Chapter Text
The sun shone high and strong on Odysseus’ brow. The sparring grounds didn’t offer any shelter from the heat, and sweat rolled off his body onto the sandy earth. He and Telemachus had been at it for a while, trying to release different kinds of tensions in the fight.
They hadn’t talked about what had happened the day before yet. Odysseus’ dream played back in his mind over and over again. The fact that he could see Athena in every movement of his son wasn’t much help in calming him down. He was being stricter than ever before, not letting Telemachus land any real hits, and not giving him any of the usual suggestions either.
He got a bit lost in it, really. The fighting. The clang of metal on metal. The dance of parrying and attacking and dodging and again and again and again. The feeling of the spear in his hands, the wood strong in his grip, the heavy shield strapped to his arm, the armour weighing him down. It all felt so strange and yet so familiar. He had dressed and armed himself like this for ten years, almost every day, fighting for his life in a war that was not his own to fight (and maybe that was not fair of him to say, but he didn’t care).
Normally, sparring with Telemachus felt just like that, sparring. But today it was different, they were properly fighting, both trying to defeat the opponent. Odysseus’ ears were ringing, and it felt like he was not even fighting against his son anymore. There was so much of Athena in him, that it reminded Odysseus of the sparring sessions he used to have with the goddess. They had always felt like this. The wise warrior pushing and pushing at him, until he was too tired and broke down. And wasn’t that just ironic. He had been grateful at the time. Stupid. So stupid.
Suddenly Telemachus came at him, swinging his spear just a little too widely. Odysseus took the opening without even thinking, his instinct leading him more than his mind. One second later, Telemachus was disarmed with his father's spear pointed to his neck.
They stood there for a second, breathing hard. Telemachus' smart eyes were analysing his opponent’s stance, his surroundings, searching for an opening, an escape. He wasn’t giving up. Good, Odysseus thought in a real fight, giving up means death.
He didn’t let the moment linger too long, though.
"I think we can...” He lowered his weapon and took a steadying breath “Let's stop Telemachus. This is enough." Odysseus stuck the end of the spear on the ground and leaned a bit of his weight on it. He was not as young anymore. He was going to feel all the hours of training the next day. He looked at his son. The young man was breathing as heavily as him, but he had a defeated look to him. Odysseus followed him with his eyes as he put away the training spear and started to remove the little armour he was wearing. It hadn't escaped him that Telemachus was not looking at him, or that he still hadn't said a word.
Alright, Odysseus could do this. He had faced worse things. This was just his son. His son... who he had evidently disappointed after only a couple of weeks of knowing each other.
Damn.
He steeled himself, pushing any other thoughts away and approached the Prince.
"I should have been more helpful, I’m sorry my mind has been elsewhere.” He tried to start softly, approaching the subject with care. Telemachus looked at him, and he guided them both to a log by the side, so they could sit in the shade, before continuing “Can we talk about what happened yesterday?”
He felt the loss as soon as his son’s eyes moved to the ground. There it was again, that cold stinging distance between them. He tried not to let it affect him. It was to be expected after all. He hadn’t been there for any of his son's life, they had known each other for less than a month at this point. And now I’ll lose even more years. He pushed that thought as far away as possible.
“I understand that people should be punished for breaking rules and laws, I’m not a child.” Telemachus' voice was thin, tense, like a string about to break. Odysseus shifted closer to him on instinct, a part of him wanting to protect his boy from whoever was hurting him. Now that they were closer and he was really looking at Telemachus' face, he saw how red his eyes were. Had he cried? Had he made his son cry? He took a breath, and tried to rearrange his thoughts. This was not the time to wallow in self-pity. He would do that later, away from his son’s eyes. He sounded wounded, he probably felt disregarded. He deserved his father to be strong now.
“I’m sorry…” he responded, his own voice weaker than he would have liked “I was wrong in how I responded to you yesterday, I know you are not a child, Telemachus. I shouldn’t have just dismissed you. Please, would you explain your worries to me again?”
Telemachus took some time to think before responding. His eyes cast low, and fixed on his hands. “I still believe we could just exile some of them” he started, words coming faster and faster out of his mouth right after “they have served us for years, some of them have helped raise me. There are those that do not deserve mercy, but not all of them, surely not all of them deserve to die like that! And they are s-servants, slaves, what threat do they really pose to us? Us? And I can’t believe they would come back to hurt us. Some of them are just good people who e-ended up in bad situations nothing more. I’m sure they wouldn’t have if-if the suitors hadn’t… pushed them. Pushed all of us…” he stopped there as if reflecting on his last words for a second or as if suddenly lost in a memory. Odysseus stayed silent at his side. He observed his son, the anxious wringing of his hands, listened to the speech, the boy almost rambling by the end as if scared of being interrupted.
