Chapter Text
The waves crashing onto the shoreline of Ogygia sounded like a funeral dirge to Odysseus' ear, the overly clear water sending bands of lacy foam across his bare feet. Objectively, he knew the island was a paradise. Even standing at the edge of the water, the sea breeze was never anything but pleasantly cool. The salt spray never bit into his eyes or clung to his hair, the wind never whipped his curls into snarls.
Still, as a statue, he watched as the setting sun set the sky ablaze with colors and limned the ocean waves in gold. In a distant sort of way, Odysseus could see that it was beautiful. He remembered days as a child when he would hang on the ramparts of the palace in Ithaca gazing at the sunset for hours, wishing for a way to burn the sight into the darkness behind his eyes. But now all he could feel was a distant sort of cold that crept in at the tips of his fingers and spread until he could barely feel anything at all.
"Odysseus, come!" called the Lady of Ogygia from inside her cave home. Calypso's voice was lovely, high, and musical, her words those of someone who was used to being obeyed without question. He kept his back to her and eyes on the horizon. "Dinner is ready, my love!"
Her love. Odysseus was no one's love but Penelope's. But Calypso wasn't very fond of him pointing this out to her, she wasn't very fond of Odysseus mentioning his wife at all. His heart thudded painfully in his chest. Penelope . Maybe, he wondered, if I stayed awake for days on end I might see her again if only in hallucinations. It would have the added benefit of not being asleep and vulnerable around Calypso.
"Odysseus!" the voice came again, firmer this time. She was not a patient woman by nature, Calypso, and did not like to be kept waiting. It was one of the reasons he reveled in making her do so. Let's see how you like me now , he had wanted to scream at her in the first year that he had been stuck in this cage of a paradise. Claim to love me now. She had. No matter what he did, she was determined, stubborn.
Unluckily for her, Odysseus was something of a stubborn bastard himself. Digging his toes into the wet sand, he let the tide dance across his feet and watched the waves crest and fall before him. The water was unseasonably warm for winter even in the Aegean, but even that only garnered mild discontent in the deep well of silence that had engulfed him.
Still. Water should be cold, he thought distantly. Off the shoreline, the ocean glittered merrily in stark contrast with his bleak mood. His eyes traced the lines of waves as they pulled back for the incoming low tide, the water no longer reaching his toes.
Odysseus' eyes caught on a shadow of something a ways out but just under the surface of the water . The tide is unusually low today, he thought, turning over what it could be in his head. At some parts of the year, bits of coral stuck up and out of the waves, but this was definitively not coral.
No, he realized. It was a sand bar. Far enough out that he would have thought it was part of the Aegean rather than Ogygia had the water on one side of it not been behaving in the same strange and docile way as Calypso's waters. But it was definitely on the cusp.
"My darling!" Calypso trilled, drawing out the syllables in the way she did when she was growing impatient. Odysseus ignored her, all his attention focused on the emerging sandbar. He could remember seeing it before, maybe a couple of times a year and he was certain that he'd thought it was strange.
So why was this the first it was catching his attention? Odysseus had always loved strange things that he couldn't understand, he enjoyed nothing more than uncovering hidden secrets. Then again, he thought. I haven't loved or enjoyed much of anything since long before I landed here. He pushed the maudlin thought from his mind, and forced himself to focus on his memories of the other times he had seen that sand bar.
It was oddly difficult, as wading through his memories had lately felt like moving through glue, but he pushed forward. Memory after memory he forced himself to turn over and examine until the circumstances in which he'd seen the sand bar before became clear. And in everyone was Calypso.
Calypso grabbing at him, dragging him all over her island, making him dance with her to music played by her wind servants. Once she had drugged his wine to make him sleep, or at least he was fairly sure she had. His eyes had fallen on that same sandbar one night as they ate dinner on the beach, her talkative and him sullen. Something had flashed in her eyes when she'd seen where he was looking, gone before he was certain it had been there at all. And Odysseus was rarely certain these days. But before he could ask about it, his eyes were drooping and his body failing, the taste of sweet cherry wine on his tongue.
