#OdyPen fanfic

[im-so-normal-i-swear]

Penelope timeee

Penelope awoke with a start. A strange, misshapen figure was standing in the doorway to her bedroom, cloaked in nighttime.

With shaky hands, Penelope lit the candle on her bedside table. It was carved into the same olive tree where Odysseus had carved their wedding bed. How long would that have taken? How many hours of sawing and carving and smoothing wood? How many splinters carefully pulled from his hands?

The dim glow of her candle washed over the figure. It was a short, bearded man, covered with a hooded cloak.

A bloodstained hooded cloak—or wait, was it water discolouring the fabric?

The man lowered his hood, and Penelope saw his face clearly.

Odysseus. Her husband had returned from war at last.

Penelope practically fell out of bed and ran to him. She stumbled, and he caught her with strong arms, sinking down to the floor with her. Their tears mixed on their faces, and Penelope didn’t know who was crying more.

She put her hands up to his face. His salt-and-pepper beard looked so good on him. His eyes, his beautiful grass-green eyes, were the same. The mole underneath his left eye was the same. His skin was sun-beaten and rough, and his arms were stronger and leaner than they had been, but he was hers still and she was his.

Odysseus wrapped his arms around Penelope’s waist and pulled her closer, so that they fit together perfectly. Over the many years–how many years?–that would never change.

She pressed her lips to his, the first kiss they had shared in too long. Gods, how she had missed him. The lingering ache in her chest slowly eased, and she took a deep, calming breath for the first time in years.

“My love, how I’ve missed you,” her husband murmured.

Penelope buried her face in his neck. “But, the suitors, they’ll never believe it’s you…”

“It’s alright, they’re gone. I’ve dealt with them.”

Could that be true? Cpuld all her problems be gone, just like that? It seemed too good to be true, almost like a dream…

Gods damn it.

His voice changed. It was no longer gravelly with tears, but sweet, melodic, higher pitched.

“Wake up, Mom.”

Penelope’s eyes opened, struggling to adjust to the blinding sunlight. She rolled over. Odysseus’s side of the bed was empty.

She sighed. If only one day, the dream could be real.

Please come home, Ody. I need you.

Until that day, she would be waiting.

[athamad]

FISHING READ THIS GUYS IT'S SO GOOD I WANTED TO CRY. READ IT

The Weaver and the Carver

https://archiveofourown.org/works/47467498/chapters/119622289

After a pair of intruders break into the Spartan palace during an Argonaut reunion, fourteen-year-old Penelope sets out to find the culprits before they can hurt her family, but she’ll need help from the only person who believes her: the infamous Odysseus.

AKA A story of Penelope/Odysseus meeting set to the events of Helen’s first kidnapping.

[caramelmiacchiato]

now can we talk ab how it prolly went with telemachus and penelope during the athena part in i cant help but wonder? ody told him to go tell penelope he was home, so i imagine telemachus running to his moms bedroom screaming like "MOM MOM MOM MOM YOU HAVE NO FREAKING IDEA OF WHOS HERE SHGEJEGQODGKQGDKQAJHSKAGWQOGSKQGSVDKQHDKHQJDHAJ"

[sprnklersplashes]

this is your world, my darling (ao3) buy me a coffee

penelope and odysseus welcome their son to the world

requested tag: @mercurymasc

content warnings: childbirth

Her water breaks just as the sun is setting.

The cup she was holding falls to the floor, already forgotten when it rolls under the bed. She reaches rather blindly for Odyssues and wraps her arms around his shoulders as best she can. Carefully, he guides her to the edge of the bed, his heart pounding. She’s already biting her lip, blood pooling at the sides. Her eyes have fluttered shut. Odysseus taps her cheek and whispers her name; not quite realising his worry until she cracks open her eyes. The relief that flows through him could drown a city. 

“Hurts a bit more than I expected,” she says shakily. 

“All right.” He squeezes her hand. “I’ll go tell someone to alert the midwife. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“I’ll be here,” she jokes weakly.

He kisses her head before he goes, then her lips, then finally her belly. It gets a smile out of her, and she ruffles his hair. She tells him it will be fine, but something in it makes it feel more like a question. Especially when it is cut off by a short gasp another contraction comes. Odysseus wishes there could be two of him. He presses his forehead to hers and tells her again that he will be right back.

Then he sprints down the hall, faster than he has ever ran in his life.

Despite his assurance, he completes little quests on the way back; grabs fresh linens from the cupboards, sends another messenger to Penelope’s family, says a quick prayer at Athena’s altar. Maybe he should include an offering to Eileithyia too, but he is short on time, and if he had his pick of the Pantheon, his patron goddess would remain his first choice.

It is only as he checks things off this list that the fizzing begins in his veins, and he has to fight to hold himself together, to not start jumping up and down the hall because they are having a baby!

They are having a baby.

When he returns to their chambers, he finds Penelope up again leaning against the table, her knuckles white as she grips the sides. Her slow, measured breathing fills the room, followed by a deep groan as she bends over. Odysseus hurries to her side and presses himself against her, using his whole body as a crutch for her. She leans into his touch and covers his hand with her own, then whimpers.

“I’ve got you,” he tells her. “I’ve got you. The midwife is on her way. Just breathe with me, all right? Like we practised.” She nods quickly, her face contorted in pain. 

“Ody,” she says, her whispered voice already straining. She presses her head into his shoulder, trembling not just from exertion. “I’m scared.”

He doesn’t need to ask why. Stories of women and infants dying in childbirth run rampant throughout Ithaca. Tenderly, he presses a kiss to her temple. 

“I know,” he tells her. “I’m here. It’ll be all right. I promise.”

