#but Ctimene will always be waiting

[nothing-impt]

My hand slipped :')

[nandysparadox]

you guys have to stop making eurymene angst you're killing me. im dying

[starsintheendlessnight]

I'll leave more context here it's long btw so yk

I want to clarify quickly that this is obviously something invented since we know almost nothing about Ctimene in Epic and it is just an idea of ​​mine and aha yk

Ctimene was waiting for Eurylochus for 20 years just like Penelope, I imagine her during these 20 years having an art block due to the lack of inspiration and her muse. Something simple to start with

After the arrival of Odysseus he stayed with his wife in his room for a few days since he wanted to spend time with her and his son. Ctimene wanted to greet Odysseus but he refused since he was not ready to talk to her since he would have to give her the news of Eurylochus' death and he was not prepared for that. Ctimene already feel that something bad had happened but decided to keep hope but found out from Telemachus that her husband died. She was devastated by the news and even more so by the way she found out. Odysseus spoke to Ctimene when she approached him asking for an explanation since he forgot bc he was spending time with Penelope and Telemachus. Odysseus spoke to her privately and explained everything in a totally partial way and apologized for the decisions he had made. Ctimene understood the reason for her brother's decisions but she did not forgive him for sacrificing her husband and for leaving her so aside in a difficult moment.

With Penelope, she was always very close to Ctimene and even more so when their husbands left for war, they were both very VERY close and shared the same pain but after Odysseus arrived it took Penelope days to approach Ctimene and offer her condolences for the death of Eurylochus, she knew that Ctimene was going through a period of mourning but she still couldn't get close to him bc she didn't know how to do it and when she did it was too late, Ctimene felt betrayed by someone who supposedly cared about her but it turned out not to be like that.

Both Penelope and Odysseus left Ctimene aside, they didn't do it with bad intentions of course they just didn't know how to approach her but it still hurt. Her sister-in-law with whom she shared years of pain didn't even say anything to her when she knew she was going through a period of mourning and her brother did the same, it hurt bc they acted as if she wasn't having a bad time. I'm not saying that Penelope and Odysseus should have taken care of her like she was a little baby but the least they said to her was "I'm sorry for your loss, I hope everything gets better" and that was it, they continued with their lives as if nothing had happened while she struggled with the grief of her husband's death, Ctimene just wanted a shoulder to cry on and the two closest people she had left her aside. As if her pain didn't matter.

Bc of this Ctimene lived resentfully for a long time, they left her aside dealing with her grief alone, the only person who came to see her from time to time was Telemachus and when he had his free time. She was upset to the point of even blaming Odysseus for many things that happened before her husband's death (she never blamed him directly like saying it to his face, it was more like thoughts she had when she was really upset).

With this I don't want to make Penelope or Odysseus look like bad people, they didn't know how to approach Ctimene and even though they didn't want to hurt her, they ended up doing it and she won't forgive them for acting like she wasn't going through a difficult time. Again, Ctimene isn't a child but those closest to her didn't even ask her how she felt and it hurts how the people closest to you leave you aside like that and it hurt even more on Penelope's part, so many years together for her to only receive an "I'm sorry about what happened."

Ctimene will never forgive Odysseus for sacrificing her husband and for leaving her aside, she understands what he had to go through, she knows that her brother didn't have a good time those 20 years and that it wasn't a piñata party but that doesn't takes away her pain and no matter how much she understands it, she won't forgive him for it.

She will not forgive Penelope for leaving her aside after Odysseus' arrival, she understands that he is her husband and that she wants to spend time with him but she acted as if their friendship had never existed even though she did not want to show thag, that is how Ctimene experienced it, it felt like a betrayal by someone so close and with whom she shared very personal moments.

With this I do not mean that "live resentful forever and never forgive anyone"

It depends on each one of us if we decide to forgive someone for the harm they caused us, whether it was done with bad intentions or without knowing that they were causing any harm. Ctimene will never forgive them both and that is okay, it is her decision. What is not okay is to live resentful.

Living with resentment only stagnates us more in that pain that torments us, it is okay not to forgive but it depends on us how we deal with the pain. Ctimene at first lived with resentment. She was upset and sad about her husband's death and how others treated her pain as if it were something unimportant, everyone tried to move on except her.

But, within that pain there was something else

I have already spoken to you about the pain of memories, how it hurts to remember that important person, those moments that we cannot repeat and that part of our identity that was taken from us. But, within that pain there is something beautiful which is appreciation, we appreciate those moments, those people who were with us and the impact they had on our lives and identity.

Ctimene had realized that she could not continue living resentfully and she realized that maybe, just maybe she could create something beautiful with her art. She remembered Eurylochus with pain but began to remember him more with appreciation, being inspired again and trying to keep his memory with her, she realized that she was not alone, there were more than 500 families who were also devastated, families who also waited for 20 years for the arrival of a loved one who unfortunately will never return. She used her art to tell the story of those men who did not manage to return home and with the help of Odysseus! Yes, she will never forgive him it is true but they both learned to live with it, Ctimene created pieces of art so that everyone would remember her husband and his comrades. Which honestly seems like a very nice idea to me.

I hope you understand what I mean and I am sorry this is too long 😭🙏

[lyculuscaelus]

Meet the characters… (EPIC version)

Odysseus "Nobody" Laërtiades, "#1 Penelope Simp": just a man; loves his wife and son; raining reigning king of Ithaca; shorter than Agamemnon; making his way back home but always seems to get into more trouble; rawrs or hoots depending on his mood; equipped with Schrödinger’s braincells

Eurylochus, "Ctimene’s #1 Husband": Odysseus’s second-in-command; doesn’t have his own instrument; likes bags; doesn’t like witches or torches

Polites, "Teganites": good with open arms; used to have blood on his hands; always survives what he gets into

Perimedes, "The Lord of Comfort Zone": good with babyyeeting; aromantic for everyone else except Polites; good relations with Polites (especially) and Elpenor; depression therapy on the lotus-eaters’ island got canceled by his captain

Elpenor, "The Fallen": loves wine and Perimedes

Pallas "Somebody" Athena, "Badass Señorita": patron of nobody; goddess of wisdom, master of war; tilts her head very often; #1 OdyPen shipper; has a scary shield

Telemachus Odysseïdes, "Little Wolf": born far from war; does battle from afar; not Odysseus’s daughter; the little wolf who bites; has a roommate™ later on

Penelope "Duck" Icarione, "Banana Peel": weep, weave, wait

Hermes "Trickster" Atlantiades, "Breaker of Fourth Walls": invents phones and the text message; always slays in discos; professional root dealer; divine messenger, tour guide in the Underworld, patron of travelers, lord of thieves, good shepherd, trustworthy businessman; world’s greatest great-grandfather

Poseidon "Forkman" Kronides, "The Muffin Man": good with gps; doesn’t get pissed off very often; master of horses, god of tides; actually has more lovers and kids than his brother; #1 Odysseus hater

Zeus Kronides, "The Judgment Call": his Honor, master of the heaven, king of gods, bringer of thunder, collector of cloud, protector of strangers, player of birds; good relations with women and boys; has a scary shield; likes to torment Odysseus’s mental health

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 52 Chapter 52 | the sacred and the stupidly loved⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

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Eventually, the two of you strolled along the edge of the port now, the salty breeze kicking at the hem of your cloak. The water slapped softly against the stone, sunlight winking off the waves like thrown coins.

You found yourself talking—words slipping easier now, warmer.

"And then," you said, grinning a little, "this merchant—this idiot—tried to back me into a corner."

Hermes' arm tightened slightly around your shoulders, his head tilting toward you in interest.

"He got all handsy," you went on, waving your free hand for emphasis. "Grabbed my waist. So I grabbed him and slammed into the nearest wall, and held him at knife point, like I did you earlier. Even knicked him a bit."

Hermes cackled, loud and delighted, like you'd just given him the best story of the year.

"Gods, I knew there was something vicious brewing under that sweet little face," he laughed, bumping his hip against yours. "Proud of you, little musician. Very proud. Apollo's probably writing tragic songs about your deadly elbows already."

You chuckled under your breath, your body relaxing again, the easy rhythm of the walk carrying you forward.

But then, your eyes drifted to the left.

To the sea.

You weren't even trying to look.

It just... pulled you.

The water stretched out, endless and bright, sparkling under the sun like it had never swallowed a single soul. Like it didn't remember.

You did.

Your laugh trailed off.

Your steps slowed until you weren't moving at all.

You stared out over the waves.

And suddenly—

You could feel it all again.

The burn in your chest.

The way the sea pressed against your ribs like iron hands.

The thousand ghostly voices whispering and sobbing in the deep.

Eurylochus' hollow voice mourning missed time with Ctimene.

Your throat tightened.

Your fingers curled into your palms without meaning to, nails digging against your skin just to feel something solid. Something now.

You didn't even notice you'd stopped walking.

Didn't realize Hermes had kept going for two steps without you before he caught on.

He doubled back, still chuckling to himself—until he saw you.

And then he leaned down, ducking into your line of sight.

He lifted a finger and gave a light, playful tap against the side of your head.

"Knock, knock," he sing-songed, trying to break the tension. "Anyone home?"

You blinked, slow.

Pulled back into yourself like waking from a nightmare you hadn't meant to fall into.

And maybe it was the way your feet dragged. Or the way your arms stayed hugged close around yourself, like you were holding something broken inside.

Because his face faltered the second he saw you.

The grin he always wore—lopsided, too much—dimmed. His hand, still half-raised from tapping your head, dropped a little. His golden eyes scanned your face, and you knew he saw it.

The dark.

The heaviness still clinging to you like seaweed.

The part of you that hadn't really made it back to the surface.

Your throat worked around a dry swallow. You tried to smile. Failed.

Instead, your voice came out rough, smaller than you meant."Do you think..." You bit your lip, then forced the words through."Do you think my title lets me help them?"

Hermes blinked. "Help who?"

You looked out toward the sea without thinking. The waves curled lazy against the docks now — soft, gentle—nothing like the graveyard you'd floated in.

"King Odysseus' men..." you said, quieter. "The ones who never crossed. The ones just...waiting." You turned back to him, the weight thick behind your ribs. "Could I help them?" you asked. "Guide them to the other side? So they can finally get peace?"

You didn't even know what you were hoping for. A yes? A maybe? Something to make that ache less useless?

Hermes snorted through his nose, a little grin tugging at his mouth. "Help them? You?"

You stiffened.

His grin stayed sharp, but not mean. "Sweetheart," he said, tilting his head, "a title's just a prettier word for bait."

You blinked.

He shifted his weight onto one foot, tossing a coin up in the air and catching it without looking. "Makes people think you can do more than you ever promised," he said easily. "That's all it is. A trick. A song. Something that sounds good enough to soothe their fears."

He chuckled at first. That warm, lazy chuckle he always had tucked in his chest.

But then his gaze dropped to your hands.

And he saw it. The way you were twisting your fingers in the folds of your cloak. Knuckles tight.

The chuckle died in his throat.

Slowly, he straightened. His voice softened, lost the edges. "Hey," he said, quieter now. "You don't owe the sea anything."

You stared at him, breathing hard. Your hands stayed clenched at your sides.

He stepped a little closer. Close enough that the scent of him wrapped around you. "Just because someone gave you a title that sounds divine," Hermes murmured, "doesn't mean you became something you're not."

You flinched, a tiny jerk of your chin.

Hermes' mouth twisted, almost regretful. "Especially" he added, "when it was a mortal who gave it."

Your throat burned.

He didn't say Odysseus' name.

He didn't have to.

You already knew.

You shifted your weight, hands clenching at your sides, the knot behind your ribs pulling tighter. "I can heal," you said stubbornly, voice low, hoarse. "I healed that boy, back on Ithaca. I didn't imagine that."

The words came out sharper than you meant.

Maybe because you needed them to be true.

Maybe because you could still feel the cold weight of those soldiers back in the deep—their empty eyes, their forgotten hands reaching for you—and the guilt of not reaching back still sat like a stone behind your ribs.

You wanted to help them. You wanted to believe you could fix it. Anything less felt like leaving them there to rot.

Hermes only raised a brow, almost pitying. "And who do you think gave you that little trick?" he asked easily.

You froze. Your mind reeled back—

The lyre.

The golden light.

The way your hands had moved without you calling for them.

Apollo.

Not you. Not ever you.

Your mouth opened. Closed. Nothing came out.

Hermes watched the realization bleed slow across your face before he continued, voice lighter but not unkind. "Divine favor isn't the same as divine appointment. Healing? Sure. A blessing, a trick, a party favor—whatever you wanna call it. But shepherding souls?"

He shook his head, a soft, almost amused sound in the back of his throat. "That's different. That's weight. That's authority. And it doesn't get handed out because someone called you a pretty name."

You swallowed hard, the pressure thickening behind your chest.

Hermes rubbing the back of his neck lazily like he was explaining something to a stubborn apprentice. "If you wanted to guide spirits," he said, "you'd need explicit appointment." He lifted a hand, ticking names off his fingers casually. "Hades could grant it. Hypnos, maybe, if you caught him in the right mood. Me, if I was feeling generous—" He winked at that but you didn't smile. He sighed. "But you don't have that. You don't bear the weight of that law. Not yet. Maybe not ever."

You looked away, chest squeezing tighter.

"And as for those poor bastards down there..." Hermes shrugged one shoulder, careless in a way only gods could be. "That's just how it goes, little musician. Some souls get stuck. Some don't. Maybe, in a millennium or two, long after King Odysseus and his golden boy are dust, Poseidon will finally get bored of holding a grudge. But it won't be because of you. Or anything you failed to do."

You flinched at that—hard enough that Hermes caught it.

You stared at the cobblestones, your pulse pounding in your ears, the salt breeze suddenly feeling a little too sharp in your lungs. You twisted your fingers into the hem of your cloak. Pressed your teeth hard to the inside of your cheek.

You didn't trust yourself to speak.

Not yet.

Not without the grief—or the anger—slipping through.

And Hermes, to his rare credit... let you have the silence. Just for a little while.

Then, you finally let out a breath. More a scoff than anything—a crooked, tired thing that twisted up your mouth as you dragged a hand down your face.

You shook your head once, muttering under your breath. "Grudge," you repeated bitterly, tasting the word like it soured on your tongue. "Tell me about it."

Your mind drifted without permission—sliding back into the cracks you tried not to look at too long.

Aphrodite and her damn curse.

The one that clung to your bloodline like oil to skin.

The one that twisted love into something ugly, something hollow, until it wasn't love at all—just longing and loneliness sharpened into knives.

For years, it had shaped your family. Poisoned every hope. Starved every heart.

Until lately.

Until recently.

Until you finally clawed your way free of it.

But still—you knew the weight of old grudges better than most. You wore their scars, even if no one else could see them.

Hermes watched you a little longer. Long enough that the grin he normally wore thinned into something smaller.

More careful.

Then, voice quieter now—almost hesitant, like he didn't want to press too hard—he asked. "...Is it... something you want done?"

You blinked, the question sinking past your ribs before your mind could catch it.

He didn't mean the curse. He meant the soldiers. The wreckage Poseidon left you floating in. The lost voices still clawing at the back of your ears.

You turned your head slightly—enough to glance over your shoulder, back toward the harbor.

The ocean stretched out, glittering under the sun like it had never seen a corpse. Like it had never swallowed six hundred men and let their names rot at the bottom.

Your throat tightened.

Before you could even think about it, your hand lifted—moving on instinct—and pressed lightly against your chest. Right over your heart.

You remembered them.

The mourning soldiers. The way their voices wept without sound. How they crowded around you—not angry, not hateful—just... broken. How they told you their names. Their wives' names. Their children's names. Only to forget them the next breath. Only to tell you again.

You could still feel them. Still hear them.

The ghosts of their grief brushed your ribs, even now.

You swallowed hard. Your fingers curled tighter against the fabric over your heart.

But you didn't answer Hermes.

Not yet.

Because what would you even say?

Yes?

No?

I don't know?

It felt too big. Too cruel to hope for. Too cruel not to.

The words sat heavy against your ribs, pressing until you thought something might crack from the weight.

And then, barely louder than the lap of the sea against the shore, you whispered—broken, shaking, real. "If I could..." Your fingers dug slightly into your cloak, breath hitching against your teeth. "I would."

It hurt to say it. Like it cost you something. Like naming the want made it heavier, not lighter.

Hermes let the words settle—let them breathe.

And then, after a beat, he hummed low in his throat. "...Suppose," he mused, casual as if he were talking about picking fruit instead of bending fate, "I could pull a few strings."

You froze.

Your head whipped toward him so fast you nearly threw your neck out.

Your eyes were wide, stinging, your heart lurching up into your throat.

"You—what?!" you gasped, almost tripping over the words. "Are you—are you serious?"

Hermes just gave you a crooked little smirk, tilting his head in that maddening way he always did when he thought he was being clever. "When," he said, tapping two fingers lightly against your forehead, "have I ever lied to you?"

You opened your mouth—shut it again—then, before you could even think about it, you launched yourself at him. A tiny squeal escaped your mouth, embarrassing and helpless, as you threw your arms around his neck.

Hermes staggered just half a step back, but he caught you easily—laughing, real and surprised, as he wrapped his arms around your waist to steady you.

You clutched him like he was the only thing holding you to the ground. "Thank you," you gasped, your voice cracking against his shoulder. "Thank you, thank you—gods, thank you—"

You didn't even realize you were crying until your face pressed into the warm curve of his neck, your body trembling with the force of it.

You hid there, burying your face against his skin like you could tuck yourself out of sight, like maybe if you stayed small enough, stayed still enough, the hurt would slip away and leave only this—this warmth, this relief, this stupid, stupid hope.

Hermes' hands tightened a little around you—one rubbing firm, steady circles along your back, the other cradling the back of your head like he was afraid you'd fly apart if he let go.

He didn't tease. Didn't laugh. He just held you.

Letting you cry against him under the bright, endless sky.

For the ones who never got to come home.

For the ones who waited too long.

For the ones still waiting.

And for yourself.

You didn't know how long you stood there—pressed tight against him, fists curled into the loose folds of his tunic like you could anchor yourself there forever. The sea whispered somewhere behind you. The sun pressed warm into your back.

And still—you stayed.

