wonderingprince

[wonderingprince]

Telemakhos doesn't exactly shipwreck himself. The ship isn't a wreck. It isn't a mess of wood drifting around the sea. It's still in one piece; one piece that he guides into a rocky cove by the skin of his teeth. The goddess that is Mentor praises him for his skill and quick-thinking that has saved them. Telemakhos rubs his fingers against the rope burn on his palms and tries to pretend he isn't shaking.

They don't know where they've landed. Well, no, he doesn't, and Athena's not telling. He knows that without some kind of divine intervention along the way they can't be too far from home, but with his ship in need of repairs, the distance is almost irrelevant. When he clambers to the top of some rocky cliffs, he thinks he can see smoke, maybe even a town in the distance. Help, if he can find it, will be the quickest way to get them going again, and if not, perhaps he can at least do some hunting and find some materials as he explores.

He intends, initially, to take a few of his men along, but somehow, in the course of the discussion, Mentor makes it clear that only he is to go. Nobody dares argue with Mentor. Peiraeus shrugs and grins at him, hands him his sword and spear, and shoos him on his way.

To Telemakhos' credit, he does spot the ambush that hits him. But not in time to do anything about it; in the time it takes him to spear one man through, another has whacked him upside the head, and then he knows nothing as they carry him away.

When he opens his eyes he's greeted by the fuzzy apparition of someone who is surely a goddess. She helps him drink, her hands warm and gentle. Where is he?

Maybe a goddess, but not Athena, he thinks, when she speaks. He blinks a few times, trying to think past the throbbing ache in his head, blurred recollections coming back to him. He can't remember the ambush, can't remember fully how they came to this land, but he does remember Mentor waving him off.

There are voices and footsteps not far off. Telemakhos glances over the woman's shoulder as best he can, going still as he sees the armed men. His heart picks up alarming speed as the reality of the situation kicks in. He can taste blood in the back of his throat.

He knows his men will come looking for him eventually---- if Mentor does not stop them. Athena was the one who had sent him alone, after all. But how long has he been dead to the world? He could be too far for help to be coming any time soon. Better not count on it.

He looks back to the woman kneeling next to him. She looks young, and well-cared for, and her clothes speak of wealth. Probably not a goddess, he thinks, on a second assessment, though you never know.

Where am I? he wants to ask, but the question seems like a waste of what could be valuable time.

She sounds so determined. "Do you have a plan?" he asks, his voice just as quiet in return.

@wonderingprince

There's a dream Nausikaa has. A daydream, really. That when the suffering in Scheria reaches its worst, and they can't bear it any longer, Odysseus will return. You sacrificed so much to return me to my home, he'll tell her father. I've come to repay all your kindness. And to her he will say, I prayed to you as a goddess, just as I promised. Now let me take care of you.

If he were ever to come back, this would be the time.

She still has Lykaste and Xantho with her. Chloris, the youngest of her handmaidens and fastest in footraces, she ordered to run once she realized what was happening. "Call the dogs. Khrysos and Argyre are the best trackers, and Abrasax will tear apart anyone who touches me—If you forget, my brothers will know."

Near tears, Chloris protested, "You're always telling us not to run away."

Nausikaa squeezed her hand. "And now I'm telling you to be as swift as you can. Go!"

They all ran, but as she'd guessed, only Chloris was fast enough to slip away. Nausikaa is still thinking hard on how to take care of the other two girls. If the immortal dogs do not come, if they get bored waiting for her father's ransom, or decide it isn't enough for all three... Her eyes track the sun steadily westward, and her dread grows.

She hasn't yet figured out how many the bandits are altogether. They keep splitting off into twos and threes, leaving a few behind to guard the camp. Then they trickle back: five, seven, ten. When the last group returns, they don't come empty-handed.

"A good catch today, lads!"

A stab of fear goes through her that the limp body carried into the camp is Chloris. But the shape is a young man's. The next instant she imagines it to be one of her brothers, come searching for her. If they left before Chloris arrived, they could be caught unprepared—

They drop him quite near the stake where the girls are tied. Just out of arm's reach of Nausikaa, if her hands weren't bound. She cranes for a better glimpse. It's a horrible relief, but he doesn't look like her brothers at all, though his face is hidden.

