Chapter Text
If you had told the man Odysseus was a month ago he'd be where he was now, he'd think it a cruel joke. At times, he would wake up expecting to find himself in the world of suffering he had come to know, for how could days filled with such and bliss and joy be from anything other than a dream? Yet here he was, every sunrise and sunset, on the island he'd spent twenty years fighting to reach. Lying awake in bed as the dawn began to peek through the window, he took a moment to simply bask in the knowledge that he was home.
It wasn't the smoothest transition in the beginning. There were aspects of his life from before the war he had to relearn. To his men, he had been their "Captain". Every moment's decision meant life or death in the next. They had to scavenge to ease 600 hungry souls. They were subject to every storm and frigid night. Sleeping had to be done with one eye open. And that wasn't even mentioning the monsters and losses and turmoil of the journey home.
Odysseus hadn't thought he'd ever be able to reach a sense of normalcy after everything. However, with every passing moment spent with his family settling the voices and bringing so much comfort, he couldn't help but relax and enjoy himself. He'd never forget the past, but he would be able to live with it and still be able to smile in the present.
It didn't take too long to fall back into the rhythm of his regular duties as king, despite not having dealt with them for the last twenty years. It certainly helped that he had someone handling them so well that picking up where she had left off wasn't any hassle.
Then, of course, there were the more average things that he had once taken for granted, things that were now promised with the coming day. Every meal, there would be more than enough food to go around. At night, he had a bed to fall into and a roof to shield him. When he closed his eyes, any horrors he saw wouldn't be there to greet him when he opened them. He could take a breath with the peace of mind of knowing it wouldn't be his last.
He was grateful for all of this, yes. However, those were simple joys in comparison to what truly made life worth living. For instance, there was the perfect woman he had the undeserved pleasure of waking up next to every morning.
Odysseus turned his head to the side, and even now simply gazing upon Penelope was enough to get his heart beating out of his chest. Truly, if there was a moment when the world decided to smile upon him, it was when it brought the two of them together. Oh, how he needed far more words than were available to him to describe her. Strong, beautiful, brilliant, it simply was not enough. He always hesitated when starting the day just to spend a while longer in their embrace, but the new day didn't wait for anyone. Well, not traditionally, at least.
Odysseus slowly unwrapped their arms from around each other, careful not disturb Penelope as he got up. While attempting to be as silent as possible, he threw on a fresh set of garments and groomed himself to a presentable level before briskly heading out into the hall.
As much as he drag himself away from Penelope every morning, he was filled with energy upon reminding himself of what waited for him if he continued on with the day: seeing the other half of his entire world.
Telemachus.
Every vision of his son he had ever conjured up the past twenty years failed to even hold a candle to the real one.
He had such a kind and gentle heart, Odysseus swore he wouldn't let it harden like his own had to over the years. Of course, his always softened at the simple thought of his boy, he couldn't imagine how someone could be near Telemachus and not smile.
When he first heard the voice of his beloved child, all of the rage and hate in his bones washed away. When he first locked eyes with the one he waited twenty years to meet again, the entire room faded from sight.
He stood before Telemachus, taking everything about him in. When he was born, Penelope had joked about how she'd carried him for nine months only for him to take after his father, and it seemed she had been correct. The way his dark hair fell, the slope of his nose, the shape of his face, it was like looking at a reflection of himself at his age. Of course, there were some features that were uniquely his.
Telemachus had watched him with those large dark eyes of his, hesitant and curious, young and full of a million thoughts all at once.
Seeing him in that moment, meeting those same eyes that hadn't changed in two decades, for moment he was rendered speechless. They both simply watched the other, unsure which of them would take the first step. Telemachus had been the one to break the silence, and at his words Odysseus wanted to give him anything he could ever think to ask for. He spoke of a longing that mirrored Odysseus' own. Wanting to know him, wondering if he would accept him.
Could it really be true? Did his son still want him in his world?
Odysseus had loved Telemachus the moment he first saw him.
He hadn't realized he still had so much more love to give.
