Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter One 

The chants for blood had become his lullaby.
He could feel the warmth moving up his fingers as he hooked the bowstring, taking in a deep breath as he closed his eyes. Sometimes, it helped, but most of the time, it only made the voices worse.
Inhale.

Make them bleed.

Shoot right through the eye.

Give me blood.

Exhale.
He let the arrow fly.
Thud.
“Prince Naximenes?”
Nax’s eyes flew open. His mind went quiet, the burning under his skin evaporating. He stood in an empty training yard, the always cloudy skies of Ithaca looking down on him. Thunder warned of a storm, and like it did every day, it wasn’t already pouring. From atop the hill where the palace sat, Nax had a perfect view of the Ithaca coast. The water always churned but never broke. Ships were slowly making their way to shore. If he hadn’t known better, he would’ve assumed a new fleet was building in the storm.
“Yes? Can I help you with something?” Nax sighed, tempted to draw another arrow and turn back to the targets like the voices demanded.
He tore his eyes away from the arrow nestled in the sack at the end of the yard and turned to the servant woman standing on the back steps of the palace, a pillar shadowing her face. She flattened her tunic with her hands.

“No, my lord,” the woman said. “It is my job to be of your assistance.”
Nax made sure to smile politely, tucking his bow under his arm. This had the stench of Telemachus all over it. “Who sent you?” he asked.
“I did.” Out from behind the pillar stepped a woman, her graying dark hair pulled up and out of her face, configured with golden pins to sit like a crown on her head. The blue fabric dress poured to the ground, brushing just against the dirt and exposing her sandals. A white wrap lies effortlessly on the crooks of Queen Penelope’s arms. His stature demanded worship, but her gentle smile pondered a gentle concern.
“Mother?”
Of course, it was his mother.
He smothered the tiny spark in him that it had been his brother. But he couldn’t complain. Someone in the palace had remembered he’d existed, which seemed like a tall order since the boats had pulled in. He was a secret to be kept in the halls among the nurses and servants, not to show his face or speak a word in front of the new guests. Heroes sat in his very home, and yet he’d been given strict instructions not to meet them. He rushed to her, throwing his arms around her.
She smiled, giving him a tight squeeze. “How long have you been out here?”
“Since dawn.” He pulled away from her embrace, shrugging and leaving out the part where he’d technically been out shooting arrows late into the night before falling asleep on the bench halfway through restringing his bow after it snapped.
Penelope’s lips pressed with concern. “Is everything alright, Nax?”
“Why wouldn’t it be? It’s a lovely day out. Not a drop of rain.” Nax turned so she couldn’t see his smile drop. He set the bow down against the wall, splashing his face with water from the fountain.
“Your eyes, Nax,” his mother sighed. “I can see it in your eyes. Those eyes don’t belong to my usual happy boy.”
Nax paused over the water. For a second, the fountain flashed red. He blinked it away, turning back to the woman.
“Am I that bad at hiding it?” Nax tried to chuckle.
Telemachus teased him for it often, claiming Nax couldn’t lie even if he tried. When Telemachus and he attempted to raid the kitchen years ago, they were caught red-handed by the nurse. Nax’s bright red face gave it away. Since then, Telemachus made a point not to include him in any dangerous plans—such as raising the kitchen.
“You think I can’t read my own son?” she huffed, taking a seat at the fountain, picking up his bow, and lying it on her lap. “Is it the wedding?”
“Oh no. The wedding. It’s lovely. It’ll be a triumph for Ithaca and Pylos,” he said, shrugging and dabbing his face dry with the sleeve of his tunic.
“Is that the problem?”
“Why wouldn’t I want a triumph for Ithaca?”
Blood.
He shooed the command away, adjusting the bandages over his arm restlessly.
“You know we’re not talking about that,” Penelope said. “The guests. Our visitors, Nax.”
“They can’t bother me if I can’t meet them.”
The words shot out before he could stop himself, flinching as he saw Penelope’s eyes narrow. His mother had a way of getting the truth.
“I know it’s difficult to understand, but your father only wants the best for you.”
“By keeping me away?” Nax said. “Is it because I’m too young? Because father fought in a war alongside others my age, if not younger. Really, seventeen is hardly a child if you think about it. Or am I embarrassing? I’ve been practicing archery all day. I-I could prove it to him. I could. Just tell him if he gave me—”
“Naximenes.”
Nax shut his mouth—-right. That was his name, wasn’t it? His mother pats the empty space beside her. He took a seat reluctantly. “I didn’t mean to snap,” he said. “I understand that father only means the best.”
Odysseus had taught him to string a bow and spent countless hours reenacting stories around the fire with him. Some of Nax’s favorite memories were hiking through the Ithaca underbrush to watch the sea from the cliff with his father.
“Your father believes in you, Nax,” Penelope said, pushing a dark black lock behind his ear. “He loves you dearly. He’d sail the oceans and give his life to keep you safe. It’s…other people who wouldn’t be so accepting. Understand that this isn’t what he wants.”
Nax swallowed, drawing his legs to his chest. It wasn’t what a great warrior would do, but he supposed it didn’t matter when you were hidden anyway.
“I understand.” He didn’t understand at all. “I just hoped I could be there for Telemachus.”
Did his older brother even want him there? Or was he glad to be rid of Nax always lurking in his shadow? A bony kid who couldn’t shoot half as well as Telemachus or understand the weight of his responsibilities.
Sometimes, Nax talked to the Telemachus of his memories. The younger, more carefree boy who had great ambitions of being legendary like the heroes in the stories he’d tell long after Nax was supposed to be asleep.
He wouldn’t be surprised if Telemachus had requested Nax to stay away from the guests…the very heroes the two brothers used to dream of. It was his wedding, after all. It was important everything went perfectly. Odysseus didn’t invite guests often to Ithaca.
“I’m sure Telemachus wants you there,” Penelope gently pressed her hand against his cheek. Her thumb traced over the scar that grazed down his temple—something else he couldn’t explain. His father claimed it was from when he fell as a child, but Nax liked to pretend it was a battle scar when he was younger.
“I tell you what,” Penelope said. “I’ll have my handmaiden sneak you into the back of the celebrations to watch. It might not be the best, but that way you’ll be able to see him. As long as you don’t speak to anyone and keep your head down. Besides, disguises and trickery run in our family. It wouldn’t be our party without a little mischief.”
Nax gave his mother a faint smile. “I suppose.”
It was definitely better than nothing. He could still be in the same room as the friends of his father and the heroes of his stories. He rested his head on his mother’s shoulder. “Thank you for remembering me,” he whispered.
Her soft laugh always vanquished the commands of his mind. She rubbed his arm. “Oh, I could never forget you.”
He believed her. His mother’s warmth was one of the few things he was sure about. Even deep in his mind and far into a past before he could remember, he could still feel them. This warmth was different than the one that burned to be discovered and avenged in his mind. This warmth made him feel that, just for a moment, he might be sane.
“Mother?”
“Hm?”
“Do you remember the sun?”

“Has it always been this moody?”
Telemachus hated talking about the weather. Of all the topics, this was the only one they could seem to manage? Figures. It was hard to have any sort of genuine dialogue in a stuffy hall where you were certain everyone’s gaze was burning into the back of your neck.
It wasn’t really Polycaste’s fault. Her purple robes were pinned perfectly in place, as well as the paint on her cheeks. In fact, not a single hair was out of place on her pretty face. She seemed remarkably young. Too young for Telemachus to feel comfortable thinking of her as a future wife and more of another child like Nax to be protected. Her dainty hands brought her goblet to her lips as she avoided Telemachus’s gaze.
To her credit, he was doing the same thing—despite a few glances to make sure she hadn’t disappeared, and he wouldn’t have Nestor threatening his life for losing his daughter.
“Always,” Telemachus explained, clearing his throat. Why couldn’t Athena help him with talking to women? “It’s been like this since my father returned.”
It had been earlier, but how could he explain that the clouds had arrived a flurry of birds and a baby? He glanced back to Polycaste’s nurse lingering nearby. He certainly didn’t want to start rumors.
“It’s rather dreary,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Perhaps you should meet at a temple of Zeus to try and understand it.”
“Sounds like a brilliant idea.”
His father had tried that countless times, and if there was an answer for the never-ending gloom, he’d never told Telemachus.
She smiled, though her hands were visibly shaking. His heart twisted, resisting turning toward the ocean. He set down the goblet, unclipping his cloak from his shoulders.
Polycaste quickly stepped back. “Oh. I shouldn’t.”
“Are you not cold?”
“It would detract from my look as a bride, wouldn’t it?” she said. She twirled a short lock in her fingers, bringing attention to the fact it had been cut shorter in the temple of Aphrodite earlier.
Bride? Athena’s voice scoffed in the back of Telemachus’s mind. A sense of relief came over him as the familiar presence of the goddess enveloped him. How do you plan to escape this one?
I’m not.
“Polycaste, if you’ll excuse me, it appears my goblet has run dry.”
“But it’s filled nearly to the brim—-”
“I’ll be back.” Telemachus hurried away, leaving Polycaste in the company of her nurse. In the reflections of the walls, he saw the goddess. A blue glow protruded from her skin. Her helmet hid her face, shaping her eyes to what could only be compared to an owl. She casually held her spear as she jumped from reflection to reflection beside the prince. You have discussed nothing but disdain for this wedding.
This will secure peace in Ithaca. The more assurance that war will never repeat, the better. I trust my father’s judgment. He watched the wedding part of elderly warriors talk amongst themselves. It wasn’t hard to identify his father. While he didn’t have the height of the others, his broad shoulders and impressive scars set him apart as a warrior, even at his age. Grey was overtaking his hair, and despite the scar that cut through his lip, he still wore a genuine smile as he listened to a younger soldier tell a grand venture of taking down a wildcat.
Athena crossed her arms. I always forget you mortals are so weary of war.
Isn’t this the start of the era of peace and mercy you wanted? Telemachus looked down at his wine, but his stomach didn’t feel quite up for taking it.
We both know there is no peace. Athena's voice echoed in his mind. The peace here in Ithaca is as unstable as the storms above. At any moment, it could break, and it will storm.
And that’s what this marriage will help prevent. A marriage alliance with Pylos will guarantee our people safety. Peace. Telemachus wasn’t surprised the war goddess was having a hard time accepting her new conditions. The events of his father’s journey home had changed her. Something a goddess didn’t do often. She had her entire immortal life to find a way to bring peace. All Telemachus had was a few short decades before his soul was in Hades. He didn’t have the luxury of choosing.
Be on guard, Prince. Athena warned. I can smell war in these halls.
Hope it doesn’t smell too awful.
“Pssst. Telemachus!”
Telemachus frowned. It couldn’t be, could it? He peered over his shoulder, and his sweat went cold. Standing in a servant’s garb, holding an awkwardly folded towel, was Nax.
He wasn’t supposed to be here!
Father had said it wasn’t safe for him. Telemachus never questioned why. He assumed his father knew best. How would he react if he thought Telemachus had broken his orders?
“Nax. What are you doing here?” Telemachus hissed under his breath.
“Mother said—”
“You need to leave. Now.”
“But—”
“Ah! There’s the man of the hour!”
Emerging from the crowd and stumbling for another goblet of wine was a man Telemachus didn’t recognize. His face was made out of sharp edges, and his eyes were no exception. The green seemed to cut right through Telemachus as if he could read any secrets he was guarding. His hair hung to his shoulders, curled with red.
A bronze helmet was tucked under his arm. Telemachus might not know his face, but he did know the helmet.
A Trojan helmet.
How could he forget his father’s descriptions of the very armor that kept Telemachus’s father from him for all those decades?
“Son of Odysseus! The man of the hour! Why do you look so somber on your wedding feast? Certainly, it’s because I haven’t had the pleasure of greeting you yet.”
He laughed to himself.
The man cleared his throat, turning to Nax. “Boy, take this. I need it polished for the ceremony tomorrow.”
Telemachus hurried to step in front of his little brother. “Oh! He doesn’t—I can take it.”
The man frowned. “What? Does the house of Odysseus not have capable servants?”
He pushed past Telemachus, dropping the heavy helmet in Nax’s arms. “Polished and finished by tonight,” he said sternly before dusting his hands and turning back to Telemachus. He began to lead him down the table. Telemachus shot Nax a glare over his shoulder, mouthing for him to hide himself.
“I assume you have many questions,” Neoptolemus rattled on. “I can surely answer anything your father left out. I assure you it’s not easy to hold such responsibilities, but I bear it for the…”
“I’m sorry. Who are you?”
The man stopped in his tracks, frowning. “Has your father taught you nothing?”
“Quite a bit. Just enough to take down Troy.”
The man’s nostril flared. “You have his attitude.”
“Thank you…?”
“Neoptolemus. Son of Achilles. Hailed from Skyros.”
Telemachus’s sweat went cold, silently cursing himself. His father had told him the story of going to Skyros to retrieve backup from Achilles’s teenage son. Hardly Nax’s age at the time.
“Apologies. I didn’t realize. Thank you for coming to support our troops in the war.” He itched to leave the conversation. He would even take on another hour of dull, shallow conversation about the weather with Polycaste.
Out of the corner of his eye, Telemachus could see Athena lurking. Her eyes glowed as they watched Neoptolemus closely.
“I wanted to introduce myself to the next king of Ithaca, though he doesn’t seem to quite measure up to his father.” Neoptolemus’s lip curled as he circled Telemachus. “In both muscle and manners.”
“Again, I apologize for the misunderstanding. My father has told me all about your role in securing Troy.”
“I helped fulfill the divine plan,” Neoptolemus said.
“You killed Hector’s son.”
That’s probably where he’d gotten the helmet from. It must have been Hector’s helmet from the sack of Troy. He wore it as a prize, proof of his playing hand in the destruction of Hector’s family.
Neoptolemus beamed, squeezing Telemachus’s shoulder. “Oh, I knew Odysseus hadn’t forgotten me. Yes, when Zeus came to Odysseus instructing the death of that terrible babe, Ast-Ava-can’t recall his name. Your father couldn’t bear to do it.”
“That’s why he went to you,” Telemachus said, finishing the story. “He gave you Astyanax to drop off the side of the wall.”
He tried not to sound somber, but the idea of the tiny baby splatting on the ground far below horrified him. Hector had killed so many of his people. Hector was responsible for so much destruction. He was the reason his father had to leave home— leave him.
The divine plan said the child couldn’t survive, or he’d take his revenge. And the gods would make sure the divine plan was completed at any cost. Who was a mortal to deny that?
Neoptolemus took Telemachus’s goblet, sipping down the wine. “Marriage will suit your homely face, little wolf,” he said with a smile and a deep bow. “And please, don’t hesitate to ask me for help. For a son of Odysseus, I wouldn’t hesitate to kill Astyanax again.”

Chapter Text

Nax had seen that helmet before in nightmares.

As soon as the heavy bronze was shoved into his arms, his vision flashed red. Instead of men, there was nothing but bones and flesh staring at him with empty eyes.

Slaughter them. 

The voice taunted him.

He couldn’t move. He could hardly think. What was happening? It had never been this bad before.

Through the eyes.

Telemachus met his eyes—just regular Telemachus. The red melted around his and his glare. Yeah, his older brother was <em> definitely </em> annoyed with him.

Slowly, the red began to retreat from Nax’s vision, and he took that as a sign to retreat from the room. He scrambled backward and out of the grand hall. So much for trying to sneak in on the festivities.

Maybe he’d have a better chance tomorrow.

That’s when the actual wedding was anyway. It wasn’t like Telemachus could tell him off in the middle of that. The only problem now was the helmet in his hands.

Where was he supposed to take this?

He supposed he could just hand it off to a real servant, but what other chance would he have to talk to a Trojan war hero? Maybe he could just try scrubbing it up a bit on his own and return it when he could later.

He’d have a lonely night anyway.

Nax started his way down the halls, the echoes of Telemachus’s conversation slowly growing quieter and quieter behind him.

 “For a son of Odysseus, I wouldn’t hesitate to kill Astyanax again.” 

Sounded almost as violent as whoever lived in Nax’s head.

The halls were emptier than usual. Anyone who passed him was no doubt hurrying to make sure the festivities were running smoothly. No one even blinked an eye at the prince, who slipped into the kitchen, swiping a few honey cakes and an oil lamp from his room.

He entered the training yard and he could finally breath. Collapsing by the fountain, he set the helmet on the bench. He situated the oil lamp beside him on the ground, munching on the honeycakes and narrowing his eyes as he studied the helmet.

Why had his mind gone all crazy by simply touching it? Sure. His thoughts had always been a little murderous and out of his control, but never in an everyone-turns-into-monsters-before-my-eyes kind of way.

