{alt. penelope of ithaca x reader - older fem x younger fem}
For Twenty Years
this is for the sapphics, if it’s not for you, pls keep scrolling :)
synopsis - with the unruly suitors in odysseus’ home taking up residence and queen penelope’s plan to delay the vie for her hand in marriage, a young maiden in her house catches her attention, becoming a brief distraction for twenty years.
warnings - power dynamics, age gap relationship, yearning, one-sided pursuit, angst, loneliness, rejection, coveting, affection, kissing, sleeping together, heartbreak, correction.
author’s note - this is a one shot, for fun, reader has name 💘
(if you didn’t enjoy the movie pls don’t engage with this 💕)
‘a face, a fleet, a war, a trick’.
These are the words that echo in your mind, as you watch the love of your life, the former queen of Ithaca, Penelope, sail away with her heart's true affection, Odysseus.
Their love rooted for by all of their subjects.
All except you.
A nobody, a mere servant.
The former king is home at last, alive, after all these years. There cannot be a truer love than the one that finds a way back to its yearning lover, overcoming all trials and obstacles to be reunited.
You envy him greatly, watching the revered hero wrap his arms around arms that were yours for all your youth. For all the summers he was absent.
Your queen, mistress, lover, teacher, protector, gazes up at him with eyes that almost looked to you this way, utterly enamoured and devoted.
A few more years, she would have, the lie you will continue to tell yourself as you remain in Ithaca.
It was your own heart that nailed a trick, believing after fifteen years in her bed, she would not at last reject you, but return her love for all you had given faithfully, your heart, mind, body, even your soul.
How foolish and naive you were.
She is the daughter of Periboea, the naiad wife of king Icarius. Thus her lineage and bloodline outranks even that of most sovereigns.
While you were only a gift to her, from a house far beneath her own, seeking to prove their loyalty to the king when his journey to Troy begun.
Still, in your defense, with a beauty that drew more than a hundred suitors and a wit that kept them at a distance, for years, you were destined, fated even, by the gods in Olympia, to fall for the brilliance that is Penelope of Ithaca.
You arrived on the island from another island the day after the fleet departed. A scrawny girl, no more than thirteen summers, while she was already a young mother, in her twentieth summer.
Her nurse Eurycleia trained you to serve as her son Telemachus’ maid, still an infant then. Meaning you were in such near acquaintance to her intelligence from your very first day.
You were escorted to the beauty, who sat outside within the walls of her great house, alone, gazing at the sea. Your hands trembled as you neared her presence. Never had you witnessed such majesty.
In your land you had important families, but never mortals who came from the gods and lesser gods.
This was the most noble woman you had met, and upon beholding her, you could not prevent your own heart from ceasing in rhythm, nor could you resume its beating until she addressed you.
You stood unable to reply, your gaze falling to the floor, where her enchanting eyes could not seize and imprison you, holding you forever captive.
As you now stand watching her depart with Odysseus, you remember your story from its beginning, as if you are there once again.
“Does she not speak?”, are Penelope’s first words, her voice as bewitching as her eyes.
You become acquainted with Ithaca’s floors, which are much more mesmerising than the entire home you were purchased from.
“She does, mistress”, with a voice as sharp and unamused as her eyes, the nurse is the one to nudge you towards the Spartan born woman.
“Go on girl, answer your queen”, old hands swat your back when you stall once more. It hurts.
You take a breath, your voice high pitched and with eyes now trailing Penelope’s feet.
“Forgive me, mistress, might you be so kind as to repeat the question you asked?”, fingers twirling the loose thread on your sleeves.
Both older women stare at each other, then you.
“Look up”, the stern woman aims for your back a second time, making you wince, however, you do direct your gaze upward, meeting Penelope.
Behind her, the sea glimmers blue as if a dream.
You find yourself in a strange yet beautiful part of the land, unlike your native shores. Even its very air carries an unfamiliar, calming scent.
Should you fail to make a favourable impression, they may send you back home, to nothing and perhaps to harsher punishments for failing.
“I asked for your name”, the queen stands, now gazing at you under curious eyes. She is tall.
“Straighten your shoulders”, the nurse hisses, swatting you for the third time. You want to cry.
“Eurycleia”, she smiles without it reaching her eyes. “I will take it from here. If you can see to Telemachus, he will be rousing from his sleep”, the way she positions herself, circling around you, shields you from the nurse’s access to your back.
“Yes, mistress”, the old hag at last departs.
The prospect of the sea from this height is most astounding, leaving you yet again at a standstill before Penelope, while she quietly regards you, returning to position in front of you.
Your eyes shift from the view, to her, cheeks ablaze with timidness, for she is exceedingly fair, perhaps the most you have seen in your short life.
Still deeming her gaze too unsettling, you fix yours upon her small golden earring when you finally speak, with a voice lacking in confidence.
“My name is Neso, my queen…a gift unto you”.
“My talents lie in the rearing of infants and young children, for I had seven younger brothers”.
“It is a profound honour and privilege to serve you and your noble household, here in Ithaca”.
