The crowd's cheers surged from the beach like a tidal wave, threatening to drag the boy along even as the first galley made landfall. The ship's worn wood parted the pristine white sands while water cascaded from its bow, cutting a dark, muddy path wherever it went.
   Even before the vessel had come to a standstill, even before any had time to put out the gangplank, a figure launched himself from the bow. His battered armour glistened in the sunlight, the bronze adorned with scars of battle. A helmet, plume lost to war, sat atop a head of unkempt hair. The cloak, once dyed the vibrant crimson of blood, now was tattered and frayed, faded to a dulled red.
   His grandmother's hand trembled in his own as she released a long-held sigh. A tremor not unlike the quiver of his mother's hand on his shoulder. The man marching towards them was not like the kings the boy had grown up hearing about. His beard unkempt, hair matted, the weariness of the world etched into his face.
   Yet the parted crowd, bowed in reverence, allowed no mistake: this was their king, his stride as majestic as it was confident.
   The man stopped before the boy, with a smile that stretched from ear to ear.
   So this is my father, the boy thought. The man he'd only known in his bedtime stories, from the gossip of palace servants--and from the nobles' eulogies. The boy clenched his fist hard enough for his fingers to leave their marks in his flesh.
   Then he was torn from the ground and whirled in the sky, his stomach churning from the motion and his eyes spinning. When the world came to a stop, he was held aloft by broad arms, looking straight into the deep blue eyes of his father, eyes that reflected his own.
   "My son, how you've grown," the king said, his deep voice thick with emotion.
   "Welcome home, my love, my Odysseus." Tears streamed down the queen's face as she flung her arms around the king with such force that he stumbled.
   "Penelope! Mother! I've come home!" Odysseus roared, and again the crowd erupted in cheers.
   From the ships, too, emerged men. Men who reunited with families eager to see the safe return of a husband, a son, a brother. All at once, the people who had sunk to their knees in reverence sprang to their feet, and everywhere people were falling into each other's arms, crying tears of joy and relief.
   One man approached the boy's group, leading a small child by the hand.
   The boy squinted against the sun. "Father, someone's approaching." He pointed.
   Odysseus nodded. "Wait a moment." He let the boy down, then spun and approached the man.
   The boy couldn't guess at what they discussed, but soon enough his father turned back to them, now holding the child's hand as he approached them. His mother squeezed his shoulder, and the boy winced.
   "Allow me to introduce to you," Odysseus said, "to our son. To your brother, Telemachus. To Astyanax."
   Though the beach was a cacophony of tearful reunions, a heavy silence hung between the royals.