A/n: GUYSSS I'VE MISSED YALLLL❤️❤️❤️😭😭😭😭😭 PHEW...ive missed writing about telemachus...I promise won't leave you guys hanging, I have..so...so..so MUCH in store for you guys!
Warnings!: tooth rotting fluff!
The first time Telemachus saw you, he forgot what he was saying mid-sentence.
Because he’d been speaking to Athena.
“…And if the western trade ships return before the winter storms then perhaps we could—”
Then he saw you crossing the palace courtyard carrying a basket of figs against your hip.
And immediately lost every coherent thought in his body.
Athena slowly turned toward him.
“…Perhaps you could what?”
Telemachus stared helplessly.
You moved beneath the olive trees, sunlight catching against your hair, linen dress fluttering softly around your ankles as servants passed by carrying amphorae and woven fabrics. You were laughing at something another girl had said, bright and warm and effortless.
Telemachus’ heart did something deeply humiliating.
Athena followed his gaze.
“Oh, for the love of Olympus.”
Telemachus nearly jumped. “What?”
“You stare at her every day.”
“You just stopped speaking entirely.”
“You walked into a pillar yesterday because she smiled at you.”
Telemachus flushed violently.
You, meanwhile, had your own problem.
Because Prince Telemachus was beautiful.
The kind poets wrote epics about.
His curls always looked windswept from training, his voice was soft despite the strength in him, and whenever he smiled at servants or children, your stomach turned into complete chaos.
Not arrogant like the suitors.
Which made your life unbearable because every time he looked at you, you forgot how to act like a normal human being.
“Stop staring,” your friend whispered while helping you grind herbs in the palace kitchens.
“You dropped the thyme into the honey.”
You had, in fact, dropped the thyme into the honey.
“He’s looking this way again.”
Your entire soul left your body.
Telemachus was suffering.
Because he wanted to speak to you.
But every time he approached, something disastrous happened.
One day he tried offering to help carry your water jar.
He grabbed it too quickly.
Water exploded across the courtyard stones.
Telemachus stared in horror.
You laughed so suddenly and brightly that he forgot to be embarrassed.
He would drown happily in your laugh.
Another time, he attempted to compliment you.
You’d been weaving beside Penelope in the great hall, golden thread slipping elegantly through your fingers while the evening sun warmed the palace columns.
Telemachus walked in rehearsing the sentence in his head.
Your weaving is beautiful.
Instead, what came out was:
“You have very… skilled hands.”
Penelope slowly looked up from her loom.
Telemachus died instantly.
“I meant the weaving,” he croaked.
Penelope bit her lip so hard she physically turned away to hide her laughter.
You stared at Telemachus with wide eyes before smiling shyly into your lap.
He fled the room immediately.
Penelope laughed for ten minutes.
Things only worsened after that.
Because now everyone knew.
Telemachus would enter a room and suddenly people would glance between the two of you with barely-hidden amusement.
Peisistratus (I still don't know how to spell his damn name) was the worst about it.
“You’re in love,” he announced one afternoon during sword practice.
Telemachus nearly dropped his spear.
“You wrote her name into the dirt while daydreaming.”
But despite the embarrassment…
You and Telemachus kept drifting toward each other naturally.
Like tides pulled by the moon.
You’d speak quietly near the olive trees while servants lit lanterns around the palace.
You’d walk together along Ithaca’s cliffs overlooking the sea.
Sometimes he’d tell you stories about his father.
Sometimes you’d sing softly while he listened like your voice itself was sacred.
And every single moment made him fall harder.
One evening changed everything. The palace was quieter than usual.
Penelope had retired early.
The servants moved softly through torchlit halls.
And you sat alone beneath the courtyard olive tree, watching the stars emerge over Ithaca.
Telemachus spotted you from the balcony above.
And immediately forgot where he was going.
He descended the stone steps slowly, pulse hammering harder with every step toward you.
You looked up when he approached.
That smile always ruined him.
“My prince,” you greeted softly.
“Please stop calling me that,” he blurted immediately.
He flushed. “…When we’re alone.”
The way you said his name nearly killed him.
He sat beside you beneath the olive branches, shoulders brushing lightly.
Neither of you spoke for a moment.
The sea wind moved gently through the courtyard.
“You make me nervous,” Telemachus admitted suddenly.
He laughed weakly, rubbing the back of his neck.
“You’re beautiful and kind and every time I try speaking to you I sound like I’ve suffered a head injury.”
You burst into startled laughter.
Telemachus smiled helplessly.
“There,” he whispered. “That sound again.”
Your laughter faded into something softer.
“You make me nervous too.”
“You’re Prince Telemachus.”
“I walked into a wall yesterday because you waved at me.”
You covered your mouth trying not to laugh.
“It wasn’t even a wall,” he continued miserably. “It was a servant carrying fish.”
Now you were laughing so hard tears formed in your eyes.
Telemachus thought he would do absolutely anything to hear that sound forever.
The laughter slowly faded.
Telemachus’ breath caught.
“So…” you whispered shyly.
The air itself felt warm.
You reached for his hand.
His fingers trembled instantly against yours.
“You’re blushing,” you murmured.
“You’re holding my hand.”
“I’ve imagined this for months.”
Your heart nearly exploded.
He looked horrified. “I wasn’t supposed to say that aloud.”
You smiled so beautifully he almost forgot how breathing worked again.
You leaned forward and kissed him.
Telemachus froze completely.
Not because he didn’t want it.
But he’d imagined this moment so many times that reality itself felt unreal. Your lips were warm.
When you pulled away, he stared at you in complete awe.
You laughed quietly. “I did.”
“You actually kissed me.”
“I think I might pass out.”
You smiled and kissed him again.
His hands finally found your waist.
Like touching something holy.
Above you, the olive branches swayed gently beneath the Ithacan stars—
And somewhere in the palace, Athena sighed:
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