Chapter Text
“I have to see her,” Odysseus says quietly.
“But we’ll die,” Eurylochus says, voice breaking.
Odysseus hesitates. Zeus watches above them, his fist already crackling around lightning. He has to choose. He has to choose.
He is, for a full second, determined to sacrifice his men. But Eurylochus’s eyes beg him to reconsider, and there is already so much blood on his hands - and then, in the midst of his desperation and fear, Odysseus has an almost violent epiphany: he has been given no time limit.
And so he shrugs lightly. “That’s true, actually. I don’t want you all to die either.” He looks pointedly away from the swords pointed in his direction, meeting his second-in-command’s gaze with a beam bright enough that the man recoils. “Thanks for bringing that up, Eurylochus. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
Zeus’s smile flickers like a guttering candle. “Have you made your decision, King of Ithaca?”
“Nope!” Odysseus says cheerfully, and sits down on the deck.
“What are you doing?” Eurylochus hisses.
“Being mutinied against and then being asked to navigate a variant of the trolley problem is exhausting,” Odysseus says, leaning back. “I’m just resting my feet.”
“What do you mean, rest your feet?” Perimedes demands.
Odysseus frowns innocently. “You’re the one who stabbed me a few hours ago, Perimedes. I’m all for burying the hatchet if you are, but my body’s having a harder time forgetting the wound.” Perimedes flinches. “And anyway! It’s a big decision, isn’t it? I’ll definitely need some time to think it over.”
Zeus huffs, but seems willing enough to wait. So Odysseus thinks about it. And thinks some more. And thinks some more.
“You can probably sheathe your swords,” he says, because once ten minutes have passed he sees the muscles straining in his crew’s arms with the effort of holding them up towards him for so long. “I’ll give you some warning before I choose, if you want.”
After a slight hesitation, it’s Eurylochus that sheathes his sword first. Surprising. Odysseus lets his head fall backwards against the side of the ship, sighing as the rest of the crew follows suit. He’s so tired, and he doesn’t think it’s just the wound and head injury. Even Zeus’s stern visage beside the ship isn’t enough to stop him from closing his eyes in the hopes of regaining some of his energy.
He’ll find a way out of this, without sacrificing anyone else. He has to. The part of him that was prepared to sacrifice his crew shuddered and died when he met Eurylochus’s eyes, but he’s not sure he’s willing to give up his own life just yet.
He hears muttering from the crew and footsteps coming closer, but his body is too heavy to react to any of it. Zeus would probably stop whoever it is before another sword lands in his gut, wouldn’t he? The fact that he trusts the king of gods more than his own men is not lost on him.
He startles when something cool touches his hand. He sputters out of half-consciousness, disoriented by Eurylochus’s sudden closeness until the man gestures to the cup of water he’s holding. “You’re dehydrated, captain.”
Odysseus reaches up to take it, but his hands tremble so badly - with stress, maybe, or blood loss, or the awful combination of fear and hope in his chest - that he can’t grip the cup. He gives up after barely a second. “It’s fine, Eurylochus.”
Almost tenderly, telegraphing his movements, the man raises the glass to his lips. Odysseus drinks by instinct, and realizes just how parched he is halfway, finishing it quickly. Eurylochus’s hand moves forward so the palm presses against his forehead, and the cool touch clears Odysseus’s fevered mind.
“What are you doing?” he whispers hoarsely. Eurylochus’s bulk blocks him from view of the men, and it must be by design. “You fight me, then you give me water?” He is ashamed of how he chases Eurylochus’s touch as his hand moves away. He’s just so exhausted. “I will not kill you, Eurylochus, by my hand or that of Zeus. You need not pander to me out of fear.”
“And if I help you, out of care for your health?”
Odysseus looks at him, bewildered to see no sign of deceit in his face. He thinks about mentioning the wound in his side, the spiking pain in his head, the ache of betrayal in his heart. He settles for sighing quietly and looking away. “Then you are more foolish than I imagined. I will be dead soon enough, and your concern will not save me.”
Eurylochus looks at him, expression uncertain even as he understands Odysseus’s meaning. “And your desire to see Penelope again?”
Odysseus closes his eyes. “You are my closest friend, Eurylochus, and you turned on me when you realized I sacrificed my own men to Scylla. Who is to say she will not do the same?”
