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Penelope never shied away from a challenge. She was a Spartan Princess made Queen. She knew discipline, she knew patience. Her dear husband was praised for his many ways, but few recognized her own versatility, her ability to shape herself into whatever was needed of her. She was born from water. Penelope knew change. 

None of those things prepared her to become a mother. The sweetest, yet hardest of her accomplishments. When Odysseus was by her side, she felt safer, steadier. She had someone who could share her burdens, to be there and catch her if she fell. Once he was gone, Penelope couldn’t afford herself the luxury anymore. It was only her and her son. She was alone in charge of the most precious thing to ever grace her life, and she was terrified. 

Even with Eurycleia’s help, bless her heart, years would go by before Penelope could have a peaceful night of sleep ever again. Telemachus was so fragile when he was born, torn from her womb way too soon. She would carry this guilt to her very last day, her own body betraying the love of her life, her boy. She couldn’t bear to stay away from him for too long. Many times her maids had to physically move her, make her eat, get a proper bath. If left to her own devices, Telemachus would be in her arms forever. 

But just like his mother, Telemachus was born from water. Like the persistent flow of a waterfall, he resisted, everyday he fought and grew stronger. His pale skin began to flush, his tiny scales hardened. And as scared as Penelope was, she knew she could never keep him from his heritage. It wasn’t just rivers and lakes she worried about, but if the sea ever called to him just as strongly. When he took his first steps, she decided, would be when they should go. Penelope thought of Periboea, wondering if a mother’s guidance could reach a daughter from so far away. 

“Oh, Gods!” Eurycleia’s cry startled Penelope and she quickly dropped her weaving, jumping from her seat. She opened her mouth, ready to demand what got such a reaction when she saw it herself. Telemachus was giggling and standing on his own tiny feet. Penelope gasped. Her first instinct was to call for Odysseus, to share the joy of their boy’s very first steps. She stopped herself before any words left her lips. Both agony and happiness occupied her heart and brought out the tears in her eyes. She knelt down, beckoning Telemachus to walk towards her. 

“Come here, Tele. Mama is so proud of you,” she could barely contain a sob as he took wobbly step after step. Eurycleia whispered her own encouragements, watching the young Prince intently. He had almost reached Penelope when his legs finally gave out. She lunged forward and grabbed her son before he could fall, holding him tight in her arms. Eurycleia cried out again, but Telemachus himself giggled some more, blissfully unaware of the commotion he had caused. “You did it, Tele, you did it,” she whispered against his hair, “And Mama’s got you. Now and forever.”

The following day, she kept her promise. 

Apollo had risen his chariot high into the sky, the sun shone bright. Zephyr's winds flowed gently, cooling her skin. Penelope prayed silently thanking the Gods for such a gift. With Telemachus against her hip, she strolled confidently across the Palace, making her way towards the beach. Sometimes she would pause between steps to smell her baby’s hair - her new favorite scent. Telemachus babbled on incoherent sounds only he could know the meaning of. 

“Oh, is that so?” She asked. Telemachus promptly answered her with more babbling and waving hands. 

“I see, you are absolutely right.” Penelope couldn’t help but think her son, at such a young age, could make better conversation than many men and women she had met in her lifetime. 

The sea was as calm as ever, tides lowering with the waning moon. The moment her feet touched the sand, Telemachus went quiet. Penelope watched him, his wide blue eyes locked onto the ocean, entranced. She kissed his plump cheek and walked some more until her ankles were covered under the crystalline water. Her skin became slightly translucent upon the contact, as if she were a drop of rain falling back to the earth. As if the water recognized her as one of its own. 

Manipulating liquids was an ability Penelope hadn’t honed in a while, it was especially difficult to do so with a force as wild as the sea itself. She carefully willed some drops to float in her direction. It took longer than she would’ve liked, but eventually her cupped hand was filled with saltwater. She wanted to start slowly, to not startle Telemachus - even if he now squealed excitedly and extended his little arms, reaching for the sea. She let the water flow down his shoulders, coating part of his arms and belly. His skin also became slightly translucent where the water touched him, but his beautiful scales shined in every color like tiny diamonds. He looked up at her, babbling again and trying to hold onto her face. She gently held one of his tiny hands against her cheek, a smile of pure adoration adorning her lips. 

“This is fun, isn’t it, my love?” Penelope had no doubt in her soul she would let Ithaca, Greece, the whole world drown, just to see this happiness on her son’s face forever. She would challenge Poseidon himself just to give Telemachus the Ocean’s throne encrusted with shells. But for now, they were happy exploring this shore.

Telemachus kept twisting and turning in her embrace, impatient to finally get in the water. She braced herself, she didn’t want to let him go. Penelope was born from water and she knew better than to trust it, to entrust to it her greatest treasure. But he was just as much part of the sea, he had the right to know it. Her heart thumped in her chest, but she was ready to do what had to be done - at least she hoped. Holding Telemachus by his sides, she lowered him into the foams

Penelope frowned and backed away slightly when she saw the water moving upwards, dancing around Telemachus’ ankles. How could this be? She briefly thought Telemachus was doing that himself, but he was way too young to have this much control. Then she saw it, by the corner of her eyes. A beautiful face hidden in the waves, smiling up at her. Once shock wore off, relief washed over her like a tidal wave, carrying away the weight on her shoulders. 

“It’s good to see you, Mother,” her voice was soft, almost a whisper. She kept lowering Telemachus until his feet were touching the wet sand and she could feel Periboea holding onto his legs to keep him steady. 

