Scholia on Homer Odyssey 10.495. Ariaithos of Tegea BNJ 316 F 18
[To him even in death Persephone granted intelligence, alone to be wise] Ariaithos says that Hera, changing her mind about maiming him [i.e. blinding Teiresias], asked of Persephone that he have the powers of a seer even in death.
Designs and redesigns cause I was strongly insprired by Hades
Im not satisfied with Hermes's, I mean - his design from Hades's still stuck in my head. HELP
I need to work harder on him lmfao, mainly because of his freaking hair
Seeing others hide their Hermes's face, now I cant draw his eyes, it just make me feel uncomfortable and confused while drawing him. Ofc his design will be simplified if i make animatic, but Im still making out how the hell to actually express his vibe in Circe's saga
So Kallimachos did not invent the friendship between Athena and Chariklo.
„Pherecydes says that he [Teiresias] was blinded by Athena. For Chariclo was dear (προσφιλῆ) to Athena (…) and he saw her naked, and so she covered his eyes with her hands and made him blind. But when Chariclo wanted him to recover his sight again, she was unable to do this, but by cleaning his ears she made him able to understand every sound of the birds; And she gave him a scepter of cornel-wood, and when he carried it, he walked in the same manner as those who see.” (FGrH 3 f 92a)
ἀλαοῦ: τυφλοῦ παρὰ τὸ “ἀλαὸν” ἢ τὸ “λάειν”, ὅ ἐστι βλέπειν. / πηρωθῆναι δ᾽αὐτὸν Φερεκύδης [φησὶν] ἰδόντα τὴν Ἀθηνᾶν λουομένην [fr. 92b Fowler]. ἢ ἔτι παρθένον ὑπάρχουσαν καὶ κο ρευθεῖσαν ὑπὸ Ἀπόλλωνος ἐν τῷ καίεσθαι μέλλειν ὑπὸ Εὐήρους τοῦ πατρὸς εἰς ἄνδρα μεταβα λέσθαι γνώμῃ τοῦ θεοῦ καὶ ἀμίαντον γενέσθαι. καὶ μετὰ ταῦτα Ἥραν ἐρίσασαν μετὰ Διὸς καὶ περὶ τῆς ἡδονῆς, παρ᾽ὁποτέρῳ τὸ πλεῖόν ἐστι, Τειρεσίαν ἐρέσθαι. τὸν δὲ εἰπεῖν ὅτι μᾶλλον ἥδε ται γυνή· διὸ καὶ πηρωθῆναι ὑπὸ Ἥρας. ὁ δὲ Ζεὺς δωρεῖται τὴν μαντείαν.
blind: not seeing, from “alaon”, or from “laein” which means “to see”. Pherecydes says that he[Tiresias] was blinded upon seeing Athena taking her bath. Or else, being still a girl and having been deflowered by Apollo, as she was about to be burnt by her father Eueres, she was transformed into a man by the intervention of the god, and became invulnerable. After this, Hera quarreled with Zeus over the issue of pleasure (which sex experienced more), and asked Tiresias: he said that the woman enjoys more pleasure, and for this reason he was blinded by Hera. Zeus then gave him the power of divination.
-Scholia in Ody. 10.493.
Σώστρατος δὲ ἐν Τειρεσίᾳ [SH 733], ποίημα δέ ἐστι ἐλεγειακόν, φησι τὸν Τειρεσίαν θήλειαν τὴν ἀρχὴν γεννηθῆναι καὶ ἐκτραφῆναι ὑπὸ Χαρικλοῦς, καὶ ἑπτὰ ἐτῶν γενομένην ὀρειφοιτεῖν. ἐρα σθῆναι δὲ αὐτῆς τὸν Ἀπόλλωνα, καὶ ἐπὶ μισθῷ συνουσίας διδάξαι τὴν μουσικήν. Τὴν δὲ μετὰ τὸ μαθεῖν μηκέτι ἑαυτὴν ἐπιδιδόναι τῷ Ἀπόλλωνι κἀκεῖνον ἀνδρῶσαι αὐτήν, ἵνα πειρῷτο ἔρω τος, καὶ αὐτὴν ἀνδρωθεῖσαν κρῖναι Δία καὶ Ἥραν ὡς ἀνωτέρω ἐρρήθη.
