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“Father?”
Telemachus’s soft voice sounded far away at first. Odysseus was covered in a deep, sickly red. It soaked through his clothes. But nothing mattered when he saw his boy. His Tele. The boy he’d fought 20 years to get back to.
”Son…” His voice was hoarse, from screams of agony and rage.
”I feel like I’ve waited my whole life for this. I’ve only heard stories of you.” The prince looked at the room of mangled bodies. Those suitors. More animal than man.
”All good ones, I hope.” Odysseus tried to be light-hearted. But this was his baby. The same infant he’d kissed on the forehead before leaving for war.
Telemachus stepped over a body, legs wobbly, like a newborn foal. Like a toddler. Odysseus’s breath hitched.
”Sometimes I’d sit, and Mama would tell me stories about you. I think she made up half of them.” His mouth quirked up in a fond smile. “I’d sit up and wonder if I was gonna be anything like you. Brave and not scared all the time.”
Odysseus saw how his son’s face dropped at that.
”I’m scared all the time.” He said, looking up at the ceiling. He didn’t miss his son’s surprised expression. “I was scared I’d never see you or your mother again. Never hear your laugh. Never get swatted by your mother’s shoe again when I mess up.”
Telemachus laughed softly, a reprieve in the heaviness between them.
“Sometimes I’d think…what if you came back and just didn’t want me. Didn’t want us.” Telemachus’s voice went quiet as he stepped over another body, knees shaking.
”I’ll always want you both.” Odysseus said without hesitation. His eyes were on his son’s steps. He’d never seen his son’s first steps. The war stole that from him. Did he walk to a picture of his father? Did he stumble into Penelope’s arms?
”My sweet boy. You never wonder how much I love you.” He said with a softness Telemachus only knew from his mother.
Odysseus opened his arms without realizing what he was doing. His son was taking clumsy, uncoordinated steps over the bodies, towards him. But all he saw was a little boy with chubby legs, walking to his papa.
”When I first saw you, I knew I’d do anything for you. That day, you and I were both born.” He said, arms still outstretched. “The things you must have endured. You were far too young to protect your mother.”
“It was my duty,” Telemachus said, with a practiced firmness. He didn’t want to think about all of the things those bastards put him and his mother through.
Odysseus recognized that look. His son was steeling himself, preparing for violence that would never come.
”You’re so strong. But now I’m here.” He said, keeping his arms open.
Telemachus stepped over another body, then another. His baby toddled to him, maybe not for the first time, but it was the first time for Odysseus.
Steps uncoordinated and clumsy, walking to the man he’d only heard about in stories. But something felt familiar.
Once Telemachus was in reach, Odysseus grabbed him and pulled him into his chest. “I’m home. I’m home, my boy.” He cradled the back of his head, like he cradled him as an infant. That’s when the dam broke.
Telemachus clung to his father as sobs ripped through him. “I’ve missed you, papa.” He choked out, tears soaking his father’s shoulder.
Odysseus kissed his son’s brow. “I’m home.” He said again.
For the first time since before the suitors, Telemachus felt peace.