A Different World

by Poetry_Of_Apollo

Summary:

But even through all of the endless questions she had of how, why, what now, she still made sure that she flew down to Ithaca every day, either choosing to be invisible or lurk in the trees as an owl and watched as Odysseus played with Eurylochus and Polites, watching as the three boys ran around the woods. Though oftentimes, the former two ran while the latter one merely followed. They acted like the children they were, but not how Athena remembered them to be.

Perhaps if there was a way, she would have gone to the underworld and demanded her grandfather's council — after all, Kronos was the Titan of time. Perhaps it was he who could explain how she had come to the situation she was in.

And where she was, was back in time, back in the past.

-

‘What if there is a world where we don't have to live this way?’

(Athena somehow manages to find herself back in time, and does all she can to prevent Odysseus’ ten year journey.)

Notes:

I wrote this in a day. It may not be much for some people, but I am genuinely impressed with myself.

The Ithaca saga destroyed me and this was made to cope. Because I desperately need more Athena and Odysseus content. Happy reading! :D

Chapter 1: Glimpses of The Past

“What if there is a world where we do not have to live this way?” She says, keeping her back turned, choosing — perhaps in favor of her cowardice, — not to look at him, choosing instead or stare at the emptiness of her domain ahead, waiting with bated breath for his answer.

“Perhaps there is,” Odysseus says. His voice sounds tired, weary. Perhaps she should have chosen another time to bring about this conversation, a time when he wasn’t already exhausted from all he had gone through. But her impatience had won over her reason, as it so often did these days. “But that world is not that one, and,” he pauses for a moment as if hesitating. “I am afraid that world is out of my grasp.”

She nods, understanding. Perhaps she had always known that even the strongest of regrets would not be enough to garner forgiveness so easily. So she turns, sparing him one last glance, watching as he stares longingly at the door before him, longing for the one who stood inside, waiting, and Athena does not mean to stall their reunion even more than she already has.

“Very well,” she says, unable to stop her voice from wavering.

 

________

 

She watches from a distance for the following days. Odysseus did not settle well in Ithaca. She knew he was no doubt relieved to be back in his homeland, but she also knew the haunting images of gods, monsters, and dead comrades never truly seemed to go away. 

 

She watches as Ithaca regained its king, as Laertes regained his son, as Telemachus regained his father, as Penelope regained her husband. Athena stands silent, invisible, and watches from afar as they make up for twenty years at war and at sea. 

 

She watches and longs for a world where things had gone differently. 

 

________

 

Athena did not know much of her grandfather. 

 

She, of course, knew of his domain, of his history, of his ruling, the golden age — or so they called it. She knew of the prophecy he had received, the prophecy that his children would overthrow him as he had done his own father, and how that had scared him into eating his own children. She knew of how he was deceived by his children, as well as gods and creatures that had grown vengeful for the suffering they had spent in Tartarus and in his stomach, and the following punishment that ensued for him. 

 

Perhaps if there was a way, she would have gone to the underworld and demanded his council — after all, Kronos was the Titan of time. Perhaps it was he who could explain how she had come to the situation she was in. 

 

And where she was, was back in time, back in the past. 

 

She stopped in her tracks when she had flown to Ithaca and caught sight of a boy, the age of ten it seemed, happily running along the island’s paths with his friends — friends who should have been long dead. One had fallen at the hands of a cyclops, the other had fallen to the Thunderbringer — looking as if all was well in the world when Athena was well aware that it was not. 

 

But for the following days, she only stood in Ithaca’s gardens, watching, waiting, and did not try to approach him. She had condemned him for being her Warrior of the Mind, and perhaps it would have been better for him had they never met at all.

 

She wonders if the other gods had been affected by this sudden reverse in time, as well. After all, they were all essences of the cosmos, surely someone other than her knew? But it seems not, for there was a council meeting only days later, and everything played out as it usually did, with Poseidon and Demeter bickering over how several of Demeter's crops laid near the sea had been drowned in a flood by a tidal wave brought about by whatever had angered the earth-shaker that day.

 

When the meeting ended and the gods dispersed, Zeus called for her as he often did, and she felt herself involuntarily flinch at the sound of his voice. She could see his eyes narrow, but he did not comment and simply motioned for her to follow along. And that she did, even if reluctantly. 

 

So they walked through Olympus’ gardens, through the marble columns encased by vibes, lush bushes of brilliant green swaying in the wind, and flowing fountains with glittering waters against the bright light of Helios’ sun. She tries to ignore the suffocating smell of ozone that had been clawing its way into her lungs ever since the council and does not meet his eyes, for she fears that if she did, she would not be able to prevent the torrent of thoughts that echoed you tried to kill me over and over in her head. 

 

“What is the matter with you?” He asks, glancing at her and back to the clouds that slowly drifted through the sky. 

 

“I've somehow traveled back to the past and it appears that nobody else seems to have any knowledge of the past few decades except for me alone,” is what she does not say. Instead, she averts her eyes and says, “Nothing is amiss,” even if the words rang empty to her own ears. 

 

“Whatever it is, I find it would be best if you told me,” Zeus insists. But his insistence is neither commanding nor demanding, it is only an offer, an opening, and it is one she would rather not take at the moment. 

 

“I assure you, I have it under control, father,” she says. She does not, but she does not want to admit that either. 

 

“Very well,” Zeus dismisses. 

 

That night, she dreams of storms and tempests and haunted eyes of a man she had failed in more ways than one.

 

________

 

It took her a ridiculously long time to realize she no longer bled, that her skin was no longer marred by cuts glowing with gold, that she no longer had stinging burns, and that her ichor no longer pooled over the floors that she walked past. It seemed as if all evidence of the past few decades were wiped away as if they did not exist at all. 

 

But Athena knew they existed, and that was enough to ensure they did.

 

Or rather, she hoped it was.

 

But even through all of the endless questions she had of how, why, what now, she still made sure that she flew down to Ithaca every day, either choosing to be invisible or lurk in the trees as an owl and watched as Odysseus played with Eurylochus and Polites, watching as the three boys ran around the woods. Though oftentimes, the former two ran while the latter one merely followed. They acted like the children they were, but not how Athena remembered them to be. 

 

But she still watched, watched, and relished how easily Odysseus seemed to smile these days, eyes blazing with contentment, no longer clouded by fear and paranoia from the years he spent at war and at sea. 

 

Athena would watch and wonder how she had ever let this boy slip through her fingers. 

 

Sometimes, she also watched this boy, content and happy as if nothing had ever gone wrong, and wondered if she had somehow dreamed the past few decades, or if they were some sort of prophetic vision. But no, prophetic visions came in vignettes, that much she knew. And dreams did not feel so real, either. Dreams did not feel so realistic, did not feel so vivid. She could still remember the feeling of burns and wounds in her body and could not shake away the feeling of regret that seemed to plague her every action. 

 

But all of her questions were somewhat answered a few weeks later when she had come to Ithaca to see the three boys conspiring, bet over a display of stones with Odysseus leading. She had almost forgotten about her boar until she overheard their plans of how to capture the rabid animal.

