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1.
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The wine dark sea roars behind them. High tide. Teucer digs his toes in the sand, watches the sea threaten, and retreat, threaten, and retreat. Ajax is silent next to him, save for his soft humming as he savours the honey cakes laid between them on a cloth.
Teucer has felt the warm sun of summer 12 times now.
"Trust the fates that you will be a great man." Ajax's voice suddenly breaks through the crashing waves as he licks his sticky fingers clean. Teucer curls further in on himself. Ajax raises a playful eyebrow at him. "Don't think that I can't hear your thoughts. They're louder than the gulls flying above us."
"You will be. I'll be happy to have a verse in your epic. The bards don't raise their voices to sing of the glory of a bastard." Teucer kicks at the sand, watching it puff up and drift off in the wind. Ajax laughs, and it almost stings.
"Idiot, you believe anything those other ruthless children say. And what of Heracles?" Ajax chortles, and pushes a honey cake towards Teucer. He reluctantly receives it, secretly relishing its sweetness.
"A cursed man, Mama says."
Ajax's laugh grows louder. Teucer punches his side, and he coughs between his guffawing. He sighs as he collects himself, eyes fixed on the glimmering horizon line of the sea.
"The greater you are, the more cursed." Ajax surmises, looking back at Teucer. The honey coating Teucer's throat feels too thick all at once.
"Will you be cursed, then?" Teucer's voice is small. Ajax frowns for a moment and quickly moves to sit beside Teucer, pulling him close to his side and pressing a kiss to his head.
"I will curse you with me," Ajax's smile obscures the graveness of his words. "I swear on the Styx, Teucer, I will always support you, as long as you are by my side. No curse could come between us."
Teucer shirks away from him, staring at him incredulously. Ajax's smile doesn't waver.
"Don't say stupid things like that. I could be horrid. You could be horrid. We could tear each other apart, we could kill one another, like Father and—"
"The Fates grow bored of telling the same story over and over again, don't you think so?" Ajax cuts him off with a soft punch to his shoulder. "For a change, they might prefer to weave our threads along each other. Brothers till they shear us short."
Teucer considers it, the thought is a warm creature in his hand that threatens to betray and bite. He thinks that maybe he could nurture it into something he can trust. He trusts Ajax, after all.
"Alright then. I swear it too." Ajax pulls him close again, squeezing him tight. A giggle bubbles up in his chest, warm and jittery. "And I pray that you will learn to be funnier, and perhaps the lifetime with you will be less torturous."
Ajax digs a hand into Teucer's side, drawing a sharp shout that dissolves into breathless laughter as Ajax attacks him further with a barrage of tickling. Teucer does not think their oaths mean anything at all. The Styx does not need to threaten them to be brothers. The Fates can never separate their threads. He thinks of a lifetime of Ajax's firm hand on his shoulder and his incessant teasing, and he thinks he will be smiling till the day he dies.
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2.
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Teucer clutches at the hem of his chiton with dirt-stained hands. Tears, fat and heavy and hot well up and threaten at the ends of his eyelids. He holds them back with a strain in his parched throat. Not here. Not now. Not while Ajax kneels in front of him, his hands shaking as he rubs salve into Teucer's ripped up knees. His broad shoulders convulse and his heavy breaths break the silence of the night every other minute.
"Would you have preferred I let you go?" Ajax finally speaks, his voice gentle, his words wavering.
"No. I'd rather you leave with me," Teucer's teeth worry at his dry lips. "Father will never be happy."
Ajax wraps his wounds gingerly. He raises a warm damp rag and wipes Teucer's hands clean. With a huff, he rises to sit next to Teucer on his pillowed cot once he is done with the menial task of caring for him. All was calm now. The wind only made itself known in the dancing flutter of the draperies on the wall.
It was already dark when the wind had whistled in Teucer's ears— loud, cold, stinging— as he ran. He didn't know where he was going, didn't know if he wanted to leave or stay. He only knew that Telamon was upset within the walls of his home, only knew that he did not want to hear his words anymore. The same words, the same pain meted out each time. There was a time where he hoped he would be numb to it eventually.
It was difficult to learn that pain does not make friends, no matter how many times you visit it.
Ajax had found him— of course, gods only know how he always found him— his hands digging into the soil and his blood spattered over the grass.
