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katerinaaqu · 1 month ago

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The Death of Odysseus: The funeral

This is an old request done by @that-greek-mythology-girl when she asked me in an ask for an extra chapter for my 3 part fic about Odysseus dying and traveling to the underworld. So this is that extra chapter showing that specific story. Sorry I was so late! Set after, Part 1 , Part 2 and Part 3 (Although one can say they happen simoultaneously too! Your choice!)

The night was not particularly hot that day and yet Telemachus was sweating. It was a long night and celebrations were indeed lasting way longer than expected. It wasn’t that it wasn’t a good thing; it was just that the King of Ithaca felt rather uncomfortable staying in large crowds for too long. Surely he would pinpoint his natural shyness or natural introverted nature or even his experience for over five nightmarish years when he was constantly harassed and taunted by over a hundred men, some of them barely a few years older than himself, who wished to force his mother to new matrimony. Whatever the reason was, Telemachus preferred just to sit on his throne and enjoy his wine while observing rather than engaging too much into conversations. He even felt rather dizzy and he needed his moment of peace before he finally decided to retire to bed after a short walk in the gardens to clear his head. There was an intriguing sensation that wouldn’t leave him in peace. His wife; a real beauty with hair in the color of walnut and large brown eyes, was walking by his side, holding his arm as well, making sure he was alright.

“Now, now…” Nausicaa chuckled, “You do speak about your father but you too lost control tonight!”

Telemachus smiled shyly.

“I know, Nausicaa…I am sorry for that. I guess I got carried away!”

Entering their temporary chambers made him sigh in relief in his little sanctuary. He removed the circlet of gold from his head with a sigh of contentment, placing it aside.

“Perseptolis is…”

“He is fine, Telemachus” Nausicaa said, assisting her husband out of his mantle and some of his jewelry, “He went to bed hours ago”

“Ah…good…” Telemachus mumbled absentmindedly

“It is good that Theoklymenos is taking good care of him as his tutor. He knows a lot”

“He was godsend, that’s for sure!” her husband replied, “If it weren’t of him I would be dead now… He just needed a second chance in life and he hasn’t disappointed ever since…even if he is old now…”

“That’s you, my darling…” Nausicaa smiled removing her own rich garments and jewelry, letting her long hair cascade down her back over her light, cotton dress, “You always see the best in people… You are always kind…a bit naïve at times but…”

“Hmm…”

Nausicaa looked over from the cloth she used to remove her makeup. It was obvious her husband hadn’t heard a word. His eyes were stuck to nothingness in deep thought. For a moment he reminded her of him…his father. His eyes would also glue themselves to nothingness, appearing like out of the world. It was just his eyes were black as coal while Telemachus had the gentle blue eyes of his mother.

“Seriously, Telemachus, what’s wrong?” now his wife seemed worried, “You seemed weird all night ever since your father retired to bed. Care to share with me what’s going on?”

Telemachus eyed her and his blue eyes shone apprehensively. His wife was a very clever and bright young woman. He couldn’t believe his ears and eyes when his father came back from his redemption trip and had this treasure with him on the ship and announced him that he had found him a bride. For Telemachus it was almost love at first sight. He never expected that to happen to him but it had. Nausicaa was incredible wife and even better queen, bringing knowledge and treasures from her own homeland. A few years later she brought to this world their son, Perseptolis and only then Telemachus could really comprehend what his father must have felt for him and his mother. Nausicaa and Perseptolis were his entire world; two stars in a nightly sky. Telemachus could entrust literally anything to his wife and his wife was always there for him. Despite the sudden news, Telemachus was now grateful to his father for casually bringing a wife to him. In one way Telemachus who was raised protected almost like a child till the day he was 20 suddenly felt like growing as a person. How strange, he thought thinking back, I didn’t consider myself as much of a man when I killed those dreadful men but when I got married; when I have gotten someone to love and protect…someone I felt completed me! He wasn’t so sure he would be as good king as he was now if he hadn’t Nausicaa by his side! There were moments, though, where he felt there was a shadow between them even after all these years. Telemachus couldn’t or didn’t want to put his finger on it. Much less now. He sighed and ran his hand through his long, thick, curly hair.

