#while any child they have would be Sundered and thus mortal | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

illegiblewords · 5 years

Text

Eclipse

Nabriales cannot sense aether to the degree that his Unsundered brethren can. It is but one of the many ways he falls short.

He tried to convince himself, for a time, that he’d been happy before his reminder. Before being raised back to the grace of Lord Zodiark. Being made aware of all that was missing.

A phantom pain he hadn’t been conscious of previously. The realization in hindsight not only that something was lost but the shape it should have held. Senses stolen. A limb severed.

The heart that has yet to beat again.

He aches every day to feel, to move the pieces of him that are absent. And in their absence his early memories have grown hollow and bitter.

A fool’s life.

He cannot see or speak to sundered beings like they matter. Like they share anything in kind. They are only what he once was, what he has learned to despise.

No, he cannot sense aether as the Unsundered can.

But Nabriales knows to pay attention, to snap at opportunity like the dog they consider him. To hunt, to be silent, and to strike.

***

When Lahabrea falls into their shelter on the shores of the Lifestream, Nabriales hears him. Starless skies and gray, barren earth. A horizon that seems to stretch in all directions.

He goes. He offers no aid and keeps his presence hidden.

Emet-Selch may yet sleep, oblivious. As is his wont. Still, if one such as he heard then it is only a matter of time before the Emissary arrives.

And oh, how Lahabrea suffers while he waits. It is clear to see the places light has shorn holes through his aether. Were he any weaker it would not matter that he remains unbroken—he’d have shattered just the same. Ascians may cast no shadows but my, do they bleed from the Speaker now.

Lahabrea does not stir to raise himself. From the way his essence flickers on occasion—fast and frantic and straining beyond itself—Nabriales presumes he fades into awareness at points. Then it subsides, and the darkness slips a little farther, and the wounds gape for its absence.

An ordeal in scant more than a few minutes, but then time does stretch for those in misery.

***

They tried, in the beginning, to explain. The three who’d escaped Hydaelyn unscathed. Amaurot the beautiful, Amaurot the dead. Their failed, fallen city. What must come to breathe again at any cost.

Privately, Nabriales could not give a damn. How should he? These were empty words and abstract notions. Zodiark, on the other hand, showed sympathy for how his own soul had been butchered. Revealed the glory he had been, once, and should become again. The disfigurement of the world itself.

Zodiark wanted to help them. Zodiark wanted to raise them in glory.

The Unsundered wanted lackeys.

This had been clear from the start, in the division between their ranks. Elite Ascians would lean on one another, confide in one another. Shield weaknesses and mistakes from sight. To those below they delivered orders and listened patiently without so much as an onze of trust. Igeyorhm, certain now that her own misstep was caused by a fractured soul, guaranteed as much.

For each of his own successes, Nabriales burns with the knowledge that his natural form would be many times as great. That he has been dulled and diminished. The irreverence he receives is nothing he can correct in this iteration.

And so he obeys not for them, but the one true god.

***

Elidibus steps from a plume like tar, the white of his robes an insult to their surroundings.

His attention is on Lahabrea and Lahabrea only. Whether this oversight is due to distraction or Nabriales’ skill is impossible to say. Good fortune, regardless.

Elidibus wastes no words, races to his fallen colleague and kneels. Hesitates, gloved hands hovering. Seemingly concerned that moving the man might exacerbate his injuries.

He makes contact. Begins his own rare and complex process of healing.

Slowly, agonizingly, what shadows had pooled like ichor around Lahabrea begin to retract. To patch what had been pierced, little by little.

Eventually a gasp, torn and ugly, interrupts the silence.

One black glove, slick with himself, clutches at Elidibus’ forearm.

Frail. Pathetic. Unworthy. Nabriales finds his lips curling in disgust as Lahabrea struggles to find his breath on the ground.

Like a mortal.

“How did this happen?” demands Elidibus, unwavering in ministrations though his voice remains flat and hard.

Lahabrea coughs. Lifts his head. “Hydaelyn,” he rasps. Then, “Weak, in… inexcusable. My doing.“

Ah, so he’s aware after all.

But Elidibus catches Lahabrea’s jaw sharply, draws his gaze up. “He,” says the Emissary, “would not have you regard yourself thus. Only learn.”

The Speaker’s grip is tight. Despite distance, Nabriales notes his trembling reaches Elidibus’ shoulder.

“Whose fault,” says Lahabrea, a raw edge to his words, “would this be if not… if not my own? It should have worked, I had… I had…”

A sigh as Elidibus leans his brow gently, carefully, against the wounded man’s.

Lingers there.

For a time, neither of them says anything. Nabriales finds himself stunned by both the gesture and an innate understanding that it remains beyond what he will ever receive.

“We are all of us,” says Elidibus in a tone that brooks no argument, “instruments of Zodiark. You know better than most what His strength entails.”

Slowly, Lahabrea’s grip begins to loosen.

“The Ardor,” Elidibus continues more quietly, “is not yours alone. Be at peace.”

Another moment passes. After a brief fumble, Lahabrea’s hand slides free. What tension remains to signify consciousness soon follows.

It is with great care then that the Emissary shifts him onto his back. Gathers his colleague in arms and stands. Exits through a corridor once more.

Following some moments spent with his own silent reflection, Nabriales departs as well.

