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Menelaus startled up, hand going to his sword, but stopped when he realised it was his brother's sandal at the tent entrance that had startled him.
"Brother," he said, eyes creasing a little, "are you alright? I heard that … You were hurt earlier - "
Agamemnon waved off his concerns. "A scratch. By Athena's grace, I was barely grazed." He'd cleaned the blood off already; his belt had taken most of the blow earlier. "You were not hurt?" he asked, though it was obvious Menelaus was not - there was the smell of fresh blood in Menelaus' tent, yes, but it was clear who was the source of it.
Agamemnon glanced to the side, and Briseis silently slipped in behind him, to set up a table of supplies. A decent girl - quieter than Chryseis, though nothing much to look at. Chryseis had a figure, and knew how to use it decently in bed. Still, Briseis knew how to be quiet, and better, obedient.
"Brother," Menelaus started.
"You are tired," Agamemnon said, "tending to Odysseus. Go take a break."
Menelaus straightened up. "It wasn't that long. He was injured in the fight, shielding Diomedes. I am not hurt, and -"
He would stand here and attempt to shield Odysseus for the next three hours, if Agamemnon let him. He always did.
"There are others who are also injured," Agamemnon cut in sharply. "Diomedes and Ajax."
Menelaus' beard tightened. "Odysseus was a hero, and he's injured."
"And he has no slaves to tend him, therefore it falls upon you?" Agamemnon snorted at his brother. "What deep kinship he can claim, that a King of Sparta would wait upon him."
"That's not -" Menelaus shook his head. "Odysseus didn't ask -"
"Of course not," Agamemnon said, voice sharp and heavy as the bronze sword he kept buckled on his side. "He accomplished great honour today."
Menelaus stopped. "Oh."
"Indeed, oh," Agamemnon said, and tried not to roll his eyes. It wasn't as if the Commander of the Greek Army would go and personally visit each and every wounded every time there was a skirmish. His presence was hardly something to be defended against.
His brother's overprotectiveness would be the death of them - which of the two brothers, he didn't know.
"Since I am here, I cannot go thank the others for getting injured on your behalf." A reminder that they were all here because of Menelaus' inability to satisfy and keep his wife from scrawny cowards. His words sunk where they intended - Menelaus straightened his clothes, reached for his coat. It was Menelaus' duty to thank the men who had been wounded here all in the aid of retrieving Helen.
He paused in pulling his coat on. "But - Agamemnon - you were injured…"
"Are you afraid I would be wrestling war-wounded heroes? We two wounded can care for ourselves and need no able-bodied warrior to wait upon us."
Menelaus nodded, and though his gaze flicked to the cot in the corner, he finally went, courteously avoiding brushing Briseis and no more than the edge of Agamemnon's clothes.
Agamemnon waited till the tent flap dropped shut behind his brother before he took his chair. Here, it was a perfect angle to watch Odysseus sleep.
At a glance, Briseis left off fussing with the medical supplies, and instead gracefully went over to the cot, picking up the tray there. Two cups and a jug - by how easily she lifted it, the wine had been drunk - and maybe that was why Odysseus was still asleep.
There had never been a moment Agamemnon had managed to catch Odysseus not awake no matter how quiet he was. Perhaps true warriors were just too loud, and only feet softened by the Gods' favour could hide their approach - the reason why Diomedes must have chosen Odysseus for their stealth mission, both blessed by Athena's regard.
There was the soft clink of metal as Briseis carefully took the tray away to another corner, and quieter rustle as she sorted through Menelaus' supplies - finding more of the wine that he'd clearly plied Odysseus with. Agamemnon ignored her to study Odysseus.
Asleep and up-close, Agamemnon could see the actual crimp of his curls - right where it'd been crushed flat from the straps of his helmet over his temple, hardly wind blown. Menelaus had dragged him straight here from the battle-field, probably, and not waited to at least stand around in the seabreeze to dry off - otherwise that stink of sweat soaked leather and used bronze wouldn't be quite so strong.
Honestly, his brother. Though Agamemnon could understand the appeal, a little. While asleep, Odysseus was remarkably still, half curled onto one side, one of his arms half draped across his chest. With the warm firelight, the curls of his hair and beard did soften the sharp lines of his face, and he looked younger.
Agamemnon tilted his head - the shadows playing across his face gave a little bit of life to him - but with his eyes closed …
Vulnerability was boring, Agamemnon thought. Still-ness didn't sit right on Odysseus - he was always restless, always watchful. Now he was just vulnerable, open and ready for anything and anyone to reach out and --
"My Lord," Briseis said quietly from his elbow. Agamemnon looked down, and took the cup from her proffered tray. Was it this one that Menelaus had given to Odysseus, inadvertently putting him to sleep? Or was it Menelaus' cup, his brother sipping and droning at Odysseus until Odysseus fell asleep out of sheer boredom?
