𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑 ᵉᵖⁱᶜ ᵐᵘˢⁱᶜᵃˡ

˚＊✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・⚔️・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ＊˚

Chapter 10. WAVES OF DEFIANCE

❝I'm not here to earn your respect. But if it means knocking every one of you on your asses, then so be it!❞
˚＊✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・⚔️・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ＊˚

C̶̶o̶̶u̶̶n̶̶t̶̶d̶̶o̶̶w̶̶n̶

The sound of waves lapping against the rocks filled the peaceful morning.

Ithaca's shoreline was alive with motion as soldiers bustled about, loading supplies onto the ships docked at the pier in purposeful but subdued movements.

The air was heavy with the tension of farewells and the anticipation of war.

Penelope stood at the shoreline with an air of resolute touched by a quiet sadness. Draped over her shoulders was Odysseus' iconic red cloak, the fabric catching the soft breeze and trailing behind her like a banner.

At her hip hung Aionios, the Celestial Bronze sword crafted by Hephaestus and gifted by Hermes to his Demigod son Autolycus, known for his cunning and skill.

It was then the Son of Hermes passed the sword to Laertes upon his coronation as King of Ithaca, establishing the tradition of the blade being handed down to each new ruler—including Odysseus, who now intended to one day bestow it upon Telemachus.

For now, it rested in Penelope's possession, a symbol of the mantle she had chosen to bear.

Beside her Odysseus cradled their infant son Telemachus in his arms.

The baby, just over three months old, was a chubby bundle of soft coos and curious eyes. He fidgeted slightly in his father's grasp, his tiny hands reaching for the red fabric of Penelope's cloak.

From a distance you watched them silently. A small bittersweet smile played at your lips as you took in the scene. They were a picture of strength and love, yet the weight of what lay ahead made it difficult to fully enjoy the sight.

You fold your arms across your chest, letting the scene settle in your mind like a painting you wanted to preserve forever. But before you could sink too deeply into thought...

The sound of approaching footsteps made you look over to find Polites standing a short distance away.

He had his usual awkward smile in place, his glasses perched askew on his nose causing him to push them up with a nervous hand as he neared you, his gait hesitant as though unsure if he was intruding.

"Good morning," he said softly, his voice carrying an endearing mix of politeness and hesitation.

You raised an eyebrow but returned his greeting with a slight nod. "Polites."

He cleared his throat, fidgeting slightly as he spoke. "I just...wanted to check in. With everything changing—Penelope leading the war effort, Odysseus staying behind—I still have my duties to fulfill. You know, as part of the crew!"

His earnestness brought a faint smile to your lips. "I'd expect nothing less from you Polites."

He glanced away briefly, his cheeks flushing before his gaze wandered toward another figure not far off.

You followed Polites' gaze and felt a flicker of recognition. Eurylochus stood near one of the ships, his posture firm and skeptical as ever.

But what caught your attention wasn't him—it was the smaller woman beside him.

The woman was Ctimene, Odysseus' younger sister.

She looked almost delicate compared to the rugged soldiers surrounding her, her noble bearing evident in the way she held herself.

Her dark hair fell in soft waves around her sun-kissed face, and though she was dressed simply, her delicate features gave her an air of quiet elegance.

Ctimene was laughing softly at something Eurylochus had said, her fingers brushing his arm as she leaned closer into him. You blinked, taken aback by the sight.

"They're together?" you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Polites nodded, a small grin tugging at his lips. "Married actually. They just got back from their honeymoon voyage recently. Didn't you know?"

A thoughtful expression crossed your face as you recalled your past interactions with Ctimene.

The two of you had never been especially close—her world was filled with music and social graces, while yours revolved around war strategies and battle preparations. But you both had enjoyed gossiping on occasion, trading stories from your respective circles.

You remembered, vaguely, the times she had gushed about a certain suitor—kind, funny, and steadfast. You'd never imagined that suitor had been Eurylochus.

"Guess I owe her an apology for not noticing," you murmured.

Polites chuckled, his kind eyes sparkling behind his glasses. Before he could respond Penelope's voice called your name.

