Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The servants were taking the painting down. 

Telemachus watched across the hall from where they worked, sitting with his hands around the knees pressed to his chest. Argos lazily slept beside him, his head pressed against his feet while the rest of his body curled around Telemachus. His tail thumped against the ground as sleep kept his weary soul. 

Two women, attendants that have served Mother all his life, were carefully picking at the edges of the wooden panels of the painting where Mother and Odysseus and him as a little baby were kept together through pigments and direction, held together with serious faces and color that was bright and extravagant. 

Ever since Odysseus returned, the hatred for the painting had increased throughout the palace. Telemachus knew how much he despised it because every single time they would go into the throne room, he would eye that portrait as if it had destroyed his entire life. And so, he ordered it to be taken away, leaving the walls barren without its embrace.

Odysseus didn't understand how much Telemachus liked that painting. He didn't say anything about it this morning while they were having breakfast, because Mother had agreed that keeping the painting that had been outdated since the moment Telemachus began to walk, was a waste of a good wall. And, she agreed, that they should commission another painter to come and paint a new one. And when the two of them agreed on something, it meant that Telemachus had no chance in arguing against it.

When Odysseus was fighting in Troy, Telemachus used to sit under the painting and talk to it, all day long, imagining that his father was really there and listening to every word he was saying. He would always sit under the painting' line of sight and talk and talk and talk until he got too tired of talking or the servants called him for lunch, to which he would immediately run back upon quickly finishing lunch only to talk again. Eventually he got bored talking to a man who would never respond and Telemachus went about his day, still coming back to greet the portrait whenever he wished. 

And now he felt so strange watching them tear it down as if it was a useless thing, a painting made by a cursed hand, catching only wrong angles and making the king and the queen look worse than what they actually were. Telemachus didn't understand how such hatred could be established to something that held so much memory.

It was something he thought about a lot lately.  

During the past week, Telemachus had been ill. 

His escape into the sea had worse consequences than he could imagine. He had spent the past seven days being unable to leave his room because Mother told him it was his punishment for staying out so late and going somewhere without her permission. He nearly died of boredom in that room all together. Even on the seventh day, when his sickness was mostly gone, she still didn't let him go out to play. It was only with Odysseus' coaxing, his gentle words laced with honey, that Mother yielded and gave him his freedom. 

Odysseus was a strange man. After he had saved Telemachus from that horrible day, he didn't really know what to feel. Their conversation settled the remainder of his anger hidden within his belly but after his anger, there was only silence, a void that was now left open and hollow. There were no arguments anymore, no annoyances, but no improvements either. 

The only thing that they had managed to do is teach Argos that one trick Odysseus never managed. 

It took the whole week. When Mother was safely out of the way, he would climb out of bed and jump around his bedroom and clap his hands all over to teach Argos the trick. Odysseus put his fingers in his mouth and made a sharp sound, to which Argos immediately sat straight and his attention was gained (Telemachus was still trying to learn that whistle. He just needed to know how to do it.) 

It had been trial and error. They couldn't understand why Argos wasn't getting it. The trick had been a simple thing, a turn around and then a lying down, a roll across the room. Telemachus had taught Argos the steps and rolled him across the floor but Argos only saw it as a game and so he kept licking Telemachus' face whenever he attempted to roll him. 

Then at the end of the week, Odysseus gave a command and Argos finally did the trick. 

He grinned at Telemachus when he began to shout and scream in joy and Argos became so happy he jumped in the air and tackled Telemachus, licking his face while Telemachus was trying to hug his friend. He had more than forgiven Argos for all that he had done during the last couple weeks since Odysseus had returned, after they had a long conversation which ended in a hug and a few licks. 

They had awoken most of the palace at that point and Mother came in like a storm, witnessing Telemachus' squealing figure under the weight of Argos' paws, out of bed with the last traces of sickness on him. Mother would have made him stay in his bed for another week had Odysseus not spoken those words to her and for that he was glad. 

Now the painting was being ripped and Telemachus felt like he was being torn in half. 

He heard a soft voice call his name and he turned his head to see Odysseus walking towards him, his arms full of scrolls and clay tablets. Argos immediately lifted his head when he heard the sound of Odysseus' voice, and he ran to him, which stung Telemachus but he knew he would just have to live with it from now on.

Argos came all around Odysseus, panting and moving his tail up and down and up again and again but the excitement in this reaction couldn't take Odysseus' eyes off of Telemachus. He looked rather worried and Telemachus had begun to fear he had done something wrong to result in such a worried look. He wracked his mind for something he could have done, but nothing came to mind, and Odysseus was approaching, and he was forming an apology on the tip of his tongue when Odysseus came before him, left all his things on the ground, and reached towards him. 

"What are you doing on the floor, my love, you'll catch another cold," Odysseus said, and he placed his hand on Telemachus' forehead before bringing his hand through his hair. He came forward and touched the sides of his face, pressing a firm kiss on the top of his head before he retreated and looked down at Telemachus with the same worried look. 

Telemachus frowned, "I was only watching."

"Watching what?" Odysseus turned his head. He was completely blocking Telemachus' view of the painting and so he had to extend his head to the right to continue watching the maids tear the painting off of the walls. Argos panted beside them, his tail moving frantically. 

He turned his head back a few moments later and his eyes looked sharp with worry, more so than before. Telemachus remembered when he was afraid of those eyes, so full of monstrous looks, peering through his very soul knowing everything all at once. They were still sort of like that but they weren't as scary as they were before.

Telemachus doesn't know how he was ever scared of them in the first place. 

When his eyes went back to Odysseus, he smiled at him, "Come on. Dinner's ready."

He slowly stood again and collected all of his things in one arm, all his scrolls and clay tablets, leaving another hand free. He extended it to Telemachus and he watched for a moment how heavy his hands looked. They were creased beyond repair, but Mother said they were from days of only throwing spears and stones at foreign men. 

Telemachus reached out his own hand, so small by comparison, and placed it into Odysseus' own. 

With little strength, he pulled Telemachus up and he managed to bump his head on the side of his thigh. He made a sound from his mouth and Odysseus' hand came to his hair at an instant, fingers combing through it to keep him close, "Are you alright, my love?" 

Argos barked beside them. Telemachus looked up and saw that there was even more worry flashing in his eyes, and he felt the shame loop down in his stomach below. He slowly hung his head and nodded so he would have to avoid his eyes once again. Odysseus offered his hand and Telemachus took it again. 

He has had a lot of conversations with Mother about situations like these. That Telemachus is allowed to make mistakes and Telemachus shouldn't be ashamed of making them, especially in-front of Odysseus, who will love him through absolutely anything. Mother constantly reminded him that he knew Telemachus when he was a baby, he went to war just so he could come home, he did everything he could in order to stay for them, for him and then when the ruse was up he did everything in his power to come back.

Telemachus could do something horrible and Odysseus would never love him any less.  

And Telemachus believed her, sort of. He wanted to believe her, that was true, but he still felt so silly whenever he spoke to Odysseus. He felt like he was a monster with two heads, constantly talking to one another, tripping over his own two feet and acting like a complete fool. He's never like this with Mother. With Mother, he's funny and he's confident but with Odysseus, he's a complete idiot. 

"Did your Mother tell you about the feast tomorrow?" Odysseus' voice came from above, dipped into a soft tone. 

Telemachus nodded. It was all the palace was talking about. It was one of the reasons they took down the painting.

A feast to honor Lady Athena, with dancing and celebration and music. All of Ithaca and all of the surrounding states will be there, including Auntie and Eurylochus, which Telemachus was happy about because he hadn't seen either of them in such a long time. 

"Why aren't we doing it today?" Telemachus asked, watching his step. "It's not rainy. Mother said the prophets foresaw good weather for the next week."

Summer was ending. Soon Lady Persephone would return to the underworld and her mother, Demeter, would fall into her grief, over and over again, relinquishing life from the flowers and the trees. Soon there will be cold and there will be the death of the sun and its warmth until she would return, to her mother's longing arms, and the warmth would begin again. 

Telemachus wasn't really fond of the winter months because the cold meant that Mother would call his tutors and Telemachus would begin his lessons all over again. He wouldn't be able to play as much as he did before because all the fishermen would be spending their time indoors and all the farmers would retreat early to their hearts and Telemachus would be without anyone again. Not to mention his lessons, which tax most of his time away from playing.  

Odysseus chuckled, smoothing his thumb over Telemachus' hand in round circles, "Yes, that's true. But Pallas Athena prefers the feast to come tomorrow."

Telemachus looked at him and in the same moment, Odysseus' eyes met his. Athena was Odysseus' mentor. He used to train with a goddess, a real goddess, and she guided him through Troy and brought ideas into his mind and discussed things with him as if they were old friends. The goddess had been touched by Odysseus' mind, this Odysseus, the one holding his hand right now, and she had told him so many things. She didn't need to send an omen. She only needed to tell him. 

The shock must have been evident on his face because Odysseus began to laugh. He squeezed Telemachus' hand as they walked past the first hall, "Oh, my love. How I've missed you."

"But you never really knew me," Telemachus mumbled, and his voice was smaller than he'd wanted it to be. 

Odysseus' laughter fell to a smile, one kept on his face despite the sorrow that had begun to pool in his eyes. He continued his circles on his hand and his voice became soft again, "Yes, I know. But I've always wanted this."

"To be home?"

"No. To be here, with you and your Mother."

Telemachus frowned and his hand hung limp in Odysseus' grip, "Why would you want to be here when you could be anywhere else?"

"Because you and your Mother are here. And all my favorite things are here. The sun rises differently on Troy and on Ithaca. The air feels sweeter here, somehow. I like the grass and the goats, I like the way the sea comes against the rocks. It's a lot different here than it is in somewhere like Troy, where everything feels so foreign and far away. Here, I am home. Anywhere else I would be a wandering man," There came his sweet reply, words mixed with honey.

He only ever spoke like that to Mother and once to him during that conversation they shared, where they were finally honest to each-other for once. 

Telemachus frowned, the feelings in his chest not settled. He felt like they were coming upon him again like an arm of the sea, waves crashing above him. Odysseus was a son of thoughts, his mentor was Athena, goddess of wisdom and Mother, she was also favored by Athena because she was smart and cunning and she could weave better than any weaver in the world. And then there was Telemachus, who fell into his father's leg when he tried to pull him up. Telemachus, who still waited for his mother to come and tuck him into bed so he could sleep properly and comfortably. 

Mother used to say that things fell into place when somebody grew just a bit older. Things that didn't make sense slowly come together, scattered opinions and strange questions slowly gather and are answered by the world. He hoped the same happened to him, when he was older. That somehow, he would be able to find himself through the earth and the sea. 

They passed by a servant who offered the two of them a small smile and the pair went forward, little conversation passing through them. When they approached the great hall, Odysseus stepped forward and brought Telemachus with him, hands gripping tighter on his own hand and all the things in his arms. 

Telemachus walked in and saw Mother sitting at her normal seat on the table, ahead of where Telemachus usually sat. Before Odysseus came, they didn't really need much of a large table or lots of seats, though Mother said that the original table was never so big anyway. Ithaca was small and didn't usually receive many guests, save for the islands of Cephalonia. 

Grandma sat right next to her, holding a glass in her hand and keeping her chatter present, like a bird, telling her stories to Mother. Grandpa sat right opposite the two of them, his fingers lightly resting in the space between his plate and the edge of the table, his white beard falling against his chin. 