His mother used to tell him not to make promises when the gods could intervene.

However, this is his wife. If the gods try to intervene, they will go through him first. 

By the time the midwife arrives, Penelope has given up on trying to be calm.

“Odysseus of Ithaca!” she screams. “If you ever put one of your goddamn babies inside of me again I will rip out this cord and I will fucking strangle you with it!” Her cheeks are bright red, her eyes blaze like a forest fire rages behind them. Odysseus nods and pushes her hair away from her face.

“I know, darling.” He wipes the sweat from her forehead, then gathers up most of her hair as gently as he can before securing it with a ribbon. Then, he refreshes the cloth, squeezes out the excess, and places it on the back of her neck. 

“Better?” 

Penelope sighs audibly and sinks into the mattress. When she opens her eyes, the fire is still there, tempered by the cold cloth. Odysseus smiles.

“I didn’t mean what I said.”

“I know.”

“I’m just…” She grits her teeth against another contraction. “It’s a lot.”

“I know.” 

Tears gather in her eyes and she pulls their joined hands to her chest. He can feel her heart, erratic and frantic, excited and frightened. Trembling, she presses a kiss to his knuckles. Her breaths come in short, swift gasps. 

“I love you so much,” she mumbles.

“I love you too, Pen.” He kisses her forehead. “More than the world.” Penelope laughs, though it quickly turns into a pained cry. Her grip on Odysseus’ hand tightens but he holds his tongue. Compared to the agony she is in now, a bruised hand is a small price to pay. Those bruises bear her handprint after all; how can he complain?

They spend hours waiting for her contractions to become closer. He never leaves Penelope’s side; he helps her take sips of water and wipes the sweat from her skin and distracts her by reminiscing over the past. He recalls how he bravely climbed the tree outside her window to steal one last kiss. Penelope snorts and adds that he got so spooked by Helen also being in her room that he slipped from the branch and dislocated his shoulder. 

At irregular intervals, the midwife and physician rush in and check her. Penelope holds herself together when they are in the room; she answers questions dutifully and honestly, remains silent as they examine her, nods politely when they tell her she is not there yet. She thanks them for their service and is sure to tell them how much she appreciates them. Every inch a Queen, even squatting with flushed cheeks and dripping with sweat. 

After they leave, she lets out every curse word she can, some of which Odysseus didn’t know existed. She screams bloody murder and tells Odysseus how she’s going to murder him and then profusely apologises and tells him she loves him. 

At one point, she looks at him with the most pleading eyes and asks him for her dagger. 

“I need to throw something,” she begs. 

“Throw the pillows, is that not why we got them?”

“I need to throw something and watch it split the wall in half.” Odysseus sighs and takes her face in her hands. Her skin is burning, her pulse races against his fingertips. 

“Pen,” he tells her. “You are my everything. I would bring you Olympus if you asked. However, we are not throwing knives in the room where you’re giving birth.” He cups her cheeks. “Not because I don’t think you could, but because we should perhaps avoid questions about why the Queen is throwing knives in the delivery room.”

Penelope huffs and scowls up at the ceiling. Odysseus pushes back her sweat-soaked hair and nuzzles against her damp skin.

“After the baby is here, we can go out to the garden and you can throw as many daggers as you like.” The corners of her lips quirk upwards, even as she gasps again.

“Can I use your bow too?” 

Normally, asking to use the King’s bow is close to treason. This isn’t normal though; this is Penelope. In labour, no less. He kisses her hair. 

“Someone needs to teach our baby to shoot.”

After an eternity, the midwife declares she is ready. Penelope squeezes his hand once more, not out of pain but for reassurance, and gets into the position the midwife suggests. Seeing her there, Odysseus falls in love all over again. With her shoulders squared and her eyes alight, she looks like a warrior and he would follow her into any battle.

“My King,” the physician says. “Perhaps you should wait outside. No doubt you have duties to attend to and this is the women’s domain-”

“Absolutely not.” At the exact moment, Penelope’s hand tightens on his arm. Odysseus covers her hand with his without looking away from the physician, almost enjoying the way he retreats in shame. “I am not leaving my wife’s side. Her business is my business.”

The physician mumbles an apology, then slinks away without even looking at them.

Penelope clings to him like he might disappear on her, though whether that’s genuine fear or trying to cope with the pain is up for debate. Gods, his heart hurts to look at her, biting her tongue against the pain, beads of sweat on her forehead. Above all, it hurts to see the fear flickering in her eyes, to see his steadfast wife wavering in the face of the odds.

Somewhere inside, he is overjoyed to be meeting his child soon. But gods above, surely there should be a way that would spare her this pain?

He has never felt more useless than when he refreshes the cloth and tells her it will be alright. The midwife tells her when to push and what she can see; even the physician, irritating as he is, has his uses as he checks her pulse and prepares painkillers. Odysseus, King of Ithaca, is perhaps the least useful person in this room right now. 

“I can see the baby’s head!” 

“Nearly there, Pen.” He kisses her shoulder, strokes her hair. It’s amazing, how she still looks as perfect as the day they met, seventeen years old, in the shade of an olive tree. Penelope looks up at him now, exhausted beyond measure, wrecked and radiant.

This is the last moment they’ll have with just the two of them.

With his free hand, Odysseus taps her nose, the same gesture he made after she agreed to marry him. She laughs breathlessly, the way she did when she said yes.

Then she screams. And screams. And swears. And sobs.

Then, among the shouting and the swearing, a cry. A whimpering, stuttering little cry that grows louder by the second. 

The world tilts. Time freezes. 

