(A/N)- Bad Things Happen Bingo fill! Anon requested "Hostage Situation" with Epic: The Musical and Odysseus and Telemachus (unaware of how much of a huge hyperfixation aforementioned has become for me lately), positing "What if Odysseus couldn't save him right away?". Needless to say, I squeed.
Enjoy dear readers!
Warnings for violence and major blood and injury.
Disclaimer: Ah, nope, alas I cannot claim to have that talent.
Til He Can Barely Stand
Telemachus backed up uneasily, his spear held tight in his hands, glancing from man to man as they seemed to multiply out of the shadows.
"Get the prince!"
At Melanthius's urging, they swarmed him.
He only had a second to react. But a second was all he needed.
His spear impaled the first of the charging men as he raised it; Telemachus nimbly stepped back and yanked the point out of the suitor's ribcage. As the man fell Telemachus caught a glimpse of his face in the dim torchlight—Leiocritus, son of Evenor. Not one of the worst of them by far but always a constant fawning sycophant to Antinous, always one of the ones in the crowd jeering at him or making lewd comments about his mother. Telemachus wouldn't miss him.
He had no time to dwell on his kill, his second of what was sure to be many, if this fight kept up at the relentless pace it did. Things became an almost incomprehensible blur, suitor after suitor coming after him, goaded on by Melanthius, who seemed to have taken charge of the rabble and shouted for them to attack again and again.
"Grab him!"
"Get him!"
"Take him down!"
The cry rang out among them, echoing in his ears with a sense of dread. They charged him in droves and Telemachus was hard pressed to hold them back.
He could feel Athena's blessing of Quick Thought burning behind his eyes and rode on the hot wave of it.
A swipe with his spearpoint sliced a throat, throwing blood in a spray.
A swift jab towards a chest, piercing but not fatal, enough to make that suitor back off.
A blow coming from behind, almost blindsiding him before he felt the wind of it and moved his head out of the way, feeling it whoosh past him.
An elbow jabbed into a man's diaphragm to stun him before a shove with the shaft of his spear overbalanced him enough for a killing blow.
They were coming on faster than he could take them down, faster than even his Quick Thought could keep up with, and his sense of dilated time started to falter as the fight dragged on.
He caught a glancing punch in the temple; he tilted for a moment before stabbing that attacker in the stomach.
He felt hands on his shoulders trying to grab him and ducked down to escape them, hitting one man in the side with the heavy shaft of his spear, leaning over and kicking another in the gut to gain a modicum of space.
The space was quickly occupied by another attacker, who boxed him in from behind, putting great meaty fingers around the spear Telemachus held, hands close to his own, his back pinned to the man's front.
Telemachus jerked back and headbutted the man in the chin, cracking bone against bone. That suitor grunted and Telemachus tore free, pulling his spear out of the man's grip.
He made an opening in the circle of them and darted through it, pulling the fight in another direction. The horde of circling dogs quickly caught up to him, however, before he could escape out the door to the armory.
Hands laid hold of him again, gripping, bruising his arms. He threw them off, killed another two suitors—Amphimedon and Euryades, he recognized—retreated once more. Panting from the effort he deflected the sword of another suitor, metal clanging against metal, ringing loud in the enclosed space.
His arms shook and strained from the effort. He could feel himself growing tired. He was younger than all of the suitors, had more vigor and energy, but there were just... so many of them.
Athena give me the strength, he prayed, as he batted off yet another attack.
He couldn't even hear what Melanthius was yelling anymore, too focused on surviving one more moment, one more breath.
A blow from a wooden shaft smacked across his wrist.
"Ahh!" Telemachus cried, hand stinging from the pain.
He forced that attacker away, somehow not losing hold of his spear, but the next moment caught a sharp slice from a blade across his forehead.
He yelped. Blood stung his eyes, dripping down from the cut. Telemachus blinked furiously trying to clear them but the moment of distraction cost him.
His guard was smacked away by someone's weapon. He took a punch to the gut, then another one to his head. Pain cracked through his skull and he stumbled.
The grabbing hands returned, laying hold of his arms and shoulders.
"Get off me!" he yelled, furious, whiplashing his body in order to break free. "Get off me!"
Another blow to his face, to daze and stun him.
They were inside his guard now and he didn't have enough room to swing his spear. When he tried to stab it into one of the arms encircling him, his wrist was grabbed, his arm pulled out straight as the iron grip squeezed mercilessly, trying to make him drop the weapon.
