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Guys who do we think would had been a better leader for the greeks??
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Odysseus of Ithaca
Diomedes of Argos
Achilles of Phtia
Patroclus of Opus
Meneleus of Sparta
Agamemmon was already a good leader ( w h a t )
Nestor of idk
THE TASTE OF HOME
(Meneleus x Odysseus)
written by: Han Espiritu
Disclaimer: requested by @lordx-cycles
---
The palace of Menelaus in Sparta had always felt too large, too bright, too polished. The marble gleamed as though scrubbed by gods themselves, the courtyards breathed with roses and fountains. But tonight, it was loud—louder than it had been in years.
Messengers had brought word in advance, and Helen had smiled knowingly, arranging the feast. She claimed it was for her husband’s honor, but everyone in the palace knew who the celebration was for.
The moment Odysseus stepped through the threshold, Menelaus’s heart nearly toppled out of his chest.
“By the gods—look who’s finally remembered where Sparta is!” Menelaus’s voice cracked with laughter, but his hand shook as he gripped the arm of his throne and rose.
Odysseus smirked, carrying the weariness of ten thousand storms in the curve of his mouth. His hair had gone more silver than Menelaus remembered, his skin darkened by endless sun and salt. Yet his eyes—sharp, clever, teasing—were the same as they had been when they had whispered schemes in the dust outside Troy’s walls.
“Don’t tell me you missed me, Menelaus,” Odysseus said, dropping his cloak and spreading his arms. “I’d hate to think the great King of Sparta spent nights pining.”
“You arrogant bastard,” Menelaus muttered, but the words trembled. He took the steps two at a time and threw his arms around him.
The hall erupted in cheers, yet all Menelaus heard was the thunder of Odysseus’s heart against his chest. For a long moment, he didn’t let go.
---
Later, when the feast dwindled and Helen had gracefully excused herself to give them space, the two men sat together at the balcony, the Spartan night air warm and fragrant with jasmine.
Menelaus leaned back, half-drunk on wine and relief. “You’re thinner,” he muttered, nudging Odysseus’s shoulder with his own. “Didn’t Ithaca feed you after all that trouble getting home?”
Odysseus chuckled, swirling his cup. “I’ve had enough to eat. Just… too many years of gnawing on seaweed and despair, I suppose.” He smirked sideways. “Besides, you’re one to talk. Look at you—all golden and polished. Did you marry a goddess or something?”
Menelaus gave a sharp laugh. “Don’t start with that. You’ve seen Helen enough to know she’d take that as truth.”
“Isn’t it?” Odysseus teased, then softened, letting his gaze linger. “But truly… it feels strange, seeing you whole. I think part of me expected you’d vanish, too. Like Agamemnon, like Achilles. Like so many of us.”
Menelaus’s smile faltered. He rested his hand over Odysseus’s, heavy and warm. “Don’t. Don’t you dare put yourself in that list. I waited too long for this, for you. I’m not letting the thought of your ghost rob me tonight.”
Odysseus blinked at the sudden gravity of his words. For a moment, silence stretched between them, filled only by the chorus of cicadas.
“You really did miss me, huh?” Odysseus’s voice was softer now, tinged with something Menelaus couldn’t quite name.
Menelaus squeezed his hand. “Like a limb torn off. Like air I forgot I needed.”
Odysseus tried to deflect with a grin, but it wavered, turning fragile. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the stars. “Do you know how many nights I thought of this?”
“This?”
“This. Sitting with you again. Laughing like we didn’t drown in blood. Pretending we were just… men.” He glanced sideways, eyes shadowed. “It was easier than remembering the things I’d lost. Easier than remembering I might never see you again.”
Menelaus’s throat closed. He reached out without thinking, dragging Odysseus back until their shoulders pressed again.
“Then don’t pretend,” Menelaus whispered. “We are just men tonight. No kings, no wars, no ghosts. Just you and me.”
---
Hours passed. The torches burned low, their laughter rose and fell like tide against stone. They traded stories—Odysseus about the Cyclops, the Sirens, the endless tempests; Menelaus about his wanderings across Egypt, about gods appearing in disguises, about missing companionship even in the company of a queen.
