Chapter Text
The sun stood alone in the sky. Forever there, watching, waiting, lighting the way. A lonely existence, to forever be the source of light, but cursed to never have someone by your side.
Apollo a god cursed to fall in love but still end up alone on his island. Now as he felt the wind rush past his ears, falling, the loneliness in his chest gave way to something else… relief.
It had been thirty years since Zeus cast him down, turned him into Lester. His beloved children and friends had died. Demigods never got to live long lives, that was a fact Apollo had thought he’d known.
Yet he had let himself hope, that just maybe, maybe this could be different. All that hope had done was twist the grief in his chest and tear his heart to pieces.
Apollo opened his baby-blue eyes, the light in the sun god’s eyes had dimmed, but as he fell to his death, Apollo couldn’t stop the smile on his face.
His body was mortal once again, he could feel him lose his domains, the blood in his veins red for the fourth time. Apollo falling from this height would surely kill him; his father had turned him mortal too soon.
Gods didn’t get to die, but Apollo was a god no longer and he would welcome Thanatos with open arms. Finally, finally, he could end this lonely existence.
Admits the relief, joy, he felt, Apollo could feel a sliver of melancholy. Apollo would miss Artemis, the way she rolled her eyes at his jokes, hugged him when he randomly showed up at her tent in tears.
Apollo would miss Hermes, the pranks they played, the silent comfort they took in each other. Two immortal beings who had fallen in love countless times and still ended up alone.
Still, they will be fine. The two have each other and others after all. They had not been mortal like him, did not fully understand just how painful it was. So, Apollo let himself fall, oceans in his eyes, but a laugh bubbling out of his lips.
The Fates watched as the sun fell out of the sky. Without his light, the world would fall too. They turned towards their tapestry; the golden thread was turning black. Soon, the sun would be snuffed out and even the Fates would join him in death.
Six long, pale hands reached out and unspooled the thread. A restart was needed, one that would ensure this never occurred again. The three had the how, where and when figured out, they simply needed to drag the sun along with them.
Suddenly the hands fell still. The Fates began to fade but that was no matter. For Apollo would have the second chance he needed.
The sun would rise again, it always did.
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Telemachus of Ithica was often regarded by the citizens as a kind soul. One who did not discriminate against others and gladly offered his service. The crown prince was so much more than just a prince. He gave the populace hope. Hope that one day their Old King will return, will roam the streets with the Queen and prince.
Most days, the prince was in the palace, keeping a watchful eye on the 108 men that stayed in his castle. It was rare for him to leave. Instead, he stood guard in the dining room while the suitors ate. Watchful eyes traced the room, no longer flinching at the violence the suitors often displayed.
Years ago, when they had just arrived at the castle, he used to stare in horror at them. Telemachus had never been exposed to people like that. Ones who thrived from causing others pain, at hearing people scream and beg for mercy. Now, it was a daily occurrence.
Telemachus watched as Antinous and Eurymachus mocked the other suitors, newer ones that had arrived a few months ago. A part of him, young and naïve still recoiled in disgust at the sight.
He didn’t want to break up a fight, it was only morning. This had not been what he meant when Telemachus was talking about wanting to be legendary. Antinous and the suitors were the one monster Telemachus both desperately wanted to destroy but also never see again.
“Where is he? Where is the man who’ll have you to wife?” The questions were directed towards his mother, well not his actual mother. Just the portrait of her that hung in the dining room. She had told Telemachus that Odysseus had hung it.
His father had said that he wanted to always be near his mother, even when she wasn’t there. It just showed Telemachus how much his father loved her. Another reason to believe that he was still alive, still trying to get home.
Telemachus allowed a smile to grace his face. The thought of reuniting with his father always, without a doubt, managed to cheer him up.
“Boy.” That smile immediately dropped. Telemachus snapped his eyes up, finding Antinous much closer than he had been before.
The man was large, tall and angry, a mixture that caused his nerves to alight beneath his skin. “When’s your tramp of a mother gonna choose a new husband?” What the hell did he just call his mother? Anger crawled its way from his stomach to his throat, leaving a scorching trail in its wake.
“Why don’t you open her room so we can have fun with her?” Like they tried to have fun with the maids? Maids who Telemachus had found too late, covered in bite marks and bleeding. The young prince will never forgive himself for not finding and saving them in time.
“Don’t you dare call my mother a tramp!” Telemachus yelled, stepping closer to Antinous. His body shook, he couldn’t tell if it was from rage, adrenaline or fear. All Telemachus knew was that he wanted to pummel him into the ground.
“I just did. What’ca gonna do about champ?” Antinous smirked at him, clearly enjoying how much he managed to rile him up. Telemachus clenched his hand; unaware his nails were drawing blood. If he fought this monster, Telemachus refused to believe Antinous was a man, would he finally be able to see his father?
“Want to entertain me? Let’s see how you take this.” Blood pounded in his ears, Telemachus could barely hear what the suitors were chanting, but he could clearly make out what Antinous was saying.
