My Father's Shadow.
Note: This was originally posted under my other account, but there's no point in keeping it over there.
~*~
"Telemachus!" Odysseus called to his son.
"Yes Father?" The now twenty-year-old son of Odysseus ran to his father. He had grown more still since his father had come home. He kept his downy beard shaved, and wore simple clothing, far beneath what he could wear without question. All this could be taken in at a glance, that which was obvious. What were subtler were the changes in his frame. No more was he a slight youth, but more of a man, with a lanky figure like his mother, but the muscles like his father, which had come from much training. Odysseus paused before speaking, reflecting on how much his son was like him.
"Telemachus. My son. Have you made your decision?"
Telemachus looked into his father's face, which was radiating pride. He hesitated before saying, "Not yet."
A disappointment showed in Odysseus' eyes. "Well then. I shall leave you to decide."
As the great Odysseus turned away, Telemachus called after him in desperation. "What am I to do with this question?"
The great red cloak and the man beneath it. "Whatever is best, Telemachus. It is your life."
But it wasn't Telemachus' life, not really. It wasn't Telemachus' life; it was Odysseus' son's life. And Telemachus still could not string his father's bow. In a fury, Telemachus stormed to the armory. The girl that had replaced Meleas stood up hurriedly. "Master!" she gasped. He waved his hand in exasperation.
"Get me my father's bow."
When he felt the fine wood in his hand, he stood the bow and tried to reach the string up. No matter how he drew on his fury and misery, he could not bring the string around the end of the bow to string it. Telemachus hurled the bow away from him and swore. Standing up, he said to the slave girl, "Put that away."
She ran to obey. Telemachus ran out of the armory and down to the seashore and to a rock overlooking the sea. He sat down and sobbed like he hadn't since his father came home, like he was a little boy again.
* * *
The next day, Telemachus, Penelope and Odysseus went to the large market, ten miles away. It was always a big to-do when they went to the market. They would stay for a day and a night. When they got there, Telemachus could feel his father and mother's eyes on him, trying to guess if he had made a decision. Well they could think what they would, but he would give them no clue. He nonchalantly examined pottery, swords, and clothing, showing them nothing. In the middle of the day they stopped for a meal. In his room, Telemachus remembered the day his father had asked him to make the decision. He had walked into the courtyard, where his father was conversing with a young girl, dressed in the finest clothing. They both had fallen silent when he walked in. His father spoke up in a gentle voice, "Telemachus, it is time you considered a bride. You will be inheriting all this when you are of age. You should have a wife to rule alongside you. This girl's father has asked about a marriage between our two houses. This is your cousin, Orela. If you will consent, you will be wed to her at the winter solstice"
It was April now. Telemachus sighed. Not much longer until he needed to decide. Time was slipping away.
In the evening, after enduring a meal of eyes trying to guess his decision by how he ate his meat, Telemachus managed to retire to his room. He sighed and stood up to the window to catch whatever air was blowing in. Even now, it was already getting hotter. Telemachus sighed. I wish there was some way to get out of this...just some distraction even. Anything, he thought sadly. If only there was some way to- A bold pounding on the door interrupted his thoughts. He turned, irritated. "Who is it?" he snapped angrily. The door flung open and two burly men jostled each other to get in. They were laughing raucously. One of them spoke up. "Master Telemachus, we have a gift for you! We got it cheap from the market!"
It was only then that Telemachus saw what they were dragging between them. They flung the slave girl down in front of him. She clutched her slave's robe around her tightly and looked up at him, hunched over. Her face was so smeared with dirt that he could barely tell her age. He gathered the clues from the lack of silver in her hair and her smooth skin, not the skin of an old woman. Telemachus looked, horrified at the bruises where they had held her arms. His head snapped up to fix a furious glare on the two men. They backed away a few steps, uneasy because of the anger smoldering in his glare. "Do whatever you want with her."
Telemachus stared at them. "Leave!" he roared at them with the full volume of his voice. That, also, was inherited from his father. The two men, strongly reminded of Odysseus and his wrathful temper, fled from the room. Telemachus locked and bolted the door behind them. He then turned his attentions to the poor abused creature rudely thrust into his life. She was kneeling on the stone floor. He walked over to her.
"Are you hurt much?"
She looked up at him. "You're not going to hurt me?"
Telemachus shook his head. "Would you like something to eat? Something to wash your face?"
He noticed that her clothes were relatively clean, despite her appearance. He sighed again. She stood up, and he found she was near his own height. He led her to a bowl of water, where she washed her face and hair as Telemachus sat down. He began to scratch out the shape of a boat on the wood table with the point of his dagger. He started to add a face on the sail. When he was done with that, he started on the men rowing it along. When he began to add the captain, he heard a noise behind him. He turned to see the slave girl much changed. She had a heart-shaped face and dark crimson hair. She looked very young.
"How old are you?" Telemachus asked curiously.
"Eighteen." She replied hesitantly.
Telemachus handed her a bowl of grapes silently. She ate, cautiously, then spoke up.
"My name's Acadia."
Telemachus nodded. "My name is Telemachus."
"Odysseus's son?" she asked in awe. "The one who went all that way to find him? THe one who fought so well in his first battle against his mother's suitors? You're that Telemachus?"
Telemachus couldn't help a grin from spreading across his face. "Yes."
"What? Why you grinning like that?" Acadia asked.
Telemachus looked her in the eye. "You made me realize that I am my own self, Telemachus, not just the son of Odysseus, and that I did great things too."
The next day Telemachus went to his father and told him he would not marry Orela. A great smile passed over Odysseus' face as he said, "I knew you would not. You must love before marriage. That was why I didn't stay with Calypso or Circe. I loved Penelope and nothing would keep me from her. You did the right thing."
A year later Telemachus was married to Acadia the slave girl.
