Chapter Text
The first thing Odysseus felt was his splitting headache and the pain in his abdomen. His ears rang so loudly he was sure he'd go deaf. He forced his heavy eyelids open, only to snap them shut at his bright surroundings. He tried to get up from the ground he was lying on, but his movement was restricted somehow. What was going on?
The last thing he remembered was— oh. Scylla. The sacrifice of six men. Their screams of horror and agony. Why doesn't he remember what happened after? Was he a victim? Is that why he felt the way he did? Was he dead?
As the ringing died down, he could hear a muffled voice speaking nearby. He tried to listen, though the pain made it hard to focus.
"What good is he... killed six of our friends... he won't do it again?"
A second voice, he could tell, spoke back.
"Do you really believe... In his state?"
"...has gone mad... no matter his condition."
"...happened to you?... so loyal to him."
"...let young Elpenor die... crew be slaughtered... He's what happened... take away any more of our friends... leave him here."
Then the voices stopped, as did the ringing. He tried a second time to open his eyes. Though his vision was doubled and out of focus, he made out the men to be Perimedes and Eurylochus. They stood a few steps away from him.
"What's going on?" he slurred. The two men turned to look in his direction and Eurylochus approached him. "What happened? Where are we?" He noticed when he talked he felt a sharp pain in his side. Eurylochus must've noticed, too.
"Don't speak, that will make it worse," he said, kneeling down next to him.
"Make what worse? What are you talking about?" Odysseus looked down to the source of the pain. He was wrapped in cloth, blood soaking his entire left side. "Woah, woah, what happened to me?" he asked, panicked. He was a lot more vigilant now. He attempted to get up but quickly realized his hands were bound and tied to the base of a tree. "Eurylochus, untie me," he commanded in a warning tone.
"I- I can't do that," he replied with hesitation.
"Why the hell not?" Odysseus snapped. He tried not to draw attention to how much agony he was in. "Eurylochus, as your captain, I demand you unbind me right now."
"You aren't our captain anymore," Perimedes broke in. "Not after you let 564 of your own men die."
"They weren't supposed to—"
"Oh, and Eurylochus wasn't supposed to die after you tried to kill him, too, huh?"
"What? No! When did I ever try to kill him?" Why would he attempt such a thing on his own friend? His own brother? Now that he thought about it, he remembered Eurylochus telling him something that angered him before their encounter with Scylla, though he couldn't recall what.
Perimedes laughed and turned to Eurylochus. "Damn, I think you hit him a little too hard." He looked back to Odysseus. "You tried to kill him. You tried to kill him because you couldn't stand to be called out on your own selfishness. You think you're so honorable because you're doing it all for your wife and kid, huh? Well, because of your stupid wife and your stupid kid—"
"You take that back right now, you bastard!" Odysseus threatened, but his wound throbbed at his sudden yelling, and he winced in pain.
"And what are you planning to do about it?" Perimedes scoffed. "You aren't in charge anymore. We won't take more suffering from you." He walked away toward the ship waiting on the shore.
Odysseus's heart shattered. "Eurylochus, my brother, surely you don't believe his words, do you?" He stared into the man's frightened eyes with anticipation.
"Eurylochus, come on!" Perimedes called from a distance. "We have all the food we'll need, and the crew is waiting for us. Just leave him here so we can go already."
Odysseus, confused by those words, pondered their meaning before coming to the realization. "Wait, hold on, you're leaving me here?" he panicked. He couldn't be left here to die, not after all he had gone through. Not after all the pain, all the suffering, all the losses. There had to be an end worthier than this one.
"Ody, we're never going to make it home," Eurylochus finally said. "You know it's true."
"No, I don't. I don't know it's true, and you don't either." Odysseus stated. "We can still make it home. You just need to trust me."
"You've done nothing to prove I can trust you. I... I can't take more risks with you." Eurylochus turned to follow Perimedes.
"No, no, please don't do this," Odysseus pleaded softly, hot tears streaming down his face. "I need to get home."
"Goodbye, Odysseus," Eurylochus said, though it definitely was not a good farewell. His voice conveyed feelings of sorrow, unlike Perimedes's cold tone.
"Reconsider!" Odysseus yelled. "We can still make it home! Please, Eurylochus!" His pleading fell on deaf ears.
He rolled around to face the tree and, with all the strength he could muster, snapped the rope, which most likely bruised his wrists, although he didn't care. He stood up, being careful not to put weight on the side with his injury, and limped toward the ship. Eurylochus had already boarded, and he could tell they were just starting to leave the island forever.
"No, come back!" Odysseus started to run, not caring about his wound, but that proved to be a bad choice. As soon as he put weight on his left foot, intense shooting pain radiated from his side, and he collapsed into the sandy beach, falling on his face. He lifted his head once he had regained awareness. "Don't leave me! I need to see them again, please!" He crawled toward the water with the little strength he had. "I need to see her!" he begged, his voice now hoarse from screaming. "I can't die here, please, come back!"
It was too late. They couldn't hear his cries anymore.
Not that he could yell now. His lungs, weak from breathing too quickly, struggled to take in much needed oxygen. His heart pounded hard in his ears. Stars danced in his vision as everything turned into a blur. His injury bled out onto the sand. He was too tired and weak to do anything now.
Maybe if he just rested his eyes for a second, it would all be okay. Important matters like his wounds he could deal with tomorrow, but right now even keeping his eyes open was a struggle. Everything could wait. He'd be fine by morning. It would all be okay.
His world fell dark.