You turn to see her walking toward you, her steps purposeful but her expression solemn. Up close you could see the faint redness around her eyes, the tight set of her lips.

She nodded briefly to Polites who, giving you a small smile, quickly excused himself and hurried back toward the ships.

Stopping in front of you, her gaze flicker toward the horizon before returning to you. "Odysseus..." she began, her voice soft but heavy, "he wants to speak with you."

The weight of her words settled over you. "Of course," you replied.

Penelope's lips curved into a faint smile—a half-hearted thing that didn't quite reach her eyes—and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. "I'll go ahead and make sure everything is in order for our departure. The men should have finished loading everything by now."

You nodded, watching as she turned and made her way toward the docks. Her shoulders were straight, but her steps were heavy, as though every step toward the ships cost her more than she wanted to admit.

You stood there a moment longer before taking a deep breath and turning back.

Odysseus was already watching you.

He stood with Telemachus nestled in his arms, the infant sitting upright with surprising strength for his age. Odysseus' injured leg was still bandaged, but he'd healed enough to stand without the constant support of a cane.

Still, you could see the tension in his posture, the way his weight subtly shifted to his uninjured side.

Telemachus' face lit up upon you nearing the two—his wide eyes sparkling with recognition. Tiny mouth stretching into a gummy smile, his hands reaching out excitedly.

Your heart twisted painfully. You'd already spent the morning doting on the boy, cradling him close and whispering every soft goodbye you could muster.

Yet now, with his little fingers outstretched toward you, it was almost unbearable.

"____" The sound of Odysseus calling your name breaks the silence.

You glance up to meet his sharp gaze. There was warmth there, but also something heavier, something restrained. His brow furrowed slightly as he continued, his voice lower now. "I hate this," he admits.

You didn't interrupt.

"I hate being forced to stay behind. Knowing I could be there, that I could make a difference in Troy. Instead I have to sit here useless while..." His voice faltered, his throat working as he swallowed hard. "While the two of the most important people in my life sail away without me."

Odysseus' jaw tightened as he looks down at Telemachus as if to ground himself. "You're both strong," he said, softer now, almost reverent. "Stronger than anyone I've ever known. Stronger than me. But that doesn't stop the worrying. I need you to be careful—both of you. Promise me you'll come back."

You rolled your eyes slightly, hoping the familiar gesture would disguise the way your own throat felt tight. "Don't get soft on me Odysseus," you said, forcing a teasing lilt into your voice. "Nothing's going to stop us from coming home."

For a moment he said nothing—simply staring at you with a soft bittersweet smile. Then, he shifts Telemachus into one arm and raised his wrist. The glint of worn leather caught your eye and your breath hitched.

The leather bracelet...

It was the same braided one you had given him years ago. It looked older now, the leather slightly darker and softer from wear, but it had been well cared for, the braids still tight and strong.

"Odysseus," you began, your voice shaking, but he shook his head.

Shifting Telemachus once more, he carefully removes the bracelet with a finger. He held it in his hand for a moment, almost as if weighing it, before reaching out to gently take your hand.

The contact was warm. He placed the bracelet in your palm, curling your fingers around it as his eyes met yours.

"Bring it back to me," he said firmly. "And then I'll believe you."

Your vision blurred as your lips trembled, the lump in your throat making it impossible to speak. His gaze held yours, unwavering, and you realized there was nothing you could say to change his mind.

You wanted to cry to wrap your arms around him and promise you'd return, but outside Ithaca's palace walls, your status actually mattered.

"I..." Your voice cracked and you stopped. Forcing yourself to take a deep breath, you straightened, giving him the sharpest soldier's salute you could muster.

"We'll come home. To you both," you said, your voice steady despite the emotion threatening to choke you. "I promise."

Odysseus's smile softened, though his eyes remained misty. He gave you a small nod, the weight of unspoken words passing between you in that brief moment.

You didn't trust yourself to say anything more. Turning on your heel, you began your trek to the docks. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of the bracelet in your hand mirrored the growing ache in your chest.

You didn't look back. You couldn't.