“It’s a boy,” the physician declares. He looks over at them, a squirming bundle in his hands, and Odysseus’ heart stops. “It’s a boy, your Majesty.”

“A boy,” Penelope gasps. "Ody, it's a boy!"

In a daze, Odysseus rises from the bed and crosses over to him. A part of him worries the wiggling blanket isn’t his son, that this is some cruel joke the gods have planned but then… He is holding him. That little weight in his arms, tiny legs tangling in the blanket and tiny fists against his bare chest. The boy is screaming and writhing like a snake and he is covered in blood and gods only know what else and he is chalk white.

Odysseus is completely, utterly, inconceivably in love.

“Hello there, little one,” he whispers. He runs his finger along his impossibly soft cheek. When he reaches his mouth, the boy immediately goes for his finger in an attempt to soothe. There are no words in Greek or any language that could convey this feeling. 

“Pen, look.” Gently, Odysseus eases himself beside Penelope and passes their son to her. He starts wailing immediately at the loss of his finger, the most beautiful sound he has ever heard. 

Penelope glows, golden light bursting from inside her. A single tear runs down her face and despite the exhaustion carved into her face, there is something new about her. Like she’s been reborn. She looks at him, tired eyes glittering.

“We have a son, Odysseus!” she squeals. “Oh gods.” She touches his chest with her finger. “Hello, little Telemachus.” 

With his entire, tiny hand, Telemachus grabs hold of her finger. 

Odysseus says his name in his head, over and over again. He can’t think of a more perfect sound.

Behind them, the midwife clears her throat.

“Pardon me, but we will need to wash the baby,” she says. With a sigh, Penelope hands him to Odysseus, a kiss pressed to his hair. 

The midwife goes to take him and Odysseus pulls back on instinct. Even Penelope, weary as she is, raises an eyebrow. They both know she meant no harm, emotions are just running high for everyone (least of all poor Telemachus), so Odysseus softens his face and manages a friendly smile.

“Thank you, but I can bathe my own son,” he says. “However, I will be grateful for your help.”

And he is. He lets her watch as he washes everything off the boy’s body and out of his curls (definitely from Penelope) and dabs him with oil. To make up for his earlier behaviour, he asks her if he’s swaddling the baby the right way, unexpectedly relieved when she says he is. 

He expects there will be many more unexpected worries in the future.

He offers Telemachus his finger again as they make their way back to the room, laughing softly at the determination in which he takes it. His boy roots against his chest too and Odysseus chuckles.

“I think you’re hungry, aren’t you, little man?” he asks. “Worked up quite the appetite on your way here. Don’t worry, we’ll get you fed.”

In the bedroom, the physician seems to be finishing his examination of Penelope.

“Well, your Majesty, everything seems to be in order,” he tells him. Odysseus doesn’t respond until he is once again next to Penelope, forcing the physician’s gaze to turn to her as well. He presses Telemachus into her arms and asks her how she feels before he turns to him. 

“You have my gratitude for assisting our midwife. I’m sure you learned much from her,” he says. Penelope hides her smirk.

“Indeed,” the physician says through gritted teeth. “I am sure you are both delighted. Especially as it’s a boy.”

“Oh, he could’ve been a minotaur for all I care.”

Penelope bursts out laughing, and even Telemachus’ gurgling sounds approving. The physician turns red and when he bows, he is as stiff as a board. 

Odysseus waits for the door to close before he mutters “good riddance” under his breath.

Then he looks at his wife and child, and all other thoughts are banished.

Penelope adjusts her chiton and after some failed attempts, Telemachus latches on. There’s a small hitch in her breath, a noise of discomfort, and then she exhales. Odysseus rubs circles onto her back, easing out the knots formed beneath the skin.

For a long time, they just sit there, fascinated by the way his little jaw moves. Odysseus leans into her shoulder, the past few hours washing over them like rainfall. 

“Pen, are you alright?”

“I told myself I wasn’t going to cry,” she sighs. Odysseus huffs a laugh and wipes her cheek.

“You just pushed another human out of your body. Crying is allowed.” 

Telemachus pops off her breast, milk dribbling from his chin. The two of them laugh as Penelope wipes it away. It’s strange, to not hear him crying. That first cry will forever live in Odysseus’ head, a reminder of what he now fights for. 

More than that, it’s what he lives for.

Penelope shifts over, letting Odysseus fully onto the bed. Slowly, she turns him around so that his head rests against his chest. They watch in awestruck silence as Telemachus looks around the room. Every corner of this room is new to him, floorboards Odyssues has tread a hundred times are as unfamiliar as the ocean’s depths. The world that Odysseus has taken for granted is a blank canvas for him to explore. 

They created this. Him and Penelope. A whole new world of possibilities opens before him, endless adventures, countless new stories to tell. He might have an entire kingdom and 600 men under his command, and the favour of a goddess, but none of them compare. 

This moment, here in this room, this is his entire world. 

[kexytimes]

Looking for Odypen fanfics

Like I am talking ones where they meet and are flirting and being sneaky lil betches together

[formerstingray]

New fic wip

Two years after his return, Penelope watches her husband from the window. It is night, the stars fumbling dully for each other in the black sea. Odysseus walks exactly on the line of the tide; never in it, never away.

Two years of this relief that squeezes around her bruised heart like a hand. Of all their ragged changes, their similarities like fresh wounds. Carved muscles. Half-smile. New baby at her breast. His thrumming fingers and feet in the marble throne room. Penelope watches her husband from the window, and sees the intensity and restlessness she has known in him all their lives. There has always been something pulling him towards the horizon. 

Not yet, she thinks, to nobody. Panic fumbles dully for words in the black of her mouth. Whatever you are, you won’t have him yet.

