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antinousletmehit · 6 days ago

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˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 14 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⋆˚࿔ Book 2 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇btw “astarte” is the Egyptian equivalent to Aphrodite

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The Egyptian sun burned high above the sprawling settlement as Telemachus and his companions moved through the sandstone streets. The local servants bustled around them, tending to their every need, bringing food, fresh water, and supplies. For the Ithacan crew, it was a moment of rest amidst their chaotic journey, but Telemachus’s mind remained restless.

While the others mingled, Eurymachus and Cassander flirted shamelessly with the women, and Antinous sat brooding in a corner, Telemachus found himself drawn to the temple at the center of the settlement. There, a grand statue of Astarte, the goddess often equated with Aphrodite, stood proudly. Her likeness was carved in ivory and gold, her serene face gazing down as though she were watching over the city.

As Telemachus approached the statue, his blood boiled. It wasn’t just the goddess herself, it was the reminder of everything she represented. He thought of her hand in this entire ordeal, of how Aphrodite’s schemes had set Raphael on this path, stealing y/n, and throwing his life into chaos. The dagger on his hip felt heavier. His fists clenched. All of the rage, the helplessness, and the guilt he had bottled up surged forward, threatening to spill over. His breathing grew heavier as he glared up at the statue, its divine gaze seeming to mock him.

“You did this…” he growled under his breath. His knuckles turned white around the hilt of his dagger. “This is all your fault!” Before he could think, he pulled the dagger from his belt and hurled it with all his strength. The weapon soared through the air and struck the statue square in its chest. A sickening crack echoed through the temple as a chunk of the golden carving shattered and fell to the ground, breaking into smaller fragments.

Gasps erupted around him. The servants who had been silently praying nearby froze, their eyes wide with horror. One of them screamed, clutching her chest as though the offense had physically struck her. Others began murmuring in rapid Egyptian, their voices trembling. Telemachus blinked, realizing what he had done, but it was too late.

“By the gods,” one of the servants whispered. “He has desecrated Astarte’s image.” A group of guards stationed nearby rushed forward, their spears raised. Their leader, a tall man with kohl-lined eyes and a heavy bronze breastplate, pointed his weapon at Telemachus. “You dare insult the goddess of love and war in her temple?” he barked.

Pisistratus, who had been walking nearby, rushed to Telemachus’s side, his face pale with shock. “Telemachus, what have you done?”

“It was an accident!” Telemachus snapped, though his tone lacked conviction. He stepped back as the guards advanced.

“An accident?” one of the priests hissed, stepping forward. “You defiled her image, our protector and our blessing. This is no accident! It is a crime!”

Eurymachus and Cassander appeared behind them, their faces equal parts amused and concerned. “I leave you alone for five minutes,” Eurymachus muttered. “And you start desecrating temples?”

“This is no time for jokes!” Acrisios growled, joining the group and placing himself between Telemachus and the advancing guards. “We’re strangers here. We can’t afford to cause trouble!”

Antinous, ever ready for confrontation, smirked and folded his arms. “Oh, let them take him. He deserves it for being so reckless.”

“Silence, all of you!” the guard leader shouted. He gestured to his men, who surrounded the group. “The punishment for such an offense is severe. You will answer for this!”

Telemachus stepped forward, raising his hands. “I’ll take responsibility,” he said firmly, though his heart pounded in his chest. “This is my mistake. Don’t punish my men.”

The guards exchanged looks, their grips tightening on their weapons. The priest stepped closer, his expression grim. “The goddess does not forgive easily,” he said. “Your fate will depend on the mercy of the Pharaoh.”

As the tension in the room thickened, Druses, who had been silently observing from the shadows, finally stepped forward. His purple eyes gleamed as he spoke in a calm yet commanding tone. “Perhaps we can avoid unnecessary punishment,” he said. “Surely the Pharaoh wouldn’t want his guests to suffer over a mistake.”

The guards hesitated, clearly wary of Druses’s presence and demeanor. “Let us speak to him directly,” Druses continued, his voice smooth as silk. “We can resolve this without further conflict.”

The leader frowned but eventually nodded. “Very well,” he said. “But if the Pharaoh demands justice, there will be no escape.”