Her mother had never been a woman of many words. But that had never made her presence any less comforting. Together, they helped Telemachus explore this new exciting domain. Sometimes he tried to walk deeper into the sea, but Penelope and Periboea redirected him sideways, keeping him near the shore. He’d wave his arms and splash his hands against the coming waves. Some droplets of water followed the movement of his little fingers like magnets. Penelope held no doubt her boy would grow to be powerful. She got slightly more confident and let go of his body, holding him only by the hands. Her own boldness surprised her. 

When big waves came their way, Penelope would raise Telemachus, making him jump. He let out happy cries and giggles - sounds that in her ears rivaled Apollo’s most marvelous tunes. Distantly, she heard Periboea’s laughs mingled with the symphony so particular to the beach. Ever since Odysseus left, Penelope hadn’t felt so at home as she did then. She could have spent hours like this, letting her son play while her mother watched over them. But Periboea decided to leave a parting gift that changed everything. 

Penelope gasped loudly when the water rose almost to her height and swiftly shaped itself into a horse. Telemachus screamed so loudly, Penelope’s heart stopped for a moment before she realized it was another happy cry. The horse circled them a few times before running ahead, exploding in a school of fish. The fish somersaulted, performing beautiful acrobatics as they jumped in and out of the sea. The sunlight reflected off of them, creating a cluster of rainbows. Telemachus mirrored their behaviour, trying a few little jumps of his own, with Penelope’s guidance. About the fourth time the fish surfaced into the air, they united again into the shape of a small ship. Inside the ship, a dozen Greek soldiers brandished their swords and waved their way. Penelope held Telemachus up in her arms again, encouraging him to wave back to the ocean-made soldiers. She laughed as he waved and clapped his hands together. 

The ship dissolved back onto the waves, ending their little show. Periboea emerged in front of them, a large smile on her lips. She held Penelope’s face and touched their foreheads together. Penelope closed her eyes, leaning against her mother for a moment. When they parted, Periboea looked into her daughter’s eyes and whispered, “I’m proud of you.” She then kissed the top of Telemachus’ head, who had gone quiet, watching his grandmother in awe. 

Periboea disappeared back into the sea and Penelope finally let herself cry. 

That day at the beach was the last time Penelope would see her mother. And yet, her image would stay in the back of Penelope's mind. She didn't have any recollections of ever seeing Periboea display that kind of power before. Every week after that incident, she religiously took Telemachus back to the beach. She hoped - sometimes even prayed - that she could see her mother’s face under the waves again. But she didn't come back. Penelope knew she had been blessed enough already - travelling this far through the ocean, staying away from her river for too long, Periboea had risked too much just to see her and Telemachus once. As disappointed as she felt, Penelope decided she wouldn't let that dim the brightness of her days with her son. 

As his legs got stronger, she'd hold his hand and let him walk through the sand with her. He loved kicking his feet over it, scattering the grains everywhere. On a day with a particularly strong wind, much to Penelope’s misfortune, some of the sand got in her mouth. The power only motherhood had to humble even a Queen. Telemachus found it hilarious when she kept coughing and trying to spit it out. He had inherited his father's sense of humor, she figured. As revenge, Penelope kneeled down and tickled his belly. 

“Oh, I'll give you a reason to laugh, little Prince,” she said as she let herself laugh along with him. Telemachus slowly let himself fall backwards under his mother's attack and rolled around on the ground. Later that afternoon, Penelope pretended not to hear Eurycleia muttering angrily while the older woman tried to wash all the sand off of Telemachus' hair. 

But her precious moments with her son, the duties she had to attend to and the constant pain in her heart from missing her Odysseus, none were enough to make her forget Periboea. Her mother's ability to manipulate water like that deeply intrigued Penelope. She scavenged the depths of her memories, trying to remember if she had ever seen something like it before. If she had ever been taught such things and it had slipped from her mind. 

One night, after she and Eurycleia had put Telemachus to sleep - it got somewhat easier as he grew older, thank the Gods - Penelope lit up an oil lamp and sat down on her bed with an old box in hands. It was made of wood, with an intricate design of olive leaves and laurels. Odysseus had carved it for her when they were still courting. Inside the box she kept the many letters they had exchanged over the years and she hoped maybe there would be something in there that could jumpstart her memories. 

She took a deep breath, bracing herself while skipping all the letters in Odysseus’ handwriting. There was no reason to hurt herself like this, the pain of not having him around, of not being able to reminisce with him, it was too much. So she gathered only those of her own writing and roamed her eyes through them. It wasn’t long before Penelope found something. She had to muffle her laugh under her hand to not wake up Telemachus as she read her own retelling of the day Aletes pushed Iphthime into their mother’s river. 

Penelope closed her eyes, trying to remember that afternoon. She could almost hear the birds chirping, feel the heat of the sun on her skin. Iphthime had been complaining since dawn, that it was too hot and she could barely eat, that her skin felt itchy and sticky with sweat, that the humidity was ruining her hair. They all indulged her, such are the privileges of being the youngest daughter. But Aletes had been at the end of his rope for a while now. Periboea suggested they take a stroll through the woods and meet her by the river, maybe the cool breeze and water could ease their troubles. It should have been a sign when Aletes agreed a little too eagerly. 

The other boys quickly found many excuses, varying between having to meet their tutors, practicing sword fighting and even a sudden stomach ache. So, of course, Penelope had been the one tasked with watching her younger siblings. She accepted her fate with grace and soon the three of them made their way through the nearby trees. Unfortunately, not even the allegedly peaceful stroll was enough to ease Iphthime of her woes. Her sandals and dress were covered in dirt, leaves got stuck on her hair and she still felt itchy and sticky. It should have been another sign when Aletes swiftly took it upon himself to comfort their sister, “It won’t take much longer, soon you’ll feel much better.”

