Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

600 men. A war come and gone. And he was the first to die?

Not that bad.

Polites wouldn’t have been too upset, honestly, if it wasn’t for the men that followed him.

He waited patiently in the field, wondering to himself. Hermes had led his soul there, quiet and only murmuring something about “an exceedingly positive soul, I would have liked to get to know you...”. Nevertheless, he brought Polities to this shadowy place between life and the Underworld, and left with a wave and a “good luck”. Whatever that meant.

Beyond, on the shores of the Styx, the ferryman Charon held an oar, waiting for a young girl to clamber into the boat. She looked scared. Polites wanted to go with her, if only to comfort her in this land of mist and darkness.

But he couldn’t. He had no money to give him. And from the way he died..

He probably wouldn't be buried for a free ride to what was next. And he had no money on him to pay for a ride. Polites stared at the swaying grass around him, trying to fill his head with the image of the greenish-gray, sunless plant instead of the dark, dull weapon swinging for his head.

Or the image of his captain, staring at him in a way he never had before. Horror. Fear.

Out of the surely infinite other possibilities of what one could have as the last thing they ever saw, that one...probably wasn’t the worst. His trusted friend, his comrade, his king.

It probably wasn’t the best, though.

I hope they get out of the cave alright, he thought, tipping his head back to stare at the lack of ceiling. Nothing but darkness far above him. I was the first to die, but maybe I was the last..

“Polites?”

Polites jumped to his feet, whirling to face...

“Yianni!”

His comrade ran to him, looking decidedly not happy. “Polites, brother...”
the light-haired man embraced him, and Polites gladly returned it. Well, maybe not gladly. Bittersweetly.

At least neither of them would be alone down here.

Yianni pulled back to look him in the eyes. “...you’re...gods, I can’t believe this...”

“What happened to you? Did the cyclopes...” Polites checked over his friend for injuries, even though he knew that he wouldn’t see any.

“Yeah. Same thing that happened to you.” Yianna squeezed his arm. “And I don’t think he was done.”

“...the cyclops?”

Yianni nodded. “He hit me after you. Like, five seconds after.”

Polites’ gaze drifted to the dead grass brushing Yianni’s feet, his signature
headband fluttering in his face. “So he wanted to take our crew out quickly.”

“He was raising his club at Miron, last I saw...”

“I can confirm.”

Polites startled slightly and looked over Yianni’s shoulder. A tired-looking man in his 40s met his eyes.

Polites slowly let go of Yianni. “...Miron. You too?”

Miron nodded. “I can’t believe this. We were so close, if it hadn’t been for that gods-damned club. We should’ve checked the cave or something..”

“Club?”

“Yes, club.” Miron rubbed the back of his head. “In the back corner of the cave. I made the mistake of trying to alert the others to his choice of weapon, and he heard and targeted me.”

“Same, bro!”

Polites looked to face another ghost of his comrades. Thodoris. The man came over to them as well.

“I tried to call the Captain, ask him what our orders were. But he just...stood there.”

“Just stood there?” Yianni repeated.

Thodoris met Polites’ eyes. “He was staring at you. Your body.”

“My body..” Polites repeated softly. He closed his eyes. My brother, I’m sorry...he must be in so much pain...

He could feel everyone’s eyes on him. Waiting.

Polites took a deep breath. “I-”

“Guys?”

Polites opened his eyes to see another crewmate. Aeson. And Dimitris
trailing behind him.

How many are going to die...?

Fifteen.

Polites sighed sadly as he completed the headcount a second time. He and fourteen other men had died at the club of the cyclops. They’d steadily trickled in for several minutes, then a sudden stop.

“He seemed...like he was faltering. I don’t know why, but he was stumbling a bit. I’d say he nearly missed me,” Alexander muttered. He was the final to die.

“And the captain was still just standing there last you saw?” Polites checked.

“Last I saw was the ceiling, man,” Alexander groaned, rubbing his arm.

“I wonder...well, nobody else has come for about...” Thodoris sighed. “An hour?”
 
“Time must be tricky in the Underworld. But...” Polites glanced at the empty shore, where Charon had departed for the next part of the Underworld with his passengers, with the girl still crying her tears to join the water of the Styx.

“Whatever happened...do you think they’ll bury our bodies?” The youngest, Jonas, murmured. The boy had barely been eighteen when the war started, with a heartbreakingly hopeful voice. “So we get to cross the river?”

Polites was quiet. Miron was the one who stepped around him and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “There’s no way to know.”

“...but none of us have any money,” Jonas whispered. That was true; Thodoris had already asked around. “How are we gonna cross the river and get to what’s next?”

“We don’t,” Miron said, passing a glance at Polites before returning his solemn gaze to Jonas. “Not until a hundred years pass, someone either comes down with enough money for all of us to pass and is kind enough to give us some, or until our bodies are buried. Which they likely won’t be.”

“So we’re not going to...”

“No,” Polites said softly. “We’re not going to cross the river, not for a long time. We’ll have to wait for a century.”

Jonas stared at the river Styx, and started to to turn away as Polites caught a glimpse of tears brimming, and Polites opened his arms to pull the boy into his arms. Jonas didn’t fight it, and simply leaned into his hug.

Chapter Text

Time was hard to sense in the Underworld. Each moment may as well have been eternity, because that was what they would spend down here; what was the use of pretending otherwise? Time would be a stranger to them now.

Still, that didn’t stop everyone from trying to kill that stranger.

“I dare you to jump in the Styx.”
 
“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I’m not gonna jump in the Styx-”

“Why not? Achilles did it.”

“Do I look like Achillies?”

“No, Achilles is way prettier.”

“Gay.”

“Coward.”

“I’m not gonna jump in the Styx!”

“We’re dead, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“I don’t wanna find out! You do it, if you’re so curious!”

“I dared you first!”

“Mm, yeah, but I Cerberus-dare you!”

“What? The hell does that mean?”

“Cerberus. Triple-dog-dare?”

“Maybe a jump in the Styx will wipe that smug grin off your face-”

“Hey-HEY-”

“ALEXANDER. No shoving kiddos in the river of doom.”

“I’m only, like, twenty years younger than you, Miron!”

“Yeah, he’s twenty-eight!”

Miron groaned. “Still.”

Polites sat in the swaying grass, watching with a half-concerned, half-amused smile, as Alexander sighed and pulled Jonas away from the shore where he’d been dangling the younger teasingly. Jonas shoved Alexander (not into the dread river of oath, thankfully).

At least he and everyone else had come to terms with their circumstance.

The river Styx flowed by, undisturbed, as Jonas flopped down by Polites and Alexander walked off to chat with Yianni, probably about theories of a ghost in the river Styx.

“Gotta liven things up somehow, I guess,” Jonas muttered dejectedly. “If we’re gonna be stuck down here for 100 years...”

Polites patted the boy’s head. “Time’ll pass quicker soon. We’ll be on that boat before you know it.”

“Hey-” Jonas swatted at his hand with a huff. “Quit.” He glared halfheartedly at Polites, though it was obvious he didn’t mean it.

Miron glanced between the two, and his eyes zeroed in on Polites’ hairline. “...Hey, Polites. Where is your headband?”

“Huh?” Polites reached up to his hair “Whaddya mean? It’s right here-”

No familiar red fabric met his fingers. Polites frowned, and glanced at Jonas. “I was wearing it earlier, wasn’t I?”

The younger man nodded, distracted. “Yeah, when we first got down here. Did you take it off?”

“No...” Polites leaned back, still feeling his head, befuddled. “I don’t think-”

“-APTAIN-”

Polites startled and Miron jumped his feet, Jonas flinching back against Polites as a shout echoed over the shores. Every man’s head whipped to see someone that didn’t look familiar, but wore the uniform of a fellow crewmate. Hermes, hovering beside him with his caduceus, was frowning as he finished guiding the man to the ground. The man collapsed to his hands and knees; he looked terrified.

Polites got up and rushed over, crouching by the man and glancing up at Hermes. “Is this one of ours? What happened?”

Hermes met his eyes, nodding gravely. “Prepare yourself, my friend.” He disappeared.

What?

Polites looked back at the shaking newcomer. “Hey, I-”

“CAPTAIN-”

The voice- no, voices- chorused, and suddenly there were more, unfamiliar men joining, appearing from nowhere, Hermes nothing but a blur above their heads as he guided new souls down.

There were shouts of panic, almost indistinguishable between the old dead and the newly dead. But the old dead were calling out questions of are you from Odysseus of Ithaca’s fleet and what happened and how many are dying and how many more are to come?

While the newcomers, in their disoriented state, never said anything other than captain.

The first to calm down and explain was a middle-aged man named Apostolos, who took Polites by the arm, gaze downcast.

“So much has happened, and I dread to tell you. But we must let the others settle first.”

Polites nodded and looked around; more men were still appearing. “...oh, gods...”

Ten minutes later, Yianni stood on Aeson’s shoulders, frowning heavily.

“What do you see?” Polites asked, staring up at him.

“A sea of men,” Yianni muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “The entire
fleet’s worth.”

“Maybe not that many,” Aeson interjected, holding Yianni steady with his massive hands and tall shoulders. “A bit short, maybe a few dozen. But it’s..it’s a lot.”

Polites was silent for a few moments. “Sounds like whatever happened, only one ship survived. Do you see the captain anywhere, or any of our comrades from our original ship?”

“No, I don’t think so...you know the captain probably would have taken charge of this mess by now, even dead.”

Polites swallowed and nodded, feeling lost. “How did this even..?”

“Poseidon.”
 
Polites glanced over at Apostolos. The man seemed to have recovered from the shock, his stone face staring at the crowds of men, who were now searching for their friends, or weeping in vain for their loss. Several cursed; cursed the gods, cursed the cyclops, cursed the captain for whatever the hell had happened.

“Poseidon?” He whispered. “He did this? What did we do to incur the wrath of the sea god?”

Apostolos hesitated. “It’s a long story, but I suppose we have time...”

“We do,” Polites agreed. “You don’t have to explain yet, if it’s painful-”

“Speak for yourself, I wanna know what the fuck happened!” Yianni called, trying to climb down from Aeson.

“Hey, hey, watch it-” Aeson grunted, and Polites winced as Yianni flailed and toppled off directly on top of a startled Miron.

“Ack!” Yianni flailed slightly as Miron hoisted himself off the ground and brought Yianni with him, scowling.

“Maybe you should be thrown in the Styx,” Miron muttered, staring disapprovingly at him like he was scolding a dog.

“Mercy, mercy!” Yianni cracked halfheartedly, trying to squirm out of the taller man’s grip. Polites chuckled a little, but it faded when he noticed Apostolos flinch ever so slightly at the word.

“...what is it?” He asked, turning to the newly deceased.

Said soul sighed. “That was why we died, apparently. Mercy.”

“Mercy...?”

Polites and the others gathered around Apostolos as he recounted the story of what had been going on upstairs.

Most in the group were left speechless from the very hole-filled story.

And those who weren’t dumbfounded made the fact very obvious.

“He did what?!” Yianni nearly shouted, causing Apostolos to wince and Miron to smack him lightly on the back of the head. “What? That’s an appropriate reaction! The captain gave away his name, after successfully defeating the cyclops, and it was Poseidon’s son?”

“Apparently. I wasn’t even on your ship that went into the cave of the cyclops. But that cyclops was the son of Posiedon, and someone went crying to daddy after Captain blinded him, I guess.”

Yianni threw his hands up. Aeson just stared, and Miron closed his eyes and let out a very long, very tired sigh. “....wow.”

“Waitwaitwait, what was this thing about a giant storm?” Alexander mumbled, only having joined the group halfway through.

Apostolos’s eye twitched. “I don’t know, I wasn’t on the main ship-”

“Okay, um- why don’t, uh- why don’t we talk to Hermes? Maybe he has some more information,” Polites interjected hastily, placing a hand on Jonas and Apostolos’s shoulders. He stepped out of the loose huddle and looked around. “Uh- hey, Hermes?”

Hermes appeared over his head, winged sandals fluttering madly. “Can’t talk now. There’s still a few people who need to be brought down. Some are clutching to the shipwreck pieces and trying not to drown.” The messenger god shook his head sadly, as if he knew that it was inevitable, and zipped off.

Polites sighed slightly, twisting his fingers as he rejoined the group. “Let’s just all take a deep breath- especially you, brother.” He patted Apostolos, who still looked vaguely stressed and irritated, on the back. “We’ll get some answers soon.”

A while later, Hermes groaned softly, floating down beside Polites after bringing down the final man. “You have questions about what exactly happened on the main ship, I assume?”

Polites nodded. “Yes, please. What happened? Is Odysseus and Eurylochus- are they alright? Who didn’t die?”

Hermes shook his head. “Everyone on the captain’s ship is alive and well, don’t you worry, darling. They managed to get away from Poseidon.”

“..well, great- did you see what actually happened, after and the others died in the cyclops cave? Because if nobody here was on the main ship, they wouldn’t know.”

Hermes nodded. “Athena came to me to rant about how stupid my great-grandson was, which, rude. Apparently he tricked the cyclops, calling himself Nobody and giving him wine spiked with lotus, and stabbed him in the eye while he was asleep. And when other cyclops heard him crying, he saw ‘Nobody’ hurt him. I suppose you guys ran into the cyclops with the smallest vocabulary.”

Polites pursed his lips. “So...what happened next? What’s all this about a storm and Poseidon?”

“I watched them for a while as they left- and then there was this giant storm, I could barely fly with all the wind. And my hair was completely ruined.” The god raked a hand through his sculpted curls. “But they found a floating island! And it just so happened to be where my friend Aeolus lives!” Hermes made a little flip in the air, grinning. “She’s great- love her. Practically my niece. But anyway, they chucked a few harpoons and anchored beneath it, and Ody climbed up to talk to my darling friend. She put the storm in this funny little wind-bag and sent him off with it like it was take-out- but the catch was that if anyone opened it, they’d release the storm and whoosh!” The god made a little wavy motion with his hands, apparently getting back into his usual vibe and dramatics- which Polites wasn’t sure if that was appropriate for telling the story of how almost 600 men died, but he wasn’t about to complain.

“So he goes back down, and he’s gotta keep it closed, so he tells the crew what’s inside- but these sneaky little wind minions, Aeolus’s pets, basically- they’re so cute and I want one, but she won’t let me have one- tell the crew that there’s treasure inside, the naughty things. And the crew gets suspicious.”

“Suspicious?” Polites repeated with a frown. “Well, they believed the captain, right?”

Hermes gave him a very unreassuring squinty face.

“....right...?”

“Mmmmnnnno,” Hermes said. “They were not exactly trusting, and the poor captain tried to stay awake to guard the bag, just in case- and I know you mortals have to sleep a lot, so I tried to help him out a little after the second day, with a little unnoticeable divine intervention. He managed to make it nine days with my help.”

“Nine days?” Polites huffed, shocked. “Wow.”

Hermes nodded proudly. “Not bad, if I do say so myself, and I do. But he eventually passed out, and then someone opened the wind bag. One of your friends, I think.”

“One of my friends?” Polites frowned. Who would trust the captain so little to go against his warnings and wishes?

“Yes, I think so, the big one with the bigger sword.”

“...Eurylochus?” Polites whispered, brow furrowing. “But why?”

Hermes shrugged. “Not sure, I was busy trying not to slap my great-grandson awake. But then it was too late and the wind bag opened, and everything went to hell. I got blasted out of there, faster than Hera could say ‘family game night’.” He shuddered.

Polites paused, but set that last mental image aside. “So the storm came out?”

“Yes, and the entire fleet got carried by the winds to the land of the giants. It was insane! And then my uncle appeared and started scolding Ody for not killing his son. Personally, I couldn’t see why he was so mad, but I guess it had something to do with ‘values’ or that nonsense. And then, uh...” Hermes’ expression faded into something somber, which didn’t look quite right on the cheerful god’s face. “This happened. Posideon’s little friends threw rocks at the ships, and Poseidon drowned the rest. It was horrifying, darling. Be glad you weren't there to see it.” The messenger studied Polites, sighed a little, and continued. “And Ody’s ship was saved for last, but he reopened the wind bag and released the rest of the winds, and they just flew out of there! Poseidon threw quite the tantrum, and I had to get out of there fast. I think they ended up crash-landing by Aeaea.”

“Aeaea?” Polites questioned softly, almost afraid of the answer.

“Have you ever heard of Circe?”

“Circe? The….goddess?”

“Yeah. They’ll probably discover her and her palace soon enough.” Hermes shrugged.

Polites stood there, struggling to process everything. “Is- is she going to be a threat?”

“I don’t know. Knowing Circe, she’ll probably turn a few men to livestock. It’s quite funny when she does that.” Hermes giggled. “I don’t think Ody will, though.”

Polites didn’t find the notion quite as amusing. “Can we somehow keep her from doing...that? They won’t be able to get back home if they’re animals.”

“Might be too late. I’ll check- hang on, darling.” The god disappeared with a blur, leaving Polites standing there.

“...”

Yianni approached him from behind. “Everything alright, Poli?”

Polites exhaled and rubbed his forehead, feeling once again the strange
absence of his headband. “Never thought being a ghost would be so stressful...”

Yianni shook his head. “Well, at least some of them are still alive...”

“I suppose so,” Polites muttered, then nearly jumped out of his skin- do I still have skin? Does this count?- as Hermes reappeared next to him, already halfway through a cackle.

“Hermes!”

Hermes wheezed. “One of your pigs sneezed and got pig snot on Circe’s dress! It was hysterical!”

“So they have been turned into animals?!”

Hermes nodded, wiping a tear. “Yes, but don’t fret, my friend. They make very cute pigs. Well, most of them.”

Polites looked at Yianni helplessly. Yianni facepalmed. “Great. Great. They’re gonna come down here as bacon...”

“I suppose so,” Hermes giggled. “Though a few of the men didn’t get turned into pigs; one of the shorter fellows is apparently quite the lightweight and wandered off drunk before he even ate too much of the magicked food. And your big friend that opened the wind bag has gone back to get the captain.”

“Eurylochus...” Polities muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Going to get the captain...and will Captain be able to defeat Circe and get her to turn our men back?”

“Mmmmmmmm...” Hermes squinted and shrugged. “He’s very smart, but so is she, and he’s not quite magic...”

Polites placed a hand on Hermes’ shoulder; his ghostly fingers slipped right through. “Is there anything you can do to help?”

“You want me to help my great-grandson to fight my ex? Sounds fun, darling! I’ll give him some of my magic flower. That should tilt the odds in his favor~”

“Wait, what?”

“Don’t worry, my friend. I’ll bring you an update.” Hermes gave him a smile that was vaguely reassuring, if not mischievous.

“Circe’s your- magic flower?”

“It’ll be fine, darling. You’ll see. Circe’s strategies are to defeat them with magic or to seduce them, and I doubt the latter will work with how absolutely whipped he is for his darling wife. Your captain will simply get a taste of the magic, and then he’ll be able to defeat his opponent. Trust me!”

“Okay.” Polites took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay. I trust you. And...thanks, Hermes.”

“Don’t thank me, friend! He’s got a long way to go...” Hermes did a little flip in the air and vanished.

“Yeah, fighting under influence definitely helps your fighting skills,” Yianni said, stepping up behind Polites. “How else would we have won this war?”

“That’s just you, Yianni.”

Miron frowned. “He said what about giving Captain magic weed?”

“Like...opium?” Jonas asked, staring at Polites as he explained Hermes’ plan.

“I want some magic weed,” Alexander mumbled, looking around at the hundreds of men standing on the shores of the Styx, where everyone seemed to be migrating back to their original crews. “Would certainly liven this place up a bit.”

“And he’s Circe’s ex-lover? This guy seems like an absolute fruit loop. How’d he get stuck with the job of bringing souls down to the Underworld?” Miron continued, almost talking to himself.

“I don’t know, but it seems to be the only thing that’s keeping him from being maniacally unhinged. That grin is unnerving,” Thodoris mused.

“Let’s just hope he doesn’t bring Captain down. Or any bacon.”

“Yianni, enough with the bacon jokes-” Thodoris groaned.

“I’m hungry!”

“You’re a ghost! You’re not gods-damn hungry!”

“And don’t talk about eating our crew members.”

“I wasn’t saying-”

Are the next hundred years going to be like this? Polites wondered, eventually tuning them out.

Hermes hadn’t returned, and it had been a while, or so Polites guessed.

He sighed and wandered away from the group, lazily along the shores. It was unending, or it seemed to be; at least he and almost 600 other men weren’t smushed into a small area. The swaying grass danced around his calves as he walked, until he came upon what seemed to be a cliff, standing maybe 60 feet above the dark river waters.

Huh....

Polites watched the water flow below him, taking the moment to himself with relative relief. And still, part of him was starting to feel hollow, drained. Like a darkness was creeping up on him from behind, invading his peace.

Wait, no, that wasn’t natural.

Polites turned to see a tall, skinny, deathly pale man standing near him, dressed in a long black chiton. He looked pretty average, except for a mildly unnerving aura of doom, which didn’t quite match the colorful flower bracelet on his wrist, nor the small bundle of shifting fabric in his arms.

Polites froze, before common sense and manners kicked in, and he lowered himself into a bow before the lord of the dead.

What is he doing here?

“Stand up,” Hades said, sounding strong but not quite as regal and powerful as one would imagine. He sounded tired. “What’s your name?”

“Polites, sir,” Polities said, slowly rising to his feet.

“And you’re of Odysseus of Ithaca’s fleet, correct?”

“Y..yes,” he managed, eyes moving to the bundle of fabric in the god’s
arms, which he now noticed was squirming. “Is...forgive me, is that a baby?”

“Yes.” The god sighed and stepped closer, bringing his despondent vibe with him. “With all of your captain’s...adventures, I have quite a lot of paperwork to get through. What he did to Troy, I’m neutral of course, but lots of new dead. I’ve never gotten along well with Ares. But now my little brother and his son are causing problems, and Charon wants a raise. And I want a break.” Hades lifted his hands and extended the fussing baby to Polities.

“Wh...” Polites met him in the middle, bewildered, and accepted the baby into his open arms. “Wh-who is this baby? Why are you giving them to me?”

“This is the son of Hector from the war. His name is technically Scamandrius, but I think he was usually called Astyanax. I’m trying to minimize the amount of paperwork, so I’m grouping up some of the losses from the war that require extra filing. Just hold onto him for a while for me. When you eventually cross the Styx, hopefully by then everything will have settled to the usual level of chaos and I’ll have time to deal with him.”

Polites looked down to the infant; the baby boy’s translucent features looked up to him, eyes fluttering open. They blinked at each other.

“I assume one of the 556-” he paused. “557 men that you’ll be hanging out with for the next 100 years, probably, know how to comfort a baby. It’s not like you’ll need any supplies.” The god of the dead sighed. “Call it a favor.”

“..okay.” Polites glanced between the baby and Hades. “A favor.” Honestly, he wouldn’t have minded holding onto the kiddo for a century without reward, but something told him to accept the favor.

Hades nodded and opened his mouth, but his head turned as he looked over Polites’ shoulder. Polites followed his gaze up the river, where there was a....small, sparkly, oddly pink glow starting to stretch over the river.

Hades groaned, as if he was mourning more paperwork, and muttered something about portals and ‘damn witches’. “I must go. Don’t throw the baby in the Styx.” He disappeared.

Polites was getting tired of gods and their sudden arriving and departing, but he could hardly blame them; they were all busy, especially Hades. He’d probably be the same if he led such a life. He watched the strange pink glow over the river before turning back and walking away, back to the crew, to introduce their new honorary crew member.

“Where the hell did you get a baby?!”

Chapter Text

It took a while for the crew to accept the infant- Alexander wanted to chuck it into the Styx, and he was now banned from holding the child. Everyone else seemed mostly confused, or hesitant to trust Astyanax even though it was literally a baby. Most of them warmed up or resigned themselves to the idea of babysitting for the next century, but as Polites showed Jonas how to properly hold the kid, Thodoris covered his mouth with an audible “oh.”

“What is it, my friend?” he asked, looking up after ensuring Jonas wouldn’t drop the infant on his head.

Thodoris swallowed, staring at the translucent child. “I think...I think I saw...how that kid died. Was anybody else in the palace courtyard during the climax of the battle, in Troy?”

Polites frowned. If memory served correctly, he’d been helping the wounded a bit closer to the ship. Nobody seemed to have been where Thodoris was suggesting.

“At one point, I looked up and Captain was standing on the wall to the east of the courtyard, and he was holding something,” Thodoris muttered. “He looked really upset, and he was holding a white swaddle over the side of the wall, then he dropped it. And it hit the ground and the cloth turned red.”

Everyone in their group went quiet.

“...the captain literally dropped a baby off the wall?” Yianni murmured after a moment.

“That doesn’t seem right. Captain loves kids. He was- is- whatever- he’s always complaining about how much he misses his son. And remember that time we stopped at a port city to stock up on supplies and he literally just gave his cloak to a random orphan?” Miron interjected.

“I don’t know! It stained red, man! And it was clearly a kid!”

Polites was silent. Odysseus...killing babies? It definitely didn’t match up with the man he’d known since childhood. He’d always spared kids, and Polites did remember that time a few years ago where Odysseus had given his cloak to a girl shivering in the alley. Perhaps something had happened and he wasn’t able to spare him, for some reason?

Was this why Odysseus had seemed so tense and despondent even after the war’s end? Was that why it had taken so long to cheer him up in the forest of the Lotus Eaters? It must have been weighing on his mind...

Polites shook his head, watching Jonas hold out his fingers and let the babe grasp them with his own tiny, chubby fingers.

“Shit- Hermes’ back,” Thodoris muttered, pointing above their heads to the void of a ceiling. Polites looked up, seeing Hermes flying down- and carrying someone’s soul, another fallen comrade. Polites sighed softly and turned to meet him, making room for another ache in his heart, but he wasn’t expecting Hermes to nearly drop a short, curly-haired man on the gray grass.

“I believe you know this one?” Hermes huffed, trying to put Elpenor down on his feet, and failing as the younger man swayed. His eyes were closed, a silly little smile on his face, as if he was unaware of his own demise. Polites reached to support him, leaning him against his chest.

“What the- Elpenor? What are you- is he asleep?” Polites asked, gently smacking Elpenor’s peaceful face as the other men gathered around him. Yianni groaned softly as he saw who it was.

“Technically, more like passed out. Drunk,” Hermes offered, putting his hands into his- since when did he have pockets?- and shrugged. “This is your friend that wandered off before he could get turned to a pig. He fell asleep on the roof and fell off, broke his neck.” Hermes frowned. “Gods, I hate this job. Such a downer.”

Asleep. Polites sighed softly. “At least it wasn’t painful...”

Yianni stepped closer and helped Polites lower Elpenor into the field, the boy laying across Polites’ legs.

“Mm..piggies…” he moaned, shifting slightly, before giggling.

“Anyway, update, darlings,” Hermes said, turning back to the group and clapping his hands. “Your captain defeated Circe! With my help, obviously. You’re welcome. It was kind of funny how, actually.”

“What happened?” Miron asked, eyeing Hermes with suspicion.

 “After he defeated her, she tried to seduce him and was about to stab him- and he just started crying about how much he misses his wife!” Hermes cackled. “She looked baffled. And she agreed to turn the rest of your men back to their somewhat less smelly forms and help him!”

“Help him?” Thodoris repeated.

“Mhm- she’s opening a portal for him to visit one of our friends down here, a prophet. He’s a little cagey, but he’s brilliant. You might meet him eventually, but he lives a good bit away from here...” Hermes looked over his shoulder. “Ah, of course-”

“Captain’s coming?” Yianni butted in, eyes widening.

“He’s visiting us,” Alexander snorted. “How kind.”

“Where?!” Miron demanded.

“Chill your horses. It’ll probably be over there, so their ship can sail on the Styx,” Hermes said, splaying his hands out and nodding towards the cliff to the cliff Polites had met Hades on.

“Can we talk to him?” Jonas asked, looking excited. “Sure. Don’t tell Hades,” Hermes shrugged, and Alexander grabbed Yianni by the arm and dragged him towards the cliff. Thodoris glanced around, where some of the hundreds of men were looking in their direction, probably curious, followed. Jonas gestured to Miron, who begrudgingly took the baby from him so Jonas could run off after Alexander and Yianni. The boy had always been a bit starstruck about the captain and king, which Odysseus had seemed to find amusing.

Polites sat on the ground, patting Elpenor on the head and looking up at Miron and Hermes. “What exactly is happening?”

“I believe Circe’s opening a portal that they’re sailing through,” Hermes muttered. “She does have style, I’ll say. Obviously not as much as me, but...”

Miron rolled his eyes.

“Well- hang on, can somebody- I need to see the captain. Please.” Polites slowly untangled himself from Elpenor, to which the shorter man whined softly, grabbing onto Polites’ wrist with a mumble. “Naooooo... Perriiiii...”

“Peri?” Hermes raised an eyebrow at him, helping tug the unconscious man off.

“Perimedes, probably. He’s-he should be alive, right? He’s still with the captain,” Polites checked, getting up and picking Elpenor up bridal-style with a grunt.

“Ahhhh, I see.” Hermes smirked at him. “Well, I’m going to go spread the message that my great-grandson is dropping by for a visit.” His winged sandals flapped, and he darted off to one of the other large groups of men.

Polites sighed and turned, trudging off towards the cliff, where the others from his own crew were already gathered.

“Polites! Hurry up!”

“Coming!” Over the next several minutes, five hundred and fifty eight men crowded on the edge of the cliff, spreading out to get a better view of the growing portal- and the ship that was slowly coming through it.

“Oh, my gods...” Polites whispered, craning his neck to see. The bow of the ship, and a few men whose names he remembered, appeared.

“Look-look-” Someone jostled him, and pointed. And there his best friend was.

Odysseus, speaking to the crew. Polites couldn’t really hear his words, they were almost distorted to his ears. He looked different. His eyes looked tired; his frame lighter.

And there was something red tied around his bicep.

Polites’ grip on Elpenor loosened as he stared at his old headband wrapped around his friend’s arm. He must have taken it with him...to remember me..?

If ghosts could cry, he would definitely be making his own contribution to the waters of the River Styx. But he couldn’t.

Elpenor moaned in his arms, shifting, and Polites had to force his eyes away, trying to keep the man up.

Beside him, Miron glanced at him. “You wanna trade?” He offered in a low voice, still holding the baby.

“Oh- yeah, thanks-” The larger crewmate would be better at holding Elpenor, anyway. They awkwardly swapped charges, and Polites let the son of Hector grab his fingers as he looked back at the captain.

Odysseus had finished speaking, and was turning away to look out over the Styx. The waters screamed below him, lost souls and hopes and dreams pushing their boat along. Polites had gotten used to it, like white noise, but it seemed to be hitting those on the boat harder, especially since they were closer to the water. Some covered their ears, grimacing.

Around Polites, some of the souls grumbled. Those that died by cyclops and storm, those who hadn’t accepted their deaths or the cause.

“How did Captain manage to lose 558 men in under, what, a few weeks?” one muttered, as another groaned, discussing among themselves the ironies of dying because the captain was merciful to the cyclops.

Their voices got louder, attracting the attention of the living crew and captain. Odysseus gazed over the specters of his army, clearly anguished at the sight.

“No...friends, calm yourselves,” Polites pleaded, holding Astyanax closer. “It wasn’t his fault...”

There were many that were just quiet, but there were apparently quite a few who still harbored resentment, and their voices echoed off the cliff. Most called for him to try and get his attention, some simply asked their question. The last lesson they’d learned from Poseidon, the cause of all their deaths.

Why would you let the cyclops live when ruthlessness is mercy?

Polites saw tears glinting in his friend’s eyes.

I have to talk to him-

There was a small shore down the cliff, with a few ledges here and there, where he began to climb down, careful to keep the child in his arms steady. Some of the other soldiers looked at him in bafflement, but he kept going until his feet touched the sandy but solid ground.

Up on the boat, Odysseus seemed to be muttering to himself, distressed.

I’ll try to call to him...the boat’s still going, though, I can’t follow it... Polites looked down the river; the shore ended barely a few feet away. The boat would sail out of hearing distance soon. What was the last thing he wanted to say to his friend?

A last reminder...

Polites shifted the child in his arms, and stared up at the captain. “This life is amazing, when you greet it with open arms...”

Polites watched as his friend’s head snapped toward him, and a distorted, barely-audible whisper reached his ears. He couldn’t hear it, but his lips moved, faintly mouthing his name. His eyes crinkled as if his heart had broken. He rushed to the edge of the boat, leaning over the side, as if tempted to reach out to embrace his friend a final time.

Polites watched as the captain’s eyes frantically moved between his face and the child in his arms. He wondered if Odysseus was remembering the baby, what he’d done. Maybe he’d caught him right in the middle of him thinking about his guilt.

Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. But hey, closure, right? Better than my last words to him being a plea of suffering.

“Whatever we face, we’ll be fine if we’re leading from the heart- no matter the place, we can light up the world, here’s how to start;” Polites raised his voice, keeping it gentle so it wouldn’t disturb the infant. “Greet the world with open arms, greet the world with open arms!”

Finally, as the boat passed the small shore, his friend’s voice reached him clearly, a small and heartbroken murmur. “Polites...”

“Waiting...” Polites tore his gaze from his friend, looking at the source of the distant, fragile voice.

There stood a soul on the edge of one of the shores on the other side of the river Styx. It seemed to be a woman, old and frail, but smiling as she gazed out at the boat. Even from a distance, she seemed familiar.

It can’t be...

Odysseus’ mother. Anticlea, the retired queen. He faintly recalled the woman once scolding him and Odysseus for stealing snacks from the kitchen together as boys. She’d let them keep their treats anyway.

There was a murmur from the boat, his friend echoing his thoughts.

“Waiting...” Polites watched helplessly as his friend leaned farther over the side of the boat. His lips open, murmuring too quietly for anyone but himself to hear.

Anticlea didn’t even seem to notice his anguish, staring off into the distance across the Styx, still calling out to her son. Promising that she loved him, telling him she would wait for him. Even beyond death.

