Chapter Text
Nothing much happened the next day: Diomedes went to check on Sthenelus and his men, drilled with them a little. If Odysseus had already sounded out Lycomedes about the war and recruitment, then there was no skin off anyone's nose to have them drill, openly and obviously. The young men of Skyros came over, intrigued by the sound of military precision. In the distance, the girls - maids and their young mistresses - in the running of their chores, watched from an extremely decorous distance away, which gave them an even better view of military formation.
Diomedes allowed Sthenelus to pick a few of the local Skyros youths to have some friendly games with - none of them looked like they were the son of Peleus, but the boy was probably watching. If he was anything like Patroclus, he would at least be wanting to test his skills against Diomedes' men, and would be irritated that he could not. Maybe with less goading.
Diomedes didn't know what it was like, being the son of a nymph, let alone one of the Nereides; maybe he had the patience of the sea that measured itself in months and years, or maybe he felt no pride and no need to prove his ability. But a boy trained for war under Chiron's tutelage would be unlikely to be willing to sit behind stone walls while other boys got to throw real spears and watch them be praised by actual honed warriors like Sthenelus.
If the son of Peleus felt no prick to his pride, then Patroclus might, on behalf of his friend.
Either way, this was another prong to help push at the son of Peleus into being revealed.
Diomedes returned to the palace at the same time as the day before - he'd taken a long lope around the island of Skyros, checking the terrain. Besides the terrain giving him an idea of the kinds of personality of its inhabitants (solid hard foundations, softened by gardens and luxury, while it would take time to shape, once shaped the youths would grow up hard and solid and probably reliable), it also gave him an idea of the tactical defenses.
If they needed to kidnap the son of Peleus - may Athena grant that it would not be so - then it would be not particularly easy to snatch him down to the ships. The huge tall cliffs, parts of which had been sheared away for quarrying, were sharp and steep, no man could easily climb it to approach the palace unseen, and a single loosing of grip would leave any man plummeting down to his death below.
Diomedes was in his room before Odysseus returned, sans Patroclus.
"They're heating water right now," Diomedes said, as Odysseus examined the bountiful as usual selection of refreshments. The maids had, as soon as they heard that Diomedes had returned, had come and dumped an extensive spread in his room, with shy reassurances that they would return with his hot water and a foot bath's worth for Lord Odysseus, as soon as he returned my lord.
"The hospitality here is truly excellent," Odysseus said cheerfully, picking out several sticky pastries, made of nuts and figs and soaked in honey, and handing one to Diomedes. "I dropped Menoetiades off in his room. Let's see if he tries anything tonight."
Diomedes accepted the pastry. "He might - I drilled with Sthenelus today, and several of the Skyros youths too. They looked eager to be recruited."
"Youths without families yet," Odysseus said, mouth twisting a little, bitter despite the sweetness he'd just eaten, "are eager for glory."
"I made no mention of glory," Diomedes said, simply.
"Plenty to be had, in Troy," Odysseus said, casting him a side-ways look.
Diomedes shrugged. "Perhaps for others. My uncle swore to the Gods to defend the son of Atreus' marriage, and he died."
"The marriage of the daughter of Tyndareus," Odysseus corrected. A little sharply. "Not the son of Atreus."
Diomedes paused, at that very precise wording. Odysseus had returned to perusing the refreshments, picking out small tart apples, dried fruit and cheese, not looking at Diomedes. Odysseus had been a suitor of Helen, Diomedes remembered - most of the basileis congregating in Aulis had been.
"Forgive me, I had not sworn the oath personally," Diomedes said after a moment. "It was only relayed to me after my uncle's death."
Odysseus waved a hand at him. "So you are here to fulfil your uncle's honour," Odysseus said, glancing back at him; a moment of almost apology flashed in his eyes, then was gone.
"Argos' honour," Diomedes said. "He'd sworn on Argos' honour to defend the marriage, and I am his heir."
Diomedes knew perfectly the arguments that he could have refused this war, refused to honour his uncle's oaths - his sister and wife had argued with each other, loud and vicious until he had been driven from the palace to the stables, and they were silenced only when he ordered eighty ships to be stocked and to sail for Aulis.
If there had been one thing he was good at doing, it was to do the right thing for Argos; and his wife and sister cared very much for his uncle's honour.
"The Gods laugh at the fool who thought he could resolve all conflict so easily with an oath, and instead drag in the uninvolved," Odysseus muttered, and shook his head, dismissing his words, and the topic.
Fortunately, the maids - and the princesses arrived with the hot water, and Odysseus shook off the slightly dark cloud over his shoulders, turning to greet the princesses with a bright smile and brighter words.
Diomedes did consider offering to let Odysseus have a proper bath - but if Diomedes was not keen on being bathed by Lycomedes' daughters, he couldn't imagine otherwise for Odysseus, an older basileus who still wore a tunic over two layers of light wool, his many layers of paranoia obvious.
There was no need to add more complexity to this arrangement - Odysseus could hold enthralling court of both the princesses and maids while eating and receiving a foot bath - from between the slats of the screen, Diomedes could see that Odysseus was also, casually, checking the maids' musculature with very faint brushes of his knuckles - in the low odd event that the son of Peleus was disguised as a maid - while the maids giggled and blushed and gave him what had to be the slowest footbaths in the history of civilisation.
Diomedes himself was careful to check the princesses without grabbing any of them untowardly. Just like the previous night, they were too slender to be the fighter they were looking for - when they were about to scrub at his chest, Diomedes took their cloths from them, as gently as he could, and told them to go and have some refreshments since they were all hot from the steam.
They both gave him startled looks that melted into something he wasn't sure of - but at least they went away out to join Odysseus and his plates of snacks without fleeing in a panic, which at least gave Diomedes the space and time to scrub himself down and get re-dressed as quickly as possible without the eyes of the princesses.
Once out there recovering from the heat of the bath, Odysseus was free to include them directly in discussion; and one of the princesses - eager to start a discussion on heroism, mentioned Theseus.
The two maids - clearly older than the princesses, glanced at each other.
"Many do indeed say that he was a great Hero," Odysseus said, in deference to the princesses, "For he journeyed the land to return to Athens, and defeated many great and cruel beings."
"But he was cruel to his wife - Ariadne," said one of the princesses, the older one, Thalia, sniffing, "Abandoning her."
"No matter how handsome a hero," Odysseus agreed, "such cruel abandonment deserves nothing but the worst punishment from the Gods."
"Which is why he was overthrown," said the other princess, Europhrysne, sounding young in her satisfaction. "If he ever comes by Skyros - I wouldn't bath--"
"If Father agrees to show him hospitality," her older sister said, sternly, "we would give him the best of service. We will not shame Skyros."
"Of course," Odysseus said, waving a hand to include them all, "the basileus of Skyros is exceedingly generous - and his daughters, gracious and exceedingly kind to grant us their presence."
He saluted them with a pastry - the two princesses giggled with each other.
"We heard," Thalia said, also taking a pastry and delicately nibbling behind her veil, "That you would be going to war?"
