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“I had no idea Elysium extended so far and so long, Pat. I don’t think it ever ends,” said Achilles as he and Patroclus rounded the bend to end up in their little glade.
“Neither did I, if I am being honest. It seems like there’s countless sections to explore, perhaps I’ll make a map.”
Achilles chuckled, “that might not be a bad idea; we can make one for the lad too, maybe then he can cross this realm without the possibility of being butchered.”
Patroclus smiled, “I think he’d like that.”
Achilles stopped in his tracks with a grimace, “ngh…”
Patroclus turned with a slight frown, “Duty calls?”
“Yes, the House is pulling me back.”
“Well, that western hall isn’t going to guard itself. They need their best,” said Patroclus.
“Heh, I suppose they do. It will not be long before we each other again.”
“I know, though I already can’t wait,” Patroclus opened his arms, his expression warm. Achilles smiled and they embraced close, running his hand along his back, under the cloak and up. They pulled their faces back, taking each other in like they weren’t going to see each other in a couple days or nights. Achilles reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from Patroclus’s face, then—
“Ah! I—I’m sorry…I don’t think I can—not…Not yet…” Patroclus hissed like something burnt him.
Icy guilt crossed Achilles’s face, “I’m so sorry Pat, I didn’t mean to upset you—”
“It’s not your fault, you didn’t know, I just…I don’t want you to…not right now, I…But—but don’t worry about me. Get going, right? You don’t want to keep the west hall waiting,” Patroclus stammered, trying to change the subject.
“Uh, y-yes, alright. I’ll see you soon…I love you.”
“I love you too, Achilles.”
Managing a smile, Patroclus watched as Achilles left in a summoning circle, dissolving in a cloud of golden flecks.
Patroclus sighed. I hated how he rejected Achilles’s touch. He knew he would never hurt him, and he knew that wasn’t his intention. It’s just…
So many things have changed in the eons that they’ve been apart. There were so many new things to learn about one another. Comments that used to bring out raucous laughter now led to a wave of tears, old memories that would, in the past, bring out a gentle smile, only brings about a middle-distance stare followed by guilt, as the memory was sipped away. Bless Achilles’s ghostly soul, he is so patient, so kind, and so gentle towards Patroclus, never faulting him for his choices. Even now, after all they’ve been through, he wonders what he did to get so lucky.
Reaching up to the strand Achilles tried to brush, he winced at how dry and rough it felt. The strands, along with the rest of it no doubt, were limp and dull; the further he traveled up to his scalp and was greeted with matted, coarse clumps and flecks of white and a drag of gunk on his fingers. It wasn’t…he didn’t want Achilles touching this, not as it was now. As he wiped them unceremoniously on the cloak, another thing struck him – how long has he been wearing this armor?
Hm.
Patroclus went back in their modest house. They amassed a collection of necessities and small luxuries; the stranger kept them well supplied, providing them with soft sheets and rugs for their bedroom and bowls and plates and cups for their humble kitchen. He was if nothing else eager to help. Too eager, perhaps; it took Achilles and Patroclus both that no, they did not need a fish tank.
He hated asking Zagreus for anything else, he had already done so much for them, but if he was going to do all that he hoped, he would need some aid. Like clockwork, he heard the tell-tale sign of pots being shattered, followed by the little gasp of delight at the coin that hid inside.
“A successful plunder, stranger?” Patroclus said as he emerged from the house.
“Heh, yes, sir! Charon will be happy,” said Zagreus, jingling the coins and pocketing them.
“How goes the run today, stranger? You don’t look like you’ve been beaten within an inch of your life yet.”
Zagreus nodded eagerly, “My relatives blessed me with some excellent boons early on; if it weren’t for them, I might have been done for in my fight against Lernie.”
“…Lernie?”
“The Bone Hydra. Do you…do you not call it that?”
“Can’t say I do, stranger, no. We haven’t had the pleasure of getting acquainted,” he said dryly.
“That’s a shame; it’s a great creature once you get to know it. Anyway, how are you? Still enjoying the house?”
“It’s magnificent still, stranger. You didn’t have to do any of this, but you did, and we thank you every day. Or night.”
Zagreus shook his head, “Oh, sir it was no trouble, you know that. You two deserve it after all you’ve helped me. If there is anything else you need, just let me know. I have no qualms about using my father’s unending riches to make your lives easier.”
“I’m very glad you brought that up, for I’m a bit embarrassed to admit that I need your help once again.”
