#telemachus x reader

[lotus-acid-trip]

hi! I hope you don’t mind me asking but may I request a Telemachus x fem reader where when ody returns and is being made fun of by the suitors while still in this begger disguise yn starts fighting off the suitors and yelling at them for being rude and maybe later joins ody while he is hunting them down and Telemachus has a love sick look while watching yn just like ody did for Penelope back when they were younger before he married her and after seeing how cool and awesome of a warrior yn is later ody turns to his son and says “I aprove of this one 😏” and poor Telemachus is just like 😳 all flustered and adorable what can I say Telemachus is a sweetie 🥰

feel free to ignore if you want to hope you have a good rest of your day thank you ☺️

“I approve of this one.”

Telemachus x Reader

[Epic The Musical]

oneshot

fluff

This is my first proper romantic reader insert fic, so I hope you enjoy!

Odysseus sat at the entrance of the courtyard under the shade of a large olive tree as he silently observed the numerous suitors scattered across the courtyard in idle chatter. Is this really what had become of his home while he was gone? It was baffling just how ungrateful and disrespectful all these guests were. He worried for the state of his palace after being infested with all these unwelcome guests for so many years. It must have been so difficult on Penelope and Telemachus to deal with all of them, having to feed and house them along with dealing with their pitiful attempts at courting his wife. It was a wonder why the suitors still haven’t been driven out by Telemachus yet.

His hand fiddled with the small wooden bowl in his hands. Odysseus was disguised as an old beggar, but as much as he wanted to reveal himself right then and there he needed to be patient and play it smart. He didn’t have anything other than an old knife hidden in his clothes to defend himself with and he was probably lacking a lot of proper nutrients and sustenance after being out at sea for so long with food of limited quality and quantity. If he were to fight all these suitors right now, he was sure to fail. Not only do they have an advantage in numbers, it was obvious they were well fed, and all the used training equipment seen around the palace was all he needed to know the suitors could fight. If Odysseus wanted to win, he needed to stick to the plan, which meant playing his part as an old beggar.

A suitor passed by him devouring a chicken leg and he held out his bowl to him. It would be a good opportunity to not only learn more about the state of his palace and family, but to also know just what his family has been up to in the past years. “Would you care to spare a bit of food for this old man?” The suitor tilted his head to look down at Odysseus for a moment before raising a brow. “And what exactly is this homeless old man doing in a palace like this? Surely your life hasn’t fallen so far into poverty that you’d go scrounging for scraps in the homes of royalty.” He leaned back against the tree, hands crossing over his legs. “Well, that wasn’t exactly my plan. I was just walking by but with the heat of the sun and with a body as frail and weak as mine, I just had to take a break under the shade of this mighty tree. I was always curious of what happened in the lives of royalty anyway.” He said as he looked up at the leaves and branches. He remembers planting it so many years ago to see how to take care of an olive tree as preparation for making his and Penelope’s marital bed. It's grown so much since then, and he wonders just how much Telemachus has as well. “Well, since you have so much spare time to just wander around doing nothing, why don’t you bring us all a meal or two, all the way from inside the palace’s pantry. You want some food? Work for it, old man.”

Odysseus raised a hand waving off the offer. “Ah, but there might be one small problem. I am just an old beggar, remember? I don’t know anything of the layout of the palace. I’m sorry, but I must decline. Can’t you just ask a servant to help you instead?” The suitor seemed to get irritated at his reply. “Ha! Yeah right, those servants can barely do anything right. They never bring the food on time and always seem to be short on stock. Not even their pathetic prince seems to know what he’s doing.” He stared at the suitor judgmentally. “ ‘Pathetic prince’ you say? Bold words for someone who’s staying in his palace.” The suitor looked at him as if he had just said something audacious instead of common sense. “Listen old man, we’re the guests here, not them. Do you not understand basic hospitality?” Odysseus narrowed his eyes at the suitor. He knew his palace, his servants and the workforce in it. They aren’t lazy or incompetent, if they were they wouldn’t be serving his family. Not to mention, if there wasn’t enough livestock there were plenty of skilled hunters and hunting dogs to accompany them. His memories of old hunts with Argos and others were more than enough proof of that.

“Of course I do. Perhaps instead of trying to defend your impudence against the prince, you could put away your prideful hurbis for a moment and just lend me even an inch of the food you already have on you. For someone relying on the shared hospitality of someone else for their own comfort, you sure don’t seem to be able to do the same.” The suitor’s bored annoyance quickly morphed into thinly veiled anger. “Listen you old derelict, need I remind you that this is not your courtyard you are resting in? This is not your abode and I do not tolerate your insults. For someone who seems to preach so strongly for returning hospitality, you don’t seem too keen on basic respect.” Odysseus hid his amusement at the irony with indifference. “Although that may be true, last I checked this isn’t your home either.” That statement alone seemed to be enough to push him over the edge into full blown rage. Odysseus jumped away from the suitor’s flying fist as it hit the trunk of the tree where his head used to be. “You know, for someone so insistent on how they have difficulty doing physical activities you’re awfully quick to move.” The suitor began to walk towards him, his larger form towering over him and casting a shadow that engulfed Odysseus’s entire form. “Listen here old man. If you think you can just run off after that impudence, your mind must be as deteriorated as your age.” Odysseus continued to back up, hand immediately searching for the knife he hid. A chill crept up his spine when his back hit something. Turning around, it was another suitor, the others beginning to close in on him. Fuck, he messed up. The suitor he first talked to grabbed the front of his shirt and lifted him up to his face so Odysseus could face him. “Now, I think it's time that you finally learned a long needed lesson on hospitality and what happens when you don’t respect your host-“

“Hey! What the hell is all this racket?” Odysseus never turned his head away from the suitor, but averted his gaze towards the newcomer. A woman emerged from inside the palace and stared at the scene before her in a moment of silence before her once confused gaze immediately morphed into an infuriated wrath that could rival the suitor’s own rage. “Antinous, what do you think you’re doing! Gods above and below, has no one ever taught you to respect your elders?” She marched on towards the both of them, unshaken by any visible fear at the obvious violent intent of the suitors. She gripped the suitor’s, now known as Antinous, wrist and forcefully yanked it away from him, letting Odysseus fall to the ground. Antinous opened his mouth, ready to yell at her but the woman cut him off as she glared coldly at him. “The queen is watching us.” She said as she stared into the suitors eyes as if daring him to try anything. The mention of Penelope is all he needed to whip his head towards the balcony he knows she always loved to use to watch the courtyard. And there she was, elegant and poised, watching with a composed face as she always does. He could see how she’s changed from when he last saw her, the small streaks of white in her hair that weren’t there before, the wrinkles and tired eyes. But he didn’t care, for it was his Penelope, and Odysseus felt like he was falling in love all over again.

Penelope observed them silently, looking at each person one by one before her eyes eventually met his. For a moment, it felt like time froze and they did nothing but stare at each other. It was like the world itself was holding its breath. It was the smallest difference in her eyes that made his chest swell with warmth. Those indifferent calculated eyes that always seemed to be studying every little detail softened for a moment, her composed face faltering for a split millisecond to look at him with the same eyes that looked at him with so much affection and appreciation when he told her how he’d tackle the challenge she gave him. The tension in the air was so thick, yet only he could feel it… and maybe she did as well. Logically, Odysseus knew that they had only been looking at each other for a mere few seconds, but it felt like he was staring for an eternity at something so close yet so far. And Penelope did nothing else but silently stare back. She shifted her position, pulling away from the scene and returning back inside. Odysseus let out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. It felt like time suddenly began moving once more when it had always been flowing, falling through his fingers like flowing water with no hope of holding on to it.

“Antinous, if you do not explain to me what exactly you were doing I can and will tell Penelope.” The woman said as she walked in front Odysseus, who’s gaze still lingered on the balcony for another moment before returning to look at the suitors and the new woman. Antinous sneered. “And why should I? Your family may be up there in terms of status, but you’re nowhere near close to me.” He sneered. “And? Do you think I care? You already showed just how petty you get because someone bruised your fragile ego. I still haven’t forgiven you for the fight with Telemachus.” The woman took a step forward towards the suitor, but he didn’t move. “And? The boy started it.” Another step forward and another rise in tension. “Who exactly called his mother a tramp? That’s right, you.” Another step forward until she was right in front of him. At this point even more suitors began to crowd around them to see what was happening, and Odysseus dreaded a physical fight would break out.

“Well then, since you seem so keen on berating me for teaching the little wolf a lesson, why don’t I give you an opportunity to even out the scales?” Antinous’s fist met the woman’s face, sending her stumbling back. She regained her balance before gently touching her face, a bruise forming on her right cheek. Whispers and murmurs emanated from the crows as it grew larger, more suitors joining the audience and a few servants discreetly watching from the sidelines. She looked at her own blood smeared against her fingers before turning her attention towards Antinous. “I gladly accept.” She ran forward, fist aimed at Antinous’s face. The suitor held his forearm up to block it, only for her to twist her foot, turning around to kick him from behind without her fist ever making contact with him. Antinous was pushed forward a step from the force of the kick, but quickly recovered, turning around to grab her by the leg she used to kick him. The crowd around them began cheering as he pulled her forward into another punch, which was blocked by her own forearms, now also bruised. He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her into a headbutt, unable to dodge or move away because of their position.

The sound of a wooden bowl hitting Antinous’s head caused all sound to cease, the silence deafening as everyone’s heads turned to look at the source of the bowl. Antinous glared at Odysseus, who was hiding his grip on his knife in his oversized clothes. Antinous let go of the woman who fell on the floor, wincing at her bruises. Odysseus’s grip on his knife tightened as he took a step forward towards him. He opened his mouth to say something before he was cut off by a young voice. “Stop! What’s going on he- [NAME]!” A young boy shoved his way through the crowd and into the clearing that formed around the olive tree, rushing towards the side of the young woman. He kneeled beside her as he assessed her wounds. Antinous crossed his arms in annoyance as the young boy began to ceaselessly fuss over her. Odysseus stared at the boy, he could recognize those eyes from anywhere. “[name], are you okay? What happened?”

“Tele, I’m fine. It's just a few bruises, I’m not an old frail man.” She said as she sharply turned to look at Antinous. “Unlike the person a certain someone was harassing.” Odysseus stared at the young man- no, his son. No wonder he looked so familiar. He had his mother’s eyes and the same fair skin as her, but the face and hair of his own. His head was reeling, it had been so long since he’d seen his young boy. He was all grown up now, grown through all those special moments in his life Odysseus would never be able to experience. Gods, he missed his first hunt, his first training session, he missed being able to teach his son all the things he promised he’d pass on from his mentorship under Athena. But now Telemachus was right there, but he still couldn’t teach him all the things he wasn’t able to.

Antinous looked at all three of them one by one, from Odysseus to Telemachus in increasing disgust. “I’ve had enough of this, the way both of you act around each other is nauseating.” He said as he left the courtyard and into the building. Telemachus helped [name] up and she turned to look at Odysseus. “I am so sorry for all this. My intent was only to help you get that pig off your back,” She said as she looked at the direction Antinous left in with so much disgust it almost gave Odysseus whiplash from her original apologetic tone. “but it seems my impulsiveness got the better of me. Usually I try not to cause fights but I’m not exactly the best at not doing that.” She said shamefully. “Oh please, it's quite alright. I understand what it’s like. Sometimes, when you’re in the heat of the moment, your emotions cloud your judgement and you’re so focused on doing what you think’s right that… you don’t realize the consequences that might follow.” He said with a wistful smile. “I really have no idea what happened, but I apologize either way. Please, have this for your troubles.” Telemachus said as he handed him money, before cutting through the crowd to probably lead [name] to get healed. Odysseus stared at the coins placed in his hand, it was enough to buy him a whole house.

……………………………………………………

……………………………………………………

The metallic stench of blood filled your nose as you walked across the wet floor, the red liquid staining your sandals. The faint light of the torches could barely illuminate the dark room, the moon’s light nowhere to be seen through the windows. What little the light did show was nothing but puddles of blood and the faint outline of bodies. Right there, at the end of the room were twelve axes that were originally supposed to be used for the challenge queen Penelope made for her suitors. It didn’t take long for you to hear about what went wrong, and it took even shorter for you to make your way here. You grabbed one of the axes, testing its weight as you gave it a few experimental swings. The silence of the challenge room was so quiet you could hear your own wet footsteps echo as you tested the axe. You internally facepalmed as you looked down at your weapon, realizing just how little you thought this through. You had no plan in mind, you just heard that Telemachus was also fighting and just had to join. The idea of fighting alongside him was exhilarating, and meeting his father, king Odysseus and master tactician that won the war? You didn’t really think too hard on your decision to join. As much as you hated to admit it, Telemachus and your father were right. You really needed to think things through more. 

Your body tensed when you heard the sound of heavy footsteps approaching the room, your grip on your axe tightening. Well, if you were good at one thing, it was brazenly charging into battle. You readied your stance, prepared for a fight. Since you weren’t able to kill Antinous, you’ll have to settle for killing the suitor first. The moment the bright light of a torch rounded the corner of the entryway, you charged forward, swinging your axe towards their head. Being on the other side of the room, they had plenty of time to jump out of your way. Now, you were at the entrance and they were trapped inside the room. Their torch illuminated their face and you took a moment to look at them. Eurymachus, the cowardly one. “Hey, [name], let us talk about this! I never once went out of my way to hurt you nor Telemachus, I always payed my due respects to her majesty. It was Antinous that-“

“Lead you and your fellow scum in the plan to execute my betrothed in secret.” You said with a sneer, throwing the axe at his head. It flew past the torch, the push of wind blowing it out as the man in front of you fell to the floor. He met the floor with a loud thump, his remains now nothing but another body in the landscape of corpses in the room. You moved to pull the axe out of his head with more aggression than needed before leaving. His words irritated you to no end, the man was nothing but an idle fool who made the choice of inaction. Never once did he try to stop his fellow suitors from tormenting Telemachus, never once has he tried to lessen all the resources they waste, never once did he leave when Telemachus ordered them. None of them did.

You let out a sigh as you walked through the hallways. Where exactly was Telemachus? And where was Odysseus? They most likely passed through this area already, if the bodies everywhere said anything. The father son duo was probably closer to the courtyards of the palace outside where the suitors must have fled towards. Either that or the pack of meatheads ran towards their weapon supply. You guessed it was the latter and promptly made your way through the familiar halls, passing by familiar faces on the floor that will never be missed. Surprisingly enough you couldn’t find any signs of struggle during battle. Nothing but the light of torches fallen on the floor could light up the scene, the moon and stars never daring to gaze upon the massacre. Bodies upon bodies were piled up in a gruesome display of vengeance with a vile stench that made your nose wrinkle in disgust, and yet each and every one of them only had an arrow to the head or chest to blame for their demise. No bruising nor cuts of a blade, only a lone arrow on each suitor. It was only after a long time of walking did the bodies slowly lessen in numbers, but still remained ever present. A silent reminder of the ruthless monster that lurked in these dark halls.