Grandpa and Grandma had been spending some time in Zacynthus, in the countryside with a few old friends. Somehow, though Telemachus couldn't really understand how, the news that Troy had been burned came to them late and in a hurry, they took their things and stepped on a ship straight home. They had arrived a few days into Telemachus' sickness and came into his room in a hurry, pinching his cheeks and pressing kisses into his forehead, ruffling his hair, until Mother told them to step back for fear that they might catch the illness too. 

Telemachus really liked Grandma, though she was always telling stories and making up lessons, just like Eurycleia. But Grandpa had more humor in him, and his stories were far better than Grandma's, though he didn't want to say this because he knew that it would hurt Grandma's feelings. Grandpa's stories were of the sea, of heroic men, of tales that sound like waves and taste like salt. Grandma's stories usually involved Odysseus of some kind, and were only really good when Telemachus was feeling particularly lonely.

One of the servants was pouring sweet wine for Grandpa, a dark grape falling into his cup with a plop. Grandpa frowned but he didn't say anything and instead lifted his head to thank the girl before she went off in a hurry. The meat had been cut and portions had been put on their plates but nobody was eating, too stuck in their own conversation. 

It was Grandpa that noticed them first. 

"There they are!" He grinned, his voice old and weary. "My two sons!"

Telemachus giggled and Odysseus began to smile as Grandpa turned in his chair and opened his arms. Grandma and Mother stopped their conversation to turn their heads at the two of them and watch Telemachus rush over to Grandpa and fall into his arms. Grandpa laughed and ruffled his hair with his calloused hand, weary from the sea. He lifted him onto his lap and sat him there. 

"I was beginning to worry about you!" Grandpa grinned, kissing his forehead. "Come, quickly! The food's getting cold! Are you hungry? You should be. Unless you've been sneaking snacks from the kitchen and I don't know about it!"

Telemachus giggled. 

Grandpa raised an eyebrow, his eyes going wide. His lips curled into a smile, "You have, haven't you?"

"No!" Telemachus giggled. "I didn't eat any snacks."

Grandpa narrowed his eyes, his smile lifting to a grin, "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" Telemachus laughed, pressing his hands against Grandpa's chest. 

Grandpa took them and kissed his palms before leaning closer towards him in a whisper, "Well... If you ever do go to eat some snacks, you will tell me, won't you?"

"Grandpa!" Grandma called and the two of them turned to look at her. She was dressed in one of her nicer dresses, though Telemachus didn't really know why because it wasn't as if they were seeing anyone tonight. She was also wearing the earrings that Grandpa had given her when he was really little. They flashed and sparkled as she moved her head. She inclined her head to the side, "The two of you aren't keeping secrets there, are you?"

"But of course not!" Grandpa said and then looked down at Telemachus and winked. Telemachus began to giggle again and Grandpa pressed another kiss onto his forehead, "My beautiful boy."

Then came another voice.

"No hug for mama?"

Telemachus turned his head and saw Mother staring at him with so much warmth in her eyes it seemed as if somebody had made a fire there and put their hands so close to the flames that they could feel it against their fingers, warming them from the cold. Odysseus stood beside her, a hand on her shoulder.

Telemachus grinned and slipped from Grandpa's arms and went over around the other side of the table to go to Mother. 

He went into her waiting arms and she pulled him close to her chest and kissed the crown of his head as he pressed himself against her chest. 

"I haven't seen you since breakfast," Mother hummed, putting her hand in his hair and dragging her fingers through it. She was always so busy, what with the council and the men, keeping Ithaca afloat for ten years. Now that Odysseus had returned, her work load lessened, though she was still always so busy with work. She found his chin and lifted his head to look at her. Telemachus really liked Mother's eyes, because they were so rich and so full of something, lingering at the corners of the color like the soft currents of the sea. "You are feeling better, yes?"

Telemachus looked at her, "Mama, I got better weeks ago."

Mother smiled and kissed his forehead, "Just making sure, my love."

"By the gods, Odysseus, why are you carrying so many things?" Grandma said, looking up at Odysseus. "We've been waiting here to eat while you've been off at work! And now you've decided to collect every record and every tablet on all of Sunny Ithaca!"

Telemachus laughed at her exaggeration while Odysseus met his eyes. He began to grin, looking back at her, "These are things from the council, Mother. I'll simply take them to my room-"

"Oh no you don't. Sit down right now," Grandma said. "The rest of us have been waiting for hours!"

"Hours? Why, I've only heard word of dinner for the last ten minutes."

Grandma stared at him and Telemachus couldn't help himself. He laughed, almost falling on his back but caught by his Mother's arms and earning a startled sound from her, which made her start laughing too. The two of them had infected each-other with their giggles and so Odysseus grin widened while a deep frown etched onto Grandma's face. 

"It's not funny! The meat's getting cold." 

Grandpa began to giggle too, "So are you worrying about the boy or the meat?"

"Oh- You! Twisting my words!" Grandma snapped, which made Grandpa's laughter louder than before. 

Mother lifted her head and laughed, "Go, my love, leave your things and return. Don't make us wait too long."

Odysseus lowered his head and met her lips in a quick kiss, "I'll be back in a moment. Don't strain yourselves too hard!"

"What are you implying, wretch?" Grandpa yelled at his back as Odysseus placed another kiss on Mother's forehead before he walked away, back out of the great hall and into the dark hallways once again. Telemachus looked under the table and saw Argos laying his body around Odysseus' chair, basking in the final light of the day, his eyes closed and his back rising and falling with every breath he took. 

"Oh gods," Grandma sighed, putting the side of her head in one of her hands. "Now we'll have to wait even longer."

They did not infact have to wait very long for Odysseus to return again. Telemachus had moved back to his usual seat, next to the seat occupying Grandpa's, leaving one last seat open for the remaining man. He emerged from the halls, dawns purple fingers fixing his eyes, before he returned to the embrace of home. 

He sat at the head of the table and Grandma let out a sigh, "Thank the gods." 

"Did I keep you waiting for so long, Mother?"

She rolled her eyes and then they began to eat. 

"Mama, can I have the honeyed figs?" Telemachus asked since they were nearest to her. 

Mother smiled and handed the whole plate to him, "There you are, my darling."

"Did you solve the dispute with the farmers?" Grandpa asked, turning his head to Odysseus. 

"Yes," He said, in-between bites. 

"Nasty arguments, they have. And all over some barley!" Grandma pressed.

"The barley was stolen. Of-course there would be arguments," Grandpa responded, looking down at his food. 

"No it was not stolen! I spoke to one of the men's brothers! He told everything to me in such perfect detail! He did not recount any stealing!"

"Unfortunantly, people lie," Odysseus responded. 

"Everyone does," Grandpa mumbled after him. 

"To their queen? I wouldn't think so," Grandma said and Odysseus immediately looked up from his plate, staring at her. Grandma realized what she had said and then she turned to Penelope, sitting right by her. She put a hand on her arm, her fourth finger holding a ring that was a shining gold. "Oh! Sorry dear! I did not mean- Oh gods, forgive me for this."

Mother smiled and placed her own hand on Grandma's wrinkled one, "Don't worry, my queen, I took no offense."

"Oh, you're so polite!" Grandma laughed. "I'm sorry, again."

"Don't be," Mother squeezed her hand before returning to her food. Odysseus stared at Grandma, even when the offense has already been made up for. Telemachus was chewing through his portion of meat when Mother suddenly started another conversation to fill in the silence created by the moment, "Telemachus, your tutors will be starting their lessons soon. Have you prepared for them?"

Telemachus shook his head, "No."

Mother frowned, "Telemachus-"

"Oh, my dear, you haven't eaten a thing!" Grandma tutted and stood up from her chair and took his plate. Telemachus' hands came to his lap immediately as Grandma piled his plate with food all over the table, not leaving room for anything else. She then set down a mountain of food in-front of him and sat down herself before digging into the rest of her meal. "You're too thin. You're a growing boy! How will you grow into a fine king if you don't eat enough?"

Telemachus does eat enough. Or at-least, he thought he did. But by what Grandma considers 'a bit of food' it feels like he's never eaten anything before in his life! He looked at Mother across the table and she looked at him with a bit of pity and gave him a small smile. Telemachus wanted to ask her a question but she simply shook her head. 

No, you don't have to eat everything. 

So Telemachus began to nibble at the corners of his bread. 

"Tutors, hm? You have to begin your studies again then?" Grandpa asked. 

Telemachus frowned and looked up at Mother, "Do I have to?"

Mother nodded, swallowing some of her food. Argos barked at the head of the table and Telemachus turned his head to see Odysseus take some meat from his plate and push it off the table to feed him. Telemachus frowned and looked back at his mountainous plate, left untouched as Mother continued to speak. 

"No arguments." 

"But-"

"Telemachus."

"Can't I just help Eumaeus all day?"

"You can help him all you like," Mother countered, taking some bread from the bowl in between them. "After you've finished your lessons for the day."

Telemachus huffed, but he knew there was no winning against her. 

"Can I visit him after dinner?" Telemachus mumbled. 

"It's far too late," Mother responded. "The sun's almost down."

"Oh, come on, Penelope," Grandpa laughed, nudging Telemachus in the arm. He took some of the cheese and olives from his plate. "Eumaeus isn't so far away!"

"How is that boy? I haven't seen him since yesterday!" Grandma asked, looking at Telemachus. 

"He's busy with the pigs and the dogs. He said he was going to play dice with Philoetius and Melanthus again," Telemachus said, and then remembered his words. "But he might not be playing today."

Mother hummed and sipped her wine, before settling it down on the table, "Oh, I'm sure."

"Please?" Telemachus asked. He's been good all week since he's been sick. He's stayed in the palace and hasn't gone outside and sent messages for the servants and helped Odysseus take a few things from the front of the palace to Mother's bedroom.

"Let the boy go," Grandpa laughed. "He sounds eager."

She let out a sigh and looked at Grandpa once before facing Telemachus, "Do you promise to study for your lessons tomorrow?"

He nodded.

She smiled, "Take Argos with you."

Telemachus grinned, "Yes!"

"But not until you've finished your plate!" Grandma called. 

Telemachus frowned. 

"Finish that plate?" Grandpa laughed. "That plate's taller than him!"

"Have you seen the child? He's skin and bones!"

"Am not," Telemachus mumbled, but Grandpa and Grandma couldn't hear him over his bickering. 

"My love, you've been quiet," Mother said, her face turned towards Odysseus, who was simply watching the rest of them talk like old friends with a smile on his face, his plate somewhat finished. He settled further into his chair and smiled at Mother, his hand lifting to press against the table, like he wanted to reach out and touch her hand before forgetting that she was on the other side of the table. He grinned then, his eyes sparkling and his hair curling further into itself. 

"Oh, don't mind me, my darling," Odysseus grinned. "I'm just enjoying myself."

"Don't enjoy yourself too much," Grandpa took some of the grapes from Telemachus' plate while he gingerly ate a piece of goat's cheese, smiling at Grandpa as he took more and more things off his plate. Grandpa gave him another wink, much to Grandma's displeasure. 

Mother laughed and Odysseus grinned, "Why not, father? Don't you want your son to be happy?"

"Oh, before long, you'll be off again! You still haven't come to visit my farm!"

