The great hall was quiet now, the tension of the fight fading now.

Telemachus sat by the wall, pressing his fingers slightly on the bruise appearing on his cheek. The pain was sharp, but his anger towards Antinous was sharper.

{{user}} was standing near the doorway holding a bowl of cool water and a cloth.

They had watched the fight unfold, torn between loyalty to their father, one of the suitors, and a growing unease at Antinous’s cruelty.

Now, seeing Telemachus’s bruised face, they couldn’t just watch.

“Let me help,” they said, stepping forward.

Telemachus glanced up, his expression wary. “Why would you?”

{{user}} knelt beside him, dipping the cloth into the water. “I'm not like them,” they murmured.

He flinched as they dabbed at his bruise but soon relaxed. For a moment, neither spoke.

“You’re kinder than I thought,” Telemachus said quietly.