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Chapter Text

Iphianassa surprised little yell, his cold and wet chiton again his body, Menelaos arms holding him up. Spinning and spinning, his head spinning, the world around him spinning.

Relief. He did it. Iphianassa had agreed. He could rest.

No, wait, not in Menelaos’ arms, the little liar. Not in front of Agamemnon, the big bastard.

Where was his mind? And his body. Odysseus tugged at himself until he found a thread to follow to get back to consciousness. It was a difficult climb, like the jagged rocks of Ithaca, but he somehow managed it. His eyes were still half open, or one third open, he just had to convince them to see.

“Put me down I’m not…” – protested Odysseus vehemently, with a decent volume, as soon as he could feel his mouth again. He lost his train of thoughts halfway the sentence though, which with his face, pale as a woman’s make-up, didn’t help his case. He tried again. – “I am not passing out, it’s… a dizzy spell at most.”

Menelaos adjusted his grip on him, ignoring Odysseus’ feeble attempts at pushing him away.

Instead the king of Sparta hoisted him up in his arms like a fainted maiden. They were now just outside Agamemnon’s tent, Iphianassa peeking from the side. From the other side, another face appeared, peeking as well, as they walked a few steps from the tent.

Diomedes?

Odysseus blinked a couple of times, squeezing his eyes shut and open again. Diomedes seemed to have been just loitering around, given his relaxed stance, vaguely bored face and appearance just outside the tent where everything had been going down.

“So that’s why they told me the Shepherd of Kings was not to be disturbed.” – the Argive king said merrily, which, coming from him, was still rather deadpan. – “he was with you and his family.”

Classic of Diomedes to be the only one among them with an ounce of common sense. If Odysseus hadn’t been so adamant about showing Agamemnon his wound immediately, he’d have avoided the worst of this mess. If Menelaos had waited as the guards ordered, he’d have avoided embarrassing himself. Who was safe, untroubled and unembarrassed? Diomedes.

Diomedes, looking to Iphianassa at his side and Menelaos holding him proceeded to prove him wrong by reaching the wrong conclusion.

“I guess you found a way to save her, then? That’s good, I’d hate to put my nose in that goat-stinker’s, incense-infested tent. Calchas would have likely just told me a couple of riddles anyways, you know how seers are.”

Odysseus didn’t have the strength, or the will, to correct him. He looked at him with all the anguish his eyes could express, as Menelaos stiffened around him and Iphianassa snickered at the insult.

Diomedes’ smile disappeared at once, like it had never been there. Which, knowing the impassible Argive, was rather easy to believe.

“Goat stinker.” – the princess let out one last cackle, then she remembered her place, straightened her back and looked upon Diomedes proudly. – “I am the one who’s going to save this entire army.”

Diomedes countenance reverted into his usual stone as he lifted his gaze from the group. Walking past them towards Agamemnon’s ten, the Argive king shouldered Menelaos, almost throwing him off balance, which would have had Odysseus tumbling on the ground.

Odysseus had rather have him stab him, like Achilles. His guts couldn’t take many more punches.

“You are not very well liked, are you?” – remarked Iphianassa, looking at the king disappear.

Menelaos let out a low chuckle at that.

Odysseus sighed in agreement. – “…and did I tell you I didn’t even want to be here?”

“No, I’m serious! I swear to you, if my men see me being carried like this, the moment we set out feet back to Ithaca it’s all they will talk about. Even if this war took ten or fifteen years and gods and monsters descended among us I swear to you, they are little shits, they will come back to my palace and before the first day’s end my wife will come to me…” – Odysseus made his voice higher pitched, sugary with an aftertaste of irony. – “…‘what is this I hear about, dearest? Menelaos carried to war like a bride to her chamber?’

Iphianassa was snickering, following them close.

“I’m not kidding!” – Odysseus refused to plead, ranting instead. – “If Priam himself gets a divine boon to become young again and engages Achilles into an encounter of epic proportions to which Zeus himself provide thunder for their showdown with Aphrodite dancing naked in the background, they will still talk about this first back at the palace! You have no idea how gossipy sailors are!”

Menelaos stopped and took a long, long sigh. – “Cease your hyperboles and your nagging, king of Ithaca, I’m letting you down.”

Odysseus inhaled deeply and didn’t exhale until his feet were steady on the ground. Then, a quick exhale and an inhale again. Fainting happened while exhaling usually, so better keep the chances at minimum. Another pair of breaths and he could finally push Menelaos away.

The Spartan King didn’t bulge. Odysseus turned to him, questioning.

“You didn’t think I’d let you stumble your way across your camp? Lean onto me.” – Menelaos gave him a quick look then looked away. He was terrible at playing nonchalant.

Odysseus didn’t smile. – “I appreciate the concern, fellow king, but we both have hundreds of underlings that can take care of… transportation. There is no need to waste your surely precious time with me.”

“Come on Odysseus, how long will you pout about our little… misunderstanding?”

Odysseus stood stiff, hating himself for not having the strength to just push the other away. – “If there is nothing else, king, I’ll be on my way. Thank you for your support.” – he ended up almost spitting the last part, couldn’t help himself. He had been groveling to Agamemnon’s moods long enough, his pride couldn’t take much more and itched to get back in shape. He wouldn’t humiliate himself further by being weak enough to have to rely on the friend who had just lied to him so far.

“If you are done being childish about this?” – Menelaos tried to move again, but Odysseus pulled, forcing him to either stop or drag him. Menelaos stopped. – “Seriously, king of Ithaca?” – his eyes darted a moment and he narrowed them, lips stretching. – “In front of my niece?”

“We are not friends, Menelaos.” – that felt stupid, like a playground accusation. – “Just fellow kings. You are overstepping. Or is your intention to demean me?”

“Just fellow kings.” – Menelaos repeated, mocking. – “I’m trying to help.”

“You have not been helping.” – hissed Odysseus and just like that, they weren’t talking about his ability to stand anymore.

“You lie all the time, polytropos. I lied once and I get all this drama for it?” – Menelaos was still trying to calm him down, to underplay the whole thing.

“Clytemnestra will never forgive me for this, you know that, right? Me, doing all the work and paying all the prices for the Atreides, while you get to walk out of this blameless.” – replied Odysseus, hating himself for doing this in front of Iphianassa, and yet.

If he really cared about her, he would keep his mouth shut, but apparently he didn’t even care for the mother enough: he had run out of lies to tell himself. He didn’t care enough, and that was it.

“Clytemnestra. Doesn’t she just love to hate? Her breast feeds her kids, but before and after it feeds her endless grudges.” – Menelaos’ voice was turning scornful. Odysseus fists were curling, heat raising in his weak limbs. Kids and grudges… weren’t one of the same for her? What did Menelaos know of losing a kid to Agamemnon’s cold reasons? And for a moment alone, Odysseus thought: does he need to learn as well about that pain? Could something be arranged for Ermione, or, even better, Megapenthes? – “I think you should be more worried about the Atreides’ forgiveness, then Clytemnestra’s.” – finally an edge had appeared in Menelaos’ voice too. – “Or are you so keen to cross them both?”

They stared at each other, eyes dueling, measuring pride and its consequences.

Menelaos’ wasn’t wrong, something reasonable inside Odysseus was trying to say, he had lied to him, but Odysseus had already put himself in danger and in trouble storming out the assembly tent that day. Menelaos’ misdeed was just a shadow in that big picture.

