Page 63 of Elysium

“YOU’LL SLEEP IN OUR SON’S ROOM TONIGHT.” He said as they passed through the doors of their palace. Odysseus tugged his wife away from the beach once the underworld gods disappeared, bringing her back to the safety the walls of Ithaca offered her.

She had been so quiet since he had agreed to Hades’ terms. The king was beginning to fret over her. He had never known a Penelope that didn’t challenge him.

When he stopped, when he finally met her eyes, he felt his stomach drop. Tear tracks stained her cheeks, redness surrounding her eyes. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Not without you, Odysseus.”

“Penelope -” his voice caught, throat suddenly thick. He swallowed around the grief that was forming, taking his wife in his arms. “Let me do this,” He said into her hair, hands clutching at her. “Let me do this for you.”

“It’s too soon,” she said, fingers twisting into his tunic. “It’s too soon.” Her breathing was ragged as she let out a whimper. Odysseus could feel her trembling in his arms.

“We have tonight,” he pulled back enough to rest his forehead against hers. He held her face in his hand, joining her sorrow. “Let’s find a place to speak, heart.” Odysseus released her, taking her hand in his.

“Telemachus,” she gasped, rooting herself to the ground. “We have to tell him. We have to -”

“Hush,” his voice softened, brows knitting. “We will, there’s time. The sun still hangs in the sky.”

“Low, Odysseus. The sun is low.”

“There is time, wife.” He tugged gently on her hand, relief flickering through him as she gave in, allowing herself to be led.

Within the safety of their chamber walls, he expected her to come apart. He expected rage and grief and anger at him, at his choices. Instead, she met him with a somber smile and watery eyes. “Ody,” she whispered, her mouth twitching as though she fought back another sob.

“I have to keep you safe, wife. You need to be safe.”

“I know.” There was so much love in her eyes, a measure of adoration that suddenly he didn’t feel like he deserved. She was looking at him with reverence, but there was also acceptance.

For the first time in their decades of marriage, he shied away from her gaze. He couldn’t handle it, couldn’t handle the way she was regarding him. Turning his back to her, he leaned over, gripping the footrest of their bed. “Penelope,” his voice cracked.

How was he supposed to say goodbye?

“Penelope, you have knitted me together from flesh and bone. You have carried the weight of my soul, of my actions, and of my misgivings for years, and you never balked.” His fingers tensed on the bed frame, a tear slipping free, darkening the wood.

“I would not -” his breath caught in his throat, a ragged sob replacing the words he was trying to say.

“You don’t have to say anything, husband.” Her response was as quiet as a breeze, but it weighed heavily on his heart.

“Yes, I do.” But he still could not face her. One look at his wife and his resolve might falter. He might feel selfish enough to stay here, in Ithaca, with her. “You saved me, wife, even when you did not know it. Saved me from the darkness… the otherness that threatened to swallow me whole.”

He heard her take a step forward, but he was still out of her reach. Odysseus tried not to hear the sound of her own gentle gasps, tried to ignore the ache in his heart. To ignore his base need to comfort her. “Look at me, husband.”

He shook his head, fighting back tears as his knuckles turned white around the bed frame. “Odysseus,” she pleaded, reaching out to touch him. He attempted to move from her touch, but she was quick. The warmth from her hand spread through his body, settling in his stomach.

He drew in a tortured breath, squeezing his eyes shut tight. “Penelope, please.” Was all he could manage.

“Don’t carry this alone, husband. You aren’t the only one that gets to make grand speeches.” She might have laughed, but the sound wrenched his gut even more.

A strangled laugh escaped him. “I know, Penelope. You don’t have-”

“I can, and I do, husband.” She pressed her forehead against his shoulder.

He could feel how quickly her breaths came against his skin.

“You opened the world for me, Odysseus. You cracked open my cell and showed me light and love and laughter. Divine intervention may have stolen our time together, but days with you will forever be engraved upon my heart.”

Odysseus felt her fingers tremble against his clothing.

Her breathing hitched. “I lost myself for a long time. I think - I didn’t know how else to be.

I couldn’t be the woman you loved, not without you.

And then…” she shuttered, clutching at his back.

“Then it took me so long to come back to you. You were here, and you reached through time to bring me back, but I was frozen.”

Giving in to the sole reason he was placed on these lands, Odysseus turned, framing his wife’s face in his hands.

“Never frozen, wife.” He whispered through his tears.

“Steadfast. Strong. Sturdy. Never frozen.” He brushed a tear from her cheek.

“It took me twenty years to return to you, heart. Do not allow yourself guilt because it took you over a fortnight to return to me.”

Penelope’s eyes closed, lips quivering. “Odysseus,” her breathing steadied, one of her hands encircling his wrist. “Come,” she put a little space between them, pulling on his wrist. She stopped by the chaise, offering a smile. “Just a little more time, king. Before the sun sets.”

He moved without thinking, stretching out on the chaise, head propped up on an elbow as he made room for his wife. Penelope reclined next to him. With a soft smile, she ran a finger down the length of his jaw, as if she committed him to memory.

Odysseus found himself swallowed whole by his grief once again, sobs fighting their way out of his throat as he looked at his entire world. “Penelope,” he gasped, shutting his eyes tight.

“I waited for you, husband.” Her voice rang throughout the room, confidence spilling from her. “I waited for over twenty years to hold you in my arms again. You think I won’t wait any more?”

