Page 36 of Elysium

ITHACA WAS IN THEIR SIGHTS. After a week at sea, a week of nothing but the wind, the sand, and each other, they were finally home. Penelope hadn’t been able to remove the smile from her face since they had left Spartan soil.

This was the life she had envisioned with her mad king all those years ago.

Reckless. Wild. Consuming.

She looked to her husband, his hair tied back with a strip of fabric ripped from his tunic. His sun-worn skin glistened in the light of their home. He had fished for them; they had survived off the poor merchant’s stock.

Never once did Penelope consider she was too old for such antics. Not once did etiquette or niceties cross her mind on the open waves. She held no place in her soul for such propriety. Not when she was with him.

For just a moment, for this swath of time, she was nineteen; he was twenty-six, and they were together, running away, under the moon’s light.

She would give anything to live in the recklessness, to build a home in the expanse of irresponsibility and wilderness.

But the shore loomed ahead. Ithaca was waiting.

Odysseus reached over from his spot at the oar, brushing a loose curl off of her cheek.

“It will be alright, love.” He told her, his smile settling all nerves that had twisted tight in her stomach.

“No gods, no thrones,” He told her, not a hint of mirth in his words.

“Say the word and we sail the other direction.”

He drew a laugh out of her. She shook her head at him, rolling her eyes. “Sail away from our son?”

“Ah yes,” he pretended to muse. “Do you think Telemachus has the makings of a pirate? A man of the water? I do so think our family would fare much better on the open waves.”

“Be serious, Ody.”

“I am as serious as the Fates themselves, my queen.” He feigned insult, pressing a hand to his chest. “If you told me to turn this boat around, I would do it. I would grow gills and live out the remainder of our lives in the ocean if you demanded it of me, my heart.”

He reached for her again, brushing his finger along her arm. “Say the word, Penelope.” He whispered, holding her captive in his gaze.

His words were like a knife to her heart. She felt the rawness of the plea that her husband covered with jests. He wanted to stay lost, to be found. “You know I can’t.” She finally replied, breaking away from his soft hold on her.

His jaw tensed, shoulders stiffened, only just. “I know,” he responded, voice falling softly, nodding his head. “But gods, I wish you could.”

As the king rowed them closer to the Ithacan docks, Penelope took stock in her appearance for the first time since leaving her homelands. She had ripped her dress at the knees, using scraps of fabric for bandages, to tie back her hair, to mend pieces of equipment on the boat.

Her dark curls were loose, knotted and wild around her face. She was covered in several layers of sweat, salt, and grime.

They looked like feral people emerging from the seas. Odysseus tied the boat up, hauling himself out. He offered his queen a hand. As he stood there, on Ithacan land, he looked like he belonged.

He reached back down, holding a hand out to her. She took it, allowing him to lift her up. Pulling her close, he stole a kiss, pressing his lips firmly against hers.

With his hands on her hips, he dipped her backwards, eliciting some whistles and calls from the sailors that surrounded them. “We don’t go back,” he whispered as he pulled back from her. “I am yours, no matter where our boats are docked.”

She hummed a note of agreement, untangling herself from his arms. Penelope clasped his hand tightly in hers, squeezing.

From the shoreline, she could see their son approaching where they stood.

A wash of emotions overcame Penelope as she watched her son walk closer to them. Odysseus tugged her closer, pressing a kiss into her unkempt hair. “He’s your son, Penelope. He will understand.” He whispered, taking the first step forward.

As Telemachus neared, she could see the severe look on his face, his brows permanently furrowed, mouth turned downward. “Mother, Father.” He practically spat, stopping just ahead of them.

“Son, I’m glad to see our island still stands.” Odysseus gestured towards the palace with his free hand, his charisma capturing the audience of several passersby.

Telemachus looked through his father, eyes cutting sharply to where Penelope stood. Her stomach jumped as she saw her son standing before them, clenching his fists at his side. “Not here, my son.” She said softly, low. If she searched long enough, there might have been a hint of shame as she stood.

He was her son. She was meant to protect him, care for him. And now he looked at her with such discontent, it was almost laughable.

“No, right here is just fine,” He retorted sharply. “It’s not a big secret, mother. You have been missing for over six days. Your ships returned over two nights ago, without their king and queen.”

“Watch your tone, son,” Odysseus stepped in. “Disappointed as you might be, she is still your mother. Show her the respect she deserves.”

Telemachus laughed, a cruel sound. “Respect? Look at the two of you. You look barbaric, like uncivilized mongrels. And you, father ,” the word was filled with bitterness. “She was never like this before you turned up. She was steadfast, strong. Her people could rely on her.”

“Telemachus-” Penelope tried to stop him, to stop them from having it out right here in front of all the men of Ithaca.

“And now I hear you’ve made her defy gods? Throw decorum out the window? Defile courts?” His face was reddening, voice getting louder by the second. “You punched a king , father. I don’t think you’ve the right to reprimand me.”

His hands were steady and his face firm, even as he chastised them. He was every bit his father.

