Page 4 of Elysium

HER WORDS HUNG IN THE AIR, sharper than any blade he had held against an enemy.

She had tested him, and he knew she would have. He passed, but he had learned many years ago that passing a test did not mean the suffering was over. The gods had been sure Odysseus had learned such a lesson.

“You doubted it was me.” His voice was low, but it wasn’t a question. He could see it in the set of her jaw, in the fierceness of her eyes.

“Of course I did.” She replied. Her tone was even, measured.

“The gods are cruel, Odysseus. You would not be the first phantom I had faced, had you failed.” And try as she was to be strong in the face of uncertainty, Odysseus had spent years dreaming of his wife and did not miss the falter in her voice as she discussed the possibility of failure, the possibility that he was not standing here in front of her.

Her words still stung. He knew more than most of the cruelty of the gods.

He thought back to Athena’s words, Calypso’s honeyed promises, and Poseidon’s threats.

He thought of his crew, his friends that lay on the bottoms of endless oceans because of the cruelness of the gods. Gods he had once prayed to.

And yet, Penelope had suffered at their hands too.

She had endured her own trials, without a crew and a leader.

She had reason to doubt, safety that had been entrusted to her.

“I know the god’s games.” He finally replied, his voice raw.

“I have lived with them for the last twenty years. But now…” he drew in a breath, taking in the sight of his beautiful, clever wife in front of him.

“I cannot decide if I am a man who has finally outwitted the gods, or if I am still their favorite plaything to drag through their games.”

They stood here, lost in the years of silence, trapped in each other’s gaze. All the words left unsaid hung in the air between them. The room was thick with regret, tension, and pain.

“Welcome home, King of Ithaca,” Penelope whispered, her voice barely carrying over the space between them, “I’ve been waiting for you.” He took the moment, took the chance, and went to her, wrapping her in his arms.

He did not miss the way that she stiffened under his touch, a reflex he could only assume was born from years of isolation.

Though he had slain each of the men that had haunted her over the last several years, he swore to himself that after this life had ended, he would find each one of them in the next and end them again.

As she relaxed into his embrace, he clung to her, as a sailor clings to his ship in the middle of a storm.

She was, had always been, his anchor. His compass.

The driving force behind every choice he made.

His every action led him to this very point, this moment of time when she could be his, and he could be hers.

“My clever wife.” He said into her hair, no longer holding back his tears.

“The gods can keep their games. This is where I belong.”