Chapter Text
The moment Telemachus steps foot into the palace, he knows something is wrong.
It’s quiet. Too quiet.
Over the past few years, he has gotten used to the constant noise of suitors’ and their drunken cheers. The palace was never completely silent until almost dawn, when they had had enough. Some of them would fall asleep right at the tables of the dining hall. The others… Telemachus tried not to think about that.
It is almost past midnight now. It’s quiet, as should be. Still, Telemachus can't shake the feeling that something is off. The silence looms over him, embracing his figure with a chilling, unwelcomed hug. He thinks of the last words Athena had said to him before he headed to the palace.
She tried to stop him first, to stick to their plan, to wait a little longer. But Telemachus was sick of waiting, and he needed to make sure his mother was safe. Well, as safe as she can be among those beasts.
So they parted ways. Athena didn't say where she was going, but Telemachus could guess as she assured she will join him soon. And she won’t be alone.
As Telemachus steps deeper into the palace, he holds onto the only thought—no matter what’s going on now, his father is coming. He can feel it in his bones. He knows it all will end tonight.
But the tree of worry sprouts up in his gut, growing higher up to his lungs. His heart starts racing as the dreadful thoughts fill up his mind. What if they did something in his absence? What if they dared…?
Telemachus speeds up his pace, heading for the women's wing. To hell with discreetness. To hell with those filthy pigs. He can’t be bothered less until he sees his mother.
And just as he finally reaches the stairs, he freezes at what is in front.
“No,” he barely can make a sound, words stuck in his throat. This can’t be happening…
Telemachus falls to his knees, blood soaking the fabric of his cloak and chiton. A soft sob escapes his lips, and he covers his mouth to silence himself. “Argos…” He reaches to the little body curled up on the floor. His eyes are still open, tongue stuck out as if he was trying to catch the last bits of air while life was leaving him, flowing out with the blood through his slit throat.
Tears well up in Telemachus’ eyes, and he chokes on the thick air, grieving for his loyal friend. His only friend for so many years. His protector. One of the few ties to his father.
“Welcome home, little wolf.”
Telemachus stills at the voice, reflexively reaching for the dagger on his belt. He blinks his tears, not yet willing to face the monster responsible for them.
When he turns, the first thing he sees is Antinous' malicious grin and a long blade in his hands, covered in blood. There are five or six other suitors behind him, Telemachus can't distinguish all them in the dark . Antinous carefully wipes his blade with the edge of his chlamys, blood perfectly blending with the color of the fabric. He stares right into Telemachus’ eyes and grins even more.
“Missed you at the docks.”
“You bastard!” Telemachus spits and lunges at him, pulling his dagger from the sheath. His mind sharpens, prepared to fight, even though Athena is not here to aid him with a power of her quick-thought. But he doesn’t need it. He’s going to kill this monster with his bare hands if he has to.
Antinous easily avoids his attack, and Telemachus’ confidence dies just as soon as it was born, sparked by grief, when the suitor grabs his arm and twists it behind Telemachus’ back. His dagger hits the stone floor with a loud clang. Antinous strikes his leg, and Telemachus falls on the floor, knees colliding with a cold stone. He pants and bites his lip. The suitors have already taken too much joy in his grief for Argos. He will not entertain them with his pain any longer.
The other suitors grab his arms, pulling them behind his back. The fight is over before it even started. Just as it always is.
Too reckless. Too hot-headed. Too much like your father.
Athena’s words are no help now. Even if she’s not actually in his mind, her voice still echoes in his head. He doesn’t need her lecturing. He needs strategy.
But he can't focus, still too consumed by the rage coursing through his veins. How dare they? Destroying his home, taunting him and his people, threatening his mother...
His mother.
Where is she? What have they done to her?
Antinous' hands tighten around Telemachus’ throat, air rushes out of his lungs, and dark spots appear in the corner of his eyes. He screams at himself to fight, to move, to do something. He can’t let them win. He can’t go down without a proper fight.
Because once they are through with him, they are going to go after his mother, and he can’t let that happen.
Show them that you’ve got some bite.
In a frantic move, Telemachus lunges forward, sinking his teeth into Antinous' arm. The suitor screams and lets go of his neck. Telemachus takes in a breath and jerks his head back. No wasting the short upper hand moment his biting gave him. From the surprised yelp, he knows he probably hit some soft spot.
