Chapter Text
Telemachus’ first diplomatic mission had been going pretty well so far, he’d gone to Sparta, where his mom was from, done all the things he needed to without much trouble and seeing auntie Helen had been nice since he hadn't been able to in years. Everything was going so well that considering his normal luck Telemachus probably should have questioned it and prepared for things to go wrong like always, but he didn't.
Not until the storm hit. His boat was small and the storm hit hard so he was thrown around by the waves like a toy. There hadn't been a storm this big since the one ten years ago, the one that made the suitors start coming, the one that everyone seemed convinced had killed Odysseus. Telemachus tried to angle the sails to stay somewhat on course but the wind whipped it around, the rope digging into his palms until they bled before it was violently ripped from his hands with a cry of pain that couldn't be heard over the rain. By that point the goal went from sail through the storm to simply live through the storm. Wave after wave crashed over the boat filling it with water and making Telemachus’ eyes go blurry. It felt as though the water was trying specifically to pull him overboard but as it did he managed to grab on to the side of his boat, holding on with all his strength, ignoring the splinters that dug into his skin. At one point or another Telemachus lost track of anything other than his aching hands and the piece of wood keeping him afloat, but the rawness of his throat suggested he’d been screaming despite knowing there wasn't anyone around to hear, whether or not he’d been crying too was impossible to tell between the pelting rain and the crashing waves that pulled him under over and over. Telemachus’ arms felt like they would be ripped from the sockets and his entire body trembled until a particularly harsh surge of water wretched the lifeline from his grip.
The last thing Telemachus saw before he was pulled under was a figure with a sharp smile, divinity radiating from it but not in the exhilarating, focusing way he’d come to associate with Athena; this felt like the figure's very presence was the greatest threat it could make. Then there was nothing, nothing but water. The salt started to sting his lungs as they filled with water, spasming violently, his chest burning as it tried to expel the liquid that just kept refilling, frantically searching for air where there wasn't any. His mind swam, emptying of anything but his desperate need to breathe.
Until that slipped away too, Telemachus’ limbs stilled with an exhaustion heavier than any he’d ever felt. The waves now far above him slowed but it didn't matter anymore, Telemachus didn't have the fight left to try.
His eyes closed and for a fleeting moment, there was peace. Beautiful, calm peace unlike anything that Telemachus had had before. It almost made him want to stay like that forever. He could, it would be so easy to just give up.
Then strength surged through his body, new determination threaded itself through his mind. Athena, Telemachus managed as a broken thought. He kicked to the surface, leaning hard on his borrowed strength and the stubbornness he’d inherited from both of his parents as every part of his body ached. Then he broke the waterline, sucking in gasps of air, choking with every breath as he tread water, but alive. His unfocusing eyes were pulled to the shore of an island and he stuttered another breath, pushing himself to swim. After what felt like ages he finally reached the beach and nothing had ever felt so blessèd under his feet. Telemachus immediately doubled over, coughing more water from his lungs, shaking like a leaf in the wind from the exertion of survival, teeth chattering from the sudden cold. His bones felt too heavy as Telemachus grappled with consciousness that seemed to slip through his fingers like sand. Vaguely he felt his goddess gently guide him to the ground as the fuzz that had been edging his vision took hold and everything faded to black.