“Nothing in particular…it is just…” he tried to put his thoughts in order, “When we spoke…father was… He seemed very strange to me…sad and yet happy at the same time…hard to explain but…”

He nervously played with the end of his beard.

“It almost felt like he was trying to… If you heard what he told me he…” he softly bit the corner of his fingernail; a habit he had developed ever since he was a child

Nausicaa sighed and playfully slapped his hand down.

“He is a grown man, Telemachus” she said, slowly opening her husband’s shirt to help him remove his clothes for bed, “I am sure he knows how to take care of himself!”

“I know!” Telemachus retaliated, “Is not that is just… I just don’t like this feeling that’s all.”

“Is this the reason why you were a bit gloom drinking tonight?”

Telemachus thought for a second and then nodded.

“Perhaps…I am not sure”

“I am sure is just you over thinking again, my dear…” Nausicaa said airily, “That’s what you do. You always worry too much and over think”

“Do I?”

“You do. It is who you are. You always think too much, you care too much. It is part of your charm.”

Telemachus sighed a bit as his wife helped him out of his shirt and sandals. She often did that; attending to him herself, the same much as he attended to his father. It felt more familiar; more intimate that way.

“You always take care of me, Nausicaa…” he whispered

Nausicaa’s answer was a soft chuckle and a kiss to his cheek.

“I am your wife” she said emphatically, “I’m supposed to…”

Telemachus had no answer to that. He smiled softly and finished the rest of his toilette before bed. He made a praying gesture with his hand for protection.

“Where are you going?” Nausicaa asked seeing him walking to the door

“To father” Telemachus admitted, “Wanted to check on him”

“Leave him be, my dear” Nausicaa held on him, “He’s asleep. Don’t disturb him now”

“But…”

“Please, Telemachus, come to bed. You need to rest now otherwise you won’t have a fresh mind tomorrow”

Telemachus sighed. Truth to be told, he was kind of tipsy and he needed to have a clear head the next day; not to mention how his father said he would sleep. And yet that feeling tickling his gut wouldn’t leave him in peace. He absentmindedly caressed her arm in deep thought. Nausicaa kissed his hand tenderly.

“Enough with the gloom thoughts. It is too late, I am tired and I cannot rest properly without you by my side, you know it! Come to bed with me”

Telemachus smirked.

“Are you seriously trying to seduce me to obtain healthy sleeping habits?”

“Is it working?”

Direct. Clear. Honest. That was probably the thing he drew him to her the most. He smirked again, reminding for a little while he was his father’s son.

“Yes”

He had no idea what made him wake up but when he did the sun was softly caressing his face directly. He felt the familiar yet pleasant weight of his wife’s head on his chest but that was not the weight he was concerned on with right now. The same feeling of uneasiness he had felt the night prior was still there. It wasn’t the light dizziness he had from drinking the night before that was causing it. It was something profound that wouldn’t leave him in peace. He tried to move without waking her but he should have known by now. She was a light sleeper.

“Hmm…Telemachus…?” she whispered, “What’s wrong? It’s too early”

“Go back to sleep, my love…” Telemachus smiled, putting a robe over his body, “It’s early. I just…I need to check on him before I move to the hall…”

“Hmm…Okay…” Nausicaa stretched herself, “I will follow you later. Shall I order for your bath to be prepared?”

“Oh, yes, please” the King of Ithaca smiled, “I will need it to clear my head a bit”

Fixing a bit his messy hair and beard with his fingers, Telemachus marched across the hall. He didn’t spot Odysseus. Usually his father would wake before the crack of dawn (habit he picked from his years at war along with his old age) and he would rouse the servants to start the day. Then he had the habit of going to Perseptolis and wake him up for his lessons before walking out to the gardens. This alone had him worried. Had his father more to drink than they thought that he needed to stay in bed longer? He moved to the olive tree chamber.