As the guards led them away, Telemachus shot a glare at the shattered statue one last time. His jaw tightened. “Damn you, Aphrodite,” he muttered under his breath

——

The guards escorted the group through the winding streets of the Egyptian settlement. Telemachus, flanked by his companions, could feel the sharp glares of the townsfolk burning into him. Antinous trailed at the back of the group, his mind racing. He observed the layout of the streets, the number of guards, and every detail of their surroundings. They were brought to a large, ornate chamber with towering pillars and walls adorned with carvings of gods and pharaohs. A contingent of armed guards stood at attention, while priests murmured prayers, their gazes filled with disdain.

The leader of the guards turned to them. “You will remain here until the Pharaoh decides your fate,” he said sharply. As the guards left, locking the heavy wooden doors behind them, the group exchanged uneasy glances.

“Well, this is just perfect,” Eurymachus said, slumping onto a stone bench. “We’re going to die in a foreign land, all because Telemachus has a bad aim.”

Cassander smirked. “At least I’ll die knowing I was surrounded by beautiful women before all this.”

“Shut up,” Antinous snapped, his eyes scanning the chamber.

Druses leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, his purple eyes watching Antinous closely. “You have a plan, don’t you?”

Antinous didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he crouched near one of the walls, running his fingers along the base where the stones didn’t quite align. A faint grin spread across his face. “They made the mistake of underestimating us,” he muttered.

“What are you talking about?” Acrisios asked, his voice low.

Antinous stood, brushing his hands off. “The Egyptians may have a grand civilization, but they’re not invincible. This palace? It’s older than my father’s wine cellar. There are weak points everywhere.”

Telemachus frowned. “And your point?”

“My point,” Antinous said, smirking, “is that I’m going to get us out of here.” Without waiting for a response, Antinous moved to one of the side walls, pressing his ear against it. After a few moments of listening, he began prying at the loose stones with the edge of his dagger. The others watched in stunned silence as he worked quickly and efficiently.

“You’re awfully good at this,” Pisistratus muttered.

“Years of survival on the streets,” Antinous replied without looking up. “Now stop gawking and help me.” The group quickly joined in, removing stones until they had created a small tunnel leading to a hidden passageway.

“Are you sure this leads outside?” Telemachus asked, peering into the darkness.

“Do you have a better idea, King?” Antinous shot back, crawling through the opening. One by one, they followed, the narrow tunnel forcing them to move in single file. The passage eventually opened into an alley behind the palace, where the sounds of the bustling city reached their ears.

“Now what?” Florus asked.

Antinous grinned, his eyes glinting with mischief. “We get to the ships.” The group moved quickly and quietly through the streets, Antinous leading the way. He navigated the maze like alleys with ease, avoiding guards and slipping past groups of townsfolk. Despite the tension, Eurymachus couldn’t help but whisper, “I hate how good he is at this.”

“Shut up, or I’ll leave you behind,” Antinous hissed.

When they finally reached the shore, their ship poorly repaired and barely seaworthy—were waiting. “These things are going to fall apart the moment we set sail,” Pisistratus muttered, eyeing the patched hulls.

“They’ll hold long enough,” Antinous said, already climbing aboard. “Now row!”

The men scrambled onto the ships, untying ropes and grabbing oars. The sails creaked as they hoisted them, and the vessels lurched forward into the open water. “Faster!” Telemachus shouted, urging the crew. “The Egyptians won’t take long to realize we’re gone!”

As the ships moved farther from the shore, shouts erupted from the city behind them. Guards poured onto the docks, pointing and shouting orders. Arrows began to fly, splashing into the water around the ships. “Row, damn it!” Antinous yelled, taking an oar himself and rowing furiously.

The crew strained against the oars, their muscles burning as they fought to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the city. The poorly rebuilt ships groaned under the strain, but they held together. When the city finally disappeared over the horizon, the crew collapsed in exhaustion, panting and sweating.

Antinous leaned back against the side of the ship, smirking. “Told you I’d get us out.”

Telemachus, still catching his breath, shot him a glare. “Don’t get cocky.”

Eurymachus grinned, slapping Antinous on the back. “Alright, I’ll admit it—you’re handy to have around.”

Antinous rolled his eyes. “I know.”

