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My favourite memories of Achilles were when I would get to watch him train, and see him excel at the thing he knew best.
I watched the way his muscles would flex as he would swing his swords. I watched the beads of sweat that adorned his face as he sprinted up and down the hills. I watched the way the sunlight made his hair glow like gold and his eyes bright. I watched his calloused hands grip the spears he would throw at the mossy trees. I watched all this and more from the shady place where I would lie, my eyes half-closed and a lazy smile across my face.
Sometimes, when he got a spear to land in the perfect position, when he ran so fast he almost became a blur, when his swords made sharp and clean slices in the air, he’d turn to me and call out and ask if I had been watching. If I had seen the feats he was accomplishing day after day after day. I would always assure him I had, but I did not need to assure him. I never took my eyes off him.
Do you know how talented you are? Do you feel that strength and power?
Swish . His sword cut through the air in one solid stroke. He turned to me and grinned, awaiting my nod of approval.
Perhaps I had been feeling it earlier, this burn of desire. Many of the days have merged into one now, time slowing down or speeding up as if it held no meaning. However I am sure that it was whilst watching him train that I first felt the stab of adoration and desperation.
As I watched him I realised that I wanted to kiss him, just once. To show him how much I cared. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to keep reminding him of how amazed I was by what he could do.
I thought it would go away, like the few sweet but short-lived affections of my childhood. I did not feel it so deeply then, did not realise the way it would creep into my mind and overtake my thoughts. For he was ‘just’ Achilles then. Our companionship did not feel like something I would be staking my life on.
Somewhere along the way the ‘just’ faded away. And he became Achilles, who held my heart in his hands and could crush it to pieces in seconds. It was painful and beautiful and terrifying. I loved it.
Nighttime was when my thoughts would become their darkest and most intense. The things I did not dare think during the day would come out under the cover of darkness, keeping me up for hours on end.
Achilles could sleep for days, always getting more than enough rest for the both of us. So, when I could not sleep, I would lie awake and listen to his steady breathing, daydreaming about how it would feel to be able to reach across and touch him. But sometimes, he would not sleep either. Sometimes, we would both lie awake, restless and sleepless.
I remember one such night well.
The night air was cool and light, all of the world seeming to have been pulled into a sleepy lull. All except Achilles and I.
“Patroclus,” Achilles whispered my name into the darkness, his eyes trained on my face in the keen intensity he usually reserved for fighting. His voice was thick with urgency. “Are you awake?”
I nodded my head slowly, my thoughts hazy with lack of sleep. At this, he sat up a little. “Will you… will you come here?”
There was an uncertainty in his voice that I had never heard from him before. Achilles said everything with such confidence in the words he spoke, never faltering or letting his sentences trail off as I sometimes did. He did not hesitate; he knew he would be heard.
I cocked my head at his request. “What do you need?” He shook his head. He was uneasy, agitation flashing in his eyes. Something was bothering him, itching away at his skin and weighing heavy on his chest, yet I could not figure out what it was. I did not know if he could voice it. I knew well enough that some things were too difficult to be said.
“I’m cold.” He whispered.
“Cold?” I echoed in confusion. I gazed around the room. It was warm, if anything, and he had more than enough clothes and blankets to keep heat in. I did not understand why he was telling me, why he seemed so frustrated by it. But I did not want him to stay like this. “I shall get you a blanket, then.”
He shook his head again. “No, just…” He licked his lips, his eyes locked onto mine.
“Will you come lie here with me?”
There was a stretch of heavy silence as I realised what his request was. He was not asking for me to get something for him. He was asking for me .
It would be so easy to say yes. It would be so easy to walk over and lie down next to him and fall asleep on his bed. Yes, it would be so simple, I thought, to do as he said. It was not as if we hadn’t fallen asleep next to each other before, with our faces inches apart and our feet toe-to-toe, our slow breathing harmonising, the rise and fall of our chests synchronising into a gentle beat. It would be just as easy to lie next to him as it would be to fall back into sleep.