Until finally, Hermes shifted.

Not to push you away.

But to tug you back just enough to see your face.

He tutted under his breath, shaking his head with a fake, exaggerated sigh. "Gods, you're dramatic," he teased softly, one hand sliding from your waist to cup your cheek.

His thumb brushed under your eye—catching a tear you hadn't even noticed had slipped loose.

"All this crying over some dead sailors?" he said, voice light but not cruel. "You act like I'm doing something hard." He grinned lopsidedly, tilting his head. "I'm just moving a few souls. No big deal."

You tried to scoff, but the sound wobbled pathetically in your throat.

Hermes only chuckled—lower, fonder.

And then—so gently you barely felt it—his thumb trailed downward, brushing the faint line of your scar.

The one tucked against your jaw.

The one that marked where a knife had once tried—and failed—to silence you forever.

He traced it slowly, like he was memorizing the shape of it.

Like he had every right to.

Like he already had.

Your breath caught without meaning to.

Hermes' smile faded just a little—softened into something quieter, sadder, more dangerous.

His eyes—normally all gold and sly and sharp—turned molten and warm, like honey left too long in the sun.

He looked at you like you were something sacred.

You blinked up at him, lashes damp, throat raw.

Your lip trembled slightly, and you hated it, hated how raw you felt, but Hermes didn't laugh. Didn't tease. He just held your face in his hands like he was afraid you'd vanish if he blinked.

Like maybe... maybe you were the only real thing he'd touched all day.

He leaned a little closer, grin going sly.

"Keep looking at me like that," he murmured, thumb still brushing slow over your skin, "and I swear—I'll hand you Olympus by sunrise if you asked."

You stared at him.

Wide-eyed. Disbelieving.

He said it so matter-of-fact, like he wasn't promising you something outrageous. Like it would be easy. Like it was already half-done.

Your throat bobbed, your fingers still clinging to the edge of his tunic.

And he just smiled at you—crooked and golden and too big for one god to hold.

"You want a palace?" he added, winking. "A river named after you? An entorague of nymphs to wait on you hand and foot? Say the word, darling. I'll forge a mountain in your honor before Apollo even wakes up for his morning ambrosia."

You let out a cracked, half-soggy laugh, shoving weakly at his shoulder.

Hermes only laughed again—full-bodied this time, sharp and bright as sun on seawater—and caught your wrist easily before you could pull it away.

He pressed your knuckles lightly against his chest.

Right where his heart would be.

And for one strange, quiet heartbeat—you almost thought you could feel it beating.

Steady. Warm. Real.

Another sniffle escaped you—pathetic and wet—and you scrunched your face up in annoyance at yourself.

"You're always so..." You huffed, cheeks burning. "...unserious."

Hermes just laughed.

Not the loud, teasing cackle he usually threw around like coins at a festival.

This one was low. Warm. Private. Like it was just for you.

He wiggled his brows dramatically, still cradling your cheek with one hand like you were made of spun glass. "Of course I am," he said, voice lilting with fake solemnity. "I'm the god of trickery, darling. It's practically a professional requirement."

You shook your head, pushing your palm into your eye, trying to scrub the tears away like they hadn't happened. "Of course you are," you muttered under your breath, voice hoarse but stubborn. "I forgot—gods don't really get it, huh? Stuff that's a big deal for mortals... probably means nothing to you."

Hermes tilted his head at you, his thumb still brushing faint little strokes over the curve of your scar like he hadn't realized he was doing it.

You went on anyway, not angry. Just... trying to explain. Trying to make him see it.

"You—you don't get it," you said, a small laugh slipping out, watery and sharp all at once. "For you, it's nothing. I get it. You move souls all the time. You see death every day. You can just... 'pull some strings.' Another errand to run between playing tricks and delivering prophecies. But for me—" you pressed your hand to your chest, half-punching your own ribs, "for me it's not just... paperwork!"

Your voice cracked a little, but you powered through it.

"You didn't see them," you said, almost shaking now, sadness turning into anger. "You didn't see the way they—" You broke off, grimacing. "They weren't angry. They weren't monsters. They were just... stuck. Forgotten. Whispering the same things over and over because they couldn't remember anything else... Like they didn't even know they were dead."

You breathed out a harsh sound that was half a laugh, half something sharp and broken.

Hermes blinked at you."Huh?" he said, voice small and almost stupidly confused.

You stared at him, not sure whether to laugh or scream. His face was scrunched up like you'd just started speaking another language.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot. "I mean, you're sensitive, sure," he said carefully, like he wasn't sure if he was walking into a trap, "but why are you—what, did you get too empathetic while I wasn't looking? Crying over a bunch of random spirits you didn't even know? That's a little—" He made a tiny gesture. Like "come on."

You cut him off. "No,"you said sharply. "It's not just me being emotional."

Hermes cocked his head, frowning.

You sucked in a breath, words bubbling up before you could even filter them. "I was down there," you said fiercely.

He straightened a little at that, his grin slipping a bit.

"When the storm hit—when the ship almost went under—the sailors panicked," you started, jaw tightening. "There was no offering, so they wanted to sacrifice something—someone. Lady—" your voice wobbled, and you pushed through it— "Someone tried to grab Lady. They tried to take her. Said she wasn't a real person. I stopped them. Offered myself instead."

Hermes' face blanked completely.

No teasing. No sparkle in his eye. Just a slow, cold stillness settling over his features.

"I jumped," you said. "I hit the water. Sank. And then, instead of letting me die, he showed up. Poseidon,"you laughed under your breath, the sound bitter and brittle."All glowy and smug, acting like he was doing me a favor by not crushing the ship to dust." You flung your arms out. "And—AND THEN—he just grabbed my face and—"

You gagged a little on the memory.

"And he kissed me," you burst out, appalled all over again. "Or—no! Sorry! 'It wasn't a kiss,' he said," you mimicked in a high, mocking tone. "It was just him giving me a 'gift'—air. So generous. So considerate. Like that makes it better!"

Hermes' mouth twitched like he wasn't sure if he should laugh or commit murder.

You pointed at him, still ranting, voice shrill now. "I don't care what kind of ancient, majestic 'gift' he thought it was! He could've warned me! Or—I don't know—literally anything except ambush my face like that! Then he dragged me down to the bottom of the sea and dumped me in a godsforsaken graveyard with six hundred dead Ithacan soldiers for three days."

Hermes didn't move.

Didn't even breathe.

You pushed the heel of your palm into your brow, voice dropping into something more tired than angry now.

"I... listened to them," you said. "All of them. Their regrets. Their fears. Their last memories. Over and over and over until I couldn't tell where my thoughts ended... and theirs began."

You dropped your hand limply to your side.

"And now I'm here," you finished weakly, blinking at him. "Trying not to lose my mind every time I hear waves."

Hermes just stared at you for a long second, his arms slowly crossed over his chest.

"...Poseidon kissed you," he said flatly.

"It wasn't a kiss," you snapped immediately. "He called it a 'breathing boon' or whatever godly nonsense."

Hermes' brows lifted almost to his hairline. His voice dropped dangerously soft.

"Poseidon kissed you."

You buried your face in your hands with a groan, still too mortified to look at him.

"Not on purpose!" you mumbled into your palms. "It was survival. He said it was survival. I hate everything."

Hermes made a noise—something between a strangled laugh and a sound of pure homicidal disbelief.

You peeked at him through your fingers.

His face was a study in blank fury.

Like he'd just been informed the sky was falling and it was personal.

The silence stretched, thick and strange between you. The salty breeze tugged at your clothes. Somewhere behind you, a gull cried out—a long, lonely sound.

Then, finally, low and rough, he said, "I see."

No teasing. No jokes. Just two words, heavier than they had any right to be.

And just as fast as that dark look had settled on his face—it smoothed away. Like a ripple crossing a still pond.

Hermes smiled again. Brighter this time. Lighter.

Too light.

He gave a little hop—effortless—and the next thing you knew, he was floating a few inches off the ground, his winged sandals fluttering lazily under him. The feathers stirred the dust by your boots, kicked up little whorls of gold and gray in the sunlight.

You blinked up at him, caught off guard, and before you could flinch away, he reached down and ruffled your hair.

You squawked—actually squawked—trying to duck, but he was too fast. His fingers messed up the top of your head with infuriating precision, then smoothed it down again like you were some cranky little cat.

"There," he said, grinning wide enough to show teeth. "Better."

You shot him a look of pure betrayal.

Hermes just laughed and drifted back a step in the air, hands clasped lazily behind his head.

"Guess I better get a head start on those souls, huh?" he said, his voice still bright, but something... softer hiding underneath it. "Wouldn't want my favorite mortal thinking I'm all talk and no action."

He winked.

And before you could so much as shove him for the hair thing—or maybe hug him again, you weren't even sure which anymore—he spun midair, the wings on his sandals catching the sunlight, scattering it like shards of gold around him.

He was already pulling away, soaring higher, when your mind suddenly lurched back—Nico.

The ridiculous conversation earlier.

The favor.

The promise.

Your eyes snapped wide.

"WAIT!" you screeched, pure panic punching out of you.

Without thinking—pure stupid, desperate instinct—you leapt up, both arms stretching like you could physically drag the god of speed back down.

Somehow, miraculously, your fingers managed to snag his ankle mid-flight.

You grabbed tight around the leather strap of his sandal, your palm half-smacking against the side of his foot—and the second you did, your boots lifted clean off the ground.

Your eyes widened comically, the world tilting as your toes dangled uselessly over the cobblestones.

"Hermes—Hermes!!" you yelped, kicking wildly, the marketplace blurring a little around you.

The god jolted midair, twisting around like a cat yanked by the tail. His sandals fluttered in sharp little bursts as he wobbled, tilted—then cocked his head down at you.

He raised his leg experimentally.

You dangled there—arms clinging stubbornly to his ankle like a barnacle clamped to a ship—feet kicking uselessly above the ground.

Hermes peered at you with a mixture of surprise and wild amusement, one brow arching high.

"Well," he said cheerfully, head still tilted sideways as he studied you, "this is new."

"PUT ME DOWN!" you barked, voice half-mortified, half-terrified you were about to get launched into orbit.

Hermes just grinned wider, like this was the funniest thing he'd seen all month. One hand leisurely scratched at his jaw like he was pondering something very serious.

"Hmm," he mused aloud, voice maddeningly casual. "I dunno. You did grab me without asking. Might be grounds for kidnapping."

Your growl came low and dangerous from your throat, legs flailing harder.

But the bastard only snickered—and floated higher.

You yelped again, clutching tighter as the ground slipped even further away, your cloak flapping wildly around your knees.

In the back of your mind—deep behind the pure panic—you dimly wondered why no one was screaming or gawking.

The market was still bustling. Merchants shouted prices, kids weaved through baskets, and sailors laughed over cheap wine. Nobody even glanced at the sight of a mortal girl dangling from a god's foot like a sack of pears.

You barely managed to piece it together.

Hermes.

Of course.

Probably had some god-trick pulled over the mortals' eyes. Some ripple in the air that made your flailing look like nothing more than a flutter of fabric in the breeze—or maybe they didn't see you at all.

Gods, you were going to strangle him... if you survived.

"HER-MES!!" you screeched again, voice cracking halfway through like a dying gull.

The god just laughed—an actual full, unbothered cackle—and floated in lazy loops higher into the sun-warmed air.

You clung harder to his ankle, teeth gritted, your heart doing little suicidal somersaults in your chest.

Hermes, meanwhile, just peered down at you upside down, his hair flopping wildly in the breeze as he lazily twirled in midair.

"Alright, alright," he chuckled, voice bright and merciless. "What exactly are you doing down there, barnacle?"

You spluttered—actually spluttered—trying to scramble your thoughts and your pride back into some kind of order.

"I—I needed to tell you—!" you gasped, legs still kicking helplessly.

Hermes blinked owlishly. "Tell me what?"

You twisted your hands tighter around his ankle. "About the man!" you barked, feeling your face heat from the ridiculousness of all this.

Hermes just floated there like a lazy cloud. "You'll have to be a little more specific, darling," he teased. "I know a lot of men."

You groaned, nearly biting your tongue in frustration. "The inn! Your inn! The Quicktangle—or whatever it was called!" you barked, cheeks burning.

At that, something clicked.

Hermes' face lit up with recognition—and pure mischief.

He burst out laughing, the sound bright and absolutely unrepentant. "I forgot about him!" he crowed, clutching his stomach midair like he was watching the best play of his life.

Slowly—blessedly—he began lowering you back toward the cobbled ground. You could feel the ground pulling at your boots, the dizzy heat in your head slowly cooling as your body stopped swinging like a weathervane.

Hermes floated upside down beside you now, his curls dangling wildly toward the street, sandals fluttering in lazy kicks. His chin was practically at your shoulder level, upside down grin wide enough to split his face in two.

He tilted his head—er, his whole body—sideways and smirked.

"Soooo," he drawled, spinning once like a lazy top, "what does my loyal servant want, hmm?"

You panted, legs shaking, arms still trembling from clinging to him like a mortal lifeline.

You didn't answer right away.

Mostly because you were too busy glaring at him. Trying—and failing—to gather your thoughts back into a straight line instead of the chaotic, tangled mess he'd turned them into.

Finally, you gritted your teeth and barked out:

"He—" you panted, scowling harder, "—he just wanted me to, ugh, mention him next time I saw you. Said he's been a 'faithful and selfless steward of your sacred port' or whatever nonsense."

You waved a hand vaguely at the sky, rolling your eyes so hard it almost hurt.

Hermes' upside-down grin only grew.

But then—you paused, brows knitting.

"You know," you muttered, folding your arms, still glaring half-heartedly up at him, "why the Hades do you have a barkeep down here anyway? Shouldn't your servants be, I don't know—running temples? Giving blessings? Whispering secrets? Not...selling fish stew and warm beer to sailors?"

Hermes flipped himself upright midair, hovering cross-legged now like it was the easiest thing in the world.

He leaned in close, eyes glinting with that familiar gleam.

"You ever heard of a better way," he said, voice low and conspiratorial, "to hear every single secret of an island than by running the town's drunk tank?"

You blinked.

He grinned wider.

"Mortals," he said, shrugging grandly, "spill everything after two cups of wine and one good plate of food. Births. Deaths. Murders. Gold hoards. Secret love affairs. Half of the Trojan War rumors started in taverns, you know."

You stared.

He floated a little higher, tapping his temple smugly.

"Who needs temples when you have gossip?"

You opened your mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

"...You are," you said flatly, "by far the pettiest god I have ever met."

Hermes threw his head back and roared with laughter, arms wide like he was soaking in the compliment. "And proud of it!"

You just stared at him, hands on your hips, heart still half-pounding from almost getting carried off like a very annoyed kite.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," you muttered, waving a hand through the air like clearing smoke. "Still doesn't explain why you've got Nico playing bartender. And calling you master," you added pointedly, narrowing your eyes. "What is this? Some weird god-servant thing? Is that how you get your kicks now?"

Hermes floated backward a few lazy paces, arms folded behind his head, sandals fluttering without a care. He snorted. "Gods, no," he said, rolling his eyes like you were the crazy one. "I'm no tyrant. Nico's here because he lost a bet."

You blinked once. Then again.

"A... bet," you repeated flatly.

Hermes grinned, all teeth. "A very dumb bet."

You just... stood there.

Waiting.

Hand on your hip. Brow arched so high it could've scraped the clouds.

"...Well?" you prompted dryly. "Aren't you going to tell me?"

Hermes hummed under his breath, tilting his head like he was considering it. Then he waved a lazy hand through the air, brushing the question away like smoke.

"Nah," he said airily. "Takes the fun out of his origin story."

You opened your mouth—ready to protest, demand, argue—anything—

But before you could even get a word out, "Soooo," Hermes said, voice syrupy and sweet, hands folding behind his back as he bobbed there beside you, "you want to deliver a message to dear Nico for me?"

You squinted suspiciously. "...What is it?"

Hermes hummed thoughtfully, tapping his chin like he was crafting a grand strategy.

"Tell him," Hermes said, his voice dipping into a sing-song whisper, "that as a reward for his loyal service, I'm officially granting him his freedom."

You blinked, stunned.

Hermes grinned wider, sharp and delighted.

"But—" he added, lifting a finger like a magician revealing the final trick, "if he wants the title of official Messenger's Assistant—with all the travel perks, godly favor, and free drinks at all Hermes-blessed inns—he has to accept. Immediately. No take-backs."

"And... if he refuses?"

Hermes shrugged, almost too casual. "Then he remains exactly what he is now—my servant. Just... without the perks."

You blinked again.

Still processing.

Your mouth dropped open. "That's not freedom," you said, baffled.

"Sure it is," Hermes said cheerfully, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeves. Your jaw dropped further when he added—oh so casually—"Freedom to pick which leash he wants."

Hermes floated down until he was level with you—still upside down—grinning like a cat about to push a vase off a windowsill.

He reached out lightly with one finger—and gently booped your chin to close your mouth.

"There," he said smugly. "That's better."

You stumbled back half a step, still trying to wrap your mind around the sheer pettiness of what you were being asked to deliver.

"Thank you, cutie~" he teased, voice lilting with laughter.

And before you could grab his tunic and demand more answers—or throttle him—Hermes gave a cheeky little salute with two fingers

Then he blew you a kiss—actually blew you a kiss, the gust of divine breeze sending your hair flying straight back.

And in the next blink, he was gone.

Up, up, up—vanishing into the blue sky like a mischievous star shooting itself home.

Leaving you there.

Alone.

Basket on your arm.

Hair a mess.

Brain completely fried.

And one very, very unfortunate message to deliver.

You stood there for a beat longer. "...I'm going to kill him," you finally muttered under your breath.

But you were smiling.

Gods help you, you were smiling.

You let out a long, slow exhale and bent down to start gathering the things you'd dropped—your basket, a few bruised figs, the little carved boat for Eben now slightly scuffed along the hull.

You brushed the dust off as best you could, cradling everything awkwardly in your arms.

The market buzzed on around you, oblivious. Voices floated on the breeze. Sunlight dappled across the crooked stones. Somewhere nearby, someone plucked a lyre, a slow, wandering melody curling through the air.

You shifted the basket onto your hip with a soft grunt, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. Your fingers smelled faintly like figs and salt and the wax of a hundred sun-warmed stalls.

