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The stalwart hero of Ithaca, the lost husband of King Edwin, set foot on the wine-stained marbles. Weapons of steel and bronze tangled with lifeless unmoving bodies of what once was. Dawn was breaking. Apollo shed golden light on the disaster forgotten. It was a new beginning — a sacrifice for the heart of the lost hero of Ithaca. It was finally over, Charles dully repeated in his mind. The bodies weren't a concern because amidst the palace of horror, one room was kept locked and protected. All thanks to his clever wise prince.
"Poppa?" Henry was limping as he trudged to where his father was, leaving a hesitant distance between them. Charles' son regarded him with a melancholic pride. He could only imagine twenty years ago since he held this little bundle in his arms. He couldn’t help the guilt rising from his throat.
Charles was just about his age when he had sailed to Skyros. It struck him like no other arrow.
"My son," he whispered solemnly. Oh, how brave he grew up to be! Just like his Dad after all. His calculating yet soft eyes from Edwin, now stained with blood, bruises, and scars.
"Pa, for twenty years I dreamt my greetings for you. You're just as what Dad has told me about."
Charles' chest cracked.
He took one more look at Charles. "I... I don't have the words." He really was Edwin's son.
"Little mate," Charles started. "That's what I called you when you first arrived to us. A blessing from Pallas herself." Charles took a step forward, wanting to reach for his son's face, but his hands were gloved red and dirty.
"All my life I wanted to see you. I wish you could meet the person I was twenty years ago. He was younger, but he was the man your Dad fell in love with; the man with clean hands that held you when your Dad couldn't bear to see you cry." A tear escaped the Ithaca hero's eye. "I wish I'd known you longer, little mate. I missed you beyond years."
"Poppa," His third word, Charles remembered so clearly. Henry lunged into his Pops, and Charles did the last good thing he knew and forgot. He opened his arms. "You're home!"
"How I longed to see you!" Henry cried like nothing had changed within twenty years, and Charles held him again like he was an exiled squire of the Spartan Prince.
Charles lifted his head. He just about noticed the familiar oddity of the air.
"Go tell your father I'm home. I'll be there in a moment."
"Of course." Understanding, the little wolf pulled away, but without his father leaving a kiss to his head.
"Show yourself. I know you're watching me."
The gray-eyed goddess crystallized in front of Charles, her back turned against him.
"You were never one for hello's."
Without turning back, her voice reverberated. "Welcome back, hero of Ithaca."
"Thank you for saving my son."
"I did no such thing, Rowland. He did that all by himself."
Charles remained silent. Suddenly, a mist cloud appeared, showing the broken ruins of the palace.
"S'this what you wanted?" Charles said bitterly.
"Quite. Though the bloodshed was more of Ares' thing." Athena turned to Charles, helmet broken, an eye missing. "I can’t say these dogs don't deserve their fate. It is only unfortunate that this is the world we have to live in."
Charles approached her side.
"I can’t help but feel like I led you astray. Anger, strength, pride — that was how the war began anyway. I can’t help but wonder if there's a world out there, where things don't have to be this way."
"If that world exists, I won't live long enough to see it. I've lived a hundred lives and died trying to get here. Soon, I'll be taken to Hades. But you'll live forever. You'll see it come to pass. I don't need regrets; I don't need apologies. You can make it happen."
Athena regarded him for a while, truly looking into his eyes— powerless yet full.
"You've made me proud, Charles Rowland." She put her helmet back on. "I'll take care of this. Go. He waits for you."
And just like that, she's gone. But Charles knew deep in his heart, that wasn’t a goodbye.
—
Charles has waited all these years to see his love again. No waking day in the Achaean camp passed by without Charles thinking, dreaming, or telling stories about his husband and son. Sixteen was the age he met Edwin of Sparta.
Before gushing to Athena about this beautiful intelligent boy out of his league, it was Edwin who had gathered up the courage to strike up a conversation. He couldn’t care about Helen when Edwin was there, holding a candle when Charles had lost a duel and hid in the broomstick closet.
