...They do, in fact. They're not the sort of men who enjoy complication. 

The great helmet turns down, the great chin resting upon the great breast, but Agamemnon does not speak. 

Ophellios turns with startled gaze to Aetos.

“My lords,” he tries, taken aback, “if any of you have ever called me brother, you will know that I am no traitor.”

“We will investigate all in due time. For now, blind accusations will help no one. We must be united against this threat just as we have been against all others.”

He looks gratefully at Ambrosios.

"It will not have escaped your notice, kings of the Achaeans, that both the most obvious traitors seek to defend each other, even after Ambrosios brought blight and ruin upon us. Or did you forget that detail, Agamemnon king?"

"What?"

"It was Ambrosios's actions with the girl Cassandra that brought down the wrath of Apollo upon us."

“My, Ambrosios,” he leans forward with a smirk. “Did you have wandering hands?”

“No.”

"I care not what he did. The blame lies with him; so Apollo judged."

“Aetos,” he warns. “Do not let your personal feelings cloud your judgement.”

"Enough!"

His voice quiets all, even Agamemnon who had been about to speak. 

"This is pointless bickering, shallow like the girls who gossip over the laundry, their petty little dislikes and rivalries; shall this be the way too of men at war? For shame, Achaeans; this honourless traitor will die, soon or late, and before then be spearmen brave, not squabbling babes. Perhaps indeed there is no traitor, and Zeus above has simply tired of our cowardice, for we did not as I once counselled assault Troy and win death or glory, and though by some device we have escaped the ignoble end of plague we are no closer to either. Patroclos, closer than brother, I charge you: go with Ambrosios, and watch his steps, and be watchful. For Patroclos alone I trust; and if indeed he too has turned on us, then despair in any case, Achaeans, for even in the face of death or perfidy I would not desert him, and if I have betrayed you you are all doomed, consigned to Hades by iron Fate, and need not worry yourselves at all: for you would profit nothing by it. Therefore be silent."

A… surprising source for a voice of reason, but Ambrosios is relieved nonetheless.

“I accept your terms, Lord Achilles, and will take care of gallant Patroclus as though he were my own brother.”

"Be it so. Now let us return then to the question of battle, meet for warriors, and waste no more of our brief mortal loves."

With that, at least, the Council of Kings can agree.

“Ophellios.”

He finds him after the meeting, before the Pylian king can retreat back to his camp.

"What?" he snaps, more abruptly than he meant to - it's been a long day, a long month, and his nerves are stretched taut like wires. There's been so much talking and so much to take in and Aetos is- he doesn't even begin to know what to think about Aetos.

(He remembers being in bed, the Cretan king taking his hand, drifting back into sleep, and forces the memory down). 

"Forgive me. It is a trying time."

“It is… not a problem.”

He looks at him cautiously. There is guilt in the Ithacan king’s features; in the way he holds himself as though he were heavy.

“We cannot be seen to talk for long, lest the other kings think we are conspiring against them as traitors. I only wanted to say–”

Something catches in his throat.

“I am sorry. And I am overjoyed to have you back with us. I only hope that you can– forgive me for what I did.”

"What?" Again it comes unbidden - he needs to calm down, should probably go to Diameda and have her pour some wine and help him relax as only she, among all the Achaeans- well, as only she can. 

"Lord Ambrosios - you did nothing I blame you for. You had no way to know your actions would anger the gods, nor was it your choice that I made my sacrifice. Please, my friend, there is enough - tension - without you tormenting yourself."

…

He bows his head. “You are a good man. As you always have been, Ophellios.”

The action is minute, for Athena taught him never to betray his true feelings – but his shoulders relax.

“I could not bring myself to visit you before for fear of disturbing you. Aetos’ accusations had been grave, and I tried not to take them to heart for he was a grieving man, but– in truth, I consider you my only true friend in this place.”

A sort of pain stabs at him. 

He taps his fingers impatiently on his thigh, the energy running through him difficult to contain. 

"I - in truth I am... I am wounded by his accusations. I do not know why he would say such things- a grieving man?"

He stares at Ambrosios for a moment. 

"Forgive me, again. I am not quite myself."

Carefully, now.

“I know. I do not mean to keep you, King of Pylos. Go and rest; the gods know you have earned it.”

When Ophellios makes to leave, Ambrosios speaks again.

“Wait.”