Chapter Text
Out of everyone and everything else, it was the moonlight, Selene’s kind gift, that betrayed Odysseus.
He should’ve predicted it. He really should. He should’ve paid more attention to the not-so-distant hooting that he’d heard. He might’ve mistaken it for an approval — he’d chosen to think it’d been an approval. After all, he and Diomedes had managed to steal the Palladium from under the Trojans’ noses. It was no wonder that Lady Athena herself had given a clear sign of her praise for such a stratagem!
Now, though, it seemed that it had been a warning. The grey-eyed goddess’ hint that maybe drawing a blade and raising it against his dearest Diomedes wasn’t Odysseus’ brightest moment. Instead of succumbing to the impulse and the momentary whim, he should’ve heeded the warning in the form of owl hooting.
Alas, it was too late.
Selene’s light reflected in the metal of the blade, glimmering a white spark that caught Diomedes’ eye. This minute flicker was enough for him to dodge the attack and whip around, the Palladium still in his hands. Astonishment and brewing anger painted on his face as he stared at Odysseus. With his eyebrows knit together, Diomedes opened his mouth to say something but no words left his mouth.
Odysseus sported a stupid, lopsided smile as he kept searching Diomedes’ fiery glare. He was holding the damned sword as if it’d been of no matter, as if he’d taken it out without any particular reason. He shifted his weight onto his other hip and carefully watched Diomedes put the Palladium down and step closer to him.
It could be that Odysseus had said something, more jovially than he should have, but Diomedes didn’t hear that. He didn’t want to hear. Instead, he took a swing and slapped the shorter man, effectively making him fall to the side with the force of the blow. At the same time, he sent his sword flying until it landed on the ground.
Diomedes picked the sword up and approached Odysseus, gripping the hilt, his knuckles going white. The older man’s eyes grew wide.
“Godlike Diomedes, think twice,” he said, keeping his voice steady, eyeing the blade.
Rubbing his cheek with one of his hands, he tried to scoot away but Diomedes was quick and meticulous. He followed until a rock or a stick hurt Odysseus’ palm and he stopped his flight, distracted by the sudden pain.
“Diomedes, reconsider!”
His heart stopped as Diomedes lifted the sword and then drew it down in one swift and smooth move. Odysseus covered his eyes and shook but… nothing happened. Breath returned to his chest and he slowly ran a hand down his face. He swallowed, seeing the sword’s blade stuck in the dirt, between his legs; much too close to his flesh to feel any comfortable with it.
For a moment, he observed it. He took that while to convince himself that no, he wasn’t afraid to look up and meet Diomedes’ eyes. He prolonged it as much as he could and to him, it was an eternity. It was a blink of an eye for Diomedes.
“You have reconsidered! Oh, my dear friend, you don’t know how glad I am that—!”
“In the back? Are you serious?” Diomedes seethed through his teeth.
“Please, do not concern yourself with that. I was only—”
“In the back, Laertiades?!” the younger man roared and bent down to grab Odysseus by his clothes.
The force with which he was lifted up stole Odysseus’ breath away. Tightly, he gripped onto Diomedes’ wrists as that furious warrior hoisted him up higher until Odysseus’ feet were no longer on the ground. He gulped again.
Odysseus felt terribly small and vulnerable. Diomedes’ blazing glare was piercing him right through and he had nowhere to escape. Still, he didn’t break the eye contact. He locked his jaw and huffed.
“You were only what? You cunning snake, I should have—!” yelled Diomedes, straight into the other man’s face.
“Testing your vigilance was what I was trying to do! A warrior like you, so mighty and powerful, should keep his eyes open at all times. Wouldn’t you agree, dearest friend?”
Odysseus raised his hands in surrender but then decided to hold onto Diomedes’ wrists again. That feat he pulled felt too much like losing the balance.
“I kept my eyes open. Glad I did.”
Odysseus tried a smile. It didn’t turn out well for him. He was foolish to think it would.
What it earned him was a hurl back onto the ground. The dirt and small rocks scratched his hand and elbow on which he fell. He growled in anger and quickly collected himself to attempt to get up and do something about the dire situation he’d found himself in.
He didn’t have much of a chance, though. Diomedes was faster again. When Odysseus was about to stand up, he felt the sword’s blade against the side of his neck. He shuddered in dread and felt himself sweat. But he was no amateur; kneeling, he raised his hands and turned around to face Diomedes and meet his furious eyes, sharp like two daggers.
“Do it, Diomedes,” said Odysseus calmly.
He was able to always remain calm in the weirdest or direst of situations. Diomedes always found it impressive.