Your head turned towards the sound of metal blade against metal blade just to your right. Carefully peeking over the edge, your eyes widened at the sight of Telemachus fighting a suitor on his own. The light of a fallen torch reflected the glint of a knife in the darkness. Your grip on your axe tightened and you swung at the knife wielder without hesitation. The suitor’s screams were drowned by his own blood pouring out of his mouth, your axe lodged into his throat. Looking behind you, a surprised suitor was stabbed from behind, his blood coating the rest of the blade that pierced through him. The sword was pulled out and the suitor fell to the floor, revealing Telemachus behind him. “[name]? What are you doing here?” He asked as he looked around as if worried anyone might be eavesdropping. “Did you really think word of your suitor hunt wouldn’t get out? Tele, the entire palace could hear the screams of terror.” You replied as you rested your axe on your shoulder. “Of course I didn’t think we’d be able to hide a mass genocide! What I’m asking is why you came here after learning about a giant fight-“ He paused mid sentence, and you didn’t need to see his face to know he was staring at you with the most unimpressed expression you’ll ever see. You barely tried to hide your amused snickering as he rolled his eyes at you. “You know what? I retract my statement. The fight was all the reason you needed to come here, wasn’t it.” It was less of a question and more of a statement.

“Actually, not really. At least, it wasn’t the only reason.” You said you stared directly into his eyes that reflected the ever dancing light of the torch. The flame flickered, going from bright to dark and back within seconds. You could barely see Telemachus, but you poured every bit of attention you had into listening to Telemachus go from unamused to curious. “Really? Then what was it?” He asked as you smiled. “I’m looking right at it.” Telemachus looked around once more, but this time to find what you were staring directly at rather than look for hidden dangers. “Wha? But the only thing you’re looking at is… Oh.” You didn’t even try to hide your amusement this time, bursting out into a fit of howling laughter at his flushed face. “Really? Do you have to tease me even in the middle of battle?” You shoved your face right in front of his, mere inches away. “Yeah, cause you haven’t told me to stop yet.”

“Euryalus, he locked the rest of our weapons in one of the rooms! These are the only ones we have, none of us could open it up-“ Telemachus looked towards the group of new suitors, who immediately drew their weapons at the sight of the both of you. “Shit.” You cursed under your breath, you were kinda having a moment here. With much annoyance your stance changed from relaxed and playful with your axe on your shoulder, to a defensive battle stance with your weapon at the ready. Even with Telemachus, you could only handle so many suitors. “Hey Tele, remember what I told you about hunting wild hogs?” You asked as he looked at you incredulously. “Aim for the area around the shoulder or the head? [name], what does this have to do with anything-“ You cut him off with a mischievous grin barely lit by the torch. “Exactly. I suggest you aim for the chest since you’re too short for their heads.” You could practically see the gears turning in his head before he opened his mouth in a baffled offense.

You charged forwards to the four suitors, stepping on the torch and putting it out as you ran. You moved to the side of the group and swung your axe at the outermost member. He blocked your axe, and at the same time you heard the clash of metal from the other side of the group. You could barely see anything, but you recognized the silhouette of Telemachus fighting off the other two suitors. Another suitor came up from behind the one in front of you to aim his sword at your side. You pushed the sword blocking your axe downwards to block the other suitor’s sword, before pushing both of them off. Spinning around, you hit the head of the first suitor you attacked with your axe, killing them. The sight of another sword in the corner of your eye made your breath hitch, it was far too close for you to move away and turn around to block. You still tried to pull up your axe to block it, and a spray of blood passed by your view. By the time you were fully turned around to face your attacker, they were clutching their hand in pain. Or more like their lack of one. In front of you stood Telemachus, sword in hand as he charged forward, stabbing the suitor in their chest while they were writhing in pain. “[name], what did I say about minding your surroundings!” Telemachus said concerned as the suitor died and joined the rest of them on the floor. “Hey, it turned out okay in the end. He’s dead and I’m alive, I’ll be fine-“

A large thud behind you made you jump, and you slowly turned around with your axe held up. “You know, my son is right. If neither of us were here, you’d be another body on the floor.” You blinked and stared at the man before you. “Father!” Telemachus gasped from behind you. Oh. OH. “Odysseus?” You asked bewildered. He was a lot shorter than you expected. Now you know why Telemachus was shorter than all the men his age and you while his mother still towered over everyone in the room. He nodded with a gentle smile. “And you’re the [name] my son has so fondly told me about.” He said as he drew back his bow. You looked back at Telemachus and you both made eye contact, before you looked at Odysseus. “Wait, what? He talks about me? Wait, what did he say? Tele, you better not have told your father about the sand incident.” You heard him stifle a small chuckle, and you whipped around to gasp at him with all the exasperation you could manage. “You did not!”

“I did.” He said unapologetically. You stared at him in betrayal, jaw dropped before turning back to Odysseus. “Hey, your majesty, did you know that before I got with your son he trained Argos to run at me so he could pretend like he accidentally let him loose to make an opportunity to talk with mMMFFF!” Telemachus slapped his hand onto your mouth as you struggled against his arm. “I did not do that, she’s lying.” He said indignantly as Odysseus stared at the two of you amused. You shoved at Telemachus’s wrist while you both physically struggled against each other. You saw him eyeing your hand on his wrist and you looked at him sternly. “Don’t you even dare- OW!” The madlad bit your hand and you pulled away from him, your bodies detaching from one another. “You menace.” You said as he shoved his face into yours, mere inches away like you were mere moments ago. For a moment, he just stared at you and you stared back at him. It was like all the emotional intensity that was interrupted before was returning full force, a shameless rush of affection like a raging river. You’ve always been told by Penelope that there were moments between her and Odysseus that felt like time stopped, when they looked into their eyes and saw love for eternity in each other. But right now, you felt nothing close to that. It was like time was rushing past you with no end, quick and intense. Every small detail blurred together into Telemachus, and in his eyes you saw the life you have right now.

“Telemachus, I know little to nothing about you, and even less about [name], but I see the same love I have for your mother in you, and I see the same love Penelope has for me in [name].” You both stared at him, hands that had intertwined subconsciously squeezing tightly. Telemachus looked over to you, and once again you saw not just your life in his eyes, but yours and his. “I approve of this one.” Your lover blinked in sync with you. “Besides, weren’t you the one who said how much you loved it when she stood up for you before you got the courage to fight Antinous?” Telemachus stared at his father and after a beat of silence, screeched with embarrassment. “FATHER, DON’T-“ You looked at Odysseus with a devious grin, and began to explain every single Argos incident while Telemachus hid his face in your neck.

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 11 Chapter 11 | splintered reverie ⌟

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The morning sun filtered gently through the open windows, casting a golden glow across Queen Penelope's chambers. The light was soft, barely warm, and it turned the curtains into gauzy veils, making them sway gently with the breeze that carried the scent of the herbs growing outside.

You were pouring a delicate herbal infusion, the scent of rosemary and mint rising into the air, into a silver cup etched with Athena's myth. The intricate designs on the cup shimmered in the morning light, depicting the goddess in battle, her spear raised high.

The steam curled up in gentle wisps, twisting and dissipating into the soft morning light. You carefully controlled the stream, tilting the clay vessel slowly to ensure not a single drop spilled. 

Penelope's voice filled the room, smooth and wistful, as she spoke of simpler days—her youth, the laughter of her childhood—spent exploring the olive groves, of secret hiding spots near the cliffs, and of the scent of the sea that lingered in her hair long after she returned home.

Her gaze drifted toward the open window, her eyes losing focus as if she could see those groves once more, stretching endlessly before her.

Her fingers absently traced the rim of her cup, following the contours as she spoke, her lips curving into a small, almost bittersweet smile. There was a soft sigh, barely audible, as if she were reluctant to return to the present.

You listened attentively, nodding occasionally as you steadied the clay vessel holding the water; your gaze flickered between the steaming infusion and the queen, taking in her every word.

Each story she told felt like a thread weaving a vivid tapestry of her past, and you could almost see it—young Penelope, her laughter ringing through the hills of Sparta, her eyes bright and free of worry.

There was a soft sigh, barely audible, as if she were reluctant to return to the present. Her voice, usually commanding and full of responsibility, now held a gentleness—a vulnerability that she rarely showed.

But the quiet intimacy of the moment was interrupted by a sudden, firm knock at the chamber door. Penelope paused mid-sentence, her brows arching slightly as her gaze shifted towards the door.

You gave her a reassuring smile before setting the cloth down beside the shallow clay vessel holding the hot herbal water; you smoothed out the creases in your dress, the fabric rustling softly as you moved towards the door.

Your hand hovered over the doorknob for a moment before you pulled it open.

The door creaked slightly, and your eyes immediately met Telemachus'. His face was scrunched in a frown, his brow furrowed as if deep in thought. But the moment his eyes landed on you, his expression softened. A smile began to tug at his lips, and you could feel one growing on yours in return.

You stared up at him, taking in the way his features changed—the tension leaving his face, his eyes softening with recognition.

But then, something shifted.

His eyes widened just a smidge, and a look of panic flashed across his features, his smile faltering. You could see the muscles in his jaw clench for a moment, his eyes darting towards the interior of the room before quickly flicking back to you.

A bead of sweat seemed to form at his temple, and his eyes—once so filled with warmth—now carried a sense of urgency, almost as if he had been caught somewhere he shouldn't have been.

You blinked, your own smile freezing as you tried to understand the sudden change. Confusion clouded your thoughts, and you opened your mouth to say something, but no words came out.

Penelope's voice called from behind you, breaking the growing silence. "Who is it, ____?"

You turned, holding the door wider as you spoke, "It's Prince Telemachus, my—" Your words faltered, the sentence trailing off as you turned your head back towards the door, only to find the empty space before you. "—queen?"

The hallway beyond was empty.

You blinked, your eyes scanning the space, almost expecting to see Telemachus hiding just beyond the doorframe. But there was nothing, only the quiet echo of Penelope's chambers and the distant chirping of morning birds.

The silence suddenly felt thick, the warmth of his presence fading like a dream slipping away upon waking. Had he even been there at all? The thought flickered through your mind, absurd yet unsettling, as if the entire exchange had been nothing more than a trick of your imagination.

Your face scrunched up, a puzzled frown tugging at your lips.

You turned back to Penelope, brows knitting together in bewilderment. "Um, I'm unsure where he'd gone," you said, your voice hesitant. "I could have sworn he was just here..."

You felt the confusion settle deeper, as if the moment you had just experienced had slipped like water through your fingers.

Penelope's curious gaze settled on you, her eyes narrowing just a bit as she studied your expression. "Telemachus was here?" she repeated, her voice calm, though curiosity laced her tone.

You nodded, feeling a bit silly now. "He was. Just for a moment, but..." You hesitated, glancing once more at the open door, half-expecting him to reappear as quickly as he'd vanished. "I truly don't know where he went."

You turned back around to shut the door, but before you could, hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway once more. You paused, the door still ajar, and turned just in time to see a young servant skidding to a stop, panting slightly.

"Wait, please," they called, their voice soft but urgent.

You blinked, taking in their appearance—a young person,  their features so delicate it was hard to tell if they were a young man or woman. Their tawny-honey hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, stray strands framing their face; large, earnest hazel eyes met yours, catching a bit of the morning light.

They wore a male servant's uniform that hung loosely on their slender frame, and they were around your height, perhaps a bit taller. But despite the clothing, there was an androgynous beauty to them—something almost ethereal in their features.

"Prince Telemachus..." the servant panted, trying to catch their breath. You raised an eyebrow, a questioning look in your eyes as you waited for them to continue. The servant hesitated, tucking a stray lock of hair behind their ear, their gaze briefly dropping to the floor. "He told me to tell you..." They paused, pressing a hand to their chest before finally managing, "To tell his mother... he'll be back to... join her for lunch."

You stood there, almost speechless for a moment, a wave of confusion washing over you. "Oh..." was all you managed for a moment, glancing down the hallway again.

"Alright, thank you," you finally managed, the words coming out slower than usual, still unsure what to make of it. You gave the servant a small smile as they straightened up, their breathing slowly returning to normal.

They gave you a polite bow, shifting slightly from foot to foot as if uncertain, before turning and disappearing down the hallway, leaving you standing there, the door still ajar.

You slowly closed the door, the latch clicking quietly into place. As you turned back around, Penelope had already lifted her cup to her lips. You caught a glimpse of her expression—her eyes glinting with something unreadable, her lips twitching as if hiding a smile.

She shook her head slightly, her voice so soft you almost missed it, lips curving into an almost secretive smile. "Silly boy," she muttered, almost to herself, a sigh escaping as if it was a habit—a mother's familiar exasperation mixed with affection.

You made your way back across the room, still feeling a hint of confusion. Penelope set her cup down as you approached, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. "There's no need to relay the message, dear," she said, her eyes glinting with humor. "I heard everything."

You blinked, a bashful smile tugging at your lips. "Oh... of course, my queen," you murmured, a bit flustered.

Penelope shook her head again, her eyes softening as she looked up at you. "He's always been impulsive, but his heart's in the right place," she said, her tone filled with both fondness and a hint of exasperation.

You weren't too sure why she told you this, but you accepted it with a nod.

Turning back to your little station, you busied yourself with tidying up—setting the sugar bowl neatly back onto the tray you had carried there, arranging in a more orderly cluster.

You carefully lifted the clay vessel next, making sure there were no spills, and set it back onto the tray as well. The familiar task brought you a sense of calm, grounding you amidst the lingering confusion.

As you worked, Penelope's voice called to you, soft yet clear, "Well, since my son has taken charge of my lunch plans, I suppose you'll be alright if I free you of your duties until then." She paused, her gaze flicking towards the window, her lips curving into a small smile. "Telemachus and I will likely have lunch in the reading alcove—it's a beautiful day, the sun should bless us with good light."

You bowed your head respectfully, a warm smile touching your lips. "Of course, my queen. I'll be sure to bring extra wine as well as the prince's favorite honey cakes," you replied, a hint of affection in your voice as you thought of Telemachus' fondness for the treat.

Penelope nodded, her eyes twinkling slightly. "Thank you, dear. That would be lovely."

You straightened up, gathering the tray and making your way towards the door. As you reached it, you glanced back, catching sight of Penelope gazing out the window, her expression soft and almost wistful. She held her cup delicately, the rim just brushing her lips as she took a small sip, her eyes distant.

There was something peaceful about her in that moment—something deeply content as she watched.

With a deep breath, you made your way out the room.

☆

☆

"You're strumming it like you're trying to scare a cat away!"

"How is it my fault that you're a horrible teacher!?"

The courtyard was calm today, bathed in golden sunlight that filtered through the leaves of olive and cypress trees. The air was filled with the scent of fresh earth, blooming flowers, and the distant hint of salt from the sea.

