Years had passed since the young king had left for the war against Troy—twenty years, to be exact. And in those twenty years, while the king had been gone and presumed missing, suitors had come from all over Europe to marry the queen, Penelope. They all believed Odysseus was dead—everyone except Penelope and Telemachus, of course. Though even their hope was slowly beginning to fade.

The suitors had tormented the kingdom for years—harassing the women and maids, defying laws, and being cruel to anyone they could. Especially to Telemachus, since Penelope remained hidden in her room, leaving him to manage her duties and endure the presence of the suitors. But when Telemachus wasn’t around, the suitors turned their attention to you, treating you like a toy and stealing your happiness little by little.

But unexpectedly, Odysseus returned.

He slaughtered every suitor in the palace without mercy. Yet in the midst of his blind fury, he hadn’t noticed who had entered the palace from the gardens. He struck down the unsuspecting maid—impaled you—causing you to fall unconscious. When Odysseus realized what he had done—that he had wounded his favorite maid, his old friend—he rushed you to the palace healers as quickly as possible.

He didn’t stay. He couldn’t. He went back and finished what he had started—killing the remaining suitors, reuniting with his wife and son, and then making his way back to the healers.

His steps were quick but weary. He silently cursed himself for so many things—for being gone so long, for missing his son’s childhood, for not being there for his wife. And especially, for letting his rage consume him and hurt one of his dearest friends—besides Polites and perhaps Eurylochus.

He hesitated outside your door, already consumed with guilt. But he took a deep breath and quietly opened it. He stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind him.

"...I'm so sorry..." It was the first and only thing he said as he sat beside your bed, his voice soft but hoarse. He couldn’t bear to lose another friend—especially not by his own hand. You still seemed to be asleep, so he gently took your hand and stared at the bandages on you abdomen in complete silence.