Then again, why were Odysseus and Clytemnestra friends, among other reasons? Odysseus too liked to feed his grudges, nurse and care for them. Odysseus too loved his son more than he loved the cleverness and wisdom that had endeared him to no less than a goddess.

“I’ll take my chances.” – Odysseus spoke at last.

Menelaos watched him for a while, eyes impenetrable. Odysseus knew this was a bad idea. Odysseus could see Patroclus’ eyes glaring at him just a few minutes before.

And yet. He had just done bleeding out slowly in public, for everyone in the tent to see he feared Agamemnon more than he cared for his wellbeing. He had let himself be beaten and then stabbed to secure Agamemnon’s interest, indulging the Shepherd of Kings whims over his body, like a common whore. He had allowed the great king to order him around like a low-born herald, first Skyros, then Mycenae, all the way to Achilles’ tent to grab Clytemnestra, always running about like a eager boy.

Odysseus couldn’t take it anymore. He was a king. He had been a king ever since he was rather young, his father retiring from the profession early. He had been ruling and having the last word for too long to come here and let everyone pull him just because their kingdoms had more land and more horses. It was time to start demanding the respect he was owned, what had all his serving and obeying won him anyway?

Maybe it was time he stood his ground, to back his mistakes instead of bending to someone else again, be it reasonable or not. Agamemnon wasn’t particularly reasonable and he was the Shepherd of Kings.

No, Odysseus needed to walk out of that mess, and do it on his own legs. He’d rather trample and faceplant on the ground than let Menelaos help him and, in so doing, let himself feel better for his part in cornering Odysseus in this mess.

“Very well.” – Menelaos let him go, looked at him again, then knelt to whisper Iphianassa how sorry he was, how brave she was, and to hold on, that everybody was proud of her and other such kind lies.

Then, finally, walked away.

Odysseus expected to feel empty again, instead he felt relieved. The Atreides and their drama. He should have listened to Diomedes from the start, and he made a mental note to do so next time.

“You are not really working on being a little more liked.” – observed Iphianassa.

Chapter Text

“Is this from your training practice?” – asked Iphianassa, looking at the collection of bruises dotting his chest.

Odysseus had slowly walked to his camp with her, which was nearby by the time he had forced Menelaos to drop him. He had then ordered a sailor to fetch Perimedes, Polites and Eurybates, the first to keep the soldiers busy and away from his tent with the girl, the second to act as guard to Iphianassa, and the third because he needed to lean on someone still. Then he had sat down, before he ended up on the ground in a faster, more blunt way, to wait for them.

They had come, they had heeded his orders, they, except Perimedes sent back, had slowly walked to his tent.

Now he was finally there, lying down on his cot, his chest bare as Iphianassa assisted Polites in fixing him up. Annoyingly, they had to pluck every last fiber of his wool chiton from the wound or closing it over it would spell infection and a slow, painful death.

“Your father had me beaten.” – Odysseus replied sincerely, too tired to think up something and not caring about protecting Agamemnon reputation in the eyes of the kid he was sacrificing. What had Agamemnon even done to deserve the hate of Artemis? Calchas had said something about hubris and the treatment of young women Artemis was the patron of.

The Atreida’s family and Artemis never had a good relationship to begin with, ever since Atreus himself had hidden a white lamb instead of sacrificing it to her. The deathless had a good memory.

Odysseus clenched his teeth as Polites delicately moved a thin metal tool into his wound, curse his determination to make sure he’d find every last fiber and prevent him from drying horribly.

“I see.”

So she knew something of who his father really was, or enough of it.

“My father loves me.” – Iphianassa said again. It didn’t sound like a question, she sounded sure.

“Of course he does. Or he’d have not risked his power over the greatest army ever gathered here for you. He really loves power, and yet, he almost still lost it all for you.”– Odysseus spoke in a low voice, not wanting to hurt, but too tired to care. – “That didn’t save you, though.”

“You didn’t save me either.” – shot back, quite cleverly, the kid. – “The king with the stone face expected you to save me.” – she let out a humming sound, pulling out a long, thin fiber from his open skin, dabbing at the rivulet of blood still gushing. – “Is it rude, to call him that?”

“No no, he’s very intimidating.” – Odysseus smiled. – “We’re kind of friends and half the time he looks like he’s musing how long can I go on after he spikes a few of my organs. He has… a too high opinion of me. I don’t know why, I’m not the one to have won a war by my fourteen or something. And he also has...” – better not to mention how they both had Athena watching over them. A goddess protecting people was not the topic for a girl about to be killed by a goddess instead. – “…a bigger kingdom. With so many horses! He loves his horses, talk about them half the time, when he’s not talking about armor, weapon or just standing there staring through you.”

“Uncle Diomedes, the Epigone.” – Iphianassa was nodding along, moving her head around to see if from another angle she could see more fibers.

“Are we all uncles to you?”

“Only those mother was happy to talk about, those she taught us to go to for sanctuary in case something in our lives went horribly wrong. First, Uncle Menelaos, he’d protect us if father fell in battle or to an uprising. Unless we had reasons to be scared of Agamemnon, then, if possible, you, Uncle Odysseus. Because you are married to Cousin Penelope, who is exceptionally ‘crafty and trustworthy’. Heading to Pylos first, Nestor is a friend of your family, he could help us reach you. If for any reason we cannot reach you or Nestor, last option, Uncle Diomedes.”

Odysseus couldn’t breathe, or swallow, for a while. Then he leaned an arm over his eyes, shifting his weight. Polites, bless his insightfulness, fussed for him to keep a cloth between his eyes and his arm, to be more comfortable, so he could let a few stupid, useless, warm tears out without leaving trace, the cloth absorbing them. He didn’t mind the fingers and little metal objects probing into his wound to pick up fibers anymore.

“Why is… Uncle Diomedes last? Is he any less trustworthy?” – Odysseus asked at last, after clearing his voice twice.

“No, he’s just in Argos, which is too close to Mycenae. And not family or married to mother’s family. He’s the first to go to if the troubles we’re running from come from mother’s side of the family, because both you and Menelaos are involved then.”

Clytemnestra had been thinking about troubles a lot, it seemed, reflected Odysseus, from the general threat of rebellion or invasion to how to hide her children from both sides of the family.

“You and father… are not friends.” – Iphianassa queried.

Well, that was an understatement.

“He’s not a good person, I’m afraid. Does your mother know that?” – Odysseus was really counting on Iphianassa never getting the time to talk with Agamemnon before the sacrifice or he’d be ‘sacrificed’ next for having this conversation.

“My mother says she’s not a good person either, and that they deserve each other. Are you a good person?”

Odysseus almost laughed, hissed at Polites ministrations, and looked up to her. – “Iphianassa, you are too much of a clever young woman to ask that. I persuaded you to agree to your own... fate. Do you think I’m a good person?”

“…no.” – she looked sad to say it. – “Am I a good person? Nobody seems to be one.”

Odysseus wondered if Perseus was also a little vindicative. He had turned to stone two parties of people after all, Andromeda’s scorned fiancé and his mother’s harassers. Surely Odysseus too could be a hero despite holding desperately onto his grudges. – “I think so. I don’t know you well enough, unfortunately. I know that you chose to die for a cause.”

“Does that make me good?”

“I’m afraid not. It makes you honorable, unbelievably brave, more than I have ever been. It makes you determined and unyielding, the traits of a hero.”

“Theseus was a hero, and he tried to hurt my aunt, when she was little and helpless.”

