Chapter Text
Telemachus had grown accustomed to many things throughout his twenty years of living. He’d gotten used to walking on eggshells around the hundred men looking to marry his mother. He’d gotten used to their crude jabs at both himself and the queen. He’d learned to defend himself—somewhat, at least—from their angry hands. Their frustration at his mother tended to be taken out on him, it would seem.
He didn’t mean to make it sound as though he was complaining; he’d much prefer the suitors harass him than Penelope. It was fine, really, and he was used to it. It was a routine, in a sense, and even if his status quo was miserable, at least it was comfortable.
And so when someone barked at him—”Boy!”—he wasn’t at all taken aback. Wouldn’t be the first time, and certainly not the last. It was a little strange, though. This voice wasn’t deep, or rough, or jaded sounding. It was…
Crackly. A little high pitched, too.
Already exhausted by the mere prospect of a conversation with a suitor, Telemachus sighed. He pushed his back off the wall he’d been leaning on and looked up from his book. Then he looked down.
A kid?
Now that took him by surprise. He squinted down at the little boy, face no doubt filled with judgement. More than that, confusion.
“Uh,” he said, drawing out the word. “Yes?”
His assailant had dark skin and long braided hair. He was skinny and youthful in appearance. He couldn’t be older than fourteen. In his right hand he clutched a sword that was way too big for his stature, and he was glaring at Telemachus as though he owned the place.
It was a bit comedic.
The boy propped his free hand on his hip. His one uncovered eye—the prince had to wonder how he’d managed to lose an eye so young—squinted furiously up at him. It wasn’t super intimidating given that the top of his head just barely managed to reach Telemachus’ upper lip.
“When’s your tramp of a mother gonna choose a new husband?” The kid spat in his puberty stricken voice.
Telemachus was getting severe whiplash from the harsh words and tone compared to the very adorable little guy before him. It was a contrast he didn’t necessarily like, but it was certainly better than dealing with an actual threat. That being said, he wasn’t about to let an insult like that slide. Not against his mother, and certainly not from someone who weighed a hundred pounds at most.
He propped his own free hand on his own hip, staring back at the boy with matching fervor. “Who are you calling a tramp?”
“Your mom.”
“I’d be more concerned about your own parents if I were you.” Telemachus leaned down into his face, frowning. “How old are you? Are you even allowed to walk around here without a chaperone?”
The boy’s face darkened. He waved the sword around wildly, the scowl on his face deepening with indignance. “I’m thirteen years old! I don’t need a chaperone!”
Telemachus stared at him blankly. He wasn’t entirely sure whether he wanted to humor the kid’s delusions or not. On one hand, he should probably do the mature thing, save both of their time, and walk away. On the other hand, he was really bored.
“Sure you don’t,” he said at last, the words coated in a thick layer of condecension. “Also, you shouldn’t wave that thing around like that. You could hurt yourself.”
He stomped his foot. “I’m thirteen! I know how to use a sword!”
“You’re literally holding it wrong.”
“Shut up.” The boy flushed further. “You should be very scared of me.”
Telemachus looked at him for a long moment, and he hoped his incredulousness translated well. He had so many questions, such as where kids these days found the nerve. But, whatever. He had a bigger issue at hand.
Ever since Athena had begun training him, he’d become quite adept at the art of swordplay. He loved to spar, and while he stood no chance against a goddess or against gigantic swarms of men bigger than him, he definitely had a leg up on this little twerp.
And due to his experience with swords, his grip was really pissing Telemachus off. His fingers were positioned all wrong. Minding the sharpness of the blade, he reached down and snatched it from the boy’s hands.
“Hey!” he squawked.
“Relax.” Telemachus weighed the sword in his hand, holding it high and out of reach of the sputtering kid. “You’ll get it back. Once you apologize for calling my mom a tramp, and when you actually learn how to use it.”
The kid finally halted his futile attempt at jumping for the weapon. He glowered at Telemachus, face glowing even darker with embarassment. “You’re mean.”
“How am I mean?” The prince turned the sword on him, catching the end of a lock of hair on the blade a cutting it clean off. “You started it.”
“Yeah, but you’re bullying a minor.”
“Oh, so now you want to be a kid? You can’t have it both ways.” Telemachus yanked the sword out of reach again when he jumped for it. “Hey, what’s your name, anyways?”
The question was met with an angry flash of teeth. “None of your business.”
“You’re never getting the sword back at this rate.”
Another frustrated stomp. “Fine! Antinous. Now give it back.”
