Telemachus stepped deftly from rock to rock as he made the short descent to the pebble beach. The sun was just beginning its plunge into the horizon and his father was waiting for him on the shore. Clasped in both hands, he carried a small bundle wrapped in a cloth. The young man had navigated the shortcut countless times and was certain of his footing. Nonetheless he was unwilling to risk dropping his treasure. There would be no finding it again were it to fall in the cracks between the innumerable rocks.

Telemachus hummed to himself as he went. It was sweet tune that only a few of months ago he would not have dared to breathe aloud. The novelty of peace and safety in his own home had not worn off. He honestly didn't think it ever would.

He hopped down off the last boulder and walked out to join his father. The rocks made a satisfying crunch under each step and gave him one more reason to smile. So many times in the last years he had come down to this beach to hide. Now, he arrived to greet the dusk along side his father.

For Telemachus and Odysseus, watching the sunset together had become a ritual. It was their thing. Their first ever. Two grown men, desperate to know each other, had grasped blindly in the darkness between them and found this. Now, every night, side by side, they watched the day disappear.

For a week or so after the bloodshed, the joy and the tears, Telemachus had watched from the palace above as his father sat on the beach. Night after night the sun would set on him alone down there. Not until the stars could be picked out by name would he finally ascend the gravel path and join his wife for bed.

Telemachus loved his father, but did not know him. They ate meals for the first time ever as a family and it was a comfort he never could have dreamed for. But without his mother there as the common thread, he and his father would likely have spent their meal in silence, occasionally just smiling at one another. His whole life everything he knew about Odysseus had come through his mother. Her knowledge proved just as invaluable when suddenly he found himself sitting across from him in the flesh.

It took Telemachus three weeks, three weeks of hand held conversations and a silhouette on the beach, to decide to break into his father's solitude.

He watched the new routine. His father got up from dinner, kissed his mother and departed. She smiled after him as servants slipped past her to clear away the meal. She turned to her son, took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Then she kissed him on his cheek and retired to her room. His mother's happiness was the best part of all of this. He'd never known her so unburdened.

Telemachus took a deep breath and followed his father.

That night he asked a simple question.

"Can I sit with you?"

Odysseus gave an even simpler answer.

"Please."

He went down the next night and asked again.

After that, he stopped asking.

Telemachus settled onto the stones beside his father who sat with his knees up, arms folded loosely atop them. Odysseus looked over, his eyes crinkling in a fond smile, but said nothing.

Tonight the sky restrained itself. Unlike the billowing mountains of blue and orange or the gleaming fire pink streaks that took their breath away, this sunset was simple. A clear sky and a warm golden glow. A shimmering orange ball slipping down. A couple of weeks earlier, Telemachus had complained about the sunset being too modest. He liked the spectacular ones.

"All sunsets are good." Odysseus had said. "They mean you survived the day."

The sobering words were not spoken in a grave tone. It was just a fact, and Telemachus saw it for what it was; a glimpse into twenty long years of determination. From then on, he began to appreciate the modest ones. They spoke honestly, reminding him he still had a father. Of course, he still preferred to bask in the glory of the more epic sunsets.

Father and son leaned into the comfortable silence between them and watched the flaming sun drop. Gentle waves rattled the pebbles as they lapped rhythmically upon the shore. Swifts darted about and soared over the water, snatching up insects foolish enough to venture out so soon. Telemachus could watch the little birds at their work for hours and he had, many times. He tilted his head just a little to look at his father. The pale orange glow lit his bearded face as he too watched the birds' flitting silhouettes. His eyes followed them and Telemachus thought he was smiling somewhat but it was hard to tell with the beard. He looked back out at the sea and sky.

When the sun was swallowed up and only soft light remained, Telemachus took his little bundle from the stones next to him and unwrapped the cloth.

"Here father." He said handing Odysseus a fig. "The first ripe ones."

"Ah, a feast for a king!" His father said, eyes widening humorously at the handful of fruit.

Telemachus smiled.

Odysseus looked with what seemed like awe at the little fruit he held between two fingers.

"I don't remember the last time I tasted a fig." He said. He looked genuinely pleased but his voice held a note of something… sad.

"Thank you." He took a bite and his eyes lit up anew. "Have they always been this delicious?"

"Yes!" Telemachus laughed, popping a whole one into his mouth.

They chewed contentedly for a moment, Odysseus clearly savoring the experience.

"You know," Telemachus said when he took a bite of his next fig. "When I was little, mother always gave me the first ripe one she found, even if the others were days behind and she had to wait."

Telemachus didn't notice Odysseus smile to himself. He was enjoying seeing his son so relaxed.

"That sounds like the woman I know." His father said, nodding. There was a long pause before he spoke again. "She is amazing. I had no part in making you the impressive young man you've become."