The leader of the bandits, or at least the one most likely to make decisions, asks, "How hard did you hit him? Is he dead?"

The man who dumped the body on his side, face in the dirt, casually kicks him onto his back. Nausikaa cries out.

"Don't, please!" The man gives her a dismissive look. Heart in her throat, Nausikaa says, "I can tend to him. Will you let me help him?"

Lykaste makes a soft protesting noise, far too late. The leader watches Nausikaa thoughtfully. She said it without knowing exactly what she's offered to do, or if there is something, and she's sure he can tell. Eventually, though, he shrugs. "There may be life in him yet. See what she can get out of him."

They cut her bonds more readily than she hoped, giving her use of her hands again. She tries not to rub her raw wrists while she gets an unnecessary warning; with the other two still bound together and to her ankles, she couldn't run. Without a blade of her own, it would take too long to untie them to go unnoticed. Keeping low to the sandy ground, Nausikaa moves closer to the young man. With her she brings the kylix the girls have been given to drink from. She leans over him, holding her breath as if that will make it easier to tell if he's—

His chest rises and falls. He's alive.

Fighting her shyness, she moves fine brown hair out of his face with the tips of her fingers. It's a face she has never seen it before in her life.

And yet...

Feeling urgent now, she dips her hands in the kylix and sprinkles water his face, little by little, until his eyes flutter open.

Nausikaa lets out a slow breath. "It's all right. You're all right—Here."

Scooping more water, she brings one cupped hand to his lips. The other she slides under his head, lifting it enough to drink. She doesn't know what else to feel for—The lump of a bruise? Blood?

She sneaks a glance over her shoulder. The bandits are going through his things, uninterested in him or her for the moment.

"Listen to me carefully." Her voice is quiet and musical. "You are in great danger, but I'm a friend. I'll take care of you."

[wonderingprince]

constantly losing the battle of having time & muse & energy this week

[wonderingprince]

in terms of post-canon marriage, i'm not particularly attached to whether telemakhos marries polycaste or nausicaa. i do default to polycaste, just because he's actually had the chance to meet her in canon, and also because of peisistratus ----- because i have this image in my mind of the two siblings bickering over telemakhos, and polycaste being a practical, sensible sort of person who is like, well i will marry him and you can come and visit him whenever you want :)

but nausicaa has a lot of potential for cute ship too because them meeting? either odysseus takes telemakhos to scheria or maybe telemakhos visits there on his post-canon journeys with athena and meets her? either way it has potential

[wonderingprince]

There is nobody who knows better what his mother has suffered and struggled and survived than Telemakhos. Perhaps he's only fully understood the entirety of it recently, and he knows his mother did her best to shield him from the worst of it---- but Telemakhos had grown up, somewhere in the middle of it all.

"My mother might as well be a goddess, for what she has endured." His mother's strength is all he's ever known. The only example he's ever had to follow. To have someone else to rely on is a strange adjustment for the both of them. 

"She never doubted you," he says, turning more now, looking fully towards his father, determined. As if this is the most important thing he could make him understand. "And she never let me doubt you either."

Unspoken there is the truth that he had, of course, doubted. In his frustration, and desperation, and ignorance, he had doubted. He wishes he could claim otherwise.

But he doesn't drop his gaze in shame; just watches.

This startles him, for some reason. Perhaps because he was thinking of his failures, not where he is now. If he can believe that he is here, now.

"Ah—good answer." Odysseus' throat is tight. He covers his mouth with his free hand until he's more certain of his voice.

"The gods have not always favored me." And how much time has he wasted resenting it? In truth, he doesn't know what else he could have done with the time; on Ogygia, where he hated them most, there was nowhere to go, no priest to offer sacrifices on his behalf if he had asked for it. And yet, and yet.

"But they watched over you when I could not. For that, I will be grateful for the rest of my life."

