I need like a sickfic of Athena and a teenaged Ody where Athena makes in train in the rain or something and he gets sick from it.
Ohhhhmygod you are speaking MY language. You are so right.
Athena knew the importance of rain. Life-giving, crop-watering, so on and so forth. She would never curse or delay it. But when it came to war, to training?
It was a nuisance, all things considered. It limited visibility, made mortals sluggish and hesitant to act.
And yet, it was inevitable, including in times of war. So warriors in training had to learn to handle it.
Odysseus stood before her, and Athena would be lying if she said the image of her protege looking like a wet cat didn’t bring her some amusement.
“Tilt your head so the rain does not blind you,” she reminded, suddenly sweeping her staff towards Odysseus to test his grip. It just barely stayed in his hands as he clutched it tighter.
Athena watched him shake the hair out of his eyes- she wasn’t sure why that was necessary, he had rather short hair right now, it couldn’t be bothering him that much. Athena’s long braid was not actually wet, but it wasn’t dry either- with her divinity chasing away the indignity and impracticality of being soaked.
“Guard up. Let’s try this again.”
Athena lunged forward and swept at his feet, which Odysseus nimbly dodged- only for his foot to get sucked in by a patch of mud he should have known to avoid. She did not give him time to free himself, only advancing.
Odysseus ducked under her next swing, and lashed his own across her calves- he managed to graze her, and the smallest glimmer of gold dripped from her left ankle before it sealed up again. But for a mortal, that was a decent wound to distract and harm, perhaps cripple if pushed a bit deeper. Not quite efficient when the goal was to guide Atropos’ scissors to the thread of your enemy, but effective as far as non-lethal blows went.
Odysseus yanked his foot out of the mud patch and advanced on her- and it was in that slight pause of indecision that Athena noticed the small tremble of his chest. A small irregularity in breathing.
“Control your breaths,” she reminded him sharply, as she aimed another jab at his midsection. He was slower to respond, jerkily evading the blow like a puppet with its strings yanked backwards.
The match went on for a while, until Athena finally trapped him over that same patch- really, Odysseus- and his weapon sank into the mud itself. Odysseus raised his hands in surrender. As his chest heaved, Athena noticed that the rise and fall were still uneven.
If Odysseus noticed this, which she was sure he did, he did not betray it- but his tone was strained as he pushed out, “Water break?”
Athena didn’t know why he would need one with all this water around, but she’d learned not so long ago that it was better to allow a short break, at least once an hour, and more on hot days. “Yes, quickly.”
Odysseus wasted no time darting off towards the grove of trees nearby where he kept his waterskin, snatching it up and guzzling half the contents. He choked on it halfway through, sputtering through a cough. Water dripped down his face from the rain and from the corners of his mouth; he looked like a wet dog.
Rustling in the nearby foliage turned Athena’s head.
Two other teenage boys- as if dealing with one wasn't enough- the steady beat of the rain echoed off the large shield Eurylochus was using to keep somewhat dry. Polites, as well, was sharing in the protection by staying close. Odd, because Athena had assumed that they only came to join in on Odysseus’ training or watch when it was convenient to them. But this downpour made everything far from convenient. She quietly watched them from between the branches.
Odysseus didn’t seem to notice that the others had entered, now holding his waterskin out under the steady stream of a leaf deflecting the rain to refill it. His shoulders were hunched, and as Athena focused her hearing over the rain, she could discern that it was still raspy.
“Ody!” Polites left the safety of the shield to come to his side. Odysseus finally looked up; Athena silently tsked at his slip of inattentiveness.
“Guys! What-” Odysseus started to rise, only to stumble halfway through the motion. Polites pressed a hand to his chest to steady him, and it drew an ugly, hoarse sound out of Odysseus’ throat.
“Woah,” Polites murmured, patting her warrior on the back. “Athena really has you training in this, how long have you been out here?”
Eurylochus caught up to the two and nudged Polites as Odysseus shook his head. “Sunrise.”
“It’s been raining since before that! And it’s almost noon,” Eurylochus murmured, lowering his voice like he thought Athena wouldn't hear. The boy had a carrying voice, unfortunately for him. It might be good for giving orders someday.
Odysseus shrugged as he rubbed at his chest, hardly protesting as Polites pushed him into his spot under the shield and started wiping and wringing excess water from him, like that would help anything. Then he paused and felt the back of Odysseus’ neck- which did draw a reaction, a sharp inhale that turned into a sigh, into another cough.
“Ody, you’re cold as ice,” Polites murmured, leaning into Odysseus’ view over his shoulder. “And I don’t like the sound of that cough. Is the training over?”
Odysseus looked miserable as he shook his head.
