're both hurting from losses. So why not leave this here and just go home?”

“I can’t” Poseidon heard himself say as he had earlier that day.  

“Maybe you could learn to forgive.” Odysseus responded, his eyes lighting up ever so slightly. 

Instead of attacking, this wiser Poseidon simply sighed and nodded, casting a gentle wave to bring Odysseus the rest of his way. He was about to leave when someone else appeared next to him.

“Poseidon?” Polites said, his eyes as gentle as Polyphemus had described them. “Are you okay?”

Poseidon shook his head. “ No, stranger- I am not.” He sighed. “For 10 years I wanted to get revenge for my beloved son, to kill his attacker.” His eyes filled with tears. “The poor thing was in the wrong- he shouldn’t have eaten his men. But..”

“But he was just a child- I remember.” Polites finished. He placed a gentle hand on the God’s shoulder. “It pains you to see him hurting, doesn’t it? It pains you to know that he cannot see the only creatures which give him joy- his beloved sheep. That he now deals with constant nightmares, crying into the night in fear as he can’t see that they’re safe?”

Poseidon nodded. “And I can’t do anything about it. I can’t heal him- I’ve tried! And I am too proud to ask Apollo- not that he likes me much at the moment anyway.”

Polites smiled at him. “Then come, friend. I was blessed by my father with the ability to heal, and now blessed by Zeus to join your number. I will gladly heal your son if you bring me to him.”

Poseidon turned to him, surprised. “But he killed you.”

“I know.” Polites said, He chuckled. “Trust me, your son made quite an impression.” He shook his head.  “But I am not angry at him for it- I see no reason to be. Ten years of blindness is more than recompense for whatever harm he did to me.  So why leave him to suffer?” He squeezed Poseidon’s shoulder. “Besides, you just let my beloved Odysseus go home. You let go of your anger and reciprocated his offer of peace and I am so proud of you. I know that was hard for you and I feel you should be rewarded for doing so.”

Polites took Poseidon’s hand. “So come, my friend. I do not have much time- I am going to need to help Odysseus deal with the asshole infestation that currently plagues his palace. But the showdown won't happen until tomorrow. So come- bring me to your son.”

Poseidon felt his eyes burn once more, so desperate to create tears, as he watched Polites heal Polyphemus, and resurrect his favorite sheep back to him. The golden-hearted God even blessed his son with the ability to heal them, and a headband he could use to call for assistance or even simple company.  Poseidon had never seen his son so happy, and absolutely had never had such joy transfer to him. He watched as a friendship grew between Polites and himself, and eventually between him and Telemachus as well- one he learned was as golden-hearted as his uncle, who brought the world as much light. After a decade or so he even warmed up to Odysseus, his niece eventually convincing him that Telemachus got his good-qualities from BOTH parents, including his father. He sees himself truly happy, cherishing his new friends throughout their mortal lives, and eventually their immortal ones as well. 

The pain as the memory faded was agonizing, easily the worst of what he had already endured, as Poseidon desperately tried to keep the happiness the sight brought him, to protect himself from the knowledge he kept it from happening. But all too soon Poseidon was back to reality, now on his back with his eyes back in their sockets. Around him his storm raged, turning his  pain to glee as he realized the mortal’s mistake. He released the storm. Poseidon laughed and began to speak, unable to keep himself from gloating. 

“Can't you see? You sealed your fate just to bеat me. You released my storm when you opened that bag. Blocked your one way home. Now you'll never get back!”

Poseidon expected the mortal to collapse in defeat- maybe even give him the pleasure of seeing him fie- but he didn’t. Instead, Odysseus turned, eyes still flashing and face contorted into a scowl.

“You're goin' to call off that storm” He snarled, his eyes locked on Poseidon’s 

“Or what?” Poseidon asked, aghast. Why would he think I would bow to his will? Especially after he hurt me? “ You can't kill me.”

The God felt a shiver of fear when the mortal’s scowl morphed into a grin, his eyes glazed with a terrifying insanity, one that caused his eyes to ignite once more. 

“Exactly” He said. Poseidon watched as he walked over to where his trident had fallen and was surprised to see the mortal picked it up with ease. Odysseus then tossed it slightly, working it in his hands until he found the perfect grip. What is he going to…

The realization hit him as Odysseus began to raise the God’s trident over his head. The tines glimmered in his illuminated body, dripping in the pouring rain. For a moment, Poseidon swore he saw the rain drops that touched the sharp barbs turn to blood. His eyes widened and he reached out his hand, pleas tumbling clumsily out of his mouth. “Wait. Wait! Ahh!

Agony radiated through him as the trident was plunged deep into his abdomen, reopening the wounds that had managed to heal and causing much worse ones. His mouth filling with the taste of iron as the weapon hit something important- the God truly did not want to know what. His eyes darted between the trident and its wielder, his eyes begging Odysseus to simply leave it in him. But of course the mortal didn’t, roughly ripping the weapon out of him, smiling as the barbed ends were covered in chunks of flesh. “Ugh!” He groaned. P…” 

The trident plunged down again, this time landing in his chest, taking away his breath for several moments and then causing each breath to bring a new wave of agony. Blood pounded in his ears as his Godly blood tried to fight off the pain, to heal his mangled flesh. But the damage was too much, the divine weapon harming him in ways nothing else could. 

Odysseus’ voice cut through the haze of pain, his voice so loud it made Poseidon’s ears bleed

***

“How does it feel to be helpless?” Odysseus boomed. 

Suddenly Poseidon was plunged into yet another memory. 

He was no longer on the sand of a beach but on a bed. Strong arms pinned him, the two men pushing on his shoulders painfully. Dirty hands ripped off his chiton and began to touch, groping his pecks, twisting his nipples, kneading his ass, pressing bruises into his thighs, squeezing his balls. Wet mouths ascended on him, kissing his mouth before migrating down his neck, adding painful bites as they marked their prey. Bile raised in his throat as each touch burned, making him feel so disgusting, especially when his body began to betray him. The men laughed as his cock hardened under their ministration. He wanted it to stop, but he found that he couldn’t move, he couldn’t breath, his body frozen in fear and buzzing in sickening arousal. Pleads fell from his lips but the man nearly laughed. 

“Sorry, Little Wolf, but you brought this on yourself. After that little - display- we need to remind you of your place.”

Agony brought Poseidon back to reality as Odysseus ripped the trident out of him once more. He barely had a moment to breath before  Odysseus plunged it down again. 

“How does it feel to know pain?” He screeched, triggering another memory. 

Poseidon was back on the bed again, tears rolling down his cheeks as the man thrusted into him without preparation. He felt his tender flesh tearing as the muscles struggled to adjust to the cock that was violating him. Black spots clouded his vision as the man drew back and plunged again, ripping the flesh even more. He begged for the man to stop but he simply laughed, only speeding up. The glide smoothed as blood created a disgusting lubricant, creating great pleasure for his rapist and only more pain and fear for him.  Pain turned to agony as the man’s salty seed  filled him, causing the bleeding tears to sting horridly. A wave of shame twisted his stomach as he realized he was no longer a virgin, that he was no longer a prince but a whore. 

The man sneered at him. “Hopefully you learned your lesson, Little Wolf.” He chuckled. “Or not- I’ll gladly reteach you.”

“Ugh.” Poseidon groaned  as the trident was ripped out once more, taking the shreds of the rape with him. The pain was so intense he was nearly numb to it- he no longer truly feared it. But the mental anguish each blow gave him was beginning to take its toll. But Odysseus wasn’t stopping- he was not giving Poseidon the mercy he didn’t deserve.  

“I watched my friends die in horror!” Odysseus screamed. “Crying as they were all slain!”

The day so long ago replayed itself, a memory that just hours before would have provided respite. The power, the satisfaction, the glee Poseidon had felt as he smashed ship after ship, watching Odysseus break  in front of him. But now those vermin, those pathetic mortals were more than mere faces and bodies, more than just tools to for revenge. No, whatever magic he was under made them Poseidon’s personal friends, ones he now loved dearly. Each scream turned from cathartic to horrifying to heartbreaking as each man died. Their screams etched their way into his mind so loud that Poseidon could hear nothing else. Tears of anguish and neither stopped, no matter how much Poseidon wished they would. 

“Ah-ah! Ugh.” Poseidon yelped then groaned as the trident was once again yanked out of him. But the memory didn’t fade this time- the screaming continued with every blink, every minutes his eyes were closed. He began to force his eyes open, forcing himself to watch his attacker only become angrier, his voice the only thing he could hear over the dead men’s horrifying wails.  

“I heard their final moments!” Odysseus yelled, panting slightly as he forced down the trident once more, this time more furiously. “Calling their captain in vain!”

The screams, the pleas for their Captain, for mercy, for compassion, for justice, stabbed Poseidon with guilt and stranger still shame. Shame that suffocated him, that dragged him further into the rock under him. Grief unlike any the God had ever felt, overwhelmed him. “What have I done?” Poseidon thought, finally realizing the true extent of his actions. “ WHAT HAVE I DONE?!”

But when Poseidon tried to speak, all he could do was yell and groan, just like the souls he sent to the underworld. “Argh! Ugh!”

“Look what you turned me into.” Odysseus’ voice cut through his own thoughts again. “Look at what we’ve become.”

Poseidon watched as the man in front of him revert back to a youth of 15, the way he had been 25 years before. He felt his heart clench as he saw how sweet the young King was. Not perfect of course- no teenager ever is- but he was undeniably good, a positive force in the world. The world was brighter with him in it. As time continued on, his light brightened, first with his own joy and then with determination, lighting the way through ten years of war. Through the rainstorm gradually turned hurricane of tragedy the war brought him, Odysseus kept his light glowing, his flame never wavering. Until Polyphemus killed his friend. Until Poseidon added a gale-forced wind to blow it out. It was through his interference that the his light went from illuminating the world to darkening it to blowing it into inferno, consuming and destroying the lives he wished to save. The one that burned him now.

But a form besides Odysseus came to mind, one he had only known from religious holidays and the occasional sweet prayer or offering- Telemachus. He watched as the youth shared his gifts with those around him, illuminating the lives of everyone he met- God and mortal. Poseidon felt love and adoration swell in his breast as he watched the boy, feeling the joy he brought to all who interacted with him. Love turned to sorrow as he watched the suitors bullying him relentlessly, blowing on his weakening flame,  their knife-like words slicing and chipping away at his candle. Each gash hit deeper, making the candle droop and the light melt the wax twice as fast. He saw a glimpse of  the future and saw a man not too unlike the man in front of him, only he turned his monstrousness on himself, taking the sword on his side and plunging it deep into his chest, extinguishing his light and dimming the world by consequence. Even the great Helios mourned, his rays no longer as strong as when the youth’s goodness filled them. 

Poseidon looked down into the puddle besides him and  shuddered, seeing the monster he had become and for the first time in his  millennia of life, he hated it. 

“Stop!” Poseidon screamed. He  couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t take the pain pulsing through his veins or his heart. He couldn’t stand the guilt, the shame, the grief, the screams that haunted him every time he closed his eyes. He just wanted it all to stop. But the grief nor shame nor screams lessened, and Poseidon began to fear they never would. 

Odysseus didn’t stop either but doubled down, just as Poseidon had a few hours before, like Poseidon did when they met ten years ago. 

***

“All of the pain that I've been through.” Odysseus said, his eyes wet with tears. “Haven't I suffered enough?”

Odysseus had suffered- Poseidon had ensured that. He braced himself to experience the last 10 years once more from Odysseus’ perspective, but was shocked to see someone much younger. The beloved Telemachus. Anger filled him as he realized it was he who was raped, whose memory was inserted into Poseidon. Now he was forced to watch the aftermath. 

“This is just the beginning, Little Wolf.” Antinous snarled. “Now that the maids are on our side, your mother’s bed is the next one I shall lay in.”

“No!” Telemachus screamed. His face was pale and streaked with tears, his arms bruised and thighs covered in blood and semen. But Poseidon saw his intelligent mind work quickly, and soon realized what the young Prince was going to do. 

“Stop!” was all Poseidon was able to scream out loud, but his thoughts continued. “Please, Prince Telemachus, you need not hurt yourself so! If this son of a bitch so much as looks at Penelope the wrong way, I will make sure he drowns. I will bring your father to you and help him eradicate them.”

But the prince did not hear the God- he couldn’t as he was simply a memory, a record of what had happened. Of what Poseidon had let happen. 

“If I let you use me, will you leave her alone?” Telemachus said, his voice barely above a whisper. “If I let you fuck me, do you swear to leave her chamber door closed?”

Antinous smiled. “Okay, Little Wolf. I swear that I will leave your mother alone if you become my bitch.” He laughed. “Your ass is much tighter than her stretched-out pussy will ever be.” The rapist placed his slimy hand on the youth’s shoulder. “Now go clean up- you don’t want mommy- dearest to see what a slut her son has become.”

Poseidon watched as the suitors left, laughing. The young Prince limped to the bathing room and drew himself a bath. He added yarrow as the thought of anything- even his own healing hand- entering his ass caused bile to rise within him once more. He got into the water and then the tears came, the sobs, ones the youth knew he’d need to explain later but he simply couldn’t stop. The tears of years of torment, what happened and the knowledge it would happen again  threatened to drown him. His mind kept wandering over to where he knew his father’s sword hung next to his bed. He knew it was sharp- he had learned how to sharpen it years ago, as soon as his mother trusted he wouldn’t cut himself. One slice to his throat, one cut to the vein that ran on his inner thigh, one plunge into his chest and he would be dead. 

Poseidon was truly shocked by the young Prince’s strength as he simply sighed and shook his head. “I can’t die until she’s safe.” Prince Telemachus said to the night air. “I can’t die until my father returns, until Ithaca has her rightful king. Only then can I end my suffering. Then they can produce a new heir- one who can stay a prince instead of selling themselves to being a whore. ”

“Stop!” Poseidon screamed again as the trident was drawn back once more. Please stop these visions, these memories, this guilt, this shame. Please, I can’t take it. 

Odysseus simply snarled further. “You didn't stop when I begged you.” He retorted.  “You told me to close my heart.”

Poseidon finally realized the cruelty in his statement. The only pain that hurt more than what he was experiencing was the numbness that came from trying to deny it, from trying NOT to feel it. Because whatever magic the mortal had cast took away the God’s aloofness, his ability to detach himself from what he had done, from the consequences of his actions. He took a breath. “You..”

A wave of agony took away whatever else he was about to speak as Odysseus continued. “You said the world was dark.”

He had. Poseidon honestly through it was true- it was dark and he liked it that way. The suffering of humanity never affected him- merely added entertainment. He could sit back in his kingdom under the sea and watch as they killed each other, from wars and from incurring the Gods’ wrath. He could take their tokens of gratitude when he just so happened to answer their prayers or fill their nets, granting them a tiny respite in the horror that was a mortal life. But he never truly knew it, never experienced it as he did now. Now, he could feel all of it- and he hated it.

“You!” Poseidon yelped. “Monster!” he screamed, though whether he referred to the thing in front of him or himself or both even he did not know. 

“Didn’t you say that…” Odysseus started, but Poseidon simply couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t stand to hear his own words used against him, the words that now stung instead of empowered, that finally caused him pain. 

“Alright!” Poseidon yelled. He panted, the lost of ichor, while not deadly, causing his lungs to hunger for air. “Please.” He murmured, much softer, his energy to scream taken by pain, pain intensified now that the adrenaline started to wane. 

Luckily for him, the mortal dropped his trident. His eyes went back to normal, and he simply sighed, turning back to where his raft had conveniently docked itself. He looked at the man so broken, so angry, and found himself speaking once more.

“After everything you’ve done.” Poseidon said weakly. “How will you sleep at night?”

It was a legitimate question, not one from judgment but for need of comfort. For even now, even when his trident lay next to him, he heard the men’s screams in his ears every time he closed his eyes. The God of Tides wasn’t sure how he would move on from this- from his first true experience knowing the mortal’s pain. In asking Odysseus how he was going to sleep at night, he was truly asking how he would. 

The mortal stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Next to my wife.” was his simple reply. 

Poseidon simply smiled, thankful for the response but too tired to speak it. He watched as the mortal walked away, thinking the interaction was over. But one last voice entered his head.

Remember, Poseidon. Mercy has a price- especially ‘Mercy upon yourself.’ So I suggest you stop choosing ruthlessness exclusively- it simply will make sure your life stays dark. Remember the pain you feel now, Poseidon, and learn from it, as while ruthlessness causes you pain, causes the world to feel dark, this world is amazing when you greet it with open arms.”

