Chapter Text
Odysseus lowers his hands, both of them drifting idly to his side as he takes in the sight.
Like how quick the crushing weight of nervousness was lifted in a second, his relief drifted as quickly as it arrived.
A family of three, all hidden in the arms of the forest. The head of the household, royalty and noble, a crowned prince, once dead now standing. Beside the once dead prince was his wife. The woman shed tears as she was forced to watch her husband die, then her child, afterwards she shed no more tears for her head was severed from her neck. And the child in her arms, no more older than a year old. He stayed silent, never weeping nor whining in the comfort of his mother’s arms.
Odysseus wondered if his own son, Telemachus also did the same since his departure. He dreamt that he was still with his own family in the comfort of his own palace, the one that he built with his two hands. He wondered deep down, that what he had dreamt of would line up with reality.
‘I miss them.’
He also pondered if he and Prince Hector would have been good allies in another life. The ex-crowned prince of Troy was certainly one who had a good head on his shoulders. Calm and collected, strategic and good in battles- able to hold his own sword against his foes.
His surprise never faded as he quietly observed the once-dead now-living family. It was silent yet held a sense of familiarity that Odysseus was well-versed in and wished he had at that moment-
But, the more observant and paranoid side of him started to question why were the people who were supposed to be dead suddenly being brought back to life? Wasn’t death supposed to be permanent when one meets the end of their life? Why now? Why was it that he was finding dead people alive on his voyage home?
It didn’t hit him until then, but something was completely off. Something faint and hidden beneath all the undergrowth of an ethereal garden. Under all the flowers and trees, hidden in the roots, there was a sense of corruption or disease that was spreading.
Then another voice, one that was once quiet and meek started to grow louder and louder until it buzzed and made his head ache from thinking too much about it.
“Hush little king, don’t think too much about it. Paranoia isn’t something that Penelope would want from her returning husband now would she?”
Odysseus frowns, his mind aching and racing with thoughts and memories. Did Penelope ever say that to him? He never saw her despise his way of thinking, if anything, she had the same mindset he does to a lesser degree.
“Are you doubting ‘yourself’ now, little king?”
No he wasn’t. Maybe at times, but not at this moment.
“Then believe ‘yourself’ that Penelope wouldn’t want you to become like this.”
His mind felt so fuzzy, like a cloud or fog rolled on in and hidden his own thoughts from himself. He groans quietly, a hand supporting his head as he closes his eyes.
“Don’t resist this little king. It’s for your own piece of mind.”
He crumbled under the weight of whatever that was, letting it smother out his observant and paranoid side.
-a moment that he should have but was twisted and cruelly ripped from his grasp by war. With life dangling it about his head, the only way to see it again was to live to the very end, no matter the cost.
And the cost, the cost of war was very taxing. A high price that everyone paid.
If only, if only things had gone differently. If only the universe gave him a different set of cards to deal with. Perhaps he could’ve still stayed by his dearest Penelope’s side, watching together with her as their son grew and molded into a fine young man.
If only.
Many had faulted one for the cause of war. Agreeing that if she had kept close to her husband, things would have been different, that the war would’ve never have come.
But Odysseus disagrees.
No, it was never really Helen’s fault, never her fault. She never had a choice in the matter, only a prize that a spoiled prince took for granted. Only a piece in a game that the divines played. What could mortals like them do when met with the divine's wishes?
So, Odysseus could never blame her, not even as he heard the cries of the surviving Trojans spout and curse her name. Citizens who would never fault their own royalties or nobles for being such cruel creatures. Not when he heard the murmurs from the other surviving soldiers on their side, whispering cruelties and doubting her loyalty to her husband.
He was sure that if Penelope was there she would defend her cousin’s reputation fervently. The Ithacan king knows how much she held her cousin dearly, more so since they were raised together just like how he and Ctimene were.
Odysseus frowns again, head clouded and heavy as he tries to reign in his train of thought. He felt as if he was missing something.
“Don’t”
“Worry”
“About”
“It”
His head snapped up again, his hand rubbing his aching head as he looked at the small family again.
He would turn a blind eye to them.
He wouldn’t warn or tell anyone of their return to life.
He didn’t want to be the reason the family suffered more than they have.
Perhaps it was because he felt like looking into a mirror whenever he saw them together, but Odysseus felt a sense of understanding and mercy at that moment.
Besides, it wasn’t like he had his blade to slay them down with.
So, for now, he slowly moved back and away from the small family, not daring to disturb their peace. Not after everything they had been through.
And he had other problems to deal with himself. Hurray.
“Now, where should I go?” Odysseus muses quietly to himself, a finger on his chin as he turns to leave, with only the sound of leaves softly crunching under his sandals following him. The air and temperature around him turning even more colder as the sun drops below the sea.
But as his back was turned on the family, he suddenly felt a flair of hot, white searing pain bloom in his chest. Confusion and panic quickly made itself and got its grubby hands on him. It made him stumble forwards, the air forced out of his lungs as he choked on his own saliva. It burnt terribly as he stumbled forward with his hands quickly clutching his chest.