He could feel the suitor's breaths hot in his ears, tickling his skin. There was a thick arm around his neck, hands pinched around his forearms. His left arm was yanked behind his back and pinned and a sharp kick slammed into the back of his calf.
He fell to his knees, crying out, and the man twisting his wrist finally got the result he wanted:
Telemachus's spear dropped out of his fingers, clattering with a tinny rattle to the floor.
"Got him," came a low, satisfied growl.
Telemachus glared up, eyes tracing along the blade of the sword now pointed at his face. Melanthius smirked down, smug-looking.
"I wouldn't move too much if I were you, little prince," he said.
He gestured with his head, and the other suitors hauled Telemachus up. At least three men had hold of him now, two on his arms holding them to his back, and the one right behind him with the forearm around his neck, who wound fingers into his hair and yanked harshly on the roots to pull his head back.
Telemachus pressed his mouth into a flat line, refusing to whimper or make any kind of pained sound, even though he could feel his skin bruising under the men's grips, feel hair tearing free of his scalp.
Keeping the point of his sword within uncomfortable range of Telemachus's head, Melanthius tossed his chin back, calling out loudly.
"Old king Odysseus!" he yelled. "We have your son!" The suitor's eyes gleamed manically in the dim torchlight. "Come out of hiding, drop your weapons, and surrender!" he ordered. "And no further harm will come to him!"
Telemachus stayed wary, testing the hands on him, seeing where there were weak points he could use to break free. He didn't trust these men to keep their word; he was more likely to be slaughtered the moment they had what they wanted. They'd been itching to do it for years, what was to stop them now that they were backed into a corner and forced into action?
And given the glimpses of the bloodbath he'd already caught, already seen, the bodies lying slashed and lifeless in the halls of the palace on his way in, his father wasn't likely to be generous about sparing the suitors either. Telemachus couldn't help but feel like it was a very bad and dangerous idea for them to try threatening him.
Indeed, as if in response to Telemachus's thoughts, a new voice wafted through the stone halls, dark and frightening.
"Surrender?" it chuckled. "That's cute."
The men in the armory tensed as the voice seemed to echo from new directions, moving around them like a shade.
"Why don't you unhand my boy and get on your knees to beg me?" the voice demanded.
Jolts went through Telemachus at the voice, a million different microthoughts crowding his head. Was that really his father's voice? It was harsher than he'd imagined. But the protective fury coursing through it, protective fury directed towards him. He'd called him his boy. His father was here!
Telemachus strained wide-eyed through the shadows to see if he could catch a glimpse of him, even as he subtly moved one of his feet closer to the ankle of the man behind him.
"Careful, old man," warned Melanthius, twitching nervously as he raised his sword higher, inches away from Telemachus's nose. "The prince might need his eyes later."
"You're not the first one to threaten that." It was impossible to tell which way the voice was coming from, and the suitors' heads whipped to different corners, glanced anxiously at the armory door. "Would you like to know what happened to the last guy?"
Telemachus tensed his stomach muscles, preparing to move the second he had a chance.
One of the suitors not holding him cried out suddenly.
All eyes looked to the doorway in alarm, seeing the flash of a hooded figure standing there.
Telemachus immediately hooked his ankle around his captor's and yanked, upending his foot. That suitor's eyes widened and he flailed as he overbalanced and fell backwards, arm loosing from around Telemachus's neck. Telemachus leaned out of the way of the sword pointed at him and pulled hard to the left, drawing the suitor on his right arm into the path of the one falling, colliding them.
Before Melanthius could make good on his threat to impale Telmachus's eyes, the young prince kicked him in the stomach, knocking him back.
Shouts rang through the room; as Telemachus spun to face the suitor still holding his left arm he glimpsed the doorway—the hooded figure had vanished—before driving his fist into the man's face.
In the fresh scuffle, he heard a wet slice and gargling death cry from behind him.
He didn't turn to look.
The last suitor still had a good grip on his left wrist. Telemachus bloodied his knuckles punching him again, in the jaw, the collar, the diaphragm. He couldn't make the man let go.
The thick hands twisted harshly and Telemachus felt a snap and a staggering sharp pain.
"Aahhh!" he cried, almost doubling over.
He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his eyes through the blood still stinging in them, his wrist stabbing like a hot poker had been shoved through it.