“You know I will,” he retorted, pressing the sword harder against the older man’s skin.
“But, please, be advised that you will not win this war without me. Dear friend, you haven’t been fighting against the Trojans for ten years to let it go to waste now.”
“See if I care.”
Diomedes’ voice trembled and it was a good sign. What wasn’t one was the fact that the blade bit into Odysseus flesh and drew some blood. He took a sharp inhale but otherwise he didn’t even hiss.
“If you send me to Hades, our gracious Lord Agamemnon certainly won’t be pleased with the disposal of the only man thanks to whom this great war can be won,” Odysseus continued firmly, with confidence. “He will have you killed. Or he will kill you himself, no matter your strength and heart in battle.”
“Don’t trouble yourself with thinking that he fancies you any more than is necessary. He merely tolerates you.” Diomedes paused, knowing his voice would break if he kept going. “He’s been using you. You’re a tool.”
“So are you!”
“At least I’m not making a hero out of myself when the war’s not ended.”
“Maybe you should.”
Diomedes snarled and grunted, drawing the sword away from Odysseus’ neck. “You sly and slithery—!”
He took a swing once more, a proper one now. A swing that would’ve ended Odysseus’ life. A swing that would’ve resulted in his head rolling on the ground. But it didn’t.
The sword shone in the moonlight again as it remained raised up high. It didn’t move, as if stuck. Its hilt was held in Diomedes’ white-knuckled hands and his arms started shaking from how vice-like his grip was. It was then when Odysseus knew that he’d won.
Diomedes frowned, keeping the sword in the air for a moment longer, before he lowered it. Only then did he realise he was panting, his breathing ragged, nervous. Distressed. Disappointed. He felt tears well up in his eyes but he blinked them away lest they started flowing down his cheeks.
He looked at the ground next to his feet and closed his eyes to calm down and think straight again. All this time, Odysseus stayed silent — something that Diomedes hadn’t expected to happen.
Soon enough, he knew he’d been wrong to expect so.
“Now that everything’s settled between you and I, dear Diomedes, I think we ought to be on our way back to the camp.” Odysseus started to stand up but almost lost his balance when the other man grabbed his arm and hauled him back onto his feet. “Why, thank you! Can you believe that my knees—! Ah! You bloody bastard!”
Without a word, Diomedes used the rope he had attached to his belt to tie Odysseus’ wrists behind his back. On purpose, he pulled on his hands harder than was necessary, eliciting an annoyed growl from the older man. Some satisfaction in all that disenchantment — at least — an understatement in itself. Yet, Diomedes couldn’t bring himself to think of stronger words. He didn’t want to acknowledge the deed just yet. He’d have time for that once the Palladium was in the camp and out of the Trojans’ reach.
During their trip back to the Greek camp, Diomedes held the Palladium in one hand and Odysseus’ sword in the other. He kept hitting the other man on his back with the flat of the blade, for which he received a lot of complaints and swears. At no point did Odysseus ask him to stop, though. Diomedes wished he had.
There was a mess in the young warrior’s head. But it was not the time nor place for pondering over that. Dead set on returning to Lord Agamemnon, he marched on, muting out Odysseus’ whining, which wasn’t as easy as Diomedes would’ve preferred. After all, Diomedes had seen Odysseus as someone more than just a fellow king, a fellow comrade, a brother and a companion. Now, he had serious doubts whether Odysseus reciprocated the sentiment.
Odysseus also felt as if he were being haunted by an owl that he saw fly above them. It hooted once in a while and the sound fell heavy on the cunning man’s ears. There was a burden weighing on his heart too and he scowled at the owl as it made a particularly loud hoot.
It was with an irritated sigh that Diomedes pushed Odysseus forward, in-between the tents. Selene hadn’t yet left the dark sky, for which Odysseus was grateful; being seen in such a compromising position was one of the moments, in which he didn’t want to be particularly seen. Deep down, he was certain that Diomedes cared about that too. He may have been furious at Odysseus but he respected his status.
The master of lies wouldn’t have been so courteous if he’d been in Diomedes’ place.
“Diomedes, son of Tydeus. It’s ignoble to treat me as though I were a prisoner, I’m sure you understand! Thus, I demand that you release me,” Odysseus said firmly when they were a couple of steps away from Agamemnon’s tent.
An idea then appeared in his head and Diomedes could tell by the smirk that tilted the older man’s lips. He had half a mind to knock him out.
