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In all of Achilles life the people around him looked at him with either fear or envy, or both, mostly both. It was the first and last thing he saw in others. And Achilles would be an utter liar if he said he didn't find pleasure in it. First the boys in Phthia and later on his fellow soldiers, all of them without exception looked at him that way, Ajax, Agamemnon, even Odysseus who was skilled in masking his true intentions and feelings, he couldn't mask this.
This was common, expected even, from other men. But to see fear and envy in your own father's eyes, that was something different. Achilles was eight when he first realized that his father, though a king, was yet another ordinary, mundane man. Not born into a prophecy, not the son of a god, not a demigod like him.
Achilles, whether he realized it or not, had come to a conclusion. “Man's nature is to be fearful and envious of the gods.”, thus men are meant to be fearful and envious of him.
He was proven wrong when he first trained in front of Chiron. Once he finished his drills he looked to Chiron for his first correction ever, his first “good, but-”, yet he did not find it. This centaur had trained the best of the best yet he had nothing to say to him. Behind his stoic expansion was hidden the faintest amount of fear. To anyone else it would be invisible but Achilles knew it like the back of his hand.
Something, a feeling, filled his heart and ego he recognized it as something all too familiar- pride. Every day he felt it but never like this. Him, a thirteen year old boy, made an ancient centaur fearful.
Only two people in his life ever saw him differently. One of them was his mother. She was more god than him, so there was no fear in her. Neither was there envy, she was his creator all his abilities came from her. So there was pride.
All his pride was also hers. “I made him.”. And as is a mothers nature, god or not, she loved him. But with Thetis there was a blurry line between her pride and love. Did she love him therefore she felt pride or did she feel pride therefore she loved him? Were he not born into a prophecy would she love him the same? Achilles knew the answer but he chose to ignore it.
Besides her pride and love there was one more thing: pity. She despised mortal humans like nothing other. For Achilles to live with them, to stay with the man she hated more than all the other humans, his father, it disgusted her. For her demigod precious son to live with such filth, it was almost blasphemous in her eyes. “They will ruin him.”.So every time she saw Achilles at the beach where the waves meet the shore she always asked him one final question “Will you come with me?”
The other person was Patroclus.
The first time Achilles met and talked to Patroclus he felt very indifferent towards him, yet another boy. He read total envy. He didn't even have to look, nothing he hadn't seen before, in a few weeks time his anger would fade and he'd become indistinguishable from all the rest.
He decided to ask for his name, he wasn't sure why, he didn't always ask the names of the boys. “Patroclus” Then he sent him on his way.
Huh, “Patroclus”. Pa-tro-clus, it had a nice sound to it. Despite his initial indifference for some reason he thought about him often. In meals while all the boys fought for his attention he constantly found himself glancing over at the new boy. For once he wanted someone's attention and it wasn't given to him on a silver platter.
When their eyes met for the first time across the tables he was pleased, very pleased, yet he still wanted more. He didn't understand why that quiet lonely boy wouldn't just join the rest, why wouldn't he come up and talk to him, he wanted it, right? Suddenly it dawned on him, he didn't feel indifferent at all rather he was fully intrigued.
Any chance he got he would throw glances, “Is he looking at me?... What about now?”. And whenever he'd catch Patroclus staring with his big brown eyes, panic would fill them and he'd quickly look away never getting to see a smile appearing on Achilles lips.
Achilles wanted Patroclus for a friend and he would do it. And he did.
Once they became friends did he realize that what he had seen as envy in Patroclus was mere shallow jealousy, not even for his prophecy and skill, he wasn't aware of it. Within just one day that frail jealousy was gone. Later he learned that Patroclus couldn't feel envy as envy requires malice and he didn't have a bad bone in his body.
Patroclus brought out something different from within Achilles. When they were together he was another person that no one had ever seen before, not even himself. That person was for Patroclus and for Patroclus alone.