/

Lol fucking finally right. Im not stingbaiting you I promise I'll actually write this one. Promise it wont be as angsty as it seems :) :) :) :)

[athenaareia]

odysseus: i am the monster rawr rawr penelope: i love you so much odysseus: *crying* i missed you .. literally anyone: my king, you have to do this yourself, the queen will still be- odysseus: i will fight you. penelope, sighing: let him have this. .. telemachus: and these are my parents, the operating king and queen of ithaca *odypen being odypen (ody is on penelope's lap)* diomedes: just like i remember them! .. they deserve ALL the joy and simping after those twenty years i say.

also yay i did it!! the link is here.

[andydraw24]

[charas-epic-fics]

Epic the musical Prompt #3:

Odysseus: I am not your kind and gentle husband

Penelope: You just called Telemachus the sweetest joy you’ve ever known… are you sure??

[witless-winion1]

Warning!! Sleepy pathetic wife-lover Ody!!

I don’t know what possessed me but when I came to there was 332 words of kidney-threatening OdyPen fluff

———

Penelope had always thought, when her husband came back from war and his perilous journeys, she would sleep better.

She rolled over, looking at said husband.

Said husband was mumbling in his sleep. Murmuring her name in a rather whiny voice. It was as frustrating as it was adorable.

She sighed and reached out, cupping his jaw. “Yes, love-”

“Nnhhmmm!” Out of some odd reflex, his hand darted up and smacked hers off his skin with another childish moan. He twitched in his sleep, his handsome brow creasing with another grumpy mumble. “Calypso…nghm, off.”

Ahh, yes. The infamous Calypso. The one that had apparently tormented him for seven endless years while he despaired and rejected her over and over.

“It’s me, dear,” she hummed, reaching out again to caress his hair. “Penelope.”

“Pen…” he reached up and took her hand, feeling it with an almost serious expression, like he was really awake and inspecting her hand. “Hmph…Peneelooppeeeee…”

She chuckled. Maybe someday she would be less entertained by her husband’s constant murmurings and neediness. And yet…

“Penelopeeeee,” she echoed softly, harmonizing. He seemed to perk up at the melody, and shuffled closer, burying his scratchy, unshaven face into her shoulder with another childish whine and more mumbles.

“Hnghnph…wedding bed…”

“Mhm,” Penelope hummed, stroking his hair. “Carved into the olive tree.”

Odysseus keened softly. “I miss my wiiiife…”

Penelope had to cover her mouth to stifle her giggles.

The king’s pout grew more intense. “‘s not funny,” he slurred. “I miss my wife, Dio…I miss her a lot…”

“Then just open your eyes,” she encouraged softly, rubbing his back. “…keep m’ eyes open…”

“No, no. Open them, silly.”

There was a pause, then he shifted in her arms. A significantly less whiny, but no less adoring or groggy, voice whispered, “Penelope?”

“Yes, love.”

Odysseus shifted to muzzle once more into her neck, sluggish and sleepy. “…mngghh…missed you…”

“I know, dear.” You miss me every night, always in your dreams.

Now I’m here when you awake, as well.

[mer-acle]

Glad to announce that Penelope's "concerned Mom" voice doesn't go over any better with Athena that Ody's "disappointed Dad" voice.

Girl hasn't had a decent parental figure in like 3800 years you guys need to take it easy with her (it's me. I am you guys. I will not. Life isn't easy on me either)

[platinumink]

Odysseus post!Ithaca Saga WORST Ending Headcanon... (TW: Knifes, murder, blood, death)

Do but what if Odysseus wakes up from a nightmare some time after he return home.

Said nightmare was about every bad thing that happened to him but CALYPSO especially. (In this headcanon, Calypso regularly SA-ed our poor man believing that he would truly love her back eventually).

Odysseus of course always defended himself and did whatever possible to get away from Calypso but since goddesses can't die (or be hurt by mortals who refuse to eat anything said goddess offers him) Odysseus never manages to get away before the inevitable happens to him.

So after he wakes up from his nightmare, instead of keeping her distance like Odysseus asked Penelope to do so he could regain a sense of what is real and what was a dream or the past, our beloved queen is with her husband immediately, trying to soothe him and take away the pain and fear her husband is in.

Problem is, Odysseus just dreamt about Calypso doing unforgivable things to him. A little "quirk" Calypso had was to transform into Penelope and gradually retake her true form while forcing Odysseus to lay with her to show him how she could replace Penelope easily and in his hunger and delirium of lack of sleep, he sometimes believed Penelope to actually be here before finding out the truth.

Now, seeing her touch him and being in a bed with him after just reliving the worst time of his life, he believes her to be Calypso in disguise. So instead of embracing his beloved wife and accepting the offered comfort, Odysseus holds his breath, fingers for the knife he keeps under his pillow just in case, turns around in an instant and impales thr imposter on the blade.

Instead of turning back into Calypsos true form and laughing off his attempt, the woman in front of him gasps in pain and shock, tears pooling in her eyes. She raises her hand and carefully places it on Odysseus' left cheek, caressing it gently.

This is when it clicks for Odysseus what he had just done in his panic. With terror building within him, he carefully guides his wife back on the bed, repeating "no, no, no, no, no" and "i'm so sorry, i'm so sorry my love" as well as "what have I done, my wife, gods no, please no!" Over and over again.

