Chapter Text
Diomedes hadn’t exactly had the sort of youth that involved getting caught and scolded by his nurse while sneaking back in from somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be. It, he imagines, would feel something like this.
“You’re sleeping with him, then,” Sthenelus says, leaning against Diomedes’ hut in the grey light before dawn. He looks profoundly unimpressed.
In retrospect, he’s surprised he’s managed to avoid this conversation for as long as he has. He’d be happy to put it off indefinitely, but so it goes.
“Yes,” he sighs, heading inside.
Sthenelus follows close behind. “How long has this been going on for?”
“Since we came to Troy.”
“And when are you going to put an end to it?”
“Oh, I’d guess it’ll peter out soon enough,” he says. It’s not an answer and what’s more, it’s not something he actually believes. From the look Sthenelus sends him, he’s aware of that. Diomedes has never been very good at lying to him.
Sthenelus shakes his head. “I don’t like it. I don’t trust him—too clever by half.”
“Good! I sure as hell don’t trust him.”
Some of the worry etched on Sthenelus’ face retreats at that. “Well, that’s something. I’d be worried Cyprian Aphrodite had bespelled you if you did. If you don’t trust him, why let him in your bed?” he asks.
Diomedes shrugs. “It’s fun, I suppose. It’s not nearly as serious as you’re making it out to be,” he says.
He hasn’t told Sthenelus about what happened with Palamedes—about any of what’s happened with Odysseus. He’s borne enough burdens for Diomedes so far. He won’t give him another secret to carry, even if it leaves him with few good excuses for what he’s been doing. Besides, he’s not sure if all of that would even be an explanation.
“Really? It’s fun? That’s what you’re going with? From a different man your age, sure, but not you. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you do something rash just for the fun of it. You’re not indulgent and you’re not impulsive. Whatever’s going on, you’re not taking it lightly. You don’t take anything lightly,” he says, watching Diomedes steadily.
Sthenelus has known Diomedes since he was born, trained with him since he could walk, fought by his side since they’d led an army against Thebes, Diomedes still a boy and Sthenelus barely old enough to be considered a man. Most days, Diomedes is honored and grateful to have his loyalty, trust, and love. But sometimes, he really does hate to have a companion who’s known him through every moment of youthful vulnerability and awkwardness and stupidity. Who knows him.
He shrugs again. Trying to change the subject, he asks, “Anyways, what are you so worried about? I don’t trust him, but he’s still an ally.”
“Could be manipulating you.”
“To what end?”
“He’s got Agamemnon’s ear, sure, but that won’t always be enough to get away with his clever little plans. You’ve got more men, more political sway, a more powerful lineage to leverage. If you put your support behind him, there’s not much Odysseus couldn’t do.”
“If he is trying to seduce me into supporting his troop movements, or whatever you’re imaging, then so what? I’ve got my flaws, but lust has never been one of them. I’m not some maiden in love with a coldhearted hero. I don’t really give a shit about any of this. I’m certainly not thinking about it while making decisions in council meetings. If he throws me over disagreeing with him, fine. I’d have to care for the manipulation to work,” he says.
It’s almost true, he thinks. And even if it isn’t exactly true, even if he’s got an unpleasant suspicion about what he’d do if Odysseus asked (even if he’s already got an ally’s blood on his hands for him), it will be true. Saying it out loud, this whole conversation—even Odysseus falling asleep next to him like he’s someone who can be trusted—it’s a good reminder. He doesn’t trust Odysseus and he can’t forget why. Odysseus is a very good liar and a brilliant speaker. He’s not so arrogant as to imagine that he alone can’t be taken in by him. Whatever game he’s playing at (and it must be a game), Diomedes can enjoy it, but he can never buy into it.
Sthenelus smiles ruefully and claps him on the shoulder. “Fine, fine, I’ll let it lie. I know you can take care of yourself; I just worry. You know how I get. But be careful with him, yeah?” he asks.
“I always am.”
“I know you are,” he says, ruffling Diomedes’ hair like he’s still six years old, resolutely insisting that he can keep up with the older boys, and heads out.
—
Diomedes lies on his bed. It’ll be dawn soon enough, but he can get a few moments of rest in now. He’d slept terribly—he’d been able to doze off for a few minutes at a time before his body would wake him up, panicked and prepared to fight off the unfamiliar body curled around him. Odysseus had seemed to stay asleep throughout all that, which Diomedes counts as a minor miracle. His wife hasn’t been as lucky during the brief periods he’s been in Argos to share her bed. Most nights, he’ll take a oxskin and a rug on the floor to save them both the trouble. There’s one good thing about his interrupted sleep, he supposes. At least he never fell asleep deeply enough to dream—he’s been informed by Aegialia and those he’s shared tents with while traveling that he can be frightening to be around while he dreams. Besides, Odysseus already knows far too much about him, know far too many secrets and points of weakness. He’d rather not let him into his dreams as well.