Telemachus

Several months had passed since Odysseus had returned home. He and Penelope were happy together. More than just happy, in fact. They smiled every time they saw each other, hugging and kissing like teenagers at every opportunity.

Telemachus wanted that too. He wanted someone he could be happy with, someone who would make him giddy, like Odysseus did when he saw his wife. Someone he wanted to be faithful to, but no one seemed quite right. All those princesses from different kingdoms seemed too... fake. They didn't feel real. People he could connect with.

He often found himself alone, sitting alone, usually with a bottle of wine and his sorrows. Maybe he was too picky. Maybe he just needed to find a woman and settle down. Maybe he just… accepted it. Accept that every girl he met seemed more like a little sister than a potential bride. He felt like every girl proposed to him was simply his job—to look after her, not to marry. Not to love. They weren't mature enough. It must have been all those years spent at Antinous' side. His mother's suitors, killed by his father's arrow, who made him feel weak. Because of them, he felt lonely for most of his life. He learned to take care of himself, despite being a prince. He fulfilled his duties in the kingdom, even going on a journey to speak with the other kings of Greece about his long-lost father.

And now he wanted love.

Tonight was one of those evenings. He sat on the beach in Ithaca, watching the sunset, clutching the neck of a bottle of wine. The salty sea air did nothing to soothe him, and the waves lapped at his feet, cooling him briefly before receding. As he sat there, lost in thought, he heard the crunch of sand behind him. He turned around curiously, raising his eyebrows. "Who's there?"