Penelope smiles with tears in her eyes and labour's breathing, telling him that it's okay, she's going to be okay, to take care of their son, that she isn't mad at him, that she should have listened to what he told her about keeping distance, that she will always love him and that she will wait for him forever in the underworld to rejoin her by her side. She orders him to say that this was an assassination and that he had tried his best to defend her but reached her too late as her last dieing wish so that he will be able to keep his position ss king and to enable him to keep raising Telemachus to become his next successor one day. Odysseus agrees after a whirl of back and forth full of guilt and anguish.

Penelope died in her husbands arms, her night dress, the bedding and her husband painted in red.

The next morning, Odysseus does exactly what his wife asked of him, speaking of an assassin, of catching the man at the edge of the cliff to the shore, of hacking him to bits and of throwing his remains into the water for sharks and other monsters to eat.

Odysseus and Telemachus mourn the death of their wife and mother together. With time, the creation of a mural and daily offerings made to his mother and the gods Hades, Persephone, Hera and, of course, Athena, Telemachus prevails and though he shall always miss and love his dear mother, he is excited to one day see her again in the Underworld. One day, Odysseus tells him what actually happened and asks his son to kill him. He never managed to move on and does and will always feel guilt, of the atrocity he committed even though by accident.

Telemachus simply holds his father, telling him that he understood and already knew, as he had once dreamt of his mother visiting him in the realm of hypnos. She had already filled him in and asked for understanding and support, which he immediately gave, also stating that no one was at fault for this terrible accident. They grow even closer and spend even more time together after this.

Now, before Odysseus enters the bed to sleep, he will always first complete another few rows of a shroud he is weaving for his beloved wife. No matter how many a shroud it takes, he will make them in her honor until the day he will finally rejoin her to ask her if she would fall in love with him again after what he did to her...

_______________________________

Extra:

Odysseus openes his eyes, having just left the hall of judgement. He still cannot believe that he has died of old age. Just months before, he had crowned his son Telemachus as king and has helped him grow into the role. He will always make a fine ruler and eventually an amazing father and teacher now that his wife was close to giving birth to their first child.

Hermes had done their best to make his transition to the Underworld as comfortable as he could though crossing the border of the Underworld as a soul will always hurt just a little bit. With their help, he could keep his coin, as he had not needed to pay the ferryman for his services. When he had arrived at the halls of judgement, Odysseus had hugged him and thanked him profusely for his aid bith when he was alive and dead.

The god though once again denied his thanks and simpl, informed him that he is in no need of gratitude from his offspring and that he had died. After hugging him again, Hermes had released his Great Grandson to the judgement of the kings.

Even more unreal though, was the fact that he had been offered Elysium. After meeting many of his old men who greeted him with open arms and reembracing Polites who was just as chipper as he could remember, he stood before her again.

As beautiful as always and with a sage expression, she looked at him full of love.

"My love, my dearest queen, my beautiful wife... after everything i've done... would you fall in love with me-"

Odysseus gets interrupted by a body slamming into his, embracing him with a ferocity he did not expect.

"Always, you daft man, my love, my beloved king, my Odysseus! No matter how you change, I shall always fall in love with you over and over again, no matter where or when, you will always be mine, just as I will always be yours!"

Together, they walk hand in hand into eternity, excited to meet their son again one day far into the future.

[katerinaaqu]

Ruthless Justice

This fic is dedicated to my dear friend @artsofmetamoor as a gift! She had also expressed an interest to the events of the murder of the suitors but I decided to take it into a more tragic level; the excecution of the 12 maids and I added some random emotional scene afterwards! You are warned this fic includes dark themes!

The cries that filled the room were deafening. The young ears of Telemachus could not bear them. The slave women were forced to clean up the room from the corpses of the blasted suitors that nearly killed him and took the kingdom of his father. It was the first time Telemachus had killed. He still couldn’t believe it how easy it had been! It was almost easier than hunting wild goats and deer in the mountains of Ithaca! Some part of him had felt a wild pleasure, almost hedonic gladness, when he had stabbed that first body and continued. This hedonism increased by the happiness he felt that he was helping his father, that he was useful. He felt pleasure for this justice that was finally prevailing in the halls of his house; finally the constant harassment and insults his mother and himself had gone through was punished and he had finally found his father. He had witnessed his brain and his ferocity, his dexterity and cunning first hand! So far he had only heard of it from others that had met him and yet now he had actually seen it before him; his father who was no longer at the prime of youth he had managed to clean the hall of 108 men 10 or even 20 years younger than what he was. Some part of Telemachus wondered; how was his father in his prime? How much more ferocity in battle he possessed? How much more wits and wiles could he loom in short amounts of time?

However now that the first thrill of battle had gone, now they had finished cleaning the chairs of the hall with sponges and water, Telemachus was shocked at their own strength and results. He looked around at the hall that was basically full of wrapped bodies; the bodies that used to belong to vigorous, young nobles and his father now stood at the hall, hard as the stones that built that very palace. Odysseus was not a tall man (that much was a surprise to Telemachus, for from the conversations he had heard about his father’s strength and name he had expected him to be as tall as he was, perhaps taller), he barely stood at average height, maybe a little less, but his physique showed the power that his hardships built upon him. His raven hair, which had already started turning silver from time and hardships, was curly like his own and long till his shoulders; those strong shoulders burnt by sea and sun. A thick bushy beard was hiding a strong jaw line and mouth shut tightly closed. However Telemachus particularly noticed his stone look as the onyx eyes of his seemed soulless like glass even if they burnt with hatred and anger. Right now he could see before him a man who lived up to his name; “The Anger Bringer”. Odysseus was indeed enraged; that much Telemachus could tell. The almost full day of slaughter seemed to have created a curst thick like salt upon his face, just as thick was the blood that had splattered it, the blood he didn’t have much time to clean. And yet, despite all that, he seemed to stand naturally within that chaos; like only a war veteran would stand naturally amongst corpses and cries. He remained there as the lamenting women were literally dragged and pushed at his feet as he stood at the podium of the throne. He seemed like a judge; a ruthless judge ready to pass judgment. Telemachus had seen him angry, hopeful, crying, tender and then ruthless in his killing but now he was truly disturbed at the shadow that had passed over his face. He saw then the one that had come from war; the Sacker of Cities… Odysseus looked down at the maidens crying and struggling, as if they were insects.