… And as Patroclus’ body lies pale and cold in Achilles’ arms that person lies with him.
A promise he had made was broken that day, Achilles would not be the first happy hero.
Hours after Achilles saw Patroclus' dead body and still his wails and screams could be heard all across the camp. It seemed like everything had gone silent, the men, the sea, the wind, to let his cry's echo even louder for the soldiers to hear, for the people of Troy to hear, for the gods to hear and for Patroclus to hear, wherever he may be.
The first day he did not eat, he did not sleep, he did not leave the tent, he could not let go of Patroclus’ body. The only thing that kept him from joining him in the gates of Hades right then and there was the thought of killing Hector and by doing that his own death would follow soon after.
As the sun set his tent opened and in walked Thetis as ethereal and terrifying as ever. She avoided looking at Achilles for he was covered in scum and the dried up blood of that good for nothing boy. She was glad he was gone. She couldn't understand why her son wasted his tears for him.
“He is dead.”, stop crying, stop holding on to this putrid corpse, it's only staining you with its death. You are better than this.
“Hector is dead.” The scene played over and over in his mind, he knew exactly what he would do. Achilles would chase Hector down the battlefield, killing anyone who dared to cross his path. Hector would run but in vain, he could not escape him. And as Achilles caught up to him and Hector fell to the ground dressed in the armor he took from Patroclus - his armor- he would not plead for his life to be spared, he knew it would be pointless, he'd just look up at him fear filling his eyes and mumble a prayer. For a moment he would indulge in the sight before holding up his spear and striking, never letting him finish. “...Tomorrow.” He reassured himself, tomorrow, he will do it tomorrow.
“You have no armour.” She reminded him. An aching, futile attempt for him to reconsider this kill. For when he took the life of Hector; he would also be taking his own.
“I do not need any.”
He looked like a madman as he was spitting out his words, a raging animal desperate for the taste of blood. And for what, for him? For that weak mortal boy who quivered at the very sight of her, her son ‘Aristos Achaion’ would throw away his life for that.
“He did it to himself,” she growled and went to take the corpse from his arms.
“Don't touch me!” he yelled and looked at her in the eyes, bearing his teeth like a lion, ready to strike at his own mother. Before quickly breaking down once more sobbing in the nook of Patroclus' neck.
“I will bring you armour.” she said cold as snow. If you want to die for him then so be it.
Men came to see him, to speak words to him of how they are sorry for his loss, Achilles did not see them, he did not hear their words.
At some point during the night Odysseus came and fetched him. Agamemnon talked to him but again he did not listen and when he did his response was cold, short and to the point, he couldn't bear to be around him.
“I was sorry to hear of Patroclus' death.” Achilles’ ears pricked up at the mention of Patroclus. “He fought bravely today. Did you know he killed Sarpedon?”
Empty, empty, empty! His words are hollow to the core! He doesn't deserve to speak Patroclus’ name, not now, not ever. This vain heartless bastard. ‘Did you hear he killed Sarpedon?’ No, you insufferable dog of a man, I don't care who he killed or how because I just lost half of my soul along with him! And you are to blame!
Achilles lifted his gaze to look at Agamemnon, his eyes were red with blood and lacked the shine of life to them. Just at the sight of them Agamemnon’s sly almost hidden smile completely vanished from his face.
“I wish he had let you all die.” His words came out thick and heavy and men were taken aback by them. And Agamemnon for once had nothing to say.
As he went back to the tent he only wished to lie next to Patroclus until dawn arrived. But once he walked in he saw Patroclus' body on a cloth on the floor and next to him Briseis.
“Get away from him” he shouted.
“I'm not finished, he doesn't deserve to lie in filth.” she spat back in a tone no woman should ever have.
He growled like a beast, “I would not have your hands on him.” a threat, he would not hesitate to harm her. Patroclus was his- his- and his alone, no one else where to touch him but Achilles.
“Do you think you are the only one who loved him?”