He had woken up in her bed beside her. Odysseus swiftly pushed the memory away, redoubling his focus on the sand bar, which was starting to look like divine salvation. If Calypso didn't want him near it, but wouldn't even mention it to tell him why, then it had to be a way to get out of this hell hole.
"My love, I grow tired of this!" came Calypso's voice again, and like a lightning flash, Odysseus knew what he must do. Calypso would come and get him soon, he had to be ready for her when she did. A different voice wound its way through his mind, as soft as the finely woven linen drapes its owner favored. There are other ways of persuasion.
For the first time in six years, Odysseus smiled.
As quickly as he could manage, he got to work. Examining his reflection in the water before him, Odysseus tousled his hair before swiftly braiding it back in honor of the witch, his friend, who had inspired the idea. Circe had left pieces to frame her face, and now that he thought about it, so did his Penelope; It was rather attractive, after all, and so out came a couple of curls around his face, perfectly placed to fall in his eyes. Penelope had always relished in pushing his hair out of his face, perhaps, he shuddered, Calypso would want to do the same.
Regrettably, his face was dreadfully pale but there wasn't much he could do about that on such short notice. Although, maybe… He paused and pinched his cheeks in the same way he had seen his younger sister do before their mother had allowed her to rouge her cheeks and lips. Shockingly, it brought back some color into his lifeless face.
Admittedly, the loose-fitting chiton tunic that Calyso had woven for him wasn't all that seductive but Odysseus was sure that he could change that. Make her think she's getting what she wants , he told himself as he purposefully tugged on the white linen of his chiton until it fell into an artfully rumpled appearance that set his collarbone on full display and allowed a sliver of chest to show.
There. Thoroughly debauched. And not a moment too soon , he thought as huffy footsteps pounded out of the cave and across the sand towards him. "Odysseus–" Calypso started, before stuttering to a stop as he whipped around, a large smile plastered on his face, and she took in his appearance.
Circe, he told himself. Be Circe. I am not the puppet, I am the puppeteer.
"Calypso, my darling," he gasped as if he had never seen her before. The titaness' honey-colored eyes widened in surprise a flush spreading over her cheeks, at his words or his looks, he didn't know. "I know that my attitude has been… jarring these past years," he continued, flicking his eyes to the sand in mock shame. Come to me , he urged his eyes to say when he looked back up at her.
Calypso swallowed, confusion warring with lust for control over her body. Odysseus knew he had to clinch it. As shyly as he could manage, he cocked his to one side and brushed his hair behind an ear. "I spent them mad at you, while all you've ever been was charming." Odysseus forced his eyes to roam all over her body. Circe , he told himself again. You are Circe . He bit his lip as he dragged his gaze down to her own. "Suddenly I do believe my appetite has changed," he told her, batting his eyes and trapping her between his lashes. "You know," he sighed like a maiden. "I think I might be starving for more than just a meal tonight."
Her face flushing as pink as the sky, Calypso squeaked at the insinuation like she hadn't been attempting to seduce him for six years running. But Odysseus pushed the uncharitable thoughts from his mind so there would be no chance of her reading them on his face. "So will wait for me, my precious?" He smiled, reaching out and taking her hands in his before gently bringing them up to his lips to kiss.
He waited for Calypso's nod before flicking his eyes back up to hers from where he was bowed, he winked at her before continuing. "Go back to where you have dreamt of us," he told her, oiling his words with honey. "Lay where your bed is. I'll be just a moment while I go and…" he paused for dramatic effect and maximum innuendo. "Get ready."
Slowly, happiness had broken over Calypso's face. Good, he thought. She thinks that she's finally broken me. "Don't get impatient," he teased, flicking her nose gently. Calypso's blush deepened ever darker as she giggled and nodded. "We have no time to spare since love is in the air!"
In a rush, Calypso jumped into his arms and slammed his mouth against his, hot and wet. Odysseus forced down a shudder. Circe . He relaxed and pulled her closer for just a moment to feign enthusiasm before he pushed her off and waggled his finger at her. "I said don't be impatient, precious," he said, forcing all the humor he had left in his body into his eyes, willing any light at all to appear in them. "Go, I'll come to you."
