Chapter Text

Ctimene was born in the height of lambing season, and as easily.

Her brother was the last to come to see her, since he had been out in the pastures keeping an eye on an ewe, and had to wait till the lambs had arrived and were walking steadily.

(twin lambs!)

"Is she pretty?" her brother had said, trying to see over the fuss and edge of the bed.

"No," Eurycleia had said, showing him Ctimene - all squashed and red and freshly washed.

"Oh," Odysseus said, "She looks like a wrinkled raisin."

"Yes," Eurycleia had said, "Thank all the Gods."

Ctimene was incredibly normal; as she grew, Mother had combed out her hair, with barely any wave and smiled at nut-brown hair, which did not have the lustre of sunlight. When braided, it looked like smooth and sleek rope that her brother used to lash the fishing boats. Her complexion matched nothing that the bards sang when Father hosted guests, not like the smooth ivory and alabaster from far away Egypt, nor as white and glowing like the spring sun.

Instead, she freckled in the late spring and summer, handfuls of ground pepper across her nose and cheeks, and hints across the top of her shoulders, while her brother tanned evenly. After a fresh bath, her older brother looked like polished walnut wood, rich and handsome.

Everything her brother put his hands to - would come easily, for he was clever, much cleverer than her. He hunted well, soothed the sheep, and went sailing with the other men while Ctimene was trying to spin wool as easily as Mother. Under his hands, the flock entrusted to him grew easily, with nearly every lamb surviving each season to become fertile and ready by the next.

He always had a lot of friends, enough that there were plenty who would volunteer to go with him on whatever adventure he wished.

Ctimene wished she could go with him more.

"Ah, if only you were a boy," Father had said, patting her. "If only -"

But she was a girl who had to learn how to spin yarn properly, what point was there complaining of it? She had her chores to do, her skills to learn, and Odysseus had his.

Still she could sneak away from her chores, and follow her brother down to the stream. And Odysseus never gave her away when she did, even if she was noisier than a lame fawn crashing through the grass.

"Never be different," Odysseus had told her, the first time, tugging her hair and laughing, and redoing her braids into silly loops that didn't look at all like the butterfly she wanted.

"But I am terrible at this!" Ctimene had complained. "As terrible as you are with styling hair!"

"I am but a man," Odysseus said, eyes wide and innocent, "I do not know how to style a woman's hair - aah!"

Later, while wringing out his chiton, hair all glistening dark curls like starbursts of hyacinths and dripping water down his nose, Odysseus did promise to teach her how to stalk through a forest better, because it was a skill better learnt when young, and besides, there were plenty of forest in the world, why shouldn't she know how to be quiet?

If she took longer to learn it, her brother said it was no longer than anyone else. Only a demi-god could learn it within days or less.

(When she asked how long Odysseus had taken to learn how to walk silently through the undergrowth, he'd went silent and handed her a flower instead.)

It was one of those times, she'd snuck away from her chores, leaving her weaving to follow Odysseus into the forest, finally silent enough that he didn't hear her coming sneaking towards the stream where she could hear laughter --

And then gasped in surprise at the glistening ladies laughing like trickling brooks.

"Come with us, come, little prince," they cooed like soft spring rains.

"Ladies," her brother said, "I still have to go home while the fish is still fresh -"

"Are we not pretty enough to tempt you to stay a while?" said one, with eyes that were blue like the blazing summer sky reflected off streams. Her hair flowed in the air even though Ctimene couldn't feel a breeze, shifting colours like the glimmer of fish scales in silvery light. One of her hands slid like a young trout to her brother's waist.

Odysseus' hand snapped down to his waist, arresting her wrist.

"Gorgeous as water, my ladies," her brother said.

"A parched man would need no urging to quench his thirst," Said another, eyes like green glass, her smile white like the foam where river met sea after a storm. "Little prince, you are so thirsty, are you not?"

"I -" slender fingers, pale, almost silver like the little silverlings that whipped through the rivers, slid up Odysseus' thigh, under the edge of his chiton - and Odysseus took another two steps away from the riverbank. "I thank you, ladies, for the clear water, and I would make libations -"

"Oh, we need no thanks," another of them said, and her hair curled like the watergrass, waving gently and draping over Odysseus' shoulders. The pins of his chiton loosened - one fell from his shoulder. "Little prince." her smile was wide and sweet, and she touched her thumb to his lips.

"No, we do want the thanks," said yet another lady, and for a moment, it looked like she shimmered, merging with the other ladies, but then she was pushing a hand into Odysseus' hair - this, her brother tried to stop, getting a hand to her wrist and pushing - but yet another hand started tugging on the other side of his belt. "Gratitude is a mark of good breeding, little prince."

"I-" her brother tried to step back yet more, but the ladies flowed like seafoam, it was like nothing he did could stop them from following, leaving not even a bent blade of grass in their wake. "I would make a sacrifice for you all, at the altars -"

Another step and then he was suddenly backed against a tree that was not there earlier. And pale hands, pale like aspen, curled against the darker shade of his throat, and another lady melted out of the bark. "I don't think my cousins want dead sacrifices, little prince." Odysseus made a noise, reached tried to twist his shoulders away - but the watery hands started sliding into the gaps along her brother's sides.

"Please, ladies - " he said, voice going a little high.

The aspen fingers slid down over his throat, slow, pulling him back against the tree. "Please what?" she said, voice soft new leaves brushing in the breeze, and her fingers slide along the neckline of her brother's tunic, and started to slide below.

One of the watery ladies smacked those aspen hands. "Leave our little prince alone, cousin."

Ridiculous - who were they to try and fight over her brother? Especially when he was clearly trying to leave?

Ctimene picked up a stick and yelled, "Hey! Stop stealing his pins!"

And suddenly all of their eyes were on her - so many shades of green and blue, and even winter-rain clear. So many, and there was just one Ctimene. But her brother was trying to keep his belt on, his chiton starting to gape over his shoulder and she scowled at the tree woman.

She looked amused, and pulled her hands away to tuck her fingers under her chin.

"And -" Ctimene took another step forward - "And -" what was a threat that could work against what were clearly not normal people? Gods, maybe - Nymphs - if she had fire maybe -

"Little rival, I merely wish to be a friend," the tree nymph said, amusement a rush of leaves falling. "He has plenty of kisses to share."

"What is a mere little mortal girl to us cousins," sneered the one with glass-green eyes, "How can she satisfy our little prince?"

"Every prince needs more than one woman," said the tree nymph, and grass started to creep up her brother's ankles. Odysseus yelped, trying to jump - but he had nowhere to go - into the water nymphs' hands, or up the creepy tree.

"Keep your gross grass to yourself!" Ctimene yelled again, and ran towards the river.

She didn't care about the skills her brother had taught her - the only thought she had was to beat those hands off her brother's shoulders, and stomp the grass.

Her feet smashed through the undergrowth, sound of crashing and snapping twigs barely louder than her own angry heartbeat.

She slashed her stick at the watery ladies - and they drew back.

"Scat!" Ctimene shouted. It was stupid - there were no words she had to tell nymphs to go away, and only the words Eurycleia had for chasing chickens out of the kitchen. "Scat out! Stop touching my brother!"

Odysseus grabbed her before she fell into the water chasing the watery ladies. Ctimene kept slashing her stick at them

"A sister - isn't that cute," said one.

"But she's - " one of the ladies wrinkled her nose. "So noisy."

"A mortal," said another. "Noisy, boring mortal."

"Mortal," said the tree nymph, like she was smelling cow dung, if trees could smell, and then the tree disappeared, melting into the rest of the forest.

"Shoo!" Ctimene yelled and stomped her foot, crunching grass, and loose gravel fell into the river with little plinks.

The watery ladies all sniffed. "Boring," said one of them, and then they burst into beautiful glittering sprays of water, fading into a cloud of mist.

Ctimene stabbed the stick at the faint rainbow that shimmered into the mist, and it faded.

"Magical," Odysseus breathed.

Ctimene jerked her head up to her brother. "Brother! They were gross nymphs!"

But he wasn't looking at the beautiful fading mist, he was grinning down at her.

"What," she said.

"You," He said, and kissed her forehead noisily.

"Ewww, brother!" she said and smacked his shoulder with her stick - it snapped, but all he did was laugh.

Odysseus took her by the hand and led her home openly instead of helping her sneak in through the back.

Instead of getting scolded for missing her chores and getting leaf stains on her skirts and ruining her hair, Eurycleia hugged her and gave her little honey buns.

Mother had taken one look at her, sticky-fingered with honey and Odysseus beaming and swept them both into a hug.

Later that night, a strange man was at the head of their table for dinner.

"Dear, dear," he said, smiling down when Ctimene was nudged towards him. "How interesting."

"Did you know already, Grandfather?" Mother said.

The strange man didn't look as old as the old bard, nor as old Mentor who taught Odysseus how to make symbols on wax tablets. Grandfather might have been a term of being respectful, but he really looked younger than Father.

"I don't know everything, dear Anticlea," the man said, smiling at her, quick and silver. But not like a fish - it was like the shine of the good silver plates that only Eurycleia was allowed to polish, except more… silver.

"Then you may have heard something, in all your travels." Mother was exquisitely polite as she always was, but there was something in her voice like impatience.

He gestured to Ctimene, and she went to him, scowling up at his face.

"Just because my voice serves my Lord Father," He continued, leaning down to peer at Ctimene, "does not mean I know the whys and wherefores of all that my Lord Father does." He grinned down at Ctimene. "I am not as wise as my sister."

"I am sure your head isn't as empty as you pretend," Mother said.

He tsk'd, "Ah, where is the respect you should give your grandfather, my darling Anticlea? Your husband is so much more polite." Despite his words, he didn't seem at all offended.

"He is your line as well, and gives you all the respect you deserve," Mother said.

Ctimene saw Eurycleia bite back a smile, and didn't manage to hide her smile in time.

The man laughed, and flicked her nose. Ctimene sneezed. The man grinned at her and leaned back into his chair.

"Perfectly normal," he said.

"What does that mean?" Mother said.

"That means," the man said, crossing his legs at his ankles - the bones were very well defined even in his sandals. Something glinted white over the curve of his heels as he shifted, but Ctimene couldn't see them clearly, "she is normal. The most exquisitely normal mortal I've ever seen."

"And…?" Mother said.

The man smiled winningly at Mother, and held up a cup to her. Ctimene wasn't sure where he got the cup - he hadn't been holding anything earlier.

Mother sniffed, but took the jug that Eurycleia was holding, and poured it into that cup.

Mother waited till he took a sip before she jerked her chin at him.

"Alright, alright," the man said. "She's boring."

Ctimene knew clearly he was talking about her, and that sounded like a bad thing!

The man glanced at her and ruffled her hair. Her hair fell out of the braids that Eurycleia had done them up in, and for a moment, it looked like they curled into glistening ebony shavings, deep and dark as midnight.

When she shook her head, scowling at him, smacking his hand from her hair, her brown hair was just a mess, slightly crimped from the braid he'd somehow undone.

He snapped his fingers, and pointed at her. "See? It doesn't take."

"Oh," Mother breathed, and held out the jug, blindly managing to put it back into Eurycleia's hands before reaching down to pick Ctimene back up. "My love. My girl, my normal boring girl."

"Mother," Ctimene said, trying to figure out how was that supposed to match with mother's smile.

"My darling," Mother said, and laughed into Ctimene's messy hair.

Getting no answers, Ctimene glared at the man who was clearly making mother silly.

The man tipped his cup at her. "So when's dinner?"

Ctimene was allowed - no, encouraged - to go to the fields with Odysseus. So he'd carry her distaff and the pile of roving for her to sit in a sheltered part of the fields, and as long as he was in her sightline, apparently absolutely nothing happened.

She perfected spinning yarn to the backdrop of Odysseus teaching his dogs the commands to herd his black sheep; as the flock grew, almost as solidly black as his own hair, she too ended up starting to card and spin black yarn - smoother than the normal white wool from the normal flocks, and far more valuable. Soon their ships' sails were starting to unfurl sails woven from the yarn that she had spun from her brother's flock.

Where Odysseus went, she also followed; she had learned how to walk as silent in the woods as he could, so she could follow him on hunts and learn how to dress his kills and the beginnings of preparing skins.

Sometimes she'd go on the fishing ships with him, help him count their huge catches.

What was most unfair, though, was that other boys and men grew salt-roughed in the seaspray, skin red and burned under the sun, especially in the summer. She had to cover herself with her himation and other layers, and still she'd get freckles that would only fade during winter. Odysseus instead grew more handsome; she was constantly attacking her hair with oils to counter the seaspray, while he looked like his curls were carved and polished chips of onyx with barely any oil.

If he used oil at all, even the grizzled old traders and fishermen would turn to look at him, the Prince of Ithaca, pass through.

"It's unfair," she sighed, tying her hair up as tight as it could go, after it'd fallen out of its bun again. "He is a boy!"

Eurycleia would nod and help her. "Yes, indeed. Poor Odysseus."

"I hate you so much," Ctimene would say, brushing her tangled hair out from yet another bad hair day.

"Tragic," Odysseus would say, "when I love you so much."

He'd try to help her too - and for three breaths her hair would smooth like it's been treated with the smoothest oils from the furthest countries, but as soon as he let go, her hair would revert to being its boring self again.

"Why can't he be gross and oily like other boys," she'd say to her parents.

Father would simply nod sadly.

"Would slathering myself in oil help?" Odysseus asked.

"And then rolling in dust," Ctimene said.

"In the courtyard?" Odysseus asked, eyeing the doorway.

"And also in sheep shi-"

"Ctimene!" Mother said.

"But Ctimene's suggestions are very effective," Odysseus said. "Maybe this time it would work."

Work on making him normal.

Alas - just as there was nothing that Odysseus could do to help anything of Ctimene stay smooth and beautiful, nothing Ctimene could suggest was permanent.

"It's just you, darling," the man with the silver smile said, and nearly startled Ctimene into upending her entire basket of spun yarn. She nearly swung her distaff at him, but he just nudged it aside and stole her lunch.

"What do you mean-"

"The best effect is when you are around him - that's the only time he's normal," the man said, and handed her back her plate. His fingerprints were briefly shimmering silver on the paint, but as soon as she took it back, the silver faded like morning dew in the noon sun. "which is why you should watch the sheep."

"Unfair," Ctimene muttered, as he flitted off to go and speak to Odysseus. Unlike with those silvery watery nymphs, Odysseus let him lean in and drape over him, because at least he left her brother's clothing alone.

And… of course, looking at them together at the top of the hill, Ctimene could see that they looked very similar - Odysseus and the silver smile man, and it wasn't because their chlamys were cut the same, or that they both had shepherd crooks. The way the man's silvery ankles crossed as he leaned in looked the same as her brother's posture.

"Why must I be here while you chase sheep," she groused, when Odysseus came back to claim his lunch in her shaded spot. "Great-grandfather ate my lunch," she said, and Odysseus broke his sandwich in half and handed one over to her.

Her brother's clever mouth quirked a little. "I'm not yet older than Ganymede," he said. "Sorry."

Ctimene thought of that and made a face. "Disgusting."

"Great-grandfather said that once I grow out my beard," Odysseus said, "the risk would be a lot less."

They didn't have another sibling - if Odysseus caught the eye of a divine being more powerful and quicker to take offense than those river nymphs, Ctimene's distaff wouldn't be able to save him, and Ctimene would have to marry a cousin to keep the family and property safe.

"You'll look uglier with a beard," she told him.

Odysseus brightened. "You think so?"

"Yeah," she said, but Ctimene didn't think anything as normal as a beard would fix anything.

Their parents actually had an argument when the elders of the families insisted they send Odysseus to retrieve their sheep.

"It is a huge insult," Mother said slowly. "If they dare to lift entire flocks of the sheep."

"And not just the normal ones," Odysseus said.

"While they are your sheep, my son," Father said, "perhaps we can let it go - it is far for you to travel."

"Must my brother go himself?" Ctimene asked. "If the Elders insist, then they can send a diplomatic mission. My brother need not go on his own."

"They took my herdsmen," Odysseus said, standing and pacing. "This means they intend to also breed them-"

"Only you know how to breed them," Ctimene said, "The herdsmen merely will keep them alive. We have enough sheep left that we can make up the numbers in several years."

Her brother threw her a look, but it was more than distress about the missing sheep. He flopped onto a couch. Father sighed.

"It is still a huge risk," Mother agreed. "The insult can be addressed but it does not have to be by you. Like your father said, even if they are yours -"

"They are not mine! Those sheep are Ctimene's dowry!" Odysseus burst out. He blushed when Ctimene stared at him. "Maybe you do not care yet, but it is not fair that my little sister should have done so much work for the black wool trade, and then see nothing in return."

Maybe she had been complaining too much about sitting in the hot fields of sheep while guarding her brother's safety with her distaff.

Odysseus looked away. "And - who else can we send? Three hundred sheep, even if they were the usual sheep, we cannot give up so easily, without a word. The word would spread that Ithaca is easy pickings. Mother - that was three hundred sheep they lifted in a single night! Next they would lift six hundred, or they would take our cattle?"

The rest of their flocks were at risk - and possibly their ships as well. The elders were right that the Messenians had to answer - return the sheep, or pay recompense.

"And three hundred sheep do significantly impact the trade," Odysseus added.

Father exhaled. "My son is approaching the age-"

"It still doesn't need to be him," Mother said. "If he went - Ctimene would have to go as well."

"Mother, I am Prince of Ithaca," Odysseus said, and rolled off the couch, to go to Mother's knees. He propped his face up on her lap, looking up at her. "Surely, I do have to do something for my land, for my sister?"

"Anticlea," Father said, "surely… a boy cannot be kept home forever."

Mother looked at Odysseus, and at Father, then towards Ctimene.

Ctimene had only been as far as the other end of Ithaca's territories on their fishing boats. The thought of stepping on land further beyond their waters made her chest squeeze.

But Odysseus still had the bare beginnings of a beard.

"There … is a lot of forest in the way?" she asked.

"There are well-maintained roads once we get to the right port," Odysseus said.

"So… that's alright," Ctimene said. Roads had no nymphs. Roads were what travellers used - and Travellers came under the domain of Hermes, so… that was three layers of safety.

She nodded.

Odysseus beamed at her.

"We can make them pay twice as much, right?" Ctimene said. "That'd teach them to steal my dowry like cowards."

Chapter Text

Odysseus had to bargain mother down from sending nearly twenty people with them - Ctimene wasn't entirely sure that they could just go by themselves, the two of them, but twenty did seem a little much, since it would slow them down immensely with the supplies.

They compromised with four others; her brother had said that it was better to be a little less threatening, in favour of travelling faster and lighter. Besides, Odysseus was very sure he would be able to convince the Messenians to return their sheep untouched.

"I would allow them one shearing, even, if that's what they want," Odysseus told Ctimene, "as long as they return the sheep and interest besides. Everyone would be happy that way."

"Really?" Ctimene said.

"... well, happy enough," Odysseus laughed. "Because I would drown all the sheep and ruin their fleeces if they tried to breed them."

Well.

Alright.

That was one of the things about sheep anyway - the value was in the many years of wool they could produce, not just in three hundred sheep-shaped meat blocks.

"Give them a choice, and they'd pick the one that they'd get some of the benefit they wanted, rather than the one where they get none of it." Odysseus said.

Maybe her brother had been right - maybe they wouldn't have needed even the four others with them.

They were only two days inland when they met someone going the other way.

It was the first person Ctimene had seen who could rival her brother in looks - taller than Odysseus with wavy hair that was a beautiful colour of spring fawns, streaked with what might almost be gold threads in the firelight.

She could hide in the wagon, while her brother extracted a name - "Iphitos," the man said, clasping her brother's hand, smiling warm and friendly at Odysseus. "My father's cattle had been disappeared from their stables."

"You have an idea of who might have stolen them?" Odysseus said, "Such skill in disappearing cattle without a sound - it does not sound like a normal man could do it."

"Indeed! My father has decided that it was Heracles," Iphitos said, shaking his head, "but surely, a man like Heracles would not."

For a moment, Ctimene had thought that Iphitos, with his extreme good looks, was part-god too, and that was risky - her distaff was packed a little away in the back of the wagon, and the closest thing she had on hand was the wooden spoon they used to cook dinner - but the way he'd looked when he'd mentioned Heracles' name - something shining in his striking eyes.

Iphitos had no eyes for anyone else but Heracles.

"Therefore," Iphitos said, "I am journeying to his domicile to ask him to come help find the thief."

"Ah yes," her brother said, something in the corner of his mouth twitching. Was that a smile? Or perhaps a pout?

… Odysseus' eyes were intent on Iphitos.

Oh no, she thought. Iphitos had no beard either, but he was taller, clearly a little older than Odysseus, while looking nothing like the slender Ganymede.

"You use that bow?"

"Yes!" Iphitos said, unslinging it. "Do you like it? Father passed it to me - he had taught Heracles on this bow." Iphitos smoothed his fingers over it, fitting it exactly to his palm.

Odysseus reached up to run a finger over the polished limb of it. "Yes," he said. "It's beautiful."

His eyes were not on the bow - not that Iphitos was looking.

"Is it very far?" Odysseus said. "Heracles' domicile, that is."

"A while," Iphitos said, spinning the bow in his grip, and then hooking it back over his shoulder. "So-"

"You could eat with us, rest a while," Odysseus interrupted. "Take a break?"

If Odysseus tried to give Iphitos food, Ctimene thought, she would hit him with the spoon. He'd somehow gotten enchanted by Iphitos's pretty hair, or his striking eyes. At least he hadn't tried to offer Iphitos a ride - if he had, Ctimene WOULD hit them both with the spoon, because it'd mean Odysseus' head had gone broken somewhere, to suggest going away from the Messenians who needed a lesson in the consequences of stealing her brother's sheep.

"It's too far a distance to go, and the sun is still up," Iphitos said apologetically. "But give me your name - that we can visit properly."

Odysseus' eyes clearly lit up. "Odysseus, son of Laertes, of Ithaca," he said, "If we do meet again--" he considered and reached for his knife on his belt. "Here! Let us exchange gifts - since I cannot give you food and host you properly, then let me give you a gift, and a promise to tell you stories about my grandfather Autolycus and Heracles."

"Ah!" Iphitos looked a little flummoxed, at being offered Odysseus' knife. Ctimene was torn between throwing her spoon at them if he accepted, and throwing the spoon at him if Iphitos refused it.

Frozen in indecision, Ctimene didn't know what to think when Iphitos unslung his bow, hooked his leg around its smooth limb and unstrung it. It sprung back into a strange shape, almost like a crescent moon.

"Here," he said, "Odysseus, son of Laertes, may we exchange stories then, of our fathers and grandfathers, when we next meet."

The weapons changed hands, and Ctimene missed her chance to fling the spoon at Iphitos' head.

She could poke it at Odysseus when Iphitos left, until her brother remembered to look back at her.

"What is going on in your head," she said, scowling a little.

"Nothing," Odysseus said, and looked down at the unstrung bow in his hand. "... I don't know how to string this."

"Idiot," Ctimene said. "Hope he comes back and teaches you then."

They were getting ready to make tents to sleep when a knife melted out of the shadows and around Odysseus' throat.

"Hey-!" Ctimene said, snatching up a still glowing stick from the fire.

"I apologise," Iphitos said, "and this is horribly rude but. You mentioned your grandfather and Heracles?"

"Yes," Odysseus said slowly, and gestured for Ctimene to put the burning wood back down. "If you had returned earlier, we could have fed you soup."

"And then I would have had to violate xenia," Iphitos said. "Your grandfather, Autolycus."

Ctimene huffed. "Brother."

Odysseus gave the entire camp a bright smile, somehow managing to include the man holding him by knifepoint at the throat. "Well it's either him or great-grandfather, don't you agree?"

"Then I regretfully have to hold you captive until your grandfather returns the cattle," Iphitos said apologetically. "Please come with me."

"Gladly," Odysseus. "Ctimene, just stay."

Stay and call for great-grandfather, he meant.

"Of course," she said crossly. It wasn't like there was anything else she could do - her presence could chase away nymphs by repelling them with sheer boredom, but it didn't work on a wholly mortal person.

And her stupid brother had constructed this trap with his own words and walked into it.

She stayed standing as Iphitos backed Odysseus out from the rest of the camp, the others looking between her and Odysseus, confused.

"Surely… the usual hostage would be-" said one.

"Just pack up the camp," she said, "my brother will probably be stuck scrubbing his new friend's carriages for a while to pay off Grandfather's debt."

And serve him right if she let him.

So there.

She was mending the hem of one of Odysseus' chitons when there was a scrape of sandals next to her, and a hand reaching down to steal her cup.

"You've left a gap there," Great-grandfather said.

"It'd serve him right," Ctimene said. "He and his stupid mouth."

"Then when the trimming falls off, your poor brother would not be so properly attired."

"Maybe then he'd have an excuse for having no brains," Ctimene said, and snipped the thread, to glare at the bit of the trimming Great-grandfather had pointed out.

The gap was due to the trimming being sewed on crooked on the other side of the hem - she was going to have to redo it.

Or maybe her stupid brother could just wear it like this and look stupid, and then he wouldn't be able to stare at pretty new men and get himself kidnapped.

"I don't think that's how brains work," Great-grandfather said. "My brother wears a lot of trim, but he doesn't have much brains."

Ctimene looked at the still dark sky, then gave her great-grandfather as flat a look as she could.

Great-grandfather smiled winningly at her, and took a long swallow of her watered wine. Then pouted. "This doesn't even have anything in it."

"That's because it's for me," Ctimene said, "not for guests."

"Family doesn't even get anything special?"

"Family gets whatever we have on-hand when they drop in unannounced."

Great-grandfather tapped his staff against the floor of her wagon. "Tragic. Your brother always at least adds honey."

"Since he's not here, you're just getting water and wine," Ctimene said and picked up Odysseus' chlamys, to inspect where he tended to pin it closed. One part was getting worn, so she was going to have to start darning. Maybe he's freezing out there doing whatever Iphitos was making him do. Serve him right.

"And why is he not here?" Great-grandfather prompted.

"Busy paying off grandfather's debt, I presume," Ctimene said. "Maybe his fingers are freezing off."

"It's barely fall," Great-grandfather said, taking another swallow of her drink, and then paused. Looked down at her again. Her hands stilled, needle still in the fabric.

"What?"

"Interesting," Great-grandfather said. "Well. I'm sure he is going to have to serve his penance one way or another, it doesn't have to be for this one mortal."

Great-grandfather got to his feet and hopped off the wagon. His gaze was still level from where he'd been sitting.

"Which he?" Ctimene said.

Great-grandfather leaned over, almost horizontally, to ruffle her hair and ruin her braids. "That'd be telling. I'm off to retrieve my terrible son now, be good!"

Odysseus returned with Iphitos before dawn; Ctimenes had stopped darning Odysseus' chlamys because she was too tired to not stab herself with the needle. She was instead wasting a thin plyed yarn making a terrible ribbon, which she was going to sew onto Odysseus' neckline somewhere, and nearly fell off her seat when Odysseus called to her.

"Ctimene! Ctimene, we're back!"

"About time," she said, and put her tiny loom aside, considered casting about for her himation to hide her face, and gave up because she'd put it down somewhere and now she couldn't figure where it'd gone.

"My apologies, lady," Iphitos said, politely keeping his eyes averted. "For borrowing your brother without warning."

"I think the knife was plenty of warning," Ctimene said.

Iphitos looked a little shamefaced.

"Ctimene," Odysseus said, choosing to gloss over it all, "Iphitos would travel with us for a while, and teach me how to use the bow."

"Welcome," Ctimene said. If her brother wanted to bring along the person who'd made him scoop horse shit or something, that was his problem.

"Ctimene."

Ctimene sighed. "Welcome, my brother's friend, Iphitos, son of Eurytus," she said. "My brother will find you something to drink and eat."

"Your welcome is gracious, lady," Iphitos said, and at least Odysseus took the hint, to take Iphitos to the dying fire, and let Ctimene drop the curtains of the wagon.

She found her himation under Odysseus' chlamys, and huffed and wrapped herself in both and went to sleep.

Iphitos stayed with them another day; the path towards his home split from theirs fairly soon, and he had to return to his father's anyway. Grandfather was supposed to have returned the cattle. Or horses. Or whatever it was Grandfather had stolen, and Iphitos was supposed to supervise his compensation.

"So Iphitos didn't make you pay for any of it?" Ctimene said over lunch while Iphitos had retired to the woods out of sight, for privacy.

"No, well, yes," Odysseus said, "a bit, but then Great-grandfather and Grandfather showed up so he stopped."

Ctimene narrowed her glare at her brother. He continued to eat, though his ears got pink.

"And he's here because…?"

"He promised to teach me the bow to repay me for my unwarranted service," Odysseus said, and stuffed a big bite of bread into his mouth, so he couldn't answer Ctimene's pokes.

So he had been shovelling horse-shit. Or polishing spears or something, Ctimene decided. Fine. Iphitos should pay her brother back then.

At least Odysseus got lessons out of it - with his usual fast-learning, one day was enough.

Ctimene did clean the knife's sheath - the knife that had been Odysseus' and now was Iphitos. It felt like something Mother would do - even if Iphitos was here because he OWED her brother anyway.

He should give Odysseus more arrows as well. Was the least he could do. She added some leather cording to the strap, specifically choosing the braiding pattern that looked like arrow-heads. There. That was hint enough.

When he left, Iphitos did leave an extra quiver of finely made arrows, and Ctimene was pleased.

Chapter Text

Like Odysseus had predicted, the Messenians accepted the shearing, the compensation they paid likely rephrased as a lower-than-expected price of raw wool anyway. Odysseus even managed to extract a promise for them to buy some bolts of black wool next year, at a slight discount, and they even agreed to ship the sheep and herdsmen back.

Odysseus sent off a pigeon and one of their own party as a messenger just as a safeguard.

People wanted to be reasonable, after all, and usually liked to get things without having to stab other people, because stabbing someone meant that you now lacked someone to shear a sheep for you, and a messy body besides.

The Messenians were richer than Ithaca anyway - they could afford to trade for their wool without having to rear the sheep themselves, so when phrased like that, the leaders were so clearly happy to have thought of this little ruse to get the Prince of Ithaca to personally propose a little business discount, they personally loaded Ctimene's wagon with fancy pastries and dried meats for their return trip home.

Odysseus nearly ate a quarter of the little pastries before the first night on their return leg, so Ctimene hid the rest of them and gave him only the dried meats.

"You're supposed to eat more meat," she said, and smacked his hand when he tried to hunt around in the wagon for the pastries. "Leave them alone!"

Even though he pouted, none of their men were allowed to give him any of the pastries either - they had several more days to travel, and Odysseus had eaten more than his fair share already.

"Cruel, hard-hearted," Odysseus said mournfully, on the second day of no pastries.

"Greedy," Ctimene said hard-heartedly.

"I might be dying," Odysseus said.

Ctimene was about to tell him that no one died from lack of pastries, when someone said, "who would harm the Prince of Ithaca?"

Odysseus stiffened, and twisted to block Ctimene, hand going to his sword, because how had they not heard anyone come up close to them?

"Peace," said the most beautiful man Ctimene had ever seen. "Prince of Ithaca, we greet you."

Odysseus didn't remove his hand from his sword. "Who greets me?"

The man bowed - there was something like the glitter of dawn on a stream in the way the firelight shimmered down the light brown curls that brushed the base of his ears.

"Perileos," he said, almost musically. He smiled as he straightened, and between one blink and the next, his eyes flashed pearlescent then river-stone grey. "Son of Icarius of Sparta. I apologise for startling you."

Ctimene reached for the wooden spoon.

He was very beautiful - even as he stood , smiling faintly, she was abruptly aware that Iphitos had been merely handsome - this man, was beautiful in a way that was far more like the nymphs she'd not seen again, than even Great-Grandfather.

If he tried to touch Odysseus, she thought, she'd slam the spoon between his legs - when the boys wrestling each other got hit there, they fell straight over.

"You said we," Odysseus said, not straightening at all. In fact, his feet shifted to a wider stance. "Who else is here?"

From the side, another musical voice, like the trickling of water over mossy rocks. "Perileos, that's so mean, look, you're terrifying them."

Both Odysseus and Ctimene whipped around - Ctimene flung the spoon in that direction of the voice.

"Ow," said an even taller man as the spoon bounced off his broader chest.

Ctimene scrabbled for a rock.

"Peace, Peace, little princess, we're only here to visit on our Uncle's behalf."

"Then visit at a normal hour," Odysseus said tightly, "And not when you're surrounding my sister."

Ctimene closed her hand on a pebble. Her aim wasn't the best but she could hit the bigger man in the face maybe, and then she and Odysseus could dive for the wagon, where her distaff was, and Odysseus' spear.

"Oh. I think we've miscalculated," Perilous said, staying still. "Peace, Prince of Ithaca, Princess of Ithaca, most mortals merely stare -"

Odysseus sucked in a sharp breath.

Ctimene flung her rock at the larger man. "Witches! Get back! Don't touch him!"

The larger man blocked the stone with a wave of his arm. Ctimene screamed louder.

She grabbed at Odysseus' belt, and he turned, snagged her by the arm, and both of them bolted for the wagon.

"Fuck, Thoas," Perilos said. "I did tell you not to come."

"This has never happened before," the big broad Thoas said.

Ctimene grabbed for her distaff - where were the others, why hadn't they done anything? Had they run away already?

Odysseus didn't grab his spear - he had the bow that Iphitos had taught him to use, he had just used it earlier today to hunt them a rabbit, so now he had two arrows readied, and Ctimene was trying to peek out the back of the wagon and --

The others were still there.

They were staring transfixed, wide-eyed and fascinated, their hands not even full of their staffs.

"You enchanted them!" Ctimene hissed. "Witches!"

"Leave our men alone," Odysseus said, "and turn around and leave. Or else I shall shoot you in the eye."

Perileos held out his hands. "Not witches, little prince -"

Odysseus released the arrow.

And instead of his head sprouting feathers - Perilous grabbed the arrow nearly two feet from his face.

Ctimene drew in another breath, feeling her heart beating even harder. How… how fast was he? How could he -

"You only have two hands -" Odysseus said, voice barely shaking, and flicked his fingers, rapidly nocking the second arrow and releasing - and grabbed another two arrows and shot another.

Perileos caught the second arrow and should have taken the third to the face - but Thoas was there, gently plucking it out of the air.

"Peace, Prince of Ithaca, we apologise," Thoas said, and then suddenly the other arrows Perileos had been holding were in Thoas' hand, and he held it up with both hands, and very slowly, gently, put them down on the ground. He gestured, and Perileos also went down to one knee.

"Our uncle has a letter for you," Perileos said. Holding both hands out. "If I may retrieve it?"

Ctimene looked up at Odysseus. Her brother was barely breathing - his bow wasn't moving, arrow still aimed at the two who claimed to be Icarius of Sparta's sons.

"Release our men first," Ctimene said, "And then - then -"

"Then you may retrieve the letter," Odysseus said.

"We're not -" Thoas kicked at Perileos, and Perileos nodded, slow and obvious.

Ctimene didn't know what they were doing, but they suddenly didn't seem so - glittery, and then their herdsmen started shaking their heads, blinking. "What- who are you?"

"May I retrieve the letter now?" Perileos said, ignoring the herdsmen coming forward, looking confused and then making even more worried noises at the arrows.

"Toss it over here," Odysseus said.

Perileos carefully undid his pouch hanging on his belt, and gently tossed it over with easy accuracy towards Odysseus' feet. Ctimene jabbed at it with the end of her distaff. When it didn't burst into worse magical glitter, she pushed it over away from Odysseus' feet - his shoulders were starting to shake a little from holding the bow at full tension.

Once she'd inched it close enough, she crept over to it, carefully staying under the cover of her brother's arms, and then opened the pouch, saw a roll of something white in it, and dropped it.

Odysseus' bow creaked over her head. "It's - papyrus," she said, poking it with her fingertips, bigger than the piece that Odysseus had brought to use to send a message with the pigeon to Ithaca. Sparta traded with Egypt, she knew, rich enough to send huge ships across the broad and wide sea. So they'd have large amounts of Egypt's papyrus, rather than the parchment that was so laborious to make.

Which meant they were probably actually Spartans, and not just random witches.

"I forgot…" Perileos said, "can you read?"

Odysseus shot another arrow at him - Thoas grabbed it before it even skimmed his hair. "Shut up, Perileos," he said.

"It's an honest question!"

Ctimene didn't bother to answer, carefully retrieving the roll, and gingerly unrolling it so it wouldn't crack.

It looked correct - titles and everything, something about asking about trade, introducing the bearers of the letter being Perileos, Thoas, sons of Icarius, a Basileus of Sparta and the Naiad Periboea, who would guide them to their camp.

Ctimene read it out, haltingly, to her brother, so he didn't have to take his eyes off them.

The terrifying thing, though, was it was addressed to them, personally, to Odysseus, Prince of Ithaca, and Princess of Ithaca.

They knew who they were. Sparta knew who they were, and where.

If only Odysseus could shoot them for real, then they could just go home and pretend they'd never seen this letter.

"That's adorable," Thoas said.

"Now who wouldn't shut up," Perileos hissed.

"Shut up both of you," Odysseus said. That was his thinking face, Ctimene thought, and rolled the papyrus up, wishing her aim was good enough to throw it directly into their campfire, and disappear the evidence.

Instead she threw it at Thoas because he was closer.

He didn't grab it out of the air; it landed with a sad little splat a foot from him.

Thoas bit his lip a little - obviously hiding a smile. Ass, she thought, and reached for Odysseus' spear, to actually try to stab him.

But the spear was heavy enough she actually fell over with a thump.

Odysseus glanced over, wide-eyed with worry, and before Ctimene could hiss that she was FINE, both Perileos and Thoas surged forward, easily disarming her brother.

It was a blur and the herdsmen yelled - but then when Ctimene could blink straight, both she and her brother were plopped back down in front of the fire, both Thoas and Perileos seated on the ground in front of them, Odysseus' sword and bow at his feet.

The spear was ALSO on the ground by her feet - though it'd be too obvious if she tried to reach for it, not that she could even lift it.

"Are you twins?" Thoas asked, "Because you both look remarkably like Artemis and Apollo."

"You mock us," Ctimene glared pointedly at their weapons at their feet.

Perileos elbowed Thoas. "But they're so cute," he said.

"You can hardly know them personally anyway. The Naiad Periboea is not related to either," Odysseus said, and he nudged a foot at his sword, poking it with a toe. When Ctimene glanced back at him, Odysseus gave her a lazy smile.

He'd made up his mind.

"No, but we've seen statues," Thoas said. "And you both looked like you'd bite us with identical looks on your faces…"

But right now Odysseus was not glaring, but smiling like great-grandfather.

Perileos squinted at him.

Before he could come to any sort of conclusion, Odysseus stretched both his arms out. "Well, we've received your invite, Princes of Sparta. But my sister and I are tired, and we will not go anywhere tonight. Come back tomorrow."

"Huh?"

Odysseus hopped to his feet, and scooped up his weapons, and held his hand out to Ctimene, turning away from both Thoas and Perileos, pointedly putting his back to them. "Good night. Don't forget to put the fire out."

As Ctimene took his bow from him, the lightest of his weapons, she saw both of the Spartan princes blink and their startled faces shift into something almost admiring.

But they didn't do anything else but get to their feet and bow at her.

Ctimene scowled at them and hurried after Odysseus.

"Are we running away as soon as they're gone?" Ctimene said, under her breath as she caught up with Odysseus.

"If they weren't demigods," Odysseus said, equally quiet, "they'd be dead and we'd be halfway to the docks."

He didn't look back at the campfire. There was a hiss - and it was suddenly extinguished. There was no sound of footsteps again, but Ctimene thought they were really gone.

"They're demigods…?"

Odysseus shook his head. "Not witches, no. Go to bed, Ctimene."

He helped her up to the wagon, and propped his spear by the front. "We're going to their camp tomorrow morning."

Their oldest brother listened when they returned empty handed. Then took a deep breath and bellowed, a roaring rush of a waterfall, "Fish piss for brains! Seagrass has more common sense than you two tadpoles!"

"How were we to know they would start trying to shoot us?" Perileos said, managing not to flinch.

"Is the briefing an eel, that it just went smoothly in one ear then out the other?" Damasippus glared at them both. "If I shook you, are pebbles going to even rattle when they fall out?"

"Children have never failed to be charmed," Thoas protested.

"You two idiot tadpoles want to sound like child-abductors?" Damasippus growled. "The Prince of Ithaca is not a child anymore, and the princess not far behind."

"Youths don't have any more resistance than -"

"Yes, let's sound like we want to re-enact Hylas' abduction and disappearance," Damasippus snapped. "Next thing you know, Heracles would come seeking us - I should let him, and he can break your spines like fried eel and I would be done with your incompetence."

The silence was chastened.

"That's a little mean," Thoas said after a moment.

"I can be meaner," Damasippus said. "You were supposed to go in the morning! Not in the middle of the night! No wonder the princess thought you were going to abduct her."

"- abduct her brother," Thoas said with a cough.

Damasippus glared at him. Thoas shut up.

"What were you thinking? No, neither of you were thinking --"

"They were really cute, though," Perileos said.

"Especially the prince, when he tried to shoot Perileos full of holes."

"So you forgot," Damasippus said, dry as a riverbed accidentally dammed just after a thunderstorm, "who their great-grandfather is?"

Perileos and Thoas exchanged looks. Fish were flopping on the bare riverstones, as Perileos ventured, "...that slipped our mind, brother."

Damasippus' eyes narrowed. The dam gave way. "It's the Olympian, Hermes Dolios, you two idiots! He can turn you both into fishmeal,and feed you to Cerebus as a snack, you were so damned disrespectful to his descendents! Of course they would be immune!"

"But he shoots so well and rapidly!" Thoas exclaimed. "Four in quick succession!" he flicked his fingers, in a way that was both suggestive of shifting several arrows onto the string and… well, suggestive.

"He was really cute - his posture was perfect," Thoas said, and maybe, a little dreamily.

Damasippus stared at them both. "Are you asking to have your balls chopped and turned into fritters?!" Damasippus roared. "Is that where you store your brains? Did you just forget what I said? Descendent of Hermes!"

"But he shoots so fast and he has potential!" Perileos, and tried to demonstrate. "Really, brother, you have to see for yourself, we couldn't wait - ow!"

Damasippus shook out his stinging hand. "Do you need a hit up the head too, Thoas?"

Thoas shook his head.

"Both of you go dunk your heads in the spring," Damasippus said, "And retrieve your brains from where you left them. Tomorrow you bring them here without any of your charm attempts."

Chapter Text

Odysseus shook her awake in the morning. Gentler than he normally would - it was early, with Dawn just as reluctant to leave her bed as Ctimene.

"Didn't you say morning," Ctimene grumbled. She didn't want to go see those incredibly beautiful, terrifying brothers. But if Odysseus couldn't kill them, couldn't even hurt them, who was to say that they could actually run away fast enough before these silent, beautiful, half-naiad brothers could catch up and drag them to Sparta anyway?

It was better to go there on their own two feet; as Odysseus had proven, it was the best way to still have some kind of control.

But it surely didn't mean they had to do it before Dawn had bothered to wake up.

"It's morning, and you're lying on my chlamys," Odysseus pointed out.

Ctimene burrowed her face down further into the dark wool, preparing to roll up in it.

But Odysseus didn't just yank it out from under her as he would have when they were at home - after a long moment, she peeked out at him.

Her brother was sitting back on his heels, eyebrows furrowed just a little, serious enough that Ctimene sat up with a bothered huff, and took a long proper look at him.

He was dressed in three layers already - his chiridota neatly belted on top of his chiton and chitoniskos, the tunic's sleeves dropping to cover nearly all of his upper arms. When Iphitos had politely taken him hostage, and returned him with equal politeness and promptness, Odysseus had only bothered with just the chiridota and chiton, and hadn't bothered her for his chlamys. Now he was wanting his chlamys.

Odysseus hadn't packed any armour this trip - he'd wanted to travel lightly.

Ctimene's fingers felt cold, for a moment; she had to make a little bit of effort to untangle herself from his chlamys and then hand it to him.

Odysseus nodded his thanks, swinging it over his shoulder and fastening it with one of her brooches.

She should complain - but found she couldn't.

Instead she got up to her knees, and smacked his fingers out of the way and adjusted the drape of his chlamys so it wouldn't hinder his sword-arm, and kept more folds over his left to help conceal any small movements he might do.

"Get dressed, but don't leave the wagon," Odysseus told her, as he smoothed down the edges of his chlamys with his fingertips. "I want - we should both be ready when they come."

"Are they going to come at dawn?"

Odysseus' jaw worked a moment. "Probably. They were so eager, they had come earlier than was civilized. But I have no intention of leaving just on their time, but my own."

In other words, they were to be ready, but Odysseus wasn't going to let the Princes of Sparta drive them like oxen into leaving their camp at any other time but their own convenience; Odysseus' hand was the one on the lead, not theirs. Ithaca might be small, but their Prince was still a Prince, and his dignity and time was his own.

Ctimene considered, and then got to her feet, and went to a corner of the wagon to rummage and pull out where she'd hidden the pastries, and retrieved just one small piece.

Then she handed that one to him. "For breakfast only," she warned sternly. "I'll hide the rest again as soon as you get out of the wagon."

The fact that he didn't immediately shove it into his mouth was a sign of how serious this was - were the Princes of Sparta actually going to wait on their pleasure?

Yes, she decided, as she booted Odysseus out of the wagon with his flaky treat, they were going to. If not she would bite them.

The Spartan princes showed up a courteous hour after dawn - where was this courtesy last night, she didn't know.

Odysseus smiled coolly at them and said, "My sister is still taking breakfast, if both my Lords would kindly wait."

They agreed, and stayed decorously by the fire like actual polite guests, as Odysseus casually sat himself by the ledge of the wagon, guarding his sister's modesty in the wagon with the curtain down.

Ctimene continued to weave another ribbon behind the curtain.

She only had a tiny candle, shielded by some of the boxes so the Princes couldn't see even a shadow of what she was doing, while the lightening sky outside gave her enough to see through gaps of the curtain to how the princes were seated by the fire.

They were still as beautiful as last night, she thought, but less… water-nymph like. More like Iphitos, but just simply more.

Part of it was maybe the fact that their gear seemed a little dull. Plain leather, and plain linen. As they quietly conversed with each other, Ctimene thought she could see some thin decoration at the shoulders and neckline of their tunics, but that was about it.

Maybe this was just because they were going to escort them today, and hadn't changed out from the more subdued stuff from last night, Ctimene considered. Maybe they had literally sat outside their camp, unseen, unheard, and waited till daylight?

She shook her head - that was a thought she was not going to continue in.

Her candle burned down steadily; the sun started to come out for real, and the fire outside became more of a courtesy than a necessity.

Odysseus continued to lounge, occasionally checking his nails, and gesturing for their men to take their oxen to get a drink, and be fed.

Their guests continued to wait, apparently willing to be as patient as Odysseus.

Well, they could wait - Ctimene could weave ribbon all day if Odysseus wanted - though she might change to spinning yarn if she got bored of the colours. There was a new technique she'd thought of to twist in the sun-bleached ends of their sheep's wool. Since they had all the time to sit here, driving in their displeasure with the Spartan princes, she could make a start on whether such an idea would work.

(If it worked, maybe she'd be able to make a multi-coloured yarn with a stronger colour contrast, and they could save on the labour of having to shear the sheep nearly twice as often to prevent sun-bleaching. Plus, she wouldn't have to deal with the horrible shorter fiber lengths, which made spinning such a pain.)

Before she could tie up her ribbon weaving and get out her distaff, Odysseus casually knocked his knuckles against the wagon floor.

"Sister," Odysseus said, "have you finished eating?"

Ctimene glanced through the gap in the curtain. Their guests had been politely, and uncomplainingly sitting in the mid-morning sun for a while now, and still looked as cool as water.

More or less. Maybe Thoas looked a little hot? He was shifting just a little. Bigger men got hotter easier, she thought.

"Yes," Ctimene said, packed away her weaving, and pulled up her himation over her head. "Are we to leave now? I am so sorry for taking so much time."

"We are in no rush, princess," Perileos said, graciously.

Ctimene rolled her eyes.

"We wouldn't want to have our guests wait longer," Odysseus said sweetly, "It would be rude to make Sparta wait upon us."

"Not at all," Thoas said.

Ctimene fussed a little more with the drape of her himation, checking that it covered her hair and most of her face, and exited the wagon before Odysseus added more honey to his words enough to trap even Great-grandfather.

"I'm ready," she said to Odysseus. He nodded, like he didn't know that they both had been ready since before dawn, and he hopped down to the ground, holding out his hands to her to help her down.

Their two guests got to their feet, and bowed to them. "If we may-" Perileos held out a box to Odysseus.

Odysseus gave him a smile, and graciously accepted it without opening it. "Thank you, Son of Icarius," he said, "Since we had so little warning of your request to have us visit, we had no time to prepare a gift for you, just for the head of your delegation when we arrive. Please forgive our poor showing."

"It is no matter," Thoas said. "We, too, apologize, for being too hasty. Please allow us to make it up to you when we get back to camp."

Which implied that they had been sitting around outside, if they hadn't prepared apology gifts.

Perileos was looking between them, and smiled at Odysseus, like he liked what he saw, though still somewhat confused.

Probably because neither of them were attempting to stab them full of arrows.

Ctimene kept her face down and her smile hidden. Good - let them be confused.

Odysseus struck a very pretty contrast, Ctimene thought, as he bowed to the Spartan leader - well, the oldest son of Icarius.

While Damasippus was quite handsome - really, as handsome as his brothers were beautiful, all chiselled planes on his features like some of the harder rocks she'd seen on their coasts, his clothing was nothing to report back to Mother about.

In fact, all three brothers did wear linen, yes, but they didn't seem to have much decoration or trim anywhere she could see - and she'd been taking long solid looks as they'd conversed.

In contrast, Odysseus was all perfect smiles, his curls shiny black and his chlamys and tunic a deeper, richer black that off-set the fine white layers underneath.

He'd chosen the chitoniskos and chiton with the wave patterns she'd woven in black and light russet at the hem, and as he made his bow to Damasippus during their introductions, the shift of the linen made the waves look like flowing waves around his knees.

He didn't need to be a demigod, Ctimene thought smugly, not when she could make him look better than the Spartan women's handiwork.

Gifts were exchanged - with Odysseus blatantly and insistently claiming he was bringing a guest-gift, which implied that the Spartan delegation had to offer their gift as a host-gift, and thus cementing that the Spartan could not harm them at all, or risk Zeus' wrath.

(Odysseus had been quite clear at refusing to play official host to the brothers then at their camp, in case he had needed to shoot them again.)

"Now my brothers do insist, they are very apologetic for sc …" Damasippus changed terms halfway to -" being rude, last night."

He turned to Thoas. "Go on, tadpole."

"Damasippus," Thoas hissed back, but he ducked out of his brother's arm and he and Perileos exited the large tent that they'd been invited into.

Tadpole!

"Princes of a Naiad indeed," Odysseus said, smiling prettily, covering Ctimene's bad attempt at turning her giggle into a cough. "It is reassuring to see how close brothers can be."

Damasippus paused, blinking at Odysseus, like he'd interrupted his train of thought. "Indeed," he said after a moment. "We are close, brought up together."

Like frogspawn? Ctimene thought, since they all looked very close in age, more than a handful years older than Odysseus, and all clearly men for quite a while.

Thoas and Perileos brought back a chest between them - Odysseus blinked and leaned up in the chair that they'd given him

"That is -" he asked - and Thoas opened it, drawing out a clinking, heavy set of greaves. They weren't particularly pretty, but the bronze was polished to a gleam - as Thoas presented them to Odysseus, she could see his reflection in them, eyes wide and almost brown in the almost dull-gold of the sleek surfaces.

"These are the ones I wore to my first games," Thoas said, "when I was not much older than you, Prince of Ithaca. Would you like to try them on?"

Odysseus nodded yes, reaching for one even before Ctimene could register he'd answered - he shifted, flicking his chlamys out of his way and stretched one of his legs out to place the greave against his shin.

Thoas snagged his calf, gently, holding the greave in place. "Here, Prince," he said, crouched down and -

Instead of kicking him, Odysseus let Thoas buckle it onto his calf. And stretched out his other leg eagerly for the second.

Ctimene managed to jab Odysseus in the hip. His back flexed, but otherwise he didn't seem to react at all, turning his leg and knee to admire the gleam of the greave.

"It fits you well, Prince," Thoas said, running his knuckle down the length of the greave, and grinned up at Odysseus.

Odysseus kept smiling, even though Ctimene jabbed him again.

"It does," he said, and got up to avoid Ctimene poking him while also to get a feel for it strapped on. "A little large -"

"But you will grow into it," Thoas said. "They won't hinder your running at all."

"Thank you," Odysseus said, and this time, she could tell it was far more genuine than he had been earlier. Was that bad? She thought. Had they managed to buy him with armour? "They will fit well, I am sure." And then Odysseus was looking expectantly towards the chest - and Perileos reached in to present his gift - a sword. The leather sheath looked supple and well-maintained, its grip wrapped with fine shiny black cord.

Odysseus made a little noise of appreciative pleasure. "Horse-hair?" he asked, and at Perileos' nod, he turned to show Ctimene. "See! Horse-hair cord, feel it!"

Ctimene obliged; it was definitely shiny and smoother feeling than goat hair. They didn't often get horse hair to use in Ithaca, not when there were mainly only mules.

Odysseus unbuckled his own sword, and Ctimene wordlessly took it and balanced it on her knees, while Odysseus strapped his new gift on. "It's - "

"Bronze, yes," Perileos said. Odysseus made an even happier sound while Ctimene kept her hands on Odysseus' sword and wished she could poke him in the back with it.

Yes, it was heavier, harder than the copper one that Odysseus had handed her.

This was terrible, she realised - Odysseus had gone completely silly over the bronze greaves, and the heavier new sword, and she didn't have anything to do because her weaving was back at their camp. She also couldn't just go and start making food - she didn't know where the food in a tent like this would be, and she was weighed down by Odysseus' sword besides.

She could probably put it down, but she wasn't going to leave it around for other people to make off with, even if it was inferior copper to Odysseus' new fancy bronze one, and she wasn't going to carry it around the tent looking like a donkey. That would be ridiculous.

"So you forgive us?" Perileos said, almost coaxing, and Odysseus nodded, looking almost bubbly.

"May I try it out?" Odysseus said, and immediately Thoas and Perileos all but fell over themselves to take him outside of the tent to go hack at a log or something.

They might actually be out there for the rest of the afternoon, Ctimene realised. Oh No.

There was a sound of excited chatter outside - and solid thumps of wood getting enthusiastically stabbed.

Ctimene picked at the leather strap of the sword sheath - it was still quite new, and there was no reason to replace it. Even if she was tempted to do so anyway just for her hands to have something to do.

She sighed.

"I apologise for not having any gifts for you, Princess, daughter of Laertes," said Damasippus, and Ctimene startled - she'd forgotten he was still there.

Which was probably Odysseus' fault. While he had still been in the tent, he had taken up everyone's attention with his pretty flourishing bows and prettier words, then stuffed the tent with his enthusiasm for the Spartan bribery. So when he'd gone out of the tent, the Spartan princes following in his wake like trailing ripples, it had left the tent feeling empty. Which would be a time for Ctimene to get out her spinning, probably, but she'd left her distaff back in their camp because no one would bring their distaff to visit. She could have manhandled something with Odysseus' sword as a horribly balanced replacement distaff, and ignore Odysseus squawking about getting wool bits in straps, but she hadn't thought to bring even her little bag of roving and her spindle.

Now it was just her and the oldest Spartan prince. Whose presence was lighter, the way a stone led water to stream over into a pool was light - easy to overlook until he brought attention to himself.

"I need no gifts," Ctimene said, wishing Odysseus had stayed right here, so he could do the talking and distracting while she picked apart his sheath strap. Her terrible brother was now talking about archery or something - and she thought it was Perileos who was offering to bring over their bows to go shooting some even more unfortunate wood full of holes.

"We were not sure how big you were - and what you might like," Damasippus said, "Greek women do not…" the Sparta spread his hands.

Ctimene waited for him to continue.

Damasippus clicked his tongue, though it didn't seem impatient. "My sisters were no help, and it is not like you would be lacking feminine things."

"No, I don't think I'm lacking any of it," she said, knowing what he must mean. Certainly she didn't think Spartan looms were any better than her own; judging from their near lack of anything decorative, she even wondered whether they bothered with prettier straps at all. "I don't think Sparta needs it either," she added, "Since it seems you need nothing that isn't … practical."

One of his almost light-amber eyebrows went up. "Are you saying we lack frivolity?"

Was that him teasing? Ctimene wasn't sure she could read him - Odysseus would know, Odysseus should be here. Odysseus was outside shooting arrows into the woods like a fool.

Maybe she could brazen through it. "No of course not," Ctimene said, tipping her chin up. She felt the edge of her himation slide away from her face, and tried to turn that motion into a smooth continuation back down to have it drape back down again, as if she had meant to do it all along. Odysseus wasn't here to cover for her fidgets, she had to do the distraction herself. "And no insult meant to your sisters," she added, even though said sisters should have been decorating their brothers' clothing better.

Damasippus smiled at her - it looked politely encouraging. Well she'd started, she could continue until Odysseus returned to save her from talk.

"But if it wasn't for your announcing yourselves as Princes of Sparta, there was no way we could have known you were anything but - but Messenians who had turned on their word," or horrible witches here to snatch Odysseus off to drown or do horrible unthinkable things that Mother and Father allowed Ctimene there to prevent. "You had nothing to mark it."

"Oh?" Damasippus said. "Our weaponry should be enough -"

"As a mere girl," Ctimene said, "I cannot tell when a sword is bronze or copper, not from a distance." and not at night.

"And what," Damasippus said, his tone light like sunlight dappling gold on a forest stream, "would mark your brother as Prince?"

"The hem of his chiridota, of course," she said. The wave pattern weaved into the hem and edging of his chiton was a standard pattern of waves, but any of the smaller islands would have it, or something similar. The hem of his chiridota, on the other hand, was edged with the black and sun-bleached ends of some of Odysseus' black sheep's wool from one of the shearings that he'd thought to shear first and trim later. (that experiment had not gone well, it was a pain to trim wool after it'd gotten sheared off and still left the sun-bleached ends here and here). She'd rescued a basket of the wool before he'd gotten to it with his shears, and then processed it like normal white wool, and tried combing it as even as she could, and tried to keep the sun-bleached ends more or less aligned. It had been a pain still, but the resulting yarn had come out subtly multi-coloured, and enough for a handspan of warp threads that she decided to use for Odysseus' chiridota.

In the strong light of the Ithacan coasts, the hem of Odysseus' chiridota would have a subtle shift in colour. Anyone could tell that anyone wearing that had to be the prince of Ithaca - no one else would have such a wool fabric in all of Greece. Well, other than her parents, but she was still working on a bigger, proper tunic for her father.

Which this trip was interrupting.

Damasippus blinked at her. "Ah," he said. "I did wonder about it. It looks good on him."

"Of course," Ctimene said, pleased. It was only one of the first versions of that kind of weaving. Her father's full length tunic would be even more impressive.

"I suppose we might not be able to trade for it?" Damasippus mused.

Of Course Not, Ctimene managed not to say. How was she supposed to turn him down? The wool took effort to align properly, spinning the yarn just so was going to take forever.

"That kind of fabric is pronounced to be only for my father and brother," Ctimene said, trying to figure out if Damasippus was going to be upset. She wasn't good at turning people down - Odysseus didn't count, she turned him down everyday.

"So it's a royal exclusive fabric," Damasippus said, and Ctimene nodded, relieved he seemed thoughtful rather than offended. Telling him that she wasn't going to ask the maids and herself spend weeks worth of time carding wool just so to make other people colour-shifting fabric that they didn't know how to use properly and to best effect was probably too rude - Mother would raise both eyebrows.

Besides, she hadn't quite perfected the method yet, Odysseus kept shearing the sheep short before the ends started to sun-bleach.

"So what did the Messenians trade for?" he asked, encouraging now.

"Black wool," Ctimene said. Could she say that Odysseus threatened to drown the sheep in the sea if they didn't buy the wool instead? Even if Odysseus never had to go that far as to actually say so?

Where was Odysseus when one actually needed him - he was supposed to be doing the words, she could pour the drinks.

Except she couldn't see anywhere the drinks might be hidden - maybe they were strange and didn't drink? But then they had been offered libation and drinks when they'd first arrived - she just hadn't noticed where they'd packed away everything to exchange gifts and talk.

Maybe they hid it all somewhere, just like Odysseus hid his horrible patchwork 'chlamys' all over the palace, to prevent her from taking it apart fully.

"Just the black wool? I'm sure white wool can easily be dyed," Damasippus said.

How dare - "Our wool doesn't need to be dyed!" Ctimene said hotly. "It can be woven straight from the sheep - and besides, it spins softer and smoother!" their wool fabric was worth being traded for - not just the raw wool even.

"No offense, I was just making conversation, princess," Damasippus said, soothing spring water. "You mean the black tunic your brother was wearing - "

"And his chlamys," Ctimene sniffed.

"Ah yes of course, beautiful work," Damasippus said. "Do you want to drink something?"

She nearly shook her head, then reconsidered and nodded.

Anything to make the conversation pause so she could think. Maybe Odysseus would come back right now? She was doing a terrible job in this talking thing, and getting insulted over nothing much. What if he asked about the Messenians, again? What if -

Oh no, she thought, clutching the sword in her lap as Damasippus did something in a corner of the tent which was PROBABLY the wine and water and whatever spices they had. Had he been testing for information about the trade with Messenians? How had he known about them in the first place? They had spies?

Odysseus would know, Odysseus should come back!

Damasippus turned around with a tray and cups, and Ctimene bolted upright, clutching Odysseus' sword to her chest. "I should go outside," she said. "I want to see Odysseus stab wood."

Remembered her manners, and added, "Thanks for the drink, you could bring it out?" and then made for the tent exit.

Outside, she could see them on the other side of their camp, right at the edge of the clearing. As she made a line straight as a crow towards them, Thoas reached out under Odysseus' chlamys - and Odysseus didn't stop him!

Didn't move away -

She sped up -

And Thoas finished his motion of tucking Odysseus' chlamys out of his way, to allow him to draw back the bow Odysseus was carrying in his other hand.

Ctimene slowed down, and readjusted her grip on Odysseus' sword - it would be so incredibly rude to bash someone in the arm with a piece of leather-wrapped metal for merely helping Odysseus adjust his clothing to shoot things in the woods.

… also Odysseus finished his shot, turned to Thoas with a smile and a little toss of his head like a young ram starting to grow out of its cute spring lamb stage.

Argh, she thought, while she had been suffering inside the tent with Damasippus trying to eel out trade information from her, Odysseus was out here frolicking like a ram in fall.

"It would be easier to shoot without your chlamys," Perileos suggested, "May I?"

And for some reason, Odysseus nodded, putting his bow down and reaching up to unpin the brooch. Perileos quickly slid off the chlamys, smirking over Odysseus' head towards his brother.

"Well, they look like they're getting along quite well," Damasippus said. "Would you like to sit, princess?" He managed to gesture towards a few smaller stools arranged near some shade, where she could see Odysseus preen like a peacock under the princes' attention.

"Yes, thank you," she said, and sat down, managing to sit gracefully as she could, considering she was still holding Odysseus' sword. It felt awkward and poky in her arms - she couldn't wait to offload it back onto Odysseus. On his stupid preening head, maybe.

Damasippus put the tray of the cups down on one of the other stools next to her - an obvious hint that she could help herself.

"I shall go tell the others they can have refreshments," he told her gravely, and went to the others - from behind , she could see when he not-so-subtly collared Perileos and drew him away from Odysseus, in one movement shoving him towards the tray besides Ctimene and giving her brother space.

Perileos staggered only one step, and then he was coming back towards her, and sprawled onto a stool, the tray between her and him.

"Did you want to try archery too?" Perileos said, taking a cup.

"No," Ctimene said repressive as the sword in her lap. Then lightened her voice. "I simply spin."

"Mmm," Perileos said, managing to lounge on the stool despite there being no back. "Like this chlamys right? Your women's work?" he ran his hand over the soft wool, quite unlike patting a sheep - it was like he wanted to stroke someone wearing it.

"My work," Ctimene said, wondering if she could reach over and kick Perileos' stool. If Odysseus had been sitting there, she'd just reach over, the tray between be damned. However, the tray wasn't hers and she couldn't risk damaging it or the cups.

Perileos' hand stilled. "Oh," he said, voice changing a little. "This is fine work," he said, sitting up to examine it more closely.

"Of course," Ctimene said. It was Odysseus' second-best one, after all.

Perileos started looking at the edging of the chlamys, and Ctimene sipped from her cup, resisting the urge to point - see, that was what made it Odysseus' second-best chlamys, she'd put in a tiny fine pattern in undyed white wool, along the beginning and end of it, letting the natural greyness blend a little more in with their black wool. It looked like sheep falling down his shoulder when pinned properly, though she'd told Odysseus it was winter-clouds.

"And these," Perileos said, touching his thumb along the trail of sheep, "Are they -"

"Clouds of Zeus," she said blandly. "A protection for my brother on his travels. In case he meets people who might mean him harm in the middle of the night."

Perileos' mouth quirked, ruefully. "Would you forgive us, Princess?"

Ctimene looked at the way Thoas had backed off from Odysseus, but not very much. Now for some reason, Damasippus was demonstrating something with a sword longer than Odysseus' forearm, and Odysseus was looking utterly enthralled.

"No," she decided, and drank her wine.

If it weren't for the tray between them, it looked like the little Princess of Ithaca really would have attempted to bash him over the head with her brother's sword.

She looked just like Perileos' cousin Clytemnestra, who had been - and still was - very good with knives.

Maybe, the princess would like their cousins more, since they were girls too?

He could propose it to their father and Uncle, maybe have them visit their female cousins?

It was really quite a change - last night, both the prince and princess of Ithaca had been like absolute feral cats, trying to fight them off. Truly, it had been the only time that their charm hadn't worked on children - well youths. Even young girls tended to just giggle at Perileos.

And today, both the Prince and Princess - the Princess was all properly attired from hair to toe like the typical Greek woman, barely more than her eyes visible for the most part, primly perched wherever she felt like, like a little carved statue.

Her brother…

Perileos couldn't help but smile - he was right there, talking to Damasippus now - young but sleek, beautifully athletic. If they didn't know his actual ancestry, he'd have thought he was ripe to be stolen by Hermes himself.

The Spartans didn't really do decorations on clothing - that was really unnecessary. But somehow, the little coloured patterns trailing around the edges of Odysseus' clothes - whether it was his chiton, his tunic, or this, chlamys - Perileos couldn't help but keep rubbing the little white clouds along the edges - they even had a slightly different texture! - all of it drew his eye down to Odysseus' well shaped knees and calves. Amd his sleeves drew attention to his slender arms.

He had potential, definitely had potential. That bow last night had not been a light one - it'd looked stiff, and Odysseus had used a very good posture to draw it, if unpracticed. His rapid-fire nocking had also been good; his speed would improve if he got better.

Perileos could just imagine him now, all attired in the proper Spartan military armour - the ceremonial sword belted at his hip, straps studded with bronze and polished onyx stones, and those… little decorated hems flirting bare finger widths above the top of polished greaves.

They should get spears out, and let him handle them, Perileos thought - he looked good with a bow, and now he was handling Perileos' own sword from his youth with barely a hitch in the difference of the weight. Perileos knew that Odysseus' old sword was copper - lighter, and softer, though of course out in Ithaca, it wasn't like they had tin to make bronze that easily. But Odysseus looked very - very good in bronze, and he'd grow up strong enough to handle the sword and spear.

Perileos all but itched to help train him - would he look just as good driving a chariot?

He should propose to Father, to bring the prince over to foster for a few years.

"Absolutely not! Where are your brains, did you leave them in the river along with your -" Damasippus visibly managed to not finish whatever river or fish related insult he was about to say. Ctimene was greatly disappointed.

Odysseus had seen her sitting out there, clearly about to bash herself with his sword, and finally remembered that they should be doing Politicking, and not prancing around preening at handsome Spartan men, and proposed that they return to the tent for Ctimene's sake.

And then Perileos had proposed fosterage. Fostering Odysseus?

Really? Mother and Father would not approve!

"I thank Perileos for that kind suggestion," Odysseus said brightly, and ignored Ctimene trying to subtly kick at his ankles where she could reach. He shifted his feet out of the way. "Ithaca would love to have such a favour from Sparta."

"But there's no corresponding value we get out of it," Damasippus said darkly at his brother.

"Oh, right," Perileos said.

"Ithaca has no wish to have Sparta be resentful for providing such a great favour," Odysseus said, even though everyone in this tent knew that Sparta would hardly be resentful over this. Sparta was too big, too rich, to be resentful about giving such a thing to a small country that has barely five islands to its name. The real problem would be Ithaca, too small to be actually useful and courted as an ally, and therefore such a kind deed would be regarded with huge suspicion.

Ctimene knew that it was because Odysseus had preened too much at the princes - they were now completely eating out of his hands - but Ithaca didn't need to look like they were seeking protection - Ctimene could believe that all the elders would rather be stabbed by all their spears in the palace than appear weak.

"We wouldn't be resentful - hng!" Perileos glanced at his brother in betrayal.

"Thank you, Thoas," Damasippus said.

Odysseus didn't bother to hide his amusement. "Maybe not! I don't believe the princes of Sparta would be so petty. But -" He straightened up, looking more serious. "I believe your father, Basileus Icarius of Sparta, did mention something of trade, and it would be strange to return with a request of fosterage instead, especially since it seems like we, poor small Ithaca, doesn't really have anything to offer, not when Sparta is so rich and generous." Odysseus dropped his fingers down to casually brush the grip of his new sword.

"Nonsense," Damasippus said, "Ithaca's black wool is well known for its even and dark quality. I had thought it was a superior dying technique, that was why it was so even."

He glanced over Odysseus' shoulder to smile directly at Ctimene - Ctimene ducked her gaze down.

"But I have realised that it is an innate quality instead - an impressive colour that wouldn't fade as quickly."

Oh, Ctimene thought, he really had been asking for information! This was why she wasn't the one who did the talking!

"And a texture that's softer and smoother than normal wool - I imagine that it will be much more comfortable under the weight of a cuirass - as you know, the wearing of one over hours in a day adds weight - it weighs more in the evening than in the morning."

Ctimene resisted the urge to stick her tongue out - though no one would see it, Odysseus would know, and tease her forever. Spartans! They only cared for their armour and weapons.

"Such praise for our wool," Odysseus said, sounding slightly bashful. "I would hardly claim that it is so much more superior in terms of comfort and wear, for that is really up to the skill of the spinners and weavers of any kind of wool."

"It seems that Ithacan weavers and spinners are talented indeed, to give it such quality," Damasippus said, "why, the chiridota you wear, is lovingly and well woven by your sister, and does great credit to Ithaca's pride and distinction."

Ctimene tried not to hunch too obviously. Noooo, she wanted to say, this was all things Damasippus had eeled out of her!

"It definitely has such a difference in texture, Prince of Ithaca, the little clouds your sister had woven shows a beautiful comparison."

Ctimene eyed the exit of the tent. Was there a way to leave and fling herself into the sea?

She didn't know how to keep her mouth shut - this was why Odysseus was supposed to do the talking, he did it properly!

"My sister's work is exquisite," Odysseus said, barely any change in tone. "As you have seen -" he gracefully got to his feet, crossed over to Perileos and retrieved his chlamys, snapping it open and draping it over his shoulders in one smooth motion, grinning like a rooster that'd found a new hen, puffed up and cocky. " - the black wool so dark and rich, Ithaca's weavers are able to weave so finely and densely, I am sure that even the bronzed tips of a spear would be stopped - and no arrows but those of Heracles himself would be able to penetrate."

Had he… turned her mistaken leaks into a trade opportunity? Ctimene managed to make her hands loosen their tight grip on his sword strap. Maybe this would work?

Odysseus spun to flare out his chlamys - all three princes looked properly admiring - if they were admiring Odysseus or the chlamys, she couldn't find it in her to mind either, as long as Odysseus could turn this into something useful.

Then he was strutting up to Damasippus holding out the edge to him to feel. "See, the contrast," Odysseus said, beaming with pride for his sister and the women of Ithaca's work.

Damasippus obliged, and made noises of praise - Odysseus brightly and expansively gestured to the other two brothers, drawing them close as well, to have them exclaim over the quality of their black wool, and textural contrast between the white and the black, thankfully drawing their attention away completely from her.

Right, then - maybe she could tune out while Odysseus turned the talk to trade, and she could breathe normally again.

Ctimene refused to give Odysseus any more pastries, even though he had a whole tentative agreement hammered out, only waiting for their respective parents' agreement to ratify it.

"But why," Odysseus whined, trying to reach behind her in the wagon.

She shoved at him with her distaff.

"Because you abandoned me," she said. "To Damasippus!"

"He's very nice!"

"And more slippery than tadpoles," she said. "He eeled things out of me!"

They both paused to think about what she just said.

"...Tadpoles," Odysseus sniggered and gave up on the pastries.

author's note:

Also, since Odysseus doesn't and didn't pack armour, his chlamys actually serves as his armour - the densely woven wool can serve to distract and entangle and also slow down any light attacks, and bundled up on his non-sword arm, would serve as a make-shift shield. This is what scared Ctimene at the beginning -- Odysseus was wanting to armour up, and he was nervous about the Spartan visit.

Chapter Text

The trade agreement was a growing morphing thing, in actuality: Odysseus had opened the door to something that seemed quite large - after some back and forth, particularly with some of the Spartan traders coming to examine the wool that Ithaca had, Basileus Tyndareus proposed something that made even her parents sit back a little: Sparta wanted to have their own black flocks, and were willing to offer fostering to the Prince of Ithaca in exchange.

Their parents were quite adamant that it wouldn't be a good idea - while the trip with Odysseus and Ctimene to Messenia had been (mostly) uneventful, fosterage was a place far from Ithaca.

Father didn't want Odysseus to leave because Ithaca was safe now, there had been nothing to threaten him in the divine sense for as long as Ctimene had been around - not a single drop or a rustle of any sign of nymphs.

And besides, if Odysseus left, Ctimene would have to go with him too - and neither mother nor father were keen on that. Messenia was one thing, Sparta quite another.

Besides, who would manage the sheep, if Odysseus was to be fostered?

Sparta's second proposal was an offer for the princess of Ithaca to also stay with her brother - for, Basileus Tyndareus had heard from his nephews how close both the princess and prince were, and could hardly be parted, except perhaps in the event of her future marriage?

In other words, Sparta was proposing a possible Spartan prince as marriage for Ctimene; of course they would want the excellent herdsmen who had such excellent husbandry skills to come and train the herdsmen in Sparta as well.

"I don't want to go to Sparta, Mother," Ctimene whined, ignoring the conflicted look on her brother's face. Odysseus would enjoy Sparta, that was for sure, ignoring the fact that there might be a whole load of new nymphs who liked hanging around cities or something. Horse nymphs, satyrs - maybe drainage nymphs and the like, even. There was a lot of weapons and training he'd like - and the Spartan princes were so nice to Odysseus - Thoas and Perileos had sent personal letters along with the proposal to Odysseus, and Ctimene had started a little dick patterned ribbon at how much he was giggling over them.

But Ctimene would be bored. They didn't have anything for her to do - they were boring, and only wanted plain stuff, which was boring, and Ctimene had already been bored to tears enough to talk to Damasippus without proper restraint and accidentally let slip things.

Years of it would be awful, mother!

Neither of her parents wanted Ctimene gone for years either. And when Odysseus really thought about it, well, he had his sheep here to take care of - all his experiments in maintaining his sheep's black fleece; he didn't actually want to give up the Ithacan monopoly yet.

"Perhaps we can start small, and see whether our production will match their demands," Odysseus suggested. "And Damasippus had mentioned he has sisters - and female cousins."

"Ah," Laertes said, catching on. "Anticlea, perhaps we could suggest that they send girls who are close to Ctimene's age, to see if they get along? I believe it would be quite distressing if Ctimene were to get married and not get along with her new sisters."

Ctimene pouted, but it was a better idea, Mother agreed. A trial, they agreed, for a few weeks.

There would be three princesses - Basileus Tyndareus' youngest twin daughters Helen and Clytemnestra, and Basileus Icarius' daughter Penelope. The youngest, Basileus Tyndareus wrote, was too young to travel yet.

They were escorted by Penelope's brother Damasippus and another brother Aletes.

Ctimene had zero hopes of the new brother not also turning Odysseus' head - because all of them were demigods, and the brothers looked so similar to even Iphitos in some way that Ctimene had realised with a sinking feeling that Odysseus had a Type - and that was "bigger than him".

Odysseus was fortunately late to the great hall, because she'd hidden his second-best chlamys, the one that had so impressed Damasippus, and thus she had been there first when they arrived.

Aletes was younger than Perileos, his beard a little more sparse, but he looked like Thoas, just a little more slender, slightly more blond. There was no point trying to get to know him beyond that he was polite as his brother, then, and circumspect enough not to 'turn on the charm' like Perileos and Thoas had.

(if he had, she had her distaff this time, as was proper for a lady who was simply doing some work in the great hall, and she was near enough to the door that at the slightest hint of her parents getting glazed eyes, she was going to beat Aletes over the head.)

Father greeted Princes Damasippus and Aletes, and Mother welcomed the Princesses - while shooting Ctimene a rather firm look.

Ctimene gracefully and innocently pretended that Mother's look was to summon her to greet the Princesses, rather than ask where her brother was.

Just from their looks - Helen and Clytemnestra didn't look at all like twins; Clytemnestra was dark-haired, with sharp almost cat-shaped eyes, green as the cat that hunted for rats in the kitchen, a single flick of her eyes taking in Ctimene.

Helen, on the other hand, was blonde the way lightning left streaks behind her eyelids if she looked too long at the stormy skies - bright, almost blinding; she had to blink a little long to take in the actual colour of her hair and even her hairstyle - once she got past that first stormy impression, she realised she had her hair up in intricate little braids coiled and carefully twisted tight against her head, to keep her hair out of her face. Ctimene glanced back at Helen's twin sister; Clytemnestra slow blinked back, a move she was intimately familiar with - she was resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

"It is reassuring to see that everyone has the exact same reaction to my sister Helen," Clytemnestra said, her smile all red against her pale face.

"The reaction of..?" Ctimene said. "Is - Helen's hair really green?" Clytemnestra's smile widened, slightly more genuine.

"I tried staining my hair," Helen said, her voice surprisingly deep and smokey. "That didn't work."

That wasn't true, Ctimene thought - that green-ish gold was not a mistake in hairstaining - and no one would want to stain away such blond hair - but instead …

Maybe, her hair was the colour of electrum.

When Ctimene held out her hand to the twin Princesses, Clytemnestra took her hands readily enough; Helen hesitated a moment when Ctimene turned to her, and then grasped her fingers firmly.

"Welcome to Ithaca, daughters of Tyndareus," Ctimene said.

"We are happy to be here," Helen said, looking relieved.

"You are really so cute," the third Princess said, turning away from her quiet talk with her brother - Damasippus had held her back a moment, maybe to whisper something to her, maybe warn her not to do something silly like turn on naiad charm? - "Ctimene, Princess of Ithaca, correct?"

"Welcome to Ithaca, daughter of Icarius," Ctimene said, and the princess' eyes crinkled in the corner. Ctimene immediately liked her, her brown hair was in a slightly messy braid down her shoulder, the kind of messiness that Ctimene had often and Odysseus never had, and Icarius' daughter had slate grey eyes, softer and more approachable, like the wax tablets that Odysseus carried around to do all his thinking on.

"You could just call me Penelope," she said, taking Ctimene's hand. "You look just like Iph-"

"Odysseus!" Damasippus called out behind them. "There you are! Come meet Aletes!"

"But first I must greet the Princesses of Sparta," Odysseus said, laughing, and the three princesses turned to Odysseus, who was holding out a tray of their best cups, and at their gazes, he gave the princesses a shallow bow over the tray.

He'd managed to find Father's tunic, striped grey and white. It wasn't the best with Odysseus' skin-tone, but presentable enough that Mother would only give him a narrow-eyed gaze for being late, saving the tongue-lashing for later that he managed to misplace all his actual clothes.

Unfortunately, even the way the tunic made his complexion just a hint more sallow didn't do anything to hide the fact that his hair was shiny little curls of ebony now - he'd gone and used oil, Ctimene realised, because Prince Damasippus was coming, and he had every intention of glittering like a peacock at the Spartan princes.

Except the princesses were also quite taken with Odysseus - Ctimene could see it!

And she couldn't use a distaff on the Spartan Princesses, not when this was a diplomatic thing, and Mother would be Very Displeased at her possibly breaking her distaff.

"Brother," she said, trying not to yell that it was unfair. The princesses were supposed to at least talk to her for a whole sentence!

Odysseus smiled - he meant to beam, she could see it, that shit-eating revenge for her hiding all his best things, but then he saw both Helen and Penelope and his eyes widened, beaming smile arrested in place.

…. Noooo, Odysseus' type was supposed to be men bigger than him!

He swallowed, visibly.

"Typical," Clytemnestra murmured, and glanced at Ctimene. Her sharp eyes softened a little, and she did reach out to Ctimene's shoulder, squeezing a little. "Men all react like this to Helen and my cousins. It'll wear off eventually."

"He's going to go stupid over them," Ctimene said crossly. "It's not fair-"

Damasippus went over to Odysseus and slung his arm over his shoulders. "Prince of Ithaca, come, meet my brother!" more boisterous than he had been in the forest - like he was channeling Thoas' exuberance.

Odysseus shook his head, blinking, and then gave Penelope and Helen a smile that was more thoughtful, than the bright practiced ones he used for politics. "Princesses," he said, "Mother, Father, I will return in a while with refreshments." And he turned to Clytemnestra, and gave her a bow that was a little deeper than usual.

"Huh," Clytemnestra said. "That was fast." She didn't look particularly charmed by Odysseus - but Clytemnestra gave the impression she was charmed by very few people.

