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A hero’s armor is always crimson
英雄の鎧は常に紅く
For that’s the color of the blood he’s surely drowning in
それはきっと浴びた返り血の色
Even if these acts are indeed for someone else’s sake,
誰かのための行いだとしても
Is it truly “justice” left in his wake?
それを「正義」と呼べるのか
During the morning of a summer day during the fifth year of the Trojan War, the wife of Prince Hector, Princess Andromache, gave birth to their son, whom they named Scamandrius.
Andromache, while still recovering, held their boy in her arms, swaddled with fine fabrics fit for a newborn prince, her husband standing nearby. A gentle smile graced both of their faces.
“He sure is a fine lad, isn’t he?” Hector said to Andromache. She let out a light chuckle.
“He sure is. I’m sure he will grow up to be a nice young man.” She responded to her husband. He smiled. Hector kissed his wife on her forehead and stroked the head of his son gently.
“I must go now, Andromache.” Hector said, looking down, placing his helmet, which had been lying on the desk next to Andromache’s bed, on his head. She had a solemn yet understanding expression on her face. He couldn’t take much of a break from leading the defense of Troy, this little interlude of being able to see his son in the first place being a miracle in its own.
“I love you,” Andromache said to her husband as he was leaving. He stopped and turned back to face his wife and smiled under the helmet.
“I love you too, dear. Take care of our son well in my absence.” He replied to his wife one last time, before stepping out of the doorway completely, Andromache hearing his footsteps’ echoes dissipate as he walked further and further away.
…
The Achaeans were closing in on Troy.
It wasn’t a surprise, really, though the thought of it loomed over Hector like a stormcloud waiting to strike on an unsuspecting city.
The Achaeans had the numbers, Troy may have been one of the largest, if not the largest city in the world, with so many other towns and cities rallied with them and under their protection, however even they could not compete with the total number of people drafted from all the different cities from around Hellas.
The Achaeans burned and pillaged as many cities, towns and villages as they could, moving ever closer to Troy with every civilian slaughtered and every house raided and pillaged. And though the Trojan forces had been fighting well against them for five years at this point, it was getting concerning.
His city, his great city, would not fall to the Achaeans. Hector had promised himself that long ago when the war had officially started, he had promised that to his father, mother, wife, and siblings. Paris had promised the exact same thing.
And he would not allow it to fall so soon.
Hector felt pity for Helen, that was for sure. It was Paris, who had started the war and had begun the last five years of Hector’s life, after all. Yet even he could feel strife for her, not her actions, but for the mere action of just existing, for the mere act of being beautiful, allowing Paris to start the war that had consumed his life, their lives.
And his wife. His son.
Hector was not a stupid man, he had heard the stories of battles and wars before, and what would happen to the losing side, what the winning side would do to the women and children after the men of the losing side had already been slaughtered, and it was a horrifying thought to see his wife and son suffer the same fate.
Hector thought of an idea to keep his dear son safe from the war.
He’d tell Andromache, but ultimately, it was her choice of if she would want to follow along with his plans, she was the one who gave birth to their child after all.
…
“It is your decision, Andromache, I will not force it.” Hector said to his wife. Silent tears were running down her face, gently rocking her son back and forth in her arms to soothe herself just a bit.
Andromache thought about it. Give away her son, so that he would be safe, in a town under Troy’s protection. Keep in touch with him and his new family to make sure he’d still be safe.
The news that the Achaeans were beginning to close in on the Trojans frightened her, it frightened the both of them deeply. All she wanted was the safety of her dear son, who had grown considerably since the seven months Hector had last seen him.
Andromache cared deeply for her son. She just wanted the best for him. And if her husband thought it was the best decision for him, and that it would keep him safe the longest, then she would go along with it.
It is your decision, Andromache.
It was her decision.
If this is what she needed to do to keep her son safe, she would do it. Reluctantly, she sighed and looked up to her husband, face now more composed.
“I will do it.”
…
She fled the palace in the night, a disguise draped upon her. Having already told Priam about her and Hector’s plan, it was time to execute it.
They could always say that the young prince had passed. Sudden infant death was indeed common, and the public would believe the story. Andromache may not cry from the death of her son, but rather the parting between them, but the civilians of Troy wouldn’t know that.
