Chapter Text
“I do not know how but there has to be some way— some method to this madness— that will allow us to be together again. I hope that wherever you are, you understand that this is not the end. This cannot be the end. I will not allow it.”
Sometimes, on the rarest of occasions, Patroclus would enjoy his time within the Fields of Mourning. It really was not too dissimilar from his time Elysium, all in all. It was peaceful, though unsteady like rocks stacked high on top of one another. Perhaps only the context in which he lived had changed, framing his existence in a dimmer light— one where he could barely see the difference from where he was to where he is now.
There were ways he would keep himself occupied, although he would never admit it to anyone. At times Patroclus would hum to himself, even sing if he was feeling brave enough. He would spin in circles like a child until he fell over dizzy; or break off a stick and toss it into the river, watching it ride the current down to who knows where. Occasionally he would count in his head until he lost track, going up to numbers he was sure did not exist. Pacing was another favourite pastime of his, especially when accompanied by a tune he’d whistle to himself.
Most often though, Patroclus would have his own little amphitheatre in his mind that replayed his favourite memories. There were memories of war, but also new ones of peace that he could indulge in. Bright days or nights in Elysium spent with Achilles by his side— laughter and sweet whispers and gentle kisses so vivid he could almost feel them against his skin.
Above all else he was grateful for those times together. Patroclus would not give up those memories for the world, he deemed it better to have felt such love than to have never felt anything at all. Even if that meant it was more painful when he lost it again and again.
Once more he was pulled from his thoughts when his new friend came running along. Melinoë carried her shoulders with an air of uncertainty, her body rigid and mouth pursed as if to prevent her words from bursting forth without thought.
“Hail, wanderer.” Patroclus said, giving her a moment to collect herself.
“Patroclus you… when we first met, you mentioned that you recognised my name. I was wondering how you knew me, or rather who told you. I know you gave a vague response last time so I wish to ask again, if it’s no trouble.”
Curse his bitter, past self for stringing the poor thing along. He could have told her at any point during her visits that he knew her brother. Instead he hoarded the wealth of information like a greedy king, too blinded by his own concerns to even consider hers. Patroclus felt his stomach twist.
He took a deep inhale before answering. “Your brother, Zagreus, told me. It was one of the many names he’d discussed before you were born.”
“Y—You knew my brother?” Melinoë asked, a hint of eagerness in her voice.
Patroclus held an unneeded breath as he nodded, bracing for the worst.
Melinoë lit up, her face bright as moonlight. “Could you please tell me more about him? If you are willing, of course. Not many in the Crossroads knew what he was like, I’ve been curious ever since I was little.”
A relieved sigh left his lips. “Of course. Though, I am sorry for not telling you earlier. I was being selfish and putting my own sorrow above yours.”
Melinoë shook her head, sparks flying from her laurels. “Not to worry, I’m glad you are being honest with me now.”
“So forgiving, much like your brother. He was also incredibly selfless, going out of his way to help me and Achilles through a predicament we found ourselves in. Afterwards he continued to visit me whenever he could. I miss him dearly, as I am sure you understand.”
“Not entirely...” She murmured, eyes downcast. “I miss him of course, but at times it can be hard to miss someone you don’t know. Though, this has helped me a great deal, thank you.”
“Worry not, wanderer. I am always here if you wish to hear more.”
“Oh! About that…” Melinoë procured, seemingly from out of nowhere, a bottle of nectar. Its contents glimmered in the soft ambient light around them. “I hope I am not overstepping, but I would like you to have this. And just know that there is a place in the Crossroads waiting for you. Headmistress Hecate welcomes all shades, I’m sure you would be an esteemed guest there.”
Patroclus delicately took the bottle from her hands, feeling its cool weight on his palms. He could still remember the rich taste of it on his tongue, the memories it brought back, the joy that radiated in those moments. The past seemed so much further away, now.
He looked up at her, eyes wide and stunned. With a sharp intake of breath he finally regained his senses. “I… Thank you. Your brother used to give similar gifts, I think he would be proud to know you have continued the tradition. I don’t have anything in return— although… here.”
Placing the nectar gently on the ground, Patroclus reached up and took the band of laurels off his head— shaking his dark curls free as he did so.
“It may not be as decorative as yours, but I hope it may serve some use.”
He handed the keepsake to Melinoë, who took them in her pale hands and admired them closer. Their teal splendour shone against her skin.
“Thank you, Patroclus, sir. They will be safe with me.” She bowed to him, and he ducked his head in turn.
“I’m sure they will. As for your offer, I’ll have to think about it. For now I’ll offer these to you.” He presented Melinoë with his usual supplies and she took some ashes off his hands with another thank you.
“I hope to see you around, Melinoë.”
“I hope so too. Take care for now, sir.”
A sense of reassurance made itself known within Patroclus as he watched Melinoë continue forwards and disappear into the distance. His gaze fell back down to the bottle at his side, tempting him in all its honeyed pleasure. Really, who was he to say no?
Uncorking the bottle, its sweet scent began spilling forth into the air around him. Patroclus’ mouth began to water as he brought the drink to his lips, tilting his head back and letting out a small hum when the liquid hit his tongue. It tasted just as it did before, sweeter now that it healed the dull ache in his soul. It tasted like the shores of Phthia and the sunlight that hit the peaks of mount Pelion; but most of all it tasted like Achilles. His feather-soft lips against his own, his laughter that could make flowers bloom, his ambition that burned behind his shimmering eyes.
The aftertaste was one of whispers in the night, huddled close together and taking in each other’s breaths. The weight of their love settled heavily between them.
Patroclus took one more sip before closing the bottle. He had to savour every ounce he could.
To distract himself, he considered the princess’ words. The idea of staying at the Crossroads was an incredibly convincing one. All his troubles here, of loneliness, waiting, the crushing feeling of futility, all of it would be solved if he followed her back there. He would have a community, a purpose, something to keep his mind from eating itself alive. He could find more answers to his questions and help others find theirs, he would have direction. Perhaps everything could be just a little bit brighter for him.
The Patroclus of old may have grumbled and convinced himself that he was better off alone, that the only person he could trust was his own self. But he knew better now, he felt better. Patroclus knew that the only way out of this was through the helping hand of another.
He may just have to take her up on that offer.