#witless asks

“Daaaarrling.” 

“What is it, Hermes?”

Hermes reached up, blinking hazily at Tiresias from where his head laid in their lap. 

“You’re so pretty.”

The prophet glowed faintly. “Yes, thank you, Hermes.”

“No, I- I mean it. Those cheekbones…to die for. I mean, uh…you know. So pretty. Yeah.” His knuckles brushed against Tiresias’ cool skin. “Wooow…”

Tiresias chuckled, and their hand wrapped around Hermes’ fingers in a careful, gentle embrace. “My dear…”

Hermes didn’t even hide the way his eyes widened at the little nickname. “Hooohhh. Deer?”

“I…no. No deer.”

“Awww.” Hermes pouted. “I love deer…they’re fast. And bouncy. They should be one of my animals. Why aren’t they one of my animals, Tiresias?”

“I don’t know. I meant dear as in the pet name.” Tiresias moved their hand to Hermes’ sculpted curls, gently brushing them back. Hermes groaned in pleasure, his eyes unfocusing but still centered on Tiresias’ face. 

“I love you…”

“I think you may have had a bit too much moly this time, my dear.”

“Deer?”

“No. No deer.”

Hermes let out a small scoff, but were far too busy gaping at Tiresias to respond. 

“Close your mouth, dear. Letting flies in…” Tiresias placed their fingers under Hermes’ jaw and gently shut it. It fell back open the moment they pulled back. “Stop it.”

Hermes did grin in response to that. “Yes…sir. Ma’am. Royal…person. Beloved. Flesh. My deer.”

“Hmm.” 

“Would you like to be my deer?”

“Is that a higher position than your lover?” Tiresias asked dryly. That seemed to stump him. “…yes. I’ll be your deer- or, I’ll be your darling. You be my dear.”

Hermes grinned. “I’m a fast deer…”

this took me a while because I don’t usually think about other Odysseus ships, but I do love me some OdyPoli (even if I usually view it as platonic…even better when it’s up for interpretation)

have some silly drunk fun

“Penelopppeeeee…”

“Alright, alright. Enough of that.”

Odysseus grunted as he felt a strong hand grasp the back of his tunic, hefting him up out of his seat, ignoring the strangled noise that came out of him. “Whalguh-”

“As your second in command and your friend,” Eurylochus muttered in his ear as he started to not-so-subtly pull Odysseus out of the eating area, “it is my duty to ensure you do not ruin yourself in front of the men.”

“Wha-?! I’m not that drunk!” Odysseus protested clumsily, feeling the cool evening air wash over him as the door was opened and Eurylochus hauled his ass out onto the deck. He grasped after his goblet, left alone on the table. “Quit that! I’m a king, you know!”

“I didn’t say you were,” Eurylochus said dryly. “And I don’t care if you are a king. I have known you since you were a prince, and you are just as silly when you’ve had too much wine. Now, am I going to stay or fetch Miron to keep an eye on you to ensure you don’t fall overboard?”

“No need, Eurylochus!”

Different hands- small, careful, but just as warm- wrapped around his arms. Odysseus grunted.

The hands turned him around, and oh- Polites. The red headband was easy to make out in the dim evening light. And those warm brown eyes, lighter than Eurylochus’, almost hazel…Odysseus found himself zoning out, staring into them.

“Had a bit too much to drink,” Eurylochus muttered, handing him off like a disobedient pup.

“How many times has he mentioned the Queen since the sun’s gone down?”

“Four. Separate, and mostly unprompted.”

Polites laughed, and slung an arm around Odysseus’ shoulders. “Yeah, he’s drunk. C’mon, Captain, let’s sit down before you fall off your feet.”

While Eurylochus returned to the dining area to keep an eye on the other men, Polites helped Odysseus sit down against the wall. Rough wood brushed at his back, warm muscle pressed into his shoulder and cheek. One of his ears filled with the usually tuned out sound of the waves lapping against the ship, the other listening to the calm, measured breathing from where it was tucked almost into Polites’ neck. Odysseus couldn’t distinguish whose sighs were whose, so he ceased for a moment.