It'd always been that fast, Ctimene didn't say. Odysseus wasn't like the other men of their acquaintance, she was sure. Odysseus was the one who people looked at.

The worry she had now, was that Penelope and Helen would be all gone over Odysseus too; Penelope was a naiad-demigod, and everyone knew the rumours of some of the children of Tyndareus. And now that she'd seen Helen, golden in the way lightning was golden, streaking brilliant and untouchable in storm raging skies; arresting in the way that the barest glancing touch would burn down anything, like happened two years ago, when an old olive tree was struck by a summer lightning storm and fire burned inside it for two days…

Maybe those rumours were true - and Helen's divine father was the worst possible divinity to offend.

Penelope turned away resolutely from Odysseus, turning back to smile at Ctimene, bright as a sparkling brook. "Where was I? Oh! You look just like Iphthime!" at Ctimene's blink, she elaborated, "my baby sister. She's about your age, I think."

"Older, perhaps," Helen said, low and quiet like wine-dark amber. Ctimene would be pleased at how quickly Helen and Penelope seemed resolute on ignoring Odysseus' presence except…

Older?

But if Iphthime was older, then why didn't she come, since the request had been for princesses around Ctimene's age?

"Still too young to travel," Penelope said cheerfully. "And Father doesn't think anyone, not even Damasippus, would be able to keep her properly safe."

They all three smiled in varying degrees of brightness at Ctimene, all blandly not saying at all what Ctimene was slowly realising - that Ctimene travelling with Odysseus was the… slightly odd thing.

Huh.

Huh.

After the tour of the house that Mother gave the princesses - Father had gone out with Damasippus, taking Odysseus away with him so he wouldn't get underfoot - it was Ctimene's turn to show them their guest rooms. Ithaca was small enough that two of the princesses would have to share, unless Ctimene piled them all into the same room, which Ctimene was unsure was an insult or not.

They certainly didn't seem to find anything wrong with the rooms - commenting politely that it was very well-appointed, clearly breezy in the summer, yet arranged and decorated in a way to keep the chills and damp out in the winter.

Certainly they didn't seem to find anything odd in the way the place was decorated - maybe they were good at pretending; if it weren't for the rather plain edging of their own clothing, with simple corded belts and bands, she would have thought them like any other ladies from the islands and not related to the Spartan princes outside probably giving Odysseus ridiculous calf-eyes for the finery he was strutting around in.

"We have a gift for you, Ctimene," Penelope said, after they had agreed that Penelope would sleep in her own guest room, while the twin sisters would share, and all the servants had arranged the princesses' belongings in the rooms, "we all made it."

And then Penelope picked up a linen wrapped bundle from the top of her belongings, presenting it to Ctimene.

Ctimene accepted it with as much grace as could cover her trepidation that whatever it was was going to be as plain as its wrapping. Maybe they wouldn't be offended if she said it was plain - and ugly - or she didn't think much of their weaving skills, judging from what their brothers wore. They might not care, the same way that Damasippus called trimming 'frivolous'.

(which was a lie, considering how he and his brothers had clearly admired it on Odysseus.)

She unwrapped it carefully, with all the care that a gift from the princesses of a powerful country deserved, and then paused at the multicoloured fabric revealed.

All the princesses were waiting expectantly, as Ctimene unwrapped and unfolded what turned out to be a large wall-tapestry, enough to cover the half of one wall of Ctimene's own room - a huge expansive scene of at least dozen colours, raging harpies setting upon the great heroes of not that long ago - the Argonauts.

"... are those - " she said, trying to lay out the folds to see its entirety - Clytemnestra and Helen helped her lay it out up against the wall, so she could at least see half of it. "Is that -" touching the character outlined in what looked like yellow, and the character next to him, exactly the same but not.

"Castor and Pollux," Penelope said, "my twin cousins."

"Oh," Ctimene said.

"Come, look at it," Penelope said, drawing her back , backing away as Helen and Clytemnestra held up as much as they could - which considering how tall they were, was much more than Ctimene could.

"It's beautiful," Ctimene breathed. In the daylight from the window, the tapestry was vibrant in all the life-like colours, the sea a distinct blue green roiling waves against the rich russet of the Argo's hull, it's sails open at full mast, though half torn through from the Harpies' feet, bright red-brown tips meant to represent the hard as bronze talons.

There was also a lot of bright red everywhere, gushings of heroic blood.

She tried counting them, though she wasn't sure she could identify all the heroes - "... is Heracles there?" she asked.

"Eh," Clytemnestra said, "he's boring."

"Clytemnestra didn't want to have him in it," Helen said, also looking over the vast expanse of it, the swords flashing copper and bronze, bristling spears and shields.

"We already have one son of Zeus in there," Clytemnestra said, "we don't need another."

"Clytemnestra is biased," Penelope faux-whispered to Ctimene. "Only her brothers are allowed to be heroic in her tapestries."

"Her.. tapestries?" The beautiful full wall-sized scene, with its intricate details - she could see the shades of each sword, the tiny emblems of each Argonaut, and the way the angles of the Harpies' feathers turned this way and that - in the night's firelight, she suspected, it would look like the wings would beat in the fierce skies. "Are all your tapestries like this?"

She couldn't imagine doing all of this herself - not one so huge and detailed. She couldn't imagine having all of this in her mind - even if she used all the parchment in the palace and all of the tablets, stealing even Odysseus', she wouldn't be able to plan it all, let alone organise the women to do something so fine, so beautiful.

"Well, usually they're smaller," Penelope said, "usually. And I have so many brothers, their exploits are a bit of a pain to record constantly."

"It's only because this is a gift for you," Helen murmured, barely above the whisper of a room's fire, but Ctimene could still hear her right to the bones. "That's why we insisted on the others."

"After all, someone has to row, right?" Penelope said, a laugh in her voice, a sweet trickle of a spring, a young trout breaking the surface of a stream. "It can't all just be Castor and Pollux doing everything themselves."

It startled a laugh out of Ctimene. "It's beautiful," she said again. "Really - is this really for me? Not for Mother and Father?"

"Thoas said you liked stabbing things," Clytemnestra said, freeing one hand to stroke right where one Harpy had artistically stabbed an Argonaut in the chest. There was a beautiful spray of bright red blood - what kind of dye had they used to get such a bright red?

"I didn't stab anyone," Ctimene said, glancing to Penelope, "I only threw a stone at him. And a spoon."

"You could go ahead and stab Thoas," Penelope said, completely unphased.

"There's a lot of space to stab. He'll live," Clytemnestra said. "Do you want us to help put this up in your room?"

While they set it up on her wall, reassuring her that yes, this was really meant for her, not meant for the great hall, well unless she wants to have it put there, Ctimene worried whether her own prepared gifts were now inadequate.

She'd been told that they were three princesses, so she'd made three large summer capes, bigger than Odysseus' chlamys, but not too large, because her main work had been in the working of the decorative hems. The Spartan princes liked weapons, and she had no idea what other icons the Princesses might like, so it had been arrows for one, spears for another, and daggers for a third, alternating in black and white wool, with smaller geometric borders in a broad two handspan width bands that she sewed on later.

"The daggers are mine," Clytemnestra said, grabbing for the one with the daggers. "These are so cute."

"The arrows are really good," Penelope said, admiringly, smoothing her fingers over the little bundles of arrowheads and their fletching. "So life-like. Whose arrows were the model?"

"Iphitos had given Ody-- us some," Ctimene said, carefully avoiding Odysseus' name. Penelope only smiled, still admiring them.

"Then I'll take the spears," Helen said. Giving her sister a side-eyed glance, the same kind of expression that was almost like when Mother frowned at Ctimene for grabbing the last honey-cake from Odysseus' plate. Clytemnestra tipped her head, tossing her dark hair with a little shake, as if she couldn't see her sister's expression.

"They're very good aren't they," Penelope said, still very admiring, snagging it from Helen's grasp. "Ow!"

Helen held her hands up, in apology. "Sorry."

Ctimene blinked between them. "What happened -"

Clytemnestra wrapped the cape over herself, unconcerned. "Oh, she just shocks people occasionally."

"I don't do it on purpose," Helen said.

"Except when she does," Clytemnestra smirked, and grinned harder, all sharp edged and red as her sister flashed an even sharper glare at her, all silver-gold sparks.

"Never attempt to wrestle Helen in summer," Penelope said, shaking her hand out, and then picked at the wool again, Helen carefully not touching it to allow Penelope to pull it close.

"Well, okay," Ctimene said, trying to imagine wrestling the older girls.

She might just get squished.

She could run after Odysseus and beat at him, but actual wrestling? She might break something.

"These are so beautiful," Penelope said, and then turning the edge around to show Helen. "See? What pattern are these? How did you make these?"

"I wove them," Ctimene said, feeling her face warm a little at the praise. "It's not… nothing particularly special."

"Perileos praised your weaving," Clytemnestra said, stroking her line of daggers, looking as satisfied as a hen beating another for the best nesting site. "He said your clouds of Zeus were intricate. These are even better."

Perileos didn't know that the clouds were fat little sheep falling down Odysseus' shoulder like he'd booted them down a hill.

Ctimene was blushing anyway, ears heating. "They're just bands, I wove them on the heddles - "

Penelope dumped both the capes onto Helen's lap. "Come! Show me! How do you work on your patterns? Can you show me them?"

Oh, Ctimene thought, it wasn't that Sparta didn't have beautiful things.

It was just that they didn't wear them.

The kind of trimmings Ctimene did were small and intricate - easy for her to work on when she wanted a break from spinning, and the patterns easy enough to design and do automatically once you had the pattern worked out. She also had tablet-weaving when she got bored and wanted to work with more colours.

But the Spartan princesses didn't do their own spinning - "That's for the helots to do," Helen murmured - and the Spartan palace was huge and splendid - they all had their own personal standing loom.

Penelope had two, so she could keep two projects going at once, if she felt like it - "too many brothers," she said again - and they had a ton of yarn in a multitude of colours, always ready for them.

Thus they could plan and weave huge heroic tapestries - feet and feet of it - she could only barely imagine what the great hall in Sparta must look like - a riot of heroic exploits, the sons of Sparta fighting to have their own deeds recorded for all of Sparta to see and admire.

The little trimmings and ribbons, however, Penelope had no idea of. Most of the basic patterns Ctimene had learned from Mother and Eurycleia, patient fingers showing her how to work it into an easy rhythm, until she could easily conjure the shapes she wanted, which motifs she wanted to have running around Odysseus' hems, or Father's collar.

All of these, had not been taught to the Spartan princesses - because the naiad Periboas didn't weave - and the Basilinna Leda was Spartan enough to also not have time for these little things - after all, all of Sparta had a lot of physical exercise to do - how else were the best warriors to be warriors? The princesses taking time from their own busy schedules to weave their brothers' exploits was an honour enough.

"Pollux never remembers to thank us," Clytemnestra said, "at least Castor appreciates it."

"They're busy running around all of the world being heroes," Helen said, glancing at Clytemnestra, and patting her shoulder in something that was almost delicate commiseration.

Clytemnestra huffed. "Mother says that we should concentrate more on the trade, which is more honour than mere tapestries. So of course Pollux thinks so too."

Helen poked her, trying to hush her.

"What?" Clytemnestra glanced at Ctimene, watching them in mild confusion.

"This is Greece, dear," Helen murmured.

"But Damasippus said --"

"No work talk," Penelope said, "certainly not before dinner. Look at these ribbons! Ctimene, can I learn some of these? I would love to have some for my next peplos."

So Ctimene let herself be drawn into teaching Penelope a basic pattern for ribbons. Maybe another gift she could think of for Penelope, at least, would be a set of tablets for a portable loom.

During dinner, Odysseus kept sneaking looks at Penelope and Helen.

He did it subtly enough that only Ctimene noticed - Penelope and Helen and Clytemnestra kept up conversation with Mother, and Ctimene, and graciously ignored the male side of the party - so it was supposed to be Odysseus and Father doing their job of entertaining Damasippus and Aletes.

While a diplomatic delegation, the important parties were the Princesses, so even though they did dine in the great hall, they had tables so they could be seated closer together, and not have other noblemen here. Father would host something else tomorrow for the others to meet the Spartan princes, but this time it was just their two parties.

In this more intimate setting - intimate, considering that there were five newcomers that Mother and Father hadn't met before this - Odysseus wasn't as scintillating as he might usually be - maybe that was why his sneaky glances weren't so obvious. He kept up a conversational patter with Damasippus and Aletes, encouraging more stories of training and hunting, while technically being polite enough to let Ctimene do most of the conversation with the Spartan Princesses.

He was, alas, too far away to kick for each glance he stole of Helen or Penelope.

"If you want, I can throw a dagger at him," Clytemnestra murmured to Ctimene, under the cover of adjusting her hair. Unlike the other two, she wore her hair in thick loose waves, only held back from her eyes with a headband. Maybe it was a sort of statement - since no one seemed to notice her anyway, not when she had her twin next to her.

"Mother would scold," Ctimene said. "And he'd get hurt," she added after a thought.

"Aletes would save him, I'm sure," Penelope said. Aletes, the new brother, also was watching Odysseus' hands; his smile was a little smaller than Thoas' or Perileos' - like he was more serious than either brother and not used to smiling much. Odysseus was clearly encouraging more of it.

Ctimene gave Odysseus a bright smile, next time he glanced at them, and Odysseus narrowed his gaze right back at her.

"Is there somewhere you want to go, tomorrow?" Ctimene said, raising her voice a little. "Since Father has sent heralds already to inform all of the families that the Princes of Sparta have arrived."

The three princesses glanced at each other - Penelope looked over to Odysseus, then deliberately slid her eyes towards her brothers. "You would be so busy," Penelope decided. "Shall we head outside then? Since Damasippus and Aletes have already been given a tour, I would like to see Ithaca, maybe… what's so different from Sparta."

It wasn't particularly subtle; but then, the Spartans hadn't grown up around Odysseus, who delighted in making life for Ctimene interminably difficult.

Ctimene glanced towards Mother, and she nodded slightly.

"Would you like to look at our pastures?" Ctimene said. "Since it looks like it'd be a sunny day, the sheep would be out grazing."

Clytemnestra smiled at that. "That would be lovely," she said. "I like sheep."

"Who doesn't," Ctimene laughed.

So mother tacitly wanted to allow Ctimene to give them a tour. Ctimene gave Odysseus another glance - he had struck up something about boar hunting with Aletes, and cheerfully throwing Father under the oxen about his boar hunting days.

Well she'll ask him if he wanted to join them, after dinner tonight.

"My son, you get along so well with the Spartan princes, and Ctimene looks like she quite likes the Princesses, then perhaps, we can simplify communications?" Father said.

They were in Mother and Father's room after they had seen their Spartan guests to their rooms; Father was seated at his desk, stack of tablets carefully and neatly put in one corner. At least one was the state of their armory, Ctimene knew. Father had been reviewing it, wondering about whether this trade might actually bring them bronze.

Odysseus hummed, neither yes nor no.

"No, he shouldn't reveal anything, not yet. Consider: they do not know who is the expert in the husbandry. The Messenians had tried to take the herdsmen, remember?" Mother said.

"But they gained no knowledge; none of the herdsmen knew anything," Odysseus said.

"All that means is that the Messenians know that those herdsmen were not the ones who direct the breeding of the sheep. Or that they are loyal enough to keep their mouths shut." Mother dropped a spindle neatly into the basket of completed spindles between her and Ctimene.

The problem was, Ctimene thought, as she held out her hands for more combed wool, and Odysseus put it in her hands for her to start winding it on her distaff - he continued to comb another little handful of wool from the basket by his feet - the problem was that in their last communications, Sparta was hinting strongly about having Ithaca's expert come to Sparta, and stay for a while.

They didn't know who headed the direction of their husbandry - Mother would vastly prefer it that way.

"And letting them know it is you, puts you at risk," Mother said. "Puts the business at risk. There's nothing more dangerous than a thief of information."

Odysseus grunted.

"Speak your mind, son," Laertes said.

Odysseus handed another batch of combed wool to Ctimene, and took his time to consider his words. "I do like the Spartan princes," he said, consideringly. "And I am quite willing to get to know the princesses." He smirked at Ctimene's outraged little noise, and crossed one thigh over the other before she could kick him in the ankle.

"But?" Laertes said, casting them both a fond smile. Ctimene inched her stool a little closer, and kicked at Odysseus' other ankle until he had to put his other foot down or fall off the chair.

"I've only just met them," Odysseus said, planting his feet down and pouted at Ctimene. She stuck her tongue out at him; Mother clucked her tongue and they both straightened up properly. Odysseus started combing wool again. "I don't know if I can trust them yet."

"Why not?" Ctimene said. "You trusted the Princes immediately."

"Darling baby sister," Odysseus said, and swung both feet out of her range, and then put them back down again when she had to withdraw, "in Sparta, the women run the trade."

"... so?" Ctimene said, a little confused. "They don't talk about it - they -"

Or… was that because outside of Sparta, the women didn't? That was confusing, Ctimene went with Odysseus everywhere, and it was simply because Odysseus spoke better than her, he was the one who owned and bred the black sheep, so of course he decided the trade. Ctimene volunteered some thoughts about the normal sheep wool when Odysseus couldn't be bothered to say anything, because that was Mother and Father's, rather than Odysseus'. No one had seemed to take it amiss at all.

Odysseus hummed, and then tipped his head, letting his curls drop down into his eyes, because he'd taken off his headband, just so he could shake his pretty, still bouncy and perfect curls at Ctimene and annoy her. "Therefore I must rely on my darling sister to test whether they are trustworthy," he said, batting his eyes at her obnoxiously.

"What," Ctimene said, "How can I do that? Why should I do it?! You're supposed to do the talking!"

"They would speak absolutely nothing of the trade to me," Odysseus said, tone all woeful, "even though I smiled and was so so sweet -"

"You were staring and being an empty headed rooster at them," Ctimene scowled. "Clytemnestra was going to stab you."

"Oh, was she? Does Helen know knife-fighting too? Or can Penelope do archery?" Odysseus said.

"Mother!" Ctimene complained. "Odysseus is not being clear!"

"Odysseus," Mother said, not exactly sternly, so Odysseus just grinned at Ctimene, and handed her more wool so she couldn't do anything but take it instead trying to upend the basket at him.

"Just have a feel for them," Odysseus said. "It's fine, you can talk about anything they ask of the sheep."

"But I will - what if I leak anything!" Ctimene cried, "it would be leaking your -"

"I'll have it sorted," Odysseus said. "I'll bring Eumaeus over when I join you later."

Which meant he was going to slip out from the banquet-prep that Father was going to hold - Mother would give him cover. Ctimene could feel her heart slow down - good. Good she wouldn't be having to cope with everything for hours then. She didn't like the thought of attempting to withhold any information from the princesses - they were very nice, and very kind, and significantly older than her. Plus, Ctimene was shit at lying.

Odysseus crossed his ankles, and tapped the side of one foot against the floor. "Nothing you can say I won't be able to cover," he said. "And besides, it's good for you to look like you're in charge of the logistics. I do wonder whether it's Penelope or Helen who is in charge on the Spartan side?"

"Mightn't it be Clytemnestra?" Ctimene muttered, finishing off her now full spindle, tossing it into a basket of spun yarn. "Why Eumaeus?"

"So he can be the sheep expert," Odysseus said. "And I," he fluttered his eyelashes at her, grin widening at Laertes' chuckle, "will be the pretty empty rooster who wants to bring my clever, beloved sister lunch."

"And make eyes at the Princesses," Ctimene said, starting a new spindle. "Ass."

"That too," Odysseus said shamelessly pleased.

"So you'll decide after," Father said, tapping a finger on the tablets on his table.

"We shall see," Odysseus said, and looked towards Mother.

"Hm," Mother said. "It's good to be cautious. Be cautious even if they ask you to visit Sparta."

"Of course, Mother."

Author's notes

Here I'm putting in some of the differences between Sparta and Ithaca/Greece! Of course, much of Sparta's social differences between Spartan Citizens & helots comes about much MUCH later, around 480 BC, while this is set in Earlier Fantasy Mycanaean Greece. And of course, societies can change dramatically within a generation or two, let alone a few hundred years.

But when societies change, they don't usually change to the point of pulling shit out of nowhere. There is some debate as to whether 'helot' is an ethnic group or a social class or both - most of the helots in Archaic & classical Sparta were a 'class of subjugated peoples', but I feel like this sort of 'classification' could have existed much earlier than that.

Therefore I decided that in this fantasy Sparta, rich, full of resources Sparta, they already have a servant class of people within Sparta that are called Helots, who take on the more tedious of domestic work; so like in archaic Sparta, helots do most of the spinning and weaving of daily use fabrics - such as making clothing for everyone else. This leaves the upper class women such as the daughters & wives of noble families free to do the more artistic kind of fabric work - such as weaving high social status tapestries, and also a good portion of the trade, since Spartan men are focusing more on the physical training. Though such a division isn't as sharp as it will be in future Sparta, I've decided that for the purposes of fic, it's obvious enough that the division is clearly different from how most other greek societies at the time work.

So in terms of what Ctimene finally figures out is the difference: in Sparta, material goods that mark a man's rank isn't the decoration of his daily wear, as it is in Greece/Ithaca, but mainly is the quality and decoration of his armour and weaponry (which, of course to a large extent, is what marks a rich and high status noble individual in the rest of Greece also), but in addition, it's whether their own deeds are recorded by their women folk in the tapestries in the Great Hall of Sparta. So this is what the men of Sparta would be competing to get - working close and valiantly enough with the princes of Sparta that the princesses of Sparta would put them in their tapestries, which would be displayed in the great hall for everyone to see during Sparta's general assemblies. So now Ctimene realises that the plainness of their daily wear and gear doesn't mean much to the Spartans - though they know enough to understand that OTHER greek settlements/territories have slightly different standards; they wear that difference with easy pride.

(Did I make it a pun of Spartan = plain? hahah)

Odysseus being dressed with trim and patterns is perfectly okay - he's Greek, after all, not Spartan, and they do appreciate his pretty pretty trimmings too.

From my very superficial understanding of weaving, many of the patterns for weaving ribbons and bands historically were orally transmitted, and not committed to writing (duh). So most of it would be taught from mother to daughter, mistress to underling. If you have only ever worked with a weighted-warp standing loom, then a small, rigid heddle or tablet loom would be rather difficult to work with, especially from the beginning. I imagine that working a tapestry of many colours results in you having to work with many coloured threads, handling many shuttles and/or many warp colours, and having to be meticulous and having planned it out long before you start your tapestry. Meanwhile for ribbons and trim, which are narrow bands with limited colours with repeating motifs (thanks to the smaller loom itself), the body-movement memory would be different. For one, most of the time these small looms are worked while sitting, while the standing looms are worked standing. The patterns and 'methods' to work either kind of loom are different, and what you must remember when weaving would be different, even if at the core it is all warp-and-weft threads, essentially.

Thus if the Spartan princesses were NOT taught how to use small looms, they would not be able to make the same kind of ribbons that Ctimene is able to do on a portable basis; therefore the trims that Odysseus wears are mostly absent from the Princes of Sparta's clothing.

In terms of gender roles, here are some hints lol. Archaic and Classical Sparta had such a sharp gender divide - notable for being that Spartan women were expected to also keep up some physical conditioning to have stronger babies, and Spartan men were expected to be the Top Tier Specimens of Sleek Military, and therefore had no time to maintain the domestic side of life - which means trade was not what Spartan men did. Instead, that's what fell to the Spartan women.

In this fic, this takes place way before that, of course. But because like said earlier, societies still have some sort of seeds of what might grow into such structures in the future, I feel perfectly happy to sow the beginnings of those differences here in Sparta - women tend to handle trade, men tend to handle war much more. Just enough difference that the characters understand this difference quite clearly - where Penelope tells Clytemnestra to be wary of talking trade because they're NOT in sparta, and Odysseus saying that the princesses won't talk trade to him, no matter how close and friendly he is to their brothers.

Ctimene hasn't realised that she has been 'spoiled' - she has been allowed to handle more of Ithaca's trade at a relatively young age (she's younger than Iphthime, who isn't allowed to travel yet!) and allowed to travel with Odysseus, which for most noble greek women this is not Really Done. She's got a lot more authority than she realises, in terms of trade, and Trade is very VERY important in a world where there are no markets as we know it, when goods you do not have need to be made, stolen or traded for.

Chapter Text

Ctimene took them to go looking at the pastures further away from the palace - while the palace would be always within sight, as it should be, they would be more or less easy to overlook from the steady line of visitors already starting to trickle towards the palace. Everyone wanted to catch a look of the Spartan princes, and the palace was going to be crowded. Ctimene was glad to be leading the princesses off into a pasture to watch lambs frolick and attempt to steal milk from other ewes.

Two servants came along with the princesses; when they went to look at the black sheep, all of them pure black blobs on the greenery, one of the servants certainly had a lot of questions to ask - straightforward wonderings about their feed, whether they were sheltered often, whether they were kept separate from the normal sheep.

Fortunately, Ctimene knew very little about the specifics - Odysseus kept most of that in his head, so Ctimene could only answer in generalities - yes of course they were kept separate from the normal sheep, they seemed to like the cooler pastures - the density of their fleeces were as you could see and touch for yourselves. There was some supplementary feed… but Ctimene didn't know what all was in it - it was grains and grasses - she could only name a few. And even the normal sheep got some of that.

Ctimene being cagey was normal - the sheep-servant seemed to understand when Ctimene couldn't (or wouldn't) answer more details - and she led the princesses into patting the sheep, tugging lightly to comb out the loose fleece.

The princesses didn't seem quite sure what to do with loose wool that the sheep were shedding - Ctimene just chattered about the quality of the wool - how the black sheep didn't shed as much as the normal sheep, though of course still enough that the bird nests around Ithaca would be lined dark grey. She encouraged them to rub their fingers through the wool - they also had a smoother feel than normal wool - mayhap the lanolin from them was good on the skin during the extremely dry summer months in Sparta? This certainly sparked Helen's interest. If she was more… electrum during summers, then more moisturizing would certainly be of interest to her.

Based on the remarks from Penelope about the complete pure blackness of the wool, Ctimene knew that Damasippus had mentioned the colour shifting hem of Odysseus' chiridota; Ctimene cheerfully overlooked the question, and dragged handfuls of grass up to feed curious lambs. She still had not come up with an adequately efficient way to spin the wool into what she wanted to achieve with the bi-coloured wools - and Odysseus may have decided to take his breeding in a different direction, since he hasn't given her any new wool with the sun-bleached ends.

The colour shifting wool would probably just not be available, Ctimene thought - any multi-coloured wool fabrics were just going to have to come from the usual way of dying different yarns different colours, like how the threads of the princesses' tapestries were done.

The sun started to come up, hot for even for late fall, and Odysseus hailed them, Eumaeus leading an ox dragging a sheltered wagon.

"Oh Good, Lunch," Ctimene said brightly, and the princesses all ran for the sheltered wagon, abandoning the sheep-servant outside with Odysseus and Eumaeus.

There, Ctimene could give the princesses all the food, and watch Odysseus follow Eumaeus with the sheep-servant; Odysseus was all loose-limbed, apparently barely interested, more than occasionally casting obvious glances to the wagon.

Ctimene couldn't help the huff at that. The glances were more than half-genuine, that was the problem. Odysseus could lie as well as anyone - but his favourite lies were the kind that had more than a seed of truth.

He did look towards the princesses, because he was interested.

"A young fool," Clytemnestra sniffed.

"Dear, don't say something like that of someone," Helen said, taking delicate bites of the bread, as if she was afraid her teeth would toast it too crispy to bite.

"That's Ctimene's brother after all." Penelope said.

"He's a giant cockerel," Ctimene said, and Penelope grinned.

"A little robin," Penelope said, casting Odysseus a look that Ctimene thought Odysseus had no right to see from the shadow of their wagon. He adjusted the rim of his hat, and waved. Helen caught Penelope's gaze, and both started giggling.

Ctimene groaned - and saw Clytemnestra roll her eyes so hard.

"As if you have any better taste," Helen murmured, her low voice almost husky with secrets, her eyes dancing with mischief.

Ctimene's ears pricked forward at that, and she leaned forward.

"I have the best taste," Clytemnestra said, affronted.

"Do not imagine we did not notice you spend too long at the training grounds," Penelope said, managing to sound both conspiratorial and breezily arch at the same time.

"I was training!" Clytemnestra glared at her sister and cousin; they both burst into giggles. "You both should know! You were both there too!"

They giggled harder - Helen had to put her sandwich down to prevent getting crumbs everywhere.

"Please, you weren't there to just train," Penelope teased.

Clytemnestra made a noise like a disgusted cat, which made Helen giggle harder.

"Wait," Ctimene said, turning that thought over in her mind. "You… all train? With actual weapons? With… the boys?"

Penelope patted Helen on the back. "Yes - well, not with..."

"It's a big space," Helen managed after a while. "But obviously, we don't wrestle the boys or anything."

"Imagine wrestling Thoas," Penelope said. "I would break my back."

"Wrestling him is easy," Clytemnestra said, "just don't."

"That made sense -" Ctimene said. It didn't make sense.

"Just sweep his ankles and let him fall over your hip," Clytemnestra said. "You've seen him, correct? He's huge. He falls faster."

He was very fast, Ctimene said, and didn't believe her. There was no way Thoas fell over anywhere. But at the same time…

"Could I learn?" she said.

"To wrestle Thoas?" Clytemnestra said.

"No, to use weapons," she said. Made a face. "Not to become a warrior." She didn't want to be so easily bought by bronze greaves like certain people outside posing with sheep. "Just to learn how to…" she made stabbing motions with her sandwich.

"Ah. Self-defense."

Ctimene nodded. The only sharp thing she had on her were her fibula pins - and she knew that they were absolutely no help against the big Thoas when he was chasing them around their camp.

In the future, what if there were more nymphs? They wouldn't be deterred by rocks; or worse, worse gods than nymphs. Satyrs maybe. Centaurs? Did centaurs roam the lands outside Ithaca? Judging by how Odysseus was being eyed up by Helen and Penelope, and how interested the sheep servant was, it was looking like an official visit to Sparta was a rapidly solid reality. The princesses didn't look like warriors, she thought, but they sounded like they knew weapons enough. And certainly daggers would keep people away at a further distance than a fibula pin. Spears too, but they were very big and heavy; she couldn't lift Odysseus' easily, and there was no reason for Ctimene to be touting a spear around while she was going anywhere. For one, how could she carry a distaff and a spear and her spindle? Daggers sounded much more useful.

"I believe that should be no issue," Helen said, carefully. "If Ithaca has no objections."

"Certainly my brothers would have no objection," Penelope said.

Ctimene's forehead creased a moment - why would her brothers care? Why should Ctimene care if the Spartan princes cared? Wait.

Sparta's hopeful marriage thing.

Ctimene made a face. Ewwwww.

"Thoas might object to being target practice again," Clytemnestra said, apparently not noticing Ctimene's utter break in polite decorum.

"Thoas has always protested you using him as target practice," Penelope said, and they all laughed, and no one brought up marrying the Spartan princes.

Odysseus was lounging against a fence post, looking vaguely like he was sitting on a large ram placidly eating grass, as they emerged from the wagon after lunch.

"So in terms of the breeding - how do you keep the colour breeding true?" the sheep-servant was asking.

Eumaeus didn't look at Odysseus.

Odysseus was looking at them coming close, brightening up.

Helen waved very very slightly, and Odysseus straightened up, starting to push away from the post - and promptly fell over when the ram walked away.

"Master!" Eumaeus said, rushing to help pick Odysseus up from his faceplant into the grass.

"I'm fine!" Odysseus said, shaking his head. Anyone with grass in their hair like this would look a right idiot - Ctimene had had to spend an hour combing her hair out after falling down a hill chasing Odysseus once.

Odysseus looked like green and gold flowers falling from his curls was a tapestry worthy moment.

Penelope's fingers twitched.

"The sheep's trying to eat your chiton," Ctimene pointed out.

Odysseus yelped, turned around and batted at his sheep. "Shoo! Go away, Blackie!"

The ram stared at them all, unimpressed, and opened its mouth, letting the fabric fall and walked away.

"Blackie?" Clytemnestra said.

"All of them are Blackie," Odysseus said. "Saves me remembering oh, hundreds of names."

Lying liar, Ctimene thought, but fortunately no one was looking at her, just at Odysseus batting grass out of his hair and smiling at the Princesses. This flock was the Blackie flock - but they all had their own names. The other flocks had their own unique flock names, but Ctimene wasn't going to say anything unless asked directly.

If the sheep-servant gave Odysseus a look like she was kind of confused, well, anyone would be, Ctimene thought, she wasn't alone.

"Father is on this," Odysseus said, examining the tapestry in Ctimene's room.

"What are you doing in my room," Ctimene said suspiciously. He'd climbed in through the window, which meant he was here to steal jewellery, and hadn't noticed that she was in the corner packing a set of heddles for Penelope. "And what do you mean, Father's on this?"

Odysseus tapped a figure in the lower middle part of the tapestry, about a handspan below that of Pollux and Castor. The figure was throwing a spear. He had a beard, and black hair.

"How do you know it's Father?" Ctimene said, frowning more

"Look," Odysseus said, "at his spear."

Ctimene looked. "It's yellow…?" well, yellow-ish, a bit more yellow than the other spears in the tapestry.

"Saffron," Odysseus said. "See, the same as Pollux. Or Castor." He pointed up at the yellow-highlighted figure. "Saffron-dyed thread."

"Oh-" Ctimene said, realising what he meant.

She searched all of the rest of the tapestry - only Pollux-or-Castor was literally lined with saffron - no other figure seemed to have a hint of yellow.

Other than the one that Odysseus had pointed out as Father's spear. She herself had rarely used saffron-dyed thread - the flower wasn't cultivated in Ithaca, because they had better things to do with their already poor land. Saffron-dyed yarns were traded for, and Ctimene hadn't bothered with requesting any, because there was their black wool and the other common dyes they could work with. It wasn't like she felt the urge to weave the sun in anything; after all, great-grandfather didn't have a particular fondness for his brother.

"How flattering," Odysseus said, as Ctimene examined Father's figure's spear. "I wonder who did that - Clytemnestra or Helen? Or maybe -"

"I don't know, they only said that Clytemnestra never liked having other heroic figures other than her brothers…" she trailed off as she realised that Odysseus had drifted to a different corner of her room.

… Her jewellery corner.

"Hey!"

Odysseus sprinted for the window.

"Give me back my brooch!"

He scrambled out of the window before she could snag the edge of his clothes, and was squirreling down the wall, dropping the last few feet.

"You watch out, Odysseus!" she yelled down the window.

Odysseus sped out across the yard, laughing.

…. Well if he was in the yard, Ctimene thought, then his room was empty.

Which meant…! She gathered her skirts to run over to Odysseus' room. Time to hunt down his patchwork chlamys AND his best belt!

She had managed to find his chlamys in the rafters, and had unpicked two squares when Odysseus realised his mistake, and had come thundering back.

"My chlamys!" he cried.

"My samples!" she said. "HAH," and threw one square at the open door behind him.

He refused to be distracted, charged in to grab the fabric off her lap.

She refused to relinquish it.

"This is my chlamys!" Odysseus said, "My favourite, made with love -"

"It barely counts as clothes, let alone a chlamys!" Ctimene yelled back. "You are blind!"

"It's mine!" Odysseus hauled at it. "It is dishonourable to take a gift away!"

"You are a disgrace to the sense of taste!" Ctimene dug her elbows into it, and flung her whole body backwards towards Odysseus' soft mat. Odysseus grunted, nearly fell forward, barely bracing in time.

"Dishonourable!"

Odysseus staggered upright - Ctimene squirmed and tried to roll her entire body into it so he wouldn't have any grip.

The fabric strained a little, but both the sheep-gut stitching holding the haphazard squares of experimental weaving and the weaving itself held quite strongly, as sheep gut thread always did.

"Raaagh!" roared Odysseus, trying to shake her off.

"YOU are dishonourable! A dishonour to the family, dishonour on your cow!" Ctimene howled.

Odysseus yanked, but Ctimene's entire body weight was not helpful at all. Odysseus changed tack, pouncing her and tried to unroll enough to get at her fingers.

Ctimene twisted, trying to punch him in the nearest soft part, and when that didn't work, elbowed at his knee.

Odysseus yelled in her ear to try to make her let go.

Ctimene tried to hit his face with her head.

"What is happ--" "-- Is someone attacking?"

Odysseus and Ctimene paused when they realised they had an audience.

Penelope and Aletes looked very surprised to see them rolling around on Odysseus' mat.

"Hi," Odysseus said.

Ctimene tried to dig her elbows in more, scrunching more of the chlamys to her stomach.

Odysseus tried to bundle Ctimene up under his arm. He didn't have enough grip, not with her fingers and elbows trying their best to occupy all of the fabric. Plus, she was wriggling; she could see Penelope and Aletes from across Odysseus' shin. "Hello," she said, slightly muffled. "Odysseus is being a dishonourable chicken."

Odysseus tried to lift her, and then drop - like unrolling a large wall hanging. It did not work.

"So I didn't believe Thoas and Perileos," Penelope said, and in a show of utter lack of taste, seemed to think Odysseus being a dishonourable beast, bullying Ctimene with this existence of a disgraceful 'garment', was adorable.

"What did they say about me?" Odysseus said.

"That you had no taste, you strutting peacock!"

"It wasn't just me?" Aletes said to Penelope. "Here I thought they were full of their usual crap."

"They're always so full of crap," Penelope said, reaching down to pick up the square of fabric on the floor at the door. "What's this?"

"That's my sister's beautiful, loving weaving for her brother," Odysseus said.

"No!" Ctimene gasped, twisting to see. "No don't believe him-"

It unfortunately meant that Ctimene loosened her grip.

Odysseus immediately shoved his foot under her, and with a sharp yank, unrolled her like bed linen. In her surprise, she let go.

Ctimene yowled, scrabbling to grab at the fabric, but Odysseus bundled it up before she could gain purchase.

"I really must tell Damasippus," Aletes said. "He's going to be so jealous-"

"Yes!" Odysseus said, quickly hauling the fabric into his arms, "Tell Damasippus what potential the princess of Ithaca has, how well she fights -- OOF"

Ctimene clawed at his thighs, hauling at his belt to get up and reach the chlamys.

"Save - ow! - my birthday present!" Odysseus said, and flung it at Aletes before she could claw her way up his chest. "It is the princess' royal gift to the prince of Ithaca on his birthday - it must be preserved!"

Aletes caught the bundle, and his grin was a flash of a leaping trout - there and gone - and then he was just gone.

"No!" Ctimene yelled, and Odysseus took the chance to shove an arm between their bodies, and levered her right off him - Ctimene stumbled off, and tried to lunge back at him, but Odysseus took off to the door - in the same movement snagged the square of fabric Penelope was holding, and disappeared off after Aletes.

"Come back here!" Ctimene yelled, but she had never been as fast as Odysseus - she got out of the door, and Odysseus was already gone out of the house with his spoil.

Penelope had both hands on her mouth now, and Ctimene almost thought that she would look horrified, except…

Her eyes were dancing above her hands. Ctimene narrowed her gaze.

Penelope dropped her hands, looking like she'd just seen a lamb flop over in front of her. "Damasippus would be so sorry to have missed this," she said, biting her lip.

Ctimene scowled. Penelope bit her lips harder, struggling to keep her face straight.

"You," Ctimene said, "are so weird!" turned around and stomped off.

She was halfway to her room, when she remembered that while she'd lost the chlamys fight…

She was still wearing Odysseus' best belt. He hadn't noticed she'd found it!

Yesssss!

She raced back to her room to shove it in a new hiding place, wrapping the top of the new wall tapestry. Her belt now!

Chapter Text

Ctimene sailed through breakfast archly ignoring their male guests, but also, especially, Odysseus. Damasippus looked mildly cross - though it wasn't like she spent all that much time trying to figure out why - while Aletes apparently wouldn't stop giving her Looks.

Clytemnestra offered to lend her a dagger; they didn't bring any weapons for Ctimene, because well, Damasippus hadn't told them much about what Ctimene might like in the weapons department, and Perileos and Thoas were usually full of hyperbole, so they had discounted almost everything the two brothers had said.

When Ctimene got her hands on Clytemnestra's dagger though, her ignoring her stupid brother was quite real - the sheath was worked leather in various colours, different patterns cut into the firm leather and dyed. The straps too were braided fairly intricately.

This was the pretty trimming she'd been looking for! It was very easy to recognise this as belonging to a prince or princess, now that she got her hands on it; as beautiful as a brooch, just bigger, which was why Ctimene had thought it was a rather long pouch at first.

It was small and light compared to the swords Odysseus had - but still a considerable weight on her hips. Still, she supposed she could get used to it, eventually?

"You will get used to it," Penelope agreed, turning Ctimene around to fasten the belt to her. "Just wear it often."

Clytemnestra nodded in approval. "Yes. let's go out to the pastures then. Maybe we can try a little dagger-work."

"Where no one else can see," Ctimene said, after a glance at Mother for permission. It was odd for women to have daggers; certainly she didn't remember seeing anyone with them. But if she was to go to Sparta, then she should have a dagger too! This fit.

"We'll have a dagger for you when you come to Sparta," Aletes ventured, leaning in a little.

Ctimene, remembering how he'd seen her climbing Odysseus like a particularly dishonourable tree, didn't look at him. Penelope shooed him away.

Dagger work was actually very tiring.

Ctimene didn't want to be a warrior; her arms hurt!

She was much happier to return to spinning wool as soon as Clytemnestra decided it was lunch time.

She persisted in practicing though. Helen did ask why she wanted to learn, even though she clearly didn't like it.

"In the event that I encounter satyrs, or even centaurs," Ctimene said. "Odysseus can take care of the men."

Helen gave her a slightly confused look, but could only say that the cities probably didn't have satyrs.

The weeks passed fairly fast. Ctimene would take the princesses out to the pastures, not always the same one - sometimes to the normal sheep pastures, where they would help turn her arms into sad soggy wool, heavy and limp, and then they would spin wool after that in relief.

Well, Ctimene would spin wool - the other princesses would pore over Ctimene's awkwardly sketched out patterns, and wrangle with the rigid heddles to attempt to weave ribbons.

Ctimene might complain about the dagger-work, but the princesses didn't complain about the ribbon weaving, so Ctimene also learned to be less vocal about how weak and sore her arms were after each morning.

More than half the time, Odysseus would join them in the pastures; sometimes, they'd see him and Eumaeus in different pastures, the Spartan sheep-servant following them, before he came over, professing to be tired of the sun and Blackie(s) following him around, and casually pocketing Ctimene's notes on her second wax-tablet about the flocks they'd been through.

Sometimes, Odysseus would lead them to where Damasippus and Aletes were. Men had to keep up their physical conditioning, so that's what they did a lot in the mornings - and Ctimene could get to see them throw spears and shoot arrows.

They really were very good, Ctimene thought, and Odysseus was nearly as good as Aletes with the arrows Iphitos had gifted him, though of course they didn't wrestle, to Clytemnestra's almost detached professed disappointment.

It would be more entertaining to watch the men back home, Clytemnestra told her, because brothers were usually quite polite to each other, and Damasippus was more fraternal, even though Aletes was a man already. When they were not brothers, now, that was more entertaining.

Watching men in the training grounds, Penelope mouthed to Ctimene behind Clytemnestra's back, and Ctimene bit her lips.

"I can hear you," Clytemnestra said, without turning around.

Penelope giggled, and couldn't seem to stop until Odysseus turned to give them all a bright-eyed look.

When it was time for them to return, Odysseus helped pick out and pack some of their best olive oil along with bolts of their black wool and several black wool tunics, to send with the Spartan delegates. Ithaca was proudest of their black wool, but their olive oil did not perform poorly against the other, larger continental territories, and this was the best of their latest harvest.

Damasippus hugged Odysseus tightly, enough to lift him off his feet, at the docks, though Father gave them both a look that was so bland that Odysseus wriggled to be put down, and was more circumspect with his farewells to Aletes.

"I'll have a dagger made for you," Clytemnestra told Ctimene, "When you come. In the meantime you should practice with one of your brother's."

"And thank you so much for the small looms," Penelope said, "it's a pity our poor ribbons are a horrible return gift."

"They are your first," Ctimene said, staunchly, "I will treasure them."

When she hugged Helen, she did get shocked - a sharp little electrical flash of white-gold pain that Ctimene could ignore and push through; Helen's apologetic smile was a little heart-melting, so Ctimene just hugged her again. "I'll come up with a gift, when you do come," Helen told her. "Please come soon - I'm sure Iphthime would love you too."

"I will," Ctimene said, and let them board, letting Odysseus wave to them when the ship finally pulled away from the pier, and out of the harbour.

"Well," Father said, when the ship was far away that they could only make out the sails' emblems and the brightest contrast of the hulls' patterns, "it seems like you both enjoyed their company."

Odysseus didn't scuff his foot on the planks. "Yes, yes I did father."

Ctimene would have eyed him up for whatever weird thing he had been apparently up to, but instead reached for Mother's hand, and squeezed.

"Maybe I won't mind going to Sparta," she said. "If Odysseus really must go."

INTERLUDE: What Teens Do

Damasippus's heart still skipped a beat when he heard the door, even though he was expecting it. "Lord Laertes," he said, starting to stand.

"My apologies for interrupting your rest," the Basileus of Ithaca said. "I would only be a moment."

"Are you loo-" Damasippus said, but Laertes didn't even pause, walking straight to the couch.

"Sir! Perhaps you would like a drink -" Damasippus said hurriedly.

"Like I said, our deepest apologies for interrupting your rest," Laertes said, with mild politeness as he reached into the inert pile of blankets, and withdrew Odysseus by his collar.

Odysseus squeaked, and twisted.

Laertes promptly wrapped his arm around his son's arms, pinning him firmly like a duck.

"Sir!" Damasippus strode forward. "I can explain!"

"Father!" Odysseus squirmed, wild-haired and wild-eyed. "P-put me down -"

"Prince Damasippus," Laertes said, adjusting his grip. It was suddenly obvious that while Laertes was not as large as most of the men who once sailed in the Argo, he had earned his place on that ship - no matter how Odysseus squirmed and wriggled, Laertes simply hefted his son into both his arms. "We are being very rude to Sparta for disturbing and invading your privacy."

"No- no there is no offense, I take no offence at all, sir," Damasippus, trying to figure out if there was a way to get Odysseus free. Or…

Laertes actually turned to look at him, and Damasippus froze.

It wasn't that there was a spark of divinity that arrested his movement, nor any sort of killing intent, that he had expected, when Odysseus had sat up suddenly from his lap, and then dived straight for the blankets on his couch.

Laertes was wholly mortal, as far as they knew - after a certain number of generations, divine attention faded from their offspring, and any associated powers with the divine parent faded even earlier. Damasippus' sons would, for example, have nothing of his mother in them, except maybe something of her looks, if they were to be so fortunate.

And yet, he felt as arrested as having matched gazes with the Gorgon.

"We shall see you and Prince Aletes tomorrow morning," Laertes said, politely, barely shifting at the way Odysseus squirmed and tried to roll free. Laertes merely tightened his grip - the muscles in his arms flexing.

Odysseus grunted - a little high - like his rib-cage was getting squeezed, and maybe he was losing a bit of air.

"Sir," Damasippus said, a little helplessly. He didn't know what to say, actually. If Laertes had accused him of something - or been angry? Damasippus knew what to say.

But instead, Laertes was standing there, eyebrows raised up in mild, paternal inquiry.

Paternal, Damasippus tried not to groan. He was Odysseus' father.

Damasippus was his father's oldest son. He was next after his cousins Castor and Pollux to possibly inherit the property of his Father or his Uncle, and already he was captain of several expeditions, and commanded men and his own younger brothers.

And yet, under Laertes' mild, inquisitive gaze, he felt the urge to explain, and beg forgiveness.

The last time he'd had that happen, was when his erastes had mildly chided him for polishing his armour wrongly.

Odysseus tried arching his back like a snake - trying to break his father's hold.

Damasippus could have told him it wouldn't work - Odysseus' father had sailed the Argo with Heracles.

He forced his mouth to open. "A-are you sure you wouldn't want a drink?" Damasippus suggested, weakly.

"It is late," Laertes said, with smooth politeness, with absolutely no emphasis on any single word, so Damasippus couldn't even clutch at possible implication. "We apologise for disturbing your rest, and we shall see you in the morning."

And he continued to the door, smoothly manoeuvring his way out of the doorway despite his son trying his best to act like a wet trout. As if he did this often enough with his son that he knew, intimately the clearance to avoid giving his son a concussion while he was handling like a greased lamb.

"Please shut the door behind me," Laertes said. "And good night."

Damasippus found himself obeying. "Goodnight, sir," he said, as he shut the door.

Went back to his couch.

The pile of blankets had not even looked like an actual person the size of Odysseus could have been hiding there.

Fuck, Damasippus thought. When he sprawled down onto the bed, he wasn't sure whether he was thinking of Odysseus' eager smile, or that firm controlled tone of Laertes' voice.

"Father, father, let me down, I can walk," Odysseus said.

Laertes kept walking.

"You'll put out your back," Odysseus said, "mother would be so cross. Father -"

"If you stopped wriggling," Laertes said, turning down the hallway, away from the guest rooms, "then I will not put out my back."

Odysseus whined.

"But mother - Mother would -"

Laertes nudged the door to his room with his foot. Eurycleia immediately opened it.

"My Lord," Eurycleia said, eyes flicking over Odysseus disapprovingly.

"Eurycleia," Odysseus said imploringly.

"Good night, my lord," Eurycleia said, and held the door open for Laertes, and slipped out behind him, and shut the door.

Laertes dropped Odysseus down - Odysseus landed on his feet, saw Anticlea sitting on their bed, and immediately flung himself at her knees, wrapping his arms around her knees and threw up huge, pleading eyes at her.

"Mother, mother -"

"If you don't want to stay in your own room," Anticlea said, as immovable as stone, "Then you shall move back into ours."

"Like when you were five." Laertes said, going back to sit at his desk.

Odysseus was silent for a moment, and then let go of Anticlea's knees, sitting back on his heels. "Alright," he said, hunching and pathetic. "I'll stay out of Damasippus' room."

Anticlea raised an eyebrow at him.

"There is more than one visitor," Laertes said, looking at his clay tablets, and starting to copy down figures onto a roll of papyrus.

"I'll stay out of the Princes of Sparta's rooms," Odysseus said, defeated.

Anticlea looked towards Laertes, and Laertes considered it, then nodded.

"Go to bed then," Anticlea said.

Odysseus got back to his feet, went to kiss his mother's cheek, and gave his father a pouty salute, before exiting their room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

After a moment more as Anticlea continued to weave another few lines. "Where was he this time?"

"On the couch," Laertes said.

Anticlea clucked her tongue.

"He was too muddle-headed by a man's good looks," Laertes said. "And too comfortable being on his own homeground."

"At least he would be more circumspect in another country, is that what you're implying?"

"And while his little sister watches," Laertes said. "After all, I know how young men think. I once was one myself."

Anticlea let out an indelicate huff of breath. "The couch," she murmured. "How uncreative."

Chapter Text

Winter was when the harvests were rich and growing, all their crops starting to grow with the water that they finally could get. It was also the best time for Odysseus and Ctimene to visit Sparta.

Odysseus had not let slip at all who was the mind behind their sheep's beauty and quality - so Eumaeus was one of their party to come and survey the pastures and climate that Sparta planned to put aside for the black sheep they were so eager to bribe Ithaca for.

Ctimene had worried about Sparta, whether it would be bursting with nymphs and walking trees, after all, a nymph had been willing to marry Basileus Icarius and give him so many children - the implication being that there must be nymphs free on the ground.

And in a way - yes.

She wasn't entirely wrong.

The Spartan brothers were still the most beautiful men she'd ever seen - tall, gleaming and vigorous with the way the rain fed the parched earth. But there were others around the city as Clytemnestra took her around, that were also just as tall, and beautiful.

Just in a different way.

The gods walked here more often, she realised, and left their presence more clearly. While Helen was probably the most beautiful woman, marked as she was with electrum, there were plenty of others who moved with the grace of divinity, their movements and looks heightened with divine favour.

Odysseus, Ctimene thought, did not stand out that much - even if he turned heads, it looked like it was because he was fresh and new, rather than the way those nymphs felt the gross magnetic urge to put their hands on Odysseus' skin.

People were eager to show him pastures, because of the expertise Eumaeus supposedly had, and people were eager to show the Prince of Ithaca their chariots and bows.

It was nice to watch the Spartans train - drill, they called it.

Clytemnestra did have a dagger for her - several, even, for her to choose from, and all beautifully decorated with different stones embedded in the hilt, or the bands - some of the straps even had studs of polished bronze.

She could have one, or all, if she so desired, to match her jewellery, Iphthime suggested, a little timidly. Iphthime was a quiet girl, even more quiet than Helen, but she was ferocious in the sparring ring - to the point that Ctimene wasn't sure that she was actually a naiad's daughter, but claimed parentage from Ares himself.

In fact, she thought maybe, that was who many of these Spartans might trace their abilities to - Odysseus was good with a bow amongst these men, but they were all happy to show off their ability with the spear, javelin, and all the great sports and weapons.

"They're showing off to you," Clytemnestra told Ctimene, watching one of them fling a javelin so far it nearly left the field for the stand of trees beyond.

"Surely not," Ctimene said.

"Of course they are," Clytemnestra said, "keep standing here and watch. That way, I get to have more biceps to admire."

And then she smiled that cat-red-smile of hers, and Ctimene couldn't help but smile back.

There were a lot more than biceps.

Men tended to strip down during exercise, apparently. Spartan men just tended to do it in front of the women too.

It was only surprising the first time - after that, Clytemnestra could point out the godlike laterals of quite a few of the men, those thick, sleek thighs, and more, and Ctimene only blushed a little.

(if Iphthime didn't blush, there was no reason for Ctimene to do so.)

Of course Ctimene did go with Odysseus to the pastures, often. Patted the Spartan sheep and considered their wool. Odysseus was already thinking of something. He'd climb into her guest room and talk about the quality of the pasture, and elicit her thoughts of the sheep's wool in comparison to Ithaca, while she tried to slather on oils to tame her hair. The freckles would fade as winter rained on, but her hair would continue as itself if she didn't do anything to it.

Of course, Odysseus had already explored the palace within the first night, walking the outsides of the walls, pacing out its entirety so he knew Sparta, and the fact that he was considering seriously the quality of their sheep…? Well.

"Maybe," Odysseus said, "Maybe I'll consider telling them."

"They'll want you to stay here longer," Ctimene warned. "Not just to stay with the princes."

"A couple seasons at least," Odysseus agreed easily. "What do you think, Great-grandfather?"

Great Grandfather also stepped lightly into Ctimene's window - unlike Odysseus, he had no need to climb anything.

"I think," Great-grandfather said, inspecting Ctimene's cheese plate, "that you can try separating a little more. Give yourselves a little distance."

If Great-grandfather thought so, Ctimene thought maybe.

Maybe they could.

Odysseus didn't really stand out here, truly. Maybe, it was because there were so many trails of gods around, that Odysseus seemed fine.

"Then I shall leave you with the princesses," Odysseus decided, "Tomorrow, the Princes have suggested we go hunting deer."

He glanced at Ctimene, and came over to her, nudging her to sit on her bed. "I'll be fine. It's just a deer. I've been on deer hunts before."

"Not… without me," Ctimene said.

Great-grandfather handed her a little bunch of grapes, glistening with morning dew that had long since evaporated. "Just one hunt," Great-grandfather said, and put the grapes in her hand, gently curling her fingers over their chilled surfaces. "You both… have to grow up, after all."

Ctimene thought about the way those nymphs had been, beautiful, eerie and terrible. If she hadn't been there ….

"Thoas and Perileos will be there," Odysseus said, "They're faster than I am - if I slipped, I'm sure they'd rescue me before I fell into a stream." He sighed theatrically, like he hoped he'd get to swoon into Thoas' big strong arms.

Ctimene scowled and shoved a grape into Odysseus' mouth.

"Besides," Great-grandfather said, to both of them, "Sparta's important."

Odysseus looked at him - they both did.

"Is this a prophecy?" Ctimene asked.

Great-grandfather shrugged, easy, one shoulder than the other, like a soft breeze. "I don't have prophetic powers, darlings." Speared her cheese with the little knife, slicing off the large, softest part of the triangle. "All I know is that Sparta is important. So therefore, maybe, this is where you may want to grow up." He balanced the cheese on the tip of the knife, its pale whiteness barely moving. "Maybe… grow apart." The cheese piece split apart on the knife, like a blade finer than a hair had sliced it clean in two.

He flicked the pieces towards them - Odysseus bit it out of the air, thoughtfully, and Ctimene caught it with the grapes.

"Don't cry," Great-grandfather said, and ruffled her hair again. "That's just how it goes. Not even twins stay together forever."

He paused.

"Well maybe some twins," he amended. "But most twins do not."

Ctimene glared down at the cheese piece, splatted on the grapes in her hands, and did not like how her vision blurred.

Lips brushed across her forehead. "This way you don't have to keep watching your brother flirt with the great men of Sparta," Great-grandfather said, ignoring Odysseus' faint 'hey!' and then he was gone.

Ctimene didn't particularly like hunts anyway - it was messy, dirty and full of everything that wasn't nice clean stone. When she had to go along in the woods, there wasn't a place for her to sit and play with her wool - she had to pay attention to everything around her.

So she wasn't unhappy to be with the princesses, while Thoas and Perileos and some of their friends took Odysseus hunting.

She got to teach Iphthime how to use the heddles she'd given Penelope, and follow Helen into the kitchen to see what kind of spices and herbs they used. Penelope came to find her while the bread was rising and pestered her for how her tapestry should go. Penelope had started a new one - it was quite small, of course, and wouldn't hang in a great hall, because this one wasn't recording any great deeds. This was of Odysseus' trip here: here, there was Odysseus learning how to throw a javelin, there was him wrestling with Thoas (Thoas was easy to record, Penelope said, with a grin, he was always the biggest of her brothers and thus most obvious), and there was Odysseus going on a hunt.

Of course it would depend on what the outcome of the hunt was, Penelope said, and whether Odysseus did get first blood. But this was not a boar hunt, so the design of it was fairly standard.

"Unless the deer turns out to be special," Penelope said, and she was looking at the tapestry and didn't see Ctimene's knuckles go white, "we should have venison in two days."

"Maybe Odysseus would fall into a river," Ctimene said, glad her voice remained steady. "You could depict that."

A nice, normal river, where he got simply wet and then he'd complain about wet feet and soggy wool for hours straight.

"It'd be funny," Penelope agreed, smiling, "Maybe we'll do that."

"Let's go down to the stream," Clytemnestra said, walking in. She had been with her mother Basilinna Leda, possibly helping with the accounts, or meeting tradespeople, or more. Ctimene was a guest, and obviously not meant to be trying to hear what was going on in Sparta's own management, hence the Princesses taking turns to entertain her.

"The one with the grotto? Yes, sure, let's go!" Penelope said, brightly. "Let's bring Iphthime."

The grotto was very beautiful, curtains of mist shrouding its opening. An opening that showed a faint, glow within.

"Oh, we won't be alone today," Iphthime said, and ran ahead with the heddles.

Ctimene kept walking, even though it felt like the world had suddenly turned thick and honeyed around her - there were women in the water.

"Little princess," said one, drawing up to sit on the bank of the river. Even though she was dripping, nothing really wet the grass under her.

"Don't, you'll get my weaving wet," Iphthime said, and folded down. "See, Aunt, see how pretty this is! I just learned it."

"Iphthime," Ctimene tried to say, tried to shout. Get away from them! The nymph reached out ethereal fingers, to hover over Iphthime's. Any moment, she'd grab. And Ctimene was too far away, felt like she was moving too slow.

"Iphthime, be polite," Penelope said, also going down to the bank and laying out a blanket. "Here, Ctimene, come sit."

No, Ctimene wanted to say. To scream it. Don't touch the princess, don't call her little -

Iphthime was leaning over, a braid falling loose from its style and falling over.

Another hand reached out, touching the braid -

"No!" Ctimene yelled, and she had her dagger, she had it out and she was snarling. "Get away from her!"

The nymphs all started, looking towards her; the one touching Iphthime's hair finished tucking the braid behind her ear.

"Ctimene?" Penelope said, "what's - what's wrong?"

And shifted back when Ctimene swept her dagger in front. "Get away from the water - you all - all - leave the princesses alone!"

The nymphs all looked at Ctimene - and there was that familiar expression, she remembered from years and years ago, from when they'd first registered her presence.

"Oh," the one touching Iphthime said. "A … mortal friend."

"That's the usual friend, yes, Aunt," Penelope said. "Ctimene? What's -"

Ctimene pushed past her, to press forward. The expressions on their faces strengthened; all the nymphs were making that face, bored disdain, all on the verge of sniffing and if she pushed more, shoved at them - they'd go away.

"Bor-" said one, then looked past Ctimene's shoulder and scrunched her lovely face. "Greetings. Mortal. Friend."

"That's a first," Clytemnestra said, bringing up the rear. "I've never heard a greeting so reluctant, Aunts."

The nymphs shifted their disdain to Clytemnestra, and their gazes didn't reduce any at all. Clytemnestra reached forward and curled her fingers around Ctimene's arm, tugging lightly.

Ctimene refused to lower her dagger arm.

"No one is your aunt, here, Clytemnestra," said one of them.

"You finally can pronounce my name," Clytemnestra said, bright like the edge of her dagger. "I'm so impressed."

"Clytemnestra," Penelope said.

"They're the ones being rude to our guest," Clytemnestra said. "Come, Ctimene, put the dagger down."

"They should get away from Iphthime," Ctimene said, and she shoved forward, another step - but Clytemnestra's grip on her arm tightened.

"But they're my aunts?" Iphthime said, confused.

At least one of the nymphs huffed, shook out her own hair like a wash of early spring rain, and then dissolved into a spray of the mist - then all of them dissolved, rainbow mist halo-ing Iphthime for a moment.

"My weaving," Iphthime exclaimed, and shook the wool before the water soaked in.

"What… what happened," Penelope said, finally sounding confused, like she'd been holding it all in.

"Obviously," Clytemnestra said, "your aunts finally were rude enough to a guest that even the Anax of the Gods would notice."

"They'd never been this rude," Penelope said, and she came round to Ctimene, her frown shifting into concern. "Ctimene? What's wrong?"

Clytemnestra pushed, and Ctimene's knees folded - both Penelope and Clytemnestra got her onto the blanket before she ended up on the grass.

"This - it's full of nymphs," Ctimene said.

"Yes," Penelope said, slowly. "Usually our guests like to meet my aunts."

"And get stolen and - and -drowned!"

Both Penelope and Clytemnestra exchanged looks. Penelope gestured to Iphthime - gestured her closer, away from the stream, and finally Ctimene could breathe easier.

"It's fine, they're gone now," Clytemnestra said, briskly. "Penelope's aunts are just rude, not dangerous."

She managed to coax Ctimene's fingers open - her fingers hurt so much, suddenly, as Clytemnestra took her dagger away.

Iphthime inched over and at a look from Penelope, unpacked some of the wine and water they had brought, and nudged a cup into Ctimene's now empty hand.

"Are you so sure of that?" Ctimene snapped, and then bit her lip when she realised - she was being rude, and mean - Penelope and Clytemnestra meant it. They were being kind; Penelope wasn't even doing what the Spartan princes had, to try and enchant them before, she still looked like herself, her slate grey eyes simply kind and concerned.

"Yes," Penelope said, "My aunts have definitely left the grotto for now."

Clytemnestra nudged the cup towards Ctimene's mouth, encouraging her to drink.

She would have to explain, wouldn't she?

"Did… someone you know drown?" Iphthime asked, timidly.

Ctimene shook her head, but -

No that had been a good lie, that had been the best lie.

She opened her mouth -

"So what happened?" Penelope said. "The nymphs in Ithaca aren't… eager to interact."

She went looking? Ctimene thought, she hadn't noticed at all.

Odysseus would have noticed, Odysseus would know how to lie--

Odysseus.

"My brother," Ctimene said, and felt her face struggling to scrunch up and she forced herself to be steady, clutch at the cup and not spill it all over. The nymphs and the gross grass nymphs who were likely around here too didn't deserve any wine. "Odysseus almost…"

"Oh," Clytemnestra said, sitting back a little. "Boys."

"It'll be fine," Penelope said, reassuring. "Our aunts don't punish anyone for being curious. And Thoas and Perileos wouldn't let him offend anyone."

"Odysseus can offend a lot of people by existing," Ctimene said, which was true, he'd turned up at assemblies before and infuriated everyone.

"I offend their aunts by existing next to Helen," Clytemnestra said dry as summer, "so far they've done nothing more than make rude faces and forget my name. Your brother is charming enough; he will be fine."

"Just don't bring him here," Ctimene said. "Or anywhere - magical. Or -"

Clytemnestra patted her shoulder. "No, of course not," she said. "Trust Thoas and Perileos to keep him to themselves." She looked quite wry at that.

"Damasippus would be quite jealous," Penelope said. "There, better now?"

Ctimene nodded into her cup.

She'd managed it - she'd lied convincingly, and no one was going to drag Odysseus near any nymphs to visit. And the Spartan brothers were friendly and strong, and, like the princesses had noticed, Odysseus was perfectly happy to hang around the princes a lot, so he'd not be allowed to go cavorting around alone.

He would be safe without Ctimene watching him.

Right?

The deer hunt was successful in more ways than one - they brought back several kills, and one stag with an impressive rack, six impressive years recorded in six forks of its antlers.

Odysseus came back with the Spartan brothers, laughing and normal and safe, untouched but for the fact he'd fallen out of a tree where he'd perched, with an impressive bruise up his side, and a kill of his own.

Ctimene helped in the kitchens to dress and prepare everything, as Helen went out her father to choose the appropriate sacrifice for the banquet, and she could feel mundanity settle in her fingers, her arms.

Sparta was safe.

Maybe she could stay in the drilling grounds and watch the Spartan men, while Odysseus went out to the sheep, or she could walk the city while he went out on a hunt.

The thought of being free to do whatever she might want without always being aware of where Odysseus was, was…

She didn't know what to feel about it.

But Odysseus was laughing and trading stories of his hunt with the guests and the Princes.

"A success, I think," Great-grandfather said, slipping an apple from the basket at her elbow.

The servants flowed around him like they couldn't see him.

Great-grandfather put a finger to his lips, and smiled at her. "Good job, Ctimene." When she turned to offer him a cup of water, maybe a bun, he had disappeared.

The next season, Odysseus went to Sparta alone first - it was strange to be so far from Odysseus; but it was with Great-grandfather's blessing, essentially. It wouldn't be a long trip, not the many weeks that they'd spent in Sparta the first time. Their first trip had been successful enough that Odysseus was going to propose breeding a different strain of Ithacan black sheep to Basileus Tyndareus; that didn't need that long a time.

It still felt very weird to say goodbye to Odysseus at the docks of the large ship, not a smaller fishing boat.

Odysseus' hug before he boarded the ship was harder than usual - though his screech when he recognised the belt on Ctimene's peplos as his was very familiar.

Since he still refused to return Ctimene's brooch, he had to sail for Sparta without his best belt.

He sent letters, little slips of expensive papyrus on the backs of pigeons - mostly conditions that the basileís were slowly negotiating - they were progressing well, because the papyrus put together were larger than what Odysseus had taken with him - Basileus Tyndareus was generous indeed with the resources he was giving Ithaca.

Two days before he was supposed to set back to return, Odysseus sent word that his return would be delayed - not for long, however, and not for anything nefarious.

Castor and Pollux had returned from their travels, apparently, and brought with them guests seeking shelter with Sparta: exiled sons of Atreus.

Castor and Pollux had not married yet, Father said, so it was not a surprise that they would come to Ithaca with Odysseus on his delayed return trip.

Not a surprise? Ctimene thought the marriage status of the famous Argonaut twins and their coming to Ithaca made no sense, unless they wanted to visit Father. It was probably some sort of excuse, but if they wanted to find someone to marry, surely somewhere else other than Ithaca was a better idea. Argos itself, maybe? Since they were Argonauts - maybe Argos was more suitable

Castor and Pollux were nothing like in Clytemnestra's tapestries, Ctimene thought, watching from upstairs, hiding out of sight of the guests greeting Father. Damasippus was safely familiar, a beautiful steadfast stone in a quiet river - but Castor and Pollux…

It was strange - only one of them was supposed to be special. She did see that one of them - Father called him Pollux - had been unsettlingly like Helen.

Beautiful, and bright, blinding to look at. The other twin was normal, looking more like Basileus Tyndareus, like Clytemnestra, dark haired and quiet.

Except when Pollux turned to Castor, touched his arm, and then there was this strange flowing shift - and just moments ago Pollux was a bright light, the centre of a tapestry - but now he was white space, the white background of a chiton before Ctimene sewed on a dark trim. And Castor, dark, normal Castor, was suddenly drawing the eye; sinking all light in his presence. It was like whatever that had marked Pollux as divine, had suddenly flowed in an instant to Castor, lining him with dark beaten sky, the edge of swollen cumulostratus clouds before the worst storms erupted.

Unsettling, Ctimene thought - this was a pair of twins that would not ever grow separately. Damasippus next to them, a clean line of river, was much more comfortable.

"They're creepy," Ctimene said, when Eurycleia came to tell her to come down for dinner.

"You don't have to talk to them," Eurycleia said reassuringly, and helped her do her hair. "In fact, it's better you don't."

She went and got one of Odysseus' himations; it was bigger, and thicker, and she could swathe herself into an anonymous bundle before going downstairs.

Odysseus did raise his eyebrows at that, but said nothing, when Father introduced Mother and herself to their guests.

Damasippus looked confused, then amused - it was better to look at him than the strange twins who flowed into each other with each touch. No wonder they were called Castor-and-Pollux, not individuals.

She wasn't expected to really make conversation, because thankfully there was Damasippus, who she knew, and she could talk to him instead of the unsettling twins, even if they did look at her. Fortunately Odysseus' himation was thick enough she knew they couldn't see anything of her, unless they had creepy see-through-the-walls vision.

She ate just enough to be polite, knowing that she could get more in the kitchen afterwards, and escaped as soon as Mother stood. Poor Mother couldn't run away, and neither could Eurycleia, but Ctimene could hide in her room until she heard father politely settle their guests in the guest rooms.

Then she could creep along the hallway to their parents' room.

Odysseus was approaching the door from the other side.

They caught each other's gazes, and then Odysseus nodded, and reached for the doorknob.

The door opened under his hand. "Come in for bread and oil, dears," Laertes said.

Ctimene immediately dived for Father's couch, where there was a tray.

"That's my himation," Odysseus said, and landed on her two seconds later.

Apparently he was away for nearly two weeks and he'd doubled in weight.

Ctimene yelled and tried to elbow him the way Clytemnestra had taught her. Odysseus' huge himation got in the way though.

"I've just called for cheese and figs," Mother said, sternly.

Odysseus and Ctimene both froze, and then untangled to sit up straight, properly.

When mother turned to retrieve the cheese and figs from the maid Eurycleia had sent up, Odysseus tried to pull the himation off Ctimene.

Ctimene smacked his hands.

Mother turned back to face them, and both of them had their hands obediently and neatly in their laps.

Father snorted a small laugh.

Mother gave them both a look and offered the tray to Father.

Even before Father could pick out a fig, Great-grandfather had lifted the plate, and half the cheese.

"Grandfather." Mother said darkly.

Great-grandfather popped the cheese into his mouth, and contemplated the figs, before delicately selecting one, and fluttered over to settle himself on the couch between Odysseus and Ctimene.

Odysseus fell off, since he was on the unraised end - Ctimene was squished against the couch arm - but she could reach for the figs.

"Such interesting less-than mortal guests you have, dear Laertes," Great-grandfather said, popping another fig into his mouth. "I thought you were done with adventuring."

"They," Father said, still as mild as ever, "came to us. I have no intention of going anywhere."

"Oh?" Great-grandfather said - and then grinned when Odysseus climbed into his lap to try to get the plate of figs.

Great-grandfather lifted it out of his reach. "And you seem to have gotten heavier."

"He's gotten nearly as big as an ox," Ctimene said. "A heavy ox."

"I've packed on muscle!" Odysseus said happily.

"You have indeed," Great-grandfather said approvingly, looked over at Ctimene. "You're still small though."

"That's because you're crushing me," Ctimene said.

"Whoops," said Great-grandfather.

Ctimene shoved at Great-grandfather until she had space to breathe, and could reach to snag the cheese from the tray that mother had put down - Mother handed a bowl of soft, delicate black olives to Father.

"Sparta is good for boys," Father said.

"Indeed," Great-grandfather agreed. "Look at him, growing up all shiny and densely packed."

"Too shiny," Ctimene said, "The creepy twins followed Odysseus back home."

"I know, right?" Odysseus said. They both looked at each other and made a face in commiseration.

Great-grandfather sniggered. "Careful," he said, not careful at all, "they are my beloved cousins."

"You have cared very little for your cousins," Mother said, taking a small piece of bread and delicately dipping it in the oil on Father's desk.

"I care as much for these cousins as much as I care for all my cousins," Great-grandfather protested, grinning.

Odysseus grinned at Ctimene, exactly the same as Great-grandfather, and held up his hand in a circle - the sign for no sheep. In other words, not at all.

She giggled around her cheese, and Great-grandfather nudged Odysseus with his knee until he fell off the couch again.

"Do you know why they're here?" Great-grandfather asked Ctimene.

"Marriage?" Ctimene guessed. "Though why here, there's no one to marry them. They could go to Argos."

"Why," Father said, as Great-grandfather burst out laughing, "Argos?"

"That's where the ship came from, right?" Ctimene said. "They can go there, it's closer than Ithaca."

"The Argo was named for the shipwright, not the country," Father said.

Ctimene blinked. "Oh. Well. They can still go to Argos. Or --" There was a country near it - "Mycenae?

"They just came from there," Odysseus said from the floor, clearly contemplating a way to get at the figs. "I don't think Basileus Tyndareus would allow his sons to marry any women from there right now."

Yeah, that sounded like a bad idea - since the sons of Atreus were exiled and Castor-and-Pollux had apparently taken them in for protection or whatever.

"Would anyone be able to tell them no?" Ctimene said, "They're too…" she gestured with a fig. "Creepy."

"Ctimene, dear," Father said, "at least keep your voice down when you're complaining about guests."

"Don't let them hear it." Mother added.

"... can they hear through walls?" Ctimene asked Father, and Great-grandfather.

Great-grandfather looked contemplative. "Probably not," Great-grandfather said.

"They're creepy," Ctimene said firmly to Father. "I like Damasippus much more."

Odysseus made a noise - Ctimene thought it was a yelp of possessiveness. "Well it's true," Ctimene told her brother. "You like him more too."

Mother looked at Father.

"Well it's still years yet," Father said. "Nothing has to be decided right now."

"Mmm hmm." Great-grandfather made a noise of agreement. "Well we'll see, no?" He handed the plate of figs to Ctimene. She started to happily dig in - and yelp when Odysseus attacked the plate from her other side - he'd snuck around the couch without her noticing and without Great-grandfather as a defending wall, Ctimene was defenseless and trapped.

"Spartans marry late, anyway," Mother said.

Chapter Text

The twins had tried to talk to Ctimene maybe once.

But she immediately asked Damasippus for a dagger demonstration and could safely retreat away to the other side of the pasture, abandoning Odysseus to the two creepy twins.

They were interested in Odysseus like Thoas and his brothers, but unlike with the other Spartan princes, Odysseus managed to wedge at least two rams between him and them at almost all times.

"They're even older than you," she told Damasippus, barely even making an effort to lend truth to the dagger-demo. It wasn't like she could stab anything effectively while swathed up even more anonymously than the white sheep that Odysseus had managed to accidentally-on-purpose throw at Pollux.

"Oh dear," Damasippus said, mouth working like it was something very funny and he was trying to suppress it. "And.."

"Odysseus likes people older than him," she told Damasippus, "but not that much older. They're…"

Well she couldn't call his noble and divine cousins creepy to his face. "Old."

"I shall bear that in mind," Damasippus said. "Would you like to throw the dagger instead?"

"That'd be stupid," Ctimene said, "that'd mean my dagger would be over there instead of right here in my hand."

"True," Damasippus agreed. "Keeping your dagger in hand at all times is an excellent instinct."

"Yeah," Ctimene said, all but preening. Odysseus shoved a yearling ram in Castor's arms before Castor could come even closer and then, his own arms empty of woolly weapons, started heading back to the palace at something that was not a sprint.

"Lunch!" he yelled.

"Lunch," Ctimene said, relieved.

Barely a week into Castor-and-Pollux's visit, however, another ship from Sparta arrived.

It was a small shipment of some goods, because Odysseus' proposal of developing a new breed just for Sparta had met with quite a lot of approval, expressed in the form of a few crates of dyed yarns, papyrus and, impressively, bronze.

Odysseus would have been more impressed, if it weren't for who was delivering said goods.

"Why," Odysseus hissed to Damasippus as soon as the servant who'd delivered the news had been dismissed.

"They miss my cousins?" Damasippus said.

Odysseus made a little noise. "They could just wait for them to return?"

Damasippus patted Odysseus' shoulder.

"Shall I inform Father?" Ctimene asked from her corner where she was spinning wool.

"Please," Odysseus said. "Sorry, Damasippus, I'm going to abandon you in the courtyard."

"I take no offense," Damasippus said, and raised an eyebrow as Odysseus promptly vaulted onto a short wall next to one of the pillars of the palace, and then scurried up the wall.

"I shall see you later," Ctimene told Damasippus, and gathered her wool and supplies in a single swift sweep of her arm, and thus abandoned Damasippus to be the first person for the sons of Atreus to lay eyes on, disappearing into the depths of the palace as quickly and silently as her brother could scale his palace wall.

"Huh," Damasippus said, smiling at witnessing the siblings' militarily precise coordinated evacuation. "So he climbs buildings too, not just tents."

His smile turned more polite and proper as he turned to greet the arriving guests.

"Hello! Sons of Atreus, it has been a while!"

Father didn't send anyone for Odysseus and Ctimene, not for these unexpected guests. Father had taken it upon himself to keep Castor and Pollux occupied - and since the sons of Atreus were ostensibly Castor and Pollux's friends - or sheltered refugees - it was easy enough to add them to their circle.

"Did Father say anything?" Odysseus said, pulling his legs up to sit like Great-grandfather on Ctimene's couch.

"You apparently have an emergency in Same," Ctimene said, "So you will have to just stay out of sight."

She saw Odysseus considering her himation and threw a cushion at him. "Stay out of sight means stay out of sight," Ctimene scolded. "I'm not even sneaking down to pretend to play the lyre."

"Ow," Odysseus said. "But they wouldn't be able to see anything. And I need to listen."

"Hang out on the side of the wall like a normal person," Ctimene said, "instead of skulking around in my himation." She looked at him and made a face. "You'd look like a horrible girl too."

"I would make a very pretty girl," Odysseus protested. "And I can't hear anything from outside the wall," he added.

And certainly not because Odysseus couldn't cling to the side of a wall for that long.

Probably.

"Except they all know what you look like," Ctimene said. "So what did you do to offend them?"

"Nothing!" Odysseus said.

Ctimene considered the shuttle in her hand, put it down and found another cushion to throw at Odysseus. "They wouldn't be hunting you down in Ithaca if you hadn't done something!"

Odysseus rubbed his knuckles against his upper lip - now there were some little lines? Prickles, on his upper lip; if he would grow up like Father, he would have a full beard.

But then he might take after Great-Grandfather, who has never had a beard… No. They all were very sure that he would take after Father.

It was just a matter of time.

"They're just…" her brother paused, and then said, "I went into the wrong tent."

Ctimene just looked at him.

"It was a little hunt," Odysseus hurried to say, "Hunts are safe - Damasippus and Aletes were there! - that the Twins had led to make the sons of Atreus feel better about their -" he gestured to indicate the mess that was apparently happening in Mycenae. "- so I… "

"You…?" Ctimene prompted. Odysseus was squeezing one of the cushions she'd thrown at him, like he was sorting words and discarding thoughts.

"Damasippus and his brothers use a lot of - descriptors, remember?" Odysseus said. "Tadpoles."

Ctimene could remember the completely incongruous descriptor Damasippus had used on his brother all that time ago. It still made a giggle bubble up.

Odysseus smiled crookedly at her.

"I was collecting them," he said, "by stealing into Damasippus' tent."

Which Damasippus probably allowed. A lot. He probably even knew when Odysseus had slipped in, even.

"Except.. It wasn't Damasippus' tent."

Oh.

The sons of Atreus were fresh from a very bloody mess in Mycenae, she realised. To find a stranger in their tent - or, not a stranger, for surely Damasippus would have introduced Odysseus to his twin cousins and the refugee Mycenaeans, but Odysseus was Ithacan, not Spartan, and therefore his presence in their tent would be very suspicious.

"So they think you're a spy, and they're here to kill you," Ctimene said. "Eurycleia would have an idea how to poison them."

Odysseus twitched. "No! No, we can't poison them - they're…"

"Right," Ctimene said, nodding brisk as Mother. "That's too risky. We can't poison them at dinner, it would go wrong too easily. We can poison the wine in their rooms."

"They might entertain the Twins, or Damasippus -" Odysseus said, wincing. "No, that's still too risky."

"And maybe the blame would fall on Damasippus," Ctimene said. "That's no good then. Maybe we can lure them to the river and..."

Except the nymphs were interested in Odysseus, not scary battle-scarred terrible Mycenaeans. They wouldn't do anything useful like drown them, and Ctimene'd never use her brother as bait, not like this. It was too risky.

If they asked Damasippus, maybe Damasippus would fight them? He liked Odysseus enough, right?

But then Sparta would be blamed for killing people under their shelter and protection.

But Odysseus was supposed to be Sparta's guest too and now going to be a trading … partner. If they were going to have Odysseus live in Sparta long enough to establish the new sheep breed, then he was going to be under Sparta's protection too. "Sparta is supposed to protect you too!" Ctimene said, "So they should drive out the sons of Atreus, since you were there first."

