Chapter Text
I sit beside the riverside, burying my toes into the sand that wails at every shift and touch. If I look close enough, I can see the agonized faces of those I had watched suffer in the discolored grains. My eyes, however, never could stay focused when the glowing water flowing rapidly in front of me screamed for my attention. Human screams. Familiar war cries, the begging for mercy, called to me. It filled me with extreme despair- A feeling I believed filth such as myself was meant to feel. The faces were clearer in the water, and when my eyes finally focused upon the rapidly moving waters, they always landed on one particular face- the face of the man who used to make my heart skip and now makes it ache. The pounding, aching feeling in my chest that made me want to throw up was a daily routine, as well as the tears that unwillingly spilled into my beard from the sheer amount of despair I felt just looking into the waters.
I had thought on countless occasions, upon seeing my lover's pained or horrified expressions and cries of agony, of diving into that river to embrace the hallucination of him and hold nothing in my arms as I sank and became one with the River of Sorrow. I often fed it my screams and tears right by the riverside. A few times, I allowed it to lap at my feet when the tide rose, and allowed myself to feel its horrid effects until everything felt raw and my frail mortal shell forced me to pull away from the water.
The feeling the river gave was overwhelming. A clashing, overwhelming, clawing feeling that retched screams and sobs from my very soul. Every ounce of emotional agony I had ever experienced bounced in my skull until I blacked out and fell into realistic nightmares of my lover and others I had cared for. Many times, I had used my hands to claw at my face and neck and torn myself apart with my nails, only to awaken the next morning with smooth skin in silent, peaceful tranquility that made me feel ill. Numb.
I do not claim to know the inner workings of the Underworld, and I likely never will. Since my death, I had been trapped within my 19-year-old self, with all of the scars over wounds I had obtained in my adulthood and my death. This body does not die, no matter the times I impale myself on rocks or fall from high places- I simply awake as if nothing happened. In my desperation to feel something, I would trudge and stumble back down that peaceful hill like an addict deprived of his fix. I needed to feel that pain and agony. I deserved it, it felt right. I had to remember all of that guilt, I could not risk letting myself forget it.
I am always alone on my side of the Cocytus. The others in Eternal Paradise were too busy celebrating their heroic lives to wallow in their sorrows and self-pity. On the other side, however, where I could just barely make out the dull fields of Asphodel, a handful of shades did the same as I. Small figures just barely in my vision, wailing at their vivid memories of their worst moments, the feelings that came with those memories amplified to an extreme degree. I wonder to myself, occasionally, what they could be feeling in comparison to me, but I dismiss such thoughts rather quickly. It did not matter - Nothing mattered without the man I considered my husband, but even if he were in this dreary realm, he would hate the shell I have become.
For what must have been a thousand years, I remained on that lonely beach, disassociated and writhing in delicious anguish from the water’s effects. I was obsessed with the pain, addicted to the feeling of agony that remained stagnant in its terrible effects. It was against human nature not to become numb to the scraping of the soul the tides brought with them, and yet it still induced the same amount of despair as the first day I sat beside these waters. There were a few times when another shade wandered to the shore to cry about something, but this occurrence was rare, and they never came back. I wondered occasionally if I should walk along the shore and see if any other shades were similar to me just outside my vision, but that thought filled me with more misery. No one deserved to feel this way, and it was much too depressing just thinking others might be wasting away by the shore like I was.
I was content with my personal Tartarus I’d created for myself. The thrashing and clawing, slashing and sobbing. I was alone in my little painful bubble, and I had planned to keep it that way for all eternity. Alone and in agony was what I deserved. I liked being alone. The loneliness was all-consuming and prevented the numbness from creeping up on me. I had succumbed to the despair and loneliness, and I was buried in it beyond the point of return.
That is, of course, until he came.
“Room for one more?”
A rough, scratchy voice. A deep, intimidating voice I remembered but swore I’d never heard. My tear-filled eyes could only make out a man standing above me. “Go away,” I croaked, the first words spoken to another being in hundreds of years, “Leave me to my suffering.”