Andromache went to another village close to Troy, alone. It was small, maybe of just a hundred or two, but it was far enough out of the reach of the Achaeans and was under the protection of Troy.
She and Hector had sent a messenger to a childless couple a few days ago to inform them of what they must do, and although shocked, the two, Lycus and Melite, had agreed to take the baby prince in.
Andromache held the basket her son was in, swaddled with fine fabrics and sleeping peacefully. It hurt that this may be one of the final times she’ll be able to see her dear boy.
Lycus’ home was not hard to find. Just the first home to the left at the entrance of the town.
She placed Scamandrius at the doorstep of the home. A hand came to her face to wipe the tear running down it at the moment.
“I love you dear.” Andromache said to her son, kissing him on the forehead, one last time.
She turned back from the town, hands empty, tears streaming down her face.
Three Years Later
Lycus ran to his wife, Melite, from the Achaeans pillaging their home. His feet dug into the dirt below him as he ran, desperately trying to reach his wife and the child they were caring for before the Achaeans did.
If Astyanax died under their protection, Lycus couldn’t even fathom the consequences that the Royal family would inflict upon him and his wife.
The whole reason why Astyanax, previously known as Scamandrius, was put into their care was to ensure that he would survive the war. And now, as the Achaeans pillaged their village, Lycus’ first priority was Astyanax.
He arrived at his home, right at the edge of the village, and rushed straight in. Lycus’ face almost immediately contorted into horror and shock, as he froze at the sight upon him.
Melite, blood dripping out of her chest, keeling over on the floor. The Achaean, about to slaughter her, standing over her, sword dripping with the blood of his wife. Astyanax is nowhere to be seen.
She can’t utter a word to Lycus, and neither can he to Melite. He drops to his knees, hands on the stone, head in such a deep bow it’s touching the floor as well, and he begs.
“Please, spare my family. You have already taken my wife, do not take anymore. Please, sir.” Lycus begged the Achaean soldier in their household, raising his head to meet the gaze of the soldier. The soldier walked up to him, and stared down on him, his expression stoic.
“I have a family, too,” The soldier whispered, now pointing his sword directly at him. Lycus sat up completely now, avoiding the tip of the blade, his heart pounding in his chest and too petrified by fear to move even an inch.
“And I must get rid of all of you.” He said blankly.
“Sorry.” The soldier said flatly before raising his blade and slicing Lycus’ head clean off.
…
Odysseus stood next to the man he had just beheaded, new fresh blood dripping from his sword. The dead body fell limp as the head rolled away before stopping completely, eyes still open, staring lifelessly into the distance.
Odysseus stepped around the house. Plundering villages and towns was an easy way to get food and money for their large army, and Odysseus had taken from many households just like this one before.
So far, there was the basics, jewelry and gold and silver coins, some vegetables and grains, something Odysseus found in every house he had stolen from and plundered over the many years at war.
He slowly stepped into another room, and once he took a look inside, he saw a child’s bed, and a toddler lying inside of it, peacefully sleeping.
Some people would call Odysseus a cruel man. And with what he was presented with at the moment, Odysseus thought that statement true, as loathsome as it was to think about it.
The grip on his sword hardened as he was still, looking at the peaceful sight upon him. Just a boy, a small child, now at the mercy of a lone soldier.
The two parts of Odysseus thought.
Odysseus, Athena’s hero, and the greatest mind and strategizer of the Achaeans, thought to strike down on the boy just like he had done to his parents, just like he had done to dozens of other men, women and children. To get it done with, the boy would only be another casualty in the hundreds Odysseus had already slain, his life would make no difference in the count anyways.
Odysseus, King of Ithaca, husband of Penelope and father of Telemachus, could not bear the thought of striking down on this mere child. He was a boy, caught in a war should never have been in in the first place, caught at the mercy of the man who had slaughtered his parents. \
Odysseus, the merciful and the monster.
He raised his sword, but just before he could strike down—
Odysseus lowered his sword and took a deeper look at the boy. Using his free hand, he stroked the boy’s clothes, his fingers tracing over the fine fabric and every stitch of the embroidery, carefully observing it.
These fabrics are far too fine and the embroidery far too skilled for a family of this caliber.
He was of royal blood and he knew what clothing meant for royalty looked like.
And for some reason, this random peasant couple he had murdered not too long ago had clothes meant for royalty.
