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It had rained all day. It had rained all day, and Odysseus had spent most of it alone, listening to the waves crashing on the distant shore as dark clouds coated the skies.
(Penelope had been in the kingdom, speaking with the people. Telemachus was asleep in bed, still, and Athena had likely set up her usual space in his room to mind him and Hermes both. He could have sought any of them out if he had wanted, but…)
His side hurt. Phantom pains of where Perimedes had stabbed through him throbbed and echoed like a prayer of death.
(Everything hurt. Why were his eyes and his heart and his soul so heavy?)
He had not slept in… a few days, now. At first, sleep had come relatively easily, exhausted as he was from returning home. And he was home, wasn’t he? So why did he still feel so wrong?
(He had thought sleeping in his bed would have been healing, but he’d slept in a bed for seven years. Thought that being around people would be easy, but the palace could be quiet at times. Thought that having his wife in his arms would be a joy, but then she held him back, and-)
“Odysseus, my love? It is late, you ought to come to bed. You’re getting soaked, and I would not want you to fall ill.”
Odysseus felt his shoulders hunch instinctively, refusing to look at the woman calling for him. He kept staring out from the balcony, watching the sea meet the land. It was as mesmerizing as always: it sang for him as much as it filled itself with venom for him.
Penelope took a small step forward, noting how even such a small movement brought his hands to cover his ears, leaning haphazardly over the balcony’s fence and edge. “It will be fine, love.” She wanted to convince herself of that more than anything else. Odysseus had still told her so little of his trip home. “Come back inside, love.”
“Just - Just let me close my eyes.”
Concerned, Penelope found she did not know how to respond to that. What she did know was that her husband was far past troubled; he was clearly hurting, and she desperately wanted to soothe those aches.
“Of course, my dear. You can close your eyes in bed, I will keep you safe.”
Odysseus felt gentle fingers slowly rest on his shoulder, another hand moving around him and resting right over the scar from Perimedes. She pressed against his back in an embrace, skin lightning-hot and, and-
“Athena!”
6 0 0
Athena’s eyes snapped open as the goddess sharply sat up straight. None of the oil lamps in Telemachus’ room were lit, but that was of no matter to the goddess of war. A quick glance revealed that Hermes was still silent and limp at her side, unbothered by her sudden change in pose.
Another nightmare, then. The amount of times she heard that exact scream while trying to rest was… far too high to count.
“...Athena?”
Telemachus’ tired voice quietly entreated her ears, and she tried to put on a neutral, if not placating, smile when she looked back at him. “Be at ease, little wolf. I only had a bad dream.”
Telemachus rubbed at his eye, confused and still swamped with sleep even as translucent owls pulled up his blankets with their beaks and nibbled affectionately on one of his ears to dissuade his concern.
“But… I heard Father…? Is everything okay…?”
Time seemed to slow so much that for a brief moment, Athena almost thought she had unwittingly started Quick Thought. Panic was unbecoming of any divinity, but she still felt it sweep away her breath as she stood abruptly, not sparing a glance to either of her chosen charges before she exited the room.
The brisk pace stung and pulled at her burns, but she did not yet have the energy to transform into an owl and fly for more speed. Even just pulling out her wings felt like a horribly arduous task - so it was better to strain her wounds than her spirit.
For once, she did not spare time for any thoughts as to what would await her: she simply got to the king’s chambers as fast as she could.
Penelope stared at her tearfully from where she stood on the balcony. Odysseus, meanwhile, had his arms wrapped around the columns of its banister, curled into a small ball where he sat on the floor as though he was unsure of which he wanted more: to escape, or to hold on for dear life.
As much as Odysseus’ decade-old outburst about her being alone had hurt, there were some upsides to it. Not letting others close kept your mind sharp and ready for any threat, always considering the options and staying safe from harm.
Loving and giving yourself to others exposed your vulnerabilities and weaknesses. Sometimes that meant a mutinous friend stabbing you in the back when you trusted them. Sometimes that meant being overwhelmed in the face of the pain those you held close were overcome with, your heart bleeding out with theirs.
(Ares had always exalted building strong relations with brothers-in-arms. To love those you fought with and for increased your drive and power. Who cared if it made you reckless when you fought with the whole of your heart and not your mind?)
Athena pressed a cautious hand to Penelope’s elbow as she approached. “Your majesty, I must ask you to go to your son, make sure he settles back into sleep.”
