She scowled at him the entire time she got dressed, but it didn’t even phase the king. Truth be told, if she only scowled at him for the rest of their time together on this earth, he would still die a happy man.
“What could possibly need my attention before the rest of Ithaca is awake, dear?” Penelope asked as she ran a brush through her hair.
“Oh, stop primping,” he complained, practically vibrating with excitement. “Let’s go.” He snatched the hairbrush out of her hand, pulling her to him. He paused, just for a second, to take in the magnificent view that was his wife.
He knew their days together were numbered, but gods… he had to be the luckiest man in the world.
He kissed her quickly, rough. She whimpered against his lips as his hands tightened on her hips. “Stop distracting me,” he panted as he pulled away.
Penelope deepened her scowl, shaking her head at him. He took her by the hand, pulling her out of their bedroom.
Odysseus had to will himself to walk. Something inside of him was going to burst if he couldn’t show her his creation. As they neared the agora, he paused at the door. “Come, wife,” he beckoned her forward. “It’s a secret.”
“A secret?” She mused, raising an eyebrow. Her arms were crossed over her chest, but he could see his own mirth reflected in her eyes.
“Yes, come here.” He motioned for her to stand in front of him. He wrapped his arms around her, covering her eyes with his hands. “Is this alright?” he asked, standing close.
“Do I have a say?” She retorted, shoulders shaking with gentle laughter. Her hands came up to hold his wrists, steadying herself.
Penelope allowed him to guide her through the doorway, stepping in time with him. He was beaming as he saw his craftsmanship in the light of day. It was perfect. “Are you ready?” He asked, lips close to her ear.
She nodded beneath his hands, and he moved them from her face, taking a step to the side to watch her reaction.
“Oh, Odysseus…” she said, hand coming to her mouth. Her eyes watered in the morning sun as she looked on. “Is that for us?”
He didn’t answer, just motioned for her to step closer, to take a look. On the agora, his throne still sat where it once stood, alone. Off to the side, there was a longer seat, fit for two people. “I can’t stand the idea of being separated by something as trivial as the arm of a chair.” He told her nonchalantly. “So I fixed that problem.”
“Husband,” she whispered, running her fingers over the intricately carved branches. “When have you had the time to make this?” Her voice was so soft in the large room.
His heart was going to burst from his chest. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Is this-” She turned to look at him, and his breath caught in his lungs at the sight. His beautiful, patient, wonderful wife, with tears staining her cheeks.
“Wood from our olive grove?” He grinned, closing the distance between them, taking her hands in his. “Yes, it is.” With his free hand, he brushed a tear off of her cheek. “Only seemed right. Our rule started with an olive tree. It should end with one, too.”
Penelope inhaled sharply, “End?” She asked, her voice still barely a whisper, catching in her throat. “What do you mean?”
“Penelope, light of my life, I have been doing some thinking.” He said, cupping her face in his hands now. He tried to blink back his own tears as he looked at her. Nothing else mattered to him. No thrones, no kingdoms, justher.
“I think it’s time for me, for us, to step down. Telemachus is ready, and I am tired.”
She didn’t respond, not right away. In another moment, Odysseus would have bragged about rendering his wife speechless. He knew this would be hard to hear. It was a heavy declaration to make.
He had outwitted gods, killed men, lost friends, and suffered for years on end, while this steadfast woman held his home,their home, together in some semblance of peace.
He had the time to think this through, had the time to decide what he wanted. Odysseus had spent countless hours sculpting for his wife in silence, poring over what he wanted his last few months to look like.
If he only had so much time left, he didn’t want to spend it worrying about politics, about trade, about any of it. He just wanted to spend it with his wife wrapped in his arms.
“Odysseus,” she finally broke the silence, reaching up to gently touch his cheek. “I… you can’t…” Her eyes searched his face, searched for answers.
“I can, I do.” He responded, bending to place a kiss to her temple. “I want my last days to be mine, not a king’s.” He smiled softly before continuing. “It’s what my father chose in the end. And now, so will I.”
Penelope closed her eyes. He could feel her shaky breaths, the way she tried not to tremble beneath him. “Then why did you build us a new throne, husband?” She asked him, not meeting his gaze. Her grip on his wrist tightened.
He let out a gentle laugh. “Clever wife,” he said, resting his forehead against hers. “Telemachus is ready, but we won’t abandon him. We are going to offer our services and advise our son as he takes the throne. We will bridge the gap and ease the transition. You, my queen, are a wealth of knowledge. You will be a wonderful mentor to our new king.”
As he looked at his wife, he noted how time had greyed her hair. How the years had worn on her physically. And yet, those things did not keep him from also seeing the wild woman he had stolen away with.