"Father, I've been countless times already-"

"Ah, but you have not truly seen everything! Some of our hares have had children! It's a delight to see. And the trees are resting nightly, though the winter's going to take the leaves away from their branches-"

Grandpa went on and on about his farm, the little place on the other side of Ithaca where he and Grandma spent most of their days. Mother has invited them to rest in the palace countless times but Grandpa doesn't like the noise of the market and Grandma prefers the sight of the sea from this home. Telemachus has been a couple times to this place but there aren't a lot of things to do and so he's just been sort of bored, kicking at leaves or racing with Argos at his heels. 

Odysseus met Telemachus' eyes somewhere in the explanation and he rolled his eyes, lifting them to the corner of his scleras. 

Telemachus giggled and Grandpa hit Odysseus with the end of his spoon at the very top of his head, though he had to lean forward and strain himself from doing this. 

Odysseus let out an ow and Grandpa humphed, "That's what you get for ignoring me!"

Telemachus laughed and Grandpa looked back at him and grinned. 

"Have you prepared everything for the feast tomorrow?" Grandma asked and Odysseus took a sip of his wine. 

"Yes. Only the guests are left to arrive."

"And feast the day they come? Shouldn't we give them some rest?"

"The goddess wants it then and we must honor her."

"Mama, can I go now?" Telemachus asked, his plate almost empty thanks to Grandpa. 

Mother looked up from her cup and smiled at him, "Yes, my dear. Go along. And tell Eumaeus you must come back before it gets too dark!"

Telemachus nodded and pushed back his chair and rushed over to Odysseus' seat to wake Argos.

He reached down and pressed his hands against his back and shook him, "Argos! Wake up! We're going outside!"

Argos lifted his head and yawned, his jaw opening to reveal his large teeth. Odysseus smiled at him as he went by and Grandpa ruffled his hair, "You be good now, okay?"

"Okay!" Telemachus said, taking the plate of honeyed figs from his seat and heading out of the door, Argos followed suit. He walked around the palace and he couldn't run because he didn't want the figs to topple, and so he went along with Argos at his heels until he came to the statue of Athena. It was right outside the palace, beside the grape vines, built by the hands of Odysseus as gratitude for her mentorship and guidance. Her temple was large in the center of the main town but he didn't usually go there because Mother said that he shouldn't disturb the priests and priestess'. 

There used to be shades that lingered in his room, but ever since he had begun to leave honeyed figs on Athena's statue, the shades have begun to disperse and leave him alone. And so, to make sure that it stayed that way, Telemachus continued to complete this little tradition. 

And strangely, every single time he awoke and went to his window to see the statue, the figs were gone. 

It formed a strange sort of hope in the bottom of Telemachus' belly that made him feel a little silly when he thought about it. And so, he lifted them above his head and slid them at her feet, pushing them forwards until they hit her ankles. Telemachus looked up at the looming statue of the goddess and he smiled at it before he ran off, out of the palace grounds. 

He could almost feel a hand touch his hair before he left. 

Argos barked after him. Telemachus ran all the way past the grape vines and to the market place, that was bare of anyone for everyone had decided to return home again, and he went all the way down to the side of the hill where Eumaeus' belonged. He stilled for a moment, hearing drunken laughter madden the small home. 

The pigs blinked through the last of the sunlight while the dogs slept soundly beside the front of the door. 

Argos blinked and Telemachus looked down at him. He brushed his head against his hand and Telemachus curled his fingers around his ear, scratching him. 

Telemachus thought for a long time before he walked down the hill, the rest of the way, and to the empty docks where the fishermen kept their boats floating on top of the calm sea. Telemachus walked until he reached the very end of the docks where he had once waited for Odysseus, so long ago. 

He settled down and pressed his feet against his chest, his arms wrapping around them. 

Argos settled down next to him, curling his body around Telemachus. 

He watched the distance, feeling the wind pick up just a bit. Winter was coming and summer was ending. He would be too busy bending to the will of his tutors to notice the colors of the sea as the sun dipped further into the mountains and left the world bare of oranges and yellows. 

The sky had turned a purple color, delving into the deep blue of the sea, soaking in the last of the sun. Telemachus lifted a hand and stroked Argos' head as he waited with something in his chest, pushing and pulling, longing. He stared at the water and watched as it came and pushed against the docks, coming up and down again with the stroke of the sea. 

And in a moment, Telemachus closed his eyes. 

When he awoke again, his vision was funny. 

He felt as if he was being picked up by strong arms. He could hear Argos bark beneath him. 

Telemachus returned to his sleepful state until he heard some chatter behind his back. 

He felt his head rest against a shoulder, his fingers gripping onto firm shoulders. His body was pressed against another, warm hands keeping him close. 

"Eumaeus didn't want to wake him."

Telemachus furrowed his brows. Odysseus?

"Poor thing," Mother. "He must have been so tired. You must be tired, my love. It's alright, I can hold him the rest of the way."

"I've got him," Odysseus said, dragging a hand up to rest against Telemachus' hair, keeping his head down.

The last thing Telemachus remembers is soft pillows against his head, a blanket pulled under his chin. Soon, the wind will pick up and Mother will bring out the blankets made out of sheep's wool and not these thin ones that keep him warm during the chilliness of the night. But now, it is too warm for such things. 

He feels a pair of lips press against his forehead in a firm kiss, a head and a paw rest against his chest. 

And then Telemachus fell into the embrace of his dreams.

Chapter Text

The celebration was loud and gleaming. 

The entire palace was filled with laughter, drinks poured and plates full, music and singing pouring from the mouths of the people like flowing rivers, strings of instruments strung by careful, measured hands. There was dancing and there was sacrifice, there was gossip and there was grinning, there was honeyed figs and devotion spread around the palace for the goddess of the mind. 

Telemachus watched it all come along by himself because Mother was afraid Argos would get all too excited about the abundance of people and scare some of the guests in a time where fear should be foreign to all. And so Telemachus was left to sit on one of the stools and stare at the faces of all the men and women and children he did not know, conversation falling from their tongues like an expansive fall of rain, and longingly stare at the ones that he did know, silently hoping they wouldn't turn their heads to speak to him. 

He was dressed too appropriately for this occasion, his tunic pressed down firmly against his skin. His himation wrapped around him, coming across his body like a snake slithering through the darkest parts of the earth, caught to his waist with a piece of leather. His hair was washed and oiled and adorned with a golden wreath, though Telemachus knew he didn't deserve it. 

It was Odysseus that brought glory to the house, it was Odysseus who fought so hard in war and came home only for Telemachus to wear something he shouldn't.

But it was Mother's calm hands that pressed against his dark hair, Mother who sewed and dressed his tunic against his skin, Mother who smiled and comforted him with promise of tomorrow when Telemachus lamented on missing Argos, Mother who kissed his forehead and told him it would be alright. She was now standing beside Odysseus, caught in a conversation with Auntie and Eurylochus while other Cephalonian men watched from afar, their eyes kept on Mother for she was always radiant and glowing, especially with the dress she was wearing. 

Mother hadn't made this dress, no. It was given to her by her father as a wedding present though she never wore it because she never had a reason to. Before, in all the celebrations they presented towards the feet of the gods, Mother didn't look quite as beautiful as she did now, though it's not as if she looked unnerving in the previous celebrations. Her neck and shoulders and wrists and fingers were adorned with gold and jewels, those of which were once kept at her vanity, never touched and waiting to be worn and admired once again. 

Perhaps it was Odysseus' doing. Odysseus who kept his arm around her waist, Odysseus who stood tall and large among the men, glaring at them and sending their eyes far away from Mother whenever he saw that somebody was looking at her. But of-course he say, Odysseus saw everything. Odysseus knew how beautiful Mother was, how strange men were. He's lived with them long enough.

Telemachus felt too out of place. 

He tried to talk to some of the children his age but they had long since decided they didn't like him and so they didn't entertain any games with him before they ran off to have their own fun. Telemachus was standing around with Grandpa and Grandma, following them as they spoke to all sorts of people, until they told him that they were leaving because the celebration was getting too loud and their bones were beginning to ache. They kissed Telemachus and ruffled his hair and then they were on their way, leaving Telemachus alone again. 

He saw an abundance of people, namely his tutors, whom he ran away whenever they turned their heads, desperate to avoid them. Mother said he shouldn't be so shy towards these people because one day he would have to rule over them, and they should know him from now, as a little prince (even though Telemachus was not little) so he could build trust around the islands. But Mother knew that Telemachus didn't know what to say sometimes and the blank silence made him look more like a fool than a proper prince. 

Mother had people to impress, Odysseus had to strengthen his alliances with the rest of the men and show his strength to the people. The king has returned and he needed to show his power among the men. Telemachus didn't really have much of a purpose, didn't have anyone to talk to, and the space he occupied felt like it was going to consume him. He didn't belong here, among all these people. 

And to think he would have to rule over them someday. 

The thought shook him until he couldn't sit idly by any longer. He took a plate of honeyed figs from the large banquet table and ran off, past tall men with enough gossip to fill the whole palace, past women who paraded their beauty with long dresses and kind jewels, past the children that gave him annoyed stares as he passed by. 

He went against the music, out of the palace, until he was standing in-front of the statue of Athena near the front of the palace, close to the grapevines. The plate that he had left yesterday had disappeared, taken by a servant perhaps, and Telemachus calmly placed the plate on the plinth that was the same height as him and pushed it further until he hit the ankle of the goddess. 

Telemachus removed his hands and looked up at her. 

Lady Athena, goddess of wisdom, mentor of his father. She fought in the war that took Odysseus for ten years, planned and schemed to create a large horse to occupy the city, angered by a golden apple and a disrespect of knowledge and power that ruined everyone in the end. And somehow, it was enough to bring him back home. 

Telemachus blinked and swallowed his thoughts, keeping his head high.

He felt the boredom creep into his soul, and without thinking too much, he opened his mouth to speak. 

"Do you like the celebrations?" Telemachus asked, his voice just above a whisper. He could hear the chatter of the palace and the songs of the celebration even here, far away from the people. 

He received no answer except for the hooting of an owl, somewhere far away. The wind whispered back at him. 

"I don't really like them," Telemachus frowned, his voice more sure of itself now. "I just end up feeling very lonely by the end of them."

The statue gave no response, as per usual. What was he doing here, speaking to her like they were old friends? Perhaps he was going mad.

"Me and Mother used to go dancing. But now she's too busy talking to Odysseus and other men." 

Perhaps he had just become very lonely. 

"You mortals are so interesting."

Telemachus' eyed widened and he turned around to see something shining in the darkness. 

Pallas Athena's white gleaming eyes stared into his soul. She was incredibly beautiful, with long dark hair falling down her back, a warrior's helmet held at the top of her head, the plumes coming down her back. She was clad in armor, so mesmerizing it looked to be constructed by no other than Lord Hephaestus, radiating power and position, both so fruitful he felt it on his tongue.  

Telemachus brought his hands to his chest, looking up at her with a sudden shock coming over his eyes. 

Athena must have seen it, even if the day had darkened with the absence of the sun, for she simply smiled and kneeled, kneeled, down to his height and stared him straight in the eye. 

"No need to look so surprised, son of Odysseus," She said, her voice smooth like marble. "I have been watching you for some time."

I have been watching you for some time. 