“I took you to my home…” he said, his voice cold as ice and sharp as a knife, “I gave you a bed, fed you, dressed you…made sure you would want of nothing while you were under my roof… I respected your wishes…never mistreated you and this is how you repay me? By mingling with my enemies…the very men that wished to violently claim my wife and kill my son?”

Every word was a hammer upon a nail. Telemachus felt a shiver down his spine. He wouldn’t want to be to the other end of that look that was for sure! The women seemed pale like bed sheets; like the sheets that were covering the bodies they had gathered with their own very hands. He saw the other two helpers of theirs; the two herders Eumaeus and Philoetius, standing over the crying maidens, watching at their master with pride. Telemachus had never seen so much wild triumph to the old face of Eumaeus’s before. Never.

“Eumaeus….” Odysseus addressed him, “What is the punishment for treason?”

“Death, my lord” his voice didn’t even hesitate

“Quite so…” Odysseus nodded.

He glared at the slave girls like a hawk.

“Normally I should drag you all out and stone you to death!”

Odysseus didn’t have to yell. All he needed was to speak in that low voice that boiled with anger, like the bubbling water in a cauldron. And yet that was more than enough to emphasize his anger.

“However we have caused enough ruin already! And I shall not even spare one single sacred stone of this palace for you!”

One could wonder whether he was about to say he would sell them away or something of similar manner, which would already be cruel enough. However the king of Ithaca said;

“Philoetius! Bring me a long piece of rope! Eumaeus, help me bring these treacherous women out! They shall be hanged!”

The word sounded as terrible as I was clear and the women broke to a woe Telemachus had never heard before (and, by gods, had he heard enough woe in his house ever since he was a baby!). The screeches and the cries they released along with their already blood-painted hands trying to claw themselves out of the swine herder’s strong grip, nearly made him throw up.

“Father!” he protested, “you can’t be serious! They are just helpless women!”

His father’s onyx eyes stuck within his own and Telemachus felt that same shiver down his spine. There was fire in those obsidian eyes! The same fire of earth that had forged the volcanic glass that gave his eyes their color seemed to be now burning deep inside those black orbs; it was though a cold fire that burnt like the ice burns the skin!

“Is the betrayal of a woman less serious than the betrayal of a man?” his voice was sharp as a broken sword; sharpness you wouldn’t know where it would cut you the worst; the actual blade or the broken tip

“N-No…” Telemachus stammered, “B-But…”

His voice was being drowned by the shrieks of the women. He couldn’t stand it.

“Does the dagger being wielded by a woman draw less blood when it stabs you in the back than the one wielded by a man?”

“Father please!”

“Stay back, Telemachus!” his father commanded, pushing him out of his way, “You are not to see this!”

Telemachus felt his heart clench but he held his ground.

“No, father, I shall help you” he said determined, “If I am to become king of this land, I must help justice prevail!”

His father eyed him once more but Telemachus stood his ground. He was Odysseades Telemachus. He had to live up to his father’s legacy. Odysseus eyed him in wonder for one second but he did not protest his request any further. Part of Telemachus had wished he had. However he knew he had to be strong and stand by his father’s side. The cries of the female voices still haunted his ears as they went out to the trees of the garden. Odysseus pointed towards the direction of one of the trees. Telemachus gulped. He knew that tree. He had played so many times around it when he was a kid! He had named it “Troy” at some point, running around with his horse (in other words a stick he fantasized to be his horse when he was five) and he would yell at the people of Troy to open their gates for him, like he had imagined his father would be doing, on occasions scaring the birds that sat on the branches. As he grew older he would climb and sit on them, joining those birds, and looking over to the horizon as if waiting for a ship to appear, as if waiting to see the sails of the 12 ships of Ithaca arriving.

How weird indeed that Odysseus chose that particular tree for the execution hall to be built behind it! Telemachus never made that connection so strongly before!

As the men dragged the women out to their final spot; behind that said tree lay the dome of court where a small, confided space, where the women tied up with one single piece of rope from the throats like cattle being led for slaughter were crying and moaning. Telemachus felt his stomach turn. Oh, Athena, he prayed silently, please give me strength to do what I must! He felt then a gentle touch upon his shoulder; like the sun warming him with his rays. His racing heart slowed a bit in beat and he breathed in deeply. Yes, he could feel Athena’s reminder of his own strength. Yes, he had to do it. He was his father’s son. No one dared to speak at that moment. Apart from the endless woe of the women that were about to be executed, it almost felt like a macabre ritual that was about to happen. The women were forced to their final resting place; the narrow hall that was closed up by the neatherd and the swineherd. Telemachus held onto the end with both hands and sighed again, feeling weirdly calm. It was as if all his essence had gone numb. He was self-conscious that his father was looking at him. He almost felt him regretful as if he tried to release him from his task but Telemachus made a mechanical move with his head to stop him. I am Odysseiades Telemachus, he thought, this is my duty! Instinctually he looked towards the sky.

“May this be no clean death…” he heard himself whispering, breaking the silence and the cries of the women, “…that I take the lives of these women…for they were wishing for my head…both mine and my mother’s…when they betrayed us and lay with the suitors…”

His father made half a step forward. Telemachus had made his resolve

He threw the rope over the dome and pulled with all his might.