It was... peaceful, in a way.

The kind of peace that didn't scream. Didn't demand. It just was.

Maybe today hadn't gone the way you'd planned.

Maybe it never would.

But for now, at least—

You were here.

Alive.

Carrying a ridiculous god's message, sure, but also carrying pieces of a day that felt a little too golden to lose.

Small things. Simple things. A handful of bright feathers. A few polished stones. A bolt of blue cloth that caught the light like water.

Gifts for the people who felt like home.

You smiled faintly, your fingers brushing over each one.

And for the first time in a long while, the thought that flickered through your mind wasn't what if it all falls apart?

It was I can't wait to see their faces.

You smiled to yourself, small and crooked, and turned back toward the inn.

A/N: lolol not me being psychic, just got calle din for a shift 💔💔 since imma be doign night shift and will clonk out when i get home, here's the double update ❤️ also i love nico so much! you all are gonna love him too~ and its obvious my type are funny people that hide pains/joke alot cuz i swear i love making ocs like that hahaha don't worry i swear i have more personalities in stock the funny-in-pain type just hits fr 😔 btw forgot to mention, a lot of 'characters' you've seen me spend time describing etc, yet not see them again... it's mostly cuz those will be reccuring characters in the isekai book 👀 like i'm so excited y'all i'm already plotting things out, got the first few chappies in skeleton form/blurbs and pulling bits and stuff from here, so imma be rereading godly things to take notes on what i may include in the iseaki. is there any characters/places you guys would like seen in it??? lemme know, y'all know i gotta short attention span/janky ahh memory and need reminders sometimes 😭😭😩 #overlyconfidentwritertrynajugglemulitplethingswhensheknowsshessettingherselfupforfailure💔

Tag List: nerds4life246 ace-spades-1 uniquetravelerone alassal thesimppotato11 jackintheboxs-world kahlan170 akiqvq matchaabread danishland uselessmoonlight apad-ravya suckerforblondies jolixtreesunn dreamtheatre woncloudie byzantiumhollow kisskisskys b4ts1e sarcasticbitchsblog trashcannotbealive idkanyonealrr

[skulkiee]

I wrote this for a story and then it turned into 1300 words rather than the single paragraph it was gonna be. So

Eurylochus expects to feel terror when Odysseus points to him and the crew. He expects to feel anger, fear, when he turns away from his captain and looks at the god.

Instead Eurylochus stares at Zeus, and lifts his chin. He has spent too long being scared, too long angry, too long hurting.

When he looks at the king of the gods, he feels not much at all.

Because it was always going to be this way- as soon as a baby boy was born to the king and queen of Ithaca, it was going to be Odysseus' story. Not Polites', not Eurylochus', not any one of the six hundred men the king dragged across the ocean to fight in a war for some woman none of them had ever met's story. Odysseus' story.

The rest of them, they're just numbers. Just that. The six hundred men that Odysseus took to war. The six hundred men Odysseus left the war with.

The six hundred men who died to their own stupidity and hubris in the span of three years, because it will be Odysseus who tells the story.

Years and years in the future, stories would be written and told, over and over, again and again, changed and shaped to the creator's delight, twisted and crumpled and told again. But it will always be Odysseus' story, celebrating Odysseus' love for his family, how he spent so very long returning home to them, to Penelope and Telemachus, and how he will live out a long life with his wife and son. (It will never mention Ctimene.)

Those stories, and the one Odysseus will tell when he returns to Ithaca will not tell of the six hundred other families who will be left forever waiting for their loves.

Because life moves and heroes are created and the gods do not care for those destroyed in their hero's path to brilliance.

It will be brave Agamenmon, who gathered the largest army and a thousand ships to rescue his dear little brother's lost wife. It will not tell of the dreams and achievements of bright young Iphigeneia, killed on the whim of a priest, it will not tell of poor Chryseis other than to mention Apollo's wraith.

It will be strong Achilles, son of the Goddess Thetis and the greatest warrior in the greek army, never speaking of his lover Patroclus, whose death drove him to madness.

It will be Helen of Troy, Helen of Sparta, the storytellers will argue over whether she loved Paris, or Menelaus, never asking her opinion, or asking what she went through, how she felt to see the family she had been a part of for ten years slaughtered in her name.

And Eurylochus knows it will be intelligent Odysseus. The mind behind the Trojan horse, apprentice of the Goddess Athena and blood of Hermes. The mortal who called himself nobody, to escape a cyclops, (it will not speak of Polites, or anyone lost in that cave) the mortal who traded with Aeolus, (not telling of the torment the god put the crew's minds through each night) who met the lotus eaters, who escaped Posidon, (eleven full ships of people did not) who saved his men from Circe, (never speaking of the nightmares of the men turned to pigs) who sailed through the underworld and lived to tell the tale, who killed sirens and survived Scylla's hunger, (it will not tell of the lives the sirens had, it will not tell of the torchure that is Scylla's continued existence, it will not tell of the six men willingly sacrificed) the mortal who survived the death of one of Helios' cattle, who lived through Zeus' wrath.

It will be Odysseus' love for his family, the crew will just be numbers, and one or two names. Eurylochus knows he might just be lucky enough to have his name remembered. (A few times in a poem years from now, a villain in Odysseus' story.)

What he is trying to say is that the gods choose heroes, and six hundred lives really is a small thing in the grand schemes of the gods.

They will be listed as the crew, move on, look at this great thing Odysseus did.

Look what the crew did, how could they ever mutiny? The story will never tell of their fear, their mistrust in sly Odysseus, their horror when he willingly and knowingly killed six of their friends.

Why would they ever kill the cow? It will never tell of their hunger. Odysseus is closer to the gods than them, he can go longer without food. The stories won't say how they were starving, how scared they were.

Why would they open the bag? Sly Odysseus, mind games and magic. Spells from a wind god telling them to open it, urging them to, a lying captain, a scheming captain.

Dumb. Cruel. Selfish. Idiots. Careless.

Eurylochus knows they will be called all these things, they will be the antagonists in Odysseus' story. So stupid for not listening, so cruel and selfish for making Odysseus' journey back to his family longer, how careless for getting killed.

They will be insulted and called all sorts of things, because it is Odysseus' story, told by Odysseus. People will wonder why they didn't follow a man known for his schemes and lies and tricks mindlessly, not realising that they have their emotions too, that they want to go home too.

Eurylochus looks away from Zeus then, in that moment between Odysseus choosing the crew, tears on his face as if he deserves to mourn them, as if he did not sacrifice those men to Scylla, as if he is not sacrificing them now. That moment between Odysseus' (always Odysseus') decision, and the lightning strike, and he looks back at the crew.

At Perimedes standing off to the side resolutely, cradling Elpenor's scarf in his arms. At Philikos, who has four daughters back home, all of whose weddings he would have missed for this gods damned war. At Ligo and Choiros, standing side by side as usual, one of the few pairs formed in the war that has survived the stress and danger of the past few years. At Grigoris who is the oldest in the crew and who decided all the men below thirty five were his new children when the war started and Agrios who wasn't drafted as a healer but who was a better healer than most of the actual ones and Miso who is the fastest runner and Skafos who seems to have Hermes' luck on his side when it comes to gambling and Alope whos parents dressed him as a girl to try and prevent him being taken to war and Cleito who likes to pick up the smaller crew members and carry them around and everyone else.

Everyone else who have come to be Eurylochus' brothers by this point. Everyone who he loves, everyone who are his family.

Everyone who he has been through hell with, everyone whose names and pasts and stories he knows, everyone whose stories will never be told again, simply because they were not born a prince.

Because everything comes back to Odysseus in the end, Odysseus who does not care for them, for the nameless, faceless numbers who have to fall to ensure his glory.

And then the lightning strikes and everything goes dark for Eurylochus.

And it hurts for a long long while, but he begins to hear the babbling of a river nearby, and the soft murmur of voices, and arms around him.

Arms that are larger and warmer than Odysseus' ever were. Arms that care so so much more, arms that belong to a person he has missed so so much.

Eurylochus thinks he might just be safe now.

Yes the crew member's names came from me putting random words in google translate✨

[just-a-mer]

Scrunching his nose up in response to the flick, Odysseus removes his teeth and instead wraps his arms around Tiresias and rests his chin atop their head. "I suppose you could." He shrugs, breaking away as quick as the embrace happened to reach for the discarded bag. "I got you something for the holidays."

ooc: holiday-related asks you say... I'm here to deliver! also, I hope you have loads of fun despite the business!! :D /gen

Holidays were always a fun part of the year for Odysseus; mostly due to the fact it meant extended time with family and friends. Often including extravagant meals and games at his palace.

While the past twenty years had events that made the holidays rather miserable the war, being stuck on an island, and getting into conflicts with the gods there was a few people Odysseus could still spend his time with.

The siren doesn't announce themselves as they approach the prophet's island, deciding to make their presence known at first by getting just close enough to brush his fingers against Tiresias' sides in a surprise tickle.

[ in the underworld, time can feel—and normally is—pretty irrelevant. It doesn’t get colder nor warmer, and there’s no signs for whenever the seasons change. Once dead, your sense of time and space begins to fade away, especially because there’s no need for it. Even still, Tiresias acutely aware that there were certain times more people were excited about one day or week than others, and it didn’t often take a genius to see when that time came around, much less a prophet ]

[ usually they sat closest to their willow tree, or at the highest peak of their isle, but through more visits, they have begun sitting down by the rocky shores more often. Particularly, they have found a perch for themselves on a rock not too far from the island, but not attached to it, either. It was a peaceful rock, and where they sat now, blindly zoning out and instead tuning in to the birds, and the whispers of the souls ]

[epicthemusical]

Familiar Longing

@fuckingdeadinsidetm for the inspiration so thank you!

Eurylochus takes a deep breath before heading over to his Captain's hunched form. He has to confess about opening the wind bag or else the guilt will strangle him. He looks down in shame as he starts to talk.

"Captain, I have something I have to tell you. I won't be able to rest until I do. Captain I-" 

As he is about to confess he looks up and stands there speechless. The rising sun hits the brown curls and gods when did his Captain's hair get so long? He is reminded of the times after he and Ctimene spent mornings on the beach as she ran through waves and sand laughing freely with a grin. She always ended up with her curls tangled up while covered in salt and sand. Every time he made sure to gently clean and untangle her hair as they relaxed together. The color is a bit off and it's still shorter than hers but it's still so familiar. He is broken out of his memories and longing by Odysseus' voice.

"Whatever you have to say can wait some more I'm sure. Go scout the island, we can't take any more dangers sneaking up on us."

"Yes Captain."

Eurylochus walks away shame and guilt feels like it's choking him but he does as he was ordered and gathered men before heading off to scout the island.

—----------------------------------------------------

Eurylochus stares down at the still form of his friend, his brother, his captain. He feels sick at the blood pooling on the deck adding to the sickening metallic smell from the 6 who had died. Thinking of that again has some part of him shrinking in on itself as the betrayal and guilt lay heavy in his chest.

“Captain?” He had felt so relieved that Odysseus had trusted him enough to still have him carry out his orders even after he finally admitted to opening the wind bag Eurylochus light up six torches. He had trusted him but he obviously chose wrong.

“Sir.” All he has ever known is being the second in command. He follows orders and keeps everyone safe. How was he supposed to lead, to be a captain? He doesn't have Odysseus to catch him if he falls anymore. What is he supposed to do now?

“Eurylochus!” He finally snaps out of it and looks up at the remaining crew to think they had started out with 600 men

“What should we do with the capt- with Odysseus?” He glances again at the unconscious Odysseus. It would be reasonable to kill him now after all they did just mutiny. Who knows what will happen once he wakes up but…he can't bring himself to let him die. Not only is he Eurylochus’ brother-in-law but he is also Ctimene’s brother. The thought of having to watch his beloved wife's face fall in despair when he has to tell her Eurylochus is the one who killed her brother…no he can't let Odysseus die.

“We need to wrap his wounds and tie him up. Make sure to tie him well. We all know how tricky he can be.” Many of the crew grumble a bit but do as they are told although they made no effort to be gentle. Eurylochus' hands tighten their hold on himself trying his best to ignore the pained moans from Odysseus as he is tied securely to the mast, his wound taken care of.

He hands out orders firmly despite the growing unease and uncertainty he feels. He can't let his weakness show now that he is Captain or else they will lose trust in him. Now matter how exhausted or how much he wants to break he cannot falter. He glances once again at Odysseus tied to the mast before making his way to his room. He knows that the captain's quarters technically belong to him now but it just feels wrong. That has always been Odysseus' room and he can't bring himself to change that because that would make it official. That would mean he has to fully accept what he had just done and he isn't ready for that he doesn't think he ever will be.

Eurylochus all but collapses onto his bed and stares at the ceiling almost feeling numb. He glances down at the blood still on him and the sudden grief overwhelms him as he starts crying. Once the tears start he cant stop as he lays curled up his body shaking from his sobs as he lets out all his pain. Polites would be so disappointed in them both. He told Odysseus that if he wanted all the power then he must carry all the blame but he can't bring himself to believe those words. How could he after he was the one questioning Odysseus time after time. His own doubt made him open the wind bag leading to so many dying. He has just as much blood on his hands as Odysseus, maybe even more.

He slowly calms down leaving only a hollow ache in his chest as he drifts off to sleep praying for a dreamless rest.

The next day he sits down by the mast watching over Odysseus. He still isn't awake just yet but he knows how quickly things could change with him. Eurylochus takes some time to really look at his friend for the first time in a while. Ever since Circe's island where he noticed how Odysseus' hair had grown longer and achingly familiar to Ctimene’s curly hair he has tried his best to not look too hard. He takes in the bags under his eyes and how skinny he had become. What draws his attention the most however is once again his hair. His hair had grown long and tangled but it is so painfully familiar even with the slight color difference it reminds him so much of his wife. He aches to thread his fingers through the knots gently untangle it like he often did with Ctimene at the end of the day. They used to talk and laugh about anything and everything while he helped calm her unruly hair that never seemed to obey. As he comes back from the memory the hollow feeling grows and he feels so very tired.

-----

They arrive at the next island and Odysseus is tied to a nearby statue as they find plenty of large healthy cows roaming nearby. Eurylochus notices Odysseus is starting to stir and he can't help but miss Odysseus, the Odysseus he had known and trusted with his life and the lives of the crew. When is the last time either of them have smiled or laughed? Perhaps it was before Polites had died which isn't surprising. Polites had always been the best of them, always so kind and positive. He was the glue that kept everyone together so when he died of course everything started falling apart. Odysseus groans as he wakes up at last.

"Uhg my head...where are we?"

"The first island we found. It has this statue of the sun god and we found all these cows to eat."

"Don't tell me you're about to do what I think you'll do!" 

It hurts hearing his friend plead with those familiar words. He feels so heavy and he just wants to lay down and never move again but he can't not when he needs to take care of the crew.

"I'm hungry, my friend."

His stomach grumbles at the thought of finally eating and he knows the crew feels the same hunger eating them from the inside.

"And I'm tired.."

He is just so very tired. Tired of fighting, of thinking and hoping that somehow they will end up home again. He sees Odysseus start to struggle against the ropes.

"Please we can still make it home! We just need to keep going!"

How many times has he heard that? We are almost home, this is our final fight, our journey is almost done it has become a hollow statement at this point. Hope has long since been crushed. 

"Ody we are never going to make it home."

Why should he make himself and the crew suffer even more when they have meat to eat right here when they won't make it home anyway? A crew mate leads a cow to Eurylochus and he raises his sword.

"I'm just a man."

Odysseus manages to cut the ropes on a nearby rock and once free springs into action trying to stop Eurylochus.

"EURYLOCHUS NO!"

He is too late as the sword slices through flesh and golden blood stains the sword. He stares in shock at the gold. Why is it gold? A storm forms and lighting rumbles ominously.

"You doomed us...you doomed us all Eurylochus!"

Eurylochus looks up at Odysseus noting the terror hidden in his eyes and the red bleeding through the bandages. He has rarely ever seen Odysseus terrified like this and if his brother feels so now...what has he done?

"..Captain?"

He orders the crew to grab an oar and row for their lives. The anger and fear in his voice jolt everyone into action as they default to following orders as they had for over a decade. Eurylochus looks concerned at the still growing red spot as Odysseus turns and meets his eyes.

"Those cows are immortal, they are the sun god's friends. And now that we've pissed him off WHO DO YOU THINK HE'LL SEND?!"

Eurylochus pales as he realizes just how badly he has messed up. How could he have been so stupid?! No he knows why, he had given up on getting home and his hunger, always the damn hunger that screws them over. He should have learned from the cyclops cave. How could he have given up on seeing Ctimene again? More lightning crackles through the sky lighting up a form in the clouds.

"We're too late..."

Zeus descends from the thunder clouds as lightning continues to shatter the sky and cause ears to ring. He sees Odysseus stand as tall as he can considering the still slowly bleeding wound with determined eyes. That's always been his go to attitude when it comes to gods, he tries to appear confident and firm. Eurylochus can only hope his brother will find a way out as he usually does.

But will he? He has shown he is willing to sacrifice you if it means getting home.

Eurylochus can feel the exhaustion and hopelessness creep in again as Odysseus is finally given a choice, him or the crew. It's obvious that there it wasn't going to be a choice, not for Odysseus.

He doesn't really mind dying at this point but he regrets that the crew had to be included as well. That and no matter what Odysseus chooses, Ctimene will be heartbroken. He can't be sure that he won't give up again so it's best Odysseus is the one who lives because if anybody can manage to make it home it would be him. At least that way he can be sure his wife will have someone to comfort her.

".. Captain?"

He still finds himself protesting even with his heart not in it. He has to try if only for the crew around him.

"I have to see her again..."

"But we'll die."

What is it he told Odysseus? Ah yes If you want all the power you must carry all the blame. If the crew dies it won't be Odysseus' fault only his. He is the one that decided to slaughter the cow and doom them all. He sees Odysseus turn around to face him with teary eyes full of guilt and exhaustion, just like Eurylochus.

"I know."

Eurylochus breaks more at how broken Odysseus sounds. He is obviously grieving the choice he had to make. Eurylochus takes a deep breath and stands still accepting his death without a fight even as the others draw swords and rush Odysseus. 

