Archive of Our Own

“I hope you’re faring well, my love. Do not worry, I can wait.”

Patroclus’ musings are different now. He knows where Achilles resides, yet he can’t help but wonder. Is he all right? Is that blasted god treating him with respect? Oh, the pain he would inflict if it’s not the case…

Alas, he remains here, though the waits are less difficult. He’s used to waiting. There’s also a flame-footed stranger who often passes through the glade. He once disturbed his semblance of peace in this glade: smashing urns, scolding himself for a lost charp, speaking to him relentlessly. Patroclus wondered why he bothered, but now? He’s not so bad. Even better, he shares the same disdain regarding the god of the underworld. Should the stranger desire to vent his woes or mock his pretentious capes, he will listen.

On this day, evening, or whenever, Patroclus starts one of his musings when a loud thud alerts him. He makes his way toward the glade’s entrance, finding said stranger on one knee.

“Oh! Hello, sir, I” - Zagreus huffs - “just need to catch my breath.”

The knee with which he braces himself shakes, and he breathes heavily from exertion. Patroclus watches as he manages a weak smile and drops his head again.

He offers a hand toward Zagreus. “Here.”

After a brief moment, Zagreus clasps it in his own, and Patroclus pulls him up with one steady motion. How unusual... he usually saunters inside as if he owns this realm. Rough day or whenever on the job, perhaps? What mess has he gotten himself into, this time?

With a strong arm, Patroclus supports Zagreus as they reach a more comfortable part of the glade. Zagreus lets out a sigh of relief as he rests his back against a rock formation, and Patroclus retrieves one of his various trinkets, as he calls them. They serve little use to him, but for the prince of recklessness, they’re worth acquiring.

Patroclus hands him a cup of crimson liquid; it restores one’s health, apparently. Not that he would need it - he’s already dead.

“Thank you, sir.”

He acknowledges Zagreus with a nod. “You are worse for wear, this time around.”

“Yeah, well, thank the pact for that.”

Pact? Oh no, what did he do? After all his generous efforts to void the one that separated him from his beloved, Patroclus can’t help but wonder. He’s grown to consider Zagreus as a close confidant - a friend, even. Now, he’s more akin to a fool.

“Explain, stranger. You always have interesting stories to tell,” Patroclus says, lowering himself onto the ground.

Zagreus empties the contents of the cup in one motion. He breathes more steadily and sets the cup aside.

“Well, you know that ransacking my father’s realm, obols and gemstones and all, as well as destruction to the point where frequent structural repairs are needed, is now entirely permitted?”

“Correct.”

“And my ceaseless attempts at escaping led to… many things, really, but for now, let’s just say my father had a change of heart. If there’s any left of it, anyway. Which then led to his promise to do better, to see me as more than a nuisance in his life, death, you know what I mean.”

“Go on.”

He enjoys how the stranger mocks his father. He mocks him, too.

“Since things are somewhat better at the House, he proposed a new challenge. Should I choose, I test his new security measures at my leisure. More wretches, stronger foes, lots of destruction - all a delight, really.”

“Your condition suggests otherwise,” Patroclus eyes his fatigue. “Fortunately, you found this glade just in time.”

“And thank the gods I did,” Zagreus says as he slumps against the rock. “Always look forward to seeing you, sir.”

“To think, I’m able to say the same, stranger.”

Zagreus chuckles and allows himself a moment’s rest. Patroclus follows suit, closing his eyes and listening to the river nearby. Lingering shades wisely leave the two alone, at this point of their endless existence.

“Looks like I’ll be here for a while, so if you have anything to ask of me, please do.”

Since Zagreus asks so kindly (and Patroclus means no jest in those words), perhaps now is the time to bring up the subject.

“I do have one question on my mind.”

“Go ahead.”

Patroclus opens his eyes, and Zagreus already appears better. To tire himself out over and over, to heal and stand up and continue...

“What is it like to embrace immortality? You reach the surface, fight that blasted god you call your father, and die, no matter the result. The cycle repeats. Yet here you are, adding challenges to your inevitable fate like it’s all a game.”

“Oh, well-” Zagreus coughs lightly and clears his throat.

“Too much at once? My apologies.”

“No, not at all. It’s an interesting thought.”

