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Lies

Summary:

How long can Agamemnon and Odysseus keep the dark fate that awaits Iphigenia a secret?
Can Achilles, for once in his life, NOT create problems?

Notes:

Many thanks to Akaittou and the commenters.
Especially Kennkirk, who liked this fic when no one did T.T I dedicate this part to you

Chapter 1: Back to Aulis

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text



The rest of the journey passed quickly.

Odysseus spent half his time trying to get back in shape, which, considering they rode almost all day for a few days, a harrowing ordeal even for those who weren’t fresh out of being beaten, was not easy at all.

Clytemnestra bore it greatly, almost relishing the physical strain. It couldn’t have been easy on Iphianassa too, despite riding in the carriage with the provisions, instead of on the saddles, with all the comfort they could afford her. She showed great resistance and pretended to be unaffected, even though Odysseus saw her stretch in the effort to get rid of back aches and various pain, and she fell asleep almost immediately every night.

Odysseus grew colder towards Clytemnestra as they approached the Achaean camp, going so far as merely nod at her words and excuse himself every time he run into her.

She passed her time speaking to Talthybius or with her daughter. Kratossandros didn’t show an ounce of gratitude towards him, for sparing him. It was just fine, Odysseus had spared him for other reasons. He was honing himself for vengeance too, and he would need practice.

He brought Clytemnestra straight to Agamemnon’s tent, after being announced, even before checking on his own men. He wanted to be done with it.

The Shepherd of King and the great queen met in a cold, formal way. Still, it was clear Agamemnon was uneasy in her presence and Clytemnestra was satisfied of the arrange marriage.

“I’ll let my betters discuss the details of this joyous occasion.” – he said. – “I’ll be resting after the travel.”

“Why, don’t you want to join in on the merriment?” – asked instead Agamemnon with a cruel rictus.

Odysseus paused, feeling Clytemnestra’s eyes on him.

“No.” – he merely answered.

“Did you two fight? The oldest and closest of friends?” – insisted Agamemnon, noticing with great satisfaction the tense air between them.

It was his purpose, sending him to get her daughter from her.

“Surprisingly, considering her the luck of her firstborns, she didn’t take kindly to me joking around, suggesting she should have remarried… third’s the charm!” – let out Odysseus before he could bite his tongue.

Clytemnestra paled, looking between the two of them.

“You will pay for this.” – Agamemnon was deadpan, bored even. Dangerous. Deadly.

FUCK! Fuck fuck fuck.

Why was he so keen on pissing him off, after all he told Clytemnestra he couldn’t afford to?!

“More? You have taken my oldest and closest friend from me already. I don’t know who this is.” – he gestured at Clytemnestra, whose eyes lit in anger.

He hoped she would understand something was very wrong. That he was trying to hurt her to warn her, to keep her on edge, keen and alert. He wished she wouldn’t understand, since if all went according to plan, she would consume herself into a blade of vengeance and plunge herself into him, annihilating him, as he’d been doing to her for years.

“I did what you asked of me.” – he stepped up, bowing respectfully. – “Please, Shepherd of Kings, I am tired and wearied by the trial, speaking out of turn, offending when I don’t mean to. Grant me the time to rest, before I appear in front of you with renewed apologies.”

Agamemnon eyes tapered on him, evaluating him. Odysseus hoped he looked as drained and dejected as he felt. At least he knew his black eye was still very visible.

“You are dismissed… for now.”

 Odysseus left, knowing that he would, in fact, pay. This was just a stay of punishment.

 

His men were still surrounded, his ship surveilled.

He checked with Perimedes, who had kept the men away from trouble and Eurybates, his trusty herald, who had been chatting with the others. The upheaval caused by the army splitting under Palamedes, Idomeneus and Agamemnon had been quieted in the days he had been gone, the opposing and neutral force lead back under the Shepherd of Kings. Achilles still didn’t suspect a thing, Calchas had selected the auspicious day for the sacrifice and prepared the altar. It would be in two days from now. Despite the apparent renewed unity, the temper around was still riotous. Some whispered that Agamemnon wouldn’t go through with it, some others whispered that they should just quit rather than start an enterprise already cursed.

Odysseus agreed with the last ones, nodding absent-mindedly wondering if that was all, if he could go take a well-deserved rest already. Eurybates had stopped talking, after all.

Wait. He had stopped talking brusquely.

Odysseus lifted his eyes, his men looking behind him; following their gaze… Menelaos.

He stood, looking at his old friend approaching. He didn’t know what he felt.

No, he knew. He was angry. Unwisely so. Why did his restraint fail him so, when it came to the Atreides’ brothers?

“The seashore.” – he said to him, before the king of Sparta even reached him.

He gave his back to him and walked there first, without checking if he was following.


Notes:

Odysseus looking at Agamemnon: For the life of me, I cannot not insult him.
Aga: It may cost that life of yours.
Ody: What?
Aga: What?

Chapter 2: Friend of Foe

Summary:

“I talked to Agamemnon…" – Menelaos said – "We came up with a plan.”
Odysseus snorted.

Notes:

Odysseus should really stop antagonizing Atreides.
In his defence, both of the Atreides used him for their own private goals first.

Chapter Text



It was the same stretch of sand where Menelaos had reached him before, to warn him of what Agamemnon was planning. If it had been Agamemnon the one planning at all.

“…I saw Clytemnestra.” – said Menelaos, reaching him again. – “My sister-in-law.”

Odysseus didn’t turn, watching the tide ebb and flow.

“…and Iphianassa.” – he heard the king of Sparta shuffle and fiddling with something. – “My niece.”

…ebb and flow like Menelaos’ conscience apparently.

So he felt bad, that was what the tone was suggesting. Too little too late, my friend, thought Odysseus. He was his friend, despite it all. That was what made it so much worse.

“I talked to Agamemnon…” – Menelaos waited, like expecting to be interrupted. – “We came up with a plan.”

Odysseus snorted. Couldn’t help it. The two of them coming up with a plan? All Agamemnon was good for was breaking things – and people – and all Menelaos was good for was befriending.

Plotting and planning? Not really the Atreides’ strong suit.

“No really...”

“Not really.” – finally cut him off Odysseus. – “Or you’d be out there implementing this so-called plan, not coming to me.”

Could have Agamemnon changed his mind too? No, the Shepherd of Kings had wanted, or hoped, all along, to spare his eldest. To agree to her sacrifice had been the change of heart, one he had been pushed towards by Menelaos. If his younger brother had really changed his mind, then Agamemnon would have been more than on board with it.

“He told me that it’s my fault I couldn’t keep the wife I took for myself. That I can get a better wife, and he’d help me with it.”

How careful of Menelaos to start sharing his pain, inviting his sympathy. How strategical.

Elene had been the one to take him. How convenient both the Atreides pretended to forget that all the time.

“He’s right. I won’t have another wife, never. Yet I cannot have her back only for my brother, who above all I should cherish, to lay sleepless at night, crying; I cannot exchange a bad wife for a dutiful daughter.”

If he had cherished his brother above all a little less, this whole mess would have been avoided. Hadn’t been Agamemnon to show him how to be a man? Take lovers and handmaidens from his palace to show off him manhood, order women around with loud voices and violence to show his power, not listen to people around him to instead have people around him listen to him, no matter the topic, to demonstrate his authority?

Menelaos wasn’t like that, not on his own. But he did become like that, every time Agamemnon called, or looked his way.

This wasn’t the man Elene had fallen in love with. She had chosen her man once; and she had chosen again, once the first choice had become… unsuitable.

They all kept forgetting, purposefully so, maybe. She was a demigod, a daughter of Zeus.

She was meant to mold the world around her to her whims. Even if she herself wasn’t aware of it.

