Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first light of dawn slipped into the room, casting golden stripes across the stone floor. Outside, the waves softly beat against the cliffs of Ithaca. Inside their room, the air was still, heavy with silence.

Penelope pulled Odysseus into an embrace, holding him as if it would slow time. Her cheek pressed into his shoulder, her fingers gripping the back of his tunic tightly.

They were still young.

Penelope’s long hair spilled down her back in a deep brown. Her skin was still untouched by time or worry. Not yet, at least. Her eyes, fierce with passion, always said more than what she spoke aloud. And Odysseus, barely in his twenties, was still coming into his own as a man: His tall stature, broad shoulders, and a beard that hadn’t begun to gray. His armor, lit by the warm sun at the other end of the room, gleamed as if it had never seen war.

Penelope looked into Odysseus’s eyes. Her voice hitched but she refused to cry. “I wish you didn’t have to leave.”

Odysseus gently pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes. “I know,” he comforted her. “But the sea can never keep me away from you.” His words were soft, but they struck like a promise he couldn’t keep.

He turned to the nest of furs to see Telemachus, barely a year old, just beginning to wake up. Tufts of light, curly brown hair were lit by the sun. He stared up at Odysseus with wide, curious eyes. Odysseus crouched down and kissed his forehead, lingering for a moment.

“Telemachus, I’ll be back before you know I’m gone.”

Penelope knelt beside them, reaching for Telemachus’s hand. Her fingers trembled slightly as they curled around his small and soft hands. Her voice wavered. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to rule Ithaca alone,” she admitted.

Odysseus brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re stronger than you know,” he assured her. “Ithaca is safe in your hands.”

He cradled her face with both hands, tracing the curve of her cheek. One tear slipped down Penelope’s face and his thumb wiped it away. For a heartbeat, the world was still—the cries of the seagulls, the rustling leaves, even the ocean, waiting with them.

The family lay together, living in the silence.

Then came a knock that broke the silence. A soft voice followed. “Captain,” Polites stood at the doorway, his eyes lowered. “It’s time.”

Odysseus nodded and slowly rose from the bed. His eyes lingered on Penelope, then dropped to Telemachus. The life they’d built together was forced to be left behind. “Take care of him,” he said, barely above a whisper.

He reached for his helmet. The bronze was cold against his skin as he slid it over his head. It took away the warmth in the room. When he leaned in for one last farewell, Telemachus reached up his hand to brush the helmet in wonder. The contrast was striking: The cold bronze, and the warm, curious hand of a child who didn’t understand war yet.

Penelope watched, her heart aching. She studied Odysseus’s face, desperate to memorize every detail. The familiar lines, the scar on his brow, and the quiet strength in his smile. She drank the image in as if it was the last time she ever would.

Then, her head bowed and the tears came.

Odysseus caught her as she crumbled into him. He held her close, steadying her as she trembled. She buried her face in his shoulder, clinging to the man she was forced to let go. Neither spoke. The silence between them said everything—the years they’d miss, the battles he’d face, and the child who’d grow up without his father.

She pulled away, still trembling. Between sobs, she whispered her final goodbye.

“I’ll be waiting.”

Chapter Text

The sharp clash of bronze rang through the air as the swords crashed against each other. The noise echoed throughout the sun-warmed courtyard. Dust lifted around their boots with every step, kicked up during the heat of the intense sparring match. Telemachus swung his sword with practiced precision. Parry, spin, lunge—the movements were automatic, guided by muscle memory from training all these years. He panted heavily as sweat trickled down his face under the scorching sun. He took a step back, grounding himself before his next attack. Amphinomus smirked, beads of sweat rolling down his face. He took an impulsive move and lunged towards Telemachus, aiming for his shoulder. Telemachus sidestepped and struck Amphinomus’s side.

Cheers emerged from the sidelines from suitors drinking and lounging besides the arena. The scrawny Eurymachus announced the score. “That’s nine to two,” He bantered. “Little prince, you are on fire today!”

Telemachus ran his fingers through his hair, feeling the built-up sweat. They reset. He got into his starting position, squinting his eyes at the sun. Amphinomus stretched his arms, getting ready for their next match. The opponents started to circle, hoping to find an opening for an attack. Amphinomus gripped the sword with confidence, swinging with flourishes. Telemachus stood on guard, ready for any attack. “You’re faster than you look,” Amphinomus jeered. “Too bad you can’t avoid this!” Amphinomus stepped forward and swung at Telemachus’s head. He ducked, avoiding the attack. Telemachus attacked back, and the blunt edge of his blade hit against Amphinomus’s shield. Their swords momentarily locked together. Telemachus spun and struck, disarming his opponent.