“Father” he called from the door, “Are you awake yet?”

He got no response. That was strange. His father was not a heavy sleeper and he certainly wasn’t THAT drunk the night before so that he would be in a deep sleep. He walked in without thinking much.

“Father, come on, the day has begun time to…”

His voice froze. Odysseus was indeed in bed, covered with his favorite blanket. One of his arms was outside of it, as if he had reached for something before. He was unmoving, circled by fallen leaves and olive flowers. His face looked pale and his lips were smiling. He looked like sleeping indeed; a peaceful sleep and yet he was unmoving. Cold. Frozen.

“F-Father…?”

Telemachus cared to touch the wrinkled cheek of his father. It was cold to the touch.

“No…” he whispered tears burning his eyes

He felt his chest twitch by sobs. Suddenly he was a child again, crying tears plenty and salty like the sea. He sat on the edge of the olive bed, slowly lifting that old body in his arms, placing his lips upon his forehead and the top of his head. He let more tears flow upon that cold, lifeless body. More burning sensation down his throat as his fears had been confirmed.

“Liar…!” he whispered between his sobbing, “L-Liar…! The last thing you said to me…was a lie…! F-Father…! Gods…”

Why was he crying so much? His father was old. He had reached his 80th year of life. None of the kings he knew ever lived that long. Not even his grandfather Icarius who was alive when he was 20. And yet Telemachus knew…he had lost the last family he had. Right now he truly was alone.

“Gods…!” he whispered sobbing, “H-Hermes…Argophontes…p-please take care of his soul…P-Persephone…accept my father down to your embrace…!”

His father was dead. He would never hear his voice again; his laughter, his advice, his stories from war and his trips… He was orphaned now. He thought he was 20 years prior and yet now that he lived with his father for so long and bonded with him his loss was much more painful than he would ever think of, even if he was prepared theoretically for his passing. Nausicaa barged into the room with some of her handmaidens.

“Telemachus what takes you… Oh…”

She saw her husband, holding his father and crying as if he were a baby that had lost his favorite puppy; not able to part with it upon the face of death. She didn’t need her intelligence to know. Odysseus, the son of Laërtes had finally met his inevitable death.

“Cry for your king…” Telemachus whispered, acknowledging their presence in the room, “Come, women! Mourn! Mourn and cry, paint your faces with tears and ash. The King of Cephallinians is dead!”

The slaves released a wail of sorrow and released their hairs from their headpieces, pulling them with both their hands, tearing their clothes and cheeks and beating their chests and knees with their hands. The sorrow was presented so typically and yet Telemachus wanted to believe they weren’t pretending. Odysseus was beloved to his household. He wanted to believe they truly cried with him. He saw Nausicaa, his wife, trying to hold her composure, for him, for their position. But her eyes were tearful. She approached him, placing her soft hand on his large shoulder.

“Go…” she murmured to him, “Go…you must cleanse yourself from the miasma of death and announce it to the world…that he passed to the realm of the One of Many Names. Leave the mourning and funeral to us…it is our job”

Telemachus’s answer was a moan of pain. He didn’t want to let him go. Not yet. He was barely sobbing; barely audible and yet Nausicaa could hear him clearly over the mourning of the women who wailed and cried for their dead king.

“Go, my love…” she repeated, “You must do your duty…”

For a moment her thoughts ran to her own father; how would she feel if she were this close as Telemachus was to his own? She lifted the thoughts away. She had to stand by her husband for this. She owed him this much. Telemachus slowly and reluctantly placed his father back to his pillows. He began walking away, being patted on the back by his wife for consolation.

“Oh…h-his blanket…we must let him keep…his blanket…” he mumbled

“He will” Nausicaa assured him, “Go, please!”

She then turned to the maids still mourning.

“Go, fetch water from the sea and oils and ointments! We must prepare the king for his final destination! And bring sage and sulphous to cleanse this place from the miasma of death. Go! All of you!”

And she was left alone. Only then she let her tears flow down her cheeks as she approached the death bed and leaned over the dead king.