 

“We should make sure it's completely trapped. Otherwise, it might run away,” Odysseus said, placing a large jagged stone between three smaller pebbles. The stone, she assumed, was to represent the boar; the smaller pebbles must represent him and his friends. 

 

“But wouldn't that be dangerous?” Polites cautions, frowning slightly. 

 

Athena listens distantly to their conversation and feels herself smiling, remembering how it had gone the first time. They had managed to succeed, with the boar cornered between the three boys. It would have almost gone perfectly until the boar turned its course and ran to attack Polites. Polites had frozen back then, unable to move before Odysseus had shoved him away and struck the beast with his spear. 

 

She watches as the three boys ran into the woods, and it happens just as it did the first time. She watches as they manage to corner the boar, watches as the boar turns to attack Polites, watches as Odysseus shoves the other boy away and lands the killing blow, and watches as the three boys cheer in celebration of their victory.

 

She watches from the shadows and does not hesitate to smile. 

 

They all ran back to the palace, no doubt excited to boast about their victory to the whole island, excitedly chattering as they recounted their journey and ran up the palace stairs. Athena watched, perched on the branches of a tree beside the windows as the three boys enthusiastically recounted their story to an amused Laertes, Anticlea, and Eurycleia.

 

It is only a few days later that he returns to the garden alone, eyes fluttering across the greenery as if he expected something. So she stood and waited, knowing what would come next.

 

“Show yourself,” he says, circling the clearing, eyes darting back and forth as if he expected another boar to come running towards him without warning. “I know you're watching me, show yourself.” Athena does not. She plans to do it eventually, of course, but for now, she silently stands there and watches as he turns away from where she is stood in the gardens and loudly — and falsely — proclaims: “I can see you!"

 

Still, she humors him. “How can you see through my spell?” she asks, lifting her invisibility and trying to hide her quiet amusement as he jumps and turns to her, his eyes flickering with recognition at the sight. It was painfully obvious who she was, with her wings spread, spear and aegis in hand. She tilts her head, examining him, waiting for what he would do next. Or rather, if it would mirror what he did before. 

 

His expression suddenly twists with that familiar sense of mischief she had so often seen back in those days. He was Hermes’ grandson, and Odysseus took to lying and mischief like a musician would a lyre. “I was lying, and you fell for my bluff!” 

 

Athena does not confirm nor deny his claims, simply choosing to roll her eyes, raising a hand of acknowledgment. “Well done. Enlighten me, what is your name?” She already knew, of course, but she still chose to test him. 

 

And he reacts the way she expects her to. “You first, and maybe I will follow,” he challenges, the same way he did the first time. 

 

“Unfortunately, you will find that two can partake in this game,” she opposes. 

 

Odysseus only grins in amusement, shaking his head. “Do not be modest; I am well aware of who you are, goddess,” he says, allowing a flicker of reverence to pass through his expression as he raises his arms as if imitating her wings. “You are Athena.”

 

“That I am,” she nods and lowers herself to one knee, meeting his level. Gods were often taller than mortals, looming almost threateningly. She has only ever done this for one other person, and that was Telemachus. In Olympus, lowering herself to even a minor god would appear embarrassing, even more so when it was to a mortal, but she could scarcely care about that anymore. “If you are looking for a mentor, I will assure you your time will be well spent,” she offers. 

 

It has been a decision she had spent the last few weeks pondering upon. Because perhaps he truly was better off without her. She would only condemn him to a war, to twenty years away from home. But she also knew his talents as a warrior were not given by her alone. He had his own wit, his own talent, his own strengths, and it was those that had drawn her to him in the first place.

 

And even she wasn't sure whether or not she would be able to prevent the Trojan War. So even if his departure was inevitable, she would make sure he was as trained and ready as he could ever be, if that was even possible for a mortal. 

 

Odysseus’ eyes lit up with clear excitement, though he quickly masks it, trying — and failing, — to wear an expression of calm, as it did not succeed in hiding his delight. “Sounds like a plan, Goddess and man, bestest of friends?” He proclaims with a grin, raising his hand to her. 

 

This time, she does not decline his offer, even if her attempt to return a high five appeared rather awkward. “We'll see where it ends.” 

 

And this time, she would make sure it ends well.

 

________

 

It was then that she realized that she really had gone back in time. If things would proceed the same, then she would need to prevent Odysseus’ departure to Troy. She would have to make sure Eris wouldn't throw her apple, would have to make sure Aphrodite did not offer Paris the most beautiful woman in the world and would have to make sure Helen of Sparta was not kidnapped. 

 

But she also wonders how easy it would be to prevent. Surely the fates must have been disturbed by the sudden reversal of their strings— and prophecies were hard to defy, even for a god. A visit to Hades was growing more tempting. But according to Zeus’ words, Kronos had been cut into pieces in Tartarus, so she didn't know if he would be of any help at all. 

 

She wasn't sure if Hades would allow her, either. Her uncle was rather calm, but he would not simply allow entry to the underworld for no reason. Perhaps she could tell him of her true intentions, but she doubted any other god would ever believe her tale and would rather not be labeled mad or hysterical. Otherwise, that would just be another obstacle to achieving her goal. 

 

But for now, she trains with Odysseus. 

 

But it was different from the way she trained him in the past, the past that seemed to be forgotten by everyone but her. She trains him in the way she did Telemachus for those short few weeks. Softer, kinder, more gentle, more considerate. She remembers how rough she had been with him, often snapping echoing sentiments of: “An enemy would not show you mercy if you let your exhaustion win against you on a battlefield. You can rest once you are dead, and not a moment before.” 

 

She, for all her knowledge, was unaware of the limits when it came to a mortal's body back then, often pushing whoever she had chosen to guide to fight, fight, and not give up; a moment of rest might only cause more vulnerability. But now, she trains him differently. She trains him how she used to train Telemachus, allowing him to rest whenever he had fallen out of breath. But Odysseus was often insistent, pushing for more, insisting that he could go on much longer, even if he was already heavily panting and trembling from the exertion. Still, she often found herself smiling at his determination.

 

Perhaps she knew now why he never protested before.

 

Sometimes, when they sparred, she found her thoughts wondering. Sometimes, it felt as if she were manipulating him, raising strings in the way a puppeteer would a marionette. She had trained him and welcomed his affections as if she had not abandoned him once before, and she had given him the title as her Warrior of the Mind without telling him of the weight of that title. 

 

But still, they trained, and fought, and she would grant his request for her to stay after training sessions and sit with him under an olive tree, listening to him chattering away about Anticlea, Laertes, Ctimene, Polites, Eurylochus, about whatever filled his mind that day. She would sit and listen in the way she had never allowed herself to in the past. 

 

There were also times she wondered whether this reverse of time was a curse, another form of condemnation after she dreams yet again of storms, thunder, and a helpless cry of her name at the edge of a cliff one night. After all, Odysseus had finally returned home back then. What if she were unable to change anything, what if she were unable to stop him from twenty more years suffering the wrath of gods and monsters and screams of comrades slain? 

 

But every day, she would fly down to Ithaca and watch as this small boy, so different from the man he knew him to be, run around the forest with his friends, help the swineherds, help his father in the vineyards with smiles as bright as Apollo’s golden sun and think that maybe, just maybe, it would all be worth it, if she could diminish even the smallest bit of his suffering, somehow. 