—
Telemachus looked out at the open sea as he leaned on the railing of his balcony. The distant water didn't make a sound from his position, though he liked to imagine it. He observed the ships treading through it with a longing to be on one, traveling to new lands far away.
He wondered if his father enjoyed the ocean as much as he did, and he snorted at the thought. Of course he did, who would go spend an additional three years at sea instead of coming home to your family? Telemachus couldn't blame his father with that one, that water did look very fun to explore.
Most believed the king died in the mighty storm that came over their kingdom 3 years ago, but Telemachus couldn't. He had no doubt in his mind that his father was still out there. His mother always told him his dad could brave the toughest of challenges, and surely a storm is one of them. There was still hope for his homecoming.
But whatever happened, he needed to get back soon. Despite his mother's best efforts to conceal the truth from him, he knew those men gushing over her weren't harmless travelers. He saw how uncomfortable they made her feel, how their threatening presence intimidated her. They would only grow in numbers as the months went on, Telemachus feared.
He wished he had the guts to protect his mom from her suitors. Hell, he wished he had the guts to do anything brave at all. He hoped one day, he'd travel the seas on a ship much like the one his father had thirteen years prior, when he went off to war. Like the ship he saw three years ago, before that storm blew it off course. Kind of like the ship he faintly sees in the distance.
Exactly like the ship he sees in the distance, actually. Same shape, same sails. Was he seeing things? Telemachus blinked hard a couple of times. The ship remained the same. The ship identical to the king's still treaded the water plainly. Could it possibly be?
No, it's probably not, and he shouldn't get his hopes up.
But what if? What if that ship, different from the rest, was his dad's? What if, after all these years, Odysseus was finally coming home?
Telemachus leaned far over the railing to get a better look on the water. With his balcony so far off from shore, it was nearly impossible to make out the boats, let alone recognize them.
"Telemachus? What are you doing?" His mother inquired from behind him suddenly.
He failed to acknowledge her presence, only fixated on the boat drawing closer to Ithaca.
"How about you get down from there before you fall," she said in a joking manner, walking toward him.
Telemachus squinted his eyes, still conflicted with whether or not that was in fact the ship he had been waiting for all these years. His mind wandered to a completely different place with all of the possibilities.
He didn't even notice how he had started to tip over the edge.
"Telemachus! What are you doing?" the queen called out, rushing to him. That was when he snapped back to reality. The first thing he noticed was how his feet weren't touching the floor anymore, and he was staring at the stone ground many stories below. He then realized he wasn't falling like he thought he would be.
He was pulled back over the railing by his clothing, his heart pounding heavily in his chest.
"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Penelope's concerned voice asked.
As he caught his breath, Telemachus looked again on the water, ignoring his mother's worries. The ship was now closer and clearer to make out than ever.
"What are you..?" She followed his gaze. She gasped sharply yet softly.
Telemachus turned to look at his mom for the first time as excitement rose inside him. "Is it?" he asked hopefully.
"By the gods..." she muttered. Telemachus studied Penelope's face. For the first time in 3 years her eyes were filled with hope, as well as tears. Her surprised expression also conveyed certainty, and at that moment Telemachus knew. He knew it was his father. Odysseus was coming home.
There had to be a minute of silence before Penelope finally moved. Without warning, she grabbed Telemachus by the hand, which startled him. She dragged him out the door while he tried to keep up. As soon as he caught up to her speed, they both ran down the halls hand in hand. The two wore the biggest smiles across their faces, Telemachus's one of excitement, and his mother's of relief and joy. He didn't think he had ever seen her smile so wide, and it made his even wider.
Telemachus barely acknowledged where he was. He could only think about where he was going. His father had arrived home after thirteen years. Thirteen years he waited. He waited so long and now he was finally home. All of the things he had been planning to say, he could finally say it. He could tell his father about his life, who he is, how he strives to be just like him, and in turn, his dad could tell him of his adventures, how he won the war, what he did for three years. So many memories would be shared, and so many new ones made after them. This would surely be the best day of his life.
Before he knew it they had made it to the beach, and the ship had already docked. Others were waiting also, hoping that this ship had their loved ones on it. Telemachus didn't have to worry, though. He knew for a fact his dad's boat was in front of him. His mother seemed to think the same.
Men filed out of the ship, their faces wearied from years at war and sea. It was at that moment Telemachus realized how many people died in that storm three years prior. Twelve ships left, only one returned.
The first man to step off was a tall, muscular man with dark skin and a scar across his face. He wore an anxious expression that definitely did not match his build. He kept his eyes carefully trained on the ground beneath him, as if looking up would mean certain death. The war must have been brutal to have post traumatic stress like that.
A lean–bodied man with short brown hair and a serious look followed behind the first. He locked eyes with Telemachus, his murderous gaze frightening the boy a lot more than it should have. He noted never to go near that man.
The last of the men had gotten off the boat, but Telemachus didn't see his father. To be fair, he had never seen him before, only carved depictions of him, but his father hadn't changed that much in appearance, right?
He let go of his mother's hand and ran up to the ship, waiting for one last man to come out. No one came. He looked back to search the crowd of men, thinking maybe he missed his father somehow. He noticed how they were all staring at him with pity, which sent chills down his spine.
He looked to his mom, who was being approached by the tall man. He couldn't hear the conversation from his position, but he could tell something was wrong. The man's low tone, his mother's grief–stricken eyes, the way he comforted her, the way she collapsed into the ground, tears streaming down her face.
Something was definitely wrong.