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Patroclus poised his pen over the scroll of parchment, and began to write.
'It’s been eight years since the day Thetis told Achilles about his fate. She said that he had the choice to either return home and live a long life without glory, or die a glorious death fighting at Troy. It’s been eight years since he made the decision to return home.
I’m not sure if he regrets it or not. There are days when it seems clear how much he wishes he were fighting in the war, but others when life is wonderful.
The soldiers haven’t returned yet, the war hasn’t been won. I often worry how much longer we can afford to wait, we’ve lost so many good people in all this seemingly endless, needless, fighting. And maybe it is selfish of me to say that… to say that I am glad that Achilles stayed.'
He paused. The humid breeze threatened to steal his pages away, to whisk them up into the sky. Up to the gods, the ones who caused this whole mess. The dappled light danced over his skin as the trees shook their leaves. Patroclus took a long breath, inhaling the sweet, warm spring air.
'Because I love him so much more than he will ever know. And it would break my heart if he had chosen to leave that day. I’m certain I would have joined him, but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if he’d… if he had died that glorious warrior’s death. He was born to fight, it was his life’s purpose, so why would he give all of that up for me? Unless he is truly a coward.'
Patroclus scrawled over that last line.
'No. Cowardice is not measured by inaction. It would have taken so much more strength to stay, to spend the rest of his life unfulfilled, trudging through the incessant days. How foolish of him to stay here for me. He is far too selfless for his own good.'
He raised his head, peering through the fruit trees to gaze upon his lover. Achilles stood, bare, in the cool river nearby, golden locks cascading over his broad shoulders. He looked at ease, but also softer than he should, and he didn’t carry the same self-assured posture that he once had.
'I am sorry, my love. If it weren’t for me, you could have been someone greater. Could have been with someone greater. You would have had fame. And glory. You wouldn’t have spent your time doing pointless things, like eating berries and making love (or maybe you would have, but at least you would be fighting like you were meant to, as well).
Why did you choose me over all that? When did you realise that being with me was better than going to Troy? Perhaps you didn’t, and it was just a brief moment of infatuation that determined the whole rest of your life.'
Achilles was no longer in Patroclus’ line of sight, he’d probably journeyed farther downstream. They were essentially living in a paradise, more than enough fruit and olives to eat, plenty of sun and shade all around, and a modest place to call home. Patroclus couldn’t ask for anything else. Except for the love of his life to be happy.
'I wish he would let me know how he feels. If there is anything at all I could do to help him bear the sorrow. I don’t want him to have to live his whole life trying to come to terms with the fact that he made a mistake. That… I was a mistake.'
A pair of large hands covered Patroclus’ eyes for a moment, and he turned to find Achilles grinning down at him. Patroclus made a small noise of surprise and leaned into the warm body next to him. Achilles sat down on the grass and embraced his lover, pressing kisses over his neck and cheeks.
“What have you been doing?” He asked, tone gentle and soft and the slightest bit tired.
“Just writing,” Patroclus replied, tracing his finger over the palm of Achilles’ hand.
Achilles hummed in response, presenting him with a handful of wild strawberries.
“They don’t taste great, it’s still too early in the season.” He placed a few on his tongue, blanching at the bitterness. “Nevermind, you don’t have to eat them.” Achilles laughed.
Achilles reclined against the tree, Patroclus laying over his lap. The warrior ran his fingers through the dark hair in front of him, and Patroclus sighed into the action. They lapped up the sunlight that filtered through the olive tree. Patroclus felt a tear prick his eye. It dripped down his cheek, seeping into the soft fabric Achilles was wearing.
“Patroclus?” A hint of worry laced the word. Oh, how Patroclus loved the way he said his name, each consonant sounding important on his tongue. Achilles took a hold of Patroclus’ shoulders and turned him around so he could see him. He stroked the side of the darker man’s face, touch feather-light. The pads of his fingers no longer had persistent callouses. Another tear dripped down his cheek.
“My love, what’s wrong?” His strong brows furrowed in concern, his sculpted nose wrinkled. He still wore pomegranate and sandalwood on his skin, and the scent was thick, it was all Patroclus could smell. “Patroclus?”
Patroclus turned his face away, so he didn’t have to look into those beautiful green eyes.
“Do you regret staying here? Do you wish you had gone to Troy?”
The hand on Patroclus’ back stilled. Patroclus’ face was wet from the tears, and so was the clothes of Achilles he had been resting on.
“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t,” Achilles admitted. “I do wonder sometimes… what it would have been like if I’d gone.” His voice caught on the last word, but he persevered. “I just… I would never have forgiven myself if I never got to see you again. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. And if I’d left… I would have wasted all that time I could have spent with you. I wouldn’t get to wake up every morning with you.”
“I would have gone with you - to Troy,” Patroclus insisted.
“Maybe. But it wouldn’t be the same.”
Patroclus reached up and tucked a strand of Achilles’ hair behind his ear. “But you do… regret it.”
“Yes.” He sighed, resuming rubbing his lover’s back. “I chose to stay, not because I am afraid of death, but because I am afraid of losing you.”
Patroclus whined. “You were born to be a hero! How could you give all that up for a boring life with me?”
“I am selfish. I chose my own happiness over others.”
“But you aren’t happy!”
Achilles looked shocked. He dropped the handful of strawberries and gathered Patroclus into his arms.
“Why would you think I am unhappy? Just being with you is the greatest joy I could ever experience.”
“There is no glory in loving me. I am an exiled, dishonourable prince. You are practically a god! The battlefield is where you belong!” He cried. “And I can’t help but notice how melancholy you look when you remember that you gave all that up for this.” He gestured at the orchard, the river, the wild flowers.
“‘This’ is exactly why I didn’t go. And yes, it may have been the wrong choice, but I wouldn’t give up these past eight years with you for anything.”
Patroclus sobbed, burying his face in Achilles’ chest.
“You are too good for this world.”
Achilles chuckled. “You are too good for me.” His hands took Patroclus’ face and he brought his lips to his own rosy pink ones. Achilles’ always tasted sweet like nectar, and his skin was smooth to the touch. He barely grew stubble. Patroclus relished the kiss, hands resting on those broad, golden shoulders. When they parted, Achilles spoke, voice only a little raspy and breathless.
“I could never regret choosing you. If the circumstances were different, I would never have had to choose in the first place.”
“Even so…” Patroclus trailed off.
“No. Nothing you could say would make me any less happy to be here. With you.”
He held Patroclus in those tireless arms, and whispered sweet words of affirmation into his ears. They stayed there for the remainder of the afternoon, letting the sunset seep into their bones, their love for one another crawl into their hearts.