Chapter Text
There was a scream from close-by, and more shouts of alarm from farther away, but Patroclus wasn't hearing any of it. All he could do was stare at where Clysonymus was laying against the wall. Bruises were forming on his neck, and a pool of blood was forming under his head. It began to seep toward Patroclus' feet, but the boy didn't move, just stared as it made a dark red stream across the stone. A strong hand grabbed his arm and dragged him to his feet. They were running in the direction of the house, and finally he looked up to see the scared face of his father.
“Get our cloaks,” Menoetius yelled. “Prepare a horse, quickly!”
“What's going on? Where are you going?” Patroclus recognized the voice of Polymele.
“There's been an accident...Patroclus got in a fight with Clysonymus, and...I don't know where we're going. Anywhere.”
“Go to my father's house. He'll take care of you there. I'll join you as soon as I can.”
“Will you be alright?”
“Being a woman is not my weakness, and I'm Myrmidon.”
Patroclus felt himself lifted onto a horse, and his father mounted behind him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He was coming out of his daze, and was beginning to comprehend the world around him. He turned to Polymele, and saw the same sad, frightened look that was on his father's face.
“I'm sorry,” he said, suddenly. “I didn't mean to. It was an accident.”
She reached up and took her stepson's hand. “I know. You're a good boy, of course you wouldn't do this on purpose. Just keep being good, do what you're told, and be brave.”
Patroclus gave a small, frantic nod. Within moments, he had lost sight of her as the horse set off at a hard gallop.
~*~
Thetis held her son's hands as he attempted to climb on the rocks. He was able to walk on his own, but was barely two years old, and she couldn't bear to think of him hurting himself. She wouldn't dream of quashing the adventurousness in his nature, even this early in life. From a little ways away her husband sat on a rock watching the two. He then looked past the two of them, and she turned to look at what had distracted him.
A traveler was riding towards them, covered by a dirty cloak and sitting on an exhausted horse. In front of him he held a boy no older than six or seven. The boy didn't seem tired, but rather had a dead expression in his eyes. They stopped suddenly on the road, and the man stared at them. Peleus stood suddenly, and walked over to where the horse was stopped.
“Menoetius?” he said, staring disbelievingly. “What...?”
Menoetius climbed off the horse, and dragged his son down with him. The boy stood for a few moments looking dazed, then blinked and looked around him. He looked up at Peleus, then across at Thetis and Achilles curiously. His father gave him a push in their direction.
“Go on, Patroclus,” he said, encouragingly.
The boy—Patroclus—approached slowly at first, and smiled as Achilles attempted to make a step in his direction. He made a strange sort of gurgling noise, and tried to pry himself from his mother's hands to reach the older boy. Patroclus walked forward and knelt down to Achilles' height.
“What?!”
Both Thetis and Patroclus looked up at Peleus' exclamation. Meneotius was looking very sombre, and was silently pleading with Peleus. Finally, a sigh and a nod. The two approached Thetis and the boys.
“Menoetius and Patroclus will be staying here from now on,” Peleus told his wife. Then, “I'll explain later.”
“Patroclus,” Menoetius said, a small smile forming on his face. “This is Peleus—Polymele's father—and his new wife, Thetis. I'm guessing this strapping young man is Achilles.”
“Indeed he is,” Thetis said, smiling. “and he's taken a liking to your son here.”
“We're going to have to have Patroclus look after him, then,” Peleus said, laughing. “He'll need someone closer to his own age than myself to be there—after a while, they stop caring what their fathers say. And I wonder whether some of the other boys will be unwilling to fight back once Achilles is at the point where he's pushing them around.”
Menoetius turned to his father-in-law and gave a grateful smile. Achilles gave another indistinct noise, and laughed.
~*~
Polymele showed up a few days after Patroclus and Menoetius. There were fading purple bruises where someone had grabbed her arm, but other than that she was acting perfectly happy. She was delighted with her new brother, bouncing him and smiling.
“He's got the grip of a a titan,” she said, prying a strand of her hair from his hand.
After the initial wonder at Achilles, Patroclus had lost interest. He couldn't understand women's fascination with babies. Even at two years, he didn't do much but eat, sleep, and grab stuff, most of which ended up in his mouth. Although it was fun to play with him sometimes, for the most part Patroclus found him rather boring.
