wonderingprince

[wonderingprince]

Telemakhos accepted this information with furrowed brow. He couldn't work out why she would warn him, but then he's not sure why the wine would be drugged in the first place.

And he wasn't sure he had much control over himself in the first place, but forgetting his sorrows---- hm. That's more tempting, but clearly the princess was warning him for a reason.

"Thank you for the warning," and then, with a smile, "and the wine."

"I apologise if I stole your hiding spot," he added, sheepish but still smiling. He looks back out to the dark sky, the unfamiliar buildings and landscape around him, but still framed by the same stars he's spent so many nights staring at.

A little more gravely, "Or if my presence has stirred up unwelcome memories."

Telemakhos is desperate for every story, every scrap of information about his father, but he is aware that the war could not have been as glorious, nor his father so shining as Menelaos insists. The war had quite literally torn this family apart; Telemakhos at least has had his mother, both of Hermione's parents had been at Troy.

Hermione heard the hesitation in her cousin’s voice. She’d noticed the startled look on his face upon her arrival, to which the princess reacted with a silent, gentle chuckle. The sight would have made her laugh as a child, but the time for that was past. The years had made her diligent in performing the proper role of a hostess, particularly in her mother’s absence, and it made her mindful of not embarrassing her guests in such a way. Nonetheless, Telemakhos struggled with his words. That, perhaps, was the greatest sign of his own father’s disappearance, if the stories they told about Odysseus and his eloquence were true.

Or perhaps it was just the burden of never living up to a notorious parent. The kind that takes personal experience to recognize. “The wine is infused with Egyptian poppy”, said Hermione, “and other more… mystical elements.” Her tone had a careful, forbidding nature, as though to imply: don’t ask more about that. “It can make you forget all your sorrow, but you’ll lose control of yourself.”

With that, she offered him the cup that she’d been holding. Hermione had picked it up from the kitchen on her way to the balcony. She had been planning to enjoy it alone with the moon and the stars, but Telemakhos happened to be there – and he looked like he needed it far more than her. “This one’s clean”, she told him.

[wonderingprince]

Subconsciously he's bracing himself for judgement, or perhaps even disappointment, but he can't read anything like that in his father's expression. That easy acceptance feels almost worse in the face of his own guilt, feels like something he doesn't deserve.

For some reason, this is what makes the tears break closer. There is a lump in his throat. A hitching breath in his chest. He tries to suppress it--- he has cried enough for his father already. But that doesn't stop the well from bubbling up inside. "I'd like that." His voice is choked, but he manages to make the words clear. Intentional.

No amount of wishing will bring back the lost years they could have had. There is nothing that can erase the fear of living under constant threat, or the ache of being unable to picture his father. The loneliness of a childhood spent waiting.

But perhaps it is enough to sit here beside him and know that his father will be here if he cries. It is enough that Telemakhos no longer has to bear the weight of worrying about what will happen to his mother.

"I did miss you," he adds, fiercely, because he doesn't know if he made that clear enough, and he suddenly needs him to know.

Penelope is no more a goddess than he is a god. Like him, she is tired and in need of relief, of someone to confide in. What Telemakhos means by his heartfelt declaration is quite different, of course, but Odysseus' mind insists on it, anyway. She is a woman. They are still mortals, and they need time. Whether they need than they've been given remains to be seen.

"She knows me," he says simply. It's the most unadorned truth that he can confess to. Who else can he say that about? And if he doubted her, if he knew her less well than he should have—they have talked about it between themselves.

There will always be some conversations their son is not privy to.

But Odysseus started this one by acknowledging that doubt is easier than faith, and it is all right; there is no explanation or expiation needed. He gives a firm stroke down to the nape of Telemakhos' neck.

"So will you."

[wonderingprince]

He smiles slightly. Telemakhos is well used to being judged on his parents' merits rather than his own; he sat in his father's shadow his entire life. It doesn't bother him. He's found that it's useful to be underestimated. To let people see what they want to see. You can learn a lot about a person like that. And it gives him the element of surprise.

"There's not a whole lot of benefit to observing strangers." Not unless you're searching for someone, of course, but Ben keeps his eyes peeled and his ears open, and tries not to spend every waking moment looking for people he might have once known. It's not worth the frustration, or disappointment.

It goes without saying that if he had the ability to spot reborn souls, he would pay more attention. Nevermind that it would no doubt still be an exercise in frustration, given the millions of years of human history up against him.

He hopes what Ganymede says means that he would know his parents, if he stumbled across them. Well, as long as they wanted to be found. Telemakhos is sure that he never did manage to fully match his parents' cunning. But the thought of crossing paths with his family and not realising, never realising, is something of a recurring nightmare he has.

But that's a personal dilemma Ganymede certainly doesn't need the details of.

"Perhaps not obvious, but better than stumbling around completely blind," is what he answers eventually, after a moment of consideration. "Don't worry, I was just curious. I'm not looking for a rebirth detector. I think that would get me more trouble than it's worth."