‘No one loved him more than I did!’ is what he wanted to say but his thoughts were slower than his mouth so instead he yelled over and over for her to get out.
Even so she did not back down. She stood her ground and continued speaking through teary eyes. “You care more about him in death than in life!”
It's not true! It's not true, it's not true, it's not true!
“How could you have let him go, you knew he could not fight!” Her words were sharp as daggers stabbing Achilles deep, right where it hurt and then twisting the blade.
“Get out!” He screamed in pain and threw the first thing he saw on the ground, shattering it. This- this woman had him acting like a spoiled child. Him! Aristos Achaion, who had fought countless battles, made the best of the Trojans drop like flies while he remained unscathed- unbothered… He found his match in a woman, cutting him up all with her words.
“Kill me.” Fear had spread across her eyes yet she did not relent. “It will not bring him back. He was worth ten of you. Ten! And you sent him to his death.”
His head was spinning, the tent was spinning and her words pounded in his mind getting louder and louder. ‘You sent him to his death.’
“I tried to stop him. I told him not to leave the beach!” he shrieked, a terrifying sound.
This was not on him! Patroclus' death could not possibly be in his hands!
“You are the one who made him go, he fought to save your darling reputation because he could not bear to see you suffer!”
Achilles sat down pulling at his hair as the words kept pounding and pounding unrelenting. He did not speak, he could barely breathe. How could she say such things? And why could he not find something to prove her wrong?
“You have never deserved him.” she got close to him shouting right above his head. “ I do not know why he ever loved you, you only care for yourself!”
Achilles stood up with that statement. He loomed over her, his gaze razor sharp met hers. Her pupils shrank with fear and hatred and for a moment she stopped speaking. Achilles could not find the voice to speak what he needed to say ‘How dare you. I loved him more than anything.’
“I hope Hector kills you.” her words dripped of venom fully aimed to poison him where she thought it would hurt him most. But she was wrong.
“Do you think I do not hope the same?”
Briseis left. Achilles picked Patroclus' body from the floor and up to their bed. That night he did not sleep as the woman's voice did not allow him to. He only weeped silent tears while holding on to the corpse of his former lover.
Sometimes he found his hand lingering on Patroclus’ wrist patiently, desperately, uneventfully - foolishly- waiting for a pulse, for the heat to return to his stone cold body. Obviously it did not.
He would comb his dark curls with his fingers and would whisper loving things, just like he did only a night ago. He found himself conferencing his love for Patroclus over and over again, his love for: his eyes, his hands, his chest, his hair, his eyelashes, his smile, his arched nose, his crooked tooth, his laugh, his mischief… and so many more things he never thought to say while he still could hear.
“You care more about him in death than in life!” Briseis’ voice shot back in his mind.
Achilles had never liked her and he was more than absolutely certain the feeling was mutual from the start, but Patroclus enjoyed her company so he tolerated her. He hadn't grown up around girls, he never understood them, never cared to, so when Briseis entered his life he did not care for her. Though as the months passed and Patroclus got closer with the girl, Achilles couldn't help an aching bitterness grow in him whenever she was around or mentioned. And when he first saw the way she would look at Patroclus, desire practically radiating off of her, that bitterness and ache multiplied and for what might have been the first time in Achilles life he felt jealous.
He finally understood what Patroclus must have felt when he learned he had married the princess of Skyros. What if one day he had returned with her smell on him and he told Achilles he wished to marry her? He could not deny him his right to have a bride, especially after he almost had two. And if they got married would Achilles have to share the person he loved most with another woman, one night in his bed the other in hers? And if they had children? Would Patroclus grow up to build a nice domestic life as Achilles sat back watching him move on day by agonising day?
That of course would never happen. The love between him and Patroclus was more special, more cherished by the both of them for him to throw it way. But it was what Briseis wanted to happen.
Briseis did not understand them. Briseis did not know him. So for her to stand before him and accuse him of such things, as she had, was nothing more than utterly obscene. Women are such cruel beings.