He dips his chin and smiles, real but very brief. "The gods and your mother, that is." The dangers Penelope has fielded on Telemakhos' behalf are much on his mind.

[wonderingprince]

"My parents died when I was a baby," he explains, matter-of-fact. People never know what to say to that, in this world with such low mortality rates, but Ben doesn't hold it as some secret just because it might make people uncomfortable.

He wonders sometimes if it would have been harder, if they hadn't died, if he'd had living, breathing people to compete against his memories of Penelope and Odysseus for his affection. Would he have told them, where he hasn't told his grandparents? Or would it have caused a rift in this theoretical family? 

He had grandparents he loved dearly before; he has grandparents now. Nothing had made up for the lack of his father the first time around, and he'd at least had his mother then. Now he misses them both with a deep and fierce yearning.

The advice the stranger offers is almost generic, and yet there's something more in it, for all that. Most advice he gets boils down to seeking out wealth or glory. But this, it's almost a reminder.

"I suppose the straight path wouldn't make for good storytelling, or songs," Ben says, almost knowingly.

"Were you raised by your grandparents?" The last living grandfather he remembers took him up into Parnassos and let him nearly get gored on a boar's tusk, so he can't corroborate on worry. Nor is his question completely idle.

He still thinks of Laërtes and Antikleia as his parents. Consequently, he does not really think of himself as an orphan, though he can't say he never did. In the part of his life before he knew. Now that feels more like another life than the first one—which makes him, maybe, a former orphan. And how many people can say that?

He wouldn't even describe it as an affinity, but there is—interest.

"The straight path isn't the only one worth taking. If you have choices."

[wonderingprince]

The answer is more poetic than Telemakhos has ever managed, and he can't help but find himself agreeing. His agreement is a laugh, and he folds himself down onto the grass nearby. He is relieved that the other man hasn't taken offense; he has no idea how enmity works in Elysium, and he has no desire to find out. 

The question makes him consider, for the first time, that not everyone does meet family here. Telemakhos has always had his father's legacy stretching over him; his mother's heroics had been an example to him throughout his childhood. He had taken it as obvious that if he was here, his parents must be too.

He has time now to wonder if his children, or grandchildren, will achieve Elysium. The world had changed so much since his youth. It will change even more before his descendants are old.

But Telemakhos does not torture himself with those questions. Indeed, it's easier here, than in the mortal world, to push those worries away.

"My parents, yes. Others I never even met in life. Perhaps that's why I struck out on my own for a while; I'm not used to such large groups. I retired to the hills, like my father and grandfather before me. A little peace."

But if the other man is right, then both of them had been wanting some kind of company, however subconsciously. But in spite of the other's warmth, there's something in his phrasing that makes Telemakhos wary of asking the question in return.

"Who does succeed in finding you, usually?" he asks, instead.

Paris nods, a light in his eyes. The people certainly make Elysium even more of what it already is, and the people is, too, what Paris had thought (still sometimes do) he also didn't deserve.

But Hektor had been serious, when he'd said he wanted them to talk, later. Wanted reconciliation. He hadn't been the only one, and Paris has more of a place here than he thought he would, upon arriving. If he hadn't... Elysium would still have offered sweetness and rest, would've let him keep hiding, but it would've been a lingering wound.

Which is why the smile on Paris' face doesn't change, at the questions. He blinks, not so much surprised as a little taken aback at the bluntness, and then shrugs.

"How can anyone be prepared for such ease of breath and gentle breezes as this, even if we would've been told of a place such as this on the very edges of the Underworld, given to those who are, for whatever reason and grace, considered worthy of it?"

Sweeping his hands out, Paris doesn't laugh, but there's a lightness to his tone.

Yes, he had been surprised by Elysium itself, gentle gift as it was. But he'd mostly been surprised he'd ended up here, at all. Did killing Achilles weigh up all the many other reasons others, at least, would probably think he shouldn't be here? Was it Aphrodite's love? And if so, Paris would be grateful for it, even if Hektor hadn't managed to hunt him down.

But he's not going to talk about that with a stranger, however possibly well-meant.