As the crew settled down, Telemachus looked back toward the horizon, determination burning in his eyes. “No more delays,” he said firmly. “We’re heading for Skiaphos. It’s time to bring y/n home.”

——

The ships creaked and groaned under the strain of the open sea, patched together with hasty repairs that had barely held through the escape. Telemachus frowned as he inspected the frayed ropes and splintered wood. It was clear the ships wouldn’t last much longer in their current state.“We need to stop,” he announced, turning to the crew.

Antinous rolled his eyes. “Another delay? My sister doesn’t have time for us to be building furniture!”

Telemachus’s jaw tightened, but he kept his composure. “If we keep sailing like this, the ships will fall apart before we get anywhere close to Skiaphos. We need to rebuild properly, or we won’t make it at all.”

Druses stretched lazily, brushing his long black hair from his face. “For once, the captain has a point. I’m not dying because of your desperation, Antinous.” Antinous shot him a glare but didn’t argue further.

Cassander pointed toward the horizon. “There’s land ahead. Looks like a good enough spot to stop and fix these wrecks.” As they neared the shore, the land revealed itself to be a lush and untamed wilderness, with towering trees lining the coastline. The crew anchored the battered ships and disembarked, their boots sinking into the soft sand.

“Spread out and gather supplies,” Telemachus ordered. “Wood, rope, anything we can use to strengthen the ships.” The men nodded, splitting into groups. Florus took charge of organizing the gathering effort, his sharp mind quickly identifying the best trees to cut down for lumber.

“I need precision, not brute strength,” Florus instructed. “Cut these trees here; they’re strong but flexible enough for the hull.” Cassander and Eurymachus, despite their usual antics, worked surprisingly well together, chopping down trees and dragging the logs back to the beach.

“This better be worth it,” Cassander grumbled, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Think of it this way,” Eurymachus said with a grin. “The sooner we fix the ships, the sooner we get to the war prizes.”

Pisistratus, meanwhile, inspected the ships’ sails, noting the tears and frays. “We’ll need to weave replacements,” he muttered.

Druses, leaning against a tree, smirked. “You’re surprisingly domestic for a warrior.”

Pisistratus ignored him, focusing on the task at hand. Antinous, though reluctant, eventually joined the effort. His frustration over the delay was palpable, but even he couldn’t deny the necessity of the repairs. He worked silently, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

By evening, the beach was bustling with activity. Logs were being shaped into planks, and sails were being stitched together from fabric found in their supplies. The crew worked tirelessly, their determination outweighing their exhaustion. Telemachus walked among them, offering encouragement and lending a hand where needed. Despite the delay, there was a sense of unity in their efforts.

As the sun set, casting a golden glow over the beach, the ships began to take shape once more. Stronger, sturdier, and ready for the journey ahead. Telemachus stood at the shoreline, watching the progress with a mix of relief and resolve. “We’ll be back on the sea by morning,” he said to himself.

As the crew continued to work tirelessly on rebuilding the ships, Florus wandered into the dense forest near the shoreline, his sharp eyes scanning the area. The men had been living off what little rations remained, and their energy was waning. They needed food—quickly. Placing his bow aside, Florus knelt by a cluster of trees bearing unripened fruit. His hand brushed against the bark, and he let out a steady breath.

“Demeter,” he murmured, closing his eyes, “Goddess of the harvest, mother of the fields, grant me your favor once more. Help me bring forth a bounty to sustain us.” The forest grew still, the air heavy with a divine presence. A faint golden light shimmered at Florus’s fingertips as he pressed his palm to the tree. The fruit above him began to glow faintly, the dull green of their skins deepening into rich hues of orange, red, and gold.

One by one, the trees around him responded, their branches growing heavier with fully ripened fruit. The scent of fresh figs, pomegranates, and oranges filled the air, wafting back toward the beach where the crew toiled. Cassander, dragging a log toward the shore, stopped mid step, sniffing the air. “Is that… figs?” he asked, looking bewildered.

Eurymachus, carrying a bundle of rope, perked up. “Figs? Where?” The men turned their heads toward the forest, where Florus emerged with his arms full of fruit. A satisfied smirk played across his lips as he dropped the bounty onto the sand.

