This short story follows the events of Epic the Musical with variation. Starting at 'Hold Them Down', It mixes cut song 38 with 'Odysseus', and leads into 'I Can't Help but Wonder'. While I don't go into WYFILWMA it was still an influence on how I write Ody's interactions with Tele and the continuation of my story would end up there. There are also some book translation-inspired references and stylistic influences but I did try to keep it to Epic lore.
He was right, the men thought.
This challenge of strength and aim was just a facade, another clever delay. Nobody could make that shot. Yes, they all agreed, fate marking their greed. It was time to stop feasting and claim the promised reward, by more direct means. The first man spoke of a plan to the others—a vile scheme that seemed to chase the light from the king's halls, leaving only their cheers and torchlight. The men, now salivating like dogs over scraps, looked to Antinous, who promised them an end to their long endeavoring. Too consumed by their doomed folly, they failed to notice—or perhaps gave no thought to—the danger that walked among them. A shadow long forgotten, yet familiar to the walls, 108 men between him and the journey's end.
For twenty years, the stranger, appearing no better than a beggar, had suffered every punishment and pain. Now, lesser men dared to sack his home and gorge on his wealth while plotting harm to his family. Enough. Antinous would be the first to fall. The stranger nocked an arrow to the string, drawing the bow the suitors had carelessly discarded taunt, then released it.
And released.
And released.
And released more of the death that had been his companion since the walls of Troy.
Perhaps it was the ten years adrift that had gnawed at his strength, the sea-soaked weariness in his bones, or maybe it was the monstrous rage that blinded him to the dangers creeping while the others were fleeing. Whichever it was, a sudden sharpness at his side sent an arrow wide. All the weapons had been taken from the hall, but it was the very arrow that claimed Antinous, pulled from his corpse, that now found its mark in the archer's own side.
"Old King, I don't plan to die by your bow." it was the suitor Amphinomus, who was not without strength, and a bit of quick wit, who knocked the stranger down with his blows. "Hey fellas, Look who I found! The king we thought was dead turns out was cursed to make it home just to die by our hands! Someone get the storeroom open. Let's give the queen his head."
Just then, a sharp wind rushed from shore to hall, for the ones that had sailed by it, 'hurry!', had been its unending call. The wind was long-traveled from the shores of Pylos, bringing with it the Ithacan prince. He would soon thank the goddess-sent winds that had returned him half a day sooner, not daring to think of a fate where he had arrived any later. For the prince had just reached the palace doors when he heard the suitor's chilling words.
The King? My Father? The wind's hands pushed him again, 'There was no time to doubt', it seemed to say as the bronze spear he held grew lighter in hand.
"Behind you!" a suitor's call went out but the warning was slow compared to the prince. His strike landed as true as any arrow and he pushed the suitors back. He dared not look behind him at the man we had been waiting to meet, no matter how much his heart tempted him to, giving his back to the rabid suitors would mean his defeat. Their folly emboldened into a greater frenzy as weapons, raided from his home, were passed between them.
"Throw down those weapons and I'll ensure you'll be spared. I don't want to hurt you. but trust me, I've come prepared." The Prince declared, holding firm against what he knew were uneven odds.
The suitors scoffed "Brothers, come, arm yourselves. Even if the King recovers there is still a chance for us to win. What can the King do if we all attack the prince? We can make the king obey our commands! Why should we beg for mercy when Telemachus is a foe we know and do not fear!"
Telemachus? Wait, no! The returned King watched as his son fought back against the suitors. He was fast and clever, but his inexperience showed as the suitors began to overwhelm him. The suitors' plan, while reckless, wasn't complete madness. They knew the King would give up the world for his son, but even if they had thrown down their weapons and taken Telemachus's offer, begging at his feet—any mercy the King might have shown was long since gone, drowned in the seas that had kept him from home.
Odysseus would not let them live. That is what they hadn't known.
A familiar feeling of strength poured over Odysseus, a gift from a friend still unseen, and with the ease of his youth, he drew an arrow back. Once released the arrow flew true. And so did the next one, and all that followed. Proclaiming with every release of the string that no spear nor sword would reach his son fighting before him. Till the quiver of fate found its every mark and piercing death gave way to the ringing of blades. Till all screams were reaped as payment paid. Only then did the king's palace fall into a silence it hadn't known for many years.
Odysseus stilled. Behind him, the rapid breaths of a young warrior broke the silence. A realization built up in the old king. He had fought in the war, faced monsters, and battled the seas themselves, yet now, he found himself unable to move. Each slowing breath, each shuffle of cloth, each passing moment confirmed a truth he dared not believe, fearing it might be some trick by god, goddess, or beast.
"Father…?" So close was this voice he did not know but recognized all the same
"Son." He just needed to turn—but Odysseus faltered, only able to address the stone walls and his bloodied hands. Father was a title he had yet truly known and now wondered if it was one he still deserved. It was his son, the braver one between them, who spoke first.
"For twenty years, I've dreamt of how I'd greet you.
Days and nights, I wished I could show you how—
I can't help but wonder—
I—
I can't find the words…"
Odysseus listened as his son's words layed over him, heavier than any siren's call. Telemachus' beseeching flowed from him as he searched his father's back for the man he had heard so many stories about.
"...For so long I've felt alone."
Telemachus' words hung in the air long after he finished speaking them. He watched as his father finally moved, with a weariness he didn't quite understand, and looked up to the ceiling. There, Odysseus caught a flicker of encouragement that filled his lungs, and at last, he turned to meet the son whose face he somehow knew. Familiar eyes, clear and steady, watched him, waiting. It was then as if the armor he hadn't known since Troy was lifted from his shoulders.
"Oh, my son, look how much you've grown…"
AN: I hope you enjoyed this! The writing style is a bit different from how I would normally write but I wanted to try giving it a dramatic flair inspired by the style of myths retellings and my favorite Odyssey translations. This started more as a personal writing exercise before I decided to share it so my editing skills are quite untested. I appreciate your mercy when it comes to any errors you may find.
Thank you for reading!