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Chapter Text

The suitors started arriving at their home asking for the queen's hand in marriage when Telemachus was twelve. When Eurycleia, a most trusted maid, informed him and his mother that ten men were in the main hall invoking xenia, Queen Penelope hadn't seemed bothered. After all, it wasn't strange for travelers to pass through their island, searching for momentary shelter and protection. And the queen never minded sharing a couple of meals with those who wandered far away from home, internally praying that the same hospitality was extended to her husband, wherever he was.

So, no, Penelope nor Telemachus minded guests. Because, even if Penelope did most, if not all, of the talking when receiving guests, Telemachus still loved hearing tales and news of happenings outside of their kingdom, it was his way to communicate with the outer world, albeit it was a one-sided communication. And even though Telemachus was taught by the best tutors in Ithaca to help him memorize the layout of lands, sea routes, and neighboring regions, it wasn't the same as talking directly to a foreigner. Dusty, moldy, yellowish scripts could never compare to the warmth of a living person.

“Take us to them,” Penelope had commanded Eurycleia, after standing up and smoothing out her clothes. Telemachus had wiped with the back of his hand any remaining crumbles of food from the corners of his mouth. Not very king-ly of him, not even young princes would behave like that, but they had been feasting in the privacy of the queen's own dining hall, and both Eurycleia and the queen were already turned away to leave to even notice his gesture.

On their way to the main hall, Penelope had asked Eurycleia if she had been able to gather any information from the men who had arrived, albeit a short interaction it must've been. Eurycleia told them that apart from risking a quick glance at their physical appearance, she couldn't say much else.

Telemachus had to stop himself from skipping down the hall, excitement bubbling in his chest as he wondered what type of stories the guests would tell. Would they be from Pylos, where his childhood friend Peisistratus lived, or from Sparta, where his mom was originally from? Would they be from kingdoms that had answered Menelaus's call to aid in the Trojan War? He liked the idea of hearing from soldiers and warriors who had fought on the same side as Odysseus.

As it turned out, Telemachus had been wrong.

Standing before them were men of Ithaca, all of whom Telemachus had interacted with beforehand at least once in his life. Every single one of them was native to the island, so he couldn't even begin to comprehend the nature of their presence there, let alone their request.

Telemachus turned to his mother, in search of answers, and instead of the welcoming and warm gaze he was expecting, what he found plastered in his mother's face stunned him into silence. Queen Penelope was stone-faced, facial expressions not giving anything away, and yet her eyes had a dangerous light to them, one of glacier fury.

“Come forward friends,” said Penelope, opening her arms as if waiting for an embrace. The many golden bracelets adorning her arms and hands jiggled with the movement. “Rest assured that you won't be harmed under my command and that there will always be a plate for you at my table, as well as a bed to shelter you from the cold night. This is Zeus law.”

Penelope let her arms drop back to her sides and continued her welcoming speech when the men gave no indication of answering.

“Let us feast then, unless you wish to rest your weary feet, in that case, Eurycleia here,” she pointed at Eurycleia, whose eyes remained fixed at a spot in the floor at all times, “will lead you to assigned chambers, or the common bathhouse, whichever you prefer.”

Finally, after a couple of awkward seconds of silence, a man stepped forward, and Telemachus' stomach dropped to his feet in recognition.

“My queen,” Eupeithes said, showing off his golden teeth in that grotesque smile of his, “we thank you for your hospitality and kind words, please let it be known that we will take it to heart. However, since you already know our names and we all are well beyond fed, we are… how you say, antsy, to show the gifts we've brought for you, dearest queen.”

Giving gifts when claiming xenia wasn't a rarity, nevertheless, most of the time the gifts presented were simple, a show of gratitude that represented the sacred bond between a host and their guest. Therefore, Telemachus didn't fathom the reason behind the extravagance and luxury of the gifts being presented by the men. Even though he wasn't quite sure what was happening, he had no option but to stay quiet and still as he watched helplessly as gift after gift was brought out and explained in excruciating detail.

Elaborate vessels of different shapes and materials, all crafted in precious metals and adorned with motifs of love, finely woven robes of various vibrant colors, cloaks from generations past, peplos crafted by women of other kingdoms, cups, mixing bowls and mirrors all made of gold were items gifted to his mother. However, by far the most opulent offering was made by Eupeithes, who opened a big coffer full of jewelry such as bracelets, tiaras set in precious stones, necklaces, earrings, brooches, cameos with carved gemstones, golden rings, and four new maids brought over from Mycenae. Telemachus couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at Eupeithes gifts, no wonder all of them were stolen during one of his many pirate raids, although, if you asked the man he would probably claim he had gotten all of those objects from trading at the ports of the Ionian islands.

What a joke, and a bad one at that.

But when Telemachus thought it couldn’t get worse, Eupeithes started waxing poetry about Penelope's elegance and grace, comparing her attributes to the ones of the goddess of beauty. And little by little, but surely, each passing second made Telemachus grow unbearably uncomfortable at how inappropriate the whole situation had become. After all, his mother remained a married and faithful woman to his absent father, and Eupeithes was recently widowed, as his wife had passed away not a week ago. Also, Eupeithes didn’t seem drunk, and the other men weren’t cruel enough to play along to an act as stupid as feigning romantic interest in his mother.

They couldn’t be in the palace to pursue her mother’s hand in marriage, Telemachus thought, desperate to convince himself otherwise. The mere idea horrified him and made him want to puke his breakfast. It simply couldn’t be possible.

And yet, it made too much sense. What other explanation could there be for the displayed conduct and offerings?

Flashes of all the instances he had crossed paths with the guests outside of the palace came to mind. Leodes, the sacrificial priest who Telemachus had known ever since he could remember, the man who taught him everything he knew about sacrificing offerings to the gods, and who he saw often when stepping into Athena's temple. Thoas, a shepherd whose sheep Argos sometimes herd. Amphimachus and Euryalus, brothers working as sailors who always made dirty jokes every time Telemachus passed them by on the ports, which resulted in Telemachus doubling over in laughter as both brothers were chased away by Telemachus grandfather, sword in hand, indignant at exhibiting such tasteless behavior in front of the young prince. Paralus had a tender smile and greeted Telemachus with joy when the boy sneaked into his farm to feed and pet the baby goats.

And sometimes, when Telemachus felt restless, he would accompany Eurycleia to the marketplace, which resulted in Elatus giving him free honey cheesecakes when they stopped by his stand, to the displeasure of Eurycleia. He also couldn’t believe Eurydamas was there, for he was a friend of his grandfather, or Euryades, a craftsman versed in metalwork who months ago gave Telemachus a sword for his twelfth birthday, a sword made of bronze with a broad, double-edged blade. He had claimed that Odysseus had shipped to Troy with a similar cut sword, and Telemachus had believed him then, but now he wasn’t so sure anymore.

It couldn’t be denied, however, that Demoptolemus's presence hurt most of everyone there, the man had been his tutor for three years, making sure Telemachus learned the heroic myths and memorized by heart the genealogies of not only royal families but also of the habitants of Ithaca.

Eupeithes on the other hand… If he was being honest, Eupeithes presence didn’t surprise Telemachus. Disappoint? Yes, but not surprise. It was true that Eupeithes could be considered a minor lord who traded olive oil, wine, dried fruits as well as textiles and pottery, but more times than not the man could be seen starting brawls, getting drunk in public spaces and picking prostitutes in plain daylight. Telemachus could easily recall all the times he had seen Eupeithes getting dragged by guards patrolling the streets for other indecent acts to spend the night in a desmoterion. That being said, even though the pirate-trader reeked of wine and salt most of the time, and wore a constant disheveled state that unsettled him, Telemachus had never hated the man, not really, if anything he found him amusing, in an awkward kind of way. Because, every single time, without a miss, when Eupeithes spotted Telemachus outside of the palace, he would extend his arms to the sky, screaming Telemachus' name and exclaiming that the son of his savior had arrived.

Telemachus' face then would explode in flames of embarrassment from all the unwanted attention. And Eupeithes, either not caring or being too oblivious to all the heads that turned at the volume of his own voice, would recall out loud that time when he had committed a piratical raid on Cephallenia, and Odysseus had protected him from vengeful Cephallenians who wanted to kill him. After he would quickly change the topic and start rambling about the gory details of other raids he had been part of and led.

But standing in the main hall of the palace, Telemachus thought he was going to be sick, he had never felt like this before, simultaneously cold and numb all over. As he watched multiple servants pick up the gifts carefully to take them away, his mind kept repeating, this can't be happening.

But when he opened his mouth, what came out instead of vomit were words.

“Have you no shame at all?” Telemachus found himself saying to the ten men who had come as suitors, the words slipping without his permission. He hadn’t planned on speaking, but now that he had started it felt physically impossible to stop. “Where's your dignity? Your honor? Have you forgotten your loyalty to my father? Or did you lose all of those things on your way up here?”

Every single pair of eyes was set on him, but far from feeling shy or ashamed, all Telemachus felt was rage. A type of anger that made him want to reach for a sword he wasn't carrying.

“My prince,” Leodes said, stepping forward, using the same voice he employed to chastise Telemachus when the boy wasn't behaving in the temples. Telemachus felt his fists curl at his sides at the strict but not cruel tone, a tone that was condescending all the same, “We are forever loyal to the king and the kingdom, and because our care for this island is infinite, we have come to the decision that, for Ithaca to stay powerful and flourish, it needs a king.”

“My father is the king!” Telemachus exclaimed. He wasn't sure when he had started shaking, but he was beyond caring.

“Your father will forever be remembered as a legendary hero and one of the greatest kings Ithaca had,” Demoptolemus said, earning murmurs of agreement. “But the reality is, Odysseus is not here, and we need a king. Ithaca cannot afford to look weak.”

“He's on his way, he will be here any day now, and when he returns, all of you who dared to suit my mother will be considered traitors to the throne.” This statement sent the room into an astonished silence. Telemachus dared not turn to his mother, for he feared what he could find. Instead, he eyed the suitors, some seemed shocked, some annoyed, Leodes had a pitying look on his face, but only one man appeared amused by his speech. That man was no one else than Eupeithes because of course he was.

When Eupeithes caught him staring, his lazy smile grew into a smirk, and he risked breaking the silence.

“Troy is a two-week journey on a ship from here, three or four weeks if the weather isn't favorable,” said Eupeithes, explaining with the confidence of a man who has spent more time sailing the waters than with his feet on the ground. “The war's been over for two years. Even if Odysseus had to swim to Ithaca, he already would have been here by now.”

He’s alive, my father is alive, Telemachus felt like screaming at the top of his lungs. I can feel it in my chest, in my beating heart, in my lungs that breathe the same air he once inhaled, but even to him, those words felt childish.

“Son,” Leodes started saying, but Telemachus interrupted him.

“Don’t you dare call me that,” he choked. He felt his mother's hand reach for him and squeeze his shoulder. That simple touch reassured him and gave him the strength to carry on. “I’m not, have never been, and will never be your son. I forbid you all from addressing me as such.”

Leodes lips twitched into a grimace, but he, all the same, inclined his head. “Apologies, my prince, I meant not to cause offense. I merely felt the need to state that this isn’t any easier for any of us than it is for you.”

“How come?” Telemachus asked. It took all of his available willpower to not roll his eyes or scoff at the sacrificial priest.

“Well,” Leodes said. “As it was previously mentioned, we are forever grateful to Odysseus and loyal to Ithaca. Wanting to court the queen is a task born from this compromise. We could never dream to measure up to your father's greatness, or to achieve to have even an eighth of the love the queen had for the king.”

Telemachus felt his mother's nails dig into his skin at the word ‘had’, but before he had a chance to wince, she retracted her hand from his shoulder and muttered an apology. Without turning to look at her, he nodded, too occupied glaring at Leodes, who, for some reason, was still talking.

“...a queen without a king is a dangerous state of being for a kingdom. An Ithaca should have at least one of its rulers be native to the island.”

“Lucky for all of us, my grandfather is native to Ithaca, and even if retired to his farm, he thrives in physical strength and mental power.”

“Young prince, you said it yourself, Laertes, as former king, is no longer actively involved in the affairs necessary to run a kingdom.”

“Right,” said Eupeithes. “And seeing as Laertes passed Ithaca to Odysseus before you were even born, it would be kind of weird for the old man to suddenly step up as king again. I don’t think his wife would be too happy about it.”

“What would you know about making women happy, Eupeithes?” Euryalus snorted. “You’re always beating up prostitutes, and your wife cheated on you at any given opportunity.”

Without missing a beat, Amphimachus chimed in on the ridicule, “Exactly! Like, how do you expect to satisfy the queen when you couldn’t even please a whore?”

“My wife was no whore,” Eupeithes roared, sword already out, and pointed at the brother's heads, “And if you don’t take back your words, I’ll make sure to paint the palace floors with your blood.”

“We are tremendously sorry, my lord,” said Euryalus, stepping in front of his younger brother as if to block the sword threatening them both. Euryalus sounded sincere, but that sincerity didn’t last long, quickly evaporating and in its place, mockery took place.

“Sorry that your bitch of a wife spread her legs for half of Ithaca and never you, what a sad little marital life you must have led,” he jeered. “I mean, what tremendous confidence in yourself you must have, to claim your son as legitimate and not as the bastard of a hooker.”

At the taunt, Eupeithes let out a battle cry and threw himself in the direction of Euryalus and Amphimachus, but was quickly held back by palace guards. As he was dragged away, Telemachus couldn’t help but notice the resemblance Eupeithes had to that of a rabid dog, as he thrashed and screamed obscenities at the brothers, cursing their names and their entire bloodline.

