The Heart of Home // Hit The Ground Running
Chapter 2
Fandom - EPIC: The Musical | Pairing: Odysseus/Kallikrates (OC) | Genre: Angst-Romance
Content Contains: Time Skip, Pre-Troy Saga, Mutual Fondness, M/M, Odykrates, OCxCanon, Prolonged Silence
Word Count: 3.2k
As his boots fell to the gravel shore, Kallikrates could see Helios rising upon the great kingdom of Ithaca. The way the sun gave way to a pallid blue tint, how the roosters crowed and the early children ran through the marketplace to help open shops in hopes for a quick piece of bread or fruit. Perhaps a few iron spits if they were really lucky.
Coming from Athens, the now young man looked around. It was a far cry from his childhood, his bright green eyes taking in the sights of the land his old friend had come to create. Today was the the day.
"Ithaca," he breathed, taking in the sea breeze of the sands beneath his heels. The gentle motions of his body rattled his quiver, the clacking of arrows barely audible to the naked ear. As he tugged his khlamys tighter around his shoulders, the green fabric covering much of his form, he took his first steps away through the large gates.
The kingdom was a buzz as the people of Ithaca woke, filling the streets with artisans and trade, the marketplace coming alive almost as quickly as the sky had come alight. Fruit, weapons, livestock, work. If you could want it, Ithaca could provide.
Trading six oboli for a traveling of wine from a vendor, Kallikrates slipped out of the marketplace as swiftly as he'd entered. A reputable thief like himself didn't fear the repercussions of being caught, and yet he respected the kingdom too much. He respected the king too much. So as he tucked the wine into the tagari across his chest, he nodded to the market behind him. With a trained gaze comparable to Aëtos, his eyes followed the horizon of the sunrise, seeing it cast over the palace. It pierced through the ridges of stone and danced like a flight along the walls of Ithaca's greatest prize.
His heart thumped in his chest, reaching his ears as he smiled again, with a fondness he'd never known. That was the hill. The very same his tree had rested upon.
Would Odysseus even remember him? Would he still be here? Was he still...
He shook the thoughts from his head as he came back to the present.
It was larger than the old king Laertes', his eyes catching on the great limestone structures.
A low whistle sang from the young man's lips. "Damn. Now that's I call a home fit for a king," he mumbled, awe and admiration teeming in his voice. Hesitation filled him as he stared at the castle head-on, unsure if he'd be greeted with open arms.
As he guided himself with caution, he stopped at the archway, his hand gripping the woven fabric of his bag. Pushing past, he reached the stairs. By now, his blood was loud in his ears, anxiety coursing through his veins. There was a deep breath, and of course the religious young man couldn't help himself as he raised his arms, his palms facing the sky in a brief prayer to Ares for courage. Taking the wine with him as he ascended the steps, he drank in the view. The palace, much like the shore, was a place of constant bustle. Guards, servants, and civilians were all on the move, each with a place to be and a person to meet at every moment. As Kallikrates approached the top, one of the younger guards, around his mid-twenties, pressed a hand to his chest.
"You there." The guard spoke with authority, his hand resting upon the spear in his grasp.
Kallikrates stopped and took a step back, laughing sheepishly. "Good morning! My apologies, Sir. I'm here to see King Odysseus! Would he be in today?" As he studied the unamused expression of the guard, he smiled nervously, flashing a glimpse of the sealed jug from his bag by its handle. "I come bearing fruits of his great kingdom! Wine, for the great king." There was a smile, an air of pride for a king he couldn't even be sure was worth his praises.
"And what makes you think the king will want anything you have to offer? He has fine wine from many different lands, so what makes yours so special? You've not gone through any appropriate channels, you cannot simply waltz in here and—"
"I believe there's been a mistake. I did go through the proper channels. As I've stated, I come bearing a gift for the king in exchange for an audience. It truly is of the utmost importance," he retorted with the confidence of a soldier. A small grin spread across his face, one of cunning as he gave a short bow.
