Chapter Text
Around twelve years ago, Telemachus’ father returned. It was odd, he thought, how he could hardly imagine a life without Odysseus now. He could barely wrap his mind around the fact that he’d lived twenty years without him around.
His father was a brilliant man. He was clever, and an amazing king and leader. But he was also getting up in age, and evidently rattled by what he’d seen out at sea.
And so, about three years ago, Telemachus had become king.
He had to admit it was still a little strange. He still remembered the constant harassment and disrespect he’d endured from his mother’s suitors, and to have an entire city bow to him? Listen to him?
Strange.
Honestly, Telemachus had never truly desired power. Sure, to be influential was far better a fate than the alternative, but fame and reverence wasn’t too important to him. It still made him a little uncomfortable when he traveled to the town and citizens bowed to him, or when they refused to allow him to pay for goods, or when they called him by his full title despite his insistence that ”Just Telemachus is fine.”
Again. He wasn’t complaining. The politics and responsibility he faced now weren’t things he felt the need to shy away from. He’d matured—thank the gods—since his early twenties, and with his father and Athena beside him?
Telemachus dared say he made a pretty good ruler.
And, if he was being frank with himself, negotiations and tactics weren’t his biggest problems. No, his greatest issue at the moment was the crowd of incredibly eager young woman taking up the bottom floor of his castle.
Suitors. Dressors? A pack of hungry wolves prepared to jump his bones at the slightest of movements? All terms were applicable.
Telemachus felt only slightly ashamed of the fact that he was currently hiding behind a pillar to avoid facing them. The hiding spot was giving him some serious deja vu. They were just some princesses. Beautiful young women who wanted to marry him. Was this not every man’s dream?
“What are you doing back here?”
He jumped nearly three feet in the air at the female voice. For a split second, he thought he’d been found, but his worry left when he came face to face with his mother.
Telemachus placed a hand to his rapidly beating heart, taking a long cooling breath. “Mom. Gods, you scared me. I’m just, uh…” He smiled sheepishly, desperately avoiding eye contact. “You know. Getting ready.”
Penelope looked at him flatly. “They’re just women, my dear. They do not bite.”
“Well, I know that.” He bristled. “Can I not desire some alone time?”
The queen mother sighed. “If you’re opposed to all this, you know we can always call it off. Your father and I don’t intend on forcing you to marry.”
Telemachus groaned. “But Ithaca needs a queen.”
“I feel you’re doing just fine on your own.” She smiled. “I’d rather you find love than marry someone just for the sake of it.”
He bit his lip. Frightened of speaking to women at his big age. This was just shameful. He sighed, setting his shoulders back and correcting his posture to the one he wore while communicating with the public. It was the stance of a ruler, the one Athena had drilled into him from the moment they’d met.
”Confidence is key,” she’d said. “You want people to respect you? Show them you’re worthy of their respect.”
And he did. He would. He just had to get in the zone and focus on the end goal instead of the innate terror of interacting with hordes of yearning women. Telemachus blinked twice, setting his expression back to the blank slate he’d learned to wield.
“Alright,” he said. “I’m good. I’ve got this.”
Penelope’s face screamed skepticism but she smiled encouragingly anyway. She patted him on the shoulder gently. “I’m sure you’ll be great. Your father and I will be here should you need us.”
Knowing his parents would be watching this trainwreck was actually worse, but he put on an appreciative grin despite that. Then, he strode out into the foyer, and immediately the chatter that’d been filling the hall muted.
Someone swooned. As in, literally swooned, and fell to the ground, presumably unconscious. Telemachus just stared in barely concealed shock as none of the women acknowledged their fallen comarade, only continuing to stare at him eagerly.
Gods give him the damn strength.
He cleared his throat, offering a close lipped smile. “So. Is anyone gonna help her up, or—?”
Immediately the crowd swelled toward the limp body, practically wrestling each other to get to the maiden. He massaged the area between his brows while the women were distracted. His eyes caught Penelope’s back stage. She gave an awkward thumbs up.
Telemachus was beginning to understand a fraction of what she must’ve felt surrounded by all of her suitors.
“One at a time, please.” He fought to keep the exasperation out of his voice. “I understand this is a contest, but I’d really prefer if you didn’t actually eliminate each other… if you know what I mean.”
It was a bit frightening how quickly the building riot fizzled out. The passed out woman was dragged, not so gently, from the hall by a team of three. Telemachus decided, for the sake of his own sanity, not to dwell on it.
Fighting to keep his face pleasant, he managed a strained smile. “Much obliged. Anywho…”
He found it incredibly hard to focus his train of thought when there were at least a hundred pairs of eyes staring hungrily into his very soul. Or, more accurately, into the fabric of his chiton, which he was beginning to worry wasn’t completely opaque with the way he was being ogled.