As easy as it would be to spend hours studying his face as he slept, tracing the sharp lines of his nose and jaw with my eyes. As easy as it would be to reach out and touch him, close the distance that kept us firmly apart. As easy as it would be to whisper damming words like I love you .
These things were too easy, and I feared the closer I got, the more I would succumb to it. This need. And it was easier still, to imagine how quickly he would turn away and I would lose him.
“ Patroclus. ” He said, his voice cracking.
Almost as if…
I would not let myself place it. I would not let myself find the meaning that wove itself into his words. I knew what would happen if I was wrong in my guesses; it was better to not guess at all.
I stood up, dizzy with panic and desire. “I will go fetch you another blanket,” I mumbled. My voice sounded distant and foreign, not like my own at all. It was as though someone was speaking for me.
His shoulders sagged, his voice hardening. He nodded stiffly. “Good.” As I exited I thought I heard him speak something; I did not want to go back in and check. My heart pounded in my ears as I shuffled away from the room, my breathing becoming heavier and faster. I broke into a run, stumbling and shaking like a newborn colt trying to use its legs.
What are you running from? I asked myself. I knew Achilles would not try and follow me, and I had nowhere to go to if he did. I could not answer myself. I just knew I needed to keep running. My legs ached, my throat felt dry and hollow, my feet stung with purple bruises. If I run fast enough, maybe it will stop.
It didn’t. The burning and hunger did not leave. I could run fast, but it would never be fast enough.
When it became too much to bear I came to a stop, still panting heavily as I collapsed to the ground. I crouched down onto my hands and knees, pressing my burning forehead against the cool ground. I closed my eyes and waited for the raging fire in my chest and the thumping war drum beat in my heart to cease. I spoke his name into the earth over and over in a near-silent chant and imagined him holding me close, running his hands through my hair and whispering into my ear.
The ache in my chest did not stop. But my heart stopped pounding, my body stopped burning with fiery heat. My breaths no longer felt so harsh and scarce. I stood up, careful not to stumble as my shaking legs pushed me upright. I breathed out heavily.
If I could only rip these thoughts from my mind…
When I finally returned he had gone back to sleep, his back turned towards my bed. I lifted a blanket over him slowly so as to not wake him. Absentmindedly I touched my hand to the crown of his head, feeling the softness of his curls against my palm. I imagined how it would be to caress him, how if I just moved my hand a little further down I could stroke it against his smooth skin.
He stirred slightly and I pulled my hand back. I did not want him to see me doing such things.
It was too easy to slip, to do these things that were not to be done. I took a step back, and then another, and another, until my thighs were pressed against my own bed. I could not take my eyes off him.
You make it so easy, I thought as I looked at him. You make it so easy to do these things that I should not do. And I wondered if he knew this.
I had always thought loving someone was difficult and rare. I knew the other feelings one could feel towards a person were not difficult to have. Friendship and romance and lust, or hatred and fear and anger - these were not hard to feel. I felt them myself, saw them through everyone around me. Love, however, was otherworldly and strange. Love was difficult.
Yet loving Achilles was the easiest thing of them all.
It was painful, yes, and it was frightening. But it was not difficult to fall in love with him. It was simple, like falling. I did not have to do anything, I just had to wait.
For what, I did not know. Death, I suppose. Landing hard and fast onto the dry earth, my bones crushed and broken, splitting my skull open, blood pouring into a dark pool around my body and drying onto solid ground whilst flies flitted amongst the rotting decay. Or to be caught. Held by strong arms, a barrier between me and the tragedy that could have been my fate.
Perhaps I would keep falling forever. Perhaps there was no end to this fall, just the decision whether I wanted to fall silently, or go down screaming, thrashing and howling with terror.
I crawled back into my own bed and lay there with bated breath. I hoped perhaps he would wake and would ask again - I knew I would say yes. I knew that if he asked again it would be enough.
He stayed asleep. When I finally drifted back to sleep too, it was the early hours of the morning and the sun was slowly beginning its journey across the sky. I wondered if I would ever be able to sleep in the same room as him again.
