Work Text:
Tydeus' son, gallant Diomedes, stands tall over me, blocking Helios' rays from catching my dark eyes. His shadow replaces my world.
Lady Aphrodite, if I, Odysseus, have ever adorned your altar with offerings in kindness, I pray for him, Love, to be mine. In return, I vow that this mortal, Tydides, will pay for making your wrist stain with ichor. The palladium will be mine and Diomedes along with it.
Aphrodite, born of the sea foam, heard his prayer, "So let it be it done, King of Ithaca."