Telemachus didn't know what to do, didn't know what to say. A goddess, a goddess was watching him, Telemachus, as if he was interesting at all to notice. He knew that Athena also favored his Mother for her skill at the loom and her smart mind, but did this love for Odysseus spread even to him, the weak link in the chain?

Telemachus swallowed all of his fears and stood a little taller, forced his hands back down to his sides. 

He bowed his head, "It's a pleasure to be in your presence, Lady Athena."

The goddess of wisdom was quiet for a some time before a rich laughter pooled from her mouth. Telemachus lifted his head, afraid he had offended her in some way, but Athena only smiled at him, mirth in the corner of her eyes. 

"Oh, enough with the specialties," She smiled. "I am here to speak to you. Are you ashamed of this?"

Telemachus shook his head, suddenly. No, no, how could he be ashamed of something like this? Athena was honoring him, coming all the way from Mount Olympus to talk to him, how could he ever be ashamed of something like this? 

"I'm sorry if I offended you," Telemachus said, his voice coming out smaller than he intended. 

Athena smiled, "No, there is no need to worry about these things. You have not offended me, child."

Telemachus didn't know what to say after this. He felt nodding would be too inappropriate for such an occasion and so he wracked his minds for things to say, trying to wrap his mind around the fact a goddess had come to talk to him. How strange of a thing this was. 

"You have made me particularly interested in yourself," Athena smiled at him, standing up again, tall as the statue that loomed behind him. "I will continue my watch over you, to see how you preform throughout the further months." She smiled, staring down at him. "You're so much like your father. However without all his ego. Your mother's made you too modest."

Athena lowered her hand and Telemachus felt the ghost of her fingers touch his hair, reminding him of the shades that once roamed in his bedroom. 

"But I assume these things will come in time. You will be more confident, more sure of yourself when you've grown."

"It was you," Telemachus looked up at her, understanding flashing in his eyes. "You were the shades in my bedroom."

Athena smiled at him. 

Telemachus looked at her with an open mouth for a moment before he closed his teeth behind the gates of his lips and grounded himself against the dirt.

He brought his hands together, Infront of his chest, and said, "I'm sorry if Argos frightened you."

"No, dear child, your friend did not frighten me," Athena smiled, hand turning against his hair. "Though your trip to the sea... perhaps you should have thought a little more before you leapt from the docks."

Telemachus face flushed in embarrassment and he felt all his organs fall to the ground, the weight of her words falling on his shoulders like metal, burying him in deep deep shame. 

He tried to find his words, though it all, though couldn't find any worthwhile. Though, "... That was a little silly."

"Yes. And if your father hadn't come."

"Did you call him?"

Athena smiled. 

"Mentor was at the docks but his eyes were just like yours now," Telemachus worked it out, staring up at her. "Were you him, too? Were you truly watching me all this time?"

Athena touched his hair, her fingers firm in their ruffling, "And you believe you aren't worthy of your place."

Telemachus closed his eyes and opened them when she had finished her ruffling. Then, he remembered the honeyed figs that sat at the statue's feet and he turned around and lifted his arms to catch them again. He caught the edge of the plate in his fingers and pulled them closer to him until the plate was at his chest.

He looked up at her, "Do you like honeyed figs?"

Athena smiled, "Yes. They're the only sweet thing I enjoy."

"Is it true gods only consume nectar and ambrosia?"

"No, it is not all we consume. Gods enjoy other things too," Athena lowered her hand and took the plate from him. "Thank you, child."

Telemachus grinned at her. 

Then, he heard his name being called by the front of the palace, near the grape vines, and he turned to Athena to say something but she had vanished. Not a trace of her was left in-front of him, completely taken away by some force. For a moment, Telemachus was left to wonder if what had just happened had even occurred at all. 

He heard his name being called once again and in the next moment he saw Odysseus coming towards him, relief flashing in his eyes. 

"There you are," He sighed, walking forward. "I didn't see you in the palace and I thought the worst."

Telemachus looked up at the statue of Athena, his fingers tingling where he had once touched the plate. 

He heard an owl coo in the distance. Odysseus turned his head and furrowed his brows, staring up into the night sky. 

"Come," Odysseus looked down at him and offered him his hand. "It's too cold outside."

Telemachus carefully took his hand and the pair walked back inside the palace. 

"How are you liking the celebrations?" Odysseus asked, looking down at him. 

Telemachus kept thinking over and over again, about Athena and her glowing eyes and the honeyed figs, "It's alright."

"Are you tired?"

Telemachus shook his head. 

Odysseus hummed, "I think it might be a little too noisy."

He shrugged. 

When they went back inside the palace, Mother looked wary. She stood posed, gripping onto a glass of wine, turning her head this way and that in practiced decorum until her eyes fell upon Odysseus and Telemachus and she lost some of her tenseness. She smiled, set her glass down on a nearby table, and lifted her dress in both of her hands as she walked over to them. 

"There you are, my baby," Penelope smiled and reached her hands out to cup Telemachus' face. 

She bent down to his height and fixed his himation, smoothing it out over his chest. 

Telemachus grinned, "You look beautiful, mama."

"You think so?" Mother grinned back at him, her lips gleaming with something that made them gleam against her face. "You know what?"

"What?"

"I think you look very beautiful too."

Telemachus grinned and Mother laughed, opening her arms. He fell into them immediately, dropping Odysseus' hand as a laughter passed through his lips. Mother brushed her hand on his back and kissed the side of his head, her voice coming to his ear, whispering softly within it, "I think this celebration has gotten a little too boring."

Telemachus nodded against her shoulder and Mother released him from her hold, taking a look at his face. She grinned, "What do you say we go on a little walk?"

He began to grin like a child being given something sweet and he nodded profusely. 

Before he became ill, Mother told him that she would try to find a day where the two of them could be together as they used to, mother and son, without work coming against them or without any distractions. And the two of them would go to the beach and race along the shore and eat honeyed figs against the stones and tell secrets like they used to. 

But they never had the time for it, and Mother kept pushing the date further and further back until the embrace of the warmth started to loosen her grip on the world. Now, they wouldn't be able to do all of these things and any substitute for them couldn't possibly be as fun. 

"Come now," Mother grinned, holding both his hands. She thread her fingers through his. "Go get some cheese and come right back. I'll be waiting for you right here."

Telemachus grinned at her and ran off towards the banquet table. 

He came towards the covering of the table, weaved by Mother's gentle hands and placed right there with Odysseus' wishes to honor her work, though Telemachus wasn't sure any of the men had commented on the beautiful table cloth less Odysseus mention it first. 

Telemachus spotted some goat's cheese towards the end of the table and so, without thinking too much, he walked over to the goat's cheese and only paused when he heard somebody call his name.

He turned and the swineherd came towards him, a concerned smile etched across his face, "My boy."

Telemachus grinned and turned towards him, rushing up towards his tall frame to wrap his arms around his waist, "Eumaeus!"

"I'm sorry, son, I came a little later," Eumaeus smiled, bending his hand down to ruffle his hair, a soft smile kept on his lips. "I was helping a few of the fishermen tie their boats to the docks. How are you finding the celebrations?"

"They're okay," Telemachus confessed. He looked from his right to his left and then back at Eumaeus. "I've got a secret to tell you. But you can't tell anyone, okay?"

Eumaeus nodded and bent the front of his body down to Telemachus' height, and he in turn brought his hands around his ear and whispered the secret.

"I saw Lady Athena."

Eumaeus turned to look at him, shock evident on his face, "By the gods."

Telemachus nodded, "But you can't tell anyone! You promised!"

Eumaeus shook his head and patted his chest, smiling at him, "Don't worry, my boy, I'll keep your secret right here. But you must tell me a little more. Perhaps tomorrow your mother can allow you to come to my home when you're finished with your tutors? I know your father was favored by the goddess but wow... the mentorship extends to you as-well."

Telemachus began to feel his heart pound in his chest, a silly feeling fill his belly until he was left smiling like a fool. Lady Athena noticed him, she spoke to him, she took his figs and made conversation with the son of her former mentee. He couldn't help but feel sort of special in a way. 

"There's my favorite nephew!" 

Telemachus turned his head and was almost taken to the ground by the force of Auntie's hug, her arms squeezing his very soul. Telemachus lifted his chin and rested it on her shoulder, laughter falling from his mouth, as Auntie took him from side to side in her hug, pressing him to her completely. 

"Spare the poor boy, my love."

Telemachus looked up and he saw Eurylochus standing next to Eumaeus with a wine glass in his hands. He grinned at him and in turn, Eurylochus handed him a smile. 

Auntie ended her hug and put her hands on his shoulders, "Well, how are you finding the celebrations? I'll be honest, they're better than all the other ones we had while your father was away. By the gods, so many people! And you know, Tele, I saw somebody very particular and I was staring at him and at some point he turned his head and we started our conversation!" Her hands grew heavier on his shoulders, head coming closer. She whispered, "And you'll never guess who this person was."

"Who?"

"Your music tutor!"

Telemachus' eyes widened. He didn't particularly liked any of his tutors because he didn't enjoy any of the lessons he learned and in turn, due to his lack of appreciation for the subject, they thought him simple and stupid. His music tutor, for one, had a knack of yelling and slapping his knee if he messed up the notes of the lyre. He never told Mother about the slapping or the yelling, but she didn't really need to know, because she enjoyed it when he picked up a lyre and started to play songs and that was enough. 

"Auntie-"

"Don't worry, I told him you were asleep in your room. A horrible old man. Your mother needs to find you another tutor," Auntie shuddered. 

"Come now, you're scaring the poor lad," Eurylochus laughed and came towards him, drawing a hand through his dark hair to ruffle his locks. 

"I remember your father hated his music tutor," Auntie remembered, looking up at Eumaeus. "Do you remember? That fool would have her changing them every month, the poor woman! He would drive them to insanity, plucking every note and asking for the reason things were why they were. And when nobody could answer, he just insulted them to their faces!" Auntie snorted and began to laugh, before she looked back at Telemachus. "I think you'll have to do something like that, kiddo."

Telemachus shook his head, "Mother would be angry with me."

Auntie sighed and put her hands to her face, "Oh, how the generations change."

"Don't worry, love, summer will come again," Eurylochus smiled, bringing his hand down to pat his shoulder. 

Telemachus nodded and remembered the cheese. He turned his head and saw it lying at the corner of the table, somebody having pulled it to the side. He went off and took the plate before anyone else could take anymore cheese from it and then he returned to them. 

"Sorry," He said. "I have to take this to mother."

"Run along, kid," Auntie ruffled his hair and stood up. She turned her head, "Where is your mother anyway?"

"Over there," He nodded and Auntie squinted her eyes, looking off somewhere. 

"See you tomorrow, love," Eurylochus patted his shoulder and Telemachus smiled at him. 

He turned towards Eumaeus and pressed his side into his body as a sort of makeshift hug. Eumaeus wrapped an arm around his back and petted his hair, before bending down and whispering in his ear, "Come to my home tomorrow and we can discuss it further."

Telemachus nodded, grinning. Then, he said his last goodbyes to his friends, and ran off to find Mother. 

Chapter Text

Summer ended.

It was a bitter thing, the ending of so much fun and play, especially when the coming of winter meant that he'd be stripped of the rest of his enjoyments.

The world would become dull. The leaves would begin to rot, the earth would begin to grow cold and desolate.

There is no enjoyment to be had in the cold, not when Mother never let him go out because of his lessons and his duties.