Note: This was originally posted under my other account, but there's no point in keeping it over there.
~*~
"Telemachus!" Odysseus called to his son.
"Yes Father?" The now twenty-year-old son of Odysseus ran to his father. He had grown more still since his father had come home. He kept his downy beard shaved, and wore simple clothing, far beneath what he could wear without question. All this could be taken in at a glance, that which was obvious. What were subtler were the changes in his frame. No more was he a slight youth, but more of a man, with a lanky figure like his mother, but the muscles like his father, which had come from much training. Odysseus paused before speaking, reflecting on how much his son was like him.
"Telemachus. My son. Have you made your decision?"
Telemachus looked into his father's face, which was radiating pride. He hesitated before saying, "Not yet."
A disappointment showed in Odysseus' eyes. "Well then. I shall leave you to decide."
As the great Odysseus turned away, Telemachus called after him in desperation. "What am I to do with this question?"
The great red cloak and the man beneath it. "Whatever is best, Telemachus. It is your life."
But it wasn't Telemachus' life, not really. It wasn't Telemachus' life; it was Odysseus' son's life. And Telemachus still could not string his father's bow. In a fury, Telemachus stormed to the armory. The girl that had replaced Meleas stood up hurriedly. "Master!" she gasped. He waved his hand in exasperation.
"Get me my father's bow."
When he felt the fine wood in his hand, he stood the bow and tried to reach the string up. No matter how he drew on his fury and misery, he could not bring the string around the end of the bow to string it. Telemachus hurled the bow away from him and swore. Standing up, he said to the slave girl, "Put that away."
She ran to obey. Telemachus ran out of the armory and down to the seashore and to a rock overlooking the sea. He sat down and sobbed like he hadn't since his father came home, like he was a little boy again.
* * *
The next day, Telemachus, Penelope and Odysseus went to the large market, ten miles away. It was always a big to-do when they went to the market. They would stay for a day and a night. When they got there, Telemachus could feel his father and mother's eyes on him, trying to guess if he had made a decision. Well they could think what they would, but he would give them no clue. He nonchalantly examined pottery, swords, and clothing, showing them nothing. In the middle of the day they stopped for a meal. In his room, Telemachus remembered the day his father had asked him to make the decision. He had walked into the courtyard, where his father was conversing with a young girl, dressed in the finest clothing. They both had fallen silent when he walked in. His father spoke up in a gentle voice, "Telemachus, it is time you considered a bride. You will be inheriting all this when you are of age. You should have a wife to rule alongside you. This girl's father has asked about a marriage between our two houses. This is your cousin, Orela. If you will consent, you will be wed to her at the winter solstice"
It was April now. Telemachus sighed. Not much longer until he needed to decide. Time was slipping away.
In the evening, after enduring a meal of eyes trying to guess his decision by how he ate his meat, Telemachus managed to retire to his room. He sighed and stood up to the window to catch whatever air was blowing in. Even now, it was already getting hotter. Telemachus sighed. I wish there was some way to get out of this...just some distraction even. Anything, he thought sadly. If only there was some way to- A bold pounding on the door interrupted his thoughts. He turned, irritated. "Who is it?" he snapped angrily. The door flung open and two burly men jostled each other to get in. They were laughing raucously. One of them spoke up. "Master Telemachus, we have a gift for you! We got it cheap from the market!"
It was only then that Telemachus saw what they were dragging between them. They flung the slave girl down in front of him. She clutched her slave's robe around her tightly and looked up at him, hunched over. Her face was so smeared with dirt that he could barely tell her age. He gathered the clues from the lack of silver in her hair and her smooth skin, not the skin of an old woman. Telemachus looked, horrified at the bruises where they had held her arms. His head snapped up to fix a furious glare on the two men. They backed away a few steps, uneasy because of the anger smoldering in his glare. "Do whatever you want with her."
Telemachus stared at them. "Leave!" he roared at them with the full volume of his voice. That, also, was inherited from his father. The two men, strongly reminded of Odysseus and his wrathful temper, fled from the room. Telemachus locked and bolted the door behind them. He then turned his attentions to the poor abused creature rudely thrust into his life. She was kneeling on the stone floor. He walked over to her.
"Are you hurt much?"
She looked up at him. "You're not going to hurt me?"
Telemachus shook his head. "Would you like something to eat? Something to wash your face?"
He noticed that her clothes were relatively clean, despite her appearance. He sighed again. She stood up, and he found she was near his own height. He led her to a bowl of water, where she washed her face and hair as Telemachus sat down. He began to scratch out the shape of a boat on the wood table with the point of his dagger. He started to add a face on the sail. When he was done with that, he started on the men rowing it along. When he began to add the captain, he heard a noise behind him. He turned to see the slave girl much changed. She had a heart-shaped face and dark crimson hair. She looked very young.
"How old are you?" Telemachus asked curiously.
"Eighteen." She replied hesitantly.
Telemachus handed her a bowl of grapes silently. She ate, cautiously, then spoke up.
"My name's Acadia."
Telemachus nodded. "My name is Telemachus."
"Odysseus's son?" she asked in awe. "The one who went all that way to find him? THe one who fought so well in his first battle against his mother's suitors? You're that Telemachus?"
Telemachus couldn't help a grin from spreading across his face. "Yes."
"What? Why you grinning like that?" Acadia asked.
Telemachus looked her in the eye. "You made me realize that I am my own self, Telemachus, not just the son of Odysseus, and that I did great things too."
The next day Telemachus went to his father and told him he would not marry Orela. A great smile passed over Odysseus' face as he said, "I knew you would not. You must love before marriage. That was why I didn't stay with Calypso or Circe. I loved Penelope and nothing would keep me from her. You did the right thing."
A year later Telemachus was married to Acadia the slave girl.