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Penelope didn't know how long she had been staring at him. She had known the beggar looked familiar but now it was clear that he was truly Odysseus. Her Odysseus, right in front of her, standing with their son.
“Penelope,” Odysseus said, quietly.
She couldn’t make her mouth move. She just stared. Speak! Say something. Anything.
“Mother?”
She turned to Telemachus. Her sweet son. His normally curly brown hair had turned wavy in his exhaustion. She looked between the pair again. Telemachus comes first, always. She focused on Odysseus. He needs you more than I do. She stepped forward and a drop of blood struck her face. When she looked up she saw Antinous’ corpse with an arrow in his chest, hanging over the battlements. Penelope looked around Ithaca and now noticed how much the carnage had piled up.
He did it all for you.
“Penelope?” Odysseus asked again.
She looked back at him and wiped the blood from her face with the silks of her dress and then said, “Clean up my fucking palace, both of you.” She didn’t wait to see their reactions before she walked back into the courtyard and up to her chambers.
She had the shaken servants draw her a bath and then dismissed them.
As Penelope sank into her luxury, her mind spiralled.
“He’s finally home,” she whispered to herself.
Somehow that was the only thought she could verbalise. She was overwhelmed by happiness and anger.
What had he been doing for twenty years?
Why come home now?
Is he still our Odysseus?
Penleope drew in a shaking breath before submerging herself. At the same time she couldn’t wait to see him and speak to him but she was terrified for her questions to be answered. When she surfaced, Telemachus was sitting on the tile next to her.
“What did he say then?” Penelope asked, smoothing her hands over her rich hair.
“He apologised a lot, told of the promises he made to me when I was an infant. He said he couldn’t imagine what we went through but now that he’s home, he’s not going anywhere.”
Penelope’s lip quivered as she listened to her son’s words.
“He’s really home, mom,” Telemachus whispered. “And all he wants to do is talk to you.”
“I know,” she replied. She stroked a hand over his tear-stained cheek. “You're so strong, my love. Once he knows you, he’ll be as proud as I.” She stepped out of the bath and Telemachus embraced her. The armour pinched her skin, but she didn’t care.
They held each other for a moment before Telemachus said, “He’s waiting for you.”
Penelope sighed into the night-silks that a servant left for her. “Then I’ll go to him.”
Odysseus was indeed waiting for her in their chambers. Penelope spared him one glance before she crossed the room to her vanity. She still couldn’t decide whether to be overjoyed or furious.
She began to brush out her tangles and looked back at him through the mirror.
“May I approach?” he asked.
She nodded.
“I’m so sorry Pen,” he said, coming to kneel before her. “I’m so sorry. For the past twenty years all I wanted was to see you again.”
Penelope stiffened and looked away. Being mad would be so much easier, but all she was was regretful.
“I know you must be so, so angry with me-”
“Gods, Odysseus,” Penelope started, slamming the brush down, “I wish I was mad. Do you know how easy it would be for me to be mad? Gods, please give me a reason to be mad at you.”
“I’ve killed people,” he confessed.
“So have I,” Penelope fired back.
“I wasn’t faithful to you,” he replied.
“Nor was I.” It was only the two servants.
“I killed a child!” Odysseus shouted.
Penelope’s eyes flared. “Whose?”
“Prince Hector’s. At the end of the war.”
“People do horrible things in times of war,” she shrugged. She still found it impossible to be mad at him. None of the things he did mattered anymore. Not now that he was home.
Odysseus rubbed a hand over his face. “You're too good Penelope. You’re more beautiful than Circe, cleverer than Athena, and kinder than Persephone.”
Penelope just looked at him, her resolve to be mad fading away.
He removed his hand and she could see that he was crying. “I’ve lost Polites, Eurylochus, every man who served under me. I’ve lost twenty years with you.”
She took his hands then. “And now we have longer than that.”
His eyes met hers. He had aged so much during their time apart. “I’ve seen the world Penelope, and it pales in comparison to the sight of you.”
She leaned down and pressed her forehead to his. He closed his eyes, exhaling into her touch. “You never have to look away,” she whispered, pressing their first kiss in twenty years to his brow.
“I never want to.” He kissed her then, standing and drawing her up with him. His hands were where at her side and hers were in his hair, thinner than she remembered but she supposed her’s was too. Odysseus broke away and looked her over, his hands lazily moving up and down her torso. He moved his left hand up to cup her face and she smiled into his embrace.
Penelope drew closer and he pulled her against his chest, his hand now laced in her hair. Hearing his heartbeat was the last bit of proof she needed to know that he was actually here and that it wasn’t some cruel trick of the gods.
They didn’t need to say anything, these intimate actions communicated all their emotions.
“I love you, Penelope,” he said into her hair.
“And I love you, Odysseus,” she replied.