Okay so I know a lot of us love Penelope's godly patron being Ares (Penelope of SPARTA, y'all. also we love a girl dad) and Ody's godly patron is obviously Athena.
Would that mean that Telemachus has TWO godly patrons? Ares and Athena?
Please tell me if y'all agree because I have SO MANY IDEAS FOR THIS
content: The Swan Princess (1994) inspired, arranged marriage, childhood “enemies” to lovers, misogyny, harassment, emotional abuse, suggestive content, slut-shaming
summary: There were only two things in the world Telemachus truly hated: his mother’s suitors and his engagement to you. Together, Telemachus finds that it’s impossible to stay sane.
word count: 10k
The Swan and the Altar masterlist | previous part
epic the musical masterlist
It started when Antinous, noble son of Eupeithes, approached Telemachus and his mother when he was sixteen. The royal family was making an appearance at a festival meant to honor Dionysis. Penelope had just popped the cork on a bottle of aged wine when the large man appeared.
“We have gone without a king for far too long,” he bellowed, catching the attention of citizens gathered around the altar. “Without male authority, our kingdom will fall apart.”
“I have led with the good of Ithaca in mind.” The queen’s voice remained level, her chin high. This was the image of an untouchable woman. “My husband—”
“The great King Odysseus is dead!” he shouted, throwing his arms out. “How long will it be until you accept that? A man is needed to rule on the throne. We cannot rely on a woman alone.”
Penelope pursed her lips. She was not convinced her husband was lost to the Underworld. She knew that he wasn’t, but how could she convince her people of that?
She spared a glance at her son. He was not yet old enough to claim the throne, Penelope thought. She had seen what a heavy crown could do to weak shoulders, and she refused to pass that burden to her son before he was ready for it. There was a number of other factors working against that, as well. Penelope was still of sound mind, so she could not use insanity as an excuse to push Telemachus along. He also remained unmarried. Penelope was fine with that, however that would prove to be a hindrance to his rule if he ascended before the two of you wed. People did not like an unmarried monarch.
Penelope straightened. “I must arrange a funeral for my husband, then. We must honor his death.”
That seemed to appease Antinous, at least for the moment. Upon returning home, Telemachus asked his mother about it.
“Of course we will not arrange a funeral. Odysseus is alive, my son, we just have to buy time.”
Time, however, was not something that was easily bought. After the encounter with Antinous, more and more men began to voice their displeasure with the lack of a king. Penelope used her honey sweet words to quell the disagreements, but that did not stop the first group from living in the palace.
Seven had made themselves at home in a group led by Antinous. Any time he passed Telemachus in the halls, the older man would send a sly smile to the prince. An arrogant one before he rose to the queen’s bedchambers.
Penelope tired of it quickly. She positioned guards outside her door with orders to not let anyone except a short list of people pass. When the present suitors’ number grew larger quicker than Penelope could handle, they threatened a revolt.
“I must weave a mourning shroud,” Penelope announced one night at dinner. She placed a hand over her heart delicately and played the part of a grieving wife, swiping at her cheeks to catch false tears. “Not only have I lost a husband, but my son has lost a father and the former king, Laertes, has lost a child. We must respect that, and I must pay homage as Odysseus’ widow.”
“When will you take another husband?” one of the suitors asked.
Penelope exhaled. Never, she wanted to say. But that was not an answer they would like. “As soon as the shroud is woven I will present it to Laertes. After he accepts it, I will take a new husband.”
The suitors grumbled that night, but Penelope had played at a king’s grief. Not even a man as disrespectful as Antinous dared to challenge that.
They grew restless, asking Penelope over and over if she was still weaving.
“I have not finished my work,” she had told them more times than Telemachus could count. “Until I do, prove to me that you will be a worthy king of Ithaca.”
It was a similar routine every day until Penelope eventually isolated herself in her room. It didn’t take long, just a few weeks before you arrived.
—
The first summer with them was . . . odd. They had been made aware of your incoming arrival, but it seemed that none of them had truly listened. When you passed through the dining room with your golden circlet and embroidered dress, their eyes clung to your young figure, following your curves and conjuring up an image to fulfill their fantasies.
They seemed to loom everywhere you went. In the library, you were shocked to find them lurking in the corners. In the courtyard, it seemed like they purposefully found themselves out there with you, their chests bare and glistening under the bright sun. Any time you walked the halls, it felt as though you were being watched.
You remained untouched. You knew how lucky it was that you did, especially after listening to the way they spoke about the maids and servants. Still, you did not feel comfortable. You didn’t think you would as long as they were there, so you were glad when the opportunity to flaunt your skills arose.
Peisistratus scoffed. “She’s out here,” he mumbled to Telemachus, dropping his quiver of arrows to the ground as a pair of servants set up a target.
Telemachus glanced in your direction, taking note of the suitor that sat almost too close to you. You seemed bored, responding to the man beside you with short answers like you often did with your betrothed. Sunlight shone off your hair, the shade of the tree you sat under sure to keep the heat from burning your skin.
“It’s fine,” he said to Peisistratus, letting his gaze drop to the dirt beneath his feet. “She looks preoccupied.”
“Sure.” Peisistratus strung his bow, nodding again toward where you sat. “Real uninterested.”
Telemachus spared you another glance, noticing that you now looked directly at the two princes. You met Telemachus’ eye and raised your brow, wordlessly daring him to impress you. The young prince swallowed.
“She’ll just bother us,” Peisistratus continued, rolling his eyes. His hand hovered over the quiver of arrows, searching for one that would work best for him. “Should we find Cleo?”
Telemachus shook his head. “She’s fine. Cleo encourages her to watch, remember?”
“Yes, because she believes archery is a sport to be ogled.” Peisistratus rolled his eyes, plucking an arrow from the quiver. There was a red ribbon tied to the end of it, that way when it struck the target the pair could differentiate the arrows and assign points. Telemachus’ arrows had a blue ribbon.
“Then let her believe that. Y/n won’t bother us.” Telemachus didn’t notice the sidelong glance Peisistratus gave him. His friend’s lips curved ever so slightly, but he did not say anything.
“I’ll begin,” Peisistratus said, notching the arrow, “since you are still preparing your bow.”
You watched the red-tipped arrow whoosh through the air, lodging itself into the ring just outside the bullseye. From where you sat, you could see the prideful smile on the prince’s face when he turned to Telemachus. The two exchanged a word that made them laugh, and Telemachus was next to string his bow.
