ari/devouring poetry and fictional men

Diomedes would be so proud of this dude

Are they flirting or fighting?🤨

I have died on this night

@mircsy @jaydenarsonew @abandoned-raccoon love for diomedes

AKA Smitty is writing Diomedes-centric Troy fic and listening to Kate Bush

SMITTY GODDAMNIT I WILL END YOU

good to see no one's done Calypso. im relieved that not everyone on this app is a psychopath

Penelope: Hello people who don't live here

Athena and diomedes at the same time: the suitors are over there

Penelope:

please expand on this au OP

Currently working on a graphic novel (which will still be a concept until an editor decides it's worth paying me to complete), I don't have much yet, working on concept pages. For now have those character drawings as I keep working on scenario and storyboarding-

The temporary title is Odysseus: the last journey, and it's going to be pretty much a sequel to the Odyssey. Featuring Telemachus, Diomedes, and a lot of old and godly faces.

The Telegony done RIGHT you mean?

it's not a want it's a nnneeed

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: The Iliad - Homer, The Odyssey - Homer, EPIC - Jorge Rivera-Herrans (Albums) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Diomedes/Odysseus/Penelope (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Odysseus/Penelope (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Helen of Troy/Menelaus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Achilles/Patroclus of Opus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Agamemnon/Clytemnestra (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Odysseus & Telemachus (Ancient Green Religion & Lore), Penelope & Telemachus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Diomedes & Telemachus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Athena & Odysseus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Athena & Penelope (EPIC: The Musical), Athena & Diomedes (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Agamemnon & Menelaus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore) Characters: Odysseus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Penelope (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Diomedes (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Telemachus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Helen of Troy (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Clytemnestra (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Menelaus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Achilles (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Patroclus of Opus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Agamemnon (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Ajax the Greater son of Telamon (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Ajax the Lesser son of Oileus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Athena (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Odysseus (EPIC: The Musical), Penelope (EPIC: The Musical), Telemachus (Epic: The Musical) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack, Penelope is the best, Fluff and Humor, Mostly Crack, Chatting & Messaging, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, BAMF Penelope (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), BAMF Odysseus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Power Exchange Summary:

[Dog:] Odysseus…. Don’t you dare

[Sealyoulater:] woah, what?

[#wifeguy:] oh??? >:3c

[#wifeguy:] too late

#wifeguy has added TheFavorite to FuckYou

[TheFavorite:] According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way a bee should be able to fly. Its wings are too small to get its fat little body off the ground. The bee, of course, flies anyway because bees don’t care what humans think is impossible.

telemachus is such a kid in this oh my god

AKSNKSKSS I CRIED LAUGHING GO READ IT IMMEDIATELY

I saw something that said that if Odysseus had to choose between himself VS. Penelope and Telemachus he'd always choose himself. How he'd be miserable and he would try to weasel his way out of it but if it really was no other option he'd still do it and...

Odysseus is an incredibly selfish man, that's not wrong. And he definitely has his cruel streak. But his whole thing is his unconditional devotion and loyalty to his family while basically being a rat bastard to everyone else. He literally puts himself in danger for them multiple times, even just in their NAME multiple times.

This inspired me, so here you go:

Odysseus heard footsteps outside of his tent as he took off his helmet. He rolled his eyes. He knew exactly who it was.

Could he not get a moment’s peace? He hadn’t had a chance to check with Eurylochus about the status of any Cephallenian casualties. He’d been running back and forth to the tune of Agamemnon’s fleeting whims and meetings, and to top it all off, Achilles was still refusing to fight and may very well be more determined to sit by while the Trojans slay honorable men.

Phoenix was such a weak-willed man. He caved as soon as Achilles opened his mouth. He wasn’t even acknowledged at first. It was Odysseus who was targeted. He insisted he stay in Achilles’ camp for the night and considered desertion, all in tears.

Then Greater Ajax, the oaf, just had to say his piece before Odysseus could quell Achilles’ growing anger. That only hardened the prideful man further. Why Nestor insisted that frail, bleeding heart and dumb ox of a man accompany such a delicate mission, Odysseus couldn’t hope to understand. The old coot must have hit his head and gone mad during the battle.

And now, the very man who moved the fleeting whims of Agamemnon since the Achean’s retreat was stomping up to Odysseus’s tent.

Odysseus heard a small argument outside as he slid his armor off his shoulders. The entrance of the tent flew open, and in stormed Diomedes, Polites close behind. Diomedes looked livid, his jaw clenched and hands balled into fists. Odysseus hung up the armor to be cleaned later.

“I’m sorry, captain!” Polites exclaimed, “I tried to-”

“Leave us, Polites,” Odysseus said.

“But-”

“Leave us. I’m sure Machaon and Podalirius need you.”

Polites looked between the other men and sighed softly. He relented silently, going off to find the medics.

Diomedes glared down at Odysseus. He wasn’t surprised. Lately, the Argive seemed angry at him for one reason or another. This song and dance was getting old, in Odysseus’s opinion. Even so, friction between more commanders would only lead to more needless deaths. There was enough of that already. So, Odysseus put on a smile.

“What can I do for you, Diomedes?” he asked casually.

“Are you fucking insane?!”

“Well, that’s no way for a respectable king to speak. What’s troubling you so?”

“You know damn well what’s ‘troubling’ me!” Diomedes shouted. He grabbed the collar of Odysseus’s tunic and pulled Odysseus, forcing the shorter man up on his toes.

Odysseus grabbed Diomedes’ hands, attempting to break the grip, but it was useless. Diomedes’ anger gave him too much strength.

“What the fuck were you thinking!?” Diomedes demanded, “Have you gone mad?! Or are you just a spineless worm?”

“Diomedes. What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb with me! I needed you! Why did you run off like a coward?”

So that was it. Odysseus sighed and shook his head.

“If that’s what this is about, you have a shorter temper than you’d like everyone to think,” he retorted, “I had my reasons.”

“And what exactly were those reasons, oh master tactician?!” Diomedes bit out.

Odysseus rolled his eyes. “Was it not obvious to you? A man so experienced in battle, you surpass Nestor in knowledge of warfare. I thought better of you.”

“Don’t fuck with me and dance around your answer like you always do! You’re lucky Nestor is still here to speak of, no thanks to you! Just spit it out!”

The ember of rage in Odysseus’s chest flared to life, and he forcefully pushed Diomedes’ hands off of his tunic.

“Well, excuse me for valuing lives over glory!” he shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Diomedes.

“That’s rich coming from you! You’re telling me, running to the ships and leaving Nestor to die was saving lives?!”

“I was covering the flanks of the retreat! Nestor was fine in your hands! He would have lived with or without my help with you there!”

“AND WHAT ABOUT THAT RETREAT?” Diomedes roared, “Just two days ago, you stopped the armies from sailing off and abandoning the war! And yet, you do NOTHING when the Trojans put pressure on our forces! When your men need you to rally them and fight! You let fear consume you like a boy!”

“They were all on the retreat! They saw the signs, or were you blinded by bloodlust!? There was nothing I could do but watch their flank and cover them as they got over the trench!”

“That’s the weakest excuse I’ve heard from a general in years! Can you not control your men?!”