You cannot discern whether she is impressed or calculating within her mind, as she falls silent, landing her gaze to meet your eyes.
Perhaps you neglect to mention some other important details.
Your shoulders suddenly straighten, as if an invisible Eurycleia swatted your back again.
“You had brothers? What became of them?”.
Her face wears a slight concern, as if assessing if you are indeed fit for the position. There must a dozen other girls lined up by her servants.
She misunderstands.
“My brothers are all in good health, mistress. I mean to say, I now belong to you, and your house, so I had rather than have my brothers”, you clarify, cheeks hotter the longer you speak.
“Mhm”. Her reply and eyes turn towards the sea, beyond the pillars of her fine house. You follow the line of sight, as if expecting to see something.
“Find Eurycleia. I shall see how you do with my son, Telemachus”. She doesn’t regard you.
Instead, she walks to the edge of the wall, turning her back to you. Her scent filling your nostrils.
For the first time since meeting the queen of Ithaca, you permit your gaze to linger on her.
She is adorned with the finest attire. Jewels grace her hair, neck, and hands. The gods favour her.
If her beauty thus inflames you, you begin to understand why fleets are dispatched for her cousin Helen. The fairest woman who lives.
You have never seen her, of course, but heard songs of her loveliness from a young age.
If Penelope is this fine of a woman, Helen must be a goddess in comparison.
“Did my words reach your ears?”, she turns to find you still standing foolishly, gazing.
“Yes mistress…I will leave at once, thank you”.
You bow your head, uncertain if this is also a custom the people of Ithaca practice with their sovereign. At home it is your sign of respect.
Your face flushes, and more so when she smiles, as though entertained by your peculiar ways.
Your heart of course trembles at this, resolving to repay her gentle warmth, thinking perhaps she will look upon you with favour, rendering this path of becoming her son’s maid less arduous, especially with Eurycleia at your back.
Even if you did not received her esteem in those early years, you soon learn that Telemachus is a child easy to care for, compared to your seven brothers. He takes a liking to your gentleness.
Penelope is ever attended by her maids, so you are never alone in her presence in the day, unless she expressly summons you, which is a rare occurrence. In fact, she takes no note of you.
Yet as night falls, you share quarters with her and Telemachus, resting at his feet should he stir in the dead of night.
Her bedchamber is partitioned, affording her some privacy. Still, you are blessed to perceive a fleeting view of her nightgown, revealing a little more of her tender skin, than her daylight attire.
At times she visits his chamber to observe you with the babe, assessing your natural skills.
In the first year, he is indeed restless and rouses more frequently, yet as he grows more at ease with you, he slumbers longer without stirring.
It is as though he exchanges places with his mother, who is of a calm disposition at the start, until you begin to hear her gentle cries, seeking the king in her dreams to see to her.
At first you disregard it, supposing one of her maids will surely hear and attend to her. Yet the longer it persists, the more intolerable it grows.
She remains your queen, you cannot turn a deaf ear to her discomfort. So, with great uncertainty, you venture into her bedchamber, trembling at the thought of being caught by someone else.
Her portion of the quarters is another world unto itself. Silks and fabrics entirely foreign drape her body. Her eyes are shut, brows knit with anxiety.
She still calls for Odysseus, her one true love.
You approach their bed with caution, lowering yourself, until your gaze meets with her head.
Your hand extends with deliberate slowness, with tenderness, to stroke her arm.
“My queen”, you whisper.
Yet nothing occurs.
Your fingers move the strands of hair covering her face, waiting to make another attempt of it.
This time deciding to nudge her shoulder, when she calls her husband’s name.
“Mistress…do you hear me?”.
“It is I, Neso”.
Still, she does not rouse.
You consider what your own mother did for you whenever nightmares plagued your slumber.
She summoned you back to the land of the living, not by your title to her, but by your given name, for a name possesses greater power.
However, this is your queen, her title is the most protected and reverenced among all other titles.
Still, her unease is more important to resolve.
You part your lips and pray the gods do not strike you down for forgetting your place.
With a hand gently caressing her arm, you call out
“Penelope…”.
A quiet gasp leaves your mouth, when eyes that were previously shut suddenly open.
Not at all alarmed as she was a moment before, but with a calmness now resting on her face, as if she was never sleeping.
“Neso?”, she is neither angered nor pleased.
Your name on her lips sounds divine.
“My queen, I ask for your pardon. I heard your cries and could no longer turn a deaf ear”.
She beholds you with an expression of gratitude.
“Are you quite well, mistress?”, you retreat your comforting hand from her tender arm and she takes notice, her gaze following the withdrawal.
It is only then it dawns on you how close in proximity you are to her physical presence.
“Forgive me”, your heart pounding in your chest.
You falter in your retreat, stumbling backwards unto your posterior. Soon finding yourself seated.
Her eyes widen, fearing at first you have taken harm, yet when you meet gazes, she breaks into perfect laughter, ringing as music to your ears.
She has never done so in your sole company.
Must the gods bless her with all things good?
