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Chapter Text

Odysseus should not have entered this cave alone.  It wasn’t like he’d meant to, he could hear Eurylochus and the others yelling outside, but there was no way they’d be able to shift the boulder blocking the door.  Odysseus was trapped.

The thing that had trapped him glared with its singular eye.  The cyclops was far taller than Odysseus - there was no way he’d be able to kill it alone.  Odysseus offered it a smile.

“Hello!  I assume this is your home, then?” he asked with as light a tone as he could manage.

“It is.”

The cyclops’ voice vibrated in Odysseus’ ribs.  It hadn’t attacked yet.  Odysseus could pull this off.  It would be fine.

“It is wonderful!  Very welcoming!”  Odysseus had felt more welcome while ransacking Troy.  “I hope me and my men didn’t disturb you, we hadn’t realized this place was inhabited.”

The cyclops was still glaring at him.  Then, it sighed and rolled its eye, walking over to a nook in the cave where a caldron sat over a smoldering pile of coal.  It stirred the contents, glanced back at Odysseus, and shook its head.

“Come here,” it rumbled, and Odysseus carefully approached, reminding himself that this thing hadn’t done anything wrong yet.

He wasn’t going to start a fight if he could help it.

The cyclops pointed to a pile of bags set against the wall.  They looked sea-worn and ragged.

“There should be bowls your size in there.”

Odysseus walked over and opened one, seeing that there were, in fact, bowls and spoons within.  Nothing fancy, but he wasn’t about to complain.  He pulled a bowl and spoon free.

The cyclops lifted its spoon - no, ladle - from its apparent stew and lowered it within reach of Odysseus.

“Take some.  Eat.  Then we’ll talk.”

Odysseus quickly scooped his bowl into the stew and considered it.  Whatever the cyclops had made it with, it was thick, creamy, and had cubes of meat and vegetables that Odysseus would probably have to take bites from if he wanted to eat them.  It smelled good.

Odysseus scooped up one of the smaller meat cubes and took a bite, humming in surprise at the taste.  The cyclops looked terrifying, but it was a good cook.  He swallowed and kept eating, watching the cyclops give himself a bowl as well, although it saw fit to simply drink its portion.

Once they had both finished their meals, the cyclops sighed and looked down at Odysseus again.

“My name is Polyphemus.  This is my cave.  Why have you come here, stranger, and what is your name?”

Odysseus smiled his most winning smile.

“Why, I am Nobody, captain of a ship so lost we no longer remember our names.  We were told that there was a cave with food around here!  Your presence was not mentioned.”

Polyphemus snorted.

“Lotus Eaters, then.  Nothing between their ears but mush.”

Odysseus chuckled and set down his bowl.

“This is a common problem for you, then?”

“You have no idea.”

Polyphemus rolled his shoulders slightly, clearly bracing himself for something.

“You came here looking for food.  How much would you ask of me?”

Odysseus ran some quick numbers, and quickly landed on, “I would hate to burden you, but I do have many men  Could we possibly make a trade?  I would accept directions to another island where we could hunt, and enough food to get us there, if you’d be willing to accept some treasure in return.”

Polyphemus hummed and crossed his arms, drumming his fingers on his bicep as he thought.

“I do know of a place.  I would require something other than gold, however.  It does me no good around here.  Do you have slaves?”

Funnily enough, Odysseus’ fleet really didn’t.  They plain and simply didn’t have the space or supplies to support any captives when they left Troy.  He shook his head.

“No.  We do have some rare wine, however!”

Polyphemus nodded slowly, eye narrowed thoughtfully.

“That will do, I suppose.  Do not let your men attack me when I move the boulder.”

Odysseus scrambled over to the cave entrance just behind Polyphemus, positioning himself so he would be the first thing his men saw.

The boulder rolled, Polyphemus remaining out of sight.  Three men, sitting on the ground and looking despondent, jumped to their feet with exclamations of shock and delight.

“Captain!”

“You’re alive!”

“Are you hurt?!”

“The cyclops-”

Odysseus stepped forward and raised his hands, gesturing for them to calm down.

“I’m just fine, my brothers.  Polyphemus was an exemplary host.  Now, where is everyone else?”

The men pointed back toward the beach.

“Eurylochus went to rally them-”

“Well one of you needs to go stop him!” Odysseus interrupted, alarmed, “I just worked out a deal for food and directions to more!  I’ll wait here, bring a few barrels of the good wine and enough men to carry other supplies back to the ships.”

The men eagerly agreed and ran off toward the beach.  Odysseus watched them go, and hoped the sight of him standing outside the cave would dissuade any… overly excited responses.

“If I get stabbed, I’m going to stomp on you,” Polyphemus said bluntly.

“You won’t get stabbed.  My men are good- well.  My men listen to my orders,” Odysseus responded, although he mentally added, “As long as I’m watching them, anyway.”

Thankfully, although the men arrived armed, they didn’t attempt to attack Polyphemus.  And, although there was a lot of nervous side-eyeing for the cyclops, the trade went smoothly.  Polyphemus directed them to an uninhabited island, and watched as they left with their supplies, holding the caskets of wine they’d given him.

“Open arms, right?” Polites asked, gently elbowing Odysseus in the side.

“Yes, yes, talking did us much more good than fighting,” Odysseus admitted in an exaggerated put-upon tone.

When night fell, Odysseus retreated to his cabin.  He fell asleep almost as soon as he laid down.

Athena was waiting for him.

“You fucking moron,” she hissed, towering over him with burning silver eyes.

“I- what?” he stammered.

What had he done?  He’d gotten supplies and directions and no one had gotten hurt.  Not even the cyclops.

Athena’s armor shifted and shuddered, rising in plates like the feathers of an enraged owl.  She was glaring at him in a way he’d never seen before.  He’d never seen her so angry.

“Why the fuck would you do that?!” she snapped, “Why would you just- what exactly were you thinking?”

Odysseus carefully knelt down, hoping a supplicating pose would make his patron calm down - or at least tell him why she was upset.

“I don’t understand, what did I do?” he cried, flinching when Athena stalked toward him.

There was a mania in her movements.  A frantic, furious tense in her body.  What had happened? Why was she angry?

Athena loomed over him, teeth bared, and for a moment Odysseus was convinced he was going to die.  Athena was going to kill him for some unknown transgression.

Then, like a sheet of ice cracking, Athena’s furious expression became one of pure, genuine sorrow.  She almost fell on top of him, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him tight to her.

Odysseus froze for a moment, before cautiously returning the hug.

“I can’t help you,” she whispered shakily, “I can’t help you.  I can give you one boon, but… that is all.  This is the last we’ll see of each other.  I’m sorry, my champion.  I wish- I wish there was more I could do.”

Odysseus tried to pull away, to ask what she meant by that, by any of this, and instead felt Athena gently kiss the crown of his head, just like his mother used to when he was a boy.

“I believe in you.  You will pull through this,” she whispered, and Odysseus woke up alone in his cabin.

Athena did not answer his prayers.  She did not appear to him, did not advise him, did not acknowledge him as he and his fleet reached the island Polyphemus had directed them to.

Sure enough, it was covered in what had once been a small town long since lost to time.  The groves were barely recognizable.  The livestock ran wild.  The houses were filthy, and crumbling.  There were no people.

Odysseus ordered his men to gather as much as they could, and tried not to focus on his missing patron.  He still didn’t know what he’d done to upset her.  Why she’d reacted like she had, like she was… mourning him.  He replayed his encounter with Polyphemus over and over, trying to work out what was so terrible about it, and kept coming up blank.

He’d done everything right.  A peaceful solution with a favorable outcome.  He’d gotten supplies, and now his whole fleet had enough food and wine to last them most of the rest of the way home, more than enough to get them to another stopping point.  Hell, he’d even kept his name from someone who clearly had no qualms about killing him.

Was… was that it?  Was Athena upset that he’d kept his name to himself?  It was hardly some grand victory, just Odysseus working the rules of Xenia in a genuinely normal way.  That couldn’t be it.

As his fleet readied to spend the night on the island, Odysseus poked at his meal, wondering what he could have possibly done to make Athena abandon him so tearfully.

They set sail the next day, once again homebound.  Their supplies were fully stocked, their spirits were high, and their heading was clear.  Home was the destination.

Odysseus slowly gave up trying to contact Athena.  She was not responding to him.  From her words, she never would again.  He just couldn’t figure out why .  Something had happened in Polyphemus’ cave, something he’d done, but he had no idea what it was.

“Captain?”

Odysseus got up from his shrine and opened the door to his cabin, revealing Polites holding a satchel of wine and a plate of food.

“I noticed you didn’t show up for breakfast.  Or lunch.  I’m not letting you skip dinner,” Polites said, pushing the rations toward Odysseus.

“Right,” Odysseus muttered, accepting the offering, “right.  Thank you-”

“I’m going to watch you eat it.”

Odysseus scowled at Polites, who smiled brightly and folded his hands behind his back.  They remained like that for a moment, Odysseus trying to glare his friend away while Polites simply grinned like he had already been invited inside.  Finally, Odysseus groaned and moved back into his cabin, followed closely by Polites.

Odysseus wasn’t really hungry.  He hadn’t been since Athena had… distanced herself.  Still, with Polites watching him expectantly, he had little choice but to choke down the mostly-tasteless bread and meat.  The wine was little better.  It did make Polites happy, though, so Odysseus suffered through it.

“Keep skipping meals and I’ll force-feed you,” Polites warned cheerfully.

Odysseus wasn’t sure that was a joke, but he rolled his eyes and nodded as if it were.

Their trip was, generally, going smoothly.  With the new provisions, Odysseus’ fleet was set to make the long trip back to known waters, and make it a good way closer to home before having to stop for more.  Spirits were high.  Worries were low.  The ocean was calm.

The first few weeks were easy.  They made good time, and supplemented their supplies with fresh fish as they went.  Polites roped Eurylochus into his campaign to keep Odysseus fed, the two working in tandem to make sure he actually ate.  It wasn’t Odysseus’ fault that his appetite had seemingly left him, nor that their food was bland and more of a chore to eat than anything.

Home came closer.  They were nearing truly familiar waters, and Odysseus knew of several places they could stop to barter for supplies.  Many of the crew were excited to stop by and visit old friends from decades past.

Odysseus’ friends were still fussing over him.  He acted like he didn’t notice, but his portions had been subtly increasing over the weeks.  He wasn’t sure why, or why their cook was allowing it.  He ate all of it still, even though it all remained unappetizing.

When they docked on a friendly island, Odysseus barely had time to talk with the local king before Polites and Eurylochus locked their arms with his and frog-marched him to a healer.  They refused to tell him where they were going, and once they arrived refused to explain to him or the healer why.  Polites simply demanded the confused man examine Odysseus.

Odysseus put up with it, allowing the healer to strip him down and look him over.