“…you alright, Captain?” Polites’ voice pricked with concern as his friend’s breathing stopped. “Odysseus? Wake up.”

“Hrmn? Yss, m’fine,” Odysseus muttered, haphazardly waving him off. “All fine.”

Polites shook his head as he slumped back against the wood, but he rested a hand on his friend’s other shoulder, content to let the quiet moment continue. However, Odysseus seemed to have other plans, as he flopped his head completely on Polites and sighed. “I miss-”

“Penelope?” Polites finished with a chuckle. “Yes, I know, you always talk about her when you’re drunk-”

“-hnhh. ‘Lone.”

Polites paused. “Huh?”

Odysseus readjusted himself, leaning more weight onto Polites’ chest in his open arms. “I miss…spend’ng nights with someone,” he mumbled instead. “Holding onto them. Her. Easier sleep. More warm in bed. J’st wake up now and it’s lonely…”

“Oh.” Polites listened, and when Odysseus closed his eyes again to continue his semi-coherent pouting, he sighed. “I guess that’s fair…I suppose I don’t know what sharing a bed with someone feels like.”

Odysseus snorted. “Gotta…get you a wife.”

“Yeah? You have any more sisters?” Polites nudged him.

“Nn…” Odysseus giggled- straight up giggled, honest to the gods- and rolled over against Polites’ chest. “No.”

“Alright, then. I suppose we can’t all be married to your royal blood,” Polites murmured, sitting the captain up a little more.

Odysseus hummed drowsily, another one of his infamous schemes clearly brewing behind those drooping eyes. “Could just marry me.”

Polites stifled a louder laugh. “My friend, I think you forget, you’re already married.”

“Didn’t forget! Penny likes you. And Tel. You can marry me.” Odysseus smirked. “Bet you’re warm in bed, too...”

(when u have time ofc❤️)

“Hold out your hands, and close your eyes, darling.”

Tiresias stared blankly in the direction of where they imagined Hermes was hovering, judged off the soft flaps of his shoes a few feet up. 

“What?”

“Why am I closing my eyes?” 

There was a moment of silence. Then Hermes spoke again, this time sounding a bit flustered. “Uh- for the mystery, of course. For the vibes.” 

Tiresias snorted softly and obeyed, cupping their hands together and closing their eyes so the white was overshadowed by darkness. 

“Very well. Now, what is this for?”

“For this, darling.” Something jagged but sanded down, circular in shape, pressed into their palms. Tiresias cautiously felt over it; smooth stones pressed perfectly into a crown of branches, though there were some silkier smooth parts woven in. Flower petals? 

“Is this a...?”

“A circlet.” Hermes lifted it back from their hands, and the delicate weight settled into their hair. “It’s made with…brown wood, some flowers to match your ribbons. And some very pretty stones and gems. But I kept it subtle, what I thought you’d like. I won’t have my lover wandering around looking gaudy, like one of Aphrodite’s old projects.” 

Tiresias felt it out, matching the sensations to what he described. It smelled good, too. Smelled like fresh air and Hermes’ warmth. 

“Thank you,” they murmured, a small smile unfolding on their thin lips. “I love it. But…Hermes, why the sudden intricate gift?” Before, Hermes had brought down a tortoise shell and ribbons  and flowers and other small trinkets. This was far more thoughtful and apparently labor-intensive. 

“Ah, I thought you might not be able to tell.” A soft thump hinted Hermes had touched down, and warm hands wrapped around Tiresias’ own. “Today is the twenty-year anniversary of when I first met you, I believe.”

“Is it really?” Tiresias lifted their head. Between the two of them- an immortal god and a prophet that lived where time was impossible to keep track of- Tiresias had never thought they’d hear those words. “Well, I…I haven’t got anything for you.”