"You've gotten to reunite with family, then?" Paris asks, his smile genuinely warm.

It probably cuts down a lot on who this young man could be related to, but right then, Paris cares not to hurry towards the revelation, whatever it might be.

[wonderingprince]

GPS: RECALCULATING. ODYSSEUS: I WILL CRASH THIS CAR RIGHT NOW.

[wonderingprince]

this is not related to the boy at all but i've been listening to stephen fry's odyssey, got to the bit with elpenor in the underworld. and just. it suddenly struck me that elpenor begging them to go back and bury him means that circe and her nymphs have literally been ignoring this body in their courtyard like, "well that's not our problem"

[wonderingprince]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unless he's being lied to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[wonderingprince]

"You're in luck," he answers, lightly, "my deadline isn't for another week yet."

The walk across the cafe to the counter gives him a chance to realise just how fast his heart is racing. Adrenaline, he thinks, and it's strange to have a scientific word to apply to a feeling he associates with the clash of swords and the smell of blood.

Ganymede is the first time any hint of his past has come calling.

He hadn't been lying, when he'd said that he'd found his peace. But now there's so much more to think about. 

Even with just a few seconds of distance as he leans against the counter, waiting for the barista to finish their drinks, he thinks that he still doesn't have a complete answer as to why Ganymede was here. Does he? Is curiosity about a reborn soul the full answer? Ben slowly thinks now that perhaps the god had been hoping for someone else---- a member of his mortal, Trojan family perhaps.

But he was still here. Even now, as Ben glances over his shoulder ( and how many times has Athena disappeared on him? ) he's surprised to see that Ganymede is still waiting. He wonders why.

There are many questions he could ask the god, he thinks, as he sits back down across from him. But he doesn't know him well enough yet to know what he would be offended by.

"Do you normally frequent mortal coffee shops?" is what he asks instead, because the answer might at least lead to sating some of his own curiosity.

The irony doesn't pass Ganymede by, and he grins, catching Telemakhos' little smile before he eyes his empty cup again.

"Please," he says, a little nod making his curls bounce. "I wasn't doing anything before I came in here that can't wait, so I'll gladly stay for a second drink."

Maybe it's a little pleasing for entirely personal reasons, too. Ben was so suspicious when he first came up to him, yet now he's willingly extending this meeting past a potential, very easy point to disengage at. Ganymede hadn't actually planned to leave just because he'd finished the chocolate, but he'd certainly - if only vaguely - intended to let Telemakhos decide if they were done.

"I was going to ask if you were finished and would like to go back to your own business," he adds, the little grin creeping back. Teasing, yes, in reference to how this started, but earnest enough. "I know I just walked up here with no prior warning, after all."

And he hasn't even been able to give Ben what he most probably would've wished to get, from finally meeting - at least knowingly - one of the inhabitants of Olympus again.

[wonderingprince]

It’s going to be dangerous. Think you could bear a little danger? // from athena @apatilcs

Telemakhos stands in the courtyard of his home, the morning sun bright on his face, his gaze tilted up towards the goddess before him.

He had not expected to see Athena again, now that his father was home and their halls cleansed. But then, he'd never expected the goddess in the first place, never asked for anything more than she had offered. Everyone knows the gods have their favourites; even now, Telemakhos does not fully understand that he may be able to count himself among them.

And now she stands here again, suggesting a new adventure.

Telemakhos had only a taste of what lies beyond Ithaka's shores. Pylos and Sparta had both been friendly ports, allies, family. A gentle introduction to the rest of the world. And as much as he loves his home dearly, as much as the thought of a long journey over the seas should scare him, he wants to see more. He wants to see the islands and towns and cities that he's heard of in stories and songs.

Perhaps the warning of danger should scare him off. But he likes the challenge of it, a fierce kind of determination firing in his chest. Telemakhos cares little to prove himself to others now --- But he has everything to prove to himself, still.

"Where are we going?" he asks boldly. "Or must I follow you blindly?" Because he will.

[wonderingprince]

He follows her willingly, looking around curiously all the while as he does, but Iphthime's shock draws him back to their conversation.