"Will you at least tell him I have more stories for him, will you?" His voice held the exasperation of a man that knew he'd have an interesting response. He offered the oinochoe to the guard, to give to the ruler. "I'll just be here. We'll see if the king wants to see me then, yes?"
With a roll of his eyes, the guard hesitated for a moment but accepted the vessel of wine, taking a good look at Kallikrates, still suspicious. He eyed the man up and down, his grip on his weapon loosening.
"Fine," he finally said, his tone still a bit gruff. "Sit your ass down. I'll go present your case to the king."
With a hum, Kalli rested himself in place, sitting on the edge of the topmost step. Opening his waterskin, he could feel the breeze of the closing summer whisk through his hair. Pursing his lips around the tip of the hide, he swallowed a gulp of the water inside, nursing the leather like a babe. "You've been doing so good. Just a little longer," he murmured to no one in particular, pressing the wooden cork back into the end of the skin.
As two guards approached, one chimed up with a much kinder tone, albeit still gruff. "He will see you," he gestured to the doors of the palace. "Come."
Kallikrates perked up, scrambling to his feet. "Oh? Did he like the wine, then?" His voice was light and teasing as he followed the guidance of the guards diligently. He quickly matched pace, the smile falling from his face as he was met with the noise of a mosaic.
The guard never answered him, instead simply leading him through the intricate halls of the palace, passing by countless works of art, tapestries, and even the occasional golden and marble statues. They finally came to a stop in front of a large pair of double doors crafted entirely from a thick ironwood. The guards opened the door and, as they entered, Odysseus's voice rang out, loud and commanding.
"Leave us."
It echoed against the walls, booming like the command it was.
They looked to each other, bowing before they backed away and shut the doors. Odysseus leaned back in his seat, his eyes trained on the newcomer as he gestured to a seat across from him.
"Sit."
Hearing the voice of the now grown king sent a chill down his spine. It rumbled in the opulent space, rattling in his very bones. His blood ran cold.
Had he made a mistake coming back here?
Taking the seat as instructed, Kallikrates adjusted his clothing, his dark hair showing like a curtain as it cascaded beyond his chin, crawling down his shoulders. He didn't speak. He didn't dare, not in the presence of a king with such reverence. The reddish-purple dye that adorned the king's khiton. The golden trim that danced along its fabric. The colors of sheer, irrefutable royalty. This certainly didn't seem like the same man he'd known.
Odysseus' gaze didn't leave, his eyes fixed on Kallikrates' form like the claws of a lion on its prey. The tension in the air was palpable, like a tightly coiled spring waiting to be sprung. He studied him, taking in his every move. He saw the tension in the man's shoulders, the way he sat at the edge of the chair, the slight tremble in his hands.
The king's eyes studied him, taking in the sight. That hair, thick and bundled with ribbons, almost framed the soft face of his guest, and he could sense a sort of... unease.
Kallikrates could see the hesitation, the unwillingness to speak, and his mind went reeling, questions upon questions filling his thoughts.
Why was he here? Why did he come?
Odysseus let the silence between them linger, observing Kallikrates for a short while before he leaned forward, the chair creaking beneath his movement. His gaze never left his face, searching for any sort of familiar feature he could recognize. And there it was... the eyes.
He didn't speak, too preoccupied with the sight in front of him. He could hardly believe his eyes, his heart thumping in his chest. The very picture of the young man he'd only dreamed of was in front of him now, and he was... speechless. There was a strange sense of déjà vu, as if time was playing a cruel joke on him. Was this a dream, a memory... or was this real? He almost reached out to make sure he was real, to convince himself he wasn't hallucinating.
"Look at me." His voice was steady, despite how loudly his heart pounded in his ears.
Kalli's focus fixed on the king, meeting his piercing gaze as he swallowed his nerves. He moved the hair from his face, tucking it behind his ear as his green eyes met the man, aged and yet so full of life. His heart was in his throat, unable to form words as he came face to face with the reigning king of Ithaca.