Odysseus nodded; not a secret - not if Odysseus had been asking Lycomedes directly - and the whole of Skyros should know now, with Diomedes drilling openly on the beach, and their youths realising in not so many words that war was brewing, with the opportunity to earn themselves a name in the offing.
"All those suitors of Helen, sailing to get her back - was she really very beautiful to be worth that?"
Odysseus froze; a brief moment - only Diomedes could see it, the way his free hand suddenly froze into a claw, sharp and vicious, before he deliberately ran his thumb over his fingers, turning it into a deliberate, almost-smooth motion. Not a gesture anyone could hide, but Odysseus could turn it into a natural gesture of thought - his eyes were still tight, hard, and Diomedes stepped forward, adjusting his clothing casually.
"I had not had the fortune of meeting the daughter of Tyndareus," he said, deliberately using the more polite reference for the basilinna of Sparta, "but my uncle had. He did say she was very graceful; however, not much more graceful than the daughters of Lycomedes. I greatly appreciated your dancing the other night - it is rare, that a fighter such as myself is given the favour to watch some of the best dancers of the world."
The princesses' gazes turned to him - away from Odysseus. So he could give the princesses an attempt at a smile - they both looked very flattered, cheeks pinking a little behind their veils - and asked what he thought of their music - and dancing.
He apologised for his poor manners and ability to describe - he was but a mere soldier after all - Diomedes did his best to channel Odysseus - out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Odysseus turn away, to take his cup - calming himself down.
(Odysseus was particular about the respect to the daughter of Tyndareus - it took only a moment before he realised that ah, right, his wife and the daughters of Tyndareus were cousins - the daughter of Tyndareus must have been as much a cousin to him as to Odysseus' wife. Diomedes made a note to himself to never mention the theory that she must have gone willingly to Troy.)
When the princesses were satisfied - giggly over Diomedes ineloquent words describing their vastly elegant artistic achievements - and Odysseus could call their attention back, Odysseus could give Diomedes a faint, brief smile over their shoulders.
Eventually, even the most generous duration of a bath did end - and the princesses did leave, to a flurry of flattery and praises from Odysseus, while the maids stayed back to clean up the bathing equipment.
"The princesses are very dutiful," Odysseus remarked to Diomedes. "Despite their own strong feelings about Theseus, they would still perform their duty."
One of the maids paused. "Lord Theseus did come by Skyros a few years ago," she said. "And the princesses were younger then - but they would have done their duty, if they were older."
"Oh?" Odysseus cocked his head, radiating simple curiosity. "What was he like then? I've only heard stories…"
The two maids exchanged looks again and then one of them folded the damp cloths she'd been using to clean Odysseus' calves, putting it into the basin. "I heard… Lord Theseus was a little strange. A bit… unnerving."
"They do say he was the son of Poseidon as well," the other maid murmured.
"Maybe sons of the Gods are allowed differences," the maid said, glancing up at Odysseus; he obligingly leaned in, a bit more conspiratorial. "But many of the older maids - they were quite relieved when he went away in the middle of the night."
"How rude," Odysseus said, flicking a casual glance to Diomedes.
"Very," the maid agreed. "Without even bidding our lord goodbye! But at least this way, Lord Lycomedes didn't have to provide him with a guest-gift."
"He forfeited the right to one for leaving so unceremoniously," Odysseus murmured.
When they left, Odysseus gave Diomedes a crooked smile. "That old man sure has some tricks."
Diomedes paused in retrieving his leather-oils. "What is?"
"He likely removed Theseus from mortal existence, right on this island," Odysseus said, rolling to stare up at the ceiling.
Diomedes considered this information, tracking where Odysseus came to this conclusion: years ago, Theseus had been here, but left in the middle of the night. There was an apparent uprising in Athens - but as far as Diomedes knew, the change in ruler of Athens was simple and had required no bloodshed, for his children had even been exiled bloodlessly. Theseus had disappeared off the face of the earth as far as anyone could tell.
Ergo, a good chance he might not have left Skyros… consensually.
"If he had still been around, we might have had to attempt to recruit him," Diomedes said.
"Well no," Odysseus said, flinging himself out on a couch, with long relaxed sigh. "I will refuse. I heard he was a pompous ass."
"You would screen who to recruit for this war?" A demi-god who could open the entrances to the underworld, all by himself? And defeat the Cretan basileus' great maze and destroy the monstrous Minotaur within? Despite what he had done afterwards to the daughter of Minos, many men would look first at his physical accomplishments and consider his domestic home-life… never.
Odysseus turned and gave him a smile, sharp as the knife Diomedes was starting to clean.
"Wouldn't you?" Odysseus' smile was bright as the brightest part of a candle flame. "The gods didn't see fit to punish the old man for violating xenia. Unless, of course, he wasn't the one to violate it first."
Diomedes blinked slowly at that sharp, white, smile, the lean vicious line of him.
He'd heard that Paris of Troy had taken - or seduced - the basilinna of Sparta while being a guest.
If that wasn't a violation of xenia, to take a man's wife while literally being his guest, there wasn't a point to talk about xenia at all.
"Good thing that he's not around to recruit, then," Diomedes said, "having someone who has earned the displeasure of the gods is worse than having no men at all."
"Indeed," Odysseus said, slow-blinking like a lion. "Let's not have people who displease the gods in our armies while we fight to fulfil an oath sworn to the gods. Seems rather self-defeating, don't you think?"
Achilles was in the kitchens - which he technically wasn't supposed to be, but guests never went down to the kitchens, and therefore he was still abiding by the rules of staying out of sight of the guests, even if they had come back early today instead of being out all day in the fields.
The kitchens mostly shut one eye on him being there anyway, because Clymene knew he did need to eat more than the 'other' girls, so when he pilfered bread from the pantry, the cooks merely sighed and went to make more.
So he was there when Agape came down to say she had to assemble a tray for Patroclus.
Which was Achilles' first chance ever in this entire three days of horrid waiting and waiting and waiting. Tydides of Argos had even gone to the beaches again, drilled with yet more boys!
"But, Lady Pyrrha," Agape said, trying not to give up her grip on the tray, "you're not supposed to serve--"
"The daughters of the house serve guests too," Achilles said, easily wresting it from her and striding to the doorway. "Didn't my 'sisters' just do that last month?"
"But the lords - they are- were frequent guests -"
Achilles quickened his pace - Agape couldn't keep up without actually running, and that would earn HER a scolding, so Achilles could rapidly put himself out of earshot.
It was easy to locate the room Patroclus had been given - Achilles had paid attention to the maids' chatter, after all. He had considered 'mistakenly' going to Diomedes' room but… no, better not. It would be easier for the Basilinna to notice, since Diomedes' room was very close to the family quarters, and he'd be noticed straight away.
Patroclus' room was further down the hall, and when he shouldered open the door, it was gloriously empty of anyone else but his Patroclus.
Patroclus stood up, surprised when Achilles dumped the tray of rattly plates and stuff on the nearest table. Achilles kicked the door shut and ripped off his veil.
