#Kicking Polites off the sacrificial alter and putting Odysseus up there instead

[tangledspice075]

Stab, duck out of range, repeat.

It's alarming how easy it is to fall back on the old tactics. Of course, Polites thought 10 years of war would do that to a person. 

Following Odysseus's orders, he struck the heels and moved out of range, circling until the cyclops let down his guard again.

He doesn't like fighting. He doesn't think he ever would. But someone has to fight the war for the people who can't. Besides, he reassured himself he struck first. Even so, he mourns the life that must be shed.

The cyclops roared in pain, so loud that Polites heard it over the shouts of the men, and for one flitting moment, Polites feared the ceiling would fall. Suddenly the cyclops had its club in its hands. And it was coming straight. for. him.

Dimly he thinks he should run. Do something. Move! But his muscles wouldn't give.

He thinks he sees someone running towards him from the corner of his eye, but all he can do is stare at the club as it sinks closer and closer towards him.

Right as it was right on top of him, he felt someone push him out of the way. Skidding away from the club and on the floor, with a CRACK, the club fell. 

Suddenly he was a child, wide-eyed and staring as a boar charged closer and closer. And just like now, he was pushed out of the way. Polities saw Odysseus push him out of harms way as the boar's tusk grazed Odysseus's leg. 

Swiftly like a bolt of lightning, he had a feeling who pushed him out of the way.

No.

He scrambled up to his feet and ran over to the body.

NonononononoNO

“Captain…?”

There on the ground was the broken body of Odysseus. 

His captain.

His friend.

Dead.

He dropped to his knees, fumbling for a pulse, checking his breathing, anything.

Nothing.

He doesn't know what happened in the next few minutes, staring at Odysseus's body in shock.

He was only roused when Eurylochus moved towards him, shaking his shoulder firmly but gently.

"Is the captain...?"

"Dead."

His voice rang hollow to his ears, and Eurylochus gave him a look of solemn sorrow.

Not wanting to look him in the face, he looked around the cavern and wished he hadn't.

Odysseus was not the only casualty brought on by the cyclops. From a glance around the cavern, he saw at least a dozen men not moving, lying in a puddle of blood. 

The cyclops was lying flat on the floor, not dead, as his first glance told him, his chest rising and falling.

Polities stumbled to stand, and Eurylochus offered him his arm to stabilize. Not wanting to fall, he leaned on his arm.

Limping over to the cyclops, he and Eurylochus joined the still-standing men.

"We don't know what happened. he was standing one second and the next…" a man said, Polities not recognizing his face.

He stepped forward and took a quick inspection. The cyclops looks asleep, his breaths slow and deep. But something is off. It looks familiar... 

"Captain… must have put lotus in the wine."

Where is the captain?” A voice from the crowd asked.

There was a pause of silence. It said the answer far better than words could.

Polities saw the shock and confusion ripple through the crowd and the despair that soon followed.

Knowing he had to change the subject, he asked, “How are we going to escape? We can’t kill the cyclops, or we will be trapped inside.”

“And what shall we do with our fallen friends?” Asked another voice from the crowds.

Eurylochus, whilst ordering everyone to scout around the cave, replied, “we shall have to leave them here.”

Polites spun around in shock. 

“Leave our friends here!? The least we can do is give them a proper burial!”

“Carrying the bodies will slow us down,”

“So we leave them here to rot!?”

“We will likely have to retreat onto the boats and set sail as fast as possible. There is no room on the boats for bodies and no time for us to bury them.”

Knowing he is correct yet still refusing to leave them, polities stomped off.

Eurylochus watched as he lugged the bodies together and whisked around looking for something. Soon he had long sticks stacked in a cone shape. Swiftly he knew what he was making. A funeral pyre.

Looking around the cavern, he decided he could spare a few men.

Just as Polites was trying to light the pyre, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Jumping in shock, he turned around he saw a trio of men standing behind him.

"Eurylochus sent us to help." said the one who put his hand on his shoulder.

Polites looked over at where Eurylochus was. He was standing with his back firmly towards Polites, ordering the men to sharpen the cyclops' club.

Even during all of this, he smiled. Not as big as his other ones, just a small, fond one. But a smile nonetheless.

. . .

Looking at the pyre burning with the smoke drifting to the top of the ceiling, he felt a pang of sadness. Odysseus is dead. Ithica has lost its king, Penelope has lost her husband, Telemachus has lost his dad, who he didn't even get to know or meet. He had lost his friend. And the world doesn't even know of his death.

He looked down at the sword in his hands. Odysseus sword. He grips it tightly, and then, right there, he makes a promise. He would not let Odysseus go to the underworld with regrets. He would make it back home and tell Telemachus of his dad, so many stories that he would feel like he has known him all his life. He would make it back and tell Penelope the terrible news and offer the comfort he knows she will need. He would make it back home.

Behind him, Eurylochus walked up to him till they were side to side. They stood there for a moment, watching the pyre flicker and burn.

Then in unison, they turned and walked back to the crowd of men with the club now sharpened into a spear.

They would remember them.

And behind them, the flames of those who've gone burned.