𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑 ᵉᵖⁱᶜ ᵐᵘˢⁱᶜᵃˡ

˚＊✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・⚔️・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ＊˚

Chapter 27. ASHES AND HONOR

❝In death, as in life, they inspire us to feats of greatness.❞

˚＊✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・⚔️・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ＊˚

The sounds of competition filled the air.

With the breeze of mid-day carrying the scent of sweat, sand, and burnt offerings from the funeral pyre still smoldering in the distance; cheers rose and fell with each event, an energy both celebratory and mournful woven through it all.

You sat atop a grand podium as the golden urn nestled carefully in your lap—its weight both physical and metaphorical. Within it rested the mixed ashes of Achilles and Patroclus, bound together in death as they had been in life.

Your fingers absently traced the edges of the urn, its metal cool beneath your touch despite the warmth of the sun.

Beside you was Thetis.

She sat in solemn grace, her sea-green eyes distant yet filled with something unreadable. Saying little throughout the day, the divine woman merely watched as the games played on before her.

The decision to name you as the overseer of the games had been unanimous. After Patroclus' death, you had been Achilles' closest companion—the one who had stood beside him in battle, who had held his lifeless body as his legend came to an end.

Even the most hardened Greeks knew that if Achilles had lived he would have surely wedded you. And if Fate had been cruel enough to deny that, then at the very least it was right that you be the one to oversee his final honors.

Each event had been a fierce display of strength, skill, and the rivalry that thrived among the Greek forces.

The Chariot Race had been the most exhilarating so far. Dust had barely settled as Diomedes crossed the finish line, his chariot flying past his competitors with Athena’s blessing securing his victory.

Eumelus, who had been favored to win, suffered a misfortunate accident where his chariot broke apart on the course resulting in the battered and bruised warrior a special prize to ease the sting of his loss.

The Boxing Match was nothing short of brutal. Epeius was one of the few you had the pleasure of sparring with over the years. Though the man was built like a mountain, his actions outside of fighting proved him to be a pacifist at heart—tending to the injured in his free time to even mending the rips in the clothing of his fellow troops.

Unfortunately for his opponent in this event, he reminded many why he is known for his strength to begin with, knocking the poor Mycenae soldier out with a single devastating blow.

The Wrestling Match had been an unexpected delight for the crowd as Penelope had stepped forward to challenge. The two had gone toe-to-toe.

Where Ajax relied on his overwhelming strength, Penelope countered with sheer intelligence and strategy. In the end, the match was declared a stalemate that earned them both equal honors.

Now, the fourth event was set to begin—The Footrace. Competitors had already begun stepping forward, standing before you and Thetis in a line of acknowledgment as they did before each event.

You scanned their faces as they bowed their heads in greeting, your mind only half-present as you gave the customary nod of approval. As the competitors made their introductions, a small figure shuffled forward from the line, emerging from behind the much larger warriors.

You blinked in surprise.

A boy.

His reddish-brown hair was shaggy mess as he wore a tunic slightly too large for his slender frame. He was strapped in simple sandals, his small feet barely kicked up dust as he stepped forward.

Realizing all eyes were on him, he stood stiffly in place, his small hands clenched at his sides as he swallowed hard, his starstruck eyes darting between you and Penelope before bravely lifting his chin.

Nestor suddenly stepped forward to place an aged hand on the shoulder of the boy. “I see you’ve noticed our youngest competitor,” he mused warmly. “This is Ajax; Prince and Heir of Locris, Son of Oileus.”

Your brows furrowed slightly. 'Another Ajax?'

You straightened slightly in your seat to get a better look, the weight of attention causing his cheeks to flush further.

Sensing your silent question, Nestor continued. “His father had evaded conscription to the War on Troy for years. But after the death of Patroclus, the Greeks scoured every corner for any remaining fighters who could aid the cause. They sought out King Oileus thinking he would join them.”

A pause.

“But the King…declared himself too old. So, he sent his son in his place.”

You stared at the boy.

His son? The poor Prince looked no older than eight.

This was a child who should have been at home learning to wield wooden swords against practice dummies—not standing before those who had spent the last ten years bathing in blood.

You glanced at Nestor, your expression unreadable. “And what did the Greeks do when they realized who had arrived?”

Nestor sighed, the weight of time heavy in his voice.

“He was—is too young. The generals agreed he was not yet ready for battle, so he was placed under my care to continue his studies and train.”