“What about your dutiful daughter? Just throw Ermione at Calchas.” – Odysseus couldn’t help replying bitterly.

“Can you stop dragging Ermione in this?” – Menelaos scoffed. – “I’d rather throw Calchas away. In fact…” – another pause. Odysseus didn’t take the bait, merely silent again. Menelaos was forced to go on. – “What is a seer? There are many. This is old and not so great. We could throw him away, as to say, and pick another.”

“You’d… kill the seer?” – Odysseus finally turned to him, incredulous. It was a bold move. Pragmatic. He didn’t know what to make of it. Except that the gods wouldn’t like that at all. Probably. Would he like it? Perhaps. Very like Agamemnon, to kill the obstacle and replace it with a better one. He had done so with Clytemnestra’s own husband after all. – “It wouldn’t solve anything though…” – Menelaos was staring at him, open-mouthed.

“What happened to your face?!”

Ah.

“…and you haven’t seen my ribs.” – he joked humorlessly.

Menelaos closed in, lightly touching his jaw to have him turn his face, his injured side, towards him. His face, so close to his, was alight in concern. Sincerely so. His friend.

“Who did this to you? To you!” – he asked, voice growing fuller in anger. – “I’ll have them skinned like pigs before next dawn…”

“Was it even Agamemnon’s idea to surround my men and my ships?” – Odysseus asked scornfully, taking a step back.

Menelaos’ face changed. Darkened, just a shadow, then his clear eyes came back. His usual jovial, innocent appearance.

“Of course.” – he said. His tone veiled by insecurity. How could he be so transparent and so shady at the same time?

“Isn’t your heartbreak just perfect for your brother?” – asked Odysseus. – “So he gets to be the flawless protective brother and the great Shepherd of King in one fell swoop?” – he wore a cruel smirk. – “Doesn’t anger you how he wants to throw all this power away for a woman? Now that he has finally a reason to unite all of us against a common enemy, against someone who violated xenia, he wants to go back to his wife and cry in his lap?” – he took a step to the side of his so-called friend. – “That he doesn’t want to betray his despite you have been betrayed by yours? Why don’t you ask him to just concede his title to you, or even Palamedes, thrice accursed, and tell me that I’m free to go home to my own harlot?”

Menelaos flinched. – “I… I don’t understand.”

He seemed so lost and hurt that Odysseus wanted to believe him. Worse, he couldn’t even say if he was lying to him, or to himself, or he was really just confused.

He couldn’t tell. He didn’t know him enough, or he was too used to fall for it. He hated that. That he didn’t know him, after all this time. Or that he had been stupid enough to trust him blindly, to be fooled by his pretense of innocence, for all this time.

He didn’t want to play games anymore. Lately every time someone played games, he had been the paw. Even he was tired of playing. There wasn’t anything funny left.

“I was there when you yelled at Agamemnon for scribbling a message with charcoal on that dish.”

Menelaos’ eyes lit in recognition, then his face reddened with shame. Or so it seemed.

The king of Sparta took a deep sigh, looking at the sea as well.

“…of course. You were lurking, weren’t you.”

“It’s what I do.”

“…you creep.”

“The time for humor is long gone, my old friend.” – shook his head Odysseus, dyeing of skepticism the last three words enough for Menelaos to catch on.

The Atreides sighed, running a hand through his red hair.

“Did I say that? All that that you said to me now?”

“You did.”

Menelaos let out a long sigh, covering his face with a hand. – “Don’t tell Penelope, please.”

“Don’t you worry. I won’t be seeing her anytime soon.”

“Ouch.” – Odysseus was silent once again, so Menelaos spoke again. – “I was mad, I admit it. I want her back.” – he turned to face the Ithacan. – “I need her back. I’d do anything to have her again. What would you do if you had lost Penelope?”

I have lost her, though Odysseus bitterly. She’d never leave me, he also thought, but he was less sure of that. He had made her promise to remarry if he died in the war, after all.

“So did you tell Agamemnon to surround my men and ships?” – he pressed instead.

“…I did.”

Odysseus let out an incredulous huff. At him, at himself for believing him before.

It hurt. He had suspected it, he thought he was ready to hear it, but it hurt anyway. What was he even trying to accomplish? He had known that. He had hoped he was wrong, and that was naïve and dangerous of him. Unwise. Did Athena know? Did she care that he was been fooled?

“Agamemnon had other ideas for you.” – went on Menelaos.

Odysseus felt a cold chill, but he chased it away. Could it be? It was Agamemnon, after all. No, no, enough falling for Menelaos’ farce.

“This again?” – for a moment Odysseus wondered if Menelaos had learned to lie from him. It was one of his techniques, to admit a minor infraction and spin a glorious tale of how he was forced into it or it was part of his plan all along. It was flattering, cute in a way, and painful in any other way. And embarrassing for him to fall for it.

“Is it so hard to believe that I wanted him to control you, and not to take you as a slave woman is taken, execute you for all the army to see and tear little Telemachus from Penelope’s arms to be grown in his care, to be shaped in a liar he could manipulate at will?”

Odysseus stared at him in horror. That felt like Agamemnon indeed, but Menelaos knew his brother more than anyone else. He was the one to be able to make up something sounding incredibly him.

“It’s so hard to believe that I didn’t want your kid to suffer my fate?” – murmured Menelaos, looking away.

How much Menelaos was self-aware of having been molded by Agamemnon, grown under the axiom of never crossing him in any way, had been an idle, frequent guess back at Sparta among the four of them. He had talked of being beaten by his older brother freely, and yet, he didn’t suffer any slander to be thrown Agamemnon’s way.

“So let’s say you kill Calchas. His prophecy is known by the army.” – Odysseus went back to the main argument, almost to erase the image of his son in Agamemnon’s hands. He already had enough nightmares of the first and only times the Shepherd of Kings had put his hands on the kid. – “And the wind isn’t rising. How does your plan take that into account?”

Menelaos just sighed. – “It’s a problem indeed.” – he gave him a sidelong glance. – “One you could help with.”

Odysseus frowned. – “Convince the army that the seer was wrong? Corrupt by Agamemnon’s enemies, maybe?”

“An excellent cover story.” – nodded Menelaos. – “Go on.”

“No.” – especially since he himself would have been a perfect scapegoat for ‘Agamemnon’s enemies’. He was known to be sneaky enough and daring enough to corrupt a seer, and thanks to his recent events, his rift with Agamemnon was painfully exploitable.

“Why? Diomedes told me you aren’t enthusiastic about killing the young lady any more than I am.”

He sure sounded pretty enthusiastic about it just half a week before, thought Odysseus.

“Did Diomedes also tell you that opposing the will of the gods is a waste of time, or worse?” – he said instead.

“He does tend to go on about stuff like that, yeah.”

“Agamemnon’ men, the escort he sent, beat me.” – exhaled Odysseus facing Menelaos, gesturing to his face. – “I agree with Artemis. He must be punished. He has gone unchecked for too long, and he has been accumulating more and more power. Him. A person like him. A person to throw newborns under a plough in order to get one more captain for his war.”

Menelaos had first cringed at the mention of his brother’s actions, then his eyes lit; he stepped closer – “You’d really let a child die because of that? As long as it’s not yours, they are disposable?”

Odysseus roared in anger, and spit on the sand locking eyes with him – “Calchas will kill her. Agamemnon’ hubris killed her. Artemis demands her death. And… we need the wind. Who am I to oppose them?”

“Who, if not you?”

To be a hero, Odysseus though, a hero like Perseus.