The cries stopped to give their place to chocking sounds.

Telemachus didn’t cry. He only sighed and closed his eyes.

Soon the haunting sounds stopped.

There was only the creaking of the swinging rope…

~ ~ ~

Telemachus chocked and coughed as he threw up the little contents of his stomach behind a bush. How strange, he thought, he didn’t feel the need to do that when he killed all those men he hated by his father’s side and yet he reacted upon an execution he performed with his own hands. It was, maybe, because he always learnt to respect women and protect them. Quite frankly he never raised a hand against a woman before in his life. And now he had, with one fateful move he had removed the lives of 12 women he considered helpless. And yet that moment of clarity it was as if Athena was speaking through him; these women are not innocent, he thought she said to him, they betrayed you and your father, they betrayed your mother’s secrets and led to more torment to her. They conspired to kill you.

“Then why…?” Telemachus thought, “Why was this so difficult?”

He felt two warm, calloused hands on his shoulders and looked up. He faced the tired look of his father’s; his face full of the blood of the victims they had killed. In one moment Telemachus felt self-conscious and realized he could possibly look similar to this. He turned his look away in shame. What would his father think? What would he say for his weakness? Instead, though, he heard him whisper:

“I am so proud of you, my son…” the voice echoed somewhere in his soul, “I understand that was not an easy decision to make…”

“F-Forgive me…f-father…” Telemachus stammered trying to stop the sobs that were chocking him, “I…I wasn’t strong enough…”

“You’re wrong, Telemachus” his voice was whispery and yet adamant, “You are strong, much stronger than any man I have seen so far. I understand the task that I placed upon you was not a pretty one or a pleasant one. And yet you fulfilled it with the bravery that many men didn’t show in thousands of wars. I am proud of you…”

Telemachus realized what had bothered him so much; his father indeed didn’t seem to separate women from men before the ruthless justice he threw upon them. Telemachus was taught to protect and respect women. However when Odysseus arrived at the hall and ordered the demise of 12 women with hardly even blinking disturbed him. How much had he changed? This was not the father that his mother was describing…nay, he wasn’t the father he had met in the hut of the swine herder that embraced him and kissed him like he were his own soul. He saw some of that father he met right now, to the father trying to console him but before? A few minutes prior he saw an executioner; not the father he knew and loved.

“But how much do I know him, really…?” Telemachus realized, “I first saw his face a few days ago… What kind of man is he? Really?”

Odysseus patted his son on his shoulders and helped him straighten himself. They walked past the tree where the women still hanged like doves from a hunter’s stick. Telemachus couldn’t look up at the blackened and bloated faces of death. Not Odysseus. Odysseus looked up steadily and steadfast. There hardly was a reaction on his face apart from a wrinkle playing between his eyes. He seemed tired, sure, he wasn’t feeling pleasure he wasn’t smiling and yet Telemachus wondered; does this man have nerves of steel or a heart of stone to look up so calmly? How much horror had he seen so that this gruesome sight wouldn’t make him avert his eyes?

“How…?” he whispered, “How can you take this…?”

His father was silent for one second until he finally decided to talk.

“One can get awfully accustomed to the face of death…when they have seen so plenty of it…”

His voice was almost dead; as if he was just stating a simple fact such as that the sun rises from the east rather than talking about the lives of people. That rubbed Telemachus in the wrong places even if he didn’t want to admit it.

“Sometimes…” Odysseus continued, “I feel like my heart has turned into stone… Sometimes I feel like it has no more space apart from you Telemachus…”

It took him a few seconds to realize what his father had just said. Perhaps not even Odysseus himself had realized it!

“What about mother, father? What about her?”

There was silence for one second. However that silence seemed to Telemachus more cruel than any other eternity in Hades’s kingdom!

“Father!” he urged

“Of course, your mother too…” Odysseus finally whispered, “I love her more than life itself! I did everything I could so I can come back to her…to you…”

“You doubted her!” Telemachus whispered in cruel realization, “Oh, gods! I don’t believe it! You doubted her! Even after everything she went through for you!”

“No!” Odysseus immediately retorted, “No, I didn’t doubt her! Not really…it is just…”

“Just what? I don’t believe you! After all these years she waited!”

“I know this” Odysseus retorted almost calmly, “Or rather I absolutely know now. However I needed to make sure…beyond any shade of doubt. This is why Athena encouraged me to hide who I was from your mother, even if it tore me apart inside…”

“But…why…?” Telemachus was almost in tears and he was struggling really hard to keep them under control. “Why would you even doubt her so?”

They had spent years on their own and for as long as he could remember his mother was always waiting, crying and expecting a miracle. He didn’t remember one day to see his mother genuinely happy. She was smiling or complimenting his accomplishments but he had never seen her truly happy; all their life was darkened by the shadow of his father’s absence; of the lack of information whether he lived or not and now his father said that he had doubt, no matter how small it was?! Odysseus sighed deeply and looked at his son. His eyes were almost pleading even if his voice was steady.

“Son…” he said gravely, “I spent years out there…years of ordeals and pain and…many of them changed me… I cannot say much…not now…however there was someone…a woman…”

He gulped. He almost seemed ready to cry himself.

“She…she did unspeakable things to me…for years I endured hoping to come back to you and your mother… She…she kept on planting doubts in my head for years… I didn’t believe her…I didn’t want to believe her! And yet…yet all those years… Telemachus I couldn’t do otherwise! My brain was rejecting what my heart knew… And so I had to make these two come together… I had to…! Please! Perhaps one day I will be able to explain to you…and then you will understand…”

His father began walking away but Telemachus, in the heat of adrenaline and battle didn’t seem ready to let go. Not yet.

