Chapter Text
Men had always spilled blood over stupid matters. This war?–No exception. All because three goddesses quarreled over an apple. Childish, to say the least. As a result, the Trojans stole Menelaus’ wife. Ten years of mindless fights— and it all went downhill from that point on. The greatest folly of all .
So here I was, as tangled in it as the rest of them. Unfortunately.
It was that day that the world learned my name— Odysseus of Ithaca . “Wise Odysseus, witty one… the one who chants”-compliments are always good. I like them, really…but after many deaths and endless back-and-forth skirmishes, their price got low. So, I made something up— my perfect solution. A trick so brilliant, even the gods themselves might have marveled at it. Athena would, at least.
Death in disguise of a plea for mercy—The “Trojan” horse. My best lie that I was about to fulfill.
The army advanced like a dark, slow-moving river. Each warrior a stone against a mighty current. Suffocating sweat and tears—damp earth, metal. Footsteps muffled beneath the weight of drawn faces and sharp, resigned eyes. Of those who had stared down the edge of unstoppable.
We all moved at our own pace. Some, like me, walked with the steady rhythm of seasoned veterans. Beaten, tortured, waiting for new meat to perish upon slaughter. The ‘fresher’ ones — faltered. Trembled under the crushing weight of what lay ahead. The faint crackle of distant campfires carried by winds with vigor. And the smell of a hypocritical feast maddening from the other side of the walls.
Our armor, dull and scarred from past battles, no longer gleamed in the pale light. No battle cries. An occasional rustle of shifting equipment and the soft scrape of blades being readied. That’s it.
It wasn't a march towards glory. For one, our dead comrades would be with us. Dried lace of ruby splashes would not parasite the ground. Blood wouldn’t carpet the hell we knew too well. For there are no kings and princes here. Only the heartbeat in our ears, minting moments ‘til our eternal rest.
A horse snorted, its sound like a bowstring snapping in still air. To my left, someone pointed up. A lazy hawk circled in the pale sky. Seemed to sense our approach. A clever bird.
Nestor's furrowed brow deepened as he squinted at the raptor. As quiet as ever, his lips pressed into a thin line as whispers broke loose.
“Ya think that’s an omen?" an infantryman asked. His grip tightened on some armiger’s shoulder, knuckles white beneath the dirt. Silver-tongued man shrugged from the carriage beside him. After all, a principle has developed among those in the know: Thoughts for later. And if you have the time to yap—prepare.
And, although it is pointless, some actually did. They whispered prayers under their breath. Clenched and unclenched their fists. We all may disappear today forever, and yet, they tried to grasp the intangible.
Hope.
"A bird's just a bird sometimes," the elder grunted. Wrinkled eyes lingered on the raptor as I caught a shadow of doubt to glaze them. The bloke spoke reason. And Nestor knew it. One might see vultures or crows around here. But not hawks. Not they preferred an “easy” meal.
Draftees followed his gaze. Some with unease, some with quiet reverence, but all of us searched for meaning in the bird's silent glide. Predator flew with such indifference… as though it had already glimpsed the carnage ahead.
Found it wanting, I suppose .
It wheeled and dipped once more before vanishing beyond the ridgeline. Its presence stuck. A mark on thoughts—heavy as the coming storm.
We marched on. Each voiced some sort of concern from behind me. And it was understandable. As the divine wrath had rained upon us in various forms, they saw signs wherever possible. I could not blame them—I was no different.
“My brothers, listen closely.” My voice cut through the muttering, steady and firm as I turned around to face them. The shuffling of armor ceased—their conversations dropped into silence.
Some even bowed. Not out of obedience, of course , but out of respect. For me. For the ‘Ithacan tactician’ they painted me as. I became their only hope for survival, after all.
Ever since Achilles died…
We had seen enough bloodshed.
I stood at the center of my weathered, battle-hardened warriors, scanning the worn faces. We had carried a load of this unending war. We all felt the weariness of this struggle—even the skies faded to gray. But not the gods—they reveled in this. And people needed their war leader. Regal and resolute—quiet authority that spoke of years of shared pain and sacrifice.
Reluctantly, I raised my hand at the wooden horse that loomed before us. Even though deep down I would have preferred not to, I had no choice. Time to play the role.
“Tonight we make the Trojans pay!” The terser promise rolled over the field. I won’t ever forget this place. Thousands had given up their last breath here. Both my men and Trojans .
Many of these men I had buried myself.