"She came to me in the guise of the King of the Taphians. Encouraged me to try and talk some sense into the suitors, and when that didn't work, to seek out a definitive truth about our father." Serious as ever, his voice is grave as he relays all this to his sister. He's all too aware that if he does not find good news about Odysseus, his journey home will be either fight or flight for he and his mother.

"She came with me as far as Pylos, then she told me to come here."

Iphthime takes Telemakhos' hand, pulling him from the hall back out of the palace. If they're going to talk of Ithacan matters, they should not be in the palace. She starts them down towards the cove that had once been their mother's place to spend time as a child, but stops in her tracks when he mentions Athena.

She stares at him openly.

"Athena?" she whispers. "You spoke to a goddess?"

[wonderingprince]

This time his gaze follows Hektor's, catching on the woman weaving through the assembly. He watches as she comes to a stop in his line of sight, in amongst the crowd of people and his gaze meets hers briefly.

She could be anyone, but there is no doubt in his mind that this is Polyxena.

Telemakhos tears his gaze away; partly out of a strong desire to be polite, mostly because as she stands there, half-hidden in the shadows, watching silently, he is reminded fiercely of his mother. Days from not that long ago, when Telemakhos sat uncomfortably in his own infested halls, when he would glance up and see his mother watching them, him, both of them helpless in their own way.

However unfair the comparison, it makes him feel shame just for standing here, fulfilling the duty his father swore on.

If this were a private meeting, perhaps he could manage to make them understand that Telemakhos does not have it in him to force an unwilling bride. But would Troy take it as an insult if he declares too readily that he doesn't actually care if he marries the princess? He doesn't dare risk it, he has no desire to be the cause of another war.

But if he's going to be here for a while, perhaps he will get the chance to speak more freely, less publicly.

So he tucks away his own doubts, and smiles brightly at Hektor in a way that Peisistratus had said makes him look even younger than his years. "I will be honored to share your hospitality, Lord Hektor," he answers, as if there are not many, many reasons why the man in front of him might want him dead. "And I will make sure Mentor knows the invitation is extended to him, too.

A pause, and then. "But if it would be more appropriate, I would just as gladly stay onboard the ships. I have not come here to cause trouble, or to take offense to reasonable requests. Ithaka will not be worrying about me yet."

There are some distinct benefits to travelling with a goddess, after all.

Hektor makes sure that the prince of Ithaka says his piece without interruption, although, throughout the megaron, people are hearing of Odysseus' return for the first time. News from a remote Achaean island is scarce unless one seeks it, but now, at long last, like the end of the war itself... Hektor, watching the reaction as much as the speaker, is not surprised to see widespread distrust.

If it's a lie, it's one far easier to disprove than if Telemakhos had declared Odysseus finally dead. Were he king himself, there would be no other authority to appeal to for proof, and undoubtedly this meeting would have begun differently.

Hektor often misses his father; there is no substitute for his experience and wisdom, his pride and warmth. He loved his father. But he does not miss the uncertain nature of the authority that came with being crown prince well into his manhood.

Telemakhos' composure, at least, he can respect, but the burden of proof is still his, not Hektor's.

"Lord Odysseus' pains must have been great indeed... though neither that suffering nor yours was of Troy's making. And it is your betrothal to a princess of Troy, not your father's unfortunate absence, which concerns us here."

Still keeping close to Kassandra, the princess in question is weaving her way closer to the front of the hall. She navigates the crowd without difficulty, slight as she is, and keeps to the back so that she won't attract attention. Still, as she's the only person in motion, it isn't hard for Hektor to spot her. She stops again where she can see the prince better, watching him with dark, wary eyes.

Polyxena has every right to hear this, but Hektor wishes she didn't have to. He doesn't know what he or anyone else could say to convince her to take some time to herself. Paris would have found a way to draw her aside. He had a gentle touch for dispelling her seriousness, like a breeze at rain clouds.

The Paris of ten years ago, at least, would have. Perhaps not if he had seen so many of his sisters make Achaean marriages, to stitch up the ugly gash left by his.