Elene, so beautiful and so carefully groomed to be ever helpless, because if she ever learned to wield her beauty as Clytemnestra wielded her determination, she’d have too much power. Or so they seemed to think at her court. Sometimes, despite being tangled up in this mess, Odysseus couldn’t find himself blaming her for trying to run away from all that.

“…exactly. You are a clever young woman, see?” – Odysseus smiled at her, fondly, trying to morph his face into what it used to be when he looked over Telemachus. Pride and joy, or something like that.

It must have been close enough, because Iphianassa blushed, pretending to focus on his work again, even though they looked about done with this part.

“Is uncle Laus good…?” – the princess asked tentatively.

“He’s… complicated. So is the definition of good.” – Odysseus talked, and cringed in so doing, Polites at the door to take the boiled water where to dip the needle. – “I think your uncle always tries his best. He has great intentions, but… he’s… you see, the definition of good is not dependent on good intentions.”

“What does depend on? Is there any way to be good?”

Odysseus cursed under his breath. He really walked into this one.

“Many ways. All the ways we choose. If you live long enough, you recognize how it is to do good. Mostly because it’s difficult. Sometimes you pay for it, sometimes you need to accept that others will pay so the consequences of something will be good.” – Odysseus casually grasped a fistful of the furs he was laying on with his healthy hand, trying not to eye Polites swirling the needle in the boiling water by holding it to its thread. – “All the times you need to differentiate between your intentions and the consequences you leave behind. If you have the very best intentions but your actions have as a consequence pain for everybody… you still aren’t good, even if you meant good. I do wonder, though, if you have mean intentions and the consequences are of spared pain… I don’t think you are a good person either. You must intend good and accomplish good to be good, I think.” – Odysseus shifted, uncomfortably, as Polites sat back down, resting the cup on the stool with the rest of the supplies. – “Honestly, Iphianassa, we’re all making it up as we go. And many of us aren’t even trying.”

“I still think we should cauterize it.” – mumbled Polites.

“No!” – Odysseus lowered the volume of his voice. – “I trust your skills completely, both of you. And I sniffed Achilles’ goat cheese, it smelled like garlic, which you must know it’s antiseptic.”

“I sniffed olives too, are those antiseptic?” – replied Polites with polite irony.

“Our patron Athena gave us olives, they are good for everything! Skin, hair… everything! The perfect dressing for every dish. They must be good for this too.” – improvised Odysseus.

“Oil does help cicatrizing.” – mumbled Iphianassa.

“See? I’m so glad I’ve got a princess from the great Mycenae with me or this barbarous pirate would have burned me to the bones!” – fussed Odysseus. – “Did you even know that about oil?”

He looked at his men with lifted eyebrows, knowingly expectant.

“Do you want me to apply olives on the wound then?” – asked Polites, the portrait of innocent helpfulness. – “Since they are so good for dressing, probably it applies to wounds dressing too?”

Odysseus sighed: – “Start sowing already, you barbarous pirate.”

“Some unmixed wine or are you playing the hero for the little princess here?” – Polites smiled at her.

“I was playing the hero in fact, gritting my teeth and all. Buuut since you mentioned it, fetch me some.” – Odysseus leaned slightly towards Iphianassa. – “Hey princess, do you want a sip?”

Iphianassa almost jumped that, mildly offended. – “I’m not allowed to drink alcohol, I grew up in palace, not rolling in the mud in an orchard!”

“I did my time rolling in the mud and drinking wine with dear mama’s milk.” – Odysseus shrugged with one shoulder. – “I’ll tell no one, promise. Artemis will understand. Or blame me. Just a sip?”

“My king!” – Polites was frowning at him.

“What has she got to lose! I’m not making her drunk, just making her live a little!” – Odysseus turned to Iphianassa. – “Don’t tell me your mother never drank.”

Iphianassa narrowed her eyes at him.

“Alright alright. Nice glare, that would impress even Diomedes. If you change your mind, though.”

“I’m sorry princess, he is quite a loudmouth sometimes.” – Polites shook his head.

“Then fill this loudmouth!” – winked Odysseus, opening his hand.

“…it’s for your wound.”

“It’s mine, from my kingdom, and you must obey your king. Give it here.”

Polites sighed, a long sight. He dragged it for almost ten seconds. Then gave it there.

Odysseus took it, gave it a little sip, took a deep breath and… Polites put his hand on the wineskin, pouring the alcohol cautiously. Odysseus retracted his hand, letting him do it and grabbed another fistful of furs, holding his breath.

Iphianassa, dabbing at the rivulets escaping, declared: – “I’ll talk to distract you. Is that why Uncle Laus is not good in your eyes? He meant good but didn’t accomplish good?”

Oh, she had been listening and she had not let herself be distracted.

“Getting a little too clever here, little princess.” – Odysseus warned her jokingly, tense as a bowstring against his burning, cut open skin. She got it at the first try. – “And this is making me talk, not distracting me.”

“Go on princess, he loves the sound of his voice, it’s the best distraction.” – nodded Polites, setting the wineskin aside.

“You snitch.” – hissed Odysseus, eyes wet, aware he wasn’t impressing the princess in the least. – “You are on the line.”

Polites smiled a wide, deliberate smile, testing the thread attached to the needle he had fished out and let cool. – “Funny you should mention that.”

“Another question then.” – pressed Iphianassa. – “Did you two fight because of me?”

“First, it was because of Artemis’ demand, not you.” – Odysseus explained, shivering at Polites warm hand settling around the cut, to keep himself steady. – “Second, yes!” – his voice came a little louder and higher as Polites slid the needle in. – “As I told you, no one wanted to hurt you, but there wasn’t another way. Tension rose, we flexed our manly muscles and we yelled to each other like a good war cry could solve this.”

Iphianassa delicately pressed close the sides of the wound, then spoke again. – “What was your argument about? I know he wanted to save me, he hurt the old seer, the goat stinker, because of me. You instead wanted to…?”

To kill you, thought Odysseus. He sighed. She was so naïve, but what was the point of telling her now that his dear uncle had pushed her father to have her killed? Nor Odysseus could just paint himself a villain for her, because she could still go back to ask Achilles for protection.

“It’s a little more complicated than this. Menelaos wants his wife back. Desperately.” – Odysseus chuckled. That was something he could understand, actually. – “Not at the price of… you, but… you know how we lost Epipole? We waited too long and the army took control. She was stoned, and she died disgraced.” – the needle was going in and out, pulling at his swollen, sensitive skin and Odysseus tried to focus on that, instead of the fresh memories. – “You will hear no songs chanting her name, no mothers telling their daughters ‘be brave, like Epipole’. She is twice dead, her life and her chance to fame and legacy have been taken from her.” – as he explained, he wondered how much she cared for legacy and honor.

“Will mothers tell their daughters to ‘be brave, like Iphianassa’?” – she asked.

Was it a mark of honor for her, or a mockery?

“I’m sure of it.” – Odysseus replied, because people who aren’t good at manipulating and aren’t experienced of the world wouldn’t understand to cruel irony of a mother telling a daughter to be like Iphianassa when Iphianassa own mother cried and broke and had to be restrained from preventing Iphianassa from dying. – “There is more to lose than your life, little princess. I can recognize when it’s time to save what’s possible, instead of being stubborn and losing so much more. So I started thinking. Something Achilles should have done, instead of… well, being stubborn.”

“Was the fake marriage your idea?” – Iphianassa tried her best to ask innocently, failing at it.

