Chapter Text
Chapter Five: Of Councils and Proposals
Two years, Telemachus realized, was more than enough time to memorize both the schedule and temperament of his jailers.
“You seem to forget, Your Grace,” Lymenos hissed as he tiptoed behind a row of bookshelves, “That Cora and I do not share divine blood. We will be murdered without a second thought.”
It was the same argument Lymenos had the first week of their lives together when Telemachus had snuck into the kitchens to ransack the apple stash. The Old Cook had limited him to two a day to deter spoiling his appetite, but Telemachus had been more than willing to test his wrath. Lymenos, with no other choice, followed him into the warfront, lest he leave his duty to wander alone. Back then he had been pale with fear, but now only exasperation marred his expression.
“Hush,” Telemachus snapped, narrowing his eyes in annoyance. “We’re only dead if we’re caught.”
They hid amongst the shelves of the palace's library, and in its depths, toward the back wall lied the council room. Quite grand in design, it was a circular room with gilded leaves carved into pillars and a large table made of sturdy oak. A grand statue of Athena towered over the council towards the back entrance. Telemachus had only been inside when he needed a hiding place during a few rounds of seek-and-search with his companions. Never during an important meeting such as this. Penelope told him that he wouldn’t be allowed in until he was older. She never gave him a concrete answer on what age ‘older’ was. He would probably have to grow to the gargantuan height of the statue to be taken seriously.
Cora, only a step behind them both, snorted and swiftly covered her mouth, as if it could walk back the sound of her laughter. “He’s right, Grace. Execution’ll be swift,” she dipped low, peeking between the spaces of stacked scrolls and watched the councilmen enter the chamber with rapt attention. “I hoped to get married some day. A shame.”
Despite Cora’s shyness upon introduction, she truly was Telemachus’ partner-in-crime. She found joy in whatever impromptu missions Telemachus assigned himself. Which only succeeded in giving Lymenos heart palpitations on a weekly basis.
“No one is dying,” Telemachus whispered.
Faint voices of the councilmen drifted from the chamber as they filed in varying intervals. It wasn't long until the last one entered. Penelope was already inside, seated at the head of the table, most likely. As silent as mice, the three of them snuck into the room from the back entrance, dipping low to hide behind Athena’s statue.
Back pressed carefully against the sculpture, Telemachus placed a finger over his lips, miming silence to his companions. Ushering them forward, Cora took her place to his left and Lymenos to his right. Lymenos curved around the carved stone and peeked at the council’s table, before quickly pulling back into place.
“She’s pissed,” Lymenos mouthed silently and Telemachus cringed. He leaned over Lymenos’ lap and took his own look. Lymenos’ arm braced over his chest, preventing him from toppling over and blowing their cover.
The councilmen’s table was in disarray, voices fighting over the other in volumes. They argued over state-of-affairs that Telemachus wasn’t privy to. He wished he could hear his mother’s thoughts at will, anticipate her words before they were spoken aloud. But no matter how hard he tried to do so on command, it escaped him.
“--- Your Highness, this must be addressed at some point—”
“--- The Queen must not fall to mere optics! The people know nothing—”
“----They know we have no king and the heir is hidden away—!”
“--- His Grace works diligently in his studies, hidden is a stretch and you know it—”
On and on the voices scrambled across one another, volume raising until the whole table fell to hysterics. Cora squirmed, pressing closer to Telemachus and he patted her hand in turn. Lymenos pointed up at the ceiling, their signal to decide if they should retreat. The prince shook his head. He wanted to know more about the state of his kingdom, and since both Penelope and Damian decided he wasn’t fit to sit in council meetings yet, he’s made it a habit to come and sit without permission. If he was going to be king one day, he needed to be in the room that made every single decision. He would not be kept away from it forever, whether Penelope ordered it or not.
“Enough.” Penelope’s voice rang over the commotion and the table fell to quiet. There’s a long stretch before she spoke again, voice calm and collected. “Delos, speak plainly. What is it you would have me do to soothe our people’s worries?”
Councilman Delos was a man Telemachus would be happy to never know again. He was cantankerous at best, with an attitude so frightful it left his lips constantly twisted in a frown. Even now, Telemachus could hear his voice dip into an onerous grunt, a steady thrum of grumbles underneath the surface.
“You must take another husband,” he said.
