Chapter Text
Agamemnon was not convinced at first, that Odysseus could ever truly lose himself to something like torture. Any common man would break within seconds, but the king of Ithaca? He is the most stubborn, and irritating person Agamemnon has ever met. Frankly, he could picture the idiot laughing in the face of every Trojan soldier that stood before him. He could imagine Odysseus taking it with a smile. But that is not what happened, and Agamemnon is still partially living in disbelief because of it. It was sickening, the way he thought Odysseus was faking it. But then he saw the lack of a third finger on the man’s hand, and he slowly found the truth. The bruises on his chest, his thighs- handprints around his wrists, his throat. The sight hit him directly in the gut, he came to the realization far too late.
They really did take too long.
Now, he is on watch duty, and Odysseus is staring vacantly off into the distance like he's almost half alive. It's eerie– uncomfortable. He doesn’t like it.
Patroclus said it was normal- the quietness. He was ‘dissociating’, whatever that meant. The medic didn’t stick around long enough to explain it in detail. Not that Agamemnon would’ve really paid attention anyway. His mind is elsewhere.
Blood on the ground- Odysseus’ wheezing breaths, his naked, shivering form. The picture plagued his mind, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
“Ag…?”
He froze, eyes flying over to meet half lidded, distant gray ones in return. It was quiet as he tried to form words, too focused on the exhaustion that plagued the other man’s face– but eventually he managed.
“Talk to me later, son of Laertes.” He said quietly, almost afraid as if he spoke too loud that it would cause even more damage. “You need to sleep.”
It was almost too easy, how quickly the tent grew quiet again. Not a single complaint or protest fell from the man’s mouth, and that made Agamemnon feel even more uneasy than before. He almost thought Odysseus had listened, until he heard him speak up again.
“I didn't- tell them… anything.”
Agamemnon paused, an odd feeling coming over him. His heart felt heavy- and his throat tightened. He stared at Odysseus for a moment, watching his eyes grow heavy once again. Any sort of light that started to form in the Ithacan’s eyes began to drain, and he seemed to fall back to his unaware state without another word. Agamemnon was getting to his feet before he could really think about it. He kneeled next to the man’s cot, and carefully removed the wet rag off his forehead in order to soak it once more. The moment it was back against the man’s feverish skin, his eyes opened slightly and struggled to focus on anything in particular. Still Agamemnon decided to speak to him- regardless if the words would really reach his ears or not.
“You did good, Odysseus.” He held the side of his tactician’s face in his palm, before adjusting the chlamys around his shoulders and moving back to sit down once again. “Sleep well.”