“You can thank Demeter,” Florus said nonchalantly, wiping his hands.

Cassander’s jaw dropped. “You just… did that?”

“I asked,” Florus replied simply, biting into a pomegranate. “And she answered.” The men didn’t need to be told twice. They swarmed the pile, grabbing handfuls of fruit and devouring them eagerly. Even Antinous, his usual scowl softened, picked up an orange and peeled it.

“Guess you’re more than just a healer,” Pisistratus commented, sitting beside Florus with an apple in hand.

Florus shrugged. “It’s not all healing. Sometimes, you just need to know who to ask for help.”

Telemachus approached, an orange in his hand, and gave Florus a nod. “You’ve done well, Florus. This will keep the men going.”

Florus glanced at him, his expression thoughtful. “We’ll need all the strength we can get for what’s ahead. Just don’t let their spirits falter.”

Telemachus smiled faintly. “Not as long as we keep moving forward.” The crew, now reinvigorated by the unexpected feast, returned to their work with renewed energy. Florus lingered near the forest’s edge, looking up at the trees and whispering another quiet thanks to Demeter before rejoining the others.

—-

Druses stood on the edge of the shoreline, his blade slicing through the salty air in swift, precise arcs. The rhythm of his movements was deliberate, each strike accompanied by the faint hum of tension in the air. His long black hair clung to his damp skin, his purple eyes sharp with focus. The sounds of the waves crashing against the rocks were broken by a sudden laugh, light and melodic, yet carrying an edge of mischief. Druses froze mid swing, narrowing his eyes.

“Still playing with that sword, little one?” a voice purred behind him.

Druses turned sharply, his lips curling into a smirk. “Enyo,” he said, lowering his blade but keeping his stance defensive. “What brings the goddess of war to this remote corner of the world?” Enyo emerged from the shadows of the trees, her form ethereal yet solid. Her dark hair cascaded down her back, her armor glinting faintly as if the very idea of war itself manifested in her presence. She leaned casually against a tree, her crimson eyes scanning him with playful amusement.

“Why wouldn’t I visit my favored warrior?” she teased, tilting her head. “You looked so serious, slicing at the air like that. Care to tell me what’s got you so… disciplined?”

Druses wiped his brow with the back of his hand, sighing. “I’m preparing for war. Against Skiaphos.”

Enyo’s smile widened, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “War, you say? And Skiaphos of all places? My, my, what a fascinating turn of events. Tell me more.”

Druses sheathed his blade and crossed his arms, his expression calm despite the goddess’s obvious delight. “I joined a crew led by Telemachus of Ithaca. His wife was taken by that Skiaphos prince, Raphael. He’s gathering forces to launch an assault and get her back.”

Enyo stepped closer, her presence radiating a subtle energy that made the air around her hum. She reached out and traced a finger along his arm, her touch cold and teasing. “Another war over a woman?” she mused, her tone dripping with amusement. “It’s like the gods can’t resist repeating history. Troy was such a delight—chaos, bloodshed, betrayal. And now, Ithaca’s trying to one up it.”

Druses’s lips twitched. “If you’re implying that the gods will meddle again, keep me out of it. I don’t have time to deal with divine games.”

Enyo laughed, the sound sharp and echoing. “Oh, sweet Druses, you’re already in it. You think the gods will sit idly by while mortals stir up another war over love, honor, and pride? There’s nothing we enjoy more than watching men tear each other apart while we take sides.” She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “And you my lovely little warrior, will be right in the thick of it.”

Druses rolled his eyes, stepping away from her. “I don’t care for divine interference. I fight for my reasons.”

Enyo grinned, clearly entertained by his defiance. “Of course, you do. But don’t forget who’s favored you, Druses. When you spill blood on that battlefield, it will be my name whispered in the chaos, my strength flowing through your veins.”

Druses turned back to his training stance, ignoring her words. “If you’re done gloating, I have work to do.”

Enyo watched him for a moment, her expression shifting to something almost fond. “You’re stubborn,” she remarked, stepping back into the shadows. “But I like that about you. Don’t disappoint me, little one.” And with that, she vanished, her laughter lingering in the air as Druses resumed his training, his strikes more deliberate than ever.

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