Odysseus had been watching her in something like worry, but now he was just staring. "What."

Odysseus was supposed to be very clever, he always thought three steps ahead of her. So he should have figured out what she meant. "You are their trading partner, and you were there last season," she said staunchly, "So Sparta should eject the sons of Atreus, since they're threatening you."

Odysseus' jaw worked for a moment, and he took a deep breath. "They aren't… threatening me," he said finally.

If they weren't threatening him, then what were they here for?

"We may speak here in privacy, sons of Atreus," Father's voice floated up suddenly.

Odysseus dashed for Ctimene's lamp and blew it out, dropping her room into darkness.

Both of them crept to Ctimene's window, and eased their gazes in from the side, just enough to peek down without being seen.

Below them was Father, and two strangers. The Sons of Atreus, Ctimene realised.

The light from the great hall was enough to make out some distinguishing features - one of them had hair that was lighter than the other - in the torchlight the curls looked like glowing embers. The other was bigger, taller, and dark. Both were taller than Father, but Father didn't seem to notice.

"Lord of Ithaca," the light-haired one said, "it is not a disgraceful thing, that we are here for."

"There is a difference between disgrace and privacy," Father said, mildly. "Speak clearly, sons of Atreus, for I suspect I know what you are here for."

The other one drew himself up - if they were brothers, Ctimene would guess that one was the older one - "Lord of Ithaca, Basileus Laertes," he said, "as my brother Menelaus has said, we are not asking anything disgraceful. Your son has promised --"

"We are here to court him," the light-haired one - Menelaus - said.

The silence was so complete, Ctimene could hear Odysseus' hold his breath, and the distant frogs from the fields croak.

Ctimene couldn't see Father's face - was he as surprised as she felt? Why would they --

"My son is not old enough to court anyone's favour," Father said, almost pleasantly.

"Lord Laertes -"

"I have seen your gifts," Father said, "but these are gifts that were given to you from Basileus Tyndareus, are they not?"

The older brother said, "No, they are spoils of war that Castor and Pollux have gifted to us in friendship, and--"

"But they are not your spoils," Father said, and his voice had gone even more pleasant. "Nor were they traded, or made by your households."

"We have no - you know of our history," Menelaus said, hands coming up, almost in entreaty. "It is not that we do not have - "

"You have no households," Father said. "And no property. What things you own are what Sparta has been kind and generous to give you, while you are under their shelter."

"And a gift is a gift, we might use it however we like," the other brother said, his shoulders squaring, and taking a step closer to Father.

"That is indeed true," Father said. "You can use any property as you like. But these are gifts to a dependent." Father might have tipped his head a little - whatever look was in his eyes, the older brother actually leaned away, combative hands dropping. "As rich as these gifts are, are they worthy of being courtship gifts?"

Both Menelaus and his brother were silent.

"Let me rephrase it," Father said. "What do the gifts a potential erastes gives in courtship represent?"

The brothers glanced at each other.

Father swept a look between them. "What connections can you offer my son, sons of Atreus?"

"But he said -"

"What expertise can you offer him, you sons of Atreus who are running from your own homeland," Father said, tone hardening like the stone under Ctimene's fingers.

"We can fi-"

"The sons of Tyndareus can fight," Father said. "And they are heirs to their own homeland, and as I am sure you have noticed, their own deeds are recorded in the great hall of Sparta. They can command troops of Sparta. They can offer daughters of their sisters and cousins, as my son's future wife."

Ctimene risked a glance to Odysseus - his hands were white against the stone. She looked back down to Father.

Menelaus, the light-haired one, seemed to wilt like one of Odysseus' puppies being denied treats.

The other one opened his mouth.

"When you have skills and connections worthy to offer my son," Father said, "then we might converse on this again. I shall consider these gifts the appreciation a guest offers their host, and I will make to you appropriate and equivalent host-gifts, Agamemnon, son of Atreus."

Menelaus looked like he would step forward, in entreaty - his brother Agamemnon grabbed him by the arm, and pulled him back.

"Of course, you are generous, Lord Laertes," Agamemnon said, and bowed, Menelaus following half a beat later. "We should return to Castor and Pollux. They will be wondering where we are."

Father inclined his head, very slightly, and Agamemnon tugged his brother, and they both left.

They watched Father stand there for a long count of ten. Father didn't look up at Ctimene's window, but he did, very slowly and deliberately, tap his fingers against one arm, before heading back into the great hall.

Another ten beats - no one else came out. Ctimene and Odysseus eased away from the window.

"I'm going to have to go explain to Father, afterwards," Odysseus said, after a moment.

"About what you promised them?"

Odysseus winced, moon-cast shadows twitching across his face. "Well. There were extenuating circumstances…"

"We can still poison them," Ctimene said.

Odysseus blinked at her.

"And then use their own swords to stab each other, so they'll look like they did it to themselves," Ctimene said, warming to the thought. "Then no one can blame Sparta OR us! It'll be their own fault."

Odysseus exhaled in a huff. "... right. I… I'll go to Father's room. And tell him your suggestion."

Well, Ctimene thought, it was a perfectly viable option. It'd serve that big Agamemnon right - he didn't look even half as friendly as Thoas. Clytemnestra wouldn't even pause to poison him, she thought, she'd just stab him.

Odysseus slunk into his parents' room, and went down to sit on the sheepskin fleece on the floor. "It wasn't my fault," he said.

"The guilty are quickest to disavow guilt," Anticlea said, not looking up from where she was weaving - a wall-hanging, it seems - "Which then means your Father will discipline you."

Odysseus bit his lip and looked at his father. Laertes wasn't sorting the logistics this time; he'd been waiting for his son.

His son hunched even more, looking like a puppy that had bitten the wrong man, and expecting a blow, eyes huge and pleading.

"I'm not mad at you," Laertes said.

Odysseus looked hopeful.

"Yet." Laertes took a deep breath and folded his hands onto his desk. "It depends on what you have to say in the next five minutes."

Odysseus gave him a melting look, eyes as brown and wet and soft as a calf being pulled away from its mother.

Laertes matched it with a mild look.

His son took a deep breath - and explained.

"The sons of Atreus surprised me in their tent - I had mistaken their tent for Damasippus' -"

Laertes didn't react at all to that. Odysseus being in anyone's tent was irrelevant, because he wasn't in Ithaca, and therefore Laertes trusted his circumspection and wariness was much higher.

"And I had underestimated how quick to suspect betrayal they were." Odysseus paused. Swallowed. "And they are much bigger than I am, and despite all the training with the sons of Icarius I have been doing, I am no match for a man twice my weight, let alone two."

"Both of them, at once?" Laertes clarified.

Odysseus' chin dipped, briefly. "Too close quarters for me to draw a sword," he said, "and their reach is more than mine - so I - I needed to get under their guard."

His son chewed on his lower lip, not quite meeting Laertes' eyes.

But then Odysseus had always been honest. Or at least, with the pertinent information.

"I said - no, implied, that I would make it up to both of them, and violence wasn't necessary," Odysseus said.

Before Laertes could ask to clarify if Odysseus had made any explicit promises, Odysseus shook his head. "I said nothing that would make me an oath-breaker," Odysseus said, "And invoked no Gods. But they .. believed it enough, and let their swords and guards down."

Odysseus glanced up at his father, eyes peeking up under his curls.

"And then I took their … personal items and ran," Odysseus said.

Laertes made himself relax his jaw. "I see."

"It was the last day of the hunt," Odysseus said, "It was not hard to stay out of their way as Castor and Pollux readied their ship and supplies to escort me back to Ithaca, and some of the servants could be persuaded to mistake the time for my departure."

Specifically, the servants helping service the sons of Atreus' rooms, apparently.

"I thought…" Odysseus said slowly, "They believed that I would keep their… items as blackmail and destroy their reputation - so I had the servants return them on my behalf after I had departed the port. I didn't expect…"

"You thought they were coming to reclaim their belongings," Laertes said, "or punish you for attempted blackmail."

Odysseus nodded, eyes huge and sincere, and utterly terrified, and Laertes wanted to pull him in and comfort him for the scare he'd just endured.

"I didn't have their belongings anymore," Odysseus said, "so I had no idea how I was to persuade them that -"

"That's a little much," Anticlea murmured. "You could stop there."

Odysseus bit his lip, eyes cutting to the side.

Laertes shook his head. His lying liar son. He needed to know what was just a bit too much when one was lying. "So you knew as soon as the news arrived that they were at the docks, what they intended to do."

Odysseus nodded, slowly.

"You could have warned me," Laertes muttered. "I could have planned a better defense."

"But Father, that was an excellent defense? Now they wouldn't dare - not when their benefactors Castor and Pollux -"

"Whom you have spent about a week rejecting in escalating obviousness," Laertes said.

Odysseus looked quite regretful now.

"We'll have to plan better," Laertes said, after a moment's thought, and looked towards his wife. They had thought that the only risk Odysseus had run was what Ctimene was doing splendidly to prevent.

They'd forgotten about the very mundane problem that their son was, unfortunately, at the exact age and physique that suitors would come calling for.

Laertes had had to learn the hard way how to navigate these waters himself, especially once he became associated with the Argo, as his own father had not been very well versed or aware of such things.

He didn't want similar hardships for his own children.

Odysseus was looking at him, all penitence, and Laertes looked at his candle. Alright, it's been five minutes. "Come here, my son," he said and Odysseus scrambled up to him, clinging to his side.

"We'll figure it out," he said over his son's head to his wife. "I'll come up with a plan that would stop this."

Chapter Text

The men of Same proposed a boar hunt after the sons of Atreus had left with the Twins. Odysseus had actually gone to Same to make good Father's lie. While there was no economic or political emergency that the Prince of Ithaca had to arbitrate or deal with, it was as good a time as any for Odysseus to renew friendships with the other families on the islands that made up the whole of Ithaca's territory.

While it was regrettable that Odysseus couldn't invite Damasippus, there was no way that Odysseus would be able to invite Damasippus, and somehow exclude the Twins and their creepy Mycenaen friends.

Besides, the men of Same would be reluctant to have foreigners involved - especially Spartan foreigners, who were well-known to be excellent fighters and hunters, and two of them having divine parentage besides. First blood would automatically go to them, and very likely the actual kill, and then what?

Unfair. The boar was theirs - it lived and died on their land, and therefore the prize of the boar should go to them.

Odysseus was one of them, he'd grown up with them, and was their equal, even if he was training every season or so in Sparta. That was different.

Same wasn't a huge distance from Ithaca's main-island as Sparta was - but it still was distant enough that there would be hours before Ctimene heard anything of Odysseus' doings.

So they were still doing what Great-grandfather had proposed - trying to grow apart.

In any case - no one wanted Ctimene near a boar. She might have learned how to use a dagger, but daggers were useless against wild boars, when men and dogs needed armour.

They had bronze now, too - Sparta had been generous with their bronze ingots, and Same was excited and honoured to be granted the first chance at using bronze to outfit their men, when they only had copper before.

In the quiet of no visitors, Ctimene could do whatever she liked, like neglect her musical instruments (which she could barely play anyway) and play with the new yarns that Mother had allowed Ctimene to divide and distribute.

There were a lot of new colours that she could think about, and could even think to try and plan a small tapestry like how Penelope and Clytemnestra did, back in Sparta.

She might even make one of Odysseus' boar hunt, she thought - maybe she'd give him a crested helmet, that looked like a boar, in the tapestry, like the ones she'd seen the Spartan Princes wear in Clytemnestra's tapestries, and maybe Odysseus would actually use some of the bronze to have one made.

If the fact that she couldn't see Odysseus anywhere nearby, not in any of the pastures on Ithaca, nor out in the yard or property of the Palace… he was in Same. She had other things to do. If it left a strange, ominous emptiness in her, that was simply because she had spent years being next to Odysseus - she was as sick of him as he was of her, definitely.

It was shading into evening from late afternoon, when a messenger ran, heaving and gasping with sweat, to the Palace, to tell them that Odysseus had been gored by the boar.

Odysseus remembered Eurycleia, which was odd, because Eurycleia was back in Ithaca, not in Same; Eurycleia didn't come out to the forests, because she was too busy to do anything like that, not when there were manservants to do all the running outside of the Palace.

Eurycleia wouldn't be here - because this was a boar hunt --

Hot wet breath on his face, his chest, and screaming - the boar, the dogs, the men - and then a huge tear - there had not been any pain, because he could only see the tiny eyes bearing down on him, and tusks that were bigger than they should be.

Ah.

That's why Eurycleia had been here.

Maybe he was dying.

"You are not dying, little son of Laertes."

Odysseus shrieked and yanked the blanket onto his chest.

There was a strange woman in the tent.

There was a strange woman in the tent, and there was only one thin blanket on him between her eyes and his body, and -

Oh right there was the pain. His whole leg felt like it was a burning log - excruciating, yet unable to move - even the thought of flexing an ankle made him breathe harder.

Drink, Eurycleia had told him, or at least he'd thought she'd told him, though the hands on his shoulders holding him down as his leg tore itself into fire were definitely not Eurycleia's, and he'd drunk, till the fire had gone away, far far away and buffered and softened behind bales and bales of wool.

The protective wall of wool was gone now - everything was glittering in ice-sharp clarity. The pain was right there, a sharp burning line along his leg, limp and immovable, and his mind was racing through all he could see.

The strange woman was looking at him, grey-eyed.

Penelope had grey eyes, he thought, but this woman's eyes were not the same.

And he could tell she had grey eyes, even though the tent was dark - there was nothing to see - not even his own hands, not his leg, nor anything in the tent, but the strange woman who seemed to be both taller than the sky, yet still could fit into what had to be the medical tent.

"What happened to the painkiller?" Odysseus said, instead of the proper words of worship and greeting. His excuse was that he was all but naked under a thin blanket, with a strange woman who looked nothing like the nymphs he'd encountered long ago, all strong cut planes, pale as marble and harder too, armour that was both gold and bronze and silver, gleaming with light within that cast no shadows around her.

"Your mind is sharper without it," the strange woman said. She cocked her head, very slightly. "Do you prefer to converse with clouded thoughts, son of Laertes?"

"I prefer to converse without pain," Odysseus said. "... and with clothes."

The woman looked down at him, and her fine brow furrowed, just a hair. "Is that not clothes."

Odysseus opened his mouth, shut it, for a moment.

"... this is a blanket," Odysseus said.

One of her hands flexed - she could crush his windpipe with a thought, Odysseus realised. Maybe his entire skull. Next to her, suddenly the memory of Agamemnon's hands on him was laughably friendly. Easy. Even Castor and Pollux were barely threatening, compared to this woman looking down at him and contemplating shredding his entire being into its basic components for rudeness.

"My Lady," Odysseus added, belated.

She continued to look at him, and Odysseus waited for her to tear his leg off.

"There is nothing I can do for your pain," she said, finally. "The finesse required is not within my domain, but my brother's."

Odysseus blinked.

"The rest you shall have to heal the mortal way," she continued.

"... and the blanket?" Odysseus asked.

Her grey eyes were blanker than slate.

"I'll just cope then," Odysseus said.

After another long eternity of regarding him, something about her seemed to… shrink. Or perhaps, pull in. She wasn't quite so towering, but now just a little taller than a normal person - the scale of her something a hair larger, but not … overly huge, compared to Helen, maybe.

"So," she said, coming forward and sitting on the edge of his cot.

The cot didn't even dip with her weight, but she looked like an infinitely perfect Helen, rather than the living embodiment of power from Olympus.

Odysseus appreciated the effort. Even though she didn't seem to understand his need for clothes.

"That was a good strategy," she said.

He didn't have to recall very much to know exactly what she was talking about. The strategy to surround, trap, and bait the boar. It was very clear in his mind, every decision, every word, every action he'd taken, glassy and sharp as the legendary obsidian knives of Egypt.

"Except why did you take point?" the Lady looked down at him. "Strategists should not be on the front line."

"They're my people," Odysseus said, pushing to sit up automatically, and his entire lower half protested so badly he couldn't see for nearly five breaths.

She waited, patiently, for his screaming to fade.

Where - yes. He could feel sweat bead at his temple. "They're my people," he said. "The men of Same. Not - not soldiers. They're not soldiers - " Eurylochus' father was Odysseus' uncle's nephew by marriage. Polites' mother the niece of Mentor. They were people of Ithaca, not soldiers who would and should die on his word.

"And - of all of them," he said, staring up at those grey eyes, "I am the best trained."

"You."

Odysseus nodded, carefully. "Yes. I have trained for two seasons in Sparta under the guidance of their princes and their trainers. If I …" he paused, to think.

There was pride, there could be pride in his answer, because he had a suspicion she could see the truth of it. But there was no need to garnish the truth, not in front of her. "I could say that I wouldn't ask them to do something I didn't do myself," Odysseus said. "And it might be true in the future. But the simple facts are - I would have been the most likely to survive."

The Lady blinked, slowly. Like an owl.

"And this way," he said, "more of them would live, if I made a mistake."

She was silent.

Odysseus counted his own breaths - and his leg seemed to calm down to a dull throb in his thigh.

At twenty - long, even slow if shallow - breaths, she spoke. "Logical." She reached over, her hand hovering over his shoulder. It looked almost like she wanted to clasp his shoulder like one of his friends would.

Her hand hovered two finger-widths above his arm.

"And heart," she said.

Odysseus' eyes glanced to her hand, then back to her.

"Mortals do not cope with touch very well," she said, "I would not leave another mark on you until I have permission."

"Uh," Odysseus said. "I didn't think my consent mattered….?"

She smiled, probably for the first time. There was something of Helen in her smile, but not - because there was nothing in her features that really was Helen's, the strong nose and stronger jaw; which meant the similarities he kept seeing was in their shared father.

Athena, goddess of war and wisdom lifted her hand, and stood. "My brother cares very much about you," she said. "I would need his permission."

Between one blink and the next, she was gone, and Odysseus was left in total darkness.

(later, when he finally was conscious enough to examine the blanket he'd bled on, he could almost see the faintest of gold, embedded deep within the wool, in the faintest shape of an owl's talons.)

Odysseus was unconscious for a week.

Ctimene was terrified that it meant he would never wake up; the wound, the healer told Mother and Father, was something he'd never seen before - knotted together and an angry, vicious red, redder than the bloodied maw of the boar.

The boar had been bigger than the scouts had first thought, and far more ferocious than expected, not even a sow with piglets to defend. The men of Same sacrificed the entire boar to Apollo, keeping no parts of it as a prize, in hopes that Apollo would look kindly upon their Prince, and let him heal.

Every day, Ctimene, Mother and Eurycleia took turns to try and keep Odysseus' wound clean, checking in anxious fear that the redness would spread and turn dark and spidery, an indication of infection that would take his life.

"Wake up."

A hand on her head, and Ctimene looked up from where she'd fallen asleep on the edge of Odysseus' bed.

"Great-grandfather?" she said, groggily, and shot upright. "Great-grandfather, can you --"

"I am not a healer," Great-grandfather said, "But I don't need to be. Isn't it time you got up, dear?"

Ctimene stared at him, but Great-grandfather wasn't looking at her - she followed his gaze to Odysseus who--

"If I tried to sit up," Odysseus said, voice a dry rasp barely louder than a whisper, "my leg might fall off."

"That speaks to my sister's terrible healing ability, if that were to happen," Great-grandfather said, and he smiled at Ctimene. "Go get him something to drink."

"Painkillers?" Odysseus asked hopefully.

Great-grandfather patted his hand, as Ctimene staggered to her feet, and splashed water into a cup with shaking hands. "No," he said gently. "Just water."

"Athena gave me painkillers," Odysseus said, sulkily, and made a mess of the water that Ctimene tried to pour down his mouth. "My sister is trying to drown me."

"Keep him awake," Ctimene told Great-grandfather. "Stay awake!" she told Odysseus, and ran out the door. "He's awake! He's awake! Mother!"

A week was long to be without movement - but it wasn't the longest.

Odysseus was able to hobble, slowly, out of his room within a day, with Ctimene and a manservant, helping him.

Neither mother nor father were particularly pleased to hear that it was a goddess who had saved him.

Not that they wanted him un-saved - no. But Gods…

The Gods' attention was terrifying. And while Mother's line traced directly to Great-grandfather, and very quickly, Father's line traced to an ancestor who had caught the eye of a Goddess who did not wish him to leave her.

"It's not just any Goddess," Odysseus said. "But Athena."

Virgin Goddess of Wisdom. War, yes, but Wisdom far more. Odysseus looked at Ctimene, clearly expecting some quip or some insult. But Ctimene had no words.

She was only grateful, grateful that the Goddess of Wisdom had decided to lend her healing, when Great-grandfather could not.

"But why Ithaca," Mother said.

Why indeed.

One of Athena's favourites had been well known to be Tydeus, he of the failed Theban expedition. But he'd died some years ago, while that might not be much to a Goddess who lived forever, it was still long enough by a mortal's reckoning.

And besides, Argos was so far away from Ithaca, there was no reason for her to come looking for a replacement so much later, and so far away.

"It isn't really that far away," Great-grandfather said, picking apart the bread on Father's table. "Pretty much a straight sail around the coast." he dipped one piece into the bowl of olive oil, and then popped it into his mouth. "My sweet great-grandchildren have been to Sparta more often, and it's even further inland."

"Is the Goddess going to send my son to war in Argos then? To Thebes? To finish what her last favourite had not been able to do?" Anticlea said.

Great-grandfather looked over to Odysseus. "Did you ask to go to Argos? For glory?"

Odysseus looked up from where he was stretching; he was getting better by the day - Ctimene would have thought it was Athena's help, except Athena didn't do healing that way. Probably. Maybe Apollo? She didn't know if she should be hopeful for Apollo or another God of healing, or just that Odysseus' constitution was really good.

But if Great-grandfather wasn't worried, then Ctimene didn't have to be.

"No," Odysseus said, "I didn't ask to go anywhere? Why would I need glory, I have training to do?"

Great-grandfather turned back to Mother's selection of figs, olives and dates, and picked out a few dates to chew on.

"We - well, most of us - don't work that way," he told Mother, "Supplicants pray for help, champions ask for quests; most of the time they just go wherever they want."

"That's good," Odysseus said. "I want to stay in Ithaca, my sheep are likely dying for want of attention."

"Hmmm," Great-grandfather said, and tossed a few dates at Ctimene; she had to let go of her wool to catch them, and then make an annoyed face at Great-grandfather, for the dates were sticky from being dried.

"And my training-" Odysseus sat up even more. "Do you think she would train me? With the spear?"

Great-grandfather paused in decimating the snack plate. "Uh-"

"And there's the new bronze to distribute - there's going to be a new shipment of tin, right, Father? - so we can turn our own copper into bronze, so that has to be organized, and there's papyrus to store."

"The crop-fields have to be checked for rotation as well," Ctimene said, which she'd forgotten clean about while Odysseus had lain comatose in his bed, so there was still work to catch up on.

"Yes, that, and I have to select the sheep stock for the new breed," Odysseus said.

"My," Great-grandfather said, "It sounds like you're busy as a Basileus."

"Now that," Father said, slowly, "is an idea."

"Wait," Odysseus said. "No wait, Father, when will I be able to go to Sparta!"

Mother looked between Odysseus and her husband, and then nodded to great-grandfather. "Thank you, Grandfather."

"Gratitude, from my dearest Anticlea," Great-grandfather said, grinning. "A rarity."

"I am always grateful, Grandfather."

Great-grandfather carefully picked up a piece of white mozzarella, and his smile softened, as soft as the white little ball between his fingers. "I know."

Odysseus had just been run over by his sheep, and Ctimene had just managed to catch her breath from laughing so hard, when she realised there was someone watching.

When she looked over, at the figure that was as tall as the sky, and yet not more than a little more than Mother's height, her pure white peplos flowing in the wind, like flax rippling in a breeze.

"... are they your favourite animal?" Ctimene said, after a moment.

The figure turned to look at her, and Ctimene braced, for a moment, for a shift in expression, for --

But the figure simply cocked her head. "Why do you ask?"

"Well," Ctimene said, "they make wool, which is what makes yarn, and weaving. So surely they are your favourite animal."

She thought the Goddess of crafts and weaving smiled - the way that fields would ripen, remote and full of potential - bread, food.

"There are more things that can be woven," Athena said. "Flax. Hair. Gold. Lives. None of them stand above the other in favour."

"Right," Ctimene said, fingers picking awkwardly at the yarn she was working into a ribbon. Weaving lives. That was certainly not something she wanted to ask for clarification - for fear of what the Goddess would actually reveal. She shook herself, and continued with the yarn.

The Goddess watched Odysseus try to sit up, laughing at a Blackie lamb, and get bowled over by its mother.

"That is," the Goddess said, "not a bad design."

Ctimene glanced up at her, and realised the Goddess was looking down at her ribbon, and its very simple design of sheep, white sheep on blue-dyed yarn.

"... thank you," Ctimene said, awkwardly. "I shall… dedicate it to you, My Lady."

The Goddess nodded slightly, and for the briefest of moments, Ctimene thought maybe the Goddess had been making awkward small-talk. But could Gods be awkward?

That sounded wrong.

One of the Blackies wandered over, and Ctimene shooed it away from her yarn before it could put its inquisitive mouth on the nice blue yarn. It was one of the expensive ones from that Spartan shipment; she supposed it was actually more proper to dedicate it to the Goddess. Especially in thanks for her help.

The sheep moved away, placid to be shooed, and wandered over to the Goddess. Before she could get up to stop it, it started chewing on Athena's skirt.

Athena looked down at it - now that expression, was definitely surprise. Maybe even bewildered surprise.

"Uh," Ctimene said. And put her weaving down to try and get it to stop. "Blackie. Stop that."

The sheep worked more of Athena's peplos into its mouth.

"They do this … often?" Athena said, unmoving.

"They're looking for treats, because Odysseus spoils them," Ctimene said, smacking the sheep's back. The sheep continued to chew placidly.

"I do not have … 'treats'," Athena said, still looking down at the sheep. She touched its forehead.

The sheep paused, and for a moment, Ctimene thought she could see something very close to sapience - understanding. Athena might have given it knowledge.

She could see it make a conscious decision to just continue to chew.

Ctimene bit her lip and then reached to grab a handful of grass from next to her feet. "Here, give it this."

Athena's brow furrowed. "It is grass that you just plucked from the ground. It can access it."

Ctimene shrugged.

The sheep's too-intelligent eyes followed the grass passing hands - then opened its mouth and stretched to try to get the grass from Athena's hand.

"It just wants attention?" Ctimene said. "Maybe it's… relationship building?"

The Goddess watched the sheep lip grass from her hand. "How illogical."

"Sheep aren't logical," Ctimene said. "Or maybe it's because they don't have to lean down to bite it?" she plucked another handful from the ground and waved it at the other sheep that were now gently attempting to eat Odysseus' hair. "Hey! Hey sheepies, have some grass!"

The sheep all lifted their heads, and then started to amble over.

"Nice grass," Ctimene coaxed, and started moving backwards, away from the Goddess and Odysseus.

The sheep started walking faster.

"Hey!" Odysseus said, sitting up. "Those are my sheep!" He rolled over, to pick up his basket and shoved his hand in to hold out a fist full of - whatever trade-secret grain mix he had. "Here blackies! Treats!"

The sheep's ears perked up at his voice, and they turned around.

"Didn't you say they were my dowry!" Ctimene yelled. "Grass, grass is sweeter! Come here sheepies!"

The sheep turned back towards her - it was like they preferred whoever yelled louder.

She gathered two handfuls of grass, and started yelling, moving backwards further and further - the sheep started to run.

"Oy!"

Ctimene started running in a large arc, almost downhill, sweeping around the Goddess, who was still feeding the one sheep. It had watched Ctimene and Odysseus, then pointedly weighed the pros and cons of immediate attention right in front of its nose, or having to share with the others.

Clearly, one solo Goddess hand feeding it was more desirable than having to compete with ten other sheep for the grass Ctimene was trailing around the pasture.

Odysseus started chasing too - for no other reason than he wanted to chase his sheep; once the sheep had her grass in their sights, they decided that it was not worth going anywhere but forward - so now they were running in a large circle around the Goddess.

Her brother wasn't putting in his maximum effort - he was still recovering, but Ctimene was also not great at running. He and the sheep were catching up -- he vaulted over a sheep to grab Ctimene around the waist and swing her up off her feet.

"Hey!" Ctimene flailed, her hair falling down.

The sheep all clustered around them, eying her fistfuls of grass.

"Feed your dowry, go on," Odysseus grinned.

"No," Ctimene said, just to be contrary.

So Odysseus shook her until she yelped and dropped all the grass on the sheeps' heads.

"Horrible terrible bully," Ctimene yelled, and flailed, but not too much - he tipped her back onto her feet, draping one arm on her shoulder - he was leaning a little heavily - she chose to believe it was because he was being a shit, though she did shift to try and take more of his weight.

"Not as terrible as you, stealing my sheep," Odysseus said, taking a couple of moments of breathing, before he straightened up, turning to face the Goddess.

The Goddess fed the sheep the last remaining shreds of grass - the sheep nosed at her divine fingers, and disappointed, trotted off to do the work of actually getting grass of its own.

"Lady," Odysseus said, slowly. "You are at peace, now that the wars are over?"

"There are always wars," the Goddess said. "Even as one ends, another will start, somewhere. That is the nature of Man."

There weren't any wars nearby. Probably. Even the bloody usurping in Mycenae was technically done, with the exiled sons of Atreus in Sparta, currently not fighting anything.

If Athena was here to take Odysseus to another place to fight, then it would be far away, wouldn't it?

"Then, Lady, since you have arrived during a lull period," Odysseus said, "would you teach me the art of war?"

She stared at him, grey like stone. "How did you arrive at that conclusion?"

"Well," Odysseus said, stretching out his back a little, looking a lot like… well, a lot like Great-grandfather, though he'd carelessly left his shepherd's crook on the other side with his basket, "you're here. And there are no conflicts near Ithaca that I might settle. I have not requested the aid of your favour or patronage in order to gain glory or seek revenge. Ergo. You are here to impart knowledge. Lady."

"I might be here to impart knowledge to your sister," she said, voice unchanging and patient.

"You just imparted knowledge to that sheep," Odysseus pointed out.

The Goddess considered it.

"Mayhap that is my goal."

Odysseus pouted at her. "Maybe I would make a more diligent student than a sheep? See, your student has wandered off and is asleep."

The sheep had indeed wandered off and gone to sleep, on top of Odysseus' shepherd's crook.

The Goddess contemplated this truth in the universe.

"Perhaps while we wait for your ovine student to awaken, we could… converse about things?" Odysseus said, and then carefully got down to his knees - Ctimene hurriedly helped him - but then he didn't stop there, he folded his legs down and in, and seated himself down, cross-legged, like a wide eyed child listening to a bard - or a student scribe or accountant, listening to their master.

Athena looked faintly amused. "Very well. What do you wish to converse on?"

And her brother looked delighted at having the entire archive of human knowledge available for him, the exact same delight as when he realised he could collect all of the Spartan princes' verbal tics, and the histories to go with them.

Ctimene knew when she wasn't needed - she quietly retreated back to her tree; Odysseus was in sight, yes, which was enough to be reassuring, and the divine knowledge that Athena wanted to impart to Odysseus was not meant for her ears.

She didn't need to be struck deaf for things she was not meant to hear, after all.

"Wake up, Ctimene," said Odysseus, and when she opened her eyes, she realised that the moon was high in the sky - and the Goddess had gone. "Time to go back home," her brother continued.

In the moonlight, there was a moment when it looked like Odysseus' dark eyes gleamed silver, but it was just a trick of the light.

When she got back, she realised that the ribbon she had been weaving was completed - and every scrap of the yarn had been used up perfectly, ends finished and invisible, the ribbon twice as long as she'd expected from the yarns.

She was careful to dedicate it to Athena's altar immediately after dinner.

Chapter Text

Sparta's flock of black sheep continued to grow. Odysseus continued his back and forth travels, half the time without Ctimene - in fact, it became every two trips without her to the one.

The initial need to keep him in sight after his encounter with the boar had faded; and it was clear that Ctimene was not really needed in that way.

It wasn't a bad realisation; she loved Ithaca, and helping Mother. While Odysseus was in Sparta, Ctimene could take the tour of Ithaca's territories, checking on the flocks and logistics, and feeding back the information to Father and Mother in the palace.

Ithaca's black wool draped all of their ships now, even the small fishing boats, not just saved for the larger ships that they used mostly for merchant trading. When their fishing boats returned in the afternoons with their day's catch, it looked like the rolling of thunder storms, their sails were so black. Something satisfied curled in her chest at the sight; maybe she might never get tired of it, the floating advertising of their quality wool.

Their flocks kept growing - and so did Sparta's. Odysseus had shifted to giving them a deep dark brown wool, something that if it wasn't put next to Ithaca's black wool, one might consider it black; but it was the dark brown of rich, fertile earth instead, and Sparta's own military capes started to be that dark brown, complimenting perfectly the red crests of their helmets.

Ithaca's bronze armory continued to grow - there were young boys whose practice weapons were no longer copper - copper had been relegated to cooking pots waiting to be bronzed, and every tip of their spears and arrows no longer were soft enough to blunt uselessly at just the wrong angle.

Every time Odysseus returned from Sparta, he was just as bronzed as their spears and shields; he grew like a tree - in fact like an olive tree, carefully tended and pruned to a compact solid form. Densely packed, as Great-grandfather had said, once. He was just like the Spartan Princes who called him brother, as fleet as them, and accomplished at the arts of war as any of them, though he remained with the sheep whenever the Princes left on their own country's campaigns.

No hunt was a fear for him - not with Athena watching and instructing him.

And just like Ctimene - they - had hoped, Odysseus grew just like Father. Maybe he wasn't particularly tall - but if his competition were the Spartan princes, then he was no shame at all. He grew a proper beard, finely dark and neatly trimmed; if he turned heads, he turned men and women and even boys.

There were no few boys in Same, Neritum, and Zacynthus who had cast her brother surreptitious looks, and she'd laughed when she realised what they were looking for - for they were all about her age, and she hardly much younger than Odysseus himself. Sparta had honed him into a young erastes, and she couldn't help but look at them with fond exasperation.

Boys will have their fantasies, Clytemnestra had said, written to her, in the last letter that Odysseus had complained about having to ferry.

As if carrying her to Sparta would be any lighter, she'd told him, and he'd make a motion to wrestle -

But he was a warrior now. Ctimene had not been able to wrestle him the way they'd been able when they were children, not for a while now, when he had only to hold back just a little as a child - now his reach was significantly more than hers, and his weight a weapon in and of itself, and she would have to use techniques Clytemnestra and Penelope had demonstrated - the kind that took men by surprise, rather than charging straight ahead as when she had been a child.

She herself had changed with the seasons - she could put her own weaving next to each other and track the changes. Maybe her tapestries were not as detailed as Penelope's, but her bands and ribbons have become finer; her touch was more delicate, delicate enough to spin her yarn finer, to be worthy of the ribbon that still adorned Athena's statue.

One day, she will be able to make something that was almost the same, and worthy as a second dedication to Athena.

The princesses visited sometimes, escorted by Odysseus and their brothers, when they were not elsewhere, and because Sparta and Ithaca were partners in trade, Ctimene was able to take them to the other islands as well, where she and Clytemnestra could laugh at how if the boys were watching Odysseus with fantasies, they just about swooned on the decks at the sight of the Spartan Princes in their dark cloaks and bronze and leather arm braces.

Damasippus knew when she did that, looking over at her with his almost-blond eyebrows arched just so. These days he wasn't quite blond anymore, his hair darkening with the sun, but it was hardly something to complain about. He still looked quite the picture next to Odysseus - tall and smooth and polished where Odysseus was dark and sleek.

Ctimene didn't particularly care for Penelope's knowing eyes at her, when the way Damasippus had smiled down at Odysseus once, and then looked over him to Ctimene, had made her blush. It was a sunny and hot day, and she didn't need Penelope to laugh at her.

She would stick to letters from then on.

For all that Odysseus spent a lot of time in Sparta, he was hardly not knowledgeable in Ithaca's logistics, so when Father proposed that he abdicate, Ctimene wasn't completely averse.

"It is the best time," Father said, stroking his beard.

"You are hardly weak or old yet, Father," Odysseus pointed out. "Why does it have to be now?"

Ctimene silently passed him the letter that Iphthime had just sent her.

Their Uncle Basileus Tyndareus had just returned from a campaign he had helped the sons of Atreus wage, their success aided by Sparta's Princes - and Helen and Clytemnestra were now approaching the age of twenty-one.

In his absence, Basilinna Leda had put off any courtship of the twin princesses, but they were starting to hit what was considered late by even Spartan standards.

Their older sisters had already married - it was time they too established their own households - and started gathering connections for the House of Tyndareus.

Odysseus frowned.

"Helen is known not to be the daughter of Tyndareus' blood, for all that he has given her his name," Ctimene said, picking at Father's bread, delicately tearing a piece that was less crust so it would soak up oil better.

"A lot of basileis would want to have a Spartan princess who isn't wholly mortal," Father continued from where Ctimene stopped.

"Except there can be only one who can have her…" Odysseus huffed. "They all just want to be seen worthy to compete for her hand."

"Most of them probably don't think that far," Ctimene said.

"Hm. Most do have the understanding," Father corrected her gently. "But they have to be present for their countries and authorities to be seen as legitimate." He exhaled. "The sons of Atreus have reclaimed their father's title."

Odysseus went quite still.

"It would be best if you were established as an equal in their rank, even if not in accomplishment," Father said.

"It's been so many years," Ctimene said carefully, glancing at Father, then Mother. "Surely…"

"Many other things might have occupied their minds?" Mother completed for Ctimene. She nodded. Mother pressed her lips together, and just directed her gaze to Father.

"No one would remember a silly boy from years ago," Odysseus said, waving his hand in affected unconcern.

"It's not entirely for them," Father said, mildly. "That can be just one of the reasons. After all, I know my son likes doing things for multiple reasons."

Odysseus' eyes narrowed. "Father…"

"-what is the point of having such a capable son and heir if I cannot retire early?" Father said, guilelessly mild. "My dear," he turned to Mother, "was there something you particularly wanted to eat? I could try my hand at agriculture. Odysseus makes it look so entertaining."

Mother's mouth quirked up a little in the corner. "Seeds from grapes are quite irritating to strain out," she said, in her usual calm tone.

"Ah," Father said. "A new project! Perhaps seedless grapes."

"Sheep are not agriculture," Odysseus said, "they're -"

"Animal husbandry, that is agriculture," Ctimene said, delighted to catch him in a mistake. "Viticulture is horticulture, and just the same, just plants."

Odysseus sent her a scowl, and dipped his bread into her oil dish.

Ctimene clicked her tongue at him, and pulled it closer to herself so he'd have to reach too obviously.

Father chuckled.

"In any case," Mother said. "Have the Elders of the families all agreed?"

Father was still smiling at the both of them. "They will agree, I have the proposal planned, and will call the assembly soon."

Odysseus sighed. "Fine. If Father is so insistent, I'll prepare for after my return from Sparta in two-"

"I'll call the Assembly tomorrow."

Odysseus' bread dropped into his bowl.

"Father."

".... I haven't gotten any coronation robes ready for him," Ctimene realised. "Father!"

"From what I've seen, Odysseus simply has to walk around in his bronze cuirass and helmet," Father said, laugh dancing in his eyes. "All the youths in the territory would agree that is more than regal enough, correct?"

Odysseus was blushing hotly now. "No! Father! That is not --!"

"That's not proper!" Ctimene all but howled. "How could you announce it tomorrow! I have to start looking at what's in the stores, with the correct colours --"

Mother finished the last knot, tying off the last warp threads, and pulled the long fabric off the loom. "Ctimene, I will need that last trimming you have. You just finished it, right?"

Ctimene blinked, derailed for a moment. "Yes - but it's almost - almost meant for dedication to …" her voice trailed off as she realised that the fabric that Mother was rolling off the loom was… in the correct colours to be a full length robe.

…for Odysseus.

"Mother, you knew!" Both Odysseus and Ctimene yelled at the same time.

"Why wouldn't I know?" Mother said, "I am your Father's wife. Of course I would know when my son has grown into a proper erastes."

Odysseus groaned and dropped his face onto his parents' bed.

"I'm not..!" Odysseus said into the bed.

"He's not yet old enough -"

"I don't believe the boys in Sparta would object to his age," Laertes said, heavy with implication.

Odysseus made a noise like he was trying to suffocate himself.

"Erastes is all about how you carry yourself," Father said cheerfully, "And a Basileus is very attractive to even Princes."

Ctimene stared at her father, and then at Odysseus.

Odysseus, being Erastes to the princes of….?

"I shall die, there will be no coronation because I am dead," Odysseus said into the bed. "Good night and fare well."

Father just laughed at him.

As Father predicted, the proposal for Laertes' abdication and Odysseus' coronation passed with very few protests; few were unaware of the source of Ithaca's wealth in bronze, after all, and Odysseus' hand in it. These days he was richly attired in Ithacan trim and colours, with Spartan style weaponry; he was a Basileus worth being proud of.

Mother's work was easy to fit into the robe; Ctimene sewed on the trim, so it would weigh the hem with dignified weight, and have his collar lay flat. She also went with Mother to pick out the right materials for the coronet; there should be some sort of sign that he was not only Basileus, but also a chosen of a Goddess.

Since he was Basileus, and to be Basileus at Tyndareus' court, Ctimene scoured their stores for fabric of the right quality, and set the women to weave more wool - of course he needed a new himation, and a new cape, in the military style, but the things he used to wear while a Prince were too short and not dignified enough.

It was like every time she turned around, he'd put on another finger-width of height, like leadership demanded that authority be housed in a taller figure.

"You didn't ask Athena to make you taller, did you?" she said, suspiciously, checking Odysseus' height again, and made him stretch his arms out.

His biceps kept getting bigger. She smacked him for flexing.

"Of course not," Odysseus said. "Small and scrappy is far more useful, how else can I keep climbing the palace walls?"

"One day you'll fall off and crack your head, you're already so heavy," Ctimene said.

He beamed at her, like it was high praise.

She scowled.

But by the time Basileus Tyndareus' official herald arrived with the announcement that his daughter was ready to be married, Odysseus' new status was fully invested in him, and he looked the part.

Basileus Odysseus of Ithaca bid his family farewell at the docks, and stepped onto the ship, heading to Sparta for the first time.

When Odysseus arrived in Sparta, the servants greeted him as per normal, but otherwise didn't bother him as he went to the room that was set aside for him.

Many of the outlying buildings had already been repurposed for the prospective suitors, though Odysseus could see some were already occupied, and probably for a few days already.

Some people were indeed anxious to stake their claim early; not that it would make an appreciable difference. The banquet would be tonight - Odysseus had in fact timed his arrival to be the morning of, because he had nothing to prove, other than the goal he and Father had decided on, and he had very little intention to attempt to establish higher status than he already had.

On the bed made neatly for him, Odysseus carefully laid out the finery that his sister and Mother had prepared for him, to let them air out from their packing crates. It would be silly to wear armour to the banquet, no matter what his father joked; the Princes of Sparta had just returned too, and unlike them, his armour had only been tested in hunts and in games. Wearing armour to the banquet would make a too-arrogant statement that he had no real experience to back up.

There would surely be suitors who would wear armour to the banquet, he knew, to make exactly the statement that Odysseus was avoiding like his sister avoided touching pitch. Confidence was something you had to have in Sparta, especially in front of Basileus Tyndareus and his blooded sons and nephews; but if Odysseus saw armour in the banquet, he knew who to mark as insecure and easy pickings.

Odysseus adjusted his wrist-cuffs absently, loosening the braided cords a little. These too were new - the leather was soft, but not yet softened with wear, and hadn't yet conformed entirely to his wrists. He still hadn't decided if he wanted them to be brand new, to match the garments his sister had made, or whether he wanted them worn-in so his leadership didn't appear rushed and new.

He hadn't confirmed the exact impression he wanted.

Odysseus clicked his tongue at himself, and left off his cuffs. He'll wing it, he decided. Time to pull out the gifts.

Here was his gift - the entrance fee for this banquet, essentially. He, Father and Mother had spent hours discussing how … poor a gift he could bring and still not get half the other suitors kick him for making fun of them. He didn't want to be a serious contender for Helen's hand, and had to say as much to Basileus Tyndareus - he was fairly sure that Basilinna Leda knew and understood, but Basileus Tyndareus had been away long enough that he might choose to interpret Odysseus' presence here as a real potential son-in-law.

Plus, Odysseus had no intention of destroying his sister's chances in marriage, so he couldn't be too insultingly poor with his gift.

Well. Ithaca was known for its fine black wool now - they went with having black wool tapestry, depicting in bleached, pure white wool the Basileis Tyndareus and Icarius in their own battle for Sparta's throne from their usurper brother. It would flatter Tyndareus for helping the sons of Atreus in their own similar trouble, and reminding everyone of their physical prowess, while also carefully not depicting their rich and resourceful territory and offspring. There was no space for a son-in-law in this tapestry, Odysseus' gift said, please do not take me as one.

Ctimene had scowled so hard at being made to do this design; she'd been interrupted from weaving her own tapestry and work. When he next saw her, he was fairly sure she would present him with a bunch of ribbons of him being chased by boars.

Odysseus patted it as he laid it out next to his clothes - the robes Mother had made, the tunic Ctimene, striped with thick bands of the bi-coloured yarn. Several months ago, Ctimene had insisted that he leave her some of the Russets - the older original breed of the black sheep whose fleece grew slow and thus would bleach reddish-brown in the sun if he let them grow to the usual length of a fleece before shearing. Now most of their Blackie sheep were of a breed with a faster growing fleece, so he could shear them more often at a reasonable length without risking sun-bleaching.

But Ctimene had wanted to give him the multi-coloured hue in his tunic - she'd managed a full length tunic for Father, who was Basileus. She had promised one to Odysseus at some point - and now he had one, just in time for today.

Rare indeed, he thought, and a subtle thing - he thought maybe most of the guests tonight wouldn't have seen this pattern of wool before - Ithacan wool was plain black, usually, or woven in with other coloured yarns that almost, but did NOT quite, have the same effect. It was going to be a lovely subtle statement of Ithaca - an in-joke with … well, the princes of Sparta, actually, and himself; they were probably going to be the only ones to recognise this particular weave.

It appealed to his sense of humour - no one else would know they were looking at Ithaca's exclusive fabric, not to be replicated by anyone who didn't know the secret.

A mark of the Ithacan royal family - and with the entire tunic striped with it, a mark of the Ithacan Basileus.

He stroked his fingers down the wool, and then nodded to himself. Right. And other things too - there were letters from Ctimene to the Princesses, and presents that she'd made for them.

Would it be better to give it to them before the banquet or after?

Before, if he were to interact with the princesses, there was a high probability that other suitors would notice and accuse him of collusion and undue influence, unless he specifically disguised himself in his plainest travel gear.

He eyed the window - the palace's layout had not changed much between this visit and the last, but the number of eyes had changed. He couldn't walk along the outside of the walls to find the princesses in their rooms in broad daylight - he'd have to wait till night.

Night was when the banquet would begin.

So after the banquet it was.

He should bathe, and prepare, then.

Chapter Text

Menelaus was being his usual self - brightly holding conversation when initiated, and nervously silent when no one was paying him attention. It was a good thing that Agamemnon had decided to accompany him on this, even though there were still plenty of matters to deal with back in Mycenae. Menelaus had no confidence that Basileus Tyndareus would be willing to give him a daughter as a wife.

Of course, Agamemnon knew Basileus Tyndareus had no such willingness to commit so obviously; Tyndareus and his sons had been willing to fight with them to reclaim Mycenae - Agamemnon and his brother had worked hard on Sparta's behalf, fighting and showing their willingness to lend their swords and arms both in loyalty.

There were plenty of battles and skirmishes and raids that Agamemnon and his brother had brought back for Tyndareus and Sparta - after that educational trip to Ithaca, there had been no spoils that the sons of Atreus had not wrested with their own bloodied hands.

While for a handful of years, the sons of Atreus couldn't claim to hold their own country, these spoils were not gifts of pity, and no one could claim that Castor and Pollux, nor the sons of Icarius, had let Agamemnon earn them himself.

Agamemnon had kept an eye on the eligibility status of Tyndareus' daughters - he had many daughters, as if his brother and he were exact inverse opposites - Icarius had many sons, and Tyndareus had many daughters. The sons of Icarius Agamemnon could disregard - they were all just a handful of years younger than himself, and were good brothers-in-arms, but men already. Their sisters were few, and Icarius would be too protective over his fewer daughters, and had never particularly favoured the sons of Atreus. He was very similar to Laertes, in that regard, clearly valuing connections that Agamemnon did not yet have. Tyndareus's daughters, on the other hand, most of the older ones were slowly marrying, as Agamemnon earned status and favour in Sparta.

After helping annex Messenia, Agamemnon had been confident when he had finally asked Tyndareus for Sparta's aid in regaining his throne, that he had obtained Tyndareus' friendliness and favour enough to gain a daughter's hand.

Tyndareus had given him the aid, but not the daughter's hand.

This was not necessarily a huge setback, since of the still remaining daughters, one of them was the daughter of the Anax of the Gods - Tyndareus would not readily give her hand away.

But it had told him that he couldn't rely on Tyndareus' friendly regard: his wife, the final checkpoint in the list that Basileus Laertes had kindly pointed out to him, was one he had to find for himself.

Probably even better, considering that would mean he had Tyndareus' relations and his wife's connections through her menfolk. Twice as many connections.

He did consider thanking Basileus Laertes for the very important lesson - he had needed to eradicate his own youthful blindspots, and Laertes had been kind enough to explicate them in detail - but that could wait till after this whole event.

First, Agamemnon had to get his brother settled - and himself established and acknowledged as the rightful Basileus of Mycenae by all whose authority mattered.

"Drink something," Agamemnon told his brother, irritated at how he kept shifting, not lying back properly on the couch. If he kept fidgeting, it would be obvious he was nervous. "At least eat something if you're not going to lie down."

"There's so many people," Menelaus muttered, but obediently reached for his own tray. The servants saw, and came by to refill the plates of bite-sized roasted meats, still freshly smoking from the spits in the kitchens. Another maid came to refill Agamemnon's cup.

"Not everyone's here yet," Agamemnon said, "so there's no point being concerned."

"How can you tell," Menelaus fidgeted with his plate - if this wasn't a formal banquet, Agamemnon would have taken the plate away (and yelled at him to calm the fuck down). He was tempted to take it away anyway.

"There are couches still empty," Agamemnon said. If Menelaus was going to fidget… "Go get up and talk to someone," he ordered. "Get some intel on the others."

Menelaus looked around, and didn't quite hunch.

Agamemenon didn't roll his eyes, but it was very close.

"Then go talk to Castor and Pollux," Agamemnon said, looking around and realising that the Twins weren't there. Fine. They weren't very good conversationalists, anyway; the Twins kept to themselves, their cousins much easier to get along with, for all that Castor was technically the mortal one, and their cousins the half-naiads.

Castor and Pollux were much better at conversing with their fists and each other; this, they excelled at. Day to day acts of governance, like hosting this banquet, they were not.

"I see Perileos," Menelaus said, much happier, and immediately left his couch to cross the hall towards the son of Icarius.

Agamemnon could release his breath. Good. Now Menelaus was gone off to talk to someone he knew, he was left in peace to contemplate his brother's rivals.

To be scrupulously and ruthlessly fair to Menelaus, there was cause for worry.

There were many suitors and their emissaries, from all of Achaea; just watching them, Agamemnon could already see the loose groupings of affiliations. There, Thebans, and their allies, while over on the other side of the room, a careful distance away was the Argive delegation - Aegialeus of Argos and his allies. Some of them looked entirely too young to be here, their beards barely more than wisps, but Aegialeus was more than old enough, the Prince of Argos, his father's heir. It was certain that once those wispy youths at his side were less wispy, Aegialeus would storm Thebes and avenge the insult that Thebes had dealt their fathers.

Their oath to raze Thebes to the ground was to be held in abeyance in Tyndareus' household, of course: Civilised men did not fight when they were courting. But as soon as they went outside of the area of Tyndareus' sight, then Agamemnon would not be surprised if blood was spilled.

He could see and count: Crete, Athens, and rich Opus, and that was just those he recognised. Several others, he knew were affiliated with the ship Argo - heroes in their own right.

They would have tight competition indeed, Agamemnon thought grimly. Some of them were already married, but brought their gawky sons - Menoetius was an extreme example, the huge solidly built ex-Argonaut had brought his awkward son who was head and eyes and barely anything else. If Tyndareus chose that one, he would have to wait many years before he could have a grandchild off Helen.

That was perhaps the youngest hopeful suitor; Agamemnon swept the room again - some were in their early twenties - others thirties, all talking in their small groups and barely mingling with the others, watching each other with wary eyes from across the room.

How many more -

"Prince Philoctetes, son of Poeas, Basileus of Meliboea!" Announced the herald, and the room's attention shifted.

The man - already in his thirties, was a good height, dark and had excellent shoulders, which wasn't a surprise, considering that he was the archer of the Argo, and clearly still in good form for it.

Some of the other groups swirled around, men getting up to call greetings - ah, there were Castor and Pollux, appearing out of the shadows of the Great hall like flames suddenly set to light, showing up to greet Philoctetes.

"Philoctetes," Castor said. "Welcome to Sparta."

"I am glad to be here," Philoctetes said, starting to hold his hand up for a greeting -

"Welcome," Pollux said, touching his brother's arm, and even Agamemnon had to look away, no matter how often he'd witnessed the Twins speak in synchrony. "To Sparta."

When Agamemnon could make himself look at the doorway again, the Twins had disappeared, abandoning Philoctetes at the door, and not even showing him to a couch.

"... yes, I'm glad to see you haven't changed," Philoctetes said drily to the room.

Well he was a good person to build a connection to - so Agamemnon went over to solicit his attention before anyone else thought the same thing.

And since Menelaus was too busy not interacting with any one else, Agamemnon had to do this for the both of them.

Agamemnon had gathered a small group around him - enough to start a small coalition, he thought, especially those who had some followers, though he didn't touch the Thebans or Argives - and kept a good eye on the room. There was unlikely to be anymore, there weren't any unclaimed couches, now.

Most of them were of medium sized territories - he didn't see any representatives of tiny territories.

Well.

They were unlikely to be --

"Basileus Odysseus, son of Laertes, of Ithaca!"

Agamemnon turned, just like the others, before the words - the title hit him, exactly as Laertes strutted into the large doorway.

No, that was a mistake, that was Laertes, son of Arcesius, and he was about to correct the herald for that unforgivable mistake - except.

The man was significantly younger than Laertes - his hair colour darker, much darker than he remembered of Laertes', thick curls held back in a band that glinted bronze, a little soft, almost fluffy black feather edged with markings like fingertips had bleached the edges, floating just above his temple.

The man tipped his head towards the herald, and smiled towards the room - for a moment he seemed to stare straight at Agamemnon and Agamemon knew it wasn't Laertes.

"Ithaca? What is Ithaca doing here -" Agamemnon heard by his side.

Odysseus - basileus? How was he basileus? Agamemnon had heard no news of Laertes having passed away - took two light steps forward, paused at the top of the small steps that led into the hall, and casually adjusted the drape of the fabric over his shoulder.

"Basileus Odysseus!" Thoas bellowed across the hall. "You are so late, I thought you weren't coming!"

Odysseus' expression suddenly crinkled into a grin, as Thoas plowed his way through the crowd of men.

"Prince Thoas, son of Icarius," Odysseus said with a laugh. "Am I too late then?"

Three great strides and Thoas was right up there next to Odysseus, clasping him by the arm. There was a briefest of moments, where Thoas seemed to look at Odysseus a little closer, then he said, "My Lord Basileus Odysseus, it is very good to see you - you are hardly late at all."

"But it might be there are no couches for me," Odysseus said, sweeping the room with an arc of his arm.

"Then that is our oversight," Thoas said, "I beg the Basileus of Ithaca to forgive us. Please, I would be honoured if you shared my couch."

"Mm," Odysseus looked over the room, and it almost seemed like he would refuse.

As if anyone would refuse when one of the princes of Sparta offered to share a couch with them - in Sparta itself, no less!

"Brother, it would be rude to make Basileus Odysseus share with you," Aletes - the youngest son of Icarius - said, quickly pushing his way through the crowd. "My Lord, you could share with me instead, it would be more spacious."

Thoas gave his younger brother a look so dark that if Odysseus was a woman, Agamemnon would have honestly expected it to come down to blows, or Thoas would have literally carried the bo-- Odysseus off.

"Where is your couch, Prince Aletes?" Odysseus said, but he clapped his hand over Thoas', almost like he was soothing him. "Next to Thoas?"

"Right over there," Aletes said, taking Odysseus by the other elbow until he had to let go of Thoas, and follow. "Come, Thoas can get you -- hmm a drink?"

Aletes gave Thoas a look that only younger brothers could, while Thoas looked like he was going to throw Aletes out of the palace.

Odysseus affected not seeing it, even though the interaction passed right in front of his face. "Of course, if it pleases you both, sons of Icarius," he said with exquisite politeness, and let himself be escorted off into the hall, down to the side.

He didn't seem to see anyone else along the way, giving both princes smiles that were more grins, free with them like the attention was all he wanted to lap up.

Someone murmured, "Ithaca is - so friendly with the Princes of Sparta?"

Agamemnon didn't know how to answer that. He'd been in Sparta for a while, yes, he'd seen Odysseus around, but he'd scrupulously kept his distance since Laertes had so sternly but politely pointed out in every way Agamemnon was temporarily lacking.

But Odysseus had never ever, dressed like this before - rich coloured wool, something in the way it draped? Moved? Dragged his eye, leather cuffs and polished bronze in his hair and on his wrists, and thick bands of colour along his several layers under the tunic.

Aletes gave up the head of his couch to Odysseus, and took the tray from the servants to hold it out to Odysseus, letting him pick at the food he wanted.

Had the princes of Sparta been that close to Odysseus?

They'd mentioned him sometimes, but he'd thought it was something to do with trade and training?

"What a beautiful man he has grown into," Menelaus sighed.

Agamemnon almost startled backwards, hand going to his empty hip. No sword of course, not in the banquet hall. But also - the others Agamemnon had gathered had dispersed - and Agamemnon hadn't noticed, only now realising the only man next to him was his brother.

"Don't you think so, Brother?"

Agamemnon's gaze shot to his brother - but Menelaus, as usual, meant no sarcasm - he was entirely wistfully genuine, staring at Odysseus.

Blind, Agamemnon thought - that was no man, Menelaus should be able to see! Odysseus might look like his father at the first glance, but his main bulk came from the fine clothing he was wearing - his legs were still that of a youth, sleek and compact, tapering to very fine ankles. His arms, while clearly well honed in the use of particular items like a bow, were not the heavy set muscles that were needed to control a pair of wild horses and drive a spear straight through another man's cuirass and out the back, not like the great Ajax, son of Telamon.

"He is," Agamemnon managed to not grind out, "a Basileus."

Had his glib tongue managed to persuade his father to stand down from his throne, somehow? There might be no other way that Laertes would do so, unless he had died, but since Agamemnon had heard no such information, it must be Odysseus himself, and Laertes' indulgent paternal heart, which might be the only weakness in that old Basileus of Ithaca.

The Prince Thoas said something; his brother Perileos leaned over from behind, holding out a small bunch of grapes to Odysseus. Odysseus tipped his head back, laughed. Agamemnon could see his throat - that dark beard, it barely went past his chin, and didn't cover anything beyond. He was hardly a man, Agamemnon thought, the heat of fury rising in his own throat. He could see the way Odysseus' throat moved, the strong sinew in his neck as he turned to laugh at first Thoas, then Aletes, then back to Perileos, dispensing attention like a girl scattered seeds to her chickens.

Odysseus didn't even look past twenty - remove that beard, and he'd probably betray his true age; he was betraying it now, leaning on the couch arm, one ankle tucked behind the other fine ankle, turning to smile at Thoas, the feather fluttering flirtatiously at the motion, only glancing back to Aletes when Aletes offered him a plate of flatbread, all already torn into bite-sized pieces.

"We should go congratulate him, after this," Menelaus said. "Right?"

It took him another two moments to register Menelaus' words, Odysseus was leaning his chin on his forearm now, eyes half-lidded and amused.

"We should," he said.

Menelaus clasped his shoulder, rough in his usual way, and Agamemnon remembered where he was, what he was doing. If Odysseus was the last to arrive - already sharing a couch with the brothers, then the banquet would officially begin, soon, and they should return to their couches.

Menelaus was still looking towards Odysseus - Agamemnon shrugged his arm off. "Go back to your seat, Menelaus," he said. "The banquet is going to start soon."

"How many of them are going to submit complaints about collusion and unfair favouritism?" Icarius said.

"None," Tyndareus said, drily, "because they wouldn't be so civilised as to submit it."

"So the majority."

Tyndareus sighed. "Has the quality of young men gone down since we were young men? Look at them; if they can't even do the most basic of research into Sparta's economical relationships, how are they going to govern Sparta after Helen marries them?"

More than half the men in the room were attempting to set fire to Odysseus with the power of their glares alone. Then they'd look at each other, and then be completely unsure if they wanted to kill Odysseus with the aid of their competition, or if they wanted to fight both at once.

Tyndareus would have thought that the older suitors would have been willing to form temporary alliances for the sake of a greater goal, but apparently, judging from the way many hands went to empty hips, the older men simply were less obvious about wanting to stab everyone.

"I believe Helen is going to do the governing," Icarius said drily. "And it looks more and more likely once the dust has settled and the blood is washed away, the only one left standing for son-in-law would be Laertiades. And no, I'm not going to sit idly by and let you claim that one."

"He's Basileus of Ithaca now," Tyndareus said. "Hardly going to stay in that house you have been eying for him and my niece."

"He's Basileus of Ithaca now," Icarius said, "And hardly going to stay in Sparta even for Helen."

The two leaders of Sparta glared at each other, until Icarius raised an eyebrow, and Tyndareus snorted.

"At least Argos isn't going to set on the Theban contingent immediately," Icarius said. "Not even Laertiades' surprise jump-started it."

"Aegialeus has a decent sense of control over his group," Tyndareus said. "That one might be reasonable."

"Has a bastard," Icarius said mildly. Shrugged when his brother looked at him. "Well, some chance that he has a bastard. It's not confirmed."

"Shows he knows how the equipment works at least," Tyndareus muttered.

They considered the suitors for a while - the young Basileus of Ithaca continued to preen prettily in the room - even if he wasn't in the middle, the entire room's attention was focused on him and Icarius' sons, all of them dancing their parts to draw out some information for Tyndareus' sharp-eyed brother to catch and catalogue.

"The sons of Atreus are slightly interesting," Icarius said. "You've been on campaign with them."

Tyndareus hummed. "They're very good fighters. Loyal brothers."

"Ambitious."

"Not surprising. If they weren't, they'd never be more than what they were, like Tydeus, late of Argos."

After a moment, Icarius pointed out, "There are several Argonauts." At least they would be familiar with Castor and Pollux. Some of them had been princes for a really long time - and seemed unlikely to become leaders, and therefore unlikely to wish to find a new property and land, not when Helen would at least have land as much as her older sisters.

"Philoctetes will definitely stay in Sparta if Helen were wed to him," Tyndareus agreed.

"And very few would challenge his claim, not with his relationship with Heracles."

Philoctetes had been the one who lit Heracles' funeral pyre. A man who had given Heracles his final dignity, and from what witnesses had said, been blessed with Heracles' divine favour when Heracles had been deified.

Zeus was fickle with his favour - Tyndareus wondered if his own Twins - both sets - would be given such favours. For while he knew clearly which children weren't his, he had had the raising of them, for it was rare for a God to raise his own mortal children, and thus he had never differentiated between Helen and her sister, Pollux and his brother.

(Not that it was rare for a man of Sparta to raise children he didn't father: they were healthy, that was all that had mattered then.)

A man close to a God might be one of the better choices for Helen.

"Or you could ask Helen's thoughts."

Tyndareus snorted. As if his brother didn't know what the whole week long event was for. The suitors, nearly fifty of them, not counting their hangers-on and allies and vassals, would need to take all that time to present why they were best suited to be Tyndareus' son-in-law.

A young man approached Odysseus, unintimidated by Icarius' sons playing court to the Basileus of Ithaca; he gave Icarius' sons polite bows but Odysseus jumped to his feet to clasp the young man's arms in bright-eyed delight.

"Iphitos, son of Eurytus, of Oechalia," Icarius murmured. Like Philoctetes, he too was affiliated with Heracles in some way - Icarius had not been sure if the man had been one of Heracles' eromenoi when the hero had been younger, or simply a lover, for Heracles had rarely stayed in one place long enough to be observed properly. But Iphitos had been instrumental in dissuading Heracles and his Calydonian army from invading Oechalia, getting Heracles to turn away - Icarius had heard that Iphitos had persuaded his father to give Heracles twelve beautiful mares - their dams had been stolen by Autolycus on a whim years prior, but had been returned none the worse for the wear. Six of these beautiful mares were already pregnant with foals of the great studs of Eurytus' herds - even the insult that Eurytus had afforded Heracles in refusing Iole to Heracles years ago had to be soothed by this princely gift.

"That's the young man that Laertiades had met, near Messenia, wasn't it," Tyndareus said, watching as Odysseus introduced his nephews to Iphitos.

"They're close friends; I've heard from Laertes that the son of Eurytus visits as often as he can," Icarius said. "And the young man is diplomatic, unmatched by anyone living but his father in his archery." His brother glanced to Tyndareus. "But he's not the only son of Eurytus. Any property he might inherit would be small."

And therefore, he would also make a suitable potential husband for Helen.

"A man who can talk Heracles down from invasion has potential," Tyndareus said, non-committal, still watching as Odysseus finally let Iphitos go to return to his own seat, and then Odysseus sank back down on Aletes' couch to be fed yet more grapes.

Icarius snorted. "While you consider that, I'm interested in what Laertiades is going to present."

"Maybe I will be so impressed that I will accept him at once," Tyndareus said.

Icarius made a noise and then straightened his tunic. "Try it and I'll show you what it means to court death."

"Father, Thoas says," Castor said from the shadows.

Tyndareus glanced at his son, dark as the shadows and barely visible.

"That the banquet should start." Pollux said from the other side of Icarius, pale as papyrus and just as dry.

"Right, thank you." Both his sons nodded in synchrony and slipped away - Castor into the shadows and Pollux along the lit part of the hallway, both disappearing from sight at exactly the same moment.

Icarius said nothing about his sons - his brother was long used to their idiosyncrasies. While they would likely never betray each other, like so many brothers did, in fighting for a single throne, his twins would also never rule Sparta. Zeus had been kind in giving him two sons, and cruel in giving them this. Fortunately, Leda had been more successful than he in raising his twin daughters to normalcy.

Icarius held out his cape to him - Tyndareus took it, and they both, in the same smooth movement, snapped their capes open and over, letting the heavy weight of authority and rank drape over their shoulders.

"Let's go start this then," Icarius said.

Chapter Text

Odysseus shed his top most layer as soon as he got back to his room, as well as his cuffs and the headband, rubbing at his temples. He'd been careful to drink very little, and the sons of Icarius had also not pressed much on him, other than what was considered enough to be polite.

Maybe this was a success?

Certainly much of the room's attention had been on him, wondering about Ithaca's presence, and the princes' attention on him. Tyndareus and Icarius had not paid him special attention during the banquet, spreading out their words and presence fairly, which had only fueled even more speculation. The Basileis of Sparta probably were very entertained by all that information the suitors had been dropping; Odysseus certainly had been.

The ones who had stared and looked away, and didn't actually talk to their own allies, showed they didn't have as strong a coalition as they had first appeared. His presence hadn't been able to catalyse a fight between life-long enemies, which meant at least they respected the rules of civilisation and temporary truce, so the Thebans and Argives weren't completely irrational. Still wouldn't be a good idea to court either as potential allies yet, not if their grudge hadn't been resolved, but maybe that prince Aegialeus might be worth talking to.

There were plenty of single-party players though - the ones who had been Argonauts, Nestor of Pylos and Philoctetes, for example, didn't seem like they were particularly friendly, nor had they approached Odysseus on the strength of his father's once having sailed with them on the Argo, so that was telling.

Telling of what, he wasn't sure yet. This was just the welcome banquet and a lot of new faces and names that he had lurked outside listening in as the heralds announced them. Everyone was just a bit stiff and on their best behaviour. The actual presentations of the suitors would start in the morning after breakfast, before the games that Damasippus had organised; so there was more opportunity for the suitors to interact with each other and try to form alliances, or feel out the competition.

Right now, Odysseus had the gifts for the princesses that he and Ctimene had prepared; Damasippus hadn't been at the banquet, leaving his younger brothers to do the hosting duties, so Odysseus should go see him.

He put the headband with the Little Owl feather back carefully into its thin flat case. It wouldn't do to just leave it around loose - he only had three of those feathers, a very precious gift of favour.

Then he changed out of his clothing; Ctimene would throw the new cooking pot at him if he went out on the walls while wearing her precious tunic. He flung a plain dark wool cloak over himself, and then climbed out of the window.

The palace hadn't changed much, obviously; he'd been here only months ago - the new annex merely added more length for him to walk along the outside, further to go to get to Damasippus' room, since the addition had been to the guest rooms, not to the family's.

Damasippus' room was lit - Odysseus leaned carefully around the edge, just to check - yes, he could see the edge of Damasippus' cape, though if it wasn't him then it would be one of his brothers', which was just as safe for him to slip in.

(He was never making the same mistake of not checking a room before entering again; the sons of Atreus hadn't done more than stare at him tonight, so it was a good chance they'd forgotten who he was, seeing that they'd been constantly on campaigns for Basileus Tyndareus these past years, but it would be horribly ironic if he ended up in the wrong bedroom again.

Odysseus learned quickly from his mistakes - he liked making brand new mistakes each time after all. )

"Did you see him?" Damasippus was saying as Odysseus slipped his foot over the window sill.

"At the banquet? I would hardly be there, not today, I --- Odysseus!"

Odysseus paused, half in the window, as Damasippus whipped around.

"Hi, Damasippus. Helen."

"There is a door," Helen said, raising an eyebrow at him.

"I see it, it's a very nice door," Odysseus said, and swung his other leg over. "Tadah."

He beamed at them both.

Damasippus shook his head, but went over to offer him a hand down from the window. Odysseus grinned.

"Still climbing through windows?" Damasippus said, leaning over to check out the window.

"No one saw," he said, and swept as fancy a bow as he could to Helen. "The lady of the hour. Well. Week. Month?"

Helen folded her arms, but she did smile a little. "And you are…?"

"Basileus Odysseus," Damasippus said. "I heard this is the Basileus of Ithaca."

"Oh," Helen said. "Basileus. You don't look at all different."

"I don't?" Odysseus turned around, ostensibly checking on himself. "But I look so lordly, Perileos said I did."

"Hmm." Helen took a few steps, eying him, ignoring Odysseus' grin, and gestured. Odysseus obligingly spun in place, showing off - well his usual clothing. "I suppose I see it. Well. Alright, you'll do."

Odysseus paused, looking at her.

There was a certain light in her normally serious eyes; something very intent.

"... I'll do what," Odysseus said, glancing from her, to Damasippus.

Damasippus, who had casually leaned against the window now, folded impressive arms, blocking more than half the window, smiling mildly.

"You're Basileus now," Helen said, stepping forward, and was that a low, soft warm purr in her voice? Dark and golden, like amber?

Odysseus took a step back - Helen was - there was no other word for it, she was prowling, a silver-gold lioness, her light-green eyes intent on him, and Damasippus was not moving, solid and coolly examining his nails.

"Yes, I'm Basileus," Odysseus said slowly, taking another slow step back, highly aware that there was soon to be very little between him and the wall.

Helen was almost in front of him, reaching for him - Odysseus swung his arm out of her reach - and then remembered he'd brought a bag of the letters and gifts - and hauled that in front of him, like a shield.

"Damasippus," he hissed. Odysseus glanced to Damasippus - who wasn't looking at them, calmly studying the ceiling.

Helen's smile only widened, and she stalked forward, forward - Odysseus had to keep stepping back, until wall hit his back.

And she was right there.

"Eee," Odysseus said, very quietly.

"You are eligible, Basileus of Ithaca," Helen purred, each syllable curling from her tongue, a soft shivery purr up his spine.

"Eligible for what?" Odysseus said.

Helen suddenly smirked, and tugged at his bag, pulling it from him. "Are these letters from Ctimene? Oh, she's so kind!"

And then Damasippus was also at the bag, helping Helen take out the scrolls of papyrus that were letters, and the wrapped parcels that were the gifts, as Odysseus clutched his chest in deep, relieved breaths.

"You were teasing!" he accused.

"You're still eligible," Helen said, cheerfully engrossed in her letter now.

"Eligible for what," Odysseus cried.

Damasippus had found his letter, and looked quite pleased.

"Eligible for marriage, of course," Helen said, reaching up to tuck a loose pale-gold braid behind her ear. "What's this?" she indicated a hard flat package

"That," Odysseus said, "is for you."

She put aside her letters to poke at it. "Which…?"

"Well," he said, "there are so many suitors and just one you."

Damasippus had paused in reading his letter, looked over in curiosity.

Odysseus unwrapped the package - flat panels of wood, with perfect joinery carved on each side so he could slot it together.

"That looks complicated," Damasippus said.

"For --" Helen frowned, when Odysseus finally set the assembled box in front of her, "a mere box."

Odysseus plucked the letter from Damasippus' hand, and tossed it into the box, ignoring Damasippus' mild protest, "See?"

"You have put Ctimene's letter in a box," Helen said.

Odysseus grinned at her, turned the box over, and then held it out to Helen. "Draw."

Helen gave him a look, and put her hand in, feeling for the papyrus roll, and pulled it out. "That's just--"

She paused as she unrolled it. It was blank.

Odysseus grinned at her, turned it back and then offered the slot to Damasippus to retrieve his letter.

"Interesting," Helen said. "So --"

"My suspicion is," Odysseus said, settling himself on one of Damasippus' chairs, "there are a lot of suitors who would take it as an insult not to be chosen, even if - or rather especially because - there are other stronger, more famous, richer suitors around. And even with your brothers present. Well." Odysseus shrugged.

Damasippus was leaning over to inspect the box with Helen, both of them poking at it to locate the secret compartment.

"They wouldn't be able to prevent a fight," Helen said.

"Some of them would even take the opportunity to go to war with each other," Damasippus said, frowning and settling back.

"Some would swing over to Sparta, of course, for honour and what is right, just specifically to fight those who opposed your father's choice, so..." Odysseus tipped his chin at the box. "Maybe that would help."

Helen tipped the box over and over in her hands. "Hm. Thank you. I think."

Odysseus leaned to one side of the chair, stretching out like it was a couch, and Damasippus took the hint to go over and pat his hair in thanks for his cousin.

"Father likely has thought of this problem," Damasippus said, "So probably has come up with ideas to counter it."

"Probably," Odysseus said, "So you can always go propose something to him. Tell him you want to make it a lots, drawn by the gods, and pick the suitor who is less of an irritant."

Helen hummed. "So, a suitor like you."

Odysseus sat up, knocking Damasippus' hand away.

"Not like me," Odysseus said, affronted. "Never me -"

"But you're Basileus now," Helen said, innocently. "Maybe I will fill this compartment here with slips of papyrus of your name."

"No!"

"But if it's the will of the Gods, I cannot say no," Helen said, looking at Odysseus with a horrible imitation of Penelope's innocent expression, and Odysseus pressed his face into his hands.

"I can say no," he said into his palms. "I will refuse to put my name in that box."

"You made such an effort to show up dressed all lordly," Helen said, ruthlessly cheerful, "I think no one would believe you don't want to put your name for my hand."

"Damasippus!" Turning to wail at her cousin only had Damasippus pat him comfortingly.

"I cannot interfere with my cousin's choice," he said, "It is her week after all."

"You're horrible, both of you," Odysseus said, and reached out to try and snatch the box back. "I'm taking this and leaving."

She grabbed back at it, fingers brushing over his - sharp snap, whip-like flash of pain in his hands and he dropped the box back into her hands.

"Ow."

"Oops," Helen said, and hugged the box to her. "You can't take back gifts."

"I'm never giving you anything again," Odysseus sniffed.

"Liar," Helen said, "You're going to present your gift tomorrow."

Odysseus huffed. "That's just to your father and to all the suitors."

He looked up at Damasippus and pouted. "And you're a terrible host, I came bearing gifts, and you let me be assaulted."

"I'll give you some of our best wine, how about that?" Damasippus said, amused, amused enough to not continue reading Ctimene's letter. "Even though you did sneak into my window, which means you're not a guest but a suspicious character."

"I am not a suspicious character, you have known me for years," Odysseus objected, but held his hand out for Damasippus' wine anyway.

"Which is why we know you're a suspicious character," Helen said, gathering the rest of the presents and letters. "I'll just take these to Clytemnestra and," she paused to give him a significant look and a smile.

That smirk on her face made her look remarkably like her sister, delicately pointed. "Penelope."

Odysseus refused to react, burying his face in Damasippus' cup.

"I leave you to have… conversational intercourse with Damasippus then," Helen said, and swept out before he could choke harder on his wine, while Damasippus laughed and patted Odysseus on the back.

After breakfast, Odysseus was the first to present his gift.

The heralds had basically arranged them from smallest territory to the largest - Odysseus didn't think the medium sized territories really were rushing to present first, not when they had no idea yet what their rivals were going to present (though judging from the presence of some very stampy horses outside, Odysseus was fairly sure that some of them were intending to present Fine War Horses. Odysseus was steering well clear from them) or how, and it was an easy assumption that smallest to largest territory would be least insulting.

Seeing that Odysseus was representing the smallest territory, naturally he went first; his gift would obviously be the poorest.

Personally Odysseus was glad to go first - everyone else would obviously look better in comparison, even if, as he got up from his seat, he could feel several eyes on him as sharp as daggers.

Tsk, idiots. He'd get to look at everyone's after his own presentation, and he knew perfectly well what his own worth was.

He gestured to the servants - two of them were holding either end of the tapestry for him, and fell into step behind him as he walked that short distance across the hall, towards the front.

He paused right in front of Basileus Tyndareus, and swept a bow, low enough the edge of his fine wool chlamys brushed his shin briefly.

"Basileus Tyndareus, Lord of Sparta," he said, projecting his voice out loud enough to cover the entire hall, "Ithaca presents to you, a gift for the beautiful Helen, she who is daughter of Basileus of the Gods, who had sired her, and of you, who had raised her in your hearth and home. For someone as precious and unique as that, I bring Ithaca's black wool."

He turned around and undid the thin leather thong holding the linen wrapping, and pulled it off, glancing to the side. Aletes and Perileos came forward - they were both matching in height (more or less) while not being as physically imposing as Thoas and Damasippus together, so this was appropriate enough.

(Of course he didn't approach Castor and Pollux. He was not an idiot.)

The two princes took hold of the polished ash-wood ends of the long support pole; they both stepped away from Odysseus and the two servants who had shifted their hold to the free end of the tapestry, and with military precision, unrolled the tapestry in a slow even reveal for the entire hall to see.

"It is well known that the Basileis Tyndareus and Icarius are glorious in battle," Odysseus said, gesturing, "And victorious in winning Sparta for themselves from treachery."

Most tapestries were white, with black or coloured outlines. Ithaca could do the opposite - the black background dark enough to eat the light around them, making the white figures stabbing their brother stark and obvious.

Murmurs, around the hall - possibly impressed. As the princes tilted the tapestry upwards for Tyndareus to view, it was obvious that in the right lighting, the white would stand out so brilliantly, it would look like Selene had drawn on the night sky itself, putting up Tyndareus and Icarius' heroic deeds for all the world to see.

Odysseus hid his grin with a bow to Tyndarius - and Icarius, standing behind his brother half in the shadows.

"Impressive," Tyndareus said, "is that your famous Ithacan black wool?"

"Not entirely, my Lord," Odysseus said, and straightened up, stepping back and around to indicate the border between Aletes and one of the servants. "This border is made of your Spartan wool."

He ran his hand down the thick heavy weave of it, spreading his palm out fully - at first glance, from a distance the black of Ithacan wool and the dark earthy brown of Spartan wool was almost indistinguishable, but once you knew to look for it, the dark brown of Spartan wool was actually integrated at specific points, the border as stated, and also to indicate the size and shape Sparta's land, that the figures were fighting for. It was why Ctimene had wanted to stab his eyes out for this design.

"A fine integration of both Ithacan and Spartan wool," Tyndareus said, leaning forward, and smiled.

"A little flattery," Odysseus said, wary of that smile, "in hopes that our cooperation in our meagre trade would continue."

"Of course. It seems that Ithacan and Spartan wool work very well together," Tyndareus said. He gestured, and his nephews started rolling the tapestry back towards the servants and Odysseus. "And perhaps, a closer relationship, mm?"

Odysseus kept his smile on his face. No, that wasn't what Tyndareus was supposed to get out of this - this was purely about economics, not about … except he also was hoping --

Tyndareus' smile seemed to get larger as Odysseus picked through whether to acknowledge or disavow the implications. Icarius shot his brother a sideways look.

"Anyone would crave a closer relationship to a great Basileus such as you and your loyal and famed brother," Odysseus said, and indicated the entire hall. "It is your graciousness in hosting us all, that is so impressive and humbling, and thus Ithaca comes to show her interest and respect."

Odysseus was the first presenter - his gift was, had to be, on the more modest side of the scale, because Odysseus was trying to tread that fine line of not insulting his host with a thoughtless gift, while also not being too rich as to show eagerness for Helen, and yet not cut himself entirely out of the running in the future.

He had no real idea what Tyndareus and Icarius were looking for in a son-in-law, but hopefully, since he was newly Basileus, he wouldn't be placed too low; just not too high right now.

Tyndareus just kept regarding him, as his nephews rolled the tapestry up, and picked up the linen wrap that served as its dust-cover, and started to wrap the black wool again.

There was no way Tyndareus would decide that Odysseus was his son-in-law right now. Not with the others yet to present. They would quite literally riot.

Odysseus could feel his back prickle under all his layers of fine woven wool, as Tyndareus' silence dragged heartbeat by heartbeat.