"Ten years,” My hand lowered to my chest, fingers splayed across my heart. “We bled, wept. Raged together. Stood against the tide." I went quiet, the hand pressing a little deeper into my armor. They’ve killed us slowly. Bastards.
Before the elusive thoughts flew on, a cough scratched my throat. And more and more. They choked my being, hinting that I better ground myself.
Stay in the moment. Our shared history. Pain . Tortures — all because of one stupid, cheating woman.
Helen.
My hand dropped back to my side as I gripped my blood-covered sheath. After some consideration, the blade got pulled out. “But not anymore.”
The xyphos' tip proudly pointed toward the heavens, challenging the gods themselves. “Now
we’ll
be the ones who
slay!”
Ravenous cries erupted in support of my strategy—an anarchic song of blares and clapping. The guarantee of our success.
“Think of your wives. Children,” I called out over the crowd. My tone lowered, slicing the evening air with elegance. In a matter of moments, order returned to ranks, and my oratory skills led confidently on. “They wonder where you’ve been…”
"They're growing old, and yet you're still here," I continued, voice growing somber. The troops had to realize the cost. This wicked trick was no joke. It could save us. Or… lead directly to Hades. If they wouldn’t listen.
“ Do what I say and you'll see them again.” The sword slid back into its sheath. Loyalty set in stone—our victory over Troy. I waved my hand, steering others toward the wooden structure. Obedient creaks of leather followed along the rustle of my red-stained cloak.
It was time to go.
“Yes, sir!” The men responded with a chorus of metal clanging of gathering weapons. They fell into step behind me, eager for something I couldn’t grasp.
‘ Was it, in fact, the orders they were after?’ I wondered as the collective buzz gained volume. Agamemnon used to bark stuff before. Quite for long before mutinies and protests broke out. The fact that he forced himself on Briseis wasn’t helping, either . Men fell like flies in the cold, the battles proceeded. And now I, the chief commander, promised them to put an end to this.
Gods, why did I do that…
Diomedes strode beside me, his armor gleaming like Helios as I brooded. The feathers on his helmet quivered in the breeze, his braids already tied, ribbons snapping as if the Boreas himself supported him. We still had a lot of time. But Spartans readied in advance, to keep the tradition going.
And through that fierce look, a single, raw emotion flickered— revenge.
In my mind, his being became synonymous with a brewing storm. Silent one, his fury palpable, even though he spoke no words. Bloodshot stare locked onto mine. Pleaded for a release—kept on drilling me with it. The man was an impatient giant—restless and caged, and I knew better than to try to contain him. Especially here. Now, on the battlefield.
Unyielding man—dangerous man.
"Diomedes, the charge’s yours," I sighed, resigned. I had no choice: my friend knew too much, had seen too much. Reckless as he seemed, his judgment remained razor-sharp when it mattered.
Athena loved the man for a reason.
I had to watch out. Him and I became close over the years, true. But... If I cross him, and he’d spill the beans to the wrong people… my own head might roll.
“Hold back when you can,” I added with a wry smile. A pointless request, though—he rarely listens. At least when it is not strategy-related. He lived for a fight, and his scarred mug proved it.
My fierce ally gave me a sharp nod, a rare grin twitching at the corners of his mouth.
“Let’s go!” he bellowed, thrusting his spear toward the sky. His battle cry split the air, rattling bones and shaking hearts. But I didn't even flinch. Diomedes thrived in his element. I'd learned long ago to trust him in it—he was the chaos himself.
And, as far as my gaze went, no one had objections to it.
Amid the tumult, Agamemnon alone stood unwavering— a pillar of calm, like always. I dare say unflinching, unless you count his sacrifice to Artemis .
"Agamemnon, you could flank the guards?" I suggested, more out of respect than need. Much as it irked me, he still held rank. He had to be given something-or people might suspect things.
I do not desire to move further up the ladder. Or lower.
The endowed asshole gave me a curt nod and muttered a dry “Mhgh,” as he passed, his skin ghost-like in the dim evening. I flicked my gaze away from the figure fading into darkness, the living embodiment of the obsession that had united us in… This .
Agamemnon grated on me. I could never stomach his piousness or his sacrifices. Yet he was the man who'd drawn us together, for better or worse, and he'd go down just as easily as his daughter-if you knew where to press.
And I did. Entitlement is a predictable thing—reliable, even. I’m happy to use that.