A part of him had been terrified he'd never get the chance to. Between years of fighting for his life and Telemachus having to come home to find dozens of bodies brutally strewn across the halls, he'd begun to expect the worse. While Telemachus' words slightly eased his mind, the fear still crawled in his mind.
Odysseus had held his arms out, doubtful but wishing that, even after so long apart, he could be a father to the son he'd always yearned to know. And without a second more of hesitation, the boy had run into his embrace. He could hardly comprehend having Telemachus back in his arms, for him to fully accept the monster that had just stained the walls of his home red.
Learning more about his son was something he looked forward to each day. Conversations over meals, nightly visits, unexpected but welcome run-ins while passing through the halls, he'd never miss out on the chance to speak with Telemachus if even only for a minute.
"Have you been in the garden today, Father? Come, you would not believe how many birds there are out there at the moment!" "Oh Father, I'm in a hurry at the moment but I have the wildest story about a fisherman and a goat that I have to tell you about later!" "Father! I helped a woman in town with her wagon and she gave me a teganitai!"
Such a beautiful boy, and Odysseus was able to call him his son. He he smiled as he recounted the memories while heading to his destination. As he did every morning, Odysseus stopped at the door a little ways from his room and carefully cracked it open. When Telemachus was a baby, Odysseus made a habit of checking up on him as soon as he woke up and right before going to sleep, at times even getting up at the middle of the night. After returning, he found himself immediately picking the habit up again. He stood at the doorway for a bit, watching the steady rise and fall of the mound of blankets on the bed. There was something calming about watching his family in comfort. After twenty years of feeling like the gods' favorite punching bag, his family made him the luckiest man in all of Greece.
Odysseus had only one concern with his relationship with Telemachus.
He wasn’t quite sure how to father.
For the longest time, the only thing keeping him going was the thought of returning to Penelope and Telemachus. What life would be like when he finally got home. To be able to hold the love of his life again. Watching his son as he grew and teaching him everything he knew. As the years excruciatingly went by during the war with the Trojans, there were certain moments and lessons he dreamed of sharing with Telemachus that he had to learn to let go of. Being there for his first words, being able to catch him as he stumbled through his first steps, sitting him on his lap and coaching him through the letters when he started reading.
Odysseus came home to find the small and fragile infant he had left now grown into a remarkable and capable young man. Anyone would be proud to have a son like Telemachus. The boy was filled with so much love in his heart even after living with dozens of brutes for years. Despite his initial fears upon returning home, any doubts Odysseus had about his son loving him were struck down by hugs and jokes and smiles. This was not the issue.
Odysseus' concern with their relationship was moreso about whether Telemachus even needed him around. A father is supposed to teach their child everything he knows, be there to catch them when they fall, support them with whatever they need, prepare them in their formative years so they can stand on their own. Now that he was here, his child standing no thanks to his father, he wasn't sure what role he could play in Telemachus' life. He loved the boy with every fiber of his being, one would have to be mad to claim otherwise. Odysseus just wanted the chance to do something, anything, for him.
That chance just seemed to be taking its sweet time coming to pass.
It wasn't for lack of trying. Some might say he was trying too hard, in fact.
Something that had become a frequent occurrence was the two of them sparring together. He remembered the first time Telemachus had approached him asking for his help training. Odysseus had practically flown out of his seat, hastily agreeing and wasting no time bringing his son to the training ground. Telemachus himself seemed unprepared for Odysseus' eagerness, commenting that he had expected to begin later but not complaining about the turn of events.
Odysseus had already been picturing this moment. He had fond memories of learning how to fight when he was younger, even if they were a bit bittersweet now. Being guided through handling weapons. Workshopping strategies and tricks with a healthy amount of mischief. Cracking a joke that was met with an eyeroll that had to have been forced because it was a very good one, actually, and had certainly deserved a laugh! The rush of finally landing a move after hours of practice, and then turning to see the proud face of the one who taught you. However, after only a couple of minutes, he realized this was not in fact what training Telemachus would look like.
He knew that prior to his return to Ithaca, Athena had begun mentoring Telemachus. Odysseus had mixed feeling upon learning this, but he was thankful to know she was there to help Telemachus hold his own long enough for him to arrive and deal with the suitors.