“So…you finally decided it was time to leave…” she whispered, “You left…again… Like you did to me the first time…touched our hearts and minds…and left…”

Her hand hovered for a second. She hesitated, possibly her natural aversion towards death; perhaps the feelings she had once hosted in her heart she had kept to herself in her youth kind of reminded her of the man she saved at her land so many years ago. Eventually she touched his white, curly locks and cold cheek, lovingly; soothing the details.

“And…” she suppressed a sob, “You were right…I truly weren’t the one for you… If you had let me love you more than what I already did then… now this moment would seem unbearable to me. You were right. Of course you were. Our difference in age was indeed that great… And you brought me a husband, someone that I loved with all my heart…who gave me love in return…who gave me my beautiful boy, whom you named…and helped us raise…”

She stopped to mop some tears from her cheeks.

“I will take care of him…” she promised, “Your precious Telemachus…and your grandson…I will do my best to make them happy… I promise you with all my heart…”

She leaned down and placed her lips upon that cold forehead, releasing her tears once more.

“Goodbye for now…my first love…” she finally whispered

The day seemed gray and cloudy for everyone that day. The palace was set for deep mourning as everyone was crying for the king that passed away. Women wore their black and dark gray dresses and men did the same. The palace smelt of incense and sage that was sending away the miasma of death and flowers were arranged as well as the personal belongings of the king that he would have with him in the tomb. The King and the Queen were doing their best to keep the ceremony according to the greatness the name of Odysseus bore to the island and to the rest of the kingdom. Nausicaa was worried about Telemachus. He always was a quiet and reserved person but after he received the news and discovered the body of his father he hardly spoke a word to anyone apart from the typical words to the servants that organized the funeral and to prepare everything for the funerary rites and games for the glory of his father’s passing. There was a shadow all over his features and Nausicaa didn’t like that. Not that she was afraid that Telemachus would despair; he was far too strong for that, but he was also sensitive and he was very close to his father plus it wasn’t the death itself that made him so. There seemed to be a million questions in his eyes and Nausicaa was afraid of them. They seemed to be questions he had reserved for years. These were her thoughts as she walked into their room already dressed for the funeral.

“Telemachus…everyone is ready…”

She stopped in her tracks before what she saw. Telemachus was sitting on a chair, already dressed in gray and black and had a razor in his hand…several small strands of hair to the floor. Half of his long till shoulders hair was already cut. She eyed him and he eyed her. Somehow words didn’t seem needed.

“Can you help me…?” Telemachus asked almost immediately, “I can’t do this on my own…”

She smiled sadly.

“Give me the razor…” she said

With soft yet capable fingers she slowly combed his long hair and half-braided it in one braid, trying to get a better view on the shape of them and then began to cut, one by one the rope-like curls of her husband’s.

“You’re very good at this…” Telemachus whispered

Nausicaa smiled sadly.

“I helped several of my slave girls cut their hair before….” She said as a matter of fact

“Ah…that explains it…”

His voice was low, almost nonchalant.

“Everyone is almost here” Nausicaa spoke again, “The funeral will be exactly as you want it, my love…”

She felt his wide shoulders tense; as if they suddenly were weighted down by something.

“You loved him, didn’t you?”

The question hovered in the air like a terrible accusation. His voice was hoarse from sorrow and crying but it also hid plenty of frustration; anger even…plenty of unasked “why”s and “how”s in his manner. The sudden, direct question after almost two decades of marriage left her shocked.

“What…?”

“Please!” Telemachus suddenly exploded, “No more lies! I had enough of lies!”

His voice was almost trembling. He seemed ready to cry again.

“Don’t you think I didn’t notice? How you looked at him? My father! You loved him, don’t deny it!”

“Telemachus…I…”

“Nausicaa!” suddenly Telemachus looked at her and his eyes were piercing his soul, “Did you love me because I look like my father?”

The razor remained in her hands but his words cut much deeper than any blade would have. Such a direct and painful question! Was this what he was holding in his heart all these years?

