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if he was being honest with himself, diomedes was bored.
yeah, they were in the middle of a war. but they had been sitting in the damned horse for hours. he was sick of listening to the men murmur amongst themselves about this and that, that and this, every other thing. he was especially sick of listening to odysseus chatter endlessly about penelope. gods, that was all the man talked about. his apparently perfect wife and his infant son.
diomedes really, really considered climbing out of the horse on his own time. he just didn't feel like dealing with getting caught by the trojans and dooming them all. the only thing that was keeping him from going solo was that he couldn't.
reluctantly, he perked up, focusing his attention on the ithacan king. the tone in his voice clearly said that he was giving orders instead of telling aimless stories about his home.
"—diomedes will lead the charge—"
diomedes rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to comment on the fact that he was technically the only one who could. objectively, he was the most skilled one there. he smirked when he heard odysseus assign agamemnon to the back, and yet let achilles young son charge through the front lines to cut off the rest of hector's bloodline.
he stored that tidbit in his mind for later, letting his hand rest on the hilt of his sword as they prepared to climb out of the horse and unleash the coordinated attack.
for a brief moment, so brief it could've been played off as his imagination, a cold fear shot through him.
there was a chance that he wouldn't survive this, wouldn't make it home.
the thought only made him tighten his grip, clenching his teeth tight enough for it to hurt somewhere deep in his head.
he wouldn't allow it.
"—ATTACK!"
without another second of hesitation, diomedes jumped down, sword swinging, as the world painted itself red with trojan and greek blood alike. he didn't catch any faces as helmets were knocked to the ground, didn't bother to learn identities. weakness wasn't allowed in war. the only thing that mattered was yourself, and your own life.
he wouldn't allow himself to learn attachment.
...
eventually, the trojans retreated, relented. they had won. diomedes was tired, but still filled to the brim with adrenaline as they regrouped, shouting cries of triumph to one another. they had won. they had won.
he pretended not to notice odysseus slinking into the palace. he had more important matters to deal with, the stinging pain in his side from being stabbed being one of them. limping back to the ship, he shared a triumphant grin with the fire-haired child of achilles.
they had won. he glanced back when he heard dragging footsteps, seeing odysseus return with a pinched look on his face.
he wasn't sure if he wanted to know why.
it was the last thought he processed before he slipped into unconsciousness, blood loss overtaking him.