They were all waiting for him.

And their captain couldn’t do anything but stand there, frozen, as his mother stared past him. Even as a large, callused hand rested on his shoulder.

Polites’ eyes widened as Eurylochus stood by Odysseus. How could I have forgotten? He scolded himself, studying the other man. The second-in-command looked even more exhausted than Odysseus, but his shadowed eyes were wide in guilty horror as they moved between his captain, his mother-in-law, and the 600 men on the cliffside.

The one who opened the wind bag....Eurylochus, why?

At the appearance of Eurylochus, several protested and called out to him, demanding and angry. It seemed news had spread of what had happened on the head ship.

Polites felt sick.

The swaddle in his arms shifted, whining. Polites looked down at the baby, the small, innocent face scrunching up in a cry. “Shhhh...” he covered the child’s ears, blocking out the protests of ghosts. “Shhhhh...it’s alright, my friend.”

On the ship, Odysseus was turning away, closing his eyes and squeezing his arm, as if to ground himself. Polites was no longer there to do it for him.

“It’s alright, my friend,” he murmured again, watching as the boat drifted by.

There was a shout on the deck, and Polities looked to the back of the boat, where a tall man stood, his gaze fixed on a spot in the crowd on the cliff.

Is that Perimedes? Polites took a half-step closer to the boat. It is. But what’s he looking at?

Polites’ stomach lurched as he followed the man’s gaze, and settled on Elpenor, still snoozing in Miron’s arms.

Memories of Perimedes and Elpenor eating together, drinking together, laughing and confiding in each other, washed back like the Styx a few feet from his sandals. Perimedes stealing the smaller man’s drink and watering it down for him, Elpenor consoling him after bloody battles. Both of them blushing, Elpenor’s much more noticeable, when Captain teased them about putting them on nightwatch duty together. Polites recalled he had once seen Elpenor climb into Perimedes’ hammock at night, only for it to promptly break under the weight of both of them. Polites had pretended to sleep, and stifled his laughter the next morn when he saw Perimedes rustling around storage for a new hammock.

Perimedes’ head tilted from his ghostly ‘friend’ to the waters of the Styx. It was too far away for Polites to see the details of his expression, but he could still faintly see the trembling in his wide shoulders; the way they hunched as he turned away, going below decks.

Polites winced with a heavy, unbeating heart, as Odysseus stared blankly at the waters of the Styx, and Eurylochus shook his head and left him alone, both now refusing to look at the scores of dead calling to them. The ship slowly left their view, disappearing in the distance, carried away by the river.

All he could hear were screams.

Chapter Text

Turns out, it wasn’t exactly as easy to climb back up the cliff with a baby in his arms. A few others had to help, especially the bigger ones with longer arms, Aeson and Miron, while the rest of the fleet ambled back to their original spot near Charon’s docking. 

Yianni sighed, the baby having been passed from Polites to Aeson to him, while Miron stretched down to grab Polites hand. Elpenor had been set aside on the cliff’s edge while Miron helped. “Stretch!”

“Yeah, yeah, hang on!” Polites managed to snatch his comrade’s hand, and he was pulled up right as Elpenor mumbled in his sleep and started to roll over the cliff edge. 

“Shit!” Jonas lunged to grab him, barely saving him from toppling over the side. “C’mon, you drunkard, wake up already.”

“He will eventually,” Miron mumbled, scooping the body back into his arms. “Let’s go. Let’s just…forget about all that.”

Polites frowned as everyone turned their backs to join the others, looking over his shoulder at the river. The ship was out of sight now. 

Polites tore his eyes away, his eyes casting to the ground. I don’t want to forget…

It was much quieter than it had been earlier, like an ekphora for those who were still alive.

Hermes had been waiting for them, apparently chatting with Charon while they watched their visiting comrades. When Polites and the other stragglers returned, he fluttered over, humming. “I tried to get my lovely friend Charon over there to let you all cross, but he doesn’t want to do it for free. He doesn’t get paid much, it seems.” He looked around at everyone’s faces. “My, you all are quite a gloomy lot tonight, aren’t you.”

Alexander spoke up, scowling at him. “Well, we just watched our old captain and all our old friends sail around, like we never even died for them, do you think we’re gonna throw a godsdamn party-”

Polites placed a hand on the trembling younger man. “Alexander, please. They’re just trying to get home. And isn’t it better we got to see them one last time?”

Alexander quieted reluctantly, looking away. 

“We appreciate it, Hermes,” Polites said to the god. “Thank you for trying.”

Hermes nodded, his face turning to the cliff and the direction his great-grandson had sailed. 

“The way Circe sent them doesn’t loop back around,” he said, quieter. “You won’t be seeing them again for a long time.”

“Well, we have each other for company.” Polites looked around. “It could be worse.”

“Only you would say that, Polites,” Yianni groaned, shifting Astyanax in his arms.

“And why shouldn’t I?” Polites countered, and Yianni held his hands up in surrender of his good vibes. Polites nodded, taking Astyanax from him and swaying from foot to foot to rock the child. 

“Hey- hey, guys!” 

Polites opened his eyes and sat up, having been resting on the shore, listening to the river swept by. He looked over in the direction of the shout, where Jonas was crouching in front of someone- Elpenor.

“Is he waking up?” Polites called, getting to his feet. 

“Yeah, come on!” The younger boy waved him over frantically, so Polites joined him, and Miron did as well, crouching down to Elpenor’s level. 

“Elpenor?” Polites asked, reaching out and gently tapping the other’s cheek. “Can you hear me?”  

“Ngghhh…” Elpenor rolled over, his hazel eyes cracking open. “...we home yet?”

Polites frowned and took his shoulder to gently shake it. “In a way. Wake up, my friend.”

With the help of Jonas, since it was Miron’s turn to hold Astyanax, they got Elpenor sitting up. Polites braced his hands on Elpenor’s shoulders. 

“Polites?” Elpenor rubbed his eyes with a yawn. “Where are we? This isn’t…that nice lady’s palace…” he frowned. “...wait, Polites? I- I thought you were dead!” A smile broke out over the curly-haired man’s face. 

Polites’ heart twisted. “I am, Elle.”

The joyful smile turned confused. “..but then…” 

Jonas crouched beside his legs. “He is dead. We’re all dead, Elpenor.” He held up his hand, showing him the transparency in his thin fingers.

Polites reached out and set a hand on his friend’s shoulder, squeezing. He had to watch as Elpenor’s face fell, his eyes widening in understanding. His curls flopped as he twisted his head, taking in the River Styx, the gloomy surroundings, the 557 other dead men. “...oh…” 

Everyone waited patiently for it to sink in, until Elpenor looked back at Polites and Jonas, Miron hovering behind him. “Wait, but..how did I die? I don’t remember.”

Polites inhaled. “Hermes brought you down and told us you’d…gotten drunk when you were at Circe’s palace. You fell off the roof.”

“Circe?”

Right, right…gotta catch him up to speed. He’s missed a lot, after all. “Yes, the woman was Circe. She turned everyone else you were with to pigs. The captain got her to turn them back, but you had already wandered off.”

Elpenor’s eyes were wide, staring at him in disbelief. “And then I…”

“And then you died,” Polites finished carefully. “And they left.”

Jonas sat down beside Elpenor as the latter stammered weakly. “They- they left me behind?”

Polites nodded slowly. 

“And they didn’t bury me?”

“No,” Miron said bluntly, stepping into Elpenor’s view. “Or you wouldn’t be here. Nobody else here’s gotten a burial. So we’re all stuck by the riverbed for the next 100 years.”

Elpenor swallowed. “...they just left me behind, huh?”

“Join the club!”

Jonas looked over his shoulder with a frown. “Buzz off, Alexander!”

“Don’t mind him. He’s just grumpy,” Polites said, waving the huffing man away. “No, they didn’t bury you. But hey, it’s not so bad down here. You get to hang out with us for the next hundred years, until Charon lets us pass.” He gently bumped his shoulder with a small, encouraging smile. “And Hermes brings us updates on how the survivors are doing sometimes.”

“You’ve missed quite a bit,” Miron nodded. “We’re supposed to be taking care of a baby for the next century-” he showed him Astyanax, who was sleeping peacefully for now- “and we just got to see the captain and the other still-living folk pass by. They were in the Underworld earlier.”

“Wait, wait, what?”

“Maybe let’s slow it down a little,” Polites said, running his hand over Elpenor’s shoulder reassuringly. Miron nodded, and Polites offered his hands to Elpenor, gently pulling the shorter man to his feet, and stepping to his side to let him take it all in. The Styx flowed by with no ending or beginning, Charon was guiding what looked like some siren souls across the river, and 558 soldiers in clusters, talking and laughing. Polites spotted a few men wrestling in the distance to pass time. 

“Not so bad down here,” Polites repeated. “You’ll get used to it.”

Elpenor nodded, staring out over the scene as if hypnotized, before his eyes slowly drifted to his own hands, flexing his transparent fingers. “...I can’t believe this. I died because I got drunk?”

Polites nodded, chuckling softly, and squeezed his shoulder. “A true hero’s death, hmm?”

Elpenor groaned. “Oh, my gods, Peri always said…” his voice trailed off. “..oh.” He looked up at Polites “Peri- Perimedes is still alive, right?”

Polites nodded. “He is. He’s with the rest of the surviving crew; we saw him earlier.”

Elpenor closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh, his brow creasing. “What do you mean that they were here earlier?” He opened his eyes and turned back to Miron. “And would someone explain why you have a baby? Please?”

Miron nodded. “Polites wandered off a while ago and just came back with this thing.”

“Hades approached me earlier, he wants to..group certain souls to avoid paperwork, is what he said, I believe. So we’re gonna be taking care of this kiddo. His name’s Astyanax,” Polites elaborated. 

“...okay,” Elpenor mumbled, shaking his head. “But what was that about the rest of the crew being the Underworld?”

“After they…uh, defeated Circe, she offered to send them to the Underworld to meet a friend of hers. Hermes mentioned something about a prophet, I think. Perhaps we can ask him more if we see him again.”

“A prophet? And you guys are talking to Hermes? Like, the god?”

Polites nodded. “He’s the messenger god, after all. And it’s part of his job to bring souls to the Underworld. He let us know when he brought you down that Odysseus and everyone else would be stopping by.”

“Whoa…” Elpenor looked a little starstruck at the idea of being on speaking terms with a god, but it faded as his mind looped back to the survivors. “And…you saw Perimedes? Could you talk to him? Did he see me, did he say anything-?”

Polites placed his hand on Elpenor’s shoulder once more. “Calm, my friend. And…yes, we saw him, and I think he did see you. But it was hard to single people out to talk to them as they sailed past…”

“I would’ve done it!” Elpenor grabbed Polites’ hand and pulled it off his shoulder, squeezing it hard. “I would’ve singled him out, why didn’t anyone wake me up?!”

“We tried, Elle-”

“Don’t call me that!” The younger man snapped, pushing his hand away. His shoulders were shaking. “I didn’t- he’s alone now and we’re not gonna see each other again unless he- and I didn’t get to talk to him, tell him I’m sorry and that I-” he pushed his fingers into his hair, and Polites could see his chest moving in and out, like an airless panic attack. “And I’ll never get to tell him that I’ll miss him and- and-”

Polites looked helplessly over at Miron and Jonas, who were still standing there watching, worry written on their faces. 

“I mean…” Jonas spoke up softly. “You might get to see him again if he…uh, y'know…dies…”

Miron nudged him with his elbow. “Jonas.”

“Well, at the rate things are going-” 

Elpenor covered his ears and closed his eyes. “No, no, he won’t, if that stupid bastard dies I swear to the gods I’ll kill him-”

“Elpenor-”

Miron stepped forward, holding the squirming Astyanax in his left arm as his other touched Polites’ elbow. “Let him process,” the elder man said quietly. “Your endless positivity won’t help someone in pain. Not while the wound is fresh.”

Polites must have looked stricken, because Miron took his arms and settled Astyanax into them, the uneven weight of the bundle distracting him. Not while the wound is fresh…give him time. 

He'll come around. We have plenty of time.

Elpenor took a weak, shuddering breath and straightened, walking away and going to sit by the river, away from everyone else. His sandaled feet settled in the same grooves where Polites had been resting earlier. Somehow, the thought gave him a bit of comfort. 

Plenty of time….

Chapter Text

“How long do you think it’s been?” Yianni asked, sitting beside Polites as they watched Alexander and one of the guys from ship 4 play-fight. It seemed to be a pretty fair match, with Aeson refereeing- though there wasn’t much of a point, since they couldn’t really hurt each other.

“Since what?” Polites asked.

“I don’t know. Since the captain and the others sailed to visit us?” Yianni suggested, leaning back. “I hate not being able to feel time passing. Makes me uneasy.”
 
“I don’t know. Maybe a few days. Who’s to tell?” Polites hummed as Alexander squirmed in a headlock. “No use counting, anyway. But if you really want to know, maybe you can ask any of the new souls Hermes brings down.”

“Yeah, I suppose I could...” Yianni sighed, head tilted, before his voice raised. “Sweep his legs, Alex-! Oooh.” he winced as Alexander faceplanted trying to follow his advice, bringing both of them down. “Fun.”

“Fun,” Polites agreed dryly, watching the men clamber to their feet.

There was a pause, as a new match was chosen and started, two guys from ship eight that were apparently brothers.

Polites bit his tongue, glancing over at the shores of the Styx. Elpenor had been staring at the Styx for...a while. Every once in a while, he could let out a quiet, pained sigh and bury his head in his knees, like a pining puppy waiting for his master that would never come.

It hurt to see.

“Ey.” Yianni elbowed him. “At least there haven’t been any other deaths in a while, yeah?”

“Don’t jinx it.”

Yianni hummed. “Yeah, alright. Who’s got the kid?”

“One of the guys from ship 11. He was sad over not being able to see his
daughter anymore, and he wanted to have the feeling of holding a kid again.”

Polites couldn’t help but think of Odysseus as he imagined the scruffy man looking at the prince’s son with tenderness; he could still recall the same look in his best friend’s eyes when he’d held Telemachus for the first time. Polites had been there to calm his friend while Penelope gave birth; there had been more tears from Ody than anyone else. Which hadn’t been that surprising.

Telemachus was...what, ten, now? Eleven?

I hope you get home, Ody. Polites stared at the void of sky above them. I hope, after all that we have been through, you survive what you get into...I hope Penelope and Telemachus are well. I hope everyone gets home safely, I hope Eurylochus and Ctimene are reunited...

Is there any point in praying as a specter? Who do I pray to for their safe journey? Athena? Hermes said she wasn’t happy with Odysseus for what he did to the cyclopes...

Speaking of Hermes.

Yianni nudged him again, pointing up into the darkness. “Is that-”

Polites gasped as he saw what Yianni was referring to. The familiar flash of green and gold, and transparent blue.

Polites got to his feet as Hermes guided another soul down. The god landed, frowning so widely that it looked wrong on his flawless face. His hand held the arm of-

“Vlassis?”

Hermes set the man down gently on the dead grass, then had to grab his other arm to support him. “Hey, steady, man,” he said, as Yianni rushed forward to support him with something akin to an embrace. Vlassis didn’t return it. His eyes were glazed with horror; he was shaking. Badly. 

“Vlassis? What’s wrong? What happened?” Yianni pulled back only a little bit and lightly shook his friend. The stone-faced man didn’t respond. “Shit! Someone go get Thodoris.”

Polites looked at Hermes, brow furrowed with worry. “Hermes, what has happened?”

Hermes just met his gaze, and shook his head, before his winged sandals started fluttering again, and he shot upwards, disappearing as a godly blur. That wasn’t good. 

“Vlassis?” Someone dragged Thodoris over, who collapsed down beside Vlassis and Yianni. “Brother, speak to me,” he pleaded, taking the victim from Yianni and shaking him. 

“Be gentle with him,” Polites murmured, staring at the lack of ceiling, waiting for Hermes to return. Several souls were looking over at the commotion, even Elpenor. Something was wrong, he could feel it. He could see it in the sorrow and fear in Vlassis’ eyes as he slowly sank into Thodoris’ arms, shuddering. 

Hermes returned hardly a moment later with another soul in a similar state, shellshocked and shaking and silent. Polites recognized him. Stelios, a man who he’d slept across from on the ship, now choking on tears he now couldn't cry. 

And then Hermes left again. There was another coming. 

Miron rushed over, followed closely by Jonas, as usual. “What’s going on?” 

“I don’t know,” Polites murmured, crouching before Stelios. “Stelios?”

The man didn’t even look at him. 

The crowds were starting to notice the scene, men gathering a few yards away, unsure of what was going on or how to help. There was a distant shout, and an arm pointed up as Hermes guided another soul down by the shoulders, the newcomer looking around wildly. Hermes set him down, and was gone again amidst shouts at him to explain. Polites looked over as the man stood there, wide-eyed. It looked like Sofoklis, but with longer hair and a scar across his forearm.

More gathered, murmuring growing louder as the third man looked around in panic, rubbing his arms. 

Elpenor had gotten up and walked over to look around. “...what's going on?” He mumbled, anxiety shining in his eyes. 

“Men are dying. And we don’t know why or how many,” Miron murmured, keeping a hand on Jonas’ shoulder. “Just that Hermes is bringing more.”

Elpenor looked up at the ceiling expectantly, absorbing his words. And Polites could see the smallest spark of selfish hope flicker across his expression. He looked away. 

Yianni was kneeling on the ground now, beside Thodoris and Vlassis. “Whatever’s happened…it’s bad,” he murmured, echoing Polites’ thoughts.

Hermes nodded, appearing from what felt like nowhere as he brought another comrade down. It was Nets, affectionately nicknamed because he had once gotten tied up in the netting, and Eurylochus had had to cut him down with his greatsword; he would’ve cracked his head on the deck if Polities hadn’t clumsily caught him. But from his squeezed-shut eyes and rapidly moving chest as he sat down and curled in on himself, Polites knew he hadn’t died by something quick or painless like that.

“Holy shit…” Elpenor muttered, covering his mouth. Beside him, Alexander just shook his head.

Polites looked up as he heard distant yelling. Hermes was holding this one by the waist, the soul thrashing in panic. And he was still screaming. The god put him down on the ground, frowning as he pushed the young man towards Polites. “One more. I’ll be right back.”

The young man- Charis, it seemed, but Polites couldn’t see his face as he looked around wildly, his eyes landing on Sofoklis, and he ran into the latter’s arms. Sofoklis stumbled briefly at the impact, his eyes automatically embracing the darker man as he stared blankly. Miron stepped closer and placed a hand on each of their backs. 

“One more? Wait, how do you-?” His deep voice trailed off as Hermes departed. 

Polites looked around at the new souls, taking in their varying degrees of shock and panic, his mind flitting from one possible explanation to the next, but he was no Odysseus; he couldn’t fathom what had happened since he’d seen his friend on the Styx. His unbeating heart felt like it was squeezing in his transparent chest. 

Calm down, calm down. Relax. Figure out what’s going on…

Polites stepped closer and gently guided Stelios up by the elbows. “Hey…hey, Stelios. Can you hear me?”

The man’s frozen expression didn’t change, but he nodded slightly as Polites straightened him.

“Good. Can you tell me what’s happened?”

There was a silence between them, and Polites could hear the others asking the new souls the same question. None of them answered. 

“That’s the last,” Hermes announced, escorting the sixth victim of Thanatos. “You’ll have to pardon their…” he gestured vaguely to the shivering or stock-still half-dozen. “...that.”

“Hermes, what the hell happened?” Thodoris piped up, still squeezing Vlassis as Elpenor deflated slightly, looking both relieved and disappointed. 

Hermes was uncharacteristically quiet for a moment, before he spoke, his caduceus shrinking and looping into his golden necklace. “...I’m not entirely sure what else happened while he was down in the Underworld, or what the prophet told him…but he’s…different.”

“Different?” Polites asked, stepping closer to Hermes, desperation tightening his throat. “Please, god, tell us clearly what’s transpired. What brought our comrades down in such a state?”

Hermes shook his head. “...have you ever heard of…Scylla?”

“SHIT!” Alexander shouted, making everyone flinch. Jonas glared weakly at him as the blonde buried his face in his hands, still swearing, now at a more appropriate level. A few other men’s eyes widened or mouths covered. 

“Alexander, what-? What’s Scylla? Will someone tell me-” Polites pushed his hands into his hair, his fingers twitching to take off and wring his headband, forgetting Odysseus had taken it to wear, to remember him. The thought quieted his cacophony in his head, and he forced himself to breathe. “Who is Scylla?”

Alexander joined him, his face twisted with emotions struggling for dominance. The current winner, as far as Polites could tell, was frustration. “You know that legend about a womanly six-headed snake beast?”

“... what? ”

“Six heads, six new deaths,” Alexander muttered, gesturing to the others, where they were slowly starting to come out of their shock one by one. “Put it together, man.” 

“He-” there was a breathy gasp from Sofoklis, as he rubbed Charis’ back, drawing strength from comforting another. “...he sacrificed us!” His voice cracked mid-sentence, his face pinching.

“‘Sacrifice’?” Thodoris breathed, as his brother buried deeper into him at the word, as Polites asked, “‘He’?”

“Eurylochus!” Sofoklis hissed. “He must have…he gave me a torch, told me to hold it up so we could see that cursed cave! And the monsters, they- the light, they aimed for the torches…”

“Wait, no, he was holding a torch too, though,” Nets piped up softly, rubbing his arms. “I don’t think he…I saw him talking to the captain, and then he started passing out torches, but I don’t think he knew…he was just smart enough to drop the torch.” 

“Then it was the captain? That tricked us? That sacrificed us?”

“Wait wait wait, what? ” Polites stammered, his voice getting higher like a teenage boy’s as he interrupted the two’s current of theorizing, his mind struggling to grasp what they were suggesting. 

Behind him, Hermes sighed, a hand combing through his handsome hair. “After he visited the prophet, he and the crew sailed and came upon some sirens, which they had prepared for, apparently, and they told him to go through the lair of Scylla. A six-headed, man-eating monster, which aimed for the torches that these unfortunate souls were holding.” 

Polites covered his mouth as waves of whispers rippled over the other souls who hadn’t known. “But he…he didn’t know, right?”

“Of course he knew,” Vlassis muttered, finally pulling away from Thodoris, though he still gripped the latter’s arm tightly as he spoke. “I saw his face. And he’s never as quiet as he was today. He knew.”

“He...willingly sacrificed you all?” Jonas muttered, clinging onto Miron’s arm in a similar way.

“...there’s...there’s no way. Odysseus has done everything he can to get all of us through this war alive. He wouldn’t give up after only ten years!” Polites croaked.

“Actually, it’s been twelve years now,” Nets mumbled, but everyone ignored him where he still sat on the ground.

“Unless he thought it was for the good of everyone in..general? Why did he go through the lair of Scylla?” Jonas asked, going to sit by Nets.

“To avoid Posiedon, I think I heard him say while we were dealing with the sirens,” Sofoklis murmured. Vlassis nodded.

“So it was for the good of the crew? Only six died, rather than all?

“He doesn’t care about us anymore,” Sofoklis snapped. “Otherwise he would’ve taken up a torch himself.”

Polites could feel his ghostly hands shaking as he protested, “That doesn’t-”

“Guys, guys, wait,” Jonas interrupted, jumping to his feet. “What’s going on up there now that you guys have died and they’ve gotten past Scylla? If this is how you all react, how’s the living crew taking it?”

There was a dead silence for a few moments, before Sofoklis murmured, “I reckon with all the tension recently, they’re probably pretty angry with him. Enough to do something about it.”

“‘Something’ being?” Yianni asked.

Polites turned to Hermes, who thankfully hadn’t left yet, not wanting to hear Sofoklis’s answer. “Hermes, what’s happening on the ship?” He asked desperately.

Hermes sighed, and his winged sandals fluttered as he zipped up, disappearing into the gloom. Everyone held their breath, and they didn’t have to for long, because Hermes was back down in less than a minute. At his face, Polites was already wringing his tunic in his hands.

“Hermes,” he pled.  

Hermes let out a sigh that seemed to show his true age. “They’re not thrilled,” he confirmed. “That big one with the bigger sword- what was his name?”

“Eurylochus?” Polites choked out, eyes widening.

“Yes, Eurymochus,” Hermes nodded. “He’s questioning the captain. And it’s not...going well.”

“What? But- but what is he doing?” Polites asked, restraining himself from grabbing the god and shaking him. Violently enough to mess up those perfect curls.

“Well, I can’t exactly give a live play-by-play,” Hermes defended. “I’m fast, but I can hardly be in two places at once. And I can’t-” the god paused. “Actually, I might know a way for you to..” he stepped around Polites and jogged off towards the cliff, turning into the usual green-gold blur.

“Where the hell’s he going?” One of the men who’d crowded around the scene piped up.

“I don’t know..”

The crowd trailed after him, confused murmurings breaking out as they saw the god jump off the cliff, his necklace turning into the caduceus, which he hopped onto midair, and surfed off a few feet above the Styx.

Polites paced anxiously, his mind swirling with anxiety. Is everyone on the ship okay? Is Eurylochus mad enough about Odysseus to- what? What could he do? Gather the other men? Stage a mutiny? No, surely- surely, please, oh my gods- this must be a trick the gods have sent, please-

He startled as a shout rang out, Jonas pointing up above the cliff, where the godly blur was returning, with an almost camouflaged black smear that seemed to be..squirming?

“Hey! Hey, where are you taking me?!”

“Gentlemen,” Hermes spoke up as he neared, lowering a flailing, cloaked figure onto the dead grass. “Meet my friend!”

Chapter Text

The black blur of a cloak was dropped to the ground, a huff escaping the mystery person that Hermes had just...

“Hermes, did you just kidnap someone?” Yianni asked, as Polites slowly approached the man, offering a hand to help him up. They didn’t take it, just pushed themself to their feet using their thick wooden staff, their thin face set in a frown, turning to where Hermes was landing.

“No!” The mischievous god chirped. “I prophet-napped him!”

“Real creative,” Alexander muttered, as the stranger scowled, his cloak’s hood obscuring the top half of his face.

“Hermes, what have you done now?” They asked in a strained, echoey voice; to Polites, it felt like brushing his hand over a smooth, cold marble vase.

“I’ve brought you to meet some new friends, darling. We’d like a favor~” The god chirped, setting a hand on the cloaked figure’s skinny shoulder, which tensed immediately.

“Wait, is this the prophet that you kept mentioning earlier? The one that Odysseus visited?” Polites asked, his eyes widening.

Hermes nodded proudly, leaning over beside the prophet. “Exactly! Meet Tiresias! They can help.”

Tiresias brushed Hermes' hand off their shoulder. “I know not what you speak of, god; what help are you asking of me?”

Hermes’ narrow eyes shifted to Polites, so he took his cue, stepping forward. “Greetings...apologies for my friend, um, kidnapping you. My name is Polites.”

The prophet’s gaze went to him, and Polites suddenly felt as if he was being laid bare and naked for Tiresias to scrutinize.

“...Polites,” Tiresias said at length, the word sounding quite foreign on their lips. “Yes, I know you.”

“Y-you do?” Polites stammered. He’d never met this person before; surely he would recall such a unique individual.

“The captain’s best friend, were you not?” The prophet murmured, slowly lifting the hood of their cloak to get a better view of Polites. Their eyes were white, and they stared straight through him in a way that chilled his spine.

“Yes,” he managed, shifting. “You can tell the past?”

“I see it running free,” Tiresias breathed, “and the future, and the present- I hold the answers, you wish to ask about your captain, do you not?”

This was quite unnerving. “Yes. Yes, please.”

“Alright.” The prophet lifted their chin, and their eyes began to glow with an unearthly light. Hermes floated beside them, crossing his legs and glancing between Polites and Tiresias.

“...I suspect you won’t like the answers to seek,” Tiresias murmured. “And I’m not quite sure what’s happening, out of context.”

If Polites’ heart was still beating in his chest, that would have surely stopped it a second time.

“Well, the- can you see a kinda short man, and a- a scar, on his knee, or a big guy with a massive sword on his back-? Anyone who matches those descriptions?”

“...yes, I believe I do,” Tiresias said finally. “Though I’m not quite sure what’s happening, and I can’t listen and talk at the same time.”

Polites stifled a frustrated, frantic groan, running his hands through his hair. “Well, is there some way you can show me? Could that work?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never tried something of the sort,” the prophet said simply, frowning.

The other men were conversing behind him in low mutters. Well, not Alexander, but that wasn't new.

“The hell’s going on?” He called out to Polites, who noticed Tiresias flinch at the sudden startle, their glowing eyes dimming as their head snapped toward the voice like they hadn’t noticed Alexander until now.

“We’re trying to figure out how to get Tiresias to show us his visions,” Polites said, glancing over his shoulder. “Any ideas?”

There were a few murmurs, and the whispers spread like wildfire through the hordes of men. Tiresias seemed to be growing uneasy. “How many of you are there?” They asked, glancing between Polites and Hermes, who had landed on the ground with a soft thump.

“A lot,” Polites sighed, gesturing to the fleet. Tiresias didn’t seem to understand the answer or his motion, oddly, but as Polites opened his mouth to ask, Jonas shouted from behind him. Polites turned as he heard the younger man’s feet pattering up to him, and a hand grabbed his shoulder.

“Wait, wait, wait!!” Jonas shook his shoulder eagerly, his eyes glittering knowingly. “Didn’t you- the thing with the baby, didn’t you say Hades himself had granted you a favor for babysitting Astyanax?!”

Polites stared for a moment at the floppy-haired boy, and blinked once, before-

Oh.

Oh!

“Jonas, that’s brilliant!” Polites cried, his usual grin overtaking the anxious frown that he’d been wearing. He squeezed the boy’s arm before turning back to Hermes and Tiresias.

“Astyanax?” Tiresias asked as Hermes chortled. Then the prophet’s mouth opened, and they nodded. “Oh, yes, Scamandrius. You managed to obtain a favor from Hades, did you? Rather impressive.”

Polites inhaled, exhaled, and looked at Hermes, a fragile hope blooming in his chest. “Would it be possible to summon or call Hades somehow and ask him for a way to see what’s going on, in real-time?”

“I can’t see why not,” the god giggled. “Go ahead and try.”

“Okay, but how do we get his attention?”

Hermes launched himself a few feet into the air. “Try...making some noise. That might do the trick~”

Tiresias groaned. “No-”

“You heard him, guys!” Jonas shouted, turning back to the rest of the men and running over to grab the fleet’s attention. “We gotta call Hades! Make some noise!”

Polites watched, fascinated, as more or less 600 ghosts started shouting, full volume, loud enough to tremble the dead grass and make Charon scowl at the crowd. Some of them seemed to be enjoying themselves with the racket.

“HADES!”

“HEEEYYYYY!”

“LORD OF THE DEAD!!”

“HAAADDEEESSS!!”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

“WE’RE GONNA DROP THE BABY IN THE STYX IF YOU DON’T GET UP HERE!”

“ALEXANDER, GET AWAY FROM THE BABY!”

“HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADDEEEEESS!”

Covering his ears, Polites wondered if it was possible to make a soul deaf. He glanced over his shoulder to see Hermes’ giggles, but the god wasn’t smiling, more staring at his kidnap victim with a look of faint concern. And Tiresias was...looking quite distressed. They were clenching their wooden staff tightly, a pained grimace on their pale features as they pulled their hood back up.

“Are you alright?” Polites asked, stepping closer. Tiresias just huffed in agitation, stepping back, so Polites backed off. Hermes stood beside his friend, tapping his foot slowly.

The shouts swelled in volume, and Charon looked about ready to climb off his boat and start beating somebody with his oar, when a sudden hush of silence and apprehension drew over the crowd, like a bucket of water thrown over a fire and leaving only a hissing steam of whispers.

And standing on the edge of the Styx, practically radiating frustrated exhaustion, was the lord of the dead. His eyes landed on the trio of the god, ghost, and prophet, and his disgruntled glare demanded explanation.

Polites took a steadying breath, and stepped forward. “Lord Hades,” he said with a bow. “Do you recall-”

“Hey Uncle!”

Hermes jumped over Polites’ inclined form, going up to Hades. “My friends here need that favor you promised them!”

Hades’ eyes moved to his nephew, crossing his arms and sighing. “Nephew, you could have come down and found me. You needn’t shake my domain with your clamoring.”

“But where’s the fun in that?”

Hades groaned and pushed his exuberant courier aside, going to Polites. “Very well. What is your request, mortal?”

Polites cleared his throat, feeling everyone’s eyes on him. “We- that is, all of us-” he gestured to the fleet- “wish to have a way to watch our captain’s exploits. Would you be so kind as to provide us a way to see Odysseus and the remaining crew make it home safely?”

Hades appeared to consider this. Then he glanced to Tiresias. “Are you not a prophet?”

Tiresias bowed shortly towards him. “I am, but it’s hard to communicate what’s going on properly, Lord Hades,” they said.

Hades hummed and looked around. “All right.” He turned to Charon’s dock, his dark chiton swishing around the long, pale legs carrying him swiftly to the ferryman’s boat.

“My dear uncle needs to get out in the sun a little more,” Hermes murmured, fluttering back to Polites’ side, but he quieted as Hades held his hand out to Charon. The ferryman reluctantly handed over his long, ivory oar, and Hades stretched it out over the dread river of oath. Forgotten dreams and lost hopes, all the wishes that never came true flowed beneath it; Polites had overheard Yianni and Thodoris betting on how many empty gold sacks or cracked god statues they saw in a certain span of time, had watched broken arrows float past and thought of all the hours Odysseus had spent trying to teach him to shoot accurately.

Hades dipped the oar into the rivers and fished out a large, white cloth; he dragged it to the bank and handed it off to some of the nearest man, gesturing to them, so they dragged it up onto the grass. The massive cloth emerged slowly from the river, tall as two men and twice the length.

A...sail?

“Prop this up,” the king of the dead commanded, gesturing in the direction of Tiresias. “I will give the prophet the ability to project his visions.”