***

All the world knows when Allag’s eikons start to wake.

Scarce days from his retrieval, Lahabrea summons the Sundered in prayer and praise to Zodiark.

All of them present save Emet-Selch and Elidibus. It is a show, Nabriales understands now, meant to impress the little puppets who aspire to be like him. To soothe his own ego. Something his friends would catch in an instant.

But he does love Zodiark, and perhaps the god has seen fit to reward his observance with further insight.

So Nabriales attends to play his role with solemn grace and watchful eye.

Half-mended aether. Absent smile despite the news. Slow, careful movements in this dark chamber with its stone floors and unadorned columns.

No, Lahabrea has not forgotten at all.

***

It ends at Elidibus’ untimely arrival.

“Lord Zodiark,” he says, so smoothly that were he not searching for it that the anger would be undetectable, “appreciates your attentions.” His gaze does not waver from Lahabrea as he speaks. “But there is work to be done and I’m afraid there are words I would have with your Speaker.”

They disperse.

Nabriales, careful and curious, folds himself out of sight beyond the chamber then makes his way back to its edge.

Lahabrea, farthest from the exit, attempts to steal some small dignity. Turns to face Elidibus.

The Emissary makes him wait. Expressionless red masks matched by those who wear them.

Then, with more speed and force than typical for his demeanor, the Emissary closes distance to trap his colleague against the wall.

“It was my error,” hisses Elidibus, leaning in, “to have stayed silent upon rescuing you. A mistake I will remedy now, so we can be on no uncertain terms.”

Lahabrea lowers his eyes. Nabriales notes that despite the dread they all share of such reprimands, the man does not brace.

“You know as well as I that these words offer less succor to our Lord than action,” continues Elidibus, his fury quiet and no less sharp for that, “just as we both know your thoughtless action is the cause of repeated missteps these past centuries. Make no mistake—for all the strides you’ve made, your fixation and your impatience have cost the rest of us considerable time.”

Silence.

“Do you truly think this is your best service to Him?” asks Elidibus. “To us? Compromising your ability to fill the hours? Even Emet-Selch agrees these displays are disgraceful. You have ever borne them poorly, but being a 'paragon among paragons' naturally you continue ignoring your own better judgment with ours to continue this exercise in futility. Idiot.”

A twitch of the head. Almost a flinch.

It is one of few moments Nabriales has seen the Emissary express his anger so openly. Even after the Thirteenth fell to Igeyorhm’s error, Elidibus allowed the Angel of Truth to lead and voiced his own reproach with a more typical icy demeanor. Scathing though it was.

“I can be of use,” says Lahabrea softly. “Only three of us remain, and I—“

“You,” Elidibus snaps, “cannot follow the most simple instructions for the good of us all. Not for Him, not for Amaurot, not even for yourself. Your pride has made you not simply an embarrassment but a liability.”

Neither man speaks for several moments after that.

And then, at length, Elidibus exhales.

Says the Speaker’s name.

Receives his attention.

“What would you have me do?” the Emissary asks. His tone now is almost weary. “Clearly it would be unreasonable to trust you’d simply listen. Must I mind you like a child?” This is what breaks Lahabrea’s composure.

Knowing the man’s temper, Nabriales had expected him to lash out. Even on the back foot their orator is perfectly capable of defending himself from insults.

Instead, he embraces Elidibus fiercely—face just within the bounds of his pauldrons. Jaw locked shut firmly enough to hurt. Expression downcast.

Elidibus remains perfectly still at first. In the absence of conversation it is possible to hear the rush of Lahabrea’s breathing. Only through the nose, withheld briefly between each inhale as if that offers some means to steady himself.

As if that would make it better.

Tentatively, Elidibus holds him back. Lahabrea's fingers contract, and though he remains upright when his knees begin to give it is the Emissary who helps him kneel.

“Easy,” he murmurs, and Lahabrea removes one hand to run it reflexively over his face—coming against the mask.

Nabriales finds himself staring, searching. A puzzle with missing pieces whose image he may yet divine

“It was not,” says Lahabrea roughly, “my intention to…”

Elidibus reaches beneath the other man’s cowl, finds the hair and skin beneath. Draws him in once more.

Naught that would be shared with or among the Sundered. Nothing so personal as that.

Nabriales has worn his own share of flesh. Bedded lovers, adopted companions and families of vessels to fulfill a purpose. Passable enough, perhaps, but never for him. Not in truth.

It’s as if he looks upon two strangers.

***

Afterward and alone, Nabriales offers his own prayer.

It is neither a request, nor a demand, nor an offering.

Only a promise.

Before His likeness, again and again through clenched teeth, he swears he will prove himself the worthier servant. Nabriales will not remain broken forever.

Despite his shattered form, the blurring and burning of his vision under a mask inherited rather than earned, Nabriales tells himself that indifference is a strength. To halt time, to summon the heavens themselves—before all this, he might have set this world right alone. Instead, crippled as She left him, he can only watch as his brothers-in-arms sabotage them all through sentiment.

Fragile, desperate creatures that they are.

How useless. Useless to Zodiark and to their situation and even so he…

For millenia, they made him doubt.

***

It seems Lahabrea has acquiesced to Elidibus’ demands. While he licks wounds dealt by Hydaelyn, the Speaker turns to the Sundered. Delegates.