He'd just be a little more thankful if that did not entail Athena using Quick Thought with Telemachus throughout their session. The entire session. Every session.
Whenever Telemachus made a mistake or used a technique that could be substituted for another more fitting, Odysseus would make a mental note. But every piece of advice he could think to give was something Telemachus had already fixed by his next strike. Sometimes, he wished Athena wasn’t such an intent teacher that offered instant support and corrections to her newest pupil. Of course, he would never express anything other than gratitude for everything the goddess had done for his beloved son.
From the way Telemachus would describe their training, you would think Odysseus was doing far more than he believed to be true. He seemed to think his father was doing something useful when in reality he was providing a bit more than a stack of hay with a sword attached to its side, for at least Odysseus could move. And even when they were done, Telemachus would turn to him and ask how he did, sincerely wanting his father’s thoughts. A selfish part of Odysseus wanted to offer any sort of criticism, an excuse to work on something with the boy. Yet, there wasn't anything for him to provide. He couldn’t harp on any mistakes made during his spar because Athena would have had already called them out in the moment. There was no reason to repeat what he already knew to work on. Instead, he would just smile and praise his improvement. Half the time, Telemachus would beam at the words. It always made Odysseus want to shower him with more words of affirmation just to coax more joy from his face. Other times, Telemachus would frown and mull out loud about the errors he or Athena noted during the spar. In those cases, Odysseus would assure him that he was doing just fine. And the next time they would head out, sure enough, Telemachus had indeed corrected himself. It was always great to spend time with him, but there was nothing about Odysseus' role that couldn't be filled by another.
If he couldn't be a large assistance in his training, he figured he could work with the boy in preparation for when he passed the crown onto him. A father sharing everything he knew with his son, it had sounded logical. The only hole in that plan, he soon realized, was that having Telemachus sit in on his duties as king wasn't exactly the father/son bonding experience he had expected. Most of the time, he had to direct his attention to someone or something else, leaving Telemachus unacknowledged. His boy, bless him, endured hours of sitting silent and still with no complaint, with a smile plastered on his face whenever Odysseus was able to sneak a glance.
Odysseus chalked up his failure to use this time to connect to the environment. After all, meetings of diplomats fell on a spectrum of dull to tense, what he needed was a more private situation. As it turned out, even those circumstances didn't yield the result he had hoped for.
He could recall once working on documents discussing trade with their neighboring kingdoms. Telemachus had wandered in and begun to study his work from over his shoulder, quiet as to not disturb him but still bringing his father a warm comfort with his mere presence. Odysseus had thought it to be the perfect opportunity to teach his boy the trade. After all, it would one day be his duty, as the prince of Ithaca. However, as he asked him questions to gauge Telemachus' level of understanding and find where to build from, he quickly realized his son had expertise on the subject far surpassing any of his expectations. He answered every question Odysseus gave with such ease and clarity, the king was unable to find any room to offer his own insight and knowledge. He tried to keep the disappointment from showing on his face. What type of king isn't overjoyed to see how well their son has taken to the trade?
Upon asking him him how he had come to understand their trade so well, Telemachus explained how he used to watch from Penelope's side whenever she had worked, and she would answer any questions he had when he got curious. Odysseus heart was torn between dismay at missing out on teaching Telemachus yet again and utter adoration at Penelope's talent and patience. He ended up just nodding and complimenting Telemachus' knowledge before returning to the notes.
At this point, he was about ready to admit defeat. It was beginning to look like there was, without a doubt, nothing he could teach a twenty year old boy that he hadn't already learned. He'd had one final idea, one that he'd been so sure would be the key to connecting with Telemachus: firing an arrow from a bow.
Odysseus had never even seen his boy touch a bow, leading him to believe that it had to be due to not knowing how to. He'd be able to change that easily, and was eager to! The idea of teaching his son how to use the tool he specialized in, was known for, it was perfect. It was enough to pull him out of any nervous spirals he wound himself into when a plan failed.