He took a sip - it was the good wine that he'd given to his brother, and Briseis had thoughtfully watered it down a little, seeing that he was injured too. "Mm." and then put it back down on the tray with a metallic clink.
Menelaus probably forgot to water the wine down for Odysseus - he hadn't even twitched at the sound.
Agamemnon shifted, leaned forward and poked at the hand closest to him.
Nothing.
Odysseus continued to breathe, slow and even and dead to the world.
Odd - because Odysseus' hands were still, yes, a lot of the time - but they were expressive. He'd hold them still for Emphasis, and his movement was all intentional. Limp like this was… strangely off-putting.
Agamemnon clicked his tongue in distaste, and reached over to his wine again, and then dipped two fingers in, and flicked it at Odysseus' face.
His face twitched, as one of the drops hit his eyelashes, and hung there. The other splattered on the peak of his cheekbone, and inched down to trail over the curve of his cheek under his eye, and then to the sharp sweep of his nose before slowly rolling off to get lost in the soft wool fur that lined the cot under his cheek.
"Are you awake, Laertiades," Agamemnon murmured, watching closely, intrigued by the way the wine drops had left a line of moisture on his face. It glistened in the firelight like the gild of silver on Menelaus' cup, like a trail of tears.
The last time he'd seen tears on Odysseus' face, was just before he'd sent him to go retrieve Achilles.
Then, they had been just as few, as the wine now clinging like a dark gemstone to his eyelashes - but his eyes had been dark, narrowed with resentment, and the tears had highlighted over his cheeks darkened with humiliation.
Now he was slack in sleep, and Agamemnon couldn't see those eyes shift and take in everything - couldn't see that sharp, brilliant mind flit through whatever it was he wanted to say.
Honestly, this was quite uninteresting. Watching anyone sleep was like watching paint on a newly painted ship-hull dry - dull, unchanging. Watching Odysseus struggle to ignore his tears, his anger, and swallow his humiliation as he mouthed just the correct words to appease his… 'erastes' that Agamemnon had appointed was more interesting.
Significantly, vastly, more entertaining.
Then, he could hear the breaths, punched out of Odysseus' mouth around his almost-smooth words, the redness of his lips no longer hidden behind his beard, his cheeks completely bare, and the tears and sweat could bead over his smooth chin and drip down at Agamemnon's feet.
Then, then, that was more entertaining. Agamemnon had not taken an eromenos after his wedding night, but Odysseus made him see the appeal then. After, Odysseus had been wonderfully obedient - never trying to contradict him in meetings again, never trying to defy him.
And no, he hadn't been broken - that submission was not a dead, quiet thing, no.
The lovely thing about having the obedience of clever men was how aware they were of power - Odysseus was always aware of where Agamemnon was - he could Always feel him watching him, even in the middle of a meeting, his large tent packed with all the Achaen kings that Agamemnon had been able to summon. Even though he'd never managed to catch Odysseus looking warily at him - Odysseus always was smiling with perfect situational politeness, or respectfully attentiveness, when Agamemnon looked at him, Agamemnon could feel that wariness like a deer delicately stepping through a forest, large ears swivelling carefully to catch the hints of a wolf.
Agamemnon had never seen that wariness grow from his normal gaze, from one of those polite , clever masks.
If he woke him up, now, Agamemnon realised that he was merely an arm's length away from Odysseus - he could get to see soft sleep shed from Odysseus' eyes, soft and befuddled. He would get to see that wariness.
How would it look, on Odysseus' face, this close?
Agamemnon leaned forward, now interested in studying the planes and lines of Odysseus' face.
Smooth and slack in sleep - this close, would his eyes crease in suspicion, or widen in fear? Agamemnon would be able to see the way his lips would part - at such a short distance, his now-full beard would be no defense, no matter how thick and luxuriant Odysseus kept it.
Getting to see that shift, that growing wariness, and then maybe the sliding of bland politeness over his features?
Not even the best wine Agamemnon had in his own tent could heat him as much as this thought did.
"Briseis. The knife."
Briseis didn't move. "My Lord?"
Agamemnon sighed. That was the problem with war-spoils. They hadn't been with him long enough to learn his train of thoughts, to anticipate his needs. Unlike Achilles, Agamemnon wasn't the kind to bluster and scream his reasons all over his end of the camp - and Briseis was probably used to blunt commands.
