Chapter Text
In retrospect, Penelope supposed she and her sister could have just had their conversation in the many rooms of their ridiculously large ship.
But what was the fun in that? At the age of 13, the princesses of Sparta were practically grown women, so of course they would get bored in those shabby, secluded cabins, no matter how luxurious the captain claimed they were.
Penelope hadn’t come on this trip for luxury. Her brothers might revel in the mindless hedonism, but she and Clytemnestra had come for the thrill of knowledge, the excitement of unfamiliarity, the adventure of a different kingdom.
So they has used a quarter of each of their personal funds (her father had said she could spend it on whatever she wanted, surely this was not exempted), bribed their handmaidens to switch outfits with them (Penelope hoped her servant was alright, her royal chiton had been rather stifling), and here they were, clinging onto the mast of their ship.
Islands scattered through the glittering sea, the flecks of green in blue reminding her of her mother’s divine eyes (and her own, she supposed), warbled singing and scathing insults from the ship’s crew and Clytemnestra in the rung above her, red faced with exhilaration and giggling, her silky hair glistening like the obsidian the Ithacans had sent with their invite.
Unconventional, but young to-be-King Odysseus was known for his unusuality.
The grin on Penelope’s face was near maniacal, hair fluttering with the ocean wind, laughter unrestrained as Clytemnestra made a quip about Castor’s most recent blooming purple bruise (his neck was a weird place to get hit after falling down the stairs).
Flying. I’m flying.
It was in that moment that the young girl’s heart longed for Helen the most. The rumoured most beautiful woman in Greece(who was also a young girl in need of adventures, though everyone forgot that) wasn’t allowed to join them to Ithaca, as if her presence in a foreign kingdom would be equivalent to a betrothal. The minds of men, with their lust and entitlement always had Penelope on the verge of mindless rage.
A deep breath and a sigh, “Helen would’ve loved it up here, wouldn’t she ‘Nestra”
“She would’ve”, Clytemnestra laughed under her breath, her unbound joy dampened at the thought of her twin, “She would’ve said something poetic, made the whole thing a romantic mess”
Penelope giggled at that, “Can you not admit you miss her without making fun of her?”
“Oh but you know how she would’ve been ‘The sea is like a sapphire, did you know that soldier boy with the curls has sapphire eyes, oh and the islands are practically emeralds, my newest handmaid has the prettiest green dress that looks divine against her skin-’ why are you laughing Penelope!”
The look of indignation on Clytemnestra’s face only had her cackling louder.
“She made-”, Penelope breathed in, trying to calm down, chuckles escaping her as she tried to reply, ”Helen made one statement comparing the Ithacan gems to her admirer’s hair and-”
The princess was back to laughing uncontrollably, as Clytemnestra rolled her eyes.
Finally, Penelope calmed down, re-adjusting her precarious position, though her grin remained uninhibited, “You can’t really blame Helen for what she said, the obsidian jewels were really beautiful”
Penelope had loved the irony of the darkest colour shining bright in the form of a gemstone, so much that she had stolen one of the pendants that had come from the island kingdom. It hung in the divot between her collar bones, glittering and dark, beautiful in its contradiction.
“Aren’t black gemstones an omen of death?”, the older princess’s voice was laced with skepticism and curiosity, eyeing Penelope’s necklace.
Penelope had been perplexed as well at first. But confusion gave way to contemplation then satisfaction as she figured out the intentions of the gift.
“They’re a symbol of Lord Hades, ‘Nestra”, a small, proud smile graced her face, “He’s the god of wealth as well, remember. Hence gemstones of that colour imply prosperous wealth when sent from a place of goodwill. And I’m pretty sure the Ithacan royalty want an alliance with Sparta, not war”
Clytemnestra scoffed, though her eyes shone with concealed pride and admiration, “You’ve always thought too much for your own good Penelope”
“You think too little, Nessie. Imagine we’d come to this baby kingdom with our 80 ships claiming war. They’d be destroyed”
But even as she said the words, eliciting another laugh from her sister, Penelope felt unsure of the statement.
If their to-be-king could send invitations this complex, his tactical brilliance could be just as well thought out. Not everyone would risk the wrath of a great empire to display their own wit.
And that was what pushed Penelope to beg her Father to attend the Ithacan coronation.
Whoever was behind this had a mind like her own. Nothing more intriguing than unique similarity.
So here she was, Princess of Sparta, here to identify this warrior of wits and mind.
Both princesses could’ve stayed up there forever, freer than they had ever been in Sparta, but both Kings of Sparta were overprotective fathers, so their escapade did not remain a secret for long.