 

This was what she had asked for, was it not? A world where they wouldn't need to live the way they had before. Perhaps this was her chance to— 

 

Her spear suddenly slips through her hands, and clatters on the grass. Odysseus is staring up at her, delighted fervor in his eyes as he happily exclaims: “I got you!” 

 

Until he blinks, his own words seeming to sink into his head. He had beat her, with far too much ease, too. He looks at her curiously, a hint of concern in his eyes. “Athena? Are you all right?” 

 

His kind words only seem to burn her, because she knew she did not deserve them. It burned in the way she imagined Icarus must have felt when he flew towards the sun, warm, comforting, but burning all the same. Perhaps she should tell him, it would be right to tell him. But there was a small, cowardly part of her, that feared he would hate her as he used to if she were to tell him of what she had done and what he had to do as a result. 

 

“Well done,” is what she chooses to say, and she hopes that the strain in her voice is not audible enough for him to hear. 

 

“You should have easily been able to block that,” Odysseus said, frowning. It was a simple strike, one a goddess of wisdom should not have lost too so easily. “Is something wrong?” 

 

“Nothing. All is well,” she says, even as the assurance rings empty to her own ears.

 

But it should be, because all was well. She could start over, she could fix everything. But still, she looked at Odysseus now, still a boy, and could not rid herself of the image of his haunted eyes and bloodstained hands — all because of her. 

 

Because everything was her fault, to an extent. Perhaps if she had not fought over the golden apple, perhaps if she had not forsaken him to a war, perhaps if she had not abandoned him on the cyclops’ island, perhaps if only she had stayed and had explained instead of letting his grief fuelled words attack her to a personal degree, perhaps if she had put down her pride, he would not have needed to suffer as he did. 

 

There was regret, but that regret seemed even harder to stomach when the events that caused it seemed no longer plausible to anyone but her.

 

There were times when she did want to tell him, times when she would dream once again of haunted eyes and could not chase away the thought that he should hate her for all she had done to him and she would want to crumble when those eyes who had every right to despise her lit up with such reverence. 

 

But Athena, for all her claims of being the goddess of wisdom, knew, somewhere deep in her, that she was a coward. So she looked upon this young prince, who would grow to be a king, then her warrior, then the sacker of cities, and could not find it in herself to tell him of the truth because she was terrified he would hate her. 

 

“If there's anything wrong — I can help!” Odysseus offers. And his smile still burns. 

 

“No,” she declines. “I appreciate the offer, but it is not needed.”

 

The days pass, and their training sessions continue, and she finds herself dreaming of a past no longer present, of a blinded cyclops and the wrath of Poseidon and words of her loneliness spat in a fervor of anger. 

 

But even so, every time she returned to Ithaca, Athena looks upon Odysseus and cannot find herself to tell him of that past, the past that she would do everything she could to prevent from happening again.

 

________

 

 

The years pass, and Odysseus grows to be eleven, then twelve, and he grows under her watchful gaze. He grows as a warrior, grows as a boy, and grows in all the ways she remembers him growing in that long-forgotten past. She still watches as he played with his friends, mingled with the citizens, helped the swineherds, and excitedly ran up to her whenever she appeared before him no matter the numerous times she had already done so before, watching and relishing the image of the boy whom she had let go so easily back then.

 

They spent time together after training, and during the times he would run out of things to say, he would ask her about Olympus, about the other gods, and listen with reverence as she told him tales from Mytikas where most of the gods resided.

 

And during those times, she did not hesitate to smile.

 

“Did you ever play ephedrismos with your friends when you were younger?” He asks hands outstretched on the grass that tickled his cheek, his head laying on his palms, fingers locked.

 

Athena leaned against the tree and pushed back thoughts of a water nymph and a daughter of Triton who had died by her spear. “I was never a child,” is what she chooses to say instead. 

 

“Oh,” Odysseus said, remembering. “Well, what did you do with your friends, then?” He asks instead. 

 

Murdering them is what she does not say. She would rather not scare him away, after all. 

 

But the days passed, and he grew under her mentorship, and he played with his friends, and Athena still dreamt of a past long forgotten but still relished in the golden days that she would no doubt carry for as long as time allowed her to. 

 

But it is not all peaceful, for at thirteen, Odysseus tells her of how Laertes seemed to be growing more hysterical, and in the same year, he is crowned king because his father was far too unstable to continue ruling. 

 

And she watched, invisible to everyone but him, in the corner of the throne room as he kneeled before a man, and a crown was placed upon his head. She watched as Odysseus recited oaths of protection for Ithaca and watched as the crowd cheered for a king who was younger than most of those who stood in the pews. 

 

She watched as Odysseus’ eyes scanned the throne room and met her own. She watches how, despite it all, a grin tugs at his lips, and his eyes glimmered, bright as Helios, the golden crown placed upon the head of someone far too small to bear its weight, shining bright against the chestnut brown of his curls. And, she does not hesitate to return it.

 

At fourteen, the burden of royalty falls upon his shoulders, and she spends several nights guiding him through a flurry of reports and state matters that he finds incomprehensible after spending several nights awake. At fifteen, Helen of Sparta was declared to be of age for marriage, and suitors, including Odysseus himself, gathered in the Spartan citadel to ask for the most beautiful woman in the world to be their wife. 

 

They both knew in a sense that he stood little chance. Ithaca was a small island compared to Sparta, Pylos, Mycenae, and several others. She doubted a princess like Helen, who raised and held with the reverence that one would give a goddess, would choose the king of small, tiny Ithaca. 

 

But she still urged him to go, because she knew of who would be there and how smitten he would be for her. 

 

So she appears invisible to one of the evening feasts and is unsurprised to find him staring at a girl with jet black hair and warm brown eyes who was sitting next to Clytemnestra and Helen at the head table, aimlessly chattering with her two cousins. 

 

Penelope is just as Athena remembers her, bright, intelligent, and as witty as Odysseus. 

 

Athena glances back at her warrior, looking as if he would have been drooling if only he had not been raised to be a prince and a king who had been told numerous times how much appearance mattered. She does not hesitate to smile, gently taking him in quick thought and lightly elbowing his shoulder. “You are aware you look ridiculous staring, yes?” She tells him, not bothering to prevent the amused grin that pulls at her lips when he flushed red. 

 

“I am not staring,” he dismissed, though they both seemed unconvinced. 

 

She finds that she is right to be, for just as she predicted, only days later does he come running up to her, singing songs proclaiming his love for Penelope and practically begging her to help him earn her favor.

 

“I am not a goddess of love,” is what she tells him, but she still stands by and watches as he spends most of his time with Penelope, unlike the rest of the suitors who tried to earn King Tyndareus’ favor for Helen’s hand in marriage, and she watches how Penelope giggled when his usual eloquence seemed for fail him, leaving him to be a stuttering mess. 

 

By the time Helen’s husband is to be declared, Zeus had called for another council meeting, and she knew displeasing her father would not do her any favors, so she informs Odysseus she might be absent for a while and makes her way to Olympus. 