“Don’t you DARE throw such an accusation at me!” Odysseus yelled, “My men trust me with their lives! I haven’t lost a single one of them despite the battles! Despite the plague brought down upon us by Agamemnon’s pride! Can you say the same for yourself?! Running headfirst into battle on your own! Leaving the two other Argive kings to lead your troops along with their own when you have more experience in battle than the both of them combined?! You shroud your men in chaos and leave them to die for your own glory!”

Whack!

Odysseus stumbled but quickly regained his footing. Pain blossomed on his cheek. He looked at Diomedes, glairing in indignation.

“Don’t you insinuate that I don’t care for my men!” Diomedes shouted, pointing at Odysseus, knuckles slowly bruising from the force of punching the other man.

“Then why haven’t I seen it?” Odysseus asked, “All I see is a man ignoring the men under his command to gain more glory for himself.”

“Like you’re more deserving of glory!”

“I don’t need it!”

“Then why do you pursue it?! You continue to fight and make plans! Why continue?!”

“Because that glory is not for me!”

Diomedes froze, and his face slowly fell. He looked at Odysseus in confusion. “What do you mean? Who else could it be for?”

Odysseus clenched his fists. Of course, Diomedes wouldn’t understand. He ruled a powerful kingdom. He easily mustered thousands of well-trained men from great planes with several cities, while Odysseus had to make do with as many able-bodied men as he could scrounge up from four islands dotted with tiny villages. Of course, Diomedes couldn’t understand how much Odysseus had to lose, the risk he took for love that eventually bit him in the face because of one man no one but the gods could have foreseen.

“It’s for my family,” Odysseus said, “Something I wouldn’t expect a man such as yourself to understand.”

"You! You understand nothing!" The Argive King hissed, menacing Odysseus with a step forward. Odysseus did not humor him with retreat any longer. He could see in Diomedes's eyes that he was no longer quite so sure of himself. These moments served as reminder that the Argive Boy-King was so very young.

Grey, all-seeing irises stared into Diomedes like the stinging shine of a silver looking-glass in the sun. "I understand everything. It's because of me this damn war started, because of an oath I swore and made all these men swear - all for want of a family." Odysseus was shorter than Diomedes, but in this moment he seemed to tower. He was done cowering.

"Now I have that family. Now I fight for that family." Odysseus raised one hand up, and the Argive flinched. Instead of hitting the other man, however, he only felt along his bruising cheek. He worked his jaw, and spat on Diomedes's bronze greaves, pink tinged saliva sliding down and staining the sand.

"So do not tell me I am a coward. I simply have someone to go back to. My men have homes, my people have lives that aren't consumed by war and glory. Now leave, Diomedes." Odysseus turned away, picking up a cloth to start to get the blood off his own panoply.

Silence hung thickly between them, so heavy it could have been cut with the knife that hung from Diomedes' hip. Neither wanted to speak first, to acknowledge the weight of the words that had been flung so carelessly into the humid air.

Odysseus hung his armor carefully on the pole in the corner of his tent, tension written clearly in the line of his shoulders. The damp squeak of the cloth against bloodied metal lingered awkwardly in the air, unsure of itself.

"Do you plan on watching me sleep, son of Tydeus? Or have you more to say?"

A brief hesitation.

"...no, son of Laertes. Nothing more."

"Then get out." His words were sharp, spoken in the offhanded manner of a man who had more important things to do. Formality was safer, kinder even, than the anger that clawed its way up his throat with knife-sharp fingers.

Diomedes had been raised in a royal court. He ought to know dismissal when he heard it, especially in such clear terms.

And yet.

"Coward," he whispered.

Odysseus stilled.

"...what?"

Diomedes clenched his jaw, even as a voice whispered fool, fool in the shadows. "You are a coward, Odysseus."

A deep inhale. "Say that again."

Danger crackled through the tent like the sky before a lightning strike. The air suddenly smelled of ozone.

"You can lie to yourself as much as you like, son of Laertes," Diomedes spoke lowly. "I saw what happened. I think--perhaps your ardent love of persuasion has addled your mind. Or did you forget that I, too, am favored of the grey-eyed maiden?" A chuckle followed these words. "I see things others do not, same as you. And all I see before me is a thrice-damned, sentimental coward."

Odysseus's hands tightened around the cloth, but he said nothing.

"Glory was granted me on the battlefield equal to your own," Diomedes hissed. "Kleos granted by the gods is not to be disdained. Yet you would spit on your own, to the detriment of the goddess who granted it to you? And yet I care not for your glory, only that you would risk my own in such a fashion! You--"

"I risk nothing," Odysseus snapped, whirling on his heel to face him. "Everything I chose, every strategy, was designed to keep my men alive--to protect your own honor! Do you think I would have done such a thing if I thought it would reflect poorly upon you? Does our past friendship mean so little to you?"

"I need not be coddled," the King of Argos retorted. "The fact remains that your carelessness nearly cost Nestor his life, and embarrassed us before both the Trojans and the gods themselves! I will not have the idiocy of a soft old fool impede our winning this war!"

"Watch your next words very carefully, son of Tydeus," Odysseus said softly. His words were mild, veiling a promise that threatened to be carried out by cold steel.

"You are distracted," Diomedes scoffed. He looked the other king up and down, disdain evident in his eyes. "And every man here knows the cause. Your cowardice nearly prevented you from coming, and now the very same causes your strategies to turn against us!"

Odysseus eyes narrowed.

"Say something!"

"You give me nothing to say," he replied coldly, half-turning away.

Diomedes half stepped, half fell into his path, his eyes snagging onto the other man's with the desperation of a man who has seen Death coming down the road, and fears the horror of its passing.

They will come for us," he breathed urgently. "They will come for us, and they will burn our ships, and they will kill your men, and your damned lackluster planning will not be enough!" He slammed a palm against the table, open, flat, so that its echoes reverberated around the tens before being swallowed by the goatskin walls.

Odysseus's jaw clenched, but he said nothing. Diomedes scoffed, standing and backing away, hands spread mockingly. "But of course," he jeered. "The silver-tongued son of Laertes is silent in the face of his own incompetence. I never did think I'd see the day."

The king of Ithaca's mouth flattened into a thin line as Diomedes spoke. Barely veiled rage showed in the tension in his arms, the line of his shoulders.

"But I suppose it is fitting," the king of Argos mocked, pain and anger clear in his voice. "The silver-tongued king and the wife who never speaks, now both silent? A perfect match! Did you know there are rumors that you cut out her tongue?" He laughed contemptuously, uncaring of the white-knuckled grip that the other man had on the hilt of his sword.

"Do you suppose after the Trojans kill us all, they'll sail to Ithaca first? The gods know you never shut up about your wife's marvelous beauty--perhaps they'll pay her a visit." He snorted derisively. "Although some say she's already selling herself off to any man who will have her. A match for the storybooks indeed! The dead king and his whore wife--"

CRASH!

A set of finely moulded mixing bowls hurtled to the ground with a sound like thunder. The silvery peal of fire-forged steel rang out through the room. Diomedes stood deathly still, a thin line of blood beading on his throat. He swallowed thickly.