“Penelope! By the gods, dearest, what are you doing up there?”
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Ithaca was beautiful.
Castor and Perileos were scoffing at the lack of complex infrastructure and the evident inferiority of Ithacan wealth, but the endless green fields, buzzing markets and booming trade had Penelope overwhelmed, unable to focus, eyes flitting from the wild negotiations between merchants and customers, the variety of commodities available, the groves in the distance and finally landing on Clytemnestra who was just as starstruck, though she hid it under a thin veneer of royal composure.
The sight of her uptight sister had Penelope straightening, remembering to ‘act like a princess and not a street urchin’ as her father had reprimanded her moments before docking. Both princesses were back in their royal chitons, the sage green silk smooth under her fingers, a diadem holding her wavy hair back.
If she could, Penelope would’ve woven her way through the royal procession to explore each and every one of those market stalls. She wanted to admire, to bargain, to live this carefree life. Sure, Sparta had markets, but they were far from the palace, and Penelope had only been once to buy a gift for Iphthime. She didn’t remember this level of chaos, laughter, shouts and a thousand accents mixing to give a melody of liveliness that quiet royal life rarely gave.
Penelope was so happy the Ithacan invite lasted a week. She would sneak out somehow.
Leaning her head out of the palanquin’s curtains, Penelope could catch sight of their destination, an admittedly humble palace, now surrounded with crowds disproportionately large compared to the building.
A coronation for a 13 year old king (who sent omens of death with his invites). Penelope supposed other kingdoms would be interested.
Was it him who had come up with the obsidian idea? Or was there some other mastermind? Penelope had overheard many things about many princes and kings, and one of the most unbelievable rumours that had reached Sparta’s shores was that Prince Odysseus was mentored by the goddess of wisdom, Lady Athena. Penelope had brushed it off as fanciful nonsense then, but with the unusual trade significance of a seemingly resourceless island and now, this risky puzzle of a gift, Penelope wasn’t so sure about her initial skepticism.
Clytemnestra’s cool, quiet voice cut through her voice, nothing like the witty, scathing girl she had been on the mast, “You’re thinking too much again”
Penelope huffed, “You honestly can’t judge me for being intelligent”
“I’m judging you for being a daydreaming, slightly insane overthinker”
“You can’t judge, Nestra, you stay up thinking of insults like that, perfecting them until they’re mean enough for you, don’t lie”
Clytemnestra’s eyes widened, causing a smirk to bloom on Penelope’s face, “What- Penelope, what are you on about, that’s absolute- oh stop giggling, how do people call you composed and quietly intelligent?”
“I’m good at acting”, Penelope fit herself back into the frame of composed princess, though her smirk remained, “They call you calm as well, but we all know you’re unhinged enough to fight an emperor”
“I guess in the face of Helen’s legendary, divine beauty, we are rather tame creatures”, Clytemnestra’s regal mask slipped, grinning under her veil.
Penelope thought of bringing up ‘Nestra’s obsession with Helen’s gemstone themed poetry, just to piss her off, but before she could, their movement came to an abrupt halt.
The palanquin was lowered, and Penelope’s heart rose with anticipation as she stepped out to look up at the stormy sky and grey brick citadel. It was no Spartan acropolis, but even her home’s grandness had become monotonous, so this crumbling, simple building was oddly enchanting.
Her brother had other ideas that he simply could not keep to himself, “It's pathetic, breaking down at the edges. How on earth is this worth royalty?”
Castor, not one to be beaten when it came to ridicule, picked up on Perileos’s retorts, “For fisherman royalty, it seems sufficient”
Their sniggering had both girls sighing.
“I can’t believe this is the future of Sparta”
“Neither can I, ‘Nestra, neither can I”
Both boys had heard their (intentionally loud) mumblings, but before they could reply with their mindless insults, an entourage of ministers, servants and maids emerged from within the palace, boisterously inviting them inside.
Her regal mask was back. But Penelope’s stomach was doing somersaults.
Something new.
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The coronation itself was in the middle of their week-long trip, so Penelope was admiring the vibrant, foreign landscape through a window. A window in their large, fancy chambers; probably the most extravagant in the palace.
It was so predictable. So courteous. So incredibly boring.
And that’s how her idle mind had paved the path. The window was not a long drop to the ground and Penelope had sneaked a tunic into her packing. She could see the section of the market she’d have to shuffle through, the rickety bridge over the streaming river she’d cross and then it was just endless, untamed beauty, fields that spread till the island shore.
There was one large, twisting tree that had caught Penelope’s eye from her plotting. Lighter green leaves, a widespread shade, with the book Penelope had tucked under her arm, she could spend hours there.