Odysseus laughed, a scornful, mildly offended laugh. – “No, I’m not stupid. Or not that stupid. I’d rather have not been stabbed.” – he gritted his teeth and glanced at Polites. – “Especially in this moment. No, I thought of his name. I thought of how to make you live at least long enough as if you had lived. Fame and reputation. That is why I convinced you… why I wanted you to agree.” – forcing his breaths in and out, it was almost over. For him and for her. – “Because now your courage and your name will be known and remembered. Long remembered. Maidens and princess alike will think of you when scared, and they will want to be as brave as you. Every soldier on these shores that will be able to make it back alive, will have to thank you for the honor, fame and spoil they earned. You are immortal, now, Iphianassa. You have accomplished what Achilles only dreamed of.”

“I didn’t dream of it. I don’t care for fame or name.” – Iphianassa took her hands away from the wound, giving him her full attention. – “I wanted my father to care about me, even if he is a bad person. I wanted to be one of the reasons mom smiles, as she always asks me to, not one of the reasons why she cries and shouts.

I wanted to live, Uncle Odysseus.”

Odysseus didn’t waste time feeling bad. It was almost over, he could stop feeling, it was done. He wished his gut would just understand it. – “Do you know why Achilles wanted to protect you so?” – Odysseys said, the holding on the thread of the conversation like it could save him from being there with her.

“Because of his name. Isn’t that what he said? That my father offended his reputation?” – Iphianassa frowned and her wet eyes didn’t spill. Disaster avoided, this time.

“Exactly. He’s very careful about his reputation and his name. Not because of sheer arrogance though, mind it. It’s because…” – Odysseus sighed again, relaxing his neck muscles backwards now that Polites was tying up the end of the string. – “What if you knew that this was your fate since a long time? What if you knew that you were going to never grow up? Wouldn’t you focus on what will you leave behind? That is Achilles’ big concern.” – he looked at the top of the tent idly, animal skin treated with wax on other things to keep it waterproof. – “He’s fated to die in this war. It’s not sure, of course, prophesies are always a little off, a little unsure. Still; this is a war. People go to wars to die. For every survivor that speaks of how much honor, fame and spoils they won, hundreds lie silent in their dark, rotting graves. Every soldier that goes there knows they may very well not come back. I know it.” – He looked back at her. – “Even without a prophecy, Achilles knows it. Adding the prophecy to it, he has twice the chances of not making it out alive. He has been facing this all his life. He even tried to hide away from the war.”

“Achilles tried to hide? The hero and demigod?” – Iphianassa’s wide eyes popped, stopping her pouring of another few droplets of alcohol on the sown wound.

“Yes. It’s normal to be scared, even for heroes and demigods.”

“He chose like me. To face it.” – Iphianassa remained silent a moment, blew on the wound and then: – “How did he end up here?”

Odysseus hissed and Iphianassa excused herself, even though she had done nothing wrong, massaging a poultice on the wound, also with wax among other things. Odysseus just needed a moment to word his way out that last question. – “What was stronger than a demigod, to order and force him here?” – she asked again.

“Fate. The gods and fate ordered him here… and your father. So he was found and he was offered to come.” – thanks the gods for passive voice. – “No one could have forced him, but he wanted. I don’t know why. Maybe you do.”

“He’ll die too, then.”

“I think he believe he can make it out, but he knows he won’t. He knows he’ll leave a son and nothing else to this world. Nothing else… except his name.” – Odysseus was feeling his breath coming slower, relaxing at last. – “His reputation and fame. If we don’t die, we live until sixty, or even ninety. More than half a century to build ourselves a legacy, a way for our name to endure when we’ll be dead. He has had scarcely two decades until now, and at longest, he has another decade. Then he’ll be gone forever. Name and fame are all he’ll leave behind, all he’ll have left. All he’ll be, after…”

“He’s afraid of dying.” – stated Iphianassa.

“In a way, yes. Afraid of what dying will entail. Afraid of… living through the unfortunate Epipole business once again. Another maiden he wanted to save, and he couldn’t. He needed a pretest to save you to make up for not saving her, I think.” – Odysseus exhaled, looking away. – “I needed a way to make it up for that failure too, I think.”

“Does that mean Achilles’ good or bad? Having good intentions, to save me, and trying to actually save me because he knows how it feels to be doomed, makes him good?”

“What is with you and goodness.” – Odysseus let himself scoff a little. – “He has good intentions. He stabbed me, though, because he was still angry I couldn’t save Epipole, so that was not good for me, thus I won’t judge his overall character.”

“That made me change my mind a lot, you know? The fact he just stabbed you, the fact you were the only one there minding me instead of discussing my future and death like I wasn’t there, and…” – Iphianassa shrugged, but Odysseus knew she meant she had hoped to marry him still. Her hero, all hers. - “So you tried to save this Epipole too?” – she looked away. – “Like a good person would do?”

Odysseus took a long, long sigh. – “I should have known it wouldn’t have worked. I suppose I wasn’t liked enough for the army to listen to me. I tried and I hoped and I watched her get killed first, then erased right after.” – Odysseus pushed himself up a little, forced to move by Polites wrapping him in bandages and looked at her intently. – “The goddess has called you into her service, Iphianassa, and I don’t think you would have been able to escape it. Once the seer spoke his verdict, you were already bound for the altar. I couldn’t stop it. Achilles wouldn’t be able to stop it, I can promise that if I thought he could, I would have let him try. Hades, I would have helped him. Like a good person would.

I don’t think he could save you and I’m sure he could have made it more difficult for you. That is why, when I realized that none of us, none of the commander had a way out for you, I started thinking how to save what could still be saved.”

“My legacy.”

“Yes. Your memory, your honor, your dignity. Make you a hero and a martyr, not a victim.”

“Because of my mother.”

“What?”

“You are doing this for me because of this Epipole and because you care about my mother.”

Odysseus gestured Polites to leave. Iphianassa was alarmed by that. – “I cannot stay alone with you! It is disgraceful enough for me to be without handmaidens, but alone with a man…!”

“It’s alright little one, he’s a crybaby.” – Polites smiled at her reassuringly. – “If he scares you, just put a hand on his wound.”

“A crybaby! Me? Waahh, my own men don’t respect me!” – Odysseus made a little scene, but Iphianassa didn’t laugh, just looked down. How to blame her.

Polites nodded at him, leaving. What did that even mean, how unhelpful.

“You know why your father assigned you to my tent?” – he asked more gently, more serious. – “It wasn’t out of consideration for me or my wound. It was because of my wife.”

“Cousin Penelope?”

“This is the safest place in the entire Achaean army, for maiden-related dangers.” –  Odysseus smiled warmly at her. Agamemnon surely didn’t trust maids selected and brought here by Clytemnestra; better for Iphianassa to put the thought of female company to rest. – “Iphianassa, my little princess, I’m sorry I said I didn’t care about you. I was trying to keep the upper hand in the discussion with Achilles. I’m also sorry if you think I only care for Epipole and your mother. It’s not untrue, I see them both in you. But I married Penelope because she was, as your mother said, crafty. I like smart people, clever people. And brave and honorable people, why would I hang around someone with a face like Diomedes?” – Odysseus smiled and Iphianassa shily smiled back. – “And aren’t you a clever young woman? Aren’t you a little heroine? I could even see a daughter Penelope could give me in you. Even though…” – Odysseus pretended to observe her closely. – “You are a little too tall already to be a daughter of mine.” – Iphianassa smiled, and Odysseus noticed her mouth was wobbling a little. – “Your mother told you to come to me in case of trouble and she was right. I’m sorry it has to be this way… but I’m still trying to take care of you. I’m trying my best in caring for you.”