Telemachus picks up his dagger from the floor and jumps to his feet. He swings his weapon at the nearest suitor, who is still disoriented.
The reflexes kick in. Finally. He steadies his breathing and attacks.
Now Telemachus sees that Athena's weeks of training have not been in vain. He feels the rhythm of the fight, knows where his opponents are aiming, and can block their blows. They are angry, especially Antinous, who is used to beating Telemachus until he can't get up. Anger makes them reckless. And when one of them rushes at Telemachus, he ducks and runs to the stairs.
Despite everything, he is still no match for the group of suitors. Certainly not with a short blade as his only weapon. He longs for the weight of a spear in his hand. A weapon with two sharp edges would be very useful right now. Although he still has his advantages. Yes, he can’t beat them, but after all he’s faster and knows these halls better.
But before Telemachus can reach the stairs, someone grabs him by the edge of the cloak and pulls him back. The cloth cuts into his neck, and he’s suffocating again. He tries to use his opponent's force and turns around swiftly, striking with the dagger. A loud scream echoes through the halls, and for the first time in a while, Telemachus is not the one screaming.
The triumph of victory quickly evaporates when Telemachus sees the suitor grabbing his throat, choking on blood, and falling to the ground.
Suddenly this is no longer just a suitor in front of him. This is a man. A dead man. Telemachus knows him. Telemachus is the one who killed him.
Amphinomus.
“No…” he whispers, frozen in place. His feet seem to have frozen to the floor. The conscious part of his brain is screaming at him to move; he has no time to stare at a dead man who wanted to kill him. But Telemachus can't tear his eyes away from the glassy gaze of the dead suitor, staring into nothing.
The blow comes from the side, and Telemachus falls to the ground. He gasps for air, returning to reality, where the fellows of the man he regretted killing a moment ago are trying to kill him. Telemachus tastes blood on his tongue and spits it at Antinous’ feet, who is hovering over him.
“Quite a fight you put up, little wolf,” he says, looking at Amphinomus' body. He’s not smiling anymore, cold determination all over his face. “But the games are over. You should thank me, really. You'll be long dead to hear how I make your mother scream.”
Telemachus lunges at him, baring his teeth, ready to bite, to rip this monster’s throat out. Just with his teeth. Instead, he gets backhanded with such force that his head snaps back and hits the floor with a sickening thud. Everything goes white, and tears well up in the corners of his eyes. He wants to scream, but the pain is too intense, so he can only whine softly like a wounded dog.
Just like Argos before he died.
He tries to get up, to fight back, before he realizes he can’t move. Ther suitors’ hands are on his limbs, pinning him to the floor. The chill of the stone soaks through the fabric of his clothes into his skin. He redoubles his efforts, twists his head, even though the movement threatens fainting, as he tries to use the only weapon he has left—his teeth. But he can’t reach anyone or anything.
“Tame your teeth, little wolf,” Antinous snarls and clutches his blade tighter. Telemachus’ own weapon is long lost somewhere in the darkness of this hall. Antinous kneels beside and nods to the other suitors. “Hold him down.”
“No!” Telemachus tries to scream, tries to get up, but they shove him hard to the floor again. His vision starts to fade and he welcomes this darkness almost happily. It’s better to die now. Quick and easy.
But the pain that explodes in his shoulder promises no quick death. His throat is raw with screams, no pride left in him to keep his suffering silent.
“Shut up!” Antinous’ hand is over his mouth, pressing so hard that for a second Telemachus thinks it might break his skull. “You don’t want to wake up your mother, do you?”
At the mention of his mother, Telemachus tries to summon the remains of defiance he still has left in him, tries to open his mouth, to bite off Antinous’ fingers or at least to take in a proper breath. But the pain in his shoulder grows stronger with every second, while the rest of his body goes limp. Despite Antinous' palm almost completely covering his nose, he senses a metallic smell in the air. The smell of his own blood.
Suitors’ hands are still on his limbs, holding him down to the floor, their nails pressing deep into his skin. Vultures ready to feast.
Telemachus closes his eyes, not willing these ugly grins to be the last thing he ever sees, and lets darkness swallow him.
But Antinous doesn’t give him such a chance. In one move, he pulls the blade out of Telemachus' shoulder, drawing another muffled whimper from him, and begins to make swift, rough cuts down his left arm. Telemachus’ eyes fly open, seems that’s the only part of his body he’s able to control now. His throat hurts from silent screams. He blinks the tears from his lashes and feels them rolling down, falling into his hair. He doesn’t dare to turn to the left to witness Antinous butchering his arm. Instead, he closes his eyes once again and tries to reach Athena with his mind. It’s too late to ask her to save him, but maybe it’s not too late for his mother.