Tiresias pursed his lips, but said nothing. Hermes took his staff and pulled him out of the way as the men with the sail dragged it over to prop it up on an ionic column, then another, that Hades managed to push onto the bank with the oar. Miron hefted Jonas onto his shoulders to set it up into a workable backdrop. Hades approached the prophet, who didn’t seem to notice, just watching Miron hold onto Jonas as they shuffled with the sail.

Hermes tapped Tiresias, and they turned towards the approaching god, and gripped their staff as Hades held a hand over their head. Hades’ middle and ring fingers bent and swiped down in the air, before he nodded once. “There. Now try.”

Tiresias looked up at him hesitantly, as if unsure, but Hermes gently grasped them by the shoulders and turned them towards the display, stepping out to raise Tiresias’ staff towards the sail. Oddly, the prophet seemed to allow him to adjust him so, and when the messenger let go, they took a deep breath and pushed their staff outward. Their eyes glowed, and the sail did too, both with that unearthly white-blue light.

The sail’s light, however, began to change, an image projected onto the screen like shadow puppets. The image sharpened, and Polites gasped, with similar noises of shock and confusion echoing through the crowd behind him. Hermes lowered his head.

Eurylochus was looking around at the ship. Blood and gore surrounded them, the likes of which Polites hadn’t seen since the final battle of Troy. It turned his stomach.

Behind them, it appeared they were leaving a massive cavern. For a moment Polites stared at it, thinking he would see a sheep poke its head out of the darkness. But there was only water rippling in the wake of the ship.

“Is that Scylla’s lair?” Polites heard Jonas ask behind him, and Vlassis confirmed. If he squinted, he could see faint traces of red in the sea.

Polites shook his head and refocused. Eurylochus was looking at Odysseus’ back now, while Odysseus stared ahead blankly at the bow of the ship. The captain’s beard was longer; there was something haunted yet determined in his eyes as he gripped the handrail. Eurylochus was unshaved, like he hadn’t been taking care of himself. And he looked tired and frustrated and shaky. His mouth was moving, but Polites was never skilled at reading lips.

“What’s he saying?!” He heard someone shout, not bothering to identify the voice because now Eurylochus was stepping closer, his brow creasing and eyes pinching in a rare display of emotion. He waved a hand back, gesturing at the red-stained ship and the horrified looks on the surviving crew’s faces. Odysseus only closed his eyes, refusing to look.

Grumbles from the recently eaten sailors and many others murmured behind him, but he blocked them out, because Odysseus was speaking now as well, briefly, but from the tense lines of his face, it seemed harsh. Eurylochus straightened.

He reached over his shoulder, and drew his sword.

Polites clapped a hand over his mouth.

Eurylochus, what..?

Odysseus seemed to share the same surprise and confusion, finally turning to face his second-in-command. He held a hand out.

Lower your weapon, Polites pleaded silently, as the captain said something firmly, and Eurylochus shook his head in response, his lips moving faster as he held his sword out. Preparing.

Odysseus appeared to be trying to calm him with his words, but he drew his sword as well, and the two faced each other.

“No, no, no no no-” Polites pushed his hands into his hair, once again feeling the absence of his favorite headband. His eyes shifted to Odysseus’ bicep, but it seemed to have been tucked under his belt now, the red just about hidden under swathes of his tunic.

Polites could only stare in horror as Eurylochus opened his mouth, shouting something while he charged their friend, the Strongest of Same held high in the air.

Whispers and cries of confusion and shock and anger rippled through the crowds of the dead, as their captain and their second-in-command began to fight. Polites could feel strong arms wrapping around his chest, pulling him a few steps back and thankfully steadying him, but he didn’t turn his head to see who it was. His eyes glued to the projection of his best friends, sparring.

He’d seen them do this so many times in childhood. Odysseus eager to show off a new sword trick he learned from Athena, Eurylochus always ready for a match, and they’d swordfight in their favorite forest clearing, Polites cheering from the sidelines and laughing in delight when Odysseus slipped under Eury’s massive sword, or when Eurylochus overpowered the cocky prince. No matter who won, there was always a grin on his face.

The memories made it only more painful to watch as Odysseus’ defensive strikes turned into attacks, and he slashed at Eurylochus’ exposed shoulder, his chest, dodging and ducking under Eury’s sword and lunging forward to strike at his chest, his forehead. Eurylochus clipped his leg, but Polites spotted a faint flinch from the larger man as he did so. His movements were hesitant. As if he was afraid to actually hurt Odysseus. As if his mind was hardened from all the ways his captain had let him down, but he was still afraid to hurt their friend.

Odysseus didn’t seem to hold the same uncertainty. Polites didn’t even bother to fight the panicked keens escaping his throat, his mouth tightening over his lips as the captain sliced at Eurylochus’ chest, his scarred knee coming up to Eurylochus’ chest to push him down. Eurylochus went down hard, his blood adding to the victims of Scylla on the deck as he stared up at Odysseus, and his eyes were wide with a fear Polites had never seen from him before.

Odysseus stood over him, and pressed his foot on his childhood friend’s stomach, his lips moving in what Polites could only imagine to be a war cry, his sword rising high in the air and pointed down at Eurylochus’ chest.

Polites screamed, and closed his eyes and turned his head away at the same moment Eurylochus did.

Chapter Text

There was no sound with Tiresias’ projections, but there was a wave of gasps- even a yelp or two, one that sounded like it came from Elpenor. And after ten years of war, Polites knew what sound he should be hearing.

His eyes were squeezed shut, so tightly he saw stars. Why, he couldn’t tell. He couldn’t feel himself breathe as a ghost, but his chest was moving much faster than normal, the arms around him shifting to his shoulders and squeezing.

“Open your eyes, kid,” Miron’s deep voice spoke in his ear. “Nobody’s dead.”

“Wha..?” Polites dared to crack his eye open, preparing himself to see Eurylochus, his dear friend, bleeding out, Hermes leaving to fetch his soul-

“Oh my gods,” Elpenor muttered, stepping up beside him to stare at the sail.

There was blood.

But it wasn’t Eurylochus bleeding.

And there was a figure standing behind the captain, a new blade dripping red. It slowly pulled out, and Perimedes stepped to the side, his face set in a resigned scowl.

Odysseus looked between him and his new wound, and pain twisted his features- though it looked like it was from more than the sword. He said something slowly, and the men slowly gathered around him. Someone helped Eurylochus up, supporting the second-in-command as he bled from several places. Someone handed him a rag to press to his worst injuries. No one did the same for Odysseus.

The captain’s knees trembled and his hands went to his side, as his comrades glared at him, surrounding him.

And then Perimedes darted forward, hitting him with the blunt pommel of the bloody sword. Odysseus’ eyes unfocused, and he went limp, collapsing onto the deck.

The hands on his shoulders squeezed a little harder, and attempted to turn him away from the sail, but Polites kept his eyes on the captain as the men surrounded him. Eurylochus was stepping up and hesitantly giving a few orders, directing men to Odysseus’ prone form. They didn’t finish him, thank the gods, binding his wound and then leaving him alone.

Something tugged at the wrist of his hand clamped over his mouth, and Polites tore his eyes from the scene to look. Miron was hovering over his shoulder, and his eyes were full of shock and concern. Elpenor was standing still, his eyes focused on Perimedes, shaking his head and mumbling something to himself.

Tiresias was lowering his staff, though the view of the ship remained, and Hermes stood next to him, a fist pressed to his lips.

Chatter started to rise from the hundreds of spectating specters, now that the fight was over, though the conflict was far from resolved.

“What are they gonna do with him?” Thodoris piped up, crossing his arms and stepping closer uncertainly. “If they were gonna kill him, they’d have dumped his body over the side while he’s out.”

Polites winced at the very image, while Miron just sighed and shook his head, finally getting Polites to turn away. “I see that look in your eyes. You can’t do anything about it, kid,” He reminded Polites in a gruff voice.

“There has to be something!” Polites pulled away from the older man and turned to Hermes and Tiresias. The pair was still standing together, looking pensive. “What are they planning?? Please, Hermes, can’t you go up there and help?! Get them to calm down, or-”

Hermes held his hands up in a sigh. “There’s only so much I can do to interfere- he may be my great-grandson, but I can’t do everything for him. Ever heard of nepotism?”

“Please-”

“Kid, you’re shaking.” Miron’s hand landed on his shoulder again, squeezing again, forcing Polites to steady and look him in the eye. “Let whatever happens happen. Captain may be your friend, but he will still feel the consequences of his actions.”

“But-” Polites couldn’t feel his hands. Tingles were creeping up his feet, his fingers, and he couldn’t figure if the fuzziness of the outlines of his ghostly form was actually happening or if it was simply his vision.

“Polites, are you okay?” Jonas piped up softly, poking his head over Miron’s shoulder, but his voice sounded distant. And his legs felt weak.

Miron kept speaking, and his legs folded underneath him, landing on the ground as he was lowered slowly. His chest was moving, he felt no air, should he?

He leaned against something, but he could barely feel his body anymore, his thoughts were blurring together and a lot of things were touching him, too many, but then they were brushed away and someone’s arms just held him close, that hand still resting on his shoulder. He desperately tried to remember how to breathe. He didn’t remember closing his eyes.

“Miron?”

The middle-aged man smiled reassuringly at Polites as he finally opened his eyes. “Aye, there you are, kid. Feelin’ better?”

“I...yeah? What happened?” Polites shifted, pulling a little away from him.

“You collapsed. Didn’t handle the..current events...well.” A comforting weight left his curls, but Miron’s other hand still squeezed Polites’ shoulder. He was on his knees against Miron, shaky arms hovering around his chest. “It hasn’t been long.”

Polites nodded slowly at his ominous words. Events. What events?

Ody!

Polites scrambled to his feet, stumbling and spinning unsteadily for a moment. He could see his friends standing a safe distance away, everyone looking a bit worried or stressed. Some watched the screen, and some watched him.

“You alright, man?” Yianni murmured, a hand on Jonas’ shoulder, who was rocking Astyanax back and forth. Behind him, Miron rose to his feet.

“Yes. Sorry for the scare.” Polites gave them a weak smile, his feet bringing him back to his crew, on the right of where most of the more curious of the 600 men were gathered around the sail in a semicircle. His head angled to look at the glowing sail.

It hadn’t changed a lot. Ody was still tied up and unconscious, now propped against the mast. Eurylochus stood at the bow of the ship, talking to another comrade with a resigned, tired-looking frown, and looking out beyond what they could see.

“What did I miss?” Polites asked, his voice growing a bit stronger. He looked around; Hades had disappeared, but Hermes and Tiresias remained, murmuring to one another about who knows what.

“Not much,” Thodoris shrugged. “They’re just sailing somewhere now.” Polites sighed, rubbing a hand over his head.

Could be much worse. Nobody else has died. Maybe, if they communicate properly, they can still get home...

“At least Peri didn’t stab him somewhere worse,” Elpenor murmured, standing on the edge of the group, echoing Polites’ thoughts. A few turned to glance at him, Vlassis raising an eyebrow at the nickname. Nets’ mouth opened, a soft gasp of realization escaping, then flushed as everyone’s gazes turned to him.

“I-I just remembered- Elpenor, I saw you in the water,” he mumbled. “When we faced the sirens, I saw you in the water, as a siren.”

Elpenor’s cheeks glowed a little brighter. “Uh...look, that’s...really nice of you, Nets, but I don’t feel that way about-”

“What? No!! You weren’t my siren,” Nets flailed, waving his hands. “But you were in there. I don’t know whose siren you were, but...yeah, it was kind of creepy.”

“You don’t know whose? Nets, are you blind?” Yianni snorted. Chortles rolled through the group as Elpenor tried unsuccessfully to steal a subtle glance at Perimedes on the sail.

“Blind as the cyclops,” Alexander snorted.

“Oh, shut up.”

“Guys!”

Polites’ head jerked as he heard Jonas’ shout, landing on the sail, where
Tiresias was projecting an image of an island now, green with grass and gold with sunlight making it glow with a vibrancy that made Polites think of Ithaca. Hermes sucked in a breath.

“What’s this?” Yianni asked, watching the crew drop the anchor. “Why are they stopping?”

“They’re probably looking for food and gonna do something with the captain,” Sofoklis spoke up. “After all, they’re starving.”

“They’re what?” Thodoris asked, looking up at him where he sat on the ground with a frown.

“Well, our food storages have been running on low since Circe’s island, and I don’t think they’ve had the chance to properly restock. Most of us ate some of the siren tails that got cut off, because it’s basically fish.”

Jonas gagged, and Polites winced, remembering Hermes’ tale of the crew visiting the sirens before Scylla’s lair. Wait, they killed the sirens...?

They probably had to. Just to feed the crew.

His gaze drifted to the image of the mast, the pale man slumped against it. He wouldn’t kill them if he didn’t have to. Right?

He decided not to ask. He got distracted, anyway, when Eurylochus and the others moved on screen, hopping off the boat. Eurylochus had his old friend carefully hoisted over his shoulder, not to aggravate Odysseus’ injuries.

If Polites squinted, it looked like they were younger. Like the time Odysseus had dragged them all to fight Athena’s boar, and injured his knee. Eurylochus had carried the triumphant prince back.
Now the second-in-command lowered the defeated king at the base of something that looked like...a statue?

“What’s a statue doing on a random island? It looks mostly deserted,” Thodoris asked.

Hermes coughed into his fist. “It’s sort of inhabited,” the god muttered, though few heard him, and Polites was too busy watching Eurylochus bind Odysseus to the statue with rope to question it. Especially as Odysseus roused, his head lifting slowly. Eurylochus backed up, his eyes shifting to the fat cows roaming the pastures.

“Seriously, does anyone know how to read lips?” Yianni groaned as Eurylochus spoke soundlessly. Nobody answered. “Great. Fantastic.”

“Just watch their expressions. Look. Eurylochus looks like he’s...” Nets trailed off for a moment. “..sad?”

Polites stared at the sail, where Eurylochus definitely looked like he was in pain from more than the scratches Odysseus had gouged into him. His gaze was shifting from the statue towering over his old friend to the cows, the gleaming white beasts milling around and eyeing their visitors warily. His hand twitched toward the Strongest of Same, strapped to his back. The crew gathered on the shores, supporting Eurylochus with whatever he was saying. And then he was moving, unsheathing his sword.

He got close to one of the cows, gripping it, his face blank, tired, hopeless. But there was a final spark of determination in his eyes, driven by hunger. He glanced once towards the crew. He didn’t look back as Odysseus tugged at his ropes desperately, pulling, shouting.

Eurylochus raised his sword high over the unaware beast’s neck. Polites flinched as it swung down, an executioner’s blade slicing innocent flesh.

But there was no red as he expected.

A wave of apprehension rippled over the crowd as the cow collapsed, bleeding gold. Hermes groaned almost imperceptibly, and shook his head, his nimble fingers pressed against his temples.

Before anyone dead or alive could react, Odysseus leapt to his feet, triggering more murmurs. “I thought they tied him up?” Thodoris asked in bafflement.

Odysseus ran to the boat, frantic, shouting. Eurylochus looked between him and the cow, and staggered after him, as if in a daze, and the rest of the men glanced at each other before starting to move, apparently obeying his commands.

“What are they doing?” Vlassis muttered. “I thought this was mutiny. Why are they listening to him?”

Polites glanced at Hermes as the god shifted. “Those cows were immortal. They were the sun god’s friends.”

Oh, no...

Several men groaned as they realized that their friends had likely just pissed off another god. Polites wrung his hands finger by finger as the men scrambled back onto the boat, Perimedes almost slipping on the half-dried blood the ship was still covered in. Elpenor chuckled weakly.

“So what are they going to do?” Polites asked, not looking at Hermes. “Is Lord Apollo going to come down and punish them?”

“Oh, no,” Hermes shook his head, his brown curls flopping. “Helios, not Apollo.”

Ah. Right. Polites pretended he remembered what the difference was. Maybe he’d ask later, but Hermes was still speaking.

“He’ll likely send someone else to punish them. He’s busy driving his sun chariot.”

Well, that wasn’t exactly comforting, but he was hard-pressed to focus on the sail, watching the men start to row away from the island without taking anything of the slaughtered cow, leaving nothing but a trail of blood on the island, from both the captain and the cow.

And then the ship was bathed in flashing light, though from that angle, nobody could see the source. Tiresias waved his hand as if he were in a daze, and the perspective shifted to show the ship and the massive storm clouds lowering before it, crackling with lighting and thunder they couldn’t hear. The crew and Odysseus stopped, their furious rowing slowing, stopping, and they all just gazed upon the sight with expressions of fear and apprehension.

“Is that...” Jonas murmured, his arms curling tighter around Astyanax, who shifted uncomfortably in his arms, as if the babe was disturbed by the entrance of the lightning wielder as much as any of them.

The fluffy, flickering clouds slowly came together, forming wild white hair, a pure tunic, and glowing yellow eyes. A larger-than-life deity, hovering in front of their ship.

Nobody had to say it. The glowing yellow eyes that focused on the ship, the perfectly masculine hands caressing a lightning bolt the size of the mast between them as he spoke. The smirk as he looked down upon all of Polites’ friends that still breathed.

The king of the gods, the master of storms, head of Mount Olympus.

Everybody froze, except for Hermes, whose ankle wings twitched as if jittery. Then he patted Tiresias’ shoulder and tapped his caduceus on the dead grass, before disappearing upwards in a blur.

Few noticed his exit, but everybody noticed his reentrance, because it was heralded by a strange gathering of clouds forming near the edge of the sail, and a sudden wave of noise trembled the ground, emanating from the clouds. The faint booming of thunder and crackling of lightning, the familiar sounds of the sea lapping against the bloodstained boat.

And a voice.

Chapter Text

“Tell me, Odysseus.”

Many cowered or flinched, stepping away from the sail, as if to keep their distance from the husky, rumbling tone reverberating from the clouds clinging to the edge of the cloth. Hermes fluttered over the sail, his lips pressed together and a golden-tipped scroll clutched in his hand. Were the speaking clouds Zeus’ doing? They must have been. It made sense, really. Of course he would want to make an example of their captain and comrades’ suffering, make it clear as day what was about to happen.

“If I were to make you choose, the lives of your men and crew or your own- why do I think they’d lose?”

Polites’ stomach dropped to his sandals. Was he saying what Polites thought he was?

Beside him, Astyanax started to cry, twisting in Jonas’ arms. The younger man nervously looked around, before Miron offered to take him.

“Enlighten me, King of Ithaca.” Zeus stared down at Odysseus like he was preparing for great entertainment, his narrowed eyes burning with arrogance and amusement, as he spoke of hunger and the punishment of the damned. He stretched with the lazy, cocky grin on his perfect lips as he voiced threats that pushed shock deeper over the crew, living and dead.

“Surely he won’t...” a weak mutter escaped him, without any real meaning. Nearby, Alexander scoffed, looking away as if he didn’t care, though his eyes seemed to draw back to the repurposed sail.

“This is a king god, known for his displays of power. He will.”

“Will what?” Polites whispered. He knew, of course. Zeus was making it clear. But part of him still prayed, with some shred of naive hope.

Zeus leaned closer to the ship, his smirk leaving his face. “Choose.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t look, kid,” Miron murmured, stepping closer to him. His thick hands already covered the babe’s eyes, who was still crying.

Polites ignored him. Wasn’t like he could die from shock or heartbreak a second time.

Though his unbeating heart still felt like it was spasming as, for the first time in who knew how long, he heard his friend’s voice. It was weak, shaky, fragile with fear and uncertainty as he repeated the god’s order.

“Choose?”

Zeus leaned back slightly and pointed his crackling lighting bolt, which they could hear now, at the bleeding captain. “Someone’s gotta die today, and you have got the final say...you? Or your crew?”

Polites’ mind felt blank. Odysseus...was being forced to choose between his own life or his remaining crew’s.

Despite the disorienting quiet of his mind, dozens of thoughts, disconnected, rebelling and disgusting, skittered across his consciousness.

He won’t. He’s the captain, he’s been fighting with us and for us for more than ten years.

Please, don’t die, Ody..

He already sacrificed six.

That was different!

Don’t kill them. They need to get home.

He was already imagining how Odysseus would look as a ghost. Or Eurylochus. It made him sick.

“Please, don’t make me do this...don’t make me do this,” the bleeding king begged.

And yet Zeus just smiled. No cow would be worth this punishment, holy or not, but this was the king of gods. Who was going to question it? Perhaps Athena, perhaps she could help Odysseus outsmart her father, but she’d left Odysseus to fend for himself after the cyclops. He was alone. No crew to back him up, no goddess, far from his son and his...

His wife was beside him?

Polites frowned at the image of the queen, touching Odysseus’ shoulders, wiping his tears. She was cloud-white, even her hair and lips, a cruel trick of

Zeus. And yet every detail seemed perfect from Polites’ memories of Penelope. Odysseus watched her with an aching longing, reaching for her as she soothed him, encouraging him with words as sweet as a siren’s. Behind him, the crew hovered. Some looked afraid or in shock, some looked bitter and tired.

And then he heard Eurylochus. A voice was so tired, so uncertain, more so than he had ever heard from his dear friend. He knew what was coming, just as well as Polites did. And he couldn’t believe it, just as Polites couldn’t. Didn’t want to believe it.

“Captain?”

Odysseus didn’t turn to look at his second-in-command, his eyes fixed on his estranged wife. His everything, his Penelope. But his voice still sounded broken and hollow.

“I have to see her.”

Eurylochus stared at his captain’s back, his still fresh wound.

“...but we’ll die.”

Odysseus closed his eyes.

“I know.”

And then he lifted his arm, pointing at his crew.

Noise rippled over the crowd, protests of anger, shocked cries, as he doomed the final men under his command.

The blindsided men stood in shock as Zeus pulled back, the fake Penelope vanishing from Odysseus’ touch, until they stirred, grabbing their swords like they were ready to finish their mutiny. Ready to drag Odysseus down to the Underworld with them before Zeus could make the final judgement call. The god soared high in the air, almost out of sight, reaching heavenward to summon the fury of his domain.

Eurylochus’ eyes tracked him, but he forced them away, lowering them to his captain, his friend.

“That was scary!” Polites gasped, grabbing Odysseus around the shoulders and hugging him tight. “I thought I was gonna die, that boar was coming straight for me!”

Odysseus laughed and squeezed him back, his freshly bandaged knee propped on Eurylochus’ thigh, thank the gods the boy had had the wisdom to bring supplies. “Of course, my friend!”

Eurylochus sighed, handling the prince’s injury with careful hands. “I don’t think it was necessary to jump in front of him, though, and take the hit yourself. You could have simply pulled him out of the way.”

“That wouldn’t have worked! That boar’s massive!” Odysseus argued, pointing at the corpse of the beast several yards away. “And there’s no length I wouldn’t go to save you! I’d do it again,” he finished proudly.

Eurylochus just shook his head. Polites laughed, sitting down beside Odysseus. “I don’t think Eury’s ever gonna need saving, he’s got everything handled!”

“Eh, you don’t know that!” Odysseus cackled, his hair flopping in his eyes. “I bet one day we’ll be facing down sirens and cyclopes and giants and hydras-”

“Maybe let’s get you back to the palace before you lose any more blood,” Eurylochus interjected, raising an eyebrow at his friend’s rambling.

Odysseus kept on, undeterred, as Polites looped an arm around his back and they both helped the injured prince up. “-and someday you’re gonna get- ah- in some really big trouble- ow- and I’m gonna save you! Whatever it takes!”

‘Whatever it takes, huh?’ Eurylochus deadpanned, taking most of the prince’s weight. “Let’s hope it never comes to that. Let’s get you to a proper healer before you’re delirious.”

Polites laughed, sticking close to Odysseus’ other side. “Yeah, we’ll come back for the boar later. It’ll be fine! Here we go, one foot at a time-”

Eurylochus didn’t draw his sword. Didn’t move his feet as the other men started rushing for the captain, their weapons raised and eyes burning with betrayal. Odysseus only stared hollowly at his feet, waiting for Zeus to save him from his own men.

Zeus’ fist glowed with the power in his hands, a power he directed down towards the ship.

Polites’ vision blurred a moment before it happened. A crackling boom echoed over the dead plains, hushing the protests and cries of anguish that surrounded him; the entire sail flashing a blinding white, drowning out screams and the mighty cracking of wood. Then there was silence, and dozens of the same pathetic splashes of bodies plopping off the wreckage, into the water.

Chapter Text

Polites felt numb. He barely even heard or saw Hermes as the god tucked the scroll into his satchel and flapped his shoe’s wings. “Well, I guess I’ll go get them...” He muttered, looking around at the stunned fleet of men, before disappearing.

Elpenor stared after him, shifting from foot to foot. Beside him, Jonas stood with a horrified, shocked expression on his young features.

“He...he actually...”

“He did,” Thodoris muttered, sitting down with a hard thump. “Can’t believe this. He’s our captain! He’s supposed to be fighting for us, right? Not just us for him.” His eyes drifted to the sail, and Polites was trying very hard not to let his own do the same.

They disobeyed him anyway. And his chest tightened at the sight.

Odysseus lay on a wide part of the wreckage, covered in soot and ash and blood. His eyes were closed. He looked as peaceful as if he was unconscious. A small part of Polites was tempted to be angry with the fact, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything but pain.

Around him, in the choppy waters, Polites could see dozens of bodies, slowly fading into the depths of the sea, another group of casualties not getting a burial. At least they would be in good company...

“The men did betray him,” Miron reminded them quietly, stepping forward, finally having soothed the baby in his arms. “Besides, he’s the king. He needs to get back to Ithaca and lead the rest of our people.”

And Zeus was tempting him with Penelope, Polites added, but only in his head. There would be more time for finding ways to forgive his friend. Right now...

Hermes was starting to bring the first souls down.

A tall, lanky man with a spaced-out expression, Karolos, nicknamed Man because of his name’s simple meaning. Hermes laid him on the grass, and he simply lay there, staring at the endless ceiling as the others gathered around him.

He had fractals tracing up his arms- miniature lightning arcing over his once warm brown skin, now barely visible in his new shade of translucent blue.

None of the other souls had scars from their deaths, not the deaths by Scylla or Polyphemus or even Posideon. Perhaps Zeus had taken sweet care in carving reminders into each of the final men to die.

“Man, you alright?” Someone spoke up, and the new soul blinked up at the darkness, coming to himself. He looked over, his eyes catching Yianni’s eye. 

He sighed, slowly getting to his feet and stepping towards his old friend. Yianni smiled bitterly and embraced him, though Karalos’ muscles twitched at first brush against the other. 

Polites sighed and stepped back, looking around. His fingers twisted around each other in anticipation; the rest of the old crew was being brought down, one at a time in Hermes’ arms.

Which meant...

“PERI!”

Elpenor stared up at the void, and he wore the biggest smile that Polites had seen since the cave of the cyclops. It felt strange, out of place, surrounded by death.

But it didn’t feel wrong. Not when Hermes held the arm of another lightning-scarred, dreadlocked man, who looked stunned as he let himself be dragged to his home for the next century. But his eyes flickered over the nigh 600 men, searching for the source of his name.

He found it as his feet touched the ground- or it found him, rather. Hermes barely had time to jump away from the newly deceased before a mess of translucent curls slammed into his open arms.

Perimedes barely managed to stay on his feet with a grunt, staring in disbelief at the man in his embrace. Elpenor only buried his face in his estranged’s scarred chest.

“Elle...?”

Polites didn’t hear what Elpenor mumbled in response. But Perimedes obviously did, and a slow, soft, almost sad smile spread over his face. He lowered his head beside Elpenor and hugged him back. Neither of them seemed to care about half the crew watching them- though Yianni did have to cover Alexander’s mouth to stop him from making obnoxiously loud kissy noises.

It was a nice reprieve from shock and heaviness of the moment, and the joy of reunion made it a bit easier to cope with the shock of the outcome of Zeus’ dilemma and Odysseus’ decision.

Though, as more men were brought down, Polites found himself scanning every man in Hermes’ grasp, his chest compressing with every familiar face, until the last was brought down.

Eurylochus stared at the ground, his face blank and splintered with the worst Lichtenberg scars of the entire crew. Polites approached him slowly, as everyone else seemed to back away from his presence.

“Eurylochus?” He asked, keeping his voice low, like he was trying to calm a startled wild animal.

The larger man’s head lifted, allowing his gaze to catch Polites’, finally.

He looked so tired. Defeated.

“...I’m not hungry anymore,” he whispered. He stared at Polites, or perhaps through, like he couldn’t quite connect where he was or who he was with- and who he wasn’t with.

Polites’ shoulders loosened. He knew, logically, that Eurylochus had been the one to start the mutiny, to open the wind bag, to kill the cow.

But he couldn’t find it within himself to blame him. Maybe later they would talk out their actions, reflecting on where it all had gone wrong. For now...

He simply stepped closer and pulled his old friend into his open arms.

Eurylochus’s muscles twitched and tensed. Eurylochus wasn’t much of a hugger, but from Polites, he had previously given the impression that he was alright with it. He didn’t react this time.

He seemed dazed, and oh gods, he was shaking. Polites squeezed him tighter, feeling the other man’s head raise to look over the other men- the eleven ships’ worth of men that died to Poseidon and the wind bag. And the rest of the crew, who was slowly coming to terms with their deaths and new reality. “Polites...”

“I know,” Polites murmured back, pushing away the image of the man in his arms, raising his sword at their captain. “Wh- what’s done is done. You’ve had a long journey. Just take your time.”

Eurylochus hesitated before looking down at him. “...we’re in the Underworld? We’re dead?”

“Yes,” he responded quietly. “And we’ll be here for a while. But we’ll have each other.”

Eurylochus swallowed, and closed his eyes, before gently pulling away from Polites. Polites let him go.

“Hey, guys?” Hermes spoke up, standing beside Tiresias again. Tiresias seemed to have nudged him.

And they were staring straight ahead, right at Eurylochus, from under their hood. The man frowned back at them, his shoulders straightening to a degree that had to be uncomfortable under the apparent scrutiny.

Tiresias turned their head and gestured to the sail with their staff, their voice quieter than Hermes’. “Your...friend is still alive.”

Eurylochus looked between the prophet and the makeshift screen, which was now displaying the waves lapping at Odysseus’ scrap of ship, pushing him. Then at Polites for explanation.

Polites swallowed and turned him to the other new arrivals, gathering their attention where they were scattered around, reuniting with their friends- though Perimedes didn’t seem to care much about his announcement. “My brothers! This is Tiresias, a prophet, who is graciously helping us see what’s going on on the surface.” He glanced towards the sail. The white noise of the ocean was already familiar again in his ears where it echoed from the strange little cloud-speaker.

Tiresias stepped a little bit behind Hermes, who merely chuckled and shook his head, allowing them to half-hide behind him.

“...did Zeus knock him out too?” Yianni asked, staring at Odysseus. “Where’s he going?”

Tiresias didn’t answer, still staring off into space- at the back of Hermes’ head-, his lips pressed together.

“Wait, guys-” Jonas stepped up, squeezing his wrist. “Doesn’t Poseidon hate Captain? He’s all...alone and vulnerable right now,” he gestured towards the screen with an anxious look. “Zeus implied he’ll be allowed to get home, but he’s not helping...what if Poseidon realizes he’s-?”

The crowd stirred, unsettled, at his words. Eurylochus bit his lip and turned his head away from the screen.

Hermes hummed. “Oh, that is actually a good point. I’ll go guide him on his journey. I think I know where my father wants him to rest.” His winged sandals came to life, and he zipped upwards. Tiresias’ cloak fluttered in the generated breeze.

I suppose he is the god of travel, Polites thought, twisting his hands together as the waves beside Odysseus’s scrap of a raft rippled and a certain god appeared onscreen, dry despite having just coming up through the ocean, holding-

...

“What is he doing with that?” Eurylochus asked tersely, stepping closer to the sail.

Chapter Text

...

“What is he doing with that?” Eurylochus asked tersely, stepping closer to the sail.

Hermes was tucking Eurylochus’ tattered pauldron under Odysseus’ limp arm, his perfect lips pressed together and his face smooth, though they seemed to Polites to hold a quieter gleam of- understanding? Kindness?

Polites didn’t know if the pained fists clenched at Eurylochus’ sides would be a normal reaction to kindness, but he stepped closer towards him again.

“...Eurylochus,” he said quietly.

The second-in-command’s gaze lowered from the sail to the dead grass as Hermes began to push Odysseus’ raft through the growing waves. “Yes?” He forced out.

Polites stepped in front of him. His hand lifted to rest on Eurylochus’ bicep, but he thought better of it as the dark, scarred muscles twitched, and let it fall back to his waist.

“Are you alright, my friend?” He murmured, trying to meet his eyes. Polites knew Eurylochus wasn’t the fondest of speaking of his emotions, but he didn’t want him to bottle it up, not when there was so little to lose, anyway.

Eurylochus hesitated, and refused to look at him as he finally spoke up, loud enough for only Polites to hear. “Is it my fault?”

Polites bit his lip and stopped trying to look at him. “...it’s nobody’s fault. Too many impossible choices. You did what you thought was best. And so did....” His voice trailed off.

“I don’t know if I still want to leave him to die or fall at his feet and apologize,” Eurylochus muttered. “Or more likely, beg for his forgiveness. Gods...”

Polites didn’t know what to say to that. But he didn’t have to offer empty words, because a wave of murmurs from the crowd had him twisting back to the screen.

Hermes was pushing Odysseus and squinting at an island fast approaching on the waves, a gorgeous paradise of sorts. Polites faintly heard someone murmur “he’s taking him there? What, for a vacation?”

Hermes gave him a final shove over the sand bar and watched his limp great-grandson’s raft bump into the sandy beach, bobbing safely on the edge of the water. He waited for a moment, but then disappeared as something rustled deep in the bushes.

“What was that?” Eurylochus and Polites seemed to straighten in the same breath, Polites didn’t even know which one of him had just said that- he was more focused on the shifting foliage. Eurylochus looked like his jaw was tight enough to crack a tooth, and he could guess they were thinking the same thing.

