❛ to sparta, ❜ he says, more than willing enough to cheer for this land that housed them now, this land of seemingly limitless generosity. ( yet, theseus knows, only because they are making profit aplenty through other means. a drunk man, after all, is a reckless man with money—an occurrence that, no doubt, tyndareus would greatly welcome. ere this contest is done, he would have them all be bled dry. ) ❛ but pray tell — the opportunity for me is easily enough deduced, odysseus, ❜ he remarks, before he pauses ever so slightly, taking a casual sip as if they had all the time in the world. ❛ some would call my presence expected even, albeit perhaps… hm, deliberately provocative. ❜ here he slips in a tone of self-aggrandisement, a deliberate decision, if only to soften the oncoming question that might prove too direct, as if by covering an interrogation in honeyed words, he could make his intent unclear. ❛ but you, my friend, ❜ he says, touching upon the crux of the matter at last, ❛ what opportunity does this gathering offer you ? would you try for helen’s hand yourself or are you here simply as agamemnon’s adviser ? ❜ he cloaks the words in tones that would not be out of place with a man seeking to identify competition; but theseus cares not for competition—especially when he is brimming with self-confidence—and cares more for odysseus’ purpose in the gathering.
in any case, with the questioning over and done with, he turns his attention towards the own question posed to him instead—and in pondering, he cannot help but crack a smile, either out of fondness or mere habit or maybe even both at the same time. ❛ helen is… helen, ❜ he says, and there truly is nothing more that can be said about the matter. helen is a being of her own creation, a force all by herself; with the promise of her hand in marriage, a thousand ships have sailed across the waters to dock at sparta, bedecked by sailors and princes and kings all murmuring her name on their lips.
it is only when replaying the other male’s words that theseus realises — they were talking about sparta, were they not ? ❛ if you meant to ask me about how the city has changed, however, ❜ he says, voice remaining neutral, as if his assumption did not just betray a part of himself, ❛ then sparta has both changed very much and not at all. ❜ he takes a sip of his glass, almost disapprovingly, if one can drink disapprovingly. ❛ the addition of all these people won’t change the immutable characteristic of sparta. if there’s anything that my travels have taught me, it’s that people come and go, but cities always stay the same. ❜
Odysseus lets out a hearty laugh at the notion that he might be in Sparta seeking Helen’s hand - only partially to dodge the question of what his real purposes in Sparta are, it is genuinely funny, the notion of him participating in Tyndareus’ ridiculous competition for the sake of a woman he only knows through the tales of her cousin - and leans back in his chair. “No,” he says with a slight shake of his head, voice still carrying the echo of laughter. “You won’t be finding a competitor in me. I’ll leave that particular ordeal to finer men.”
He takes a sip of his drink, casual, appraising. It’s easy enough to say why he isn’t in Sparta - what interest does he have in golden women and the attention of every enterprising sailor, solider, and king in Ilia? - explaining why he is will be a slightly more delicate manner. “I’m here because King Agamemnon wants me here,” he continues, slightly irreverent. Things have never been that simple between he and Agamemnon, and there’s no doubt that Theseus knows it - more clever than he lets off, that man is - but Odysseus isn’t trying particularly hard to be convincing, Theseus wouldn’t believe him anyway.
“That’s my story, anyway,” he says, and pauses to sip his drink. “I’ll do what I can to help Menelaus secure Princess Helen as his bride - may the best man win - but I’ve got my own reasons for coming along.” He thinks of Penelope, of soft smiles and long late night walks, and he thinks of the webs of alliance weaved, the chaos bound to come. He wonders which dominates his smile, the slyness or the softness. No matter. He’ll let Theseus make what he will of it. “But that, my friend, will all come to light in due time.” His tone is friendly, bordering on warm, but eyes dart around the room. Not here, he says without speaking, too many prying eyes, though he’s not sure how much he’d give away in private either.
Something tells him that things to come will prove Theseus wrong - it may be harder to change a city than a person - but he looks at the world and he finds it in flux. Cities rise and fall, in the end, just as mortals do. Still, he smiles at the notion, acknowledges it with a nod. He knows precious little reliable about Helen herself, her name haunted with countless tales of beauty and renown, each more fantastic than the last. Penelope speaks fondly of her, and for that alone he’s inclined to think well of her as well, there are few whose judgement he trusts so completely. Theseus reveals precious little, both about Helen and the city she is Princess of, immutable, he calls them both. ‘Helen is Helen.’
“What must she make of all this?” Odysseus wonders aloud, almost to himself, but only almost. He drops the pretense of asking about the city, Theseus had spoken her name first, after all. He does not envy anyone caught up in the contest, Helen least of all, her fate turned to a mere prize to be fought over in these contests. Fathers making suitors participate in some trial or another to earn a daughter’s hand is hardly unheard of, but Tyndareus takes it to an entirely new level. It’s as impressive as it is distasteful.