Iphianassa swallowed and looked away, then looked at him again.

“I’m afraid of dying. Like Achilles.”

“Don’t be.” – Odysseus dared brush her cheek with a thumb. He knew he wasn’t supposed to touch her, no, he was forbidden to, but she was away from her family and scared.

“I am anyway.”

Odysseus should have replied quickly, something funny, instead he looked at her, sadness mirroring her, and Iphianassa burst into tears, grabbing and holding him as soon as he cautiously scuttled closer and rested a careful arm across her shoulders.

So much for their reputations. If Agamemnon walked in now, he might have Odysseus beheaded. Not like that one important, right now, as Odysseus held her rocking her gently, imagining how would it be to do so to a daughter of his. Imagining if he was saying goodbye to a daughter of his. Imagined what Clytemnestra was going through right now, and alone, denied the chance to hold her.

He rested his head over hers and spilled a few more useless, stupid tears, promising himself to try and find the Great Queen to make it worse for himself by attempting to tell her something encoraging.

“…if I asked you, would you stop being noble and yell at me for a while?” – Odysseus asked Iphianassa after a while.

“My mother will take care of that.” – mumbled the princess. – “Do you care about my mother?”

“Yes.”

“Even though you said that you ‘cared’ about her, and did that stupid doll analogy. I was the doll that you were going to break and the reason you didn’t have the right to care for mother anymore.” – sobbed Iphianassa.

Odysseus held her, feeling empty, then he remembered that he had told her too that he ‘…hate the person who made the doll more than you love the doll’ and hoped the princess didn’t register that part, or after his speech about his father not being a good person, she could actually put things together.

“Do you love her?” – Iphianassa asked instead. – “My mother?”

“Romantically? No. Don’t you ever disrespect my Penelope like this, I love her in a way that makes me… not good.” – Odysseus thought of the girl in his hands, dying so Agamemnon would pay for endangering Telemachus, and wisely moved the topic on just conjugal love, instead of familiar. – “I love Penelope like anger and pain, those things that dug their claws inside you, that you can feel when they aren’t there anymore, that leave a scar ugly enough people recognize you by it. I see why it’s Aphrodite, instead of the two deities of war we have, that started this war. My love is good intentions, I am ready for the consequences of my actions to be pain for all, as long as I get to… be with her. Come back and be happy with her. I’m not Achilles. I’m not dying in this war. I’m going to win glory and fame and lay them back at her feet at my return. Menelaos’ name will be forever bound to Elene’s, and mine to Penelope’s, I swear it.”

“You are good.”

Odysseus almost laughed. – “Because I mentioned love? That is selfish. It’d be good if I put my happiness and others on the same level. I often don’t care for others as much as I care for my happiness.” – or his grudges, if he was to be completely sincere, which he wasn’t. – “Like your mother. I care for her, and yet, I’m… here. I’d pull an eye out for her to forgive me, but I know it wouldn’t be enough. I know she won’t forgive me; and yet I’m here.

I care for you, like your father does. And you were right. We’re both killing you.”

“No, I meant.” – Iphianassa frowned. – “You are good because you took the time to explain to me that Achilles isn’t evil, even though it would be in your interest to do so, even though I’m patching up the wound he inflicted you. Because you explained that Uncle Menelaos is complicated instead of telling me he wanted to kill me in order to get his wife back. Because you didn’t tell me, like mother does, to beware of dad because he’ll always choose power over us. Because even if you’re sacrificing me, you’re saving everyone else.”

Odysseus went numb to all of it, it was just easier at this point. He had felt too much in the last week to muster the energy for feeling anymore. He could and did withstand her cries, and yet it was this, her feeble attempt at consoling him back driving him to apathy.

He was a king and right now he was the responsible adult soothing the heartbroken child betrayed by those who should have cared for her. If he let himself feel anything more at this point, he would cry exactly like her: he couldn’t break down in front of a kid, especially not this kid, especially not with what he was currently forcing her to go through.

All because he hated his father more than he cared for her mother, and the kid herself wasn’t even a factor in his equation, but a tool and a mean to his ends. Artemis’ end. Agamemnon refusal to give up power… no, as much as he despised him, Agamemnon had wanted none of this, perhaps more than the rest of them. Perhaps as much as Clytemnestra.

“Are you sure Artemis is your goddess and not Athena?” – Odysseus asked with a smile. – “You are really a clever little girl.”

“I’m sure.” – Iphianassa mumbled.

“Trust Artemis, then. – Odysseus nodded, wiping her tears with a few leftover cuts of his bandages. – “Whatever happens, do as you’re told. I can be a hero like Perseus and you can be like...”

“You want to fight Poseidon?” – Iphianassa cut in, surprised and with swollen eyes.

“What? No!” – Odysseus frowned. – “Why?”

“Because Perseus fought that monster Poseidon had sent?” – Iphianassa asked. – “Am I mixing up myths again?”

“Never mind Poseidon.” – Odysseus waved a hand. – “This is your myth. You are immortal already. Now chin up, soldier. You will have a bad day tomorrow, then you’ll be in service of Artemis, in the dark woods and among the stars. Make her proud.”

“Artemis won’t care if I live a little.” – declared Iphianassa: her arm darted, she took the wineskin and, under the entertained eye of Odysseus, she took a sip.

Before four seconds had passed, her expression had turned sour and she half spit most of it, coughing. Odysseus laughed, taking the wineskin, closing it and putting it away.

“This is disgusting! And burns! Why do you even drink this stuff?!”

“You’re a good kid.” – Odysseus patted her to help cough it up and circled her back as she stopped, her voice coarse:

“Thanks.”

Chapter Text

“You shouldn’t be standing.” – had told him Polites, guarding the entrance of his tent, as he emerged. – “Neither should you leave her alone. She was entrusted to you, not us.” – had added.

Odysseus had been entertaining Iphianassa with anecdotes and tales until she had fallen asleep, exhausted by the emotions of the day, and probably still tired by the travel on carriage.

Ignoring his men, he had trudged on to the closer weapon racks, under a waterproof cloth, picking a spear shaft, then leaned on it for a while, preparing himself for one last stupid attempt.

“I’m going to call Eurylochus to yell at you, if you proceed.” – Eurybates, his trusty herald, eyeing him disapprovingly.

“You will do not such thing.” – replied quietly, but firmly, Odysseus. Only because he liked to keep it friendly with his subjects, it didn’t mean he hadn’t taught them to recognize when to shut up and comply. – “You will stand here and blow the horn if some idiot comes prowling around here.”

“Take a guard with you at least.” – Eurybates respectfully offered.

Polites, however, had grown up in Laertes’ estate with the king himself, when ‘palace’ was a foreigner’s word, rolling in the muds and chasing each other along the orchards, so he was often felt entitled to not shut up and comply despite recognizing the voice.

“You are the only one prowling around.” – Polites mumbled under his breath. – “Though a guard would serve you well.”

The only thing Odysseus took with him was a deep breath. Then he started walking.

Odysseus was sitting on a stool facing the sea.

It was the same stretch of sea he had faced after storming out the assembly tent. He felt fitting to come back here. The start and the end joining hands. This called for a metaphor, but he could think of no one. Of nothing.