And Sostratos in the Teiresias, an elegiac poem, says that Teiresias was originally born female, and was raised by Chariclo. At the age of seven she was wandering in the mountains, and Apollo fell in love with her, and taught her music as payment for sexual intercourse. But after being taught the girl no longer gave herself to Apollo, and he changed her into a man, so that she would have experience of Eros. Having been changed to a man, he acted as judge for Zeus and Hera, as has been mentioned above. (transl. J.J. O’Hara)
-Eustathios of Thessaloniki's scholia on Ptolemy the Quail
A different version where Teiresias was born as female.
Part Two of EPIC: The Baby Saga! Go and check the pinned post on @echoxeclipse 's account!
Characters: Teiresias, Odysseus
Warnings: Mentioned character death
Word Count: 2,543
Having the power of prophecy was never a gift to Teiresias. It was more of a curse to him, to a man who would never be able to change the fates that he saw. The only people who could change their fates were those who came to him in their time of need. He told them what they wanted, saying as much as he could without receiving a punishment from the gods. But it was never enough. Those heroes never listened. Teiresias could not see them, but he was all too familiar with the hubris that shone in their eyes when they approached him. They would not heed his warnings, dismissing his words as the rambling of an insane man.
And so they left. Days, weeks, sometimes months later, if he was lucky, they would pass by him in the Underworld. Teiresias would lower his head and say nothing as they left. There were never any words he could say to them. It was exhausting. He was beyond exhausted with the strain placed upon his shoulders. Being helpless was not an unfamiliar feeling, but a feeling he loathed all the same.
Teiresias refused to let go of the hope that he would find someone who would listen to his prophecies, that they would process every word carefully until they found a way to rewrite their fate. He thought he had finally found that person when he heard King Odysseus of Ithaca, Hero of Troy approaching him from behind.
When he heard those footsteps, he turned his head in the direction of the sound, eyes opening slowly for just a second. For the hero approaching, only a second had passed, one footstep in the direction of the prophet. But Teiresias had already seen his entire life up to that present moment play out before his eyes.
He watched as a young boy spoke to the goddess Athena for the first time, the boy raising his hand towards the goddess only to be ignored. He turned his head slowly and came face to face with a slightly older Odysseus, holding hands with a young woman, both of them smiling happily. During that memory, a child appeared in the woman's arms. Teiresias blinked, and a battle appeared before his very eyes. He saw Odysseus fighting side by side with many soldiers, constructing a giant horse with Athena whispering in his ear about how to build it. A tilt of his head later and Teiresias stared as Odysseus knelt on the floor in front of him, begging to some divine presence, a baby held in his shaking arms. Thunder roared overhead and Odysseus raised the bundle of blankets. Closing his eyes did nothing to prevent Teiresias from seeing the baby plummet to ground below.
He heard a voice beside him, a soft laugh. "Greet the world with open arms!" The voice was snuffed out not long after by a wooden club crashing down. Teiresias watched with bated breath as the god of the wind offered him a bag of wind before one of his crewmates opened it in an act of distrust and jealousy. The sea god Poseidon submerging most of his ships into the ocean, drowning them instantly. Finally, Circe stood before Odysseus, guiding him by the hand to her bedroom before he pushed her away in horror. So that was how the captain discovered him. That sorceress told him about his existence.
The sound of Odysseus's foot falling was enough to jolt Teiresias back into awareness. He stood up slowly, gripping onto his cane tightly for support, still refusing to turn fully and face him. He wasn't ready to witness this hero's fate yet. He didn't want to see him die.
"Great prophet?" His voice was soft and hesitant as he watched the man in front of him. He certainly looked the part with nothing but a black robe draped over his entire body, the hood pulled up to cover everything from Odysseus's view. It was frustrating, to say the least. He couldn't tell whether this individual was armed or not.
