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“Tydides.”
Diomedes whips around towards the source of the voice before he can process who it was, and finds his sword level with the Goddess of Wisdom's throat.
He stares blankly at her, still breathing heavily from having been in the middle of training.
She raises a brow at him and uses one finger to push the blade down, her other hand folded behind her back.
She's not wearing her helmet, he notes. This is odd because she has never appeared to him without her helmet on, and certainly not while he's training.
He finally realizes he’s still got his sword out and quickly sheaths it, standing up straighter before bowing at her.
“My lady,” he greets, “Apologies. I didn't recognize you at first.”
Lady Athena stands silently above him, and he can vaguely see it as she, too, straightens up. Then one pointed nail presses against his chin, prompting him to raise his head to look at her, and she frowns down at him for a moment.
Her grey eyes narrow, scanning his face, before she reaches up with her thumb to scrub at his cheek.
What the fuck, he thinks, what is going on.
He swears he sees a flash of amusement in those flat eyes, before she steps back and nods at him in an indication for him to rise.
He obeys, barely stopping himself from uncomfortably shuffling his feet. Despite his best efforts, his hands open and close repeatedly at his sides, which he knows his Goddess notices, and he knows she's going to tell him to stop, because she never approves of these involuntary shows of discomfort, however small.
“I have someone I want you to meet,” she says instead, her oddly accented voice carrying on the breeze like an owl's call, and Diomedes freezes up.
The amusement is definitely in her eyes now. She has never been amused.
He blinks up at her. She tilts her head down at him, before pulling a cloth from nowhere and tossing it at his head. He catches it, because of course he does, he's not so distracted he can't catch a simple cloth, and glances down at it before returning his eyes to his Goddess.
Something is off about her. He doesn't know how to describe it, but something is wrong here.
She isn't wearing her helmet, and only has the basics of her armour on. Her spear and aegis are nowhere to be seen, nor any other weapons that she occasionally demands he train with.
“My lady?” he says, questioning. She sighs and points at the cloth in his hands.
“He cares greatly for appearances. Wipe yourself off, you're covered in sweat and dirt,” she orders, and within a blink, he can feel her presence at her back as she picks at his braids with careful fingers.
However out of character this is, he's in no position to deny a command from a Goddess, and so he starts to wipe the sweat from his face and neck as she continues to poke at his hair.
When he spots a leaf getting tossed aside and feels a few hairs get tugged back into place, he realizes that she is, for lack of a better term, preening him.
She must really want him to make a good impression.
“If I may ask,” he begins, scrubbing dirt from his arms, “Who am I meeting?”
Lady Athena does not answer right away, which comes as no surprise. She doesn't always entertain his questions, especially if they aren't battle related, so when she doesn't respond after long enough, he assumes she won't answer at all.
“Another of my favoured.”
Diomedes blinks, turning slightly, but she grabs either side of his head to force him to look straight ahead again and returns to preening.
He assumes that, if she deems it important enough, she’ll continue, and goes back to tidying himself up.
“He has… quite a reputation, outside of his kingdom,” the Goddess says, after another too-long silence, “I do not want you to think of him as nothing more than that, however. The man he is with his people and the man he is with everyone else are very different, but they are both the same soul.”
He isn't completely sure he understands, which she seems to recognize, as her tugging on his braids grows a bit sharper and his quiet hiss of pain is ignored.
“He is not just a head without a heart, as his reputation may have you believe. He cares for his family and his people more than anything else. More than glory or honour, money or land, more than…”
A pause.
Hesitance, from the Goddess of Wisdom.
“More than himself,” she whispers, and Diomedes must be imagining the sadness in her voice at that.
Because she’s a God. An Olympian. Daughter of Zeus. Goddess of Wisdom and War. She’s Athena.
And she does not get so attached to mortals that she would sound sad when declaring one doesn't care for his life.
“I will keep that in mind when we meet,” he says, nodding, and she clicks angrily at him as she pulls his head back into place. He smiles slightly at the nonverbal scolding, finally getting the last of the dirt off his arms.
