Though he has long since left behind boyhood, his deathless mother has always been as constant in his life as waves in the wine-dark sea. Wherever he dwelled, whether in his noble father's house on the fertile plains of Phthia or Lycomedes' on steep Scyros, on Mount Pelion under Chiron's tutelage or the shores of Troy under the sons of Atreus' command, the sea was never far, and so neither was Thetis.

"The love shared between mother and daughter must surely be as strong as that shared between father and son. Now as my Neoptolemus nears the cusp of manhood, I can only wonder what sort of man he will become without my guidance. Still, it comforts me to know that he will hear tales of his father's deeds in Troy, the glory I prised from the bloody jaws of war — and perhaps such tales will guide him in my stead.

"But what is this you are saying? Here I thought the ten years the sons of Achaea battled tirelessly round the walls of Troy lasted far too long, yet your husband has kept his sword sharp and bronze-tipped spear bloody for twenty!"