The feast carried on for several hours, the sky going a deep violet as the moon rose high, shining through a skylight in the roof.
Some of the men began to grow restless. A space was cleared on the lawn outside the hall and a discus throwing contest began. Odysseus watched for a while, but then they began to urge him to join.
"I know you can never resist a contest," Penelope said.
"No, it's alright, I'm happy just to be here with you," Odysseus said, squeezing her hand. "Also I'm anxious to see our son. I haven't seen him since he was a baby."
"In time," Penelope said, patting his arm with her free hand. "Go, show them all who you are."
So, Odysseus stood, and ignored the slight wobble in his footsteps as he came around the banquet table.
He stepped onto the lawn, and the men cheered and clapped him on the back.
When he bent to pick up the disc, it slipped from his fingers almost immediately. Stooping to pick it up again, he couldn't quite get a grip on it, and the world shifted below him, and he fell. He flung out a hand, and caught the equipment rack, which also fell with a crash to the gasps of the crowd around him.
Then Penelope was there, and she helped him back to his feet. He looked at his toes, confused. His strength had never failed him before.
"We'll have this cleaned up, let's get you back to bed," Penelope urged.
Then he saw the child, smaller than he would have thought, dashing through the pillars on the far side of the room.
"Was that Telemachus?" He asked, stepping toward where the boy had disappeared. He had only caught a glimpse of a small figure.
His knees buckled beneath him, but through strength of will, he stayed on his feet, and stumbled forward.
"My love— your strength!" Penelope called, but Odysseus supported himself on the pillars, moving from one to the next, after the child. "Come back!" she screamed, and Odysseus almost turned... but he could not.
He chased the boy for what seemed like miles, every motion an effort, until he stood at the edge of a courtyard. A fountain bubbled in the center, and before the fountain was a boy.
The boy was small, not ten years old, but maybe eight? He turned dark eyes on Odysseus, looking at him with a solemnity often unseen in young children. His hair was not dark, but gold in the moonlight. It waved to his thin shoulders, and reminded Odysseus of someone.. a golden haired young woman.
"Asterion—" Odysseus stepped forward, letting go of the pillar and finding a vestige of strength to stand on his own.
"You're not my father?" the boy asked in confusion, and ran away once again.
"No— Asterion," Odysseus tried to run after him, reaching out, and caught on the edge of the fountain. Another hand caught his shoulder, and he looked into the fierce blue eyes of a young man with dark hair. It was like looking in a mirror.
"Telemachus?" Odysseus asked. Telemachus said nothing, but took his free hand and gripped Odysseus' hair, pulling his head back, then, he forced Odysseus' face into the water. It tasted of salt.