Chapter Text

Telemachus quickly steered the small boat to where the raft barely floated, desperately hoping its occupant is still upon it or near it. He felt the surf becoming rougher, waves beating against the hull with a divine ferocity, but continued on. If he felt unsafe on a ship- one made of the finest hardwood and hand- he could only imagine how scared the poor man was on his homemade dingy. How far has he had to ride that thing? Telemachus thought. How long has he had to fight the sea?

He was nearly to the raft when a large wave hit the boat so harshly that its port side touched the water. Telemachus tried to hold on, but the suddenness of the motion and the slippery wood made his feet slip out from under him, plunging him into the cold, wine-dark sea. Luckily the blood of the naiad* ran strong in his veins, letting him easily surface once more, just in time to see his ship crash on the rocky shores of a nearby inlet. Good job, Telly. He thought bitterly. You are so incompetent that you can’t even  pilot your ship through a small storm without needing rescue from another. He sighed and turned, ready to begin his journey towards shore when he froze in shock, continuing to tread water on pure instinct. 

Behind him, Telemachus saw the God of Tides in a form he has only ever read about, one of a monster made of water. His human form was visible in the crystal-clear water he controlled, backlit by a striking aquamarine light. His eyes were alight and pupilless, his face turned into a sinister grin as he looked down at the sea in front of him. Telemachus followed his gaze and felt his heart drop- he was staring at the poor man he had been trying to save. 

“There you are- Coward.” Poseidon said, his voice as icy as the winds of the brewing storm. “I’ve been waiting for the perfect time to strike. When your home's so close and you've reached your coast-that's when our paths collide.”

The God smiled wider. “I've got a reputation. I've got a name to uphold. So I can't go letting you walk or else the world forgets I'm cold. Now get in the water. 

Please Gods. Telemachus prayed silently. Please give me a way to calm the Storm God. Please help calm his temper so he may spare the man he threatens. Fill his heart with empathy and forgiveness. I promise I will punish the man as thee see fit when he reaches my shore. 

But his prays went on deaf ears, or possibly the Gods simply could not hear him over the raging wind. Telemachus was about to sing, to implore Zeus for his assistance, when the God of Tides spoke again, obvious displeased at the mortal’s understandable hesitation. 

“Get in the water.” Poseidon ordered again. His eyes flashed brighter as the man sank to his knees, ready to beg over get in the sea. “Or I'll raise the tide so high, all of Ithaca will die.” He growled. “Get in the water!”

“Wait!” The man finally cried. He was about to continue when the God interrupted. 

“Get in the water!!” Poseidon ordered, his voice becoming icier with each repetition of his instruction. 

“Stop this.” The man pleaded. “Please.”

But the God monster only shook his head, his smirk becoming wider and eyes akin to a hound who had finally cornered its fox. “I'll make tidal waves so profound. Both your wife and your son will drown.”

The prince found his body pulsed with energy, with rage, one that only grew when he saw the absolute panic cross the man’s face. He had no idea who the man was or who his wife and child were. But as a boy now man who grew up without a father, with no connection to whatever heroic acts or crimes he committed whatsoever, he knew the son didn’t deserve the God’s wrath. Neither did his wife- one, if she was anything like his mother, had been waiting patiently for years for this man’s return, taking care of whatever life he had left behind. Why should they be punished for the deeds of a man they now barely know?! Telemachus thought angrily. What right does this God have in threatening those who have done him no harm, use them as pawns against the true target of his anger?!” 

Telemachus was taken out of this thoughts by the man’s scream. 

“No!” The man screamed, his face streaked with visible tears, his eyes showing the true extent of his anguish. This caused the gentle Telemachus’ anger to grow, its heat defeating the icy hands of the wine-dark sea. It is clear this man’s family is his entire world. Telemachus thought. Whatever hell he went through to get here he only survived because there was a CHANCE his family would be there waiting for him. I can see this from here, from hearing his cries and seeing his face. There is no way he doesn’t- yet he doesn’t anyway.” 

Telemachus began to sing in desperation, his ethereal tenor ringing nearly as loud as the thunder from the Storm bringer

“**Oh Zeus, Most Glorious of Immortals

Oh Nature’s greatest sovereign ruling all by law.

Oh Please Hear my prayer, save the poor mortal

Oh Zeus Eleutherios***, please forgive his flaw

 

Zeus father of all, most just

Please spare him- take me if you must

Give me his punishment let him Go

Please God King, hear my plea

Help calm your brother of the sea

 

While the crimes of this mortals I don’t know

I’ll take them upon me

For the sea-god threatens more than he

One of my people I fear he be

I entreat thee Zeus, whatever his insults 

Put then upon me.”

He knew that the King God would likely ignore him- why should someone as great as He come save this poor mortal? A mortal that may have upset him too? But Telemachus sang anyway, pleading for help, knowing all- to- well that any intervention or answer he received would have a cost, a sick price if the myths were true. I’ve made myself a whore for less. Telemachus thought sadly. At least this will please a God, to save the life of a mortal who has already gone through so much. Besides, I need to protect my people. If I can’t do so with violence, I will do so with sacrifice. 

But the King God did not make an appearance, did not offer his intervention, even for the taste of a young man willing to give him everything. In fact, Telemachus couldn’t feel the presence of any other Gods, as if they had all turned their back on the mortal and any who desperately try to help him. Instead they let the King of the Sea do as he wished, let him become even angrier. 

“Get in the water.” Poseidon boomed. “Get in the water!” His body began to shake, creating small waves to flow through his water form. “Don't mistake my threats for bluff-you have lived more than enough! Get in the water! Get in the water, damn it!”

His voice became louder, his eyes flashing so brightly neither he nor the man floating helplessly in front of him could look at him. “I'll take your son and gouge his eyes! He screeched, his voice sounding as icy as the winds of his storms. “That is, unless you choose to die-get in the water!”

Telemachus began to swim as quickly as he could towards where the two argued. While he was still angry at the God in front of him, he knew that his choices were limited- he would have to appeal to him. He would have to submit to him, push aside his own happiness for the safety of another. Maybe if I die, he’ll let him go. Telemachus said. Maybe he will accept my sacrifice and leave his family alone. It may be the only way I can save them. 

The mortal was not quite done yet, however. Telemachus heard his voice clearly over the roaring winds, somehow submissive and respectful despite its volume. 

“Aren't you tired, Poseidon?” The man said. “It's been ten years, how long will this go?

“We're both hurting from losses so why not leave this here and just go home?”

What type of horrors have this man seen? Telemachus thought sadly. If he is one of my father’s men, that means he has known no peace for nearly 20 years. He swam faster, determined to finally grant peace to the one who has known none. Just as he wished someone would do for him.  For a moment, it seemed as if the mortal’s plea had its intended effect. The God seemed conflicted, as if he was truly considering the mortal’s offer of peace. Telemachus almost felt bad for the King of Tides when he finally answered, his tone near mournful. 

“I can't.” Poseidon said, his eyes noticeably dimmer, noticeably softer as he looked down at the mortal below him. 

“Maybe you could learn to forgive.” The man responded, his tone showing a hint of optimism, of hope that by his face he hadn’t felt in years. Telemachus held his breath, his strokes slowing slightly. If they were about to make a deal, he didn’t want to ruin it by making his presence known. His and the man’s hope for a peaceful resolution were dashed, however, when the God’s face began to grin once more, his eyes blazing with a perverted pleasure and excitement, the face of a predator seconds before it sinks its teeth into its helpless pray.

“No.” The God said simply. He laughed as he raised his trident. “Ruthlessness is..” He said, his voice climbing with every word. “Mercy upon Ourselves!” His eyes flashed with insanity, the rage that would lead a God to strike down his own daughter, one that any mortal or God  with sense would know was dangerous. One about to break the rules of divine order, about to punish without cause, about to condemn someone to Tartarus whose time had not come. 

“Die!” Poseidon screamed, his eyes glittering with glee, his laugh drowning out any other sound, including Telemachus’ own thoughts. His body tried to swim faster, but his endurance was waning, the current increasingly trying to drag him under the waves. Time seemed to slow as a trident formed from the sea and thrusted down onto the mortal, dragging him beneath the waves. 

“No!” Telemachus yelled. He dived under the waves, thankful that his mother’s blood let him see clearly  in the murky sea. He snapped his graceful arms to his side and sped towards where the man was slowly drowning. Telemachus saw him struggling, fighting against his body’s natural instinct to take a breath, and moved faster, but the force of the immense trident pushed him back, dragging his speed to a crawl. He tried to swim to the left, to find an opening in the unrelenting current, but there was none- all he could do was watch helplessly as the man exhaled his last breath. 

Rage filled Telemachus’ veins, rage fueled by grief, shame and guilt, burning hotter than Hephaestus’ forges. With one powerful kick of his legs, the mortal was surfacing, his mind blank for all but one thought. I need to make him pay. I need him to know the pain that he just committed on that poor man’s family. The wisdom of his friend was replaced with the bloodlust of his mentor, the death he just witnessing awakening pain he had kept locked for so long. He was about to shout to the God when he saw the mortal surface- or someone that looked like the mortal. From the way he was glowing, Telemachus became convinced he turned into a God. 

On the creature’s  back was a bag, one that seemingly made the clouds grow darker, the winds grow harsher, and the waves grow colder. Telemachus found himself struggling to stay above the powerful waves, his energy slowly fading as his legs kicked helplessly. With a cry his legs cramped, then became motionless, leaving him at the mercy of the unrelenting storm surge. Tendrils of the sea wrapped around his ankles, dragging him into its insatiable abyss.

Well I guess this is the end. Telemachus thought sadly. What a stupid way to die- to drown in my own harbor in yet another failed attempt to help another. Maybe the fates are finally being kind, being merciful, ending my pain before my actions destroy my homeland.  For a moment, Telemachus gave up, letting the horrid water suck him under, let it steal his breath. But then his mind began to wonder- to his mother. 

His mother, who despite being Queen had always made time for him, who didn’t tease him or shame him for his gentle nature, who loved him for who he was and expected nothing else. He still remembers sitting at her feet while she wove, listening intently to the heroic feats of his father and grandfathers. He remembered how she fought to give him as much of a normal childhood as she could, the lengths she went to make sure that he got the education he needed, the sadness she showed when she couldn’t find someone to mentor him in sword and spear. Every scrapped knee, every fever, every childhood pain or sickness she would comfort him through, staying by his side for as long as he needed. The mother who  wove the cloak that still lay around his shoulders, clinging to him like a hug, in an attempt to keep him from overheating from his new fashion choices. The one that let him hide the shameful marks the dogs had left behind. That let him hide the shameful whore he had become, one too pathetic to protect her in any other way. 

His mother, the fearsome, amazing Queen of Ithaca. The one currently residing in a den of dogs, each waiting to consume her alive. Ones that will take the news of his death with glee, using it just another reason why she had to remarry, and remarry now. Or worse, they would attack her and force her hand, using their bastard child to claim the throne. That they would use to gain a crown they don’t deserve, to bring Ithaca to a ruin he could only imagine.

No. Telemachus thought. I can’t afford to die. For I will protect my mother. I will protect my people! 

His eyes opened and he forced his muscles to contract, propelling him back to the surface. He began to swim towards the small inlet, using the current to his advantage, letting it push him to the side then forward. He propelled himself with strength he did not know he had, powered by a purpose above himself, one seemingly granted to him by the Gods themselves. A mission that he would fight for until Thanatos stole his breath. Within a few moments, he felt rocks beneath his feet, and he ran up them. He slipped and scrapped his knee. That’s what I get for forgetting my own warning. Telemachus thought, chuckling. But he got up and kept moving, crawling until he felt the gritty sand beneath his hands. He looked forward and felt his jaw drop, not believing what he saw. A smile broke across his lips as sweet catharsis flowed through his veins. 

In front of him was the mortal, no longer glowing, screaming something he couldn't hear and stabbing the God of the Sea with his own trident. Each blow got a longer groan, another painful gasp. Gold was splattered everywhere as a child may spill jam, each plunge spilling more of the immortal’s blood on the rocky beach. But most surprisingly the God’s face. Tears slipped down his blue-tinted cheeks, tears of pain beyond physical. Telemachus was shocked to see the terror and pain in his eyes, ones that looked so much like his own over the last several months. Maybe he’s finally getting a taste of what he’s put us through.  Telemachus thought with a smile. 

The sky suddenly cleared as the storm disappeared, dissipating as steam from a cup of tea. The mortal dropped the trident, the anger having left him weakened and tired. With one last interaction Telemachus couldn’t hear, the man turned his back and left, leaving the bleeding immortal laying alone. 

Telemachus smiled, a sadistic part of him ecstatic to see a God finally punished for the pain they’ve caused. He took a few breaths and sat down, resting and preparing to make the long swim back to shore. But the God’s groaning was getting to him, the weight of his medical bag pulling at him. Why should I heal him? Telemachus thought. He nearly killed that mortal. He deserves to suffer.

He may deserve to suffer, Telly. His mind replied. He may not deserve mercy. But he needs tending nonetheless. Besides, which is worse punishment? Being left in pain or being indebted to one who helped when you didn’t deserve it? Telemachus thought back to the interaction, how mournful Poseidon sounded. He said he couldn’t forgive. Telemachus thought. Maybe I can show him how. 

Carefully Telemachus approached the God where he lay bleeding. Despite himself, he bowed. 

“King Poseidon. My name is Prince Telemachus of Ithaca. I saw your fight with the mortal and wish to heal you.”

Poseidon turned to him, shocked. “I don’t deserve your mercy, young Prince. Especially with the pain I’ve caused you.”

"You have caused me pain, King Poseidon.” Telemachus agreed. “And I’ll be honest- I am quite angry at you- for threatening an innocent woman and child, for threatening my kingdom and people, for seeing them as mere pawns to enact your vengeance.” He sighed. “But I can’t let you suffer when I have the ability to lessen your pain. The great King Apollo blessed me with the ability to heal on one condition- I use it to help everyone who needs it, even people I deem unworthy.” Telemachus shook his head. “My kingdom is also dependent upon your domain-losing your favor could hurt many more than just my sense of justice.” His eyes sharpened. “However, I need you to swear not to go after that mortal, my family nor my people. I’d like to still have an island to go back to.” 

Poseidon looked at the mortal, shocked. Here was a lad of 20 who could control his rage well enough to help his enemy, who was wise enough to push aside his anger for his people and patron, who was brave enough to choose forgiveness, to choose kindness. Prince Telemachus was approaching him with open arms as his father had. When Poseidon refusal his father, he ended upon a rocky beach, embarrassed and bleeding, his reputation and name ruined. Maybe offering peace to his son will end better. 

Poseidon nodded. “Okay, young Prince. Heal me, and I swear on the River Styx not to bring the mortal, you, your family, or your people harm. If you help me, Ithaca will be back in my favor- I will ensure your kingdom prospers.”

Telemachus smiled and nodded. “Thank you, King Poseidon.” He carefully walked over to the God and examined his wounds, shuddering slightly. Even with his divine healing, Poseidon’s injuries were severe. Several deep lacerations covered his body, only slightly fewer than the 600 men who had struck him, most needing stitches. The puncture wounds were much worse, his divine trident shredding through blood vessels and tender flesh, pooling gold in places where it shouldn’t be. 

Telemachus took a breath and  began his preparations. He began by filling his empty waterskin sea water so he may rinse the wound, hoping it wouldn’t cause the God any undue pain-he was the God of the Sea after all. He took out a clean linen cloth, put it on the ground, weighed down with the needles he would need, and turned to Poseidon. “May I pluck a few of your hairs? I don’t know about deathless ones, but I know with humans, hair is best to stich up wounds with.”

Poseidon nodded. “Do whatever you need to do, Prince.”

Telemachus nodded, gently plucked several hairs and began. He tended one wound at a time, rinsing each with sea water to remove the excess blood, and slathering each with a salve of yarrow and honey to stanch the bleeding. The vessels which still wept he gently stitched back together or tied off if they were too small to sew. Even though he was pretty sure Gods did not need to worry about infections, Telemachus disinfected each wound anyway. He gently rubbed a salve made of cinchona, datura, thymol, and jasmine to numb the God's skin, giving it a moment to take affect, and then sutured together the sides of the wound, his expert stitches keeping the skin together without adding unnecessary tension. He placed more numbing salve on the now stitched wound and wrapping each in a soft, linen bandage. 

Poseidon was surprised how little pain the boy caused- the salves nor disinfectant stung nor did the sutures pinch. Each gentle touch removed more pain than it gave- more pain than a mortal hand should be able to remove. Poseidon thought it was just his Godly nature until he noticed the golden light that radiated with the youth’s every touch, a light that radiated relief and healing through the God’s mangled flesh. He’s truly blessed by my nephew. Poseidon thought. He looked at the boy, his eyes focused and smiling despite himself, obviously overjoyed in his work. And he deserves to be- his gentle soul only wishes to heal, not hurt, his golden heart to illuminate the world around him.  His eyes filled with tears and his fists bunched. How could anyone hurt this child? 