Strangely enough though, the only thing that kept him from teaching Telemachus how to use a bow was Telemachus himself. Odysseus would mention a story to pique his interest in learning, bring his bow out and explain some of its finer details, even flat out try to invite him to the courtyard where the targets were set up. Yet every time, something he couldn't decipher would flicker through Telemachus' eyes before the boy found a way to change the subject.
Upon pondering what the reason behind this uncharacteristic behavior was, a startling theory came to him. Could Telemachus have been avoiding the bow because it was the tool Odysseus had used to rid the palace of the suitors upon his return? Did he poison his son's impression of the tool with his actions? Or was there some other reason behind this?
He'd gotten the answer a few days prior.
Odysseus had been feeling a bit restless that afternoon. He'd been circling about the castle, hoping to come across Penelope or Telemachus and spend a moment with them before his other duties inevitably called him back.
His wandering had brought him near the courtyard, and he wouldn't have lingered if not the sound of shuffling coming from it. He was the only one who entered that particular area aside from certain guards who passed through it quickly as part of their rounds, so naturally the noise made him curious. Did a member of the staff want to explore? Did an intruder decide to camp out in the area? This particular courtyard was blocked around the sides, only able to be entered by an opening on one end, and housed the archery range. It made for a strange hide place for an intruder, but not out of the realm of possibility. Knowing his, Odysseus stealthily approached the entryway with one hand already on his weapon.
Peeking his head around the wall, he was surprised to find none other than Telemachus standing there. After trying to bring him for over a week, there he was of his own volition. They boy hadn't spotted him watching yet, occupied with grabbing something from near another wall. When he stood and began walking closer to where Odysseus was hiding, he slid back behind the wall. After confirming he hadn't been spotted, he poked his head out slightly, no longer able to see the entire courtyard but having full view of Telemachus.
Standing there with a bow in hand and arrow ready to fire.
Hearing the arrow hit one of the targets felt as though someone had doused him in ice cold water. He pushed himself away from the wall to get himself to move from where his feet were rooted to the floor.
A fool. He had been a fool to think there was anything left for him to teach Telemachus. He'd missed his first words. His first steps. His first artwork. His first lesson. His first fight. His first arrow. His first try at everything.
Every meal. Every day. Every night. Every dream. Every nightmare. Every question. Every smile. Everything.
He.
Missed.
Everything.
Odysseus managed to stumble his way to one of the stone benches in the garden and collapsed onto it. He buried his face into his shaking hands and let out a broken cry.
He really was too late.
He wasn't sure how long he had been siting there when he faintly heard the sound of someone approach his side. From just the hand on his shoulder, he was able to identify the person as Penelope without glancing up.
"Dear, what's wrong?"
Odysseus lifted his head to face her. "It has just finally gotten through to me that I need to accept that my son does not need a father anymore."
Penelope simply stared at him for a moment, silent. She then reached up and cupped one side of his face in her hand. "Odysseus. My love. My other half. You have such a brilliant mind, and yet the levels of foolishness you can achieve never ceases to amaze."
"…Sorry?"
"What do you mean 'Telemachus doesn't need a father anymore'?"
"I simply don't see what Telemachus can possibly gain from having me around."
"He adores you!"
"There's nothing I can do for him!"
"Nothing you can- That boy did not spend the past twenty years dreaming of his father coming home only for him to decide not to be a part of his life," She narrowed her eyes. "Are you saying you no longer wish to be a father to my son?"
"What?"
"He's twenty, so he doesn't need his father's love anymore? Doesn't need a father to talk with, laugh with? A shoulder to lean on? Someone that cares for him, protects him from harm, lets him know when he's in over his head?" She scoffed. "Nothing you can do for him? By that logic, next you'll be saying he doesn't need a mother anymore! Dear, do you want to say that my son doesn't need me anymore?"
"Of course not!"
"Does he not deserve any of this?"
Odysseus shot to his feet. "He deserves everything! I'd give him the world if he asked for it! Anything he wants, I just want to be able to give him something!"
"So that's it." Penelope watched him with sympathetic eyes. Odysseus quickly realized what she had done. She always did have a way with words, a way with him.
