Page 61 of Elysium

HIS FINGERS TRAILED OVER THE CURVE of her spine, over the marks that he had left on her skin. Small bruises were painted across her hips, her neck, and a sick pride flushed across his skin.

He wasn’t a covetous man, Odysseus knew he had no need to lay claim on her. But gods, did it satisfy his base needs as a man to see the places he had gripped her a little too tight, places he had bitten a little too hard, lost himself in her a little too much.

He shared his own set of marks, as well. Where she had dragged her nails across his skin, bit to keep from screaming, clutched him tightly in her grasp.

The night they had spent together was unlike any other. The raw physicality of the way she had met him would forever live in his heart.

There was always a looming concern that he would break her. That the darkness Odysseus carried after the war would be the thing to crack the foundation that was Penelope, to crack the foundation of their marriage, their love.

But when met with a situation, with choices that he had made, that could have been used to sever them… His queen had bucked. Nothing could shake this god-sent woman.

Penelope rolled towards him, her chest rising and falling in the sunlight.

Odysseus would have frozen time in this moment, forever, if he could have.

Guilt crept into his thoughts. He had been so wrapped up in his wife, in their chaos, that he hadn’t even thought to share the information he had extracted from her attacker.

“Penelope,” he whispered, gathering her up in his arms. Odysseus pressed his lips into her hair, running his thumb across her cheekbone. “Wake, my love.”

“No,” she whispered, nuzzling deeper into him. Her fingers searched for purchase against his bare chest, finding none. A gentle frown graced her lips, pulling a smile out of him.

He tilted her head up, brushing his lips lightly against hers. She tried to follow him as he pulled back, deepening her frown. “Odysseus,” she whined, reaching up to tangle her fingers in his hair.

“Needy queen,” He laughed, kissing the corner of her down-turned lips. “We have a day to greet, things to discuss.”

Penelope tugged his face to hers. “You are a bold man, calling me needy.” She opened one eye. He felt the air stolen from his lungs by just the look on her face. “You didn’t mind my needs last night when the only thing I desired was you, selfish king.”

He was 26 again, stealing away with the only woman his heart had ever raced for. When the only thing in the world that mattered to him was a fiery Spartan princess who would never let him have the last word.

Penelope twirled a finger around the tufts of hair on his chest, humming contentedly, softly.

He wished to bottle this moment. To shrink it down and carry it with him forever.

A pocket of space carved out just for them, where no gods could hurt her.

Where no wars had taken him. Where they had always just been: Penelope and Odysseus.

“What sort of things must you tell me, husband of mine, that had to drag me from sleep?” Her words dripped with the comfortable teasing he had fallen in love with.

But her words… nostalgic as they made him, pulled him from their sanctuary and back into his body.

The body that was marked by Hades. The body that had a death sentence.

“It appears that the gods of the underworld are not the only divine beings that are keeping tabs on us.” He finally managed to speak it out loud, to slice through the serenity of their morning.

Penelope stiffened against him all at once, her fingers freezing, the gentle upturn of her lips slipping away. “Who?” She whispered, voice no longer lithe, words no longer playful.

Odysseus exhaled. Uttering the words would change everything between them.

They had angered the king of the gods. “Who, Odysseus?” She asked again.

He could hear it in her words… his soft and gentle wife had disappeared in his very arms, and the Queen of Ithaca, steadfast and headstrong, had replaced her.

“Zeus.”

She was out of the bed before he could even finish the name. Her entire body was taut, immediately pacing in front of their bed. “That vile woman!” Penelope spat, hands clenching into fists at her side. “I cannot believe she would do this.”

He sat up in the bed, blankets pooling around his waist as he did so. “Walk me there, love. Who?”

“Helen.” Her eyes were on fire, hair wild in the morning sun.

“Was she so mad that you refused her, that a married man would not want to bed her, that she ran off to her father about it?” Odysseus had to bite back an inopportune chuckle as his wife paraded around their room.

“As if it’s your fault Menelaus won’t touch her. ”

He held a hand out, beckoning her back to his side. “Wife,” he tried to break through her thoughts, to bring her back to him. But she was spiraling. “Penelope.”

