Page 5 of Elysium

PENELOPE ROSE WITH THE SUN, as she had done since she was a young girl. As she sat up in bed, her eyes were drawn to an unfamiliar figure in the balcony window.

Her heart immediately panged at the thought - how could she consider her husband as unfamiliar?

When she had dared to imagine the night her husband returned, it was always a vision of unrestrained passion. Husband and wife, lost in the overwhelming throes of reunion, rediscovering each other, mind and body.

But reality rarely aligned with dreams. Their first night reunited had been spent in silence, the distance between them bridged only by the faint rhythm of their breaths. They lay close but neither made a move to close the gap, the years apart still a shadow lingering between them.

Neither king nor queen were as young as they once were, and the years had not been kind. Burdened with grief, and too many scars, visible and unseen.

For years, when she closed her eyes, she saw her husband, the young, confident king of Ithaca.

Eyes filled with love, adoration, and always with a bit of mischief.

But that was not the man that returned to her.

His eyes bore lines, a physical reminder of the passage of time.

His once sturdy frame was slighter. He looked breakable, almost. Even with the sculpted lines running down his arms, he appeared fragile.

It was laughable to think that this man could be broken.

He had single-handedly ended the life of every man that had torn their home apart.

Every man that had hurt his son, had touched her.

He carried two men inside of him, the tired king who yearned for rest, and the warrior still desperate to prove himself.

She wondered which man she would spend the rest of her days with.

The man in the window did not hear her wake, or if he did, he did not turn to her. She watched the rise and fall of his bare shoulders, her eyes following the map of scars down his back. Each one seemed a thread in a tapestry, a story he had woven without her.

One day, she might feel brave enough to ask him of his travels, of the war, and of his scars. She hardly believed she’d ever feel ready to hear them, but she would always lend her ear to him..

His shoulders had carried the weight of his kingdom with ease, but now they bowed under the burden of years of loss.

His once mahogany hair was peppered with gray, a physical reminder of the years gone by. Penelope had fared no better, having added wrinkles and whites to her own hair in their time apart.

They had grown old, just not together.

“Odysseus.” She called quietly, pulling him from his thoughts. “How long have you been awake?”

The muscles in his back went taut at the sound of his name. “Did I wake you?” He asked, without turning to face her. Penelope steeled herself, banishing the ache of the abyss between them before it could take root.

“No, no, not at all.” She replied, gathering a blanket around her shoulders. The air was crisp, the breeze from the ocean surrounding her as she padded over to where he stood. She stopped short of where he stood. “Did you sleep at all?”

Penelope kept her distance, standing on the other side of the balcony. There was still so much left unsaid between the two of them, so much that a single night could not bridge.

“No, not really,” Odysseus shook his head, leaning against the wall to look at her.

She found herself taken aback by him, by the beauty that he still carried, even after all this time.

She could see the stark lines of his jaw.

Even beneath his unkempt beard, his olive complexion almost sparkled in the light of the rising sun.

He was home, where he belonged

“Months alone on the sea make it quite hard to sleep on solid ground.” He said, the room reverberating with deep, sudden laughter. The warmth of his laugh filled the room between them. “I’m finding Ithaca steadier than I expected.” Tears pricked at her eyes. Her husband was here, in front of her.

And he was making jokes.

Before she could stop herself, she realized she was crying. She brushed the tears away quickly, taking a few steps onto the balcony. With her back to Odysseus, she silently prayed that he hadn’t seen.

He would not have to return home to a waif of a woman, crying every instant. He needed strength; he needed support, and she would not fall apart each time he spoke. She would be his beacon - his way home.

“Penelope…” His voice broke through her thoughts, the firmness of the way he said her name bouncing around her. His hand was on her shoulder, turning her back to face him. “Don’t hide from me,” He whispered, his voice dropping low.

The distance between them was minuscule. He gently took her face in his hands, and a quiet sob escaped from her mouth before she could stop it.

“I have been hiding for so long, Odysseus.” She whispered, leaning into his touch. “I scarcely remember the woman you fell in love with. I worry she left with you all those years ago.”

His lips pressed gently to her forehead, wrapping her up in the smell of him.

The smell of ocean waves, of the groves, of home.

She had taught herself to fight against these pangs of emotions, to keep herself under tight control.

It may have taken her years, but she would never appear weak to the men that vied for her hand.

But being here, with her husband… It was like no time had passed. In the quiet of the morning, while the world still slept, she could be the Spartan Princess, if only for a moment - even if it was pretend.

“Let me remind you.” He bent his head slowly, giving her the opportunity to pull back or refuse. He invaded her senses, with his hands cradling her gently, and his breath caressing her face. All she knew at that moment was him.

His lips touched hers hesitantly, asking a question. Even though she anticipated his kiss, she froze underneath his touch, instincts screaming danger when there was none to be found.

Odysseus quickly pulled back, and her heart broke as he did. She released the blanket she had been clutching, ignoring it as it fluttered to the ground around them. Using one of her hands, she slid her arm around him, pulling him back, reclaiming him.

With silent permission given, he kissed her with the hunger of a man long denied. One of his hands left her face, relearning the lines of her body as he settled on her hip, holding her to him. His other hand angled her face up to his, running his tongue gently along her lower lip.

She fought back a shudder, a reminder flickering - these were her husband's hands. Her husband's lips. She willed herself to stay in the moment, begged her instincts to remember the safety Odysseus provided.

She moved her hands to the planes of his chest, pushing against him ever so slightly.

Penelope wasn’t ready.

“I’m sorry.” He gasped as he pulled away from her. He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes closed. “I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t be,” she whispered, her voice thick with regret. She was once again wrapped in the safety of her husband, the warmth of his embrace, and the gentleness of his spirit. “I just-”

He cut her off. “No,” the word was firm, “You are ‘just’ nothing.” He shifted, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "Tell me I can never touch you again, and I will love you from afar, my queen."

Penelope stifled a sob as she avoided his gaze.

“I’ve missed you, wife.” He whispered against her skin, and she could feel the gentle upturn of his smile with his declaration.