Telemachus deftly dodged another swipe. He was having fun for the first time in a while, and if it came at the expense of a little brat, he couldn’t bring himself to feel too bad about it. Granted, Antinous’ steadily intensifying pout did tug at his heartstrings a bit, but he knew manipulation when he saw it.
“Nope.” He popped the ‘P’, resting the flat side of the blade over his shoulder and out of reach. “I’ve yet to hear an apology.”
They stood in a brief stalemate. Antinous was practically shaking with righteous teenage agony and Telemachus stared back, unaffected and with a single eyebrow raised.
“Well?” he prompted. “Come on, it’s not hard. Just two words; three syllables.”
“What’s a syllable?”
He chucked the book still in hand at Antinous, causing him to grunt as he caught it against his chest. “Read a book.”
“Shut up.” The boy dropped the book carelessly.
Telemachus made a disapproving sound, bouncing the sword steadily on his shoulder. The kid sighed, stooping to pick it back up. When he straightened, his eyes were filled with clear irritation, but they were desperate all the same.
“Fine!” His face screwed up as though in real pain. “I’m sorry. For calling your mother… a tramp. I’m sure she’s slept with an appropriate number of men.” A pause. “Can I have my sword back now?”
Telemachus chuckled despite himself. To give credit where credit was due, the kid was pretty funny, if on accident. “An appropriate number? And what would that be?”
His face screwed up further at the question. It seemed he was truly stumped on what the “correct” answer would be in this situation. The prince waited patiently, barely holding back the grin threatening to split his lips. Finally, the boy spoke.
“One?” Antinous tried hesitantly.
He let the grin show. “Nice try. Still a pretty shit apology, though.”
“How? It was fine!”
“Wrong. There will be no slut shaming in this castle.” Telemachus shrugged, no longer even trying to hide how much he was enjoying fucking with him. “And, no. You can’t. The way you hold it pisses me off.”
“I hold it fine!”
“No, you don’t.” The sword fell from his shoulder. He held it up so that the hand wielding it was right up in Antinous’ face. “See this? It’s the proper technique. You have better control this way.”
He loosened his grip on the hilt, passing it back to the owner. “Here. Try it.”
Antinous looked at him with a combination of suspicion and confusion dancing in his eye. Finally, he accepted the sword, adjusting his grip. “Like this?”
Telemachus nodded approvingly. “Yup. Doesn’t that feel better?”
The boy shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. Um… thanks, uh…”
He leaned back against the wall, heart a little warmed by the clumsy display of appreciation. “Telemachus.”
“I didn’t ask!” Antinous’ cheeks and ears were tinged slightly red as he turned away. “But, thanks. I guess.”
Aw. How cute. This incredibly strange interaction was ten times better than coming across a normal suitor. But, Telemachus still had his reservations. And, as always, his curiosity won out.
“Are you seriously here to try and court my mother?” he cocked his head as he appraised the boy. “Aren’t you a bit… young?”
Antinous stiffened, whirling back to face him. “Yeah! And no! You really ought to show some respect. I’m gonna be your step-dad one day.”
Telemachus choked on his own spit. He barked out a laugh so loudly and abruptly that the kid jumped a little. Gods, he didn’t even know how to respond to that. His step-dad? He nearly keeled over from the hilarity and absurdness of it all.
“Is that right?” He glanced at Antinous through the sheen of mirth in his eyes, his amusement only growing at the offended look on his face. “Kid, you’re thirteen years old. I promise you my mom is not going to marry someone who hasn’t even hit their second growth spurt.”
“She would if it was me,” Antinous snapped. “I had tons of girlfriends back home.”
Telemachus couldn’t do this today. He fought to keep in another round of laughter. “Well, I sincerely hope they weren’t all in their forties. Why don’t you go for someone closer to your own age?”
Antinous stood very still, as though contemplating something deeply. He looked at Telemachus very closely, eye squinting with his examination. For once, the prince truly couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
“What?” he asked. “Do I have something on my face or something?”
The kid’s face grew suddenly very focused. “How old are you?”
Telemachus blinked at him. “Twenty. Twenty-one this year. Why?”
Antinous stared at him. Without so much as flinching, and with a voice made deeply serious, he said, “Can I marry you instead, then?”
The prince was brought to silence. He stared at the kid, who was still holding the stupidly oversized sword in his hand and was literally barely a teenager. Who was now attempting to pursue him. Maybe this was worse.
“Uh,” he said stupidly. “You change your tune fast, don’t you?”
Antinous’ chin raised in defiance. “You said someone closer to my own age. We’re only seven years apart. That’s not that much. And I’d be a really amazing boyfriend. My old girlfriend said I’m a really good kisser.”