It was almost over. This dark cloud weighing over his heart and mind was about to be lifted, sealed away in the past, like a jar thrown overboard and forever out of reach.

Would you look at that. Two metaphors. Maybe he was feeling better at last, or just the first timid attempts at feeling better. Not yet. Almost over.

“I couldn’t find you, earlier. It seems I can rarely find you, nowadays. Are you avoiding me?”

Diomedes’ voice. Meeting him again on that stretch of sand.

“If I was, I can assure you, you wouldn’t have found me here.” – replied Odysseus.

For a while, he heard only the sea, munching at the shore and retreating every time. Usually he’d lose the silent game with Diomedes, but he was weak enough the energy inside him, always demanding constant movement was, for once, quiet.

“I heard you convinced Iphianassa to sacrifice herself. I heard you talked her into that.” – Diomedes didn’t even drag the silence enough to feel purposeful, maybe he had just expected Odysseus to make small talk as he usually did. Attempting to distract Diomedes from the reason he had surely come, as Odysseus usually would have. Maybe he would have, if he wasn’t so out of energy, so lulled by the tantalizing hope it was about to be over.

“Did you?” – asked Diomedes again, somewhere behind him.

Unlike him to stand back instead of facing the Ithacan. Not like seeing Diomedes in person would allow Odysseus to decipher the other’s intention any more, not with that unmovable face of his.

Why was he asking? Didn’t he believe what he had heard? Or his own reaction, earlier that day? Diomedes had looked like he believed it, back then.

“Of course I did.” – Odysseus replied harshly. – “Not that she required much convincing. Truly she is the daughter of a heroine… with the strength of that brute.” 

“Why.” – why was Diomedes still behind him?

Odysseus could have misdirected the conversation a thousand times with that word put there alone. He didn’t. He was tired.

(almost over…)

(almost over…!)

So Iphianassa’s life as she knew it.

“The only way out is through.” – Odysseus replied, feeling a fool for talking at the air. Still, he didn’t turn around, just in case it was a game he’d lose by conceding. – “Didn’t you say she’s just the first casualty? That if she had been Agamemnon’s son and died in war, we’d all be praising her courage?”

“What is up with you.”

What is up with you, do you think I cannot face the blame in your eyes?, thought Odysseus angrily, I had to face Clytemnestra’s! Just like that, an echo of his energy came back.

Odysseus stood abruptly, kicking the stool on the side, turning to face his old friend.

Odysseus was shorter – he almost always was – but in this case Diomedes looked like a tower in front of him, thanks to a dizzy spell making him feel like the ground was dancing under him. He held his breath and waited it over, less than a minute, Diomedes looking back at him patiently, bless his stoic and laconic disposition, bless his indecipherable countenance.

“I can’t outthink the wind.” – Odysseus said as soon as he could breathe again. – “Thank you for the vote of confidence, but I just can’t.” – he crossed the healthy arm around the other, carefully.

Odysseus looked to the side, a way to cover his face. Embarrassingly enough, he felt tense because he almost expected Diomedes to be about to strike him. They all seemed to have, by now. They all took a turn, why not Diomedes too. Clytemnestra had slapped him multiple times and punched him, ‘Epyrrha’ had kicked him, Achilles had freaking stabbed him, just to be that much extra. Without mentioning accursed Kratossandros and his dead minions.

All Diomedes was letting transpire was some patient disapproval, maybe some disbelief at most. He was fast and strong, a true hero among them all. If Achilles hadn’t been there, maybe he would have been the best of them. No matter. Even if Diomedes spared him, Agamemnon was probably next.

No: this time Odysseus would stand his ground. The time to be smacked around by the Atreidai was over. If Diomedes tried something, he’d…

He was still weakened, and Diomedes was skilled enough that he could win even if Odysseus had been in full health, damn him and his childhood of war and turmoil turning him into a living deadly weapon.

…he’d call his men.

Not that they could do anything against Diomedes still, but the Argive king hated drama, so he’d likely just leave rather than having to deal with that. Bless be once again his stoic and laconic disposition.

“So you will kill her.” – the Argive king looked merely curious, albeit sinisterly so.

Odysseus was starting to think his fears after Diomedes reaction outside Agamemnon’s tent had been unfounded. Maybe Diomedes had just been surprised and dismayed.

“No. Calchas will.” – Odysseus had a prompt reply to such an easy sentence to play around.

Or maybe Diomedes was hiding anything under his impenetrable façade.

“Is this what you’ve been telling yourself?”

“I tell myself a whole lot, all the time.” – Odysseus replied sharply, another one of his to-go easy answers. – “I’m quite the entertaining conversation partner.”

Diomedes cocked an eyebrow. – “You seem pretty cheery for someone about to execute a kid.”

“I am not…” – Odysseus sighed, exasperated. – “I got Agamemnon what he wanted. He has to stop bullying me now!”

Diomedes gave him a dubious look. 

“He has to.” – Odysseus repeated.

Then he got hit by an overwhelming sense of dejavu.

Last time they had been here, he had been assuring Diomedes that he was leaving. Back then he didn’t believe it; like now he didn’t believe that Agamemnon was done with him.

Odysseus spit on the ground. – “I hate to talk to you on the seaside.”

This wasn’t the god’s will though. They were about to get when they wanted.

This was a petty tyrant’s grudge and Odysseus couldn’t let the hold his anger over him forever or he’d end up slaving under the other for the entire duration of the war. He’d let the slaving to the slaves. Odysseus must make himself ready to deal with him, next time Agamemnon tried something.

“So you are going to let Clytemnestra’s pride and joy die for your peace of mind. How does that even work?” – politely asked Diomedes.

He was getting unnerving.

“You save her, if you can.” – Odysseus sneered. 

Diomedes nodded and turned away. 

Odysseus stood there a second, flabbergasted, then ran after him in a fit of anxiety, grabbing his arm to yank him back.

“No, don’t.” – Odysseus looked down, taking a deep breath and letting his swirling head settle, then back up at him, eyes pleading. – “Promise me that whatever happens, you’ll let it happen.” – he tightened his grasp on Diomedes’ arm. – “Promise me.”

“Why should I?” – Diomedes looked back at him with cold eyes. – “I’m her friend as much as yours.”

For a moment Odysseus just stared, chilled, then retorted. – “Yes but… you trust me more, right? At least, on this. Right?”

Diomedes kept eyeing him with those inscrutable eyes, giving back no sign of agreement, not even a sign of having heard him. Unbless his stoic and laconic disposition.

Her friend as much as yours. They were going to ruin everything. No no no, they were so close!

(almost over…!)

Odysseus was so close to end this! No more last-minute saviors! No more Achilles!

(almost over…)

“Trust me.” – Odysseus tried to convey all the emphasis in those two words. – “I beg you, Diomedes, trust me, let it happen. Whatever happens.”

Diomedes’s visage finally opened into something mischievous; but not all the way, keeping that sinister light about his eyes.

“Talking about begging.” – Diomedes deliberately lowered his gaze to where Odysseus arm was clasped tightly on him.

He looked up and smiled.

Odysseus at first was too stunned to see him actually smile to understand. Then remembered in a flash: By the way, touch me again like this and I’ll make you beg, and not in the sexy way.

Odysseus too looked down on his own hand tightened on Diomedes’ slowly, with a mixture of disbelief and dismay. He looked back up at Diomedes and his roguishly narrowed eyes above his smile: – “Fuck.”