You and Callias were settled comfortably on the soft grass, your shoulders almost touching as you leaned in to watch his attempts at the lyre. He was holding your lyre, though not quite as gracefully as you might have liked, the strings stilling under his fingers as he tried to follow your instructions.

"Alright, alright, let me try again!" Callias insisted, determination written across his face despite his obvious lack of talent.

You watched as he squinted down at the lyre, lifting it much higher than necessary until it was perched awkwardly against his chest. His tongue peeked out slightly from between his lips as he concentrated, fingers awkwardly plucking at the strings with an exaggerated precision.

A few dull, entirely off-tune notes rang out, and you couldn't help but cringe just a little, trying to hold back your laughter.

He strummed a few more times before sighing in defeat, sucking his teeth as he plopped the lyre into your lap without warning. "Obviously, it's broken," he declared, crossing his arms over his chest and lifting his chin as though offended.

You raised an eyebrow, the corners of your lips twitching with amusement. Callias peeked one eye open, gauging your reaction before quickly turning his head again, pretending to remain aloof.

The sight of his exaggerated haughtiness, paired with the sheer audacity of his complaint, was too much. You couldn't hold it in any longer—the laughter bubbled up, light and infectious, spilling from your lips.

Hugging the lyre to your chest, you shook your head. "Oh, broken, is it?" you managed between laughs. "You mean to tell me the strings are to blame for your... unique musical talents?"

Callias scoffed, turning his head just enough for you to catch his smirk. "I don't appreciate your tone, fair lady," he replied, pretending to be deeply hurt.

You rolled your eyes, your laughter finally subsiding into softer giggles. Despite only knowing him for a short time, Callias made it feel as if you'd known each other forever. 

The way he sulked—childlike and endearing—made it hard for you to take him seriously, and though his musical skills left much to be desired, there was a lightness to these moments—something carefree and genuine.

You nudged him playfully with your elbow, a teasing grin spreading across your face. "Maybe it's not broken, Callias. Maybe it's just you," you teased, your fingers already plucking at the strings with ease, producing a short and sweet melody that seemed to fill the air effortlessly.

Callias' lips pulled into a pout, his eyes narrowing at your casual display of skill. He watched you for a beat, his expression somewhere between admiration and mock annoyance. "Show-off," he muttered, though his tone held no real bitterness.

Suddenly, his eyes lit up, and a grin of his own returned. He reached into the satchel at his side, pulling out his panpipes, and wiggled them in front of your face. "Well, at least I can play these," he declared, his voice taking on a challenging note. "Now it's your turn to struggle."

You couldn't help but sigh dramatically, your shoulders slumping slightly in mock defeat. "Oh, not those again," you groaned, but a smile tugged at your lips nonetheless.

Callias waggled his eyebrows at you, clearly enjoying himself. "Come on, now. Fair's fair, isn't it?" He gave the pipes a shake, the small wooden tubes clicking together. "Let's see if you've magically gotten any better since this morning."

Your mind drifted back to earlier. After being relieved by the queen, you'd made your way to your usual spot in the courtyard, only to be intercepted by Callias not too long after. Without so much as a greeting, he'd started talking about practicing instruments, and before you knew it, he had you attempting to play his panpipes again.

Despite your natural affinity for most instruments, the pipes had given you trouble from the start. Something about the coordination of breath and fingers just didn't come easily, and after a few embarrassing squeaks and out-of-tune notes, you'd given up—flustered and frustrated.

Callias had laughed it off, of course, insisting that it was all part of the learning process, before demanding a turn with your lyre. And now, here the two of you were, neither particularly successful, but both unwilling to admit defeat.

With a sigh, you set the lyre down beside you and reached for the panpipes. "Fine, fine," you said, trying to suppress the smile threatening to break free. "But if I pass out from lack of air, it'll be on your conscience."

Callias smirked, leaning back on his hands as he watched you bring the pipes to your lips. "Oh, I doubt that," he teased. "Besides, you're too stubborn to give up that easily."

You took a deep breath, eyes narrowing in determination. The pipes were cool beneath your fingers, and as you blew into them, you tried to mimic the same smooth melody Callias had played earlier.

The sound that came out was... not quite right. It wasn't the high-pitched squeak from before, but it was still far from pleasant.

Callias bit his lip, clearly trying not to laugh, and you shot him a glare. "You're a terrible teacher," you shot back, lowering the pipes with a huff.

He grinned, shrugging with an expression that very clearly said, You win some, you lose some. He reached over, giving your shoulder a reassuring pat. "Don't worry, you'll get there eventually. And until then, I'll just be here... being better at it than you."

You rolled your eyes, but a smile found its way to your lips.

Playfully, you scowled and shook your fist at him, your eyes narrowing in mock annoyance. "Oh, you're insufferable! You sound like an old crone—'Practice makes perfect, my dear!' Bah!"

Callias' eyes went wide for a split second before he burst into a fit of laughter, his head tipping back as he shrieked with delight. "Oh gods, listen to yourself!" he gasped, barely able to speak through his laughter. "Me!? You're the one that sounds ancient! Like some wise old grandmother trying to give life advice!"

You huffed, though the smile pulling at your lips betrayed your attempt at indignation. "Well, maybe the old crones know a thing or two," you shot back, but even as you spoke, your own laughter threatened to bubble up again.

Callias continued to laugh, clutching his side, and you couldn't help but join in, the courtyard once again filled with the lightness of your shared joy.

"There you are, Callias..."

The sharp voice broke through your laughter, shattering the carefree moment like a clay pot against stone.

You and Callias both froze mid-laugh, your heads snapping over to the source of the voice. A few feet away stood Lady Andreia, making her way toward the two of you with a determined stride.

Your eyes were drawn to Andreia's dress first. At first glance, it looked to be blue, but as she drew closer, the true color became more apparent—a seafoam green, soft and elegant, the fabric rippling like water with each of her steps. She moved with a certain regality, her chin held high, her expression carefully poised.

A servant trailed behind her, holding a skiadeion—a small, elegant parasol that matched Andreia's attire, shading her from the morning sun.

Callias cleared his throat, his previous laughter abruptly stifled, though his lips still twitched with the remnants of a grin. He gave you a quick, sideways glance, his eyes wide with mock alarm, as though silently asking if you could shield him from whatever was coming.

Quickly, the two of you scrambled to your feet. Callias was up first, then he extended his hand to you, helping you up gently. You dusted off your skirts as Andreia came to a stop in front of you both, her gaze flickering between you and Callias.

The air felt different, heavier.

You could sense Andreia's dismissive demeanor as her eyes glanced over you briefly before moving right back to Callias, almost as if you were not worth lingering on.

It wasn't exactly hostile, but you couldn't ignore the way she seemed to see through you. It struck you how different she acted when a member of the royal family was present—almost like you weren't even there.

Callias, sensing the tension, glanced at you and gave you an apologetic look. "Sorry about this," he murmured, and you shook your head, brushing it off with a small smile. "No worries," you replied lightly, trying to ignore the sudden awkwardness. "Remember, I have to bring the queen and prince lunch... speaking of which, I believe it's almost time."

You gave a shallow curtsy to Andreia, your eyes lowering out of respect. "My lady, if you'll excuse me," you said politely, clutching your dress tightly.

Andreia's eyes snapped toward you, and for a brief second, it was as if she'd just realized you were standing there. "Oh... and you are...?"

You swallowed, feeling your cheeks heat up slightly as you tried not to stutter. "I am, ____... I am the queen's personal handmaiden, my lady." Internally, embarrassment clawed at you.

You'd thought that surely she knew you by now, with all the time spent in the palace. But you quickly brushed it aside. She was a royal, after all, and you were merely a servant—it wasn't her place to know who you were.

It felt like whatever interest she may have had fizzled away, like a candle snuffed out. Without so much as acknowledging your introduction, her gaze shifted back to Callias, her attention solely on him now.

The conversation moved forward, and you were no longer a part of it.

Andreia spoke to Callias in a tone that was neither harsh nor gentle. It lacked the warmth you were used to hearing when the Ithacan royals addressed their servants—something was missing, like the courtesy extended to those who worked tirelessly behind the scenes.

Callias, in response, kept his face neutral, his expression giving nothing away. It was like he'd donned a mask, one practiced and well-worn, as though he was used to this kind of interaction.

Peeking slightly over Andreia's shoulder, you caught Callias' eye. For just a heartbeat, his blank face broke as he tilted his head ever so slightly, a silent signal that said go, get out of here while you can. He managed a small, reassuring smile, one meant just for you.

You nodded gratefully and took a careful step back before turning on your heel, eager to slip away unnoticed. Your departure was quick, your feet nearly gliding across the stone path as you put distance between yourself and the royal and two servants.

As you left, Andreia's voice grew louder, commanding in a way that demanded attention. Whatever she needed from Callias was not your concern anymore.

You pushed the encounter from your mind, focusing instead on your next task—the lunch preparations for the queen and prince awaited, and you couldn't afford to be distracted; plus, there was no use lingering on things you couldn't change.

☆ ✩ ☆

It wasn't until sometime later, after you had served lunch to your two royals, that you realized you had forgotten your lyre.

A small pang of panic rippled through your chest, your mind racing. But then you remembered where you had last had it—in the courtyard, with Callias.

If this had been before you'd spent time with him, you might have been worried out of your mind, imagining all the possible ways your instrument could've ended up damaged or worse. But you knew Callias now.

Despite his teasing nature, you had come to see how careful and considerate he was, especially with his own instrument. He treated the panpipes with reverence, always handling them as if they were made of glass.

You could trust him to grant your lyre the same respect.

You sighed, relieved, deciding to simply ask him about it when you next saw him. However, as you were leaving Queen Penelope's quarters, your arms full with a basket of dirty bedsheets, someone startled you. A soft voice called out, and you turned, blinking in surprise. "Excuse me, miss?"

It was a servant—a Bronte servant, to be precise.

"Yes?" You gave a polite smile, shifting everything to one arm.

"Callias asked me to tell you that he has your lyre with him near the sheepfold."

For a moment, you were stunned, blinking at the servant before managing a response. "Oh," you mumbled, "Thank you."

The servant gave a polite nod before turning and leaving, her footsteps echoing lightly in the hallway. As she disappeared around the corner, you let out a soft scoff, shaking your head with a smile. "He would make me cross the entire palace just to get it," you muttered under your breath, amused.

Balancing the heavy basket back in both arms, you shifted its weight slightly, a humor-tinged thought crossing your mind as you began walking—since the king's return, Penelope had spent more time in his chambers rather than her own.

It seemed as though she used her quarters as a sort of resting spot, a break room whenever Odysseus was too busy to be with her. She hadn't moved back to her old rooms permanently, though.

It made sense, you supposed, after twenty years apart; staying close must have been comforting for them both.

You smiled at the thought, admiring their closeness.

With that small smile still lingering on your lips, you continued on your way, making a mental note to find Callias as soon as you dropped this off. You glanced out the window, noting the sun halfway in the sky.

You still had time before dinner.

.☆.           .✩.                    .☆.

A soft breeze brushed against your face as you stepped into the open corridors of the palace. You walked across the polished stone floors, each step echoing lightly in the halls.

The air was crisp, carrying with it a slight chill that nipped at your exposed skin—a reminder that the sun was now hidden partially behind clouds, leaving the palace grounds caught in that in-between of warmth and coolness.

You blew into your free hand, warming it with your breath, your fingers feeling a little stiff from the cold.

The sky above shifted from blue to a muted gray as the clouds filtered across, their shadows passing over the palace like fleeting memories. It wasn't an unpleasant cold, but enough to make you miss the earlier sunlight.

As you moved closer to the sheepfold, the difference between the animal areas became noticeable.

Unlike the pungent, earthy scent that clung to Eumaeus's pigsty, the air near the sheepfold was significantly lighter—a faint musk mixed with the grassy, soft bleating of sheep in the distance.

It was almost peaceful compared to the boisterous sounds of the pigs.

The layout was familiar. A small fenced-in area held the sheep in place, and beyond that, a shed a few feet away housed their feed and tools—simple, practical, but well-kept.

A soft melody reached your ears, just barely discernible over the rustling of the wind. Your pace quickened, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of your lips. It was unmistakably the sound of your lyre—though played with hesitance, and the notes weren't quite right.

Rounding the bend of the sheepfold, you caught sight of a makeshift setup—a crate, weathered and worn, placed in front of the shed. Someone sat upon it, back straight and poise evident even from afar. A small, fenced-in area behind them kept the sheep safely enclosed, and the shed nearby cast a long shadow across the ground.

"Ah-ha! I knew you knew how to play! Better pay up for wasting my time..." your voice trailed off, your teasing tone faltering mid-sentence.

It wasn't Callias.

Lady Andreia turned her head, her eyes locking onto yours as you came to a sudden stop.

The clouds overhead thickened, their dark shapes sliding slowly across the sky, casting elongated shadows on the palace grounds. The breeze picked up, a little sharper now, carrying a weight that clung to your skin.

She was sitting delicately on the edge of the crate, her back straight, as if even the old box disgusted her. Her fingers stilled over the strings of your lyre, and she regarded you with an arched brow, clearly unamused by your sudden appearance.

The playful smile you'd worn vanished, replaced by an expression of surprise and confusion. Andreia—of all people—had your lyre. You tried to school your features, but it was difficult to hide the uncertainty bubbling within you.

The soft melody she had been playing died off, leaving an awkward silence hanging in the air. Andreia remained seated, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly, the lyre still resting atop her lap, her fingers tracing its edges with a lazy kind of carelessness.

Tearing your eyes away from your lyre, you immediately dropped into a curtsey, apologizing, "I'm so sorry, Lady Andreia, I-I thought Callias—"

She cut you off abruptly, standing with a swift motion, her gaze never leaving your face as she approached. "No need to explain," she said, her voice cool, dismissive. "I know."

The air grew heavier, the faint scent of moisture carried on the breeze. Somewhere far off, you thought you saw the sky flicker, but the light faded before you could be sure.

You blinked, rising slowly, your eyes flicking back up to meet hers as confusion etched itself onto your features. "P-pardon?" The word slipped out before you could stop it—an instinct, questioning her words.

Andreia said nothing for a moment, just letting out a nonchalant hum as her eyes assessed you, taking in every detail as she began circling you, moving gracefully, her gaze never faltering.

There was something in the way she walked—like a cat slowly stalking prey—that made you tense, your stomach twisting into a small knot.

The clouds above grew darker still, deepening to a stormy gray, casting an eerie dimness over the courtyard. The breeze had turned into a steady wind, and you noticed the way it stirred the hem of Andreia's dress.

Then, she stopped in front of you, her head tilting to the side; her eyes bore into yours, lips curling into a slight smirk. "You're pretty," she said bluntly, the words dropping like a stone between you.