 

The meeting goes as it usually does. Athena sits by her father's side and curses herself for having to restrain her own body from flinching when he raised his voice and wanting to turn away from the reeking sense of ozone. What happened in the Arena had happened years ago — if anything, it had not happened at all by this point. But Athena still foolishly cannot let it go. 

 

So she sits and impatiently waits as the other Olympians bicker over trivial matters and raise inquiries about minor inconveniences and obeys her father when he asks her to follow him once again. She has never felt the title of favorite daughter burn as badly as it did in that moment. 

 

But still, she returns to Sparta, to Odysseus, and is pleased to see him giddy, only to feel dread claw into her chest as he tells her of an oath to Helen. 

 

She realizes, then, what a foolish mistake she had made in leaving. It was the same oath, she knew, the same oath that had condemned him to fight in Troy, the same oath that had forced his hand into a war he so desperately tried not to join, and the same oath that would bind him to sail away from his family. 

 

She curses herself for having let her guard fall enough to allow him to make that oath and for failing her promise of protecting him.

 

She needed to prevent the war now more than ever. 

 

________

 

At the age of sixteen, Odysseus returns from another visit to Sparta and immediately starts planning construction around the palace and carving the trunks of an olive tree, where she knew he and Penelope’s brilliant marital bed would soon lay. 

 

At seventeen, he excitedly tells her news of their engagement, elated at the confirmation of his marriage with Penelope. And at eighteen, Athena watches from a corner of the hall as they are pronounced husband and wife, and does not hesitate to smile.

 

She chooses not to interrupt his day, watching from a distance as he interacts with his groomsmen, Eurylochus and Polites, the former who he had said would soon be married to his sister Ctimene, and watches as he dances with Penelope. It is only near the end of the evening when he calls for her, does she appear. 

 

“Congratulations,” she nods and watches as his already bright smile somehow grows tenfold.

 

The years pass in a flurry of gold. Odysseus introduces her and Penelope; she watches as the couple happily runs through Ithaca’s streets and does not hesitate to smile when Odysseus tells her that Penelope is with child. 

 

She allows the time to slip through her fingers before she realizes Peleus is holding his wedding ceremony, Eris will soon throw her apple, and Athena has found herself far too caught up in Ithaca and has not drafted even a semblance of a plan. 

 

So she enters Peleus’ wedding ceremony with the rest of the gods and watches and waits. He and Thetis were practically already married by this point. After all, the nymph had been promised to him they already had a son, though an official wedding was never held. So here she was, waiting for Eris and her apple of discord and cursing her stupidity.

 

When Eris throws the golden apple and it is proclaimed to belong to the fairest in the room, she watches as the apple gets caught between several female goddesses but interjects when it is left to Aphrodite and Hera. They do not listen, and they are still led to Paris despite her desperate protests. 

 

Athena, in her desperation, offers him the greatest kingdom, everlasting wisdom, and the title of being the greatest warrior and the most powerful man. Hera offers him wealth, power, land, and lordship. Aphrodite offers him the most beautiful woman in the world. But even so, all of her efforts fail to futility.

 

Paris still chooses Aphrodite. 

 

Helen is still kidnapped.

 

Athena had failed. 

 

So she arrives at Ithaca's gardens a few days later as she had so many times before. But this time, there was a cold ache that had seeped into her chest, and she bore news of her failure, even if Odysseus did not know the failure was hers. But when she appears, she finds him and Penelope sitting under an olive tree and stops when she realizes what Penelope is holding in her arms. 

 

She had known Telemachus was to be born soon, but the thought had slipped her mind in her flurry of panic about the golden apple. So she freezes now, seeing the sleeping child in Penelope’s lap, only to return from the fog that had settled over her when Odysseus excitedly called: “Athena!”

 

She turns to him, seeing him running over as he so often did, but more careful this time, gently shielding the infant that lay in his arms, his smile as bright as the sun as he held him towards her. 

 

And Athena hesitates, as she did the first time. But this time, it was because she looked upon the sleeping infant now and thought of how she had once again failed him as well, as she had also failed his father. But Odysseus glances at her before his lips pull into a teasing grin. She already knew what he would say, again.

 

“Does the goddess of wisdom not know how to hold a baby?” He teases. 

 

Once again, she chooses to stay silent, fondly roll her eyes, and gently take the infant in her arms. Telemachus looks just like Odysseus as she had remembered him to be. Except his small eyes, which open to be the same brown shade as Penelope's. Telemachus coos and his small hands grasp her thumb. 

 

Despite that ever-present chill in her chest, Athena does not hesitate to smile. 

 

She could tell him another time.

 

That night, she dreams once again of wooden horses, Odysseus agonizing over throwing an infant off the walls of Troy, and the blinded eye of a cyclops.

 

________

 

In the end, she need not tell him, for only a few days later a messenger from Mycenae appears in Ithaca and tells Odysseus of the war.

 

He tells her of his plan to act as if he had gone mad. Odysseus could both fight and strategize, but Athena knew that his witty and calculating mind were his most valuable assets. She had titled him her warrior of the mind, after all. 

 

And he acts well. She would have almost believed him to be mad if he had not told her of his plan directly. He wore women's clothes when leaving the palace, sometimes even inside to erase suspicion. He ate like a rabid dog in front of the messengers and guests, his cutlery discarded, and spun ridiculous tales that sounded as if they did truly come from a madman. 

 

Until the messenger, Palamedes had forcefully taken Telemachus from Penelope’s arms and held a sword to his small body. Odysseus could have almost killed the man in a fit of fury. Perhaps he would have, but he could only do so much when Telemachus was in his arms and Penelope, who had thought her son to be dead only moments before, was weeping beside him.

 

And Athena watches, frozen, and curses herself for not being present in the past. Because perhaps if only she had known if she had known when he would instigate the oath if she had known of what lengths the messenger would have gone to, she would have had a better chance of preventing his departure. 

 

So she stands there, staring helplessly at the man she had once again failed and cursing both the past and the future for having not given her enough knowledge.

Chapter 2: The Future Runs Free

Summary:

“I have questions I need to ask you,” she says, keeping her voice carefully neutral, choosing to ask nicely and trying not to slip back into her old habit of raising threats.

“Go ahead and ask, then,” Apollo shrugs.

Athena raises an eyebrow at his casual tone but did not comment upon it. She hesitates, before asking: “Will Troy fall?”

“It will,” Apollo nods.

“Will Odysseus live?”

“He will.”

Notes:

I am actually so grateful that I discovered Epic and Greek mythology. It feels bittersweet to realize that we finally reached the last saga, but this journessy has been wonderful.

I was debating whether or not to include Odysseus' eventual death, but this was made to cope with my Ithaca saga induced depression, not worsen it, so have my happy ending instead

Again, this chapter contains some small headcannons and elements from several other fics.

I am actually really proud of this story, and hope you enjoy. Happy reading!

Odysseus was twenty-two when he set sail for Troy. 

 

She watches from the fences of the dock as he wrapped an arm around Penelope's shoulders, Telemachus swaddled in linens in her arms. Athena watches as he kisses his wife goodbye and as he coos at his son for as long as he could before he has to board the boat. They both watched as the sails lifted and the winds blew and Ithaca grew smaller and smaller in the distance.

