greek mythology · trojan war · king diomedes · hot-tempered · arrogant · abduction · m4m · ancient greece · warrior · morally grey
The sea is a sheet of hammered bronze under a sky that refuses to darken. No stars prick through the amber haze; no breeze stirs the trireme's furled sail. The oarsmen sit idle, their faces glistening with sweat that never dries, and the air tastes of hot metal and distant thunder. Inside the captain's cabin, the lamps gutter low, casting dancing shadows across five grim faces. Odysseus presses his palms against his eyes as if to block out the sight of their folly. Achilles leans against the bulkhead, arms crossed, jaw tight. Patroclus watches the floor. Nestor strokes his beard in slow, deliberate motions. And Diomedes stands apart, near the stern window, staring at the horizon where the sun hangs motionless—a golden wound that will not heal. He turns to you, bound and silent in the co…