Your face grows hot with embarrassment.
“I am quite well, are you?”, it sounds as if she jests with you. Her countenance sprightly.
“Quite well, mistress”, you press your lips together to stop your laugh from escaping, feeling a timidness take over.
“Then you are forgiven, for trespassing into the bedchamber of your queen. You can at once return to your slumber”, she offers another smile.
Does she continue to jest with you?
Is it fitting to jest in the presence of a queen?
Eurycleia would not think so otherwise.
Not wanting to delay Penelope’s rest, you return, yet find yourself at her bedside the following evening when she cries out for Odysseus.
She stirs not at the sound of her titles, only her name. This time withdrawing yourself by a few steps before she opens her eyes.
“Did I cry out again?”, her voice is surprised.
“Yes, my queen”, you sit gazing at her from the dim light of her chamber.
This night she sits upright in bed, wiping her face, as though wearied by her own thoughts.
Her bare shoulders are revealed unto you, causing you to avert your gaze elsewhere. The silk upon her bed is acquainted with your shy eyes.
“What do I cry for?”, her fingers run through her hair, leaning back against the wall behind.
“It is who rather than what, mistress”.
She turns her head down towards you, listening.
“The king of Ithaca, his name over and over”.
“At times asking him to come see to you…pleading with the gods for his safe return home”.
Penelope sinks into her fabrics, as though recalling the conflict now raging at Troy.
“Of course”, is all she replies with.
For nearly every night since, you find yourself within the queen's chamber, rousing her from her cries and nightmares and prayers for Odysseus.
Although rare, there are times young Telemachus awakens with her, sensing the discomfort.
You soothe and tend to both mother and child, first seeing to the babe, then Penelope.
Yet when her torment begins to happen twice, thrice in a singular evening, you device a plan to help rid her of the cycle once and for all.
It is bold of you to ask.
You take the risk.
“I can recount to you a tale, that perchance your thoughts may dwell upon a different matter”.
An expression unreadable to you passes on her face, making you believe you have crossed a line.
“Are you yourself not longing for slumber?”, she replies with a question.
You shake your head.
“I take pleasure in the night, than the day”, you begin, your gaze landing on her listening face.
“It was in these hours I felt I were truly my own, in my old home, and the times I feel most liberated here in Ithaca”, your voice speaks with certainty.
“I see…well, Neso, the stage is yours”, she bestows an intrigued smile, leaning backwards.
If Eurycleia catches you, she will punish you severely. She still cannot abide in your company, treating you harsher than the other maids.
All of what you do in here with Penelope defies the many rules she gave to you at the beginning.
‘Servants should not entertain or gaze too long at their better. If the queen needs a jester, she can request for one’, you can hear her cold voice.
As if she notices your hesitation, the queen repeats, encouraging you to perform for her.
“Indulge me with one small tale, then I shall determine whether you can continue this or if I should summon one of my maids to attend me”.
How cannot you not defy the counsels of Eurycleia when Penelope sits and gazes upon you with her divine favour. It is far too tempting.
In the same manner as you can ask, how can a thousand ships not be sent to Troy for Helen?
Beautiful women will have you defy even the gods and even those gods will defy each other, for a night with an Aphrodite, or Athena or Hera.
So, you defy Eurycleia and you defy the rules of this house, no matter the consequences.
You clear your throat confidently and the queen nods as a sign for you to begin.
In your family you sharpened your storytelling skills by being a natural jester for your brothers.
“This evening, I offer you the tale of how the goddess Pasithea came to be with Hypnos. Although, the version I have heard from my home, may differ to the one from Ithaca”.
Penelope lowers herself back into a sleeping position, listening with intent. Her countenance is that of someone younger, a girl, as you are a girl.
This becomes your self-appointed duty each evening, at times without her lament, helping her rid the cycle of cries for Odysseus.
Although, there are still nights she is visited by dreams that distress her greatly, you are determined to rid her of those as well.
Eurycleia appears ignorant of your defiance, until some months into this arrangement, a maid alerts her of your frequent visits to the queen.
You are certain Melantho told. Her face is smug when the old woman summons you to the back of the house, which is not a good place to meet her.
She drags you by your ear to the outside, furthest from the back entrance, where none can hear your cries as she whips the tips of your fingers.
Her newest method of correction trialed on you.
For the remainder of the day, you find yourself hard-pressed to accomplish even the most smallest of duties, including tending to the boy.
Your eyes are red and swollen from the tears.
It is Penelope who observes your grimace as you lift him, for you almost drop him, yet manage to find grip at the very last moment.
Her eyes are wide.
“Neso, are you in good health?”.
“Yes, my queen”, you answer right away, offering a smile to further convince her.
“Your eyes-”
“I am quite well, my queen…do not be anxious”, deciding to busy yourself with Telemachus.
“Mhm”, she lingers before leaving your side.
Hours later she returns, as if urgently seeking help, but when she reaches you, there are no words. Her hands lift yours to observe closely, only to see the ugly welts from the lashings.