Not another threat. Not when he’s vulnerable and alone. Not after all that’s been lost.

And then a shape sprang out of the bushes, causing branches and leaves to scatter as the threat was revealed.

“A woman?” Eurylochus muttered, his brow only furrowing further.

The dark-skinned woman leaned eagerly over their unconscious captain, grinning like she’d just found her next meal, and an unfamiliar but feminine voice emanated from the clouds hovering at the base of the sail. “Ooh, hello, dear~!”

Polites titled his head at the screen, his skin prickling as the woman leaned over the unresponsive king, tracing his face with a light touch. She grabbed his arms and dragged him off of the wooden wreckage, his cloak catching on a splinter and tearing slightly. She didn’t seem to care, though she did notice when Eurylochus’ pauldron fell out from under his arm as she moved him, tumbling down dangerously close to the waves. With a light hum, she picked it up and set it beside him. Eurylochus grimaced, like the sight of his armor piece in this stranger’s hand made him uncomfortable. In truth, Polites felt the same.

She wore her hair in attractively messy dreadlocks, and a chiton draped over her curves in a way that had many of the crew staring. Her jewelry was all strung with seashells and colorful stones, clearly handmade. She was beautiful, gorgeous even, but Polites could already picture his friend being unimpressed and wishing for Penelope.

“Who is that?” Yianni asked, drawing Polites’ attention to the other men. Eurylochus didn’t turn his head, keeping his alert gaze on the scene like he was guarding Odysseus- not that he could help if things went south.

“How would we know?” Alexander returned, his hands on his hips as he stared disinterestedly at the mysterious island woman.

“I wasn’t asking you. Maybe he knows,” Yianni responded, gesturing towards Tiresias, who still stood uncomfortably by the sail.

“They,” Hermes corrected, and Yianni shouted, startled from the god’s sudden appearance whispering in his ear.

“AH-!” Yianni scowled as he turned to the messenger, who was hanging upside down in midair. The tales certainly weren’t lying when they spoke of Hermes’ flair for dramatics. “Dude!”

“That’s Calypso. A nymph, I think, and a very minor goddess. Not as big as me or the others, obviously,” the god continued flippantly as he fluttered back over to the prophet, who for once didn’t seem annoyed, more relieved as the god’s feet landed and he leaned against their shoulder and nodded towards the sail. “But she’s the only one on that island, so you can imagine how lonely she gets.”

“So his entire crew and army dies, and now he gets to lounge around on some tropical paradise with a pretty woman?” Thodoris muttered bitterly, his eyes tracing over his friend’s fractal scars. Karalos stood beside him, staring at the base of the screen where the clouds drifted.

“You say that like he’s going to enjoy it,” Elpenor piped up, wrapped in Perimedes’ arms. The latter was resting his head on top of his bunkmate’s curls. “This is the same guy that mumbles his wife’s name in his sleep every night and cries about missing her when he’s drunk.” He paused as the subject onscreen shifted and murmured, like he was making the transition from unconscious to asleep, a faint mumble escaping him. Calypso appeared to listen closely to his wife’s name, falling clumsily from his lips. “Yeah, see?”

“Don’t forget his son,” Perimedes muttered. “‘Father of dear Telemachus’...”

“Someone get this simp home,” Yianni snorted, watching the nymph sit down beside Odysseus and start gently tugging on his messy, tangled hair, prompting more soft grumbled nonsense.

“He might as well get home, after all that’s happened,” someone said distantly in the crowd, and Polites barely had time to nod before at least three other voices jumped upon him with rebuttals.

Polites winced as arguments broke out over the crowd, clamoring over each other. The pitying and resigned and empathetic fought with the angry and bitter, logic mixing horribly with conflicting emotions. It hurt to see so many that wished for Odysseus to suffer a fate like theirs or his.

Beside him, Eurylochus sighed slowly. “Still can’t stand infighting, can you?” he murmured, his head tilting slightly towards him, though his deep brown eyes stayed locked on the sail.

Polites sighed slightly and shook his eyes. He’d always been known to be a bit of a pacifist among the crew; he likely would have been subject to a lot of teasing had Odysseus not kept a close eye on that.

The fighting continued for some time, in all of which, the strange woman stayed by Odysseus, getting a bit too close for comfort. She didn’t try to go get anything, just laid there and stared at him. It was a bit creepy.

And then, finally, the shouting match slowed, reduced to grumbles, as Eurylochus straightened. “He’s waking up..”

He was. Odysseus was groaning softly, rolling over on his side, his face inches from Calypso’s. The angle of the vision was just close enough to see Odysseus’ eyes flutter open, bloodshot, disoriented. But even in his state, he had enough of his wits to process the woman so close, and jerk away, sitting up so fast he toppled over in the opposite direction; the pauldron tumbled a few feet away across the sand from the sudden movement. A few scattered chuckles could be heard, but Polites’ attention was captured as the nymph sat up, a gleeful smile on her face, oddly undaunted by his reaction to her, even with the tense, uneasy expression on his face painted black and red with soot and blood.

“Morning, sleepyhead!” The nymph chirped, sitting up. Her voice was melodic and welcoming. “You’ve been resting for a while!”

Odysseus merely stared at her, still scooting away. As she spoke, his head whipped about, trying to orient himself as she continued. “I swore that you were dead when you woke up on my isle!” She leaned closer to him, pursuing him over the sand on her hands and knees. The hapless man leaned back further. “Did you know you talk in your sleep? Tell me though, who’s Penelope?”

“She’s my wife,” Odysseus responded automatically, finally looking from the high mountains and lush tropical forests and sandy beaches to the woman too close to him.

Calypso stared at him, her face dropping at his answer into a shock of disappointment, and Odysseus stared back at her, unnerved. It was rather a ridiculous sight; Alexander’s cackling laughter almost drowned out her next words.

“Anyways-!”

“Chipper, ain’t she,” Jonas observed, his head tilting as she grabbed his hands and pulled him to his feet, watching the captain stumble.

“Touchy,” Miron added, standing a bit behind Polites. In his arms, Astyanax slept, stirring only occasionally. Calypso tugged Odysseus over the sand, waving her arm to gesture to the vibrant island and all it likely had to offer as she advertised her home. Anything one could want, anything one could need. But Polites felt himself frowning, especially at her next enthusiastic words.

“Just you and me, my dear, my love for life!”

“Wow, she’s forward,” Thodoris scoffed, his eyes flickering between the woman as she practically threw herself at Odysseus, trapping him in her arms as she insinuated what exactly she wanted from him.

“I’m not your man...” Odysseus frowned, pushing her away.

Calypso merely pouted, but stayed a bit too close, and kept showing off the island. “I’m what you want here, I’m what you need here!”

Odysseus was decidedly not paying attention to her flaunting. His gaze swept around his new surroundings, but they froze when he saw Eurylochus’ pauldron lying in the sand.

Eurylochus groaned slightly and rubbed a hand over his jaw, as Odysseus staggered over to the tattered armor. He picked it up with both hands, as carefully as if it were his own child, staring at it with a hollow yet pained face. Not a doubt was in Polites’ mind that he knew whose it was.

The captain seemed to lose himself for a moment, until Calypso pulled him close again, jerking him from his thoughts. “You’re mine, all mine!”

Odysseus twisted away, holding Eurylochus’ pauldron high in the air like he was afraid she would take it away, even though that wasn’t her goal. Polites bit his lip as Odysseus shoved her off once more, now outright threatening her.
“Hell no, I could kill you where you stand! I’m no pet, I’m a married man!”

That got a few chuckles from the crew.
“Damn, he’s so loyal,” Elpenor muttered.

“Wanna take bets on whether he gives in? Looks to me like she’s not gonna take no for an answer,” Alexander snorted.

“We don’t have anything to bet with, do we?”

In Alexander’s following silence, sans a huff, everyone heard Calypso’s words clearly.

“Oh handsome, you may try, but last I checked, goddesses can’t die!”

“Goddess?” Eurylochus inhaled sharply- he must not have been paying much attention to Hermes earlier-, and Odysseus repeated him half a breath later.

Calypso got closer, and her eyes were narrowed in satisfaction as she gave Odysseus her name, tracing a finger down his tattered tunic. Then she grabbed his hand again, and this time didn’t let go as Odysseus tried to shake her off, clinging to him like the barnacles they used to scrape off their ships. She twirled herself on his arm, apparently enjoying herself as she said, “Under my spell, we’re stuck in paradise! No one can come nor go, my island stays unknown!”

“He’s stuck there?” Jonas asked, his arms crossed over his stomach. “Forever?”

“Sounds like it,” Sofoklis shrugged.

“This is our captain,” Polites found himself saying as Odysseus protested. “He’s the most brilliant mind in Ithaca. He’ll find a way off.”

“He’s not our captain anymore,” Sofoklis said bluntly, giving Polites an unimpressed look.

Polites couldn’t think of an answer to that.

On the sail, Odysseus finally yanked his hand from Calypso’s grip, holding the pauldron close to his chest and straightening his tunic and belt. Polites saw a flash of his red headband as the fabric shifted, as the entire vision flickered black.

“Ah-!”

Heads snapped to the side of the sail as Tiresias stumbled, a pale hand pressing over their eyes. Hermes wrapped an arm around the prophet’s waist, supporting them with a frown. “Darling, are you all right?” He asked, concern staining the god’s lighthearted tone.

Tiresias leaned into him, apparently feeling faint. Polites stepped forward, finally finding his voice. He’d spent a lot of his time on the ship and in the war as an unofficial assistant healer, maybe he could help? “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. Darling, hey, talk,” the messenger commanded gently, pushing Tiresias’ hand off their face and patting their cheek. The prophet groaned softly. “Yes, y-yes! I’m fine. Just...tired. It started to hurt after projecting like that for a while, I suppose...”

Polites stepped forward to check his pulse- if he had a pulse?- but Hermes drew the prophet closer to himself, seeming displeased with the idea of Polites touching his friend. So Polites just motioned for Hermes to lay them down, and when they were resting leaning on the god’s shoulder, Polites crouched beside the two.

“Perhaps just...only show us the important stuff, when you feel up to it,” Polites said. “Don’t strain yourself.”

Tiresias sighed, their eyes oddly enough still wide open. “...yes. Alright. Thank you for your kindness...”

Polites felt that was rather a minimum, but he sat down beside the two, and shook his head at the rest of the expectant crew. Most of the 600 men had lost interest, but many were still gathered near the sail in groups or pairs, every emotion of the rainbow coloring their translucent faces- though there was a common theme of impatience threading woven through the crowd. Feelings about Odysseus still seemed mixed, but everyone wanted to see what would become of his fate, with the weight of his actions trapping him in paradise.

Chapter Text

“So...we’re just stuck down here for the next hundred years,” Perimedes deadpanned, staring at the grass. His hand was intertwined with Elpenor’s, and the shorter-haired man was leaning on his shoulder. The two had been inseparable since Perimedes’ death, which was neither surprising nor an issue, because there wasn’t much reason to separate them anyway.

Yianni nodded, propped himself up on his elbows beside them. “No money for Charon’s boat, no burial, no passing the Styx.” He glanced over his shoulder as Polites approached. “Ah, hey Pol.”

“Whatcha got there?” Perimedes asked, his brow furrowing at the bundle Polites held. “I thought nobody had anything, since what we were holding when we died didn’t come down with us.”

“A baby,” Yianni interjected flatly, and watched with a small grin as Perimedes sat forward, sputtering. He seemed to enjoy telling people things without context when it was most needed.

“It’s a long story,” Polites said, sitting down beside them and adjusting the fabric cradling the sleeping child. “His name is Astyanax. Want to hold him?”

“Uh...nah, I’m good,” Perimedes mumbled, Elpenor chuckling at the quick refusal.

Polites nodded and gently rocked the infant, his eyes wandering over his comrades beyond the little group, picking out the faces he knew.

Hermes had had to leave for ‘official godly stuff’, as he put it. Tiresias was now sitting against the columns that held up the blank sail, staring off into space as he always was. Polites was glad he was resting, but at the same couldn’t help but ache to see his old friend again, see how he was faring on Calypso’s island. I wonder how long it’s been up there...an hour, a day? Damned time blindness...

Eurylochus was standing a little ways off, staring out beyond the Styx, as if trying in vain to see what came next. He’d spent quite a while simply pacing, rubbing at his shoulders- one likely for the absence of his favorite pauldron, the other for the place Polites had seen Odysseus slice during the mutiny. He winced at the thought.

“Sooo, Peri,” Elpenor grinned. “Nets says he saw me in the water when you guys faced the sirens.”

Perimedes grumbled and pulled Elpenor closer. “Shut up..” he grumbled, burying his face in Elpenor’s hair.

“Aww, did you get tempted? Did I make you wanna jump in the water?” Elpenor laughed, while Yianni rolled his eyes.

“It was less funny when I had to kill you, you know,” Perimedes muttered, squeezing his lover tighter. “I was on the edge of getting someone else to do it for me...”

Elpenor sobered. “...oh. Yeah, that...must not have...” he gave up using words and just pulled him in for a kiss. Yianni groaned, muttering something that sounded like saps.

“Oh, hush, you grumpy miser,” Elpenor said after pulling away a little from Perimedes’ lips, shoving his foot in Yianni’s face where he lay on his stomach.

“ACK- hey! Quit!” Yianni yelled, shoving him off. Polites frowned as he felt the baby stir in his arms.

“Shh, you’re waking Astyanax,” Polites scolded, trying to rub the child’s back and relax him again. The bickering slowed, though Astyanax’s cries grew louder. “Shhhh, shhh, it‘s alright, darlin’-”

Footsteps approached him from the side, and Eurylochus’ deep voice spoke up, towering over him. “What’s going on?”

“Elpenor and Yianni woke Astyanax,” Polites murmured, his gaze slowly drawing from Hector’s son to his friend. “...I didn’t tell you about him, did I?”

“No.” Eurylochus knelt beside him, staring at the babe. “Who is this? How did he die?”

“Um...apparently during the war, Zeus told Odysseus he had to kill the son of Prince Hector, Astyanax, or, uh...” Polites glanced at Yianni. “What was it? Kill his family, make his kingdom fall, um..?”

Yianni shrugged, so Polites just copied the motion. “Odysseus was forced to kill him. He didn’t have a choice, really...”

“Zeus seems to be causing quite a lot of problems for us,” Eurylochus muttered, surprising Polites, but not as much as his next, more hesitant words. “May I...hold him?”

“Hold him?” Polites repeated dumbly. “I- uh, yeah, sure.” He stood with Eurylochus, carefully handing the now wailing baby over to the man’s waiting arms. The larger man cradled Astyanax close to his heart.

Eurylochus didn’t say a thing, didn’t sway or bounce or rock the child, didn’t do anything but stroke his rough thumb over the tiny wisps of hair that would never grow peeking from the swaddling cloths.

And the prince’s son quieted. Fast, too. It was probably less than thirty seconds before the wailing faded to whining, the whining faded to soft whimpers, the whimpers faded to little noises of interest and contentment.

“...damn,” Perimedes whispered. Polites just shushed him briefly, watching as if spellbound as Eurylochus slowly smiled down at Astyanax.

“There we go. No reason for your whining,” he said with uncharacteristic gentleness, still completely focused on the baby. His eyes flickered once to Polites’, and he gave the latter the smallest of nods before he slowly turned and wandered away, the baby cooing securely in his scarred arms.

“...did Eurylochus just kidnap the baby?” Elpenor asked, staring after the second-in-command.

“He sure did somethin’,” Yianni muttered.

“The second it starts to hurt-” Hermes scolded, his already firm grip on Tiresias’ shoulder tightening. “You’re going to stop. And let our lovely healer friend check you out.”

“I’m not really an official healer,” Polites muttered at the same time Tiresias huffed and waved the god off, accidentally smacking him in the face. They were staring straight at Polites, which was making him a bit nervous, but their expression was neutral as they adjusted his hold on their staff and flexed their fingers. The sail flickered to life, bringing a cheer from some of the crew that had gotten eager to see how Odysseus was faring on Ogygia, what Hermes had told them that Calypso’s island was called.

“I’m fine, Hermes. It’s not that taxing,” Tiresias said, their pale brow creasing slightly as a burry green view focused to show Odysseus...sitting somewhere in a jungle, and scratching something into a tree with a sharp stone.

It was hard to tell how long he’d been on Ogygia, save the growing stubble on his face and the tired shadows under his eyes- then again, he’d had those for a while. On and off for twelve years, probably.

“What’s he doing with that?” Thodoris asked.

“Looks like a tally. Of days, probably,” Charis murmured, surprising everyone briefly. The young man had been pretty quiet since he died to Scylla, but he seemed to be getting more comfortable, like everyone else was.

Judging by the number of scratches, then, Odysseus had been there for about a week. Polites’ eyebrows raised. I would have guessed 2 days...

Odysseus put down the stone at the base of the tree and stood with a soft groan, his tired eyes shifting over to what seemed to be a half-built structure made of tree limbs sitting against the mountainside. A few items sat in the shadows- Eurylochus’ pauldron, some rocks that looked like raw flint, his cloak. As he moved closer to the little camp, Polites could see the strip of red fabric wound up protectively inside the cupped leather.

“..huh,” Polites murmured, glancing over at Eurylochus. The larger man had relinquished Astyanax a while ago to Miron, and now stood with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at the screen with an unreadable expression.

A rustle in the bushes had Odysseus flinching, whirling just in time to see Calypso emerge from the bushes with a few things in her hands- some gathered apples, and some folded linen clothes.

“Hello, dear,” she sang, seeming not to notice his frown. “I brought you some food, because you didn’t join me for dinner again last night.”

“And I likely won’t in the future. I don’t want food from your table,” Odysseus said gruffly.

“Oh, you’re just grumpy because you haven’t eaten,” Calypso said, brushing his indifference off with remarkable ease. “Come on, I don’t want my love starving.”

She smirked and tossed him one of the apples she held for him to catch. Odysseus let it fall to the ground with a glare.

“I’ll find my own food, thank you,” he said stiffly, though Polites could tell from the way his eyes lingered on the apples she held that he was hungry.

“Okay, well, are you going to weave your own clothes?” She asked, extending her other gift. “You seem a rather...private man. I’m sure you don’t want to be exposed when those rags fall off your body.” Her eyes drifted over his tattered coverings. Polites distantly heard a few men snicker.

Odysseus scowled at her and resignedly took the offering. “Alright, fine. I’ll find a way to repay you.”

“Oh, no!” The woman chirped. “Don’t bother. You’re my guest-”

“I won’t be in debt to you,” Odysseus said harshly. “Now leave me be, please.”

Calypso pouted slightly at that, but complied with his wishes. “Oh, all right.” She walked away down the mountain, taking the apples with her, except for the one now lying in the dirt.

Odysseus put the cloth down beside his cloak, a good distance from the pauldron and the headband. His gaze and his guard dropped as his eyes lingered on the remnants of his friends, and he sat down with a bone-weary sigh.

“Okay, darling, I think that’s enough!” Hermes cut in, snapping Polites out of a daze he hadn’t realized he was in. He looked over to see Tiresias leaning harder on his staff.

“I’m not in pain yet,” Tiresias argued in his quiet voice, but Hermes shook his head. “Don’t care, darling. Ody’s entering another one of his moody episodes, I can tell, there won’t be anything else interesting. Now sit.”

Polites hesitated before he nodded along. Odysseus’ eyes were glazing over and his hands were carefully picking up the pauldron and headband. He was either about to zone out thinking for a few hours or cry; the former wasn’t worth straining Tiresias for, and the latter...it would be more respectful to give him back the privacy that Odysseus didn’t know was being invaded. “That’s enough for now, thank you, Tiresias...”

Hermes hummed in approval, relaxing as Tiresias nodded, the colors on the sail fading. “There we go, darling.”

Polites sighed and turned to the others, who were already discussing what they’d seen. “He looks like he’s...doing okay,” Jonas shrugged, his arms crossed as he shifted from foot to foot. “Not great, but surviving.”

“He’ll be fine,” Thodoris said. “Even with the nymph bothering him.”

“Yeah, Calypso? What a..” Alexander glanced around at them. “What’s the word?”

“Homewrecker?” Perimedes suggested, drawing huffs of laughter from the others. Eurylochus shook his head.

Alexander snorted. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Farther!”

Jonas huffed and turned, running another few yards, now barely an inch tall in Polites’ view. “Is this enough?!” He shouted back to Vlassis.

“Yeah, great!” Vlassis held up a thumbs-up that Jonas would be too far away on the infinite plains to see, and turned back to the eight men lined up beside him. “There and back, two times! Everyone ready?”

There were murmurs of agreement from everyone, as well as mumbles of meaningless bets placed on one racer or another from the sidelines. Hermes hovered overhead with an amused grin, and Polites stood at the sidelines with Tiresias and, oddly, Alexander.

“So, prophet...” Alexander muttered with a small chuckle that Polites figured meant mischief. “...you see the future, hmm?”

“Yes,” Tiresias murmured, inching away from the man’s close proximity, towards Polites.

“Care to let a guy know the results of this race?”

“...”

“Alexander,” Polites scolded quietly. “Why are you-”

“The tall dreadlocked one,” Tiresias interrupted softly. Polites’ eyebrows raised, as Alexander scanned the lineup.

“Ah, Perimedes? Shocker. Thanks, man.” He patted the robed figure on their shoulder and walked away to place some bets. Polites frowned as Tiresias flinched slightly at the contact, shifting their shoulder briefly.

“Sorry about Alexander,” he said. “You...didn’t have to tell him.”

“I’d rather not make any enemies,” Tiresias responded.

Polites could understand that sentiment. He’d spent years trying to coax Odysseus through it. “You won’t make any enemies down here,” he reassured. “You’re doing us a great favor. And I can’t imagine anyone seeing you as an enemy just because you won’t tell them the winner of the race.”

“Best be careful.”

“..hmm. Well, if it makes you feel better, I doubt Hermes would let anybody do anything to you.” Polites looked up at the hovering god as Vlassis yelled, the racers taking off like arrows shot from a line of bows. “And I’d help, too, if you needed it.”

Tiresias was quiet, before they simply nodded, still staring straight ahead at the race going on now. “Thank you...Polites.”

“No trouble.” Polites held himself back from squeezing Tiresias’ arm or something of the like, since the prophet didn’t seem to like physical touch from anybody but Hermes. He just nodded to them, and walked away, eyeing the cheering spectators, Alexander and Elpenor shouting Perimedes on.

He wandered for a minute on the very edge of the crowd, before he spotted Eurylochus on the edge of the Styx again. He seemed to have found his favorite spot there, where a smaller, more solid section of the shore dipped.

As he approached, he heard a soft cooing from his arms. He peeked over Eurylochus’ shoulder, and saw that he was holding Astyanax again.

“Eurylochus,” he spoke up, and the darker man looked up immediately. Perhaps Polites imagined the protective way his arms tightened around the child. One of his hands was covering Astyanax’s ears, shielding him from the crowd’s noise.

“Ah. Polites,” he acknowledged, staring up at Polites for a moment before he shifted over where he sat to make room for a third. Polites took the silent invitation, and settled down on his right, leaning over to look at Astyanax. The babe warbled, but he seemed comfortable in the second-in-command’s arms.

“You really like the kiddo, huh?” Polites asked, admiring the tiny button nose and round cheeks.

“...yeah,” Eurylochus admitted. “I always wanted to be a dad.”

Polites’ heart twisted.

And now he’ll never...

Maybe in another life, he will.

“Really?” He asked softly. “You...never told me that.”

Eurylochus shook his head. “I think I only ever told Ctimene...and Odysseus.”

There was silence between them for a moment, before Eurylochus continued.

“I suppose it’s time to talk about that, isn’t it?” Eurylochus hunched a little more over Astyanax. “I should have a trial by crew..”

Polites’ head tilted. “..I don’t think a trial is necessary. If anybody was that upset or blamed you that much, then they wouldn’t be leaving you alone.”

“But I feel their stares on my back. So the ones that are smart enough to hate me for...opening that damned wind bag, and killing the cow, starting the mutiny- they’re too cowardly to stir the pot, is that it?” Eurylochus closed his eyes tightly.

“Perhaps,” Polites said quietly. “But...we don’t need to make them stir it. And I don’t think it’s as much of your fault as you think.”

“How could it not be?” Eurylochus raised his head to look at Polites. “I doomed almost the entire crew by listening to their foolish murmurs! Let them goad me into betraying our captain’s trust when Ithaca was almost in sight! How could that be forgiven?” His voice cracked, and he winced. “And the cow, Odysseus told me not to kill it, I- I was just so hungry- and-”

Polites placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder, and kept it there, despite the subtle flinch. “Exactly. You were hungry. And hunger and desperation drive men to do things they would never do normally.” He reached down and helped Eurylochus steady Astyanax’s head. “Remember when I convinced you to steal apples from the palace orchards, and we got caught, and would have been punished if not for Odysseus saving our hides? I...think it’s a bit like that. You listened to someone you shouldn’t have, and you took what you shouldn’t have, but not in malice.”

“This is hardly stealing a few fruits, Polites, men died because I simply couldn’t trust our captain.”

Polites sat for a moment, thinking, then exhaled. There was fault to be assigned on all sides. Even if it hurt to think of Odysseus’ failings. “...well, you had your reasons for that, too. Odysseus isn’t infallible. And especially for the mutiny, he had just sacrificed your brothers, instead of talking to the crew, right?” Eurylochus nodded slowly, seeming to see where this was going. “Right. You can’t blame yourself for not trusting someone who just...sacrificed the crew.” Polites winced at saying it, but it was the truth. That was what had happened. And now they were living the consequences. Well, living was the wrong word.

Eurylochus sighed, and Polites could see he was turning Polites’ reasoning over in his mind, considering his and Odysseus’ actions side-by-side.

“...I still should have known not to mess with the property of gods. Dealings with them never end well,” he tried, like he wouldn’t be able to rest if he didn’t shoulder at least some guilt on his broad shoulders.

“Hey, now!”

Eurylochus damn near dropped Astyanax as he shouted, making Polites dive for the child as Eurylochus reacted to the god hovering right over his head.

“Hermes, stop doing that!” Polites scolded as the disgruntled baby started crying. “At least when someone’s holding Astie!”

Hermes chortled and fluttered away with a cheery “sorry, darling!”, and Eurylochus jerked back to Polites and Astyanax, now cradled safely in his arms again. “I- oh, gods, I dropped him, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he whispered frantically as the baby squirmed and wailed. “Forgive me-”

“Eurylochus, he’s alright,” Polites reassured, rubbing the babe’s back through the cloth. “How could you hurt him, anyway? He’s already dead.”

Eurylochus calmed, but still looked a bit regretful. And he didn’t try to take the whining boy back, as if he feared the child would get dropped again.

“Shhh, shhh,” Polites hushed, trying to bounce him a little. Astyanax just kept crying, so he switched tactics. He recalled once, many years ago when Telemachus was only a month or two old, Telemachus wouldn’t stop crying after been woken up from an afternoon nap by accident. A stressed Odysseus had asked Polites to try, saying that he was the most soothing person he knew, and Polites had indeed managed to pacify the child by singing a simple, sweet melody. Ironically the same quiet tune that had soothed his father a decade later on the island of the Lotus Eaters. And now, to comfort his weary friend and the child of a supposed enemy.

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

Eurylochus had heard him sing it enough through the years to hesitantly join, his voice quieter and deeper, shyer. He reached over and carefully brushed the top of the relaxing child’s head.

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

Chapter Text

“...Polites.”

Polites looked up, seeing Elpenor standing over his resting place on the grass. He sat up. “Yeah, what is it?”

Elpenor sat down beside him, looking around before leaning in and whispering. “Do you think the prophet doesn’t like me and Perimedes together?”

Whatever Polites had been expecting, it wasn’t that. “What?”

“I just, I feel like they’re always staring at me and Perimedes. Especially when we’re together, and especially when we’re kissing or whatever. I can’t tell if they’re judging us or not..” Elpenor waved his hands a bit, gesturing vaguely.

Polites looked over his shoulder, sneaking a quick glance towards Tiresias, talking quietly to Hermes, the two close together.

...judging them for their relationship. Right...

 “..um...maybe they just haven’t seen a gay couple before. Or maybe they’re just zoning out. You know how they seem to do that more often. They stare at me sometimes, too.”

“I don’t know...” Elpenor shifted uncomfortably. “Perimedes says to ignore them, but it’s weirding me out. And you seem to be on good terms with them. Maybe you could just...subtly ask them about it?”

“Uh..yeah. Okay. Don’t worry about it, Elpenor. I’ll ask him about it.” Polites got up and walked over, his feet rustling in the grass. Hermes stopped talking, trailing off from something about Hades, and the two’s heads tilted towards Polites.

“Hey..” Polites went up to them, making eye contact with Hermes, then Tiresias. He could see why Elpenor was nervous; the prophet’s white-eyed gaze was a little unsettling. “Tiresias, can I ask you something?”

They nodded slowly, while Hermes crossed his arms. “Yes?”

“May I know why you keep...staring at members of the crew? It’s making a few of them uncomfortable,” Polites said carefully.

Tiresias stared at him, their face unchanging. Meanwhile, Hermes burst out in laughter.

Polites looked between the two. Had he said something...offensive? Or funny? He didn’t think so. But Hermes was nearly doubled over, mufflind his cackling into his hand. Meanwhile, Tiresias shifted.

“I apologize. I do not mean to stare at anyone...” Tiresias murmured, their head tilting downwards. “May I ask who it was that complained?”

“Ummm...” Polites glanced over his shoulder, where a few of the crew were eyeing the scene, mostly the god’s dying laughter. Elpenor was trying to subtly watch, wrapping Perimedes’ arm around himself. “...Elpenor. The curly-haired one who’s always with Perimedes.”

Tiresias was silent for another beat, while Hermes broke into another fit of giggles before calming himself with a fresh breath. “...I see...”

“You don’t, darling,” Hermes smirked, standing up straight again. “You don’t see.”

Tiresias turned their head to glare at the cheeky god, while Polites stood there silently in confusion. Hermes noticed his expression.

“You didn’t tell them, darling?”

Tiresias shook his head in response.

“Well, may I, then?”

“I suppose.”

Hermes turned to Polites, gesturing to Tiresias, one arm around their shoulders. “Our dear prophet, here, is blind.”

“..blind?” Polites repeated. But their eyes were open, though they never blinked...and often gazed at things that seemed odd to Polites. Had he not seen Tiresias stare blankly at the back of Hermes’ head, or often into space? They gave the impression that they recognized what other people looked like..

Their visions. They could see the past and future and present- just not their own.

And their ‘gaze’ would be drawn to noise. So they would be looking at people speaking or making noise. Like...Elpenor and Perimedes, kissing.

That made a lot of sense. Those two could get a bit noisy, sometimes.

“Oh. I s...understand,” Polites murmured. “Good to know.” He nodded and stepped away to let them continue their conversation.

Tiresias nodded, turning back to Hermes, their pale lips moving in a whisper. “I just thought they already knew..”

Hermes giggled.

“How long has it been?”

A heavy question. But one that had to be answered. 

Tiresias sighed, gripping their staff and raising their hand. An image flickered on the sail. A tree scarred with scratches.

Too many tally marks to count.

“Damn,” Perimedes murmured. Polites frowned as the view shifted. Showing another tree with the same desperation to remember. And another.

“How many...?” Eurylochus murmured, standing just behind Polites.

“I think...” Tiresias pursed their lips. “...a long time. Years.”

“Years?” Polites whispered.

“If he was going to find a way off, wouldn’t he have done it by now?”
Stelios asked, leaning against one of the columns.

Everyone looked to Polites for a positive remark, something hopeful. No,
not necessarily. Their captain was cooking something up, surely. Some scheming takes time. He’d figure it out.

Polites was silent, distracted by the clumps of scratches in the trees. Counting the days in fives.

He soon found there were too many to count.

“How many years?”

Tiresias pursed their lips. “..if my guess is correct, it’s been about two and
a half.”

There was a scattering of sighs and mutters.

Then a rustling came from the screen, and the view blurred to show
Odysseus, holding a white flower as he traversed a worn path. A daisy, if Polites had to guess.

He looked out at the setting sun with a soft, tired huff, and Polites didn’t need the little cloud-speakers to hear him say his wife’s name with all the longing a man could hold in his heart.

“Hello my love!”

Odysseus reacted harshly, reaching for a sword he wasn’t wearing, as Calypso popped out of nowhere, earning some yelps and laughter from the watching crew.

“Calypso,” the ‘retired’ captain grumbled, drawing the flower closer to his heart. “What is it?”

“Oh, nothing~!” Calypso leaned closer, smiling in a way that made both Polites and Odysseus shift back uncomfortably. “Just...saying hi. Are you sure you don’t want to come to my tent? Stay the night, perhaps..?”

“No, I’m sure.” Odysseus tried to brush past her, past her rather revealing clothing and tempting smile.

“If he doesn’t, I will!” One of the men that Polites didn’t know shouted impulsively, earning eyerolls and snickers and agreements. Polites wasn’t smiling as Calypso reached out, plucking a petal from the daisy he held.

“Oh, I don’t think you know what you want.” Her fingers moved from the flower to his arm, lingering. “Come on, wouldn’t you rather sleep in a real, warm bed than that mat you wove in that little cave?”

Odysseus started to say no, but Calypso shushed him, clearly not interested in his reply. “Just try it! Come on, you’ll like it, I promise.” Her hand tightened around his bicep, and she started to lead him along- forcefully, it seemed, because Odysseus was still refusing, but she pulled him along until his feet moved.

When they reached Calypso’s cabin, Odysseus shook his head, tugging harder as his feet dug into the dirt. “No,” he insisted. “My wife is waiting for me in Ithaca, I will not-”

“Come on, dear,” Calypso interrupted smoothly. “You’ve shared with me all your adventures, including what Zeus did to your crew. I don’t think he’d be pleased to hear of you disrespecting xenia.”