When they finally reached the river, Periboea wasn’t there. Iphthime let out a defeated huff and dragged herself near a rock on the edge of the water. Aletes leisurely followed after her, hands behind his back. Penelope got the skirt of her dress stuck on a random branch and didn’t realize her brother’s intentions until it was too late. When she finally set herself free, a loud splash and screaming startled her. She sprinted towards her siblings. 

“ALETES, YOU IDIOT! I’LL KILL YOU!” Iphthime screamed as she struggled to get up from the water. She was never a great swimmer and her distress made her even clumsier. 

Aletes didn’t bother to answer, too busy cackling. His whole body shook with laughter and he held his stomach, trying to steady himself. He was almost running out of breath. Penelope ran past him, stepping inside the river and lifting Iphthime. The younger girl scrambled out of the water, crawling over the dry ground and heaving, resembling more of a wet cat than a Princess - despite her translucent skin and reflective scales. After making sure her sister wasn’t hurt, Penelope tried to stomp down her own urge to laugh. She’d ought to preserve whatever dignity Iphthime had left. 

She turned to Aletes instead. Crossing her arms, she tried to look stern, but doing so was difficult when you’re struggling not to laugh. “Aletes, you shouldn’t have done that! What if she got hurt?” Her voice, thank the Gods, came out stable enough. 

His laughter had subsided and he wiped tears from his eyes. “What, it’s not like she can drown. C’mon, Pen, you’re dying to laugh, too.”

Penelope’s lips twitched. No, keep your composure . “Still, she could have cut herself on a rock or hit her head. You can’t do these things without thinking!”

“Look at her, she’s fine-” Aletes got cut off by a huge ball of water hitting him right in the face. He stumbled back, completely drenched. “What the hell was that?!”

Next to them, Iphthime had another massive ball of water floating atop one of her hands. The wicked grin on her face, combined with her wet hair sprawled all over the place and her disheveled clothes, made her look like a maniac. Penelope finally caved in and her loud cackling echoed through the small clearing. 

“Oh, now you laugh,” Aletes said, with no real anger in his voice. In fact, he smiled down at Iphthime. “See, Sister? I told you you’d feel better.” The second water ball hit him right on the chest and this time he fell on his ass with the impact. “Will you STOP THAT?!”

The two girls kept laughing, but Penelope was kind enough to help her brother up from the ground.

 “I am glad to see my darlings are having fun.”

“Mother!” Iphthime ran towards Periboea, who had just emerged from the river. “Look at what Aletes did to me! My dress is ruined!”

The boy huffed, “I’m drenched, too, you know.”

Periboea caressed Iphthime’s face. “You have plenty of dresses, my dear. But this one is not ruined yet.” With a swift movement of her hand, she completely removed the water drenching her daughter and sent it back into the river. She then walked out of the water towards Aletes and did the same thing for him. Both of their clothes were dry once again, even if Iphthime’s hair was still a mess. 

Penelope hadn’t thought much of it at the time, she was so used to her mother’s power then. Now she cursed herself for not remembering Periboea’s exact hand movements. It all felt so distant, almost like a different life. Even as the youngest, Iphthime had always been the best of them at manipulating liquids, now she remembered. Penelope was the one who had the hardest time. She never could quite wrap her head around such powers and, once she took to weaving, she eventually gave up. So that is why she never learned. 

Penelope felt a bout of spiteful anger at herself. She couldn’t believe she had let something as childish as comparing herself to her siblings make her give up her own power. Penelope was a Queen and Holy in her own right, born from a Goddess. She would act as such. From then on, she had Eurycleia leave a bowl with water in her chambers every night. She would practice and teach herself again, one way or another. 

The sky was gray, completely covered by clouds. It should start raining soon, loud thunder already rumbled in the distance. One of the maids tended to the hearth while Penelope weaved with Telemachus sitting on her lap. He could speak some words now and she couldn’t say she was surprised when his first word had been “beach”. But mostly he still would go on a ramble of unintelligible babbling. 

The little Prince played with a wooden horse his father carved for him before leaving for war. She stopped briefly to watch him, with the same smile that would spread on her face for almost two years now. A smile plagued by distant sadness, by the desire that her husband had stayed by their side. Penelope never allowed herself to dwell on this feeling for long, not while she held her son. This wasn’t how she wanted him to remember her, not a haunted woman, but a loving mother. She adjusted herself in her seat. 

“Hm, something is missing in this,” she said, analyzing her work, “what do you think, Tele?”

He glanced up at her, apparently in the middle of trying to chew the horse’s head off. “Mama.”

“Yes, I am your Mama. Very insightful of you,” she chuckled. 

Telemachus shifted on her lap and stretched his hands towards her weaving. Penelope let him run his fingers through the threads, but soon had to pry him away when he started pulling on them and undoing her work. He protested, yelling one of his new favorite words, “No!”

Penelope chuckled again, kissing the top of his head. “I will teach you how to weave someday, my love, don't worry.” 

He kept repeating the word “No” over and over, once again stretching his arms toward the weaver. She sighed, picked up a set of threads she wouldn’t work with so soon and let Telemachus entertain himself with those instead.  He squealed, delighted. But much like she guessed, soon the novelty wore off and he dropped the purple strands on the floor, going back to his forgotten wooden horse. She marvelled at the beautiful shade of burgundy, thinking she ought to start a project with them after the current one. The color resembled wine, like the sea. 