“Why do you withhold this from me?”, there is anger in her tone. She has never once used it.
You wonder who told her.
“I answer to Eurycleia”, your shoulders straighten as if to compose yourself from suddenly crying.
“You answer to me!”, she shouts, attracting attention from others around you.
“Is she your queen?”.
In your throat sits a thick lump.
“No mistress, however, I disobeyed her strict instructions...I ought not to have entered your bedchamber...it is not my place nor my role to be intimate with you”, your eyes avoid her gaze, your heart and hands tremble, your tears are thick.
Penelope’s short laugh is one of disbelief. Her voice is filled with frustration, though quieter.
“That woman”.
“I instructed you-”
“Come along”, she changes her mind and beckons you to follow her.
You can barely keep up with her long strides and gazes from people in the house, before you find yourself standing in front of the nurse.
The queen, with her face flushed, instructs you to present your hands towards her servant.
“What say you to this?”, her anger is concealed, keeping an even voice. You wonder why.
She is met with unhurried, unafraid eyes.
“The girl defies the rules of your household mistress, she must suffer correction, until she learns”, the old woman replies, truly composed.
“Oh? Is that so? When I have bid her to enter my quarters for my son’s sake and my bedchamber for my own, whenever she pleases”.
“I instructed her to attend me”.
The nurse for the first time seems shaken, moved by her own error of judgement and punishment.
“Mistress-”
“What now Eurycleia?”, her voice rises in anger.
“Will you marr the rest of my servants?”.
“Forgive me, my queen, the girl did not express your permission to her”, she lowers herself.
“Her name is Neso! How long has she been with us for you to keep oppressing her this way?”.
“Even if she had not expressed my permission, you chose to hear rumours, than ask me”.
“Eurycleia, do not make me forget you are favoured by my husband. You are my servant”.
“Yes my queen, I beg your forgiveness”, her posture remains bent forward, eyes to the floor.
“From this day forth, entrust her correction to me. Inform me, if she so defies this household”.
Penelope turns her heels with a swiftness to depart. You assume she leaves you to confront the old woman alone, yet, you hear her summon you by name when you do not follow behind.
This is the first instance of her guardianship and open favour over you, for many years to come.
In the following three summers when you are in your sixteenth year, the boy is now of an age where he can speak and run, meaning you find yourself all over the house chasing after him.
He still enjoys your gentleness, now also your playfulness. You learn to love him deeply, able to understand why Eurycleia is so loyal to Odysseus.
You have not grown fond of her, but there is a certain sense of understanding between the two of you, especially as she witnesses your devotion to the queen of Ithaca and her young heir.
Your love for them is undeniable to others.
However, not a living soul knows of your secret affection for your mistress, not even she herself.
It has only flourished with each passing night you spend in her company, regaling her with every tale you know and recounting them for both her and Telemachus when he can comprehend them.
Penelope and her son are the finest portion of your days. She especially is the spur to all that you accomplish, with a deep desire to please her.
Your very own Helen or Aphrodite.
Her beauty and wit still overwhelm you, yet now you hold her gaze for longer than mere seconds.
It brings you great joy to behold her.
There are moments in this third summer when you consider Penelope may hold some affection for you too, from small observations.
In the times you sit together watching the sea, you can sense her gaze upon you, lingering, from the corner of your eye.
It stirs a strange fluttering in your belly and an alarming feeling of pleasure. Still, rather than suppress it, you permit it to dwell within you, becoming an unceasing, covetous thing.
Desire is its truest name.
You regard her as well, when she takes no notice. Applying attention of the delicate taper of her neck, the graceful prominence of her collarbone, the softness of her hands as she touches objects.
You at times wish you were an object, to feel Penelope’s fleeting fingers graze your skin.
She has completely consumed you.
And though her nightmares have ceased, accomplishing your task, you pass each eve by her bedside, still recounting a tale or two.
On occasion you fall into a deep slumber where you sit, when she too is at rest after the stories.
In your seventeenth year, you begin to notice the nights you awaken to find her gaze upon you.
She never did this before. The queen would usually bid you return to Telemachus's chamber.
Yet, one evening, she summons you to sleep beside your storytelling seat, requesting you bring your blankets and belongings here too.
By then the boy is old enough to not need a maid at this feet. You assume this is one reason she settles you closer to her, with the second reason being her desire to shield you from the maids, who envy you for her publicly displayed partiality.
The idea pleases you greatly, however, your mistress is not prepared for the fact that you yourself are pursued by nightmares in your slumber, though less often as you age.
Her acquaintance to this fosters a new intimacy, for you feel her hand reach down to rouse you, when such dreams occur.
Penelope’s fingers upon your bare shoulder, fleeting though they be, transform you.
You yearn for her to leave them on you every time it happens, coming close to placing your own hand on top of hers in a thought of passion.
It is not until your eighteenth year that she begins to bestow you with small gifts, far too dear for your customary taste.
The queen gives you her fabrics from distant lands for your attire and her old jewels from her younger years, as if to embellish or claim you.