Odysseus’ struggling stilled as he froze, and his eyes glazed over. “No,” he murmured, weaker.

Polites turned reluctantly to look at Eurylochus. “That’s not included in the rules of hospitality, right?” He muttered.

Eurylochus shook his head, his face set in a deep frown. Behind him, the other crew members had quieted. “Not what she wants from him.”

Calypso smiled at the man onscreen. “See? But don’t worry, my love.” She pulled harder on his arm, brushing aside the curtain to her cabin. “You’re all mine. I’ll take care of you.”

“I don’t-” Odysseus’ voice caught in his throat as she pulled him past the curtain, which fell closed after he stumbled past, blocking their view.

Polites glanced at his fellow crewmen, at a loss for words. Some were unaffected, or even looked envious, but several wore a grimace of pity or sympathy.

“He won’t let her do that, right?” Polites asked, turning to Eurylochus, but the larger man was moving towards Tiresias with clenched fists. “Eurylochus?”

Tiresias was shifting their ever-present grip on his staff as they prepared to shift the view on the screen, likely to follow Odysseus- but Eurylochus stopped them. Polites joined the two to ease Tiresias, because the second-in-command towering over the prophet was a recipe of disaster for the latter’s nerves. And to hear what was going on, of course. Open arms and open ears.

“Just...don’t,” Eurylochus muttered. “He deserves privacy.”

Polites frowned at him. “Surely he won’t let it happen. He’s said before, he’d die before he was disloyal to Penelope. Even if this doesn’t quite count..”

“That’s what worries me,” Eurylochus said quietly. Tiresias frowned faintly at him, but he let the vision on the screen fade to black, the speakers quieting of rustles of the island’s flora and the muffled, tense protests of his captain.

Chapter Text

Eurylochus seemed to be searching for something in the dark expanse of the endless ceiling, Polites noted, as he sat down beside his friend.

“What answers do you seek, my friend?” He asked quietly.

Eurylochus didn’t respond for a moment, before he murmured, “The same ones you wish for.”

He was, of course, referring to Odysseus. After what had felt like forever, Tiresias had shown the two of them, the closest to Odysseus, what had become of him; the man bursting from the cabin doorway, clutching his rags to his body, tears staining his scowl as he stormed off. Calypso, barely dressed and half-satisfied, watched him leave from the bed with a pout.

Polites sighed. The tangle of emotions in his gut was reluctant to offer any viable words for translation. All he could think of was the haunted look in his eyes. So they were quiet for a while, the second-in-command and the friend of the wanderer.

Until Polites glanced over and got a better look at Eurylochus’ face. He didn’t have that conflicted spark when he thought of Odysseus in his eyes.

“You’re thinking of something else, too.”

It wasn’t a question, nor an accusation. Eurylochus chewed over his words before nodding. “Some of us had families to return to, Polites,” he reminded him quietly.

Oh.

Polites’ stomach clenched. In watching Odysseus on Ogygia, he had forgotten that so many of the men had loved ones that were waiting for him back home. Including Eurylochus.

“You’re thinking of Ctimene?” Polites murmured, softer. Eurylochus closed his eyes and nodded.

“I hope she’s doing well,” the larger man whispered, with the most grief Polites had seen from him in a while. “I miss her. I wish I could see her again.”

Polites’ brow furrowed. “...well, then...why not ask Tiresias if they would be so kind as to show her?”

Eurylochus’ brow creased. And then his eyes snapped open like he’d been poked with a burning torch.

He swore softly, almost wondrously, as he jumped to his feet. Some looked over, unused to seeing such frantic movement from the stoic man.

Polites got up and followed as Eurylochus tried to calmly walk to where the prophet stood, alone again.

“Tiresias.”

The prophet’s head tilted towards him, their blind gaze landing on his neck. “Yes?”

Eurylochus bent his frame slightly, head bowed, not that Tiresias would see. “Prophet, I ask a favor.”

Tiresias stepped back, their face creasing in discomfort at the formality. “What is it?”

“Would you be so kind as to use your power to show me my wife? Back on Ithaca?”

Tiresias’ head tilted. “Is that all?”

“I..yes, I wish to see my wife. Ctimene, daughter of Laertes? On Ithaca?”

“Yes, I can do that.” Tiresias breathed in, but paused. “I assume you don’t want me to project her on the entire screen?”

“I- no. No, please don’t.”

Polites’ lips twitched, and held his own breath as Tiresias spread out their palm, and a vision about the size of Eurylochus’ chest glowed in the air between them.

An image of Eurylochus’ old home- and a lovely woman lying in a bed inside it. Tangled, auburn-brown hair spread out over the pillow, and open hazel eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

Eurylochus pressed his hand to his mouth, and Polites could see his stomach clench. He couldn’t do anything but place his hand on his friend’s shoulder and squeeze.

“Oh, Ctimene...”

Yianni had wandered over at some point while Eurylochus asked questions about Ctimene’s well-being, curious about what was going on- then asked about how his parents were faring. Men were soon drawn like flies to honey, clamoring to be heard, asking after parents and siblings, wives, sons, daughters, lovers. And it wasn’t long before they were crowding the prophet. And Tiresias was clutching their staff with shaking hands.

“Hey!” Polites called out, stepping before the prophet and holding out his arms. “Enough! There’s enough time for everyone to see, be patient, my friends-”

Somebody shoved him off-balance in their haste to get to the prophet, and Polites stumbled, barely steadying himself on the columns holding the sail up. “Umph!”

“HEY!”

Many flinched or cowered at the sudden boom of a god’s voice, power shaking the ground for the briefest moment, and the men stumbled back. Polites fell completely, landing on his side and looking up. The column was wobbling, tipping, falling over his form on the ground. And for a moment, it wasn’t smooth white marble, it was brown, rough, wood, appearing from the shadows and swinging straight for his head-

Someone grabbed him by the arms and dragged him out of the way, right as the column steadied in midair...not that it would have harmed him anyway. Hermes’ winged sandals fluttered as the god dragged it back into upright position, and then turned.

Polites had never seen such a fierce glare on the messenger god’s face before.

“What is happening?” He demanded, jumping down in front of Tiresias. Even the prophet shrank back from the protective energy rolling off of him.
Polites got to his feet, aided by Miron, who had been the one to grab him and was instinctively checking him over for injuries. “We-”

“I’m so sorry..” Eurylochus stepped forward and bowed deeply before Hermes, taking responsibility for the crew. Once a first mate, always a first mate. “The men realized that, with the prophet’s ability, they could get a glimpse of their loved ones that they’ve left and not seen for many years. And they got a bit impatient. My apologies for the distress caused to your, er...”

He glanced up at Tiresias, standing behind Hermes as though hiding. “...lover..?”

Tiresias looked away, shuffling nervously. Hermes’ lips twitched at the awkward, uncertain label. But then his fine features hardened again.

“There will be no taking advantage of my companion,” he declared, glaring at all the men. “Especially when you demand it so rudely.”

“Hermes,” Tiresias piped up quietly, and Polites was just close enough to make out their quiet murmur. “I really don’t mind, they want to see their family, it’s understandable..”

“I know, darling,” Hermes said, looking back at them. “But you shouldn’t be pressured into doing favors. I won’t have it.” He reached out and gently brushed the side of the prophet’s hood to see them better.

The prophet breathed out. “Okay...”

After some very firm decisions from Hermes, it was decided that the men could wait their turn, and those that had been kind to Tiresias previously would be first in line. All eyes, excluding Tiresias’ blank gaze, turned to Polites.

Polites looked around, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. It pained him that he was the most obvious, almost only choice. Tiresias wasn’t exactly the most social, which was understandable, but one reliable friend besides Hermes?

And so he was granted the blessing of being the first, besides Eurylochus, to see his old life, his old family.

Though...

Hermes stepped away to give him and Tiresias space and started shooing the crowd away from his ‘companion’, making several very creative threats about what he would do if he caught wind of anyone defying his command to not stress the prophet. Tiresias’ unseeing gaze found Polites as he stepped closer, rustling through the low grass.

Their eyes were already beginning to glow before Polites even opened his mouth. “You’ve been friends with the captain for a long time, hmm..?”

Polites was caught off-guard, but then rubbed his arm, murmuring, “Yes. Since childhood. Eurylochus as well.”

Tiresias grimaced slightly, but their face smoothed over again as they peered into Polites’ past, almost detached. “What a shame...all that has become.” Tiresias tilted their head. “...you didn’t have much family that you left behind..”

Polites nodded. He hadn’t found a wife before he left for war, no one to pick flowers or hold at night, no children to speak of. “Me, my mother, my aunt, although...my aunt is down here already. Passed of a fever when I was a teenager.” He swallowed. He would get to meet her in due time, hopefully. “Though...my mother. Is she all right?”

Tiresias stared through him, into his past and what was left of his legacy on Ithaca. “I see her. She’s not quite in good health, and she’s still waiting for you to come home. Though she is finding companionship with others in a similar situation to her. Alexander’s mother, Miron’s wife. She is finding her place. But she misses you.”

They waved their hand, and then Polites was gazing upon his mother, sitting in a circle around a fire with some other women. They were weaving, though Polites couldn’t tell quite what, and talking.

Perhaps it was the flames casting their strange lighting, but she looked paler. And older, of course. His throat tightened as she started coughing, but the fit was over after a few moments. One of the women, balancing a toddler on her hip, fetched her some water, calm as if this was a regular occurrence.

“..ah,” he whispered. “But she’s doing alright?”

“She’s doing alright,” Tiresias confirmed, though halfheartedly. “And...no one else?”

Polites quieted. No father, or grandparents still alive. No siblings...unless he counted the little girl that his mother had given birth to when he was young, right before his father left. The deafening silence broken by his mother’s cries, absent of healthy newborn wails, would stay with him forever. As would his mother’s sobs in the months to come.

“No one else,” he said softly.

Tiresias nodded solemnly, and the vision of his mother vanished into thin air.

Hermes had decided that Polites, aided by Eurylochus, would watch over Tiresias as they showed the men their individual families and friends. Polites to monitor their health, and Eurylochus for...crowd control.

“If they start to look faint but refuse to rest, simply pray to me, and I will be here as soon as I can,” Hermes instructed strictly. He was more stern when it came to Tiresias than any other matter. “And make them rest every...ten men. I won’t have them collapsing by their own stubbornness, darling.”

Polites could hardly refuse a god- not that he would have, he wanted his friend to be taken care of. Tiresias deserved it. From what little they had said of their past, and what more he had observed, they’d had many troubles to speak of. So he nodded, and Hermes had to leave, something about Aphrodite needing him to deliver some treats between her favorite couples.

So Polites stayed nearby, leaning casually on the sail as Tiresias showed one man after another what they left behind, in Ithaca and in life. Men were reduced to agonized silence or anger seeing their wives be lonely or remarry, joy in seeing their kids grow up and find their place, grief to see their parents pass but unable to meet them in the Underworld until they passed the Styx. Many doubtless would have cried had they been able to.

One man nearly tore his hair out, seeing his daughter marry a man he disapproved of. Eurylochus looked tempted to intervene and send him off to calm himself. But a single head shake from Tiresias and a glimpse of the future reassured that the husband would, in fact, treat his daughter well.

Another questioned how his wife was, and looked like he wanted to throw Tiresias into the Styx when his wife apparently remarried only four years after the end of the war when he didn’t come back. That one, Eurylochus did have to escort away while Tiresias shuffled closer to Polites.

One asked after his only daughter, left with an uncle too old for the war. The uncle had apparently treated her harshly, so she left, and sought her own work- becoming one of the servants under Queen Penelope, apparently.

Polites watched the vision of the dark-haired girl carrying the vase through the faintly familiar palace castle, hurrying along and into a large dining hall. What she saw made her blanch, and she quickly went to pour wine into some strange men’s cups, seated and clamoring. The young lady nearly dropped the vase as two men started brawling one another right in front of her, before hurriedly slipping out of a nearby archway.

Eurylochus frowned. “Who are those men in the palace?”

Tiresias hummed. “I, uh...” they swayed slightly, so Polites gently wrapped an arm around their shoulders.

“I think it’s been ten men, my friend. Let’s rest?”

Tiresias hesitated before nodding slowly, and let their vision dissolve while Polites guided them to sit down by the sail. Eurylochus hung back until the father took the hint and left, and he looked around before joining them on the ground.

“What was that?” He asked again, looking intently at the prophet. “Those men in the palace.”

Tiresias rubbed their head, before their eyes glowed faintly. Polites opened his mouth to warn them not to overdo it, but they murmured, “I see...suitors..”

“Suitors?” Eurlyochus repeated.

“Of the queen,” Tiresias clarified. “It’s been many years since the war ended. And Odysseus has yet to return. It’s reasonable to think that he’s dead, is it not? They want to be chosen by the queen to become king.”

“But he’s not dead. He’s just...being held up,” Polites said.

“And when will Queen Penelope choose a new king?” Eurylochus asked. “She’s one of the most loyal women I’ve ever met. Doesn’t seem to me that she’d want to marry some strange man.”

Tiresias’ pale lips twitched. “Indeed, no, she doesn’t...she’s set up a rather ingenious trick. I think Hermes would be proud of her..”

Polites and Eurylochus exchanged a look.

“Trick?” Eurylochus asked, raising an eyebrow at the prophet.

“She says that when she finishes weaving Laertes’ burial shroud, then she will pick a suitor...”

“Is the old king dead?”

“No.”

Polites and Eurylochus exchanged another look, even more baffled than
the last. “...Penelope is a skilled weaver,” Polites said, deciding not to ask. “So she shouldn’t take very long to finish the shroud.”

“Yes, but she unweaves it every night. So she never makes any true progress.”

Eurylochus’ eyebrows rose while Polites started laughing.

“Yup, that’s the queen,” he managed, eventually regaining control of himself. “Odysseus’ beloved.”

“But she can’t use that excuse forever,” Eurylochus muttered. “I hope she can find a good man to become king...”

“Come on, my friend, have faith,” Polites said immediately. “Have you lost all faith in our king? He will find a way off of Ogygia. Or all of this was for nothing.”

“‘All of this’?” Eurylochus’ features hardened. “The demise of six hundred men, you mean?”

Polites hesitated.

Eurylochus looked away, his voice faintly irritated. “Anything else to show us, prophet?”

“...I can show you the prince?” Tiresias offered.

Polites and Eurylochus both lit up. Little prince Telemachus, Odysseus’ pride and joy. “Yes!” Polites exclaimed eagerly. “He’s...what, fourteen now?”

“Fifteen,” Tiresias corrected, their hands spreading. A young man with fluffy brown hair, mere shades darker than Odysseus’, and olive eyes, was looking over a familiar woman’s shoulder.

Eurylochus sucked in a breath, his eyes widening. “Is that Queen Penelope-?”

Tiresias nodded, unblinkingly staring at the woman and her son hovering over her. An aging, familiar dog slept at Penelope’s feet. Telemachus’ handsome brow furrowed as he studied the loom Penelope sat at, a candle on the table beside them. He pointed something out, and Penelope shifted, her lips moving as she explained some section of her weaving. Her deft fingers moved through the threads, unwinding her slow progress.

“They’re waiting for him,” Polites murmured, squeezing his arm.

Eurylochus looked over at him, his own eyes looking like they held just as much bittersweet emotion as Polites, and lingered on his friends’ pained face. He sighed and opened his wide arms, like he knew what Polites needed before he did.

Polites’ lips twitched faintly as he accepted the invitation and leaned into Eurylochus’ chest, and they watched their godson, with their sister-in-law and friend, together.

Chapter Text

“Everyone’s behaving?” Hermes pressed, his hands on his hips.

“Yes,” Polites confirmed with a light smile. “And I’m making sure they don’t strain themselves. We’re taking good care of your companion.”

Hermes nodded, pleased, his winged shoes fluttering as if they were sharing in his satisfaction. His eyes wandered to Tiresias, where they were sitting cross-legged on the ground to show another man their future, only because Eurylochus was standing behind them and watching their back. Eurylochus had suggested that making the men sit down with them would make them calmer and more ready to receive emotional news. It seemed to have worked well so far, thankfully.

The tenth man of the day walked away, and Tiresias relaxed their shoulders with a soft sigh and got up to stretch their legs. Hermes walked over to join them, so Polites followed.

Hermes fluttered over and draped his lean frame around Tiresias, and Tiresias didn’t flinch, simply reached up and patted the god directly in the face. Hermes let out an amused snort, and Eurylochus raised an eyebrow at the sight.

“How’s it going?” Hermes asked, as Polites stood beside Eurylochus.

“It’s a bit of a forlorn effort,” Tiresias muttered, accidentally staring out to where some of the guys from boat nine were building a human pyramid, for some reason. Shame they couldn’t actually see it. “Showing them all that they left behind. It usually seems to cause more grief than not.”

“It’s worth it,” Polites promised. “And thank you so much for agreeing to do this for our friends.”

“Are all of them really your friends?” Tiresias asked, his head angling towards the curly-haired man.

“Polites doesn’t know the difference between a friend and a stranger,” Eurylochus muttered.

“Is there really a difference?”

“Yes.”

Hermes chortled. “How did you survive the war again?”

“Odysseus made sure he was conveniently placed near the medic’s domain for half the battles,” Eurylochus responded.

“He did not!” Polites protested. He’d done his fair share of fighting and killing in the war. And while he wasn’t particularly proud, he knew it was necessary. He’d spent so many sleepless nights over it, it didn’t feel right for it to be diminished so.

“Yes, he did.”

Polites gave him a flat, unamused stare, and Eurylochus dropped it.

“Darling.” Hermes poked Tiresias’ shoulder. “You’re being quieter than normal. Is something the matter?”

Polites turned, and noticed that Tiresias’ sightless eyes were glowing.

At first, Tiresias didn’t respond, but then he leaned harder on his staff. “Something’s happening. Something significant, I can’t...”

“What?” Polites asked, as Eurylochus stepped around to look at the prophet. “With Captain?”

“Yes, but it’s hard to see. Like there’s a presence that’s interfering, and I can’t quite tell, but it might be divine?”

Hermes took Tiresias by the arm, supporting them. “Just do your best, darling.”

“Can you go up, Hermes?” Polites asked, feeling Eurylochus’ large hand wrap around his bicep.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to interrupt anything before we know what’s going on, especially with another god.”

Tiresias nodded, drawing in a deep breath, and lifting his staff. The sail glowed, darker like it was evening. Polites stepped back to see a...cliff, looking familiar.

And Odysseus on the edge of it.

“What is he doing?” Polites asked, a note of agitation entering his voice. “Why is he so close to the edge of it? He might fall.”

Eurylochus swore under his breath. “Prophet, how long has Odysseus been on Ogygia now?”

Tiresias’ brow pinched tighter. “I think...perhaps seven years now?”

“Seven?” Polites wouldn’t have guessed three, four at most. It hadn’t felt that long since they’d last checked on Odysseus. But Odysseus’ beard was longer, his hairline receding by his temples, showing truth in Tiresias’ statement.

And his bare feet were taking another step closer to the edge of the sheer rock face.

Eurylochus swore more, and men were beginning to notice the scene and draw closer. There were several yells as the human pyramid collapsed behind them, not that Polites noticed.

“No. No, he’s not...he won’t,” Polites muttered. Eurylochus held him back from stepping closer to the sail.

“Polites, he’s been alone on that island with that woman for seven years,” Eurylochus muttered. “And if he hasn’t been able to leave, he’s given up...of course this would happen.”

If Polites looked up, he would see the mix of pain and hardness in his friend’s eyes. But he didn’t, his gaze was locked on his childhood friend stepping ever closer to join them. Men surrounded them, emotions of shock and anger and sadness pulling shouts from their throats.

“Captain, if you jump after letting us die, I swear to the gods!” Sofoklis shouted bitterly, clenching his fists. Polites felt like he would be sick in the Styx.

A woman’s figure emerged from the shadows of the forest behind Odysseus, her eyes wide as Polites, and she chased him out, only stopping several feet behind him, her lips forming his name so familiarly. “Odysseus?”

Odysseus didn’t turn to look at her. His gaze was far away, on the ocean, and the dashed rocks standing hundreds of feet below with a promise of a death quicker than most of his soldiers'. But he still responded.

“All I hear are screams...”

Calypso stepped closer, her hands shaking and her beautiful features painted with fear. “Ody, get away from the ledge.”

Polites faintly heard Eurylochus mutter “don’t call him that,” and it seemed only of possessiveness, that was what Eurylochus had called him for as long as he could remember, until the single word from Calypso’s lips had Odysseus taking another step.

No, no, no no no no no. No, my friend, no, please step back. Stop.

How did he fix this? What could he do? His mind flashed to the time he’d held Odysseus back from challenging an arrogant castle guard to a duel, because the inexperienced prince would have gotten his ass whooped.

Hold him back...

Polites found himself yanking his arm from Eurylochus’ steadying grip, not caring who saw as he fell at Hermes’ feet and bowed forward, inclining his head.

“Hermes,” he pleaded, hardly hearing Odysseus shouting in pain at Calypso and into the wind. “Hermes, please. If you can’t intervene, perhaps we can? As spirits? Please, we can’t let him do this.”

Hermes stared down with him with raised eyebrows, still holding Tiresias close. “Darling, I don’t think I can do that, there’s only so much I...”

Tiresias put their free hand on his shoulder. “Hermes, Polites has been so kind to me, and the second-in-command as well. Consider it a favor to them instead of your great-great grandson, could you not?”

Hermes hesitated, but only for a moment. Polites felt breathless, was this how Eurylochus felt when a god’s judgement of your brothers rested on another’s words? Not quite the same, perhaps, but he gasped as Hermes nodded. “Very well. Come on, Polites.”

Polites scrambled to his feet. “Really?”

Hermes looked over at Tiresias, and gently let them go. Then he took Polites by the arm. “Yes. And we’d better hurry if we want to get there before..” he glanced at the screen, then looked away. “Ready?’

“Hold on,” Tiresias murmured. “...you want to go too, don’t you?”

Polites frowned at the prophet. “Huh?”

Tiresias stared and gestured at the space maybe three feet to the left of the screen. “Am I correct?”

The empty air did not respond, but Eurylochus shuffled his feet, with a hesitant murmur of, “are you speaking to me?”

“Oh! Yes,” the blind prophet said, his head and body angling more in the correct direction. “Eurylochus. You should go as well.”

Hermes shrugged and waved for Eurylochus to join them. “Well, all right. Come on, then.”

Odysseus was only getting closer to the edge, so Eurylochus wasted no time in grabbing Polites’ other arm, and the last thing that Polites saw before everything turned into a blur was the famous winged shoes beating.

The air was more moist, windier than it was down by the Styx. Eurylochus didn’t let go of Polites, and before Polites could even register that the dizzying speed of being dragged through the air through blurring colors of what must have been earth and the bottom of the ocean had stopped, Hermes’ firm hand had disappeared and was gone. He shook his head; being back among the living seemed to have an effect on his mind. It felt foggier, almost, but he forced himself to refocus.

He could see Calypso in front of him, and beyond her, Odysseus. Standing alone on the cliff’s edge.

“My friend...” he murmured, but it was lost to the howling wind. He found himself moving, and Eurylochus was only steps behind him, though his signature hesitancy was showing in his slower footfalls, trekking out to the cliff, resisting the urge to run.

“Let me close my eyes,” Odysseus whispered, still staring out at the crashing sea, barely a murmur as Calypso pleaded with him; promising to stay in his heart as long as he stepped back from the edge. 

Wait. Why did that sound familiar?

Eurylochus’ hand grabbed his elbow, turning him. Polites looked over his shoulder, finding an unexpected face floating beside Eurylochus’ shoulder.

Anticlea met his gaze, her eyes sharp with wit yet soft with maternal
concern. She looked past Polites to her son, and with a nod, she led the uncertain boys closer.

“Queen mother, how-?” Eurylochus muttered in confusion, glancing at Polites. “Surely Hermes didn’t come for you as well?”

Anticlea shook her head as she approached the cliff where Odysseus hovered, passing Calypso; for a moment, her nose wrinkled in disapproval, but she only brushed past her.

“I sensed that he needed me. And it seems he does.”

Polites didn’t know what to make of the cryptic statement, but he remembered their purpose through the mist of his mind, as Calypso stepped closer to the trembling man on the ledge, holding her arms out.

“Please stay away from harm, stay in my open arms...”

Odysseus only sobbed, leaning closer over the edge. Polites flinched- and found himself brushing past Anticlea and Calypso, sandals not quite meeting the rock as he ran to his friend to hear him murmur something about hearing screams.

I’m here, Ody. Think of our time together, not her, not this.

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

He felt Odysseus freeze as he wrapped his arms around the man’s waist,
trying to pull him back, but his specter strength meant nothing.

Eurylochus joined him, reaching out to grasp Odysseus on the shoulder. His eyes flickered between Polites and Odyssus, before he apparently decided to do the same, repeating what he’d often said when he was alive.

“How much longer til your luck runs out?”

Polites threw Eurylochus a strange glance. Out of all the things to talk him off the cliff, why that? Odysseus was practically collapsing on the crumbling rock.

Anticlea joined them on the other side, wrapping her arms around Odysseus and repeating what he’d heard her say in the Underworld, resting her chin on her son’s shoulder. “Waiting...”

Odysseus screamed, and it echoed down the sheer rockface in a way that Polites had never heard before, it shook the hollow cavity in Polites’ chest. Polites felt the tears dripping onto his arm as he pulled his friend back, desperately praying to have some effect.

And it did. Odysseus’ knees buckled, but they managed to pull him back onto his bottom, away from the edge instead of over and off it- though whether it was from their combined effort of the wind, Polites wasn’t sure. Their voices overlapped as they circled him, holding him down as he tried to get back up, his increasing agony apparent on his aging features.

Odysseus opened his mouth, and Polites braced himself for another wordless scream to beg for relief from his past, but it came out differently.

“ATHENA!”

Polites froze, and looked up at Eurylochus, confused. I thought Athena left him to fend for himself after the cyclops?

Eurylochus met his eyes and shrugged, confused as well. But then his eyes caught something past Polites shoulder, widening. Polites looked over, seeing something with a faint glimmer, something divine, rippling the air.

Hermes? No...

Odysseus didn’t see anything through his tears, and Anticlea was still hugging her son. Calypso had come up as well, between Eurylochus and the old queen, dragging Odysseus back from the edge with more strength then they had combined as ghosts, more strength then the sobbing Odysseus had to resist her. Calypso plucked a flower from one of the bushes, and with a forlorn expression, shoved it under Odysseus’ nose until he inhaled the scent and went limp. Anticlea followed along as his heels scraped against the rock, and Polites watched, standing helplessly with Eurylochus as he was pulled back into ‘paradise’ by his keeper.

“...why did you say that?” he found himself asking.

“Say what?” The second-in-command turned to look at him.

“All that about his luck and failings. Did you really think that would help?” Polites frowned.

Eurylochus paused, thinking over his words. “..I...I saw you repeating what you used to say to him. So I did the same. I didn’t know what else to say. I guess the usual tough love wasn’t...the best..” he dragged a hand down his face. “But we got him back from the edge. Is that enough for now?”

“...” Polites slowly nodded. “Yes. That is enough. But if he does it again...Hermes can’t drag us up here every time, Eury.”

“I know.” Eurylochus turned away, looking at where Anticlea, Calypso, and Odysseus had disappeared into the trees, rubbing his fingers together as he did when stressed.

They stood in silence for a moment, before Eurylochus grunted softly. “Do you feel that?”

Polites didn’t need to ask what he was referring to. The feeling of something tightening around his chest, tugging insistently, was growing noticeably. Like a harness had been strapped on him and was pulling him now, closer to the cliff’s edge.

Eurylochus’ eyes widened, and he reached out to grab Polites by the arm. “What is it?”

“I think it’s simply that we need to return to the Underworld,” Polites said quietly, watching him resist, trying to take a step in the opposite direction as the pressure increased. “Perhaps we shouldn’t fight it, my friend.”

“But-”

Eurylochus’ large feet stumbled, and Polites willingly drew to the edge of the cliff with him. “We’ll see him again,” he said softly, practically reading the slightly younger man’s face. “Fear not. We have time on our side.”

Eurylochus met his eyes, before looking down over the rocks and waves hundreds of feet below. “I- I don’t like heights,” he whispered, squeezing Polites’ arm tighter.

“No harm will come to us.” Polites stepped closer as the pull strengthened, one foot slipping off the edge. “Just relax, my friend.”

He took Eurylochus’ shoulder and pulled him down into a hug, closing his eyes as the wind grew louder around them. Eurylochus gripped him desperately as they were dragged off the cliff.

Chapter Text

“Oomph.”

Eurylochus didn’t give any other sound of pain, which Polites took as indication that he hadn’t taken any damage- he hadn’t felt any himself, but he found his friend’s chest was quite comfortable. He rolled off anyway, grunting as he fell along familiar dead grass.

Hermes was nowhere to be seen, and Tiresias was standing at a distance, likely to avoid the crowd that was quickly gathering around the two of them.

“What the fuck just happened?” Elpenor asked, shoving through the crowd, Perimedes following behind.

“Huh?” Polites sat up, blinked, trying to regain his bearings. Last thing he remembered was wind howling in his ears, Eurylochus crushing him- and making a sound that wasn’t quite a scream, but definitely wasn’t as deep as his normal voice- and a brief glimpse of the rocks amongst the waves they were hurtling toward.

“You two just fell from the fucking ceiling!” Someone else clamored.

Eurylochus grunted, sitting up and taking in their surroundings. “...did you all not see what happened on the screen?”

“Well, we could see the captain, and Calypso, but not you two,” Miron explained, stepping forward. He held Astyanax in his large arms, who appeared to be sleeping. “What happened?”

Polites sighed. He was tired. More than he thought a soul could be. Maybe it was seeing his childhood best friend desperate and crying and ready to jump, maybe it was the draining rush of falling from a cliff, maybe it was the pressure, the feeling in his gut that if he didn’t smile, the other men would think something was off. “Well-”

Eurylochus stood up, brushing nothing off his legs as he faced the men. “I’ll explain. I’m second-in-command, after all.” He turned back to Polites and reached down, taking his hand, and pulling him to his feet.

Somehow, his stoic eyes conveyed so much as they met Polites’; thankfulness, understanding, all that said go rest. I can handle this now.

Polites nodded slowly, letting go and looking away from everyone else, going to where Tiresias stood by the columns holding the sail up, his staff in hand. Their blank eyes followed the sound of Polites’ soft footsteps.

“Thank you,” Polites murmured, sinking down and leaning his back against the bleached column.

“For what?” Tiresias asked, their gaze drifting back to Eurylochus, who was now addressing the curious men.

Polites closed his eyes. “I don’t know. Everything.”

Tiresias was quiet for a moment, before they said, “your voice sounds tired.”

“I am,” left his lips.

“I see.” There was the sound of rustling, and then silence; Tiresias sitting down beside him and letting him rest.

Polites made a quick prayer, thanking the gods for his friends, as he settled.
       

“No.”

The single word had Polites deflating with relief, so much so that Eurylochus apparently felt the need to grasp his shoulder to stabilize him.

“You’re sure he hasn’t tried to do it again? Has he gone near the cliff?” Eurylochus asked, studying Tiresias. The prophet’s long hair swayed over their lowered hood as they shrugged.

“Hard to tell. It’s getting harder to see that area.”

Polites nodded, brow furrowing. Strange. Maybe we can ask Hermes about that when he returns...

They hadn’t seen Hermes since he’d brought them up to hold Odysseus back. Tiresias had been unable to find him in their vision.

“I can’t usually see places where gods exist constantly,” they explained quietly. “Take the woods near the palace in Ithaca, for example. Athena trains the prince there often, it gives me a headache to look through time there.”

A beat of silence. Then, from Eurylochus, “What? Pallas Athena training Telemachus?”

Tiresias paused. “Yes. Athena is training the prince. Did I not tell you about that?”

Eurylochus shook his head, which Polites translated verbally. “No, you didn’t- which I hold no grudge against you for,” he added reassuringly when Tiresias lowered their head. He elbowed Eurylochus until he grunted an agreement. “But could you tell us more?”

Tiresias nodded slowly, sitting down. Eurylochus looked around and joined them, and Polites hovered between them.

“It seems the prince- Telemachus- got into a fight with one of the suitors,” Tiresias said, their eyes glowing as they looked through the past. “He was losing quite badly, but Athena noticed and helped him out with it. And they became...friends.”

“Actual friends, or Polites’ definition of friend?” Eurylochus asked. Polites huffed and swatted him.

“The goddess herself agreed, so actual friends...I suppose. I’ve never been an accurate judge of relationships,” Tiresias admitted, their staff resting on their legs as they played with a strand of their hair.

“I guess that means Telemachus is as charming as his father,” Polites murmured with a small chuckle.

“Hopefully he and Pallas Athena do not get in as many fights,” Eurylochus sighed. “So she’s training him...and does he know that Athena used to train his father? Or that his father is still alive, that she’s abandoned him?”

“I...can’t tell,” Tiresias murmured. “He’s not mentioning it, and neither is she.”

Eurylochus let out a gruff hum, and all was quiet for a moment, uncomfortable with the weight of uncertainty, making Polites’ hands itch. His gaze drifted from the prophet’s blank gaze to their hair.

“...Tiresias, may I try braiding your hair?”

Tiresias paused, repeating the phrase with confusion. “If...you truly wish to, I suppose. But please be gentle.”

“Of course.” Polites smiled and knelt behind the prophet, gathering the seer’s silky hair in his palms, separating it the way he had done for his mother, and a few times for Eurylochus, before he cut his hair shorter. The way Eurylochus was watching his hands as he separated it into three handfuls, he knew the man remembered those days. A wave of nostalgia washed over him, peaceful and relaxing as he gently intertwined the strands.

“That feels....good,” Tiresias remarked thoughtfully.

Polites smiled, focusing as he trailed the weaves down the prophet’s back.

The news came accompanied by mad giggling, a tight grin and an almost manic gleam in Hermes’ eyes.