He returned to his spot next to her. "I've been trying. I've been asking myself 'What's something I can teach him? What's something I can give him after not being in his life for so long?' Yet everything I can come up with is something he's already gotten from someone else. I had one last idea, I was so sure it would work, but…" Odysseus laughed emptily. "I should've expected a boy his age would've already learned how to use a bow."
"A bow?"
He let out a wince as he asked, "Is it awful of me to have hoped he hadn't?"
"Odysseus-"
He turned away, not wanting to see the look on her face. "It is, isn't it? My boy had to be stuck with a father that can't even be happy for his accomplishments."
Penelope let out a small sigh. Her voice was dulled when she spoke again. "'How disappointed would he be to return home and find that the son of the great Odysseus can't even fire an arrow from a bow?'"
Odysseus snapped his head in her direction. "What?"
"When Telemachus was young, I’d spend hours telling him tales about you so when you were finally home, he would know who his father was. I'd speak of your great feats, our life together, how much you adored him. He especially loved the stories about your skill with a bow. He was so impressed and so proud that the man with the sharpest aim in all of Greece was his father." As she reminisced, she began to smile "If you could have seen how he lit up at the prospect of his father teaching him how to use a bow. He refused to learn from anyone else, he wanted you to be the one to guide him through the first arrow he launched."
Her fond smile at the memory slipped from her lips as she continued. "A while after they arrived, I once found him in the courtyard desperately trying to shoot arrows at a target. The bow was a gift from a diplomat he insisted on not using until you were home, so I was shocked to see him with it. He wouldn't tell me what spurred this on, but it wasn't difficult to imagine what had likely happened. 'How disappointed would he be to return home and find that the son of the great Odysseus can't even fire an arrow from a bow?', that was all he would say on the matter. Who else would put that into his mind?"
Odysseus took a breath to settle the anger that was rising in his chest. It wasn't aimed at his family, never at them, but rather the pigs that were still somehow able to get worse the more he learned about them. His own encounter with them was enough for him to hope Hades had a special punishment designed for each of them upon arrival, and Penelope's descriptions made him wonder if that would be enough. A hand taking his pulled him from his dark thoughts. He met Penelope's eyes with a reassured smile and gave her hand a squeeze.
"While I had loved the idea of him learning from you, I could tell how determined he was. I offered to find someone to teach him if it was that important to him, but he insisted it was something he had to do by himself. When they were still around, he would get up earlier than they could to practice most days of the week in peace. He still tends to keep to that schedule, it's a rare sight to spot him there later in the day."
"I wonder why he hasn't said anything." Telemachus was the type to share everything about his day, so the fact there was a major part of his routine that Odysseus never knew about was jarring. Was there anything else he was keeping from him due to learned shame?
"I'm sure he'll come to you about this when he feels ready. I would recommend not mentioning it before he does." Odysseus nodded to agree with her sentiment. "Until then, remember he loves having you around. He's never once turned down the opportunity to hear about you. He used to beg to listen to stories I must have told hundreds of times. These days, when I ask him about his day, the moments he most excitedly shares are those that involve you."
"Apple doesn't fall far from the tree, the moments with him mark the best parts of my day." His smile wilted a bit. "I would be lying if I said I didn’t wish we could’ve had those twenty years together as a family. Perhaps if we had-"
"Ah," Penelope raised a finger to stop him. "We could either spend our time contemplating on what could have been, or focus on what we have now. And what I have is a husband and son I love with my whole soul." She leaned close and Odysseus took her cue to pull her into a kiss.
Afterwards, they sat watching a small group of birds circling around each other, one a bit smaller than the other two. They happily chirped as they flew around, as though content solely being around one another.
"I do wish I could do more for him."
"My husband is such a devoted father." Penelope teased.
"Can I be blamed? Our son is so kind, so bright, so brave! You did an incredible job, my love."
She smiled softly. "Thank you. Of course, it's easier when you have a son as wonderful as Telemachus." She laced their fingers together. "The best parts of both of his parents and more."
Odysseus brought their interlocked hands up to press a kiss before resting his forehead against hers.
How did he ever survive apart from them?