"Don't take too long," Calypso giggled, looking half-crazed with desire before she turned and bounded back up her torch-lit path and into the Cave.
Desire? She would have called it love, deluded fool, Circe's voice sneered in his mind. While Odysseus agreed with Mind-Circe's assessment, he was slightly concerned that he had apparently reached the 'hearing voices' stage of distress. Ah, well, with any luck he would be halfway to Ithaca before Calypso even realized he left.
For a long moment after Calypso had disappeared again, he waited, willing her not to return. When noises began inside the Cave again, typical of when she wanted to take him to her bed, he moved. It's now or never, he thought. My final shot.
Quick as a flash, Odysseus darted into the waters of the ocean, diving deep enough that he would be obscured from the surface. He had to make it to that sand bar, he had to get home.
The water slipped past Odysseus as he pushed forward toward the depths. Coral scraped at his ankles as colorful fish swirled around him like a whirlpool. Ahead of him, the sandbar formed a blurry dark spot in the endless depths yet, no matter how much he swam it didn't seem to be getting any closer.
Odysseus' muscles burned, protesting at the exertion after so long of languishing on Ogygia. He'd forgotten just how strenuous swimming could be, how often his father had had to carry him and Ctimene home after long days of playing on the beaches of Ithaca. And that had been in normal, non-magical waters with sandbars that behaved normally.
But this one was seemingly always out of reach, either he had misjudged the distance from so far away or it was impossible to reach and he would drown trying. Odysseus shuddered as he swam, his strokes slowing. How welcoming the ocean floor looked. He could just swim down and lay down to rest at last against the sea bed. Maybe it was time to stop fighting against Lord Poseidon, to accept his fate, and go peacefully to the River Styx to lay forever beside the souls of his men.
Penelope would forgive you , a voice whispered in his head, curling through his thoughts like siren song. She would understand that you're so very tired. You could never have made it back home anyway.
Odysseus' heart thudded, his lungs beginning to cry out for air, his body so very close to the sweet release of death. I'm tired, my friend , the same voice echoed. Odysseus' eyes snapped open. Those were not his words. Those were not his thoughts. He had been exhausted since they had set sail from Troy almost a decade ago, but he had never been hopeless.
Penelope, he thought, pushing the image of his wife before his eyes. Her laughing eyes, and gentle clever hands. The small mole above her lip, and the way she tasted of salt water and pomegranates. Come home to me, she had said that day he left for war. She had pressed her wedding band into his hands then, and whispered, her head against his, Hold this close to your heart, my love. Hold it and imagine it's my hand. I will be with you, always.
His arm struggling through the weight of the water, Odysseus pulled the leather cord bearing his wife's ring from under his tunic and into his hand. He could fight for her, even when he couldn't bear to fight for himself. The metal bit into his skin, giving him the shock he needed to push forward once more, fighting against the current.
Penelope, he told himself, her name like a vow. Telemachus. His sweet baby boy, who had loved nothing more than being held in his and Penelope's arms. His son, who had barely been able to babble "Mamma" and "Pappa" when Odysseus had been ripped away from them. Telemachus, whose face Odysseus had never seen in boy or manhood. What would he give to hold his boy once more? He had asked himself that question too many times to count in their years apart. But he once again renewed his vow to Telemachus. Anything, he swore to his memory of his wife and child. Anything.
Penelope, Telemachus. Odysseus pressed on, the sandbar finally approaching him, even as his body shook in protest as it was pushed beyond its limit. That was fine. What did Odysseus care for trivial things like his body ? If his health was the price he must play, it would be child's play, even easier than beating Ctimene at hopscotch.
Ctimene . Oh, his baby sister. His first friend, his childhood annoyance, how he missed her. He wanted to lay slumped against her after a long party once more and sleep as they had when they were little. He could not bring her husband home to her, but he could still fight to bring himself home.
Penelope, Telemachus, Ctimene. Their names rang through him like a bell. His vision blurred from lack of air. Who else could he fight for? Say their names, he told himself.