Naturally, Nabriales volunteers for this position.

How better to begin than by succeeding where the unbroken could not?

***

Lahabrea is frustrated as he’s ever seen him. Confined to a sickbed, bereft of stationary projects. The Emissary has effectively limited his activity to sleep and amusements. This by itself might have been entertaining, but the man insists on dragging him into the same foul mood. Their briefing includes far more detail than could conceivably matter. Worse, Lahabrea questions him afterward to ensure naught has been missed.

Insufferable.

They are both glad to be rid of each other in the end. Even so, this does not prevent Lahabrea from calling him as he prepares to leave.

“What now?” says Nabriales, no longer bothering to mask his impatience.

Any humor at seeing the Speaker stripped of regalia has faded. Though the mask remains in place, being ordered about by this sandy-haired wreck in bedclothes has lost its charm. He likes not the notion of being instructed by such a dull figure. The chamber itself, outfitted by Elidibus in stone combinations of brown, gray, and gold, proves far more ornate than its occupant.

Lahabrea’s lips thin. When he continues, it is with a note of severity.

“See to it you don’t engage Her champion. Nor any associated parties, for that matter. It can be tempting to underestimate them but…” he trails off a moment. Choosing his words. “…they are not unpracticed.”

Nabriales smiles with his teeth. “Fear not for me, Lahabrea. I assure you that my track record is quite sound.”

And thus he departs.

***

The tasks are straightforward in themselves. Instruct beastfolk to transcend the mortal coil. Observe Hydaelyn’s chosen. Follow developments with the Isle of Val. Escalate primal summons as crystals permit.

Naught particularly taxing alone, his duties prove time consuming and numerous. Despite himself, Nabriales sees how one could become lost in the pile. His greatest obstacle, however, is that the Scions appear to have eyes and ears in every imaginable place. And they do so delight in thwarting his efforts.

Like tying a boot only to have imps undo it again the moment you’ve stood upright. Endearing at first, but this quickly shifts to exasperation and finally to true annoyance.

Killing them would be the efficient path. Alas, he has orders. Evidently Elidibus has intentions for their number as well. Nabriales does not mean to make himself a target for the man’s frustration, whatever other opinions he holds.

So for now, his performance is careful. Meticulous.

Obedient.

***

He wonders what a complete Warrior might have been.

He wonders if she would continue her course, knowing how she’d been cheated.

The Echo locks her mind shut.

Sadly, she will remain distant to him as any other.

***

In the wake of Ramuh and Leviathan, Elidibus calls them to the Chrysalis.

Once more, an Unsundered seeks lesser members of their order. Emet-Selch slumbers still. Lahabrea, over a month reprimanded, adheres to his recovery.

What intel they’ve gathered proves sound. The Warrior’s strength has reached worrisome proportions, of that there can be no doubt. She gorges, swells with the gifts of her mistress. Elidibus, however, argues such power costs the enemy dear. Hydaelyn lacks sufficient aether for these feats. In each successful Calamity, the dominion of Zodiark waxes toward completion. Those sundered inhabitants (rife though they are with potential) remain exhausted and wanting by comparison.

The end, he tells them, is in sight. Perhaps this is even true.

Perhaps it is only what he needs to hear.

And this is when Lahabrea can bear it no longer.

He takes his place, late but listening. His expression proves empty of typical bravado.

Though he proclaims to the room that this mission is why efforts must be ceaseless, his eyes remain fixed on the Emissary.

Elidibus, unimpressed, waits.

“Divine seeds were ever wont to quicken in Eorzea’s fertile soil,” the Speaker continues more quietly. “We need only lead men to the field, and by their eager hands shall a new deity arise.”

Although not quite an apology or an excuse, his justification nonetheless carries earmarks of both.

Duly shamed.

Whether Elidibus is moved by faith or pity is impossible to tell.

He is permitted to stay.

***

Though Lahabrea’s limitations have been reduced, he does remain barred from field. Both he and Nabriales were present for that conversation.

Throughout, the Speaker’s gaze remained fixed on the floor. Fingers flexing lightly. Reminding himself not to form a fist.

It was almost amusing. Might have been, once, had he not known Elidibus’ motive.

Nabriales continues in his function of errand boy either way.

***

Conflict escalates between the Warrior and Ysayle Dangoulin. The elezen who calls herself “Iceheart”.

Another of Hydaelyn’s disciples. Another possessed of Echo and Blessing both… though she lacks knowledge or inclination to fight Ascians.

Convenient.

Nabriales has, under the curt orders of Lahabrea, been urging her toward a unique aetherial experiment. Take advantage of the very qualities that allow her freedom from primals and shape her soul into one. Sacrifice to herself.

Ysayle, it seems, is not the issue. As tensions between her and Eorzea’s champion reach a head she plays her part to perfection. Survives, even. And (as Lahabrea hoped) she is not consumed in her own ritual but simply reverts at its close.

Admittedly, they are stunning together. Hardly the worst subjects to observe. Each tall and fair haired as per his preference. One, moonlight pale. The other hued in gold. Ysayle sheds her common beauty for a more revealing figure. Ice twisting through locks, long limbs summoning attacks with poise. It is as though she drifts through water—gravity has no hold on the Lady Shiva. And his Warrior, skirts and pages rippling in the wind, steps lightly to dodge the assault. Recites spells in a delicate tongue, gestures with slender fingers to hurl her own ruin beside those she commands. A dance for him to pay audience, curving and cold.