Electricity hums in the air before lightning strikes and pain crackles through his body. As he starts to sink the pain dulls, his nerves having been fried beyond use. He closes his eyes and lets the darkness take him.

I'm sorry Ctimene...

[procrastinatingwritersblog]

Fallen

Ctimene has known Eurylochus since what feels like forever. Ever since her older brother was running around with his two best friends–so, forever, basically–she's known Eurylochus. She knows his exasperation and enthusiasm the most, the former when Odysseus has his patented terrible ideas, and the latter when Odysseus has his patented excellent ideas. 

She's seen his worry many times too, when the sunny glasses-clad friend was almost killed by the boar (of course she snuck along, why wouldn't she?), when Odysseus was crowned king and the ceremony went almost too smoothly, and many times when she got injured sneaking around the palace. 

It's her knowledge she gained from those teenage years that helps her help Penelope rule as regent as well as keeping the suitors in check. They call Odysseus the cunning one, but Eurylochus would always fondly whisper that she was the smarter one, seeing as she hadn't gotten caught yet. 

In any case, she always managed to convince herself that Eurylochus was just looking out for her because he was her brother's friend, and he never really liked her. She figured out she was in love with him the days following the disastrous boar hunt, when they'd sat at Odysseus' bedside and talked softly. She saw his gentler side then, and fell before she knew it. She then swore to herself that she'd never say anything, because it would make it awkward if he didn't reciprocate (which was the only possibility) and hurt more once she married for an alliance if he did. 

She was sneaking around the palace one fateful day, a lean and light-footed sixteen-year old sneaking around like she usually did. She was going through a secret passage that led from the kitchens to the grounds outside, passing underneath the king's chambers. I can't believe people haven't figured it out yet, she thought. They always say me and Odysseus are so similar–oof! She let out a surprised squeak as the wood beneath her feet seemed to give way suddenly. Ctimene immediately covered her mouth and was completely still for a moment as she held her breath, waiting for a maid to come investigate, already coming up with a lie. 

When a maid didn't come, she gave a sigh of relief, catalogued the spot she was standing, and continued on her way to her parents' chambers. She'd heard muffled shouting coming from there last night, and she was sure it wasn't like the other time when she was fourteen that kind of scarred her for life because she'd heard her brother's name being thrown around. Odysseus was a good kid–smart, favored by the gods, and usually the only arguments concerning him was about him pissing off some powerful figure, which he hadn't lately. They didn't argue about Ctimene, seeing as whoever she would get married to was now Odysseus' choice as king. 

As she shimmied closer to their room, she could make out words. As soon as she could make out the general gist of the sentences being spoken, she stopped. This was because she wanted information, not to take unnecessary risks, and also because if she walked around more she was afraid she might faint. 

"... cheated on me with Sisyphus, dishonored…the gods?"

"... couldn't help it–forgive… love our son!"

"Not my son!"

"He's king now… that and risk the kingdom's anger!"

"Of course… behind closed doors, however, your treachery… to light! I will treat Odysseus the Cunning, King of Ithaca, as my… no more!"

"I gave you a child! …ours completely!"

"A daughter!"

Ctimene left the secret passage, hearing everything she needed to hear. She'd had her suspicions for a while, but apparently Odysseus wasn't her blood brother completely. Apparently her mother had cheated with Sisyphus to sire Odysseus, while Ctimene was the only completely royal Ithacan child. Dad's going to hate Odysseus forever, she thought. And Mom, and me, 'cause I'm Mom's kid, and oh gods, why did this have to happen?

In a daze, she walked outside onto the palace grounds. She stood on the wall between the castle and the ocean, dress billowing in the wind, looking over the ocean… and immediately slipped and fell on the wet grass. 

"Ctimene!" she heard someone exclaim, and looked over to find Eurylochus running toward her. He helped her up and started to scold her. "Ctimene, you could have been hurt or gotten swept out to sea if you'd fallen–why are you so distracted anyway?"

And maybe Ctimene was just hurt and distracted and a little bit confused but her emotions ended up boiling over and she ended up snapping at Eurylochus, "Don't scold me! I am sixteen years old and you're just looking after me because my brother asked you to! Just–leave me alone!"

Ctimene started to walk away, not quite feeling bad yet, until Eurylochus caught up to her and asked, "What makes you think I'm looking after you because Odysseus told me to?"

Ctimene sputtered for a moment–no, brain, he doesn't like you, that's stupid–"Well, why else?" she shot back, feeling immensely proud of turning the question back on him. It was a trick she'd learned from Odysseus in their childhood. 

"I know that trick," Eurylochus answered. Fuck. Forgot he knew Odysseus since we were kids too, Ctimene thought. "But I'll answer it anyway." Okay. Phew. "I liked you," Eurylochus said, and Ctimene promptly fell into the grass again. 

"Ctimene!" Eurylochus cried, and after he helped her up, Ctimene sputtered, "What?"

"I, uh, liked you," Eurylochus said, turning a little bit red. "You know what? If you don't reciprocate, we can forget this conversation ever happened, and–"

"You couldn't have said something earlier?" Ctimene demanded, because for some reason that was the first coherent thought that came to mind. "Gods, Eurylochus, I spent years pining after you–"

"Years?!"

"Yes, years!"

"And you waited for me to say something?"

And if Odysseus notices one of his best friends and his sister holding hands when they walk into the palace moments later, faces flushed, he doesn't say anything. 

Maybe he should have. Maybe he should have given them the chance to be officially married for a bit longer before he had to bring his brother-in-law to war, and leave his sister for twenty years to wait–for him, and her husband, who was never coming back.

[paris-you-idiot]

Now why would you work for the man who killed your son...?

Ctimene wondered out loud, watching him. She had been wandering around the grounds aimlessly, having nothing better to do except miss her daughter and husband. She had originally did so to be alone but she couldn't help herself.

Unless, of course, you're waiting patiently until you decide it's a good time to kill him.

Too curious for her own good, her father had always said, he was right, of course, but why did he make it sound like a bad thing only for her and not Odysseus? He was the same after all.

- @ctimene-is-worried

Who are you?

He asks, looking at her with careful eyes. He'd rather not talk about his son with a random stranger. She did look of Ithacan royalty, though.

[alyscat]

Homecoming

This is the first part of my post-Odyssey WIP! Masterlist here No TWs I can think of

As the child of morning, rosy-fingered dawn stretches across the sky, I see that the thread is knotted. 

It seems so obvious as I sit back, examining the tapestry before me. I misstepped. Seven rows back, there is a spot where I knotted the weft thread, doubling over a row. How I made such a novice mistake is beyond me. My jaw works as I carefully begin unwinding the thread. It will all need to be redone now. I can hardly display this with such a glaring error in the tapestry. 

A soft rap on the door shakes me from my thoughts. Lowering the shuttle, I square my shoulders. There is no more time for this now, anyways. Morning is upon us. “Yes?” 

Ctimene pokes her head into the room, and tension instantly eases from my bones. “Good morning, Penelope. My, have you been up all night?” 

She comes to stand by me at the loom, the only sound of her passage the subtle brush of fabric against her legs. I run a palm over the half-finished tapestry. “Sleep is…. Difficult. I find comfort in remaining busy.” Lately, weaving and attending to the suitors is all I seem to do. It began when potential husbands first approached me. When it became clear they wouldn’t leave me alone, I insisted that I could not wed any of them until I had weaved a shroud for my father-in-law, Laertes. His health worsened the longer Odysseus was gone. For four years, I distracted them with the promise of finishing that shroud. I would weave all day. At night, I would undo any progress I made. The fools didn’t even question it until my handmaid Melantho confessed the truth to Antinous. I can’t find fault with her, though. The men are relentless. 

“I understand.” Her voice is low and melodic as she fidgets with her braid. The resemblence between Ctimene and Odysseus is undeniable, down to the slight hook in their nose. A deep olive complexion and wiry build is shared between them. They are even the same height, since my husband has always been a little short I have to remind myself of the differences between them, such as the subtle shade in their curly hair. Odysseus’ was a dark blonde, while his sister has an auburn tint Day by day, his memory seems to fade from my mind. If I didn’t have someone who shares such a similar appearance I might have forgotten him entirely. Ctimene studies my work, where the form of a man stringing a bow is taking shape. “You could hold out for longer, m’lady. You don’t-”

“No,” I whisper. I rise from my stool to turn away from her and my foolish tapestry. “They already plotted to kill Telemachus once. They are wrecking the estate, raping my maids, and I cannot allow this behavior to continue. It has been ten years since the war, Odysseus is dead or unable to return home. Waiting another day will not change that.”

The words have never stopped hurting. ‘Odysseus is dead.’ Time is meant to ease the pain of old wounds, yet it hasn’t for me. It hasn’t for Ctimene, either. Her husband was a part of Odysseus’ crew. He is likely dead as well. Though we are both widows, she is not required to remarry as I am. The title of queen does not force her to choose someone else to sit on the throne. I gave my husband as much time as I was able. For ten years, I’ve held them off. I have raised Telemachus on my own. Expectations were just so crushing. I cannot put off the demands of the people. Had I given my father his wish, I would have wed as soon as news of the old king stopped coming. “Ctimene, thank you for checking on me. I appreciate your companionship.”

It is a clear dismissal. I don’t look to see the emotions flicker across her face. “Of course,” she murmurs. Her hand briefly settles on my shoulder. “I will be in the hall with you.” 

Then she is gone. I prepare myself, draping a veil across my face. Perhaps I should have heeded my father’s words years ago and remarried already. Maybe I would have grown to care for one of the suitors downstairs, or at least spared my maids some of the torment. There is just a part of me that refuses to believe Odysseus is truly gone. My head bows as I murmur a familiar prayer. “Athena, Daughter of Zeus, my husband was always a favored of yours. If you have blessed him, and he still lives, let him come home.”

One way or another, my suffering shall end today. My suitors foolishly believe that a lucky soul among them will claim my hand before the sun sets. Little do they know I have set them up to fail. It is my final act of devotion for the only man who will ever hold my heart.

Tag List: Please let me know if you want added or removed!

@dorcaloveskotlc @apolloinaplaguemask @hatima-cries-epicly

@fireflychaosdemon

[the-goddess-of-annoying]

"Choose."

"Choose?" said Odysseus, nearly stumbling over the word.

"Someone's gotta die today, and you have got the final say…"

No. No, not again, he can't do this again, please—

"You? Or your crew?"

"Please, don't make me do this," Odysseus begged. "Don't make me do this."

Zeus didn't answer.

All this— he'd done all this to bring the rest of his crew home alive, as many of them as he could— they'd mutinied, turned on him, yes, but he couldn't blame them; he should've warned them about Scylla, explained somehow, gotten them to see; it was his fault, it was always his fault eventually—

And now. And now he could get home, or they could get home.

He'd done all this for nothing.

He had failed.

So the question was, who would suffer the consequences of his final failure?

He thought of Penelope at home, waiting for him, of his little Telemachus growing up without his father. He thought of his own father, waiting for his son— alone, now that he'd buried his wife. He thought of Ctimene—

Waiting for her husband.

Could he take his sister's husband from her? Could he go home, look her in the eye, and tell her why her husband wasn't with him? And all the other men, the thirty-six left— their wives, siblings, parents, children; how could he tell them that after fighting to keep these men alive for twelve years with everything he had, he'd killed them himself? He'd killed six of his men already; could he bear to do it again?

No. No, he couldn't. It had felt like dying the first time. To do it a second time would be worse than death.

A man who gets to make it home alive, but it's no longer you. Eurylochus would lead them home.

His wound was bleeding again. His head pounded mercilessly. He felt weak. For the first time in twelve years, he could allow himself to be weak.

Polites… Mom…

"Let them live."

"Well, king of Ithaca. You've surprised me," said Zeus. Odysseus wished he would get it over with. "But I'm afraid that's not what the Fates have planned."

What?

No.

No, no, no, no!

"I doubt Helios would be satisfied with that solution, either," Zeus continued. "So…" He lifted his hand, a lightning bolt already forming, ready to throw.

"No!" screamed Odysseus. "Eurylochus!"

"Captain!" Eurylochus yelled— the whole crew was calling for him, but Odysseus could still pick out his brother's voice separate from all the rest as they begged him to lead them, to save them, for the last time—

And there was a flash of light, and it was over.

Odysseus was alone.

[imnotaman]

Nightmare

Penelope woke up in a strange place, a room in pitch black, she was about to grab her sword when she realized it wasn't beside her where she always left it. A voice called behind her

"Have you forgotten the lessons I taught you?"

Him. How had he gotten to her?

she looked behind her back and got into her fighting stance, protecting both hands, glow and behold; there he was

"Ares!"

"Have you forgotten to turn off your heart? This is not you."

Why was he saying this. Did he just want to haunt her with the fact he'll never be her Mentor again? Why did he have to be like this.

Ares glitched, he seemed to be shifting onto another form. There were 2 options; either Penelope's dreams decided to be Extra Bitchy to her that day, or ARES decided to be Extra Bitchy to her that day.

"I see you changing from how i've designed you."

The walls began to shift, growing, shrinking, anything you could think the room would change to that.

"Have you forgotten your Purpose? Let me remind you."

She was somewhere else now. The Cyclops cave. Why the hell was Ares doing this to her. Soldiers were managing to run away, one of many was right behind her

"Circe." She looked as beautiful as the day she'd lost her. It took so long to realize the Cyclops was about to club at Circe, and she was blissfully unaware.

Penelope screamed out her name, any kind of warning! But it was too late

"600 Lives to take"

2 more people hit.

"600 lives I'll break"

4 in a single hit.

"And when I kill you then my deed is over."

Hit.

"You're dying here and now."

Hit.

"Escape is not allowed."

Hit.

"You won't live through this day so die."

Hit.

"Die."

The scenery changed, causing a sense of Nausia in Penelope, she couldn't see much as she was trying not to Puke. All she could hear were the sounds of the ocean and the wind in her hair

"And now it is finally time to say goodbye today you die~"

No.

"Unless, of course, you apologise."

Please.

"For my son's pain and all his cries"

Penelope looked up, maybe this time it could be different. Maybe Ares would be merciful enough to show what could have happened instead

"Amphitrite, we meant no harm," she began, her voice shaking. "we only hurt him to disarm him! We took no pleasure in his pain. We only wanted to escape~"

Ctimene was beside her, holding her shoulder as if she knew what was coming.

"The line between. Naiveté and Hopefulness is almost invisible"

FUCK.

"So close your heart"

There had to be a way to save them

"The world is dark."

There had... there had to!

"And ruthlessness is mercy--"

Fuck.

"Die."

The scene shifted again. She was in the Underworld.

"Waiting...."

Why. Why did he want her to suffer!?

"Waiting..."

Penelope turned, she knew who that was

"...Dad." it wasn't a question. Not this time at least. Her father's face began to shift

"Waiting... Penelope when you come home I'll be waiting..."

A tear couldn't help but fall down Penelope's eyes, at that point she had just started crying.

"Even if you're the last thing I see I'll be-"

"I-I'm right here Dad! Can't you see me? I'm"

"Waiting..."

A ghasp escaped her lips, why did Ares want this. "I took too lo-"

"--you on the brink of death"

Tireseas.

"I see you draw your final breath. I see a man who gets to make it home alive."

Penelope could only whisper what the Prophet said, "But it's no longer me..."

Penelope felt numb, she could only cry and beg with the same words she had spoken all those years ago

"This can't be... we've suffered and sailed through the toughest of Hells! Now you tell us our efforts for nothing!?"

The Prophet continued, "I see your Palace covered in red... Faces of Women who long thought you dead." She got closer to the Prophet, angry. She was so close home. It was all worthless!?

"I see your man with a girl who is haunting." Who. Who was it!? She got even closer to Tireseas "a girl with a trail of bodies..."

She grabbed him by the neck in anger

"WHO!?"

The scene changed, a boat. Directly inside of a cave, eyes glowing, 6 torches behind Penelope, she only had a single order.

"ROW FOR YOUR LIVES"

"DROWN IN YOUR SORROWS AND FEARS"

One.

"CHOKE ON YOUR BLOOD AND YOUR TEARS"

Two.

"BLEED TILL YOU'VE RUN OUT OF YEARS"

Three.

"WE MUST DO WHAT IT TAKES TO SURVIVE"

I know.

"GIVE UP YOUR HONOR AND FAITH"

Four.

"LIVE UP YOUR LIFE AS A WRAITH"

Five.

"DIE IN THE BLOOD WHERE YOU BATHE"

Six.

"WE MUST DO WHAT IT TAKES TO SURVIVE"

The figure appeared in front of Penelope, this never happened the last time Penelope want through this, Scylla's eyes grew red. Ares was in control of this.

"We are the same you and. I~"

"Choose."

Thunder appeared behind her. No. Please. ARES

"Someone's gonna die today and you have got the final say~ choose."

Penelope looked up at Zeus, praying to both him and Ares

"Please don't make me do this. D-Don't make me do this."

She didn't hear anything for a while, until Ctimene's voice caught her off guard

"Captain?"

Penelope looked up at her friend, she ran to hug Ctimene, which seemed to catch her by suprise

"I have to see them."

"B-but we'll die."

"...I know."

And with that the scene changed with a shock of Thunder, this was a different place, she was in a Palace. Ithaca? Why was she there

"Cause I'm stuck with your stories..."

That voice. She knew it all too well after the last to days.

"But no clue who you are"

Telemachus?"

"And no idea if you're dead or just too far~"

"TELEMACHUS!?"

Penelope fell down, cowering like a pathetic child. This was how she gave up.

"Somebody tell me."

The voice of the child she never met.

"Come and give me a sign"

Her real child.

"If I fight those monsters is it you I'll find?"

A monster. That's all she was. 600 men who died under her command. A monster to both Man and God. Why. Why couldn't she move

"I still intend to make it so you don't Lower your Guard"

Ares.

"Don't forget that you're a warrior, do not tear yourself apart"

ARES.

"You are a warrior of the heart"

Penelope stood up, ready to tackle him at any moment, she ran as quickly as Possible and landed a punch, he didn't even flinch.

