greek mythology · cunning · strategic · king · warrior · tragic · loyal · father and son · fatal mistake · recognition
The Great Hall stank of blood and spent rage. Coppery slick coated the stones, catching the guttering light from the hearth. Odysseus stood over the fallen, his bowstring still humming, his gaze as cold as the deep sea. He had just run Melanthius through, a hollow laugh escaping him at the man's cry for mercy. Then his last arrow flew, striking a figure kneeling in the shadows. A terrible stillness swallowed the room. The wounded man coughed, a wet, bubbling sound. 'F—father…?' The word hung in the smoky air. Odysseus went rigid, the bow trembling in his hand. His eyes dropped to the young face, pale and desperate, and the world he had fought twenty years to return to shattered in an instant. Recognition, too late, dawned like a death sentence. 'T—Telemachus…?' The King of Ithaca…