You nodded in understanding, your eyes flickering toward the boy once more.

Nestor hesitated before adding, “My son, Antilochus, took him under his wing.” His voice softened, grief creeping into the edges of it. “He taught him well. Would have been proud to see him run today.”

That gave you pause.

Antilochus....

A soft, almost apologetic smile tugged at your lips. You knew what that meant.

Antilochus had perished in the same battle that had claimed Achilles—died sacrificing himself to save Nestor when Memnon’s son, Ptolemaeus, had descended upon the old Greek King.

You could almost see him: Antilochus beaming with pride as he guided Ajax, treating him as a little brother. And now? He was gone.

A familiar ache pressed into your chest.

You exhaled quietly before shifting your gaze back to the young boy with a softened gaze. “You wish to compete?” you finally ask.

He hesitates for for only a second before nodding, squaring his shoulders as if to make himself seem taller. "Y-yes my Lady," he said, voice small but steady.

A quiet hum left your lips as you studied him. There was fire in his eyes; a hunger for recognition, for a chance to prove himself despite his age.

You glanced at Nestor who gave you a patient look. Then, your gaze drifted to Penelope, who watched with faint amusement and crossed arms as if she already knew what you were about to say.

A slow smile pulled at your lips.

"Then you shall run," you said simply.

A flash of delight spread across the boy’s face. He bowed his head quickly, stepping back into the line of competitors with a barely-contained grin.

Your gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before shifting back to Nestor.

"I suppose it wouldn’t be fair to simply call him Ajax when we already have one." You tilted your head toward the much larger Ajax standing a few paces away. "We’ll need to differentiate them somehow."

At that, the older Ajax lets out a small scoff. "Shouldn't be difficult to tell the difference with his size," he mused, arms crossed over his broad chest.

A thoughtful hum left you.

"Then let it be known," you said, voice carrying over, "that from this day forth, he shall be called Ajax the Less. And you? Ajax the Great."

Murmurs of approval rippled through the crowd. Even older Ajax gave an approving nod as if acknowledging the names to be fitting.

Young Ajax perked up in excitement, his lips parting slightly before he quickly bowed his head. “Thank you! Thank you so much!”

You inclined your head in response before motioning toward the runners. “Let the race begin!”

The boy was fast.

Surprisingly so.

As soon as the footrace commenced, Ajax the Less darted forward with an agility that shocked many. He was quick—his light frame allowing him to weave through his competitors with ease, feet seeming to barely touch the ground.

His pace was matched only by Penelope whose longer strides carried her forward effortlessly. The two of them ran neck and neck, kicking up dust as they sprinted, neither willing to relent.

Your lips twitched in amusement as you watched the spectacle unfold.

Thetis, seated beside you, leaned in slightly. "Your Captain is quite skilled," she murmured, watching Penelope with a hint of approval.

You exhaled a quiet laugh. "She is Ithaca’s Queen for a reason."

Down on the field the race was reaching its climax. The men roared in excitement as Ajax the Less pushed himself harder, his arms pumping as he ran, determination written across his face.

But then just as victory seemed within his grasp—

A loose strap on his sandal caught his foot.

He tumbled forward, sand and dust kicking up around him as he fell.

The boy scrambled, trying to push himself up, but it was too late—Penelope had already crossed the finish line. Disappointment flashed across his face as his small hands clenched into fists against the ground.

To his surprise Penelope turned back. A hush settled over the field as she walked over, kneeling down to offer her hand.

“Come now,” she with an easy grin, voice light with amusement. “I had to use every ounce of my energy just to keep up with you. Let’s not keep them waiting.”

Ajax blinked up at her with stunned admiration. "You really mean that?" his voice was hushed as if afraid to believe it.

Penelope chuckled. "Of course."

A grin slowly stretched across his face as he took her hand. She helped him to his feet, brushing some of the dirt off his shoulders.

The sight of the young boy standing beside one of Greece’s most formidable warriors—one towering over the other—earned a round of applause and laughter.

Up on the podium Thetis sighed. "Most would have left him in his despair."

You smiled faintly, watching as the boy beamed, standing a little taller now despite his loss.

"Yes," you murmured, "but Penelope is not most."

You suddenly gestured for Ajax to come forward. “Come. Sit with us.”

