On the off chance I allow others to read this, it is most just to have a fitting background of my life. Perhaps at the very least, so they do not bother me to sing my own praises. There is nothing more annoying to me than boasting. Many heroes pad their own songs with flowy words, hoping for their songs to cause their own immortality. I hope this account does not become like theirs, especially since I no longer long for immortality by song.
I was born in Pythia to a goddess and a former hero. My mother Thetis was very out of her element. She is a sea goddess, dark as the waters she controlled and lived in. Daughter of the Old Man of the Sea who never lies, Mother inherited that sense: she always told the truth, even when it was hard to hear. She never sweetened her words: she said what she thought no matter the abrasiveness. Mother was from the olden times, before the Olympians took power. She did not talk much about her past, but I did know from reputation she restored Zeus back to power after an attempted coup. The Lord of the Skies feels eternally in her debt. I also know Mother was courted by Zeus and Poseidon themselves. The Fates declared she would birth a son greater than his father. The gods chose my father Peleus as suitor for my mother: Mother was not amused by the situation and fled. Father trained under the immortal Chiron. He was a friend of the great Heracles and went with heroic Jason on his quest for the Golden Fleece. What little I know involves Mother transforming herself into various beasts and Father holding fast. Eventually the marriage was consented to and happened, although not without incident at the wedding. I will return to that later.
Mother's love of humanity started and ended with me. She saw the others as fascinating experiments, like how one watches ants march across the ground or how one watches lions from afar. Yes, she did try to dip me in the River Styx to make me invulnerable. Yes, she did try to burn away my humanity. Those stories are well known and of course, the effects were heightened for dramatic effect. She only burnt me once. Also, the heel is not my only vulnerable place: if only Mother could have dipped my heart! But I digress…
Due to her disinterest with the fleeting human world, she eventually left. She came back to visit often but I presumed after my birth, the marriage bed was dry. Father took others to it and she took other lovers in the sea. Sometimes Father could persuade Mother to come pretend to be queen whilst an important visitor was in town: a "marriage for a day." Usually, I was the bargaining chip. "Come and entertain the King and Achilles can be yours for a fortnight!" It was divine law, older than herself, that mortals be raised by their mortal parent. Gods do not wake up at night to feed their children. Gods do not clean their children's behinds. Especially when the child was not lucky enough to inherit immortality.
My mother and I had a most felicitous and joyous relationship. I remember many mornings on the beach, the sun rising, her and I running across the waves. Distant family coming to visit us and all of us going to beachside caves, listening to drunk Grandfather try to name all his daughters in turn. It became a game at times, and some of my fondest childhood memories were in those caverns. She looked at me with admiration, with love. Mother often said I was the atoll of her eye: amongst a huge and vast empty sea, there was a little island of respite.
I remember a birthday feast of mine being the impetus for her leaving for good. I was eight years old. An augur was summoned to foretell my future and he said I would live long or die young. Mother was there, and both of my parents looked cold. Not white with fear, but cold. The augur said I could get immortality if I went to war, I would be known as the greatest warrior of all time…at that point I was sent to my chambers, I heard some yelling, and some running and splashing: Mother dove into the sea. I did not talk to my Mother for a while after that. She came back, of course. She still loved me: that never changed.
Father took more care of raising me after that. He hired tutors. He realized there would be no other heir, so he invested in what he had. Father started taking me on trips to other kingdoms. I travelled with him and each experience was another learning opportunity. Sailing across the sea told me how to do so myself. The days taught me how to catch food, the nights taught me the stars to sail by. Each visit taught me the laws of hospitality, how to eat properly, how to offer sacrifice properly, how to speak, how to act. Father expected perfection and would be quite harsh if I did not deliver. Mother wanted me to be perfect as a god and Father wanted me to be perfect as a man.
Father's standards for perfection were overbearing for me as a child. He expected a son that was fast, strong, a good fighter. Luckily, I was a natural there. Each day, in the mid-afternoon, he came to watch my training: I ran, fought, wrestled, speared faster and better than any of my peers. But academically, I would err on history or which stars were which. And Father was not kind with error: he would berate until I produced the answers he wanted. Said I was to be the greatest of the Greeks, whether I desired it or not. I was consistently told I needed to be stronger, faster, smarter. Who I was and what I achieved was irrelevant, I needed to be more. This added more weight to my back and caused me pain: I was never enough. Father reminded me, no doubt about that. Mother yearned and pled that she finish those rituals she started when I was a babe to be immortal. I was never enough.
One day when I was ten years of age, Father said we would be travelling to Opus to visit his uncle and comrade his from his days travelling with Jason. We often heard of visiting bards singing the praises of his fellow Argonauts. Castor and Pollux, Meleager, Atalanta, Orpheus, and Heracles himself. Some even visited in the past: I remember Orpheus himself singing on his lyre. I cried. But I never knew we had family on the mortal side: Father never mentioned or spoke of them. I asked Father who we would be seeing.
"Your uncle is named Menoetius, son of Actor. Actor is my grandmother's husband; he was on the Argo with us. My grandmother Aegina had a child by Zeus himself: my father Aeacus. Now that I reflect on the matter, I believe Menoetius has a son about your age. He married late in life; I am not sure of his wife's name. I do not know if your cousin will be there, though. I would expect Menoetius sent him off for training. Most of us were educated abroad. I was under Chiron, the greatest of teachers. Your mother preferred you to stay away from him. We set sail in the morning."
I did not sleep that night. I remember lying awake, looking at the Bears. They never changed. They were always there. I wished for someone to accept me as I was: always there, never changing. Someone who I would be enough: not a god, not the best of the Greeks. Someone to be my guide, my companion, my love.
I did not expect my wish to come true when we got to Opus.