A lot of his time was spent walking on the beach or through the rocks and trees on the mountainside above it. It wasn't so different from Opus, and on clear days he thought he may be able to see Euboea across the channel from atop the rocks. Some days Polymele or his father would come find him to see what he was up to, and a couple times even Peleus or Thetis would come talk to him.
“Have you made any friends?” Polymele asked once.
“Not really,” he replied, picking up a rock and tossing it into the water. “Father says I'm not allowed to talk to anyone. Says it'll defile them.”
“Oh yeah,” Polymele said. “I suppose he feels the gods will forgive our family.”
“Hey,” he said, suddenly. “Is Thetis really a goddess? I heard some of the slaves talking about her.”
Polymele was silent for a moment and adjusted Achilles, whom she had been holding, on her hip. Then she sat down on a rock and shifted her brother onto her lap.
“Did you know that we share the same bloodline?” She asked.
“What?”
“How much do you know about your grandmother?”
“Aegina?” Patroclus said, frowning slightly. “I've heard say she was a sea nymph, but I'm not sure how much I believe that one. She had two sons—Aeacus, and who was immortal, and my father.”
“Menoetius,” Polymele said, nodding. “The immortal son Aeacus had a son, too. His name was Peleus. Yes,” she smiled at Patroclus' surprised expression. “my own father. For circumstances similar to your own, he fled here himself.”
Patroclus looked out across the water.
“Were you ever told what happened to her?” Polymele asked.
“No.”
“One day she went out for a walk on the beach, and she never came back. She was getting older, but was still so beautiful, and nobody knew what happened to her. They said she 'went home'. People make stories to explain what they can't in any other way.
“Is Thetis a goddess? She's a very beautiful woman, who showed up one day across the sea with my father, already married. Nobody knows who she is or where she came from. I wonder if sometimes the gods are given credit where they don't deserve it.”
Patroclus thought about this for the rest of the day. He looked at Thetis, and the way her hair shone in the light. At times she seemed just a normal woman, trying to live a normal life. But at others she almost did seem a goddess. He could see why people could get so confused about it.
That night, Menoetius came into his son's room before he went to bed. He sat on the bed next to where Patroclus was laying and stretched out his legs.
“How are you doing?” he asked. Patroclus knew the true meaning behind the words, though—Menoetius had a way of saying things in a completely casual manner, but mean something much more serious.
“Okay, I guess,” he replied. “It still hurts.”
Menoetius smiled, and suddenly Patroclus felt a strange fear grip him. There in the dark, he had never seen his father look so old. His expression was so sad, and all the lines on his face seemed exaggerated. The lamplight coming in the doorway brought the out the greys in his golden-brown hair. For the first time, Patroclus saw how much older he was than Peleus.
“You look so much like your mother,” Menoetius said, brushing his son's hair from his face. “She was dark, too. It was her black hair and golden skin that I fell in love with first.”
“Father...” Patroclus' voice was quavering.
“But it was your grandmother that had those green eyes.”
“Polymele told me what happened to her,” Patroclus said. “About how she went for a walk and didn't come back. Why did she do that?”
Menoetius looked at his son for a long moment, then across the room thoughtfully.
“I wondered about that for a long time, too,” he said, finally. “I still don't know the answer. I can only guess. Sometimes people do things for there is no one, single answer. That's the way it always is with big decisions. But I think she did it, mostly, for the faith of others.
“You see, Patroclus, we live in an age of heroes—Heracles, Jason, Theseus—but when we're all gone, what is there but stories? The tales of gods and magic is what parents will have to tell their children. And if that spell is broken, what will people have left to believe in?
“I think she may have left to preserve that magic, so that people will have a grand story to tell their children. So that boys will still have their heroes, someone to aspire to be, and girls will still be charmed by the courage of the women who hold on through their loves' hardships.
“And who knows? Maybe, if you become a hero, you will be the story that is told. And some little boy will grow up with your great deeds, and the romance in your story. He'll be there someday to lay a wreath on your tomb in your honour.”
“Really?” Patroclus looked up at his father in wonder.
“Mmhm.” Menoetius smiled down at his son again, that same sad smile. “Patroclus--” he paused. “I can't stay here. I'm a king, and I can't abandon my people.”
Patroclus looked desperately up at his father. “But--”
Menoetius laid a finger on Patroclus' lips.
“I will stay until you are purified,” he said. “but then I must leave. You will stay here for a couple more years, and then you and Achilles will leave. It's already been arranged—you will go to live and train will Chiron.”
Patroclus sat up suddenly. “You mean...?”