“Malnutrition.”

Odysseus stared at the healer.  So did Polites and Eurylochus.

The healer met their confused gazes and shrugged, gesturing to Odysseus’ chest and abdomen.

“He’s not eating enough,” the healer said, as if the word was the problem they had with the diagnosis.

“I’ve been eating regularly and more than I would on my own, my men can vouch for it,” Odysseus said with a wave toward Polites and Eurylochus.

The healer glanced at them, frowned, and then examined Odysseus again, running his hands over Odysseus’ ribs and asking questions that finally culminated in a simple if damning one.

“Is there some god you may have upset?”

Odysseus started to shake his head, then paused.  Athena.  She had abandoned him, not cursed him, but the way she was talking… he had to have done something wrong with Polyphemus.  He just had no idea what.

“I don’t know,” Odysseus said carefully, “if I did, I was not informed.”

The healer shrugged, gesturing to Odysseus’ ribs.  They were, now that he was looking at them properly, noticeably tight to his skin.  How hadn’t he noticed that?  Obviously Polites and Eurylochus had, and probably the rest of his crew too which would explain the increased rations he’d been receiving.  But… why?

The healer shrugged again.

“I can give you something to clear intestinal parasites, although I have to say you don’t have any other symptoms of those.  If you’ve really been eating well, I don’t know what to tell you.  By all appearances, you’re just not eating enough.”

Odysseus ran his hands down his sides.  His fingers caught on his ribs.  How had it gotten this bad without him noticing?  And why was it happening?  His lack of appetite didn’t change the fact that Polites and Eurylochus had been methodical in feeding him.

“Are you sure it’s not just the sailor’s rations?” Polites asked, a note of desperation in his voice.

Eurylochus answered before Odysseus or the healer, saying, “Is anyone else suffering these symptoms?”

Polites looked down.

The healer fidgeted a little then suggested, “It probably wouldn’t hurt to eat some fresh food.  Focus on fruits and vegetables, but some red meat might help too.  I’m sure you’ve had enough fish.”

Odysseus nodded, although his mind had fixated on “red meat”.  Red meat.  Red meat.  That was important.  He wasn’t sure how, or why, but it was.  It bounced around his head like a panicked insect.  Red meat.  Red meat.

He barely paid any attention to where his friends led him after that, too focused on his thoughts.  It was like there was some kind of block in his mind, like he was on the verge of a realization but just couldn’t put all the pieces together.  Why did red meat matter?  It did, he knew it did, it was important to his condition but he couldn’t figure out why.

When he was sat down at a table and had a stew shoved in front of him, Odysseus swore he faintly heard the sound of shattering glass as he stared at his food.

Red meat.  A crime unknowingly committed, allowing Athena to give him a boon against his punishment.  A block that had protected him from an important question, one that was now sending him spiraling as he stared at the floating pieces of meat in his stew.

What was in Polyphemus’ stew?

The clues had all been there.  Human packs with objects too small for the cyclops to use.  Cutting Odysseus off from his men like he’d done it many times before.  A flock too small to use for a steady supply of meat.

Odysseus’ stomach churned, sickened far too late.  It made sense.  Why would a cyclops care about using humans as food?  They weren’t the same species.  It wouldn’t have mattered to Polyphemus.

But Odysseus was human.  And he’d- he’d eaten-

Odysseus barely managed to twist away from the table before he vomited, his body attempting to purge itself of something long-since digested.

It didn’t matter what he ate now, he suddenly realized, gagging on the taste of bile, nothing would feed him.  A curse upon him, to starve for eating his own kind, even unintentionally.  He would die slowly, in agony.

But why keep that from him?

Odysseus ignored the hands hauling him upright and carrying him elsewhere.  Why would Athena hide that from him?  What did it matter if he knew what was happening?

There was something else.  Something that made Athena think blocking all knowledge of the curse from his mind was the best boon she could offer.  It wasn’t some misguided attempt at letting him spend the rest of his short life blissfully ignorant, that wasn’t her style.  There was something else, there had to be-

What if the curse wasn’t starving?

Odysseus could almost feel his insides curdle in on themselves as he considered it.  What if the curse wasn’t starving?  What if, like the medic said, he just wasn’t eating enough of the foods he needed?  If Athena had been keeping him from recognising that he was starving, it had to be because there was some way to stop it.

Some way to fail.

You will pull through this.   He’d been unknowing in his crime.  A test of endurance.

A test of resistance.

One he’d just made so much harder.

Odysseus’ stomach twisted, this time not in sickness.  As if woken by the realization of what was happening to him, his appetite resurfaced with a vengeance, forcing his eyes shut and his hands to wrench free of the people supporting him to wrap around his middle, trying to ease the contorting ache within.

He opened his eyes again as he was sat down and forced to look up, seeing the healer’s worried expression.  Odysseus’ eyes flicked over the man’s face, and then he felt saliva gush into his mouth.

So, maybe Athena had done a lot more than simply keep him ignorant.

“‘M fine,” he rasped, then cleared his throat and snapped, “I’m fine!  I simply had a realization that I really shouldn’t have had while I was in front of food.  I’m okay.”

Confusion passed over the healer’s face, but he shrugged and offered a few stomach soothers.  Odysseus accepted those.  They might actually help him.  He considered, wistfully, asking after some appetite suppressants, but decided that none of the three people around him would agree to it unless he explained why a starving man would want to make himself want to eat less.

Odysseus was trying not to think about why he wanted them.  His stomach growled and twisted unhappily as he was escorted to a bedroom and brought several plates of various foods.

Somehow, it was even harder to force himself to eat now.  The fresh fruit and vegetables felt like clay in his throat, the bread heavy and thick between his teeth, and none of it tasted like anything but vaguely sour mush.  The meat was only a little better, tasting like a pale imitation of itself rather than poorly flavored mud.

Odysseus, after he’d forced himself to eat most of the food, point-blank demanded Polites and Eurylochus leave him.  They had only been trying to help, he knew, but he now harbored a vague resentment for forcing the issue and making him fully aware of it.  He would be having an easier time now if they hadn’t, no matter their intentions.

He laid down and tried to ignore the uncomfortable weight in his stomach - it didn’t seem any happier with his meal than his mouth had been - and think of a way out of this.  Unfortunately, as he had no idea what the actual conditions of this curse was, he had no way to try and find any loopholes.

All he could do, for now, was attempt to keep on as he had been.  Force himself to eat whatever tasteless, unappetizing food was placed in front of him and hope he survived until he made it home.  It had worked so far.

Odysseus fell asleep, curled in on himself.

It took until he was back on his ship, surrounded by open water, for him to admit he was in real, genuine trouble.  It wasn’t that Odysseus wasn’t used to denying his desires - he was probably more familiar with the feel of his hand than the feel of any woman at this point - it was that the combination of knowing them, having a solution in front of him, and feeling utter disgust at it, was making him think of nothing else.

Every time he had to eat his stomach-turning rations, he would be struck by intrusive thoughts of how much better some fresh meat would taste… and that he was, day and night, surrounded by sources of exactly that.  He’d taken to forcing himself to eat more every time those thoughts appeared.

Polites and Eurylochus both were helping in that regard: they made sure he ate everything they brought him.  And yet, as they moved ever-closer to home, Odysseus could feel his body grow lighter, thinner, and his hunger grew stronger.

One month.  One month, and they’d be back on Ithaca.  One month, and-

Odysseus wasn’t stupid.  He had no way of knowing what would happen once he got home.  He’s just hoping that making it home will give him something, anything that will let him either break the curse or… well, let him know to go somewhere quiet to die.  He certainly wouldn’t be taking any other way out.

Chapter Text

Odysseus had wanted to head straight home, but Eurylochus, backed up by Polites and several other concerned crewmen, had requested they stop at another friendly island mid-way through.  They claimed it was so they could have access to food other than rations and whatever they cobbled together on the ship, but Odysseus could tell that Eurylochus and Polites were going to drag him to another healer for a second opinion.

He hadn’t told them about his revelation, or about what he’d done.  It wouldn’t do any good.  They couldn’t help him, and it would only horrify them.  The only thing that could help was getting home; stopping here would only make things worse.

Still, Odysseus couldn’t deny his crew this basic comfort.  They would have had to run their rations close to the limit to get home without stopping anyway.  He could hold out for a few extra days.  It would be fine.

He was not surprised when, yet again, as soon as he finished talking through accommodations with the local king, Eurylochus and Polites dragged him off to visit the local healer.  Nor was he surprised when they too proclaimed him to simply be starving.

“If he isn’t displaying any other symptoms, you just aren’t feeding him enough,” the healer said bluntly, crossing his arms and quirking an eyebrow.

Odysseus, personally, resented the implication that he was a poorly-cared-for pet.  Polites and Eurylochus seemed more upset that they were the bad owners in this metaphor.

“We’ve been feeding him frankly ridiculous amounts!  We’ve been watching him eat it all too!  Something else is wrong!” Polites insisted.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you.  The man’s starving.  That’s it.  My recommendation is to go pray to your favorite god and hope they fix whatever’s wrong with you.”

Eurylochus had scoffed and grabbed Odysseus, all but dragging him to his room while Polites stayed behind, still talking to the healer.

Odysseus tried to talk Eurylochus into letting him go, and instead was pushed onto his guest-bed without a word and abandoned in his room.  Eurylochus had stalked out, growling under his breath about useless healers and stupid captains.  That last one felt unfair, because while it was accurate, Eurylochus didn’t know that.

The bed was soft, at least.  It cradled his poorly-cushioned skeleton, encouraging him to just lay where he’d been placed and rest.  He had so little energy nowadays.

Odysseus had just been about to drift off to sleep when he heard the curtains at the window move.  His eyes didn’t snap open, but he did peer under his eyelashes.

Someone, a man, was trying to crawl into his room.

Odysseus waited until the man was inside and skulking his way toward the bed to sit upright in a single, smooth motion.  The man recoiled, obviously not expecting Odysseus to be awake.

The man - young man, now that Odysseus could see his face clearly - was clearly wearing a noble’s clothes, although it seemed like he had tried to pick something inconspicuous.  He also seemed to think that a piece of fabric over his mouth was enough to disguise him.

“Why are you in my room?” Odysseus asked, exhausted.

The young man stared wide-eyed at him for a moment before seeming to summon up his bravado.  He puffed up his chest, pulled out a knife - not a sword, or a spear, a knife - and pointed it at Odysseus.

“Looks like they were right.  You are just a frail skeleton of a man,” the young man (boy, even, a teenager too full of himself to consider consequences) growled, “So why don’t you give me your gold and I won’t have to cut that leather you call skin.”

Part of Odysseus was offended at the descriptions; he looked bad, but not that bad.  The rest was doing some quick mental math and coming to the conclusion that the boy likely hadn’t seen Odysseus’ sword, and if he had, thought it wouldn’t be useful.

