Odysseus stood, straightening as he tossed the olive up into the air, snatching it deftly with his palm. “But, with patience, comes rewards. Good things come to those who are willing to-” He popped the olive into his mouth, face immediately turning into a grimace. “By the gods, that is revolting!” He spluttered, spitting it out onto the ground. “Why do we grow these?” He asked, expression still sour.
Penelope’s lips twitched, but she held them firmly together. Odysseus wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, expression turning into a wide smile. “A lesson, my queen. Never trust an olive straight from the tree.”
She fought back a smile, eyes rolling gently. “Serves you right. Foolish King.”
He bowed deeply in front of her, one hand on his heart as he watched her, eyes twinkling. “A fool for you.”
Finally, before she could stop herself, the laugh escaped her. It was brief, restrained. But it was also light and freeing. Odysseus beamed, his face shining with triumph like a boywho’d stolen a prize. “You’re insufferable.” She said, no longer trying to hide the smile that threatened the corners of her mouth.
“Ah, but I’ve made you laugh.” His pride was as radiant as the sun. “I have waited years to hear your laughter, Penelope.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Penelope quipped, walking past him, hiding a smile. She settled herself on a rock,herrock. The rough surface was worn with age and time, but a comfort to her, nonetheless.
He followed quietly in her footsteps, taking his place next to her. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He replied, gently bumping his shoulder into hers. Her skin brushed his for a heartbeat longer than anticipated, a memory of warmth where distance had grown. A spark of longing — for the moments once shared coursed through her veins.
The two sat in a companionable silence for a long while, time passing with the breeze. She could feel him, achingly close to her, yet not touching. Never touching. She wanted to turn back time and be the young queen he fell in love with, be the wife he deserved.
“We’re going to be okay,” Odysseus said softly, reading her mind. Penelope turned to look at him, finding his gaze trained on the sea, towards the docks of Ithaca that could be seen from her spot.
“How can you be so confident?” She asked, her voice quiet, attempting to tamp down the emotions that threatened to push their way out.
“Now,” He turned to her, a soft smile gracing his lips as he took her hands in his. His hand dwarfed hers, his skin electrifying to the touch. “Have you forgotten the man you fell in love with? I am nothing if not overconfident.”
His confidence was unshaken, but she couldn’t summon a smile, not yet. Penelope took a deep breath. Blinking back tears.After taming her heartbeat, she scoffed. He squeezed her hands gently, “I’m serious, Ody.” She didn’t miss the way his face lit up at the use of the nickname.
“So am I,” he replied softly, mirth absent in his tone. “I know there are many bridges that need mending. We are not the same people we were when we made love in this olive grove all those years ago.” Her cheeks flushed red at the memory, avoiding his teasing gaze. “But, you are Penelope of Ithaca. I followed you here. I will follow you anywhere.”
Penelope shifted, resting her head on the shoulder of the man next to her. His fingers twitched against hers with the familiar touch. She could almost hear the grin return to his lips. “Then follow me to the assembly, King of Ithaca. Your people have been waiting for you.”
16
“TRULY, YOU MAD WOMAN,” Odysseus groaned, rolling his eyes as she stood, “I have been home less than a week, and you want me to sit and listen to the grievances of the men of Ithaca?”
“Yes, king, I do. I have been holding gatherings and listening to grievances of many more men for so many years.” She clasped her hands behind her back, raising an eyebrow at the man in front of her. Her heart skipped a beat as she watched a smile spread across his face, a childlike mirth gleaming in his eyes.
He was as handsome as the day she met him, aging like the finest Spartan wine. He was made to grow old, the roots of his hair peppered with greys. Each wrinkle on his face told a story, but her favorites were the ones that crinkled the corners of his eyes when he laughed. She would wait a lifetime to see those lines grace his smile.
“And I took care of over a hundred of those men!” He said, exasperated. He stood, wiping his hands on his tunic while looking at her. “Haven’t I done enough? You leave me no peace, woman.” He sighed, but his eyes twinkled with delight.
“Not nearly, my dear.” Was her measured response. “Do hurry, mighty king,” she gestured for him to walk ahead of her, so she could follow in his footsteps, as a good wife and queen waswont to do. “Wouldn’t want your men to think their ruler had gone soft in his time away.”
He offered his arm, and time stopped. Penelope’s breath hitched, tears threatening to spill once more. “Together, my queen,” he whispered, “or not at all.”
For twenty years she had walked ahead, alone, where he lingered only in memory. Now, his arm was hers again, not in possession but in partnership.
She took his arm, fastening her hand in the crook of his elbow. Each of their touches felt like the first again, her heart fluttering like the foolish nineteen-year-old girl she had been all those years ago. “You’re allowed tears, you know,” Odysseus mentioned softly, resting his hand atop hers. “You’ve carried this kingdom on your back for years, my wife. Allow yourself the freedom of sorrow.”
Penelope shook her head. “I’m not sorrowful.” She looked to the King, a sad smile tugging the corners of his mouth. The tears still brimmed, doing little to convince Odysseus. “I am overwhelmed with emotions. Many of them are hard to name. But I only feel sadness when I am apart from you, even for a moment.” She offered her own watery smile. “You have been the source of all my happiness throughout my life. You and your son.”
Odysseus pressed a gentle kiss into her hair. “Then we shall never be apart until Charon himself ferries us to the beyond.”
She laughed more freely this time. She never thought it possible to laugh again, to find joy in her life. But… She had given up hope on her husband returning, too.
His touch grounded her. They walked the rest of the way in silence. The king would hum a tuneless song, and Penelope found herself falling deep into the man he was. There was so much that needed to be repaired. So much that they had to buryin order to survive… But there was also so much of them that was the same.
“Ody,” Penelope stopped just before reentering the walls of the palace. “We should talk about the night of the festival.” She worried her lip, refusing now to make eye contact with him.
He stiffened under her touch. “No, I don’t think we should.” He replied, short but not unkind.