Telemachus saw Poseidon tensed and paused his tending. “I’m sorry- did I cause you pain?”

Poseidon shook his head. “No, Prince- I was just angered at the thought that others have caused you such pain.” He looked at the mortal and smiled. “I promise, Telemachus, your father is nearing your island, and will save you from your rapists.”

Telemachus froze, his face blushing. “So you know of my shameful behavior?”

Poseidon shook his head. “No- I know your selflessness." He took a breath. “When your father was fighting me, I was shown what the suitors did to you. I was placed in your shoes and felt your pain- pain no one deserves, especially one as wonderful as you.” With effort, Poseidon lifted his hand, cupping the youth’s cheek and drying tears Telemachus hadn’t even known had fallen. “I am so sorry, Telemachus. I am sorry I kept your father away from you for so long.” He chuckled sheepishly. “I am not usually so emotional, but it seems my heart has been softened, opening for the first time in I don’t know how long.” His face turned serious. “But know this, Prince of Ithaca- you will have justice. I will ensure it.”

“While I appreciate your resolve, Poseidon, you need to rest.” Telemachus said. "The mortal did quite a number on you. He smiled and placed a hand on the God’s shoulder. “I accept your apology, Poseidon. I realize you did not chose my father to torture at random- I am sure he did something to upset you, and for that I am sorry. I hope whatever pain he caused heals.” His eyes turned serious again. “But if you wish to hear advice from a youth unknowing of much, I can tell you that violence will not heal your heart, will not fix what my father broke. It obviously hadn’t else you both wouldn’t have suffered all these years.” He smiled. “Give kindness and mercy a try- I promise it’ll make you feel better.”

Poseidon smiled. “You may be just a lad, but you are wiser than I.” He looked deep into Telemachus’ duel-colored eyes, his new empathy allowing him to see the pure agony that hid behind them. “I pray one day you realize how beloved you are, Prince Telemachus- by God and mortal alike. If your father helps you with that, he will earn my favor too.”

Telemachus smiled. “I can only hope he sees me as worthy.” Before Poseidon could respond, Telemachus finished wrapping the last bandage. “There. Now your wounds should heal faster and hopefully cause you less pain.”

Poseidon nodded, already feeling the remaining pain beginning to retreat. “Thank you, Prince Telemachus.”

Telemachus nodded. He looked at the sky, the afternoon having changed to twilight. “I have to leave soon before Helios’ light leaves the sky entirely. But let me quickly start a fire- I can imagine the night’s chill will only worsen.”

With that, Telemachus gracefully stood and began to gather dry driftwood to build a fire with. Poseidon frowned as he saw the mortal shivering severely, the hours in wet clothing taking its toll, a blush the color of a scarlet dawn creeping onto his cheeks. He tried to cast a warming spell but found himself too weak, unable to even lift his hand. Poseidon sighed, hoping the signs of sickness he sees are just a trick of the light.

The youth came back with the firewood and skillfully built a fire, starting with scraps of bark and carefully urging it into a raising blaze. He did one last examination, doing his best to ensure the God was secure until he was rescued or healed enough to leave on his own. Satisfied he turned to Poseidon.

“If you are comfortable, I must take my leave.” Telemachus said with a smile. “Please rest- it will help you heal faster.” He smirked. “And please resist the urge to drown me.”

Poseidon chuckled. “The sea will be calm, Prince- I promise.” He smiled at the youth. “Thank you, Prince Telemachus. Take care.”

Telemachus nodded his appreciation and turned to the sea. He carefully walked into the waves and began the long swim back to his homeland.

Chapter Text

Patroclus was becoming more anxious as the sky darkened, its rumbling slowly becoming deafening. He tried to remind himself patient care takes time, especially with something as non-descript as a cough. But the knot in his stomach tightened and his leg shook as something told him the boy he cared about was in trouble. That Telemachus had gotten himself into trouble, his golden heart dragging him into a fight for his life. He tried to keep his worry to himself, especially with how irritable Ares was becoming. Achilles looked at him and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a small smile, attempting to ease his love’s anxiety but simply failing to hide his own. 

As the sky darkened, the dining hall filled for the midday meal. It was much more full then usual, many suitors decided to feast in the warm palace than risk the rain in town. They scowled as the servants who moved too slow for them, expecting to get the best hospitality while being angered at the time it took for his peers to get the same. They were rude and irritated, snapping at the servants as if they were mere dogs. It was only when Penelope arrived, her arm around the shoulder of a crying servant girl that they stopped, correctly concluding Penelope’s anger was dangerous. 

But the suitor’s politeness to the servants did not extend to the ways they handled themselves in the dining hall. They were as loud and lewd as the worst of swine, stuffing their mouths to overflowing with the fine bread and meat just to respond to the jest of another. Their discussion added to the revolting noise of the dining hall, speaking of topics so vulgar it would get looks in the mess tents and fires of Troy. Even the long-lived Ares was cringing at the shameful language, words unsuitable for the supposed nobles who sat around them nor their presence in a palace dining hall. The table next to the three deathless ones were particular vulgar. 

“How did you enjoy our “noble” slave last night?” Antinous said. “Has he finally learned that clenching makes it hurt more?”

“Nope!” Eurymachus laughed. “He still screams too- as if he doesn’t like it. He’s truly as stupid as his father.”

“Shhh, you fools!” Amphinomus snapped. He lowered his voice so the Queen couldn’t hear them. “If you keep speaking so loudly, the Queen learn of your treason.”

“Don't act as if you don’t indulge too.” Antinous snapped. “You like his tight ass as much as the rest of us.” 

Patroclus felt his face burn and his sight bleed red when he realized they were speaking of the Prince. Achilles quickly wrapped his arm around his love, and placed his lips at the shell of his ear. 

“I know you wish to kill these bastards and you will.” Achilles whispered. “But not now. If nothing else, Telemachus deserves to witness his own salvation, and be part of his own vengeance. Just wait a bit longer.”

Patroclus sighed and nodded, reluctantly accepting the truth of Achilles' words. He looked to Ares and frowned to see his face flushed and fists tense. He too seemed increasingly angered by the  increasingly egregious insults passed the vermin’s brainless teeth. 

“How long does it take to check a man for a cough?!” Ares grumbled. “Its been hours! While I’m glad he’s freed of such disgusting language, I wish we were too.”

“It can take time to evaluate a patient fully.” Patroclus responded, realizing the God’s annoyance was trying to disguise he was as worried as he. His face fell. “But it doesn’t usually take hours, even for the worst of coughs.” 

“I’m sure he’s fine.” Achilles said. “You see how much the children love him- they probably demanded his attention and delayed his arrival.” Achilles took a sip of his wine and smiled.“Well, Odysseus wasn’t wrong about the wine- it is quite delicious.”

“Meh.” Ares grumbled. “I’ve had better.”

“You’re literally the brother of the God of Wine.” Achilles said, laughing. “I would be more surprised if this was the best than if you said it was the worst.” 

Patroclus smiled and was about to respond when a voice cut through the obscene noises of the dinning hall. The suitors slowly quieted, enthralled by the beautiful voice- one the three deathless ones recognized instantly as Telemachus'.

"Oh Nature’s greatest sovereign ruling all by law.

Oh Please Hear my prayer, save the poor mortal"

“Why would he be calling for Zeus?” Achilles said. “He knows that we...”

“Shhh.” Patroclus shushed. “We don’t want to ruin our disguise.” They listened to the hymn, enraptured by the breathtaking  melody. 

“ Zeus father of all, most just

Please spare him- take me if you must

Give me his punishment let him Go

Please God King, hear my plea

Help calm your brother of the sea

While the crimes of this mortals I don’t know

I’ll take them upon me

For the sea-god threatens more than he

One of my people I fear he be

I entreat thee Zeus, whatever his insults 

Put then upon me.”

“What ma…” Achilles started and suddenly jumped up and ran towards the door.  Patroclus was about to go after him when Queen Penelope stopped him. 

“Stranger, I’ve seen thee with my son.” Penelope said. “Does thee know why he pleads to the King God so? Why does thy friend run so panicked?”

“Unfortunately I know not the answer to either of thy questions, Queen Penelope.” Patroclus  said. “The last thing thy son told me he was checking on a patient, and would meet us here soon.” He looked out where his beloved had left and sighed. “I know not what startled my friend though, but I worry he may have figured out something I have yet to realize. 

Penelope nodded and  was about to respond when another voice boomed through the hall.

“No.”

The voice was terrifying, the same cadence and sound as the thunder which rumbled above them. A voice so obviously divine it forced the mortals and deathless one’s out of their seats and out into the pelting rain to see what was going on. 

The sight that met them chilled the immortals and Penelope to the bone. In the harbor was a monster, a giant the size of a mountain, made out of the sea. In the middle stood of its immense chest stood an immortal, one even the youngest among them would recognize as the God of Tides. His eyes were pupilless and face grinning as he starred down at a man, clinging to the mast of a small raft for dear life. What truly terrified the immortals and Penelope, however, was a dot fighting the waves, the one their divine blood could see was their beloved Telemachus.

In a loud rumble of Thunder, the God gave his judgement.

“Die!”

The monster plunged a formerly unseen trident directly on the man’s chest, knocking him from his raft and beneath the waves. The boy also disappeared beneath the waves, seemingly swallowed by the same hungry sea. Achilles- who was already chest- deep in the sea, dove in and attempted to swim where the mortals were drowning. But a wave pushed him back violently before forming a wall, a barrier to keep anyone else from joining the fight. Achilles went to dive again when Ares placed a hand on his shoulder. Energy went through his hand, drying his chiton instantly.

“Don’t worry- the mortals needs no assistance- he had enough.” Ares whispered. He smiled. “Watch.”

Sure enough, the boy emerged from the waves and began to swim towards the God. His body shook not from exhaustion but rage, his duel-colored eyes flashing brightly enough to be seen from shore. It was clear the Prince was going to challenge the God- to get revenge for the brutal murder of the man he was trying to save. 

“I’m so proud of him!” Ares said. When the deathless ones turned to him, he chuckled. “He’s letting his anger rule him- letting his sense to turn to bravery and bloodlust. He wants to get vengeance on a GOD- How can I not be proud of that?!”

“Because it’s going to get him killed!” Penelope snapped. Her eyes were sharp. “If you weren’t a guest, stranger, you would stand no longer.”

Other Gods would have taken offense to such a threat, but the war God smiled, the Spartan Queen being one of his long-favored and blessed mortals and mentees. He whispered something in a strange tongue- one he knew even the deathless ones next to him did not yet know, and the Queen paused, face white then smiling. She murmured something in return and bowed slightly, giving him the proper respect without drawing attention to him. Her eyes alighted on the men who stood besides the war God. Patroclus saw a glimmer in her eyes, one that showed Telemachus’ cunning and intelligence came from both his parents. He was about to speak when the wind began to howl, a divine storm seemingly released in the harbor in front of him. 

The man rose out of the sea, though anyone who saw him would begin to question his true mortality. He was glowing brightly, held aloft by by a bag tied to his back. When he spoke, his voice boomed, making a declaration so loud those on shore had to cover their ears to keep from going deaf. Patroclus cast a quick spell to protect their ears, willing it into being as Ares had shown them. But even with the spell’s softening, the mortal’s words were clear for all to hear. 

“I can’t afford to die! Because I WILL get home to my son, and I WILL get home to my wife!”

The mortal seemingly shed his mortality as his skin burst with colored light, the mark of the Olympians decorating his entire body. Blue lightning covered his shins with grieves, his arms with armbands, and his head with a helmet. In his hands he clutched a shield instantly recognizable as Athena’s, and most worryingly, the caduceus of his father. Achilles turned to Ares who smiled, confirming that the Gods had blessed Odysseus with a bit of each of their domains, including Zeus and Hades, to give him a shot at defeating the God of the Tides.  Achilles also saw ghosts beginning to solidify around them, most noticeably Polites. He must have seen Achilles watching as he flashed a smile. 

Achilles smiled back and turned to Patroclus to see if he was enjoying the brewing fight as much as he was. But Patroclus was not watching the fight. While Ares was enraptured by watching his uncle get his ass kicked, grinning as widely as a child at a festival, Patroclus’ face was creased with worried, watching the waves just outside where the two Gods fought. Achilles felt a presence behind him and saw the Queen coming closer, her eyes stared at the same point as Patroclus’. The war hero followed their gaze and inhaled sharply as he watched Telemachus fighting the waves created by the colossal storm. He began to bob, slipping beneath the water momentarily before fighting his way to the surface once more. After several moments, however, he lost the fight,  his bobbing slowing until  he slipped beneath the waves and didn’t surface again. 

“No!” Penelope screamed, tears filling her eyes. Patroclus and Achilles both attempted to enter the water, hoping their divine speed may let them save the Prince in time. But the wall of water had been replaced with one of glass, stopping them from even dipping a toe in the thrashing waters. The suitors watched the water where the Prince was once seen, waiting. Patroclus felt his cheeks burn with pure hatred as he saw their lips move silently, many praying to the Gods the prince did not surface again. He turned to Achilles who nodded, their thought the same. How can anyone be so cold as to hope a young prince drowns? Especially one as sweet as Telemachus?

Anger turned to barely contained rage when the suitors seemed to get their wish.  A half hour passed, then an hour, then two hours, the lad never surfacing. Tears pricked at the corners of the war heroes’ eyes as the minutes ticked by, the storm slowly fading as their hope was for the prince’s safe return. When Helios once again was visible in the afternoon sky, Antinous finally  broke the silence. 

“We must be in the Gods’ favor.” Antinous laughed. “Our main competition is gone! Now we can finally get what we deserve.”

Patroclus silently held Achilles back, knowing he was seconds from killing the suitors as he had the Trojans. Patroclus would have joined him had he not noticed how shockingly calm Ares was. Why is he not angry? Patroclus wondered. I know he isn’t afraid of bloodshed, even bloodshed that goes against the fates. He was taken from his thoughts when Antinous spoke once more. 

“Thy son is gone, my Queen.” Antinous said. “Thee knows what that means.”

Patroclus wrapped his arm around Achilles and Ares placed a hand on his shoulder to keep Achilles from slitting the suitor’s throat. Luckily the pigs were too excited to hear the Queen’s response to see how close they were to taking their last breath. Do these men have hearts at all? Patroclus thought angrily. Even the worst of the Trojans were more humane than this. 

Penelope dried tears which flowed down her cheeks. “I know, Antinous.” She sighed. “In three day’s time, I will announce how thee will win my hand. That should give me the needed time to gather my wits, and do the proper burial preparations.”

“Of course, Queen Penelope.” Amphinomus said, bowing. He shot a look at the other suitors and waved to them.  “Come- let’s give the Queen some time alone so she may mourn.” He turned and walked back into the dining hall, the others reluctantly following. 

As soon as they were gone, Patroclus and Achilles approached the Queen. Achilles spoke first.

“I am so sorry, Queen Penelope.” Achilles said, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I should have insisted he come with us back to the palace.”

Penelope dried her tears, and nodded. “Thank thee.” Penelope said. “Thank thee , King Achilles.”

Achilles blinked. “How did thee know my name?”

“I didn’t- I guessed.” Penelope said, chuckling. She pointed to Patroclus.  “And I presume thy friend is thy beloved, King Patroclus?”

Patroclus nodded. “Thee and thy son’s minds are sharp, Queen Penelope. He was able to identify us without us needing to introducing ourselves.”

“That surprises me not.” Penelope said. “He has his father’s brain and mine. The suitors are right to be afraid of him.”

“He sure did.” Achilles said. He sighed. “It’s a shame he died before thy husband could see it- I know how much Odysseus loved his son. It was for he and thee that he fought. The fates are cruel to keep the two from meeting each other under the rays of Helios.”

Penelope placed a hand on Achilles’ shoulder. “Please don’t worry thy heart, King Achilles.” Penelope said. “My son isn’t dead.”

Patroclus looked at her, worried. Is she in denial?  “My Queen, if thee didn’t see, the boy who slipped beneath the waves was thy dear Telemachus.” He looked down. “And he did not surface again.” 

“He hasn’t surfaced for two hours.” Achilles added. “I’m sorry, but there is no way he survived.”

“Don’t worry, dears.” Penelope said. “He survived- I know it.” She saw their concerned looks and chuckled. “Tell me, King Achilles- when thee were alive, when thee were mortal, did thee ever struggle to swim? Did thee ever worry thee would drown? ”

Achilles shook his head. “No- my mother is a Nereid, a water nymph. I can hold my breath beneath the waves for a long time.” He chuckled. “In fact, I’m pretty sure I could breathe beneath the waves if I had to- I just never tried.”