This is not an unusual tradition in itself, but that she should do so for you is what raises eyebrows.
A lowly servant sold to her for work, parading herself adorned with some of the most costly and exquisite jewels in the Ithaca.
The other maids whisper amongst themselves, and those who were once friendly begin to shun you, ignoring your presence when the queen is otherwise occupied with her duties.
You carry yourself as though it troubles you not. Nurturing your own assurance, offering thanks to the goddess who bloomed your form. For you are no longer scrawny, but a maiden in full flower.
Surprisingly, it is the old nurse, Eurycleia, who warms up to you, approaching you with kindness, as if the world has been turned upside down.
She views these gifts as the queen’s gratitude for your commitment to this house, going as far as scolding the envious servants on your behalf.
Her slow friendship is the most unexpected of gifts, at a time you so desperately need a friend.
You begin to see her with new eyes, not minding her sternness now that it is directed elsewhere.
The only other sort of friend you have besides your dear boy, Telemachus, is his father’s cowherd Philoetius.
He is a kind and generous man, reminding you of your people from home, always jesting with you.
On one particular evening that alters your fate, you are awakened from your nightmare by the queen. This time her hand lingers upon your bare shoulder for much longer than the other times.
“Come lie beside me”, she withdraws, moving herself further on the other side of the bed.
Her fingers grab her silks and pulls them for you.
Your heart has never pounded so much.
All you can do is gaze down at her hand holding open the sheets and back up to her calm face.
“Have you heard my words?”, she asks.
“Yes, mistress”.
Yet you do not hurry to move.
“Then why do you make your queen wait”, there is impatience in her voice, as if exasperated.
“Forgive me”, finally standing to join her in bed.
The first night she turns away from you, as if you are not there at all, it is strange, but delightful.
Penelope is a mystery. One that will take fifteen years of your life from this day to unravel.
After the first week passes of sleeping with her, she is not quick to turn her back from your face.
You resume telling her the stories she so loves to hear before her rest, now in her soft bed than sitting on the floor of her chamber. Not that you minded, as long as you were in her presence.
Although she’s an entire arm’s length away from you, further than before, she feels the closest yet.
Her gaze is intent as she listens and laughs, asking you questions about the characters.
She becomes a girl again in these moments, making this side of her dearest to you, for not many experience her this way, except Odysseus.
In the dead of night, when either of you are visited by a nightmare, you only have to close the arm’s length, rousing the other with a hand and a name.
During these moments, your heart does indeed cease, when you take in her scent and warmth. Her soft skin lightly grazes yours, making your inner thighs grow hot with what you assume is affection, but you soon learn the difference.
Lust is the truer name for it.
The longer you stay awake with her, the queen begins to ask you questions, not just about the characters in your tales.
“Neso”, she grabs your attention instantly whenever she uses your name this way.
“Yes, mistress?”, you bestow a smile to yourself, gazing at the back of her head.
“Are you yet asleep?”
“Not quite…”, your heart picks up in speed when she turns back around to face you, studying you, without offering her usual warm countenance.
“Then tell me, what do you and my husband's cowherd discourse? You always laugh in his presence…and furthermore, I have observed his eyes seeking you when he attends this house”.
Oh, how strange of her to notice this.
Her voice is composed, yet something in her gaze unsettles you, it feels urgent, as if she has been waiting for weeks to ask you.
You are careful in the way you answer her.
“Mistress, I speak to him about the shores I came from, and he tells me stories from Troy…nothing of importance to the war”.
“He is kind and honest with me. I can see why the king entrusted him with your stock”.
“Mhm”.
Another question lies on the tip of her tongue, you watch her sift through her thoughts.
“Has he…”, she sighs.
It is not an accusation, rather a curiosity.
“Does he touch you, Neso?”.
You shake your head profusely.
“No, my queen, I would never allow such a thing. I belong to the house”, your heart is racing.
‘And I belong to you’, you wish to add, but do not. Instead, you continue your explanation.
“Philoetius is a loyal man to you and the king”.
“I give you my word, mistress. He would not attempt it either, I trust his character”.
“Why do you think such things of him and I?”
She sighs heavily, what troubles her so?
“I see the manner in which the men of this house regard you and search for you”, her voice quiet.
“Now that you are a…ah, shapely young woman”.
Your face flushes, although hidden by the night.
“Are you so oblivious to their ardent designs upon you? You cannot openly trust them”, she sounds irritated by your reply.
You nod slowly, confirming to her your naivity.
“I have never noticed, nor cared for any of them”, your plain simple truth, spoken with certainty.
Her brows furrow, as if surprised.
“But you are…no longer a girl, is there really no one who you have an affection towards?”.
‘You, my queen, always’, your mind laments.
“Even I am aware my maids share affections for men of this house and those who visit Ithaca”.
Penelope’s gaze is unreadable, a mix of things.
“I do not care for any man”, you reveal without sharing the deeper truth about her.
She falls quiet for some time, watching you.
“That will change one day, when you meet a man worthy of your affection…it transforms you”.
