This is a brief Odysseus scenelet. I seem to have a thing for giving my fave characters long and happy lives, with their loved ones surrounding them in their old age. For full understanding, it would be good if you had an idea of the events of the Odyssey. Sort-of follows my "No More Of This", in the sense that this is the same Odysseus and it touches upon the same themes, but both vignettes aren't too closely connected.
Thirty years later, with all his travels and adventures behind him, the now white-haired King Odysseus lay quietly by his wife's side, staring into the ceiling. He felt Penelope's hand smooth his hair gently, and turned slightly to give her a smile.
"You were far away," she noted.
"You could say so," he admitted. There was a pause, as Penelope looked upon him expectantly. "Troy," he admitted with a small shrug.
Penelope's face clouded. "I wish you would forget about those boys' games and think more on things that matter. Family. Your son."
Three decades ago Odysseus might have called his wife to order and admonished her not to speak of things that her female mind was unable to grasp. But now, life had taught him it did not matter. Women would be women. So he merely said, "My son is a grown man, he'll do just fine."
He fidgeted a little, as an old wound pained him, then stilled again. After a while, he said dreamily, "You should have seen it. The sea full of sails, white as clouds; and the golden beach of Troy. And the sun, as it gleamed on the forest of shiny spears and helmets."
Penelope huffed. "Wars will always be boys' games, my beloved husband."
Odysseus gave her a sidelong glance, but did not care to argue. Arguing with his wife, as years of marriage had taught him, was like teaching an Ionian to dance; so he merely said meekly, "Yes, dear."
But there was a spark of laughter in the King's sea-green eyes.
Penelope eyed him suspiciously. "Speaking of - maybe you indulged too much in those games? And that is why you cannot be rid of it? Left your heart lying somewhere?"
It was not the first time that Penelope pried. Women always would; just the same, Odysseus supposed, as men would always share a special bond and friendship borne out of shared battles, nights at the campfire and fallen comrades. Something that women would never understand.
"Those were battles like nobody can even imagine these days. Those were the times of gods walking upon earth, and I walked among them. I rode with them, shoulder to shoulder, drew sword with them.... Watched them go. Achilles... He was my friend. And Hector... Hector of Troy. Who was the wisest man I know, and at the same time the craziest. Ajax, who seemed as if he was made of iron, that nothing could destroy, and fought like a bull... Agamemnon... well." Odysseus saw his wife's raised eyebrow. "Well, at least he imagined he was a god," he conceded.
He tried to turn and groaned, as pains shot through him again.
"Silly old man," Penelope scolded, drawing the blankets closer. "You're not as young as you once were, to go out without your woollen cloak." Now it was her turn to grow dreamy. "Oh, you too were magnificent like a god those days. Your locks shone copper and your eyes shimmered like the summer sea, and every time you marched before your men, wielding a sword, or that monstrous bow of yours, it was all I could do not to shout, 'Behold, this is my beloved husband'."
Odysseus threw a glance at his old sword that hung on the wall by the bed. These days he preferred to spend his evenings resting, snuggled in furs and pillows, with the fire stroked high to chase autumn dampness for his old bones. Gone were those glorious years, just as his copper-gold hair was gone, replaced by sheer white.
"And now you've got only a maudlin old coot," he said with a trace of his old humour. "Not sure at all that you're the winner in this deal. Whereas I got the cleverest wife in all Greece, and I still have her." He pulled Penelope's head on his chest and stroked her silver hair, sighing. "They sing of those days, did you know?"
Penelope shook her head.
"Yes, 'tis true. A couple of years ago an aoidos passed through; you were with your sister's family then and would have missed it. He sang of them all – of Paris and Helen, and Achilles' wrath, and Hector's demise, and the fall of Ilium, and it was like my eyes had opened and I realized I was there, with them all."
He suddenly realized that his wife had been laughing silently all the while. "What?"
"You seem to have a thing for dead men, husband mine."
Odysseus laughed and swatted his wife with a pillow, and Penelope openly laughed at him and called him a silly old man once again.
"You are right, of course, my heart," he said.
There was a pause, while the old couple listened to the fire crackle.
"But in the end, you came home," Penelope said quietly.
"So I did." Odysseus pressed a small kiss on Penelope's forehead as she rose.
"I should really go and see how the weavers' work progresses."
"You sure you don't want to join in?"
"Not really. That is, unless you are thinking of selling me off to the richest suitor...?"
"Not a chance, dear." He caught her hand and squeezed. "I'm an old man now, tired of walking with gods, and I need you with me."
Penelope bestowed her a gentle smile. "I am glad you came home, Odysseus."
The old king looked after her retreating form, and muttered to himself, "So am I, my dear. So am I."