"Achi--"
"FINALLY," Achilles said. "Did you see?! Today? This morning, Diomedes of Argos was drilling with his men, and then they actually had some of those boys throw spears - praised them for it! - I could have thrown it twice as far!"
"Achilles, it's really you!"
Achilles took a deep breath. "Yes, it's me," he said, and he would have greeted Patroclus, he really did, except just downstairs, he could hear the faint strains of a lyre - Myrtea was probably practicing out in the garden, and that, really grated.
"Do you hear that?" Achilles said, gesturing out the window.
"Yes - that's a ly-"
"But Diomedes of Argos only heard that," Achilles said, feeling his whole chest heat with indignation. "Didn't Chiron teach me himself, on his own lyre?"
"Yes, yes he did-"
"And did I not graduate to a cithara? A virtuoso instrument? Better than a lyre?"
"Yes - but -"
"He gave Myrtea a lyre!"
"Oh," Patroclus said, "was that her name?"
"Focus!" Achilles grabbed Patroclus by the shoulder and shook him a little. "Diomedes of Argos noticed her playing, and gifted her a lyre, and now she plays it, all day, everywhere, anywhere, just to irritate me -"
"I'm pretty sure she doesn't do it… really?"
"She said it's to do justice to Diomedes' gift, but!" Achilles ground his teeth in frustration. It wasn't even Myrtea he was really angry at. He didn't even get to lay eyes on Diomedes! At all! Beyond at dinners, which was far away behind veils, and he wasn't allowed to actually go close to serve wine or food, which was what the maids did, not the daughters of Lycomedes were to do.
"I could beat him in a fight!" Achilles yelled. "I could totally defeat him - why --"
Patroclus grabbed him by the cheeks with both hands and ate the last of his word and air.
"Ghlah?"
Patroclus scowled at him. "It's been so long, and you yell about the daughter of Lycomedes -"
"I am not yelling about her, I don't care about her, it's Dio-"
That got him teeth on his lips, so obviously, Achilles had to shove at Patroclus, shove him until they both fell over onto the small bed landing with Achilles on top.
"Stop yelling about Diomedes," Patroclus said, eyes flashing with irritation. "If you're going to yell about him you could go kiss him inst-"
Achilles growled and bit at his mouth so Patroclus would stop complaining about stupid things.
And of course Achilles had to keep doing it - leaving Patroclus ANY air meant Patroclus would complain and scold him - and get his hands on Patroclus' skin to distract him --
And then Patroclus got his hands under Achilles' dress, cursing how much fabric there was, and HIS hands, weren't soft like Deidamia's, all hard and big and broad and with the rough calluses of getting to train everyday which was so thoroughly unfair, Achilles had to get Patroclus' chiton off, ripping at the seams and pins.
"Gonna - have to repa-"
"I'll fix it," Achilles said, impatiently, and bit at Patroclus' throat, his collarbone, wriggling and yanking down at Patroclus' chiton's neckline till he had ALL of that skin exposed, enough to tou--
"Lady Pyrrha!"
Achilles froze.
Turned to look --
Clymene glared at them, and marched in - before he could come up with some sort of excuse - there was one, had to be, she grabbed him by the ear, and twisted.
He yowled.
"Shush, do you want all the guests to hear?" Clymene said
The reminder that the visiting basileis, and even their retinue, might actually be in earshot and come looking, shut him up - he was all but vibrating with the effort.
Clymene cast a look down at Patroclus, noted how he was all but stripped, and recalled obviously that there was no compensation to be had from him, the prince in exile from Opus, and resolutely focused her entire attention on Achilles instead. "This is behaviour entirely unbecoming of a lady of Basileus Lycomedes' household."
Despite him being taller than her, Clymene's grip was strong - and Achilles could only twist in utter shock that she was dragging him off the bed.
"But - there is nothing wrong with -"
"Clearly you haven't been disciplined enough, if you think this is acceptable behaviour," Clymene said, and dragged Achilles out of the door.
Achilles managed to stumble, along with her, glance at Patroclus wide-eyed and mouth, Save me!
"Ma'am -" Patroclus said, but Clymene shut it quite firmly on him - and Achilles realised that no one was going to save him from his doom.
Diomedes looked up at the ruckus - the yowling cut off, quite quickly - it sounded like it came from the window - he went to take a look, but there was nothing.
"Sound from another room, probably down the hall," Odysseus said from where he'd been sitting to take off his sword from the belt to clean the under the buckle. "Mm."
And Odysseus went to the door - to summon one of the maids for a spot of refreshment and maybe some gossip.
As was becoming amusingly usual, the prospect of Odysseus wanting refreshment had two maids carrying nearly four people's worth of snacks, enough to spoil their dinner if they didn't actually pace themselves.
And they were bursting to tell Odysseus - with the slightest of prodding, they told him that one of the ladies had gone to visit Patroclus - or had been summoned -
"No, not summoned, Lord Odysseus' guest would never summon one of the ladies," corrected one.
"Well she's not one of the daughters of the basilinna, she's a foster-daughter," the other said. "And now she's in trouble with Clymene - she's the trusted servant of the basilinna."
After some pretty thanks that had the maids blushing and fluttering and attempting to offer Odysseus more figs or cheese if he finished this amount, Odysseus dismissed them to do their no-doubt many chores, to prevent them from getting into trouble with Clymene as well, when it was clearly his fault for taking their time.
"Well, he barely waited a whole day," Odysseus mused. "I would have thought he might have held out till after dinner tonight."
"Neither of us took him anywhere today," Diomedes said. "Maybe he thought it was a good time to summon his friend."
"Well we'll see who is in tears tonight from being punished," Odysseus said, "and then we'll know who is our hidden warrior."
"The foster-daughter," Diomedes said. They had all been introduced as Lycomedes' daughters; it wasn't like Lycomedes had taken pains to introduce each one's exact origins.
Odysseus tossed a fig at him, and smirked when Diomedes caught it.
Dinner came and went - as Diomedes glanced over the girls, he recognised the daughters who had come to tend to his bath - the youngest one, who had the lyre that Diomedes had given her, and three other sisters, who gave him looks that were quite opposite of shy.
But tonight there were only seven daughters, not eight - one was missing - three others he didn't think he'd seen up close, the one who put her cithara down to dance, one who played the harp, and the last one playing a lute.
The missing girl played a cithara also, Diomedes remembered, usually hidden in the back.
"Mmm," Odysseus said, leaning in towards Diomedes under the guise of helping himself to the plate of figs nearer to Diomedes' arm, "grounded, perhaps."
None of the princesses looked particularly upset - they would, when they could, cast Odysseus interested looks, especially when he spoke across the room to Lycomedes.
When Diomedes glanced at Patroclus to check if he showed any interest in the remaining as yet unconfirmed princesses, Patroclus never looked up from his plate.
Well. That was inconclusive.
A maid came by to refill their cups, leaned into Odysseus when he gestured to her under the cover of the louder lute music, and then left to refill Lycomedes' cup.
