Page 26 of Elysium
“NO, ABSOLUTELY NOT,” Telemachus’ voice was firm. Penelope could have laughed at the way he perfectly mirrored his father’s stance, his words, even his tone from only hours before.
“You just returned home from your own voyage, Telemachus. Please rest before we talk more about this,” Penelope coaxed, rubbing her son’s shoulder. He had sailed to a kingdom southwesterly of them to ensure good trades and fair relations, something he had been doing for the last several years.
Much of Ithaca’s continued success while Odysseus was away fell to Penelope, but she would never shy away from the fact that her son was the linchpin. Without him, many of their allies would have fallen off, would have never agreed to do business and trade with a widowed queen.
“No, mother, we will speak about this now.” He said firmly, planting himself in the bedroom chair.
“Careful, son…” Odysseus grumbled, stepping forward slightly as if to shield his wife, his hand brushing against Penelope’s back in a quiet gesture of solidarity. His voice was low, almost warning, though his eyes carried the weight of understanding.
Telemachus’s jaw tightened, his hands gripping the arms of the chair, anchoring himself. “You would let her go, Father ? After everything?” His voice cracked slightly, and Penelope’s heart ached at the vulnerability beneath the anger.
“He is not letting me go, Telemachus,” Penelope said softly, placing a steadying hand on Odysseus’s arm. “This is something I’ve chosen. Fear will not confine me, not when there is still so much at stake.”
“Mother,” Telemachus said, his voice dropping, though the chaos in his eyes didn’t waver. “I understand what is at stake. Ithaca needs you. We need you. How can you risk leaving when-”
“When the gods have already turned their gaze on us?” Penelope finished for him, her voice firm but not unkind. “That is exactly why I must go.”
Her son’s eyes burned holes into her soul. She could read each emotion on his face, every line of sorrow making him appear both decades older than he was, and yet, still the boy she held in her arms so many years ago. “And the families, Mother? What if there is an uproar when their queen has left?”
A proud smile graced her lips as she looked upon him. He had grown so much, carried so much. She wished, for many years, that she could hide him away from the pain of growing up fatherless. But… then she had needed him. While it left her with a pang of shame, she wouldn’t have survived without him.
“I trust you will handle it, son of mine.” Penelope responded to him, doing her best not to let her amusement slip into her voice.
She saw so much of Odysseus’ fierceness in their son.
Her eyes flicked to where her husband stood, and she bit down on the inside of her cheek.
Both men stood with a scowl, arms crossed.
“And leave the mad old king to do what? Whittle spoons?”
“Telemachus,” she scolded, eyes narrowing.
It was impossible to ignore the tension between father and son.
Odysseus radiated unease, shifting his weight from one foot to the other under his son’s glare.
She couldn’t fault her son, either. All he knew until days ago was that his mother had a wild and reckless love that ran deep, and he disappeared for twenty years.
His annoyance wasn’t a dislike of his father. It was uncertainty, precariousness. It was years of stories and imaginations that were left to fill in the blanks.
“Your father is coming with me. He will accompany me to Sparta to seek answers.”
Telemachus’s brow furrowed deeper, his knuckles whitening as his grip on the chair tightened. “You’re trusting a man who’s just returned to guide you across the sea when he’s barely regained his footing on land?” His gaze flicked to his father, a challenge written in the hardened line of his jaw.
“Enough,” Penelope said, her tone sharp but maternal, brokering no argument.
She stepped toward her son, her hand brushing lightly against his arm.
“Your father is a warrior, Telemachus. He has seen things that neither of us can imagine, and yet he has returned to us. I would not make this decision lightly, nor would I leave Ithaca if I didn’t believe you could shoulder its needs. ”
“Mother…” his voice softened slightly. “The woman that you have been in the last fortnight… I… I’ve never met her.” He didn’t meet her gaze, but she could see the sorrow lingering in his eyes. “I-”
“You’re right to feel ill at ease, son.” Odysseus stepped in, relieving Telemachus from the burden of grief he was attempting to convey.
“I would too. You have protected your mother, your queen, in a way that would please even the harshest of gods.” He turned, looking to Penelope with something that bordered on reverence.
“But trust your mother. She knows me better than anyone, knows this kingdom better than anyone.”
The king’s eyes sparkled as a grin touched his features. “You don’t have to trust me, Telemachus. I can live with the weight of what I have taken from you. But trust her.”
Telemachus observed the both of them, conflict warring behind his eyes, but he finally exhaled. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly. “I will keep Ithaca safe while you’re away.”
Penelope smiled softly, embracing her son. “I know you will. You always have.” She pulled back, ruffling his hair as she did. “You’re going to make a fine Ithacan King, Telemachus.”