“Gods,” Odysseus groaned, pressing a hand to his face. “I can’t believe you still remember the Cyclops story. Don’t tell me you’ve been mocking me to your soldiers all these years.”
“Mocking? I glorified you!” Menelaus shot back, grinning. “Every feast, I’d recount how clever Odysseus was, how he blinded a giant with nothing but wine and wit.”
“Don’t forget the sharpened stake,” Odysseus muttered.
“Oh, I don’t. I may have exaggerated its size a little.”
Odysseus barked a laugh that made Menelaus’s chest ache with fondness.
When the mirth quieted, Odysseus looked at him, lingering in a way that stretched beyond friendship. “You make it sound like you carried me with you,” he said softly.
“I did.” Menelaus didn’t look away. “Everywhere.”
The words hung between them, heavier than any spear.
Odysseus’s lips parted, then curved into the smallest smile. “Careful, Menelaus. That almost sounded like poetry.”
Menelaus snorted, trying to mask the sudden warmth crawling up his neck. “If it is, it’s your fault. You always did have a way of dragging poetry out of men who swore they had none.”
Odysseus tilted his head, studying him. “And what will you do with me now that I’m here? Keep me? Or send me back to my queen before dawn?”
The teasing tone couldn’t hide the tremor beneath.
Menelaus set his cup down, turning fully to face him. “If I could keep you here, Odysseus, I would. You know that.”
Odysseus stilled, lips parting just slightly, his eyes flickering between Menelaus’s face and the space between them.
The silence was taut, fragile, brimming with things neither had dared to say in twenty years.
And then—Odysseus laughed, soft, almost broken. He leaned his head against Menelaus’s shoulder, his voice a murmur. “Then at least let me stay the night.”
Menelaus froze, then let out a shaky breath, pressing his cheek into Odysseus’s hair. “Stay as long as you want.”
But Odysseus didn’t stop there. Slowly, almost nervously, he lifted his head again, close enough now that Menelaus could see the lines etched into his face by grief, by storms, by time. Close enough to feel the warmth of his breath.
“Menelaus,” Odysseus whispered, the name trembling like a secret.
Menelaus cupped his jaw without thinking, thumb brushing against his beard. “Gods, I thought I’d lost you forever.”
And before doubt could creep in, before reason could claw it back, Menelaus closed the space between them and kissed him.
It was not the kiss of kings, nor of warriors, but of two men who had carried each other in silence for decades. Salt and wine, longing and relief, the taste of home found at last.
Odysseus made a sound—half gasp, half laugh—before his hand slid to Menelaus’s neck, pulling him closer, answering him with a fierceness that felt like coming back from the dead.
When they finally parted, breathless and wide-eyed, Odysseus rested his forehead against his. “Took you long enough,” he whispered, lips curving into a shaky grin.
Menelaus huffed a laugh, his thumb still stroking his cheek. “You always were the patient one.”
“Patient?” Odysseus chuckled, then kissed him again, quick and sure, as if sealing the promise. “I’ve been cursing the gods every night for making me wait this long.”
Menelaus laughed into the kiss, joy spilling from his chest like wine from an overturned cup. And when the dawn finally broke, painting them both in gold, it was not Sparta that felt like home, nor Ithaca.
It was this.
It was him.
---
⚠️ Plagiarism Warning:
This work is original and written by HAN ESPIRITU. Do not copy, repost, or translate without permission. Plagiarizing or claiming this story as your own is strictly prohibited and will be reported.
Who really started the Trojan War?
Eris
Zeus
Paris
Aphrodite
Athena
Hera
Helen
Meneleus
Agamemnon
Other (let me know in the comments)
I’d also like to point out that in the story Helen is the only one to feel any guilt or blame regarding the war. She feels absolutely terrible that there’s a huge war being fought over her. No one else feels any guilt whatsoever.
Menelaus: I have a bad feeling about this... Achilles: What do you mean? Menelaus: Don't you ever get that little voice in your head that tells you if you're going to get into trouble? Achilles: No? Odysseus: That actually explains so much.