Well, everyone except his brother who was ignoring him.

It was probably for the best considering he was becoming a bit of a bad omen. Should he keep it to himself? Would his mother really understand it?

The last of the honey cakes dealt the final blow.

Nax rested his chin on his knee, watching the helmet keenly. It stared back at him, horse hair sprouting from the top, the curling bronze design expertly molded around the eyes and over the nose.

Where had he seen it before? Had it originally belonged to his father? Maybe Odysseus had gifted it to that guy after he helped him in Troy…but it wasn’t like a helmet he’d ever seen in Ithaca. Then how did he know it? 

Something red glinted on the shiny surface.

Nax jumped. What on earth was that? He dared to move closer. He narrowed his eyes and stared into the reflection—red eyes looked back. Red eyes that didn’t belong to him.

A smirk formed in the reflection before disappearing.

Put it on. 

He couldn’t. Could he? It didn’t really belong to him. He should leave it and continue training. It was a big day tomorrow…not that he was technically supposed to be apart of it.

Put. It. On.

Nax flinched, pain searing through his skull. It wasn’t a request. It was a command.

He took a deep breath and got to his feet. He wiped his sweaty palms off on his tunic and picked up the helmet. Stings of power zipped through his fingertips. What if the helmet was a godly gift? What if messing with it had consequences? 

The voice begged to be appeased.

Nax tried to resist, but the voice was too strong. He grits his teeth, his knees buckling. Dots danced in his visions as the chants grew louder and louder. It felt as if they were growing to crack right through his skull and dance away free.

Nax’s head grew light. “Who are you?” he managed to whisper.

A friend. 

“There you are, you little thief!”

Nax’s eyes dragged open. His head throbbed. The ground was rocking below him. The voice echoed in his skull. A deep, masculine voice. It was clearer than it had ever been before. It was—

Nax was seized by the collar of his tunic and pulled to his feet.

He dared to look up, seeing the same copper haired man from yesterday. The one who was talking to Telemachus about killing someone? Neo-Nepo—Oh, forget it. His name wasn’t important when he was attacking him.

“Where is it?”
“Where is what?”

“My helmet!”

Nax glanced to the ground. The helmet was gone. 

“You were trying to steal from me, weren’t you?” The man shook him. “Something of such high value. Thought you could make a profit? You could be punished for this.”

“Unhand me,” Nax choked. “I didn’t steal anything. It was just here!”

“So you’re a liar too.” The man scoffed.

“I’m a prince.”

“I could have you punished, servant boy. ”

Nax looked down at his tunic, silently cursing himself. He was still wearing the exact same servant garb from yesterday. He wasn’t helping his case. What could he say? “I’m the son of Odysseus.”

“And now you try to stain the name of your master?” He shook Nax. “Insult the intelligence of a son of Achilles.”

“Oh, you don’t need my help for that.”

Thwack! 

Nax couldn’t breathe. Had he just been…smacked? He gagged, the grip tightening on the collar.

“You could be killed for this thievery, boy.”

Oh dear. The voice's favorite word.

Destroy him. 

Nax sent his knee into his gut. 

The man shouted, his grip loosening on Nax’s tunic. Nax pulled himself free, grabbing a staff from the rack. He slipped into a stance, holding the staff out in front of him. 

The man stared at him in disbelief. “You’ve just attacked a general.”

“Are you really so great if you keep having to remind me who you are?” Nax said, still catching his breath.

That was definitely the wrong thing to say.

The man’s face had darkened. His rage solidified as he drew his sword. Nax hardly had a moment to brace himself before the blade came crashing down, breaking the pole with a silent crack.

The voice laughed. Fight. Shoot him through the throat. 

He couldn’t kill a guest at his brother’s wedding! Telemachus would not be happy. And what would his father say if he killed one of his friends over a stupid helmet?

The red began to take his vision again. He avoided the blade with quick steps, shielding himself behind the archery target and toppling it over with all his weight into the man’s path.

His eyes briefly settled on his bow, resting against the wall where he’d last left it.

FALL.

Without hesitation, Nax dropped. The man’s blade sliced the air above him, nicking his shoulder. He scrambled to his feet. This man would kill him.

So Nax did the only respectable thing he could think of and ran.

“Help!” he shouted, scrambling up the back steps and into the palace.

The halls were full now. Citizens and servants flooded through the arches, carrying baskets of food and fine silk gifts.

He pushed through the ground, glancing over his shoulder. The man parted his way through the crowd, rolling back his broad shoulders and holding his dutiful glare as his eyes dragged over the crowd. No one dared step in the way of the son of Achilles.

On the contrary, no one seemed to bat a second eye at the second prince of Ithaca dressed in servant garb and probably smelled like a mix of dirt and sweat.

“Please! Someone he’s trying to kill—”

Kill him first. 

The demand sent ripples of pain through his mind. He grit his teeth, nearly tripping over his own feet. He crashed into a nearby servant, knocking over their platter of fruit. 

“Sorry!”

Watch him bleed. 

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

He saw the giant doors to hall fast approaching. He was close. Hopefully, they hadn’t started the ceremony and he could find his mother and she could explain that this had all been one big misunderstanding and then Telemachus wouldn’t blame Nax for ruining his wedding by killing a guest.

“There you are, you little thief!”

The man tried to grab Nax’s wrist to pull him from the door, his fingernails sinking into his skin.

The man began to drag him from the door. The voices returned. His vision flashed red. Yes. Do not let him keep you.  

With a burst of strength, Nax twisted his arm out of the man’s grip, ignoring the scratch down his arm, and threw himself into the doors of the hall.

Telemachus secretly prayed for any interruption. 

Athena mocked him. I thought you wanted this. 

Telemachus didn’t respond. The goddess was right…in some way. He did want this. He wanted this for Ithaca. The wedding wasn’t about him anyway. It was about Polycaste. It was about Ithaca.

One last ritual, one last feast.

A simple exchange of fruit.

The procession that morning had gone smoothly. His mother had truly championed it, welcoming Polycaste into the hall as if she hadn’t been there previously. He could still hear her strong, authortative voice announcing each warrior as they made their way into the hall.

Nestor King of Pylos.

Alcinous, King of Phaeacia 

Diomedes, King of Argos

He could see her now standing at the front of the crowd of tipsy guests. She held his gaze with a reassuring smile on her lips. His father stood beside her, a protective hand on her side.

Was Telemachus willing to brave twenty years of war and monsters for Polycaste? 

His heart couldn’t help but twist seeing the gap beside his parents where his brother should’ve been standing. His father had said it was for Nax’s safety. Keeping Ithaca safe was what this was all about.

Hector stood, explaining the ritual and the immense gratitude they had to the gods, calling upon Eros for a blessing. Telemachus could hardly focus on it.

He tried to just focus on the pomegranate in hand.

Polycaste didn’t stand too far away, giddy with excitement, as she whispered to her handmaids. Every so often, she’d peer over to him through her veil before noticing he was watching, and the girls would break out into hardly stifled giggles again.

Telemachus’s stomach twisted.

The poor girl deserved someone truly excited about all this.

The doors slammed open.

“He’s trying to kill me!”

The crowd fell silent.

In the grip of a furious Neoptolemus was…Nax.

With a swift twist of his ankle,  Nax brought Neoptolemus down, slamming him to the ground. A few guards rushed to restrain them. Whispers broke out among the guests.

His mother’s face hardened, trying to see the commotion. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Pardon the interruption,” Neoptolemus said, tightening his grip on Nax’s, barring his arm across his brother’s throat. “I will handle this thief outside.”

“Let him go,” Telemachus commanded, stepping out in front of Nestor.

Neoptolemus flickered with confusion, dragging a flailing Nax through the crowd. “Dear Prince, this boy tried to steal the helmet of Hector and then assaulted me, claiming to be a son of Odysseus. A criminal offense. And now he has ruined your wedding feast.”

“You’re the only one who ruined anything!” Nax gasped. With a quick twist of his foot around Neoptolemus’s foot, he sent the two clamoring to the ground. Neoptolemus’s eyes glowed with rage, turning with a flat hand to reprimand Nax when he paused.

His red face suddenly went pale. 

Nax’s dark curls had fallen from his face, exposing the deep scar that ran down his temple and jaw. He scrambled back, trying to catch his breath. He looked up to Telemachus, his eyes glassy. “I-I am so sorry. I never meant—”

The crowd had gone quiet. No one shuffled or coughed, their faces as pale as Neoptolemus, their gazes glued forward.

Even Polycaste gave out a yelp from beside him.

Telemachus frowned, turning around. What in Ithaca was everyone—

His heart plummeted. Towering behind them was a warrior. Red glowed around him as he wore simple leather armor that showed off his inhuman build and a helmet that shadowed his eyes. In his arms, he carried Hector’s helmet.

The pomegranate fell from Telemachus’s hand, cracking on the marble floor. He stepped back in disbelief. “Ares,” he muttered.

I suppose a god did answer your prayer.  Athena chortled.

Ares smiled and stepped forward to Nax.

Telemachus clenched his fists. He was no match for a god, no less the very god of war, but if Ares dared hurt his brother…

Nax got to his feet, turning to the crowd. “I promise I can explain…”

No one was listening to him. Everyone was staring in horror as Ares lifted the Trojan helmet above Nax’s head.

His voice thundered through the crowd as he gently set the helmet on Nax’s head.

 Welcome Astyanax, Crown Prince of Troy. 