His shot was not quite as impressive. He made it on the board, but it was on the second outermost circle.
“Which of those is your husband?” the man next to you asked. He’d told you his name was Daesenor. He was the only suitor in the courtyard bold enough to approach you that day.
“Telemachus,” you replied, uncaring to correct him of your marital status. Maybe that would deter him.
“Which one is that?”
Gods, he didn’t shut up. You weren’t in the mood to be talking to anyone, let alone a man who thought he could charm his way into your clothes. “The one with hair like pitch.”
“The Prince of Ithaca.” Obviously, you thought. Why else would you have been in the Ithacan palace? “Quite a scrawny boy, that little wolf. You’d be happier with the other one, no?”
“That is not my place.” You kept your tone flat, as uninterested as you could muster. If anyone had talked to you in the same tone, you might have excused yourself and bashed your head against the wall to apologize for being annoying enough to warrant it.
“Surely a girl like you would have free will in picking her husband.” You glared at the man. His nose was crooked in the same way Telemachus’ was—broken at least once before, though you weren’t sure from what. Telemachus had smashed his face into an ocean rock when he was three, he had told you once, and it did not heal perfectly. Sometimes, the prince pinched the bridge of his nose like it still stung.
The crooked nose did not make Daesenor ugly, but you couldn’t help but notice it.
“I’ll tell you what.” The suitor stood from beside you, stretching for the skies dramatically with a groan. You fought to roll your eyes when the hem of his short chiton rose to show off strong thighs. “I will go over and ask for an arrow. They will let me shoot, and when I hit a bullseye I will take you to bed.”
Your skin prickled, lip twitching in what you knew would become a snarl if you let it. You had taken to some of the suitors, Amphinomus in particular. You often offered some sort of greeting to them, building what you thought of as a small ecosystem of beings that didn’t really interact. Some, you wouldn’t mind getting closer to.
The man taking vain strides towards the princes was not on that list.
You sighed. Knowing Peisistratus and Telemachus would accuse you of letting this brew over, you pushed yourself to your feet with the hope of stifling a conflict before it could really start. You caught up quick, able to place yourself in the center of the three men before Penelope’s suitor could say anything.
“Don’t be idiotic,” you told Daesenor. He towered over you, but you had grown bold. It was the presence of the princes that let that happen—they might not have liked you, but they wouldn’t let any actual harm come to you. “Let the princes train alone.”
“They wouldn’t mind a more experienced man showing them how to properly hold a bow, then.” Daesenor took the bow from Telemachus’ hand without warning, pulling the string. “This is too taut, boy. You will not have a good shot with it.”
“I told you,” Peisistratus teased, though his tone held trepidation. Telemachus’ cheeks pinkened, and he watched uselessly as Daesenor took a blue-tipped arrow from the quiver and notched it.
You watched Daesenor take a square stance. He lifted the bow, shutting one eye to aim. The arrow head was not resting in the right place, though, and he was not holding his arm correctly.
“The arrow is too low.” You waited until the second before Daesenor let go to say it, throwing him off guard. As a result, his stumble made the arrow veer right. “It’ll never hit the target like that.”
His lip curled into a scowl, and he glared at you from over his shoulder. “Quiet, girl. I know what I’m doing.”
You bit your tongue, but continued to watch with a critiquing eye. Let him see that you are correct.
Again, Daesenor placed the arrow too low. He did not seem to notice, and when he let the arrow fly it nose-dived into the grass in front of the target. His grip on the bow tightened. If you had been younger, you wouldn’t have been able to keep the smug smile from showing.
“I told you,” you replied instead. Daesenor grumbled, and thrust the heavy bow into your hands.
“Fine. Since you know so much, why don’t you show us how it’s done, princess?”
Your lips tightened. There it was again, that same derogatory tone Peisistratus used when he was mocking you.
It made your shoulders straighten. If they wanted to think of you as a delicate princess, then let them. You would prove that there was something more beneath that prissy exterior.
The bow was heavy when you lifted it—heavier than you were used to. For a moment, you were nervous that it would make you falter, but you were able to hold it without your arm shaking.
“Get on with it,” Daesenor spat. He stood behind you, arms crossed over his chest. You plucked an arrow from the quiver, lifting your arms and notching it.
The bow was large, and you had to tilt your head differently to actually see where you were aiming. Daesenor voiced another complaint about how long you were taking, which Peisistratus was quick to combat with an unexpected and sharp, “Quiet.”
You took a deep breath, and released the arrow.
It flew, whizzing through the air in a straight line, spinning neatly. You let a faint smile grace your lips when it landed dead center.
The silence of the men behind you was thick—deafening, even. You shifted your gaze, trying not to make it too obvious that you were looking at them. Telemachus’ mouth had fallen agape, a gleam of awe shining in his eyes. Peisistratus’ brows were raised, quietly impressed. Daesenor had become rigid, something akin to panic flashing in his eyes before he realized you were looking.
“That was a fluke,” he said plainly, holding out another arrow to you. “Once more, and I guarantee you will miss.”
“Is that a bet?” you asked. Telemachus softly hissed your name, but you ignored it.
Daesenor’s eyes narrowed, but you held his gaze. “If you miss, then I will take you to bed.”
So he was still on that. Again, the proposal made the hair on your neck stand, an unshakable chill traveling through your body.
“Excuse me?” Telemachus piped up, his gaze flitting between you and the suitor. “Y/n, don’t—”
“If I hit it again? What’ll I get?” You ignored Telemachus and the way Peisistratus urged him to stay silent. Let it play out, he was likely saying. Her stupidity will have consequences you cannot stop.
Daesenor hummed in thought, lifting a hand to scratch through his beard. “Then I will leave you and your husband be.”
Your lips tightened. Telemachus’ talking became a faint buzz in your ear as you took the second arrow from Daesenor’s hand. You were already too far, and your pride would hurt if you didn’t take it, even if there was no real reward for you.
“Deal.” You were quick to notch the arrow and shoot. Quicker than the last. Once again, it landed dead center, splintering the arrow that came before it.
Before Daesenor could say another thing to discredit the skill you had worked to earn, you took a third arrow—this one tied with a red ribbon. One of Peisistratus’. No doubt he’d be annoyed, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.
You shot again. Wood cracked and the two halves of the very first arrow fell into the grass. When you held the bow back out to Telemachus, you glared at Daesenor.