"It's quite cold to be out on a run like this," Ajax had joked as he pulled Teucer up to his feet. Teucer said nothing, only stained Ajax's tunic brown and red and littered torn up blades of grass over his chest as his hands clutched at his shoulders. Ajax didn't seem to care about the state of his freshly washed garments, only firming his grip on Teucer's arm. "It's a long walk back."
"I'll be fine, I only tripped and fell. I'm too old for you to be carrying me around for such trivial things. Save your strength for when I'm a corpse."
"Who put such mad thoughts in your head?" Ajax pulled back, his brow knotted in concern, surveying Teucer's body and frowning at his injuries. "You tripped, and fell, and tore your legs up. And you've a good many winters to see before you can even dream of growing a beard. You'll never be too old for me to carry, dead or alive."
Teucer grunted into Ajax's shoulder as he scooped him up, going limp in his arms as he felt the gentle beat of Ajax's large hand patting at his back. He felt like a child again in his arms, and it was comforting. Gods, how he hated these days, caught in the torturous ravine between boy and man. Telamon's anger only seemed to bite harder, somehow.
"I might be the one who will grow too old to carry you." Ajax began again after a few paces.
"Nonsense. My brother's strength will never wane." Teucer had punctuated his sentence with a kick to Ajax's leg, and Ajax had laughed at his words, the noise cutting through the silence of the night like a torch in the dark.
Now, Teucer leans against Ajax's side, defeated, his knees slowly growing numb.
"They would be distraught if you left." Teucer knows Ajax refers to their mothers. "I would be distraught." Ajax says, louder. Teucer does not need to turn to know Ajax is crying. He finds some self-serving comfort in how easily his brother's tears fall for him.
"I would be distraught if I left any of you." Teucer mumbles into Ajax's shoulder. He feels him shake hard once, feels him shift as his other arm goes to wipe at his face. Teucer watches a moth flutter around the room aimlessly. He stares at it, as if his eyes could speak to it alone, and whisper; "I too know what it is like to be blessed with some light and greedily search for more in the foolish comfort of darkness."
"It is awfully selfish of me to say, I know," Ajax begins with a sigh, turning to pull Teucer into an awkward hug beside him. "Please, do not leave us. You don't know how much they need you. How much I need you."
"You are the one who protects me." Teucer says pointedly, almost scoffing.
"I need someone to protect do I not?" Ajax grins into Teucer's hair, bringing his hand up to tussle it. "A shield is just a hunk of bronze when not put to use. I love you, idiot, like you don't know."
"First you mess my hair up, then you call me an idiot. Forgive me if I doubt your supposed love for me." Teucer bites back the smile creeping up his lips, pushing away from Ajax. Ajax laughs again, and the sound is his home. Not Telamon's shouting, not the echoes of his beatings, not the thunder of his footsteps. Home is Ajax's raucous laugh, Hesione's dulcet humming, Periboea's loving scoldings. Teucer thinks of Telamon again, the ugly thought is washed out and disappears like seafoam in the ocean. He decides his occasional late night runs have been useless all along. He could never leave Salamis with a sound mind.
Ajax rises after a comfortable silence, nodding a 'goodnight'. Teucer's hand finds the end of Ajax's tunic again, stopping him.
"We used to sleep beside each other when we were younger." He says, and doesn't elaborate further. Ajax understands— he always does— and smiles.
"Aren't you too old?"
"If you leave, I will jump out of that window and make my new home the bottom of the sea."
"I stay only for the betterment of the sea nymphs, who might die of shock at a glance of your wretched face." Ajax settles next to Teucer, sprawling out excessively and pointedly taking up most of the bed.
"There is no love in your heart for me," Teucer adds, punctuating his statement by smothering Ajax's face with a woolen pillow. Ajax grabs at the soft thing, tossing it back at Teucer with force.
"None at all. Now, would you get over here and sleep already? You were awfully heavy to carry all that way back. I'm beat."
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3.
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Eursyaces sleeps in Teucer's arms. He is quiet now, when just weeks ago he had angrily announced his arrival into the world with a piercing cry. Tecmessa is asleep too— thank the Fates— she stirs and mumbles every so often underneath the heavily lined bed.