All told, a successful venture.

How much more rewarding if he did not need to report back.

***

Returned to an office he rarely has occasion to use, Lahabrea paces.

Idleness suits him not. Though the man’s aether approaches what it was before his misstep, it pales beside their colleagues. The torchlit interior is littered with reports and tomes. His own notes form a growing stack on the desk. If Pashtarot is to be believed, lack of hazard has only made him more insufferable.

Lahabrea cannot seem to keep still, cannot stick to a single project. Dabbles in how to heighten efficiency for their whole organization. Frets constantly.

His movements are quicker than they were. Jerky.

“The Scions are plotting something,” he mutters.

Nabriales, forced to endure such nervous energy without leave to attend his own affairs, scoffs. “Of course,” he replies. “We are none of us blind to the situation. They recognize our plans and form countermeasures.”

Lahabrea glances his way. “Does none of this trouble you?” he asks. “They have not even employed a fraction of their strength and resources. Our movements are duly noted. You might have been more discreet.”

Nabriales glares. “Do not,” he says, “presume to comment on my performance. Speaker.”

His tone, it seems, goes overlooked. Lahabrea only waves a hand dismissively, passing again across the room. “No, they know us better than we gave credit… might you monitor their current agendas more closely?”

This time, Nabriales snorts. Folds his arms. “With or without deference to improved subtlety?”

Lahabrea turns to him.

Pauses.

“…if it comes to a question,” he says slowly, “keep out of sight. Once your presence is revealed, it cannot be masked again with ease.”

This earns a laugh, hard and shameless. “Strange, such sentiments seem more aligned with our Emissary. Does this new, cowardly Lahabrea worry on my account or for himself?”

The Speaker stares, mouth just parted.

“Oh, don’t look surprised,” Nabriales adds with a shrug. “Surely after so long you know we all dislike you. You’ve ever placed higher value on feeling busy than contributing anything of worth. That it is only after losing you exercise care is absurd.”

“Nabriales,” says Lahabrea, his voice low.

A shake of the head. “Don’t bother,” he says. “You have never recognized me as worthy of the office. I am… a placeholder. But what does it say for you that one of my stature might seize the victory you spurn?”

This time, it is almost foreign. Mortal and filthy and yet another reminder of what he has never been.

Nabriales seizes the front of Lahabrea’s robes. Drags him close. “Do not,” he says quietly, tasting ozone as electricity burns across his teeth, “say that name in front of me again.”

***

Lahabrea lets him go. He doesn’t fight back, doesn’t argue.

Disappointing.

***

“Nabriales is no more.”

Fear not for me, Lahabrea. I assure you that my track record is quite sound.

“…The Ardor was not his to invoke. His demise was of his own making.”

Perhaps they all have things they need to hear.

“Nevertheless, it concerns me. They have…”

You have never recognized me as worthy of the office.

“…extinguished that which should rightly be eternal.”

Surely after so long you know we all dislike you.

“Mayhap he was not wholly mistaken. Greater haste may be warranted.”

Make no mistake—for all the strides you’ve made, your fixation and your impatience have cost the rest of us considerable time.

“We are of one mind.”

Does this new, cowardly Lahabrea worry on my account or for himself?

“…The northern lands, then?”

Your pride has made you not simply an embarrassment but a liability.

“The earth is fertile, and the seeds well sown. By my will they shall reap salvation unlike any the world has known.”

Only learn.

“By His will.”

We are all of us instruments of Zodiark.

“…By His will.”

#Nabriales #Lahabrea #Elidibus #Ascians #final fantasy xiv

13 notes · View notes

oddodessey-blog · 7 years

Text

The Odyssey book 1

[1] Tell me, O Muse, of the man of many devices, who wandered full many ways after he had sacked the sacred citadel of

Troy

. Many were the men whose cities he saw and whose mind he learned, aye, and many the woes he suffered in his heart upon the sea, [5] seeking to win his own life and the return of his comrades. Yet even so he saved not his comrades, though he desired it sore, for through their own blind folly they perished—fools, who devoured the kine of Helios Hyperion; but he took from them the day of their returning. [10] Of these things, goddess, daughter of Zeus, beginning where thou wilt, tell thou even unto us. Now all the rest, as many as had escaped sheer destruction, were at home, safe from both war and sea, but Odysseus alone, filled with longing for his return and for his wife, did the queenly nymph Calypso, that bright goddess, [15] keep back in her hollow caves, yearning that he should be her husband. But when, as the seasons revolved, the year came in which the gods had ordained that he should return home to