The bluntness of her statement made you stiffen, taken aback by the unexpected comment. You blinked before forcing yourself to reply. "Um, t-thank you, Lady—"

But before you could even finish, Andreia cut you off again, stepping closer, her eyes narrowing as her lips twisted into something between a smirk and a smile. It was as if she spoke not to you, but rather at you—as if you were an accessory to her musings. "Tell me," she continued, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, "did my brother find you pretty as well?"

Faint flashes of light appeared far on the horizon, subtle and quick, casting brief flickers across the landscape.

The question caught you off guard, and you fumbled for a response, your heart jumping to your throat. "N-no, my lady," you stammered, dropping your gaze to the ground, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. "I—He— He was here as a suitor for the queen—only for the queen."

Andreia hummed again, her eyes never leaving your face, studying the way you faltered; the smirk on her lips growing slightly as she stepped closer, her presence overwhelming. You could feel the weight of her gaze, and it made you want to shrink away.

You dropped your gaze further. "I—The queen... and Prince Telemachus," you mumbled quickly, grasping for anything to divert the conversation. "Dinner will be starting soon, and the royal family will surely need me. Excuse me."

Far away, the flashes became more frequent, illuminating the edges of the clouds in fleeting bursts. The air was thick now, clinging to your skin, heavy with the promise of rain.

You thought about reaching for your lyre, but decided against it. The last thing you wanted was to escalate whatever strange game Andreia was playing. Instead, you turned on your heel, attempting to step back and leave.

But Andreia was quicker. Her fingers wrapped around your arm, stopping you in place. Her nails dug in lightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to make her point clear. "Hold on," she said, her voice now edged with a sharper, commanding tone, laced with a bit of mockery. "No need to be rude to your guest..."

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. You didn't dare look up, keeping your eyes trained on the ground as you nodded slightly. "Of course, my lady... my apologies."

Andreia held your arm for a moment longer, her nails digging in a tad bit deeper, just enough that you had to withhold a wince, resisting the instinct to yank your arm away, before she finally let go.

When you finally looked up, Andreia was smiling at you, but it never reached her eyes—there was something hollow, calculated in her expression.

The atmosphere between you both was heavy, tense, and you felt the urge to leave bubbling up again. The coldness of her gaze seemed to seep into your very bones, and you had to stop yourself from recoiling.

Andreia just tilted her head, her eyes trailing down before she focused on the lyre in her hands. Her fingers traced along its edges lazily, her gaze turning almost absent, as if you had faded from her attention altogether.

She hummed softly, her tone light but with a mocking undercurrent. "You know, Callias was very eager to be the one to deliver this back to you... your lyre, that is, once he realized you left it," she mused, her voice almost casual.

Andreia lifted the lyre by one of its strings, letting it dangle precariously, the wooden frame swaying in her grip.

Your hand twitched involuntarily, a surge of worry running through you.

It hung on her finger like it was ready to snap at any moment, and she seemed to know exactly how it looked—her eyes darting to you out of the corner of her gaze, watching for a reaction.

"What an ugly thing," she finally said, her tone blunt, as if the comment held no weight. Your eyes remained on the lyre, your heart tightening at the sight of it hanging so carelessly.

You swallowed thickly, trying to keep your expression neutral.

You cleared your throat, mustering the courage to speak. "Lady Andreia," you began, your voice wavering slightly. Andreia's eyes snapped sharply to yours, her gaze narrowing, daring you to continue. "If I may—it's a gift from Queen Penelope, herself," you managed to say, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

At this, Andreia's expression twitched, her lips tightening for a brief moment before she let out a scoff. "A gift from the queen? What in the name of Hades would compel her to give you something like this?" she asked, her voice dripping with incredulity, her fingers still tracing the edge of the lyre.

The air between you seemed to grow colder, the tension twisting tighter, and all you could do was stand there, your heart pounding against your ribs.

You hesitated, your eyes dropping back to the lyre. It was weathered and aged—clearly old. Though you cared for it diligently, the wood had dried out over the years, becoming brittle. Hairline cracks had formed around the joints, particularly where the crossbar connected to the arms—areas of frequent stress.

It was actually a lyre the queen had herself from her youth, a ratty old thing that you cherished deeply.

Over the years, Penelope and even Telemachus had often asked if you wanted a new one. The prince had even reassured you that he could have the best lyre ever crafted, the most expensive one available, if only you asked.

But you always refused.

This lyre held more than just music—it carried memories, moments shared with the queen, times of solace, and comfort. It was more than an instrument; it was a piece of your past that you weren't ready to part with.

Your once respectful demeanor began to evaporate, frustration bubbling beneath your skin. You could feel your lips pulling into a frown, your face heating up in anger.

Your patience was wearing thin—you were getting sick of this royal, her coldness, her careless words.

"It doesn't matter why," you said harshly, your voice firmer now. "The queen gave it to me, and I am thankful for it. She did so much for all of us during her time of grief for King Odysseus—and this 'ugly thing' helped her, helped many of us, get through that." You could feel your heart pounding as you spoke, your words coming out more boldly than you had intended.

It wasn't until the silence settled between you, the weight of your words hanging in the air, that you realized what you'd done. You gasped, eyes widening as your hands flew to your mouth.

Andreia narrowed her eyes at you, her lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, you thought she might lash out, but then her face smoothed out entirely. The warmth—what little of it there ever was—returned to her features, her lips curving into a smile that was almost pleasant.

"F-forgive me, Lady Andreia... I-I didn't mean to speak out of turn... I—"

She raised a hand to her mouth, hiding a giggle, as if you'd just said the funniest thing in the world, cutting your apology off completely. "Oh, how amusing," she said, her eyes glinting with something you couldn't quite place. She took a step forward, her gaze holding yours. "It's funny," she continued, her voice almost sing-song, "how you still call me 'Lady Andreia' instead of what I am—a princess."

You blinked, taken aback, confused by the sudden shift. You had expected her to address your outburst, your audacity. You had expected her to be furious, to lash out.

Instead, she was smiling—talking about a title.

Honestly, you didn't call her 'princess' because she wasn't your princess. Plus, King Odysseus had shown his hand the very day the Bronte entourage arrived, addressing her as 'Lady Andreia,' despite her official title.

It was clear he wanted everyone in Ithaca to treat her as a guest, not as someone to be held above—or even on equal footing—as the royal family here.

Clearing your throat, you looked away, chickening out for a few seconds before finally gathering the courage to look her in the eyes once more, only to falter at the sight of her eyes—dark and stormy, yet the same smile remained on her face. "Um, oh, forgive me, I didn't mean to offend—"

She cut you off, letting out a laugh that sounded forced and hollow. "Of course not," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "I wouldn't expect a servant to understand proper decorum. You're all just so... simple-minded, aren't you?" Her words were sharp, tinged with something cruel, yet there was truth to her observation—something bitter that stung.

You stayed silent, your teeth pressing into the inside of your cheek, hoping that this would be enough, that maybe she would stop and let you go. That she'd finally leave.

But Andreia wasn't done.

"You see, that's the issue with servants these days," she said, her voice dropping lower as she began to rant, her eyes drifting away from yours. "You're allowed too much joy, too much freedom. It makes you forget your place." Her gaze flicked back to the lyre, and without warning, she harshly plucked at the strings, her fingers pulling at them almost violently, as if to prove some twisted point.

The discordant twang made you wince inwardly, though you dared not let it show on your face.

She tilted her head, her fingers tracing along the lyre's frame. "Don't you agree, ____?" she asked, her voice back sickeningly sweet, her eyes cold as ice, her question hanging in the air like a challenge.

You blinked, not only because you were confused about where she was going with this but also because you weren't aware she even knew your name, especially considering how she'd brushed you off with barely a glance.

You cleared your throat again, buying a few precious seconds as you struggled to find the right words. You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly feeling dry. "Um, I apologize—I'm unsure what you mean..." you began, trying to deflect her question.

But she wasn't having it.

"That servants shouldn't be pestered from their duties, distracted..." she continued, her voice sharp. Her stare was unwavering, and it was unnerving enough that you felt your gaze drift away from hers involuntarily once more, your shoulders stiffening.

You shifted your weight, the cold wind brushing against your back as you stood there under her scrutiny. Finally, you nodded, your voice coming out barely louder than a whisper. "Yes, I agree, Lady Andreia."

Andreia's shoulders visibly relaxed at that, her smile shifting into something that almost looked genuine. She tilted her head, her eyes softening, though the coldness behind them never truly faded. "I'm happy we gained this understanding, ____."

You nodded, hoping that the ordeal was over, that she might dismiss you. "Um, if that is all, then I should—"

You were cut off by the sight of her raising both her arms high, and just as quickly, she brought her knee up sharply, smashing the lyre against it.

The sound of splintering wood filled the space between you, a harsh, unforgiving crack.

The moment the lyre splintered, a flash of lightning lit up the courtyard, followed by the deep, guttural boom of thunder that seemed to shake the very ground beneath your feet.

The lyre's fragile body splintered across her knee—not entirely in half, but enough to create a large, jagged crack down the middle. One of the arms broke almost completely, dangling loosely by a few remaining fibers, while a couple of strings snapped entirely, coiling up limply.

She dropped the pieces into the mud below, where they landed with a dull, heart-wrenching thud.

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart leaping to your mouth as you watched her let go, the shattered remains of your cherished instrument falling to the ground—lifeless, splintered, utterly ruined.

Andreia dusted her hands off, her expression never faltering as she picked up the hem of her dress delicately to avoid the mud. "I hope to see you at dinner tonight. Perhaps you could try the panpipes and do a duet with Callias, hmm? I do enjoy a spirited song, especially one that could liven up the room. After all, I'm sure everyone could use a bit of cheer."

She looked at you, her smile once again light, almost pleasant. Then, her gaze flicked upward, lingering on the darkening sky as another rumble of thunder rolled through, deep and resonant.

Andreia's lips curled into a faint smirk, her voice light and airy as she said, "Do get inside before it rains, ____. Wouldn't want you to catch a cold."

Her tone was so disarmingly casual that, for a moment, it almost masked the weight of everything she'd just done.

With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving you standing there, frozen, staring down at the shattered remnants of your lyre.

The tightness in your chest felt unbearable, and you could feel your eyes sting.

You dared not cry, not here, not now. But the loss of it—the history, the memories—stabbed through you painfully.

The smile she'd left you with was hauntingly sweet, the remnants of cruelty staining the air long after she'd departed.

Your vision blurred; numbness began to settle in, creeping over you like a suffocating fog. You barely registered the fact that your knees buckled, and you staggered down onto the ground, harshly falling into the mud, feeling the dirt and water seep into your clothes.

The rain had then begun to fall in earnest, droplets soft at first, but growing heavier with each passing moment.

Your hands hovered just above the remains of the lyre, trembling, almost too scared to touch it, as if the wood might splinter further just from your touch. Tears brimmed in your eyes, and you blinked rapidly, trying to clear them, but it was no use.

Your breathing grew ragged, and your nose felt hot, your face flushed with the intensity of it all. Your ears were ringing, and you could barely hear the whispered, desperate mantra that escaped your lips, over and over again: "No, no, no, no, no..."

The rain continued to pour, masking your tears, until you could no longer tell where the rain ended, and your sorrow began. It drenched your hair, soaked through your clothes, and chilled you to the bone.

But before you could completely fall apart, you forced yourself to pull it together. You swallowed hard, blinking against the rain, and wiped your face with the damp sleeve of your dress.

You had to keep moving. You couldn't stay here. You wouldn't allow yourself to break, not yet.

Hurriedly, you bundled up your dress, cradling the broken lyre as gently as you could. You held it close to your chest, protecting it from the rain as best as possible. Your steps were shaky, unsteady, as you pushed yourself to stand.

You told yourself it would be okay—you could fix this. You had your touch-up kit. You could fix it. You repeated it to yourself over and over, a fragile hope that kept you moving forward.

You made your way back to your chambers, the world around you feeling strangely surreal, almost like a dream. Everything passed in a blur—the raindrops falling around you, the distant voices of servants in the hallways.

It all felt muted, as if you were moving through water, disconnected from it all.

Somewhere along the way, you were stopped by Eurycleia. The older woman had seen you, drenched and muddied, carrying something in your arms, and her eyes widened with concern. She reached out, her fingers brushing against your shoulder as she frowned deeply. "Child, by Poseidon's waves... You're soaked through!"

You swallowed hard, your throat feeling tight, and quickly shook your head, trying to muster some semblance of composure. "I... I don't feel well, Eurycleia," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. You could see the worry etched across her features, and you quickly continued, "I don't think I can attend dinner tonight."

And honestly, it wasn't too far off from the truth. You were in no way in shape to attend dinner, let alone be in charge of taking care of the queen's needs tonight.

How could you, when every breath felt like it might shatter you all over again?

Eurycleia's brow furrowed, her gaze staring at your face; she clicked her tongue in disapproval, her voice softening as she cooed at you, "Oh, dear child, you shouldn't have been out in this weather..."

You nodded numbly, her words fading into the background as your focus remained on the weight of the lyre in your arms. It was the only thing grounding you to reality.

Eurycleia gently turned you, her hands firm yet kind as she began ushering you towards your quarters. "Go now, you must rest. I'll let the queen know you're unwell, and I'll handle everything for tonight. You need to get warm, before you catch your death out here. I'll have a light broth sent up to your room, something to help you recover."

You offered her a small, weak smile, murmuring, "Thank you, Eurycleia."

The older woman only shook her head, her eyes filled with a mixture of concern and affection. "No need for thanks, child. Just take care of yourself."

Everything else blurred together after that. The world felt distant, as if you were seeing everything through a foggy glass.

You could barely remember how you had gotten here, how you had managed to strip off your drenched clothes and wrap yourself in something dry.

It was all a haze—a strange, disjointed sequence of moments that didn't quite feel real.

And then, the next thing you knew, you were kneeling before your bed, the broken lyre splayed out across the blanket. Splintered, damaged, a shell of what it once was.

Your fingers traced along the fractured wood, the jagged edges where it had cracked beneath Andreia's grip. The strings lay limp, some still attached while others hung uselessly, curling in on themselves.

The sight of it sent another pang through your chest, and you had to swallow hard to push back the tears that threatened to resurface.

You had promised yourself you could fix this. It was more than just a lyre—it was a part of you, a part of your memories with the queen, a part of everything you cherished.

And you weren't ready to let that go.

With trembling hands, you reached for your touch-up kit, your mind focused solely on the task ahead.

You would fix it... You had to...

There was no other option.

A/N: I swear i'm going somewhere with this plot, sry if andreia seems kinda ooc/weird but i promise i tried doing my best leading up to this without sacrificing anymore chapters on her 😩😭; just know the plot twist is pippin 😮‍💨; also trying my hand posting my non-binary/androgynous character(s)/attempts so if you see me struggling, no you didn't (which is actually hilarious cuz i'm actually androgynous asf in real life so why am i making things so difficult???🤣)

[fatal-thoughts]

A Lovely Exchange

p2 here

Telemachus x Servant! Reader

Synopsis: Telemachus already fights off his mother’s suitors, but what if he manages to become one? To… one of the palace’s servants?

warnings: slow burn, flustered Telemachus, puppy love, assault, threats

A/N: This is fluffier than what I usually write, but I couldn't help it. I love him sm wtf

Part 1 of ???