It had gotten cold enough last night for snow to begin its gentle patter on the earth, but Helios and his glowing chariot had ushered it away, and now as Nyx makes the world her home again, the ground is damp and grey with snowmelt.
Ajax shoulders past the tent flaps and sets two small cups of tea on the table beside where Teucer gently rocks Eurysaces in his arms. He flashes Teucer a sanguine smile, and it is more soothing than the tea could ever be.
"He cries whenever I set him in his cot. Whines whenever I sit. I will be standing here till my legs give out." Teucer whispers to his brother as he shirks off the warm heavy pelt over his shoulders. Ajax gestures to hold his son, and Teucer gingerly passes him over, moving slower than the snowfall. He marvels at the smallness of the newborn child in Ajax's hold— but Ajax's gentleness with the fragile life is nothing new.
"Mama would know what to do," Ajax says solemnly, a finger tracing Eurysaces' little nose. Teucer moves to take a sip of the hot tea and sighs as it warms his raw throat.
"No, she wouldn't. You complain that I used to cry all the time as a babe, and Mama was helpless to silence me." Teucer breathes into the tea and relishes the steam kissing his cheeks. Ajax laughs, it is loud, and Teucer fears the child will wake. He does not. Eurysaces curls further into the warmth of Ajax's body and his tiny fist balls into Ajax's chest. Ajax shuffles past Teucer and dares to take a seat at the edge of the cot, groaning under his weight. Eurysaces does not stir.
For now, Teucer's mind supplements silently.
"I complain about you and not my son because he is at least cute enough to make up for it," Ajax teases. His free hand finds Tecmessa behind him and plays with her hair. Teucer hums in response, sitting at Ajax's feet and leaning his head against his knees. He feels the warmth of Ajax's smile above him.
"No man is better suited to raise this child than you." Teucer groggily adds, a yawn lacing his words. He sets the half-empty cup of tea beside him, lest he spill it all over himself as he slowly falls asleep on the ground.
"If I could make a business of receiving gold each time you say that, I would be richer than even Agamemnon, wherever he is bristling in his lofty tent."
Teucer catches his consciousness as it slips away, and he lifts his heavy head to look up at Ajax.
"I mean it each time. There are men who use their women and pay no mind to the children that swell under their thin dresses. Especially for those with children waiting for them at home, these infants of war matter not," Teucer frowns. "They will be slaves, even with their Achaean blood."
"Not my Eurysaces. I am not vile." Ajax insists, as if Teucer needed to be convinced of these things.
"And Tecmessa?" Teucer knows the answer— Ajax has repeated it to no end with the same smile on his face every time— but he asks anyway, because he likes to hear it.
"You speak of the queen of Salamis— when the old man finally decides he is done raging against the earth."
Teucer takes a long sip of his slowly cooling tea. Ajax is awake, so he will try to stay awake with him too.
"You take care of him and her like you take care of me and Mama, and your mother," Teucer reaches up to gently pat at Eurysaces' wispy hair, and coos when he yawns.
"It is the same, my favourite task. My greatest honour, to have all of your love." Ajax states simply. Teucer's brows furrow, and he feels his throat tighten. Ajax pouts at his expression.
Tecmessa lets out a soft snore, and shifts under the furs blanketing the bed. Teucer remembers when he had first spoken to her alone, promising her that Ajax will care— a sparse thing in these camps.
"He is not perfect— he is loud and overbearing and stubborn," Teucer had said, "but he shows that stubbornness most in his care for others." Tecmessa had shook her head with a smile, her eyes tired. Teucer smiled back, the corners of his lips quivering. He could think nothing else, except that she seemed so alike his mother, despite how different their appearances were. He hadn't realised he had uttered his thought aloud until Tecmessa's smile had grown gentle and sympathetic.
"What are you doing here?" She had asked him —not mocking like the Achaeans had, not with hate like the Trojans had. She had asked in her own voice, as Tecmessa, a voice Teucer now knew was loving, and scared, and strong all at once. Teucer never answered her, only shrugged and stretched his smile further with a bashful chuckle. Tecmessa had laughed in return, as if he had told her a joke.
"I bet you none of these men, Trojan or Achaean, know why they are here either— not truly," she had replied. Teucer thanked the gods that his brother would have a wise woman by his side.