If Odysseus were even half as frail as the boy seemed to be insisting, he might have been right.

As it stood, while his body was wasting away, what remained of his muscle was more than capable of making lethal use of his sword.  Not that he particularly wanted to.

“Wouldn’t jewelry be easier to carry?” Odysseus asked, causing the boy to stop short.

He looked bewildered for a moment, then snapped, “ALL your valuables!  There’s gold in your jewelry, I meant all your gold!”

Odysseus sighed.

“I want you to take a long look at me, and the room, and tell me what exactly you think I have for you to take,” he said slowly, with an even tone.

It was barely a ploy to get the kid distracted.  Odysseus hadn’t brought much of anything off his ship - they weren’t staying long - and the kid could gain more value from the basic decorations of the guest room itself than anything Odysseus had on his person.  A noble would know that.  Maybe the kid had hit another room before his and stolen the clothes.

The boy actually did as he was told, taking his eyes off Odysseus to scan the room, and Odysseus quickly lunged forward, smacking the boy’s knife away and locking him against Odysseus’ chest, sword pulled up close to the boy’s throat.

A soldier would have known instantly that this was a very weak threat, Odysseus had left far too much space between his blade and the kid’s skin, but the kid clearly didn’t recognise that, seeing as he froze up immediately and started shaking.

Odysseus sighed again.

“I’m in no mood for bloodshed.  If I let you go, will you leave and not come bother me again?” he asked.

The kid nodded so wildly Odysseus worried he was going to cut himself on the sword.

“Good.  Then I’m going to let you go, and you are going to go right back out that window and leave me in peace.”

More frantic nodding.  Odysseus glanced out the parted curtains, noted that the sky still had some light, and wondered why the little thief had been out so early.  The body in his hold was thin but not starved, muscles firm and insulated by a neat layer of fat, and would probably-

Odysseus cut off that line of thinking before it could fully manifest.  Even so, he had to swallow a mouthful of saliva and close his eyes for a moment.

He released the boy, trying to ignore the fact that his appetite had been roused by the half-formed idea of how the boy would taste, and that’s why he reacted as slowly as he did when the boy dove for his knife.

The kid was no soldier.  But Odysseus was.  And the sight of someone charging at him with a weapon made him react with the same instincts that had kept him alive on the battlefields of Troy.

Odysseus’ sword punctured straight into the kid’s chest, between his ribs.

For a moment, they stared at each other, eyes equally wide.  The kid choked, and the fabric over his mouth darkened.  Odysseus knew how to kill a man - lungs were attractive targets when they were available - but this- this was-

The kid lurched backward, unknowing or uncaring of how much more damage he was doing to himself, and then fell.  Odysseus staggered one step closer to the kid-

And stopped dead.

Odysseus was far from unfamiliar with the smell of blood.  It had never smelled the way it did now.  He took a slow breath, and had to clamp his free hand over his mouth.

Odysseus had never smelled anything so delicious before.

His stomach twisted inside him, both in horror and nightmarish hunger.  He’d eaten nothing but unsatisfying, mud-like food for so long and he was so very, desperately hungry.

It almost felt like some madman had taken residence in his skull, gibbering about how no one would notice a young thief going missing, no one else saw what happened, if Odysseus said the boy had come in mauled and raving and attacked him no one could call him a liar, if he said there were already parts missing no one could say-

Odysseus staggered backward until his legs hit the bed and he sat down, breathing hard.  The air still smelled like blood, but his body was reacting as if he could smell a freshly cooked meal.  He had to get out of the room.  He had to leave before his straining self-control snapped and he did something unforgivable.

As if in response, the door to his room swung open, revealing Eurylochus and Polites.  Polites held a small chest - Odysseus’ clothes - and both looked concerned, but not overly so.

That changed when they saw Odysseus.  It got worse when they saw the boy bleeding out on the floor, choking on his own blood.

Polites flung the chest to the side and rushed to Odysseus, quickly working the sword out of his shaking grasp and tossing it away too, gripping his hand and talking in low tones, trying to get Odysseus to speak.  Eurylochus hurried over to the boy, examining the wound before shaking his head and going back to the door, yelling out into the hall for help.

“Odysseus, what happened?” Polites asked, working over Odysseus’ knuckles with his thumbs.

Odysseus started to remove the hand over his mouth only to realize that it was wet with drool.  He pressed it to his mouth harder with a soft gasp.

Eurylochus moved to Odysseus’ other side, and placed a hand on his shoulder.  Silent support, as always.  His brother never liked to talk about things.

“Why won’t you speak?” Polites asked desperately.

Odysseus shook his head.  He could feel his saliva oozing from between his lips and he couldn’t- he couldn’t let either of them see.  He was so hungry but he couldn’t-

He looked at the corpse on the floor.  He shouldn’t have.

Odysseus’ stomach groaned audibly, and both Polites and Eurylochus froze.  For a moment, Polites’ grip on Odysseus’ hand became painfully tight, and Eurylochus gripped his shoulder like he was restraining Odysseus instead of comforting him.

Then the guards entered, and they were all ushered into a separate room with more than a few apologies.  The boy was apparently a known thief, although not normally a violent one.  Odysseus barely processed any of that as he was gently led to a new, clean bed in a room with no body, no food-

Polites left, at some point, but Eurylochus stayed, leaning Odysseus against himself and holding him in a half-hug around the waist.  Odysseus focused on breathing and getting himself back under control, even as his stomach growled and ached with enough intensity to make him not care that Eurylochus was almost definitely holding him still.

When Polites returned, Odysseus had managed to calm himself enough to remove the hand from his mouth, although the previous drool was still strung through his beard and across his palm.  He hoped, in an empty sort of way, that Eurylochus would think he’d nearly been sick from the act of killing the boy, rather than drooling over his corpse.

Polites had returned with a frankly ridiculous plate stacked high with various foods.  The sight and smell combined did an excellent job of turning the biting hunger to viscous nausea.

Odysseus wanted to cry.  The smells were the same, he knew they were, but it was like someone had swapped his reactions to them: the thick, metallic scent of blood had made him drool, and the smell of fresh bread and fruits were now making him sick.

“You need to eat.  You’re malnourished, and you need to eat,” Polites said, repeating it almost like a mantra as he knelt down in front of Odysseus, setting the platter on his knees.

“I don’t-” Odysseus started, unsure of what he was truly trying to say.

Polites shoved a gyro into his mouth instead of letting him talk.

It tasted disgusting.  Maybe it was because he had just been smelling something so much better, but the little sandwich made his throat close and his stomach heave.  Odysseus choked and twisted his head away instead of biting, leaving Polites holding a gyro and looking devastated.

“I can’t-” Odysseus gasped, shuddering, “I can’t eat it- I can’t-”

“You’re STARVING!” Polites exploded, surging upright and sending the food scattering across the floor, “You’re STARVING no matter WHAT we feed you!  You have to eat!  I can’t keep standing around watching you wither away!”

“You think I want this?!” Odysseus snapped back, almost leaping to his own feet if it weren’t for Eurylochus holding him back.

“Both of you STOP IT!”

Odysseus flinched at the volume of Eurylochus’ shout.  Polites’ expression crumbled, and he buried his face into his hands, shaking.  Eurylochus sighed.

“Odysseus.  You know what’s going on.”

It wasn’t a question.  Odysseus shuddered again, wrapping his arms around himself.  He nodded.

“What can we do to help?”  Eurylochus knew him too well, because he quickly followed it up with,  “Don’t say we can’t, tell us what’s going on so we can figure it out for ourselves.”

Odysseus closed his eyes for a moment.  He didn’t want to explain anything.  Even thinking about it made him feel sickened.  He cast around for a lie, and for once in his life drew up short.

“Something happened in Polyphemus’ cave,” he finally murmured, feeling Polites rest a hand on his knee, “I- I shared a meal with him.”

Odysseus fell silent again.  Neither of his friends said anything.

“It- he had a stew.  I thought it was made from his sheep.  It wasn’t.”

The hand on his knee and the grip around his middle both tightened.

“Polyphemus was a cyclops, not a man.  It wasn’t cannibalism to him.  But to me-”

Odysseus’ entire body shivered hard.  The meat hadn’t tasted strange.  It had just tasted like meat.  Like pork, if anything.  If it weren’t for the packs of Polyphemus’ previous victims, he would have had no way of knowing what he’d eaten.  It wasn’t his fault, not that it mattered.

“Then… it is a curse?” Polites asked quietly, and Odysseus nodded.

“I was unknowing in my crime, but I still did it.  I still…”  He shook his head instead of saying it.  “Everything tastes bad, and it doesn’t help feed me.  My only hope is to get home.  If nothing else, I’ll be able to say goodbye to my family in person.”

Eurylochus’ grip on his side tightened, and Polites inhaled sharply.

“We can leave-” Polites started, and Odysseus shook his head.

“What exactly would we tell the men?  We will stay the night and leave tomorrow, after we restock.”

Eurylochus and Polites exchanged looks, but nodded.  Odysseus felt some tension leave his body.  His stomach growled, weaker now that he was away from… now that he was in a new room, but still audible.  Eurylochus released him, standing up.

“We’ll go get some more food.  I know you said it doesn’t help, but for all we know it’s the only reason you haven’t died yet.  Stay here,” Eurylochus ordered, grabbing Polites by the arm and almost dragging him out of the room.

Odysseus knew that neither of them would spread what exactly was wrong with him around, and if they did, they wouldn’t say why.  He was less certain that they wouldn’t start to distance themselves.  He was a cannibal, after all.  Athena was likely the only reason he wasn’t dead yet.

Odysseus buried his face in his hands.  He wasn’t sure how long he spent like that, only that when Eurylochus and Polites returned, he was sobbing.

Two pairs of arms wrapped around him and held him.  Two voices murmured reassurances.  Odysseus cried until he felt drained, and couldn’t resist Polites feeding him some pieces of peeled fruit.  It tasted disgusting and made his stomach twist, but it made Polites smile when he choked the pieces down so he kept doing it.

Odysseus fell asleep at some point, because he woke up to a whispered argument.

“So what are you suggesting?  We kill him in transit and dump his body off the ship?” Polites hissed harshly.

“Quit twisting my words!” Eurylochus whispered just as harshly, “You heard and saw the way he reacted to the boy’s body!  His stomach was growling, and he was drooling !  This is only going to get worse the longer it goes on, we’ve seen that!  Are you really going to trust him after a few more weeks of starving to be alone with Penelope?  Or Telemachus?”

Polites scoffed and growled, “He would never hurt them.”

“Maybe, maybe not.  I wouldn’t have thought he’d ever want to eat a person, but here we are!” Eurylochus snapped, voice still quiet.