There was a pause. And if a silence could chill, that was the proof of miracles.
“I must?” Penelope repeated, though there was no actual curiosity at hand. The men looked away in discomfort, not even a murmur of approval or disagreement dared to make itself known. Oh if only Telemachus could hear her thoughts. What was there beside the anger?
Delos sensed the misstep and coughed. “What I mean is, Your Highness, the nation stands in unrest. Your work is unparalleled. But still, as the years pass, our people wish to see a king by your side.”
“There is a king.” Penelope said, as simple as stating the sky was blue.
Was there? Telemachus looked down at his palms. Two years since his attempt to help his father home and thus two years since the Moirai blessed him with the image of Odysseus. Neither he or his mother would ever know what came of his fate. And because Penelope had locked away the king's things, Telemachus couldn’t try to reach out to him again. A flash of pain, phantom but visceral, struck his temple and Telemachus shook it away. He didn’t think he was strong enough to try the act again. Two years and still his nose bled far more frequently than it once had.
“One we are not certain still breathes,” councilman Petros cut in. He was a kind gentleman with an inexplicable warmth but now he was subdued. “It’s been twelve years since our brave king and honorable men left. And though we always pray for the best, we must prepare for the worst.”
“You'd have me dishonor my vows?” Penelope asked, though it sounded more like a statement. She had a way of sounding like all of her questions weren’t truly being asked. How the council could stand it was bewildering. Telemachus often met her with pressed lips and bowed head until they moved on to the next subject.
“You will remain honorable, Your Highness,” said councilman Alexos, his voice reedy and thin. “You've held on far longer than anyone could question. And if you were anyone else, you could hold fast for the rest of days. But you are not a common woman, and this is not common circumstance. The throne needs a king.”
Lymenos' eyes narrowed and he turned to Telemachus with worry across his brow.
“What is it?” Telemachus mouthed, scared that even his breath would give them away.
“A king,” Lymenos whispered once the voices rose again across the table. “Not you as king, just a king.”
Terror, chilling and sharp, fled through Telemachus and he gripped Lymenos’ hand, crushing their fingers together. Lymenos held just as fast. Cora dipped to look around the statue and came back with a frown.
“She wouldn't let that happen,” Cora said, whisper fierce as they pushed close together.
Telemachus licked his lips. Did Penelope have a choice? Though regent, she had to compromise with the council when the king was out of commission. She could not dictate everything. If the council argued for a new king then. . . Telemachus would no longer be in line for succession. All of his studies, all of his hope of being Odysseus’ pride would waste away to nothing. Panic rose, fluttering against his chest, and a familiar heat thrummed behind his eyelids. A shatter sounds across the room and the table fell silent before erupting in alarm.
Cora looked around the statue again and huffed a quiet laugh. “You broke a vase.”
“Damn,” Telemachus sighed, closing his eyes to temper his power. It was becoming difficult to untie the energy from his emotion. Damian sat him down, once, and taught him to cycle his breath in patterns, something he learned after his time as a soldier. A variation of long inhales and pauses and quick wooshes of release. With closed eyes, he brought himself back down to the mortal plane. These days Penelope expected him to be calm at all times, his powers lashing out seen as nothing more than a childish tantrum. And twelve summers was far too old for such grievances. But it was nearly impossible when something like this happened. How was he to remain calm when his entire purpose was being ripped from his very hands? Besides, they did not know for certain Odysseus was truly gone. Would they give up on not only him, but their countrymen? They’ve all waited for so long, there wasn’t an end until they receded. And both Penelope and Telemachus would never give up on their miracle.
“Perhaps even the Fates look down on the thought,” Penelope wryly stated.
Telemachus could practically see the smirk without peeking. The men continued to fret, accusations of the gods and ill-omens raced as they debated fiercely on the cause. Amusement sprung forth despite everything. He hid a snort behind his palm, for he was certainly no god. If he was Fate he’d have Odysseus home years ago.
Eventually the debate rose up again until, finally, the queen answered.
“Very well,” Penelope said as the men fell to a hush. “I will greet these gentlemen you have in mind. But you must come to an agreement with me if you are to offer up my hand for your own advancements.”
“Your Highness,” Alexos interrupted, aghast at the accusation. Penelope glared and he settled.