Time had done them both kindly in its own right. Kalli's face remained youthful, his features refining with definition rather than sharpness, his nose more prominent than the softness of his younger self. His form remained concealed by his clothing, his hands placed firmly in his lap.
Still, he didn't speak, as if a lump had formed in his throat.
There it was. Those eyes. That face. He knew that face. He'd seen it before. He'd seen that face in his dreams, in his memories, in his thoughts, but seeing him here, real and sitting in front of him, it took his breath away. He could only stare, his heart racing in his chest as a feeling of... joy... overwhelmed his heart.
Odysseus was struck with the desire to grab him, to hold him tight. But he withheld, wanting to hear his voice. He needed to hear him speak...
The silence between the two was thick.
Kallikrates sat uncomfortably in the quiet air. His breath was slow, but loud in the still room. He couldn't think of words to say to him.
It had been so long since he'd been eye to eye with Odysseus. His brows furrowed tensely as his fingers twitched. His eyes were trained on the king, taking in his features, every one of them hardened with age. Lustrous curls that tangled themselves like the blooms of a hyacinth, a notch in his brow that emphasized mortality. Rings that rested upon each finger, adorned in jewels and gold, his large and calloused hands interlaced in front of his eyes. Long gone were the soft features of a young boy; instead replaced with the face of a man worthy of being called a king.
He didn't dare reach towards the king. He didn't speak out of turn. His pupils trembled as he waited with bated breath for the great king to move first.
The crown, his thoughts racing, felt himself being driven mad by the silence so loud you could hear a mosquito's wings. He desperately wanted to hear the other's voice, to hear the same gentle voice he'd heard in his youth, but instead he sat, as still as a statue. His mind swirled with questions, ones he'd been dying to ask all these years. He ached to listen to his voice, to hear him say his name with that song-like intonation he'd carried. His heart felt like it could explode.
"Say something..." His voice was... pleading. Not kingly, not demanding, but almost begging.
Then, softer than the silence itself, he spoke. With a wavering verse of nerves, just two words.
"Your majesty…" And still, he didn't move.
His heart fluttered as Kallikrates' gentle tone filled the air, relief coursing through him at the sound. But it was so formal, so still, and... not Kalli. Where was the carefree young man he fell for all those years ago? What was…
"You... you don't have to be formal with me." His voice was just above a whisper, still pleading. "Please..."
"Odysseus," he breathed, his voice a whisper.
"Do you remember me?"
His breath formed like a muzzle in his throat as his name poured into the atmosphere, his fingers tightening on the arms of his chair. Hearing the name from his lips sent a flood of emotions through him, a rush so strong it took his breath away.
"Remember you...?" His throat tightened in a low gasp, tinged with disbelief. "Kallikrates... how could I forget you?"
His name on the king's tongue made Kalli's heart flutter, his shoulders relaxing. "Ody..." His hand finally moved, reaching towards the king's face, cupping his cheek in his hand tenderly with a touch as soft as the fur in his boots.
Odysseus' breath caught briefly as the hand touched his cheek, his stomach twisting into a knot of Herakles, tightening uncontrollably. He leaned into the touch, closing his eyes as he felt the other's flesh against his skin. It was almost too much for him to handle, the feelings stirring within him. He felt vulnerable, bare, his heart stripped of its armor at just the simple action of the other's hand touching him.
"Kallikrates..." He spoke low, barely a whisper, the name a prayer on his lips. He reached up, covering his hand with his own, holding it against his cheek.
Kalli stood, leaning closer as he slowly let his fingers comb into the king's facial hair. "Look how you've grown," he murmured, his eyes bearing the years away from the island. "You look good." His words were hushed, as if worried anyone would hear.