“Do not doubt me again,” you said, letting go when Telemachus lifted the weight of the bow from your hands.
You left the courtyard after that, ignoring the way other observing suitors looked at you like you were a piece of prize meat.
You locked yourself in your room for the rest of the day, not even emerging when dinner was announced.
—
Telemachus was pinching the bridge of his nose. You noticed he did that more when he was thinking. It was easy to, considering he sat across from you over a game of petteia.
Peisistratus looked over Telemachus’s shoulder, using a hand to cover his mouth when he whispered a move to Telemachus. It made you smile coyly. It was cute that they still thought you could be beat after nine rounds.
“Your turn, prince,” you reminded, crossing your arms against the table.
“I’m thinking,” he replied, fingers hovering over multiple pieces. He tapped a few before deciding against that move.
“We should add a touch rule,” you suggested, watching the way Telemachus’ brow furrowed. “If you touch a piece you have to move it.”
From where she sat, Penelope let an amused breath fall from her lips. When Telemachus looked over, though, she seemed engrossed in her weaving.
“Move the piece you just touched back two,” Peisistratus whispered. Telemachus grimaced.
“She has a piece right there.”
“Yes but there’s not another she can move.”
“I’m trying to win, Peisistratus, not draw a tie.”
“You have two pieces left, Telemachus. Just move it.”
“I’m waiting.” Your voice flowed sugar sweet. If Telemachus didn’t know better, the way you so naturally pitched your voice might have convinced him that it was your normal way of talking.
Telemachus relented, moving the black piece according to Peisistratus’ instruction. The prince’s face fell when he noticed your hand shifting over a piece he hadn’t realized was positioned perfectly to capture his. He sighed, watching as you triumphantly lifted his piece between your forefinger and thumb.
“I believe that’s another win for me, Telemachus.” It was. Gods, he hated that it was. That was eight times out of ten now, and the other two had been tied.
The Ithacan prince slumped in his seat, mumbling, “I’d like you a lot more if you lost.”
Peisistratus chuckled beside him. You hummed across from him, stacking the piece neatly with the others you had collected. “It’s a good thing I don’t want you to like me, then. Maybe we should play more so you detest me.”
“I already do.”
“Telemachus, I’m feeling faint,” Penelope called from her loom. She turned, fanning herself with her hand. “Will you and Peisistratus go down to fetch me water?”
Telemachus nodded, wiping the remaining pieces from the game board onto the table before pushing himself to his feet. He gestured to his honey-haired friend, and the two of them left the room. You reset the pieces into two rows of eight neatly, the stained wooden circles falling softly onto the board. Even if Telemachus didn’t want to play when he got back, the game would be set for the next pair.
Your gaze lifted when Penelope’s frame entered your vision. She sat across from you carefully, her straight back a contrast to the way Telemachus and his friend had been hunched over the board. Seeing it made you straighten your own posture, unaware that the princes’ had been unintentionally influencing that.
Penelope smiled. “Let’s play a round. Odysseus and I used to pass time like this, and it has been a long time since I’ve played petteia.”
“Do you need a refresher of the rules?”
“No. I think I remember them all with how much you were scolding my son for breaking them.” The queen laughs, and you think it’s the first time you’ve seen her do that since the suitors arrived. Two and a half long years, and all it took was a game of wit to bring that spark back to her eyes.
—
The princes whispered among themselves with hushed voices as they travelled through the palace, first for a goblet from the kitchens and then to a well in the courtyard. Peisistratus wondered why Penelope didn’t call for a servant to retrieve the water. Telemachus responded by saying she likely wanted a moment alone with you.
“She loves Y/n like her own, then,” Peisistratus stated. Telemachus shrugged. He couldn’t deny something that was so obviously true.
“I think it is because she wanted to have more kids with my father,” he said, handing his friend the goblet in his hands and lowering the bucket. “Obviously, that won’t be happening. But my mother has always treated children as her own. Y/n only comes to Ithaca so often that it seems like she’s practically family.”
“Well she is, considering you’re engaged to her,” Peisistratus countered.
Telemachus rolled his eyes. “I’m aware. Every day I get reminded of that fact, and every day I get reminded of how much I wish I could marry another girl.”
“Really?” Peisistratus’ brows furrowed. “I mean, I know we don’t necessarily like her, but Y/n is not a bad choice of bride. If she were mine I wouldn’t have a problem.”
“Why don’t you take her as yours, then?” At the question, Peisistratus cringed. Telemachus waited for the bucket at the end of the rope to fill before slowly raising it. “Exactly. I can think of a hundred others I would prefer.”
“Well, she’s pretty good. Lempyra is rich with livestock and crop. I know the friendship between Queen Penelope and Queen Cleo keeps Ithaca sustained with those things, but being married to the princess would secure that relation.”
True, Telemachus considered. Ithaca was a rocky island. It was not good for raising animals or growing many crops. What Lempyra gave in livestock, Ithaca returned in maritime produce. Salt, fish, plants from the ocean’s depths. Ithaca could provide deep sea treasures that no other island or kingdom could retrieve.
Peisistratus lowered his voice, mumbling so incoherently Telemachus hardly heard when he said, “And she’s not bad looking, either.”
The Ithacan prince whipped his head around. “Excuse me?”
Peisistratus held his hands up, taking a half-hearted step back. “I’m just saying. She’s grown quite nicely into her features, don’t you think?”
Telemachus scoffed, returning his gaze to the pit of the well. “Don’t be disgusting.”
“Disgusting? Telemachus, I can understand not liking her company, but you must be blind to miss her face.”
“I’ve grown up with her. I am only used to her face and do not think she is anything extraordinary.” Truth be told, Telemachus hadn’t given that aspect much thought. He himself had become more vain over the years, worrying more and more about his appearance and how he presented himself as the suitors arrived, but he’d barely given you a second glance. His friend exhaled a soft laugh.
“I have grown up with her as well. Never have I seen her more beautiful than this summer and she has not dressed nicely once.”
“Your head is filled with butterflies, Peisistratus. The palace maids are affecting your view on beauty.”
“One day,” Peisistratus started, locking eyes with Telemachus. His gaze made the Ithacan prince pause his actions to fully take in what his friend was about to say. “I am telling you, Telemachus—one day the Princess of Lempyra will be touched by Aphrodite. She will be more gorgeous than anything you can fathom and you won’t have a clue what to do with her.”
