His arms slowly wrapped the babe close to him.
"I look into your eyes... And I think back to the son of mine..." His hands lightly ran through the baby's hair as he paced slowly across the floor. His mind awash with those little images of the newborn Telemachus, and Penelope cradling him as he set sail a decade ago. His arms felt heavier than normal. His sandals gently creeking the baseboards. "You're as old as he was when I left for war..." As the king struggled not to break into a weeping fit once more.
"...Will these actions haunt my days? Every man I've slain. Is the price I pay, endless pain?!" He roared to the heavens outside the window and clutched the child closer, gazing down slowly to him. He felt the weight of all the corpses he had made. Every life he had stolen burning through him in this moment, as their voices echoed with a haunting laughter at this cursed fate. He closed his eyes as thentears burned his cheek.
"Close your eyes and spare yourself the view
How could I hurt you?" He gently sung to the babe as he let the infant play with his finger. The poor thing seemed too precious
Too innocent. Too gentle for this vision the gods had so declared. He simply wanted to go home. He just wanted to see his own boy again, one day. "I'm just a man who's trying to go home... Even after all the years away from what I've known. I'm just a man who's fighting for his life... Deep down, I would trade the world to see my son and wife..." As his eyes began to harden, and his gaze set on the slowly sleeping babe. His wife and son were what were at stake. "I'm just a man..." He closed his eyes and held the infant close for one final time.
Then, he opened his eyes and set the babe down into the crib as Troy burned through the window behind him. The shadows cast painted the image not of a man but of a monster. His mind began to focus, and his heart, turned cold. He would see them. He would protect them.
"But when does the comet become a meteor?" As he drew his dagger. "When does a candle become a blaze?" As he raised both hands and held to its handle, staring at the blade. His mind pounded with doubts, but his heart qaushed their fury with its love for those back home. "When does a man become a monster?" He whispered, and he could almost hear his crew chanting it back on the winds.
"When does a ripple become a tidal wave?" As he slowly tightened his grip. "When does the reason become the blame?!" As he stared down at the sleeping babe, and he pictured his son covered in blood by his hand.
"When does a man become a monsterrrr..." As the drums of war pounded in his ear, and his hands felt sweaty with guilt.
"...Forgive me..." He whispered gently. "I am just a man..."