Diomedes, he thought, the image of his friend springing to mind. He had promised to make a second home on Ithaca one late night during the war; Odysseus had to hold him to it.
Maybe Pappa? His father had not been in good health since his mental collapse that had thrown Odysseus onto the throne of Ithaca at thirteen but he also hadn't been waiting for him in the Underworld like his mother. Odysseus' throat felt hot and tight at the thought, and he pushed the thought of her from his mind. Penelope, he told himself instead. Telemachus, Ctimene, Diomedes, Pappa.
Helen . He had never been close to his wife's cousin, but he had always liked her. Once she'd realized he didn't want to sleep with her, Helen had been funny and kind to him and had supported his proposal to Penelope. And Menelaus, his brother in arms, his kin by marriage, someone he was proud to call a friend.
The sandbar was within reach by now, even as his vision became mottled with black spots. Penelope, Telemachus, Ctimene, Diomedes, Pappa, Helen, Menelaus. Their names gave him the final push to dig his nails into the thick mound of sand, grasping onto embedded rocks to lever himself out of the water.
As he finally broke the surface, air filled his lungs and made his vision starry as he struggled to crawl his way onto the top of the sand bar, now completely exposed. The moment his legs left the water, Odysseus collapsed forward into the sand, before flipping over so he could see the stars. He'd done it.
Now to figure out what he'd done. It was only then occurring to Odysseus that he didn't actually know what the sandbar was for or what it meant, only that Calypso was keeping it from him. And while, yes, that did make him fairly certain it could help him get home the question of how still remained.
Odysseus pushed himself back up onto his knees, his arms shaking violently from the strain. Pathetic, he spat at himself, his lip curling in disgust at his own weakness. He had to think. What could this sandbar possibly do? It wasn't like he'd ever seen Calypso use it, though most likely, that was purposeful.
A thought struck him and he quickly turned back toward the beach, half-expecting to see the nymph herself running towards him in a blind rage. But the shoreline was quiet, the lights in the cave still bobbing merrily along. Odysseus breathed out a sigh of relief. She hadn't noticed yet. He still had time.
As his eyes returned to the water, Odysseus cocked his head to the side in interest. Huh, he thought. The tides are different colors. It was true. The sandbar lay in the middle of two conflicting waters, the one leading to Ogygia, a crystalline sea green while the one leading outwards was deeper in color, blue and wild. Odysseus' breath caught. He knew that water. If he could only slip into it then he would be free of Calypso forever.
His heart quickened in time, the beats almost painful in their intensity. The sandbar had to be a jumping-off point, a weakness in the wards, a way to enter both Ogygia and the Aegean. With shaking hands, Odysseus wrapped his loose braid around his fingers, twisting it into a bun and using a piece of broken coral to secure it. He couldn't risk his hair getting in his eyes.
He would fucking swim to Ithaca if he had to, he vowed.
With great stillness, Odysseus rose from where he knelt, forcing his breathing to steady. This had to work, it had to. Slowly, he stepped over the middle of the sandbar and into the half that was bordered by his ocean. Seaspray hit his face, the salt burning his eyes and scratching at his face.
Odysseus blinked, once, twice. It was working. It was going to work. He was a good swimmer he could do this. For his family, for Ithaca.
He stepped into the water, intending to jump in like he had on the beach but something was wrong. His foot wouldn't reach the water. No matter what he tried, no part of him could touch the blessed waves that could carry him home.
Odysseus' heart pounded faster. This couldn't be it, he couldn't have come this far only to fail at the last moment. He had to have been imagining it he told himself. Distantly he could his own breathing making a strange sound, but he didn't care. Nothing mattered except getting into that water. Please, he begged no one in particular. Please, please. But at every turn, he was rebuffed, the wind holding him up as he tried to fall into the surf and his feet hitting a point a fraction of a fraction above the water from which they could go no further.