Odysseus stood, quiet and unmoving as the grave, his blade held a hairsbreadth from the other man's throat. His hands were steady. Fury, cold and clear, darkened his eyes. No emotion brightened their depths. As he met his gaze, he imagined he stared into the face of Death himself.

And he was afraid.

"Forgive me," he managed. "I only meant--"

"Give me a reason," Odysseus whispered darkly, his hands tightening around the hilt of the blade. "Give me a reason, and I swear I will."

Diomedes opened his mouth, then snapped it shut when he felt a flick of the blade along his throat. The stinging feeling swelled into tremors all along his body, and he fought to keep his hands from shaking.

Odysseus stood there, unnervingly still, long enough to make Diomedes sweat. His eyes are empty, he thought. Empty as the grave.

Suddenly his face went blank, his head tipped to the side at a perfect angle. Listening.

When he came back to himself, he shifted the sword so the point was just under his chin. It followed the fearful bob of Diomedes' throat, his eyes holding an almost longing look. As if he would relish opening him up from nose to belly, letting his innards spill out onto the stinking ground.

An almost animal panic overtook his senses. His hands trembled slightly. "Odysseus," he rasped. "Please."

"...you are lucky."

"...what?"

"I said, you are lucky, son of Tydeus," Odysseus replied flatly. "The grey-eyed maiden has need of you yet." He removed his blade from Diomedes' throat and sheathed it in one smooth motion, the blade rattling against the dagger beside it.

Diomedes backed away, releasing a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Of course Athena still needed him. Hadn't he served her faithfully? His death was never an option, never had been. He nearly laughed at his recent fear, now proven so foolish.

"Get out."

"Odysseus--"

"Do not make me repeat myself."

"...you would not really have killed me." It is not a question, and yet it is. A lackluster attempt for levity, an opportunity to laugh it off.

Odysseus looked up, the promise of death still lingering in his eyes. He said nothing.

Diomedes' face dropped. He remembered the freezing steel against his neck, remembered the coldness of hatred in his old friends' eyes, and retreated.

The tent flap swung closed in his wake. The wind howling through the camp masked his hasty footsteps.

...

You have no authority to threaten him.

"Goddess, with all due respect, I outrank him," Odysseus replied, smacking his fur-lined coverlet in the air to punctuate his words. He was tempted to dash oil on Diomedes' tent and watch it burn. Preferably with him inside.

Sentiment does not become you.

"You're not the first one to think so," he muttered, rolling a ball of soft wax between his thumb and forefinger.

Foolish as he is, he was right. Your actions reflect on me first. I will not have you shame my reputation.

"Yes, goddess," he replied wearily. Gods above, he was tired. The softness of his pallet seemed to him more alluring than a siren song.

...sleep, son of Laertes. The voice was amused. Try to avoid murdering any of your allies in your sleep.

Odysseus opened his mouth to reply, but a soft, sweet darkness was showered over his eyes before he could do so. He closed his eyes gratefully and collapsed into a dreamless sleep, his hand resting on the hilt of his dagger.

No dangers here, he reassured himself. Not yet.

Diomedes didn't know what to make of the exchange, head hot, eyes squinting and watery in the blazing sunset. A headache pounded behind his temples. The fading light stained the sand red. Anger still seethed, boiling within his breast - but something else grew alongside it that made his pulse race. Anger was familiar; this was a new face.

Regret. It tasted bitter as bile in the back of his throat. Like medicinal herbs on his tongue. Diomedes's eyes still stung.

His footsteps crunched in the sand, the goatskin flaps of tents snapped in the wind, the fires crackled. The scent of rot and death and smoke loomed ever closer. He sent a prayer up to Pallas Athene, hoping that she might show herself to him, too, in words or actions. In wisdom.

Nobody answered him.

You would not really have killed me.

Odysseus's silence spoke louder than any words, slit into his heart sharper than any blade.

Who else could it be for?

He wanted to go back to when he and the other king sailed from Aulis, laughing on abandoned shores or gorging themselves on stores of food won through the guile of the man beside him. He wanted to wrestle in the sand and feel the thrumming of Odysseus's strong heart in his broad chest. He wanted to know the other knew him.

It hurt, remembering bright eyes and brighter smiles when just moments before the only shining thing within a suffocating tent was bronze. And an ember of knowledge... that perhaps this would be the last time Diomedes ever spoke to the other man in jest.

Eventually, through unconscious, restless steps, he found himself at his own tent. He stepped in, Sthenelus calling after him - but Diomedes did not answer. The small, polished silver he kept to shave what little stubble sprouted on his chin, the strigil and pot of oil - he looked at his own table and could only think of crashing bowls.

He could only think of Odysseus, laughing at him, snatching the strigil from his clumsy hands and scraping carefully across Diomedes's chin while the boat rocked under the both of them. His warm, rope-calloused hands, broad and thick-knuckled on Diomedes's face.

Looking at himself in the mirror, Diomedes traced the thin line of blood upon his neck, and stopped lying to himself: let Odysseus do that. Instead, the boy-king allowed tears to streak down his cheeks even as he dug his own nails into the wound, looking for just a touch of that kindness, that - that feeling of home again.

Perhaps he was the coward.

hhhggGGnnnHh

reblogging this again because it took me ages to find and also it's gold

I saw something that said that if Odysseus had to choose between himself VS. Penelope and Telemachus he'd always choose himself. How he'd be miserable and he would try to weasel his way out of it but if it really was no other option he'd still do it and...

Odysseus is an incredibly selfish man, that's not wrong. And he definitely has his cruel streak. But his whole thing is his unconditional devotion and loyalty to his family while basically being a rat bastard to everyone else. He literally puts himself in danger for them multiple times, even just in their NAME multiple times.

This inspired me, so here you go:

Odysseus heard footsteps outside of his tent as he took off his helmet. He rolled his eyes. He knew exactly who it was.

Could he not get a moment’s peace? He hadn’t had a chance to check with Eurylochus about the status of any Cephallenian casualties. He’d been running back and forth to the tune of Agamemnon’s fleeting whims and meetings, and to top it all off, Achilles was still refusing to fight and may very well be more determined to sit by while the Trojans slay honorable men.

Phoenix was such a weak-willed man. He caved as soon as Achilles opened his mouth. He wasn’t even acknowledged at first. It was Odysseus who was targeted. He insisted he stay in Achilles’ camp for the night and considered desertion, all in tears.

Then Greater Ajax, the oaf, just had to say his piece before Odysseus could quell Achilles’ growing anger. That only hardened the prideful man further. Why Nestor insisted that frail, bleeding heart and dumb ox of a man accompany such a delicate mission, Odysseus couldn’t hope to understand. The old coot must have hit his head and gone mad during the battle.

And now, the very man who moved the fleeting whims of Agamemnon since the Achean’s retreat was stomping up to Odysseus’s tent.

Odysseus heard a small argument outside as he slid his armor off his shoulders. The entrance of the tent flew open, and in stormed Diomedes, Polites close behind. Diomedes looked livid, his jaw clenched and hands balled into fists. Odysseus hung up the armor to be cleaned later.

“I’m sorry, captain!” Polites exclaimed, “I tried to-”

“Leave us, Polites,” Odysseus said.

“But-”

“Leave us. I’m sure Machaon and Podalirius need you.”

Polites looked between the other men and sighed softly. He relented silently, going off to find the medics.