You went about your routines as usual—watering the garden, cleaning the halls, fixing any imperfections in the palace, and even helping other servants when needed.

It wasn’t unusual to see you wandering around the palace; after all, you were the queen’s favorite assistant.

No one really knew why or how you and the queen were so close, not even you. But you knew there were both benefits and drawbacks to it.

Including being a target of the 108 suitors now living under the same roof as you.

As much as you wanted to continue your duties as usual, they never failed to hinder your responsibilities.

You were heading toward the palace dining room. Though it was the last place you wanted to go, you had to pass through it to reach the kitchen to prepare something for the queen—who also refused to set foot in there.

So far, so good, until you stepped into the hallway. The once loud and distracted suitors were now eyeing you.

You swallowed nervously, the lump in your throat growing, but continued forward, treading slowly so as not to attract more attention than you already had.

You made it to the end of the hall, believing you were safe, until you felt someone grab your wrist and pull so hard you almost lost your balance. You looked up and saw one of the queen’s most persistent suitors: Antinous.

The man had a proud smirk on his face as he looked down at you, still holding onto your wrist. He’d made multiple attempts to converse with you, all of which you declined, so you weren’t entirely surprised that he’d resorted to these measures.

"Ah, well, if it isn’t the lovely slave herself.”

That pissed you off.

You knew you couldn’t do anything about it, but if you could, you’d have slapped him by now. Instead, you jerked your arm away from him.

But that didn’t stop him. He grabbed you again, this time by the arm, with a much tighter and more painful grip, making you gasp in pain.

“Whoa now, where do you think you’re going? You don’t think you can just run off that easily, do you?” he taunted, leaning closer to your neck, his voice low.

“We want the queen, and since she’s unavailable, I guess we’ll have to settle for you.”

You glanced behind you, noticing all the men in the hall staring at you with intense gazes filled with hunger, desire, and thirst.

Frightened, you hurriedly tried to break free from Antinous’s grip. He chuckled softly, holding you tighter and pulling you closer. You struggled with all your strength until, finally, he let go. But it wasn’t because of your effort.

His gaze had shifted—he was no longer looking at you, but at something, or someone, else.

Backing away from him, you looked behind him and saw none other than the queen’s son, Telemachus.

He was gripping his sword, pointing it at Antinous.

“Leave her alone.”

You were surprised, to say the least. You and Telemachus had never really spoken. He usually avoided you whenever he ran into you.

You never understood why. Every time you saw him, he’d dash away like a startled deer.

But now, here he was, standing in front of you, holding a sword to one of the suitor’s neck.

Antinous raised his hands sarcastically, a smug grin on his face as he glanced between Telemachus and you.

“Alright, I’ll leave her be, little wolf.”

He walked past you, but as he did, he whispered, “Don’t think I’m done with you yet, slave.”

You recoiled instantly as he let out a shameless laugh.

You and Telemachus watched him walk away, and then you quickly exited the dining hall.

Catching your breath, you adjusted your hair and robes, trying to calm yourself. No suitor had ever approached you with such aggression before, and now Antinous had gone to these lengths? It was terrifying.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you realized Telemachus was still standing in front of you, staring at you like a deer caught by a hunter.

You raised a brow, confused. Did he see something?

“My prince, are you… alright?” you asked, still somewhat shaken. After all, he did just save you. Maybe he was in shock?

“Shit, shit, shit, shit—” was what was running through Telemachus’s mind as he stood there.

He hadn’t really thought he’d get this far. All he saw was you in danger, and his instincts had taken over.

But now that he had actually saved you, talking to you afterward wasn’t part of the plan—if he even had a plan.

He was practically begging the gods that you wouldn’t notice the inconvenient pink hue on his cheeks because that would only make things worse.

He had gone to such lengths to avoid you, to ignore you, to ward you off—foolish attempts, all of them—and now here you were, standing right in front of him.

He waited for you to tell him that you knew. Knew he admired you, probably too much.

His lips quivered slightly as he stared at you, unable to stop himself. Come to think of it, he’d never noticed how beautiful you were up close. The shape of your nose, how perfectly it fit your face. The look in your eyes, with the soft tint of color. And your lips, how pretty they looked, even when they smiled just a little.

“Fuck, I’m staring,” he muttered under his breath, snapping out of his trance.

Which you definitely heard.

You tilted your head slightly. Was he okay? Had Antinous done something to him?

No, he was just a nervous wreck because his childhood crush was standing right in front of him, and he was so not prepared.

If Athena was watching him right now, this was definitely not a battle she had prepared him for.

With a silent, desperate cry, he cleared his throat, trying to make the situation less embarrassing than it already was.

“I-I’m fine. How are you?”

…

Seriously? THAT’S the best you could do?

He stared at the ground, trying to mask his shame. Maybe if he couldn’t see you, you couldn’t see him either, right? Zeus might as well strike him down with lightning.

He was about to punch himself when he heard something.

You were… laughing?

He looked up to see you covering your mouth, short giggles escaping your lips.

Was it bad that he found them so pretty?

Eventually, you calmed down.

“Thank you, my prince, for saving me back there. Truthfully, I wouldn’t know what to do if you hadn’t come to my aid. So, thank you.”

You bowed your head, expressing your gratitude.

“How can I repay you, my princ—”

“N-No! It’s fine, please! I don’t need anything. You’re safe, that’s all that matters. I wouldn’t want anything bad happening to you, so just…”

And now he was rambling.

Nice going, Telemachus. Might as well confess to her right here and now, right? Just go for it!

Before he could continue his spiral, both of you noticed a familiar silhouette approaching. As she got closer, you immediately recognized her.

And she did not seem pleased.

“Queen Penelope! Forgive me, I was delayed on my way to the kitchen. I’ll quickly fetch your meal as you requested—”

“No, it’s alright, Y/n. You are not the one I am concerned with.”

Her gaze shifted sharply to Telemachus, her eyes almost piercing through him.

The boy’s soul nearly escaped his body when he saw the way his mother looked at him.

“Son, come with me.” Penelope turned and walked away without another word.

Telemachus glanced back at you, taking in your beautiful presence one last time.

“I…”

“Quickly, Telemachus.”

If there was one thing he didn’t want to do, it was anger his mother. He feared her more than any god.

“I’lltalktoyoulaterbye!” he blurted out as he hurried to catch up with her.

That… was something. For a first impression, it wasn’t that bad, right?

Right?

Ah, shit.

He followed Penelope as they walked through the halls, still unsure of where they were headed, but he kept his pace with her.

Eventually, they reached the palace garden. A place where Penelope liked to unwind, where Telemachus often rested, and where you, conveniently, loved to work.

The queen sat beside the marble fountain, and Telemachus followed suit. A comfortable silence fell between them as they enjoyed the peaceful moment. It had been some time since they’d spent time together, and both of them treasured even the smallest moments.

“You like her, don’t you, son?”

…

Wait… WHAT?

So, what do you think?

[kupidachillea]

Hello! Could you do hcs of Telemachus?? Thankyouu

Telemachus x Reader Hcs (Romantic)

Author note: Thank you so much for requesting, this was honestly a big help to snap me out off my writers block 🙏

TW: None. This is fluff.

🕯️ - Having Telemachus as a partner was not something you out right expected, but it wasn’t something you were opposed to. After all, you should be happy that the Prince of Ithaca had chosen you of all people to be his lover.

🏵️- Even so, it still came as a surprise to you. Especially when he came up to you with a sheepish, yet charming look on his face asking if you were free to come walk with him. How could you say no? But that’s the thing,.you didn’t.

🕯️- It happened late in the afternoon..the Greek sun high in the sky as you stood in front of your home sweeping dust away to make the place looks somewhat presentable and out of nowhere he showed up. Looking as awkward as a young teenaged boy asking his crush to prom.

🏵️- Introducing himself and asking for your name which you happily gave him before he told you why he was here. He looked a little nervous at first but when you agreed to his offer he couldn’t have been happier. And that’s just about how your meeting went with the young prince and from that day forward, he’d come by whenever you were free and asked to go for a walk.

🕯️-And for the first few months you enjoyed his company. You’d often find yourself over at the palace watching him train or listening to him ramble about his future plans.

🏵️-If you’re the type to ramble as well, he’ll gladly be quiet and listen to you rant on about anything and everything. And even if you don’t, he still loves to listen to you. Your voice being a source of comfort. 🕯️-He’ll often confide in you about how he misses his father and how he hopes that he comes home soon..

🏵️- It’s been years! And of course you haven’t seen the king too- you were both nothing but babies at the times most of the men and Odysseus were called into war.

🕯️- Of course you’d comfort the prince, telling that it’d be okay and that his father would come sooner than later, which Telemachus appreciated.

🏵️-Soon enough though, Telemachus found himself staring to fall for you and he wasted no time in showing up at your home and asking if it would be alright for him to court you.

🕯️-The look of surprise on your face made him worried at first, thinking you’d say no to him. But you didn’t- you actually said yes.

🏵️- And he couldn’t have been happier, of course he immediately took you into his arms and spun you around, nuzzling his face into your neck before putting you down and taking your hand to go and spend time with you.

🕯️- His love language is acts of service and physical touch. He loves to just hold your hand or do things for you, anything at all. You need help cleaning? He’s over at your house immediately. You want someone to come with you to the market? He’ll be your personal chaperone.

🏵️- He’s not much of a cook but he tries he’s best, often asking his mother, Penelope or some servants for advice on how to improve.

🕯️- Telemachus just can’t wait for the day his dad comes home, wanting to introduce you to him and hopefully getting his approval.

🏵️- And when you finally do meet the king himself, he accepts you with open arms. Even if he was a bit apprehensive at first, but anything for his son.

🕯️- Telemachus isn’t too possessive, but he is protective to an extent. Like his father with the suitors, he’s willing to swing a sword if he has to, he can’t stand the idea of someone trying to, or rather attempt at wooing you.

🏵️- He loves to call you his ‘Little sparrow..’, to him, it just fits. Of course he’ll call you the usual nicknames, like ‘my love’ , ‘darling’, ‘sweetheart’.. but his main one it sweet song bird nicknames.

🕯️- He’s definitely the type of man to fuss over you if you get injured. Making sure you’re alright first, asking what caused it then ranting about how you need to be more careful, even just a little. After he patches you up he gives you a kiss before pulling you into his arms.

🏵️- Finally, Telemachus is the type of man to value those sweet little moments you both have. When you finally share a bed, he treasures the small moments before you go to sleep..rubbing your back softly and cooing or early in the morning..10 minutes before you both decide to get up.. whispering sweet nothings to you and massaging your arm lightly..peppering your cheeks with kisses.

Eeeeee! This was fun to right other than my usual boys. Thank you for requesting, I hope you enjoy this. I’m sorry it’s a bit shorter Tyana I wanted, I tried my best- but if I get more Telemachus requests I’ll improve on the hcs and probably X readers too.💕

[nockstormbringer]

PLATONIC TELEMACHUS WITH TWIN SISTER READER!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHES BASICALLY A COPY OF ODYSSEUS AND A MAMAS GIRL WHO TRIES TO KILL THE SUITORS REGULARY

Napping || Telemachus

Synopsis → Telemachus with a twinsister! Reader who is a mini-Odysseus.

Warning → The Suitors, Voilence, Abuse, Telemachus lowkey being a hypocrite, Mentions of Monsters

A/n → Oh my god, I'm finally able to post, currently in English finishing this request. These two girls in my English who are sitting right next to me are rough housing and laughing so loud, its embarrassing. 🤡

Word Count → 697

↳ Oh my god, Telemachus would absolutely dote on his sister. Doesn’t matter if she’s the elder or younger twin.

↳ Though if she is the younger twin, he’s absolutely gonna be that brother who constantly reminds her of it. Doesn’t matter place or time.

“Y/n/n, I’m just looking out for you. It’s my duty as your big brother to defend you.”

“You’ve never even been in a fight.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

↳ He’s so hypocritical too, like yeah, sure, you’ve fought monsters and won fights against men larger than you, BUT, he advises you that climbing that rock could get you hurt.

↳ He’s such a dork though, and gets excited every time he finds something he thinks you would love. Like a cool rock, maybe something that use to belong to your father before he left for the war of Troy.

↳ Telemachus no doubtably defends you against the suitors, even if you’ve proven to be able to handle them in a fight.

↳ He’s watched you fight many battles, and win majority of them, so when an altercation starts up between the suitors and/or himself, he knows you’ll be there to end the fight quickly and swiftly.

↳ He fears for the day you come of age, worried that Queen Penelope can no longer prevent you from marriage.

↳ Even so, he knows that suitors could absolutely kick his ass, so he tries to keep you away from them at all costs.

↳ Telemachus loves spending time with both you and your mother. At least once a week, there will be a day where you three just do whatever. From spa sessions, to long walks alongside the shoreline, the same one in which Odysseus promised to return from.

↳ You both are constantly told of how you both resemble Odysseus, whether with your fighting skills, personality, traits or just overall everything that made the King of Ithaca so him.

↳ More than once, have the servants been spooked, especially those who have been serving the castle from before you and Telemachus were born, because of how much you two look and even act like Odysseus.

↳ It’s one of the biggest things you two are praised for, and one of the biggest things the suitors hate about you both.

↳ After a particularly hard day, whether from a fight gone wrong, the suitors were somehow worse than usual or just feeling gloomy, you both just rest with each other.

↳ You two just sleep in either your own or Telemachus’ room, or even the garden. One time, Penelope found you two sleeping against Odysseus’ statue.

↳ Argos' so cute, he switches between sleeping in yours, Telemachus and Penelope room. Absolute cuddle bug of a dog, he's so loving.

↳ Telemachus would be torn between wanting you to accompany him to get Odysseus back. He doesn’t want you to get hurt on the journey, but he also worries for what the suitors will do.

↳ Obviously you go with him, but he was still hesitant.

↳ After that whole ordeal, big family reunion with Odysseus!!

↳ You all cried, like a lot. Penelope and Odysseus have their lovebirds moment and it sends both you and Telemachus into tears.

↳ But yay! No more suitors!

↳ Its sort of weird at first adjusting to Odysseus being home again, considering you and Telemachus hadn't actually known him before the war, but you all fall into a nice routine.

↳ Odysseus makes up for lost time and takes old man naps with both you and Telemachus, roughly 2-5 times a week. Penelope joins most days.

↳ Telemachus trains a lot, wanting to get stronger, to protect you, Penelope and even Odysseus. Your father tries telling him that he can protect all of you, but everyone can see he's getting older. Even he.

↳ But, nonetheless, Odysseus humours Telemachus, and trains with him, giving great pointers and teaching him new tricks. Most days, you join in, and Odysseus loves training with his kids.