Suddenly exhausted, Odysseus collapsed onto his knees before they, too, gave out and left him slumped onto the damp sand. His face felt hot even as the rest of him had gone as cold as ice, stopping him from doing more than curling onto his side where he lay. His chest felt tight, his throat and lungs raw, and his abdomen aching horribly as it shook. It was only after the high-pitched ringing in his ears faded, that Odysseus could hear a strange noise nearby, like a wounded animal keening.
Oh, he thought absently. I fear that's me. I must be weeping. And so he was, Odysseus realized, as he recognized the feeling of hot tears cooling on his cheeks only to be replaced with new and the heaving pressure of sobs in his lungs and stomach for what they were. I just want to go home, he thought wildly. He wanted Penelope, wanted her to be there with him right then.
"Athena," he gasped desperately, half on instinct, through his tears. "Athena, please listen. Please help me–" Odysseus broke off in another wave of sobbing. He didn't even know why he was praying to her now, she hadn't answered any of his other prayers all these years on Calypso's island. She hadn't answered his prayers since he was a fool with the Cyclops. "Lady," he tried again, more respectfully than he could ever remember being to Athena.
"Lady, please, I'm sorry. I was a hubristic fool. You were right," he poured the words into the air hoping at least one might reach her. None were untrue, Odysseus had just lost the will to keep them quiet. "I need you." His voice was hoarse and quiet, barely more than a whisper but it was all that he could manage. "Please, Athena, I need you. Forgive me, I need you."
Gentle hands slipped into his hair, and Odysseus flinched hard, his already racing heart working double time as he wondered how Calypso could have snuck up on him so quickly. But no, the hands stilled at his flinch which hers had never done. The fingers were longer, her nails scratching gently across his scalp in a way that reminded him of his childhood.
Odysseus sucked in a breath and dared open his eyes a fraction. Sure enough, Athena knelt above him, her skirt and cape trailing into the Aegean behind her. Her dark curls were escaping her long thick braid, just as they had been when last he saw her. But the worry in her large gray eyes was new. Definitely new. As was the way she had drawn back her hands to hover above him, unsure, perhaps for the first time in her immortal life, of what to do.
But she had come for him. Not sure of what else to do, Odysseus did his best to move his useless body towards her and clung to her skirts with his bloodied fingers. "Forgive me," he gasped again. "Please. Please help me, I don't know what to do, Athena. I'm sorry."
Slowly, her hands returned, one to his hair and the other to his shoulder, and Odysseus could hear the sound of her shifting skirts as she moved from kneeling to sitting. With surprising gentleness, he felt himself being tugged forward until his head was resting in her lap, pillowed by the goddess's fine linen skirts. "Breathe," she told him, her voice soft but as commanding as ever.
Odysseus did, burying his face into his goddess' skirt like he had when he was a child and hadn't yet lost her favor. In, out. In, out. There had been a time when this kind of care from Athena had not been uncommon, in fact, he had many fond memories of laying in her lap for hours after their training in her sacred grove. She had let him babble on and on about the most mundane aspects of his life, his favorite foods, his little sister's birthday celebrations, how the peplos that his mother had worn to dinner had been ruined when a dignitary spilled wine on her. And when he had finished giving the goddess a recap of his day, he remembered how she would ask for tales of the adventures that he had dragged Polites, Ctimene, and later Eurylochus and Penelope, into and how he solved them.
But that had been before the world decided to go and become complicated behind his back. Of course, he had always known that would eventually happen, what crown prince wouldn't? But he had missed this.
There in Athena's lap, he could pretend that he was home once more, that the waves crashed against the coasts of Ithaca instead of the shores of Ogygia. Odysseus breathed in deeply, hoping the air might calm his racing heart, and smelled something he hadn't in a long while. A wave of homesickness threatened to throw him overboard into his storm of despair once more but he held on, trying to focus on the smell.
Had Athena always smelled like this? Perhaps she had, Odysseus conceded. It certainly reminded him of her, wrapping around him like the green mantle she wore down her back. Incense and salt sea, olives, and fragrant wax. He mulled them over in his mind, letting the puzzle soothe his fraying nerves. She smelled like home, like childhood, like marriage vows to Penelope and the sound of Telemachus' first laugh.