This stranger may be reckless, but he’s earnest. One of the most earnest in this realm of braggarts, truly. Such honesty occasionally coaxes tales from his own past, as he can trust Zagreus with the information.

“I suppose that I’ve gotten used to it,” Zagreus rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t really fear death, knowing I’ll wade through the Styx and into the House again. I imagine mortals wouldn’t toy with death, so easily.”

“Most wouldn’t, but some do. And that’s without divine blood in their veins.”

“You mean Achilles?”

“I most certainly do,” Patroclus lets out a small huff. “His mother was a goddess, you see.”

Thetis was a Nereid, to be specific. Patroclus often imagined a different Achilles, had he been raised in uncharted waters. Would he shimmer like the ocean beneath the sun? Would he have scales? Silly thoughts, but entertaining, nonetheless.

“He did mention praying to his mother, once. Mostly to her than any other, in fact. He doesn’t share much about his past, so I appreciate anything I learn.”

Ah, Achilles’ past. Patroclus knows a fair amount of it, though many gaps in his knowledge remain. Following their reunion, the two slowly piece together the moments they spent apart, after war separated them. Achilles stops and grows despondent, admitting how difficult it is to share the memories aloud. Understanding the circumstances, Patroclus reassures him with a hug, a tender kiss. He doesn’t push him. They heal at their own pace; they have that luxury.

Now that Patroclus is aware of his love from life into lonely death, he is ever patient. When his Achilles is ready to try again, he shall listen.

“We mortals try to live our days to their fullest, unaware if the Fates will cut them short. My Achilles was reckless, to a fault. Who could hurt him, after all? As for myself, I knew my limits early on, and I was more careful.”

Quick and efficient - this was Patroclus’ way of the spear. Ideally, he struck quickly to ensure a painless death, but war was war. In the end, he did what he needed to do, and he brought the pain to his tomb. Their tomb.

“You two must have been a great team,” Zagreus says. He’s sitting up, and his eyes light up with intrigue.

“Something like that. Much of war involves waiting, cleaning armor, and waiting some more. When we reconvened, Achilles would be drenched in blood. We would sit by the river, and I would help him wash the day’s battles away. Then the cycle repeats.”

How interesting it is to speak about such turbulent years to one who’s never experienced the cruelties of war. To the stranger, Patroclus’ tales seem distant, from a far-off realm in a time long-forgotten. He is fortunate to understand warfare from tales, alone. But Patroclus can never forget, as much he wanted to. Perhaps such events will be recorded into the tomes of history, and future mortals may understand. That’s the least of his worries, here.

Something else occupies his mind, as thoughts tend to do.

“Another question, stranger. More important, than the last.”

“Go for it, sir.”

Well, here goes.

“What was Achilles like, when the two of you first met?”

Zagreus takes a deep breath and exhales. Again, Patroclus wonders if it’s a lot to ask.

He doesn’t wonder for long.

“Father called me to his desk one day, and he was standing beside him. He introduced him as the greatest warrior of his time, one who sent many souls to his realm. Said I could finally be useful, for a change.”

Patroclus notes the venom laced within those words. The scoff, as well. To give him credit, he’s more useful than that blasted god will ever be. Ah, but that’s also wrong, for Zagreus is no mere tool. He is a friend. How dare his father make him feel like a burden to cast away.

“Anyway, Achilles knelt before me, introduced himself… said it was an honor to be able to teach me. He asked that I would come to accept him, in turn. There was something about him… his eyes were warm, yet he looked so tired. I reached out, and he took my hands in his. He smiled. Maybe he needed that.”

Grief wore him down for quite a while, hasn’t it?

“He was always patient with me, on and off the training grounds. I think he started to notice how I avoided Father, how I reacted to his snide comments. One time, we were going back and forth when Achilles strode up behind me. Said that I needed extra training and excused us… didn’t know I’d been clutching his robes the whole time.”

Patroclus hums, coaxing him to continue.

“We didn’t train that time. He just… checked up on me. Asked me how I was doing, asked what Father had told me that time. He looked so sad, like he wanted to say more, but couldn’t.”

“Hm, that is odd. In life, he held nothing back against authority.” If Achilles hasn’t shared the tale with Zagreus, he may do it, himself. Another time, though.