"A little, though I've always found it relaxing," Ganymede agrees, but the smile is amused. "Probably a good thing - it helped at least a little for the couple years I watched sheep. But I wouldn't have thought the son of Odysseus would consider it as a waste of time to observe people, to find out as much as possible about them."

He's teasing, and makes no attempt to hide that he is doing exactly that.

"As for reborn souls... I don't know how it looks to others," he says, teasing lightless laid aside for a thoughtful little frown. "I wouldn't be able to sit on Olympus and see such a thing. It has to be close. But it's like a certain weight, I suppose, to the person. And if I've met someone before, and talked to them, I can tell it's the same soul, who they were the first time, reborn. I think, if I hadn't been alive for as long as I have, it'd be more difficult."

Sipping on his chocolate, Ganymede's gaze goes a little unfocused as he thinks, then looks back to Ben, shrugging.

"When I'd first come to Olympus, I couldn't see anywhere without divine aid. After a little while, I could use a surface - a mirror, calm liquid, for example - and see down into the mortal world. So it's probably both practice and something reborn souls accrue by being reborn and living again. Does that count as obvious?"

Hard to know, after all, what Ben means by that. Obvious to a god wouldn't be the same as obvious to a mortal with no other skills and abilities mortals usually have, all else being equal.

[wonderingprince]

Perhaps it would be more embarrassing to have been born in the 2000s if it wasn't his second go around. After all, in terms of age, it's not like Telemakhos is far behind Odysseus and Chiron, not when you account for the thousands of years between them and the oldest camper here.

His eyes fall to the knot of white scar on his inner thigh, brow furrowing. He's seen the scar before, of course, but it's hard to recall the exact shape and size from a dusty, decades-old memory.

The story itself, he is of course, more familiar with. He'd heard it from his grandparents long before he ever heard it firsthand from his father. Unfortunately for the man in front of him, and the ache in Telemakhos' heart, it's also a story described reasonably accurately by Homer. With no further details offered, he's still lacking the solid proof he was looking for.

"That sounds like a lot to deal with when you're twelve," he says, as thoughtfully as he can, doing his best to act like he doesn't have any understanding of such an experience, no sir, not him. Ben's memories hadn't worked like that anyway, they'd drifted back to him in dribs and drabs, feelings and glimpses that he couldn't make sense of. The older he'd got, the more dreams and nightmares he'd had, until that awful week a couple of years ago when everything had come to a head. Those nightmares had been the worst he'd ever had, but in the morning, cold and covered in sweat, at least his memories had finally made sense again.

Which is significantly less dramatic than life-threatening injuries to under-supervised children, but then he never really did live up to his father's dramatics like that.

He drags the toe of his shoe in the dusty earth at their feet, losing himself in the depth of his thoughts.

"Is everything Homer wrote true then?" he asks eventually, instead of the thousand and one questions he really wants to ask.

Cheeky. "Chiron has been running his hero day camp since before I said my first word. I should tell him you said that." If they're so old, where's their respect? "You were born... when, the 2000s? Isn't that embarrassing?"

Nodding, he notches the wood, shaves a few thin slices off. It's a fair point. Demigods conflicted about their parents? Must be Tuesday.

He asked Lord Dionysos how. (He's too old-fashioned for calling him Mr. D. It doesn't feel right.) A straight answer would have been nice, if far-fetched. Maybe that some god or other brought him back for a specific purpose. That he has a curse to expiate. Or even that he chose to leave Elysium for another chance at renown, though he never expected to be one of the heroes who would. He still doesn't really believe it.

Quoth Lord Dionysos: Who do I look like, Clotho? Sometimes there are twists of fate, and mortals like you call them miracles.

And: I have actual bratty kids to babysit. If you want something, why don't you ask Athena?

So Odysseus prayed to Athena.

Again.

And again, and again...

"Didn't I?"

The knife takes another notch out, and the block starts to resemble an owl, rather than anything useful.

"When I was a kid—twelve years old—I was working this summer job. I was too young for it, but I didn't have even the kind of supervision you get here, which is saying something. I had an accident. Fell off a ladder into a metal fence, and gashed open my leg from thigh to calf."

He shifts slightly in his seat, showing the white tail of knotted tissue.

"It's the copy of a scar I once received on Mount Parnassos, when my grandfather took me on the hunt. I was the first of my cousins to rush the board, my spear in my hand, and when I struck, so did the boar's tusk." Closing his eyes for a moment, he presses his thumb lightly to the scar. "Feeling it again—it ripped open something in my mind. And I remembered."

[wonderingprince]

It makes something ache in his chest, that this stranger expects no kindness. It makes sense, he supposes, for a man who fought ten years in a hard, cruel war and then faced worse horrors outside of the battlefield. Or perhaps, Telemakhos considers, it speaks to the man he is---- a man who has become a mercenary, stuck in a cycle of seeking gold and fortune rather than return home to his family.