Those warm hands slipped away from theirs, only to return to cup Tiresias’ jaw. “I think you do, darling.” 

“I don’t-”

Hermes’ thumb brushed over Tiresias’ lip. “Oh...you mean you want a kiss?”

“Yes.” Hermes leaned even closer, and his breath ghosted over Tiresias’ neck like the opposite of a chill. “...but I’ll not steal it from you. Even if I am the god of thieves." 

The wordplay made Tiresias smile wider, and they trusted the circlet to stay put as they let it go, brushing their hands across Hermes’ shoulders, up his neck, into those soft curls. “No. Take all you’d like, my dearest thief.”

Yesssss

I imagine it would be…something like a migraine, if they pushed themselves too hard without extra Hermes Power. 

White mist. A voice in front of them. Recognizable, easily- Eurylochus, by the low tone, the taller speaking point, and the small shuffle of feet. 

“Polites and I are going to settle the dispute with ship nine, make sure it doesn’t get violent- we’ll be back in a while.” When Tiresias nodded, the shuffling faded off away from the sail. 

Well, all right. Tiresias slowly sat down against the column, and brushed their fingers over their staff, some of the newer details Karalos had been kind enough to help them carve, as they listened to the sound of the rushing waters of the Styx and men engaged in their usual activities farther on. Some more time to relax by myself…

Unfortunately, that time did never come. After a few minutes of sitting and thinking- what would Hermes think if they asked to feel his winged shoes?- another set of steps started approaching. 

Tiresias lifted their head. Polites’ steps sounded a bit slower than that, and Karalos’ footfalls weren’t quite so heavy.

“Prophet.” It was indeed an unfamiliar voice. “I’d like you to look at something.”

Tiresias resisted the urge to sigh- it felt like they’d been doing a lot of visions today. They couldn’t quite remember how many. And while Tiresias usually didn’t do this without another- Polites, Eurylochus, Hermes- they trusted nearby, they could probably make an exception this time. 

“Very well.” Tiresias stood up, and planted their staff into the ground. “What answers is it you seek?”

The man gave a vague answer- some city in Ithaca, check on his wife, his children. Tiresias heard it many times a day.

The white mist swirled in his vision as they reached out, not physically, but just…searching. A rather unspecific direction, and Tiresias didn’t need a proper one to find what they needed. 

The mist cleared just enough to glimpse a view of a fast-paced market, centered around an aging woman selling dyed wool, and two grown daughters helping her. The son, Tiresias could vaguely tell, was somewhere else…if they tried to reach for that, too…

A blurrier sight of a young man, doing…something. Tiresias couldn’t quite see what- holding a sword, perhaps? Their head was starting to ache, and it was making this harder. 

“Well?” The crewmate asked, a little impatiently, but his voice sounded so far away it didn’t register. Tiresias was already pushing harder, just to make the details clearer- but they refused to become so, only resulting in a more pronounced thump of their head, and the white mist swirling around their vision…

Something large and unmoving slammed into Tiresias from the side, and the vision- along with everything else- faded from mind.

The next thing they were aware of, was warmth on their cheek, something firm tucked under their back. Holding them like something familiar and precious, but still, Tiresias struggled to recognize it with the furious shouting over their head. Thankfully, whoever held them had had the mercy and forethought to cover their ears, not that it deafened them to the rant. 

“-I leave my lover in your care, trusting you lot to not abuse their blessings and gifts- and yet I come down to find them collapsed and unresponsive! Who was it that did this?!” 

Hermes…

As men farther back- Polites, perhaps, ever the peacemaker- struggled with words, Tiresias lifted one shaking hand to grope blindly for something of Hermes to take hold of. They found his side, and tugged on his clothing like a needy child. 

Hermes’ radiating displeasure vanished in a second, and the warmth on their cheek tightened. 

“Darling- are you awake? Are you alright? Speak to me.”

A singular ache still throbbed across Tiresias’ head, but that did not stop them from finding Hermes’ other hand and taking it. “I’m alright, dear. You can stop yelling at the crew, they did nothing wrong.”

