Chapter Text
Achilles’s sword clanged against the metal pole as he entered his tent, he had had a long day on the battlefield, slaughtering Trojan filth, leaping from squadron to squadron skewering all his opponents. Achilles rarely ever rested these days. All his time was spent fighting or sleeping. He barely ate and his lips were parched dry from the lack of drinking water.
He stumbled towards his bed, where a putrid stench exuded, spreading the smell of filth and death all over his tent. Achilles did not care, for the cause of such a smell was his own loved one and soulmate, Patroclus. Achilles ran over towards the bed and knelt at his body, this was his new routine after every battle, mourning.
Achilles gripped the pale body of Patroclus once more and threw his head back letting out a low harrowing shriek, one filled with indescribable rage and irreparable sorrow. It had been like this for days. Patroclus’s lips were dry and brittle, his eyes were pale and lifeless, the edges of his cornea beginning to blacken. He was pure water in an elegant glass, his vessel lay empty, his water had moved on. Corpse and spirit each recycled.
Achilles silently gasped for breath as tears sped down his scarred face, reaching his lips and greeting his tongue with the taste of salt. Sounds of shouting and cheering echoed all around outside his tent, warriors toasting to their victory , metal clanging against metal, the cries of soldiers singing and dancing, just more stark reminders of Achilles’ failure.He shouldn’t have let Patroclus go, nothing, nothing would ever be enough for him now, not revenge, not anything. He kept scanning Patroclus’s face praying for signs of life. His corpse had been dead for days.
His was not the only cadaver in the room. The body of Hector lay crippled next to him, Achilles’s sword still plunged into his neck; not removed, the ends of his mouth coated in blood, his eyes still and glassed over. Achilles would later wish that he had not killed him so quickly, to make him suffer for what he had done to the only person in the world who he felt so much love for and the only person in the world who made him feel whole. He had had Patroclus’ body for 4 days and it was beginning to smell, but he refused to let the others take him in for ritualistic burial, he just continued to salt Patroclus's flesh with his tears.
The fool had tried to scale the Trojan Wall all by himself, what had he been thinking, Achilles himself would not have attempted such a feat yet Patroclus, poor sweet, stupid , Patroclus. Apollo was at fault, he had built those stupid walls while cursed as a mortal, it was no surprise that he had been guarding them.
Something had to be done, anything, he’d raze the world raw to see his loved one breathe in front of him again. He knew that, Agamemnon knew that, every soldier in this camp knew that. There had been people who’d come back from the dead before there had to-
Odysseus stood in the corner of the room and followed Achilles with his stark grey eyes. He watched Achilles pour out his soul and fire into mourning, tears and snot dirtied his usual serene face and then he spoke.
“I know what you are thinking Achilles Achilles stopped and looked up at Odysseus, he said nothing but watched as the Prince of Ithaca monologued.
“Orpheus.”, he spoke again. “Orpheus did it. Well, he almost did it, if he hadn’t looked back he would have succeeded in his endeavour. I am sure you will not make the same mistake, or take the same approach.”
“Although…”, he said, savouring the words, “Agamemnon will not let you leave so easily. Until the war is over the only way you will be able to leave to the underworld is through a coffin.But let’s say you didn't really die, let’s say, this is just a thought. That you faked your death”
“The entrance to the underworld that Orpheus took was in Cape Tainaron, if you wish to free Patroclus from Thanatos you must go soon.” Odysseus sighed and looked regretfully back at Hector’s body. “And please get rid of that thing , I know he harmed you in ways I will never comprehend but it goes against the gods to keep him here.”
Odysseus trudges out of the tent and Achilles listened to the sound of footsteps grow distant.
‘Orpheus’, Achilles thought Orpheus was the only one to come close enough to doing so. But Orpheus lost his loved one due to his foolish anxiety. Achilles wouldn’t, Achilles would be stronger, he would ravage the entire underworld, he would plunge his sword through the heart of asphodel, he would lay waste to the heroes of Elysium, and he would slit the throats of the most fearsome of Tartarus.
Achilles felt a feeling he was all too used to by now, anger. A type of anger that could destroy. A type of anger that could massacre. A type of anger that could kill gods. Specifically one singular god. Apollo.Apollo was the one who guided passage to Odysseus, Apollo was the one who, in essence, killed Patroclus. Apollo would help him. Or Apollo would die.
Achilles rose from his bedside, he gathered his things and slung a goat skin rucksack over his shoulder. He gripped his sword and spun his shield onto his forearm and strapped it tight. He looked backwards to the door and back at Patroclus’s rotting carcass.
“I will be back my love”
He exited the tent and his mind into the darkness that would lead him to his love.
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Achilles did not intend to leave for the underworld immediately as Odysseus suggested, he considered it to be too rash and decided to organise his affairs first, after all, there was the matter of having to fabricate his so-called ‘death’.
Achilles trudged down the beaten dirt path towards the direction of the women’s tents, he strode past the guards and ducked under the tent’s entrance flap. Inside, Briseis and an arrangement of handmaidens were teaching the new arrivals greek. He patiently stood in the corner waiting for the session to conclude, occasionally looking through the door and checking the sun dial that stood outside the tent’s borders.
Someone tapped his shoulder.
“Achilles”, he turned to see a woman with light ebony skin and dark wavy hair standing before him. She was indeed the most beautiful woman in the tent but Achilles was not the type to pay attention to such things. He only noticed the look of hatred and disappointment in her dark eyes.
“Briseis”, Achilles replied, “I need to speak to you. It’s urgent”
“Well it can wait, I’m in the middle of a class.” Briseis said with barely disguised contempt.
“I’m leaving Briseis. For good”
Briseis said nothing, she only stared deeply into Achilles’s eyes. Looking for any sign of deception or lying. But she found none. Some part of her wished he would stay, the other parts were glad he would be gone. It was his fault that Patroclus was dead, him and his stupid pride.
“And why pray tell, are you leaving?” Briseis questioned, “I can’t say I’ll miss you but I’m curious as to why”
“I am going to retrieve Patroclus from the underworld, or die trying.”
“And how do you intend to do that, any such attempt would be foolish and I would celebrate to know that you died attempting such a thing.”
“Hrrm”, Achilles grumbled, “Whatever it is you wish to happen to me, I would not blame you if you prayed for it. But for the both of us, he must come back, I cannot bear to live in a world without him.”
Briseis turned away and strode out of the tent, leaving Achilles alone and forlorn. He had wished to do this with her blessing, but he would do it all the same.
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