“Telemachus…” she whispered, “Why do you hurt me this much? How could you say this to me!”

“Answer me!” Telemachus urged, “Did you love me because I look like him?”

“That’s not what happened, Telemachus!”

She sighed trying to collect her thoughts. She feared this day would come but she had prayed with all her heart it never would.

“I loved your father…” she finally whispered, “From the first time I saw him that day when he showed up before me; shipwrecked, ragged and naked; hit by the sea and fate… I loved him, yes, my father wanted him to marry me. I wouldn’t have said no. But your father didn’t love me, not like that. He wanted to come here, back to his wife…to you. Then one day, years later he came back to our island. He had the proposal for me I would come here. He looked at me in the eyes and said Nausicaa I never forgot my promise to you; for you gave me life and you deserve to be paid back for the good that you did to me. I cannot be your husband but I have found you a husband more suitable…a better man than what I ever wished to be. Come with me if you shall meet him and I bring to you the wedding gifts needed for your noble father…”

She sighed once, lost in her own recollections.

“That’s how he spoke and his words were soft like snowflakes at a first snowfall at the end of autumn. His rejection hurt me. But I trusted him and he took me with him and brought me here…to meet you…”

Her fingers hesitatingly started their work again, cutting her husband’s hair short.

“It is true that you drew my attention because you looked like your father; the man that inspired love in my heart for the first time in my life as a young, inexperienced woman that I was…However, Telemachus…” she brought her hand to her mouth to stop a moan from rising, she had to be strong, “I didn’t love you for that. I loved you because you are different from your father”

He looked at her. His blue eyes almost liquid; like a trapped animal waiting its doom.

“What?”

“You are not your father, Telemachus, your father was right. You are a far better man; kinder, softer, considerate of others… Yes, you do not have his renounced name or cunning but you have your wisdom, your heart…your ability to see good in people… I was drawn to you because you looked like your father…the reason I loved you, the reason I was so happy that I bore your child and rule this kingdom by your side is because you are totally different…”

She held his face in her hands.

“You are you, Telemachus…” she said emphatically, “Never doubt this, for Odysseus never did…”

And then she saw Telemachus come undone. Tears flowed out of his eyes; tears of relief and thankfulness. It was as if the thing he held inside him all these years stopped bothering him anymore; one less pain for him to feel now. He kissed his wife’s hand and palm and Nausicaa felt his lips burning. It was his way to apologize for his fears and doubts. For one more time words were not needed between them. The past that haunted them was there no more.

“There…” Nausicaa said, “I am done…”

Telemachus looked at his now shorter curls to the bronze spectrum. He touched his head with his hand.

“Thank you, you did very good job…”

“Looks good on you…” Nausicaa noted, running her fingers through it

“I seriously hope so…” Telemachus said, “For this shall be my haircut from now on”

His wife looked at him questionably.

“This world lost the last great man of the first of Troy…” Telemachus whispered, “I finally lost my father whom I thought dead for 20 years and I lived with for other 20… I shall mourn for him for 20 more to come…till my last breath…”

Nausicaa teared up but she smiled.

“If that’s what you wish, husband, I have nothing more to say…”

Telemachus stood up and placed the golden circlet around his head.

“Let’s go…” he said, “Our guests are here…it is time for the funeral…”

The King of Cephallinians was set upon his deathbed, dressed in his finest clothes and armor, like the warrior he was all his life. His head was adorned by a red-plumed helmet adorned with boar tusks. His sigil ring with the dolphin was on his finger. His bronze sword by his side and the golden mask covering his face. The obolus was already placed between his teeth for the boatman to let him pass; the locks of hair of his loved ones under his hands. Odysseus shone, just like radiant people of his land perceived him during the war of Troy… The body was lying upon the shroud made by Nausicaa and the precious blanket made by Penelope. Odysseus was seen off by his wife and daughter; the daughter that had given him his precious grandchild. The procession was moving slow, with the bed being lifted by the most faithful servants he had (two of them were the sons of Philoetius and two the sons of Eumeus with the wives Odysseus himself had picked for them). The women were mourning and chanting as the priest and prophets were singing their hymns to Persephone and the rebirth of the underworld. Behind them came the royal family. Telemachus walked steadfast and proud; his tall and well-built physique and he looked even paler as his already pale skin was toned up by the black on his clothes and the thick black beard. Nausicaa was also dressed in gray and had her cheeks scratched according to custom, shedding silent tears when she could. Their son, Perseptolis following with his tutor, Theoklymenos (the man Telemachus once saved). He seemed sad and confused. His grandfather would no longer play with him or show him things or teach him or promise him the trees that were for him after he would be gone… Now he really was gone and Perseptolis didn’t know how to take it. He only knew he had to be strong for his father who seemed to suffer the most.