But is it not kindness, to offer help to Ithaka's prince for nothing more than the memory of a man he once fought beside? Even if that's not the man's sole motivation, and he's sure it's not, it's still something. Something more than Eperitus allows for himself.

In the moment of silence that follows, Telemakhos thinks of excusing himself from the conversation, to check on their course and give their guest a moment of peace before he re-engages him about possible strategies. But he hesitates to do so, and then Eperitus is speaking again and----

Ah. He really should have escaped when he could.

"Should he have put to sea and left his mother alone and unsupported in the palace?" he counters quietly, as though that very question hasn't been niggling at him ever since he left.

"The prince is..." He falters. What do people think of him? He knows what the suitors think. What his mother and grandfather say. The grand, welcoming words of Nestor and Menelaos. He even knows what a goddess thinks of him, at least a little. But he has no idea what his men think of him.

"He's young. And inexperienced." Telemakhos shrugs. "Perhaps not unlike myself."

He is careful not to catch anyone's eyes. There is no contradiction or murmur around them. And their voyage together has been short, if troubled, but not once has Telemakhos heard a man scoff at his orders, or mutter behind his back. He hasn't realised until now, and it fills him with something like pride for these men. They have behaved as nothing but loyal Ithakans, and he thinks now that he is the one wrong to doubt them. To doubt the belief they have in him.

And perhaps, if he shows a little belief in them, it will guilt anyone who is thinking otherwise into staying loyal.

"Every man here," he says, more strongly, "volunteered for this mission when asked. I think that says something, don't you?"

His smile turns grave, but there's an inquisitive quirk in his brow. "It isn't a small kindness."

Is it?

The fiction he's created is a world-weary man, studied in hardship. Much of it self-inflicted. So not a far role. It's always easier to play cynical than innocent, even when he was younger. Both the true and the false castaway have seen more terrors and cruelties than—basic human decency, the captain says, as if anyone could rely on it.

But it's been seven years. Since he spoke to another mortal. Seven years. He has been out of the world almost as long as he was at Troy, and more of it spent in hopeless longing than in doing the kind of work he needed. Seven years since he was on a ship, moving toward anything. Seven years crashing over him as he watched the surf roll into Ogygia's sands. Nothing could have moved Kalypso but the word and divine will of Zeus, and nothing did.

All kindness to strangers is god-sent.

Enough of that. Odysseus shakes off the thoughts that threaten to pull him into melancholy. He's close, now. Idle hands won't be his problem for much longer.

"Besides, it will do me good to fight for a cause again. No more of that 'sir.' Call me Eperitus."

The idea of rest calls to him, but he wants to keep talking. He's learned so little about Ithaka, other than a glimpse of its troubles. How can he ask about his wife and son, his father, without rousing suspicion?

He decides Telemakhos is the safest subject, for a confessed mercenary. The subject of his father has not yet come up, and he did not hide his tracks well at the mere mention of the queen.

"What is he like, your prince? What sort of man is he?" He needles, but only gently; how loyal are these men? "One who puts you out to sea without him?"

[wonderingprince]

He hadn't fully caught Hektor's muttered words--- but he gets enough of the tone to recognise the intention, at least. He doesn't smile, doesn't flinch. There's no indication that he's heard at all.

Ironically, it's the insult that has finally put him at ease. He's used to insults, after all, whether aimed at himself, his mother, his father. It's nothing he's not used to. He's not sure what it says about him, that he's more comfortable in a hostile environment than he is with the kind and hearty hospitality he'd received from Nestor and Menelaos, but whatever it is was only inevitable after the last few years.

Hektor is, of course, more intimidating that Antinous could ever dream of being, and that's without even trying. Of course Telemakhos is wary of him. What sane young man wouldn't be, if Achaean blood ran in his veins?

And yet the settling of his nerves gives Telemakhos the unhelpful desire to frustrate the king further by not giving him a straight answer. Would you be happier, he wants to demand, if I had brought my parents? Do you want Odysseus and Penelope standing in your halls? Would you have preferred my father's return to your gates? But he swallows his tongue and doesn't say any of that. A civil discussion. That's his aim. 

He has little doubt that Hektor's complaints are accurate. Telemakhos doesn't much care. Hopefully he will be the last Greek to come here because of a sworn oath. Perhaps after this uncomfortable business is all over, the Trojans will finally be left in peace.

Never mind that they had instigated this war.

Still, he nods graciously, his silence continuing as they walk as he considers how best to start his story.

"It was ill fortune indeed; one after another, for us on Ithaka and for my father. When word first came, more than ten years ago now, that the war was over, we hoped to see my father and his black ships home within the year. But the months passed, and then the years, and still they did not come. My mother and I kept faith, of course, but there were more than enough who doubted. Who believed my father dead somewhere, drowned in storms or perhaps killed by a great monster. They wished that death upon him because they saw an opportunity. A palace without a king and my mother without her husband."