“Does this have to do with some goddess Calypso?”

His father froze and then he saw him turn around and saw another emotion he never saw before; fear. There was pure terror on his face. All color had left it; his eyes as wide as plates.

“Where did you hear that name!?” his father croaked out, “Telemachus! Where?!”

“Father…” Telemachus was more concerned and surprised than pitiful at that moment, “Look at you! You’re pale! You didn’t turn pallid when you ordered the execution of these women and yet you lost all color at the name of that woman!”

“Telemachus!” Odysseus called out desperately

“Tell me what happened father! What does this woman have to do with this?”

“I can’t!”

“Please tell me! What did that woman do to you to make you doubt your own wife?!”

“I can’t! I CAN’T!” Odysseus’s voice rose in a constant crescendo, he held his head with both hands as if suddenly his head was splitting in two

“Father, please!” Telemachus urged, “Who is that woman? Who is Calypso?”

“Telemachus!” Odysseus grabbed the shoulders of his son

Telemachus nearly whelped feeling the unbelievable strength of those hands, squeezing him in almost bruising grasp but he didn’t make a sound. He stood his ground. He was his father’s son.

“Where did you hear that name?!”

“Y-Your friend told me about it…” Telemachus finally replied, “I traveled, father. I myself tried to find the answers that I was seeking…and in my travels I visited Pylos…and Sparta…there I met your old friend… He said he had a dream in which you were trapped at the island with some goddess Calypso, but he didn’t know more… You remember him, don’t you? Menelaus the king of Sparta…”

“M-Menelaus…”

He took some breaths and he seemed to find his composure. He slowly released his son. Telemachus noticed that indeed some color had returned to his face. How much had that woman done to him to make his father react that way?! How many horrors had this man experienced to the hands of that goddess so that he would turn pale in terror even if he was completely unhinged by more than 100 vigorous men?

“Yes…of course I remember… Menelaus…he was one of my closest friends…in Troy.” That little recollection somehow calmed him down, “I…I haven’t heard of him for years… Th-Thank gods that he is fine…”

“He is in good health from what I could see…” Telemachus couldn’t lie, he didn’t know much on Menelaus but he knew that ‘fine’ was not exactly the word that described him, “He misses you a lot, you know… He didn’t speak with so warm words for anybody else…”

A sad smile spread to Odysseus’s lips.

“I remember… Menelaus was a really dear friend to me…”

He passed his hand over his face to mop some of his sweat.

“Forgive me, Telemachus…I really didn’t want this feeling to be inside me in the first place but…please understand me…that’s all I ask. That and some time… I will explain everything when I can…”

Telemachus breathed in, defeated.

“I will not pressure you, father…” he finally said, “I understand it is hard. Forgive me for insisting… It is just…”

His father’s arms wrapped around him. That moment he stopped being the heartless judge. He was the caring father again..he was the one Telemachus first met; the caring, protective father…

“Please don’t apologize…” he murmured to his son’s ear, “You have every right to be angry…you have so many questions… I promise you, my son, I will do my best to answer them all…just not yet…I can’t…not yet…”

He pulled back and looked at his son’s eyes.

“Okay?”

Telemachus smiled sadly. Suddenly his own accumulated frustration from the events of the day was evaporated. He needed this breakdown and somehow he knew his father needed it too.

“Okay” he nodded in agreement.

Odysseus patted his shoulders.

“Good.” He said, “Let’s go in now and we must order to get ourselves cleaned now. We must, sooner or later, cleanse ourselves from this murder for we both look like we went mad!”

Telemachus scoffed a bit. He began following his father; never daring to look back towards that grim execution place.

“She didn’t ask, you know…” he suddenly said

Odysseus stopped and turned around.

“What?”

“Mother. When I told her about king Menelaus’s vision, she didn’t ask. She didn’t make any inquiries. She didn’t doubt your integrity not even for one second…”

He saw his father’s chest palpitating almost suddenly. His face almost twisted with another unspoken sob. He turned around, showing Telemachus his back.

“Thank you…” he murmured

Telemachus managed to see one tear running down his father’s bloodstained cheek. There was so much behind that silent cry! Telemachus knew his father was keeping many things inside; perhaps he even blamed himself for everything. He didn’t know. He only hoped that with that last comment, he managed to give him some peace of mind. Apparently either he was right or Odysseus was a very good actor indeed, for he was back to his previous steadfast and calm self. He was once more the king.

The King of Ithaca

The Anger Bringer.

***

Not much to say here. Homer said most of it before me.

I found it disturbing and interesting how it was Telemachus the one to pull the rope of the execution so I thought to add a bit ore angst to this and show this aftermath whirlpool of emotions that could be going on inside hm.

And of course Odysseus and the years of torment, especially Ogygia.

Also in the Odyssey Rhapsody 17 Telemachus does mention to his mother how Menelaus saw Odysseus imprisoned by Calypso but Penelope didn't react to it much. She either believed not much of it in her sorrow or at the same time she felt no need to react at the name of another woman because she trusted her husband.

Hope you like it.

[kexytimes]

if I had a nickle for every time I had yapped until it made an author write an Odypen fic, then I would have two nickles, which isn't a lot, but I am stunned that it has happened twice!

[helpmeimblorboing]

Patrochilles really just fits with every ship imaginable huh

[jennasepicvideos]

Obviously I will live end die on the hill of Ody&Pen, but this is still one of my favorite ships to read in Epic fanfiction😚🪭