“Lord Eupeithes will spend a couple of hours cooling down in a jail cell,” Penelope’s voice was heard clearly throughout the hall. It dawned on Telemachus that it was the first time his mother had spoken up since the suitors started to bring out their gifts. “I ask the rest of you to please refrain from starting fights, as per xenia commands, I wish nothing but a friendly and respectful relationship to bloom between all of us.”

“A friendly relationship?” asked Amphimachus. “Does that mean you’re rejecting our courtship?”

“I never said that.”

“You’re accepting us, then.”

“I accept your intentions to court me and your stay here, but I cannot, in good faith, agree to marry any of you.” The room erupted into cries of protest and indignation, at that Penelope held out a hand and the men immediately went quiet. “Friends, please understand that I believe my husband to be alive, and acting as if otherwise would be considered infidelity. You say you care for Ithaca, so imagine the disastrous consequences if my husband were to return just to find I’ve bedded another man.”

“It would be a bloodbath,” Leodes agreed. “We would become the king's sacrificial lambs.”

“Furthermore,” she continued, “Even if I entertained the idea that my husband was dead, I would then fall into a deep grief that would make it impossible for me to reciprocate any of your advances, for my love for Odysseus is limitless as well as unbounded by time and circumstances.”

“We will wait for you, then, dearest queen, however long it takes,” Euryalus said, and the rest of the suitors quickly expressed a similar sentiment.

“From the bottom of my soul I thank you for your patience and your understanding,” the queen told the men. She then proceeded to throw a glance at Telemachus before redirecting her attention to the suitors. “Lastly, I find myself in need to beg for your forgiveness for my son's rudeness. Honorable guests, I extend my apologies if his harsh words wounded your pride, but you must comprehend how deep his admiration and loyalty to his father runs.”

Telemachus' stomach churned at the statement, and for the second time in the day, he felt everyone's gaze burn into his flesh, picking him apart. At the knot in his throat, a knot that contained bubbling fury threatening to burst, all he could was stare at his feet and nod.

A dense silence invaded every corner of the hall and ruled for a moment, but in the same way, the silence arrived, it was broken by different men, all trying to reassure the queen at the same time that there was no offense caused where no harm was meant.

“I would have done the same,” he heard Amphimachus say.

“Me too,” Euryalus complied. “The young prince's response is completely normal, what type of nobleman wouldn’t get offended at other men coming to his house and trying to marry his mother?”

Try to not trip over yourselves, assholes, Telemachus thought, still indignant.

Penelope tilted her head forward, “Thank you, friends, may the gods repay your kindness and good hearts. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to tend to my daily duties, but I shall see you all later at the evening feast to talk.”

The chorus of goodbyes that wished Penelope farewell followed the queen and the prince as they exited the main hall, Eurycleia a quiet shadow that followed close behind. The walk back to Penelope's own dining hall was lacking speech, and once mother and son were left alone by their maid, the air of gloom surrounding Penelope didn’t go away. They both sat and stared at their meals that had long gone cold, neither spoke nor made a move to continue eating. Time passed them by, and at some point, Eurycleia returned to retrieve their dishes and clean the table.

“I hate them all,” Telemachus told the silent room.

“I’m aware,” Penelope answered. “But that’s not the way to treat your guests, especially not when they have invoked xenia.”

Telemachus bit the inside of his cheek, lest he start cursing xenia and Zeus. He didn’t understand how his mother was able to keep her composure, how she was able to enunciate polite words at such horrendous requests. He questioned her as much, and to his surprise she laughed quietly.

“Oh, my heart, it’s just a matter of experience and practicing your diplomatic skills, I’m sure you’ll master the art of it in no time,” she reached for his hand and held it over the wooden table. “But in the meantime, I think it’s better we find you another diplomacy tutor, one that is married.”

Telemachus squeezed his mother's hand.

“I like the sound of that.”

Chapter Text

Shortly after his mother died, Antinous left Ithaca.

He lived through the preparations for the burial ritual in a dazed state, feeling barely present, as his mother's servants and maidens mourned her around him. Antinous didn’t cry, not when he found her cold body lying on the kitchen floor, not when he had to carry the cadaver and lay it on a bed, wrapping it with a cloak, and not when he went to sleep with bloodied hands.

No matter what, the tears wouldn’t come, his eyes remained dry as he watched servants carry the wrapped corpse and place it inside a chamber tomb made of stone. As he and other kinsman camped outside the entrance passageway of the chamber tomb, they made a big fire that burned high and throughout the day everyone tossed food and drinks into the fire as offerings, as well as singing his mother's favorite songs. Hypnotized by the flames that danced, Antinous swore to the skies that he would one day return to his mother's grave and bring the finest jewelry, cups, weapons, and vessels Ithaca had ever seen, so she would be an ever richer woman in the afterlife.

His father never showed up for either the preparation of her mother's body or the burial ritual.

That night, Antinous drank until passing out.

When morning came, he woke up with a killer hangover, but that didn’t stop him from trying to go find his father. He didn’t even know if Eupeithes was aware that his wife had died, after all, he hadn’t seen the man in a couple of days, which wasn’t rare at all. Ever since Antinous was a baby,  Eupeithes had the habit of disappearing without a moment's notice and not showing up until weeks later, with a vague explanation of where he had gone on his silver tongue.

With the cruel heat of summer scorching his skin, Antinous climbed down the hills and swayed through the kingdom's paths, the alcohol in his system still making him dizzy. He distinctly remembers how that day the sun made the road unbearably hot and dry, and how his steps raised dust off the ground, which stuck to the sweat covering his body. More than once he had wished to give up on the search for his father, strip off his clothes, and run to the ocean, to be embraced by the cool waves.

But worse than the blistering heat was the pitying looks thrown his way. Word traveled fast around Ithaca, and before he knew it, people he had never talked to before were approaching him to give him their condolences. Antinous told them all they could go fuck themselves to the deepest part of the Fields of Punishment, and their shocked faces and offended responses never failed to amuse him. Did they really expect him to come undone before them and thank them? Fuck no, he didn’t even know these people. They were nothing but strangers to him, and he wouldn’t even entertain someone whose name or face he couldn’t remember. If Antinous didn’t know them already, it meant they weren’t important to the kingdom, and therefore, irrelevant to him.

He was walking through the ports, seriously contemplating just jumping into the water, when he ran into Euryalus, a sailor who sometimes worked in his father's crew. The man told Antinous that he, his brother, Eupeithes, and seven other men were all gathered over at one of the sacrificial priest houses, organizing and arranging to get courtship gifts, for they planned to march to the palace and ask for Queen Penelope’s hand in marriage. Antinous laughed in the sailor's face and told him to stop messing with him.

“I’m telling nothing but the truth,” said Euryalus.

“I’m telling nothing but the truth,” Antinous repeated, mocking his voice. “Telling the truth my ass. You’re a funny little man, Eury, but now tell me where my father really is.”

“I’ve already told you, young lord, but if you refuse to believe me that’s on you.”

Antinous let out a pained groan and massaged his temples, the sun's rays were killing him and he felt nausea invade him randomly. “I’m not in the mood for your stupid jokes.”

“I’m being serious.”

“Oh, for fucks sake, go eat shit and die Euryalus, I fuck your entire house,” he made a crude gesture with his hand and resumed his search. In the end, it turned out to be a fruitless task, his father was nowhere to be found and no one except that jerk Euryalus had an inkling of where Eupeithes was. And Antinous was in no way going to go knocking on all the sacrificial priest's doors in hopes his father was somewhere inside.

Once he returned to his house, Antinous couldn’t stand the silence or the violent grief that threatened to choke him every time he turned a corner and expected to see her standing or sitting there, alive and smiling at him.

Maybe that’s why he left. Maybe the haunting absence of his mother was too much to handle for his fourteen-year-old self.

Leaving Ithaca had been a choice born from impulsiveness, in a moment where he turned off his brain and let pure instinct guide him, it became too easy to grab all the gold and silver he could find in his father's house, which was no small amount, and fucked right off to the ports when sunrise came. He ended up hopping in one of his father's ships that traded grain, olive oil, and wine, with the destination to Sparta. He paid off Eupeithes' men to not kick him off the ship but didn’t care if the men ratted him out to his father. In the four days that took them to go from Ithaca to Sparta, the sailors paid him no mind, which was all fine by Antinous. Getting ignored after all the pity he had received for his mother's passing suited him just fine.

Sparta was not at all what he was expecting, it was nothing like what people had described it as, but Antinous fell in love with it all the same. However, it wasn't love at first sight,  it was a love that grew and developed slowly over the years, as he got to know the kingdom better. And it wasn’t love without pain, for he had to earn every single thing to which previously it had been a birthright, so he did just that, with claws and teeth, crawling and bleeding.

The first year was the hardest. He had arrived at the sailing ports that were ten times bigger than the ones in Ithaca and spent the whole afternoon harassing traders, trying to convince them to take him as an apprentice, to no avail. The food was good but insanely expensive, and the gold and silver stolen from his father, even if plenty, wouldn’t last forever. It was the same issue for the sleeping accommodations, temples would let him stay the night, and since Antinous hadn’t been desperate enough to give into palatial hospitality, he hoped from temple to temple for at least a week.

Priests weren’t nosy, in the temples he didn’t need to give anyone an explanation of why he was there. So, freezing nights laying on the floor at the feet of statues of gods that bore into the deepest part of his soul it was.

Still better than whatever would have been waiting for him at Eupeithes house if he had stayed in Ithaca.

Spartans weren’t exactly the most welcoming to a fourteen-year-old runaway, but Antinous was anything if not persistent, and so, he did eventually manage to wear down an old man who crumbled at the young lord’s sob story. Just like him, the old man was a perioikoi, a free man who would never achieve full spartan citizenship, but still got to work in trade and reserve troops. And for the next six years that’s precisely what Antinous did to earn a living, well, not that the military would have ever paid him if they had gone to war, but still. Even if Sparta didn’t engage in a single battle during his stay there, Antinous was all the same required to train in body-to-body combat, mastering handling light weapons and developing skills needed for battlefield support. Needless to say, after living through what felt like thousands of drills, campaigns, and emergency calls, he never became a fan of skirmishing.

He could have spent the rest of his days in that kingdom, living under the same roof as that old man who seemed to never age, and who shared his meals with him and let him sleep in the guest room, with a meager salary from trading pottery, red cloaks for soldiers, textiles, shoes, and iron knives and spears. To a degree, it was scary to think that that could have been his life, that he really would have settled for getting drunk with other perioikoi after harsh hours of training ended, his livelihood reduced to one of a spartan sheep following its herd.

And all because he couldn’t stand his own sorrow in a silent household.

Towards his twentieth year of life, what ended up saving him from Sparta was him screwing up royally. The wife of a politician took him as a lover, and who would have thought it possible that a woman her age could still get pregnant? Not her, that's for sure. The rich skank ratted him out to her husband, and spartan soldiers broke down the door to his house in the middle of the night, knocked him unconscious, and threw him in a jail cell.

He would have been executed shortly after, if not for that damned old man who thought himself responsible for Antinous's welfare, for whatever reasons that were beyond him.

Before the first morning lights graced the horizon, the old man broke him out of his prison, and Antinous thanked him by strangling him to death.

The only person who knew about him being from Ithaca was the old man, and once he sailed to the island where he was born, he couldn’t afford to leave a traceable path behind him. He wouldn’t let his crimes follow him back to his mother's tomb, or, gods forbid, let his wrongdoings take away his privileges of becoming a lord. Money and torture made people talk, so, if bribes weren’t enough to force his most likely location out of the old man's mouth, then physical pain would guarantee success in spilling the truth, or something close enough to it.

Choking someone until they stopped breathing wasn’t as easy as he had initially thought it would be, for starters, even in old age, the old man put out a fight, clawing at Antinous's face, hands, and arms, leaving a parting gift in the form of bleeding scratches. Secondly, for all the strength he had in his arms, the old man's lungs seemed to possess an abnormal and never-ending supply of air, and asphyxiating him efficiently took a couple of minutes that felt like hours. As the old man's eyes appeared to want to pop out of his sockets and he emitted guttural and incoherent sounds, Antinous, in the back of his head, was mostly thinking about how unfortunate it would be if all the commotion were to wake up other prisoners or if guards were to pass them by in that exact moment. When the deed was done, he wiped the saliva off his hand that had trailed from the old man's dying mouth, a mouth that had wanted to scream for help or curse him. Whichever it was, it didn’t matter anymore.

The ship with the destination to Ithaca arrived in record time, not only was the weather favorable, but it almost appeared the gods were on his side, for it only took two days to make it to the trading ports. During that time, ideas of fleeing yet again to another kingdom to start a new life or to take refuge in the royal palace and claiming palatial hospitality to avoid Eupeithe's rage crossed his mind, but in the end he threw away those fantasies into the ocean waves, letting them sink to the bottom of the sea to be lost forever. He was done being a coward, and he was fed up with having to run away, it was time for him to step up and become the man of his own house. And the place to start would be by asking for his father's forgiveness and hopefully, Eupeithes wouldn’t initiate a competition to hunt his own son for sport, or go straight to tying rocks to Antinous limbs and throw him to Poseidon’s domain. In his mind, there was no doubt that Eupeithes wouldn’t hesitate for a second to kill him, or at least to harm him, not necessarily out of anger, —although he was expecting his father to be at least partially pissed— but to send a message, to let everyone know that you couldn’t walk away unscathed after wronging lord Eupeithes.

In a turn of events that surprised absolutely no one, lord Eupeithes deprived Antinous of the sight of his left eye, but not before promising forgiveness and telling him no harm would come his way. All a bunch of sweet lies accompanied by even sweeter wine to force his guard down, and when the words didn’t have any effect because Antinous wasn’t a fucking idiot, the poisoned wine did the trick.  In retrospect, he really should have seen that one coming from miles away, and when he woke up again, now with only one working eye, he wasn’t that mad at his father. Not only was it kind of deserved, he low-key understood the logic Eupeithes had going on, it was the whole an eye for an eye bullshit, Antinous would have done it too if someone took every single piece of gold and silver in his house, and made a run for it.

