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It first started when Telemachus was young, maybe three years old.
Penelope was having a pleasant conversation with a neighboring prince. He was worried for his father at war and desperately wanted to talk to someone. Penelope entertained him, and they had a nice chat about war and fate until Telemachus suddenly ran up.
He tugged on his mother’s dress, to which Penelope looked over. “Mama!” He whined, pulling on the silk.
Penelope stifled a laugh and pulled her son into her lap. “Please excuse my son.” She apologized to the prince.
Telemachus turned around to look at their visitor. He glared at the older boy. “Leave my mom alone!” He snapped.
Penelope delicately turned her son back to face her. “Now Telemachus, be polite. He is our kind guest, and we should treat him with respect.” She gently reprimanded.
“...Sorry mama.” He pouted, spinning back around to apologize to the prince, who assured them it was okay.
The young prince of Ithaca hated sharing his mother’s attention with anyone else, which she found equal parts endearing and inconvenient. It was cute how much he wanted to protect her. She absentmindedly thought of his father before shaking the thought away. Her son would grow out of this soon.
***
On Telemachus’ tenth birthday, Penelope was feeling a bit worried.
Odysseus should have been back by now. Several suitors had been showing up to Ithaca for the last few years, asking for Penelope’s hand in marriage. She declined every single one of them, instead choosing to wait for her husband to come home to her.
“It’s been ten years. He probably died in the war, so you’re going to need a new king.” They said it every time.
Penelope knew Odysseus too well to think that it was even remotely possible for him to be dead. That man had backup plans for backup plans, and hiding places inside hiding places.
But a part of her worried. ‘What if he really is dead?’ It asked. ‘What about Telemachus?’
“I’ll deal with it when it happens,” Penelope muttered under her breath.
“Deal with what?” Telemachus asked, pausing from his meal to look up at his mother.
Penelope jumped a bit, not realizing she had been talking out loud. “Nothing, love. I was just thinking.” She assured.
The prince smiled and went back to eating. He was so much like his father. Strong, handsome, observant, and an insatiable appetite.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart. Is there anything you’d like to do?” She questioned, tucking a stray hair behind his ear.
Telemachus hummed. “Can you tell me about Dad?” He asked excitedly.
The boy always had a relentless curiosity about his father, having no memories of him. Penelope was always happy to tell him about Odysseus, the good and the bad he had done. It only felt right to share both.
She opened her mouth to answer, but a different voice spoke before she could.
“You know he’s probably dead, right? What’s the point of telling stories of a dead man?” One of Penelope’s suitors, who she couldn’t even care to remember the name of, strolled into the room.
Telemachus glared at him. “He’s not dead. He’s coming back.” He stated firmly.
The suitor walked closer, a smug smile plastered to his face. “It’s been ten years, and the war is over. So many other kings are home, but guess who isn’t here?” He asked, a mocking tone in his voice.
Penelope glowered at the man. “This is Odysseus’ home. You are not to strut in whenever you so desire.” She said coldly, standing up to look at him face to face.
The suitor placed a hand on her shoulder and Penelope had to fight every instinct in her body not to flinch.
“Come on, let’s face it. The king of Ithaca is dead, and someone’s going to take his place sooner or later.” He purred, slowly rubbing his hand further up, closer to her neck.
Fortunately, his hand didn’t stay there for very long, as Telemachus smacked it away with a surprising amount of force.
“Leave my mom alone!” He snapped. “If Dad doesn’t come back, I’m gonna be king! So go away!” He shouted.
The suitor was surprised at the bold act of anger and glared at the kid before looking back up at the queen. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
“I think he does,” Penelope replied. “Odysseus is from Ithaca, and I am merely his royal consort. Telemachus has his blood. Once I die, the throne does indeed go to him.”
“We’ll see about that.” The suitor snapped before leaving, rubbing his arm from where Telemachus had hit him.
The prince turned back to his mother. “He’s so mean.” He stated simply.
Penelope laughed. “Yes, I suppose he is.” She crouched to be at eye level with her son. “Now, how about those stories about your father?” She offered.
The prince shook his head. “Actually…” He mumbled, fiddling with the hem of his chiton. “I kinda want to hear some stories about you. Is that okay?”
Penelope was stunned by the change in request but agreed anyway. “It’s okay, my love. I can think of quite a few entertaining ones.”
Telemachus smiled as they both walked away from the table and to the boy’s room.
***
When Telemachus was fifteen, Menelaus and Helen decided to sail over for a visit.
Penelope was excited to see her cousin, as the two hadn’t spoken since long before the war. While the queen of Ithaca was in her room, putting some golden bands around her wrists, there was a small knock at the door.
“Come in.” She beckoned, expecting one of her handmaidens.
Instead, Telemachus walked into her room, looking a bit nervous. He was fiddling with his rings and looking at the floor.
“Telemachus? What’s wrong, baby?” Penelope asked, concerned.
“Oh, nothing mother. I just came to let you know that the king and queen of Sparta are here now.” He muttered.
“Thank you, love.” Penelope smiled, though her smile faltered a bit. “Are you sure nothing is going on?”
