Page 45 of Elysium
HE PACED AROUND THE SMALL ROOM, wringing his hands. Not that he had been avoiding Telemachus, not exactly. He knew things were rocky between them, and the last thing Odysseus wanted was to give him another reason to resent him. Or worse - resent Penelope.
The door creaked open and Telemachus stepped inside.
After all this time home, Odysseus still didn’t know how to greet his son. A handshake felt too formal, and embrace unearned.
So Odysseus settled with a wave.
And chided himself for it immediately.
“Father, Eurycleia said you needed to see me?” He asked, unfastening the sword that hung on his hip. He set the weapon on a small table, watching the king closely.
“All these years, son, I have thought I wanted fame, glory… for men to sing my name for years after I had crossed into the underworld.” He didn’t meet his son’s skeptical gaze, keeping his eyes trained on the discarded sword.
“There is much of me I would not recognize, were I to meet myself before the war.”
Telemachus watched him closely, as a hawk does their prey. He always bristled when the king was nearby, like he was waiting for something. Waiting for the king to snap.
“After decades away… an old man like myself might start to think about what’s important… what he wants to do with his life.” He took a breath, forcing himself to pause. His hands tightened at his sides.
Penelope had told him not to ramble.
“You never wanted this, did you?” Telemachus commented, leaning back against the table he stood near. His voice was even, but his eyes were sharp as they met his. His arms were crossed, studying the man before him like he was piecing together a puzzle… A puzzle that didn’t quite make sense.
“Wanted what?” Odysseus blinked, brow furrowing. There was a weight to his son’s words that threw him off kilter.
“This kingdom, to rule… any of it” His son vaguely gestured to the area around him.
Odysseus exhaled slowly, tilting his head as he measured the truth of his son’s claim. “I did, for a while.” The king mused, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t a smile of joy though… it felt closer to regret. “Or at least, I thought I did.”
“And now, Father?” Telemachus’ eyes did not soften. His stance did not move. He kept his gaze trained on Odysseus. The solid and steady prince, the aged and wavering king.
“Now, none of it matters, son.” He said, voice steady, firming. “All that matters is her. I no longer yearn for fame, glory, or praise.” A genuine smile finally broke through. It was soft, but it was real. “I just want to spend the rest of my days by your mother’s side, Telemachus.”
Odysseus’s smile softened, but Telemachus didn’t share it. His eyes flickered away, as if the warmth of his father’s words were too much, too heavy.
“You’re right,” he said, his voice more strained now. He took a step back, hands unconsciously gripping the edge of the table in front of him. “Fame, glory, all of that could pale in comparison. But… Where does that leave Ithaca?”
For a moment, there was silence. Then Telemachus finally lifted his eyes to meet his father’s gaze. His words came slowly, like a stone being turned over in his chest.
“Father -” His voice caught, eyes filled with something akin to understanding. “I can't be her. I can’t be what Ithaca deserves.”
Odysseus opened his mouth to speak, but Telemachus held up a hand. “She’s whole with you, Father. I’ve seen it, Ithaca has seen it. I can’t take that from her. But-”
“I am not asking you to be her, son. I’m asking you to be you.” Odysseus said, softly. He took a cautious step towards his son. Then another, closing the distance between them slowly.
Telemachus turned away, eyes searching the room as if looking for something that might make sense.
“She’s been holding Ithaca together for twenty years.
I - I’m not her.” Something in his voice was raw.
“I can’t rule like she did. She was the queen, steadfast while her husband was away.
How can I tell her she doesn’t have to carry it all anymore? That she can just… be?”
“You won’t have to, boy.” He told him quietly, knowing the pain he carried, the fear. “Your mother is a force, but I think she has been waiting for someone to tell her it’s alright to let it go.” Odysseus continued his slow approach, hands out as if approaching a frightened animal.
“And that’s you.” Telemachus finally met his father’s gaze again, and Odysseus feared his heart might break. His son’s eyes, the same golden hue as his mothers, watered as he looked to the king. “It’s always been you.”
“It’s us, Telemachus. Gods know she doesn’t need it, but it’s our job to protect her, to honor her.” Odysseus was just a few steps in front of his son now, hands twitching slightly. “We’ll be there with you every step of the way, my son.”
“Does she know?” He asked, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall. “Does she know you’re asking this of me?”
“Aye,” Odysseus answered, “I told her yesterday.”
“I will do it for her, Father.” Telemachus said, strengthening his voice. “I will do it for the peace she deserves. For the woman she wants to be.”
The old king grabbed his son by the shoulders, pulling him into an embrace. Odysseus had told himself he was finished shedding tears, but as his heart fluttered with pride, he felt his cheeks dampen. Holding his son in this palace, he felt as though he might get to be whole.
If only for a little while.