His confidence grows as he continues to talk, words falling into place naturally. He glances across at Hektor once but otherwise can't help the way his gaze continues to bounce around. There's more to see around every corner; they could already have completed a tour of Ithaka's palace in this time.

"I was still a boy when the first suitors arrived; my grandfather still wept for my grandmother, and there was nobody else left to stop them. More came every month until over a hundred men swarmed our home each day, waiting for my mother to marry one of them. She refused them, but they would not leave. They settled instead, to wait, hoping to pressure us, assuming we would give in eventually. This would have been uncomfortable enough if they had been courteous guests, but they were not. They lived a life of luxury at our expense, and were shameless in their ill-intentions towards us. Even when I grew to match them in height I could do little to stop them. I was but one against a hundred. Only my father could stop them, and in the end it took ten years for his return. You might imagine that the peace on Ithaka was uneasy, for a while, after he took his revenge, even after the Gods themselves swore us to it."

"And yet the poison drips through," murmurs Hektor, quiet enough to be misheard.

The eye contact between Telemakhos and Polyxena only lasts a few moments, but that is long enough for Hektor to have warned the prince of Ithaka what direction it's likely to go. Her face remains blank until the prince turns away from her, and then her hackles rise like a hissing cat's.

Breaking from Kassandra, she lets the crowd swallow her up again.

Polyxena is the youngest of his mother's daughters. A woman grown now, but being their little sister is a condition that lasts lifelong. She has a sweet disposition and a kind heart. At times he has seen her smile in much the same way—shy of others, shy of her own pleasure. But little though she is, sweet as she can be, she's more lioness than tame cat.

The shock will wear off. She'll recover her grace. And he promises in his heart to speak with her the first moment he can.

Hektor leads the prince out walking slightly ahead, his hands clasped behind his broad back. It's good to be out-of-doors and moving. The sun glints off the gold ornaments in his braids and his scarred shoulders.

The prince's youth is even more obvious at close range. He can't be much older than twenty; he called himself a babe in arms when the war began, and that may well be true. All Hektor knows for certain is that he wasn't old enough for the first round of marriages at the war's end. Polyxena was. If barely. Another of their father's decisions.

But that he is young doesn't make him a fool. He looks at the city with quick, bright eyes, and Hektor is sure he's trying not to miss a stray brick. Whatever models of behavior he's had in absence of his father, there is that caution. His account of his—roundabout—journey to Troy paints a better picture of why, though it's incomplete.

Hektor knows more than Telemakhos has hinted at, but not nearly enough about the king's return.

He offers a point of correction.

"Odysseus did more than agree to a treaty." Preferring to speak plainly, Hektor drops some of his formality, but his manner isn't any more welcoming. "Few hands were heavier in drawing it up than his. Examining each detail to be sure no man would be sent home without something to show for ten years laying siege to women and children, like my honored sister."

Hektor doesn't pause for reactions, but he watches them. They pass into a shaded walkway, leafy plants hanging from a trellis above them.

"He would not swear to any terms until they satisfied him in every particular. We were forced to believe that some ill fortune must have befallen your family, to have kept you from fulfilling them."

One might well ask the question: divine intervention on whose behalf?

"Word of his return did not reach us ahead of you, prince of Ithaka. Perhaps you would be willing to shed more light on the last ten years—and the state of your house. We've waited a long time."

[wonderingprince]

Telemakhos never had a brother, he cannot relate to the warm, fond smile that he sees across from him. he looks happy, talking of his family. It reminds Telemakhos of Peisistratus, at home with his family on the beaches of Pylos, carefree and confident.

That's a good memory. It's at least better than remembering his own lonely childhood.

As a youth he'd wondered often what it would be like to grow up with siblings, but that daydream had been so dependent on the dream of his father returning that he'd never been able to give it any serious thought. But the way this young man speaks makes that old dream surface, and he considers, not for the first time, a world where his father didn't go to war, or returned sooner, and there's a new baby, a baby his father could see grow up. Telemakhos' smile turns bittersweet, but he has, at least, as a balm, the very real memory of placing his child in his father's arms.

The mountainside this young man points out is hardly the uneven, rocky land that Telemakhos loves so dearly, but even so, just the suggestion of being on more familiar territory is enough to put him more at ease. All that's missing, perhaps, is the distant crashing of waves and the salty sea breeze.

Maybe he could wish it into being. But he does not miss it so badly yet, and he doesn't want to take away from the beautiful meadow scene that this man clearly fits into so comfortably. He'd prefer to see how this plays out.

"This is a taste of whichever land you call home?" he asks, waving a hand around them idly. It is beautiful, but that's only to be expected, here.

"I explored many places in my youth, but nothing ever compares to that one place you call home. I suppose even Elysium must understand that. That even here we can get homesick."