“Hello! I bring good news for once!” He proclaimed, his winged sandals beating the air as he hovered just over Eurylochus, spinning a scroll between his fingers.

Polites perked up, quickly excusing himself from Perimedes and Elpenor, who had gotten into an argument over Elpenor hugging someone else after winning his first race- from what Polites could tell, it was just Perimedes being jealous, though the man was relaxing after a bit of honest communication. Eurylochus was already by the sail, talking to Tiresias about something. “What is it?” He called, tilting his head.

Hermes didn’t land, staying airborne as if jittery. “New development! Got a certain order from Zeus himself. I won’t spoil it, just letting you know so you can watch it live!”

Eurylochus frowned at him. “And you said it’s good news? You don’t look happy.” Polites nodded. At best, the god looked....stressed, to put it lightly.

“Oh, no, it is good, I promise! You’ll never guess what happened up on Mountie O. My dear sister pulled some strings, you’ll see soon, I’m headed up to give the order. See you all later!” Hermes gave Eurylochus a quick bonk on the head with the scroll, prompting a grumble from the second-in-command, before shooting up like someone had lit his sandals aflame and disappearing.

There was silence, with men staring after the oddly-acting god. Eurylochus rubbed the top of his head, before looking at Polites.

“That was...”

Behind them, Tiresias frowned. “He didn’t notice my hair?” They fingered the elegant braid Polites had weaved, draped over their shoulder. Even when Hermes had been busy, stopping by after delivering a soul or two for their trip across the Styx, he always had the time for an affectionate word or gesture for the prophet.

Polites shook his head, baffled. “‘Good news’.... and which of his sisters does he mean? Athena?”

“I’d assume so...prophet, can you see what happened?”

Tiresias shook their head. “I can’t see what happens on Mount Olympus.”

“Damn...” Eurylochus sighed. “Well, where’s he going now? Ogygia?”

“Hey, what happened?” One of the men from boat two addressed them, a crowd lingering near him. “Something happening with the captain?”

Tiresias’ eyes glowed, their grip on their staff tightening. “...I see....no, he’s just carving something else. But Hermes and Calypso are talking. Neither of them look too happy.”

Nobody knew quite what to say to that, so Polites just stayed close as Tiresias cast their vision onto the screen, and then Odysseus was there, tears dripping down his lined face as he picked at a melon-sized carving of what looked to Polites like a bed and tree combined.

It was so strange to see him age while everyone around him was frozen in their youth. He had to be in his forties now, if it had truly been so long, while Polites and Eurylochus were frozen in their thirties.

Then it switched to a vision of Calypso and Hermes, looking close to a grapple in the middle of her cabin. Hermes had unrolled his scroll, was pointing at its contents, what looked to be a decree, stamped with a seal with a lightning bolt in the middle. Calypso glared at it as she yelled back at him.

“I love him! And I know he won't survive alone in the sea! I won’t allow it,” the cloud-speakers declared in her unchanging voice.

“Talking?” Eurylochus repeated in a deadpan tone, crossing his arms.

“Fighting,” Tiresias amended.

“Forget that! What the hell are they talking about, surviving on the sea? Is she going to let him go?” Jonas yelled, running up beside the man from boat two.

“Not willingly,” Yianni muttered, coming up beside the younger man, as Hermes responded with a surprising lack of whimsy.

“Too bad! The King of Gods said so himself. Release him!”

Calypso’s expression crumbled, and her voice lowered, her nails digging into Hermes’ arms. “...at least let me say goodbye. Let me grieve.”

Hermes huffed. “Fine. I’ll give you one day. Then I will return for him.”

Calypso pulled away, indelicate tears falling from her eyes. “Okay...okay.” She turned and ran from the room, fleeing through the beaded curtain.

Hermes huffed, dragging his hand over his curls. He stood still for a moment, a rare sight, in contemplation, before he sighed and hopped through the only other exit, an open window, and flew off. The vision lingered in the empty cabin, as if Tiresias was unsure who to follow.

“So...Hermes is taking him home?” Polites’ eyes widened, a spark of hope, bright and distantly familiar, blooming in his chest.

“Why did Zeus grant his release?” Perimedes asked. “It doesn’t make any sense. It’s been years. Why now?”

“Long story,” a voice piped up from behind the tall man, and Tiresias perked up as Periemdes jumped a foot in the air.

“Hermes!” Polites turned as the god fluttered into view. “Would you stay a little longer and explain what’s happening, what’s troubling you?”

Hermes’ lips quirked halfheartedly. “Forgive me for my...rush, earlier. I have quite a bit on my mind.” He faced Tiresias, loosely wrapping the prophet in an embrace. Tiresias’ head tilted toward him, their braid falling over their shoulder. “Oooh, darling, what’s this?”

“Polites braided my hair for me,” Tiresias murmured, and the two seemed to be aware of only the other on the plains for a moment.

“Well, it looks good on you, darling. I love it.” Hermes took the strands and fingered the end for a moment. “I’ll bring you some ribbons so you can do some more with it. You must get bored down here.”

Yianni cleared his throat. “Uh, hey, what about the captain? Could you explain that, please?”

“Oh. Yes.” Hermes cleared his throat, not moving away from Tiresias. “Did you know ‘Thea is training Telemachus now?”

“...Athena?” Eurylochus clarified. “Yes, we know she’s training the prince. Did she forget about Odysseus? Does he know she abandoned his father?”

“A-ha, she didn’t forget about him! Apparently, she’s had a change of heart, she went to Zeus himself to get him released. There was this whole thing, she had to get a few others on her side. It was quite entertaining...and then when she confronted him, he got a bit angry, and...” Hermes sobered, went quiet. “...he has a temper, you all know that. But he agreed to release Odysseus and allow him to depart. So I just spoke with Calypso, he’ll be headed home tomorrow.”

There was some cheering, a few boos, stunned silence, a mixed bag of reactions, but more people seemed to be warming up to their captain’s redemption. Or at least not protesting.

Polites felt his lips pull into a smile. “That’s wonderful, Hermes. Thank you.” He squeezed his hands, imagining Odysseus getting home, finally. To see his wife, his son. Bring news to the families of the 600, so they would no longer be kept waiting. Eurylochus bowed his thanks to Hermes, as well.

Hermes waved the gratitude, and the lingering crowd, away, his long fingers toying with Tiresias’ braid. “Yes, yes. Though I’m really not the one who should be thanked. I’m just the messenger. I’m not the one who fought for our dear Odysseus.”

Polites’ brow furrowed as he stepped closer. Something was still off with Hermes’ demeanor. From the way Tiresias’ thin lips were pressing together, he knew the prophet could tell the same.

“There is something else that still weighs on your mind,” he pressed gently, in a more private tone. “Is there not?”

Hermes looked over at him. “...Athena got injured during the fight with Zeus,” he shared reluctantly. The god’s sparkling eyes dimmed, looking anxious. “He got angry when she defied him, and struck her down with lightning bolts. Multiple times. She was very heavily injured.”

Polites covered his mouth with his hand, as Eurylochus’ eyes widened. “Is she alright? Goddesses can’t die, but how much does she suffer for Odysseus’ sake?”

Hermes hugged Tiresias a little tighter, finding comfort as the seer patted his back. “She’s unconscious in Apollo’s infirmary, currently. It didn’t happen more than a day ago. I didn’t wait long to talk to Calypso, I know my sister prizes efficiency.”

Polites crossed his arms the way Eurylochus did, his head tilting. “When she wakes, would you thank her on our behalf? Perhaps we should give her a get-well gift..”

“What do we have to give?” Eurylochus asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I’m sure we can figure something out..”

Hermes’ tense smile grew into something more genuine. “I think she’d like that.”

Chapter Text

“What do you have there?” Miron asked, raising an eyebrow as Polites hauled a pile of unwanted cloaks and similar pieces of fabric, Jonas trailing behind him and picking up the bits he dropped with a grin.

Polites had to stretch his neck to look at Miron over his burden. “I know what we can do! To thank Athena, for a gift!”

Miron looked out at the hundreds of men, the smaller groups that Polites had been traversing, asking if they had any clothing they were willing to part with. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, since Athena is a goddess of crafts and handicraft, I thought we could weave her something!” Polites adjusted his grip on the collection, then promptly tripped over a drooping cloak and landed on his stomach, over the pile. “Houhf-”

Jonas laughed, crouching beside him and grabbing his shoulder. “Watch where you’re going! C’mon, let’s pick all that up.”

“No, no, this is good.” Polites got to his knees and started detangling the fabric, laying it all out on the flattened grass. “We can do it here!”

He glanced at where the sail was, about fifty yards away, Tiresias in their usual place beside it- it didn’t make much sense for them to move around, anyway, when not being guided.

“What are we weaving?” Jonas asked, flopping down beside and grabbing the chlamys Thodoris had donated.

“I’m not quite sure, but we have plenty of time and space to experiment.” Polites carefully tore a cloak from one of the men in boat eleven in half, then into thinner fourths. He couldn’t ask Tiresias to show them a weaving pattern, they were only supposed to ask about important stuff and events. “Do you know of anyone here that are particularly gifted in handicraft? With this?

Miron hummed, glancing over the men that were looking at them from their conversations and games and rest. “Perimedes helped me repair a sail at one point in the war, he wasn’t half bad. I could see if he knows anything.”

“Sounds great, where is he?”

Miron gestured off in a random direction, raising his arm and calling out in his deep, echoing voice. “Hey! Perimedes!”

Polites looked up for himself, following his sight and finding Elpenor and another man, standing beside Perimedes, who was holding a little bundle in his arms and looking a bit confused and unhappy. Elpenor was chuckling, while the other man- one of the usual men who liked to hold Astyanax, the one who’d left his daughter behind- watched suspiciously.

Perimedes looked up at Miron’s call, taking the opportunity to toss the baby to Elpenor with far less care than one should. Polites tensed as the third man managed to catch Astyanax, and he and Eurylochus, who had appeared from nowhere- how a man so large could sneak up on anyone so easily, Polites had been trying to figure out for twenty years- both started scolding Perimedes loud enough to be heard from where he crouched. Polites was tempted to join as Perimedes made his way over to them.

“Relax, he’s already dead! Who cares if he gets dropped, he’s not gonna get hurt!” He said, waving off Eurylochus’ agitated gestures.

Eurylochus sputtered. “Still-”

Perimedes rolled his eyes, turning to Miron. “You wanted something?”

Alexander’s being a bad influence on him, Polites thought as Miron just
shook his head and asked, “What do you know of weaving?“A little. Not much. Why?”

Eurylochus knelt beside Polites, looking over the gathered scraps. “Is this
about Athena’s gift?”

Polites nodded. “We’re weaving something, as is her domain. I think she’ll like it. You remember when Odysseus made that little owl clip for her once? She seemed to appreciate that.”

Eurylochus hummed. “And what are we weaving?”

“That’s what we need to figure out.”

“I see...”

“...”

“It looks great.”

“Does it?”

“Yes. It does.”

“Are you sure.”

“Yes! It looks great. Stop asking.” Polites shoved his hand into Eurylochus’
face affectionately, and to get him to shut up. The creation looked great.
 
Even though he wasn’t quite sure what it would be called, other than ‘creation’. It wasn’t a cloak, surely. Nor a sheet. Very oddly shaped, uneven, a bit smaller than he’d envisioned...a patchwork of chaos. A quilt, maybe?

Polites brushed his hand over the clumsy knots holding a few pieces together. “It’s the thought that counts,” he declared stubbornly.

“I suppose,” Jonas agreed uncertainly. “It’s supposed to look like that, right?”

Miron kept his hand over Perimedes’ mouth to keep his snickering muffled. “Polites is right. It’s the thought that counts.”

A loud cackling interrupted them. Polites looked up, and there was Hermes, floating on his stomach over the scene. “What is that?”

“It’s the thank-you gift for Athena,” Eurylochus said, craning his neck. “Allegedly.”

Polites gathered the quilt(?) into his arms. “Regardless of the quality. Would you give it to Athena, please?”

Hermes huffed in amusement and accepted it, his toes brushing the dead grass. “Sure, darling. If nothing else, it’ll amuse her. Athena can always use some cheering up.” He turned and fluttered over to Tiresias.

“See? Any gift can do good,” Polites said proudly.

Meanwhile, Hermes showed the creation to Tiresias with a chuckle. The prophet curiously ran their hand over the uneven fabric. “This is the gift I heard about?”

“Yes it is, darling. What do you think?”

“...I hope she does not curse the crew.”

Polites made a face as Hermes chortled. It wasn’t that bad. It had...charm.
But he let the two have their moment.

“Nah, Apollo’s strictly forbidden ‘Thena from any cursing or other divine stuff for a bit,” Hermes smirked before he slung the gift over his shoulder. “And before I go, I want to make sure of something.”

Tiresias’ head tilted. “What is it?”

Hermes turned and waved to Polites, and he came over, leaving Miron to scold Perimedes for biting his hand and trying not to look embarrassed at being caught staring. Hermes didn’t seem to mind, only gesturing for Polites to stay close to overhear. Tiresias didn’t notice.

“Now, darling, since Ody’s going home and he’s probably going to cause more havoc away, and you’ll be showing our friends his fate, I want to ensure your talent does not hurt you.” Hermes reached up and took his companion’s face in his hands.

Hermes tilted and pressed his forehead against Tiresias’, and the shared connection glowed a bright, burning white. Polites’ eyebrows rose- that was the brightest thing he’s seen since he’d entered the cave of the cyclops. Almost on par with the sun itself.

“There.” The god stepped back, gently caressing Tiresias’ face before dropping his hands. “Now, you should have the strength to show the others what happens with their dear captain. But if the energy runs out, just call me back down, do not keep pushing yourself. Okay?”

Tiresias nodded. “Yes, I understand.”

Hermes glanced over his shoulder and met Polites’ eyes, like, you make sure he obeys. Polites chuckled and nodded, used to the god’s protective caretaking by now.

“Good. Now, I’ll go deliver your wonderful gift, then I’m going to get my great-grandson home.” Hermes pushed off the ground. “You lot are quite a bit of work for dead men.”

Polites chuckled and lifted a hand. “Yes, I know- thank you again, Hermes. Safe travels.”

Hermes snorted. “I am safe travels.” And with that, he and their gift disappeared.

“He has a point there,” Tiresias mused, turning to face Polites.

Polites nodded with a chuckle. “Yes, I suppose he does. What did he do to you? Do you feel any different?”

Tiresias hummed. “I feel a bit stronger. More energetic. I suppose he strengthened my stamina.”

“Ah..useful,” Polites murmured. “Shall we try it out?”

In response, Tiresias raised their staff and their eyes glowed white. The screen flickered, and there was Ogygia, unchanging in its beauty.

Odysseus was on the beach, for once not crying. He always seemed to be crying, a good portion of the time when they checked on him during the years he’d been there. Eurylochus had worried a bit about hydration- the captain had a habit of not drinking enough water, especially since that water shortage in the sixth year of war. But now he was up and on his feet, tying limbs and branches together, taking a large tunic cloth and refashioning it into a sail to jut out of the center of what looked like a rather pathetic raft.

Calypso was hovering around the busy man, holding a few fruits listlessly like a young child wanting to help a parent in a task far too advanced for their young mind. “I thought for sure that you were my dream come true...”

Polites could feel himself making a face as the usual crowd was drawn in to watch the happenings of their captain and king, news spreading of his release.

There were already tears brimming in Calypso’s deep eyes, and yet Odysseus looked completely unbothered as he picked up a sloppily-woven basket, his belongings for the journey- enough food and water as could fit on the raft, some smaller carvings, a familiar leather pauldron, and a worn headband curled within the pauldron for protection.

“Your headband,” Eurylochus murmured, joining the duo by the sail, watching just as spellbound as them.

“Your pauldron,” Polites responded in kind. He stared at the meager pile as Odysseus set the basket aside the raft and picked up the headband with the greatest care, before tying it around his head. The greasy, graying, grown-out hair pulled back from his face, it was even easier to see the shadows under his eyes and the burning fire that had been relit within them.

“Hey, look at that, Miss Homewrecker’s apologizing!” Perimedes snorted audibly as Calypso grasped Odysseus’ bicep, trying weakly to pull him away from his task and get him to look at her with melodic excuses, words that rubbed Polites the wrong way. She wasn’t sorry for loving him, sure, but what about all else that she had done to him? He still remembered Odysseus fleeing her cabin, leaving his dignity behind in her sheets.

“Technically it’s her home and island they’re on,” said Stelios.

“To hell with you and your technicalities.”

“Already in hell, hanging out here with you for 100 years.”

“Go fuck yourself!”

“Go fuck Elpenor.”

Polites’ lips twitched; Eurylochus just rolled his eyes, but muttered, “They’re more fun to listen to than that woman.” Even Tiresias chuckled.

Odysseus shook off Calypso as she went off. “I’m angry and tired and restless and sad-”

“Booooo!”

Polites looked over to see Miron and a few others, literally jeering at Calypso. Which seemed a little harsh, he couldn’t deny he understood Calypso’s loneliness, but it was justified enough. It was mostly lighthearted- and he couldn’t deny that Jonas clambering up onto Miron’s shoulders to see and join in was funny.

Odysseus stared at his captor as she ranted, and finally opened his mouth, interrupting her with an abrupt “I love you!”

It would have been surprising, wildly confusing, if it hadn’t probably been to spare her feelings- and the captain quickly smothered any hope or confusion for Calypso with a follow-up of “But not in the way you want me to..”

Calypso’s face scrunched up like she’d eaten a lemon, and she fell to the sand, the fruit in her hand either dropping from her fingers or squeezed tight until it exploded, bright red flesh staining Odysseus’ tunic. Nets made an audible “ugh” sound from the back, as Calypso reached out, grasping at straws and his tunic.

“Let him go!”

He didn’t see who said it first, but Jonas picked up the cry and turned it into a chant, rallying more men then Polites would have guessed.

He couldn’t help but smile. Others wanted him to get home, too. It was almost a majority of those interested in what was going on- which was also a majority of the 600.

“Let him go! Let him go! Let! Him! Go!”

“Interesting,” Polites heard Tiresias murmur under their breath.

Odysseus sighed and picked up Eurylochus’ pauldron, staring at it for a long moment, before wiping a piece of pulp off of it and strapping it around his shoulder the same way Eurylochus always had.

Polites looked up to see Eurylochus’ conflicted expression, placing a hand on his elbow. Silence passed between them, before the larger man murmured, “That’s way too big for him.”

Polites chuckled softly. “I think he’d be loath to part with it whether it fit him or not, my friend.”

Eurylochus hummed, his eyes fixed on the screen, avoiding Polites’ eyes the same way Odysseus’ avoided Calypso’s as the captain bowed shortly to her, boarded his splintery raft, and pushed off of the sands before her into the sparkling waters surrounding Ogygia.

The resounding cheer as the makeshift ship floated away on the waves was enough to ripple the waters of the Styx.

Chapter Text

“Letsgoo, he’s finally going home!” Jonas pumped his fist from Miron’s shoulders. “How long did y’all say he’s been there? Six years?”

“Seven, I think,” Miron corrected him, holding onto the younger man’s legs so he didn’t topple off. Tiresias and Polites both nodded in confirmation. “But I have a question, sacred prophet. How does he know which way to get home? He looks so confident, but he doesn’t have a map.”

Tiresias’ pale face glowed slightly, probably from being called sacred. “I’d imagine Hermes is guiding him.”

The words were barely past their thin lips before they inhaled. “There he is.”

They motioned to the screen, which just showed Odysseus. Polites hesitated. “We can’t see Hermes, my friend. Can you sense him?”

“He’s there. Just wait a moment.” 

There was relative quiet for a moment, quiet enough for Odysseus’ mutter to be heard by those close to the clouds floating around the speaker. 

“600 deaths under my command…’cause I had one goal in mind..”

The relative quiet on the plains turned into deafening silence, except for Jonas, who had been the only one to reflexively answer Odysseus’ favorite call-and-response, but it faded off under the pressure of the stillness and pain of the reminder that none of them would be making it back alive to their homeland. Eurylochus covered his mouth with a stifled, aching sigh. 

Odysseus shook his head and drew himself back up, his eyes hard and shadowed with seven years of guilt and mourning dragging them down. He caressed the mast and hastily-sewn sail, steadying it as it creaked under harsher breezes. “How will I reach my homeland…?”

“All you gotta do is not open this bag.”

Some in the crew whooped suddenly, and Polites couldn’t help but join, as Hermes appeared out from behind a cloud; one hand was behind his back and Odysseus’ mouth was dropping open, his tired eyes brightening with a second wind of hope. Eurylochus was the only one to catch the god’s word, his shoulders tensing. “Bag?”

The cheering quieted again as Hermes pulled something lumpy out from behind his back. Polites had only heard of the bag, never seen it, but it was familiar to him, light blue and uneven, knotted in a few places. 

“It looks different,” Nets mumbled. “Eurylochus, didn’t it used to be white? And smoother?” 

Polites looked over to Eurylochus for an answer, but Eurylochus’ guilty eyes were fixated on the bag as he nodded, and he was squeezing his scarred shoulder tightly, for once shying away from all the eyes falling upon him. 

Right. He was the one who opened the wind bag, bringing them all into the palms of Posiedon. Of course he would be anxious and guilty when it came up again. Polites placed a hand on Eurylochus’ bicep. “Let’s just watch, okay? Nobody is angry with you.” 

Eurylochus didn’t respond verbally, but he placed his large hand over Polites’, and a weak breath left him. “You think he is?”

Polites paused, confused. “He?”

“Nobody.” 

Oh. “I think he feels just as guilty as you, my friend.” Polites squeezed his hand gently. “Let’s just watch, okay? Nothing will happen with the wind bag this time, I’m sure.”

Eurylochus nodded again, and relaxed marginally, despite Polites hearing him mutter a soft “probably because I’m no longer there”. Their hands stayed clasped, supporting each other, as Polites turned back to the screen. 

Hermes was fluttering around the mast and hooking the bag to his belt, hiding it under his cloak. Then he straightened the leaning mast with a slight tsk, as he warned Odysseus that this was his final option.  

“Consider this your one last chance- to make it back home and abandon caution,” he instructed, smirking at the haggard captain and flipping upside-down in midair, rather dramatically, as he pulled a glowing string from his bag, tying it around the mast’s weak point where it held onto the sail straining to break free. “Wash it away like the blood your hands have known.” Done with knotting the strange glowing string- which somehow seemed to hold the entire mast steady against the wind-, he teasingly caressed Odysseus’ hand, trailing it up to his shoulder and tapping on the leather pauldron tied around Odysseus’ shoulder. Odysseus’ face hardened, and he pulled away, one hand moving up to protect the pauldron better then he had protected the former wearer, despite Hermes being the only reason he had the memento of his friend. Polites felt Eurylochus’ hand twitch on his. 

He could see the suspicion, built by years of hardship and hurt and being the plaything of gods, lingering in Odysseus’ eyes as he stepped back and questioned Hermes, his grip tightening on the pauldron. “If your plan’s so great, then why’d you wait to say it?” 

Ancestor and descendent locked eyes, then Hermes reached out and grabbed the front of Odysseus’ tunic to keep him from backing up straight off the raft. Hermes pulled him back and steadied him, smirking a bit again. “Well, it’s a little bit dangerous, my friend,” He said, launching back up a few inches in the air. 

Polites grinned as Hermes helped Odysseus fix up the rickety float while he gave him an upbeat pep talk, touches of godly magic lingering as he fixed a few concerning leaks, tightened the drooping sail, and tied the few belongings to the mast. “You wanna get home? Put it all on the line!” He proclaimed, cinching the glowing string tight. “Be dangerous!” 

Odysseus grinned, for what felt like the first time in years, pulling out his old sword and cutting off the line to tie it. “All right, I’m in. What do I do?”

And so Hermes pointed up at Nyx approaching in the evening light, locating the North Star, instructing him to follow the North Star. Aeson, who used to be the ship’s navigator, just huffed and shook his head, muttering something about how it was always the North Star. 

While they continued to sail and night settled over the pair, Polites checked on Tiresias. “Everything okay? No pain?”

Tiresias shook their head. “I am fine. Hermes’ blessing holds strong.”

Meanwhile, as Ogygia disappeared in the distance, and Odysseus stabbed through a few harpies that had foolishly tried to attack the raft, the same god guided his sword, advising him. “Fight your way through, do what you must do- but no matter what, keep moving!” 

Keep moving. Always good advice, words that Odysseus himself had given Polites when they were younger, in sparring. 

“If you stay still like that, you’re an easy target! C’mon, move! Are you gonna accept a spear to the chest with open arms too? Make them work for your blood!” Odysseus laughed, swinging his spear and trying to make him drop his own weapon. 

Odysseus wiped the blood off his sword and looked up at Hermes with a determined nod as he felled the last of the harpies. Hermes nodded proudly and brushed off his shoulders, moving in close and sweeping his arm out over the open sea, repeating the mantra to make it real for Odysseus. He was also dancing to the melody of the dying harpies as they sank, including some strange, perky movement with his behind. Then, he moved away, uncovering his belt’s contents with his cloak. 

“And lastly, the wind bag,” the messenger god said, producing it for Odysseus to see. “We went through so much to get this…”

“Nets is right,” Charis murmured. “It looks different. It used to be all round and smooth. That looks like…” 

Polites sucked in a breath as he recognized the material containing the wind. 

“That’s our quilt!” Jonas exclaimed, leaning forward and forcing Miron to steady him. “He was supposed to give that to Athena! As a thank-you gift! What’s he doing with it?”

Tiresias’ eyebrows seemed to have found a permanent residence halfway up their forehead. “I do not know. But we can ask him when he comes back.”

Amid the confusion, all eyes were on the screen now, as Hermes fluttered closer, a familiar twinkle in his eye. “Keep this bag closed if you wanna get home, sir-” 

The twinkling turned into a gleam of surprise as something under his cloak fluttered, and one, then two very…strange-looking creatures tumbled out from under. They were gray, fuzzy, so small that Polites could have held one in each hand. 

“What the hell are those?” Yianni snorted, as the creatures floated around at Hermes’ side, chorusing with the god as they warned, “You won’t get another time to try!” and “It was meant to stop you by design!” 

Perimedes groaned comically. “It’s those…stupid little wind fuckers!” 

“The wind minions of Aeolus,” Eurylochus explained for those of the crew who had died by the Cyclops’ club, who had never encountered them before. “Sneaky, bastardous little things. They’re the ones that sewed suspicion among us around the original wind bag. And we were foolish enough to listen.” 

“Cute, though,” Polites distinctly heard Thodoris mutter. He was shushed as Hermes’ face slowly turned uncharacteristically serious. 

“‘Cause no mortal can pass Posiedon’s storm,” he said, carefully passing the bag into Odysseus’ trembling hands. “Open this bag and you’ll never make it home.”

He’ll never make it home…

Odysseus’ face hardened, and he gripped the bag by where it had been tied closed, the ends of the repurposed quilt held tight by more of that glowing string, facing Hermes and ignoring the floating winions, determination tightening his grip. Polites’ headband, tight around his forehead, fluttered in the wind.

“Don’t you know that danger is my friend?! My whole life I've trained for this- I cannot tell you how much I have paid for this! I have to get home, put it all on the line!” 

Polites cheered, jumping up and grabbing Miron’s arm- no, wait, that was Jonas’ leg- spreading the enthusiasm as they saw Hermes clap in approval, Odysseus securing the bag to his belt with a truly dangerous glint in his eye. The crew roared with appreciation, and for the first time Polites could feel the tide shifting. They wanted him home. Maybe not everyone, but enough. 

Even the wind minions- winions?- seemed to appreciate the charged energy, flipping and zooming around. A third creature popped out from Hermes’ cloak, apparently late from playing dress-up with the contents of Hermes’ hidden pockets- pink ribbons adorned the body and a golden ring sat atop it’s tiny head, like a little princess in a crown. It landed in Hermes’ hair and promptly began waving it’s arms and shaking it’s body, then wiggling it’s butt, drawing more laughs from the crew. 

“Reminds me of the way Ctimene used to dance when I’d sing for her,” Eurylochus muttered to himself. Polites looked up at him, and the second-in-command quickly shut his mouth and looked away upon realizing he’d been loud enough for Polites- and Aeson, who was standing on his other side to watch- to hear. Aeson chuckled heartily at his hasty addition of “I- not the rear movements, of course”. 

Hermes struggled to untangle the creature from his curls as he nodded to Odysseus. Even Tiresias was chuckling now as Hermes finally freed the squirming winion. 

Odysseus inched away from the floating creatures as he finished securing the bag to his belt, before sighing. He watched Hermes hold the gray furball and attempt to peel the pink ribbons off, which the little primadonna clung tightly to with an indignant squeak. The little golden ring slipped off it’s head and bounced off the wood, splashing into the rocking waves. Hermes sighed and shook his head, and pushed off of the small raft, wings on his sandals coming to life. 

“Hermes!”

Odysseus came over to him and wrapped his great-grandfather in a brief but tight hug. The god patted his back, holding the princessy creature high away from Odysseus with a little smile as Odysseus pulled away and breathed a tired, “Thank you.” 

Hermes smirked at him. “Don’t thank me, friend- I’m not the one who fought for you.”

Odysseus’ arms dropped, Polites could almost see that brilliant mind of his working fast as the west winds in the way his brow creased. “Then who?”

Hermes only giggled, releasing the princess winion, letting her keep the ribbons and float away with the two others. “Good luck.”

He winked at the haggard man and drifted off, higher into the air, the winions following after him. One of the other winions bonked Odysseus on the head before going up. 

“Well, where’s he going now?” Jonas muttered, leaning his arms onto Miron’s head as Hermes soared off through the clouds, leaving Odysseus to sail for the North Star. 

“Patience, kid.”

“I’m not your kid,” Jonas protested lightheartedly, leaning over Miron’s head to look down at his bearded face. The man chuckled; like Jonas wasn’t sitting on his shoulders like Polites had with his father before he left. “You want a kid, go get that baby.”

Polites paused. “Where is Astyanax?”

Eurylochus hummed and looked around, his superior height allowing him to see over the heads of hundreds of men. “With that fellow from ship 11, with the daughter. He’s one of the main men trusted to hold the babe.”

“Oh? What’s his name?” 

“Gods, I’ve forgotten already. He told me a year ago or something…” Eurylochus hesitated, squinting at the man, before he snapped his fingers.  “Lysanias! That’s it.” 

“Lysanias?” Polites hummed as the man was pointed out. At Polites’ request, Eurylochus scooped his hands under Polities’ arms and hoisted him up to see the man himself. Lysanias was tall and thin, with evidence that his skin used to be a warm brown before it was made to glow silvery blue by the hands of Posiedon. The man, perhaps in his late forties, was watching Hermes soar through the clouds. And in his arms, indeed, a small, sleepy babe curled cozily in his blankets. Polites smiled at the sight. 

“Good to know,” He said as Eurylochus put him down. “I can talk to him later, but for now, let’s just…watch what’s going on here.” He gestured where Hermes was slowing down onscreen, and a questionably feminine figure popped out of the clouds beside him. 

She had wild blonde hair, a blue-gray jumpsuit with swirly designs, and a wide grin on her face. The woman(?) sat barefoot on the edge of a cloud, swinging her legs; She giggled and held out her hands, and all three of the little wind minions swarmed into embrace. One disappeared into her hair. 

Another god? Eurylochus murmured, as echoed the men. 

“Hello, little hitchhikers,” she giggled. “And how did it go, Hermes? Your mortal look like he’s gonna follow orders this time?”

“I have no idea, darling, but whatever happens, it’ll be fun to watch.” Hermes took the ribbon-wrapped winion from her hands and tugged on the pink ribbons. “Can I get these back, now?”

“Sure, if you want to agree to another favor.” 

Hermes groaned theatrically. “Really, A? I’ve already agreed to one night. And those were hard to get from ‘Dite. You know how she is.” 

“Sometimes glitter is a must!” 

“Okay. Fine. Have it your way.” Hermes held out his hand. 

Aeolus giggled and tickled the princess winion in the stomach, until it let out a shrill squeaking noise, and flailed all the ribbons off. Aeolus picked them up from her lap and handed them to the hovering god. “Now go deliver these to whoever you’re so smitten with that I keep hearing about.” 

“Of course, darling,” Hermes responded, but fluttered up and booped the winion handler’s button nose, before flipping and falling headfirst for the ocean. 

Polites blinked as the screen went dark, immersing himself in his reality. He noticed Eurylochus shifting, and Tiresias’ pale face flushed almost imperceptibly. They smoothed their braid and the pieces that had fallen from it, as Hermes swooped down from the void ceiling.

“Hello, darling!” He landed stylishly and offered a quick nod to Polites and the others crowded to watch the now dark sail, before coming over to Tiresias. 

“Hermes!” Jonas called, finally climbing down from Miron’s shoulders, though rather clumsily. Aeson shuffled past Eurylochus to help. “Was that the thing that we weaved for Athena? Why is it being used as a wind bag?” 

One of the crew- Vlassis- joined the questioning, stepping out of the crowd. “What was all that? Who was that blonde lady?”

Polites glanced up at Eurylochus, seeing the set in his jaw. “You know who it was, don’t you..?” He muttered to his friend. 

“I have…a suspicion.” He pulled away to approach Hermes. “You can give the information to me, and I will share it with the crew, so you can spend time with your, um, companion.” Eurylochus eyed the ribbons. 

“No, no need. Just a moment.” Hermes took Tiresias’ hand and tucked the ribbons into their thin fingers. “There you go, darling. The ribbons, just as promised. Perhaps Polites can redo your beautiful hair with them. And you were able to project your vision without difficulty, yes?” He brushed the stray pieces of hair away from their face. 

Tiresias smiled bashfully, their eyes glowing dimly despite their projections having stopped. The bright pink looked so stark against their white skin. “Yes. Your blessing worked well. Thank you…dear.”

