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Summary
“Hello, Mother,” Telemachus calls out to her.
He’s glad to see some of the exhaustion weighing down on her evaporate from her shoulders as he moves to stand next to her on the balcony. As Telemachus rests his elbows on the ledge and gazes down unto the city below, he hopes his presence could bring his mother at least some degree of comfort.
He wants her to know she's not alone in this.
And he'll show her in all the little ways that matter.
Telemachus watches the little specks of Ithacans bustle about in the marketplace. He watches the women run about— many performing what would normally be the men’s duties.
“Telemachus.” He jolts out of his train of thought as his mother places a hand on his arm. “You are making that face again. The one that screams, 'I need to talk to you.'” She clicks her tongue.
“What? I make no such face,” but even as he says this, he feels his voice strain to keep its neutrality, and he knows it’s a hopeless cause. “…Ah. Am I really that obvious?”
His mother laughs.
(Or: Telemachus’ upbringing, and the consequences that follow prior to Circe and Aeaea.)
Series
- Part 9 of Greek Myth Shenanigans
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