Suddenly, something clicked. As if the fires of the hearth illuminated her mind and heart, Penelope knew exactly what she had to do. She almost had the urge to drop everything and order her maids to draw a bath. But she was no woman of impulse, she could wait until nightfall, when she wouldn’t be disturbed. 

By mid afternoon, it started to rain. Once the sun had set, the downpour raged outside, although the thunder had gone quiet and far in between. Telemachus was fast asleep in his crib. And Penelope was eager to test her new discovery.  

She stood in front of the water bowl, as she had every night for the past many months. When she first started this new ritual, she only tried simple shapes, like circles and squares. Slowly, she began creating images more complex than the last. One night, she recreated the circlet she used to wear as a Princess of Sparta. But then, her progress became static. She couldn’t seem to make anything more detailed and she definitely couldn’t control more than one shape at once. Even if Penelope could create a fish - to some degree - she couldn’t come close to making a whole school of them somersault inside the bowl, like her mother had. No matter what she tried, nothing seemed to help. Until her epiphany this early afternoon. 

Penelope adjusted her posture and raised her hands. This time, she moved her shoulders instead of her wrists, gaining more control, and spread her palms, incorporating her fingers. Previously, she had moved her hands as single units. Now, she carefully raised the water, shaping it as if she were weaving one of her tapestries. Penelope almost dropped everything once she realized it worked . She couldn’t contain a gasp, but quickly shut her mouth again. One glance back at Telemachus’ crib and she sighed in relief, he still slept. In an absolutely adorable position, of course. A smile graced her lips and another idea sparked. 

She started over. Her heart beat faster as the image slowly came to life in front of her eyes, her baby sleeping with both arms and legs completely spread, mouth hanging open. Penelope could barely believe she had created such a beautiful thing - a sentiment that very much extended to the real baby sleeping behind her. The one shaped from water wasn’t perfect, but it still was the most detailed image she had made by now. Another thought briefly crossed her mind. That she should try shaping someone else from the water. She snuffed it out as quickly as it came, she didn’t think she could bear it. Nevertheless, she had the whole night to try many new things. 

The rain clouds had long since dissipated and Apollo’s golden chariot stained the dark sky in shades of pink and lilac when the Queen finally gave in to sleep. 

Telemachus was old enough to sleep in his own chambers now. He was very excited to have an entire room just for himself and the transition for him had gone smoothly. For Penelope, however, it was excruciating. When he was still a baby, she could only fall asleep out of pure exhaustion, every stir, every little sound he’d make in his sleep had her on high alert. Now he’d be completely alone. How could she be there in time if something happened? Part of her was terrified of not being with him every second, watching over his every step. Part of her also dreaded being completely alone in her own chambers for the first time. Having Telemachus with her made the empty space Odysseus left in their bed more bearable.

But she had a duty to fulfill as a mother and a Queen. She couldn’t keep Telemachus forever under her wing, as desperate for it as she was. So Penelope smiled brightly and encouraged her son to be brave, to be independent. She kept her tears for her empty bed, when only herself and the Gods could hear it. 

Before darkness completely swallowed her room, Penelope lit an oil lamp. She had already dismissed Eurycleia and the rest of her maids. With a delicate touch, her fingers ran through the olive tree guarding her wedding bed and she leaned against it. A wedding bed with no couple. A Queen with no King. A wife with no husband. She hoped Odysseus had made good on his promise and Palamedes had met the fate he deserved. 

It was only like this, under flickering lights in her empty bedroom, that Penelope truly allowed herself to miss Odysseus. She pushed back the approaching dread whenever a new letter arrived, trying not to think this will be the one bringing news of her husband’s death. She forced on her best smile when Telemachus asked about his father, kept her voice calm as she told him the stories only she and her husband had known - of his great deeds, Telemachus already heard everywhere he went. Every time the sun hung high in the skies, Penelope stood tall. When night approached, fear and longing followed in its steps. 

She hugged herself, remembering his embrace. There was a time when she could still smell his scent in the room. On their sheets, on his clothes, on her clothes. It wore off as the years went by. Now all she had was memories. 

Penelope sucked in a deep breath before distancing herself from the tree and walking toward the water bowl. She had been practicing religiously for almost eight years now. And she had lost count of how many times she had shaped her Telemachus out of the water, now her hands could make it truly faithful to his image. Penelope was becoming almost as good as Periboea. Her speed still could use some work, however, she always took way longer than she'd like. Other than that, anything she put her mind to, she could make come to life just like an intricate tapestry. There was only one thing she never dared to try. 

But tonight, her chest ached. Penelope longed for her husband so deeply, she could feel it in her soul. She needed to see his face, just one time. Just once , she kept telling herself. Her hands shook, water spilled over the wooden table, but she didn't stop. Agonizing moment after agonizing moment, Penelope willed the water to show her what she desired the most. Until she saw it, Odysseus, right in front of her eyes. His smile was the very same as she remembered.

The ceramic bowl shattered on the marble floor, spilling shards and water everywhere. Penelope's knees bruised when she fell with it, but the pain she felt in her heart made them numb. She wailed, a scream so agonizing it sounded as if it belonged inside the waters of Styx. All of it, all ten years of waiting, of paralyzing fear, of shoving her feelings inside a locked chest, it all flooded her body and mind at once. She screamed until her voice was hoarse, her hands tugged at her own hair. If she ripped a tuff or another, she didn't feel it. All Penelope could feel was agony, a pain so deep and excruciating it knocked the air out of her lungs. Her whole body shook with sobs.

