Eumaeus had not been born a swineherd.

It was a tale Anticleia loved to regale in his youth, with you beside him as a reward for his labors. To soothe his aching hands despite his boyhood were they were meant for plush material and soft touch.

Born to a king, with his nurse tricked and in her wiles having brought him upon a ship where Artemis did slaughter men and women alike who sought escape. He had never felt reward upon the tale, nor much faith in its truth.

No divine would fight for him.

You were a solace within Ithaca. A princess, soon queen of a land perhaps far off, but it did not feel as if you and him lay world apart. The only world for him seemed to be your arms.

You were wedded. It’d been a defeating day, of deafening laughter and wedding celebrations, he envied Eurylochus even if you were not his promised. He envied the nobleman, to be your husband, to be a king and owner of lands.

You, along with that of Eurylochus and some handmaids went away to Same where he assumed to never see your bright eyes again. It’d been many sleepless and cry filled nights.

Lord Odysseus, your brother, along with Eurylochus left for Ilium but that had been nearly twelve years ago. Now the palace had begun to be filled with that of suitors for Queen Penelope’s hand. And seldom did you visit to comfort your parents.

He awaited these visits like that of Argos, excited to see its master with wagging tail. Remembering every feature as you swirled in dance, or when merriment consumed your features, the curl of yours lips. He was sure it could swoon any god upon Olympus.

He was within his hut, drinking teas that tasted as if dirt had met with water, but it soothed his throat. His hounds slept around his feet, the pigs in similar slumber beyond his walls.