Penelope awoke, plunging into cool light. She sighed her annoyance at the full moon. It always toyed with her sleep, poking at her eyelids with its pale fingers. Her bedroom was almost as bright as day. Turning on her side, she saw that Odysseus was not there. After twenty years of sleeping without him she never startled at his absence now. Since his return, sleep evaded him often. Waking to find him not there was as familiar as breathing. The startling part was that now when she woke alone, a wave of peace flowed over her. She knew he would be somewhere nearby. Her husband was home. She would get to see him.
Pulling back the covers and moving to sit up, Penelope caught sight of his silhouette out on the balcony. He cast a long shadow that crept across the milky white light into their bedroom. She drew her knees to her chest, leaned against the olive wood and just watched. It was a peaceful night and she could hear the waves lapping gently against the rocks far below the palace. Odysseus stood bent over the railing, looking out at the sea. Above him the moon shown brilliantly. It was so beautiful. Penelope breathed calmly, comforted by the quiet and her husband's presence.
Looking at his rounded shoulders, outlined by impossibly bright moonlight, she wondered what torment he grappled with. Which piece of the hell he had gone through had followed him into his dreams tonight?
Little by little Odysseus had been sharing his experiences with her. It had taken many many weeks but by now she had woven his threads into a nearly complete tapestry.
That first day he had lain his shame at her feet. His certainty of her rejection almost broke her heart. He was hers. Nothing else mattered. If he wanted to tell her the whole story she would listen, but after the shame she witnessed in him, she would never make him tell it. She realized very quickly, however, that he needed to tell her. With each story and every confession, he tested the truth of her words and the strength of her conviction. It became clear to her that he could not truly believe her until he knew she had the full picture of what he had done and what he had become. The only reassurance she could give him was her full knowledge and she was happy to oblige.
Still, she always told him the same thing: "I waited for you. You're mine."
It was on nights like this one when he couldn't sleep or was driven from bed by nightmares that he tended to reveal the most.
There were of course the moments in their daily life together in which something would remind him and he would want to tell her. The sea, his son, a sound. It was always something new. Sometimes he reacted badly or strangely to something mundane and felt the need to explain. One fond look from her and suddenly shame would cloud his features. She would not be fast enough to stop the sadness filling her eyes. Then he would tell her. Each time the tapestry became more vibrant, the story it told more terrible. Sometimes he would just share a simple memory, a detail of the journey or a comrade's quirk. No horror attached, no darkness in his expression. Sometimes it even included a smile. Other times there were fists almost shaking at his sides and his back turned to her in shame.
Her message remained the same. Still, for Odysseus, the more she knew the more he could trust the words.
Some weeks after their reunion she began thanking him whenever he revealed something new. That first time he asked her why she would say such a thing. She answered that she had missed him so badly that to be allowed to walk those twenty years beside him, even in such meager way, was a gift. He had looked a her, considering for a long moment, and then gently kissed her.
Penelope finally grew tired of not being beside her husband and got out of bed. She tossed a shawl around her shoulders and went quietly outside to be with him. The touch of stone was cool beneath her bare feet and a light breeze breathed across her face.
She stepped up next to him, nudging against his side. He looked down at her, smiling softly. The silver flecked beard brought a warmth to his torn smile and tired eyes. She loved it.
"You found me." He said moving his arm up and around her shoulders, gently pulling her close. She hummed in agreement as he placed a kiss on her hair.
They fell silent for a little while, basking in the moon glow, the glittering sea and each other's company. She sighed happily and reached up, taking his hand that held her shoulder. His skin was much rougher now, leathered by sun and sea and worn by war. As she leaned against him she mentally congratulated herself on his weight gain. Upon his return she had made it her mission to see him fed. Toil and starvation had left him sinewy and wild eyed, like an animal. He now looked like a man and his wild eyes reserved only for waking from the worst of his nightmares.
"The moon woke you?" He asked.
"You remembered." She said smiling up at him.
He did not return the smile, but looked intently into her eyes. "You are all I thought about. Every day for twenty years. You and Telemachus."
She nuzzled her head against his chest. "Every night" she began. "I made myself remember what this felt like. When I heard them laughing. Their drunken voices. It was enough to hold on another day."
"They-" His free hand tightened over the edge of the cut stone railing. "They never touched you." It was not a question. This was not new territory.
Penelope reached up, cupping his cheek in her hand. She waited for him to look back in her eyes. He did.