Odysseus grinned at Diomedes, tipping his head.
Debrief after this, then, Diomedes thought, and nodded in acknowledgement.
"Pyrrha," Odysseus said as soon as Diomedes shut the door of his suite, heading to the side of the room where jugs of water and wine were placed. "Our poor, punished, foster-daughter, that we're looking for, her name is Pyrrha."
"An odd appearance," Diomedes said, after a moment, "Considering his mother is supposed to be one of the Nereids, a Goddess of the sea."
"And we would have thought he'd have hair fair as the foamy waves that lap the beaches, or hair as dark as the deep, dark seas," Odysseus said, carefully pouring out wine and water into a kratos, a very deliberate mix. "Not flame-coloured hair?"
"Maybe it's meant to mislead those who would look for him."
"Or 'she' is as fiery as flame in temperament; which, considering what all those in Phthia had mentioned, seems quite in line," Odysseus said, and then glanced around for a cup - and his gaze settled on a small kylix in the open chest of their 'trade goods'. He flicked an amused glance towards Diomedes, and poured the wine-mix into it, before taking a small amount of cheese and grating it into the cup.
Diomedes blinked in interest - he'd only ever used barley - Sthenelus hadn't even used that.
"Maybe. So you said, grounded?"
"Yes, the maid told us that Pyrrha was not feeling well, and had to stay in her room. A pretty euphemism for us guests not to contest," Odysseus said, and handed the kylix to Diomedes.
Diomedes hadn't expected that; Odysseus looking amused at using a kylix outside of a formal gathering seemed his usual sense of humour. But also, Odysseus' expression was expectant, like he wanted to know what Diomedes thought of the drink itself.
So Diomedes lifted the kylix, to take a sip.
"Oh," Odysseus said, hand over his eyes, "that's judging - I feel judged by Athena." Under his hand, Odysseus' smile was laughing.
Diomedes cocked his head, lifted the kylix to look under and - heh. There was a large, wide-eyed owl painted on the bottom of its stem. It was actually quite cute.
"For giving me a kylix outside of a banquet?" Diomedes said.
"Yes," Odysseus said, lifting his hand up a little, to grin at Diomedes, and then laughed out loud at the still visible owl-gaze. "A horrible violation of decorum."
"I don't believe she would judge you poorly," Diomedes said, and couldn't help a smile. Athena must like Odysseus, for he was so clever and charming. He handed his kylix to Odysseus. "You can have this one then. And I…" he headed over to the chest of goods - he knew there was one that Odysseus had traded for -- "ah. Here. I'll use this one."
He pulled out a larger, wider shallower kylix, meant for ceremonial use in a banquet, but he didn't think anyone would mind this once. Handed it to Odysseus to repeat the remixing of the drink with its cheese - as Diomedes stepped closer to examine the process, he could see the almost crooked smile Odysseus flashed at him.
"Sheep's milk feta," Odysseus said, "it's less sharp than goat's feta."
And then handed the large kylix back to him. "I am corrupting the basileus of Argos," he grinned, teasing and inviting.
Diomedes would be the last to complain about it - he'd never used a kylix outside of its proper place, and it was a bubbly feeling to be included in… what was probably a game? A joke? Odysseus certainly didn't think it was 'wrong' to use a kylix out of place.
He took the kylix, and inhaled.
It certainly smelled less sharp - sheep's milk cheese tended to have higher fat content than goat's milk, it smelled mouth-watering already, the mix bringing out a slightly sweeter note as he raised the large kylix up to his mouth.
Odysseus huffed out a laugh.
Diomedes smiled and took a proper mouthful, letting the flavour meld on his tongue, before lowering it.
"You got out the even more judgemental kylix," Odysseus said.
Diomedes didn't smirk at him, let the taste of the cheese sweeten the wine, bring out the faint fruity notes, rounded by the feta, savouring it before swallowing.
It was worth savouring - compared to the usual drinks he made just to hydrate and help him rest easier at night.
"It's not Athena's eyes," Diomedes said, innocently.
"Just two huge generic judgemental eyes, even more judgy," Odysseus snickered.
"So that even if I'm drinking I am still politely meeting your gaze," Diomedes said. "Isn't it the most polite kylix in existence?"
"And here I was thinking it's more a generic watchful gaze," Odysseus said. "Always watching." he jerked his chin at Diomedes, " so how do you like it?"
"Savoury, and slightly sweet," Diomedes said, pleased with the drink, with the fact that Odysseus, not an Argive, not another of the Epigoni, actually made him a drink, and would like his opinion on it. "Worth savouring."
"If you like it sweeter," Odysseus said, "I could add -"
Their door banged open.
"He got locked up!" Patroclus said, louder than his normal, and definitely on the frazzled side of restrained.
Odysseus turned, a brief flash of annoyance crossing his face. "Who did?"
"I -" Patroclus looked between them, eyes just this side of wild.
"Take a breath, Menoetiades," Odysseus said, very slowly, and patiently. "Who is locked up."
Patroclus took an obedient deep breath and said, "She got locked up. And they'll probably starve and beat him and -- "
Diomedes noted the confused pronouns, and took a long, lingering, judgemental sip from his judgemental kylix.
Patroclus glanced his way, startled back a step.
"Close the door, Menoetiades," Odysseus said.
Patroclus actually obeyed, shutting the door with a quiet click.
"Who got locked up," Odysseus said, repeating his question a second time.
"My fri--" Patroclus stumbled over his words. "My - the -"
"Her name," Diomedes said, wanting to stall the stuttering storm of uninformative syllables. "She has a name?"
"Pyrrha," Patroclus blurted.
Odysseus and Diomedes exchanged glances.
Was it really this easy? Patroclus had spent days at sea refusing to talk to Diomedes, and then at the slightest pressure to Achilles, he just cracked like a fresh egg on stone?
"Right," Odysseus said, looking back at Patroclus, all feline lines of him pricking forward like a cat about to bat at a chick. "Pyrrha. Have we met her before, Tydides?"
"I don't think so," Diomedes said.
"You have to help get her out," Patroclus said, urgently. "Or else - she would be starved - maybe she would die -"
"So many of the ladies have been so kind and accommodating of us," Odysseus mused, "of our demands."
"And beaten!"
"Why should we help someone we haven't met?" Diomedes said.
Patroclus stared at Diomedes in stunned shock.
"She must be an impressive girl to make such an impression at first meeting," Odysseus said, tipping his own Athena owl kylix at the ceiling, staring at the painting underneath. "Poor Agape would be utterly crestfallen."
Under the cover of the wide distracting rim of the kylix, Odysseus shot a mischievous look at Diomedes. Diomedes took another swallow of his own drink to hide his smirk.
"Who?" Patroclus said, confused.
"Dear, dear," Odysseus said. "And poor little Agape - she made such an effort to put at least two of your preferred dishes in the refreshments when we called for them. Such a sweet, observant girl, and you don't even know the first syllable of her name."