“Telemachus will be king as he is the son of our current king. That will not change. We will put to a vote a signed legislation. Regardless of my marital status, the prince will be crowned at the age of two-and-twenty. Any metaphorical new husband will act as an esteemed councilor, nothing more.”
Relief bloomed forth and Telemachus took a calming breath as Cora grinned at him. She whispered, “I told you!” and Lymenos’ shoulders drooped in content.
“. . . And of course,” Penelope continued, “I will be choosing this new husband. If none are worthy then Prince Telemachus will choose as he comes of age, as he will then be man of the house. Is that agreeable?”
The men tittered amongst themselves like humming birds but ultimately it came to a vote of eight-to-four. Penelope would remarry and Telemachus would still be king.
Lymenos urged them to flee and so they did while signatures were taking place. He made Cora run first, then Lymenos. And as he took one last peek around the statue, he froze as he caught his mother’s eyes. Her eyebrow lifted and Telemachus offered a shaky grin and raced off as well. She’d probably have him do chores with the gardeners as punishment, but even that won’t phase him.
Aleka caught them at the entrance of the library. Telemachus offered a mischief-filled grin and the older girl sighed.
“Do I wish to know?” She asked, falling a step behind Telemachus as the four of them made their way to the kitchens for lunch.
“His Grace delights in holding us hostage,” Cora answered with a sombre tone, though she winked at Telemachus when Aleka looked away.
“An amusing pastime,” Telemachus agreed, to which Lymenos grumbled about his fate.
Aleka chuckled. “We must have him pay us more when he’s in charge.”
Telemachus snorted. “As long as we make it to coronation day.”
Together they broke bread in the kitchen, listening to Old Cook run the instructions for dinner service. The kitchens bustled with the sounds of ingredients chopping and cutlery being gathered. Lymenos gave Aleka the overview of this particular mission and Aleka sighed in relief when the results of the vote passed Telemachus as next regent.
“But still, Grace,” Aleka began, licking crumbs off of her thumb. “Will you be alright with Her Majesty remarrying?”
He shrugged. What was he to do? He failed at saving Odysseus and now he was lost to them. “Ma still misses him,” Telemachus said, dropping the cheese back down on his plate. “But, if she’s ready to let go, why would I stop her? I don’t want her to grieve forever. That’s just cruel.”
“I don’t know, I don’t think you can ever really stop being sad about a loved one dying.” Cora said, eyes softening as she gazed into her cup. “My mom died years ago and I still look for her in everything.”
Telemachus squeezed her hand. He doesn’t know death intimately. Even now, a part of him could not believe Odysseus was gone, truly. with no proof. Penelope would never make a funeral pyre for him without his body, convinced he still breathed among them. So Telemachus stood in an awkward in-between— anticipating grief but not knowing when it would strike.
“Besides,” Telemachus perked up, pouring more water into their cups. “It’ll be interesting seeing men under the age of geriatric.”
“Tele!” Lymenos scolded but he snorted as well. Aleka and Cora snickered along with them.
“Who knows, perhaps they will bring a pleasant change of pace? They could have new stories to tell.” Teleamchus insisted, shoving more bread into his mouth.
“Oh, I hope there are some handsome ones,” Cora giggled, dipping under Aleka’s pinch to her cheeks. Lymenos’ nose crinkled and Telemachus rolled his eyes.
“They’ll be too old for you. I mean, it's only going to be men's mom's age right?” Telemachus asked to which he shuddered when they all looked uncertain. Aleka shrugged and Telemachus no longer ate with gusto. “Perhaps we should reverse the decree.”
The table descended into giggles and Telemachus smiled wanly.
Penelope found them towards the end of their lunch and promptly punished the three that snuck into the council meeting. All three of them had weeding duty in the gardens for the next week right after lunch. They nodded somberly, but when she left, they all shared a secret smile. None of them minded the gardens. They spent the rest of the evening wondering what sweet gentleman or somber noble might catch the queen’s eye. Especially when she was focused on raising Telemachus into a great king. Could anyone impress her? Telemachus figured they’d realize it soon enough.
When he retired for the evening and left to his own devices, he poured a cup for Lady Aphrodite and Lady Hera, asking them both to guide his mother's steps in this new chapter. He hoped there was someone nice for her after losing her favorite person.
And then, within the month, the men came.