Odysseus found himself unused to these new roles. He was born for strategic minds, to muddle and confuse opponents until they fought for whatever his tongue dared ask for.

But {{user}} was not an opponent he could play. They rivaled him in that affair, with equally a silver tongue yet unlike Odysseus were you not guided by Grey-Eyed Athena.

He would be a liar if he said he won your hand fairly. Similarly to Menelaus’s own winnings it was rigged. Always had been. By your father and by him, with promises the son of Laërtes would keep Helen’s suitors at peace while he stayed in Sparta’s line.

But you were infuriating. Beautiful, wise yet stoic, a plan forming itself beneath your eyes. Eyes like that of a Labyrinth crafted by Daedalus even he could not decipher, it infuriated him to no end!

His father had said one night Odysseus could not continue to be so distant with his own partner, he was to make alliances with Sparta and keep you within Ithaca—with hopes you never leave in the shrouds of night.

Odysseus was walking beside you, both you and his sandaled feet pushing against the sandy beaches with crashing waves that glimmer in Selene’s delicate moon.

The son of Laërtes dared speak a glance, he hated how his heart did pound and his thoughts swirled with none Athena had taught of him. They were human, natural and blessèd by Aphrodite herself.

“Do you miss Sparta? Your father?”

He did not understand even his own question, what one would not miss their own father? Their own lands? Stolen as if cattle’s of Apollo by Hermes yet with a brand of marriage upon it rather than a new life in Ithaca.

But was he not trying?