The sounds of the shore—the soldiers calling orders, the waves lapping at the docks, the faint cries of gulls—faded into the background as you focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

'Is this what Penelope feels like?' you wondered, your heart twisting painfully as the sound of Telemachus' soft babbling became faint.

When you reached the ship, you climbed aboard, your movements automatic as the crew called out final preparations. The sails were unfurled and snapping in the breeze as the familiar creak of wood and rope filled the air.

You moved to the railing and rested your forearms against the edge as the ship began to pull away. The cheers and shouts from the shore grew louder, mingling with the voices of the soldiers and citizens gathered to see you off.

You scanned the crowd, your eyes quickly finding Odysseus and Telemachus standing near the edge of the dock.

Beside you Penelope stood silently, her face blank but her eyes unblinking as she stared at her husband and son. The red cloak she wore rippled in the wind, mirroring the turmoil inside.

Neither of you spoke. There was nothing to say.

The ship continued to drift farther from the shore, the figures on the dock growing smaller and smaller. You stayed at the railing, your hands gripping the wood tightly as though it could somehow anchor you to the life you were leaving behind.

Penelope remained still beside you with her gaze fixed on the horizon. Together, the two of you watched as Odysseus and Telemachus became nothing more than a blur against the distant shoreline.

And then, finally, they were out of sight.

═════════════════˚･:*:★☽✧⚔️✧☾★:*:･˚══════════════════

Days since the fleet set sail from Ithaca had been a mix of restless routine and strained silence. The sea stretched endlessly in every direction, its vast expanse reflecting the sky above.

You had always found solace in the rhythm of waves, but the mood on the ship was anything but calm. It hadn't taken long for you to notice the undercurrents of tension among the crew.

While Penelope commanded respect as their leader, there was a subtle but persistent reluctance in the way some of the men obeyed. Orders were followed, yes, but begrudgingly.

But when it came to you, the Second-in-Command, the glares and barely veiled whispers were impossible to ignore. All the while they listened to Polites and Eurylochus without question.

You had taken note of the ringleader—a broad-shouldered, perpetually scowling soldier named Dynus.

Wherever there was argument, he was at the center of it, his deep voice rumbling with barely concealed disdain whenever you or Penelope spoke.

It all came to a head on the seventh day at sea.

*･:*:★☽✧⚔️✧☾★:*:･*

The sun hung high in the sky, its heat bearing down on the deck as the crew moved about their tasks.

You stood near the helm watching as Dynus and a few others from his group—a clique you had started referring to in your mind as the Dissidents—clustered near the railing.

Their hushed voices carried just enough for you to catch snatches of their conversation, and your name was mentioned more than once.

Your jaw tightened. You weren't one to let disrespect slide and you weren't about to start now.

Straightening, you crossed the deck toward them, your sandals hitting the wooden planks with deliberate precision. As you approached the group fell silent, their gazes flicking to you.

Dynus turned slowly, his expression unreadable, though the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth betrayed his lack of concern.

"Routine clean-up." You announced, a part of you dreading having to deal with issuing their tasks. "Take your men and secure the western cargo hold."

Dynus didn't move. Instead he leaned back, folding his arms across his chest with an exaggerated sigh. "As if I have to listen to you."

You took a step closer to meet his gaze head-on. "I am Second-in-Command." you said, your voice calm but edged with steel. "You will follow the orders you're given. Now you've been dragging your feet since we set sail. If you have a problem with how this crew is run, say it outright."

The smirk faded and was replaced by a scowl. "The problem," he said, his tone sharp, "is that I don't see why we should take orders from someone like you. You're not a general and sure as Hades isn't a noble."

Dynus' voice rose slightly, encouraged by the murmurs of agreement from the men behind him.

"You're no hero." he continued, his lip curling. "Just a glorified servant playing at being a soldier. You don't belong here."

Before you could respond, Polites stepped forward, his normally kind expression hardened with disapproval. "That's enough Dynus," he said firmly. "You don't get to speak to her like that."

But Dynus barely spared him a glance. "And what are you going to do about it Polites? Smile me to death?"