“That won’t-“
Peisistratus cut him off. “And you will try to pursue her, and she will reject you because she hates you so.” Telemachus pursed his lips. Peisistratus gave a quick raise of his brows before standing straighter and giving Telemachus’ back a pat. “You must choose what games to play wisely, Prince of Ithaca. If you don’t, then another man will swoop in and take Y/n for himself.”
“Since when are you on her side and supportive of this union?”
“Since she has been the only woman to openly challenge you. You could use that, Telemachus. It would be good for you.”
Peisistratus handed the goblet to Telemachus when he perched the bucket on the well’s wall. To distract himself, Telemachus absently commented that they should have grabbed a pitcher instead of a single cup.
Peisistratus chuckled at the attempted topic shift. He was not one to let go of things so easily. “If I did not know better, I would say you like her.”
Telemachus nearly dropped the cup into the well. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“That’s why I said if I did not know better. But, you must admit, you get rather skittish around her.”
Telemachus sent a sidelong glare to his honey-haired friend. “What are you implying?”
“Only that you’re much more coherent when she’s not around. It’s almost like you can’t think straight with her near.” Peisistratus clicked his tongue, shrugging and waving the comment away. “No matter. It’s normal to get nervous around a random girl, right?”
“You’re being infuriating.” But the tips of Telemachus’ ears had tinted pink. That couldn’t be what it was, right? No, it definitely wasn’t that. You were just so annoying that there were times Telemachus couldn’t find the words to properly convey how idiotic you were being. It was like someone traveling to Ithaca by boat, seeing all the fish in the market and wondering if they had carp.
“I am making observations. Something has shifted this year.”
“Gods, your head really is filled with butterflies.” Telemachus swatted at Peisistratus’ chest, though the action was lighthearted. Peisistratus laughed as Telemachus dumped the water back into the well.
“I have simply been made more aware of the world’s quiet beauty.”
Telemachus scoffed, walking with his friend. “Y/n is the opposite of both those words.”
Peisistratus’ bark of laughter echoed through the courtyard. “You have become funny, prince.”
He quieted his teasing after that. Conversation shifted to talk of a hunt coming up, and the princes planned to join. They reentered Penelope’s room while you and her were engrossed in a match. You were down to five pieces, Penelope had six. Telemachus’ eyes widened. He had barely been able to get you down to twelve.
He placed the goblet on his mother’s side of the table. She thanked him, though her focus remained on the game. The princes found stools that they could pull close to the table and watch, Telemachus settling next to you and Peisistratus next to Penelope.
They watched. Moves were quickly exchanged. Pieces were removed. It got down to four pieces on the board—two of yours, and two of Penelope’s.
It was the most invested Telemachus had been in anything since you had flaunted your skill to Daesenor. He watched with bated breath, sighing softly when you captured Penelope’s piece.
The queen smiled, extending a hand. “Well done, Y/n.”
You exhaled, a breath that seemed to have been caught in your throat. You took Penelope’s hand and shook. “Thank you, my queen. You played a good round.”
“As did you.”
Neither of you told the boys that it had been your only win out of four. Penelope had won the other three. And Penelope did not tell anyone that she let you win.
—
The longer you stayed in Ithaca, it seemed, the more you flirted with and entertained Penelope’s suitors.
It started with a too kind smile, Telemachus noticed. A sickly sweet curve of your lips aimed at Antinous. It shot an arrow through Telemachus’ chest, more of hurt than jealousy, like Peisistratus might have pointed out if he were here. No, it stung. How could you prefer a half-blind brute over him? Telemachus was a prince, for gods’ sake. And he wasn’t nearly as perverted or ignorant or moronic as any of the suitors, let alone Antinous.
Your laugh sounded next, the bell-like sound floating through the hall and ringing in Telemachus’s ears.
“Antinous, you’re so charming,” you were saying. The honeyed way you said it was so obviously fake, but Antinous seemed to be preening his own ego with the shallow words. It irritated Telemachus to no end.
And then Telemachus noticed the gentle, almost suggestive touches. A careless hand on a forearm, a seemingly meaningless brush of hands, a finger twirling your hair or a sly bite of your lips. He’d spotted you laughing at something Eurymachus had said one day. You were playing into it, resting one hand against his shoulder and sliding the other along his leg like you weren’t thinking about your actions.
Telemachus would never admit the relief he felt when you were finally rejected. Finally debunked from the high throne of vanity you'd put yourself on. You weren’t even that pretty, so Telemachus couldn’t understand why you were becoming so sought after.
“You are amusing,” Amphinomus had told you, “but I am here for the Queen of Ithaca. I do not intend to pursue another courtship, especially with one so young.”
Telemachus watched you practically deflate from across the dining hall. Your shoulders slumped and your bottom lip pushed out in that annoying pout you often did to get what you wanted. It did not work on Amphinomus.
You made a turn for each suitor. Some you would entertain longer than others, and some you would toss aside after a single word. Telemachus did not understand what your process of elimination was, but it infuriated him. Especially when he couldn’t find you anywhere.
Cleo had requested your presence. Kindly, she asked Telemachus to fetch you. He knew you best, she reasoned to herself, so of course he’d know where you spent your time.
Except, of course, Telemachus didn’t care about you. As a result, he truly had no idea where you were. He’d checked your usual places: your bedroom had been oddly neat, the courtyard was completely void of any woman’s presence, and the library echoed his own words back at him.
Beyond that, he didn’t have a clue as to where you could’ve been. It’s lucky, he supposed, that he knew the sound of your saccharine laugh. It rang through the halls in the same way it had been as of late, and Telemachus followed the sound to a private room.
The door was closed. The prince shut his eyes for a moment, praying to anyone that you weren’t getting up to anything impure. When he heard who you were with, though—the familiar gravel grating against his ears and making his heart nearly stop—he knew that his prayers were useless.
He opened the door without knocking, unsurprised to see that Antinous had stripped himself bare and was working to have you in the same condition, laying back while you straddled him. Your dress had ridden up, bunching in your lap, and the straps had slipped off your shoulders, one move from falling away completely.
A soft gasp fell from your lips at the sound of the door. When your head whipped around, your parted lips and wide eyes deepened into a scowl.
“You.” The words were like venom on your tongue, the complete opposite of the syrupy tone you had previously been using. “What do you want?”