That’s what he told himself to help himself fall asleep at night, anyway. It was either that or driving a sword through Eupeithes throat, and killing his father would most definitely stop Antinous from inheriting anything the man owned, however, the prospect of stabbing his father to death while he slept never stopped tempting Antinous.

Months passed, his scars healed with the help of servants and as he got used to being half blind, he got into training with weapons against other men, nonetheless, he didn’t know if he would ever reach a point where he felt enough confidence to go hunting alone. Not that it was of any major importance to him in regards of becoming a lord. Sure, losing that particular pastime sucked major, but he had a lot of information to catch on, after all, he did neglect his education for six years straight in favor of learning how to kick ass.

“You know,” Eupeithes told him one day over breakfast. “Polybus stepped down as a suitor.”

Antinous snorted. “Never thought I would see the day.”

They were a bunch of idiots, the lot of them, trying to court Penelope. He didn’t believe Odysseus to be alive, but that woman clearly would never agree to marry anyone ever again. Because, at the end of the day, whether the queen’s faith in her husband was as unwavering as she claimed it to be or she didn’t believe a single word coming out of her own mouth, it didn’t matter, she hadn’t accepted a sole romantic advance in eighteen years straight. What made everyone think she would suddenly give in and remarry?

If Antinous knew anything about spartan women, and he liked to believe that he knew plenty, it was that it wasn’t an easy task to bend them over and break their will. It was a nice challenge though, and an even better price getting to hold them down and taste one’s victory in their flesh. So, he could totally see the appeal of being a suitor to the queen, but at the end of the day, the notion of getting to be king felt like nothing more than a fantasy, and a foreign and distant one at that.

“Yeah,” Eupeithes continued, oblivious to Antinous internal thoughts. “Me neither, I thought Polybus would stay in that palace, trying to woo the queen until he died, but alas.”

“I mean,” Antinous scratched his beard and signaled for a servant to come and pour him more water. “If I was an old man I wouldn’t want to waste my last good years trapped inside of a palace that isn't mine, trying to get the attention of someone that won’t even look my way.”

Eupeithes slammed a fist against the table, startling Antinous in the process and making their plates jump. “Right, exactly! I went to look for him the other day because I simply couldn’t believe it. Polybus, giving up and stepping down? Gods, in what world!”

Not knowing what to say in response, Antinous settled for humming in agreement, and his father took it as a cue to keep talking.

“But then we got talking, and the more he said, the more things made sense. In fact, he told me a couple of things that resonated deeply with me, so much so that I’ve decided to follow in his footsteps.”

What.

The.

Fuck.

“Come again?” asked Antinous, not sure if he had misheard or if he had finally descended into madness. Not once in his life had he seen his father take a no for an answer, he was too addicted to the chase. Eupeithes was the type of man who once he settled his eyes on something, would rather die than not get his price.

It seemed old age really was making his father lose his mind. Who would have thought? Maybe Antinous would get to be the lord of his house sooner than expected.

Eupeithes chuckled. “No need to appear so shocked, you brat. Yes, I’m stepping down as a suitor, for I’m tired and I miss sailing the seas for weeks to no end. Regardless, that doesn’t mean I’m ready to give up my hopes of becoming royalty just yet.”

Well, now Antinous was confused.

“You see,” said Eupeithes, leaning in and adopting a conspiratorial tone. His father's breath reeked of alcohol, but Antinous refused to show discomfort or lean back. “Polybus stepped down to rest and enjoy life, and his son Eurymachus took his place as a suitor. My wish is for you to become a substitute for me.

Oh, fuck no.

Antinous was really glad that at that instant he hadn't been drinking or eating anything, for he was sure to start choking upon hearing those words.

Now, that? He hadn’t seen it coming.

“Huh,” it was the only answer Antinous could come up with after the silence prolonged a painful amount of time and his father's gaze became too much.

Eupeithes smiled at him, it was a smile lacking any warmth, a smile full of teeth, most of them made of gold.

“And I know you will obey my command, for not only you are a dutiful son in search of forgiveness and eager to please, but also maybe the sole man on this whole island that could get the queen to yield.”

Antinous returned the smile and found himself nodding in agreement with Eupeithes, even if he didn’t wholeheartedly believe his father. Nonetheless, disobeying would have been a death sentence, he might as well go back to Sparta and turn himself into the authorities for murder and getting a married woman pregnant. Also, worst case scenario? He would spend a couple of years messing around and having fun before taking his place as a lord when the throne inevitably got passed down to the prince and the queen remained unmarried.

Holy shit, the prince.

Antinous hadn't spared a single thought to Telemachus for the years he spent away, although, to be fair, even when he resided in Ithaca the prince's existence was the farthest thing from his mind. To him, Telemachus was nothing but the bratty, snotty, and noisy prince who ran around the island like a wild animal, in search of adventure and monsters to slay.

Antinous had found him annoying,  in the same sense that he found all kids younger than him annoying. Even though they were both close in age the prince had always exuded a childish energy; being too kind to strangers and treating everyone around him as an equal, like a clueless,  naive child that isn't able to comprehend just yet the concept of royalty and peasantry. And Telemachus' physical appearance hadn't helped his case either, short for a boy his age and scrawny —to the point Antinous wouldn't have been surprised if his diet solely consisted of sweets— wasn't a good look on the only living heir to the throne. Without mentioning, the few instances that he got a glimpse of the prince outside of the palace, Antinous had confused the kid with a homeless orphan, for he was covered in mud and had this whole ‘lost pup in search for a home’ look on his face.

On second thought, Antinous trying to get with the queen didn’t sound so much like a bad idea after all. He was convinced that he would be a more fit ruler and produce better heirs than whatever Telemachus had ended up becoming.

“It is settled then,” his father's voice brought him back into reality. “You will become a suitor, but first, you must acquire a gift worthy of a queen.”

Antinous bowed his head. “I won’t disappoint you, father.”

“I know you won’t,” Eupeithes stood up to leave, and before he crossed the door to the hall, he threw him a look over his shoulder. “You can’t afford to, not anymore.”

And with that, Antinous was left with nothing but silence as company. 

Chapter Text

A knock on his door startled Telemachus awake, and with sleep clinging to his eyelids, he got out of bed and stumbled towards the door. His bedroom was pitch black, but he had no problem unlocking the heavy latch from pure muscle memory. The wooden door creaked open, and on the other side Eurycleia stood, with a torch in one hand and a bucket filled with water in the other, behind her, Autonoe carried two more buckets.

“Good morning, prince,” Eurycleia said, eyes casted down. “May we enter?”

“Morning,” Telemachus managed to croak back. He stepped backward to let the women in and slumped into the closest chair. Going back to sleep wasn’t an option, however, that never stopped him from dozing off, listening with closed eyes as the maids moved about his room; opening the wooden shutters to let the morning light in, lighting the torches to the bathing room attached to his chambers, pouring water into his bathtub.

As Autonoe bathed the prince, washing his hair and scrubbing him until his flesh turned pink, Eurycleia made his bed, cleaned and tidied up his room, and picked clothes and jewelry for him to wear for the upcoming day. After drying him up with a towel and applying perfumed ointment to his skin, Autonoe dressed him in a sleeveless and thigh-length chiton the color of the midday sky, tying his tunic with a belt made of gold. Telemachus was still yawning and fighting the urge to let his eyes shut when Eurycleia gave him the final touches, adorning him with golden rings, bracelets, and a necklace, as well as a gold leaf head ornament.

“The queen will be having the morning meal in her private dining room, will you be joining her?” he heard Eurycleia ask.

“I will,” said Telemachus, not lifting up his gaze from where he had been fastening the leather straps of his sandals.

“Very well,” said Eurycleia. From the corner of his eye, he saw Autonoe carry the empty buckets and now lighted-off torch out of the room. “Both of your meals should be ready by now. If I may be excused, I must supervise the rest of the staff.”

By ‘the rest of the staff’ she meant the servants younger than her, so, pretty much every single working man and woman in the palace.

Telemachus got up and waved her off. “You may take your leave, Eurycleia, I’ll see you around.”

“Thank you, my prince, have a good rest of the day.”

“Uh, thanks, you too,” he said, already turned to his mirror, where he was examining his face and contemplating shaving. Once upon a time, seemingly a thousand years ago, his younger self couldn’t understand why the woman who had practically raised him and who he allowed to call him son wouldn’t meet his eyes or asked permission for the simplest of actions. Nowadays, those types of questions did not cross his mind anymore.

He headed back to his bathroom and grabbed a blade. Autonoe usually shaved him, but at this point, the maid must be all the way to the kitchens, and Telemachus didn’t want to be late to the meal with his mother, for the queen was not one you should make wait.

Splashing his face with clear water he sent a determined look towards the mirror, and icy blue eyes returned the stare. How difficult could it be?

…

It turned out to be very difficult.

So much so that when he stepped foot into his mother's private dining room, instead of the usual greetings, the first thing his mother told him upon seeing him was,

“What happened to your face?”

“You should have seen the other guy,” Telemachus answered, sitting down across from her and instantly reaching for the fruit closer to him, but before he could grab anything, two maids seemed to materialize from thin air and insisted on washing his hands.

Penelope observed Eurynome pour cold and clean water from a golden vessel into the prince's hands, while Actoris held a silver platter underneath. “I’m not jesting, you’re bleeding.”

Telemachus couldn't help but grimace. “Mother, please drop it, I promise it’s nothing. I’ve had worse.”

It wasn’t an exaggeration, considering the tendencies he had as a child of sneaking out of the palace to play in the rocky and incredibly steep hills of Ithaca, where he would run downhill at the highest speed his feet would allow him before leaping head first into a lake. He would return at dusk covered in mud and scratches, the smell of dirt, sweat, and stale water adhered to his clothes. Apart from engaging other kids his age in mock battles with wooden weapons, what got him the most nasty injuries in childhood was trying to climb trees and cliffs and trying to rid bulls and cows that weren’t his.

If truth was to be told, it sometimes amazed Telemachus that he had made it that far in life without getting seriously injured or dying. Not to say that his multiple caretakers hadn't been attentive, Telemachus simply had been a faster runner than them.

“Telemachus, closest to my heart, did someone bring suffering on you?”

With his mouth stuffed full with dates, figs, and olives, he had a couple of seconds to come up with a decent response that wouldn’t shame him to Tartarus and back, for Eurynome and Actoris were still present in the room, and while Telemachus didn’t question the loyalty that those two maids had to his mother, servants were prone to gossip. And the last thing he needed was for the whole palace to view him as an ever more incompetent ruler than they already did.

“I fell,” he settled on saying.

Nailed it.

“You fell,” Penelope repeated, the tone of her voice somehow managing to sound both monotone and skeptical at the same time.

“Uh-huh.”

“Care to elaborate on that?”

No. “Yes, you see, you know how it started raining a lot at night? Well, the heavy wind and thunder wouldn’t let me sleep, so, in an attempt to appease Zeus, I went out to the temple to give his altar offerings.”

“In the middle of the night, not accompanied by any guards or servants to guide you in the rocky and muddy road, with a thunderstorm raging on the sky,” said Penelope, still sounding dully disbelieving.

“Exactly,” said Telemachus. “I think you know where this is going.”

Penelope sighed. “I’m afraid so.”

“The heavy rain immediately put out my torch, and the wind and darkness made it difficult to walk. I ended up tripping and falling,” Telemachus pointed to his face. “And that’s how I got these.”

Penelope didn’t answer, she only blinked before turning to face Eurynome. “Please make sure to appoint a guard to the prince’s bedroom door and outside of his window for the day and night shift.”

Telemachus felt the blood drain from his face. “Mother,” he said, mortified.

“You’re still allowed to go outside at any time of the day or of the night, I can’t restrain your whereabouts,” Penelope informed him. “But if a guard, under their own judgment, deems too dangerous the actions you’re about to take, they will be commanded to follow you to assure your safety.”

“Mother,” he repeated, more harshly this time. “Do not treat me as you would a child.” He had enough with the patronizing treatment he received from the suitors, he would not be able to bear it if his own mother did the same.

“I’m not considered a man by my equals, for my fighting skills are non-existent and I’ve never left the kingdom. If you were to assign me a babysitter, an actual trained soldier to protect me and follow me around, that would send a message to everyone around, making my helplessness evident.”

“They wouldn’t follow you at all times,” said Penelope, as if that made it any better.

“But they would be questioning me constantly.”

His mother moved aside her plate, where her half-finished breakfast lay, untouched and forgotten. Eurynome and Actoris stood quiet and still as statues, but with an undeniable air of awkwardness surrounding them. Penelope leaned her elbows on the table and massaged her temples, and at that particular moment, Telemachus couldn’t help but notice how the stress lines, the bag under her eyes, and the abundant amount of gray hairs coming from his mother bun made her look ten years older than what she actually was.

“Listen to me Telemachus, you’re the only child I’ll ever birth in this lifetime. I don’t mean to fall into dramatics or to treat you as a kid, quite the contrary, the sooner you are viewed as the competent ruler I’m sure you're able to become, the faster I can pass the throne on to you.”

The implications of her words hung in the air. The sooner he became the king, the sooner Penelope could stop getting courted by suitors. Something akin to normalcy could reign in the palace again, a type of normalcy where their lives were suitor-free.

“I understand the meaning of your speech, and I bow to your logic mother, since I find it flawless. But you will have to forgive me for differing in opinion. I believe that appointing me guards when you yourself have none outside of your chambers or your balcony, will lead people to see me below you. Would you really have my status be reduced to that of a woman?”