“Unless you wish to do something else instead of handing the Palladium to our kind and generous Lord right away,” mused Odysseus. He eyed Diomedes and locked his gaze with the young warrior’s. “And if that other activity requires me to be tied up like this, so be it. In such a case, I shall not complain.”
The corners of Odysseus’ lips rose even higher and his eyes glimmered. He stood tall and took a step towards Diomedes who could barely avert his eyes. Having inhaled sharply, he swallowed and dismissed the older man’s advances; his anger started to boil again, the harsh reality of how and why they’d both reached that place was like slamming against a wall. He shuddered, hurt making his lip tremble for a second.
Diomedes didn’t reply. There wasn’t much to say; he was too upset and chagrined. Maybe the man of many resources finally understood that he wouldn’t talk his way out of that situation. As he was shoved again, he cast a glance at Diomedes. It was a mistake that wrenched Odysseus’ heart; the disgruntled look in Diomedes’ eyes, one that carried more emotion than any words could, told Odysseus everything.
Before they’d set out on their task, Agamemnon had informed them that he’d be anticipating their return and he kept his word. Sat in his chair, in his spacious tent, he watched Odysseus and Diomedes being let in. Sipping wine, his eyebrows went up once the King of Argos pushed the other king forward, making him stumble and almost fall down. In return, he received a sharp glare from Odysseus who then proceeded to face their lord marshal and bow his head in respect. Diomedes did the same and put the Palladium on the ground.
“Ah, my good Lords, I see you’ve completed your task. But this, uhm…” Agamemnon said, vaguely gesturing at the two men, “It is an interesting turn of events, indeed. Would you be so kind and explain this to me?” He squinted and sat back in his chair, rolling the wine in the cup. “Mighty Diomedes, let us hear you now.”
Odysseus shared a stern look with Agamemnon. He could swear that the King of Mycenae smiled wryly for a split second.
“Lord Agamemnon, my King…” Diomedes stuttered and briefly peeked at Odysseus. “He, Lord Odysseus, son of Laërtes, attempted to murder me by stabbing me in the back.”
He said it. He said it and Odysseus’ heart sank. An unpleasant chill ran down his spine and he bore Agamemnon’s curious and maliciously contented stare.
“Untie him, son of Tydeus,” he said quickly and Diomedes complied. “Why, oh great tactician, would you have done that?”
“Brilliant Agamemnon, shepherd of men!” Odysseus began with fake humility, massaging his wrists. “It was only my good will and desire to aid godlike Diomedes here, so that an enemy would never surprise him, even while attacking from behind!”
Diomedes muffled a snort and Odysseus had to will himself not to lunge at the young man. Instead, he remained focused on Agamemnon. He had to save himself after all. Poor situation though it was, there must’ve been a way out.
“Don’t laugh at me, my young friend, for you shall remember my words when the time comes,” he addressed Diomedes almost dismissively.
“Wise Odysseus, don’t you think that after so many years of war, the King of Argos has learnt how to be vigilant? Was it necessary to put his skills to the test? Was it worth almost committing so heinous a crime against your ally which, as you surely know, equals to treason?” Agamemnon asked without a rush, leaning against the backrest of the chair comfortably. He took a sip of his wine, maintaining the eye contact with Odysseus.
“But, my Lord, isn’t it a fact that a man learns his whole life? Especially when he’s a warrior, I daresay.”
Agamemnon chuckled and rolled his eyes. Odysseus didn’t like that, yet he kept his composure, pushing the thought of being regarded as a traitor aside. He also cast a fleeting glance at Diomedes, who stood there with his lips slightly parted. His breathing was faster than usual and he bit the inside of his cheek. As if desperate, he searched Agamemnon’s features for any indication of what was going to happen next, both to himself and Odysseus. That’s when it came — the moment in which Diomedes began to wonder if stating his case as he’d done had been a good idea.
“Mighty Diomedes, could you leave us for a moment?” the King of Mycenae said. “Wait outside if you’d be so kind?”
He even sent Diomedes a small, encouraging smile. Bastard, Odysseus thought. With the corner of his eye, he watched the young warrior exit the tent.
Silence fell upon the two men who stayed inside. Agamemnon finished his wine and put the cup on a desk. He released a deep sigh as he studied the cup for an unnecessarily long moment while Odysseus was boring a hole in him with his expectant staring.
“Why did you do that, Odysseus?” asked Agamemnon, still surveying the cup.
“I’ve told you before, my Lord. I wanted to—”
“Quit it, Laertiades. I know you’re lying.”
“Me?” Odysseus gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. “Lying to you? My King, you’d be the last man I’d ever lie to!”
