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Over the eons of her existence, there were many mortals that earned the notice of Pallas Athena, great goddess of wisdom, weaving, war, and much that lay between. There were far fewer, however, that held more than her interest or curiosity, or desire to gain advantage through their usefulness. Very few indeed who held all of such things, and the far greater wealth that was her true affection.
Those who did would know and feel her blessings all of their lives, whether they recognized it directly or not. Many who tried to draw and keep her care did so through great deeds or sacrifice, and oftentimes these methods were effective. But there were others still that caught and kept Athena’s eye without grand overt actions.
Oh great Athena Parthenos, most wise and graceful goddess, please hear me…
The first whisper of the girl’s voice — a prayer, accompanied with an offering of honey and olive oil — reached Athena when the mortal princess was only a young child. Her words came not in worship joined by her family like before, or as an expected part of ritual and duty, but rather of her own desire. Athena felt the difference, as innately as she always recognized whoever called her, even if she had not looked upon them before. She knew them in that moment, as completely as mortals knew their own heartbeat.
And so too, then, did she come to know princess Penelope of Sparta.
It began with simple observation. Under the guise of her owl form, nestled within a tree that looked into the princess’s chambers, Athena watched and listened. Incense was still lit from the girl’s prayer, smoke both flowing out into the night air and settling along the honey and oil left at the small altar, like mist drifting upon a riverbank.
Further within, the child princess stood before a polished loom, clearly crafted with her age and size in mind: to hone her craft until she grew and needed another. She moved with innate grace, and looked very much like her mother, the naiad Periboea, with a gaze lovely as springwater and scattered freckles that shimmered like bronze. But Athena knew the girl’s father Icarius and his line well: as she would know any that descended from her favored Perseus and Andromeda. Indeed, their features carried through to their grandchildren, and to this particular great-granddaughter, from the spirals of her hair, to the shape of her eyes and nose, to the slightly darker tone of her skin.
She was dressed for sleep, black curls loosened from their braids and tumbling down her back, bright and vivid eyes following the path of her fingers as they traced along the weaving suspended in her loom. It was the beginnings of a tapestry, and one that seemed to be telling a story, though what tale was difficult to ascertain in this early stage.
Yet Athena had observed weavings from fully-grown mortals that looked far less promising. Princess Penelope had much to learn, but what she knew already was notable. The swirling patterns at the topmost edge — reminiscent of a river’s stream — were vibrant and detailed, if very slightly clumsy in ways that small mortal hands had a tendency to make things. Indeed, the intricacies of it implied her fingers were already quite nimble and confident: Athena doubted most would have noticed the minor flaws without deeper inspection. It was nothing that could not be improved with further time and practice, a truth the young princess seemed to be implementing well on her own.
“Please,” the girl’s whisper would have not reached mortal ears, but Athena heard it well. As she spoke, Penelope continued to drift her fingers along the in-progress edge of her tapestry. “Help me learn to weave as my mind sees. Wind the thread as finely as your tactics.”
The words were clearly practiced. Perhaps she had written and re-written them over time to be as she liked, moving her lips around each over and over so she would not stumble while speaking. Her tone was respectful, awed and careful, but not timid, for all that she was quiet. A voice that knew the goddess she prayed to would hear, and counted on it with unwavering faith.
Athena fluttered soundlessly to a lower branch nearer to the window, though there was no real need to do so. She could see and hear very well from within the upper boughs, though for now the sparked flare of her curiosity brought her to listen and observe more closely all the same. Whether it would grow to a lasting flame of interest was yet to be seen, but that she lingered at all was promising.
After all, she could see there was intent woven into this tapestry. More than just this girl desiring to make lovely art (though that was a great accomplishment in itself, and such works had caught Athena’s eye in the past). Perhaps it was a gift, intended to bring joy to the receiver or endear them to her. Perhaps she was crafting it at the command of her father, and her eagerness was to live up to his expectations. Or perhaps Princess Penelope was making it as proof of her skills when compared against another in some contest. There were many possibilities, and Athena would consider them all, but there was only one way to know the truth of it.
Invisible to any eyes that could have tried to perceive her, Athena swept into the room, wings spread wide as she settled weightlessly upon Penelope’s shoulder. Still, the girl straightened, inhaling fresh breath into her lungs, the blessing she asked for passing through her body like the flow of her blood within. For a moment, her eyes drifted closed, and her fingertips slowed in their path along the woven threads.
Then she smiled, wide and bright, gaze alight like a sailor venturing eagerly through unmapped seas that he alone could navigate, as she began to work upon her tapestry once more.