“If that’s what it takes to teach you precaution and care for your wellbeing, then so be it.” The queen’s sharp features hardened, “My husband is dead and I refuse to mourn my son as well.”

That statement felt like a punch to the gut. Last year, after getting pressured by the suitors and the rest of the kingdom, his mother had been forced to publicly announce that she would start weaving a funeral shroud for Laertes. However, to hear it be put so crudely, to listen to such harsh words fall from his mother's mouth shattered him almost as much as having to see Penelope admit to everyone the likelihood of Odysseus passing.

Telemachus swallowed and looked down at his hands. He had acted in an incredibly stupid manner, coming up with a cover story instead of simply confessing to the fact that he didn’t know how to use a shaving blade. However, telling the truth didn’t feel like an option anymore. Not only would it cause him an even bigger embarrassment, but being considered untruthful could set back everything he had worked to achieve. The best course of action, at least for the time being, appeared to be; accepting having guards, lay low for a while until he regained his mother’s trust once again.

“Your wish is my command,” said Telemachus, meeting his mother’s stare, and a similar set pair of frigid paleness looked back at him.

Penelope held his gaze for a couple of seconds, and while her shoulders visibly relaxed, her countenance didn’t soften even a little bit. After that short, but uneasy period of time, she broke eye contact and re-focused her attention on her maids.

“Eurynome, if you would be kind enough to remind me of my duties for the day as well as to recite the prince's daily tasks, I would greatly appreciate it. Actoris, please take away our plates and clean up.”

The maids didn’t need to be told twice, they immediately got to work, Actoris with swift and graceful motions, and Eurynome stood tall and talked with the clarity of a poet.

Telemachus remained motionless as he felt a hot white fire igniting underneath his chest. Soon, the flames would burn and consume the rest of his body, but for the time being he sat and listened to Eurynome list his assignments.

The brewing storm could wait.

He was about to rise from his chair when someone knocked on the door. Eurynome opened it to reveal Melantho, the most beautiful maid out of all the servants. The young woman stepped in and greeted both royals accordingly.

“My dear girl,” Penelope said, her face lighting up. “Although your presence brings me joy, you’re not scheduled to be here. What news do you bear?”

Melantho straightened up. “Adored queen, there’s a young man in the main hall invoking xenia and demanding your presence.”

Penelope's face dropped, and just like that the atmosphere in the room turned sour once again.

“Worry not Mother,” said Telemachus, standing up. “You stay here and I’ll go attend to our guest, rest assured that I will follow through the proper hospitality protocol.”

“I trust that you will,” said Penelope, and Telemachus gave her a small smile, and she returned the gesture, but not without effort. The queen excused the youngest pair and Melantho led the way, her long, dark, lustrous hair that cascaded in waves all of its way to her middle back moving side to side as they walked to the main hall. Female servants were instructed to have their hair tied up in a bun or styled into a braid, but Melantho got away with blatantly violating the rules on account of being the queen's favorite. Arriving at the palace as a small child, the queen had gifted the servant toys as well as given her motherly attention and care.

Telemachus recalls that last year, on the date that should have been his father’s birthday, he and his mother were dining alone, apart from a maid who came in and out of the room to make sure everything was accordingly. That night his mother drank more than one cup of wine, and that night, who happened to be appointed to serve them was Melantho, when the girl exited the room, the queen confessed to not anyone in particular that she had wished to have a daughter similar to Melantho, but that would not be possible anymore. The disclosure had stung at the time, though he wasn’t able to fully blame his mother. Melantho was the type of person that, if not for her plain clothes signaling her low social status, could have passed as royalty. And even if her tunics tended to be ankle-length and cover her arms, she still managed to turn heads from men and women alike wherever she went.

Oh, gods, it’s you, thought Telemachus with disdain when he saw who the man who wanted palatial hospitality was. Not letting the contempt he felt show in his face or posture, he approached the man and grabbed him by the hand, albeit a little too hard.

“Honorable nobleman, you will be hosted by my family and regarded as an equal, and after your hunger has been satisfied, you will state your purpose here.”

“Divine prince, your looks rival that of a god, and I would not be surprised to find out that multiple deities favor you and have blessed your soul,” said Eurymachus, son of Polybus. “But there is no need to feast, my intentions, I'm sure, are known throughout all of the kingdom.”

Telemachus wondered, what was up with the suitors being so fast to claim xenia, but not being able to follow through the most basic of its procedures? Even when suitors that weren't from Ithaca arrived at the kingdom and hadn't stated their purpose there, Telemachus could just tell that they wanted to court his mother from their stance alone. They all had this eagerness to them, an eagerness to see the queen and show off their gifts. That's probably why they insisted on skipping pleasantries and going straight to courtship.

Telemachus nodded and let go of the man's hand. “Indeed, I am well aware of your purpose at the palace, your father let everyone within a hearing range know that you would be his replacement. Though I must confess, I thought you would arrive sooner.”

“Arrive sooner, huh?” Eurymachus chuckled. “Were you waiting for me, my prince? If so, I apologize If I made you wait and I'm sure I'll be able to make it up to you.”

Telemachus had to stop himself from recoiling in disgust. Polybus was the richest lord in Ithaca, so, if Telemachus was to sucker punch Eurymachus in the face, could that actually start a war within the kingdom? For some reason, something told him that lying about Eris momentarily possessing him wouldn't get him very far.

“There's no need to make it up to me since I don't expect nor desire anything from you,” said Telemachus, taking a step back and glancing quickly at Melantho, whose eyes remained glued to Eurymachus's form. For a second he had forgotten about the servant's presence.

Eurymachus' smile faltered. “Ah, it’s a pity to hear that. You see, aside from acquiring exquisite courtship gifts for your mother, I’ve also got you a present as well, not with romantic connotations, of course.”

“You shouldn’t have bothered, really,” Telemachus said, not sure how to proceed with the interaction. None of the suitors had tried gifting him stuff, like, ever. Sure, they had tried to sweeten him up with pretty but empty words before, and it was to no avail because Telemachus could always tell that they were all full of shit.

But a gift directed to him? That was new.

“On the contrary,” said Eurymachus. “It was a pleasure to obtain this gesture with you in mind, and I’m sure it will be an even bigger honor to reveal it to you if you were kind enough to grant me your time and presence.”

On second thought, the idea of having a guard around him at all times wasn’t starting to sound so unappealing.

“Your sayings are a delight to hear, my lord,” said Telemachus. “But I’m afraid I find myself incapable of fulfilling your wishes, simple and reasonable as they are. As of today, my daily duties leave me with almost no free time to indulge in such matters as extravagant gift-revealing, if I may call it so. I ask you to not take offense in my rejection, for I can still feast with you for the midday or the night meal.”

Telemachus thought that this for sure would be enough to deflect Eurymachus' spirit and make his attempts come to a stop, but to his never-ending horror, he saw something equivalent to hopefulness grow in Eurymachus.

“Fear not, godly prince, your words don’t rouse in me any offense, and I’m sure that in the near future, we’ll find a gap in your busy schedule so I can present to you your gift.”

Defeated, Telemachus gave a quick bow of his head. “Thank you, I very much look forward to it. In the meantime, is there anything me or my maid would be able to provide for you?”

Seemingly for the first time in that whole interaction, Eurymachus' eyes strayed away from him and towards Melantho. For a second, Telemachus had the impression of seeing hunger pass through Eurymachus' gaze, but he couldn’t be quite sure, considering that the flash of whatever emotion the man had experienced vanished as quickly as it came.

“Now that you mention it,” said Eurymachus, licking his lips and turning to Telemachus. “I think I might be in need of a bath.”

“By all means, my lord,” said Telemachus and he pointed to Melanthos’ direction. “My maid here will guide you to the common bathhouse, and will bath, dry, and dress you if requested.”

Both men gave their respective goodbyes, and before Telemachus could head out to be present in a land holding, he went to search for a servant who could help him clean and wash away the nasty taste in his mouth he had gotten from talking to Eurymachus.

Chapter Text

After he was finished, Antinous lay on the ground, panting and sweating. The cold, smooth stone underneath his back was a nice contrast against his hot skin. The muscles in his arms and back hurt when he moved, therefore, he remained still, imitating the statue of Ares he had minutes ago finished carrying and placing.

He wasn't officially a suitor and Antinous was already done putting time, energy, and resources into a courtship gift for a woman that in return would probably only provide empty promises, if she was feeling generous, that’s it. He didn’t know how the suitors bore to go on day after day, wasting years of their lives without trying to overthrow the crown. He knew for a fact he would have snapped by now.

Being aware of all of that didn’t stop him from building a temple of the god of the war in honor of Penelope, in hopes that it would appeal to her spartan heritage. But if he was being realistic, she wouldn’t even bother coming there, or no one, for that matter. Upon his recovery he had noticed for the first time the lack of anything related to the worship of Ares in Ithaca, of course, he understood why, but it didn’t take away from it being a jarring difference to the culture in Sparta.

He looked around, admiring the result of his labor. The temple he built was a modest building, basically a small-sized megaron that could fit ten people inside in total. While it wasn’t fancy, it looked professional, as in, structure-wise, you wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference between the other temples on the island. And that’s because he had ensured to follow the basic temple plans given to him for reference to a tee; a front porch supported by two columns, a central room with four columns where he placed the statue in the middle, mudbrick walls on a stone base, a timber roof with a gable, and no windows.

Night came, and his exhausted mind and body begged for rest, so he laid there some more, going in and out of consciousness but not letting deep sleep claim him completely. The darkness served as a blanket, and the soft wind as a lullaby, and it was easy to think himself back on Sparta, fourteen years old again and freshly run away crashing at temples.

“You dare rest in peace after what you’ve done?”

Antinous shot up, straight as an arrow, incorporating in an impressively fast fashion to his feet to turn to face the booming voice, and when he was faced with no one, he guessed the intruder must’ve hidden behind one of the columns.

“Show yourself, I know you’re watching me,” Antinous commanded, drawing out his sword. “I won’t harm you.”

“You’re correct,” said the voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once, “you won’t.”

A blinding flash of golden light exploded and flooded every corner of the temple. For a terrifying moment Antinous thought he had gone fully blind, but, as it turned out, he was keeping his right eye tightly shut. When he forced himself to open his working eye, it took a couple of seconds for the black spots to go away, and when his sight adjusted once again to the gloom, he took in the appearance of the stranger.

A winged woman with a golden diadem stood in front of him, dangerously close. On her belt, she had a sword sheathed on one side and a whip tied to the other side. Even without the glowing aura emanating from her body the divine status would have been evident from a ten-mile radius.

Tossing any dignity out of the door, Antinous let go of his sword and the metallic clang of his bronze weapon striking the stone floor echoed through the small room, making him cringe.

“Oh, goddess divine, I ask for your forgiveness, whatever deed I’ve committed to arouse your wrath and indignation,” even to his own ears those words rang fake and void of regret, but he wasn’t about to fight a deity. Even if he won, and that was a big if, gods were sore losers, and the last thing Antinous needed right now was to get cursed for life or get sent a vengeful immortal being after him.

“Whatever deed you’ve committed, you say, as if you weren’t aware of your crimes,” the goddess said, “shall I remind you, son of Eupeithes, why your actions demand retribution?”

In a heartbeat, where before there was only air, golden scales appeared, gripped by her left fist.

“You killed the devotee of the same god you’re building a temple for, and violated sacred hospitality laws, effectively offending Zeus Xenios himself, did you expect to keep on living without punishment?”

Petrified and speechless, Antinous glanced at where his sword lay, not too far away. The idea of trying to win a fight against a goddess didn’t sound too bad anymore, if he was in better shape he might have given in to the temptation already.

“Will you be the one to send me to Hade’s house?” asked Antinous at last.

“No, not me, that’s not my destiny to fulfill. But you have lived with excessive luck and your doings are of an arrogant nature, and you would continue down this path if it weren’t for my interference.”

Antinous met the penetrating gaze of the goddess. “And is Nemesis the name of the deity standing before me, interfering in my life?”

Her stern and grave expression remained still, but her white, feathered wings gave a slight twitch, driving home the resemblance to ones of a bird.

“You'd be correct, mortal.” The golden scales she was holding vanished, and in its place, a silver wheel appeared. She laid it on the floor by her feet, and without anyone's intervention, it started to spin, radiating as if the silver had captured inside moonlight. “You have profaned xenia enough in Sparta, you won’t keep desecrating the sacred law here too.”

Violate xenia in Ithaca?

It took him an instant to understand what Nemesis was hinting at.

“Not become a suitor, huh?” His old man was going to be really stoked on that one. “What would you have me do instead?”

Instead of answering, Nemesis lowered her gaze. Antinous followed her trail of sight and it landed on the small spinning wheel. They observed the luminous wheel with its pearly glow be moved by invisible hands, and if the two stood there in silence for seconds or hours, Antinous couldn’t tell, he was too deep in a trance and enchanted by the literal magical light to be able to tell the passing of time correctly.

“Violator of xenia once, you’ll be a protector now,” said Nemesis, still looking down. “This is your obligation, to guard the palace being defiled by the men who dare to break the sacred duty of guests. Until Ithaca has a king again, you shall carry out this task.”

“And if I don’t follow through with your instructions?”

Out of the blue, Nemesis stepped on the wheel, instantly shattering it into millions of pieces, and Antinous felt a dull ache and painful longing overtake his chest at seeing the beautiful pieces that shined as bright as stars scattered all through the floor.

“There’s your answer,” said Nemesis, and Antinous nodded.

“Well, that’s definitely a way to get a point across, but I get it.”