Penelope’s breath was stuck in her throat. She couldn’t see past the two men that stood in front of her. Her husband, her son, two sides of the same coin.

Her heart yearned to smooth, to take both father and son and mend the wounds that cut deep on both of their souls. She looked to Odysseus. His jaw was tense, muscles taut. He was calculating, thinking.

Eventually, he broke the destructive silence with a heavy exhale.

“I know that you’re angry.” His voice was infinitely softer than Penelope had been expecting.

“You have… so much of your father in your blood.” He let a sad laugh escape from his mouth, turning to face his wife.

“Let’s go inside. Let’s talk with level heads, away from prying eyes and ears. ”

Telemachus turned on his heels, storming away. It was the first time she saw her son , her tenderhearted prince, since he had walked out onto the beach to meet them.

“That went well.” Odysseus muttered, grimacing.

As they followed their son up the path to the palace, eyes were on them. There were whispers, there were bows, she was even certain she heard a few jeers. This was not the entrance she expected to make when they returned…

Once inside the castle, Odysseus shut the door of the meeting room quietly behind them.

Before he had turned around fully, Telemachus was shouting.

“You think we need to talk, father? No.” he was seething, the tips of his ears were reddening with his anger, “You owe me an explanation. Owe Ithaca an explanation.”

“Telemachus,” Penelope started, “I-”

“Do you have any idea what it’s been like? Waiting for word if I was king or not? Waiting to hear if my mother had drowned at sea?” His eyes were alight as his words filled the room. “How would I have led a land full of people that were ridiculing you, mother?”

He turned on Odysseus so quickly it made Penelope’s head spin. “Do you know how many people have asked me if my father has gone mad?” He sneered, eyes narrowing as he looked at the king. “If you’ve driven their queen to madness as well?”

He turned his back to them, dragging a hand through his hair.

He did not look at them when he next spoke.

“You were supposed to come home steady, mother. Come home levelheaded and lead Ithaca.” He took in a sharp breath, shoulders heaving.

“Instead, you come home like this.” He gestured halfheartedly to them, disgust on his features.

“Do you know how I found out, Mother? Your ship came home without a king and a queen, and you were a laughing stock.” His hands were shaking. “King of Ithaca stood up to the Spartan royalty… what fools you both were. How dare you bring shame upon us like that?”

She felt Odysseus bristle as their son chided her. He was so calm, so patient — until he wasn’t. “What did you want, boy?” He said, voice dark. “A father to come home and bow at your feet?”

He dropped Penelope’s hand, taking a step closer to where their son stood, avoiding his gaze. “I have been lost at sea. Lost to the gods. Lost in war. Do you want me to apologize for finding my way back to my wife ?”

He slammed his fist into a nearby table, shattering the top of it. Both Telemachus and Penelope flinched at the sound. “You can speak of me like I’m mad, boy, but you are still my blood. What does that make you?”

Penelope’s hands were shaking, her heartbeat hammered in her ears as she watched her husband circling Telemachus like cornered prey.

Gathering herself, leveling her mind, she took the step forward, gently placing a hand on Odysseus’ arm. She waited until his wild eyes met hers before speaking. “You are not his king, Odysseus.” her voice was unwavering, “You are his father.”

She turned to Telemachus, “And I am still your mother, son.” She stepped towards him, chin high. “I have not changed, Telemachus. You… were raised by a shade of the woman I used to be. The woman I want to be.”

She did not break eye contact, even as she watched the color drain from his face. His rage, his ire, was replaced almost instantly. “I am the woman who breathed life into you. I am the woman who held this island together. I am the woman who waited.”

She turned back to Odysseus, her cheeks flushing lightly as she saw how he looked at her. His eyes were filled with adoration, with so much love. “But, Telemachus, if you believe for even a second that I would not throw everything I have built aside for your father, then you do not know me at all.”

Telemachus started to speak, then stopped. The weight of Penelope’s words hung in the air, covering the broken family like a blanket. “He is my world, son. You are my world. There is no me without him.”

She smiled at her husband, reaching out for him. She reached, too, for Telemachus, but he hesitated. “What happens when he leaves again, mother?” His voice was not as sharp, not as cutting. He took a step towards her, hesitant.

“Then I will name you king, my son, and follow him off the edge of the world.”

Odysseus, a smirk creeping onto his features, kissed her temple, holding her by the waist. Penelope grabbed Telemachus’ hand, pulling him to her and wrapping her son in an embrace.

“We are a family of hot-headed fools.” She said with a watery laugh.

“We will make each other angry. We will yell at each other. We didn’t have the opportunity to learn as we went. ”

“Did you really punch Uncle Menelaus in the nose?” Telemachus asked, looking to his father. The queen’s heart clenched at the boyish thrill that flashed in her son’s eyes.

Penelope let out an exasperated groan, rolling her eyes as her husband’s face lit up. She jabbed him gently in the side. “Hush, son. Your father’s ego is barely containable as it is.”

Odysseus let out a loud laugh, shrugging his shoulders only slightly. “That’s between me, your mother, and the gods.”