Waiting.
Odysseus had a restless attempt at sleeping. He is certain Penelope noticed it and while he wished he could have gotten up to walk away and let her sleep peacefully, 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 wouldn’t let him. It’s funny how one can be so restless, tossing and turning while —
— a monument to his greatness. Gather the men of this village to construct a temple for him, and upon completion we shall hold a feast. I order this as your king.”
#SoloEnd
— Zeus had not put an end to those who dare show such outrageous distain for xenia. Was it that the gods truly did hate him? Lady Athena seemed to care enough…helping his son near the end of it all. Still…this oar was too heavy for a broken man.
He thanks Lady Aphrodite for —
—
‘It doesn’t look like it would hold seeds too well.’
Odysseus stops in his tracks and instantly stabs the oar into the soil.
“Good woman, this is not a winnowing fan, but an oar used to sail thought the seas that the great Lord Posideon watches over. It is to stay here as —
— and food with him for the long journey, but he has to lug around the weight of an entire oar with him.
He is strong, yes. But he is also weak. He had just gotten back from a war. A war he did not want to fight, only to return to a war in his own home. He questions how Lord —
— For he is not dead unlike his crew.
Tonight, he shall lay with his wife. Tomorrow, after making tributes to his crewmates, he shall set out on his journey.
🌊 🌊 🌊 🌊 🌊 🌊 🌊
This is stupid.
This is so incredibly stupid.
Not only is he carrying the weight of water —
— for the sake of the god the offering will be for, not for himself, but for this family. For those of Ithaca who still stand by him and the royal family. He wishes them not be drowned should he fail to listen to the Fates.
He has fought the Fates enough, and managed to win. —
— His journey was finally over.
He was finally back to Penelope.
Telemachus had grown up wonderfully.
Still, words from a time ago echo in his mind.
��𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭-𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘰 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘫𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘺…
He would. Not —
It hurt him.
It hurt him when Melanthius was made to be cut up into feed for the dogs, a kind of hurt he thought he could not feel any longer.
Looking around as he wait for his wife in the newly purged halls of palace, he cannot help but breathe a sigh of relief.
Finally. —
“Good?”
Oh, he is going to cry.
“Just good? My dearest Penelope, I want to be so close to you, it hurts to be a single step away. Without your arms around my body, I wish to perish. Just good?!”