The tutors come, despite his frequent hopes that they wouldn't. 

Telemachus didn't think much of his lessons because none of them particularly interested him. He was good in arithmetic and in writing, he liked listening about the stories of the stars, heroes and monsters imbedded into the fabric of the universe. The physical activities he didn't mind, though the wooden sword that once felt so right in his hands suddenly felt too big for his arms for his arms to carry and his balance became terrible. He would learn in time, as Mother would say, but his tutors kept their disappointment plain on their faces.

He enjoyed the running he had to do and it seemed this tutor was the only one who was ever pleased with him. He was the only one with a proud smile on his face whenever Telemachus made the rounds around the palace and returned with little sweat on his brow, his breaths coming in easy and not harshly. 

His music tutor, however, loathed him more than any man alive. 

On the first day of his lessons, he came to the room where his music tutor usually was, gripping onto his lyre. His fingers kept slipping from the sweat building up in his hands and so each time they slipped Telemachus had to make sure his grip on his lyre had tightened in order for it not to fall upon the ground and break. 

His music tutor turned his head upon arrival, his wrinkles cutting deep into his skin. He looked more like a shade than a man. His hair had come to turn whiter in the summer, his face became meaner than it ever was, his brow resting so surely on his face, Telemachus knew he was just ready to snap at somebody.

He was sitting on a comfortable kline with another just opposite him, waiting for a student that had only just arrived.

Telemachus swallowed his fear. 

"You're late," His tutor spat, as if any words regarding him were poison in his mouth. 

Telemachus didn't think he was late. He had lunch and came directly there, not a second later. 

Somehow he was always late when his music tutor was the one waiting for him. 

Telemachus didn't bother saying anything. He knew that it wouldn't bring him any good, would only make the man loathe him more than he already did. 

This lack of response seemed to anger the man further and his brows furrowed in frustration, teeth clenching in his mouth, "Sit."

Telemachus stumbled over to the kline and sat, his feet dangling from the end. He did his best to sit at the very edge in order to make himself look taller but all it did was make him feel more like a fool than he already was. 

"Let's begin," The music tutor grumbled. 

The rest of the hour was spent with Telemachus miserably plucking his lyre. 

"Press your fingers down," The music tutor furrowed his brows. "You're skipping the notes too quickly. You're not adding enough strength to the important parts of the song."

Telemachus did as he was told and began to press his fingers down on the lyre. 

"Further," His music tutor tested. 

The strings of the lyre dipped with the force of his finger. 

When he plucked, the string rattled, and the noise came out sounding louder than all the other ones. 

This made his music tutor frown, "Continue."

There were no compliments in his lesson, no reassurance. Just the cold, uncomfortable stare he threw at Telemachus that made him feel like an idiot. 

When the hour was done and Telemachus returned to his room, his fingers were red and raw. They ached terribly and they tingled his palms but he had heard that all the hands of lyre players ached when they had been playing for so long and Telemachus decided he shouldn't complain. The aches remained for a few hours before they faded but the tips of his fingers kept their redness for a little longer, and then even they returned to their normal color. Telemachus continued like this every other day, fingers red and aching until it was time for dinner. 

He didn't tell anyone. It was a useless thing to complain about things that did not matter. 

He didn't want to give his Mother a headache, not when she was so busy with the council and the running of Ithaca. 

Telemachus watched from the breakfast table how the ending of summer took the warmth from the world. Now, the earth was heaving in it's final breath, waiting to let it out when the flowers returned to their blooming and the animals began to walk freely without the threat of the cold. 

Mother wasn't too fond of the colder months and Telemachus remembered when it would get so cold, they would both talk about how much they missed the summer and the warmth, the coolness of the evenings. She used to call this period, when the leaves began to grow different colors, as the earths' first change.

It was falling into a depression, into a cold desolate sadness that gripped everyone and everything, consuming them whole. 

Telemachus felt lost in the transition. 

His days had began to grow dull as he marched through his lessons and Mother went through her duties, sorting through tablets, discussing tallies and shares of exports and imports, trade networks, sorting out the council and disputes with the farmers and the fishermen. Mother and Odysseus were the pillars of Ithaca, keeping the rest of the country alive. Without them, they would all fall under the weight of the cold bothersome sadness. Mother breathed life into the country, Odysseus stood around to spread it to their benefit. 

He often heard the men sing praises of the two of them. Such a sharp mind, they would say, Odysseus possessed, to think through so many alliances to help their country flourish. Little did they know it was Mother and Odysseus collaborating on ideas, picking thoughts from each-others minds, one stating and the other shaping, both roles interchangeable. 

Even when Odysseus wasn't here, Mother was the one flourishing Ithaca with wealth. She was the one that brought peace to the country, she was the one that was managing the trade routes, despite how defenseless they were, despite all of the men having left for that bitter war. 

Telemachus didn't see her very often. She's always off, always busy. Sometimes she and Odysseus wouldn't even be there during lunch and Telemachus had to sit alone with Eurycleia at his side and Argos at his heels. Argos spent most of his time sleeping throughout the day because there really was nothing to do, especially since he wasn't allowed to come with Telemachus to his lessons. Mother said that Argos would only distract him, but really, she later explained, it was because most of his tutors were afraid of dogs, especially hunting dogs like Argos with sharp teeth. 

The only time Telemachus really saw Mother in these busiest times was when he went to sleep. 

After the long week of illness, Mother made it her mission to come and say goodnight to him each and every night. This was their moment of communication, the time when it was only the two of them, exactly how it used to be. She would come into his room and tuck him in the proper way, the way he's always liked it, and she would tell him little stories about the day, before he would fall asleep. Mother was always so full of stories. The two of them could go on forever talking if it didn't mean that mothers and princes had to sleep. 

And Mother always came to say goodnight to him, no matter what. 

Once she came into his room in the middle of the night, door creaking as she slowly pushed it open and closed once again. 

Sometimes she would come later into his room and Telemachus found himself waiting for her once again. 

"Mama?" He called into the darkness. 

Mother walked into the moonlight. She smiled and sat at the edge of his bed, "Hello, my darling."

She bent down and pressed a kiss on his forehead. Then, without warning, she pressed her head right next to his and rolled over so her back was on the bed right beside him. Argos barked as her legs accidentally hit his back and she let out a sound through her mouth while Telemachus giggled, "Sorry Argos!"

Argos lifted his head from Telemachus' feet and padded closer to the two of them, coming to rest his head on Penelope's chest in-between mother and son.

Telemachus pressed his chin into his side while Mother began to scratch his head with one of her hands. Argos closed his eyes and let out a low whine, lifting his head for more scratches. Telemachus began to scratch him right around the ear as he sat between them, enduring this abundance of love. 

Mother let out a sigh. 

She sounded so tired all of a sudden and Telemachus began to frown, looking towards her. 

"What's wrong, mama?" He asked. 

Mother was silent for a long time before she began, "Men from the council."

"Were they being annoying again?"

They often refused to listen to what she was saying, despite her being their queen. Now that Odysseus had returned, they stood to respect her a little more, if not for Odysseus' glares and shaming comments pointed towards anyone who dared look at Mother the wrong way. He had seen this in the way he looked at the council members at Athena's celebration, how he kept Mother so close to him. 

Mother pursed her lips and then let out another sigh, lifting a hand to cover her forehead. Argos had fallen asleep between them and so the scratching had begun to lessen and lessen with time. 

"Just a little tired, my love," Mother smiled, looking at him. "How were your lessons?"

Boring, He wanted to say, but instead, he said, "They were okay."

"Yeah? Did you learn anything interesting?"

He shook his head. 

"Then I suppose they were boring."

Telemachus smiled and Mother turned her body to face him. 

"You know," She grinned. "I spoke to one of the fishermen today and they asked me, Oh Penelope, where is your son? I haven't seen him in some time!"

Telemachus giggled and Mother's grin only grew. 

"And I said," Mother began. "Oh, my baby's busy with his lessons! And he said, yes, that's an important thing to be busy with and he told me he was just a bit worried because he said you had helped him a lot last summer with your company and he wanted to know how you were doing. He said the rest of the fishermen were wondering the same."

Mother reached out a hand and Telemachus went towards her. 

She placed her hand on his cheek, cupping his face. She sighed, "I'm sorry if I've been so strict, my love. It's just... You don't know how I ached when I saw you limp in your father's arms. I thought the worst... I thought... Gods..."

Her hand became firmer on his cheek and Telemachus leaned into her touch. 

She sighed, once again, her breath coming shakily from her mouth. 

"But perhaps... I've kept you inside too long," She reasoned. "You seem so miserable already. Is the autumn getting to you so early?"

Telemachus shook his head. 

Mother hummed, "You know you can tell mama anything. Remember our promise? No secrets." 

Telemachus looked at the side of Mother's face, the line where moonlight hit just perfectly and illuminated her like a goddess. He knew Mother was incredibly beautiful and she carried herself that way, perhaps more so now because of the delight on Odysseus' face when she passed by wearing all of the jewels he brought her for their marriage. 

But Telemachus liked her more like this, looking more like Mother than she ever did. With her dark hair coming everywhere, her eyes glistening warmth in like a hearth burning in a lovely home, the grin on her face true and relaxed, laughter on the tip of her tongue. He liked when she looked like this, when they were like this, talking like they used to before Odysseus came. He liked her in every way, however she looked, but this was his favorite because of how familiar she was. 

He sighed like Mother had a moment ago and he pressed his cheek onto Argos' back, coming closer to her.

"It's just a bit lonely," He confessed, mumbling the words on Argos' fur. "I barely see anyone all the time. I go to my lessons and then I come to eat in the midday and you aren't even there. And I barely see Argos too because he's always sleeping around the palace while I go to all my lessons."

He paused for a moment. Mother watched him, waiting for him to continue. 

"And home feels too big sometimes," He said, tracing circles on Argos' fur. "I don't even get to see you in it."

Mother waited for a moment before coming even closer towards him. 

"I've kept you inside for too long," She decided, bringing her head closer to his. Her voice came in a delicate whisper, firm despite it's quiet.

Telemachus didn't say anything in return. 

Mother lifted a hand and started combing through his hair. Then, she spread her arms out, inviting him in. 

Telemachus lifted his head and skipped over Argos to come into Mother's waiting arms.

"I'm sorry I was so strict, my love," Mother kissed his head as she began to rub his back like he was a baby again. Telemachus pressed his head to her chest and wrapped his arms around her sides, while Mother cuddled him, bringing him closer. "I was just so worried."

"It's alright, mama," Telemachus closed his eyes, beginning to feel sleep take him. 

"You can go visit Eumaeus tomorrow," She said, turning her face to kiss his forehead. "If only you bring Argos with you."

Telemachus began to smile. 

"I've got a secret to tell you."

"What?" Telemachus asked. 

"Auntie's coming home."

His eyes widened, "When?"

"She'll be here in a few days," Mother said, massaging his hair. 

Telemachus looked at her, "Is Eurylochus coming too?"

"No, just Auntie."

Telemachus tried to think of a reason as to why Auntie would want to come home. She had already come to Ithaca almost a month ago now and usually whenever she needed Odysseus and Mother's support on anything she sent a messenger. Whatever reason she was coming now couldn't possibly be a good one. 

"Mama, do you think Auntie's hurt somehow?" Telemachus asked. 

Mother tightened her hold on him just slightly, "No, my love. I don't think so."