Chapter Text

The wedding had become a coronation. 
And then the coronation had descended into an execution. The wedding hall had been cleared out, and a fire was built. There were no longer tables set out for a feast but a council. There was no music. Only the sounds of shouts and calls for blood.
“Lord Ares said so himself!”
“It is him,” Neoptolemus spat, jumping on his feet. “I can recognize a scar like that from anywhere.”
Nax flinched as Neoptolemus pointed at him. He stood in the middle of the circle, unchanged from his servant disguise and shoulder still bleeding from where Neoptolemus grazed it. He kept his head low. This is not how he expected to meet the heroes of his father’s stories.
“Zeus commanded for him to die, and you failed!” A prince got to his feet, shouting at Neoptolemus. “The divine plan is skewed. What consequences will this bring upon Greece? As long as Hector’s son lives, the war is still undecided!”
“I did not fail.” Neoptolemus slammed his fist against the table. A goblet toppled over, the wine spilling to the floor. “I killed that babe. I watched him fall and splatter. I’ll do it again!”
Nax’s heart leaped back from the red liquid trailing toward him, daring to look into Neoptolemus’s eyes glowing in the firelight.
A strong arm wrapped around Nax. “We’re not killing anyone tonight.”
Father.
Nax felt his nerves settle, looking up to Odysseus, who held him tightly. His brows were furrowed, and his face was littered with faded scars. It only took one look at the king of Ithaca to make you choose your next words carefully.
And yet, Nax had never been scared of him. His father had been nothing but gentle to him—with the exception of a few friendly thwacks during training sessions. Many winter evenings, he’d spent by the fire curled up beside him as he told him stories of his travels until he drifted off to sleep.
And now they all claimed Odysseus was no one but a stranger to him.
He didn’t want it to be true. It couldn’t be true. This was all his fault somehow. Somehow, he’d messed up. If he’d only listened and stayed hidden, none of this would have happened. He wouldn’t have a different father. He wasn’t Trojan. He was from Ithaca. Penelope was his mother. Telemachus was his brother. He’d never seen the sun. He’d never sailed the waters.
“I’m so sorry,” Nax tried to blurt out. “I shouldn’t have interrupted. None of this—”
“The gods were going to make it known either way,” the old king Nestor said. Nax couldn’t read his face. “Mortals have little effect on the divine plan.”
“Then I say, we follow it.” Neoptolemus unsheathed his sword. “We kill the boy.”
“Neoptolemus, put away your weapons,” Odysseus warned in a low voice. “We will not act rashly in a matter of the gods.”
“Have you gone soft, old king?”
“Now,” Odysseus snapped.
Neoptolemus didn’t dare disobey, sheathing his blade and dropping back to his seat. Odysseus looked down at Nax. “You should leave. Get some sleep. We’ll discuss this later.”
The room erupted with disagreement, but Odysseus ignored them. He squeezed Nax’s shoulders. Nax hesitated, holding his eyes. “I-I’m sorry,” he breathed. 
“You have nothing to be sorry for. Now go.”
Nax walked through the crowd and to the doors. He caught the disgusted faces staring at him as if he was roadkill peeled up from under a wagon being dragged through the balance. Heat burned under his skin.
Hate burned in their eyes as they watched him go.
The guards opened the door for him. Nax paused, looking back to Odysseus. His father was no longer looking at him, continuing to argue with the room about how to complete the divine plan.
Whether or not they should kill him.
The door closed.
Nax was left alone in the hall. For once, the voices of Ares weren’t tormenting him. It was all his own. He hardly remembered making his way to his room. His body felt numb, like a corpse he just had the pleasure of haunting. He requested a bath and changed into a new tunic, but no amount of scrubbing could remove the name that repeated over and over in his mind.
Astyanax. Astyanax. Astyanax.
He tried to lie down. He wanted to sleep forever and try to forget any of today had really happened. He couldn’t breathe. He was suffocating under every thought, every inch of his skin he thought he knew.
He felt like a stranger.
“Gah!” Nax sat up, jumping from his bed. He couldn’t sleep like this. He splashed cold water on his face, taking deeper breaths. Inhale. Exhale. You’re not going crazy. You’re not insane—- You’re not the son of Ithaca.
His thoughts were going to eat him alive. He rushed out the door, stumbling into the hall. Faces reflected off the pillars. Ares's smile mocked him, beckoning him to listen. Figures he didn’t recognize danced in the reflection of the moonlight, reminding him his mind was not his own. 
You do not belong here.
Nax hurried faster, ignoring the faces and their taunts, trying to grasp onto anything he had left. His name wasn’t his own. His father wasn’t his own. His home wasn’t his own—-
He pushed through two heavy oak doors, gasping for air.
“Nax!”
His mother—No. Penelope stood up from her seat. The bedroom was impressive. In the middle of the room grew an olive tree. Twisted and carved into the branches was a bed. Torches lit the room, cascading a soft glow over Penelope’s loom set up near the balcony. The curtains were pulled back, an ocean breeze wafting through the room.
Nax opened his mouth, but no words fell out. Mother? Penelope? Queen of Ithaca?
Tears burned at his eyes as he stood, trying to breathe in the doorway.
Penelope’s face softened, rushing to him. “Oh, my boy.”
But he wasn’t hers. Not really.
She draped her shawl around his shoulders, hugging him tightly. “It’s alright,” she whispered. “Everything is going to be alright. It’s okay.”
For the first time, Nax wasn’t sure if he believed her.
As a little boy, whatever his mother said was practically the fate’s divine plan itself, but now? What could he have to be certain about? 
“Please. Please tell me if you’re my mother.” The words fell out like a whisper, so softly he was unsure if he’d just imagined asking it.
Penelope led Nax to the end of the bed. He sat down as she grabbed the water pitcher, making him take a cup. His hands were shaking as he looked up into Penelope’s dark eyes.
Tears glistened as she forced a smile, taking a seat beside him. She set a gentle hand on his knee. She shook her head ever so slightly. “No,” she whispered. “I am not your mother. Not the one who gave birth to you.”
It all came crashing down. The voices in his mind cheered and celebrated, mocking him for ever holding out hope that maybe, just maybe, the god of war had been wrong. Spots danced in his vision, threatening to take his consciousness. He wouldn’t have complained if he fell asleep forever and never thought ever again.
“B-but how?” he asked, his voice cracking.
How could she not be his mother? He couldn’t accept that. He wouldn’t accept that. It only wanted to make him sink deeper into his shawl, feeling more like a little boy scared of the storms again and less like a warrior on the brink of manhood.
"I can’t remember a time before Ithaca,” Nax said. “Hector’s son was killed. Thrown off a wall as a baby! This all has to be a misunderstanding. This can’t—I can’t be…”
Penelope’s lips twisted as her eyes drifted out of the open balcony. “You weren’t killed as a baby, Nax. Your fa—Odysseus. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. Zeus ordered the death of Hector’s son, and Neoptolemus was the one who found you first, abandoned in a ransacked palace. You weren’t even crying, already bleeding.” Her cold fingers gently brushed over the scar on his face.
Nax’s nostril flare. “That man. Probably smashed many babies that day and smiled while doing it.”
Penelope exhaled. “You need to understand Neoptolemus was only a teenager during the war. After his father died, they retrieved him from Skyros. A sixteen-year-old boy who everyone was relying on to live up to the legacy of a father he hardly knew. Neoptolemus was terrified. He came to Odysseus with you in his arms. Your state was so frail that you didn’t need to be killed. But Zeus demanded that the divine plan was to be fulfilled. 
Odysseus, however, couldn’t bring himself to kill you. Despite all the men he’d killed, he always told me he saw his son in your tiny little face. Telemachus was only a baby when he left. He was fighting this war to protect his infant son…so why would he kill another?”
“If that’s really true, then why is Neoptolemus so shocked Astyanax might be alive?”
“Because a child did die that day.”
“What?”
Penelope pursed her lips. “Your father couldn’t stop Neoptolemus from insisting to follow the divine plan. The boy was terrified of the wrath of the gods…or, even more so, the wrath of the Greeks. He knew his father had spared no sympathy when killing Hector, so he couldn’t spare any while killing Hector’s son. Odysseus hid you, and found a replacement to prove to Neoptolemus the deed had been finished."
“Who?” Had another child really died in his place?
"It wasn't difficult." Penelope’s eyes fell to the floor. “There was no shortage of bodies in Troy.”
The room was silent.
Nax felt like he couldn’t breathe. 
“Odysseus took you along his voyage. He didn’t expect you to survive, but he knew he couldn’t leave you without trying. You recovered, and I fear that is part of why his trip was home was disturbed. He wouldn’t leave you behind no matter how much easier the trip would’ve been. You know the story of how his crew slowly dwindled. Six hundred to one. One and a toddler left to the mercy of Calypso.”
Nax was quite familiar with the stories. They were his favorite, and it always got Telemachus to join them by the fire.
“Calypso hadn’t been expecting you. Obedient to the gods, all she knew was that you were supposed to be dead. However, her…infatuation with Odysseus greatly outweighed her desire to kill you. Odysseus agreed to stay with her as long as you were sent home. She agreed, and sent a flock of birds from the island to deliver you to the palace.”
Nax always thought when Telemachus teased him about  really the son of pigeons he’d been joking.
“Imagine our surprise to find a baby delivered by a goddess. It surely scared the suitors,” Penelope said, with a forlorn smile. “I knew that somehow, Odysseus had sent you. He was alive, and for at least a couple years, the suitors were more anxious about their advances. Of course, once seven years had passed, they’d grown their confidence back.”
Nax swallowed. He’d been ten during the slaughter. Telemachus found him playing outside, grabbed him, and hid him in his room, giving him strict instructions not to leave as he buckled on his armor. Nax didn’t ask any questions, feeling safe in his older brother’s room and plugging his ears from the screams of death outside.
“Who did you think I was?” he dared to ask.
“It wasn’t hard to figure out,” Penelope said. “Word travels slowly, but three years was enough to hear the story of Neoptolemus gloating about the death of Hector’s son and that my husband had been too weak to do it himself.” She scoffed. “My husband is a man of calculations. He rarely reacts out of fear. I trusted he had a plan, and he trusted I’d understand.”
“But-but you couldn’t know for sure,” Nax said. “For all you knew, you were making a mistake raising some random, unrelated peasant child. A-a child condemned the gods. One that kept your husband from you! A child you should hate.”
Penelope lifted Nax’s chin, meeting his gaze. She gave a small smile. “Prince or peasant, you were never a mistake.”
Nax couldn’t hold back anymore. He melted into Penelope’s arms, letting her hug him tightly, soaking up every inch of warmth from the only woman he could remember calling mother—the woman who had chosen him despite all the doubts.
Tears trickled down his cheek, never wanting to leave her arms. He didn’t care to try and understand whose son he claimed he was. For all he cared, he was Penelope’s.
“I have to leave,” he finally whispered. It took every ounce of strength to pull from her arms.
Her brows furrowed. “To bed?”
Now it was Nax’s turn to look out the open balcony doors. He got to his feet, removing her shawl. 
Penelope’s face paled. “Nax--Astyanax—-”
“You don’t need to call me that,” he said, offering her back the shawl. The name didn’t feel right. He didn’t want to accept it because it was almost like if he did, he was accepting he truly didn’t belong in Ithaca.
Penelope took the shawl, getting to her feet after him. “Please let me be wrong. You’re not actually thinking of doing this.”
“I have to,” Nax said. “If what you said it true…If I really him, father—Odysseus is going to be in serious trouble. They’ll see it as a betrayal. I can’t stay here and be further proof. I can’t tear you apart after you’ve both fought so hard to save me.”
“They’ll search for you,” Penelope said, her eyes glistening with tears. “They will tear the waters. They will pray upon the gods. To restore the divine balance, to finish this war, someone must die.”
“By being alive, I’m defying this divine plan,” Nax said. “My very existence is a rebellion. There-there has to be another way. And I’m going to find it. And then I’m going to come home, and we’re going to tell stories.”
A tear fell from Penelope’s eye. Nax’s heart twisted. She nodded, draping the shawl over his shoulders again. “You’re as stubborn as I am,” she chuckled through her tears. 
Nax tried to smile, trying to blink away the tears that threatened to come back. 
“There isn’t a point in saying goodbye,” he choked. “I’ll be back.”
“I’m not as young as I used to be, Nax.”
“If Hades is wise, he’ll wait to take you.”
Penelope gave him one last, long hug. She took a step back, studying him with proud eyes. She kissed his curls. “This isn’t a goodbye,” she repeated.
He left through the door, wiping his eyes in the dark.
There was no time to mourn as he walked down the halls that echoed memories back to him.
These were the only halls he ever knew. They’d kept him safe, guarded him from the wrath of the gods.
They couldn’t protect him any longer.
The wrath of mortals was far more dangerous.
He grabbed a satchel from his room, stuffing it with spare tunics and sandals. He made his way to the kitchen, swiping as much as the wasted wedding feast as he could fit. His final stop was the training field. He grabbed his bow, and a sliver of arrows before pulling the shawl over his head and heading down to the docks. 
Fog hung over the water. He narrowed his eyes as he wove through the darkness, spying for the perfect boat. He wouldn’t take much space, but he had no idea how long he’d be traveling, so it needed to be sturdy enough.
Gods. What was he thinking? He hardly knew a thing about boats or sailing. He’d never left Ithaca for crying out loud! He settled on a boat with a tall sail. It seemed reasonable enough. You needed a sail to sail. It should work, right?
Your lack of expertise is oddly amusing.
Nax jumped, spinning around. No one was there. “Show yourself,” he demanded. “I-I’m armed!”
Oh please. I could kill you before you inhaled.
Nax’s shoulders heaved. He now knew the name of that murderous voice. “What do you want, Ares?"
To help. Clearly you’ll need it.
“I’m alright. Respectfully.”
Oh sure. Best of luck.
He made his way down the rocky shore down to the dock beside the boat. He threw his bow and satchel inside. Dusting off his hands, he turned to see a rope securing it to land. 
“Ey! Halt! What do you think you’re doing?”
Nax froze. A guard stood, sword unsheathed and torch in one hand. What did Nax do? Turn himself in? Surely, saying he was the younger prince wouldn’t help. They’d just return him straight to the palace, which was the last place he needed to be.
Could he run? He couldn’t shoot. His bow was in the boat, and shooting a guard surely would only prove the point he was a threat.
He dropped to his knees, fumbling with the rope.
“Someone is trying to leave the docks!” The guard began to march down the beach. “Stop, thief!”
“Stealing? I’m just…borrowing,” Nax grumbled.
More guards began to swarm the shore. Torchlight began to flood the fog as they began to rush toward him. His heart beat against his skull.
Why…wouldn’t it untie…Gah! Why had he told off Ares?
“There! A beggar! Halt if you want to plead for your life!”
This was Nax’s plea.
If he didn’t live now, he would die one way or another—either by a guard’s blade or a king’s. 
“Please!” he begged, straining himself against the boat. “Ares, please! I am sorry. Forgive a foolish mortal?”
For the first time in his life, there was no response.
No cry for blood.
No one was coming to save——
A blade crashed down, snapping the rope. The boat creaked forward into the sea.
A figure stood in the fog, brandishing a sword.
“Hurry!” the man shouted, pulling himself up into the moved. Nax chased after him,, trying to jump and catch the ledge. He tripped, toppling off the side of the dock.
He hit the water. The cold struck him like a thousand tiny needles piercing his skin. His head whipped above the water, gasping for air.
He tripped, crashing into the water. He scrambled to his feet, coughing as the boat began to slowly float further.
“Grab my hand!”
Nax struggled to stay afloat, straining him arm up to the man’s. He grabbed hold of Nax’s arm, and with impressive strength,  they heaved him on board.
Nax, collapsed to his knees, soaked and trying to remember how to breathe. “T-thank you, Ares. I-I’m sorry for doubting you.”
“Ares?”
Nax frowned. The voice was familiar, he looked up. His stomach flipped as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, slowly revealing the familiar curves of a face he could never forget.
A face he was sure he’d never see again.
Telemachus.

Chapter Text

The cries for war were the best thing that could have happened to him.
Not that Telemachus wanted war. War is what kept his father from him for two decades. It’s what let suitors ravage his home. It’s what nearly destroyed his home.
As a prince, it was the very last thing he wanted.
But as a man, he couldn’t have been happier.
Instead of a wedding night, he was dreading, he was sitting outside the great hall, dressed in a comfortable tunic with a few stolen honey cakes, listening in as the kings argued.
No one had outright said the wedding was canceled. Surely they were more important things when a god showed up.
If only they knew how often Athena roamed the halls.
If anything, it had been delayed. For how long, Telemachus could only guess. Polycaste was inconsolable. As soon as Ares had appeared, she threw herself into arms, clinging to him. He couldn’t reach Nax when the room erupted with horror. Polycaste insisted she wouldn’t leave without him. It took everything in him not to snap that his brother needed him.
But was Nax really his brother?
Telemachus wasn’t a fool. He’d been thirteen when the toddler arrived in Ithaca. He’d known this boy wasn’t his blood brother, but it had never bothered him. All he’d known is that he wasn’t alone anymore. He was determined to make sure no one would hurt Nax like what had been done to him.
Telemachus swallowed, hurrying to push the thoughts away.
That’s what it took to stay alive.
He could never get too close—to both his thoughts and any person.
Both seemed determined to betray him.
Polycaste didn’t know what she begging for when she pleaded for the wedding to continue. He told her they needed to wait for the result of the council. How could he explain to her he couldn’t imagine any life where he wanted to kiss her? Even feeling her arms around his neck made him want to burn his very skin off. He found it hard to stomach even gentle touch from his parents. His mind was constantly at war. He was so tired of trying to understand it.
What if a wedding was even more needed with this conflict? Wasn’t that the whole point of this? Uniting Pylos and Ithaca was supposed to help keep his family safe. It was supposed to ensure there would be no more war and that none of his family would be tortured at sea for decades ever again.
The door to the hall flew open.
To Telemachus’s surprise, Nax scrambled out, hurrying down the hall, nearly running into a pillar. Telemachus stopped himself from running after him. 
Besides, what good could he even do? Was Nax really the son of Hector? The scraggly teenage boy who couldn’t keep his hair out of his eye or his balance during a spar?
How much of a threat was his little brother to the world?
Telemachus peered through the crack in the door. 
Neoptolemus was back on his feet. “I saw him die. I watched that baby fall. I saw that scar.” There was a tremble in his voice as he hardened his fists against the table. “How could he have survived?”
“Perhaps it’s the god's way of saying it’s not the divine plan.”
“Clearly not,” Nestor retorted. “Your kingdom has been cursed with this endless storm. You’ve housed this insolence. How could you have gone for so long without knowing who this child is? A child you claim as a son?”
Telemachus’s stomach twisted. Had his father known?
His father’s face was unreadable as he pursed his lips. He didn’t respond.
Telemachus’s heart sank.
“As long as that boy lives, the war isn’t over,” another warrior piped up. “Someone’s son must die, and I know for certain it isn’t going to be mine.”
“There has to be a more sensible way of going about this.”
“What point is there in being sensible?” Neoptolemus said. “There is no sensibility in war! That’s how my father was killed! That’s how your entire crew was slain!”
Odysseus’s face hardened. “And so your answer is to continue to kill?”
“Isn’t that yours? You’re no champion of mercy, Odysseus of Ithaca.”
The room was silent.
Neoptolemus and Odysseus starred. Any moment, Telemachus prepared for the fire behind them to explode into flames.
“He’s only seventeen years of age. Hardly a man,” Odysseus dared to say.
“When does a man become a monster?” Neoptolemus spat. “We’ve all seen it happen countless times. We’ve all become that monster. I’d do anything to avenge my father. I did everything to avenge my father. I destroyed Troy. What’s stopping him from destroying us? Killing one of our sons and turning the tides of victory?”
Nestor heaved a heavy sigh as he pushed himself to his feet. “The son of Achilles brings a good point. At most, it will appease the gods and secure a Greek victory. At the very least, it will bring us some peace of mind.”
The rest of the room began to murmur in agreement.
For the first time, Telemachus saw panic in his father’s eyes as the rest of the kings and warriors got to their feet, swearing their agreement.
A son needed to die.
And they’d all agreed it would be Hector’s.
“No one is to leave or enter these shores,” Neoptolemus said. “The boy must be found, and he must killed.”
“This is my kingdom,” Odysseus countered. “You are not to make orders here.”
“Is this your admittance to housing an enemy?” Neoptolemus snapped back. “Clearly, you aren’t to be trusted with this boy’s death. I’ll ensure my duty is completed this time.”
Neoptolemus parted his way through the crowd of kings and marched straight for the door.
He was going to kill Nax.
Why should Telemachus care? The Trojans had stolen his father from him for twenty years. His entire life was devoted to the safety of Ithaca…the safety of his family.
But Nax was his family.
Nax was his little brother.
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remove the image of the little toddler curled up beside him, comforting him as the suitors feasted late into the night. His chubby little hand tugged on his tunic, and his dark brown eyes struggled to stay open.
He still saw those eyes every day.
Who was he if he never saw them again?
Telemachus raced down the hall, turning the corner as soon as he heard the doors to the hall fly open. Nax’s room was just across from his own and he knew the way better than he knew his own sword. He raced up the steps, shouting his brother’s name once he was sure Neoptolemus couldn’t hear. “Nax! Where are you? Nax! This is serious!”
The door to Nax’s room was ajar.
Telemachus’s heart sank. He burst into his room. Clothes were scatted on the floor, drawers emptied and sandals missing. The oil lamp at his bedside was also gone.
“No, no, no, no…” Telemachus muttered. This couldn’t be happening. 
He hurried through the halls. He could hear the guards begin to make their rounds. Torches began to light. There was no sleep tonight. 
He reached the training yard, rushing down the steps. “Nax!”
No response.
The training yard was abandoned. Nax’s bow was missing. Nax’s bow was missing.
It was the final blow. 
Nax was not in the palace.
Telemachus' eye settled past the training yard and to the sea below. He picked up a dull training sword, tucked it into his belt and raced out of the training yard. He pumped his legs as fast as they would carry him.
Please Athena. Let him be safe.
His heart lurched, seeing torches in the fog as he approached the dock. 
“Someone is trying to leave the docks!”
Nax.
Telemachus dove through the fog. His vision began to clear. A ship bobbed in water. On the doc stood a familiar small frame struggling with the ropes.
He was not halting as the guards warned him with another chance.
Telemachus raced through the darkness, using Athena as a guide. He crept onto the docks. The guards started forward. Their swords were drawn. Panic flooded on Nax’s face as he muttered under his breath.
Telemachus drew his sword and with a hard thwack! brought the blade down hard and fast onto the rope. It snapped, the boat creaking forward.
“Hurry!” Telemachus caught the ledge, pulling himself up and leaping inside.
Nax scrambled to follow him. His fingers grazed the edge of the boat…
…before tripping and plunging into the water.
“NAX!”
His younger brother’s head bopped above the water, scrambling to stay afloat. Telemachus leaned over the side, stretching out his arm.  “Grab my hand!”
Nax didn’t hesitate, grabbing Telemachus’s arm.
With a heave, Telemachus pulled him onboard.
Nax collapsed to his knees, shuddering in the cold, coughing on seawater.  “T-thank you, Ares. I-I’m sorry for doubting you.”
“Ares?”
Did Nax really think he was that god? Athena snickered from the top of the mast.
You could’ve helped you know, Telemachus told her.
Nax’s eyes widened in horror, his body frozen. “T-telemachus?”
“Do I really have that unrecognizable of a face?” Telemachus tried to joke. 
The guards’s shouts brought him back to reality.
“The sail. We need to get down the sail. Once we get further out to sea, they won’t bother to catch us. Not without breaking commands anyway.”
“Commands?”
“No one is to leave or enter Ithaca until…well, it’s just not allowed right now.” The never-ending brewing storm of Ithaca would finally be in their favor. Telemachus unraveled the halyard. The sail dropped, catching the wind. He slipped forward, grasping the rope in his grip. “Nax! A little help!”
“Sorry!” Nax scrambled to help him, grabbing hold of the rope. The two boys pulled it back, tying it down and securing the sail.
The boat raced over the waves. The torches of the guards grew further and further. Ithaca was unrecognizable behind the thick screen of fog.
Without a goodbye and any supplies, Telemachus had left home without any plan to come back. What had he done?
He sank down the floor of the ship. He hadn’t realized how much adrenaline had built, vibrating under his skin.
“Are you alright?” came Nax’s small voice.
Telemachus peered over his shoulder. Nax hovered near him, clinging to a soaked shawl around his shoulders. He looked as helpless as he did as a toddler.
Telemachus shuddered. “Yeah, I’m great.”
He didn’t have time to mourn Ithaca. He needed to get up. He pushed himself to his feet, jumping into the shallow hold of the ship. He pulled out a tarp, tossing it to Nax. “Take this. Can’t have you catching a cold on this trip.”
Nax did as Telemachus instructed without a word. He kept the wet shawl close by. Neither brother said a word as they stood on the ship.
Telemachus couldn’t find a word to say, and the goddess of wisdom didn’t prove to be any help. What was there to say? Leading with “Hey! Are you actually the son of a Trojan king? You know the guys that our—my dad totally helped obliterate?” seemed like a bad way to go.
Nax wouldn’t even meet his eyes.
Did Nax even want him here? Who was he to Nax now? Was he still his brother? Telemachus didn’t want to risk asking. He climbed out of the hold, pretending nothing ate at his mind. 
“Probably best to get some sleep. Tomorrow, we'll meet the sun.”