Telemachus was taken aback, but recovered quickly. "But you were there! She made you so real for me. I looked up to you."

Odysseus offered a weak smile, obviously making an effort to believe him. Telemachus didn't take it personally.

"She is amazing though." He agreed and ventured a small nudge against his father's shoulder.

Odysseus glanced over, this time smiling a genuine smile.

Quiet settled back over them as dusk reached out toward twilight. Odysseus, finally sighed and broke the silence. "I wish could have seen you. All those years I dreamed of seeing you. The only image I had was a baby. Such a beautiful boy."

Telemachus listened. He couldn't know that his father's memory of him as an infant had been poisoned in the years after Troy. His mother knew, but it would never be her place to tell him. He didn't know what to say, but he knew how it felt to wish that badly. So, he held out the cloth to his father. "Last one." he said. "Please take it."

Odysseus looked at him. "Thank you."

Even in the faded light, Telemachus could see the affection written clearly across his face.

When he had eaten that last fig he asked "Will you tell me more stories from your life? Like the figs."

"The figs?" His son asked, a little confused. His father had battled monsters and overcome gods and he wanted to hear about figs?

Odysseus nodded. "I didn't know." He said, his voice coloring with something like embarrassment. "My memories of you… I have the beginning when you were an angry little thing I never wanted to put down." Telemachus grinned. "And I have the man who defended our home and his mother. I just don't have any…"

"Figs." Telemachus offered thoughtfully.

"Right."

It got darker and the first stars appeared above them.

"Can I ask you something?" Telemachus' voice was tentative. All of this with his father felt so fragile. He didn't want to break it.

"Of course."

"Sometimes… when you look at me." He shook his head. He wasn't sure how to ask this. "Something happens doesn't it?"

His father shifted uncomfortably. "I didn't think you could see."

It was hard to miss. His father would look at him, a smile beginning to form on his face, and then suddenly grimace. It was like he had been struck. Once or twice his eyes squeezed shut and he gave a sharp shake of his head, as if trying to fling something from his mind.

"Can you tell me?" Telemachus asked. "Please."

Odysseus bowed his head.

Telemachus could no longer make out his face. "I had a dear friend who went to war with me. Polites. Nothing could kill his good nature." He stopped, then began anew. "Do you remember the Cyclops I told you about?"

"Kind of hard to forget." Telemachus said softly.

Odysseus nodded sadly.

"Polites was the first man he killed. He was the only one who didn't scream. The rest all saw it coming." He fell quiet. For a little while he just sat there breathing under starlight. His son listened to the lapping water and waited.

"You remind me of him. And so when I see you sometimes I see him… brains bashed out on the rocks."

Odysseus inhaled sharply and let the breath out in a shudder.

"He didn't even look like a man anymore. Just a bloody, broken…" Telemachus couldn't see him close his eyes. "…pile."

Telemachus, didn't say anything. It was hard to hear and it made him feel a little sick but he did understand. He had moments like that too. He'd see his father approach his mother's bedroom door and force down the sudden overwhelming feeling that his house was again crawling with leeches. There was one day early on when he almost attacked him as he was opening her door. He reminded himself over and over that it was his father's door too. It took him over a month to stop tensing at the sound of a man's voice in the halls. That wasn't his father's fault and this wasn't his fault now.

"I want to remember you. Not Polites." Odysseus said, a note of urgency to the words. "I need you to fill in the middle for me."

Telemachus picked up a small rock and tossed it. It clattered against the others.

"Alright," he said. "I've got a fig for you."

His father chuckled softly at his reuse of the metaphor.

"I almost lost a finger once." He realized he might not have departed far enough from the previous topic, but it was too late now.

"How?" Odysseus did not sound disturbed, only mildly concerned and very amused.

Telemachus proceeded to tell him a story involving boyhood friends and a foolish game that involved heavy rocks. After that, he told him about the day he realized he was finally taller than his mother. He told him about a tutor he had hated when he was nine and his schemes to get rid of him. They hadn't worked. His mother had seen right through him. He told him about his instruction in music and the sword and how much both meant to him. The more he talked the more stories came to mind. His father listened to him late into the night. More than once his laughter rang out clear and loud, soaring over the quiet. Telemachus' more subdued chuckle rumbled right alongside.

From all the way up in her room Penelope could hear them laughing in the gentle night. She sat working at the loom, her smile fixed in place. When she finally retired to bed, she could still just make out their soft voices far below. The smile had not left her lips when sleep eventually overtook her.

The stars and constellations wheeled overhead and Telemachus and his father left the stoney beach beneath a shifted sky. They walked together up the gravel path to the palace, so much closer now to sunrise than sunset.