He aimed a kick to the side of the man's knee, but it was weakened, ineffective. The suitor was squeezing his wrist, grinding the broken bones until Telemachus was gasping, tears in his eyes.
Fffwiiip!
The suitor choked suddenly, and hot blood splattered across Telemachus's front, spurting from an artery wound in the man's neck.
Telemachus watched in a daze as the man toppled, convulsing in death throes.
He winced as he held his broken wrist.
The room was in chaos. Most of the surviving suitors were screaming, stabbing wildly into the dark, too preoccupied trying to find his father in the shadows. Arrows whistled through the air, finding their marks and causing even greater panic.
A whisper came into his mind, words fluttering as if on soft owl wings.
Behind you Telemachus! it warned.
Startling at the warning, Telemachus straightened, and then yelped as he felt metal slicing his skin. His split-second alerting saved his spine from being severed, the shallow cut bleeding and seeping into the back of his chiton as he whirled to face the threat, remembering he was still in the middle of a battle.
His wrist hurt so much and the fresh wound in his back wasn't helping but Telemachus shoved through the pain, identifying points to strike in the man in front of him and unleashing.
One hard blow to the knee, shattering the cap.
As the man dropped his sword, falling to his knees in pain, Telemachus struck again, square in his nose, breaking it, driving the bones back into his soft flesh.
It probably wasn't quite enough to kill him but it at least ended his attack; his hands came up over his face as he flopped.
Telemachus was still watching him fall when he was struck again, a fist slamming the back of his head.
BAM!
He stumbled forward, winded, wondering if he was ever going to be able to see straight again after the multiple head blows he'd taken today.
Dizzy, he couldn't stop the arm that snaked firmly around his torso. He dimly recognized the phaistos disc bracelet that Melanthius wore, felt the edge of a blade scratch his throat.
"Coward!" Melanthius shouted, pinning Telemachus to his front tightly. "Come out of hiding!"
"Who's hiding?" his father's voice taunted. "I'm right here."
Melanthius whipped them around.
The hooded figure stood there under the halo of one of the torches, an arrow notched to his bow and drawn back, pointed at them.
The King of Ithaca was battle-worn and haggard, with sunken steel eyes and scars under his unkempt beard. He held the heavy bow back with the keen steadiness of a practiced, experienced warrior.
Telemachus gave a little hitched noise, blinking through eyes that were suddenly blurring.
"Father..." he wavered.
The determined gaze dropped to him and softened briefly, frown lines growing gentler.
"I'm here my son," he said. "Don't worry. Everything's going to be all right," he assured the boy.
Incensed and fearful, Melanthius gripped him tighter, squeezing him to his chest. Telemachus flinched as the blade scraped his skin.
"Don't come any closer!" the suitor shouted.
"Let him go," his father growled, the burning rage back in his eyes again.
"Please—" Melanthius begged desperately, "—Please. Just let the rest of us leave the palace in peace and we won't hurt him!"
"Do you expect me to believe that?!" the king roared, taking a step forward that made all the surviving suitors flinch. "After what I heard you plotting?!"
"That was Antinous!" Melanthius cried. "It was his idea—he's the one who urged us on!"
"And where was the man who stood against him?!" his father demanded, fury quaking in his limbs. "Where were those who spoke against the plot?"
At a twitch from another suitor the arrow was loosed, striking with deadly precision. Odysseus smoothly fitted another shaft to the string with calm anger, taking aim again.
"Which one among you thought to seek out my queen and warn her of the danger, of the threat to her house, body, and kin?" he asked. Disgust filled his expression as he looked over them, over the rabble. "None of you deserve my pity."
Telemachus heard Melanthius choke on his words, voice strangling, the terror evident in his every limb. He ought to be afraid himself, perhaps, especially with the blood leaking out of him, the tight grip Melanthius was crushing him with, but he was almost too delirious to feel any fear.
Guided by the whispered nudges of Athena, he slowly raised his good hand up to Melanthius's wrist, and then to his own metal laurel headdress, gripping the wire tightly.
His father noticed the motion, silently acknowledging it with his eyes, before firming his features with determination.
"I'll give you ten seconds," he said.
Melanthius's eyes popped open, mouth dropping in horror.
"Ten..." Odysseus began counting.
"Wait!" Melanthius cried, backing up with nervous terror. "Wait!"
"Nine..."
One of the others let loose a war cry and charged the king, only get an arrow to his heart for his troubles. His father loaded another arrow without missing a beat.
