“You really have to be more carefully, Tele.” You warned the young prince of Ithaca, wiping off some excess dried blood from his knuckles.

Since the departure of his father twenty years prior, Queen Penelope had been left in charge of the kingdom. She had done a wonderful job; day and night she took care of everyone around her, including you. She couldn’t, however, protect her son from the dangers of the suitors.

They were vile men, full of anger and dirty thoughts that plagued the attitudes of everyone around them. Telemachus had just been trying to defend his mother, the way he had been raised and taught.

He did a good job for the most part, knocking Antinous off guard and almost winning the fight that the suitor had started. Or perhaps Telemachus had started it, you weren’t quite sure. What you did know was that the Queen had been called a tramp and that sealed the fate of the suitor.

“I didn’t die, though!” Telemachus smiled proudly, as you finished cleaning his knuckles. “Only a few bruises here and there—“ His voice failed as he saw that look on your face.

That look that signified how royally unamused you were. Gods above, he loved you and your stubbornness.