"Sometimes we all need that," Paris agrees with a nod. "Whether or not we enjoy spending a lot of time among people, family or not."

More so for those who don't enjoy it, Paris has noticed. Not a problem he has ever had, really; a crowd was like a drink of water when one was thirsty. But he'd always enjoyed the hours, days, weeks, he'd spent among the cattle on the mountain, too. Had been able to realize how much more he enjoyed it after there was some choice in it, finding out how much more a royal herder might have access to than one who was a slave.

Sometimes, though, no matter how much he loved his family, loved spending time in the middle of them or a crowd of others, he simply had to go elsewhere.

Not that doing so here in Elysium was for quite the same reasons as it had been while he was alive, but - small differences.

"My older brother."

The smile is unconscious and warm, fondness and, perhaps, a little bit of relief that Hektor hadn't just wanted him back with both him and the rest of their family to just have him there, a complete set, to hunt him down the once. It's happened a couple more times, since then.

"One of my little sisters, too, as well another brother that I have, and my mother. More than enough."

Especially when he hadn't been sure even those he'd been closest with might want to see him again here. Which wasn't something he was going to lay out plain to Polyxena as long as he could help it, or she might be very wroth with him.

"What I really like," Paris adds softly with a glance around the clearing," is that even the landscape itself reveal some spot that might look like something you left behind and were missing."

Elysium has no mountains, as such. Yet this clearing, with a little cliffy edge off to one side and the way the meadow is on an incline and the flowers all ones he would only expected to see on a mountain, could indeed be mistaken for a mountain meadow.

[wonderingprince]

"I suppose expressing that concept in architecture would really be a challenge," he muses. "That's kind of the only creative art I really have talent in." And anyway, his interest in architecture leans more towards the practical than the artistic. But it does sound like the kind of bullshit meaning one of his professors likes to apply to buildings. "But I suppose if you say that a building reflects the designer, then a guy on a straight path would build a house that reflects that. But that's probably how you end up designing motels."

Yes, he could give that particular architecture professor a run for his money with the bullshit, if he wanted.

"But yeah," he agrees anyway, hand rubbing at the back of his neck, "I wouldn't know either."

Odysseus isn't convinced, but then, he only pretends to have all the answers.

"Guess I wouldn't know, when it comes to that." He's not a good man or a straight traveler, and it won't be hell that embraces him at the end—he can be sure enough of his underworld, even if he doesn't remember any more of it than he saw at the threshold, in his first life. That, he could never forget. And so he notices the little stutter.

Smiling at the idea that he needs another challenge, he lifts a brow. "Or for you. Don't lose track of your ideas; someday you might want to see what comes of them."

[wonderingprince]

ben misses his father, definitely, but he knows how to live with missing his father. he knows how to grow up without a father. he misses his mother much more keenly, because last time he always had her but this time he doesn't, and it's so hard.

[wonderingprince]

“Chiron doesn’t look much older than you,” Ben answers with faux innocence. He’s a few years too old to pull it off flawlessly. “And he’s about as old as the gods, isn’t he?”

It’s not really an answer to his question, but fortunately Telemakhos is used to that. Expects it, almost. If he reads between the lines, he can perhaps decipher an experience the same as his own experience. But maybe he’s just projecting. It’s not enough to be sure.

His eyes follow the block of wood, map out the relaxed posture, the smile. The whole picture is making something ache in his chest. (It’s been so LONG since he saw his father. If this man is a fake, it’s too late to stop it hurting.)

“Is it?” he responds guilelessly. He rather thinks he was more interested in the how, actually. Asking why wouldn’t give him any useful information to compare to. He still doesn’t know his own why. “If I start asking why, I don’t think I’d stop until I’m questioning this… everything.” He gestures out at camp before them. “My mum is Athena.” His voice cracks a little on the name, betraying rather more complicated feelings than he was fully intending to. Oh well.

“And you didn’t really answer the question of how,” he points out, perfectly comfortable in calling him out, and much more comfortable returning to the subject of Odysseus than himself.

"Huh." A contemplative huff, as he leans back on one arm. "Maybe that's why my sock drawer keeps filling up with seawater."

Which of the usual questions will it be next? Odysseus doesn't have long to wait. Did this really happen? Did that really happen? How big was the Trojan horse? Why is your name so hard to spell?

Ah, that one. It's not just a camper question. They've been asking him that since the old days.

"Like Chiron? Is that a polite way of saying I look old?"

Odysseus is smiling. Ben seems less suspicious of him, but still nervous. Which is interesting; Camp Half-Blood specializes in problem kids with authority issues, largely immune to hero worship. He could be shy, Odysseus supposes.

"I am very far from immortal, and I didn't respawn like a monster. I'm alive the same way as most mortals, as it happens."