“Well, cousin*, I also haven’t struggled to swim, worried about drowning. ” Penelope said. “And neither has my son, for the same reason.”

“Thee are the daughter of a water nymph?” Patroclus said. His eyes widened. “That means…”

“Telemachus can hold his breath for much longer than a normal mortal.” Penelope finished. “For MUCH longer than a normal mortal. If he still hasn’t surfaced by nightful, I’d still hold no concern.”  She chuckled. “I don’t think he CAN drown. When he was a baby, one of his nursemaids forgot him in the bath. When she found him over two hours later, he was fine, giggling beneath the water.”

“That isn’t uncommon for those of divine blood.” Ares said. “Those with the blood of Oceanus* especially.” He turned to where Telemachus was last seen and pointed. “Look.”

Much to the mortal-born’s shock, a young man could be seen scurrying up the rocky shore of the inlet. From their enhanced sight, they could see he was barely panting, his form still energized as he disappeared into the divine mist. 

Achilles turned to Penelope. “If he isn’t dead, why did thee act as if he was?” 

“Because I know my son.” Penelope said. “He will quickly discover the suitors think him dead, and will use it to his advantage. I don’t want to take that away from him.” She smiled. “Besides, I am pretty sure my husband was the mortal we saw. Only Odysseus could anger and please the Gods enough to be attacked by one of the brother three and be given the power to defeat him by  the rest of the Olympians, including the other two brothers.” 

Her eyes were wet with tears as she turned to the sea. “Your almost here, my love- don’t be scared.” She said to the wind.” I’ll be here waiting.” 

Chapter Text

After a long swim, Telemachus exhaustedly dragged himself onto the beaches of his kingdom. His kingdom was quiet- or at least it was at first. From the palace there were sounds of a celebration, one more debauched than normal, the suitors talking so loudly he could hear them as clearly as if they stood right next to him. 

“The prince is dead!” Antinous yelled drunkenly. “Drowned by the God of Tides!”

Telemachus smiled. They don’t know I am part water-nymph- that I can hold my breath for well over the hours spent fighting the storm. This could be my chance to attack. 

The Prince was about to head towards the palace when he heard a small whimper. He turned to his left and found  the man he went to rescue asleep under a tree at the edge of their olive grove. He truly looked exhausted, as if this was the first dry land he felt in months if not years. The man stretched his limbs to their full extent and turned away from him, showing the youth his back and neck. Anger flushed Telemachus’ cheeks as he saw the large bruises and burns  that marred his skin, injuries intentionally dealt by one who feared no consequences for doing so- by a deathless one no doubt. His eyes wandered to his neck and he shivered, seeing the bruises of lovemaking Telemachus knew  too well, ones he suspected were given against the man’s will. His suspicion was confirmed when the man turned once more, showing the long, finger-shaped bruises on his thighs. The same as the ones that he hid beneath his cloak. 

He’s been through so much. Telemachus thought sadly. I should keep an eye on him- who knows what damage lies hidden underneath those bruises.  Telemachus took a breath and turned to find a comfortable place for the night, but felt himself begin to cough instead. He buried his mouth in his cloak, but he couldn’t stop. Loud, whooping coughs took away his breath, his lungs spasming until he retched, his head swimming and body desperate for air. After several moments, Telemachus was finally able to take a full breath, one much louder than he would have wished. His eyes alighted on the man and his face fell to see he was wide awake, his hands clutching his sword. 

“Who goes there?” Odysseus yelled as he slowly turned, searching for movement. “Come show thyself, coward. If I find thee myself, I will kill thee.”

Telemachus was about to come out from behind the tree to introduce himself, but stopped himself. The man could be an enemy as easily as he could be a friend. Telemachus realized. After all, he did something to anger the King of the Tides, to force him to sail from Gods knows where to Ithaca. Until I know who he is and what he’s done, need to keep my identity a secret. Otherwise he may kill me, or worse, use me as a pawn to get to my mother, to attack my kingdom.  

The more Telemachus looked at the man, however, the more his gut told him he was gazing upon his savior- his father finally returned. In the man’s eyes, Telemachus could see his own- the same large, round shape, the same duel-coloring, but most sadly, the same pain. He could see the other features they shared-  their full lips, defined cheekbones, and small noses. Though the man’s hair was tangled and grayed, there was evidence that his hair was once as gilded as the Prince’s, that the ringlets were once as tight. His shoulders were as broad as Telemachus, even if the man stood a head shorter. His eyes widen as he looked down to the man’s once-muscular thighs at the scar that lay there- one he knew his father had received on a boar hunt, a scar gilded as it was stained with the creature’s immortal blood. He inhaled sharply causing another coughing fit. 

The man turned towards him, his eyes as wild as a spooked horse, muscle as posed and dangerous as a terrified dog. “Show yourself!” He shouted. “I can see you.”

Telemachus knew the man could not, in fact, see him- otherwise he would have attacked already. His vantage point behind a thick grove of olive trees kept Telemachus safely hidden. For a second, Telemachus thought of simply leaving, turning and walking deeper into the woods to find a place to sleep. But his curiosity was driving the youth mad, the need to know who he gazed upon simply too much to stand. I need to confirm it is who I think it is before I can do anything else. Telemachus thought. The son of the cunning Odysseus soon came up with a plan, one possibly cruel but that would be undoubtedly successful. 

Telemachus silently walked until he was  behind the man before stepping out into Selene’s light.

“ Quis es?” Telemachus said in the Trojan tongue*. “Quod nomen tibi est?”

Odysseus turned to face the youth, his face white with shock.  He hadn’t heard that tongue of the enemy for ten years, but Hermes’ blood made language imbed itself on his tongue, its sound known to his ears forevermore,  no matter the time that’s passed. Anger mixed with fear, the thought that a Trojan dared grace his shores made his skin burn with rage, rage he struggled to keep under control. 

“Tu primus.” Odysseus snarled. “Idem faciam. Fortasse.”

Telemachus paused. Well two can play at that game. Telemachus thought, a grin gracing his lips. He let it fall, however, as he  pretended to recognize him as the Trojans would have.  “Ulysses?!” Telemachus said. “Es Laertiades, ingeniosus Ulysses?!”

"Ego sum, ignavus.” Odysseus growled before he even realized he had revealed his name. Cur hic es? ”

That’s promising. Telemachus thought, his heart sparking with joy. The loving, gentle soul wished to take the man’s response at face value, to run into his tunic and sob, to finally meet the father he had dreamed about for as long as he could remember. But unfortunately the suitors had taught him that the line between naivety and hopefulness is almost invisible, and how much it hurt to confuse the two. I need to make sure his words aren’t simply a convincing ploy by an enemy. But how? After a moment, the solution came to him, and Telemachus decided to poke a bit further- to see how much he could get the man to spill before giving him anything. To test the truth of his statement not with words, but with reactions. 

“ Ego Veni nubere regina. ” Telemachus lied, his lip smirking. “ Meretricem regina .”

Odysseus’ vision went red, his fists clenching much as Telemachus did when Antinous called his mother a tramp. But unlike the youth, Odysseus didn’t just respond- he attacked. 

“No one talks about my wife that way and live.” Odysseus growled as he swung his sword, his anger turning his tongue to his native Greek. “Especially a dirty Trojan such as thyself.”

Telemachus barely managed to block his father’s sword as outburst caught him off-guard. He always seemed so level-headed and calm in the Epics. Telemachus thought. I was expecting him to retort before taking on one much younger than he. He  smiled despite himself. There is nothing fake about his reaction though- he truly is my father.

Telemachus did not have much time for reflection as his father attacked him violently once more, a shimmer of the Gods’ magic still left in his eyes. While he blocked him easily, the length of the day and the long swim was taking its toll on the young Prince, causing his movements to slow. 

“Sire, Please!” Telemachus begged, embarrassed at how desperate and frail he truly sounded. “I don’t want to hurt thee. Let me..”

“Thee should have thought of that before thee let such filth cross thy teeth!” Odysseus interrupted “Such treason shall be punished with death!”

Underneath the anger, Odysseus’ cunning mind was working, trying to figure out who he was truly fighting. He realized the lad didn’t have an  accent- Greek sounded like his native language, and his slight lilt was characteristic of the Cephalonians. Then again, his  knowledge of the Trojan tongue- and his ability to speak it so perfectly- caused him to question if he was truly a native of his kingdom, or a talented Trojan. Either way, the boy’s impressive language skills  indicated he was educated, most likely at least a noble- a normal servant or fisherman would not know both, especially if they hadn’t gone to war as this youth clearly hadn’t.  At the oldest the lad  was merely an infant when the war began. The boy’s cloak also indicated status- even in the low light, Odysseus could tell it was woven with an expert hand of a fine silk- wool blend. Finally, the features Odysseus could see under the large, unseasonably-warm cloak and traveling hat looked so familiar, but without sight of his face, Odysseus couldn’t tell why.  

His frustration at the enigma in front of him added to Odysseus’ annoyance at the boy’s seeming refusal to attack him back. He is obviously talented with the sword. Odysseus thought. And seemingly well-trained. If that is the case, why isn’t he charging? Why doesn’t he just kill me? The long-enduring Odysseus had learned much on his journey from Troy, but a bit of him was still just a man. A man whose hubris showed its ugly head, whose emotions were clouding his judgement, leading towards the same mistake that began this to begin with. 

“Why does thee keep blocking like a coward?!” Odysseus snapped. “Are thee pitying me? I promise, coward,  I need no such pity from the likes of thee.”

“I told thee, Sire.” Telemachus said, breathing hard, his head beginning to swim. “I refuse to hurt thee.”

“Thy are a fool if thee thinks I will show thee mercy.” Odysseus said. “I made that mistake once  and it nearly cost my life. I refuse to take more risks, to let anything get between me reuniting with my son and wife, even if it means killing a youth.”

Telemachus was about to speak when he heard a small voice call out of the darkness. 

“Pwince Telly!” Iris yelled. “You o…” The girl froze momentarily, seeing the Prince fighting the mysterious man. Before Telemachus could say anything, she ran between them.

“Stop hwrting the Pwince, you meanie!” Iris yelled. “You monstw!”

Telemachus felt his heart in his throat as he realized the man didn’t see her, so enraged his duel-colored eyes no longer perceived the world around him. He dropped his sword and blocked the girl with his body, taking the blow. Pain radiated from his upper chest as a sword ripped into his flesh, plunging so deep it exited his back. Telemachus’ vision swam as he tasted iron on his tongue, screaming through gritted teeth when the bronze was ripped out of him once more. He watched the man come back to reality, his eyes widening and heart clenching at what he had just done.

“No!” The girl cried. “Pwince Telly!”

Odysseus froze, sword seconds from dealing the final blow, his horror extinguishing his rage. 

“Telemachus?”

Telemachus looked up at him and  forced himself to smile. “Hey Dad.”

Chapter Text

“Oh, Gods!” Odysseus cried, waves of anguish washing over him. “I am so sorry, Telemachus.”  He shook his head as tears ran down his face. “What have I done?!” He took a breath. Turn off your heart. He heard Athena say. Panicking now will kill him- push your emotions aside so you can help him. 

Odysseus took a breath and knelt down to the little girl. “My dear, can you get a healer for me?”

“No!” Iris said defiantly, placing herself between the King and Prince. “You’re gonna huwt him.”

Odysseus was about to respond when Telemachus spoke. 

“I’m okay, Iris.” Telemachus said, forcing himself to smile. “Please, my dear, go home- I know your mom is missing you.”

Iris looked at him and sighed. “O-Tay, Pwince Telly. As long as you sure.”

“I am sure, my dear.” Telemachus said. “Goodbye, my little flower.”

“Goodbye, Telly.” Iris said. She glared at Odysseus. “Take cawe of him.”

Odysseus smiled. “I promise I will, my dear.  Now get going.”

Satisfied, the little girl turned and ran into the night. 

As soon as the girl left, Odysseus turned his attention to his son. His breath hitched as he saw how injured he truly was, a large stain beginning to form on his torn cloak. 

“You’re going to be okay, Telly. I’ll take care of you.” Odysseus said, panic leaking into his voice. He reached for the cloak so he could see the wound better.  “Let me..,”

Telemachus felt his father’s fingers tinkering with the clasp that held his chlamys closed, and stiffened as a feeling of embarrassment and panic overtook him. A mix of pain and dizziness  made him forget who he was with, only that a man was undressing him. Telemachus’ eyes glazed as he was taken away from a beach to a bed, moments from feeling the dirty hands feel him up again, their touch bruising as they defiled him, their teeth and mouths marking him as theirs. Moments away from their digits roughly stretching him, their dry skin scraping as they plunged into him, preparing him only as long as they were patient for. Moments away from the pain as his muscles ripped anyway as they roughly thrusted their cocks inside, laughing as he cried. Moments away from staring at the ceiling, counting the mosaic tiles to try and forget what was happening as he felt load after sticky load fill him, stinging as the salty seed hit his raw flesh. Occasionally his own back would arch as his body betrayed him, covering him in his own seed. He could hear their jeers. 

Looks like he likes it! He likes being our toy 

Look at how quickly he turns from Prince to whore. Its shameful, honestly.

Imagine if his father saw him this way. How disappointed would he be that his son is nothing more than a slut, not even strong enough to keep himself from liking it. 

Telemachus simply felt too hurt, too sick, too tired to go through that again. He wasn’t strong enough. I’m sorry, Mom

“Get away from me!” Telemachus cried as he tried and failed to move back. His eyes filled with tears. Stop being such a damn baby. His mind jeered. You are too pathetic to protect your mother in any other way. The least you can do is do this- to lay there and just let this man use you. Maybe if you stay still, he will be quick. 

Telemachus took a shuttered breath. “I am sorry, sir. Please, don’t hurt my mom- I promise I will be good. I promise I will satisfy your needs. Just please, don’t hurt her.”

Telemachus’ body shuttered as he fell into another coughing fit. His eyes filled with tears- he just hurt so much. Disappointment filled him, mixing with the guilt and fear until his body shook and tears streamed from his eyes.

“I thought tonight I'd finally be free from touch.” Telemachus babbled, his mind fuzzy from sickness and pain. “But I will never be free, will I? You’re gonna hurt my mom too, aren’t you? Unless I sleep with you, unless I satisfy you, you are to open her door and use her instead.” 

“I just hurt so much.” Telemachus said as he  began to sob, his wit and pride gone, begging in desperation to escape the agony he knew was ahead. “Please, Gods, don’t touch me. Please, don’t make me do this!.” His eyes looked up at the sky as he pleaded with the Gods themselves. “Gods, please! Please help me! Athena, please help me. Athena!” 

Odysseus jerked his hand back so fast he lost his balance and fell backwards. He felt his cheeks flush with red as he recognized his son’s plea, one he had uttered night after night. His own eyes glazed as he was suddenly back with Calypso.

Her hand touching him, their touch causing his skin to crawl, bile burning his throat as he knew what was coming next.

“Please, Calypso.” Odysseus begged. “Not tonight. I hurt, Calypso, please.”

But her hands continued. “You’re my husband, Ody. It’s your job to pleasure me when I want it.” Her tone went from syrup to venom as he curled in on himself, trying to slink away from her touch. “Remember, darling, I am not harming you-not yet. But if you don’t want to- if the guilt is truly so painful- I could always- make it easier on you. One snap of my fingers is all it will take to snap your wife’s neck, to stop your son’s heart, to make you mine and mine alone. Do I need to do that? Will that make it easier?”

“No.” Odysseus whimpered. He clenched his fists and forced himself to kiss her, hoping and praying the Goddess would be satisfied after one round, knowing well she wouldn’t be. 

“Please.” Telemachus’ cried, bringing Odysseus back to the present. The youth, curling tighter upon himself, retching so hard  his chest began to spasm once more. “I know I’m pathetic, that I deserve to die. I know I made an agreement, but please, Anticlous, stop! Please!”

Odysseus took a breath, pushing the anger aside. “Shhh, Telly.” Odysseus soothed. He wanted to stroke his son’s hair, to embrace him, to give him comfort, but knew from experience it would only make his agony worse. “You don’t have to do anything, Telly.” Odysseus continued, his voice soft. “You’re safe, my love. I am the only one here with you- I promise, I wouldn’t hurt you or force you to do anything you do not give me permission to.” He smiled. “I am here now, my son. You don’t have to protect your mother, not anymore. I am here, and I promise no one will touch you again.”

Telemachus’ tears slowed as he heard his father’s soothing voice, felt the space he was giving him. He tried to take a deep breath but coughed hard once more. 