 

A thousand ships are launched to fight in the Trojan War. All of the kings who followed Menelaus were those of suitors who had been bound by the oath to Helen all of those years ago within the great hall of King Tyndareus' palace. Within those kings, there came Agamemnon of Mycenae, Nestor of Pylos, Diomedes of Argos, — Athena remembers how fond she was of this young man — and several others. 

 

There is only one warrior who was not a suitor of Helen but volunteered all the same: Achilles of Pythia. The son of Peleus and Thetis, golden hair and brilliant blue eyes, ablaze with naive excitement. The child had been given two prophecies when he was born: To fight in the Trojan War and die with a long-lasting legacy, or to live a quiet life but die of obscurity. 

 

Odysseus would have chosen the latter. Achilles had chosen the former. Athena could still remember the several epithets that he had been given, traded through hushed whispers of both fear and admiration from Trojans and Achaeans alike: Great Achilles, God-Like Achilles, Shining Achilles. 

 

But even so, the world did not simply stop for the woes of one singular man, not even the king of Ithaca. So the thousand ships set sail through the seas of the Mediterranean, and their departure is inevitable. 

 

Until their ships were denied.

 

For once again, Agamemnon had slain the sacred deer of Artemis and displayed his hubris with proud, arrogant boasts. And once again, the tides fell calm, the water unmoving, and the winds did not blow. The Achaean ships could not move in still waters. 

 

And to appease the goddess of hunting, Agamemnon summons his daughter with promises of a marriage to Achilles and watches as she happily approaches him before she realized that they were not, in fact, standing in a wedding altar, but a sacrificial one.

 

Still, Agamemnon had Odysseus hold his daughter still as she cried to her father for mercy. Still, Agamemnon drew his dagger and sacrificed her for safer passage. 

 

Later, Odysseus would sit with Athena in his private quarters, look at her with haunted eyes, think of Telemachus' smiling joyful face, and wonder aloud how a father could do such a thing to his own child. Athena, who had both seen and known the wrath of Zeus, already knew the answer but chose not to speak of it.

 

That night, Athena would dream of a colosseum, thunder, and golden blood staining dark stone.

 

________

 

 

When they finally arrive, they are greeted by the city of Troy with its looming walls that encased the large city within, and with it was its largest army. Just as Athena recalled, King Priam had made alliances with the Lycians, the Amazons, and several other kingdoms. Achaea was not the only army that was ready for war, after all. 

 

Their first attempt to breach the walls failed, just as it did the first time. So the war goes as it did before. The Acheans sack the surrounding cities in search of supplies. They attack Lesbos, Phocaea, Smyrna, and several others, with swift-footed Achilles leading their charges and slowly making their way closer and closer to the looming walls of the great city of Troy. 

 

After the first siege, Athena would sit beside Odysseus as he kneels in the sand and retches bile into the ocean, hands stained by the blood of those whom he had killed. She would silently sit beside him and offer what little comfort she could.

 

“How do you do it?” He asks her after having emptied the contents of his stomach into the sea. 

 

Athena found that she could not answer. 

 

________

 

 

The first nine years of war do not change much. 

 

She had taken a long amount of time pondering upon it. Perhaps if she would make sure the war ended faster, Odysseus would be able to return home earlier. But there was still a matter of how. Perhaps she could have planted the thought of the wooden horse in him earlier and had nearly done so during that first year. But that plan came with several complications. There was still Achilles, Hector, and Paris, and she did not know how their presence would affect circumstances. (Hector had been titled 'tamer of horses,' after all).

 

So she watched, and waited, and protected, mulling over drafts upon drafts of plans in her head that always seemed to fall short with loopholes that she could not weave together no matter how much she thought.

 

And a part of her is terrified at the realization, for who would she — goddess of wisdom — be if she was unable to come up with a solution? 

 

She was still Athena, Goddess of wisdom, and yet she failed again and again and again. 

 

________

 

 

As much as she never wanted to return to it, oftentimes, Athena still grieved that long-forgotten past. 

 

It was ridiculous if she were to be honest with herself. She did not want to return to those days, days where she had been so blinded by her pride that she left Odysseus to suffer for a decade. That was a world where he lost twenty years of time that he would never gain back. That was the world where he hated her. That was the world where she harbored the most regrets. 

 

But that world was still a tangible one, one where she knew the experiences lived, and the people changed, and the regrets lingered. Even if that wasn’t the best world, it was still a world that Athena knew was real. It was still a world she could not let go, a past she could not forget.

 

A past that was long forgotten by every other being except for her and her alone, a past erased by a mere flicker as if it had never been.

 

It was the second year of the Trojan War. It had been nearly twelve years since Athena had first felt the hands of a clock reversed, and she still pondered the idea of visiting her grandfather — or rather, what was left of him — in the realm of Hades and demanding answers. But she could not just simply seek Kronos, so instead, she chose to fly to the east of Olympus where Apollo’s palace of gold shone in the light of Helios. Her brother, after all, was a god of prophecy.

 

She had never sought out any of her siblings before, much too prideful to ask for their assistance. The only exception was Hephaestus, to whom she could easily ask for repairs of her armor whenever she needed. 

 

Reluctance seems to dig into her bones as. She walked past the open fields circled by halls of golden columns and found Apollo lounging on a couch, his golden eyes having grown brighter in contact with sunlight, tinting his brown waves with hues of yellow. In one hand was his Lyre, which he lazily plucked as he hummed along to a slow, gentle tune. 

 

She did not need to speak before his eyes flitted to her, and he acknowledges her presence with a nod and a simple greeting of: “Athena. What brings you here?”

 

“I have questions I need to ask you,” she says, keeping her voice carefully neutral, choosing to ask nicely and trying not to slip back into her old habit of raising threats. 

 

“Go ahead and ask, then,” Apollo shrugs.

 

Athena raises an eyebrow at his casual tone but did not comment upon it. She hesitated, before asking: “Will Troy fall?” 

 

“It will,” Apollo nods.

 

“Will Odysseus live?”

 

“He will.” 

 

The confirmation prompts her to release a breath she had not realized she had been holding, and she nods to her brother, grateful. Among many other things, Apollo was a god of truth, and could not lie. 

 

Perhaps if she weren't so desperate, she would have found it in her to be slightly guilty. Troy, after all, was Apollo's sacred city, and she knew his care for Hector was similar to the one she held for Odysseus.

 

Her eyes meet the gold of his for a moment, and she wonders whether he would have the answers she wanted to find in Kronos. Prophecies and time had roots that were heavily intertwined, for prophecies relied on the past, future, and present. Would Apollo have answers regarding the several questions that had been filling her head for the past two decades?

 

“Anything else?” He gently prompts. 

 

“No,” she says, hesitating for a brief moment before expressing: “Thank you.” 

 

Apollo blinks for a moment, slight curiosity falling upon his boyish face before his lips lift into a smile. “There's no need to be. It's nice that you've finally made a friend.” 

 

Perhaps if it were back then, Athena would be embarrassed at the notion. A goddess and man, friends.

 

Now, she finds that the words only fill her with a small, comforting warmth.