Odysseus, if he ever was a spoils of war, would have learned the needs of his master in less than a day. The shadow of the sundial would likely not even shift a quarter-hour before he'd learned everything a master required of him.
Ah, but then, he couldn't expect a girl like Briseis to understand that quickly anyway. Few men could match Odysseus' Goddess-favoured wits, let alone a woman.
"I need to check on his wounds," he said, slowly and clearly, so she would understand. Unlike Chryseis, she was from further inland than coastal Troy, and thus her thick accent meant she was sometimes as hard to understand as her own comprehension of his own commands. It was just as well she didn't talk much in the first place, and if he was clear and slow, she was properly obedient.
Briseis looked up at him - he could see his words drop in her mind like stones in a long, deep hollow well. At least that well wasn't dry and empty - she finally blinked understanding and got up to fetch him the tray of medical supplies she'd laid out earlier.
There was no knife - he'd meant the knife for slicing meat, because it was longer, but the thin pair of shears for sniping strips of fabric would do.
He could use it to flick up the thin wool blanket draped haphazardly over Odysseus' side and hips, leaning in to see where his wound was. He'd been told he'd been stabbed by a spear, but no one had been particularly detailed. Of course, Diomedes would have been clearer - Diomedes knew how to give proper military reports in the exact precise amount of details - but Diomedes had been injured first and retreated from battle before Odysseus' own injury, so Diomedes was recovering on his own ship, while Odysseus was curled up like a rather limp feline guest in Menelaus' tent. And as much as Agamemnon loved his brother as all brothers should, Menelaus was prone to hyperbole, second only to Nestor, weeping at the thought of Helen leaving him, and now probably thinking that the slightest breath would have Odysseus spill all his guts on the floor.
Another flick of his wrist, and he could flip up the bottom of Odysseus' chiton, trying to see where, exactly, Odysseus had been speared.
"If My Lord Agamemnon feels the need to change my dressing, I assure you that he need not bother," Odysseus said, voice only slightly blurred by wine and sleep.
Agamemnon's gaze leapt back to Odysseus' face, and he couldn't help the slight furrow in his own brows at the fact he'd missed Odysseus waking. Now Odysseus was simply gazing at him, his posture as completely loose as moments before, and the only difference from now and before was Odysseus' mild and even gaze.
"I simply am checking," Agamemnon said, and because he had no intention of acting like he'd been caught stealing honeyed dates from a kitchen jar, he turned the shears a little to snag at the seam holding the edge of Odysseus' chiton together down the side.
"It's been bound and checked by My Lord Menelaus," Odysseus said, and oh, that even smooth cadence, with its exquisite politeness, it's as if Odysseus didn't notice that he had a sharp pair of shears right there at Odysseus' vulnerable side. "Is there a reason to doubt his competence at dealing with a simple scratch, my lord?"
Agamemnon resisted the hiss of frustration that wanted to escape his teeth, and instead pressed the flat of the shears against Odysseus' side.
A single eyebrow raised up inquisitively.
"Menelaus has a tendency towards overcaution," Agamemnon said, managing to keep his words even - slower and more measured than Odysseus'. "If he bound your wounds overmuch, it would have no space to breathe and --"
"I wouldn't have thought that was the risk," Odysseus interrupted smoothly, "but of course, My Lord should feel free." His hand shifted, lifting easily and opening himself up even more so that even under the loose folds of the linen, Agamemnon could see the barely present shape of the lean dressing over Odysseus' side, a faint, slight interruption to the normally spare lines of his hip.
Menelaus hadn't had the consideration to indulge his over-wroughtness this time. How irritating.
"Of course," Agamemnon said, and didn't bother to make a show of actually checking his wound - there was no one worth making such a show to here, anyway. Since Odysseus was so eager to spread out his physical vulnerability like a woman spreading her skirt out for what she thought would buy her marriage, Agamemnon was not going to bother taking that eager offering.
Instead he surged forward, bringing the shears close and up, right to the edge of Odysseus' jaw, pressing against his precious beard, now full and luxurious again.
Ah there - Odysseus' eyes tightened - was that fear now? Fear of how close he was, how these blades could now remove his shield as easily as an Ithacan could shear sheep, leave them naked and trembling in the spring winds?
"I could feel free indeed," Agamemnon said, leaning in, eager for the flutter at Odysseus' throat, the parting of his lips, that unvoiced plea to leave his dignity be.
Odysseus could do with a sharp - hah - reminder that it was easy enough to grant, and easier still to take away.