He was born, he lived, he died. Then he was born. He doesn't remember what happened in between. Odysseus understands, of course, that no one is truly brought into the world alone, but dying, he does remember—the strange peace of it, willingly hemmed in by those he loved.

He was reborn, as far as he knows, into nothing, loved by no one.

Odysseus picks up the block of wood, tossing it lightly and catching it again. From the corner of his eye, he watches Ben and gauges whether he's bored of this conversation and the non-answer already.

"But asking how is really asking why. Isn't that so?"

[wonderingprince]

He tries to imagine it---- his parents, his father, a man who in his mind's eye looks something like an older version of himself, or perhaps a younger version of his grandfather, splashing around in the water together. He imagines his mother smiling, laughing the way she does so rarely now. 

Sometimes he wants his father here so much it hurts. And not for himself, but for his mother. 

Telemakhos grins. "Have you ever caught a fish in your teeth?" he asks, a glint in his eyes. "To impress him? Or to spite him?"

Penelope smiles, unable to stop herself from chuckling. "We raced each other from the shore to an outcrop of rock," she tells him. "A fair distance, but a swift journey if one does not need to come up often to breathe. So, of course, when he finally caught up, sputtering and splashing, he sought an answer for his great loss." Not the most accurate or flattering description, but the fondness in Penelope's voice makes up for the slight dramatics. "The best he could come up with was that I was some sort of seal, though I think if I had caught a fish with my teeth, that would've been a far more entertaining victory. And I certainly had the time to, with how slow of a swimmer he was."

[wonderingprince]

Ben has been a bundle of anticipation for days now---- and now he relaxes, a little. Because if the guy had been upfront and honest from the word go, then he would have been suspicious. The joke, as it's probably meant to, even if not for the intended reason, sets him at ease.

"Yeah, Ben." A pause, and then, head tilting to the side, "does Poseidon appreciate the retelling of your victory and mutilation of his son on his feast day?"

It's not his cleverest comeback, but hey, give him a break. He's a teenager with very old, very adult memories. And this might be his Dad. He rubs his palms on his jeans and changes the subject. "Did you--- Um. This is probably an uh, inappropriate question, but how are you alive? Are you like Chiron?" Fishing for information. He knows, after all, that his father died. He'd been there. He'd burned his body. He remembers that day.

He never thought he'd see him again. Not outside of the Underworld.

Ben's eyes catch on the knife in the man's hands, and fond nostalgia curls his lips upwards. When his gaze lifts again, studying the man's profile, he realises suddenly just how much he wants this man to be his father.

He's used to that kind of yearning, at least. Last time he'd been this age, he'd only just been starting to wonder if his father was truly coming home.

@whinedarksea

Ben had spent his first summer at camp keeping his head down, which had been a great plan for learning the lay of the land, but not such a great plan when it came to getting answers. Not the answers he wanted, anyhow.

It's just easier to take things slow. Here he is Ben, son of Athena, one of many. But if they knew he was Telemakhos of Ithaka? That would change. He doesn't know if he wants that to change.

And finding out he was a demigod had made everything so complicated. Athena was his, well, his mentor. His friend. Now she's his mother? The kids in his cabin who have met her tell stories that feel unrecognisable. But maybe that's only to be expected. It has been thousands of years since they last met. He knows she sent him the invitation to camp, but now he can't help but wonder if that was just because this is where you send your halfblood kid if you're a god. Has she even been hearing his prayers? Does she even know that he's Telemakhos as much as he is Ben?

When he'd first come to camp, he'd been hoping for answers about his past, his parents. This demigod business is enough of a distraction that he doesn't find his answers until they smack him in the face. A camper, greeting a stranger across the dining pavilion. Odysseus, he calls. Ben looks up slowly, heart thudding as he watches the man respond. He can't tear his gaze away.

It can't be this easy, can it?

He waits for a week, watching, before his patience runs out. He hasn't seen any evidence that it's not his father. Nothing that gives the stranger away. But nothing is quite right in this new world of modern demigods, and if this man really is his father, he'll have to prove it.

When he sees Odysseus alone one evening Ben plops himself down next to him on the stone bench. He lets himself stare, and he let himself hesitate, and then he lets himself blurt out-- "Are you really Odysseus?"

Sometimes, being a thirteen year old kid is a really good disguise.

[wonderingprince]

Her question is reasonable. Unfortunately, it doesn't have a reasonable answer. Telemakhos rather thinks that mentioning that he travels with Athena will only succeed in making this woman question his sanity. He should probably just wait and see if she shows up before he opens his mouth and makes a fool of himself.

Because guessing if she will show up or not is impossible. Sometimes, Athena is very protective of him, threatening violence to those who would hurt him. At other times, she leaves him to find his own way out of his scrapes. She's a goddess, after all, her plans and desires are ineffable. And usually, Telemakhos doesn't mind that. He understands. But it does seem to often make his life more complicated than it needs to be. 

There are more lives at stake than just his. He needs to focus.