Weeks passed, and we did not speak of the events that had happened that night. Whether it was because we did not need to or did not want to, I was never sure. Whatever it was, we instead pushed it to the side, eager to let it fade from memory.
I had questions, hundreds that would seep into the cracks between my thoughts. But I did not know if Achilles had answers. Or at least, answers he wanted to give. So, I acted as though my feelings and the memories I held did not exist at all.
If I pretended enough perhaps they wouldn’t.
Achilles was growing restless, eager to explore outside of our small world we had created. He would pull me along through the woods and out to the stretches of green shrubland, out to the cliffs that overlooked the sea. We would sit amongst the plants and bask in the openness and freedom the landscape promised.
We would talk, sometimes. Some days our discussions were animated and lively, catching us in the heat of passion or in fits of laughter. Some days they were lazy, scattered sentences and soft-spoken stories. Some days we did not speak at all, our words escaping off the cliffs and out into the crashing waves of the ocean. But these days were far and few between; I knew Achilles did not like to be silent for very long.
One of the days however he did not speak. I expected it would be a day of quiet then, a day when our thoughts could be shouted to the depths of the ocean rather than to each other. Then he spoke up.
“Patroclus-”
He stopped. He stared into my eyes, searching for something. Hesitantly, he began to speak again.
“You are afraid,” He paused, looking for my confirmation.
I did not agree with his statement, but I did not deny it. Lying to Achilles seemed wrong, but speaking the truth would be painful in a way I could not articulate nor understand. I let my silence answer for me - I knew Achilles was smart enough to know what it meant.
His voice became quieter, almost inaudible over the roar of the sea from below. “Of me?”
I could not imagine being afraid of him. Powerful and strong as he was, I knew his power would never be directed against me. I might watch him kill entire armies of men one day, but I knew, deep in my bones, that the blood he shed would never be mine. He did not want to hurt me, and even if he did, I am not sure he could. I didn’t think he had it in him to hurt me, not intentionally. For me Achilles was safety; it was with him when I felt most protected. Sitting next to him I could feel any looming danger skulk away with a bared-teeth snarl as if it did not dare to challenge his presence.
Nothing can hurt me here.
I began to say this, reassure him that it was not he who was causing me the fear I felt. My voice caught as I spoke, my words becoming acrid and poisonous on my tongue. I wanted to explain these things to him. We did not keep secrets from each other, and I did not want to start. Yet I could not say simple things such as these.
I swallowed my words along with the bitter taste in my mouth and tried to speak something, even if it was not the words I wanted to say.
“No.” I shook my head.
“What are you afraid of then?”
What was I afraid of? Fear still plagued me in my adolescence as I came to the understanding that fear was not an affliction of childhood but rather a lifetime burden - though my fears were perhaps different to those of when I was a child. I was afraid of many things. I was afraid that Achilles would find out the thoughts I buried deep inside my mind. I was afraid of how he would react - I could imagine with a striking clarity the disgust that would cross his face, how his body would tense and recoil away in horror, how he would surely order me to stay as far from him as possible. I was afraid of what would happen to me after that. I could not stay, surely… so where could I go? These fears came to my mind almost instantaneously, each conjuring up an image that made my skin crawl.
“Not of you… of me.”
He looked almost shocked at my answer. It was not the answer I expected to give, certainly.
I may have feared what Achilles would do if he realised who I really was, but I did not fear him. I certainly did not fear anyone else, not then. So that only left one person; myself.
I feared what I would do if I did not constantly hold myself back. What if my desires and hopes spiralled out of control until I could no longer keep myself from acting upon them? I knew that whatever would come after, it would be because of my own thoughts and actions. And I feared what that ‘after’ would be.
I was afraid of my own feelings. I was more afraid of the consequences they would have.
He nodded slowly, eyes still widened in confusion, yet he did not ask me to explain. He ruminated on my words. I could tell he was turning them over like a spit-roast in his mind.
“You are thinking again,” He said finally. “I can see it. Perhaps one day you will tell me what it is you are thinking about.”