“Why is it always me?!” – he snapped. He had not meant to, but now he couldn’t stop his rant. – “Why do I have to fix everybody’s problems, all the time? Especially the Shepherd of Kings’.” – he clenched his jaw, taking a few calming breaths. – “No. I was ordered to break Clytemnestra for him, and in two days from now, she will be broken as asked of me. This accursed business will be over with and we will have wind. I’ll have my freedom once again. Relatively speaking.”

For a while only the waves rolling on the sand were heard. Back and forth, like they did before this moment, and they would forever. Like they did when Herakles walked the land, when Zeus slayed titans, barely disturbed by Aphrodite emerging from them. More eternal then gods themselves.

“It doesn’t have to be you.” – said Menelaos under his breath. – “If you just convince Achilles to marry her… he will face the entire army for you. For her.”

Odysseus let himself be tempted, for a few precious moments. Let someone else take care of things, for once. Let someone else deal the blow.

He sighed. – “What about the wind?”

“It will lift, eventually. It’s just wind, it can’t stay like this forever.”

“It doesn’t need to stay like this forever. Just long enough for the malcontent to drive us to each other’s throat, and this all will be over before even starting. Are you ready to bet this entire expedition on it lifting in time? Elene will lounge until her old age on a terrace on the Aegean, drinking sweet kisses from her lover’s mouth. You must have heard how Paride is supposed to be almost as pretty as Ganymede. You remember him, the youth so handsome that the king of the gods himself took him as his lover? Same bloodline, in fact.”

“I know how pretty he is.” – rumbled Menelaos. – “He was in my house, before leaving it with everything I ever cared for, as soon as I was away.”

“What, the temple’ treasury?” – scoffed Odysseus. For a moment he thought Menelaos would add a new bruise to his face, but the king of Sparta merely looked away, anger turning into hurt. Odysseus went on. – “Kill Calchas if you want. I won’t talk to the army for you. For the two of you, for I am sure Agamemnon knows you are here, maybe he wanted you here. Ordered, even. He cannot play me with the rod and the honey,” – he pushed away a tuft of his friend’s red-honeyed hair. – “like I was a misbehaving donkey to push and pull until it behaves. Does he want me to spare the daughter he sent me to prepare for the sacrifice? Very well, I’ll do it if he comes here, apologizes for his mistreatment of me and ask for my help to my face. I’m a king too, not his errand boy.”

“He'd never do that, you know it. You know him.”

“Then there is nothing more to discuss, is there?” – Odysseus gave him a sidelong glance. – “He doesn’t want to save her that much, apparently.”

“Will you really let her die because of your pride?!”

“Will Agamemnon really let his own daughter die because of his pride?” – Odysseus grimaced, angry, betrayed, played. – “You are being naïve. Like I was when I thought I could just weasel away from this war effort. No more mistakes on my part. No more getting away; the only way is through, a lesson I should have learned when… with Telemachus.” – he clenched and unclenched his fists a couple of times, trying to placate his doleful anger. – “Everything you thought about, I already pondered upon before being sent away. We need the wind, the army needs the blood now that they have been promised some, and Agamemnon needs the lesson. Everybody will get what they want. Iphianassa will get…” – his voice silenced, against his wishes. He forced it out again. – “…to serve Artemis. She told me she wished to.”

“This is not you.”

“You are right, I am back home with my family. I told you I’d join you in a couple of years but no, Agamemnon wanted me here right now. Well, if he is in such a hurry, let’s depart as soon as possible. Let’s suffer no more delays. I will go through with this. You two try as you may your hands with plotting, let’s see if you have more luck than me. All the same, unless I’m ordered otherwise by our dear Shepherd of Kings, in two days Iphianassa will lie on that altar, never to see his beloved father again.”

“Odysseus…” – Menelaos was still very good at his puppy eyes. Too bad they were way past that by not. The only way out was through.

“You of all people do not get to be mad at me for blindly obeying Agamemnon.” – Odysseus replied softly, viciously.

Menelaos stood there on the shore, looking at him with hurt, anger, betrayal in his eyes and countenance. Then he turned away, with not another word, and left him there.

The cold satisfaction Odysseus had felt at Menelaos mirroring his own reaction to his lies stayed with him for a while, but in the end, it worn out, leaving him hollow.

The satisfaction was gone, but the cold inside him was still there.


Chapter 3: Charges

Summary:

That was the lesson he had tried to impart Clytemnestra, kill your foes before they have time to plot and destroy you.

Agamemnon confronts Odysseus about a few things he was told of his travel to Mycenae

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text



After his meeting with Menelaos, Odysseus found himself even more drained than before.

However Menelaos’ words haunted him – most of his words, but in particular… ‘if you convince Achilles… he will face the entire army…’

He would, that tough, impulsive, moody son of a deity.

Alright, rest delayed again.

He dragged himself, black eye and everything, to where Clytemnestra and Iphianassa were stationed. The great queen was more than surprised to see him again, after how he’d avoided her the entire journey. He rambled quickly about how in Phtia, Achilles’ domain, it was bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony, so could she please do not ruin this all affair and keep away from the groom? Also, she should be wary of Menelaos, something was up with him. She should not listen to him. Or, he added, listen to him very closely to see if she could figure out what was going on with him.

This last was just cruel. Odysseus had made up his mind, finally, to go through with it, right? Having Clytemnestra discover it all through Menelaos wouldn’t have helped, if not to give him another shot of that cold satisfaction that just didn’t last enough to be worth it.

Clytemnestra, again, had never made something easy for anyone ever, so she tried to interrogate him about his scene with Agamemnon. Odysseus just walked away mid-sentence, mumbling some excuse about his being tired. Perhaps not even an excuse, in fact.

He forced himself to talk to Iphianassa, kindly, taking back the supplies she had been keeping for him. She had noticed the tension between him and her mother, and maybe Agamemnon had given something out as well, because she was unrestful. She tried to interrogate him too. As mother, as daughter. He was more tactful in his taking his leave, but as firm as with the great queen.

He ordered not to be disturbed and slept for the rest of the afternoon, woke up in a fit of anxiety, checked his men and asked about Clytemnestra and Agamemnon’s movements (and if someone had seen Menelaos – they hadn’t). Diomedes had come by to check on him, but had chosen to let him sleep. Odysseus didn’t know what he would have told the Argive king.

After his concerns were placated enough, he took a long swim in the windless sea (a habit to spend the excess energy that he regretted, for salt burned in all his scrapes) and came back for the dinner, where he was too absent to partake properly. Polites tried to cheer him up a little, which only made him more miserable. Perimedes reassured him that he was keeping close eyes on the men, and Eurybates that he would keep up with the gossip. Then Eurylochus scolded him that he should take care of himself better until he just left to sleep, which seemed to be his point.

He slept the rest of the night the dreamless slumber of the exhausted.

That was where his reprieve came to an end. In the late morning, he was summoned to Agamemnon’s tent. He presented himself, going again over the monologue about his plan to draw Clytemnestra’s ire so she would be angry at him and not his husband for the sacrifice in response for why he had attacked him the day before.

All went immediately wrong (well, at this point his expectations were pretty low; wrong-er than he expected) as the guards at the entrance of Agamemnon’s tent grabbed him, took away his weapons, those they could find at least, twisted his arms back and escorted him inside, throwing him on in knees in front of the great king and…

Kratossandros.

That was the lesson he had tried to impart Clytemnestra, kill your foes before they have time to plot and destroy you.

It didn’t matter, Kratossandros was going to pay, he was just adding up reasons why Odysseus would end him later. Adding to how painful his demise would be. Let him have his day.

Agamemnon was dramatically giving his back at the entrance, and turned when he landed on the ground. Then he started his address.

“My right-hand man tells me you slept with my wife.”