Polites bristled, his hand twitching at his side as if tempted to reach for his weapon. "She's Second-in-Command," he said, his voice steady despite the tension in his posture. "You'll show her respect or you'll answer to me."

Dynus' laugh was a low mocking rumble. "Respect is earned, not handed out."

"Polites."

A sharp voice cuts through before Polites could respond.

The crew parted as Penelope approached in measured strides. Red cloak trailing behind her, her hand rested lightly on the hilt of Aionios at her side.

Polites opened his mouth to protest, but one glance at Penelope's darkened expression was enough to silence him. Pressing his lips together, he stepped back, his gaze darting between you and Dynus with quiet worry.

Dynus, spurred by the attention, scoffed again. "I mean you expect us to take orders from someone who isn't even worthy of a God's favor?" he said, his voice rising. "What use are you, really?"

"More use than you'll ever be Dynus."

The voice belonged to Lycodomes, one of the Spartan warriors who had joined the fleet when news of Troy's war reached Sparta.

He stepped forward, his broad frame an imposing figure even among the seasoned soldiers. Grey streaked the ink black hair he had tied back in a simple knot, his aging blue eyes gleamed with amusement as he stood beside you.

"Guess the little water girl was right after all," his lips curl into a teasing grin. "You've come a long way haven't you Little Fox? Going from a cute water fetcher to a warrior leading us into battle."

You couldn't help the small smirk that tugged at your lips. "Still cute though," you shot back, tilting your head playfully.

"Cute enough to make half the men here trip over their own feet," he retorted with a chuckle.

The brief exchange seemed to break some of the tension, the other Spartans chuckling along with Lycodomes. But Dynus' scowl only deepened.

"Is this a joke to you?" he growled. "Because it's not to me. I don't take orders from—"

"From what?" You stepped forward suddenly, cutting him off as you closed the distance between you, his words faltering as you looked up at him. "From a woman? A servant? From someone you think doesn't deserve to stand here?"

Dynus shifted uncomfortably as you tilted your head and fluttered your lashes in a way that was almost flirtatious. "Or is it something else?" you continued, your tone feigning sweetness.

"Do you want to fight me Dynus?" You took another step closer, your voice dropping to a near whisper. "Or do you want...something else entirely?"

The innuendo hung heavy in the air and you saw the exact moment Dynus caught on.

His face flushed slightly, and he took a small step back, his gaze darting away from yours as a ripple of awkward coughs and shuffling spread through the group behind him.

"Too bad," your voice sharpen. "You're not my type. All brawn and no brains—such a turn off."

Laughter rippled through the Spartan soldiers and even Polites hid a grin behind his hand.

Dynus' composure cracked entirely. His voice rose, his humiliation turned anger fueling his words. "You think this is funny? You're nothing but a freeloader—riding on Queen Penelope's coattails! She's the one who led Ithaca to victory countless times while you did nothing!"

The laughter bubbled up before you could stop it as you tilted your head back. It was the kind of laugh that turned heads, that made others shift uncomfortably, unsure of what would come next.

"NoT EvEn cLaImEd bY A GoD," you repeated, mimicking Dynus's gruff tone as you huff silent amusement. "How stupid do you have to be to think that makes me useless? And here I thought you were paying attention in the throne room." your tone almost chillingly light.

Dynus's brow twitched, caught off guard by your words, but you didn't let him interrupt.

“You’re right—she led those campaigns. But the strategies? The maneuvers? That’s my expertise.” You took a step forward, forcing him to lean back slightly against the railing.  “Make no mistake—our Queen is brilliant in her own right. But there’s a reason I stand beside her.”

You shrugged a half-hearted, almost mocking gesture. “I simply have more skill in that area. She leads and I make sure the plans are flawless. That’s what I bring to the table. But sure,” you added, your tone dripping with sarcasm, “let’s pretend I’m useless because a God hasn’t slapped their seal of approval on me.”

At this point even Dynus' bravado began to wane. You could see the flicker of doubt in his eyes, the way his posture stiffened under the weight of your gaze.

"What's the matter?" you asked, cocking your head. "Nothing to say? No more clever insults? Well allow me to remind you of something—all of you."