“Something tells me I’d be the first one whom you’d lie to without a hint of hesitation.” Agamemnon no longer found the cup interesting and locked his eyes with Odysseus’. “How can this be? Care to enlighten me?”
“It must be just an impression, sir,” Odysseus answered, now gesturing with his hand to make his point stronger. “I cannot blame you if you choose to be more careful than usual, since we happen to be in a particularly unusual situation. A ten-year war, who would’ve thought! Or maybe you, oh wide-ruling lord, appear to be flattering yourself from time to time, thinking that I’d come running to you to tell you my newest and most elaborate lies first, hm?”
He finished with a smile gracing his lips and the older king had an urge to wipe it off the Ithacan’s face in an instant.
The chair creaked as Agamemnon stood up. Odysseus swallowed and watched the other man walk over to him at an almost lazy pace. There was also something ignorant or uninterested in his eyes that Odysseus knew was hiding a different emotion. Irritation, most likely.
“You see, son of Laërtes, I can be a merciful man. Strict though I can be, I am also able to show forgiveness. So if you,” the king droned on, “reveal to me why you tried to take Diomedes’ life, I shall grant you with my mercy.”
Face to face with the tall and bulky ruler, Odysseus considered his choices. He could stand by his initial narration but he couldn’t be sure whether it’ll bring him success.
“Ah, brilliant Agamemnon, son of Atreus,” Odysseus sighed and dropped his head, “the truth is… The truth is simpler than you would expect from someone like me.”
“What is it then?”
The master of lies looked up at Agamemnon and, with slumped shoulders, replied, “I only want to go back home. Sail to my kingdom, my Ithaca. See my family again. It’s been ten years!”
Agamemnon lifted his chin and squinted down at Odysseus.
With hope in his voice, hands bent at the elbows and fingertips against his chest, he said, “I thought that if I killed our skilled battle-crier, you’d reward me for my bravery and perseverance, and…”
“Let you return to your little island sooner?”
“Precisely, sir.” Odysseus sighed and fell onto his knees, one hand raised in supplication. “Lord Agamemnon, son of Atreus, I beg you for your forgiveness. As you have asked of me, I told you the truth, and now I can do no more and no less than let you decide my fate.”
Agamemnon chuckled, sending a cold chill down Odysseus’ spine. “At last.”
The Ithacan’s eyes grew wide as he snapped them back at the king before him. He only managed to mutter a small “what?” before his hand got snatched and Agamemnon dragged him onto his feet. Having released his wrist, the older ruler grabbed Odysseus by his jaw. Odysseus froze and clenched his hands into fists, keeping them down along his sides.
“Cunning Odysseus, it is of no matter to me whether the words you speak are true or not. But do know this: what I shall now say is nothing but the truth. While enduring all your scheming, I have been yearning to see the day on which your tricks lead you astray. Do not be mistaken — I am not the only one who thinks about you in this manner.”
Odysseus briefly wondered whether Diomedes had been longing for the same thing.
“I am no fool, though. I know you’re said not to be one, either. Thus, I should expect you to make a wise decision.”
“I am all ears, my Lord,” said Odysseus, keeping his voice steady, although he could feel himself tremble on the inside.
“Let me judge you now, so that no one else will ever hear about this tragic lapse of reason of yours.”
“If I’m to be judged, I’d rather have it done the proper way. After the war, on our lands. As it should be.”
Agamemnon sniggered darkly and let Odysseus’ jaw go. The Ithacan exhaled a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and then stilled once more as the Mycenaean king rubbed his cheek with his fingers. Odysseus did everything he could not to flinch away from the touch.
“Of course, you could choose that, son of Laërtes. However, I would advise you to reconsider,” Agamemnon said with fake understanding, sliding his fingers down to Odysseus’ neck. He felt the man swallow and continued, “you must know that if you decide on that, I shall make sure that you will not see your family again.”
Dread gripped Odysseus’ chest and he shivered, his knuckles white. He was staring at some random spot behind Agamemnon as the older king leaned in closer to his ear. Odysseus was disgusted, both by the other king’s words and actions. And yet, he wouldn’t fight back. He didn’t know what Agamemnon meant by bringing up the great tactician’s family but he couldn’t risk putting his loved ones in danger if that was the case.
In moments like this, he severely cursed his smaller posture. He had strength, obviously, but it wasn’t enough to deny a man like Agamemnon.
“You will not sail back to Ithaca. You will sail with me until, eventually, you meet your fate. But before that, Odysseus, before you’re tried for treason…” he rambled on, his breath fanning over Odysseus’ skin like a flame of the Asphodel, his hand wrapped around the side of his neck. “You shall find that being unable to return to your dear Ithaca is the least of your concerns. Who knows, maybe I will accidentally discover why the son of Tydeus has taken such a fancy to you?”