Once Telemachus’ breath had more or less stabilized, Odysseus approached a bit closer.  “I promise I wouldn’t touch you without your permission, nor will I let anyone else do so. But your shoulder needs to be tended. You need a healer. I promise I…”

“No!” Telemachus cried, tears flowing down his face once more. “Then they’ll know I’m a whore and they’ll tell my parents. My dad will be ashamed of me- so ashamed that he has to call me his son. I am already weak and pathetic- imagine if he knew I was a whore too. Knew that my people, my kingdom, will soon know also.”

“No, my Prince.” Odysseus said. “I promise, I will keep your secret and ensure any healer who comes near you does so also.” His eyes flashed. “Anyone who dares spread this, who dares think you are anything less than the prince you will be punished.” His face softened once more. “NOTHING could make me feel ashamed of  you, my son, that will make me not be proud to call you my son. I love you and nothing will change that.” His face fell. “ So please, my son, let me tend you.”

Weakly, Telemachus nodded, his physician brain knowing the King’s words were wise, and his subconscious one reassuring him that he was truly safe.  

Odysseus smiled. “Thank you, Telly.” He took a breath, and moved slowly, making sure Telemachus could see his hands at all times. While the blood needed to be stanched, he refused to scare his son more than he already was. 

 “I am going to remove your cloak first, Telemachus so I can see the wound I gave you.” Odysseus said softly. When he saw Telemachus stiffen, he smiled.  “I promise, no other marks I see will make me think less of you- nothing could make me think less of you. I swear to the Gods above and below, on the Styx itself, I speak the truth.”

“Okay.” Telemachus said weakly. He looked askant. “I’m sorry…”

"Hush, my love.” Odysseus said, slowly and gently cupping his son’s cheek. “There is nothing for you to apologize for.” He sighed. “I have given you no reason to trust me, Telemachus- it makes sense you fear my touch. I am just thankful you are letting me tend to you, to fix my mistake. So please, don’t apologize.”

Telemachus nodded, his attention quickly fading to simply breathing. His chest ached from coughing and throbbed from the wound currently piercing it. It was soon taking all his effort to keep his chest moving. 

Odysseus noted his son’s labored breathing and felt his stomach clench. He had seen such breathing- ones where the chest moves strangely, moving up with every exhale and down with every exhale. It was often the breathing he saw before his enemies died on the battlefield. The same breathing he saw Polites have when he was taken out by the Cyclops. 

He gently removed his son’s cloak, and found it soaked, not just with blood but also water. Why is his cloak so wet? Odysseus wondered. Was he out in the storm? He put such wonderings to the side as he neatly folded the well-made cloak, one that even in the darkness he could see was from his wife’s talented hands. He looked at his son’s now bare skin and bit back a gasp, swallowing the anger that threatened to show on his face. 

The prince’s neck was covered in dark bruises and barely-clotted bite marks, ones Odysseus knew were from the suitors’ torturous touch. While he had never indulged in such activities, he was at war for 10 years- he knew the marks men made to show their ownership- the ones they used to break their prison’s pride. Agamemnon's bride-prize, Chryseis, often had such bruises, as he wished the world he was the one mark who defiled her, the one who owned her. Had Apollo not put an end to such abuse, Odysseus would have- he couldn’t stand any woman- even the daughter of the enemy- experiencing such hardship, especially one so young and innocent. He  finally understood Apollo’s anger, why his arrows rained down upon them. If Odysseus had the ability to do so, the suitors would feel one hundred times the wrath that Apollo released on the Greeks. 

They will, Odysseus. A voice whispered again, one that sounded oddly like Athena. Don’t worry- you and your son will hunt them like the pigs they are. But first, make sure your son survives long enough to do so. 

Odysseus nodded out of habit, though he felt silly doing so to his internal dialogue. He looked past the marks left by the suitors’- a hard task with the pure number and severity of them- and moved his attention to the stab wound. It was deep and bleeding severely, staining Telemachus’ white chiton a deep scarlet. He looked around him and cursed softly, finding no yarrow grew near the sandy beach. Odysseus’ eyes wondered desperately until they alighted on a pack that was tied to Telemachus’ belt- a bag he would recognize anywhere. Polites’ med pack. 

Even in the moonlight, Odysseus could see its vibrant pattern, the soft leather  embroidered with golden suns and pythons- a creature Polites was surprisingly fond of. Iris’ beautiful arches adorned its entrance and bottom, multi-colored butterflies fluttering between them. It was a gift to his beloved Polites from his darling sister, Ctimene, crafted by her own young but talented hand. Polites had left it here to keep it safe from war, as a subtle promise to Ctimene that he would see her again. But he didn’t, because of me. 

Odysseus pushed the pang of grief aside, allowing a realization to hit him. “Are you a healer, Telemachus?!”

Telemachus nodded. “I am one of the only ones left.” He sighed, falling into another spasm of coughs. When he had caught his breath enough to speak, he continued. “The others either went to war, died of disease, or left for the mainland. The only other doctor who resides in Ithaca is currently on Krocylea on my order.  Several women are expected to have their children soon- many of them who’ve had complicated births in the past. I wished him to be there to assist if needed.” He chuckled. “I expected I could handle anything else that came up while he was gone, but I guess I failed.”

Odysseus heard the tone of sadness and self-hatred in his son’s voice and gently placed a hand on his uninjured shoulder. “Telly, even Polites- the one whose bag you use- needed others to heal him when he was injured or sick. It is hard to sew up your own wounds, to think clearly enough to cure your own curses. So please, my love, don’t feel shame. It isn’t something you need to worry about, and is absolutely not a failing.” He pointed to the bag. “May I see it? While I am no medic, your grandmother was a favorite of Artemis, and taught me much of what the Goddess blessed her with.” He chuckled. “Athena taught me the ways of healing too. Many forget her knowledge of the healing arts are second only to Leto’s twins.”

“Really?” Telemachus asked as he handed his father the bag, a note of curiosity lighting his voice. “I thought she only knew how to fight.”

“She knows a LOT more than that.” Odysseus said, smiling as he took a jar from the pack, smelling it to confirm its contents. “You can’t win a war if all your warriors are injured or dying of disease. Any good warrior knows basic wound treatment. Those of us who lead them know more- Athena ensures it.” He chuckled. “Don’t you think she’d know the best battle strategy against the greatest enemy of mortals? Against Thanatos himself?”

“I guess I never thought of it that way.” Telemachus said. He sighed. “I think I angered her by my patheticness. I had her help and I STILL couldn’t defeat Antinous in a fist fight.” Tears welled in his eyes. “I couldn’t even keep him from…” His words faltered as he shivered, the memory causing bile to rise as his throat tightened, causing breathing to be more painful and difficult. 

“Shhh, my love.” Odysseus said, stroking his hair lovingly, smiling as his son leaned into his touch. “You don’t have to tell me now if you aren’t ready. But I can tell you for a fact Athena doesn’t think less of you for being attacked. I can tell you she is fuming about it, the Fates being the only force keeping her from killing every last one of them.”

“How do you know?!” Telemachus asked, his tone rising slightly. “She said she was my friend yet I haven’t seen her since. I must have upset her!”

“I know you haven’t upset her, Telly.” Odysseus said. He chuckled. “Trust me, she would let you know- she does not mince words nor is she afraid of confrontation. She has NEVER been the type to simply go away- I know she’d be by your side if she could be.” He shook his head. “She’s not a fan of bullies either- of rapists especially. The angriest I have ever seen her, Telemachus, was when a Trojan was raped in her sanctuary by Little Ajax; so angry she killed him gruesomely. The insult of doing any such act in her temple is bad enough, but she has a particular distaste for anyone who forces themselves upon another. She knows what it is like to be the intended victim of such an attack.”

Telemachus nodded solemnly, remembering the tale of Erichthonius. Odysseus found the yarrow paste. “Okay, Telemachus, I am going to spread some yarrow on your wound to stem the bleeding. May I touch you to do that?”

Telemachus nodded. “I am sorry- I shouldn’t be afraid of my father’s touch, to be tended by him.”

“Telemachus, I literally stabbed you.” Odysseus said, chuckling slightly. “You have every right to be weary of my touch.” He sighed. “Besides, I am a stranger to you- a strange man around the age of those who hurt you. If I was a youth, I would be afraid too.” He smiled. “You are being so brave, Telemachus, swallowing your fear to allow me to help you. I am so proud of you- for that and a million other things I don’t even know about yet.”

“I don’t feel brave.” Telemachus said sadly. “I feel scared.”

“Bravery isn’t the lack of fear, Telemachus.” Odysseus said, spreading the yarrow upon the wound, frowning slightly when he felt the heat of his skin. “It is acting despite it. It is pushing fear to the side to do what needs to be done- which is exactly what you are doing now.”

“You telling me what you’re going to do before you do so is helping a lot.” Telemachus said. “That way I am not surprised by your touch.”

Odysseus smiled. “I’m glad- it is the least I can do.” He looked at the wound and frowned, seeing a few blood vessels still weeping despite the yarrow’s best efforts. “May I pluck a few of your hairs? It looks like some of these vessels need to be repaired. While I am not the best seamstress, I know enough to know how to reconnect the large ones and tie off the small ones well enough to get you to a healer.”

Telemachus nodded. “Of course- thank you.” He chuckled. “With how well you are taking care of me, I may not need a healer.”

“I will still insist upon it.” Odysseus said. “As I said, my stitches are not the strongest, and the last thing I would wish is to bring you so much pain just for you to later bleed to death from my shaudy work.” His eyes moved to the pack and sighed sadly. “Did your mother tell you who owned the bag that is tied around your waist?”

Telemachus shook his head. “She didn’t. All I know is when Apollo first came to me, he looked sad when he saw me wearing it. But when I asked if I should place it back in the palace’s treasury, he shook his head. Apparently it just reminded him of one he held dear.”

“It belonged to your Uncle Polites.” Odysseus said, unable to hide the emotion that hit his voice. “He was the healer between the three of us- one beloved by Apollo and Athena alike- for good reason. I have never seen one so talented at healing others, one who loved doing so much- even as kids. He was the one who saved me after the boar attacked me, the animal intent on taking me with him to the underworld.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “And he APOLOGIZED that his treatment left a scar. He saved me from blood loss AND blood poisoning but felt  guilty that it left me with a cool scar.”

Odysseus smiled, the memory still warm despite the slight tint of grief. “He was truly a light for this world, Telemachus- a natural healer who deserved to be trained by the best. So his father sent him to study under Chiron. According to Achilles, the centaur said he was second only to Apollo in his skills and knowledge. I am certain he was of the Healing God’s blood, but I would never say so out loud.”

“Are you mad at me for using it?” Telemachus asked. “I didn’t know it was so precious to you, or once owned by someone so talented.”

“He  wanted you to have it, Telemachus.” Odysseus said. His eyes glazed with tears for a moment. “Polites loved you as I did, Telemachus. He helped your mother bring you into this world, and Gods Telly, his face when you took your first breath- it looked as if he had just been given the world.” He smiled. “I didn’t understand why until he placed you in my arms- then I knew.” 

Odysseus’ face fell. “He did everything to allow me to stay home with you, Telemachus. Your Uncle Eurylochus, he and I did our damndest to stay for you.” Tears slid down his face. “We loved you so much, Telemachus.” He shook his head to clear it. “Before we left, Polites placed the bag into the treasury, and told your mother to give it to you when you were ready. He seemingly just KNEW you would be blessed by Apollo too, and wanted you to have the tools you needed.”

“He was right.” Telemachus said, shaking his head and smiling slightly. “I have no idea what I did to find favor and friendship with the God, but I am thankful for it. The healing arts have always fascinated me- I used to spend hours in the library reading everything I could get my hands on.” His face fell. “Mom was going to send me to study under Chiron when I was 13, but by then the suitors were already snapping at her heels, and I was too afraid to leave her alone with those bastards.”

Telemachus stiffened as he realized he cursed in front of his father, and looked over at him apologetically, expecting a reprimand. Odysseus sensed his son’s nervousness and smiled at him. “It is okay, Telemachus- you have earned the right to call those bastards any name you feel fit.” He chuckled. “There is honestly not much you can say that will offend me at this point. Ten years at war, surrounded by men of all character and from all across Greece has exposed me to the most vile language possible.”

Telemachus nodded. “Thank you, Father.” He took a breath, coughing again. He saw worry cross his father’s face and forced himself to smile reassuringly. When he could breath again, he continued. “When Apollo saw my situation, he trained me himself in all elements of his domain, and for that I would be always grateful.” He looked into the distance. “I am too weak to protect my people with the sword and spear- or at least I was- but Apollo gave me the ability to protect my kingdom from death. His timing could not be better either- the palace doctor died suddenly about a year into my mentorship with him. With Apollo’s help, I was able to save my people- and even the bastard suitors- from the illnesses and injuries life gave us.”

Odysseus nodded as he tied off the last knot. “There- now you should at least not bleed to death before someone can look at this properly.”  He rummaged through the bag again, sniffing a jar and finding what he needed. “This next step may hurt- I wish to disinfect the wound before I continue. Then I  am going to put some pain-relieving salve on your wound so it wouldn’t hurt as badly when I pack it and sew it up.  Is that okay?”

Telemachus nodded. He was not used to being the one cared for- Telemachus could count on one hand the times he had gotten sick or injured. His mother said it was his divine blood- a gift  that made him more impervious to serious illness or death than his more mortal patients. But Telemachus had never felt more mortal than he did now, with each breath not only painful but exhausting, his lungs spasming so hard bile was pushed into his mouth. It was becoming harder to stay conscious, each jab of pain threatening to finally overwhelm him. 

But Telemachus fought it as he so enjoying hearing his father’s voice for the first time since infanthood,  so excited to learn from him, and so be comforted by him. Despite his initial fear, something was calming about his presence, Telemachus’ subconscious brain knowing that the man above him truly would not hurt him further, his hands granting heat he desperately wished for. Shivers racked his entire body, a thin layer of sweat beginning to glean his skin. He should be worried about the weakness, the shivers, the awful feelings of his lungs and throat. But his world was becoming dreamy as his brain fogged, as he struggled to focus on the man above him. 

Odysseus felt his stomach tightening when he felt the heat radiating off his skin. He looked at the borders of the wound, expecting it to be red with infection. Much to his relief, however, the corners of the wounds were still a healthy bronze, paled slightly by blood loss but otherwise free of anything obvious. At least it isn’t blood poisoning. He thought. Though it needs to be disinfected to keep it that way.

“Okay, I am going to disinfect your wound now.” Odysseus said. “Feel free to squeeze my shoulder- I know it can help with the pain. ”

Telemachus nodded and placed his hand on his father’s triceps. He felt a slight sting radiate from his shoulder, but Telemachus barely flinched.

“Wow, you are strong.” Odysseus commented as he finished cleaning the wound. He moved onto the salve, smiling as his son’s face obviously relaxed. “I know how much pain comes from preventing infection.”

“It strangely didn’t hurt as much when you did it.” Telemachus admitted. He chuckled weakly, trying and failing to keep from coughing. “I guess Apollo was right- a father’s love is one of the best pain relievers.”

Odysseus felt his heart swell and his eyes tear at his son’s words, the joy of finally comforting his son overpowering the guilt causing his pain to begin with. “You have no idea how long I have wished to give you such comfort, Telemachus.” He reached into the bag and grabbed a bundle of bandages. “Hopefully it continues to work as the next step is painful. I am going to stuff your wound and then move you onto your side so I may sew both sides up, okay?” He smiled. “Feel free to squeeze my shoulder- I know it can help with the pain. ”

  Telemachus nodded and placed his hand on his father’s shoulder. The throbbing went from tolerable to sharp, causing Telemachus to cry out and dig his nails into Odysseus’ shoulder, transferring the pain into the strong muscle there. Telemachus looked up to see if he had hurt him and felt his stomach drop as his father’s eyes glazed. 

Odysseus tensed as he felt the nails dig into his shoulder, not at the pain but at the memory it brought. Shivers went down his spine when his brain took him far away from Ithaca, back to the island Hermes saved him from. It brought him from the beach to a large bedroom, the grit of the beach replaced by the silky coolness of divine sheets. Calypso’s voice played in his ear and her sickly sweet floral smell filled his nose,  causing him to gag.

“Oh yes, Ody, YES! Right there! Calypso moaned, her nails digging painfully into his shoulder as she rode him. “I’m going to..” The Goddess screamed as she came, moaning Odysseus’ name like a prayer.

Odysseus felt her folds clench against him, causing his betraying hips to buck, seeking the friction that felt so good against his hardened cock.  He felt his body stiffen and bile filled his mouth as he released, the pleasure bringing guilt, the spell which made him hard making it so  intense it hurt. Tears spilled from his eyes as he heard the Goddess laughing above him, moving her hips to take in his seed. Fear gripped his heart and Odysseus gave a silent prayer to any who would listen, begging that the Goddess would not let the seed take root, that children would not be forced into this hell. 