And so for the first time — but what would prove to be far from the last — Athena watched Penelope weave.
(-)
As weeks bled into months, Athena observed far more than Princess Penelope’s blossoming skills at the loom.
That the young girl was clever was apparent from the start. Disguising herself to watch through differing perspectives within the Spartan royal household allowed Athena to see the sharp edges of a mind already honing itself: one that could be guided and formed to slice as deep as any blade, and sever problems like cutting thread. Princess Penelope rarely uttered anything other than the truth, yet that in itself was what allowed her to lie so easily with those same facts. Her words were honeyed, smiles sweeter still: all of it entirely sincere but done with greater goals in mind. Sometimes those aims were simple childhood qualms — like avoiding trouble with her father or while playing little games with her cousins and siblings — but other days she acted with the knowledge of her expected future duties in mind. Training her mind and body for the days when she oversaw her own household, and all that would entail.
That first tapestry Athena saw come to life was one such occasion: made not just as a gift, not only to be a lovely work of art, but to influence the one it was given to. A visiting lord and his lady wife, bringing some dispute they wished to be settled: the responsibility of it fell to Icarius, and his well-placed words and practiced wisdom resolved the matter, but it was also undeniable that Princess Penelope aided his efforts.
Her sweet greetings were matched only by her warm courtesy and smile, and the completed tapestry — vibrant and beautiful, depicting one of the many tales mortals knew of Shining Apollo — seemed to be a favorite story of their guests. Though they arrived with frustration simmering in their hearts, bright-eyed Penelope disarmed them with her offered gifts and welcoming words: from there, it took very little time for the generosity of their hosts to win the lord and lady over entirely.
Though this event resolved the initial curiosity that kept Athena watching this Spartan princess, the notion of stopping did not occur to her at all. She held no desire to turn away from the girl as of yet: indeed, Athena continued to return and watch, again and again, and again, as further months passed, and all she saw confirmed to her that she was right in not looking away.
Her gaze even fell upon the mortal princess while she slept, at times. Unlikely though it was for anything to occur after she drifted into dreams, it would have been foolish for Athena to dismiss such possibilities outright. After all, Penelope occasionally stayed up late to weave, and while she grew the actions she might choose to take beneath the light of Selene’s moon would only increase as she left childhood behind.
One night, during the early years of Athena’s observation, Penelope had a terrible dream. She woke with a great gasp, tears springing to her eyes, though she did not cry out for her nurse or for her father. Perhaps it was due to her growing age, or perhaps she simply could not will herself to rise or make noise in the wake of whatever had troubled her sleep. So instead she laid there, trembling and weeping, though Lord Hypnos did not seem to be drawing her back within the arms of sleep so easily.
Her every breath was shaking and soft, and she shivered upon her bed, curled beneath thick wondrous furs that did not seem to aid her against that which chilled her heart and mind. Faint streams of moonlight caught the glittering tears that slipped down her cheeks, though she next buried her face into her pillow. This muffled her sounds more, yet Athena found it no less disquieting.
Laughter and smiles suited the young princess far better. For now, Athena reasoned, would it not be better for such pains to be eased? If the girl did not sleep well, her mind and gaze would be dulled the following day after all.
That was why Athena slipped silent as a shadow to Penelope’s bedside, and gently laid her hand over the girl’s forehead, and down to her eyes, and the mortal child stilled beneath the touch, soothed to sleep the moment the motion was complete. Her breathing eased, and though tears clung to her wet eyelashes, a soft sight left her lips, and they curled into a smile, for Athena knew the dreams that greeted her then were warm and welcoming. She lingered, watching the small body — growing by the day into the woman she would one day become, that Athena knew Penelope could be — relax further, the nightmare no more than a fading memory.
Athena left not long after, though just like that first night watching her weave, this would be far from the last time that she soothed Penelope into sleep, away from pain and grief that threatened to suffocate her while awake.
(-)
Years passed, and Princess Penelope of Sparta continued to bloom in every way that Athena could have hoped for.
Once, she had been a child with promising weaving abilities. Now, she was approaching womanhood, and her talent grew in tandem, seemingly by the day. Once, she had been a clever girl who knew how to sharpen her own mind. Now she could truly wield it, keep it shaped as with a whetstone, while none around her knew she held such a powerful weapon at all. For who would suspect the sweet blade of her smile? The threads her words could join and unravel, pulling those around her into whatever greater tapestry she aimed to create. How could they find guile in her eyes when none existed, and all that passed her lips was no less than the truth she believed? What did it matter that those truths kept them guided by her hands, weaving their actions down her desired path as if they were suspended within her loom?