 

So she allows the years to pass as they did before. After all, Odysseus was already sailing for clearer skies and calmer waters. Even if she were impatient, she would not risk redirecting the course of his safety. So things remained, except for small changes. Oftentimes, she eyed him like a hawk, and oftentimes, he could tease her for doing so. Still, she does it all the same, because this reversal was a gift given to her by someone, she did not know who, — though she often thought it to be the faiths — as marvelous as this gift was, she also knew the faiths were cruel all the same, so she made sure to guard that gift with all she had.

 

They would still speak as they used to, during brief intermissions where they weren’t threatened by another prospect of a surprise attack or a battle. He would lay on either the floor of his tent or the cold, damp grass of the night, and they would speak of ideals for a changed world and greater tomorrows. Those were the times Athena no longer hesitated to smile despite the war she had failed to prevent.

 

“What do you plan to do once you return?” She asked, sitting up against the trunk of a tree, with him lounging beside her on the grass, his head laying on the palms of his intertwined fingers. 

 

“I plan to throw a grand feast,” Odysseus says, a grin plastered on his face. “After greeting Penelope and Telemachus first, of course.” 

 

“Well, a grand feast would be rather fitting, considering all your efforts.” She nodded, eyes scanning the blue sky with constellations scattered all throughout.

 

Odysseus grins at the slight praise and does the same, eyes drifting over Nyx’s dark night. She quietly tears her eyes from the sky above and chooses instead to watch his face, illuminated by moonlight, and thinks of a man who bore haunted eyes of burning red that still haunted her dreams some nights. 

 

“Do I have something on my face?” Odysseus asks, snapping her out of her reverie and making her realize she was staring. Athena blinks and does not immediately reply. 

 

“Athena?” Odysseus frowns. 

 

“Nothing,” she dismisses, “I was merely lost in thought.” 

 

________

 

 

Sometimes, on the rare occasions, he did not dream of Ithaca, Odysseus found his dreams plagued by visions, ones he couldn’t seem to string together to be comprehensible as it seemed he always forgot them the moment he awoke. A burning city, a crying baby, a bloodied club, ill-spoken words spat in a fervor or anger, restless tempests, the wrath of the earth-shaker, potions from a witch, screams of souls, predictions of a blind prophet, a trident stained with gold, and palace halls stained with blood. Often, he would wake up from these dreams and would not understand them. 

 

Often, he would meet his Goddesses' glowing gray eyes and would not understand why she looked at him as if she were gazing at a man who was already long dead. 

 

________

 

 

Athena was often reluctant to leave Odysseus alone, even with the confirmation of his safe future. However, the only times she did leave him were the times she flew to Ithaca to visit Penelope and Telemachus.

 

Although she never revealed herself, choosing instead to appear invisible, or as an owl whenever she found them in the gardens. She would watch as Telemachus grew from an infant to a toddler to a child and would regret condemning him to spend the first decade of his life without his father. 

 

The very least she could do was make certain that one decade does not become two. 

 

But for now, she watches as the prince of Ithaca, so much like the father he had never met, grew from under his mother's watchful eyes. She had never visited Ithaca in the past — until she assisted Telemachus in his fight with the suitors, that is. But as she did with Odysseus’ childhood, she watched and waited and relished all she had failed to appreciate back then.

 

In his eight month, Telemachus started to crawl. In his eleventh, he took slow, uncertain, shaky steps and collapses into Penelope's arms after succeeding in his short journey, and in his first year, he looks to Penelope and babbles the word ‘mama’ while sitting on her lap. 

 

Athena watched as Penelope grinned and gently nuzzled Telemachus while whispering sweet praises as he giggled and babbled ‘mama, mama, mama,’ to his mother again and again, and wonders how it was like to have a mother. Athena watched from a distance, invisible, and did not hesitate to smile. 

 

Later, she would meet with Odysseus under the skies on Trojan land and tell him of each and every one of his son's newest achievements. Odysseus would smile, eyes distant, no doubt thinking about the family he had been forced to leave behind on his island. 

 

Athena, for all her regrets, would still be endlessly grateful that those eyes were still gray and not the red that she had last seen in that faraway past. 

 

“I wish I could have been there,” Odysseus murmurs softly. 

 

“Then you must fight to return,” Athena replies

 

________

 

 

The war proceeds as it did before. By the tenth year, all of the surrounding cities had fallen into ruins and the Achaeans had taken bride prizes, save for Odysseus, who was far too loyal to Penelope. Achilles took Briseis, and Agamemnon took Chryseis. 

 

Apollo would rain down arrows and plague toward the Achaean camp in defense of his priest, Agamemnon would demand Briseis from Achilles, Achilles would refuse to fight, and the tides of the war would turn in favor of the Trojans when Achaea’s best soldier had refused to aid them.

 

Athena would still ally with Hera and, reluctantly, Poseidon. She would still guide Diomedes into shooting Ares and injuring Aphrodite. Menelaus and Paris would have their duel where Aphrodite would interject, and Athena would still harbor frustration despite knowing her attempts would be futile, and the duel would not succeed. She would still throw boulders at Ares during their fight, and she would still cower when her father threatened to shoot lightning bolts toward her and his wife

 

She already knew how that would feel, and would rather not experience it once more. 

 

Patroclus would still emerge in Achilles’ armor and scare the Trojans until he is slain by Hector. Achilles would emerge from his tent with eyes filled with rage and kill the eldest Prince of Troy, dragging his body along the city's large walls with King Priam watching from above. Achilles would still be shot in the heel by the hands of Paris and Paris would be wounded by an arrow from Philoctetes. 

 

One night, while they were both speaking under the stars once again, Odysseus told her his plans for a wooden horse, and Athena encouraged it without hesitation.

 

His eyes were still haunted, but not as haunted as the ones she had seen back then. And for that, Athena is grateful. 

 

So Odysseus builds a horse made of wood, the ships get ready to appear as if they were retreating, and Troy would awake to find the Achaean camp empty, save for a large, wooden horse that stood outside the gates. The priest Laocoön would give warnings against the horse that fell on deaf ears. They would call upon Helen to imitate the voices of the Achaean's wives, and Odysseus would have to restrain them despite how much he ached at the sound of Penelope’s voice. 

 

Troy would burn, the city would be sieged, and Odysseus would still be titled the sacker of cities, and he would still climb to the palace of Ilion, warned by her God-King father of an impending foe and would still freeze at the sight of an infant in his crib, peacefully asleep. 

 

But Odysseus, for all his agonizing, would still throw the infant down the walls of the palace. 

 

Later, he would look at her with haunted eyes and express guilt for the infant who was now buried under the rubble of what used to be the city of Troy. Athena would listen and tell him it was for the best, and regret having not warned him before. Still, she was relieved that the war was over at last, relieved that he was safe. 

 

________

 

 

Weeks later, Odysseus’ fleet of six hundred men would set sail toward Ithaca, and Athena did not dare leave them alone for even the briefest moment. They would stop on the island filled with small creatures that one of the crew members would title ‘winions’, and Athena did not interject her disapproval as Polites spoke of greeting the world with open arms. 

 

Where she did interject, however, was when the creatures pointed Odysseus toward the island of the Cyclopes. She told him of the Cyclops Polyphemus and the threats that came with him. 