“Of course sir, what do you need? Tell me anything.”
“I…hang on a moment.”
Zagreus waited patiently as Patroclus grabbed the journal he gave him, scrawling something down and ripping the page out before handing it to him.
“Here you are, I hope it isn’t too much trouble,” he said, handing over the list.
Zagreus scanned it and nodded, meeting Patroclus with a soft expression, “no, not at all. I can do this easily, happy to, even. It might take a day or night or so, but you’ll have it all very soon.”
“Thank you, stranger. Ah, don’t forget your parting gift.”
Zagreus beamed and took a can of HydraLite Gold, offering Patroclus one more smile before running off to another chamber.
Patroclus took a breath. This was going to happen, all he had to do was wait…
oOo
After a few days or nights, Patroclus heard the sound of a boat brushing against a shore. Emerging from his house, he was met with the wide brimmed hat and purple breath of Charon. He waved a skeletal hand, the golden ornaments jingling with each movement.
“Hail, Charon. Zagreus sent you, I take it?”
“Hhhhhhhhrrrrrrgggggg….”
Patroclus watched as Charon reached down and behind himself to produce a large, sapphire chest with gold leafing around it. Though heavy, Patroclus handled it with ease.
Gods, did I ask for too much, he thought sheepishly.
“Indeed, my friend. You have my thanks for these; I…it means more than you know…”
“Hhhhhgrrrrrhaaaa…” Charon held up a hand, as if to say you don’t have to explain.
With a bow, Charon grabbed a hold of his ore and rowed away.
He waited until Charon was out of sight before lowering the chest to the ground and unlatching it open. Whatever was inside was covered with a sheet of rich, ruby red fabric; on top of it all was a rolled piece of parchment sealed with the Hades insignia. He unrolled a note written in an elegant script:
Patroclus,
I know we’ve never met, but my son tells talks a lot about what you and Master Achilles have done for him. Thank you for being there for Zagreus, it means the world to me. He told me about your request, and I wanted to have a hand in it myself to make sure you were only getting the best; you deserve it. There is a list of all the plants here, and how to use them. Additionally, I made sure the other thing you requested was made with as much love and care as possible. I hope all of these serve you well.
Persephone
The Queen of this realm herself…Knowing that she managed all these by her own hand, Patroclus handled each plant like they were a precious ornament as opposed to something from the ground. He gasped as he recognized some of these plants: narrow-leaved paperbark, rosemary, and lemongrass. Though these were tied and bunched with intricate strings, he remembered the sunny days filled with gathering these leaves, picking them at the root and making them ready for any number of uses.
There were also small, delicate glass jars of different oils and liquids. He unscrewed each of them and sniffed: golden honey, glossy olive oil, a sweet, white oil – from something called a ‘coconut’—and vinegar, brown and silty and pressed from apples, that was pungent to his nostrils. There was also a pumice stone and jar of oil pressed from almonds, several soft, white cloths, and a waxy bar of…something. ‘Soap,’ it was called. Setting those aside, he reached into the chest to find a mortar and pestle made of deep, coarse, shining black tourmaline, and chitons, two of them, neatly folded and fresh. With shaking hands, he lifted one up, it was so soft, so comforting. There was also a square of purple satin and some combs.
Patroclus regarded the chest’s contents once more, trying to steady his breath at the realization that the thing he is setting out to do will be possible thanks to those that care about him in his realm. He had no idea he would be more supported in death than he was in life. Either way, he was thankful. Tomorrow morning…or evening…he would see his plan to completion.
oOo
Before Achilles returned to him, Elysium was colorless, lifeless. Sure, it was full of rich greens and blues and the temperature was always perfect, but without the person he cherished most, the world might as well have been mottled grey and cold. Patroclus felt nothing, often being so far gone to not register the stone under his feet, the sweet smell of grass in the air. But now, everything was in color and in crystal clarity, he felt everything wholly. Patroclus’s curiosity of this realm grew now that he had someone to share it with, and they’ve made a deal of discoveries.
He sought one of them out now. While exploring the realm he found a limestone outdoor bath, completely secluded and quiet except for gentle, rushing water, and shrouded by greenery, tucked away. Its waters were seemingly ever flowing. The plush grass beneath his feet was made softer by the humidity caused by the billowing steam from the bath which was a large as their house and whose water was being replenished by a small waterfall that flowed slowly. The air was heavy, like a blanket.