“Cleo is looking for you.” He tried incredibly hard to hold your gaze. It wasn’t out of fear of seeing something indecent—there wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before—but instead from a fear of meeting Antinous’ sharp gaze. Telemachus could feel the Ithacan man’s glare burning through his skull.
“Tell her I’m busy.”
“She requested that you come now, princess.” The use of your title didn’t hold the same mockery you were used to, but Telemachus could tell it still annoyed you. “King Silas is with her.”
He wasn’t, it was just your mother, but that was enough to draw a groan from you. You pushed yourself off of Antinous, reaching down to slip on your sandals. Telemachus averted his gaze, trying to avoid whatever accusation you might throw at him for looking too hard at the way the hem of your dress lowered.
Antinous ridiculed him instead. “The little wolf can’t even look at the scene before him. Something wrong, prince?” He sat up, leaning toward your body and sliding a hand around your waist. You smiled, and Telemachus cringed as Antinous groped you. “Upset that your bride is all over me instead of you?”
“Leave him.” Your voice was gentle, smooth. It was the softest Telemachus had ever heard you speak, and he found himself wondering if that’s how you spoke to people you actually liked. Did you like Antinous? “We will find each other later.”
Antinous whispered something that Telemachus didn’t hear, but it made you laugh. You left the painted smile on your face, but Telemachus noticed it drop the moment you shouldered past him out the door.
He didn’t wait another moment in that doorway. As soon as you passed him, Telemachus was following. Your steps were surprisingly quick for someone who had just about reached the edge of passion. Well, maybe you hadn’t. Maybe your quick steps were a result of being interrupted.
The prince was quick to catch up to you, reaching for your bare shoulder. You'd been just about to fix the way your dress strap rested on your skin, but the feel of Telemachus’ hand over yours had you pulling your hand away quicker than a snake’s strike.
“What was that?” he demanded, letting his hand fall from your shoulder. There was a crease between his brows.
“Flower picking,” you snapped back without a second thought, waving him off.
Your sarcasm only served to irritate the prince more. “You’re lucky I’m the one who caught you. Anyone else and you would have been in trouble.”
“You’re being childish. Don’t act like you haven’t done that same thing before. I know you are not saving yourself for me.”
“That doesn’t matter!” Telemachus’ face was red. He always had been squeamish around this topic. “Women are not—“
“Not what?” You stopped so abruptly that Telemachus ran into you, reflexively grabbing hold of your arm to steady both of you. The hard band of gold encircling your arm was a contrast to the soft flesh beneath it, though the prince could feel the muscle of your arm when he squeezed.
Your eyes, however, held a fire he often saw in arguments like this. They happened more often than he’d like to admit. Any time you opened your mouth, it seemed like Telemachus’ carefully practiced poise and patience ran.
“Women are not meant to give in to themselves? They must remain pure for their husbands? I must remain untainted for you?” You and Telemachus were the same height, but there were times when you made Telemachus feel smaller. He wasn’t sure he had ever made you feel the same. “That is a ridiculous standard, Telemachus, especially since neither of us care for our future union. What does it matter that I’ve been touched when you have done the same?”
“I do not flaunt my assets, nor am I seeking intimate relations out. You, however, are taking every opportunity you can. You are parading yourself around for any man to look at as freely as he’d like. You are not keeping any decorum for yourself!”
“Perhaps I do it so one of them will take me as their wife instead of you.” Something electric sparked between you, making Telemachus’ gaze harden and your tone sharpen. “You are only upset because there are no more women for you to do the same. Are you jealous, prince?”
“Not at all, princess.”
He might have spat at your feet if his blood wasn’t pumping in his ears. He saw the fire, the unreasonably bright dislike in your eyes, and he wanted to retaliate with something of his own.
He shouldered past you. Nothing he could think of would hurt you deep enough, and he needed to clear his mind.
“Cleo is in her room,” he told you, the edges of his tone crisp and straight. “Perhaps you should tell her of your activities with Antinous.”
He heard you huff behind him, but you did not say anything else. He kept his ear tuned to the harsh sound of your footsteps, sandals clicking against the stone floor. He stopped and looked back when your footsteps faded, finding that a few stray suitors had watched the display. One met his gaze, the golden skinned Prince of Dryopes, and laughed.
—
You stepped into your mother’s chambers without knocking. She was sitting at the vanity, and at the sound of your footfall she looked up, her hair loose. She gave you a once over, looked at the smudged color across your lip, and sighed.
“Shut the door, dear.”
You obeyed, letting it click behind you. Cleo vaguely motioned, and you were quick to take the stool beside her—the one she had set up for you. She looped her finger and you spun around, letting her take your hair into her hands and braid it like she always did.
“Where were you? I’ve been looking all day.”
“With Peisistratus.” The lie fell easily from your lips. “We were collecting fruit in the orchard.”
Cleo’s nails brushed the back of your neck, making a shudder run down your spine. “I know you are lying,” she started, “because Prince Peisistratus has been in town all day.”
You pursed your lips. No wonder you hadn’t seen him since last night. The one time you actually think to use Peisistratus as a scape goat, of course he isn’t in the palace.
“Why has he gone to town?”
“Do not change the subject. Now, tell me where you really were.”
Could you conjure up another lie? One convincing enough? You couldn’t say you were with Telemachus, since he had been the one to fetch you. Penelope had probably been with your mother, and your father had already returned to Lempyra for the summer.
Would saying you’d holed yourself in the library work? No, that was probably the first place your mother checked . . .
“Y/n.”
Fine. You couldn’t come up with anything by wracking through your brain, so you let the truth leave your lips. “I was with Antinous.”
You couldn’t see her face, but based on her confused tone you could assume that her brows were creased, pulled together by an invisible string. “Antinous? Penelope’s suitor?” You nodded. “Why in the world would you be with him?”
You swiped your tongue over your lips, effortlessly coming up with another lie. “He was asking how to win Penelope’s favor. I told him he must be clever.”
Cleo hummed. You could not tell if she believed you. She let the silence linger in the air for a moment, fingers threading and parting your hair gently. More gently than she normally braided.
“This is a pretty dress,” she commented. Your shoulders tensed, but you were able to cover it by faking an ache and rolling them. “Any particular reason you’re wearing it?”
“I thought Telemachus might like it.” The boldest lie you’ve ever told. You hoped it wasn’t too out of character, that your mother would read it as you finally falling into your place. You would have to figure out how to twist around that later.