 

“You do not want to anger my uncle,” Athena warns, rather firmly. She could not risk Poseidon’s wrath. 

 

“I understand,” Odysseus nodded, though he was still tense with worry. “But then where else could we go? We’ve run out of any supplies to eat…” They could not take much from the ruins of Troy, and even the food they could take was in scarce portions, not enough for six hundred men. 

 

“You are aware of the land of Ismarus, yes?” Athena says. 

 

“The land of the Cicones?” Odysseus said curiously. “But would it not be dangerous to approach them?” 

 

Athena nodded, the Cicones had fought alongside Troy in the war, and she doubted they would offer favors to a fleet of Achaeans, but there was no better option. “It may not be the safest, but it is the best plan in your current circumstances.”

 

Odysseus nodded. 

 

So they leave the island of Lotus fruits and make their way to the land of Ismarus. Heeding her warning, Odysseus does not make way to the island of Cyclopes and does not encounter Polyphemus. 

 

The relief that she feels is immeasurable, and as they voyaged later that night Odysseus would glance at her expression and ask why she was looking at him the way she was. 

 

Athena does not answer. 

 

________

 

 

Odysseus is thirty-three when he returns to Ithaca. 

 

They arrive at Ismarus and raid the city with minimal complications, and manage to gather enough food and supplies before they are forced back into their ships as the Cicones call for assistance from inland allies. But at least, they had food for the remaining journey. 

 

Ten days later, to the cold winds of evening, the fleet of six hundred men finally arrived in Ithaca. The citizens cheered and called as Ithacan ships were spotted near the shores, headed towards the port. 

 

Athena watches as Odysseus exits his ship, eyes immediately falling to Penelope, then Telemachus, now ten years of age, leaning against his mother’s skirts. Athena watches as they reunite at last, with Odysseus collapsing into Penelope's arms and greeting his son with glazed eyes and tear-filled smiles. 

 

When they make their way back to the palace, Athena still goes to Eos and delays dawn for the sake of their reunion as she did back then. Except now, Odysseus did not return with the deaths of six hundred men weighing his conscience, did not return to a dead mother, did not return to his palace desecrated like the ruins of Troy, did not return to the palace halls stained by the blood of a hundred and eight suitors, he did not feel as though he were a man completely changed, and now, Odysseus did not hate her. 

 

For that, Athena was grateful. 

 

She would watch him reunite with his family, watch as he cooed over Telemachus in all the ways he was never able to when he was a baby, watch as he showered Penelope with ten years worth of affection, and she would watch and wonder how she had ever let this man slip through her fingers.

 

But even though Odysseus’ absence in this world was only half of his absence before, there were still several things he had not been there to witness. For one, Telemachus was no longer the infant he had left behind. He was a child now, the age of ten, and still so strikingly similar to his father at that age that Athena had almost called him ‘Odysseus’ more than once. 

 

“Are we friends, Athena?” Telemachus asks her once, brightly grinning. Silently, Athena recalls a boy around the same age, happily declaring: goddess and man, bestest of friends? 

 

“Of course,” Athena responds. 

 

“Do you have any other friends?” Telemachus asks again.

 

“Your father is a friend of mine, little wolf,” Athena smiles.

 

________

 

 

Later, Odysseus would ask where the nickname originated and she would respond with a shrug and refuse to elaborate. Now, he stands and watches his mentor interact with his son with a smile on his face. But he would also recall a time in his youth where she had accidentally called him by the name Pallas, looked at him with eyes full of something he could not name and fell silent.

 

________

 

 

This time, the years passed differently compared to how they did before. In that distant past, Odysseus would still have been sailing the seas. In this new one, he would make up for ten years away from his family instead of twenty. 

 

He would spend time with Telemachus, training him on the occasions Athena did not. Odysseus would also spend time with Penelope, both of them unashamed in their public displays of affection. Oftentimes, Telemachus would make faces and complain that his mother and father were being embarrassing, to which Odysseus and Penelope would respond with a laugh. 

 

She would watch as he, Polites, and Eurylochus — both of whom did not die as they did in the past — still spoke and spent time together hunting in the woods or lounging in the gardens as they had as children.

 

Odysseus was there to witness Telemachus’ eleventh birthday and his twelfth. And nearly twenty-five years after Athena had first come back to the past on the evening of Telemachus’ thirteenth, Odysseus would silently gesture for her to follow him from where she stood, perched on the window as an owl to the gardens outside. 

 

“Should you not be inside spending time with your son?” She asks, as they sit under a tree and maintain the position they have had for years, with Odysseus lying next to her. 

 

“Ctimene is busy showering him with affection; I'm sure he will do well without me for a few minutes,” Odysseus shrugs before turning to her, eyes filled with a hint of curiosity. 

 

Athena raises an eyebrow. “Why did you call for me?” 

 

“Can I not speak to my goddess?” Odysseus teases. 

 

“Well, I find that you should be spending this moment with your son. So why?” Athena prompted. 

 

Odysseus hesitated for a moment before his gray eyes met her own, and he said: “Because you look at him the same way you look at me.” 

 

Athena did not know how to respond. “And how do I look at you, Odysseus?” 

 

“Like you are grieving for a man who is long dead,” Odysseus says.

 

Athena does not respond, sitting there, eyes staring at nothing in particular, and thinks of words that she would come to regret spilled in anger, a confession to Telemachus, a cry of her name on the edge of Oogyia’s cliffs, and the weary voice of a man who no longer wanted anything to do with her. (Though she knew the latter was fair). 

 

She stares at that man now, different, but still the same, whose eyes were warm and curious and worried and held all of the emotions that she did not deserve from him after all she had done. 

 

“Athena? Why are you crying?” Is what Odysseus asks next. Athena blinks and realizes her eyes are filled with tears.

 

She leans back against the tree, draws in a shaky breath, and tells him. She tells him, under the twinkling stars of the night sky, of a world where they had argued on the island of Cyclopes, tells him of a world where she abandoned him for her hubris, a world where he is forced to sacrifice his crew, where he spent seven years imprisoned by the hands of a goddess, where he faced the wrath of the earth-shaker, where he returned to his palace desecrated by suitors, where he returned home a changed man who rightfully hated her for abandoning him. 

 

She tells him and finally allows the weight that had been pressing on her chest for more than two decades to lift, even if it was in the slightest, and wonders if he would hate her as she finally reveals the truth, nearly twenty-seven years after she had felt the hands of a clock reverse. She finishes and stays silent as he does the same, she finishes and wonders if his next words would be ones expressing his anger and hatred. 

 

So she watches and waits and wonders if she will finally receive the hatred that she no doubt deserves and dreaded for all of these years. 

 

“So that better world you spoke of is this one,” Odysseus said, his voice kept carefully neutral. He shifts, turning to face her, but Athena keeps her eyes averted, unable — or perhaps too cowardly, — to meet his. “If that previous world exists,” Odysseus continues, “It is far from the one we are in now, and you managed to rectify it.” 

 

There is another pause. 

 

“I cannot resent you for a past that never occurred, Athena.” And Athena notes that his eyes are soft as he says it once she has finally regained the courage to look at him again. Athena looks at him through the blur of tear-filled eyes and wonders how she had ever let this man suffer. “Do you regret returning?” He asks.

