Where the King Walks Unseen | Odysseus Begs in His Own Hall [Lyric Video]

Описание: In Book 17, Telemachus returns to the palace and tells his mother only part of what he knows, hiding Odysseus’s presence for her safety. The suitors mock him, but he holds his ground. Meanwhile, Odysseus—still disguised as a beggar—travels toward the palace with Eumaeus. Along the way, the goatherd Melanthius insults and strikes him, foreshadowing the violence to come. When Odysseus finally reaches the hall, he sees his home corrupted by greed and cruelty. The suitors feast, boast, and sneer, unaware that the king they torment sits among them in silence, gathering the moment for his return.

Book 17 Summary

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Original:
Telemachus returns to Ithaca’s palace and reunites with Penelope, keeping Odysseus’ return hidden as the suitors circle like wolves. Meanwhile, Odysseus—still disguised as a beggar—walks from the countryside into his own home, testing the character of every person he meets. Along the way he’s mocked and kicked by the goatherd Melanthius, then struck by Antinous inside the great hall, even as he quietly studies the suitors who have overrun his household. Penelope hears of the insult and asks to speak with the mysterious beggar, not knowing she’s calling for her husband himself. Book 17 sets the stage for the reckoning to come: a king returned, a son holding steady under pressure, and a house on the edge of judgment.

Lyrics:
She wept as mothers weep—
Not loud, but bone-deep.
Penelope kissed her son’s face,
Threaded his fingers through hers like lace.
But he spoke little of roads or kings,
For the hall was watching everything.

He bore their laughter, bowed not down,
A lion veiled in younger crown.
Telemachus sat with silent fire,
Mocked by those who called his sire
a ghost, a myth, a tale too old—
Yet still, he kept the secrets cold.

The goatherd spat. The boot was thrown.
The king walked on, walked on alone.
He saw the house he once had ruled,
Its pillars cracked, its hearth untrue.
He whispered not, nor met their gaze—
A storm concealed in beggar's haze.

Cloaked in rags and wrapped in stone,
The king sat down among his own.
The feast was loud, the pride was wide—
But none saw war behind his eyes.
The queen reached out, the moment stalled—
And vengeance waited in the hall.

The gods don’t strike in daylight.
They wait for night to breathe.
They write the silence first—
Then tear the page beneath.

So drink your wine, O foolish kings,
And boast until the darkness sings.
He waits, he watches, he lets it fall—
The beggar seated in the hall.

He does not rise.
He does not strike.
Not yet.
Not yet.
Not yet.

Credits
All music, lyrics, and visuals by Seraphina Stardust and The School of Echoes.

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