T_Rak
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What if Patroclus hadn't died?
Someone was calling his name. Not that mess of syllables rushed over the tongue. But that steady pronunciation, almost as carefully said as a prayer or a mantra.
Pa-tro-clus!
His eyes were closed by stone eyelids. A low sound reached his ears. He tried to take a full breath and that low sound rang again. It was his own throat rumbling with a groan. The groan was cut off by a half-gasp, almost whimper as something brushed his stomach. Right where Hector’s spear lodged into his flesh. He was dead, maybe dying.
“Patroclus!” Said like a prayer and a plea.
If he was dying, why did his eyes flicker to that sound. That oddly familiar sound.
“Patroclus! Please come back to me. Please!” That voice. Achilles.