Ithaca

, not even there was he free from toils, even among his own folk. And all the gods pitied him [20] save Poseidon; but he continued to rage unceasingly against godlike Odysseus until at length he reached his own land. Howbeit Poseidon had gone among the far-off Ethiopians—the Ethiopians who dwell sundered in twain, the farthermost of men, some where Hyperion sets and some where he rises, [25] there to receive a hecatomb of bulls and rams, and there he was taking his joy, sitting at the feast; but the other gods were gathered together in the halls of Olympian Zeus. Among them the father of gods and men was first to speak, for in his heart he thought of noble Aegisthus, [30] whom far-famed Orestes, Agamemnon's son, had slain. Thinking on him he spoke among the immortals, and said: “Look you now, how ready mortals are to blame the gods. It is from us, they say, that evils come, but they even of themselves, through their own blind folly, have sorrows beyond that which is ordained. [35] Even as now Aegisthus, beyond that which was ordained, took to himself the wedded wife of the son of Atreus, and slew him on his return, though well he knew of sheer destruction, seeing that we spake to him before, sending Hermes, the keen-sighted Argeiphontes,

that he should neither slay the man nor woo his wife; [40] for from Orestes shall come vengeance for the son of Atreus when once he has come to manhood and longs for his own land. So Hermes spoke, but for all his good intent he prevailed not upon the heart of Aegisthus; and now he has paid the full price of all.” Then the goddess, flashing-eyed

Athena, answered him: [45] “Father of us all, thou son of Cronos, high above all lords, aye, verily that man lies low in a destruction that is his due; so, too, may any other also be destroyed who does such deeds. But my heart is torn for wise Odysseus, hapless man, who far from his friends has long been suffering woes [50] in a sea-girt isle, where is the navel of the sea. 'Tis a wooded isle, and therein dwells a goddess, daughter of Atlas of baneful mind, who knows the depths of every sea, and himself holds the tall pillars which keep earth and heaven apart. [55] His daughter it is that keeps back that wretched, sorrowing man; and ever with soft and wheedling words she beguiles him that he may forget

Ithaca

. But Odysseus, in his longing to see were it but the smoke leaping up from his own land, yearns to die. Yet thy [60] heart doth not regard it, Olympian. Did not Odysseus beside the ships of the Argives offer thee sacrifice without stint in the broad land of

Troy

? Wherefore then didst thou conceive such wrath

against him, O Zeus?” Then Zeus, the cloud-gatherer, answered her and said: “My child, what a word has escaped the barrier of thy teeth? [65] How should I, then, forget godlike Odysseus, who is beyond all mortals in wisdom, and beyond all has paid sacrifice to the immortal gods, who hold broad heaven? Nay, it is Poseidon, the earth-enfolder, who is ever filled with stubborn wrath because of the Cyclops, whom Odysseus blinded of his eye— [70] even the godlike Polyphemus, whose might is greatest among all the Cyclopes; and the nymph Thoosa bore him, daughter of Phorcys who rules over the unresting

sea; for in the hollow caves she lay with Poseidon. From that time forth Poseidon, the earth-shaker, [75] does not indeed slay Odysseus, but makes him a wanderer from his native land. But come, let us who are here all take thought of his return, that he may come home; and Poseidon will let go his anger, for he will in no wise be able, against all the immortal gods and in their despite, to contend alone.” [80] Then the goddess, flashing-eyed Athena, answered him: “Father of us all, thou son of Cronos, high above all lords, if indeed this is now well pleasing to the blessed gods, that the wise Odysseus should return to his own home, let us send forth Hermes, the messenger, Argeiphontes, [85] to the isle Ogygia, that with all speed he may declare to the fair-tressed nymph our fixed resolve, even the return of Odysseus of the steadfast heart, that he may come home. But, as for me, I will go to

Ithaca

, that I may the more arouse his son, and set courage in his heart [90] to call to an assembly the long-haired Achaeans, and speak out his word to all the wooers, who are ever slaying his thronging sheep and his sleek

kine of shambling gait. And I will guide him to

Sparta

and to sandy

Pylos

, to seek tidings of the return of his dear father, if haply he may hear of it, [95] that good report may be his among men.” So she spoke, and bound beneath her feet her beautiful sandals, immortal,

golden, which were wont to bear her both over the waters of the sea and over the boundless land swift as the blasts of the wind. And she took her mighty spear, tipped with sharp bronze, [100] heavy and huge and strong, wherewith she vanquishes the ranks of men—of warriors, with whom she is wroth, she, the daughter of the mighty sire. Then she went darting down from the heights of

Olympus

, and took her stand in the land of

Ithaca

at the outer gate of Odysseus, on the threshold of the court. In her hand she held the spear of bronze, [105] and she was in the likeness of a stranger, Mentes, the leader of the Taphians. There she found the proud wooers. They were taking their pleasure at draughts in front of the doors, sitting on the hides of oxen which they themselves had slain; and of the heralds

and busy squires, [110] some were mixing wine and water for them in bowls, others again were washing the tables with porous sponges and setting them forth, while still others were portioning out meats in abundance. Her the godlike Telemachus was far the first to see, for he was sitting among the wooers, sad at heart, [115] seeing in thought his noble father, should he perchance come from somewhere and make a scattering of the wooers in the palace, and himself win honor and rule over his own house. As he thought of these things, sitting among the wooers, he beheld Athena, and he went straight to the outer door; for in his heart he counted it shame [120] that a stranger should stand long at the gates. So, drawing near, he clasped her right hand, and took from her the spear of bronze; and he spoke, and addressed her with winged words:

“Hail, stranger; in our house thou shalt find entertainment and then, when thou hast tasted food, thou shalt tell of what thou hast need.” [125] So saying, he led the way, and Pallas Athena followed. And when they were within the lofty house, he bore the spear and set it against a tall pillar in a polished spear-rack, where were set many spears besides, even those of Odysseus of the steadfast heart. [130] Athena herself he led and seated on a chair, spreading a linen cloth beneath—a beautiful chair, richly-wrought,

and below was a footstool for the feet. Beside it he placed for himself an inlaid seat, apart from the others, the wooers, lest the stranger, vexed by their din, should loathe the meal, seeing that he was in the company of overweening men; [135] and also that he might ask him about his father that was gone. Then a handmaid brought water for the hands in a fair pitcher of gold, and poured it over a silver basin for them to wash, and beside them drew up a polished table. And the grave housewife brought and set before them bread, [140] and therewith dainties in abundance, giving freely of her store. And a carver lifted up and placed before them platters of all manner of meats, and set by them golden goblets, while a herald ever walked to and fro pouring them wine. Then in came the proud wooers, and thereafter [145] sat them down in rows on chairs and high seats. Heralds poured water over their hands, and maid-servants heaped by them bread in baskets, and youths filled the bowls brim full of drink; and they put forth their hands to the good cheer lying ready before them. [150] Now after the wooers had put from them the desire of food and drink, their hearts turned to other things, to song and to dance; for these things are the crown of a feast. And a herald put the beautiful lyre in the hands of Phemius, who sang perforce among the wooers; [155] and he struck the chords in prelude

to his sweet lay. But Telemachus spoke to flashing-eyed Athena, holding his head close, that the others might not hear: “Dear stranger, wilt thou be wroth with me for the word that I shall say? These men care for things like these, the lyre and song, [160] full easily, seeing that without atonement they devour the livelihood of another, of a man whose white bones, it may be, rot in the rain as they lie upon the mainland, or the wave rolls them in the sea. Were they to see him returned to

Ithaca

, they would all pray to be swifter of foot, [165] rather than richer in gold and in raiment. But now he has thus perished by an evil doom, nor for us is there any comfort, no, not though any one of men upon the earth should say that he will come; gone is the day of his returning. But come, tell me this, and declare it truly. [170] Who art thou among men, and from whence? Where is thy city and where thy parents? On what manner of ship didst thou come, and how did sailors bring thee to

Ithaca

? Who did they declare themselves to be? For nowise, methinks, didst thou come hither on foot. And tell me this also truly, that I may know full well, [175] whether this is thy first coming hither, or whether thou art indeed a friend of my father's house. For many were the men who came to our house as strangers, since he, too, had gone to and fro

among men.” Then the goddess, flashing-eyed Athena, answered him: “Therefore of a truth will I frankly tell thee all. [180] I declare that I am Mentes, the son of wise Anchialus, and I am lord over the oar-loving Taphians. And now have I put in here, as thou seest, with ship and crew, while sailing over the wine-dark sea to men of strange speech, on my way to Temese for copper; and I bear with me shining iron. [185] My ship lies yonder beside the fields away from the city, in the harbor of Rheithron, under woody Neion. Friends of one another do we declare ourselves to be, even as our fathers were, friends from of old. Nay, if thou wilt, go and ask the old warrior Laertes, who, they say, [190] comes no more to the city, but afar in the fields suffers woes attended by an aged woman as his handmaid, who sets before him food and drink, after weariness has laid hold of his limbs, as he creeps along the slope of his vineyard plot. And now am I come, for of a truth men said that he, [195] thy father, was among his people; but lo, the gods are thwarting him of his return. For not yet has goodly Odysseus perished on the earth, but still, I ween, he lives and is held back on the broad sea in a sea-girt isle, and cruel men keep him, a savage folk, that constrain him, haply sore against his will. [200] Nay, I will now prophesy to thee, as the immortals put it in my heart, and as I think it shall be brought to pass, though I am in no wise a soothsayer, nor one versed in the signs of birds. Not much longer shall he be absent from his dear native land, no, not though bonds of iron hold him. [205] He will contrive a way to return, for he is a man of many devices. But come, tell me this and declare it truly, whether indeed, tall as thou art, thou art the son of Odysseus himself. Wondrously like his are thy head and beautiful eyes; for full often did we consort with one another [210] before he embarked for the land of

Troy

, whither others, too, the bravest of the Argives, went in their hollow ships. But since that day neither have I seen Odysseus, nor he me.” Then wise Telemachus answered her: “Therefore of a truth, stranger, will I frankly tell thee all. [215] My mother says that I am his child; but I know not, for never yet did any man of himself know his own parentage. Ah, would that I had been the son of some blest man, whom old age overtook among his own possessions. But now of him who was the most ill-fated of mortal men [220] they say that I am sprung, since thou askest me of this.” Then the goddess, flashing-eyed Athena, answered him: “Surely, then, no nameless lineage have the gods appointed for thee in time to come, seeing that Penelope bore thee such as thou art. But come, tell me this and declare it truly. [225] What feast, what throng is this? What need hast thou of it? Is it a drinking bout, or a wedding feast? For this plainly is no meal to which each brings his portion, with such outrage and overweening do they seem to me to be feasting in thy halls. Angered would a man be at seeing all these shameful acts, any man of sense who should come among them.” [230] Then wise Telemachus answered her: “Stranger, since indeed thou dost ask and question me of this, our house once bade fair to be rich and honorable, so long as that man was still among his people. But now the gods have willed otherwise in their evil devising, [235] seeing that they have caused him to pass from sight as they have no other man. For I should not so grieve for his death, if he had been slain among his comrades in the land of the Trojans, or had died in the arms of his friends, when he had wound up the skein of war. Then would the whole host of the Achaeans have made him a tomb, [240] and for his son, too, he would have won great glory in days to come. But as it is, the spirits of the storm

have swept him away and left no tidings: he is gone out of sight, out of hearing, and for me he has left anguish and weeping; nor do I in any wise mourn and wail for him alone, seeing that the gods have brought upon me other sore troubles. [245] For all the princes who hold sway over the islands—Dulichium and Same and wooded Zacynthus—and those who lord it over rocky

