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The great hall loomed before him its towering columns wrapped in shadows that danced with the flickering light of the torches. Telemachus stepped forward his boots echoing sharply against the polished stone floor. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of burning pitch and the weight of countless legends.
"Give me a chance" he muttered his voice barely audible as though he feared the walls might scoff at his plea. He straightened his shoulders forcing his chin high, though his hands trembled where they brushed against his sides.
"A single opportunity" he whispered, his words carrying a hint of desperation. Each step forward felt like a battle to hold his composure, his heart pounding with the silent prayer that this moment could be his to claim.
"And I'll overcome these obstacles and scrutiny and—" Telemachus’s words caught in his throat, his resolve splintering as a sharp voice cut through the stillness.
"Boy."
The word struck him like a lash, sharp and mocking. Telemachus’s body stiffened, his scowl forming before he even turned to face the intruder. Slowly, he pivoted, his glare snapping up to meet the figure looming behind him.
Antinous stood there, his expression a mixture of disdain and amusement, his presence radiating a confidence that grated on Telemachus’s nerves.
"When’s your tramp of a mother gonna choose a new husband?" Antinous’s voice was laced with derision, each word dripping venom.
"Woahhh" came the murmur of the suitors, their voices mingling with laughter as they formed a loose circle around the confrontation, eager to savor the spectacle. Eyes gleamed with amusement, some whispering to each other, others merely watching with hungry anticipation.
Antinous stood relaxed, his lips curling into a smirk that only fanned the fire in Telemachus’s chest. "Why don’t you open her room so we can have fun with her?" he muttered, his voice low but loud enough to carry, each word dripping with venomous intent.
The world seemed to narrow for Telemachus, his vision tunneling until all he could see was Antinous’s smug face. A hot, uncontrollable swell of anger surged within him. His hand shot out, grabbing Antinous by the collar of his robes, yanking him close.
"Don’t you dare call my mother a tramp." Telemachus growled, his voice taut with fury, the words snapping like a whip. The room seemed to hold its breath, the tension between them sharp enough to cut.
"Ooo" the crowd of suitors chorused, their chuckles filling the hall like the hum of an audience at a play. All eyes locked onto the pair, savoring the rising tension as if it were a performance staged just for them.
Antinous’s smirk widened, devilish and taunting, as he leaned in slightly, his gaze fixed on Telemachus with unsettling ease. He was enjoying this, savoring the sight of the prince losing control. "I just did" he said, his tone casual, almost daring, the words landing like sparks on dry tinder.
"Whatchu gonna do about it, champ?" Antinous muttered, his voice low, carrying the weight of a challenge. With a swift shove, he knocked Telemachus back, forcing the prince to stumble slightly. Before Telemachus could recover, Antinous stepped forward, seizing him by the collar with a practiced ease.
The suitors erupted into murmurs, but Antinous paid them no mind. His grip tightened, his smirk unwavering, his composure a stark contrast to the fiery anger burning in Telemachus’s eyes.
Telemachus struggled against the hands gripping him, his heart pounding as fear crept up his spine. He glanced at Antinous, towering over him with an ease that only emphasized the disparity in their strength. He knew he was outmatched—Antinous’s raw power alone could crush him and the crowd of suitors only added to the pressure.
But this wasn’t just about him. As much as he wanted to lash out, to punish Antinous for his vile words, he couldn’t afford reckless pride. His mother’s safety depended on him playing his part carefully. With a deep, shuddering breath, he forced the anger burning in his chest to simmer, swallowing the urge to fight back outright.
He raised his gaze, locking eyes with Antinous. The heat in his stare didn’t disappear entirely, but it softened, his expression shifting to something calculated, almost disarming.
"There are other ways of persuasion~" Telemachus muttered, his voice dipping into something quieter, smoother. The sharp edge of anger melted into a tone tinged with softness, almost flirtatious, as if testing whether charm might succeed where brute strength could not.
The suitors around them fell into hushed murmurs, sensing the unexpected change in the air.
