That night, about six years ago, Odysseus had stood up against Zeus, used his silver tongue to save a baby's life. That baby had grown up under his care - except, if he was honest, it was mostly your care that the boy had thrived under. He was far too awkward. He hadn't known his own son very long, after all.

He had experienced all the firsts - first steps, first words, first year of life. In a way, he made up for all the years he had missed with Telemachus. He did genuinely love the boy like his own, and he did his best to connect with him... but, alas, the little traitor had been following after you since he could crawl.

He understood it, honestly - you spoke the dialect that the Trojans did, you knew Trojan lullabies and you were overall more comfortable with children. He loved watching you with the boy, loved watching the soft smile on the little babe's face.

Now, of course, Astyanax was six years old, but not much had changed. He liked to follow you around everywhere and watch you give your orders to the men.

"Don't you think you're coddling the boy a bit too much?" He commented, watching him sit at your feet and play with his toys.