Penelope couldn't hear it when Eurycleia slammed her doors open. She couldn't feel the older woman's hands on her, or understand when she shouted for the other maids to help. She was barely even aware she wasn't kneeling on the ground anymore after they guided her to the bed. 

“Oh, my Queen, my dear,” Eurycleia whispered as she tucked her under the covers. 

Penelope couldn't hear it. She couldn't see. The last thing her mind had registered was his smile, his embrace, his scent. She sobbed until she fell unconscious.

The next day, Penelope woke up with a startle. She couldn't remember how she got to her bed. Her legs and head ached. She flinched when sunlight caught in her eye. Gods, it must have been around noon and she was still in bed. She was about to throw the covers off and get up when it all came back, her memories flowing like a river stream. Her eyes prickled with unshed tears.

She doesn't know how long she stood there, trying not to cry.

There was a knock on her door and then came in one of the young maids, carrying a tray of food. Her stomach rumbled, but Penelope wasn't sure she could eat. 

“Good morning, my Queen,” said the young girl. Melantho, that was her name. “Miss Eurycleia asked me to bring you something to eat, in case you woke up soon.” 

Penelope sat up properly as Melantho set down the tray on the small table next to the bed. She tried to thank the girl, but no sound came out of her throat. She could only cough instead. At that, Melantho quickly poured her a chalice of water and placed it in her hands. It was difficult to swallow, but brought much relief nonetheless.

After a few long sips, Penelope managed a thin and strained “Thank you.” Melantho bowed down, but before she could leave, Penelope spoke again, “Is Telemachus already up?” Her voice was still strained, resembling more of a whisper.

“Yes, Miss Eurycleia is watching the young Prince. We told him Your Majesty has come down with a cold.”

Some of the tension left her body at that. Penelope nodded and Melantho bowed once more, leaving the room soon after. 

Penelope eyed the food without much appetite. She felt as if she had been trampled by a wild boar. Not a very pleasant feeling, one could say. She drank more water in hopes it would make at least her voice normal again. As she sipped, she briefly considered taking advantage of Eurycleia’s help and resting for the day. The thought soon got discarded when she glanced back to where her bowl had been before. She could only remember flashes of the previous night, but sitting alone with her thoughts for an entire day didn’t seem very inviting this time. 

A hiss left her mouth when she tried to get up. Apparently her knees had suffered more from the impact than she had previously thought. More carefully this time, she tried again. Once on her feet, Penelope managed to walk with some stiffness. The more steps she took, the easier it got, thankfully. Taking the due time, she reached the balcony. There she heard it, her baby’s voice. 

From her room, Penelope had a good view of the gardens. Even from up there she could see Telemachus’ scales shining under the sunlight. He laughed and ran around, Argos barking and trailing behind him. Eurycleia stood a few meters off to the side, watching the two of them. She yelled something Penelope couldn’t understand. She managed a smile at the scene. No matter how great her pain, her Telemachus would always remind her how strong she truly was. It was a beautiful day, a perfect one to spend at the beach. 

When Eurycleia noticed her presence, their eyes met for a moment. Penelope would still properly thank her when she had the chance, but in that moment, she hoped her gaze could convey how grateful she was. Eurycleia’s eyes wrinkled when she smiled and Penelope knew she never had a truer friend. 

“My Prince,” called the older woman, “look who’s here to see you!”

“Mama!” Telemachus immediately sprinted in Penelope’s direction. She crouched down to hug her boy, ignoring the pain in her knees. He threw his little arms around her neck, holding tightly onto her. The smell of his hair was still her favorite scent. Argos ran right after Telemachus, but dutifully sat next to them, wagging his tail. 

“Hello, my love,” her voice was still rough, but Telemachus didn’t seem to notice, “Are you having fun with Eurycleia and Argos?”

He nodded his head excitedly. “Uh-hu! Eurycleia and I are trying to teach Argos new tricks!”

“Really? And how is that going?”

Eurycleia crossed her arms and huffed. “This old dog is as stubborn as ever!”

Penelope laughed. Her hands gently cradled Telemachus’ face, she counted all of his little freckles. He had so much of his mother in him, but he looked more and more like Odysseus as the days passed by. She remembered her promise to never keep his heritage from him. “Oh, my friend, you and I know there is only one person Argos ever listened to.” She shifted slightly to pet the old dog’s head.

Eurycleia eyed her carefully. Penelope stood up and took the other woman’s hand into her own, trying to signal she was fine. She turned to Telemachus again, “Tele, I have an idea. How about we let Eurycleia rest for now and head to the beach, just the two of us?”

The boy jumped up and down excitedly. “Can we take Argos with us?”

“Of course.”

She sat over a towel on the sand and watched her son play. Telemachus and Argos ran around some more, splashing water. A few times Argos sprinted off the other direction trying to chase a bird. “Argos, stop it! Leave birdie alone!” Telemachus shouted and it was like a refreshing balm over her injured heart. Penelope was glad his innocence was preserved, that her boy still got to be a child. Not many young boys had the luxury. 

“Telemachus! Don’t go too far!” But her cry fell to deaf ears. Penelope lunged toward him, reaching the young Prince just in time to stop a taller wave to knock him down. “Telemachus, we talked about this! The sea is not to be trusted, treat it with the due respect.” She grabbed his arms and dragged him back closer to the shore, both of them drenched now. 

“Sorry, Mama, I just wanted to swim a bit,” he pouted at her, but followed obediently. 

“I know, love, but you’re too young for that. When you’re an adult, it will be safer.” She fetched the towel, attempting to dry herself a little. 