Diomedes glared down at Odysseus. He wasn’t surprised. Lately, the Argive seemed angry at him for one reason or another. This song and dance was getting old, in Odysseus’s opinion. Even so, friction between more commanders would only lead to more needless deaths. There was enough of that already. So, Odysseus put on a smile.

“What can I do for you, Diomedes?” he asked casually.

“Are you fucking insane?!”

“Well, that’s no way for a respectable king to speak. What’s troubling you so?”

“You know damn well what’s ‘troubling’ me!” Diomedes shouted. He grabbed the collar of Odysseus’s tunic and pulled Odysseus, forcing the shorter man up on his toes.

Odysseus grabbed Diomedes’ hands, attempting to break the grip, but it was useless. Diomedes’ anger gave him too much strength.

“What the fuck were you thinking!?” Diomedes demanded, “Have you gone mad?! Or are you just a spineless worm?”

“Diomedes. What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb with me! I needed you! Why did you run off like a coward?”

So that was it. Odysseus sighed and shook his head.

“If that’s what this is about, you have a shorter temper than you’d like everyone to think,” he retorted, “I had my reasons.”

“And what exactly were those reasons, oh master tactician?!” Diomedes bit out.

Odysseus rolled his eyes. “Was it not obvious to you? A man so experienced in battle, you surpass Nestor in knowledge of warfare. I thought better of you.”

“Don’t fuck with me and dance around your answer like you always do! You’re lucky Nestor is still here to speak of, no thanks to you! Just spit it out!”

The ember of rage in Odysseus’s chest flared to life, and he forcefully pushed Diomedes’ hands off of his tunic.

“Well, excuse me for valuing lives over glory!” he shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Diomedes.

“That’s rich coming from you! You’re telling me, running to the ships and leaving Nestor to die was saving lives?!”

“I was covering the flanks of the retreat! Nestor was fine in your hands! He would have lived with or without my help with you there!”

“AND WHAT ABOUT THAT RETREAT?” Diomedes roared, “Just two days ago, you stopped the armies from sailing off and abandoning the war! And yet, you do NOTHING when the Trojans put pressure on our forces! When your men need you to rally them and fight! You let fear consume you like a boy!”

“They were all on the retreat! They saw the signs, or were you blinded by bloodlust!? There was nothing I could do but watch their flank and cover them as they got over the trench!”

“That’s the weakest excuse I’ve heard from a general in years! Can you not control your men?!”

“Don’t you DARE throw such an accusation at me!” Odysseus yelled, “My men trust me with their lives! I haven’t lost a single one of them despite the battles! Despite the plague brought down upon us by Agamemnon’s pride! Can you say the same for yourself?! Running headfirst into battle on your own! Leaving the two other Argive kings to lead your troops along with their own when you have more experience in battle than the both of them combined?! You shroud your men in chaos and leave them to die for your own glory!”

Whack!

Odysseus stumbled but quickly regained his footing. Pain blossomed on his cheek. He looked at Diomedes, glairing in indignation.

“Don’t you insinuate that I don’t care for my men!” Diomedes shouted, pointing at Odysseus, knuckles slowly bruising from the force of punching the other man.

“Then why haven’t I seen it?” Odysseus asked, “All I see is a man ignoring the men under his command to gain more glory for himself.”

“Like you’re more deserving of glory!”

“I don’t need it!”

“Then why do you pursue it?! You continue to fight and make plans! Why continue?!”

“Because that glory is not for me!”

Diomedes froze, and his face slowly fell. He looked at Odysseus in confusion. “What do you mean? Who else could it be for?”

Odysseus clenched his fists. Of course, Diomedes wouldn’t understand. He ruled a powerful kingdom. He easily mustered thousands of well-trained men from great planes with several cities, while Odysseus had to make do with as many able-bodied men as he could scrounge up from four islands dotted with tiny villages. Of course, Diomedes couldn’t understand how much Odysseus had to lose, the risk he took for love that eventually bit him in the face because of one man no one but the gods could have foreseen.

“It’s for my family,” Odysseus said, “Something I wouldn’t expect a man such as yourself to understand.”

"You! You understand nothing!" The Argive King hissed, menacing Odysseus with a step forward. Odysseus did not humor him with retreat any longer. He could see in Diomedes's eyes that he was no longer quite so sure of himself. These moments served as reminder that the Argive Boy-King was so very young.

Grey, all-seeing irises stared into Diomedes like the stinging shine of a silver looking-glass in the sun. "I understand everything. It's because of me this damn war started, because of an oath I swore and made all these men swear - all for want of a family." Odysseus was shorter than Diomedes, but in this moment he seemed to tower. He was done cowering.

"Now I have that family. Now I fight for that family." Odysseus raised one hand up, and the Argive flinched. Instead of hitting the other man, however, he only felt along his bruising cheek. He worked his jaw, and spat on Diomedes's bronze greaves, pink tinged saliva sliding down and staining the sand.

"So do not tell me I am a coward. I simply have someone to go back to. My men have homes, my people have lives that aren't consumed by war and glory. Now leave, Diomedes." Odysseus turned away, picking up a cloth to start to get the blood off his own panoply.

Silence hung thickly between them, so heavy it could have been cut with the knife that hung from Diomedes' hip. Neither wanted to speak first, to acknowledge the weight of the words that had been flung so carelessly into the humid air.

Odysseus hung his armor carefully on the pole in the corner of his tent, tension written clearly in the line of his shoulders. The damp squeak of the cloth against bloodied metal lingered awkwardly in the air, unsure of itself.

"Do you plan on watching me sleep, son of Tydeus? Or have you more to say?"

A brief hesitation.

"...no, son of Laertes. Nothing more."

"Then get out." His words were sharp, spoken in the offhanded manner of a man who had more important things to do. Formality was safer, kinder even, than the anger that clawed its way up his throat with knife-sharp fingers.

Diomedes had been raised in a royal court. He ought to know dismissal when he heard it, especially in such clear terms.

And yet.

"Coward," he whispered.

Odysseus stilled.

"...what?"

Diomedes clenched his jaw, even as a voice whispered fool, fool in the shadows. "You are a coward, Odysseus."

A deep inhale. "Say that again."

Danger crackled through the tent like the sky before a lightning strike. The air suddenly smelled of ozone.

"You can lie to yourself as much as you like, son of Laertes," Diomedes spoke lowly. "I saw what happened. I think--perhaps your ardent love of persuasion has addled your mind. Or did you forget that I, too, am favored of the grey-eyed maiden?" A chuckle followed these words. "I see things others do not, same as you. And all I see before me is a thrice-damned, sentimental coward."

Odysseus's hands tightened around the cloth, but he said nothing.

"Glory was granted me on the battlefield equal to your own," Diomedes hissed. "Kleos granted by the gods is not to be disdained. Yet you would spit on your own, to the detriment of the goddess who granted it to you? And yet I care not for your glory, only that you would risk my own in such a fashion! You--"

"I risk nothing," Odysseus snapped, whirling on his heel to face him. "Everything I chose, every strategy, was designed to keep my men alive--to protect your own honor! Do you think I would have done such a thing if I thought it would reflect poorly upon you? Does our past friendship mean so little to you?"