Odysseus had known people who had spent far too much money on their appearance, neglecting their necessities in favor of looking like a higher social class than they were. Yet, he had seen, the family had enough food and clothes of their appropriate social class. So why did their infant son have such fine clothes?
He looked around the room carefully. He found some less fanciful clothing, something more appropriate for their family folded up in a corner of the room. That still didn’t answer his question.
Odysseus exited the young boy’s room and went into his parents’ room. Odysseus searched through each cabinet and drawer, maybe they had fine jewelry or clothing he had not found yet. He pulled out a drawer, and found a single piece of parchment inside, seemingly a letter. Strange, shouldn’t there be more parchment inside the drawer if it’s a letter?
He picked up the piece of parchment and read what was written on it.
“To Melite and Lycus,
I would like to thank you for taking care of Astyanax for the past three years. I am sure he has grown into a fine young boy underneath your roof, as well as being safe from the Achaean army. For this, I hope you accept the gift of clothing we have sent you. Be sure to only dress the boy in the clothes when he is inside your home, lest his identity be revealed.
Sincerely, ////////////”
Although the sender had redacted their name at the end, Odysseus immediately knew who the sender of both the letter and the clothes was.
Three years prior to his current situation, he had been informed that the newborn son of Hector had died suddenly and that the Trojan royal family was under mourning. When he had first heard of the news, he had seen it as nothing but an opportunity to perhaps catch the Trojans off guard. He had taken it at face value, just like everyone else.
He tore the parchment letter in half over and over again, making sure that no one else would be able to read the letter, leaving the remains of the parchment on the floor.
Odysseus returned to the room of the boy, staring down at him.
Perhaps..
Instead of killing the boy, perhaps he could be a good hostage.
Odysseus sheathed his sword and lifted the boy into his arms.
He would make sure he would be useful.
O, little boy, do you know how foolish you are?
「お帰り父さん」と微笑む
When you welcome him home with joy each day
無邪気で愚かな息子
Not knowing it’s this man who you call father now
お前の親を殺したのは
Who sent your parents to their graves
この俺だというのに
1 Year Later
Staying in a lone home just far enough from the Achaean camp, was a small young boy.
He sat on the stone floor of the house, playing with the wooden toys he was provided with, Selene’s moon shining bright in the night sky. Papa always returned in the nighttime, Astyanax didn’t know why but he always loved seeing him finally come home.
He heard the lock of the door jingle and the door open to Papa, standing in the doorway carrying a bag, like he had done every time he had visited before.
“Hello Papa!” Astyanax immediately rushed into Odysseus’ arms and pulled him into a hug. Odysseus patted the boy’s head lightly before urging him to pull away. Astyanax followed Odysseus to the table in the middle, where he put the bag on the table and sat down. Astyanax followed suit and sat next to him.
As always, the first thing that Odysseus did was pull out a candle and candleholder from his bag, and light it using his flint and steel. On a few nights, Papa would apologize for not having any candles to light up their dinner, but Astyanax never minded.
Dinner was a quiet affair. Papa insisted that they would only talk after dinner, and as much as Astyanax wanted to talk to Papa during dinner, he had been told that was disrespectful to disobey him, so Astyanax didn’t.
After dinner was over, Astyanax could finally talk to Odysseus.
“Astyanax, I have something for you.” Odysseus said, reaching for something inside the bag. Astyanax had noticed that the bag was larger than usual, but he didn’t know why until Papa pulled something out, something big.
It was a small, likely hand carved wooden sword, obviously not sharp, the handle just large enough to fit into a boy’s hand, the actual “blade” part being just short enough to make sure Astyanax would never accidentally hurt himself while wielding it.
“Use it well. Don’t abuse it or break it, care for it, don’t use it as a toy.” Odysseus said, passing the sword to Astyanax. He also passed a leather sheath, also likely hand made, to the boy shortly after giving him the sword.
“It’s not sharp, but don’t use it carelessly. I’ll show you some basic stances first, maybe some swings once you’ve gotten experienced enough. Always put it back into the sheath once you are done.” He explained.
Odysseus gestured for Astyanax to come down from his chair and practice his sword with him. He grabbed his wood sword and approached his father, beginning to practice some stances.