“Sure, if you want to suffer, go ahead,” The man crouched beside my writhing body, looking out across the River of Woe, “This is paradise, after all. If that’s what you want, who am I to stop you? I’m just here for the view.”
I attempted to focus, blinking back tears and squinting at the figure. He seemed familiar as well, likely from the war. He was not Achilles, though. I would know Achilles if he had been turned into an annelid. No one who came to mind as particularly close to me in my memories surfaced as I looked at the silhouette of this man. Who on earth was he? “I did not invite you to join me,” I said flatly, trying to muster a glare but failing terribly, “Leave me be.”
The man sat down properly next to me, looking down at me with discolored eyes, one as blue as the morning sky and the other as black as the night, “You have gotten the temperament of your lover now, I see,” The man chortled, and suddenly it hit me who he was like a tidal wave. A sudden rush filled me, and I was sitting up in sudden alarm, my eyes forcing themselves into focus on the King that sat next to me- King Odysseus of Ithaca. I felt ill all of a sudden, from sitting up too fast or shock, I was not sure, but I very gracefully emptied what little scraps I could feed myself from my stomach into the Cocytus.
“Oh, Gods, you alright, kiddo?” The humor had left his face, replaced with worry, and his hands were quickly upon my shoulders to hold me up. When he determined I had finished with my display, he emptied some water from his waterskin into my palms and helped guide my shaky hands to clean the mess I’d made before having me drink the rest of the water.
I was pliant, obeying in silence out of pure uncertainty on what else to do. I even worked with him when he decided to drag me over to a rock to prop me up against. I stared quietly at him, taking in his appearance. He was older and covered in more intense scars than I recalled him having, beard short and well kept, and his salt and pepper hair falling to his shoulders, his pilos replaced with the diadem that signified his status as a king. I couldn’t help but think for a brief moment he looked better without that stupid hat, much more serious and commanding. His voice was much more rough, likely a testament to whatever he had gone through after my death. I realized I probably should speak upon the gentle shake on my shoulder and worried eyes boring into me, so I shoved his hands off my shoulders and mustered the best scowl I could, “...Fuck off,” I snapped, tensing up to seem intimidating despite the weakness in my limbs and the pathetic display I had just shown. The King backed off, letting go and scooching a bit away to give me space, but not leaving.
“What happened to you, Patroclus?” Odysseus asked, his rough voice softening and cracking slightly, his mismatched eyes showing sadness for me. It made me feel sick that this man would feel sorry for me. I did not deserve his pity or his time, he was better off going about his day than kneeling next to this pathetic shell propped against a rock.
I forced my scowl to deepen, waving a hand to try to shoo him, yelling as loud as I could muster, “Out, I say! Out! Leave me alone! I do not need your damned tears! Get out of here! I’ll fight you! Go away!” My voice rose beyond its limits and cracked, and my attempt to get up led to my stomach turning again and needing to sit right back down. I was shaky, I probably looked crazy, and that look did not leave his eyes. Still, he stood up after a moment of consideration, bowing his head respectfully.
“If that’s what you wish,” The King of Ithaca stated simply, his voice formal and respectul as he brushed sand off of his navy cloak, “I will come to see you again. When would be best for that?”
Had he not heard me, or was he purposefully acting dumb? Either way, it made me angry, “Never! I said out! Never return! Begone!”
“In three months, then,” Odysseus chirped, his voice suddenly cheerful as he ignored my yells, “I will see you then, my friend! I will bring something for us to drink and eat, and perhaps we will be able to speak properly with some food in us, hm? Have a fun time with your suffering!”
Before I could say anything, he turned with his cloak flapping in the breeze, and I yelled after him a handful of obscenities that he simply did not listen to. I yelled even after he left my sight, yelled until my voice was hoarse, before slumping onto the sand with a thump. I had forgotten how godsdamned annoying Odysseus of Ithaca was.