She talked but never knew just how much his heart ached for Patroclus. ‘Half of my soul' they were to one another and said so often. The person Achilles was when Patroclus was beside him, only they would know and he was undoubtedly content with that… But that left the other half of his soul, what was it? What was he without Patroclus?
His tent flap opened and his mother entered holding in her arms his new armour. The answer was standing before him, he was Aristos Achaion.
The dawn had barely broken, yet he was ready. He did not wait for anyone, he ran.
“Hector!”
He ran down the beach. When he reached the Trojans, had they left an open path for him to go through or stand in his way it made no difference, nothing could stop him from reaching Hector. By the time he got a sight of him he was already drenched in blood yet had not broken a sweat, he could go on for days if that's what it took, even though it would not.
As he had expected Hector wore his previous amour and he did run away. But Achilles was faster and now that he was in his sight of view it was already over.
Hector swam across the blood stained Scamander river and the moment Achilles reached its shores a figure large as a building waited for him.
“You will not keep me from him.” Achilles said in a growl to the Trojan god here to protect Hector. The god indeed did not manage to keep Achilles from Hector.
Achilles fought a god and won. The mortal won against the immortal, he had performed a miracle yet he did not give it a second thought, his sight was set on one man.
“Hector!”
The rest goes as he imagined all but one thing, Hector pleads.
“Grant me this. Give my body to my family, when you have killed me.”
Achilles can't help but try to laugh at the statement but ever since the day before he would never laugh again. With his spear raised ready to strike, he speaks the last words Hector would ever hear. “There are no bargains between lions and men. I will kill you and eat you raw.”
As he went down the camp with his chariot men came to praise him, but as they saw what he dragged behind him, few did. He dropped the broken corpse of Hector on the ground of his tent, Agamemnon entered, told him something about a feast in his honor. He dismissed it.
Achilles found himself at the shore of the sea, not sure of when he got there. The waves were cleaning his legs of the blood that covered them. His mother was standing in front of him. They exchanged words that Achilles forgot as soon as they became one with the wind. The only thing that he remembered was his mother asking him to rerun the body of Hector and him declining.
Once he returned to the tent there were no wails of grief, with dried up blood staining his upper body he laid beside the dead body that was what remained of the half of his soul. He let sleep take over him.
In his last days on earth he came to realize that sleep was as equally as tormenting as being awake was. As his thoughts slipped away from his control and into Morpheus’ hands to weave into dreams there was this brief pause. Achilles welcomed it, a moment of no thought, no pain, just the tranquility of his numb with sleep body, just a thin veil away from death.
But then as soon as the relief of the emptiness appeared, it was gone. The void morphed into pictures.
His dreams would often take him to Patroclus' death, forced to relive the pain and grief of it every other night.
Men who fought besides Patroclus spread stories of how he'd fought in his last battle and eventually the word made its way to the ears of Achilles. As the men recounted them they could barely believe it, Patroclus the passive young man who had dressed their war wounds time and time again was this capable in battle? And Achilles couldn't help but guilty share their disbelief when he first heard them. Through those stories his dreams were fueled making the whole thing play out crystal clear in his mind.
The dream would start with Achilles dressing Patroclus in his armor, the cold hard metal covering his soft warm skin. They kissed, always he tried to make it last longer but Patroclus was quick to step back. He was worried about the Greeks, so without missing another beat he put on his helmet, covering himself up completely but his eyes, it didn't suit them to be surrounded by iron.
As he stepped up the chariot, Patroclus wasn't looking at him, his gaze was fixed at the battle. They said their final words to one another.
“Be careful.”
“I will.”
Achilles hesitated to let go of Patroclus' hand. There were more things he wanted to say, he could feel words linger in his mouth, even though he was never sure what they were going to be. He just wanted a couple of seconds more, a chance to look again into his eyes. But Patroclus left, he rode off into battle an unrecognizable man.