Chapter Text

Every bone in his body ached.

Nax groaned as he turned under his scratchy blanket. His body begged to stay right there. His eyelids were heavy, content to stay shut for the rest of eternity. Any moment now, his mother’s Spartan song was bound to wake him up because no servant could stir him from his sleep…

“Naximenes, wake up!”

Nax shot up, gasping for air. Everything flew into focus around him. He wasn’t in his room anymore. In fact, there were no walls at all, just water that stretched for as far as the eye could see. The blanket was nothing but a tarp, and his bed was the hardwood floor of the boat. Explained his sore bones.

All of that paled in comparison to the blue sky.

The sky was blue.

Blue.

Just like in the stories. There were no clouds. No brewing storm. He could feel the warmth on his skin. He could see a big, bright ball of—“Gah!”

Telemachus stood in his line of sight. “That’s the sun,” he said, exasperated. “Don’t stare at it.”

The sun.

The realm of Apollo that only existed in stories.

It was real.

He’d never felt warmth like this enveloping around him. There was no chilled breeze. No grumble of thunder to warn of another downpour. He’d never seen the world so bright.

The sun glinted off the water as the waves sloshed against the boat, rocking it gently. It looked as if specks of gold were dancing off the crystal waters.

“It’s incredible,” Nax said.

“Yes. Incredible. Now, don’t look at it.” 

Telemachus propped himself up against the side of the boat, looking out over the water. “So, what’s your plan?”

“What?”

“Your plan? I assume you have a plan if you’re going to steal a cargo boat.”

Nax hadn’t gotten a good look at the boat in the chaos of the night. The boat wasn’t very large. There were two small elevated decks on either side. 

The mast rose out of the center hold of the ships. A few spare barrels, nets, and empty cages were crammed inside. It most likely belonged to a small merchant. Nax got to his feet, nearly toppling over as the boat rocked under his feet. He grabbed the side of the ship opposite of Telemachus, trying to act as if he’d meant to it.

Why was he such a fumbling mess?

Telemachus was no doubt angry at him. The best he could do was just stand up on his own. He cleared his throat, folding his arms. “I totally have a plan. It’s a really good plan.”

Telemachus raised an eyebrow. “And that plan is…?”

“Why are you here?” Nax said, moving off-topic. 

“I know what you’re trying to…”

“No, no. This has to do with the plan. You’re not part of the plan. You’re supposed to be married!”

Telemachus’s face flushed red.

Phew. The diversion had worked…but he’d most likely just made Telemachus more annoyed. Great going.

“The wedding was postponed.”

“But then why are you here? Don’t you have like…a wedding to wait for?”

“I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing out here?”

“Uh. Trying not to die,” Nax shrugged. “Which is a better reason than you’ve given.”

“Is it really that important?”

“Well, sort of. You’ve wanted nothing to do with me.”

“That was for your own good.”

“Why? Because I’m embarrassing?”

“No! It has nothing to with that at all!”

“Then what is it?”

“Because of who you are."

The boat went silent. Nax’s mouth shut, Telemachus’s words echoing in his mind. Telemachus’s face flushed with regret. His mouth opened, but no words rolled out.

Who you are.

“Did you know?” Nax dared to ask quietly.

Telemachus’s eyes fell, slowly shaking his head. “I-I didn’t,” he admitted.

Another moment of silence.

“Oh.”

Did Telemachus believe them? Did he really think he was the son of Hector too? 

He couldn’t read Telemachus’s face as he shifted uncomfortably. “Alright, so what about this plan?” he said, clearing his throat.

“We keep sailing for now,” Nax said, trying to stand up straighter. Maybe if he acted confident enough Telemachus would quit asking so many questions.

“Figured. What food did you pack?”

Shoot.

Nax swallowed hard. “Well, about that…”

Telemachus groaned. “You didn’t pack food, did you?”

“I was in a hurry! Aren’t there like…fish in the ocean?”

“Do you know how to fish?”

Darn Telemachus.

“We’ll figure something out,” Nax said. “Is there anything in the ba

Telemachus didn’t seem sold.

Nax didn’t blame him. They were stuck on a boat with no clear destination in sight with no food. What had Nax been thinking? Was his plan just to run away forever? 

He started to the other end of the ship but tripped over his sandal and toppled over into the hold. His finger slammed against one of the rusty barrels, pain slicing through his skin.

Telemachus rushed the edge of the hold. “Nax! Are you okay?”

Nax’s face burned, pushing himself up to his feet, trying to smear his bleeding finger on his tunic. “I meant to do that,” he said, clearing his throat.

He moved to the far deck of the ship, looking out the stretch of water ahead.

What about Telemachus? Surely, Telemachus couldn’t run with him forever. Telemachus probably wanted to get back to his wedding and to Ithaca. Here was Nax, ruining everything.

Technically, he chose to come.

Nax jumped at the voice in his head. Hovering over the waves, casually floating alongside the boat, was undeniably the god of war.

His helmet was secured over his face. He fiddled with his fingernails, seeming unbothered by the fact he was defying all reason and all physics.

He’s a god, Nax! Get your grip!

“Uh—My lord! Ah, I’m so sorry if I in any way disrespected—I was just——” Nax fumbled a bow.

Ares smiled, amused.  Oh, stop the formalities. I’ve had centuries of it. Honestly, it’s rather boring. Don’t make me regret revealing myself to you, mortal. It was way more fun messing with your head. 

Nax snapped his mouth shut, clearing his throat. This wasn’t how he expected a conversation to go with a god. “What are you doing here?”

I’ve always been here, little king. You think I’d miss out on this? This is the most fun I’ve had in decades! Well, with the exception of Troy…and maybe the slaughter of the suitors. Delightful. Extremely entertaining. Really wish you could’ve been there. 

Nax’s stomach churned. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Ares chuckled.  You’ll be demanding blood soon enough. 

“I’ve ignored your voice for seventeen years. I can do it again.”

Oh! Spunk. That’s what I like about you. You’re not as god-fearing as your father. No. You get that streak of rebellion from Odysseus. I would warn you however, some gods won’t take kindly to being disrespected. They have fragile egos. 

“Unlike you?”

Ares flexed. Please. You know you can’t compete with these arms. 

He was right. Ares’s biceps alone were about the size of Nax’s head. It probably would take one flick of a finger to send Nax flying across his ocean.

“I’m not killing anyone,” Nax insisted. “That’s the whole point of all this. I’m going to make things right without anyone’s son dying.”

 You could just kill the one in the boat with you, and poof! We’ve won! 

“What?” Nax hissed. “Kill Telemachus? Are you serious? There is absolutely no way. No way!”

Good point. Athena would definitely be mad at me for that. How about I distract her, and then you kill him? 

“Wait…Athena’s here?” Nax frowned.

She’s been here. She’s glaring at me. Won’t let me board the boat. 

Nax looked to the boat, seeing no one but Telemachus.

Are you dense? You can only see her once she’s revealed herself to you. Currently, she’s chatting up with him. Do you want to find out what they’re saying? Bet it’s juicy. We could definitely use it in our plot to kill him! 

“We’re not killing Telemachus.”

Ares scowled.  What a bore. 

“I’m going think of something.”

 Thinking is for boring people. 

Nax bit the inside of his lip, taking everything in him not to make a quippy insult at a god—the god of war, no less.

Did Telemachus really have Athena on his side? Could he ask? Or would he think he was crazy? He could imagine it now. Telemachus’s face twisting with confusion, though his lips would be on the brink of laughing at how absurd the suggestion was.

“What, the goddess of wisdom? Here?”

Then again, Ares was hovering over the side of the boat.

“Why are you in the water?” Nax frowned.

“It’s nice out here,” Ares said, seeming annoyed Nax had even asked.

“You can come in the boat if you want…unless you can’t.”

“I can,” the god of war spat. “It’s just…I’d rather not invoke Athena’s wrath.”

“Oh? So you’re scared of your sister?”

Oh, please. You’re terrified of a mortal boy who’s only ten years older than you. Athena is a millennium older. To plot against her requires far more planning and thinking than I usually like.

“So she’s banned you from the boat?”

Somewhat. Thinks I made an unneeded show. But come on! You have to admit, the wedding was the perfect place to do it! Right in that son of Achilles face. Oh, it was glorious. His fear smelled absolutely delicious.

Nax couldn’t help but smirk.

Ares scoffed. Don’t be amused. Your smug little smile won’t get you anywhere but the bottom of the sea. 

That quickly caused Nax’s face to drop. “Where should I go?” he said. “Where can I go?”

Simple. End this whole thing now by killing Telemachus. Pleaseeeee. I can help you! It would be so fun! <

“For the last time, I’m not killing Telemachus!”

“What?”

Nax froze, slowly turning to look over his shoulder. Telemachus stood, frowning at the end of the boat.

“Nothing.” Nax glared at Ares before getting to his feet. His eyes darted around the boat before they landed on a fishing spear leaning against the mast. It was old and beaten by the sun. The dip was dull and hardened with grease, but that didn’t matter.

Nax jumped into the hold and grabbed it. “I’m going to get us food.”

“Do you know how to use that?”

“Clearly.” Nax forced a confident grin. “I’ve grown up a lot since you started being focused on your princely duties. I have a few surprises up my tunic.”

“Any other life-altering surprises you want to get out of the way now?” Telemachus said.

Nax’s lips pursed, turning over the edge of the boat. Ares has disappeared. Now, only the churning waters looked back at him. He would never be over the way the sun reflected on the surface of the waves.

Apollo had outdone himself. It was a crime Ithaca hadn’t seen it in so long.

He would just wait till he saw a fish come along and jab it. That’s what they’d done when they’d play in the palace fountains. Penelope hadn’t been thrilled to find her sons soaked and arms full of colorful fish.

He could hear Telemachus’s resigned sigh on the other side of the boat.

This wasn’t the fountain days anymore.

This was an open sea going beyond what Nax could ever see. Perhaps there was no end to it, and they were meant to drift on forever. Nax would never know.

He dipped his bloody finger into the water, feeling the cold as it filtered through his fingers. The warm wind tousled his hair. 

Something glimmered in the water.

Nax frowned. Green scales hid in the shadows of the boat, winding and bobbing up and down. That was a strange fish…but it looked big enough to feed them for a while. Telemachus was going to be so impressed.

Nax grabbed the spear, raising it and focusing on the scales.

One blow. 

He sent the spear splicing down. A head ripped out from under the faces with a horrible scream.

“Nax!”

“I caught something!”

Well, he was close to catching something. The fishing spear had simply bounced off. Telemachus rushed to the side of the boat, sputtering curses under his breath as the oddly horrifying fish raised its snakelike body at dove for them. Telemachus grabbed Nax, leaping out of the way. The fish contorted, flinging the other end of its body out of the water.

It wasn’t like a fish at all.

A serpent.

“How did you attract a ketea?” Telemachus shouted.

“I didn’t realize attracting things that wanted to kill us was in my blood!”

The ketea dove down for Telemachus. He grabbed the spear in both hands and blocked the serpent’s mouth.

Nax’s mind was spinning. What should he do? What if the evil snake fish thing killed Telemachus on their first day? And it was all his fault.

He jumped into the hold.

“Hey! Fish…Snake Thing! I know this is what you want!” Nax held up his bleeding finger. “Really delicious Ithacan blood.”

The small sneaking voice whispered in the back of his head.

<em> But is it Ithacan? <em>

The ketea’s interest was peaked, leaping back from Telemachus and slithering over to Nax. Nax rushed for his bow, beginning to string an arrow. In the corner of his eye, he could see the creature racing closer and closer.

His fingers were shaking.

Why would the arrow…just… Screech! 

The creature dislodged its jaw.

Nax jumped back, hitting his head on the back of the hold. The teeth lodged into Nax’s ankle. He prepared to be eaten whole, pain surging up his leg when the creature went limp.

Nax’s heart beat into his ears.

He looked up to see Telemachus panting with beads of sweat lining his brows. He held the spear forcefully lodged into the skull of the creature. Black blood spurted as he pulled the spear from the ketea.

The creature’s head fell, letting go of Nax’s ankle. It left behind three small holes.

“Well, we have dinner?” Nax tried to joke.

Telemachus wiped the black blood from his cheek, unamused. He grabbed the sea creature and tossed its body into the waves.

“Or you could do that,” Nax muttered, pushing himself to his feet.

Pain hummed as he stood. Already, a strange black hue began to leak into the veins around the bite. He glanced up at Telemachus, who stood at the edge of the boat, watching the serpent’s body float off. His tunic was stained as he hopelessly cleaned the edge of the spear. His face was unreadable, his lips pursed with an unspoken frustration. And yet he still held his head high, like a prince, as if he hadn’t left his Ithaca far behind.

Nax decided not to mention his foot.

He’d been enough of a burden today.