“If that’s so, then why did I hear my name in prayers and come down to find you in this state?” Hermes lifted them closer to his chest, resting their head on his shoulder. “I ought to throw the man that pushed you into the Styx-”

“We wouldn’t know who did it. And I chose to push myself, anyhow,” Tiresias murmured. 

“Well, still- he should have known better! You should have known better? What were you thinking?”

Tiresias could not help but smile, feeling their hood slip back, and Hermes rest his head on theirs. “You’re fussing.”

“Wh- well, so what if I am? No more prophecies or visions for you, darling. For a week.”

Tiresias wasn’t quite sure how long a week would be, but it did not seem like the most urgent matter now. Their hand moved across Hermes’ chest, resting right hit over where his heart was still beating frantically. 

“Why don’t we just rest for a minute,” they whispered. “I’m sure that’s all it will take. I’m already feeling better.”

Hermes huffed, but Tiresias still felt them nod. His heart rate was slowly dropping under Tiresias’ fingers. 

Ohhhhmygod you are speaking MY language. You are so right.

Ksssshhh…

Athena knew the importance of rain. Life-giving, crop-watering, so on and so forth. She would never curse or delay it. But when it came to war, to training?

It was a nuisance, all things considered. It limited visibility, made mortals sluggish and hesitant to act. 

And yet, it was inevitable, including in times of war. So warriors in training had to learn to handle it. 

Odysseus stood before her, and Athena would be lying if she said the image of her protege looking like a wet cat didn’t bring her some amusement. 

“Tilt your head so the rain does not blind you,” she reminded, suddenly sweeping her staff towards Odysseus to test his grip. It just barely stayed in his hands as he clutched it tighter. 

Athena watched him shake the hair out of his eyes- she wasn’t sure why that was necessary, he had rather short hair right now, it couldn’t be bothering him that much. Athena’s long braid was not actually wet, but it wasn’t dry either- with her divinity chasing away the indignity and impracticality of being soaked. 

“Guard up. Let’s try this again.” 

Athena lunged forward and swept at his feet, which Odysseus nimbly dodged- only for his foot to get sucked in by a patch of mud he should have known to avoid. She did not give him time to free himself, only advancing. 

Odysseus ducked under her next swing, and lashed his own across her calves- he managed to graze her, and the smallest glimmer of gold dripped from her left ankle before it sealed up again. But for a mortal, that was a decent wound to distract and harm, perhaps cripple if pushed a bit deeper. Not quite efficient when the goal was to guide Atropos’ scissors to the thread of your enemy, but effective as far as non-lethal blows went. 

Odysseus yanked his foot out of the mud patch and advanced on her- and it was in that slight pause of indecision that Athena noticed the small tremble of his chest. A small irregularity in breathing. 

“Control your breaths,” she reminded him sharply, as she aimed another jab at his midsection. He was slower to respond, jerkily evading the blow like a puppet with its strings yanked backwards. 

The match went on for a while, until Athena finally trapped him over that same patch- really, Odysseus- and his weapon sank into the mud itself. Odysseus raised his hands in surrender. As his chest heaved, Athena noticed that the rise and fall were still uneven. 

If Odysseus noticed this, which she was sure he did, he did not betray it- but his tone was strained as he pushed out, “Water break?” 

Athena didn’t know why he would need one with all this water around, but she’d learned not so long ago that it was better to allow a short break, at least once an hour, and more on hot days. “Yes, quickly.” 

Odysseus wasted no time darting off towards the grove of trees nearby where he kept his waterskin, snatching it up and guzzling half the contents. He choked on it halfway through, sputtering through a cough. Water dripped down his face from the rain and from the corners of his mouth;  he looked like a wet dog. 

Rustling in the nearby foliage turned Athena’s head. 

