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eurylochus time travel [snippet]

(i am going to add time travel to every fandom i am in, so help me-)

Eurylochus knows this is where it ends.

He knows he will not be returning to Itheca from the moment Odysseus is presented with that choice, from the moment Zeus tells him to choose. His captain, his king, his brother turns slowly—there is already grief in his eyes. He is mourning them, even before he opens his mouth to say the words: “I have to see her again.”

“But we’ll die,” says Eurylochus. He is resigned, more than anything. His anger is muted, and he feels oddly detached from the outraged protests that are cropping up around him. Odysseus has made his decision, and he understands.

Eurylochus’s own words come back to haunt him: You must carry all the blame! 

And he knows that Odysseus’s mind will not be changed.

Eurylochus is still, as the rest of the crew charges forward, weapons raised, fearful and enraged. This was their captain, who had led them to victory in Troy, who had salvaged their crew after the cyclops, who had saved them from Circe, who had sacrificed them at Scylla—and now, he was casting aside the rest of them. Eurylochus is a stone in a river, with the water rushing past, with the crew bumping his shoulders in their haste ahead.

Odysseus’s expression does not change.

He looks past the rest of the men—his men, his men whose lives he had given up for his own—at meets Eurylochus’s gaze. He does not speak a word, but Eurylochus thinks he can hear what he might say: I’m sorry.

Eurylochus does not know what words Odyssus sees in his eyes.

Perhaps it is: I understand.

Or: I hate you. Traitor. Deserter. Murderer.

Or: I love you. My king. My captain. My brother.

In those final moments, Eurylochus hopes it might be: I am sorry as well.

And the clouds converge in a divine, unavoidable, cataclysmic storm.

---

Eurylochus thinks he knows what to expect from death.

He and the rest of the crew had ventured into the Underworld. Eurylochus had seen Polites, had seen the faces of all the men they had lost. He would be another face in the ocean of the dead, another soul drifting in the shadowy realm, seeking solace in the company of those who had perished before him.

His afterlife looks like the crew that he had poured his life into. It is a kind sight, one with no starving friends, no tragedies that they had been forced to face. Many of them are familiar, but Eurylochus is first approached by Polites, the smile on his face as sure as the sun shining upon them all past clear skies.

“Will you not join the celebration?” asks Polites. He waves an arm broadly, to the men deep in their cups, before offering him a glass of wine. Polites nudges him until he accepts, amicably making conversation before he wanders off to mingle elsewhere.

What nice illusions death brings, Eurylochus thinks. 

Eurylochus’s sense of peace is disrupted when he glances down at his hazy reflection in his rippling drink. He reaches up to his face, to un-sunken cheeks and tireless eyes, and feels unease creeping up his spine. Eurylochus looks around him, to the unbroken ship he stands upon, to the fleet that is sailing adjacent, to the six hundred men indulging in a joyous victory—they had all been in high spirits after Troy, when the prospect of home was an expectation, not a fitful dream.

Then, his gaze falls upon someone who would not have joined in him the Underworld so soon. Odysseus looks younger, or perhaps it is simply because he is unburdened. He has not been aged by the stresses forced upon him, engaged in a conversation with Polites. Eurylochus had not seen Odysseus so carefree since—oh, he thinks. Since before the cyclops had dealt the blows that had killed their men and their morale.

And Eurylochus realizes: this is not what death is.

Eurylochus curses himself for allowing his mind to be enraptured by the foolish tale it had initially spun. Death is not an isle of happiness; the Underworld had been a grim affair. It had been their men trapped in their last moments—that fear that would never leave them, their soul bared for them to see, in the eternity that they would remain. 

Polites had been optimistic until his end, and in his unending spirit that would linger in those depths they had crossed to reach the prophet. But Polites had not been like this—not in what Eurylochus had just witnessed, had just interacted with. Polites had only been so bright in his memories. 

But this was far more vivid than a memory.

If Eurylochus was not dead…perhaps it was divine intervention. It must be. How could he explain living beyond the storm that had thundered down upon them all? He had died there, yet he was not dead any longer. He was not on the isle of Helios any longer. He was long before then, for reasons unknown. But what being would dare surpass a punishment delivered by the king of gods, the thunder bringer and lightning wielder himself? 

Eurylochus decides that he would rather not find out.

(...aaaand that all i've got for now, but i'll reblog this with an ao3 link when i finish up the full fic :D)

Odysseus: Penelope whyyy, you know I to- Ayo why does that siren look like Elpenor?

Sirenlope: what

Eurylochus: DID YOU NOTICE THAT TOO? I THOUGHT I WAS GOING CRAZY

Perimedes: 😀😀😀

Every day I feel like I’m losing my mind more from these silly block men, woe is me

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Just realized that in epic they say ‘the wind god’ or ‘sun god’ because of the belief that invoking their name will bring their attention to you and you don’t want that, so titles are used instead

Which makes Ody constantly name-dropping Poseidon even funnier because well they’ve already pissed him off no need to bother with the formalities lol

odysseus and companionship

(based on the post below)