After rereading Persephone’s instructions, Patroclus set the chest down and sat on the stone edge of the bath and chopped and pulled leaves away with the knife he made sure to bring from home. The act of preparing plants for medicinal use was automatic to him, all muscle memory from his time with Chiron and in Troy. He could still hear the centaur’s deep, methodical voice: chop these into smaller bits and start with a handful, and twist and press the pestle into them. Add more as you go, act fast, but don’t get careless. Wide circles. When he was learning his art on Pelion, sounds of chittering birds and scurrying animals were his company and the way the air changed would keep time. When he was in Troy, the arid smell of blood filled his nose, and the cries of orders and battle plans were his work music. The sand singed his feet as he rushed to tend to anyone in need. In Elysium, there was no breeze, but the air was always an idyllic temperature, the light of Ixion acted as the sun, though it never bakes the skin or burns the eyes. The plants were soon rendered into a deep emerald paste, and the mix of fragrances awoke Patroclus’s nose: bright citrus, tingling coolness that resembled mint, and earthy woodiness.
Satisfied, Patroclus stood and…hesitated. It was time to take his – Achilles’s – armor off. It was as if it were molded on to him now, like a second skin. His hands shook as he removed his cloak and cuirass, followed by his bracer and bending down to remove his thigh straps and grieves. The golden arm bands and laurel crown were next. All that was left was the chiton. He glanced down, there were no traces of gore on the fabric, thank the gods. He lifted it over his head, completely bare. It’s been forever since he’s been nude like this; he ran a hand along his arm and down his chest and over his thighs, relearning what it meant to have a body that wasn’t bleeding and dying on sandy ground. It was all still him, the deep, umber skin, and the tight curls of hair that ran along his chest and arms and legs. His breath hitched when he saw the ugly, fleshy scar that ran from his sternum down to his navel that twisted to his left side and was a few shades lighter than Patroclus’s skin tone. There was no pain when he touched it…physical pain, anyway.
Patroclus sighed as he stepped in the water; it was hot, not scalding and came up to his navel. He grabbed the mortar of herbs and jar of vinegar. He poured it on his crown in small spills, letting it fall in rivulets down his tresses, careful to avoid his eyes. It felt cool as it kissed his scalp and worked its way down. He worked it in with his hand as he poured, squeezing it into his tresses and lightly scratching his scalp. His head tingled, a welcome sensation went from the top of his head and down the rest of him, even blessing the bare skin on his back. His hair felt alive, like it was breathing after centuries. Every shiver he felt was as if his hair was saying, thank you. The heat of the water was a contrast to the tingly coolness of the narrow-leaved paperbark, making a sigh escape his lips. He worked the comb through next, getting rid of the matted tangles, remembering to be kind to himself at particularly stubborn sections. It was a marathon, not a sprint. Soon, his hair was free of any snags, and he could run his fingers through it with ease.
He pushed himself out of the tub and returned to the chest where the jars of honey, olive oil, and coconut oil were waiting. The heat from this chamber melted everything, making the honey swirl like the golden nectar and ambrosia he’s come to enjoy on occasion, and the oils to swish like water. The honey and oil’s sweet scents filled the bath as he twisted them into his hair and Patroclus allowed himself a smile. He felt like a princess getting ready to meet a hoard of suitors; soon a handmaiden would emerge with his dress and jewels he would wear, along with the fresh flowers they were going to weave in his hair. Though the image was humorous, the thought of Achilles braiding flowers into his locks didn’t sound half bad.
While the honey and oil did their work, Patroclus poured droplets of the almond oil fall into the bath before grabbing the soap and a cloth. He hopped back in and lathered the soap, gently working it into his skin and beard. He fought every urge to scrub harshly, to buff and scratch at his body; but no, be gentle, he said, be gentle with yourself. Patroclus moved slowly, feeling his skin get slicker and sweeter with the oils and clean with the soap. He moved even slower still when he ran the cloth over the scar, as if it would reopen if he treated it too roughly. He fought back the thoughts that arose when he touched it; he took a deep inhale of the sweet air and paid close attention to the warmth of the water to ground himself. He was safe now, he and Achilles both. Things are better.
He wandered over to the waterfall and rinsed the oils and soap away. He looked around again, as if to confirm that he was alone before shrugging and submerging himself in the water only to shoot back up moments later. He stood to his full height then, pushing his hair away that formed a dark curtain when he went under and sputtering any water that might have entered his mouth. He smiled, Patroclus was hardly the playful sort, but there was something so youthful about following his impulse to dunk himself and come back up. A laugh escaped him then, earnest and light; he hasn’t been in water like this since he and Achilles were in Tr—
Wait.
