@kallistcs
As a child, Telemakhos loved exploring. Not adventuring, per se, but discovering the sandy coastline and rocky cliffs, the uneven pastures and sweet-smelling orchards, every inch of the island he held so dearly in his heart. The turbulent years before his father came home may have tempered that desire, but even so, travelling to Sparta and Pylos, and further afar when the years demanded it, he still loved to know the land he was in and see it for himself. And even in death, that doesn't change. It seems unlikely that it's even possible to explore all of this land, but common sense plays little in the joy of seeing something new.
Ithaka was still a small island, still unimportant in spite of his father's legacy. There are far more people in Elysium, those he hasn't seen in many years and those he only ever heard stories of. What once would have been strange and fantastical to imagine is now what he can expect for eternity. And it's a lot, sometimes.
He's following the treeline when he hears the music, away from the pastures where discus are being thrown. He dips into the cool shade of the trees, a melody growing stronger the further he gets from the sound of voices he left behind. The woods give way to a curving grove of trees, the strumming of a lyre clear and sweet now. Then a voice starts, and Telemakhos, always with a good ear for music, turns until he spots the singer. A handsome young man, unfamiliar.
He doesn't think he's seen him yet, and perhaps Telemakhos should turn and leave him to his peace and music. But curiosity as ever gets the better of him, and he steps out of the shadows of the trees, further into the grove. He doesn't say anything, not wanting to interrupt the song, and instead just watches.
"Please," he says, when he is noticed, "I don't mean to interrupt."