Telemakhos carefully, subtly, shifts his joints and tenses muscles, ascertaining that there are no other injuries. He digs his fingers into the ground beneath him, as if he can cling on to the earth itself. "Only my head," he answers after a moment, aware in the back of his mind that by how much his head hurts, he is lucky to be alive. It's a realisation that startles him into better awareness, restless energy that wasn't there before surging through his limbs.

"I set off from my men alone," he offers, voice barely audible, "they won't be looking for me anytime soon, I imagine." He actually has no idea how long they might consider waiting before they start searching, but he'd rather not provide false hope. He considers what she says, about two others; four of them in total. Grimaces. "No, they won't make it in time."

Four of them. Three of them young women. All unarmed. They're not the sort of odds Telemakhos likes. "Do you know how many men they have? Or how long your help might be?"

It would probably be easier to think of a plan if his head didn't ache quite so much. Maybe his plan should just be to listen to this woman. She seems more capable than him, right now.

As the stranger's dazed look clears, he takes in their surroundings. She doesn't know how much he can see, but his question shows presence of mind. Nausikaa breathes a prayer of thanks.

If she leans back or helps him to sit up, the motion might signal to the men that he's awake, and this conversation would end. She shoots Xantho and Lykaste a glance, wary of being overheard or hinting anything that will put them in more danger. Lykaste nods slowly, which Nausikaa takes to mean that they still have a moment to talk, if they're careful.

"I sent for help." They haven't dragged Chloris back or bragged about intercepting her, and that gives Nausikaa hope. By now she might have reached the city. They hadn't gone far—although Nausikaa may have misjudged what the distance is like on foot. The bandits have their wagon and mules. They've been taken further out now, and there are plenty of places to hide on the craggy coast. Still, she hasn't heard of a distance the dogs couldn't track across.

"That's all I can say. I have two more to look after."

Two more women. She can't say how useful it might actually be to have someone on their side who can wield a blade. Not that they have one at the moment. It could make everything worse, if he's stupid about it.

Her brow furrows as she searches his face, still supporting his head with one hand. He isn't Phaiakian; she's certain of that already, but he doesn't look as if he washed up from a shipwreck, either. Mixing practicalities with genuine worry, she asks, "Were you alone? Are you badly hurt?"

[wonderingprince]

Whoever is not against you is for you.

Somehow the man's words strike straight to the heart of the issue, the turmoil of trust and doubts he's been wrestling with. Maybe it really is that simple. Maybe he cannot trust or know this man's intentions, or motivations, but maybe that doesn't matter. It could truly be enough to know that he is not against him.

Similarly with his men, his crew. He cannot be entirely sure of their loyalty, but he knows that they are not against him, and that is enough.

That has to be enough.

He listens intently as the old soldier strategises. It would be easy to lock the doors without the suitors noticing; less easy, he thinks, to remove the weapons that line the hall. Telemakhos knows which among them are best with a sword, which have the most skill in archery. He has spent far too much time with these men, he knows them all far better than he wants to.

It almost startles him when the stranger talks about the prince as though he is not here; Telemakhos had been lost in thoughts of the battle that looms ahead, about to answer the man's questions, even. Now he bites his tongue to keep his mouth shut over details of the palace he, the captain of this ship, should not know.

This deception will not last. He knows that. But right now it feels safer to have such a shield to hide behind.

"I do not," Telemakhos answers honestly, and he smiles, softly, in return. "Such a small kindness, a basic act of human decency should not be enough for you to take up arms for our cause. But I cannot help but be grateful that it is. I can't help but feel that the tide is turning." The sun, indeed, is starting to peek out from behind grey clouds, the water sparkling in response. "If the gods put you in our path then I must thank them. It would have been a great loss, sir, if you had drowned alone at sea."

He seems so tired. If only his home wasn't under siege; Telemakhos wishes he could show him the true hospitality that Ithaka can offer. He wants to make him comfortable in their halls, but instead he must ask him to fight.

A grim report. No better than he deserves, perhaps, for returning without all those men who were old enough to go to Troy, brave enough to fight, strong or lucky enough to survive. Until they met with the journey home—with him. It's a fair question. No one is more acutely aware of how alone he is than Odysseus.

But if he is to get what he deserves, so will the vultures.

"Whoever is not against you is for you."

Though he may not have meant to, the captain has made it clear that too few are for them to turn even one away.

"I will need the lay of the land." He neither makes promises nor hedges; he's mapping already. Odysseus is still remembering how to talk to other human beings, but how to talk strategy of war, he can never forget. "It will depend on how well the men are armed, how quickly they could mount a defense... how many have seen battle."

They won't be soldiers. Who among them will have witnessed real bloodshed? Have any of them run a man through while he clasped their knees, when others were screaming and dying around them? Or is it only women, household slaves, and herders that they know how to terrorize?