I smiled. “Perhaps.” I did not speak it like a promise, but a dismissal. An end to the conversation. He leaned his head back against the soft grass and mouthed the word back silently to himself. “Come lie with me.” He said. I stiffened at the memories that I had associated with those words, but nevertheless agreed. I lay down and felt the grass brush my skin, our eyes both staring up into the sky.
His hand wandered down next to my own, our fingers barely touching. When I did not pull away he slowly interwove his fingers through mine. His hands were rough and calloused, hardened from years of wielding weapons and training to fight. How wonderful it would be to be touched by those hands, was all I could think.
I hoped he would never let go. That we could stay like this until the end of time, joined by just our hands, eyes wandering across the vastness of an empty blue sky, letting the grass and weeds inch over our bodies. It would be so simple to lay there forever and to never let go.
I was used to Achilles leaving many nights, so he could speak to Thetis. We never spoke about her visits; but then again, we did not speak about Thetis much at all. We knew she kept a close eye on Achilles, and by extension, on me, almost always. It was easier for us not to speak of her, lest she should be listening. So, when Achilles brought up her latest visit, it was nothing short of surprising.
“I spoke with Thetis this evening.” He said slowly. I nodded as I readied myself for sleep, my thoughts drifting. I did not understand why he would bring her up, but I was too tired to concern myself with it.
“She cannot see us here.”
I looked towards Achilles, processing his words. After a moment I realised what exactly he was saying.
He would not look at me, instead letting his eyes wander upwards. He swallowed. “She was- she was not pleased with my question. But I thought you should know.”
My cheeks were burning. I could feel my body shaking. “Is it good… that she cannot see us?”
He nodded stiffly. “Yes, I suppose.” His voice was barely a whisper.
I barely managed to nod back. I sat down on my bed, fully aware of his presence as he lay across the room. I did not know what to say. I was terrified.
“I will… I should sleep, now.” I mumbled.
Achilles did not answer me.
I closed my eyes even though sleep seemed the furthest thing from my mind. He was so close yet so far, just out of my reach. I turned over and over again in my bed, his words repeating themselves in a constant drone. She cannot see us here. I could feel myself falling, spiralling into a deep hole of despair and want.
I jolted upright. It was suffocating, the thick cloud of tension that hung low over our heads. I could not stand to share the tiny space with Achilles whilst my most shameful feelings filled my mind. I rushed from my bed, desperate to escape my own thoughts.
The cold air pulled me from my trance. I swayed under the moonlight. It was a struggle just to keep my feet firmly on the ground - I felt as though I could go falling forward at any moment. How much more of this could I take? How many times could I watch Achilles build my heart and then break it in two?
My eyes flickered sideways as I heard the sound of footsteps. I tried to speak, but my words stuck to my throat like flies caught in honey. “Achilles-”
He pressed his hands to my cheeks, pulling me forward into a kiss. He tasted like relief. Like hope.
“Do you… do you want this?” He said breathlessly, his words punctuated by kisses.
I touched my hand to his face. “I have always wanted this.”
He blinked in disbelief. And then he kissed me harder. We stumbled backwards, unable to let go of one another. Every kiss was a promise, a question and an answer, another branch for the raging fire we had built. Every feeling and thought was spilling out of me like a dam that had been broken. By the time we reached his bed, I felt nothing short of pure ecstasy.
“I have been-” His hand slipped past my clothes, the touch sending shivers down my spine. I could feel the blooming warmth just below my stomach. “I have been waiting.” I whispered.
His hand trailed further downwards. “For me?”
“For you.”
His hand began to move as he placed rough kisses everywhere he could reach. “ Ach-ill-es, ” I groaned, stretching his name out in sticky sweetness on my tongue. He made a noise of contentment as his face flushed red. He liked when it was said that way. He liked it when I said it that way. When I spoke his name as if he were mine.
And now he truly was mine. I had never felt so free.
The first time Chiron watched Achilles fight he could not stop his mouth from falling open.