“I mean, no one would oppose my father out in the open aside from myself. But then, I remember the conditions of his pact. He serves Father, and in exchange-”

“-I will be safe here, in Elysium,” Patroclus finishes, understanding the gesture. “Ah, that fool.”

A young Zagreus was caught in the middle, and he never knew.

“When I found out, it all made sense. He did what he could, so you wouldn’t be hurt. I ask that you please don’t blame him for this, sir. He really did try.”

Patroclus knew Achilles before war changed him. He appreciated his spontaneity, his sense of justice. Then, the war changed him for the worse. He didn’t recognize Achilles, back then; he recognizes him now. Zagreus vouches for his good character, despite it all.

“If it eases your concern, know that he would come get me when things escalated. Always under the guise of extra training, and he simply talked to me, or listened if I did the talking. He never made me feel like a burden.”

“That sounds more like the Achilles I know," Patroclus remarks. For all his vices and flaws, he had a soft heart. Whatever anger consumed him seemed to extinguish in death, and a different flame ignited within. His parents loved their son, after all, while Zagreus’ father did not. Does he now? It seems complicated.

“There was this one time when we were sparring. He... suddenly stopped. There was a strange look in his eyes - despondent, empty. Like the day we first met. He said we would end training early, and I thought I’d done something wrong. Are you mad at me?, I had asked.”

Time supposedly tempers all anger, but what’s left behind?

“He turned back, knelt in front of me, and assured me otherwise. Something from the past, he told me. I could never be angry with you, lad.”

Patroclus smiles at the nickname.

“Next time we met, he apologized for worrying me. Held out his arms for an embrace, and I returned it. Said if I needed anything at all, he’d be there for me.” Zagreus smiles. “It was the first time he called me ‘lad’. Guess the name stuck.”

“He uses it when we speak of you, here,” Patroclus feels the sincerity in his words. “Mostly kind things, of course.”

Zagreus’ voice lowers, softer than before. "He was like the father I wanted, sir. The one I needed, really. I’ve... never said this to Achilles, but you’re welcome to share this when you see him."

“Ah, but I think such sentiments will be better coming from you, Zagreus,” Patroclus says his name gently, with care. "But, thank you for telling me this. It puts things into perspective, hearing how he cared for you.”

“Yeah,” Zagreus says. “He cared then, and he cares now. I don’t know how I can ever repay him for what he’s done.”

“May I suggest a starting point, then?" he asks, standing up alongside Zagreus.

"Of course. Anything."

He's a kind one, truly. May he remain careful lest his foes expect mercy. If nothing else, then two Myrmidons will come to his aid, whenever he needs them.

"Will you remind my Achilles that he is doing well? I often tease him, so he doesn’t believe me. Calls me a liar, I call him a fool, and- well, perhaps he will listen if the words come from you."

Zagreus blinks, and then he smiles.

"Will do.”

Zagreus turns to leave, and he’s facing Patroclus once more.

“I’m not sure if you’re the hugging type, sir, but” - Zagreus opens his arms in front of him - “sometimes, words aren’t enough. To express my thanks, I mean. For everything. But only if you’re all right with it.”

“Oh, I think I can spare one for you, stranger,” he says. He opens his arms and catches a glimpse of Zagreus’ grin as they embrace. It’s as if sparks of flame prickle Patroclus’ hand as he gently pats his hair.

“All the best, catching up with Achilles.”

“We’ll do our best. Thank you for all you’ve done, as well.”

After some time, they pull away. Zagreus returns to his escapades, and Patroclus lies down on the grass. It was a rather long yet worthwhile conversation, and he needs some rest.

Lad, stranger, Zagreus - whatever the name, he shall always be welcome here.

“Ah!” Patroclus stands from his spot in the glade as Achilles approaches.

Embraces are long and full, no matter how much time passes. They’ve taken one another’s affections for granted during their mortal days. Despite an eternity to look forward to, they cherish their time together. If his pact ever includes the term “indefinite hiatus”, however...

“Have you been well, my love? Are they treating you all right?”

“You ask me that, every time.”

“Yes, and I await your answer.”

A resigned sigh, yet Achilles’ eyes show appreciation.