Ithaca

, all these woo my mother and lay waste my house. And she neither refuses the hateful marriage, [250] nor is she able to make an end; but they with feasting consume my substance: ere long they will bring me, too, to ruin.” Then, stirred to anger, Pallas Athena spoke to him:“Out on it! Thou hast of a truth sore need of Odysseus that is gone, that he might put forth his hands upon the shameless wooers. [255] Would that he might come now and take his stand at the outer gate of the house, with helmet and shield and two spears, such a man as he was when I first saw him in our house drinking and making merry, on his way back from Ephyre, from the house of Ilus, son of Mermerus. [260] For thither, too, went Odysseus in his swift ship in search of a deadly drug, that he might have wherewith to smear his bronze-tipped arrows; yet Ilus gave it not to him, for he stood in awe of the gods that are forever; but my father gave it, for he held him strangely dear. [265] Would, I say, that in such strength Odysseus might come amongst the wooers; then should they all find swift destruction and bitterness in their wooing. Yet these things verily lie on the knees of the gods, whether he shall return and wreak vengeance in his halls, or whether he shall not; but for thyself, I bid thee take thought [270] how thou mayest thrust forth the wooers from the hall. Come now, give ear, and hearken to my words. On the morrow call to an assembly the Achaean lords, and speak out thy word to all, and let the gods be thy witnesses. As for the wooers, bid them scatter, each to his own; [275] and for thy mother, if her heart bids her marry, let her go back to the hall of her mighty father, and there they will prepare a wedding feast, and make ready the gifts

full many—aye, all that should follow after a well-loved daughter. And to thyself will I give wise counsel, if thou wilt hearken. [280] Man with twenty rowers the best ship thou hast, and go to seek tidings of thy father, that has long been gone, if haply any mortal may tell thee, or thou mayest hear a voice from Zeus, which oftenest brings tidings to men. First go to

Pylos

and question goodly Nestor, [285] and from thence to

Sparta

to fair-haired Menelaus; for he was the last to reach home of the brazen-coated Achaeans. If so be thou shalt hear that thy father is alive and coming home, then verily, though thou art sore afflicted, thou couldst endure for yet a year. But if thou shalt hear that he is dead and gone, [290] then return to thy dear native land and heap up a mound for him, and over it pay funeral rites, full many as is due, and give thy mother to a husband. Then when thou hast done all this and brought it to an end, thereafter take thought in mind and heart [295] how thou mayest slay the wooers in thy halls whether by guile or openly; for it beseems thee not to practise childish ways, since thou art no longer of such an age. Or hast thou not heard what fame the goodly Orestes won among all mankind when he slew his father's murderer, [300] the guileful Aegisthus, for that he slew his glorious father? Thou too, my friend, for I see that thou art comely and tall, be thou valiant, that many an one of men yet to be born may praise thee. But now I will go down to my swift ship and my comrades, who, methinks, are chafing much at waiting for me. [305] For thyself, give heed and have regard to my words.” Then wise Telemachus answered her: “Stranger, in truth thou speakest these things with kindly thought, as a father to his son, and never will I forget them. But come now, tarry, eager though thou art to be gone, [310] in order that when thou hast bathed and satisfied thy heart to the full, thou mayest go to thy ship glad in spirit, and bearing a gift costly and very beautiful, which shall be to thee an heirloom from me, even such a gift as dear friends give to friends.” Then the goddess, flashing-eyed Athena, answered him: [315] “Stay me now no longer, when I am eager to be gone, and whatsoever gift thy heart bids thee give me, give it when I come back, to bear to my home, choosing a right beautiful one; it shall bring thee its worth in return.” So spoke the goddess, flashing-eyed Athena, and departed, [320] flying upward

as a bird; and in his heart she put strength and courage, and made him think of his father even more than aforetime. And in his mind he marked her and marvelled, for he deemed that she was a god; and straightway he went among the wooers, a godlike man. [325] For them the famous minstrel was singing, and they sat in silence listening; and he sang of the return of the Achaeans—the woeful return from

Troy

which Pallas Athena laid upon them. And from her upper chamber the daughter of Icarius, wise Penelope, heard his wondrous song, [330] and she went down the high stairway from her chamber, not alone, for two handmaids attended her. Now when the fair lady had come to the wooers, she stood by the door-post of the well-built hall, holding before her face her shining veil; [335] and a faithful handmaid stood on either side of her. Then she burst into tears, and spoke to the divine minstrel: “Phemius, many other things thou knowest to charm mortals, deeds of men and gods which minstrels make famous. Sing them one of these, as thou sittest here, [340] and let them drink their wine in silence. But cease from this woeful song which ever harrows the heart in my breast, for upon me above all women has come a sorrow not to be forgotten. So dear a head do I ever remember with longing, even my husband, whose fame is wide through

Hellas

and mid-

Argos

.”