"Did she tell you why she was coming?"

"No. But the messenger said she would be arriving soon, and that whatever news Auntie has to tell us, she wants to let us know herself," Mother sighed. She ruffled his hair. "Don't worry, my love, I'm sure she's fine. You know how she is. Do you remember when she sent a messenger to warn us of a noble coming to visit?"

Telemachus giggled at the memory. The messenger had come into their home while they were eating breakfast and Mother abruptly stood up from her seat and addressed him in a surprised by controlled tone. And then the messenger told them the message that Mother had just reminded him of and the event had become a joke between them every since. 

"He was really mean," Telemachus said, remembering the nobles long beard. 

"And the smell. Gods," Mother scoffed and Telemachus laughed again. "You'd have thought he lived with pigs instead of people."

Telemachus laughed, remembering him and his horrible smell. He remembered how he sat on their table and Telemachus had to hold himself on the table for fear he would turn his head and cough at the smell of this man. The two of them laughed with their memories, calling them back to their minds. 

They spent what felt like the next few hours talking and talking, conversation falling from their lips like sweet honey. They went on and on, running with their memories like they were running in the fields, barley brushing against their arms, their ankles pounding against the ground in each step. 

It ended with a yawn, and a squeeze, and a comforting reminder that Mother would always be there for him. 

He fell asleep in her arms, feeling better than he had in many months. 

And then, like no time had passed at all, Telemachus woke to the sound of laughter and the feeling of a hand in his hair, turning and curling softly. 

There was a bark. And then a quick mumbling of words. Then laughter. 

Telemachus opened his eyes and saw that he was right where he had been left last night, head pressed against Mother's chest. He blinked his eyes open and saw Argos laying lazily beside him, head pressed against his stomach. He heard another conversation above him.

"Gods, I've been too strict," Mother said, a sigh leaving her lips.

"No, my love, don't fault yourself for being so worried," Odysseus said, his voice deep with the morning. 

Mother was quiet for some time. Then, there was a shuffling above him and the hand in Telemachus' hair stilled.

"That's what mothers do," Odysseus' voice was muffled now, but by what, Telemachus didn't know. "They worry."

"I wish you would've never left," Mother whispered. "You could've given him some of your confidence."

"Some? I would give him all of it."

"Ah, then he'd be arrogant."

"All princes are arrogant," Odysseus said, with a smile in his voice.

"Then you should kept your confidence to yourself."

"But some arrogance is good," Odysseus laughed. "Pride is good too, when it's contained. Modesty can only take you so far."

"You've never felt modest in your life."

"Oh, forgive me, I suppose I've only ever been arrogant," Odysseus mumbled and Mother laughed. Their words paused for a moment, leaving the air heavy with something. 

And then they noticed his open eyes.

"There he is," Odysseus smiled and Telemachus lifted his head from Mother's chest to see Mother in Odysseus' lap, one arm wrapped around her waist whilst the other ruffled his hair. Mother remained as she was with her head resting on the crook of his neck. Argos slept soundly around them, tail moving side to side in short spasms in his sleep. "The little prince."

Telemachus rubbed his eyes and pressed his cheek further onto Mother's chest. He felt so strange, having Odysseus so close all of a sudden. 

"Did you sleep well, my love?" Mother asked and Telemachus nodded, mind still hazy with sleep. She was holding him like a baby, despite how big he was now. Somehow he still fit comfortably on her chest without much trouble, but he was getting taller. His grandfather was tall so he would be tall too. 

Even if he hadn't started growing so tall yet.

Odysseus removed his hand and looked down at him, "You know, I was so surprised to wake and not see my wife lying next to me. I began to wonder what sort of thing could have taken her away from me? And then, I began to think, what if she hadn't even returned to me at all last night? So I got up, went barefoot throughout the palace, and found the two of you here, resting without me."

"Did you wake Mother?" Telemachus asked, concerned, and Mother laughed, bringing her head down to kiss his hair, mumbling words made of love. 

"No, I simply got in beside you and brought her towards me. I would never wake Mother," Odysseus kissed her head and Mother laughed in turn, turning her head to press her nose against his neck. "If I ever did, I want you to know that someone else has entered your home instead of me."

Telemachus felt the joking tone of his voice pierce his chest.

He simple pressed his cheek on Mother's chest and mumbled, "Please don't make me go back to my lessons."

The pair above him were quiet. When Telemachus looked up at them, they were both looking down at him with surprise glimmering in their eyes. For only a second, Mother remained like this, because in the next moment there was an easy smile on her face. She lifted her head from the crook of Odysseus' neck and bent down to press a kiss on his cheek. Telemachus grinned and turned his head to the side, laughter rippling through the air, trying to escape her hold on him. 

In the end, he found himself on her lap, Mother bent over him.

"How about we make a deal?" She grinned and Telemachus nodded. "You go to your lessons, and I'll let you play outside today."

"For how long?"

"However long you like. Though, you have to be back for dinner."

"And I can go wherever I like?"

"Well I sure hope you don't go to Pylos or to Sparta."

Telemachus giggled and Mother sat up, taking out her hand. Telemachus shook it and then pulled himself up to hug his Mother and the hug was so forceful that she was pushed down onto the bed. In the last second, she was caught by Odysseus' waiting arms and pulled herself up, laughter coming from all around her. 

"Argos!" Telemachus grinned, leaving Mother's arms to go to the dog sitting right by him. "Come on, Argos, get up!"

He pressed his head on Argos' neck and looked at him from an upside down angle. He petted his head and his back, moving him with his hands, "Wake up!"

Argos let out a whine and slowly he stretched out his front paws and opened his mouth in a wide yawn. Telemachus laughed and wrapped his arms around his neck, lifting his head up. Argos, seeing that all his favorite people were in one room, began to bark loudly, and he came all around them all at once, licking and baring and sniffing. 

Odysseus laughed and took his face in his hand and scratched the sides of his face. Then, he pressed a firm kiss between his eyes and he looked down at Argos, "Go on now, Argos. You have to protect my son."

"I don't need protecting," Telemachus frowned. 

"No, of course not. I just thought that the company of friends meant you protected one another in some form," Odysseus grinned. 

Telemachus felt his stomach sink. 

The rest of the day was spent slumped with boring lessons, boring stories to learn and theories to remember. How Telemachus had slogged through it all, he didn't know. But the knowledge that he could be outside, running along the docks, aiding Eumaeus with his work sent a flame of hope flutter through his chest.

Though, Odysseus' words still stung him.

Telemachus needed to be protected. Or at least, that's what he thought. Telemachus was ten years old, he'd be eleven coming next summer, he didn't need anyone protecting him! Children his age ran races in the Olympics, they protected their siblings, they helped their parents govern, and they didn't need to be protected!

It left him feeling defenseless, ungraded. Uncomfortable.

If Odysseus thought that, then that meant that Mother probably thought the same, and if that's the case then the idea is reasonable enough to have multiple people subscribe to it. Telemachus wasn't weak, he wasn't! He knew how to yield a sword, even if it felt strange in his hands now in a way it had never been before, but he was learning combat! And he wasn't so terrible!

But he knew, in his chest, that he should've been better. He shouldn't be stumbling whenever someone strikes him, he should keep his balance and lash back, though the true want to do so wasn't in him in the same way it was when he was younger. Whenever he strikes, he thinks of the boar and it's dark eyes, staring straight into death.

All her children scurried away with an arrow so close to their trotters. Telemachus felt like those children, seeing danger and running away as fast as their little feet could carry them, deep in the heart of the forest waiting for a mother who would never return. A mother who they had eaten for lunch, kept in their stores for a few days. 

It all made him feel weak and useless. He knew that even if he didn't have this will to fight, he would have to forge it through some other emotion. The men did not need a weak king, they needed a king whom they knew they could trust to defend them against anything. Even if it meant war, even if it meant battle. 

He would have to put himself in its stride one day or another.

During his lyre lesson, his music tutor had become especially mean.

He didn't know why he was because it wasn't as if Telemachus had come late anyway. He was never late, he wasn't, he made sure he would come to his lesson exactly on time and yet somehow, someway he was always late. The music tutor had his fingers sore and aching by the end of his lesson, in a way they have never sored or ached before. 

He spent more time in his room than usual to try and wait out the soreness of his fingers but they simply would not leave him. 

His feet itched to leave, to go outside and visit Eumaeus, but he knew that if Eumaeus saw his fingers as they were that he'd ask what was wrong, what had happened, and Telemachus would have to tell him the embarrassment of having his fingers be scared by the strings of his own lyre. 

At some point, perhaps due to Argos' barking, he decided he had to go anyway. If he stayed in his room, there was more of a chance one of the maids one come to check on him and if she saw his red, aching fingers then the whole story would be through the palace before he even had time to explain it. Then Mother would find out and Telemachus didn't want to tire her more. 

He ran over to Eumaeus' home on the side of the hill and knocked on the door, hiding his hands behind his back. 

Eumaeus cluttered in his home before opening his wooden door. A sweet smile came upon his face when he saw Telemachus standing there with Argos at his side. 

Argos barked and ran towards him and Eumaeus laughed, petting his head with his large hands, "My boy! Your mother told me I'll be seeing you today."

Telemachus stumbled towards Eumaeus and wrapped his arms around his waist, pressing his head against his stomach. 

Eumaeus touched his arm and the back of his head, fingers coming through it. 

"What's wrong?" He asked. "Is everything alright?"

Telemachus closed his eyes and let out a sigh. 

They stepped inside his home, the table already prepared with a few treats, namely figs dipped with honey, bread and cheese, and a cup of water waiting for him. 

"Come on, sit, my boy," Eumaeus smiled and waited until Telemachus was sat before taking some bread and cheese and setting it down for Argos to eat. He happily lapped up the cheese and then started tearing his way through the bread. Finally, Eumaeus sat and faced him. "Tell me what's bothering you."

And Telemachus explained everything. 

Not about his music tutor, of course, he left that part out, but he poured out all his emotions onto Eumaeus and commentated on every single thing that had bothered him for the past month.

"My son," Eumaeus began, putting some honeyed figs on his plate. Telemachus thought of Athena then, and how every morning he would wake to find the plate that he had left empty beside the feet of her statue. She had not come to visit him in the past month, but often he would hear the peculiar sound of an owl hooting in the darkness. "Your mother cares for you so deeply. I understand that after something so traumatic, for not only you but for her, she'd want to keep an eye on you for a little longer."

"But Eumaeus, Odysseus thinks I'm weak!"

"No he doesn't."

"He does! He said he needed Argos to protect me!"

"My boy, you know, Odysseus used to come to my home and he used to ask me about you all the time," Eumaeus said, taking a bit of cheese onto his plate. "He'd ask me how you were, how you were feeling, because he knew that you'd often come to help me with the pigs and the dogs. He'd even ask me for my own advice because he was so worried that your relationship would never come to father and son. But these are the awkward stances now. When you are older, you will understand each other better. Anyhow, I bring this to your attention only to say that your father cares very deeply about you. Not because you're weak, but because he's been gone for ten years and the only thoughts that were on his mind were of you and your mother."

"He had to think of war and things," Telemachus said, chewing on his bread. 

"You know what I mean."

"I suppose."

"He means only the best for you," Eumaeus soothed. "Not to offend you, of-course, he would never want to do that. But at the end of each and every day, you are his son and you will forever be his son. And you know how your mother worries for you so much. Fathers are much the same."