"Don't disappoint me"

She really had nobody. Her friends were all dead, Amphitrite would probably drown all of Ithaca, and the people she cared about weren't even from her universe

Solana would never actually care. Telemachus only likes her because him own mom's a γιος της σκύλας. And Odysseus is in her own place so she'd never see him.

It was worthless.

She was worthless

And the she woke up in the tent she set up in the tress, just outside the barrier of Ithaca.

[matchabirb]

"Captain! Captain!!"

The crew needed their captain. He needed to get home.

Note: It's been a few weeks (I think??) since I posted the brainrot about Ody's trauma! As promised, here's the fic about it. The original plan was for it to be put in parts but I decided to just put it all as a single oneshot!

Total word count: 13.3k words

TW: Slightly graphic descriptions, blood, vomit, panic attacks, cursing, slight religious themes(?), spoilers for EPIC: The Musical Sagas, contains references to the actual Odyssey, themes of PTSD and Trauma. Viewer discretion HIGHLY advised.

---

“Captain!” A voice called out from behind. Odysseus turned around to see his men boarding the ships they’ll be taking to Troy. A simple gesture of a head was all Odysseus needed to understand what the soldier was trying to tell him, “hurry it up please.” He gave a nod and turned back to his wife and son, who was just barely a few months old. 

He mustered up a somber smile and leaned in to give one final kiss to Penelope’s lips, but she moved her head to the side, avoiding the kiss with a sly smile. “When you get home,” she said, a teasing yet loving glint in those eyes that Odysseus always loved. He chuckled and nodded, playfully pouting as he was denied a kiss from his beloved. He leaned down to press a gentle kiss to Telemachus’s forehead, and he prayed to the gods above that this wouldn’t be the last time he’d be able to do this.

“It won’t be the last,” Athena reassured him, her voice echoing through his mind. Odysseus believed his friend wholeheartedly. Together, they’ll lead everyone and win this war.

He walked over to his younger sister, Ctimene, and his mother, who had just finished sending off Ctimene’s husband. Anticlea, his mother, had a sad smile on her face with tears in her eyes as she opened her arms for a hug. Odysseus didn’t hesitate. He went into his mother’s arms, embracing her tenderly as he did his best to comfort her crying. He felt Ctimene join the hug as well and the three stayed like that together for a while. He felt his mother’s hands gently patting down his messy hair, like she always did before. “When you come home, I’ll be waiting,” the woman promised her son, the same words her daughter told her husband. Odysseus smiled and looked at his mother in earnest, “I promise. I won’t take long.”

He heard quick approaching footsteps and turned to see his father, Laertes, followed by Eumaeus, a servant that was raised alongside him and his sister as equals. Odysseus gave a smile to the man who was like his brother, “Take care of the family, will you?” He told the swineherd, who smiled back despite the worry and concern evidently displayed on his face. The two men shared a silent promise together; one will keep everyone safe in Ithaca, and the other will come back as soon as possible. 

Odysseus then turned to Laertes, who patted him firmly on the shoulder, “Don’t venture too far, Ody. We both know your mother gets a heart attack when you do.” The older man smiled at his son, the same way he always did when Odysseus would leave to go hunting; the smile that conveyed all sorts of pride and love Laertes held for his children. “I promise,” Odysseus said for the second time as he gave his father a hug, both men pulling Eumaeus in not even a moment after.

With that, he turned around and headed to the docks, boarding the ship and making sure everything was in order. As he gave the command to start leaving, Odysseus can’t help but rush back to watch the shrinking form of his wife and the island. It hasn’t been an hour and he already missed home, missed Penelope, missed Telemachus, missed his mom, his dad, his family. 

“I’ll see you soon, everyone,” Odysseus murmured under his breath; another promise to reunite with everyone when the war was over.

“Ody!” A familiar, lighthearted voice called out from behind, and Odysseus felt an arm wrap around his shoulders. He turned his head and saw Polites, his dearest friend, one he’s known since childhood. Next to Polites stood Eurylochus, Odysseus’s right hand man and brother-in-law, a friend just as valuable. After he saw the bright smile on Polites’s face and the strong expression on Eurylochus’s, the homesickness felt alleviated, even for just a few moments. 

At that moment, Odysseus made a promise to himself. He won’t lose anyone. Not Polites, not Eurylochus, not a single person in his crew. It’s his duty as king, as captain, to get them all home alive.

______________________________

“Captain!” A familiar and firm voice called out from behind. Eurylochus, Odysseus’s right-hand-man, approached, a small frown on his face. “Captain, we’ve run out of supplies to eat,” Eurylochus informed, looking at the crewmates who silently complained amongst themselves while rowing the boat. “We have all the reasons to take what we can. So captain, what’s the plan?” He asked, fully confident that the crafty Odysseus would think of something.

And think of something, Odysseus did. “Watch where the birds fly, they will lead us to land,” he said, pointing up to a flock of birds that flew above them. “There we’ll hunt for food, my second-in-command,” He smiled, giving the taller man a playful and light punch by the shoulder. He turned back to his crew, a smile on his face at the thought of getting some food to fill his and his friends’ stomachs. “Now, full speed ahead!” He didn’t even have to tell the crew twice, and all 600 men had the same motivation to get something to fill them as they rowed in unison.

“Captain!” Polites’s bubbly voice entered Odysseus’s ears as soon as he felt the man wrap an arm around him. He smiled and turned to his friend, greeting him with his name as well with a smile on his face. “Look!” Polites pointed out to the distance, a small island near the direction the ships were sailing toward. “There in the distance! I see an island, I see a light that faintly glows,” Polites gave his observations with an excited grin on his face as Eurylochus and Odysseus both followed where he was pointing. “Maybe they’re people, lighting a fire. Maybe they’ll share some food, who knows?”

A whisper of Athena in his ear made Odysseus think twice before getting excited, however, “Something feels off here. I see fire, but there’s no smoke.” Eurylochus, too, was suspicious, and became even more so after his friend’s comments, “I say we strike first.” The right-hand-man suggested, ignoring Polites’s staring at him as if he were crazy, “We don’t have time to waste, so let’s raid the place and-” “No,” Odysseus shook his head, not wanting to risk anything. Just about everyone in the ship was hungry and tired from fighting the ten-year war in Troy. Raiding the island and not knowing just what might be there would be a waste of everyone’s energy.

He turned to Polites, “Polites, gear up. You and I’ll go ahead.” Polites grinned at a chance to spend some time with his childhood friend and immediately headed to strap on some armor and bring his sword with him. He looked to his right-hand, “We should try to find a way no one ends up dead,” he said. Eurylochus would stay behind, keep everyone in line and make sure they were safe. Odysseus trusted Eurylochus to do that and so much more; Eurylochus had always been the rational-minded one, which gave Odysseus both the logic and the reasoning he needed to take note of when making decisions. Even now, Eurylochus had no fear protesting or questioning the king’s plan, “We don’t know what’s ahead.” Odysseus smiled and reassured his friend, “Give me till sunrise, and if we don’t return,” he paused to look at the island in the distance, “Then 600 men can make this whole place burn.”

“Now full speed ahead!”

______________________________

“Captain…” Polites’s weak and strained voice called out to him, a hand reaching out, his eyes begging, pleading, for Odysseus to come save him. Like he’s done so many years ago, like he’s done so many times in the war. Odysseus had never failed Polites, not once, not ever. 

So then why did he fail Polites now?

“Enough.” The cyclops’s deep voice rumbled throughout the cave, echoing through every ridge and Odysseus practically felt the vibrations of the voice from under his feet. The cyclops lost his patience, and Polites’s body is hit with a second smash, the sound reaching the depths of Odysseus’s soul and tugging on it harshly.

Odysseus stood there, looking at the battered, still, bleeding form of Polites. His glasses fell to the side, a lens cracked, the man’s bandana stained with blood. Polites’s arm fell limp just as the life left his eyes, his soul soon to be on its way off to Hades. Odysseus can’t see anything, can’t hear anything. How did it come to this? They were winning, weren’t they? He had a plan, he had a plan to make sure they’d make it out of here alive. 

Odysseus shook and trembled where he stood. He distantly processed his crewmates and men screaming, “Captain! CAPTAIN!!” just before the cyclops’s club would hit them so abruptly. The sounds of the squelching of bodies and the cracking of bones permeated through the air, piercing through Odysseus’s ears. As if that weren’t enough, splatters of blood fell and hit his skin, as if the Fates wanted to rub his failure in his face. The scent of iron and the sticky deep crimson that stained his cheek and sides clung onto him like a vice, a constant reminder of what he let happen to his comrades. 

Every breath he took, the metallic scent penetrated his lungs, his body, his everything. Not even the sight of war could have prepared him for this. Not when the blood stuck to his armor was his friends’, his people. He can’t breathe, he shouldn’t breathe, lest he wanted the fetor of the gore and horror around him to enter his system like poisoned gas. Odysseus flinched the wrong way as he heard another crack! just a few feet away, and bile rose up through his gastric tract. Tears pricked the corner of his eyes as he stumbled backwards, stomach acid leaving his mouth with a heavy cough and wheeze. He raised his hands to stop the flow of his body fluids leaving his mouth, and he felt his stomach groan in pain from hunger and disgust. A shiver crawled up his spine, he couldn't even hear what the cyclops was saying anymore. He couldn’t hear his comrades' screams anymore. Just a loud, ringing sound in his head as his eyes trained solely on Polites. 

Everything else was a blur to him. He can’t hear Athena’s words, the goddess trying to reach him through her Quick Thought, but Odysseus can’t feel it. With the fall and dimming of his light, Odysseus finally realized he was in actual danger. This isn’t something he can finish quickly and with ease. This is a monster, he finally gets in his head. A monster who took the lives of his men, his brothers, his friends. There was no such thing as mercy when dealing with monsters, Athena’s words from before echoed through his mind. Yet with each intake of the putrid smell of blood and guts in the darkness of the cave, Odysseus remembered Polites. He remembered his words, his beliefs, his ideals. 

“Just let me be your light!”

“This life is amazing when you greet it with open arms!”

“Let me be the stars you see at night! Let me be the arms that hold you tight!”

“Whatever we face, we’ll be fine if we’re leading from the heart!”

As the cyclops finally fell victim to the lotus fruits Odysseus snuck into the wine he offered, Odysseus collapsed to the ground along with the monster. The large body of the cyclops covered the entrance of the cave, blocking the main source of light from coming inside. Everything went dark, the only thing illuminating the surroundings being the torches some of the men lit up. But Odysseus didn’t want to see. He didn’t want to have to go through the darkness without his light. Without Polites. Without Penelope. Odysseus wasn’t sure if the darkness and black spots littering his vision was a blessing or a curse from the gods above, from the fates. He couldn’t see a thing, not the bodies, not his crew, not his hands that were stained with blood, sweat, and vomit.

“-tain!” He heard someone call out to him. He doesn’t move.

“-aptain!” He heard someone call out to him again. He still doesn’t move. He doesn’t dare move.

“Captain!!” Eurylochus shook him a few times, snapping Odysseus out of his wallowing and spiraling down to despair. Odysseus remembered again. His duty. His responsibility. He was their captain. He had to lead his men out of this. He was their king, their leader. “Then act like it,” The wisdom goddess urged, speaking into his mind.

Odysseus was their captain. He had to lead them. He had to lead them home.

______________________________

“Captain!” An energetic voice, Perimedes, called out as Odysseus boarded the ship after speaking with the wind god, Aeolus, “What’s happenin’?” Just behind Perimedes followed Elpenor, and both asked in unison, “What’s trapped in that bag?” 

Odysseus shook his head, keeping the bag away from their reach. He has to lead them, he has to lead them, he has to lead them, he chanted in his mind as he replied, “Something dangerous friends, we mustn't lag.” “It’s treasure!” Something in the wind whispered into the men’s ears in that moment, and Odysseus tensed up, the weight of what he just got into crashing down on him. “What…”

“Open the bag!” “Let’s see what you got!” Perimedes and Elpenor both seemed excited at the prospect of treasure, both reaching out to the bag Odysseus held tightly in his hands, before Odysseus pulled away just in time, “No do not!!” Odysseus flinched at how tense he became and took a deep breath to calm himself, ignoring the confused and concerned faces of his companions. “Everyone, listen closely. See how this bag is closed?” He raised the closed bag in his hand, making sure no one was in reach of it, “That’s how it’s supposed to be. This bag has the storm inside. We cannot let the treasure rumor fly.” He commanded, not requested, his comrades. This has to be kept under wraps. “We’ll try,” everyone agreed, or so Odysseus hoped.

For nine days straight, he had stayed awake, making sure none of his crewmates would try getting their grubby hands on the bag and open it. Thus far, he was successful in making sure the bag was closed, and that their journey home was to be as smooth-sailing as possible. He could almost hear Penelope’s voice, he could almost see that wonderful face he fell for at first sight, that smile that made his heart soar. He couldn’t wait to meet his son, now. How long has it been since he’s last seen Telemachus? About twelve years now… it’s been far too long. Did Telemachus look like Penelope, or would he have taken after Odysseus more? What did his son like? His favorite food? The games he’d play? What of his mom? Ctimene? Eumaeus? His dad? Argos?

He needed to get home now. And he’d bring the rest of his men back with him, along with the memory of those they’ve lost.

“This life is amazing when you greet it with open arms,” Polites’s voice echoed in his mind once again, and Odysseus promised to himself that he’ll do so. Lead from the heart, and see what starts. Odysseus swore to himself that he’d emulate Polites in all he did, so that he could at least keep the memory of his best friend alive.

He needed to stay awake, Odysseus shook his head when he caught himself almost dozing off. Keep your eyes open, keep your eyes open, he chanted to himself, along with his mind’s hallucinations of Penelope and what could be Telemachus, motivating him to stay awake. He had to stay awake. He had to get home. They all had to get home. They were so close now. Just a few handful of hours left of sailing and they’d dock in Ithaca, and they’d finally be home. Odysseus could already see his kingdom nearing from the distance, the outline of the palace and island just slightly covered by some fog. The gentle ripples of the waters below them slowly soothing him. Just the thought of finally embracing his family, of taking a break, getting some sleep…

He needed to stay awake, he needed to stay awake, he needed… to… sleep……… 

“Wake up. Odysseus, they’re opening the bag, WAKE UP!!” The hallucination of Penelope’s voice yanked Odysseus from the realm of Hypnos and suddenly he became hyper-aware of the overpowering winds swirling around his fleet. A few feet away from him, the bag Aeolus gave laid on the ground, winds escaping, faintly laughing carefreely as they did. Odysseus fell to his knees, his hand reaching out as if he could grab onto the retreating form of Ithaca in the distance. “NOOOOOOO!!” He screamed in desperation, his heart clenching in his chest in anguish.

______________________________

“The line between naïveté and hopelessness is almost invisible,” Poseidon’s words echoed across Odysseus’s fleet. If Odysseus thought Polyphemus’s voice was terrifying to hear in a closed space, the god’s voice was even worse, even in the open air. The sound was louder than the raging waves under the ships, but Poseidon kept them all afloat, for better or for worse. “So close your heart, the world is dark,” the god spoke, slowly raising the trident in his hand threateningly. Odysseus tensed up, and immediately prepared to command his men to… to do… something..! But what could they do? They were cornered by the god of the sea, on the sea. There was nowhere they could run, nowhere they could turn to, lest they risked angering the already vengeful god even more.

“And ruthlessness is mercy,” Poseidon suddenly slammed down his trident, the giant three-pronged spear hitting the bottom of the ocean. Fitting to the god’s title, the earth and waves started to shake from the impact, and Odysseus was sure he wasn’t the only one who felt like they were getting pulled in all four directions at once.

“Die.” The finality of the god’s tone spoke a command. A demand, one only a god like Poseidon could make. And the tides would always obey the orders of their lord, creating turbulent waves and crashing against the ships of Odysseus’s fleet. A pack of wolves surrounded by sharks indeed. It became hard to find his footing from the crashing and swinging of the ships, and Odysseus felt his heart stop when he heard a distant call.

“Captain! Captain!!” Men from the other ships screamed and called and shouted as they cried for help, before their ship capsized from the waves. “Captain!! Captain!!” Another group of soldiers shouted, from the other side this time, and Odysseus managed to run over to the side of his ship, if only to watch as another set of about 50 men fell victim to Poseidon’s wrath. “Captain!! Captain!!!” Another ship is covered and drowned under the waves, some sea creatures even jumping out of the water to snag bites out of some sailors who tried to swim away. The salty and would-be refreshing smell and feeling of the ocean slowly became accompanied with the sharp smell of the blood that stained the previously clear waters. 

“Captain!!!” More sailors called out, as they drowned and fell to the bottom of the sea, never to be found again. Once again, Odysseus found himself nonrespondent, as he watched all the ships, except for his, submerge under the sea. All the soldiers, about 580 soldiers, called out for Odysseus, for their captain. But what could their captain do? What can they do? What has their captain ever done if not watch as everything went wrong, as everything went terrible. 

He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe again. Not again. He had to do something! Anything! Suddenly, he was back in Polyphemus’s cave, blood curdling screams echoing throughout the crevices of the cavern and in Odysseus’s mind. He had to get out of here. Polites’s dead body laid before him, and his worn out voice called out to him once again, “Captain…” From Polites’s body, to the vomit-inducing cracks and squelches that were emitted whenever the cyclops would slam his club to the ground. Suddenly, Odysseus felt the blood that stuck to his skin and armor, felt the reeking of blood that he had to breathe in, felt his body get stained by the crimson that made his skin crawl and hairs raise, felt the burning feeling when he tried scrubbing every speck of blood and grime off of him and his armor. 

They needed their captain then. They needed their captain now. Yet their captain could never do anything but watch. Watch as the fates eagerly reaped the consequences of treachery and foolishness, watch as the Keres came to feast on blood and flesh and bring the souls to Hades, watch as Moros whispered and brought forth the misery that they thought they had escaped. All their so-called captain ever did was watch as beings far beyond the power of a mortal king took lives and mercilessly wrought terror and what they believed to be justice. 