He only realises he is crying when Ajax pinches his cheek with a wry smile and mocks him for his tears. Teucer is too sleepy to bite back with the hundreds of times Ajax has sobbed openly into his shoulder, hands clutching at Teucer's clothes like a child.
"For such an honour, gods forbid any of you come to harm while I am still breathing." Ajax bounces Eurysaces in his arms as he begins to stir. Teucer thinks of Ajax with his massive shield, how he has only ever seen the behind of it during battle. He thinks of the other warriors chasing glory with racing steps and sharpened spears. He thinks of Ajax, their bulwark, a warrior he knows could fell half an army and yet chooses to shelter his archer brother as they slowly churn through the field, back to back.
Your aim is a thing that drags men down to Tartarus faster than any spear, Ajax had said once, watching Teucer test his bowstring.
"And if I had coin for every time you vowed to protect us, I would be richer than every king here combined." Teucer watches Eurysaces stretch his little limbs in the fortress of Ajax's arms. "One day we will both be old, and your son will care for you. Surely you know that you cannot keep me under your wing forever." Ajax pauses in his cooing at his son to frown at Teucer. He stands as Eursyaces stirs further, letting out a garbled whine.
"Even Eurysaces disagrees with your pessimism." Ajax hushes as Eurysaces writhes in his arms with a dissatisfied mewl. Teucer opens his mouth to speak, but Ajax cuts him off immediately— "You know there is no use in arguing over it. I know you will never stop protecting me either."
Teucer remembers the bloody splatter and sting of his bowstring snapping hard against his arm as he took down a man at Ajax's back. The end of a spear plunged into his other arm. Ajax had roared behind him, whipping around to crush his assailant's skull in with his heavy shield. It was a dangerous pause, but a necessary one, when he hastily wrapped the profusely bleeding wound on Teucer's arm tightly with a ripped shred of cloth.
"Eurysaces is as sick of you as I am, and he has barely had to deal with you for a single cycle of the moon." Teucer smiles as the offending child begins to wail in Ajax's arms, turning this way and that.
Ajax kisses his son's red face, holding him high in the air, calming him a little. Teucer found it funny how Eurysaces favoured being precariously held high up, but he supposed any reminder that his father was there would be calming for a child. He considers, he must be awfully childish too. He remembers sleeping against Ajax's cold and hard shield the single night he had spent in Machaon's tent on the rare occasion he had gotten badly injured.
Tecmessa mumbles groggily as she gets up. Teucer watches Ajax fret over her while Eurysaces reaches up and grabs at the air with angry fists.
Tecmessa is tired— he knows she will never find enough rest— and Eurysaces wails louder now, and Ajax's no doubt harsh kisses over her face must be more annoying than they are endearing, but she smiles regardless, taking Eurysaces in her arms and patiently humming a soothing tune as he slowly finds sleep again.
Ajax hands her the cup of tea he had brought for her, now cold. She accepts it anyway, sticking her tongue out at the bitterness.
"You did not add any honey to this," Tecmessa scolds, turning her face away from Ajax with a pout.
"I did, there is simply not enough honey in the world to satiate you," Ajax refutes.
Teucer watches their back-and-forth and thinks, he has never lied to me once about his loyalty.
The other men whisper, and Teucer hears. They question the archer's loyalty. He can't help but find it silly— if he is loyal to his brother then he is loyal to the Achaeans.
A childhood vow rings in Teucer's ears. Ajax will never leave his side, and Teucer will never be disloyal to him. The vow meant nothing then, and it meant even less now. Teucer knew these things were already written in their stars.
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Ajax's jaw lays slack. Wrong, Teucer thinks, he would sometimes smile even in his sleep, such muscle memory was the act of it to him. Hector's sword defiantly gleams wherever it has not been coated with Ajax's copious blood, as if it's dead owner means to boast; look, I have felled this great man, our duel has never ended till now.
Even the dead boast, Teucer bristles at the thought.
Tecmessa wrings her trembling hands through her hair beside Teucer, and he so hopes she will not pull it out. Ajax used to praise and kiss her soft curls and whisper lovely things into her hair, as if they were secrets. Teucer watches the little light the early morning had to offer catch on the tears that roll down her cheeks. She has stopped her cursing and wailing, her voice wringed out of her and replaced with painful grief that scratches at her parched throat.
