“Tonight is it, son.” He finished for her, rubbing his hand gently against her arm. “In order to protect you and your mother, I’ve amended the deal with Hades.”
“Father you can’t -”
Odysseus shook his head, silencing his son. “There is nothing left to say, Telemachus.” He paused, smiling gently. “That’s not true - Thank you, son.” He stepped away from Penelope, instantly feeling the ache of being apart. Odysseus grabbed his son by the shoulders, pulling him into a tight embrace. “Thank you for looking out for her. Thank you for leading Ithaca. Thank you for -” His breath hitched.
“Thank you, Father,” Telemachus whispered back, tightly gripping his father’s tunic in his hands. “Thank you for this life, for our home. Thank you for coming back. I’m sorry-”
“No,” the older man shook his head, “No apologies tonight, son.” He knew he should pull away, should leave before it became impossible to do so, but Penelope stepped up beside him, folding herself into the embrace.
Odysseus shifted an arm, wrapping around his wife. He pressed a kiss against her curls, her fingers gripped his shirt. A sob caught in Telemachus’ throat. “I am thankful -” the older man started, voice cracking, “I am thankful my family was whole, if only for a moment in time.”
He mustered up the strength to pull back from his wife and his son. Placing a hand on each of their cheeks, he managed a smile. “I am the luckiest man in the world.” Penelope gripped his wrist with both of her hands, no longer trying to hold backher tears. Odysseus' heart clenched as his son reached for her, squeezing her hand in his.
He dropped his hands, adjusting the buckle on Telemachus’ shoulder. “Be good.” He choked out, “I love you.”
And before he could lose his will, before he could decide it wasn’t worth it, he turned.
And he left them behind.
62
HE WAS ALREADY AT THE DOCKS, prepping his crew for the voyage ahead. She had shooed him along, promised to meet him in an hour's time.
The truth of the matter was that being in the room with him this morning was suffocating her. The idea that her mad husband, the steadfast rock she clung to, would be leaving for war terrified her.
Penelope’s hands trembled as she lifted her son from his bed. Telemachus cooed, babbling as he reached for her. His innocent smile was one of the few things keeping her grounded.
Deep down, she knew that this would happen. Kings were called to war. It was the way of the world. And Laertes would still be here, as well as Anticlea and Eurycleia. This was not a burden she would have to bear alone.
“Come, little king,” Penelope drew in a breath, “Papa waits for us.” Settling her son on her hip, she pressed a kiss to his cheek, relishing the peel of laughter that erupted from him.
Eurycleia met them by the gates of the palace, snatching Telemachus out of his mother’s arms with a wide grin. Penelope had never known love like her son would, and it made herheart flutter to see her son experience joys beyond any she had thought possible.
They fell into a comfortable rhythm as they walked to the docks, the queen’s hands wringing in front of her as they drew nearer. “All will be well, queen.” Eurycleia’s voice broke through her thoughts, “He’s an Ithacan. They’re hardy bastards. He’ll be by your side again in no time.”
As they drew nearer, he was in her sights immediately. It was as if the world stopped when he was around. Her vision narrowed only to the auburn-haired man with a smile as bright as a thousand suns. He laughed freely with his men, head thrown back.
Her heart ached. Penelope couldn’t imagine any period without his laughter, let alone waiting for him to return from war. Within a few more steps, his eyes had found her. The emotions that she saw in his gaze were unreadable, which caused her stomach to twist even further.
Why couldn’t he be mischievous? She could handle that.
Why couldn’t he be cocky or uncivilized? That was second nature to him, and - to her.
Instead, he stood before her and she could almost claim that he, too, looked sad.
As quickly as she noticed the sorrow in his eyes, it disappeared, and her arrogantly annoying husband bounded to where she and the nursemaid stood waiting. Odysseus took Telemachus from the other woman, tossing him into the air with a grin.
Their son squealed, swatting the king on the face as he jabbered. He pressed several kisses to the boy’s face, all while pretending to growl. Telemachus’ laughter echoed across the sea.
Penelope’s heart lurched, tears stung at her eyes. She wanted to run away, to hide from these overwhelming feelingsthat were swallowing her alive. Her breath hitched, and she stared at her feet.
Still avoiding her husband’s gaze, she heard him whisper something for Telemachus’ ears only. She watched out of the corner of her eye as he kissed their son on the cheek once, twice, three times, before handing the boy off to Eurycleia. “Be good,” he whispered, hesitating before letting go.
He turned to her. Eurycleia turned to give them privacy.
It was everything Penelope could do to not collapse right there in front of the gods and his crew.
“Hey.” His words were so quiet against the lapping waves, just out of her reach. “I love you.”