He felt her hands on his cheek, brushing his tears away. “And if I lose you?” He asked, airing his fears into the silence around them.

“You won’t.” Penelope tucked herself closer against his side, tangling her legs with his. She cupped the back of his neck, pulling him down to lie beside her. “I cannot believe that even after all this time,” another brush of her thumb, “Odysseus of Ithaca doubts his wife’s patience.”

He settled his arm across her middle, holding her tight against him. “Say it again,” he whispered, nuzzling his nose into the space behind her ear. “Say it again for me, wife.”

“You will never lose me, Odysseus.”

His lips tugged upward, inhaling the scent of her. Her fingers continued to trail along his skin, across his ear, through this hair, down his throat. Her touch was featherlight and carried the heaviest weight he could have imagined. He was anchoring himself in her touch.

He couldn’t help himself. He dropped his lips to hers gently, relishing in the way she gasped under his kiss. Odysseus fought back a smirk as his hand rested on her cheek, tilting her head back as he deepened the kiss. Penelope’s fingers twisted in his tunic, further grounding him in her.

The light of the setting sun covered them like a blanket. Odysseus was thankful that his wife had pulled him out of his head, forced him to face the grief head on. If he had spent his last night with her doing anything but being wrapped up in her arms, it would have been a waste.

They exchanged gentle kisses, soft touches. Half-formed thoughts whispered through tears. Fingers intertwined in hair, reminiscing on memories passed.

“Wife,” He shattered the illusion of eternity, turning her chin towards him. “It’s time.”

She shook her head, eyes filling up with tears once more. He felt the warmth of her hand falter as it rested on his chest, the way it trembled ever so slightly. Her breathing grew shallow, and for a moment, the weight of her silence pressed against him like the slow descent of nightfall.

“Penelope…” he murmured, his thumb grazing her cheek in an attempt to pull her back, to hold her steady. But her eyes closed, her face a mask of something unreadable, and his heart seized.

The seconds between them stretched tight with a tension neither could avoid. He pulled her closer, but she didn’t yield the way she had before. Her body stayed rigid in his arms, as if the very act of drawing nearer might splinter her already fragile heart.

“I wish…” His voice broke, words dying in the hush of their shared grief. He swallowed hard, unable to finish the thought. “I wish we had more time.”

Her hand fell away from his chest, and he felt the sudden emptiness of it. That small gesture, so simple, so slight, cut through him with a force that nearly stole his breath. And for what felt like the first time, Odysseus realized, deeply and painfully, that he would have to let her go.

She rose, pulling her legs to the side of the chaise. He followed, hand steady on the small of her back. “Let us go, wife,” he spoke through rising tears, a tightness in his chest. “Telemachus waits.”

She turned her head away from him, but he saw in the lurching of her shoulders that she was crying again.

Odysseus moved his hand, tangling his fingers in the far side of her hair.

Gently, he pulled her to him. She shook her head against him, but reached up to squeeze his hand.

“Okay,” she whispered, eyes shut tight. “Okay.”

He didn’t remember walking to their son’s room, or the path that they took.

He remembered holding her, though. He remembered the feel of her hands on his arm, the gentle lilt of her laughter when he bent down to whisper in her ear.

He remembered the sad smile that she gave him as they turned the corner, and the way her breath hitched as his knuckles wrapped on Telemachus’ door.

When the door opened, their son stood there, his expression unreadable, but the familiar light in his eyes faltered as they fell upon his mother. Penelope didn’t move, didn’t speak for a long moment. The silence was thick, suffocating.

Then, finally, her voice came, soft, fragile. “My son…” she whispered, the words catching in her throat.

“What is happening?” He asked, eyes darting between his parents rapidly.

“Things have changed, son,” Odysseus said. His son stepped aside, gesturing for the pair to enter.

“How?”

“Tonight is -” Penelope tried, but her voice faltered.

“Tonight is it, son.” He finished for her, rubbing his hand gently against her arm. “In order to protect you and your mother, I’ve amended the deal with Hades.”

“Father you can’t -”

Odysseus shook his head, silencing his son.

“There is nothing left to say, Telemachus.” He paused, smiling gently.

“That’s not true - Thank you, son.” He stepped away from Penelope, instantly feeling the ache of being apart.

Odysseus grabbed his son by the shoulders, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“Thank you for looking out for her. Thank you for leading Ithaca. Thank you for -” His breath hitched.

“Thank you, Father,” Telemachus whispered back, tightly gripping his father’s tunic in his hands. “Thank you for this life, for our home. Thank you for coming back. I’m sorry-”

“No,” the older man shook his head, “No apologies tonight, son.” He knew he should pull away, should leave before it became impossible to do so, but Penelope stepped up beside him, folding herself into the embrace.

Odysseus shifted an arm, wrapping around his wife. He pressed a kiss against her curls, her fingers gripped his shirt. A sob caught in Telemachus’ throat. “I am thankful -” the older man started, voice cracking, “I am thankful my family was whole, if only for a moment in time.”

He mustered up the strength to pull back from his wife and his son.

Placing a hand on each of their cheeks, he managed a smile.

“I am the luckiest man in the world.” Penelope gripped his wrist with both of her hands, no longer trying to hold back her tears.

Odysseus' heart clenched as his son reached for her, squeezing her hand in his.

He dropped his hands, adjusting the buckle on Telemachus’ shoulder. “Be good.” He choked out, “I love you.”

And before he could lose his will, before he could decide it wasn’t worth it, he turned.

And he left them behind.