"Amphinomus, losing ten to two." Eurymachus mocked his friend. "This is a new low, even for you."

Amphinomus exhaled dramatically and shoved Eurymachus aside. "Come on, the prince has earned this win with all of his training."

Telemachus gave Amphinomus a slight smile as he brushed the dirt from his pants, regaining his composure. His arms ached and sweat clung to his skin, but he felt alive. These moments lifted him from his despondence, making the world feel vibrant and full of light.

Amphinomus approached, his grin illuminated in the afternoon sun. "Great job, champ," he said, voice rough from exertion. He patted Telemachus on the back. "Keep this up, and you'll be known as a legend!"

Telemachus flinched away from Amphinomus’s touch, caving inwards. There was a flicker of silence between them. “Like my father,” He muttered. “The man who left us twenty years ago?”

He turned away and sat under the shade at the edge of the yard. The cool stone of the pillar pressed against his back. From here, he could see the edge of the sea beyond the olive trees, glittering.

All of the stories talked about Odysseus as if he were a god. As if he might return any day now, bringing glory and legacy. But Telemachus didn’t see a god when he closed his eyes. He saw a ghost. A father-shaped hole in every room.

What kind of legend doesn’t come home?

He leaned his head back and squinted his eyes at the sunlight. The world felt too bright. Too loud. The war had ended long ago, but it was still dragging families apart. Time had moved like a wave, swift and cruel.

And Telemachus had been left in its wake.

The courtyard was quiet now, bathed by the soft golden glow of the descending sun. The heat of the day was fading, but the stone pillars still held warmth. It was nearly empty, save for the soft hum of insects and the gentle rustle of wind through olive branches. Footsteps approached. Familiar ones. He didn’t have to look up.

“Hey,” Amphinomus called to Telemachus. “You’ll blind yourself if you keep staring at the sun like that.” Telemachus didn’t look away.

“You’ve been out here all day,” Amphinomus continued, settling besides him and stretching out his legs. “Longer than usual.” Telemachus didn’t answer right away. His gaze shifted from the sky to the distant shimmer of the sea. “It passes the time.”

“Training for something?”

“Something.” Telemachus pressed against the pillar in an exhale. “I just don’t know what.”

Amphinomus nodded slowly. “Fair enough.”

He waited, then said gently, “You want to tell me what’s wrong?”

Telemachus started to open his mouth, but decided against it. He shook his head. “No.”

“Alright”

He sat beside him without another word, letting the silence settle between them. That was something Telemachus appreciated. Amphinomus didn’t pry into his thoughts like the others. He didn’t try to talk him into drinking or act like he’s just a child. He simply listened.

The cicadas buzzed in the trees. Somewhere far off, a seagull cried as it glided over the water. The breeze ruffled their hair, bringing with it the scent of salty ocean water.

Telemachus sighed, “They all keep talking about him like he’s coming back.” He put his head in his hands, struggling to find the words. “Like the world’s just waiting for Odysseus to show up and fix everything.”

“They’ve never known anything else,” Amphinomus said. “It’s easier to believe in his return than to accept his absence.”

“But I don’t see a hero when I think of him,” His voice was quiet but with strength and passion built up. Telemachus’s face was tilted towards the sinking sun, unreadable between light and shadow. “Not even a man. Just… space. An empty throne. Unanswered prayers. A voice I don’t even remember.”

“It’s not your fault,” Amphinomus said.

“Then why does it feel like it is?”

Amphinomus didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

“They don’t see me either,” Telemachus added after a moment. “I’m just the shadow of someone who might come back. But I’m never enough to be my own person.”

The wind stirred the leaves above, soft and mournful. Amphinomus shifted slightly, his gaze set on the horizon.

“When my father died, people told me stories to make me feel better,” he sighed. “They said he died bravely. That I should be proud.” He glanced over at Telemachus. “None of those stories made the house feel any less quiet.”

Telemachus nodded slowly. “It’s like he died before I was even born. Like he was never real to me… not really. Just a name people use as a shield.”

Amphinomus paused. He didn’t laugh or deflect like the others might have. Instead, he steadied his voice. “Then be the kind of man he should’ve come home for.”

Telemachus turned to him. His mouth parted, but the words didn’t come.

“That’s not easy…” He finally said.

“No. But I’ve never seen you take the easy way.”

Telemachus’s lips pulled upwards in a quiet smile. He looked back to the sea. “Thanks,” he said.

Amphinomus just leaned back against the pillar, watching the olive branches sway overhead.