Patroclus, caught completely off guard, looked between them and the now empty tables - they hadn't called for refreshments after dinner, but he definitely was seeing the memory of all those refreshments.
Definitely two of those would have been Patroclus' favourite. He was young and active enough that the majority of anything edible would be his 'preferred' dishes.
"I - she - who?" Patroclus said, weakly.
Odysseus' smile widened, briefly looking like a cat that had pinned its prey, feather-soft paw pressing down down down.
Diomedes made his way to his chair, the one he normally sat in when he was cleaning his gear; it split Patroclus' attention and focus - he couldn't concentrate on both of them at the same time.
"All her efforts in pleasing, her hopes, dashed and disappointed," Odysseus said mournfully.
"But..!" Patroclus said, looking between them both.
Diomedes, who had put in effort to remember the names that the maids dropped, remembered all the names of the princesses even if he wasn't supposed to address them as such, for the mission, gave Patroclus a very flat look.
Patroclus, who didn't know of the existence of the mission, turned the colour of porridge and bit his lip.
Odysseus pressed his lips together, to hide his amusement - and turned it into him licking his lip - he'd just been drinking, a natural gesture; Patroclus didn't notice, still busy being guilty and confused porridge. Odysseus sighed, full of dramatic sympathy for the supposedly poor, disappointed Agape, "Ahh well. Tell us about this Pyrrha then. What trouble has she gotten into? Tried to sell a boy-child of the family?"
"What? No!"
"Betrayed her mother's lover?"
Patroclus looked less porridgy, and more scandalized now. "He would - she would never! She is the most loyal, honorable - "
"Fucked her mother's lover then outed him?" Diomedes asked.
Odysseus snorted, hard, put his drink down, while Patroclus sputtered on air.
"I'm being serious!" Patroclus all but wailed.
"So am I," Odysseus said. "Anything less than this wouldn't even warrant a beating."
"What would you know? She dragged hi - her away and she begged to be saved and I couldn't find her at all after-" Patroclus trailed off when he realised that Odysseus was staring at him, in pointed silence.
The boy glanced over at him; Diomedes put down his kylix with deliberate care, and leveled a very long look at him.
Patroclus looked like grey porridge now. He swallowed.
"Basileus Odysseus," he said, formally, "I - I forgot myself. I apologise for my thoughtless words…"
"If one of my men said that," Diomedes said, quietly, "I would have had him flogged."
"The difference between us," Odysseus said, giving Diomedes a brief flash of a smile. "Is our current style of ruling. Tydides has been a commander of armies for a long time. And I."
Odysseus straightened out of his relaxed slouch. "I manage a large household, and lead many households. Thoughtless words are common, among the younger ones."
"If they aren't nipped in the bud early enough, it becomes a problem later," Diomedes said.
"Amongst soldiers, yes," Odysseus agreed, deceptively mild. "But in a large palace? Thoughtless words result in no dinner. Extra chores. Anything larger -"
Odysseus shrugged, deliberately. "To answer your question, Menoetiades, I know this because a girl can't work, if she's beaten black and blue. She cannot spin or weave if her hands are shaking from pain or hunger."
"O-oh," Patroclus said, looking between them.
"A greater offense than thoughtless words, maybe direct disobedience of a rule? Maybe being locked in her room for a night, to teach her caution and better care for her actions."
Odysseus was saying this ostensibly to Patroclus - but it was fascinating, to Diomedes. He'd never thought about it - all his life as soon as his father had died, he'd been given armour and weapons and learned military discipline. Once he'd become basileus, he had spent nearly none of his time in the palace, except to ratify his wife's decisions, and to resupply for campaigns to rebuild Argos' resources.
A man who mouthed off to his commander was flogged. There was no manpower or space to spare to lock him in a tent for an overnight reflection session. Men learned, or they died.
"But… what about a - boy…" Patroclus said, and Diomedes sighed, inside. If this was Achilles' great protector, he was doing a rather awful job at it.
"Boys? Well. Servant boys do get a proper beating," Odysseus said. "They're strong, they can handle it. But certainly not enough to prevent them from doing their duties in the morning."
Patroclus looked torn - was he actually going to confess that Pyrrha was in reality his male friend in disguise, and therefore could be beaten? Or -
"But!" Odysseus said, brightly, snapping their attention to him. "If the fair Pyrrha is at risk of being subject to a fate worse than being locked up at night, then we will of course, come up with a plan to help her escape her imprisonment."
Patroclus perked right up at that. "What can I do to help?"
"You would, of course, help us identify Pyrrha when the time comes," Odysseus said, "for we haven't met her, so we wouldn't know what she looks like."
Patroclus nodded, eager, and Diomedes returned to his kylix.
Well, now they had Patroclus on board with them actually getting 'Pyrrha' out of Skyros. Who knew it would be so easy.
Achilles scowled when the first person that Patroclus greeted, on exiting the lower deck of the ship, was not himself, but Odysseus, heading straight to the prow where the Basileus of Ithaca was watching the distant shoreline.
"Arrogant, smug - " Achilles muttered, because Odysseus turned when Patroclus greeted him, smiled down all - all smug and sly, gesturing to the prow like he wanted to show him something. And poor Patroclus, obliged and went.
There was nothing to see but more shoreline, distant on either side of the ship, and steady wind, so what on Demeter's green earth would Odysseus want to show him, Achilles had no idea.
When Patroclus turned, saw him, and then tried to beckon to Achilles, Achilles turned away, pointedly.
He had no interest in anything that lying Ithacan had to say.
There - Diomedes was coming back around from the steering - Achilles immediately went to Tydides. "What are you doing?" he said.
Diomedes paused. "Checking on the speed," he said after a calm, measured moment.
"Can you make the ship go faster?" Achilles asked, curious now. "Just make the sails move to catch the wind more."
"It is proceeding at the ideal speed," Diomedes said, but obligingly showed him how the sails worked, pointing out the rigging on how to adjust the angle of the sail so its shape would change the wind speed.
Achilles didn't understand any of it, because well, it wasn't very important, in the long run of things, but when Diomedes of Argos spoke, it did sound important.
And Diomedes answered everything he asked, short and informative, with the calmness of a cool, seasoned warrior, which! Achilles much preferred that, compared to Odysseus' wriggly, smiling, too-long and too-many words, talking round and round in circles until Achilles just wanted to stab.
"Talking about wind direction?"
Think about the man, and he'd show right up, Achilles thought, shoulders tensing.
Odysseus reached into Achilles' field of view to tug lightly at a rope. "We can't tack too far against the wind," he said, "Or else the ship would fail and we'd be blown off-course."
"No one was asking you," Achilles hissed. More words Achilles didn't know - it was as if Odysseus came up with them just to irritate him. It didn't help that Patroclus was looking at Odysseus with that same studious intent that he'd give Chiron.
A shift behind him - but Odysseus held up his hand. "Indeed, no one was asking me, son of Peleus," Odysseus said, smiling, "I simply thought I was indulging an inquisitive student's curiosity."