Icarius finally coughed, hard.

"Thank you for your expression of interest," Tyndareus said finally, and Odysseus could feel his limbs relax. "It is a thoughtful gift, but I hope the Basileus of Ithaca can understand we cannot accept any one gift until all of the suitors have presented their case."

"Of course," Odysseus said, sweeping yet another bow in relief, "My Lord Basileus Tyndareus is most gracious in hearing my suit."

Tyndareus waved to the servants to take it to a side-chamber for temporary storage.

Odysseus could finally beat his not-so-hasty retreat before Tyndareus could change his mind.

The presentations wore on into the late morning - there were of course plenty of gifts that were more impressive than his: gold gilded cups with finely carved and shaped divine figures, weapons of highest quality bronze and shafts of high quality and impressive craftsmanship. No few finely woven garments, in wool and in pure white linen, or in beautiful deep Egyptian purple dyes or other dizzying colours that Odysseus could not afford.

No one else had presented a tapestry yet, which Odysseus was fairly pleased about - his gift was then unique, at least for today - but because it wasn't quite the same quality as the ones that already hung in the great hall, it did seem more modest.

What was the problem was that most of them weren't particularly engaging in presenting their gifts, expecting the source, the material, and the item's function itself to sell their suit rather than … well, selling it.

A few had tried to follow Odysseus' style of presentation, but petered out, mostly because Odysseus was fairly sure they couldn't, for example, draw any relationship between a gold-gilded cup featuring Apollo and Ares to Helen, their own land, or why they even chose such a cup, other than 'it is really expensive, my lord'.

Odysseus picked at the plate of light refreshments - little cubes of aged cheese and some figs, and waited, hoped for something interesting. If Helen was listening, he thought she too would be bored to tears - but if they were here, the Spartan princesses, at least they could be talking to each other.

As a suitor, Odysseus couldn't talk to the princes - they were now silent as the servants, only helping in presentations if they had been asked to, paying no one any especial attention.

He kept his eye on the princes anyway - and noticed when Damasippus slipped in to murmur something to Perileos.

To his relief, it was an announcement to break for the day - lunch, and then the first round of games, which meant that the next round of presentations would come tomorrow.

Odysseus could finally stretch out, and slip out of the hall before anyone thought to collar him to interrogate him about that possible advantage he had with his trade relationship with Sparta.

Honestly - if they hadn't thought to do any research last night, though, then his own presentation would have been a big fat hint, and he didn't want to hang about to give anyone answers they were too slow to figure out on their own.

Lunch, and then he could take a wander around the gardens to see if the princesses were around. They'd probably at least turn up for the games, right?

Chapter Text

Lunch was casual; while the food was laid out in the great hall, that was simply because of the space needed; the basileis' seats had been removed, which meant that there was no host, and everyone could serve themselves, and eat as lightly or heavily as they liked.

Obviously, light was better, Odysseus knew, since there would be games after lunch.

"Your presentation was quite intriguing, Basileus Odysseus of Ithaca."

Odysseus carefully picked a few slices of cold meats and put it on a piece of flatbread. Turned, and paused.

"Prince Aegialeus. Of Argos," Odysseus said, turning to face the prince of Argos fully. "Very kind of you to say so." He dipped his head a little.

The Prince of Argos was older than him, but not by much, holding his plate of sliced cheese and figs, in a loose, casual hold that was belied by his sharp, light brown eyes. His smile was as sharp as the sword he was very much not wearing.

"The Ithacan and Spartan wool were so harmonious, the pattern blended into a very beautiful backdrop," Aegialeus said. "I could hardly see the border and the shape of the Sparta in the background, but once pointed out, I could not unsee it."

Odysseus smiled blandly at him. "It does, doesn't it? The work of Ithacan weavers is nothing to that of the Spartans'," he tipped his chin towards the walls of the great hall, casually noting the gazes on him. Out of the corner of his eyes, he did notice Nestor of Pylos and Menelaus, son of Atreus, glancing his way. "But I think, in my humble opinion, it doesn't shame us."

"It is a fine representation of the Ithacan and Spartan close trade relationship indeed," Aegialeus said, and his gaze was just a little, sharper now, "Perhaps even closer than trade."

Well, Odysseus thought, straight to the point. He was trying to see if Odysseus had an advantage, after all, over the others, in getting the hand of Helen. Seemed like Argos was not in any particularly close trade relationship with Sparta, if he was concerned that the Ithaca's trade might give him that little more of an advantage.

"Alas," Odysseus said, adjusting his grip on his plate, "It seems like Sparta keeps its relationships quite clearly defined. Choosing a trading partner is quite different from choosing a husband for a well loved, divine daughter."

Helen was something quite special, after all - none of her older sisters had garnered quite this much attention. In some senses, Tyndareus was playing the part of her true father - it would be completely dishonorable for him to give her to the first man who asked.

Aegialeus' gaze turned thoughtful, like he hadn't quite considered that. "Certainly, a man does have more considerations when looking for a son-in-law, than with a man who would conduct trade well and honestly," he said.

"And for a divine daughter of Sparta, no less," Odysseus said, prodding just a little. "She's been with Basileus Tyndareus for so long -" a really long time, honestly, for her to be yet unmarried, "- maybe he might wish to test a suitor's conviction."

Aegialeus' gaze turned sharp, searching on Odysseus. Odysseus gave him a light smile, and took a bite of his food.

"Testing a suitor."

Odysseus shrugged. "Shoot a siren. Hunt down a great boar. I'm not sure what such great tests a great Basileus might ask, but I hope it wouldn't be too onerous."

Aegialeus glanced out to the rest of the hall. Odysseus could feel the rest of the gazes melt casually away, like they'd heard enough they wanted to know.

"You seem remarkably well informed, for someone who is only a trade partner," Aegialeus said, after a moment.

Odysseus made one hand free to spread in innocence.

Aegialeus clapped him briefly on the shoulder. It wasn't murderous, but it wasn't particularly friendly either.

"We should keep talking," he said, "maybe after the games."

"Sure," Odysseus said, making a note to avoid him outside of the banquet hall, where there were technically no rules against weaponry. "We should keep in touch."

Aegialeus nodded at him, and then turned away to go talk to his own contingent of very young youthful allies.

Odysseus resisted the urge to raise a plate at them, and then took another look around the room, just to see who exactly had overheard.

Further on the other side of the hall, a very careful distance from the Argive contingent was one of the Theban contingent - still watching Odysseus with some rather pointy interest.

Too far away to have overheard, Odysseus thought, and gave them a friendly smile. Maybe they'd hear of it by after the games.

To the other side deeper in the hall, too far to really make a detour to, Iphitos was in quiet conversation with yet another basileus that Odysseus couldn't quite place - someone from Phylace? - and when he caught his gaze, Iphitos simply tipped his head, telling Odysseus he could run off if he wanted.

Nestor of Pylos and Menelaus were still conversing, still glancing towards him - Menelaus seemed about to take a step towards him, actually. Was his brother around?

Odysseus didn't particularly feel inclined to find out - he finished lunch, hurriedly, and left the hall to locate Aletes - there was a chance he might find Aletes' sister, as well, and maybe she might have the time to say hello.

The games was a huge, public event - with so many basileis, their retinue and emissaries, others from Sparta's territories, from all over the lands, a simple invocation and blessing to open the games would hardly be appropriate. What more that this was for the hand of the daughter of the God who was Anax of all Gods.

In front of the field, where they all gathered, and above on the stands, were four altars. One to Zeus, Odysseus knew, one likely to Ares, Sparta's patron God, who loved Sparta fiercely as Sparta loved him. The other two, he had no idea yet, and had to be content to wait in the crowd, one of the many basileis, guest and audience.

The procession was solemn - the priest and prophet, a man who was wisest in the auguries and signs of the gods, leading, followed by his acolytes, then the Basileis of Sparta - Tyndareus and Icarius - their sons, in their deep dark capes and bronzed polished cuirasses and greaves, and then the veiled women, all clad in bright pure white, and only the Basilinna Leda, whose himation was in the same dark rich purple of her husband's own robes, was distinguishable from her daughters and nieces and their womenfolk. The crowd quietened - even if the suitors around Odysseus wanted to catch a glimpse of Helen now, this was not the time to jostle or whisper - not when the priest, as soon as the ruling family was in place, held out his hands.

He gestured for the young bull, horns gilded gold, and invoked Zeus, asking for his approval.

"Greatest of the Gods," Basileus Tyndareus said, raising his voice, sonorous, carrying, nearly as thundering as if he was throwing his words across a battlefield, as the priest handed him the knife, "You who have given us life, and the safety of xenia, we thank you for allowing us all, many people of many lands to gather here, that I, Tyndareus, son of Oebalus may host them in grandeur. We thank you for giving us, Land of Sparta, the opportunity and honour, to host such distinguished guests in our halls - we give thanks and praise to your generosity."

Then the men held the head of the bull up, and Tyndareus slit its throat, practiced and fast - no blood splashed out of the bowl, and it died with no struggle at all, buckling down on its legs like kneeling to Tyndareus, to Zeus, to all the gods, as it bled out dark life, to the women's keening cry as one.

Above, eagles shrieked - two wheeling in the sky - and the priest raised his hands in praise and gratitude: Zeus had accepted.

The acolyte holding the bowl then poured some of the blood onto the altar for Zeus, and yet more men came forward, bending to the task of butchering the bull, dividing out the best part of the bull - the thick strong thighs, and a layer of fat, for Zeus. One of the acolytes took that, in a bright white unstained vessel, holding it up that they might all witness, and turned to place it reverently at Zeus' altar. It caught fire when lit, burned steadily.

Pollux, all but glowing in the sunlight, golden and unearthly, took another vessel, stepping to the acolytes, carefully letting them fill it, before turning to his father. Tyndareus took the vessel, held it over the field, up in the air.

"To Lord Hermes, lord and protector of travellers and messengers, we thank you."

The wind picked up, as if the eagles had heralded a breeze, a zephyr twisting through the gathered throng. Odysseus shivered - something - someone - was watching?

"For granting safe travel to the illustrious guests gathered here today. May your blessings hold true, for all the time they will be here, let no fires catch and burn them or their people, let no fires upend and harm our guests, while we serve as the destination for all who come, and may they depart safely to their homes."

There was a sound - high pitched, under the wind rising, for a moment Odysseus wasn't sure what it was, an oddly familiar sound that he couldn't quite place until he could: the rush of a memory of wings, feathers and the soft drape of felt and wool, and the creak and rock of his sister's ox wagon, the sway and movement of the wood.

Above them, Tyndareus lowered the vessel, and passed it to an acolyte. For a brief flash, the shadow of his cap seemed to cast from a longer rim, like that of the petasos Hermes would be shown wearing in paintings on urns, washed silver in a brief ray of light.

As the Acolyte set the offering on fire, was that the sound of a rooster, crowing, too late in the day to herald the morning?

But it was evidence too, that Hermes had accepted - wagon and rooster, Hermes was present.

And then Castor stepped forward, dark and moody, holding his own vessel.

"To Nike, Goddess of Victory!" Tyndareus called out - and now, his voice carried the bright metallic crash of bronze meeting bronze, filling the air. "We offer this field, filled with a week of Games, of men who will compete with each other for the honour of winning, the strength of their arms, and their fleetness of their feet, the power of the pride in competition, the clean golden honour of victory!"

The wind picked up as Tyndareus took the vessel from Castor - and when he held it up - all the banners and flags snapped in the sharp wind, filling Tyndareus' cape and mantle, streaming out with something almost blinding, an almost glow of divine favour.

The wind almost rose to a howl as this offering was lit on Nike's Altar - and instead of blowing out the flame, the flame burned bright and high, enough to be seen from all corners of the field, and Odysseus could feel - could see - the gold-wash of brilliant satisfaction over everyone - a glittering burning flame in his limbs, in his lungs, the same burn in his muscles and the burning taste of bay and laurel, that pushed him over the finish line, ahead of all.

The Goddess of Victory had accepted.

Then Icarius stepped forward to the acolytes - he too was carrying a large vessel, rounded and with two handles. The acolytes filled that one too, with haunch and tongue of the bull, soft and good parts, before holding it to his brother.

"To Ares, God of War, Beloved Father and Patron of Sparta!" Tyndareus roared out - and under that, the whole field nearly rang with the sound of sword on shield.

"We thank you for the protection and military might you have gifted to us!"

All of the sons of Sparta roared, slamming their spears down in unison, a ring of wood on earth that reverberated up Odysseus' feet.

"We thank you for the victories, and guidance, and the ferocity! May we continue in your favour, and serve as your arm against enemies of Sparta!"

The sons of Sparta went down to one knee at the same moment, bronze-greaved knees hitting the ground with an impact that shook the heart, their roar the bone-shattering vibrato of a pride of lions.

If the wind had been strong when Nike had shown her presence, the wind was almost a howl now - the air filled with the screaming of a thousand horses, the thunder off bronze wheels cutting down thousand more men; bronze sword against bronze shield, spears whistling through the bloody air.

The air was almost hazy - red with dust, like a war of many years past, and many years in the future.

"Give us the strength, to cut down all who stand in your way!" Tyndareus thundered - as loud as a war-horn, and the field of audience roared back, all them responding with equal feverish fervour.

The air settled to a dark red-gold glow, like the red of smelted gold, the same gold that had gilded the horns of the sacrificial bull, for sacrifice, for war, around the Spartan men on the field and on the stand. They were men, but not men, they were more, glowing with a God's favour and attention.

"We dedicate these games to you, Ares, God of Sparta, in your honour!"

Icarius hadn't let go of the vessel - he and Tyndareus turned as one, twin gods of war, and placed it on the altar to Ares - and together they stepped away.

The priest himself held out the flame - it barely needed to touch the offerings, and the flame leapt to the offerings, blazing up past Tyndareus' height in a red--gold fire, the colour of blood searing away from bronze blade.

A silent beat of great wings, and the largest eagle owl that Odysseus had ever seen in day time swooped down, talons outstretched, and snatched up the still burning offering from Ares' altar, and winged up into the sky, streaking red-gold fire and smoke.

"Ares, God of Sparta and War," the priest said, "Accepts."

The two rulers of Sparta turned, to face them all again.

Together, the basileis called, war-horn voices washing over them all: "The gods have accepted and bless these games!"

The whole field roared back in approval - and even from his own voice, Odysseus could hear - it was like three, five times as many men on this field, thousands of men were roaring together, stamping their feet together.

No one could doubt that Ares was present, and accepted.

Under their roar, a voice that was not a voice growled, May your Games begin.

Since Basileus Tyndareus had announced Helen would be watching the games, Odysseus was completely unsurprised by how much more effort everyone put into it.

It wasn't just the suitors of course, the Princes of Sparta - all of them - as well as Sparta's other young men were participating too, which meant that all the events were full, and there were plenty of men every corner Odysseus turned.

Sprinting was first - an easy event that didn't need much beyond marking the track and the distance, and this, Odysseus was confident he would not do poorly; he had always placed well with the sons of Icarius, so even if he was put up against four other strangers, which included a pair of twins, he had no worries.

The others didn't quite seem to want to stand near them - though they were tall, handsome, there was something about the set of their shoulders, as they stripped down for the race. Like they had hackles for shoulders, and fangs in the smiles they offered to their competitors. For a brief moment in the afternoon light, it was like their eyes were predator gold.

"I'll take the middle track," Odysseus offered, stripping off his tunic and his chitoniskos.

They looked surprised at having someone actually offer to be right next to them, instead of taking a more distant track. Odysseus gave the twins a polite, charming smile, and started stretching out his calves.

"You'd be faster if you stripped entirely," one of the twins said, after a moment.

"Less restricted," said the other, crouching next to Odysseus.

"Sparta's sun is very hot," Odysseus said, "I like the protection."

The crouching twin was still watching him; he decided it was the watchfulness of a sheepdog, rather than anything else.

"Help me stretch?" Odysseus said, indicating his back. He didn't need the help, not really, but he'd always found that asking someone for a little favour made them more friendly; and why not start with the other suitors? "Then I'll help you," he said, as if the twins couldn't help each other if necessary.

The crouching twin's gaze darkened - truly polished bronze at that moment. "Alright."

When the twin pressed his hands - both large, broad - leaned down and pressed, starting to fold Odysseus down over his legs, it was like being blanketed by a very large… dog. Yes, a dog.

"Basileus Odysseus, of Ithaca," said the twin, leaning down to murmur in his ear.

"Y-yes, that's me," Odysseus said, feeling the stretch in his hamstring as his fingers pushed towards his feet.

"I am called Ialmenus," said the twin, his breath still tickling Odysseus' ear. He could almost feel the idea of teeth, very close to his ear or throat. "Son of Ares."

Odysseus remembered that - he might not have seen every face of the suitors, but he'd been listening to the herald announce each suitor in the banquet last night.

"That's great, Nice to meet you," he breathed, "I'm done, you can le-"

And then another pair of hands grabbed his wrists, and helped tug. Odysseus made a little noise of surprise, and looked up to - the other twin, crouched right at his feet, and smiling down at him.

"You can stretch more," said the other twin, as Odysseus' brain promptly forgot what the twin's name was. "Your legs are flexible. Basileus Odysseus."

Odysseus exhaled sharply, and Ialmenus pushed further, and his brother pulled, till Odysseus nearly was folded flat against his knees.

"There you go," the twin said. Before Odysseus could yelp for help, Ialmenus eased up the pressure - his brother let him ease back, leaning in with the movement, taking a step in around Odysseus' ankles, just like a stalking wolf.

His eyes were incredibly lupine.

"I am called Ascalaphus," said the twin, and his smile was very, very white. "It is a pleasure to meet you. Basileus Odysseus."

"Ascalaphus, Ialmenus," Odysseus said, and twisted up, pulling his legs under him and pulled his hands away, even as he got to his feet in as smooth a movement as he could. Ascalaphus didn't even tighten his grip, letting Odysseus pull free. "Sons of Ares, that is - I'm not sure I can tell you apart."

Ascalaphus stayed kneeling - crouched, looking up at Odysseus, that smile looking hungry. There was nothing submissive in his posture. "It takes time to learn the difference between us, Basileus of Ithaca."

Ialmenus had a hand on him now, his shoulder. "We could teach you the difference."

Help, Odysseus thought. He'd just tried to be friendly.

Fortunately this was right out in the open - one of the Spartan men called that it was time to take to the track, warm-up was over, and Odysseus could twist away from the twin sons of Ares, with a light laugh. "But first, let's see if you can run as fast as your spears fly," he said, starting towards his track, which gave him a precious two feet of space from them both.

Ascalaphus rose to his feet with predatory grace, loping to the track next to Odysseus. "So you will compete in spear-throwing as well?"

That two feet of space didn't feel quite as much as it should, considering how Ascalaphus and his brother were watching him so intently.

"Of course," Odysseus said, casually adjusting his chiton, tugging it down a little more under his belt, managing to keep his motions casual under those lupine gazes.

Thankfully the sharp whistle to start the race sounded just then, sharp and piercing as a bird call - and Odysseus could take off from the starting line.

He couldn't hear the twins - maybe it was his own heart-beat, or maybe the sound of his own footfall and the others on the other side.

If you couldn't hear the wolves on your heels, you obviously ran faster.

Odysseus nearly hit the other side of the fence demarcating the end of the entire field, he hadn't even slowed down once past the finishing line.

When he glanced back, the two sons of Ares were starting to stalk forward.

"And second place, Basileus Odysseus, of Ithaca-" the judge called out.

"Oh nice," Odysseus said, and gave everyone - his opponents a bright smile. "I need some water now - "

And jogged right past everyone to go back to the track's starting line and scoop up his garments and get off the field as soon as possible.

There must be a prince of Sparta he could find to use a shield.

Chapter Text

The races were several rounds - it wasn't possible to effectively put everyone to the track at the same time, after all - they were split into batches, and the winner for each batch would go for another round, until they could declare the top sprinter in a final round.

With all the suitors, their various retinue, and the others from all around Sparta, there were more than a hundred competitors, which meant that Odysseus, having gotten second in his round, could retreat somewhere. Being eliminated wasn't actually as big a disappointment as it could have been, since he could now retreat away from the sun and um. His new acquaintances.

There were a lot of spillover from the games-field, people milling around outside for refreshments, taking a bench somewhere.

There were many more benches around in the grounds surrounding the games-field than there used to be; all meant for the guests, Odysseus figured. He picked somewhere quiet and a little sheltered, to put his tunic back on. He didn't need his chitoniskos, for it was getting hot as the afternoon sun dragged on, but he wanted his tunic to cover his arms.

Odysseus settled on a bench, smoothed out his tunic over his knees into a dark work surface. He then pulled out the bracelet he was working on - fine leather cords and polished, drilled pale pearlescent shell - to match the necklace and earrings he'd already had commissioned. If he had enough left over, he was planning on a little matching ring as well. Penelope had liked the seashells from Ithaca's beach, from when she'd last visited. He was engrossed enough in the intricate knotting that he almost didn't notice when someone came up his side. "Laertiades, Basileus Odysseus. May I sit?"

Odysseus blinked up to see Nestor of Pylos, smiling paternally down at him. He quickly tucked the shell and cords away.

"Please sit," he said, "Basileus Nestor of Pylos." That man's face, he definitely recognised and remembered from as he lurked outside - he was easily the oldest suitor, large and broad and strong looking, the only thing marking out his age was his long nose and his hair and beard shot with grey.

Nestor sat down with a large, gusty sigh. "Ah, Laertiades, I must say, your race was quite a sight - you flew, like an arrow shot from Artemis' bow, swift and straight ahead; if the fence was not there, you might have continued on to the next city!"

Odysseus couldn't help the laugh at that; Nestor's chuckle was contagious.

He'd seemed so stern and unfriendly at the banquet, but his smile at Odysseus was very fatherly.

"Alas, I didn't win that round - "

"And the sons of Ares could barely touch the flashing of your heels, I was so impressed," Nestor continued. "You and Antilochus - Antilochus is my son, a good and strong boy - outpaced them easily. It is indeed rare, for anyone to outpace the sons of Ares in any race they wished to win."

Odysseus was not going to say anything about how he felt like he was being chased by wolves.

"You know them well then ….?"

"As well as I knew your father, Laertiades," Nestor said, and there was - ah, fondness, Odysseus decided, a warm fondness in Nestor's voice as he looked at him, and smiled, under that grey-shot beard and moustache. "I apologise for not approaching you during the banquet. It seemed that you were quite busy, which, of course, is to be expected, since you are newly Basileus."

"You were probably introducing your son to others," Odysseus demurred. Maybe that was why Nestor had been apparently so unfriendly and unapproachable - he was being a stern father, not making the first overtures to the younger suitors, because it was his son's turn to do so, to forge these relationships on his own. "I understand."

"Yes," Nestor said, "And your father, Laertes, he is still well?"

Odysseus nodded, "My father is well and at home, and happy to foist the title and duties that come with it onto me, he said."

"Ah, of course, of course, my deepest and heartiest congratulations to you - and him! For Laertes, he was such a carefree lad, always had been," Nestor said. "It must come as a great comfort to him, that you have grown up as beautiful as he."

Odysseus blinked. His father, beautiful? Broad, strong and handsome, yes, because his Father was handsome, just like Mother was beautiful, and they always would be.

Nestor looked at him, and laughed, a loud guffaw as he flung his arm on Odysseus' shoulders.

"No man ever thinks his father is beautiful! But I assure you, you are the exact picture of him when he was your age - ah, when he went sailing the Argo, all of us, thought him one of the cleverest men who lived, short of Autolycus - who, I believe, also took him as a son-in-law?"

At Odysseus' nod, Nestor chuckled. "How everyone, even I, had mourned, when your father married and settled down in Ithaca like his father before him. Once married, he refused to go on adventures anymore, and all of us did think it a pity, he was such a companionable lad, and made great friends with all. The Sons of Ares liked him quite a lot."

"... they said nothing about my father," Odysseus said; he'd honestly almost forgotten that the sons of Ares were also Argonauts; the fact that they were sons of Ares had dominated his thought processes. And anything else Nestor was saying, Odysseus was quite firmly not thinking about. There was no analysis to be done.

"Of course, of course, they live in the present, and the present is you," Nestor said, and clapped his hand to Odysseus' shoulder again, rough in the way men were. "So how do you find ruling, then?"

Odysseus did not want to dwell on what it meant for him being the present. In any form of the word. "Strange," he said, finally, "I feel no different before my father placed the crown on my head, but it also feels so different."

"Ah, yes, to be lord and leader. That moment when it happened - it was so far away, so long ago, then, but I remember that feeling," Nestor mused. "Going to my first games as Basileus, it felt so different, from being a prince before, and now Basileus."

"I would imagine so," Odysseus said, happy to keep on the same topic. "This is the first time I have attended a major games, as prince or Basileus - the only kinds of games outside of Ithaca I have participated in are much smaller in scale, and I counted as one of the few from outside of Sparta to participate."

"Oh? The very first time? Then you must make friends," Nestor said, clapped him on the shoulder and made to stand.

Odysseus blinked up at him. "Are you not a friend, Basileus Nestor?"

Nestor laughed. "Oh, such friendships in the games, that is for the young." he squeezed Odysseus' shoulder. "A word of advice from an old man who has attended many such games in his youth: Try to confine your friendships to being with the other suitors, mm? Not to say you cannot consort with the others of Sparta, but as a suitor for the hand of Tyndareus' daughter, our good and generous host might take insult at anything overt. But, when young men compete, there is bound to be the flow of hotblood, and no one can begrudge that friendship." He smiled, friendly and wise, "The sons of Ares are spirited, they do make good friends."

He patted Odysseus' shoulder encouragingly, and turned and left.

Odysseus tried to say something, but he couldn't find any words for that, even as Nestor left.

Friendships amongst the youth?

Was he actually saying what Odysseus thought he was saying?

In fact, was Nestor encouraging Odysseus to go make friends with Ialmenus and Ascalapus?

"If you keep leaving your mouth open, who knows what flies you might catch."

Odysseus all but fell off the bench at the voice right in his ear.

"Great-grandfather?" he said - flailing.

Great-grandfather raised an eyebrow at him, but didn't lean in to pick him up. There was something -

His face was different from usual. All sharp planes of a man in his prime, yet something ethereally and eternally young and flawless. A little like Athena, when she had first appeared to him.

Odysseus didn't feel right, calling him great-grandfather - he looked like the herald of a Basileus, fingers barely brushing the bench as he watched Odysseus pick himself up from the floor, like an interesting creature had stood up and started talking. There was something about his eyes, silvery molten pools, almost reflective, that made Odysseus need to kneel, to call him Lord Hermes, which he had never had the urge to before.

"It seems a little disrespectful to be so familiar in such a time and place," Hermes drawled, smiling sly and crooked. "Little Odysseus, Basileus of Ithaca."

He'd heard his name from Great-grandfather before, many times. Why did this sound strange now? Echoing, with portent.

"Are you… in disguise, Lord Hermes?" Odysseus tried. Maybe that was it - because Great-grandfather was here as Hermes; he'd felt his presence during the sacrifices at the start of the games, when Tyndareus had invoked his name and called for his blessings, his presence and more. He'd thought it was just the fact that other gods were present too, Zeus' approval winging in the sky, and Nike snapping at the flags of Sparta and the suitors.

"Hmm. This is not a disguise," Hermes said, closing his eyes - then shook his head like a cat, chasing a fly that had landed on its ear, and between one blink and the next, Great-grandfather was settling down on the bench, stretching out into a shape that was much more familiar. "Feels heady though," he added. Glanced at Odysseus with a crook of his head. "Oh, that's right. You've not been to a Games like this, where my brothers and sisters walk amongst everyone."

Mostly great-grandfather, Odysseus decided. He still wasn't quite the same - he still dressed like a herald of a Basileus, still just this side of too-perfect, that slightly uncanny look of not-quite-mortal, not quite in this world. But he was patting the bench beside him, and Odysseus could sit, if a little gingerly.

"So you're warning me?" Odysseus said.

Warning him of what, he couldn't think of anything that might be so importa…

Sparta. Great-grandfather had said Sparta was important, once.

Was this the important event then?

"Don't offend my brothers or sisters," Great-grandfather said, after watching Odysseus for a moment. "Though I imagine it would be hard for you to." He reached up, and traced an invisible line near Odysseus' temple - right where the owl feather had been, on his headband.

"That means -" if Hermes was here, then Ares was here, and his sons...? Odysseus swallowed, hard.

"Oh no, no that isn't a problem. Offend my nephews as much as you like," Great-grandfather said, laughing. "Just like you may offend my mortal cousins as you wish, that's not a problem. Feel free to beat them in all of the games as you can, that would please my niece very much."

His niece, Nike the Goddess of victory, daughter of Ares. Right, Odysseus thought and … Oh.

"So just… be careful within their domains, and all will be fine," Odysseus said.

"So don't kill anyone who touches you," Hermes said, swinging a leg, oddly carefree for something that could be construed a threat. "At least, not without due cause."

Great-grandfather's domain wasn't in prophecy, so that wasn't likely the threat - but don't violate xenia, don't violate another traveller's safety.

Odysseus exhaled in relief. That was easy. Very easy.

Great-grandfather suddenly leaned onto him, draping his arm around Odysseus' shoulders, an odd kind of echo of Nestor, though Nestor had been paternal, while Great-grandfather was just a little too close.

"Festivities like these draw us all like moths to flame," Great Grandfather murmured, right against his ear.

Great-grandfather drew his hand up, arm brushing against Odysseus' cheek as he pulled him closer. Odysseus had to look - Great-grandfather was pointing, towards a figure that he would have, at first glance, thought was just one of the many maidservants brought in to help organise the games. She was patiently holding a tray of something, refreshments maybe, but she was also overlooking a - that was not a bench, it was a couch, the head of it just visible amongst the greenery. He thought he saw an arm, flung up, pressed against the couch head, and the maid servant was looking.

Odysseus swallowed, his gaze jerking away, towards his great-grandfather, too close and silver-eyed.

"Wh-ho…?"

Great-grandfather's smile was like a cat, half-lidded and sharp. "My clever little great-grandson," he said, almost sing-song. "Can't you guess?"

Odysseus' hand scrunched in his chiton, and he swallowed. Which goddess, he thought, would be interested in festivities such as these? Which Goddess would have an excuse to come? Hera, maybe, if she cared about Helen's, the daughter of her husband, marriage. But that wouldn't happen yet, and she would not be - or cause a girl - to watch, so unabashedly, as people were on the couch. There were plenty of other goddesses, he could think of, but in terms of domain - Nestor's insinuations of what these Games were like, what they included; and now that Hermes had pointed it out, Odysseus couldn't unsee the lust in that girl's gaze, in the way Ialmenus and Ascalapus had looked at himself. Had Aegialeus even looked at him that way? Or - had there been more, even during the banquet?

His fingers scrunched tighter, and forced himself to relax. There had been other men going off in pairs, he remembered, as he'd exited the field. When he glanced around, carefully, there were a remarkable number of benches, yes, but also bushy, semi-private alcoves out in the grounds.

And hadn't Perileos sent him a message, on Damasippus' authority, to request he bring more of Ithaca's oil when he came?

"My olive oil," Odysseus said weakly.

Hermes' smirk was almost wild, eyes dancing.

"I didn't need to know," Odysseus said, feeling his ears start to burn.

"You're so cute," Hermes crooned in his ear. "Partake a little. Have some fun. Didn't Nestor of Pylos say you should make friends?"

"You also said I should be careful."

"That's what the oil is for," Hermes purred.

"That is our good eating oil," Odysseus said, minorly outraged, and knowing his face was bright red hot.

"Only the best for the guests of Sparta," Hermes said, and leaned in to brush his lips to Odysseus' ear. "Sparta is such a good host, I know I will enjoy myself. You should too."

Odysseus jerked, maybe to smack Hermes' hand away - or smack him, something, except he overbalanced and fell over onto his elbow on the bench, because Odysseus was suddenly alone.

Great-grandfather high on worship, he thought, was a bigger ass than he normally was.

There was a deliberate scrape of a sandal - Odysseus jerked towards the sound, and a very beautiful man walked into his sight.

"Prince Nireus," Odysseus said, sitting up, straightening his tunic that Great-grandfather had knocked awry. Or tugged askew. "Of Syme," he said, trying to remember the names from the announcements. Nireus hadn't been so good looking, out in the dark, and Odysseus hadn't paid him much attention.

Right now though, he was sleek with a slight sheen of sweat - he'd just come from the races, Odysseus realised - his chiton pinned up on one shoulder, his right arm and pectoral entirely exposed.

He looked much more beautiful in the daytime, sheened with sweat like fine oil, his hair a fine, dark lustrous walnut waves, wind-loose.

"Basileus Odysseus of Ithaca," Nireus said, coming up to him. "I watched your race. It was a good one."

"I lost to Antilochus of Pylos," Odysseus said and it was all of Great-grandfather, and Nestor, and everyone else's fault, that his eyes were drawn to that drape of the chiton, the edge of it just damp and slightly translucent, sticking to his skin… and down, to the hem. "I apologise for not watching yours."

The trimming was a simple design of spirals, which did a lot to draw the eye to exactly how high up the hem was - right between the beginning of Nireus' thigh and the top of his knee.

"It is no matter," Nireus said, dry and smooth like the hand-polished arm of a bow - a sweet sweep of fine chosen wood. "I see that you were… busy. With someone."

Odysseus blinked up, stared at Nireus' knowing blue gaze, and wanted to say that's my great-grandfather!

But it also wasn't, was it, It was Hermes and --

"You could see him?" he said, cheeks creeping hot.

"If he allowed us to see him, then yes I have," Nireus said. "Are you still busy with him?"

Odysseus shook his head, because obviously not, Hermes had just left, and abandoned him here after teasing him till he'd blushed. He missed Ctimene's tendency to throw things - he should cultivate it more.

"Well then," Nireus said, stepping in, close, pressing in between Odysseus' thighs, and leaning in and down.

"Ah," Odysseus said, a little higher than normal. "Wh-why-" he should have said he was still busy! He wasn't --

"You run like a deer," Nireus said, throaty and deep, and Odysseus was very, very aware that Nireus was older than him, just this much taller, and Odysseus could stare right down that long sweep of strong neck, over the curve of firm, muscled, chest and below. "Fleet. And your calves -"

Hand on his knee, sliding up, just a little, towards his thigh.

Odysseus nearly choked.

"Flashing like a doe's white tail," Nireus said. "It's no surprise the sons of Ares were entranced, when you bent over for them."

That was - that escalated really quickly; as good looking as he knew he was, this was not how civilised people behaved! Was this Aphrodite -- the air felt heavy, but it could be the fact that Nireus was really really close, all but breathing on his mouth --

"Prince Nireus," Odysseus choked, leaning back. "We quite literally only just greeted each other!"

"That puts the niceties out of the way, then," Nireus all but purred, dark and low and his hand slid up, further, thumb sliding under the edge of Odysseus' chiton.

Odysseus grabbed the prince's wrist, shoved to the side. "Prince Nireus," he snapped. "This is hardly polite!"

If Nireus wouldn't stop, Odysseus wasn't sure if punching him would violate Hermes' admonishment for civilized behaviour towards fellow-guests, but Odysseus could, surely as Helios' chariot drove from the east, back vault off the bench and run straight for one of the Spartan brothers, no matter if they were busy.

Nireus jolted, and looked down at his hand in surprise, and noted the fact that Odysseus' chiton was all in place, except for where he'd touched, his clothing was neat (more or less), and whatever Hermes had been doing, whatever he thought he'd seen, Odysseus was not here for seduction, or whatever it was that Aphrodite seemed to like having people to do.

"Oh. Oh," Nireus flushed scarlet in absolute mortification, and jerked back, taking two more steps away, when he realised just where he'd been standing. "I apologise, I cannot believe - I - that was brazen, absolutely brazen -" he clearly knew what he'd just been saying, and looked even more like he wanted to die. "Crude, I offer my greatest apologies, I don't know what came over -"

Odysseus had yanked his hand back, all but snapped his knees together, and shoved his clothes back into order. "I apologise for raising my voice - that was rude of me -"

They both stuttered to a stop; Nireus looked a lot more human. Devastatingly beautiful, of course, but mortification was a great humanizer, he looked like he wished Zeus would strike open the earth to swallow him up and send him straight to Hades.

Odysseus didn't manage to stop his laugh - relief pushing it out of him - it wasn't that Nireus went around leaping on people, then, he thought.

Nireus managed a half smile. "I - I did mean what I said, Basileus Odysseus," he said, trying to sound as formal as he could. "About your race. I - "

Odysseus waved his hand in front of his face, and gestured vaguely at the bench beside him. "Please - please sit."

Nireus hesitated, then sat, a decorous hand-span between them both. When he glanced at Odysseus, he flushed more and looked away. "I really do. Mean it. About racing. I like running, and I saw your race, and I wanted to talk to you about how you trained. I really don't …. Know what came over me just then."

Odysseus coughed, took a deep breath, and then drew himself straight. "It - well the weather - the weather is oppressive." he cut his gaze to the little sheltered area - he thought he saw the flutter of a peplos, but he wasn't… sure. "Well I'm really sorry I didn't stay to see your race, how did it go?" There, a peace offering, so that Nireus wouldn't sit there marinating in embarrassment and mortification. Embarrassment and mortification could so easily turn into aggression later, and Odysseus wasn't here to make enemies.

Did he - Nireus was prince of Syme, he'd seen Hermes, didn't he? Just now. So maybe…

"I finished first in my race," Nireus said, with a little thread of pride, but mostly, now watching him with something like wariness. He had seen Odysseus' gaze past to where that couch was. "The weather's oppressiveness had just come on, quite suddenly. You felt it?"

I saw her, Odysseus didn't say. "I felt it," Odysseus said.

Nireus glanced over to the couch too, tense, then forcibly relaxing. "So.. you understand."

Odysseus nodded.

The air was still that … warm, sultriness, and scarily enough, like watchfulness. If that maid were to turn up to stare at him, Odysseus thought, he might actually cry for Athena.

"I… well. I mean," Nireus said. "You run well," he said, glancing towards Odysseus again, and his mortified flush seemed to have died down. He'd seen, Odysseus thought. Or at least, he understood that the Gods were amongst them, and one very specific Goddess was here. "Maybe we might meet in the finals?"

"Perhaps, if they decide to take the first and second of each round to pit them again for more rounds," Odysseus said. "Antilochus of Pylos won my round."

"Right. That's true enough. Maybe other events. Which ones are you participating in?" Nireus was carefully turning his gaze to casually scan their surroundings, like the well-trained fighter he was.

"Maybe javelins," Odysseus said, happy enough to take that topic, and relax by an inch. The watchful atmosphere didn't get any heavier - maybe less? "Definitely archery. I am looking forward to the event, have you heard how they'd mixed it up?" it was going to be a different sort of event, Thoas had promised; it wasn't a secret, and Odysseus could share that, a safe discussion topic.

"Ah. Yes, my stamina for archery isn't that good, but I like watching." Nireus glanced at him, eyes taking in Odysseus' shoulders, and his smile was a little genuine, a little warm, like the hint of sun filtering through young spring leaves, and it was.

A nice smile. Nireus had a very nice smile, one that likely made both boys and girls back in Syme swoon, and… if he'd started out with this, at this polite decorous distance, honestly Odysseus would have actually been tempted to follow Nestor's advice.

"You have the shoulders for it," Nireus said, reaching up, hand hovering a little, then resolutely turned the motion into a deliberate gesture that did not touch Odysseus in any way, and completed it almost-smoothly into sweeping his own hair away from his brow. It wasn't particularly subtle, but Odysseus appreciated the effort.

Odysseus smiled back, rolling his shoulders back, cheeky and just a little bit cocky. "I do, don't I?"

Nireus laughed, and the atmosphere broke like a snap of linen in the wind, there and gone.

Both of them paused.

"Do you think…?" Nireus said, hushed like the boys of Sparta when their trainer was walking by.

"Maybe. I think so," Odysseus said.

They both waited.

A decidedly un-dove-like frog croaked loudly.

Both of them burst out laughing.

"Thank you for understanding," Nireus said, holding out a hand to Odysseus. "Please, forgive me for such an abrupt introduction."

Odysseus clasped his wrist immediately.

"Some things are just not within our control," Odysseus said, "in reparations, you could tell me all about your own training for running? Maybe during dinner, tonight."

"Gladly," Nireus said, relief painting his features like fresh morning dew on laurel. "And I will definitely be keeping an eye out for your matches in the archery events."

The frog croaked again, and they both couldn't stop laughing at that. "It is telling me to go," Nireus said, "So I shall take my leave, and maybe we will see each other again during the games."

"Of course," Odysseus said. "Go on before it attacks you for overstaying in its territory."

Nireus laughed again, a pleasant susurration of young leaves, and stood. "Yes. I shall see you at dinner then, Basileus Odysseus."

Odysseus nodded, and made himself let go of his hand.

Waited till Nireus was out of sight before he could take a deep, shuddering breath. Right.

So it turned out that following Hermes' warning wasn't going to be as easy as he thought. He was going to have to keep an eye out.

If only Hermes had been more explicit about his warning!

He put his hands about himself to check that he was all in one piece, and then remembered the bracelet and shells that Nestor had interrupted him in making. Odysseus hurriedly pulled out the pouch to check.

And made an irritated noise.

The bracelet in making was gone - though the shells looked the same in number as before - fine, there were several little drilled pearls in its place, holes just big enough for fine sheep gut thread to pass through.

Even if this was payment, he thought darkly, Great-grandfather was not getting any honey in his wine next time he passed through.

Odysseus returned to the games field - the benches and semi-private couches were just, just a little, dangerous right now. Thanks to Nestor, Hermes and well, now the incident with Nireus, he couldn't help but note that there were plenty of out of the way couches littering everywhere. He'd been on Sparta's training grounds often enough to know just how seldom you could find a bench - now he was tripping over a couch in coyly private alcoves every other turn.

All well equipped with what looked like fine linens that might be blankets, cushions, and discrete little jars of what was probably oil.

His good olive oil! He mourned. Damasippus had better be scattering their own non-edible quality oil around for these purposes, not the good eating oil that he'd brought. It would be a complete waste otherwise.

Or well, if not Damasippus, then maybe it was Penelope and Clytemnestra in charge of this distribution of oil for non-edible recreational purposes - that would be why he could hardly find Penelope or Clytemnestra on the grounds at all. They were likely busy with all the logistics of this - he couldn't imagine kicking everyone in Ithaca to host a Games this big. Ctimene had groused about how hard it was to corral the womenfolk of Same, Neritum, and Zacynthus onto the same island on the same day for the first time she'd been asked to help Mother organize a games day for spring equinox; the sheer scale of this Games is not something he'd really want to consider.

He'd stick with his sheep, thank you.

Which did remind him, he should check in on Eumaeus soon - Eurylochus and Polites were with him out in the sheeps' fields, and he should get their reports; the breeding season for the sheep was coming up soon and he had a few decisions to make.

He was thinking about which of the events he should skip to get said reports, meandering into the crowd at the field's edge when he realised he could feel eyes on him.

Not, fortunately, the eyes of a Goddess irritated that he had managed to dodge her bountiful gift of loving on a very uncomfortable bench.

But very normal, mortal eyes. More or less mortal. For a given value of mortal, considering that it was like being watched by a wolf.

He looked to the side, casually scanning the crowd and realised that Ialmenus - or his twin - was watching him.

At the sight of his noticing, Ialmenus' gaze narrowed, lupine and anticipatory.

Right, Odysseus thought, time to drift right to the most obvious side of the gate, in full view of everyone from the stands.

Or even - there, he saw Thoas, directing another batch of runners.

Time to go and talk to Thoas and attempt to persuade him to give Odysseus the time of day. Or the space to stand near or around him.

When Thoas clapped him on the shoulder, and allowed him to help whistle the start of the next race, he glanced back to the crowd.

Ialmenus had melted away into the crowd like a wolf melting into the forest; he couldn't see him, but he was probably still there, all the same.

Right. Good. Okay. A lovely way to keep on his toes then.

He was going to get so good at running this week.

Chapter Text

They would hold the final rounds for races later tomorrow, it turned out - people would get bored of watching the same thing happen, and the winners of their various rounds needed to have a rest. So the next item was javelin throwing - half the field was to be cleared of spectators to prevent any accidents. It would be a poor showing indeed, if someone got maimed during a grand courtship event, given that most of the suitors hadn't even had time to present their suit and gifts yet. Doing so on a crutch would dampen anyone's ardour.

Odysseus was also fairly good at javelins, just like he was good at archery.

All around him, as he entered the field, the others were starting to prepare for the event. Some were retying their chitons to tuck under one arm, freeing their throwing arm from obstruction; others were stripping down to the waist.

Odysseus simply shed his tunic, and undid some of the pins of his chiton along his arms, to let the fabric drape under his arms and against his sides; that was unobstructive enough.

Since the major body parts being used were the waist and shoulders and back, Odysseus didn't need any help to warm-up; he wasn't going to make that mistake again.

When he spotted the sons of Ares also strolling onto the field, he let himself drift away to - ah, Castor and Pollux had decided to join in this event too. He could drift over to them, and casually hang around their crowd.

Even if Castor and Pollux weren't particularly good conversationalists, people still liked hanging around them, watching them take practice throws. They were, even if they couldn't speak like normal people, still beautifully athletic in movement. Odysseus did think they'd take the prize in the javelin throw too - he'd witnessed them throwing spears from chariots - the lighter javelins would be much easier for them to hit further targets.

"Laertiades!"

Odysseus turned, a little, and found Nireus coming up to him, smiling. "Prince Nireus! So you decided on the javelins as well," Odysseus said, holding an arm out to Nireus. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw that dark hair and that particular cut of shoulder from the twin sons of Ares disappear into the crowd again.

He beamed at Nireus.

"Yes, though mostly it's to watch the princes Castor and Pollux up close," Nireus said. "Are you going to join their batch?"

Odysseus laughed, rolling his shoulders to loosen them up. "Yes, though I would lose quite obviously. But it is hardly a shame to lose to them. Join us?"

"I rather watch," Nireus said, glancing towards the twin princes of Sparta, and sighed, quite obviously. Castor passed a javelin to Pollux without being asked, and Pollux wound up, twisted - all the surrounding men held their breath.

Pollux ran towards the starting line, unwound and released, his whole body a fluid line of art, muscles rippling all the way from the small of his back to over that chiselled cut of his spine to his shoulder - and the javelin flew.

The crowd of men exhaled in admiration.

"I'm going to lose and it's worth it," Odysseus said cheerfully.

In the far end of the field, the javelin speared through one of the targets, several lines deep, though not at the furthest row.

Nireus whistled in admiration. "There is no shame in losing to them," he agreed. Looked at Odysseus, and winked quite deliberately. "I am willing to watch you lose though," he added, his hand warm and companionable on Odysseus'.

Odysseus laughed, pleased to see that Nireus hadn't been offended by earlier, nor too mortified after all. "Then come hand me the javelins, and you can watch Castor and Pollux up close while we wait to see me thoroughly lose," he said.

Another man came up - huge, solidly built around the core and upper back, probably even larger than Thoas; he'd stripped down completely but for his loincloth; beside him a slighter man was holding several javelins as well.

"Oh, Ajax, son of Telamon," Nireus said, looking quite interested as well.

"Ah, sons of Tyndareus," the large man said, "If I may take several practice throws as well?"

Castor and Pollux paused, turned to look at him. "And you," Castor said.

"Are?" Pollux finished.

"Ajax, son of Telamon," said the great, solid man. "My father sailed with you on the Argo, and he had had much to say about your adventures. We might catch up later, if you wish."

The Twins looked at each other, Castor touching Pollux's shoulder. A long, unsettling moment later, they spoke. "Maybe dur--," Castor said. "--ring dinner," Pollux said. And then turned without looking at Ajax, and turned away from the starting line.

"Well," said the slighter man beside Ajax. "that's…"

"That's how they are," Odysseus said, quietly, to Nireus. "You might have noticed in the banquet."

"Yes, well." Nireus looked a little unsettled. The weird flowing between the Spartan twin princes was always unsettling. "They're still very good at the javelin throw, and that's what matters."

Odysseus hummed in agreement; Ajax had looked only a little confused, but since Castor and Pollux had walked away from the starting line, then he and his friend - well Odysseus could see there was some family resemblance. Maybe a cousin, then - could also take a few test throws.

Odysseus was also perfectly happy to admire Ajax's throws - he was excellent at it.

Ajax was much more satisfying to admire, to be honest - his smile for his maybe-cousin was pleased, and his expression at how far his practice throws were was as satisfied as his audience, and he gave everyone a nod when someone started a little round of applause when he actually hit one of the furtherest targets on the field.

"I should save it for the actual rounds," he said, raising his voice a little, and yes, that was what he should do, everyone agreed.

"I think you'll lose to him too," Nireus told Odysseus.

"Let us lose together then," Odysseus said, nudging his shoulder against Nireus' bare bicep.

And maybe Odysseus could go talk to him too. Ajax seemed friendly enough, and willing to network. Nestor had said to make friends here, after all. He felt quite safe with Nireus' presence - and having more friends around seemed to keep the sons of Ares from approaching.

A win-win situation all around.

There was a small break after the last rounds of the javelin throw - Castor and Pollux of course won; which wasn't particularly surprising. They quite literally destroyed the targets within their range, closest to the furthest ends, until they ran out of javelins. No one begrudged their victory - it was like watching the gods themselves throw, throw after inhuman throw, as the air crackled like amber rubbed against wool - hair-rising in excitement; even the winds stayed still for their javelins to sail, one after the other to annihilate the straw targets.

Ajax, son of Telamon was a close third place to them, and the crowd of spectators and fellow-participants were roaring their approval each time he took down a target .

Odysseus had lost in a second round; Nireus came last in his batch, quite cheerful to have done so at close range to Ajax.

They both agreed to talk during dinner - another banquet - though not quite as formal as the first, welcome banquet. Odysseus wasn't sure if both Basileis of Sparta would be present. Maybe just Tyndareus.

But that small space of time between the last round of javelin and dinner was just enough for him to get bathed, cleaned up, and then sneak around the palace to see if he could find Penelope.

It was getting dark, after all, and she might be almost done with her duties.

When he got to her window, there was only a small lamp burning. He peeked in and saw Iphthime at her bed, wrangling with all the threads on the small loom that Ctimene had given her a handful of years ago.

"Oh," Iphthime said, when she noticed Odysseus' face. Grinned at him and hopped off her bed. "Penelope? Penelope, I should just go get some more yarn! I'll be right back -" and then Iphthime had slipped out the door, shutting it behind her as Penelope came into view from behind her own screen.

"Alright - I'll -" Odysseus waved at her. "Odysseus," she said, smiling. "Aren't you supposed to be getting ready for the banquet?"

"I'm already ready," he said, grinning at her. "See?" he leaned in, elbows on the window sill, as she came to him, and touched the bronze headband with the little owl feather.

"I see," she said, tracing the little light feather - and smiled down at how he shivered - tickled by the brush of it thanks to her touch.

"What do you think?" he said. He meant to keep his tone light, teasing as her touch, but his voice dropped, a little heavier, because she was so close, and looking down at him. "Looks good?"

Her eyes gleamed, river-stone grey, almost silver in the cool pale moonlight from behind Odysseus. Behind her, the lamp lined her hair, parts of her braid coming loose and glowing in a dark warm glowing halo.

Her fingers traced up, over the bronze band, and then pushed, very lightly, into the tangle of his curls, just a little, like the start of combing lambswool. "It looks very good," she said, low.

Odysseus shivered, staring up at her. Her eyes were just, a little darker now, "Just… The headband?"

"And your hair," Penelope said. Lips ticking up at his swallow, because she was stroking her thumb over his hairline, very, very lightly. "And…"

She leaned in, and down, and Odysseus swallowed, hard, and found himself shutting his eyes -- and she brushed her lips on his forehead.

"You look good," Penelope said, looking at him as he blinked up at her.

"A-ah," Odysseus said, and was happy to note that with the moon to his back, and her blocking the lamp, any blushing he was doing, she couldn't see. "Then… you'll be at the banquet?"

That earned him a finger flick to his forehead.

"Ow," Odysseus said, with a little grin.

"No, obviously," Penelope scolded, "I'll be busy."

"Aw," Odysseus said, putting a pout on his face, just to see her attempt to roll her eyes and struggle to hide her smile. "Then you won't get to see my full outfit."

"I already saw it yesterday," Penelope sniffed. "Now go on with you, you can't keep being the last to enter each time."

She'd seen him, he thought, giddy and pleased, wanting to preen. "But then how would I make a grand entrance?" Odysseus said, wide-eyed with innocence.

"Let other people have a turn," Penelope said, "and stop stealing Aletes' couch."

"I can't help that it's so comfortable," Odysseus said, batting his eyes at her and this time she really did roll her eyes, and made to push him off her window sill. "Alright, alright, I'm going -"

He had already started three feet away from her window, when she called his name.

Odysseus glanced back - she wasn't leaning out the window, but something long was hanging out the sill.

He scooted back to check the room; it was empty and the lamp blown out. When he inspected the long thing draped on the window sill, he found it was a braided leather belt, with a polished bronze buckle.

Odysseus felt himself grin, widely.

He left a little felt pouch on the window sill, taking the belt with him.

Odysseus obeyed Penelope and went to the banquet earlier, while there were enough couches that he wasn't obliged to share with someone. He had actually intended to do so anyway, since he couldn't guarantee that the princes of Sparta would always be able to offer him a space, and it really would be too much to keep rubbing in his closer relationship to them to the other suitors.

Plus, if he got there too late, people he didn't want to share with might make an offer that he wouldn't be able to turn down in politeness.

Nireus got there late enough that he couldn't see any of the other empty couches immediately, and was immediately drawn away to the opposite corner by someone else - Basileus Elephenor of Euboea, if Odysseus was correct - the man's touch on Nireus' elbow almost possessive.

Well, Odysseus could talk to Nireus in a bit - there was no need to rush to mingle right across the other side of the room.

Where were the sons of Ares? Odysseus couldn't see them - they wouldn't be able to stalk quite so freely around the great hall as on the grounds, though here there would be more people for cover in a smaller space, but Odysseus would be able to see them coming first…

"May I presume to introduce myself? Basileus Odysseus," said someone. "Unless you are looking for someone?"

"Oh, sure, I'm not looking for anyone," Odysseus said, looking back and pausing. He was from Crete, he knew. But he didn't remember his name. He may have missed their name the other night. He hadn't seen him in javelin either - everyone's attention had been dazzled by Castor and Pollux's performances.

The man was tall and solidly built, half a palm taller than Odysseus, at least, intelligent eyes and as thickly bearded as Ajax son of Telamon; he wasn't as solidly huge as Ajax, but if Odysseus had to place a bet of a ram, he wouldn't know which to expect to win in wrestling, Ajax or this man.

"Prince Idomeneus, son of Deucalion, of Crete," he said, holding out a large hand to Odysseus. "You didn't perform half bad in javelins, seems like you could have almost proceeded to the third round. Did most of your training in Sparta, didn't you?"

"Yes," Odysseus said, taking his hand; huge but warm and dry, a solid firm shake. "With Castor and Pollux setting the standards, I couldn't go much further, honestly. Did you also..?"

"Oh yes, I did, made it to the third round, was neck to neck with Ajax for it." Idomeneus laughed, seemingly unconcerned that Odysseus hadn't noticed his round. "But then I turned a little poorly, and Ajax outdid me for the last target." He didn't look at all bothered to have lost, like a good sportsman. "I'll beat him next time."

"It was my fault, I passed you the javelins wrongly," said a younger man next to him; Odysseus cast him a glance. Another Cretan young man, Odysseus thought - same age as Odysseus, maybe? He looked like he might be a cousin, or a brother.

But where his older relative was almost as big as Ajax, this young man was slighter, and light-haired enough to almost be red, and light where his relative was dark. There were similar features enough that Odysseus thought they probably were half-brothers. Maybe the same father, then? His bright eyes glanced to Odysseus' studying him, and he tipped his chin up, not quite challenging. Next to his far more extraverted brother, he might be called shy, but Odysseus had a feeling he wasn't quite shy - simply more quiet, the way Aletes was quiet compared to the more boisterous Thoas.

"My nephew, Meriones," Idomeneus said, clapping the young man on his back. "Son of Molus, my half-brother. He is a great admirer of you, Basileus Odysseus."

Meriones' ears turned red at that. "Uncle!"

Idomeneus' smirk was quite wide under his beard. "Told him to approach you after the races, since you looked like you wanted to go find some private space, but he got shy."

Meriones sputtered, while Odysseus tried his best to keep his face straight. His own face felt a little warm - but Idomeneus was too busy laughing at his half-nephew to notice.

"Well now he's here, and you can talk," Idomeneus said, and clapped his nephew on the back again, and gave Odysseus an amiable smile. "Especially afterwards, eh?"

"Uncle, you should go eat something," Meriones said, somewhat insistently, and tried to surreptitiously shove his uncle away.

Idomeneus laughed again, smacked Odysseus on the shoulder hard enough to stagger him - if Meriones could withstand that without even flinching, he was really stronger than he looked - and obliged his nephew with an exaggerated wink, to wander off back to his couch somewhere.

Without Idomeneus there, it was easy to see that Odysseus' guess was correct - Meriones simply seemed slight only in comparison to his large louder uncle - Meriones was of the same height as Odysseus - maybe a finger's width taller, and as compactly built as Odysseus.

"Your uncle is quite friendly," Odysseus said after a moment, and gestured - letting Meriones sit at the head of his couch, while he took the free side.

Meriones did look surprised at that - Idomeneus was a prince of Crete, but Meriones didn't seem to have a title, compared to Odysseus' rank. And yet, Odysseus was giving him the higher ranking seat.

"... Yes, and thinks I am in constant need of his help for - friendships, and otherwise," Meriones said, sitting, turning to face Odysseus squarely when Odysseus perched himself on the couch.

"Maybe he feels responsible for you," Odysseus suggested, gesturing at the plate of meats on the tray next to his couch. "He and your father are close?"

"Close, yes, maybe as close as you and the princes of Sparta," Meriones said, and picked up the plate, and hesitated, then set his shoulders and held it out to Odysseus. "I would like to be that close."

Ah.

Well.

Odysseus didn't detect any oppressiveness in atmosphere - and the dinner wasn't late enough to have people actually feel the effects of the well-watered wine.

Meriones was regarding him with the same straightforward gaze as his uncle had, openly offering.

Odysseus nudged the tray gently away. "I'm not sure," Odysseus said, "We could talk more, instead?"

For a moment, Odysseus wondered if Meriones would take offense - he didn't seem at all like Damasippus, the patient, solid stone of him; there was something about Meriones, that almost-red hair that maybe marked a quick temper.

But then, if he was straightforward enough to make a blunt offer, then he would be straightforward enough to accept a blunt refusal.

Meriones regarded him with his big, hazel eyes, and then nodded. "Alright. Now might be too early, and Ithaca and Sparta have had a long relationship for a while."

That's… good, Odysseus thought, carefully, watching to see if there was any resentment, or dislike, or embarrassment. Meriones picked up a piece of meat from the plate and calmly ate it.

"Was it… my race then?" Odysseus asked, wondering if maybe that was what had struck Meriones' interest. He, like his uncle, seemed quite physical; Nireus had also been taken with Odysseus' race, supposedly.

"No," Meriones said, simply. "It was your presentation."

Odysseus blinked.

Meriones offered Odysseus the plate again. This time, Odysseus took a piece.

"I am poor with words," Meriones said. "But I like listening to others. You have a nice voice, Basileus Odysseus."

Odysseus couldn't help a little preen at that. "Oh. thank you," he said. "Presenting first has its benefits."

Meriones nodded, firmly. "I wish the heralds had allowed me to go first, as well. I present tomorrow, last of the day, most likely, and will perform very poorly."

Odysseus dared a little commiserating pat on the arm for Meriones - he did look a little resigned to it. "Surely you won't present the worst," he said, and wondered if he could offer to help.

But if he helped, then would Meriones take it to mean something more? He did like Meriones' straightforwardness, he decided, but he didn't want Meriones to think he was promising a closer relationship. Yet.

(he himself wasn't yet sure, after all, and he shouldn't be offering to help people so easily. After all, just see what happened this afternoon.)

"I have had my mother's help," Meriones said, frankly, "because women would know what women would like to hear. But I'm going to forget it in front of everyone." Meriones looked around the hall, and shook his head. "I'd rather shoot a siren."

Odysseus did not choke on the bite of meat.

"Oh," Meriones said, "You haven't heard? That is a possible test, the Basileus of Sparta might set the suitors for the hand of Helen. Or perhaps some other mythical monster. While those who were Argonauts would have the experience, I am sure my uncle and I will be able to perform well at any physical challenge the Basileus might care to set."

"Ah," Odysseus said, glad his voice did not shake in mirth, at all. "You certainly would do well in such a challenge."

"Yes," Meriones said. "I am not as good as my uncle, not yet," that easy, casual confidence in his own physical ability and knowledge of his own limits was actually quite attractive, Odysseus thought, "but I could do it."

"You and your uncle would make an unstoppable force," Odysseus agreed, "and decimate any nest of sirens you care to put your spears to."

"You probably wouldn't be able to," Meriones said frankly.

Odysseus wondered if that was an insult. It probably wasn't.

"But you're good at words, and decent in running. Your physique is clearly geared towards speed and agility. Being good as well in oration and rhetoric is rare, and incredibly admirable."

"Honestly, you're not doing so bad yourself," Odysseus said after a long moment of considering Meriones' words.

"When it's talking like this," Meriones gestured between them, "it is easy, because I simply speak what I think. But also easy to offend. Many have been offended, whether my uncle is by my side or not."

Idomeneus was straightforward as he was smooth, while Meriones was almost blunt. Odysseus found it hard to be offended by him - though there were probably half the people in this room who would be.

"Maybe, you could practice your speech," Odysseus said, because helping him was maybe alright, "in front of others. I have found, that when I make my speeches my own, then I do not forget them as easily."

"When I have to stand and move and present while remembering the words? It is hard." Meriones stared at the plate and ate another piece of meat. "Thank you for the advice, however. Pray do not laugh too hard at me when I present tomorrow."

"I wouldn't," Odysseus said.

"May I ask you your thoughts after tomorrow then?" Meriones said, looking up at him. "You had plenty of thoughts today, and I would like to improve."

Ah, Odysseus thought. This one was observant. He'd observed and analysed Odysseus' physical ability quite thoroughly, and seemed to have noticed that Odysseus had opinions - and plenty of them - on the suitors' presentations. In addition, he was aware enough of his own shortcomings, and was observant enough to pick out good competitors to ask tips from. Well. He or his uncle. Which meant he trusted his uncle's sense enough to follow advice.

Meriones also was blunt enough to offend half of Achaea. One day he was going to get a knife to his ribs, if he wasn't careful.

"If it wouldn't offend you, I can offer some pointers, afterwards," Odysseus said, after some careful consideration. Meriones was quite obviously sure he would not persuade Basileus Tyndareus of his suitability as a suitor via oration, and quite prepared to lose this courtship, and making ready for the possibility of a next courtship somewhere else.

Being prepared for certain defeat was a way to ensure you lost before you even started a fight; but at the same time being aware of your own shortcomings was never a bad thing.

And Odysseus didn't want him to get knifed, and such an observant person was worth having as an ally, if not friend.

It did mean if there was going to be trouble from rejected suitors, it probably wouldn't come from Crete. So that was nice to know.

"I did ask, it would be ridiculous to take offense," Meriones said, and Odysseus huffed, amused despite himself.

"Then I shall give you pointers without fear," Odysseus said.

Meriones nodded, and then handed back Odysseus his plate. "I should go and practice then," he said. "So I shall take my leave."

"Maybe ask your uncle to watch," Odysseus said. "He could give you comments too."

"He will simply laugh at me," Meriones said, simply. "But I appreciate the thought, Basileus Odysseus."

Sketched a bow at Odysseus. If he seemed to look him over a little more, like he still was hopeful of something beyond this extremely platonic interaction, he also visibly shook it off.

Completely pragmatic.

Well, Odysseus thought. He wouldn't mind if Meriones approached him again throughout the week; it wouldn't be the first time he made friends with people he hadn't thought he'd like in the beginning, after all.

Odysseus - Basileus of Ithaca, Laertiades - relaxed onto the couch after Meriones left - leaning full length and relaxed, which was a signal he wasn't taking any more visitors - he didn't have any more defenses, nor placed any obstacles around him.

Ialmenus caught his brother's eye across the room; Ascalaphus blinked, slowly, in acknowledgement, and started to circle around the back.

He got spooked easily, this little Basileus of Ithaca. He was like, and not like, his father - the same light of intelligence and boldness, but so much faster. Very quick, like deer.

Ialmenus was not sorry for losing today's race - he was simply sorry that it had only been one.

Odysseus kept nibbling at his plate, little bites as he watched the room, idle and relaxed. Behind him, Ialmenus' brother worked his way around, closer. It would be hard to close off the front, they knew. There was no terrain here to work with.

When hunting deer, it was necessary to stay downwind; there was no wind here to worry about, but no shadows to hide in, the hall too brightly lit. Deer had large eyes, a huge field of vision - but the forest dazzled and confused their eyes, and they had to rely on the more reliable scent and sound to alert them.

Here, there was nothing to dazzle the prey's sight; while conversation covered their approach, and scent and wind were no matter, the visual field their prey had was barely obstructed.

Still, a challenge was hardly a bad thing.

A quick glance - Ascalaphus was almost in position - the couch itself blocked one avenue of escape - Ialmenus and Ascalaphus could block two more. The last - if they were quick enough --

Odysseus got to his feet, a smooth movement, smooth as he had been this morning, while bowing to Basileus Tyndareus, smooth as his tongue on words that flowed like quicksilver. As smoothly as he'd been folded right over, under their hands, easy, tantalizingly tender. He put aside the plate, and was up and across the room to --

Nestor. Nestor of Pylos, that big strong old man, whose arm Odysseus grabbed in greeting, laughing, and let Nestor put himself between them and Odysseus - Odysseus shifted, even more, placing himself away, the dance of etiquette putting Nestor's two sons - uninteresting, horsemen and horse-drivers, boring and placid without reins in their hands - in their way.

Ascalaphus' lips lifted in a silent snarl.

Ialmenus huffed.

The dinner was not a good hunting ground. It was an unnecessary challenge. Retreat and regroup, he thought, glancing to his brother.

Ascalaphus scowled, but nodded.

There was no point hunting in the great hall - but outside, afterwards, during and after the games, there was opportunity.

They were patient.

They could wait, as long as it took.

Chapter Text

Morning saw them in the presentations again; Odysseus had left his room early enough to actually catch a glimpse of Penelope and Iphthime heading out towards the grounds, her himation slipping over her brown hair. She'd seen him too - and waved her free hand, pearl and shell glinting almost sand-pink dawn around her wrist in the early morning, before she had to turn to continue on as quickly as possible.

Today was still the medium sized territories - they had had an extra day - well, evening - of practice and rehearsing available, so the presentations should be more interesting.

Odysseus had caught sight of Meriones, who looked stoically nervous, and Odysseus could only shake his head. He needed more practice then.

One of the first this day was Patroclus of Opus - not a huge territory. Though from the way both the young prince and father were lavishly dressed, the ex-Argonaut certainly had a way of acquiring resources - Menoetius was a man who seemed loathe to be separated from his armour - he wore a bronze cuirass, enamelled with tin, while his son's bronze pins were huge and all but dwarfing his narrow shoulders.

Territory and resources generally were correlated - but not always. It was always possible to govern smaller, poorer territories and land, while possessing many more resources, tangible and intangible. Usually that would be because of cleverer management, if Odysseus might be so bold as to say so.

Odysseus perked up a little, just to pay more attention.

"Basileus Tyndareus, son of Oebalus, I, son of Menoetius, present to you - " the boy said, voice high and steady.

"Patroclus," Menoetius said, under his breath.

Patroclus looked towards his father, perplexed, and Menoetius had to elaborate, "Say your name."

The poor boy looked back at Basileus Tyndareus - who at least leaned forward and put on a more friendly face - and started again, his high treble voice trembling now.

Odysseus winced a little, and leaned back again; now this was just a little painful to witness - first time presenting himself in public, and it was in front of an entire assembly of great warriors and leaders who were all at least a decade older than him. Of course the boy was a bundle of nerves - a standard spear was likely even nearly two and a half times his height.

"Basileus Tyndareus, son of Oebalus, I, son of Pat- son of - I, Patroclus, son of Menoetius," Patroclus said, words finally getting past the first listing of names, rushed through the rest like a stream pushing through a rain-dammed riverbed, "present to you, this box of inlay shell. And amber."

The boy finally got to offer it, taking two steps forward and going down to one wobbly knee, and offered up the large, dark polished wood box. It was a very pretty box, Odysseus thought, wax polished to a dark gleam, with green-and-peach mother-of-pearl inlay.

Patroclus' father stepped forward, to take the box from his son's hands - the boy dropped his hands with relief, stayed there, happy to keep his eyes on the floor.

"My son, Patroclus, of Opus, offers this to your daughter Helen, son of Tyndareus of Sparta," Menoetius said, and opened the box to tilt it forward.

It was flat enough, that when Odysseus tilted his head to look, he could see the glint of deep amber - it was the colour people thought of when they invoked amber - a rich, dark golden-brown, transparent - when Menoetius shifted the box, there was some sparkle too - the amber wasn't just clear, but might have some glittery gold inclusions.

It was a box large enough that - when Menoetius passed it to one of the servants to show it to the rest of the audience - it could clearly contain a whole set of jewellery.

Brilliantly polished pieces of amber, the central piece a huge pendant half the size of a fist, hanging on a rope of smaller amber beads and beaten gold; there were matching pieces too - earrings long as a woman's palm, and a brooch, its central piece the colour of dark buckwheat honey, the size and shape of an arrow head.

"Precious amber from the furthest seas to decorate your precious daughter," Menoetius said.

Odysseus waited.

But then - it seemed that was all? Menoetius bowed, and Tyndareus said something of how precious a gift it was, he even spared a word for Patroclus, who was clearly brave and would grow up to be a strong warrior - but that was it?

What a wasted opportunity, Odysseus thought - electrum was the name for both the silver-gold of Helen and amber, amber the beautiful, golden solid encapsulation of the lighting that was part of Helen's divine heritage. It was a gift eminently suitable for Helen, honestly, but somehow Menoetius hadn't said a word of it.

Obviously, Odysseus thought in disappointment, the one who had managed Opus' visible wealth was not Menoetius, clearly a loud, strong man of action and not much imagination, but instead likely Patroclus' mother.

Still.

Once the others started to present - the gifts started to become interesting.

Machaon and Podalirius, sons of Asclepius, grandsons of Apollo; there were tales that their father's skills at healing was superlative to the point that he could bring back the dead, defying the Fates and the natural cycle of life - and being mortal enough to actually do so enough against common sense that he had had to die to prevent the balance between the living and the dead from tipping too far.

It was not a surprise that their gift was an incredibly precious tincture - made of pollen from the flowers that had bloomed where their grandfather Apollo had rested his lyre when he had once sat down to instruct his sons in the art of healing - what flower it was, the two brothers refused to name or even describe, only that one drop from this tincture could heal a man of even the most lethal of wounds, with Apollo's blessing and approval. That self-same drop could kill the healthiest city, down to its last child, if Apollo did not approve of its use. It had been made, the brothers said, by their father, after his journey with the Argonauts.

It was, of course, the kind of gift that only the daughter of the greatest lord of basileis - anax of all - could be trusted to administer to the men of her family. Tyndareus did not even offer to store such a gift - it would have to stay in the possession of these two brothers, because not even Tyndareus of Sparta could claim to protect such a precious and all-but-divine gift - the divine power to save, and to exterminate.

No one with any sort of right mind would even think to try to touch it, Odysseus guessed - Helen wouldn't want such a gift, to hold such power over mens' lives, while subject to Apollo's constant attention.

Leonteus, son of Coronus, once Basileus of Lapiths before being conquered and subordinated to Doric Aegimius' banner, presented a thick spear, the wood made of good strong olive-wood that had grown in the boundary of the Lapiths' territory on the day of the Centauromachy. Its tip was made of the weighted iron from the ore that the losing Centaurs had used as their weapons in attempting to attack the Lapiths, and the tip bound to the spear shaft using the long tails of the centaurs that had lost both the fight and lives. It was a beautiful weapon. The iron ore, said Leonteus, was rumoured to have been ore that had fallen from the skies, meteorites that blazed as bright as the lightning of Zeus' bolts, and harder than soft iron and copper, able to cut through all but the hardest shield and mortal forged bronze armour.

A worthy weapon to defend the borders of Helen's future home.

Idomeneus and Meriones were both unmarried, and being uncle and nephew, thus had separate presentations.

Idomeneus brought the pelt of a lion that had been ravaging the country-side; its tawny pelt and mane he had had turned into a cape, a suitable cape for the warrior sons that Helen would be sure to bear - and its claws drilled and strung on braided leather cords as a necklace for Helen, and its fangs turned into twin daggers, to celebrate and honour Helen's Spartan training and prowess, and Helen's status as a beloved twin daughter of Sparta.

That, Odysseus thought was fairly creative - that presentation had included some remarkable allusions to the golden beauty of Helen and the golden courage and ferocity of the lion - and possibly to the basileis of Sparta too.

Meriones presented to Tyndareus a shield - enameled in red and gilded gold over the bronze-and-wood, in the centre was set the fierce snarl of anger of the Gorgon's eyes.

A protection, Meriones said, as he set the shield on his arm, the shield covering the entire shoulder, for the lord of Helen's heart and hand, that he may return with gifts and trophies for her and her land, to enrich her home, and then a matching pendant in gold, gorgon's face with gems red as Helen's famed hair, for eyes.

Meriones did catch Odysseus' gaze as he spoke - it was a rather long speech, since he'd detailed the making of the shield, its exact provenance of the wood - and then he almost fumbled as he presented the pendant on its thick gold chain.

That part, Odysseus was sure, was Meriones' mother's speech then - Meriones couldn't quite match the speed of the servant showing the pendant to the pace of his speech, and the detailing of its divine and magical protection.

But hey, at least he tried, Odysseus thought.

Meriones' uncle also clapped him on the back when he was done and looked less like he was about to fall over.

During lunch, Odysseus made sure to find Meriones and give him a few pointers he'd noticed - Meriones didn't know what to do with his hands when they weren't occupied with a shield, for example, and he tended to pitch a little too soft as he went on with his speech. Practice, Odysseus told him cheerfully, would help him be more comfortable.

Then Odysseus slid off to find Nireus, exchange a few greetings, then as people were starting to look around to socialise, Odysseus escaped away unseen.

The first games of today were the finals of yesterday's races - so Odysseus wouldn't be missed at the games' field; he headed to the garden instead.

Sparta's palace had a lovely large garden that melded well into the rest of the grounds leading down to the field, but with a little more privacy.

It was there he managed to find Helen joining Clytemnestra and Penelope for lunch.

"Finally deigned to join us, Basileus Odysseus?" Clytemnestra said, as he tried to sneak in close to snag a piece of bread from Helen's tray before they noticed.

"I have to attend the presentations, I can't run around refilling linens and ordering servants around," Odysseus said, and pouted at Helen for taking the tray away.

"Or you could have gone and prepared for the games," Clytemnestra said slyly. "After all, you have already presented."

"And what would I prepare for, I've already been eliminated from the races," Odysseus said, spying Damasippus coming over with another tray, this time with cups, a large jar hooked to a finger.

"Getting all properly warmed up, at least," Helen said, and reached out to tug at the edge of his tunic sleeve. "Don't you think he looks nice, Penelope?"

Penelope had been looking at him, but not saying anything - when Helen smiled at her, Penelope tipped her chin up, her cheeks pinking just a little, but it could have been from the way the noon sun was already warming the late morning away.

Odysseus spun away out of Helen's hold - knowing that it made his various layers flare juuuust a bit - and skipped over to take the tray from Damasippus. "Only four cups?" he said.

"That's because a familiar suspicious character didn't inform us he was coming," Damasippus said mildly.

Odysseus made an exaggeratedly sad face - watching Penelope out of the corner of his eyes. She was definitely smiling now, and Clytemnestra was smirking.

"Alright, you can share mine," Damasippus said, as if Odysseus could share any of the princesses' ones.

"If you didn't attend the presentations, I can't inform you," Odysseus said, batting his eyelashes at everyone, evenly and generously, and placed the tray on the short table that had been placed in the grass, and held out one cup to Damasippus to pour. "So it's not my fault."

"So Damasippus should have learned to read your mind," Clytemnestra said, and took her cup from Odysseus as he held it out to her.

"Yes," Odysseus said brightly, gave Helen her cup with a flourish that just made Helen laugh.

He wasn't quite able to do a similar flourish for Penelope - he'd glanced at her wrist, the way the pearls and polished shells looked really good on the slender arm, and when he'd looked up at her face, she'd looked back at him, and he had to look away, flustered.

Right at Clytemnestra, who was giving him a look that was sharp and white and completely evil.

"You really look quite lordly today," Clytemnestra said. "Ctimene's work isn't it?"

"And Mother's," Odysseus said.

Clytemnestra leaned forward just an inch. "And that belt… wherever did it come from?"

Odysseus did not look at Penelope. At all.

"Oh, interesting," Helen said, tipping her head a little, as if to take a closer look. "Why, that buckle, it does look a little familiar. Where might I have seen it before?"

Damasippus poured into the last cup, and picked it up before Odysseus could, settling himself on the grass just to the side and behind Odysseus, in a slightly sunnier spot. "I don't think I can see it from this angle," Damasippus said, and Odysseus flashed him a grateful look.

"Bronze buckles aren't that unique," Penelope lied blatantly.

Odysseus nodded. "It's just a belt-"

"Oh is that so?" Clytemnestra said, and reached over to poke at the fold of his tunic over his belt. "Take it off then- "

"Eeh!" Odysseus scooted back, to the side, away from her pointy poking hands. "It's a normal belt-"

"But it looks so familiar," Clytemnestra said.

"I really think I saw it before," Helen said, and tugged lightly at his sleeve - Odysseus yelped at the ambush on the other side, and scooted away from them both - and ran right up into Damasippus' knee.

"Careful, I don't want to spill," Damasippus said, and before Odysseus could apologise, wrapped an arm around his waist.

Clytemnestra's smile widened. "Thank you Damasippus," she purred.

"Betrayal!" Odysseus said, and curled right into Damasippus' lap, following the line of Damasippus' arm, and before he could tighten his grip, rolled under his other arm, snagging Damasippus' cup at the same time so it wouldn't spill and then he was free of the three-way ambush.

"You stole my cup," Damasippus said, looking amused at no longer having an armful of Odysseus.

"We're sharing it, so it's only half your cup," Odysseus said, and took a long swallow.

Unfortunately, his pausing to gloat over his rightful spoil gave Clytemnestra and Helen time to get to their feet, and while Penelope was the most nimble of them, the two of them weren't far behind either.

"You stole Damasippus' drink," Helen said, mock sternly.

"Just like you stole that belt~"

"Didn't he, Penelope?" Helen said.

"Oh!" Clytemnestra said, in bright, pointy surprise. "That's where I saw it! In Penelope's room!"

"We must get it back for you from the suspicious thief," Helen said, and lunged for Odysseus.

"No - wait, it is not --" Penelope clambered to her feet too, trying to grab Helen's wrist.

Odysseus dodged out of Helen's reach, brushed past Penelope, his arm just brushing the bulk of her braids, and she and he looked back at each other; their gazes feeling almost electric --

And Clytemnestra snagged his other sleeve, to pin him in place.

"Ee!" Odysseus twisted out of her grip, and scampered across the clearing. "A coordinated attack!"

Helen untangled from Penelope, and, glancing at Clytemnestra, tried to box him in.

Odysseus hurriedly swallowed the rest of the cup, and dove between Clytemnestra and Helen, coming up next to Penelope. "Save me from them," he managed, putting Damasippus' cup in her hand - and then flinging himself around her before Clytemnestra could pounce.

He dodged away, ducking out from Clytemnestra, and then had to feint to the side when Helen dodged Penelope's block, and Odysseus managed to run around towards a free space --

Except Damasippus suddenly had reached out and swept his arm against Odysseus' shins - he barely caught himself, turning the fall into a tuck and roll right over Damasippus' chest to his other side.

"Enemies on all sides! How dare you not declare yourselves first - when our side is fewer! If my sister was here -"

"What makes you think Ctimene would be on your side," Clytemnestra said. "Damasippus, get him!"

Unlike the princesses, who were as careful as Odysseus to keep their touches barely a brush of the clothing, Damasippus had no need to be restricted - he could dive straight to tackle Odysseus into the grass.

"An attack!" Odysseus wailed, "I am blindsided!"

"You should have known this day would happen when you stole my cup," Damasippus said, and attempted to pin Odysseus.

"Damasippus!' Penelope said, and dove into the fray and attacked Damasippus' arm, attempting to get him to let go with a nerve strike to the elbow.

It worked - just enough to give Odysseus a bit of space to knee Damasippus in the ribs and then wriggle free while Damasippus gasped as if in mortal injury. "How are your knees so bony, still?"

Odysseus was up in a flash, and could continue to dodge the twin sisters all around the clearing, Penelope failing to really restrain her cousins - because there were two of them and only one of her, so Odysseus had to keep running until he could snatch up the tray of bread and honey.

"A shield!" Odysseus said. "I call a truce or I shall drop your lunch!"

"A horrible, underhanded tactic," Clytemnestra said. "I yield, that's our good flax honey."

"It's not underhanded if I win," Odysseus said, triumphantly, and settled the tray back on its table so they could all sit back down like civilised people.

"Do you think that it would be enough," Menelaus was saying, again, and Agamemnon resisted the urge to shake him.

This wasn't the venue to indulge in impromptu wrestling, even if Menelaus would probably calm down more if Agamemnon tossed him on the ground a few times.

"You are a better orator than most of them," Agamemnon said, again, "and do you have no confidence in the gifts?"

Menelaus had gotten even more nervous from today's presentations; Agamemnon regretted offering the possibility of himself presenting on Menelaus' behalf, if Menelaus had been too outclassed.