"What are their habits? Where might they be hemmed in? He must be able to answer this, if he is to make ready for the return of the king. And I'll bend my thought to it." Odysseus levels a look at the captain. He watches him a moment, sighs through his nose, and smiles a tired—sincere—smile as he does. "It will be easier with a dry cloak and food in my belly; I can tell you that. My gratitude may seem a meager thing, but you do not know what this means to me."

[wonderingprince]

The idea of the gods wandering around this modern world and meeting in cafes feels so bizarre when he considers it. Perhaps it's different with Ganymede, who was at least once mortal, even if it was thousands of years ago. But the idea of bumping into Athena at the library, or Hermes at the post office makes this all feel like an insane dream. As if this modern world isn't crazy enough when he compares it to his old life.

"Is it obvious, then, to a god? There are signs of rebirth?" He wonders if it's only noticeable because he has his memories, or if Ganymede would still hbe here if he was simply Ben, ignorant of his soul's history. How noticeable is it? How easy would it be for a god to wonder the streets and find lost souls?

No, if it was that easy, Ganymede would probably have already mentioned it. He's been so apparently open and honest so far, Ben can't see him holding that information back.

And it's better not to get his hopes up.

He's done his own share of people-watching, of course, but hasn't that always been with intent? Years of sitting in his own halls, looking up at every stranger that came to the gate, searching for his father? doesn't he do it now, watching complete strangers for signs of his parents, his wife? He hasn't been searching for his parents, but doesn't he still look for them everywhere he goes?

"I usually get restless, sitting back and watching the world go by. But I suppose that's easier when you're immortal. It wouldn't feel like so much of a waste of time."

It's strange. He can imagine, if he tries, sitting around a firepit and sharing wine and meat with this man, this god who to any observers appears much the same age. Now they sit here, and the bond of remembering the world as it once was feels stronger than any he's made in this century. Ganymede might not have the answers that ben wants but he is a connection to that life, tangible and solid.

"Thank you."

Ganymede takes his second cup with a little smile, and hides the widening of it against the rim of his cup. Whatever it is Ben actually wants to ask, it's as likely to be connected what he asked instead as it might be unconnected, he's rather sure.

"Sometimes," he says, a little amused still. "They're good places to people watch, or to go out with friends, when we want to do that. Though I wasn't doing either, right now. Merely passing by when I noticed you."

Perhaps he had indeed had a hope that it might be someone from his own mortal family. Especially if it might have been one of his own brothers... But those from later generations, he would certainly want to meet again, too. If only for the chance to know that those during the war might have gotten a new chance, a calmer chance.

Elysium is a grace and a reward, and Ganymede wouldn't begrudge any of them if they should never choose to leave - it is their right - but.

That doesn't mean he doesn't hope, sometimes.

"But sitting somewhere and just watching people as they move in, around, and out of the place is pleasant. I've always liked to do that."

Not exhausted by being among people and not avoiding company, either. There was just so many things to see if one wasn't a part of the crowd itself. Both his father and Ilos used to say that would be very useful, later. The king could not see everything, after all.

[wonderingprince]

@whinedarksea

Ben had spent his first summer at camp keeping his head down, which had been a great plan for learning the lay of the land, but not such a great plan when it came to getting answers. Not the answers he wanted, anyhow.

It's just easier to take things slow. Here he is Ben, son of Athena, one of many. But if they knew he was Telemakhos of Ithaka? That would change. He doesn't know if he wants that to change.

And finding out he was a demigod had made everything so complicated. Athena was his, well, his mentor. His friend. Now she's his mother? The kids in his cabin who have met her tell stories that feel unrecognisable. But maybe that's only to be expected. It has been thousands of years since they last met. He knows she sent him the invitation to camp, but now he can't help but wonder if that was just because this is where you send your halfblood kid if you're a god. Has she even been hearing his prayers? Does she even know that he's Telemakhos as much as he is Ben?

When he'd first come to camp, he'd been hoping for answers about his past, his parents. This demigod business is enough of a distraction that he doesn't find his answers until they smack him in the face. A camper, greeting a stranger across the dining pavilion. Odysseus, he calls. Ben looks up slowly, heart thudding as he watches the man respond. He can't tear his gaze away.

It can't be this easy, can it?

He waits for a week, watching, before his patience runs out. He hasn't seen any evidence that it's not his father. Nothing that gives the stranger away. But nothing is quite right in this new world of modern demigods, and if this man really is his father, he'll have to prove it.

When he sees Odysseus alone one evening Ben plops himself down next to him on the stone bench. He lets himself stare, and he let himself hesitate, and then he lets himself blurt out-- "Are you really Odysseus?"

Sometimes, being a thirteen year old kid is a really good disguise.

[wonderingprince]

how’s everyone doing here? i saw the lightning thief musical at the weekend and my mind is still buzzing with it so if anyone wants a starter in one of my P.J.O verses hit the like button