#//when telemakhos is just like. trying not to dance for joy

[wonderingprince]

He's forgotten, in his paranoia, that this man has far more reason to be suspicious of them. Telemakhos can make the decision to trust the stranger if he so wishes; the stranger his no choice. Telemakhos has been too busy brooding about his own father, and yet here, with barely a prompt, this man gives him hope that even Menelaos could not, news more recent than even that great King of Sparta could afford.

News that Odysseus may no longer be trapped on the island of Kalypso, but has succeeded in escaping.

He would be suspicious of the source, if it did not corroborate with the information Menelaos had sorely won. Suspicious of anything that sounds too good to be true, perhaps, but it's not really, is it? That his father may still be alive was the lowest bar; this is barely a step above. It doesn't even confirm that he's on his way home, but Telemakhos feels more confident now. His heart soars, in spite of his head. He feels like he can dream again.

This, this is the news Athena sent him to seek. He spares a thought for a prayer of thanks to his goddess, silent as he lifts his face to the wind. To keep the smile from his face is a challenge.

"Of course," he acquiesces, playing the role he has cast himself in, of a man loyal to the prince of Ithaka. "I will take you to him myself."

Then he pauses. If he returns to the palace alone, the suitors will mock him, jeer at his wasted journey, but likely do little else. But if he shows up with a man such as this at his side, they may be provoked.

At the very least, he thinks he should warn this Kretan. Telemakhos has no desire to lead him blindly into danger.

"But I would be remiss if I did not warn you of the danger we may be sailing into, even as we reach our home port. If the rats in the palace have heard rumour of our mission, they will likely to what they can to stop any message reaching the palace. And they are not kind to strangers."

The hesitation and looks exchanged after his question have Odysseus bracing himself to hear that his son is dead. If it's true, he would have found out eventually—one way or another, maybe on his own threshold—but that doesn't keep his heart from squeezing, his pulse from beating hard in his ears.

Among the other details burned in his mind's eye from his journey to the underworld, above all he remembers the moment he recognized his mother's ghost. The frisson of shock that ran through him. He had been dreaming of home as something apart and separate and safe, but in the last seven years, he has had none of that self-soothing lie. He has known Telemakhos could die. The only soul he's ever been given the chance to spare from death was his own, and he wouldn't take it.

But the drumbeat dies down when the answer comes. His chest loosens with an ache like the creak of ropes after a sail goes slack.

Telemakhos sounds—like a careful young man. Like he has had to be, for his sake and Penelope's. They have both waited for him. Not by choice, he reminds himself, but another part of him insists—still, they're waiting for him.

Unless he's being lied to.

If Telemakhos and Penelope are so embattled at home, how easy would it be for one of their enemies to pretend to serve himself, to lure a story out of a stranger and use it for their own gain? Or to make sure word never reaches the prince at all?

"Years ago I heard that he was detained, but in Thesprotia they say he's broken free."

Odysseus leans into the scrutiny, openly searching the captain's face in return.

"I cannot speak to the truth of it myself. Perhaps the rest is best told the prince directly, all the same."

They may press him harder. This crew look too young to have much stomach for torture, though you never know what young men will do. But he has a ready reason for evasion.

"The last time I trusted the promise of reward, I ended up—well." He lifts the corner of the borrowed cloak.