She’s a clever woman. She still might escape.
Please, Athena…
Everything around falls quiet. Telemachus' mind fills with the image of his mother, her kind eyes, her soft hands, her gentle voice as she tells him another story about his father...
A harsh punch across the face makes him open his eyes again. Antinous is gripping his jaw even tighter as he turns Telemachus’ head to him.
“You’re not checking out on us, boy,” he growls, the tip of his blade, covered in blood, sinks into Telemachus' cheek. “Not yet.”
All Telemachus can do is sob breathlessly, more tears falling into his hair, already soaked in sweat and blood.
As Antinous once again raises his hand, Telemachus realizes that it can’t end this way. If the Fates haven't cut his thread yet, this fight is not over. Maybe he's not destined to die like this, torn to pieces by enemies.
Suddenly, the pressure on his arms and legs lessens. Through the ringing in his ears, Telemachus can hear the suitors cursing quietly. He blinks away the tears once more and throws a quick glance at Antinous. He's lowered his blade for some reason and is now staring into the darkness of the hall.
Something has distracted them.
That’s when Telemachus feels a familiar object inches from his hand, the one Antinous hasn't yet struck.
A sharp sound pierces the air, and in a moment, one of the suitors falls to the ground. The rest of them don't even have time to react. The sound repeats, and one more suitor is down.
Telemachus’ hand is free now, so he seizes the moment, his fingers curling around the dagger, such a precious gift, a wish for good luck.
“I hope it serves you well, my dear friend.” Peisistratus said right before Telemachus got on his ship.
Well, maybe this dagger will do even more.
Antinous’ grip on his jaw has also loosened. All around is chaos. He doesn’t understand what is happening, but knows one thing—it’s now or never.
With all the remaining strength, Telemachus opens his mouth and sinks his teeth deep into Antinous’ palm, clenching as hard as possible. The suitor growls and tries to pull away, but Telemachus only bites deeper until he feels blood on his tongue.
“Get off me…” he tries, but can barely hear himself. Antinous hisses, clutching his wounded arm to his chest. His blood tastes like poison in Telemachus’ mouth.
He needs to move. That’s his only chance. He tries to get up, but it hurts. Everything hurts so much.
Antinous notices Telemachus straggles and quickly overcomes his moment of weakness, pushing his knee into Telemachus' chest. But this only gives Telemachus more strength. He refuses to die by this bastard's hand.
“Get OFF ME!” He snarls, swinging his dagger. He doesn't look where he's striking, just to hit something. Just to get free.
The suitor falls down screaming, clutching his eye, and Telemachus is able to breathe again. Without wasting any more time, he rolls onto his stomach, jumps to his feet, gripping the weapon firmly in his hand, and runs.
The floor is slippery, and Telemachus almost falls several times as he turns to another corridor. A choir of screaming reaches his ears. Could it be the suitors? Why are they screaming?
“Keep your heads down! He’s aiming for the torches!” They aren’t just scared. They are terrified. But of what?
No, he doesn't have time for this. Maybe they plotted against someone of their own or just went crazy and started butchering each other. Or maybe it is another battle cry, and they are now chasing Telemachus once more, intending to finish what they have started.
It doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is to get to his mother's chambers.
Telemachus figures that he is probably leading suitors right there, putting his mother in even more danger, but he must warn her.
Glancing at the walls, he realizes why the floor is so slippery. It's blood. Blood is everywhere. And so are the bodies.
Arrows pierce their chests, heads, and necks. Dozens of dead bodies with dozens of arrows in them.
There’s movement on the right, and Telemachus reflectively ducks down and strikes back, swiftly thrusting his dagger into the enemy's stomach. This time he doesn't look at the suitor but keeps running, not waiting for body to hit the floor.
There is room only for one thought left in his mind—find mother.
They keep coming on to him. Although their attacks are not as well organized as before. They strike one by one, so he cuts more, stabs harder, and runs faster. After all, he is on the brink now, left arm limp at his side, head spinning from the blood loss. Antinous is nowhere to be seen, but Telemachus knows he’s close.
Just a couple more steps. He’s almost there.