He stood frozen, eyes darting between you, the podium, and the imposing figure of Thetis beside you. Then, with all the excitement of a child barely containing himself, he rushed forward, nearly tripping over his own feet as he hurried up the steps.

He dropped into the other seat beside you, his hands gripping the armrests as he tried to compose himself, his wide snaggle-toothed smile a welcome sight.

And so, the games continued.

*･:*:★☽✧⚔️✧☾★:*:･*

Diomedes and Ajax the Great had just finished stepping forward to greet you with a respectful nod, turning their attention to the temporary arena for the next event—Armed Combat.

"Pay attention," you offer little Ajax a slight smirk. "There is much to learn, even when it is just a contest for recognition and prizes."

The boy nodded so fervently his curls bounced.

As the contenders prepared for the dual a familiar voice called your name.

Briseis.

She weaved through the gathered men and up the steps, sliding into the space beside you with an easy grace.

“I thought you’d want an update,” she whisper. “Mostly just small things; the men are still drinking and a few fights broke out, the usual.” Then her lips curled slightly in amusement. “And of course you know I just had to find some...gossip.”

You snorted. "What have you heard now?"

Briseis grinned. "Oh nothing too scandalous this time—though I did hear that some of the older generals are grumbling about how unfairly young and beautiful their Ithaca's Commander is."

You rolled your eyes while Thetis outright laughed.

Before you could respond the teen gaze trailed over to Ajax the Less, seeming to finally register his presence.

“Oh?” Briseis quirked a brow, folding her arms as she studied the wide-eyed child sitting stiff as a board. “And who is this?”

He visibly short-circuited.

The poor boy turned the color of a ripe pomegranate. His mouth opened but no words escaped, only a choked sound somewhere between a squeak and a cough. He stared at Briseis as though she had descended from Olympus itself.

An unimpressed but amused look sat on the eighteen year old's face. “Charming. And what is your name little one?"

Ajax the Less swallowed thickly.

"I—uh—y-you—" He squeezed his eyes shut in frustration before blurting, "Ajax! Ajax the Less!"

Thetis nudges you lightly, her amusement clear as she whispered, "Your new little shadow might be in love."

You hummed in agreement as the horn sounded across the camp. The has match started.

Diomedes and Ajax the Great was fierce; both showcasing raw strength and years of skill honed in battle. The clash of metal rang out as the two men circled each other, their movements calculated and sharp.

Even from your vantage point you could see the tension behind each swing and parry. Diomedes was quick and precise; a man blessed by Athena herself. Ajax had sheer power; each of his swings carried enough weight to cleave a man in two if landed properly.

The dual stretched longer than expected—neither willing to surrender an inch of ground. Blades met time and time again, sweat beginning to glisten on their brows.

But in the end there would be no victor. Before either could be seriously wounded the fight was halted and both men were awarded prizes in honor of their prowess.

Penelope, deciding to sit out the rest of the games and joined the podium, leans back in her seat. "Finally," she mutters. "I was beginning to think they'd die of exhaustion before admitting defeat."

You smirked. "You sound disappointed."

"I would have won in half the time."

Briseis laughed from the space beside you she had squeezed into, pressing close in the already cramped chair. "Oh? Then perhaps you should have competed."

"Perhaps I should have."

The next few events passed quickly.

Sixth event—Discus Throw—ended with Polypoetes securing victory. Penelope scoffed at the result.

"You could have bested him easily," she commented, shooting you a sideways glance.

You grinned at her praise. "How fortunate for them I chose not to participate..."

Archery was the seventh event. An event that proved to be frustrating for the Queen of Ithaca.

Penelope let out a long-suffering sigh as she watched the competitors fumble with their shots. "You or Odysseus could have won this blindfolded. To be frank it's pathetic. Gods! How are they this bad?!"

"They're trying their best," Briseis says, though her amused smirk betrayed her true feelings.

"Well their best is dreadful," Penelope huffs. "I should go down there and teach them myself." She points toward a competitor who loosed an arrow that barely grazed the target. “Look at that! It’s as if he’s afraid the bowstring will bite him.”

You had to bite back laughter.

The eighth and final event was the Spear Throw.

And honestly? It was less a competition and more a formality. As Commander of the Greek forces, Agamemnon was given the victory out of respect for his position.

You, Briseis, and Penelope were less than thrilled.

Briseis wrinkled her nose while Penelope scoffed. "How convenient."

You merely exhaled, choosing to remain silent rather than indulge your irritation.