Time passed quickly. Papa was a soldier, he remembered from the stories he had told on his previous visits
Even though it seemed like he had arrived not too long ago, Papa announced that he had to leave, showing Astyanax how to sheath his sword before blowing out the candle, putting it in his bag and opening the door to leave.
“I love you Papa! Goodbye!” Astyanax bid him farewell. Odysseus simply looked back at him, a gentle smile on his face, and waved goodbye before closing and locking the door behind him.
…
Odysseus slowly walked back to the Achaean camp, making sure to be as quiet as possible when returning back from tonight’s expedition to visit Astyanax. He needed no one to know except himself that he was visiting the boy every night.
Was Astyanax like Telemachus when he was at his age?
Telemachus would be nine or ten now, Odysseus thought. His boy. And he was ashamed he had never been present in his life. Perhaps Astyanax would maybe, provide a view into being a proper father—
Odysseus quickly shoved that thought away in his head. Astyanax was nothing more than his pawn, plain and simple.
You care for him though. You bring him food every night, bring toys for him to play with, even that sword you brought this night. You’re even teaching him to read and write.
Why should you teach him that if you’re just planning to use him as a hostage anyway?
Is it truly a father and son relationship?
He thinks of you as a father, but do you think of him as your own, just like you would with Telemachus? Do you see him as nothing but a pawn to be used?
Even as he arrived at his tent and laid down to sleep, he stared into nothingness as the questions plagued his mind, refusing to disappear, keeping him awake for much longer than he originally anticipated.
What was Astyanax to him?
7 Months Later
They had done it.
Troy had fallen.
Odysseus’ idea of the Trojan Horse worked, and the city of Troy had finally fallen for good.
It was finally time to return home.
It was almost a week of murder and pillaging before they could finally go back, gather their fleets and return home.
The return back to camp was.. jarring, to say the least.
After all that had happened, their weapons still dripping with the blood of the fallen Trojans, the weird peace of walking back to camp to recuperate juxtaposed the bloodshed that had happened by the Achaeans had committed just a few hours prior.
Astyanax.
The thought shot through Odysseus’ head as he walked through the rocky landscape, as he realized that the boy in the small cabin that he had captured was still there waiting for him.
The war’s ended now.
Odysseus was planning to use Astyanax as a pawn to end the war, as was his purpose for taking him in in the first place, but now that the war had ended, what was the purpose of keeping the young boy anyways?
He could easily leave Astyanax alone in the cabin until he starved or dehydrated to death, or perhaps until travelers or slavers find him and take him instead.
Or perhaps.. he could still be useful to Odysseus.
The Trojan Royal Family had been massacred and desecrated, including both of Astyanax’s parents. The men were slaughtered and the women captured and taken, leaving nobody to inherit the throne or rebuild the city.
Except for…
…
Astyanax hadn’t expected Papa to come back home when the sun was still high up in the sky after not showing up to the home in days.
Just a few nights prior, Papa had told him that something important was about to happen and that he may or may not return home.
“I know you can defend yourself, Astyanax.” He said, placing the bowls the two had just eaten from back into the bag he had always brought every time he had returned home.
“I will unlock the door and you can get some water from the nearby stream. There’s fruit trees and bushes nearby you can eat from as well. This place is far from much of civilization, so you won’t have to worry much about people coming by.” He explained.
Astyanax had gone outside before, when Papa was training his use of the sword or that one time he had begged to go outside and Papa had relented. Odysseus pulled out a water jug, some food, a bag, and two more toys that he had, and passed it to Astyanax.
“Use the jug to collect water, use the bag to collect fruit once the food and water I’ve provided runs out. Is that clear?” Odysseus said, a stern expression on his face.
“Yes Papa, that’s clear.” Astyanax responded back.
“Good. I must go now, I will leave the door unlocked so that you can get the food and water that is necessary once your current food and water runs out, or if you just want to go outside.” He explained. He left the food, bag, jug and toys on the table, while placing everything else he had brought back into his bag.
“Bye Papa, I hope you return.” Astyanax called out to Odysseus. Odysseus turned back and smiled softly.
“I hope I do too.” He said, before leaving the house, leaving just Astyanax inside once again.
Papa had looked a lot more tired and unkept. There was still residue of red and brown on his armor and sword, something that confused Astyanax. Papa was wearing a helmet, something that he had also never seen before. He carried a bag, that was this time, empty.
