Chapter Text
There’s a rumor about the city of Ithaca. A rumor of a treasure so grand it would leave little to be desired. A treasure few could resist. Some claim this treasure is gold, but others will hold their breath and claim that Ithaca has a princess.
A princess so beautiful no gem could be compared to her, a mortal blessed by the Goddess of beauty herself, nothing compared to the goddess of course, but in mortal eyes she was above the gleam of jewels.
The Ithacan jewel sat within a remote palace chamber, concealed. It was easy to hide in the beginning, to avoid the men flocking to the palace. The chamber’s treasure had protectors.
Telemachus numbered among those familiar with the treasured woman. He’d been raised with her, after all. She’s the child of a man his father knew and a woman his mother had been friendly with. A child of a maid… It made her beauty almost ironic, illegitimate, the child born from a mistress… left with royalty. His mother is kind… sometimes too kind.
Slipping through darkened halls and around the suitors, Telemachus knocks on the door.
You lift your head from the blanket you were embroidering. “Come in.” A soft voice, spoken with care and an almost naive joy.
The boy is gentle, kind, much like his mother more than his father. He’s never been a warrior. Even before the men came to the castle, he’d been more keen to spend time with her than raise a sword and push himself to learn. “Sorry for just dropping in Y/n… what are you working on?” He stands at the door, keeping his distance.
You look up with e/c eyes that glimmer and shine like gems. “Embroidery. I have been working to create something for The Queen… mom. With all the ruckus you’ve told me about, she might appreciate the gift, right?” The hope in your voice slips through every syllable.
Telemachus nods, “I’m sure she’ll love it.” It’s then that you notice there’s a bruise forming on his face.
You frown standing from your seat by the window light to approach him. Looking up at him, you reach out, placing a hand on his cheek. “Did you get this looked at?” You’re only a few years older than him but have always doted on the prince.
“Huh, oh yeah. It was just a small fight.” He mumbles, smiling softly.
You flick him on the forehead and drag him to the chair you’d been sitting in. Shaking your head, you step away and rummage through some drawers in your vanity. There are supplies you didn’t put to use after pricking yourself with your needle. “You fought with suitors again, didn’t you?” you tend his wound the best you can.
He looks away shamefully. “They called her names… I… I heard that one of them took advantage of a maid… He taunted me first, anyway. Speaking like they own the place.” He narrows his eyes, bawling his hand into a fist.
You hum putting away your supplies and sitting at your vanity to start back on your embroidery. “Have there been any updates?” You keep your eyes focussed on the pluck and pull off the needle.
“No… they are still falling for the newest trick, the weaving. Dunno how much longer that will last though… It’s been seven years of unique plans to push them away.” With a sigh, you pull a final thread and knot it to move onto a different section.
“Don’t show that worry. The moment you break, they will see it as a win and become bolder than they already are. You have the responsibility of keeping her as safe as possible.” You let your tone dip into a scold, but you’re not really scolding him.
“And you… Mother asked how you’re doing… no longer being able to go outside.” They care for you, even if your status should be beneath their shoes. The favor of the queen rose you to an adopted member of their family… even the king had taken to show favor. When his son was born, you promised to help guide him. Then he was off to war, leaving Penelope with a five-year-old and newborn.
You smile despite the soft cover of longing in your expression, like the sun poking from the clouds as it rains. “I understand why she told me to remain in my room until this is resolved. Though it can be a little lonely. I miss running around the halls with you, before it was too risky, impossible to completely avoid the suitors and avoid rumors. You should visit more often Telemachus. You have to get bored monitoring them.”
He smiles at you, pity reflected in his eyes as he stares. “If I come too often, it could put you at risk. Mom would be heartbroken if you got hurt by the men seeking her hand.” He watches your hands delicately handling the needle and thread. “We’ll have years to make up for it though… years for large dinners and drinking games.”
You chuckle, shaking your head. “Not exactly a lady’s activities. But I’d be there in the hall as you find friends and drink with them. Perhaps I’d even find a husband in that scenario… like Father and Eurylochus, who married father’s sister.” Most people your age would be married, right? Women rarely get past twenty-one without a single marriage prospect in view.
Telemachus huffs, crossing his arms. “I don’t know why you want to get married so fast.”
“Fast? Telemachus, I’m twenty-five?” You thread the string through the cloth and tie it off once more.
Telemachus nods tilting his head “Still… if this is any sign of how that goes, I don’t think it’s all that great. They’re like animals out there buying for a hand giving no time to think about mom. She often weeps missing father and they have no compassion. It’s like a game to them.”