Achilles watched Patroclus' armed figure become smaller and smaller until he disappeared. While the dream was still looking from Achilles' eyes, phrases echoed around him.
“Swear to me.”
“You will not fight them.”
“Don't leave the chariot.”
“Don't throw your spears."
“Be careful.”
Then his perspective changed, his eyes became Patroclus’ riding on a chariot while men around him were being slaughtered.
He saw terror spread across the Trojans and triumph amongst the Greeks. “Aristos Achaion is here.”
Almost in a blind high of power Patroclus took a hold of a spear, held it up and struck, he did not miss.
That was the beginning of his end.
The high only grew, spear after spear, man after man, he did not miss. To most people he was indistinguishable from Achilles. He continued to go through the battle until he had reached the walls of Troy and he still did not want to stop. The oath he had given to Achilles was by that time long broken and he did not think about it anymore. He looked up at the walls, he almost could taste victory, he climbed.
His men gazed at him as he did so, holding their breath, thinking to themselves “This could be it! Aristos Achaion is going to put an end to this ten year long war!” But their stomachs dropped as an ethereal figure materialized out of thin air, a beaming light blinded their view of it… it was Apollo. Suddenly a loud crash of metal could be heard and Achilles was no longer on the wall.
Patroclus picked himself up and climbed again, he didn't know how he fell, just vaguely recalled a bright light. As he made his way up, he heard a voice call out to him, he looked up. Black eyes gazed back, it's hard to look at it, as its smile is like looking into the sun, he fell down once more.
He was deluded, an urge beyond his control made him go up that wall again. He really thought he could win this. But as he reached the middle of the wall the figure struck him down again, no longer smiling. And when he reached the ground somehow his armor was all gone. He became Patroclus again.
Gasps from the soldiers echoed all around him, the high of power had vanished. Men try to strike him as he runs for his life, he avoids all of them, all but one. Hector put a spear through him, he looked around the men surrounding him as he bled out murmuring desperate pleas. He reached for a man's leg, when he looked up at him, he was met with the eyes of Hector. Achilles can only wish his last thought was of him, however selfish that may be.
The first night that Achilles slept, he did not dream of this. At first his dream was of his past with Patroclus, all precious moments of their lives all mixing and morphing into one another. It would have been a great comfort if only Patroclus was… right.
They walked across the beaches of Phthia that were simultaneously also of Skyros. Once they turned a corner they were deep in forests up in the mountain where Chiron lived, Achilles sang and made conversation but Patroclus would not speak, he would not look his way. When Achilles noticed he fought to gain his attention, with dream logic as his reasoning he resorted to kissing him to break him out of his trance.
… His lips were cold, Achilles opened his eyes concerned, only to find they were in Chiron's cave on the makeshift bed. Though he was all grown up he recognized the moment as the moment their relationship changed forever. Thrill and excitement bubbled up in his stomach, he looked down to take in the sight that was Ptroclus. Thrill and excitement got quickly replaced by worry and fear, Patroclus had a completely blank expression on his face, he stared off to space with muddy unclear eyes. Achilles could almost recognize him like this. Wait, what was that on his cheek? Was that.. blood?
Before he had the chance to understand why all that felt so familiar the environment shifted. They were lying on the bed of their tent, Achilles somehow knew he had just been recounting the events of his day, how many men he killed, how the blood poured out of people's necks, how he did it all with a smile on his face. When Achilles told his stories Patroclus would usually stay quiet and once the story was over he would reach out, give him a kiss and then clean any remaining blood on him. However this time Patroclus stood up. “How could you do such things, you are vile! You are fucking heartless! I can not stand to be around you!” he shouted and ran out of the tent. Achilles felt his heart drop, he ran right behind him calling out his name but once he was out of his tent he entered another one.