She smelled like… Odysseus' thoughts stuttered. Athena smelled like the temple, his personal temple to her, that he had built for her in Ithaca. Incense and salt sea, olives, and fragrant wax. It felt like someone had sent a chisel through his heart. Odysseus felt another rush of hot tears spill onto Athena's skirts, yet he remained completely silent.
He refused to make a fool of himself by whimpering again.
Athena's nails scratched gently through his hair, her clever weaver's fingers pulling apart the knots that had formed from his evening swim. "Odysseus," she began, her voice still quiet. Goddess of Wisdom , he reminded himself. She was the one who taught you that sound travels over water. She knew about Calypso then, he realized. And she had called him by his name. That was strange, she never called him by his name. Athena snapped twice in front of his face, a tactic she had often used when he was a boy to bring him back to earth when he was daydreaming. "Focus, child. This is important."
Child . Odysseus wished he could laugh but his body felt like it would crack apart if he tried. So instead he nodded, moving his head so that he could see her face while remaining in her lap. He was long past caring if it was childish, he had missed her terribly. Athena's sharp eyes met his, still clouded by that strange worry and something else he couldn't name. "It was clever of you to swim to this sandbar," she told him. Odysseus blinked, hadn't the sandbar idea been a waste? Athena, as if reading his mind, rolled her eyes. "It is neither Ogygia nor the Ocean Proper, and can thus be reached by both."
So he had been right about that. But then why–? "It can't allow you to exist Ogygia, you would still need Calypso's permission or the permission of my family's council," she continued, reading the question in his eyes. "But, as it is not technically Ogygia that means that she also cannot keep the gods from appearing here." She smiled slyly, before adding innocent as a fox, "Without permission."
Odysseus swallowed, sure his eyes were wide as his mind struggled past the fog that had settled over him for years in order to follow her. After examining his face, Athena's eyes softened. "That is all to say," she said, bending over him so that her braid hung like the rigging of a ship beside his face. "I came for you the moment that I was able. I would not have left you here to rot. Not so long as it was within my power."
"But," Odysseus said, his voice hoarse and unsteady. "I'm not your warrior… or your friend… I'm–" He cut himself off, a laugh tinged in hysterics pulling itself free. The irony , he thought. "I'm Nobody."
Her eyes still unreadable, Athena brought her hand to his forehead, gently stroking the hair out of his eyes. "Human emotions," she began, her voice flat but her hands comforting. "Somewhat allude me. I fear you will have to explain why that means I wouldn't have come for you."
Odysseus took a shallow breath. "I lost your favor," he said simply, praying that Athena wouldn't disappear at the reminder. But instead, she only tilted her head to the side, in that way only owls did.
"You displeased me." Her voice was even, matter of fact, her eyes boring into the depths of his soul. "That doesn't mean I have forsaken you completely, Little King. You are not Nobody. You are… Mine. I don't know how to say it other than that. You are mine."
In spite of himself, Odysseus found himself relaxing into her skirts even though his hands kept clinging to her. He wasn't sure he could have pried them away if he tried, they didn't even feel like his anymore. He wanted to be hers again, he really, really wanted it.
Above him, he could hear Athena give a soft sigh. "You look like you're wasting away," she said, her voice distant, aloof, and faint to his ears. But her hands were warm, and her touch comforting; a rarity these days. Maybe she understands human emotions a little better than she thought, Odysseus wondered. Although, it was equally, if not more, likely that Athena just knew how to comfort him in particular.
He hummed in response, face still half buried in her skirts. "I feel like I'm wasting away," he told her at last, giving her a watery smile. In response, Athena pursed her lips and Odysseus looked away again. He hoped she wasn't mad at him again.
But Athena simply gave an exhale through her nose, her hands tightening around him almost… protectively, Odysseus realized. "I cannot send you back there to wait for your release…" she murmured to herself, clearly not expecting him to respond.
But Odysseus had always been excellent at responding when he probably shouldn't. "My release?" he echoed. Athena blinked, her head tilting once more as she realized that she'd spoken allowed.