It happened in the blink of an eye.

Odysseus was on the ground, Diomedes’ knee on his back, breath knocked out, an arm twisted and pinned.

The sound of the waves, brushing the shore so idly without wind, a calming sound guiding his heartbeat to recover, his mind to collect itself.

Then Odysseus let his forehead hit the ground with a defeated sound.

He wasn’t going to call his men, was he. That would have been just embarrassing now.

Odysseus took a deep breath and spoke from his unflattering position, each word more overdramatic than the previous. – “Please. Pleaaaase. Please! You hear that? Please oh please, valiant warrior, I am at your mercy. Hear my plea to be released from your unjust yoke.” – he thought he heard Diomedes entertained huff at this last one, and switched back to a business-like voice. – “There you go, you made me beg, just like you promised. Well done, threat fulfilled.” – then he slipped in some more dramatic pleading. – “Don’t you hear how I am properly and thoroughly contrite, oh god-like Tydeides, master of the war-cry, tamer of horses, among other things? Have mercy on this… mh, this me. Humble me? Old little me. A little mercy for this little me, lord of Argos?”

“Didn’t take much.” – Diomedes voice was so airy it sounded like laughter.

Probably born from the relief of finally hearing him almost laugh, Odysseus felt a smirk tugging at his lips against the ground. – “What can I say, you really know how to get me there.”

“Still trying to seduce your way out of nasty spots?”

“Usually I prefer to seduce my way into soft, warm spots,” – Odysseus replied impishly. – “…but I see what you mean.”

Diomedes let out another amused sound. – “How many people except your wife have you ever seduced?”

“Plenty actually, she was just the first to successfully seduce me back.” – silence. Odysseus clenched and unclenched the fist on the wrenched arm. – “So… is it working? Are you seduced out of your heavy purpose, as in, heavy for my back?”

Despite his apparent good mood, Diomedes didn’t move.

Odysseus tried to shrug him off and was firmly kept in place. He didn’t dare strain, lest he reopened the wound. He took a few breaths, eyes darting around, unable to crane his neck back to his captor.

“…Diomedes?”

“Yes?” – While talking, Diomedes lazily ran his nails on Odysseus’ nape, fingers dipped in his curls. 

“I’m still in a nasty spot.” – barely the time to get the words out and Odysseus found himself melting under his touch, like a chunk of ice turning into a pool, a huff of satisfaction escaping his teeth. Wait, this was the contrary of a nasty spot. A comfy spot. But like a trap, a suspiciously too-comfy spot. Like if the embrace of death smelled like Penelope.

Terrible metaphor.

“You are.” – Diomedes’ reply sounded a little too smug for Odysseus’ tastes.

Odysseus swallowed, hoping no sailor would happen to be walking around this way. – “…may I be allowed to get out the nasty spot?”

“Regrettably, I’m not sure you’ve properly learned the lesson yet.”

Then Diomedes repeated the movement, his fingers dragging ever so slowly, leaving that odiously irresistible tingling sensation in their wake.

Odysseus mind cracked in two, one demanding he get himself out of there before he embarrassed himself, the other begging him to stay there and take it, for however long Diomedes felt like giving. He had too promptly yielded at Clytemnestra’s power-play of a flirt too, he did turn needy when under stress. That was a humbling thing to discover about himself.

Odysseus did dearly miss hugging his wife after a long day, feeling his worries and burdens melting away or resize. He hadn’t noticed how addicted he had become to it. He hoped that didn’t become a problem: it must be only an adjustment period, then he’d be used to keep wearing his worries and burdens again. Without finding himself starved of a gentle touch.

“Can I bribe you to get off?” – Odysseus squirmed a little, torn between making himself a little more comfortable and not letting Diomedes know how good had him pinned. Even though the Epigone rascal likely knew how well he was pinned even better than him.

“What can ‘little old you’ with your measly twelve ships offer to a mainland king with eighty sturdy ships?” – and in so saying, still smug, the devious bastard ran his fingers a third time, like a hunter dipping his spear in an injured boar until it yields, abandoning all resistance and lying helplessly on the ground. 

The chorus of protests inside Odysseus head surged and faded as he gave up completely, his world narrowed to the feeling of Diomedes’ fingers, the shots of comfort and pleasure radiating like the first tingles of warmth after a long hypothermia.

“I’ll have you know…” – Odysseus was losing focus, but not enough to prevent him from boasting. – “…that the mainland king guiding this expedition, with one hundred ships, asked for me personally. For… mhhh, forget my twelve ships, I’m the gem.”

Diomedes let out a low chuckle. – “Oh, so you are offering yourself as the bribe? How bold. Why my friend, I didn’t know you were interested.”

Odysseus huffed something intelligible, even to himself, the other king’s fingers running their intoxicating course.

“Are you falling asleep?” – asked Diomedes, laughter still in his voice. Why was he in such a good mood for anyway? – “You feel a little too relaxed for someone overpowered right now. Should I be offended? Am I not intimidating enough?” – he laced his hand in his curls, perhaps to mock grabbing him by the hair, but he was in fact being still too delicate for it to convey any actual threat.

Sweet Afrodite, on the contrary! This was so much worse in the best possible way. 

“Or are you that drained? You should take care of yourself, instead of getting like this? You’ll run yourself ragged at this rate, and we haven’t even left the Argolis yet.” – a tinge of worry was now audible in Diomedes voice.

For a moment, Odysseus fantasized about burying his face in Diomedes’ shoulder and crying like Iphianassa just a few hours ago. He was so tired, but he still had so much to do and couldn’t rest yet: he should have the right to complain and sob about it. But Penelope wasn’t here to pick him up and Diomedes’ strong hand were so soothing, so warm, so… not stabbing or punching or slapping or fiddling with his wound.

“Are you… actually falling asleep?” – a pause, a marvelous little tightening of Diomedes’ grasp on his curls, like Penelope’s careful testing of his reactions when she felt like manhandling him. – “Odysseus?”

Just take me, he thought languidly, here on the dust, screw anyone who might see, I’ll cry in your arms like a heartbroken teen.

“Not even pretending to haggle about your offer?”

Really? Did he really just think that? That was it.

“My offer?” – he pushed out the words against his own will, sounding way too relaxed still, idle.

“Your bribe, you little old gem.”

“Do I… have to suck your dick to get out of this?” – he exhaled with an undercurrent of real alarm. His friend wouldn’t actually extort sexual favors from him… would he?

Not that Odysseus thought Diomedes would, but he was vulnerable enough at the moment to justify a little concern.

“Only if you want to.” – replied Diomedes. Probably joking.

“I don’t, so get off of me.” – he tried to shout, accomplishing nothing more than a grumpy muttering. – “Off you go! Don’t forget I’m the older king here, number of ships notwithstanding”

“I cannot hear you!” – Diomedes’ entertained, singsong voice from his position over him. – “Are you sure you’re not sleeping?” – he wiggled his fingers entwined into Odysseus’ curls.

“Diomedes.” – oh he was begging this time, voice choked and everything.

“What?” – his friend’s word vaguely defensive at his change of tone.

“Please get off.” 

“Oh sure, sorry.” – at least Diomedes had the decency of sounding embarrassed. – “I forgot about your stab wound. Frome earlier today! Let me.”

At long last, he moved from over Odysseus to go gather his kicked stool to place back up on the ground, then gave him a stern look.

“Sit.”

Odysseus glared, slowly getting up, but sat. Then flinched as a waterskin landed on his lap.

