Odysseus paused in passed the entryway to a small garden present upon the lands that made up Achilles' home. Danen, the little one, stood alone on the painted tiles, holding his sword at the ready. It was near dusk, and judging by the lathered sweat on the boy's bare chest, he'd been at his exercises for hours.

The king of Ithaca was hardly surprised. During the many conversations he'd had with Achilles at sea, and in tents late at night on the fronts of great battles, he'd heard a good deal about the warrior's pride. This younger lord of Phtia. Achilles had mentioned more than once Danen's obsession with perfecting his skills as a fighter put every other warrior in Pthia to shame. He was a quandary his older brother had spent nearly half a lifetime pondering, a puzzle that might never be solved. Now he was sixteen, and judging by his concentration, his control of himself, Odysseus could see the boy was on the verge of becoming a man.

"Ho, Danen of Phtia," the king greeted from the entryway.

The boy neither acknowledged, nor paused from his training rituals. He continued to hack and slash the air, his movements sometimes so quick, they would be difficult for an untrained eye to follow.

Just as Odysseus began to wonder if he should attempt to address the boy again, or give him his peace, Danen turned, coming to the end of the pattern he'd followed and sending a previously concealed knife flying fast in the king's direction. Before Odysseus could react, the small blade stuck deep into a wicker basket only a short distance from him, hanging on a hook at eye level, beside an assortment of other gardening tools. Judging by the sound made upon the impact, Odysseus was quite certain the strike would've been lethal. He was further convinced when he needed both hands to remove the knife from the basket's side.

Odysseus nodded. "Impressive," he remarked, weighing the small object in one hand, testing its balance. "You take good care of your weapons."

"I care for them, they care for me," Dane half-snapped, annoyed with both the interruption and the company.

Odysseus noted the boy's distain, but hardly blamed him. After all, he'd come to take Danen's beloved brother away from him. "Ah, I see, you are angry with me," he said, sounding understanding, calm.

Dane picked up his sword's scabbard, and slammed the blade hard inside. "I have plenty of reason to carry a grudge against you for the rest of my days, Odysseus. Before you came here, my brother didn't even consider going to Troy. Now he will die there," the boy growled, turning to leave his place of solitude for another. Amazing how difficult it was becoming to find a little peace in his own home.

"How do you know he will die there, Danen?" Odysseus asked, his maddening question hanging in the air, giving the boy pause. "Have you seen it? Have the gods told you it will be so?"

Dane turned quickly on his heel to face his opponent, a scowl firmly etched onto his normally smooth features. "I have no use for gods or prophecy!" He barely checked himself from shouting, and that was only because he didn't want an audience. Surly at least one servant stood outside the garden, listening. Better to attract as little attention as possible. That way his mother was less likely to hear he'd once again denied the existence of the gods.

Odysseus smiled, but it was sad, nearly pained. He could hear the pain this child's heart suffered in his harsh words. His own son was much younger than Achilles' brother, and at that instant he wondered if Telemachus would miss him, as Danen would miss Achilles.

There was a fair chance that Telemachus would grow up with no memory of his father, should he never return. It was a possibility Odysseus had not yet considered, and his heart broke a little for Danen at that instant in time as he realized it would be much harder for the boy who remembered the object of his loss, and suffered from the pain of that memory all the rest of his days. Yes, it would be harder for Danen. Unlike Telemachus, Danen was not his mother's only son, nor was he her favorite. It was known throughout the land that while Thetis seemed to care for both her sons, Achilles was the apple of her eye. Danen, by comparison, was treated almost like an adopted son, as if he were not truly his mother's own flesh.

Dane grew weary of waiting for the man to stop gazing at him like a lost soul, and decided to continue the conversation, even if it was incredibly one-sided. He pointed his sheathed sword at the king in accusatory fashion. "You knew if you came here you could convince him to go. You, with your stories of glory and being remembered until the end of days. You and my mother are the same! You would see Achilles die so your names will be remembered in infamy! If there were all-powerful gods watching, and they meant to bring any justice to this earth, surly they would recognize your selfishness and strike you both down!

"He spoke with mother today, down by the water, while she was gathering shells to make a necklace for him to take to war. Do you know what she told him? She said she knew they would come for him before he was even born. She knows how he grabs onto the things she says about his fate, his destiny, and he never lets them go! The two of you have conspired to sentence him to death!"

"Does that makes us the selfish ones? We would allow him to go, to leave you, so he might achieve the thing he's dreamed of all his life?" Odysseus asked, his words nearly striking the breath from the boy's lungs.

Dane narrowed his eyes, recovering himself quickly as a rare ire gripped his entire being. He stood nearly breathless, in agony because his heart was so heavy, already breaking under the strain of his loss. Only his anger made his mouth run wild, his voice growing louder, and more desperate with each word. "Only in the madness of war do dreams overshadow a man's responsibilities to his family. Greece does not need my brother, but I do! Don't you see, great king of Ithaca? Achilles is all I have; he is all this world ever gave me. I call him brother, but to myself I also call him father!"

"What of your mother? Is she nothing to you?" the King asked, still playing Hades, whispering harsh truths into the ears of mortals so they would twist and squirm in their skins.

Dane threw his sword aside, sending it clattering across the tile until it hit the wall, still staring directly into the eyes of the king before him without fear, without grace, and without respect. "Fine, take him! But when he is gone, do not come to me looking for your next hero! I will never take up your mantel; I will never take up another sword. I will burn this palace to the ground before I will ever shed the blood of another man in war!" he screamed, and in his rage he glowed exactly as Achilles did in the midst of battle. His dark eyes burned bright, his sun-kissed skin shone a deep bronze.

In spite of Danen's oath that he would never kill as he was bred to, Odysseus felt a sliver of fear enter his soul as he foresaw the possible consequences of angering the child demi-god standing before him. He'd seen rage many times before, but never to such degree or intensity. When Danen became a man, there was no telling how Greece and all the rest of the world might suffer under his fury. It was best to hope that the warlord inside the boy stayed dormant forever.

If it was ever roused, the gods help whomever wandered into its path.

These were Odysseus' thoughts all that night, and even the next morning as he prepared to set sail, Achilles at his side.