He sees it all first hand while you sit in your room… no wonder he’s on edge, agitated and down. “I know… but that’s because she’s a queen with an empty throne for the king.” You hum holding up your art.
Telemachus drops the subject so he can gawk at the threads, each expertly completed stitch. “It’s beautiful… I’m sure she’ll love it.”
You stand up to set it in his lap. “I’m not finished. There are still a few minor details left, but I’m almost done.”
He nods, running his hand over the sea of flowers you had been so focussed on creating. There’s a tree with petals falling from it onto the sea of flowers… a sun and clouds… It’s beautiful. “Will you take it to her yourself?”
You shrug, staring at the door. “Maybe… if I finish and it’s still late, I’ll take it to her myself. The halls are usually silent or if anybody is awake, it’s one or two people I can easily slip around. I’m good at being sneaky.” You spin a bit, feet silent on the floor just to prove your point.
You catch your younger brother’s smile as he nods. “I’ll tell her to expect you then. Just… don’t get too sure and toss caution away.” It’s sweet how much he worries about you.
Patting his head, you nod and give him a thumbs up. “Don’t worry, I’ll take caution. I always do.”
The prince rises after talking to you some more. He leaves your room, leaving you in the room's silence. You sigh, sitting on the chair and resuming the last minor details in the embroidery.
~
-Earlier-
Standing with a scowl, a man stared at his fist, then at the retreating prince. The little wolf managed a hit. The tiny, thin prince got his jaw. He’s never been able to do much before. “He’s getting bold.” The man hissed through a clenched jaw as he wiped blood from his lip.
“Nah, the brat just got lucky.” Another male voice from the circle of men who watched the fight calls out.
Right lucky. There’s no way such a little wolf actually managed to get the upper hand, even for a moment. His good eye focuses on the retreating form of the prince, a sick smirk lifting his lips.
It was the prince’s mistake, heading back to his room for less than an hour before heading towards a wing the suitors struggled to access. A part of the palace that’s typically left alone. There were never any lit candles or staff that came back and forth, likely storage or unused parts of the Queen’s chambers since the bitch never leaves her room. When she did, it wasn’t for long and she’d quickly retreat to avoid her suitors.
It caught the man’s attention. Why would the prince be headed to an empty piece of the castle? Stalking isn’t something the mans particularly fond of but if he’s obvious, the prince might abandon where he’s headed. The kid keeps looking over his shoulder, stopping and listening so clearly he’s trying to make sure he’s not being followed. How pathetic. This prince is truly pathetic.
He watches from a distance as the prince knocks on a door. A smirk lifts his lips. He’s heard the rumors. There is not a soul in all of Ithaca who hasn’t heard about the rumor. He runs a hand through dark curls.
Anything to pull something on the Queen, to grab the throne. They are without a king, without proper structure or leadership. Look at how easily the other suitors flock like a pack beneath his feet. He’s going to be the one to claim it all, to leave nothing as he becomes king.
He retreats from the hall with a curiosity of what or who sits behind that door. To his knowledge, the Queen had not left her room all day, so he could put out that possibility.
~
By the time you finished the embroidery, it was high at night. With a small smile, you tilt your head back and sigh. Picking up the finished blanket, you fold it into your arms. You walk barefoot because it’s easier to hide the sound of your steps against the floor that way.
Your hand grips the handle of the door as you take a deep inhale and shake your head. You push it open a crack and peek your head out, listening and assessing the safety of the halls. Deciding it was empty enough, you slip out of your room. You take it slow, hiding around a corner with a hood pulled over your head whenever the sound of a voice or footsteps reaches your ears.
The trip there is safe and completed without a hitch. You’ve done this a handful of times, so you’re confident about your ability to sneak around.
Penelope looks at you with a smile as you set the blanket down by her bed. “This must have taken you some time.” Her voice is soft but her eyes are red… she must have been crying again.
“Only a few months of work.” You have endless time to spend on crafts like this. Hours stuck alone in that room. For the last seven years, ever since the war on troy was said to have ended seven years ago, you’ve had nothing but time…
You sit and talk with her for a bit before you feel you should head back. You don’t want to risk lingering too long and being unable to sneak back to your room.
She smiles as you leave the room.
You follow the same procedure, sticking your head out the door before sneaking through it, hiding around corners and paying delicate attention to every sound you hear.
You’re almost there, one last turn before you reach your room, when a hand taps your shoulder.
“Now, what do we have here?”