“I have, and they are. Minor renovations occurred, but little else, of note. It’s livelier now, thanks to the lad. He redecorated solely to pester his father.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“And for some reason, a portrait of Theseus hangs upon our wall. Did you know his hair was longer, in his youth?”

“That’s terrible.”

Each visit starts off relatively the same. They inquire of the other’s well-being, exchange gossip, and more. On this occasion, they continue to fill in the missing pieces from their fractured pasts. They agreed that Achilles will broach the subject when he is ready. According to him, Patroclus deserves to hear everything regarding the aftermath of his death.

Achilles lets out a deep sigh, shoulders rising and falling. “Best to not waste any more time.”

It seems that he’s ready.

“I’ve struggled to tell you what happened with words, so then I thought - why don’t I show you, instead?” Achilles’ gaze flickers between Patroclus and the ground, but he eventually meets him again.

“This may seem out of sorts, Pat, but... could I ask you to lie down?”

Lie down? Why does he-

Ah.

“...Are you certain?” Even Patroclus hesitates.

“Yes,” he answers quickly, forcing out the word. “I just- I need to work something out. But only if it’s all right with you.”

Achilles often acts upon impulse, yet this request feels different. Though he speaks with haste, there’s a certain look in his eyes. Patroclus knows him well enough. He’s been thinking about this for quite some time.

And so he obliges, lying against the soft grass. Should he move, or should he stay still? He’s dead weight and he isn’t.

“Should I-?”

Patroclus doesn’t finish the question as Achilles slowly wraps his arms around his body. He stops speaking and lets himself be lifted. One hand supports his head, and the other hand rests against his back. Achilles holds with trembling arms, pulls him closer until his face is beside his. Patroclus doesn’t speak. What can he say?

Achilles remains silent, placing a kiss upon his head. And then another. And another. Gentle, so gentle.

So sad.

"...I held you just like this, and I wept and wept,” Achilles murmurs. “I was inconsolable. I knew you could not hold me back, but... I hoped that you would. I hoped you would open your eyes and the nightmare would end. I felt nothing but guilt."

Patroclus couldn't hold him back then, but he can hold him now.

He pulls away briefly, only to circle his arms around Achilles. He stiffens against the embrace, but relaxes a moment later. Patroclus catches the shudder in his breath.

"I'm here, my love. You need not worry."

Achilles nods, and they hold each other closer, leaving no space in between. Patroclus is ever patient, combing through Achilles' hair as he works through the painful memories. He knows his beloved beyond rage; he can only imagine the grief leading toward it.

“They tried to convince me to eat, to rest. It would’ve meant letting go of you, and I couldn’t do that.”

War cries, the rain of arrows, the clash of spears, blood-soaked fields, his blood-soaked body, his Achilles…

Hector gave him a swift end, and that’s when he recalls the famous rage. He’s aware that it happened, yet he’s unaware of what that truly entailed.

They stay like this for a while, no words spoken. Patroclus rubs circles against his back and places kisses upon his head. I’m here, I’m here. I won’t leave.

Slowly, Achilles’ trembles subside, and they pull away.

“Thank you, Pat. That said... you may not like this next part.”

Patroclus notes the pain in his voice, yet remains calm, wiping a stray tear from his beloved’s cheek. “We’re here now, so we may as well finish what we started.”

Achilles takes a breath, his hands clasped tightly together. Patroclus places his own over them, willing him to relax.

“All my efforts stalling the prophecy came to a halt when I learned of Hector… and what he had done.”

That’s what Patroclus had feared, a lifetime ago. He held no personal grievances against Hector. Rather, he feared the fate that awaited his beloved, should Hector perish. He proved a formidable foe, until the end.

“I sought him out, slayed him with my hand… and dragged his corpse around the walls of Troy. From sunrise to sunset, perhaps longer.”

What? Did he hear that correctly?

Patroclus tries to process those words. He can’t. He pulls away, hoping Achilles can address the confusion on his face.

Achilles averts his gaze, staring across the glade, then toward the ground. Patroclus feels the regret in his soul and sees the weary lines upon his face. War truly does age a man, and for the worse. Is this what the “famous rage of Achilles” encompassed? Humans always valued glory, above all. To escape one’s mortality, only for grief to shackle them in death - there’s no glory to be found.

“That is… excessive.”