Telemachus looked at the side as they moved upon the high rocks. He thought he saw a little girl sitting by the rock, one leg hanging from the edge and the other drawn to her chest. Her short, blondish hair was curly like his and her physique small and frail. She only had one black dress on her that reached till her skinny knees. And yet Telemachus could have sworn the girl was looking at him. He could see her shiny her gray eyes despite the distance. Her eyes seemed almost tearful and yet they were not. Telemachus felt the power in his veins emitted from that presence. His eyes watered and then he shed a tear. It was as if he shed the tear the girl couldn’t physically shed. He bowed his head at her as if by instinct. He averted his eyes for one second and the next the girl was gone as if she was never there. They reached the tomb and the slaves opened it. Telemachus felt his heart clench. He had opened that monument before when he buried his mother. And now his father had come to join her. He watched the slaves place the funeral bed inside, according to his instructions; leave it by the side of Penelope. He felt a squeeze in his hand from his wife. He squeezed it back. The prayers and cries became louder as the rock shielded the monument anew. Telemachus closed his eyes to fight back the tears.

It was done…

His father was to his final home…

The funerary banquet had everything their hearts could desire. Telemachus was more than generous as the meat of the sacrifice was also well-cooked and served. He had also ordered the best pig and the fattest goats to be slaughtered and cooked. There was also fish and vegetables and a variety of legumes to feed the guests. He had also picked the best wine from the kingdom and Scheria to offer to his guests.

Odysseus was a good host. He was entertaining for one last time.

Telemachus knew the dead man was the host and they were all eating and drinking to his name. He wanted to offer him the good passing; make sure he knew they would remember him; that they would be happy in his name and continue their life. And then the funerary matches happened. There was a running and a discus throw race with rich gifts given to the three contestants to win. Then there was a wrestling match and a sword fight. Telemachus watched and never intervened. He congratulated the winners and awarded them, he also thanked those who lost and praised them for their talents and efforts. The celebrations were about to finish when Telemachus stood up. Everyone fell silent. Telemachus removed a key hanging from his neck and passed it to his wife.

“My wife…” he said, “Take this key and please go down to the armory. Fetch me my father’s old bow. Tell the servants to bring the hollow axes!”

The sound of surprise passed like aura over the waves of the sea. The request was so sudden; so unexpected. And yet no one felt like refusing.

“Are you sure?” Nausicaa asked

Telemachus stood proud; steadfast. Certain.

“I am.”

And the Queen of Ithaca smiled. She took the key and moved to the old armory and unlocked it. On the wall there was the infamous heavy bow of which she had heard so many stories of. She took it in her hands, as if she lifted the sacred clothes to dress the statue of a god and carried it out. Telemachus took it in his strong hand. He hesitated. What if he wasn’t worthy of it? What if he became ridiculed by the entire kingdom for his request to use it? He shook his head and grasped the bow with both hands. He warmed the fat to the flame and smeared the wood; making sure it would be soft so it wouldn’t be cracked and then he pulled. The wood creaked and moaned; Telemachus felt sweat peaking to his forehead and yet the bow barely moved a bit. Telemachus felt his body tensing. No! He couldn’t give up!