“Astyanax.” He sternly said, catching the young boy’s attention.
“Take all of your belongings and come with me.” He said, gesturing at the toys strewn all across the floor and the wooden sword in its sheath on the table.
“Papa, why—”
“Don’t ask any questions. I will explain it all later, for now, pack up your items, and do it quickly.” Odysseus tossed the empty, large bag to Astyanax, who began quickly picking up his toys on the floor and placing them in the bag, carefully placing the sheathed sword with the toys, finally grabbing his pillow and blanket from his mattress on the floor letting them join with the toys and sword.
Once he was done, he carried the bag full of his belongings while walking towards his father. Odysseus grabbed the bag out of Astyanax’s hands, sheathing his own sword to grip on Astyanax’s small wrist and drag him outside.
…
Odysseus left the home, the boy’s wrist in one hand and his bag of belongings in the other.
As soon as he turned the corner from the house, he froze immediately and gripped onto Astyanax even harder.
Surrounding them was a group of cloaked, old women, their faces obscured by the hoods they bore on their head. They had an aura of.. divinity surrounding them.
These were not just normal women.
“Quietly submit the boy to us.” The leader of the group urged Odysseus, gesturing for Astyanax, now hiding behind Odysseus’ leg. The woman’s eyes shined, as she lifted her head up to meet Odysseus’ face directly, a terrifying grin adorning her face.
If Odysseus lended Astyanax to the women, he would surely die or be used for their.. rather ulterior motives.
So why…
He kept Astyanax for this exact purpose, didn’t he? Wasn’t this the outcome he had wanted for so long, for the past year, almost two years?
So why does he hesitate now?
His hand shook, holding onto Astyanax, as the environment turned disturbingly quiet.
I…!
And then, it all happened so quickly that even Odysseus couldn’t process it.
A small, trembling body, a dull wooden sword lifted, standing right in front of Odysseus, to protect him.
It was the boy.
Why do you do this, boy?
When I was about to give you away to save my own skin just moments ago?
How come you see me like this? How come you care so much, even after all that I’ve done to you, to your family?
You don’t know what I’ve done. You’re too young to remember anything I’ve done.
I don’t deserve this.
You don’t deserve me either.
But if it is what you want…
Then I will become the blade who protects you.
“D-don’t hurt him!” The young boy Astyanax said shakily, body and voice still trembling in front of the foes that surrounded them, but his resolve still strong.
Odysseus softly smiled.
Astyanax.
His son.
Odysseus unsheathed his sword, and raised it up high, just like his son.
The woman in the front looked up to face Odysseus, a gentle, soft smile on her face.
A sudden bright light flashed in his vision, he looked up..
The women were gone, and left no trace.
…
“Papa,” Astyanax said, looking up at his father, sword now lowered, eyes still filled with fear and shock after the ordeal that had just happened. Odysseus looked back, a smile on his face.
“What happened? Do you know those people? Where did they go?” He asked, now clumsily trying to put the sword back in its sheath still in the bag Odysseus was carrying, hands still trembling. Odysseus unsheathed his own sword, and stepped forward to take the sword out of the shaking boy’s hand to resheathe it himself.
“Son..” Odysseus didn’t know if that was a remark or a response to Astyanax’s question.
“I don’t know what happened just now.. but I think it’s time we go.” Odysseus reached out, and held Astyanax’s hand in his.
“Where are we going?” Astyanax asked, as the two began walking.
“Back home, to my home, Ithaca.” He fondly said, looking back down at Astyanax.
“I’m sure you will love it there. You’ll be able to enjoy life so much more…” Odysseus remarked. Astyanax’s eyes sparkled.
“I will?” He asked.
“I’m sure you will, son. I love you.”
A hero’s armor is always crimson
英雄の鎧は常に紅く
For that’s the color of the love that’s surely growing within
それはきっと浴びた夕焼けの色
Now walking hand in hand across the battlefield
血塗られた時代の中 手を繋いで
His love washing away his father’s sin
歩いていく騎士と息子
On a battlefield, there’s neither justice or sin
戦場には正義も悪もない
Only on the day of atonement will the answers come
贖罪の日はいつかやって来るだろう
But until that day of reckoning finally arrives,
やがて来るその時まで彼は
By the grace of his sons, the knight survives
「父」でいようと決意した