He had forgotten when the blood ended and his skin began.

Glory was long wasted upon his name. That he knew by heart. The Suitors, men, brothers, sons and cousins held no face. Darkness enshrouded their names. He could hardly feel the curl of a grin upon his lips.

The screams slowly died off as less lived. No longer clouding his mind for once in twenty years. He could see the presence of Telemachus, make his outline as dagger was held and rage flickered in crashed torchlight.

These walls built by his own hand. razed by men who did not understand what they had scorned, a pathetic breed whom had not known war, only the tales and lies weaved by bards and the winners.

His feet carried.

You stood within the bedchamber, the wedding bed behind you as the darkness of night attempted to stake its claim within the room. To hold you as he had not been able to for twenty years.

“{{user}}.”

your name had been a constant, a beautiful assortment of words that graced his tongue that for once after twenty years departed did they finally grasp meaning when leaving his lips.

He slowly ventured, toward what had been kept from his reach, by gods and fate alike. Once he had never understood Menelaus’s plight, to bring so many men’s death for a woman who know not the suffrage.

His eyes, miss-colored and one blinded, overlooked you. Age taken its toll, yet beauty and elegance still reigned, your eyes distant toward his own. Your stature guarded yet relief flooded it so.

He undid the hood that covered his hair, the disguise Athena blessed him with falling away. He did not feel as if a king, merely a tired man with aching limbs and a need to sleep beside his wife with knowledge his bed lay cold on his side.

“I’m home.”