“Why! Why can’t I…? Oh, gods…forgive me, father…maybe I am not worthy of your legacy after all…”

“Telemachus…”

It was a voice; an ethereal and heavenly female voice that echoed deep inside him. He looked to the side. The magnificent woman wearing the radiant bronze and gold armor; with the gorgoneion adorning her chest over her green aegis; the double-plumed helmet shining gold and a spear in hand. Her skin was clear and pore-less, iridescent even; often white as ivory often gaining a light color as the sun moved on it.

“Athena!”

Pallas Athena stood there, smiling softly; invisible and unheard to everyone else but him. Her hand touched his shoulder. Telemachus nearly felt a fire in his chest.

“Don’t forget, Telemachus… Your father was a strong man but his real strength was not his arms or legs or the power of his body. Think, Telemachus…and you shall have your answer…”

And then Telemachus knew. Somehow he felt like an idiot for not thinking of it sooner! He set the bow on the ground and passed his strong leg through it and then he bended the bow using his body as a lever. The gasps he heard and the smile of the patron goddess of his father, no, his family, gave him strength anew as the bow bended slowly yet steadily. Telemachus grabbed the string and passed it through and then he knew… He had managed to solve his father’s puzzle. It never was about strength. Not entirely. The answer was there all along. He tested the string. It played the tune of a well-tuned lyre, ready to sing anew after so long.

“Bring the axes…” he ordered

“Shall we use all 12, master?” the servant asked (He was Autologos, the son of Philoetius).

“No” Telemachus said, “Bring more”

“M-More, master?” the man almost chocked, “H-How many?”

“Twenty” Telemachus answered with a confidence he never felt before. “Twenty years I lost my father…twenty years I had him. Twenty shall be the axes of my test”

Once more his words were heard. His mind ran back to his youth where the blasted suitors would ignore his pleas or orders. Now his voice was heard; his orders were followed. Right now he knew he was a changed man. He had grown over the years. He watched the axes set in equal distances and then grabbed the bow. His strong arms and back worked to pull the string. He aimed. He stood there for a few seconds. His limbs had gained strength anew; something he felt flattering in his heart. It was like a primitive fire inside him; the spirit of his father; the spirit of his goddess! He released a breath, like the breath of a soul leaving the body and then the arrow was released.

The bow sang once more like a swallow

The arrow whistled in the air

Passed through the axes.

It got stuck to the tree behind them.

Telemachus slowly, almost in a ritual manner, lowered the bow. He drew a deep breath; the flowers of the mountain, the salt of the sea, the smell of the animals and crops. He smelt Ithaca. Yes, he knew now more than ever this place gave strength. He understood now. And now it was totally his to keep and protect. And he would protect it to his last breath! His eyes were no longer tearful. His heart was light.

Have a good rest… My King…Odysseus…Man of Many Wiles…Man Much Tormented… Sacker of Cities…King of Ithaca…King of Cephallinians…

Goodbye…

Father…

***

So this request is finally done... Unfortunately the reason I was so inspired to finish it was because today I lost one good conversation partner here on Tumblr for they deleated their account. They couldn't stand the toxicity of some people attacking them They were one of the few people getting out of their way to read my stories and ACTUALLY leave lengthy and meaningful comments under them for discussion and that meant so much to me. Now unfortunately their comments are gone and their account deactivated and couldn't even say a proper goodbye to them deleating their account for they were THAT eager to get out of this... I hope I shall see them in the future but still all the amazing comments and conversations we had no longer will be there... So yes inspiration for this request.

I combined funerary customs of Bronze Age times such as the tombs that were opened and re-opened to put new individuals in as much as we theorize but also the prothesis and funerary meals and games that we see in Homer and in later archaic and classical Greece.

And as you see here we have also the choice of Nausicaa as the mother of Perseptolis (an idea discussed with @ditoob too among others along with them expressing the need to see more stuff on mature Telemachus out there)

Some Nausicaa and Telemachus drama too.

Special thanks to @cr4zy-cycl0n3 for their comment to the second part of the main story and @styberusartz to the first one. And as always @loco-bird account!

Working also on ideas with @artsofmetamoor as always!

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