Odysseus took a shaky breath, even though everything in his mind screamed at him to succumb to the suffocating waves that never truly reached his ship. He scanned his surroundings, ships broken and fallen apart, washed away by the waves, bodies of his men slowly dropping down the water and floating back up, motionlessly, there were no ships left. None except for his. From twelve ships, only one had recovered the wrath of the sea god. Odysseus trembled where he stood, but all the voices in his mind reminded him to stand tall, to be the captain he is, to be the king he is. And yet…

“What have you done?” was all Odysseus could utter in that moment. The product brought by destruction, brought by the wrath of a god, the wrath of a father whose son was harmed. The used-to-be gentle ripples of the water were nowhere to be found, and replaced instead with the waves only seen in depictions of tragedies and the punishments given by gods. A tragedy. That is what this was. Is that what this would continue to be? Odysseus prays to the gods (yet his faith fails him, and he gets an inkling that no god would even listen to his pleas at this moment) that it would not be so, that this story would at the very least have a happy ending, that the fates would finally have mercy on him and his crew. 

“Forty-three left under your command,” Poseidon smirked, as if he enjoyed the destruction and pain and suffering he just brought. He probably did, Odysseus thinks, after all, they had brought this upon themselves. No. Odysseus brought this upon themselves. He was the one who so foolishly let his name fall from his lips as he left. He should have left the cyclops as he was. Maybe then, they would have gotten the chance to get home. 

Maybe then, Odysseus could have truly acted as the captain he’s supposed to be. He was no captain. Not to his crewmates, not to himself, not to anyone.

______________________________

“Captain?” A voice carefully called out from behind, and Odysseus had to hide and hold back to urge to flinch. He immediately looked around discreetly, mentally counting the number of soldiers currently on the ship and slowly resting on the shores of the island they found themselves in. One, two, three, four, … forty-two. Forty-three, including Odysseus. They’re supposed to be forty-four. Someone is missing. Eurylochus! His mind ran just as fast as Hermes as he assessed his surroundings, trying to find the threat in the silent island. He snapped out of it when he felt a thick and strong hand rest itself on his shoulder.

He sharply turned around, his hand closing in on his sword out of reflex. Whomever this person was, had to be the reason for Eurylochus’s absence–

Eurylochus stood before him, a worried frown on his face as he rested a hand on Odysseus’s shoulder. “Captain,” the bigger man spoke again, the crease of his brows deepening when he felt the flinch of Odysseus from under his hand. “I have something that I must confess,” he continued, eyeing his friend carefully and with concern. “Something that I must get off my chest,” Eurylochus took a deep breath and looked at his brother-in-law, “Until it is said, I cannot rest.”

When Odysseus gave no reply, only despondently staring out to the distance, Eurylochus frowned and tried to get his attention, albeit reluctantly. “Captain?” Odysseus flinched again, and after a quick survey again to count the forty-three men around him, looked back at Eurylochus, a stoic expression on his face, “Eurylochus, go make sure this island is secure.” The right-hand-man, evidently not willing to prolong his internal suffering and the guilt that ate at him, protested, “But captain-” Odysseus cut him off before he could finish saying that… repulsive title he did not deserve, “There’s only so much left we can endure.” There’s only so much left he can endure at this point.

“Whatever you need to say can wait some more,” Odysseus says, ignoring the downcasted expression on his friend’s countenance. It can wait until they’ve reached home, until Odysseus has gotten some rest, until Odysseus has seen his wife. “Of that I’m sure,” that was a lie. Ever since Polites, when has he ever been sure of anything? Everything’s changed since the light went dark, since the cyclops, since Poseidon. 

And Eurylochus could see the grief that marred his dear friend’s face and relented with a hesitant sigh and nod, “Okay.” The right-hand went off to gather some soldiers to come with him to scout and survey the area. With Eurylochus, came along Elpenor, Perimedes, and Georgios. That left Odysseus with about forty or so soldiers to take care of, and what Odysseus hoped to be enough time to reflect and think to himself. He can leave his men for a while to think, right? They were grown men, for gods’ sake, they’ll be fine without him for a few minutes. 

Odysseus ended up taking what felt like the best nap of his life against a tree, facing his crew, until he heard the rustling of leaves from behind him, and the frantic pitter-patter of heavy and familiar footsteps. He woke up with a small startle, and stood up instinctively, his heart racing as he prepared for any possible dangers that may befall him and his men. When he turned to check who approached, he saw only Eurylochus running back. 

Like a protective (obsessive) shepherd, he counted his crewmates again to check how many people were here and how many weren’t. Three were missing. Eurylochus left with three people, and those same three were missing. Where did they go? What happened? He looked up to the sky to check how much time had passed; it’s only been about a little less or a little more than an hour. “Eurylochus, back so soon? Where’s the rest of your crew?” Odysseus asked as he watched the man run back to him, disheveled with twigs sticking out everywhere and small scratches here and there. The state of his brother-in-law made Odysseus frown in concern, “And by the gods, what happened to you?”

Out of breath, Eurylochus started to explain what had happened, “We came across a palace. Inside, we heard a voice that seemed to show no malice. To greet it was our choice, but nothing could prepare us for the power that awaited inside.” The man said quickly, trying to catch his breath as he tried to process what had happened. One of the crewmates walked over and handed the poor man a recently filled waterskin, to which Eurylochus took big gulps out of. “What did the palace hide?” Odysseus urged, but waited patiently until his friend was finished.

He took a deep breath again and spoke, his voice now full of vigor and the energy the soldier usually had, “Sir! Since we left home, we’ve faced a variety of foes from a wide range of places.” Odysseus raised an eyebrow at the odd start of the introduction of whomever or whatever this threat was. “Gods,” they did not really ‘face’ the gods they’ve encountered and more so just barely survived by the skin of their teeth, Odysseus remarked in his head but didn’t interrupt Eurylochus. “Monsters, you know the roster. Hostile creatures that we could resist,” Again, ‘resist’ is a stretch; they just barely survived. Not all of them survived, and that fact weighed heavily on Odysseus’s mind. 

“But this was a hell of a twist! Because we are WEAK to a power like this!” Eurylochus’s words, slightly exaggerated as they may sound, made Odysseus’s hair stand up, and he tensed up in worry. “What was it?” He asked, worried for what became the fate of the three people that didn’t go back with Eurylochus. The answer to his question wasn’t one he expected, nor anywhere at the list of the possible creatures that may have resided in an island like this.

“A woman.”

What.

“What?” Odysseus squinted his eyes in confusion. He saw a few other crewmates look over at the mention of a woman and the king had to hold back the urge to roll his eyes at them. Twelve years without their wives or lovers truly took an evident toll on most of them, it seemed. Even so, he can’t help but raise a skeptical eyebrow at the slightly anticlimactic answer, despite the buildup of this woman. Was Eurylochus simply jesting…?

Eurylochus was obviously very serious about his words, no matter how outlandish they may be. “She had us in just two words,” He spoke, and everyone listening, Odysseus included, leaned in a bit closer to urge him to continue (albeit all of them had different reasons for their curiosity). “Come inside,” a few of the sailors listening in bursted out laughing, causing some others to look over in confusion. Even Odysseus himself couldn’t hold back the snort that came out of him at the double entendre, “Damn”. For very obvious reasons, he didn’t find it very far-fetched that this woman, whoever she was, had some of his men wrapped around her finger with such words.

Eurylochus huffed out a small laugh, but continued anyway, “She welcomed us and told us to rest where we wished. She called herself, Circe. Only I stayed outside, but the other three went in. I watched them from a window, and she offered them some food. A couple nymphs went in with all sorts of dishes, more than enough for a feast’s worth.” Odysseus nodded slowly, waiting for the moment things truly got bad. Three of his men were missing doing who knows what because of who knows who, and Odysseus was not ready to lose any more of his friends because of his inattentiveness. “Yet by the time they ate, it was far too late,” were the words that made Odysseus perk up in alert. What happened? Was the food poisoned? Were they sick? Dead? Before he had the chance to ask, though, Eurylochus continued, “For inside the meal, she had cast a spell.”

A spell? So this Circe woman was a witch, then? Odysseus had heard of witches and sorceresses from his father, Laertes, who had joined Jason on his adventures. From what Odysseus knew, witches and sorceresses were fickle women. Though the sorceress that his father experiences with the sorceress he knew (Medea, if he recalled the name correctly) was actually rather nice. From what Odysseus was hearing about Circe, he doesn’t think he’d share the same experience as his father.

“They began to squeal! And grow snouts and tails,” Eurylochus described, using his hands to convey the change he saw. “She changed them!” He exclaimed, distress evident in his tone and expression. That same distress spread to everyone else, including Odysseus himself. “They transformed, and it wasn’t quick. She turned our men from men to pigs!”

Silence spread through the air as everyone processed the information Eurylochus had told them, and finally, Odysseus spoke up, his mind having been made up since the beginning. “We have to go save them.” He stood up from his position sitting on a rock nearby from when Eurylochus started telling the little “story”. He got ready to move out, when his right-hand-man suddenly held onto his arm to stop him, “No, we don’t!”

Odysseus, and a few of the men listening in, looked at Eurylochus like he was crazy. And, to them, Eurylochus did sound crazy. Was he just telling them to abandon the others? Just like that? Looking at the mortified and confused stares from the others, Eurylochus gestured at everyone, “Look at all we’ve lost and all we’ve learned. Every single cost is so much more than what we’ve earned.” He stepped closer to Odysseus, a genuinely worried expression on his face as he held the king by the shoulders, “Think about the men we have left before there’s none. Let’s just cut our losses, you all and I, and let’s run.”

Odysseus furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head, gently taking off Eurylochus’s hands from his shoulders, “Of course I’d like to leave now, of course I’d like to run. But I can hardly sleep now, knowing everything we’ve done,” he said slowly, his expression darkening as he remembered the screams, the cries, the cracks, the faces of horror, fear, and hopelessness on each of his men’s faces as they died, while they all called for him, for his help, for his plan. He looked at Eurylochus resolutely, staying by his decision, “There’s no length I wouldn’t go, if it was you I had to save.” He turned to the listening crew members, a small smile on his face, “I can only hope you’d do the same.”

These forty-three men, more important to Odysseus than his life itself, are the ones he had to keep safe. If need be, he’d gladly give up his life for them. He’s their captain, after all; what sort of captain is the last one alive of his own crew? What sort of captain would prioritize himself over his friends?

He will make sure they get home, all forty-four of them.

______________________________

“Captain!” A voice, no, multiple voices called out. Odysseus couldn’t hide his flinch when he heard those calls the moment he and his single ship entered the Underworld. The sound of chains clinking, of shades wailing and moaning in despair, penetrated the air, creating an almost grating sound to Odysseus’s ears. The atmosphere didn’t help at all with his fear, with his anxiety that something would go wrong. “Captain!” The voices called out again, and Odysseus turned to look at his men, to see who called for him. He went through a quick mental checklist of everyone there, all forty-three of them, including Odysseus, were there and present. No one seemed to have been calling him, and most of them were looking upwards for some reason. 

“Captain!!” More people called out, and Odysseus’s heart stopped for a few moments when he followed the gaze upwards. The shades of the men that died from his crew reached down at them, as though threatening to pull them to their side of the living. “Captain!! Captain!! Captain!!” The shades called out to him– no, they chanted out to him. As if the fates knew he wanted nothing to do with that damned title, and wished to play a “funny game” with him. It wasn’t funny. Not at all. 

Not when flashes of death, screaming, and agony flashed through Odysseus’s mind with every cry for ‘Captain’. Not when Odysseus could feel the bile coming back up his throat from his stomach at just the sound of the word alone. Not when Odysseus saw his hands stained red once again, stained with the blood of too many people that should not have died. Not when Odysseus felt the weight of what felt like his whole world fall onto his shoulders, a burden heavier than Atlas’s, a burden Odysseus was no longer sure he even wanted to carry anymore. Not when each syllable of the word made Odysseus feel as though he were back in Polyphemus’s cave, back on the sea confronted by Poseidon, back on Circe’s island, on the brink of losing three friends, and then having lost one. 

“558 men who died under your command!” All five hundred and fifty-eight men shouted at him, calling out for him over and over and over again. At this point, Odysseus found it too hard to breathe, to see clearly, to even hear the words properly. His hands shook at his sides and he felt the odd urge to scratch at his skin again. The feeling of the sticky blood never quite washed off, no matter how hard and rough Odysseus would scrub and scratch at his skin, until there were scratches and red marks on his skin, the numb feeling of slight burning at the strain on his body. 

“How could you let the cyclops live when ruthlessness is mercy-” Odysseus snapped out of his trance when he felt a small tug at his chiton, and he immediately looked down to see Perimedes, still dutifully rowing the boat, looking up at him with a concerned frown. “Are you okay?” he mouthed quietly, checking in on the king, who took a deep breath and summoned as much courage he could find to nod his head. Odysseus gave Perimedes a small smile, though it looked more like a grimace, “Thank you”, he mouthed back to the soldier, who only nodded with a reassuring smile. 

Odysseus took yet another deep breath, though his heart refused to slow down, and tried his best to ignore the shades above. He kept his eyes trained forward, not daring to look up anymore. If he dared to look up and heed the souls that screamed for him, called out to him, betrayal and anger and despair clear in their voices, Odysseus wasn’t sure if he wouldn’t end up becoming one with the realm of Hades, just as all the other shades here. 

He let his mind wander, anything to avoid having to listen to the desperate cries of his dead comrades. He heard the wailing of children distantly, crying for their mothers and fathers, crying for the warmth of an embrace. The sound reminded him of the infant son of Hector, prince of Troy. That same infant son Odysseus had dropped off a cliff, the same infant that was the root of all Odysseus’s guilt. Even with Zeus’s urging to kill the boy, Odysseus still doubted his decision to this day. Could there truly not have been another way? Was the only way to keep those he loved safe was to rid an innocent child of its life for something it could have never controlled? In another world, would Hector, or another warrior, have done the same to Telemachus? Gods, Odysseus can’t stand the thought of his son hurt because of him. He’s only known the boy for a few months, a little more than a year even, before he had to leave for war, yet he already owed the boy the whole world for missing more than a decade of his life. 

“This life is amazing when you greet it with open arms,” a voice, light and soft, spoke those familiar words that made Odysseus’s heart stop. He didn’t have to look to see who was speaking. He could recognize that voice with his eyes closed anywhere and anytime. “Polites…” he breathed out the name, and Odysseus sent a prayer to Hades to have mercy on his best friend, to let Polites and everyone else enter the afterlife. 

He wanted to turn around, but every voice inside him screamed NO! How could he face him now? It’s been months since Polites… oh. That’s right… he hadn’t given him a proper burial. Odysseus hadn’t given anyone a proper burial, aside from Elpenor, who had fallen to his death just before they left to the Underworld. Perhaps that was the reason why so many souls of those Odysseus had lost were here. They couldn’t pay Charon to bring them down to the judging of souls. That fact weighed down on Odysseus even more. What kind of captain was he, to not even be able to give an honorable burial to those who deserved it?

Odysseus didn’t have to make a decision whether or not to turn around to face Polites, though, since the shade simply floated about and ended up in front of Odysseus. As if the shade could tell Odysseus was there, it turned around and Odysseus felt his heart twist and churn in his chest at what he saw. Polites’s soul, bright as the light he was to Odysseus’s life, held a familiar baby in his arms. The baby from Troy. Tears rushed to the corners of Odysseus’s eyes and he let out a shaky gasp. Polites only kept looking at the baby, smiling gently as he cradled it. “Whatever we face, we’ll be fine if we’re leading from the heart,” Polites managed to hush the baby’s sobs rather easily, something Odysseus remembered having a hard time doing way back when. 

“No matter the place, we can light up the world. Here’s how to start,” The specter said gently, reminding Odysseus of how Polites was like back when they were just children together, playing around and having all sorts of adventures. “Greet the world with open arms.”

“Greet the world with open arms,” Polites’s voice echoed throughout the Underworld and throughout Odysseus’s head. It haunted Odysseus, made him feel as if his tether to reality were a single string, just mere moments from snapping. Odysseus reached out, as if to grab his best friend, to hug him, to hold him in his arms, to speak to him, but the shade of Polites and the baby were blown away like wisps of the wind. “Polites,” he breathed out desperately, wanting to call out for his light, his guide through the darkness that was this entire journey. 

As the ship continued its way through the Underworld, Odysseus spotted something that looked akin to a dock of some sort. Tons and tons of shades were all lined up for the dock, gold in their hands, ready to offer to Charon when he returned. Odysseus knew better than to look through the faces of the shades, afraid he might find someone he recognized. So he looked away.

“Waiting…”

When yet another familiar voice reached his ears, Odysseus wished he had stayed away, looked away, went away. “That voice,” his eyes widened, and Odysseus knew his soul wouldn’t manage the trip out of the Underworld when they were done with the prophet. He can’t bear the weight of another life in his hands, the grief of finding out about the deaths of others in such a horrifying way. Yet his body acted on its own, as though it searched and yearned for more suffering to take on, “It can’t be…”

“Waiting…”

“Mom?” Odysseus choked out, his knees almost giving out under him. When the boat continued forward, he walked swiftly to the back of the boat, so that he could reach his mother. There she was, standing in line for Charon’s next journey through Styx, her hair the same style he’s always seen it in, her smile as sad as the day she found out he had to leave for war. Has her hair always been that white color? Has her body always been that thin and worn out? Has her gaze always been that distant and longing?

“Waiting… Odysseus, when you come home, I’ll be waiting,” Odysseus sucked in a sharp breath at those oh-so familiar words. Twelve years ago, maybe even thirteen years now, just before he left Ithaca for that war he never wanted to participate in. He really didn’t keep his promise when he told her he wouldn’t take long. His hands held tightly to the wood in front of him, flexing and unflexing, as though contemplating jumping off the boat and onto the river Styx that they sailed through. “Even if you’re the last thing I see, I’ll be waiting.”

“I’m right here, mom,” He called out, a hand reaching out to attempt to hug his mother. She was so close, so, so close to him. His hand only phased through her shade, and Odysseus tried again, desperate to hold his mother once more, “Can’t you see?” He failed the second time, yet still, the man tried a third time, yet once again his hand only passed through, as though he were trying to hold water. 

“I took too long…” The tears finally fell from his eyes when he realized his efforts were naught but futile. His mother only continued her soulful lament, unaware of his presence right in front of her, “I’ll always love you.” Odysseus held back his sobs, praying that his men wouldn’t look back to see him like this, “And I ventured too far…” “I’ll stay in your heart.”

