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The palace was running low on wood for the hearths. Diomedes knew this before he even made his way to his bed chambers last night, for the head servant had come up to him and told him as such, and even without their input, everyone could see the dwindling stack of chopped logs in the storages. He told them not to worry about it and deliver the message to the rest of the palace staff. Diomedes quite enjoyed the repetitive nature of such menial yet laborious tasks and sought to do them himself next morning.
They helped clear his mind. Or think more fervently, whichever one his brain decided in the moment.
So Diomedes made a mental note to chop the logs tomorrow morning as he took the winding staircases up to the West Wing of the palace, the one overlooking Ithaca and the sea.
With sandal-laced feet stepping against marble stone, Diomedes had come across a certain torch-lit corridor in the palace, one that he knew if he followed, he would come across a strategically placed guard post assigned for the night shift and eventually his chambers.
But Diomedes was feeling lazy that night, so he made sure no soul was watching him before smoothing calloused hands against the wall’s bricks and grasping the second torch. One up, four to the left, and three down, his mind relayed, voice sounding suspiciously like Odysseus before he found the stone brick that gave under his hand.
At the same time, he pushed the brick and pulled the torch to reveal a secret tunnel in the palace. After ensuring the evidence of the passage was covered and the wall replaced, he made his way down the twisting tunnels, designed to confuse those who even managed to find the entrances, but they were no matter to those who knew their architect.
That night, he entered his bed chambers through an unseen entrance and found Odysseus and Penelope already fitted for bed.
“Well there you are, I was about to go look for you myself Dio.” Odysseus spoke through a signature grin. Much more subdued and haunted than Diomedes remembered in Troy, but a grin all the same.
“Go on and get in bed, Diomedes.” Penelope sleepy implored. And who was Diomedes to deny the Queen?
Soon enough that night, he crawled into the olive tree bed and pulled the covers over his two lovers, resting his chin on Odysseus’s head and draping an arm over the man to rest on Penelope’s back; Diomedes slept soundly under the moonlight, with two of the three people he cherished the most in his arms. The other, just a few doors over, in a chamber fit for a prince.
It was that position that he fell asleep in and in that position he woke up in with the rosy-fingered dawn and the godly archer’s light slowly breaking the sky. Penelope and Odysseus were still sleeping, and Diomedes didn’t seek to wake them, especially not Odysseus.
The strategist sleeping through a long nap was a rarity within itself, much less a full night, so Diomedes carefully extracted himself from the warmth, completely stilling at any stirring Odysseus made.
Eventually, he quietly exited the master chambers and made his way down to the court and palace gardens. It was still early enough in the morning that none of the palace staff was awake, save for the guards that gave him a respectful nod in his passing, one he returned. The only sound that greeted him in the palace gardens was the morning wind and the crunch of sandals against dew-covered grass.
Tying his braids out of the way, Diomedes made his way to the area where an axe was propped up and a multitude of logs were stacked. He hauled and dragged one from the pile to cut down into the needed firewood, and once the log was close enough for easy access from the wooden stump, Diomedes grasped the tool in his hands and got to work.
Turns out today, his brain decided to clear his mind as he got lost in the task. Chopping the log into multiple pieces and hauling those pieces to be cut in half. He raised the well-kept axe high above his head and swung it down to the wood in front of him, splitting it into two and then grabbing another. And another, and another, for a comforting rinse and repeat as his muscles experienced a familiar burn.
Swing, chop, clear the pieces into a pile, grab another, swing, chop, clear the pieces into a pile, grab another, swing, chop- over and over again.
It wasn’t until the sun had long risen in the sky before Diomedes had tuned back into his environment.
“and they were even more glorious when covered in golden armor-”
“Oh I can only imagine, tell me how did crimson look on his skin?”
“Penelope!” Odysseus nearly shrieked in fain incredulity before leaning closer to her to say “absolutely ravishing.”
Penelope and Odysseus both held up a hand to their mouths in vain attempts to stem the giggles they were making.
“Oh and his eyes-”
“How could we forget about his eyes?!” Odysseus cried once again, “Dark like the richest soil of fertile land.”
“Filled with discipline and determination-”
“Strength too-”
“Honor.”
“Nobility.”
“Trustworthiness.”
“Courage.”
“Bravery.”
“Oh, Penelope, how lucky could we possibly be?”
“Blessed by Tyche herself.”
“Truly a gift, an honor to share our bed with,” Odysseus said, voice dripping with sincerity.
They both had been looking straight at him the entire time in the midst of their praise, and Diomedes’s face was flushed with heat.
He was grateful for the task he was performing, less he wouldn’t have had an excuse for the sweat dripping off him. Not that it would matter.
He was an open book they both knew how to read from the very start, an already dissected, analyzed and solved puzzle that they both kept coming back to again and again, with increasing amounts of joy and adoration in their eyes. And now, pinned in between their gazes, he felt cherished and put on top of a pedestal, worth far more than his weight in gold. He felt as though he was something to marvel at, to adore, like the warm hues Apollo paints in the sky before yielding it to his sister.
“Yes, you are quite right my love, a gift.”
“How long have you two been there?” Diomedes asked. He knew his edges had softened in the last eight years he spent in Ithaca, but not so much that he would miss a clear giggling conversation within earshot.
“Ah just long enough for Penelope to turn the conversation from admiring your virtues to openly oogling at your body-”
“Odysseus!!!”
This time, Diomedes joined in on the laughter.
“Well go on then my love, there’s still wood left to be chopped.” Odysseus teasingly bid only to be supported by Penelope as she said,
“Ody’s quite right, best hurry before the staff uses the last of the remaining wood before lunch.”
“Do you care to join me, Odysseus? Work would go by much faster, don’t you think?”
“Oh you are quite right but unfortunately,” Odysseus gestured to his right arm, “my arm is feeling severely sore today, truly sorry but I must stay here with Pen.” he said only to lay on his side on the grass and prop his head up with the very arm he was complaining about, as he shamelessly let his gaze wander.
“Penelope?” She was a Spartan princess before an Ithacan Queen, and there was no doubt in his mind that she could swing an axe.
“Oh, but it would be such a sore to get up from the softness of this grass, don’t you think?” Penelope cheekily replied while was sitting next to Odysseus, on grass Diomedes thought looked more wet than comfortable, but she didn't seem to particularly care.
Diomedes let out an amused huff in response as he raised the axe, yielding to a battle he'd knew he’d already lost.