Odysseus could do nothing but look up at him, feeling the hand in his beard, his mind racing as a heat spread across his cheeks at the words. He swallowed, his heart still beating madly in his chest as he relished in the feeling of his touch. His hand on the other's gave a small squeeze, as if to ground himself and convince himself this wasn't a dream.
"And you... you... haven't aged a day."
"Ody... it's been so long," he whispered.
"I didn't come at a bad time, did I?" His words teemed with something indescribable. His eyes were drinking in every second of this, and his throat felt dry. Kalli's pulse skipped every other beat, anxiety pounding in his ears that this would end. That Odysseus had moved on. That life would get in the way again. Though so close, the two were never further, their lives treading on opposite sides of the sea.
Upon the question, the crown stood in what could only be described as a Tyrian blur. He was only moments away from the other now. He was so close... close enough that he could smell him, smell the scent of his skin and his hair. His heart was still racing, his mind dizzy. His hand still held onto Kalli's, gripping it almost desperately.
"No," he rushed, his voice trembling. "You... didn't come at a bad time..." He couldn't even be sure there could ever be a bad time.
Kallikrates wrapped the king in his arms, burying his face into the man's shoulder as their clothing wrapped around one another like clouds across the sky.
"I'm glad."
The words were like thousands of weights dropping from his shoulders, the embrace warm like the blood that bubbled in their veins, rushing in a way that one's head would spin.
"Oh, Ody... how long has it been," he relieved close to the king's ear rhetorically.
Odysseus's eyes widened in surprise as the man pulled him into an embrace. For a moment he stiffened, not used to such displays of affection. But after a beat, he melted into the touch, his arms encircling his waist, holding onto the man like a lifeline. He buried his face in his neck, inhaling deeply, the familiar scent of him sending his thoughts a decade back. He felt a sense of euphoria as arms wrapped around him, the familiar feeling of his touch bringing both comfort and pain. His clung to Kallikrates, holding tightly, his fingers digging into the woolen fabric of his clothes, as if afraid to let go, as if afraid he would disappear again.
"Too long," was all he could answer anyway, his throat tight with emotion.
"Oh," Kallikrates felt his heart tug anxiously as he pulled away to meet the king's eye. "This is… close to where my spot was," he said slowly. "What became of that old olive tree?"
"The tree?" Odysseus chuckled softly, the sound reverberating in his chest. He felt a strange, bittersweet pang when he heard the question, reliving the moments spent there, the day his heart felt that spark.
"Still standing, strong and healthy."
"Could I see it?" The plea certainly didn't fall on deaf ears.
"Somewhere quiet, of course. Away from curious ears," he mumbled, pressing his forehead to Odysseus'.
"Our spot?"
The king smiled softly, his heart swelling at the request. He leaned into his touch, his eyes fluttering to a close as he leaned his forehead against the other's. His hands instinctively rose to gently clasp his face, his touch gentle yet firm.
"Of course." His expression grew warm. "Come back here; tonight. I'll be free from my schedule then. I'll… I'll be waiting."
"Tonight then," he whispered. "Save some wine for me. I'll be back tonight."
Odysseus nodded, his gaze fixed on his face. He felt a familiar warmth spreading through him, his heart skipping in his chest. He wanted to keep looking at him, to have him in his arms for just a little longer, but he knew he couldn't.
"I'll be there," the king emphasized, his voice low and a tad hoarse. He slowly let go, letting his fingers gently run down the length of the other's arms, their tips lingering on the surface of skin for a moment before he released the man entirely.
A small smile played upon Kalli's features. "See you later, Your Highness," he teased, heading towards the doors.
As he left, Odysseus let out a soft scoff, rolling his eyes playfully. He watched him go, his gaze never leaving him as the great doors closed behind the man. He felt a sense of anticipation. His body felt warm, fuzzy. He still could hardly believe that this was real, that this wasn't some kind of dream. He found himself desperately awaiting nightfall, counting the seconds until he could see him again.
And so, he would wait.
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