“While you were waiting, waiting, waiting…”

As Odysseus watched the slowly shrinking form of his mother, tears still streaming down his face, he couldn't help but wonder how many more people had he left behind without being able to give them a proper farewell. 

“Bye, mom,” Odysseus said, and he hated how he knew it would be the last time he’d even be able to say this.

______________________________

“Captain! Captain! Captain! Captain!” the voices called out, yet Odysseus knew that there was no one actually calling for him. 

Even after they had left the Underworld, those words still echoed through his head. No matter how hard he truly tried to ignore and block it out, it somehow wormed its way into his mind, a reminder of his terrible deeds, of his indirect betrayal to his people. The prophecy foretold by Tiresias the prophet didn’t make things any better either. Some murderous man would be with his wife, there may be a betrayal, his palace covered in red, and the man who gets to go home… no longer him. Upon being faced with such a future full of doom, was it not the standard human reaction to find a way to prevent it?

Odysseus forced himself to ignore the small voice in his mind, the one that told him that there was no way a prophecy could be broken. Many tales have been told about people attempting to do so, yet they’ve all but failed. Yet Odysseus can’t help but try. Now that he’s seen the error or his ways, the truth of it all, the truth that so many of his crewmates and others have tried to tell him. 

“Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves.”

So, if Odysseus became the monster he saw his foes as, if he truly put himself and his team in the highest priority rather than mercy, then perhaps they would all finally make it home. They had to do everything they could to survive. For Penelope. For Telemachus. For Ctimene, Eumaeus, Argos, and his father. For his people in Ithaca.

The ship slowly sailed towards the lair of Scylla. Odysseus learned from the sirens that the only way to get past the god of the seas would be to sail through where even Poseidon didn’t dare pass. This was their only way home. “Captain! Captain! Captain! Captain!!” the voices shouted once again, and the thought that he could at least bring the memory of those he lost with him on the way home consoled him by the tiniest margin.

In the midst of reflecting upon the wails and groans that stayed in his mind, he just barely realized Eurylochus had approached him from behind. “You’re quiet today,” he spoke softly, cutting through the air of silence that had covered the crew after what had transpired with the sirens. Not that Odysseus particularly knew why they had all stared at him strangely and checked in with him a little more often than before. In fact, after he ordered the sirens’ deaths, he can’t help but feel a small bit of his weight lifting from his chest. While he never wanted to have to kill someone again, there was that small sense of morbid satisfaction as he managed to get through an obstacle without someone from his side getting killed or murdered or compromised.

“Not much to say,” Odysseus shrugged noncommittally. There truly wasn’t much to say. He knew the cost of going through Scylla’s lair. But was he ready to pay the price?

A few beats of even more silence later, Eurylochus spoke up again, addressing the whole crew, including Odysseus, “I’ve got a secret I can no longer keep..” That made most of them perk up, and they turned a bit to the right-hand-man, to hear what he was saying. Odysseus, too, turned around from where he was watching the waters and looked at his brother-in-law.

Eurylochus took a deep breath and came out with it, “I opened the wind bag while you were asleep.”

And Odysseus’s entire world fell apart. His eyes widened, and he even heard some crew members let out a small gasp at the reveal. It was Eurylochus this whole time? The man Odysseus trusted the most? He was the reason why they were all here about to risk their lives and not in Ithaca right now. They were so close to home.

Eurylochus knew that too, for the next thing he said was an apology, “I’m so sorry.”

He let out a shaky breath and swallowed down his words. Odysseus turned around, he couldn’t bear looking at his brother-in-law now. In all honesty, Odysseus had been content not knowing the traitor who had opened the wind bag; there was no point in shifting blame and suspicion, not anymore. Plus, they had been confronted by Poseidon not even a moment after the storm was unleashed once again. There were too many things to think about, too many things to worry about, too many people to mourn for, too little people to account for. 

His mind raced with thoughts, most of which were now regarding his brother-in-law’s indiscretion a few weeks, maybe a month or two, ago. Eurylochus gently held onto Odysseus’s arm, trying to get his attention despite the man looking out to the sea, “Forgive me.” He pleaded and begged the king to give some sort of reaction, other than mere shock and then despondence. But Odysseus couldn’t find the words to reply. He couldn’t think of what to say.

Slowly, the crew went back to their own duties, rowing the ship towards the path that Odysseus had charted for them earlier. Full speed ahead, they’d tell themselves as they rowed and rowed and rowed. 

As they slowly neared the lair of Scylla, Odysseus turned to Eurylochus, his expression trained and unreadable. “Eurylochus, light up six torches,” he gave his command. This time, Eurylochus didn’t question him, nor did he say anything further; the right-hand only went to gather some torches to light, handing them to some men who weren’t doing much work at the moment. Eurylochus didn’t know what was in Odysseus’s mind, nor did Odysseus know what was in Eurylochus’s; he wasn’t sure, at least. How could he be sure now? When he was just about sure that Eurylochus wouldn’t have betrayed him until mere moments ago.

Everyone sailed inside the lair in silence, the stench of dead bodies, blood, and guts permeating the air. Yet Odysseus found himself not as averted to it as he remembered being; he’d gotten used to it, the smell of death. 

“Captain!” Odysseus snapped back to reality as Eurylochus called out to him. Almost like clockwork now, Odysseus made a mental headcount; everyone was here and accounted for. Well, all forty-three of them, including Odysseus. No one died, Odysseus comforted himself with the thought. He turned back his attention to Eurylochus, who was facing elsewhere, trying to use his torch to see something clearly. “Something approaches,” he said, though he didn’t sound too sure. Odysseus didn’t feel as confused as his comrades did, however, and only walked to a shadier part of the boat, not quite as illuminated by the torches. 

“Hello.” A throaty, raspy voice spoke from where Eurylochus was facing. There it stood. A woman. Her upper torso being the only thing seen in the dark cavern of the lair, protecting her dignity, as if she were a mere maiden taking her time in the murky waters. Her long hair cascaded down her body, floating by the tips where it hits the water. Her bones could be seen from how thin and malnourished she appeared, and her smile split her face into two parts. It was her eyes that made Odysseus sure of who she was, sunken and the darkening color of her sclera. She looked like a monster, indeed. Yet Odysseus knew this wasn't a monster he'd have to entertain for too long. 

The waters around them shook, crashing waves moving the ship side to side just slightly, and Odysseus's breath hitched for a moment. Quickly, he shook his head to calm himself, digging his nails into the skin of his palm to ground himself back. Poseidon wasn't here. He wouldn't dare follow them here. Not here, where the monsters aren't picky with the flesh and blood they eat. 

Slowly, a large head emerged from the water, like a snake ready to strike its prey. Next, another head followed, and then another. Six serpentine heads came up from the water, drool dripping down some of their mouths as they gazed at the sailors. The woman looked at the six illuminated areas of the ship, six people holding the torches, and she smiled. 

Odysseus saw the smile and he immediately became guarded. He linked further into the darkness of the ship, and took a deep breath. “Row for your lives!!” He shouted, prepared to face the storm this would be. The soldiers obeyed the command, as they always did, and rowed as fast as they could. If they could have seen Odysseus, they'd have seen the king looking out to the horizon, looking away from the carnage that he knew was about to transpire.

No matter how fast the sailors rowed, Scylla easily followed. The narrow passageway of her lair made it hard for ships as big as this one to pass through, and she certainly wasn't going to let her first meal of a couple hundred years pass through so easily. “Drown in your sorrow and fears!” She sang, her voice growling as one of her serpent heads scoops up one of the men in its mouth. 

“Choke on your blood and your tears,” She continued to sing, but Odysseus didn't give her the time of day. He filled his ears with beeswax once again, just like he had with the sirens. He turned his back to the bloodbath he knew was going on behind him. He clenched his jaw and shut his eyes tight. He won't hear anything. Not until it was over. He refused to heed the screams of his men, calling out for him, “Captain! Captain!!” 

“Captain! Captain! Captain!” The voices in his mind were determined to remind him of what he was doing. The beeswax in his ears did nothing to silence the screams of the Underworld that resonated within him still. He was supposed to be their captain. He was their captain. This was just a small sacrifice he had to take. He'll get home. He'll bring the memory of everyone he's lost home. That's compensation. Right? Right? 

“Bleed till you run out of years! We must do what it takes to survive,” the monster sang, a sadistic glint in her smile as she felt the soldiers’ fear, confusion, and adrenaline. One more sailor got eaten, and the three torches that were illuminating the ship fell to the water or to the ground of the ship. The light got dimmer and dimmer. The darker everything got, the louder the screams in Odysseus’s mind, “Captain! Captain! Captain! Captain!” His heart started beating faster, his head started screaming at him even more, “Captain! Captain!” 

“Give up your honor and faith,” Scylla growled slightly, one of the heads roaring as it lunged for another sailor. Eurylochus immediately gave the torch he was holding to another man, and ran to try to save the one the head was targeting. He failed. Blood splattered straight to the right-hand-man, and Eurylochus froze in place as he witnessed the body of his comrade become bitten into. The guts and entrails spilled all over the place, and the serpent head had to come back a second time to take the leftovers. “Live out your life as a wraith!!” Another sailor was swept up, and Eurylochus finally realized something when he saw the dimming light of the torches. Having started to notice the pattern, the man quickly turned around to save the last one holding the torch.

“Die in the blood where you bathe,” The man holding Eurylochus’s torch watches in confusion as he ran toward the light source, but Eurylochus was too late. The ship fell to darkness, Eurylochus standing in the middle of a bloodstained ship, 37 other sailors left on the ship. Odysseus, noticing the lack of turbulence over the waters, opened his eyes and discreetly took off the wax in his ears. He turned around, watching the serpent heads retreat back into the water, hunger sated. The king walked across the ship, keeping his head looking straight forward, striding past Eurylochus, who only stared at his captain in incredulity and horror. “We must do what it takes to survive.”

Odysseus stopped by the front of the ship, looking out to the end of the cave they rowed toward. Eurylochus only stood there, and looked at the other soldiers, as if asking them if they noticed what he noticed. The looks and gestures he got in return affirmed his suspicions, even though he hated what he found out when he realized the truth. 

Scylla stared at the ship leaving her lair with a sly smile, “We are the same, you and I.” Odysseus’s breath hitched when he heard the last part of her song. He cursed in his head, knowing full well that the monster was talking about him. “We are the same, you and I,” The sole lyric echoed in his head, and his breath hitched in his throat at the implications. He was a monster. He's become the monster he had to be. 

Odysseus wasn’t sure if he should take it as a good or bad thing. 

______________________________

“Captain!! Captain!!” 

“How could you let the cyclops live when ruthlessness is mercy-”

Odysseus's thoughts were interrupted by Eurylochus stomping over, footsteps heavy with anger. “Tell me you did not know that would happen,” Eurylochus demanded, his face contorted into an almost constipated expression. “Say you didn't know how that would end.” 

When Odysseus didn't give a response, Eurylochus grabbed him by the arm, forcing him to turn around. “Look me in the eyes and tell me, captain.” He flinched. He counted the people on the ship, thirty men rowing, five other men cleaning up and mourning, and then there’s him and Eurylochus. Thirty-seven of them out of the forty-three of them before they entered Scylla’s territory. “That you did not just sacrifice six men!” Eurylochus yelled, fury flashing through his expression. 

“Use your wits and try to say I'm crazy and mad!” Eurylochus tried to beg his captain, “That this is all some trick the god's have sent!” Anything, just anything that meant that Odysseus hadn't lost his kind from homesickness. “Tell me you did not miss home so painfully bad,” He paused, his expression turning to anger once again when he realized Odysseus wasn't saying a thing to defend himself. “That you gave up the lives of six of our friends!” Eurylochus’s voice cracked, the sight of even more of his friends and teammates being killed once again too jarring for him now.

“Think about the men we have left, before they’re none,” He thought back to Eurylochus’s words, and Odysseus couldn’t help but feel confused. Was this not what Eurylochus was so prepared to do not even a month or two (or three, time has eluded Odysseus’s mind) ago in Circe’s island? Why was the man mad at him now? His confusion must have been conveyed on his face, because Eurylochus grabbed a part of Odysseus’s chiton and yanked it upwards. “When we fought the cyclops, you were quick to hatch a plan!” The same plan that took so long, it gave the cyclops the opportunity to kill so many people, Odysseus retorted in his head. “And when we fought with Circe, it was you who left behind no man!” What about Elpenor, Odysseus added on. 

“Yet when we saw this monster, we didn't take a stand. We just ran!” Eurylochus scoffed, balling his hands into fists as he shook Odysseus by the top of his chiton. The king only looked to the side despondently. He didn't want to admit it. Eurylochus didn't like that, and he screamed in Odysseus's face, “SAY SOMETHING!” 

“I can't!” Odysseus finally spoke, looking back to his brother-in-law with an angry expression that mirrored the other's. 

When Eurylochus finally accepted that the man in front of him was no longer a man, but a monster, he managed to steel himself. He harshly let Odysseus back to the ground, and grabbed the hilt of his greatsword, prepared for battle. “Then you have forced my hand.” Odysseus had gone too far. He crossed the line he had been standing on for the past few years.

He hadn't noticed that the ship stopped moving, the soldiers moving from where they were to surround the two commanders. He was too focused on his brother-in-law raising his weapon against him, and the pang of hurt and betrayal that shot through him. “Lower your weapon,” he ordered, but Eurylochus only shook his head, “No can do.” 

“You miss your wife so bad, you'd trade the lives of your own crew!” Eurylochus accused, still unable to believe what his own friend had done. “Don't make me fight you, brother,” Odysseus replied sharply, a hand moving to his own sword and he went down to a defensive position, “You know you'd have done the same!” Otherwise, why had Eurylochus been so ready to abandon Elpenor, Perimedes, and Georgios as pigs under Circe's mercy? 

But Eurylochus didn't even flinch at the blame being shifted to him, “If you want all the power, you must carry all the blame!” Because what sort of leader wouldn't carry the blame of his men on his shoulders? What sort of captain would leave his friends and comrades to die? What sort of captain would turn his back to the suffering of his people? 

Odysseus was no captain, Eurylochus accepted that fact as he swung his blade at his friend, his king, his brother. The soldiers watched in worry, anger, and apprehension as the rope that held everyone together and loyal to the other snapped. Murmurs arose amongst them and most, if not all, found themselves feeling how Eurylochus did. Betrayed. 

Where did their captain go? Where did their king go? Where did Odysseus go?

“Captain, please stop this,” one of them called out, but Odysseus ignored it as he blocked a hit from Eurylochus’s weapon. He couldn't hear it among the screams in his head calling out for him already, “Captain! Captain! Captain!” He had to get home. He just had to get home now. 

Ithaca's waiting. His kingdom was waiting. Penelope was waiting for him. 

“Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves.”

Odysseus swept Eurylochus off his feet with a low kick to his ankles, and he raised his sword high. He had no need for a second-in-command who questioned him at every turn. He had no need for a brother-in-law who wasn't even dedicated to getting home. 

Odysseus's job wasn't to make sure any of them were happy. His job was simply to make sure they got home. Alive or as a memory, he didn't care at this point. 

“I am not letting you get in my way!!” Odysseus screamed as he lowered the sword down to Eurylochus, only for a dagger to suddenly stab through his stomach. He choked on his saliva, blood rushing up to leave his mouth as crimson dripped down the dagger slowly, staining the wood of the ship red. He let out a wet gasp, frozen where he stood. 

Slowly, he turned around, and saw Perimedes looking at him in anger and pain, as though Perimedes felt hurt simply having to stab his friend, but there was determination and anger in his face too. Behind Perimedes stood all the other sailors, Odysseus counted all thirty-four other angry faces full of betrayal. Betrayal Odysseus himself felt deep down as well, for the others, for Eurylochus, for himself. Behind the sailors, Odysseus saw the souls of the other five-hundred and fifty-eight men he saw in the Underworld, staring at him, screaming at him. “Captain! Captain! Captain!”

“My brothers,” he strained to speak, his eyes filling up with tears slowly. “Why?”

Perimedes kept the dagger in, and the soldiers spoke, “How are we supposed to trust you now?” From the corner of his eyes, Odysseus saw Eurylochus slowly standing up and joining the others, “Now, your time has come, your luck’s run out.” “How much longer till your luck runs out?” Odysseus remembered Eurylochus’s words previously, back when he was about to talk to Aeolus. He supposed that the seeds of doubt had sprouted and taken root faster than he could pull them out. That was the start of his chain of misfortune, the start of the incessant pattern of failure and betrayal. “I see portrayals of betrayal,” the prophet told him earlier, and Odysseus realized that there was no point in trying to avoid that prophecy. From back then with the wind bag and right now.

“Now, the time has come to shut you down,” Eurylochus and the rest said together, their faces speaking volumes of their disapproval of how their king had been acting. With how angry, betrayed, and simply exhausted his crew seemed, Odysseus couldn’t help but feel disapproval for himself too. “You relied on wit, and then we died on it.”

He couldn’t have been in the wrong could he? Not again. Not after he decided to try and change to be the right leader for his crew. “Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves,” he tried to convince himself, again. But he found himself doubting it once again. “Greet the world with open arms” was not a good way to live, and it would only cause suffering everywhere.

But this is what ruthlessness brought Odysseus, he realized. “Captain! Captain! Captain!!” the voices of his crew screamed once again. Odysseus’s mind was filled with their faces, begging for mercy, as they were drowned, smashed, and killed. At the time, Odysseus thought Polites was right; he wasn’t. Then, after Tiresias’s prophecy, he begrudgingly started to believe that Poseidon was right; he supposed he wasn’t either. 

So then who was? Who was right? How did Odysseus have to change, now that he’s realized his wrongs on all accounts? Looking at the faces of his men, the ones alive, and thinking back to those that died, Odysseus felt the urge to apologize. To say the single word all of them knew wouldn’t fix anything, the word that would at the very least let Odysseus have a better chance of redeeming himself. Of being the king he’s supposed to be.

… Gods, how much had Ithaca changed, within twelve to thirteen years? How much had Penelope changed? Telemachus?

