"Ha. I wonder."

He drains the goblet in one hearty draught, settling it on the floor. 

"What did you expect me to do?"

“I know not. Only that – you fought Lord Menelaus for it so fiercely, and you spoke so passionately about your right to the woman. I suppose it seems… discordant, that you are to discard her so easily after the effort you poured into taking her.” He gestures to Aetos’ present state.

He laughs loud and long at that. 

"I did not do it for her sake! Truth be told, if Menelaus had asked I might have let him have her, if he truly desired her so, or accepted some small treasure from him in trade. I only fought so as not to be seen to back down, or allow him to press a claim by bravado alone - and because I enjoyed the thought of teaching him respect by force."

He stares. “You fought nearly to the death to satisfy your spite.”

"What? No. I fought nearly to the death for the sake of honour, of glory. I do not care for Menelaus's feelings at all, be they good or ill; I only care that he not be allowed to claim what rightly belongs to other men by boldness alone."

“Is that what motivates you, then?” He puzzles aloud. “What keeps you fighting, through our long years in this place?”

"In part it is the oath I swore before the gods, to defend Helen and fight with Menelaus to retrieve her - an oath sworn too hastily, in truth. In part - yes, I shall have the glory of battle and victory here."

Ophellios frowns, only somewhat comprehending. “Do you not have anything… truly worth fighting for? In your heart?”

He stares uncomprehending. "Is not glory worth fighting for? The immortal gods will go on forever; we will die, and only our names live on, if we make them great enough."

Ophellios shakes his head. “No. That is not what I meant. Menelaus, he fights for his beloved Helen. Paris fights for her also. Lord Agamemnon, the honour of his dear brother; Lord Ambrosios, to see his wife and son again. As for myself… first it was my family. I fought to protect my father, and to return us both safe to my mother and siblings. But now my father is dead.” 

He goes still, cold almost as marble for a moment.

“So now I fight to avenge him. And to make sure that my family receive the news of his loss well, and that they not lose us both to this war. And now, as the gods have decreed, I fight to return to my throne.” 

He shrugs. "Perhaps Agamemnon does fight for his brother's honour - if so, well, I fight for mine. I will not be forsworn, nor called a coward."

He pauses to cough. 

"I do desire to see my wife and children again, but they are strong, and well protected. They will thrive with or without me. And so for this time my business is war. Is this not a purpose?"

“You are married?”

"Indeed. She is a good, strong woman of the Cretan race. We have three children."

“You have three children?”

"Of course. The eldest, my son, would be nine now, I believe."

Utterly dumbfounded, he manages, “You did not seem the type.”

"What in the name of all the gods do you mean?"

The young king sits straight, defensive. “You have not once spoken of them, Lord Aetos! Ever! And– know that I respect you as the sea does the moon, but I did not perceive you to have a romantic spirit in your heart. Or to have a heart at all,” he adds after some thought.

He chuckles, more weakly than usual. 

"Is that so? You speak better of me than I could have dreamed. And yet I do not know why you thought me heartless. My wife is wise, and will see to my house in my absence; my son was strong even as a babe. But why would I speak of them?"

“Because you love them.” He is massaging his temples. “Surely.”

"I think perhaps you are making a fool of me. What has that to do with my purpose for fighting this war?"

“What colour are her eyes?”

He stares at him for a long moment. 

He hesitates. 

"I do not know what you mean. Perhaps I am growing insensible again."