“Very,” Achilles says. “I didn’t think so, at the time.”

Achilles seems to think differently, now. Hopefully.

“I felt nothing beyond the rage that consumed me, a heat of a thousand suns that would’ve scorched the earth. If it meant bringing you back, then by the gods, I would’ve done anything. But that’s no excuse. I overreacted, and I was a fool. It was only until his father ventured to claim him that I came to my senses. I didn’t deserve his mercy.”

And yet, it seems Achilles was the merciful one, at that moment. He remembered himself. Better late than never.

“Well, you are aware now, yes?”

Achilles nods. His eyes are unfocused.

“Then there’s no need to press further against the wound. That would be cruel.”

He never thought much of it, but Achilles often expressed how he was beyond his years. Perhaps it’s the product of a turbulent childhood, where circumstances allowed time to ponder and critique. Perhaps it’s simply how he is. While fleet-footed Achilles sought a fleeting fate, Patroclus questioned the society in which he lived. Warfare over wisdom? Taking and taking, leaving nothing in one’s wake? For what purpose does this all serve beyond the ego? It’s difficult work, and it explains why most prefer not to ask such questions. They chase fate and become fools, instead. Sometimes, they change. Sometimes, they don’t.

“That was the worst of it, though there’s still more that you should know.”

Achilles risked it all, so Patroclus gives him another chance.

“I am listening.”

“My mother finally convinced me to let you go, that you required a proper burial. I handled your ashes myself, for I could trust nobody else with the task.”

Another shaky breath, and Patroclus reassures him with a kiss. Achilles continues.

“I kept on fighting, striking down whoever obstructed my path. It was no longer rage I felt, but agony. I tried to hold back, but my body refused. My spear met flesh and bone; I met nothing. No one could strike me down, and I hated it.”

“Then that would mean…”

Achilles merely nods. “It was then that I damned the Fates, damned myself for what I believed. I thought I was in the right. When I finally met my end, a part of me felt relief. Maybe I wanted to. Nothing else mattered, if I couldn’t be with you.”

This resonates with Patroclus, who spent his time brooding and lamenting his own fate. Nothing mattered without that part of his soul, without his Achilles. But things can be different, now.

“So there I was, in front of the Master himself. I asked about you, but he merely stated you were not in Elysium. It felt like a stab in the gut. I saw you as a hero! Yet, he-!” Anger dies down to a frustrated sigh.

“That explains the confusion, then, and the shuffling about,” Patroclus says, recalling his own arrangements after death. They were unsure about him: was he a hero, or a fool in hero’s armor? It was the latter, not surprisingly. He blocks most of the details from his mind, not wishing to relive that pain now.

“Anyway. Signed the pact, took my place at the House, and followed orders. Eventually, I was tasked with training the lad. I was warned of his attitude, but never did he show one toward me. Along with sparring, he’d asked me to play, so I did. Fast lad, he was, and that’s coming from me,” Achilles chuckles. “Seeing him grow... I suppose I had something to live for, again.”

“They say we learn the most from youth, when we choose to listen,” Patroclus smiles. “He sang your praises, last time he was here. Told me how you looked after him, kept him safe.”

“Oh, I did what any reasonable person would do, though I see the irony in my words,” Achilles sighs. “The lad did nothing wrong, yet his father only scolded him. Defying him would’ve put you in danger, and I couldn’t…”

“You did what you could,” Patroclus halts his line of thought. Normally, he listens until the end, but some lines are better left uncrossed. “So long as Zagreus was safe, then that’s what matters, hm? Seeing how he regards you, it explains enough.”

Achilles holds his head in his hands. “How can you be so lenient with me, Pat? After everything, I still have trouble believing it.”

“Anger fades with time, I suppose,” Patroclus answers. “Ah, but that’s not the right word, is it? I felt… bitter, yes, but never angry. As Zagreus kept informing me about our apparent predicament, I began to feel hopeful. A long time, since I’ve felt it, and it only grew when I learned of your final request.”

Achilles hums. “About our ashes, I presume. To think that a slip of the tongue, or lack thereof, would bring us together. I never intended for the lad to share that.”

Indeed, the admission came as a surprise to Patroclus’ once-downtrodden self. Knowing that his Achilles loved him until the end spurred him forward, gave him hope. Achilles loves him still, and he loves, in return.