Athena brushed off the image as easily as a raindrop and stepped forward into the little grove of trees; Eurylochus immediately blanched, but Polites did not move where he was nearly pressed to Odysseus’ back. Odysseus’ head, bowed to his chest, did not move.
“Pallas Athena,” Polites spoke respectfully, and she knew right away she wouldn’t like what he had to say. The boy had not even let go of his shoulder at the sight of Athena, clearly lacking respect. “Is it possible that Ody’s training could end early today? Exertion while cold and wet is rarely conducive for health.”
Athena looked over Odysseus. He was shivering, yes. He was cold, he was wet, he was utterly pathetic-looking. And he had been moving slower the past hour, his breath slower to catch. But generals of war pushed through little ailments and discomforts, and Athena was sure she hadn’t mistaken him as one. She was not being stubborn, she was preparing him for his future as a warrior of the mind, not a slave to his body. She shook her head. “He must learn to tolerate that. Release him; Odysseus does not need your assistance.” He could finish this fight by himself.
Polites opened his mouth, but he was interrupted by Odysseus’ shaky inhale. “N-no- it’s fine. I’m-”
He didn’t get much more out before his knees weakened and he sagged against Polites into his open arms, and Eurylochus dropped the shield to the side to help steady the prince. Athena thought for a moment that Odysseus had found himself friends to match his dramatics at inappropriate times, until she noticed that he seemed to actually be gasping for breath that wasn’t as heavy and thick with rain as the entire island’s air.
Athena stepped into the little grove as Odysseus collapsed against Polites’ chest and was in turn pulled against Eurylochus’ to better shelter him. With a flick of her wrist, she cast the same enchantment over him that shielded her from the rain’s deep-reaching chill. His clothes lightened, his hair lifted so it wasn’t flat against his scalp. And yet, Odysseus still shivered. Eurylochus and Polites stared at the sudden changes, and then turned their gaze to Athena.
Unconsciously, Athena found herself turning her head away. “Fine, if he’s determined not to be of use. Take him back to the palace.” It was fine for him to have proper reinforcements, on occasion. The strongest general could not turn the tide of the battle without resources or soldiers.
At her bid, Eurylochus hefted their fallen friend into his arms, and Polites took the shield with a grunt. With a bare-boned bow, they hurried off through the tree.
Long after they were gone, Athena noticed the waterskin had been left behind.
Sweating and shaking, Odysseus jerked half-up in bed, too fatigued and weak to fully jolt upright. A few gasps steadied his raspy breathing, but not the tremble of his body after the vivid, confusing dreams- something about warm blood and cold rain and a faint, woodsy scent.
Odysseus groaned and buried as deeply back into the sheets as he could make himself burrow, and let his eyes wander over his bedroom. The light was dawning on a new day, but he still felt as shit as he had yesterday; he could faintly recall the hazy pain and embarrassment of being carried home by Eurylochus, gods bless him- with Polites bobbing around and offering warm encouragement as warm as Eurylochus’ arms. He recalled nothing after the blurry view of the palace gates, so he must have fallen asleep.
Odysseus startled, and interest lent him the strength to lift his boulder of a head again. The window of his bedroom had been opened, and there was something dark sitting on the windowsill that he did not recognize.
He would have loved to relax and forget about it, have whoever would inevitably check on him soon bring it to him to discover what it was.
But gods, the curiosity in him burned deep and stubborn.
Odysseus did not bother to stifle his groans of exhaustion as he painstakingly pulled himself out of bed, and wobbled his way to the window. The dark, blurry object gradually became clearer, until he realized he was looking at his waterskin.
Odysseus last remembered drinking from it while training, and his throat itched just thinking of it- had that been yesterday, or last week’s drills? He didn’t remember bringing it back, but perhaps Polites or Eurylochus had picked it up for him and set it here.
Something brushed against the inside. Odysseus paused, shook it again. No, he’d heard that right. Not sloshing- something small and dense being rattled around inside. He unscrewed the thick top with trembling fingers and turned it over.
A small brown root fell into his palm. Odysseus puzzled over it for a moment, his sluggish mind thoroughly baffled. What was the purpose of this root, and how did this get in here? The top had been screwed on tight. And what was the sound he had-
Odysseus belatedly noticed the small brown feather sitting on the windowsill.
Odysseus looked out of the window. He saw nothing, but the cool breeze on his face refreshed his thoughts.
Athena loved her clues and puzzles. He didn’t recognize this root, but it had been intentionally placed in his waterskin- meaning it was something to be drank. Brewed into a tea? Perhaps it was medicinal? Perhaps it was even a divine remedy?
Perhaps Athena felt guilty for Odysseus’ ailment.
Odysseus smiled dryly as he turned back towards his bed. I suppose I’ll see soon.