[345] Then wise Telemachus answered her: “My mother, why dost thou begrudge the good minstrel to give pleasure in whatever way his heart is moved? It is not minstrels that are to blame, but Zeus, I ween, is to blame, who gives to men that live by toil,

to each one as he will. [350] With this man no one can be wroth if he sings of the evil doom of the Danaans; for men praise that song the most which comes the newest to their ears. For thyself, let thy heart and soul endure to listen; for not Odysseus alone lost [355] in

Troy

the day of his return, but many others likewise perished. Nay, go to thy chamber, and busy thyself with thine own tasks, the loom and the distaff, and bid thy handmaids ply their tasks; but speech shall be for men, for all, but most of all for me; since mine is the authority in the house.” [360] She then, seized with wonder, went back to her chamber, for she laid to heart the wise saying of her son. Up to her upper chamber she went with her handmaids, and then bewailed Odysseus, her dear husband until flashing-eyed Athena cast sweet sleep upon her eyelids. [365] But the wooers broke into uproar throughout the shadowy halls, and all prayed, each that he might lie by her side. And among them wise Telemachus was the first to speak: “Wooers of my mother, overweening in your insolence, for the present let us make merry with feasting, [370] but let there be no brawling; for this is a goodly thing, to listen to a minstrel such as this man is, like to the gods in voice. But in the morning let us go to the assembly and take our seats, one and all, that I may declare my word to you outright that you depart from these halls. Prepare you other feasts, [375] eating your own substance and changing from house to house. But if this seems in your eyes to be a better and more profitable thing, that one man's livelihood should be ruined without atonement, waste ye it. But I will call upon the gods that are forever, if haply Zeus may grant that deeds of requital may be wrought. [380] Without atonement, then, should ye perish within my halls.” So he spoke, and they all bit their lips and marvelled at Telemachus, for that he spoke boldly. Then Antinous, son of Eupeithes, answered him:“Telemachus, verily the gods themselves are teaching thee [385] to be a man of vaunting tongue, and to speak with boldness. May the son of Cronos never make thee king in sea-girt

Ithaca

, which thing is by birth thy heritage.” Then wise Telemachus answered him: “Antinous, wilt thou be wroth with me for the word that I shall say? [390] Even this should I be glad to accept from the hand of Zeus. Thinkest thou indeed that this is the worst fate among men? Nay, it is no bad thing to be a king. Straightway one's house grows rich and oneself is held in greater honor. However, there are other kings of the Achaeans [395] full many in seagirt

Ithaca

, both young and old. One of these haply may have this place, since goodly Odysseus is dead. But I will be lord of our own house and of the slaves that goodly Odysseus won for me.” Then Eurymachus, son of Polybus, answered him: [400] “Telemachus, this matter verily lies on the knees of the gods, who of the Achaeans shall be king in sea-girt

Ithaca

; but as for thy possessions, thou mayest keep them thyself, and be lord in thine own house. Never may that man come who by violence and against thy will shall wrest thy possessions from thee, while men yet live in

Ithaca

. [405] But I am fain, good sir, to ask thee of the stranger, whence this man comes. Of what land does he declare himself to be? Where are his kinsmen and his native fields? Does he bring some tidings of thy father's coming, or came he hither in furtherance of some matter of his own? [410] How he started up, and was straightway gone! Nor did he wait to be known; and yet he seemed no base man to look upon.” Then wise Telemachus answered him: “Eurymachus, surely my father's home-coming is lost and gone. No longer do I put trust in tidings, whencesoever they may come, [415] nor reck I of any prophecy which my mother haply may learn of a seer, when she has called him to the hall. But this stranger is a friend of my father's house from Taphos. He declares that he is Mentes, son of wise Anchialus, and he is lord over the oar-loving Taphians.” [420] So spoke Telemachus, but in his heart he knew the immortal goddess. Now the wooers turned to the dance and to gladsome song, and made them merry, and waited till evening should come; and as they made merry dark evening came upon them. Then they went, each man to his house, to take their rest. [425] But Telemachus, where his chamber was built in the beautiful court, high, in a place of wide outlook, thither went to his bed, pondering many things in mind; and with him, bearing blazing torches, went true-hearted Eurycleia, daughter of Ops, son of Peisenor. [430] Her long ago

Laertes

had bought with his wealth, when she was in her first youth, and gave for her the price of twenty oxen; and he honored her even as he honored his faithful wife in his halls, but he never lay with her in love, for he shunned the wrath of his wife. She it was who bore for Telemachus the blazing torches; [435] for she of all the handmaids loved him most, and had nursed him when he was a child. He opened the doors of the well-built chamber, sat down on the bed, and took off his soft tunic and laid it in the wise old woman's hands. And she folded and smoothed the tunic [440] and hung it on a peg beside the corded

bedstead, and then went forth from the chamber, drawing the door to by its silver handle, and driving the bolt home with the thong. So there, the night through, wrapped in a fleece of wool, he pondered in his mind upon the journey which Athena had shewn him.

0 notes