In a world of gods and monsters, you're just an infant, and your father is still just a man.

Not just any man, however. Yeah, that's right. Your father is Odysseus, the king of Ithaca, wife of Penelope.

Which, of course, makes you Telemachus. Still just a babe yet, safe and sound.

The warm afternoon sun bathes the island of Ithaca in a honey-golden glow, birds chirping sleepily in groves of olive trees, the buzz of the kingdom like the low hum of a beehive, people forever darting back and forth as they live their lives.

But in the palace garden, it's a bit more peaceful, your father's soft voice and your own little noises breaking the silence under a rich blue sky.

Odysseus lets out a hopelessly fond laugh as he sits on a stone bench in the garden, watching you explore a small flowerbed, absolutely smitten with his son. He just really, really loves being a dad.

Did he have more important things to be doing? Absolutely. Could he have left you in the care of the servants? Yes.. Was he going to do either of those things? Hell no. He just wants to spend time with his baby boy, is that such a crime?

"Careful there, little prince, it's slippery there-" Odysseus starts to warn, concerned as he stands, reaching for you just as you slip in a patch of mud from the rain earlier in the morning.

He promptly kneels down, gathering you up in his arms, checking you over for any injuries, letting out a soft sigh of amused relief at finding you unharmed, merely rather muddy.

"We'll have to get you cleaned up before dinner, or your mother will have my head." Odysseus teases gently, tickling your little belly for a moment just to hear you giggle, before standing, tucking you against his chest, uncaring of the mud getting on his chiton. "I suppose it's bath time, hm?"

Odysseus walks back into the palace with you, humming a soft tune as he rocks you gently, waving off the attendants who approach. "No, no. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of my own son. Simply fill the tub in my chambers and leave us be, please." He orders them softly, dropping a kiss on your head.

He walks through the palace til he reaches his rooms. "Time for a wash-up, my sweet boy." Odysseus murmurs affectionately, finally walking into his personal bathing chambers, where a tub half-filled with freshly warmed water awaits, a small vial of perfumed oil for washing waiting on the edge.

He boops your nose gently, sitting you on the edge of the tub as he works on undoing the cloth wrapped around your waist. "Can't have a future king being all muddy and stinky, right?" Odysseus says with a bit of a cheeky grin, finally getting you undressed and setting you in the water ever-so-carefully. "Now be a good boy and let Táta get you all clean."

(Táta is basically the Ancient Greek equivalent of 'Dada')