A knowing smile spreads on her perfect full lips, as if recalling her own experience with love.
‘I certainly hope not’, thinking in your mind.
“Yes, mistress”, your eventual response to her.
You do suddenly imagine what it might be to receive her love, how she might touch you, were she to hold you in affection.
It makes your belly knot up, your body inflames with both desire and lust, so you cross your legs to cease the maddening feeling in her company.
Somehow, this new position causes your inner thighs to feel a tingling sensation, the in between throbs, followed by a string of moisture leaking.
This is the first time your affection for her has produced a physical substance you can touch.
“What is it?”, the queen is watching you.
“Nothing, mistress…sleep well”.
You are the one to turn your back on her, another first this eve since joining her bed. Out of the feeling of embarrassment, perhaps also shame.
In the months to follow from this incident, you experience those symptoms more frequently, whenever you are in close proximity to Penelope.
The nights are the worst for it, feeling as if you are burning in your own body. The air around you growing thicker. The wild dreams, exposing your affection, no, your lust for the queen of Ithaca.
You avert your eyes more often whenever you see a glimpse of her skin. A slip of her gown when she moves, revealing her thigh causes the knot in your belly to tighten, as if it might burst any moment.
If there is any reason to get you away from her presence in the day you take it. Spending time outside the walls of the house with Telemachus and Mentor. In the guise of tending to his needs.
One eve, after sharing another one of your tales in her bed, she continues to gaze upon you, as if about to ask something of great importance.
It sets your heart racing when you recognise this.
You almost encourage her to question you, in anticipation, however she beats you to it.
“Why do you hide yourself from me?”. Her voice has grown more tender towards you recently.
“During the day whenever I bid the maids to call you to my side…you are ever abiding beyond the house, as if running from me”.
You open your mouth as if to speak, but no words come out, rather a tight feeling sits in your throat.
‘Do not ever lie to your queen’, Eurycleia’s earliest lesson visits you in this very moment.
Besides, she will know you if you attempt it.
“Mistress…I long to see the remaining parts of Ithaca…beyond your fair home. That is my motive for joining Telemachus and Mentor each day, truly…I enjoy the outdoors…I would take my brothers, back home”, you feel nonsensical.
“Forgive me, for my recent absence”.
It is not a lie, you yearn to see more than Ithaca.
Her expression is thoughtful, assessing you, and then, as if by a trick, she softens in her eyes, no longer wearing such a solemn countenance.
“You will not behold much tailing after my son and his teacher”, she breaks into laughter.
You bestow a smile, enjoying her expression.
“I fear you are not wrong, my queen, but it is more than I have ever seen in all my life”.
Her laugh seizes and her chamber falls quiet.
You hope she believes your words, they are true, just not the entire truth. She cannot know.
While journeying through your thoughts, Penelope moves closer to you, as if ready to rouse you from another one of your nightmares.
Her hand reaches to touch your shoulder, but instead hovers above your face, cupping it, the inside soft as a sweet dream.
“If the gods grant it, you will see so much more dear Neso. Your life extends beyond this house”, she smiles, her thumb rubbing your cheek a few times, before retreating her entire hand.
You will not understand these words of hers for fifteen years, perhaps even more than this.
“I never want to be an arm’s length away from you, my queen”, a truth slips out of your lips.
Her eyes are still, as if already knowing. She is unmoved by your small confession.
“Then do not leave me again…without my consent. You belong by your queen’s side”.
Her body turns away from you.
“Yes…my mistress”, you beam with a new joy.
Penelope grants you a few days each week to accompany her son beyond the great house.
Telemachus, now six summers, has grown to be spirited, though he remains shy outside the company of his teacher, yourself and his mother.
You derive great pleasure from engaging him in longer discourse, learning to understand the workings of his mind, and spurring him to greater self-assurance.
The boy is the nearest you come to having a child of your own. Your love for him is steadfast.
You imagine at times what kind of a king he will become, hoping he remains kind and generous.
Mentor is brilliant with him, giving you time to enjoy yourself whenever they are in training.
On the days you venture outside, you return to the house wearied, yet in a pleasant state. The queen notices the differences in your disposition.
During these particular nights, you find her nearer than an arm’s length, as if to convey her longing for your presence by sleeping closer to your side.
The lustful thoughts of Penelope still plague you with each slumber, until you can no longer bear it. Especially when her hair curtains your face and you take in her haunting, sea salt scent.
At times, you catch your fingers mindlessly stroking her soft locks, as you attempt to separate yourself from her.
This action transforms your intimacy exceedingly, especially when you hear her hum, enjoying the small sensations from you.
As if in disbelief, you still your hand and she becomes quiet, yet when you attempt to move it, she resumes the little sighs.
Not wanting to disappoint your mistress’s pleasure by withdrawing, you dip your hand further into her hair, your tips meeting her scalp.
You begin to scratch lightly, uncertain in your movements, but when her hums increase in volume, it encourages you greatly.
Suddenly, as if possessed, your body moves closer to hers, using both your hands to massage her entire head.