Teucer thinks; maybe Ajax's life was the only reason I could ever cry. He stands over Ajax's corpse with dry eyes and the deafening rush of blood in his ears.
"Eurysaces," Teucer finally says, because he knows Tecmessa has thought of him but did not have the strength to let her thoughts pass freely in her mind. She does not even nod in return, only casting a wide-eyed glance at him as he speaks and turning to retrieve her son.
When Tecmessa disappears behind the tangle of tents in the horizon, he kneels beside his brother. He shuts his eyes with a gentle hand and presses a kiss to his hairline, as if routine. Ajax does not tease him in return, and the silence feels like a knife dragged across Teucer's chest. Ajax is too quiet, too still. He is not sleeping, Teucer knows, because he is not snoring loud enough to have Tecmessa walk over to Teucer in the dark to inform him that she will sleep with the other women tonight instead of her raucous lover.
"He did this to himself, and he will have to bear the consequences. Do not think of lifting that hulking mass of dead flesh." A voice begins behind him. Teucer cannot find the energy in himself to be shocked at the sudden noise. He turns his head lazily at Menelaus, clad in his handsome armour.
"I've unfortunately thought of it, and surmised that I will probably need some help." Teucer states matter-of-factly. Menelaus does not falter.
"He wanted to murder us. We've decided a traitor such as him does not deserve a bed of dirt to hold his corpse. Let him rot on that Trojan sword." Menelaus stares at something in the distance. Teucer does not care to lift his head to see what has caught his attention. "Don't bother fighting us, Teucer. We won't bend to you. Kings must have unwavering intentions and morals."
"Your morals waver in the face of your anger," Teucer spits back, his words slurred with grief. "You forget the gods."
"I remember the gods, and I thank them for saving me and my brother's life from such a brazen man. He came with us to Troy deceiving that he was a good man-"
"He flew our sails of his own accord. Neither you, nor your brother could command Ajax. And you cannot command me either. Bring all the men you want, let me bury my brother, and should you find an empty plot beside him to bury me as well, then do as you please."
"You mean to command me now?" Menelaus squints at him, taking a step forward. Teucer stands to meet his eye.
"I am a man loyal to the gods Menelaus," Teucer watches a flock of birds shoot past the clouds overhead. "I only warn you that you and your brother have made a foolish decision. Damnable, suiting your family."
"I don't care for your insults-"
"I don't care for yours either— or any of your useless words. Leave me to bury my brother. You forget all he has done for you— for us— his deeds burn away in the heat of your rage." Teucer pauses, glancing behind Menelaus' squared shoulders. "What a lame excuse for a king. You hide behind your brother's skirts even now." Teucer flashes a dry smile to Agamemnon as he approaches, a cluster of armed men behind him.
"Hypocrite," Agamemnon bites back. "You speak with the voice of a man without a brother to lean on. The bastard of a slave woman dares to speak up? Where is your bow, archer? Your shield— it now lays in its filthy blood on the ground before us!"
"Check your own lineage before you speak ill of mine!" Teucer counters, his volume matching that of the king of men before him. "I am the son of King Laomedon's daughter, a gift bestowed upon my noble father by the mighty Heracles. What of your grandfather, Atreidai? Was he a great king as well?"
Teucer's eye catches the shaky clench of Agamemnon's fist. He lifts his gaze to meet his again, as if to challenge him. He dares not look away. Menelaus whispers something to the men behind Agamemnon. Teucer hears the slow screeching draw of his sword. His eyes never leave Agamemnon's.
"The great bulwark lays dead. The war will groan at his loss."
Teucer shifts his gaze now in tandem with Agamemnon. Odysseus mutters behind him, hand contemplatively over his mouth and a pained knot in his brow. Agamemnon grins at his arrival. Teucer scowls.
"Can a man not find rest even in death? Why do you shout over his corpse?" Odysseus' voice is tired and weary. Dawn's fingers peak through the sky.
"He shall not be buried," Agamemnon begins, stern. "He is our enemy— no better than any Trojan we may find on the field." He punctuates his sentence with a pointed look at Teucer.
