Chapter Text
Odysseus had survived war, monsters, gods, and the sea itself.
What he had not survived was peace.
Ithaca was gentle now. The mornings came without alarms no horns, no cries, no salt stinging his eyes. The palace smelled of olive oil and clean linen instead of blood and smoke. The people laughed easily. Children ran barefoot through streets that had once held their breath for his return.
Telemachus ruled well.
Odysseus watched his son from the edge of the courtyard, where he had learned to stand without being noticed. Telemachus spoke with the confidence of a man who had never needed a sword in his hand to be obeyed. The council listened. The people trusted him. Ithaca did not need its old king anymore.
Odysseus told himself that was good. He had wanted this. He had dreamed of this.
Still, his fingers twitched like they were waiting for a rope to pull or a blade to grip.
At night, when the palace slept, he walked to the shore.
The sea never slept.
It breathed. It watched him back.
Four years had passed since his return, and he was never the same man he once was. He wished he could be for himself, for his son, for his Penelope. Twenty years of war and wandering had carved something permanent into him. He had spent so long yearning for home that he had never imagined what it would feel like to arrive and still feel lost.
Sleep came rarely. When it did, it brought dreams of fallen friends and drowned men. Some days he pushed food away untouched, his body still trained for scarcity. Rest made him restless. Stillness felt wrong. He did not know how to stop moving.
Penelope noticed, of course. She always did.
She never asked him to explain himself. Never demanded he name what haunted him. She watched instead from doorways, from across courtyards, from the quiet spaces between words. She knew he was not unhappy. Only unsettled. Like a man wearing his own skin incorrectly.
It was as if he were trying to become the man he used to be, not realizing that version of himself no longer existed.
Odysseus sat on the palace steps one evening, staring out at the tide as it pushed and pulled against the shore. Penelope joined him without a word, close enough that their shoulders brushed.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she said at last.
He glanced at her. “The water?”
She nodded, threading her fingers through his.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “It is.”
They sat in silence for a while, the waves speaking for them. Then Penelope broke it again.
“Do you miss it?” she asked. “The years you spent out there?”
Odysseus looked down, considering. “In a way,” he said. “Yes.”
She smiled a small, sad smile. “You could always go back.”
He turned to her, brow lifting. “Go back?”
“Yes,” she said gently. “You don’t have to be here forever.”
“I’m not stuck,” he replied, though he couldn’t quite meet her eyes. “Just…”
The word never came.
“Ody,” she said softly.
“You don’t have to go far,” she added, her gaze fixed on the sea.
“I don’t know where I’d go,” he admitted.
“That’s all right,” she said. “You never did.”
There was no accusation in her voice. No hurt. Just truth, placed carefully between them.
“I don’t want to leave you,” he said.
“I know.” She finally looked at him. “And you don’t want to stay either.”
The words landed cleanly. No drama. No wound. Just understanding.
“Take as much time as you need,” Penelope said. “The sea made you what you are. I won’t pretend land alone can undo that.”
Odysseus leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. No promises were spoken. They had learned long ago not to lie to each other like that.
This was not goodbye.
It was go.