Until finally, the prophet turned and allowed the soldier to see him. As Odysseus took in every part of this man's appearance, Teiresias took in every part of Odysseus's future. The murder of countless sirens. The betrayal as he sacrificed many of his men to a mighty beast. The betrayal as his men turned against him. A god giving him one last ultimatum. Being a prisoner and a slave for seven years. The god of the sea cornering him one last time. Murdering suitors in his palace that tried to claim ownership of his family. Becoming someone so different than who he was in that current moment. Fascinating indeed, how a person can change.
"In another world somewhere, you make it home safely with my guidance. But that's not a world I know. It's not a world we live in." Teiresias's voice was quiet, but Odysseus listened silently. He clung to each word, frowning at the strangeness of his words.
"What do you mean, not a world you know?" He was puzzled, taking a slow step in the prophet's direction, but the man in front of him didn't react. He merely stepped away from him again, body turned to the edge of the cliff they stood atop. Odysseus walked tentatively until he was stood beside him. Images appeared one by one, some he was familiar with, some he wasn't yet aware of. His darling wife Penelope, his perfect son Telemachus. The Trojan War, the infant Scamandrius. His closest friend Polites.
And then everything became unfamiliar. His only friend left standing before him, his sword gripped tightly with both hands. His palace in Ithaca. His wife sat in their shared bedroom while a man approached her from behind. He couldn't see this man's face. Odysseus's heart jumped into his throat as he turned away from these visions and back to the prophet, yet the prophet refused to meet his gaze.
"What are you showing me, prophet? After everything we've been through, you're saying you can't get me home? What are you saying, then? What are you showing me?" The soldier beside him was growing angry, but Teiresias was lost in thought. Everything was passing by too quickly, the man's future shifting and changing with each passing second. It was too much for the prophet to process and he simply stood in silence, head bowed, before speaking once more.
"I am showing you your palace, desecrated by men who have believed that you are dead for a very long time. And I am showing you Penelope. She will be with a man who is haunting from countless murders. A man who carries the weight of hundreds of ruined lives on his shoulders. Whether this man means her any harm, I can not say."
Odysseus listened once more before grabbing the prophet suddenly by the front of his robe so the man could finally look him in the eyes. Grey eyes stared intently into… white?
The hooded man's eyes were white, with no irises. They were completely blank, staring into nothing. So this prophet was blind? He could only see the images that the gods allowed him to. Odysseus needed answers, he needed him to admit everything he knew, regardless of whether he "could" say it or not. He dragged the prophet by the front of his robes, eyes cold as he tugged him to the edge of the cliff. The prophet was silent as his feet scuffed and dragged against the stones, blood dripping onto the rocks after soft skin met a jagged edge. Still, he said nothing and the silence was getting to Odysseus.
In truth, Teiresias felt fear creeping up in his throat when the front of his cloak was seized. He knew that he was being dragged, but he had no idea where he was being taken. That is, until the ground disappeared beneath his very feet. He was dimly aware that his body was being held up by nothing but Odysseus's sheer strength and the prophet was worried that his cloak would rip and he would plummet into the Fields of Asphodel where he was summoned from.
Odysseus shook Teiresias in the air, close to yelling in the man's face. "You will say, prophet! Tell me everything! What will happen to my wife?!"
In that moment, something within Teiresias changed. A tiny voice whispered to him that he was going to be dropped, and he felt fear rise up in his throat, a tight noose around his neck. His hands scrambled to grab onto the other man's, eyes wide with panic even though he could not see. He felt his mind becoming more and more overwhelmed with the need to free himself, the need to feel the ground beneath his feet. When he was back on the floor, he'd be able to focus, he'd be able to breathe-
But why would he need to breathe? He was dead, wasn't he? That couldn't be right… He was alive, he had to be. How old was he again?
Teiresias's head was spinning and he was no longer aware of Odysseus. He wasn't sure whether he was still talking or whether he was simply holding him, waiting for an answer. He couldn't remember what he had asked. He couldn't remember this hero's fate. The prophet couldn't remember a single thing in his distress. He needed to be back on the ground, where he could run, far away from the cliff and his foresight and these heroes with their gruesome deaths and-
"Prophet? Great prophet?" Rocks underneath his feet, strong hands pushing him down to sit. His cloak, heavy around his shoulders, the hood pressing down on his head. It was all too much, he needed relief, he needed peace.