"I need not be coddled," the King of Argos retorted. "The fact remains that your carelessness nearly cost Nestor his life, and embarrassed us before both the Trojans and the gods themselves! I will not have the idiocy of a soft old fool impede our winning this war!"

"Watch your next words very carefully, son of Tydeus," Odysseus said softly. His words were mild, veiling a promise that threatened to be carried out by cold steel.

"You are distracted," Diomedes scoffed. He looked the other king up and down, disdain evident in his eyes. "And every man here knows the cause. Your cowardice nearly prevented you from coming, and now the very same causes your strategies to turn against us!"

Odysseus eyes narrowed.

"Say something!"

"You give me nothing to say," he replied coldly, half-turning away.

Diomedes half stepped, half fell into his path, his eyes snagging onto the other man's with the desperation of a man who has seen Death coming down the road, and fears the horror of its passing.

They will come for us," he breathed urgently. "They will come for us, and they will burn our ships, and they will kill your men, and your damned lackluster planning will not be enough!" He slammed a palm against the table, open, flat, so that its echoes reverberated around the tens before being swallowed by the goatskin walls.

Odysseus's jaw clenched, but he said nothing. Diomedes scoffed, standing and backing away, hands spread mockingly. "But of course," he jeered. "The silver-tongued son of Laertes is silent in the face of his own incompetence. I never did think I'd see the day."

The king of Ithaca's mouth flattened into a thin line as Diomedes spoke. Barely veiled rage showed in the tension in his arms, the line of his shoulders.

"But I suppose it is fitting," the king of Argos mocked, pain and anger clear in his voice. "The silver-tongued king and the wife who never speaks, now both silent? A perfect match! Did you know there are rumors that you cut out her tongue?" He laughed contemptuously, uncaring of the white-knuckled grip that the other man had on the hilt of his sword.

"Do you suppose after the Trojans kill us all, they'll sail to Ithaca first? The gods know you never shut up about your wife's marvelous beauty--perhaps they'll pay her a visit." He snorted derisively. "Although some say she's already selling herself off to any man who will have her. A match for the storybooks indeed! The dead king and his whore wife--"

CRASH!

A set of finely moulded mixing bowls hurtled to the ground with a sound like thunder. The silvery peal of fire-forged steel rang out through the room. Diomedes stood deathly still, a thin line of blood beading on his throat. He swallowed thickly.

Odysseus stood, quiet and unmoving as the grave, his blade held a hairsbreadth from the other man's throat. His hands were steady. Fury, cold and clear, darkened his eyes. No emotion brightened their depths. As he met his gaze, he imagined he stared into the face of Death himself.

And he was afraid.

"Forgive me," he managed. "I only meant--"

"Give me a reason," Odysseus whispered darkly, his hands tightening around the hilt of the blade. "Give me a reason, and I swear I will."

Diomedes opened his mouth, then snapped it shut when he felt a flick of the blade along his throat. The stinging feeling swelled into tremors all along his body, and he fought to keep his hands from shaking.

Odysseus stood there, unnervingly still, long enough to make Diomedes sweat. His eyes are empty, he thought. Empty as the grave.

Suddenly his face went blank, his head tipped to the side at a perfect angle. Listening.

When he came back to himself, he shifted the sword so the point was just under his chin. It followed the fearful bob of Diomedes' throat, his eyes holding an almost longing look. As if he would relish opening him up from nose to belly, letting his innards spill out onto the stinking ground.

An almost animal panic overtook his senses. His hands trembled slightly. "Odysseus," he rasped. "Please."

"...you are lucky."

"...what?"

"I said, you are lucky, son of Tydeus," Odysseus replied flatly. "The grey-eyed maiden has need of you yet." He removed his blade from Diomedes' throat and sheathed it in one smooth motion, the blade rattling against the dagger beside it.

Diomedes backed away, releasing a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Of course Athena still needed him. Hadn't he served her faithfully? His death was never an option, never had been. He nearly laughed at his recent fear, now proven so foolish.

"Get out."

"Odysseus--"

"Do not make me repeat myself."

"...you would not really have killed me." It is not a question, and yet it is. A lackluster attempt for levity, an opportunity to laugh it off.

Odysseus looked up, the promise of death still lingering in his eyes. He said nothing.

Diomedes' face dropped. He remembered the freezing steel against his neck, remembered the coldness of hatred in his old friends' eyes, and retreated.

The tent flap swung closed in his wake. The wind howling through the camp masked his hasty footsteps.

...

You have no authority to threaten him.

"Goddess, with all due respect, I outrank him," Odysseus replied, smacking his fur-lined coverlet in the air to punctuate his words. He was tempted to dash oil on Diomedes' tent and watch it burn. Preferably with him inside.

Sentiment does not become you.

"You're not the first one to think so," he muttered, rolling a ball of soft wax between his thumb and forefinger.

Foolish as he is, he was right. Your actions reflect on me first. I will not have you shame my reputation.

"Yes, goddess," he replied wearily. Gods above, he was tired. The softness of his pallet seemed to him more alluring than a siren song.

...sleep, son of Laertes. The voice was amused. Try to avoid murdering any of your allies in your sleep.

Odysseus opened his mouth to reply, but a soft, sweet darkness was showered over his eyes before he could do so. He closed his eyes gratefully and collapsed into a dreamless sleep, his hand resting on the hilt of his dagger.

No dangers here, he reassured himself. Not yet.

Diomedes didn't know what to make of the exchange, head hot, eyes squinting and watery in the blazing sunset. A headache pounded behind his temples. The fading light stained the sand red. Anger still seethed, boiling within his breast - but something else grew alongside it that made his pulse race. Anger was familiar; this was a new face.

Regret. It tasted bitter as bile in the back of his throat. Like medicinal herbs on his tongue. Diomedes's eyes still stung.

His footsteps crunched in the sand, the goatskin flaps of tents snapped in the wind, the fires crackled. The scent of rot and death and smoke loomed ever closer. He sent a prayer up to Pallas Athene, hoping that she might show herself to him, too, in words or actions. In wisdom.

Nobody answered him.

You would not really have killed me.

Odysseus's silence spoke louder than any words, slit into his heart sharper than any blade.

Who else could it be for?

He wanted to go back to when he and the other king sailed from Aulis, laughing on abandoned shores or gorging themselves on stores of food won through the guile of the man beside him. He wanted to wrestle in the sand and feel the thrumming of Odysseus's strong heart in his broad chest. He wanted to know the other knew him.

It hurt, remembering bright eyes and brighter smiles when just moments before the only shining thing within a suffocating tent was bronze. And an ember of knowledge... that perhaps this would be the last time Diomedes ever spoke to the other man in jest.

Eventually, through unconscious, restless steps, he found himself at his own tent. He stepped in, Sthenelus calling after him - but Diomedes did not answer. The small, polished silver he kept to shave what little stubble sprouted on his chin, the strigil and pot of oil - he looked at his own table and could only think of crashing bowls.

He could only think of Odysseus, laughing at him, snatching the strigil from his clumsy hands and scraping carefully across Diomedes's chin while the boat rocked under the both of them. His warm, rope-calloused hands, broad and thick-knuckled on Diomedes's face.