Antinous froze, his expression twisting into one of pure bewilderment. He blinked at Telemachus, as though trying to process what he had just heard. To say he was caught off guard was an understatement—he looked as though someone had just spoken gibberish to him.
The crowd of suitors exchanged wide-eyed glances, unsure if they should laugh or be horrified. The sight of the prince—angry moments ago—suddenly slipping into a flirtatious tone with his sworn enemy was nothing short of absurd.
The silence grew unbearable, suffocating, as Telemachus felt the weight of every pair of eyes on him. His cheeks burned, the heat rising until it felt like his whole face might catch fire. He swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of how ridiculous he must look.
He dared a glance at Antinous and immediately regretted it. The commander’s shock was beginning to melt away, replaced with something dangerous. Telemachus’s stomach twisted into knots, the realization hitting him like a punch: he had definitely offended Antinous, and he was absolutely, positively going to die.
"Well, that’s one way to the throne" Antinous muttered, his tone casual, almost amused, as if the entire situation had unfolded exactly as he wanted. A self-satisfied smirk tugged at his lips as he reached down, gripping Telemachus with ease.
Before the prince could process what was happening, Antinous hoisted him up, slinging him over his broad shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The motion was swift, almost effortless, leaving Telemachus stunned, his hands scrambling for purchase against Antinous’s back.
"What." Telemachus managed to sputter, his voice caught somewhere between outrage and sheer disbelief.
Antinous didn’t answer, striding confidently past the gawking suitors and heading straight for the prince’s chambers. The sight of the proud, flustered prince being carried off was enough to send the onlookers into barely stifled snickers, but Antinous didn’t spare them a glance, his focus solely on his goal.
The suitors stood frozen, their wide eyes fixed on the doorway where the pair had just disappeared. For a moment, the hall was eerily quiet, the tension hanging thick in the air as if no one dared to speak.
But as the sound of Antinous’s footsteps faded completely out of earshot, the silence shattered. Whispers erupted among the crowd, low murmurs escalating into hushed, frantic speculation.
They exchanged knowing looks and stifled chuckles, the absurdity of what they had just witnessed too much to contain. Finally, one suitor leaned closer to the group his smirk betraying his smug satisfaction as he stated the obvious:
"Well, that’s one way to lose your virginity."
The room erupted in stifled laughter, a few of the men doubling over as they tried to keep their guffaws quiet, lest they risk being overheard.
Dawn broke gently, its golden light spilling through the curtains and painting the room in soft hues of pink and orange. The glow crept across the bed, illuminating Antinous’s broad frame as he lay sprawled out, his bare chest rising and falling with the rhythm of deep, untroubled snores. The sound was steady almost comforting in its simplicity.
Telemachus sat beside him, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the sun climbed higher with each passing moment. The ache in his body was undeniable—a persistent reminder of the night before—but he didn’t mind it. Instead, he found solace in the stillness his thoughts uncharacteristically calm.
The night had passed in a blur, its details hazy and fragmented in his mind but one thing had become undeniably clear.
"I did it" Telemachus muttered, his voice barely above a whisper as he stared at his faint reflection in the polished bronze mirror across the room. His fingers brushed over his neck, tracing the tender marks that now adorned his skin—small, telling reminders of the night that had passed.
A wry smile flickered across his lips, equal parts disbelief and relief. "I saved Ithaca" he said softly, the words carrying a weight that settled over him like a heavy but satisfying cloak.
Telemachus sat there for a moment, his fingers still on his neck, lost in his thoughts. The weight of his declaration hung in the air, solemn and triumphant.
And then from the bed behind him, Antinous let out a particularly loud snore, followed by a mumbled, "You’re welcome, champ."
Telemachus froze, his face flushing crimson as he whipped around. Antinous remained sprawled out, his smirk barely hidden even in half-sleep.
"Unbelievable" Telemachus muttered, burying his face in his hands. So much for his heroic moment.