Lord Achilles came yesterday to deliver his condolences in person.
In the absence of any family, Aetos of Crete has been deemed the representative of the late Lord Ophellios. It is known that the two had once shared a bond, before the young king fell with honour.
Aetos does not understand it, nor does he welcome the visitors.
Feasting has returned to the camp; Apollo has lifted the blight. But the days thereafter are cold and bleak.
He jumps, then curses himself for it - he has only just begun to be seen as a man and not a boy.
"Yes?"
He looks at him over his shoulder, a soft glint in his eye. “Between you and me, friend… Where were you these last weeks?”
His shoulders slump, and his breath comes out in a hiss. "Olympus," he says sarcastically, without really thinking about it, and turns and goes.
Hm.
Athena, do You recall the presence of a certain young Pylian king in Olympus?
"...This matter touches on that which concerns the councils of the gods, and things near to the heart of mighty Zeus; you would do well to forget about it."
That all but confirms it.
I would not wish to inflame the anger of Zeus once again. Thank You, Goddess; that will be all for now.
He departs to meet with Patroclus.
He raises his aged head.
"Must you, son of Hyranon?" His voice is lighter now, still aged but no longer oppressed with gloom.
“I must.” He sits opposite him at the little wooden table where he eats. “For you are favoured by Apollo, and only you may have the answers to the questions that plague me so.”
The young king seems agitated; there is a note of despair to his voice.
“I am willing to pay you whatever it is that you ask.”
"Speak freely, young king; I know indeed your parentage, and I would not offend your godly father by asking price of you."
His eyes soften and he clasps the old man’s hands in gratitude.
“You are the first today to honour me so. Thank you, noble prophet.”
A breath.
“They say I rose from the dead. They ask me where I have been since my disappearance. In truth, Calchas, I do not know. I reach for answers that are not there – and it is crucial that I remember, for they say now that I am a traitor.”
The old man's hesitation is almost impossible to notice.
"To you, Ophellios king, I shall speak frankly. The kings of the Achaeans are afraid, for the war goes ill, and indeed they have angered the immortal gods: I believe this alone explains their woes. You are touched by heaven, Ophellios; send not to know what the gods keep hidden, lest you find out."
He sighs. "I shall tell you truly that what happened to you was the work of the immortal gods; it was no mere accident, or dream, as some have said. The Lord Aetos is wise to be suspicious; Achaean kings do not simply disappear; and yet foolish to so question the gods, whose devices are their own."
“Calchas, please. I ask you again one more time. Where did I go?”
Desperate kings are dangerous. Ophellios is certainly that.
He needs to extract oaths of safety before he talks to the kings - that probably wouldn't offend Apollo, he thinks -
... He can answer truthfully, but misleadingly.
Outwardly he projects the calm seer.
"Lord Ophellios, you went into the arms of the gods, perhaps into the arms of your father."
If Ophellios strikes him, he can collapse dramatically and scream and it's possible the others will stop him - Calchas is useful, you see.
He is standing now, grip tight on the old man’s hands.
“And what of the circumstances of my return?”
He readies himself to scream-
"You must have been restored to this land by the gods, your fate not yet done."
He raises his voice without realising. “But– why? I do not understand. Why would They send me back? Why would They keep me alive?”
"I do not know! I swear it! I swear, I do not, no man can, know the mind of the immortal gods!"
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