Oooohhh Could It Beeeeee

oooohhh could it beeeeee

sOme kinddddd of sign

anyway this is wonderful go read it

Shouldering the shroud

Penelope’s eyes hurt, and it was no wonder why. 

Her nimble fingers unwound another few threads of the shroud, the color distorted in the candlelight. Judging by the amount she had undone, it should be midnight, but from how slow she had been working, it was probably closer to one or two in the morning. 

Her head pounded faintly, and if she could have, she would call a maid or two in, show them the ropes, and collapse into her wedding bed for a light coma while they did the work. But she couldn’t; recently some of the royal staff had been sleeping with the suitors, thinking along the same lines- that she should give up on her Odysseus coming home, choose a new husband, watch Ithaca go to ruins under the bastard’s reign. And if she couldn’t trust them to keep their mouths shut about her scheme, then she would have to do this alone. 

All this, to keep those salivating pigs at bay. 

She wished Odysseus were here. Even if only for a moment, to kiss her head and whisper a few words of encouragement, tell her he was almost home. Even if only for an hour, to sit and listen to her rant about these ‘guests’ taking up space and making trouble, messing with their son, drinking and shouting and leering at her every slim chance they got. Even if only for a night, to hold her in their wedding bed, his warm arms wrapped around her, the same hands that had carved and built their bed and their palace tracing over her face and her body, making sure she knew without a doubt that he loved her, that he would be back any day now, that he missed her and grieved their time spent apart. 

And then she would awaken in the cruel light of Helios’ chariot, and he would be whisked away again, far off to wherever he was right now. 

Her fingers tangled in the strings, her distraction making itself known, and she sighed. 

All this, to buy him time. 

Have patience, Penelope. 

She freed her fingers and refocused on her task. Lately, it had felt like she was unweaving her own heart every night. And the exhaustion didn’t help; she was not as young as she once was, and her body begged her to let it sleep, but she couldn’t stop now, she hadn’t done enough. But her eyes were drooping, and her head ached like that of a regretful drunk’s. She almost snorted, thinking herself in the suitor’s sandals for a brief moment. 

Her mind wandered to Telemachus. His black eye was healing well after that fight with one of the suitors last week. He was like his father in that regard; he always told her the wound he’d obtained from the magical boar had healed within days, and Athena herself had confirmed it. 

She both loved and hated all the ways her son was so much like her husband. Quite a bit of her coloring (and height) was hers. But the way he looked around as he walked, his shining eyes taking everything in…it was Odysseus with her, from wherever he was right now. All that she knew lived and breathed of her husband. She still remembered the first time she’d noticed that sparkle of intelligence in his eyes, when he’d said one of his first words. 

“Mmmamgbaaa..” her son mumbled, his chubby hands reaching up to her. He’d wiggled out of his swaddling cloths again; off course. 

“Mama, can you say that? Ma-ma,” Penelope encouraged softly, swaying her weight from one foot to the other. “Mama.”

“M..ma-m, Ma-ma,” Telemachus babbled, and his feet kicked, giggling happily in response to Penelope’s gasp and smile. “Ma-ma! Mama!”

“Mom?”

Penelope’s eyes snapped open as she gasped and shot up, her forehead flying back from the loom to snap towards the chambers’ doorway. Her hand reached for the dagger she kept on her table, she thought she’d locked the door, had the suitors come to confirm the rumors of their grumbled threats-?

She tripped over her stool as she tried to adjust her stance to prepare, stumbling back and falling-

-until a slender arm caught her around her back. “Mom!”

She blinked, her heart hammering. 

It was Telemachus. Her son. Not some shadowy monster of a man come to ruin her. 

She shuddered as he helped her regain her balance, holding onto his arms, feeling his warmth. 

“Mom, are you alright?” Telemachus murmured, eyeing the dagger clutched in her hand. “I’m sorry I startled you.” 

She sighed, trying to tell her heart to calm itself. “Yes, I’m fine…thank you, honey.” She squeezed his arm briefly. She didn’t have to explain her fear or reaction; they both understood why she kept a dagger close and her nerves on high alert, even at night. Especially at night. 

Her gaze strayed to the still-mostly-woven shroud, and she couldn’t help the slump of her shoulders or the short sigh that escaped her lips. 

“You should rest, Mom.” Telemachus looked over her, no doubt noticing his mother’s dark circles and exhaustion. 

Penelope shook her head. “I can’t. I need to finish this. If I leave it now, I’ll be able to finish it tomorrow. And then I’ll need to chose a suitor to wear the crown.” A grimace flickered over Telemacus’ face, and Penelope knew she wore a similar one. 

“…is there a way I can help?” Telemachus stepped closer to the loom. “Surely unweaving this is not so complicated that I can’t do it, and you can get some rest?”

Penelope hesitated. She couldn’t explain her desire to shoulder this burden alone, but either way, Telemachus was under enough pressure already. 

“Mom, please. The kingdom needs their queen in full health. And you need your strength.” Telemachus looked at her, his face softening to resemble Argos’ famous puppy eyes.  

He’s right…

“…alright. I’ll show you.” Penelope stepped around him, set the dagger aside once more, and sat down, her fingers brushing the threads as she started unweaving them. Her hands held the faintest tremble from exhaustion, and she knew Telemachus noticed, but he said nothing; only nodded as she pointed out the specifics of what to do. 

“Okay. I can take over from here.” He nodded, and gestured for her to stand from the stool. Her behind and back ached something fierce as she slowly obliged. He took her place, his sturdier, younger fingers grasping the threads. His touch was clumsy and inexperienced. But it would do, she thought as he looked up to smile at her. 

“Get some rest, Mom. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Penelope just took in his face for a moment, and for a flash she could see Odysseus, taking a basket of olives from her while she waddled around the castle, her energy sapped by the baby in her womb. His grin as he kissed her cheek and scolded her gently to rest, that she needed her strength for the coming days. 

She definitely needed her strength for the coming days. She could feel it. 

“…thank you, Telemachus.” She bent over slightly and kissed her son’s cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning.”