Words escaped the master of lies. Despite himself, he just stood there, shuddering on the inside.
As soon as Agamemnon drew away from him, Odysseus took a deeper inhale and his eyes met the other king’s. Sick contentment was shining in the dark irises. He chortled as he brushed Odysseus’ cheek again and then lightly slapped him on it.
Odysseus averted his gaze, feeling the slight stinging caused by the strike.
“The choice is yours, King of Ithaca.”
“Judge me, oh lord of men,” Odysseus said without second thoughts. “Judge me now and allow me to sail back home when the war is over.”
He lowered his head and asked in a sorrowful tone, “why, my King?”
“Oh, the answer is your family, Odysseus, son of Laërtes,” Agamemnon announced and walked away from him to circle him like a predator ready to lunge at his prey. “You must understand that all of us here would rather be back in our homelands already. We all miss home, Odysseus. You are not the only one separated from those who you love and none of us here need daily reminders of your woe and misery.”
“With all due respect, my Lord.” Odysseus frowned and lifted his head back up, following the other man with his eyes when he was in his eyeshot. “Aren’t we all here precisely because of a family separated?”
“And what led to it, my great tactician? Whose idea was it? Who suggested that godforsaken oath, Odysseus?”
His breathing laboured, Odysseus pursed his lips.
A candle flickered.
“Who had us all swear to protect Helen and her husband? Who had his own business in arranging the oath?”
Odysseus raised his eyebrows and his mouth fell slightly open. “How…?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” Agamemnon finally stopped his pacing and stood at his desk. He poured himself some wine, rocked the cup and took a swig. Leaning his hip against the edge of the desk, he said, “so, wise Odysseus… Could you perhaps tell me, answer me this question that I cannot help but keep thinking of: who started the war?”
Wetting his lips, Odysseus watched Agamemnon drink his wine as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just stripped the King of Ithaca of his dignity, calling him out on his constant scheming and whining, and crying for his home.
“Who, son of Laërtes?”
“I did, sir” Odysseus replied calmly, his look ice-cold and glued to Agamemnon who was enjoying his wine far too much, given the situation.
The candle flickered again and shadows danced in the tent, sharpening the King of Mycenae’s features. Highlighting the malicious smile plastered on his face. One that had Odysseus’ guts twist.
“Be aware that there’s barely a soul here in this camp that doesn’t want to get rid of you. For some unknown reason, my brother deems you his friend.”
Annoyance in Agamemnon’s voice was Odysseus’ little victory. Besides, it was always useful to know that Menelaus was so fond of him.
Having ensured that Helios wasn’t going to ride his chariot across the sky for at least an hour more, Agamemnon cleared his throat and said, “but I diverse. Odysseus, King of Ithaca, according to your plea, you shall be judged and punished here, on foreign soil. For this treason against the King of Argos, and thereby against all the Achaeans, you shall receive thirty lashes. The mighty son of Tydeus shall execute my order himself.”
Agamemnon’s definite voice made Odysseus’ chest feel tight. He swore he couldn’t breathe for a moment. The way his eyes widened caused the King of Mycenae’s lips to tilt upwards and the corners of his eyes to wrinkle. He could clearly see the Ithacan’s inner struggle; a clear refusal ready to leave his mouth.
Odysseus’ heart hurt as he realised how Agamemnon’s command would affect Diomedes. He could and would take the whipping but Diomedes? He hadn’t asked for this. And now Odysseus had just dragged him into his own mess even further. The rift between them could only grow wider and deeper if the order was to be carried out the way Agamemnon wished it to.
The thought of being struck by Diomedes did terrify Odysseus, though. He was well-aware of the power and strength of that young king — probably more than anybody else. Driven by emotions and rage, Diomedes wasn’t going to go easy on him. There was a need for revenge boiling in him and both Odysseus and Agamemnon realised that. The latter cleverly used that knowledge, while the former was dreading the mere idea of it.
“My Lord, brilliant Agamemnon, he is going to kill me,” Odysseus said as if he were stating a fact.
“Then I suggest that you start praying to the bright-eyed goddess to protect you from the wrath of the King of Argos. I, for one, will grant him what he deserves.” Agamemnon paused. “We’ve lost Achilles, Odysseus, our greatest warrior. We’ve almost lost Diomedes. Because of you. It couldn’t have ended any other way, could it?”
“It couldn’t.”