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For the past few days, dinner time in Ithaca had been a mix of yelling, and crying, and just in general, chaotic.
It started when the queen brought out lamb for dinner.
Ody didn’t sleep that night, his thoughts plagued by that of the cyclops he’d blinded.
Then it was pork.
Which didn’t bother Odysseus as much, as he had a few good memories of the witch goddess Circe, but he still tossed and turned in bed in the pitiful version of sleeping he’d been condemned to.
Then the next day, it was beef.
It had seemed that Zeus himself had decided it was a great time to torment the king of Ithaca the moment the sun went down.
At the moment, the king was staring down at a plate of pancakes, his hands shaking.
“Dad?” Telemachus must’ve seen the haunted look on his father’s face, because his voice wavered with concern as he got the king’s attention. “Are you okay?”
“P-Polites…”
The prince’s eyes widened as realization dawned. “Oh…”
“Telemachus!” Penelope called from the kitchen, and walked into the dining room. “Can you help me prepare the fish for tonight’s dinner?”
“Mom—” Telemachus tried to stop his mother, but it was too late.
Odysseus was whispering to himself now, his mouth shaping familiar words that had been said to him many times before. “Ruthlessness is mercy… upon ourselves…”
Penelope realized her mistake and rushed to her husband’s side. “My love, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
Odysseus stood, eyes blazing. “Nope! That’s it! I’m done!
Telemachus and Penelope blinked in sync. “Done?”
“I’m going vegetarian.”
The king’s wife and child shared a look.
“Honey, you don’t mean—” Penelope began, only to be cut off when her husband raised a hand.
“I do.”
Telemachus stifled a laugh.
“What? What’s so funny?”
“It’s only been two weeks, Dad, but I’m certain I’ve been around you long enough to know you’re not going to be able to stick with this.”
The king gaped. “What makes you say that?”
Penelope and her son shared another amused look.
“Let’s make a bet.” Penelope said, a hint of mischief creeping into her tone. “By the end of this month, if you still haven’t eaten a single piece of meat, then…”
“Then what?”
The queen remained silent, but her lips twitched up into a seductive smirk that Odysseus knew all too well.
He raised an eyebrow, returning the smirk. “Oh?”
Telemachus covered his ears, groaning. “Ew. I don’t want to hear this.”
Ody giggled childishly, rolling his eyes. “And if I lose?”
“Then…” Penelope’s eyes lit up as she got an idea. “You have to let Lady Circe turn you into a pig for the rest of that month.”
“What?!”
Telemachus burst out laughing. “Yes! He would be such a cute little piggy!”
“I agree.” Penelope grinned at her husband. “So, deal?”
He crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes in a challenge. “Deal.”
…
..
.
Odysseus was starving.
Not regular hungry, not “I skipped lunch” hungry.
He was starving for something—anything other than rice and veggies.
“Vegetables,” he muttered under his breath with all the bitterness of a man betrayed by fate itself, “should be banned from Ithaca.”
Across the hall, Telemachus leaned in the doorway, eating—of course—a fat, sizzling strip of bacon. Loudly. On purpose.
The prince took a dramatic bite. “Mmm. Wow. This is incredible. So crunchy. So flavorful.”
Odysseus’ left eye twitched. “You’re doing this intentionally.”
“Me? Never.” Telemachus took another bite, even louder.
Penelope walked in carrying a basket of fresh produce from the market. “Good news, my love! I found even more lentils for tonight’s stew.”
The king stared at the basket like it contained his doom. “Lentils?”
“You like lentils,” Penelope said, smiling too sweetly.
“I did,” Odysseus corrected his wife, “before they became my entire life.”
Telemachus snorted.
Penelope set the basket down and looked at her husband with false sympathy. “You’re holding up remarkably well, considering your… history of willpower.”
“I have willpower!” Odysseus argued.
“Mhmm…” She didn’t sound convinced.
The king shoved himself up from the table. “You’ll see. I’m going to win this bet. No meat. None. Not a single bite.”
At that exact moment, one of the servants walked by with a tray stacked high with pork and chicken for the palace staff.
Odysseus inhaled sharply.
Telemachus raised an eyebrow, amused. “You okay there, Dad?”
“Yes,” Odysseus said, absolutely way too fast to be believable.
“Dad,” Telemachus wheezed. “It’s only been three days!”
“It’s practically been a lifetime!” Odysseus whined.
Penelope folded her arms. “If you’d like to quit, just say so…”
The king straightened indignantly. “Absolutely not.”
“Wonderful,” Penelope said, dusting her hands off. “Then lentil stew it is, tonight.”
The king swallowed like a man facing execution. “Delicious.”
Telemachus smirked. “Sure, Dad.”