They were best friends first before fiancées. He had been shy just greeting him when they were courting. He’d say a witty phrase or two, but would stumble when Edwin fondly rolled his eyes, laughed heartily, got flustered, or said something wittier back.
Now, Charles didn’t know what to expect. The two syllables of his love’s name dying on his tongue, afraid of the sound of a broken and fearful boy who had his hands dirty just to stand in front of Edwin. They were no longer boys, but men who went half their lives without each others’ souls.
Yet when Edwin turned to him with hopeful but guarded eyes, Charles couldn’t help but be that boy again. He was just as, if not more, beautiful as he was twenty years ago.
“Charles?” Charles could crumble like Troy. How much he longed to hear his name spoken by the voice that read to him every night.
“Is it really you?” Edwin’s hands were clammy as they reached for the side of Charles’ face. Charles instinctively melted into it. How could Edwin hold someone as ruined as Charles so gently? He could never lie to Edwin. He was no longer what he once was. He gently removed the hand on his face.
“Edwin…it’s me. I don’t know how to tell you or convince you. There are so many things I need to say, so many things I’ve done that I cannot change.” Sometimes, I wonder if I am any different from my father.
“I left a trail of red on every island. My friends have died, hurt more lives, my bloody hands aren’t for you to hold anymore! I did it all to come home to you…but if you see me in a different light then I’ll understand. I just wanted to see you and Henry again.” Charles had been staring at the floor in guilt, but really looked at Edwin when he said, “If you knew all that I’ve done…” Would you fall in love with me again?
Edwin stood up. “If all of that is true…then all I ask is one thing.” He pointed at the wedding bed in the middle of the room, where the early morning sun kissed its empty sheets. “See that wedding bed? Could you carry it over? Take it far away from here.”
At that instant, Charles’ heart shattered.
“Edwin?”
“You heard me.” Edwin’s voice was stoic — a king’s. “I’m willing to give you a chance, suitor. To pretend to be my husband is one thing. You don’t know what he’s been through. So pray, do this for me and you’ll be spared.”
Charles couldn’t help the sob any longer. “Do you realize what you’ve asked me? I built that bed from the olive tree where we first met. You read me to sleep. I held you in your nightmares. Henry said his first word here! The only way to move it is to cut it from its roots!”
“Only my husband knew that,” There was a moment of silence before Edwin’s eyes lightened up. “Only he knew that…”
Edwin didn’t waste time. He crossed the distance between them and embraced Charles with a ferocity more powerful than any deity could offer.
“Charles!” He breathed out, feeling every part of Charles engraved back into his soul. “Oh, darling…”
Charles buried his nose on the crook of Edwin’s neck, tears falling on his tunic. Edwin gently cradled his neck and then the back of his head.
“You’re home.”
“I am.”
When Edwin pulled back, he brushed a finger on Charles’ cheek. “You idiot. You know I’d never ask that of you. I’m sorry, my darling. I just wanted to be sure.”
“I know, I know. It still doesn’t change the fact that I have done more worse—”
“Shhh.” Edwin put a finger to his lips. “You will listen to everything I say. King’s orders.”
Charles chuckled.
Edwin pressed their foreheads together to shut him up. They were just two boys again, listening to the ragged breaths of the other.
“You, Charles Rowland, are the best person I know. That will never change. I know you from the bottom pits of my heart, and I’ll know you to the ends of the world. Nothing will ever stop me from falling in love with you.
“Don’t tell me you’re not the same person. I have been waiting for a lifetime, and even in my afterlife I’d wait for you. I know you’ll always come back to me. I just ask one last thing of you.”
“Hm?”
“Don’t go where I can’t follow.”
Charles said his name like a strike to his heart. If this was what dying felt like — coming home to Edwin — then he couldn’t ask for anything more.
Slowly, Edwin brushed his lips against Charles’. Charles opened back. They clung to each other until no space could come in between them.
“How long has it been?” Edwin asked, pulling away but still hanging on to Charles, slowly swaying in a dancelike trance.
“Twenty years.”
“I—”
Charles kissed his forehead, blood, sweat, and tears painted. “I love you.”
"Rest now, my love. I'll be next to you when you wake."
And Ithaca was at peace once again.