Two other teenage boys- as if dealing with one wasn't enough- the steady beat of the rain echoed off the large shield Eurylochus was using to keep somewhat dry. Polites, as well, was sharing in the protection by staying close. Odd, because Athena had assumed that they only came to join in on Odysseus’ training or watch when it was convenient to them. But this downpour made everything far from convenient. She quietly watched them from between the branches. 

Odysseus didn’t seem to notice that the others had entered, now holding his waterskin out under the steady stream of a leaf deflecting the rain to refill it. His shoulders were hunched, and as Athena focused her hearing over the rain, she could discern that it was still raspy. 

“Ody!” Polites left the safety of the shield to come to his side. Odysseus finally looked up; Athena silently tsked at his slip of inattentiveness.  

“Guys! What-” Odysseus started to rise, only to stumble halfway through the motion. Polites pressed a hand to his chest to steady him, and it drew an ugly, hoarse sound out of Odysseus’ throat. 

“Woah,” Polites murmured, patting her warrior on the back. “Athena really has you training in this, how long have you been out here?”

Eurylochus caught up to the two and nudged Polites as Odysseus shook his head. “Sunrise.” 

“It’s been raining since before that! And it’s almost noon,” Eurylochus murmured, lowering his voice like he thought Athena wouldn't hear. The boy had a carrying voice, unfortunately for him. It might be good for giving orders someday.

Odysseus shrugged as he rubbed at his chest, hardly protesting as Polites pushed him into his spot under the shield and started wiping and wringing excess water from him, like that would help anything. Then he paused and felt the back of Odysseus’ neck- which did draw a reaction, a sharp inhale that turned into a sigh, into another cough.

“Ody, you’re cold as ice,” Polites murmured, leaning into Odysseus’ view over his shoulder. “And I don’t like the sound of that cough. Is the training over?”

Odysseus looked miserable as he shook his head. 

Athena brushed off the image as easily as a raindrop and stepped forward into the little grove of trees; Eurylochus immediately blanched, but Polites did not move where he was nearly pressed to Odysseus’ back. Odysseus’ head, bowed to his chest, did not move. 

“Pallas Athena,” Polites spoke respectfully, and she knew right away she wouldn’t like what he had to say. The boy had not even let go of his shoulder at the sight of Athena, clearly lacking respect. “Is it possible that Ody’s training could end early today? Exertion while cold and wet is rarely conducive for health.” 

Athena looked over Odysseus. He was shivering, yes. He was cold, he was wet, he was utterly pathetic-looking. And he had been moving slower the past hour, his breath slower to catch. But generals of war pushed through little ailments and discomforts, and Athena was sure she hadn’t mistaken him as one. She was not being stubborn, she was preparing him for his future as a warrior of the mind, not a slave to his body. She shook her head. “He must learn to tolerate that. Release him; Odysseus does not need your assistance.” He could finish this fight by himself. 

Polites opened his mouth, but he was interrupted by Odysseus’ shaky inhale. “N-no- it’s fine. I’m-”

He didn’t get much more out before his knees weakened and he sagged against Polites into his open arms, and Eurylochus dropped the shield to the side to help steady the prince. Athena thought for a moment that Odysseus had found himself friends to match his dramatics at inappropriate times, until she noticed that he seemed to actually be gasping for breath that wasn’t as heavy and thick with rain as the entire island’s air. 

Athena stepped into the little grove as Odysseus collapsed against Polites’ chest and was in turn pulled against Eurylochus’ to better shelter him. With a flick of her wrist, she cast the same enchantment over him that shielded her from the rain’s deep-reaching chill. His clothes lightened, his hair lifted so it wasn’t flat against his scalp. And yet, Odysseus still shivered. Eurylochus and Polites stared at the sudden changes, and then turned their gaze to Athena. 

Unconsciously, Athena found herself turning her head away. “Fine, if he’s determined not to be of use. Take him back to the palace.” It was fine for him to have proper reinforcements, on occasion. The strongest general could not turn the tide of the battle without resources or soldiers. 