He stands still while his Goddess tugs and pokes and preens his hair, allowing her to fuss over him, regardless of how strange it feels.
Not even just because she's a Goddess, but also because he doesn't really… get fussed over like this.
Sthenelus gets antsy whenever he gets hurt, yes, but when it comes to appearances it's typically Diomedes that has to wash his hair and fix his clothes and get all dressed up so that visiting royalty won't be offended.
Yes, Argos has servants that could do it for him, or at least aid him, but they’d learned a few things about Diomedes very quickly once the shaky peace settled.
One of those things was that nobody was to touch him from behind.
That lesson was taught with a severed head and a day of Sthenelus trying to calm Diomedes down.
So, he hasn't exactly had anyone fix his hair for him in a long time.
He winces as Lady Athena pulls on his hair, but lets her gather the braids from the sides of his head and tie them up into a ponytail. Only two are spared, one on either side of his face, and she circles around in front of him to adjust those two for a few seconds before she backs off.
He stands still as the Goddesses eyes scan over his body, then as she summons his chlamys into her hands and reaches forward to settle it around his shoulders and pin it in place with that bronze owl pin she'd gifted him forever ago.
Then, she finally seems satisfied — or, at least, satisfied enough that she isn't going to put off the introductions any longer, because her hands keep twitching towards him and he can see her eyes return to a few spots several times over.
“Where is he right now?” Diomedes asks, hoping to distract her before she can fuss any more, and it seems to work as her eyes widen for a moment.
Her ears — long and pointed and a little bit unnervingly dexterous — twitch and tilt until she pauses at a specific spot, the direction of which she turns to look in.
She nods firmly, then motions for him to follow and starts forwards with long, confident strides.
Unlike her, however, he's hindered by the bushes and trees of the forest they're in, some of which he'd been cutting at before she got there. As they move further, though, he finds himself struggling to not get his chlamys caught in anything.
As they walk, he tries to think of who he might be meeting, but he keeps having to focus instead on his surroundings, and so by the time he enters a small clearing, he hasn't made a single guess.
Lady Athena comes to a stop in what appears to be a completely empty clearing, the only notable feature the slightly larger than average tree that’s a bit further separated from its neighbours.
His Goddess reaches back to put a hand on his shoulder and tug him forward, only giving him a reassuring pat and a nod towards the tree when he looks at her questioningly.
He sighs, stepping closer to the tree and walking around it. Nobody is on the other side.
He frowns.
Something hits him in the forehead. He blinks a few times, before looking down at a small wood shaving on the ground in front of his feet.
Another hits him and goes tumbling down right beside the other.
…What.
When the third shaving smacks into his head, he finally processes that the items are coming from above him and looks up.
His eyes widen and all the air leaves him when he spots the man in the tree.
Fuck, he thinks to himself, because he really can't come up with any other words for a moment, any knowledge that his Goddess had hammered into him fleeing in an instant.
“Hello there. I must assume you're Athena's warrior, ay?” the man says, and his voice is thickly accented, a mix of an accent he doesn't recognize and the distinct tilts of divinity.
He feels like Lady Athena cannot make another god one of her favoured, but that's the only explanation here.
“Hi,” he responds dumbly, “Yeah. Yeah, uh, I am.”
The man snickers at him, smirking and hopping down from the branches with a small flourish. Diomedes stands still, like an idiot, and watches the flex of his legs when he lands with a little too much intent.
He’s short, Diomedes has to look down at him, but despite that he feels powerful. He carries himself with the weight and power of a king and a God. His hair is curly and dark and long, and frames his face beautifully, and his beard is carefully trimmed, and his skin is coolly olive toned.
Mismatched eyes meet his. One is the warm brown of sun tanned leather, and when the light hits just right it looks almost amber. The other is the same grey as Lady Athenas, with the same pupil that dilates just a bit too much to be human.
“I thought Lady Athena was a virgin Goddess,” he blurts out before he can stop himself, and slaps both hands over his mouth as the man bursts out laughing.
It's a wonderful sound, and Diomedes can't help but be proud that he’d gotten it out of him.