“I’m sure he did. Those are high slits and a low neckline.” Her fingers brushed against your neck and she paused. Lifted your hair. “And this is quite the mark behind your ear.”
Your eyes widened. You had told Antinous not to leave one—or at least leave one somewhere that was not easily visible. Of course he didn’t listen to you. Why would he?
You stuttered to come up with an excuse. “I— Telemachus—”
“Quiet,” she commanded. Your lips fell shut. “I am not blind, daughter. I have seen you with Penelope’s suitors. You are defiling yourself and losing your purity.”
“I am not, Mother. It—”
“Listen to me. Telemachus will not want a wife that has been touched by another man, do you hear?” You exhaled heavily, rolling your eyes. Your mother let the finished braid drop down your back. “Watch your tone.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“But when you do, it will be said disrespectfully.” You didn’t roll your eyes that time. Even if she couldn’t see your face, you knew she’d tell you to fix your attitude again. “You are not to be seen with another of Penelope’s suitors, do you understand?”
“I cannot avoid them, Mother. You are practically asking me to lock myself in my room.” You spun on the stool to face her. “They are always wandering the halls. I cannot go anywhere without running into one of them.”
“Then you best not be caught alone with one, girl.” Cleo raised her brows at you, reaching to fuss with the way your baby hairs rested on your hairline. “If you are again, then I really will lock you away.”
You let out a soft breath, but nodded. Your mother smiled, sickly sweet and too kind, and cupped your face in her hands.
“There we are. My beautiful girl, so pretty when you listen.” She leaned forward to plant a kiss on the tip of your nose. When she pulled back, she eyed your dress with a hateful glare. “I do not want to see you wearing this again. Burn it, in fact.”
“What?” Cleo let go of your face, leaning over her vanity to fix whatever imaginary imperfection she saw on her face. “Mother, I’m not going to burn my dress. It was expensive.”
“Perhaps you should not have worn it to seduce a man you are not engaged to.” Cleo straightened, giving you a once over. “I will not mother a whore, Y/n. If you burn it now then I will not consider you one.”
Your eyes widened, your lips parting with a strangled gasp. You did not know what to say.
“Here. I will help you start.” She opened a drawer, reaching for a pair of scissors she used to cut thread. She began to cross the room to you, watching you take a step back. “I’m not going to hurt you, dear.”
When she took a step again, you stayed still, watching as she reached for the front panel of the skirt and cut it down the middle with a jagged line. You sharply inhaled, tears burning at your eyes.
“This is cruel, Mother,” you mumbled when she straightened again. She cleaned her scissors of caught fabric and loose strands before returning the pair where they belonged.
“Cruelty is a part of life. You must learn that and avoid it at all costs.” Again, Cleo observed herself in the mirror for invisible imperfections. “The worst cruelty of all is destroying what your mother has built for you. Stay faithful to Telemachus.”
She glanced at you, hearing the stolen breaths you were taking and seeing the tears well at your waterline. She clicked her tongue, coming over to you. “Do not cry, my life. You will thank me in the future, when you are happily married.” Her thumbs wiped at your cheeks, rubbing away any tears that dared escape. “You are tired. Let me tuck you into bed like I used to.”
You were about to shake your head, but Cleo was already grabbing your hand and dragging you along behind her. You followed willfully, not a sound escaping you except for the soft hiccups of suppressed cries.
She stripped you bare and dressed you in a modest nightgown, vaguely murmuring reassurances in your ear about how you will forget this with time. She coaxed you into your bed, and tucked the blankets around your body tightly despite the sun still streaming through your curtains.
She kissed your forehead. “I will tell them that you are ill and do not wish to dine with us.”
You weren’t sure who they or us applied to, but Cleo was quickly gone after that. You heard your door shut behind her and finally let a sound claw free from your throat, forcing yourself to sit up so you did not choke on it.
You fell asleep crying into your pillows, muffling yourself with your hand when you felt you were getting too loud. Slowly, the sun set and silver lines of moonlight filled your room.
When you woke the next morning, there was a vase of white lilies on your nightstand.
—
It was dark. The sky was clear and the moon shone brightly in all its glory, pulling the tides with just enough force to create comforting movement. Truth be told, there were days when Telemachus preferred the night and her ethereal darkness. Selene painted a breathtaking picture.
“You are so possessive of her and yet you have the audacity to say you are not catching feelings?”
This would have been one of those nights, except Peisistratus had insisted that he join Telemachus on his walk along the shore. He knew it was likely because the few suitors that had been in the hall could not keep quiet about his argument with you. No doubt his friend wanted details, which Telemachus didn’t understand because the Prince of Pylos had seen it. Peisistratus had returned from the town just before Telemachus left Cleo’s room to fetch you.
“I am not possessive. She is getting herself into trouble by dallying with my mother’s suitors,” Telemachus corrected, throwing a pebble out to the sea. He didn’t look long enough to see its small splash.
“Yes, I believe you said she was parading herself for any man to see.” Telemachus sent Peisistratus a sidelong glare.
“She is. Have you not seen her? She is so modest when she knows she’ll be around me but when she’s left to her own devices she dresses like a- a-“
Telemachus couldn’t find the word. The only ones that came to mind were so degrading. He didn’t hate you that much. And even if he was calling you out for being promiscuous around the suitors, Telemachus did not truly think you were a harlot. Your reasoning was sound—at least a little. He could understand wanting a different spouse, and men were easily persuaded when a woman bore themselves.
“Sounds like you wish she’d wear less for you, prince,” Peisistratus teased. He smiled coyly, triumphantly at the way the tips of Telemachus’ ears turned red.
“I do not! Don’t be ridiculous, Peisistratus. She is simply too young for any of these suitors. All of us are,” he amended.
Peisistratus shrugged. “Penelope and Odysseus have a few years between them.”
“There are nearly twenty between her and the youngest. He probably has memories a decade older than her.”
Peisistratus laughed. “Well, Cleo got married to Silas when she was fifteen and he was thirty-something, I believe. What’s a couple decades?”
Telemachus gritted his teeth. That was true, and you likely used it as a reason to seek out older men. Not to mention that Cleo had been hoping to move her daughter’s life along to a similar schedule as hers had moved. You were two and a half years behind, according to that.
Peisistratus bit back another laugh. “Deny it all you'd like, Telemachus, but I do believe that you’re growing fond of Princess Y/n.”
“You are blind.”
“Better hope she returns those affections before a suitor decides to take her offer.” The Prince of Pylos raised his brows at the Prince of Ithaca. “Or another prince.”