Antinous half expected Nemesis to keep threatening him and then to make a departure as flashy as her entrance had been, but all he got for her exiting act was the flapping of wings, and in the blink of his eye she had disappeared. Kind of disappointing for the goddess of vengeance and retribution. Maybe he should have tried fighting her, if only to see her powers on display, and to satisfy his new growing itch about witnessing divine weapons be used in combat, because, when was he going to have the same opportunity in his life again?

Antinous sat on the ground, back resting against a column. The silver and white pieces that still glowed like diamond dust and covered the stone floor were the only proof that he hadn’t hallucinated the whole ordeal.

His father's words resonated in his head. The old king built his palace, you should build the queen something with your own hands too, show that resemblance to Odysseus, small as it may be.

Antinous looked up at the high ceiling, pondering his choices. Once upon a time he could hunt, and he still knew how to sail and the art of trading, but to create something from nothing? It had taken more than one month to figure out the logistics of building a small temple, he had to go visit multiple builders and Ithaca didn't exactly have lots of available architects. Getting, gathering, and transporting materials had been an absolute bitch of a task too. And in the process of construction, he almost lost his fingers more times than he was comfortable admitting.

“What the fuck am I going to do with a temple now?” he asked Ares ' statue, and the statue, expectedly but fortunately, didn’t respond.

If he didn’t become a suitor his father would send him straight to Hade's house, but if he disregarded Nemesis' task, he would either quite literally be shattered into millions of pieces or be punished for eternity, and then some more.

Either way, it seemed Antinous would be reuniting with his mother sooner than expected. And she most likely would be pissed at him too for not keeping his promise of adorning her tomb with richness, which was just great. His week really couldn’t get any better.

He felt something crawling through his throat all the way to his mouth, and before he knew it, he was doubled over himself, laughing without emitting any sound like a crazed man.

What had his life come to?

When the sudden fit of quiet laughter ended, he remained lying on his side, the frigid surface pressed against his right side gave him chills, but he didn’t move. Could he kill two birds with one stone and try being a suitor and a guard at the same time? Unlikely. If he were in another kingdom, claiming xenia at the royal palace would perhaps protect him from his father’s wrath, but in Ithaca, that option was off the table. Maybe, he thought, if he told his father that becoming a royal guard was only a plan to get close to the queen and gain her trust before courting her, then he could go completely free from penalty. That sounded plausible enough, he could try to go with that story.

Instead of going back to Eupeithe’s house, Antinous curled up on himself and decided to sleep the remaining hours of the night there. It was an uncomfortable and cold place to rest, but by the feet of the god of war, he felt more at home than anywhere else.

…

When morning came, instead of heading to his father's residence, Antinous marched straight to the royal palace.

He climbed off the mountain he had built the temple at the top of. It wasn’t necessarily a walk through a field of flowers getting there, but the view was worth it, the temple viewed the harbor coastline, where seen from afar, people were the size of ants. Antinous had searched for a spot that wasn’t close to other temples or houses, wanting Ares to have his own space, and that perfect place ended up being north of Ithaca.

Climbing down took him a while, although it was easier going down than going up, he still needed to watch where he put his feet to avoid slipping and the placement of his hands to prevent cutting himself on sharp rocks. At least, after so many trips carrying in his back materials, he had already memorized the safest route and placements for his hands and feet.

By the time he was walking through the narrow road with limestones placed all over his path, the morning sun intensity had gone up, and subsequently, once he got to the palace grounds the upper part of his body was prickling and covered with a thin layer of sweat. To stop himself from fanning himself with his hands, he styled his dreadlocks into a high bun, trusting it looked presentable enough.

There were no servants or guards on the porch, so he let himself into the vestibule and was surprised once again at the lack of personnel and workforce, if not for the distant noise and clean and taken care of appearance he would have thought the palace to be abandoned.

Should he keep wandering forward? It wasn’t his first time there, but the last time he visited he was an actual child accompanied by his mother and led by a servant. He didn’t know if the queen would recognize him, and even if she did, Antinous didn’t think she would appreciate it if he bargained in like he owned the place.

First impressions are everything child, remember that, his mother had told him as he gripped her hand. He must have been three or four years old back then, old enough to stop reaching for his mother, but come to think about it, he had always been a clingy kid.

Antinous huffed a laugh, waiting for someone, anyone to pass by, and when they didn’t, his mind dragged the past before his eye. He didn’t remember the reason behind his mother and the queen meeting that day, nor the words spoken between them. He could only recall them standing in the blooming garden, talking while a wind that carried the sweet perfume of spring made both of their long, colorful dresses dance. He grew tired of standing still with his mouth shut, so he had taken off to explore the large garden, turning over rocks in search of insects to kill. He had always been fascinated by the different ways animals met their end, by the various movements their small bodies did while writhing in pain. He especially enjoyed hearing the dying noises they emitted as he tore off their limbs, as well as seeing the type of liquids their insides disposed of. And when he grew bored of that he ran up to his mother, effectively interrupting the conversation she was having with the queen.

He blinked himself into the present. He couldn’t believe that one of his earliest memories involved going up to the queen and demanding her son's presence, for Antinous's entertainment was lacking and he wanted to spar with another boy. His mother had looked horrified, understandably so, but the queen had only smiled down at him, explaining that the prince was taking a nap and that, because of their age difference, her son wouldn’t stand a chance against him in a fight, but maybe they could wrestle when they were both older and in more equal grounds. Antinous had been pleased to hear those words so he accepted the proposal. It never came to fruition, but still, it had been a nice sentiment.

“Make sure the prince knows how to fight. I don’t go easy on others,” Antinous had said, which had made the queen's eyes shine with a mischievous mirth.

The sound of footsteps broke him out of his trip to memory lane, and from a corner he saw a woman around his age approaching, she was carrying multiple blankets and appeared shocked and fearful upon seeing him. Antinous lazily waved at the maiden, told her he meant no harm, and asked her to go find the authority of the palace available to come and receive him. The servant nodded and practically fled the scene. Antinous sighed and tried rubbing the tiredness out his working eye, to no avail. He was starting to regret not dropping by his father's house beforehand to bathe, have breakfast, and change into something more decent than only a kilt for wear. But he didn’t want to come face to face with Eupeithes before securing his place as a palace guard.

The echo of upcoming steps made him stand straight and hold his head high, suddenly alert of his surroundings and with the distant feeling of waiting for a high-ranking militar to come scream orders at his face. However, instead of the rugged man he was expecting to come to greet him, Antinous was met with the image of Penelope, covered from head to toe in finely woven and decorated wears; a blue peplos with a red shawl draped over her shoulders and a golden veil that covered her head.

“Stranger,” said the queen of Ithaca. “Before you state your purpose here, you will feast if you desire so, and after your hunger and thirst have been quenched, you will speak to your heart's demands.”

“Fairest queen, not in a million years would I think about disobeying you,” said Antinous, searching in Penelope’s face and eyes for any sign that indicated recognition, but coming empty-handed.

“We shall see.” Penelope turned around. “If you would be kind enough to follow me, gracious guest.”

They walked through the corridors with high ceilings, and instead of paying attention to his surroundings or the people passing them by, Antinous never lost sight of the queen walking ahead of him, or more specifically, of her epiblema fluttering with her steps. The cloth reminded him of the red military capes he spent years trading back in Sparta, but the resemblance didn’t stop in the color or the high-quality material, Penelope wore the shawl with the same composure as a soldier.

Before he knew it, they had walked far from the main areas of the palace and reached a deserted corner of a dog-legged corridor.

“My husband built me my own megaron after hearing that the queens in Crete and Pylos had one for themselves,” Penelope explained, opening a small door and stepping into the room. Antinous followed after, and behind him, the maids closed the door again. “But unlike the main hall, this room cannot be used if I’m not here, or without my permission.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Antinous. Penelope's maids dragged over a chair for Antinous to sit on and placed a table in front of him, and while they washed his hands he got a better look at the room. At first, it felt like a copy of the throne room but on a much smaller scale; a rectangular room with a high ceiling, mural paintings adorning the walls, and a hearth in the middle, but on a second glance he noticed the lack of an actual throne and the in its place, there were chairs and sofas scattered around, as well as an abundant amount of baskets filled to the brim with hanks of linen and balls of yarns of all colors. However, the most outstanding thing that differentiated the queen’s megaron from the king’s main audience hall was the heavy warp weighted looms placed near the entrance, Antinous counted five, of which four seemed to be in the process of weaving diverse textiles, but none resembled a burial shroud.

“The door to the left leads to the toilet room, in case you need it,” said Penelope when she saw him looking around. “And to the right, there’s a bathing room, though it’s designated for women’s only use, so I would recommend not stepping foot in there unless you want a jug thrown at your head.”

“Noted,” said Antinous, and he pointed toward the door across the one they had entered from. “And that one?”

“Storeroom,” answered Penelope as two maidens came out of said room carrying food. They placed baskets with barley bread on the table in front of him along with plates with fruit and cheese, and poured him honeyed wine. While he ate, Penelope apologized about having to receive him there and not in one of the halls meant for feasting.

“At this time of the day, all those rooms are occupied by men vying for my hand, so I tend not to show my face in there, or anywhere that they might be in.”

Antinous nodded and swallowed down a piece of bread he had dipped in his wine, praising out loud the queen for her modesty in conduct and wear.

“Do not praise me, please. It is a woman’s glory not to be spoken of either for praise or blame,” she said, and it took a second for Antinous to register that she was reciting a popular saying. Penelope’s pale eyes flickered to the highly adorned hearth that her maids were in the process of lighting. “It is difficult to carry out a life of silence and seclusion in this state, but even at this age I still strive to be as dutiful as possible.”

“Dutiful to the people of your kingdom or to the whims of your deceased husband?” asked Antinous, not being able to hold himself back.

“Dutiful to the gods, gracious guest. But above all else, to my son, the future king of Ithaca." Penelope smiled at him, and if he had been a weaker man he would have fallen in love with her right there and then. "My status as queen keeps me from living in complete privacy, but still, as a widow, I desire to only be publicly recognized and acknowledged after death, when I go roaming in Hades domain, looking for Odysseus' shadow as a shade myself.”

At the mention of the old king's name, tears formed in her eyes but did not spill. To avoid her to start weeping Antinous stopped any line of questioning, and after he was finished eating his light breakfast, a maiden passed him a towel to clean his fingers.

“Tell me this truthfully,” said the queen after the maidens took away the table with his plates and replaced his chair with a couch. “Who are you, stranger? From what city and people do you proceed and how is it that you've arrived in Ithaca? I do not believe it possible for you to get here by foot.”

Antinous chuckled. “You would be correct in that I did not get here by walking,” he leaned in the lounge and flexed his arms, noticing the ever-present pain.

“You ask for honesty, so I shall deliver truths. My name is Antinous, son of Eupeithes, both of us ithacans. After my mother died, grief overtook my judgment and I ran away to Sparta where I lived as a Perioikoi, earning a living by trading goods and providing military service. Another Perioikoi hosted me for six long years, and we resided in the town of Gythium, a settlement designated for the folk of our social class. I decided to return to Ithaca because I got tired of not being able to enjoy full citizenship rights that I would have in my homeland, and because I felt the need to pay tribute to my mother's tombstone.” The words he uttered were technically not lies, he simply left out certain elements of his story, but in his defense, why would the queen be interested in hearing the nitty-gritty details of his personal life?

Penelope’s facial expression didn’t change a bit throughout his monologue, as if she wasn’t surprised at any of this information. And when she answered him, her face remained a mask of passiveness. “Antinous, you delivered each line in an unmatched perfection of conviction, as if you had been practicing nonstop for a speech.”

“My queen, but of course I thought beforehand what to say before coming to your palace, I’ve never been good at improvising, you see. Regardless, forgive me if my talking doesn't hold up to your taste, but you must understand that six years is a long time to go without engaging in formal speech with other noblemen.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that you’re out of practice when it comes to oration.” Penelope took a sip from her golden goblet, and from what Antinous was able to see she wasn’t drinking water or wine. “What I wonder is, if another were to ask you the same question, would you tell them the same tale?”

That made Antinous lean forward and rest his elbows on his knees. “Your words hurt me. That wasn’t a tale, that was my life.”

“You will have to forgive me if I do not believe you, Eupeithes son.”

“How come? Don’t tell me my father built me a reputation whilst I wasn’t around. Oh, but dear queen, you would be smarter than to believe any words that came out of a drunkard pirate.”

“That’s not a very high way to think and express yourself about your own father.”

“I’m an honest man, one who doesn’t give away respect freely to the undeserving,” Antinous looked around to see if any of the maidens were eavesdropping. Three were sitting, facing the warp-weighted looms and weaving. Those were far enough not to be able to listen, and the other, a pretty one was next to the circular hearth, stirring the fire, her dark eyes fixated on Antinous's bare chest and arms. When her eyes met him, he winked at her before returning to his conversation with the queen. The cost was clear.

“Nonetheless, you’re too proper of a woman to speak ill of a past guest, so don’t worry about it anymore, I won’t try to coerce you into agreeing with me. But I still would like to know the reason behind your distrust.”

Penelope's gaze glazed over as if looking through him. “I don’t believe your mother would kill herself.”

Well, there it was.

“She was a miserable woman who missed her homeland and family,” Antinous said, mechanically, his mouth feeling dry. “Plus, I don’t think that taking your own life as a reaction to being married to Eupeithes is an irrational decision.”

Penelope shook her head gently, and her golden hoop earrings moved with her. “It wasn’t that. Yes, she hated the life Eupeithes forced upon her, but she loved you too much to do something like that. And she would have never left you alone with Eupeithes if given the chance.”

