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“Are you sure this is safe?”
The prince of Ithaca drew back the string on his newly acquired bow.
“Absolutely!” His father called back from his spot in front of the target, an apple balancing on his head precariously. “Just do what I taught you!”
“Uh… okay…” Telemachus narrowed his eyes, focusing and pointing the tip of the arrow at the apple above the king’s head.
He took a deep breath, glanced at his father’s eager, trusting face, and let the arrow fly.
For a few seconds, time itself seemed to hold its breath as the arrow soared through the air.
It got closer, closer… the prince’s eyes lit up as it seemed to be sailing towards the apple.
Then, it tipped downwards, losing speed.
Telemachus’s eyes widened with horror as the arrow hurtled straight towards his father’s chest.
Thunk.
The king’s gaze drifted down to where his son’s arrow protruded from the top of his right bicep. “Oh…”
“DAD!”
“I’m fine, son!” Odysseus called back, but Telemachus was already throwing the bow on the ground and sprinting to his father.
Ody tapped the shaft of the arrow with a wince. “Oh it’s really stuck in there isn’t it?”
“Oh gods, Dad…” the prince’s hands shook as he reached out to touch the arrow but thought better of it. “I… I shot you.”
Odysseus noticed the glassy look that was brought upon his son’s eyes and put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, hey don’t cry, it’s okay.”
Telemachus sniffed. “W-what can I d-do to help?”
“Just go get your mother. Breathe. I’ll wait here.”
The prince took a shuddering breath and nodded, running out of the training room.
After a moment, the queen of Ithaca’s worried rambling could be heard outside the doors of the training room.
“Odysseus? Telemachus? What happened—Telemachus, why are you so pale—”
The doors burst open as Penelope rushed in, skirts gathered in her fists. Her eyes immediately locked onto the arrow jutting from her husband’s chest.
“...Oh.”
“I said I’m fine,” Odysseus said gently, as if he hadn’t just been impaled by his own son.
Penelope was already at his side, scolding him. “You put an apple on your head and told our son to shoot it?!”
Telemachus hovered beside her, face ashen. “I—I didn’t mean to—Dad said I was ready and I—”
Penelope turned so fast he flinched. For one horrible second, he thought she might yell at him.
Instead, she pulled him into a tight embrace.
“You were just listening to your father,” she said fiercely into his hair. “This is not your fault.”
Behind them, Odysseus let out a small, guilty cough. “In my defense, I thought Athena taught him about archery already.”
That earned him a glare sharp enough to cut bronze. She pointed to the ground. “Sit.”
Ody did so immediately without question.
She dropped to her knees in front of him without another word, already lifting the canteen from her belt. Her hands were steady—unnaturally so—as she uncorked it and let crystal-clear water spill over her palms and Ody’s wound.
Telemachus stood helplessly nearby, face pale. “M-Mom…”
Penelope didn’t look away from the wound. “I know.”
She placed one wet hand just above where the arrow pierced his chest—and with the other, she pulled.
Odysseus hissed sharply as the arrow slid free, clattering to the floor. “Ow.”
“You shut it.”
Before blood could well too much, Penelope pressed her glowing, water-soaked palms over the injury, and murmured hymns underneath her breath. The water shimmered, sinking into his skin like light into glass.
The torn flesh knitted together.
The bleeding stopped.
Telemachus stared.
Ody rotated his shoulder slowly, experimentally. “...huh.”
Penelope exhaled, tension finally leaving her shoulders. Then she stood.
And that was when Odysseus realized he was in trouble.
“You,” she said, pointing at her husband. Calm. Deadly. “Will never practice archery with Telemachus unsupervised again.”
Odysseus opened his mouth.
Penelope lifted one finger.
He closed it. Rolled his eyes. “Fine…”
He stood, his foot bumping into the untouched apple on the ground as he did so.
Eyes lighting up, he bent down, picked it up, and opened his mouth, meaning to take a bite.
Penelope snatched it from his hands.
“Hey— ow!” Ody exclaimed as the queen of Ithaca threw the apple at him almost playfully, the fruit hitting him directly in the forehead.
Telemachus stifled his laughter as Penelope grinned.
“That,” she said, “is for putting our son in danger.”
Odysseus rubbed his forehead. “I think the arrow hurt less…”
Telemachus finally cracked, laughter bubbling out. Penelope’s smile softened as she ruffled his hair affectionately. She nudged him gently toward the door.
“Let’s get dinner started,” she said softly. “Your father can finish training by himself today.”
“Mostly himself.” Telemachus corrected, sharing a look with his father, who grinned.
“She’s behind me, isn’t she?”
Telemachus smiled back and nodded. “Have fun!”
Penelope wrapped her arm around her son’s shoulders and led him out of the training area. As they reached the hallway, a loud thud and the king’s yell caused them to pause.
“Hey! What was that for?!”
“For being you.”
Telemachus shared a look with his mother, and they giggled softly to themselves as they walked away, leaving the king of Ithaca to fend for himself against the great goddess of wisdom and battle strategies.