↳ You've managed to hand their asses to both of them, leaving them with sore muscles and aching bones. Both Odysseus and Telemachus are incredibly proud of you.

↳ Overall, Telemachus tries his hardest to protect you, even if you or someone else kick his ass. <3

thank you!! ♡

[velvetydream]

꒰ : 🩹 [ Patches ] ”♡ᵎ꒱ˀˀ ↷ ⋯

Summary : After the fight he had with Antonius, you were there to patch him up.

Pairing : Telemachus x fem! Reader

Word count : 1.2K Words

Genre : Fluff

Warnings ➵ Telemachus is hurt

a/n : I love this guy sm and omg I can't wait to write more for this silly lil guy T T♡

Also I feel like this isn't m, best work sadly, I just didn't really know how to write this, that's also why it's shorter, but imma defi write a longer one for him again!

Artwork Credits : Gigi on YouTube

┌───────────────────────── ·  ·  ·  · ♡

Athena turns around, sensing someone approaching the chambers of the prince, sitting on the railing in her owl form in an instant.

"My prince? I've been so worried! Your mother is so mad at the suitors! And by the gods look at you! What have those monsters done!" Rushing over to the young man, your hands find their way to his cheeks, holding his face softly in your hands. "I-I'm fine! Don't worry! Just some scratches!" He tried to assure you, looking over to Athena, who just gave him one last look before flying away, leaving him to your mercy. "My prince those aren't just scratches! The queen will be even more angry when she sees this!" Telemachus's face was littered with wounds, blood at the corner of his lips, scratches on his face, and a big one on his eyebrow. "Let me patch you up please, I don't want this to get infected." You softly grab his hand as you lead him to his vanity and sit him down, before gathering everything you need to clean his wounds.

Telemachus simply watches you with a rosy blush on his cheeks, would his mother see him right now she'd start preparing a wedding already. She was counting on you to become his fiance, having known you and your parents for years. You were born in the palace to your father, a warrior, he was away with the king for a long time now, probably dead, while your mother was the closest and most confidante maid she had. So you grew up in the palace, learning the ways to serve, and soon became the maid to the prince. He was barely two years older than you; in the last years, he had grown so much that he was now towering over you.

"This looks bad, my prince; how dare they hurt you like that.." You grumble as you wet cloth and softly clean the dried-up blood, holding his chin with your other hand carefully. Telemachus was watching you the whole time while doing so, admiring your scrunched up eyebrow and nose, concentrated eyes, and how your tongue slightly pokes out from the concentration.

"I'm fine don't w-worry! It's just a scratch!" He tries to assure you, but you just scoff at that; of course, he would say that. Wanting to argue back, you couldn't as a knock echoes through the room, straightening your back as the queen walks in. Bowing slightly you greet her respectfully, your own mother closed behind her. "M-Mother!" Her face was stern as she approached her son. "What happened?" Telemachus was obviously nervous to answer her, knowing very well she hates when he gets hurt, on top of the suitors being the cause of this. "They provoked me. I had to fight back!" Penelope looks at him, disappointed, shaking her head slightly. "You shouldn't have my son, look at your face; that will leave a nasty scar. What would your father say." Her hands were softly on his shoulders as her words enraged him. "He would be proud! Proud that I try to protect my house and mother!" Pulling back from her, he turns his back to her frustrated.

The queen lets out a sigh, looking over at you with thankful eyes for being with him right now and patching him up before she turns around and leaves, your mother also giving you one last look.

"My prince I need to finish cleaning your wounds." He's stood with his back to you, looking at the picture on his nightstand, an old picture; you weren't even born when this was made; he was merely an infant in the arms of his mother, the king, his father beside them. "He wouldn't want you to keep hurting. Let me finish, please." Softly, your hand lays on his arm as he shakes his head, frustrated.

Guiding him to sit down on his bed's edge now, you crouch down to sit in front of him on the floor after getting the utensils you need to clean the wounds. Grasping his hands softly to clean the knuckles that were bruised and bloodied from landing a few good punches on Antinous. "Why..? Why can't I be like my dad? He was amazing.. She would've never scolded him for fighting for her.." You noticed tears gathering in his beautiful eyes. "Oh dear, you're her only son; she is worried. You're just as great as your father, and someday you will see that too, my prince.." Tears fall from his eyes as your hand reaches up to carefully wipe the tears away.

You finish cleaning his knuckles before going to clean up everything you had used. Glancing over to Telemachus again to see his face in his hands, form crouched over and small. "Telemachus.. Don't beat yourself up so much.. Please.." Taking a seat beside him, you didn't treat him as your prince and weren't sitting down as his maid but as his childhood friend. You know you were crossing some lines; you were a servant, and you shouldn't stay longer in his chambers, let alone sit beside him on his bed. "You're an amazing person, remember that time we were kids? When I got bullied by some of the royal girls visiting? I wasn't able to defend myself because I am a mere servant; you stood up for me, telling them off, telling them how much more royal my personality was than their ugly ones." He slowly looks up at you, red and puffy eyes looking into your own. "So start thinking better of yourself alright?" Hand moving to rest on his damp cheeks, his face softly nuzzling against your hand, eyes closed.

"Thank you.." The words softly leave his mouth, before opening his eyes again to look at you. "Of course.. come here.." Opening your arms, he eased into your embrace, his own arms around your waist as his head came to rest on your shoulder. You know this was something he needed right now, a soft embrace to assure him everything was fine. "You're fine.." One hand is softly rubbing over his back, while the other one softly pats over his brown hair.

"I am.. Thanks to you." He leaves your embrace now with a smile. "I'll grow stronger for my family and you!" He has a grin on his lips now as he announces he will grow stronger. Looking over to his balcony now, you follow his gaze, gasping softly. "Woah.. An owl.. And such a pretty one at that too.." You smiled; the owl looked pretty, a light brown with a white spot, and the ends of her feathers looked like they shimmer gold in the sun. Telemachus, though, was shocked that Athena would show herself that easily and even speak to him in his head. 'I like that one, court her.' Before flying away, make you run onto the balcony to watch the owl fly away.

Telemachus quickly follows you as he watches Athena fly away, a bright red hue on his face from her words. "Oh my, you're so red! Do you have a fever?" Looking at him worried and before your hand could meet his forehead to check his temperature, he runs away laughing, yelling how his training should start now and he needs to get stronger, making you giggle and follow him, Argos quickly joining you two.

[starless-nightz]

Yay someone who writes for epic!

May I request a Athena x reader where Telemachus is close with the reader (maybe reader helped Penelope when ody was gone and he sees the reader as like an aunt) and Telemachus thinks the reader would be great for Athena and tries to set them up?

Epic! Athena being set up with Telemachus' aunt figure! reader

note -> I love this idea <3333 Disclaimer that the pictures arent mine, I am just using them for the HCs, you guys can imagine how Athena looks like since she doesnt have a specific description. ALSO PLS SOME TELEMACHUS PLATONIC REQUESTS <33

warnings -> none.

content includes -> fluff, Telemachus being a cutie pie, Athena knows whats going on and she doesnt mind it one bit, mentions of past feelings.

Telemachus has always been greatful to you for all you did for him and his mother, helping his mother raise him and protecting him from the suitors, so how else would he repay you but setting you up with his goddess friend? Especially after finding out your intrest in women

Athena immediately knew what was going on, just like his father, Telemachus was trying to set the two of you up, and this time she was actually considering it

She has met you many years ago, you two were introduced by Odysseus after he and Penelope wed, and back then she wouldnt have admit it, but she was smitten with you, and so were you

Athena knew she had feelings for you, both of you knew it, but the two of you never did anything about it, gods and mortals dont mix, she saw the way Apollo was heartbroken everytime one of his lovers died, and she did not want to go through that

So seeing now, twenty years later, the son of the same person who tried to set you two up doing the same as his father, amused you two

Your feelings for each other never really went away, you both knew it, so neither of you would mind exploring the said feelings behind Telemachus' back all while hes trying to set the two of you up

[animequeen4]

attention epic the musical fanfic writers!!!

Okay here me out… when ody returns and is being made fun of by the suitors while still in this bigger disguise yn starts fighting off the suitors and yelling at them for being rude and maybe joins ody while he is hunting them down and Telemachus has a love sick look while watching yn just like ody did for Penelope before marry her and after seeing how cool and awesome of a warrior yn is ody turns to his son and says “I aprove of this one 😏” and poor Telemachus is just like 😳

Ps if anyone turns this into a actual story please tag me I’d love to see it thank you 😊

Basically a Telemachus x reader

[divinevault]

Many requests being written, drawn and answered darlings- my sincerest apologies for the wait.

On another note, did you know I am also more than willing to write for characters that appear in Epic The Musical?

(Dramatically bows and gestures to the ask box)

If you want headcanons and scenarios of any kind with any of them- please, do feel free to ask away

[lydscare]

just saying that I write for epic: the musical here!

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 07 Chapter 07 | renewal⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

The room was quiet.

Too quiet.

The echoes of screams and steel still seemed to bounce off the walls of your mind, yet here, in the dimness of your small room, there was nothing but silence.

Your eyes stayed fixed on your hands, fingers slightly trembling, stained with sweat, dust, and the faint impression of lyre strings.

You didn't move when the knock sounded—gentle but deliberate. A pause, then another knock, more insistent.

You drew in a slow breath, closing your eyes for a brief moment before forcing yourself to rise, your legs heavy, as though the floor might swallow you whole.

The effort it took to cross the room felt monumental, each step echoing the weight of everything that had transpired.

You paused, your hand hovering over the door handle for a moment longer than necessary, your mind briefly drifting back to the sight of the great hall—blood pooling across the marble, the scent of death thick and metallic, bodies strewn in the grotesque aftermath.

The image was there for only a second before you pushed it away, burying it somewhere deep, somewhere you wouldn't have to face right now.

When you finally opened the door, Telemachus stood there, his silhouette almost blending into the dim hallway behind him.

He was covered in dried blood, dark streaks marring his skin and tunic. His face was a mask of exhaustion, shadows deepening under his eyes, yet his gaze was still sharp, still searching, as though even now he was ready to act.

His hair was disheveled, the curls sticking to his forehead, and the tightness around his mouth spoke of the strain he was under, the burden of what he had done.

You looked at him, your eyes meeting his, the question slipping out in a whisper, softer than you intended. "Is it done?"

For a moment, his gaze flickered, the exhaustion in his eyes softening to something else—something like regret or maybe understanding. He sighed, the sound heavy, like it came from the deepest part of him. "It's done," he said, his voice low, almost reverent.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips before you could stop it, your shoulders loosening slightly as the tension began to ebb away.

Though you understood this was the way things had to go, that this was the consequence of the suitors' actions, you couldn't help but feel the fragility of it all—how fleeting human life truly was.

One moment these men had been laughing, feasting, vying for a throne they did not deserve, and the next... nothing.

The silence of the great hall, the emptiness of death—it was stark, final.

You blinked, focusing back on Telemachus, and the memory of his actions flashed in your mind—the way, as soon as the massacre had ended, he had found you.

The hall had still been filled with death, the scent of blood thick in the air, yet he had been at your side, his hands gentle as he guided you away.

You remembered the way his voice had dropped to a whisper, his lips brushing against your ear as he urged you to close your eyes. "Don't look," he had said, his tone soft, a stark contrast to the lethal determination he had shown only moments before.

He had shielded you, turned your head away from the sight of the fallen, ushering you from that room of death with a tenderness that felt almost out of place, but deeply needed.

The memory lingered, his presence a stark contrast to the carnage left behind. His hand had been warm, steady, a lifeline amidst the chaos.

The blood on his skin had smeared onto yours, a reminder of what had happened, but in that moment, all you could feel was his warmth, his reassurance.

He had spoken to you softly, his breath brushing against your temple as he murmured that it was over, that you were safe now.

Safe.

It was such a fragile word, yet in that moment, with Telemachus by your side, you almost believed it.

"____," Telemachus said softly, your name pulling you out of your thoughts. Your eyes snapped up, meeting his, and you saw the concern etched into his features, the way his brow furrowed slightly as he watched you.

"I wanted to let you know what's happened since... since you left the hall," he began, his voice still carrying that edge of exhaustion, but also something warmer, a gentleness reserved just for you. "Father's first priority was to cleanse the palace. Both spiritually and physically." His eyes darkened slightly, his gaze drifting for a moment, as if recalling the grim work. "He commanded that the hall be purified, that the bodies of the suitors be cleared. He wanted everything cleansed—the stench, the memory. He demanded that it be done immediately."

He paused, his eyes searching yours, and you could see the weight of his next words in the way he hesitated. "He ordered the disloyal maidservants to do it. The ones who... entertained the suitors. It was their punishment." He swallowed, his jaw tightening. "They carried out the task, clearing the bodies, scrubbing the blood. It was... not easy to watch."

You nodded slowly, your heart sinking. A part of you felt for them, for the horror of what they had been forced to witness and do.

Yet, you understood. Their betrayal had run deep, and the punishment, harsh as it was, felt just.

Balance had to be restored, even if it came at a heavy cost.

Telemachus must have seen the conflict in your eyes because he offered you a tired smile, a small attempt to lighten the mood. "But... not everything has been grim," he said, his voice softening, a spark of warmth returning to his gaze. "Father reunited with Mother."

Your breath caught, your eyes widening as a soft gasp escaped your lips. "Truly?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, your eyes shining with sudden hope. "The queen knows?"

Telemachus nodded, his smile growing. "Yes. She knows. It took some convincing, of course." He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "Mother was cautious, uncertain. After all that she endured—the lies, the suitors' deceptions—she needed proof. She tested him." He paused, his eyes meeting yours, his expression softening further. "She asked Eurycleia to move their bed out of the room. The bed that Father built himself. The one that can't be moved because one of its posts is a living olive tree."

You watched him, your heart swelling as warmth began to spread through your chest, pushing away the lingering shadows.

Telemachus continued, his voice filled with quiet pride. "Father's reaction was... passionate. He was indignant, even, that anyone would think the bed could be moved. That reaction was all the proof Mother needed. She knew then that it was truly him."

A smile tugged at your lips, and you let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. The thought of your queen, finally at peace, her long years of waiting rewarded—it filled you with something close to joy.

After everything, after all the heartache and fear, she had her husband back.

Ithaca had its king, and Penelope had her Odysseus.

"I'm so glad," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly with emotion. "She deserves this. They both do."

Telemachus nodded, his gaze softening as he looked at you. "We all deserve a little peace," he said quietly, and for a moment, the weight of everything seemed to lift, the heaviness replaced by something gentler, something hopeful.

But then, his expression turned grave, and he looked away from you for a second, his eyes darkening as if he were gathering his thoughts. Telemachus drew in a slow breath before speaking, his voice lower, almost hesitant. "There's... another thing I wanted—needed to tell you," he began, his gaze flickering back to meet yours, the seriousness in his eyes unmistakable.