Achilles ground his teeth - why did that sound like an insult? It sounded like an insult! It was an insult - especially with the way Patroclus' eyes had widened, looking between him and Odysseus.
"You haven't sailed much, before, have you, Menoetiades?" Odysseus said, turning his back deliberately on Achilles, dismissing him - just like he had when he'd dismissed Achilles after getting him revealed at Lycomedes' court.
Mother had said to beware warriors - the only warrior that Achilles should have been wary of, it seemed, was Odysseus, who kept leading Patroclus away to look at unimportant stupid things, tricked him with swords and alarm calls to reveal himself in front of the entire court (so the entire court couldn't pretend that he was merely a foster-daughter, anymore).
"You --"
Diomedes caught him by the shoulder, and nudged him away.
"Have a care on the words you use to address others," Diomedes said, still as even as a spear. "Not everyone is as patient as Laertiades."
Achilles scowled at Odysseus' back - he'd gone off to the back of the ship now, where Diomedes' man - Sthenelus, he thought - had been steering, Patroclus following like every word Odysseus gave him was a pearl of wisdom - as if anything out of Odysseus' mouth wasn't a lie anyway.
But Diomedes was a great hearted warrior - generous in his assessment of people, so Achilles turned away from glaring a hole into Odysseus' head.
"Tell me about the Calydonian campaign," Achilles said, "How did you know when to invade Calydon in Aetolia on your grandfather's behalf?"
"You are very well-informed on my campaigns," Diomedes noted, glancing at him, and Achilles preened, smugly.
Diomedes otherwise didn't comment further, only giving him the exact rundown Achilles had asked for.
See? This was what a real warrior was.
Diomedes was a little disconcerted by how much Achilles preferred him over Odysseus - the young man constantly sought him out to pester him for stories about his campaigns.
In all honesty, he would have thought he'd be more like Patroclus, and like what he liked - the stories that Odysseus could tell, with Odysseus' perfectly modulated tones and thoughtful vocabulary choices.
But Achilles detested Odysseus - would glare at him across the ship; especially if Patroclus was near him.
"Jealousy," Odysseus said, shrugging, when they were alone on the deck at night, a snatched few hours before they would find a harbour in the morning to resupply and dry out the ship's hull a little.
Diomedes frowned at that.
"Of -"
"Of his friend's attention," Odysseus said. And then smirked at Diomedes. "He keeps trying to get Patroclus to join you and him."
"Patroclus keeps inviting him over," Diomedes said.
Odysseus laughed, a warm sound that carried over the water, as he leaned over the railing. "So in addition, they also do not like their friend's new friend," he said, his amusement all the shift of dark shadows, barely lit by the stars above. "What a pity."
Patroclus didn't like Diomedes, he knew that. He did wonder why, a little, when he was equally stern with both Achilles and Patroclus --
"You're only… what, a handful of years older than Patroclus?" Odysseus said, another day, when Patroclus and Achilles were eating and both Diomedes and Odysseus could go check on the navigation and coastlines. "A great idol for Achilles, the greatest warrior the boy has ever met." Odysseus' eyes were dancing in sharp amusement. "How can Patroclus ever compare to this?"
Diomedes was not the greatest of warriors - he simply did what he had to do, to the best of his ability, and continued to outlive his opponents. "Maybe he should do more military training," he said, thinking of how even those few years, less than even five, maybe, made such a difference.
"Maybe," Odysseus said. "Just like Achilles could stand to do … something else, other than military strategy."
That was it, maybe. Patroclus had also been interested in stories of heroes, like any other boy. It was not a surprise, that he liked Odysseus' stories, and was willing to learn. Maybe he didn't want to learn from Diomedes, but it was fine as long as he was learning from someone.
He heard them talk about it - the boys - while Diomedes napped on the deck.
"You should stay away from him," Achilles said, too loud to even be a whisper, and Diomedes had woken up at the first word, but not moved. And fortunately Achilles hadn't noticed and Diomedes stayed very still, kept his eyes shut, and pretended to stay asleep. "He's a lying liar!"
"He helped you get away from them," Patroclus said, barely a hair softer, voice that husky too-loud that said he thought was whispering and was completely and utterly failing to do so. "You were going to be tortured!"
"I could withstand torture," Achilles said, recklessly confident, and Diomedes did not react. Wondered if the boys would at least move to a different part of the ship. "I can withstand anything but that man's smarmy --"
"Laertiades is Basileus of Ithaca," Patroclus said, loyal and correct and at least that lesson had been drummed in properly. "He was helpful and always correct and he's clever, we could learn so much from --"
"We'd learn more from Diomedes!" Achilles exclaimed. "Tydides is better, don't you see? He's never lied, and he explains everything properly - you should come listen. Come stay with us away from --"
"I understand nothing when he speaks," Patroclus said, stubborn as stone. When Diomedes cracked an eye open, he could see that look of Patroclus, that almost sullen-ness of him.
Hm. Achilles didn't seem to find it as irritating.
Maybe that's just how he looked, when he was 'patiently stubborn.'
"What do you mean, understand nothing, he's perfectly understandable! Short, perfectly understandable explanations, haven't you heard him explain the strategies for the fourth campaign he went on -"
"Laertiades explains the logistics perfectly clearly and in more detail, he's almost as knowledgeable as our master Chiron, and you know it."
"Long-winded words while showing off how much cleverer he is," Achilles huffed. "Using words we can't understand just because -"
"I can understand them."
"That's because you like big long words," Achilles pouted petulantly, his red-gold hair ruffling over his forehead. It was aesthetically pleasing, if you happened to like petulant, but Diomedes was wondering if he'd ever been this petulant when he was that age.
Hopefully not.
The other Epigoni and their men would have told him, and the Thebans were too dead to ask.
"Lord Odysseus," Patroclus said, in a cadence that Diomedes recognised as Odysseus', "explains why the conflict even happened. What were the profits, and kindly tells me how one would make full use of the resources of a captured city."
Achilles looked baffled at that. Diomedes was mildly impressed - Patroclus was learning something valuable from Odysseus. And probably in a more intelligible fashion than Diomedes had had to learn it. Learning how to handle logistics in a hands-on fashion was, while very quick, wasn't very easy when there were half a dozen people screaming at the same time, all demanding awarding of profits while you were still flaking blood off your skin and armour. Having it all calmly explained in a nice calm ship with a nice calm voice was definitely more educational.
Certainly easier to digest.
"They insulted Tydides," Achilles said, as if the reasons for conflict didn't matter, just that there was conflict. "And the profits all obviously belong to Argos."
Patroclus stared at Achilles for a moment, turned to look towards Diomedes.
Diomedes hurriedly shut his eyes, but Patroclus didn't seem to notice anything. "I'm going to handle our camp's logistics," Patroclus said.
"Alright?" Achilles said, still sounding surprised. "Why would you want to, it sounds useless, but if you want it, you can."
"... thank you."
"Still you shouldn't hang around that man - twistier than spun yarn, and all he does is talk about the boring things. Let's ask Diomedes about the Calydonian campaigns later, there's a lot I want to know!"