Telemachus nodded. “Just a bit on edge, that’s all.” He gave his mother a small smile.
Penelope gave the prince a small kiss on the head before going to meet their visitors.
It was almost a completely smooth event. Penelope hugged Helen and they chatted about her experience in Troy.
“I can't believe he kidnapped me, Penelope. It was so humiliating.” Helen grumbled, placing her head on Penelope’s shoulder, to which her cousin laughed and rubbed her back.
Menelaus also laughed. “We got you back, didn’t we, dear?” He asked teasingly.
“Nestor got me back. You were too busy sacking Troy.” Helen groaned.
“Hey now…” Penelope coaxed. “I’m sure Menelaus did a lot of work to get you back.”
The trio talked for a while as Telemachus stood nearby, and their chat was a nice change of pace from what Penelope was used to. Eventually, as with almost every conversation Penelope had, their talk drifted to Odysseus.
As Menelaus talked about a possible new king, he happened to raise his hand towards Penelope. The queen knew that he meant nothing of this gesture, but Telemachus seemed to take it personally.
The prince ran over at a shocking speed and smacked Menelaus’ hand away, placing himself between the king and his mother with a hard glare.
“Leave my mother alone.” He glowered.
Menelaus looked shocked at the sudden display of anger, putting his arm in front of Helen to protect her while Penelope spun her son around and glared at him.
“Telemachus!" she snapped. “What do you think you’re doing? Knock it off!” She scolded.
Telemachus looked surprised at his mother’s words, his eyes widening before he dropped his head and ran off without a word.
The three adults watched him in confusion. “Is something wrong, Queen Penelope?” Menelaus asked.
“No, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s up with him right now.” Penelope apologized.
To their surprise, Helen offered to check on the prince. The woman found him sitting by a small pond. His head was still hung low and he refused to look at her.
"Prince Telemachus." Helen greeted respectfully.
"I'm sorry." He whispered.
"Whatever is troubling you?" She questioned, sitting down beside the boy.
“…I panicked.” The boy mumbled.
Helen nodded. "Why?"
“Hey there!”
The two of them looked up to see another one of Penelope's suitors. He whistled obnoxiously.
“Hey, pretty lady! Why’re you hiding behind that veil, huh?”
Helen clutched the fabric of her veil anxiously. Ever since the war, her face had been very private to her.
Telemachus glared at the man. "Leave us alone." He snapped.
The suitor gave a cocky smile but didn't reply, choosing instead to pull out a knife. Telemachus placed himself between the suitor and Helen, but the man threw the knife too fast. It didn't hurt either of them, but it caught Helen's veil and ripped it off her head.
Her long blonde hair fell to her sides, and her blue eyes widened in shock. She sat there for a moment before covering her head with her hands, trying desperately to save her dignity.
The suitor laughed while Telemachus placed his hands on top of Helen’s head as well, trying his best to hide her head as much as possible. He stood directly in front of Helen, blocking the suitor from seeing her.
“Leave, Eurydamas. You are not welcome here.” Telemachus snapped.
“This is quite entertaining. So, I think I’ll stay a bit longer.” Eurydamas replied smugly.
Telemachus took his sword off his hip and cut off a piece of his cape. He placed the fabric over Helen’s head to cover her before turning towards the man.
Helen didn’t know what happened after that, she heard loud bickering but no swords connecting. The blonde shivered. Is this the kind of behavior Penelope had to put up with every single day?
Eventually, Telemachus let her know what the man had left.
“Are they all like this?” Helen asked.
Telemachus shrugged. “Most.” He paused for a moment. “I’m sorry for getting so defensive earlier. It’s just… whenever I see someone reach for my mother, I’m just used to it being…” He trailed off, but Helen understood what he meant.
“Okay, this is what’s going to happen.” Helen sighed. “We’re going to go find my veil, you’re going to apologize to my husband, and I’m going to sew your cape back together. Does that sound good?”
Telemachus smiled and offered her a hand to stand up. “Of course. Thank you.”
***
Telemachus had just arrived back to Ithaca after going to find word of his father. He had minimal luck, but something was better than nothing, he supposed.
He looked at the castle where he grew up. One hundred and eight men were in its halls, trying to court and woo his mother. The thought made him feel sick. His own home was no longer safe for him.
The prince sighed as he entered the house of his swineherd friend. Upon entering, he saw a man he didn’t recognize. He looked like a beggar and was having a lively exchange with the swineherd. From the way they were talking, it was clear that they were at least a little drunk.
Telemachus hated alcohol. It reminded him of the suitors that constantly strut around his household drunk while complaining to him and flirting with his mother.
“Hello, swineherd. How are things up at the castle?” Telemachus asked.
“My apologies, Your Highness, but they are still in rather… poor condition.” The swineherd replied.
Telemachus' eye twitched ever so slightly. “Wonderful. So, nothing has changed?”
The beggar stood up. He was quite tall, Telemachus noted.
“Come on, Your Highness. Why are you and your mother letting these men strut around like they own your home?” He smirked. “If I were, say, King Odysseus, who had returned home in secret from his travels, I’d walk into the palace and kill all of them.”