Chapter Text

His skin flaking off was the least of his worries as Telemachus looked off toward the storm brewing in the north.
He could only remember being sunburned as a child…before the birds had delivered Nax and before the suitors brought their own storm down on the palace. 
Once he was old enough, he would go out to the docks and wait for hours in hopes of being the first one to see his father come home. Instead, ship after ship of potential suitors sailed up to shore.
No matter how many times he disobeyed his mother, it never brought his father home.
And now he was never sure he’d see the two of them again. He’d left without a warning and without a goodbye. He wondered if they would wait at the end of the docks, waiting to see their ship come back to shore.
If only he’d warned them, it might never happen. If only he’d assured them he was going to take care of Nax, and nothing would happen to him. Part of him longed for Ithaca, and the rest of him was happy to be away from its stormy shores.
And then another part of him really wished he’d listened about the sunburns.
“I’ve decided I don’t like the sun,” Nax groaned from the shallow hull. 
“Careful. Apollo might be offended.”
“Then Apollo should’ve come to Ithaca sooner.” Nax groaned.
“You’re too comfortable with your slander of the gods.”
“Well, apparently, my entire existence is. So what else do I have to lose?” 
Telemachus glanced over his shoulder to see his younger brother slumped over on the wooden floor of the ship, the red shawl sround his burned shoulders and his head leaning against an empty barrel. His face had grown a greenish-grey look. It must’ve been sea sickness hitting the kid hard. He’d have to learn to get used to it…but a part of Telemachus didn’t want to turn his shoulder away.
Nax wouldn’t survive if he babied him, but it was hard when Telemachus could still clearly see the little helpless toddler in the back of his mind. 
Ares still lingers. Athena’s voice wafted around him. He has his eyes set on Astynax.
“Is he plotting anything?”
He’s always plotting something. War excites him. Conflict is like his own personal little show. He’s been a nuisance since we were only a few decades old. I told him to stay off the ship, but he seems to think he’s found a loophole by wandering by the water.
Telemachus couldn’t help but crack a smile. “Sounds like a brother.”
*Not a brother. More of a* bother.
So, even the gods had trouble figuring out this sort of thing.
“Is there anything…you can do?” Telemachus pushed himself to ask.
We cannot interfere with fate.
Telemachus’s lips pursed together. It seemed like the gods liked to pick and choose when that was. His eyes fixed on the ocean line.
But I’ll try my best.
“What is a god’s best?”
*I’m still figuring that out myself. Immortal doesn’t mean all-knowing.*
“Even the goddess of wisdom?” Telemachus tried to joke.
Athena huffed. *Most of knowledge is learning. And this…mercy and compassion idea isn’t exactly something I’ve been fond of studying for the past few years.*
“Gods don’t have to I suppose,” Telemachus muttered, glancing back over to Nax. What was the point in mercy when there was nothing to lose?
Telemachus.
“I’m not really in the mood to argue.”
Foolish mortal boy.
“Really, we’re doing the whole mortal thing right now?”
Telemachus of Ithaca, look behind you!
Athena’s urgency surged through him. Telemachus snapped around. His stomach dropped. In the distance, ships bobbed in the water…growing closer and closer with every blink.
Telemachus cursed, scrambling to his feet. “Can you call Aeolus for a bag of wind or something?”
Gods cannot interfere with the Fates. Athena said firmly.
Telemachus decided to keep his snappy remark about how a toddler had been able to interfere with Fate to himself. “Nax!” he shouted, jumping into the hull and shaking Nax awake. “Get up! We’re about to have guests!”
“Guests?” Nax picked his head up from the wood floor, sweat plastering curls to his forehead.
Telemachus’s lip twitched. He really didn’t look good. Had sea sickness really gotten to him that badly? Telemachus pulled him to his feet. “Grab the oar! We’re going to have to row!”
He shoved an oar into a dazed Nax’s arm and pointed him toward the side of the boat. Telemachus glanced back to the boats. They were getting closer and faster.
They might not have the power of the gods on their side…but whoever the boats belonged to certainly did.
Unraveling the rope, Telemachus dropped the sail. The weak breeze pushed them forward. Telemachus scrambled to grab another oar, dipping into the wave. “ROW!” 
Nax heaved at the oar.
The two brothers rowed against the lazy current. Telemachus sent a quick prayer to Athena, trying to feel for her presence. Could she really not help him against the Fates? Was this really *fate*?
Was the rowing really worth it if this mission was an inevitable failure? Why had he jumped into this boat at all if he was going to die?
Well, the Fates hadn’t said he was going to die.
A son had to die.
But whose?
“Telemachus.” Nax’s voice was strained. His face was looking terribly green now. “I-I don’t know—”
“Row toward the storm!” Telemachus shouted. “Throw up later.”
“I think it’s worse—”
“Nax!” Telemachus glanced over his shoulder. The boats were growing closer. He could practically smell the overoiled, slicked-back red hair of Achilles’s son.
His brother snapped his mouth shut and continued to row.
Rowing while seasick was unfortunate, sure, but getting clobbered to death only two days into their escape voyage was far worse. Nax would thank him later.
The clouds of the storm began to cast over the boat. The choppy waters began to pull them forward. Telemachus let out a sigh of releif as the wind began to beat against the sail. Faster. Further. They couldn’t stop now.
“Telemachus!”
“We’re almost there!”
Sprinkles of rain began to beat against his face, his skin burning. Telemachus whipped his head around. The boats began to turn from the storm. Perfect—Thud!
Telemachus’s heart dropped.
Nax had collapsed on the floor of the hull. Telemachus let go of the oar, scrambling to Nax’s side. He rolled Nax over, shaking him. “Nax? Nax!”
Nax’s eyes forced themselves open, his soaked curls falling in his face.
“Sorry. I-I just…” Nax stopped pushing himself up, hurrying to vomit over the side of the ship before falling backward again.
And then Telemachus saw it.
An ugly, blackened bit on Nax’s ankle.
His stomach twisted.
Dread froze his blood.
Nax paused, noticing Telemachus’s gaze. 
“You were bit?” Telemachus snapped. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t want to be annoying.”
“Well, now you’re going to be dead!”
Nax flinched, fear flashing through his eyes. Instantly, Telemachus regretted his words. What was wrong with him? He was an absolute mess. This wasn’t was his father had been like, surely. 
A deep, painful echo lodged itself in the back of his mind, chanting, “This is all your fault.”
“You-you’re not going to die,” Telemachus corrected, ripping the seam of his tunic and securing it around Nax’s ankle. “We’re going to find a way to fix this.”
A way to fix this? No one survived a Ketea. Especially left untreated as long as it had been. Was this really how it ended? Nax killed by a poisonous fish? No battle with Fate. Just a slow, painful death on a boat in the middle of nowhere with his older brother, who’d failed to protect him. 
Damn the Fates.
Telemachus met Nax’s eyes and forced a small smile. “Everything is going to be fine,” he said, trying to convince himself.
Nax nodded slowly. Dark circles were carved under his eyes, his shoulders trembled, and his forehead glistened with sweat and the rain.
Telemachus dared to press his hand against Nax’s cheek. It burned. He bit back another curse. He took the red shawl from the floor of the hull and wrapped it around Nax’s shoulders. “Just try and rest,” he said.
He got to his feet, turning to adjust the sail.
“Telemachus?”
“Huh?”
Telemachus couldn’t bring himself to turn around and look at the quivering frame of the boy he’d failed.
“I’m really sorry.” Nax’s voice was a small whisper. It nearly drifted away with the wind.
Telemachus’s eyes burned. “It’s not your fault.”
*It’s mine.*
He let down the sail, looking out toward the storm. “Athena,” he prayed under his breath. “Please let there be someone who can help. Anyone. Please. I can’t lose him yet. Give us a little more time.”
No response.
The echo continued to chant through his mind. 
“If any god is listening then,” Telemachus amended his prayer. “Please have mercy.”
Mercy wasn’t a word the gods quite believed in. The ruthless waters chopped at the boat almost as if to prove it.
And then, in a flash of lightning, Telemachus spotted it.
“An island!” he cried out. He jumped into the hull, racing for Nax, who had slumped over against the wall of the ship. Thank whatever merciful god had led them here.
He scooped Nax into his arms. Nax groaned softly, his head lulling against Telemachus’s chest. “We’re almost there,” Telemachus whispered mostly to himself.
The boat bounced over the rocking waves before it docked with a harsh jerk to the sandy shore. Telemachus scrambled out of the boat, his bare feet hitting the soft, wet sand.
“Help! Anyone!” he shouted out into the storm.
His pitiful cries for help wasn’t very prince like, but in the moment, he didn’t care. 
He held Nax close to his chest, his faint, warm breaths pushing him forward. Shadows of palm trees sprinkled throughout the shore. If there were any humans on this island, they weren’t here.
“It’s my brother!” Telemachus cried out into the wind. “He’s been poisoned. Please!”
Something rustled in the underbrush of the forest the stretched on beyond the beach. Telemachus froze. An inhuman screech rang through the air as a boar tore through the foliage. Telemachus scrambled back as it raced passed him. A dozen more echoed as they raced after him. Birds fluttered up from the trees adding to the symphony of chaos.
A low, feminine chuckle breathed down Telemachus’s neck.
He froze, unable to move as goosebumps rose underneath his skin.
“How I do love the sound of Ithacan royalty in distress.”

Chapter Text

All he wanted to do was lie there and melt into the sand and never open his eyes again. Sleep felt so tempting. The warm, damp sand was far softer than the hard wooden hull of the ship. Even with the pebbles pressing into his cheek, the earth comforted him and beckoned him.
Come home, little Prince. Your father awaits you.
Something wet scratched at Nax’s cheek. 
He groaned, forcing his eyes open. He was met with the open expanse of the beach. The tide had filled in, waves washing up at his feet. He sunk his palms into the sand, pushing himself up with a cry. Gravity pulled at him, his body feeling heavier with every breath.
Telemachus’s voice echoed in his mind. Now, you’re going to be dead.
Nax pushed himself into a sitting position, his gaze dropping to his ankle. The black blood had begun to seep through the strip of fabric. A part of him wanted to fall back over and let the waves wash him out. This had been his fault, and they’d only been at sea for two days. If he was this close to death already, how did he think he had a chance against the gods?
Nax shook himself, imagining Odysseus sitting beside him, scooping him up into his powerful arms. When Nax had been eleven and Telemachus was first teaching him archery, he accidentally shot his own foot. Odysseus stayed up with him that night.

“I’m never doing it again,” little Nax had said, his arms crossed firmly as he looked at his tightly bound foot.
Odysseus had laughed and ruffled Nax’s curls. “Because you don’t like it or because you messed it up?”
“I’m no good,” Nax huffed. “I’ll never be as good as Telemachus. Or you.”
Odysseus had let out a long breath. “Oh, Nax. I’m an old man. I’ve had a long time to learn, a long time to fail, and a long time to choose to back up.”
“Even when Poseidon tried to drown you.” Nax’s eyes glittered. He always loved the stories.
Odysseus gave a sad smile as he pulled Nax close. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I would defy every god if it meant coming home to you and your brother and mother.”
Nax leaned his head against his father’s head. “I'm gonna fight gods too, papa.”
“I pray to everyone you never will,” Odysseus chuckled into Nax’s hair.

Back on the beach, Nax clung to every bit of warmth in the memory as it slipped from his fingertips, leaving him only with the grim reality that he might never see his father again. Odysseus. Whoever he was to him now.
Nax wasn’t born to drown.
Not now.
He pushed himself up, putting weight on his bad ankle. A pained gasp fled his lungs. Yeah. That was definetly going to slow him down. He blinked, forcing his eyes to stay open. Telemachus was nowhere to be found. 
A sinking feeling nestled in his gut. Had Telemachus drowned? Or worse, had he run off and left Nax behind? It made sense after all. Nax was the reason they were in this mess.
Something rustled in the underbrush.
His blood went cold, his head snapping to the left. A figure crouched in the shadows. “T-Telemachus?” he said, his words falling out to hardly a whisper. “Is that you?”
The shadowed figure moved swiftly through the blush, a laugh chattering through the trees. Birds echoed the laugh as they raced from the trees and dove toward Nac. He beat them away weakly as they laughed over and over.
“Who are you?” Nax cried over the chaos.
The womanly figure stepped out into the moonlight, her long wavy hair shrouding any details from her face. Her pearly white smile glimmered as she cocked her head as if she were examining a new doll to play with…or a prey to hunt.
“You don’t remember?” the woman asked. “All those years ago?”
“I’m from Ithaca,” Nax blurted out. Well, technically he wasn’t. But he didn’t remember anything beyong that. Much less meeting this strange woman.
She sighed, a low, defeated breath. Dark red began to glow in her palms as the flowers began to raise their heads around her. “Unfortunate that all men must grow up.”
She thinks I’m a grown man? Cool. No, Nax! Not the time!
Lines of power began to string from her fingertips as her hands slowly rose in his direction. Every part of his mind begged him to run, but his body couldn’t look away.
A howl broke the trance.
An enormous wolf jumped into Nax’s line of sight, snapping at the woman. She stumbled back, scowling. She raised her glowing hands to strike again, but the wolf dove again, this time for Nax.
Nax tried to run. His ankle shot pain through his bones with every faulty step. Was it worse to be slowly poisoned or eaten? He’d never considered the question, and he hoped he’d never consider it again.
Nax pushed himself through the trees and into the twisted jungle of branches and overgrown underbrush. Pigs howled and screeched as they ran amok in the darkness, birds chattered and mocked him, and glowing eyes peered at him in every direction.
Every limb felt like it was buzzing, gravity pulling at his bones.
Faces appeared in the trees.
“Look at him run,” they chirped.
“He’s alive?” Another asked inquisitively. 
“He was only a babe. Harmless.”
“Even babes grow up to be men, no matter how innocent.”
Nax tried to clamp his hands over his ears. His bad foot twisted, sending him flying to the jungle floor with a painful thud. He gasped for air as the trees' laughter echoed over one another.
Those weren’t just trees. Odysseus had taught him better.
“Nymphs,” he sputtered.
“Mortal man.” A nymph twisted out of the bark, her movements swishing like the wind. “Always think they can outrun her.”
Nax scrambled back as the nymph’s wispy finger trailed down his chin.
“Who is she?” Nax spat. “What has she done to my brother?”
The nymph frowned, turning to her sisters chattering in the trees. “She hasn’t done anything men haven’t already done to themselves. She simply reveals their true forms, their selfish, vile, violent forms.” Her eyes dropped to Nax’s ankle. “Though I doubt you have any capacity for violence. Perhaps you will become a mouse. Small, whiny, and easy to squash.”
Ares's voice began to trickle back into his mind, chanting for him to end them now—prove them all wrong. Show them how violent he really could be.
Instead, his stomach turned on itself. He had to turn away to vomit. Black blood clung to his lips. His body gave a horrible shudder, warning him of the underworld that awaited him.
The nymphs broke out into hysterical laughter. This was a horribly pathetic way to die.
His hands met something soft in the mud. Nax frowned as he pulled a scrap of torn fabric into sight. A familiar light stained blue tunic. His eyres adjusted, noticing the destroyed tunic scattered aroun him, peices dribbled with…
He forced himself not to throw up again at the sight of the blood.
A dagger lies haphazardly in the mud. Its sheath was missing. The blade was unblemished, as the owner far preferred to use a bow, but couldn’t part with a single gift from his beloved father.
Telemachus.
Nax’s nausea hardened into something far more sinister.
Rage burned under his skin as he pulled the knife from the mud. He could feel Ares’s strength churning through his veins as he pushed himself to his feet.
Kill them all.
Make them pay.
“WHO DID THIS?”
The nymphs dropped silent, their eyes staring unblinking.
Leave no survivors.
A howl tore through the night air. The nymphs dropped silent. Nax didn’t move, not out of fear, but because every part of him wanted to tear the wolf apart.
He didn’t care if he breathed his last breath.
He wouldn’t let Telemachus die like this.
Not over him.
His heart beat alongside the sound of the enormous wolf’s paws pounding into the muddy floor. His grip tightened on the dagger.
The wolf tore through the trees, barrelling toward Nax.
Nax leaped forward on his good foot toward the knife. With a cry, he swiped forward, following Ares quick directions. Right. Left. Forward. Duck. 
The wolf yelped.
Red melted away from Nax’s vision. He gasped for breath. Telemachus’s dagger was plunged into the wolf’s shoulder. The wolf panted, its ears pressed back in a painful whimper.
Nax met the wolf’s dark brown eyes…the same eyes that teased him for being short and protected him from nightmares late in the night.
His heart plummeted.
Nax let go of the dagger, crumbling to his knees. Pain flushed back over him. “Telemachus,” he choked, tears burning in his eyes. He pressed his shaking hand against the wolf’s soft face. “I-I’m so sorry.”
Blood began to stain the wolf’s coat.
To Nax’s horror, his brother’s blood was smeared on his hand and stained his tunic. The nymph's words echoed back to him. Violent. I am violent.
This was his fault.
If he just hadn’t gotten bitten, or tried to fish, or tried to run away, or been born…this wouldn’t have happened.
The wolf nudged Nax gently, its pained eyes looking up into his own, trying to say something its cursed form couldn’t mutter.
“Little man.” The woman’s voice chirped through the trees.
The wolf panicked, pushing Nax forward his eyes pleading for him to run.
“I can’t leave you behind!” Nax said. “Not like this!”
The wolf growled.
Go.
Nax pushed himself up, tearing his gaze from Telemachus and racing into the woods as fast as his bad foot would carry him. Every twist and turn looked the same. The nypmhs watched him, but they didn’t dare laugh.
Every breath became heavier, warning him he was coming closer and closer to the end.
The Fates awaited him patiently.
Nax doubled over. He fell into the mud. He tried to push himself up, but his body no longer listened. He’d pushed himself as far as he could.
His eyes begged to close.
Just leave it all behind.
Was it all really worth it?
“Ares,” Nax choked. 
He could feel the god still lingering in his mind. The woman’s footsteps approached, her power humming louder and louder.
“Save Telemachus,” Nax finished his desperate prayer before his eyes rolled back and his eyelids fell shut, succumbing to the empty, comfortable darkness.

