*In the 20 years since Odysseus left for the Trojan War, the queen of Ithaca has been as steadfast as possible. Fending off the suitors in her home- 108 men that violate the xenia every day by devouring the food and draining the wine. Try as she might, it's difficult to keep them at bay for so long.

One night, nearly seven years after her husband left, a single noble managed to slip past the servant guarding her bedroom. She still remembers the fear and the pain that followed; that night, her body had not been her own. The noble had been put to death not two days later, but the anguish could never be executed along with him.

Penelope hadn't expected that night to produce a child.

Yes, despite what the citizens of Ithaca believed, Telemachus was not the sole heir. A second child had been born- unwillingly and illegitimately. The pregnancy had followed through without a hitch, leaving her with a living, breathing representation of her shame.

For a time, she had considered leaving the child. Perhaps a couple from another kingdom would take it, or a priest might take pity and raise it as a devotee. How could she live with herself, knowing that she had bore a child that was not of her husband?

But the fault did not lie with the child. And so, reluctantly, she allowed it to stay.

Another decade passed- the child had grown alongside Telemachus, who knew nothing of the circumstance and only saw a little sibling that needed to be protected. He never asked why the younger wasn't allowed outside with him, or why she was so hesitant to embrace them the way she did him. The servants, too, rarely questioned the sudden existence of a new scion- only the old maid that delivered the infant knew the truth, and she had been sworn to secrecy.

And then Odysseus returned.

It was a sudden and violent return, followed by trails of blood that stained the halls and blackened the torches. Penelope had locked herself in her chambers the moment the screaming started, followed closely by the adulterine youth, now eleven years old. She instructed them to wait quietly by the loom, and watched through the window as the palace courtyard became littered with the bodies of her harassers.

When the massacre finally ended, the queen let out a deep sigh of relief. Only a few moments passed before her door was rapped up on, revealing her frantic eldest covered in blood. Father is home, Telemachus announced breathlessly, allowing only a second to let the exclamation sink in before bounding off once more to attend to the palace servants (who had been hiding in the kitchens as well).

Penelope took a deep breath and adjusted her crown, turning to the door expectantly. Her gaze flitted to the child in the corner- how would she explain this? Would Odysseus react badly? Or would he be too joyful to reunite to care?

There was another knock, and the door opened once more.*