No.
There was nothing like this when they were in Troy. All Patroclus knew was bathing in the sea or the cold waters of the Scamander. It wasn’t long that they didn’t resemble water; they were murky, swirling repositories of the dead no matter how long it took for the remains to flow downstream. The last time he was in a bath like this, really like this, was…gods…when he was a child? Was that the last time he felt anything resembling safety or comfort, enclosed, and kept from harm?
Gods…how much as he suffered?
Something hit Patroclus then. Being here, now, in this quiet bath, surrounded by warm water with honey and oil dotting his lips and kissing his tongue, Patroclus feels his life crash into him like waves in a torrential storm. He buckled forward, the water splashing around him as his knees hit the floor of the bath, his face just skimming the surface of it. The shallow breaths came next, followed by the hot sting of tears just begging to fall. There was joy in his mortal life, but there was so, much pain. Turmoil and decay laid waste on that damned beach; it was all blood and rot. He could hear the screams of war and screams of death if he thought hard enough. He was miserable, tired and run ragged. A sob ripped through Patroclus when he realized that the times he felt the most safe, the most calm, was long after he was dead. That was the point of afterlife, and he knows he fared far better than most, but part of him mourned that he did not get to live peacefully when he was alive.
He wept. His tears were burning hot and scalded his face as they fell in big drops. He was thankful he was alone for ugly wails left his lips, jutting out with each wrack of his body. It hurt, it all hurt, but he needed this; the long, long, long overdue confrontation of his pain. He knew better than anyone, in order to properly treat a wound or a broken bone, sometimes you have to make the wound bigger in order to treat it. Expose more bone, expose more flesh so dressing and healing can begin properly. And that’s what his was as he the feelings come in waves, no matter how painful so that he may begin to right himself. It seemed that the realm itself came to his aid, for he could have sworn the vines around this place grew closer and the water got warmer, like Elysium was a living, breathing thing that sought to comfort and embrace him.
You’ve been through so much, you had to be strong so many times. I know, I know, let it out. I love you, Elysium said.
Patroclus stopped crying after what felt like an age. His eyes were red raw and stinging, and he could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on. He sniffled and pressed his palms to his eyes and exhaled shakily. Drained, he exited the bath on trembling limbs and ran a hand through his hair, still damp but quickly drying. It was thick and soft, not rough and dry like before. Patroclus slid on his new chiton, running his hands over the fabric. It was loose and had the softness of something well-loved and lived in. It smelled of fresh linens.
Patroclus nestled the supplies and placed them in the chest along with Achilles’s folded armor, bracer, golden bands, and all. He put the laurels back on.
Before leaving this secret place, he took one more look at the bath; at the steaming hide away that gave him his first steps to true peace.
“Thank you.”
oOo
It would be another two days (or nights) before Achilles returned to him. Hearing the whoosh of the summoning circle, Patroclus smiled.
“Pat?”
“In here!” he called from their bedroom.
He heard Achilles hang his spear and cloak on the rack, followed by his swift footfalls to their warmly lit room.
“I miss you so mu—oh,” he breathed. Patroclus finished pulling the chiton over his head and smoothing it out. He turned.
“Welcome home, love. I missed you too,” he said, gently tugging Achilles into an embrace.
“This is new,” Achilles said as he ran a hand on the soft fabric.
“It is. There is one for you too, in that chest there, if you’d like.”
Achilles thought for a moment and nodded, meandering over to the chest and pulling the chiton out. Patroclus lounged back on the bed and watched Achilles undress before him. He caught Patroclus staring.
“Enjoying the show?”
“Yes,” Patroclus replied without hesitation.
Achilles lightly chuckled and smoothed the chiton over his body, visibly relaxing and letting out a sigh.
“That is better.”
“Indeed it is, now come here,” Patroclus said, holding out his hand to beckon him.
Achilles smiled and took his hand, sinking onto the plush bed. Once they were lying down, Achilles brought it to his lips, kissing the knuckles and resting it against his cheek, and lightly sniffed.
“That smell…is that almonds?”
“Yes it is, Zagreus’s mother gifted it to me, along with other delights. The chitons were part of the trove, as well.”
“When did he…?”