The monster took a step back, a circle formed around them. Dread curled in his gut as Telemachus recognized the shape. A fighting ring.
“You’ve made your worst mistake here, might be your last one too.” Antinous threw a punch and Telemachus hastily ducked to the side.
“You’ll have run out of bones to break when you and I are through.” The prince of Ithica dropped his spear. Even if he was incredibly outclassed, he knew it was wrong to fight using a spear against an unarmed man.
Antinous just laughed at that and quickly threw a barrage of hits. “I’ll teach you all the lessons your daddy never could.” Telemachus quickly threw his arms up, a poor attempt at protecting himself.
“This cruel world doesn’t give out presents, just for being good.” Antinous landed a solid punch on his face and Telemachus could feel the blood pooling in his mouth.
“Die, little wolf, die,” Telemachus swallowed the blood, nausea made his throat slick with bile “don’t you know it’s flight or fly, little wolf, fly?” Antinous knocked him down and Telemachus barely caught himself.
Pounding, his head was pounding. His left arm felt useless, and Telemachus was glad he was right-handed. Telemachus stumbled as he stood up, faintly he heard Antinous and the other suitors speaking. But he couldn’t hear anything over the blood that rushed in his ears and the pounding of his heart.
Then, the tick of a clock, that was all the warning Telemachus got before suddenly everything seemed to stop. “Need some help?” A voice? A female one at that. Telemachus turned towards the sound and there stood a woman. One who seemed to possess the power of a god. How else would she do this?
“What’s going on here?” Telemachus was so confused. He had just been getting horribly beat by Antinous, when time seemed to fall still.
“Is your plan to stand around? Cause I suggest you fight back.” That would be a great plan, if Telemachus had any idea what he was doing.
“I don’t know how.” He admitted to the goddess, because this was definitely Athena. There was no other goddess she could be.
“Uppercut him, now.” Telemachus followed her words without thinking, successfully hitting a now moving Antinous. Though something about his movements was weird.
“Woah! How did I do that? Is time now moving slow?” That would explain why Antinous seemed to be taking longer to fight back.
“No, I just made your thoughts quick.” Athena spoke. “Woah, that is so sick.” Telemachus smiled; his new friend was certainly amazing. Though she was a goddess. That was to be expected.
Things progressed quickly from there. Before he knew it, the prince was fighting back. Athena gave advice and support from the sidelines, even when Antinous started to win. She still cheered him on as he fell to the ground.
Later, well into the evening, after dinner, Telemachus laid down in his room. He was happy that he made a new friend. Ecstatic that he managed to fight Antinous without dying. A part of him wondered what his father would think if he knew what happened.
Would he be proud? Upset that his son was so weak? Telemachus never really learned how to fight, only the bare basics, only what he needed to survive. Everything else he wanted to save. He wanted to learn how to fight by his father’s side. Now with Athena offering to help, Telemachus wasn’t sure what to do.
Should he take the offer and learn to fight better, or let his childhood dreams remain? He’d dreamed about his father teaching him, it was a tradition in Ithica. For the fathers to teach their sons how to fight.
Rationally speaking, Telemachus understood that he was too old for that now. He was twenty. He shouldn’t even need his dad to teach him how to fight. Though, Telemachus thought, as he dressed for bed, it was true he didn’t need his dad to teach him.
The prince already had a good understanding of fighting, at least when it came to the power and swiftness of it. He never had any actual experience, unless getting beaten to a pulp counted.
Telemachus thought that maybe he should have paid more attention when Antinous was beating him, but the boy was usually too distracted thinking about whether the people he helped were okay.
Still, he could have been better, done more.
Telemachus sat down his laurel wreath, it was one of the few belongings he had that Telemachus truly treasured. Apparently, his father had created it. His mother told him the story countless times when he was younger, a time before the suitors. When Telemachus fell asleep in his mother’s bed with the evidence of his father’s existence scattered around the room and in his mother’s arms.
Odysseus had wanted to create something for Telemachus, something for the older version of him. The current one. The Telemachus who wore the wreath with the honor and pride that came with being prince. He had no memories of his father. He was stuck with the stories of his dad, with no actual clue to who the man was.
Still, he couldn’t help but wonder, would his father love him if he saw who Telemachus was now? Or would he be disappointed in who his son turned out to be?
After all, his father was Odysseus. The Old King, a man who planned for every fight, a Warrior of the Mind, the King of Ithica. Telemachus, well, he was just Telemachus. The little wolf, a failure of a prince.
What type of prince would let 108 random men roam and trash the place his mother, the Queen, lived? Telemachus sighed as he laid back down on the bed. Argos cuddled up next to him, he reached a handout, fingers carefully digging into light brown fur.
It was easy ignoring the tears in his eyes. After all, Telemachus couldn’t remember the last time he awoke without tears dried on his cheeks and crust on his eyes.
Forest green eyes closed and the boy dreamed of his father finally sailing home.