His hood was pulled down slowly to reveal his face and it finally felt like Teiresias could breathe again. He gripped onto the man in front of him like a lifeline, weak arms holding on to much stronger ones. It reminded him of when he was younger, being picked up by his father after a long day of running around and exploring like children did. In that moment, he felt a lot like a child, vulnerable, reliant on the support of an adult. It was an odd feeling, one the prophet was unfamiliar with, but he would just have to rely on the man in front of him for support.
He took a deep breath, and it felt ragged in his lungs. When he spoke, his voice felt a lot weaker than he had intended. "D-Daddy?" His eyes widened quickly as he shook his head urgently after, the embarrassment burning his cheeks. "Odysseus. King of Ithaca. Leave me…"
Rather than be met with an answer, he felt a pair of strong arms around him, pulling him into a hug. Teiresias leant into the hug, shoulders trembling with unshed tears. He refused to cry but he wanted nothing more than to cling to the man holding him and weep. His mind was far too overwhelmed to do anything else but tighten his grip on the arms holding him, burying his head in his shoulder to avoid having to acknowledge the fact that he should be able to see, but clearly couldn't.
They stayed like that for a long time until the man slowly pulled away, hands remaining on his arms for a moment before moving to reach up to his cheeks to wipe tears away. Teiresias hadn't even noticed that he had been crying. His mind was still hopelessly muddled with the feeling of being far younger than he knew he was and his grip remained tight on the other man's sleeves for comfort. It took a long time for either of them to speak.
"I'm sorry for threatening you, little one…" The Ithacan King's voice was soft and gentle, as if he was soothing a child. Yet in that moment, it felt like the prophet was indeed nothing but a child. He was young and vulnerable, which was why he clung to the man like a lifeline. "I didn't realise that you were so little…"
Teiresias shook his head as he focused on how the King's hands were back on his own, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles on the back of his hands. It was soothing, the warmth seeping into his body in a way he hadn't felt in hundreds of years. It was comforting, and it didn't take long for Teiresias to stop crying. He sat on the rocks with Odysseus, shoulders trembling slightly before he deemed himself calm enough to attempt to speak.
"Not little… Nowhere near little…" The prophet was surprised by the youth in his own voice, at how it trembled and shook with each word, at how he stumbled over certain letters and sounds. It was usual to him, but the man in front of him seemed almost used to. Teiresias could even hear a smile in his voice as he spoke.
"Yeah, alright, kid. You're nowhere near little." That was followed with a ruffle to his hair, which Teiresias accepted without complaint. His expression was soft and relaxed as he slowly allowed himself to just feel the calmness claim him, his loud thoughts quietening to a slight hum like he was most familiar with. The prophet finally smiled, the first in many centuries, and actually felt safe. There were no threats, no arrogant soldiers demanding prophecies for them and growing angry at the results. Odysseus was here to care for him, not to grill him for any more information that he couldn't give.
They sat there in comfortable silence for a while, interrupted only by the occasional question from the hero, making sure that the boy in front of him was calm and comfortable. It was another hour or so before they were jolted out of their peace by loud yells of "Captain!"
Odysseus sighed quietly when he heard the voices, turning to the young prophet in worry. "Are you alright, little one?" He sounded hesitant, so reluctant to leave the boy alone when he was still young and vulnerable.
Teiresias drew his knees up to his chest before nodding, trying to appear more certain than he was. "Mhm. Be nice to cows, Odysseus of Ithaca. Don't kill any."
Odysseus nodded uncertainly at that last piece of information, head tilted to the side curiously. "No killing cows? Okay, sure. I'll make sure my men know." He smiled down at the boy even though he couldn't see him and patted him on the head. He would bring the baby out of the Underworld if he could, but he didn't want to enrage Hades. During their voyage, they had angered enough gods already.
At that final send-off, Odysseus turned to leave, walking back to the sound of the voices of his crew. Just before he returned to them, he stopped and turned around to check on the baby one last time. A woman stood beside him, expression gentle as she slowly lifted him up into her arms. As a shade, they had a new strength they didn't have in life.
"Look after him, mom…" Odysseus whispered quietly before returning to his men.