“Yes, that Chiron, who trained Jason himself.” Patroclus glowed, and Menoetius laughed and ruffled his hair. “It's late. You should get to sleep.”
He leaned down and kissed his son's hair, then stood up and left. It was still a long time before Patroclus got to sleep, though.
~*~
The morning of the purification ceremony was bright, hot, and muggy. Slaves stood by Thetis and Polymele, fanning them down, and Peleus and Menoetius wiped sweat from the backs of their necks. Patroclus thanked the gods that it was hot the day he left Opus—he was dressed in the clothes he had been wearing when he arrived.
An altar had been set up on the beach, a simple ring of stones and a fire. A piglet was held in the priest's hands, squealing and writhing in an attempt to get free. Peleus pulled out a knife, and Patroclus gripped the handle. Together, they slit the creature's throat, and Patroclus looked in a sort of horrified fascination as the blood spilled into a shallow bowl. The blood was then poured over Patroclus' head, and he felt a wave of nausea as it ran onto his face and hands.
A burning brand was pulled out of the fire, and waved in front of him, and he choked on the smoke. His bloodied garments were removed and placed in the fire. The priest lifted him up, and waded into the water, and Patroclus gasped as he was lowered into the freezing water. When he came back up above the surface, though, the blood had been washed off, and was fading away into the sea. A white robe was then placed on his shoulders.
The meat of the piglet was divided up, placed in fat, and covered in barley. It was placed on the fire to cook. The offering of meat was given to the gods, and Patroclus was given a cup with a very small amount of wine. He had never had the drink undiluted before, and almost choked. The adults laughed.
“Don't get used to it,” Peleus said, smiling. “Only barbarians drink it like this on any occasion other than celebrations.”
Patroclus was just glad when he was allowed to leave. He was changed into more comfortable clothes, and ran off. Behind him, he could hear the adults laughing.
~*~
Menoetius left the next day. As his horse was being prepared, he sat on the terrace with his son, looking out at the water. Patroclus was doing his best not to cry, but it ended up being too much for the boy. He did his best to hide his face as hot tears rolled down his cheeks.
“Hey,” Menoetius said, looking at his son. “Don't worry. It's not like this is a real goodbye. Nobody's going to stop you from ever seeing me again. This is all part of growing up.”
Patroclus nodded furiously, and wished with all his might that he could stop crying. He felt ashamed at acting like such a baby. “I know,” he choked out.
Menoetius wiped the tears from his son's face. “You'll see. You'll be too busy to even miss me. And you'll eventually stop caring what an old sod like me thinks about you.”
Patroclus really hoped that his father was joking about this. It was just too hard for him to believe.
Polymele gave him one last hug before mounting her own horse.
“Be good,” she said. “Work hard. Make your father proud.” Patroclus nodded. “We'll see each other again. I promise.”
~*~
Three years after Patroclus arrived in Phthia, he and Achilles left to live with Chiron.
Achilles had grown increasingly attached to the older boy after his mother had left. Patroclus never told anyone that he ran after Thetis when he saw her pulling a boat into the sea early one morning. He remembered what his father told him about why Aegina disappeared, and instead almost even encouraged rumors that she returned home. Achilles continued to believe that she lived under the sea with her father. In reality, Patroclus had no idea what happened to her.
Neither of them received any sort of instruction in combat. At ten years old, Patroclus was far behind any other boys his age. Instead, he jealously watch their lessons from afar, and imitated what he could. But with no teacher, his movements were awkward, sometimes even clumsy.
Peleus accompanied the boys when they left, along with a single guard. Achilles rode most the way in front of Patroclus. The way led them up north, away from the sea and through Thessaly. A night was spent at the base of Mount Olympus, at the top of which a storm rumbled that seemed to last forever.
“It's okay,” Patroclus told a frightened Achilles. “Zeus is a good god. He won't hurt us. He's just warning us, telling us not to try to climb up there.”
“Why?”
“Because that's the home of the gods. Men are not allowed up there.”
The next day they continued even farther, into lands that were rumored to be inhabited by semi-barbaric tribes. In another couple of days, they finally came to a stop.
“This is as far as I take you,” Peleus said. Then, at Patroclus' horrified expression, he said, “Don't worry. You just go straight up this mountain. Chiron will find you—he's clever like that.”