Achilles made it look effortless - every weapon could be wielded with the same ease. It was a dance only he knew the moves to, his feet moving to a beat only he could hear. It was hard to look at him and not feel an urge to praise him until the end of time.
When he had finished he looked to us expectantly. “Well?”
The surprise had disappeared from Chiron’s face. He nodded firmly. “You certainly are a strong fighter.”
Achilles' eyes lit up for a moment, a barely noticeable flash of adoration. It was almost endearing; he had heard so much praise for his strength yet Chiron’s words could still make him happy.
Later, he would ask Chiron the question we both had on our minds. “Will I have to fight one day?”
“Perhaps. I am sure many armies will be clamouring to make use of you.”
Achilles paused. When he spoke again his words were softer, as if he was only speaking to himself. “Should I go to fight? If I am asked?”
“War will make a man of you yet,” was all Chiron said.
I felt a lump in my throat rise, a spark of anger and frustration burning in my chest.
Achilles belonged to the battlefields. I denied it and yet I could not say it was untrue. His body, his mind, his spirit; these things belonged to the violence of warfare, and I would come to know this soon enough. But at that time I wanted these things to belong to me and me alone. I did not want war to stake claim on his body, for I had already done as such. I did not want war to corrupt his mind, which I feared would be so easily poisoned by bloodshed. I did not want war to break his spirit; I could not bear to see him lose the liveliness and joy he held. War was where he would thrive, but I did not know it yet. I did not want to know it yet.
War would make a man of Achilles, but when I looked at him, I already saw him as the man he was yet to become. He is enough, I wanted to scream to Chiron, to the gods. He cannot go. I will not let him .
I knew they would not listen, not even if I screamed myself hoarse and wept rivers in mourning. It was foolish, to believe I could try and stop him. If Achilles so desired I knew I would not, and could not, keep him from the battlefields. But my mind was not consumed by rationality or logic. I only felt fear, the cold reality of Achilles’ future breaking over me in an icy harshness like the ocean’s waves.
That night Achilles turned to me, the thoughts of going to fight clearly still on his mind. “Patroclus, do you think I should go to war?”
“It is not my decision.” I snapped. I could not keep my anger from spreading into my voice.
He reached out his hand and placed it on my shoulder. “I want it to be. I will not fight if you do not want me to.”
I softened slightly, though I could hear the frustration that still remained as I spoke. “Well, I will not stop you. This is what you were born for, is it not?”
He looked at me long and hard, studying the features of my face. “No,” His words were filled with defiance. “You are what I was born for.”
The prophecy was meant to define him. It did, for most of his life. It was the first thing people would think when they saw him. Aristos Achaion . One of the finest heroes in Greece. But when he looked at me as he did, there was only one thing that defined him; Achilles, lover of Patroclus. And it was so easy to pretend in those moments that that was enough. That for the rest of our lives Achilles could just be mine and I his, not obscured by the legacy he would inevitably carry, the legacy he already had. When we lay side by side in those moments I could pretend as though he was just Achilles, that his name did not carry the weight of a future we could not see. He was just Achilles, and that was more than enough.
I kissed his forehead, and then his cheek, and then his neck. Teasing, he’d say. I liked to explore him a little before I would finally plant a soft kiss on his lips. I wanted to remind myself of all the parts of him, memorizing the ridges and peaks and valleys that spread across his body to map out in my mind.
“What are you doing?” He laughed as I kissed the tip of his nose.
Memorizing you. Just in case.
“Nothing.”
It was the latest hours of the night when Achilles came and told me that Thetis was waiting to see me.
“Why me?”
He shook his head helplessly. “I don’t know.” I could see the sympathy in his eyes. We both knew that Thetis was not going to be giving me praise and thanks.
“She will meet you at the cliffs.”
I paused just as I went to leave. “Will you be awake when I come back?”
Achilles pressed a kiss to my forehead, pushing me gently to the door. “Go, she won’t want to be kept waiting.”
“My son has taken a liking to you.”