Telemachus whipped his head around. He could recognize what that tone meant. “You wouldn’t.”
Peisistratus’ lips curved. “If it’ll move you along, then I will.”
Telemachus scoffed. “You were saying just earlier that you would not.”
“I made a face, however I said that I would be more than happy to have her as my bride.”
Telemachus pursed his lips. “She would not like you.”
“I can charm her.”
“She is not easy to charm.”
“Please.” Peisistratus clicked his tongue. “If Antinous and Eurymachus can do it, then so can I.”
Something grasped Telemachus’ heart. He could not tell if his friend was being serious, and that unknowing let an unsettling feeling of fear stir in his chest.
—
You entered the dining hall the next morning wearing a fine skirt and even finer jewelry. You were the last to arrive, and Telemachus had begun to think that you would not show up after yesterday. When you did, a weight lifted, though he found the way you dressed strange.
Your sleeves were long, flowing gracefully around your arms with every movement. Your skirt had no slit in it and your collar was high, settling much higher on your neck than he knew you liked. The dress was not cinched at your waist like many of your garments were and your hair was tied back tightly. Telemachus wondered if the abundant jewelry was there to distract from the modest outfit.
He noticed your gaze linger on the tapestry hung on the far wall—the one depicting Penelope and Odysseus’ first meeting. It did every time you entered the room, always catching on the uneven rows you had completed years ago.
The Ithacan prince furrowed his brows when Peisistratus stood from beside him, but he did not say anything. He only watched as the Prince of Pylos strolled across the hall.
He bowed to you, holding out a hand for you to place yours in. Telemachus could see the trepidation in your eyes, even if your expression stayed cool. For a moment, your gaze met his.
What is this? You asked. Telemachus did not know, and so he shrugged.
He watched you give up your hand, placing it gently in Peisistratus’. He watched Peisistratus plant a kiss on your knuckles, looking up at you through long lashes. He watched your eyebrow raise, and he watched as you took the arm Peisistratus offered.
Bastard, Telemachus thought as the two of you sauntered to the table. Telemachus hadn’t thought Peisistratus would actually try. The princes of Pylos and Ithaca were thick as thieves, loyal to one another till the end, and yet this was what happened when a girl entered the picture.
Peisistratus pulled your chair beside Telemachus out for you and pushed you in when you sat.
“I hope you enjoy your breakfast, princess.”
You glanced back, convinced that this was part of an elaborate plot. Peisistratus’ tone was too sweet. He didn’t say princess with enough ridicule. Something was deeply wrong.
“If you are hoping to bed me, Peisistratus, you will not get lucky,” you tried. If anything, your words would at least loosen the atmosphere.
Peisistratus laughed, patting your shoulder innocently. “I am only trying to prove a point.”
When his gaze caught on Telemachus’, Peisistratus gave a quick raise of his brows. I told you. Telemachus rolled his eyes.
“I apologize about yesterday, Y/n,” Telemachus said once Peisistratus had returned to his seat. His voice was soft, a gentle whisper of a breath meant for your ears only. “I was acting rash. I should not have raised my voice at you.”
For a moment, he wasn’t sure that you'd heard him. He was content to let the apology be lost to the air between you. That way, at least, he could say he tried.
You glanced at the prince, knife spreading butter across the surface of bread. You might have looked vaguely threatening, but your eyes were soft. Cautious, but soft.
“It is alright. Thank you for apologizing, Telemachus.”
That was it. You did not say another word and Telemachus did not try to coax one out of you. You kept your gaze lowered, not even lifting it when a suitor sent a catcall your way. When you finished, you set silverware down with soft clinks and left the hall without making a sound.
Down the table, Cleo rolled her eyes. Her words were not for Telemachus to hear, but she did not speak quietly enough. “I did not mean for her to be completely docile. She should at least make conversation with the prince.”
“And you’re sure you did not ridicule her terribly?” Penelope asked, eyes lingering on where you had left the hall.
“Positive. I gave her a firm talking to and that is all.”
Telemachus’ brows pulled together just slightly. He glanced at Peisistratus at the same moment, the Prince of Pylos sending his own look Telemachus’ way. A thousand words passed between them, and the two princes simultaneously stood.
Penelope turned her head instantly, following the boys as they walked behind her. “Where are you two going?”
“Sparring,” Peisistratus said, giving the Queen of Ithaca a charming smile. “We must bulk up for our trip to Troy in the fall.”
It was clear that Penelope saw through the lie, but she did not say anything against it. She offered a vague hum, giving them both a once over before returning to her conversation with Cleo.
Telemachus and Peisistratus left quickly, nearly reaching down the hall when they crossed the threshold. In front of your room, though, they faltered. Neither wanted to knock first.
“You do it,” Telemachus urged.
“What? Why me? You’re her betrothed,” Peisistratus reminded.
“She hates me.”
“Well she’s not very fond of me either, Telemachus.”
“Peisistratus, just knock on the door.”
“I am not—”
“You are stronger anyway—”
“—your mother would be very disappointed—”
“—if she throws a punch then—”
“—that you cannot knock on a door—”
“I can hear you,” your voice snapped from the other side of the door. Both princes promptly shut their mouths, straightening their backs. They heard shuffling, and then after a moment you cracked the door. “Can I help you?”
The princes stuttered, scrambling for something to say. “We just, uh . . . You were . . . acting weird.”
Your brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“Just now in the dining hall,” Telemachus continued. “You weren’t as . . .” The Ithacan prince made a vague motion.
You blinked at Telemachus, gaze flicking between him and Peisistratus before you rolled your eyes and closed the door.
Peisistratus was quick to open it again, this time stepping into your room. “Princess, we are only making sure you’re alright. You were uncharacteristically quiet.”
“Perhaps I simply did not wish to speak with you.” You turned, pinning the Prince of Pylos with a poisoned glare. “I did not give you permission to enter my private room.”
“This room is part of the Ithacan palace, so it is not yours.” It was a low blow, but it was all Peisistratus thought to scrape at. It worked, seeing as your lip tightened and your glare sharpened.
“What do you want, then? Since I suppose I am at your disposal to use as you please.” Your gaze shifted to Telemachus and the way his light eyes parked in the golden rays of the morning sun.