So Patroclus and Achilles continued on their own. They were soon deep in a forest, and Patroclus had to try to work his way through. He instinctively held Achilles to him, and Achilles clutched both the horse's mane and the arm around his chest. Patroclus abruptly stopped the horse as he heard approaching hooves. Instead of the great centaur he imagined, though, an old man on a mule emerged from the trees.
“You Patroclus and Achilles?” he asked in a gruff voice. Without waiting for an answer, he said, “Good. You've probably guessed who I am. Come on”
Patroclus' jaw dropped when he realized that this was Chiron, the great teacher and wise king. It was Achilles that voiced his thoughts.
“You're not a centaur.”
Chiron looked around. “Give it some time, and we'll what people say about you, boy. In the meantime, would you reject me as a teacher?”
Achilles shook his head, eyes wide. They rode through the forest in silence. As they reached a clearing, another boy emerged from a cave and ran to Chiron.
“Never mind,” Chiron said to him. “Just because I'm old doesn't mean I need help. Go get my staff, boy.”
The boy went back into the cave and came back carrying a thick oak staff. Chiron climbed stiffly off his mule and grabbed the staff from the boy. Patroclus dismounted his horse and helped Achilles off too.
“This is Medeus,” Chiron said, slapping the other boy on the shoulder. “Medeus, this is Patroclus, son of Menoetius, and Achilles, son of Peleus.”
Medeus stiffened at their names, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Chiron looked between them for a few moments, and then glared at Medeus. Finally, the other boy gave a nod in their direction.
“How you doin'?” he said, the cold look still on his face.
He seemed to be about the same age, but Patroclus had never seen anyone like him. His skin was dark, and his hair were black as night, as were his eyes. His accent seemed to be a strange mix of Corinthian, Athenian, and something else he couldn't name. With a cold look, Medeus turned and walked off.
“Ooh,” Patroclus said, sneering. “'look at me, aren't I so great, nobody can even figure out where I'm from. I don't need anyone but myself.'”
Achilles gave a laugh at Patroclus' imitation, but stopped immediately at the look on Chiron's face.
“Don't think you're the only ones with problems,” the old man said. “If anything, that boy has had it far worse than either of you have.”
Medeus didn't speak to either Patroclus or Achilles for a long time afterward. It didn't matter, anyway—both were too tired to be worried about the other boy's behavior. Looking back, it was quite an accomplishment, since more often than not Medeus was paired with Patroclus when Chiron was teaching them how to fight. When mistakes were made, Chiron might bang his staff on their shins, then yell at them to do whatever it was again, and Patroclus started to wonder where people got any of their ideas about their teacher. On the other hand, he was less somewhat rough with Achilles, and seeing the tension between him and Medeus, had Achilles learn with Patroclus, who tended to go somewhat easier on him, due to Achilles' much younger age. Sometimes Achilles might sense this, and would then yell at Patroclus for letting him win.
When they weren't fighting, they were being taught how to get along in the wild. Medeus generally was better than Achilles and Patroclus at this, although Patroclus was glad to find he was a faster learner when it came to tending wounds and curing illnesses. For the most part, they had to come up with their own food, although once again, Chiron was easier on Achilles.
One night, when Chiron was gone and Achilles had fallen asleep, Medeus finally spoke to Patroclus.
“Your fathers were Argonauts, right?” he asked.
“Yeah, why?”
“What did they think of Jason?” Medeus asked.
Patroclus thought for a moment. He wasn't quite sure what to say. “I dunno,” he answered finally. “They thought he was a good leader.”
“They didn't say anything about how he acted toward other people?”
“No,” Patroclus said. “What's this about?”
“My mother's Medea,” he finally sighed. “I was named after her. She was the one that helped Jason get the Golden Fleece.”
“What? Really?” Patroclus lit up, but his smile faded when he saw Medeus' dark look. “You don't like him or something?”
“No,” Medeus said, as if it were obvious. Then he sighed again. “My father fell in love with another woman when he returned to Corinth, and married her instead of my mother—he abandoned her and her kids. But...I realized I'm being really unfair. I still feel the right to hate Jason for what he did to my mother. I've never really met him, though, and I can't go around hating people because they were associated with him. I was stupid, and I'm sorry.”
Patroclus thought about this. It seemed to be stupid of him, too, to continue to be mad at someone when they realized their own mistakes. He looked down at Achilles, who was curled up under a cloak. When he looked back at Medeus, he was smiling.
“It's okay,” he said. “We've all got our problems, right?”
Medeus nodded. "Yeah, I guess so."