Telemachus waved his hands in front of him, face flushed with both first and secondhand embarassment. “No, no, no. Stop. Talking. That wasn’t what I meant when I—I do not want to hear about your kissing skills!”
“Why not?” The pout was back. “I’m not lying. I can prove it.”
“Ew!” Telemachus recoiled before collecting himself enough to wag a finger in the kid’s face. “That’s not the point! Thirteen and twenty is heinous. When I get married, it will be to a beautiful woman in my age range who is not simply trying to seduce her way to the crown.”
Antinous face dropped further. “But—“
“No!” Telemachus clamped his hands over his ears. “I don’t want to hear it. I am not marrying you. No one in my entire family line is going to marry you.”
The kid sighed, true disappointment on his face. “It wouldn’t just be for the crown. I think you’re equally as hot as your mother.”
“Enough!” He clamped his hands over his face which had quickly progressed from warm to burning. “I—I appreciate it. I do. But your advancements are… they’re…” he gestured aimlessly, searching for a word harsh enough to convey his disinterest while also not completely wrecking the kid. “It’s just not—happening. Alright? Focus on swordplay and on… I don’t know, reading. Hell, keep the book. And go make some friends your own age!”
Antinous frowned at him. The tip of the sword fell, dragging into the dirt beside him as his body slumped.
“Fine. One more thing, though? Before I leave you alone?” He made what was probably an attempt at puppy-dog eyes.
Telemachus looked at him skeptically. He was definitely going to err on the side of caution when communicating with this kid. Note to self: Do not call him cute or adorable ever, ever again. He let out a long breath. He’d always been weak to the will of children.
“Alright,” he said. “Spill. But if you try to get with me again, I’ll run you through with your own sword.”
Antinous nodded eagerly. “Okay. Just… what age, exactly, would be your age range?”
Telemachus wasn’t even surprised at this point. He crossed his arms. “Is this not you trying to get with me?”
“No!” His cheeks darkened once again. “For a friend.”
He stared down the boy. He was determined, Telemachus would give him that. If only he could angle his determination at a better end goal. That probably wasn’t going to happen, though, so it’d probably be better to just humor him and get him off his back. What was a number that’d keep him away for a long time?
“Twenty-five,” he said. “That’s the minimum.”
Antinous perked up. “That’s only twelve years away!”
“I thought you said for a friend,” Telemachus snapped. “And twelve years is a super long time. I wouldn’t even recognize you in twelve years. I’ll probably be old and ugly when I’m thirty.”
It was like his words were going in one ear and out the other.
“No you won’t,” the boy said, smiling dopily. “Your mom is old and she’s still smoking hot. Maybe it’s in your genes.”
“Stop,” he groaned.
“Okay, okay.” Antinous’ face returned to grave seriousness. “So if my friend happened to turn twenty-five and happened to run into you, you’d give them a chance?”
Telemachus’ day just kept getting more insane. He rubbed a hand across his face, trying to sweep away the migraine he could feel building. He wanted to say no, but he also felt that the kid would just keep bugging him about it until he gave in.
“Fine,” he groaned, “fine. In twelve years, if your imaginary friend meets me again, I would not immediately reject him. That’s all you’re gonna get.”
Antinous’ face lit up. “Okay! I’ll mark my calendar!”
“You really don’t have to—“
He was already gone. Telemachus’ book, temporary distraction, and sanity were all gone with him. He groaned once again, barely resisting the urge to slam his face against the castle walls until he died. Maybe a run in with a real suitor would’ve been better after all.
“Boy,” a deep voice growled from somewhere beside him. Slowly, he looked up, coming face to face with a muscular man who had easily at least eight inches on him. His face was screwed up with frustration, no doubt at his mother.
Telemachus swallowed dryly, subtly inching away. “Uh, yes?”
The man advanced, looming over him. Knuckles cracked violently, and a sinister look took over his features. “When’s your tramp of a mother gonna choose a new husband?”
Had all the suitors been rehearsing together or something? The prince opened his mouth to spout a snarky reply, only for a fist to collide with the wall right next to his face. He gulped.
Nevermind. Status quo be damned. Antinous’ bullshit was definitely preferred to the beatdown he was about to recieve.
He chuckled, wringing his hands to let out his abundance of nervous energy. “I’ll have you know she’s slept with a perfectly acceptable amount of men.”
The suitor blinked at him slowly as though not fully registering his statement. Or maybe just not understanding what he was rambling about. “And what number would that be?”
This was not going to end well. “Uh, one.” He smiled awkwardly. “You know. With her actual husband.”
They stared at each other in a stiff silence. Finally, the suitor laughed lowly. Telemachus let out a tiny fearful giggle. And then the fist collided with his face.