 

“No. Never.” Athena responds. 

 

“Then why do you weep, my goddess?” He teases gently.

 

And Athena, for all her regret, does not halt the small smile that tugs at her lips. “Thank you,” she whispers.

 

There is suddenly a call of “Father!” from the hall, and they both turn around with a start and return to celebrating Telemachus’ birthday. 

 

_________

 

Odysseus would lie under a tree, fall silent when tears spill over bright gray eyes, listen to his goddess' story, listen to a past he found incomprehensible, and would then learn to understand why she looked at him with such relief that night as he set sail for the city of Ismarus. 

 

He would listen, and learn to understand and string together the dreams that he was handed those years in the Trojan battlefield.

 

________

 

 

Odysseus is thirty-seven when he tells her that Penelope is once again with child, and she congratulates him. She speaks to Telemachus about becoming an older brother, would see excitement light his eyes, listen to his worried ramblings about how to be a good older brother, and would answer “you will be,” without a doubt in the world. 

 

She watches as Odysseus has similar ramblings only to roll her eyes in a tease and assure him: “You will be,” with the same certainty she offered Telemachus. Months later, she would watch as Odysseus paced around the hallway outside of their bedchambers where Penelope was giving birth, sending panicked prayers to Eileithyia and reassuring him despite her teasing. 

 

The child is born a boy, with his mother’s dark hair and his father’s face but with his mother’s eyes, and they give him the name Poliporthes, as requested by Laertes, as well as a testament to his father, who is still titled sacker of cities. She watches as Odysseus is present to experience his son crawl and take his first steps in the way he was not able to do so for Telemachus. 

 

Telemachus’ first words had been ‘mama,’ babbled reverently to Penelope. 

 

Poliporthes’ first words were an excited babble of ‘papa!’ between giggles while held in Odysseus' arms. 

 

Days later in Ithaca’s gardens, the greenery bathed in sunlight, Odysseus would hold out the baby for her to hold. Athena would not hesitate to take him in her arms as she had taken Telemachus all those years ago. She would hold their second child and would not hesitate to smile.

 

Odysseus is forty when he tells her that Penelope is pregnant with a third child. And she once again congratulates him and still teases his panic as he paces the halls months later, sending frenzied prayers under his breath and ordering sacrifice to be made to Artemis, Eileithyia, and any other god of childbirth he could think of.

 

Their third child is born a girl, the opposite of Telemachus, with Penelope's dark hair, her soft face, and Odysseus' gray eyes. They would name the baby Anticlea after his mother, who in this world, is alive to meet the granddaughter who bears her name. 

 

Odysseus requests for Athena to hold the baby as she had done with Telemachus and Poliphortes, with their two sons over her shoulder, marveling as they stare at the sleeping face of their younger sister. In the corner, Odysseus and Penelope would watch with smiles on their faces.

 

He would witness his daughter crawl, and walk, and babble her first word: ‘Thena’ in the presence of the goddess whom it was meant for. Athena would shoot Odysseus a mock glare when he would tease her for the tears that clouded her eyes — though he would also know and sympathize with the deeper reason behind them that only the two of them shared.

 

Odysseus is forty-three when he, Penelope, and his three children make their way down to the shores of Ithaca, filled with sand and stone that were drowned by the waves every few minutes. In another world, he would have been forty-three when he returned to his palace desecrated, sacked like the ruins of Troy. In this world, he would smile as bright as the sun with his children at his heels and would still run up to her when she revealed herself. 

 

In this world, there were several days of gold that Athena would take and treasure for as long as the earth spun and the cosmos would remain.

 

There would still be nights where she dreamed of a long-forgotten past, and there were still times where she would flinch at her father’s voice and there would still be days where she would watch Ithaca’s royal family and wonder if it was all truly real. There were still days where she would look at the man she had failed in more ways than one and think that it would have been fair, perhaps better, if he would have hated her, days where a past long forgotten would still tear at her chest and refuse to release her heart from its claws. 

 

During those days, she and Odysseus would sit in the garden with her lying by her side, and he would echo sentiments of: That world is not this one, and you did all you could to rectify the mistakes you made in the past. With his warm gray eyes that she still oftentimes felt she did not deserve, and would forever thank the fates for as long as she lived that those eyes were still gray and not red.

 

But despite all of that, Athena would watch their family run and play along the shores of Ithaca and would not hesitate to smile. She would grow closer to Odysseus’ children and would learn of the traits and desires they held that were similar to those of their father and mother: weaving, carving, hunting, fighting. 

 

“They are all so similar to you,” she would muse to Odysseus, sitting against a tree, watching as Telemachus ran around with Poliphortes and Anticlea, the older boys were faster than their sister, but they would still patiently wait as she ran as fast as she could with her toddling legs. “Though there are things I am certain they all inherited from Penelope,” she adds. 

 

Odysseus raises an eyebrow. “And that is?’

 

“Reason and common sense,” she replies, a teasing smirk on her lips. Odysseus only let out an amused huff and smiled as bright as the rays of Helios.

 

Athena would sit, and wait, and watch his children, and would not hesitate to smile. She would allow herself to think that perhaps, after all, they would be fine. 

Notes:

Now to answer the question: Was Kronos actually involved in reversing time? Well the answer to that is up to interpretation. (Also known as: the author couldn't think of a good explanation)

Technically, the crew should have gone to Ismarus before they went to the Lotus island, but I wanted to incorporate a small open arms cameo, so they went to the winions first.

Personally, if I were transported back in time, I would still grieve for the previous timeline, even if it was a bad one. Plus, it would be hard to have memories that you KNEW were real that nobody else seemed to have, so this is how imagined Athena to feel.

According to Pseudo Apollodorus, Poliphortes WAS a child of Odysseus and Penelope, but Anticlea is completely made up for this fic.

I cannot express how much I enjoyed writing this story. (I'm a slow writer and I wrote this in three days, genuinely impressed with myself). I hope you enjoyed! Comments are not obligated, of course, but they would still be heavily appreciated! :))

Notes:

Ephedrismos is an old game in ancient greece, similiar to piggy back riding

Eurycleia is Odysseus' nursemaid in the Odyssey

Mytikas is the highest point of mount Olympus

There is a questionable timeline between The Judgement of Paris and The Kidnapping of Helen, so I'm just gonna act as if Achilles was born before Peleus' ceremony otherwise it would overcomplicate things.

There are two versions of Palamedes' trickery. In one version, he places Telemachus in front of Odysseus plow, and Odysseus would have ran him over if he truly was mad. In another, he held Telemachus at knifepoint (which was the one I chose)

I had trouble for thinking of ways to prevent and still continue the events. Eris' apple and the oath to Helen fell rather flat in my opinion, though I couldn't think of better excuses honestly

A lot of this fic draws inspiration from small aspects of other fics, such as "you can rest when you are dead and not a moment before" read that line in another fic and loved it so much

Of course I had to squeeze in small portions of Zeus and Athena's relationship. I find them so interesting honestly.

Chapter two will cover the Trojan war and Athena preventing most of the Odyssey!