Work Text:
The Prince stood on the training grounds. A sword twirling in his grip.
“Fix your grip on that damned xiphos or I will use your own sword to pierce your throat,” his teacher scolded him.
The smug look on the young man’s face highlighted the playfulness of the whole situation. “Please, Ares, if you wanted me dead, I would already be on my way to greet Lord Hades.”
He ignored the other’s snort, watching the surroundings. The white of the landscape no longer scared him.
“If it was your father, you’d already be taught some humility.” Ares’s voice was a little further than earlier.
“You, all of you, keep saying he will return. What does it mean? You mean Odysseus?”
“Odysseus is manipulating you,” a new voice replaced the god of war.
Caught off guard, the adopted son of the King turned around to face the new person. He took a minute to observe the tall, broad man. He recognised him by the armour. “Are you another god?” He didn’t have any characteristics other than the armour. The Trojan man was confused by the unfamiliarity.
“All he hears are screams,” the dark-skinned man whispered. “Every time he dares to close his eyes. Just a man, he keeps repeating.”
“Who?”
“You have your mother’s features,” it was as if he was ignoring him, “Astyanax.”
The name gave him chills each time someone used it. He still tried his luck. “You know who I am? Did you know my parents?”
He wished he could see his eyes underneath his helmet. But it was black, the shadow over his face from nowhere didn’t let him.
“Andromache was right, I shouldn’t have left.”
“You knew Prince Hector’s wife?”
“The infant from that night-”
He didn’t get the answer as a servant woke him up for breakfast.
Telemachus's wedding was making him anxious. He saw the Kings that came, each warm towards all of his family, but merely spearing a glance at him. Even Diomedes was no longer that friendly with him, now that Telemachus was securing the bloodline of the Ithacan throne.
He liked his sister-in-law enough. She seemed fair, with a good heart. Perfect for his brother. Polycaste kept smiling warmly at everyone, including him. She laughed at their father’s jokes. She politely answered his uncles' and aunts' questions. She kept looking at his mother for approval.
Astyanax knew she would make an excellent queen one day. In the long, long future. But, what he also knew, was that he was no longer a part of this family. His mother sat next to him, trying to bring him into the conversations. To save her troubles, he quickly excused himself, returning to his chambers in a rather dark mood.
The strange man returned, his amour untouched.
“If you’re a god, it’s a shame you won't tell me how to worship you?” Astyanax was holding a wooden horse, as the other man stared at it.
“I’m no god,” he replied, lost in his thoughts. “I was a friend of one.”
“In Troja?”
“Yes,” he lowered his gaze at the white floor. “Your mother hoped you’d be the reason I wouldn’t have fought Achilles.”
Astyanax let go of the toy, mouth opening in shock.
“Odysseus,” he continued. “He took the infant that night.”
“Odysseus!” he cried, opening the doors.
He found the King sitting on his throne, Eurylochus and Polites standing next to him. The trio flinched at the loud interruption by the upset young man. Eurylochus was the first one to react, opening his mouth with a displeased frown, but Odysseus's raised hand stopped him.
“How about we continue this some other day?”
Both men nodded after a moment of hesitation. Polites upon reaching the Prince, whispered a quiet: “I’m here if you need me.” Then Eurylochus kept staring daggers at him, pushing down emotions and fighting to stay hidden as he walked past him. They barely managed to close the door when the Trojan asked his question. One which Odysseus dreaded for almost twenty years.
“Who’s Astyanax?”
Odys’s breath hitched. The world slowing down around him. “The Prince of Troja,” he offered the answer, firmly keeping their eyes connected.
The young man snorted at the obvious half-truth. “I’m done playing games, Odysseus.”
If the King noticed the second drop of the father , he didn’t comment on it. “I know, Scamandrius. I’m telling you the truth.”
“You know I went to Eurylochus.”
“Yes.”
“And you also know why I did that. Don’t you think I’m old enough to know the whole story?”
His gaze lowered, as the King’s whole face changed from tense to just sad. “There’s been a misunderstanding. I’ve given you the story. You are named after the river. It was the name everyone was calling you.”
“You didn’t find me away from the city. I know that. The gods told me. The gods! Not you, or the Queen, or Telemachus!”
At the mention of the divine intervention, Odysseus’s head shot back up. “I… I feared that. Zeus had told me that would happen. I-I’m sorry. You had to find out in such a cruel way. I wished I’d been the one to do it.”
But something couldn’t let him drop the subject. “Where did you find me?”
“In Hector’s tomb,” he whispered. “I swore to myself… that I would raise you as my own. Zeus told me that I had to- I didn’t want to-”
“To kill me? To throw me over a wall?!” he hissed.
That made Odysseus's eyes fill with terror.
“Why? Why didn’t you just kill me then?” The volume of his voice didn’t go don’t for a moment. “You’ve been lying to me for years, Odysseus! Was Hector my father? Say something!”
“I can’t!” Odysseus finally answered.
“I keep thinking about the infant from that night,” Scamandrius admitted. “They keep talking about it. About the fall of Troy. You’ve never told me the whole truth! And the gods are playing with me! And the man in the armour-!” Astyanax kept gesticulating, and, by complete accident, he was unaware of the placement of the candle holders, which made one fall. He gasped when the fire spread, lightning up the rug and coming right to the throne. Odysseus stood up before it reached it, eyeing his adopted son with genuine fear in his gaze.
