Chapter Text
A mission to kill someone’s son, a foe who won’t run, unlike anyone you have faced before.
It’s just an infant; it’s just a boy. What sort of imminent threat does he pose that I cannot avoid?
This is the son of Troy’s very own Prince Hector. Know that he will grow from a boy to an avenger, one fueled with rage as you’re consumed by age.
If you don’t end him now, you’ll have no one left to save.
I could raise him as my own—He will burn your house and throne
Or send him far away from home—He’ll find you wherever you go
Make sure his past is never known—The gods will make him know
I’m begging please. Don’t make me do this. Please don’t make me do this.
The blood on your hands is something you won’t lose. All you can choose is whose.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Nax
The young prince breathes his last few breaths of air on his homeland. He digs his toes into the sand, letting the brackish ocean water lap against his bare feet, while a small crew loads supplies onto their ship under the cover of night, preparing to set sail for Ithaca. Before they leave, Nax tosses a few coins into the surf and whispers a prayer to Poseidon, asking for safe passage across his seas. Though, if he were being honest, he doesn’t believe the gods care much one way or the other. But he promised his mother, Andromache, and a promise is a promise.
Andromache stands on the beach, a shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders, watching her son. Her long blonde hair blows in the breeze, wild and free—loosed from its usual braid.
Today is the day she has both been waiting for and dreading for 18 years.
This is what she raised Nax for, always reminding him that one day he would leave these shores to avenge his father and his people. She raised her son to honor the child that died in his stead. She primed him to hate the Greeks enough that he would one day kill Odysseus of Ithaca.
Blood for blood. A life for a life.
The child who was supposed to die takes the life of the man who tried to kill him.
Though the sunlight peeking above the horizon urges their departure, Nax races up the shore to embrace his mother one last time, breathing in the smell of her perfume for those nights when he’s so homesick it hurts. Andromache sobs softly, stroking Nax’s hair like she used to when he was a small child, before she started pulling away in an effort to steel herself for this day.
“Please don’t cry Mother. I will be alright and I will do what you raised me to do. I promise.” She touches her son’s face, wiping away tears he didn’t realize he had shed.
“I trust in that my love. May the gods deliver you to your destiny safely. May you come home to me one day,” her voice breaks but she continues, “your father would be so proud of you Astyanax.” Andromache bows her head and Nax in turn, before returning to his ship, knowing quite well this may be the last time he sees his mother.
In all likelihood, Nax will never step foot on this coast again.
They set sail and the prince watches the city of Troy disappear as they drift further out, until the only thing visible is miles and miles of open waters. The sea like a black void under the low light of the moon. Nax craves solid ground to sink his feet into—uncomfortable aboard a ship. Crewmates dart about the deck, pulling on ropes and steering. If anything were to happen to them, the Gods know the young prince would be at a loss.
When one’s existence is a secret, there is no good time to learn how to sail.
Astyanax of Troy was supposed to have died that night, tossed from the wall at the hands of Ithaca’s king. But the babe who fell to his death was not Astyanax. His mother had swapped Nax and a servant’s child before the siege of the Greeks. So, to all but a few the prince was just a servant boy, raised cleaning the palace that he should have inherited, Andromache watching from a distance, only addressing Nax after nightfall in the privacy of her quarters.
It was lonely, but he understood. If Troy’s enemies discovered that the prince was in fact alive, they would come back to finish what they started. They would fear his retribution, as they should. They would know that he would grow into an avenger, that he would wield a sword in the name of his father, that to leave him alive would mean that Troy was not actually vanquished but merely temporarily subdued.
That’s why they murdered an infant, in the hopes that he would never become a man.
Yet here he is.
Alive and breathing, heart beating, mind sharp, ready to fulfill his purpose.
“Prince Astyanax.” The captain addresses Nax with his title, despite repeatedly being told not to.
“Nax. Remember. Just Nax.” The prince corrects him. He shuffles anxiously but complies.
“Nax, Sir. You should get some sleep.”
“I sleep in the day time.” Nax says bluntly and turns away, thinking the captain will depart, but instead he hovers.
“It’s only that, everyone on this ship knows your true identity Sir. There’s nothing to hide from.”
The realization washes over him. There is nothing and no one to hide from. No one to pretend in front of. For the first time in his life, he’s just a prince surrounded by servants.
It doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t feel right, but he supposes it’s his new normal now.
“Very well. I’ll go below deck.” The captain nods, satisfied with Nax’s concession. Curious eyes trail after him as he stands up and walks to the barracks.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The ship rocks as Nax tosses and turns fitfully in his hammock, not nearly tired enough for sleep. His mind spins, going over scenarios and routes. How many weeks until they reach Ithaca? Will it be weeks, or will it be months? Maybe even years. What if he reaches Odysseus’ Island and the king is already dead? What will he do then? You can’t kill a dead man.
Nax growls in frustration, earning him irritated groans from the sleeping men around him. Sleep continues to evade him, so he gives up, swinging himself out of the hammock and landing gently below. Boards creak beneath his footsteps as Nax creeps up to the top deck. The rhythmic crash of waves against the ship’s side are soothing, cooing to him softly like the voice of Andromache humming a lullaby. He sits with his back to the ocean and listens to the song of the sea.
Eventually, he drifts off.
He awakes to a sharp pain in his shoulders and the sound of shouts—the captain barking orders to the crew. The glare of the sun burns Nax’s eyes as he blinks them, trying to adjust to the harsh light. Blurrily surveying his surroundings, he notices the ship is not moving. The sails are empty, and there are no winds to fill them.
He mutters a curse under his breath. Even he knows this is a bad sign. So much for his offering to Poseidon, he should have prayed to Zeus or Aeolus.
He should have prayed for wind.
“Prince Astyanax.” The captain looks in his direction, seemingly surprised to see the prince.
“Nax.” His insistence is met with a dismissive wave and an indifferent scoff. He thought that as the prince, they’d have to listen to him. Alas, Nax never learned how to wield his title or his position of power.
He doesn’t know how to be a leader; he knows the best way to plunge a blade into a man’s heart.
Different skillsets.
“Start rowing men, full speed ahead, until we can find winds to fill these sails.”
The men scurry around Nax, barely acknowledging his presence. No one asks for his help or directs orders his way. He wants to jump in and…do something. All his years of servitude have made him restless and hardworking. Standing aside while others toil is not something Nax is used to. It makes him feel useless—and alone—more alone than he’s ever felt in his life.
And he has felt very alone in this life.
Shrinking away from the crew, the prince retreats below deck to the now empty barracks. His heart slams against his breastplate, threatening to burst free and fly away. Nax feels dizzy, nauseous, and short of breath, gasping for air while the loneliness squeezes tighter in his chest. Sobs crack through his hyperventilating and he sinks to his knees.
All he can think is I want to go home.
Nax lets himself cry for a few minutes longer and then he collects himself, scrubbing tears away angrily. This is not how a prince behaves. This is not how a warrior behaves.
This is not what he was raised to be.
Triumphant cheers cascade below deck. They must have found an airstream. Good. Nax thinks he’ll leave them to their own devices though. He’s not interested in standing on the sidelines or being in the way.
His purpose is not on this ship; it’s waiting for him on the shores of an island miles from here.
Once he gets to Ithaca, he’s sure he won’t feel this way anymore.
There, Nax will know what to do. He just has to make it there, then all the training and preparing and instinct will take the lead.
There and then, King Odysseus of Ithaca will die by Astyanax of Troy’s hand.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~