"My love," she assured him again. "Never once."
His eyes glistened, shining in the light. He nodded, satisfied. She would tell him as long as he needed to ask. She would assure him that, in this, there was no failure for which to feel shame. He carried enough already.
She took hold of his hand again, now gripping her shoulder, and pressed it to her cheek. She felt him begin to relax again.
"You arrived when we needed you most." She said and closed her eyes.
The full moon was so bright that the stars felt like a vague memory. Odysseus looked up, searching for them anyway. They had been his truest companions in exile.
He breathed a heavy sigh. He hated the men who had invaded his home.
Looking down at the beautiful woman beside him, he felt a surge of the deepest affection. He couldn't help the little smile that crept to his lips. She was so brave, so strong and, the most amazing part of all, she was his. Penelope resisted the invaders for so long. So many of them! She chose that hell, desiring to stay loyal, to wait for him. With wolves howling and scratching at her door, threatening to devour her son, she held out. Day by day her deft fingers wove fear into resolve. His smile deepened. Here she was, holding his hand like they were still young, still sharing secrets beneath the olive tree.
Lotalty.
All at once, icy chains of guilt dropped on him. They drove out the warmth and dragged his small joy down into shadow.
His smile vanished. He looked away from her, back towards the sea.
"I need to tell you something." Odysseus suddenly said in a too quiet voice.
She looked back up at him. His gaze was now distant.
"After… my choice," he began slowly. "The sea gave me up to an island."
He resisted the urge to remove Penelope's hand from his.
"Calypso," he said. "a goddess, is banished there alone."
The tension flooded back into his body. He took a deep breath. The exhale shuddered.
"She kept me trapped there for seven years."
He didn't resist this time. It stabbed at Penelope to feel him pull away from her. He rested both his hands on the stone and both of them tightened into fists. She did not touch him, but let him have the space. Instead she focused all her attention on his face. His expression became vacant as he spoke his next words.
"She… claimed me." He said, his jaw clenching visibly. "She used spells. I could not stop her.
Before he spoke again he turned his face to the side, away from her. "I could not stop myself."
Lifting his chin, he looked back out at the water. "Athena's intercession is the only reason I am not still there."
He fell silent after that.
Penelope wrapped herself tighter in her shawl.
"Seven years," she whispered. "is a long time."
Odysseus stole a grieved glance at her. He didn't turn towards her or try to touch her again. He couldn't.
"I'm so sorry." The words left his lips like a breath.
"You were a prisoner." She said.
He finally looked at her. She saw the shame that had become so familiar in his features.
"You are not my only one." He looked down. His hands now lay open on the stone, as if in supplication.
"Like a promised you." He said it so quietly.
Penelope moved, pulling his arm so that they stood before one another. She took his bearded face in both her hands and searched for his eyes. Reluctantly they lifted, glassy, to meet hers.
"I am," She told him. "the only one you chose."
A sob escaped his frame. He shook his head in a weak protest as she wrapped her arms around him but he did not resist her.
"I'm so sorry, my love." Penelope whispered to him.
One more sob tore out of him as he bent, burying his face into her shoulder and hair.
They held each other like that for some time, bathed in moonlight and the night breathing calmly all around them.
When Odysseus finally stood straight, he did not let go. Again, Penelope looked up at his face. The uncertainty and shame had left him. In its place was just sadness.
"She called me Ody." He closed his eyes.
Penelope said nothing, only tucked her head against his chest. His arms tightened around her. He pressed his lips to her hair and breathed in deeply.
Then his words came coursing down in a mumbled torrent.
"I'm so sorry."
"All I wanted was you."
"I just wanted you."
"Just you."
"Odysseus," she said softly into his tunic. "I know."
Tears escaped his eyes as he squeezed them shut. She could feel the wetness seeping through her hair.
Penelope would soon realize that Odysseus had now told her everything. Those seven years on Ogygia had been the missing piece, like small hole burnt out of the tapestry. As if someone had laid the work on top of a single lit candle. She could say the words now with full knowledge of everything. He would have to trust her.
"Odysseus." Her words came carefully. "I waited for you."
Odysseus breathed in.
"You're mine."
His exhale left him as laugh.
Penelope rubbed gentle circles on his back and felt the tension melt away from him. Tears welled up. She closed her eyes and smiled.
Her words were a balm to his broken heart. For the first time he let himself trust, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they were true.