You felt your stomach tighten, the sense of foreboding settling like a stone in your chest.

"Father decided that cleaning the hall and purging the memory of the suitors wasn't enough," he continued, each word heavy, deliberate. "Those who were disloyal to our family had to face something harsher—a punishment fitting their betrayal."

You nodded slowly, understanding what he meant, your heart sinking further.

Your thoughts immediately went to Cleo—how she had seemed so certain of her choices, so defiant. You wondered how she would take it, if she had even expected this outcome.

Telemachus cleared his throat, his jaw clenching as he looked at you, his eyes searching for something—maybe understanding, maybe forgiveness. "At first, Father simply wanted them banned, expelled from Ithaca. He thought that was enough," he said, his voice carrying a hint of bitterness. "But I... I insisted that it wasn't." He swallowed, his gaze dropping to the floor, a flash of shame crossing his features. "Their betrayal was unforgivable. I felt that they needed to be held accountable in a way that truly reflected the gravity of what they had done. I... pushed for a harsher punishment."

He paused, his hands curling into fists at his sides, his face tightening with determination. "Father gave me the green light to decide. He let me take over."

You blinked, your heart suddenly racing in your chest, a cold dread washing over you.

Cleo.

Her face flashed through your mind—her smile, her laughter, the way she had nudged you with that teasing grin, the way she had spoken about living freely, without care for consequences.

Your voice came out shaky, barely above a whisper. "What... what happened to them? To Cleo?"

Telemachus' expression hardened, his gaze steady but filled with an emotion you couldn't quite name—regret, perhaps, or maybe a sense of duty fulfilled. "I ordered the disloyal women to be led outside the palace," he said, his voice devoid of any softness now. "They were executed by hanging—it was meant to reinforce the message that their betrayal had cost them their place in Ithaca." He paused, his eyes flickering away from yours, as though ashamed to meet your gaze.

Your legs suddenly felt weak, the strength draining from them as the full weight of his words hit you. You reached out, your hand grasping the doorframe for support, your knuckles turning white as you leaned into it.

Cleo... was dead?

The world seemed to blur for a moment, the edges of your vision darkening as you tried to steady your breathing. You swallowed hard, your mind reeling, unable to fully process the reality of it.

She was gone. Just like that. A life snuffed out, her laughter silenced... forever.

You closed your eyes, a shuddering breath escaping your lips as you tried to ground yourself, to find some sense of stability amidst the turmoil in your chest. The room felt as though it was closing in, the air too thick, too heavy.

Telemachus' voice broke through the haze, softer now, almost pleading. "I know it was harsh. I know. But I couldn't let it go unpunished. Not after everything." He paused, his gaze finally meeting yours again, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and conviction. "I had to do what I believed was right for Ithaca. For my family."

You nodded faintly, not trusting yourself to speak, your throat tight with emotion. You understood, on some level, why he had done it. But that understanding didn't make the pain any less real, any less sharp.

"I'm sorry, ____" Telemachus whispered, his voice cracking slightly. "I'm so sorry." he reached out, his hand gently brushing against your arm, but then he pulled away, as if unsure of whether he should offer comfort or remain distant.

You took a shaky breath, swallowing down the hurt that rose within you. It was painful, the realization that someone who had once laughed by your side, who had shared moments of friendship, was gone.

But still, you forced yourself to take a step toward the prince, your legs feeling heavy as though each movement took all of your strength.

A wobbly smile pulled at your lips as you looked up at him, tears swimming in your eyes, blurring your vision just a little.

Your hand shot out, quick and instinctive, wrapping around his before he could pull away entirely.

The warmth of his skin grounded you, your fingers trembling as they closed around his.

"It's... it's okay," you croaked out, the words shaky but sincere. You paused, clearing your throat, trying to steady your voice. "I understand why you did what you had to do. There is no excuse for the betrayal they committed... not after everything Queen Penelope endured, all the kindness she still showed even in her darkest times."

You watched as Telemachus' face slowly began to untighten, the tension in his features easing.

His shoulders sagged slightly, the weight he carried seeming to lessen, even if just for a moment. He fully grasped your hand now, his fingers interlocking with yours, and he stared at you, his eyes filled with both sorrow and gratitude.

You continued, your voice softening, trailing off with a sigh. "The only thing I am truly sad about... is Cleo. Her decisions, the way she chose to live—it wasn't supposed to end like this." You closed your eyes for a brief moment, shaking your head slowly, trying to push away the image of her face.

When you opened your eyes again, you squared your shoulders, squeezing Telemachus' hand a bit tighter. "But I understand, my prince. I do." You forced yourself to smile again, hoping that it might bring him some comfort, even if it couldn't heal the wounds entirely. "We move forward from here, as we must."

Telemachus' gaze softened, and he nodded, his eyes glistening with a mixture of emotions. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze in return, his voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you. I... I needed to hear that." His eyes searched your face, as if trying to gauge whether you were alright, whether you could handle what came next.

You swallowed, offering him a small nod, though the words you wanted to say felt caught in your throat, tangled with all the emotions you didn't know how to express.

He nodded back, a hint of a weary smile tugging at his lips. "We have much to do," he said, his voice a little stronger now, a little more like the Telemachus you knew—the one who had always looked forward, even when the weight of the world tried to hold him down.

And you knew he was right.

The massacre was over, but the real work was just beginning.

☆

☆

Side by side, you walked through the palace corridors, the silence between you both as heavy as the air that hung in the aftermath of all that had happened. The long hallway to the throne room seemed endless, each step echoing faintly against the cold stone floors.

The few servants who passed by moved with downcast eyes and hushed footsteps, their presence almost ghostly. You counted only one or two every other minute, each one looking tired and burdened by the knowledge of the events that had taken place.

Your eyes flickered to Telemachus, a worried frown pulling at your brows; you couldn't help but voice the fear gnawing at your chest as you stared up at him. "Were we truly betrayed by so many?"

Telemachus let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly, the weariness evident in the lines of his face. "Yes," he admitted, his tone thick with exhaustion. "There were more than we imagined... We'll have to find new servants, people we can trust, but until then... we'll manage."

Your lips pressed together, your brow furrowing even further at his words. You could see the strain etched across his features, the weight of what lay ahead already pressing down on him.

Without thinking, you blurted out, "Maybe we can start by training some of the sheep to carry trays—at least they're loyal."

Telemachus blinked, a look of confusion crossing his face before he realized you were joking. A surprised laugh escaped him, sudden and unguarded, his eyes widening slightly as he shook his head. "That's horrible," he muttered, though the corner of his mouth lifted into a reluctant smile.

You giggled, a small sense of triumph bubbling up within you at the sight of his smile. There was a pep in your step now, pride welling up inside you for managing to lighten his burden, if only for a second. "Horrible, maybe," you said playfully, "but it made you laugh, didn't it?"

Telemachus shook his head again, the smile lingering on his lips as he glanced at you, the weariness in his eyes softening just a bit.

The two of you continued on, the throne room drawing nearer with each step.

As you rounded the corner, the grand doors to the throne room came into view. Telemachus paused, reaching out to push one of the heavy doors open, his other arm extending just slightly for you to slip through first.

You met his eyes, offering him a soft smile as you whispered, "Thank you." You slipped under his arm, stepping into the room, with Telemachus following close behind.

The moment you entered, both of you froze at the scene before you.

In the center of the throne room, instead of the two royal seats occupied by separate figures, there was a single, intimate silhouette—Odysseus and Penelope, wrapped in each other's arms, oblivious to the grandeur surrounding them.

They stood at the heart of the space, a quiet monument to love and endurance.

Penelope's arms rested around Odysseus' shoulders, her hands gently tracing the back of his neck, as if grounding herself, ensuring he was real.

She looked down at him with a softness in her gaze that betrayed years of longing, a gaze only two people who had known both separation and deep love could share.

Her dark hair cascaded down her back, catching hints of the sun's warmth, and her face, usually guarded and composed, was now tender, her lips parted in a silent reverence.

Odysseus, in turn, gazed up at her with an expression that was almost childlike in its vulnerability.

The lines of hardship and the sharpness of war softened in his face as he looked at his wife, his hand lifting to trace the curve of her cheek with a gentle reverence. His thumb brushed just below her eye, a touch so light it seemed almost as if he feared she might vanish if he pressed too hard.

There was a tenderness in his eyes, a deep, unwavering devotion that spoke of both gratitude and relief—relief that, against all odds, he had returned to her, that this moment, once only a distant hope, was finally real.

As he traced her face, his hand slid up to cup her cheek, and she leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed as if savoring the warmth of his palm. She tilted her head down, pressing her forehead to his, her lips curling in a gentle, almost shy smile, one that held years of love, longing, and relief

They didn't need words. The silence between them was rich and full, a communion that transcended speech, filled only by the gentle cadence of their breathing and the slow, rhythmic beat of their hearts.

Their love, once tested by time, loss, and separation, had returned to bloom, stronger and more resilient than ever.

The throne room itself seemed to share in their reunion.

The sunlight bathed the scene in a warm, golden hue, illuminating the lovers as if blessing them.

The once cold stone of the palace was now softened by the light, casting an ethereal glow that made everything feel otherworldly, almost enchanted.

The columns, the high vaulted ceiling, even the shadows themselves seemed to embrace the moment, framing the couple in a warm, protective cocoon.

You and Telemachus found yourselves hesitating at the threshold, not wanting to break the spell that enveloped them.

Telemachus' hand lingered on the door, his gaze fixed on his parents. His expression was a mixture of awe and deep, unspoken emotion.

His mother and father, finally reunited, had become more than parents or rulers in this moment—they were a testament to everything he had fought for, a symbol of everything that made this kingdom worth saving.

For a moment, the two of you simply watched, the light and peace of the room seeping into your souls.

The throne room was empty, yes, but it was fuller than it had ever been—filled with the presence of those who had returned, with the love that had endured, and with the hope of a new beginning.

The peace in the room seemed timeless, untouched by the world's sorrows, as though the gods themselves had blessed this moment, wrapping the long-awaited lovers in a warmth that was both eternal and fragile, like a dream finally brought to life.

Odysseus, sensing his son's presence, turned his head slightly, a soft smile forming on his lips as he said, "Hello, Telemachus. Hello to you as well. ____."

But even as he acknowledged his son and you, he didn't release Penelope. He held her closer, as though anchoring himself in her warmth, her solidity, as if reassuring himself that she was no figment of his imagination.

His other hand moved to the small of her back, drawing her just a fraction closer, and Penelope straightened to face you and Telemachus, her arm still wrapped around her love. Her gaze was tender, her eyes shimmering with both joy and a vulnerability rarely seen.

Penelope's lips curved into a smile, and she reached out with her free hand, her voice soft and filled with affection. "My son," she said.

Telemachus took a step forward, his movements almost hesitant, his steps jittery as though he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

When he finally reached his parents, both Odysseus and Penelope wrapped him up in their arms, pulling him close, holding him securely between them.

You watched, feeling your heart swell with warmth. Your eyes shimmered, tears blurring your vision as you placed your hands over your chest, as if to hold in the feeling of love and relief that threatened to overflow.

For a moment, it was as if Telemachus was a child again—sheltered between the two people who meant everything to him, the tensions of the past few days melting away as this family was finally reunited.

The sight brought a small smile to your face, and you could almost feel the weight of all the fears and worries lifting. The image before you was something sacred—something that spoke to hope, to love that could endure the worst of trials.

Penelope turned her head, her eyes catching yours as her smile widened. She waved at you gently, her voice inviting, "Come here, dear."

You blinked, a bit taken aback, your brows rising as you stuttered, "M-Me?"

A soft chuckle escaped both Penelope and Odysseus. Odysseus nodded, his gaze warm. "Of course. Penelope has told me all about you," he said, his voice full of appreciation. "You played a vital role in keeping our kingdom alive. You have our deepest gratitude."

Swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat, you nodded, feeling a rush of warmth and something akin to disbelief. Softly, you began to walk up the steps toward the royal family, your steps shaky, your heart racing.

When you reached them, Telemachus looked at you with that warm, familiar smile that never failed to calm your nerves. He gently reached out, grabbing your hand.

You let out a small yelp of surprise as he pulled you forward, drawing you into the embrace.

Suddenly, you were wrapped in warmth—surrounded by Penelope, Odysseus, and Telemachus.

It was overwhelming in the best possible way, the love and warmth pressing in on you from all sides.

You could feel Penelope's arm resting gently against your back, Odysseus' sturdy presence beside you, and Telemachus' hand squeezing yours.

Your heart raced in your chest, and you could feel tears stinging your eyes again, but this time, they were tears of happiness.

For a moment, everything felt perfect—like all the pain, the uncertainty, the fear, had been worth it just to be here, embraced by the people who had fought so hard for this peace.

Your chest tightened, filled with hope, warmth, and love.

It was a family reunited, and though you were not born into it, in this moment, you felt as though you belonged.

For once, there was no distance between you and those you stood beside—you were part of something larger, something enduring, and it filled your heart with a sense of quiet joy.

Slowly, the embrace broke.

Penelope and Odysseus still held each other, their arms wound tightly as though unwilling to let go even for a second, while you found yourself standing beside Telemachus, his presence comforting by your side.

Odysseus then turned, his gaze sweeping the room, pausing for a moment on each face—Penelope's steadfast gaze, Telemachus' thoughtful expression, and even your own, as if pulling strength from those who had stood beside him.

He drew in a breath, the tension in the air palpable. "My dear family, and you, who have been loyal to us through everything," he began, his voice rich with emotion, "our journey has been long and arduous, filled with trials I would not wish on anyone. Ithaca has suffered in my absence. Our people have faced uncertainty, hardship, and loss."

You saw Penelope's expression darken, her brow furrowing as those memories returned—the suitors, the constant manipulation, the feeling of being cornered.

Telemachus, too, looked down for a moment, his eyes clouding with thoughts of the years without his father, the struggles, the moments when hope had seemed lost.

"But," Odysseus continued, his voice rising above the weight of the past, "we are here now. We have survived, and we will rebuild." He looked to Penelope, his gaze softening. "Together, we will heal these wounds. I will not let Ithaca remain broken, not when it has so much potential for prosperity."

There was a conviction in his voice, the kind that left no room for doubt. The people deserved a leader who not only defended them from threats but also ensured their prosperity.

And he wanted to give them that.

You could hear the weight of his words, each one resonating with a sense of duty. He was not merely concerned with power; Odysseus was a protector, a man who saw his kingdom not as territory, but as people who needed him.

He then turned to Telemachus, his gaze softening, the fire in his eyes shifting to something more paternal, more tender. "Telemachus," he addressed, "As the rightful heir to Ithaca, you have much to learn. The road won't be easy, but together we can restore Ithaca to what it should be," he added, his voice laced with both challenge and hope. "Are you ready for what lay ahead?"

You watched as Telemachus listened, his face serious, his eyes reflecting the weight of his father's expectations. There was no hesitation, no hint of the boy who had once doubted himself.