Guilt flooded him as Telemachus recognized the look on his father’s face, one he was sure graced his own when he felt his cloak being removed.  Why would you dig your nails in, asshole?  Telemachus thought, cursing himself quietly. His eyes filled with tears. Where did I send him? What pain did I make him remember? He tried to keep the pain inside but still found himself quietly weeping. 

Odysseus slowly came back to reality when he heard quiet weeping. He looked down at his son and felt his heart break, seeing guilt clouding Telemachus’ teary eyes, his face showing the lashing his mind was giving him. For a moment, Odysseus didn’t see the young adult in front of him but the babe he held so many years ago, and felt the same intense need to comfort him. 

“Shhh, my sweet Prince.” Odysseus soothed, gently stroking his son’s hair. “I am okay.”

“No, you aren’t.” Telemachus said, his voice shaking. “I brought you back to a horrible place, all because I couldn’t deal with a little sting.”

“Oh, Telly.” Odysseus said. “ It wasn’t your fault, my love. I was the one who told you to touch me. I am sorry- I didn’t realize it would cause such a state.” He took a breath. “May I hold you?”

Telemachus took a breath, coughing hard,  but nodded. His father’s presence was slowly easing away the fear, and he was so cold he was desperate for any heat he could find. 

Odysseus held his son closely but carefully so as to not make the wound worse. For several moments, father and son were silent, giving and taking the comfort they’ve wished to for so long. Odysseus felt Telemachus shiver and held him closer, letting him take the heat he so needed. He looked at the blush that covered his cheeks and felt the sweat that slicked his skin, and frowned, placing a hand to his son’s forehead. 

Odysseus stiffened. He’s burning up. Odysseus thought, panic filling his mind. He looked at his son’s breathing and frowned- while it was no longer moving so strangely, his breaths were still quick and shallow, his lips paling as his lungs labored to bring in the air he needed. This isn’t from the chest wound. Odysseus realized. He has caught a curse, and from the sounds of it, a bad one. His eyes glanced at his son’s cloak, a wave of anger going through him as he realized it was the cause.. Those bastards! 

Odysseus! His mind said sharply. Strangely enough, however, its next sentence was much softer, kinder, almost gentle. One thing at a time. First, finish your tending, then build a fire to warm him, then worry about what happens next. While I can’t be there physically at the moment,  I promise I will help in any way I can, including sending a healer to help you. I refuse to let my warrior lose his son. I refuse to let my friend lose his son. Please let Telly know I still care about him- I still see him as a friend- and I will make sure he gets justice.

“Athena?!” Odysseus said, shock making him voice his thoughts. But the voice did not respond, confirming it was indeed the Goddess who had spoken to him. 

Telemachus turned to Odysseus, confused, his fuzzy mind thinking he heard something. Odysseus simply smiled. “We are not alone, Telemachus. You will be okay- we will be okay. That I promise you.”

Telemachus nodded, his eyes dropping. He just felt so tired, cold, and dizzy, a feeling of sickness weighing him down more than the heaviest cloak. He soon found he was struggling to find words as much as he was struggling to get the air to voice them. 

Odysseus saw his son’s deteriorating condition and took a breath. “Let me finish patching you up. Then I can let you rest, okay?”

Telemachus nodded, quickly forgetting what he just agreed to. 

Odysseus sped up his movements, sewing and wrapping the wound with the precision granted to him over 10 years of war and three years at sea. Once he was finished, Odysseus placed down his cloak on the sand and lay his son upon it.

“I am going to grab you a blanket, Telly.” Odysseus whispered. “I will be right back.”

Telemachus nodded, barely having the energy to move his head. Despite his shivering, his eyes dropped and finally fell, Hypnos convincing the sick lad to finally rest. 

Chapter Text

Being of Hermes’ blood and being the older twin sister of the Great Odysseus, Ctimene had a dangerously good intuition. She somehow just KNEW when Odysseus was close by, when he was in trouble, and particularly when he had done something extremely stupid. It was with her help that Polites found Odysseus after the boar incident, the same incident which granted her Artemis’ favor, the older sister of Apollo understanding the frustrations of having a sometimes insufferable younger twin brother. A blessing Ctimene was particularly appreciative at the moment as she walked the forests of Ithaca on a path only she knew, for she did not want to ruin the suitor’s surprise. 

To her gifted eyes, the night was as bright as it was at noon, tree roots and other obstacles seemingly moving out of her way as her pace quickened, her gut telling her time was of the essence. Along the way, Ctimene gave a silent prayer of thanks to Poseidon for she knew it was he who rose her from sleep, he who sent a clap of thunder so loud it startled her. She sighed, knowing the pain that her mentor caused her poor brother but finding herself still loyal to him nonetheless. 

It was hard not to be endeared to the God of Tides after all he did for her. He found it as unfair as Artemis that her brother should get the mentorship of Athena when she was the more competent of the two- absolutely the wiser of the two- so he took her under his wing. At first, Ctimene had been rightfully worried about him- she knew that the God of the sea could be as - loving-  as his younger brother. But he never forced himself upon her nor even suggested to be anything more than friends- a moniker she was certain he gave simply because Athena refused to admit her friendship with her brother. Ctimene was well aware of their rivalry- that she was simply a pawn in their game, but accepted it nonetheless. Maybe she even enjoyed it, the Gods assisting her and Odysseus’ sometimes intense sibling rivalry, as well as working against the mentor who snubbed her.  

It was the Lord of the Sea which got the great Ares to train her, to make her a warrior who rivaled Odysseus in the skill of sword and spear. Poseidon, of course, made her the best sailor Ithaca and its surrounding kingdoms had ever seen- possibly even the best in all of Greece. She could swim as well as any water nymph, knowing the secrets of her mentor’s many currents. While not often used on Ithaca, Ctimene was also exceptional with horses, able to ride and drive them with ease. As a maiden she even won the favor of Penelope’s father, Icarius-much to the chagrin of her brother- when she calmed his panicked horse. 

But what she appreciated the most was the elements of his domain Poseidon didn’t share with many- the medicinal aspects of his domain, how to heal with the gifts of the water and sea. He taught her how to tell the difference between different types of seaweed- how to determine which were antidotes to poison and which treated curses of all kinds. He taught her which shells could be used to soothe teething pain, heal bones and even cure blindness and how to properly prepare them to do so. He taught her how to sanitize seawater, and use it to both cleanse and heal wounds, driving out the infection that would have made them fester. 

She also learned herbs found in the freshwater of Poseidon’s domain, including ones often too divine for most mere mortals. That is how she learned the proper way to prepare  the dangerous red lotus to revive the body and mind instead of simply control it, and that its many sisters could heal everything from simple colds to childbirth fever. She even learned where to find Holy Moly, and how to harvest it without dying in the process. With these gifts combined with the Great Artemis' lessons of healing, Ctimene had saved countless lives, and was able to share her knowledge with others, first  Polites and then her nephew. Both were more than happy to accept her help even when their fellow doctors did not, both realized that Leto’s ttwins were equal in their healing magic- their techniques were just different. Though whether that was a lesson she taught them or one taught to them by Apollo, Ctimene would never know. 

It was also difficult to hate Poseidon as before his journey home, Ctimene knew he was protecting Odysseus and her beloved Eurylochus. It was he who guided their ships safely to the shores of Troy, and defended them from his older brother’s horrid storms. It was he who kept their nets full of fish and plenty of water herbs he knew only Polites knew the use of, giving them an advantage over the horrid Trojans and defense against Apollo’s curses. It was these herbs she knew saved her brother from a nasty infection caused by an arrow to the shoulder and her husband from Apollo’s vengeance. It was he who piloted her brother to Skyros to convince Achilles to join the war effort, and to Philoctetes to get the needed arrows. In fact, it was his ocean water that Polites used to clean and cured Philoctetes' infection, winning the arrows in the process. Even after they angered him, Poseidon continued to protect Penelope and Ctimene both from the lustful eyes and intentions of mortal and God alike. 

Ctimene soon came to the edge of Ithaca’s olive grove, an area she knew well. It was one of Odysseus’ and her favorite places to play when they were children, often playing hide and seek among the olive leaves. The kin of Hermes were both experts at hiding, and one round could take hours to complete. They often ended their games in a truce, the one seeking admitting to being equal to the one hiding. It was only then that Odysseus would ever let her find him or vise versa. 

It did not take her long to find Odysseus this time, however. Instead, she found him on the beach next to a large fire, kneeling besides a shivering form. As she grew closer, Ctimene’s stomach clenched as she recognized her nephew, shivering from an obvious fever. At first she feared it was blood poisoning as she saw a large chest wound, one Ctimene just knew her idiot brother had given him. But even at a distance she could tell the wound was fine- it was so expertly tended in fact Ctimene would be surprised if it even left a scar. 

As Ctimene looked to see if there were any other obvious signs of infection, she noticed other marks- ones that threatened to bring the level-headed Ctimene into a rage rivaling Ares. The bites, bruises and even cuts showed that her worst nightmare had come to pass, that her intuition was correct once again- her nephew was being abused by the bastards who competed for her sister’s hand. I am going to fucking kill all those assholes. Ctimene thought, clenching her fists in rage. How fucking dare they hurt my nephew like this- their CROWNED Prince?! The one who saved all of their lives at least once, who saved the lives of their mothers, fathers and siblings as well. How fucking dare they? They need to pay. 

Ctimene took a calming breath before drawing closer cautiously. She could see that despite his rough form, her brother was still as deadly as ever and from the look in his eyes, also terrified- a dangerous combination. A combination she guessed Telemachus either didn’t know or didn’t identify, thinking his father was the same as who was described in the Epics. He didn’t yet know the affect that trauma could have on a man, especially one who looked to have gone through as much as Odysseus. 

She looked at her brother’s again and felt her anger rising once more, seeing the bruises that lay on his neck. Ctimene had unfortunately treated victims of assaults of all types- from spouses beating one another to those who forced themselves on those weaker than them. She could tell the difference between the marks of love and the marks of abuse- and her brother was covered in the latter. His neck was nearly completely black and blue from the bites his abuser had placed there- from their size, Ctimene could tell it was a woman. She knew her brother could defeat nearly any mortal woman- especially since many were untrained in even basic defense- and keep her from touching him.  This must have been done by a goddess. Ctimene though, a concept that only threatened to anger her more. 

With effort, she pushed her anger aside. She couldn’t let her own sense of injustice cloud her reasoning or block her ability to heal, elsewise her nephew may die. As it was, Ctimene questioned if any of her remedies could actually help him as he coughed so violently and shivered so hard. But she had to try- which meant meeting her brother once more. After a moment, Ctimene continued forward. When she was a few steps away from him, she heard what he was saying, what words came out with each of his sobs. 

“I am so sorry, Telly.” Odysseus cried. “I let this happen to you. I took too long, and let those bastards hurt you. I love you so much, and yet I just cause your pain…”

“Well, maybe you should try and NOT stab anyone who approaches you.” Ctimene teased as she stepped into the firelight. “It’s hard to heal with a sword in your shoulder, you know.”

Odysseus looked up, his face breaking into a smile. “Ctimene!” His face fell as his eyes filled with tears. “I am so sorry. Eurylochus…”

Ctimene simply nodded, swallowing the knot of grief which now graced her throat whenever she heard her beloved’s name. “I know, Odysseus.” She said, emotion causing her voice to shake.  “I’ve known for seven years now- Poseidon made sure to tell me as soon as it happened.” She saw Odysseus shudder at her mentor’s name and sighed. “I’m sorry, Ody. I…”

Ctimene was interrupted by an embrace. “ ‘Teme, it’s okay.” Odysseus said, stroking her hair softly. “I am glad you have stayed in his favor- our kingdoms need the gifts of his domain. It’s helpful if he’s not pissed at both of us.”

Ctimene smiled, relaxing into the familiar embrace and returning it as tightly. “Oh, Ody! I’ve missed you so much.” Her voice became heavy as tears slipped down her cheeks. “I feared I would lose you both- that I would be forced to watch my sister go through the pain of marrying one of those horrible suitors, that my nephew would never know his amazing father. I’m just so happy you are home.”

“You may not be so happy once you’ve heard what I’ve done.” Odysseus said, his hand subconsciously going to his neck. Ctimene shook her head and held him closer.

“Ody, I know what the marks of love look like.” Ctimene soothed “And those are not the marks that mar your skin now. I know the goddess who imprisoned you hurt you too, and it angers me so much it nearly consumes me.” She looked at her nephew and her eyes flashed. “Equally as angry as what those assholes have done to my nephew.”

Ctimene looked down at Telemachus and sighed. “Please know, Ody, if I had any idea this was going on, I would have killed those bastards myself- presuming Penelope didn’t get to them first.”

“I know, ‘Teme.” Odysseus said, stroking her hair lightly. He chuckled. “I know you were trained by the great Ares and were blessed with his courage, as was my wife. Knowing how talented you both are with the sword and spear, they truly would not have a chance.” Odysseus sighed. “But I know you both are so much wiser than I, ‘Teme, and held back for fear of the God’s wrath, of harming our kingdom. I don’t blame you, and I pray you don’t blame yourself- there was nothing you could do.” He smiled. “But rest assured, my beloved sister, those suitor’s days are numbered. And I might even let you help in their demise.”

“I might not give you a choice.” Ctimene said with a smile. She glanced at Telemachus and frowned, breaking their embrace to walk closer to him. She knelt down and felt his forehead, her heart clenching at how hot it was. “We need to get him inside. I can tell this curse was something he caught, not an infection.” Her eyes alighted on the cloak Odysseus had discarded next to them and quickly connected the dots. “Those bastards!”

“I know.” Odysseus said, his chuckle lacking its normal mirth. “I reacted the exact same. Had Athena not corrected me, I might have even let it ignite my rage anew.”

“Thank the Gods you learned to listen to her.” Ctimene said, rolling her eyes. “I mean, come on, Ody. Not killing the Cyclops was bad enough, but did you HAVE to tell it your name?”

Her tone was teasing but it became apparent the incident that happened nearly a decade ago still affected her brother dearly. She sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I am sorry- I didn’t realize the incident still caused you so much pain elsewise I would not have teased you about it. I promise, neither I nor Penelope hold your actions against you- we know how much Polites meant to you.” Her eyes grew teary for a moment. “Even Penelope might have been pushed to such rashness- you know how much she loved Polites too. She was elated when the war ended- she double-checked Cephallenian law to confirm it said nothing about a union of three and even found precedent that it had happened before. She was so excited to tell you and him that you three could be wed under the laws and Gods- she even got Hera’s permission.”

“I wish he had returned instead of me.” Odysseus said bitterly. “You all would have been better off.”

“No, we wouldn’t have been.” Ctimene said. “It would have only shifted the pain you feel now onto them instead.” She shook her head. “But we can talk about that later. Right now, we need to get Telemachus to a place where he can be healed.” 

“How?” Odysseus asked. “If the celebration from the palace was anything to go by, the suitors think he is dead- to bring him there would ruin one of our few advantages.”

“So we bring him to Same.” Ctimene replied. “I was going to suggest that anyway as that is where my medical supplies are.” She pointed to the harbor that lay only a bit to their left. “My ship is already docked and ready to sail. We can get to my palace in about the same amount of time as yours- so let’s bring him there.”

Odysseus smiled. “Thank you, ‘Teme. I have no idea what I did to get such an amazing sister, what God I pleased.”

“Probably the same one I angered to get you as a brother.” Ctimene teased, chuckling. Telemachus gave a particularly loud cough, one whose whopping turned her blood cold. “We need to move and move quickly, else the suitors’ wishes may come true.”

Odysseus’ face fell and he nodded. Together they doused the fire, Odysseus distributing the embers and covering it in sand while Ctimene doused it with water, helped by a rouge wave. He picked up his son and wrapped his cloak around him in a desperate attempt to warm his shivering shoulders. Ctimene went to pick up Telemachus’ cloak when she stopped, a smile gracing her lips. When Odysseus looked at her confused, she grinned. “What better proof that the prince drowned than his beloved cloak being found washed upon the shore?”

Odysseus smiled. “Your mind will never cease to amaze me, Ctimene.”

“Well you had to get it from somewhere.” Ctimene replied. “Now lets go.”

****

Odysseus had almost forgotten how good his sister was at sailing- how naturally it came to her. He watched her angle the sail to catch the light wind, masterfully controlling it to propel their vessel at breathtaking speed. Her expert hand moved them from helpful current to helpful current as easily as a leaf drifted down a gentle stream, her keen eyes confirming nothing stood in their way. He looked at her in wonder, wistfully wishing he had taken her along with him. SHE could have gotten past Poseidon’s storm, and not just because he was her mentor. 