Started strong. Odysseus’ eyebrows soared, and he was speechless for a moment. He had thought Agamemnon might take offence for his refusal to help Menelaos’ ‘plan’, but this was another matter entirely. Then he scoffed.

“Funny, the great queen accused me of being your whore too.” – he sighed, theatrically so. He didn’t miss Agamemnon’s eyes running to the faded bruises he himself left where his neck met his shoulder. – “Let’s clear this new, and yet, unoriginal, accusation. I did not whore myself out. Not to you, not to her. Out of respect for both in the royal couple. And out of respect for my wife. And for out of respect for me too, I am a king after all.”

“Do you mean to deny that she followed you in an isolated crop of trees where you rolled on the ground?”

Of course voice got out. Cursed Clytemnestra and her willful impulsiveness.

Not like she had been wrong about something being off with him and the situation, but still.

“Absolutely not. She followed me and then she threatened me with a needle-like dagger…” – Odysseus showed his skin spot, a beardless dot, under his chin. – “…then we fought, indeed falling on the ground.”

Agamemnon’s face for a moment verted on the proud, ‘that’s my girl’ kind of expression. Strange how he could look like that and yet beat her, berate her and have her first son killed.

“My liege!” – protested Kratossandros. – “clearly he made this up, cutting off a lock of his own beard.”

“I know the blade of which he speaks of.” – dismissed him Agamemnon. – “She tested it on me first, years ago, during Chrysothemis’ pregnancy.” – he focused back on Odysseus. – “Where were you then the first night and only night of your stay at Mycenae?”

With steel self-control, Odysseus kept his nerves calm and placid, down to his own expression and countenance. He knew this had been coming.

“Testing my surveillance, and finding it lacking.” – he grinned. He tilted his head towards Kratossandros. – “did he tell you how most of his men died?”

“He did. He said my queen had them executed for the crime of finding her in your arms.”

Odysseus laughed, a dry, scorning sound. “Their crime was getting caught by your great queen beating me up.” – he gestured at his face, like he did with Menelaos. – “A beginner’s mistake, I’m surprised you’d trust such incompetent men to my escort. Did you trust me not to try anything that much, or was it a test for them, not to mess up a task so simple?”

His smugness ebbed as he met Agamemnon’s eyes, similarly smug, with a tinge of cruelty.

“Why were they beating you up?” – he asked innocently.

Odysseus lost a beat. Did he… ask them to?

“…because they could.” – he looked away, hiding anger and shame. He had let them do it. Because Agamemnon’s plan of punishing him for his defiance had been working great, so great he had worked with it, punishing himself as well.

…and after a while you let him beat you, welcome it even, and scramble not to cross him more. Clytemnestra’s words came helpfully back into his mind. She had been so right. So right and so blind at the same time. Except for the ‘not to cross him more’ part. He should do that. Stop crossing him.

“Because if I had killed them, or hit them, it would have looked like I was hiding something…” – he looked back at the Shepherd of Kings, trying to convey his sincerity and hide his powerlessness on the matter. – “…and my men’s lives were on the line.”

Agamemnon smiled, apparently satisfied to see him scramble to keep his goodwill. Odysseus hated it. Hated it and the thankfulness he felt for seeing he was believed.

“Clytemnestra did ask me if I set my men on his old friend.” – Agamemnon turned on Kratossandros. – “after prodding for too long about a strain between us.”

“She is… she is certainly covering for her crime of adultery, my liege!” – sputtered his loyal dog.

“You must know that she has had a rule to sleep with my conquests, and bite over my markings.” – spoke Agamemnon again, glancing once again over Odysseus’ neck-shoulder bruises.

So that was why Clytemnestra had accused him of being his whore right after seeing them, realized Odysseus. And then: with how many men and women did she sleep in vengeance to Agamemnon? How many did Agamemnon bed for himself, and how many to force her to follow in that twisted game?

“I do, my liege, but this is her old friend.” – Kratossandros wore a slimy smile. – “I doubt she’d go about her own tryst with the same carelessness as her pettiness about yours.”

Agamemnon looked back upon Odysseus, still on the ground. He was considering it??

“Shepherd of Kings.” – he said before he could come up with some stupid reason to believe that oaf. – “I would not… touch her that way as I bring her daughter, her pride and joy, to die. There is no way that would end up good for me, even if I succeeded in hiding it from you.” – he wore a cunning grimace. – “If I had to embrace her intimately, I would choose the moment after the sacrifice, when she is upset and vulnerable, and in need of comfort from any other rather than he who ordered the sacrifice.” – he sighed. – “but, as my insolence, and insistence about going back home, do point at, there is only one queen I wish to embrace. One who has already provided me with a healthy heir of undiscussed parentage.”

Agamemnon seemed convinced. Odysseus prayed Kratossandros was as stupid as his accusation.

“Why then were you and her so at odds?” – he asked further.

Odysseus almost had a tick of annoyance at a question so idiotic, but kept it under control. “Because the friendlier I am now, the more she will resent me later; I don’t want the great queen to hate me forever, I’d like to live it down and keep her ambitious gaze away from my kingdom. More than that, I aimed at keeping her anger on me, lest she fixates on you… and I get dragged into another expedition to take back a mutinous Mycenae once we’re done with this war.”

Agamemnon expression opened, like he was ready to laugh now. Laugh at him, but still.

“You can raise.” – he nodded at him.

Odysseus took a deep breath, relief flooding him so much it felt like vertigo. Then he finally stood again. He was a king, gods damn it, he wasn’t going to get his knees scraped.

“My liege! Let me explain!” – Kratossandros was about to throw himself on the ground.

Strange the Atreides’ plan of killing Calchas hadn’t been mentioned. Maybe he would after having delt with his oaf? Maybe… was he an idiot to dare trust in Menelaos still? Maybe he had covered for him? More likely though, Agamemnon, the most pragmatic of the two, had know it was a fool’s hope and had let Menelaos find that out through him, rather than explain it himself.

“You have been whispering in my ear for a day already.” – he grimaced. – “I don’t think there is much more that you can say to me that’s of interest, or that my spies haven’t confirmed or denied.”

Odysseus smirked evilly, unapologetically so. That asshole had it coming and he would enjoy it.

Talthybius burst in. “Shepherd of Kings!” – he looked at the people in the tent and then back Agamemnon, interrogatively.

“Speak.”

“Clytemnestra has been invited in Achilles tent! Almost half an hour ago!”

He visited her last afternoon, I told you!” – shouted Kratossandros. – “He’s been plotting! He hid this from you, as he lied about everything else!”

Both of them turned to him, their eyes accusing.

Odysseus swallowed.


Notes:

Amazing how long I had these chapters ready, awaiting a little editing. Procrastination (on a basically finished job) at his finest

What is this... A scene that could have taken place with all parties standing? Absolutely not. Get that man on his knees!

Chapter 4: Brewing troubles

Summary:

Achilles is bored and annoyed.
Things are going to get way more complicated than they needed to be because of it.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text



Achilles respected the Nestor the old charioteer, but he had been asking of him one chore after the other. It’s like he’s keeping us busy, had told him Patroclus, who then had no answer when Achilles asked what for. ‘Perhaps he can’t afford any more problems’, had murmured Patroclus under his breath.

Like he, Achilles, was one to cause problems! He had even stuck by Agamemnon when the army had split in three, despising Idomeneus’ neutrality and Palamedes’ pretend-wise attitude. Especially the latter, whom he’d loved to see drop dead any day. Any day now.

That didn’t mean he was happy to be treated as an errand boy. Achilles had completed the last ‘favor’ Nestor had required and had not sent word of it, to have some free time to hang out at the tent. He knew Nestor would find him something else to do.