"We leave our enemies to be buried by their families, do we not?" Odysseus smiles towards Teucer. It doesn't quite reach his worn eyes, but it's more comforting than Agamemnon's countenance, at least. "What more for a great man who has protected us all these years. He was our enemy in his final moments, mine especially, but he has stood unwavering in your support for 10 years, has he not? I am moved more by his greatness than by my enmity."
Teucer's lip quivers. At times, he thinks he fears Odysseus. His wiliness becomes obvious after a decade of his presence, a weaving thing, twisting and turning his words. But here, as he flashes him a tired smile and speaks the thoughts in Teucer's mind— too pent up for him to put to his voice— he thinks he trusts him.
"He is my brother. Let me protect him in death the same way he has protected me in life— protected you too." Teucer manages, painfully, to speak. His throat burns with the effort. Odysseus' kind eyes soothe it somewhat. Odysseus nods, and his unruly curls slip past his shoulder with the motion. In the pink light of dawn, Teucer almost believes that Odysseus mourns for Ajax. He almost wants to believe it.
"You mean to make me look like a coward. Bending to the will of a wretched man." Agamemnon hisses.
"I mean to make you look like a king. The men will praise you for your sense of justice. The gods will be happy you abide by their laws," Odysseus dulcet voice comes, like a balm to the king's anger. Then he adds, impossibly softer— "Do not be brash, Agamemnon. It has never brought you any good."
Agamemnon glances between the three men around him. He holds his brother's gaze for a moment— Teucer does not care to try and decipher the conversation they have with their eyes. He thinks of Ajax, who could speak to his heart with a single blink, and thinks of how his eyes will stay unblinking till they rot away.
Then with a sigh, Agamemnon stalks off without another word, his men and his brother trailing behind.
Odysseus laughs once they are gone, but there is no humour in it. Teucer sighs, and his body moves with the effort.
"Even great men can be blinded by resentment. It is a curse that places a knife in the hands our heart and neglects to inform us of its danger— we are left to either hurt ourselves, or the others around us." Odysseus' voice is low, and Teucer does not know if he refers to Agamemnon or Ajax. He can't find it in himself to ask.
Odysseus smiles at Teucer once more. He cannot reciprocate it, but appreciates the gesture nonetheless.
Teucer returns to kneeling beside his brother. He does not know how long his knees strain under his weight as his shaky hands wrap around Ajax's back. Odysseus' patient gaze weighs on him throughout. He slowly slides Ajax's body off the blade pierced through his chest, lowering him on the ground and wincing at the act.
He sits beside his brother's body, knees to his chin, and collects his breaths. Odysseus kneels in front of him. Teucer meets his gaze, eyes wild and finally, finally brimming with tears.
"May I help you?" Odysseus smiles. He is kind. Teucer looks away, unable to meet those kind eyes.
"I don't think he would- I want to- myself... please," Teucer begins, not quite coherent. Odysseus nods, and rises to his feet.
There is a weight on Teucer's head. Odysseus' hand briefly cards through his hair soothingly, before giving a firm squeeze to his shoulder.
"You were his shield for a change today," Odysseus glances at Ajax, as if he may hear him. "Teucer, you are a great man."
Odysseus turns to leave and nods a greeting to Tecmessa as she drags her feet towards them. Eurysaces flashes him a toothy grin, and Odysseus returns it. Teucer wishes he could. The child is young, too young to understand, and Teucer stands in front of his father's corpse as he pulls him into his arms, turning him away from the body.
Eurysaces laughs as he is lifted, and his laugh is loud, almost painfully so in Teucer's ears. Tecmessa holds her breath as Eurysaces whispers something to Teucer— and he cannot truly listen to the boy past the loudness of his thoughts— and Teucer somehow finds himself smiling at her. Her lips twitch, but never really curl up like they always did. Teucer thinks, they may never do so again. And it is a shame, because Ajax told him once that her smile was the prettiest thing about her.
A bird sings the song of the morning somewhere in the distance, and men like little specks far away begin spilling out of their tents with the groggy weight of sleep hanging on their armour clad forms. The men move, and Teucer stays still.
Little flowers blossom at Teucer's feet, and he doesn't know if they were there before.
Ajax is silent, but somehow Teucer hears his voice in the crush of the flowers under his sandals.
A great man.