Thetis’ presence was so distinct and powerful that I almost did not want to look at her, yet I could not look away. She looked down on me with eyes that seemed to stare into the depths of my soul, the displeasure on her face clear.
“I do not understand why he has taken such an interest in a commoner such as yourself. He is blinded, but I do not understand by what.” She said, her voice as sharp as a spearhead, ready to pierce my skin. “Yet you mean nothing to him. Soon enough he shall forget you." She waved her hand in dismissal. " You believe you will remain in his legacy but you will not. War will make him into the god he is destined to be.”
I felt the white-hot tears of rage stain my cheeks. I felt as though I was on unstable ground, the earth splitting open and the world slipping away from me. “He is enough . He does not need war!”
She did not even look at me now; her eyes were fixed upon the sky as though the sight of my face was too repulsive for her to behold. “To you, he is enough, perhaps. But not to himself, or to anyone else.” She looked back down on me, though she still would not meet my eyes. “And even if he did not need war, the war will need him.”
I would not beg Thetis. I knew neither of us would let me. But I ached so deeply for the Achilles she thought she could turn him into. She wanted him to become something so far removed from himself. “He will never become who you want him to be,” I whispered. She lifted her chin, her eyes flashing with anger.
“Perhaps you do not see it through your foolishness. You do not see what he will become, the great warrior he will turn into. I pity you for thinking you are worthy of him even now.”
I clenched my fists. I could not argue with her. She would never see me as fit for her son. For he was a hero, destined to battle even the mightiest of fighters. I was an exile, a stranger. She could not understand why Achilles chose me. I could only keep my eyes to the ground.
“You are lucky that he even looks in your direction. But you will not be so lucky in the coming years.” She said. Then, with a flash of light, she was gone.
I did not know if it was a prophecy, a warning, or a promise. I slowly lowered myself onto the grass, goosebumps rising on my skin from icy night air. I bit down on my tongue to keep myself from screaming.
I could not stop it from happening. Fate was against us. The gods were against us. And deep down, I knew that Achilles would see a battlefield long before he saw old age. This was the beginning of the end.
I would lose him just as quickly as I had found him.
I began to walk, slow, stumbling steps back to the cave. Every step forward felt like a step closer to losing Achilles. At every bird’s call, every snap of a twig and crunch of a leaf, I would turn my head, like I expected an army to emerge from the woods and seize Achilles then and there. How long do we have? I wanted to shout. Tell me the days, tell me so I can know how long I have left. Tell me so I can know when to take Achilles away and never bring him back.
If I took him away forever, if I hid him in the deepest corners of the earth…
When I reached the cave Achilles was already asleep. His hair was splayed across the pillow in a golden halo, his mouth slightly ajar, his breathing heavy and slow.
Does fate trouble you? Does it weigh heavy on your mind like it does on mine?
I lay down next to him, watching him sleep. I could not watch him forever. But for a moment I could see him sleep and know that nothing could harm him.
I closed my eyes and listened to the sounds of his breathing. For a moment, he was safe, and he was here.
Something was wrong.
I woke up in a pool of my own sweat, shaking and gasping for air. My throat felt as though it was closed off, every breath having to push its way into my lungs. I searched the blurred and dark space.
Achilles.
He was not beside me. His bed was empty, the blanket tossed aside. It was not unusual to find a space where he should’ve lay - he could’ve just gone to speak to Thetis again. Still, panic rose in my chest. My mind had been warped by the events that had unfolded that night, and I could not help but fear for Achilles. Had they taken him already? Had I already lost him?
“Achilles,” I whispered. No voice answered back, no head of golden curls poked through the doorway. I staggered from my bed. “Achilles?”
I could not find anything but silence. I rushed from my bed, searching wildly for the familiar face I knew so well. My pulse had begun to race in a steady thump-thump . “Achilles?”
The silence was a deafening roar in my ears. He’s not here.
The cliffs , I thought, he must be there . I could only hope.