“Gods, we are grown women . She’s practically my sister. I thought that her advances on my husband were bad enough.” She tugged a hand through her already matted hair, growling as her fingers tangled. “But now…” A laugh.

“Penelope.” He stood from the bed, taking her gently by the shoulders. “Feel me. Come back to Ithaca, heart.”

She let out a breath, blinking up at him.

Her gaze flicked over his body, the constellation of bruises and half-moon scratches she had left scattered across his skin.

Even now, after everything, a part of him itched for her to trace them, to claim him again.

But instead, she exhaled a dry laugh, shaking her head.

"Of all the ways to receive a death sentence, I never imagined I'd be naked for it."

She sighed, pressing her hand to his chest, right where she had marked him hours before. "Or that you would be, for that matter." She smirked, fingers dragging idly over the evidence of their shared hunger. "Then again... if the gods are watching, I hope they took notes."

Odysseus returned the grin, taking her face in his hands, holding her like she was his entire world. “This changes things.” He whispered, pressing his forehead against hers.

“I know.” She folded her arms around his neck, holding him close. His eyes fluttered closed, inhaling every bit of her he could muster.

“I have an idea.”

“I hate when you say that.”

He laughed, jostling both of them gently. “I know you do.”

“Speak of your plan, you fool. So I can fix it for you.”

“Come,” he pulled her back to their bed, back to the one place had always found sanctuary, found each other.

They settled against the trunk of the tree, blankets draped over their laps. Odysseus tucked his wife under his arm, holding her close against his side. “We’ve angered Zeus,” he started, his wife huffing under his touch.

“And Hades,” she finished for him. “Maybe we could see if Poseidon is busy.”

“Not funny, wife.” He turned her chin to face him. “You know well and truly that we’ve already dealt with Poseidon’s wrath. His anger kept me from you.”

“Hush, husband,” she leaned forward, pressing her lips against his bedraggled beard. “Tell me your plans, please. My breath is bated.”

“I was able to convince Hades for more time, time to be with you, time to set my son and my kingdom up to prosper.” Odysseus found that shame was licking at his throat. His eyes left hers. “I needed time with you. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye again.”

“Oh my heart,” Penelope guided his gaze back to hers. “There is no disgrace in wanting to be with those you love. You will find no judgment here.”

He couldn’t speak, not yet. Odysseus knew what he was about to say, knew that she would fight it. She had always fought for him.

“I think…” he said eventually, drawing in a shaky breath.

“I wonder if I told Hades I was ready now… if he would extend his protections to you, of Telemachus. Perhaps if Persephone could be convinced to protect you both from Zeus’ wrath.

” He exhaled, just as uneven as before. “Or if she could convince him.”

“Odysseus,” he didn’t have to look at her to hear the tears she was fighting. “You can’t. I’m not ready.”

“But if it’s what keeps you safe?” He was pleading with her to understand. “Everything I have done, Penelope, was to keep you safe. To keep Telemachus safe. Alive. In Ithaca.”

When their eyes next met, there was a gentle sadness to hers, accompanied by a watery smile. “Odysseus,” she said, cupping his cheek with her hand.

“Do you think you would have fallen in love with me if I had just been a sailor accompanying a different king to Sparta all those years ago?”

“I would have fallen in love with you had you been a beggar. A fisherman. A soldier, or a prince.” He brushed a tear from her cheek, Penelope leaned into his hand.

“Had Laertes shown up to promise you to Helen, I would have followed you to Ithaca like a lost sheep. My heart has always sung only for you, my king.”

“You can’t-”

“I can. From the minute I laid eyes on you, Odysseus. It was you.”

“Penelope,” was all he could say through the tightness in his throat. He swallowed, thick with grief. “Please, don’t fight me on this, wife.”

She closed her eyes, taking in her own trembling breath. Her hands crept up into his hair, and she shook her head. “On one condition.” Her hands shook against the skin of his scalp. “You meet Hades by my side this time.”

“Queen,”

“Please, let me have this. Let me stand by your side.”

He wanted to fight her, wanted to convince her to stay tucked away somewhere safe in their palace. But arguing with the Queen of Ithaca was as fruitful as arguing with the winds.

They both took whichever path that they wanted, and a storm was never far behind.