Chapter Text
Inside the horse was hot.
Way too hot.
Maybe it was the adrenaline or the unbelievable faith that it was going to end tonight or it was the body of all the greek men who were inside it sweating with anticipation. Anyway, the plan was easy, in theory. They would wait till the night and when no one was watching they would attack. See? Easy.
And as easy as it was to think, it was to execute.
It was easy for Odysseus to thrive and dodge the unprepared trojans, especially with his well-trained men invading the city. The climb to the top of the palace was not pleasant, but not hard either. He was strong, he could do this. Except for the sword attack he received when he hitted the very end.
He screamed. But no one was there.
“Who was that?”
“A vision”, he heard the winds and the storms and the thunder telling him. Zeus. “It cannot be ignored. Cannot be outrun. Can only be dealt with, right here and now.”
Odysseus made a strange face. He didn’t like prophecies. But he trusted himself.
“Tell me how?”
A thunder echoed loudly as Zeus recited.
“A mission to kill someone’s son. A foe who won't run, unlike anyone you have faced before. You are not ready for that.”
The king of Ithaca shook his head. What kind of enemy could appear that he couldn’t win?
He passed around the long corridor as if it was getting longer and longer. Maybe it was Zeus’ doing.
“I am ready.” He tried to argue, but another thunder was heard.
“You are not ready.”
It was just in time for Odysseus to open the door to Hector’s room while his hand held his sword. But there was no one there, except…
“It’s just an infant”, his eyes watered when he thought of Telemachus. “It’s just a boy”, his voice cracked as he stood in front of the cradle.
You are not ready, the gods’ voice echoed in his mind.
“What sort of imminent threat does he pose that I cannot avoid?”
“A mission to kill someone's son.” Zeus repeated the prophecy. “A foe who won't run, unlike anyone you have faced before.”
“I am not ready for that”, Odysseus agreed.
“But you need to be. This is the daughter of none other than Troy’s very own prince, Hector. Know that she will grow from a little girl to an avenger. One fueled with rage as you’re consumed by age. If you don't end her now, you’ll have no one left to save. You can say goodbye to…”
“Penelope.” Zeus hummed in agreement.
Odysseus felt sick. He couldn’t end a life who looked so innocent. “I could raise him as my own or send him far away.”
“She will burn your house and throne and follow you wherever you go.”
The king looked at the eyes of the baby again. He wanted to scream, to plead, to beg.
“I can make sure his past is never known, he will be mine. Please don’t make me do this”, he felt a long wave of winds open up the window and he held the infant close to his chest in a protective way.
“The gods will make it known. She will follow you around and learn from you. And attack you when you are unprepared, just like you are doing now. This is the will of the gods.”
“Please don't make me do this!”
“The blood on your hands is something you won’t lose. All you can choose is whose”, the window closed with another wave of the wind and the infant let out a sharp cry. Odysseus had to hold back not to cry too.
“You are so much like my very own.”
He sat down near the cradle, his back facing it and he looked to the window.
“How could I hurt you?”
He spent more time there than he wanted to count. Pounding his options. Trying to find a way back home without having to do the most unimaginable thing he could think of.
“You’re as old as he was when I left for war, but now it’s been a couple of years. You know?” The baby babbled a strange kind of noise and Odysseus could swear it was a laughter.
Oh, how long he wished to hear Telemachus laugh like this again. He was almost forgetting how pleasant it was to have a baby in his arms.
“You’re such a joy, you know that? And heavy too, it means you’re healthy.” He smiled as tears pricked his eyes again.
Odysseus shook his head. He couldn’t be there, sat down, making baby voices for the enemy, while his men were fighting outside. He knew what had to be done.
For Penelope, he got up.
For his kingdom, he walked to a ledge.
He watched the men fighting down there when he showed the infant. Leaning very far from the edge.
They had won the war. The trojan wouldn’t have anyone to go back to. But he had. So he held the infant very very far from the edge, his hand trembling.
“Forgive me”, he whispered and the baby cried. So loud. As a result he screamed. “Forgive me!”
Then, for Telemachus… he brought the baby back to his arms, sitting down on the ground with his back facing the ledge.
He was just a man after all.