The swineherd laughed. “My friend Ulysses has met your father, Telemachus. He has many stories to tell if you’d like to hear.” He offered.
Telemachus accepted, hearing a few entertaining tales of adventure. The prince wasn’t sure how, but between cyclopes and giants, the topic of Penelope was brought up.
“What a beautiful woman, unmatched in every regard.” Ulysses sighed wistfully.
Telemachus felt an awful twisting in his stomach. His mother. His mother, who had been at risk of grave danger for the past fourteen years. His mother, who stayed loyal to a husband who might not even be alive anymore. His mother, who was only ever talked about in regard to beauty. His mother, who’s intelligence was constantly ignored.
Telemachus slammed his hands on the table. “Don’t speak of my mother. You’re not worthy to speak her name.”
The older men’s eyes widened, a bit in confusion, and a bit in surprise.
“We were only-” The swineherd started.
“I am once again asking that you leave my mom alone.” Telemachus snapped. “She does not deserve to be only seen for beauty and nothing else. She does not deserve the life she has right now.” The prince grabbed a glass of water from the table.
The beggar stood up. He was a lot taller than Telemachus. He didn’t seem offended. He looked amused.
How dare he. How dare he find humor in Penelope’s suffering.
The beggar was about to speak, but an owl flew into the room. How did it get inside? The door was closed.
Out of nowhere, there was no longer a beggar in front of the prince. There was a soldier he didn’t recognize at first.
Telemachus dropped the glass he was holding. It shattered on the floor, but no one in the house seemed too concerned.
Because King Odysseus of Ithaca was standing right here.
A long stretch of silence followed his reveal. It was broken by two words from Odysseus.
“Hello, son.”
Telemachus wanted to say he didn’t cry. But he did. Tears fell the instant Odysseus finished his sentence. It wasn’t long until he was full-on sobbing.
To his surprise, Odysseus held out his arms. Telemachus collapsed into his embrace, sobbing and clutching his father’s chiton.
“I’m home,” Odysseus whispered.
That only made Telemachus cry harder.
***
Telemachus walked back into the castle, ignoring the suitors who were glaring daggers at him. He strode up to his mother’s throne with a newfound confidence. He finally had a plan.
Penelope lit up when she saw her son. “Telemachus! How was your visit, love?” She leaned on the porcelain armrest.
Telemachus smiled and recounted his journey to his mother, carefully leaving out the part about his father in his story. “And then Melelaus shouted a lot.” He sighed.
Penelope huffed a laugh. “He tends to do that.”
Theoclymenus, a prophet who had been following Telemachus around for a while, stepped forward.
“Queen Penelope, I am a prophet, and I feel that your husband is already in Ithaca,” Theoclymenus stated, serious as ever.
Penelope gave him a small smile. “If only. I’m sorry, my prophet friend, but I just can’t believe what you’re saying.”
Telemachus knew what she wanted to say. “If Odysseus was here, he would have come to see me first… right?”
The palace doors creaked open, and the swineherd walked inside, tailed by Odysseus, now in disguise as a beggar again.
The rest of the evening went by relatively peacefully (except for when a suitor threw a stool at Odysseus) until drinks were served.
The men in the palace were even more obnoxious while drunk, constantly making comments at each other, Telemachus, and especially his mother.
“Go to sleep, you drunkards!” Telemachus yelled over the loud chatter.
“How about I sleep with your mother instead?” A suitor snarkily replied.
Telemachus glared daggers at the man, stepping forward a bit. “You will leave my mother alone.” He growled, his voice serious and threatening.
“Come on, kid. Penelope, It’s been twenty-”
“Take. My. Mother’s. Name. Out. Of. Your. Mouth.” Telemachus snapped, his deep voice punctuating every word.
Surprisingly, the suitor complied and Telemachus didn’t hear another word out of him for the rest of the night. He did see the man trip on the way to bed, though. Telemachus had to hide how hard he smiled.
***
The suitors were dead.
The suitors were finally dead.
Odysseus was home.
Odysseus was finally home.
Somehow, the survival of one man was more significant than the death of a hundred.
The young prince of Ithaca felt equal parts fear and peace when he looked at his father.
He wasn’t fearful of his father because of his long trail of bodies. He was fearful of his willpower.
His refusal to die or give up. Not when he knew Ithaca was waiting. His kingdom was waiting. Penelope was waiting.
Telemachus wasn’t sure a man could be so strong. It was terrifying, in a way.
But whenever he laid eyes on his father, a warm feeling flowed through his chest. He was home. He never abandoned them. He went through unimaginable horrors just to get back to his family.
The twenty one year old prince walked into the throneroom. It was quiet. So peacefully quiet. Odysseus sat confidently on his throne, right where he belonged. Penelope sat next to him, talking in a hushed voice.
Odysseus whispered something to her and her face flushed red. She smacked him on the shoulder, mumbling something about how embarrassing he was.
Telemachus smiled. Maybe he could let his mother be bothered just this once.