“You heard what he said-”

“We both know Odysseus lies-”

“ And we both know Athena watches him all the time.  Do you really think she wouldn’t have killed him or- or- turned him into a dog if he’d just decided to start eating people?!”

Odysseus heard Eurylochus sigh.

“Polites.  We both know what hunger can do to a man’s mind.  I’m not saying we should- get rid of him, or lock him up, I’m just saying we need to keep a close eye on him.”  Skin gently met skin.  “I love him too.  Seeing this happen- it’s killing me too.  But our brother would want us to protect his family, and his people.  We’ll just watch him, nothing more unless he really seems to be losing it.”

Polites sighed too.

“I hate this,” he murmured.

“I do too.  Come on, lay down here.  I’ll feel a lot better if I can be sure Odysseus won’t be alone if another person breaks in,” Eurylochus said, sitting down on the bed Odysseus was laying on.

“Because you want to protect him?” Polites muttered with a sarcastic edge.

“Exactly.”

Odysseus felt his friends lay down beside him and had to bite his tongue to keep from crying again.  Eurylochus didn’t trust him.  He thought Odysseus would- might- couldn’t be trusted around his son.  Or his wife.  He thought Odysseus would get so worn down by this curse that he would actually consider-

His stomach twisted around the silt of the fruit inside it and he forced his thoughts away.  He couldn’t even think about that without getting sick.  No, Odysseus was no threat to his family.

Not yet.

Eurylochus’ words repeated in his mind.  A few more weeks of increasing hunger, of increasing desperation.  Odysseus had kept himself together for this long, but how long could he keep it up?  Smelling the thief’s blood had nearly driven him insane; he’d been coming up with cover stories for why the body would be missing parts, even if he hadn’t done anything else.  How much longer until he started planning for people to go missing entirely?

How long until he put those plans into action?

Ithaca was a small island, but there were plenty of places to hide a body.  And as king, Odysseus would have ample opportunity to simply ask for a person’s schedule, learn when they would be alone and unlooked for-

Odysseus gritted his teeth and shoved the thoughts away.  He had made it this far.  With Eurylochus and Polites watching him too, he would make it home a man, not a monster.  His family and people would not be threatened by him.

He would make sure of it.

The next morning saw them heading out again.  Odysseus tried not to let Polites’ and Eurylochus’ new habit of hovering around him get to him, but it wasn’t easy.  If it wasn’t one, it was the other standing just behind him or beside him, generally silent unless he engaged with them first.

The watch-dog act made some mean part of Odysseus want to bite them for no other reason than to spook them into giving him space.  The urge was kept in check by a quiet terror that if he did get his teeth around human skin, he wouldn’t be able to keep himself from biting until his teeth connected again.

They also insisted on him eating more, to the point where Odysseus finally yelled at them for trying to give him a stomach ache from too much food.  While that did help stop them from giving him his share of rations several times over, they quickly found another way to spend too much time in his personal space.

Odysseus had, admittedly, began wrapping himself in blankets and extra layers.  He was cold almost all the time now, and he couldn’t seem to warm up.

Eurylochus and Polites took that as an excuse to demand he let at least one of them remain with him at night, to ensure he wouldn’t get sick from the cold on top of slowly starving to death.  Odysseus had tried to argue against it until he had actually been wrapped in Eurylochus’ arms and had almost felt genuinely warm again.

They only had around two more weeks of travel.  He could put up with it.

Odysseus began dreaming of lavish feasts, of sitting at a table, surrounded by his loved ones, and all of them eating and laughing together.  He dreamed of sharing mushed figs with little infant Telemachus and getting more of them on their clothes than in Telemachus’ mouth.  He dreamed of Penelope pressing slices of bread topped with olives and oil to his lips as he held their son.

When he woke, he had to remind himself that Telemachus would be ten years old by now.  He wasn’t the infant Odysseus had left behind.  Polites had held him tighter and let him cry into his shoulder the first time it happened, and Eurylochus never complained about Odysseus’ tears wetting his clothing either.

The days dragged on.  Odysseus began to leave his cabin less and less.  Polites and Eurylochus traded places, one leaving to take on ship duties while the other stayed with Odysseus, trying to encourage him to eat, or sleep, or simply talking in soft tones about what they would all do when they finally made it home.

Hearing them include Odysseus in long-term future plans made his heart ache.  He wasn’t blind; it would be a damned miracle if he survived long enough to even see Ithaca, nevermind making it onto the island.  At least, he assured himself in quiet, despairing thoughts, his family would know exactly what happened to him.  They could have closure.

They were one week out, and Odysseus was dreaming about feasts again.  Penelope was holding Telemachus and laughing, and Odysseus was smiling wide as the smell of fresh food filled the hall.  Telemachus’ face was blurred, features shifting each time Odysseus focused on them.  Penelope was bright and vibrant and unfocused as well, made of solid images that merged and lost detail as she moved.

Penelope used a fork to stab a piece of pork off a plate and hold it out to Odysseus, grinning widely as she encouraged him to try it.  It looked delicious, perfectly cooked and lathered in sauce and spice.  Odysseus smiled back at her and leaned in, opening his mouth to let her feed him.

Her eyes flashed an unnatural color as his teeth closed around the pork.

Odysseus was snapped out of sleep as Polites yelped and shoved him from the cot and onto the floor.  The collision was painful - he didn’t have nearly enough muscle or fat to protect his bones - but less so than the way Polites stared at him.  Polites looked as if he were staring at a rabid wolf, and not his mostly-skeletal friend and King.

He opened his mouth to ask what the hell was going on when he noticed Polites’ forearm.

More specifically, he noticed the reddened circular mark on Polites’ forearm.

A bite mark.  A bite mark on the arm that had been draped over Odysseus, near his head.

Odysseus remembered his dream, remembered how he’d been so entranced by the scent of the feast in it, and was struck by the sudden, horrible fear that his dreams had been influenced by his physical proximity to his brothers.  The blood of the thief had made him drool.  Why wouldn’t the smell of skin also rouse his appetite?

Odysseus managed to snatch the empty bowl leftover from his unsatisfying dinner before he vomited.  It barely helped contain the mess, but Odysseus did not care.  He’d bitten Polites.  He’d been dreaming and in his sleep tried to-

He heaved again and stared blankly at the disgusting yellow liquid splattered across his lap and puddled in the bowl.  Nothing but bile.  No blood, no food, just acid.  That should have been reassuring.

A hand gently grabbed Odysseus’ shoulder and he flinched, staring up at Polites’ pale expression.

“Are you done throwing up or can I start cleaning you?” Polites asked, and Odysseus just stared at him.

Polites rocked him gently, as if tempted to shake him hard but not willing to see if Odysseus’ frail form would hold up under vigorous movement.

“Odysseus.  Are you going to be sick again, or can I start cleaning this up?” Polites asked again.

Odysseus’ eyes drifted to the mark on Polites’ forearm.  It wasn’t bleeding.  He had been asleep and hadn’t been able to bite hard enough to break the skin.  But he had bitten hard enough to leave a red imprint of his teeth.

He really couldn’t be trusted to be alone with his family, could he?

Odysseus twisted his head and vomited again, feeling tears start running down his face.  Polites let out a sympathetic sound and rubbed the knobs of his spine, whispering things Odysseus couldn’t catch.

Polites didn’t leave.  He removed the bowl once he was sure Odysseus wouldn’t be sick again, he peeled Odysseus’ ruined nightclothes off and wiped down his skin, he put Odysseus in clean clothes and placed him on the bed again, and he wiped away the remnants of vomit from the floor.  Odysseus watched him silently.  He didn’t trust himself to move, and didn’t have the energy anyway.

Polites removed the ruined items, and Odysseus expected to be finally left alone in his cold cabin.  Instead, Polites returned and almost laid on top of him, arms snaking under Odysseus’ arms and clinging to him.

“I’ll make sure to keep my arms out of reach, okay?” Polites asked with a tone that almost managed to be cheerful.

Odysseus shuddered, and Polites held him tighter.

“None of that.  You’re too cold to sleep on your own.  It was an accident.  I’m going to stay right here and keep you warm, and you’re going to get some more sleep, and in the morning Eurylochus will bring us that stupid flatbread and jerky, and we’ll all eat breakfast and have a good morning and be one day closer to home, okay?”

Odysseus didn’t respond.  Polites sighed.

“You didn’t hurt me.  It didn’t feel good, but I’ve received much worse bites and still come back to bother the biter.  We’re all going to make it home, and we’re going to find a cure for this.  Athena’s probably already looking into it, and once we’re at Ithaca we can make use of the temples and ask the other gods for help.  We’re all going to be okay.”

Odysseus couldn’t tell Polites that Athena had abandoned him long before now.  He couldn’t tell Polites that he no longer wanted to get home, to let his wife and son see the hunger boiling inside of him.  He couldn’t tell Polites that he was scared of falling asleep and waking to find his body had satisfied itself without his knowledge.

So he just lay there, and listened to Polites breathe.

Chapter Text

Odysseus didn’t leave his cabin after the incident with Polites.  He barely left his cot, swaddled in blankets and shivering, terrified of sleep but unable to resist it.  Polites and Eurylochus came in and woke him up to feed him, but that was all.  They would curl up with him at night, keeping their arms away from his head, but during the day, he was alone.  At least, he assumed he was alone.  He only occasionally woke up with one of them curled up with him, warming his trembling body.

He still dreamt of feasting with his family.  Their blurred, ghost-like images taunted him when he woke, reminding him that neither Telemachus nor Penelope would look the way he remembered.  He still cried for them, waking with a wet pillow and sore eyes.

When he woke with a hand on his cheek, Odysseus believed he was still dreaming.

Penelope looked down at him with a shuddering smile.  She had new lines on her face, recording joys and sorrows that Odysseus had missed, and her hair was longer.  He leaned into her palm, sighing as new tears ran down his face.

“Do you really look like this now?” he murmured, and Penelope let out a sound that was either a laugh or a sob.

“Last that I checked,” she told him, her own tears running down her face.

The smell of her perfume made him blink and then sit up as sharply as his starved body could manage.  He stared at Penelope, eyes wide and breathing quickening.

“Am I still dreaming?” he whispered.

Penelope shook her head, giggling shakily.

Odysseus surged forward and wrapped his arms around her, feeling her return the gesture with equal desperation.  He sobbed openly, clutching her as tightly as he could.

He’d done it.  He’d made it home.

“I missed you, I missed you so much,” Odysseus rasped, feeling Penelope’s sobs shake him.

“Not as much as I missed you,” Penelope murmured, “So you’re going to make it up to me.”

Odysseus chuckled wetly.

“And how will I do that?” he asked.

Penelope stroked his hair and the knobs of his spine.

“You’re going to survive.  You’re going to survive for as long as you possibly can.  You understand me?  I’m going to find a way to fix this, and you’re going to survive until I do,” she said, arms tightening slightly as she spoke.