Odysseus exhaled - a sharp little grunt.
"Lord Agamemnon," he said, tightly.
His jaw moving rasped his beard against the blades of the shears - beard hair was thicker and stronger than linen, even coarsely woven, and the sound was loud in the space between their breaths.
"Yes," Agamemnon said.
"Your weight presses against my wound," Odysseus said.
There was a pause.
"Ow," Odysseus added politely.
Agamemnon took a deep breath, and tightened the shears infinitesimally.
"Perhaps that's my liver," Odysseus said thoughtfully, if a little strained. "Might I beg a change in position, Lord Agamemnon?"
"Is that all you have to say," Agamemnon said, searching Odysseus' face for that fear he'd thought he'd seen.
But the lines creasing Odysseus' eyes, the tightness in his jaw, seemed entirely to be from pain, not any other emotion.
Odysseus' whole body seemed lax under him, loose and open. As if men climbed onto him all day, every day; like Agamemnon was simply one of many.
"It would be easier to shave Lord Odysseus if you stood behind him instead, My Lord," Briseis offered in her thickly accented diffidence.
Agamemnon all but snarled as he shoved back - Briseis leaned backwards with all that proper grace a woman who knew her place had, and avoided hitting Agamemnon's elbow with the tray. She stared up at him, limpidly helpful, almost like she was about to offer to explain how to shave someone, like Agamemnon wanted to serve Odysseus in helping groom him.
He flung the shears back onto the tray. It clattered with a metallic clash, but the girl didn't even gasp. She had incredible poise - a girl who knew how to keep her place in a battlefield, quiet and decorative as beautiful furniture, nothing in her head but desire on how to serve her master. She had been dreadfully wasted on Achilles.
"He doesn't need shaving," Agamemnon growled, irritated and irritated that he was so.
"Thank you my lord," Odysseus said, "For having mercy on my liver."
"That's not where livers are," Agamemnon snapped.
"Is it," Odysseus said, looking down at himself, his brow furrowed in artistic curiosity. "Will my Lord show me where it is supposed to be, then?"
"I could show it to you tomorrow when we spar," Diomedes said from the tent flap.
Agamemnon's head jerked around.
"Menelaus. Diomedes."
"Diomedes insisted on seeing for himself whether Odysseus was alive," Menelaus said, coming in, Diomedes ducking under the tent flap after him.
"I am glad to see that he is awake and irritating everyone again," Diomedes said.
"I had been injured in shielding you," Odysseus said, outraged. "I am hardly an irritant!"
He tried to sit up - and Menelaus rushed over to help him.
"Tell him, Menelaus, I am the joy of all hosts, I was the absolute paragon of graciousness!"
"Yes, yes, I enjoyed hosting you," Menelaus said. "You were most entertaining."
"See, Tydides," Odysseus said, managing to slip his feet down off the cot. "I am a joy to host as a guest. Ow. Where are you -"
Diomedes strode in and slung Odysseus' arm over his broad shoulders, and roughly tugged him upright.
Odysseus yowled like a stepped on cat.
"I am expressing my gratitude for your shielding me," Diomedes said, "Kindly refrain from screaming in my ear."
"I'm never shielding you again if this is your thanks," Odysseus swore, sweat beading on his temples. Agamemnon clicked his tongue and scooted backwards from the ungraceful flailing Odysseus was committing. Briseis took the tray and herself even further out of the way to a quieter corner of the tent.
It was ridiculous, Agamemnon thought. Diomedes was limping, but he still managed to haul Odysseus to his feet and drag him out of the tent.
"Diomedes insisted that he had to host Odysseus in thanks," Menelaus said
"Gently! Tydides, I don't want to see my liver today!" Odysseus yelled.
"We can see it tomorrow," Diomedes said faintly.
"Not even tomorrow!"
Agamemnon pressed his fingertips to his temple. Odysseus really could scream, his voice was ringing in his head like an arrow to the skull.
"Tydides may have the joy of him," Agamemnon said.
"For sure," Menelaus agreed. "Do you want to stay for a drink, Brother? You were injured too-"
Agamemnon considered the cup in his hand - the now empty cot.
There was no real urge to stay now, but - Menelaus was holding out a flask now, and well, it would be impolite to refuse.
"Alright, just one," he said, and Briseis smoothly got to her feet to fix them both a drink.
Odysseus was sweating heavily by the time they made it back to the gangplank of Diomedes' ship, but still managing to keep most of his weight from Diomedes' hold.
"Your ship," Odysseus said, "Is so far away."
"Yes," Diomedes said. "It is too far for most of the healers to bother making the trip."
