Banner by fr4nkie

Disclaimer: This story takes inspiration from Homer's Odyssey, but it is in no way intended to plagiarize it, or to copy it integrally. Basically, I'm just following its main traces in order to create...uhm...how to call it? A parody? Do you want it to be a parody? Okay, let's make it a parody.

For those who don't know the plot of the Odyssey: this story may give you an idea about what the real poem is about, but please note this is NOT exactly how Homer tells it. I've added and cut things according to my fantasy. So don't think you know the Odyssey by reading to this story because this is pretty different.

For those who do know the plot of the Odyssey and may feel offended (even Homer, heh, from the depths of his tomb): do not think I'm bad for distorting the events and/or bending them to my needs, or for adding things that aren't mentioned in the original poem. This is just intended as a tribute to the awesome ancient Greek literature, and a game I want to play with myself.

Michael's memories about his relationship with Chester are NOT told in the Odyssey. I made them up. So.

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It had become hard to look at the sea.

It had taken a decade (or more?) for his eyes to get used to the restraints his heart had imposed on them not to suffer anymore. And it still was hard, deep down, not to just surrender to the instinct that had always wanted him to turn his eyes to the horizon, like he was used to.

Back in Ithakē, suffering never greeted him when he decided (quite often, if he might admit) to steal a glance at the green mountains above his head; he never actually had the impulse to admire the still charming view that was the coast, blue and shining but yet oh-so-common. His sight always relished in the beautiful peaks of emerald that crowned his island, and the white architectures that bejeweled their extents in mighty praises to the human intelligence. Back there, he busied himself with the gratifying deeds of a husband and father, when not a respectful soldier of the Achaean army, and his head used to bend low to the eyes of his loved ones, or ahead to those of his comrades; raising his gaze was always a satisfying game and a pleasure to his hard-to-extinguish curiosity.

But now, oh, now. Now, he always had his head high to the contemplation of the luxurious green that faced him, and the only diversion would be that of the wild coast that he always was careful as to stick to his back. Ánna never allowed him to do anything (she said she cared about his safety, yet wouldn't it be more dangerous to leave a man alone with his thoughts?), so, sightseeing (of the full part of the land) was what kept him occupied. The observation of the horizon that would take him relief would be that of the crystalline extent of water, but still, it only brought him sorrow at the minimum thought.

It had been a decade. Or more, he always added in his mind. He had always tried to keep the most accurate track of the passing time, but the great amount of it made the job difficult. And then again, he was never sure he had been precise in his counting, because it sure felt more than a decade. It felt like a century. Two, if he were honest.

And, instead, it was only a decade. Ten long years, away from his love. Away from his offspring. Away from the warm sheets of his bed. Away from home.

There had never been a single day in which his thoughts didn't wander back to the white stone streets of his homeland, where he enjoyed walking barefoot, letting their sunburned surfaces tickle the soles of his feet in pleasant affection. Not a single day passed by without his mind being tightly wrapped around the beautiful figure of his companion, whom he missed more than sanity, by that point in time. Not a single night spent without weeping (he had learnt to hide it on the surface, by now, but never managed to keep his heart from doing so) for his long abandoned child.

And it still happened, as his eyes stayed forcefully stuck to the dark marble floor (he couldn't let himself look out the enormous terrace and drown into that evil sea again!, he repeated), that the lower side of his eyes stung as his heart ached in the unforgiving grip of nostalgia.

It was a trembling knock to the jamb of the entrance of the room that forcefully (but with a thankful sigh) brought him back to the contact with the human world; a shy servant bowed to him in a way too respectful fashion for him, who was just a foreigner, accepted at the court for the only fancy of the sovereign's daughter. Still, the didn't dare complain, as it felt good to be considered as someone whose will mattered, for once after a long time.

"The Royal Family wishes for you to partake in their banquet, sir. Would you please follow me."

