Not quite.
He saw his throne, standing alone on the dais of Ithaca.
But in the seat was not his son, not his wife. In the leading seat of his island sat a man that caused his stomach to churn.
Zeus.
King of the gods.
The god king laughed, the sound haunting every inch of the agora.
But Odysseus’ eyes were not on the god king. They were on the woman, meek and chained, at his feet.
Penelope sat, clothed in a sheer chemise, every piece of her bared to the world. Golden chains ran from her wrists to her neck, then to an anchor on his throne.
The god’s hand was in her hair, yanking her back to him, against his spread legs. Her face was blank, her eyes lifeless.
Odysseus tried to shout, tried to run, to move, to scream. It was for naught. He was a statue, frozen in time.
“Come, woman,” The god’s voice was deep, possessive. “I have need of you.”
Odysseus would have sworn that Penelope’s face fell, but she obeyed.
He forced his eyes open, his heart pounding in his chest. His hands trembled by his sides, desperately searching. He was in the bathing chambers.
He was covered in blood. Alone.
Zeus did not have her.
Not yet.
A heavy sigh escaped his lips, and he heard the sound of moving water drawing him from his spiraling thoughts. “Well, husband?” He opened one eye, not convinced he wasn’t just still imagining what he needed to hear.
She came back.
The old man barely dared to believe it, but there she was… real. The water rippled as she stepped forward, the soft lilt of her voice wrapping around him like a siren’s call.
Real.
Safe.
Here.
"Are you just going to sit there all night, or do you need me to pull you in myself?"
His breath left him in a rush. She was teasing him, taunting him, but he was too far gone to care.
Slowly, he turned his head, his gaze dragging up from where her legs disappeared into the water, up to the smooth, bare skin of her shoulders, the damp tendrils of hair curling around her collarbone. His wife. Hisgoddess.
The warmth of the bath was nothing compared to the heat curling in his chest.
"Penelope," he breathed, reverent, and finally, he slipped into the water.
She held a rag in her hand, just out of his reach. “Come, king, let us wash away the sins of yesterday.” Penelope held her hand out to him, coaxing him forward. He took it eagerly, willingly, allowing himself to be tugged to the center of the pool.
She brushed the cloth down his chest, wiping away remnants of the night prior. He wasn’t watching her clean, no, he was watching her face. Her slightly parted lips, her heavy breathing, the way her tongue darted out quickly, wetting her bottom lip. “Odysseus?” She asked, looking up at him through hooded lashes.
He couldn’t speak. He reached out, cupping her face in his hand. “You’re everything to me.” He croaked out, voice cracking as he held her. “I thought… I could have lost you.”