Polites couldn’t see Hermes’ eyes clearly from this angle, but the winged sandals were on clear display for every man to see their sudden, rapid fluttering. The god was lifted up slightly, and he cleared his throat. “Of course. I’ll- I must answer the crew’s questions. Excuse me.” He turned back to the crowd- roughly 500 men now- many of whom, in the back, were climbing onto one another’s shoulders like Jonas had done to see the screen and now Hermes. Polites saw Tiresias smile in the most satisfied way he’d seen yet from the prophet, and had to stifle a laugh. 

“Now- what questions do you all have? One at a time,” the god addressed sternly, looking to avoid clamor and chaos. “You there. Big nose.” He pointed.

Perimedes looked a bit offended at that, but he spoke up. “The wind bag. Wasn’t that what we weaved for Athena? As an offering or something?”

“A thank-you gift,” Jonas muttered. 

“Hush, shortstack. Close enough.”

Hermes snorted. “Uh, yes, funny story. I took it up to her, visited her in Apollo’s infirmary. She thought it was…charming, to put it nicely. But she said-” he paused and drew in a breath. He spoke in a surprisingly accurate impression of Athena, from the rare times Polites had heard her speak- clipped and firm and a little bit weary of the world’s foolishness. “‘I’d rather it be used to benefit Odysseus’ journey.’ So I went and I visited Aeolus, and coordinated a nice little favor so that she’d fashion it up into another proper wind bag! She threw in the string for free.” 

Thodoris raised his hand. “And who was that blonde lady?”

“That was Aeolus, of course. Some of you are rather slow, aren’t you?”

Thodoris scowled. 

Polites raised his own hand. “And…you mentioned a favor? Is that anything to be worried about?” 

Hermes huffed. “Not for you. But I did have to agree to a makeover night or two. All this, to get Ody home.” 

Polites and Eurylochus exchanged a look, evidently thinking the same. One goddess gets struck down by lightning, another must endure…glitter and whatever else Aeolus would do with Hermes. The blonde’s mischievous grin flashed in his mind, and her fashionable, butt-wiggling winion. 

“All for Odysseus to get home,” Eurylochus murmured, glancing at the dark sail and the gathered souls. “All for him..”

“You want him to get home, don’t you?” Polites tested slowly. 

Eurylochus might have hesitated, but his voice was sure as he answered. “Yes. I do.” He looked over the gathered men, who were still asking questions about the winions, about the repurposed wind bag, about the journey that lay before Odysseus. Even those that were minding their business farther away, feigning indifference to the captain’s dance with fate, were not quite as sneaky about taking glances in their direction, listening in. “And I imagine the crew does, as well.” 

“Speak for yourself, I want my chlamys back,” Thodoris muttered. 

Chapter Text

“Okay, so, once left, once right,” Jonas muttered, watching his and Nets’ motions intently as the latter clapped their hands together. “And then…”

“And then both hands together,” Nets confirmed, holding both palms out for Jonas to slap, which he did. “And then repeat, going faster until someone messes up.” 

“What are you guys doing?” Polites asked, crouching beside where the younger two were sitting on the grass, not far from the sail.

“Teaching Jonas how to play a game,” Nets answered, while Jonas focused on not messing up the speeding rhythm. “Forget what it’s called.” 

“Oh?” Polites watched them for a minute. “Good way to pass the time, hmm?” 

“Yeah, it’s not bad,” Nets said. “Better than dealing with all the drama Kyros has been causing recently.”

“Poor Karalos,” Jonas muttered, and promptly missed Net’s hand. “Damn it.” 

Nets restarted the rhythm. “But it seems everything’s calmed down now. How ‘bout the captain? Still sailing?”

“Still sailing,” Polites confirmed. “Tiresias updates me every once in a while.” 

Nets hummed as his hands smacked against Jonas’. “What do you think’s gonna happen when he gets back to Ithaca? Wasn’t there something about the suitors coming after Queen Penelope?”

“He’ll probably chase them all out,” Jonas muttered. “He’s always been a pretty merciful king.” 

“You think so, huh?” 

Polites watched their hands blur. He didn’t have much to do, recently; Eurylochus had assured him he would keep an eye on Kyros after the incident, Lysanias had Astyanax with him, even taking a cloak to make a little sling for the kid- how he’d done that, Polites had no idea.

“I’m excited to see him get home,” Jonas murmured. “How long has it been?”

“Tiresias said recently, almost twenty years,” Polites responded.

“Holy shit.” 

“Yeah.” Polites sat down beside them, crossing his legs. “His son, all grown up…he and Penelope, almost mid-forties.”

“Tiresias told me my father died when I was in the war,” Nets murmured. “Which…is fine. I never really liked him much. But it’s weird to think about everyone we left on Ithaca.”

“It is,” Jonas nodded. “But we’ll see them all again someday, gods willing. Well, we can see them anyway, thanks to Tiresias. But I can’t wait to meet my sister again.” 

“Or my mother,” Polites agreed quietly. His gaze drifted to where Tiresias was sitting beside Karalos, as the latter helped him carve a few details into his staff. The two had grown a friendship recently, which Polites was glad for. Even Hermes seemed to somewhat approve of the guy. 

But as Karalos guided Tiresias’ hands, the prophet’s sitting position suddenly straightened, and they stood up. The two paused, and after a few exchanged words, Karalos turned and shouted in everyone’s general direction.

“It’s the captain!” 

Jonas jolted so hard his hand slipped from the clapping rhythm, and he smacked Nets in the face. Polites tried not to snort as he jumped to his feet and jogged over as the sail painted blue, the ocean and sky tilting. Crews of men drew from their activities, including a rather heated debate Polites had passed by earlier about whether Vlassis and Yianni had kissed in the aftermath of a battle during the war, led by Stelios. Polites had chosen ignorance on that topic. 

Tiresias nodded to Polites, and lifted their unseeing gaze to the sea above. 

Odysseus was sailing on the edge of a dip in the ocean; the view was just wide enough to see it was a massive monster of a whirlpool. And in the center, instead of water swirling into itself, was…a ring of teeth, a giant mouth wide enough to fit an entire ship. 

“Ooohohoho, shit,” Karalos muttered, a disbelieving look on his face. 

“What now?” Alexander asked behind them, as the crowds gathered. Then, “what the fuck?” 

“You two could at least try not to swear,” Aeson muttered behind them. 

“Yeah, and for who, old man?” Alexander countered. “This man has the worst luck in the world. What even is that?”

“Oh, I think I’ve seen that before!” Nets grabbed Polites by the arm. “Before we went into Scylla’s lair, I remember, some of us got distracted because we were seeing that thing squirt water into the air! I dunno what it’s called, but it doesn’t look friendly.”

The gaping mouth let out a guttural roar. No, not friendly. 

Odysseus still sailed on his tiny raft, clinging for dear life. He clutched the mast and held one of the deeper baskets of dried meat and fruit to the pole with his foot as his raft tilted sharply, and with one hand and his teeth he struggled to wrangle a rope to do what he wanted. He seemed to be muttering through it, though a majority of what he was saying was drowned out by the water and the monster, sound indistinguishable from one another. But what Polites could catch, he heard a tone fondly remembered to be one of Odysseus’ classic modes: scheming.

Odysseus knotted the rope around his wrist, then looped it around the mast, tying himself to it as the raft started to slide into the vortex the monster was creating. Out of the full basket, two small carved figures, saved from Ogygia, flew and disappeared into the frothing ocean. Nobody seemed to notice. 

“Oh, my gods, I swear if he dies now, I’m going to beat his ass when he comes down here and not even Hermes can stop me,” Alexander muttered, clenching his fist.

“How about me and Polites?” Eurylochus muttered, appearing behind them. Polites looked back and immediately grabbed Eurylochus’ elbow as the other absorbed what was on the screen. 

Eurylochus nodded and stood close, and they hooked elbows, providing mutual support. 

“Come on, captain,” Jonas mumbled, squeezing his fists tightly. Nets joined him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Yeah! C’mon, captain!” He shouted. 

Odysseus gripped the rope determinedly as he struggled to control the raft, his sword staying in his sheath- it seemed he was more keen on avoiding it then killing it. The whirlpool drew it it’s prey, the baskets of food and water and keepsakes from Ogygia slid from the raft and into the water, the sail tore and the ropes frayed, but Odysseus stayed his path. 

The monster sucked harder, drawing more and water, but after a few moments of everyone holding their breath, Polites caught a glimpse of Tiresias smiling. And the ocean erupted, as the beast choked on the sheer amount of water and spat it out. The monster overwhelmed, it sank into the ocean, and then the cheering started.

Charon glared at them from his distant dock and Tiresias covered their ears, but Polites didn’t notice it; the force that Eurylochus was clapping his back with had him seeing stars. And Jonas was hugging him, Nets was whooping, Alexander was clamoring victory. Perimedes jumped up and down, with Elpenor clinging to his back for dear life.

“Come on,” someone crowed. “A little whirlpool monster couldn’t stop him!”

“That man’s got all the curses and the luck of the gods on his back,” Vlassis swore, pushing a hand through his hair. “It’s incredible.” 

Odysseus staggered as the battered raft slowly stabilized, rocking below his feet. His wrist was bright red from ropeburn, his grown-out hair wild from the wind and salty spray, eyes as wide and a smile as relieved as Polites’. He adjusted the pauldron on his shoulder, made sure the headband was wrapped tight over his head. And Tiresias’ view shifted; there was an island on the edge of the horizon. Green mountains; a bustling city. A palace built by hand on the hill. 

Ithaca.

Odysseus melted down to the wood of the raft, against the mast. And while he’d lost his paddle to the whirlpool monster, he was more than delighted to crawl to the edge of the raft and start splashing at the water with his hands, propelling forward with his own strength of desperation.

He was getting home. Polites laughed and finally joined in on the rowdy victory song Charis, Nets and Yianni had started. Even the waves seemed to celebrate, lapping even more eagerly than usual at the edges of the raft as the water turned dark.

Chapter Text

“Ithacaaaa, here we come!” Yianni slung an arm around Polites’ shoulders, allegedly trying to match with Odysseus’ heartfelt, longing Peneloopeeee. “Finaaalllyyy, we’re doone!” 

“Your singing leaves much to be desired,” Nets snorted, though Polites knew from a few drunken nights onboard that his was even worse. 

He winced as Eurylochus’ hand tightened on his shoulder. Significantly. He looked up to see his friend’s widening eyes on the sail.

“What’s-?” Polites followed his gaze. Tiresias was biting their pale lip, focused on zooming out their projection. Yet Polites didn’t see anything more than Ithaca in the distance and Odysseus desperately paddling his little raft over the choppy waters. 

But the water rose higher. Past the edge of the raft, towering over the sail and the man on his knees, forming a vortex like the just-defeated monster had, except instead of sinking and dragging into the depths, it rose up. And Polites understood what he’d missed, what he’d forgotten. 

Odysseus screamed as he watched it rise, a heart-wrenching cry of frustration and dismay, grasping tight the edges of the raft as it tilted sharply. The waves beneath gave way to form a hulking, imposing figure, the likes of whom Polites had never seen. 

Flowing, dark hair. A torso at least three times the size of Odysseus’ raft. A glowing blue trident. Eyes filled with a malicious, eager satisfaction. 

The celebration died like it had been hit over the head with a club. Polites didn’t even have to ask or make his own connections; Nets whispered the name with reverent fear. 

“Posideon.” 

The small storms at the base of the sail swelled, echoing with the sloshing of troubled waters, and Tiresias backed away from it nervously. Especially when the god of the sea opened his mouth to speak. 

“There you are. Coward.” 

The bitter insult sent chills down the spines of everyone in crowd, and Polites reached up to place his hand over Eurylochus’ as they watched Odysseus wobble to his feet on the now insignificant-looking raft. 

Oh, no…

The sea god regarded Odysseus with a sinister smirk, fingers the size of Polites himself flexing on the trident. “I’ve been waiting for this moment…for the perfect time to strike.”

“Breathe,” Eurylochus muttered, and Polites at first thought he was talking to Odysseus, or perhaps himself, but no, it was for him. He’d stopped. He started again, shakily. Beside him, at least three men, particularly Alexander, were chanting every swear word Polites had ever heard- and a few he hadn’t- at varying volumes. He was so close to home, and now, Poseidon revealed himself?

“I've got a name to uphold! So I can't go letting you walk, or else the world forgets I'm cold,” Poseidon continued, leaning over the bobbing raft, which was slowly rising higher. Odysseus clung to the mast, and Polites had never seen him look so terrified. Not at any point during the war, not in the cave of the cyclops. Not facing Eurylochus, not with Calypso or Charybdis. He truly feared for his life, more now than ever. And Polites had the striking thought that he was right to, as Posideon’s eyes darkened and dropped with his voice. 

“Now get in the water.”

The waters rose, lapping and pulling at Odysseus’ feet. He stumbled back, clinging to the mast. 

“Get in the water.”

Odysseus’ head lifted, just enough to glance desperately at his home, his island, on the edges of the horizon. A wall of water, as high as the mountains, rose up to block his view. 

“Or I’ll raise the tides so high, all of Ithaca will die.” 

Posideon twirled his trident, one rotation, two, before pointing it at Odysseus. The sharpened tips were as large as the man’s head. It forced him backwards, to hide behind the mast, playing hide and seek when there was nowhere to hide. 

“Get in the water.”

Odysseus gasped for his breath, as if he was anticipating the weight of the ocean on him already. “Wait-!” 

Poseidon tilted his head, pinching and spinning the raft roughly, the trident still spearing the mast- the sail caught and tore, the trunk splintered, and Odysseus collapsed to his knees at the force. Polites fought the urge to close his eyes, shield his heart from the fear for his friend.

“Stop this, please!”

Poseidon pulled his massive trident away, a lazy smirk crossing his lips, as a wave rose up beside him. He reached through it, and water swirled through his fingers, holding out two soaked wooden figurines that looked like ants in Poseidon's hands. The view was just close enough to see the lovingly carved figures of Penelope and a young man. He made a mocking show of a wave coming, crashing over the portrayals of the royal family.

“I’ll make tidal waves so profound, both your wife and your son will drown-” 

“No!”

Polites gripped Eurylochus’ arm. “No..”

“How’s he gonna get out of this one?” Jonas murmured, standing between Nets and Miron. 

Miron shook his head slowly, voice quiet and faltering. “He’s gonna die, kid.” 

Eurylochus shot a quick, halfhearted glare at him, but his gaze returned just as fast to where Odysseus was cautiously moving to the center of the raft, practically crawling, not daring to turn his back to the god before him calling upon Thanatos. 

Poseidon plucked one of the figurines from the water once more, his sharp-toothed grin growing wider. The slightly shorter one, with a lean masculine build and less detailed, uncertain features. “I’ll take your son and gouge his eyes-” sharpened blue claws dug into the little wooden face, peeling down the surface, leaving deep gouges, the head and neck destroyed. “-that is, unless you choose to die!”

Odysseus watched in horror, and his brown eyes flicked up to Posideon’s vengeful face. His smooth, manipulative voice was shaking as he called out desperately. 

“Aren’t you tired, Poseidon? It’s been ten years, how long will this go?”

“It’s been ten years? Poseidon must be obsessed with him,” Alexander muttered, chased by a swift grunt as Charis elbowed him in the gut. The abrupt comment was followed with unsettling quiet, listening to Odysseus’ plea to let him and their grudge go. 

Nearly every man was watching the sail now. Arms and hands locking together, breath held in anticipation. But the god of the sea grit his teeth. 

“I can’t.”

Polites felt Eurylochus’ hand pull away, before his arms wrapped around him to hold him up when his knees buckled. 

Odysseus’ eyes widened, and tried once more to reason with Poseidon. “Maybe you could learn to forgive..?”

Yes…

There was a beat of painful, frozen silence. 

“No.”

The crowds of men erupted, jeering at the god onscreen, as he lifted his trident. The clouds by the sail roared with the overwhelming, crashing waves, and between them and the crew clamoring, Polites could hardly make out Posiedon’s buildup, and the enraged cry. 

“DIE!”

The ocean shattered, columns shooting up, higher than the raft, the god’s head, reaching up to the sky. The light shining down on Odysseus turned blue, the last he would ever see; water churned over itself, over the raft, upturning it and Odysseus. Tiresias’ view followed Odysseus as he was slammed into the water like a doll, trapped under the raft and dragging him down. 

That was it. Odysseus was drowning, coming down to join them. While some part of the thought of seeing his friend was comforting, the rest of him screamed with agony. He needed to go home, to his kingdom, to his son and wife. Penelope, Telemachus, Ithaca were waiting for him. But Odysseus’ weak flailing promised every man standing before the sail that he was never getting home. His fate was to be a victim of his own mercy. 

Polites didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. Didn’t faint. He stood watching. He slowly took in the cries of his crewmates around him, enraged and despairing. He felt Eurylochus trembling, helpless. 

He looked up, almost as if guided by some instinct whispering in his ear. 

Hermes was hovering over the crowds; his sharp gaze flickered between his great-grandson, and a scroll in his hands. The messenger caught Polites’ eye. 

A knowing smile crossed the divine’s face, and he reached out to Polites. His fingers curled. 

Come on. 

Weight lifted off his shoulders. He felt light, dazed. But his actions were quick as he pulled away from Eurylochus. 

“Let’s go.” 

Eurylochus swallowed, still shaking slightly. Polites hardly recognized the soft, broken tone he spoke in. “W-what?”

“Command the men. We’re going to him.” Polites turned away. “I’ll be right back. Follow Hermes.” 

“What?” Eurylochus floundered in bewilderment. “Follow-”

Polites took a few steps back, pointing upwards, where Eurylochus noticed Hermes. And he turned away, running as fast as he could. Perhaps the speeding god had given him some subtle blessing, because before he knew it, he was standing at the cliff’s edge, looking over where the crew had watched Odysseus sail past. Where he had last seen her. 

He drew in as deep a breath was possible, and bellowed louder than he ever had in life. No titles, no formality. Just calling.

“ANTICLEA!”

The grounds trembled, and in the silence, he could hear the clamoring of 600 confused men being rallied. And then he felt her presence. 

Anticlea stood before him on the cliff, looking at him with that wrinkled, patient face. 

“Odysseus needs us,” Polites rushed out. “Would you join us?”

Anticlea nodded once, understanding, and she held out her arm for Polites to take. 

When they touched, Polites could already feel it. The weightless feeling intensified, and soon he was rising fast to join the others. Hermes stood aside, waving briefly to a puzzled Tiresias, who had awkwardly taken the baby to care for while they went to aid their king. 

Every man that had left Ithaca’s shores, fought in the battles and cheered at the burning of Troy and the end of the war, died one by one at the hands of monster and gods and a bottle of wine, rose with them. Polites brought the queen mother to the front, finding Eurylochus pulling himself together. No orders were needed. The men understood. Hermes’ grin, beckoning them, was enough. 

There was the faint coolness of water, not wet but somehow refreshing, darkness all around them. There was the warmth of the men behind him, Anticlea on his left, Eurylochus on his right. 

And then, there was something solid. 

There was his friend. 

He could see him, feel him. Floating in the water. He’d stopped struggling. Polites didn’t know if he was still conscious. 

The crew surrounded their captain, as Polites wrapped his arms around Odysseus’ waist. He was here. 

He knew what he was supposed to say. Lead from the heart. Light up the world. Open arms. 

But he’d already told Odysseus that. So many times. And Odysseus had followed his advice. He’d tried mercy. It hadn’t worked. 

Mercy wouldn’t work on an opponent like Posiedon. The god of the sea was as blind as his son to open arms.

No, it was time for something different. But he would need his courage for what was to come. 

“You can relax, my friend.” He leaned his chin on Odysseus’ shoulder, watching the battered headband drifting in the water. The cloth frayed at the ends. “I can tell you’re getting nervous…” 

Eurylochus came up beside him, hesitating to say his part after he messed up last time. But he took their captain by the arm, and leaned over him, studying his face with his familiar worry. “Look at all we’ve lost and all we’ve learned…”

Anticlea came up on her son’s other side, kissing her son’s scruffy cheek. “I’ll stay in your heart…”

We’ll be with you. Let us help.

Odysseus’ eyes cracked open, ever so slightly. The crew was singing his name, pushing him up. 

Waiting…

Over their friend’s chest, Polites saw Eurylochus’ eyes flicker to his belt. He followed his gaze. The wind bag was still miraculously tied there. 

There was a burning question in the second-in-command’s eyes, but Polites didn’t know what he was asking. 

Eurylochus leaned down, and wrapped his arms around his brother in one last embrace. As he did, he took Odysseus’ hand, guiding it to the string tied around the wind bag to keep it shut. Their fingers tangled together for a brief moment as Odysseus’ hand twitched, and together, they pinched the string and tugged it loose. 

Polites’ ears filled with the screaming of wind, and he was torn away from Odysseus. Caught in a hurricane at the bottom of the sea, everything twisting and turning and pushing up. 

Chapter Text

When he opened his eyes, he was upside-down, floating on the surface of the ocean. He could see the ghostly forms of his comrades scattered across the crashing waves. Jonas was coughing, probably out of reflex, holding on to Miron’s shoulders. Stelios was clinging to a jagged rock sticking out of the water. There was Alexander, or at least his ankles, sticking up over churning white froth. 

Eurylochus paddled over to him, treading water. “Are you alright?”

Polites righted himself and touched his head, willing it to stop spinning. “Yes, I’m fine- what happened? Where…” 

Eurylochus’ hand bumped his shoulder, and pointed upwards. 

Oh. 

Odysseus was up in the air, wrestling with the wind bag- which was chaotically spewing wind and rain and mist in its wake- and some extra divine string. An almost comical sight, one Polites would have laughed at if there wasn’t a god, looking bedraggled and pissed off, emerging from the ocean. 

“What’s he doing?” Polites managed, kicking to keep his head above the surface. It was much easier as a ghost, he found, to move through the water, perhaps because he no longer had a body to weigh him down. 

“I don’t know, but he looks angry,” Eurylochus huffed. “They both do. Let’s get the others to land before the waves start throwing everyone about.” He pointed to a somewhat flat expanse of rock sticking out of the ocean, and started to swim for it, calling the others. Odysseus evidently couldn’t hear them anymore, because his eyes didn’t stray as he finally got a hold of the wind bag, squeezing the mouth to control the storm, and strapping it to his back with the divine string.

Polites wouldn’t have described his face as angry- not completely, anyway. More…determined. Posiedon was definitely angry, already raising his trident and sweeping his long, wet hair from his eyes. But his wrath seemed tainted with alarm.

“Polities, come on!” Jonas called, waving briefly to him as Miron and Eurylochus grabbed his arms to hoist him from the water. Polites’ gaze lingered on his friend for a moment more, then swam to join them. 

Aeson grabbed him by the tunic and hoisted him out of the water, where he stumbled right into Alexander- who was laughing hysterically at the captain’s antics. “He’s flying, oh my gods!”

“Finally, that bag’s doing some good,” Eurylochus muttered to himself. 

Miron shushed Alexander’s cackling. “There are more serious things to worry about. Is there another way we can help him? Just because he’s tamed the winds, doesn’t mean he’ll be able to defeat Poseidon.”

“There’s no way,” Stelios agreed, tilting onto his toes to glimpse the god of the sea as he rose from the water. Polites’ throat restricted. 

Poseidon rose from the waves, and in seconds was towering over Odysseus. He pushed back his mussed hair with a glare and opened his mouth, but Odysseus spoke over him, shouting to be clear over the winds and the storm. 

“I don’t think you get it- I can’t afford to die!” The king cried, drawing his sword. “Cause I will get back to my son- and I will get back to my wife!”

Polites was not surprised in the slightest at his choice of inspiration, but the boldness and ferocity stunned him. This was the god of the sea that had drowned 550 men over the pain of one, the commander of tides, one of the big three gods- was he really going to-

His question was answered before the thought was even finished, as Odysseus twisted, their homemade wind bag propelling him forward to strike Poseidon. He managed to maneuver around the sea god’s swipes, and even when pillars of the ocean shot up to grab him, he evaded. 

“Yeah! Get him, captain!” Jonas cheered, jumping up onto Miron’s back for a better view. 

“Can he really do this himself?” Yianni asked. 

“No,” Perimedes spoke up, and Polites heard the distinct crack of knuckles. “But we’re right here.”

“We’ll back him up,” Eurylochus muttered, his hand drifting towards his shoulder, searching for his lost sword.

Odysseus darted around the torso of the sea god, barely dodging the trident aiming for his back. At last, Poseidon managed to hit him, but Odysseus absorbed the blow by grabbing onto the trident by the staff.  

“For every comrade!” He shouted, almost as if he knew that they were there, they were watching. Polites could hear the agony, the loss in his voice. “Every one of my friends- almost all of whom were slaughtered by your hand! Six hundred- STRIKE!!”

“That’s us! He’s calling on us!” Jonas yelped, as if there was another army of 600 waiting for a chance to help. But the thought vanished from his mind as Eurylochus jumped up onto a rock and pointed towards Posiedon, thrown off-balance and irritated.

“Exelasis!” 

At the command, Polites felt Yianni grab him by the wrist and jump from the rock, and the winds of the storm pushed the army up in the exact direction they needed to go. They surrounded Odysseus like they had barely a minute ago- but now, instead of pushing him up, they gathered to become his hands and his feet, to become a worthy opponent against the god of the sea. 

Banded with his brothers, Polites grabbed Odysseus’ left hand and moved his own, imagining the feel of a spear beneath it. He wasn’t quite sure what was happening, but it felt right. 

Poseidon reeled back at the first strike they landed. The second, even more so. Eurylochus shouted orders on Odysseus’ right- dodge, slash, shove. Push him towards the rock they’d been standing upon. Force the god of the sea away from his own domain. 

Posideon fought back, of course. His trident speared through the chest of the giant soldier, and Miron and Aeson had to redirect it away from Odysseus so it didn’t hurt him. His other hand sliced at the head of the soldier, but it came away with only a handful of men’s souls, which took their cue to give him grief. Polites might have seen Charis biting Posiedon’s finger. But Odysseus was at the heart of all of them. And his eyes were glowing, burning with grief and determination to end this 10-year feud for once and for all. 

And so they danced, Posiedon chipping away at their defenses and the 600 forcing him back. With a mighty roar, Poseidon swiped a hand through the chest, one last flailing attempt before he was isolated from his ocean, falling back onto the rock. The souls scattered. 

Polites took his time letting go of Odysseus, and so did Eurylochus. They dragged him down through the howling wind to the surface of the rock, guiding him to stand before where Posiedon lay. In any other case, Polites had no doubt that the god would be getting back up, that he would be returning to the source of his power and crushing Odysseus the moment they were gone. But when he collapsed backwards over the plateau after scattering the souls, Eurylochus gave one more command- one Polites didn’t catch, but the others did, and as they let go, they swooped upon Posideon to bombard him with weaponless strikes. His biggest clue was Alexander shouting, “Let’s get this bastard!” 

The god quickly became overwhelmed as six hundred souls descended upon him, scratching and punching and kicking. And as big as he was, their army completely covered him. Under the eager clamor, every hit, the god shrank. 

“Polites!” Eurylochus called out, his hand remaining on Odysseus’ shoulder, resting on his pauldron. “Get him to drop his weapon!”  

He nodded; the perfect opportunity was before them, glowing and golden. Take his trident from him, withhold it and barter until the weakened Posiedon relented and granted Odysseus safe passage home. Polites ran, pushing Charis- who was still biting- away to reach the divine weapon. He grabbed the shaft, prying it from Posiedon’s iron grip. Too preoccupied with fending off his comrades, Poseidon barely seemed to notice as Polites carried the heavy trident back to Odysseus, laying it on a rock shelf to keep it safe while Odysseus could convince him to set him free. 

Polites looked up at his friend one last time. Odysseus stood, alone only in appearance. The wind bag Polites had so carefully helped stick together hung empty on his back, the storm released and raging around them now. His hair was tangled from the screaming wind; his eyes still glinted with hate. 

You’re almost home, my friend. We’re so clo-

“Hey! It’s time to go back!” 

Polites looked up. Hermes was hovering around, his sandals straining against the winds and storm, and his caduceus swiping through the air. “You’ve done your job, now come on! Get back down to the shores before Uncle Hades gets mad at me.” Hermes eyed his other relative, restrained and grunting in pain, lying on the rock. “Now!”

Polites was not one to disobey the orders of gods, but as the crew started reluctantly leaving Posiedon’s body behind to follow Hermes- Charis getting in one last bite on his shoulder-, he moved out of sight of the messenger, hiding behind a large rock off to Odysseus’ left. 

A large form squeezed in beside him.

“Polites, what are you doing?” Eurylochus hissed, hunching down beside him and ducking his head. 

“What are you doing?” Polites returned, watching their comrades splash into the waters, begrudgingly going back down to their place on the shores of the Styx.

“Making sure Odysseus doesn’t screw this up.” 

“A worthy mission. Why don't we do it together?” Polites laughed under his breath. Eurylochus didn’t seem as amused, but he nodded, and they stayed together until Hermes was gone to emerge from their spot, slowly stepping up beside Odysseus. He’d barely moved, he was just watching as Posiedon struggling to sit up. 

What is he waiting for?

Poseidon grunted as he caught his breath, weary from being cut off from his power and too drained to summon it to his side. He just sat there and glared at Odysseus. The cruel smirk that returned to his lips sent a chill down Polites’ spine.  

“You idiot,” Posiedon wheezed. “Can’t you see? You sealed your fate, just to beat me…” he glanced out at the clouds and rain swirling around the rocky plateau, the god and the mortal standing in the eye of the storm. “You released my storm when you opened that bag! Blocked your one way home. Now you’ll never get back.”

Eurylochus swore softly, his hands clenching. “I…I didn’t think about that.” His horrified, distraught eyes turned to look at their friend. “I’m sorry, Ody…”

But Odysseus didn’t despair at the proclamation; Eurylochus’ apology fell on deaf ears. Instead, the king squared his shoulders, lifting his chin to look down upon the god that was slowly climbing to his knees. 

“You’re going to call off that storm.”

Polites froze. He’d never heard Odysseus use that tone before; it was low, it was rough, with all the ferocity of a hungry wolf. The chill turned to a shudder. 

Poseidon’s eyes narrowed, as he leered at Odysseus. “Or what? You can’t kill me.” 

Odysseus’ head turned away from the kneeling god, towards the rock shelf where the trident lay. His tongue was not calculating, not manipulative, as he reached for the heavy weapon, and Polites realized with a sinking feeling that Odysseus was not planning on bartering for his freedom. 

“Exactly.”

The trident scraped against the rock.

Poseidon’s triumphant smirk faded, watching Odysseus pick up the trident. “Wait. Wait-”

Polites covered his mouth, and Eurylochus turned away as Odysseus held the god’s own weapon high over his head, and stabbed it into the immortal’s chest. 

“AAAAGhhuh!” 

Polites could do nothing but watch in horror as Odysseus yanked the trident back, ripping the divine flesh open in a brutal way that he thought he’d left behind after the war. The blood that poured out of the three deep gashes was a bright, gleaming gold. The only traces of red visible were not on Poseidon, but on Odysseus. His eyes were glowing with anger and anguish, and his headband wrapped around his forehead, fluttering in the relentless storm. 

The king readjusted his grip on the stained trident, gritting his teeth as he prepared for another strike. “How does it feel to be helpless?” 

Eurylochus’ shaking hand wrapped around Polites’ arm, holding on desperately. 

Poseidon cried out as the trident entered his chest again, almost drowned out by Odysseus’ shouting. “How does it feel to know pain?”

Polites took a cautious step closer, bringing Eurylochus with him. 

“I watched my friends die in horror!” 

Odysseus and Posiedon were both shouting as the trident speared lower, and the latter tried to move away, get up. But the king simply reached out and grabbed his hair, pinning his head against the rock, and held him still. “Crying as they were all slain!”

Polites slowly rounded beside him, dazedly staring at his friend. The unyielding bloodthirst, the ichor staining his feet. Had they pulled a different man up from the depths of the ocean? 

“I heard their final moments,” Odysseus cried, dragging the trident back out of his stomach before plunging it back in with more force, more desperation. Something human flickered in his eyes, below the red glow. “Calling their captain in vain!” 

Eurylochus gasped weakly and pulled away from Polites’ grasp, but Polites couldn’t bear to pull his gaze off Odysseus to check on him, as the trident entered Posiedon’s shoulder. 

“Look what you’ve turned me into!” Odysseus leaned over Posiedon, and his hands were shaking now, but they held the weapon steady. “Look what we’ve become!” 

Posiedon groaned, his own hand coming up to paw at the gold-painted weapon. “Enough…”

Odysseus, in response, pulled the trident out and speared through the god’s hand, pinning it to his chest, over his heart. 

Another hand landed on Polites’ shoulder, and the touch startled him enough to look up. Eurylochus hovered over his shoulder, looking like a bewildered mix of fear and awe. 

“Should we…stop him?” He whispered hoarsely, barely audible over Odysseus and Posiedon’s suffering. 

Polites hesitated, glancing back at the kings. Posiedon had been stabbed right through the throat, effectively shutting him up. Bright golden ichor leaked down his neck and onto his chest, mixing with drops of red blood falling from Odysseus’ hands, mortal skin not meant to be wielding such power. It was beautiful. 

“...no,” Polites murmured. “And even if we tried, I don’t think we could.”

Odysseus hoisted the trident high over his head again before driving it down into his eye. A drop of ichor fell upon his wild hair, and Polites stared at it. It looked almost like the same shade of the crown Odysseus had worn when he was crowned king of Ithaca. Polites still remembered the legendary speech he had given that day. 

“...and as I have sworn, upon my life, my everything- I will protect this beautiful land with my soul until the last of my breath- or my wit- leaves my body. I will be a good and merciful king, patient and fair. War may come, famine may come, disease may come. Monsters may attack our fair kingdom, and I will face them bravely, standing before my citizens. I greet the challenge with an open heart and open arms.”

“You didn’t stop when I begged you!” Odysseus screamed, hunching over the god, drowning out the choking sound coming from his throat. “Told me to close my heart!”