Chapter Text

Wolves and men had one thing in common: Mortality.
That’s all Telemachus had to cling to. The idea that he was indeed a mortal, and he could indeed die. Even as his mind floated in the dark, murky waters of his consciousness, he clung to the reminder he could still feel. He could feel the pain exploding through his shoulder. He could feel the pain of seeing Nax's tears. He could feel the fear of losing his voice and watching as the enormous red god of war towered over him...
...And then nothing.
Telemachus's eyes sprang open, gasping for air through his human lungs.
Human, living, very alive, very mortal lungs!
He was alive!
Unfortunately, he found his arms and ankles to be bound to the wall behind him, the ropes digging into his wrists. The bandage over his shoulder wound was thin, and the smell of blood was strong.
Whoever had left him there hadn't been there to check on him in a long while.
Telemachus felt as if his mind had been torn apart and sewn back together, the entire world rocking back and forth before he could manage to slow it down enough to process the large room that trapped him.
The ceiling rose high above him, windows stretched up to meet them. Evening light poured into the room and shone over a long banquet table, loaded with my more fruits and freshly roasted meats that Telemachus could process.
It was only then he realized how hungry he was.
How long had it been since he'd had a proper meal?
"The wolf has awoken."
Telemachus's head snapped to see a woman standing in the shadowed doorway, musing with wispy magic between her fingertips.
"Who are you?" Telemachus tried to say, but fell into a coughing fit. His throat was dry and torn. Definitely not intimidating. Darn.
The woman smiled. She stepped out into the light. For the first time, Telemachus could see her face clearly. Her eyes were dark, though a dark, rosy glimmer of magic coursed in them. Her hair was thick and fell like waves around her shoulders, floating just above her ankles. Flowers were woven through her locks. Vibrant pink and red fabric draped artfully over her body, her shoulders and midriff exposed. Golden bangles decorated her wrists and toned arms. A smile tugged at her lips as she met Telemachus's eyes. "At first, I didn't see it...but now? I suppose there is a bit of your father in your eyes."
"How do you know my father?" Telemachus said, straining against the restraints.
"Really? He's never told you about me?" The woman almost seemed disappointed, but hardly phased. She tossed back her hair with a burst of power. She sat on the table across from Telemachus. Crossing her legs, she plucked a grape and tossed it into her mouth.
"Daughter of Helios. Puppeteer of Foolish Men Who Happen Upon My Shores?" she said casually. "Though, I suppose, like your father, you have found your way to outwit the curse."
Telelmachus's eyes widened, his heart dropping.
"Circe," he muttered as her face clicked into place in his father's stories. "You-you're Circe."  
"Don't wear it out, dear." Circe sighed. "I've learned my lesson from last time. I've taken precautions against those who have taken that herb. I will not be outwitted again."
"Herb?" Telemachus frowned. "I didn't take any herbs."
"Men do love their lies." She ate another grape.
"I'm not lying," Telemachus insisted, leaning as far as he could. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Just like your father. Tried to convince me he plucked it with his own hands when it was his great-grandfather, that trickster god, who'd gotten it for him. Why am I not to believe you didn't do the same to break the curse?" Circe rested her chin in the palm of her hand, raising an inquisitive brow.
"I-I have no idea," Telemachus said. "I've never spoken to Hermes."
Circe slipped off the table. "Well, clearly, you're friendly with some other god than."
Had Athena broken the curse? It was entirely possible, but Telemachus could usually feel when Athena intervened. The energy he'd felt before he'd passed out had been different...angrier and deadlier.
"So it was a god." Circe practically teleported, and she moved swiftly toward him. Her face stood only a breath away from his. He could see the power floating in her eyes, glimmering with an immortal knowledge he'd never understand. Telemachus flattened himself against the wall.
What was happening? What was she doing?
"Many times men have turned to external forces of power to overcome us, but there are other modes of control." Her voice was soft and sultry. He'd heard that tone before.
His heart beat against his chest, pressing himself harder against the wall.
Athena. Please. No. Please.
Her hands brushed against his chin. His skin burned. He writhed away. "No!" he gasped. "Please, no! Get away from me!"
Circe's eyes widened in surprise. She took a step back.
Telemachus gasped for air, trying to keep himself from trembling. "I'm just here for my brother," he said between breaths. "Please. Don't touch me."
Circe's conniving face softened to something more thoughtful. She pursed her lips, sidestepping to get a better look at him. 
"Look. I didn't mean to cause any problems," Telemachus said. "My brother. He-he's dying. We just needed help. We'll leave---I'll leave. We'll never bother you again."
Circe didn't respond for a long moment, her eyes unblinking. "Something hurts you," she decided on finally.
"Where is Naximenes?"
"That is the name of your 'brother'?" she said.
Telemachus nodded. 
She picked up another grape, rolling it between her fingers. "I've never seen someone quite so dedicated to a brother before. Perhaps a lover or a god, but a brother? Brothers cause wars between the gods. Brothers kill one another to create empires. How many brothers do you think travelled the River of Styx together?" She squashed the grape in her fist.
"Do you know where he is?" Telemachus begged.
"I have no idea where this Naximenes you speak of is," Circe sighed. 
Telemachus's heart dropped. Had he died? Was he too late? How long had it been? The poison must have spread. His body was probably somewhere on this island, all alone and---
"I do, however, know the location of Astyanax."
She glanced at Telemachus with a knowing smirk.
"What have you done to him?" Telemachus shouted. The ropes dug into his wrists.
"Oh nothing." Circe chuckled. "So paranoid. I am no goddess of Olympus. Young Astyanax has never harmed me. In fact, your father brought him here as a baby on his quest home. There was something so endearing about a weathered warrior clinging to a little babe in his arms. He never once let him go."
Telemachus hadn't considered that. Nax had travelled with his father as far as Calypso's island until he was delivered to Ithaca. A small part of him couldn't help but wish he'd been there too.
"And neither did you," Circe said. "You held onto that boy until you grew claws, and even then, you made it quite hard to get near him."
"What do you want with Nax?"
"Nothing," Circe said, plainly. "Not yet."
With a snap, Telemachus's bonds dissolved. He collapsed to the floor. 
“Careful of your shoulder. Your ‘brother’ is quite vicious with a blade.” Circe headed for the door, snapping her fingers and signaling for Telemachus to follow.
Telemachus pushed himself up with his good arms. His memories of his wolf form were blurry, but one memory that stuck out like a clear shard of glass was as sharp was the knife being plunged into his shoulder.
Nax hadn’t always been a natural with weapons. Even now, he preferred practicing in private and only rarely agreed to spar Telemachus—which usually ended with him getting pinned to the group and squealing for surrender.
There was a rageful side of his brother Telemachus that he had never seen before that moment—a rage he wasn’t sure belonged to the god that guided Nax or that truly burned raw inside him.
Circe led Telemachus down the twisting halls of the palace, nymphs watching curiously from the shadows, whispering among themselves.
Circe stopped at two glass doors, vines hiding whatever lay inside. She checked for Telemachus over her shoulder before she pushed the doors open.
The room was small, but it felt much larger with every wall being made of large windows. Plants hung from the ceilings and grew along the walls. A small bed was twisted into the branches. Tucked in the blankets and plethora of soft pillows was Nax.
He was clean, his dark ringlets fell into his face. His eyes were closed, asleep peacefully. His lips were parted with a soft snore. Just like he’d done since he was a toddler and he’d waddled into Telemachus’s room and crawled into his bed after a nightmare.
Now life was a living nightmare.
“So, why did he get a bed and I got tied to a wall?” Telemachus dared to ask the witch.
“He wasn’t much of a threat.” Circe chuckled. “There are springs in the back of the palace if you wish to bathe. I can have a better tunic delivered as well.”
A bath sounded immaculate. Dirt stuck under his nails, and dried sweat coated his skin. But he couldn’t just yet.
Telemachus sat down beside Nax on the bed. Gently, he pushed back his hair. His forehead was still warm, but no longer dangerously feverish.
Nax’s mouth shut, his face pinching. “Two more minutes,” he grumbled groggily.
Many times, Nax stayed up far too late practicing in the training yard. It would take multiple servants attempting to shake him awake before they’d give up and come find Telemachus.
Telemachus would grab him by the legs and hoist him over his shoulders upside down till he woke up.
Nax hated it, but it was very effective.
“I guess you deserve the sleep,” Telemachus sighed. “Otherwise, you’d be upside down right now.”
Nax suddenly went still. He sprang up, his eyes going wide as they settled on Telemachus. “You’re alive!”
He began to throw out his arms before he stopped himself. “You’re alive,” he repeated. He stared at the bloody bandage on Telemachus’s shoulder.
“You’re alive,” Telemachus remarked back. “That’s more of a surprise.”
Nax pulled back his cover to reveal his ankle. The swelling had gone down, but two dark black scars indicated where the monster had buried its fangs.
“Mortality is amusing,” Circe muttered from the trees.
Nax froze. “It’s that freaky lady from the woods,” he snapped, bracing himself.
“That ‘freaky lady’ is Circe,” Telemachus explained.
“Circe?” Nax frowned. “From the story?”
“I’m disappointed you don’t remember me,” Circe sighed, stepping closer to Nax’s bed, holding her arms. “But I suppose your life span is short and your memory at a year or so old isn’t very strong.”
“We’ve met before?” Nax frowned.
“As a babe, yes.” Circe nodded. “Despite my decades, it’s hard to forget the Trojan baby in the arms of his supposed murderer. It’s a delicious twist of fate. Something I’ve admired about Odysseus. He’s determined against the odds, against the gods.”
“You say that like you want the gods to be defied?” Nax’s eyes narrowed.
“The gods, my own father, haven’t treated me or my sisters kindly,” Circe said. “They always use Fate to justify their cruelty. For once, I’d like to watch them be afraid. And you, Astyanax, make Greece tremble. For that, I commend you.”
Nax’s lips pursed.
Telemachus didn’t see the supposed last Trojan King and enemy of the Greeks beside him. Instead, there was just an awkward teenage boy who was really hoping this would be his year for a growth spurt.
“Thanks?” Nax said.
“But now that he’s alive, the Trojan war is still undecided,” Telemachus said. “The gods are saying a son must die. Any son. Every son of a Greek hero is at risk.”
“Or daughter,” Circe said. “That is only a theory, however.”
“Right. But how do we not get killed? Where do we go from here?” Nax asked. “I-I need to know what I can do to make things right. I want to show everyone there’s no need for anyone to die.”
Circe thought for a long moment. “I believe there is one person who might be able to help you.”
Telemachus’s heart leaped. “Really?”
“Helenus. Son of Priam, Twin Brother of Cassandra. Uncle of Astyanax.” Circe nodded to Nax.
Nax flinched as if he’d been struck. Telemachus wished he could squeeze his shoulder, but he decided against it.
“He, like his sister, has the power of prophecy. According to the story, he defected to the Greeks during the fall of Troy,” Circe said. “He might be able to help you see what lies ahead.”
“Where can we find him?”
Circe exhaled. “That is another problem. His location is unknown.”
“So basically, all the information you just gave was useless?” Telemachus said.
Circe glared at him.
Telemachus winced. “Sorry.”
“If anyone is to know the location of Helenus, it would be the Graeae,” Circe said.
“The what?” Nax frowned.
“Graeae,” Telemachus repeated. “Old ladies who share an eyeball and a tooth. They gave Perseus the location of the three objects he needed to kill the gorgon, Medusa.”
“Oh. That doesn’t seem too hard,” Nax shrugged. “We talk to them, we find Helenus, and poof! We know what to do.”
“You’re a little optimistic for someone who almost died,” Telemachus sighed.
“I’ve been almost dying since I was a baby apparently.” Nax swung his legs off the bed. “And I’m ready to do it again. Are you coming?”
Telemachus sighed. What on the mortal earth was he doing? “Who else is going to sail the ship? You sure can't."