The woods were pitch-black, the terrain that I usually understood so well twisting itself into a labyrinth of fear. Trees loomed like old Gods above my heads, swaying wildly. Rocks left bloody cuts on my bare feet and branches scratched lines across my arms. The land was jagged and unfamiliar, urging me to turn back.
When I broke free from the clutches of the forest I began to call his name again. The fear had crept into my voice and my calls quickly turned to shouts and screams. I could see it all so clearly, that I would yell his name until my throat was red and raw and only then would I find him, lying on the ground-
“Patroclus?”
He was stood at the cliff’s edge. His hair was slicked back with sweat and waving in the wind. His shoulders were thrown back, his chin raised, eyes narrowed and feet planted firmly on the ground, the way he did when he was in a fighting stance. I felt a wave of relief wash over me. He is safe.
Then I saw the tears in his eyes and realised what he was about to do.
I wanted to run towards him, to push him back from the edge and carry him down. He seemed so terrified, like a spooked horse in a thunderstorm. I feared that if I was too quick, too harsh, he would take the few steps forward it took to go plummeting downwards. I could only make small steps towards him and hope he would wait for me.
“Please go, Patroclus. Go back to the cave.”
I took a step closer, careful to avoid the places where the grass stopped and the crumbling rocks started. He gritted his teeth. “Please, Patroclus. You will hurt yourself.”
Did my hurt matter? If it would save him I would throw myself into the murky depths of the ocean. I wanted to pull him back; every time he inched his foot closer to the rough edges I held my breath. He would not do it. Not if he loved me. Or at least, that is what I kept telling myself.
“Achilles, come down.” I was surprised at the command and calm my voice held, when I felt anything but. “Do not do this to yourself.”
He took a step further back. I flinched at the sound of rocks breaking and falling to the sea. “You are worth more than a death such as this.”
“No, no.” He choked out. “This is what I want.”
“Why?” Achilles was braver, stronger, faster, than any other man I had ever known. He was beautiful and fearless. He seemed to harness the energy of the sun in his smile and the strength of a thousand men when he fought. He deserved to be known as a hero. To die as one.
“My fate, I-” He looked towards the sea. “They say terrible things about what will happen to me. I cannot… I don’t want it to happen”
Prophecy had followed him since the moment he had graced the earth. The Gods had made him a hero, a fighter, the stench of war and massacre coming from him years before he would put on his armour. He would grow into a man on the battlefields and he would likely die there. It was not to be changed.
He was standing at the edge of this cliff because if he jumped, his legacy would go down with him. He would have full control over his fate, and it would cost him his life.
“Achilles-” “I don’t want my purpose to be to fight. That is no way to live. I want to fight, and I want to live. And I want to keep on living when it is over. If they will not let me do that then I will not give them the hero they want.” He spat bitterly.
“So you would rather end your life now?” I asked quietly.
“I would rather live. But if I live now, I will only die soon enough.”
So he would leave me?
He could not leave me alone in this world. I wouldn’t let him. I grabbed his shoulder. “If you jump, I will jump.”
His eyes widened, his face paled. “No.”
“My life is worth nothing without you, Achilles. If you jump, I cannot stop you… but I will jump with you.”
I traced the outline of his jaw, cupping his face. “Greece needs you. I need you.” I would not weep and beg. I knew I could do nothing to stop his fate. But I could make it better. I could make his life worth living.
“Please, come down.” His eyes drifted back to the cliff’s edge. It would be so easy to take a step forward and plunge into the icy waters.
I held out my hand.
Do you see how meaningful you are? Do you know your true value?
He grabbed it, stepping down onto the grass.
I could not help it. I pulled him into a hug, rough and desperate and as scared as a little boy. I kissed him over and over, tears rolling down my cheeks and landing onto the muddy earth. If I held him tight enough, maybe he would never let go. “Please don’t leave me,” I begged him as his own tears began to fall again. “Please don’t leave me alone here.”
“I won’t, I won’t.” He promised. He wiped a tear from my cheek with a sombre smile on his face. “I swear.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
He was my fate and I was his. And it was enough. It had to be enough.