Poseidon wheezed as the trident was torn out of his neck, slumped against the rock. “You-”

“You said the world was dark!”

“-monster!”

Odysseus pulled the trident back, readying a blow to his heart, unprotected by his hands. “Didn’t you say that ruthlessness is mercy upon our-”

“Alright!”

Odysseus’ hands stilled, hearing the surrender, taking first advantage of it. The god and the man locked eyes for a moment- Poseidon’s one good eye-, as if one of them was waiting for the other to take back their hand in the reprieve from the suffering. But neither did, and when Posiedon rasped out a shaking “please”, Odysseus lowered the trident and stepped back. And when Posiedon didn’t move, just stared at him in anguish and anticipation, the trident was dropped. It made a loud, final clang as it landed, scraping the stone.

Around them, the skies started to clear, the waves calmed. The rain gave up on washing the ichor from the rock. 

Polites let out a soft sigh of relief, and his lips pulled into a bigger smile- wider than the one he hadn’t noticed he’d been wearing before. 

Odysseus nodded once in approval, and stepped away, his raw hands twitching. But he was stopped by Posiedon’s voice, rasping out one last question as the god stared out after him.

“After everything you’ve done…how will you sleep at night?”

Odysseus paused, but he didn’t look back. 

“Next to my wife.”

Polites was too overwhelmed to do anything but let out a soft huff of laughter. Of course. It was still Odysseus in there. Always thinking about Penelope…

“Oh, my, me!”

Eurylochus’ hand wrapped around his arm, gently tugging for his attention. When Polites looked up, he followed Eurylochus’ gaze to a shocked messenger god, fluttering around the edges of the rock as Odysseus looked out over the sea, as if searching for something. 

“Well, that was certainly…something,” Hermes trilled, staring at his uncle bleeding all over the rock. “Not the choice I would have made, but it certainly counts as dangerous! Are you looking for something, darling?” 

Though Odysseus didn’t seem to see or hear Hermes, the god sped away, and pushed out a hastily patched-up raft out from behind one of the larger rock outcroppings. He shoved it towards Odysseus, then swooped over to where Polites and Eurylochus stood together. 

“And you two! I told you it was time to leave! Wanted a front-row seat, did you? I can’t say I blame you.” Hermes reached down and grabbed them by the backs of their tunics, hoisting them into the air like a pair of kittens. He seemed to be stress-talking, though he was less visibly bothered about Posiedon than he had been when Athena had been injured, even chuckling as he spared a glance towards his uncle. “Well, this is what you get when you mess with my descendants…alright, back down we go! I gotta get my uncle to Apollo’s infirmary after this!” 

Eurylochus looked up at the god, still looking somewhat in shock. “W-wait, hey-” 

He cut off with a short yell as Hermes dragged them into the ocean to rejoin their crew. 

Chapter Text

As soon as they phased through into the Underworld, Polites couldn’t hear anything but roaring. Whooping, hollering, any manner of victorious noise that could be made, it was being made by the pulsing crowds of souls clamoring together around the sail. Polites barely had time to take it all in before he, and Eurylochus, were dropped without warning at least 40 feet above the shores. 

“Ughh-” it was a hard landing, though Polites felt more sorry for whoever Eurylochus had just collapsed underneath him. He looked up to see Hermes swooping around the columns to Tiresias. The prophet looked quite distressed at the volume, and Polites couldn’t blame them for retreating behind the sail, which was showing an ichor-stained king continuing his journey home with calm waters and raw hands. 

Leaving Eurylochus to apologize to Dimitris for dropping upon his head, Polites followed Hermes around the sail. Miron stood a few feet away with Astyanax, attempting to soothe the crying child. When Polites rounded the columns, Hermes had already pulled the prophet into his arms and was murmuring to them with a hand cupped around their ears.

“Would you like me to yell at them? I will, darling. I’ll shut them up, give them the fright of their life- or, death.” 

“No, no…” Tiresias shook their head, their head tucked under Hermes’ chin- the god was on his tiptoes to account for their equal height. “No, just let them celebrate. I can’t blame them. It was quite impressive.” 

Hermes huffed, with a protective glare at Polites over his lover’s head. Polites took the hint and backed off, returning to the crowd, to one of the clumps with all his friends from ship 1. 

“That was epic!” Thodoris crowed, bouncing around on Vlassis’ shoulders. “He got him good!”

“So much for mercy,” Jonas chuckled, though he also seemed more overwhelmed than pleased. 

“Whatever it was, it worked,” Aeson hummed. “Certainly didn’t see that coming.”

“I thought everyone ganging up on Poseidon would be enough,” Stelios said where he leaned on Alexander’s shoulder. 

“Was fun getting to mess with him, though.” Alexander smirked. “I grabbed a piece of his stupid little himation and shoved it up his ass. I don’t think he even noticed.”

“Ew,” Jonas muttered. 

“And the stunt with the wind bag? Classic Captain, doing the weirdest shit ever.”

“And it was our idea that helped him-!”

“His eyes were red, did y’all see that? I wonder what that was about-”

“‘Next to my wife’!”

“He answered a rhetorical question with a literal answer!”

“-with his own trident?”

Polites listened to the endless excited chatter for a while, unable to contribute much of his own. He hadn’t intended for Odysseus to that far…but was it worth it, if it got him home?

He shook his head and withdrew, seeing Miron and Lysanias now standing together. Astyanax had calmed significantly, sleepily burbling and waving chubby hands at Miron’s short beard as Lysanias adjusted the makeshift sling around the other’s body. The image projected on the sail had faded, hinting that nothing of relative importance was happening. Just Odysseus making his way home. 

He rounded the sail once more, and found Tiresias resting on the grass, slowly weaving in some bright pink ribbons to contrast with his cloud-white hair. Hermes must have left to deal his hand in Posiedon’s misery.

“Who goes there?” They asked, lifting their chin. 

“Only me,” Polites responded. “P-”

“Ah, Polites. Sit with me,” Tiresias requested, gesturing to the space beside them. “You seek shelter from all that has happened.”

“...yes.” Polites sat down beside the prophet, turning to face them. “I don’t know what to think of it. Was it really necessary? To sink to Posiedon’s level?” Or lower, he thought with a swallow. “Can you see other paths? Can you tell me what would have happened if he’d chosen mercy, Tiresias?”

Tiresias was silent for a moment, but they closed their eyes, and their hands began to tremble. Polites immediately backtracked. “Wait, don’t do it if it harms you-” 

“It is fine. I am fine.” Tiresias waved them off with a small smile. “Just…don’t tell Hermes.” They drew in a deep breath and pressed on, and after a quiet moment, they nodded slowly. “If your captain had chosen not to go as deep into himself as he did, if he had embraced his cherished memory of your philosophy along with your memory…his body would have never touched the shores of his home.” 

Polites shivered. “I…thank you, friend. That is enough. I don’t need to know any more.” 

The prophet nodded and relaxed. “Sometimes it is better to not indulge our imaginations,” they confided. “But Odysseus is on his way home now. And your legacy will be honored.”

Something warm settled in his chest. “He will make it home with no more complications, then?”

The smile faded from the prophet’s lips. The warmth turned to ice as his heart sank. 

“It’s a little difficult to see now,” Tiresias admitted. “I see…rather a lot to keep track of, and divine intervention…so it pains me to look now. But if you truly wish-”

“No, no, no,” Polites shook his head firmly. “I would rather find out the events as they unfold.” 

“Are you sure? I can-” Tiresias reached up to touch their temples, their eyes already brightening, but Polites stopped them, gently grabbing their wrist.

“I can bear the curiosity. It’s alright,” he said, with more sincerity weighting his words. “Tell me when it is easier to see.” 

Tiresias hesitantly dropped their hand; their head bowed, and pink and white strands bowed with it. “I do not want to disappoint you. You are the first friend I have had in centuries.”

“You have done more than enough for us already.” Polites bumped his shoulder against the prophet’s. “We owe much to you.”

“Indeed, we do.”

Tiresias flinched, and Polites moved to shield the prophet, but it was a familiar shape rounding the sail. 

“Eurylochus.” Tiresias relaxed.  

“You recognize my voice that easily?” Eurylochus’ eyes flickered to Polites, and when the latter nodded, he sat across from them. “Already?”

“Yes. That, and your heavy footfalls.” 

Eurylochus’ brow creased, and he checked his sandals as if they were responsible for his weight. 

“It is of no matter. I am glad to help. And if I cannot show you your captain…how about his son?” Tiresias offered, and chuckled softly at Eurylochus and Polites’ combined, eager agreement. 

“Let’s see…” Tiresias’ eyes brightened, their head lifting towards the dark ceiling. “Ah. I believe he’s away on a diplomatic mission, currently-” 

They stopped at the sound of Eurylochus’ fist thumping against the dead grass. Polites raised an eyebrow, and that alone was enough to erase Eurylochus’ frustrated huff with a sheepish apology. 

“Forgive me,” he murmured. “It’s just…does that not mean he won’t be there when his father returns home?”

Tiresias’ head tilted. “I can’t quite tell the details yet, but the timing will be close, that I can see. Ironically, it seems Telemachus’ mission revolves around visiting his father’s old war comrades in search of news.”

“Of course it does,” Polties murmured. Right idea, wrong time. “And what of Penelope? She fares well?” 

Tiresias nodded, but it was hesitant. “She is well, but the tension around her grows…the suitors are tired of waiting, and the excuse of the shroud is now stale. She has set up something to occupy them.”

“To entertain them? Like children?” Eurylochus snorted. 

“They are more dangerous than that,” Tiresias shook their head. “This is to stall them; they are the tension. So she has set up a challenge; whoever strings Odysseus’ old bow and shoots through twelve axes will become king. She’s buying time on faith.”

“She must have a good reason,” Polites murmured. “The queen is known for her wits.” 

“Nobody is going to string that bow,” Eurylochus muttered. “Odysseus was the only one that could. I had strength greater even than his, and I could not do it. That must be why.”

Polites smiled, remembering the day Odysseus had proudly showed them his palintonos bow and dared them to string it. Polites had struggled to get it into the right position; Eurylochus had managed to wrangle it, but the string had somehow snapped back into his face, and he was loath to try again. 

“So Odysseus returns home, wins the challenge, clears out the suitors, and reunites with his family?” Polites clapped his hands lightly. “That’s perfect! Finally, all will be well.”

“Not unless the suitors make trouble,” Eurylochus warned. “How many are there again, prophet?” 

“One hundred and nine...ah, no, eight,” Tiresias corrected. “One hundred and eight. And they are rowdy, eating and drinking their weight as the crown supplies them in the name of xenia. Picking fights with the prince, lusting after the queen…” Tiresias’ brow creased in puzzlement. “I see…darkness. And not much else. I suppose we will have to wait.” 

Eurylochus nodded, though the frown didn’t leave his face. Polites just sighed. 

“I’m sure Odysseus will prevail. It’s his own palace, after all. He built it.”  

“We will see,” Eurylochus repeated wearily. He didn’t seem confident about the odds; a hundred and eight versus one was a tall order. But Polites felt calm. Odysseus had just faced down a god, and won. If need be, he could force the suitors from the palace one way or another. 

Though he hoped it didn’t have to be with the same brutality and ruthlessness. 

He hoped he never had to do that again.

Chapter Text

Baa, bababaaa…

The son of Hector smiled up at Polites as his small body was bounced, up and down, the toothless beam warming his skin where goosebumps had settled in from the river sweeping by, the rushing almost disguising the approaching footsteps, but not quite. Polites looked up.

“Eurylochus! I thought you were with Tiresias and Karalos?”

“I was.” Eurylochus sat down beside him, waving briefly at Astyanax. “I chose to leave, they, er…started talking about dealing with menses and the like, and I did not want to intrude.”

“...menses?” Polites blinked at him. “What are you referring to?” 

Eurylochus blanched. “Right, ah…don’t worry about it.”

Hmm. He brushed it off as Eurylochus reached out to steal the baby, who quietly settled into his scarred arms. 

“So…” Polites tapped at his knees for a moment. “...are you excited to see Odysseus get home?”

“Yes…” Eurlochus smoothed a hand over Astyanax’s head. “Though I confess I am getting anxious over the suitors. Tiresias has warned us multiple times that the suitors are troublesome. How can you brush that off so easily? I don’t understand it.” 

“Well, if he can defeat a god, he can defeat a few troublemakers, can’t he?” Polites hummed. 

“That was with our help, Polites.”

“Then we can help him again!”

“What if Hermes doesn’t let us again?”

Polites scoffed out a soft laugh. “I’m starting to see why Odysseus was so fed up with you all the time.” 

Eurylochus didn’t respond. When Polites looked over, his friend had an injured look on his face. Almost ashamed. 

“Oh-” Polites leaned closer, his heart panging with guilt. “No, I’m sorry, Eurylochus. I know you’re just trying to be practical.” 

Eurylochus watched him apologize, but didn’t forgive him until Polites carefully took his free hand, when he nodded slowly. Polites knew that meant acceptance.

“I just…try not to think about whatever could go wrong. Why bother when you could look on the brighter side of things?” Polites leaned against him. “But I suppose it was your job to consider all possibilities. So we balance out, don’t we?”

Eurylochus let out a slow breath, his shoulders relaxing. “Yes. And when you died, I believe that balance was gravely upset. For both me and Ody.” He shook his head. “I am glad to be here with you now. That is all I know.”

Ruff!

Polites lifted his head. “What was that?”

“The men are getting really bored now, I reckon,” Eurylochus muttered, not looking up. 

“No, wait. Eury.” Polites tapped his arm and looked around at the men; many others were looking around in confusion, but none of them had been the one to make the noise. 

“Would you stay-hnngmphf-!”

Polites’ gaze directed upwards at the grunt. By the sail, Tiresias smiled at the sound of their lover flying down. 

“What in the gods’ name-?” Eurylochus got up, with Polites right behind him. “Hermes, what is the meaning of this?”

Hermes fluttered unevenly to the ground, off-balance with the squirming dog in his arms. “Urghf- come on, now, you were so still and quiet a moment ago!” 

The ghostly dog barked again, finally escaping its guide’s arms. Murmurs of interest swept over the gathering crowd as the dog sniffed the ground. 

“Hermes, why do you have a dog?” Polites asked curiously, instinctively holding his hand out for the animal to smell- except the dog didn’t seem to need it. It raced right up to Polites, tail wagging in excitement. It pranced eagerly around Polites’ legs, before jumping onto his front, and Polites went down like a tree. “Agh!”

In his peripheral vision, Polites watched Eurylochus pass Astyanax off to Miron so he could attempt to help him. The dog licked Polites’ face; it felt like a cool brush, oddly pleasant. It brought back memories of Odysseus’ puppy rolling around in the green grass outside the palace. 

Wait a minute.

Polites sat up, watching the dog now obsess over Eurylochus, much to his friend’s confusion. 

“Argos, sit!”

The dog’s head jerked back towards him at the command, and it’s butt obediently lowered to the floor. Eurylochus paused. 

“Argos?” He questioned, reexamining the dog’s face, the tail that started wagging again upon being recognized. The longer tongue, the muzzle that had lengthened since they’d known him as a puppy. Wrinkled and sagging fur, drooping ears. If Argos had been a puppy when they left, he’d lived to see 20 years. “Oh…”

“You waited a long time to see Odysseus again, didn’t you, old boy?” Polites knelt and ruffled the dog’s ears. “But you must not have..”

“No, he did.” 

Polites’ head snapped up at Hermes’ words. “He did? See Odysseus?” 

“He’s reached Ithaca?” Eurylochus confirmed, his eyes wide. 

Hermes smirked, and nodded once. 

Eurylochus immediately turned away, raising his hand and calling out to the rest of the crew. 

“Brothers!” He shouted. “Our captain is home!” 

The crew roared with excitement and appreciation, and Polites watched with a smile as they cheered; Yianni leapt upon Vlassis’ back, Charis and Nets were doing a funny-looking victory dance, Karalos had his hand on Tiresias’ shoulder as they both smiled, even Apostolos got roped into the celebration by Aeson. 

He’s home. 

Polites scratched Argos’ scruff, and his heart felt almost at peace for the first time in a long while. 

“Now, who’s this?” 

Polites looked up to see Tiresias coming over, cautiously poking their way with their staff, led by Karalos. “Odysseus’ pup,” he said, taking Tiresias by the wrist and guiding their hand to the top of the dog’s head. 

Tiresias smiled, stroking the soft, cool fur. Argos stood up and sniffed at the prophet’s cloak. “Friendly, I see..”

“He likes you,” Jonas observed, reaching out to pet Argos, but the dog was far more enamored with Tiresias. Jonas pouted as Argos pushed his head against the prophet’s leg, his tail wagging harder and his tongue hanging out of his mouth.  

“Tiresias,” Eurylochus said. “Odysseus is finally home. Has he made it to the palace yet?”

Tiresias straightened up, perhaps feeling the many eyes now set upon them. Their eyes glowed faintly, but flickered, and their pale face creased in frustration. 

“Let me help. Wouldn’t you like more energy?” Hermes fluttered down beside his lover, placing a hand on their back to steady them. 

“I think that would be good,” Tiresias agreed, holding onto their staff. “It would help me see through all the presences at the palace.” 

Hermes smiled, and cupped Tiresias’ pale face in his hands, murmuring something soft that Polites couldn’t quite make out before pressing their foreheads together as he had before, and Polites remembered just in time to shield his eyes from the flash.

Argos barked at the sudden burst of light and curled his body around Tiresias as the prophet stumbled back, and collapsed right into the dog. 

Hermes lunged to catch them, though Argos cushioned their fall first. “Darling-! Darling, are you all right?!” He wrapped his arms around them and lowered them to the ground. “Too much? I’m sorry, I got excited-”

“A little too much. I am fine, Hermes.” Tiresias sat up and felt Argos's head. “This fine canine is proving to be rather helpful.”

“Can we keep him?” Jonas asked eagerly. 

“If you wish,” Hermes dismissed as he helped his lover back to their feet. “Are you ready, darling?”

“Yes, I believe so.” 

Tiresias lifted their hand in the air and waved their hand, and the sail glowed with more vibrance than it had ever before. 

A scene was painted over their heads: dozens of men, younger than them and twice as rowdy, Polites first noted. They were gathered in a grand hall- the main hall of Odysseus’ palace. 

“Are these the suitors?” Eurylochus asked, his eyes searching the crowd. At least half of them appeared intoxicated. 

“Indeed they are.” 

A ripple went through the crew, about half of which were still interested in Odysseus’ affairs after he’d made it home. Alexander snorted. “They seem like an intelligent bunch.”

“Good thing the war happened in our generation, I don’t think these folks would have won the war,” Aeson grumbled. “Since we were already scraping by with you fools.” 

“Hey!”

“Quiet!” Thodoris yelled. “Something’s happening.”

As he said, the suitors’ attention seemed captured by something. A woman, veiled and mysterious, was entering the hall. Stiff shoulders, hands gripping a weathered palintonos bow. There was a murmur of interest and respect from the crew as everyone slowly recognized Queen Penelope. 

She set it upon a stand and sat down upon the throne, and that was when Polites noticed the line of axes before it. 

The challenge. But where was Odysseus? Perhaps waiting for the perfect time to reveal himself, or planning out how to handle the announcement and make the suitors leave. 

The queen raised her hand and gestured for something, and immediately there was a scramble to figure out who would try their hand at the bow. 

“They’ve done this before,” Charis observed. “The queen didn’t need to explain anything.” 

“They have been doing this for a few days,” Tiresias confirmed. “And have yet to succeed.”

“Obviously! None of the arrows have even been touched,” Alexander snorted. 

“Look, there’s broken strings on the ground!” 

“These guys suck!” 

It took very little time for the watching party to collapse into jeers and laughter, to say the least, as suitor after suitor failed. 

“Why is he sitting on it??”

“What, like you could do any better, Yianni.”

“My grandfather made bows for a living! Of course I could!”

“Yeah, but you’re built like a twig! That needs muscle!” 

“Oh, shut up! Dimitris, is that your exadelphos going now?”

“Yes, it is. And he’s bringing shame to our family.” 

“Hey. Hey!” Nets grabbed a guffawing Vlassis by the arm and shook it as he pointed. “Look!”

“What?” Vlassis straightened and squinted at the sail. “What are you talking about?”

Argos barked, directing Vlassis’ attention away. Nets gave up as Jonas spoke.  

“Wait, wait, wait. Hey, that guy’s-”

The crew quieted suddenly as one of them, a bear of a man, managed to string it. The suitor smirked and thumped his chest as he held it high, before grabbing one of the arrows sitting in the quiver. He nocked it, and as pressure was applied on both him and the bow- 

Fwlp! It slipped right off.

“He strung it backwards!” 

The crew burst into crowing laughter, and standing beside Polites to watch, Eurylochus snorted as the suitor threw the bow down in frustration. “A very mature reaction.”

“I’m glad none of these men will become king,” Aeson muttered. 

The suitor stomped back to his spot at one of the center tables, and a few other men sat by him- he must have been popular. Tall, dark, with thick dreadlocks and a scar over his eye; he would have fit right in with the crew if he’d been a few years older. 

The competition continued, with man after man failing to string the bow and shoot through the axes- Polites counted 12 in the row, a hefty challenge indeed. Eventually, the sun slipped away and painted the hall in cooler lighting. Queen Penelope left to eat dinner separately, and food and drink was brought out for the suitors by servants. Lysanias watched with a small smile as his daughter ducked around one of the stragglers trying out their insufficient strength on the bow with a platter of roasted pork.

“I want some of that,” Yianni sighed longingly. Stelios rolled his eyes and elbowed him. 

“Do you think Captain is almost home yet?” Jonas asked, sitting on the ground and stroking Argos’ leathery ears. 

Nets opened his mouth, but was unwittingly cut off by Miron. “Evidently not.” Miron crouched beside Jonas and the dog. Argos sniffed curiously at Astyanax, and then started licking the boy’s nose. The babe squirmed, giggles ringing out over the scene. “And perhaps we should stop calling him captain. He no longer sails the seas, or commands an army of sailors.” 

Jonas lifted his head and looked at Polites and Eurylochus. “What do you guys think?”

Polites hesitated and exchanged a glance with his friend. “I’m not sure it matters.”

“I suppose it would be more proper to call him his Majesty. Or King Odysseus.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve thought about Ody like that,” Polites murmured, leaning against Eurylochus, quieter. “Then again, he always did hate us two calling him by formal titles.”

“True.” Eurylochus’ eyes wandered over the sail, the rowdy young men eating and drinking until their faces flushed and their movements grew sloppy. One of the center tables held that suitor with the scarred eye from earlier, flocked by a thinner, dark red-haired fellow with sly eyes and a loudly laughing man with a tight grip on his wine goblet. The middle man, however, was not eating or drinking. He sat there, glaring at the bow and the empty throne with intensity that made Polites’ spine tingle. 

“Come on, Antinous,” the man with the big smile and full goblet chuckled, leaning in close to the dreadlocked man. “We can try again tomorrow. One of us’ll get it eventually.” 

“No.” The main man, Antinous, pushed his chair back. The deliberate, painful screech drew the attention of suitors and crew alike. 

“No?” The sly-eyed companion watched Antinous rise with a smirk. “Giving up so easily?”

“No. I’m sick of this.” Antinous stood up, watching one of the other men fail so spectacularly to string the bow that they were knocked flat on their ass. “Screw this competition- we’ve been here for hours! None of us can string this. We don’t have the power.” He slapped the table, leaned on it, like he held every eye and he knew it. “Screw this damn challenge. No more delays. Can’t you guys see we’re being played?”

“I don’t like the look in that guy’s eyes,” Stelios muttered, leaning on Alexander’s shoulder. “He looks like he’s planning something.” 

Tiresias pressed in on the vision of Antinous, and jumped slightly as Argos suddenly barked at the sail. Jonas patted the dog’s back. “Shhh..”

Antinous continued to stir the men, gesturing to the grand throne. “This is how they hold us down, while the throne gets colder, hold us down while we slowly age- hold us down, while the boy gets bolder.” He turned to one of the walls, glaring at the tapestry hanging over the stone. It depicted the royal family- Penelope, Odysseus, a small swaddle in the king’s arms depicting Telemachus, tucked in beside a small olive branch for peace. “Where in the hell is our pride and our rage?!”

The half-drunken crowd appreciated his slick words, raising toasts and tempers. Some of them laughed; others egged him on. None of it sat right with Polites. Eurylochus straightened, frowning at the sail and holding his chin. “I knew it,” he whispered. “I goddamn knew this would happen.” 

“What is he doing?” Thodoris asked, frowning as Vlassis dragged him closer to the sail for a better view. Jonas knelt by Argos, trying to soothe the agitated, pacing dog.  

“Here and now, there’s a chance for action- here and now, we can take control.” The sound of a goblet thunking on fine wood echoed over the dead grass, mixed with the words Polites was dreading more and more, rousing the men to channel and combine their impatience, their frustration, into something fiery and dangerous. 

“Haven’t you noticed who’s missing? Haven’t you noticed who’s not around?” In one smooth motion, Antinous swiped a bronze dagger off the table and pointed it directly at the silken image of the prince. The metal gleamed in the moonlight, brighter than the cruel spark in his eyes. 

Polites turned towards the prophet, still standing beside Hermes. “Where is Telemachus right now?” 

“He’s still on his diplomatic mission,” Tiresias reported, frowning. “Though he returns today.”

Eurylochus sucked in a breath. “I don’t like that, Polites,” he muttered.

Polites didn’t respond, afraid to acknowledge what he had been too afraid to believe. 

The men gathered around Antinous, murmurs quieting as their leader stood up straight. “I say, we gather near the beaches- I say, we wait 'til he arrives. Then, when he docks his ship, we can breach it- let us leave now, today we can strike!”

Polites felt his heart sink to the grass. “No…” 

Miron knelt with Jonas to hush Argos, who was barking furiously now, as Antinous painted out exactly what he was planning. 

“Hold him down,” the suitor hissed, taking his dagger and the goblet from his companion. Luxuriously, he poured the red wine over the blade, and pointed it towards the tapestry. “‘Till the boy stops shaking. Hold him down while I slit his throat..” The dagger angled, red dripping from the bronze as it sliced right over the infant prince’s neck.

Polites stared in horror, while Eurylochus made a funny choking noise at the sound of his nephew’s life being threatened. Some of the men around Antinous eyed him and slowly backed off; a chilling majority, however, cheered. 

“They’re plotting treason?!” Perimedes interjected, draped over Elpenor protectively as they watched together. “These pigs are really that pissed? They don’t deserve to be the king, no wonder the Queen doesn’t like them!” 

“They ought to be executed when Odysseus returns to stop this madness,” Aeson nodded. Other soldiers agreed, most looking disgusted at the least. 

“They damn better be,” Eurylochus whispered, watching the screen with such intense focus that he might have been trying to strangle the suitors through the screen. 

Antinous set his dagger down and climbed up onto the table to be heard by the planning suitors- it had to be at least half of the crowd-, a brutal description of what he planned to do when the prince was overwhelmed. Slit his throat. Break his bones and everything else that mattered. 

Polites shivered and clenched his fists. Telemachus is only twenty years young. He can’t fight them off- unless Athena intervenes? Please, please, gray-eyed goddess, if you can hear me- 

Antinous spread his arms, welcoming his twisted brothers into the plan. “And when the deed is done, the queen will have no one to stop us from breaking her bedroom door-” His voice dropped, into something even deeper, darker, “to us from taking her love, and more..”

Polites paused, and as the meaning sank in, he thought he might be sick. Visions of Penelope, quick, faithful, wise Penelope, undefended against the hands of these monsters- that he now knew were not as harmless as he first thought- sprung to mind. Held down and forced to endure what no one ever should. Even other men were grimacing, shouting in anger at the screen, and Eurylochus’ looked unbelievably frustrated to be here, useless and static to the real events happening over their heads. Unable to help his nephew and sister-in-law. Polites’ friend and godson. Odysseus’ wife and son. 

“No. No, no, no. They-” Eurylochus choked on his words, looking around with anger and anxious desperation as the suitors rallied together under the plan. “Where the hell is Hermes? Perhaps we can protect them.” He turned and left Polites’ side to search for the god. 

Polites turned his head towards the side of the sail, but Hermes had left Tiresias, and the prophet stood alone. And Polites remembered Hermes had to leave to collect souls as they died. 

How fast are they going to carry out their plan? Polites held his breath, watching Antinous reach down for his weapon again, though his hand found nothing. How much time do we have to take action before it’s too late? 

“Here and now, there’s a chance for action! Here and now, we can take control!” Antinous was almost howling at the rising moon, thriving off the men clamoring for a part in his plans. He grabbed a torch, hoisting it into the air, and looked around to step down from the table, to leave the hall and find the beaches, the docks. The ship. The prince. And then, the queen. The wicked, heavy chant rang through the hall and Polites’ fearful heart. 

Hold them down, hold them down, hold them down-

“Hold him down!” Odysseus crowed, circling the wedding bed with a grin as Polites chased after the crawling baby- when the hell had Telemachus learned how to do that? “Don’t let him get away!”

Polites finally managed to capture the infant, and held him down against the soft bedsheets, fingers wandering over the tiny body until the babe was shaking and howling in laughter from the tickles. “Got you!”

“Easy, don’t hurt him,” Eurylochus snorted, also on uncle duty for the day so Odysseus and Penelope could get some alone time. Penelope leaned against the bedroom door with a quiet smile, and it widened as her husband joined her, getting a taste of her skin as he pressed kisses to her temple in the light of the rising sun and the flickering flame of the olive-oil lamp. 

Antinous lifted his voice and the torch high, stepping to the edge of the table as he pointed for the beaches; men were already starting to gravitate to the doors, looking back to him to follow and lead the charge with one more rallying cry. 

“Channel the fire inside of your soul, and-” 

Hguk! Glnrgll…

Polites blinked, and there was an arrow pierced through the throat of Antinous. 

The man let out a gargling, choking sound, eyes wider than Polites’ own disbelief. He dropped the torch, and suitors yelled and scattered as the table caught the flames, while the torch itself rolled off and snuffed out on the stone floor- just like the life of its carrier. Antinous fell from the table, hitting the floor with a heavy thud. He landed at the bottom of the tapestry, at the younger king’s feet; the olive branch of peace pointed down at his head. And his glassy eyes reflected the light of the growing fire. 

The suitors looked around for the culprit, their panic contrasting the crew’s roaring cheer as their leader fell. And somewhere in the din, Polites caught sight of Nets, shaking Charis’ arm and pointing, lips moving with something he couldn’t catch. But when he followed Nets’ finger to the sail…

A familiar man- dressed as a beggar but now shedding his disguise- emerging from the shadows of the throne. 

Odysseus. Holding his bow, fully strung, and glaring at Antinous’ body. 

“Oh, shit!” Perimedes burst out laughing as well, his and Nets’ cackling rising above the chaos. “He’s right there!” 

Another wave of confusion swept over the crew, and then Odysseus threw off his cloak and straightened. And as far as Polites had teased him about his height, right now he seemed larger-then-life. His eyes were red, and he looked dangerous. 

Eurylochus reappeared beside Polites, and Polites heard him murmur something along the lines of “Good job, Ody.” 

“But the fight’s not done,” Polites responded quietly. Eurylochus nodded in agreement- the suitors were already scrambling back to raise arms. But they found nothing; the only weapon in the room was Odysseus’ bow, returned to its rightful place in his steady hands. 

“For twenty years, I've suffered every punishment and pain- from the wrath of gods and monsters, to the screams of comrades slain.” Odysseus picked up the quiver of arrows standing by the throne, equipping it with slow deliberation and surety, as he faced the hall of suitors. “I come back and find my palace desecrated, sacked like Troy?! Worst of all, I hear you dare to touch my wife and hurt my boy!”

Many of his comrades winced at the mention of Troy’s sacking, but Polites was more focused on his voice. He sounded angry, yes, but there was something else. Resolution. Determination, as he hissed out one final sentence. 

“I have had enough.”

A sudden, intense gust of wind howled through the hall, and the remaining torches blew out. In the darkness, there was a wave of fearful murmurs- that the gods were on this newcomer’s side, that they were angry, that they were finally receiving their retribution for disrespecting xenia. Men started moving, running to the doors and fleeing. Odysseus stood there, watching the stampede. 

“He’s just letting them leave?” Perimedes groaned. “What’s going on?”

“No, he wouldn’t,” Eurylochus shook his head. “Not after what they’ve done.”

“I bet a shoe he’s barred the exits to the palace,” Alexander snickered. “I think we’re ‘bout to have some entertainment, boys.” 

“You don’t even take treason seriously?” Aeson whacked the blonde on the back of his head, to small protest. 

“So…is he going to kill everybody?” Jonas asked, looking a bit uneasy at the thought. Argos licked his face, no longer barking, but content to sit beside Tiresias like a guardian. The prophet seemed to appreciate it. “Does that mean we’ll get to see them down here?”

“They better hope not, I’d beat their asses!” Sofoklis grunted. “Fools, thinking they could rest their ill-earned laurels forever. Probably drinking themselves to death on citizen’s tax money.” 

“...what are you looking at me for?!” Elpenor asked, frowning. Perimedes glared at Aeson, crossing an arm in front of his lover. “He ain’t done anything like what the suitors did.”

“Didn’t say he did,” Sofoklis dismissed. 

“Hey! That doesn’t matter anymore,” Eurylochus said, calling attention back to the matter at hand. “We’ll deal with the suitors when they get down here- accordingly. All that matters is our king and his family are safe…”

He faltered as movement flickered again on the screen. In the dim lighting, Odysseus now stood alone in the hall- unhurried, but he was moving now, bathed in the conflicting light of the moon and the burning table. 

He drew and nocked another arrow, and faced the challenge- the row of twelve axes, and Antinous’ body just beyond.  

The arrow flew, whistling cleanly through all twelve axes, and struck the tapestry above- right on the portrayed king’s brow, and the peaceful, innocent illusion tore. 

With eyes distant and red, Odysseus turned and stalked out of the hall, into the darkness.