He could hear a sickening squelch as something rough continued to drive into his body. A loud crack and wet pop echoed the quiet forest as Odysseus screamed in pain. His voice scaring off the animals into the evening.
Odysseus heaved heavily, sweat dripping down his face as he felt something sticky and warm collect in the palms of his hands. He knew what it was. He took one look at it and saw blood coating his tunic and dripping off a sharpened wooden stake. It was horrifying to look at, more so knowing that this type of injury isn’t something he could recover from, let alone live from.
His breathing quickens heavily, coming out in short rapid breaths, along with the blood that quickly gushes out and soaks his clothing. Odysseus could feel the way his own blood was betraying his own body, forcing itself up his throat and out his mouth. Soon the grass was covered in the dark substance with the metallic smell permeating the air around him.
It was getting so much harder to breathe.
It was getting so much harder to stay awake.
‘What…?’ He thought through the pain as his knees buckled under him. A clean blow through his chest that continued to burn and soon numb. The Ithacan king could hear a pair of female and male voices murmur something behind him as blood continued to escape his body. The invisible hourglass counting down his time of death as he slumped forward with the impaled weapon in his body.
He didn’t know who stabbed him in the back. He didn’t know who his perpetrator was or how they got the upper hand on him, and he didn’t want to suspect that Prince Hector was the one who did it.
(Odysseus never saw a weapon on the man, but you don’t need to see something to conclude it wasn’t there.)
He was so tired.
He already tried getting up again with only searing pain in return.
The others won’t mind if he shuts his eyes for a bit… right?
He tried his best to stay awake but it was so hard.
It was getting too hard to breathe.
It was getting so much more difficult to stay awake.
It was then that he shut his eyes for good, with the sight of his own blood leading him into the pitch black.
Hector sighed shakily as he watched the stranger fall.
There was a sense of relief he felt seeing what could have been a terrible twist of fate. The stranger could’ve killed all of them in their sleep, wiping them from life and sending them back into the underworld.
It felt freeing.
“Are you alright my dear?” He calls out softly, not wanting to wake up their son from his nap. Since waking in this new environment, Astyanax has been wailing non-stop. It was as if he knew that they were all in new, unfamiliar and dangerous territory.
Andromache nods, looking away from the fallen body as she tends to her sleeping son. There was only so much bloodshed she could take before it got too much. The war had pushed that to its limit, especially with her family being culled like livestock.
“Will you check the man for any supplies?”
Hector nods, kneeling before the deceased and turning him slightly to his side.
It was then that he made the most unfortunate of discoveries.
He looked at the face of the one who had slain and felt his face fall at the sight. Hector retracted his hand quickly, as if he were burnt. His eyes shook as he stayed there frozen, next to the body of someone he shouldn’t have touched.
Not now.
Not when he had nothing and lost everything.
And certainly when he had everything to lose again.
He knows that if anyone figures out- because let’s be honest, what’s a king without his men accompanying him?- they would come after his family again. Just like what happened when his younger, foolish brother took the Spartan queen away from her own kingdom.
Gods above, did he not regret reprimanding his own younger brother. Perhaps if he had been more stern, more strict on him none of this would’ve come to fruition.
He glanced back through the corners of his eyes at the only family he had left. The others stayed dead or were never found. Andromache shook silently as she hugged her sleeping son tighter, who was unaware of the murder that took place a few steps away from him.
“Oh my-!” She chokes out, clasping a hand over her mouth. She looked up at him with a knowing look of their fate to come. “What should we do now?!”
“I-” And for once in his life, Hector was standing there like a fool. Just like Paris, he acted before he thought. A foolish move, especially since he now recognized who this royal was as he stayed kneeled next to him. He was supposed to stay calm and rational, not act hotheaded or like a mindless beast.
Odysseus. King of Ithaca. One of the best strategists for the Greeks side during the war. A man who was sly, cunning and all-well versed in planning. A student of the Goddess of Wisdom. A man with many connections.
The man he had just killed.
Hector quickly places his fingers near the man’s neck, trying to check for any signs of life.
He couldn’t find any.
His search turned desperate, his fingers burning with every touch of pulse unfound.
The realization of his actions crashed over him like a tsunami, sending him reeling and stumbling backwards towards his family. It felt like a slap on the face, since they were supposed to stay low until they could find a way to return to everyday life. Well, as close as you can get if your kingdom was burnt to ashes and you return from the dead.
If word gets out, especially that they were alive and that the Ithacan king was killed… there was no place on Earth that would protect them from the wrath that would soon find its way back to them.
“We bury the body. Deep under sand and dirt. An unmarked grave made of stone and bark.” He suggests, the cogs in his brain turning as he backs away from the body even more as if it contained a contagious disease.
