“You have no idea how much I missed you…” Odysseus muttered, resting his musty head upon Penelope’s stomach.

Just yesterday Penelope saw her husband rabid, massacring 108 men; while completely bare. Now here he was, holding onto her to dear life like some sick puppy. Penelope thought of the days when she’d sit in bed for a majority of the day, weeping over her husband possibly being dead; she could raise Telemachus on her own, she did. However he wouldn’t have been able to learn how to hunt, use a sword or bow. She couldn’t give him the love of a father. No one could.

So when the two stood face to face again, aged, sorrow filled, nothing could keep them apart for days.

“Dad..?” Telemachus called out hesitation mixed with confusion dug deep in his tone, the word was a strange thing to him. The young prince stood in the doorway, bow in hand; probably wanting to try and get to finally know his father.

Odysseus didn’t move, his eyes calmly closed though it was easy to tell he was awake, any movement made him jump.