Chapter Text

“You need to let Ares onboard.”
Nax flinched as Telemachus nearly choked on his breakfast beside him. The two sat on the back steps of the witch’s palace, overlooking the beach where their ship sat docked in the sand.
Telemachus whipped his head around. “Ares?”
“I know about Athena,” Nax said. “And I know she won’t let him on board.”
Telemachus stared before his face sunk into his hands with a muffled groan. His arms dropped to his lap with a sigh. “Look, Nax. Ares is a chaos god. How can we trust him? He’s motivated by a desire for violence. His pleasure feeds on the spilling of blood. He sided with the Trojans during the war—”
Nax stiffened.
Telemachus froze. “I-I didn’t—I—Forget it. I’m sorry.”
Nax looked down at his hands. Far too soft for a warrior. Not enough scars or calluses. If he’d learned anything from the first disastrous week of his voyage, it was that he wasn’t a warrior. The fact he was alive at all was left up to pure chance…and Telemachus.
He needed to start pulling his weight.
He couldn’t keep hiding behind his older brother forever. This was his quest, this was his fault. This whole quest was because he’d dared to be born and survive.
He wasn’t letting anyone get hurt for him.
“I need Ares to teach me to fight,” Nax said, closing his fists. 
Telemachus frowned, finishing off his toast. “You know how to fight,” he said, swallowing. “You’re always in the training field with that bow.”
“That’s not the same thing.” Nax deflated. “I can hit a target, but I can’t hit a moving enemy. Combat is a whole other field. You’d know that. You’re trained.”
Telemachus sighed. “Well, how about I train you?”
“When the choice comes down to you or the literal god of war, it seems a little obvious who to go with. There’s too much at stake to risk this.”
Telemachus’s lips pressed into a firm line as they always did when he was thinking about something. Usually, Nax would copy Telemachus’s face to annoy him, but he resisted his innate younger sibling desire to be a pest. This was important.
“He saved your life,” Nax said finally. “He’s the one who gave you the moly flower.”
Telemachus’s lips parted. “Wha—”
The doors flew open behind them. “Good morning, boys. Good to see you’re awake and not sailed off and eaten by an angry titan.”
Circe practically floated down the steps, flesh flowers bursting to life in her hair. She plucked one off, spinning it in her hands. “You could always stay, of course. This island offers a world of peace away from the gods.”
The witch sat beside him, tucking the flower into Nax’s hair.
He couldn’t help but be fascinated by her. Telemachus seemed to be on guard every time she entered a room. Sure, she’d turned him into a wolf and her nymphs had tormented Nax…but he couldn’t help but understand her.
She was also someone used by the gods. She was protecting herself and those she cared about above all else. This island was her solution. The boat was his.
“It doesn’t matter,” Nax said. “They’ll find me. If not the gods, Neoptolemus.”
Telemachus scowled at the mention of Achilles’ son.
“If you so insist.” Circe sighed, looking off toward the rising sun glittering over the water. “I suppose you mortals are always running out of time.”
It wasn’t something Nax had ever considered before the other night in the woods…feeling as the venom slowly tugged and pulled at his soul, squeezing out every breath before it all ultimately faded.
He supposed that’s what made his mother so great. Never before had he worried about dying. Curled up in his mother’s warm arms, nothing could touch him. Not even the violent voices that echoed in his mind demanding blood.
All of it faded in Penelope’s embrace.
And now his mother was supposed to be a stranger far across the water. 
“We should probably start heading out,” Telemachus said, breaking the silence. With the help of a few reluctant nymphs, the boat was loaded with supplies. Baskets to the brim with fruit and meats, a few good tunics, new oars, and as Nax shifted through the hull—a spear.
“You aren’t going to take down Olympus with a knife.”
Circe’s voice blossomed behind him.
Nax stumbled back, nearly tripping over the back of his sandal. Circe stood with her arms crossed. Instead of wearing her usual mystical, unreadable smile, her face was solemn.
“I don’t think I’ll be taking down Olympus,” Nax cleared his throat. “Just Fate.”
Circe exhaled. “So young and so hopeful.”
“Thank you for the spear, though.” He didn’t want to come off as ungrateful.
“I thought you might want a taste of the weapon your father wielded.”
His father had a spear?
Oh.
“H-Hector?” Nax scooped up the weapon, leaning his weight on the strong shaft.
Circe nodded. “Or that’s what I’ve been told. Only stories reach and leave these shores.” Magic wove between her fingers. “I can always create something else for you. I understand if you’re relationship with your father is…complicated. I’d know. This island, everything I do is to stay as far out of his control as I can.”
“Having a god as a father is tough?”
A crack of a smile. Circe chuckled. “You guessed.”
“Recently, it feels like I’m the son of a titan,” Nax breathed.
“A titan?”
“Something evil—everyone knows is evil. And yet, they keep insisting he’s mine.” He turned the flat surface of the spear’s blade to face him, locking eyes with his own.
Eyes that didn’t match his brother's.
Circe placed a hand on Nax’s shoulder. “That’s one of the fascinating things about mortals. They’re elusive. They’re not just Olympians or titans. There’s more to every story than even gods are willing to admit.”
“And do you know the story?”
Circe was quiet for a moment before shaking her head. “That’s for you to discover.”
Just what Nax needed. More vague answers.
“This, however, might be useful.” Circe pulled a satin bag from thin air. She pressed the bag into the palm of Nax’s hand. “Remember, being a mortal might be a strength.”
Nax peered into the bag. A herb was crushed inside, its prickly leaves shimmering with a deep shade of magic.
“Moly flower,” Circe explained. “A herb Odysseus used to neutralize my power. Perhaps it will be of use to you.”
Nax drew the drawstring shut. “Thank you, Circe. For everything.”
“Are you ready?” 
Telemachus hurried down the beach, his arms full of rope. He tossed it over the side of the ship and pulled himself up inside. Circe stepped back.
Telemachus caught sight of the spear, pausing. 
“Cool, huh?” Nax said.
“Nice.”
This was one of those moments Nax wished he could read his brother’s mind as Telemachus turned away quickly to fasten the sail.
Circe bid them farewell before disappearing in a sweep of petals and a gust of wind that pushed the boat free from the sand bank.
The dark clouds knit together in a firm, protective storm around the island. The waters, however, remained still, allowing them a calm passage away from the island. Nax watched as the sandy banks grew further and further and further…
“Don’t look so sad,” Telemachus grumbled from behind him.
“I’m not sad,” Nax snapped, leaping to his feet. “She was…nice.”
“She was a witch. She tried to kill our father.”
Our father.
Nax’s heart swelled, hoping Telemachus wouldn’t notice he’d mispoke. “She’s helping us, isn’t she?”
Telemachus scoffed, crossing his arms. “For all we know, when we show up on the shore on that island, there could be an entire battalion waiting to slaughter us, and Circe gets a hefty reward.”
“She doesn’t seem like she likes men that much,” Nax said. “Or their money.”
“She sure liked you.”
“Are you good?”
Telemachus turned away toward the morning sun, slowly creeping above the glittering horizon. “Always.”
Nax let out a sigh. Just when he thought he’d finally got through to Telemachus and everything was going to go back to normal…whatever normal was supposed to be. Maybe normal was Telemachus being distant. Maybe that’s how it was always meant to be, and this was Fate’s way of correcting itself.
Kill him. Now. Right in the back. Use the spear.
Nax snapped his head to see Ares peering over the deck of the boat. He glanced back at Telemachus before hurrying to the hovering god. “No,” Nax said in a hushed voice. 
Ares rolled his eyes. Why not?
"Because he’s my brother."
Siblings kill each other all the time. It’s typically the most exciting kind of killing—the most rageful and the most desperate. Battles between brothers destroy empires and are foretold to bring up new ones.
“I’m not killing Telemachus.”
Ares groaned. Boring.
“I need his help just as much as I need yours.”
Ares paused. So, you’re considering my offer.
Nax pursed his lips before nodding slowly. “I want you to train me.” 
I’d need to come on board to do that.
“I tried talking to Telemachus, but he wouldn’t budge.”
That brat. Even after I saved his life. So ungrateful. That’s why I say you kill him now—
“Ares.”
The god stilled. I don’t take orders from little boys.
“And I don’t take orders from rash gods.”
I could end you right here, right now.
“Oh wow. How unique. Someone wants to kill me. Get in line.” Nax huffed.
Ares flickered. “What’s your plan?”
Nax reached into the pouch tucked into his belt. 
Before he could even loosen the tie, Ares groaned. There is no way I’m doing this.
“You’re a god. The effects can’t be too permanent.” Nax removed a cluster of moly, holding out the prickly plant in the palm of his hand. “If you’re not entirely in your all-godly power, how can Athena stop you from coming on board? You won’t be a threat, but you can still teach me.”
And if Ares taught Nax, he would finally get the bloody warrior he’d been chanting for in the back of Nax’s mind for the past decade.
Ares pondered for a long moment. Athena will be furious, he said, decisively. A smile crept over his face. In a snap, the herb disappeared from Nax’s hand and reappeared with Ares.
Temporary, the god of war muttered, though Nax wasn’t quite sure to who.
“Nax. Don’t lean so far over the edge.” Telemachus’s strong hand seized the back of Nax’s tunic, yanking him backward. “We don’t need you getting bitten again.”
"I don’t intend on it,” Nax muttered under his breath.
“What?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Telemachus looked at him for a long moment before giving a defeated sigh. “Can you make yourself useful with the mast?”
“Do you have any idea where you’re going?” Nax dared to ask as he headed to the coiled rope bound tightly back.
Telemachus had turned his back on Nax, heading toward the paddle at the back of the ship. “We’ll figure it out.”
“Because of Athena?”
Telemachus shot him a glare over his shoulder. 
Nax couldn’t help but smirk. “Sad your secret is out?”
“Athena isn’t a secret,” Telemachus huffed. “It’s just…never been important.”
“Well, what did she say?”
Telemachus stiffened. His eyes watched the waves. “She’s not saying anything. She doesn’t think it’s a good idea to meddle in this.”
“Even just asking for directions? Asking for directions isn’t explicitly aiding in the defeat of Fate.”
“Nax, she’s the goddess of wisdom. Do you think she’s stupid?”
“Gods have loopholes too.”
Telemachus shook his head. “Just adjust the mast.”
The morning bled into afternoon. The silence would’ve been peaceful if the voices didn’t grow louder. They demanded blood. For action. For something.
The last thing they wanted was to admire a sunset that reflected gold over the peaceful ocean waves. Nax wished they’d leave him for just a moment so he could pretend he was back on the balcony of his mother’s room, hiding near her loom and watching the sun set into the sea. Every day, she’d tell the same story as she undid the stitches—the story of a man coming home to her.
I’m coming home too, mother.
The two brothers ate dinner quietly in the dark. Any progress Nax thought he’d made on bringing his brother back seemed to be lost. He’d gone back, hiding behind that shell Nax had never been able to crack.
In the dark of the hull, Telemachus tossed Nax a blanket. Soft and smelled of the warmth of Circe’s hall. Nax hoped a little of her magic had seeped through the seams.
“Goodnight. Don’t fall overboard.” 
At least Nax got a goodnight.
Telemachus settled a few feet away, turning his back to Nax. Nax sighed, pulling the blanket around him tighter. He turned his eyes back up at the dark night sky. Small little balls of light glittered throughout the sky.
Those must have been stars.
The sunset always faded into something far darker. Mother had always said they were hiding behind the stormy skies of Ithaca. She’d say she hoped that her love was watching them and thinking of her.
The palace wasn’t a peaceful place, especially at night. The door had to be bolted shut. Nax was nearly six and couldn’t bear the thought of being away from her, clinging to her leg as the drunken laughter echoed down the hall.
Telemachus was there too—fifteen and claiming he wasn’t there because he was scared. Certainly not. He was just there to keep them safe. He sat closer back then. He’d scoop Nax away from Penelope and into his lap and then trap him with his arms. Nax would try to fight him, but it was pointless, and he’d finally retreat, dozing off against his chest.
Penelope talked about the stars as if they were old friends.
Telemachus would rest his head on her chair, and in Nax’s small mind, he thought all together like this, everything was sure to be alright. The loud men outside would leave. His father would come back. And the stars would come back.
Splash!
Nax’s eyes flew open. He didn’t even remember closing them. The boat creaked. A loud thud. Telemachus startled awake beside him.
A human grunt.
Nax’s heart fell.
“Someone’s on the ship,” Nax whispered. 
All sleep melted from Telemachus’s eyes. He grabbed the knife lying beside his pillow, signaling for Nax to stay put. Stay put? Again? How much longer was he going to have to stay put?
The angry voices returned. Ares’s voice began to mix with his own.
He shook it away. 
Telemachus pulled himself up onto the deck. Nax peered over the hull, holding his breath. A man toppled over the edge of the ship and rolled out onto the deck. He gagged, spitting up seawater. His entire body shuddered. A loose cloak clung to his soaked body, slipping down to reveal an impressive muscular build. His dark hair was pulled back in tiny braids.
A man.
Even Telemachus hesitated. He tightened his grip on the knife, diving forward. “Who are you and how did you get on board?”
The man stumbled back against the wall of the ship. The tip of Telemachus’s knife pushed his chin upward. To Nax’s surprise, the man’s face didn’t show a sign of wear. Not a single blemish touched his skin except for one single scar through his eyebrow. A smile grew on his lips as he turned his eyes upward, a gleam of red shimmered through the pupils.
This was not a man at all.
The name fell from Nax’s lips like a prayer. The name of the god who’d plagued his thoughts. The god that had started it all.
“Ares.”

Chapter Text

Nax had sent them straight to Hades.
No, he’d done something far worse.
He’d enacted the rage of Athena.
“Naximenes, what?” Telemachus spat. He swiveled around to the teenage boy, scrambling out from the hull. His heart was racing against this chest. “What are you talking about?”
Nax threw up his hands. “Ey! Don’t stab me.”
Telemachus looked down. He’d forgotten he’d been holding a knife and lowered the blade.
“Oh. Please do, it’d be quite entertaining,” the man from the floor of the ship said with a dark smile.
Telemachus shuffled away. “Nax,” he said in a low, warning voice. 
Nax swallowed, biting his lower lip as if he’d been caught swiping from the palace kitchen. “I think…I mean—” Nax turned to the man. “Are you Ares?”
Telemachus groaned. This was so pathetic.
The man looked offended. “Of course, I’m Ares you blistering idiot. Has my decade of mental torment meant nothing to you?”
“B-but how?” Telemachus said, daring to raise the knife again and trying to stop the shaking in his hands. “Nax, how is Ares on our ship?”
“Uh. I might have given him moly?”
Telemachus could feel the blood drain from his face. He glanced at the man and then back to Nax. “N-no…”
Nax cringed. “Yes?”
“Nax, you idiot!”
“I didn’t know it’d make him…human!”
“Well, what were you expecting?”
Nax paused.
Telemachus groaned. “You had no idea, did you?”
“I was getting there,” Nax snapped.
“Fight. Slaughter each other,” Ares cheered from the ground.
Telemachus shot him a glare. It wasn’t very pious of him, but he was tired of all being, mortals, gods, and worst of all, brothers. “We could have talked about this, Nax.”
“I tried. You didn’t listen.”
Ouch. Telemachus clenched his jaw. “I-I did listen. And I said it was a bad idea. Athena is going to be furious.”
Athena was furious. He could already feel her presence lingering in the air around the ship.
“Pfftt. My sister is a total killjoy. More bark and than bite.”
Nax stepped between the Telemachus and the god he wished he could stab. “Technically, this isn’t fully Ares. He’s got a mortal body and that weakens him a lot. He can’t do all the destructive, super bad stuff Athena is worried about.”
Nax forced a smile.
Telamachus groaned into his hands.
Nax was incredibly hard to keep alive.
This....I did not see coming.
Telemachus turned to see the goddess’s shimmering form towering above him.
“Ah, my sister has arrived.” Mortal Ares picked himself up, leaning against the side of the ship. He flexed his fingers. Red glowed through his veins.
So not entirely mortal.
“You can see her?”
“Sadly.”
Nax huffed. “This isn’t fair.”
“You’re in trouble right now,” Telemachus snapped.
“This is in total breech of our agreement,” Athena said, crossing her arms at Ares.
“Hey. The boy made me do it,” Ares said, gesturing to Nax.
“Don’t bring him into this! You’re always doing that,” Athena huffed. “Blaming all your problems on the very mortal who worship you. No wonder they all die tragically.”
“Dying tragically is the very best kind of worship,” Ares snapped.
Nax paled. “Um. We’re trying to avoid that.”
Ares stalled, clearing his throat. “Except for in this particular case. I’m here to train him.”
“There is no way I’m allowing that. The Fates won’t allow it.”
“He’s alive, isn’t he?” Ares snapped back.
Telemachus hated that Ares had a point.
“Someone’s gotta die,” Ares continued. “And I’d prefer if it wasn’t him.”
“Don’t pretend you care about the boy,” Athena spat. “You’re just trying to win the war. The Trojan war is lost. Lost. You have lost, Ares. Give it up.”
“So strike him down then!” Ares pushed himself from the side of the boat that was keeping him upright, balancing on his two feet. His eyes flashed red as he clenched his fists. “If you’re so sure this is what Fate wants, finish him.”
Telemachus stepped away from the feuding gods and in line beside Nax, clutching his knife.
Athena didn’t respond. The glowing orbs beneath the ethereal helmet turned downward.
Ares chuckled. “Even the almighty goddess of wisdom doesn’t know,” he said.
“Olympus can’t go against Fate. I can’t allow you to aide him like this.”
“And what about a mortal?”
“Fate is going to come for a son eventually,” Ares said. “We might as well try and fight who that is. Yours isn’t safe either.”
Her essence had stilled. The air had grown still, colder now. Telemachus could feel the goddess’s gaze turn to him. 
“Give me the moly flower.”
Telemachus blinked. “W-what?”
“What did she say?” Nax whispered.
“She-she wants the moly flower.”
“I don’t want it. I need it,” Athena scowled. “If I’m going to keep this bloodthirsty excuse for a divinity in check. This is the last thing I want. I feel the need to state this entire idea is absolutely ludicrous. Fate doesn’t need to do a thing because you all will get yourself killed.”
Nax handed off the satin bag to Telemachus.
Telemachus handed it to the goddess. “Thanks for your faith in us,” he grumbled.
Athena huffed. She took the bag, removing the holy moly.
She paused. “Are you all going to stand there and ogle?”
“No,” Telemachus blurted out stupidly.
The goddess vanished into thin air.
“What’s happening?” Nax whispered loudly.
“She’s gone.”
“What?” Nax said, his jaw falling. “She stole my whole moly flower stash?”
“You totally misused it anyway.”
“No,” Ares said, holding up his hand to silence them. “She’s still here.”
A clattering came full the hull of the ship. A loud curse followed.
The two brothers and mortal god all exchanged looks.
“I’m not going,” Ares said, surrendering his arms.
Nax stepped back beside him.
Telemachus sighed. He took a deep breath and crept into hull. “Athena?”
It had to be.
There was nothing else to describe the energy zinging through the air. Something blue glittered in the shadows between the crates of the darkened hull. 
“Athena?”
A deep breath.
A raggedy, desperate, hungry gasp for air.
A shiver ran down Telemachus’s spine as he stepped further. “Athena?”
Two glowing blue eyes appeared in the darkness.
Telemachus stumbled back, his breath hitched in his throat. He caught himself against a crate, feeling safe in patch of sunlight that shone from the upper deck.
“Telemachus.”
It was most definitely her voice.
But there was something different. Something grounded and raw. He was so used to her voice feeling like a thought intertwined with his own. Her very existence was that of the earth.
And now…it sounded like something he could feel.
“A tunic would be lovely,” she said after a long moment. Her glowing blue eyes faded into the darkness. “If you’d stop standing there with your open jaw. Preferably also retrieve one for my brother. If I’m going to have to endure him, I’d like to endure him clothed.”
Telemachus cleared his throat. “Right.”
How was he supposed to act normal about this? There was a goddess in the hull of his ship. And there was a god waiting for him on the deck. These were immortals spoken in stories passed down for centuries.
It all seemed to come crashing down at him at once as he fished out a spare blue tunic from Nax’s bag and tossed it to the darkness. 
He found his own spare tunic. It most likely wouldn’t fit the god of war, but they didn’t have any other options. It also smelled of Circe. He was glad to be rid of it.
The idea of immortals roaming his ship didn’t lock into place. It bounced, floundered and drowned in his mind as he watched the endless waves of the sea. Was there anyone he could pray to? 
“Have you ever had fish before?” Telemachus overhead Nax saying to the god of war, who was crouched curiously over a collection of fish.
“Certainly,” Ares said, almost offended at the question. “I’ve had finer meals than you’ll ever have in your lifetime.”
“Could I try one of these meals sometime?”
“You would disintegrate the very taste of god’s food.”
Telemachus exhaled. What mess had he gotten into? When he’d followed Nax onto the beach, ending up on a small boat being chased by all of his childhood heroes with two mortal gods wasn’t what he envisioned.
“This plan is really quite dreadful.” Athena’s voice bloomed beside him.
Telemachus jumped, turning to see a woman standing with her arms crossed behind her back. He’d never seen Athena clearly. No mortal really could really comprehend fully the form a god.
Yet, here she stood. Her skin had a deep tan and scars littered her muscular build. Her hair was strewn about in every direction with a hint of red brought out by the sun. Her eyes were nearly an impossible color of silver. One look at them and he was reminded of the goddess he was addressing. He began to bend him knee when she caught his arm. “No formalities. Nothing changes. We are still friends.”
Telemachus shuffled to his feet, clearing his throat. “Right.”
“You don’t eat the bones!”
Athena and Telemachus turned to Nax, Ares, and a torn apart fish.
Ares spit out a bone. “I knew that,” he said defiantly. 
“Did you?”
“Don’t start getting bold, little prince.”
Athena groaned, rubbing between her brows. She hurried down the ship. “Enough.”
Ares stopped, starring at his sister for only a moment before getting to his feet. A scowl settled over his face. “I think something was wrong with that moly flower. Your height makes no practical sense.”
Athena stood an inch taller than the god of war.
And Telemachus could sense a smidge of pride in the smile she was trying to hide. 
“Just because you have the form of a mortal doesn’t mean you need to begin acting like one,” Athena huffed. “This is a temporary fix to keep you from ruining things.”
“I promise he won’t ruin anything,” Nax said, getting up beside Ares. 
Athena narrowed her eyes at Nax.
Telemachus wished he could jump into the sea.
Athena raised her brow. “You’re quite naive.”
“Maybe,” Nax said. “But I’m not going to be a quitter.”
Somewhat inspiring, mostly frustrating. 
“If Ares is to train young Astynax, we are going to require more substantial weaponry,” Athena said, turning her attention to the loot Circe had gifted them. “We should make a stop.”
Telemachus froze. “Another stop? What if they recognize us?”
“There’s an island not far from here. It’s a quiet place,” Athena said. “It won’t take us much off course from the Gorgons you seek.”
Nax looked to Telemachus hopefully. Telemachus swallowed. He couldn’t argue with a goddess and much less that look from his brother’s eyes. It was the same stupid puppy eyes that demanded help with swiping sweets from the palace kitchen. Not the time, Nax.
“Sounds like a plan,” Telemachus said, hoping his voice didn’t give him away.
“Excellent.” The way Athena said it sounded far from pleased. She sidestepped over Nax and Ares’ fish mess to prepare a cleaner meal.
Every so often she’d give Telemachus an odd direction or two before taking over until the water looked the same every direction he turned. Late into the night, Ares sparred Nax with an oar. Nax hadn’t won once, knocked to the ground, smacked upside the head, and butted in the gut. Telemachus cringed, feeling the urge to throw himself between them and tell Ares off.
This is what Nax wanted.
The sun had set and the moon was the only light in the sky. Nax lunged forward. His footing was awkward making it easy for Ares to woop down with his oar and—Smack!
He landed a blow straight to his face. Nax grunted, his foot slipped and toppled over into the hull.
“Nax!” Telemachus leaped to his feet.
Ares threw his oat to stop his path. “Let him get up on his own.”
Telemachus looked to Athena. She hadn’t even moved an inch. She was also a god of war. Violence like this didn’t phase her. It shouldn’t have phased Telemachus. He’d helped paint the palace red in blood.
But that blood had hardly felt human. Every ounce of mortal respect those men had been born with was squandered to him. Even dead, they still haunted his mind and every touch. He couldn’t bare watching anything similar happen to…
“Rematch!” Nax gasped pulling himself out of the hull. Blood streamed down from his nose, mixing with the smirk on his lips.
Telemachus pushed Ares’ oar away and helped his brother to his feet. “Maybe you should take it easy…”
Nax pulled away, wiping the blood with the back of his hand. “They’re not going to go easy on us. I have to be prepared. Besides, it’s just a nose bleed. You’ve had worse.”
Telemachus had far, far worse.
Nax picked up his spear and raced back to Ares, leaving Telemachus standing alone by the hull. Ares glanced over his shoulder with a conniving grin and red glint in his eye before turning back to spar Nax.
A burning swelled in Telemachus’s throat.
The message was clear: He wasn’t needed here. He headed into the dark hull. His heart lurched seeing a glob of Nax’s blood on the wooden floor. He turned his eyes away and headed among the crates. Gods were aboard his ship…well, technically a ship he’d stolen, but regardless.
He had no domain here. If this was what was best for Nax, it was best for him to accept it. Telemachus sank to the ground, trying to tune out the smashes and grunts on the deck above. He tried to think of home, but every time he did the images of the blood splattered walls greeted him instead. He’d do it again. A hundred times over. 
No one would touch his mother or his brother. Instead, they would tear right through him. And he would remain silent, even if it ate him alive slowly.
He closed his eyes as the clamor of the spar fell into beat of a supernatural song growing nearer and nearer.

