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Odysseus would do anything for his son. Die for him, lie for him, torture a god for him. The list goes on. Odysseus would rather not think about everything he’s done for Telemachus. But he would do it all over again in a heartbeat.
But standing next to his former patron (who he ended on very bad terms with) is definitely at the bottom of the list.
At least it does comfort him to know that, even with her infinite wisdom, Athena did not see this meeting coming either.
Well, at least he assumes. It’s always been rather hard to read her expression with her permanently stoic demeanour, but with the newly scarred eye, it’s been nigh impossible.
Even so, there’s a new openness about her. A fragility that never was before. Standing next to him, even at a solid three feet taller than he is, Athena seems more mortal than ever.
She truly has changed. It’s evident in the way she coaches Telemachus.
When Odysseus first felt her presence with his son, he was ready to make what he did to Poseidon seem like child’s play in comparison. How dare she turn his son into a weapon? It must be retribution for his disrespect, just another way he has hurt his family in his absence.
But there’s a genuine care in the way she interacts with Telemachus. Gentle words, gentle encouragement, and a gentle smile that Odysseus has never seen, let alone have been the recipient of. (He won’t admit it to anyone except for Penelope, but it stings. Only slightly though. After all, Telemachus deserves all the good things in the world.)
And he supposes he can’t thank her enough for keeping Telemachus alive until he could slaughter those dogs. And for his son’s sake, he’ll be civil with her.
Right on cue, Telemachus bounds over to where Odysseus and Athena stand, sweaty from his training. Odysseus’ musings screech to a halt.
Oh, my son. My boy. Pride be damned, Odysseus would do anything for him. The infant he cradled in his arms, now a man. He wanted to scream, to weep, to plead with the gods to turn back the clock. To experience his first words and his first steps, to give him his first sword, to protect him from the horrors of the world. His perfect, not-so-little son.
“Dad, Athena! What did you think?”
Athena watched in mild amusement as Telemachus desperately avoided crashing into the ground as his father tackled him in a hug. Odysseus, sobbing with joy, mumbled incoherent praise into Telemachus’ shoulders. Telemachus, for his part, seemed puzzled but on the verge of tears himself. It was almost… touching. But still, Athena was a goddess with very important goddess things to do. She turned to leave the father and son alone when Telemachus called out to her.
“Athena? Must you leave?”
She glanced over her left shoulder to see Telemachus peering up at her with his doe-like eyes. And for a second, Athena saw the Odysseus from decades past, peering up at her with hope in his heart. Hope that she had crushed.
“There is no place for me here.” And with that, Athena turned to leave once more. She was once again stopped by a call of her name, this time by her former mentee.
Odysseus, for his part, had stopped sobbing and was simply clutching onto Telemachus like he might blow away with the wind, his eyes still purposefully averted from hers.
“Would you care to dine with us, Lady Athena?”
Lady Athena? There had never been a time in the past where Odysseus, even with his royal upbringing, had been so formal with her. Supper was not to be an enjoyable affair, but she owed him a favor. Or many, she supposed, for her part in his torment.
That’s how Odysseus and Athena found themselves dining together. As a delighted Telemachus rambled on about his new training regiment, Penelope found herself rather amused. After all, Odysseus told her everything, from the tense goodbye that the two had said years prior to his conflicted feelings on Athena mentoring his son.
When Telemachus finally ran out of words to say, the table went quiet, with only the clinking of silverware audible. With Odysseus resolutely staring at his meal and Athena’s eye focused on the walls, Penelope decided to intervene.
“Telemachus, would you like to hear a story?” Her son immediately perks up, wide eyes trained upon her. Next to her, Odysseus listens with disguised intrigue.
“Many decades ago, your father went to woo a girl. You know her as Helen of Troy.”
Telemachus’ eyes seems to bug out of his head. He’s never heard this story before. Penelope never talked about the beginning of her and Odysseus’ courtship, not until his dad came home, and certainly not of this part.
“You mean the woman who started the Trojan war? Which kept Dad away from us for twenty years?”
As Telemachus stared at his father with hurt in his eyes, Odysseus shot Penelope a look. She simply smiled at him.
“Yes, my cousin. Like many men, he went to win her hand-” Before Penelope could finish her sentence, Odysseus cut in. She playfully glared at him but made no move to stop him, knowing her plan was working perfectly.
“And then I found the most beautiful girl in the world, your mother.” Telemachus instantly looked relieved. Thankfully, there's no infidelity involved in this tale. However, the relief was shortlived as his father kissed his mother’s hand and slowly made his way up her arm. This naked display of adoration is completely normal for a couple who have been separated for two decades, but in this setting, bewildered everyone else at the table. As their son, Telemachus was obligated to look as disgusted as possible. Athena, a maiden goddess, did the same, the two sharing a look of disbelief.
Penelope momentarily pulled herself away from her adoring husband to laugh.
“Telemachus, would you like to guess how your father won me over?”
“With excessive affection?” Telemachus inferred from a glance to his father, who was still lost in his own world where there was nothing but his wife. Really, Telemachus was ecstatic for them, but at the table?
“Lady Athena, would you like to finish the story?” At this, Odysseus’ head finally shot up.
“Please don’t,” Odysseus pleaded, looking Athena in the eyes (eye?) for the first time since her goodbye. Right now, he is really regretting the things he did in his youth. The amount of stories the goddess had of him would absolutely destroy Telemachus’ image of him. How could he ever parent his son if Telemachus knew about the foolish things he'd done?
“I knew I shouldn’t have asked you for romantic aid.”
“It did strike me as a strange decision, yes.” Athena had laughed when Odysseus had asked her how to court Penelope all those years ago, and she still found that decision humorous. A maiden goddess giving romantic advice?
In his seat, the cogs in Telemachus’ brain were turning. He was definitely missing a piece of the puzzle that everyone else seemed to know. His father asked Athena for help? Why not Aphrodite? Unless..
“You were the friend Athena mentioned?”
“Friend? You called me your friend?” Odysseus’ delight seemed to light up the room, and Athena knew that now she would never hear the end of it from Odysseus. She couldn’t find it in herself to regret her words, however. In his excitement, Odysseus’ smile looked a bit like Telemachus’, but more like the Odysseus she'd known all those years ago.
“Wait, Athena is the reason I was born?”
As Odysseus and Penelope laughed, Athena internally rued the day she decided to interfere with Aphrodite’s realm.
“Son, if you ever need help with a girl, you can go to Athena right here.” Athena, hearing this, decided to try out her new one-eyed death glare on Odysseus. He shot her a wolfish grin that Athena knew had always preceded trouble, but she's has never been happier to see it. It was an olive branch, an opportunity for both of them to put the past behind them. Neither of them were the same anymore, but they could pretend for one night, for Telemachus. And perhaps, one day, they could return to the easy camaraderie they once shared.
Unfortunately for Athena, Telemachus seems to be taking his father’s advice to heart. And as he starts to pester the goddess with questions about his parents’ courtship, a sense of contentment settles over the palace. In that moment, it’s as if Odysseus never left. His giggling wife, still as beautiful as the day they met, sitting next to him; his starry-eyed son, who will be a better man than Odysseus ever was (he will make sure of it); and a patron goddess changed for the better with a smile on her lips as she relays embarrassing details that Odysseus would rather his son not know.
And so maybe, beyond the bloodshed, the betrayals, and the events of the past, they will be fine.