It was, Athena could admit freely, always delightful to watch.
So she was hardly surprised, as the girl grew, that others — particularly those who valued similar traits, mortals and gods alike — took notice of Penelope. At times Athena used her blessings to encourage such attention, for it made her favored princess more renowned. After all, with the expected duties she would one day have, finding a husband worthy of Penelope — who could be brought to greater heights by her as she could be by him — was a process Athena planned accordingly. Her realm was not that of golden Aphrodite, embodiment of love itself and all understanding of it, but a matching of minds was another matter entirely.
That Athena understood best of all.
And King Odysseus of Ithaca, one of her most favored mortal champions, possessed such a mind that Princess Penelope could eagerly meet, as he would meet hers in turn. Athena was certain of it, but more importantly, so was Penelope. The girl took notice of Odysseus early on— before Athena herself admittedly thought of the potential benefits of their match — as he was visiting the Atreus brothers within King Agamemnon’s palace, while the princess was there spending time with her cousin Queen Clytemnestra. By the end of Odysseus’s trip, Athena had caught the way Penelope’s eyes settled on the Ithacan king, and the determination shining within: the princess studied him the entire length of his stay, and learned all she could.
As Odysseus left to return home, Athena saw within the princess’s gaze the moment Penelope made her choice, one she would not dare yet to speak aloud, but may as well have been etched in stone.
So it was, a year later Athena encouraged Odysseus to join those seeking the hand of Princess Helen of Sparta — daughter of Athena’s own divine father, just and mighty God-King Zeus — despite their shared knowledge that he would not be selected as Helen’s husband. There were many advantages to attending regardless, but most importantly: there was another in Sparta who had already chosen him entirely.
Odysseus did not recognize it at first, not even after Penelope carefully crafted their first true interaction, wherein he thought himself entirely in control. To him, it seemed to be a simple game of petteia between an experienced player and a young girl that barely knew the rules, one he could endear himself to for his own benefits with her family. But before its end — and the princess soundly defeating him —he realized there was another more complex game being played. And that Penelope was challenging him to join it with her.
After that, it was not long at all before his gaze was finding (and lingering) upon the princess, and she in turn made sure it would continue to stay there. Athena never doubted her abilities — and had only on occasion needed to subtly soothe the girl’s worries as she made her plans — but seeing how masterfully Penelope worked toward her aims was even more satisfying than the goddess anticipated. Perhaps Athena should have been disappointed at how well and truly her champion Odysseus was so ensnared within the princess's trap — but that emotion did not rise within her. It was a benefit for them both and for herself, a goal she had seen the value of some time ago, not to mention the potential greatness of their children that could come from a line of their bonding.
A plan accomplished: that was the warmth that filled her chest as she watched her favored mortals meet over and over again, and grow closer through letters, conversations that were their own games and riddles and tactics. It was a blazing pride in all going as Athena wished it to, and the joy of knowing the path would follow her designs, that caused her to bring further shine to Penelope’s hair and eyes upon her wedding day. To ask that the sunlight Apollo carried across the sky fell even more beautifully upon the princess becoming a queen, and her glorious husband-to-be, the incomparable and wily King Odysseus. It was in celebration of all accomplished that made Athena ensure the wine and food was sweeter still, and that the breeze was gentle and cooling, and seemed to carry a lovely song of its own as it sighed through the leaves. It was merely satisfaction that influenced her decision to request Hermes bless the newly-wedded pair with speed in their journey to Ithaca, where their lives together would begin.
Even as some part of her knew, as animals oft feel Poseidon the earth-shaker before he strikes, like a buried instinct to try and avoid what cannot be changed, that it would not last. For nothing with mortals ever did. What time Odysseus and Penelope had was theirs nonetheless, and Athena would do all she could for them to keep it.
(-)
During the long ages of her existence, Athena always enjoyed observing the mortals she favored. Even the times when they made foolish choices, there was value to be found in keeping her eyes on them. She should perhaps have guessed that in turn, seeing two of them live and grow together would doubly hold her interest.
For now, that surely explained the difficulty she faced in turning her gaze away from Ithaca and its royal family, the eagerness that sped her to look in upon King Odysseus and Queen Penelope even more than she had in years past. It never kept Athena distracted from other important matters — and there were months at a time where she would not see them much at all — but the frequency of her watching and aiding them could not be denied. Of course, they were diligent and pious, and gave frequent offerings and sacrifices, so it was not undeserved.