Telemachus chewed on his bread and his thoughts, intaking all of it in. 

"You know, he really hurts to see you call him by name and not by father."

"It feels strange to call him father," Telemachus admits. "He's just Odysseus in my head. Not father. Not yet anyway."

Eumaeus swallowed his food, "I know, my boy. But you'll find yourselves and your stances later on. I don't believe you'll be this apart forever. The love your father has for you is a love I have not seen before. The only other person in the world that posses it in such ferocity is your mother."

"Does she come to talk to you too?" Telemachus looked up at him. 

"Sometimes. Though you know how busy she is."

"What does she say?"

Eumaeus looked at him and Telemachus grinned. 

"Ah, my boy," Eumaeus laughed. "I don't know if I can tell you."

"Please? Just one little thing."

"Well," Eumaeus thought, setting his cheese on his plate. He looked around his home for a little while before he looked at Telemachus, a grin forming on his face. "Promise to not tell anyone?"

"I promise!" Telemachus grinned, gripping onto the table. 

"She really hates the men in her council."

Telemachus frowned, feeling the hope deflate in his chest, "But I know that already!"

"My boy, it's not good to gossip."

"Please? Just a little secret?"

"Come on-"

"Please?"

Eumaeus looked at him and sighed, "Alright."

Telemachus grinned, gripping onto the table once again. 

"Your mother..." Eumaeus thought, tapping his fingers onto the table. "... loves you more than any mother I've ever seen."

Telemachus whined, "Eumaeus."

He grinned, "Oh, I'm sorry, my boy, I can't betray your mother's trust like that."

"Well if you can't tell me about what they say, you can't tell anyone about what I say," Telemachus declared, puffing out his cheeks in defiance. 

Eumaeus grinned at him, "Alright."

"But you have to promise!"

"I promise."

Telemachus looked at him, biting the inside of his cheek, ashamed that even with his closest friend he couldn't get his way. Eumaeus grinned, and stood, "Come on, my boy, the dogs need some exercise. You think you can race them down to the docks and back?"

He didn't even have time to finish his sentence before Telemachus was rushing out the door.

Chapter Text

Telemachus felt pulled apart, strained too far. 

He didn't know how to speak, how to act, what to do, where to go. He felt trapped within the walls of the palace, within the eyes of his tutors whenever they explain anything to him. When he fought with his wooden sword, in the midst of the courtyard within his home with his tutor standing right in-front of him, he drops it in a panic, hands aching terribly from his lyre lessons. If ever this tutor could be more painful, then there would be no bounds to how far his fame would go. 

Telemachus hated them so much. He hated the lyre, hated the snapping of strings. 

He was half surprised he hadn't already broken a string or two with the way he strummed so forcefully, so wildly. 

And his tutor was never impressed. Not ever. 

Not even when he strung the song so perfectly, so beautifully, each note tapping into the next, the song flowing from his hands like the lyre of famed musicians, of darling Orpheus, who wept so thoroughly that the ground felt his tears and matched his sorrow, crawling at the grass and the leaves. 

Not even then was he ever impressed. 

He stared at Telemachus with his cruel eyes, his sunken brow. And he cursed him, cursed his hands for being unable to play. 

Again, he would say. Play it again, pressing his fingers harder. 

What was he doing wrong, he didn't know. Even when he did exactly what he said, it still wasn't enough. 

Sometimes it felt like it would never be enough. 

Whenever he came back to his room, he wept into his pillows. He wished the earth would come and swallow him whole, wished everything wasn't so loud, wished the eyes of his lyre tutor weren't so sharp, so piercing, so ready to put him within the ground. Perhaps if he asked so nicely, Lord Apollon would take pity on him. 

If he prayed so well and so wonderfully, then perhaps he might bless his hands. Perhaps then he might do something right. 

But always his prayers were left unanswered. Always, whenever he sent a prayer up into the heavens, there was no confirmation that he was ever heard. 

His playing didn't get any better. It actually seemed he was getting even worse. 

His tutor's brow sunk deeper into his skin, crinkling into his forehead like the lines of the river bed, and his voice became harsher, his face became meaner. Again, again. Play again. Why couldn't he do it right? He was never doing it right. He would never do it right, never in his life, not even when he's as old as he was. 

He was supposed to be good. At least, if he was not strong and he was not bright, he could be good at this. 

But Lord Apollon didn't seem to care. He had other worries to attend to.

He would never be good at anything, it seemed. 

Whenever he saw the lyre sitting in a corner in his room, as far away from him as it could possibly be, he felt its eyes staring into his back, into his hair and his clothes, his sandals. It bore all the disappointment in the world. It swore at him whenever he came past it. And whenever he had to lift it from its abode, Telemachus could already feel the pains in his fingers, in his palms. 

It had gotten so terrible that Telemachus had begun to draw blood from his fingers. 

His tutor would simply sigh with his irritation, extending it onto the red dripping from his hands. 

The first time it had happened, Telemachus was frightened beyond himself and his fingers kept shaking wildly, his head spinning and aching terribly. 

But his tutor simply took his hands sharply, ripping them away from the lyre and he pressed them into a bowl of cold water he kept under his kline, grumbling. 

"Could you not see where you were playing?" His tutor yelled, his voice so terribly loud. He could yell as much as he wanted. Mother and Odysseus were away, working within another meeting with the council, with taxes and payments. Grandma and Grandpa were at the farm on the other side of the country. The maids and the servants were all away on different corners of the palace, since the lyre tutor had made it so very clear that he wanted absolute quiet when working with his student.

Telemachus looked at him and said nothing. He knew it was better than saying anything at all and extending his rage. 

"You could have ruined the lyre!" He huffed and shook his head. "Shame on you, child. I must have a word with the king and queen."

Telemachus felt all the breath leave his body. 

He lowered his head, blinking fast. He couldn't cry. Not now, not when the tutor was so close, gripping his hands so tightly. 

Telemachus wished he was Heracles, who slayed his teacher when he was so frustrated with the lyre. But Telemachus knew he would never be strong enough to do that. He was not born from the gods like Heracles was, nor was he blessed by them like his father and the goddess.

Lady Athena didn't believe he was strong enough. Perhaps that was why she didn't bother training him. 

That day, he went away to his room, miserable. Argos was waiting for him, lying on his bed sleeping soundly in the afternoon sun. Telemachus came, his fingers baring blisters and scabs, and he fell upon his bed and did not weep. If he wept, then his tutor would surely hear. Or the maids, the servants. 

Instead, he pressed his face into Argos' fur and waited for his end until he decided that he was about ready to burst into a thousand pieces and quickly he stood up, slid off of his bed, and went outside. Argos followed him, tail wagging with each step. Telemachus ran out of the palace, past the grapevines near the columns of the entrance of the palace, past the market place where everyone was selling something and kids were running around with a ball, past Eumaeus' home where the dogs barked as he went by, past the docks and the fishermen reeling in their boats. 

Instead of going anywhere, he went to the sea. 

Telemachus had not stepped into its depths since the incident but now he had nowhere else to be. 

When he went to the beach, he saw women in lovely dressing picking the shells along the shore and Telemachus felt this ball of rage spread through his limbs, his bones, his blood. He turned away in a huff, Argos barking at his movements, and he went all the way back up the hill, past Eumaeus' home, past the market place, past the grape vines, until he found his way into the woods near his home. 

He had not been in the woods since the boar incident but there was nowhere else in Ithaca to go.

Everywhere was dominated by somebody and he wanted to be alone, somewhere nobody could find him. 

"Do you think we should go in, Argos?" Telemachus asked, staring into its depths. The woods was wide and large, full of animals and plants and things that have scared Telemachus to bits. For a long time, Mother did not allow him to enter the woods because there were always hunters exploring its ends and she didn't want him to be hurt. 

Even Mother did not believe he was strong enough to face it alone. 

With renewed vigor, he furrowed his brows and stepped into the woods. 

Argos barked beside him and padded along as Telemachus walked further and further into it. As he turned his head, he saw the large trees that reached up to the sky and heard the singing songs of the birds, heard the rushing of a creek somewhere in the middle. He stepped along leaves that crunched under his sandals, saw the dying of the earth and wondered when it will all end. 

He sat by a tree next to the creek he had heard earlier and Argos sat right by him, as he closed his eyes and prayed for the world to fall away. 

The tears fell, one by one, staining the earth. 

Argos, sensing his doubt, pressed his head against his chest and whined unhappily. And Telemachus could do nothing more except push the tears out of his eyes, letting the lot of them fall as little sobs fell from his lips, so that when the tutor came for dinner he would be all spent from his sorrow and he would not cry when he cursed him in-front of his family.

He stayed there for some time before the sun started to fall and Helios had almost continued his journey home.

And so, somehow, with his knobbly knees and bloody fingers, Telemachus stood up and walked all the way back to the palace with small, short steps.

Mother caught him when he returned home, walking past the grape vines, up the few steps and past the columns. 

"Telemachus!" She called and Telemachus turned his eyes, eyes heavy with dried sorrow, his fingers and legs heavy with dirt. 

Mother's eyes widened as she saw him and she came all the way down to visit him. 

"By the gods!" She laughed. "What's happened to you?"

Telemachus let out a sigh and walked past her. Argos barked and followed him suit. 

Mother was silent behind him and then she called out, her voice soft, "Wash up, my love. Your lyre tutor will be joining us for dinner today."

As if Telemachus had not spent all of his time making sure he was well spent, his eyes relighted with renewed sorrow and he felt the tears come against his eyes. Somehow, he made it to his bedroom. He stayed there for a little bit so the maids could heat up the water for him and his bath and then, when he thought the time was fit, he went away and came into the washroom.

He was glad Mother didn't make any of the maids come and wash him. He didn't want their gossip to spill over onto him and his tears. 

A pathetic prince with pathetic eyes, unable to even play a lyre properly. 

Telemachus washed his hair, and his bloody fingers and his dirt filled skin with oils and the strigil, pushing all of the sweat and dirt off of his body. The tears fell from his eyes like they were clouds pouring rain but he would not let himself sob, because if he sobbed and somebody would hear him, he would feel even more weaker than he already was. 

Argos sat by him within the bath, whining softly as more and more tears fell out of his eyes. Using his tongue, he began to lick his cheeks to try and take some of his pain away, but the effort only made him feel worse and so he began to wash Argos' fur instead, to give him something to do in an attempt to forget his sadness. 

The maids lay clothes for him in the side of the room and so Telemachus got out of the water when it became too cold. He pressed the wool against his skin to dry him against the cold. 

He dressed himself slowly, careful, checking himself in the hand mirror to make sure he looked alright. 

Telemachus found the dinner table ready for him. The maids were pouring wine into the cups as some cut up the meat and others set plates of olives and grapes and cheese and bread for their pleasure. The first person to catch sight of him, standing by himself near the entrance alone because Argos was never allowed to come to these dinners, was Odysseus. 

He was sitting at the head of the table with Mother to his arm and the music tutor sitting right where Grandma usually sits. 

Telemachus thought he saw him smile as he entered. 

His music tutor was on talking and talking with words that Telemachus didn't want to listen to. Mother attentively listened but her eyes slowly came over to Odysseus when the music tutor had turned his head to take his cup, overflowing with wine, and her eyes came to land on Telemachus walking quickly towards them. 