Odysseus closed his eyes.

“I can try.  We need… we need to talk about what’s happened-”

“Later.  Right now, I need to bring you home and re-introduce you to your son and let your parents and sister worry over you too.”

Without warning, Penelope repositioned him and scooped him up in her arms with the ease of one lifting a young child.  Odysseus yelped as she lifted him, arms wrapping around her neck in a panic before quickly moving to her shoulders.  She smiled at him.  The edges still twitched.

“I’m going to enjoy getting to carry you around for once,” she told him smugly, and he couldn’t help but burst into teary laughter.

Penelope carried him from the cabin all the way to their bedroom.  Odysseus missed most of the trip, too lost in watching every expression Penelope made as she carried him.  He remembered seeing Eurylochus in the periphery at some point, but not Polites.  Not Telemachus.

When his back met sheets that he hadn’t felt in a decade, Odysseus almost began crying again.  He stared up at the ceiling of the bedroom he’d built for his wife and gripped the sheets beneath him reverently.  He’d made it home.

Penelope laid down beside him, and he turned his head to look at her.  Her eyes were bright with tears, but she smiled at him still.  Odysseus smiled back.

“I’m sorry I returned to you like this, and not as the man you remembered,” he said softly.

Penelope shook her head and wriggled closer to him, wrapping her arms around him again and pressing a kiss to his prominent collar bones.

“I had expected you changed.  You have been at war for ten years.  This is…unexpected, but you are still my husband, and I still love you.”  Penelope squeezed him gently.  “As I said: you can make it up to me by surviving this, and letting me pamper you until you fit into your old clothes again.  Or until I have to sew you bigger ones.”

Odysseus shot her an odd look, which Penelope returned teasingly.

“What?  They can’t steal you away again if you’re too heavy.  I’ll sneak enough iron into your diet that the next time they try to get you on a ship, you’ll capsize it.”

Odysseus chuckled and rolled his eyes, returning the hug and muttering, “You and your schemes.  Gods, I missed you.”

“And I missed you,” Penelope whispered, leaning in to kiss his lips.

Odysseus kissed her back, relishing the fact that he could do so.  He’d missed her, so badly.  The smell of her, the feel, the taste of her lips-

Odysseus’ stomach twisted and he shoved himself away from Penelope.  It was sheer luck that he didn’t topple over the side of the bed, but he couldn’t care about that.  Odysseus curled in on himself, clutching his stomach and gritting his teeth in agony.

His hunger, a never-ending background ache, had lunged forward again, clawing at his mind and body.  It hadn’t ever hurt like this, not even after he’d stabbed that thief.  Not even when he’d bitten Polites.  It felt like his stomach was trying to contort itself free of his body and was taking the rest of his organs as collateral.

A pair of hands pressed to his cheeks and Odysseus reopened his eyes, looking up to see Penelope saying… something.  He mostly heard a ringing in his ears, blotting everything out.  Penelope was pale, though, and crying.  If he’d been able to unwrap his arms from himself, he would have wiped those tears away.

The ringing slowly faded, as did the pain, allowing him to hear what his wife was saying.

“-wrong?!  Odysseus!  Speak to me!” she pleaded, staring into his face like she expected it to go slack at any moment.

He opened his mouth and found himself unable to do anything but pant.  The pain was fading, but his entire body was trembling with a slow, grinding need Odysseus refused to name.  He couldn’t.  Not when kissing his wife had ignited it.

“I’m- sorry-” he gasped, eyes filling with tears.

Penelope scoffed wetly and moved as if to embrace him before hesitating and pulling away.  Giving him the space she thought he wanted.  Odysseus wanted to pull her close again but-

The pressure of his hands muffled the noise, but he could hear and feel his stomach growling.  He was a cannibal who couldn’t even kiss his wife without rousing his appetite.  The sooner Penelope knew that, the easier this would be.  She would order him to a guest bedroom, and he would go willingly and without complaint.  He loved her too much to do otherwise.

“It’s not you,” Odysseus managed to rasp.

Penelope nodded like she was well-aware of this and was waiting for him to get past the basics of an explanation.  Some quiet part of Odysseus relaxed at her reaction; it had been a decade, and his wife still trusted that he was hers, and she was his.  At least for now.

Odysseus pressed his hands harder into his stomach, grimacing.

“I am… cursed.  Penelope… Penelope, I did something monstrous, and this is my punishment,” he whispered.

Penelope’s brow furrowed slightly, but she said nothing.

“I shared a meal with a cyclops under the protection of Xenia.  I didn’t know it until much later but… what I took for mutton was not… it… it was human, Penelope.  It was human, and I ate it.”

Odysseus had closed his eyes, and refused to open them.  He couldn’t bear to see the look of horror and disgust that would be on Penelope’s face.

“This- this starvation is my punishment.  No matter what I eat, no matter how much, I just get thinner, and weaker.  It all tastes like mud.”  Odysseus curled a little further in on himself.  “Except… I haven’t- haven’t done it again, but with how I’ve reacted to the smell of blood, and skin…”

“The curse is designed to make you commit cannibalism knowingly, likely so the gods can punish you without repercussion,” Penelope said evenly, her voice dangerously calm.

Odysseus had been trying to avoid that thought.  He hadn’t wanted to consider the idea that he’d been given a test he was meant to fail, and had told himself that he simply wasn’t the person Athena thought he was; her faith was misplaced, and he would die before the curse broke.  Dying had felt much more palatable when it was his choice.

He shuddered but nodded.

“I bit Polites.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Penelope asked, “What?”

“In my sleep.  He was-” Odysseus had to pause for a moment before continuing, “He was sleeping in my cot to keep me warm, and I was dreaming about eating, and I bit him.”

It sounded a little ridiculous, said out loud.  If it weren’t for just how horrifying the reality was, Odysseus might have told the story as a humorous one.

“It’s not safe to be near me while I sleep,” Odysseus said quietly.

The fact was it was barely safe to be near him while he was awake.  He’d kissed his wife and his body had responded with hunger so intense it had rendered him immobile and deaf.  If someone got a cut near him now…

Odysseus finally worked up the courage to open his eyes, and almost jumped backward as he caught sight of just how unimpressed his wife looked.

“If you think,” Penelope said slowly, “for even one second, that I am not going to share a bed with my husband whom I have not seen for ten years because there’s a risk I might get bitten, you’ve clearly forgotten some important parts of our sex life.”

Odysseus felt heat crawl up his neck and ears as his mouth fell open.

“Penelope, I’m serious-”

“Are you my husband?” she asked sharply.

Odysseus nodded.

“Then unless you intend to abandon me for some mistress, I will be sleeping with you.  If need be, I’ll tie you up and wear you out so that even if you could move, you’d be too tired too,” Penelope said firmly, apparently uncaring of the blush that was steadily gaining ground over Odysseus’ face.

Odysseus gaped at her for a moment, then felt her gently grab his hand.  Her eyes were teary again.

“I will not give up on you,” she whispered, “but if we do fail to break this curse, I will not spend whatever time I have left with you separated by fear.  I love you.  I will not leave you.  Not for a curse, not for a mistake, not for life itself.”

That made Odysseus start crying again.  He clutched her hand, still pressed to his discontent stomach, and nodded fervently.  He felt Penelope press a kiss to his forehead.

“I love you,” she said, and Odysseus echoed it through his tears.

They laid there until Odysseus had composed himself.  Penelope gently stroked his hair out of his face, smiling at him.

“Do you feel up to more visitors?” Penelope asked softly.

Odysseus grimaced.

“I can’t do much besides lay here,” he admitted.

Penelope laughed and said, “I doubt Telemachus will mind too much.  Plus, Polites has been talking with him about your condition.  He’ll understand that you can’t play rough.”

There shouldn’t have been any water left in Odysseus’ body at this point, but his vision blurred anyway.  Telemachus was ten, now.  He’d missed most of his son’s formative years.  It hurt to think that the only memories Telemachus would have of his father would be of a starving skeleton.

“Don’t-”  Odysseus took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.  “Don’t leave him alone with me.  There was an incident- I wouldn’t do anything to our son, I swear, but if something happens I don’t want Telemachus to see.”

Penelope’s grip on his hand tightened, but she nodded.  Odysseus watched her get to her feet, straightening her clothes and fixing her hair, before she glanced at him again and smiled.

“It will be okay,” she said softly, before walking out of the room.

Odysseus remained curled in on himself.  Anxiety had joined with hunger to make his guts feel like a knot of writhing snakes.  He wanted to meet Telemachus.  He wanted Telemachus to be kept far away from him.  He wanted to know his son.  He didn’t want Telemachus to see him like he was.

He’d always hoped that he would be the kind of father that his son could speak of with pride.  That Telemachus would be able to announce his lineage without hesitation, because he knew both his father and his reputation.  Odysseus had wanted Telemachus to have nothing but pride in where he came from.

Diomedes had his brothers, and would not bring up his father unless pressed.  Menelaus and Agamemnon had each other and seemingly each other alone.  All three were strong, respectable men, but Odysseus had seen how they avoided talking about their fathers, had seen them redirect conversations about them and seen how other men had used those connections (if they could be called that) to cause them harm.

A dull lick of anger made Odysseus grit his teeth again.  He was denied the chance to raise his son from childhood by the war, and now he was denied the chance to raise his son through maturity by a simple mistake.  A curse from the gods that he had earned unknowingly.  It was cruel.  It was-

“Odysseus?”

Odysseus uncurled enough to look up.  His mother stood at the foot of the bed, face pale and expression full of a quiet, uncertain fear.  He blinked at her for a moment.

“Mom?” he whispered.

Anticleia slowly walked around to his side of the bed and stared down at him for a moment, before gently reaching out and stroking loose hair from his face.

“Oh, my son,” she whispered, “What has been done to you?”

The simmering anger he’d felt melted into despair.  He couldn’t tell his mom the truth.  Telling Penelope had been hard enough.  How could he tell his mother that her son was a cannibal punished by the gods?  She was already seeing him waste away like her husband had.

“Mom,” he whimpered, and Anticleia swooped down and hugged him, sobbing into his chiton.

Odysseus had the odd, disconnected thought that by the end of the day his clothing would be so thoroughly stained with tears that he could pull it over his face and drown.  He ignored it as he hugged his mother, shuddering with his own sobs.

When she released him, Anticleia reached up and gently thumbed away his tears.

“I am glad to have gotten to see you again,” she said in a soft, trembling voice.

Odysseus leaned into her hands and closed his eyes.

“And I will stay with you like I have your father.”

A deathwatch promise.  Odysseus shuddered.  That dull, guttering anger returned.  Anticleia didn’t deserve to watch her son wither, not after watching her husband lose his mind.  It wasn’t fair.  None of this was fair.

The bedroom door opened, and Odysseus opened his eyes, pulling back from Anticleia to see-

Oh.