“I think I’d like to meet Clytemnestra, I heard she’s arrived.” – said Patroclus. – “We haven’t seen each other since the engagement of Elene. I… mh.” – he scratched his head. – “I doubt she even remembers me. I wasn’t very remarkable back then.”

“You always were.” – answered promptly Achilles, almost as if he had been expecting it. Then he beamed at him, like a dog awaiting a treat.

“Stop.” – pushed him Patroclus with a smile.

Achilles beamed even more, a light luminescence irradiating from his skin.

“I’d also like to meet her. She is a great queen, perhaps one of the greatest queen that ever lived… or that is still living.” – agreed their friend, laying on propped cushions in the tent with the two of them, used enough to their cheesy back and forth to not mind it anymore.

“I am curious indeed of how Odysseus did convince her to sacrifice her daughter, I heard the kid is here too, after all.”

Patroclus and their friend exchanged a look.

“Maybe we should lay low.” – he said cautiously.

“That would be advisable…” – conceded reluctantly their friend. – “I heard Agamemnon is a mess over this. He definitely was before, enough to let the army split under his watch. Perhaps this is not the best moment to meet the great queen.”

“Nonsense! We’re leaving for a war, there is no guarantee we will come back.” – Achilles slammed a fist on the table. – “This is the perfect moment!”

Patroclus looked at their friend, who was looking back with pleading eyes. He sighed.

He pointed a finger to their friend. – “You stay here, rest while we test the waters. If anything looks suspicious, we leave.” – he moved the finger to point at the demigod. – “And we don’t mention the sacrifice unless she does it first. I don’t want to get caught up to trouble unless we really, really cannot help it.”

“Nonsense again!” – roared Achilles. – “I’m not a timid sheep to hide from a storm. Whatever is out there I’ll face it headfirst! There is no trouble that can deter me.”

“That is exactly why you are the one usually causing the troubles!” – groaned Patroclus.

“I am not.” – the demigod scoffed.

Patroclus leaned towards their friend, as Achilles stood and prepared to leave the tent.

“I bet he’s going to make a fuss for having been insulted some way or the other before nightfall.”

“If you were serious, I’d ask you what were you betting on that.” – leaned back their friend.

“The thin, stiletto-like dagger bedecked in jewels you lost on that race on the beach the other day.” – decided Patroclus.

“I lost it to Achilles.” – their friend emphasized.

“I can get it back.” – whispered the son of Menoetius, looking away, hiding a small blush.

“Ugh, you two are insufferable.” – their friend threw up their arms. – “but I do want it back, so I bet he’s going to stir up trouble by the end of the great queen visit.”

“Tough one.” – conceded Patroclus. – “I should have thought of that.”

“What are you two conspiring about?” – asked Achilles, radiant like the sun reflected on the waves.

“Killing you and replace you with an actor to run away with your riches and reputation.” – answered without losing a bit their friend.

“Just discussing dinner.” – was saying Patroclus at the same time.

They looked at each other.

Achilles scoffed. – “I don’t even know which one I believe less.”

“Discussing the meal for the great queen, I mean.” – corrected Patroclus. – “so it can be ready by the time we invite her back.” – he shot a glance to their friend, who nodded enthusiastically.

“Nice save, but still a lie.” – Achilles patted him on the shoulder. – “You should pass some time with Odysseus, he would have answered having the first three courses ready.”

“You really like him.” – noted their friend. – “you always mention him with respect.”

“I do not like a weasel! Not me, the best warrior of the Achaeans!” – griped him. – “I would pass my time with my betters, not common liars. Plus, I’d like to punch him some, and then some more, for how he acted at Skyros”

It was a little weird and a little endearing how Achilles was in denial about wanting to make a new friend but not quite figuring out how to befriend someone who wasn’t a boastful, renowned warrior, or a girl.

“He was pretty damn annoying at Skyros.” – nodded Patroclus.

“And he didn’t manage to convince the army when I asked him too.” – growled Achilles, looking at their friend apologetically.

“He did try his best. You were there. We all were.” – this time Patroclus shook his head.

“I don’t think he did, or… things would have ended differently.” – mumbled Achilles.

The mood had turned sour.

“Let’s just go.”

“Let’s. And you order the slaves around, do not be doing things on yourself while you should be resting.”

“Go already!” – their friend scoffed, looking around and wondering how to make this space worthy of the great queen.


Notes:

It's finally you and me... and me and you... and your friend Steve! (it's a nice tune)

Achilles and Patrolcus actually have friends. Incredible, I know.

Chapter 5: Achilles meet Clytemnestra

Summary:

Achilles meet Clytemnestra.
I will write something funnier here as soon as I can think of something.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text



Clytemnestra had been scouring the Achaean camp.

She was curious to find out for herself how the greatest, largest army ever gathered in living memory was faring. How were they set. Who was there. Who had the sturdiest ships and who the bigger soldiers, who the most numerous, how were the carriage of distant land fashioned.

So much intelligence to collect, for friends of today can always turn into enemies tomorrow.

Or they can turn into a perplexing mix of fear and detachment that made no sense considering how he… how hypothetical friends seemed to care for her all the same still.

She could still feel his head resting against her, after she heaved him up, bloodied and bruised (how did he keep ending up in those situations?). A gesture of comfort, he hadn’t been that beaten. He could take much more, she remembered having seen him sparring with the other suitors of Elene. All of them bigger than him, most of them older than him too. He won still his fair amount of bouts – usually at the price of getting out them half dead.

He was like a goat, both able to reach incredible heights without wings and ready to headbutt, well, fight you at a moment’s notice with enough strength to leave you breathless on the ground. He was the goat. If there was someone who could do almost anything, beyond her future son-in-law, it was him. Maybe more, since Achilles was more known to be able to hit stuff very hard than to work his way around until the obstacle became an advantage.

Why did he keep insulting her only to not fight back when she reacted accordingly? Why did he keep pushing her away only to steal a moment of comfort as soon as he got the change?

What was he punishing himself for, and what did that have anything to do with her? He acted like it had, at least. Or was he like that because it was his twisted way of asking for help? What for?

What had Agamemnon wrestled him into, to reduce him to a shifty-eyed nervous wreck?

For the love of Hera queen of the gods, what was up with…

“Ah, Clytemnestra.” – greeted her a voice with something off. Something familiar, something eerie, like that vibe Penelope often gave off. – “I’ve heard great thing of you. Queen, rider, fighter: lioness. I think that’s how Odysseus and Diomedes talked about you.”

She turned to witness Achilles approaching, splendid in a white chiton bordered in grayish blue and gold matched with a chlamys, a cape, with a similar design. She supposed the grayish blue was for his mother’s domain, while the gold for her divine nature. Only the clasps of his clothing and buckles for the sword were in she shapes of ants, for the myrmidons.

He was closely followed by a more inconspicuously dressed fellow, with an ordinary ochre chiton, wearing pieces of armor here and there, the greaves, a shoulder pad, vambraces protections in leather straps.

Achilles immediately stepped aside to introduce her to him, like it was a second nature.

“Do you remember perhaps my companion, from your times at Sparta, for the hand of Elene?”

She knew that Achilles never moved without his trusty – and notoriously beloved – Patroclus.

She wasn’t enthusiastic about yielding her elder daughter to a man so clearly, and publicly, in love with someone else, but it could reveal itself to be an opportunity: she may end up enjoying more freedom than an insecure, possessive man.

“Patroclus od Opus, son of Menoetius.” – she didn’t remember him in fact, some shadow here and there. She did study the list of the men present at Elene’s oath back when the gathering had been announced, trying to remember who was who.

This one was the child-killer. Not a good omen, to deliver her child to someone close to him. At least, according to the voices, it had been an unfortunate accident and Patroclus had even sworn to never have children of his own, to never have any change, even accidental, to hurt another.