So that was her final location.
She looked down from her window at the drop, only half the height of her quarters in Sparta. Her lips curved upwards as she clambered over the windowsill, breeze weaving through her hair like it had hours ago on the ship’s mast.
The smile widened to a grin.
She jumped.
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If she had explained her escape plan to anyone, she would’ve boasted about its perfection until her mouth was sewn shut.
But she only had Orpheus and Eurydice, walking back from the Underworld in the pages of her book, already busy enough fighting for their tragic love.
The tree she had selected wasn’t just beautiful and humongous, no it had an extra little surprise, Penelope’s favourite olives. Snacks for her regular trip into the Underworld with her favourite characters.
Clytemnestra said the myth was pointless. What was love, if it only brought sadness? What was the worth of Orpheus’s suffering, if the story ended in tragedy?
Penelope had disagreed vehemently, but couldn’t figure out how to justify her argument. This led to her reading the story over and over and over again. She would prove the worth of this tragedy.
“What have I already said?”, she was muttering under her breath as she read Orpheus’s upward climb, “It’s an example of true love, it gives value to non-violent battles-”
“It also values a journey over its end result?”
Penelope’s eyes widened at the sudden voice that was too deep to be the one in her head, swallowing the cry she would’ve let out, looking around to see who exactly she was dealing with.
The chuckles at her confusion came from…above her?
Her eyes shot upwards to meet a silhouette of a boy, broad-chested, dark hair curling and wild, his eyes shining silver in the shadows, perched on a branch under the leaves.
Penelope snapped her book shut, crossing her arms and sizing up the boy. His legs weren’t dangling as far as she’d expect them to, so he was probably shorter than her. His gleaming eyes faltered under her cold gaze.
‘When your opponent is shorter, higher blows. When your opponent is unsure, strike fast’
If he attacked, she could win.
His next laugh was a bit more nervous, causing satisfaction to bloom in her chest, “I’m not going to hurt you”, he jumped down, landing and stumbling a few feet away from her, “It’s just that most people don’t analyse Orpheus’s story and I’ve always wanted company to discuss that”
Relief coursed through Penelope, though her voice was sharp, “And you spy on lots of people from treetops?”
The boy had the dignity to blush, eyes flitting downward, “No, I…This is my usual ‘escape from everything’ spot. If anything, you’re the intruder”
Right. Ithaca, not Sparta. She’s not known as royalty here. How unusually, wonderfully refreshing.
Yet his feeble argument had her tamping down a grin, “It’s a forest? It’s not private property, so you can’t frame me an intruder”
“Yeah, well-”, she could see the ideas rushing in his grey eyes, laughter bubbling in her chest, “These are the olives used for olive oil, which is one of the greatest exports from Ithaca. So it's the kingdoms private property”
She raised her eyebrows, her disbelief evident. He looked up again, sheepish.
A beat of silence, her sea green eyes met his stormy grey ones.
A giggle from her was all it took. Laughter as wild as the olive grove erupted from both of them.
“You’re a wonderful first impression of Ithacans, you know that”, as usual, Penelope’s laughter wasn’t subsiding, but she managed to speak through it, “Introducing yourself with mythical philosophy, then calling a forest a kingdom’s private property, how on earth did you oscillate from one end of intelligence to the other corner?”
He couldn’t seem to restrain his mirth either, but his eyes flared as she spoke, “You’re a first timer? I thought I couldn’t recognise you cause you were an irregular trader, not a new one”
Penelope’s skepticism was back, there was no way a random boy (probably a farmer or tradesman himself, seeing as he was loitering around their olive groves) would recognise every person on this island, “And you would’ve known me otherwise?”
His eyes met hers for a fleeting second, before casting downwards again, “Your eyes. They’d be hard to forget”
Oh.
Her eyes widened, her smile laced with barely concealed smugness, her heart beating a little harder at the compliments that usually only came out when Helen was around.
Once again, the stranger went red, words fumbling, “I meant- I- It’s because- Ugh, I’m usually more articulate, sorry”
“It’s alright”, Penelope understood Helen for once, unable to prevent the smirk that crept onto her face, “My eyes must be very distracting”
“No, no, I just-”, he groaned, taking a deep breath then looking straight at her, head slightly tilted, “They’re the colour of rivers, uncannily similar to water bodies. Divine heritage?”
Well, that wasn’t something most people inferred that quickly. And he didn’t even know she was from Sparta, let alone Princess Penelope.
“Yeah, my mother is a naiad”, she watched the wonder spread through his features, her Cheshire cat grin softening to a smile, intrigued by…whatever this boy was.