Penelope was holding the hand of a young boy.  If it weren’t for his sea-blue eyes, Odysseus might have thought he was looking at an image of himself as a child.

Telemachus, his son, looked nervous.  Odysseus couldn’t blame him.  He first proper meeting with his father, and he meets a husk of a man.

Penelope slowly walked Telemachus forward.  Odysseus smiled, and released his midsection, pain forgotten, to offer Telemachus a hand.  Anticleia stepped back as Telemachus visibly steeled himself and walked forward, taking Odysseus’ hand firmly.

“Hello Telemachus,” Odysseus said with as much warmth as he could muster.

“Hello Father,” Telemachus responded, voice quiet and uncertain.

“I’ve missed you,” Odysseus said, “So, so much.  I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you when you were a babe.  I would have stayed with you, if I had any chance to do so.”

Telemachus’ lip quivered, but otherwise he kept a stern face.  He nodded, and squeezed Odysseus’ hand like he was worried it might crumble in his grasp.

“Mom told me you pretended to be insane so you could stay with us,” Telemachus murmured.

Odysseus chuckled.

“I certainly tried.  It might have worked, too, if that-”  Odysseus bit his tongue and quickly chose a different word.  “If Palamedes hadn’t decided your life was worth my compliance.  And I would do anything for you, my son, if it kept you safe.”

Telemachus’ expression was twitching.  Odysseus felt his own eyes tear up again as he gently rubbed his thumb against Telemachus’ hand.

“Is-”

Telemachus gulped, clearly fighting tears.  Odysseus smiled at him encouragingly.

“Are you- are you going to die?” Telemachus whimpered, and Odysseus felt his smile fall slightly.

“I’m trying to avoid it.  Your mother and uncles are helping.”

Tears began rolling down Telemachus’ cheeks, and Odysseus leaned in to brush them away with his free hand.  He cupped Telemachus’ face and tried to ignore the mix of anger and sadness in his chest.

Telemachus leaned into his hand, sobbing.

“Are- are- are you mad-d-d at me?” he cried.

Odysseus released Telemachus’ hand only so he could pull his son into a hug.

“Why on earth would I be mad at you?” he asked, feeling Telemachus’ sobs shake them both.

“It-it’s my-y-y fault,” Telemachus sobbed.

Odysseus shot a panicked look at Penelope and Anticleia, both of whom looked shocked and appalled.  Evidently, this was the first they’d heard of this ridiculous idea too.

“Telemachus, my beloved son, what is your fault?  If this is about Palamedes seeing through my trick, you were an infant.  You did nothing wrong, and could not have done anything against a grown man who ripped you from your mother’s arms.  My leaving was not your fault at all,” Odysseus said firmly, threading a hand through Telemachus’ hair.

“But- but- if you hadn’t left- you would- you would be okay!” Telemachus yelled into Odysseus’ chiton.

Odysseus began gently swaying back and forth, still holding Telemachus to him.

“You don’t know that,” he murmured, “Apollo’s arrow may find us at any time, no matter our choices.  There is no guarantee that I would have been fine, had I stayed.  Either way, it would not have been your fault.  Do you understand me?  My state now, my leaving for Troy, none of it was your fault.”

Telemachus sniffled against him, and Odysseus sighed, kissing the top of his head.

“And, even if you were somehow the mastermind behind the entire Trojan War, I would still love you.  I would still choose your life over my comfort.  I can’t begin to express how much I hate having missed so many important parts of your life, but I do not regret protecting you.  I never will.  I love you, more than I can say.”

Anticleia reached out and rested a hand on Telemachus’ shoulder.

“No one blames you for what happened.  And certainly no one blames you for Odysseus’ current state.  This…”  Anticleia paused and shook her head.  “It is not your fault.  Do not take on that burden; it is not yours to carry.”

Penelope stepped forward and wrapped Odysseus and Telemachus in a hug too, mindful of Anticleia’s grip.

“I swear I told you that your father loved you enough times to make it stick,” she said with a wet laugh, “and that he was fighting to come home to us.  Oh, Telemachus.  I don’t know how you got that idea, but it is the opposite of true.”

They all stayed there, allowing Telemachus to cry himself out.  Odysseus quietly savored getting to hold his wife and child close again.

Odysseus’ stomach growled, and caused Telemachus to giggle.  Odysseus tried to hide his expression of horror, but Penelope definitely caught it as she pulled away, taking Telemachus’ hand as she did.

“Well, clearly we need to feed our dearly returned king.  How about we go get some food, Telemachus, and maybe you can talk to Uncle Polites and Uncle Eurylochus some more,” Penelope suggested, expression warm and slightly playful as if nothing was wrong.

Telemachus nodded eagerly, then glanced at Odysseus worriedly.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised with a forced smile, “Go talk to your uncles.”

Penelope led Telemachus out of the room, leaving Odysseus alone with Anticleia.

“You’d think he’d want to spend more time with his father,” she mumbled, and Odysseus huffed at her.

“I may have spent time with Dad while he was lucid, but that doesn’t mean I enjoyed it at the time.  It’s scary, spending time with a deathly ill parent.  He will come talk to me again, don’t pressure him about it,” Odysseus said, and Anticleia huffed as well but nodded.

Odysseus laid back onto the bed again, staring at the ceiling.  His stomach still hadn’t calmed, but at least the pain wasn’t blinding.  He could deal with this.

“You are the second man in our family to become afflicted with degeneration,” Anticleia murmured, “I hope your son will not suffer the same fate.”

Odysseus remained silent.  He ought to be honest, but gods he did not want to.  Not like this.  If he survived, perhaps he would tell her.  Or maybe he ought to keep it from her until one of them died, never letting her suffer the knowledge of what her only son was.

His stomach growled audibly, and he pressed his hands to it again, closing his eyes with a grimace.

“Does eating help?” Anticleia asked.

Odysseus laughed bitterly and didn’t open his eyes.

“I haven’t tried to test what not eating does to me,” he admitted.

Anticleia hummed.

“Perhaps you ought to try foods you could not get on open water.  Soups, and stews.  Things light on the stomach but still filling.”

Odysseus made a noncommittal sound.  Fluids would do him no more good than anything else.  But again, he didn’t want to tell his mom that.  Mostly, he wanted to go back to sleep.  It didn’t hurt while he was asleep.

“Your sister will probably be by tomorrow.  Will you see her?”

He would.  Of course he would.  He could hold on until Ctimine arrived and saw him.  He nodded.

“And your father?”

If Odysseus’ father was able to come see him, then certainly.  He nodded again.

Once he’d met with his whole family, maybe he could relax.  He wouldn’t wish for death, but having seen his loved ones again, having assured them that he loved them, he wouldn’t need to cling so tightly to life.  If he died before any of them could see him become a monster… that wouldn’t be so bad.

Anticleia laid a hand over his.

“I love you,” she said simply.

“I love you too,” he responded, and felt a pulse of guilt at his previous thoughts.

His loved ones deserved as much time with him as they wanted.  He would hold on, right up until the curse broke… or the hunger became truly unbearable.

In that case, surely they would forgive him for removing one more threat from their lives.

Chapter Text

Penelope returned with Eurycleia, who was carrying a tray with two bowls of soup and the softest-looking bread Odysseus had ever seen.  He ate it without complaint, although he couldn’t keep his face from tightening at the taste.  It all looked so delicious.  He wished he could enjoy it.

It did confirm that he could stomach liquids slightly better than solids, although after some prodding from Penelope, Odysseus admitted that he preferred meat even if it still wasn’t good.  She promised he could have access to whatever livestock they had whenever he wanted.

(Odysseus made Penelope promise that she would only feed him livestock.  No other types of meat.  He loved Penelope, and would trust her with his life, but he also knew his wife would take that burden seriously if she thought he wasn’t handling his life with enough care.  Penelope wasn’t a murderer, but if she thought it would help Odysseus… better to remove the idea before it sprouted roots.)

Penelope stroked his hair and laid down next to him in bed, pressing a kiss to his temple and telling him to rest if he needed it.  There was nothing happening that needed his attention, let alone his presence.  He could sleep.

Odysseus wanted to argue.  He wanted to hear more about what had happened on Ithaca while he gone, what had gone on in Penelope’s life, what was Telemachus like when he wasn’t terrified of his dying, skeletal father- but with his wife’s hands in his hair and his stomach weighed down by mud that should have been food, sleep quickly laid over his eyes.

He woke in darkness, feeling Penelope’s arms wrapped around his chest and her soft breath on the back of his neck.  It almost made him start crying again.  He’d dreamed of this for ten years.  Yearned for it, prayed for it, clung tight to the hope that eventually he would get to return home… and now he’d made it.  All it took was a condemnation to a slow, withering death cutting his time there short.

Odysseus sighed and reached up to grab Penelope’s hands, clutching them and their warmth.  Her hands were thicker than his, now, her weaver’s callouses tugging lightly at his thin skin.  She was so good with her hands, made so much with them-

His stomach growled painfully.  Odysseus gritted his teeth.  He had a feeling that exact sensation was what had woken him up.  Their bedroom smelled like Penelope.  It smelled like a person, a person who was pressed up against him.

He released Penelope’s hands and closed his eyes tightly, willing himself back to sleep.  He should be used to this by now.

The night passed slowly, marked by painful, audible cramps in his stomach, but eventually he did fall asleep again, listening to Penelope’s breathing.

Penelope woke him the next morning with an odd look on her face.  She had brought him breakfast, a particularly dark soup with little pieces of red in it.  At his worried look, Penelope promised that it was just beef she’d had cooked uniquely.

It tasted… bad, still, but better than he’d been expecting.  It was kinder on his stomach, and he was able to keep a straight face as he ate.  Penelope hadn’t looked happy at his description, but she had looked steeled, and explained that the “cooked” part was a lie.  The beef was raw.

Odysseus hadn’t been happy to hear that either, but he was clearly in no position to argue.  Anything that made his stomach hurt less was to be cherished.

(Anything other than what he was craving, at least.)

He was able to stay awake and listen to Penelope talk about the day’s events, which included a feast for the returned men of Ithaca and Same, and their families.  Odysseus looked up hopefully at that, and Penelope grinned at him, confirming that Ctimine would be arriving soon.

Getting Penelope to agree to let him leave the bed for the event wasn’t the easiest task.  Odysseus understood her concerns, but he was not going to just lay around while his people celebrated.  Plus, he needed to get some fresh air before the smell of their bedroom caused him to go entirely insane.

(Odysseus had thought that filling his stomach would make him less hungry, but it turned out it just made him feel a new kind of bad, because he could smell something better but couldn’t eat it for multiple reasons.)

Penelope had crossed her arms and walked to the door, demanding he follow her to the garden since he was apparently feeling so much better.  Odysseus managed it, shakily but energized by her challenge and determined to follow her no matter what, although he’d had to sit down once they got outside.  He watched Penelope wander the garden, unconsciously keeping careful track of how close she was to him.