Within a few moments, Ctimene had them docked on the shores of Same, her deft fingers securing the boat with a sailor’s knot. They quickly disembarked and ran for the palace, Ctimene thankful for her father’s blood and Odysseus thankful for his sister’s eyes. Together they made it to the palace a minute later, neither panting as much as a mere mortal would. Ctimene commanded her servants to bring her all her medical herbs to one of the guest bedrooms before leading Odysseus there. 

“Place him here.” Ctimene instructed. She saw her nephew’s state and sighed. “We need to get his clothes off of him and dress him in dry clothes- having something that wet and cold against his skin will only worsen his condition.” She shook her head. “Though I fear it may scare him- I can only imagine how many times those assholes undressed him against his will.”

“Let me do it.” Odysseus said. “I think he is learning to trust me, and he may feel strange having his aunt see his form.” 

Ctimene nodded and left, quickly returning with a new set of clothes including a soft, linen chiton dyed a pale blue, the same shade as his sister’s eyes. Odysseus felt his breath hitch as he recognized it as Eurylochus’- one of his favorites. Ctimene looked at him solemnly and nodded. 

“It was the first one I could find.” Ctimene said. “Unfortunately- or fortunately- your son got your wife’s divine height. None of mine will fit him.”

“He would want us to use it.” Odysseus confirmed. “He loved Telemachus as much as we do.” He turned to Ctimene. “Could you leave the room for a second? I feel he would wish for the fewest people to see him undressed as possible.”

Ctimene nodded and left the room. Odysseus looked down at his son and gently woke him. 

“Telly, I need to change your clothes.” Odysseus said calmly. “Having wet clothes on will only make you colder. May I undress you?”

Through the cloud of fever, Telemachus could barely understand his father’s words, only that they filled him with terror. His eyes widened and his breath quickened. Odysseus noticed immediately and gently stroked his hair. 

“I am your father, Telly.” Odysseus reminded him softly. “I promise I will not harm you, especially in the way that scares you the most, and I will keep anyone else from doing so.”

“Just go slow.” Telemachus wheezed, his logic momentarily overcoming his fear and confusion. “And please be gentle- they’ve made it hurt so many times.”

Odysseus nodded, blinking rapidly to keep his own tears at bay. He knew exactly what Telemachus was talking about- he too had experienced the bruises left by rough, monstrous hands ripping off clothes he wished to keep on. “Of course, Telly.”

“I am unclipping your chiton.” Odysseus narrated softly as he gently undid the golden broaches and placed them to the side. His hands moved down to his golden belt. “I am now going to remove your belt. Are you doing okay so far?”

Telemachus nodded, coughing hard. A wave of dizziness made the world fuzzy, forcing him to close his eyes momentarily. A soft hand cupped his cheek, drying the tears which he had unknowingly let fall. 

“You’re safe, Telly.” Odysseus said comfortingly. “You are doing such a good job- thank you.”

Telemachus simply nodded, not having the energy for words. Odysseus felt his throat tighten in fear as he noticed how lethargic Telemachus was becoming. But he forced himself to keep going. 

“Okay, I am going to remove your chiton now.” Odysseus continued, gently sliding the wet garment off his son, folding the silk neatly and placing it next to his adornments. He took a breath, knowing this was where his son would be the most likely to panic- as that is how he too would respond.

“I now need to remove your undergarments.” Odysseus said. “Is that okay?”

Telemachus’ body went rigid in fear as his fever took him away from his father and back into Antinous’ bedchamber. His father’s gentle tone turned mocking and harsh, from one full of love to one of venom.

“We can’t have fun with you unless we remove this troublesome thing.” Antinous smirked, his hands already close to Telemachus’ hardening manhood as he pulled at the strings of his loincloth. “Let me remove it for you, oh prince. Is that okay? Or will I have to use your mother instead?”

Telemachus’ breath quickened, causing him to cough so hard bile stung his throat and dark spots danced in front of his eyes. He shook his head desperately, knowing it would make no difference. 

But to his surprise, it actually did. The hands let go of him and he felt his body covered in a soft woolen blanket. His nose filled with a calming scent as he was taken into a gentle embrace, one so different from the suitor’s he instantly melted into it.  

“Shh, Telly.” Odysseus soothed. “I am not going to do anything you don’t want me to do, I promise. Your mother is safe- I will not go after her because you tell me no, I swear on the River Styx, on the Gods above and below, I will ensure you are both safe.”

Telemachus nodded, his rapid breaths slowing slightly, though the tightness in his chest still made them shallow. With the comfort grounding him to the moment, Telemachus remembered who he was with and smiled, knowing the words he spoke was true. This temporary clarity also reminded him of how cold he was, and how uncomfortable his underclothes were becoming. After a few moments, he spoke.

“You can change me, father.” Telemachus said, smiling weakly. “I trust you.”

Odysseus smiled and nodded, removing the blanket and quickly did as he said. “I am going to dress you now.” Odysseus said. “Both to help you warm up and so your aunt can examine you without you feeling self-conscious.” He noticed Telemachus stiffen and gently stroked his hair. “She knows what happened, Telly. She saw the marks and identified them just as you obviously identified mine. She has worked with many survivors of attacks, especially when she helped the midwives save those women hurt by men. She does not judge you in the least, and still loves you as much as I.” His face fell. “But you are sick, my son- sicker than I feel comfortable treating. She will help you, I promise.”

Telemachus nodded weakly. His head was beginning to swim again and his eyes drooped as he felt soft fabric cover him once more. A blanket, then two, were laid over him, though their warmth barely seemed to cut through the painful chills which racked his body. 

“Good job, Telemachus.” Odysseus praised, stroking his hair affectionately. He shook his head. “I can’t believe I sired one as brave as you, Telemachus. I am so proud of you.”

A small smile was his only response, Telemachus’ eyes were quickly becoming too heavy to keep open, no matter how much he wished to. However, before he slipped entirely under the spell of Hypnos, he forced himself to say one last thing. 

“Pray to Patroclus- he will help.”

Telemachus saw his father’s confusion before the world went dark. 

Chapter Text

Ares, Achilles and Patroclus smiled as they watched Zeus fulfill his promise- coordinating Polites as one of the Olympians. They sat in a large colosseum, one filled with Gods of all sorts- all of whom Polites had befriended over his short life and afterlife. Some of them saw him heal their child, including those on both side of the Trojan war. Others befriended him in his travels, often in disguised as mortals in need of help- help he always gave them. All had been enraged when they heard Zeus had killed him before his time, and were now overjoyed his selflessness was finally being rewarded as it should have been originally.

Zeus and Apollo and Themis stood in front of a kneeling Polites. Zeus was the first to speak.

“Polites of Ithaca, the loving son of Apollo and friend to all. Hundreds of mortals still walk among the living because of your talented hands, ones which came from Apollo’s blood but forged by your own labor. Your talent has earned you a complicated relationship with the Gods, though I admit that was by our own folly and not yours.”

He took a breath. “My dearest daughter took you as a mentee before the Great Odysseus, teaching you to fight the war against Thanatos as she has the famous heroes of old to defeat monsters of all types. But then you refused to kill an enemy accused of crimes of the worst kinds, who had tried to kill you. Instead, you mended his wounds and protected him from harm. Then she dropped you as her warrior, and severed your friendship.”

Polites nodded sadly. Their goodbye still caused him pain all these years later. It was the first time he had an argument with a God- and the first relationship he wasn’t able to salvage. As a teenager, it had angered him- how could the Goddess of Wisdom be so foolish? But since then he’s realized that the Gods aren’t perfect, and it wasn’t quite fair to expect them to be. It would do a mortal no good to have such high expectations- they will only be disappointed, as he had been. 

“I killed you when the souls you saved caught the attention of Hades.” Zeus continued. “I thought you were simply a hubris-filled healer, one who had forgotten your place in the divine order.” He shook his head. “How wrong I was.”

He looked at Polites and smiled.  “You have done something few mortals have ever done, Polites- you have shown the Gods we can be wrong. You’ve shown us that kindness is truly brave, to embrace the world with open arms is truly possible, and needed for justice to truly be done.”

Zeus looked around the coliseum of Gods as he continued. “Had you listened to my daughter, Polites, an innocent man would have died, leaving behind a family dependent on him. Had I followed your advice and simply ask my brother before just acting, I would have  found you  where you needed to be- as Hade’ his first judge, bringing back those who deserved a second chance.”

“You would have though the King God would know that already.” Achilles mumbled. “It’s not a hard concept.”

“Shush.” Patroclus chided. “Zeus is admitting he’s wrong for the first time in his life- don’t ruin the moment with logic.”

Achilles stifled a laugh but was quiet. Ares rolled his eyes but smiled. 

Zeus himself chuckled. “Whether it was from my children’s training you a bit too well or if  perhaps the Fates listen to kindness in ways they would never with violence doesn’t matter- hundreds if not more still are in the land of the living because of your hands.” His eyes alighted on Athena, still injured but improved enough to sit in a chair crafted from clouds. Polites was surprised to see her eye filled with concern, though Zeus didn’t seem to notice, his own eyes blocked by tears, so he simply continued. “Including my own daughter.”

“But your recent defeat of Poseidon showed us you are so much more.” Themis added, stepping forward. “You punished the King of Tides for his injustice- for the crimes he committed against the divine order itself. With your actions, you have shown me- shown us-  that while you never wish to commit violence, you are unafraid to enact justice when you need to.” The Goddess smiled. “You have made me proud, child.” 

She turned to Zeus and nodded. “I bless this coronation, and declare his acceptance among the Olympians as in line with divine law and his inclusion as part of the divine order.” She stepped forward and waved her hand, summoning a jar of golden honey, one that glowed like Helios itself. 

“It is with the sacred honey - honey made from the bees of Rhea in the cave of Zeus’s birth- I shall bestow upon you the blessing of the Olympians, granting you Godhood and a place among the most powerful of the Gods.” She gently opened Polites’ mouth and placed a drop of honey on his tongue. Instantly, Polites felt his body fill  with power as his mouth was flooded with the most wonderful of tastes, one human words could simply not describe. 

Satisfied, the Goddess of Justice smiled and waved her hand again, summoning an orb of liquid the color of the night’s sky, its dark blue dotted with glittering stars. Audible gasps and whispers erupted through the crowd. 

Ares’ eyes widened. “The blessing of Chaos. I haven’t seen that since Athena’s coronation*, after she came out of  Zeus’ head. I never thought it would be given to a mortal-born.”

“Blessing of Chaos?” Achilles questioned. “What is that?”

As if to answer his question, Themis continued. 

 “This is water from the spring of the River Styx- one supplied by Chaos itself.” Themis said. “It is only through understanding Chaos that one can see the order that comes from it. With it, you shall be reborn as one of the protectors of justice, an honor only shared by Athena, Zeus, Hades, the Fates, Hermes and myself. It will allow you to see the path, so you may guide others back to it- to see Fate and to change it.”

Polites’ eyes widened. Never in his dreams could he see himself worthy of such an honor- he was a lover of the world, not a judge. His view was imperfect and biased- how could he be sure he didn’t lead others astray? He was about to ask when he felt Themis place the water on his eyes, removing the scales of his mortal birth and as well as those given with his Godhood. The world became brighter, more beautiful, just as his heart had always seen it. 

The Goddess smiled and stood back, allowing Apollo to step forward. His father was beaming, shining as brightly as the sun he drives across the sky. 

“My son, you have made me  so immensely proud.” Apollo said. “You worked hard to perfect the gifts I gave you, and built upon them. The world is a better place with your influence.” He placed a hand on his shoulder. “When you were born, I bestowed the name of Polites upon you to keep you humble for your talents were so great they would make even the wisest man fall to the folly of ego. I wished you to remember that your skills alone did not make you better than your fellow man- that they truly meant little if your heart was arrogant and blinded by pride. 

Apollo somehow beamed brighter. “But you have proven you need no such moniker,  for through the Fates and your own hard work, you have become one meek but mighty, one of extraordinary power but the ultimate gentleness, one who gives love and light to anyone without exception, and one who doesn’t hesitate to protect and lead those around you. Now in your rebirth, I name you Asclepius Polaris*- the giver of well-being, and the Guiding Light to all.” 

He gestured to the oil in his hands, one that glowed in a pure white light. “This is olive oil made from the olive grove of Hyperborea, the land of eternal spring, the birthplace of my mother. With it I bestow upon you the ability to bring light into the world.” He anointed Polites with the oil, creating birthmarks to appear on his skin, shining a gentle yellow, the hue of early-morning sunlight. 

Apollo took another vial the exact opposite of the other, one that seemed as if of Nyx herself, one that swallowed even the brightest light into its black void. “This contains the poison of the Python, the one I killed to save mortals from her toxic attacks. While you are sunshine personified, my dear son, who warms and leads the men below, you are also the lightning bolt. As you showed in your saving my sister, Athena, sometimes the world needs lightning to clear the way for healing, and with this I shall give you the ability to.”

Apollo anointed him with the venom and stood back. He turned to Zeus who smiled, waving his hand to summon a diadem like Polites had never seen before. A vine of thorns was intertwined with an olive branch. Two pythons-one the color of the dawn and the other of the darkest night- slithered along the branches, their heads making a heart. In the center was a large star- the North star, the same star which lead his beloved Odysseus home.  

“I crown thee King Asclepius Polaris**, God of healing, Justice and the North Star, the Guiding Light of all.”

  Polites’ eyes glowed brightly momentarily as the crown was placed upon his head, the power of his domain showing itself as it flowed into him. He closed his eyes and took a breath to calm down, clearing his mind of the energy which threatened to cloud it. When he opened them, his duel-colored eyes had changed. A golden sun now shined in his right eye, illuminating the colors of spring it brought, and  yellow starburst shone brightly against a midnight sky in his left eye. His birthmarks also took form, fitting his new domain perfectly.  A copy of Ursa Minor spread across his right shoulder, its stars slowly morphing into arrows and finally a compass on his hand. On his left shoulder was a golden sun, emitting both rays and lightning bolts of both gold and green, of healing and of justice. Both ignited a torch on the back of his left hand. 

Finally over his heart was a strange symbol- one Polites had never seen before. A python wrapped itself around a simple wooden staff, its back covered in golden suns and its head adorned with a bright yellow star. His confusion only grew when the mark materialized in his hands. His confusion turned to joy as the python moved up his arm to say hello. 

“Fluffy!” Polites squeaked excitedly, stroking the serpent gently. “Oh, how I’ve missed you. You’re such a good snakey -yes you are!” The python hissed happily, relaxing around its former owner.

Polites had been quite disappointed when the python did not join him in the underworld as his other pets had. To him it seemed like another punishment for an animal which had gone through so much. The poor thing had been abandoned by a merchant who no longer wanted him, simply released into the cold’s chill. He wasn’t moving when Polites found him- many would have assumed him dead. But he- compassionate even as a child, brought the Python inside the palace to warm up. He was afraid of his parent’s reaction- his physician father had a particular dislike for snakes, even non-poisonous ones like Fluffy. So Polites hid him in his room until a servant happened across him. Queen Anticlea simply laughed and let Polites keep him, even giving the python its own quarters near the grain stores. The Python served the family faithfully, eating the mice that threatened the food security of the kingdom. Though he found his friend’s attachment to the somewhat monstrous creature strange, he included a small room for him when he rebuilt the palace, to reward him for his years of service. 

He was truly overjoyed to have one of his closest animal companions back with him, comforted in the knowledge they’ll be separated again. 

Polites remembers where he is and blushes, looking at the Gods around him. But they didn’t laugh- instead they broke into cheers of joy. Zeus simply chuckled, amused by the mortal’s enjoyment of a creature so many hated, fighting his personality perfectly. Apollo scratched the snake lovingly, having grown reverence for the creatures since his defeat of their monstrous predecessor. Even Themis smiled, her ancient heart warmed by the mortal’s happiness. 

Two hands clasped his shoulders. Achilles and Patroclus were now by his side. 

“Fluffy?!” Achilles teased, shaking his head. “Only Polites could see a scaly, cold creature and name it as if it was a sheep.”

“He’s fluffy on the inside.” Polites protested, grinning. “It’s what’s inside that counts.”

“As long as he doesn’t use his visible fangs to eat my face, I’ll take your word on it.” Patroclus said, chuckling. The snake headbutted his hand, as if to assure him he had no such thought. 

Polites laughed, and was about to respond when he heard a voice call out.

“Patroclus!”

Patroclus looked around confused. As the prayer continued, it became clear it was coming from below them- from the mortal world. 

“Patroclus, I don’t know why my son told me to pray to you, but please, if you can hear me, save my son.” Odysseus cried. “Please- I can’t lose him now. Please.”

