Chapter Text
Odysseus sits against the wall, waiting. He’s disguised as a beggar to keep anyone from recognizing him until he wishes it, but it doesn’t take much effort. Not after his long years at sea that left him so haggard. He knows he looks a far cry from the polished king he was when he boarded that pentekonter long ago. It’s worked so far, none of the suitors have paid him any heed while they struggle with the bow.
It’s a clever move from his beloved wife, few of them would have the strength to string it - not after what looks to be years of doing nothing but feasting in his hall - even if they had seen a palinthos before to have the knowledge on how. And to then have the skill to complete the rest of the challenge? Not very likely. It seems he is right, for one of the suitors, their unofficial leader, all but throws the bow to the floor. The string follows, the drape of it across the bow a pale line that seems to split the dark horn and wood in two.
“Screw this competition, we’ve been here for hours.” They had, the suitors unable to believe they’d failed and attempting to string the bow twice or even thrice more. “None of us can string this, we don’t have the power.” If they ever did. “Screw this damn challenge, no more delays. Can’t you guys see we’re being played?” That’s been the case for years, all due to the work of his clever, lovely wife.
Antinous kicks at the bow in his anger, and it skids across the floor. Towards Odysseus. It stops a finger’s length away from his sandal. He pretends to ignore it, head bent over his knees. Antinous turns away to bang his fist upon the table. A kylix upturns at the motion, wine spilling across the wood like blood. Odysseus makes a silent promise that that blood will soon be real.
“This is how they hold us down while the throne gets colder.” It’ll be warm soon. “Hold us down while we slowly age. Hold us down while the boy gets bolder. Where in the hell is our pride and our rage?” That rage will soon fail them, give way to fear. “Here and now we can take control. Here and now burn it down to ashes. Channel the fire inside your soul!”
Antinous holds the attention of the other suitors now, their focus so complete that no one notices Odysseus as he stands. He scoops the bow up from the floor, retrieves the string from the floor. He gathers more weapons into his arms, as many as he can carry, and only regrets it when he tunes back in to Antinous’ vitriol.
He’s calling now for the murder of Odysseus’ son. A thing that makes him yearn for empty arms, to string his bow and shoot an arrow through the bastard’s poisoned tongue. But not yet, not yet. Soon, but not just yet.
He hurries for the armoury and dumps the weapons inside, only lingering long enough to wind the bowstring around the weapon, rather than leave it to disappear so he can’t find it later. And then he’s back in the banquet hall, Antinous still calling for Telemachus’ death. As much as he wishes to see his son, at the moment he actually hopes Telemachus’ mission gets delayed, to keep him away from these men until they’re lining up for the underworld.
“Hold him down ‘til the boy stops shaking, hold him down while I slit his throat. Hold him down while I slowly break his pride, his trust, his faith, and his bones.” Not if Odysseus smashes his hands into splinters and pulp, never to be useable again. Of course he’ll never need to use his hands, not after Odysseus is done with him. “Cut him down into tiny pieces-” How about you get cut into tiny pieces, Antinous. “-throw him down in the great below. When the crown wonders where the prince is, only the ocean and I will know.”
If only he knew the crown was in the room with him, plotting and enacting the best way for all these suitors to die. He carries another load of weapons to the armoury and returns to the hall. If he’s right, he’ll only need to make one more trip. Odysseus regrets that truth when they begin speaking of his wife. Of their host, in such a way that ensures they’ve broken Xenia.
“And when the deed is done, the Queen will have no one to stop us from breaking her bedroom door, stop us from taking her love and more.” His gorge rises, he gathers the weapons as quickly as he can. “And then we’ll hold her down while her gate is open,” He makes for the armoury, arms full of the last of the suitors weapons. He can still hear the suitors, their voices echo through the whole palace in their excitement. “Hold her down while I get a taste.” Odysseus reaches for the armoury door. “Hold her down while we share her spoils.”
He wrenches the door open and freezes. Someone stands within the armoury.