There was a moment - a brief one, but it existed nonetheless - where Athena felt as though Penelope was going to argue, biting, that she would not leave her husband’s side. Fierce, violent loyalty, so fitting of a Spartan, one of Ares’ favorites. Athena knew that she would have to express her gratitude that she did not later, when all was back to some sort of normalcy.
As if the king of Ithaca being home and harboring two injured Olympians was truly representative of ‘normalcy.’
But Penelope retreated as bid, and Athena took another step closer, and another, drops of rain quickly soaking her in the night.
“Odysseus.”
A sob greeted her, Odysseus not moving to look back her way. Athena crept a bit closer, slowly sitting down despite the fact that she loomed over him regardless.
Patience. Kindness. Empathy. She had not given them to him before, but since meeting Telemachus she had made an oath to herself that she would wield those virtues just as fiercely as she would her spear.
If Apollo could forgive them after Troy, if Ares could use nothing but gentleness in rescuing Hermes, if Hera could step down from her pedestal enough that she really had looked in on her recovery…
“I am here, Odysseus. You called for me, and I have come. This is Ithaca; you are far, far from Calypso and Ogygia. She will never have you again.”
Odysseus froze upon hearing Calypso’s name, knuckles white in his grip on the columns.
More. Athena knew he needed more. Calypso may have tricked him more than once with Penelope as bait for her fantasies, but she would not dare impersonate a fellow god, much less an Olympian, without risking their wrath - and Athena was already full to the brim with the wrath she wished to unleash upon Calypso.
But Odysseus didn’t need wrath. Not right now. So Athena centered herself, weighing benefits and faults, before deciding that for now, she could do what was kind for another even if it was not wise for her.
Large, feathery wings took form and expanded from her back, the smell of ozone hitting the air where patches were still singed and blackened from lightning. Every movement hurt and exhaustion quickly swept over her, darkness threatening to overtake her vision, but Athena persisted. Despite the agony of it, she extended one wing out, over where Odysseus sat, sheltering him from the rain.
He nearly tackled her to the ground with the ferocity of his hug.
“-Oomf!”
Arms now full of a drenched king, Athena wrapped her wings around them both, shielding him from the storm. She wasn’t sure how long this might take - and how long he’d already been outside - but she desperately needed everything to slow down.
The hourglass spun, and when Athena blinked open her eyes, she and Odysseus both sat within her domain.
No longer wet, Odysseus’ soul still clung to her own. She let him take his time now, fully protected from the elements as seconds became eons.
Finally, a broken voice: “I’m sorry.”
Sighing, Athena let a clawed hand gently scratch along Odysseus’ scalp, feeling him relax slightly against her. “You need not apologize to me for what Calypso did to you.”
“It’s just - I know, I know that gods believe they have the divine right to take, regardless of what mortals-”
“Odysseus.”
The beginnings of a ramble died in his throat as he slowly looked up at her through tear-laden lashes. Even now, nearly fifty years of age, Athena could not help but see the young child that had slain her boar. She dipped down to press their foreheads together.
“As one of the virgin goddesses, I hear you, Odysseus. I hear you.”
With that admission, Odysseus all but collapsed on her, head buried in her lap. Safe. Athena was safe. Even if she hated him, she would not throw away her holy maidenhood just to spite him.
Athena did not stop her Quick Thought until Odysseus’ tears had abated, leaving them both tucked in her wings, rain pattering against them. With a slow caution, Athena stood, pulling him up with her as they returned inside, sitting heavily on the bed together, side by side.
The only sound was rain for the longest time, Athena waffling over what to say and how to say it. She still felt the sharp sting in her breast of horror and pain from when she first glimpsed what had happened to Odysseus after seven years of Ogygia. Perhaps that was a good place to start.
“I do not think that any number of lighting bolts would ever equate to the magnitude of agony that was seeing you call for me on Ogygia, and that is to say nothing of the pain which you yourself felt. There have been those who tried to claim me - they have all failed, but that… fear. No matter how much anger or hurt accompanies it, the fear, the shame… never really leaves you. I do not think that I would have regretted it if my father had killed me, so long as you were freed as a result. I was supposed to guide you and support you, and I… I left you. I, I can’t help but wonder… how much I could have spared you, if only I had stayed.”
“I disobeyed and insulted you. That you didn’t kill me is kindness enough.”
Odysseus’ voice was rough from crying, a horrible weariness hanging over him. Athena kept one wing about him, ignoring how much they wanted to drag across the bed instead of remain up.
“I may not have any true progeny among mankind, but know that I do hold your vow of kinship as fierce to my breast as any vow made upon the Styx. I have seen you raised from childhood, Odysseus. You are important to me.”