Unfortunately, that just meant that Menelaus was now flopping around like a landed trout, unable to decide if he should do the presentation himself, or take Agamemnon up on it.

"Yes - I mean - no, just look at Menoetius' gift, wasn't it incredibly beautiful? The workmanship and all those pieces of amber they must have sorted through to get that many pieces, and all the correct size and colour -"

"And a complete inability to entice it to Basileus Tyndareus," Agamemnon snorted. "The gift comes with an unblooded, untried boy who can barely wear a helmet without falling over. Does it look like the Basileus of Sparta would be impressed?"

"Well," Menelaus hesitated. "Probably not. But it was beautiful, and the princess Helen --"

Agamemnon cut him off. "No matter how impressed the princess is, her father will still be deciding, and shiny baubles mean nothing to a great warrior such as Basileus Tyndareus. He's far more practical."

"Right," Menelaus said, "like - Ithaca's wool tapestry, that was quite practical."

The mention of Ithaca made Agamemnon want to grind his teeth. "That," he gritted out, "is barely -"

"Trade is very practical," Menelaus said. "I think, maybe, we - I - should mention trade?"

The problem was that it was true enough - there was nearly no other suitor who had mentioned trade thus far, beside the one, tiny, barren territory's leader who had all but been dancing flirtatiously in front of all of the suitors and the basileis of Sparta, sparkling like a stream of water poured out from an amphora, all over dirt ground.

The … the so-called Basileus of Ithaca was probably - had to be - parroting his father's words, for Laertes was the one who was worldly and experienced in the ways of keeping a small land alive and afloat amidst a whole bunch of other, larger, hungrier territories. Reminding Basileus Tyndareus of their trade was definitely a way to prevent Ithaca's rank from falling behind all the others' lavish and resource-rich territories.

Still.

"Except it's entirely practical," Agamemnon said. "This is not just about practicality - it's about the - package that goes with it. It was obvious, that's all Ithaca had to offer, and nothing surplus at all."

Everyone could tell, good oration and presentation aside, Ithaca had little to offer in terms of connections and surplus resources; that suit would fall through.

Did Odysseus even realise that, Agamemnon wondered. He had to be too inexperienced, too new, to understand that - he'd heard of no campaigns that Odysseus had gone on - and he had had no proper mentor to train him in understanding how warriors thought and behaved; all he'd been on was games and small hunts, and expanded no territory of his islands.

"A coordinated attack!"

Both Menelaus and Agamemnon jerked in the direction of the voice - there, in the more sheltered garden.

They moved as one - smooth and coordinated brothers who had fought side by side and back to back - just as a clearing came up, Agamemnon ready to grab his sword against an intruder --

Girls giggled.

"Enemies," said Odysseus - because that was Odysseus, tunic a little loose and askew, as he leapt like a mountain goat amongst three girls - women - dodging their out-stretched fingers, but plainly staying just tantalizingly out of reach.

He was really a child, Agamemnon thought, releasing his hold on his sword. There was no attack - just a youth yelling words he'd heard his elders say, without caring that those had meaning.

And just like a bunch of youths, giggling at playing catch, there was the actual adult lounging on the grass, keeping a watchful eye on them. Damasippus was watching the mixed group of youths, a watchful chaperone keeping a warrior's eye on the youth who was a risk to his sister and cousins' safety, not that Odysseus could or would pose much of a risk, not when there was Damasippus, son of Icarius, a fully blooded warrior who could easily -

There - Odysseus ventured too close, and in a single, casual swipe like a lion taking down an ox, Damasippus swept Odysseus off his feet into a tumble, and could pin him down, a firm lesson in being more aware of his own surroundings.

Instead of yielding immediately, Odysseus cried for help, and one of the girls landed on Damasippus, giggling and tugging and Damasippus yielded indulgently, letting Odysseus go.

And that meant Odysseus could run off and snatch up their lunch and threaten it, until the girls fell about the grass giggling and breathless and all willing to let their flirtatious game take a pause.

"Childish," Agamemnon said, scowling

"Aw, they're such good friends," Menelaus said.

"He's a basileus looking to get married," Agamemnon growled, under his breath, remembering not to say anything about the undignified way the girls were behaving. They were supposed to be adults already - older than the usual age of marriage. It was the basileis of Sparta's privilege to indulge their daughters if they so wished, but Odysseus was basically throwing away his father's --

"They are having such fun," Menelaus said, "it seems like a good time to go over."

"What -" Agamemnon said, snapping his hand out to his brother. "No - what the -"

Menelaus glanced once towards him, a brief invitation, and Agamemnon dropped his hand, shook his head sharply.

"You shouldn't," he said, because while they were chaperoned, anyone might see and accuse the sons of Atreus of trying to get a foothold up --

"Then you can keep watch," Menelaus said cheerfully, and turned and headed straight to Damasippus.

Agamemnon glared at his brother's back - glared at how Odysseus sat up like a watchdog, when Menelaus called out a greeting, moving towards Damasippus, as if to hide the evidence that he'd been flirting with the women of Sparta. His hand didn't even go to his empty hip - the young man didn't even have his sword with him, as if he'd gone straight from the great hall to the garden, not stopping to retrieve his weapons, and not even displaying a warrior's instincts.

"Son of Atreus!" Damasippus said, turning to catch Menelaus' arm, properly shifting to face Menelaus squarely, his womenfolk clustering behind. At least in the presence of a man, they did know how to behave, properly straightening and catching up their clothes to cover at least their shoulders, though they didn't have himations to cover their faces, and didn't look to hunt for one.

Spartan women were bolder than most Greek women, the Spartan princesses even more so, so it wasn't a particular surprise.

Agamemnon politely averted his gaze from them anyway - they were the Basileis of Sparta's daughters after all - and retreated silently, further down the path, well within hearing distance but he shouldn't be able to be seen. He'd even be able to intercept anyone who happened by, and prevent his fool brother from getting accused of anything untoward.

"Well met, Damasippus, it feels like an age since we'd talked - and I kept seeing you around the games, but never managed to catch you."

"I am so busy, I fear I have no opportunity to actually participate in the games," Damasippus said, laughing.

"A pity," Menelaus said, "because I would have liked to try my hand against you."

"My cousins Castor and Pollux are participating in most items, you would be able to try. Ah, son of Atreus - you haven't met Basileus Odysseus, of Ithaca, yet, have you?"

"Technically - once, but not formally, not since," Menelaus said, smile in his voice.

"Then let me introduce you formally. Odysseus, this is the son of Atreus, we've fought together several times -"

Agamemnon frowned. That was wrong.

The introduction should be the other way round - Odysseus to Menelaus, since Menelaus was older, and essentially had been brother-in-arms with Castor and Pollux longer, and had even been on several campaigns with Damasippus and Menelaus was Agamemnon's brother --

To be ruthlessly, scrupulously fair, technically Odysseus was higher ranked than Menelaus. Damasippus wasn't completely wrong - Menelaus was only Agamemnon's brother - he was Agamemnon's heir-apparent, unless and until Agamemnon managed to produce a son by his wife. Odysseus was already Basileus of Ithaca.

Still.

Menelaus could presume on the relationship already forged in blood with Castor and Pollux and Damasippus, as well as Agamemnon's leadership of the much larger territory. If Agamemnon had been his brother, he would not have allowed himself to be introduced to Odysseus, without controlling whatever the son of Icarius told someone else, allowing himself be open to be judged as to whether he be worth talking to or allying with.

"I'm delighted to meet you, son of Atreus," Odysseus said, sweet and utterly friendly and Agamemnon could feel his back teeth grind.

Of course, Menelaus didn't even presume on it, didn't push on what he could push for and take. This was why he was going to perform so poorly in the presentation of his suit, Agamemnon thought. He had a perfectly good reason to wrest control of this interaction and show his higher rank over that youth, but Menelaus was probably just smiling all agreeably and letting the spoiled youth walk all over him.

Somehow, for some reason, the Spartans regarded this green, unblooded youth as closer and higher than Agamemnon's and Menelaus' own accomplishments, and it rankled that Agamemnon hadn't noticed how Odysseus had charmed his way in so closely. Just like how he'd talked his father into abdicating, he must have charmed his way in with his silver tongue, wormed in under Sparta's stern and strict defenses. There was no way mere trade was enough to give him this level of intimacy.

Agamemnon was considering going in and forcing the interaction - the introduction to go the way it ought to go, to make Menelaus take his proper respect from Odysseus, when he heard the scrape of someone's sandals, a little way down.

Agamemnon quickly followed the path to intercept -

"Ah, Prince Aegialeus, well met," Agamemnon said.

The prince of Argos paused, taking him in, and then gave him a slight bow.

"Basileus of Mycenae, congratulations on your victory and success in getting your country and throne."

Agamemnon nodded, accepting the congratulations, and took Aegialeus' arm in greeting, as was proper. It also stopped him from continuing on to overhear Menelaus and the Spartans.

"It was the will of the Gods," Agamemnon said. "May the Gods also be on your side for your future endeavours."

Aegialeus nodded, accepting the - well, fairly empty platitude. No one was going to put any particular weight on Thebes or Argos right now - everyone was going to sit and wait for the outcome and treat with the winners, and Aegialeus knew it perfectly clearly.

"I heard that both of you would be presenting in Mycenae's name, later," Aegialeus said, stating rather than asking. "Seems a little difficult, for both of you competing for the daughter of Tyndareus' hand."

It wasn't unheard of for brothers - or relatives - to be competing for the same woman. Just look at today's presentations of the two healer brothers, and that uncle and nephew duo from Crete.

"I am simply here to support my brother," Agamemnon said, "he had an attack of nerves; I am already married."

"Ah," Aegialeus said, gaze on him, openly sizing him up. "You are a good brother, to be present - when my own younger cousins are ready to court, I hope that they too would want my presence as moral support."

If Aegialeus thought this meant that Menelaus was going to be nervous enough to end up stuttering like a child, then let him think so. Let Aegialeus be overconfident.

In fact, Agamemnon was going to tell Menelaus he had to present, himself, because Agamemnon was withdrawing his offer to help. That way, Menelaus would perform well without Agamemnon's promise as a crutch - Menelaus was always thus, crying and relying on Agamemnon to pave the way for him, when he was perfectly capable.

It'd be the same now.

This way Argos and their allies would be taken off-guard, and hopefully underperform themselves. If Aegialeus felt the need to tell everyone else this, then all the better.

"Of course they would," Agamemnon said, "Which youth wouldn't want an older, more experienced relative help him in something so important in his life?"

"Exactly so," Aegialeus said. "More arms - and swords - in helping whatever one's goal is always helpful, no matter whether it's in courtship or in fulfilling a quest."

Was he talking about that rumour about Tyndareus going to set a requirement for the pelt of feathered dragon? Agamemnon and Menelaus had been so amused at hearing it, because Tyndareus was not that type.

"Indeed, are they not often the same thing," Agamemnon said, blandly, perfectly happy not to correct that misunderstanding. "Come, how are you finding the games? Wrestling is to be later today, but I am looking forward to the hunt of the seventh day."

Aegialeus turned easily with Agamemnon, walking along with him towards the field rather than further into the garden, easily led away from Menelaus.

Agamemnon was quite satisfied.

Chapter Text

Damasippus told him the games today, after the race finals were weights and discus, tomorrow would be archery and wrestling - which usually wasn't a bad combination, but Odysseus didn't care for weights, not when they would essentially compromise his hand and arm strength, and he'd planned on skipping wrestling. The timing for the events were poor enough he'd have to make two rather rushed trips to the pastures, while he'd rather take the whole afternoon off, actually, so after some persuasion, Damasippus agreed to shift wrestling to later this afternoon and discus to tomorrow.

It was easy enough, Damasippus said, since wrestling needed no special track either.

So after lunch with the princesses, Odysseus could slip another felt pouch to Penelope as he left the garden to head to the pastures.

In the distance, he could see Menelaus had joined his brother and another figure - was that Aegialeus? Maybe Aegialeus - closer to the games field. Most of the suitors were now streaming back to the games field, so he had to take the slightly longer route to avoid encountering them.

Menelaus had been surprisingly pleasant. Nice. Had praised his presentation and told him his javelin throw wasn't bad, and didn't seem at all put-out that Odysseus' status had changed since they last interacted.

He'd also been very polite, and didn't look at the princesses at all, even with Clytemnestra staring quite unabashedly - from their conversations, Odysseus had a feeling that Clytemnestra was also considering some of the suitors as well - obviously not during this courtship, because no one liked being leftovers or consolation prizes, but this was a great opportunity for her to actually have a look at all the famous and accomplished names in all of the worthy territories.

Odysseus didn't know what Helen thought though - she'd carefully sat such that she didn't face Menelaus at all, and after Menelaus had gone, had not said anything about the son of Atreus.

But then she would have more opportunity to observe him later today, Odysseus thought - wrestling would be today and Clytemnestra liked watching that, so obviously Clytemnestra would have a lot of thoughts to offer her sister.

Menelaus looked like he would do very well in wrestling; based on Odysseus' gut-feel, Menelaus would be a pleasant friend and comrade - Damasippus had also nothing but pleasant things to say about him, Odysseus had read nothing untoward of their interaction.

Since he and his brother had gotten their land and rank back, Menelaus did seem a little more relaxed - maybe he would be a decent candidate for Helen?

The pasture was coming up - he could see Eumaeus in the further distance, amongst the sheep. Right, time to get his reports.

"Odysseus!"

And that was Eurylochus - coming up and throwing a message into his hand. "This is my report?" he asked.

"Yes," Eurylochus, "And now I go."

"Go where? You're supposed to be helping me with the sheep," Odysseus said, pointing out to the fields.

"You owe us - Polites and I have already missed one day of games," Eurylochus said. "You can handle your sheep! Eumaeus has the list, I've submitted our report, we're on Games leave now!"

And Eurylochus all but ran off.

Odysseus snorted. But didn't try to stop him - it was fair enough that Eurylochus and Polites wanted to participate in the games too. And now they got the wrestling event today too - he considered that reward enough; for both of them liked wrestling far more than Odysseus did. It was quite fair for everyone to get what they wanted - Eurylochus and Polites getting wrestling, and Odysseus getting his sheep.

He turned to head towards Eumaeus, patting a couple of wooly heads as he went.

Soon Iphitos would drop by, he knew.

"Who's that?" Clytemnestra asked, leaning over to her sister.

Helen frowned behind her veil. "Someone's retinue, I think, he's not a suitor." And not from one of the Spartan territories either.

"I would definitely have remembered if I'd seen those thighs before," Clytemnestra said, watching with great pleasure as the man's thick, muscular thighs flexed.

Helen poked her.

"I'm watching the others too, don't worry," Clytemnestra hissed.

There was a lot you could learn about a man, when he was pretty much naked and losing. Even more when he was half-naked and winning.

This unidentified man, for example, was strong, but conservative; he held back his strength through most of the match, waiting for his opponent to throw all his moves and strength, and then slam a last minute burst of strength as his opponent flagged.

And then he'd been a good sport, going to his opponent to shake his arm and exchange pointers and smiles.

Some of the others were poor losers, barely able to make the arm shake before storming off to sulk - others were poor winners, who'd crow and shout about their wins, and forget that a match had two people. Helen was the one that everyone was looking at - and could only sit, watchful over all the events; Clytemnestra could take notes on her tablet under her himation.

"Who's up next?" Clytemnestra asked, as she took notes on Unidentified Man's physique (big, tall, broad, dark skinned and dark cropped hair, looked like he spent a lot of time wrestling, excellent stance and center of balance).

"Pollux," Helen murmured.

"Oh! Good, Pollux," Clytemnestra said.

"You're looking forward to his match?"

"He can go identify Tall Dark and Unidentified for me," Clytemnestra said. "He was watching wasn't he? Yes, yes he was. Excellent."

"Winner of the match, Eurylochus of Same, Ithaca!" Announced the referee.

"... or I could have waited for the announcement," Clytemnestra muttered. Ithaca, huh. So Odysseus had been hiding this excellent specimen of glorious, muscular manhood in his islands and never shown him to her.

She ignored Helen's pokes.

"Next, Pollux, son of Tyndareus, versus Menelaus, son of Atreus!"

Clytemnestra glanced at her sister at that, especially as Menelaus walked onto the field, all rippling red-gold muscle, his hair like a flag of Ares in the sun.

"He's going to lose," Helen murmured. She adjusted her hands under the soft drape of her himation, folding one hand over the other. This close, Clytemnestra could see her deliberately flatten her fingers against her lap, while looking to all like she was serenely unconcerned.

"Everyone loses, against Pollux," Clytemnestra said, watching Helen.

"Indeed," Helen said, noncommittal.

Right, Clytemnestra thought, turning her attention to that match. More attention, more details, and then shake Damasippus a little more about this son of Atreus.

Elephenor had wanted to speak to Nireus during lunch, managing to cut in when Odysseus had had come over to talk to him; when he managed to shake Elephenor, Odysseus had seemingly disappeared out of the great hall. Maybe he'd already left for the games' field.

One of the heralds had announced that there had been a change in events - today's games were now weightlifting and wrestling, so archery and discus was to be tomorrow.

At first Nireus thought that Odysseus would be in the audience for the events today - he had not mentioned a love for either, just specifically archery. But when Nireus searched the audience, Odysseus wasn't there.

There were two Ithacans there though, and when asked, told him Odysseus was at the sheep pasture.

Well Ithaca's black wool trade seemed related to Sparta's black wool; Odysseus had seemed to say as much during his presentation, so Nireus set off to take a look.

He was halfway towards the sheep pasture when he noticed that someone else was also headed that way - the red-headed Meriones of Crete, he realised, and hailed the man.

"I didn't realise that you were interested in Sparta's black sheep as well," Nireus said, after exchanging greetings.

"Not particularly," Meriones said, "But Polites of Ithaca said that Odysseus was here." Meriones gave him a level look. "You aren't interested in the sheep either."

Nireus almost stumbled. "A - why is the ground so uneven," he muttered, managing to buy himself some time to think.

Meriones was still regarding him, evenly.

Nireus coughed into his fist. "I could be," Nireus said, "Sparta's black wool is quite good - the Spartan capes--"

"I don't mind knowing my rival," Meriones said, turning to start walking again.

Nireus stared stunned, at his back, before opening his stride to catch up. "Wait, what do you mean -"

"Laertiades likes you, somewhat," Meriones said, and glanced at him over his shoulder. "It's not a surprise, you are very good-looking."

"What man would just announce to his rival that he is a rival?" Nireus said, and for a moment considered decking him. But that would be very stupid to get involved in a brawl out near the sheep pastures, when there was the games field that people could initiate impromptu spars if they wished - out here it'd look very suspicious. And Nireus didn't need to invoke the Gods' displeasure.

(He'd felt their presences - they all had - and there were at least two seen around. Violating a fellow traveller's safety out here would be foolhardy at best.)

"One who has every intention of learning his own lack," Meriones said. "You have not presented yet, but I can presume that your presentation will be good. Laertiades likes people who speak well."

Why did that sound like both an insult and praise? He knew Odysseus liked him - that smile on his face when he'd laughed, during the javelin throw event, and people didn't just invite anyone to pass them the javelins, even if the deadly consequences of trusting the wrong arms-bearer was nonexistent in games versus on the battlefield. But that presumption…? The Cretan's unconcerned tone? Nireus didn't care for it.

As Nireus caught up with Meriones, determined not to allow the Cretan find Odysseus before him, they passed a pile of what looked like animal dung.

For a brief moment, Nireus thought about throwing Meriones into it, face first.

However, while it wouldn't count as particularly violating xenia, it'd result in Nireus getting sucker-punched in the face, and then a stupid brawl in the middle of Sparta's sheep fields, with all of Sparta's shepherds watching on.

That would be a great honour indeed.

Nireus let that passing fancy continue to pass - Meriones clearly kept himself from being punched in the too-handsome face by knowingly saying the most annoying things in times and places where feeding him his teeth would result in little honour for everyone involved.

Meriones reached a fence - it took very little effort to hop it, for both of them, Nireus determined to keep at Meriones' heels.

A dog's bark made them both pause.

A shepherd hailed them, came running up, and with a quick polite glance at the two of them, bowed. "My lords," he said, "is something the matter?"

"I was taking a walk--" Nireus started.

"We are looking for Laertiades, and his retinue said that he was looking at the Spartan black sheep," Meriones said, ignoring any sense of politeness, subtlety, or common sense. Though actually, yes, please imply that Odysseus was attempting to steal Sparta's black sheep, that would actually ensure Meriones would never become a rival in anything remotely positive of Odysseus' regard.

Nireus took an exaggeratedly large step away from Meriones - they were not the same party, and Nireus was certainly not the one implying thievery on Odysseus' part.

The shepherd looked at both of them, visibly hesitating. "Lord Odysseus is busy," he said, slowly.

"I see him, over there," Meriones said, pointing to a knot of black sheep, just a small hill away, and started striding over. If Nireus squinted, he could just about make out two figures amongst the black sheep - Odysseus and another shepherd, maybe?

The shepherd followed them, dog trotting alongside him, ears perked in that same air of slight wariness and concern its master had.

When they passed a hillock and Meriones at least didn't display any inclination to harass any of the sheep grazing nearby, the shepherd slowed, and let them continue on.

When Nireus glanced back, briefly, he noticed another shepherd had joined the first, looking just as watchful. In case one of them needed to go run and inform others if Meriones really were going to steal sheep --

Wait.

They'd both been stopped and questioned, even if in politeness, which was normal, considering these were Sparta's sheep. But 'Lord Odysseus is busy' with the sheep?

They were finally only a flock away from Odysseus, when a hand caught his elbow.

Nireus nearly swung his fist into Meriones' ribs, but managed to stop himself.

"Interesting," Meriones said, unconcerned that he nearly earned himself several bruised, if not broken ribs.

"What is."

"Laertiades is checking the sheep."

Nireus could finally make out more details - his eyes weren't the best even in this light, when the sun was still fairly high; it was the curse of pale eyes, he'd been told - and Odysseus wasn't just patting the sheep, he realised.

He was fondling an ewe's ear, while it nipped grass out of his loose fist, and now he could see Odysseus was fondling it with intent - checking its ear, then running a practiced hand over its head and neck, then its shoulders.

As they watched, Odysseus went down to a knee, and reached under its belly. To check its udder, maybe?

It passed muster, apparently - Odysseus picked up a medium sized wax tablet, and made a short marking, and then handed it to his companion, and fed the rest of his fistful of grass to the ewe, and nudged it out of the way.

Then up again, and on to another one, another ewe, with its nearly full-sized lamb next to it.

The lamb wandered over to Odysseus' knee, bumped its head against Odysseus' thigh.

Odysseus smiled down at it, and reached behind - ah, a basket, he had a whole woven basket behind him, from which he pulled a handful of grass to feed the lamb. It followed Odysseus' hand - Odysseus kept pulling his hand out of the way just as the lamb chomped down.

It happened several times, Odysseus teasingly pulling his hand just out of reach, and the lamb stretching its neck out, further, and up, chomping down on air until it bleated in annoyance.

"You are going to get bitten for that, Odysseus," said his companion.

Odysseus merely grinned down at it, and finally fed the lamb his handful of grass, and pushed it by the rump away.

The lamb took two steps, and then kicked him in the calf.

"Ow, you!" Odysseus laughed, and shoved its rump harder, before turning to its mother.

"Serve you right," his companion said, but also helpfully nudged the lamb away, pushing a shin against its rump until it bounced away two steps, then turned to look at them.

"A hazard of the trade," Odysseus said, crouching down by the placidly chewing ewe, to try to offer it some of the basket grass.

"If you keep teasing them, then it's less a hazard and more a certainty," the companion said, sounding fond and amused. So not a shepherd then.

Crouched down like that, Nireus could see that Odysseus' hair was just as curly as the sheeps' fleece, but glossy as a raven's wing, curls tumbling over his temple as he shifted to also check its ears, neck and udder. Some grass was caught in his hair - little grains or shreds glinting like the multi-shades of chrysoprase, pale green and wheat-yellow; when he shook his head at the lamb returning to butt its head against his shoulder, those bits fell like a tiny shower of gold-dust, dusting over his arm as he pushed the inquisitive lamb's head away. His companion reached down to pick a few glints out of his hair, easy and self-assured - it took a while for Nireus to recognise him - Iphitos, son of Eurytus, of Oechalia, one of Heracles' ex-lovers.

Odysseus allowed the intimacy, easy with the closeness and presumption of touch - almost like he expected it, reaching out for his tablet - and Iphitos just tapped the stylus against the wood frame of his wax tablet.

"Mm. Right," Odysseus said, absently adjusting the drape of his dark chlamys against his shoulder, and he looked… extremely classical, despite the beard. An extremely classical shepherd - the kind painted on urns and woven in tapestries. Odysseus started murmuring a short series of numbers, notes, face upturned to his friend - to Iphitos. For a moment clouds passed over the sun - let a single bright ray wash down over Odysseus' hair, glinting green-gold-black, his face washed with pale-gold light that made him look young, and in a certain angle, adoring.

Nireus glanced towards Meriones; his eyes too were very intent on Odysseus.

Another sheep wandered close - its half grown horns indicating it was a young ram - and baa'd at Odysseus. When he glanced towards it, it lowered its head, and Odysseus grinned, wild, loose, holding out his fist. The ram bounced up towards him, butting its head against Odysseus' fist - and got a head rub. It bounded back, to do the same thing.

Odysseus looked quite young especially when he smiled like that, playing with the sheep - sturdy ewes placidly eating grass at his feet, half grown lambs bumping at his thighs for hand-held grass and head rubs, and young rams butting at his fist. Despite his beard, despite his title, the way he laughed down at his - the - sheep, looking utterly bucolic and pastoral - Nireus was reminded that he was one of the youngest basileis amongst the suitors. There could - and should - be no pushing him down against the grass, to coat his hair again with grass and grain-seed, spreading out his shepherd's chlamys as if spreading out a blanket --

"If he had his shepherd's crook," Meriones said, voice low, and intent, "the gods would forgive giving into temptation."

"Is that all that's necessary for you to give into temptation," Nireus said. He certainly wouldn't. He'd already misstepped once, and that was with the interest of a Goddess pushing - he had enough fortitude to not give in now, no matter that as Odysseus stood up, light pouring down over him and his sheep, he looked the exact picture of an older Ganymede, if he had been allowed to stay in his father's lands long enough to grow into adult limbs and shape. The only things missing from the picture was the aforementioned crook, and dogs at his heels to bay in warning if some being were to approach him with nefarious intention.

"You also are tempted," Meriones said, unruffled.

Punching him, Nireus reminded himself, would do no good to anyone. There were other shepherds watching and Odysseus was working. There was Iphitos, watching Odysseus like the guard Ganymedes' father should have hired once he realised how beautiful his son was; sword slung across his chest and resting on his hip, watchful and watching - he saw the two of them, and was watching...

Or else - not a guard. But another suitor - a suitor like them all, here in this place, all four of them, except for some reason Iphitos was the one next to Odysseus, casually avoiding sheep so the lambs could get access to Odysseus, moving as easily as a shepherd, and yet be allowed easy intimacy, allowed to laugh at him, take notes for him.

Not just a guard - guard and suitor both, letting sheep in to bully Odysseus but clearly alert to Meriones' and Nireus' presences.

Meriones was shorter than Iphitos, but not by much, and much sturdier besides.

"As if," Nireus started.

"Iphitos would be able to shoot you where you stood," Meriones said, brisk and analytical. "He is a long-range fighter."

"And not you?" Nireus said, trying not to snap.

"I would duck when I saw it coming." Meriones glanced to Nireus. "You wouldn't see it."

Nireus narrowed his eyes at him; bringing up Nireus' poor eyesight was a low blow. "You would make a bigger target," Nireus snapped. "Doesn't take good eyesight to hit you."

"Perhaps you have the advantage at night," Meriones said, "you could ask the son of Eurytus for a match."

As if anyone would go shooting or fighting in the nighttime, like some uncivilised barbarian.

Punching Meriones, Nireus reminded himself, would gain Nireus nothing.

He didn't even think about fighting Iphitos; his physique wasn't that of a typical eromenos - though of course it was entirely possible Iphitos had long since grown out of it. And besides, Iphitos wasn't looking particularly combative, just smilingly indulgent of Odysseus rolling around with sheep.

Iphitos didn't look particularly messy or covered in grass, still fairly put together and pristine. There was some hope that perhaps it meant Iphitos was no closer to getting further intimacy than Meriones was, despite having been out here with Odysseus, privately, for... well however long it was.

One of the ewes stared at Nireus, chewed judgmentally.

... or maybe the sheep were too judgemental an audience. And if Odysseus was working with the sheep, there was no shooing them away.

Why was he working on Sparta's sheep was a question Nireus would ask later, elsewhere, without Iphitos present, when Meriones was not annoyingly present --

Meriones let go of his elbow to stride forward, expecting sheep to part - Meriones was built solid enough that lambs and ewes scattered, leaving them cross enough in his wake to hinder Nireus and unwilling to get out of his way, forcing Nireus to make detours around grouchy sheep, and there was no leaping sheep like leaping fences. Sheep clearly refused to cooperate - planting themselves when he wanted them to move, and immediately vacating if he tried to plant his hand on a wooly back.

"You can just shove them out of the way," Odysseus said, amusement in his voice - Meriones was fording the sheep as steadily as a long hollow ship cut through the Poseidon's domain, but the wooly eddies left Nireus more than several paces behind.

He had never been very good with sheep - that had been what his cousins dealt with, while he and his father had been more involved in the fishing economy. His disgruntlement with the sheep was quite mutual. He looked up from the sheep. Odysseus was watching him, smile sun-warm and amused. Iphitos had straightened, clapping the tablet shut and tying its leather cord around it. If Iphitos was judging him, at least he was also giving that same mild look at Meriones.

"They refuse to move," Nireus said.

Odysseus whistled, and the sheep looked up, towards him, and he now had two handfuls of grass. "Here, treats," he said, laughing a little, as the sheep started to trot to him, getting out of the way enough that Nireus could finally make some progress.

Odysseus started tossing handfuls of the grass away to the side - it scented the air with something sweet and herbal, darker green than the actual pasture - he wasn't sure what it was, but the sheep certainly wanted it, scattering towards where he'd tossed them so that they didn't become a dense knot around him and Meriones and Nireus could approach without ovine interference.

Iphitos clicked his tongue at Odysseus, and when Odysseus glanced towards him, Iphitos tossed the tablet at him. "I'll head off then," he told Odysseus, pointedly looking between Odysseus and Meriones and Nireus, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. "You have fun now."

"Hey, what -" Odysseus said, eyebrows furrowing a little, and then his face went even more scrunched when Iphitos ruffled his hand through Odysseus' hair. "Hey! My dignity-!"

"You have none," Iphitos said cheerfully, and gave Meriones and Nireus a look that was both bright, and maybe a bit smug, considering that Nireus had not been allowed this intimacy yet - and Meriones' own intent gaze was sharpening even further. Iphitos' other hand was resting casually on the pommel of his sword, a gesture of intimate possession, and the smile Iphitos gave them was...

.... toothy.

"I'll see you later," Iphitos said to Odysseus, without looking away from Meriones and Nireus. "Make sure you have a good time, mm?"

Then made his way away, past them both, deftly avoiding sheep like he's done it all his life, leaving the field open to Meriones and Nireus.

Unworried and carefree, as unconcerned about his position with Odysseus' affection as the Spartan brothers.

"What sort of - what do you mean, what's that suspicious expression supposed to mean?" Odysseus growled.

"I'm unnecessary anyway," Iphitos said, waving without turning around, "And you're done with your work! So it's time for enjoyment and company!"

"Hey!" Odysseus yelled, past Meriones and Nireus, "Get back here! Explain!"

Iphitos didn't reply, helpfully widened his stride, and was quickly out of earshot.

Odysseus scrunched his nose briefly, like he was being fondly annoyed. "Argh," he said, then turned to the two of them.

"You're not at the -" Odysseus checked the sky, "wrestling?" his eyes asked Nireus another question - how did you find me here - but then he was looking at Meriones. "I would have thought you preferred that."

"You weren't in the audience," Meriones said, "And barely stayed to give more than a couple of pointers."

"Your fellow-Ithacan Eurylochus said you were here," Nireus interrupted before Meriones could continue to ask for more pointers - what sort, Nireus wasn't sure nor wanted particularly to know. "I thought you were admiring the Spartan sheep."

And turned out, he was spending time with an incredibly attractive Oechalian, someone pretty enough to have once attracted Heracles.

"Well," Odysseus said, looking briefly cross - like the members of his retinue giving away his location was annoying rather than… expected? "You can say that."

Meriones prodded at the basket next to Odysseus. There were little bundles of the sweet herby grass stacked inside. "What are these?" he asked.

"Treats for the sheep," Odysseus said, "the sheep go wild for them, which makes it easy to gather them all for pets and cuddles."

Odysseus crouched down to his basket, dropped his tablet in on top of the grassy bundles and latched the woven lid right on it, shooing away an inquisitive lamb's nose. "I could direct them away from you just now, did you see?"

Ithaca was known to be islands famed for not having much else but wool and sheep; it wasn't a surprise for Odysseus to be so familiar with how to handle and deal with them.

But he was also clearly not wanting to answer anything more detailed as to what he was doing here, frolicking amongst the sheep without any of Sparta's shepherds' oversight.

Well. If Iphitos was --

Iphitos wasn't in sight anymore. Iphitos had literally withdrawn from the field, and seemed perfectly confident about his position.

"And they contain -"

"Oh this and that, buckwheat, some sorrel," Odysseus shrugged, picking up his basket. "A little bit of clover. All the nice grassy things that sheep and bees like," He grinned at them both. "Shall we head back and stop interrupting them from eating? It might be fun to watch Ajax, son of Telamon get thrown around by Pollux."

Nireus and Meriones exchanged looks - Nireus couldn't think of anything to delay Odysseus while removing any excuse for Meriones to linger - and obviously, the same went for Meriones.

Despite Meriones' unconcern about a rival, he was equally hampered by Nireus' presence as Nireus was by his, and Nireus did not smirk at him.

There were a few golden bits - seeds, flower petals - glinting on the edge of Odysseus' curls. The knowledge of Iphitos' earlier presence lingered, in the way that Nireus knew not even Meriones dared to touch those with Iphitos' easy casual confidence. While Iphitos was a serious rival, his absence was as tangible as Meriones' presence was - and vice-versa. They both were on the same, equal backfoot, despite Meriones' physical superiority.

"Or we could head over to the other pastures - that looks like there are more sheep which might like treats too," Meriones said, pointing towards another, further, pasture.

Meriones' expression was very level. Level as the perfectly smoothed and weighted spear.

Nireus glared at him.

Odysseus looked between the two of them, and something seemed to amuse him. "Sure, we could," he said. "Though I've already fed them treats - you could play with the sheep though. Meriones, I suppose you could teach Nireus how to --"

He was about to head there, when someone called, "Lord Odysseus! Lord Odysseus -!"

Odysseus stopped, turned - and a herald came running up, took in all three of them, and then bowed. "My Lords."

Odysseus acknowledged the courtesy with a wave. "Yes?"

"The games events sequence has been confirmed," the herald said, well-trained as a Spartan runner, his speech even and clear even though he'd just run across the entire pasture without a pause. "And today's game events are ending. Dinner will be ready in the hall in three hours."

Odysseus nodded - that was fairly normal - standard; the runners stationed out here in the outer areas had noticed they'd come out here - the shepherds must have informed them.

"Has my Lord Odysseus chosen the sacrificial rams for the closing?"

"Oh, I knew there was something else," Odysseus said, straightening his back. "Over there -" he gestured to Meriones and Nireus. "Would you like to go back to the hall first? I still have something to do."

Nireus shook his head - though now even more surprised. "The Basileis allow-"

"All black rams," Odysseus said, already starting to head towards a different pasture - or rather a pen. "You know the requirements."

Nireus knew - young, newly adult rams, unblemished in every aspect. Usually the sacrifices would be specified by his father and dictated to his cousins to go retrieve from the herds. He hesitated - but Meriones just turned to follow Odysseus.

"Can't keep them too long in the same small pen, they'll fight," Odysseus said, to the herald. "They have agreed, four rams?"

"Yes my lord," the herald said, keeping up easily with Odysseus - Odysseus had widened his stride, so Nireus had to keep up, refusing to let Meriones be there to - well, witness? Help?

But obviously, Meriones wouldn't try anything.

Not if it was involving the choosing of sacrifices for the Gods.

(Would that be blasphemy? It would count… right?)

The pen was immediately next to this current pasture, a much smaller pen with maybe - twenty rams milling about. Some of them were running at each other, and butting heads.

"Hm," Odysseus said, glancing at both Meriones and Nireus. "You don't have to --"

"I will help," Meriones said. "As the Basileis of Sparta trust you to choose for them then I would be honoured to help."

Nireus tried not to scowl at Meriones' words. Absolutely nothing wrong with his words whatsoever, for every one of them were true. It was also strange that Tyndareus and Icarius would allow Odysseus to - was it a goodwill gesture of some sort, to grant him this honour?

If Meriones wasn't present, Nireus would have asked Odysseus directly - but Odysseus just smiled at Meriones and then hopped the fence as well.

"Just grab one," he told Meriones, "and I'll check it over "

Meriones nodded, and waded into the fray - and immediately a ram slammed into his side.

Unfortunately, Meriones was too sturdy to fall over - he turned, grabbed it by the horns, and twisted it, shoving it to the ground.

"Oh, not bad," Odysseus said, going right over to check as the ram kicked, feeling it up under the fleece. "Hmm. this one - no. Put it into the pen we'd just came in from."

"What's wrong with it?" Nireus said, having picked his way carefully to Odysseus, dodging the flailing feet.

"There're some injuries here, see," Odysseus said, pointing. When Nireus squinted, unable to see anything under the fleece, Odysseus caught him by the wrist, and tugged him down to feel under the wool, Odysseus' grip warm and firm. "Feel that? The fresh scab on the skin."

Nireus could feel Meriones' gaze on him, hot and pointed, but he was focusing on Odysseus' fingers, the light calloused fingers, and the warm breathing sheep under his hand.

"Ah, yes," Nireus said.

The ram yelled in annoyance.

"You were being annoying, weren't you," Odysseus scolded the ram, "That's why the others can't stand you." Stood up, and for a moment didn't seem to remember to let go of Nireus' wrist. Nireus wasn't going to remind him.

"So I should take this one to the other pen," Meriones said.

"Right, yes. Just throw him in there, he'll be a decent stud at least," Odysseus said, and let go of Nireus' wrist.

Meriones nodded and started dragging the sheep over - the ram was very uncooperative and disgusted with its treatment, yelling loudly as Meriones got it to the fence.

A struggling moving, uncooperative mass was much harder to lift even that short height of the fence - Nireus could see Meriones' back and shoulders flex as he hauled it up, bodily - he would have done quite decently in today's events. He should have stayed there, maybe won an actual prize.

Nireus glanced over to Odysseus, frowned at Odysseus looking at Meriones' rippling physique, and didn't like how he was smiling.

"Come, let's go look at another one," Odysseus said, as Meriones managed to get the ram half over the fence, the ram bleating indignantly and kicking fence, air, and Meriones.

Nireus tried to catch one - he wasn't able to grab more than a handful of fleece before the sheep slipped right out from under his hands. For something so big and solid, they were remarkably hard to catch.

"How …?" Nireus said, frowning, slightly ashamed - he wasn't able to grab a ram by the horns by Meriones, not if he couldn't even grab one at all.

"You don't really deal with sheep do you?" Odysseus said, tone kind and warm. "If I recall, Syme's main economic sector is seafood?"

"Yes," Nireus admitted. "My father's brother's sons deal with the sheep, I've always been on the ships with my father."

"And a very good pair of seafaring legs you must have," Odysseus said, casting him a small smile that warmed Nireus' chest, a little. He gestured for Nireus to follow him, to the side of the fence, slowly. "Don't chase them, they'll run faster than you."

Odysseus motioned for him to stay there, and then started walking, intently, to a small knot of three rams near the fence. When one started walking away, he followed, widening his stride to casually herd it towards Nireus, and just before it could reach Nireus - not that Nireus was sure he would be able to grab its horns - he slammed his knee hard against the ram's side, shoving it against the fence.

The ram bleated in confusion.

"This is the easiest way," Odysseus said. "Here, come check its head, see if there are any wounds?"

Nireus had to shake himself - Odysseus had been so casual, so easily confident, herding the ram against the fence without even appearing to intend to do so, and then throwing his entire weight against the ram, pinning it so effortlessly.

Odysseus was running his hands through the fleece along the ram's back, leaning hard enough the ram could only vaguely pinwheel its feet against the grass; he barely was flexing anything.

"I don't see anything wrong…" Nireus said, trying not to stare at Odysseus' confident hands pushing through the fleece.

"Mm." Odysseus snagged its horns, turning its head back and forth. "No injuries, but one of the horns is significantly longer than the other. Lopsided." Perfection was required for the Gods.

Odysseus patted its head. "Alright he goes into the other pen too, he can have a couple years with the ewes," he said, raising his voice so the herald could hear and acknowledge.

And then he shifted, paused. "Right," Odysseus said, and then unpinned his chlamys, shrugging it off his shoulders. "Hold this?" he asked Nireus, and handed it to him, the dark wool warm and smelling like sheep and sunlight and Odysseus.

Then Odysseus shifted his knee to right under its belly, so he could smoothly duck down and shift the sheep easily onto his shoulders, pulling its feet over to his front.

"Bleaa," the ram said, hanging there in placid confusion.

And unlike Meriones' stoic attempt to throw the sheep over the fence, Odysseus could easily walk to the fence, and gently roll it over off his shoulders onto the pasture.

Meriones was staring at Odysseus, expression almost slack.

"Next one," Odysseus said, patting Meriones' back, nudging him towards Nireus, kindly.

Odysseus didn't always pin the sheep against the fence - "That's just the easiest way to ensure they're not injured in running off," Odysseus said - in a lot of the cases, he just would walk in, reach down, and grab a ram by the leg, high near the body - like the thigh, hauling it close so he could examine it; some of the rams he allowed into the pasture with the ewes, others he put aside - "for the other flocks, so their lambs won't be related to each other." - and quite a number, after checking and finding injuries would click his tongue.

"These are poorly behaved," he said. "The annoying ram earlier wasn't too bad, but these are very aggressive." Odysseus poked a ram's forehead. "Terribly behaved. I'm not sure they'd even treat the ewes right. So mutton and leather they are going to be." And off those went into another pen on the far side.

Nireus and Meriones exchanged looks.

Odysseus had a ram on his shoulders, and another he was dragging by its hind foot, the dragged ram bleating in furious confusion at going backwards.

His easy, casual competence, knowing exactly how to treat rams, which were their weak spots… he handled the rams easily, by himself, even though he looked in the day time, with his many pretty layers of linen and fancily woven wools and jewellery, like his strength wasn't particularly in athletics; and now he was competently, easily, picking up and hauling animals that were several weights at a time.

And his decisions - he made them easily, quietly, firmly - his standards for the sacrifices perfectly rigorous, as necessary for the duties of a basileus.

Meriones' eyes flicked down to the chlamys Nireus was holding, and Meriones shrugged, slowly.

"I don't think I can survive much longer," Nireus admitted, after a moment.

Odysseus was a basileus, thoroughly, unquestionably - for all that he was younger than Nireus, but his casual air of authority as he picked out sheep for culling, breeding, and the four needed for sacrifice, made Nireus want that grip on his wrists, that authoritative tone in his ear.

Meriones took a deep, quivering inhale.

"Remember," Meriones said, "That this is choosing sacrifices. The Gods must have pure and perfect offerings."

Nireus nodded, sharply, his antagonism briefly held in abeyance as he made himself not look as Odysseus bent, tilted over the fence to drop that ram off his shoulder.

His calves - they were so clearly, and beautifully defined as he crouched down to pick up the confused ram - his back sturdy and solid under his chitoniskos and chiton.

Nireus had never been so glad for someone to be wearing more than one layer of clothing before.

"I know," Nireus said. They could not indulge in anything baser, doggish; their base wants just because Odysseus knew how to expertly haul full grown rams around might taint the sacrifices.

Nireus and Meriones could not let anyone see or know.

"You make this look so easy," Nireus said, as Odysseus came back towards them.

"I grew up with sheep," Odysseus said, pushing his hair, a little sweaty and tighter clumped curls, out of his forehead. "You would be equally expert at hauling in a day's catch, would you not? And sorting the catch easily and fast. I always take too long." Odysseus laughed, rolling his shoulders.

Nireus clutched the chlamys harder.

Meriones gripped Nireus' shoulder in reminder, and Nireus took a perfectly normal breath.

When he next went with his cousins to stare at sheep, he thought, he was going to remember Odysseus, sunlit with the lowering sun, and picking up a ram with casual ease.

"Yes," Nireus said, glad his voice didn't crack a little. "I guess so."

Meriones' fingers squeezed harder, and Nireus managed to smile at Odysseus.

Odysseus had managed to finally choose six rams that fit the criteria - the herald came over to take a look as well, to give Odysseus a second opinion.

"Or we can let the gods choose, on the day itself," Odysseus said. "The first four picked out shall be the sacrifices."

"I've never picked my own sacrifices before, nor for Father and my siblings," the herald said, low and idle, his voice shifting to a different register, and Odysseus' gaze snapped sharply to him.

The herald held up a finger to his lips, lips stretching out in a lopsided, familiar grin.

"Gr-" Odysseus frowned at the silver-flash eyes of the herald.

"Sounds like fun," Hermes said. "Don't you think?"

"Lord He-"

Hermes leaned in closer. "You are having fun too, aren't you, little Odysseus." Touched Odysseus' wrist, stroked up his arm, slow and lazy. "Though. Two at once? A little ambitious."

"I have not - what do you mean two -"

Hermes grinned, sharp and wild in the open air - and above him, the sun was setting, splashing the sky a brilliant and golden pink. "Ambitious! Basileis should be ambitious. I approve!"

Just out of the corner of his eye, Odysseus could see both Nireus and Meriones straighten up, their glares turning into wide-eyed stares, as they realised just who was right there.

"Lord Hermes," Odysseus said, urgent and insistent, "I am not --" because if Hermes was suggesting - it was bad enough, earlier, but now he wanted Odysseus to - two?! Both Nireus and Meriones?

Hermes winked at them over Odysseus' shoulder.

"Just not in front of the sacrifices," Hermes agreed, which was not what Odysseus meant.

"That's not what -" Odysseus started to hiss, but Hermes had disappeared in a brilliant flash of pink-and-gold sunbeam.

Odysseus pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.

"Good thing we didn't decide to proposition you," Meriones said in the silence. "The gods were here."

"I am not going to do anything in a sheep-pen," Odysseus growled.

"Certainly not this one," Meriones said. "The Gods' sacrifices are in it."

Odysseus took a deep, long breath, and then turned around to collect his chlamys, and then determinedly head back to the other pasture to collect his basket and tablet without answering it at all.

Thankfully, neither of them said anything about Odysseus' red face and ears.

Chapter Text

Odysseus pleaded tiredness, and went - not ran, not escaped - to his room as soon as they got back within sight of the palace.

It was good, it was better, Odysseus was fairly sure - had been fairly sure - that both Meriones and Nireus had had something. Certainly the entire time they had been at the pasture, he'd noticed that almost crackling tension between them, and honestly, he hadn't been surprised, but mostly amused. The two of them were almost of an age, they were both fit, Nireus' beauty to Meriones' athleticism, and it was a good, perfect pairing. Meriones showing off to Nireus, Nireus watching Meriones - he had been amused and happy for them both.

He had wondered, very briefly, when he saw Nireus stymied by sheep, why they'd come out to find him, why Eurylochus and Polites had leaked his location when they should have been having fun in the games but - argh. It wasn't a particular secret, he hadn't told them his location was meant to be classified (and it wasn't!) so he couldn't even get too angry at them.

But now Great-grandfather had just dumped the idea of Meriones and Nireus, both of them, together, at the same time, in his mind, and after a moment rolling around on one of the couches in his suite, he decided to go find Damasippus. Just to try to exorcise it.

The air had been perfectly balmy, the way it got after the sun warmed the grassy fields for the whole day - but not the same kind of oppressive want. Which meant Aphrodite hadn't been around, hadn't been involved - she wasn't particularly keen on sheep, he figured, unlike Athena, who liked the sheep enough to come and pet, silent and awkward, the one sheep she'd granted sapience.

There was nothing erotic about a sheep pen! He'd been working!

Why would they want to even want what Hermes was saying - why would he?

"There's grass and sheep dung everywhere," Odysseus said, flopping onto Damasippus, dropping his head into his lap. "And even if they wanted - and there was a - a - couch, out in the pastures, which there isn't, where would all the hands, legs, go? How does it even work? Someone would fall off, the couches aren't even big enough!"

Damasippus patted his hair, his mouth crooked with suppressed amusement, and Odysseus flailed at his knee. "Couches don't come this big! Great-grandfather is being absolutely - it's not like we're in the court of Dionysius, and everything is shrouded in hedonistic artistry enough that nothing needs make sense - a couch can fit at most two."

"Well," Damasippus said, smiling a little helplessly, "if -"

"All the couches scattered around outside - with my good oil - no, that had better not be my good oil -" Odysseus continued, "definitely can fit only two big fit men. I'd be concerned if even Thoas and an Ajax tried."

There was a brief moment as they both contemplated the idea of Damasippus' brother with any of the suitors, and Damasippus flicked his forehead for that image.

Well deserved, Odysseus thought, but curled up and made pathetic eyes at Damasippus anyway.

"Well," Damasippus said, once he could shake off that image, "You see, that is where the visiting basileis' and high-ranking princes' suites come in."

Odysseus narrowed his gaze up at him. "My 'suite' is the same as the normal room I stay in," Odysseus said. It was a fairly decent one too - large enough for the private tub, and more than enough for plenty of lounge couches and chairs, enough for him to curl up or drape his legs anywhere he pleased, in one. The room was the same, though because this was now the event of a lifetime, he'd noticed of course that his sitting area of the suite had been decorated with more furniture to allow him to network and entertain more of the suitors if he wished.

"My couch - Couches fit only me."

He sat up in realisation, narrowly missing whacking Damasippus' jaw with his forehead. "Am I being given a lower ranked room?" he demanded.

"Would we give you a lower ranking room, when you visit us so often?" Damasippus said. "You practically live with us -"

"Yes, so where are my giant diplomatic couches?"

"Well -"

Odysseus rolled over - this was not his parents' bed, but there was a cushion near on a chair he could snatch up and smack Damasippus' arm with.

"I am basileus," Odysseus huffed. "Should I have demanded a room - furniture - upgrade?"

"So you want giant diplomatic couches?" Damasippus said, barely defending himself against the cushion.

"Yes!" Another smack.

"That can fit you, Nireus of Syme and Meriones of Crete?"

"Ye-"

Damasippus raised an eyebrow at him, snagging the cushion from suddenly loose fingers.

"Really," he said. "If that's what you want…"

He tucked the cushion away. Odysseus stared at him. The thought of three - of - them, on the same couch -- his brain would not proceed. There was no image to imagine.

"That can be arranged," Damasippus said, matter-of-factly.

Odysseus made a croaking noise. "But -"

"I'll have to raise a request with the princesses," Damasippus said thoughtfully.

"On second thoughts," Odysseus said, horrified at the thought of Penelope being told Odysseus wanted a couch for three men - which would mean - mean -

A couch that large, with such space would fit too many girls, he knew, which could imply - a lot of - a lot. To the princesses.

"On second thoughts?" Damasippus prompted.

"I'm good with singles," Odysseus said, a little weakly.

"And not even one for two?" Damasippus said, sounding cruelly helpful.

Odysseus shook his head rapidly.

"Penelope thought you would be," Damasippus said.

Odysseus could feel his ears turn red at that; it didn't go any less red as Damasippus laughed and patted his hair again.

So Penelope was the one ensuring all his furniture could fit only one person at a time, a great big hint that if he wanted to experiment with… 'diplomacy' with anyone else, he was going to have to go visit other peoples' suites, rather than invite them back to his.

A great play, he thought, he should go and find her to tell her so.

He skipped the banquet dinner.

Most of his instructions he'd relayed to Eumaeus and the other shepherds - which ram lambs to keep an eye on, which ones to castrate for the wool - and which of the rams would be studs for a few years - and the rest would be quality checking of the wool. He'd had the small sample sent back with Eumaeus, to go with him in the morning - Odysseus was fairly certain about the quality, but he always preferred his sister's opinion, no matter how loudly she yelled it. After all, it wasn't like he was the one who had to card and spin all the wool.

Eumaeus would get back to her just in time before she started out for Sparta, so she'd have plenty of time to form her opinions for her to tell him to his face, rather than having to send a papyrus, and there wouldn't be time for her to come out to the pastures as soon as she arrived, for the wedding itself would take up a lot of everyone's time.

Being out with his sheep normally was most relaxing - but with Great-grandfather being a giant tease, Odysseus wasn't sure if he could look either Meriones or Nireus in the eye tonight and not turn into a giant flaming torch.

And he wouldn't be able to invite them back to his suite - he would have to go to one of theirs and - and -

Yes best not to have any of the temptation while he was not in particular control of himself.

So instead, he had dinner with Damasippus - making eyes at him until Damasippus gave in, went and ordered the servants to bring up plates of bread and meat and he could poke around Damasippus' couch.

He had never realised before today that Damasippus' couch also could fit two. He'd just found it very large and relaxing to spread out on, even if Damasippus was sitting on it; and now he was actually thinking about - well.

Damasippus found it very amusing when he sat up very straight and proper on the couch, like Mother had found him and Ctimene stealing honey-cakes off each other's plates.

"Perileos and Aletes would be having dinner in the hall," Damasippus said, handing him the plate of bread, and then rolling out onto the couch, stretching out behind him; and since Odysseus wasn't sprawled out like he normally was, Damasippus cheerfully put his own plate next to Odysseus' thigh. "So you don't need to hide up here with me."

"I'm not hiding," Odysseus said primly. "I haven't seen you around for so long, we should catch up."

"We just saw each other this afternoon," Damasippus said. Odysseus huffed and took a giant bite of his bread.

"I'm thirsty," Odysseus said, haughtily, and Damasippus snorted a laugh, rolled off the couch.

"Yes, Basileus Odysseus," he said, getting him his cup - before he could hand it to Odysseus though, there was a knock on the door.

"Damasippus, I wondered if -- ah," Penelope said, looking past her brother to see Odysseus perched prim and proper on his couch. "So you're hiding up here."

"I am not hiding," Odysseus said, "what's with both of you siblings, thinking I'm hiding, I have nothing to hide from."

But he was wriggling to straighten and smooth down his tunic, glad he'd taken the time to at least get a quick scrub-down and change his clothes after being out with the sheep all day, so when Damasippus had closed the door behind Penelope and Penelope was now coming to him, Odysseus was properly all dressed and fit to be seen.

"You didn't go to the hall for dinner," Penelope said. "So you're hiding."

"You're not in the hall," Odysseus said, tipping his chin up - Damasippus was finding it very important to check out one of the corners of his room, checking his own collection of armour and weaponry.

Penelope glanced towards Damasippus noisily checking on his shields and armbraces, and leaned in to press a quick kiss to his lips.

"I was," she said, a little louder as she stepped back and Odysseus tried not to scrunch his face in glee, "or rather, I passed through it, with Iphthime, to keep an eye on things. And you," she tapped his nose and Odysseus did reach up, caught her wrist, and grinned at her. "Weren't there."

Odysseus rubbed his thumb against her wrist, looking down, and was inordinately pleased at the ring on her right hand - the pearl and shell he chose for her slender finger was just right, not too big to overwhelm or get in her way, the fine leather cords - almost threads with how thin they were - not too long and would mould to her hand as she wore it more.

She was smiling down at him.

Hee.

"So I wasn't," Odysseus said, "because I was up here."

"Up here, bothering D-" they both glanced to Damasippus, who was very obviously and thoroughly occupied with checking a polished greave, "my brother."

"He has a nice couch." Odysseus' face flushed, when the word came out of his mouth, but he soldiered on. "Which! I don't have, in my room. This is apparently your doing."

Her smile was sharp, and white; it was not the white sharpness of Clytemnestra's cat-dagger smiles, but that gleam of a fishing spear and the river foam at the mouth of the sea during changing of the tides, white stone worn sharp enough to cut an unsuspecting man's feet.

"Yes," she said, leaning in - and even if he was the one holding her wrist, her wrist pressed against the palm of his hand, a pressure that made him swallow, his eyes widen to take in her - her everything. "I talked myself hoarse, getting you all that."

"Ah -"

"Do you like it," She said, and she was really, really close now, slate-grey eyes darkening slightly at whatever she was seeing, and Odysseus could smell her - lavender and olive oil, fresh and bright and surrounding him. Her wrist - the one that he was holding - twisted, a little, to run her be-ring'd finger across his cheek, and he could feel his breathing hitch, at the light smooth brush of the pearl against his skin, ticklish except for how it wasn't.

"Yes," he said. Because how could he say no, how could he like otherwise? If this was what Penelope wanted for him, then… then …

"Good," she said, and her ring brushed against the corner of his lip, denting with the slightest pressure.

Odysseus made a little noise.

"Right," Damasippus said, loudly, "Looks like my armour is all in order."

Penelope stepped back, properly demure, while Odysseus snatched up his plate of bread.

"Did you want to eat here?" Damasippus asked. "Or with Iphthime?"

Penelope glanced at Odysseus, and then shook her head. "I was just coming by to check on you," she said to her brother, while Odysseus primly nibbled on bread and did not allow his ears to redden more. "Maybe you could drop by to give us some thoughts on - the suitors?"

Right, the suitors.

"You have slips of papyrus prepared?" Odysseus said. "Did Helen show you the box?"

Penelope looked to him. "Oh. Yes, we are having those prepared, but for the suitor… we haven't decided. And the framing of the situation - it's entirely possible that not everyone would be happy to accept even a lots drawn by chance."

That was indeed a prickly problem - anyone could contest a lots drawn, even when the Gods' eyes were apparently there, for after all only Helios was all-seeing, and not at all hours of the day too.

"Father is thinking on it," Damasippus said. "I'll head over later to give you a rundown."

He glanced at Odysseus, and Odysseus shook his head - "I was out in the pastures today, so no, not much intel from my side today."

Other than about Nireus and Meriones - but that was hardly intelligence that would serve Helen's purposes.

"Nireus of Syme and Meriones of Crete would get along very well with Odysseus," Damasippus said, "Which is a minor plus point, I believe."

Penelope smirked at the way Odysseus sputtered.

"Alright," she said, "I'll let Helen know those names."

Odysseus found the pillow again to throw at Damasippus as soon as Penelope shut the door behind her.

Damasippus didn't even stop laughing.

Chapter Text

Morning was another set of presentations; fantastical, rich, beautiful gifts - Phidippus of Cos, son of Thesselus, whom rumours had was the son of Heracles from his much younger days, brought beautiful bolts of linen cloth, woven and dyed in colours that Odysseus knew would impress Ctimene, though she never asked for those dyes. Enough fabric for an entire wedding gown, Phiddipus had said, and to clothe her family. A rich enough ransom, for the daughter of the Anax of the Gods.

In terms of politics there was a little bit of a murmuring shift amongst the other suitors when Iphitos was to present immediately after Phidippus - Iphitos gave Phidippus a very cool, perfectly polite smile as they passed each other.

"That was an excellent presentation, son of Thesselus," Iphitos said. "How I wish I had thought of it."

Phidippus returned to him an equally perfect and icy bow. "I look forward to yours, son of Eurytus."

They both gave each other smiles as thin as the edges of their bronze swords.

Their territories were similar in size, and very close to each other; it was known that the leaders of Cos weren't always content to stay within their territorial boundaries - just last year Iphitos had led a troop to 'meet' what Cos called an 'accidental incursion' and what all their neighbouring territories knew was a testing of Oechalia's border defenses.

Again, as with Thebes and Argos, even the medium sized territories also suspended their political disagreements in the Great Hall of Sparta.

Iphitos' gift was a matched pair of bows, made by Iphitos' father Eurytus and Iphitos himself - Odysseus was proud to know that Iphitos was by now a skilled bowman unmatched by anyone but his father. The only pity was that Iphitos had never gotten to compete with Heracles again after that one match that had had Eurytus reneging on his agreement to give Iphitos' sister to Heracles.

Iphitos had lain in wait for a week for the mountain goats whose horns provided the limbs - a billy and his mate, both impressive creatures with impressive matching horns, enough to make a pair of recurve bows, one fitted and weighted for a man, and another for shorter draw length of a woman, both polished with beewax to a fine glossy finish, tipped with beautiful dark olive wood and the grips wrapped in cord made from the goats' beards.

The beautiful, strong Helen was known to be as fit as the sister of Ares, and just like her brilliant brothers and cousins, there was no other bow that could be worthy of her - it was a bow fit to take down great deer from the furthest distances.

Phidippus of Cos actually stayed standing close to the central presentation area long enough for Odysseus to notice how his eyes had narrowed at Iphitos' presentation.

Of the subsequent presentations, there was at least one huge cauldron of brilliant bronze, its immense weight supported by stocky tripod legs, large enough to fit a yearling sheep, brand new and still shining from its polish, with many accompanying cups, gilded gold and tin. Half of it were raided from distant lands, purred Ialmenus, son of Ares, of Orchomenus, evidence of his ability to provide for Helen, and the entire family she cared to give.

Odysseus did not look to the presenter when Ialmenus, as he prowled the length of the walkway, made eye contact with all of the suitors - challenging, fierce and terrifying.

It was easier to watch the other suitors watching Ialmenus and his twin brother, note how most drew back and --

Oh. Were there some who leaned forward, just a hint, of interest?

Well demigods were intense, in their own ways, and who was Odysseus to judge if other people had different tastes?

As soon as the presentations for the morning was done, Odysseus made to escape - he'd take lunch elsewhere, he thought, because the archery was going to happen today, after lunch, and he wanted to be properly warmed up --

Someone intercepted him before he could get to the door.

"Basileus of Ithaca, Laertiades?" the man, holding out his arm in greeting, made it such that Odysseus couldn't get past him politely. "Menestheus, son of Peteos, of Athens."

"... you are too humble, Basileus Menestheus," Odysseus said, offering his arm. "To just introduce yourself as being of Athens."

Menestheus laughed, a little. "Since I ascended to the title with little of my own credit," he said, clasping Odysseus' arm, "It is a little disingenuous to mention it, isn't it?"

As basileus of one of the largest and richest territories, he hadn't presented yet; there was no need for him to actually show off his position. Everyone knew who he was, in essence.

"I think you do a disservice to yourself," Odysseus said, "because it hardly matters how someone gets the title of basileus, but more how they keep it." Odysseus tilted his head a little, considering him. "And you've held the title quite long."

Despite the possible challenges from Theseus himself - though no one knew what happened to Theseus. But since Athens was currently peaceful, rich and prosperous, it seemed that Athens had no problems with their current leadership.

"It is all a matter of logistics," Menestheus said, waving his hand, exaggeratingly dismissive, and Odysseus did give a short laugh. "It's easy enough."

"Yes, logistics," he agreed, "though I believe some would think that management is a lot harder than bravely going forth and annexing a minor territory or tribe or two every so often."

"Ah, Bravery. Yes. Of which you have quite a bit of," Menestheus said, casually, looking across the room and then fixing his gaze quite clearly on Odysseus. Odysseus raised an eyebrow.

Odysseus had gone on no particularly famous raids - even the boar hunt that nearly claimed his life wasn't on par of the Calydonian Boar, divinely sent and divinely enraged. His own accomplishments even in these games weren't that noteworthy.

"Apologies, I have no idea what you mean," Odysseus said after a moment sorting through everything he could think of and coming up with nothing. "I am not a particularly brave warrior - nor have I expanded --"

"It takes a bold hearted man to approach the sons of Ares," Menestheus said, and Odysseus paused.

He had noticed that several of the other suitors had seemed … interested in the sons of Ares - he hadn't noticed Menestheus though - but Menestheus had likely been in the back, not pushing forward and…

"Would you…" Menestheus' voice trailed off and Odysseus smothered a smile at that. Even though he was interested, even though he was one of the most politically powerful basileis around here, he was nervous?

… Well, he thought, looking over Menestheus; he was tall, broad, and perfectly physically attractive. Of course, none of the basileis here could be said to be unattractive. And he was roughly the same age as the sons of Ares, probably had enough stamina to keep up with… whatever it was the sons of Ares might like.

Odysseus clapped the man on his broad shoulder. "The sons of Ares like people who aren't easily intimidated," he said, cheerfully, "Shall I introduce you?"

Ascalaphus sat up, alert, catching Ialmenus' attention. What was it? He turned to scan the direction his brother was facing and blinked - for the first time since the race, their rabbit was heading towards them?

Caught Ialmenus looking at him and instead of shying away, sped up, pushing through the crowd and -

"Ialmenus, Ascalaphus," Odysseus of Ithaca said, cheerfully, fearless as ever. "I heard you did very well at the wrestling yesterday!"

"A pity you weren't there, Ithaca," Ascalaphus murmured, low, deep, hungry, starting to get up. "Surely you would have preferred to have Ithaca put on a good showing."

"Terrible," their prey said, "I am absolutely terrible at wrestling, and would have given you no challenge at all. But!" he yanked the arm he was holding onto forward - "I'm sure the Basileus of Athens would have a lot to say about wrestling," he said, and beamed at them, vulpine and bright-eyed. "May I introduce you to Menestheus, of Athens?"

Ialmenus granted Menestheus some attention, as Odysseus cheerfully told Menestheus all about them - "great runners, and you saw them wrestling yesterday, didn't you? And they're identical," - and even though Ascalaphus leaned closer, that flush rising in Menestheus' ears and neck was …

Very much not. Fear.

Fear had a distinct scent - sour and sharp, while Athens was… while he did grip Odysseus' arm a little tightly, he did turn to them and the dark of his eyes were wide - blown. Ascalaphus actually cocked his head, made an inquisitive noise.

"Good luck, I'm sure you will all get along famously," Odysseus said, and then shoved Menestheus towards them and somehow managed to slip out of range like a fox before Ialmenus thought to grab him, and then there was just Athens, right there.

Bravely tipping his chin up and saying he was happy to meet them.

Well.

No one said that they only had to make the acquaintance of one little vulpine basileus at these games. A brave basileus of Athens wasn't bad prey either.

Odysseus helped with setting up the archery targets. Already it looked like a different set up from the usual archery competitions.

"Excited?" Thoas said, coming over to pick up yet another load of straw bound targets.

"It looks more like a javelin throw set up," Odysseus said. "Not just the usual long distance shoot…?"

"We figured you might like a challenge," Thoas said, grinning at him. "Had a good rest yesterday?"

"I was working," Odysseus said, "So -"

"And stayed over at Damasippus'," Thoas said, and grinned wider when Odysseus scrunched his nose at him. "So that's a yes to the rest. Which is good, you'll need it."

"Do you have to make it sound so dodgy like that," Odysseus said, following Thoas onto the field, and placing the targets where Thoas indicated. "What kind of rest -"

"Fortunately Damasippus knows your stamina very well," Thoas said, even more cheerful as Odysseus' ears went red, "so this should be calibrated to give you a good run."

Odysseus threw a target at Thoas.

Thoas snatched it from the air before it was anywhere near hitting him. "Don't break the targets, we spent ages making them," Thoas said.

"They're solidly made, they wouldn't fall apart so easily," Odysseus huffed, and Thoas just laughed at him.

"Just like you won't fall apart so easily," Thoas said, and dodged Odysseus' attempt at hitting him. "You've gotten faster, little brother!"

Odysseus attempted to sweep a foot at him - but Thoas dodged, still fast, not bothering to slow down as he might for when his sisters might use him for practice-throws. "Stay still!"

"Use your speed for the competition," Thoas said - and a sharp whistle sounded. "There, Perileos' signal! Go on, get warmed up."

"Should I be grateful you or Perileos aren't participating?" Odysseus said as he tossed the last target towards Thoas to set up and turned to run towards the starting line.

"Extremely grateful!" Thoas called back to him.

The rules, when explained, were exciting; this new event of archery was to run thus: there were to be three major rounds: each round had fifteen minutes as marked on the sundial, with point cut-offs for each batch. And an unlimited number of arrows.

Points were earned based on the targets' properties - arranged like the javelin throw targets of earlier, the furthest targets earned the highest points. But with the caveat that if another's arrow were to hit the target as well, then no points were awarded to any of the parties.

Odysseus could feel all the excitement rise around him as he shed his tunic.

Like the usual archery contests which would have a limited number of arrows and individual tracks, their positions were fixed along the start, but unlike the usual contests, they could shoot anywhere on the field, including each other's targets.

Odysseus was fortunate to be assigned the first round, while everyone was still considering the rules.

He handed his tunic to Polites, and took a few test shots - it took effort and concentration, but he could make the middle to last rows.

"This is going to be fun," Odysseus told him, and Eurylochus. "Sure you don't want to join in?"

"Saving my energy for discus," Eurylochus said, grabbing Odysseus by the shoulders, and giving him a good rough shake, to loosen up his shoulders and back. "Get us a prize for Ithaca, Laertiades!"

Odysseus grinned at them, spun back to the start line, Polites following him with an entire basket of arrows to refill his quiver. Along the same batch of a dozen competitors, he saw Meriones and Nestor's son Antilochus - far away from him on either end of the start line. He waved to them, and turned, side facing the targets.

And then Perileos whistled, again, shrill and high as a bird, and Odysseus pulled three arrows from his quiver.

One two three - and again. And again.

The arrows whistled through the air - thudding into the targets in front of him - in front of them. Odysseus didn't stop to check his opponents' speed - he had three arrows in his fingers, never leaving the string, one, two, three, then three again.

Polites was deft in refilling his quiver - he didn't bother to count how many he had left; every time he reached for three arrows, there were arrows to fit his fingers, to fit to his string. And as soon as the targets immediately in front of him were filled with his arrows - one each per target, he shifted aim - taking empty targets on either side of him, then further, further, all the way till he was aiming --

Another sharp whistle, and Polites grabbed him from releasing his last arrow.

"This first batch is done!" Thoas bellowed. "Next batch, take your places while we reset the arena!"

Polites dragged him back a little, to shove a waterskin into his hands, while Odysseus tried to crane and look to see how his score went.

When he checked the basket full of arrows, he did see that he had fewer than most of the others in the same row; so he'd used up more arrows - it didn't mean he got more targets though, so he had to wait for the count to be announced.

"I think you're going to get a really high score," Nireus said, as he passed Odysseus to take his place. "It looked like you hit all of your targets."

Odysseus beamed and nodded, flexing his hand. It was good to shoot, he thought, he hadn't done such speed shooting in a while. And there would be three rounds, at least? He could feel like his draw arm was almost glowing with warmth, so he started undoing his chitoniskos; he didn't need the extra layer now, he was going to get too hot soon, what with the sun heating the field.

Iphitos waved his bow to him, going to his position somewhere near one end of the field, and Odysseus waved back. Maybe later he'd ask Iphitos to show him his bow - it was dark and beautiful, and Odysseus itched to get his hands on it too.

"-- and the second score for the first batch is 90, Meriones of Crete; first score for the first batch is 121, Odysseus of Ithaca!"

The crowd erupted in cheers - Polites whooped, grabbing Odysseus in excitement - and fortunately braced when Eurylochus grabbed them both.

"For Ithaca, For Ithaca!" both Eurylochus and Polites cheered, right in Odysseus' ears, and he had to shove at them both to get out of their holds, grinning.

"It's only the preliminary!" Odysseus laughed.

"And you're gonna get top in the final round!" Eurylochus whooped, all but swinging Odysseus around.

"Don't dislocate my arm, or else I won't be able to get anything!" Odysseus laughed - but then he wasn't really going to stop them both from tumbling him all over the place - he was very pleased. What a huge lead, he thought! It looked like he might actually be able to get to the finals for the first time in one of the games.

"And now, second batch, on your marks!" Thoas barked, and everyone quietened down - they let go of Odysseus so he could shove his way to the side to watch.

And immediately he could see there was a difference.

When they had counted up the scores in Odysseus' batch, most of them were a single arrow to a target - there had been a few that were shot by different archers, and thus disqualified, but for the most part, everyone was courteous and kept to their own lane.

This batch though: they had realised that shooting another's target would disqualify the target - so a lot of them started shooting already shot targets.

And the best archer in this batch, was Iphitos - son of Eurytus who had once taught Heracles.

One of the twin sons of Ares was there, and it seemed like his entire aim was to sabotage Nireus and Iphitos - every target that Iphitos shot, the son of Ares would shoot another arrow in and negate that point, and then idly pepper Nireus' targets - and anyone else's - while waiting.

Was that - it wasn't technically against the rules - in fact most of the others were also doing the same, gleefully sabotaging each other by negating everyone else's points, with the majority aiming to destroy Iphitos' targets.

"Wow," Polites said. "Is anyone in this batch even going to qualify for the next round?"

Some of the nearest targets started bristling with three or more arrows with different coloured fletching - several competitors swore. Iphitos' back was to Odysseus', and he was too professional to swear , but he could read the slightest amount of tension in his old friend's shoulders for every careful shot he took.

"They're eliminating the lower scoring half each batch," Odysseus said, starting to pace around to the edge of the field to get a better look. "But if no one even scores a point, then …" If Iphitos didn't manage to score anything…

"Well shit," Eurylochus said, laughing in disbelief. "This is madness."

The last empty target near the front suddenly burst out with four different coloured arrows.

"You absolute shits!" Roared someone down the line, bristling bows blocking Odysseus' view. "Screw your fancy braids and your arrows, what in all the Gods' names was that for?!"

Some of the audience started laughing - cheering because - well. It was kind of funny.

Some of the other targets just started sprouting different coloured arrows - it was like everyone was not just trying to sabotage each other, they were trying to hit different targets - it was really impressive, how good everyone's aims was.

When Odysseus sought out Thoas, Thoas was busy laughing.

"Someone's going to start flinging fists," Odysseus said.

Along the row, yet another competitor started flinging insults, about someone's sheep and donkeys and some anatomical impossibilities.

"They'll run out of arrows first," Thoas said, tipping his chin, and Odysseus followed his gaze.

Oh.

That was true.

While it WAS "unlimited" arrows and a limited time period, there were in reality only so many arrows per competitor - and some of them were throwing more than one arrow into the same target just so they could get yelled at by the other archer.

The insults started to include sandal laces and extremely inadvisable hijinks with the arrow fletching and someone's dress sense. Odysseus bit his lip, trying not to laugh too.

Someone ran out of arrows, and fortunately, Thoas was keeping an eye out - with barely the smallest of waves to Odysseus he was there to stop said competitor from snatching his neighbours arrows to continue being a shit-stirrer. "Let's not disqualify ourselves," Thoas told him, and that at least got the others staying with their own baskets.

Perileos whistled the end of their timing anyway, and immediately someone had enough anger to overcome their wariness of the son of Ares and start yelling at him.

The need to maintain xenia kept them from actually throwing punches, especially right in front of the Spartan princes, but the insults got really inventive.

Eurylochus caught up with Odysseus as he tried to look for Nireus - passing by some of the more interesting insults - ah there were some starting to insult the produce of Phylace, which then turned into an insult match about the cattle of Cos, saying their beef tasted like olives.

"I wager no one is going to get any points here," Eurylochus said.

"Probably," Odysseus said, looking around and oh, right. "Nireus - that was horrific, I'm so sorry."

Nireus waved his hand. "It's fine," he said, "I wasn't good at archery, but…" he cast a look back - someone was still yelling at the son of Ares - and shuddered. "If he had been actually chasing me down… him destroying my targets is terrifying enough."

And it wasn't like the son of Ares - Ialmenus or Ascalapus - really was putting in all his effort to destroy Nireus' targets specifically. Simply that Nireus had been beside him and thus his targets had been in easy reach.

Compared to Iphitos.

When Odysseus made his way to Iphitos, his friend was standing very still, watching Thoas and Perileos and the others take the arrows out of their targets. It had been funny to watch, because saboteurs were always a little fun to watch in games, especially when some of the ones being sabotaged started cursing inventively (and behind him, Odysseus could hear someone give the son of Ares a very inventive run down of the ancestry of his territory's apples and what he could do with them), but Iphitos was the best archer in this batch.

In fact, Odysseus had been sure that the first prize winner for this event would have been Iphitos, despite Eurylochus and Polites' confidence in his ability.

But his friend was very, very still - arms and shoulders tense, and he barely twitched when Odysseus put his hand to his arm, eyes narrow as the Spartan with his wax tablet followed the sons of Icarius, and barely made a mark as they removed arrows from each target.

"I'm very sorry," Odysseus said.

None of the targets in front of Iphitos, Odysseus could see, were single shots - all had multiple arrows - quite a few were of even the same colour, just not Iphitos'; many of the other competitors of this round had been specifically targeting Iphitos' targets.

Iphitos unclenched his jaw.

"You did very well," Iphitos said, shaking himself, and giving Odysseus a smile that was almost unstrained. "I expected this, of course."

It was a lie - Iphitos wasn't particularly good at lying, and had never bothered to learn better; they had visited each other often enough for Odysseus to know his tells.

"Probably no one in this batch would even make it," Odysseus said. "Unless they do it over?"

Iphitos shook his head. "That would be against the rules," he said, "This was well within the rules as explained."

"But.."

Iphitos turned resolutely away from looking at the uncomfortable scene of the Spartan princes being unable to find a single score to award to anyone up to this point, and held up his bow to Odysseus. "You were looking, weren't you? Here."

Odysseus took it, running his hand over its smooth pine composite limbs, the sleek lines, its tips even curved away from him when he tested a draw.

"Oh, it's beautiful," Odysseus said, admiring its smooth even draw.

"It's almost the same draw-strength as your bow," Iphitos said. "The one my father made." The one that Iphitos had given Odysseus, once. The one he'd left in Ithaca.

"This - this is made by your father also?"

"I made this one as a gift, once," Iphitos said, quietly. "A composite of pine and ram's horn - so it's stronger, more flexible, you can tell." A gift, Odysseus thought, and the way Iphitos' gaze was quiet and just this side of sad, Odysseus knew that the bow had been meant for Heracles. Who wasn't around amongst mortals anymore.

Odysseus nodded, feeling its slightly heavier weight in his hand. "A pity that this bow might not continue through the rest of the event," Odysseus said. The Spartan princes and the others were conferring in a huddle now; the points looked like they were very hard to count.

Iphitos' smile was crooked, that asymmetrical curl of his lips. "Take it," he told Odysseus. "Take my bow."

"What."

"It's a loan, of course," Iphitos said, with almost a tease, "I don't think you have any knives to swap for it now."

"But..." Odysseus glanced at the end of the range. "Really?"

"The bow can at least go through the event," Iphitos said, and wrapped his arm around Odysseus's shoulders in a rough hug. "Take it through its paces."

"Oh," Odysseus said, looking up at Iphitos' eyes, and remembering how, when they'd first met, how Iphitos' voice had softened at the mention of Heracles.

These days he didn't talk about Heracles.

"I hope I can do this bow justice," Odysseus said, curling his finger over the string, tucking it against his archer's ring. "I will perform to the best of my ability."

And Iphitos nodded.

Chapter Text

After a long, long stretch of time, they finally announced the ones who would progress from the second batch: Nireus, son of Charopus, of Syme, with a score of 8. No one else had scored any points.

Iphitos gave Odysseus a smile that almost wasn't tight, and didn't seem to notice when Polites came up to Odysseus, still holding Odysseus' bow.

"So, uh, do we go and congratulate the son of Charopus," Polites said, voice at least pitched low.

"There's no need -" Odysseus started.

"It was a good game," one of the sons of Ares said - the only reason why Odysseus knew this twin had been the one who hadn't been shooting and sabotaging everyone on the second batch was because his chiton was tied over one shoulder - the twin who had just participated in the archery had stripped off his chiton entirely.

"I believe it was so, for your brother," Iphitos said, tightly.

"You put up a valiant fight, Iphitos of Oechalia," said Ascalapus-or-Ialmenus, "a very good chase and prey."

Iphitos gave him a long, level look, and turned away. "Use that bow well, Odysseus," he said to Odysseus, and then pointedly disappeared into the crowd - no one stood in his way at all.

"Would you put up as good a fight as the son of Eurytus, Ithaca?" the son of Ares said, that almost-golden, lupine gaze turning to Odysseus.

Odysseus grabbed Polites' arm, and hauled his much bigger friend in front of him.

"I'm too small for this," he said, and shoved Polites at the son of Ares, like he'd shoved sheep at the sons of Tyndareus, blatantly ignoring Polites' yelp, before running in the other direction.

Polites would be fine - Polites was a giant rock of stability and manners, and utterly boring to the sons of Ares - Odysseus would be able to put a lot of distance between them before they figured out how to get around Polites to find out where Odysseus had squirrelled himself.

The third batch, everyone played… well. It wasn't as terrible as with Iphitos' batch.

Most shot properly and straight - maybe because Philoctetes of Meliboea was in this round this time, famed Argonaut and apparently blessed with Heracles' words before Heracles had actually left for Olympus; no one wanted to really offend someone who had the direct favour of a god, however new a deity.

There was a strategy there, Odysseus figured; one had to shoot more accurately, in order to waste time to sabotage an opponent and still score points themselves. In Odysseus' batch, he barely needed to think to guard any of his targets - no one had tried to sabotage anyone in his batch. But now this third batch…

They were more careful - so the firing of arrows was slower, sabotage more strategic. This time, not many would be horribly eliminated, like in Iphitos' round.

While hanging out (not hiding) by Perileos' side, Odysseus could see the strategy that the sons of Ares were running - one to sacrifice himself, deliberately sabotaging Iphitos, and the other twin would play - mostly by the rules - in a subsequent batch.

Clever, Odysseus thought, as he ran his hand over the smoothed pine-and-horn laminated composite of Iphitos' bow, its smooth sanded lines so fine that he couldn't feel any of the joins of the laminated layers.

But then again, the sons of Ares couldn't be great warriors if they didn't use their brains and relied entirely on brute strength; their father could afford to rely on godly strength, for he was eternal and would live forever. His mortal demigod offspring had only one life to live.