When she walked up to him again, his body tensed slightly.  She was-

Odysseus tensed further as he realized what he’d been doing, what he’d been readying for.  He’d been waiting for her to get in range.  He’d been preparing to grab her.

He swallowed hard against the pooling saliva in his mouth and looked down, quietly asking to be walked back to their bedroom.  He wasn’t feeling up to the feast after all.

Penelope tried to get him to talk as she supported him, one arm under his shoulders, but Odysseus refused to say anything.  How could he?  He’d been tracking his wife, practically stalking her, waiting for her to come close enough for him to catch like he was some lion watching a deer.

When he was back in bed, he curled in on himself, barely reacting to Penelope promising to bring Ctimine to him when she arrived.  Odysseus closed his eyes and shook, cold and hungry and exhausted.

A while later, Odysseus felt hands stroke his cheeks, then lift his head and settle it into a lap, his left ear pressed to a warm body.

“You awake?” Penelope murmured, and Odysseus smiled but didn’t open his eyes.

“I am,” he answered just as quietly.

“Are you hungry?  You did sleep through the feast.”

He couldn’t quite hide the twitch of disgust in his expression, but he nodded.

Penelope messed around with something wet, then Odysseus felt something soft, slick, and warm dangle against his lips.  Some sort of noodle, confirmed when he parted his lips and felt the shape-

It was delicious.  And it tasted like copper.

Odysseus froze for a moment, the noodles hanging against his tongue, and then snapped open his eyes.

He screamed.

Penelope smiled emptily down at him, her belly torn open and her own intestines hanging from her hand, over his face.  Her eyes turned a toxic green and massive dark wings burst from her back, arching over them and leaving Odysseus in blackness save for the glow of the thing’s (not Penelope’s, never Penelope’s) eyes.

“You should eat if you’re hungry,” the thing said in Penelope’s voice, still warm and teasing, “It tastes best when it’s fresh.”

Odysseus tried to fling himself away from the winged thing, which began laughing at him.  Its eyes went out, the darkness rushed in, and Odysseus was falling-

He hit the floor with a scream, thrashing wildly as his sweat-soaked sheets tangled with his limbs.  

Moments later he heard the door to the bedroom slam against the wall as running feet pounded into the room.  Hands yanked at the sheets and finally pulled him free of them, leaving him to scramble into a corner and hyperventilate.

Someone knelt down in front of him.  When he focused and saw Penelope, his stomach did a fascinating maneuver where it both violently heaved bile up his throat and tried to shudder with hunger.  Odysseus gagged and pressed his hands to his mouth.

When Penelope placed her palm on his forehead, Odysseus jerked away from her and ended up vomiting against the wall.  The nightmare was too fresh for him to even look at her, the memory of her taste-

Odysseus retched again, and felt Penelope begin rubbing his shoulders.  It would be so easy to-

He would have bashed his head into the wall had Penelope not grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him away, hissing in his ear that if he even thought about it, she would bind him to their bed and lay weights down his body to keep him from moving.

Odysseus only barely heard her.  His stomach was twisting inside him, nauseous and starving all at once, and it was making his headache worse.

Penelope stripped him out of his soiled clothes and wiped him down with a wet washcloth before wrapping him in sleepwear again and piling blankets and sheets on top of him.  There was a quiet fury in her movements, one that made Odysseus want to cry.

Penelope had been waiting for her husband to return, not the empty, sickened caricature of a man she’d gotten.  Odysseus had hoped to bring her closure, and instead, he was staining their marriage bed literally and spiritually; what kind of husband dreamed of his wife feeding herself to him?

He shouldn’t have come home.  He should have thrown himself from the balcony as soon as he realized what he was starving for.  He should not have burdened his family, he should not have brought a ravenous rabid wolf into their home, he should not have been so selfish-

Penelope wormed her way under the pile of bedding she’d piled over him and tried to wrap him in her arms.  Odysseus pulled away.

“I can’t- I- it’s dangerous, Penelope, I’ll- I want to-”

He didn’t want to do anything but bury his face in her shoulder and cry, be held until the pain stopped and he could take his place as husband, father, and king.  Except that wasn’t true, was it?  Saliva kept pooling in his mouth, both from roused hunger and sickness at the source of it.

“And I told you, I’m not scared of your teeth.”  Penelope shifted around a little.  “I know it’s improper, but would you allow Eurylochus and Polites in here?  They’re worried about you.”

Some ridiculous part of him bristled up - this was his wife’s bedroom , it didn’t matter that he trusted the two with his life, what if someone saw and made assumptions about them all - but the rest of him was far too exhausted to bother.  He felt Penelope stroke his spine and sighed.

“Ctimine isn’t here yet?” he asked instead of answering.

Penelope chuckled.

“It’s only been an hour since we visited the garden.  Give it another three and we might expect her.”

Odysseus wrapped his arms around himself.

“I’ll meet them all in the big guestroom when Ctimine arrives.  I don’t… have the energy for more right now,” he murmured, and Penelope hummed in agreement, still running her fingers down his back.

They remained like that until Eurycleia entered, asking after them and noticing the mess Odysseus had made.  Odysseus didn’t explain, and Penelope shared his silence, leaving Eurycleia to mutter about stubborn royalty as she cleaned it up.

Once the room was empty again, Odysseus sighed.

“Shouldn’t you be helping prepare for the feast?” he asked softly.

“There are more than enough people trying to do that.  I can lay in bed with my husband for a while longer,” Penelope answered, pressing a kiss between his shoulderblades.

His stomach pulsed with pain, but did so silently.  He should be insisting Penelope go help, get her out of the bed and away from him, but… her fingers slid over his ribs, over the paper-thin skin of his sides, over the flare of his hips, and back up again, and gods, he’d missed her touch.

In spite of his best efforts, Odysseus fell asleep again.  When he woke to a pair of hands on his shoulders, he almost threw himself from his bed preemptively.  Luckily, Penelope caught him and grabbed one of their pillows threateningly.

“If you insist on throwing yourself into hard surfaces I WILL give you padding to protect yourself, and then how will you look?  Bound in so many pillows I’ll have to roll you out in front of your subjects and you’ll have to scream to be heard by people a foot from you?” she asked warningly.

Odysseus relaxed even in the face of the threat.  He was awake.  No nightmares this time.

“Sorry,” he murmured, and Penelope scoffed.

Apparently Ctimine had arrived, and was waiting for them in the guestroom with Polites, Eurylochus, and Telemachus, who had refused to leave Ctimine’s side from the moment he knew she had arrived.  It was cute, if Odysseus didn’t think about the fact that the last family member who’d arrived off the sea was a skeletal frame of a father.

Penelope helped Odysseus walk to the room, murmuring that she would be bringing him more soup shortly.  His stomach, which had been trembling the whole walk, twisted unhappily at the thought.  He comforted himself by thinking that the guest bedroom had two doors, one to the main halls and one to the side halls, so if he did get sick or…anything happened, he would never be too far from an exit.

Ctimine, when she saw Odysseus, leaped out of her seat and engulfed him in a tight hug.  Odysseus did his best to return it, feeling his body begin to shake with sobs.  Some part of him had been certain he would die without seeing his sister again.

“Is Father not coming?” he murmured in her ear.

Ctimine shook her head subtly, and whispered, “Mom told him about you, and he… he hasn’t taken it well.  Barely knows where he is, screaming at nothing, demanding his son be given back.  She’s staying with him, trying to talk him down.”

Odysseus shuddered but nodded in return.  He should have expected that, but he’d hoped…

It didn’t matter.  He’d gotten to see most of his family again.  That was more than he’d been hoping for.

“Dad?”

Odysseus pulled away from Ctimine to look at Telemachus, who was holding something behind his back.

“Yes, my son?” Odysseus asked.

After glancing at Polites and getting an encouraging nod, Telemachus stepped forward slightly and revealed what he’d been holding: a block of wood, and some whittling tools.

“Uncle Eury says you’re good at carving, and said- said I should ask you how to do it,” Telemachus said softly, with a questioning lilt.

Odysseus smiled broadly.

“I do know a thing or two about that craft.  Let me sit down, and I can show you.”

Odysseus caught Eurylochus’ eye as he sat down, and smiled gratefully.  Eurylochus smiled back, although his was notably sadder.  Telemachus would have one good memory of his father, at least.

Polites sat down in the chair next to the one Odysseus had claimed, sometimes offering pointers, sometimes suggesting Telemachus give the rabbit they were trying to carve wings, or a long tail.  Telemachus giggled whenever Odysseus acted offended that Polites would even attempt to ruin the sanctity of their rabbit by making it inaccurate.

The other adults talked about how Same was doing, how long Ctimine and Eurylochus and their men were staying, what steps would be taken going forward now that their islands were full of war veterans.  Odysseus listened, but was mostly focused on guiding Telemachus’ carving away from his hands.  Telemachus understood to keep the blade moving away from himself, but his young mind kept him moving his hands to get better leverage without realizing he’d put his hands in the way again.

Then, there was a crash and a round of screams from outside.

Odysseus snapped his head to stare at the door, as did everyone else.  More screams.

Polites and Penelope both rushed to the door and out into the hall.  The screaming continued.

Ctimine shot an alarmed look at Odysseus before she also got up and left.  Odysseus wanted to go too, but he could barely walk, what good would he do?

People were still screaming, and yelling.  Odysseus bit his lip.

Eurylochus shot him a lingering, worried look before following the others, leaving Odysseus alone with Telemachus.

What had happened?  An attack?  An accident?  Maybe someone had gotten drunk and knocked over a platter, or maybe someone had started a fight.  Odysseus was in no state to help regardless, but he stared at the door, hands clenched together.

“OW!”

Odysseus jerked his head to look at Telemachus, already on his feet and moving towards his son before he realized what had happened.

Telemachus’ hand had slipped while he carved.  He’d given himself a shallow graze across his fingers, not deep but wide and red.  Not dangerous if wrapped up.

Blood welled from the graze, drawing Odysseus’ eyes like a beacon.

Telemachus was frowning at his bloodied hand and Odysseus-

Odysseus-

It tastes best when it’s fresh, a voice that sounded sickeningly like his wife’s whispered in his mind, warm and calm and reassuring.

Odysseus could feel the saliva building in his mouth, faster than he could swallow it.  The smell was so sharp, so potent, too potent for such a small wound.  It was so thick part of Odysseus was panicking because there had to be some other, mortal wound for the room to smell so strongly of blood.

The rest of him was wheeling wildly, unwilling to process what his body was telling him.  His throat worked convulsively, as if it thought it could drink the heady scent like actual blood.  His stomach was clawing at his insides, a furious hungry beast that would not be denied again.  His entire body began trembling with need, so violently that he almost fell over.