“Is that what happened to my father?” His voice came out so small, so guarded, Penelope almost didn’t hear it. She stopped mid drying, turning around to face her son. Telemachus looked at her with his big blue eyes, tainted with uncertainty. He never shied away from the topic of Odysseus, that wasn’t right. Then it dawned on her. In the attempt of standing strong, she became distant. Penelope wasn’t protecting Telemachus anymore, he must be hearing whispers around the halls, venomous words that should have never reached his ears. She had failed to preserve his precious innocence, after all. 

Penelope dropped the towel and knelt down on the wet sand in front of her son. She held him by the shoulders, looking into his eyes. “Your father will come back home. He left on a noble cause to protect our honor and he will thrive, as he always had. And no matter what happens,” she placed a hand over his heart. “Always remember you are a part of him as much as you are part of me. His blood runs in your veins, Telemachus. While we love and cherish his memory, he will always be with us.” 

“But what if I don’t have any memories?” Her vision blurred, but Penelope didn’t quite realize she was crying until his small hands wiped her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Mama, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

She held him in a tight embrace, letting herself truly weep in front of her son for once. “It’s ok to cry, my love,” she whispered in his ear, “It’s ok to feel sad and scared. True strength is embracing yourself, both faults and virtues.” At this point, she wasn’t sure if she repeated these words not only to him, but to herself as well. Telemachus returned her hug and Penelope could feel his tears falling onto her shoulder. “I love you, my boy, my Telemachus.” 

“I love you, too, Mama.”

They stood like that for a while, until Argos barked and nudged them with his snout. Penelope smiled as both of them petted the dog, Odysseus’ loyal companion. “Ok, Argos, we love you too. Right, Mama?”

“Of course we do.”

Penelope got up thinking, actually, that she didn’t mind being drenched. She took Telemachus by the hand. “Come here, Tele, I’m going to show you something.” Side by side, they walked back into the sea until the water reached Telemachus’ knees. She had never tried it with only one hand, but she figured there was a first for everything. A gasp left the little Prince as he watched his mother making the water rise.

“Mama, can you teach me how to do that?” He tugged at her hand in excitement. She brushed her thumb over his little fingers.

“Of course I can! But not here, love. The sea doesn’t always respond kindly to being tamed, we shouldn’t overstep.”

He nodded and turned his attention back to the form slowly taking shape in the saltwater. Penelope’s heart raced as he appeared before the both of them. Her chest heaved once she was done, her other hand tightened around Telemachus’. There was a moment of silence between them. Then Penelope announced, “This is your father, my love. Odysseus of Ithaca.”

She tried to steady her breath despite the tears flowing freely, some finding their way into the ocean. Telemachus didn’t speak for a while. Penelope worried she had made a mistake, until the last words she could ever guess left her son’s lips, “He’s kind of short.”

Penelope cackled, laughed so hard her stomach hurt. Odysseus’ image disappeared back into the water with a loud splash, some drops sprinkling her face. She couldn’t even remember the last time she felt such overwhelming, unadulterated joy. Telemachus giggled next to her, very pleased with himself. Giggles turned into screams, however, when Penelope picked him up, twirling around in the water with her boy, the light of her life. 

When they sat again on the sand, Argos by their side, Penelope finally didn’t have to force a smile or hide her tears when she told her son her most precious stories about his father.

As Telemachus grew, so did his responsibilities. Their mornings and afternoons at the beach had become far in between, until they didn’t happen anymore. Penelope could only see her son during meals or when they met to pray. He learned fast, she’d been told, but he wasn’t ready to be King yet. He doesn’t have to be , she wanted to say. Odysseus was still their King, there was no need for Telemachus to fulfill that role now. But as the years went by, it was harder to convince even herself of such. Soon the Prince would be fifteen years old. Fifteen years of her greatest joy. And fifteen years of her greatest love being nowhere to be found. 

She decided this year should be different from the previous ones. Penelope, better than anyone, knew how much her son disliked the celebrations that followed his birthday. Strangers in their home, loud music, boring diplomatic conversations, a combination of elements that, together, made Telemachus’ skin crawl. So she would reward him for surviving through yet another one of these gatherings. The very next day, the Queen stole away the Prince. 

“Where are we going?” Telemachus asked. He was visibly tired from the previous night, much like herself, but his eyes still shone with excitement. He had missed their days together as much as she had, Penelope thought. 

“A special place. I should have brought you there a long time ago, really.” 

“Will it take long for us to get there?” Always a curious one, her boy.

“Not much, I hope. Why don't you rest your eyes for a bit while we are on our way?” She extended her arms toward him. Telemachus sighed in relief and leaned against his mother, finding some rest much welcome.

Penelope wrapped her arms around him and caressed his hair. Between that and the constant rocking of their chariot, it didn't take long for her son to doze off. She watched him tenderly, but Penelope had her own hidden motives. She had sent out a few servants ahead of them to prepare a picnic. She wanted to make sure everything was in proper place and ready before revealing her surprise to Telemachus. 

In the meantime, Penelope admired the scenery around them. If she remembered correctly, the first time Odysseus ever brought her to the place they were headed, they had been married for only three months. Telemachus’ very existence was still just a whisper in the back of Zeus’ mind, while the God-King waited for the right time to bless their lives. More than two decades later, she finally found a chance to bring their son. And, as far as she was concerned, she would bring him again every year if he so desired. 

Telemachus stirred a little, but remained fast asleep as the lake finally came into view. It was as beautiful as she remembered. Colorful flowers bloomed on the trees surrounding it, some fallen petals floated through the water, as if decorating the lake. The blowing wind made small waves dance around the lake’s shore, resembling the sea. Early morning light flickered over the water like tiny crystals. And the picnic assembly was, to put it simply, perfect. 