As a battle strategy, it was a decent one - ruthlessness was necessary in military situations, Odysseus knew. But in an actual military or raiding situation, you only had one brother - you could only make such a sacrifice once.

In a game situation like this, it was a reasonable strategy - the consequences weren't lethal, and the strategy was replicable.

Others would have noticed, Odysseus knew - it meant that there would be others who would, in the next round, might make a similar play.

If Odysseus wanted, he thought, rubbing his thumb over the warm cord-wrapped grip of Iphitos' bow, he could also ask Nireus to do this strategy too. Sacrifice Nireus to ensure Odysseus advanced.

He glanced back down at his bow.

But then, how was that going to do justice to the bow Iphitos had made for a God who would no longer need it?

Heracles hadn't been the sort of man who needed to sabotage his competitors to win.

Odysseus leaned on the fence, watching his competitors - Philoctetes, and that young man - the half-brother of Ajax, son of Telamon - were extremely good - fast, accurate, their stances consistent.

"Was the counting for the previous batch very hard?" Odysseus asked, watching the other competitors watch Philoctetes and the son of Telamon.

"Horrid," Perileos made a face. "I didn't - we didn't expect it to be a complete wash. But it was..."

"Informative," Odysseus murmured. "There's a - there's another game … tomorrow, right? Before the closing banquet?"

"Day after tomorrow, yes," Perileos said, glancing at Odysseus. "I'd suggest not teaming up with the sons of Ares."

Odysseus raised an eyebrow at him.

"They don't hesitate," Perileos said. "At all."

They didn't hesitate to sacrifice one of their own for their strategy to eliminate the strongest opponent in the entire event. How ruthless.

But, Odysseus thought, as Perileos returned to scanning the competitors to ensure they were at least adhering to the rules of the game, such ruthlessness meant consequences. It might keep one of them further along in the game than they might otherwise manage - but in the team game afterwards though…

And possibly even other kinds of consequences. After all, Thoas and Perileos were also observing the competitors' behaviour. The Basileis Icarius and Tyndareus were observing.

In the stands, Helen's veiled form was still visible.

Odysseus wouldn't say that such a strategy was short-sighted - but it certainly was the kind of strategy that, in a life-or-death situation, gave you an advantage only once. So the pay-off had to be worth it. For the sake of a mere game like this…

Even if Nireus was willing, others watching would know just what Odysseus was willing to do, just like they all knew what the sons of Ares were willing to do.

This was, in the end, just a game.

And, Odysseus considered the bow; when he turned it, the different layers of its composite shimmered in the light. Layers of different properties, weight and flexibility and strength, all thoughtfully chosen; Iphitos wanted it to be shown to best advantage.

Well. Odysseus' own ability could at least get it to the finals. He should do that much justice to Iphitos' bow, and his training. Right?

"Well we get to see each other in the second round," Nireus said, as Odysseus started warming up again - he'd draped his chlamys over his shoulders earlier, just to keep his upper body warm, but now he had to limber up a little more, stretching his arms.

"Yeah," Odysseus said. "No hard feelings if I beat you?" he grinned.

"I shouldn't even be in this round," Nireus said, and gave Odysseus a crooked smile. "I think I scored anything by sheer fluke."

"It still counts," Odysseus said, and considered whether he should undo his other sleeve to the shoulder. The string wouldn't affect it but --

Wait.

Odysseus glanced around the field - there were a lot more non-suitors there now, subdued in dress and carrying… sacks. Lining up the sides of the field with shields… and bales of straw, placed a man's width apart.

"The second round," Thoas announced, "Has another rule."

Or rather, a new target type.

In addition to the normal targets, there were round straw targets. Same rules regarding the number of arrows - only one arrow of one competitor would be counted. But these were to be tossed like a perpendicular discus, across the field, parallel to the competitors. And once they were on the ground, no more shooting them.

Not that you could - a flat disc of straw would just land flat on the grass and be nearly impossible to see, let alone aim at.

Well. It might land on an arrow and thus be possible to aim at, if you had the time and accuracy -

But no one would have the time.

Odysseus took a test draw of Iphitos' bow, aiming to the air, right above where Thoas had tossed a demonstration disc, then back down to one of the normal targets. His sleeve pulled when he changed aim. He sucked at his lip, briefly, and then started undoing the pins of his chiton over his right arm, so his chitoniskos would only be pinned at the shoulders.

"Well that's going to be -" Nireus said, stopped.

"Be?" Odysseus said, dropping his pins into a waistpouch.

"Distracting," Nireus said.

"Yes," Odysseus agreed, rolling his shoulders back, checking his degree of freedom. Yes, all there, he could change aim while at full draw now, his chitoniskos no longer pulling anywhere oddly at his back. "But worth the points," Odysseus said. Each of the disc-targets were five points to the closest normal stationary target's one, Odysseus thought.

"Worth it," Nireus echoed, a little weakly.

"Do you think they'll throw the targets at a regular rate?" Odysseus said. "Or take turns from left to right?"

Or would they have a pattern at all?

He glanced towards Thoas; the Spartan prince was walking up along one side of the field, to check on the target-throwers - if Thoas noticed him looking and trying to discern any particular pattern, he didn't give a sign. Well then. Maybe it would be a throw-pattern - but the final would have none, Odysseus thought.

Each round having a different level of difficulty … Odysseus took a deep, breath to push his own excited breathing into regularity. This would be fun he thought.

Iphitos' bow was much springier than his own bow - the draw was barely different from his usual, but on release, the arrow snapped further and faster - going halfway through the nearer targets.

Odysseus had barely a moment to admire the strength of the bow when someone sent an arrow into his just shot target.

He risked one look to the side - it was the other son of Ares, announced to be Ascalapus when they had started for this round - and he grit his teeth.

Another three targets in quick succession -- and two immediately were lost; his third target almost got hit, but the arrow glanced off his, so it was safe.

For now.

He was, Odysseus realised, the one with the leading points - all their points were cumulative; so he had the greatest lead, with more than a hundred, while even Philoctetes had only ninety points, thanks to thoughtful and strategic sabotage in his batch.

So the strategic saboteurs from Philoctetes' batch were now gunning for Odysseus.

And - Odysseus glanced to where he knew Nireus' position was, though he didn't wait to focus on him.

Nireus wasn't a very good archer, but his help would have evened the playing field a little.

Ah, pride, Odysseus thought - but then, this would be how Iphitos would have done it, right?

Right.

So he was going to have to rely on speed - the bow would help, snapping back fast and hard at each draw, and he… would focus on the further targets - those would be harder to sabotage. Iphitos' bow was powerful enough that he could reach the far end of the field, if he could aim right --

He started aiming for the targets at the far end in front of him, three arrows in his hand at each take from his quiver, then four, when he noticed that at least one or two of his targets would be immediately taken out, to the deep groans of the crowd. At least they noticed that - and weren't laughing (too much).

Further it was then.

He'd fallen into a rhythm, somewhat, aiming for the furthest ends of the field, when suddenly discs started flying in the field of his vision.

Odysseus took a few heart-beats to check to see if there was a pattern; he had a few minutes, a large point lead, and the discs were worth five points.

It was always worth stopping to observe anything (other suitors, a fight, whose tent it was…) even if for a few breaths.

There was a pattern - left-right alternating, the time it took to throw four, then a break, and then left-right alternating again.

Simple pattern.

And it was a simple under handed toss, more distance than height, with very little spin -

Odysseus pulled four arrows out and then slammed four arrows through the flying discs - one two three four --

Through.

One of his arrows went through the target, punching a hole through its centre, and the target hit the ground without his arrow.

Well, Odysseus thought. Great.

He couldn't just shoot full draw at the flying-discs, then. It would have wasted his time if his arrows went through - so he had to draw less than full for the discs, full draw for the furthest targets.

But if it was a challenge for him, it was a challenge for the others too - the flying discs were distracting, hard to stick with an arrow, and even more difficult to sabotage.

So he could focus on the flying discs, and when the throwers took their five count break, he could fire off nearly six more shots to the back of the field, trying his best to line the furthest row of targets with his arrows.

People tended to fall into patterns - roughly five counts, then a volley of those discs. He could wait, ensure he had four arrows in his hand and then - there. A movement from the either side of the field - the men were readying -- and now.

First, from the left, too slow, low - he couldn't get that one, it would land too far for his arrow to reach, someone else would make the attempt - and yes, an arrow flew out, hit the edge of it, far away from where Odysseus could reach; the disc spun, flipping over itself and smacked into the ground too fast, too poorly for anyone to take a second shot.

The crowd gasped in disappointment.

Second, from the right, a nice slow and just above head-level - he only had to aim up a little and he released - there the arrow hit, a little off-centre, but the arrow stuck, dropping it to the ground.

Third, from the left again - now this one was nice - long horizontal distance, faster - Odysseus could make it…. Release, and done.

Fourth - very high, very fast -- that was a bad one; Odysseus tracked it - and his fingers nearly twitched when he saw another arrow shoot by, trying to get it - but the target hadn't yet reached its apex, hadn't yet slowed --

He waited, two breaths - it slowed and now he released.

His arrow knocked it, flipping and spinning but - importantly, the arrow had stuck, so it landed, target flat on the ground with Odysseus' arrow up in the air.

The throwers' five beat break now - he scanned the back of the field. He knew how Thoas and Perileos thought - they would use some of the natural environment if they could, just to be sneaky shi-- ah there --

Right in the back, barely out of sight - he wasn't in the best position on the line, but at least he wasn't far right - far right wouldn't even see it at all.

Full-draw, release, and he couldn't help the uptick of his mouth when his arrow struck it - just a second before another arrow tried, from the left, but fell short.

Iphitos' bow was really a distance shooter, he thought, and decided to use the breaks between volleys of flying targets to find the hidden targets.

There hadn't been any in the preliminary round that he'd noticed, but maybe he'd been playing it too straight - certainly no one had found any then, and Thoas hadn't directed Odysseus to any odd places when Odysseus had been helping set up …

But there. In a tree just beyond the last targets on the ground in the field - on the fork right above where it'd been trained to first branch, nestled neatly at eye height; a small target, dark straw the same colour as the pale bark.

So alone, and unseen; Odysseus grinned and drew Iphitos' bow back, pulling till his shoulders and back arched, a bit more - and then released.

Aaaand he scored.

Stationary targets further down probably weren't worth five points, but at least the same as the officially visible ones furthest from the shooting line.

Heh.

Then another volley of thrown targets - the throwers were the same, their habits similar - but the low-and-slow one from the left, Odysseus could anticipate, and had been waiting for it, released from the bow.

The crowd cheered - maybe for him. Odysseus felt the answering glee bubble up in him - it wasn't that hard a shot, it -- second, from the right - oh perfectly even and at eye level, so thank you, that was his now.

Another disc - the trajectory looked bad too fast -- someone tried, and went over, and Odysseus tracked it, aiming lower, below -- released.

And the disc spun out before his arrow could hit it - another arrow had shot in like a falcon diving in, snatched his target from him. Odysseus risked a glance to his side - Philoctetes was setting another arrow to his string, and then aiming, to the backdrop of louder cheers.

Philoctetes was a clear crowd-favourite - that was fine, he was good.

Odysseus took a deep breath, refocused. Back to the stationary targets now - find them. The tree was likely Perileos - Perileos could climb, Thoas hated it - Thoas preferred chest level or lower---

There, a wheel-less wagon at the same 'just-further down from the field' distance as that tree with the target, looking like it was waiting for repairs, but right inside, Odysseus could see the woven straw between the slatted sides.

No one else had noticed; it didn't look like it might house a target.

Odysseus grinned and drew back, feeling Iphitos' bow creak just a little, aimed for that narrow space between the slats, and released.

It became a rhythm of hunting down the strange and weird targets in between taking down the discs. The hidden targets were in odd places: in a tree-trunk that some of the others had already tried to get, but failed because of angle or distance; a hay bale that looked like it was meant to be a shield for one of the throwers, but there was no one near it - a target peeked out just barely visible from his angle.

He had to twist, consider the wind angle, and then just barely managed to curve a shot to it - the crowd actually cheered at that, loud and nearly deafening - did someone shout Ithaca!, clear enough over the roar of cheers?

Or maybe he imagined it - but it was a worthy shot - not even the sabotaging son of Ares could stop that.

And the crowd! The noise from them got louder, and louder for every shot he made, could hear and see being made - their timing was nearly up.

If anyone had sabotaged his shots, Odysseus couldn't care less - he'd made most of the far shots he could find - he'd found some of the hidden targets - Perileos and Thoas, maybe even Aletes and Damasippus, might have hidden more, he'd ask them after this round, whether they'd move any for the finals - so he could quite, very cheerfully, consider this a big win.

His whole body felt like it was buzzing, by the time Perileos whistled his shrill whistle to stop - which was when he could feel his chiton was sticking to his back, clinging wetly, with every breath.

The audience erupted in a great applause - it had been a really fun one, Odysseus thought, dropping his bow-arm and exhaled at the slight burn. Wow, that was a good burn.

He really hoped he'd get to the next round - what would they have come up with next?

Odysseus' big lead was whittled down to a mere five points, compared to Philoctetes' points - and Teucer, son of Telamon, brother of Great Huge Ajax. But this time the counting wasn't humiliating. It was fairly good - Odysseus had guessed right; the hidden targets weren't worth as much as the flying discs, but of the hidden ones that people had shot, Odysseus had managed three out of every five.

Taking that extra time to hunt down hidden targets had been worth it.

Thoas did mention that they weren't putting back the hidden ones already shot, but he'd given Odysseus an almost-wink, which meant that there were more hidden targets; they'd just hidden them ahead of time.

There was no rain predicted for weeks; the straw targets would be safe from the elements and all but the stray, escaped sheep.

"You're still top," Eurylochus exclaimed, excited, and shaking Odysseus by the arm. "You're gonna get first!"

"Just this round!" Odysseus said, managing to wriggle out from under Eurylochus and grab at the towel that Polites had. "Here - give that to me -"

And then he was unpinning his chitoniskos from his shoulders, pulling it off over his head and then.

He was sweaty - they only had another quarter hour break before the next, final round - he would still be warm, then.

"Congrat --," Nireus said, coming up to him, and stopping.

"Thanks!" Odysseus said, scrubbing the towel through his hair. "You did fairly well."

"More than single points," Nireus managed to say, looking red in the face.

"Yeah, you should go take a break, Syme," Eurylochus said, a little concerned. "You looked like you were struggling a bit?"

"Archery isn't my strong suit, no," Nireus said, gratefully taking a waterskin that Iphitos handed to him.

"Go and take a break in the shade," Iphitos told him, then turned to Odysseus to give him a once over.

"I love the bow," Odysseus said, "did… that was great, right?" He had done well by it?

"That was great," Iphitos said, "You were beautiful out there." And Odysseus beamed at him.

While taking a break in the shade, Odysseus looked over the field again, flexing and rotating his arms, slowly.

The next round, he thought, was going to be just as hard, or trickier. There were likely more hidden targets he - they - hadn't found yet, and then there were flying targets.

Maybe more of the flying discs, or maybe they'd switch up the pattern. Or perhaps actual birds? Odysseus pondered his strategy; there was Philoctetes, Teucer, and Meriones, who had not let down the Cretan reputation, Ascalapus and another, all of them were excellent archers, good enough to sabotage and take points - what was Odysseus' edge? He only had a few points in the lead but Philoctetes was a better archer than he was, and more powerful, he could shoot straight from one corner to the diagonally opposite corner of the field without breaking a sweat - and do it consistently.

Odysseus glanced to Iphitos' bow - Iphitos had unstrung it to check it over and give it a new string.

"This is physically heavier than your normal bow," Iphitos said, considering him, tipping his chin towards it. "How're you faring with it?"

"I love it," Odysseus said, again. He said it before, didn't he? Yes. yes he had. "It's got a beautiful spring, and I shoot very far, straight, and faster."

Iphitos hummed, mouth curving a little at that.

"But, I'm going to have to apologise in advance," Odysseus said.

Iphitos hooked another string onto one of the bow tips. "Why?"

"I'm unlikely to be able to use it for the entirety of the finals," Odysseus admitted, and then slapped his bicep - Polites jumped, nearly upending water onto Eurylochus. "I'm nearly wiped out."

Iphitos laughed, and then hooked a longer simple cord over the bow's tips, large loops hooking over the curved ends, stepping onto the longer string, and pulling the bow with a single fluid motion as he stood, to easily string its string over the tip.

"Then swap to your own bow," Iphitos said, unlooping the cord from the bow, and tossing it to Odysseus to wind up. "It's fine. The performance was worthy, you made it through to the finals, and that's enough." Iphitos smiled at him - or the bow - it was nearly the same thing, with Iphitos.

Odysseus had noticed his own elbow dropping a little - it'd taken a bit more thought to remember to straighten his arm near the end of the round.

"I will still use it," Odysseus promised. "The distance I can achieve with it is unparalleled."

Iphitos looked at him - "You'll.."

"I'll still use it," Odysseus smiled up at him, and held out the rolled up cord to Iphitos, and curled his other palm to Iphitos' bow, adding a winsome glint to his expression.

Iphitos spun the bow, laughed and shook his head, exchanged the bow for his cord. "You use that smile on the princes of Sparta, and they're soft as butter in summer, mm?"

"Butter melts into liquid if left out too long," Odysseus sniffed, "And would ruin the dough, Ctimene says."

Iphitos barked a laugh. "I haven't seen her for a while! Your sister… Is she going to come to Sparta?"

"For the wedding, yes," Odysseus said. "You…. you're not married yet, right, Iphitos?"

"Already sure I would lose this suit," Iphitos said, amused, "And thus would be single?"

"I - well -"

Iphitos laughed at him, and tucked his cord into his pouch. "If your sister knew you were putting my name to hers," Iphitos said, "I'm going back to Oechalia and never stepping foot out of it. She never forgave me for making you clean the stables."

Odysseus pouted.

"There's no point pouting," Iphitos said, and took a towel from Polites' supply and dumped it on Odysseus' head, roughly scrubbing, even though Odysseus' sweat had already dried. "It won't get you your way in this case."

"I'm! Not pouting! Grown basileis don't pout!"

Iphitos snorted. "Sure they don't." Let go of the towel to smack at Odysseus' biceps. "Keep warm, you're going to start soon."

"You're not going to watch me?"

"Certainly not from behind," Iphitos said, "What's there to see from behind? Your back? I want to see what other tricks the sons of Icarius have - after all, this might give me a hint as to what manner of creature Basileus Tyndareus might want us to shoot for his daughter's hand. As a trial."

The pointed look that Iphitos gave Odysseus made him laugh - Iphitos had heard the rumour then, and knew whose idea that was.

"I'll have you know I have a beautiful back," Odysseus said, tipped his head back, saw Nireus watching. "Right? Nireus! I have a beautiful back!"

Nireus choked on his water in surprise, turned red.

Oops, Odysseus waved in apology.

"Terrible," Iphitos said.

The final round, Perileos announced, would have these little targets now.

Little round leather balls stuffed with wool, the size of half a man's fist.

These were worse, Odysseus realised, staring at the little ball that Thoas passed to them to let them see and touch. The cow leather was just thick and tough enough that if the shot wasn't directly straight on, the arrows would glance right off.

They were small - and thus worth ten points.

Small, round, and all but impossible to sabotage.

"Ready! On your marks!"

Just the six of them, now, Odysseus thought, checking down the line. He'd been assigned to a spot right at the edge - well, edge for six people on the line.

Made it easier for him to see who would try to sabotage him - but it meant that the targets in the far corner were further than what he'd managed for the previous rounds, when his position was more central.

As they went to line up for the final round, Odysseus decided to unpin his chiton, letting the fabric fall down his sides, bunching over his belt.

Someone gasped behind them - Odysseus could see, out of the corner of his eyes, the son of Ares and Meriones were doing the same thing, stripping fabric off their shoulders and stripping to the waist.

Yes, Odysseus agreed, some people had impressive musculature.

Ascalaphus turned to look deliberately at him, smirked.

Odysseus pointedly looked away.

Looked at the men lining the side of the field…

There were more of them than for the flying discs, he realised. On either side. Nearly twice as many actually.

And then one of them unhooked something from his belt…

A sling, Odysseus realised.

Slings.

They weren't going to throw the balls.

No.

They were going to shoot them. Fling them into the air at a much faster rate than the flying discs - at a faster speed than pigeons.

They'd be able to concuss a few unlucky pigeons if they were so unfortunate as to cross the field at the wrong time.

"Interesting," Odysseus heard, like a breath on wind, almost an actual voice.

But when Odysseus looked around, there was no one but the five other competitors, and Perileos calling out for them to ready their bows.

Then the whistle to Start and Odysseus snatched up four arrows.

Furthest targets first, he told himself - aiming to shoot the ones in the furthest corners, then the ones closer to them - give himself some time to observe any pattern for the balls --

Barely ten breaths into the start of the round, balls started launching.

Both sides at once.

A few breaths to check, to see if there was a pattern - okay, good, yes, there was one - alternating. At first it had seemed like there was a wave, because it had been just nearly two dozen balls launched into the air across his visual field - but another beat and yes. There.

Each side alternated, down the line, furthest away to closer, two beats after each launch.

Alright.

But there was no break between each set of launch, the way that there had been with the flying straw discs.

With slings, the balls flew across the entire length of the field - and unlike the flying discs, which had been thrown more or less parallel to the shooting line, the balls were not necessarily launched directly parallel - some were flung at diagonals - sailing over in a remarkable parabola towards the end of the field.

No wonder they were worth ten points -

Odysseus took a deep hard breath and forced himself to focus. Right. Stationary targets - snatch those; set up a rhythm for himself - eight for targets, then eight for balls, then repeat again. Focus against the flying targets - he must aim low, to ensure that his arrows didn't get knocked out of their path from the balls.

There was literally no time for sabotage.

He didn't have time to wait and see if someone was going to attempt to take out his stationary targets - he just had to shoot and go, aim for a target and set another in flight before the flying balls --

"Aim lower." A snatch of a rustling branch.

Odysseus dropped his aim, lower - before his mind caught up. Who said that?

"Release. Nock. To the right." a deer lifting its ears, twitching - there was no logic, just instinct; he thought his arrows hit the targets - that was three, then another four.

"Knee." Leaves, snapping against the back of his knee, and he dropped to one knee - it lost him the power of his back muscles, but that arrow slammed straight into a ball, a foot from the ground. Wasn't what he had been intending to shoot, but that was ten points now.

"Thanks," Odysseus breathed - scrambled back upright - he wasn't sure he heard anything - there was a cheer rising up, a roar, of it, from around, the stands, behind him - he shook his head. There had been no reply.

He was hearing things.

He must focus. No one would be talking to him right now.

Fall into a rhythm, aim past the flying balls to the stationary targets, focus on those - empty his hand of arrows, reach for another four. Repeat. Again.

Then aim for the balls - rapid, flying things - which ones would be better?

"Aim high for the faster ones."

That hadn't been words - or if it was, that was his own thoughts, and his gaze caught one, already arcing up higher than the rest, flying towards the end of the field … and then slowing, just a hint….

He couldn't even see where it was going to go - there was no time to think. Just aim his bow slightly below, release.

Arrow, nock, again, his eye snatching one ball that first caught his attention and then draw and release.

He thought he heard the crowd - Ithaca! ITHACA! - but that was his own heart-beat, his own breaths.

Four more for the balls - two glanced off the balls, knocking them down and away - he didn't think, just shot again, his third arrow, drawn tight and full and it slammed into the ball, falling and landing in a target.

He didn't have time to check if he'd accidentally sabotaged someone else's target - or even wonder whether it counted as a sabotage - four more arrows in his hands and there were targets right in front of him.

His bow arm started to burn - slow, minor, ignorable.

Draw. Aim.

There, a target in a bush.

Aim. Release.

The arrow wouldn't stay straight - he - the weight. The weight was dropping his elbow.

He sucked in a breath, and sacrificed two heartbeats to hold the bow out to his side - and hands grabbed it from him, put his other bow into his hand.

Immediately lighter - he could straighten his bow arm, and draw, release.

Four arrows again.

Keep to the pattern. Eight to stationary targets, eight to the flying balls.

Nock, draw, release.

Repeat.

The string of the bow started to rub on the side of his index finger - a dry, slight rasp.

Ignorable. Put it aside.

Aim, shoot - the balls were moving, arcing in the air and he had no time to actually see them, just predict where they would be, shoot, release.

His arms were starting to be… warm. Very warm.

He shifted, leaning forward, pushing that warmth, redistributing the strength and need into his back.

The burn faded, receded, he could draw, release.

Push on, push into each nock-draw-release.

Time them with each breath.

Inhale. Hold. Release, breath with arrow.

"Left. Down."

Aimed left, down, and a ball was shot right through - an arrow of golden birch, with silver fletching, glinting brilliantly in the sun, bright enough to blind.

A roar erupted around him - ITHACA! Come on!! -- and the arrow was his, normal pine, normal white fletching.

He blinked. Blinked again. And then made himself pick out his arrows.

Out of the corner of his eye, to his left, where there was no one, he could see a wild, flash of a smile - fangs of hounds leaping through a shadowy forest, hair streaming back, in a wind that wasn't there. A flutter of silver gauze, like mist, in the air like a peplos slit high up above the knee.

Wild gold, golden eyes and a slash in the air, gold-silver crescent, a snap and release of nothing but air and then.

A blink and nothing.

"I-THA-CA! I-THA-CA!!"

He was hearing things - every breath rasped in him - was it better to rasp, than to burn along his arms?

Arrow. Nock, draw. Release.

Again.

Again. And again.

Ball. Target.

Draw. Release --

His arms were burning - he shifted, arched, trying to push the burning back - but he was at full draw and his arms were burning; holding his breath kept his bow arm steady.

Vision narrowed.

Ball.

Release.

Exhale..

Inhale, Arrow. Nock, draw --

Hands on his shoulder and digging in.

Odysseus jerked, - and then hand over his, on the bowstring.

"Time's up, Odysseus," Perileos said.

It took several blinks before Odysseus could just, relax his draw, loosen the arrow, and Perileos let go, carefully.

And then Odysseus flopped down to his knees, taking a huge, gasping breath and oh, wow, there, everything was burning now.

Perileos pressed a hand to the back of his neck. "You're alright?"

Odysseus waved his arm. "Dying," he gasped.

"Where's that other Ithacan -- you, Eurylochus, correct? Here -"

And then Odysseus was spun around to blink at Eurylochus - Perileos had disappeared across the field.

"That was amazing," Polites said, trying to take the bow from Odysseus' hand. "You just wouldn't stop shooting - hey, are you okay?"

Odysseus clenched harder on the grip, sound filtering back to him.

There were people loudly discussing, shouting their commentary, in the background and now he -

He wasn't sure he could feel his arms through the burning. His fingers felt numb. Maybe? Did he have fingers left?

"Here, give it to me," Iphitos said, gently. "Let go, mm? Shake your hands out."

Odysseus blinked. "When'd you get here," he said, looking around - Polites was now holding out a waterskin and towel, his tunic folded neatly over his arm, and Iphitos took the bow from Odysseus' hand, passing it to Eurylochus.

"Just now," Iphitos said, "Ran all the way from the stands."

And then his hands were pressing on Odysseus' bicep of his bow-arm, squeezing hard enough that Odysseus yelped.

Iphitos made a little noise - clicking his tongue at him, and Odysseus laughed breathless. "Am. Your horse?"

"If you were, you'd actually stay still for the rub-down," Iphitos said, and squeezed again.

Odysseus kicked out - Eurylochus narrowly avoided getting whacked in the shin. "Hey!"

"Sor-!" Odysseus wheezed, and managed not to kick again when Iphitos moved his hands over Odysseus' shoulders, and then smacked him in the back. "Ow - fu-- !?"

"You don't really do endurance shooting," Iphitos noted.

"What," all three of them, Odysseus, Eurylochus and Polites, said.

"The usual archery event is over in less than five minutes per person," Iphitos said, "and shooting a released living target? Less than even that."

Iphitos shoved Odysseus towards Polites- Polites caught Odysseus by the arm as he staggered. "Hey, what -"

But that was true, Odysseus realised. The usual event was a fixed number of arrows - usually no more than five, shot in less than five minutes; a living target release was only one arrow until the target went down or flew away.

"Do what I'm doing," Iphitos told Polites.

"Why?" Polites said, flinging the waterskin and towel and Odysseus' tunic one handed - one after the other - at Eurylochus till he resembled a laden-donkey, to free up his hands and could also dig into Odysseus' arms.

"Ow ow ow ---!"

"Or else he'll cramp up," Iphitos said. "Harder. "

"OW."

Odysseus was still burning, now with added torture, as Iphitos shoved him down so he could dig his elbow into his back, and Odysseus still hadn't quite remembered how to breathe - when Teucer stopped by him.

"Did you hear? We tied for second place. That was some really good shooting," Teucer said, cheerfully. "Odysseus of Ithaca."

"Thanks," Odysseus said, not sure if they had even been introduced - Iphitos was turning his back into - "GAH. but you're not gasping like. A. landed fish so -" Odysseus gestured a little, and dropped his arm with a grimace. Having arms was a mistake.

"Don't be too harsh on yourself," Teucer said, smiling brightly at him, something like his great huge brother in his smile when he decimated a few targets with his javelins. "You were sabotaged the most. Shot a few of your targets myself."

Odysseus managed to lift his head to give him a VERY narrowed glare.

Teucer laughed.

"You - and Philoctetes aren't dying," Odysseus managed, yelped when Iphitos smacked him in the back. "Ow!"

"There, you won't cramp up now," Iphitos said, cheerfully. "Where's your friend Polites gone? "

"Sadist," Odysseus said, and refocused on Teucer.

"You had to compensate for your sabotage on your own," Teucer said. "And still tied with me. We should train together."

"You could," Iphitos said. "He's really good, and you could do with the stamina training."

Odysseus gave them both the side-eye.

"I wouldn't mind that," Teucer said, grin almost shit-eating, and then turned to Iphitos. "Hello, Iphitos, Son of Eurytus? It was a shame we didn't get to compete."

"If you are up for it, there's the other, fixed distance archery event in an hour," Iphitos said. "It won't be completely fair, of course, since you just did … well, an endurance event and I'm very fresh."

"It is hardly a shame to lose to you," Teucer said, "Odysseus was using your bow, wasn't he? Are you going to use the same one?"

"I have a different bow for that event--"

Odysseus groaned, dropping onto the grass.

Iphitos would find Teucer his new best friend. They were both nuts for archery.

"Just, both of you, go away over there and leave me to die in silence," Odysseus said, and Iphitos, a sadistic traitor, actually took Teucer's arm - did walk off with him, out of earshot.

Lovely.

Hmph.

Odysseus stared up at the sky, taking large heaving breaths. His arms were still leaden weights at the ends of his shoulders. Back. Torso. He wasn't going to be moving for hours.

"Are you going to lie there."

Odysseus turned his face a little, stared at feet in sandals. "Yes," Odysseus said. "I'll just die here - they'll have to set up the next event here over my prone body."

Another sucking breath as he twitched his fingers.

Movement; crouching down by his head.

Wait.

He didn't recognise this voice. A low, dry sort of voice, just high enough he wasn't sure it was a man's, but still low enough he couldn't swear it was a she … he tipped his face up a little and looked up into the face of a woman, her gaze the colour of that gold-birch arrow he could have sworn was the trick of the light.

"... are you going to participate in the next event too? Lady Artemis?" Odysseus said after a moment when he thought his heart had stopped.

"No, it seems boring," Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt said. "But this event was more interesting, little Odysseus of Ithaca."

"... That's… that's good," Odysseus said. He couldn't sit up if he tried.

"And you were very good at taking commands," Artemis mused, and her smile was.

Sharp. Fangs of hunting hounds, talons of swooping falcons, the sharp rending edge of beak and arrow.

"I endeavour… I shall endeavour to continue thus," Odysseus said. "Lady."

She cocked her head, and then laughed; dry as the breeze ruffling a wolf's ruff. "A worthy endeavour," she said, and when he blinked - she was gone, grass not even dented by her sandals.

Well.

Why couldn't she have gone to visit Teucer? Or Philoctetes? Or even Meriones, who was Cretan and known to be a very decent archer? Why Odysseus?

Chapter Text

Menelaus had finally decided to talk to someone - Ajax, the son of Telamon. It was only, what, three days? At least he didn't take the entire week to calm his nerves - maybe seeing Meriones of Crete screw up his presentation had helped a little.

Today's presentations had delineated more of the politics a little more clearly, especially in the region of Cos and Oechalia - medium sized territories that were only able to be civil with each other because starting anything would just have even larger tribes swoop in to take advantage of unrest.

Ajax's half brother Teucer had just finished the final round for the archery event - which was why Menelaus had dragged Agamemnon down to the field, and promptly lost himself in the mass of participants and viewers who had been extremely excited about this archery event.

Agamemnon had thought that the initial set up was ridiculous - an unlimited amount of arrows, over such a long period of time? While counting more than one arrow by different competitors as no points - it had opened them up to sabotage and humiliation; Iphitos of Oechalia would likely not be forgiving of Ialmenus, son of Ares, nor of the Spartan brothers for setting him up to be humiliated and eliminated so easily.

But then introducing flying targets of different points in the later rounds - oh now that, that had been ingenious. To be expected of the sons of basileus Icarius, he thought; both a way to even out the playing field and entertain the viewers.

Menelaus had been very struck with Teucer's performance, he said, so he'd wanted to go speak to him. Maybe finally make a connection with him and his larger, stronger brother Ajax - a worthy ally, all told - Telamon had been a great warrior of his own, led his own great number of men in helping Heracles against a great city at one point. His sons would hardly be unworthy allies.

One of the surprises though, was Laertiades.

Nireus of Syme getting to the second round hadn't been a surprise - he had simply been too poor at archery to be worth sabotaging too much - and had been wiped out in the second round with extreme promptness, as soon as the flying discs started being thrown.

But Laertiades …

Agamemnon had arrived at the field early enough to notice that Odysseus had been helping out with the setup of the targets - he might have been wriggling information out of the sons of Icarius that way.

Charming them - as per usual.

And then.

Agamemnon had looked away, just before the final round - Aegialeus had come by to talk to him, making casual conversation about how well Agamemnon must know Sparta, having lived in Sparta for several years before managing to take Mycenae.

(There was nothing casual about this conversation, of course. Menelaus had done very well in the weight-lifting event, even if he hadn't won a third prize. Well. It was that or maybe Aegialeus was feeling out a potential liaison with his brother; which. Actually, wasn't a bad thing. Might be a good thing. Preferably after Menelaus' presentation though, to prevent potential sabotage, or the prince of Argos from trying to gain some advantage before Menelaus could show himself to best advantage to Tyndareus.)

He'd been distracted, just for a moment - and when his attention yanked back to the field with the starting whistle, he'd been stunned.

Odysseus had stripped to the waist, all of his back put on display.

Odysseus had disappeared from wrestling yesterday; but the first day, he'd been at the racing event and javelin throwing event. Agamemnon had noticed him, how he'd refused to strip down like the others, playing at some sort of superiority, perhaps, or maybe some sort of modesty; which had to be one of his most obvious lies, since when every time the young man opened his mouth, slick, silvery flirtation would fall right out.

One of the most obvious ways to solicit attention, Agamemnon had seen from youths, was to pretend disinterest or reluctance, which only made older men more interested, tantalized them with what they couldn't get.

(And Agamemnon would know about 'tantalizing', wouldn't he? He could recognise such a trick from a mile off; and Odysseus was too clever not to know that history, the history of the House of Tantulus, Atreus' grandfather.)

Everyone had seen how Odysseus had approached the sons of Ares, then run away; unlike most of the participants in throwing javelins, Odysseus had not even taken down his chiton at the shoulder - kept his chiton pinned up like it wouldn't hinder his throw.

But now, suddenly during the final of this archery event? He was putting himself on display?

Suddenly Odysseus just had to strip down to the waist, letting the fabric trail down over his belt, flutter around his thighs like a barely modestly wrapped himation, or a chlamys about to be stripped off --

If he'd been showing off his arms in the second round, he was showing off his entire - upper body - in the final round - and it had been working.

Most of the audience had been riveted - even half the competitors had been distracted - which may have been the point.

Odysseus wasn't as good an archer as Philoctetes or that son of Telamon, and not as strong nor have as much stamina as the sons of Ares.

He would have needed an edge, or else he'd have been wiped out like the pretty, almost-blond Nireus of Syme.

Maybe he was soliciting attention - he'd somehow gotten the attention of Iphitos of Oechalia; Iphitos, son of Eurytus, hero and diplomat of Oechalia who had had sacrificed his relationship with Heracles to get the Calydonian army to stand down.

Iphitos had given Odysseus his bow - lending him that edge to maintain his lead in the second round.

And then, as Agamemnon made his way down to the field, following his brother, he could see, over the crowd of people, Iphitos putting his hands all over Odysseus' bare shoulders and back, while Odysseus writhed. In public.

Making ridiculously over the top noises - it was enough to make Agamemnon fume.

By the time Agamemnon could disentangle himself from his brother dragging him all around to look for the older son of Telamon, Iphitos had at least disappeared, Odysseus was upright and talking to his retinue - the big burly other Ithacan. Said Ithacan handed Odysseus a fat waterskin.

"-- sure you don't want to join us?" Odysseus said, uncapping the water skin and then - instead of drinking it, poured it over his face, sluicing water into his hair, over his throat -

Agamemnon had to pause, to avoid getting splashed, and glared at the way water just.

Ran down Odysseus' throat, pooling briefly in his clavicles, before overflowing to trickle and drip in rivulets over pectorals and laterals that were glowing from the sun's heat.

When he shook his head, water flung off his dark curls in glittering, rainbow arcs.

"No, I'm not going to kill my arms, archery is your thing, I like wrestling way more," said the other Ithacan.

"But you should improve your archery skills, I'll ask Iphitos for a lighter bow --" Odysseus paused, gaze flicking towards Agamemnon.

"Odysseus of Ithaca," Agamemnon said.

For a moment there was something flashing in Odysseus' eyes, flitting there, and gone - but it wasn't like he could tell what it was - there was water clinging to his eyelashes as he blinked.

"Basileus Agamemnon," Odysseus said, level and even. "Congratulations on your success in Mycenae."

Tsk. He'd neglected to use Odysseus' title. No matter how he'd charmed his father into conferring it onto him, it was real enough, and Agamemnon had slipped up. "Thank you," Agamemnon said, "it was a long time in coming. And congratulations on your winning -"

"Tied second, with Teucer, of Salamis," Odysseus said.

"For tying second, Basileus Odysseus."

Odysseus gave him a thin smile, and a slight incline of his head. "Thank you, Lord Agamemnon." Passed his waterskin back to his man, and took a towel from him. "Were you going to participate in the next archery event? Or maybe the discus throwing?"

"Archery isn't my thing," Agamemnon said.

"Ah. Pity." Odysseus turned slightly away from Agamemnon, wrapped the towel around his hair, squeezing briefly, before dropping it down over his shoulders, rubbing it briefly over his shoulders, and then roughly down his back. It might have been almost dismissive, but Odysseus couldn't dismiss Agamemnon from a conversation, not with their relative positions.

"But it seems that archery is yours," Agamemnon said.

"Yes. I like shooting." Odysseus' tone was a little clipped, but that was from him briskly rubbing down over his chest now - the fabric hiding his front from view - and in fact, he hooked the towel onto his arm and pulled up the fabric from his chiton, flicking it over his shoulder from the back and then starting to tie it over his shoulder.

"Not spears, or sword work?"

"I am perfectly accomplished at both, but in the question of preference, archery is mine." Odysseus tossed his towel to his fellow Ithacan, and started tying up his chiton over his other shoulder. "Why do you ask?"

Odysseus was giving him a narrow look under his dark eyelashes; afraid, perhaps of being judged unmanly for not preferring the heavier, and more lethal spear?

Unlike some bards, who didn't know a thing about true military tactics, the bow was hardly a coward's weapon. Agamemnon had the greatest respect for archers - after all, Heracles was a renowned archer, as were Iphitos, his father and Philoctetes.

More irritatingly, though, Odysseus was speaking like they were strangers - as if they hadn't met before, long ago. As if Odysseus hadn't solicited them to go personally to Ithaca to make a suit for him. Menelaus might be content to allow the polite fiction that they were essentially strangers in front of Damasippus of Sparta, but Agamemnon was not.

"I heard a rumour that Tyndareus might be considering setting a trial for his daughter's hand," Agamemnon said. "Something about shooting feathered serpents. Maybe you might have heard something about it?"

Watched Odysseus' expression, closely.

Odysseus' expression didn't change at all. "Is that so? What an interesting piece of information, Lord Agamemnon."

"It is an interesting rumour," Agamemnon, stepping closer, ignoring the other Ithacan's confused stare - if Odysseus hadn't introduced him to Agamemnon, then he wasn't important. "You hadn't had anything to do with the form of that rumour, Laertiades?"

Odysseus took a casual step back. "I have no idea what you might mean, Lord Agamemnon." Glanced towards his fellow-Ithacan, "My tunic? Thank you."

"It's very hot right now," Agamemnon noted, frowning - that chiton was sticking to his damp skin, a little, clinging coyly to the hints of his musculature curving from his shoulders towards the dip of his small of his back - as he turned, Agamemnon could see the clinging linen from the tip and swell of his pectorals, skimming over the sleek lines of his abdomen -- and then Odysseus shrugged on his thick, black woolen tunic. "You will overheat, Laertiades."

"I thank Lord Agamemnon for the concern, I had just overexerted myself," Odysseus said, almost sweet, "so must keep warm to prevent cramps. As Lord Agamemnon no doubt knows from vast, extensive military experience. Ah. I must go. Perhaps we can talk later."

And Odysseus took two steps back, out of reach, bowed very correctly, and then turned and left, leaving Agamemnon frowning.

Polites peeled away from Odysseus as soon as Odysseus exited the field - he and Eurylochus had made friends - that is, 'friends' - with some of the other competitors - other members of the various suitors' retinue and Spartan participants. While Odysseus cautioned them to be careful, and not make any missteps with the politics, Polites assured him that they would keep everything strictly… not business. And not use any of their good oil. Yes. Thanks.

That was good to know.

Agamemnon didn't follow him - but Odysseus couldn't be quite sure he wouldn't, and the sons of Ares had been looking at him. Agamemnon hadn't seemed to have noticed Artemis, but then Nireus had seen Hermes and Aphrodite, so it was a good idea to keep avoiding the sons of Ares, in case they accused him of using Artemis' help to win his position.

Thoas and Perileos hadn't said anything, maybe they'd catch him up later, when he went over to Damasippus' to debrief…

Odysseus rubbed at his shoulders, irritated by the weight of his tunic on the knots of his chiton.

It was hot, but he hadn't wanted to stay in the field unclothed any longer than he had to - so that meant not taking the time to pin up his chiton and chitoniskos properly, simply knotting the layers as quickly as he could and throwing on his tunic. But now the knots were digging into his shoulders.

He wasn't near any of those Extremely Discreet couches, he noticed. He could pause, attempt to undo the knots from under the arm-holes of his tunic without taking it off…? Then pin them…

But ow.

His arms were sore.

Odysseus hadn't lied to Agamemnon, he thought, wryly. He really had overexerted himself - now his shoulders, and his arms, all the way down to his elbows and forearms were telling him quite clearly how much he had.

Iphitos' extremely and thoroughly ruthless massage probably meant his arms would have most of their range of motion by tomorrow, and he'd probably be able to sit up and roll over decently…

But there would be no climbing the walls tonight.

Odysseus couldn't twist around - hnghrh his back??? - too much to easily get at the knots without taking his tunic off.

He was going to have to take his tunic off, undo his hasty knotwork, and then pin his layers properly.

No benches around here, just some potted plants for - well maybe privacy, but since there was nowhere anywhere comfortable to sit or lie down, it was just some shade and giving one a pleasant walk.

Alright, Odysseus was going to walk towards the gardens then, as pulled off his tunic, then he could ---

Hands pressed down over his deltoids.

Long fingered, warm hands.

"Are your shoulders in pain, little basileus?" a musical voice crooned in his ear.

Odysseus jerked forward, away from those fingers, spinning around. "Who are you," he said. Too warm, but he was remembering cool, beautiful, slender fingers and brilliant blues and greens, running chilly under his clothes against skin --

But his sister wasn't here.

And --

Pale hair, so pale that it was almost silver, and a flash of silver-bright smile, and over his shoulder gleamed the silver and ivory tip of a bow, curved like the impossible swoop of a voice, impossibly beautiful enough that it would make Iphitos weep to never be able to approximate it.

"Oh, you want to play this game? Alright, I'll bite," said the God, sliding another step closer, trailing his hands over Odysseus' arms, and then pressing his fingertips into the edges of his armpits - and pressed hard.

Odysseus yelped, jerking away - back - and his back hit a hard, solid tree, strong fresh green scent of laurel dusting around him.

"Three guesses at my name," the God said. "And if you guess correctly, I'll give you a gift."

"L-lord Apollo," Odysseus said, because if Artemis had been here, then it was no stretch at all for Apollo, her twin brother, to be around also. Both of them would find the archery events appealing.

Both of them should have gone to bother Philoctetes, not him.

Apollo pouted, a little. "That's not three guesses --" Odysseus tried to inch out from under that… press - the two points of pain - contact - was like being pinned by two very pointed arrow heads. Pushing into one side was not ideal. Maybe he could drop his knees --

"But-" Apollo leaned in, turning his - grip? Hand position? - to press his thumbs in, hard, and Odysseus' vision blurred right at the edges as he sucked in a bright burst of breath. "I'll give you your reward anyway."

"N-no - need, my Lord, Apollo," Odysseus managed, thinly.

"Oh, you're so tight here," Apollo said, starting to drag his thumbs, right across under his collarbone, on the height of his pectorals, hard and firm - as firmly and pointed as when Iphitos had dug his elbow into the tight knots of Odysseus' shoulders.

Odysseus could barely lift his arms in resistance - the band right above his pectorals - he'd overstretched that too, drawing so often and so long a bow that was heavier than his usual - and Apollo could tell. His fingers twitched, uselessly.

"L-lord," Odysseus said, stuttering, trying to keep the noises he was making to a minimum. "There - this is pub--"

"Public?" Apollo said, and dragged his thumbs down -- tracking very pointedly over the brightest points of pain of his pectorals - right where it felt like a tight band around his chest - now sparking gold-red colour in his vision with the way he could barely breathe through it. "So you're a shy one. That's alright. I like," Apollo leaned in, digging his thumbs in with firm, precise pressure that choked gasps out of Odysseus' throat, "these sounds you make to be just for my ears alone."

Before Odysseus could protest that that wasn't the point, he wanted to not be here, not have this -

There was the sound of cracking pottery. The sunlight cut off from above. Odysseus managed to glance to the side, to realise that some of those potted plants' roots had swelled out of their earthenware pots, ripping out of the shards and piercing the ground below, roots and trunks swelling and changing colour and bark pattern - the leaves growing out thick, silver-edged, now all smelled like laurel drifting like a sweet scented, green wall of privacy.

"Oh, poor thing," Apollo crooned. "You worked really hard, didn't you?"

Odysseus now had two things to protest - and Apollo wasn't leaving him time, or breath to do it - the God dragged his thumbs harder, over the swell of muscle, right across the most tender parts of his pectorals, under his collarbones, meeting at his sternum, and then back out again, trailing an almost-hot-heat of almost-pain, Odysseus' arms jerking roughly against bark as he tried not to twist.

Odysseus made a horrified noise. Or just a noise.

"You like this," Apollo said, satisfied. "A good firm massage, after all that hard work is very satisfying, isn't it, little basileus."

"Th-thank you for the -" Odysseus managed. "This."

"Your stance was perfect," Apollo leaned in, pressing harder - and Odysseus could see the silver and gold flecks in the God's eyes, glinting in a light that was definitely not from the actual sunlight shadowed with bay laurel foliage. "Used this set of muscles, so well." He pressed, again, drew back just a tiny hint of release, and Odysseus gasped, shut his eyes.

"You're overly gracious, Lor--"

Apollo made a soft, pleased, noise, the strum of exactly, and only, the first string of the lyre, and Odysseus abruptly realised that - the material under his stiff arms was not the rough bark of laurel, but - finely woven linen.

Soft, linen over softer fleece…

When had he ended up on a daybed?!

"Shh," Apollo said, straddling Odysseus' stomach, tilting his head, hair falling over his golden headband in a beautiful, winsome tumble of shining silvery waves. "I only speak the truth, little basileus. My sister and I, we very much admired your focus. That calculation."

Fingers tapped his forehead; Odysseus couldn't help but cross his eyes, briefly, to stare.

The touch was warm - almost hot, like hot melted beeswax, barely cooled to pour into a tablet.

"That little curved shot? Why, it was nearly as good as how I would have done it." Apollo smiled at him, warm as molten silver.

"H-honestly, perhaps it was a fluke that I managed it," Odysseus said, trying his best not to allow such a comparison. At all. "There is no way I could have been as good as you, Lord Apollo, not even a tenth--" his words hitched, choked.

Apollo'd pulled his arm up, dragged his hand down like a cuff from Odysseus' elbow to his shoulder, smooth, smoother than Iphitos had ever managed --

Smooth as oil, he realised, as the strong, fragrant scent of first press of the freshest, ripest, olives hit his nose.

Gods didn't need to conform to the mortal restrictions of getting out a bottle. The exact, perfect amount of the most perfect, highest quality olive oil was right in his palm, smoothing down his muscles, leaving tingling warmth in the wake of Apollo's fingers and palm. Odysseus whimpered, trying not to twitch as that smooth glide of warm pressure, just a little more than was comfortable, riding on the edge of pain (which, which was apparently normal, necessary, for a massage, but this was more pointed, more pressure, than Iphitos had managed) and right over the same line of his pectoral; he couldn't help the flinch as Apollo smoothly transitioned to pressing with the warm, broad, firmer heel of his palm, smoothing a perfect line over his poor tormented pectoral.

His skin was tingling, too, warmed from the oil and Apollos' hand - and .

Wait.

Why was his chest bared? Where was his chiton -- where was his tunic!?

"Shh," Apollo breathed, leaning in over him, draping weight on him, heavy, heavier than silver, heavy as gold. "It's alright, relax. You're enjoying it, sweetheart."

Odysseus made a sound in the back of his throat - what could he say to that? What could he say -- "hngh!" he jolted, feet digging into the bed, rocking up unintentionally as Apollo dug his knuckles in on his pectoral.

"Oh, that's beautiful," Apollo said, throaty and harmonic, a purring strum of a deep chord under his voice.

"Lord - L-lord Apollo, this is - this is too generous - I am unworthy-" Odysseus managed to pant out, forcing words out.

Apollo pressed, rocking his knuckles back up, along the line tracing his deltoid and bicep, drawing out a startled moan from Odysseus at the not-quite-pain.

"Nonsense," Apollo purred, descending triplets of a harp, down down and further down. "I promised a gift, if you guessed my name, little basileus. I would hardly renege."

Odysseus clamped his mouth shut, swallowing another moan, rather choking on it. Sweat prickled at his temples - Apollo was watching him, half-lidded and brilliant, silver and ivory and pale beaten gold, and Odysseus couldn't help but think of all the lovers of Apollo - most of his male lovers had been said to be willing.

But -

Odysseus gasped, twisting a little, thighs brushing against - calves. Apollo's calves, as Apollo started pressing, firmly down the tight muscle of his forearm.

If he could - could - get away, maybe that would show his refusal without offending --

His ankle knocked against something hard and solid.

The daybed had railings. Solid, seamlessly wooden railings, bars rising up in beautiful graceful curves, and less than a fist apart.

Odysseus' gaze snapped to Apollo.

Apollo smiled at him, soft, beautiful, welcoming, and pulled his hand over the whole length of Odysseus' arm, to his wrist, past his wrist, sliding smooth and soft over his palm -- and then lacing their fingers together, curling his slender, ivory-carved fingers right between Odysseus', and pushed that hand down, onto the daybed, above Odysseus' head --

"Lady Athena," Odysseus breathed out. "Lady Athena!"

Apollo stilled. "What."

Athena was very much not interested in oil related activities, Odysseus thought, frantically, glancing to the sleek, graceful railing on either side of the daybed - and dared not look above his head, where there was probably something even more beautiful and graceful growing like a cage. The penetration that Athena is interested in is of the very sharpened, death dealing sort of variety, and absolutely nothing to do with reproductive organs and oil.

If she showed up… would she show up? Great-grandfather said that most would not be offended since Athena --

Great-grandfather. He knew Great-grandfather was present.

"Great-grandfather!"

Apollo's hand tightened on Odysseus'; his other hand smoothed over Odysseus' other shoulder. "Your great-grandfather..?"

"I believe," Great-grandfather said, laying his caduceus between Odysseus' chest and Apollo. "This is my little sheep you have there. Brother."

Apollo looked up to Hermes, eyes hardening, harsh and inhuman silver. "I found him wandering around without a shepherd, brother."

Great-grandfather's staff tilted, the little pointed wings of it scraping against Apollo's chest, encouraging a little more distance. "Just because the sheep isn't wearing a bell doesn't mean that they don't belong to someone." Hermes shifted closer, silvered, snake-like. His smile was barely amused, all faceted edges.

Apollo released Odysseus' hand, beautiful lips lifting over perfectly white, so very white, teeth, drawing back, gaze looking over Hermes with an unexpected wariness. "It means you're doing a very poor job at protecting him from predators that could just --"

"Just what," said a third voice.

Odysseus could go limp and flat as much as possible - Apollo was suddenly getting up, moving away from him with barely a nudge from Hermes' caduceus, all loose-limbed, charming youthful beauty. "Nothing, nothing at all, dear sister. Why, I had no idea you were here too."

Athena didn't cross her arms; she didn't have to. Unlike when she had visited him in the pastures, Athena was all sharp edges and smooth planes, ivory and bronze and a solid, implaccable presence. Right there, Apollo looked even more delicate, even if he was one of the most powerful gods and kitted out with his bow and quiver.

"Guess who she's here for," Hermes said, a mean, sharp-edged whisper.

Apollo flashed him something equally sharp and cruel, but when Athena shifted, Apollo gave her a bright sunny smile.

Athena moved forward - Apollo was off the bed, in a flash. "Sister, dearest sister, there's no need to resort to violence."

Hermes hummed, and then was leaning down, tugging Odysseus up, poking at his hair.

"Great-grandfather," Odysseus said, wincing.

"Tsk," Hermes said, brow creasing just the slightest line.

"Ow!" Apollo said.

Odysseus blinked attention snagged towards Athena and Apollo.

Hermes tucked his face right next to Odysseus, ruffling the curls of his hair.

"Look," he called. "Brother, next time you should look before you touch~"

Apollo was clutching the back of his head, pouting a little, as he glanced towards them, and then his beautiful, smooth face scrunched into what was probably one of the most beautiful expressions of petulance Odysseus'd ever seen. "Well how was I supposed to know," he said, "It's not like I spend all that much time staring at your face -!"

"It's almost like my brother doesn't know what I look like," Hermes said, faux mournfully. "He probably spends too long looking at himself in a mirror."

Apollo made a little noise - starting forward to maybe hit Hermes - if he'd snatched up his bow, then Hermes (and Odysseus) might have been in trouble, but instead, Apollo was too infuriated to think.

Athena stepped forward, two, solid long steps. "Go play elsewhere," she said, coldly.

Apollo stopped, smoothed his expression off his face. "Alright, alright, your territory, Sister - well. Ares' territory isn't it?"

Athena's hand shifted - a spear shaped shimmer starting to form, in the air, and Apollo took two immediate steps back. "Alright! I shall find pleasure elsewhere, darling Sister! Perhaps, you could warn us ahead of time if your mortal champion is here? No?"

Athena's stern expression didn't shift a hair - Apollo didn't give Hermes or Odysseus a second glance - just turned around and was just gone in a flick of his chlamys.

Athena turned back to Odysseus - Hermes had drawn back, now, and was poking at the daybed's railing.

"Thank you, My Lady," Odysseus said, trying to sit up - - stand? Maybe? But he should get off the daybed, then he could bow - kneel - properly but - Athena's hand stopped him.

"Seriously," Hermes said to the air between them. "When I said, said, to be careful, you weren't listening, were you?"

"Hermes."

Hermes huffed, and then put a narrow, bronze band into Athena's outstretched hand. How had Hermes gotten it, was not a question Odysseus was going to ask, even though he knew the band had been tucked safely in its case in his room.

Hermes was Hermes was a thief and also his great-grandfather.

Athena came forward, leaning down and pressed the band carefully on Odysseus' head, adjusting it so it wouldn't crush his curls - though he'd already crunched them with rough handling of his towel, it wasn't like Athena putting a band on his head would make it worse.

She touched a fingertip to the owl feather.

"Does this count as belling?" she asked Hermes.

Hermes waved a hand in the air. "Close enough."

Odysseus looked between them both.

Hermes flicked his forehead.

"Ow!"

"Listen properly," Hermes said. "Didn't I tell you?"

"I was listening! That's not fair, I wasn't doing anything different from the other--!" he paused, realising. He'd thought that the gods all would just know, since the Gods surely spoke to each other all the time. Probably.

He ducked Hermes' threatening finger. "Well I can't just veil myself and hide in my room the whole week," he muttered. "It'd be suspicious - I already skipped wrestling and people noticed."

Hermes flicked his forehead again, harder.

"Obviously! That'd be extreme! And silly! Extremely silly!"

Odysseus scrunched his face - Ctimene used to do that, to great effect. It earned him a pinch to the ear instead. "Ow," he said, pouting.

"A veil would do nothing," Hermes said, "that would be useless and redundant."

"I did give you three feathers," Athena said, with a mild frown. "Did you lose the other two?"

"I - no, they're kept safely, in my things," Odysseus said. Wincing a little. "Was I… supposed to wear them all?"

"Hm."

"You could," Hermes said, already having left the daybed to poke at the trees - sunlight dappled in, shady and calm and safe-feeling.

For a moment he thought it was just because it was Athena being here, and Great-grandfather, but the grove was now, he realised, shady rather than private. The scent of laurel had faded, the trees were now stolid and practical oaks; young, of course, their leaves thin and whispery and starting to yellow like normal leaves; some of the leaves had fallen already, yellowed like sunlight dappling on the ground around them.

When Hermes poked one, in apparent idle curiosity, Odysseus could hear a few dry crackles - and then there were good sized twigs falling a little distance away. The perfect size to start fires, to build up and keep a campfire.

Athena was still considering the feather on Odysseus' temple. "I suppose a permanent mark is not necessary?" she sounded a little unsure.

"Whatever your previous champions had," Hermes said, with a shrug, and fluttered to sit above them - Odysseus looked up and realised that what he'd feared about the day bed had - hadn't come to pass: it was now a woven canopy above them, something to keep rain and sun off; the daybed's rails had narrowed down when he wasn't looking - solid oak panels at just the right height for a man to rest an elbow against if he was trying to read or doze off.

As Odysseus scooted towards the edge of the daybed, he thought he could just about imagine Penelope - or her sisters, or her cousins, sitting here, discussing trade and politics, or Ctimene and her women spinning.

It was.

A very comfortable, cozy and friendly grove now, he realised.

He could make something like this, back home. Maybe - maybe a big bed. The warm growing alive-ness was nice; though maybe his parents would appreciate just one normal one to start, to put it out in the yard overlooking Father's vineyard efforts.

He and Ctimene could then lean in on their parents - their Father - just like this ….

There was a warm, large SOLID mass by his side. It took him two seconds to realise he was leaning on Athena, who was regarding him like when his Blackie - well, now her Blackie - had started chewing on her peplos. Before he could pull away, apologise, something, Athena reached up and clasped Great-grandfather by a feathered ankle, and yanked him down between them both.

"Kyahh!" Hermes' arms flailed, landed on Odysseus' shoulders, the winged ends of his caduceus would have scratched him straight across his chest if his tunic wasn't shielding him…

Odysseus blinked, patted down his clothed chest, his front, tunic properly belted over his properly pinned chiton and chitoniskos - and then glanced back to Athena as Hermes righted himself. "Athena?"

She raised an eyebrow at him.

Odysseus grinned at her. "Thank you, my lady."

"I feel a distinct lack of gratitude," Hermes grumbled, righting his hat. "I helped as well."

"I'll sacrifice something for you tonight," Odysseus promised.

"I demand something sweet," Hermes huffed, then promptly leaned his entire weight on Odysseus' back, smirking into his hair. Odysseus reached back, shoved - and.

Oh. His arms were perfectly cooled down. The tension and tightness was a lot less now - maybe that was Apollo's doing, maybe it was Athena's.

Maybe even Great-grandfather's.

But .

Well.

"I'll find you something absolutely drenched in honey," Odysseus promised, and laughed. If it felt a little winded and giddy and strange, well, he could be forgiven.

Right?

Chapter Text

He couldn't sneak past Penelope's window this time; his arms were half dead - they would be a lot better by tomorrow, probably much faster and earlier than normal, probably thanks to Ap-- divine medical intervention, and he wouldn't have to give up on the capture-the-banner event if he didn't want to, but his arms weren't at peak performance level, so he was just going to do the normal person thing and skulk around in the shadows of the hallways, avoiding any of the guests and their people, to sneak close to Penelope's room, and then secretly ease the box of the necklace and earrings just past her door.

"Are you skipping dinner again?" Clytemnestra asked, from behind.

Odysseus shut the door.

"No," Odysseus said, turning to look at her over his shoulder, and beam at her.

She leaned against the wall, and gave him a sharp, pointy smile. "So what are you doing here?"

"Just dropping off something," Odysseus said airily, like he skulked around Sparta's hallways for fun.

(which wasn't exactly a lie, he just didn't usually do it when he was here normally, just like there aren't usually a few hundred guests all over the place.)

"Uh huh," Clytemnestra said, curling her fingers over her elbow until Odysseus got to his feet, straightened up. "Well then, come along."

"You were watching the archery today?" Odysseus said, as he fell in beside her.

"Hoping for some praise?" Clytemnestra said, slanting a look at him, and her mouth curved, a sharp little uptick as he tried to figure out how to say yes, but politely. "Or maybe hoping someone was watching, in particular?"

Now that made his ears go warm a little.

"I think my sister was very impressed," Clytemnestra purred, watching him, "especially when you fell to your knees that one time to make a shot before the ball hit the ground."

"That was a good shot wasn't it? Wasn't intent--

"I think mainly it's because you look good on your knees." Clytemnestra said, and smirked when he stopped, and looked comically horrified.

"Clytemnestra," he said. Trying not to sound like he was whining.

Her smile was bright and red, sharply amused, but she wriggled her fingers at him. "You didn't do any of the other events afterwards."

"Over-exerted myself," Odysseus admitted, "it was much longer than the usual archery events."

"Hm. Yes. I figured, which is why you aren't climbing into Damasippus' window," Clytemnestra said, and stopped at the stairs.

"You're not coming?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Go and get more data for us," she said, "Damasippus said he'll see you later tonight."

"I feel like I've come here mainly to work. And for free," Odysseus complained, but went down the stairs before she could shove him. Sparta's stairs were taller than in Ithaca, he didn't need to experience it for himself.

"That's because you volunteered," Clytemnestra said. When he turned to look up at her, she wriggled her fingers again, gesturing him towards the great hall.

He stuck his tongue out at her, and turned off to go to the great hall and tonight's dinner.

Yet more info gathering on the other suitors tonight.

"I could have been playing all day," Odysseus groaned as he sprawled out on Damasippus' couch, spreading out in petulance so no one else could get on it.

Damasippus lifted up Odysseus' feet, and slid himself under, and put a light tray on top of the back of Odysseus' calves.

"You mean the archery wasn't fun enough? Making a note, we shall add more obstacles for the next event."

"Yes! I mean, yes the archery was fun!" Odysseus wriggled a little and let his face go flat on the couch. "But afterwards --"

"Afterwards, you didn't even show up for the other archery event and discus," Damasippus said, dropping an arm down on Odysseus' ankles to pin him still.

"-- I still cannot believe that they did that, we should have come up with a better rule --" Perileos said, shoving open the door. "Dama-- oh!"

And immediately Perileos headed straight to the couch, and before Odysseus could protest, he got lifted right up by the shoulders and Perileos wriggled in.

… and well okay Odysseus would complain but now he had a lap, and Perileos was now patting his hair and the back of his neck -- hnnn. That was nice.

"What kind of rule?" Damasippus said.

"Oh for the second round of the games - honestly didn't expect them to go so hard on the sabotage each other."

"Didn't I suggest you could just halve the points?" Damasippus said.

"You want me to do maths? What if there were three different competitors' arrows? I would have to divide by thirds - and some of those targets were positively bristling with four or five different competitors -"

"Then a point for each competitor, same points all." Damasippus said.

Perileos' huffed, clearly knowing that he had made the wrong decision but didn't want to admit it.

"Would have been better for Iphitos," Odysseus said, tipping his head to the side a little, "Mmph. Lower?"

Perileos dropped his patting to lower over the nape of Odysseus' neck, squeezing lightly at the bunch of muscle joining neck and shoulder.

Odysseus made a little noise, almost pained.

"Gently, fish-brains," Damasippus said. "You saw him this afternoon."

"I'm already gentle," Perileos protested, but he gentled his hand anyway, lightly pressing, and Odysseus relaxed out more.

"You're never gentle," Thoas said, shouldering the door open. "So you're all -"

"Don't kick my door-!" Damasippus twisted around.

"Oops," Thoas said, door already smacking shut, the sound startling Odysseus off their laps.

"Itchy frog-legs, don't you know how to use a door properly?" Perileos said, leaning down to pick Odysseus up, but Odysseus rolled onto his front, patting his hand vaguely on the carpet in front of him.

"It's not like I have my hands free," Thoas complained, looking around Damasippus' room and then, locating a small table, moved over to it and hooked a foot into one of its legs.

"Gah!" Damasippus put his tray down, kicked at Perileos to go save his table. "Is today leg day? Are you trying to break my table?"

"It's not going to break, just noisy," Thoas said, jerking the tray of food up before Perileos smacked his forehead into it as Perileos ducked in, snagged the table and put it - not dragged - it over next to Odysseus, where he could reach.

"And scratch my floor and scrape up my rug," Damasippus said, and joined Odysseus on the be-rugged floor.

Odysseus considered, rolled onto his side and pointed, flipped his hand up, expectantly. A breath, and a flat, perfectly round dried fat fig manifested on his palm, as Thoas dropped down cross-legged next to Odysseus.

"Mm, my thanks to the bountifulness of the Gods," Odysseus said, nibbling on the edge of the fig.

Perileos scowled at Thoas, having been beaten to the snack tray and alas, unable to perform a similar miracle. He grabbed the plate of other dried fruits and sat right in front of Odysseus, which meant that if he looked to Perileos, there was a plate of raisins and dried dates. If he turned a little - on Thoas' knee was a lovely dish of a selection of cubed cheeses.

Hmm. Which one to pick…?

Damasippus coughed, a little, and Odysseus remembered: yes, only children picked! And Odysseus wasn't a child anymore, he could have all. So he could roll, to sit up, and wince exaggeratedly.

Damasippus immediately snagged a large cushion off the nearest surface to hand to Odysseus, so he could cheerfully prop it onto Damasippus' lap and flop onto him.

"Wow you look wiped," Aletes said, coming in with a handful of jugs.

"I aaaam," Odysseus groaned, and waved a free hand in the air - palm out and - grinned when he received - mmm, some nice firm white cheese, and three dried, crispy dates. Heh. "I give thanks to the Gods for this miracle," he said, grinning at both Perileos and Thoas, and hoarded his bounty to himself, nibbling on his big fat fig.

And then Damasippus' hand fell onto his shoulder - almost perfect light pressure on his bicep and over his clavicle. Almost as good as Ap--

Odysseus resolutely shoved that thought out of his mind, happy to relax into the feel of Damasippus' fingers pressing very lightly over the layers of his chiton and chitoniskos.

"So wiped he couldn't do the second archery and discus event today," Perileos said.

"Wiped because I was working," Odysseus said, tossing the three dates into his mouth - careful to avoid the seeds as he chewed. "You saw, right, Aletes? I was networking."

"That doesn't seem like very much work," Aletes said, finding a spot to sit down and lay out cups.

"Not work," Odysseus said, outraged, "Let me tell yo--"

Perileos popped a date in his mouth, and Odysseus angrily chewed, swallowed, and spat out his seeds onto his hand. "It is a LOT of work, let me tell you, avoiding the sons of Ares all over a small confined space, ducking Aegialeus from Argos, all while finding princes I haven't been introduced officially to and avoiding stepping in any political boar pits!"

Thoas quirked an eyebrow at Aletes. Perileos hissed, Eel piss at him.

"Sorry," Aletes apologised, immediately, before Thoas or Damasippus could pull out more of their harsher terms. "I mean - it wasn't like you had to run a lot…? Was it very tiring then?"

"Was it tiring," Odysseus asked the ceiling, stuffed the cheese into his mouth and chewed at the tart taste and flopped onto his cushion. Aletes held out a little plate for him to drop the date-seeds from his hand. "It was so tiring! I tossed Menestheus of Athens at the sons of Ares this morning - who was there, Damasippus? Thoas? You were there right, you saw -"

"I'd headed out to the field as soon as presentations were done," Thoas said, "but Basileus Menestheus? He likes the sons of Ares?"

"What is their thing?" Odysseus asked, rolling to sit up. "A lot of the others were wary of them - so they're like, what, the opposite of your charm?"

"Maybe," Perileos said, "probably. Wouldn't really work -"

"On Helen, yes, that's at least a good thing," Odysseus said. If they did try to intimidate Helen, she'd zap them in the faces.

"Don't think she likes them," Thoas said.

"They're ruthless," Odysseus said, nibbled at his fig, held out his other hand that was both gesture and - well, a Summons.

A lovely piece of bread materialized on his palm, and he made a pleased noise, tipping it towards Thoas, and now it was layered with cheese. Aletes had to lean over to drizzle it with honey - Aletes didn't utilize the speed as much as his brothers did; which was fine, he had his own thing.

Odysseus took a little bite of it.

Perileos hummed in agreement. "I wouldn't team up with them, I don't suggest our Odysseus do, so -"

"As allies," Odysseus said, "I would be rather wary about them. Maybe they wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice their own allies in a more lethal situation."

"They have a head for some strategy though," Damasippus pointed out. "So that's not entirely a bad thing."

The brothers of course had some insights - there was how Philoctetes and Teucer went on to the other archery event, and the discus event, which was really, Odysseus should have stayed to watch, apparently there had been some really near-Hyancinthus misses, one of which had been fortunately prevented by Perileos.

Thoas and Perileos were of differing opinions as to whether that had been a real accident or not. "The Gods wouldn't appreciate it," Odysseus pointed out. Hermes, in particular, wouldn't have been pleased, and it would take some real stupid idiots to try to kill someone when everyone knew the Gods were around for.

Which either meant they were too stupid to be a good ally, or they were too lousy at their physical prowess to be a good ally.

In any case, not worth courting as a potential … anything.

"How about Iphitos of Oechalia?" Thoas said. "Seems very sweet." he nudged at Odysseus' feet.

Odysseus huffed, and tucked his feet under Thoas' calf; Thoas shifted to tug at Odysseus' ankles, propping them into his lap to knead at his calves.

"He might," Odysseus said, when it looked like everyone was waiting for his opinion. "Might stay. But you surely have your own opinions!"

"I like him," Perileos said, "Fair and good loser."

"Calm and steady," Damasippus said. "Even when confronted with Phidippus of Cos. Think there were rumours that Phidippus was on that 'accidental boundary' crossing as the leader last year."

"Whose bright idea was it to schedule them right after each other?" Odysseus said. "If he tried to stab Iphitos -- he looked like the type to --"

"Mine," Icarius said, finding a chair and folding himself into it with a pleased sigh.

Odysseus blinked.

"Father," Aletes said, starting to get up.

Icarius just waved at them, and looked at the half-empty tray of snacks. "I see that the food is elsewhere."

"Yes, well, Odysseus overexerted himself today," Damasippus said, settling a hand on Odysseus' shoulder.

"Mm." Icarius eyed them all, clasped his hands in front of his knees. "So what else do you think of their encounter."

Odysseus opened his mouth; Icarius raised an eyebrow at him.

Odysseus ate his bread and cheese instead.

"Both are level-headed princes," Aletes said. "And technically good leaders."

"Iphitos isn't provocative," Perileos said, "though by some standards, you could say the same of Phidippus."

"Phidippus is a little more likely to instigate something," Thoas said, "but aware enough not to try it here."

"However," Damasippus said, "he's quite caught up with Cos and regional politics. Does his father have other heirs?"

"A younger son," Icarius said, turning to check the tray of its remaining snacks, and took the plate that had soft, honey soaked pastries.

Odysseus sat up a little, staring at it.

Icarius' mouth ticked up, but only tilted the plate towards Perileos, so Perileos could snag one piece from the plate for Odysseus.

"So technically, Phidippus might be willing to stay in Sparta," Damasippus.

"Or at least, his father might be willing to allow him to," Icarius said. "The younger son isn't as militarily accomplished as Phidippus, however. Meanwhile Iphitos has his own reputation."

"Iphitos is the youngest of Eurytus' sons, and remarkably level-headed," Tyndareus said. Everyone but Icarius turned to his voice in surprise. "Someone take this slab of ham please."

Perileos and Aletes were up, immediately, taking the tray and getting their uncle a chair.

"What a cozy discussion," Tyndareus said, sitting down.

Odysseus had to agree - it was getting remarkably cozy - Damasippus' room was just nice with just the pile of brothers, but with the addition of his father and uncle it was.

Uh.

Cozy. Very cozy. Odysseus had to curl his feet up and park himself a little more on Damasippus' lap, so the brothers could shuffle a little closer into a pile.

"Weren't you supposed to have other business," Icarius said, dryly amused.

"I heard such an interesting conversation, I had to come listen," Tyndareus said. "I brought an entrance fee. Which you most certainly didn't."

"I didn't need one, these are my sons. And you brought ham to a family discussion."

"We have plenty from the guest gifts." Tyndareus looked even more comfortable, smiling smugly at his brother. "And that's my potential son-in-law. I can bring dishes for my respected potential son-in-law."

"But--!" Odysseus protested.

Both Icarius and Tyndareus gave him very mild looks, and Perileos handed him the sticky pastry so Odysseus ate it in quiet.

"Bribery," Icarius said. "Which won't work."

"We shall see," Tyndareus said.

Odysseus continued to quietly eat his pastry-bribe.

Tyndareus gestured for the tray of ham, and took the knife from the tray and started slicing off thick slices and passing them out to his nephews - Thoas leaned in to take his, which meant Odysseus scooted even more into Damasippus' lap - everyone's legs were everywhere now, and Damasippus just absently put an arm around Odysseus' waist so he'd be tucked closer.

It wasn't as weird as it might be - Odysseus wasn't the smallest man around, but with the Spartan princes, who were sons of Sparta through-and-through, he couldn't help but feel the height and mass difference quite keenly - and it was easy to fold himself up like a cat curling up into a round ball, especially with so many laps to choose from right now.

"So you were talking about Cos, I believe," Tyndareus said.

"And Oechalia," Icarius said, idly holding out a hand to Aletes, until his son found him a cup.

"And the surrounding region, I suppose."

"Yes," Icarius said. "It's not hugely unrestful, because most of the surrounding territories aren't unaware of Cos' expansionist ambitions."

"But not particularly looking to ally with each other against Cos. Yet." Tyndareus held out a piece to Odysseus - Odysseus hurriedly finished his sweet pastry to accept his thick slice of ham. With his hand still sticky with honey, and honey still coating his tongue, it was actually a very nice combination, sweet and salty all together.

Icarius hummed in agreement. "Any of the neighbours around seem… willing to start up an alliance with Oechalia?" This he directed towards Thoas, though Perileos answered.

"I don't think so - they all were rather keen to sabotage Iphitos today - well during his singular round. The other events they didn't really approach him."

"Maintaining a status quo," Tyndareus said, thoughtfully. "Taking Phidippus out of that little region might tip things."

"Taking Iphitos out might unbalance things too," Odysseus piped up.

Icarius smiled slightly at Odysseus - Odysseus straightened up a little more, and looked a little more pointedly at the sweet pastries.

"And the consequences?" Icarius tipped his plate towards Odysseus, and Odysseus could reach forward, all but clambering over Thoas' and Aletes' legs to get his pastry.

"Iphitos already has a reputation for diplomacy, but it's for that one incident with Heracles, the son of Zeus, when he was leading the Calydonians. Heracles is gone now; another incursion might not be repelled so easily," Odysseus said. "If Iphitos is taken out of the picture, then Oechalia might fall fairly easily."

Now that wasn't a particularly nice thought. He'd been to Oechalia several times over the past few years - usually just before he went over to Sparta. And while it was covered in horses, which Odysseus didn't particularly like, it was Iphitos' home. Iphitos loved it, as much as Odysseus loved Ithaca.

Thoas snuck a hand to squeeze Odysseus' calf; they all could tell why he stopped.

"Hmm. True," Icarius said, watching Odysseus.

Both he and Tyndareus were watching him, measuring.

He eyed them back. "Aaaand you don't want that."

"Why do you say that?" Tyndareus murmured, putting the knife down; all the ham sliced up for them to pick at if they wanted.

"Because what you want is a prince of Sparta who isn't raring to run home to re-take his territory," Odysseus said. "Someone more stable - who doesn't have his own territory but doesn't have any particular claims to one. Both Phidippus and Iphitos, their regional quarrels are not yet settled, so choosing either of them would destablise the region."

Just like choosing one from the Argos faction or the Thebes faction would destablise that region. Whichever husband of Helen's would not even stay put, he'd be running back to his home to wage war and shoot his enemies even before the wedding guests had left.

"And now why would you think we want a prince of Sparta," Icarius said, glancing to his sons. Odysseus could see them all shake their heads. They all hadn't told him, no.

"Because it's Helen, and none of her sisters' husbands stayed," Odysseus said. "And… well. There's Castor-and-Pollux."

No one had said, outright, about what the husband of Helen was going to be - none of the suitors had seemed to notice. But her cousins all were quite happy to hear Odysseus' thoughts on the suitors, discussing it with him.

The servants had been watching too, watching the suitors very closely. Odysseus hadn't noticed quite such scrutiny for the other potential husbands when the other princesses of Sparta had been married in the intervening years from when he'd first come to Sparta, and now, even though neither he nor Ctimene had been close to Helen's older sisters.

Castor-and-Pollux hadn't gotten better, in terms of social interaction and political… stuff. They'd been very much… themselves at even the Argonauts as far as Odysseus could tell, which didn't bode well for the future of Tyndareus' title unless he passed it to Icarius' sons. (They weren't even here, contributing to this pile of Spartan legs, eating pastries and thinking hard about each potential suitor.)

And if the basileis of Sparta were so concerned about the politics of each suitor… it meant they didn't want said politics to come home to them with Helen.

Which meant, Helen's spouse was likely to become a prince of Sparta, and maybe... an heir. And… well. Odysseus didn't know if Tyndareus had actually met Zeus - Odysseus meeting just Apollo was terrifying enough - but Helen was, for better or worse, Zeus' daughter. There was no way on Demeter's green earth that Tyndareus could - or should - give Helen off to another man without keeping them close to have a close eye on them.

Zeus might not raise his own children, but no one could risk not taking good care of his children.

Tyndareus' smile widened, and he leaned back in his chair. "And you wonder why I like him," he said to his brother.

"I've not wondered," Icarius said darkly.

"How long did it take for you to figure it out?" Aletes asked, voice low.

Odysseus wriggled, shrugged. "Had suspicions when I received the invitation," Odysseus said. Of course Father and Mother also had their suspicions, but he'd only confirmed it when he'd actually arrived.

"That's barely two weeks," Aletes said, with a huff. "Less."

"You took nearly a month to figure it out," Damasippus said.

"Because you're not observant enough," Perileos said. "Blind cavefish."

Aletes growled at his brother - the only reason why it didn't come to kicking, was because Odysseus was still tucked nicely on their legs and he was very comfortably eating his pastries.

Icarius turned the discussion to the other suitors now - the brothers could chime in on their thoughts based on their observations over the past three days - Odysseus couldn't help but think though: Iphitos and Phidippus weren't suitable, because they were from an region that was currently a simmering pot about to overboil - but with no clear option for a victor. Sparta had no real issues with going to war on behalf of a princely ally - it was just a matter of whether it was worth the risks and expense.

As of now, a good candidate would therefore come from a nice stable (or stabilized) territory, with no particular risk of running off to defend said territory while dragging Sparta's army with them, and uncertain benefits.

If Menestheus of Athens had sent a younger brother instead of himself, Odysseus thought, he would have been an excellent candidate.

It meant Iphitos wasn't going to be brought here to Sparta then. Odysseus wasn't sure if that would be good or bad news to Iphitos; best not to mention anything.

Chapter Text

Ctimene arrived exactly as she'd calculated - the fifth day of the courtship week, just as dawn started to inch out of bed.

Clytemnestra had sent her the list of events, of course, from Damasippus; the fourth day was a good day for Ctimene to arrive in Sparta - after all the various suitors had worked out their various excitements of flexing at each other, and had settled into some sort of pattern, that they wouldn't get all rowdy if they even noticed more visitors.

Not that they would - Ctimene had zero intention of arriving with a huge announcement or festivities - she wasn't here as a visitor, but to help one of her friends.

Arriving on the fourth day of the festivities was arriving in the morning of a lull day - according to the list of events, the fourth day was to be a rest day for the men of Sparta to clear the field and ensure that their final event's venue was ready for the fifth day, and the suitors could go wrestle each other in the training grounds or stadiums or whatever, while the women got to prepare for Helen's day.

Ctimene and her retinue were greeted at the docks by Basilinna Leda's steward and housekeeper and conveyed directly to the Palace via ox-cart.

Odysseus caught her up at the door of the palace, giving her a hug that didn't unsettle her himation at all.

"Oh good you're finally here," Odysseus said, all but clinging to her, sparing hardly a glance for Ctimene's escort - Eurybates got a distracted smile and halfwave, while Ctimene attempted to poke Odysseus in the ribs.