Hektor feels decades settle on him at once. He's so tired of sending people to the altar of the war, even long after it's ended. If such things ever end.

In the meantime, there is ever another problem to solve.

"Shall we send our messengers to Ithaka, then, to tell of your safe arrival? I am sure the king and queen will be relieved to hear it."

Until they send some confirmation in return, the betrothal cannot proceed. This is tedious, but fair.

And it will give Polyxena time. To prepare in whatever way she sees fit, or to make other wishes known.

"I regret that we have not been able to receive Lord Mentor into the city. If you and your company desire to remain until we hear word, you will be welcome to our hospitality, son of Odysseus." If he is who he says he is, or if not. "That is, if you are not expected home too soon."

[wonderingprince]

It probably was lonely, but Telemakhos had never known anything different. Strangely, it had been when his house was filled with men that he had felt the loneliest.

He doesn't know how to put that into words though.

"What was it like? On Skyros?" he asks instead.

Neoptolemus' head tilts to the side with curiosity at Telemakhos' answer. "Truly?" he says. He thinks on it before he shakes his head. "That must've been a lonely way to grow up. Life was not always pleasant in Skyros, but at least I was not alone."

[wonderingprince]

He was always talking about him. The words are said so casually, not knowing the impact they have.

Nestor and Menelaos had been full of praise for his father, and himself by association. But he was old enough to realise that while their affection for his father was no doubt true, of course they would only tell positive stories of their probably dead friend to his son. He had spent hours in Sparta, listening to the stories from Menelaos and Helen, and trying to read between the lines. Trying to find his father in those shining words.

Somehow the words of this man hit harder. His father always talked about him, enough that even this stranger has heard of him? It takes considerable effort not to react, to swallow back the sudden lump in his throat.

When he does eventually let himself look away from the stranger, his gaze meets Peiraeus' almost instantly. He can feel on his back, then, the eyes of those in earshot, watching, waiting to see what he will say, the name of their prince drawing their attention.

Telemakhos hesitates. He may be a good speaker, with a quick, cunning mind. But he's yet to learn decisiveness. How to not let the thoughts spinning around his mind tangle him up in knots.

He trusts these men; handpicked by Athena, how could he not? But he's not sure he trusts them enough to be sure they won't side with an ambush, should one occur. Will they be able to keep his secrets when he hasn't even asked them to? Is it already too late?

"By not taking the throne," he answers slowly, "the prince buys himself and his mother time. I believe he wanted better confirmation that his father was truly dead first." Telemakhos' turns his gaze back to the stranger slowly, as if assessing him. Hopefully making it seem that his hesitance to speak is due to doubts about trusting the stranger on board his vessel.

"I tell you this in trust, but the truth is we are on an errand at the prince's command, to seek news of our King. So perhaps our meeting here was more than luck. You say you've heard rumours of Lord Odysseus? Would you share with us what you know? The prince will surely reward you." It is all but a demand. The story the King of Sparta had pried from the old sea god was years old already, and Telemakhos cannot help the heady hope that this man might have more recent news.

Suitors—Vultures who circle before the battle begins, hoping for an easy carcass.

Odysseus, too, listens to this with a growing sense, not of rage, but of pre-battle calm. Muddled priorities become clear in the moments before the clash of arms. This is what he hears: The gods released him from Ogygia after so long that even reports of his doings have died out, and if his reputation is not enough to protect the house, neither will wealth. He must get home.

He's better prepared for this than he was to hear the name of his homeland. His face doesn't give away how he thinks of Agamemnon in the underworld, murdered by his wife's lover, but his old commander's words return to him with the force of prophecy. He casts the memory off—vying for her hand surely means Penelope has not yet remarried. At least as of the captain's latest knowledge, however reliable that is.

He speaks without warmth. To ask about the mind of the queen toward her suitors—as if that would matter, to most people—could be fatal now. Odysseus bites his tongue.

"Lord Odysseus gone for good. Strange news." He shakes his head, minutely. "That's not the way I heard it... but rumors take many false shapes on the sea."