Was there a public speaking and inner peace god? If so, he could really use some assistance right about now. He cleared his throat once again.
“So, I—“
The double doors at the front of the hall slammed open. Telemachus’ eyes were immediately drawn to the movement, and when the muscular leg of a man stepped through rather than the slender one of a woman, he couldn’t stop the brief moment of surprise.
The man ducked through the door. He looked completely relaxed, despite the fact that an entire room of people were gawking at him in confusion. He was tall, with dark hair and an eyepatch. His face was chiseled, his face well groomed, and the darkness of his one visible eye caught on Telemachus’ blue.
A shiver crawled up the king’s spine. It was an unnerved one, yes, but not necessarily in a bad way. There was an unspeakable tension coursing between them, even while seperated by a wall of hopeful princesses.
Telemachus felt a faint sense of familiarity, but he had to believe that he’d recognize someone like this. How could he forget someone so…
So… what? He shook his head slightly. He was rapidly losing his wits. He opened his mouth to continue his prepared speech, which had all but completely slipped his mind, but was distracted once again by the man pushing forward through the crowd.
Princesses glared at him in disbelief and offense as the mystery man forged his way through the crowd, only coming to a stop right before Telemachus.
He looked up at him through dark eyelashes, a lazy and self-assured smile on his lips.
“Telemachus,” he said. His voice was smooth, no bumps or ripples. It resulted in a wave of goosebumps erupting across the king’s skin. “It’s my birthday today.”
Telemachus blinked at him, feeling like more and more of an idiot with each second of silence. It’d been a long, long time since anyone besides his family had called him by just his first name. And the judging stares from the crowd were certainly not helping him think.
“Uh, happy birthday?” he smiled uncertainly. Maybe the goosebumps had traveled to his brain because he felt about as useful as a puddle of senseless mush. “Do I—I mean—have we met?”
The man nodded. He crossed his arms, causing the muscles to bulge slightly—which was a movement he really wasn’t trying to pay so much attention to—and rocked back onto his back foot.
“Sure,” he responded easily. “Twelve years I’ve been waiting to meet you again.”
He rocked forward once again, this time resting his forearms on the banister seperating them. He leaned forward, smirking in a way that seemed almost flirtatious, but that couldn’t be, and Telemachus couldn’t prove it either way, and also he didn’t care either way.
Or maybe he did. But he was really trying not to because he was in a room full of women who definitely wanted to make heirs to the throne with him and that was the entire point of this whole mess. He liked to think he wasn’t so easily distracted.
“Oh?” Telemachus caught himself nearly letting out a nervous giggle and worked hard to stifle it. He was a king, for the gods’ sake. “So I do know you.”
The man shrugged, leaning up and out even further so they were a little closer. He probably—definitely—should’ve pulled away, but he didn’t. He was curious about this lost acquaintance. And, as always, his curiosity won out. Telemachus stayed put.
“I turned twenty-five today,” he murmured. “That number hold any significance to you, oh king?”
“Should it?”
“I’d say so.”
The look the man gave him then was most definitely flirtatious. Even Telemachus could pick up on that, and it flustered him more than he’d like to admit.
“I hear you’re looking to get married.” He tossed an unimpressed look back at the crowd of stunned princesses. “Nothing wrong with your… current selection, of course. But I’d say I’m easily the better choice. That is, if you’re looking for real dedication.”
A chorus of gasps reminded behind them. Telemachus barely kept his jaw from dropping at the sheer boldness. “Who are you?”
The man grinned, a sharp canine glinting at him in the torchlight. “Antinous.”
Telemachus’ brain froze. And then he was twenty again, roaming the halls, talking to some odd teenager… some strange little suitor who’d proposed to him… whom he’d promised to give a chance once he turned—
Twenty five.
This time, it was his turn to gasp.
“No way,” he said, not even attempting to contain the shock in his voice. “You’re Antinous?”
Antinous inclined his head slightly to the left. He looked incredibly satisfied with himself. “The very same.”
Completely forgetting the crowd of suitors (suitresses? Seriously, what was he supposed to call them?), Telemachus leaned over the railing to take a closer look. Now that he knew, he could see a very slight resemblance, but not much.
That wasn’t surprising, really. It’d been twelve years since their first and last meeting, and of course he’d grown and matured in that time but…
Hot damn.
“I can’t believe you actually remembered that.” He shook his head, leaning back. “You look really…”
Telemachus’ eyes strayed down to the sliver of bronze chest peeking through fabric and then immediately back to his face because they were in front of a crowd, for the gods’ sake! He wanted to smack himself in the face. What the fuck. What the fuck!?
He coughed politely behind his fist and willed his blood to stay far away from his face and neck. “Different. More—uh—you know.” No, he did not. Where was he even fucking going with this?