Climbing into the stomach of the statuary, I spotted my old rival. "Menelaus," I called, smiling. "Guide the men through the gates.”
Take the whole city at large, my brother in arms.
Menelaus was among the few I could tolerate. This shared bond of ours became unspoken with time, after we both married and got here, each for our own reasons.
My friend met my gaze and clasped my shoulder with firm reassurance. " Of course ." He murmured, slipping into the hollow structure, as silent as a shadow. He knew his role. He’d be the first one they’d try to slaughter, and he accepted it.
That’s why I trusted him-he understood the weight of sacrifice and loss of loved ones. An easy man. Just like me.
Scanning the surroundings, I found my next ally. "Eyes sharp, Teucer,” I ordered. “Any ambush— take it out." The archer nodded, fingers already steadying the arrows. Blood-thirst glinted on the man’s features. He needed no further encouragement.
A tug on my cloak begged for attention. Young Ajax stood there beside me, brimming with determination. Before he could speak, though, Nestor pulled him back. Gray features, full of patience and knowledge, silently asked me for something. A way to contribute . To help, whilst the smaller ones stayed back.
"Help return the hostage," I whispered, grateful to offer the senior a task worthy of his wisdom. Helen still needed protection. And the wise advisor, though old, had earned his place beside us. Many times over.
Finally, my gaze fell on Neoptolemus-p reeminent son of Achilles. Fates claimed him to be the key to our victory. The famous prophecy loomed over us all. This boy was not like his father, though. At least, not yet.
"Neo," I said, surprised at the almost fatherly tone that crept in, "avenge your father. Kill the brothers of Hector."
The budding fellow blinked through bloody tears. "Yes, sir." - the grieving kid whispered as he glanced up. When I first saw him, he'd sworn vengeance on his father's grave—vowed to leave the front lines only after he had bled his enemies dry. Right there, among the mingled ashes of Patroclus and our blondie pighead. Admirable determination . Unmistakable, as was the weight on his shoulders.
Like father, like son.
I watched him for a moment longer, reading the heft beneath the hardened expression. This kid reminded me of my younger self. Ripe and unsure of his capabilities.
I observed the others climb into the horse, burying flickering compassion deep within. There was no room for mercy.
For now— victory only .
As the last of us climbed into the ungulate’s belly, the world closed in. Chamber sealed upon the last plate, plunging us into a suffocating blackness. Air grew thick amidst sweat and metal. Amplified the scent of fear. Silence stretched across the cramped space, broken by ragged gasps and whispered prayers. A desperate rhythm filling the darkness.
The walls closed in with my every heartbeat. Pressed hard against me. This can’t go on for any longer.
I knelt, pulling flint and iron striker from my pouch. “Find your inner strength now,” I stroke the flint with practiced precision. Sparks showered the tinder. Dry fibers cracked—tiny embers caught a flicker of flame in the void.
Careful to not spoil it, I coaxed them toward the oil lamp. Wick rested there in the shallow bowl of oil as the soft light spread. It creeped through the gloom, casting flickering shadows on the wood.
Soldiers huddled in the tight space, gripping weapons in anticipation. Faces got bloodless against the dark. They glanced at each other in the dingy room, communicating in tense, silent nods. Everything between us buzzed.
“Use that well of pride.” I murmured, voice barely louder than the crackling flame. The soft beams reflected in the faces of my men—mirrors of our hope. Or something… darker. More primal. Maybe I misjudged them all-who knows.
My hands trembled. I raised the flame as Its flickering light casted sharp shadows on my face. Troopers pulled themselves from the edges of despair.
“Fight through pain. Ask yourself inside—” Numerous desperate hands clapped my shoulders. For my belief. Strength, even. How ironic.
“What do you live for? Who do you fight for? ”
The questions hung heavy. Flames quivered with a collective breath. This wasn’t just a battle anymore. Our irrevocable act, where hope and fury collided. Only Nika would see it through the dark… and, help us all, if we’re lucky.
“And what about you?” a high, nightingale-like tune cut through the depths of low surrounding basses. No matter how hard the veterans tried, the same questions avalanched in my direction.
Didn’t I tell each one of them already?
The source of it all was a fresh-faced cadet. His eyes wide and full of questioning. Expectations. That explains it . Younger ones always pried for interesting stories.
A grim smile pulled at my lips as I sighed, squeezing the ceramic bowl in his hands. Only few actually knew the reality of it.