Penelope sings with pleasure, having not been touched by anyone in the last five summers.
You never want to part your fingers from her scalp, her scent now injected in you.
Those feelings of desire you go to battle with every evening are alive within you and tonight you make peace with that war, surrendering at last.
With your permission, desire and lust direct all of your next moves. Starting with her back.
Your right hand continues to scratch her head, while the left slithers down past her neck and onto her shoulders.
In the same manner, you massage her there, squeezing your affection through the works of your hands, as a vessel to make known your love.
The queen’s hums turn into a noise that causes the in between of your thighs to throb, with a desperate want. That familiar moisture choosing this time to run down your leg.
You decide to join your right and left hands on her shoulders for a greater response, which indeed you are rewarded with shortly after.
Penelope falls into a trance, turning herself flat on the bed to give you better access to her back.
Her head faces the other way, but you can see when you climb over her body how her lips part.
Possessed is what you are, both hands dutifully kneading her through the nightgown she wears.
From the top of her head to the bottom of her feet, nothing is left untouched, well, except her posterior. You avoid it as if it is a plague.
Your mind cannot comprehend your actual position, each thigh on either side of her body.
Desire and lust instruct you further, when you decide to lower yourself, so your front is on top of her back. It is a feeling that inflames you both.
Before she has a chance to speak, your mouth attaches to the side of her neck, just below her ear, planting one brief but tender kiss.
“Neso…”, she starts, you do not let her finish.
“Each night I hope for you, praying to Aphrodite that you may behold me with lover’s eyes”.
“My affections are for you, Penelope, you alone and no other living soul. No one compares”.
“There cannot be another man, or woman who exceeds what you have done to my heart”.
“It is yours, my queen, take it…take all of me”.
The brief silence that follows after your truest confession is unbearable. You lower your lips again, this time attaching to her jawline, then her cheek, then her temple and brow.
Her noise returns with each kiss, feeling an urge to grind your body on hers.
When at last you approach the corner of her lips, she turns herself on her back to meet your eyes, pushing you up from your position.
“Forgive me, mistress”, your heart trembles at the sight of her witnessing your lustful thoughts.
“Sleep well”, you remove yourself entirely.
By the time you are turned to your side, you assume she has returned to her slumber.
“Neso…”, she calls after a few moments.
“Yes, my queen?”, without turning back around.
“Do not hide from me”, those simple words spoken by her invoke greater encouragement.
You turn, with a deliberate slowness, deciding to lie on your back, finding her propped up on one elbow, gazing down at you.
She bestows her warm smile, fingers reaching to trace your cheek, until her index and thumb grab hold of your chin.
Penelope lowers further down, her face and yours now mere inches away.
“The day you first came to me, you told me that you belong to me and ever since, you have only proved yourself worthy of belonging to a queen”.
She presses her merciful, tender lips unto yours, with a kiss so fleeting, you miss it the moment she pulls away.
“I belong to you…”, you repeat in a trance.
Her mouth returns on you once more, this time with a deepened kiss. She hums when she finds your tongue slipping inside her, wet and cautious.
Still possessed by desire and lust, you grab hold of her hand under her silk sheets and direct it to that throbbing feeling between your legs.
You place it there not knowing what to do, but when she starts to make small circles, your mouth parts open, your voice letting out a sigh, then a moan, each time she moves.
A smile stretches on her lips, watching you.
“So, this is what plagues you each night you lie down with me?”, her circles firmer.
You nod, meeting her gaze.
“Answer me”, she halts briefly.
“Yes, mistress”.
The knot in your gut tightens more than ever when she resumes her movements on you.
“Then tell me, why did you not confide in me?”.
“I could have long aided you in combating this small problem and, we could have triumphed”.
Heavens, she is perfect.
“I was ashamed, my queen”, you exhale.
“Ashamed of desire? It is the most natural of things…a pure thing…do not ever be ashamed again, do you hear me?”, she quickens her pace.
“Yesss, mistressss”.
Then something bursts in you, causing you to cry out, but Penelope clamps her hand over your mouth, to avoid attracting attention, rubbing you vigorously, feeling moisture on your nightgown.
Even her hand is wet after she removes it from you, and a particular smell fills the chamber.
“Oh, you beauty…you shall indeed slumber soundly this evening, will you not?”, she plants a kiss on your forehead, before turning herself.
You cannot quite put into words this moment you shared with her, it is a fantasy come true.
All you can manage in your thoughts is how much you want it again and to switch positions.
You feel as though you have to catch your breath, the tingling sensation still in between your legs, just now satiated by the queen of Ithaca.
Her aiding of you continues for months before she ever allows you to aid her in return.
After this, that is all you do with each other for many nights over the following fifteen summers. So intertwined are you, that you slumber in each other’s arms, with no longer a gap in between.
Even after the war ends and the uncertainty of her future begins, when the unruly suitors make camp in her home, you are her only constant.
Your unwavering devotion and dedication to her pleasure, keeps her nightmares at bay.