Your gaze felt accusatory. As if you were burning Telemachus for letting this happen. Whether he liked it or not, he was the man of the Ithacan house, it seemed to remind him. He was in charge, and up till now he had not used any of his authority to change the things that needed changing.
Neither of them said anything, Telemachus too stunned by your stare and Peisistratus scolded by your tone. When you realized neither of them were going to say anything, you rolled your eyes and turned your back.
“Fine. Stay if you must, but I am not doing anything worth your precious time.” You crossed your room and sat at the loom stationed in the corner. A gift from Penelope. It wasn’t the same as the extravagant one you had in Lempyra, but the wood was still fine and it served its purpose in giving you something to do while in Ithaca. Telemachus was not sure what you were making, and he did not get the opportunity to ask before Peisistratus was pushing him out of the room, mumbling something about ungratefulness.
You heard him, but you did not let the words pierce your heart so painfully like you might have once before. Your door slammed behind them, and you hoped that was the final straw for one of them to convince Cleo that this arranged union would bear no fruit.
Another knock sounded just seconds later. You exhaled in annoyance, letting the shuttle drop from your hands before you stood and stomped to your door.
“Telemachus, I told you—” But it was not Telemachus. No, at your door stood a tall figure with bronzed skin and hair like spun gold. His eyes were dark like the night, and around his neck a golden pendant hung.
His chest was bare, the smooth expanse of skin rippling with lean muscle beneath a loosely tied sash. Your breath caught and your knees nearly buckled at the sight of the beautiful man before you, carved carefully like the statues you had seen once on a visit to Rome.
He smiled, displaying his straight white teeth. “Apologies. Were you hoping for someone else?”
You were shaking your head before you could truly process what the man had said. “No, not at all. Just . . .”
His honey-warm gaze shifted from yours, flicking around what he could see of your room from the opened door.
“I don’t mean to intrude,” he started after your own words had trailed off, “but you seemed quite upset. I just wanted to see if you were alright.”
You saw something spark in his dark eyes when they met yours again. Something that had your posture straightening and your lips pulling into a line.
“I’m fine,” you replied, less breathless than you had been. “I’m only feeling ill.”
Which was a lie you were sure the man in front of you could see through, but it was a lie that often sent men away. They often didn’t want to deal with a complaining woman.
But no. The handsome man before you only shifted his gaze and tilted his head in concern. “How terrible. Luckily, I’m well trained in medicine. My mentor is the best in the world.”
Your brow raised. “Who was your mentor?”
“Alas, his name is not one I can speak. He likes to keep an unknown reputation. I assure you, though, that my skill is nothing to laugh at.”
You hummed, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorframe. “Then what is your name? If you are so great, I may know it.”
“Alexei. I am a noble from Sparta who has come to win the queen’s hand.” Alexei tilted his head.
“Sparta? That is Queen Penelope’s homeland.”
“I am aware. I was urged to come by my father, who is hoping to place a son on a throne.” Alexei flashed you another smile, softer than the last. “I have no real interest in the queen, though, and have found another princess to be quite captivating.”
You huffed in amusement. You knew what that meant, and if you doubted it at all then the way his gaze flicked to your lips only confirmed it.
“I am not seeking a husband. I am already engaged.”
“To a prince that wished you were someone else,” Alexei noted. “And you wish he were someone else, as well. I’ve noticed the two of you are not fond of each other.”
“That does not change the fact that we are to be wed.”
“When? You have been engaged since birth and for seventeen years have avoided a ceremony.” Alexei raised his brows, shifting in a way that made him loom over you. “You are purposefully postponing the union.”
“So what if I am? Does it matter?”
“I would like to pursue you. If the Prince of Ithaca has no interest in someone like you, then let me.”
Your heart fluttered as Alexei continued, promising treasures of all manner and security like no other. Your first instinct wanted to say yes—to accept his proposal and let him carry you off to wherever he planned to go, whether it was back to Sparta or to Lempyra so he could rule in the future. You nearly did, but the image and voice of your mother reminded you of your place.
If you did run off with Alexei, who you had only just met, then your mother would go mad. She’d accuse you of whoring around again and likely disown you, cutting off ties to the Lempyran throne. That would then leave his father disappointed.
“I’m afraid you are too late,” you said, bowing your head. No matter how much safety he promised, you would not jeopardize yourself. At least by continuing to stall your union with Telemachus, you were sure of that safety. “I have made my decision already.”
Alexei did not look quite defeated, but he took a step back. “Have a good day, then, princess.”
Alexei turned on his heel and strolled down the hall. You waited until he turned down another to close your door and sigh. You pressed your forehead to the carved wood, wondering what had changed inside to make you so logical.
I could not tell you what happened with the word count however I can say.... future chapters are probably gonna fall on the way longer side hope y'all are okay with that
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I’m gonna be so honest, I hope Ilium the musical doesn’t have that much Patroclus + Achilles material. Only because I feel like this fandom will dumb the Iliad story down to Patrocllies when there’s so much more. Like I’d rather see Jorge’s interpretation of the Trojan characters and especially the women ngl.
If you could add five songs to epic, what would you add?
(Featuring cut songs and/or concepts that were never in Canon or in the songs we've seen so far)
— Man of the House.
Ody's lore, more impact on the suitors' "where is he?" "Time is fleeting it's running out" in Legendary, The Challenge and Odysseus, more Odypen… c'mon Jorge why cut thisssss
— A duet between Penelope and Telemachus.
Do I need to explain? Do I? DO I???????
— Another song in Ogygia.
Not exactly a Calypso song. Just. Explore what happened in those seven years. It's literally what kept Ody away from home 70% his journey back. AND IT'S NEVER MENTIONED AGAIN. WHY
— Odysseus' arrival in Ithaca.
The aftermath of Six Hundred Strike, Ody disguising himself without Athena's help(? Because. Well, she's with Telemachus, she only comes back in ICHBW) Argos' death, Ody remembering his childhood... and the music ends when he arrives at his castle, and then, comes The Challenge.
— A little wolf reprise.
YES we'd need to change the story in this one but hear me out- Telemachus killing Antinous instead of Odysseus. BRO I'D FEEL JUSTIFIED FOR MY BOY!!
And and AND instead of being just Antinous teasing and singing himself 80% of the time, it's a duet. Both taunt each other, both beat each other up, to show that Telemachus reached Antinous' level and he's not as weak as he was in little wolf.
And there are no suitors around, they're running from Ody. Just for him to encounter his son fighting and killing the leader of the suitors.