“After I…reacted the way I did to your touch, I longed to property shed evidence of my old life, including the life I led here before you returned to me. My hair and other parts of me weren’t…they weren’t deserving of your hand.”
“Pat—”
“And before you say that wasn’t important to you, I know that; but it was important to me. The stranger asked me if there was anything I needed and, bless him, brought me everything and more, he even enlisted the help of the queen mother. Thanks to them and the secluded bath I found, I was able to feel like a human again, clean and complete. It took…a while, but now I feel like all my haze has finally lifted.”
Achilles let out a soft noise, “Oh…Pat, that’s wonderful. I’m so happy you were able to do that for yourself. I’ll have to tell the lad thank you, for how he helped you. He’s always looking out for us.”
“Indeed he is. Now, I believe there was something you’ve wanted to do, and something I’ve been missing.” Patroclus took Achilles’s hand and led it to his hair.
“I can…?”
“Touch it, Achilles.”
Achilles reaches up and lets some strands land into his hands before carding his fingers through wholly. Patroclus sighed and let his eyes flutter closed. Oh, how he missed his feeling. Achilles’s blunt nails raked through his hair, never hitting a snag or tangle. His hand was a comforting weight, bringing him closer to Achilles on instinct.
Patroclus sighed when their foreheads and noses brushed, eager, hungry to get closer. He reached out and ran his hand along Achilles’s arms, feeling the way the firm, sinewy muscle beneath moved and flexed with each shift. He moved from his arm to his shoulder and to his chest, remembering with a bit of pain that there wasn’t a heartbeat any longer, but he was here, and he was with him.
“Touch me, Achilles.”
Achilles glanced at him before smiling softly and running his hands along his arm and shoulder. Patroclus’s eyes fluttered closed; his hand was warm and big, dragging over his skin with a wide palm but keeping his touch light, never pressing.
“Your hands…”
“Yes?”
“They used to be rougher, the last time you were here there were more calluses. What changed?”
“Ah, I…I made use of the pumice that was in my chambers back at the house. I never had a use for it but now…I wanted to make sure my hands were always soft, for you.”
Patroclus’s breath hitched, “Achilles that’s...it appears we both went through some changes in our time apart. I’m deeply impressed with the results; I would like to feel them even more.
With a light laugh, Achilles’s hands continued their journey, this time down to Patroclus’s legs and over his thighs. He knew that this was about as far as they were going to go this day or night, there will be other times to grow even closer, but he won’t lie, Achilles’s hands on his thighs excited him. They traveled upward again, over his chest and down to his stomach when he stopped dead in his tracks when he felt the raised flesh there.
Achilles let out a shuddering gasp and launched to sit upright, wide eyes filling with tears. Patroclus sat up.
“Achilles…” he whispered, reaching up to where the scar began.
“Is that…is—is that the…the…”
“Yes, it is.”
“I…I want to…can I…can—can I—sh—”
“You want to…to see it?”
“If! If you don’t want to—”
“No…n-no I can...” Steeling himself, Patroclus brushed the chiton strap off, allowing it to flow off his shoulder. Achilles sobbed when he saw the scar in full, mapping the way it twisted around to Patroclus’s back and down his abdomen.
“Oh, gods…” he whimpered, reaching out with a hand that shook like a leaf to touch it. Patroclus took his hand and brought it to the scar, trying his damndest to keep his from shaking, too.
“Does it hurt?”
“No, no, it hasn’t hurt for a very, very long time.”
“I did this to you…”
“You did not.”
“If I wasn’t so foolish, so pigheaded, we—”
“Hey. Look at me, love. Please…”
Patroclus gently tilted Achilles’s chin up to look at him.
“There is a scar, yes. We both lived such tumultuous lives, yes. But the way I see it, we have been given such an immense gift now. We are here, together, we have a home and people who love us and no duties to uphold. We can just be, now, my Achilles. We’ve been through so much, so much hardship and heartache but now we can heal from it, you and I, together. Like this scar; it is ugly, and it took a long while, but the wound is closed, that’s what matters.”
“First of many,” Achilles said, letting out a watery, broken huff of a laugh.
“First of many, indeed. I am ready to heal our wounds, Achilles. All of them. Will you join me?” he asked, brushing a stray tear that fell from Achilles.
He nods, “yes. Yes, of course I will. When do we start?”
Patroclus smiled then and brought their faces closer.
“Oh, my love. We already have.”