The guards glance between themselves.

"...All right."

"All right. This I will do; and you tell me plainly what troubles you, and we shall see if Athena's cunning and the strength of the Achaeans suffice to resolve it."

He lets go of the instrument. Looks down at his hands.

“You presume much, King of Ithaca.”

At last, Ophellios faces him.

“You stand now in my court. You would be wise to tell me what you were truly doing in my queen’s private dwelling.”

"Ophellios, are you bleeding?"

“Do not change the subject.”

He holds up his hands. "She had not been seen for days. You had not been seen for days. All we knew was that no messages reached you - in truth, Ophellios, I feared you might have been killed. It was out of concern for you that I sought her, nothing more."

His gaze nearly burns. “That was by design, King of Ithaca. You see now that I am alive; leave this place, then, and do not disturb me again.”

It's still not as scary as the look Athena gets when he says he doesn't know. 

"See reason, old friend. This is hardly less concerning than you being dead, in truth! Have you not seen the horrors we incur when we keep foolish secrets and snipe at each other from the shadows? I have taken pains to defend you from the whispers of those who call you traitor; such things are respected, among the gods. See that now, and let not this matter, whatever it is, cause any more strife. Whatever seems so terrible to you alone will be a lesser burden once it is shared."

“Your efforts are doomed. I will share with you nothing.”

He adjusts a string on the lyre. Ambrosios is losing his attention.

“You call upon our past friendship; go now, in its name. My part in this war is over.”

Well, Aetos might just possibly have a point. 

He can sense the change in the air, in... is that truly Ophellios? 

None of it quite fits. He can see now why Aetos says this is not the true King - but this is so different from the way he was but a few days past... 

He departs. 

His shoulders slump. 

The king sits in silence for a while–

And with his eyes closed he begins to play that old song again; the one he can never find the ending to. 

"Well? Are you satisfied now, Ithacan?"

“You know me, old friend. I am never satisfied.”

They head together to the centre of the camp where the other kings await them. The black ships loom large and cast shadows over their path.

“At your recommendation I spoke to the woman,  Diameda – and then we were caught, and taken to the king’s court to be questioned. Ophellios is not… himself. But it began long after he seemingly returned from the dead. Something happened that night you entered his chambers, Aetos; and he has not been the same since.”

He glances at the man beside him when is he isn’t looking.

“I received your message, by the way.”

"Bah. Before you were convinced I was imagining things; now you see that you were wrong, and yet you cling on stubbornly to your old conviction, yielding only slightly. I am no student of Pallas, but I think she would say that you should look at which way you will plainly be swayed, the more you learn, and be so swayed now. Or must we wait for you to learn more before you admit what you already know?"

“I know that you are hiding something from me.”

He smiles then, as though merely jesting.

“Be careful what you wish for, Lord Aetos.”

Leaving behind them their retinues, they enter the great hut that houses the Council of Kings.

It has been eight years of war. Their numbers are dwindled, some places empty, new faces replacing old.

The chair of the King of Pylos gathers dust on the far side of the chamber. Ambrosios assumes his seat next to it, near parallel to the King of Crete’s position beside Lord Menelaus. Lord Achilles sits by the Queen, brooding as he does.

There are other absences; the room is quiet, and the war goes ill.

"We are losing."

She's very blunt. 

"We are no closer to taking Ilium, which is to say that we are losing the war. We have not been able to tighten the siege any more, and plainly they have some means of supply, some god or cunning ploy we cannot discover. Every month, we dwindle, now, slowly, constantly."

"Rightly do you speak. I have seen strange things in Troy, my friends, but perhaps the strangest is that it is this misplaced woman among you who is the only one with any fire for war in her belly. Will you sit here and be shamed? Before, and again, and again, and now, I counsel that we simply rise up and take the city, or be taken in turn. I begin to lose patience."

“We have lost the King of Pylos.” His eyes flicker to Aetos. “He refuses to fight. I do not see how we may overpower the Trojans now with brute strength alone. My scouts indicate that something brews in the citadel; we need a plan.”

"Eight years of plans. Of counsel and schemes and raids and stratagems. When will you see that your answer lies only in the pitiless bronze, Ithacan?"

“I understand that we are tired. The gods know that I am too. But the Trojans currently outnumber us.” His head begins to ache. “Pallas advises me that we would not win man to man.”

"Very well. What does the Grey-Eyed one suggest, then, Ithacan king? Does She perhaps offer us some device by which we can at last test our steel against the Trojans, and emerge victorious? Does She counsel some course of action? Or have you nothing but ill tidings?"

“Not ill tidings. Strategy.” He leans forward. “If we can convince the King of Pylos to fight, we may have the advantage once more.”