When Telemachus found the courage to look at his father, Odysseus spoke again “I see what you mean. And I somewhat agree with you. They were pushed by the circumstances. But, my son, do you think that makes them less guilty?” he let that sink in for a second “And even if it does, would it change anything? They have still committed the crime.”
“How could it not change anything? If they didn’t want to but were pushed into doing it, then they wouldn’t do it again” his son shifted closer to him, his voice animated and his eyes pleading.
Odysseus took Telemachus’ hands in his “They didn’t want to, but they did. They were pushed, yes, but if they were pushed again, it would take even less for them to betray us again. Believe me, Telemachus, that’s how men work.”
“Even if that were true… That does not make them deserving of such punishment. They obviously regret it, betraying us didn’t bring them any joy.”
“Is it obvious? We are not in their minds, son. We can’t know, they could be lying, and there is no trust left for me to believe their words.” He continued then with a softer tone “But even if it is true that they regret it. I must ask you again the same question: do you think that makes them less guilty?”
“Yes!” his son looked at his father as if searching for something in his eyes and not finding it “I don’t understand father. Isn’t it only logical? If they don’t have any regrets after what they have done, then there is no hope for them. They are just… bad people. But if they do then they can change, they can do better, can be better.”
Odysseus smiled a bit at that and petted his son’s hand, now closed tightly around his. They looked a lot like his mother’s, bigger but with the same long, slim fingers. So different from his own, large and thick, darkened and callused by long years of sailing. “People aren’t bad or good, Telemachus. Mostly, they are just trying to survive.” he said softly, as if sharing a secret. “But at the end of the day, they still did what they did. I’m not punishing them because I believe they are evil people, or because I believe that they deserve it, even if I do think that.” the tone of his voice got colder and colder then, leaving the gentleness behind to sound less like the voice of a father and more like the voice of a King “I’m doing it so no one will ever think of betraying us again, Telemachus.”
“I know you want to protect us, but this...” Telemachus lowered his eyes, shaking his head “it’s not right. It just isn’t. It’s cruel and I won’t accept it as the only option, it isn’t.” there was a new fire in his eyes now as he looked back up. Odysseus frowned at him, freeing his hand from his son grip and getting up to put some distance between them.
“You may be right” he said without looking back at his son “I’m cruel. But it’s what must be done. I’m sorry, I hope you won’t be faced with these same decisions.” And I hope you can forgive me for it, he thought, but didn’t say out loud, facing away to leave Telemachus to his thoughts. There was nothing more to say on the matter. The decision was made, and he was not going to change his mind. And perhaps it was for the best that his son didn’t agree with him. Even if that meant he was going to be hated by him. Hopefully, by the time he was old and decrepit, the world would have changed enough for the prince to rule in a less… ruthless way. He hoped so. Athena seemed to want to build something like that the last time they talked. Well, not last maybe.
He stopped in the middle of leaving “Telemachus,” he didn’t look back at his son, he just faced to the side so that his voice would carry better “when you talk to Athena again, could you ask her to please not meddle with my dreams? I don’t appreciate it.”
The day of the execution came slowly, as if time himself had been dragging his feet. The thick, luxurious fabrics hugging Odysseus’ body, and the heavy gold jewellery wrapping around his arms felt like they were pinning him in place. Making sure he could not escape from his own actions. Not that there was any need for that. He had learned that there was never any way for him to do so. The storm raging just some meters below them was a continuous reminder of it.
The sky was grey, filled with thick clouds. The air smelled of rain, and the wind battered Odysseus' face, Boreas1 coming from the north to take any hint of spring away with him. The condemned stood, some more folded in on themselves than others. Some looked at him, pleading or seeting in anger. He looked back at each of them and found nothing in himself to offer back. He had no sympathy, not even his own anger anymore. They were about to die, and he felt nothing. He thought about how these people, who had inhabited his house for years, had betrayed him, his family. How they put his wife in danger, sided with the enemy. But the strange apathy didn’t leave him.
It stayed with him as men and women had their feet bound too. It stayed when they were, one after the other, thrown off the cliff into the sea. Their screams were stolen by the wind, but Odysseus could swear he heard each and every one of them, as they fell into the dark waters.