Looking at himself in the mirror, Diomedes traced the thin line of blood upon his neck, and stopped lying to himself: let Odysseus do that. Instead, the boy-king allowed tears to streak down his cheeks even as he dug his own nails into the wound, looking for just a touch of that kindness, that - that feeling of home again.

Perhaps he was the coward.

hhhggGGnnnHh

I saw something that said that if Odysseus had to choose between himself VS. Penelope and Telemachus he'd always choose himself. How he'd be miserable and he would try to weasel his way out of it but if it really was no other option he'd still do it and...

Odysseus is an incredibly selfish man, that's not wrong. And he definitely has his cruel streak. But his whole thing is his unconditional devotion and loyalty to his family while basically being a rat bastard to everyone else. He literally puts himself in danger for them multiple times, even just in their NAME multiple times.

This inspired me, so here you go:

Odysseus heard footsteps outside of his tent as he took off his helmet. He rolled his eyes. He knew exactly who it was.

Could he not get a moment’s peace? He hadn’t had a chance to check with Eurylochus about the status of any Cephallenian casualties. He’d been running back and forth to the tune of Agamemnon’s fleeting whims and meetings, and to top it all off, Achilles was still refusing to fight and may very well be more determined to sit by while the Trojans slay honorable men.

Phoenix was such a weak-willed man. He caved as soon as Achilles opened his mouth. He wasn’t even acknowledged at first. It was Odysseus who was targeted. He insisted he stay in Achilles’ camp for the night and considered desertion, all in tears.

Then Greater Ajax, the oaf, just had to say his piece before Odysseus could quell Achilles’ growing anger. That only hardened the prideful man further. Why Nestor insisted that frail, bleeding heart and dumb ox of a man accompany such a delicate mission, Odysseus couldn’t hope to understand. The old coot must have hit his head and gone mad during the battle.

And now, the very man who moved the fleeting whims of Agamemnon since the Achean’s retreat was stomping up to Odysseus’s tent.

Odysseus heard a small argument outside as he slid his armor off his shoulders. The entrance of the tent flew open, and in stormed Diomedes, Polites close behind. Diomedes looked livid, his jaw clenched and hands balled into fists. Odysseus hung up the armor to be cleaned later.

“I’m sorry, captain!” Polites exclaimed, “I tried to-”

“Leave us, Polites,” Odysseus said.

“But-”

“Leave us. I’m sure Machaon and Podalirius need you.”

Polites looked between the other men and sighed softly. He relented silently, going off to find the medics.

Diomedes glared down at Odysseus. He wasn’t surprised. Lately, the Argive seemed angry at him for one reason or another. This song and dance was getting old, in Odysseus’s opinion. Even so, friction between more commanders would only lead to more needless deaths. There was enough of that already. So, Odysseus put on a smile.

“What can I do for you, Diomedes?” he asked casually.

“Are you fucking insane?!”

“Well, that’s no way for a respectable king to speak. What’s troubling you so?”

“You know damn well what’s ‘troubling’ me!” Diomedes shouted. He grabbed the collar of Odysseus’s tunic and pulled Odysseus, forcing the shorter man up on his toes.

Odysseus grabbed Diomedes’ hands, attempting to break the grip, but it was useless. Diomedes’ anger gave him too much strength.

“What the fuck were you thinking!?” Diomedes demanded, “Have you gone mad?! Or are you just a spineless worm?”

“Diomedes. What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb with me! I needed you! Why did you run off like a coward?”

So that was it. Odysseus sighed and shook his head.

“If that’s what this is about, you have a shorter temper than you’d like everyone to think,” he retorted, “I had my reasons.”

“And what exactly were those reasons, oh master tactician?!” Diomedes bit out.

Odysseus rolled his eyes. “Was it not obvious to you? A man so experienced in battle, you surpass Nestor in knowledge of warfare. I thought better of you.”

“Don’t fuck with me and dance around your answer like you always do! You’re lucky Nestor is still here to speak of, no thanks to you! Just spit it out!”

The ember of rage in Odysseus’s chest flared to life, and he forcefully pushed Diomedes’ hands off of his tunic.

“Well, excuse me for valuing lives over glory!” he shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Diomedes.

“That’s rich coming from you! You’re telling me, running to the ships and leaving Nestor to die was saving lives?!”

“I was covering the flanks of the retreat! Nestor was fine in your hands! He would have lived with or without my help with you there!”

“AND WHAT ABOUT THAT RETREAT?” Diomedes roared, “Just two days ago, you stopped the armies from sailing off and abandoning the war! And yet, you do NOTHING when the Trojans put pressure on our forces! When your men need you to rally them and fight! You let fear consume you like a boy!”

“They were all on the retreat! They saw the signs, or were you blinded by bloodlust!? There was nothing I could do but watch their flank and cover them as they got over the trench!”

“That’s the weakest excuse I’ve heard from a general in years! Can you not control your men?!”

“Don’t you DARE throw such an accusation at me!” Odysseus yelled, “My men trust me with their lives! I haven’t lost a single one of them despite the battles! Despite the plague brought down upon us by Agamemnon’s pride! Can you say the same for yourself?! Running headfirst into battle on your own! Leaving the two other Argive kings to lead your troops along with their own when you have more experience in battle than the both of them combined?! You shroud your men in chaos and leave them to die for your own glory!”

Whack!

Odysseus stumbled but quickly regained his footing. Pain blossomed on his cheek. He looked at Diomedes, glairing in indignation.

“Don’t you insinuate that I don’t care for my men!” Diomedes shouted, pointing at Odysseus, knuckles slowly bruising from the force of punching the other man.

“Then why haven’t I seen it?” Odysseus asked, “All I see is a man ignoring the men under his command to gain more glory for himself.”

“Like you’re more deserving of glory!”

“I don’t need it!”

“Then why do you pursue it?! You continue to fight and make plans! Why continue?!”

“Because that glory is not for me!”

Diomedes froze, and his face slowly fell. He looked at Odysseus in confusion. “What do you mean? Who else could it be for?”

Odysseus clenched his fists. Of course, Diomedes wouldn’t understand. He ruled a powerful kingdom. He easily mustered thousands of well-trained men from great planes with several cities, while Odysseus had to make do with as many able-bodied men as he could scrounge up from four islands dotted with tiny villages. Of course, Diomedes couldn’t understand how much Odysseus had to lose, the risk he took for love that eventually bit him in the face because of one man no one but the gods could have foreseen.

“It’s for my family,” Odysseus said, “Something I wouldn’t expect a man such as yourself to understand.”

"You! You understand nothing!" The Argive King hissed, menacing Odysseus with a step forward. Odysseus did not humor him with retreat any longer. He could see in Diomedes's eyes that he was no longer quite so sure of himself. These moments served as reminder that the Argive Boy-King was so very young.

Grey, all-seeing irises stared into Diomedes like the stinging shine of a silver looking-glass in the sun. "I understand everything. It's because of me this damn war started, because of an oath I swore and made all these men swear - all for want of a family." Odysseus was shorter than Diomedes, but in this moment he seemed to tower. He was done cowering.

"Now I have that family. Now I fight for that family." Odysseus raised one hand up, and the Argive flinched. Instead of hitting the other man, however, he only felt along his bruising cheek. He worked his jaw, and spat on Diomedes's bronze greaves, pink tinged saliva sliding down and staining the sand.