"Oof," Ctimene said. "What the -"

"If you're going to cling, we should get indoors," Clytemnestra said, and Ctimene didn't manage to wriggle free - Odysseus promptly picked her up and dragged her into the Palace. Fortunately through the smaller door that they could get to the family quarters more easily without the eyes of ALL the suitors in Greece on them.

"You're finally heeeere," Odysseus said, "So I can just - take you to your room now." Ctimene thumped him on the back until he put her back down.

"And then go out and socialise," Clytemnestra said, ruthless and cruel, as Ctimene's retinue and escort followed Basilinna Leda's steward into the depths and inner quarters of the palace.

"But -!"

"Actually no strange men are allowed into our quarters," Clytemnestra said, linking her arm with Ctimene's. "So shoo."

Odysseus made the saddest face. "But my wool report -"

"I saw the wool, I have a lot of -"

"You can tell him later," Clytemnestra said, and nudged Ctimene toward the stairs. "Go and network, Basileus of Ithaca."

Odysseus pouted; it worked wonders on Basilinna Leda, and all of Penelope's brothers; but Clytemnestra had a heart of stone with regards to Odysseus' peacock ways. Which was why she was the one here to remind Odysseus of his duty as Basileus to network.

"But I don't want to -" Odysseus said. "I did the calculations, I can skip the morning and not be seen as a complete recluse -"

"We have work to do away from prying strange mens' eyes," Clytemnestra said.

"Am I a stranger? Ctimene is my sister, and you're my beloved cousin -"

"You could be a beloved brother," Clytemnestra said, "If Helen wanted. Yes?"

Odysseus made a sound like a deflating fish bladder, sad and squeaking, and Ctimene laughed at him.

"I'll write you the wool report later," Ctimene said, "Go and do your duty."

"Cruel, hard-hearted, sisters of my heart," Odysseus cried, but obediently went back out to the courtyard; and surprisingly didn't climb the walls - but trudged off to disappear behind some foliage.

"Was he injured?" Ctimene asked, a little concerned. In fact… "Did he fall on his head? Did someone hit him in the head?" He didn't use to be so clingy, not even after just four days away, not counting the time spent travelling.

"He overdid it with his archery yesterday," Clytemnestra said, leading Ctimene up the stairs. "Pretty sure he's just whining like Aletes."

Well. Aletes, compared to Damasippus, did whine some, but that seemed to be a function of 'youngest brother', which Odysseus…

Alright, Odysseus was the youngest brother here, compared to the Spartan brothers, so alright.

"Still," Ctimene said, "Odysseus had never complained about not wanting to socialise with men." She considered. "Besides Castor and Pollux. And -"

No, she wasn't going to mention the sons of Atreus, not right now. She would wait to find out if the sons of Atreus had tried something, Ctimene would…

Eurycleia wasn't here, she remembered, she couldn't poison them, but Clytemnestra would -

"Castor and Pollux are just special," Clytemnestra said, unconcerned, "No one particularly wants to socialise with them, but they do their duty. That they can do." Her smile was a little dry - no matter how biased on their behalf she was, she too could tell that Castor and Pollux were nothing like Odysseus - as brothers, they were just… a little lacking in that social department.

"They left Odysseus alone, right?"

Clytemnestra nodded. "They didn't stick around to socialise after each game, Odysseus was fine." Her red lips pursed a moment. "Though… the sons of Ares…"

"There were demigods, weren't there." Ctimene hadn't had the full guest-list - but they all had assumed that there would have been…

"Several, yes," Clytemnestra said, and then exhaled.

"Did Odysseus…?" Ctimene managed to keep her alarm out of her voice.

"No, no, nothing like that," Clytemnestra said, pressing her slender fingers to her temple. "Honestly, we are so fortunate to have Odysseus around, really."

They were walking now to the family's quarters - Ctimene waited till Clytemnestra had them safely behind a closed thick door before she asked for more clarification.

"They didn't get into fights, no," Clytemnestra said, with a long exhale. "Just the political tension is thick enough to cut with a knife. Several. Urgh. The kitchens are a whole mess; Hestia's blessings, they only brought a handful of retainers each. Imagine if every one of them had brought a whole entourage!"

Ctimene didn't want to imagine it - Odysseus had only brought Polites and Eurylochus, and Eumaeus - and Eumaeus was trusted to stay out in the fields with the sheep; he was trustworthy and didn't even like messing around in the kitchens either. Ctimene reached over to tentatively pat Clytemnestra's shoulder - Clytemnestra flashed her a smile. "It's ridiculous peninsula politics," she said, "I want to stab them all."

"But then you would have a whole bunch of other basileis howling, and Helen would have no one to marry," Ctimene said. "Right?"

"Pity," Clytemnestra said. "It would be so clean and easy then. Just knife them all, except the one Helen wants."

"Does she have someone in mind yet?"

"We've narrowed down a couple candidates," Clytemnestra said, going to the amphorae in the corner of the room to pour Ctimene some water and wine. "And just … Helen wants to hear what you have to say."

"Me?" Ctimene said, surprised. "All I know is the wool, I don't know men. I don't know any of them!"

She'd seen, just in the drive up here, from behind her himation, the evidence of many new and strange men - and hearing some of their accents in the wind. She had been glad it was Odysseus who was supposed to deal with them, not her - she didn't envy Helen's choice at all. But now they wanted her to help?

"We have dossiers," Clytemnestra said reassuringly. "Just a few candidates! Only to confirm what we already think, don't worry."

Ctimene calmed down, relieved, and took the cup Clytemnestra handed her. "Alright. But - I might only just say 'he's ugly' or 'he's too tall' -"

"That's fine," Clytemnestra said, "They're all annoying, so you don't have to go into detail."

"It's so much easier if they were sheep," Ctimene said, "if the sheep's fleece quality is poor or their socializing is bad, then they become mutton."

Clytemnestra huffed in amusement, settling herself at the loom - this was actually her room, and now Ctimene was sharing with her for the next couple days.

"I knew it," Clytemnestra teased, "You know far more about the sheep business than you let on."

"You found out years ago," Ctimene grumped. "Shush."

"Tell us which suitor should be turned into mutton," Clytemnestra said, picking up her shuttle, "That's enough."

"At least one of those might be your suitor…?" Ctimene said.

"Disgusting, no," Clytemnestra said. "Helen can deal with peninsula politics - imagine! Having to converse with Athens! Urgh. Thebans at least are just liars - Athenians… urgh."

Sparta's relationship with Athens was always a little bit funny - Ctimene hid her mouth behind her cup, wriggling her feet against her sandals. Athens didn't like how Sparta's women married late and dealt with trade; Sparta didn't like how Athens refused to deal with anyone but the Spartan Basileis or their sons - and then writing long boring screeds about the dignity of women, and called it 'Philosophy', and made plays about it.

Clytemnestra had written very long letters about irritating Athenian plays she'd heard about over the years.

"Fortunately Damasippus also agreed we aren't going to hold any plays for today, though Aletes suggested it," Clytemnestra said, "The suitors can amuse themselves with their retinue and each other; if we'd put on a play, the Athenian contingent would just judge everything, from the seating arrangement to the lighting. You know, for the opening banquet, the Athenian contingent complained about the couch upholstery."

Ctimene made comforting noises.

"When I get married," Clytemnestra said, firmly, "I am going to choose someone nice, muscular and not from the peninsula."

"So… like an island off the peninsula?" Ctimene said. "Like Ithaca?"

Clytemnestra turned to look directly at Ctimene, green eyes dark and intense, like the best chrysoprase, almost glowing; if she didn't know that Clytemnestra was not a demigod, she'd… suspect it.

"Yes," Clytemnestra said, low. "Exactly like Ithaca."

"Uh," Ctimene said, feeling her ears go hot. "That…. That'd be nice. We have sheep."

Clytemnestra laughed, and turned away back to her weaving. "You have so many sheep," she said. "And I like sheep."

It was a lull day - Ctimene could arrive with next to no fanfare, be whisked away with red-smiling Clytemnestra with barely a word to Odysseus or even half an hour of catching up on his wool reports.

Terrible, evil, cruel Clytemnestra!

Unfortunately for Odysseus, he couldn't whisk himself away into the Palace, not even on the thin excuse to catch up with Eurybates.

He had considered it.

Today was a lull day of zero events for the suitors after their presentations - which were getting steadily extravagant. Nestor's son was probably going to haul in actual horses at the end of the last presentation before lunch, and Odysseus didn't particularly want to be there to see it.

(Horses had some sort of unfortunate fascination with him, his hair, and his pouches. He kept these dried fruits for his little rambunctious lambs, not for huge war horses that could stomp him into paste! Worse, he never had any idea when they wanted to get stompy. Sometimes they'd be calm and lipping at his clothes; other times they'd suddenly take a big chomp of his hair.)

But it was the after that he wasn't particularly keen on.

Since there were going to be no games today, everyone would be resting… and 'resting', together.

Yesterday's … divine appearance had given him a heart-issue - just the thought of laurel made his heart-rate go up, and it wasn't like he could dog Damasippus' or Thoas' shadows today, not when they were going to be setting up the field for the next event, or having last minute meetings about it, and Odysseus couldn't make an excuse to hang out with them…

The problem was that if he hid away for too long, people would start saying uncomplimentary things about him - anti-social, stuck-up, arrogant… He'd taken one day off for his sheep, and the others noticed.

Worse, the suitors might call him recluse, and question his ability to be basileus - too young to be one, couldn't handle the pressure…

Odysseus took a turn in the garden, eying the semi-concealed exit that would take him out of the garden and then out to the fields.

The sons of Ares weren't the only risk he ran if he left the safety of the palace. The feathers he was wearing - all three, one at the temple, one pinned to his chlamys, and the other on his opposite wrist - would be more than enough to warn off Gods. (if Great-grandfather had had the consideration to leave him a marker too he'd wear it as well, but Great-Grandfather had flitted off in what was practically a burst of sparkles, just because he could, and Odysseus hadn't thought to ask him for something. Given Great-grandfather's mood though, he might have left something huge and ungainly and in no way subtle, if he left one at all.)

There was - were - Meriones, Nireus, who - well. They were nice, he could cope with them alone, but there had been plenty of others too, who had been giving him eyes. Aegialeus - had he…? Maybe. He wasn't sure.

That's the thing. Odysseus wasn't sure. He had had only three days of getting to know them all. Sure it was three very intense, event filled days, but those were only three days; he didn't trust them enough to let his guard down for any of the… friendship making that Hermes was suggesting he do; he wasn't like Polites or Eurylochus, who didn't seem to mind.

(They probably wouldn't mind - they didn't have to. Their actions didn't reflect on Ithaca as a whole, and if anything went wrong, they would come running to Odysseus to fix it.)

Of the Ithacans, only Eurybates was most like him - which was why he had him be Ctimene's escort; he could trust Eurybates to keep her safe if he himself wasn't there to escort her out of Ithaca.

There were too many variables at play here. He didn't dare do anything more than exchange witty one-liners with Aegialeus of Argos - for fear of implying anything with the Thebans. He didn't dare talk to Idomeneus too long, for fear of him thinking he wanted something to do with Crete, trade, and his nephew. If he talked to Phiddipus a bit too long, he might think Odysseus was throwing his lot in with Cos and then Iphitos --

Oh.

He knew someone many more years than the others here.

He could go find Iphitos - Iphitos was likely doing something archery-related, OR he'd be doing something with his horses - and Iphitos' horses were incredibly well-behaved, just like the sweet oxen, and anyway Iphitos wouldn't make him stay around the stables if Odysseus turned up.

Yes.

He could go find Iphitos, hang out with him, and then no one would say that Odysseus was Not Socialising!

He… technically did find Iphitos.

And Teucer.

They were definitely making good use of that oil.

Odysseus left before he got noticed.

Odysseus made his way around the grounds, trying not to be pulled into … interaction with anyone without looking stand-offish. There was a way to do it, of course: walk with intent and purpose, and people would assume he had somewhere to go, someone to meet.

He thought he caught sight of one of the twin sons of Ares - just the back view, so he sped up, thanking Hermes that they seemed quite preoccupied with someone, the couch and possibly the linen there; judging from the rapidly diminishing sounds behind him, the person who was … sandwiched between them was probably Menestheus, and quite possibly enjoying themselves. A lot.

Just like how Iphitos and Teucer had been enjoying themselves.

… which. Alright. Good for Iphitos!

He did wonder if he should maybe seek out Teucer's brother Ajax - it seemed like he could possibly be at loose ends, with his brother being… occupied. But then he thought about the fact that Ajax was, well, Huge, as huge as Thoas, and definitely not as familiar to Odysseus as Thoas, and while Odysseus didn't flatter himself into thinking he would be to the huge man's taste, he couldn't 1) rule out the possibility, 2) actually fend off the huge, Giant Man in the event that Odysseus DID fall into the range of his taste, and 3) he didn't know Ajax well enough to know how well the man took rejection, however gentle.

There was the sound of - barely muffled pleasure behind those trees.

Odysseus thought very longingly, of his nice quiet room just for him and his five or six thoroughly undiplomatic solo couches.

He could spend hours just rolling around on each one! All by himself!

He might even be able to steal his sister away from Clytemnestra and huddle in his room with her and a giant tray of cheese and fruits… she might have brought some of Father's fruits, even.

But like Clytemnestra had said, Odysseus ought to socialise. Unfortunately, there was even that (actually) fun event tomorrow that they were going to have to choose teammates for - Odysseus had to find some potential partners. Teammates.

Iphitos would agree to be his teammate, he was sure. But Odysseus and Iphitos would not be team leaders. Aegialeus…? He considered the prince of Argos; the man was all points - spiky, suspicious, but quite sharp. It'd take effort but Odysseus trusted that he could probably talk him into following one of his strategies if necessary. Nireus, he supposed would be one?

Odysseus took a turn past another set of trees and almost walked right into a man's back.

The reason why that man was just standing around to be walked into was because he was kissing someone, hand in thick, lustrous walnut coloured hair.

"Oh, I am so sorry, I didn't expect anyone," Odysseus said, taking several steps back. There was a discreet couch right over there, why -- were they just standing in the path...?

"Odysseus!" Nireus said, breaking the kiss to smile brightly at him - brilliant and kiss-red, and Odysseus froze a little. "Oh you're here, I was looking -"

"Basileus Odysseus of Ithaca," said his companion, turning to look at him, and Odysseus squinted a little against the light. But mostly, how the man's gaze narrowed at Odysseus.

"Elephenor - Basileus Elephenor, may I introduce the basileus of Ithaca, Laertiades --"

"I know who he is," Elephenor interrupted, turning to face Odysseus fully.

He also kept his arm possessively around Nireus' waist, Odysseus noted.

"A friend of Menestheus, aren't you."

"We spoke," Odysseus said, lightly, and even trying to figure out if he remembered anything about Euboea and Athens - was there anything between them? He thought that the two territories weren't at any particular odds.

"And close enough, even, to form an alliance with him and the twins from Orchomenus," Elephenor said. "You are certainly politically astute."

Twins of Orchomenus - the sons of Ares. Either Elephenor was unhappy with Odysseus possibly forming an alliance with Menestheus, OR with the sons of Ares.

It was strange that some of the others seemed to think that Odysseus welcomed the attention of Ares' sons - but no matter, right now he was getting glared at by a basileus of a territory probably three times the size of Ithaca, and the man looked like the only thing that was preventing him from violating Hermes' xenia was his need to keep his arm on Nireus.

Odysseus had offended people before, but usually not when he didn't know what he'd done to offend them.

"We spoke very briefly," Odysseus said, keeping his tone as light as ever, as if he didn't notice any threat in the man's tone, or expression. "I believe the twin sons of Ares liked his conversation well enough that they are now continuing it over there," he said, pointing back, vaguely, into the trees.

"And you know this because -"

"There are these little alcoves, so easy to nearly walk into one without noticing. The princes of Sparta have really outdone themselves in creating such a maze of privacy, I am so easily lost. If you want to go and talk about alliances with the sons of Ares, they should still be back there, I don't think they noticed my near blunder into their privacy. Nireus, have you seen - " who could he name, who -- ah - "Nestor? I was just about to go find him, talk about his - horses, maybe."

"Nestor - I thought I saw his son Antilochus just over there," Nireus said, twisting a little as if to walk to Odysseus. Elephenor growled, a little, like some sort of dog, and while Odysseus managed to keep his face calm, Nireus glared at his … to-be-lover? Lover?

Odysseus gave them both a bright smile. "Oh, thanks, Nireus. I'll just leave you both to it, then. Basileus Elphenor."

And retreated hastily, though not out of earshot at once.

"-- what was that for -? Elphenor, he's -"

"He's friends with Menestheus, you know what he did when he usurped the title in Athens -"

"Take your anger out on Menestheus, not Odysseus," Nireus said.

"And I forbid you from forming a team with him tomorrow."

"I already agreed not to join Menestheus' team," Nireus said, "But I will not avoid Odysseus' --"

"Don't - don't be angry, look, sit down here, Nireus - there --"

Well, Odysseus took himself off quickly, making sure to turn away from the path that would lead back to the sons of Ares. Nireus was not a possibility for his teammate then - unless he broke with Elephenor. Not with Elephenor being so possessive and adamant.

There might be political and trade entanglements between Euboea and Syme that Nireus wouldn't particularly want to disrupt over a simple argument like this. In any case, it meant Nireus wasn't going to go with Menestheus, and Odysseus was a maybe.

That's fine, he'd go locate Nestor, maybe actually talk to Antilochus. Had he even talked to the old Basileus' son at all? He might not have! He should go and get acquainted; Antilochus was after all, a younger son, one of his father's many - he fell squarely into the right type of category of potentials that Icarius and Tyndareus were considering.

Chapter Text

Ctimene had spent most of the day with helping for the prep of the next two days; it was a good thing that Odysseus had been kicked out from being underfoot - all the new retinue and staff from Sparta's outlying regions were … well not a mess per se, because Basilinna Leda and the Spartan princesses and their own staff had things down to a pattern.

But Helen and Clytemnestra had a lot they had to do to finish the last things for Helen's wedding, so Ctimene was to help with the logistical running of all the other duties that the Spartan princesses had to leave to deal with Helen's dowry and so forth - so Ctimene and Iphthime had been running around the kitchens, the warehouses, and checking on the laundry and cooks constantly, sending Eurybates out to be their runner and messenger to keep things coordinated all around the palace and its just surrounding area.

(Sparta was so much larger than Ithaca, but at least the normal day-to-day operations that had to be kept running on top of the dealings with this whole huge event was similar to Ithaca - and fortunately without the daily catch of fish. Sparta was inland enough that there wasn't any need to deal with the rendering of fish gut glue; there had nearly been an Incident during that time Ctimene helped Mother organise their own island event. Fortunately for that little idiot child, Odysseus' two rams and an overexcitable bull, nothing was hurt and most of the batch of fish-guts had even been saved. One of the rams lost its entire fleece though. Ah well. At least it hadn't been a batch of sheep's milk; Ctimene would have been cross enough to dock someone's cheese rations.)

Ctimene had known she would have no time to go check on the sheep herself - just like Odysseus had predicted, and thus had sent the wool to her in advance. But she honestly barely had time to really sit down and organise her thoughts on the quality of the wool. She and Iphthime had only sat down after all that work, just barely having had time to wash and dress for dinner, when Penelope came running into the room, so the wool report would have to wait till after dinner.

After Penelope was Helen and Clytemnestra, Helen looking just a little frazzled but managing to smile for them, so Ctimene didn't ask her about any of the suitors.

"Have you given her the -" Helen said.

"No, not yet!" Iphthime said, hopping to her feet and heading to the door, "We were in the kitchens all day, Ctimene was making dessert!"

"Oh, dessert," Clytemnestra said, smile white and pleased, and Ctimene managed to put an arch look on her face, trying to be … unconcerned. And not at all excited for Clytemnestra's reaction to the dessert.

"Just one of Father's favourites," Ctimene said, and Clytemnestra's smile softened. Clytemnestra liked Father a lot, which was good.

"Oh, that's lovely," Helen said, and pushed Ctimene to sit down, in front of Clytemnestra's large mirror, the polished bronze surface large enough to show her face and her collarbones. Helen adjusted its stand, just as Iphthime came dashing back from her room, with a small box.

"Any hints on what kind of dessert?" Penelope asked her younger sister.

"None!" Iphthime said, cheerfully. "None at all - Here, Ctimene!"

And pushed the box into her hands.

Ctimene opened it and gasped.

"Do you like it?" Iphthime said, "I sewed on the pearls!"

Ctimene picked up the length of ribbon - it was a tightly woven thing, the warp threads being the soft dark brown Spartan wool, the weft thread-- "that's saffron isn't it?" She said, rubbing her thumb over it.

"Yes," Penelope said, "Clytemnestra wouldn't let any of us use the saffron at all."

"You would all waste it," Clytemnestra said, which was a lie. The princesses were all very good with their yarns, especially the very finest, very expensively dyed ones. Ctimene held up the ribbon, the saffron weft thread picking out a tiny waveform of… little arrowheads - or maybe short daggers, rippling along the length of it, both the dark brown and saffron colours bringing out the soft faintly pink tint of the little pearls, and carefully shaped drilled shells, filed smooth to not catch on anything.

Clytemnestra casually took the ribbon from Ctimene's hands, and tugged Ctimene's hair back from her face, and arranged the ribbon just so in her hair.

"And then why is it that I can still use the saffron yarns for my own ribbons?" Helen said, amused.

"If you want to make terrible ribbons, that's your own problem," Clytemnestra said.

Helen snorted; Penelope laughed - and Ctimene met Clytemnestra's gaze in the mirror just over her shoulder and she grinned at Clytemnestra.

Clytemnestra smiled, cheeks darkening a little, and then turned away hurriedly, ostensibly adjusting Ctimenes hair.

"There," Clytemnestra declared, "Isn't that pretty?" she turned to the rest of the princesses, all but challenging them to say otherwise.

Not that they would - Clytemnestra had always been clever with Ctimene's hair; now it was a soft mass of waves - she always made Ctimene's hair look good, somehow, and the ribbon with its pearl and shell and saffron-arrow pattern looked like the glint of gold and pearl on the beaches in Ithaca, hidden amongst the thick dark rocky dunes of her hair.

"Very," Helen said, approvingly, "it goes really well with Ctimene's hair."

Penelope reached out to tweak a few curls that weren't quite willing to stay behind the ribbon. "Yes, it's very pretty -"

Clytemnestra caught her cousin's hand, and held it to Ctimene's shoulder. "Ohhh, would you look at that - "

"The… pearls?" Ctimene said, surprised.

Penelope tried to tug her hand away - Ctimene turned to squint.

"The shells match," Clytemnestra purred, and Ctimene turned fully to catch Penelope's hand.

"Shell looks the same," Penelope said, resigned and unconvincing. "From anywhere."

"Ohhhh, is it from someone?" Iphthime said, shoving her face where there was space.

"It really does look like the same shell on the hair band," Helen said, "And we got those from Ithaca…"

"Oh, who could have brought them, I wonder," Clytemnestra said. "Ctimene, who do you think it is?

Ctimene looked up at Penelope, and Penelope turned pink, all bright under her eyes. Ctimene grinned.

"We should go down to dinner," Penelope said, yanking her hand back. "We can't have the boys arrive first - Aletes would be insufferable."

"They're already insufferable," Clytemnestra said.

"And isn't it informal tonight?" Ctimene asked, just to see if Penelope would turn more red and flustered. "So we can arrive at the same time. Maybe our brothers would arrive at the same time."

"Oh, we should go and stand and wait," Helen suggested. "At the doorway."

"Yes let's do just that," Clytemnestra said, wicked and sharp - catching Ctimene's eyes briefly, and letting Ctimene grab Penelope's hand so Penelope couldn't run away by herself to the dining room.

Penelope's brothers had also been clearly waiting for Odysseus - they were all clean and dry, while Damasippus had his arm around Odysseus' shoulders as they walked in; Odysseus' hair was still a little damp, gleaming with a hurried run through of oil, rather than the slightly more matte finish when he took the time to rub in lanolin.

Perfectly normal, nothing to it - except Odysseus turned his face, saw Ctimene, and then with a horrid, evil, spreading grin, tugged lightly at the chlamys that Damasippus was wearing.

And of course, Penelopes' brothers had had the time to return to their rooms to get a scrub down and change for dinner too; so they had more than plenty of time to see what Ctimene had left in each of their rooms…

"Is that new," Helen murmured to Iphthime behind Ctimene.

"A brand new chlamys?" Clytemnestra all but purred into Ctimene's ear, and Ctimene could feel her face get hot.

"I made them all something in the Spartan wool," Ctimene protested, "I haven't visited in months after all…!"

Overloud - Damasippus glanced up at her, and he smiled at her, all big and handsome and dark blond and Ctimene fumbled her other hand for Clytemnestra's arm to squeeze her.

To make her stop laughing at her.

Evil! Both of them!

"It's new and thick," Odysseus said, out loud and evil, "with that - oh, what is this border?" Odysseus picked at the long edge of the chlamys, running along Damasippus' waist level.

"Oh hey, that's - " Thoas said, also snagging his older brother's chlamys, big fingers delicate on the wool, careful not to crease it.

"Yeah," Perileos said, "I've seen that before. Isn't that the same border stripe as Odysseus' …"

"His chiridota, during the opening banquet," Aletes supplied helpfully.

Damasippus smacked all of their hands, "Shut up," he said mildly.

Ctimene's ears were bright red.

She thought she had been so subtle - Odysseus had seen her weaving it, in between him whining about the tapestry that she'd had to design for the courting gift - because she had started the chlamys much earlier, actually, and had been agonised, but he didn't know who she was making it for.

A chlamys had been possibly too big, too obvious, and she didn't have that much of the colour shifting Ithacan exclusive wool, because Odysseus had kept too few of them, so she could only make a strip, at most.

She'd thought of a headband, or a belt, but that wasn't… serious enough, she'd said, and while Mother and Eurycleia had only hummed and given her advice on maybe a towel (Not personal!) , a scarf (not formal enough!) - a chitoniskos was just… a bit too much of a statement, a chiridota or kolobus - the tunics were just too shaped, too thick, and too… personal.

Odysseus had finally told her, if she wanted something subtle, while she was agonising all over his room after failing to find his patchwork chlamys OR her brooches, that a chlamys really was the best idea - it's just a normal Spartan chlamys at first glance, just the normal Spartan dark-brown wool, but with her dark coloured band at the end, it wouldn't be too obvious.

It's on top of EVERYTHING, she'd complained to Mother and Eurycleia, It would be OBVIOUS.

Then a chitoniskos, if you have the measurements of the young man, Eurycleia had said, completely placid as Mother, though both Eurycleia and Mother had given her such knowing looks that meant that Mother and Eurycleia had KNOWN who she meant this particular chlamys for.

And so she'd run off in a blushing huff.

Luckily a chlamys was easy enough, forgiving enough AND Odysseus had come back to Ithaca at some point with one of Damasippus' chlamys ("Tore mine," Odysseus said, with a sad tragic face, "Ctimene, dearest sister, will you repair it?" "Go ask Penelope, you horrid monster, what were you doing, rolling around in thorns?!") so it had been only a matter of moments to get the measurements for width and length.

And now…

Damasippus looked incredibly handsome in it - he always did look good in the Spartan brown wool, but now with that added little band of Ithacan exclusive wool, right along his waist…

Thoas elbowed Damasippus with a grin.

"Shut up all of you," Damasippus said, still looking at Ctimene, and his smile was gentle, as gentle as Clytemnestra's was sharp and bright, and Ctimene was squirming in place.

"All of you are blocking the hallway," Iphthime said, "I'm hungry!"

Odysseus broke out a laugh. "As the princess commands - Come, Thoas, Perileos, let's head in and not keep your sisters from dinner."

And as he directed the Spartan princes past them, her horrid brother SOMEHOW managed to flash Ctimene a bright grin that had her scrunching her face even more - "Nice headband, Ctimene, who wove it?"

Then while Ctimene and Clytemnestra were both making faint noises, Odysseus managed to sneak in and snag Penelope from Ctimene's arm, tugging her to walk in with him.

AND when Penelope was sitting down at dinner, a decorous several seats away from Odysseus, her OTHER wrist was adorned with another bracelet.

And Odysseus still had the gall to finger Damasippus' chlamys at Ctimene's FACE.

HMPH!

Just in time to perform pre-meal rituals, Castor and Pollux did manage to come in to greet their parents - brief and polite, and then appeared not to see any of them except maybe Odysseus - or Clytemnestra, they were both seated in such a way that from certain angles the line-of-sight could catch both of them at once - and then disappeared off to do their own… Castor-and-Pollux things, immediately after prayers and libations to Hestia.

No one's managed to get them to sit for a proper dinner; they heard 'informal' and figured it meant they could go and eat dinner with the horses, apparently.

(Castor and Pollux liked horses a lot, Clytemnestra had said apologetically, once, the first time. Thereafter she had not bothered to apologise for their absence.)

As soon as Tyndareus was seated, the dishes came in - the appetizers of still warm bread, cold cuts of meat -- ("The suitors brought so much," Iphthime had said, "shall we choose the savoury cured one this time?" "Yes, let's make Odysseus suffer," Ctimene had said. "No honey for him."), and then the main course - huge whole roast spotted grouper, from further off the coast.

"Oh!" Odysseus said, sitting up in excitement. "Grouper!" Common enough a fish in Ithaca's harbours - in any harbour that could launch a fishing boat. However, the city of Sparta was in-land enough that it must have taken considerable effort and planning for it to arrive fresh.

"Yes," Icarius said, fondly. "Iphthime -"

Iphthime immediately grabbed the serving implements - it was an informal family dinner - they didn't need the servants to serve them - and she was cutting out a thick slab for Ctimene, before handing it to Aletes, who was closest to Odysseus and could reach over and also cut a good portion for Odysseus - right across the centre of the spine, where the finer bones of the fin or the belly didn't reach.

Odysseus made a fervent sound of thanks. "Fish - finally - Not to say that the meals earlier are bad, I love meat, of course," he said, "But it feels like an age since we had grouper."

"Four days of formal banquets - of course you didn't get any of your usual simple foods," Icarius said, indulgently. "So you didn't guess?"

"I haven't been allowed into the kitchens today," Odysseus said with a pout directed to Clytemnestra. She smirked at him, pleased at having kept the secret from him. "Did.. how did you manage it? Did you - did you keep it a secret from even Ctimene?"

"Obviously not," Clytemnestra said, the little dimple in her smile sharp as fin-spines of the grouper, fine lines of amusement as she favoured Ctimene with a conspiratorial look. His traitorous sister blushed and scrunched her eyes at Clytemnestra. "Who cooked it after all?"

"To answer your question," Icarius cut in smoothly before Odysseus could pout more and get laughed at by Clytemnestra too openly. "My respected sister-in-law suggested it."

"We had enough ice in storage and plenty of saw-dust," Leda said. "And you have been working very hard."

"Plus, Ctimene was arriving today, anyway," Clytemnestra said. It might have been flippant, but for how her glance to Ctimene was just a little softer than she usually favoured Odysseus with - slightly hooded. So while Leda might have been the one who suggested the bringing of a fish to dinner to the basileis, Clytemnestra probably was the one working with her mother on the logistics of fetching said fish from the port. "Hardly an extra consideration."

Sure. hardly. Certainly not because the spotted grouper was one of Ctimene's favourite fish. It was also one of Odysseus' favourites, so Clytemnestra probably did agree that he'd worked very hard. Heh.

Odysseus did not say as much to Clytemnestra, instead he made a gesture towards his sister, and Ctimene immediately reached for Basilinna Leda's plate - Leda smiled at her, handing it over to her so Ctimene could pass it down to Odysseus.

Odysseus carefully took a piece of the collar, tasty and fatty around its fat lobed pectoral fin, and the cheek - a thick tender scoop of flesh, slid it them into Leda's plate and bowed over it, towards Leda as he passed it to the closest pair of hands to pass it back to Leda.

"Sweet boy," Leda said, smiling at him, graceful and pleased.

"Only the best parts for Basilinna Leda," Odysseus said, dimpling right back at her. "In humble gratitude and appreciation."

And since he was there, he also got similarly ideal pieces for Tyndareus and Icarius - the Spartan princes and princesses passing the plates around, until Aletes shoved Odysseus off the utensils and Odysseus let go and sat down with a laugh, to allow Aletes serve his siblings and cousins.

It wasn't like Ctimene hadn't had fish recently - but she did like the way Sparta used their herbs and salt. Everything was a bit more mineral-y, combined with the brighter, fresher taste of their mints. Despite what Clytemnestra implied, the fish had been sort of a secret to Ctimene too. She'd noticed the little cart that had joined them at the docks as the first catches of the boats came in, but hadn't thought much of it when it come along their party to the Palace. And while technically, in keeping with the idea of 'secrets', it was hard to keep any sort of secrets as to what was happening in a kitchen, even one as big as Sparta's.

Especially with Iphthime asking her, with decreasing subtlety, which seasons she and Odysseus liked on a hypothetical fish that wasn't trout, or the done-ness or the method.

(None of the Princesses of Sparta were particularly good at cooking marine fish or seafood; Ctimene thought it was very cute and funny, and willingly pretended to fail to notice a fish-shaped object in one corner of the kitchen the entire time she had been there.)

Odysseus practically inhaled half his fish; Iphthime had managed to get the herbs right - and Ctimene loved the use of their wine-vinegar - sharp and bright, a brilliant complement to the rue, basil and mint they had, glazing the spotted crisp skin of the fish with a sharp crunch, sharp and nearly pungent contrasting against the delicious white flesh.

Ctimene could see the lines of her brother's shoulders loosen slightly as he chewed and swallowed in pleasure - ah, so Clytemnestra was right; he really had over done it with the archery - he had been tight all along that line there.

Now, he was relaxed enough to start about the day, bright and excited. Iphthime leaned over under the cover of her brother's chatter, to ask if Ctimene liked Clytemnestra's fish surprise.

"Love it," Ctimene said, cutting a glance to Clytemnestra, who affected watching her cousins across Odysseus' side of the table, though her gaze cut briefly to Ctimene.

Ctimene grinned at her; the tips of Clytemnestra's cheeks dusted pink, ever so faintly.

"It's one of my favourite fish, love how you did the herbs," Ctimene said.

"I did it how I do river-trout," Iphthime said, pleased. "Though… maybe the herbs are a bit too much. This fish is not as strong-tasting as trout?"

"It's lovely, I love it," Ctimene said. "Grouper is robust enough to take strong herbs, and this is the first time you cooked it, even."

Iphthime smiled slightly, a little reassured. "But… well…"

"And Odysseus swallowed half of it just like that," Ctimene pointed out, and iphthime brightened even more. "See? It's good."

Ctimene glanced up to see Leda's amused, knowing glance. "Ctimene, dear," Leda murmured, not remarking at that little conversation, "pass me some of those olives? It really does go well with the fish. Congratulations, Iphthime."

Iphithime beamed in pinked cheek pleasure.

Nestor had very big horses, Odysseus told them all, which were terrifying, more terrifying than Castor and Pollux's horses out in the fields - and Antilochus had only brought into the hall a pair, not all four.

"I like horses," Helen said, smiling at him, as he reached for the salad bowl - mixing up the bright greens and shredded onions, olives, dried figs and nuts, sprinkled generously with sharp feta cubes, before he ladled a generous helping into his own plate.

"That's because you're Spartan," Odysseus said, with a grin at her, passing the bowl to Aletes to pass towards her. "So maybe he'd be a good option."

Antilochus was younger than Odysseus - not that it was a mark against him, he was strong, swift-footed, and a cheerful young man who had quite liked Odysseus' presentation, his running, and of course his archery. "He invited me to go hunting with him," Odysseus said, "And he's a decent shot himself."

"So you like him a lot?" Iphthime said, helping herself to the bowl of barley porridge and then putting a large dollop on Ctimene's bowl, and of course Odysseus had much to say, barely pausing in attacking his salad to say it.

Antilochus had something of his father's turn in speech, brightly aware of his age - he was a younger brother, his older brother promised to another already, so that was why it is him Nestor was punting out of the chariot.

"He offered to take me for a drive in his chariot," Odysseus said, thoughtfully, "and Nestor laughed and tried to shove us off to the field, but, you know. Me and horses."

Perileos coughed into his plate, and Damasippus handed him a cup, so he would hide his coughing rather than spray crumbs of bread on the table.

"You're terrible with horses," Damasippus said, with a crooked smile, accepting the porridge bowl from Iphthime and dumping half of it onto the nearest brother's plate, because they needed more energy anyway.

"Yeah, terrible, so I turned down the chariot drive," Odysseus said. He forked carefully at his salad, to ensure he had a bit of everything, before drizzling some of the olive oil on it. "But he agreed to be my teammate for tomorrow." He took a bite of salad, and then made happy noises when he realised the oil was theirs - the same oil that he'd brought over several days ago when he'd arrived.

He slanted a glance to Leda, and she smiled at him, though she looked pointedly at Penelope. Penelope, decorously alternating between nibbling on some of the cold cuts and her bread dipped in her oil dish, blinked innocently at Odysseus. Which told him exactly who had given the orders for his olive oil to be put on the table today. He beamed at her.

"Pylos is a very close territory," Leda noted, "it would be lovely if your suitor doesn't have to move very far," she said to Helen.

"And Nestor's horses are exceptional," Tyndareus said, calmly flaking his fish off the bone to eat with a spoonful of barley porridge, "even with the high feed quality they require."

Talk turned briefly to feed conversion rates, a comparison, though of course Odysseus didn't have much to contribute about that - the distaff side did point out that the high quality feed did mean more reliance on certain grains. So he could turn his attention to the fish; it tasted great in alternating bites with the salad and the porridge - his fish was quickly gone and so he made grabby hands at the fish-dish until Aletes cut off another slice for him, almost half of the tail end, that he could happily apply his salad to, crunching while listening to the others talk about horse feed.

"Fortunately," Leda said, taking a sip of her wine, "it seems like those grow in abundance in Messenia and neighbouring regions."

"Pylos and Messenia do have similar climates," Odysseus said, and Perileos agreed.

"At least we wouldn't have to trade with Thebes for more oats," Clytemnestra said, jabbing her bread against her plate, and Penelope and Iphthime groaned at the thought of Thebes and oats.

"There are Thebans amongst the suitors right?" Ctimene said. "I think I saw the list -"

"They're on the maybe," Penelope said, glancing to Helen and her brothers, and then straightening, putting down her bread so she wouldn't gesture at them with it. "Yes, they're maybe! Do you remember that promise they made about the port in Thisbe?"

"It wasn't that bad," Thoas said, pausing in taking a spoonful of his chickpea soup.

Odysseus watched Ctimene watch them too, eyes going back and forth. What port, he could see her thinking, as he drew his soup bowl close and took a quiet swallow of the rich hearty broth, thick with the flavour of bay.

"Because you weren't the one who had to wait three months for construction materials," Clytemnestra said, ripping at the crust of her bread. It tried to resist - refused to surrender neatly in a shower of large crumbs. "They threw off our timetable something horrible. Weeks of good weather, wasted, and when they finally delivered the final shipment, it was well into the middle of fall, right in the middle of sowing season."

"When was this -" Odysseus asked Aletes under the cover of topping up his soup.

"Oh you know, it's when they agreed to allow us exclusive use of Thisbe's harbour for those months - it was- hmm." Aletes scrunched his eyes over his half finished bowl of chickpea soup. Nudged the bowl towards Odysseus as he named the year, and looked expectant for soup and Odysseus' recall.

Odysseus ladled soup into Aletes' bowl and promptly failed to recall anything Thisbe related in that year.

"The Thisbe port incident was a year before that," Damasippus said. "And Thoas doesn't remember anything about that fiasco, because we were on a different expedition with Uncle."

"Right," Thoas said, spoon chasing the last of his own soup. "Huh." He pushed his bowl towards Perileos to try to get more soup; Perileos lined up his own and Thoas' neatly behind Aletes'.

Odysseus obliged by stirring the ladle around, and then putting one scoop each into the bowls with military precision - a habit since years back, when Odysseus had accidentally given Perileos more of the coveted chickpeas than broth, and Thoas' bowl had ended up with two big bay leaves as well - Thoas had immediately playfully accused Odysseus of favouritism, and then Odysseus had been rolled all around the field while protesting that it was only an accident and that he loved all of the brothers equally help help heeeelp until Damasippus came to rescue him.

Odysseus most definitely couldn't afford such an accusation right now - Odysseus had a reputation as basileus of Ithaca in front of all these new suitors -- and Iphitos! Iphitos would laugh at him forever. Plus, they were all grown up now. Well, he was.

"We hadn't made contact with Ithaca yet," Leda said mildly, putting down her cup to flake her fish onto the porridge and take a proper spoonful.

Ctimene made an enlightened noise that was almost 'no wonder' around her mouthful of salad.

"Oh! Right, of course you don't remember," Aletes said to Odysseus. "They promised us exclusive use of the port, but when our ships showed up -"

"Another five ships were already moored in the harbour," Icarius said, taking another piece of bread, several slices of ham and a few soft black olives, folding it all into a neat little arrangement to take a solid bite. "Thisbe was extremely apologetic - the port-master claimed that he'd been told it would be for three months later. When I showed him our agreement, he claimed that it must have been a transmission issue - Thebes must have made a paperwork mix up, and given him the wrong dates."

"He was very sorry," Leda said, "So sorry, and directed our ships to another port three hours away."

"And we couldn't say no, couldn't sit there and block their new trade partner's ships and put the port-master and the entirety of Thisbe to sword," Clytemnestra said, sharp with remembered pique, tearing her bread into almost inedible crumbs. They fell into her oil dish with a sad splat, and immediately soaked up the oil and sank. "Our ships had been on water for two nights already. It'd take more than three hours to set fire to the stupid harbour."

Ctimene and Odysseus watched the poor bread hide at the bottom of the dish, as Clytemnestra made angry noises on discovering there was no more bread in her hands and they were little soggy wrecks gently disintegrating in her oil instead. Ctimene tipped her head forward over her salad, her hair ribbon glinting almost-gold and pink as she tried not to laugh.

"And Thisbe doesn't have a beach you can run aground on," Odysseus said, recalling as best as he could the geography in the Boeotia region.

Penelope passed her empty soup bowl towards Damasippus, who passed it to Odysseus - Odysseus scooped one ladle of soup, strained out the broth, and filled her bowl with soft tender chickpeas. Then added a tiny smidgen of the broth to make it an actual soup.

Then he passed all the bowls to start their journeys back to their respective owners - Aletes snorted when Odysseus politely handed Penelope's bowl personally to Damasippus; Damasippus raised one eyebrow at Odysseus, who most definitely did NOT blush. Penelope accepted her bowl, with lowered eyelashes and a widening smile at Odysseus and yes, Odysseus did blush at that.

Fortunately Icarius and Tyndareus weren't looking at him.

Penelope prodded her spoon at her 'soup'.

"Penelope is going to have to eat her soup rather than drink it," Thoas said, almost under his breath at Perileos.

Penelope pointedly turned her head towards her father still speaking, and paid no attention at all to her brothers' petty envy. She was so pretty when she turned her profile like that.

"So we had to take the further port," Icarius said.

"Wasted three hours getting there - and it's even more time to transport to Thebes than from Thisbe," Clytemnestra said, as she fished out a still crispy piece of her salad and went trawling for bread-bits in the sea of oil. She managed to scoop out several bits, dripping bright gold over the green leaf, and crunched into it, looking exactly like she wished could do that to that Thisbe port-master, or failing that, the nearest Theban.

"At least," Tyndareus said, stirring his spoon thoughtfully in his porridge, "They did compensate us for that apparent double-booking."

"You know it wasn't exactly an accident," Icarius said.

Tyndareus spread his hands over his barley porridge. "What proof do we have that it wasn't?"

"The fact that they do this all the time," Penelope said.

Penelope and her sisters and cousins all had stories about Thebans inconsistency - it wasn't all just the port issue. Because the port issue had delayed the construction of new guest quarters ("When you first came to Sparta, they were freshly new, but they would have been three months older if they had been just on time," Leda told Ctimene), which threw off all the logistics and management of well, Sparta; they had the manpower to pull from the outlying regions, of course, and Thebes' compensation for the 'scheduling mix-up' was enough to pay for that extra manpower, but it had been cutting it quite close, for that year's crops.

It was also their wool, Helen added.

Ah, the wool.

Odysseus perked up at that. "Theban wool is very decent," he said. "Their white wool is fine and long."

"For this festival," Leda said, with a crease in her brow, "they were late by a month with a shipment of wool - and then said they were so rushed for time, they couldn't give it to us in yarn, but was in raw roving instead."

Both Odysseus and Ctimene were stunned by that. The sheer amount of manpower hours that would require! Ctimene nearly yelled. "Do they not care about their reputation as traders?" Odysseus said, indignant. He'd never traded with Thebes - he hadn't needed to - Ithaca could do well enough with their own sheep's wool; their white wool wasn't as fine as Theban wool, of course, but their own sheep were well adjusted to Ithaca's climate, and while the mature fleece was rougher, their lambswool were always soft enough for their needs - cost wise, they didn't need to trade for the little increase in wool quality when their sheep's wool was good enough.

But for Thebes to be so lackadaisical in their own trade!

"They're inconsistent and unreliable," Leda said, still frowning, but then she glanced to Odysseus and Ctimene, and she smiled, beautiful edging into handsome - Odysseus could see exactly how she was Helen's and Clytemnestra's mother - sharp-eyed like Clytemnestra and all strong lines like Helen. "but fortunately, dear Icarius' sons managed to befriend you." She took a last bite of her bread and then started on the last of her salad.

Odysseus blinked and looked to Damasippus.

"Chase us around like crazy kidnapper traders," Ctimene said, and Aletes jabbed Perileos in the side.

"We apologised!" Perileos said, but hastily started to pass more of the salad and porridge towards Ctimene under his father's and aunt's judgemental air.

"By bribing Odysseus with bronze," Ctimene said, sticking her tongue out at Thoas and Perileos - Thoas made an exaggeratedly apologetic and sad expression, and Ctimene sniffed, barely mollified.

Damasippus shook his head at his younger brothers, and then took Ctimene's plate and peeled off the last piece of fish from its huge plate - peeling away the spines of its dorsal fin so it was mostly boneless before handing it to her.

Ctimene smiled up at him, caught Odysseus grinning at her, looked away to see Penelope smirking, and went all blotchy-red and scrunched back down into her seat, forking fish into her mouth and glaring at Odysseus.

Fortunately the table was too big for her to kick Odysseus under it. Heh.

"At least we have enough weavers and spinners now, unlike that second season you came to us," Leda said, as if her nephews weren't making faces and jabbing each other at, and possibly under the table, because their legs were long enough. "So their lateness - well, we had already built in a buffer of three months delay for them."

Odysseus remembered that season - he'd been vaguely surprised that Icarius had written to him, asking casually if he happened to have any finished bolts of wool that he might be able to spare - Odysseus and Father had wondered what that might mean, and Odysseus had written back that he hadn't had that much excess fabric, but he had maybe five weavers at loose ends and some freshly sheared lambswool, would that be alright?

Apparently quite and very, alright.

Basilinna Leda had been so pleased that time, and Odysseus didn't quite know what to make of it then - but now he knew: Thebes had had a short-fall in their shipment or were late and Odysseus' offer had been enough to help make up for some of it. No wonder Sparta had given them a slightly above agreed compensation that year for Ithaca's labour.

"Ah," Odysseus said, swallowing the last of his fish with the last of scraps of his porridge. "I'm so glad we could help then."

Leda tipped her head at him - Icarius gave him a very fond, pleased smile.

"We were pleasantly surprised that they were only a month late, this year," Penelope said to Ctimene, as Ctimene flaked her fish onto her last piece of bread and drizzled a bit of olive oil onto it. "Which is amazing good work for them."

"Maybe they wanted to help their suitors give a good impression," Ctimene suggested, and Clytemnestra laughed, bright and amused. Ctimene grinned.

"The Theban contingent didn't turn up a week late," Clytemnestra said, giving her oil a disagreeable glare, "so it's clear that's where their priorities are. That and military -"

"In military matters, they leave early," Damasippus said. "Perileos, remember? That time we had an agreement to deal with Seriphos and Melos constantly sending ships over to mess with our port Helus?"

"Ah, right, they would raid Thebes' other major port, Hyria too," Perileos said, "So of course Thebes agreed that we would cooperatively deal with those irritants at their source."

"Turned out," Damasippus said, to Odysseus and Ctimene, "When we arrived on Melos, the Thebans said that it looked much smaller than reported, so Sparta could handle it perfectly well. And then turned around and left."

"They at least gave us a bunch of spears and shields, and thirty chariots." Perileos frowned. "It's barely compensation but --"

"Do you think," Odysseus said, after a moment's thought, "maybe they just didn't want to cart it back with them?"

Damasippus and Perileos exchanged looks, and then groaned. "I hate Thebans," Perileos said.

"Thanks for the lovely insight, Odysseus," Damasippus said with a sigh.

"You're welcome," Odysseus said, and held out a dish of dried fruit. "Fig?"

Most of dinner was finished while the entire character of the Thebans was dissected as thoroughly as the huge roast grouper, leaving behind just the bones of any Theban reputations and only a few leaves and onion shreds of the salad to float sadly in the remains of watery sauce and dressing.

"Dessert now?" Aletes asked, as he poked through the last bones of the grouper, looking for the final flakes of fish to drop onto Odysseus' plate.

Clytemnestra's gaze popped up from examining her olive oil - she'd managed to get most of the major bread bits but there were still some sad crumbs of bread still floating around the bottom, like the scattered remnants of wool fluff after a solid day of shearing sheep.

"Yes, dessert," Ctimene said, bouncing up. "I'll go get it now -"

"Ctimene made it," Iphthime said, because she hadn't announced it to leaders of Sparta yet, and Icarius smiled at her - patting her arm as Ctimene made her way out of her seat and rounded the table past them to go to the door to fetch it.

Ctimene had only to glance to Damasippus, cheeks slightly pinking, and immediately Damasippus was up to lend his hands as well.

"I could -" Odysseus said, starting to get up.

"No, you sit down, you'll swallow all of it before it even reaches the table, like a giant ox! Aletes, sit on him," Ctimene said, imperious with Penelopes' youngest older brother the way she barely was able to be with Damasippus these days. "Make sure he doesn't leave his seat!" And then she made her way out.

Odysseus pouted - Icarius laughed at him.

"Your sister has become quite commanding," Icarius said.

"And prone to hyperbole," Odysseus pouted more. "I wouldn't eat it before it reached the table…"

Aletes patted him comfortingly. "Was there anyone else you met today then, while we were working?"

"Orrr you could tell me about what obstacles are happening tomorrow?" Odysseus said, looking over the remaining brothers and pinpointing Aletes as the weak spot to pump for information. "What kind of team should I try to join? Thoas said I shouldn't pick the sons of Ares -"

"We weren't making obsta-"

"Fish brains, be quiet," Perileos said. "Don't be a tadpole about this --"

"But," Odysseus said, turning his big eyes on Perileos and Thoas. "What if I pick poorly? I'd lose, and lose Ithaca's pride!"

"See," Aletes said, as Penelope started giggling, "I can't say no to him!"

"You could just not look," Clytemnestra said cruelly, and Odysseus looked at her in dismay. She just started to stack the used dishes, so the servants could start to clear the table.

"But how can we not look at him!" Aletes protested.

"I'm too pretty not to be looked at," Odysseus agreed, batting his eyelashes generously at all the brothers he could reach, and even Clytemnestra.

"I find it easy to not look at you," Clytemnestra said, sharp-toothed and red smiled. "Unless you want me to aim at you instead. I could do that."

Odysseus squeaked and hid behind Aletes' arm.

"Clytemnestra, dear," Leda said, "no blood at the table."

"Yes Mother," Clytemnestra said as she stacked their soup bowls - her cousin and sister also cleared their side of the table, nudging Thoas to use his speed to help.

"Saved by Basilinna Leda," Odysseus said, grinning at Leda and popping up onto his feet to stack utensils into the nearest plate and hand it to a servant.

"I would have no idea what to say to your mother if I let you return full of punctures," Leda said.

Odysseus thought of his mother's expression at that. "She'd probably say I did something to deserve it, actually."

"Yes but we just fed you a nice fish," Leda said.

"It's bad taste to stab someone after we feed them good fish," Helen said solemnly, and Odysseus laughed.

They had just cleared the table completely - Odysseus still hadn't managed to gain a single tidbit of information from any of the Spartan princes other than… there didn't seem to be obstacles tomorrow. Maybe. It was possible that Damasippus had misled him? Hmmmm…. - when Ctimene returned, trailed by Iphthime and Damasippus, each carrying a tray, balancing the bowls in them.

"Oh, poached pears!" Clytemnestra exclaimed in delight, as Ctimene placed one bowl each in front of first Tyndareus, then Leda and then Icarius.

"Yes," Ctimene said, giving Tyndarius and Icarius a little excited smile. "Our pears!"

"Thank you, sweet child," Icarius said, smiling at Ctimene as she dimpled at him, handing him a new clean spoon.

Ctimene turned to Clytemnestra and put her bowl in front of her, turning it just so - Odysseus could see the intent in his sister's face, and Clytemenstra's gaze flicking between Ctimene and the pink, poached pear.

"Poached with Father's new seedless-grape wine," Ctimene said, "Spiced of course."

"Ah, Basi- I mean, Laertes' grapes were so sweet," Clytemnestra said, a little low, looking up at Ctimene, pink dusting her nose and the points of her cheekbones, and Odysseus snorted, very lightly.

Ctimene glanced over at him and glared.

Heeeehhhh. Odysseus grinned back at her.

"And… these are… Laertes' pears?" Tyndareus said, tone careful, as he lifted his spoon.

"The harvest wasn't ready yet when I left -" Odysseus started.

"They ripened just immediately after you left," Ctimene said, cheerfully. "So Father and I picked them."

"Ah," Tyndareus said. Leda cast him a look that was almost amused.

"This looks good," Icarius said, carefully, studying his bowl with intention, like he studied the maps of the entire peninsula before they set off on expeditions, clearly looking for a fine point of attack in the whole, poached pear.

"Any particular cultivar?" Leda said, sweetly, "My husband and dear brother do have some opinions on pears."

Odysseus hadn't thought that Icarius or Tyndareus actually cared all that much about pears. This was also news to the rest of the table.

"Really?" Ctimene said, "Father said this cultivar is one of the heavy fruiting kind, though it has a little bit of a weak root-stock, so he'd grafted them onto stronger root-stock - and it grew so fast and tall, Father had to spend weeks climbing out and about to trim them down. Why, when the fruit started to ripen, he would not let me climb to help - the top fruits ripened first, you know, as pears do!"

"So interesting," Leda said, stirring her spoon into the fragrant, spiced wine-reduction of her pear. "Laertes can climb?"

"He's very athletic," Tyndareus started, stopped.

"Oh, right," Leda said, delicately cutting the pear with her spoon, the firm but tender flesh of the pear giving way cleanly. "Athletic."

Icarius suddenly seemed to find his pear very interesting.

"Yes father still goes out to the orchard every day," Ctimene said. "And he said he has to climb each of his trees - like how he taught Odysseus -"

"Right," Odysseus said, "The olive trees need regular pruning, or else they'd grow out of the way and difficult to harvest --" he held out his hand to Damasippus, making a pleased noise at receiving his bowl.

The pear had been carefully peeled, and poached in Father's sweet seedless red wine. He could smell cinnamon and some other spices , though of course Ctimene had already fished out the spices when she poured out the reduction.

Clytemnestra made an extremely appreciative noise. "Laertes' pears are the best I've tasted - not at all mealy."

"Father specifically is trying to make crisp cultivars," Odysseus said, and he was watching as everyone got their bowls, Iphthime and Damasippus quickly making the round around the table, as Ctimene took her now empty tray and headed back out the door to quickly return with --

"Oh that is gorgeous," Leda said, straightening a little.

It was a beautiful woven basket, made of fine, even willow sprigs, large enough to pack a significant amount of food for a day out, for a small party of maybe three or four, and a sturdy handle. It was padded with multi-coloured wool blanket - a mix of the blackies' wool and that of their hardier, rugged sheep that they kept mainly for their milk.

Those sheep had wild-type wool, coarse and coloured like the pale rocks and beaches of Ithaca, not truly white, but not truly cream either, just weathered and tough. They barely needed any assistance in anything, not even lambing, and any young boy could easily keep up with them and round them up for milking or shearing.

Their wool, while rougher than Odysseus' blackie wool, was tough enough to be used on the rockier lands of Ithaca, unlike how less hardy fabrics could only cope with the softer, sweeter grassy pastures of Sparta.

And right now, that blended-wool blanket was cushioning some truly gorgeous pears - bright green pears, all evenly shaped, large enough for a man's hand - but with a blush-pink streak right across the pears' curves.

"Oh, that's very pretty," Clytmenestra said, as Ctimene carefully carried the basket back to the head of the table, all the siblings straining to look at it. She placed it on the table in front of the Basileis of Sparta, and tugged slightly at the wool blanket to make sure the bright green of the pears contrasted beautifully with the blanket.

The sweet almost honeyed scent of the ripe pears floated in the air for a moment, like spring.

Clytemnestra almost reached for one - Helen quickly snagged her hand before she could touch it.

"Basileis Tyndareus, Icarius, Father wished me to present to you these pears, the finest of the first crop from his new cultivar, sweet and crisp to eat, just like the apples from up north, but lighter and more pleasant to eat during the hotter months."

Icarius and Tyndareus made appreciative noises - Icarius reaching out to touch a fingertip on a pear.

"And… Basilinna Leda, Mother also gave you a smaller willow basket," Ctimene said, "to match this one as well. Though she said.." Ctimene tipped her head to remember her mother's words, "it's smaller and lighter than its sibling, so you can carry it around with you when the other is in use outside. I gave it to Iphthime to put in your room."

"Your mother is so considerate and sweet, just like you, dear one," Leda said, standing to hug Ctimene and pat her hair. "I shall definitely make use of it. Very soon." She cast her glance at the basket on the table, then at her husband.

Tyndareus paused in taking a pear.

"... Yes dear?" he said.

"Hmm," Leda said.

"Mother said to tell you about the wool here," Ctimene said, "it's a rugged, tougher blend, not really meant for clothing, but it'll take a good beating; Mother said it wouldn't even wear out as quickly as some of the finer wools, even if you dragged it all over our Ithacan rocks."

"Oh?" Leda touched the blanket, and smiled, looking at her husband and Icarius. "Then, surely my husband or his dear brother will try it out soon. Maybe even in Ithaca?"

Icarius choked on absolutely nothing, and quickly grabbed his cup to take a drink.

"Oh yes," Odysseus said, remembering the blend that Ctimene was talking about, excitedly turning to tell the entire table, "We literally hauled it all over Same - we tried out felting the yarn really hard, and boiling it in hot water - and - "

"Even oxen running over it didn't do anything to it," Ctimene said, grinning at Clytemnestra and Damasippus - "Except making it a bit dirty. I bet Thoas couldn't ruin it -"

"Hey," Thoas said.

"We could try it out, in Ithaca - or well - did you bring any extra, Ctimene? We can try it here --" Odysseus said, remembering at the last moment not to point with his spoon. The others had already started to apply themselves to the poached pear, and Odysseus had to remember to actually put the pear into his mouth and -- "Oh! Father's pear blossom honey?"

"Only you can tell the difference," Ctimene said, "Odysseus has opinions about which honey I use."

"It has to match the pear!" Odysseus protested. "You can tell, right? Clytemnestra - Penelope?"

"It's very floral," Penelope said. Her father nodded, having recovered from his coughing fit and was also trying the poached pear.

"See," Odysseus said, giving Penelope a bright smile, and then felt it turn a little smaller and shy, when she favoured him with a lingering look, and slowly putting the spoon to her mouth, and lipping the pear piece off her spoon, slowly.

Odysseus swallowed, cheeks pink, and ducked back to his own pear; he could see Penelope smile out of the corner of his eyes. Heee!

"So," Aletes said, leaning to Odysseus, "It really is that rugged?"

"Yeah, if Ctimene brought extra -"

"Is it really so much more rugged than a regular woollen chlamys?" Leda asked, pausing in her pear to finger the blanket, slowly, almost deliberately. Tyndareus was a little pink in the ears - but then maybe he'd drunk a bit more wine than usual - dinner's wine had been up to them to water as much as they liked, but Tyndareus hadn't seemed to drink very much. Maybe he had not diluted it as much.

"Odysseus tore up his chlamys like an idiot, climbing after the goats," Ctimene said, cheerfully throwing Odysseus and his chlamys under the goat-cart, "but that wool blend took it fine, even with him sliding down the entire way on it. So we're using it to make capes for the goatherds."

"I see," Leda said, smiling slow and handsome, and she glanced towards Icarius and Tyndareus. "What an excellent tough material. I do like the idea of not having to repair more chlamys and chitons each time people return from Ithaca." She also glanced towards her nephews - and they all suddenly applied themselves industriously to the pears.

"Tell your mother, she is so kind, and wise," Leda told Ctimene, "It's no wonder that both of her children are so clever."

Ctimene nodded - "Oh! Also, Father said, he needed a name for this new cultivar -" she turned to Clytemnestra, "He said maybe to ask you, and Helen, because such clever parents must have clever daughters."

"Oh, that's - he's so sweet," Clytemnestra said, smiling pleased and flustered. "Helen and I - we'll think of something."

"So kind of him," Leda said, and it almost sounded like a purr. "Clytemnestra, Helen, you can always ask your Father or Uncle for ideas, as you know."

"Of course, Mother," Helen said, "I intend to."

Tyndareus hurriedly ate almost half his pear; it wasn't a surprise, it was really good - and there were seconds to be had too.

"That's- that's nice," Icarius said, a little rushed, "an honour. Odysseus, have you had any ideas of who you might… tomorrow?"

Odysseus blinked at being abruptly addressed. "Right! I don't even know how we're going to choose teammates, or what kind of game it would be, because some people wouldn't tell me- but I spoke to Menelaus today as well, after Antilochus - he's nice." He tipped his chin at Damasippus. "I think he'd be a good teammate, though I'm not sure how creative he would be."

Helen made a tiny noise - Odysseus nodded to himself. Menelaus really did bear watching - Helen was carefully cutting the pear with her spoon, moving it around the bowl to carefully coat it in the wine reduction, and not looking at him at all.

"Though there's another I quite like," Odysseus said, "He's good at listening."

"Oh?" Tyndareus said, apparently extremely interested in Odysseus' teammate choice. "And that is Iphitos then?"

"Iphitos - I'll ask him to be my teammate anyway - but no, I meant Menestheus of Athens," Odysseus said, carefully taking another spoonful of pear. "It does seem like Athens is rising in influence and prominence, while Menestheus is quite self-effacing; doesn't boast about his competency. This might be a good stage to ma--"

"Athens?!" Clytemnestra exclaimed. "What horrid play did he bring?"

Odysseus paused, spoon to his mouth. "A play?" he said.

"There are not supposed to be any plays today," Helen said, soothingly, "And surely he wouldn't be so sanctimonious as to bring any, not to Sparta --"

"He's Athenian, he probably has a whole stack ready to go," Clytemnestra said, almost slamming her fist on the table.

"Dear!" Leda said.

"Sorry Mother," Clytemnestra said, and made herself sit down, put her spoon down. Icarius picked out a pear from the basket, and passed it to Leda to pass to Clytemnestra.

She looked barely at all calmed down.

"Menestheus didn't talk about plays at all," Odysseus said, carefully - Clytemnestra had very stabby thoughts about Thebans, but he hadn't realised she had opinions about Athenian plays?

"They are really quite mean plays," Ctimene said, to Odysseus, eyebrows scrunching down briefly, meaningfully. He hadn't read any of the princesses' letters to Ctimene - she hadn't shown them to him at all, so he had no idea what was so annoying about plays. Damasippus and the brothers never mentioned plays…

"Absolute full of horseshit," Clytemnestra exclaimed. "Like that one about us --"

"They wrote a play about you?" Odysseus said, a little alarmed. That was quite rude, wasn't it? Very rude. Maybe not killing offense rude, but certainly he wouldn't expect their basileus to be so easy in Sparta if --

"Not naming us directly of course," Clytemnestra allowed, grudgingly. "But anyone who knows can tell it is meant to be us."

"Uh," Odysseus said.

"The plays are fine," Helen said, glancing at her sister.

"They were quite insulting," Clytemnestra said, her eyes flashing, glaring down at her pear, and then biting into it, before pausing, and taking a proper chew and swallow.

At least Father's pears calmed her down; Father's pears were some of the best, Odysseus knew; it was like Father had the same sort of touch with some of their crops as Odysseus had with sheep, resulting in multiple kinds of bountiful crops out of their only a few tens of trees when he had turned his full attention to them a couple years ago.

No one could be mad about plays when there were Father's pears to be had.

"The most annoying thing," Penelope said, after a moment, "isn't really the specifics. It's the way they couch it all in parody and comedy, so you can't point at any one thing and say it's really anyone they're insulting."

"If we took offense," Helen said, "They'd be able to point out in front of the world that they're just writing a silly little comedy, why are we so hopping mad. Are we saying that's how we really do things in Sparta?"

Uh, Odysseus thought, looking around the table, confused at the potential boar-pit he seemed to have walked in on.

"I've observed Menestheus," Damasippus said, allowed, carefully. "He's… a nice enough man, I suppose."

"In isolation," Perileos said.

"I would hunt with him, I guess," Thoas said.

"He's made himself quite pleasant," Penelope said, glancing at her brothers and at Odysseus. "But --"

Odysseus couldn't think of anything particularly offensive about him, except maybe his rather terrifying taste for the sons of Ares, but no one could judge anyone's taste in that department.

(more or less).

Fortunately, Icarius leaned forward, to explain. "You haven't been to Athenian gatherings, have you, littlest son-in-law," he said.

Tyndareus shot his brother a narrow glare.

Icarius ignored him. "They have very backwards barbaric ideas over there," Icarius said, when Odysseus shook his head slightly. "even if their plays and songs are very pretty and have all that fancy meter and clever wordplay."

Odysseus, having never had the opportunity, or time, or necessity, to journey to Athens OR their gatherings at all, tried to look as disapproving as Icarius was, rather than confused.

"I'll show them clever wordplay," Clytemnestra muttered. Her pear was half eaten. "With a dagger."

"Oh don't, that'd be a waste of your dagger," Ctimene said, a little nonsensically. "Here, have some of the honey, it is that pear blossom honey, you can drizzle it on the pear."

"I would not inflict an Athenian man on Helen," Tyndareus said, to Odysseus, ignoring his daughter being bribed with Ithacan pear and honey. "And this isn't considering the fact that my dear daughters and nieces have plenty to say about it; and their 'words' are very…. Sharp indeed."

Pear blossom honey soothed all anger; Clytemnestra was too busy licking up the pale gold of the honey to contemplate showing Athenians their insides on the outside.

Murder might have been deferred till after pears - Odysseus supposed that Father might be … amused to hear it? Maybe? Mother certainly would be - she disapproved of murder before dessert was finished, it was poor manners, she said.

"If he was.. He's not terrible, as a man, and we will see tomorrow how he might be as a …" Aletes paused, gestured vaguely in the air that was almost like an overhand spear jab, which indicated some martial prowess - therefore obviously some sort of martial ability was being tested tomorrow. (which was a given - it wasn't like they were going to give the basileis a reading contest tomorrow. They wouldn't need to clear a field or set up anything for that if they were going to do that). "And.." he gave Odysseus a look, "Maybe if he had sisters, then I suppose.."

"Athenian women probably are alright," Iphthime said. "Not that we ever met any."

"But Sparta does so much trade with Athens…" Odysseus said, glancing at Ctimene. Ctimene shrugged - it wasn't like she got to witness any of the trade Sparta did with Athens, in person. And she'd not talked about any - it was likely the Spartan princesses hadn't broached the topic in front of his sister very often either.

"They wouldn't look at me," Iphthime said, aggrieved - Ctimene reached over to pat her consolingly on her shoulder.

Ithaca was too far away from Athens to do more than overhear rumours, not trade. Odysseus knew Athens was very much one of the leading territories of this side of the mainland - there were plenty of stories of Athens' rising reputation in diplomacy and arbitration, as well as their very (as Icarius had put it) pretty poetry and plays. Which was why he was so surprised that Sparta wasn't …

"They wouldn't even talk anything if I was in the room - or Aunt! - and even when we're all stifled up in the himations - "

"It's outside Sparta," Ctimene said, "you… also wear a himation when you're in Ithaca…"

"But not indoors," Iphthime sniffed.

"Iphthime," Leda said, "It is alright that the Athenians wish to conduct their trade in such an inconvenient and inefficient manner."

"We bilk them," Iphthime said, with relish, to Ctimene and Odysseus. "Because they are so rude."

"We most definitely do not bilk them," Leda said, as Clytemnestra smirked against the core of her pear. "We simply do not need their wool as much as they need our grain, so of course they have to supplement such trade with more bronze."

Leda had just spent half of their dinner outlining just how often Thebes, a further away settlement, kept giving them either short-falls or were late with wool shipments. Those irritating plays and blatant disrespect for the Basilinna and her nieces certainly had reduced Sparta's need for Athenian wool significantly.

"And they wouldn't stop poking themselves everywhere," Perileos said. He'd finished his poached pear, and was now eying the big pot for a second round, since he was too far away to be bribed with a fresh sweet pear - they were meant for the Basileis anyway.

Thoas obligingly got another pear from the pot for his brother. "Yes, I remember that time when Cythera was being bothersome in Messe. It wasn't even that big a deal, we could have handled it, if Messe had just reported it earlier. But then Athens sent in a messenger to Cythera, offering to arbitrate."

"Arbitrate our own affairs," Perileos. "It's as if all they had were fish-tongue for dinner - all talk and blustery busybodies, and not doing anything actually important except getting in the way of our actual work of giving Cythera a proper lesson."

"And we can't even tell them to stuff their own ducks with fish-guts," Thoas said, pushing Perileos' bowl back to him, "because there's always something behind their eyes - at least one of them is just dying to write it down somewhere."

"If that Menestheus had sisters," Aletes said, a little louder, speaking over his brothers, "Then - there's an excuse for -"

"I'd rather install him in Thebes," Clytemnestra said.

"I thought you were going to move to Ithaca in pursuit of excellent thighs… and sheep," Helen said.

"Yes but I still want to burn down Thisbe," Clytemnestra said. "Odysseus would let me burn down Thisbe."

A sharp wooden crack made everyone jump - Odysseus' gaze snapped to Penelope.

"Ah," Penelope said, in the silence, looking down at what used to be a spoon, and was now two pieces of firewood. "I need a new spoon."

Clytemnestra blinked and hurriedly stood. "I'll get you a new one." and then she left the room before the water in the room could threaten to spill over.

"Well," Icarius said, to Odysseus, as his sons whispered to each other and tried, frantically, with gestures to find something fruity and sweet to pass to Penelope before she sent them out the window. As the daughter most like her mother, Penelope was most like her mother, which included a much better control over particular abilities.

While Penelope did still attend the physical training with her cousins, she rarely had the need to utilize the same sort of tricks that Clytemnestra had to use to spar with bigger male opponents; at the dinner table, there were plenty of cups around - one cup of water was more than enough to sucker-punch an annoying brother.

"Aletes was thinking of maybe installing himself in Athens," Odysseus said, blithely throwing Aletes into the metaphorical river. "Which is a great way to reduce Athens' rudeness, don't you think?"

"That's no--"

"Actually that's an excellent idea," Perileos said, "We could marry him off to Athens!"

"Hey- wait - then we should marry you to Thebes!" Aletes exclaimed, and then it devolved into both of them dissecting which of them was a better marriage candidate to subjugate which other settlement.

Odysseus helped himself to another poached pear. Clytemnestra returned with a new spoon and bowl for Penelope, and Odysseus helpfully gave them both another poached pear each since he had possession of the pot.

Penelope accepted her new bowl of pear from Odysseus with a pleased, wine-simmered smile - Father's pears really did solve all quarrels; Penelope wasn't about to sucker punch her cousin now, not with her smiling at him like that, all pleased at him pouring extra of the wine-reduction on top, and Clytemnestra nudging the honey pot over to Penelope.

"I was going to say that we reserve the Athenian discussion for after the excellent pears," Tyndareus said, watching his nephews start pointing out features on each other that Athenians or Thebans found attractive - or unattractive, it was no longer clear. "But I suppose the discussion is no longer a discussion."

"The pears are excellent, however," Leda said.

"They're even better with our fresh sheep cheese and father's wine," Ctimene said. "Father should be starting to pick the grapes soon; they're very sweet right off the vine--"

"Oh, oh I want to help pick grapes, and the pears --" Iphthime said, tempted by the prospect of getting grapes and pears all to herself. Well mostly to herself.

"And where is your enthusiasm when we have to harvest our grapes," Icarius said, amused.

"They're not Laertes' grapes, which are trimmed short and easy to pick," Iphthime said cheekily.

"Perhaps," Leda said, smiling at her niece, "Your father will go soon, and he can take you."

"Yes! Father, shall we go with Ctimene then, when she returns to Ithaca?

Icarius was giving Leda a look Odysseus wasn't sure he could interpret. "I suppose, y-yes," Icarius said, "that can be managed- "

"Don't forget the blanket, then, dearest brother," Leda said, touching the blanket in the basket, and then nudging it towards him. "We wouldn't want to cause my dear friend Anticlea more work in clothing repairs. Would we?"

Tyndareus nearly choked on his own drink - Icarius briefly, so briefly, that Odysseus wasn't sure he saw it , looked like a deer frozen at the sight of a hunter.

"Yes," he said, voice just this edge of rough, almost a croak, before he swallowed, deliberately, "I mean, yes, you are absolutely correct. Excuse me while I go and check… check."

And Icarius stood up, and abruptly left the table.

Leda smirked at his back - Iphthime cocked her head in mild confusion. "Is Father alright?"

"He's fine, dear," Leda said. "We can arrange your trip back with Ctimene later, after we've cleaned up. Odysseus, dear. Maybe give me another poached pear? And one for Tyndareus. He can't get enough of your Father's excellent pears."

"The pear is very good," Penelope agreed, over her uncle's little coughing fit.

"I know," Odysseus said, taking Leda's bowl to refill it. "And you can have all you like. When you come to Ithaca."

"When I go to Ithaca," Penelope murmured, and smiled at him, intent over her bowl and she didn't have to say to stay for him to hear it.

Chapter Text

The morning's presentations were very good, of course, but everyone was paying a lot of attention.

Besides the fact that today's presentations were the last and therefore the richest and the best --

(Oh, Menelaus, son of Atreus, was excellent, a brilliant speech of selected, carefully considered details, deliberate showcasing of the huge, varied plethora of gifts that he had amassed and commissioned, while he also worked in a clear possible trade plan as well as a subtle reminder of his and his brother's grateful history with Sparta -- Mycenae owed Sparta, and would not be so ungracious as to forget. It was impressive enough that even Basileus Icarius had tipped his chin very slightly, one of his few tells. So much more interesting than Aegialeus dragging in a huge warhorse, no matter how good he was at handling it - Antilochus was slighter than Aegialeus, and he'd handled a pair at once; it had been impressive, or so Odysseus had heard, since Odysseus had managed to make himself scarce at that point. Fortunately Aegialeus' warhorse had been hitched to a remarkably large tin-gilded chariot and firmly held by a bridle, so wasn't particularly inclined to chase anyone for fruit.)

-- everyone was also eying them for the final game of the week.

Everyone knew that they were supposed to choose teams, somehow, and the Spartan princes had been teasingly close-mouthed about what the rules were, and Odysseus had had no time to check on any more possible allies that night -- he had had spent most of his room's evening lamp-oil discussing the sheep flocks with Ctimene, where she'd delivered nearly ten minutes worth of minute detail of the fleece quality, and also her thoughts on his idiocy in general, and then they'd gone over his decisions with the decision for the flock breeding (with the good pastures they had in Sparta, there really wasn't a need to breed in the faster growing fleece strain - Ctimene preferred a longer staple of the fibers, and the current breed wasn't so thick-fleeced that they would overheat in Sparta's warmer seasons, so they could stand to not shear so often).

He had less sleep than he might have had - Ctimene , besides sheep updates, wanted to know everything that had happened in the Games thus far in order to laugh accurately at his being bullied by everyone (and he needed to update her on the presence of the Gods - she wouldn't be likely to encounter any one, but still. Great-grandfather's warning wasn't to be dismissed), and he had wanted to pass her one of his feathers.

She refused those - if they were given to him by Athena, then it would be ridiculous hubris to take it without permission. She'd call Great-grandfather if anything happened, anyway, since he was right there. And she would be busy.

But he was keyed up anyway - the presentations for the final day were excellent, lavish, and he was watching all of the big names of the biggest territories, just like everyone else was.

And then after lunch…

Was the final Game.

"First," Damasippus said, "You will need to appoint three leaders."

They were all standing in a clearing near a wooded area - far away enough from the field that there would truly be no spectators this time.

This was an event only for the suitors, Damasippus had announced - their entire retinue and followers were free to socialise and use the field near the stands, but here, was just the suitors, and the princes and men of Sparta.

Before anyone could ask, Damasippus glanced towards Perileos - Perileos brought forward a basket of slips of papyrus, and sticks with charred ends. "We shall put it to a vote, the people shall decide," Damasippus said, as Perileos went around for the suitors to take one slip and a stick each. "Write the name you wish for your leader - and the three with the most votes will be the leaders of your teams."

There was a rise in murmurs - most of them initially didn't seem particularly pleased at being voted for by the masses.

Someone murmured, Oh. Just like that new Athenian democracy huh…, soft enough that Odysseus wasn't sure who had said it - and definitely soft enough so the Spartans couldn't hear it.

"After all, it is a decision by your own peers," Damasippus said, mild and bland as watered sheep's milk.

Menestheus smiled just as blandly when the slip basket came to him, and took the slip and stick without comment. At least he was, despite his unfortunate background of being Athenian, not fool enough to make that comment.

Odysseus leaned towards Iphitos. "Who're you going to vote for?"

Iphitos casually kicked at his calf, though it didn't dissuade him from attempting to peek. "None of your business, curious cat," he said and tilted his hand - and slip - away from Odysseus.

Odysseus huffed in amusement - Iphitos would tell him later anyway - and turned away a little from the rest of the men.

After last night, it would be a little odd to vote for Menestheus. He hadn't thought really of who he might choose as a potential leader, only teammates. So he'd… hm.

He carefully formed the letters, just as carefully rolled it so it wouldn't smudge too much, and when Perileos came round with the basket, he dropped it in.

Once Perileos collected all the slips from everyone, Damasippus announced that while they were counting the slips, they could feel free to explore the site, including the wooded area, for half the marking of a dial, before Perileos would signal for them to return with the results of their team leaders, and then they could choose their teammates … and get the rules explained to them.

As the rest of them dispersed, Odysseus could hear Elephenor reach up to catch Nireus by the arm. "Who did you vote for?"

Nireus huffed; out of the corner of his eye Odysseus could see Nireus pull his hand away. "None of your business."

Odysseus drifted over a little more, casually listening, especially since Elephenor didn't seem to notice his presence.

"Look, Nireus, I've apologised," Elephenor said, but Nireus exhaled, sharp and cross.

"I kept my promise," he said, "Didn't vote for who you made me promise not to. So I voted for Odysseus."

"What," Odysseus and Elephenor said.

Elephenor swung round to glare at Odysseus, as if he'd somehow managed to sinisterly seduce Nireus' vote to himself. Odysseus hurriedly scampered away towards Iphitos who was heading off to a different direction - the mound a little bit away.

"He's trying to get me killed," Odysseus said, pouting at Iphitos.

"Oh, the son of Charopus? I voted for you too," Iphitos said, unruffled.

Odysseus gasped. "I'm being bullied!"

Iphitos smirked at him, knowing Odysseus really wanted to wail, possibly wail for one of the Spartan princes to come and cosset him. But alas, this was not the time and place, so Iphitos could ruthlessly bully him if he wanted and Odysseus could only sulk.

"I don't want to be leader," Odysseus said, "I'm not supposed to get any votes!"

"But you were doing so well," Iphitos said, ruthlessly cheerful, "Socializing so well with all these other new princes and basileis, forging new networking opportunities."

"I'll find where you sleep," Odysseus growled, "and then I'm going to thump you."

"You won't dare," Iphitos said, smirk widening into an evil grin, "I sleep amongst my horses." His grin went toothy at Odysseus' outraged sputtering until Odysseus huffed and gave up and could only glare at him.

How dare Iphitos exploit his weakness! He was just as bad as Helen!

"I shouldn't have voted for you," Odysseus said, and got thumped on the head for that.

"Idiot, wasting your vote," Iphitos said, "now be quiet and observe all of this - what do you think this weird mound is supposed to be?"

They split up after checking out the mound; Iphitos agreed with him that it was some sort of vantage point, or maybe a base. Start or ending point of some sort of race, maybe. Odysseus might have known the princes of Sparta for years, but it wasn't like he had been able to predict everything they could come up with.

Such a big complicated terrain for this game - this mound, the wooded area… they would have to check out the woods too, and it looked like it was big enough the rest of the suitors had dispersed out of sight, mostly.

(The sons of Ares had loped off, looking perfectly at home in the dappled shadows. Odysseus was going to have to be very careful and aware of his surroundings.)

He only had less than half the mark of a sundial to check out the entire venue, so better get moving as quickly as possible.

Odysseus had edged into the wooded area; Damasippus and Perileos had been the only ones announcing just now - which meant that Aletes and Thoas were in the venue itself - there.

He crouched in the thick undergrowth, watching a moment. Aletes leaned in to speak to one of the other Spartan men, and then they dispersed, and Aletes carried on, keeping an eye on the suitors but otherwise not doing anything… interesting.

Hm.

Thoas and Aletes were too well-trained to give anything away.

Odysseus crept after the other Spartan, watching to see - huh over there. There was one Spartan making a small circuit?

It looked a little like a nervous gesture - he was pointedly not looking at a particular spot.