Her eyes remained unfocused, and Antinous thought that she looked similar to a dead soul trying to reach into the past. “I saw her a few days before you found her, did you know that?”

“No,” Antinous spat out, not caring how harsh it came out sounding.

Penelope finally looked at Antinous, instead of through him. “She wanted to leave and take you with her, she wanted to go back and try to find out if any of her relatives had survived your father’s raid.”

Antinous felt a scorching wave of flames wash over his entire body, and then he went all cold. He didn’t dare to give away any reaction, the queen was watching him too closely for his comfort.

“So you were the one who wanted to help my mother run away,” he said, making it sound more like a statement than a question. He looked away to signal to the pretty maid, who continued to shamelessly gawk at him, that he wanted a drink. He was too sober for this shit.

“You would be correct. I did the preparations, got a fast ship that belonged to a family friend, loaded it with supplies for a long journey, recruited a party of sailors that were on bad terms with Eupeithes, and promised them all types of treasure if they were to return.”

Antinous hummed, reasoning about the logistics of it all and thankful that Penelope wasn’t being too emotional about the whole ordeal.

“And what would have guaranteed those sailors that they would deliver my mother safely? For all you know, they could have tossed her to the ocean, called it a day, wandered around for months, and returned claiming success.” That’s what Antinous would have done if someone had tasked him with something so stupid.

“Laertes was to accompany them,” Penelope said and Antinous bit his lip, thinking that he all the same would have gotten rid of that old man, past king or not. But in that hypothetical situation, he guessed the real problem was the other sailors, knowing if they would go along with his plans or not was integral. You needed multiple men to sail, after all.

When the maiden arrived with his drink, both the queen and Antinous went silent. The maiden seemed too occupied fluttering her eyelashes at him to notice the tense atmosphere, so when she handed him a silver goblet, he made sure to brush his hand against hers.

“Thank you gorgeous,” he told the maiden, flashing her his most charming smile. The maiden visibly blushed and scattered away.

“Don’t flirt with my servants,” Penelope said, and Antinous was surprised to see a discernable emotion such as anger showing on her face.

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that an order, my queen?” he teased, glancing at her over his cup. The sickeningly sweet flavor of wine mixed with honey filled his mouth and he was satisfied at the feeling of the liquid going down his throat, flooding his chest and stomach.

“I have the rarest of sentiment, that even if I were to order such a thing you would not obey me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, I told you before that I wouldn’t dream about disobeying you.” Antinous downed his wine in one go and put the goblet aside but didn’t gesture for another drink. “Now, about my mother, why reopen old wounds by bringing her up? Even if what you say is true and not a tale to make me indebted to you, what purpose does it serve to mention a tragedy of the past?”

“My intention wasn't to bring you sorrow, Antinous, and I apologize If I've done so. I understand better than anyone how hurtful it is for someone to bring up departed ones,” Penelope said. “But I mentioned your mother in relation to me not trusting you.”

Antinous rubbed harshly at his face. “Pardon me, but what correlation does that even hold?”

Penelope inclined forward, and by inertia, he did the same. “There’s a rumor,” she said, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial tone.

Of course, there’s a fucking rumor, he thought, when there’s not one? Nonetheless, he nodded in encouragement to indicate to the queen to go on.

“That your mother did not die by her own hand, that someone else forcefully took her life,” said Penelope, and not once did her somber and grave gaze leave him.

Antinous straightened up and talked loudly, “I have no interest in listening to nonsensical gossip.” If he closed his eye he could perfectly picture her mother’s body lying on the floor, lifeless and bloody, a crimson gaping wound that went from one side of her neck to another staring at him like an eye. Sitting in the queen’s megaron he could easily recall the feel of the fabric of the textile he had warped her corpse in and how much it had weighted to carry it to the nearest bed. And it wasn’t hard either to invoke the metallic smell of blood that had plagued his nostrils throughout the whole night, as he lay in bed next to the cadaver, dried blood sticking to his hands.

“I knew her,” Penelope said softly, sadly. “We didn’t meet often, it was difficult to do so, but I considered your mother my friend. I still do.”

“You knew her, huh?” Antinous sneered. “Well, I lived with her under the same roof for fourteen years, and let me tell you this, despite appearing cheerful to you, my mother was no stranger to misery.”

“I’m more than aware of the agony your mother went through, Antinous. We both arrived newly brided and foreigners to Ithaca around the same time but under completely different circumstances. You know that, don’t you?”

“That Eupeithes thought it a good idea to not only marry his raid trophy but also to bring her to his home instead of fucking her and disposing of her body somewhere like any sensible man would do? Yes, my father likes to tell that story when he’s drunk. What about it?”

Penelope stared daggers at him, and Antinous felt a sick satisfaction at the queen’s mask of courtesy and properness crumbling so fast in such a short period of time. He had half a mind to keep pushing, to seek a breaking point.

“Even if I didn’t spend the same amount of years as you did by her side, your mother all the same trusted me enough to reveal intimate information.” Penelope’s eyes gleamed with sadness, and Antinous was reminded of deep, clean, clear, and transparent bodies of water. “She told me about the traditions and customs of her people, of the different attire and significantly hotter weather, of craving food and missing flavors that aren’t known here. She grieved openly the loss of her brothers and father and confessed to fearing ridicule because of her accent. Shall I go on?”

“That’s enough.”

“Misery was her daily companion, but so was hope, a hope so strong she was willing to risk it all,” Penelope said. “The plan was to meet in Polis Bay when dusk came, but you two never showed up, still, Laertes and the other sailors waited all night and part of the morning. And when it became apparent that no one would arrive, they went to inform me. I thought— I thought she had changed her mind, so I didn’t send anyone to fetch her, considering it better to talk to her myself when I had the chance. But then—”

Penelope’s voice cracked and then faltered. She reached for a towel and blew her nose.

“I don’t remember seeing you around for my mother’s burial rituals,” Antinous commented nonchalantly. Although, even if the queen had actually attended he probably wouldn’t have registered it, from his recollection of that day everyone's faces were blurry.

“I didn’t go, the news reached me too late,” Penelope lamented. “A day too late.”

Antinous hummed, getting tired and growing sick of the conversation already. “And that’s what leads you to believe, what? That someone murdered my mother? Forgive me, but in spite of everything being said I all the same find your logic defective. Sure, my father has accumulated his fair share of enemies over the years, but none of them would have been dumb enough to try and get revenge in his own house. Likewise, I was in my room at the time so I would have heard her or one of the maids that’s always accompanying her scream, or the servants would have seen someone around. And my mother… when I found her, it didn’t seem that she had fought anyone.”

“There’s an explanation for that, though it may appear far-fetched, I believe someone close to her killed her. I’m talking about someone who she would trust enough to let them get near her.”

“Yeah, no, my mother was escorted by at least a maiden at all times from the time she woke up until she went to sleep. And one thing about her old maiden? She was a loyal dog, she would have fought tooth and nail. But as I said, there were no indications of struggle from no one.”

“You are correct about the maidens attending to their ladies at all times of the day, however, you seem to forget that maidens can be dismissed. And while they should be mainly loyal to their mistresses, there are higher authorities which can make them go away.”

“So, following your line of reasoning, the person that slaughtered my mother was someone trusted, with authority, and close enough to her not to raise any suspicion about being in Eupeithe's house. So, that would leave my father or me.” A smile that was full of teeth crept on his face and Antinous didn’t bother covering the angry edge it had. “That’s quite an accusation to make.”

“That’s not an accusation coming from my mouth and my own thoughts, that’s a common rumor around here.”

“Again, I thought you smarter than to be easily influenced by the chatter of the masses. I’ve heard people praise your wit and virtue, but it seems that that was also only a rumor after all. Who would have thought? Queen Penelope, can’t come to her own conclusion and just like sheep, follows along to the popular opinion without seeing for herself.”

“Antinous, how dare you proclaim such words under Odysseus' roof after I've given away food that belongs to my son? And you’re wrong, I’ve been reaching my own verdict this whole time. From the moment I laid eyes on you I knew who you were, even if I hadn’t seen you in years you are the spitting image of your mother, how could I not have recognized you? But now, you’ve shown me who you truly are.”

“And who that may be?”

“A wretched and miserable beast,” Penelope said and stood up, appearing to have the intention to make him leave. Panicking, Antinous fell to his knees and positioned his hands before the queen's knees but without touching her. Penelope's eyes widened in confusion, clearly taken back.

“You’re mistaken and misguided,” he said. “This short interaction you had with me is not an indication whatsoever about my true character, but if you give me a chance I can prove myself to you. And then you would be able to see.”

Penelope scowled down at him. “Get up, you shouldn’t kneel before anyone but a deity.”

“Can you blame me? You resemble and surpass a goddess in presence and demeanor, daughter of Icarius. Men from all around should build statues after you and worship them,” Antinous said, still on his knees, trying to reach for Penelope's hand. She retracted her hand but stayed put, eyeing him as if he were vermin.

“What nonsense are you spouting? Please, stand up and never again compare me to an immortal, I don’t wish to anger the gods.” Antinous did as instructed, and when he was towering over her, her frown deepened. “Flattery will take you nowhere. And what in Olympus makes you think I would give you a chance to prove yourself? I still don’t trust you, remember?”

“I will swear it to you then, and I will swear it by the most sacred oath that exists,” Antinous said. “By all the holy gods that live in the golden city in the skies, and by the dark terrain underneath our earth, and by the rivers that run darkly in there, I promise you that I had nothing to do with my mother’s passing. Zeus is my witness and may he strike me down if I’m lying. There, I said it. Are you satisfied now?”

“No, I still don’t trust you to tell the truth,” she said at last and Antinous threw up his arms in exasperation. “Why, though, are you so persistent on this? Do pray tell.”

Antinous plopped down on a sofa and ran a hand over his hair. “Oh, gee, I don’t fucking know, let me think,” he said sarcastically. “Maybe I don’t love the idea of people thinking I murdered my own mother, or let Eupeithes do it. And I also wanted to become a palace guard, but gauging from your reactions so far my chances seem to be ranging from very slim to none.”

“You, a palace guard?” Penelope tilted her head slightly to the side, her veil moving with her and her pale eyes narrowing. “Why would you ever want that?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

That got a laugh out of Antinous, he shook his head and looked in disbelief at Penelope. “If you insist. Apparently, my stay in Sparta managed to piss at least three different gods, and last night Nemesis appeared before me, demanding I cleaned up my act.”

“And how’s that going so far?” asked Penelope, pointing around the room. “Does this seem like cleaning up your act, insulting me in my own home, and behaving dishonorably?”

“Yeah, well, that’s what I’m trying to avoid, but it’s by no means easy. Although I’m pretty sure the winged goddess particularly wanted me to become a guard, otherwise she’s going to make sure that I meet my fate.”

“Meet your fate, as in…?

“As in pulverize me and throw me to Oceanus.”

Penelope raised both eyebrows. “While I’m unaware of what crimes you’ve committed to deserve a task of such nature, I trust that the goddess of revenge will deliver an appropriate punishment when the time is due.”

“Woman, your heart is really made out of stone,” said Antinous, once again incorporating. “You swear my mother was a dear friend of yours, close to your heart, and yet you turn away her son when he comes pleading on his knees for your help, not out of caprice, but following sacred commandments and fearing divine retribution. What kind of queen does that?”

“One that doesn’t hold any real power over her guards,” Penelope looked over to the door as if contemplating bolting out of the room at any time. “Do you know who's the captain of the guards?”

“No, why?”

“It’s Laertes,” Penelope said, and at Antinous's surprised expression, she elaborated. “He came back to the city after Anticlea passed away, but I’ve got the nagging suspicion that at any time he’s going to retire yet again to go live in his farm.”

Antinous scoffed. “If I were you I wouldn’t be so worried about him retiring but much more about him dropping dead any second now. Who even let that old man become a guard?”

“Don’t be rude, you’re talking of a past king,” Penelope chastised him. “And Laertes handles more the administrative aspect of being captain of the guards. Although…”

She sighed and cradled her arms, as if cold. “Being a palace guard is not a demanded job as it used to be before Odysseus sailed away. So, the few guards we have are overworked, and half of them are old enough to be my father, and the other half is around my son’s age. And most of them are at the disposal of the suitors.”

“All the more reason for me to become a guard,” said Antinous and Penelope's head snapped in his direction. “You want a strong, young, loyal man at your disposal, right?”

She grimaced and let her arms drop, “Not at my disposal, I already have in possession fifty female servants for that. I’m more worried about guests who come and go and whom my suitors have been rude to in the past. Can you imagine if a deity in disguise dined with them?”

“Yes, I can perfectly picture the shitshow,” he laughed, seeing in his head all of those painful and agonizing deaths. Before he got too distracted thinking about eyes popping out of eye sockets and rolling on the floor, he continued pitching his case. “But the thing is, whenever you want me or not, you have me at your service. And I won’t get tired of repeating myself, even if you don’t trust me now I can prove myself to you if you give me the chance.”

Penelope considered this and after a while, nodded in understanding. She turned to her maidens and spoke loudly, “Eurynome, Actoris, Melantho, Autonoe, all of you, leave me and my guest alone.”

They exchanged looks and one of them stepped forward, with determination. “My queen, please, I beg of you, don’t dismiss us, this man is—”

“I’m more than informed of who he is,” Penelope cut off the maiden. “And I wasn’t asking you, that was an order. However, don’t fret, it will be only for a moment.”

Penelope watched the maidens leave the room, the one who had spoken up was the last one to step out, and she glowered in murderous rage at Antinous. He could only roll his eye. Did that stupid slave girl really think Antinous would immediately try to rape the queen or stab her when he got a second alone with her? Just what type of shit had Eupeithes been saying in his absence about him?