Yet it was not a gift or a sacrifice that made Athena take a moment to listen to their laughter, as they laid entwined upon a kline made by Odysseus's hands. Or take delight in staying through the evening (hidden from their sight yet right among them) as they planned together, preparing for matters of law and political tactics. Or the days where Athena hid amongst members of their household, following Penelope and Odysseus as they communicated in the moment without having to exchange a word, expertly leading whoever else was around them along the path they so desired. Athena watched them as they played their games, over and over, both within their megaron for the sake of themselves and their kingdom, as well as upon an actual petteia board. Through it all they jested and challenged each other, always in partnership even while in competition.
When Athena laid an embrace they could not see upon their backs, lightening their heartache as they faced another disappointment in their attempts to conceive a child, it was not in direct response to all the incense and wine and blood gifted in her name. And later still, when the day finally came that their hopes were met, they had not even begun their expressions of gratitude toward the gods (sacrifices of their finest cows and pigs, among other plentiful offerings) but Athena had already gone to fruitful Demeter for aid, and encouraged all of the island to bloom in celebration, beautifying the world around them just as Penelope and Odysseus glowed in their happiness.
It was not a prayer calling to Athena that caused her to soothe Penelope’s fitful nights of sleep (for what reason was there to break such habits now?), during the scattered times Odysseus was out raiding at sea or attending to other matters away from home for a few weeks. It was not a plea that led Athena to place an unseen hand to the Queen of Ithaca’s head, and allow her to know and feel as she slept the longing her husband had for her, and the eagerness that filled Odysseus’s heart at returning to her when he was done with the task before him. There were also moments where he too received such soothing, though Penelope had more reason to fear for his fate than he did for hers, his concern and love still caused fear and worry to rise within his chest, and could distract him if not for the goddess’s careful hand.
Then, during the times Athena actively intervened to protect Odysseus — silently called his attention to attacks from behind, repelled weapons that would have wounded or killed him — she thought not only of her champion, of her own great desire to keep him alive (though the truth of such feelings was nearly overwhelming). No, the other thought that flashed across Athena’s mind whenever she kept Odysseus from harm, was of Penelope, lying in the marriage bed he had made for her, dreaming and dreading this very danger, utterly terrified that he would not return.
More often than she would perhaps admit, after her blessing of calming sleep, Athena waited before departing the Ithacan queen’s side, watching the way this small comfort brought Penelope’s smile, and eased the loneliness that tried to drag down her heart.
Years later, attempting to lift that sorrow would prove a far more difficult task.
Through that time — as Odysseus was forced to heed the call to war (and all that would befall him thereafter, but he would return, he would, Athena knew it) —Penelope was left alone to care for their son and kingdom. And with every year that passed, all remnants of the girl Athena once knew — who laughed as easily as she cried, but sought joy more frequently, whose eager curiosity led her to love expanding her mind — slowly unraveled.
Not completely, not to nothing, for Penelope still clung stubbornly to all that kept her rooted to the earth. Her son Telemachus, the duties expected of her, the hopes for her family that still lived (even as more and more of them were lost to her). She gave her waking hours and ones she should have used for sleeping, whispering prayers and bringing offerings — Anything, Penelope promised, I would give anything, please, please great goddess Athena, return him to me— but that did not stop the threads of her very being from fraying year by year.
And Athena, great goddess of weaving, brought her powerful divine fingers to those unraveling ends day after day, night after night, and wound them together once more.
Once Odysseus finished his journey — soon now, Athena knew, just as she would sense the approach of a gathering storm, righteous lightning roiling within thunderous clouds — Penelope would finally weep with joy instead of grief. When she tested and recognized him for who he was, when he restored his place as her husband, so much of the weight that crushed her shoulders would be lifted, burdens shared with her lord as they were meant to be. His tears would join hers as they embraced, his own grieved and longing heart soothed within her arms at last. Tales of their reunion, of their survival these twenty years — of Athena’s favored man of many ways, his incomparable cunning and loyal queen — would be told and re-told, their greatness and glory echoed throughout time, long after their bones turned to dust.
Athena knew it, as if she foresaw the path ahead just as the Fates did, for there was no other future she would accept.
For now, the sweet relieving sleep she brought Penelope was a silent assurance: Odysseus will be home, he will live, he will return to you. The confidence she strengthened — which had cracked beneath the strain of loss and time — fed the embers of hope still glowing warm within the Ithacan queen’s heart. Athena was the hand Penelope could not see upon her brow, but which cooled her fevered skin all the same. A guiding protection that kept her son and husband whole and able to come home to her. The fortification at her feet that helped her stay standing, no matter the circling creatures that snapped at her heels. A thumb that wiped the tears away.
For now— no.
For every year to come, Athena would be all such things for Penelope.