This tent was dark, the air was thick and hot while it also smelled of… lust. He heard moans and grunts of pleasure, on a bed he recognized Patroclus’ bare arched back as he thrusted his hips. Below him was Briseis staring at Achilles with the eyes of a snake and an evil smile on her lips. She kissed Patroclus deeply, showing off that she won him, while her eyes remained open, her slit pupils stuck on Achilles. She only took her gaze off him to look at Patroclus, when she did so her eyes became one of a human’s, she whispered to him “I love you.”. Patroclus looked at her back with a look Achilles was well familiar with.
Achilles tried to yell but he could not hear it. He tried to run up to him but no matter how fast he went the distance remained the same.
“I love you too.”
The tent twisted around him and then suddenly he was somewhere different with a cry for Patroclus still lingering on his tongue. He was naked, on a bed. He looked down, full of hope that sharing it with him would be Patroclus; it was not. A tight knot appeared in his throat when he saw the princess of Skyros Deidameia underneath him.
He shut his eyes closed at once. He felt sick, sick to the bone by what he was doing. He didn't want this. His lungs could not hold on to his air. He could not do this, not again! Not again! He wanted to leave. He had to leave!
As the thought crossed his mind the voice of Thetis came booming, shooting back at him. “Get your wife pregnant and I will tell the boy where you are.” He was paralyzed, the arms of Deidameia felt like anchors on his shaking shoulders, her lips like burning acid on his skin and her voice was clawing at his ears. Just a few more thrusts and he could go… just a few more and Patroclus would come find him and take this pain away.
Once it was finally over he looked up and he was now on the edge of a cliff gazing off to the sea, waiting. Tears were rolling down his face, he wore a dress and he waited for a ship to appear on the horizon.
“Achilles.” Patroclus’ sweet voice called out to him quiet and soft like the breeze.
“I cannot bear to see you grieving.” Somehow it felt more real than everything around him.
“Give us both peace. Burn me, and bury me.” As his surroundings slowly dematerialized he realized he was in a dream, but that voice, Patroclus' voice was real. He had to wake up.
“I will wait for you among the shades. I will-”
Achilles woke up. “Patroclus! Wait! I'm here!” He looked beside him to Patroclus. He touched his check to turn to see his face, it was cold. He broke down crying. Though he closed his eyes for the rest of the night he did not sleep.
When the sun rose he took the corpse of Hector out of the tent, tied it to his chariot and rode off to display its death to Troy. He did it again and again. He was well aware of how vile this act was but he did not care. Doing this did nothing but fuel his rage even more, he did not feel better during or afterwards but he simply did not care.
At sundown he returned to his tent, his mother waited for him inside.
“What do you want?” He let go of Hector's body and did not look at her when he spoke.
“You must stop this. Apollo is angry. He seeks vengeance upon you.” her words mean nothing to him.
“Let him.” he had to hold back tears as he looked at Patroclus covered in blankets to retain the smell of death, Achilles had just left a small window for his face to peak through, such a beautiful face. He thought to himself that it's good that Apollo seeked vengeance then he'd be finally joining Patroclus.
They fought for a while. She talked about her power but it might as well have been nothing, she could not bring Patroclus back, so then she should just let Achilles go to him. She told him she knew better than all of his mortality, but he did not believe her, for she did not know of mortality at all. She told him of Pyrrhus.
The name rang in his mind. Pyrrhus. His son. He felt his throat clench, he didn't know what he should feel about the boy, he didn't know what he felt at that moment. He had a now twelve-year-old son, conceived from pure desperation, the mother of whom Achilles did not care about, in fact were he given the choice to erase all memory of her, he would... and he was named Pyrrhus.
Before his thoughts could come to a conclusion she informed him that Pyrrhus would bring the fall of Troy and was destined to be the next Aristos Achaion.
The next Aristos Achaion. The next…
But- but that was him. He was Aristos Achaion, the best of the Greeks, the best warrior of his generation! It was him! After his inevitable death would he be replaced so easily? Would all of his accomplishments, all the men he killed, everything he had worked for be forgotten as the next came along? For a moment all his yearning for his death vanished, he displayed his life. “I'm not dead yet.” I can not be forgotten yet.
