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“Pater?”
The question echoed slightly through the empty cave, silent except for the soft snoring of the sheep.
The giant man held his son in his arms, sharp and deep-sunken electric blue eyes uncharacteristically gentle as he rocked the cyclops to sleep. Only ten years of age was he, practically a toddler still – ten years was nothing to the king beneath the waves, especially as he struggled to see Polyphemus as having grown at all.
And how could he have grown? His cheeks were still round and soft, his eye was large and full of wonder and mischief, his black hair curled as softly as it did ten years ago, even though the ends started tinting blue already.
Poseidon supposed he should be over it already, seeing as Polyphemus was by far not even in the first hundred of his children. And yet he still found himself marveling at the sight as yet another of his children had skin as golden-brown as their father, eyes the same piercing blue, hair the same black curls. How beautiful he found it every time, as he held every child within his arms and found himself cooing at them. He oftentimes was startled when he remembered that he was the father, and not anyone else. How could something so pure and gentle and beautiful come from something such as himself?
No one ever got to see this side of Poseidon. Only his children and his spouse ever knew what moods Poseidon sometimes got into, and he was content with leaving it at that.
“Yes, paidi mou?” The dark-haired one responded.
“Can you lose something of your body?”
The question came unexpected. Poseidon found himself frowning slightly, and smoothed his forehead out with some effort.
“Why do you ask?”
The child got uncharacteristically quiet, quieter than when he is about to fall asleep. “Aspros cut his leg bad. It was gone when I wanted to help.”
Polyphemus was nearly crying, and Poseidon found himself saddened at his son’s despair over his sheep.
“It can happen to those that are not invulnerable.”
Polyphemus’ lip wobbled slightly. “Even me?”
“Even you, Polyphemus. You wouldn’t be affected by the loss of a leg, but you only have one eye. And I am afraid even Hephaestus cannot fix that.”
The child fell silent in sad contemplation. The Horselord cursed his inability to lie to his children. Maybe it would have been better had the cyclops not known of the possibility.
The tiny being in his arms – Poseidon still could not believe the miracle – then turned his gaze full of unshed tears up to his father.
“Pater, will you kill me if I lose my eye? That would be worse than anything.”
“No, Polyphemus. How could I?”
The child angrily stomped the air above Poseidon’s midriff, a tear flying off the eye and onto the ground. “Promise me! I don’t want to be like Aspros! Aspros hurt a lot! I don’t want to hurt like that!”
The Lord of Storms gazed sadly at his son.
***
“I promise.”