There are only a number of times you fight, yet even then, you soon find your way back to the other. Quick to forgive harsh words or her temper.
Many times you consider what may become of the both of you if Odysseus really is forever gone. The thought of any other man touching her the way you do each night makes you possessive.
She returns similar feelings of jealousy when some of the suitors begin to chase after you.
Their efforts are wasted.
Before she takes you to bed, you aid her in the unraveling of the threads she weaves in the day.
When your beloved Telemachus suddenly departs in search for his father, you hold her each night she cries herself to sleep.
You pour all you have into Penelope, lifting her out of the dark misery looming over her life, until the day the king returns, making it known it really is him, the great hero Odysseus, not just a beggar.
The final night you spend in her bed before these revelations is the hardest to recount.
You fight.
“Should it truly be Odysseus, will you relinquish the throne and set sail with him?”.
She sighs, exasperated with you.
“Indeed, of course I shall. You have known this from the very beginning, and I shall do so with all my heart. He is my husband, Neso”.
Your hands reach to her own, holding tightly.
“And what of me? I am yours, do you not recall? You said I ought to remain at your side!”.
“As queen! I shall no longer be the queen. Another shall take my place when my son marries, that is what I meant by it!”.
She continues, with less volume in her voice.
“Please, let us not quarrel upon this, on our final night…come, make love to me, sweet girl”, she caresses your arm.
You refuse her.
“Penelope, I am in love with you, I must be yours. Can you not see me? What we share is rare…”.
She sighs deeply, her words melancholic.
“I have seen you, Neso, my dear one, more than most and have bestowed upon you fifteen of my finest summers, longer even than those I shared with Odysseus”.
“Yet, he remains the true affection of my heart”.
“None can compare to this feeling…not even you my love. I am bound to him. I have yielded all to you, save my own heart, for it belongs with him”.
Your tears quietly fall, your voice softer, more desperate. You cannot let her go, she is yours.
“But I cannot exist without you. Fifteen years are but a fleeting moment for the affection I bear for you, Penelope. I beg you, permit me still to be yours when you lay down your title as queen?”.
Her own tears sit at the very edge of her gaze.
“No. I liberate you from myself”.
“There is nothing more I can give to you, but your freedom…you told me many summers ago your desire to behold more than just Ithaca, well take the chance and be free from this life”.
You are moved greatly by her words, so much so you clutch onto her, remembering her form.
“I do not want my freedom, I want your love”.
This exchange goes on for most of the night, you begging, her refusing you gently, with a tenderness that breaks your heart further.
Now watching her ship sailing away, you wish you had spent your last time with her differently.
Though your heart rejoices for the young king, your beloved Telemachus, it is crushed from losing Penelope, your only love.
It is Eurycleia who finds you sitting in the former queen’s favourite seat, overlooking the sea.
When you see her pitying countenance, you weep loudly, wrapping your arms around her shoulders.
She is deliberately gentle with you.
“Dear child, I know this wounds you greatly, but the queen held you in higher esteem than any other present in this home”.
“Only Odysseus surpasses you”.
“That is not a terrible place to be”.
You tighten your embrace on her, as if it is Penelope herself telling you these words.
But after a few moments she steps back to behold your face. Her own eyes filled with tears.
“Our mistress has left a few things for you in order, starting with a new title. Her parting gift to you is your liberty, for you to witness the world and travel far from Ithaca, as you wished”.
“Yet if you choose to remain with myself and our young king, she has elevated you in ranks”.
“You shall never want for anything, Neso”.
You never imagined that the woman who once brought you a lot of physical pain, would be the one to deliver you your freedom.
“Thank you, Eurycleia”.
She departs shortly after kissing your temple.
As you continue to sit in your beloved’s position, grateful for her parting gifts, your heart is breaking before you in a manner which denies you the enjoyment of all of these good things.
Freedom and titles are not small gifts.
Penelope must love you deeply to impart such blessings over the rest of your life.
She has given you everything, except her heart.
Somehow this hurts more, her care for you, knowing it is true and deep, but no more.
King Telemachus later finds you in the same position, once an hour has passed.
You feel your tears close upon beholding his face.
He sits beside you, remaining quiet for a moment.
“I know you loved her, but do not remain here Neso, out of loyalty for me or my mother”.
“She wished for you to be free in the world”.
“Take the chance, trust me, it will change the course of your life, to experience something else other than Ithaca. It certainly changed me”.
“You always and forever have a home with us, so if you find it difficult or unbearable, just return. But I urge you to first travel and see for yourself”.
He stands before you respond, giving you a pat on your shoulder, lingering a few more seconds.
“Thank you, my king”, but he has already left.
Something begins to stir in your mind, until it forms an idea.
If all that consumes you is Penelope, then you shall begin your travels with her place of birth and upbringing, to understand her further.
Sparta awaits you.
Perhaps you will reunite with the former queen one day, able to once again embrace and stand an arm’s length away from the beauty.
Fin.
i wrote it listening to this particular track, it was done so beautifully. thank you for reading and engaging with this 💞