“I didn’t mingle much back then.” – excused himself Patroclus. – “I was not yet over my shy attitude. I wasn’t what I’d become in your presence.” – he concluded, looking back at Achilles.

A smile ran between them, like rivulets of water after the rain, always finding their way to the sea. Or each other, in this case.

A little jarring, to do that in front of her. 

“Please, come back to my tent for some refreshments and a chat, you are very welcomed, and I’d love to hear more from the great lioness, I mean, the great queen.” – requested Achilles immediately after. – “One who is ready to sacrifice so much for this war effort.”

Patroclus had a coughing fit, turning around to hide it from her, facing Achilles. At least he was polite. Were they flattering her? It felt strangely genuine, maybe it wasn’t the purely political move she had initially thought. Achilles may actually be glad to become part of her family. 

Hers. He said he wanted to hear from her. He hadn’t mentioned Agamemnon yet. Peculiar, but flattering. Maybe, no, probably, all the talks between them had been done and over by now.

For a moment, she smiled, thinking of how Agamemnon had welcome the daughter, his frown at first intensifying (no one would tell her for sure, but Clytemnestra had heard of some unrest, recently so) and then Iphianassa poked at him until he cracked, holding her tight and even crying at the prospect of leaving her to another. He hadn’t been this moved when moving from Mycenae to Aulis; perhaps he had been so taken up with the responsibility of the army to realize how long could it be until they saw each other again. Maybe it hit as their eldest was to become officially not theirs anymore.

She had tried to… what, share in that rare moment of emotion? But he had just glossed over, talking about the sacrifices for the gods. Then they had almost fought, Agamemnon insisting he could take care of things and she should go back home, that it wasn’t wise to leave the other girls unsupervised, that it was unbecoming of her to be among soldiers… every time Clytemnestra thought they were about to patch it up and make it work… it just didn’t happen.

But this wouldn’t be the case for Iphianassa. No, she would deliver her to a groom able to give her a life blessed by the gods themselves – his relatives.

The dark, foreboding feeling the reunion with Odysseus had left in her guts started to dissipate.


Notes:

Patroclus had even sworn to never have children of his own – I made this up because I like my Pat with a personality (rip Song of Achilles). Not breeding was a crime or something in ancient societies (maybe even a betrayal to the ancestors, but I might be getting confused with Chinese Confucianism?), I’ll get to the meaning of this vow, and his conflict at being branded since childhood as 'the one who killed a child', if and when I actually focus on Patrolcus.
Which I mean to do (not him specifically, but more than I'm doing in this work)

Chapter 6: A pleasant stay

Summary:

Someone is having a rather nice time.
Nobody isn't.

Notes:

Odysseus' rush against time about to start.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text



“She is my head handmaiden, my companion as I hid as a woman on Skyros, her name is Epi…” – Achilles looked down in surprise, then back up at Patroclus glaring daggers at him, and after having kicked him even…! He did get the message, though. – “…Epyrrha.”

Clytemnestra was staring.

Patroclus was glaring.

Epyrrha’s eyes were darting between him and the queen, between excitement and panic.

“The Second.” – he cleared his throat and added. – “Named… after me.” – he concluded. – “Of course I was just Pyrrha, that’s why we added the ‘ep’, as in, 'after'… you surely know words, o great queen.”

Across from the table, sitting straight looking over him like a statue that had taken life, and yet still retained that solemn monumentality, Clytemnestra lifted an elegant eyebrow. The moment she had entered the tent she had somehow turned into her sanctuary of worship, despite being the place where an actual demigod lived.

The great queen indeed, to command the space around herself like that, had found himself thinking Achilles. How could she be so imposing to him, son of a goddess and well acquainted to a deity’s presence?

Perhaps her nature, so alien to him.

Thetis was eternal movement, tide and waves. She was an incarnation of the sea, white sea foam and white creatures’ teeth; oceans depths, blue and dark. Ever shifting, danger ever lurking.

Clytemnestra felt the opposite, eternal as granite. She resembled a shadowed column carved from ebony; obsidian in her eyes and hair, black underlined in gold. Everlasting, danger overt and clear.

“What was her original name, to be renamed so easily?” – she asked politely and yet coldly.

Patroclus shifted in his seat, airing his chiton in the heat exacerbated by weeks of windlessness.

“Clymene, great queen.” – bowed to her their friend. 

“Oh, I see.” – Clytemnestra relaxed and smiled to her.

She had feared the tall, robust girl covered in bandages and bruises, had been molded in his pride by Achilles in his image, but this might explain why she had changed her name; Clymene was one of the most common names out there. She alone had known no less than seven Clymene in her life. It made sense to choose something more remarkable when associating with a demigod.

“I see you are not well.” – she let her hand land on hers, as she poured her more water. She looked so young too, her maternal instinct had kicked in. Especially noticing she wore make up to cover more bruising and her hair could very well be a wig. – “Should you be serving us?”

Both Achilles and Patroclus looked at her in reproach, like they had insisted the same. Which she was happy to notice. They seemed to genuinely care for her, going so far as introducing her to her, the queen. A bit strange to introduce a handmaiden to a queen, sure, but surprisingly welcome.

It spoke of an equalitarian community. Iphianassa was her daughter, and Agamemnon’s; unless the odds were disproportionately stacked against her, she was sure to carve her place. Clytemnestra was relieved nonetheless to see she might just fit in, instead of having to fight her way in.

“Thank you for your concern, great queen.” – replied respectfully the girl. – “I’m afraid I have been caught up in the unrest, but I’ll be better in no time.”

Clytemnestra had feared Achilles, like so many men taken only by other men, would live his life neglecting the very existence of women; it didn’t seem to be the case. He even mentioned Skyros openly, going as far as casually mentioning how he disguised as a maiden there.

This was revealing to be more pleasant than she anticipated.

 

Odysseus wouldn’t have called ‘pleasant’ his permanence in Agamemnon’s tent, although witnessing of Kratossandros digging his own grave had been fun enough.

Had been, as in, the fun coming to a sudden halt. This may reveal itself to be his grave after all.

“IS THIS YOUR DOING?” – roared Agamemnon, taking wide, aggressive steps towards him as Kratossandros snickered. Odysseus promised himself to pull a good number of his teeth out, one at a time.

“No!” – exclaimed Odysseus, taking a step back, hand raised in a placating gesture. Heart rushing, feeling the danger. – “I would never throw such a wildcard into the mix. I would never have had him involved in the first place, even! I argued against it.” – he was sweating under Agamemnon scrutiny. And at the idea of how much worst things could be if one of Achilles moods stirred the pot. For himself, principally, because he was in a bad situation enough to have to worry about himself first. But also for the entire effort, which meant, Clytemnestra. – “I swear I can’t wait for this whole matter to be over with, I’d not do anything to make it drag…”

“I’ll investigate the matter later.” – cut him off Agamemnon with a dismissive gesture. – “Go get her out of there.”

He wanted him to get involved again? With Achilles?! Didn’t the Shepherd of Kings know how they left things, after last time Achilles asked – recruited? Dragged? Kidnapped? – him for help and he couldn’t deliver? Or he just didn’t he care? Or was it another punishment for him?

Odysseus wetted his lips, thinking fast. – “It would be less conspicuous to send your trusty herald, it would surely raise alarm to send someone she is currently at odd with to…”

“Get going, Son of Sisyphus. NOW.” – talked over him Agamemnon, eyes like glowing embers.

Son of Sisyphus. Called that to his face. Not like Odysseus had never heard it, whispered among soldiers, or even back at Ithaca. He disliked greatly to be called son of a trickster and a coward, Sisyphus, when he was the grandson of a greater trickster and thief, and also coward, Autolykos.