"Eight..."
"I swear I'll kill him! Don't you test me!" Melanthius screamed, digging the edge of his blade into Telemachus's throat, dangerously pricking the skin.
His father met eyes with him.
"Seven... Now, Telemachus!" he shouted.
Telemachus wrenched the laurel wreath off his head and struck Melanthius in the face with it. Howling, the man lost his grip on the youth, and Telemachus was able to slip free out of his grasp.
He fell to his knees, his wounds beginning to take their toll on his strength. He heard more than saw his father rushing in to slay a few more suitors, one man dying to another notched arrow, another getting a full-on slash from Odysseus's sword.
Telemachus blinked at the floor, feeling too tired to think. Athena's whispered encouragement could do nothing to rouse him from the ground. Nothing until her voice turned into a cold warning inside his head.
He was bashed from the side, tackled by a larger body.
Adrenaline surged through him, breaking past his pain and lethargy for a moment of clarity, and Telemachus flipped them as soon as they came to a rest, not surprised to see it was Melanthius again, almost feral with rage.
Melanthius rolled them, inverting their positions with a solid blow to Telemachus's ear. Telemachus cried out weakly as he was pinned underneath the man, Melanthius's thighs straddling his torso, thick hands coming around his neck.
Snarling, Melanthius raised Telemachus's head up and slammed it back down, then increased the pressure around his neck.
Telemachus choked, rasping as he tried to move breath past his windpipe. His good hand grabbed for Melanthius's forearms, tried to claw and scratch at his face. Swimming spots of blackness started to crowd his vision.
He gaped up and wondered if the suitor's twisted and furious expression would be the last thing he would ever see.
But instead what he saw was a bright silver sword splitting Melanthius in two, pushing out through his ribs to impale him dead center.
The suitor's eyes popped open wide, dying shock replacing the animal snarl. He whimpered weakly, gargling on his blood.
Telemachus stared up in dazed relief. The hands loosened from around his neck, growing cold. His father raised Melanthius's body off him like he was mere meat on a spit, kicking him off the blade and letting him fall off to the side, slapping on the floor without dignity, the last of the suitors dead and no longer a threat.
After a tense split-second pause Telemachus remembered his need for air and wheezed, wonderful breath coming back to him. He coughed and gasped, pushing up on his elbows but unable to find the strength to get up.
"Father..." he called in a shaking tremble, hopeful and nervous and tired and relieved and a million different emotions all at once.
He swore his father's eyes changed color, from battle-red to a soft blue. Odysseus dropped his sword and fell to his knees, scooping him up and embracing him tightly, like he was the most precious treasure he could hold.
"Oh my son..." he whispered, reverently. The scratchy beard buried in his neck and Telemachus curled up into the embrace, pressed his face into his father's clothes, inhaling the scent of him, his tears spilling over. "My boy. Look at you," his father was saying. Rough hands stroked through his hair, untangling his curls from the clumping blood. "You were so brave."
Telemachus squeezed his eyes shut with emotion, grabbing on to his father's back with his good hand. He was battered and bloody but his father was here, alive, finally home to hold him and Telemachus thought he could endure a thousand more cuts and punches if he could stay in this moment just a little longer.
He finally turned his head up with a sniffle. Looking over his father's shoulder he caught a glimpse, as if through a thin blue veil, of an armored warrior woman smiling down serenely at him.
Well done, little wolf, Athena told him.
Telemachus clutched his father harder, and both men openly wept with joy as they sat in the middle of the carnage, reunited and overwhelmed.
Soft owl wings fluttered away.
(A/N)- Some notes! Lol, I have a bit of commentary on this one.
The battle choreography is a mismatch drawn from various "Odysseus" animatics, you might recognize bits and pieces here and there.
All of the named suitors that Telemachus kills in this fic are ones he kills in the original epic.
Also can I complain for a moment about how useless Google search was when I was trying to look up historical Greek jewelry? NO I DO NOT WANT TO BUY SHIT GOOGLE I AM DOING RESEARCH.
First time writing for this fandom but loved every minute of it. Hope you guys enjoyed too.
You can request a prompt/character over on Tumblr. See this post: ht [#] tps : /taris ilmar wen . tu [#] mbl r.c [#] om/p ost/7 800 05395601178 624/e yyyyyyyy- got -my-new -bad-things -ha ppen-bi ngo (delete the spaces and the special characters in the brackets)