They stayed there as the light disappeared, two figures framed by the sun and shadows.

The dining hall reeked of wine and smoke, the stench of roasted goat clinging to the air. Dishes clattered against the wood. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, and already the suitors were deep into their feast, their voices rising in carless, overlapping waves.

Telemachus stepped into the hall and paused. The light from the tall windows cast the entire room in a golden, flickering glow. Laughter roared around him like thunder. It felt like the noise attacked him. He moved to his usual place near the edge of the long table, where the firelight didn’t quite reach him. He sat in silence, and none of the suitors noticed.

“Gods, Melanthius,” Eurymachus barked, slapping the goatherd on the back with a greasy hand. “Are you feeding your pigs better than your women these days? They look cleaner, at least!”

Melanthius wheezed with laughter, wiping wine that dripped down his chin. “You should know, Eurymachus, you’ve had a taste of both!”

All of the suitors roared. Cups slammed onto the table in laughter. One suitors spilled wine across the wood table, and a servant girl scrambled to clean it before anyone noticed.

Antinous leaned back in his seat, his tunic lazily left open. His feet were carelessly kicked up onto the table. “Say what you will,” he said drunkenly, “But I’d take a pig over Penelope any day. At least pigs don’t make you wait twenty years.”

Telemachus didn’t move. He kept his gaze forward, with his hands still politely in his lap. But his jaw clamped down, tight.

Eurymachus leaned to the side to catch Telemachus’s eye. “You hear that, prince? Don’t worry. When your mother finally chooses a man, we’ll be sure to let you sit at the grown-up’s table.”

Antinous chuckled darkly. “Assuming he can keep his sword pointed the right way by then. You’ve been training a lot lately, haven’t you, Telemachus? Hopping daddy shows up and treats you like a real soldier?”

Melanthius leaned in, too close, too loudly. “Maybe he’s practicing so he can protect the queen.” He laughed in Telemachus’s face. “We’ll make sure you have a difficult time with that.”

Telemachus stood slowly. The laughter dulled. Amphinomus, sitting farther down the table, looked up with concern pained on his face. As he walked over, the suitors stared at Telemachus, waiting to see what he’ll do.

But Telemachus only poured himself a small glass of wine, then returned to his seat. As he sipped his drink, his gaze shifted to the far wall, to the old tapestry od Odysseus sailing toward Troy. Twenty years of dust dulled its color.

“You train more than the rest of us combined,” Amphinomus said quietly, almost an afterthought. He wasn’t mocking. Just observing.

Telemachus didn’t look at him. “I have to be ready,” he said.

Antinous furrowed his eyebrows. “Ready for what?”

He didn’t answer.

A suitor knocked a tray onto the ground, causing another burst of laughter that cut the moment short. One of the younger girls, barely older than Telemachus himself, flinched as Eurymachus yanked her by the wrist, demanding more wine.

“Oh, I’m not done with you,” he said, teeth bared in a savage grin.

“She isn’t a toy, Eurymachus,” Amphinomus called, bringing power with his voice.

Eurymachus rolled his eyes but let go. The girl backed away quickly, still shaking.

Antinous raised his cup. “A toast,” he chanted. “To Odysseus! Wherever the sea took him. Let him rot there. We’ve made Ithaca much more entertaining without him.”

Cheers rang out from the suitors, heavy and overbearing. Telemachus stared into his cup. His knuckled started to whiten from his grip. A shriek went across the hall. One of the servants had spilled a jug of wine. The red liquid splashed onto the floor like blood. Melanthius shouted something vulgar, and several suitors joined in with cruel laughter.

The girl turned and ran, vanishing into the other corridor.

The noise started to build like a storm. Someone overturned a chair. Eurymachus and another suitor began wrestling, knocking plates off the table. Antinous grabbed a torch and lit it with the heat from the fireplace. He waved it through the air and shouted a poem, half-drunk.

Telemachus stood again. His heart pounded. His brain wanted to crawl out of his body. He wanted to scream. To fight. To flee.

And then the hall fell silent.

Penelope stood in the doorway. Her black hair was braided back with a pale blue robe. But there was nothing soft in her expression. Her eyes cut sharper than any blade Telemachus had ever held.

No one moved. Even Antinous lowered the torch.

“Enough”

One word. That was all. The fire crackled. Somewhere, a cup dripped wine onto the floor. “If you have so little respect for this house,” Penelope said, stepping into the room with slow but royal grace. “Then you may find your meals elsewhere.”

No one dared to answer. She turned her gaze to Telemachus, just for a moment. There was understanding there. He said nothing. He didn’t need to.

The wave had broken.