Odysseus’s mouth opened, blood dripping from the side, as he steeled his nerves to finally hold back and swallow his pride. But before he could get a word in, Perimedes cut him off, “I’m sorry, captain.”

And he pulled out the dagger harshly. Odysseus felt a blunt force that felt like the handle of a spear hit the back of his head and he fell down, dizzy. Black spots littered across his vision as Odysseus distantly heard his men scurrying off somewhere, someone taking him up in their arms carefully. 

He blacked out.

______________________________

Odysseus woke up to the sound of cows mooing and the rustling of the grass. Wait, grass? There wasn’t any grass on his ship. He slowly opened his eyes and found himself tied with rope, leaned against some type of flat stone. His stomach wound was cleanly wrapped, and he could slightly feel the small sting of some ointment around the slowly healing stab.

His eyes squinted at the bright sun that hit him, and it took him a few moments to compose himself. His head pounded, throbbing like he was about to have a migraine. “Agh, my head,” he winced, his voice raspy from likely not having spoken in a while. A cow’s moo echoed through the area, and Odysseus frowned a bit; the noise did nothing to help his headache. He realized that he was on some kind of hill, overlooking a whole bunch of cows. There were more cows than Odysseus could even count, and much more cows here than there had been sheep in Polyphemus’s cave. 

“Where are we?” He asked the question to no one in particular. Odysseus hadn’t expected a response until Eurylochus spoke, just a few feet away, “Some island.” Eurylochus didn’t even look at the man tied up, his distant gaze focused solely on the cows, as if he were entranced at the sight of the lean meat, “The first one we found. It’s bursting with cows just roaming around, and begging us to eat.”

Odysseus watched as Eurylochus licked his lips, swallowing thickly as he watched the cows, “So much meat, and hunger is so heavy…” With another deep breath to hold in the urge to simply eat the cows raw, Eurylochus turned to something behind Odysseus, looking up, “This statue,” he spoke, and Odysseus tried to turn around to take a look, but winced when he felt his wound ache at the pressure from the ropes. He had to rely on whatever Eurylochus was saying for more information.

“The god of the Sun,” Which god of the sun, Odysseus wanted to ask so very badly. Yet he also knew that both sun gods were rather protective of their cattle, and had all the means necessary to issue a punishment should these cattle be harmed. Both Helios and Apollo were also rather demanding gods when angered, and Odysseus knew that if they made even one wrong move, they’d be done for. “Don’t know where it’s from,” Odysseus had to hold back the urge to try to shake Eurylochus out of whatever trance he’s in; what do you mean Eurylochus didn’t think to figure out which sun god this was, and where exactly they are? He never remembered Eurylochus being this negligent. “But here’s where we found all these cows to hunt, right in front.” “And hunger is so heavy,” Eurylochus repeated, the rest of the crew groaning about their hunger just behind him too, that same distant haze over their eyes. That was when Odysseus knew he had to do something. He angled his body so that the ropes that tied him to the statue’s pedestal, so that the sharp edges would give enough friction to slowly fray the ropes. “Please don’t tell me you’re about to do what I think you’ll do..” He pleaded with his friend, not exactly in the mood to raise his voice anymore. 

Eurylochus finally turned to his brother-in-law, sadness and hopelessness peeking from behind the haze that seemed to cover everyone’s eyes, “Ody, we’re never gonna get to make it home.” He spoke bluntly, tired from the long journey they’ve gone through to this point. “You know it’s true,” Odysseus’s stomach knotted into itself at the other man’s words. He shook his head, desperation gleaming in his eyes as he looked at Eurylochus’s resigned face, “You don’t know it’s true.”

It can’t be true. Odysseus could think of a way to get back home, now that he had a pretty vague idea of where he was. And even if he didn’t, he’s the Odysseus of Ithaca, the “man of many ways”, as many bards and singers have written songs and hymns of praise to him and his wits. He had to think of a way back home. He can’t handle another day, another hour, another second without his wife. But first, he had to find a way to convince his men not to do anything stupid, “This is the home of the sun god!”

“I’m starving, my friend,” Odysseus ignored the small feeling of relief when he found that Eurylochus still viewed him as a friend, and continued to try wearing down his friend’s temptation, “But if you kill his cattle, who knows what he’ll send? This is the home of the sun god!” Odysseus moved his body discreetly, making sure not to strain his injury while also doing his best to cut away the ropes that bound him to the statue. 

“I’m tired, my friend!” Eurylochus’s stomach growled audibly, and Odysseus let out a small wince as his own stomach growled as well, of hunger and pain. He rubbed the rope against the side of the pedestal harder, trying as hard as he could to escape his bindings. Meanwhile, he had to do everything he could to convince everyone else, “But we’re so close to home, this can’t be where it ends..” In reality, Odysseus wasn’t very sure how far or close they really were from home. He’s half-sure that they’ve gone beyond uncharted waters and lands, but he’s not quite sure how far he had to go.

Eurylochus only shook his head as he started to slowly and carefully walk to one of the cows nearby, “How much longer must I suffer now? How much longer must I push through doubt?” He slowly stalked toward the innocent cow, his movements that of a precise hunter, and Odysseus hastened what he was doing to try cutting off the rope. The cord started to slowly fray, each small strand getting cut off in a painfully slow manner, but progress is progress, Odysseus supposed. “Please don’t do this… I need to get home!”

“How much longer must I go about my life like this, when people die like this?” The starving man took another step to the unassuming cow. Odysseus snuck a glance to check on his progress with the ropes. He's almost there. Almost there. “Eurylochus…” He couldn't even think of anything to say anymore. After all, he knew how stubborn his right-hand was. And from the strange haze-like veil over everyone's eyes, simply at the sight of the fattened and well-taken care of cattle, no one would listen to reason. 

The other crewmates walked over too, stalking closer and closer to the resting cow. Just like Eurylochus, everyone else had a similar eerie desperation. Odysseus, realizing that something was wrong with his men, shouted and pleaded. “Reconsider! We can get home!!”

In a last-ditch attempt to get his men back into their right minds while trying to get himself out, Odysseus turned to his right-hand man. “Eurylochus,” he pleaded, praying to the gods that Eurylochus would at the very least hear him out. Yet the only response Odysseus received was the taller man reaching for the greatsword strapped to his back, raising it high in the air. “I'm just a man,” Eurylochus spoke, his stomach growling even louder as he swung down his blade. 

“Eurylochus, NO!-” Odysseus finally cut himself free from his bounds, and stood up. He reached his hand out to Eurylochus, but he was too late.

A startled moo bellowed across the island. Blood dripped down the large blade, reflecting the light of the sun shining down on them. The reflected light was blinding, oddly; red blood wouldn't reflect that bright a light-

Gold.

Odysseus felt his heart stop. The blood was gold. The cow was bleeding gold. Ichor, essence of the divine. 

“You've doomed us,” Odysseus breathed, torn between forcing himself to keep breathing or just stop altogether. His mind ran multiple miles a minute, and he finally managed to get a glimpse of the sun god’s statue he was tied to. Helios, the Sun Incarnate. “You’ve doomed us all, Eurylochus!” He screamed, his voice cracking when the true consequences of likely angering the Helios, titan personification of the sun, crashing down on him heavier than any he’s carried before.

As if his scream had finally pierced through their hunger-clouded minds, Eurylochus slowly turned around. The haze over his eyes disappeared, and all that was left was the look of someone crumbling in despair, lost in the labyrinth of confusion. “Captain?” The man sounded so disoriented, so confuddled at what he just did. 

“Captain! Captain! Captain!” “Captain?” Odysseus forced himself to shake off the uneasiness that washed over him at the sound of that word. Eurylochus needed him. They all needed him. These thirty-six men needed him right now. The king forced himself to suck in his panic and took charge. He firmly looked at all his men, who had now snapped out of whatever trance they were in. Thirty-six, he counted, including Eurylochus. “We need to get away from this island now!”

He urged, moving to the single ship docked nearby, though his legs staggered when a pang of pain shot through his torso. Immediately, Eurylochus and Perimedes ran over and took to his sides to help him quickly. Everyone else followed, rushing to the boat and getting the ship ready to leave. “Grab an oar with all the strength your arms allow,” He ordered, raising his voice as loud as he could in his injured state. They finally got to the ship, and the men by his sides left to obey the orders, doing their usual sailing duties.

“These cows were immortal, they were the Sun god’s friends,” He explained, looking directly to his right-hand-man to explain. Odysseus didn’t want a second repeat of what happened however long ago it was; with the wind bag, with Scylla, it was time to be more transparent with himself to others, he realized. “And now that we’ve pissed them off,” He added, turning to look at the herd of cattle that ran around the island in hysteria, “Who do you think he’ll send?!”

Every single one of the thirty-seven men in the ship were slowly falling apart in their panicking, hurriedly calling out to each other, “Full speed ahead! Full speed ahead!” The large oars rowed and rowed as fast as all of the hunger-panged sailors could, but Odysseus’s eyebrows furrowed in alarm when he noticed the marble statue of Helios slowly move its head in their direction.

“Faster!” He ordered, stomping on the wooden floor of the messy ship to emphasize his order. “Full speed ahead,” everyone chanted uncoordinatedly. “Faster!!” He pushed, shouting as loud as he could. “Full speed ahead!”

A blast of thunder reverberated across the sea, and upon seeing the clear skies slowly being covered in stark white clouds, Odysseus knew one thing. There was no escape now.

[thequeenofthedisneyverse]

Story Idea! (Yeah...these are the things I think about when I'm bored)

WHAT IF (and hear me out here) Eurylochus had a lover that was ON the ship. Hence why he cares about the crew so much is because his lover is also on the ship/apart of that crew.

AND BEFORE YOU COME AT ME, I'm aware of Ctimene and I LOVE that ship but I kind of find it odd that he doesn't mention her. So, for story's sake, take this as an au where he and Ctimene aren't married.

First version of this "Au"

Let's call Eury's bf/husband "Evander". Evander grew up alongside Eurylochus, Polites, and Polites. Friends to lover's sort of thing. Let's say Evander and Eury got married shortly after Odypen did.

MLM marriages are accepted in Ithica because I said so.

During the more wholesome moments (Let's say, before Polites' death) both men get on Ody's nerves because both of them are so mushy and lovey dovey while he has to wait to get to his wife.

Yes, Ody would be the micro-hater who says "GET A ROOM" when they just glance at each other.

Evander fought alongside all three of his best friends in war and continued to travel with them. During moments where the crew would sleep, he would be there to comfort Eury (Especially after Polite's death...and the windbag situation.)

The line in Mutiny, "Don't make me fight you brother, you know you would have done the same"

Ody would have been referring to Evander in this situation in roles were switched. And he's not wrong, but Eury would burn the world down for Evvy.

BUT Ody told Eury to light six torches and one of those torches were handed to Evvy. And if Eury didn't think fast enough, Evvy would've actually been killed.

And you know how Eurylochus had his name chanted in the song? What if that was Evvy trying to get his husband's attention? Because all Evvy wanted right at that moment was comfort after watching more men get killed.

Once they reached Helio's cow Island, Eury would've killed a cow for solely him and Evander to share. There are tons of others the rest of the crew can pick but THAT one? It belongs to Evander.

And of course, because of this situation, he dies with Eury.

2. Second version

Everything is basically the same except Eurymene (Eury + Ctimene) and Evander are all married to each other.

(I HC Eury as Demisexual + romantic so he is in love with Ctimene. As far as Evander and Ctimene go, I'm not sure whether to put them in a platonic marriage or a romantic one.)

At first I thought this wouldn't work because I would think both husbands leaving would be a shitty move. Especially if a bunch of assholes would be shooting their shot when both men are gone, which means no one protecting her from sleezbags.

But then I remembered that Evander and Eurylochus both have families and hopefully upstanding men (Uncles, brothers. cousins) who would protect her if need be.

Now, here comes the sad part, what if Evander was given a torch? A torch given to him by Eury no less.

Imagine Eury seeing his lover getting brutally killed and the only thing that's left of him is his sandal.

He just saw a creature take his husband in one bite like it was nothing. Everything was like slow motion for him.

And you know what's worse?

Eury knew what was going on with the torches after two or three men had been eaten and before he could make it to Evvy he was already dead. He only saw his face one last time as they made eye contact.

At that moment, Eury couldn't think. He couldn't move. His breathing was quick as that sight kept flashing before his eyes over and over and over again.

The muscular man, as a final act of mobility, picked up his lover's sandal and fell to his knees. Eury didn't fully register that he was crying. He couldn't fully register anything after what happened.

His sobs, amongst the rest of the crew mates, were heard. Heavy loud ones. That sandal he held was tightly clutched to his chest, more like his heart.

You want to know what's funny? That sandal would always find some way off of Evvy's foot. Either when he walked too fast or ran, it would always find some way to slip off of his foot.

It was laughable back then, Irritating for Evvy, but laughable for everyone else.

But Eury couldn't find it in him to laugh or do much of anything besides cry his heart out.

Odysseus felt sick to his stomach at all the cries he heard, especially Eurylochus's. Tears and sobs from a man that would rarely cry at anything.

So, without even looking, he knew what happened. Some part of him hoped Eurylochus didn't hand Evander the torch. But six sacrifices had to be made, if Evander was one of them then so be it.

It hurt him, all of their cries did, he tried so hard to drown it out, but it wasn't working.

Soon, the men's sobs, Including Eury's, had died down. But that's only because they were all hoarse and exhausted. Ody knew Eury wouldn't have been strong enough to be second in command anymore, so he left him be.

They made it Helio's Island but no cows were eaten, the grass was. But surprisingly, most men didn't even feel like eating at all. They only did to keep whatever strength the had left to get back home.

Eury wouldn't eat at all, hell he couldn't even register Ody's voice when he told him to eat. All he did was stare at his lover's sandal. His death circling Eurylochus' mind to no end.

No one could talk him into eating or doing much of anything. Eury was too far gone and after too many tries, they all began to notice that.

He stayed in the far corner of the ship for the remainder of the trip. No talking, no thinking, just some quiet whimpers here and there and some tears if you looked.

By some miracle, they made it back to Ithica but all men on board were forever changed. The last few men that were on board got off the ship so fast you would've thought they had the gift of super speed.

The only one left was Eurylochus. He didn't know they were in Ithica. He stopped caring about his surroundings a long time ago. Odysseus couldn't bring himself to even attempt to talk to Eury, so the next best thing would be some family members of Eurylochus and Ctimene, his wife.

And oh boy did was that shattering. Eury's family loved Evander; he was a good guy. Ctimene loved him very much too (Like I said before, I can't decide between platonic or romantic love.) Now you mean to tell them he's dead? How on earth is HIS family going to take this.

After some coaxing from his wife and mother, he stood up and very very very slowly walked off the ship to his home. He didn't have the energy or will power to be quick on his feet anymore.

Once they made it home, Ctimene helped him into a bath. She tried to take the sandal, just so it wouldn't get wet, but Eury wouldn't let it go.

Not that she blamed him or was made at him for clutching it so tightly. That was the last thing he had from Evander.

After some good bath and some food Eurylochus was laid to finally rest. But he couldn't sleep. Every time he tried he just saw that creature clasp its mouth of Evander.

Safe to say, Eurylochus barely spoke from then on, and due to certain incident, was often left on su!cide watch. Over time he does open up but the grief and depression is still there.

It takes a lot to make him laugh, hell it takes a lot to even make him smile but it happens if you play your cards rights.

He never stops thinking about Evvy...and never will

-

Should I make a fic out of this, would you guys want to read it?

[dootznbootz]

Do you have any Penelope fic recommendations ?

I'd love to read some stories about Penelope interacting with Laertes, Ctimene, Euryclea or take care of poor Anticlea.

Or maybe about Penelope as a queen, her responsibilities and feelings (other than waiting for Odysseus ofc).

OR Penelope with Athena ! That'd be so awesome too !

Heck even Penelope and Telemachus deserve to be explored more.

Or maybe something about her parents, her naiad mother and her sister Iphtime.

Because OdyPen is awesome and all, best couple, but like you said in your post, the water queen needs to be explored more !

She so does need to be explored more!!! ;~;

Like it's literally my favorite thing. I have basically her whole life planned out (alongside Helen's as they are very close in mine (along with Menelaus, Pollux, and Castor. They were a weird ragtag group of kids.) and I love her to bits!!! Like, yeah, she "technically" has less moments than Odysseus in the Odyssey and with her stress, that changes things but there is SOO much there to play with!!! AND THAT'S JUST WITH THE ODYSSEY

The sneeze of death? All her prayers for the suitor's doom? Her sassing Telemachus when he doesn't spill the beans right away? "You bold and brazen bitch!" to Melantho? LIKEMINDED?! You know how fun it is while writing to always be thinking about how two characters constantly mirror one another? SO MUCH FUN!!! slkdfj

she's so silly and I love her so much lksdfj

so like, I'm working on fics right now (so many wips ;~; ) but I have two of mine out where I hopefully do a good job of characterizing her. It's my main goal honestly to make her the most fleshed out character out of everyone.

Scraps - Silly OdyPen oneshot but I do characterize her a lot in it. (some of this isn't "canon" to Dootzverse anymore as this was my first fic and when I was kind of planning things out)

Worth the Mess - OdyPen Sickfic mostly from Odysseus POV but rest assured, you will know a lot about my lil shit Water Wife. Like a lot about her. Probably too much lol (remember this silly lil moodboard I did for her? Yeah. It'll make sense. I really get silly with Penelope.)

Here's a few fics that like, give her some focus (but still very "odypen", I haven't really browsed fics in a while though (I won't lie, I'm pretty picky with characterization. ;~; even some of my fave fics make me raise my brow sometimes. like if they make it seem as though Penelope would kind of blame him for the goddesses or see it as cheating And if I see Diomedes in the tags, I'm out :P and I don't like excessive whump or angst really. ) I should probably look around again lol.)

Take Courage, My Heart - lil bit of Penelope's thoughts as they reunite. short and sweet.

The Long Way Home - A short and poetic kind of view into her feelings over the years.

I fear from the Path (that leads me to you) - Not really Penelope centered but it's sweet and cute :)

Mother Rages - Probably the most Penelope focused one and very fun. Talking about her anger about the Suitors.

Those are the ones I know of :') (though as I said, I have not browsed in a while, there's probably more! Hopefully!)