At her bid, Eurylochus hefted their fallen friend into his arms, and Polites took the shield with a grunt. With a bare-boned bow, they hurried off through the tree. 

Long after they were gone, Athena noticed the waterskin had been left behind. 

Nghah!

Sweating and shaking, Odysseus jerked half-up in bed, too fatigued and weak to fully jolt upright. A few gasps steadied his raspy breathing, but not the tremble of his body after the vivid, confusing dreams- something about warm blood and cold rain and a faint, woodsy scent. 

Odysseus groaned and buried as deeply back into the sheets as he could make himself burrow, and let his eyes wander over his bedroom. The light was dawning on a new day, but he still felt as shit as he had yesterday; he could faintly recall the hazy pain and embarrassment of being carried home by Eurylochus, gods bless him- with Polites bobbing around and offering warm encouragement as warm as Eurylochus’ arms. He recalled nothing after the blurry view of the palace gates, so he must have fallen asleep. 

Hwfoosh. 

Odysseus startled, and interest lent him the strength to lift his boulder of a head again. The window of his bedroom had been opened, and there was something dark sitting on the windowsill that he did not recognize. 

Ugh….

He would have loved to relax and forget about it, have whoever would inevitably check on him soon bring it to him to discover what it was. 

 But gods, the curiosity in him burned deep and stubborn. 

Odysseus did not bother to stifle his groans of exhaustion as he painstakingly pulled himself out of bed, and wobbled his way to the window. The dark, blurry object gradually became clearer, until he realized he was looking at his waterskin. 

Eh? 

Odysseus last remembered drinking from it while training, and his throat itched just thinking of it- had that been yesterday, or last week’s drills? He didn’t remember bringing it back, but perhaps Polites or Eurylochus had picked it up for him and set it here. 

Something brushed against the inside. Odysseus paused, shook it again. No, he’d heard that right. Not sloshing- something small and dense being rattled around inside. He unscrewed the thick top with trembling fingers and turned it over. 

A small brown root fell into his palm. Odysseus puzzled over it for a moment, his sluggish mind thoroughly baffled. What was the purpose of this root, and how did this get in here? The top had been screwed on tight. And what was the sound he had-

Odysseus belatedly noticed the small brown feather sitting on the windowsill. 

Athena?

Odysseus looked out of the window. He saw nothing, but the cool breeze on his face refreshed his thoughts. 

Athena loved her clues and puzzles. He didn’t recognize this root, but it had been intentionally placed in his waterskin- meaning it was something to be drank. Brewed into a tea? Perhaps it was medicinal? Perhaps it was even a divine remedy?

Perhaps Athena felt guilty for Odysseus’ ailment. 

Deep breaths, my love…

Penelope’s voice sounded far away, so far away. There was a hand on his shoulder, was it hers? Did he dare hope it was hers? Or was it someone else?

He was not taking deep breaths at all. Or maybe he was. But if he was taking deep breaths, it did not feel like he was. Deep breaths were refreshing and slow. But Odysseus was getting about as much air as he had, being drowned by Poseidon on the shores of his home.

The hand one his shoulder squeezed tighter, and the plate in front of his face was dragged away; he’d been doing so well with the beef, too. But he couldn’t protest, couldn’t eat any more, because his stomach was curling up and he was already choking without anything in his mouth.

Father?…Táta? What is it? What’s wrong?

He knew that voice. Still regrettably unfamiliar. But he knew it. He loved it. His son. He could at least try to pull himself together here for him.

Odysseus dragged his eyes up and forced himself to open them. He saw the storm clouds gathering out the window first. Telemachus was in front of it, half-standing with an anxious look in his eyes. Penelope’s other hand was gesturing for him to stay calm. Her right hand was on his shoulder, still.

“My love…” Penelope got up and leaned closer, and leaned against his side. The weight was just as much comforting and grounding as it was pressuring. “Perhaps we should retire to our chambers for the evening, to relax?”

Odysseus found himself nodding. Yes…privacy. He was still king. A king should not break down at his own dining table. If at all.