"...When he relayed your message to risk it all, I didn't know what to do. I excused myself and kept thinking about you, about us. Do I risk it all? Should I risk it all? Is it worth it? Am I worth it?"

He tries to turn away, and Patroclus stops him with a gentle hand against his face. They reached this point of the discussion in the past, and Achilles had ceased talking. He has overcome this hurdle; he risked it all.

Patroclus watches Achilles as shuts his eyes, breathes, and leans against his touch. He caresses his face, feeling exhaustion etched into his skin. How strange that he can still feel this as a mere shade. How strange that he feels at all, let alone with such intensity, ebbing and flowing like the Lethe. A blessing and a curse.

Sensing the worries tumbling through Achilles’ mind, Patroclus is patient. Time is on their side, after all.

"My mind twisted into itself with doubts and fear that this mistake was beyond repair. And yet…"

"...Here we are," Patroclus completes the sentence. "Together."

"Together," Achilles repeats. "The lad told me it was about damn time."

“You make sure to thank him, then,” Patroclus gently chides. “But, I’m glad you were there for him.”

“Ah, I simply did my best. Treated him like how I’d want to be treated,” Achilles says. “For all his fighting prowess, it was his kindness that surprised me. The gods are not known for such things.”

“They really aren’t,” Patroclus shrugs. “But... what’s done is done. The Fates are gentle with us, now. Whether they’re under the guise of a kind stranger or something else, I suppose it matters not.”

A low chuckle leaves Achilles. “Letting me off so easily? You have every right to keep calling me a fool, Pat.”

“Oh, we have all of eternity for that.”

Hearing the trickling stream of the Lethe nearby, Patroclus shares his own truth.

"You know, I often stared into the river and wondered. One cupped hand into its depths, one drink, and it would all be over… but I always hesitated. I took several sips in desperation, but never enough to erase everything."

Achilles hums beside him.

"I cannot fault you for that. After everything, I didn’t expect you to forgive me easily, or at all. That would’ve been justified. But hearing this, do you mean…?”

"Perhaps forgiveness was a part of it,” Patroclus says. “If the Fates were intent on separating us, well, I suppose this was my way of rebelling. I… I didn’t wish to forget our fond memories together. I didn't want to forget us."

Relief fills Achilles’ eyes. “We certainly shared many things together. Laughter, warmth...”

Patroclus leans closer to whisper into his ear. "Would you remind me of them?"

He still remembers many, in truth, yet he wants to hear it from Achilles. He wants to hear that gentle, soothing voice, one that reminds him that some things are worth fighting for.

“Ah, where shall I begin?” Achilles starts, mulling through his thoughts. “Well, there were our countless days on horseback, riding with the wind against our backs. You had a gift in tending to the most temperamental ones. They always preferred you.”

“Well, I am a likeable man.”

“Heh, that you are.”

He feels Achilles clasp his hand, smoothing it with his thumb. It’s the little things that quell his worries: the tender gazes, the gentle touches, the calm company. After so long, every instance of Achilles’ affections feel like the first time he’s given them. Patroclus savors this.

“Do you remember that spring morning where I wrestled you-”

“-right into the lake, you fool. Did you not see the cliff?”

“Only when it was too late,” Achilles shrugs. “But that feeling of sunlight against your skin as we lay upon the water’s edge... there’s nothing like it.”

A smile. “You speak the truth.”

Achilles looks at him tenderly. “And you, my love? Tell me what you remember.”

Hearing the tales once more, once-dormant memories part through Patroclus’ mind. He tried to hide them in a hollow heart; he tried not to remember. Now, he’s grateful did not drink enough from the river. All the carefree seasons spent with Achilles, all their silly antics and intimate moments… he wouldn’t trade them for the world. In life, he loved him; in death, he loves him. Nothing shall change this.

“Hm… we would sit together on the beach, and I would regale you with whatever grand tales I had spun. How the waves crashed against the horizon, how the sea lay golden beneath the sun - truly beautiful.”

It was beautiful. He was beautiful. He still is beautiful.

“I always loved your poetry,” Achilles says fondly, leaning against Patroclus. “You evoked such emotion with seemingly no effort. All I could do was stay quiet and listen for hidden meanings within your words. You inspired me, and you always will.”