"I have been petitioning my father for your freedom since you arrived," she said finally. The words were simple as if she hadn't just pulled the rug out from under his entire worldview of the past six years.
He stared. "...Oh." It was all he could think to say.
"But it would be…" Something passed over Athena's face then as if she had thought better of saying what she was going to say. "I will not send you back to the island to wait," she said instead.
Odysseus shook his head, a disbelieving smile starting to play at the corners of his lips. "You could," he told her.
It was Athena's turn to be surprised then. "What?" she asked, her voice incredulous.
"I'll go back and wait," he told her, even as his stomach began roiling again at the thought. But he could do it, so long as he had hope of getting out alive, he could do it. So Odysseus set his face, and stared the goddess of wisdom down, daring her to poke holes in his logic. "I can hold out a little longer, you know, now that I have the knowledge that you're coming for me."
He could see her considering it, countless plans and strategies flitting across her eyes as she watched him, examining every opportunity and angle. The sun had fully gone down by that point, and the night wind whipped at Athena's dark curls from where she sat over him. Odysseus wondered if she was cold. Could goddesses get cold? He wasn't sure.
Across the water and on the shoreline, the light pouring from Calypso's cave changed, the soft glow turning bright and harsh. At the sight, Odysseus felt like he'd been plunged into freezing water. His skin went cool and clammy, a cold sweat breaking out down his spine while his body flinched backward into Athena's. He could feel her sharp eyes honing in on him, reading every line of who he was.
Athena's face hardened, leaving Odysseus to brace for whatever blow she sent his way. But, "I'm not sending you back there," was all that she said, her voice leaving no room for questions. Odysseus spluttered, trying to protest that he would be fine, that she didn't need to strategize around his feelings, but Athena cut him off with a shake of her head. "No," she continued, her eyes not leaving the shoreline. "It wouldn't be wise to send my soldier back into danger after he played his hand. You tricked her to get out here, that won't work again and for you to stay it would have to as we need to be able to communicate."
Odysseus gave a breathless laugh. "Then what?" he asked. "What should we do?"
"...We're going to fix the whole damned thing," Athena murmured.
"What?" he asked in blank confusion. It was only then that Athena looked at him again instead of watching for Calypso. Her eyes glittered with a strange, wild light but Odysseus couldn't figure out what she meant by that for the life of him.
"I am the Great Weaver," Athena told him, her fingers beginning to flick in strange movements. "When working a loom any weaver worth her salt knows that sometimes she needs to unravel her rows in order to redo them with fewer mistakes."
Odysseus blinked. He understood all that, Penelope had explained it to him many times as he watched her at her loom. But he couldn't quite force the concepts of weaving and the concept of escaping Ogygia together in the way Athena wanted him to. His head was pounding, confusing his thoughts, and yet his head was also the only part of him that he was sure was still attached to him. "I'm not sure I follow?" he admitted, weakly.
Athena simply nodded, taking his confession in stride. "The tapestry is the world, your life is the threads." She pulled a weaver's shuttle from thin air, sending green and gray sparks flying into the night air. Then, with practiced surety, Athena began to murmur in a language that Odysseus never heard before. It set the hairs on the back of his neck on edge, endlessly strange, endlessly ancient, and sounding like singing on his goddess's tongue.
Even without any prior knowledge of the ancient chants, Odysseus could pick out words that he knew, that sounded similar enough in Greek. The word "Fates" returned again and again, joined swiftly by a word that surely meant "Time," and two more that were certainly his own and Athena's names.
Above him, Athena's shuttle flashed through the air, weaving together strands of light that Odysseus' mortal mind could hardly comprehend. As her eyes darted towards the shoreline once more, Odysseus saw them pinch in worry and heard her redouble her chanting, weaving faster, while her free hand gestured for him to come closer to her. How much closer could she want me? Odysseus wondered. I'm practically in her lap .
Instead of obeying mindlessly, he followed Athena's gaze, his heart resuming its racing as his eyes fell on the figure of Calypso rushing towards the water. Her mouth was moving but Odysseus couldn't hear anything she screamed over the rushing his ears.
