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Odysseus has never held something more precious than his son. There is an odd sort of sensation to holding a baby. They smell.. oddly nice. Especially when that baby is like Telemachus, who has been no less than doused in olive oil. 

The sweetest, biggest innocent eyes look up at Odysseus while multiple sets of shuffling feet set out Penelope’s little challenge. Odysseus’s bow, Eurylochus’s sword, sheathed , and a spear from the

“We’re going to see which of these you pick first, my boy. Isn’t that fun?” Odysseus takes care to speak in whole sentences and enunciate his words clearly, because Eurycleia claims that her speaking to him like an adult when he was a baby contributed to his swift vocal development. And who was he to deny the wisdom of a woman who aided in rearing him?

“You have three options.. though, whatever choice you make now, you are not bound by. No matter what you choose, I’m sure you will be an honorable man, who comes to enjoy mastering one of these weapons.. or perhaps, the greatest weapon of all, your mind.”

Telemachus looks up at his pater, entirely uncomprehendingly. Which is normal, seeing as, despite Odysseus’s continued speech to him, his baby is yet to truly even start his babbling stage. The lifting his head thing is also still a little bit touch-and-go, but he certainly can tap his little hands against things. And for this type of play, that is all his son needs.

With the babyproofed weapons all set out, Odysseus carefully lifts his little one up, holding the baby over his three options to let Telemachus take a look, consider his options. There is a sharp intake of breath as chubby little fingers ghost over Eurylochus’s sword, and yet.. one tiny fist tightly grasps the wood of the bow, and something perhaps akin to pride starts to well in Odysseus’s chest.

“That is a good choice, little one. Not to mention, one of my favorites as well. Perhaps someday I will teach you to string this very bow.. and it could become yours.”

Telemachus makes a little gurgling noise. “That sounds like a yes to me,” Odysseus declares, not realizing his mistake until he sees Telemachus’s face scrunching up with something that might not be concentration. The smell confirms it, but Ctimene wastes little time in commenting, “perhaps this is his way of telling you he thinks your bow is shitty.”

The booming laughter that erupts from Eurylochus’s chest is not much of a consolation prize.

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“Really? I can try your bow? Are you sure?” Telemachus can’t believe his ears. He’s been getting better with archery, learning faster than ever under his father’s tutelage. But getting to use his father’s bow? It’s an honor. One Telemachus isn’t sure if he has earned yet.

“Of course, son. If you can string my bow, I will allow you to shoot with it.” This response gives Telemachus reason to pause.

“..the last time stringing this bow was used as a challenge, more than one hundred men failed.”

“That is true..” Odysseus nods, a small grin starting to spread across his face. “But, none of them were being taught how to string it correctly. You, my boy, only need to follow my instructions.” 

Surely, the task wouldn’t be that difficult with his father’s aid. “Alright.. what should I do first?”

“You will see, there are two loops to the bowstring. Take your smallest loop, and place it over the end of the bow that you will be bracing against the ground.” The instruction begins, clear and hopefully concise. Telemachus was, at minimum, able to fit a loop around the bottom of a bow. And yet, when he holds his half strung bow up, his father shakes his head.

“I see where the confusion begins.. You wish to string the bow on the side where it curves. But this is where the name of this bow comes into play. This bow, palintonos, is bent backwards. And so, you will pull the string in what would usually be the opposite direction.”

Suddenly, Telemachus understands why stringing this thing was considered such a worthy challenge. He reverses the side that the string rests on and asks, “like.. like this?”

“Yes, good job,” Odysseus affirms, a grin already making its way across his face. “Now, you may brace that strung end of the bow against the ground, or your ankle. For now, let’s start with the ground.”

Telemachus tilts his head, like a confused dog. He still listens, pressing the bow against the floor, firmly as he dares. It feels odd.. one of the first rules he was taught was not to let a bow touch the ground. “Is that really okay?” he just has to ask.

“Of course, this old thing can handle it. Now, you are going to bring your knee up, careful with your balance, and use it to bend .” And this is why Odysseus is finally allowing his son to attempt stringing this bow. When Odysseus first arrived, he was sure that Telemachus wouldn’t have the weight to throw into stringing his bow, not with its hefty draw weight, and his son’s light frame. But with the weight and muscle his son has gained over these past months, he’s sure it will be possible. Still challenging, but possible.

Telemachus, trying his best, didn’t really need to be told what to do next. He brought his knee to the middle of the bow, wobbling slightly as he tries to balance himself. This is really utilizing more feats of athleticism than he anticipated, before they have even gotten to the shooting part of the lesson. The wood twists and pops right out from under him.

“Oh- shit! ” Telemachus yelped, turning to the side so he can hold the bow up and avoid falling on it. His father’s sudden burst of laughter is less than helpful.

“You’re alright, my boy!” Odysseus assures through light chuckles. “You can try again. Come on now, back on your feet.” The encouragement isn’t all that encouraging, but Odysseus takes his son by the hand to pull him back up to his feet.  “You didn’t lose your small loop, so try again. Bow to the ground, knee up, bend, and secure your large loop at the top.”

Telemachus holds an exemplary level of self-restraint when he doesn’t give his father any sass. Well, other than, “are you sure this is a good idea?” Despite his half-hearted protests, Telemachus presses the bow down into the ground. He lifts his knee again, this time resting it slightly higher on the bow before pressing downwards.

This time, he does not shake, and the wood does not turn. But as he pulls the string upwards to secure the larger loop, he swears again. Telemachus pulls with all of his might, his arm shaking slightly with the effort. “ Why does this thing need to be so tight!?” The question is genuine, as Telemachus asks it through gritted teeth.

The large loop is secured, followed by Telemachus exhaling the largest relieved sigh of any training session yet.

“There we go.. that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Telemachus has decided, his father must have gone crazy during his extended time at sea.