“Heh, it is nice to have others listen to your ramblings.”

“Oh come now, Pat. Your wisdom is beyond mere rambles.”

“I know. I was simply teasing.”

He loves to tease him. Achilles usually doesn’t mind.

Patroclus speaks with a gentle tone as the next memory comes to light.

“Have you practiced the lyre during your time away...? I loved to listen to you play.”

There’s a shift against him, followed by a sigh. Patroclus wonders if he said something wrong, yet Achilles would never lie to him. He’s not very good at it.

“Afraid not. As the war loomed closer, I let it go. I’ve never touched one since. I often considered it, but… it would bring back certain memories. Simpler times, and all. But, if you would like...”

They’re here, so they may as well bring forth as many memories as they can. If lingering pain persists, best to release it sooner rather than later. What matters most is that he’ll be with Achilles.

“I dare not pressure you, yet if this is something you desire, perhaps it’s worth the risk.”

“Another risk, hm?” Achilles understands. “Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. You know I would do anything for you, do you not?”

If the past says anything, then Patroclus certainly does.

He answers with a kiss against his lips. Achilles holds Patroclus tenderly and returns the affection. Time passes.

“Let us put the past behind us,” Patroclus says after catching his breath. “We cannot change it, but... we’ve learned from it. We can continue to learn from it, and heal.”

“Together?”

He smiles and rests his forehead against Achilles.

“Together.”

They’ll pick up the pieces, slowly but surely. They’ll be whole.

Waiting is no longer an issue for Patroclus. Emboldened, he occasionally ventures away from his corner to scout locations for Achilles’ visits. There’s the field of hyacinths in one area, the fig grove in the next - endless possibilities. His sense of wanderlust slowly returns, now that he may spend endless time with his beloved.

Of course, he only leaves the glade after Achilles returns to his post. Fleet-footed as he remains, the ever-shifting chambers prove minor hindrances in Achilles’ path. Not that he lets anything stop him.

Familiar footsteps alert him of company, and the light against polished wood catches his attention.

“You’ve brought it,” Patroclus says, eyeing the lyre in his arms.

“I would have practiced back at the House, but why spend further time there when I could spend it here?” Achilles says, taking a deep breath. “That said, I apologize for what you’re about to hear.”

Those eyes hold a rare bashfulness that only Patroclus witnesses. He gently kisses Achilles’ cheek to reassure him, and they settle upon the grass, side-by-side. The sky - or the realm’s equivalent of one - is awash with a spectrum of colors, like light against gemstones.

Patroclus maintains his stoic gaze as a few stilted notes fill the air. He watches Achilles wince at the sound, yet he carries on and on. He remembers how Achilles only shows his flaws in front of him, and no one else. Once-calloused hands strum the lyre with a delicate touch, and the sound grows smoother, more pleasant to the ear. Patroclus tucks loose strands of golden hair behind his ear. Achilles smiles at the gesture.

He never tires of that precious smile. He loves to see it, and he hopes he may protect it.

Achilles clears his throat. Like the forgotten lyre, it seems he had abandoned his singing voice some time ago. It breaks in the middle of a note, and Achilles tries again. And again. Patroclus gently rubs his arm in support, and Achilles pauses to return a kiss.

The voice becomes more steady, rising with renewed confidence. Though Achilles is soft-spoken by nature, his voice carries through the air with ease. He sounds wonderful.

He’s also had enough time to practice.

Patroclus waits for a lull in his beloved’s voice and joins him in song. Two souls together, mingling yet not mournful. Two souls harmonizing in unison, two halves forming a whole.

For once, he may thank the gods for bringing them together, so that they may build precious, new memories. He’ll thank that strange one, at least.

Lingering shades gather to watch the performance, swaying back and forth to the sound of their voices. The flowers around them glisten like diamonds, and a spectrum of lights shines upon them. Their harmonies attract lingering butterflies, and they land gently upon their shoulders. They, too, glow with an ethereal light.

Is this another act of divine intervention, or the power of their love? Patroclus humors himself with the latter thought. While love is complicated, it’s worth reaching for, worth holding onto lest it slip away forever.

Now? He can spend an eternity with the man dearest to him.

Fear is for the weak, but together, they are strong.