"A disastrous host," Odysseus said, and managed to take several steps onto the gangplank before having to wait, and take several shallow breaths through the pain clearly creasing his brow. "Forcing me to walk so far across the entire camp, simply to throw me onto your isolated ship."
"Next time you are injured, I shall have the ship brought closer to where you are lying and gently transport you with a litter lined with clouds," Diomedes said.
"Wool fleece from first shorn lambs, not clouds. Clouds are fluffy nothing," Odysseus corrected.
"Very well," Diomedes said. Odysseus wasn't going to let him carry him, and Diomedes couldn't just pick him up and fling him across his shoulders this time. "I accede to your authority on all things woolen."
"I am the expert in all things sheep," Odysseus agreed, teeth gritting, and fell silent until they finally got onto the swaying deck.
There, he had to lean on Diomedes, his stance a little unsteady now. Which was darkly funny, considering that Diomedes himself wasn't the most steady at the moment, thanks to that little coward's inability to shoot anywhere convenient.
Diomedes let Odysseus stand there, breathing, waiting for him to give the signal that he was ready to make the move to a cot and lie down, and frowned down at his face.
"Uneven," Diomedes said, fingering one side of Odysseus' beard.
"Next time our Commander wishes to shave me, I shall ask that he use a proper sharp blade instead of silly shears that cut linen," Odysseus said, airly dismissive.
Diomedes frowned. That he was suddenly airy and light, a jarring contrast to his earlier swearing, was odd, because Odysseus never was so obvious. He was hiding something.
The last time Diomedes had seen Odysseus shaved was when they'd both been tasked with digging Achilles out from wherever his divine mother had squirreled him away; stubble only just starting to shadow his jaw.
Odysseus had claimed it was lice then.
"Does he often wish to shave you?" Diomedes asked.
"Who doesn't?" Odysseus said, and cast up a sly glance at Diomedes. "After all, my beard is luxurious and beautiful, it inspires envy in all."
"I see," Diomedes said, and he did.
Agamemnon wouldn't be 'jealous' of someone's beard. Diomedes had heard of how Odysseus had attempted to get out of fulfilling his oath by pretending insanity.
Agamemnon did not like defiance of his authority.
Agame--
"Is that the cot? My liver is attempting to make itself known to the outside world, I insist on lying down now," Odysseus said. "Get me into bed, Diomedes."
"You hardly had a wound close enough to cut near your liver," Diomedes said, starting to move - taking more of Odysseus' weight.
"If you make me spar with you tomorrow, it will be," Odysseus grunted. "And our Patron will be displeased that you aren't helping me keep my insides from the outside."
Diomedes opened his mouth, and then shut it.
He didn't think he had a witty comeback. Athena might be unhappy with him anyway - she had said they were to take care of each other, and he'd thought she meant that they were two mortals on a battlefield full of divine intention.
"Diomedes," Odysseus said, and Diomedes realised he had gotten Odysseus to the cot but had remained there staring.
"It's fine," Odysseus said. And his voice was quiet. "I'll trim my beard and even it out and it will be fine. Nothing happened."
"Not even lice," Diomedes said.
Odysseus' mouth quirked a little. "Not even lice," he said. "Go rest, Dio."
Diomedes inhaled, and reached over to ruffle Odysseus' hair into a messier nest of curls. "Alright. Call if you need me."
Odysseus nodded, and slowly and carefully turned his face onto the side where his beard had been oddly and partially snipped; now it was hidden against the cot.
The next day, Diomedes left a small, sharp blade by the cot, and in the morning Odysseus' beard was neatly trimmed, and they both said nothing more about it.
But after the next meeting, Diomedes felt it imperative to remain behind with Odysseus and contribute his strategy when Agamemnon requested Odysseus stay.
It was for the good of the Greeks, after all. More heads combining to give more effective strategy.
If Diomedes saw the way Agamemnon's eyes narrow, or the way the back of Odysseus' neck loosened just a little, Diomedes didn't think he needed to mention it.
OMAKE
Dio: …. You're clean shaven.
Ody, batting his eyelashes: Yes, do you like it?
Dio: you're going to just… walk around all of Scyros with your face out… like that?
Ody: I'll make the prettiest eromenos don't you think?
Dio: eew.
Ody: i shaved because I found a louse on it - i had to shave it off before it got into my hair
Dio: EW
Ody: and I had to burn my favourite sheepskin rug.
Dio: burn EVERYTHING in your tent!
Ody: I feel like you're not very sympathetic.
Dio: I am very sympathetic. From over here. Far away from you.
Ody: hmph.