"There's a lot you could learn from Lord Odysseus," Patroclus tried, again. "Stories about heroes --"
"He's gone on nothing important," Achilles said dismissively. "There are no campaigns worth writing songs about he's done."
"He got you out of Skyros," Patroclus said.
Achilles made a rude noise. "As if that would make him famous in any way," he said. "No one would remember anything about it."
Fortunately for him, Diomedes was 'asleep' and didn't have to witness it, though his fingers twitched.
Because Achilles was a boy, who idolized heroes and tactics, and Achilles wanted stories of heroes too - but he liked Diomedes' campaigns.
At first, that was what Diomedes had thought was so strange - to be idolized so.
It wasn't a surprise, Sthenelus said. You're a boy's hero and idol, probably grew up hearing your stories.
And Diomedes had tried to treat it as such.
Except -
"Why didn't you hunt down those sons of Agrius who had escaped out of Calydon?" Achilles asked. "You stopped at the city; they couldn't have fled far."
Diomedes frowned, slightly, at Achilles. "We had just won the city."
"And there weren't many places they could have escaped to," Achilles said, tracing out lines on the railing of the ship. Named the cities that they could have run to - and the roads they had to have taken. "You should have given chase."
"My men had been injured," Diomedes said. And they'd needed to hold the city. They had been marching for days, at that point, and then had had to slaughter and take Calydon. The sons of Agrius escaping was, at the time, not a priority. It still wasn't, even if Diomedes thought he could re-do it.
"The ones who can still stand should have gone," Achilles said. "And the ones who can't should have been left behind."
The callous way that Achilles made that statement - it shouldn't have chilled Diomedes quite so much. Because Achilles was still a boy, unblooded and green, and all he had was theoretical stories that Chiron had told him about. Boys still made statements that weren't actually practical.
"I wouldn't have let you down," Achilles said, blue-green eyes intent on him, blue and green like the waves of the sea, deep and full of strange undercurrents. "Stopping is a sign of weakness - letting them go meant that they could come back, and then humiliated you."
That was true, Diomedes thought. The escaped sons of Agrius had returned, and killed Diomedes' grandfather, when he had been travelling and vulnerable - but the way Achilles phrased it…
"I had to stop," Diomedes said, again, making himself look away from the boy, from his blue-green eyes that were intent on Diomedes. "Sthenelus was incapacitated. As far as tactics go, my men's needs took priority, since the mission's objective was obtained."
And no matter if he had not accomplished and taken the city, he would not have abandoned Sthenelus. The ones who could have stood needed to get the ones who couldn't to shelter - he had had to get his grandfather out of imprisonment, and quell any dissent. What were two escaped traitorous cousins?
"Sthenelus, your second-in-command?" Achilles flicked a glance behind him - to Sthenelus who was steering, and calling the beat for the oarsmen. "He should have been honoured to die for glory." Achilles said, cool as the sheer rock face of Skyros, marble pale and hard and just as ruthless, cutting to Diomedes' spine like the icy rain of winter.
Leave Sthenelus behind to die.
Leave the man who had essentially taught Diomedes everything he knew how to survive in a battle, to die.
"Glory."
"The glory of Argos," Achilles said, eyes like the green waters of the sea in winter - green, a surge of that sea-depths of Nereus standing from his throne - depths that no man could ever think to discover and still live.
"My men had been with me since I first stepped foot on the battlefield." Diomedes' voice was flat, repressive, but Achilles didn't seem to hear that, turning a little into the sun.
The sun glinted red and gold on Achilles' hair - and yet, it was so so clear that Achilles was the son of a Nereid - inhumanly beautiful, inhumanly ruthless; all of the ship could drown in the sea of Achilles' gaze and it wouldn't matter, as long as Achilles attained what he thought was the perfect military strategy.
"Then they should be glad to die for your cause. They all should be grateful to be your step towards accomplishing your glory."
When he smiled, there was a faint glint to his teeth - pearlescent in the way the teeth of certain fish that only could be caught at night were - slightly translucent, sharper than needles, sharp enough to cut the artery in a man's throat and leave him to bleed to death. A sharp unsettling glimpse of it.
There and gone.
Gone because suddenly, Odysseus was right there, shoving his shoulder under Achilles' knees in a smooth, practiced motion, and then gently rolled Achilles off his shoulder, over the railing, straight into the sea.
"Achilles!" Patroclus shrieked, running to the railing.
Diomedes stared down at the splashing boy in the roiling eddies their ship was leaving behind.
"Huh," he said. The tightness in his spine slowly unwound.
"I don't think Agamemnon would have been very pleased if you killed him right here," Odysseus said, pleasantly, looking down at Diomedes' hand. Diomedes' gaze followed, and he realised he had had a grip on his sword - another two seconds and he would have stabbed the boy.
"Right in full view of his mother," Odysseus continued, "well. Probably his mother. Which strait is she in charge of?"
"So you threw him into the sea. Right in front of his mother."
Odysseus looked thoughtful. "Probably not his mother," he said. "This isn't her strait, I think. She's supposed to be from further out in open sea, right?"
Diomedes looked at Patroclus who was clinging to the rail, and yelling for Achilles - he had clearly not been on a ship very often, if his first thought wasn't to grab a rope to fling to Achilles.
Diomedes looked down again - Achilles was a little further back from the ship - the ship was proceeding at a very decent pace.
"A great warrior like him," Odysseus said, leaning an elbow on the railing, assessing the distance between them and their newly waterlogged prince, "should know how to swim."
They both considered the slowly widening distance between them and Achilles - who had stopped splashing around ineffectively, and started actually swimming.
"Or he might ask to be fished out," Diomedes said after a moment. Though honestly, Achilles might prefer to drown than to ask for help.
"After how long?" Odysseus looked mildly inquisitive. He now had both arms folded, leaning them on the railing. "Do you want to wager in hours or distance?"
"Maybe before Menoetiades' throat gives out," Diomedes said. The wind was in the wrong direction to snatch Patroclus' voice entirely away from them. There was no upwind to go to. Even Sthenelus was wincing.
"Or Patroclus would beg someone to fish him out." Odysseus said, looking at Diomedes, and his eyes narrowed in cat-eyed amusement. "Closest estimate wins the wager."
"Deal," Diomedes said.
Odysseus' smile ticked up, under his glossy, perfectly groomed beard, wind ruffling his curls, and held out his hand to Diomedes to shake.
That was nice.
His men never included him in wagers.
"Hold on Achilles! I'll save you!"
Fortunately, Odysseus was fast enough to grab Patroclus by the back of his tunic, and Diomedes could haul them both onto the deck. "That's not included in the wager," Odysseus said.
Patroclus nearly punched Diomedes in the knee; Diomedes used a spare rigging rope to tie Patroclus near the railing where he could watch Achilles make a very mighty attempt to catch up with the ship.
Diomedes couldn't wait to offload both of them onto someone else in Aulis.
Maybe Agamemnon.
They were his desired champions, after all.
END
Outtakes
Diomedes: So when I was fifteen, was I insufferable.
