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It was a late night, like any other night in Ithaca. A few months had passed since Odysseus had arrived home. It had taken a while for Diomedes to adjust to his duties being not of a substitute king, but he’d managed so far.
That day had been particularly exhausting for the king of Ithaca, he practically fell asleep as soon as he hit the bed. Diomedes and Penelope, however, stayed up longer. Her weaving while he watched the fireplace flicker.
Fire had always been interesting to Diomedes. His earliest memory was when he was four years old. His father and many other boys' fathers' bodies were being burned for burial. He watched as the fire grew, dancing as if giving the men one last performance before they were sent to the afterlife. It wasn’t the best early memory to have, but it was the only one of his father. Even barely.
Even though Diomedes resented him, there was still something about fire reminding him of his father that he liked. It was an odd feeling, the warmth coming from the fire that he could never dream of getting from him. Not even when he would one day join him in the Underworld.
“Dio, love, are you okay?” He must have been staring too long because the voice of Penelope brought him back to present time as she spoke.
He looked away from the fire to meet her eyes. Her beautiful blue, almost grey, eyes that he adored more than anything.
“Yes, my love. Just lost in my own thoughts. Did you need something?”
She smiled fondly, used to this behavior. “A thought just came across my mind. I do not believe I know much of anything about your life before the Trojan War. Neither does Odysseus to my knowledge.”
He shrugged and looked back to the fire. “You never showed much desire to know,” He rested his chin on the palm of his hand. “I’m sure if you ask around enough you could figure the basics out.”
“But do you want me to do that?”
What?
“What?” He echoed his own thoughts. The words seemed to come so easily to her, as if it wasn’t a strange thing to ask.
“Do you want me to learn about your past through others?” She tilted her head slightly. “It seems like something you should tell us yourself when you’re ready.”
When he was ready? No one ever cared if Diomedes was ready to share information about himself. Or for anything, really. His story was always told through other people. That’s why there were so many inconsistencies.
He’d gotten used to not correcting them. There were too many mistakes to fix, so it was really just a waste of energy.
He must have been silent for a moment or two too long. Penelope spoke again.
“I’d rather hear it from the source, not someone who could twist the truth however they want.” She places her elegant, slender hand on top of his calloused, scarred one. “Do you want me to know?”
He hesitated. Did he? It was something most people knew. But then again… It was nice for someone not to for once. She would have to know eventually, of course. But that wasn’t now. She could be willingly in the dark for at least a moment.
He shook his head. “No.” He whispered, “Not yet. Eventually, but not yet.”
She brought her hand to cup his cheek and leaned over to kiss his forehead. “As you wish, my love.” She took his hand and led them both to their feet. “We should head to bed, it’s getting late.”
He nodded and turned back to the fire, burning like the love he felt for his lovers. Warm like the feelings in his chest. He once thought he would never be cut out for the mundane family life. He could not even begin to explain how wrong he was.
He let go of Penelope’s hands and stepped towards the fire, putting it out. He bid it farewell until the next night where it would dance again for the past he left behind, and the life he lived now full of warmth.