Someone slams into him from the side, and pain rips through Telemachus. A shaky breath bursts from his lips, as Antinous pulls out his blade out of Telemachus’ stomach. With a short cry, he falls to his knees, clutching the wound with his injured hand. His good one is still holding the dagger.
His mouth fills with blood, and he coughs, crimson drops mingling with ponds of someone else's blood on the floor.
Another harsh blow knocks Telemachus backwards, and his head collides with the solid floor. A pathetic whimper escapes his blood-stained lips as he presses harder on the wound in his stomach.
Oh gods, I don't want to die. Not now. Not like this.
Black spots dance in front of his eyes, but Telemachus blinks once, then twice, and finally he can recognize the faces hovering over him.
Antinous’ eye is swollen, half of his face is covered in blood, his expression no longer so sadistically calm. If Telemachus didn't know this monster so well, he would have thought he is... scared.
Eurymachus, on the other hand, is clearly panicking. He is unarmed, which is strange, his eyes wide open. He keeps looking over his shoulder as if expecting some creature to lunge at him from the darkness.
“Antinous, a–are you sure about this?” Eurymachus mumbles, eyes do not stop wondering even for a second. “You saw what the king did to the others.”
The king? Oh gods, could it–? Could it really be?...
“Shut up, Eurymachus, or I'll slit your throat myself before that scum has an opportunity to shoot you with his arrow.” Antinous growls and turns to Telemachus. “We’re dead anyway. Might as well take the king’s bitch and their runt first.”
“No…” Telemachus whispers, a sheer terror coursing through him at the thought of his mother.
He cannot let them get to her. Not while he's still breathing.
Maybe this fear is good after all. It gives him a sudden rush of the energy as he turns over on his stomach and starts crawling. The door to his mother's chambers is only a few feet away. So close…
His insides burn with fire and Telemachus cries, coughing up more blood. He furiously spits on the floor and crawls further, drawing as much air into his lungs as possible.
“Mother…” he gasps. She won’t hear him. The footsteps behind urge him to try again. “Mother! Run! Ru–”
The kick in the gut brings Telemachus to a whole new level of pain.
“Shut up!” Antinous hisses through his teeth right into Telemachus’ ear. He feels the cold steel of the blade at his throat and knows it's over.
“Run!!!” It's more of a plea than a scream. Not the worst last words to his mother. Antinous kicks him again, and he wails like a wounded animal. A wolf he wanted to be…
Was this the price of becoming legendary? A hero, like his father?
Telemachus doesn't feel like a hero.
His eyelids are too heavy, and he lets them close. A single tear rolls down his cheek, falling to the floor, soaking into the river of blood. Forgive me, mother.
But it seems he doesn’t have a choice even in his own death, because when Antinous yanks him by his hair and turns to face him, Telemachus opens his eyes again.
“You little brat…” Antinous begins, but Telemachus is tired of listening to his speeches.
“Just k–kill me already,” he snarls, piercing Antinous with the most hateful look he can master with half-closed eyes. This monster has to know that no matter what, he could not break him.
“Any last words?” Antinous grins, pressing the blade harder.
Telemachus ignores him and turns his head to look at the tapestry on the wall, one of his mother's most beloved works. On it, the Ithacan royal family is together. The queen Penelope holds her infant son in her arms, smiling at him. Next to her is her husband, King Odysseus, who hugs her shoulders with one arm while also holding Telemachus with the other.
That’s all Telemachus has—stories and tapestries. His heart aches at the realization that he will never meet his father, will never know what it is like to be loved by him.
Forgive me, father.
The gasping sound comes abruptly, and in a second, his eyes meet Eurymachus', who falls to the floor, choking on his own blood. His throat is pierced with an arrow.
That's all Telemachus manages to see, as in a flash Antinous yanks him up in a standing position, his blade still at Telemachus' throat.
No, he realizes, that’s not Antinous’ blade. That’s his own dagger. A weapon that was meant to help him.
I hope it serves you well, my dear friend.
What a cruel irony.
Through the fog in his head, Telemachus manages to discern a figure that emerges from the darkness. He is standing tall. The bow in his bloodstained hands is still, pointed at the exact target. The target that now uses Telemachus as a human shield.
There's something animalistic in this man’s movements. He is like a wolf creeping up on his prey, awaiting the right moment to bare his teeth and tear it apart.
