He didn’t answer right away, his gaze sweeping over the horizon as if searching for the right words. “No… The god of the sea is cruel. He takes and takes,” he said finally. “But I do. And I know this, Penelope: no tide, no storm, no gods will take me from you again.”
Her chest tightened as she turned to face him fully, her fingers brushing the worn linen of his sleeve. “I’m glad you’re coming.” She said softly, though her eyes drifted downward, unwilling to meet his for too long. A sour tang of weakness rose in her throat, and she felt the weight of an old, familiar war within herself.
For twenty years, she had been stoic, steadfast, and unyielding as stone. That had been her armor, her necessity to survive. But standing here now, on the docks of Ithaca, with the ocean air tangling her hair and the waves crashing behind them, she realized how much of herself had been built around absence.Hisabsence.
And now, falling into her husband’s eyes, there was a quiet yearning she couldn’t ignore. A desire to let the weight of it all slip from her shoulders. To be held, to be protected. To feel, ifonly for a moment, the safety she hadn’t even realized she had lost.
So she did.
She stepped closer, closing the space between them, and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. Her fingers clutched at the fabric of his tunic as she pressed her cheek against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear. It was a sound she had dreamed of, prayed for, and now it was real. Warm. Solid. Hers.
For a moment, Odysseus hesitated, startled by the suddenness of her movement. Then his arms came around her, steady and sure, cradling her as if to shield her from the winds and waves alike. One hand rose to her hair, his fingers threading through the dark strands as he whispered, “I’m here, Penelope. Always.”
Her lips parted, but no words came. Instead, she let herself lean into him, let herself rest in the strength of the man she had never stopped waiting for. “Sorry,” she murmured eventually, pulling away and swiping at the tears on her cheeks.
Odysseus pressed a soft kiss to her temple, a grin teasing the corner of his mouth. “Come, wife. Our son waits to see us off.”
There was nothing quite so awkward as the tension that lingered between king and son. Penelope choked on it each time the three of them were together. Standing by Odysseus’ side, she felt young again - like the princess he had fallen in love with. They were mending the wounds in each other, stitch by painful stitch.
But with Telemachus, she was a queen, a mother, and a warrior of her own accord. She herself grappled with unifying the two versions of Penelope that she held inside of her. The Penelope of the past, and the Penelope of the present.
She patted her son’s cheek, offering him a watery smile. “Be safe, my heart.” She said, suddenly overcome with emotion. “We will be back within a fortnight, should all go well.”
“And if all doesn’t?” He challenged, but she could see the shadows stirring behind his eyes.
“It will be well.” Odysseus stepped in, clapping his son on the shoulder. His voice carried a steady assurance, even as his eyes lingered on Penelope’s face. “If it is not well…” He paused, looking between mother and son with a softening gaze, “We will be home within a fortnight.”
27
SAILING WAS SECOND NATURE TO ODYSSEUS. Even after the torments of the sea that had kept him from his wife, it was almost impossible not to fall back into old habits once he was out on the ocean.
This was different, though. His body reacted instinctively to the sways of the ship, to the gusts of wind. But his heart stayed trained on his wife. Penelope spent the first day of their journey seated with the trunks, hands wringing in her lap.
His arms ached to row, his muscles yearning for the strain of the oars and the ocean spray. But he could not leave her side. He spent his time rooted to the floorboards next to her.
When they docked for the night, she still seemed wary, watching from a distance as he pitched the tent for her. His men would sleep under the stars, and if his queen had stayed in Ithaca, he would have done the same.
In the quiet of the night, Odysseus turned over, extending his arm to pull his wife closer to him. He would never again take her place at his side for granted. Not in the courtroom, not on the throne, not in their bed.
His hand grabbed at empty furs, Penelope’s side of the tent covered with the chill of the ocean’s night. He sat up, blinkingthe sleep out of his eyes. The sound of the tide crashing against the shore, mixed with quiet hums of evening insects, was all he could hear.
Penelope wasn’t by his side.
Alarmed, he slung his dressings around him and burst from the tent, eyes rapidly scanning the area. The inky dark of night swallowed the beach, broken only by the steady snores of his men.
He steadied himself with several breaths. He was a hunter, a skill tracker, and he would find his wife. He made his way closer to the water before finding a faint set of footsteps, right where the tides met the sand. The knot in his chest loosened as he followed the path that she took.
He found her drowning in the moonlight; the stars covering every inch of her being, causing her skin to glow against the starkness of the ocean. She was kneeling in the sand, hands in fists at her side.
As he got closer, Odysseus could hear her ragged breaths. The crashing waves almost drowned out the sound of her quiet gasps. He stopped - she was not expecting him. She might not even want the comfort that his body yearned to offer her.
As he drew nearer, he heard her speak. “For twenty years, I waited for him. I waited through the silence, through the fear, through the looks in their eyes when they thought I couldn’t see. And now, when I finally have him back, I feel like they’re watching again, waiting for me to break. Waiting for another chance.”
She released a sob from her chest, the sound almost bringing Odysseus to his knees. He could not keep himself from intruding on her solitude any longer. His heart would shatter into pieces if he wasn’t able to comfort her.
“I will pick up every piece of you, my love.” Odysseus whispered as he drew closer to where she sat. “Every time, I willput you back together.” He knelt down in the sand next to her, hand hovering in the space between them before falling limp at his side.
“Odysseus,” Penelope muttered, dragging the back of her hand across her cheeks. His steadfast queen was not one to let her emotions get the best of her, not like this. “I’m sorry.”