Only one of them was stuck in eternal punishment in Hades, the other was old but still kicking. In fact the insult had been originally pointed at Autolykos himself, and then Laertes. Not anybody could boast a three-generation lasting insult.

To Autolykos, it was to insinuate he had let his daughter be violated. To Laertes, that he ‘bought’ his first son, he was cuckolded and heirless. To him, it was just an elaborated way to call him bastard, a runt born out of wedlock and adopted out of pity.

That this came out, though, meant that was it. He could not speak further without instigate his vicious ire. Which he had promised himself (a broken promise) a few times already to stop doing.

Odysseus didn’t question it further then; he jumped up at once and left in a hurry.

Agamemnon with a gesture had Kratossandros restrained, then ordered another guard to get Nestor to task him to find out how did Clytemnestra get invited indeed.


Notes:

I'm not implying Phtia was more equalitarian, it's just that Clytemnestra knows nothing of the situation (or the real identity of 'Epyrrha') and she's coming to the wrong conclusions.

Chapter 7: Something off

Summary:

Patroclus blood pressure is slowly rising.
Being the mom friend really is a thankless job.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text



“It must have been nice to see your old friend Odysseus again.” – was saying Patroclus. – “I remember back in the day it was you four, well, six with Elene and Menelaos, always running around together. Have you met with Diomedes yet?”

“No, not Diomedes, yet.” – replied casually the great queen, before setting her golden-lined eyes on Patroclus, like a lioness setting on her prey. – “I did seem to notice some friction between my old friend and my husband.”

“You could say so.” – snorted Achilles, explaining how he himself had stood by his husband in the rift that followed Agamemnon refusal to comply with Calchas. Mindful of Patroclus’ words, he didn’t mention the sacrifice, spoke of it in general terms, like Agamemnon was angry at having to bend his will to the seer.

“I gather Odysseus didn’t stand with him then?”

“He did, actually, o great queen.” – Achilles smirked. – “Even though we all suspect it was out of enmity against Palamedes rather than loyalty to the great king.”

“He was the one to solve the impasse, actually.” – nodded along Patroclus, pointing imperiously a stool on the side to Epyrrha, who sat down. – “First he warned us we would end up at each other throat, then feigned a tantrum to prove his point; a tantrum that did get Agamemnon out of his indecisiveness.”

Clytemnestra smiled to herself, remembering his words: I tried to run away once… I can’t displease Agamemnon, not now. He had tried to get away and in doing so, he had compromised his position; still he found the time to fool the rest of the encampment into thinking it had been his plan all along.

“He always was like that, playing his own game behind everyone’s back.” – she almost chuckled. – “However I’ll concede that my husband is not keen on ‘casual disloyalty’. Maybe our king of lies will learn to behave after all. Do you know him well?”

Patroclus and Achilles exchanged glances. Interesting.

“Not much.” – shrugged Patroclus, quickly summarizing how Odysseus had been tasked to collect Achilles, stopping to collect Patroclus first to use him to locate his friend. He wasn’t happy to have been used, but Achilles was, for having been freed from his mother-enforced disguise.

“Yes, those are all our interactions with him, we’ve barely seen him after that.” – cheerily said Achilles, with gritted teeth.

Patroclus narrowed his eyes at him.

“We respect a mother’s will, but daughters, and sons, should be allowed to follow their path.” – luckily spoke Epyrrha from her stool to the side, taking the great queen attention’s away from Patroclus kicking Achilles under the table once again. – “Not always forced to be what people expect of her.”

Clytemnestra, a mother, lifted her eyebrow, but didn’t reply. She had been a daughter first, after all, and quite the willful one at that. She was more than a common handmaiden, seeing how Achilles let her speak freely, even in her presence.

She was looking at Epyrrha and missed Patroclus moving his glare their friend.

“Not like isn’t an honor to serve, as a daughter…” – started to speak in a hurry Ephyrra, under his scorching gaze. – “I mean, the gods dictated our life and death, and we obey, that’s our sacred duty… it’s a great honor to be chosen, even when the service is demanding, even when it demands… yes, even in that case… we must honor them and we…”

Patroclus let his face fall into his hands, then looked pleadingly at Achilles.

“Plus, there is no point in going on about prophesies on my death in battle.” – scoffed Achilles. Clytemnestra lifted her other eyebrow too. He had been prophesied to what? – “Any soldier might die in the field. I might be special, but not that special. As long as I’m careful, and I will, having people I care about,” – of course, he shot a glance to Patroclus. – “and a family that awaits my return, I’m confident I can make it back, no matter what Thetis mumbles in her sea-carved caves.”

Clytemnestra took a sip from her cup, pensive. It was a skyphos, a drinking cup with the depiction of a wrestling scene. So no one less than a goddess had foretold his death? He looked so relaxed about it, going as far as taking a wife and talking about how his family would anchor him. It was… unexpected, both this reveal and the fact he was revealing it so easily. He really was a sincere young man, and he seemed to wish for this union truly enough to call her family even before the ceremony.

She found herself hoping he would make it back. He sounded like he’d make an interesting son-in-law. She’d have to warn Iphianassa not to get too attached, just in case the prophecy won in the end.

It made perfect sense, though, that Odysseus and Agamemnon both, would lie about this part.

She wondered if to ask directly about Odysseus, then. Achilles had looked sincere and direct enough to be the kind of person to just answer.

“You are a brave young man, strong, blessed by the gods, straightforward and honest. And I’ve heard your battle prowess is unmatched, even by your elders.” – she said, leaning on the table to touch his hand. It was a breach of etiquette to touch a man outside her husband and son, but first, he was about to be her son, albeit in-law, and second, it was already iffy for her to be there with him with only one attendant and one guard at her side. It was as far as the formal meeting before a marriage could be.

Odysseus had warned her that costumes in Pthia were very different from theirs. Evidently, besides the ban on seeing the wife before the ceremony, getting acquainted in familiarity with the future mother-in-law was part of it. He had invited personally, after all, he had not even sent an envoy. Pthian costumes must tilt much towards equality indeed.

Despite all that, everybody in the tent looked shocked at her gesture. Had she pushed this too far?

“I’m sure you’ll make it back to your family safe and sound.” – she concluded, retreating her hand discreetly but quickly, and hiding her faint blush behind another sip from the skyphos cup. It was then that she noticed that the wrestling scene was… peculiar. One of the wrestler was a woman.

“Your magnanimity is even greater than the stories!” – almost squealed Epyrrha.

Clytemnestra subtly looked at the skyphos again. It was a woman. Atalanta. That meant the other wrestler was…

“I… do thank you, for your kind words.” – almost stuttered Achilles, also looking away. He was used to his cold, commanding, intense mother, and he found himself unable to react to such a warm response from an older woman. – “To wish for my and my family safety when your own…”

“…is so powerful!” – cut in, almost hurriedly, Patroclus. – “not many could afford the sacrifices it requires to rule… the effort! The effort that such a strong rule is surely imposing over you. The gods surely favor you… I’m not implying it’s a favor that they require… I… I’ll mix some more wine. And get a few more olives and goat cheese. No, Epyrrha, I’ll do it. Sit.”

Was that a sign of respect to her, a woman? Why did Achilles have a drinking cup with his father losing a wrestling much in the first place?

“But…”

She was definitely reading too much into the cup.

“Sit.”

It was an object for drinking from, not reading into.

She should really stop trying to read more into what was in front of her.


Notes:

Achilles: come back to my family (meaning Deidamia and Neoptolemus on Skyros)
Clytemnestra: ah, yes, he means us, what a sweet boy.

