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The palace was always warm in the winters. Telemachus never remembers being cold in his home, no matter how harsh the winds blew or how dark the nights persisted. Even on the rare winters where the highest hills saw snowfall, it was warm and safe in the palace of Ithaca.Now, yet another winter in his twenty-second year, he walks the hallways in only a robe barely thicker than what he would wear in the fall. The fireplaces are always alive, always ready to be rekindled if the fire goes out. Even the tiles under his feet are warm – when he had asked about it as a kid, his mother had only told him that his father was a very clever man, and Telemachus hadn’t felt the need to question it further.His mother is in her room now, he knows. It’s the warmest room in the palace, despite the many windows and openings for the olive tree. His father had made the room to keep the heat in and the cold out because he knew her fondness for summery weather, and that she did not like being cold. Telemachus had spent countless nights in that room as a child, and even as a teen, sweating and complaining from the blankets and candles his mother insisted on, no matter how scorching it felt to him.The palace is mostly quiet now, in the warmth of a winter night, save for a single room still lit softly, with small sounds escaping.“... and the palace was so, so high in the sky, Antheia, and it was beautiful!”His father stands in the nursery, cradling the week-old infant in his arms as he slowly rocks her to sleep to no avail, taking tiny steps across the room as he does so. They had named her flower, blossom. His mother already calls the baby her little flower, and the name suits her. Though born in winter, Telemachus imagines her cradled in springtime, and he knows she will love her name.Whenever his mother talks about him as a baby, she always says Telemachus was the quietest, sleepiest infant she had ever seen. Cheerful when awake, and an angel at night. Now, having witnessed his sister’s sleeplessness, Telemachus wonders if his mother exaggerated.“I climbed all the way up to knock on the door of the Keeper of the Winds, and the palace looked even farther away from the sea on the inside, can you believe that?”A smile makes its way onto Telemachus’s lips as he listens just out of sight. The Gods and Fates had been kind to his parents at last, and his father seems unbothered by the sleepless nights. It was a soft sight, one that he knows his father deserves to be in. He slowly pushes himself away from the wall he was leaning against and quietly makes his way into the room.
"Isn't it too early to be telling her of grand adventures?" Telemachus whispers with a playful smile, stepping further into the nursery. Odysseus beams back at him, the lopsided smile impossibly fond. He looks younger, somehow – like a weight was lifted off of him in the past few months. The soft lights cast small shadows across his face, as he laughs, careful to not jostle his daughter. He keeps his rocking pace steady as he cradles Antheia closer to his chest, her hair peeking out from her blanket.
“Never too early.” Odysseus grins, “She should know where she comes from. Besides," he adds with a wink, "I'm starting her off easy. Nothing too wild yet."Telemachus comes closer to stand at his father’s side and looks at his baby sister’s curious gray eyes. “She doesn't look like she wants to sleep.” he comments in a whisper, softly cooing when she makes little sounds back at him.
“My stories haven’t wooed her enough yet,” his father says, “I had barely any stories I could tell with you but they were always enough to get you to sleep.” he looks at Telemachus with with an affectionate smile before turning back to Antheia, “But this little lady here insists on not sleeping. Yes, you want to know everything already, don't you?” he lifts her just slightly and rubs his thumb along her cheek, “Don't you, sweetheart?”
Telemachus knows from the maids and nurses in the palace that babies aren't supposed to be making much sound at all when they are a week old, but he can swear that he hears the little girl laugh. His father laughs along with her as well, and Telemachus can't help but join in. Odysseus looks overjoyed, and there are tears in the corners of his eyes.
“Don't cry now, old man,” Telemachus teases, though his tone is soft, almost reverent. “She’s only just getting started.”Odysseus wipes at the corner of his eyes with the back of his hand, grinning broadly. “I’m not crying,” he insists, though the shimmer in his eyes betrays him. “I just – I never thought I’d be here like this again.” His gaze shifts to the baby in his arms, his expression tender as he rocks her gently. “It’s different this time around. I can enjoy these moments without fearing about how long I will get to .”