Your voice rose higher as your gaze swept across the gathered crew. "You say I'm not claimed by a God? You're right. And there is only one reason why..."

You spreading your arms wide, chin raised in a show of defiance. "me."

The silence following your declaration was deafening, broken only by the faint creak of the ship's rigging swaying in the breeze.

Dynus' eyes burned with an emotion you couldn't quite place—anger, perhaps even shame. He shifted on his feet, his jaw working as though searching for a retort, but nothing came.

A cold smirk curled your lips. "What happened to all that bluster Dynus?" you mocked, your voice sharp and cutting. "Weren't you just telling everyone how useless I am? Or was that only when you thought I wouldn't fight back?"

He bristled, his shoulders squaring as his face darkened with indignation. "You think you're so much better than us," he spat as his hand twitched near the hilt of his sword. "But you've done nothing to prove it."

Your eyes narrowed as the cold fire of anger sparked in your chest. You raised a hand, gesturing toward him with your fingers in a come-hither motion. "Then why don't you step up and see for yourself?"

The crew collectively inhaled, a ripple of unease spreading through the men as they exchanged wary glances. Penelope, standing at the edge of the gathering, remained silent, her sharp gaze fixed on Dynus.

Dynus hesitated for the barest moment before pulling his sword free, the blade gleaming dully in the sunlight. "Fine," he growled. "Let's see what you've got."

You didn't bother drawing your own weapon—not yet. Instead you rolled your shoulders, your expression calm—almost bored. "What must I prove? The fact that I'm still standing here should be enough for you."

He lunged.

The moment his feet left the ground you moved. His blade sliced through empty air as you sidestepped effortlessly, your footwork precise and deliberate.

"Slow," you remarked, your tone dripping with disdain.

Dynus snarled and adjusted his grip as he came at you again. This time, you dodged by spinning low, your body fluid as water as you slipped under his arm and sent a swift kick to the back of his knee.

He stumbled, his balance faltering.

"That's it?" you taunted, stepping back just out of his reach. "And here I thought you were going to prove me wrong Dynus."

His face flushed with anger, he roared as he lunged once more, his strikes more desperate and wild. You drew your weapon in a single, smooth motion, parrying his blow with a sharp clang of steel meeting steel.

"Do better," is all you said.

The fight didn't last long. Within moments you had him disarmed, your blade pressed lightly against the side of his neck. His chest heaved, sweat dripping down his temple as his sword clattered uselessly to the deck.

You leaned in slightly, your voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Still think I'm useless?"

All he could do was glare up at you as his defiance flickered like a dying flame.

You straightened, lowering your sword as you turned to face the rest of the crew. Your voice rang out across the deck. "I'm not here to earn your respect. But if it means knocking every one of you on your asses, then so be it."

The silence that followed was thick with disbelief. Some of the men shuffled uncomfortably, their eyes darting away from yours.

Others watched you with a newfound wariness, their postures tense as though expecting to be called out next.

You raise an eyebrow as you scanned the crowd. "So?" you ask.

No one moved.

"Cowards," Lycodomes muttered from the sidelines, his voice carrying a note of approval despite the insult.

One by one, a few of the braver—or perhaps more foolish—men stepped forward; each meeting the same fate as Dynus.

You took them on one at a time, your movements precise and efficient, each fight ending in mere moments.

By the time the last man fell to his knees, sweat dripping from his brow, the deck had gone deathly quiet. The crew's mutters of dissent had been replaced by murmurs of awe, the defiance in their eyes now replaced with a begrudging respect.

"You wanted proof?" you gesture to the pile of swords from those who lost as you sheathed your sword. "There it is."

Penelope stepped forward then. She didn't say a word, but the sharp tilt of her chin and the faint curve of her lips spoke volumes.

She nodded once, almost imperceptibly, before turning and walking back to her post.

You took a steadying breath, the adrenaline still thrumming through your veins. As you glanced around the deck, you caught sight of Lycodomes giving you a crooked grin.

"Still cute," he said teasingly.

You couldn't help the small laugh that escaped you. "Always," you replied.

And as the ship continued its journey, the crew—finally—began to fall in line.