He had expected that at last to rouse him from his state, but it didn’t. The screams sounded so familiar to his ears. What a strange man I must be, he thought almost absentmindedly, to find such sounds familiar. He looked up at the sky, and a lonesome raindrop fell on his face. It was cold. The crowd had dissipated. He wouldn’t be able to tell when. As hidden as the sun was, it was difficult to tell the passage of time, but it had gotten darker. In the end, he was the last one left. He stepped forward, and looked down at the raging sea. It was a sight to behold. The high waters hit with force the jutting rock. The current moving back and forth, as if the ocean itself were breathing. There was not a single boat in sight. Even if someone had wanted to go search for the bodies of the traitors, they would have just ended up joining them at the bottom of the sea.
There were people, though, on the closest beach. Far away enough to be almost indistinguishable, three figures kneeled on the rocky shore, head bowed in silent prayer. Their voice the only thing that they could offer the gods. He knew he should have felt something at that sight. The families were innocent of the condemned’s crimes. But still his heart felt like stone.
He looked back towards the abyss at his feet. The dark, deep water was swirling wildly as if still hungry for more. He could end just like the men and women he had just executed. Thrown to the waves by his own people. The ocean would eat him gladly. He had survived against all odds, and now the waters demanded what had been taken from them, hitting the shores of Ithaca like an angry mob banging at his doors.
Two bright blue eyes were looking back at him from the deep. He took a step back and turned around, walking away. Poseidon would not have him.
Not yet, at least. Not if he could do anything to help it.
Odysseus walked back, not to his palace, but to a small house. The bleating of the sheep and goats welcomed him as soon as he was close enough. Some of them were grazing even in the face of the storm. Brave, or maybe just stupid. Eumaeus2 still took care of his pigs, and some of his live-stock too, even if part of it was his own now. As promised, Odysseus had freed his old friend and compensated him generously for his help and his loyalty. But he didn’t believe they were even yet. The man had been like a father to Telemachus, he had fought at his side against the suitors. He would always be grateful to him.
The wind had died down a little bit by the time he had reached the shepherd’s door. He raised his fist to knock on it, just as it opened. His son was in the doorway, looking back at him, eyes wide from the surprise. No. More than just surprise, there was a hint of fear in his expression. It quickly disappeared, so that any man who had not been Odysseus wouldn’t have even noticed it.
“Father” he said, not following the sentence with anything, stalling for something. Odysseus studied him, making sure not to let what he had noticed show in his features. Had he not been at the cliff? Was that what made him nervous? Odysseus couldn’t remember. He had been so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn’t even looked back at the crowd behind him. That… wasn’t like him. More than that, it was dangerous. He couldn’t let himself grow so numb that he didn’t even notice his surroundings anymore.
“Telemachus” his father responded in kind, as casually as he could “What brings you here?”
“I pass by sometime, Eumaeus has always given me great advice,” his son looked perfectly unaffected now, so much so that Odysseus would have believed him had he not seen his expression just a few seconds ago “I just wanted to… talk to him about some… things” he looked to the side at that. Did they talk about their recent disagreements? That would explain a lot… but there was something fabricated in his son’s skittishness.
Before he could consider this more, and maybe ask some questions, the back door of Eumaeus home opened and closed. Odysseus couldn’t see, as Telemachus was still blocking the doorway, but soon Eumaeus called to him.
“Odysseus, my Lord” he came closer now, almost completely hidden by his son, apart from his greying head. “I was going to pass by the palace in a few hours, you shouldn’t have bothered to make the walk in this weather. But since you are here, please come in! Telemachus, boy, let your father through so he can get out of the rain.”
Telemachus stepped back at that and Odysseus entered the house, eying the two men carefully. Eumaeus' feet were completely dry, his chiton too, he hadn’t been out recently then. So why had Odysseus heard the door open and close? Maybe it was his own slave going out, but that didn’t explain why the shepherd had delayed to welcome him.
“I’ll get going” Telemachus said quickly, and after short goodbyes to both of them, he left the house.
“Come, let’s sit near the hearth, so you can dry yourself” said this, Eumaeus got busy putting together some food and mulling two cups of wine for them both.
“Eumaeus, please just sit, friend. Tell me, why was my son here?”
The man looked back at his King, the two cups still in his hands. He considered Odysseus' question for a while before sighing and sitting down beside him, offering him one of the cups. “That is a question I cannot answer, my lord. I would be betraying young Telemachus' trust if I told the truth, and yours if I told a lie.”
Odysseus pursed his lips. That wasn’t what he was hoping for, but he couldn’t argue with Eumaeus' logic on it. He relaxed back into the low chair, and let the warmth of the fire take away the numbness in his limbs. “Very well, I won’t press than. I trust you to make the right decisions.” Besides, he was probably reading too much into it. Children hide things from their parents all the time, there was nothing to worry about.