He knew where he should be going: to the nearest bridge available so he could fling himself off into the sea.
Antinous’ smirk did not so much as falter. “More… what?” He prompted, oh-so sadistically.
He knew at this point, from the burning in his ears, that he’d gone an insidious pink. Curse his fucking complexion. Curse his mind. Curse whatever series of events had led to this absolute worse case scenario coming true.
“More manly, or whatever,” he muttered, trying very hard to look unaffected.
Antinous’ smirk widened. “Well, I’d sure hope so. Is this your way of calling me sexy? If so, you can just say that. I think you look damn good, too.”
Telemachus fought to stay upright. This conversation was totally and utterly insane on so many levels. And, worst of all, he didn’t even mind it.
“So, let me get this straight.” He folded his arms across his chest and focused on evening out his blood flow. He was somewhat relieved to feel the heat begin to drain from his cheeks. “You came all this way to pursue me because I promised you, twelve years ago, in jest, that I wouldn’t automatically reject you if you proposed.”
The man’s smug expression didn’t so much as falter. If it sounded as ridiculous to him as it did to everyone else in the room, he didn’t show it. “Precisely. Is it working?”
Telemachus squinted at him, unsure whether to feel indignant or amused. “I hardly even know you.”
“I’m aware.” Antinous gaze was half lidded, yet undeniably intense with the way it locked onto his. “Allow me to get to know you, then.”
There was a loud cough from the audience. “So, are these two just gay for each other, or what?”
Telemachus snapped upright. He hated to admit it, but he’d been so entranced by their dialogue that he’d completely forgotten their entire conversation up to now had been in front of a room filled with people. Women looking to marry him, no less, who were now witnessing him be flirted with by a man. Flirt back to a man, if he was being completely transparent.
His heart practically dropped to his stomach with the sheer weight of his humiliation. And then, recalling that he was king and did in fact have all the power, he cleared his throat and fought for his life to look confident.
“You’re all dismissed,” he said, voice impressively steady for the amount of inner turmoil he was facing.
A wave of grumbles crashed throughout the crowd of women. Someone may have sobbed. Antinous didn’t look as though he gave much of a shit, as he continued staring fascinatedly at Telemachus.
“Does that apply to me, too?” He asked, and while his voice had a teasing lilt to it, there was an undercurrent of seriousness.
He couldn’t believe he was saying this. Telemachus waved a hand. “No.”
Then he spun to face the back corridor where his parents were both still present. His father, too? What layer of hell was he in?
“Some privacy, thank you,” he called out pointedly.
His parents exchanged an unreadable look. Penelope smirked at him. Odysseus shot him an encouraging thumbs up. Telemachus felt as though his soul had died, been resurrected, then been promptly murdered again.
He turned back to Antinous. “You’re dedicated. I’ll give you that.”
The man seemed to brighten under his gaze. “Thank you.” He raised an eyebrow. “Well? What’s the verdict? Still willing to go through on your twelve year plan?”
Telemachus rolled his lip between his teeth. There were many factors at play here, of course, especially considering his status as king. Whoever he chose to rule alongside would have a large bearing on the wellbeing of the kingdom. And while Antinous did have a self serving streak, particularly back in his time as a suitor…
Well. It had been over a decade. People changed. And if Antinous was willing to wait over a decade just for a chance with him, that indicated at least some level of genuine interest. And if not, Telemachus could commend his commitment to gaining that crown.
“I’m not marrying you,” he said. “But I can still be convinced.”
Antinous’ smile didn’t so much as dip downwards. “How so?”
“Well.” Telemachus shrugged, putting a great deal of effort into masking how endeared he was. “You could start by taking me on a date.”
“Consider it in the works. Any other special requests?”
The king fell back from the edge of the balcony. The way Antinous’ eyes followed him filled him with a unique sort of satisfaction Telemachus was sure couldn’t be found anywhere else in the world. He took one last glance at the man—he truly was hot—before turning his back on him.
“That’s it.” He held up a finger. “Bear in mind it’s only this simple out of pity.”
Antinous snorted. “Right. I so appreciate your benevolence.”
Telemachus rolled his eyes, choosing to grin to himself secretively in lieu of a response. One thing was for sure; the clever suitor—his clever suitor, he supposed—was never going to learn of how his words made his stomach flip.
He was thirty-three, for the gods’ sake. He should be better than this.
He wasn’t.
On the bright side, he wouldn’t have to deal with the hundreds of hungry women anymore. Yet another reason to give Antinous a chance.
“Goodbye,” he called over his shoulder, slipping from the room.
The butterflies in his stomach were still fully ablaze, but at least he did a better job at hiding it. And he couldn’t keep the smile off his face, because this time, he was confident they’d see each other again.
Twelve years between their first and second meeting. But this time, Telemachus was certain they wouldn’t be waiting another ten years for their third.