“I’m flattered,” the man says, “but she is. By blood, the only relation she has to me is great grandaunt.”
The only thing that Diomedes can think is that there's no way the only divinity in his line is that far back.
When a hand is extended towards him, he spends a moment too long staring at it before he finally grabs and shakes it.
Luckily, the other only seems amused, and steps back slightly to give him a shallow bow.
“Odysseus,” he introduces himself, and now he knows why Athena had told him not to blindly trust his reputation, because Odysseus was most often spoken of as a distrustful, lying, heartless man. One who would say and do anything to get what he wants. Skilled at diplomacy, capable of talking anyone in circles, always so far ahead of anyone else in the room that it was difficult to understand him sometimes.
“Diomedes,” he responds, and he watches as Odysseus narrows his eyes just slightly, scanning his face, tracing his jaw and nose, and he straightens up nervously.
After a few seconds the other man returns to the calm, half-lidded gaze he’d had before, and reaches into the folds of his chlamys — a smooth, well made, black wool fabric, and Diomedes feels like he’s heard something about Ithaca and their wool — to retrieve…
A small wooden owl. It’s well carved and incredibly detailed, at rest and standing on a branch that molds into the flat stand beneath it.
Odysseus holds it out to him with a small, slightly unnerving smile on his face, and his words are smooth and sweet and maybe the rumour that he’s a siren have some ground, actually, “It's a pleasure to meet you, Diomedes. I’ve heard of you some, though I’ve never been one for war myself. Far too much blood, ay?”
Diomedes nods, like an idiot, and hesitantly reaches towards the owl carving. Odysseus shoves it into his hand, the smile shifting to something slightly more genuine, more amused.
Gods above. Aphrodite help him.
Athena is the Goddess that appears at their side instead, and when she stands beside the Ithacan King, Diomedes can see the differences between the two, but also the similarities.
The same calculating gaze, the same long, thin fingers, the same lean strength to them, the same olive toned skin.
But Odysseus is slightly tanner, freckles coating his cheeks. His shoulders are broad, his build that of an archer and a sailor. His nails are short and blunt, fingertips and palms calloused.
His eyes are more… captivating.
“It's, uh, a pleasure to meet you too,” he mumbles after much too long, and he watches Lady Athena sigh before he’s dragged into a place he’s only been a few times before — quick thought, she’d said, but hadn't explained any further.
“Diomedes.” She sounds exasperated, pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes, “Please stop looking at my Champion like that. He’s a man who is highly dedicated to his wife, and I really don't need you…”
She motions vaguely at him with one hand. He blinks up at her.
“He’s married? …I’ve got no chance at all?” he asks, unable to fully hide the sadness in his words, and Lady Athena stares flatly at him.
“Yes,” she answers, before pausing and sighing again, muttering something under her breath and making a vague motion with one hand.
Quick thought is gone between one blink and the next, Odysseus now a part of the conversation again, head tilted curiously at Athena, though his eyes dart to Diomedes for a moment. The Goddess meets Odysseus’ gaze and points at Diomedes, frowning.
“Tell him,” she demands, “Tell him about how dedicated you are to your wife.”
A dumb smile overtakes Odysseus’ expression for a moment, before he blinks a couple times, and that smile instead turns to a mischievous grin and he looks over at Diomedes.
“Any courting attempts on me have to go through my wife first,” he says, and it's the first time Diomedes has ever seen Lady Athena look anything more than slightly annoyed, “If she doesn't approve, I’m not going against her word, but if you can get her blessing…”
Athena's eye twitches. Odysseus looks incredibly proud of himself. Diomedes knows what he has to do.
“What's her name?” he asks, and Odysseus’ proud grin grows while the Goddess looks increasingly appalled and enraged.
“Penelope, Queen of Ithaca,” the shorter man responds, and Diomedes nods firmly.
He knows what he has to do.
“Please,” Athena mumbles, “Please, Father, don't allow my two best warriors to do this. I cannot handle it.”
Odysseus’ smirk is far too satisfied as he pivots to the left and strides away without another word.