“What if they find him?” Andromache asked quietly, tears forming in her eyes. This was it. This was the end for them again. “He’s their king. Certainly no loyal men would leave him behind. Especially since their king hasn't returned. They would be a manhunt. Turning this island upside down until they find it is us who ended the king’s life.”
“We… I-i don’t know.” Hector curses himself for the answer that came out of his mouth, especially since it was not comforting his frozen wife. He looked down at his defenseless son- who was so tiny yet stood strong as he was still there with them- and looked down at his hands which weren't stained with blood.
“I’ll find another way.” He insisted softly, but it didn’t have any confidence. If anything, it felt only reassuring, like it was ignoring reality, falling for delusions.
“What if it doesn’t work? What then?”
Gods, he was so stupid.
He shouldn’t have done this.
“I-”
His answer was cut short with an unceremonious thump onto the grass below as his body dragged him down and under.
Hector’s hands trembled as he saw what he had done to the man.
He had only woken up hours ago, with a terrible dream that pushed him back into reality. There by his side was his wife, curled up on a pile of damp leaves along with their son. Tears were streaming down her face as she choked out sorrows.
“Dearest.” He tried waking her up.
Nightmares weren’t uncommon for the couples nowadays. It was the norm that one of them would wake up in a cold sweat and start crying their hearts out. Spilling tears until they couldn’t.
“My dear Hector.” She gasps, crawling closer to her husband. Her heart raced with uncertainty as her body shaked with fear. “I had a terrible dream.”
“So did I.” He admits in return.
Andromache didn’t say anything more, so he stayed silent.
He didn’t tell her about the odd dream he had.
A dream so realistic it made him scared.
It felt like fate liked playing with him.
Hector had just slain down whoever it was that saw them. He tried acting more rational this time, but with the setting sun he couldn’t really see the face of the person. And with time slipping away from his side, Hector wielded a sharpened wooden stake that he made himself and plunged it into the back of whoever it was.
He heard the gurgle of the soon-to-be dead man and took the initiative to push the stake deeper. Harder. Making sure they would never return to wherever they were to take his family away again.
Like a butcher in a slaughterhouse.
He watched as the stranger crumpled to his knees, still alive.
Hector let out a hollow sigh of relief, his stomach churning with unease as he backed away from the body. There was a small pool of blood forming beneath the stranger.
‘It’s over for them.’
He thought silently, looking at his wife and seeing her small nod before heading over towards the slumped over man again. There was still some lingering hesitation by the time he made it over to the body, the feeling of unease that he couldn’t pinpoint rising in his stomach making him nauseous.
Hector turned him to his side and felt his heart drop.
He opened his mouth-
…
The world drags him under with the last voice he heard was his wife’s screaming.
Hector wakes up from a terrible dream.
He dreamt he killed someone he shouldn’t have. Made a mistake that would cost him everything.
He woke up with his dearest wife next to his side, their son buried between them both as they lay on a pile of leaves. It was the best they could do at the time as luxuries were a commodity they couldn’t afford.
Andromache wakes up heaving heavily, heart pounding and tears pouring. A hand slapped over her mouth, not daring to wake anyone else up.
And in the commotion, their son still laid fast asleep.
Unaware of how fate was playing with all of them.
He moves away from the body he flipped to its side.
Hector didn’t know what was happening.
He didn’t know why his dreams- nightmares were coming to life.
“Oh my!-”
He didn’t need to turn around to know who said it. The tone and sense of deja vu gave it away.
Unease boiled in his stomach as he planned to bury the body and run with his family.
Hector felt dizzy as he slumped towards the soft ground, with the last thing he heard was a cry from his son.
Hector woke up.
Hands shaking and body sweat-coated.
His wife awoke next.
She didn’t cry nor scream anymore.
He tried to go about his day but the nagging feeling wouldn’t go away.
Then he saw the stranger in the woods.
He lowered his weapon, still remembering what kind of dream he had.
But the stranger walked away.
And Hector raised his stake.
It hit its mark.
Hector woke up.
He felt numb as he awoke in a cold sweat.
He didn’t know how long it had been but he felt sluggish as he pushed himself up.
There was that churning feeling again as he got up off the ground and walked off.
He came back with a stack of sticks and a pile of leaves.
Andromache awoke.
Hector watched the stranger fall, and it didn’t surprise him when he saw who it was.
Why didn’t it surprise him anymore?-
He walked back towards his wife and hugged her.
He couldn’t do this anymore.
Hector killed Odysseus.
Again and again.
He couldn’t allow that man near his family.
Again and again.
He didn’t know what would happen if he did.
Again and again.
But the king kept returning.
Again and again.
Odysseus wouldn’t stop returning to their makeshift home.
Again and again.
The king always returned unarmed. Unaware that his life would end in that forest.
Again and again.
Hector didn’t know when Odysseus would stop returning.
Again and again.
He hoped that the other man would stop.
Again and over.
It was messing with his head, the days blurring along with the lines of reality and dreams.
Over and over.
He wanted this to stop.
Over and over,
I fuck myself over,
And under and under,
I’d do it again.