Chapter Text

THREE YEARS AFTER THE SACK OF TROY, HOURS BEFORE THE ARRIVAL OF ASTYANAX TO ITHACA

Sunlight licked him awake.
Telemachus groaned, turning over into his pillow. He felt like he’d just closed his eyes. Was it really time to get up already…Wait. A pillow.
Telemachus pushed himself upright, looking down at his bed.
He frowned.
That had been an odd dream.  He’d been on a boat. He’d had a brother delivered in a flurry of birds. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. He caught a glimpse of himself in reflection of the sheild propped up against his desk. It had been a gift from his mother from his thirteen’s birthday a few days ago. It had been his father’s when he was Telemachus' age. 
“You’re now the age he was when he became king,” she’d told him as she ruffled his hair.
They spent his birthday in her room, guards standing watch outside the door.
The doors weren’t enough to drown out their voices.
“I can be king,” Telemachus insisted. 
His mother smiled sadly, tucking a loose curl behind his ear. “I’m sure you’d make a fine king, Tele.”
She was just telling him that to be nice. It did feel nice to hear it, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew there was no way it would happen. Not with the suitors in the halls and the stone face advisors who seemed to remind his mother at every convenience of Telemachus' every flaw.
He was short in stature, though his mother insisted he would grow. Antinous said he was cursed with his father’s height. Telemachus had tried to argue, but he had no idea what his father even looked like. The image was blank whenever he tried to muster it.
He was too gentle. Too skinny. Too impolite. Too loud.
Out of order and out of place.
The prince of Ithaca was a prisoner of his very being.
He hurried to dress, leaving the sheild behind. Usually, a servant would draw fresh water, but from the looks of the murky bowl, it had been another long night for the palace staff. Telemachus cracked the door open, peering out. He held his breath, praying to Athena to give him the wisdom to know if Antinous was near.
The suitors had only just began arriving and his mother would have no part in it. They were loud and rowdy, but to turn them away would be against customs. They already had enough to worry about. They mostly didn’t bother him besides a few snickers and comments when he passed.
It was Antinous that made his skin crawl.
He was the one who’s gaze never left Telemachus, his eyes unreadable and plotting. He’d made the mistake of trying to argue with him about his father’s seat at the table—something they’d always left empty. 
“They say it’s reserved for the living man of the house,” Antinous said, a gleam of humor in his eyes as the suitors chuckled in suit. Telemachus was convinced they didn’t actually find him funny and solely just wanted his approval.
“Exactly,” Telemachus said. “Reserved for a man and I don’t see a single one here. Just a bunch of dogs.”
The suitors laughed and jeered, but Antinous's face darkened. 
Telemachus' blood went cold. The hair raised on the back of his neck. The suitor’s eyes didn’t leave him for the rest of the evening.
He tried to think nothing of it.
That was hard when Antinous followed him into the dark. 
That’s when the violent look in his eyes became deadly. Telemachus didn’t want to find out what they meant. He tried to pretend he couldn’t tell the suitor was following him. He’d always been cautioned about causing a scene. Then why could Antinous? In his father’s house? And all Telemachus could do was stand around like some attendant?
A growl echoed through the hall.
Telemachus froze, slowing turning to see Argos’s enormous body leaned forward in a stance, ready to pounce. Never had he been more thankful for the old dog.
Antinous stumbled back, the wine in his goblet sloshing to the floor. He cursed underneath his breath. “Call off your damn dog,” he muttered, swinging out his leg.
Telemachus' heart dropped and before he could shout “No!” Argos nipped at the suitor’s leg. Antinous cried out, smashing the goblet against the floor. Wine splashed everywhere, staining the front of Telemachus' tunic. He threw his small arms around Argos’s neck pulling the angry hunting dog.
Antinous's head whipped up, that angry, deadly look flashing in his eyes with an intensity Telemachus had never seen before.
His body locked into place, unable to move.
It took Argos pulling away for Telemachus to run down the hall. He didn’t stop running until he and Argos reached his mother’s doors.
She fell to knees, grasping his shoulder’s with a loving fierceness only a mother could have. “Tele,” she gasped. “What happened? Is everything alright?”
He opened his mouth, but Antinous's eyes flashed into his mind. What was that man capable of? He was far stronger than Telemachus…perhaps even stronger than his mother. What would he do if Telemachus said…Tears began to swell in his throat, but he forced himself to swallow. He was the future king of Ithaca. He couldn’t cry.
Instead, he choked out: “Can I stay in here?”
His mother pursed her lips. She could read him better than anyone. She didn’t press him, simply nodded and rose to her feet. “Let’s get you a new tunic and some stew.”
That had been over a day ago now. 
He was thirteen. He had to learn to handle himself.
The suitors usually slept in until noon, but he still crept through the halls, afraid his footsteps would echo through the entire palace and awaken them.
He raced out into the training yard, fetching his bow and a few loose arrows. It was the one place untouched by the suitors. They didn’t seem keen on preparing for battle…unless that battle was raiding the palace kitchen.
Pushing out the training yards gate, Telemachus bounded down the hill toward the coast. The smell of salty air steeped all the anxiety from his bones as his feet pounded against the dirt path down to the rocky shore. Boats lulled at the docks, as they had for over a year now. Telemachus was beginning to fear the ships would rot there.
He shook himself.
He couldn’t let himself go there.
His father would come back. These ships would leave—or sink. Whichever happened first.
The sailors and fisherman gave a quick bow as he raced by. He waved back to them. It was a silent comradery they all shared ever since he’d been young. He used to beg his mother to come everyday when he was younger. Now, it was whenever he wanted to feel close to his father. 
“Looks like a storm is approaching, little prince,” one of the old fisherman said, leaning over his boat.
Telemachus slowed, looking up to the dark clouds mixing and turning into each other. “I hope so,” he said.
“Pardon my disagreement, but I hope not,” the old man chuckled. “Don’t need a flood to clean up after. Don’t think we’ve managed to anger Poseidon to that point though, ey?”
A fire smoldered deep in Telemachus' gut.
He prayed Poseidon was furious enough to wipe the palace clean. 
“Yes,” Telemachus managed to say.
“Ey, you’re a smart boy. Thirteen years?”
Telemachus nodded. “Just a few days ago.”
“Heard all about the feast. Made an offering to Athena for your wellbeing.”
Telemachus did manage to smile at that. “Thank you.”
He hurried down to the end of the dock, looking out the storm. The dream from last night trickled back in. It felt like he’d been here before. In this exact moment, watching birds fly from the horizon with a brother.
He narrowed his eyes. It couldn’t be possible, could it? What cruel god would send them a gift like that right now? How many years could they endure the suitors while also watching a baby? How much longer before he found out what the violence in Antinous eyes meant?
“There!” A voice cried out of the wind. “A ship!”
Telemachus' heart leaped. A large ship pulled out of the fog, followed by another and another…
“War ships!” Someone cried out.
Telemachus' heart dropped. Were they about to be destroyed? Ithaca had no army to defend it. Telemachus pulled out an arrow with shaking hands and strung it into his bow. He pulled back, narrowing his eyes at the fleet.
“Yield!”
A voice bellowed over the water. A man stood at the front of the head ship. His beard was long, his hair tied back. He was short in stature, but his impressive muscular build made him far more intimidating than any suitor that had stepped foot into the hall.
Telemachus had seen his eyes many, many times when he’d looked into a mirror.
The docks fell to their knees. Telemachus dropped his bow.
“Father!”

HOURS AFTER THE SACK OF TROY

“I am so proud of you.”
The words burned brighter than the wreckage around them. Nax rolled his shoulders high as his brother removed his helmet. Telemachus' face was smeared in soot and blood. He hair was slacked in every which direction with sweat.
The two princes stood atop the wall. Nax hadn’t felt like his body had slowed in years. It all came sweeping in like once: The rush of victory, the weight and exhaustion, and the fear of the letting go of his spear in case it started all over again. 
The city was in shambles. Smoke overtook the sky. He’d forgotten what kind of blue Troy had. The horse stood among the wreckage. Walls had been caved in. Corpses of men lie stripped of their valuables. Women herded like cattle out toward the exits. Soldiers drunk off their spoils, their jeers and cheers blurring into the screams.
“You are a true son of the Achaeans.”
Nax’s vision blurred. No.
Son of the Achaeans? Of course he was the son of the Achaeans. He was the son of Penelope and Odysseus of Ithaca. What was wrong with him? Maybe it was the smoke. His vision cleared. He nearly stumbled forward, nausea rushing through him. Telemachus caught his shoulder.
Nax nodded, pushing himself back. He looked back over the wall toward the shores were the fleets were waiting, carts were being rolled out and trails of slaves followed—mothers wailed, daughters sobbed.
But this was a victory.
A victory he’d aided in, right? He should be proud.
“Do you feel like we aren’t supposed to be here?” Nax asked in a small voice.
Telemachus frowned. “Naximenes, are you alright?”
Naximenes was his name. He didn’t have another.
Why had he even thought to remind himself of that?
It was a strong name his mother had given him. She said she saw great promise in him, a great warrior, a follower of Ares. And yet, Nax couldn’t feel the god anywhere near him.
He must’ve simply been exhausted.
“Mother will be pleased,” Telemachus promised, stepping beside him and leaning against the wall to watch the bloody sunset. “She always believed in you. More than I, anyway. We will feast to your name once we return, for weeks, I’m sure of it.”
“That wouldn’t be fair. You’re a far better warrior than I.”
Telemachus smiled, shaking his head. “A terrible time to try and be modest. I just have good ideas. You’re the one who gets them done. Priam didn’t stand a chance against your blade.”
King Priam of Troy….killed by him?
“There wasn’t a hint of hesitation. A swift kill. One they train us for, but rarely is succeeded. All glory, no mercy.”
Nax dared to lower his eyes to his blood stained leather. It was only them did he notice the blood crusted on his arms as well. His arms were thicker, more muscular, and toughened with countless scars.
“Perhaps I just need a drink,” Nax sighed, removing his own helmet shaking his hair. The warm breeze swept against his skin. A putrid smell of burning flesh flowed with it.
“We’ll get you strongest one,” Telemachus promised.
“Hark! Sons of Ithaca!”
Nax and Telemachus snapped into position. Beat his fist against his chest as he turned to a soldiers ascending the steps. Another man rose with them. Nax could have recognized his frame anywhere. He bowed shortly. “Father.”
Odysseus seized his shoulder, a gleam of pride in his eyes. His father was never one for anger, but he also was an incredibly honest man. Pleasing him truly was difficult. “You do not bow to me. Not today, my son.”
Nax swallowed hard, nodding. “You are far greater than I, father.”
“This triumph belongs to you.”
The rest of the batallion cheered alongside him. Nax looked to Telemachus, who still looked at him with the prideful smile. 
“There is yet but one more task before that must be completed to secure our victory. A task bestowed on us by Zeus himself.” Odysseus stepped aside. “It is only right for you to secure our passage home.”
Out of the cloud of soldiers, a woman was dragged. She sobbed, kicked and screamed. No matter how hard Nax tried he couldn’t make out her face. It blurred and shifted. Sometimes, he swore he saw Penelope's eyes and other times he saw another face entirely. In her arms, she clutched a bundle.
One solider held her back, as another tore the bundle from her. She clung onto it, wailing and screaming in a tongue that he didn’t understand but felt so familiar. She pulled away only the blanket and the solider pulled away a baby. The baby was mysteriously still sound asleep in the chaos. The solider knelt at Nax’s feet, offering the child to Nax.
Nax’s heart dropped as the infant turned to face him. He was hardly a year old. The beginnings of dark curls had appeared, and his tanned complexion matched his own.
He picked up the baby with his bloody arms, cradling it in his arms.
“He is the son of no other than Troy’s very own Prince Hector.” Odysseus's words were heavy. “If not killed, he will come back to avenge his father. His death will secure our victory. It will end this ten year long war.”
The baby’s mother let out a horrendous scream. The soldiers pulled her back, the sounds of her protests muffled. Nax watched the spot where she’d been, holding his tongue from demanding them to bring her back and unhand her.
“He’s just a boy,” he said, turning to his own father.
Odysseus’s face shifted. “Even a boy can grow into a monster.”
Nax looked down to the sleeping child. He looked so harmless, so gentle, so soft. Nax stepped toward the edge of the wall. It was a far drop into the rubble below. The death would be instantaneous. 
All the had to do was let go, and he would be Naximenes, glorified son of Odysseus, Prince of Ithaca, and true Achaean.

“Wake up!”
The world went quiet. Nax’s eyes snapped open. The was drenched. Rain poured down, tossing the ship back and forth. It hadn’t been real. It hadn’t been real…
The muffled sound of song fought against the wax that was now in his ears. He pushed himself to his feet, searching the ship wildly for the others.
His heart stopped.
On the ledge of the ship stood Telemachus, his eyes closed and facing the water.
“Telemachus! Stop!” Nax raced for him. The ship rocked backward. Nax slipped, hitting the floor of the ship. 
He watched in horror as Telemachus stepped off and over the side of the ship into siren infested waters.