“You may as well be.” As she spoke, there was nothing other than anger and utter disappointment in her words. She looked at him as she did all other mortals. Her son became ugly, sickening and weak, just like that boy. He was unworthy of his power and of her. “I'm done. There is no more I can do to save you.”
“I'm glad he is dead.” were the last words of Thetis to her son. Achilles never saw his mother again.
The dawn arrived and with it came rage and with the dusk came sorrow. Rage to sorrow to rage and over and over.
A day had passed since his fight with his mother. It was deep into the night but Achilles dread sleeping. Out of the blue in his tent walked an old man, disheveled looking. Filth, dirt and what looked like ash covered him from head to toe, and his robes were wet, although it did not rain.
“I have come for my son.” he spoke weakly.
Before Achilles had time to react, the man he was already kneeling at his feet.
“Will you hear a father's prayer, mighty Prince of Phthia, best of the Greeks?” His accent was thick but his words were clear.
Achilles stood in awe at the old king's boldness. Him pleading at his feet and his flattering words, Achilles had lived through and heard a thousand times over, yet this had struck a chord within him. Perhaps his old age, perhaps the king's evident grief. He would hear him out.
“The blessings of the gods upon your kindness. I have come far this night in hope-... I am sorry to appear so meanly before you.” Achilles felt his heart clench, he did not want to feel sympathy for the man but in his appearance he was reminded of his own father, whom he hadn't seen in ten long years, and would never see again, and in his eyes he saw his sorrow be reflected back at him.
He helped Priam get back up to his feet, he gave him dry clothes, a cushion to sit and offered him food and drink.
The king thanked him. He sat in front of him and spoke, as he talked he did not look his way and Achilles was glad for that.
Priam called him a noble man, Achilles wasn't sure he earned that title, especially coming from him. “We are enemies, yet you have never been known as cruel.” He was indeed not known as cruel because he wasn't, Achilles himself did not know what disgusting cruelty he had inside him. “I beg you to return my son's body for burial, as his soul does not wander lost.” From the corner of his eye Achilles could see the brutalized corpse of Priam's son and he heard his final words ring in his ears.
“Grant me this. Give my body to my family, when you have killed me.”
He asked something barely of any value before he asked the real question. “How did you know I would not kill you?”
“I did not know.”
Achilles looked at the full plates before them. Priam's grief did not allow him to eat as well. He stared at the plates absent of substantial thought, there was a lot to think about and a lot to say yet he sat in silence.
“That is- your friend?” Achilles’ eyes rose from the plates in an instant and pierced Priam.
“Philtatos.” He corrected the old man. A bitterness made its way into his throat making his tone and words unkind. He couldn't help it and he didn't try to do so. “Best of men, and slaughtered by your son.”
“I am sorry for your loss. And sorry that it was my son who took him from you. Yet I beg you to have mercy. In grief, men must help each other, though they are enemies.”
“What if I will not?”
“Then you will not.”
Priam had done nothing wrong to him. Achilles considered stopping yet he didn't.
“I could kill you still.” He was being mean, he was aware of that but there was nothing to be afraid of anymore.The flame of his rage had burned down to weak embers of meanness, he had no more fight in him.
“I know. But it is worth my life, if there is a chance my son's soul may be at rest.” The king's words disarmed even the meanness weakly trying to crawl its way out of his throat. Tears pooled up in his eyes and Achilles hide his face from Priam as he continued to speak.
“It is right to seek peace for the dead. You and I both know there is no peace for those who live after.”
“No.” Achilles quietly murmured. His ‘no’ was less of an answer and more of a statement.
He had made up his mind. He would give peace to Priam and his son… and he would give peace to Patroclus.
