Through his eyes

[gwenchan]

 

Fandom: The Odyssey
Characters: Penelope, Odysseus
Prompt: Antica Grecia
Tag: Post-canon; domesticity; reunion

“What are you doing, husband?”
As a maid puts down onto the low table a bowl of grapes and figs, bowing once before leaving, Penelope props herself up on her kliné, and stretches her neck toward the piece of paper Odysseus is holding on his knees, a wooden table underneath as support.
He nibbles on the stylo, a habit from his younger days which apparently hasn't left him in the twenty years they spent apart.
His greyish hair falls in unruly tufts from the loose braid he has adopted today, shadowing his already tanned face, skin the colour of leather from the days at sea and in the fields.
Some days Penelope still can’t believe he’s here, in the palace, finally back at her side. Two years in and she still wakes up in a cold sweat, sure to see the other side of their wedding bed cold and empty.
She finds herself looking at him with dread, certain it's nothing more than a cruel illusion, a joke from the gods, and that he'll disappear right before her eyes, leaving her and Telemachus to fend alone for their home.
But then she blinks and her husband is still there and she can breathe.
"Drawing," Odysseus answers, simply, adjusting the table. The stylo moves fast on the paper. She bends to pick some grapes, dark and just a bit on the
unripeside, the way she likes. The first harvest since Odysseus came back.
"And what would you be drawing, by chance?"
"You."
He glances up at her with deep grey eyes. Once Laerte had told Penelope Odyseus used to have eyes a dark shade of blue when he was a child, that they have somehow lightened with age.
Some said it was a  mark from Athena
Odysseus’ hand moves without him even needing to look at the paper.
"You already drew me yesterday," Penelope points out, feeling a blush spread onto her cheeks by how Odysseus is looking at her. As if she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

“Yesterday was yesterday," he deadpans, retrieving a small case from his chiton. He takes a piece of coal that stains his fingers black. "You're different today."
"I'm just older."
A new white hair streaked her once black locks when she braided them that morning. Around her eyes and mouth is a grid of thin wrinkles. She’s way past her prime and not getting any younger.
“It means you’re still alive. It’s a blessing many didn’t have.” Odysseus' eyes dim and Penelope knows immediately he’s thinking about those friends he lost, first during the war, then during that terrible journey back home.
Many times Penelope has caught him watching the sea and crying with silent tears; but in his eyes was also a sort of desire
He’s ordered a new ship, a small vessel for a little crew. She has asked if he plans to leave again, anytime soon. “Not yet,” he said.
She finds consolation thinking soon it’ll be winter again, not a good time for navigation.
“I must suppose you’ll draw me tomorrow as well, then.”
“And the day after,” Odysseus confirms.
Penelope doesn’t ask why or if he’s doing it so that he’ll have a pile of drawings to bring with him when he leaves again. It’s useless to worry about Fate after all.
He is here for now and in the end it is all that matters.