gwenchan

Fandom: Odissea
Characters: Penelope, Telemachus

Prompt: Antica Grecia
Tag: missing moments, pre-canon

They didn't come all in once. That would have been too obvious. No. It started slowly, with his or that prince asking for hospitality and amply outstaying it. Sometimes were local nobles with the excuse of discussing this or that issues

First the men from around Ithaca, then Dolicha and Samo and farther islands.

Their interest for her as well has been subtler at first. One gaze indulging a little too long, being a little too lustful. A double-entendre joke. One hand groping or squeezing her arm a little too tight. The not so casual slaps on her ass

Penelope hides behind a mask of indifference. She keeps her head high. She is a princess born from a nymph, the Queen and They're nothing.

Odysseus will come back and make them pay. She's certain.

Telemachus however is too young and inexperienced to know patience, in that age where every offense makes a boy's blood boil with rage.

She sees it in the flash in his eyes now that Antinous tries to drag her in his lap, in the way his fists curl around the knife. His knuckles are white, his face patched with red.

"Telemachus, son," Penelope calls. "Why don't you go to see if your grandfather wants to join us today."

Laerte has retired to the farthest rooms of the palace. Telemachus will take a while

"How can you stand it?" He snaps, later, in the privacy and relatively safety of her rooms, oozing frustration.

It pains Penelope to the core.

He's fifteen and he is too young to do anything but watch. The men in the palace, those still loyal to Odysseus did their best to train him in the sword and bow but there’s only little a boy can do against a whole group of grownups.

They might even kill him if he steps too much out a supposed line, strengthening their claims on the throne.

He's fifteen and has never met his father.

During the years Penelope tried to compensare as best as she could, reminiscing of the boyish education she received in Sparta, of the games with Castor and Pollux. But there’s only as much she can do.

Laerte helped too, at least, raising his only nephew as if he was his own son.

He's talking about retiring away from the palace.

It reminds Penelope she should send Telemachus somewhere safer, if she knew where. Maybe to Mycenae, to Clytemnestra. Or even to Sparta, to Tyndarus.

No, it'd be too dangerous. Yet, there's no doubt the only thing keeping him alive for now has been her refusing to take another husband and they have been careful enough to not force themselves onto her.

But it won't last forever

Telemachus is sufficiently smart to know it as well.

"We must do something" he insists, pacing the room with nervous energy.

Stopping to change the threads and examine the pattern, Penelope refutes. “Not yet.”

It would end in tragedy for them, without allies as they are now, most of the men loyal to Odysseus went with him to Troy and never returned.

She doesn’t trust most of the guards left at the palace, most old and weak and prone to be bought..

"They say father is dead."

“He’s alive.” By now they have become empty words, but Penelope keeps on repeating them nonetheless. She must, to convince herself before anyone else, or everything she’s doing would be useless.

“I wish he hadn’t left.”

Oh, how Penelope wished that too. The strength she has to show in the house, however, doesn’t allow her to falter, not even with her son.

“Your father had a duty. And our if to be loyal and faithful and defend here till his return.”

But the years are weighing on her shoulders, now that Troy has long fallen and most kings have returned. She doesn’t know how long she will be able to resist. How long till she won’t be able to calm Telemachus anymore, before he kill someone.

She can't always be with him, always ready to stop his hand.

"Mother …"

"I'm fine." Penelope takes a slow breath to push back her tears. "I'm fine. Go back to your duties."

Telemachus hesitates, clearly not wanting to leave her alone with her sadness but there isn’t much he can do and this pain she feels is for her and her alone.

Returning to her work, she let it take control, let nothing occupy her mind but the rhythmic sequence of the movements.

When she comes back to her senses, the pattern is wrong, a change of lines where it shouldn't be. A silly mistake, once she normally wouldn’t make. She has to snap out of it.

Praying the gods for guidance, Penelope leans forward to start unraveling her work. She has worked through the first row of wrong stitches when it hits her like a lightning.

She has just found a way to gain some more time.