When the women were gone, Penelope turned to him. “The sole reason the guards still listen to me is because I’m Laertes' daughter-in-law, but at the end of the day I’m powerless over them. Nonetheless, I can put out a…, well, not a good word for you, but a word so Laertes will give you a chance to join in.”

“A word it’s the only thing I need, thank you, I can do the rest,” said Antinous. He wondered why the queen had felt the need to kick out her maidens for such a tame interaction.

“Don’t thank me just yet, old as he may be, Laertes was a great warrior and hero back in his time. Do not expect him to go easy on you.” Penelope stepped forward, reaching and holding his hands on hers. Aside from the gesture itself, Antinous was more surprised that, instead of the softness and smoothness he was expecting from the queen, he felt thickened skin and calluses from her palms.

“Son of Eupithes, I don’t like nor trust you.”

Antinous nodded, “We’ve established that beforehand, yes, my memory is not defective.”

“Be silent and listen to me, I’m being serious and I won’t repeat myself.” Penelope looked him over, inspecting every inch of his body, and instead of the lust Antinous was so used to seeing in women and men when they just as much glanced his way, he could only detect barely contained irritation in the queen’s features. “If what you’re saying is true and the intentions of your heart are sincere, I ask of you that you see to it that my son makes it safe and sound to the day of his coronation. And despite my disapproval of your person, I can promise you this; if you stay loyal to me and to the prince, I will have you build a big house next to the palace, get you a most beautiful wife, have you regarded as a close and dear friend to the crown, and will gift you the most luxurious presents a man could want.”

“But only after the little prince becomes king, huh?” Antinous said after a while when it became apparent Penelope wasn’t going to continue speaking.

“While my son still has a long way to go before becoming king, he’s not so little anymore. But yes, that’s the deal I’m serving.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Antinous withdrew his hands, crossed his arms, and grinned. “Congratulations, dearest queen, you just got yourself a most valuable asset.”

“Lucky me,” Penelope said dryly. “You can see yourself out now, come back tomorrow when morning arrives. Laertes will test you then.”

He snorted. “What a proper way to tell me to get the fuck out of your house.”

“You did tell me you would obey my every order without objection.”

“Touché. In any event, if I don’t show my face tomorrow around here, consider me dead, Eupithes being the perpetrator, of course.”

“Don’t jest about that,” Penelope said, walking to the entrance. Antinous followed close behind.

“Who said I’m joking?”

She opened the wooden door in a quick swing, and four maidens fell over to the floor, toppling over each other. Penelope didn’t appear angry or amused, she almost seemed to be expecting her maidens to try to eavesdrop on the conversation. As the maids got up and apologized, the queen turned to him and said,

“I find it intriguing that despite your mindfulness of your father’s threat concerning your own safety, you all the same refuse to consider him a potential cause for your mother’s demise.”

“Eupeithes used to say that he could always make another child, but he had this obsession going on with my mother,” he eyed, hopefully not, for the last time, the pretty maiden who had served him wine. “Something about not letting his trophy go, and that extended to letting her go down Hades house.”

Penelope cursed under her breath and Antinous left it at that. Whilst making his way to Eupeithes house, he thought about the various sacrifices he would have to make to Nemesis, Ares, and Zeus in an attempt to placate them. If his father didn’t lend him any livestock to sacrifice, he already had devised a list of other men willing to give away one of their oxen, pigs, sheep, or goats.

Chapter Text

Antinous had just finished inhaling his midday meal when the queen called for him. 

Every day, three times a day for the last month, he had sat alone in the small room that was the guard’s headquarters, eating as fast as it was humanly possible without vomiting a cold, meager meal before pretty much sprinting back to his post. He was still on probation, and he wouldn’t let tardiness be the reason Laertes didn't officially employ him as a palace guard.

“Don't worry, I'll cover for you. But after you're done talking to the queen, come back to relieve me,” said the lanky guard who had come to their headquarters to inform him. Antinous had yet to learn the names of the other guards. He grunted a quick thanks and made his way to the queen's megaron. 

At this time of the day, almost everyone was feasting, so the halls were mostly empty except for a servant or two, who, upon seeing him, put as much distance as possible and started walking faster. Antinous paid them no mind, already having grown accustomed to that type of treatment. 

He didn't bother knocking and let himself in. At least once a week, the queen called for him and interrogated him about his progress on becoming a royal guard, if he had heard anything abnormal come out of the servants' mouths, and what the guards were thinking. She also asked Antinous about the suitors' activities and such things. 

“We ought to stop meeting like this, you know, alone,” Antinous said after closing the door behind him and taking off his oxhide helmet. “People are going to start thinking we are having an affair.”

“Greetings to you, too, son of Eupeithes. I hope this fine afternoon finds you well,” said Penelope dryly. She was facing away from him, staring at the unlit hearth with her hands behind her back. “No one is going to think that we're having an affair, but I'll take it into consideration for the next time we meet. Either way, we're not alone this time, as you’ve failed to notice.”

Antinous scanned the room, not spotting any servants. He then turned his head to the left side, where his blind spot was, and lo and behold, there was a young man sitting next to the door.

The unknown presence, who was covered from head to toe in gold and wore nothing but a purple exomis, glowered at Antinous like his life depended on it. Antinous didn’t recognize the stranger; however, he had an inkling suspicion of to whom the unfamiliar face belonged to, after all, a similar set of icy blue eyes loved to give him dirty looks as well. 

“Do you always address the queen with such rudeness?” Asked the young man, incorporating slowly and walking towards Antinous with the grace of a panther nearing its prey. 

“Only when her majesty allows me to,” Antinous smirked lewdly. “Which is more often than not, very often. If I didn’t know any better, I would assume she enjoys it.”

The young man's expression morphed, his handsome features quickly turning into an ugly grimace full of rage.

“Antinous, vile dog that you are,”  said the young man, getting all up on Antinous space. “I ought to skin you myself with my bronze and hang your corpse in the ports for your father to see. No man should dare to utter those words against my mother.”

Antinous quirked an eyebrow and looked down at the significantly shorter man, who was, undoubtedly, the prince of Ithaca. “Do that and Eupeithes will not only chase you to the end of the world in search of revenge, but will also make my death in the kingdom everyone else's problem.”

“Telemachus, step away,” Penelope commanded. Antinous turned his head to look at her. She was still standing next to the unlit hearth, and maybe his sight was deceiving him, but something akin to panic flickered in her face.

It took a second of distraction to give Telemachus the upper hand, and the next thing Antinous knew, he felt the unmistakable edge of a cold and sharp blade pressed against his throat.

The little, sad, pathetic excuse of a prince had the gall to pull a knife on him. He guessed it was a knife anyway, as he hadn’t seen a sword. 

Without turning his head, lest he get his throat sliced, he cursed himself too for letting his guard down. And as if that wasn't bad enough, Antinous happened to be facing away from his left side, basically leaving him without any view of the other man.

“Make one wrong move and you are done for,” he heard Telemachus snarl into his face, felt his proximity. 

“You would really risk starting a war over this, huh?” said Antinous. Weirdly enough,  he didn't feel fear. His heart wasn't beating any faster than it would while being stationed guarding an isolated part of the palace.  

Where the blade was only grazing before, now it pressed down further, making Antinous' skin break and sting. “Want to find out?” asked the prince. 

“Telemachus, stop it,” Penelope ordered, quickly approaching them. Regardless, the blade didn’t leave his throat. If anything, Antinous felt warm blood run down his throat, and the spot where the blade was pressed started going numb. 

He felt Telemachus lean even further, “If you don't apologize to my mother, I'll have your head on a spike and give your body to my dogs, you shameless, repugnant filth.”

Antinous, whose hands were still occupied with his helmet, gripped the oxhide tighter to ground himself and force himself not to wince or flinch away. He wasn't scared, but his body couldn't help but react to the perceived threat. If he wasn’t holding his helmet in both hands, maybe he could have tried disarming the prince.

He felt the blade disappear, and he could finally breathe normally again. 

Penelope was already next to them, but whatever words she was uttering fell on deaf ears to him. He couldn't even bring himself to tear away his gaze from Telemachus. The mixture of his freshly cut throat that throbbed in pain alongside the nauseatingly floral smell that emanated from the prince was making him slightly dizzy. 

“Telemachus,” Penelope warned for a third time, louder than before, her voice carrying the promise of a storm.  

Not leaning back, Telemachus mouthed the word ‘apologize’ . Staring straight into eyes, the color of a blue winter sky, Antinous said,

“O, daughter of champion Icarius, most prudent of queens in the history of all of Cephallenia and Lacedaemon combined, I implore that you reach deep down into your soul and find it in you to forgive me. I've caused offense to you, and for that I'm sorry, even though I'm not worthy of your forgiveness.”

“Despite my indignation, I will yield to your prayer,” Penelope inclined her head, and the pearls decorating her hair caught in the light. “For my heart is not made out of iron. However,  do not expect me to easily soften my spirit for you in the future, even if you surpass me in strength and courage, I am older than you and of greater descent.”

Telemachus finally had it in him to step back and stop being within punching range of Antinous. 

“Of course, your majesty, thank you,” said Antinous, forcing himself to sound polite. He switched his attention from the queen, who was now gazing at her son, to Telemachus, who was too focused on seething at Antinous to notice his mother’s inquisitive expression. This brat needs to be put in his place , he thought. 

When Antinous looked at Telemachus, he could only see Laertes, and when he saw Laertes, he thought about every single shitty thing the old man did to fuck with him. Making him run laps in the scorching heat of the summer, with no breaks or access to water until he passed out, making him do push up until he threw up, getting another guard to punch him the stomach and instructing him to not double over, make him fight the other guards with his bare hands while the others were geared up and equiped with weapons, leaving the other guards leftovers as his own meals. At this point he was convinced the prince's hunting dogs were better fed than him.

Antinous didn’t even know if Laertes cared about Telemachus; he had never seen the two interact, nor had he been aware of Laertes expressing any familial fondness towards the prince. Regardless, surely there must be at least some semblance of pride involved in having your first grandkid be born a male. And wouldn’t it be oh so delicious if Antinous got to beat the living shit out of Telemachus? Maybe that would wipe the smugness out of Laertes; it also would definitely make the old royal hate Antinous guts forever, but his eternal hatred was a burden Antinous was willing to carry as long as he got to cover Telemachus in blue and purple bruises and make him limp for days. Telemachus would really benefit from learning a lesson or two. Nemesis be damned.

“Although I must say, and my heart obliges me to do so,” Antinous spoke up, effectively snapping both royals' attention to him. “That I cannot stand idly by Prince Telemachus' threats. He promised to give me the most dishonorable death possible. But why throw insults at one another like cowards and women tend to do? Let’s fight like real men, either with weapons or with our bare hands.”

Without hesitation, Telemachus said, “I accept your challenge, but let us step outside into the courtyard, away from the queen’s gaze. It would be improper to let a woman of high and noble birth be witness to such acts of violence.”

More like, you don't wanna let your mommy see me wipe the ground with you, Antinous thought, Acts of violence? Motherfucker, weren’t you one step away from slicing my throat like a pig about to be sacrificed? Give me a break. 

“You’ve spoken according to the situation, prince, indeed, let us not waste any more time,” he stepped back and made for the doorway, but before he could even reach for the handle, the queen threw herself at the wooden door, effectively blocking the only exit to the room. 

Dropping all formalities and sense of decorum, Penelope addressed Antinous: “What are you doing?” Despite being wide-eyed, she didn’t sound angry or offended. Before Antinous even got the chance to open his mouth, the queen was talking again. 

“What are you doing?” Penelope repeated, her thin arms spread wide to the sides, as if that would help her cover the door better.  As if Antinous couldn’t easily pick her up and toss her aside, as if she wouldn’t weigh the same as a little girl's doll made of rags. “Last time I checked, you swore loyalty to me and to my son, and that includes not harming him. That also includes, if I were to forbid you from fighting him, you would have to obey.”

“Mother, please, be reasonable and move aside,” Telemachus said, stepping forward. “There’s no need to act dramatic. This isn’t a matter of loyalty. Besides, Lord Antinous and I don’t intend to fight to the death.”

“What words have come out of the fold of your teeth?” Penelope said. “You two ought to be ashamed of yourselves for this behavior. Being so quick to fight isn’t proper.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand the code of conduct for men, but since I’ve wounded this man’s pride, it is logical for this issue to be solved through violent means. There’s nothing indecent about it.”

“But it is completely unnecessary,” Penelope cried out, pressing her back harder against the door. “Antinous, son of Eupithes, if you have any lasting compassion for your mother, whose pain I shared, and for whom I shed many tears, then you ought to pity me. Both of you, do not add any more misery to my life by engaging in combat.”

“Do not try to discourage us by stepping so low and making us feel bad for you.”

When it became apparent that none would listen to her pleas and that neither Telemachus nor Antinous was being persuaded by her ways, Penelope very visibly switched tactics. She let her arms drop back to her sides, and the air of despair that previously clung to her disappeared instantly. Her semblance once again became cool and collected.

“What are the suitors to you?” asked Penelope out of nowhere, the question clearly directed towards her son.

“Enemies,” Telemachus replied without missing a beat. 

“And what do you do with enemies when you’re outnumbered and they outmatch you in force?” Penelope inquired. Antinous didn’t know when their interaction had turned into a lecture about military strategy, but he wasn’t complaining. Seeing the queen talk down to the prince like she was her War Tactics 101 tutor was the most interesting thing he had seen in a week. 

“You call for backup,” Telemachus said, sounding as if he was reciting something from memory, and Antinous got the feeling that this wasn’t the first time the queen and prince were having this conversation. 

“And if there’s no backup?” Penelope got off the door and started pacing around the room with her hands behind her back, as if she were strolling through the garden on a morning walk. 