Once the king left Achilles fell onto his bed. He held Patroclus tight as weeped until dawn, a dawn with no rage left. He thought of Priam's words over and over. How could Achilles have caused such harm to Patroclus? After agreeing to send him to the battle of his death he still was being selfish and harming his love by doing so. He denied peace to Patroclus just so he could be blind to the truth a little bit longer.
“I'm sorry. I'm sorry.” he cried onto Patroclus’ wrapped up corpse.
He was to blame, he was to blame for so many things but that was a truth he would never speak and could only admit to himself in the dead of night.
Achilles could understand now that Patroclus’ corpse was nothing more than the skin of figs. What truly made Patroclus was not in there anymore. He could understand it, but he could not yet feel it. Because when he looked at that cold, pale, decaying, corpse he saw his face, he saw his hair and his eyelashes, his arched nose, his lips, it brought him great pain to look at them without a life filling them but he knew. He knew this would be the closest thing to ever having Patroclus again. Yet it was not right, he now understood and felt it, so he would have to let go, but for one more night he could hold him.
The rest of the night he did not cease to cry. He took in Patroclus’ face for the final time, breaking his heart to know this would be one of the final memories of his face but he needed to know he remembered everything exactly as it was. Between sobs he whispered Patroclus' favorite songs. He knew how much Patroclus adored his singing. Achilles wished he'd had done it more while he was still alive.
When the day arrived he took Patroclus out of the tent, there was a pyre already built for him. He placed Patroclus down gently like you would an infant. He cut Patroclus’ hair as it was tradition. He tried not to think when he lit the flame. Achilles watched as the flames enveloped him, swallowed him up, it was difficult to stare at the bright flames but he did so anyways and for once he did not cry. The night before had drained all his tears. Patroclus became ash. In silence Achilles collected the ashes and placed them in the finest urn they had in camp.
Once he was finished he turned around to look at the men behind him. “When I'm dead, I charge you to mingle our ashes and bury us together.” Then he went to his empty tent, to his empty bed where sleep would soon find him and bring Patroclus to him once more.
There is nothing left to live for. There was no more Patroclus, half of Achilles was gone and the other half fought to keep him alive, despite the misery it endured in him.
He could not let himself go of his own hand and he could not let himself fight a battle and not give it his best. Aristos Achaion could not fall from a lukewarm battle, it would ruin everything he had built up.
As he fought his heart was not in it and his mind was traveling. All his movements were out of muscle memory, a skillful puppet dragging on his so called life.
Achilles reflected on his last days with Patroclus. He had let himself get lost in the role of Aristos Achaion, his pride had blinded him. Ever since he had joined the troops of the Trojan war that role, battle by battle ate up more and more of him. To the point he wasn't sure anymore who was the real him. Was he an almighty warrior, the best of the Greeks or was he Patroclus'. The two halves of his soul would forever fight this battle, to no end.
After every fight he stood victorious yet defeated above the corpses of his enemies. Until one day an arrow pierced his heart he did not know where it came from, but he thanked it for it was god sent. He felt the warmth of his blood wet his torso and back. As his body hit the ground and the word around him faded in to nothingness a smile appeared in his lips, he felt no pain, just relief.
Patroclus… there will not be a barrier between us anymore. I will find you.
Achilles enters Hades' gates, he looks among all the shadows once, then twice, and then again, and again but Patroclus is not there. He now waits at the entrance of the underworld and he will wait forever if that's what it takes until Achilles and Patroclus can finally reunite.
He waits
And waits
And waits
And waits
He had waited for what could have been a few months, or a lifetime, he did not know, and it did not matter, because a shadow entered the realm of death, somehow brighter than all the rest and without any hesitation they run. They touch and they find their lost soul in the others embrace. They hold each other as if it's gonna bring life to them once more, it does not matter when it doesn't, not as long as they are together. Life, death, density, pride they all seem so insignificant in comparison to their love. A light unlike any other spreads out in the dark of the underworld, a light so bright it's shine can be seen in the night sky, and for as long as that light burns Patroclus and Achilles will never be apart again.