"So do not tell me I am a coward. I simply have someone to go back to. My men have homes, my people have lives that aren't consumed by war and glory. Now leave, Diomedes." Odysseus turned away, picking up a cloth to start to get the blood off his own panoply.

Silence hung thickly between them, so heavy it could have been cut with the knife that hung from Diomedes' hip. Neither wanted to speak first, to acknowledge the weight of the words that had been flung so carelessly into the humid air.

Odysseus hung his armor carefully on the pole in the corner of his tent, tension written clearly in the line of his shoulders. The damp squeak of the cloth against bloodied metal lingered awkwardly in the air, unsure of itself.

"Do you plan on watching me sleep, son of Tydeus? Or have you more to say?"

A brief hesitation.

"...no, son of Laertes. Nothing more."

"Then get out." His words were sharp, spoken in the offhanded manner of a man who had more important things to do. Formality was safer, kinder even, than the anger that clawed its way up his throat with knife-sharp fingers.

Diomedes had been raised in a royal court. He ought to know dismissal when he heard it, especially in such clear terms.

And yet.

"Coward," he whispered.

Odysseus stilled.

"...what?"

Diomedes clenched his jaw, even as a voice whispered fool, fool in the shadows. "You are a coward, Odysseus."

A deep inhale. "Say that again."

Danger crackled through the tent like the sky before a lightning strike. The air suddenly smelled of ozone.

"You can lie to yourself as much as you like, son of Laertes," Diomedes spoke lowly. "I saw what happened. I think--perhaps your ardent love of persuasion has addled your mind. Or did you forget that I, too, am favored of the grey-eyed maiden?" A chuckle followed these words. "I see things others do not, same as you. And all I see before me is a thrice-damned, sentimental coward."

Odysseus's hands tightened around the cloth, but he said nothing.

"Glory was granted me on the battlefield equal to your own," Diomedes hissed. "Kleos granted by the gods is not to be disdained. Yet you would spit on your own, to the detriment of the goddess who granted it to you? And yet I care not for your glory, only that you would risk my own in such a fashion! You--"

"I risk nothing," Odysseus snapped, whirling on his heel to face him. "Everything I chose, every strategy, was designed to keep my men alive--to protect your own honor! Do you think I would have done such a thing if I thought it would reflect poorly upon you? Does our past friendship mean so little to you?"

"I need not be coddled," the King of Argos retorted. "The fact remains that your carelessness nearly cost Nestor his life, and embarrassed us before both the Trojans and the gods themselves! I will not have the idiocy of a soft old fool impede our winning this war!"

"Watch your next words very carefully, son of Tydeus," Odysseus said softly. His words were mild, veiling a promise that threatened to be carried out by cold steel.

"You are distracted," Diomedes scoffed. He looked the other king up and down, disdain evident in his eyes. "And every man here knows the cause. Your cowardice nearly prevented you from coming, and now the very same causes your strategies to turn against us!"

Odysseus eyes narrowed.

"Say something!"

"You give me nothing to say," he replied coldly, half-turning away.

Diomedes half stepped, half fell into his path, his eyes snagging onto the other man's with the desperation of a man who has seen Death coming down the road, and fears the horror of its passing.

They will come for us," he breathed urgently. "They will come for us, and they will burn our ships, and they will kill your men, and your damned lackluster planning will not be enough!" He slammed a palm against the table, open, flat, so that its echoes reverberated around the tens before being swallowed by the goatskin walls.

Odysseus's jaw clenched, but he said nothing. Diomedes scoffed, standing and backing away, hands spread mockingly. "But of course," he jeered. "The silver-tongued son of Laertes is silent in the face of his own incompetence. I never did think I'd see the day."

The king of Ithaca's mouth flattened into a thin line as Diomedes spoke. Barely veiled rage showed in the tension in his arms, the line of his shoulders.

"But I suppose it is fitting," the king of Argos mocked, pain and anger clear in his voice. "The silver-tongued king and the wife who never speaks, now both silent? A perfect match! Did you know there are rumors that you cut out her tongue?" He laughed contemptuously, uncaring of the white-knuckled grip that the other man had on the hilt of his sword.

"Do you suppose after the Trojans kill us all, they'll sail to Ithaca first? The gods know you never shut up about your wife's marvelous beauty--perhaps they'll pay her a visit." He snorted derisively. "Although some say she's already selling herself off to any man who will have her. A match for the storybooks indeed! The dead king and his whore wife--"

CRASH!

A set of finely moulded mixing bowls hurtled to the ground with a sound like thunder. The silvery peal of fire-forged steel rang out through the room. Diomedes stood deathly still, a thin line of blood beading on his throat. He swallowed thickly.

Odysseus stood, quiet and unmoving as the grave, his blade held a hairsbreadth from the other man's throat. His hands were steady. Fury, cold and clear, darkened his eyes. No emotion brightened their depths. As he met his gaze, he imagined he stared into the face of Death himself.

And he was afraid.

"Forgive me," he managed. "I only meant--"

"Give me a reason," Odysseus breathed darkly, his hands tightening around the hilt of the blade. "Give me a reason, and I swear I will."

Diomedes opened his mouth, then snapped it shut when he felt a flick of the blade along his throat. The stinging feeling swelled into tremors all along his body, and he fought to keep his hands from shaking.

Odysseus stood there, unnervingly still, long enough to make Diomedes sweat. His eyes are empty, he thought. Empty as the grave.

Suddenly his face went blank, his head tipped to the side at a perfect angle. Listening.

When he came back to himself, he shifted the sword so the point was just under his chin. It followed the fearful bob of Diomedes' throat, his eyes holding an almost longing look. As if he would relish opening him up from nose to belly, letting his innards spill out onto the stinking ground.

An almost animal panic overtook his senses. His hands trembled slightly. "Odysseus," he rasped. "Please."

"...you are lucky."

"...what?"

"I said, you are lucky, son of Tydeus," Odysseus replied flatly. "The grey-eyed maiden has need of you yet." He removed his blade from Diomedes' throat and sheathed it in one smooth motion, the blade rattling against the dagger beside it.

Diomedes backed away, releasing a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Of course Athena still needed him. Hadn't he served her faithfully? His death was never an option, never had been. He nearly laughed at his recent fear, now proven so foolish.

"Get out."

"Odysseus--"

"Do not make me repeat myself."

"...you would not really have killed me." It is not a question, and yet it is. A lackluster attempt for levity, an opportunity to laugh it off.

Odysseus looked up, the promise of death still lingering in his eyes. He said nothing.

Diomedes' face dropped. He remembered the freezing steel against his neck, remembered the coldness of hatred in his old friends' eyes, and retreated.

The tent flap swung closed in his wake. The wind howling through the camp masked his hasty footsteps.

...

You have no authority to threaten him.

"Goddess, with all due respect, I outrank him," Odysseus replied, smacking his fur-lined coverlet in the air to punctuate his words. He was tempted to dash oil on Diomedes' tent and watch it burn. Preferably with him inside.

Sentiment does not become you.

"You're not the first one to think so," he muttered, rolling a ball of soft wax between his thumb and forefinger.