Patroclus looked down and audibly gasped. Polites followed his gaze and frowned- Telemachus did not look good. His skin was ashen and covered with sweat, shivering intensely even under several fine woolen blankets. His cheeks the shade of a scarlet dawn as his lips slowly turned the color of the darkening sky. Each cough went on for several  moments, leaving his body noticeably weaker and breaths shallow. Without divine intervention, the boy would not survive the night. 

Polites’ attention was brought back to his current location when Poseidon came limping towards him. Apollo ran up to him.

“Uncle!” Apollo said. “Why are you out of bed?!”

But Poseidon ignored the question and addressed Apollo. “Why are YOU still here and not saving him? I can’t die- he can. So if you don’t go down there, I…”

Poseidon coughed, visibly flinching in pain as he did so. Apollo quickly placed an arm around his chest to stabilize him. 

He looked at him, shocked. “Did you really just tell me to go treat your enemy’s son? Did you really just get out of bed, threaten to injure yourself more, for another person?!” He placed a hand on his forehead and frowned, turning to his son. “What did you do?!”

“Polites infected me with empathy.” Poseidon spat. His eyes cast down. “Empathy which only grew after meeting the boy. He tended me- the God he knew tortured his father for the last decade. The God who threatened to drown his kingdom, to kill thousands, just to get revenge on a man who the Fates had already determined paid his dues. The one whose storm gave him the curse he is currently dying from.” He sighed. “I can’t stand to watch another light be extinguished by my actions. And because of Polites’ intervention, even seeing his father’s tears give me no satisfaction.”

“He might be needing Hades’ help if we wait much longer.” Achilles said. “While I am nowhere near as experienced as Polites or my beloved Patroclus, even I can see that the boy’s heart and lungs will give out on him soon.”

Apollo looked at his uncle and sighed.  “I need to help this asshole get back into bed. While he is immortal- at the moment- his wounds are divine like Athena’s are. They can be deadly, even to him. Can you handle this?”

Polites smiled and nodded. His eyes glittered in mischief as he turned to Zeus.

“Want to have some fun?”

Chapter Text

Odysseus was crouched at Telemachus’ bedside, head bowed, praying to every God he could think of, and  even his fallen friend,  Patroclus. When he had last seen the golden-hearted soul, he was a shade in the afterlife, one happily reunited with his beloved Achilles. But it wouldn’t surprise Odysseus in the least if the Gods deified him. He sure hope so- Patroclus may be the only God who he hadn’t angered at some point, who would be willing to help save his son. 

Ctimene watched her brother and sighed. She had tried everything she knew- both what she had learned from Poseidon and from Eurylochus’ mother, a famous healer from Egypt. But the curse her nephew had caught seemed fated to kill him, crafted to be beyond what any mortal healer could cure or even effectively treat. Her nephew’s only hope was divine intervention, and Ctimene feared the deathless ones would ignore them, angered at her brother’s insult. That somehow he had earned more than the sea God’s ire. That even his allies only extended their help to get him home and had no interest in saving  the home he wished to return to. 

Ctimene’s eyes glanced at her nephew  once again and her breath caught. She rushed over to the bed, and placed a hand in front of her nephew’s face. Ctimene’s eyes filled with tears as she felt nothing. A hand on his chest gave her the same painful answer. The Gods  were too late- Telemachus was dead. 

“Ody.” Ctimene said, voice heavy with greif. “I’m so sorry- he’s….” 

Suddenly  a loud crack of thunder drowned out all other sound,  lighting illuminating the clear night as the rays of Helios do during the day.  The anger behind the sudden violent display was obvious, the mixture of rain, sleet and hail pounding at the palace’s roof and walls, seemingly attempting to tear it brick for brick. The storm Odysseus forced Poseidon to dissipate was back with a vengeance, his rage feeding the storm into a hurricane, one which threatened to destroy everything Odysseus had ever loved or  cared about.

“No.” Odysseus cried as he looked up. “No, no, no!”

“Ody, what did you do?” Ctimene asked, her panic leaking into her face. “What did you do?!”

“I defeated him.” Odysseus said instead of answering her question. “I stabbed him eight times with his own trident- there’s no way he recovered that quickly! There’s just no..”

Odysseus was interrupted by another crack of thunder, one so violent the walls shook and the windows rattled. But then, silence. The wind, rain and hail stopped as suddenly as it had begun, leaving their kingdom unharmed. For the briefest monent, Odysseus and Ctimene had the same hope- that the Gods’ anger was sated- that they had meant merely to scare and nothing else. 

But their hopes were dashed when the storm came inside. Wind blew so hard it nearly pushed Odysseus backwards for several moments before ceasing, and clouds  floated dark and heavy above their heads, threatening to release their load of hail and rain. Lightning flashed before congealing into a humanoid shape, filling the room with bright light, the thunder replaced by a voice. 

“King Odysseus of Ithaca.” A voice both familiar and strange boomed. “What hubris you show, calling us! To beg us to rescue the  son you pushed into the path of Fates the destroyer, first by your cries drawing him into the fight between the King of Tides and yourself and then at the point of your own sword, one raised with no hesitation or mercy. One drawn against one  beloved by man and God alike.”

Odysseus sank to his knees. “Oh great God. While I know not thy identity, I plead, please, save my son. Do whatever thee wish to me- strip me of my crown, banish me from my homeland, send me to the land of Hades. Please, sate thy anger with me, and save my boy, my son, the one beloved by thee all. Please, give him back the life I nearly stole from him.”

The God looked down, the brightness of his divine eyes obscuring any fearures which may identify him. “I will give thee a choice, King Odysseus of Ithaca. A final test- to see if thee hath learned to forgive- the same thing thee begged the Lord of Tides to do. Prove thee are better than he, and I shall give thy son his life back and show thee forgiveness. Otherwise, his soul shall follow thy father down to the world of Hades. And thee will face thy doom.” 

Odysseus looked up at his son and felt his breath leave him. “No!” Odysseus cried, clutching his son. “Please, my lord, thy highness- I’ll do anything. Please, save him!”

The God nodded before waving his hand. Next to him appeared a man, one who seemed as confused to his appearance as the others were. His eyes glanced between the God, the bed, his Captain and finally his wife. Odysseus was shocked as he watched the man walk into the light of the harth, revealing his identity. Eurylochus. 

“Thy test is simple, King of Ithaca.” The God said. “Forgive thy Second-in-Command, and accept him back as thy friend and brother. Welcome him with Open arms, and I shall heal thy son.”

Before Odysseus could say anything, Eurylochus stepped in front of him, and dropped to his knees hands palm up in supplication. 

“Please, great God.” Eurylochus said. “Please simply  save Prince Telemachus. King Odysseus has no reason to forgive me, nor would I ever ask him to do so. I betray him and lead to the death of the rest of his crew. I do not deserve forgiveness, nor does Telemachus’ life deserve to depend upon it. Please, just save the poor Telemachus, the child I have loved as my own son since I handed him to his father all those years ago, the great physician Polites having asked for my midwifery expertise. I would do anything to save this child’s life, even if it means spending the rest of my life in Tartarus. Please, save him.”

The God looked at the man sympathetically. “King Odysseus needs to pass my test first, brave King Eurylochus of Same, for Telemachus is not the only life I wish to give back. For while thee sees thyself as a traitor, having witness the event, and seeing thy heart, I do not agree. For thy actions were made from love, not anger. To protect thy captain instead of letting him be killed.”

Odysseus looked up at the God with a look of confusion. “What does thy mean, thy magesty? He let me be stabbed after nearly killing me with his own blade. Then he killed the cow despite my warnings!” His eyes showed brightly, the anger and pain barely dulled in the years that had passed since the mutiny. “And even worse, he opened the wind bag- when we were in sight of home! How can I forgive him for undermining me for his own selfish gain?”

The God smiled as he turned to Eurylochus. “Thee does not understand, for thy second hath deceived thee. For if it was not for him, thee would be dead.”

“He nearly killed me!” Odysseus protested. “I only defeated him due to his own sloppiness. Otherwise…” Odysseus’ eyes lit up in a sudden realization as he turned to Eurylochus . “You weren’t trying to kill me.”

“No, Ody.” Eurylochus said, his eyes filled with tears. “I’ll admit, at first I was tempted to. I loved those men dearly- seeing them sacrifice, condemned to such a horrid fate, nearly drove me to a rage-induced madness. They were our friends- there wasn’t a way they couldn't be after three years of hardship.” He took a breath. “But one thing I learned from my years as a blacksmith was how destructive anger and frustration could be. Before my hand hit the hilt of my sword, my anger had diminished, my logical mind breaking through the haze of my anger. The gift of wisdom from the flashing-eyed goddess catching my mind before it fell into insanity.”

“Then why did thee fight me?” Odysseus said, his tone much softer. “If thee didn’t wish to?” 

“Because I knew one of the others would in my place.” Eurylochus said. “Probably multiple, each blade desperate to strike thee down.” He took a breath. “It had been brewing since before I opened the windbag- even before I openly questioned thee. The men were growing tired of our journey and terrified they’d never see their home again. When thee told the cyclops thy name, many concluded thee were done for- and thee would destroy us too. When I foolishly questioned you, at least half lost whatever remaining trust they had in thee. ”

He sighed. “They didn’t trust what thee said about the bag. I DID trust you, and even if I didn’t, I saw no point in risking it- for ruining our friendship and brotherthood- for treasure. No amount of gold, magic, or riches of any sort could ever be worth that.” 

He looked down. “ I didn’t want to open the windbag, and I did everything I could to keep the others from doing so. But when thee finally fell under Hypnos’ spell, I reaped the first harvest of the seeds I cast. Ten men surrounded thee, swords in hand. Thee were too distracted by exhaustion to see them, to notice that they had surrounded thee, waiting for the perfect time to strike. I did not notice their absence from their posts, nor did I have any hint of their plan. When I came to check on thee, they were there, moments from killing thee. I refused to let that happen, and fought them for at least an hour  until exhaustion allowed them to knock my sword from my hand.”

Eurylochus took a breath. “They would have killed us both had I not offered to open the bag they were mad with curiosity about. We agreed  I would open the bag and take the blame for doing so  in exchange for your life” He chuckled bitterly as he moved down his tunic, revealing a nasty scar, a brand. “They made sure I would always remember who had spared me.”

“That’s why thy shoulder was bandaged.” Odysseus said, his eyes widening. “Why thee wouldn’t let me dress it or check it, even when it grew dirty and infected.” He shook his head. “Thee always were a selfless bastard, weren’t thee?”

Eurylochus smiled. “I did not want to take care from another,  even to save my own life.” He frowned. “But yes, that is why I kept thee from looking at my shoulder. Because thee would have killed them, and I knew that would have killed thee.” He looked askant. “And I didn’t want thee to hurt because of me.”

“I would have been hurt because THEE was hurt.” Odysseus said, placing a hand on Eurylochus’ shoulder, tracing the scar affectionately. “Especially thee getting hurt on  my behalf.”

“Thee were my little  brother.” Eurylochus said simply. “I would do anything for thee- and still will.” 

He sighed. “If I had told thee, it may have made the mutiny come sooner, when we were in active danger. We could not have survived Circ island without thy leadership, especially with my cowardice.” He shivered. “I had nightmares of their transformation until I died.”

Odysseus’ eyes widen in shock and softened in sympathy. Before today, he had held resentment at the cowardice showed by his friend. But he was finally wise enough to realize the true trauma and terror his friend had suffered- seeing a transformation that would have driven a weaker man to madness. That might have driven even him to madness.

Eurylochus caught Odysseus’ gaze.“Either way, the situation just continued to grow worse- the men’s doubts kept multiplying. I  had to talk to many men down, to reap many more harvests of the seeds of doubt I had most foolishly planted all those years before, and attempt to burn the yield.”

He shook his head. “I knew as soon as thee admitted to killing those men, they would foresake thee. Theiy would see their doubts in thee proven right- that thee had turned into our enemy, no better than a Trojan, one only worthy of death. I knew they would riot, leading either to thy death. And I couldn’t stand the thought of losing thee too.  

Odysseus was surprised to see a flash of guilt obscure the God’s face for just a moment, as if he knew the man Eurylochus was alluding to. Then again, if he had been watching them, he probably would have seen Polites’ death too. 

Odysseus’ gaze came back to Eurylochus when he heard the second take a stuttered breath.  “So I fought thee- because I was the only one that I was sure would not kill thee. We have spared together since we were children- our mentors even enjoyed  putting us head-to-head. I knew I could safely spar thee while making it looked like a fight to the death, that I could deceive the others into thinking I was on their side while being on thee’s.” His eyes glazed with tears.  “I didn’t anticipate Perimedes stabbing thee, but I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. If I had known , I would have slit his throat before he had the chance to hurt thee.”

Odysseus felt a tear go down his face, the truth of his brother’s words hitting him. Eurylochus  has never found joy in killing, especially his own people. To hear he’d slay a crew mate just to protect him truly warmed the Ithacan’s king’s heart. 

“Who does thou think treated thy wounds, Odysseus?” The God added. “Who fought the infection that flared within them and kept thee as comfortable as possible?” He shook his head. “Honestly, thee discounted the intelligence of thy friends too often, King of Ithaca. Just because thee were Athena’s mentee does not mean the others weren’t also blessed by her cunning and wisdom.” 

“I was still foolish enough to eat the cows.” Eurylochus said with a sigh. “And for that, I will never be sorry enough. I will never forgive myself for leading them to their demise. ”

“You were hungry, Eury.” Odysseus said, a small smile gracing his lips. “You’re just a man, a man in pain, stuck on a ship whose food had run out almost two weeks before. The fact we didn’t descend into cannibalism is amazing.” His face fell. “You all suffered so much- because of me.”

Eurylochus gave him a small smile. “If I’m just a man, so are thee, Ody. Thee did thy best to keep us alive, and would have succeeded had we stayed loyal to thee.” He placed a hand on the back of his neck. “I forgave thee years ago, Ody, and eventually convinced the others to do so as well. Stil, I don’t blame thee if thee can’t…”

Before Eurylochus could finish talking, Odysseus rushed over to him and dragged him into a tight embrace. “I forgive you, Eurylochus.” Odysseus said. His shoulders shook as he began to sob. “I hated being angry at you, my brother, one of my best friends. I wanted to forgive you for so long, but I was just so angry- I thought I couldn’t.” He looked up, his eyes wet with tears. “I just want to be friends again, to be brothers again.”

“I want that too..” Eurylochus whispered, tears flowing down his cheeks as he held him closer. “For truthfully, I never stopped seeing you as such.” 

Both mortals forgot the God’s presence, but he didn’t take offense. Instead, the deathless one chuckled as his friend and brother appeared besides him. The younger son of Apollo walked  over to the sick prince’s side and placed a hand on his heart and forehead. The mortal-born God whispered a spell, expelling the curse from the prince’s lungs and the fever from his body, replacing both with love, healing and strength. The older left his two friends reuniting,  crying in a loving embrace, the love making the shade solid once more. He placed a hand on his brother's shoulder and together, they pushed the breath of life into Telemachus, expelling Thanatos back to the underworld. The quiet God of death merely smiled as he returned to his domain, happy he wouldn’t need to take the soul of one fated to never die, one whose golden heart  deserved immortality, one whose death would make even the Gods cry. 

The God of the Guiding Light felt a hand on his shoulder and turned, smiling at the woman now holding it. 

“Thank thee.” Ctimene said, eyes glazed with tears “Thank thee so much!” She took a stuttered breath. “Thee saved the life of my nephew, and returned my beloved Eurylocus to me. Please, I plead, tell me thy name so I may give thee the best sacrifices.” 

The God smiled as he shed his godly form, prompting the others to do the same. He watched as the Queen’s eyes went wide with recognition  before filling with tears once more. “By the Gods!” She said before throwing her arms around him. 

Telemachus stirred, the energy returned to his body. As he blinked away sleep, he looked up and smiled. “Thank you, Patroclus.” He looked away. “I’m sorry for lying to you.”

“Oh it’s fine.” Achilles said with a chuckle, coming up behind Patroclus and placing a hand on his shoulder. “I did so many times in our youth- otherwise he would have stopped so many of our adventures.”

Patroclus chuckled as he wrapped his arms lovingly around the other. “You got us in SO much trouble.”

“But you always got me out of it.” Achilles argued with a smile. “Like you did him.”

“Just don’t do that too much, Telly.” Patroclus said. “I can’t guarantee I can get you out of the next situation .”

“I wouldn’t.” Telemachus said. “I try to be wise like my friend, Athena. But I am not always good at it.”

Telemachus glanced at the embracing men. “Who’s that?” Telemachus asked. “He looks familiar.” 

Odysseus heard his son’s voice, and looked up, hoping perhaps he could answer his question. Instead his eyes widened and jaw went lack with shock.

“Polites?”

The God smiled.

“Hi, Ody.”