Eurycleia still fussed over final details, making sure their tent was secure, fluffing pillows, stretching the cloth covering the grass, rearranging the food and drinks in the perfect placements. Once she caught sight of their approach, she beamed, waving her hand. Soon, she turned around, chastising another servant, “You! Go help the Queen and the Prince off their chariot!” The man bowed and took quick steps towards them once their ride came to a stop. Penelope couldn’t help but gaze at the woman with deep fondness, Eurycleia seemed even more happy about this day than she was.  

“We’re here,” she said, waking Telemachus up. He seemed confused for a second, but soon his eyes widened when he caught sight of their little party. 

“Mother, I… This is beautiful!”

“I’m happy you like it, my dear. Eurycleia and I planned this with all the love in our hearts.”

Once they got off the chariot, all the servants bowed to them. Penelope and Telemachus nodded in return and soon the young Prince was taking long strides to reach their tent. Eurycleia waited for him with open arms, “Oh, my boy! Happy second birthday! I hope it is all to your liking.”

He leaned down to embrace the old woman in a tight hug. It was hard to believe that not so long ago, they were the ones leaning down and picking him up. “Thank you, it’s perfect.” Penelope reached them and swiftly Telemachus turned around to catch his mother in a hug as well. Every day she prayed to the Gods that her boy kept growing into the kind and tender man he was becoming. “Thank you, Mother,” he repeated to her. 

After they separated, Penelope motioned for him to settle onto the cushions, which Telemachus gladly did. “I have only one request for you today, my love,” she said with some mischief in her eyes. 

“Of course! Anything you want.”

She signed to one of the servants and the woman produced a lyre from one of the baskets. Penelope held the lyre, brushing her fingers through the cords. “Would you play for your dear Mother? I miss listening to your tunes.”

Telemachus sighed, but smiled and reached for the instrument. Eurycleia clapped her hands excitedly. “But it’s been ages, I don’t know if I’ll be any good.” He tested the instrument in his hands, playing loose notes until he could remember Penelope’s favorite song. 

“You’re talented. Whatever you play will be gorgeous,” Penelope replied as she sat comfortably next to him. 

He began to play and she was delighted to realize he still remembered the tune she liked best. For a moment, she simply enjoyed the music, watching Telemachus as he got more confident and a wide smile spread on his face. She wondered when was the last time he actually got to do something for himself. It was then an idea sparked into her mind. Subtly, Penelope moved slightly closer to the lake. 

A series of gasps, “ohs” and “ahs’ echoed around them. Until then, Telemachus had been the only one to ever see Penelope’s abilities - not even Odysseus had witnessed them. She made a young girl emerge from the water, dancing to the music. A choreography Penelope herself had learned when she was about Telemachus’ age. The young Prince faltered for a moment when he looked up and saw his mother’s own show unfolding before them. She looked just in time to catch the same childlike wonder in his eyes as when he had witnessed it for the first time. 

Swiftly, he found his rhythm again and the girl on the lake resumed her graceful dance. Her every twist and turn made the sunlight catch in the water, creating rainbows and beautiful shapes, like a kaleidoscope - a light show in its own right. She twirled atop a floating petal, arms raised in the air. The two performances together made for a breathtaking scene, worthy of Olympus, no doubt. When Penelope briefly turned to glance at Telemachus again, she caught Eurycleia wiping tears from her eyes. 

Once the song came to an end, Penelope made the lake girl bow, then burst into a swarm of butterflies that flew right back into the water. The servants promptly erupted into fervent applause. The Queen and Prince laughed, joining in. 

“That was stunning, Mother,” said Telemachus, “It’s a shame you never actually got to teach me.”

“Oh, but it’s never too late, is it? Come here, get up.” She helped him up and they walked to the edge of the lake. “Try manipulating the water, I want to see what you can do.” 

He seemed unsure at first. Telemachus raised his hands, brows knit. For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then a massive blob of water with no definite shape rose into the air. Penelope’s eyes widened, she braced herself for the possible upcoming mess. Telemachus tried moving his hands again, but lost control and the blob splashed back into the lake. Thankfully,  the stray droplets didn’t reach them or the tent. 

“Well, you can control a great amount of water at once, that’s good. Especially for a first try. I’m certain that with enough practice, you will be upstaging me in no time! All we need is patience.” She reached up to brush his hair away from his face, but hesitated when she noticed his frown. 

“I’ve been hearing that an awful lot lately,” he laughed, but there was no humor to it. 

Penelope was furious. Those stupid men in Odysseus’ council must have been filling her son’s mind with nonsense, tearing down at his confidence bit by bit. She’d be damned if she allowed such a thing.

Gently, she held his chin and made him look down at her. He seemed surprised, but complied. “Telemachus, promise to me you will never forget yourself. You are the Crown Prince and a descendant from the very Gods that rule this land. You are more than capable and I will not allow you to ever think otherwise.” 

A shy smile tugged at his lips. “I promise, Mother. Can we try again?”

“We most certainly can,” she replied with a grin, “Remember when I taught you how to weave? It isn’t so different,” Penelope said as she adjusted her posture.

Telemachus knit his eyebrows again. “Yes, but I’m a terrible weaver. I don’t see how this could help.”

“Well, you don’t like weaving, do you?” 

His cheeks became bright red. “It’s not like that-”

“It’s ok, love,” she interrupted him between laughs, “I’m not offended. What I want you to understand is that it is much harder to excel at what you don’t like.”

