Forever Your Mother,

Entry II | Sailing From Troy

My Dear Lysandros,

Countless mishaps have been created on our way back to Ithaca. First of the many being my ignorant belief that the journey sailing home would be any less of a trouble than the years-long siege had been. Of course, it has not been as treacherous as the battle of Troy had been, for there are moments that occur where a brief passage of peace makes its way to our ships. With how hostile and unpredictable our weather has allowed itself to be, a lot of the men on the ship find it to be a bother to keep the deck tidy. Unlike them, I have found the chance to cleanse our ship to also be an opportunity to cleanse my mind. Along with keeping it tidy aboard, I have also gotten in the habit of cooking meals for the other men. The culinary skills I am bestowed with have earned many gratitudes from my comrades, some even commenting that I had cooked better than their own mothers. Even though I excel at both cleaning and cooking, as a mother such as myself should be, I have found myself to be specifically brilliant at tending to wounds. In fact, I have even received compliments from our great king Odysseus himself when it came to my healing abilities. "Blessed be the hands of this warrior for healing our wounds, both earned from battle and from our humorous whims," is what he remarked of me and my talented hands of rejuvenation! I will admit, I often recall those words every night before I slumber. His wife Penelope was a lucky woman.

However, it seems that our charming King Odysseus attracts even the most questionable types of women. In my last entry to you, I had written it with the intention that we were going to make our way back home with the same amount of time we had made our way to Troy. After that 10-year siege, I was more than ready to get back to Ithaca in order to see you, and I still have that same burning will to this day. My will is not the only thing burning, as it has been made clear that a beautiful nymph had taken our king, her burning desire causing her to imprison him to be her love. Whilst waiting for our king during his imprisonment on the island of Calypso, I do find it shameful to admit that I questioned my loyalty to even my own men. Of course, I stayed on the ship, waiting for my king to return to our ships as any devoted— as any honorable warrior of Ithaca should. Yet, I still find myself to be overwhelmed with a great feeling of regret. As I waited for my king to escape from the delusional Calypso, I questioned if I should have just sailed alone, just to see you again. I even attempted to encourage our men to find our king on the island rather than just letting the years pass us by, awaiting his return on our ship. It had turned out that my voice was not as convincing as I had imagined it to be, and we continued to wait. Even though our men were very loyal to wait for our king, our ships reeked of irritation. Some men, along with I, would speak of our discontentment but would be hushed immediately by the others. There is not a second of the day that goes by where I am not thinking of you. Every moment I spend longing for home, longing for me to be back along your side is another instance where I ask myself if this journey was a miscalculation on my behalf. I keep finding my thoughts drifting toward the idea that helping our king was a grave mistake. What is to happen if I never make way back to you? What is to happen if my messages are never read by your eyes? More and more overwhelming possibilities raid my mind, blocking my vision from seeing what really matters, which is to protect you and fight alongside our king.

A great mistake, greater than a lot of the others, has been made on this journey as of recent. The decision our men had made after winning the battle of Ismarus is one I greatly disagreed with. I have only voiced a little of my dismay with just my closest peers, and even they do not truly know how I feel. This expedition has been beneficial to the growth of my mindset, but detrimental to my heart. For I have witnessed aspects of war that are vicious, of which I never want you to see. Of which reminds me of the reason why I went to your place, to keep your body and mind safe. Our men had enslaved the Cicones women, women that— perhaps in another lifetime amongst tangled realities could have been myself. Fear and disgust swimming within the glints of their eyes as our men took them and turned them into nothingness. All the while I had to turn away, forced to pretend I did not feel their agony. With some of the gazes that the traumatized girls threw in my direction, it was clear to at least a few that I was not who I claimed to be. This facade I have put on, that I am a noble fighter who shall stop at nothing to fight for their king, is draining every bit of my soul. After being hit with the vision of the assaults our men have committed on these poor girls, I do not feel very mighty. And while we were able to fight and make it out with our lives at first, the men failed to listen to our king when he made the order to retreat to the ships. My ears picked up what others were saying, some of the men retorting and talking amongst themselves, "Name a reason why I shall heed his words! The last time we did, all of us made our families wait for seven more years." Do not think I wasn't appalled with this newfound, foolish behavior of them. I tried to gather the men back onto the safe area of our ships, but as you know by now, my word is not the most convincing. It is unfortunate how that aspect has stayed the same for me both as a woman and as a man. Our men stayed put, against Odysseus' words, and it was only a matter of time before the reinforcements of the Cicones made their way to us. I am barely content with my soul intact, but the lives of the men who I had grown close to over the years are now long gone. To grow and to laugh with friends who I might not ever see again after a battle such as this one has taken its toll on me. I am now sailing away from this Ismarus, with less than half of the men we arrived with. My vision of this island, which will forever be known in my head as an island of massacre, fades further away as I make one last stroke of lead for you.

Forever Your Mother,

Thaleia

Dee barely realized he had read through the entry until his eyes noticed Thaleia's signature. He had been so engulfed within the writing, even failing to notice the tide had risen all the way to his toes. Jumping, the boy immediately scooped the papers up and scurried off toward a drier area of sand. It had been much brighter by the street lights, and Dee figured this would be better for his eyes anyway. Looking over the paper to make sure it stayed undamaged from the water, Dee was imagining the very hardships the author of the letters had to go through.

His eyes had widened when reading about the difficulties Thaleia had been enduring, and to think that this was barely the beginning of the letters! Dee couldn't imagine himself being away from home for so long, but he definitely could not imagine himself at sea for the same amount of time either. From a very young age, Dee had always been allured by the sea, however he much preferred enjoying it and appreciating its beauty from afar. Who knows what monsters or sea beasts lay deep below under the ocean? The thought kept Dee awake at night. Not to mention, the boy had always been susceptible to motion sickness too.
When Thaleia had mentioned her skills aboard the ship, Dee couldn't help but think of his own mom. If she wasn't working, then she was definitely cooking something delicious for Dee to devour. The way the writer of the letters had been great at tending to wounds reminded Dee of his mom also. Whether it was a scratched knee or a sprained ankle, his mother always managed to make him feel better. The boy was glad to read how similar moms across the times had been so similar. Sniffling and with watering eyes, the boy thought to himself, Thaleia reminds me so much of my mom.

Wiping his face quickly, he immediately tried to think about something else. His gaze darted to the paper in his lap, eyes lapping over the specific words of 'King Odysseus.' This person had been mentioned in the previous letter too, being the king of Ithaca, Dee assumed. The boy swore he had heard the name in class, but anything else that he had learned about the king was no longer remembered. He made a mental note to ask his teacher when he could and to pay more attention in class. For now, Dee would have to learn more about this king the more he reads the letters. He had already figured out that he had been somewhat successful with the ladies. Dee thought to himself how he personally wouldn't mind being stuck on an island with a hot chick. Still, the boy felt a ton of sympathy for Thaleia and the rest of the men who had to wait. Dee had sucked his teeth purely in disbelief at how long the men had waited.

Thaleia had reminded Dee of his own mother more than he preferred her to, but he had also related to the author of the letters himself as well. The boy felt awful when he had read how the men hadn't listened to her when she was just trying to help. Dee had often felt his voice would never be heard. Dee had often felt that everything he would say would never matter to the person he was telling it to. Dee had often felt that both of those two were true, especially when he would try and talk to his mom. Of course the way no one had listened to Thaleia reminded him how his mother would never listen to him. It was frustrating to see that the same struggle Dee went through had haunted someone else thousands of years ago. Taking a deep breath and letting it go, Dee calmed himself and reached for the next letter in the series of pages.