“Thank you. But now, would you tell me why you have come to me? What can I do for you, my King?”
Odysseus stared down at the dark wine in his cup, twirling it a little to see the ripples forming on the surface. “Athena came to me in a dream some nights ago.” He started looking back up at his companion. The wonder that lit up in Eumaeus’ eyes at the name of the Goddess made him smile sadly “She offered me a solution to… our problem with the sea.”
“This seems like great news to me, my lord, but you don’t seem happy. Tell me, please, why is that? Is the solution she offers so terrible?”
The King closed his eyes and took a sip of wine before responding “She says I must set sail again.” He went on, then, relaying what the goddess had instructed him to do to sate Poseidon’s ire. As the lyre for the poet, the crackling of the fire and the roaring of the wind accompanied his retelling. The hearth now held the only light in Eumaeus’ hut, bathing the two men in a warm glow. Outside, it started to rain heavily. No lighting lit up the night. By the end, Odysseus felt all remaining energy leave him. He slumped back in the chair and fell silent.
“Well…” Eumaeus replied, evidently still trying to wrap his mind around the whole story.
“And now I don’t know what to do.” Odysseus sighed heavily, staring into the flames of the fire “I mean, does a place like that even exist? And would it really be enough to placate Poseidon? It has been ten years, and still he won’t leave me be.”
“Odysseus, you shouldn’t be talking of the gods like that.” The other scolded him, a line appearing between his brows in disapproval, “The great Athena wouldn’t have told you something that wasn’t true, still… departing again and so soon, too” his features relaxed again, his eyes shining with empathetic tears.
“I have already been away for such a long time. Penelope and Telemachus have been through Hades because of my absence, I can’t just leave them again.”
“You must, my King, what other choices do you even have? Let the kingdom die? Die yourself? You have the opportunity to fix everything, you must take it” the shepherd shifted closer to him, his hands hovering close but not touching.
“I’m so tired of not having any say in my own life, Eumaeus. I’m constantly pushed in one direction or another by things I have no control over. I thought I could finally be with my family, that the worst had passed, that here at last I could retake control of my life, now that I’m back. And yet…”
A heavy silence fell on them at that. The food laid untouched at their sides as they both took sips of wine.
“Had I known that we were going to discuss this” Eumaeus said at last, lifting the cup in his hand “I would have mixed less water in the wine3.”
Odysseus let out a small, surprised laugh at that, finally looking back at his friend. He passed his own cup to the other man “There is a simple fix to that at least” he said, a sad smile breaking the blank expression he had been wearing. Eumaeus returned it and got up to fill both of their cups with more wine.
“Telemachus is stronger now, older, the boy will be able to manage things way better than before.” He started saying “And Penelope is a strong and wise queen, she will wait for you ten more years if she has to.”
“They shouldn’t have to” Odysseus replied with a sigh, accepting the new cup and sipping the stronger wine.
“We can’t control our fate, Odysseus, not even the gods can. What we can do is make the best with what we have. And you have just been given a solution.”
“I guess.” He relented with a grimace. He may not like it, but Eumaeus was right. His options had been a lot bleaker before. But if he was going to set sail again, he and the goddess needed to have a chat. After all, he was leaving her alone with his son. She seemed to have changed her mind about some things, but she was still a goddess.
“I haven’t been away from Ithaca since your father, Laertes, bought me. It will be interesting” Odysseus almost choked on a sip of wine at that comment. He turned to look wide-eyed at his friend, who just laughed “Oh, don’t give me that look, my King. Last time I couldn’t come with you, but this time there is nothing that will keep me here. Besides, it’s going to be a long journey, you’ll need a friend at your side.”
Odysseus stared at him, his expression softening in one of affection. He looked away again. Friends. He had lost so many of them. Was he really about to put another one in danger by taking him on this journey? A strong hand patted him on his shoulder.
“We’ll think about everything else later, for now let’s just eat, drink and talk of lighter topics” Eumaeus smiled at him, sincere and caring “my friend.”
And so they did. Reminiscing about happier times, when they had both been young and free from the toll of time.
The night passed by, while the shepherd added log after log into the fire. Odysseus’ eyes got heavier and heavier, the wine relaxing his muscles and the warmth of the fire washing away the numbness from his limbs. He fell asleep.
When he woke, he was alone. Eumaeus already out to his sheep and pigs. The air was cool and humid with the morning mist. The fire in the hearth was long dead. The birds chirped outside, welcoming the return of Helios’ chariot. Odysseus shivered, folded into himself and cried.