Odysseus was silent at that, and Athena hoped that it meant her words were sinking into his brain. Slowly but surely did Odysseus lean her way, head coming to rest on her arm. It was a heavy weight, one more emotional and exhausting than physical, but the grounding sensation it gave them both was undeniable.
“I have been away for so long, and now I cannot even sleep next to Penelope without fear of her. She claimed that she would fall in love with me again, over and over, as many times as she had to, but…”
“She spoke true. I may not be able to immediately identify lies like Hermes, but I need no power over deceit for this. I have seen Penelope grow alongside you, and her roots are just as sturdy as your bed’s. No matter how heavy the weight, she will bear it. She may not have been assaulted as thoroughly as you have been, but she and your son both have undergone similar threats these past years. She will understand, little warrior. Perhaps… perhaps you simply need a plan, some sort of strategy…”
Odysseus’ eyelids drooped as Athena tiredly considered different systems they could implement with Penelope in the morning: what things not to say, not to do… intimacy was not Athena’s strong suit, but conceptualizing a plan of attack against this trauma was sort of in her wheelhouse.
Not for the first time and certainly not for the last did she find herself wishing Hermes was well enough to contribute. He had yet to return to the traditional semi-conscious state of rest most gods had, and his unconsciousness was still worrying to witness so often. Hermes was the god of boundaries as well as fertility among his many roles, and even if the boundaries he minded were usually physical ones, surely together the two of them would manage to workshop relational ones.
But the night was dreary, and Odysseus was listing further against her. Maybe morning would bring about clearer thoughts? Though it would be a shame to get up now that Odysseus seemed to be drifting… perhaps she could stay.
Just a little longer.
6 0 0
Penelope was patient. She knew it was a strong quality to have, and it had been one that served her more than any other for the past two decades. She would wait until Athena returned and not even ask for explanation until morning, if only to let everyone try to get some rest.
The rhythmic routine of sitting at her son’s head and running her fingers through his hair until he fell back asleep was far too alluring, in the end, as enchanting as any siren’s song. The slightest stirring of the room’s other occupant’s hand was nowhere on her radar, even when a single eye cracked open and observed her and her son both before shutting again.
She still managed to wake after a few hours, neck and back stiff from the awkward position. Still no return from Athena, but at least Telemachus was soundly asleep again. Penelope gave a whisper-soft kiss against his brow before she stood, quietly returning to her own room.
In the end, Penelope was not sure which she took notice of first: the feathers or the music. Athena’s massive wings drooped, but still they sheltered both her and Odysseus within, Penelope noted upon circling her bed.
Both were fast asleep. The worried ache in her breast eased slightly, seeing that. Whatever had triggered Odysseus had been soothed by his patron - no matter what weak argument he gave, Penelope was fairly certain that patron and mentor did not have to be tied together - and who was she to sulk in envy that the goddess’s comfort had worked where her own did not? She was still learning to navigate all of the scars Odysseus had brought back, both those on his body and in his mind. If Athena could teach her, all the better.
Besides, from the exhausted look on her face, Penelope was fairly certain that Athena was benefiting from this as well. Her own visage had often been tired and hollow, lately, and she too needed rest if it meant she would heal.
Looking at the patches of burnt and missing feathers, Penelope prayed that she would get all the sleep she needed. Perhaps she would return to Telemachus’ room to sleep instead at his side, just as she had done when he was small and anxious to be separated from her. If not in the bed, perhaps one of the chaises in the room - the suitors had not been there as long as Odysseus had been away, but it was still hard to shake their presence despite their deaths.
Still, that had not explained the music. Careful not to get too near, Penelope crept closer to the sleeping pair until color caught her eye.
There, nestled in Athena’s lap, was a small toy. A little wooden rooster painted with bright colors sat as though it belonged there, the faint notes of a lyre to the tune of a gentle lullaby emanating from it.
It looked nothing like Athena’s works. Every item she crafted was nothing less than perfect, though woodworking was not a skill Penelope had often seen her utilize, if ever. But the toy’s paint was a bit messy, the shape of it lovably lopsided.
Penelope allowed the small smile as she retreated from her quarters with a stolen blanket, eager to get some proper rest now that her worries had abated. The toy was clearly harmless, perhaps even helpful, if it hadn’t awoken either of the two. She could see no reason that she needed to remove it, and she was slowly becoming used to hosting two gods in her home, anyways.
Stranger things had happened.