Penelope took his hand and guided him to his feet, looping her arm through his when she saw the glazed, distant look in his eye. Telemachus sat behind, looking a bit like a kicked puppy as his parents started to leave. And that was what brought Odysseus back.

“T-Telemachus.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “Come.”

Telemachus, mercifully, needed no more words to accept the invitation. He shot out of his seat like he hated been poked with a spear, and ran to join his parents; had he been in a better mindset, Odysseus would have watched his speed with envy and pride. He came to Odysseus’ other side and looped an arm through his father’s, mirroring Penelope with one glance at her to make sure he was doing right.

Odysseus stared at the floor in front of him as he walked, the stones that he had seen placed himself, so he did not look at the windows, the storm and the sea beyond. When they reached the royal chambers again, and Penelope sat down with him by the olive tree’s trunk, he reached up to beckon Telemachus to join. Telemachus, again, eagerly obliged.

And so they stayed like that. Odysseus found himself in the middle of his wife and his son. His breathing had slowed down with the walk here. And when it threatened to pick up again…Telemachus curled closer and laid his brow on Odysseus’ chest. And Odysseus thought, he needed to keep his breathing even for him. He couldn’t do with watching his son’s head be bounced around in front of his own eyes. Penelope watched with a fond smile, settling her own chin on Odysseus’ shoulder while her arms circled his waist- a loving, safe embrace.

And when the lightning began to flash and the thunder shook the palace, Telemachus stayed close. Penelope whispered in his ear about how the rain would be good for the crops. Telemachus held his head still as Odysseus’ stiff fingers played with his red headband.

“You must.”

“No.”

“You must.” 

“No, darling.” 

Aphrodite made a pouty face, a rather unbecoming one for a goddess as old as she. “But I want to meet this mysterious lover you keep taking about!”

“No.”

“You owe me for those ribbons I gave to you!”

“I paid it back by putting Ares in that turtleneck that you, quote, ‘found irresistibly awkward and sexy’.”

“Ugh.” Aphrodite sprawled over her throne. “Why, then? At least tell me why you’re- what’s the word Aeolus used the other day?- gatekeeping your love life all of a sudden. You never have before.” Her pout transformed into a smirk. “Unless…you’re worried I’ll steal them from you? They’ll like me better? Think I’m prettier?”

Hermes scoffed. “They would never, darling. And it’s not like they could see how beautiful you are. I could tell them you are as ugly as a toad, and they would believe me.” 

Aphrodite lifted her head, and for a moment Hermes thought she was about to call his bluff. Until she said, “not like they can see me? Is that a hint?”

Oops.

“How curious…” Aphrodite stretched her arms out over her head. “Blind, likes ribbons, probably lives somewhere very far away, because of all the times I’ve tried to follow you, I lost and couldn’t find you…”

“You’ve been following me, ‘Dite?”

“Like any good friend does! What does it matter, anyway? I can’t keep up. Damn those little shoes of yours.” 

Lmao I was always taking requests, I think there was just a lull for a hot second. But yeah….i see the vision 

As for placing a time where Ody returns…hmph. I don’t want to kill off Polites but not anyone else…let’s just say Odysseus packed enough for before leaving Troy. They still got a bit turned around on the map, but none died. 

“I don’t like it, Odysseus. Even with the suitors gone- many of them never seemed very friendly with the prince. I know there weren’t many, that it’s unlikely, but I can’t shake the idea of something happening to him.”

Penelope’s anxieties lingered in the back of Odysseus’ mind, as he paced the length of the room. He was loathe to dismiss and words from his love’s lips, of course, but he also couldn’t deny their validity. There had only been four and twenty suitors for Penelope’s hand when he had arrived home and sent them all away, but that was still plenty enough to cause trouble. 

Telemachus was fifteen now. Fifteen years he missed, only to return just as his baby boy was starting to grow into a man. 