“You lost a lot of liquids, drink.” – ordered Diomedes again and, just before Odysseus refused on principle, his pride lifting its beaten head again, the Argive king sat on the ground, near his feet.

Odysseus lifted his eyebrows.

“You are the older king here.” – explained Diomedes with a sigh.

Odysseus had never minded much the hierarchy obligations of the mainland kings, but right now feeling respected was like a balm after Agamemnon mistreatment, so he softened and drank the water as instructed. Diomedes was right, he had been thirsty indeed, and a low headache he hadn’t even noticed finally left him.

“I will trust you. Please, tell me you know what you’re doing.” – spoke Diomedes, emphasizing the ‘please’, perhaps to make up for his earlier mischief.

Odysseus held his gaze. – “I do. I’m following the will of the gods.”

Diomedes shook his head. – “You could at least rest for the afternoon, considering your presence will likely be required for tomorrow’s… event. What was so important that you couldn’t stay still a few hours?”

“You know, the usual. Lurking and skulking. Sneaking and creeping.”

Diomedes kept staring at him. Odysseus ordered him not to fall for it, but he yielded anyway before a full minute was passed. – “There is a tent of medium size in Agamemnon’s camp, closer to where the great queen had pitched hers, where she kept the dowry for… the dowry. That tent has been emptied, and it’s currently surrounded by soldiers. The dowry and the handmaidens have been confined to the main tent, where the great queen was supposed to be staying, but she’s not there.”

Diomedes eyes lit in understanding. – “He’s not being subtle about it.”

“Why should he? He’s the great king.”

“Right. He knows how to deal with troublemakers.” – Diomedes accompanied the sentence with a pointedly worried look. – “I heard Calchas was dragged out of his tent by the arms, but I still have to investigate the rumors.”

“So I approached the other tent, the well-guarded one.” – shrugged it off Odysseus, after a foreboding shiver. – “Still in my beggar disguise, with a staff, which wasn’t a great idea because one of them kicked my staff.”

“Dramatic and pitiful fall?” – asked Diomedes, his lips a little stretch that suggested a smile.

“…yes, and not all of it a farce, I was actually leaning on the staff. I memorized that guard’s face. In a week or so, I’m going to ask Teucer his bow again and impede permanently his walking, so he’ll be the one needing a staff next time.”

“Isn’t like the third or fourth time you borrow Teucer’s? I can spare a bow if you need one.”

“I have many, it’s just that his is great and he’s a decent lad and a great archer himself, so I’m using it as an excuse to meet up sometimes.”

The mainland kings wouldn’t approve of Odysseus openly flaunting his archery skills or walking around with a bastard. The rumors of the bastard and the bastard of Sisyphus were bound to follow soon.

…and Ajax had this habit of glaring at him whenever he showed up, so Odysseus didn’t mean to do so without an official reason to.

“Oh.” – Diomedes almost frowned, like he wasn’t aware that was a thing people could do. Or he had never considered Teucer for more than a few seconds. Or that was just a polite expression of interest.

Perhaps Odysseus should have told him a pretty lie or an excuse. Diomedes was in fact a mainland king, albeit an unconventional one, almost more of a warring general than a ruler.

“The captain of the guards recognized me,” – Odysseus went on quickly with his tale. – “he had been taking shifts with the soldiers surrounding my men too. Told me that if I wanted to see her I should take it up with Agamemnon in person, because he had been given orders to keep me away from her. Told me that apparently she lost her mind anyway, and she was being restrained for her safety – such a bare-faced clearly-fabricated slander.”

Diomedes settled better onto the ground, as preparing for a long, winding, boasting story in which Odysseus successfully worked around the problem.

More misplaced faith in him; Odysseus wondered why or when Diomedes started to think of him as someone who would always prevail.

It was probably his fault; Odysseus did usually go around selling his persona to be so much more than he was. Effect of growing up on a bunch of islands that thrived on commerce perhaps, for how much of commerce is about marketing your own goods?

Especially at the suitor’s gathering where he had first met Diomedes, with all those already-famed warriors at the head of kingdoms that made his own look like a grain of barley in a barley field. All of them looking to put the others down to prop themselves up in the eyes of Tyndareus; among them Odysseus with his tiny kingdom, almost unknown, looking like easy prey. His words had been his armor, his shield and his spear.

Odysseus didn’t mind having fooled Diomedes, not now that it meant at least one of the kings was still paying him some respect, offering him some kinship.

The war was coming and Odysseus had failed to keep himself out of it until he was ready and the others tired, as he had initially planned, to market his entrance and contribution to its highest value: Diomedes was going to revise his opinion of him soon anyway. Better enjoy this as long as it lasted.

He could still tell himself that it must be Athena’s influence making the other a fiercer warrior than he was. No, or he’d wonder why Athena didn’t help him on the battlefield too: he’d tell himself it was just because Diomedes was younger instead. What a nice little lie to coddle his pride. He was so good at this.

“That is when I turned my heels and headed back here.” – Odysseus continued. – “Now that this whole nasty business is about to be over, it’s just wisdom to let Agamemnon turn his baleful gaze on someone else. No need to provoke him further. No need to give him reasons to doubt any of us again.” – he perked up a little, leaning forward in confidence. – “Do you know what I have been accused of? Having slept with her! Me!” – Odysseus almost flushed again, rising unbidden once again the memory of how she had expertly fooled him and how he had easily fell for it, in the grove. – “And what for would I insist to see her? Clytemnestra… there is nothing I could tell her, really. Nothing that would make a difference now. I’m not going to help her; she’s not going to forgive me.”

Diomedes nodded approvingly. Buying it.

Sure, Odysseus had told himself as well that he was being reasonable and prudent, another nice little lie, but his guts knew what was up.

He wished he was this wise indeed. He wished the real reason wasn’t that he had been hesitant to approach the great king, for this matter or any, or worse, that he was avoiding him.

He hadn’t even tried to discuss with the captain, persuade or sneak past him. He just had quickly left the area, like a kicked dog with his tail between his legs.

…he was scared of the Shepherd of Kings. Scared to be dragged to his tent for more questioning to be done on his knees, scared to give him any reason to once again take out his bad temper on him.

Odysseus looked at the sea, ashamed of himself.

No, no more. He’d not let Agamemnon beat him around, wasn’t this his resolve? He’d be respectful and absolutely more careful with his words in his presence, he would not cross him again. But he’d never bleed for him like that again. Once he was back at full strength he’d find a way to let the great king know he wasn’t his delivery boy anymore, that the Shepherd of Kings should just get over whatever he had against him, because they had a war to fight.

Sure, as soon as he’d be in full strength again. Until then, he’d… well, not avoid him, but… kept his distance. Yes, that was it. He’d keep his distance, respectfully, prudently so.

Agamemnon had not lifted a hand on him yet, contrary to so many others; and yet, Diomedes had subdued him far too easily. To lift a hand might be indeed all Agamemnon had to do.

Odysseus was going to play it safe for a while. It was the wise thing to do, he couldn’t let Diomedes have all Athena’s wisdom. Just buying time until his recovery. It couldn’t even be considered avoiding if he had a reason, many reasons.

Odysseus turned to Diomedes, who had been observing his face as he had looked at the sea. – “There is something Iphianassa told me that you should know, about a supporting system based on Uncles that you are a part of. I don’t know why, but I think you should know as well.”

Diomedes lifted one eyebrow.