“That’s so cool”, she saw his eyes shifting from her eyes to her book, “But let's get back to the tragic lovers, no-one on this island wants to talk about it”
“That was a quick subject change”, his embarrassed smile and red-tinted face only made the drumbeats of her heart louder, “But I’ll indulge you”
“Thank the gods for that, I can’t be embarrassing my island to newcomers”
And that is where the idea formed in Penelope’s mind, lighting up like the bonfires she’d admired from afar. She wanted to learn about this unfamiliar country with its unusually intriguing people. What better way than through the people?
The mask of entitled superiority slipped on easily, customary for royals, “Oh I’m afraid you’ve already done irreparable damage to your nation’s reputation”
A complete, entire lie. Hopefully her faked distaste would push the fumbling boy to prove the worth of his kingdom.
Information
But the boy surprised her, now grinning with a confidence she hadn’t associated with him, “I fear I am obliged to repair the consequence of my idiocy, which is what you want me to do, isn’t it? We locals are good for one thing; information”
It took all of Penelope’s will to maintain her composure, to stop her jaw from dropping.
‘How did he do that?’
Well, he couldn’t know he’s successfully figured out her semi-formed plan, “If those were my intentions, would you indulge me?”
“Who am I to deny a first timer the delights of Ithaca?”, his eyes sparkled with mirth, “What is it the tradeswoman desires?”
“Show me around this place”, Penelope’s heart filled with satisfaction at her demand. She would learn, she would know something new, she would finally live, “No better way to learn a trader’s island than through the eyes of a tradesman”
The boy quirked an eyebrow (why was her stomach flipping?), “Is that what you believe me to be, a merchant?”
“It is what you assumed of me”, Penelope jerked her chin towards him, “and you certainly have the silver tongue of one”
He laughed once again at her remark, the sound somehow warming her to the tips of her toes.
She rolled her eyes at his mirth, concealing what she actually felt, “So, will you guide me?”
“Of course, I already said I would not deny anything the not-tradeswoman asked of me”
“Oh, you’re so sure I’m not a merchant myself?” Penelope prayed that nothing gave away her royal heritage.
The storm-eyed stranger chuckled under his breath, “You are just as silver-tongued as you accused me to be”
Penelope smiled with sickening sweetness, “I’m afraid you’ll have to deal with it till my opinions of Ithaca improve”
“Well then I hope you despise Ithaca forever”
Penelope could feel the blood rush within her, as fast as the whizzing thoughts in her mind, “You would forsake the renown of Ithaca for my company? You really are a master a flattery, though your rose-stained face has been the greatest compliment”
The princess would have regretted the words immediately, if it wasn’t for the way pink turned to scarlet on his dark olive skin, grey eyes widening and catching the afternoon sunlight to become glistening iron and aluminium, silver tongue faltering to give broken pieces of words.
She may never meet this stranger again. Oh, but how she relished this power, no matter how temporary it may be.
“Very well, stranger, I have places to be”
His fumbling sentences finally composed themselves, “But- but how will I find you? I don’t even know your name”
“It's not like I know yours either?” Penelope crossed her arms, eyebrows raised with expectation.
The boy’s mischievous smile was back, “I have many names and I am nameless”
Penelope rolled her eyes, pushing down the laughter that threatened to make a reappearance, “You’re being ridiculous”
“I’m afraid my actual name is a secret to grave to be revealed’, Penelope noted how his hands were fidgeting, eyes flicking from her book, to her face then fixing on her eyes, “But I shall you give you Athenides in exchange for your name, truthful or not”
Penelope scoffed at the entitlement and hubris the name implied.
“Son of Athena, huh? You are proud of your wisdom, however minimal it may be” The laughter that spilled from him at her retort was sweeter than any wine, “My name is Periboea, though the truth is a treasure you probably won’t win”
She began walking away, mind already mulling over what his actual identity could be while simultaneously wondering whether her absence was noted by her family. She was probably in tons of trouble already.
“Wait!”, the voice behind her sent a jolt through nerves, head turning to look at the boy, “Where can I find you again?”
Good question
He most certainly couldn’t know she was a Spartan princess, let alone show up at the Ithacan palace unauthorised.
But then the giant olive tree she'd sat under caught her eye once more.
“Sundown”, she was already plotting her return to this newly found sanctuary, “Be here, at this olive tree. We can discuss Orpheus and Eurydice as we walk to the city”
His smile did nothing to calm her short-wired senses, “I shall look forward to it”
As she walked back to the palace, Penelope realised it would be all she thought of for the rest of the day, a small smile gracing her lips at the unfamiliarity of the emotions that rushed like a raging river.