Foolish as he is, he was right. Your actions reflect on me first. I will not have you shame my reputation.

"Yes, goddess," he replied wearily. Gods above, he was tired. The softness of his pallet seemed to him more alluring than a siren song.

...sleep, son of Laertes. The voice was amused. Try to avoid murdering any of your allies in your sleep.

Odysseus opened his mouth to reply, but a soft, sweet darkness was showered over his eyes before he could do so. He closed his eyes gratefully and collapsed into a dreamless sleep, his hand resting on the hilt of his dagger.

No dangers here, he reassured himself. Not yet.

I saw something that said that if Odysseus had to choose between himself VS. Penelope and Telemachus he'd always choose himself. How he'd be miserable and he would try to weasel his way out of it but if it really was no other option he'd still do it and...

Odysseus is an incredibly selfish man, that's not wrong. And he definitely has his cruel streak. But his whole thing is his unconditional devotion and loyalty to his family while basically being a rat bastard to everyone else. He literally puts himself in danger for them multiple times, even just in their NAME multiple times.

This inspired me, so here you go:

Odysseus heard footsteps outside of his tent as he took off his helmet. He rolled his eyes. He knew exactly who it was.

Could he not get a moment’s peace? He hadn’t had a chance to check with Eurylochus about the status of any Cephallenian casualties. He’d been running back and forth to the tune of Agamemnon’s fleeting whims and meetings, and to top it all off, Achilles was still refusing to fight and may very well be more determined to sit by while the Trojans slay honorable men.

Phoenix was such a weak-willed man. He caved as soon as Achilles opened his mouth. He wasn’t even acknowledged at first. It was Odysseus who was targeted. He insisted he stay in Achilles’ camp for the night and considered desertion, all in tears.

Then Greater Ajax, the oaf, just had to say his piece before Odysseus could quell Achilles’ growing anger. That only hardened the prideful man further. Why Nestor insisted that frail, bleeding heart and dumb ox of a man accompany such a delicate mission, Odysseus couldn’t hope to understand. The old coot must have hit his head and gone mad during the battle.

And now, the very man who moved the fleeting whims of Agamemnon since the Achean’s retreat was stomping up to Odysseus’s tent.

Odysseus heard a small argument outside as he slid his armor off his shoulders. The entrance of the tent flew open, and in stormed Diomedes, Polites close behind. Diomedes looked livid, his jaw clenched and hands balled into fists. Odysseus hung up the armor to be cleaned later.

“I’m sorry, captain!” Polites exclaimed, “I tried to-”

“Leave us, Polites,” Odysseus said.

“But-”

“Leave us. I’m sure Machaon and Podalirius need you.”

Polites looked between the other men and sighed softly. He relented silently, going off to find the medics.

Diomedes glared down at Odysseus. He wasn’t surprised. Lately, the Argive seemed angry at him for one reason or another. This song and dance was getting old, in Odysseus’s opinion. Even so, friction between more commanders would only lead to more needless deaths. There was enough of that already. So, Odysseus put on a smile.

“What can I do for you, Diomedes?” he asked casually.

“Are you fucking insane?!”

“Well, that’s no way for a respectable king to speak. What’s troubling you so?”

“You know damn well what’s ‘troubling’ me!” Diomedes shouted. He grabbed the collar of Odysseus’s tunic and pulled Odysseus, forcing the shorter man up on his toes.

Odysseus grabbed Diomedes’ hands, attempting to break the grip, but it was useless. Diomedes’ anger gave him too much strength.

“What the fuck were you thinking!?” Diomedes demanded, “Have you gone mad?! Or are you just a spineless worm?”

“Diomedes. What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb with me! I needed you! Why did you run off like a coward?”

So that was it. Odysseus sighed and shook his head.

“If that’s what this is about, you have a shorter temper than you’d like everyone to think,” he retorted, “I had my reasons.”

“And what exactly were those reasons, oh master tactician?!” Diomedes bit out.

Odysseus rolled his eyes. “Was it not obvious to you? A man so experienced in battle, you surpass Nestor in knowledge of warfare. I thought better of you.”

“Don’t fuck with me and dance around your answer like you always do! You’re lucky Nestor is still here to speak of, no thanks to you! Just spit it out!”

The ember of rage in Odysseus’s chest flared to life, and he forcefully pushed Diomedes’ hands off of his tunic.

“Well, excuse me for valuing lives over glory!” he shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Diomedes.

“That’s rich coming from you! You’re telling me, running to the ships and leaving Nestor to die was saving lives?!”

“I was covering the flanks of the retreat! Nestor was fine in your hands! He would have lived with or without my help with you there!”

“AND WHAT ABOUT THAT RETREAT?” Diomedes roared, “Just two days ago, you stopped the armies from sailing off and abandoning the war! And yet, you do NOTHING when the Trojans put pressure on our forces! When your men need you to rally them and fight! You let fear consume you like a boy!”

“They were all on the retreat! They saw the signs, or were you blinded by bloodlust!? There was nothing I could do but watch their flank and cover them as they got over the trench!”

“That’s the weakest excuse I’ve heard from a general in years! Can you not control your men?!”

“Don’t you DARE throw such an accusation at me!” Odysseus yelled, “My men trust me with their lives! I haven’t lost a single one of them despite the battles! Despite the plague brought down upon us by Agamemnon’s pride! Can you say the same for yourself?! Running headfirst into battle on your own! Leaving the two other Argive kings to lead your troops along with their own when you have more experience in battle than the both of them combined?! You shroud your men in chaos and leave them to die for your own glory!”

Whack!

Odysseus stumbled but quickly regained his footing. Pain blossomed on his cheek. He looked at Diomedes, glairing in indignation.

“Don’t you insinuate that I don’t care for my men!” Diomedes shouted, pointing at Odysseus, knuckles slowly bruising from the force of punching the other man.

“Then why haven’t I seen it?” Odysseus asked, “All I see is a man ignoring the men under his command to gain more glory for himself.”

“Like you’re more deserving of glory!”

“I don’t need it!”

“Then why do you pursue it?! You continue to fight and make plans! Why continue?!”

“Because that glory is not for me!”

Diomedes froze, and his face slowly fell. He looked at Odysseus in confusion. “What do you mean? Who else could it be for?”

Odysseus clenched his fists. Of course, Diomedes wouldn’t understand. He ruled a powerful kingdom. He easily mustered thousands of well-trained men from great planes with several cities, while Odysseus had to make do with as many able-bodied men as he could scrounge up from four islands dotted with tiny villages. Of course, Diomedes couldn’t understand how much Odysseus had to lose, the risk he took for love that eventually bit him in the face because of one man no one but the gods could have foreseen.

“It’s for my family,” Odysseus said, “Something I wouldn’t expect a man such as yourself to understand.”

dude. I could hear them.

I heard the yelling match like I was in the tent. I could hear the crack of Diomedes' knuckles against Odysseus's cheek. I could see the rage in his eyes, the fury barely held in check by hands curled into white-knuckled fists. I could feel the stinging pain of the blow reverberating into the anger already building in Odysseus's chest, could feel the deep-set desire to keep his composure being overridden by indignation that Diomedes would DARE disrespect his leadership, his dedication--

this was REAL.