“You can send in spies, figure out their weak spots, their next move. You put out a bait, create a distraction, then you strike, surprise being your strongest element.”

“But what happens when you can’t strike?” she said. “How do you win a war without fighting any battles when diplomacy is off the table?”

“...That’s not possible,” replied Telemachus after what felt like an eternity. 

Penelope stopped dead in her tracks and turned toward them, cocking her head to the side and narrowing her eyes, resembling an owl. “Yes, yes, it is. You’ve already mentioned how.”

Telemachus stayed quiet, and Antinous found he couldn’t stand the awkward stretch of silence, so against his better judgment, he spoke up. “Spies bring in information, and if you know your enemy, you’ll know how to divide them, literally and figuratively speaking, you make them turn against each other, raise paranoia. You’ll also know what type of things would lower their morale. And above all else, you cut out their resources.”

Penelope nodded, but didn’t seem satisfied just yet. “And if all of that fails?”

“You turn to deceit and trickery, like father did,” said Telemachus. 

“Correct. You can never let the enemy know what’s happening in your own army. You need to feign the opposite of what’s really going on.” She raised a hand and pointed at them. “You two, others shouldn’t be aware of your dispute. Only when you’re on good terms may you fight and quarrel in a violent manner, for now, I’ll only permit friendly sparring.”

Antinous couldn’t help but laugh, finding the order and overall exchange ridiculous. Lucky for him, his laugh came out sounding more like a wheeze, so it was easier to cover it up by coughing. 

“Do you happen to have any objections to that, Lord Antinous?” asked Penelope.

“None, my queen,” he said, a grin on his face. “Now, may I inquire your reasoning for calling for me?” Aside from wanting your spoiled spawn to assault me with a knife. The hurt in his throat wasn’t going anywhere soon, nor was the uncomfortable feeling of blood sticking to his skin. He wanted to get the interaction over with as quickly as possible, just give his daily report so he could go away already.

“Yes, you may. My son has a list of tasks that need to be attended to, and you'll be accompanying him today. Guard him and protect his person, if you will. That's all.” She turned to Telemachus. “Beloved heart, make sure to play nice now. We got to keep the council content,  but not too content.”

While a servant cleaned his wound and wrapped his throat in bandages with shaky hands —as if he would try to bite off their nose—, Antinous told Penelope about the other guard that momentarily took his place while he came to talk to her. The queen promised to send a maid to inform the guard. 

“Are we going to see the council?” asked Antinous when he and the prince stepped outside of the queen's megaron. Telemachus lost no time turning around and starting to walk down the hall. 

“No,” Telemachus said without turning to look back at him. 

Antinous fell in step with the prince.

“Then, what was all that talk about the council about?”

“We’re meeting with Lord Eurymachus.”

“Lord Polybus' son?”

Telemachus side-eyed him. “You know about him?”

“I grew up a lord in Ithaca, what d'you think, prince?”

“Ugh, you don't have to be a smartass about it. It was fair of me to ask. Lord Eupeithes doesn't strike me as the type to bother to give you a basic education. But what I mean to say is, have you met Lord Eurymachus before?”

Antinous let the stupid remark about his father pass. “Can't remember. I've definitely heard about him a couple of times, though, more so now that I'm back." 

“What’ve you heard?”

Antinous smiled stupidly and made sure to sound smug, “Something about Eurymachus being the best candidate for your mother. He's rich, well-liked by the other suitors, and he's got the whole council backing him up, plus, you know, the people would love to have a king who is native to Ithaca.”

Antinous thought for sure that that comment would guarantee a heated response, but to his utmost surprise, Telemachus stayed silent, only increasing his speed. Antinous let the prince lead the way, trailing his steps and following behind like a quiet shadow. When they were outside of the palace, four male servants and two other guards followed them, on the queen’s orders. A servant wrapped Telemachus in a red chlamys, and Antinous found it weird the lack of other clothes that would hide the royal's identity, as well as the minimal personnel. Back in Sparta, the few times when Princess Hermione had made a public appearance, a veil had covered her face at all times, and she was surrounded by enough soldiers bristling with weapons that it wasn’t far-fetched to believe they were all about to go to war. But he guessed not everyone could have a catalyst for a mother and whatever king Menelaus had become for a father, wherever those two had ended up. 

They walked amongst vibrant fields where cows were eating grass and staining their teeth with green, proceeding then to descend through a slightly steep pathway into the city. The road between the houses of the Ithacans was full of small pebbles and rocks scattered everywhere. Antinous spared a quick glance at the naked feet of the slaves accompanying them and thought that he would rather jump from a cliff than not wear footwear in public spaces. 

Pretty much every person they passed by turned their heads, contemplating the prince in pure shock as if a deity had manifested. If Antinous didn’t know any better, he would’ve guessed Telemachus hadn’t stepped outside of his house in years. No matter the reason, all the staring was putting him on edge, so he shortened the distance between their bodies, walking close enough to him so he would have time to divert an attack but far enough to not make the prince start bitching about it. 

It didn’t take them long to arrive at their destination, which ended up being the sailing ports. Antinous' stomach twisted with nausea when he understood where they were headed, but his nervousness quickly subsided when he couldn’t spot his father’s ship moored to its usual place, or nowhere, really. 

“He’s late,” Telemachus said to no one in particular. Their modest party stood alone at the end of a wooden dock, next to a small but insanely decorated ship.

Antinous looked around, no sight of a man rushing to them in sight, only sailors going on about their days. He felt sweat covering his back. The sun wasn’t relenting any time soon; if anything, the heat had increased, making Antinous crave the winter, to see again the tip of the mountains and valleys be cloaked in snow. For the first time in a month, he didn’t envy the other guards, who, as a symbol of their official status, wore armors made of bronze and carried weapons of the same material, unlike him, who was relegated to iron weapons and coverings of oxhide. 

Antinous picked a flat and oval-looking stone off the floor and tossed it into the water, where it skipped three times before sinking. Both the sea and the sky were smooth that day and seemed to stretch out endlessly, mixing two blues into an indistinguishable one. Except perhaps, the surface of the waveless ocean that captured the rays of the sun, the light glittering like diamonds that danced in and out of existence. He picked another stone, intending to make it skip four times this time, but a shrill voice stopped him.

“You’re supposed to do your job, you know? I don’t know if you’ve been informed, but that involves not fooling around.”

Antinous turned around to stare at the lovely sight of a bitchy prince glaring at him.

“I’m bored, hot, and hungry. Not the best condition for optimal performance, if you ask me.” Antinous said. “And we're literally waiting around for a man to show up; this scenario isn't exactly screaming danger. Why should I be on high alert?”

“Have you ever heard of something called acting professional? Royal guards have a prestigious image to uphold,” Telemachus said.  “And didn't you just eat?” 

“Does it ever kill you that men twice your age suck up to you?” Antinous changed the topic before the prince had the chance to rattle on. Many times now, he was subjected to listening to suitors discuss their interactions with the prince or to plan what they would say to him. It was nothing short of torture. Antinous couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would feel like to have to engage in a conversation with those idiots. “Because if I were your father’s age and had to suck up to you, that would kill me. It would kill me dead, prince.”

Telemachus looked at him like he was insane. Antinous said ‘ Catch! ’ before throwing the stone at Telemachus, who, despite his surprise, managed to get a hold of it, albeit with two hands. He heard a servant gasp in shock behind him, but ignored them. 

“You got good reflexes, prince,” he complimented, not really meaning it. “Tell me, are you better versed in throwing darts or spears?”

“I don't know anything about the art of fighting.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I do not jest, my lord.”

“Ugh, drop the formalities. It gives me the creeps coming from you.”

“Is there by any chance anything reprehensible in my manner of talking?”

“Aside from sounding fake coming from your mouth and not fitting you at all? No. But stop changing the topic, are you lying about not knowing how to fight?”

“No, I'm not. No one ever taught me. What would I even get out of lying about this?” 

Even if Telemachus had confirmed it a second time, Antinous, all the same, couldn't bring himself to believe it. He stared incredulously at the prince.

“I'm sorry, what do you mean , no one ever taught you?” He asked, accusatory, as if it was all Telemachus' fault. “When I was eight years old, my father began to train me formally, and by age twelve, I had already switched from wooden weapons to bronze ones. And I'm a minor lord. What the fuck have you been doing all these years if not learning how to fight and to train for combat?”

“My education has been focused on other areas, such as developing diplomatic skills, practicing writing down inventories, learning how economic transactions work from small to big scales, attending assemblies to listen to elders talk politics and discuss ethics, as well as memorizing and reciting poems.”

“Great, so you are well-versed in oral tradition and literally everything else that doesn’t actively require you to be there to get the thing done.” Antinous shook his head. “Everything you listed, you know you have other people employed to do it for you, right?”

"I all the same should all be aware of the basics. After all, how would I be able to recognize that my staff aren’t doing their jobs correctly if I don’t even know about the internal workings of their tasks?”

“Well, you got me there,” said Antinous, and his mind immediately went back to the revelation that Telemachus didn’t know the principles of physical skills expected of a warrior. Antinous was unable to wrap his head around it. It made no sense. “It is kind of messed up that you have never been formally trained for any type of combat, though.” Does his mother secretly hate him, or does he just get off being weak?

Telemachus looked down at his hand, where he was still holding the stone Antinous had tossed at him. “My mother has her reasons, although… I’ve never been one opposed to learning,” he said, and met his eyes. For a second, he thought the prince was going to chuck it at him, which would have been fine by Antinous; he had been dying for an excuse to sock the prince on the jaw all day. However, instead of that, Telemachus turned around and threw the stone into the water. 

It bounced off five times on the surface before sinking.  

…

Lord Eurymachus did end up arriving, with a torrent of apologies rolling off his mouth, as well as what felt like endless excuses and praises for the prince. Eurymachus all but ignored Antinous, and Antinous gave him the benefit of the doubt, preferring to believe that it was because the other lord didn’t recognize him due to the armour covering him, considering the alternative might have made him want to drive a blade through Eurymachus' eye.

The reason that Eurymachus had called for Telemachus there was to exhibit his acquired gifts, not only to the prince but also to the queen. To Telemachus, the present was the ship itself, and what lacked in size it compensated for in speed. And inside the vessel lay the courtship offerings intended for Penelope: peplos, mantles, tapestries, tunics, talents of gold, tripods, and cauldrons. 

Eurymachus then insisted —more like, harassed— on accompanying the prince to his daily duties, and that he did. Antinous got stuck babysitting both of them while one palace guard stayed watching over the ship, while the other accompanied the servants back to the palace, so they could carry and store the gifts safely. For the rest of the day, Antinous had the displeasure of having first row seats to Telemeachus' shitty diplomatic skills and Eurymachus' even shittier conversation starters be displayed in front of him, in all their glory. They went to the agora to hear other men debate philosophy and discuss political issues. When Penelope got brough up and Telemachus inevitably got pissy and threw a hissy fit, Antinous grabbed the prince by the arm and forcefully dragged him away before he could embarrass himself further. The three of them went to find some food, which resulted in Eurymachus buying a whole bull like it was nothing. Antinous, for his part, stayed mostly silent during their interactions, or that’s what he was trying to do anyway. However, Euryamachus and Telemachus made it very hard at times, for example, none of the dumbasses knew how to kill a bull, let alone how to properly skin it or cook it.

“Future ruler, my arse, neither of you is fit to become a king,” Antinous complained under his breath, while handing out fried casings of equal measures. “It’s basic hunting skills…no, never mind that. It's basic survival skills. Honest to the gods, if you two got lost in a forest, you wouldn’t last a day.”

When they were finished eating, they went back to the agora to listen to a guy shout the news from neighbouring kingdoms and faraway lands. It didn’t take long for Telemachus to once again enter a dispute over one of his parents, this time being about the possible whereabouts of Odysseus. 

Antinous was starting to believe that maybe the prince did have a thing for humiliation.

“She’s testing you, my mother. You are aware of that fact, yes? That she’s testing you?” Telemachus told him once they were back in the palace. Somehow, someway, he’d managed to get rid of Eurymachus under the pretense that ‘ it isn’t proper for suitors to be in the upper floor, since the queen’s chambers are located there”. 

“I gathered that much,” confessed Antinous. It had been a long day, and he was tired. After they left the agora, Antinous still had to trudge after the prince, who came and went around the palace, checking different clay tablets to make sure the recorded goods matched their physical products. “But I wonder, what would compel you to disclose information of that nature?”

Telemachus shrugged one shoulder. They were standing alone in the royal hall, the prince’s chamber door was open, and the thick walls surrounding them made it feel as if they were the only people in the world. If Antinous had been drunk, he would have found it suffocating and depressing. 

“Would you have really done it?” Antinous asked. When the prince turned his attention to him, Antinous made a slashing gesture with his thumb across his neck. “Would you have really killed me?”

Telemachus looked up at him, inspecting him. “What do you think?”

Antinous crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame, effectively invading, not for the first time that day, Telemachus’s space.

I think you’re full of shit. “I’ve seen men murder other men in the most gruesome forms, I’ve taken my fair share of lives, and I think you’re all bark and no bite.” 

“Guess you’ll have to wait and find out,” Telemachus said, stepping back and slamming his bedroom door wide shut.

“Goodnight to you, too, asshole,” Antinous spoke before leaving. Man, he could really go for a cup of wine. In a single afternoon, Telemachus had revealed to him his weak spot. Really, whatever he had imagined the Prince of Ithaca to be, this hadn't been it. The only thing Antinous did was incite him to attack, and just like a wolf, Telemachus had gone straight for the neck, ready to kill. And while Antinous didn’t believe that the prince had the balls to go through with his threats, he also knew that a wolf pup didn’t stay incapable of killing forever.