"My love," Mother nodded as Telemachus lifted himself into his usual seat. "We were just talking about you."

The music tutor turned his head and eyed him like a fly bothering his slumber. Telemachus kept his hands in his lap, careful not to lift them to the table. They were still bruised with the scabs of the day and Telemachus knew he would be getting into a whole lot of trouble so he didn't want to increase it by showing them his reckless hands. 

Odysseus eyed him with a smile fitted upon his cheeks as some of the maids placed slices of meat onto his plate.

"Now, I have asked for this meeting due to your son's performance in my class," The music tutor spoke, as the maids started to usher away into the sides of the room to stand guard unless they needed anything else. Odysseus waved his hand and the maids bowed their heads and they all left the hall, one by one. 

Telemachus felt everything fall away when Mother turned to look at him, worry coming up in her dark eyes. 

"Yes, please, do go on," Mother smiled at the music tutor as she paid full attention to his worries. 

The music tutor opened his mouth and Telemachus tried to drown out his words with thinking of anything but. 

"... He has not been paying attention to any of my lessons! When I ask him to do something, he simply does not do it! He prances around and doesn't care only a bit for my lesson! I ask him to practice and he does not. I ask him to play what I had taught him previously and he cannot! Can you think I can preform well as a tutor with these circumstances?" He said, his voice in a more tempered raged. He spoke calmly compared to how he spoke when Telemachus did only the slightest thing wrong. He did not yell and scream and throw his arms in the air. 

He simply spoke calmly to the royal house of Ithaca. 

"No, my lord," Mother shook her head and her eyes came to Telemachus. "But I do not believe my son is so uncareful in his lessons."

"Have you not seen him?" The music tutor huffed. "He is unfocused! He is a disappointment to my teaching!"

Telemachus felt something vital rip in his chest. 

Disappointment. He was a disappointment. 

"Good teacher," Odysseus spoke, his voice thick and strong in a way Telemachus can never be. He is a disappointment, that's what he is. That's what he's always been. 

He couldn't bear to look at Odysseus or the crushing look in his Mother's eyes and so he kept his gaze upon his plate.

"I must confess something to you, good lord. Sometimes I walk past the hall in which you work and teach my son, the very same one that is private to only you and him while you conduct your lessons. You must not fault me for this. The other road to my bedroom is longer and I like to hear the sound the lyre makes. They remind me of my youth."

"Yes, my lord," The music tutor bows his head. "I am not offended at this for this palace is your own home and it would be a disgrace for a teacher to command a king."

"Very well. Then tell me why, whenever I walk past your hallway, all I can hear is the loud songs from the strings of the lyre? Perhaps they are your own, I do not know. But my son has told me that your practices mostly contain my son's practicing of the melodies you teach him?"

"Yes sire, well-"

"Pardon my interrupting, but how can I hear complaints about his playing then? The sounds I hear are marvelous, so beautiful that I should except even the Lord Apollon to be pleased. Are you telling me these sounds are not his own? That his fingers do not produce such symphonies? That my son has become, what, a disappointment, so you say?"

Telemachus stared into his plate without touching the plate. His hands ached terribly under the table but he said nothing of his pain. 

"My king, forgive me for my words, for they were not meant to sound so aggressive," The music tutor spoke and his voice was sweeter than Telemachus had ever heard it. "But I am afraid you have only heard him in little times when he has actually preformed well."

"I pass by often."

"My lord, you have only been around to see your son preforming adequately after much instruction from me," The music tutor spoke, his voice become a little harsher. "Have you not heard me commanding the boy when he presses onto the wrong note? Ah, my lord, you should hear him then. It is like the crumbling of scrolls and everything divine."

Telemachus heard the intake of breath for another word or two, but Mother swooped in with her own voice, "Yes, I see your complaints. Do not mind him, dear teacher, he is only a boy. I do not believe treating him with such harsh words would do anything for him. But do not mind him, for I will see to it that he preforms better in your class."

"I am extending all of my energy," The music tutor sighed. "I am better older now. Do you know how hard it is for me to rise from my bed every morning and to come here to your gracious and welcoming palace, only to deal with a boy who does not want to learn?"

"I understand your troubles, sir, perhaps we could-"

"Perhaps a couple more talents of wealth will suffice."

There was a few moments of quiet and then Mother spoke quickly, "Yes, this will be in order. Do not worry-"

"You must understand, my queen-"

"Let her speak," Odysseus' voice came, thick with anger hidden under its thin veil. Telemachus could only imagine how angry he would be, to have a son who could not preform even his most basic princely duties. Not only was he the weakest prince in the whole world, he was so terrible at the lyre that his teacher had to come and inform his parents just how terrible he was. 

Telemachus felt the tears blur his eyes and he blinked rapidly as to not let them fall down his cheeks. 

Mother spoke calmly, "I have not heard anything like this from the other tutors. They all adore him, they believe him the best in everything he puts his mind and dedication into. And this..."

Telemachus knew she was looking down at him. He just knew it. He could feel it in the same way he could feel Odysseus' eyes looking at him, staring into his mind, looking over all his thoughts and feelings. He wished he could go away somewhere where nobody could find him, wished he could hide away and sob into the night until nobody noticed him. 

But instead he could do nothing except sit on the table and listen to words press against his chest like spears, tearing bones and flesh.

"It is disappointing, yes, but-"

"Eurynome," Odysseus called and Telemachus let a tear slip past his eyes, down his cheek. He sucked in a tight breath and kept himself strong and still like stone so no other tears can fall as quickly as that. He let one slip. One and one only. No more tears, not here, not now. 

Telemachus can hear the maid come from somewhere and he can hear Odysseus' cup come against the table.

There is a lifting of something and then the soft flush of wine dripping into a cup. 

Another tear fell down his cheek. 

Odysseus mumbled a thank you and her feet padded against the ground as she went farther and farther away. 

Telemachus shut his eyes tightly, hoping it would be the end. 

There was a quick humming sound and then a scrapping of a chair, a sound of annoyance. 

"My love-" Mother said and Odysseus quickly intercepts her words. 

"Don't worry, my dear, it's only a stain," Odysseus' voice was dry and unkept, like it was trying to keep itself even with much trouble. 

There was a moment of silence until Telemachus felt a hand come against his hair. 

"Telemachus," Odysseus said, his voice thick and deep and angry. 

He then remembered who Odysseus was. Odysseus, who was the tactician for the entire Achaean camp, who came up with the idea of the trojan horse and brought the end to so many people, who secured the Achaeans the best possible advice to win any battle. He fought in a war for ten long, hard years. 

It was a virtue he was resting his hand so gently atop his hair. 

"Can you accompany me while I find another tunic?" 

Telemachus nodded slightly without meeting his eyes and he slid off of his chair and walked right by Odysseus with his head down, eyes filled with tears, fingers pressing into his tunic which only made them ache further. Odysseus did not say a single word as they walked past the hallways, through different corners and columns and paintings.

Only when they were alone in Mother's bedroom did Odysseus sigh and open his mouth to speak. 

And Telemachus, like a storm of winds, pleaded, "I'm not so terrible. Please."

When Odysseus looked down upon him, his eyes were kind and soft in a way that seemed so strange, so unnatural. 

Odysseus kneeled down in-front of him, his arms coming to his shoulders as he shushed him softly, "I know, my love, I know."

Telemachus felt his eyes fill with tears once again and he let out a small sob as he spoke, "I swear I'm good, I swear it."

"My dear-"

Telemachus pushed the tears out of his eyes, "I'm not a disappointment, I- I can play well, I swear I can-"

Odysseus eyes became full of confusion, "My love-"

He pressed his fingers into his eyes, mumbling, "I'm not bad, I'm not-"

Odysseus withdrew his hands from his eyes and brought them closer to his face. Telemachus felt his insiders curl and break and die, one by one, into a million fragments. All of his disappointments, all of the marks that bore his skin to show just how pathetic he was were right in-front of his eyes, to inspect so closely like they were something to be praised. 

"Who did this to you?" Odysseus furrowed his brows, his voice full of disbelief. 

Telemachus tried to rip his hands away from Odysseus' grip but he held on firmly, looking over all the marks along his fingers. Some had managed to come onto his palm though Telemachus wasn't even sure how he had managed to do that. 

He let out a sob, "Stop-"

"Tell me," Odysseus looked at him, his tone booking no room for argument, his eyes possessing something wild and strange. 

"Nobody-"

"Telemachus," Odysseus stared him down, eyes growing wilder and stranger and his voice become stronger and angrier, full of rage though keeping its quiet tone, full of purpose, extending throughout the whole of the room. 

He felt trapped, breathless. Tears fell freely from his eyes now, falling against the ground. 

Telemachus sobbed and Odysseus must have recognized something vital, for he began to unwind. 

"Love," He reached out his arms and brought him close to his chest. Telemachus let out another sob when his head hit Odysseus' shoulder and his head was pushed down to bring them closer together, closer than they had ever been. Odysseus brought a hand to his hair and another to his back. 

And like a dam standing firm on the ground, Telemachus broke apart into a thousand little pieces. 

He began to sob and Odysseus held him firmly, carefully. 

Odysseus shushed him gently in the same way the sea calms the shore at night when the sea curls against the rocks before rocking back into its cold depths. 

He stood firm as he held Telemachus close to him in the way a father does, in a way a father is supposed to. 

Odysseus took one of his hands and he pressed it to his lips, kissing it softly. 

"Nobody hurts my boy's hands," He murmured as he pressed Telemachus' palm against his cheek. 

His fingers burst anew with sharp pains. Telemachus withdrew his hand and brought it close to his chest.

Odysseus looked at him, eyes anew with worry and fear, as he pressed his thumb onto one of Telemachus' eyes and took the tears from his eyelids. 

His eyes were wide and scared, "Do they hurt?"

Telemachus let out a sob, "I'm not weak."

Odysseus furrowed his brows, "Telemachus."

"I'm not weak, I'm not-"

Odysseus pressed his forehead against Telemachus' and in turn brought his hands close to him, careful to not touch the tips of his fingers or his palms. 

"You are not weak, my love," Odysseus said, his voice full of voice and purpose. "But when somebody is injured, you cannot hide it from others. Because then it will only continue to hurt more and more. And how will you preform in your other lessons if you can't write properly, if you can't hold a sword properly?"

Telemachus let out a heart-wrenching sob that felt like his insides were going to collapse. 

"Don't keep secrets," Odysseus pressed a kiss on his brow. "Please, Telemachus. Tell me when something's wrong."

"But- But you and mama are always busy-"

"You think I'd put my own work above you?"

He stared at Telemachus with such ferocity that he felt like they were somewhere on the battlefield, where blood from another was spilled and Telemachus was responsible. But they were so far away, in Mother's bedroom, away from war and battle. 

And still Telemachus felt so sore, so upset. 

"Listen to me, Telemachus," Odysseus said, putting such purpose into his words Telemachus was afraid to look at him. "Neither me or your Mother would ever put anything above this, do you understand? You can't keep secrets from mama and you can't keep them from me. You must tell me when these things happen, do I make myself clear?"

Telemachus nodded and Odysseus let out a sigh. He looked undone, spread too thin.

He reached out and pressed Telemachus to his chest, keeping a large hand heavy upon the back of his head. 

"My son," Odysseus sighed, pouring all of his frustration onto his ears.

Telemachus shut his eyes tight to make sure no more tears fell from his eyes.