“You really think-”
“I don’t know. But I-” He swallows. “I let Polites die, Eurylochus. I killed so many men, eleven ships worth, and- I- I can’t let you die too. I can’t.”
“We won’t. None of us will,” Eurylochus says firmly, and Odysseus laughs. The sea air tastes like helplessness.
“The king of gods is still waiting at the port side of our vessel, in case you’ve forgotten. He won’t leave until I choose.”
“You shouldn’t need to have a conversation about this,” Zeus says loudly, annoyance clear in his voice. Odysseus thinks for a hair-raising moment that he’s overheard their whispers, but a quick glance at the god-king’s disinterested face makes it clear that Zeus is simply bored. “It’s your choice, mortal. You’ve had your time to decide. What’s it going to be? You, or your crew?”
Eurylochus pulls him up, and then embraces him tightly. Odysseus stiffens at both the tight hold and at Eurylochus’s quick whisper: “You were a champion of Athena, captain. Her favor may have faded, but your mind has not. You will think of something.”
Odysseus watches as Eurylochus walks back to his crew, hand off his sword, his casual, unconcerned posture quickly echoed by the waiting crew. It seems that his second-in-command is a better leader than Odysseus ever was, and for a long moment, Odysseus finds himself overwhelmed with shame.
And then Eurylochus looks to him, gaze steady and trusting, and Odysseus grasps the flimsy beginnings of a plan.
“Zeus, king of gods,” he pronounces, and he knows how to imitate the voice of a king even if his men do not see him as one. “My men and I have all made mistakes in our journey to our homeland. If I request mercy and forgiveness, will it be granted?”
Zeus crosses his arms. Thunder booms somewhere in the background, dark and foreboding. “It will not. Someone has to die today, and you have got the final say.”
“Says who?” Odysseus says, injecting naive curiosity into his voice.
Some of his men choke audibly behind him. Zeus himself looks startled. “Says- Says me!”
“With all due respect, god-king,” Odysseus says, eyes wide, “as powerful as you are, your words alone do not shape reality. I cannot be forced to make a decision simply because you told me to.”
Zeus’s eyes flash angrily. “I do not recall you saying this when it was the son of Hector whose life was in your hands.”
“That was a prophecy,” Odysseus corrects. He ignores the phantom screams of a child and its mother ringing in his ears. “That’s different. It’s not as if there is a prophecy that says I need to kill myself or my crew, is there?” He glances at Eurylochus slyly. The man looks half proud, half terrified. Most of the crew dons similar expressions.
“Oh, but there is.”
Odysseus hesitates. “Excuse me?”
“It is divinely ordained!” The skies shake with the god’s proclamation. “You must choose!”
“Oh,” Odysseus says. “That changes things.” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his men’s hands flinch to their swords. Eurylochus puts out a warning hand, stopping their movements. “So what you’re saying is that it’s fated that someone has to die today?”
“Yes,” Zeus says, relieved. “Now, choose.”
“Okay, I’ve chosen!” Odysseus says cheerfully. Eurylochus’s eyes widen.
“Captain-”
“I choose that cow,” Odysseus declares, and Zeus’s head snaps to the side to take in the sight of the slaughtered cow of Helios on the deck of the ship. “It died today. Surely that counts.”
“It’s already dead!” Zeus screams. Odysseus raises an eyebrow at the manic fury emanating from the god. “That’s why I’m here! That doesn’t count!”
“Oh, okay,” Odysseus says, pursing his lips and scanning the island. “That makes sense. I choose that cow, then.”
“What?”
“That cow,” Odysseus says, pointing to a grazing cow a few paces away from the shore. “Can’t you see it?”
“Of course I- What are you-” Zeus is redder than usual, almost catatonic with rage. “You can’t do that!”
“You said someone, my lord,” Odysseus says, every inch of his body language projecting submissive confusion. “The cow is someone.”
“It’s- It’s not a human! It’s not you or your crew!”
“True,” Odysseus acknowledges. “But it’s alive, isn’t it? You never said that it had to be one of us, or even human. It’s not as if the prophecy specifies.”
Zeus breathes heavily through his nostrils. “Ughhhhhh, FINE,” he snarls, and makes a quick gesture that charbroils the cow. When Odysseus looks back, all that’s left of the god is a curl of smoke.
Odysseus turns to stare mournfully at the well-done meat before him. “Sorry, cow,” he says mournfully. Then he turns to his shell-shocked crew with a wide grin. “Who’s hungry?”