“There must not be many things you dislike, then. You excel at everything I've ever seen you do”

Eurycleia's chuckle sounded from behind them, “Oh, isn't our Prince a charmer.”

“He's still sharp from last night, I see,” Penelope agreed with a large smile. 

Telemachus turned and bowed to them solemnly, causing a chorus of delighted giggles to erupt from the women. 

“Very well, Sir Diplomat,” she moved to stand behind him and hold onto his arms. “When I tell you to think of weaving, remember how to position your body.” Penelope guided his movements, showing him how she had taught herself. “Use your fingers, too, not just the hands.”

Telemachus tried again by himself once she let go of him. “Oh!” He beamed at Penelope, struck with realization. “It’s like playing the lyre!”

She clapped her hands together. “Yes! Oh, I should have thought of that! My clever boy. Let’s try one more time, as if you were playing the lyre.”

At some point, Eurycleia told them they should eat something, before the food got cold. Between genuine laughs, good food and a gorgeous view, Telemachus was sure this was the best birthday he ever had. 

Twenty years. Today marked twenty years since her Odysseus left home. Ten years since the end of the Trojan War. Four years that vultures circled her palace, trying for her hand. A year since they caught her undoing the shroud. Penelope sighed, throwing her father’s letter into the hearth to burn. Once more, he insisted that she returned to Sparta to remarry. Once more, she didn’t dignify said request with a response. 

Penelope got up from her seat and made her way to the balcony. She had taken a liking to spending her days there, now that her palace wasn’t hers to roam anymore. The horizon that greeted her was as beautiful as ever. A calm, crystalline sea and bright, clear skies. If Penelope hadn’t known better, she could almost believe this day would be just like any other. But she sensed it, something stirring in the waters, waiting. 

Thankfully, Telemachus had safely docked his ship the day before. After a long hug, some tears and a well deserved motherly scolding, he had promised Penelope he’d tell her all of the details of his diplomatic mission today, once he got a chance to rest. All she knew is that he went to Pylos and Sparta. She wondered if he got to see Periboea, if he even remembered his grandmother. 

As sudden as lightning parting the skies, something shifted. All the hairs on her skin rose. The once calm sea became agitated, waves growing taller by the second. The ships docked on their shores shook with force, including Telemachus’. The sky went dark as if night had fallen. A raging storm made its way toward Ithaca, getting closer by the second, winds howling as a hungry pack of wolves. 

Maybe Penelope should have been scared. A gin graced her lips instead, for Penelope was born from water, she knew exactly what she had to do. 

“Eurycleia,” she called from the balcony, “please fetch my husband’s old bow from the armory.”

After twenty years, the true King of Ithaca finally found his way back home. 

Odysseus had been at sea for way too long. He’d much rather keep his feet on dry land from now on. But he could indulge his wife in a warm bath, safe and hidden away in their chambers. He leaned down against her in the tub as her arms encircled him. This time, he would never let go of her embrace again. They always had so much to say to each other, especially now, when so much had happened while he was gone. But right then they shared a comfortable silence. Penelope hummed a song as she caressed his arms, his shoulders, only stopping to pepper kisses on his neck and hair. Odysseus recognized the tune as a lullaby Anticlea used to sing for him when he was a small child. 

The lingering guilt always left him with a heavy heart. He finally had everything he desperately wished for the last 20 years. His beautiful wife was right by his side, both of them as in love with each other as the day they met. His son had grown into a strong man, beautiful like his mother and kind in a way Odysseus himself never got to be. And yet he had missed so much, so much he could never make up for. So much that he couldn’t help but mourn. He never got to say goodbye to his mother. Never got to hear Telemachus’ first words or to witness the first gray strands adorning Penelope’s hair. 

He hadn’t realized at first that Penelope stopped humming. She leaned closer to him, kissed the shell of his ear and whispered, “There’s something I’ve been wanting to show you.”

“Anything that comes from you, my love, is something that I’ll adore.” He turned around and kissed her. Penelope smiled, one of his favorite views, but motioned for Odysseus to turn back.

“Watch the water.” 

As any good husband, he did as he was told. 

Penelope raised her hands and soon the water began to stir. Odysseus watched as shapes surfaced right in front of his eyes. A baby, standing up. His boy, his Telemachus. The image was so vivid, he could see the small details, his son’s wide grin, his wiggling toes. He walked towards a woman now. His beautiful Penelope, kneeling down with open arms. And then comes the moment she catches him, stopping his fall. Odysseus’ mouth hung open, but he was left speechless. He had never seen Penelope manipulate water like this before, with so much precision. 

“I learned a few tricks while you were away. It’s not so different from weaving, surprisingly. Or the lyre, as I’ve been told.” She kissed him again, along his shoulders and his back. Odysseus caved in and wept in her arms.

“His first steps, our little boy,” he whispered between sobs. He had seen many beautiful things in his lifetime, but nothing compared to the gift his Penelope just bestowed upon him. 

“I've wanted to share this moment with you for 20 years, my beloved,” Penelope’s voice wavered as she shed her own tears. “Now we can, I get to show you it all.”

Odysseus sat up, holding his wife's face in his hands. “You're my everything, Penelope. I love you.”

He kissed her deeply, hoping his touch alone would be enough to convey all the rampant emotions inside him. He kissed her as if Penelope were the very air inside his lungs, as if she were the blood running in his veins. Penelope was born from water and, this time, Odysseus wasn’t afraid to drown. 

“I love you, too, Odysseus of Ithaca,” she said against his lips.