I decided my Achilles has daddy issues. Grown by a goddess and then a centaur, came back home only to be ordered to hide as a woman, I decided he doesn’t have a great relationship with his father, hence the sass of having cup about Peleos' renown defeat to Atalanta.

Chapter 8: Dawning realization

Summary:

Clytemnestra's day, and consequentially life, is about to be ruined.
Achilles' day is not getting any better either.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text



Odysseus grabbed a soldier, coughed a moment, out of breath for his sprint.

He had forgotten about his two cracked ribs, but they had reminded him fast enough.

“Get Machaon the medic, or someone that can get him, and tell him to…” - he coughed again. He was wasting precious time, but if he got her out only to be discovered right after? He had to set this up right. – “…to tell Agamemnon that Agamemnon sent for him, and sent me, fearing Iphianassa has fallen ill.”

The soldier scratched his bald head in perplexion. – “The medic should tell the great king that the great king called him?”

“Exactly. Now move!” He threw him on the ground and took off running again, feeling his ribs piercing him like he was being stabbed.

This should’ve been Talthybius’ job. What did Agamemnon keep a herald for, if not for this?

Gods, please spare Clytemnestra the advance pain, spare her the pointless fight… just spare her, he prayed with every step. With every other step, he was trying to shut down the piercing ache of his ribs.

What if Agamemnon decided she wasn’t worth the trouble and killed her with her daughter? She has given him three daughters and one potential heir already. 

No, he needed a queen to hold Mycenae as he was gone. It was too late for him to take another. She should be safe now.

If only accursed Calchas had agreed to sacrifice the young one upon arrival, or, at least, the day after, instead of these two days gap, this all would have been avoided!

 

“I see clearly why Agamemnon would be requiring extra tests of loyalty from Odysseys.” – Clytemnestra spoke casually, as trying to change the subject, looking away from the strange depiction on the skyphos cup. The others seemed grateful for it. – “Odysseus’ resentment towards him was deep enough for me to suspect to have a more personal cause, do you have any idea why would that be?” – she tapped the side of her chin, feigning polite curiosity.

“Almost killing his son, what’s his name, archer-something? Teleptolemus? Must have been a big one.” – scoffed Patroclus, at the krater. – “Losing a child, and the first born as well, must be… not that I presume… oh, I put too much wine, let me get the water.”

Clytemnestra put the skyphos cup down a little too fast, almost slamming it. – “He wha-- may I inquire further on the matter?”

A series of panicked looks shot across the tent.

“His name is Telemachus. What happened with Odysseus’ son?” – she asked again.

“Sure.” – Patroclus was quite happy to be able to spill one of Odysseus’ secrets, coming back to the table after having filled the oinochoe, the wine jug. He wasn’t mad at the point of vengeance at Odysseus for tricking Achilles to join the war effort… but enough to take satisfaction where he could. – “Odysseus mumbles and brood when faced on the matter, but we managed to get the idea that Agamemnon endangered his kid to force him to stop pretending he was mad. Though Palamedes was the one to realize it was a farce, spurring Agamemnon to act on that. Thus Odysseus’ siding with your husband against him, as we spoke before.”

Clytemnestra looked on, thinking. So that was why Odysseus expressed his wish of her having killed his husband before now. It was too late for him. That must have been why he had spoken of the forbidden topic of her first child. He, through his many twists and turns (Clytemnestra did wish he would just talk about stuff, sometimes, or even most of the time), had been telling her that he finally felt a shadow of what she felt when she lost her first son. And it had left him scared, terrified even. Resentful.

“His ships are still surrounded by our forces.” – she mentioned.

“Yeah, that is weird.” – nodded Achilles.

“It’s probably for show, in case he tried pulling some other madness or reasons to stay in the mainland while he was away.” – shrugged Patroclus. – “With him you never know. I say your husband’s caution is perfectly understandable.”

On that, Clytemnestra agreed. He was quite the slippery one.

Patroclus looked discreetly at the great queen, for he actually thought that his ships were still surrounded in case Clytemnestra had tried to oppose the sacrifice and called upon his old friend, who had his own good reasons to dislike Agamemnon as well, to help. That would be a problem.

In that case, everything would come down to Diomedes’ choice. The Argive king had a considerable force, too big to be easily controlled as Odysseus’, and was known to have been Clytemnestra’s friend too. And had chosen Idomemeus neutral party at the rift, so he and Agamemnon weren’t all that close.

“I don’t suppose he shared his malcontent with you, then.” – spoke cautiously Patroclus.

“I think he did, but he was… how did you describe it…” - Clytemnestra swirled the water in the skyphos cup. – “brooding and mumbling. Not being very clear about what he wanted from me.”

Another series of shocked glances around the tent. Clytemnestra was starting to worry.

“At least he was clear and as eloquent as he can be about Agamemnon’s proposal.” – she added, not to let Achilles think she had been kept from the marriage proposal.

This seemed to make the glances even more shocked.

“And you had…” – asked Patroclus, very slowly. – “…no qualms about it?”

Patroclus felt Achilles hot gaze upon him. Alright, he had asked first not to mention her, but this entire meal had turned into a pessoi game where the objective was to avoid the matter and yet, again and again they were led back to it. He was starting to think they should just say it and get it over it.

“Qualms? Why would I? It’s an honor. She could hardly fare better.” – Clytemnestra had barely stopped talking that she noticed the astonished look painted on Epyrrha’s face. Strange.

“An honor.” – repeated Patroclus. – “To lose your daughter? In service of the gods, sure, but lose her nonetheless?”

“In service of the gods?” – Clytemnestra blinked a couple of times. – “In your service.”

“Ours?” – asked Patroclus, with a little frown. – “The army’s?”

“Whatever do you…” – Clytemnestra’s face opened. – “Oh, for morale you mean. Surely, that too.”

“To provide us with wind.” – spoke Patroclus slowly, leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. 

“I did notice, and heard mention, that the air is sick around here.” – she stated unnerved by their reactions. – “And all these talks about the rightful, owed sacrifices. They will happen during the ceremony, if I’m not wrong.”

“The ceremony in which you’ll say goodbye to your daughter.” – nodded Achilles, an icy look in his clear eyes. – “Delivered to the hand of the gods.”

“You mean your relatives?” – Clytemnestra frowned. – “Is she meant to stay with your mother until your return?”

Were wedding traditions in Argolis so different from Phtia? As she understood it, Iphianassa would live with her still, in Mycenae, but perhaps she was expected to go live with her new family? Her heart clenched at the though. She couldn’t suffer to be parted from her yet. She was so young. Was that why Agamemnon had cried while holding their daughter in his embrace?

Why hadn’t she been informed about this? It was hard to accept, but not unreasonable.

“My mother.” – Achilles response was a little stiff. – “My return.”

Something was wrong.

“Oh great queen.” – Epyrrha sounded heartbroken, even.

She was a great queen indeed, and she wouldn’t receive the pity of a handmaiden. But before she could shut the girl down, Patroclus spoke again, deadly serious.

“What have you been told we needed your daughter for, o great queen Clytemnestra?” – he asked.

The other two’s eyes were fixated on the two of them, holding their breath even.

“Achilles’ marriage with my daughter of course.” – tilted her head Clytemnestra, taken aback.

Silence crept inside the tent like the darkness after sunset catching travelers unaware and very, very far from home.



Notes:

'Tele' means 'far' and 'machus' means battle; Telemachus’ name is usually interpreted as ‘born 'far from the battle’' but I like the interpretation ‘fighter from afar’, that is, archer. Like Odysseus was known to be one, his famed bow and everything.
'Ptolemus' also means 'warrior'.

If you are binging this, first awwwww :D second, the next work is long-ish and one chapter leading into the other, so this might be a nice place to take a break.