Instead, you saw a young man who had faced darkness, who had seen the price of weakness and betrayal, and who had emerged with a stronger will.

Telemachus seemed to stand a little taller before his father, his posture straightening, his eyes meeting Odysseus' with newfound strength and understanding. "I understand, Father. I am ready," he replied, his voice steady, a glimmer of something resolved in his eyes. "I have waited for this my whole life—to learn, to be worthy of this kingdom, and of you."

You could see the resolve in his eyes, the promise he silently made to both his father and himself.

The trials of the past days had forged him into someone who understood the cost of leadership—the sacrifices that must be made, the difficult choices that lay ahead, and the burden of carrying the hopes of others on his shoulders.

Odysseus smiled, a warmth crossing his features that was rare in the years of battle. He stepped forward, his free hand reaching out to rest on his son's shoulder. "Telemachus, you have already proven yourself worthy. What remains is for us to build this future, side by side. It will be hard—harder still than what we have faced—but I believe in you. I believe in us."

You watched as Penelope closed her eyes for a moment, as if to absorb the strength of Odysseus' words, her lips curving into a faint smile. She reached her hand out to her son, her fingers brushing against his arm. "Telemachus, Ithaca is as much yours as it is ours," she said, her voice filled with both love and a gentle seriousness. "This is your future too."

Telemachus nodded, his chest rising as he took in a deep breath. Then he turned, looking down at you standing beside him. His eyes were kind but tinged with uncertainty, and you could see the vulnerability beneath that mask of resolve. "We have all had to make sacrifices," he said softly, his words directed towards you. "And you—you've been with us, helped us more than you know."

You felt a warmth spread through your chest, your heart pounding at the sincerity in his voice.

The royal family—Odysseus, Penelope, and Telemachus—were not just rulers, not just legends. They were a family bound by love, by their trials, and by the quiet promise of better days ahead.

You gave Telemachus a small nod, your eyes meeting his. "I am honored to serve," you managed, though your voice was barely a whisper.

Penelope's eyes glistened with unshed tears, her hand tightening around her husband's arm. "We have waited so long for this day," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "And now that you are here, I know we can do it—together."

Then, Odysseus' eyes softened as he turned to his wife, his smile growing warmer. "Now, Penelope, prepare a feast—a gathering not for celebration, but for remembrance and hope. It is time to honor those who have been lost, those who fought for Ithaca, and to mark the beginning of a new era."

Penelope smiled, a soft, knowing expression crossing her face. "Of course, my love," she said, her voice gentle, filled with both relief and affection. She glanced towards Telemachus, who in turn looked towards you, his eyes lighting up with an idea.

"Perhaps you could play for us," Telemachus suggested, his gaze resting on you, a hint of encouragement in his expression. His mother immediately nodded, her eyes sparkling in agreement. "Yes, please do. It would bring such warmth to the gathering," Penelope added, her voice sincere.

You felt Odysseus' eyes cut to you, his gaze evaluating for a brief moment before softening. "I have encountered many in my travels," he began, his voice carrying the weight of experience, “but I do not think I have ever heard one play or sing a tune as sweetly as you." His compliment was genuine, his eyes holding yours as though to impress upon you the depth of his words.

Heat rose to your face, and you bowed your head slightly, a warm smile spreading across your lips. "Thank you, my king," you replied, your voice filled with pride. "I would be honored to play."

With that, the conversation shifted towards preparations, the room slowly filling with a sense of purpose.

You found yourself standing beside Telemachus once more, his hand briefly brushing against yours as you both turned to follow his parents. A small smile played on your lips as you looked towards the future—one that, for the first time in a long while, felt hopeful and bright.

A/N: alright, first arc done/building up the romance between telemachus, now onto two our nextn contestants. hm, should it be apollo or hermes? or should i leave apollo last to meet???; also, how do you guys like my newest fic, 'godly things?' i'm trying my hand at tackling a more softer mc, so i hope i make her empathetic/not too apathetic like makima from the kne one lololo.

[fatal-thoughts]

Anon here requesting a part 2 to the recent Telemachus fic. Please 🙏

(Btw- I adore your writing style! Gonna binge your fics later ^^)

Aw, tysm! A lot of yall really want a part 2 so here you go, my loves.

A Lovely Exchange P 2

P1 here

Telemachus x Reader

Synopsis: Telemachus already fights off his mother’s suitors, but what if he manages to become one? To… one of the palace’s servants?

A/N: Ya'll are hilarious in the comments of part 1, dw I hear ya'll I hear y'all loud and clear. Also, don't be shy to send me asks and even suggestions, I don't mind^^

“You like her, don’t you, son?”

Wait… WHAT??

HOW DID SHE KNOW?

Was it that obvious? 

WAIT! I DIDN’T KNOW!—

Telemachus was breaking in a cold sweat, his fists shaking as he maintained his eye contact with the ground, not wanting to face his mother.

“I-I…”

‘This is fine, this is fine! Everything will be fine. Just—just lie, right? That seems easy enough…’

He takes a deep breath.

“I… do…”

Athena he has said this once and he shall say it again, please come to his aid.

Penelope’s eyes light up upon hearing that. 

Telemachus was holding his breath so much you’d think he was about to pass out. Thankfully, his mother spoke before he turned blue.

“Good, I always knew you had the eyes for her. Honestly, son, I was just waiting for you to tell me! I always wondered why you’d often avoid Y/n, she is always so sweet and kind—mostly the reason why I favour her so much. Then I realised that's why you were avoiding her. You liked her! How adorable.”

Telemachus took a few good seconds (or more) to process his mother’s words.

Seriously? She KNEW?

And she didn’t SAY ANYTHING?

Well shit, he didn’t know he was that obvious. She could’ve spared him the embarrassment on that one but alright.

“Mom, you knew? This entire time? You KNEW?”

Telemachus asked, standing up and going through a crisis right in front of his mother. Penelope nodded with a sweet smile on her blissful face.

“Why did you not say anything?”

“I wanted to see for myself of course. And the way you spoke to Y/n earlier just proved it.”

Fuuuck he was so AWKWARD WHEN HE SPOKE TO Y/N.

Athena can turn back time, right? She's a goddess so she’s definitely capable of that right? Or maybe he can make a deal with another god just so that Y/n can forget that Telemachus ever existed.

God, he wanted to pass out so badly!!

“It’s alright son, Y/n is more than suitable to be your partner! Speaking of which, look at how beautiful the roses have blossomed this day. You sure chose a lovely girl to court, do you think this is her favourite flower? Or Is it daisies? ”

Penelope sounded so blissfully unaware as she put her hands together, excited with the idea of Telemachus and Y/n together.

“Mom! Please! I’m not even able to speak to her in complete sentences yet! Let alone be her partner right now! Y/n is…”

“Yes, my prince?”

A serene voice called out.

Telemachus froze like ice. 

His mother on the other hand immediately got up on her feet as she approached the voice.

“Y/n! Just in time, my dear. We were just talking about you.”

…Shit.

Having heard your name be called out from a distance, you decided to see where all the commotion was coming from. Soon enough, you found yourself being approached by the Queen and a very… conflicted looking Telemachus.

Did he tell his mother about what happened earlier? Is he still nervous? Why did he look so… red?

Your thoughts were put on hold as you saw Queen Penelope in front of you.

“Did you need anything, my Queen?”

You asked her, her gaze mischievously shifting from you to Telemachus for a split second.

“My son and I were just speaking of your beautiful work in the garden, my dear. You’ve outdone yourself Y/n.”

Telemachus nodded in agreement, an offputting smile on his lips and a pink hue returning to his cheeks and migrating into his ears, which he tried to hide under his hair. 

It was no surprise the flowers you grew were quite a wonderful bunch. Your father used to be the palace gardener and in his spare time, he’d teach you all of his tricks on how to take care of flowers of all kinds. And since his retirement, you unsurprisingly took over.

Hearing the Queen’s praise warmed your heart.

“In fact, you have done so well that Telemachus would love to thank you with a quaint little dinner with him! A lovely exchange isn’t it?”

A dinner? With the prince? How sweet of him, perhaps he does like you a little bit. It doesn’t explain why he’s looking at Queen Penelope in disbelief like she just betrayed him.

Because she did.

He just said that he still couldn’t talk to her in coherent sentences.

And she sets him up with her, on a date, alone, just the two of them.

This is it, he couldn’t believe it.

His mother, his own mother, wants to kill him.

There was no other explanation as to why she would EVER suggest this.

Except if she wanted to actually kill him.

“Telemachus!”

Penelope called out to him, snapping him out of his daze. He fixes from looking at her back to you, with a genuine little smile at him.

“It’s settled then, yes? You will mar—I mean, dine with Y/n tonight correct?”

The boy managed to let out an awkward and voice-cracked “Yes’.

Penelope couldn’t hide her smile at the two as she put her hands on your shoulders.

“Wonderful, You’d be a delightful daughter-in-law!”

You quickly turn your head towards her, daughter-in-law. Is she ensuing…

Meanwhile, Telemachus was for sure about to give in on his own knees.

“I mean—oh well, we shall prepare for your upcoming date now. Come along Telemachus! We have much to discuss! As for you, Y/n, I shall have a tailor for your clothes shortly. We have a special dinner to prepare!”

Penelope moves with a quick pace, dragging Telemachus by his arm which was soon to break from her force.

“AH! Mom! I almost tripped!”

“One must endure slight pain when they are in love, my son.”

“I could’ve gone limp!”

“Same thing, Telemachus. Come along now! We have much to discuss.”

It was a bit confusing, but nonetheless, the exchange brought a sweet smile to your face.

Perhaps Telemachus is a sweetheart.

Sorry if it was a bit rushed, I wanted to work on other one-shots for a bit.

(Aka I'm writing a dark romance Antinous x Reader one-shot since that man has been in my head for so long now and I need to feed my delusions)

Don't expect a part 3 to this btw, I have other fics to write.

(Like the Antinous one, I swear please just let me get this one-shot out PLEASE)

Anyway, hope you liked this one.

-Fatal-thoughts

[lotus-acid-trip]

EPIC THE MUSICAL MASTERLIST

“I approve of this one.” [Telemachus x Reader] -oneshot-fluff-

[kupidachillea]

KUPID!! GIVE US MORE TELEMACHUS HCS!! AND MY LIFE!!! IS YOURS!!!!!

Hear me out, Tele boy x reader who stands up for him n stuff ⁉️ she's definitely the fighter of the 2. Probably has had to defend him against antinous before. Maybe?👁

Telemachus x Fem!Reader Hcs (Romantic)

Author note: Thank you for the request! I tried to do this justice. I’m still getting use to writing and all this but I hope you and everyone else enjoys!

Trigger warning ⚠️ : Mentions of fighting (to the best of my ability to write), violence, Antinöus being a jerk, slight mention of blood and broken limbs, but fluff is definitely apart of this.

🕯️- It’s no lie that you love Telemachus, everyone can tell. You both are courting after all. There is nothing that can separate you both. You’re just too tightly knit together.

🏵️- Telemachus loves you dearly too..he sees a future with you. To him, you’re a blessing from the gods..and maybe you are. You’re always standing up for him, taking care of him as if you were the one ‘wearing the pants’ in the relationship.

🕯️- The prince obviously didn’t mind this; and most didn’t bat an eye(not too much anyway).

🏵️-The only person that seemed to give a damn and have problem was Antinöus…He’d tease and taunt Telemachus about how he’s letting a woman do a “Man’s job”. He was always saying how shameful it was for you to be defending the prince and how he could cut you down to size if he so choose.

🕯️- Telemachus didn’t appreciate the other man’s words at all. Often telling him to watch his tone or else. This would make the other male grin and get up in his face- going as far as to grab the prince by his chiton.

🏵️- You happened to walk in on one such encounter and you felt your blood boil at the sight of Antinöus grabbing Telemachus like that.

🕯️-You watched for a few seconds as the prince and Antinöus got into a little fight, clawing at each other and landing blows. Until you finally decided to step in, already having enough of the other man picking on your partner.

🏵️- You didn’t say anything as you grasped the nearest object you hands could get on- in this case a bronze tray, and you took it and hit Antinöus over the head with it.

🕯️- This caused both men to freeze up- but not for long as Antinöus stood to his feet and glared down at you. Clenching his hands into fists as he threatened to sock you right there..and he would’ve if it weren’t for the fact you beat him to it.

🏵️- He cursed loudly and Telemachus’ eyes widened as you shook your hand of the pain. “You disrespectful wench!! I’ll kill you!” He hissed as he felt his nose, blood flowing from it while you chuckled, though your own fist was in pain.

🕯️- Before things got worse- Telemachus had rushed over and made sure you were at a safe distance away from the bleeding man, his eyes filled with anger as he shoved Antinöus. “I don’t ever want to hear you speak about my partner that way again, do you understand?” He didn’t wait fir an answer before having his escorted out of the room..Antinöus giving you both a lingering glare as he cursed under his breath once more.

🕯️~🏵️~🕯️~🏵️~🕯️~🏵️~🕯️~🏵️~🕯️~🏵️~🕯️~🏵️~🕯️~🏵️~🕯️~🏵️~🕯️

🏵️- That afternoon, Telemachus sat with you in his room tending to your hand that clearly got a bit fractured from when you punched Antinöus…

🕯️- He sighed while you sat there with a smile. “I could’ve handled that, y’know?” You told him and he gave you a slight look of doubt..he didn’t doubt your ability it was more so doubting the overall outcome..

🏵️- “I know you could..but still. I had that under control, and now you’re hurt..” He spoke softly, gesturing to your hand that was slight bruised and looking a bit fragile. Your gaze softened and you would rest your head against his shoulder. “It was worth it..for you at least.” You replied, which caused a small smile to form on the prince’s lips.

🕯️- He rolled his eyes before resting his head on yours in response to your previous action of affection. “You always say that…” He mutters and you only nuzzled him in response. Eventually , Telemachus finished up bandaging your injured hand and planted a gentle kiss on your lips.

🏵️- Which you happily returned before pulling away. A bright smile on your face as you both went back to cuddling.

🕯️- To you, Telemachus was worth all the trouble..even if he wasn’t too fond of you getting hurt..you didn’t mind at all.

Author note: Eeee sorry this one took awhile, but I hope you like it. I’m posting this after my birthday lol even though I was working on and off on it during the week. Anyway! I hope you all enjoyed this. Feel free to leave a comment and reblog or even leave a request if your own. I’ll try to get around to them all.

[nockstormbringer]

Telemachus

↳ Requests are opened; headcanons only

Napping || Telemachus

↳ Telemachus with a twinsister! Reader who is a mini-Odysseus.

↳ Requested || yes/no

thank you!! ♡

[velvetydream]

First Epic fic posted! Not so sure about that one but I'll try to writer a better one for Telemachus soon! Meanwhile Imma continue working on the Hermes fic!♡