Odysseus snuck even closer; it wasn't necessary to keep hidden, but if he was seen, the Spartan might change his behaviour.

Referee, he thought, like how Thoas and Perileos had been in the archery event. Rules enforcer, though right now he was just circling, as casual as possible around a little pile of…

Hm.

Nothing much at first glance. Just some rocks and brackish undergrowth, it didn't seem like anything import--

Wait.

Under the shadow of the straggly leaves, he could see a pile just beyond the rocks. A pile of -- there was no one else around so Odysseus stood up, breaking cover. The Spartan referee started, but on seeing him, deliberately relaxed, settled into an at-ease position, somewhat alert, watching him, but not stopping Odysseus from approaching that pile of rocks and --

Odysseus brushed the leaves aside and heard the referee take a inhale behind him.

Dung bombs, he realised, looking down at the pile.

Before taking them to the field, Damasippus had told them that no weapons were allowed on the field.

And right here at his feet?

A neat little pile of projectile weapons.

Odysseus knelt down to prod the top of one. Heh. Sheep manure, he thought. Ox dung was too wet, and while voluminous, wouldn't dry fast enough to form the possible hundreds that the Spartans had been making and probably hiding it all over the field.

He considered the pile of rocks, its deliberate form. Markers, he realised. And then straightened up, beamed at the referee.

The Referee's eyes flicked to the pile of dung bombs, back at Odysseus, and then shrugged, turned away.

Interesting, Odysseus thought, and went to locate more of those little stone markers.

Perileos' whistle was loud enough to cut through most of the woods - by then Odysseus had fixed the locations of seven caches in his mind as he trotted back to the clearing.

(Aletes and Thoas were too aware of Odysseus' observational skills to make the mistake that the other referees made - Odysseus had managed to locate five caches based on the other referees' slightly awkward behaviour. The remaining two he had run over by accident. If the Game still had the referees monitoring, then he'd be able to locate more.)

Perileos raised an eyebrow at Odysseus; Odysseus rearranged his face to be a lot less smug; as long as no one else found his caches, he would have a good resource to bring his team --

"The top three votes go to Agamemnon, son of Atreus," Damasippus announced without pre-amble - the others had already gathered.

Odysseus didn't turn to look as everyone glanced to Agamemnon - Odysseus had not paid very special attention to him but since Agamemnon had approached him yesterday… he'd been making the social rounds, then.

Odysseus casually stepped closer to Iphitos.

"Menelaus, son of Atreus," Damasippus continued. "And Menestheus, son of Peteos."

"Ah," Iphitos said, looking pleased, and Odysseus prodded him in the side. "What?"

"Liar," Odysseus said, "That's who you voted for."

Iphitos shrugged. "Are you the only one allowed to lie?"

"I didn't lie about my vote," Odysseus said.

"That's because you wanted to throw your vote away," Iphitos said.

"I --"

"You all have ten minutes to pick your team leader," Damasippus said, "and then we'll explain the rules."

Loud murmurs now, calling Agamemnon or Menelaus -- clearly the sons of Atreus had been oddly popular.

Odysseus thought he heard: "Have you seen Laertiades? Where is -- ah -"

"So who are you going with," Iphitos turned a little, to check the crowd.

"Well, I - " Odysseus started.

"There you are! Laertiades!" Menestheus called out, beckoning to him. "Son of Eurytus!"

So that was Odysseus' choice; if anyone asked, it was because Odysseus was following Iphitos.

Nevermind that Odysseus was the first one Menestheus called for by name.

The rules were… interesting.

Each of them were to have a number of ribbons - 'flags', because the ends trailed like flags - to be tied to their bodies by the referees; and each team had one individual banner set in their base.

The aim of the game was to capture the other teams' banners, and place them in the Captured zone - a central clearing that Odysseus had noticed but it had been just a clearing, with nothing much in it.

"The last banner still uncaptured would win the game," Damasippus said and now everyone was looking at each other, sizing up each team.

A military game.

"And what's that mound area?" Odysseus asked.

"That's for the killed players," Damasippus said, professional enough not to give him more than a neutral smile. "When you've lost all your flags, you're dead."

Damasippus swept them all a look, and then raised his voice. "No weapons!" he thundered. "We invoke the Gods who watch the actions of men - Hermes, the protector of Travellers, and Athena of Victory - Apollo, God of Distance and far seeing, and Artemis, goddess of the hunt -- no injuries are to be given deliberately, no maiming!"

The winds pitched upwards briefly - even without a proper sacrifice, the Gods' interests were piqued; which wasn't a surprise. Artemis had been lurking.

Odysseus touched his owl feather and exhaled. Athena and Great-Grandfather were watching then. Apollo probably wouldn't be interested in Odysseus like this, when there were far more beautiful men doing great athletic things in his sister's domain.

The trees rustled - and he could feel his heart-rate increase - all around him, the other men were eyeing each other now, analysing each other as opponents, as allies.

Damasippus smiled, brilliant lit for a brief moment as the sun passed from behind a thin cloud, cast with the gloss of a river-slick stone.

"The Gods are watching. We are watching." Then he clapped his hands, dismissing all the teams to a referee who led them to their banner's base - and the flags.

Odysseus considered the long trailing ends of the flags around his biceps and started rolling them up.

"Any thoughts?" Menestheus said, mildly, his own hands also rolling up the flags on his arms. The others were following suit - it got the trailing ends out of the way, and made it harder to grab.

Odysseus dropped the sleeves of his tunic back over his shoulder and deltoids.

"Some," Odysseus said slowly, "because I found a cache of projectiles."

Teucer's head flashed up at the word. "I thought we weren't supposed to have weapons?"

"Technically," Odysseus said, grinning. "They're not weapons. How good's your throwing arm?"

The field was large enough that Odysseus could bring a handful of his team and his team leader - Iphitos, Teucer, Menestheus - to the nearest cache he had memorized, and not worry too hard about the other teams coming for them yet.

They would be thinking of their own strategy, after all, and matching it to their teammates and the terrain they'd been familiarizing themselves with.

"Interesting," Menestheus said, as Teucer leaned in and picked up one dung bomb. It was more soil than dung, really, basically a very fertile piece of dirt in throwable form. "Are you sure we can use these?"

"Oof," Teucer said, "a bit of a stink too."

"Just enough to distract someone," Odysseus said. "I found six more such caches, guarded - well sort of guarded. I'll brief the others, when we get back, but the referees were patrolling around them - which means if we locate referees, we'll likely find a cache."

Teucer hefted his handful - professional enough not to make a face at the smell as he flung it at a nearby tree.

It exploded with a burst of stinky dust and clumps of current and future dirt.

"Great way to fertilize the forest soil, and someone's face," Odysseus said. It wasn't hard enough to hurt anyone, just stun them in the nose.

"A small edge indeed," Menestheus said, and Iphitos and Teucer gathered up the cache. "And how do you propose we leverage this?"

Menestheus was watching him expectantly; atypical of Athenians, Odysseus thought, he wasn't trying to dictate anything, but instead was asking Odysseus' opinion and strategy.

"Well. First thing," Odysseus said, taking one of the dung bombs - the smell didn't bother him; his sheep did worse, and fresh, daily. "We make an alliance."

Menelaus had not expected to get the votes to come in second - Damasippus had not announced the count, but Menelaus knew the son of Icarius well enough to guess. Agamemnon getting first, even though he was technically not a suitor? Understandable - Agamemnon had always known how to talk to people, how to be respected and gain their loyalty.

He'd expected to be on his older brother's team.

But when he'd been called out as the second team leader, he had been stunned long enough that Agamemnon had picked half the people Menelaus wanted - picked the people that Menelaus had discussed with his brother - pointed them out as wanting them on his - their - team.

Idomeneus and Meriones of Crete, Ajax son of Oileus, the huge Thoas of Calydon - even the terrifyingly efficient and almost otherworldly Machaon, who handled jars of strange liquids with the same precision as he handled a spear.

Fortunately Menelaus caught his wits and managed to snag Machaon's brother Podalirius, and the two sons of Ares before Agamemnon could complete the intimidating set.

Both Agamemnon and Menelaus would have wanted Ajax - the son of Telamon - Agamemnon had not been particularly enamoured with Teucer, mildly dismissive of his ability in the archery contests, because here there was no weapons allowed and thus, Teucer would be less than useful without his spectacular distance fighting, but when Menelaus had said that it would get them his older brother Ajax, he'd capitulated.

Well. Agamemnon managed to get the other Ajax, son of Oileus, and Menelaus glanced around for the large, bulk of the son of Telamon - he would be easy to see, heads and shoulders above everyone else --

Except Menestheus of Athens was clasping arms with him, Teucer right next to him, animatedly talking to Iphitos of Oechalia.

Too late.

Still.

Looking over his team, as the referee finished tying the flags to their ankles, Menelaus thought he wasn't doing too bad. He had the sons of Ares after all, and Nireus of Syme, who while not very good at archery, was decent in running and some of the other physical aspects. Philoctetes and the rest would be more than enough compensation for any physical inadequacies…

Unfortunately he had no idea about strategy.

He hadn't planned to be a leader, and Agamemnon was the one who had thought of a plan already, as soon as they'd mentioned the idea of elected leaders and targets to obtain, Menelaus could see it on his brother's face, in the set of his shoulders. And Agamemnon would have told him, once they'd assembled their team, and Menelaus knew he could carry it out --

But now he had to think of his own strategy. And he had - he had done this before. He'd been on battlefields before, with men and chariots to place - but this was not the same thing, this wasn't even a game of petteia, where the pieces were all interchangeable but the board was fixed. This was real life, military, but it wasn't, at the same time. No weapons no --

"Hey!"

Menelaus spun around to see Nireus jerk backwards - one of the twins was still crouched, holding up one of the flags - one of Nireus' flags, it seems. Looking for all the world like a wolf that had taken a test chomp at a hen's coop.

Nireus looked like he was going to kick the crouching twin in the jaw - the other twin clamped his arm down on Nireus' shoulders and Nireus elbowed him hard in the ribs.

"Stop," Menelaus roared at them.

The twins' gazes jerked to him.

"It was a test," the crouching twin said, after a slow, considered blink at Menelaus, like said wolf watching a hunter's arrow; clever, considered, willing to be wary. "It comes off. Easily."

"And that represents my life," Nireus snapped. "Go yank your own off!"

"We are a team, son of Ares," Menelaus said, sternly.

The twin looked at Nireus' flag, dangling limply in his hand, and then held it out to the referee.

"Technically, once taken off, that's one of your lives lost," the referee said.

Nireus made an outraged noise, and actually kicked out at the crouching twin - the twin tilted back out of the flailing kick, and glared at the referee, eyes narrowing; he growled, low, menacing, dark clouds passing over the bright light of the moon, slow deliberate claws pressing down into the leaf litter.

Nireus shuddered.

"That's the rules," the referee said, unimpressed.

The referee was one of the Spartan men who had basically grown up with the sons of Icarius and the sons of Tyndareus.

… probably all of the Spartan men involved in this particular game were pretty much immune to the charms of demigods by now.

The twin slowly got to his feet - air going dense like the noiseless snarl of a wolf, hackles rising in deliberate menace, lips lifting --

The referee folded his arms.

Menelaus strode forward, and snagged both twins by the napes of their necks, his hands fisting in the back of their chitons.

And shook them. Hard.

"Are you both dogs, that you cannot restrain yourself from putting anything into your mouths?" Menelaus roared at them, ignoring the fact that they were actually both older than him, both ex-Argonauts, and oh, yes, both the sons of a God that could rip every single one of them into pieces without a thought.

The other twin let go of Nireus - surprised like a wolf being swiped up by a lion he'd thought had been sleeping.

"Go sit with the others till you can think again like the elite warriors you're supposed to be!" Menelaus said, and flung them both towards Philoctetes.

The twins landed on their feet, blinked bright lupine eyes at him, too surprised to bite back, before exchanging looks with each other and then slunk away to ponder what had just happened.

Menelaus scooped up the flag that the twin had dropped, turned to the referee. Euneus, he remembered. Had a little brother? "Are you sure the rules say that it must be so? After all, this was by our own teammates, not our competition."

"A spear hardly cares whether it's stabbing into an ally or an enemy," The referee said. "So -"

"And we have known each other for several years, Euneus," Menelaus said, coaxing, "you know I do not ask for favours."

"Yes, I know, son of Atreus," the referee said, unfolding his arms. "But it's the r-"

"I heard your younger brother wished to spar with my brother," Menelaus said, abruptly remembering why he remembered Euneus and his little brother. He'd thought it was cute.

The referee exhaled hard. "My brother is barely eleven, Menelaus," he said, but then he was holding his hand out for the flag from Menelaus. "It's hardly likely he'd get anything out of a single spar with your brother besides wasting his time.'

Menelaus smiled commiseratingly at him. "When I was eleven, I would have memorized such a spar with an idol, and recalled every move for every day's training for the next year."

Euneus snorted. His stern mouth twitched up once. "Sure. Except my brother has a mind more holey than a sieve." He beckoned to Nireus - "Since this was a 'trial'," he said, giving Menelaus a sardonic look, "you can have your eighth life back. Don't try testing anything. Again."

And Euneus re-tied Nireus' flag back on his ankle, waved off Menelaus' thanks.

"You should get started," Euneus said, "I'm sure your brother and Athens have already begun."

"Yes, I know -" Menelaus said and then took Nireus by the arm - Nireus at least looked fierce enough to actually give anyone but the sons of Ares a true fight, barely calmed down under Menelaus' arm.

Perhaps he was the sort who, once a fight heated the blood, would actually retaliate with deadly force, which honestly, might be useful.

Menelaus would not thank the sons of Ares for that discovery right now though; they would likely try something like this again - a warhorse, no matter how strong and well-bred, could pick up bad habits if its chariot driver let it have its head completely.

Instead Menelaus was going to have to direct them - Menelaus turned to study his team, watched them all watch him back, blooded warriors and princes all - he was going to have to direct them according to his own strategy.

He'd not picked men based on their head for strategy, Menelaus realised with mild dismay. Which was what he was going to need against his own brother's team.

Still, they had picked Menelaus, he had to lead.

"Right," Menelaus said, giving Nireus a strong encouraging clap to his shoulders. "If any of you have any ideas, let's have some."

"Consider attacking the weakest team," one of the twins - Ialmenus? - said, sitting back on his heels, coiled and senses pricked forward on Menelaus; alert, watching him. "Athens - Menestheus of Athens. He is prey."

"All he has are prey," his brother agreed.

The others looked slightly amused at that. "Why prey?" Leonteus of the Lapiths said.

"He took all the archers, little lithe ones," Ialmenus said.

"All archers are prey," Philoctetes said, raising an eyebrow at them. The twins glanced at him.

"You don't count," Ascalapus said. "You're too big."

"Damn right," Philoctetes said.

"I do have a suggestion," said Odysseus.

All of Menelaus' team's gazes snapped to the entrance of their clearing.

Odysseus gave them all a bright smile and a slight wave.

"Laertiades," Ialmenus said, eyes shooting to the flags dangling at Odysseus' waist.

"A truce," Odysseus said, as if he faced wolves every day. It might not be wrong; Ithaca had been full of sheep the last Menelaus recalled, and shepherds' main concern was wolves, wasn't it?

"Do not attack," Menelaus barked - both the twins twitched - if they had been actual canids, their ears would have swivelled back towards him.

"My thanks." Odysseus gestured, and behind him came the son of Nestor - young and slightly wary of the group. Odysseus gave them all the smile he'd given in the presentation on the first day, polished and confident.

"Menelaus, son of Atreus, we propose an alliance."

Just the two of them, right in the middle of Menelaus' camp - the two twin sons of Ares slunk around - but when Menelaus gave them a narrowed glance, they obediently settled just over an arms' length away. If Odysseus noticed, he didn't acknowledge them, though Antilochus turned to watch them - and then for some reason waved, somewhat cheerfully.

"Menestheus has suggested we ally against Agamemnon," Odysseus said, giving them all a brief shallow sweep of a bow, the ends of his flags trailing above the hemline of his chiton. The flags were dark, almost black - the Spartan-black wool, he realised, stark against the pale off-white layers of Odysseus' chitoniskos and chiton. His flags on his ankles and biceps seemed to have ended up getting rolled up - he'd walked quite a while, Menelaus realised, for his and Antilochus' flags at the ankles to have rolled up into what might as well be thick cords around their fine ankle bones.

Menelaus could see the twins staring at the flags at Odysseus' waist, like dogs watching squirrels twitch up amongst tree branches.

Fortunately Menelaus didn't have to do more than glance at the twins again - at least they, once given orders, weren't likely to violate them. Not right in front of him anyway.

"And not with Agamemnon?" Menelaus said.

"He has almost all of the strongest fighters," Odysseus said, "and if we allied with him, after that how would we be able to defend ourselves against Agamemnon? He has Ajax and Idomeneus - "

"You have Ajax, son of Telamon."

"He is but one man," Odysseus said. "And if we went up against Agamemnon, alone, we'd lose Ajax straight away, and then we'd be destroyed."

Odysseus spread his hands, almost helpless.

Menelaus glanced to his team, taking note of their expressions. Nireus was smiling - calming down entirely - the others looked mildly intrigued.

Odysseus was presenting them with a strategy - well the start of a strategy. Menelaus could already see it'd be much easier to deal with Agamemnon's team, if he had more manpower; and Odysseus was right - the strength of one couldn't cope against the strength of more. Even if the majority of his team were very decent as he'd observed over the last few days, each team still only had the same number of members - but if they were two against one - even Agamemnon would be hard put to come up with a strategy against that.

Odysseus tipped his head, his curls shifting like the softness of his black Ithacan sheep, that Menelaus had once seen, years ago - soft, gentle, mild. "We aren't asking for an alliance for free," Odysseus said, gestured.

Antilochus stepped forward at once - and went to a crouch, revealing his armful of … leaves?

No, not leaves - Antilochus dropping his bundle onto the ground, his arms bared to the shoulders except for the twisted flags on his bicep, twisted to stay high up on his biceps and not in the way of his slightly cumbersome leaf-wrapped bundle - and he was unwrapping his leaves to reveal a bunch of…

The twins recoiled immediately. "By Zeus," yelped one, "that's shit!"

Odysseus gave them a mildly pleasant smile as the twins backpedaled away from the pile of… not dung, because those were specifically formed, palm-sized… dung balls.

Antilochus snorted in a subdued laugh - turning it into a cough as he straightened, smacking his now empty and bare arms free of bits of leaf and… dust.

Menelaus had to go closer in order to smell it - watch Odysseus' pleasant expression, and for a brief moment, Odysseus' eyes were sharp and knowing.

Ah. Odysseus wasn't just giving him what looked like pre-made, technically safe not weapons, but also revealing a little of Menelaus' own team-mates' abilities.

Menelaus, like most normal people, couldn't quite smell these bombs until very close. But the twins - seemed like their lupine qualities also extended to their senses. An excellent sense of smell, at least.

Nice to know, he thought, the qualities of his allies were always good to know and have, and Odysseus had just given him two gifts.

"We can give you another cache," Odysseus said, and his expression was extremely pleasant. "We found four. So we would share them, to show our sincerity."

It didn't take much to agree; Odysseus had not only bombs - well dung & dirt projectiles - that would serve to distract Agamemnon's fighters, which would help tremendously, and came with Menestheus' plan.

Since Menelaus' team was more robust - here, Odysseus gave them all an airy gaze that settled on Leonteus, which Menelaus agreed with -- for all that Leonteus was technically a vassal to a larger tribe, he was one of those who had gone hand to hand with the remnants of the centaur tribe -- if he had been born just half a generation before, he would have been old enough to go on the Argo as well as the sons of Ares and Philoctetes -- Odysseus suggested that Menelaus send some of his fighters to distract Agamemnon and draw out his fighters.

("Would that work?" Odysseus asked.

"My brother would - yes. He would want to hit hard and fast, and he'd field his best fighters in defense," Menelaus said.

Odysseus nodded. "You know him best." For a moment, his smile was small, cut flinty like a stone-knapped obsidian blade.)

And Menestheus would send a team - "That includes us," Odysseus said, indicating himself and Antilochus - quiet and fast, to creep around the back of Agamemnon's camp, and grab his flag from his base, then Menelaus' team could disengage.

"Once Agamemnon's team is out of the picture," Odysseus said, "then we would be free for all."

Menelaus considered Odysseus in front of him - the way he was waiting patiently for Menelaus to decide, not looking at the rest of the team.

"And your Ajax?"

"We're going to keep him to guard our banner," Odysseus said, offering up that information easily. Truly an ally, no need to squeeze him for information. "He's our best defender after all."

"And you-"

Odysseus shrugged, giving Menelaus a self-deprecating smile.

"I'm disposable," Antilochus said brightly.

And Menelaus burst out laughing.

"Alright," Menelaus said. "That sounds - good. A good plan."

"We shall leave you to choose who you will assign where," Odysseus said, straightening his back, idly smoothing down his waist-flags against his hips. "We can give you another cache of this-" he tipped his chin towards the pile Antilochus left decorously for them. "Antilochus will show one of your men."

Menelaus nodded. "My thanks, Laertiades." it looked like - they might actually be able to defeat Agamemnon. "It's - a relief. Then afterwards," he held out his arm.

Odysseus took his arm, a firm even grip. "Afterwards we survive Agamemnon," Odysseus said. "Forgive me if I hope that the son of Telamon will face off against you and throw you into the nearest tree."

Menelaus shook his arm in amusement. "I look forward to facing Ajax. May you survive to witness it."

Odysseus laughed, sharp and fast, like when he'd stood there and shot arrow after arrow at flying targets, and Menelaus was reminded - yes, shepherds. They watched sheep but they faced off wolves -- sometimes they hunted them down.

"Hit hard, and fast," Agamemnon said, as the referee tied up the last of his flags. He'd looked over his team - while it would have been nice to obtain Ajax, son of Telamon as well, Ajax went where his younger brother went - and Teucer would have taken up a spot that Agamemnon would prefer to allocate to a stronger, heavier man.

Like Ajax, son of Oileus, for example.

"Is there a -" Idomenus started to say.

"Three men to one," Agamemnon said. His team looked dubious; this was hardly the usual kind of strategy.

Meriones looked at his uncle.

"It would limit our people, we won't be able to cover much ground, and we won't be able to flank -" Idomenus said. Meriones nodded.

"Three to one would flank your enemy quite properly," Agamemnon said, nodding to the referee - the referee nodded back, stepped away out of polite hearing. Agamemnon kept that little pleased, almost-warmth in his chest, off his face. Even if the Spartan basileis had not given him a daughter, the men of Sparta knew Agamemnon, and respected how he worked. "We're not running phalanxes here."

"Still -"

"We have a lot of ground to cover - and some of us are… slow," Elephenor said, not looking at Idomenous, not quite sneering. Idomeneus didn't seem to care that he was being insulted but his nephew bristled slowly. Like a hedgehog raising each spine one by one. It would be fascinating to allow to keep happening - young men needed to fight, Agamemnon knew, but they had no time for this sort of strutting, not right now.

"Every team has fifteen," Agamemnon said, sharply. "The other teams would be likely trying to spread out, cover more ground."

"And trying to be covert," Machaon said, soft like linen rubbing over metal. While one of the shorter men in the group, not even Elephenor would think to say anything against the man.

He was quiet, the way the snakes of Apollo were - unnaturally still, and something about him was very… sibilant.

No one particularly wanted to find out how much more like a snake he was.

"Three-men teams would be the opposite of covert," Machaon continued.

"We don't have to be," Agamemnon said. "Take out each man you meet - three is more than enough to overwhelm anyone, even a son of Ares."

Three would guarantee whoever they met would be pinned, and they could divest them of their flags - their lives. Agamemnon flicked the flag dangling at his elbow.

His teammates looked at him, frowning and - well.

Meriones leaned forward a little. "An aggressive strategy. Then who do we target? There is Menestheus, and your brother." The young man was watching him. Testing him. Agamemnon almost smiled - of course he would be asking. Agamemnon even appreciated the opportunity.

"In this game he is not my brother," Agamemnon said, easily. The others blinked, and it took them a moment to remember, yes, Agamemnon was technically not a suitor, but that skinny child from Opus was.

And of course, considering the actual adults - not even hard, stern and ruthless Sparta would throw a child into a brawl against grown men.

The boy would probably break every bone in his body - and his father would be claiming compensation left, right and centre. Honestly, Agamemnon wouldn't be surprised if that had been part of why Menoetius had brought the boy - or well, one of his advisors had advised him to - a small petty advantage, probably.

But none of the Spartan sons were stupid enough to fall for it - the boy had been encouraged to go play with the younger men, his father to supervise, and his suitor-slot had been given to Agamemnon. For all intents and purposes, Agamemnon was playing for Opus, which meant he needn't worry about thrashing Menelaus' team.

Besides. It would be good for him - Menelaus' speech had been satisfyingly good, probably the most impressive in terms of gifts and oratory skill - now would be an excellent time for Menelaus to show that he could at least put up some fight on his own.

"Menelaus is not a brother to Opus." Agamemnon said, and smiled, anticipatory. "I know him very well, and know exactly how he thinks. Let's see how well he can fare against us."

And once they took down Menelaus' team, Athens' team should fall like harvested grass - they were, after all, the weakest of the lot - with the sole exception of Ajax, son of Telamon, they were the slightest and most fragile.

Elephenor barked a laugh - almost mean. "How so?"

"My brother would run individuals," Agamemnon said. "Not coordinated teams." Agamemnon looked over his team again, landing his eyes specifically on each of them; all of them had come in well ranked, within the first ten of the events they'd participated in.

And against the sons of Gods too - Menelaus might have managed to snag the sons of Ares, but divine parentage didn't necessarily mean anything about physical prowess.

His team members - his people, no matter how he divided them, were all well-rounded physically elite specimens, yes even the sharp-eyed, blunt-tongued Meriones.

"And therefore those individuals would be easy to take out and eliminate." He straightened his back, smiling. "It doesn't matter how stealthy they might be - Iphitos of Oechalia might be able to talk down the son of Zeus, but none of us here are sons of Zeus, are we?"

Phiddipus barked a laugh that wasn't quite humorous; the answering smirk Agamemnon obtained was clear enough that he knew he got Phiddipus now.

"This is not a game of diplomacy, no matter how clever they are in words - once eliminated, our opponents will be down men, one at a time. And with each loss, they'll be harder put to even make up for that loss in strength and numbers." Agamemnon spread his hands. "Let alone fight back. We hit hard, fast, and they won't recover."

"A fever and a stab wound and drowning, all at once," Machaon said, sliding his head to a tilt, steady and measuring and Agamemnon supposed… that was him convinced.

Good enough - it was always hard to convince healers of anything; but there, nods were going around his circle. "Teams of three," Agamemon said. "Meriones," he said, and the young man's head jerked to him, surprised. "You're on my team."

"Why-"

"You're analytical, and brave enough to question," Agamemnon said, which made his great wall of an uncle smile, though he quickly hid it.

And Meriones gave him something of a wide-eyed glance; surprised at the praise, and pleased? Good.

"Pick our next group mate," Agamemnon said, "I trust your judgement."

The others were already starting to look at each other - and it didn't matter who Meriones picked - everyone had already come around to Agamemnon's strategy - they'd picked him as a leader, and now they would follow him in destroying their enemies.

This game, Agamemnon was very sure they would win gloriously.

Chapter Text

There was a man in the clearing.

At first glance Odysseus thought it was one of the sons of Ares - the way his shoulders were held, the way there was something very alert in his stillness; Odysseus immediately went down to the level of the undergrowth, quieting his footsteps. One of them had circled around in front of him without Odysseus hearing, as he left Menelaus' camp?

It wouldn't be odd, honestly - the forested area was actually quite large a game-field, and it had only taken ten paces for the sound of Iphitos' own movement to fade into the quiet rustle of the forest, when they had been exploring earlier. Even in the beginning while everyone was checking out the field, when everyone else had dispersed quite well, making good use of the half-marking duration to take a look at the field and try to guess what would be useful to note, the forest had been dense enough to cut out most sound and all immediate visual signs.

What more now they were all spread out even further, their individual bases far apart?

(When they still had no idea about the rules yet, it had been an excellent way to just give everyone aimless and unfocused information - no one had known what they should really be on a look-out for, except those who knew the Princes of Sparta's way of thinking. Probably. Assuming that the Basileis or Basilinna hadn't been involved in the planning as well.)

(It had been a good strategy; except Odysseus had found the dung bombs, so definitely some physical confrontations would be involved. And now Odysseus had some mid-range distance weapons, and objects to trade with Menelaus for his alliance. Hehehe.)

But the odd thing was… the man in the clearing - the sunlight filtering down glinted off his bronze cuirass, the bronze helmet….

That was odd. No one was armoured up; not even Meneotieus had armoured up after his son's presentation - he had noticed that no one else was armoured anymore, and tended to wear huge bronze pins instead, the size of his son's palm.

And Meneotieus wasn't here in this game - he wasn't a suitor, his son was, and no one wanted to accidentally break a - ten year old? Nine-year-old? - so neither was … the son of Meneotieus.

He was fairly sure that the sons of Ares weren't armoured up either - unless they'd been stashing armour in the forest, hadn't they just turned up for the event in their single layer of chiton?

Odysseus circled around, slowly, picking his steps more carefully to go even more quiet, precise steps like deer slowly circling behind; with that style of helmet, the man wouldn't hear anything but Odysseus wasn't taking any chances --

Except the man turned his helmeted head, slow and even; inexorable and slow as a millstone turned against its grinding surface, the narrow eye-slits somehow… darker than a clouded starless night, tinged redder than a storm about to break over a sea.

"I see you, basileus of Ithaca," said the man, and his voice echoed like the strike of a spear against the helmet, ringing, ringing on and on, but instead of fading it deepened, darker and heavier into his bones.

It.

It was that voice, from the opening ceremony.

Odysseus froze like a doe.

The man - the God - turned fully, rest of the body - thick heavy shoulders, thick heavy chest under the glinting - glowing - inhumanly perfect cuirass - and the helmet's narrow eye-slits were bearing down on Odysseus, even though he was crouched in amongst the foliage of the undergrowth thick at the edge of the clearing.

The eye-slits met Odysseus' gaze, directly, straight-on.

Odysseus turned and ran.

The swell of threat rose up like a forest fire - smokey and thick and choking.

There was no doubt that the sons of Ares were the offspring of Ares. If they were wolves, their father was an entire pack, wolves and lions with fangs of bronze and claws -

There was a sudden blow - Odysseus felt the air flatten against his back, before his feet abruptly left the ground, and then he was in the air for three heartbeats and then slamming through a sapling, into a bush, before hitting ground.

"Stand and fight, champion of Athena," the God growled behind him - metallic snarl echoing all around him.

"No!" Odysseus hauled himself up right, and sprinted away for the furthest tree.

"Wha-" There was an even louder roar - the kind of roar that was soundless because it was the aftermath of a blow so hard the whole world stopped.

Odysseus risked a look behind as his hands hit bark, and he hauled himself up to the lowest branch - and Ares had… had yanked out an oak as thick as a man's thigh straight from the ground - roots ripping out from the soil, roots thicker than Odysseus' wrists snapping like hairs.

"You see who I am!" Ares said - stated loud enough birds were frightened out of trees.

Or would be - if they hadn't already fled as soon as Ares had basically punted him through the bush.

"Yes," Odysseus said, and scurried higher up his tree. Was anyone else coming? Should anyone else come? If the sons of Ares heard, and came, would Ares stop trying to --

"Then come here and fight me, Champion of Athena!"

Ares swung the oak tree down and around - and suddenly there was a much larger clearing.

Odysseus' tree rocked - creaked ominous at the pressure-wave from whatever Ares had just done to that tree, and the destruction of all the other trees.

Maybe if the Spartans came, Ares would actually hesitate, Odysseus thought, brain gibbering through the thought.

"My Lord," Odysseus managed to shout, "You are mistaken!"

"Do you not wear a sword?" Ares snarled - and his voice was divine, because otherwise it would not echo while drilling straight into Odysseus' ears, the scream of thousands of buzzards - and, starting to gather himself, about to leap the way lions gathered strength, a vulture-owl flexed huge dark wings to blot out the sky.

"I'm not wearing one!" Odysseus cried back.

Ares paused - with the same air of a dog just about to leap off from a stack of logs, only for them to shift under its paws, but scaled bigger and divine, and unimaginably more deadly.

"How can you not wear any, you are Athena's champion - her spear, her sword arm-" Ares said, echoing like bronze scraping across bone, and stalked forward.

Odysseus scooted up higher, edging around to the back of the tree. One of its branches was close enough to another that he could maybe crawl out and get to the other tree.

(Was really no one coming? Or had they noticed that this was Ares and they had gone for a priest? Sparta had plenty of priests in service of Ares - there must be several who knew what would appease the God. Maybe hucking one of his sons at him would work? All Odysseus had to do was hold out till then--)

Ares slammed his oak-tree against Odysseus' tree - he swung it as easily as Odysseus swung his spear - but it slammed, huge, heavy and dense, and Odysseus nearly fell off the trunk.

Fortunately he managed to scramble back, grabbed the tree branch, flinging both his arms and legs around it, clutching like it was the mast of a disintegrating raft and he had no other lifeline to cling to.

"Get down here," Ares growled up at him, and his eye-slits were red - bloody red like that bloodshot maw of the boar that had borne down on Odysseus so Odysseus was definitely not getting down there nope.

"I just deal with her sheep!" Odysseus yelled.

"Her what?" Ares drew the oak tree back - winding back like Pollux wound back to throw a javelin, and Pollux destroyed straw targets - Ares was going to destroy the tree. "A stupid excuse."

Odysseus scooted back, hurriedly, trying to get away so he could leap for another branch. But that would require jumping - and he didn't dare - could he dare get to a crouch and jump?

"I am only a puny mortal!" Odysseus cried out, "I am no champion of a sword -"

Ares started to swing - the branches shrieked in a terrible bloody wind.

Odysseus braced --

There was the snap and splintering of wood -- but no further vibration.

"Athena," Ares snarled, through bronzed fangs.

Athena flung away the top of the oak - it crashed like a bundle of twigs to the side. Odysseus winced.

But the trees weren't shaking so much - he could…carefully jump to the next tree and then scamper down to flat ground. Yes that was what he will do --

"Are you blind as well as foolhardy, son of Zeus?" Athena said, sharp as the glint of her spear.

"He is your champion, why wouldn't he stand and fight?" Ares said, gesturing with the beheaded oak, realised the oak was half its height and length, and flung it to the side, with a disgusted snort.

"You would attack a mortal, simply because he is mine?" And Odysseus had never heard Athena sound like that - the crack of marble under a chisel, a single point sheering away stone like peeling layers of bark away; a single crack--

It wasn't just her voice - she'd swung out her spear also slicing it against Ares - and Ares snarled back - his voice a ring of bronzed shield meeting bronze pointed spear, and it hurt Odysseus' ears.

He tried to scoot back - his arms and legs were barely listening to him - he felt frozen like a fawn, limbs locked where its mother had left it in the undergrowth, as predators leapt --

Ares met Athena's spear with his arm - his shield arm, though he wasn't holding one - so Athena's spear shaft slammed against his arm with a mighty crack in what might have been sound and light.

Odysseus thought her spear had snapped, the sound was so loud.

But as he blinked, locked and frozen behind the tree, he could see the edge of Ares' arm bloom in a multitude of colours - the heat-rainbow of copper under a smelter's flame, blossoming raw and warped along his forearm.

Ares snarled - but his mouth was a huge, bright white grin, white like the teeth of a boar, a lion, pointed and vicious and hungry.

And he twisted his arm, grabbed Athena's spear, and flung himself at her.

Odysseus couldn't help the shout - to watch out, to duck, to anything - because Ares was larger than Athena, flinging himself huge and hungry and violently vicious, the air flattening with his intent --

And Athena roared back - a thousand voices in susurration of scale rasping against stone, of the rasp-hiss of a million tiny voices that wound into one thick rope of sound - and she planted her feet, slamming into the earth -

The ground rippled, an almost-visible soundwave that distorted Odysseus' entire field of vision, and the trees whipped backwards, and Odysseus felt his arms shred down against the bark as he clung.

Ares' fist met Athena's shield - it was so loud, Odysseus could feel the impact in his entire body, the way the tree he was on creaked- bowed so much, Odysseus' branch was almost touching the ground -- so loud, he couldn't hear it, just feel it, almost beyond his poor, mortal senses --

And Athena shoved back, her feet tearing up the ground in sprays of soil and -- the air rebounded.

Odysseus' tree whipped forward, like a young springy willow even though it was a thick middle-aged oak, and Suddenly Odysseus was airborne - entirely scraped raw and tree-less, and screaming.

He was going to die, Odysseus thought, trying to curl into a ball to protect his head, his anything. He was going to die because the Gods were fighting in front of him and he hadn't thought to run away faster --

He was screaming - was he screaming Athena's name? He didn't know - he couldn't hear - the wind snatched his voice from him as he sailed through the air as fast as his own arrows - he'd never thought to give a thought about how an arrow might feel but now, he thought nonsensically, this was the last thought he was going to have as he impacted the floor and shattered into a million pieces --

He slammed into something decidedly softer than earth, rock, or tree.

"Oof--!"

He had just one heartbeat to realise that that was a ribcage, arm, and then he felt himself flung, in a slightly different trajectory.

Slower, this time, just enough for him to see the dizzying spin of tree, sky, earth, tree, and then bam, yet another impact.

Silver -someone yelled, a chord that could break the world into perfect pentatonic scale, and then everything went blessedly still.

His heart was in his ears - he could - he still had a heartbeat.

"Hermes!" A dozen scales in harmonic yelling, all at once, rippling down against his ears and skin, and he yelped, as his everything was jolted, and then he was dumped onto the ground, face first in what was probably forest mulch, and Odysseus blinked up in time to see the silvery brilliance of Apollo spring up from under - behind? - him, his entire left side a blueish grey ripple of colours, overheated silver.

"It wasn't me!" Hermes called out - the faint cry of a rooster, and Odysseus could see his great-grandfather - no, Hermes - zip away, into the distance, as Apollo leapt into the sky hauling three arrows to his bow, and dragging back, his face -

One finely sculpted cheekbone was now all but glowing, gold-silver blue-grey, warped silver pin-pointed to one spot over the wing of his cheek, exactly where Odysseus might expect to see a blooming point of angry red darkening to purple on any other man that Odysseus had accidentally --

Ow, Odysseus thought, as he tried to check his limbs. His elbow especially hurt.

--- slammed an elbow.

"There is no one else in the vicinity!" Apollo's voice ricocheted back towards him, echoing in almost-two part harmony, as Apollo chased.

Odysseus had to get out of here. There was no rescue coming - at least he was on the ground. Ish.

He - all his limbs, mostly seemed in one piece, he could move. Any stiffness was overridden with a desperate urge to be not here - so he was staggering onto his feet and --

Right there, Hermes was zipping like a brilliant glint of a fly in dazzling sunlight, and Apollo was shooting with what Odysseus would assume would be devastating lethal accuracy, if the target was anyone less than an Olympian God, calling at him like a war horn to get down and be shot full of holes properly - or worse - and Ares --

Ares and Athena were still exchanging blows - Athena like a rock upon whom Ares' charges kept breaking, but Ares was pushing, further and furious, each time - and the ground kept rippling, no safer than earlier AND they were - were they coming this way?

Ripping up trees in their wake - or - maybe Ares was ripping one up to counter Athena's spear, to shove and drive her back, larger than life and just as world-ending.

And Hermes zipped down, close, ducking Apollo's torrent of expletives and furious precision--

Odysseus couldn't stay to watch; he turned, to run away. When Gods started to brawl, mortals had no business being involved - he was fortunate Apollo hadn't realised that Apollo had broken Odysseus' fall with his face - it wouldn't happen again. If Odysseus was lucky, this would never happen aga--

Suddenly branches slammed into Odysseus' back, and thighs - Odysseus yelped but he was being lifted -- scooped right off his feet - "What?! No, Gods - Goddess?!"

"I was having fun," Artemis snarled, leaping deer and howling wolves behind her voice and irritation. She swung the tree.

Odysseus flung his arms behind him, grabbing onto a nearby branch each. "Lady!" he yelled, "Have mercy!"

She didn't hear him. "Hermes, you little brat!"

And then suddenly Odysseus was airborne.

Again.

Somehow, maybe, because that ex-tree wasn't a properly finished bow, and Odysseus wasn't an aerodynamic arrow - Artemis' aim was off. Odysseus was heading face first towards Ares, the much bigger, closer target, too far for Hermes to - do anything, and going too fast for him to try curling into a ball.

Ares' helmet looked up - huge bronze filling all of Odysseus' vision - if he landed IN the eye-slit, the divinely huge, divinely sized, Olympus sized eyeslits, and hit a second God in the eye, Odysseus would be mincemeat before he even hit the ground.

Odysseus squeezed his eyes shut, wind yanking at his arms too hard for him to pull in - or maybe it was better NOT to curl up --

And then a powerful branch - bar? - slammed into his waist, spinning him backwards, shocking his eyes back open.

And as Odysseus wheezed back to life, he realised he was dangling over -

An arm.

Staring down the length of a pristine peplos, at the ground. The ground was very far away.

There was a long moment of silence.

"I knew it," Ares said, triumphant ring of bronze spear driving through a helmet, if that was even possible.

"You're touching -" Artemis said, sounding shocked.

"He is mine," Athena said, enduring as stone, remote as the stars over a distant temple. "Do not touch this mortal - they are not robust."

"I thought your mortal was extremely robust," Ares said, scowling in confusion. "Did he not attack a city?"

"I attacked no city," Odysseus said, getting his arms up under him. Trying to inch into a more dignified position, rather than dangling like a stunned cat over Athena's arm, while several Olympian gods stared at him in confusion.

"I think you'll find that you're misremembering, dear brother," Hermes said, swooping down, careful to Athena's side, and poked Odysseus in the head until he was more or less upright, if bruised in the forehead. Hermes also started poking Athena until she swatted at him, but adjusted her arm and hold, until Odysseus was …

Cradled in the crook of her arm.

Like a baby.

…. This was probably not much more dignified - Hermes cooed at him, silvery and sharp edged.

"I remember all fighters and their history," Ares growled. "Athena's champion - a wild boar of a man, vicious and unstoppable -"

Ares pointed his tree at Odysseus like a man slinging his spear point towards an unsuspecting fish. "He has the whiff of a boar on him," Ares said - and if it was possible for a lion to sound aggrieved, indignant, and also inclined to rip people to pieces, Ares was the role model.

"Yet he bleats about sheep!" Ares declared. "Your taste has gone to the dogs, that the one the Fates have given you, favours sheep, for all that he saw and recognised me at once!"

Oh, Odysseus realised - Ares didn't see the point in sheep. He probably didn't think anything of weaving at all, other than that that resulted in sails for the ships to convey men to different shores and raid or wage war in his name.

He was - the antithesis to Athena, he realised. The opposite of domesticity. Anti-domesticity

"A barbarian."

Ares' gaze swung to HIM, now, wolf and lion blooded red at him, and Odysseus realised he'd just said it out loud.

Like an idiot.

A dazed, heady, out of his mind with Godly auras, idiot.

"He's not wrong," Hermes said, on the other side, thoughtfully sing-song, glowing slightly as he landed delicately, toe-first, on the end of Ares' tree-spear, "Look at you, brother, all bloody skins and leather. Not a soft piece of wool in sight. Uncivilised~"

Ares' teeth bared - a gold-stained grin, warped red-bronze fist-shaped against one side of his mouth, pulling his lips up - "Oh, you have an opinion, brother?"

Faster than even Hermes' thought - Ares' hand flashed out, grabbed Hermes by the ankle.

Hermes yelped - hauled out of the air and now swinging almost upside down.

"Ares! Brother, beloved brother --"

"Hold him still," Apollo said, swooping down, "And finally I can shoot that brat --" Released glittering after glittering arrow.

Hermes flung out his caduceus and managed to swipe the arrows out of the air - Odysseus ducked against Athena's shoulder, smacking his forehead against her pauldron but it was better than taking a godly arrow to the eye - he felt one whistle through his hair.

"You both keep ruining my fun," Artemis called out and oh no there was a tree heading straight for them now - a fir that was way more aerodynamic than Odysseus had been --

Apollo barrel rolled out of the way, easily - and Athena flung her shield up, smacking the tree aside in a burst of needles and splinters, and in the same returning motion, slung her shield off to spin like the Gods' own deadly discus.

Artemis couldn't duck in time - took it to her shoulder with a sharp lupine yelp.

"Do not. Touch. Him." Athena started, switching her glare from Ares to Artemis - even though she was far across the - much enlarged clearing.

"I wouldn't touch a male," Artemis said - "you're - You're the one who's being strange, taking some archer -!"

"He can more than take a little slinging," Ares sneered.

Athena turned away from her sister, dismissive, and advancing on Ares again. Her shield arm - now empty of a shield, wound back - and Ares smirked, flinging his tree up and swinging his other arm around, hauling Hermes in front of him, as if Apollo's vendetta against their brother was nothing more than an irritating fly; Hermes kicked out - against Ares' elbow - even though the blow connected, his heel slamming hard enough to warp gold-bronze colours against Ares' arm, wings fluttering in agitation, Ares didn't even grunt.

"And you," Athena said, tightening her empty hand into a fist, eyes snapping gold and almost-electric, almost the same colour as the gold-silver-bronze smearing down her jaw, more or less the shape and size of godly fists.

Artemis yelled at being ignored - Odysseus would say it's like Ctimene yelling at him, but Gods didn't yell like mortal women - Artemis screamed like half a dozen does and bucks at the sight of foxes thinking to attack fawns, and she was running in now, notching her bow and Odysseus was …

Well. he was going to get out of the baby-hold as soon as he could --

"I have a better proposition," Hermes yelled out, curling into a ball. "Let's not have Father notice!"

Ares froze, mid-swing - the remaining leaves of the tree burst off it in a shower, force carried through.

Athena's fist went ice-still barely a hair from passing across Hermes' nose - through his nose? - enroute to connecting rather precisely with Ares' breast.

"Father isn't here," Apollo said, silver-gold and ivory horn-notes fading as he dropped down to the ground. "He wouldn't notice."

"Father would definitely hear," Hermes said, folded one arm over his other knee, as if he was sitting on a stool of air, upside down, though Ares was still clasping his ankle firmly.. "And who would he blame?"

"Father wouldn't blame anyone," Apollo scoffed - but Artemis was lowering her bow now, frowning.

"Of course Father wouldn't blame you, sweet darling brother," Hermes said, "Lightning bolt son of Leto." Hermes swung his head back, stretching, to meet Artemis' distant gaze, and then Ares. "And surely he would not blame you either."

"We have done nothing for Father to blame us for," Ares said, but his voice had gone… quieter.

Hermes tapped his fingers on his free ankle. "These trees fell over all by themselves," Hermes said. "And this huge ruckus right in the middle of a games celebrating the courtship of Father's daughter. Oh, Father would never notice it at all."

"Athena started it -" Ares said.

"And I will finish it," Athena interrupted.

The two gods of War snarled at each other, bared teeth, lioness against wolf. Odysseus worked harder at getting his legs free. Athena clamped closer, tighter, protectively.

"Ah ah ah," Hermes said, dropping his crossed leg - or raising it, as it were - to tap on Ares' fist, until he let go, clearly having forgotten he still held Hermes.

Hermes slid out from between the two Gods of War, kicking and stretching out his leg but otherwise ignoring the ring of tarnishing gold around his ankle.

"Luckily for all of us," Hermes said, "I shifted this entire fight to a different boundary before more than one simple sapling got uprooted."

Hermes glanced at Odysseus. Smiled snake-quick.

"Or more than one mortal noticed."

Ares looked relieved, for a little slice of a breath, great thick shoulders relaxing for a moment.

All Odysseus knew was that so he was stuck in some sort of… different boundary. No wonder no one had come to help him.

He scowled at Hermes.

Hermes wasn't looking at him now, but instead was pulling out a short string of shells. No. Not a string of shell, that implied it was just shell threaded on a cord. No, this was an intricately woven and braided leather cord with shells strung in a specific pattern along its length --

That was his bracelet! His unfinished bracelet!

Hermes wriggled it over his hand, his fingers, and it snaked over his knuckles.

"Let me propose a wager," Hermes said.

"I don't wager," Artemis said in a huff but she had tucked her bow away, coming closer, sticking her nose in the air at Athena even if Athena wasn't even looking at her.

"Oh but it'll be a fun wager," Hermes said, spreading a silver-quick, bright and sweet, grin at them all. "Weren't you playing with these mortals?"

"They hadn't even started their hunt," Artemis said crossly, folding her arms, a sharp line of bronze-gold on her deltoid flexing with the movement, sliced as straight as the edge of Athena's shield. "You war-hungry animals interrupted everything."

The … line of colour was starting to tarnish like silver and cloth-of-gold, bronzing and a little dull around the edges.

If Odysseus looked around, carefully, he could see that the other Gods - all of them were starting to look tarnished in specific spots under their clothes, though Apollo was a whole smear of colour across his upper chest and…

That one darkening spot of old, ancient mottling gold around one eye.

Odysseus' elbow twinged.

He looked away quickly.

"Soon," Hermes said, soothingly. "Wouldn't it be more fun if more of us played too?"

Hermes flicked Odysseus' partially finished bracelet into the air, and it fell down into three equal portions, the shells glinting and glossy, like they had been painted with water and clear ice, gilded edges with gold, and silver worked cords twisting the shells together in the same pattern as the leather had been, but perfect and flexible with no kinks whatsoever.

"Three teams," Hermes said, and touched each of the portions, and they fell apart further - each shell glistening, wet but not wet, pearlescent and glimmering with a rainbow of colours that Odysseus didn't think existed, fastened to a knot of silver, or gold or bright polished brass, that chimed the way Apollo's voice purred like fine silver bells. "And oh, three play pieces each."

All of the Gods leaned in, as Hermes spread them out in an arc above his head.

"Take a team, any team," Hermes purred, as they glinted, scintillated and threw tiny speckles of colour around, like trout leaping from a river in a spray of water droplets.

Artemis' gaze glinted, and she reached out, snatched the silver batch of shells. "I can assign them to anyone?" she said. Apollo drifted to her, and she dropped one into his hand. Apollo studied it thoughtfully.

"Yes," Hermes said, and offered the remaining two teams towards Ares.

"You are going to play," Ares said, watching the remaining teams - gold, and brass, and then took the brass team. "More useful and powerful," he said.

Hermes gestured and the three remaining gold shells dropped into Athena's hand.

"Of course not," Hermes said, drifting backwards. "I am unbiased, detached, our Father's voice - would it be fair for me to play? Why, you might accuse me of cheating, and weighting the knucklebones one way or another." Hermes' other hand rolled a set of six knucklebones - glinting silver and heavier than bone across the back of his knuckles, and then he tossed them back into the air to disappear.

"You always do," Apollo said, a delicate almost sneer as he flicked his chin towards - Odysseus. "Already, our dear Sister has --"

"He doesn't count," Hermes said as Athena tightened her grip on Odysseus till he felt his knees creak. Ow. "He's already a God's mortal - this one is not a player."

"Fine, he wouldn't even fight for honour, and would rather play with sheep," Ares said, snidely. "What are the terms, brother?"

"Not for mortal ears," Hermes said, turning to Odysseus and then… frowning. "We shall set the terms after I remove... little Basileus, did you arrive all… blue like this."

Which just resulted in Odysseus being the sudden target of divine scrutiny.

Intense, divine scrutiny.

That did very little good for the spinning, almost clouded feeling in his head, especially since now they were all staring at him, Athena included, he could feel - well, everything aching. Throbbing?

Echoing in his head, or maybe that was his heartbeat.

Still, most of his - injuries shouldn't be visi--

Odysseus twitched, glanced down at his arms and. Oh. all down his forearms were - dark red splotches, but rapidly darkening to blue.

…. That didn't seem right. It wasn't even a day yet…

"Perhaps mortal men come in this version sometimes," Artemis said.

Apollo, God of healing and disease management, gave his twin an almost derisive look. "I am ashamed to call you my twin. Who knows what you do with your maiden followers - how many have you killed out of ignorance?"

"Better ignorance than incompetence," Artemis, Goddess of women's health, snapped. "You were that colour when Mother birthed you."

The twins sneered at each other.

"Then prove your competence," Athena said, impatient as a stone about to roll down a hill was, "And heal him."

Artemis' mouth twitched sideways - Apollo turned towards Odysseus and his smile was.

"I think I'm good," Odysseus said, trying to squirm out of Athena's arm - except Athena now shifted her hold, and he was clamped firmly around the ribcage, the circle of her palms cradling him gently under his arms, and held out to Apollo.

"Of course," Apollo said, purred it, now a sweet sweep of fingers across delicately tuned strings, and Apollo was reaching out - fingers under Odysseus' jaw, tracing up --

"And nothing beyond what is medically necessary," Athena said, warningly.

"I will be thorough," Apollo promised, and smiled.

"I'm good with a superficial anything," Odysseus tried, but all that earned him was Athena thrusting him into Apollo's waiting arms, and an encouraging pat on his head from Hermes.

If Hermes stayed ANY closer, or lingered, Odysseus would have bit him.

Odysseus liked thinking in terms of pros and contras - the good and the bad.

Pros:

Apollo was thorough - and the ringing echo in his head went away, his limbs felt a lot less achy and that twinge in his hip and spine disappeared.

Cons:

Apollo was distressingly thorough.

As thorough as he'd been on that daybed that was now a cute little traveller's resting area - Odysseus' layers of clothing were all reluctant to bear Apollo's touch as Odysseus was - and despite Odysseus' squirming, Apollo was quite, very firmly, firm about putting his hands ALL over Odysseus.

All. Over.

And Apollo would murmur, right into his ear, what exactly he'd fixed. A bruised liver, a chipped vertebrae, severe concussion, contusion, and oh several clots in his brain.

His beautiful face, Apollo murmured, cracked cheekbone and soon to be swelling eye socket.

Did Odysseus know now, how gentle Apollo can be? How absolutely thoroughly, completely, gentle?

"It is almost as if, little Basileus of Ithaca, you don't know how to take care of yourself."

"I thank you for the concern, m-my lord," Odysseus said, absolutely not saying anything about how, if Gods didn't try to attack him, or use him as projectiles to be flung out of slingshots, he would not be, as Artemis had said, a 'blue version'. Tried to inch backwards but there was no backwards to inch towards, because he was - pressed down on a cot, which, was thankfully, not growing bars or railings or sensually dark and inviting roofs but still he had nowhere to go.

Pros:

Athena was watching; surely she would know what healing looked like, and what was beyond healing, so Odysseus bit on his tongue, and did not kick Apollo when Apollo's hand went … down. Below the waist.

And do something twingy to one of his knees.

Odysseus made a little sharp noise, grit through his teeth.

Artemis and Ares looked very impatient.

"Are you done?" Ares said.

"Are you the healer or I am?" Apollo said, not turning away from sliding his palm over Odysseus' knee. Tantalisingly… upwards. Odysseus scooted backwards, scrunching up over newly healed ribs that could now take being scrunched up into a ball and giving him that much inch of space from Apollo's very warm fingers.

Apollo favoured him with a warm, amused smile, like Odysseus was doing something cute.

"Hurry it up, the terms of the wagers need to be set," Ares said, impatience more evident, a boar breathing more obviously.

Apollo's gaze turned irritated at the edges, and his fingers tightened, briefly on Odysseus' thigh, but thankfully slid down to his calf instead. "I will be done when I am done."

"Fuck or play," Ares snapped. "Make your choice quickly."

"Did you think healing was instantaneous?" Apollo flicked Ares a glare - all but glowing, silver keen edge to his jaw, like if silver ever was a knife.

It gave Odysseus a bit of breathing room - he could see over Apollo's shoulder, Hermes was flitting like a hovering bee, and tossing what was probably knucklebones at Ares' helmet - they went 'Ting! Ting! Ting!' each time.

Ares shook his head and swiped at Hermes like a lion swatting irately at an annoying fly.

"All you have to do is look at mortals and -" Ares swiped harder at Hermes, catching him by the ankle and sending him tumbling briefly a couple loops away. "- done. All unbroken. What is all this touching needed."

"Healing needs detailed, meticulous care," Artemis sneered at her brother, before Apollo could retaliate - which was a pity because then maybe Apollo would let go and Odysseus could claim he was totally done. "Especially on the complicated insides. Shall I demonstrate?"

"With your little hound-tooth arrows?" Ares said, impatient but also eager to turn his attention to fighting someone.

Lovely. Odysseus tried to tug his leg away from Apollo.

"I could show you how much pain my 'hound-tooth' arrows would cause you," Artemis snapped, just as eager.

"Enough. A fight like this even in Hermes' domain can still alert Father." Athena said, firm, grave and immovableand both her siblings settled - Ares growling like a wolf, and Artemis' lip curled, soundless like a buck. Athena glanced to him, grey-eyes checking on Odysseus. "Is he done, sister."

Artemis glanced over at them, her golden eyes raking over Odysseus, and then nodded. "Your mortal's fixed," Artemis said, flicking her hair over her shoulder, a little impatient - a doe flicking its ears in the morning mist. "Brother?"

Apollo pouted slightly, but with his sister signing off on his work - well.

"I am done," Apollo said, and drew away, reluctantly, but traced a finger down the inside of Odysseus' knee. Odysseus did not kick. "Just say the word, little basileus, and I would hear." Then he was gone - as were the other gods, like a cloud cutting across the sky.

Odysseus was dumped into the thankfully, undivine, boring, dirty leaf litter, and he could stand up without any issues at all.

"Tsk," Hermes said, floating around him. "Now everyone would think you'd been rolling in the bushes."

"I was," Odysseus started, stopped. Except for Hermes, silver and ethereal and fingering the more than grimy and tattered edges of Odysseus' chiton and sleeves, the gods were all gone.

As was the clearing.

"... what -"

"Silly little basileus," Hermes said, "Didn't I warn you to be careful in others' domains?"

"I was-!" Odysseus looked around, in narrow-eyed suspicion. "What happened…? The -"

The clearing was much smaller - almost not a clearing. The oak tree that Ares had uprooted was… back in its place, growing, and the terrifying destruction that Ares had wrecked to get to Odysseus was… suddenly just not there. There was an almost dull-ness over everything, for the briefest of moments, before he blinked and the world looked correct, normal, and untouched by the Gods.

Shifted boundaries. Was he back… to the normal world then? "Lord Hermes, thank you - it was I was fortunate that --"

Hermes clicked his tongue. "Do I owe Tyche a favour on your behalf, I wonder?" he tossed three knucklebones up, then down.

Caught them, opened his hand to Odysseus - all three showed the exact same side and orientation, side-by-side.

And he tilted his hand, dropping them one. By. one. Into the air.

They disappeared; winked out of existence.

Whatever that meant, Odysseus didn't know, watching Hermes carefully. Hermes was still smiling, that knife-slash smile, sharp slice in the air and time.

"Thank you - gr- i mean Lord Hermes - anyway," since the shifting boundaries… may have if not saved Odysseus a battering, at least saved the other suitors and even the sons of Sparta similar damage. And - now he could think clearly without the echoing in his head, he now realised that it had to be Hermes who had slung him into Apollo earlier - saved him from being broken worse.

(all for the sake of one him. He didn't even know if... If he would have to pay Hermes back a favour then?)

"Awww-" Hermes was suddenly VERY close, touching forehead to his, pressing enough that Odysseus had to lean his head back, just a little. "Anything for dear, darling Anticlea's son! And you're so lucky, my sweet Ctimene loves her brother."

His smile was wide - like an ax, that curve of his lips shallow and wide and sharp, eyes shimmering silver, almost gold and unreal.

Then fingers, at Odysseus' temple. Herme's fingers felt cold and heavy - like the soft weight of gold. When he glanced to the side, crossed eyed, he almost could see one last seashell - now the greenish gold of electrum rather than pearlescent. "Run along, now, little basileus of Ithaca. I have rules of a game to explain."

Hermes tipped his head - under the shadow of his hat's rim, his axe-smile was a snake - feathers and scales, hidden fangs.

And then he was gone.

Odysseus shook his head.

Shook his head again.

What was he doing out here, wasting time? He had to get back to Menestheus at once - Antilochus would be re-joining them soon, and he had to get their plan into motion, and take his group to scout before Menelaus went to engage Agamemnon. Sitting out here contemplating tree bark was stupid.

Why was he staring at this oak tree anyway?

Chapter Text

"We head towards Athens' base camp," Elephenor said, once he had been assigned his partners, tipping his chin up almost challengingly. Leitus of Thebes snorted.

"And why would we?" Leitus said, hand twitching towards the sword he wasn't wearing. "We could head towards the other camp instead — the brother of Agamemnon —"

"Or you're afraid of encountering the prince of Argos," Elephenor sneered, and Leitus' jaw twitched, and Elephenor almost smirked when Leitus' fists started up — Elephenor didn't mind poking at the relationship between Thebes and Argos — and a little bit of a fight would take the edge off Elephenor's irritation from today, with Nireus being angry at him for no reason and then refusing to be on the same team as him —

"Peace," Idomeneus of Crete said, dropping his huge hand on Leitus' shoulder. "It is a good strategy. The others are heading off towards Menelaus' team, we can pick off some of the other team."

Elephenor snorted. "Obviously."

"And we avoid the son of Chalcodon's good… friend Nireus," Idomenenus continued, mild as morning cheese.

Elephenor's ears went red as Leitus sniggered.

"That is not the point," Elephenor snarled. "Simply that -"

"We can do things for many reasons," Idomeneus said, "And this is merely a game. Euboea surely has some relationships that humiliating the son of Syme would compromise, and for something so small as a game? An astute politician would not go out of his way to humiliate his neighbours and allies even if they compete for the same woman."

Put like that, Elephenor could feel his own feathers be soothed. Yes, indeed, he was choosing to take on Athens as an opponent rather than Menelaus, because more of his own allies were on Menelaus' team than just Nireus — Nireus was only a representation of Euboea's friendships and allies so —

"And it's a good idea," Idomenenus said, "We might encounter Menestheus of Athens himself — if we take him down, then it would be easy enough to snatch their banner." Idomeneus glanced at Elephenor, and something knowing in his eyes. "Someone like him wouldn't expect a direct attack."

For a huge man, Idomenenus was quite astute, Elephenor realised, as Idomeneus patted Leitus' shoulder, nodded at Elephenor. Who knew that a Cretan could be so diplomatic, selling the issue in so smooth a manner without mentioning explicitly what Menestheus had done.

"Someone like —?" Leitus started.

"Menestheus is hardly straightforward and direct," Elephenor said, and Idomeneus made an agreeing noise.

"Certainly not after what he had done in Athens," Idomeneus said and hah, so even Menestheus' underhanded usurpation had reached Crete, and the Cretans disapproved too!

The prince of Crete was no fool, Elephenor thought; he'd expected the Cretan prince might try to take a leader position in this group of three, for the fact that he was older than even Elephenor; but no, Idomeneus was nodding and stepping back, giving ground to Elephenor and acknowledging his higher rank of basileus; and also the wrong Menestheus had done to Elephenor — to the sons of Theseus, Elephenor's relative, who he had had been obliged to take in when Menestheus had taken over Athens.

"And besides, imagine if we could encounter the Argive," Elephenor said, willing to be generous; Thebes surely also felt similarly aggrieved. "He'd certainly not expect three of us to overpower him, what a blow to Argive pride it would be!"

"Mm," Leitus said, looking a tad mollified.

"Let us go," Idomenenus said. "Any wagers on who we might encounter first?"

"The Argive prince," Elephenor allowed graciously. "For he would be likely to be on the outskirts, scouting."

"Menestheus of Athens," Leitus said, "For if he is as proud as you say, then he would have the arrogance to lead from the front."

"Either would be a blow to their team and a huge aid to ours," Idomeneus said, and looked to Elephenor to lead them — which Elephenor did gladly.

Neither of them won the wager — the first individuals they encountered was a son of Ares, all of his light purple flags fluttering silently around his limbs as he moved carefully through the undergrowth, Meges of Dulichium, his black flags hanging visibly from his waist, just a short distance away. Stalking the other team member then; one member of the other two teams each.

As per Agamemnon's strategy, it was easy enough — the son of Ares — it didn't matter that Elephenor couldn't tell which twin was which — that fierce, almost feral sense of terrifying energy was instigating enough that all three of them leapt towards him, sending him crashing into the undergrowth.

The son of Ares didn't go down easily — in fact he rolled, half a duck, and fought back in a snarling flurry of leaf-litter and dust, exhibiting that strength they'd all witnessed during the wrestling event the other day, trying to grab at the waists of anyone's perizoma under the chiton — in fact he managed to snag Leitus', and hauled him to the side — if it weren't for Idomeneus slamming into his other side and sweeping at a leg, the son of Ares might have managed to pin Leitus.

As it were, Elephenor managed to grapple at him, shove his hand between the son of Ares' arm and Idomeneus' chest, and his fingertips caught the narrow band of light purple wool — he tried to twist his fingers in, tight — and yank.

The son of Ares snarled — almost silent, but Elephenor could feel it in his bones, an eerie vibration up his arm as he pulled — and then suddenly a knee was in his way.

It was suddenly a flurry of limbs — Leitus cried out — scrabbling against grass, the son of Ares, Idomeneus was trying to pin the man — but he was twisting like a snapping wolf, elbow hitting out at Elephenor's jaw, knee slamming somewhere with an answering grunt from the pile.

Three men against one was ideal in terms of numbers — but it was nearly impossible to see who was gripping what, and Elephenor lost the grip on the flag, and had to shove back in again to try and grab at anything cloth-like, the first sight of anything coloured and fluttery —

Leaf, fallen branch, twig, no, that, that's a piece of fabric — and then the son of Ares had eeled right out of them, one flag between his teeth, and leapt out of their reach and was running into the forested distance.

Elephenor flung his gaze towards his teammates, cursed when he saw Idomeneus had lost one white flag on his arm.

"Does not matter," Idomeneus said, pointing — "Look!"

Meges of Dulichium was still within sight. For some reason, he'd not actually fled, maybe he was half deaf, or he hadn't noticed, or he'd been stunned by the animal aura of the son of Ares — whatever it is, all three of them turned to chase him down.

Meges ran — turned around enough somehow to follow in the son of Ares' wake, his steps having left an easier trail for Meges' shorter legs to take than the denser undergrowth.

But a poor decision — they didn't need to change direction,and Menestheus' teammate lost precious time pivoting.

Idomeneus could barrel into him — the son of Ares was heavier set, heavier; Meges went straight off his feet, rolled into the bushes, and Leitus was onto him and pinning his legs and snatched at the black flags bound at his waist.

Meges yelled — but he was no son of Ares — it was easy enough to snatch at what they could see. Elephenor saw dark flag, and snatched, one, two, the knots unraveling easily. He flung them to the side as he reached into the kicking mess for more of those woollen strips.

"I'm dead!" Meges yelled. "Let me up! You have killed me!"

Elephenor paused, surprised. They all did.

And when he sat up, leaves and twigs wedged in his hair and all over his chiton — Meges smacked his chiton back into place and oh.

Truly — there was no longer a single black flag to be seen on him.

"Ah, then you are out of the game," Idomeneus said, and helped Meges up. Meges rubbed his one bare arm, made a face at the fingermarks streaking down his bicep, but waved off the start of the apology from Leitus.

"Three of you against one?" Meges said. "That's hardly fair."

"But not against the rules," Idomeneus said. "There's nothing in the rules that says this cannot be a team's strategy."

"Just like none can claim the sabotage was against the rules in the archery event," Leitus said.

Elephenor sniffed a little. For all the irritating way that Ithaca acted, snagging the attention of Nireus — and Athens — at least he hadn't complained about losing his lead in the game afterwards and tying with Teucer, son of Telamon.

Meges looked between them all with something like measured suspicion, but then one of the Spartan referees melted out of the forest towards them.

"No further fighting if he's out," the referee said, stern through his Spartan accent.

"He's out," Idomeneus said, pointedly holding his hands up — the other two of them followed suit. "We are just talking. Have others been fighting beyond —?"

"Yes," the referee said, "which is against the rules of not trying to maim each other." He gave them all a bland, polite smile, and held out his hand. Idomeneus and Elephenor remembered they were holding flags — and dropped the black fluttery strips onto the referee's palm. "Follow me to the out-zone," he told Meges, and Meges went meekly.

"If we kept fighting," Leitus wondered, as they watched the Spartan referee and the defeated opponent make their way through the forest, "What would happen?"

"Maybe the prince would take away one of our flags," Idomeneus said, patting his bare arm, and exhaling, shaking his head. "Take stock, we are all in good shape?"

"All my 'lives' are accounted for," Elephenor said after a quick skim of himself — arms, ankles, waist. Yes, all six of his white flags were visible and untouched.

Leitus checked his arms — hissed a minor curse when he realised he'd lost one at his ankle, along with a full solid bruise to the inside of his knee, and a set of what almost look like a raking of claws, if human-finger spaced, down one side of his calf of the missing ankle-flag.

"That son of Ares! Too good at snaking an attack within all he can reach!"

"We shall be careful of the sons of Ares," Idomeneus noted. "Slippery as an octopus."

The sons of Ares were indeed slippery — they'd make annoying opponents. Elephenor shook it off. "We have plenty of lives — we're doing well! Let's get moving — who will we beat next?"

"Argos," Leitus said, with a laugh and kicked his foot against the leaf litter. "Three of us — against him — we should strategise, streamline our attack."

"Maybe he'd fight back harder than Dulichium," Elephenor said, "Give us a good fight."

They laughed and moved off, pleased and confident with their progress. It was clearly just a matter of organization if they were to fight together efficiently — Meges went down so easy.

If only all fights were so easy.

"Another one dead," Icarius noted. His brother cupped his hands around his eyes to check. In the closing distance they could see Aletes accompany one of the players; black flags in Aletes' hand. One of Team Athens, then. It took a little more walking before they could make out the features of the player — Dulichium? Meges of Dulichium — as Aletes accompanied him towards the mound that they had designated, euphemistically, as the out-zone.

Icarius mentally called it the dead zone — there was no need to mince words against meaning. His sons had chosen the mound because it looked slightly like the burial mounds for the heroes of the past, though without the brick and polished stone that would mark it as a proper hero's mound.

It was simply grassy, and high enough for the players who had gotten themselves kicked out of the game to observe the rest of the players.

Much like the other, smaller mound that Icarius and his brother had appropriated for themselves as an observational spot.

"I wish we had had time to build a proper observation tower," Tyndareus said.

"Certain parties hadn't provided enough materials at all," Icarius said drily, "An observation tower would be a rather useless permanent structure to erect here in the middle of pretty much nothing outside of this game. And what would we use it for after this whole festival is over?"

"Target practice," Tyndareus said, a little facetiously.

"A place for the messenger pigeons to roost, you mean," Icarius said.

"Which would please you and Odysseus, since you love pigeons so — Oh ho what's happening?" Tyndareus said, and pointed.

Icarius turned to look — squinted slightly.

Meges had stopped, turned to Aletes — pointing and then lifted the sleeve of his exomis-pinned chiton — and then dropped it back down over his arm.

Aletes nodded and then Meges turned away from the mound, falling into a quick trot to duck back under the trees.

Aletes shrugged, probably to himself, and then started walking purposefully into the forested areas too, presumably to go back onto his observational route.

"Hm," Icarius said.

"So Meges was not out?" Tyndareus said.

"It would appear so," Icarius said. He'd seen what might have been a flash of dark under that lifted sleeve — had to be a black flag.

"How interesting that Aletes would overlook something like a flag still on a player," Tyndareus said.

"Heat of the game, maybe," Icarius said, but he and his brother glanced at each other.

Earlier, another player had also, before reaching the mound, lifted the hem of his chiton, and the referee had let him return to the game as well.

"Who was it, earlier," Tyndareus mused. "Nestor's son, wasn't it?"

Icarius hummed. Damasippus had already given them the players' divisions and their colours: Team Opus were wearing white, Team Mycenae was light purple, and Team Athens was black. Antilochus of Pylos and Meges of Dulichium were both in the same group headed by Menestheus of Athens, all wearing the black flags.

As was Odysseus.

"This would be interesting. How many times will people visit the mound, I wonder," Tyndareus said.

"Once, as is the fate of all mortals," Icarius said, drier than a pot accidentally left on the hearth unattended. "Neither of them had even crossed foot over the boundary of the dead zone."

"Really should stop calling it the dead zone, brother," Tyndareus. "It makes you sound morbid."

"Morbid would be making some sort of reference to Orpheus," Icarius said, reaching down between them to the basket that had been packed earlier this morning. "Pear?"

This game wasn't the first type of festival they'd done; previous years' games for Sparta had involved actual constructed obstacles, so this was technically an easier game, taking into account the slightly more fraught politics, or so Aletes' older brothers had said.

Aletes was of the opinion that everyone could cope with getting pummeled a little more, but then what did he know? Apparently if someone from a certain territory whacked someone from another territory a little too hard, they would start to cry foul and then do something Trade Related and Declare War.

Honestly a straight forward brawl would be less fraught than the preliminary rounds of the endurance archery event had been — fortunately Iphitos of Oechalia wasn't the kind to take very loud exception to pointed and deliberate sabotage.

Perileos had been absolutely terrible at the mathematical part of it; Aletes could have told him — but then Perileos was stubborn, it wasn't like he'd listened to Damasippus either, then. Damasippus should have just laid down the law — except Perileos and Thoas would have immediately rejected it into the river.

Aletes rolled his eyes a little at the memory, and continued on with his route; they were properly spread out, so he could keep an eye on the various teams. Well. sort of eye.

He had a slight advantage, compared to most of the others in keeping track of people.

The caches of dung bombs were just little spots of low-humidity in his awareness — and he knew where all of them were placed, even without the map. When Amphidamas and Hippotes had crossed paths with him, and informed him of their caches being found, he had already known that they had been moved.

It had been no surprise that the one who had found those caches had been Odysseus. Aletes looked forward to what Odysseus might do with them — all those hours of Aletes' meticulous work with removing the humidity from those at just the right amount and speed and even more painstaking persuasion of his brothers, had better result in some really fun shenanigans for him to watch — since he didn't get to participate in the game at all this time.

Now there were several groups moving around across his mental map, carrying parts of those caches — he could safely assume that most of them were Odysseus' team members. Well. Team Athens, but no one wanted to think about Athens, even if Menestheus himself was a decent sort. Easier to think of it as Team Odysseus —

Right ahead, he realised, was someone carrying some of the dungbombs — just a few, only three, and slowly too — creeping low to the ground. Aletes quieted his steps; he wasn't going to interfere, but he was curious as to how they would utilize his projectiles — his brothers had been split on the utility of these, especially when they'd already decided that no weapons would be allowed on the game field.

But Aletes had been very sure it would add some element of something interesting, maybe some new kind of strategy — certainly dungbombs and mud balls on demand had stood Aletes in very good stead throughout his youth, despite — or especially — with his brothers screaming in outraged surprise.

And — there — that was Philoctetes, ducking behind a tree, his purple flags contrasting against his pale chiton. (Not black flags? But no, he was in Menelaus' team, marked with Mycenae's purple flags. Why did he have Odysseus' dung bombs?) No point going low now — Philoctetes was a tall man, and rigid. Based on his shooting behaviour in both archery events, he'd probably barely bend over if it meant sacrificing accuracy — and his thick and developed shoulders and back meant he'd not have to sacrifice distance either.

Philoctetes shifted his arm, hand a fist — not a dungbomb, the dungbombs stayed tucked against his side, Aletes could sense their positions — Aletes tried not to lean too obviously to try to see who Philoctetes was taking aim at. If that was a stone, Aletes had to stop it…

He made a small noise — Philoctetes glanced back, and nodded, very slightly, at him before returning his attention back ahead. Fine — he wasn't about to maim someone, not right in front of Aletes.

Philoctetes flung.

Aletes tracked its — it was a small pebble — rapid trajectory, and then saw it drop down, to a bush, a loud rustle.

"Did you hear that?" Elephenor said, in the distance.

"No — what was it?" Elephenor's teammate said.

"Over there —"

Aletes couldn't see them, but he could see Philoctetes smile. Faintly.

Just in the distance, Elephenor and his white-flagged teammates started out from the confusing visual mess of the trees, Elephenor almost two paces ahead of his team — and Philoctetes shifted, slow and careful, to drop a dungbomb into his palm.

Aletes lowered his breathing, just like his brothers did to use their speed — it had never worked for him that way, but when he did so, like this, all their fellow Spartans tended to overlook him standing there. Like missing a standing puddle of water hidden under leaf litter — looking like solid ground until someone stepped on it.

Bare breaths — Elephenor and his group were now coming forward cautious, searching the grass for prints, checking the scrub for hidden opponents — their gazes passed over Aletes, just as he expected them to, and then suddenly —

Bamp bamp bamp.

Three rapid succession hits — Idomeneus, Leitus and then Elephenor, straight to their faces, to sharp outraged cries — and a purple flagged teammate burst from the undergrowth, while Elephenor was sputtering and jerking, wiping his face, and both purple-flagged Philoctetes and Leontus dashed straight towards them — Philoctetes downed Elephenor — and Leonteus slammed into Idomeneus — even if he couldn't pull him down, it got him separated from Leitus —

And both of them were brutally efficient, grabbing at Idomeneus and Elephenor's white flags — while they both yelled and retaliated.

But they were retaliating blind, and Idomeneus was down one white flag already — Leitus was half blind, and equidistant between the two of his teammates — he had to choose.

In that moment of choice, Philoctetes had ripped three white flags from Elephenor, Leonteus grabbed two more from Idomeneus — before Idomeneus and Elephenor could put up a stronger fight.

"Fuck! Who're you?" Elephenor yelled.

Leitus chose to help Elephenor — the smaller member — which left Idomeneus against Leonteus — and while Leonteus wasn't as big as Idomeneus, he was still agile for his mass.

Arms, legs, yells and grunts — Aletes paced up carefully, keeping an eye on both scuffles — some bushes were getting the worst of it, branches snapping, the bright scent of sap filling the air, mixing with the rather fertile scent of sheep manure to form what was going to make a very virile and productive patch right here over the next few months —

"Out!" Leonteus yelled in satisfaction — then yelped as he was tossed to the ground and Idomeneus pinned him — -

"Hold!" Aletes said, darting in, not as fast as Thoas might do, but still fast enough to prevent Idomeneus from shoving Leonteus into an arm-lock and probably popping his arm right out, the Cretan red in the face and intent.

" Got — all his flags!" Leonteus panted — "Ow — get him off -"

Aletes had to yank at Idomeneus' arm — which was hard as rock, no wonder he'd done excellently in the archery and wrestling games prior — before Idomeneus would consent to let Leonteus go — and yes, Idomeneus had lost all his flags, the only white on him was his chiton — Leonteus scampered away to display his double-handful of white fluttering fabric he'd gotten from the Cretan, which Aletes took.

"All just part of the game," Leonteus said, "No hard feelings —"

Idomeneus glared at him, before finally shaking himself like a bull shaking off a hot day's flies, sharp and specific, and exhaled, slow and steady. Man had a temper, Aletes realised.

"Apologies. Heat of the moment." Idomeneus said, finally, rueful, if a bull could sound rueful. "You were very fast, didn't expect to lose."

"And you're an excellent wrestler — we should wrestle some time," Leonteus said, patting to check his own purple flags — glancing over Alete's shoulder and then straightened. "Later, after this game! I'll come visit you later!" and he was up and running, purple fluttering, even before Aletes reached out to help Idomeneus up —

Behind him, Aletes realised — the scuffle had died down — Philoctetes had somehow disengaged while Aletes was occupied with preventing Idomeneus from popping out his arm like dislocating a pheasant wing, and absconded into the forest with a handful of flags and leaving two dung covered enraged players.

No wonder Leonteus also ran off in the other direction.

"That was a foul," Elephenor said, rather loudly, at Aletes. "Didn't you see?!"

"I'm out of the game," Idomeneus said to his teammates.

"I'll escort you to the out zone," Aletes said.

"A foul smelling foul!" Elephenor said. "The son of Poeas used — threw cow shit at me!"

"At us." his other teammate chimed in.

"Animal manure is not against the rules," Aletes noted to Idomeneus.

Elephenor sputtered — then spat more when he probably tasted the dungbomb.

Aletes kept his face very straight.

"Weapons were not allowed," Idomeneus said looking around for a clean leaf, found one and wiped his face off with the leaf. It didn't particularly help, but it probably made him feel better. Aletes didn't point out that the man's beard was still dusted with dungbomb. He was, however, not as sap-stained as Elephenor, so there was that.

"Animal manure aren't weapons," Aletes said, and turned to Elephenor and Leitus. "You still have flags, you may resume play. Good luck."

Elephenor growled, but his teammate took his arm, stopped him from throwing — well a tantrum. Didn't think that the basileus of Euboea was so prickly, but then a facefull of manure usually didn't help matters.

"Maybe take my nephew Meriones to make up the numbers," Idomeneus called out to his teammates.

"Sir, you are dead," Aletes said, sternly.

"Apologies," Idomeneus said, with barely a trace of apology.

Aletes took his arm, quite firmly, and pushed him towards the out-zone, until his teammates had to go resume play. Which they did — they turned towards the forest away from Aletes, and into, ah, Amphidamas' route — which covered a small stream. They probably were going to try to wash off the manure and sap that was all over their faces, hair and fronts — but Aletes could sense more dry-points moving in that area.

More dungbombs were in Elephenor's future.

Aletes managed to turn his laugh into a cough.

"The smell is something funny to laugh about, son of Icarius?" Idomeneus said.

"There is water at the out-zone," Aletes said, as mild as he could, "you may wash off there, son of Deucalion."

Idomeneus leaned in, peering at him, and Aletes kept his polite expression on.

"The dungbombs were your idea, son of Icarius."

Aletes shrugged, and did not answer.

Idomeneus didn't push it, settled back into walking. They said nothing more, even when they arrived at the out-zone and all the other few 'dead' players made noises about the stink. And gave Idomeneus a wide berth.

Aletes only allowed himself to smile and snigger once he'd dropped Idomeneus off at the out-zone and he'd returned to his route.

He knew the dung bombs were a great idea!