Odysseus pointed at his son. “Stop trying to sabotage me.”
“I haven’t done anything!” Telemachus protested—right as he pulled another piece of bacon from the dining room table and took a very slow, very dramatic bite.
Odysseus let out a strangled sound.
Penelope sighed. “Telemachus. Stop tormenting your father with bacon.”
“But it’s so easy!” he said through laughter.
The king marched to the opposite wall, turned to face his family, and declared with the conviction of a man about to lie to himself, “I will not be defeated by food.”
Telemachus had to lean on the table to keep from collapsing in laughter.
Penelope rubbed her temples. “This is going to be a long month.”
Odysseus nodded solemnly, placing a dramatic hand on his heart. “For all of us.”
There was a brief silence.
Then Odysseus trudged out of the dining room, muttering something about “the tyranny of vegetables” under his breath.
Penelope and Telemachus watched him go.
Telemachus sighed fondly. “He’s so dramatic.”
Penelope smiled. “He really is.”
The prince shook his head. “He’s not going to make it, is he?”
Penelope placed a hand on her hip, resigned. “No. No he is not.”
…
..
.
For two whole weeks, Odysseus had resisted.
He had suffered through lentils.
He had endured salads the size of shields.
He had battled chickpeas, barely, and a betrayal of a stew that tasted like sadness.
But everyone has a breaking point.
Telemachus walked into the dining room to find his father sitting perfectly still, staring down at a plate of leftover roast from the evening feast. That said roast had been meant for the palace guards—but now it sat in front of Odysseus like a divine test.
“…Dad?”
Odysseus did not blink. “It appeared before me.”
Telemachus glanced around the room. “It’s a plate of meat.”
“It spawned,” Odysseus insisted, voice trembling. “The gods tempt me on purpose.”
Telemachus looked at the kitchen doorway. “Mom definitely left this here.”
From behind the doorway, Penelope whispered to herself. “I swear he would’ve cracked by now…”
Telemachus groaned. “Mom.”
She stepped out, completely unbothered. “I needed to test his willpower skills.”
Odysseus clutched the table. “I hear everything.” He reminded his family.
Penelope clasped her hands together. “All you have to do is push it away, love. Just a little shove. Show the world you’re stronger than a piece of meat.”
Odysseus extended one shaking finger.
He pushed the plate away.
It slid an inch.
He stared at it, sweating.
Telemachus leaned in, fascinated. “He’s actually doing it—”
Ody yanked the plate back instantly, hugging it protectively.
Telemachus threw his hands up. “Aaand he’s not doing it.”
Odysseus whispered to the heavens, “Out of everything you gods have done to me, this is the cruelest test I have ever endured…”
And then the plate tilted just slightly—just enough for a small piece of meat to tumble off…
…and land directly in Odysseus’ hand.
There was a collective gasp.
“Oh no…” Penelope murmured.
Telemachus practically squealed. “Oh YES.”
Odysseus froze, staring at the piece like it had spoken to him.
Silence.
Then, with the full tragic drama of a fallen hero declaring his final stand, Odysseus stood, raised the meat to the sky, and roared:
“I HAVE LOST THIS WAR!”
And he shoved the entire piece into his mouth.
Telemachus cheered like a stadium crowd. “THAT’S IT! YOU’RE DONE!”
Penelope pinched the bridge of her nose but couldn’t hide a smile. “Well. That settles that.”
Odysseus dropped into his chair, defeated, chewing like a man accepting doom.
Penelope shook her head, still smiling. “My love… It’s official. You’ve lost the bet. Circe is going to love this.”
Telemachus leaned in with a mischievous grin. “So… uh… when does Pig-Dad Month start?”
“As soon as Circe gets here.”
Odysseus groaned into his hands.
Telemachus sprang upright. “I have to send her a letter!” He sprinted out of the room.
Odysseus peeked through his fingers at his wife. “I am doomed… utterly doomed…”
Penelope smiled, glancing down at him fondly. “Don’t worry. We’ll do our best to salvage what’s left of your ego.”
Telemachus ran back into the room with a sheet of papyrus and quill, putting it down on the table and scribbling furiously, his brows furrowing in concentration. (A trait both him and his father shared.)
He finished the letter with a flourish, sealed it, and handed it to Eurycleia, the trusted nurse that partially raised the prince and his father. “Deliver it immediately! This is official business!”
Eurycleia winked knowingly and took the letter, leaving the room.
Penelope laughed softly, patting her despaired husband on the head. “And with that, my love… all we can do is wait.”
The dining room fell into a strange, chaotic calm as Ody took another reluctant bite of the roast in front of him. The calm before the storm that was about to arrive with Circe’s eventual presence.