Thebans: *dead and are Ded* 💀
Diomedes: hm.
Diomedes: I shall take that as "no."
*
Sthenelus: you know. You should get yourself a lover.
Diomedes: I had some lovers before.
Sthenelus: … yes. But those are not… ideal. And you were surrounded by girls on Skyros and you weren't even a little bit --
Diomedes: I am married.
Sthenelus: yes and I am also afraid of the Basilinna's reaction. SO get you a male lover. There are plenty of Basileis in the Achaean army - they're all of your rank, and they're your allies now - so they wouldn't attempt murder.
Diomdes: hm. That does sound reasonable.
Diomedes: I shall pick Odysseus of Ithaca.
Sthenelus: Good - wait NO.
Diomedes: too late, no take backsies
Sthenelus: NO. pick someone else!!!
Diomedes: no one else includes me in a Plot.
Sthenelus: he's a lying liar!
Diomedes: yes that's what a plot is.
Sthenelus: he's a horrible influence!
Diomedes: he certainly made Achilles shut up for a bit. That seems like a good influence.
Sthenelus: that's just normal military behaviour -
Diomedes: then that makes Odysseus a normal military leader.
Diomedes: :>
Sthenelus: ...... I cannot argue with you
Diomedes: :>>
Sthenelus: if he hurts you in anyway, I'll run him through with my sword
Diomedes: ok. Learn to be faster if you want to do that.
Sthenelus: .
Diomedes: he is very nimble. :>
Sthenelus: *glares at Odysseus forever*
Odysseus: I have a feeling that the Argive camp in general does not like me.
After several rounds of (disapproved) banging
Diomedes: He has hidden daggers. ♥
Sthenelus: what?! WHERE?!
Diomedes: hidden. :>
Afterword
The seed of Odysseus' and Diomedes' plan for the bathing scenario was inspired by the imagery of Akaittou's fic Flowers of Skyros. However, the social structure and explanation for it really comes from examining the Odyssey, when Telemachus was bathed by Nestor's daughter as a mark of honour and respect for one's guest.
What I really wanted to write was the scene of Achilles chasing Diomedes around on the ship, while glaring at Patroclus hanging out with Odysseus - Achilles' hate-on for Odysseus and Patroclus' intense dislike of Diomedes amuses the HELL out of me.
Another thing I found funny was Achilles being an absolute teenage boy. His disdain and complete disinterest in the female side of labour is remarkably hilarious to me - and in some ways it's funnier if everyone (ish) on Skyros knows he is a boy but just shoved him in amongst the girls, being very sure that absolutely nothing is going to happen because Thetis promised (they're… wrong but also…). So Achilles instead develops a fear of girl gangs and hair ribbons, a healthy wariness of the adult female servants/slaves around him and YET still having absolutely no real clue as to what they actually do around the place, because he's literally shoved into the room full of girls and told to sit there and not make a fuss.
Without any actual training in spinning or weaving, he has no idea what to do, and doesn't want to learn those things anyway, so he is bored out of his skull, and just fucks about failing to do any of the skilled chores, and generally makes a hash of the yarn.
One thing I wondered about really hard is that what on earth would young girls of this time period and culture actually like about men? Sure there is always that lurking danger of instability, about being stolen and taken from your family, but honestly, the young teens of any time rarely think these stories or histories will happen to them unless it literally happened to someone close to them. So a young man would idolise heroes and maybe want to be them, or accomplish deeds like them, and never worry about actually dying - what would girls find appealing about other persons of legend or stories that they definitely have heard, whether it's via bards or gossip from other girls?
A good portion of them might reimagine themselves as the heroines of the story - so they'd think about poor Ariadne and Medea, while knowing that Medea is a Problematic lady, she was greatly Wronged in the first place, so it was Really Just a matter of finding the right amount of revenge without going too far. Ariadne was greatly wronged - but of course they will prefer versions where she can find revenge - and girls are just as violent in their imaginings as boys are, happy to imagine stabbing the Cruel and Mistreating Traitorous Husband Theseus.
At the same time, why would girls idolize or like heroes like Diomedes? This was a bit of a hard thought for me, until I figured: if a man is always a victor, always victorious, always winning, then he will never lose his womenfolk - he would never lose you, his wife. Instead he would always be bringing back many things to glorify you and your children, and he'd keep bringing back more labour for you, like many slaves and war spoils for you to command and rule over, and you, as his primary wife, will always be safe and command everything, like Hera. Even if he cheated and had many children on many other women, you will still be his primary wife, with this fantasy ideal warrior man. The ideal husband would be the ideal warrior - the one who forever wins. Therefore, Diomedes is an ideal man: he is handsome, strong, and he's never lost any of his greatly celebrated wars. As far as these girls in Skyros have heard, he's ideal in that he has never betrayed his wife - he's not brought home a second wife or concubine. They idealise the great Perseus, who is so so so good and Unproblematic - perfectly filial and protective to his mother, saved and protected his wife Andromedea. They can very well imagine that a Perseus would save and protect them, and be faithful enough and never discard them like Jason discarded Medea, and Theseus discarded Ariadne. The thrill of the stories of Theseus would be that of either turning him to the good (you are so perfect and good he would not discard YOU) or they can have little revenge fantasies (if I was Ariadne, i would not simply let him leave, I'd stab him in the cock).
I find it absolutely hilarious how much Diomedes and Odysseus both really can't quite stand Achilles and Patroclus - they're both so young, and actually quite insufferable. Diomedes and Odysseus are both adult men - and pointed out in the fic, basileis in their own right - leaders of men. They're both different types of leaders - Diomedes is essentially a war-time leader, and Odysseus a peace-time leader, but both have been doing it long enough that the teenage screaming and hubris is really quite irritating.
Throwing Achilles into the sea is pretty much a very physical, mild military form of discipline - this is after all a kind of militant society - where young men hit and kick and physically roughhouse each other as a normal form of socialisation, and military leaders yell insults at their men and underlings to motivate them ("my grandmother could have run that faster than you!" - sound familiar?). Diomedes, based on his own experience in the armies, as a commander, would have likely actually injured or stabbed Achilles for suggesting something so callously horrifying - he nearly flogged Patroclus for being rude. Odysseus gave Achilles a much milder lesson. Hahaha
At the same time, Achilles was also very off-putting, putting together that teenage callousness and self-centredness, lack of empathy, and very cold ruthlessness and only a theoretical knowledge of military tactics, with zero empathy for human social connections. Add on the fact that he has, as established in this AU, demigod traits which make him somewhat inhuman, he really nearly got stabbed.
He's fifteen - 10 years at Troy isn't going to make him much more empathetic, unfortunately.
His complete disdain, but Patroclus' respect and learning of logistics and camp-management is what will gains Patroclus all the respect of Achilles' men - they follow Achilles because of his skill and reputation, but the food and clothing they get and the spoils they are given are distributed by Patroclus. So when Patroclus dons Achilles' armour - well. They follow him even knowing full well it isn't Achilles in it.