He's said too much already. Best not say more now, surrounded by sailors whose allegiance he cannot count on. Only leave the room for another story, later.

"Can it be that there is no one left but strangers? His son must be a man by now; he was always talking about him." And if he were dead and Telemakhos king, it would be his responsibility to choose another husband for Penelope, with Mentor and the elders to support and advise him.

"Telemakhos," he says, as if remembering. "Has something become of Telemakhos, that he is not king?"

[wonderingprince]

The quick-fire questions make his smile widen. He's spent the last few years missing his sister but still being so relieved that she was away from the shadow creeping over the palace. Now, seeing her bright smile and bouncing enthusiasm reinforces both just how much he's missed her, and how glad he is that she has been safe, and happy, here.

Home is not exactly something he wants to speak of right now. Home, where a hundred men sit and feast on their food and wine every day. Where out on the farm, grandfather grows weaker and sadder. Home, the place where he and his mother are forced to sneak around as if the halls do not belong to them. Where not even all the servants can be fully trusted.

Telemakhos thinks that even if Athena hadn't proposed this voyage when she had, their mother was close to sending him to Sparta anyhow.

"Mother did not send me," he says, and then, with a glance around the hall, "Athena did."

Iphthime giggles, delighted, and looks at her brother. They're close in height, but she still has to tilt her head to look at him. She can't believe so many years have passed since they last saw each other. Three years she's been away, and yet it feels like the blink of an eye now that they're together again.

"What are you doing here? Did Mother send you? The servants have been preparing a feast to celebrate your arrival. Rightfully so," she adds. "It's no small thing to welcome a prince of Ithaca." She tilts her chin proudly before she hugs him again. "I missed you. Tell me of home."

[wonderingprince]

Telemakhos had been in the unusual position of having heard first-hand accounts of Hades' realm from his father. That story had been haunting, unsettling, with his descriptions of those restless shades. So to end up in the golden fields of Elysium had been something of a shock. The endless landscape seems to stretch on forever here, as time must stretch on forever, idyllic in a way he would never have trusted in life but can't help but trust in death.

The idea of an afterlife that stretches on forever should scare him, would scare him if he was back on Ithaka, but here it just feels natural.

The way the stranger describes the land is interesting; the concept that Elysium gives you what you want without you even realising it seems obvious, instinctive, but nobody else has put it into words for him before.

"It is the people here I care about more than the place, but--" he smiles, gestures expansively, sure, for some reason, that this young man will catch his meaning. The beauty and peace of Elysium is not something easily described by plain words. Telemakhos is a strong speaker but he is no poet. "It's more than I could have imagined."

He eyes the other curiously, even if his tone remains mostly teasing: "Surprised with the wonders of Elysium? Or surprised you ended up here at all?"

Maybe he's just projecting. Elysium was meant to be the home of heroes, after all, and Telemakhos had done little heroic in his life. No wars, no real monsters; he thinks he had been a good king, at least. 

Paris smiles brightly, unable not to preen at least a little at having lured the stranger in with his music. A stranger that is apparently new to Elysium, which draws a curious look, though the young man looks no more familiar - or stranger, on a second look than he did the first.

The newest arrivals Paris is more familiar with was Helenus and Andromache, and even they arrived a while ago. But perhaps there were yet - or at least had been - some more among the Achaeans that the gods thought fit for Elysium. And if so, at least this one, then, could have had little to do with the war.

"I don't see why it can't be both," Paris says with a laugh, carefully putting the lyre down on the ground, leaning it against the rock. Smoothing out the drape of the tunic in his lap, he shakes his head. "I'd never say no to company, but sometimes we feel the need for no one's company but our own, don't we? At least for a little while."

And if he'd hoped to be found and interrupted... well, that is no one's business but that of his very foolish heart, surely. Paris knows very well he should not be sitting here yearning.

He has no right to it.

"Elysium usually gives us what we want, but I suppose I wasn't yearning for solitude so much, this time. You said you were new, still, to Elysium, how do you find it?" Paris smiles warmly, sweeping a hand out. "It certainly was a surprise, when I first came here, myself."