“If you come any closer, I'll slit his throat.” Antinous says, not able to hide a shiver in his voice, and Telemachus could laugh if he still had the energy to. Antinous—a wild beast, terrorizing him for years, trembling at the sight of just one man.
Because despite the hood of his cloak covering his face and the fact that Telemachus had never met this man, he knows who he is. He can feel it in his heart.
Odysseus.
The king.
His father.
“Let him go.”
Their eyes meet, and Telemachus catches a glimpse of red, but it’s not that deep color of blood around, more like a fire meant to warm Telemachus while burning everything else around him. The longing in his heart is so strong he jerks forward only to feel Antinous' grip tighten, the dagger pressing deeper into his skin. Telemachus gasps as blood trickles down his neck.
“No, I know I’m going down,” Antinous spits, and Telemachus clutches his arm, more for balance than struggle. The fight bleeds out of him along with his blood. “And I’m taking your pup with me.”
Telemachus wishes for the warmth of the fire in his father’s eyes. He wishes to bury his face in his shoulder, to tell him everything about his life, and to listen to every story he has to tell him. He wishes to know what it’s like to have a father.
“Let him go, and I'll grant you a swift death.” Odysseus is talking to Antinous, but his eyes never leave Telemachus. Something in his gaze is screaming at him. “Hurt him again and I will tear you apart, limb by limb, until you are begging me to kill you, but I won't show you any mercy. I will leave what is left of your body for vultures to feast on, and your soul will never find peace.”
Telemachus hears Antinous exhaling sharply, sees a slight nod of Odysseus chin, and suddenly understands.
“I’ll take my chances,” Antinous says, and Telemachus braces himself when a blue light flashes across his vision.
“Be ready, little wolf.”
Athena!
He tightens his grip on Antinous’ arm. A familiar sound of Athena’s quiсk-thought thunders through his mind. In a flash, the dagger is in his hand again, and a second later it’s deep into Antinous’ stomach.
“This is for disrespecting my father,” Telemachus snarls, his injured arms pressing hard into Antinous’ shoulder as the suitor chokes on blood pouring from his mouth. Triumph and rage flow through Telemachus’ core. He pulls out the blade and plunges it in again. “This… is for threatening my m–mother…” He coughs but pulls the dagger again and thrusts it into Antinous’ chest, right into his heart. He hardly ever had one, after all. “And this… this is for me and my dog.”
He shoves Antinous forward with a yell that almost sounds like a howl. The monster is still alive when his body hits the floor, and Telemachus can't tear his eyes away as he watches the life drain out of him. Antinous coughs, chokes, eyes darting around in panic, before his body shudders one last time and goes still forever. At last, the man responsible for all the tears, bruises, scars, and screams—the monster—is dead.
The dagger slips from Telemachus’ hand, his knees give out, and he’s suddenly aware that he’s still bleeding. He expects pain when his knees meet the stone floor, but instead, someone catches him and slowly lowers to the ground. He almost panics at the touch, but then remembers who this is.
Telemachus looks up, staring into eyes that are still glowing like two embers in the dark. Telemachus tries to speak, to say the word he’s waited to say for so long, but breathing is so hard, so overwhelming, that he can only gasp. His mouth tastes like blood again. Oh, gods, he’s dying after all…
Odysseus clutches his shoulders, supporting him. His wide eyes wander over Telemachus' form as he observes his injuries. And at last, when the darkness is so close to overcome him, Telemachus manages to whisper:
“Father?... Is it– is it really you?” He knows, of course, he knows it’s him, but he needs to hear it. He waited to hear it for twenty years.
“It’s me. It’s me, Telemachus,” the man, Odysseus, his father says, as he cups Telemachus’ face with one hand. “I’m here. I’m home. Oh, my sweet boy, I’m finally home.”
Telemachus sobs and buries his head in his father’s shoulder, clinging to his chest, clutching a fabric of his cloak in his fingers as if his life depends on it. Maybe it does. His father freezes for a moment, and Telemachus almost panics, but then he clasps his hands on his back and hugs him even tighter.
Tears flow freely from Telemachus’ eyes, soaking his father’s cloak, blending in with the blood. His father is crying too, body trembling, tears falling into Telemachus’ hair as he presses kisses to the top of his head, whispering:
“It’s alright. I’ve got you. I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.”
Telemachus finally can close his eyes. There’s no more pain. No need to be afraid. No need to fight.
He’s safe now.