Chapter Text
The air had grown frigid and the rain seemed to only get stronger as the minutes went by. Odysseus’ men could only stare at their king, can only watch him try to compose himself after the confrontation with a deity. They watched in trepidation, in pity, as their glorious ruler could barely stand up, holding a child in one arm and a blade in the other, contemplating the task that was set forth to him by a god.
The dagger in his hand still felt warm.
Odysseus gripped the blade tighter as he stared at the child whose name he dare not recall. Yet another name echoed in the hollowed spaces of his mind.
Telemachus
His child, his only son. A child that grew up without his father at his side, his father who is now holding in his arms another child. A child of an enemy, of a leader of the enemy… yet a child nonetheless.
His grip on the child tightened as he ignored the murmurs of his men as they kept watch on what his decision would be. “I look into your eyes, and I think back to the son of mine.” Odysseus smiled, the child’s eyes were nothing like his son’s, yet it still reminded him of the first year his son was born. The cries, the sleepless nights, the horrified faces of servants when they saw their king attempt to change the soiled clothes of his son while their queen laughed at his side. It had been a wondrous year. He looked at the child again; with such a tiny frame, he couldn’t be more than a year old.
“You’re as old as he was when I left for war.” He thought of his wife’s tearful goodbyes, and his son’s laughter as Odysseus played with him for the last time before he boarded their doomed voyage. How many years has it been? How old is his child now? Would he even remember a father who disappeared before he was even fully aware of his surroundings? Odysseus glanced at his other hand, raising it and inspecting the dagger in his grasp.
Surely the gods were not asking him to commit such a heinous act?
“I have already slain countless enemies in this war. Surely the gods don’t expect me to slaughter even one more?” Odysseus muttered, slowly swaying the child in his arms to soothe its cries. “Lord Zeus said that I cannot lose the blood on my hands, but surely I can at least attempt to not spill more.” Glimpses of memories flashed in his mind. Cries and shouts of enemies attempt to beg for mercy, angry screams of brothers seeking revenge for their slain comrades. Then he thought of his men, dying soldiers begging him to take their last words to their families, hearing the sobs of those who were injured beyond saving and would have to spend their lives in pain. He thought of his people, hopeful before the war, cheering him and his men. He remembered the parents of his younger soldiers giving him gifts, asking for promises that he’ll return them safe and sound.
This war had caused him to break promises, to slaughter the lives of other people. This war caused him the lives of his soldiers and his friends. He cannot bear the thought of losing anymore.
The rain slowly calmed, yet the skies remained gray.
The child in his arms stopped crying and was now staring at him with childish wonder. “What do you say, young one? Will these actions haunt my days?” The child laughed, still staring at the filthy man that held him in his arms. Odysseus let out a brief smile that immediately faltered as he looked up at his surroundings. Smoking tents extinguished by the rain, bodies littering the ground, their blood splattering and mixing with rain and mud.
“I’ve lost count of every man I’ve slain. Say, little one, is this what the gods are seeking? Punishment for my actions? Surely there must be a reason for this task I was given, why else would you be given to me, little one? Tell me, is the price I pay endless pain?” The child in his arms could only giggle as he watched the scrunched-up face of the man carrying him. His men stared as their king hummed to the child of their enemy’s lord, some with concern, some with trepidation. One of the men seemed mostly concerned at the state of his friend and moved to comfort Odysseus, only to be stopped by another who only shook his head.
Odysseus looked up to his men, at his lieutenant, and his friend, all looking at him with concern. He looked at the camp they were in, hundreds of bodies littering the ground, the smell of burning still present even after a downpour. He looked at the child in his arms, its eyes still open though quite sleepily, and watched as it gurgled happily. He inhaled, a sinking feeling in his chest making him feel out of breath. He dropped the dagger in his other hand and used his now free hand to raise the kid closer to him. He kissed the child’s forehead, feeling himself break as the child cooed sleepily.
He brushed a finger on the child’s cheeks, then used the same finger to close the heavy-lidded eyes of the now-sleeping infant. He could not help but let his gaze linger on the streak of blood left by his fingers, the rain not have been enough to wash away the stains dirtying his hands. “Close your eyes, little one. Spare yourself the view of this carnage.”
Images of his wife and child came unbidden once again. Penelope, Telemachus, it was as if they were there with him. He could hear Penelope’s voice as she cheered, and Telemachus’ youthful gurgles as Odysseus performed pretend duels in front of him. The image flickered. Now in the crib was not his son but another child, another infant that looks oh so familiar. Unwanted tears welled up in his eyes and he shook the urge to wipe them as he kept holding the child in his arms.
“Oh little one,” he murmured, staring at the dagger at his feet, “How could I hurt you.”
When one is a soldier that lived on a battlefield for years, one tends to have heightened senses that allow one to possess a better intuition when something is off. While it may not be anything dangerous, something changed in the leader that set them off.