…part of him supposed he should be thankful he was here to watch and help with Telemachus’ wily teenage years. At least he didn’t return when his son was, say, twenty. 

Odysseus had been out for a late-night stroll to clear his thoughts in the courtyard, when there was a faint creak from above his head. Odysseus had looked up, and then quickly stepped back, using the darkness to hide his approach. 

And then, Telemachus- dressed in dark and unassuming clothes and gripping a rope so hard he would surely have blisters tomorrow- climbing out of his bedroom window. 

Perhaps Odysseus ought to have stopped him. Perhaps he would have stopped him, if not for the twinkling, mischievous sparkle in his eye and the bright grin on his face. 

So he feels safe enough to sneak out now that I’m home? He had never done it before, according to Penelope. And he surely hadn’t, because the servants would have noticed and reported something- and Telemachus didn’t seem very experienced in his subterfuge. He looked both ways at least four times across the courtyard before making a move, apparently watching for guards. 

Rookie mistake. In his youth, Odysseus had memorized the palace guard’s schedules for this very reason. 

So he let Telemachus go. He had no deep gut feeling that he would regret it, and…Telemachus was a teenager now. He had to get some experience with being sneaky and deceitful. He wouldn’t survive in politics or war without those skills, and both were needed to be king. 

And if he felt more secure at home now with his father home, enough to see fit to cause a little bit of extra mischief, Odysseus couldn’t deny the little glow of pride that gave him. 

Penelope had understood his reasons, of course, when he’d returned to tell her about it. “But I’d still like you to talk to him about it. We can’t let this happen constantly.”

So here Odysseus stood in their son’s bedroom. Listening to the creak and soft pants of a struggling, awkward teenager climbing back in through the window. 

He couldn’t help but think that going through the back route would be so much faster and more…subtle. 

But Telemachus seemed determined to be everything but subtle, if the way he rolled over the windowsill with a grunt and then fell with a loud thump onto the floor was any indication. 

Telemachus grunted as he hit the ground, and then lay there for a moment, giggling breathlessly to himself. Odysseus could see from the clumsy way he pushed himself up- he was inebriated, or at least decently on his way. Telemachus hadn’t even noticed him yet, standing in the shadows. 

Seeing no reason to delay- it was late and Penelope and their bed were waiting for him, after all- Odysseus stepped toward and cleared his throat. 

Telemachus froze. And then his head verrrryyyy slowly turned towards Odysseus. 

They started at each other for a heavily silent moment. 

Then Telemachus bonked his head on the wall trying to sit up at an odd angle. “T-Táta! Hey! Uh…hi!” Hic. “What are, uh, you doing…here?”

Odysseus stalked closer, one silent step at a time. He folded his arms. “I could ask you a similarly structured question- what were you doing  not here?”

Telemachus hesiaited as he finally made it to his feet. “I was…uh…training!”

“…training,” Odysseus repeated slowly. 

Telemachus beamed proudly. 

“That’s the worst lie I’ve ever heard, and it’s steep competition.” 

Telemachus stopped smiling. Instead, he suddenly looked embarrassed. 

“Awww, Táta, I was…just…” he swayed, and Odysseus reached out to steer him away from the open window. “Just…having some fun. You know?” 

The lie he’d given may have been pathetic, but those puppy eyes were not. Odysseus forced himself to look away. 

“You worried your mother. You know you’re not to be sneaking out.”

“But…” in Odysseus’ peripheral, the puppy eyes grew bigger. Wetter. 

Oh, gods damn it. 

“Go to bed,” Odysseus ordered shortly, pushing Telemachus towards his bed. “We will talk in the morning, when you are no longer tickling my brain with your feathery eyes- lies.” 

Telemachus didn’t seem to hear him. He flopped onto his fine sheets, rolled over, and started snoring. 

Odysseus watched for a moment before reaching out and tugging off Telemachus’ sandal- where on earth had the other gone?-, and then he quickly covered Telemachus’ form with a blanket. He closed the window and left.