Work Text:
“Odysseus?”
Menelaus could barely form a single thought. He—how—Helen said someone was here to visit, but it can't be—it can’t—
The other man let out a chuckle, his grin laced with that irritating yet endearing cockiness Menelaus remembered from what felt like so long ago. “Hello, old friend.”
Without another moment’s hesitation, the Spartan king rushed forward and engulfed Odysseus in a tight embrace—so tight, he could barely breathe. But he didn’t care, because Odysseus had made it, he was alive, and he was right here.
Right here. Right in front of him.
Just like they had been all those years ago outside the high walls of Troy, embracing each other before marching into yet another battle, telling each other to “be safe, or I’ll ask Hades to send you back so I can kill you myself for being a fool.”
Gods knew how much Menelaus had wept for Odysseus while he was still suffering upon the wine-dark sea.
“Odysseus,” he repeated, savoring the name as if it was water he was drinking after nearly dying of thirst. He’d spoken it so many times in these past ten years, but never like this. Oh, he had longed to say it like this—sweetly, lovingly—rather than tinged with concern and pity.
“Odysseus,” he said once more, and fought down his tears enough to add, “you made it.”
“I made it,” the other man replied, his tears falling onto Menelaus’s shoulder. “I made it, my friend. I'm here.”
“You're here,” Menelaus repeated, letting himself weep freely. “At last.”