It was a need he would not, could not, fulfill.  His body disagreed.

He took a lurching step toward Telemachus.  Telemachus looked up at him and tilted his head, looking confused but not scared.  Not yet.

Odysseus bit down hard on his tongue, tasted his own blood, and turned around and ran.

He caught a glimpse of the other door opening fast, but he had already slammed himself into the closer door and was gone before he could see whoever had entered the room.  The terror, the horror of what he’d almost done powered his steps, hiding the pain his body should have been in.

His home was full of people.  Family, friends, slaves, visitors.  He was putting them all at risk.  If he couldn’t even protect his own son-

(Not-Penelope was murmuring in his head that it would be fine, he was a king beloved by his people, they would understand, his family would understand, he just needed to stop resisting and let himself eat and the pain, the weakness, the need would stop.  He ignored it as much as he could.)

There!  A closet, a small space, a lockable door.  Odysseus staggered when he noticed it, then lunged for it.  Luckily, it was empty.

The door shook on its hinges as he slammed it shut, hearing the lock click as he did.  No getting out of here now.

Odysseus felt his fists raise and slam against the door, before he threw himself away from it, cracking his head and back against the wall behind him.  The closet wasn’t large.  The door was wooden.  He could break through it eventually.  He could not be allowed to break through it.

He could not be allowed to break through it.

Odysseus felt an odd calm steal over him.  He could not be allowed to break through it.  He could not be allowed to harm his family.  There was only one way out of this, only one way to break the curse.

(Not-Penelope was screaming at him, demanding he leave the closet, stop being so stupid, do as she said and feed himself.)

He reached into his clothing and pulled out his dagger.  It was old, but well-cared for.  He’d gotten it early at Troy and kept it on himself ever since.  In case of emergency, he would never be unarmed.  There would never be a threat he would have to face without a backup.

Odysseus whispered an apology over the furious screaming in his mind, and plunged the dagger between his ribs.

Or, he tried to.

The blade punched through his clothes only to bounce harmlessly off his skin.  The sheer shock of that happening made even the voice in his head go quiet.

“That is enough! ”

Odysseus jerked his head up.  Athena stood in front of him, spear raised, teeth bared.  He barely had a chance to feel terror before she stabbed him through the shoulder.

Except it didn’t hurt.  Odysseus collapsed onto the floor, feeling like someone had hooked his skeleton and pulled it painlessly free of his body, leaving him limp.  A glance to the side showed that Athena’s attack hadn’t even damaged his clothes.

He looked up again to see Athena pinning another woman - another goddess - to the wall by her throat.  Dark hair, green eyes, massive black wings on her back and ankles… Eris.  Where had she come from?

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice?!” Athena snarled, “Did you think I would just allow this?!”

Eris choked.  Athena’s eyes were blazing.

“You have far overstepped your mandates.  You have broken the rules .  Our King will not just ignore this breach!  You were allowed influence!  You were allowed nightmares, and thoughts, and urges!  This?!  This is not any sort of encouragement!  This is force!”

Odysseus wondered what Athena was talking about.  It felt like he was underwater, his thoughts flickering away like fish.

“May Zeus have mercy on you, because I would see you thrown to Chaos itself for your actions!” Athena hissed, and in a flash of silver light, Eris vanished.

Odysseus blinked slowly.  Eris, force, influence… his nightmares.  Those had been Eris, apparently.  Possibly his “stalking” too.  That… made him feel a little better, actually.

Athena was in front of him.  He met her eyes and noticed how bright they were.  Had they always been that bright, or had he forgotten after not seeing her for so long?

Odysseus tried to smile at her.  He was happy to see her again.  Athena’s jaw stiffened, but she didn’t say anything.  She just placed her hands over his stomach.

They were pleasantly warm.  The heat wormed its way deeper into him, soothing away the ache and getting muscles exhausted from constant working to relax.  He sighed in relief.  The heat slowly spread through him, making him feel warmer than he had in months.

“I cannot fix everything,” Athena said with an odd hint of something in her voice, “but I can get you to a point where you can recover more easily.  I… will help with that too.”

Odysseus blinked at her.  His mind still felt distant, too distant to use.

“I missed you,” he said simply.

Athena wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“I know.  I heard.  I… am sorry.  Sorry that I could not do more for you.  Sorry that I had to allow Eris to increase your punishment like she did.  It was the only way I could convince the other gods to give you a chance at life,” she explained quietly.

“Why?” Odysseus whined, “I didn’t do anything!  Not… knowingly…”

Athena huffed but nodded.

“I know.  I told them that.  But there were several of my brethren who wished to take their frustrations about the Trojan War out on you.  They wanted proof that you would rather die than commit cannibalism again, and then it was a test of loyalty that you would be allowed to die of starvation instead of feeding you, and then it was a test of love to see if you really loved your family or if you would kill them to increase your life-”  Athena growled, and the heat she was spreading through him flared hot.  “It was far too much.  But they would have killed you if you’d failed in any way.”

Odysseus hummed discontently.  His mind was slowly returning to him, clicking puzzle pieces together.

“It wasn't a coincidence,” he mumbled, “that people kept walking in whenever I was… thinking about it.”

Athena didn’t look at him, but he caught the faint shift in her eyes that signified a hidden smile.

“I was not allowed to help you.  Your family and friends, on the other hand…”

Odysseus glanced down at where she was touching him, watching the soft, pulsing glow of her hands.

“You saved me,” he said quietly.

Athena didn’t respond.

“Several times, but you stopped the dagger,” he continued.

Athena’s shoulders stiffened slightly.

“The test was not specified to end in your death.  Just when you chose death.  I couldn’t… I couldn’t just let you die.  Not like that,” she said, not looking at his face.

Odysseus smiled again and said, “Thank you.”

The heat had reached his limbs now, and Odysseus let his head fall back against the wall.

“Can you tell me what’s happening out there?” he asked after a moment, “There was a crash, and screaming…”

Athena huffed.

“A distraction.  Ares caused a hound to run wild.  A few people were bitten, but the dog was killed and no one died or got severely hurt.  It was Eris’ idea, Ares only agreed to it in order to get back at me,” she explained.

Odysseus looked sharply at her.

“Which hound?” he asked, a note of panic in his voice.

Athena glanced up at him and said, “An older hound - Leitus, I think.”

Odysseus relaxed again.  The heat coiled up his neck, and he closed his eyes.

Athena eventually removed her hands, and the heat faded but wasn’t replaced by the chill Odysseus had become so used to.  He opened his eyes and looked at her curiously.

“Your curse is broken,” she said, standing up and, after a moment, offering him a hand.

Odysseus took it, only to stumble in shock when he saw his arm.

Instead of the stick-like limb he’d grown quietly accustomed to, he now had a thin layer of muscle over his bones.

Odysseus looked down at himself in shock, seeing that while he was still incredibly thin, his bones were merely visible against his skin, not protruding from it.  He was far from healthy, but he could stand on his own without feeling fatigued, and felt like he could walk without having to be supported.

He looked back at Athena, wide-eyed, and she smiled at him.

“Like I said, I cannot fix everything, but I will help you regain your muscle.  It will not be easy, but I think it will be less of a hardship compared to what you’ve already endured.”

Odysseus opened his mouth to thank her, but right then she vanished as the door to the closet broke around the lock, revealing a wild-eyed Eurylochus.

They stared at each other for a moment, before Odysseus uncertainly said, “The door wasn’t that ugly.”

Eurylochus let out a sound that might have been a laugh in another circumstance but currently sounded too strangled for it.  He reached in and pulled Odysseus out, looking him over and lingering on the tear in his chiton.

“I have him!” Eurylochus called, once he was satisfied that Odysseus wasn’t hurt.

Several pairs of footsteps ran toward them, revealing Penelope, Ctimine, and Polites all looking as harried as Eurylochus had.  They all also paused when they saw Odysseus.

Odysseus offered them all a charming smile.

“I won,” he said with forced brightness, “The curse is broken.”

Silence for a moment.  And then he was surrounded by clinging, desperate arms and several overlapping voices.

Odysseus tried to explain what he could, mentioning Eris’ involvement and Athena’s pronouncement, as they walked back to the guest bedroom where Eurycleia was waiting with Telemachus.  Polites, at one point, split off from the group, promising to return shortly.

Trying to explain to Telemachus what had happened was… not easy.  Odysseus ended up telling him that the sight of blood had made him sick, and he hadn’t wanted to throw up in front of Telemachus.  When he was older, Odysseus planned to explain what had actually happened, but for now, Telemachus was too young to hear the full truth.

Polites returned just as Ctimine asked about the rip in his chiton.  Odysseus was very grateful for the distraction.

“Here!” Polites said triumphantly, carrying a tray stacked with freshly cut fruit, “I brought you something!”

Odysseus slowly reached out, picking up a slice of fig.  He stared at it for a moment.  Then, he placed it in his mouth.

Tears sprang to his eyes as he tasted it.

“It’s delicious,” he rasped.

Penelope immediately wrapped him in a hug, shoulders shaking.  Ctimine and Eurylochus both let out audible sighs of relief.  Polites laughed, his own eyes bright with tears.

“So you will want to go to the feast?” Penelope asked into his shoulder.

Odysseus, who’d grabbed another slice of fruit from the tray, nodded as he chewed.

“You’re going to have to stop me from eating most of it,” he said after he swallowed, reaching for another slice.

“With how skinny you are, I think you’re the one who’ll have to tell your wife to stop refilling your plate,” Ctimine said dryly.

Penelope hugged him a little tighter, and Odysseus rested his head on hers.

“Maybe I want to be fed by my beautiful wife.  I’m a frail old man, you see, I have to be given special care-”

“Then obviously you wouldn’t mind giving me that bow of yours, since you’re too old and frail to use it.”

Odysseus jolted back upright and pointed an accusing finger at his sister.

“Keep your hands off my bow,” he growled.

Ctimine shrugged, unphased.

“Prove that it’s still yours and I will.”

Polites stepped forward then, breaking their line of sight.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” he asked quietly, “You look remarkably better, but you’re still not… in good shape.  No one will blame you if you want to sit this feast out.”

Odysseus folded his hands together and looked at them for a moment.

“I do.  I need to be seen.  And besides, I want to celebrate our return formally.  I want… I want to feel… normal, again.  Just for a little while.”

Penelope lifted her head and kissed him on the cheek.

“Whatever my poor, frail, old husband wants,” she said, and Odysseus laughed.

He laughed until he was crying again, and was being held by many arms.  It wasn’t perfect, he knew that, he could still feel how tired and weak he was, but it was better.  And it would keep getting better.  He would make sure of it.

Odysseus felt another set of hands, ephemeral but there, resting on his shoulders the way Athena always did when she needed to correct his stance or his hold, and he smiled.

They would all make sure of it.