The young Prince felt his ability to breathe escape his lungs, he blinked at the view, observed uselessly as the servants came running to check up on them and then returned with water. The fire kept burning, and Odysseus kept staring at him. Afraid to see any other disappointment in him, Astyanax quickly turned on his heel, running away from the palace.
He knew he had to leave. And yet, he found himself on the other side of the island. The guards didn’t chase him. At least for now. He was grateful for a second to think, away from the mess he - Odysseus - created. He had to think everything through. Put the facts in his mind.
He knew the truth now, or so he hoped. He was Hector’s son. Andromache was his wife, and everyone kept mentioning her. Odysseus found him during the destruction of his home. He spared him. He had yet to find out why. But it wasn’t public knowledge, his true blood. Everyone knew he was from Troja, but only that.
Eurylochus probably hated him exactly because of that. Polites pitied him, of course, he had such a kind soul. Penelope - he didn’t know what to make of her. She was merciful enough. Telemachus on the other hand… He knew children were cruel. He heard many things while trying to make friends in the past. He probably knew, but how long? Surely not always…
The gods which supported his home wanted him to know. They probably expected him to avenge their failure. Did he want to? No, not now. Would he ever? He didn’t know what to think.
He was so lost in his thoughts he almost jumped off the cliff when a hand touched his shoulder. To his horror - it was Odysseus. To his surprise - he just sat next to him.
“I’m not as young and agile as I used to be,” he chuckled. “I would have joined you sooner. I used to love this view before I left for war.”
“What, you got scared of the water after?”
That got him another laugh. Astyanax always knew Odysseus was a strange man. As much as he wanted to laugh with him, he knew he had nothing to laugh about.
“I looked into your eyes,” Odys began with his voice soft and melodic. “And I thought back to the son of mine. You were as old as he was when I left for war. I thought: will these actions haunt my days? Every man I've slain? Is the price I pay, endless pain? How could've I hurt you?”
“If the gods said you had to kill me-”
“I was just a man, my son. Who was tryin' to go home. Who was fighting for his life.”
“Had you have killed me-”
“I already felt like I had innocent blood on my hands. But, to see a child - truly pure little human on my mercy… It didn’t matter whose offspring you were. If it had been Hector with my son - I would like to Telemachus to was given a chance to live.”
A sigh escaped Astyanax's mouth.
“I can’t stay here, Father.”
“Why? We, your family, know the truth. It’s what matters. Ithaca is your home-”
“I don’t know,” he cut right in. “How would I know if I’ve never tried any other place?”
“I thought about sending you away. But, the gods would search for you. They would find you and send you here to kill me. To fulfil your prophecy.”
“Eurylochus was sure I would do it, huh?”
“Eurylochus… He was always worrying about everything. Don’t worry yourself over him, alright? Deep down, he cares for you, you’re his nephew.”
“Did Mother and Machus hate me?”
“No,” the answer was immediate. “Never. They had to process everything that happened, yes. But, you are our son, Scamandrius, and Telemachus’s brother.
“Astyanax,” he corrected the older man. “It’s my real name. I want to use it. To honour my parents.”
It wouldn’t require to be the champion of Athena to see the lack of enthusiasm, hidden under the hope for a peaceful way out of that uncomfortable for everyone situation on Odysseus’s face. “As you wish. Astyanax.”
“You know, I would've never exiled you-”
“I know, Machus.” He didn’t have a reason. Yet.
“I wished you were here when my child was born.”
“I don’t think your wife would need me during labour, brother.”
“Still, Anticlea will be devastated, she is like a sister to us-”
“She will understand. She’s young, she doesn’t get it.”
“And what ‘bout our parents?” his tone was accusing him of many things. “You should’ve said goodbye. At least gave them that mercy.”
“Why? I will return, I think, one day. Not after ten years, I dare to hope.”
“I wish you well, Astyanax. May the gods have you in their protection.”
“Aye.”
Standing on the Trojan ruins made him want to cry. To weep like a child, scream like a slaughtered pig for sacrifice. However, none of that happened. It was peaceful. He supposed not enough time passed for new people to settle. It was empty, he only saw one older woman on the other side, though she didn’t seem to notice him. He went to her, hoping she would know enough Greek to hold a conversation. Maybe she was a survivor?
She noticed him, but kept holding the stones of the ruins, some she left on the ground, some she took to her basket.
“Um, hello,” he started.
“Welcome, stranger,” she answered in Greek indeed.
Happy to hear that, Astyanax looked around once more. “Do you- You seem like a wise woman, what are you doing here?”
“Collecting stones, young man. Are you going to stare or help me?”
Flinching at the irritated voice, he crouched to help. “You’re Trojan?” he bluntly went to the point.
That, on the other hand, made her freeze. And then smile. “Who are you, stranger?”
“Nobody,” he mumbled. “My name’s Nobody.”
“Ah, Nobody, I see a real historian here. No one remembers those people now.”
“I remember. Is it enough for you to tell me about them?”
“And to which age do the gods let you live so far, boy?”
“I’ve been told to live through twenty-two springs, lady.”
She took a first good look at him. He noticed her gazes lingered on the wooden horse he had in one hand. “Hmmm… Well then, Nobody. I suppose you’re here to learn something? About your legacy, perhaps?”
He blinked, surprised. “I-”
“The gods said you would come. Come now, Astyanax, tell old Briseis what have you already learnt from the Ithacan King who had stolen you?”