“I’m just a man, who’s trying to go home.”
The soldiers shifted as their leader ever so slowly took off his cape, with no little difficulty since he was doing it with one arm. Confusion painted the faces of the men as they watched him wrap the bloodied cloak around the bundle in his arms with a strange look on his face.
“Even after all the years away from what I have known. We’ve been here a long time, little one. Far longer than you have.”
Wrapping the cloak tighter, Odysseus once again swayed the baby, shushing every once in a while to keep it from waking. The aghast looks from his men went unheeded as he circled around, tears streaming down his cheeks while bearing a soft smile.
“I’m just a man, fighting for my life. It’s not something I relish yet it was something I had to do. It was a duty, you see, a duty for my men and my country. Had things been different, you yourself would soon learn about duty too.”
The smile is gone now, replaced with a look of chilling apathy, even though the tears never stopped. His men kept staring, all of them wishing to speak yet none were brave enough to do so… no, it was not a matter of bravery, not exactly. None of them were able to speak, as if a spell were cast upon them, freezing them in time, making them nothing but live spectators of their leader’s dilemma. A strangled sob came from someone in the crowd, a familiar man known to many as the King’s sworn brother. He was struggling against the hold of their other leader who also bore a look of misery on his face. The scenes were enough to concern the soldiers, and yet the sounds of struggle never fazed Odysseus as he kept swaying the child.
“If things were different, little one, I would be with my wife, Penelope. Had things turned out differently, we might have even met in more favorable circumstances. Maybe you’d even get to meet my son, Telemachus. He’s probably all grown now, only knowing me through the stories from his mother and the servants. Oh, little one, I’ll let you in on a little secret, had I not sworn to my father that I’d fulfill my duties, I would trade the world just to see my son and wife again.”
Odysseus’ swaying stopped. The air chilled and the soldiers could swear that they could hear the way Odysseus’ tears fell to the ground amidst the silence.
“But I’m just a man, and we all have duties to fulfill. I would love to take you home, little one. I’m sure my wife would love to care for another son. Telemachus might even be ecstatic to have a brother to dote upon, and yet…”
Air left the bodies of the soldiers as their leader finally looked up to them after a seemingly long time. There was something jarring in the way his face lacks any semblance of emotion, yet tears keep streaming from his now red-rimmed eyes.
“Tell me, my comrades.” Odysseus started, his gaze falling onto every single one of the, “When does a comet become a meteor? When does a candle become a flame?”
His men could only repeat the words to themselves, unable to form any coherent thought as their minds can only remain baffled as they try to comprehend the happenings of that night.
A forlorn look plastered itself on Odysseus’ face, “However much I’d like to wish that things were different, there are things that are meant to be, don’t you think?” He looked down at the child in his arms, “Such a small thing, isn’t he? This little one, I honestly found it quite hard to accept the words of our Lord Zeus. How can such a small thing cause such a disaster to befall?”
He looked at his men once again, helplessness gracing his voice. “It’s always the littlest things. Tell me, when do ripples become a tidal wave?” He shrugged his shoulders, gesturing to their surroundings, “Look all around us, my comrades. Isn’t this just atrocious? We can say that we’re defending our nation and yet, can we really say that we did not go too far? Tell me, when does a reason become the blame? We may have been victors, yet are we really sinless in all this?”
Something shifted in the form of their king as if an epiphany was reached within the depths of his mind. All emotions left his face, even the tears seemed to have stopped, leaving only dry streaks on his now stone-cold face. He looked at his men and gestured to the child in his arms, “Now, tell me, my comrades. When does a man become a monster?”
One can say that it was a final way of seeking validation for his decisions, their leader’s form of asking for acceptance of his choice; or maybe it was an attempt for someone, anyone, to stop him from going through with his choice. Whichever that question was for remains a mystery, yet one thing became certain in the minds of the soldiers.
“Forgive me little one, I’m afraid my ramblings of a future long gone cannot be given a chance.”
They watched as Odysseus turned his back on them, instead inching back to his position earlier and slowly kneeling. It was then that they found the purpose of the coat wrapped around the bundle.
“Forgive me, little one. It is my sincerest wish that you’ll grace the fields of Elysium where you won't be tainted by war nor the sins of your father. I swear to you that this is not something I would willingly do…and yet-”
With the added padding, the child was now snuggly placed on the ground, perfectly balanced and unmoving. Odysseus grabbed the dagger that was lying next to the still-sleeping child. He gripped the hilt, his other hand caressing the blade, wondering how the thing still felt warm after being subjected to the cold.
The soldiers watched, almost entranced at the spectacle. Their leader bore no emotion on his face as he gripped the dagger with both hands and raised it atop the sleeping child. At that moment, their leader’s questions from earlier made sense, and they were not about the child nor the war. As they took in the sight of their king’s emotionless face being painted a streak of blood, one thing crossed their minds.
“I’m just a man.”
The person in front of them was nowhere near human.