Telemachus watches his father closely, recognizing the quiet gratitude in his voice. He’s seen his father weather storms, face battles and hardships, but this is a new kind of battle – one of quiet nights and gentle hands, of whispered stories and soft laughter. It’s a world apart from the chaos of war and wandering.“This is all I've ever wanted, you know?” he whispers, looking into Telemachus’s eyes. The candlelight reflects off of his eyes that are the same shade as the eyes of the little girl he holds. He wonders how hers will look into the world.
“You’re here, and you’re such a wonder, Telemachus.” he starts, as he slowly starts moving towards the crib in the corner of the room.
“And Penelope” Odysseus adds, as Antheia makes a small sound in the lull, “Penelope is passed out sleeping right now but,” he chuckles softly, “I know she’s happy.”
He lingers there for a moment, unmoving, looking down at his daughter, before he murmurs, “And this little girl here, well, she’s our future. A new blossom in a world I never thought I’d see again.”
He sighs quietly, chest rising and falling. “Everything feels different here, now. Not bad, but it’s different.”
“You’re a different man than you were before,” Telemachus murmurs. “Maybe that’s why it feels so.”Odysseus looks at him, something unspoken passing between them. "Maybe," he agrees softly.The baby lets out a tiny yawn, her little hand curling around Odysseus’s thumb that was moving from her cheek to neck. Both men fall silent, watching as her eyelids finally begin to droop.“There we go,” Odysseus whispers, his voice barely audible. “Looks like she’s finally ready to sleep, hm?”Telemachus nods, smiling softly as he watches his father gently place Antheia in her cradle. There’s a peaceful stillness in the room now, the crackling of the fire in the background and the quiet breathing of the baby lulling them into a shared sense of calm.Odysseus stands there for a moment longer, his voice filled with quiet adoration. “I’m going to make sure she knows just how loved she is. And this time... I’m not going anywhere.” He huffs out a humored breath, “They could send any man, I would chain myself to a tree if I must.” he quips, and Antheia shuffles slightly before stilling again.
Odysseus keeps his gaze on the sleeping baby for a long while, his expression unreadable in the flickering firelight. Telemachus stands beside him and just then, even the winds seem to have quieted for her to rest. There’s a sense of peace in it, an understanding that words don’t need to fill.“She’s beautiful,” Telemachus finally murmurs, breaking the silence. His eyes linger on Antheia, her small chest rising and falling with each peaceful breath. He imagines her growing up, running through these same halls, filling the palace with her laughter one day, much as he did years ago.Odysseus hums in agreement, still watching her, though his thoughts seem far off. “The world will be different for her,” he says quietly, almost to himself. “For all of us.”Telemachus glances at his father, catching the distant look in his eyes. He can’t tell if Odysseus is thinking of the past or looking ahead into the unknown future. Perhaps both. There’s always been something about his father that feels caught between worlds – between the home they know and the one that exists only in stories to anyone else.“You’ll make sure she grows up strong,” Telemachus says, not as a question but as a simple truth. His father nods, though his expression remains thoughtful.“I hope so,” Odysseus replies. “But strength... it’s not just about what we teach her, is it? She’ll have to find her own way too. Just as you did.”Outside, the wind picks up slightly, ruffling the olive and almond trees just outside. But inside, the warmth holds steady. Telemachus breathes in deeply, feeling the weight of the moment settle around him. There’s so much more to say, to understand, but for now, it feels enough.Odysseus turns to him, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You should get some rest,” he says, a note of affection in his voice. “It’s late.”Telemachus nods, though he lingers for a moment longer, reluctant to leave this soft stillness. He looks once more at his baby sister, at his father, before taking a step toward the door. But before he can leave, Odysseus speaks again, his voice low but firm.“We’ll make sure she’s ready,” he says. “Whatever comes next.”After a beat, Odysseus smiles. “Goodnight, son.”
“Goodnight, father.”
The hallway is dim and quiet, the warmth of the nursery fading behind him. As he walks, the soft shuffle of his feet on the warm tiles the only sound, Telemachus finds himself thinking of the future too. Of the unknown paths ahead, of what will come if the palace is no longer so quiet.
But for now, there is this - his father, his sister, his mother asleep in the next room. The palace warm, the night still. The future can wait.Telemachus reaches the end of the hallway, glancing back once. The door to the nursery is still ajar, light spilling out softly into the corridor, a reminder of the warmth inside. He smiles to himself, then turns away, walking into the quiet of the night.