The convivial room was not bigger than that of his own palace back in Ithakē, yet it was far more luxurious and smotheringly rich. Golden shone on every possibly hard surface, and silk coiled in gleaming waves around every other thing that had to make contact with the commensals' bodies. Were those Persian gems that he could discern among the colorful outlines of the precious cups?

Gold was by now, in his brain, one of the morbid reminders of the first period of his permanence in the land belonging to Ánna. She had first tried corrupting him with every thinkable gift that could be made out of gold, believing she could win over his heart with such ways. She had thankfully understood he was immune to the yellow charm after quite some time, and she had only partly accepted the impossibility of being in his good books...by those ways. She had then tried something else, though. But did he really want to remember then?

The commensals were all already bountifully stretched over the red cushions of their klinai, holding cups of purple, strongly smelling wine, and laughing along to what had probably been one of the latest jokes told by the sovereign.

As soon as he got to place a sandal-clad foot (sandals! So long since he last wore a pair of those! Not even Ánna let him wear anything for his feet, as it was useless since he had never gotten out of her palace until a week before then) into the lush room, a red-bejeweled golden cup was pushed into his forced-open palm and immediately filled with the intoxicatingly smelling wine. He then realized that would have been a sleepless night.

The sovereign's daughter was there, too; at her father's feet, her legs only partially chastily laid beside her body, she half-lied on the purple-carpeted floor, her arms supporting her head on the hem of his klinē, while her lively black eyes smiled at him with enthusiasm. She was the first one to notice the newcomer, in that room as well as the island itself, and she made everyone aware of him by the only means of her fast-growing radious grin. Her father incited him to come hither, and he complied only half as gladly as he would have without the whole room's eyes on him. Even though no one believed him on that, he had never been prone to much attention; he relished in the praises of his good deeds, but uncalled-for interest was not his thing.

"You have decided to let your presence be known in my reign in a prosperous moment, foreigner; you would be glad to know we have been saluted just today with the arrival of a full ship from the northern colonies. The best wine to ever greet your senses will now grace your taste."

He smiled the kind and thankful smile people always loved to see on him, and that he hadn't had the heart to put in use for what felt like such a long time. He always put a lot of effort into smiling to Ánna, while this stretch of his lips was now sincere and grateful for a relief he had been waiting for so long. He sensed, deep inside, that something propitious was about to happen, and he liked the thought.

The best wine to ever greet his senses, however, was that of his own island, the one he liked to sip while laying in bed with his love after having indulged in playful, sweet exchanges of affection. So naïve that sovereign was!

He sat on the only empty klinē that had been left purposefully for him, thinking it too early for him to lie on it like all the others were currently doing. He raised his cup in a silent answer to the king's introduction. He took a little sip of the dark substance: it was deeply tasteful and overwhelming, the grapes' juice at the peak of its expression potential, velvety and passionate, yet not enough to be compared to home.

"I am most grateful for your acceptance, my king, and I apologize for not being able to repay your liberality in any way. Your beautiful daughter must have informed you of the state I was found by her handmaids in...", he trailed off, his tanned cheeks tinting in a vague reminder of a blush in the reminescence of the events of the earlier day.

The sovereign shut his excuses with an amicable wave. "I am well aware of the conditions our coast found you in, and the only reward I ask for myself is the possibility to know what stands behind it. Would you please, foreigner, grace this banquet with the tale of the journey that brought you here?"

Such a request was not supposed to be denied satisfaction; he smiled again, and shifted a little to complete comfort, but still sitting, on his klinē, while his lungs emptied out a deep preparatory sigh. "I will try to be as exhaustive as my memory will assent, my sovereign. Yet I cannot deny I could fall prey, somewhere, to the forced forgetfulness I imposed myself when my life's events were too vicious on me."

"My wish is to know about you, foreigner. Never to upset your mind. This is a merry banquet! Let yourself remember about the good times the gods let you live, and only name the bad ones if your heart consents. But first, let us have a name by which calling you."

"I go by the name of Michaí̱l, my sovereign. But family calls me Michael. Michael Shinoda."

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I like reviews. I really do. Uh.

Banquets and men laying on klinai.