"Hold tight to me," a voice broke through the panic, and Odysseus' attention snapped to his goddess. Well, Athena's plan had to be better than going back to Calypso, Odysseus decided then and crawled forward into Athena's open arms. Quickly, she hooked his arms around her neck like she had whenever she carried him as a boy and held him tightly.
"You will wake up in your bed, on your ship, a week after leaving Troy," she told him. Odysseus' mind scrambled to make sense of the idea, everything was moving so fast. Focus, he snapped at himself, breaking through his own fog of fear and paranoia. Bed, Ship, Troy. Wait for me. I will come to you and explain further. We will fix this together."
Calypso had reached to water line and was rushing towards them, her golden eyes blazing. "Understood?" Athena asked, tightly.
Odysseus nodded. "Understood,"
"Good." Athena took a deep breath, the inhale drawing every strand of light she had unraveled and rewoven towards them. "Remember," she reminded him. "Don't panic. Hold tight."
The world erupted into a riot of color and stars.
It felt like the end of the world and the beginning like nothing was real except for the light and the feeling of Athena's body holding tight to his. He was being buffeted in every direction and felt certain that without the goddess shielding his body, he would have already been driven mad by the sight. Maybe he already was.
He wasn't sure he could remember his name. Only Don't panic. Hold tight.
He felt strange like he was every age he had ever been at once. A baby in his mother's arms, a boy playing tricks on his little sister, a youth on his knees before his love, a man beside a childbed, and a general sending men to die. He was a son and brother, groom and father, soldier, sailor, and king.
Every emotion, every joy and grief of life pushed their way into him. He shrank towards the warm body behind him. Athena , he thought, even as he could barely remember who she was. But she wouldn't hurt him.
Don't panic. Hold tight.
Odysseus woke with a gasp, rocketing upwards, only to hide his legs confined in something. What he didn't know but he kicked and fought at it, his breath coming quick and harsh. However, it was the force of his fighting that sent him crashing to the floor of the room he was in, the sudden pain shocking him fully to consciousness.
The room was his captain's quarters aboard his ship, the shackles were his bed linens that had been tangled by his thrashing. Don't panic. Hold tight. He remembered. But he had nothing to hold onto now and it was becoming increasingly difficult to not panic, not when his crew, all of his crew was probably alive and well around him.
Distantly Odysseus could recognize that he was drenched in sweat instead of water as he had been only moments before and that his lungs didn't hurt half as bad as they should have. But, still, he struggled to draw breath, switching between breathing too fast or not breathing at all. That was not ideal, Odysseus knew. These little fits had been happening more and more while on Calypso's island and he didn't care for them.
But he wasn't on Calypso's island anymore, he reminded himself. Get it together, man.
Familiar, sturdy hands grasped his shoulders, and Odysseus jumped at the sudden intrusion. He had to get ahold of that, he was usually better at not being snuck up on. But the hands didn't attack, they simply braced him upright, running up and down his arms rhythmically. Odysseus remembered this, remembered his friends doing this in those terrifying days after he had ascended to his throne.
Gently, the man holding him up moved one hand to his back, pressing hard on his shoulder blade. He's trying to ground me , Odysseus thought wryly, too exhausted to speculate on which of his men was currently with him. He had to give it to his man, though, the gruff comfort was easily pulling him back into his own body.
Odysseus opened his eyes, unable to remember when he had closed them. Although he could still feel every beat of his heart, they were slowing and his breathing had almost returned to normal. He could see the hands of his man, or at least, he could see the one still resting dutifully on Odysseus' forearm. The hand was broad, sturdy, and callused with lighter scars slicing through brown skin. A familiar bracelet was tied around that wrist, one that Odysseus recognized instantly. He wore a matching one around his ankle, after all.
Odysseus jumped, turning far too fast to pass off as casual to the side. Sure enough, he found worried dark eyes, a shaved head, and hands that despite the man being almost twice Odysseus' size were terribly gentle.
Eurylochus, he thought. He could feel himself starting to freeze again. He could feel a sword in his back.
"Captain?" asked his second in command, reaching forward to grip his shoulder.
Odysseus flinched.