I had come here because of an oath—just like most. A foolish, youthful vow made for a woman who was no longer the love of my life. Palamedes was simply smart enough to catch me on it. Dumb enough to let his guard down,
though. Foolish of him—
he paid his price.
Helen had long since faded from my heart—became replaced by the memory of my true home. In Ithaca, my patient wife awaited my arrival. And did not run away with some enemy.
My dear ducko…
I could almost hear her laugh again. The way it rang out like a bell when I tried—and failed—to tickle her under the softness of our bedsheets. When she almost stole some meat from my plate once. Tried to do so many times… Penelope had always been so lighthearted about such matters.
She had this way of making the mundane feel extraordinary, turning gray days into something bright. Even now, years later—hard to think of her without the same warmth spreading.
After all, she gave me the most beautiful things I could wish for. Her love, acceptance. Smart and bewitching mind. And a strong son—Telemachus.
How old should he be? Ten? Eleven? —time sure flies. My baby boy was so small and soft when I last held him. His small blanket would not fit him anymore, I think. Even though mom worked so hard on it. He had probably grown up a ton since then. With my features or Penelope’s… I wonder.
I blinked upon the numerous kicks in the sides, pulling myself back from the past.
“I fight… for us.” I declared, raising the fire higher for everyone to see. “ For all of us .” Flames flickered in my palms, merged with memories. I fight for Ithaca, for my family. And this cunning plan will end it, I’m sure of that.
But will they recognize me when I return? Would the shadow of war follow me home? I, the man who conceived it— would I still be worthy of peace?
‘I’m on my way. I’ll see you soon.’— I promised silently, extinguishing the flames. Whatever happens-I must win this battle. Nostalgia must wait. The Trojan walls neared. Their doom was coming.
A lot of time passed before “my gift” reached the city’s heart. Trojans paid little mind to the wooden present. As expected. Joyful shouts came from behind the timber. Thousands of hands clapped on the oak plates of the sculpture. Rejoiced in supposed victory, while they could.
Women sang merry victory hymns, the smell of honey and wine bursted in my nostrils. The triumph over innocent deaths was reaching its climax. Young chirps jumped above the wood. Were they happy, too ?
I planned to destroy it… The festivity. The city. The land… All due to a lovesick idiot. If only I could warn those civilians, that you went mad, Paris .
Those children didn’t have long, coward .
In the suffocating darkness, every creak of the wood felt like thunder in my ears. Everyone could hear the steady thump of my heart. Too loud in the oppressive quiet. Hands clenched around my quiver until knuckles paled. Gasps came in shallow, measured sips. Part of me urged to spare them—inhaling too deeply might betray our presence.
Closer to midnight, the festivities subsided. They sure took time. My neck tensed as I scanned the city through wood cracks. Kids slumbered below the statue’s legs. Adults snored in alcoholic dreams. T he townspeople fell asleep.
Then, with a swift, decisive motion, I rose. I need to finish this. Penelope’s waiting— the time has come. Pay.
Ensuing a swift kick, the oak plate crashed open. Wood splintered in the noisy explosion. Battalion surged forward, their breath catching as we spilled out into the moonlit market square . Blades gleamed with hunger at our descent upon the unsuspecting enemies.
I lunged forward, blade sliding across the first guard's throat. Soft gurgling of life drained from severed arteries. Sprayed against my face as he collapsed. Still warm. Another turned, hands spread wide in horror, but my sword was faster. Their final puffs had no chance to warn the rest.
“Attack!” Barbaric roar shattered the night’s stillness. Men poured from the stallion. Screams and clashing steel filled the air, overwhelming the unsuspecting drunkards. Weapons glinted in the moonlight.
The night erupted into violence. Corduroy crimson rivers mingled with spilled wine, soaking the earth beneath the fallen. Bodies crumpled. Lifeless orbs reflected the flickering torchlight. The scent of tears and salt burned the acidic night. Men’s guts spilled. Their insides were slick and steamed on the cold stone.
Good for animals to feast on. They would hardly ever see the blue sky again, anyway.
Screams split the night as the city caught ablaze. Panic spread like a wildfire. A cacophony of tragedy— My plan was successful. There’s no turning back now.
Mothers wailed at the loss of their children in chaos. Soldiers crashed through doors, dragging them from their beds. Blood splattered the streets—the butchery began in earnest. The whimpers of drunken Trojans culminated, interrupting solely the roars of the Greeks. We finally got what we desired. Revenge.
A war never shows mercy. And this one was not an exception.