Chapter Text
Achilles felt it when it sliced through his chest. Instead of pain, he felt only peace. His beloved would be waiting for him.
Darkness enveloped his senses, "I'm sorry, my love, I broke our promise. I couldn't live without you, forgive me."
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"Achilles, come on," a voice called to him, "no, don't go back to sleep." That voice.
Achilles opened his eyes, looking up into his beloved's dark ones. Patroclus smiled down at him.
At first, he didn't understand. Fingers softly combed through his tresses. He was supposed to be dead. He had held him in his arms. Burned his pyre. But he was tired, so tired. His eyes fluttered closed again.
"Come on, Achilles. We need to go," Patroclus once again called for him to wake up. But something wasn't right. Patroclus beamed down at him, but he realized he was younger. His face held none of the grief Achilles had caused him for the past ten years. If he had to guess right at sixteen.
"Mama," another voice called, and Patroclus gently helped him sit up. A slight blur fell where his head had rested. This child had a mop of dark hair like Kallias. His heart clenched this child could only be that child.
The one he had lost. The lost child that haunted them.
The child tilted his head at him as if he didn't know him, "Who are you?" His mouth was unbearably dry. He wasn't sure what to say. Patroclus admonished him gently.
"He is your father; don't be impolite," the child blinked at him before he ran off. Patroclus shook his head before turning to him.
"Come with me. I'll explain everything as we go," he held his hand out for him, and a soft light danced around him. Achilles took it, finally feeling at peace.
"Love, come here. We are going now," his lover called to the woods before sighing. "Little imp, he'll come."
“Where are we going ?,” he had to ask.
"Home," was the simple reply.
"Patroclus, you're-" he stopped. He wasn't sure if his lover knew. Achilles almost didn't want to break the fantasy.
"Come, we need to go," he again tugged at his hand. Achilles hesitated further. He was overjoyed to see his lover again, but his conscience nagged at him. He couldn't leave his children alone. It was the one thing he had promised him.
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Dark eyes waited for him patiently, and their son peered up at him from his knee. His heart clenched again; he would have to leave them.
"I'm sorry, my love, I can't stay here. They need me," he knelt on one knee. The child peered at him curiously but smiled at him. Patroclus threaded his fingers through his hair.
"It's okay, my love, I know. I've only appeared here to ease your grief. Heal yourself and return to them." Patroclus cupped his face in hand before bending to kiss him deeply.
"Forgive me," he uttered when they broke.
"Always," then he woke up gasping and panting. Machon was startled when he awoke. He groped at the bandages on his chest, already seeping with red.
"Prince Achilles, your son will be overjoyed to see you awake," he didn't trust himself to speak. Instead only nodded.
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Deep in his heart, he knew when the men came bearing grim looks and a covered pallet. He knew his father was gone. He and his infant brother were now orphans.
Uncle Ajax patted his shoulders, "Alex," he uttered sadly.
Alex shook his head, "No, please," this was too much. He couldn't bear it; his mother and father were gone days apart.
"Your father lives, young prince," Ajax told him, leading him to the white tent.
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His father sat up on a cot, his bandages already crimson.
"Father," he wanted to run and fall into his arms but held back. Angry at him and worried about his injury. His father's emerald eyes met his, and his arms fell open. His eyes watered, and he felt like a child again, crying in his father's warm, comforting arms.
"You're alive, you're alive," is all he could mutter in between sobs. Dark bags still rested under his eyes, but some life appeared to have returned to them.
“Ssh, it's okay I’m here.”
"Don't leave me, don't leave us," he cried, "He's too little. He won't understand. I need you. He needs you."
"I won't, I promise I won't," he brushed his fingers through his hair. Never again.
They were to sail home as soon as possible.
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"Achilles!" Peleus hobbled over to his son as best as he was able. His son was home.
"Father," his son returned quietly, and only then did Peleus notice the wiggling bundle in his son's arms.
"Is this my grandchild?" he asked in quiet awe. What a cute child. A chubby arm reaching out of the blanket waved around, trying to reach for something. Peleus grasped his tiny wrist.
Achilles nodded gently, passing the child to him. This time, a tiny fist wrapped around his finger.
"Where is his mother?" Patroclus must have been resting after giving his son yet another child.
Achilles was silent as he cradled the little babe to his chest.
“Dead.”
Peleus was speechless. Patroclus couldn't be dead. If he was, his son would not still be standing here. Achilles would have joined him soon after. Soulmates were like that. But one could see he was barely standing, face sunken and usually tanned skin sallow. His hair was choppy cut around his neck, shorter than he had ever kept it.
"Alexander?" he said after finding his voice. Please do not let him lose his grandchild, too.
“Grieving.”
Achilles, too, was grieving, having lost his other half, the reason he breathed.
"My son, come here." Peleus offered his son, settling down in the chair near the fire. Achilles wailed into his lap while the baby slept.
He had wanted them to come home, but not like this. His poor grandchildren have no mother. Alas, the Fates were too cruel.
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The fate he had so desperately tried to avoid became a reality as he rotted in his body. All of his strength would drain out of him, and strangely, Achilles found comfort in that. He would die and join him.
Because every day, he was reminded that he had given up everything for the cheap price of fame. His lover was dead, and every day, he looked at the innocent faces of his children, feeling accused and grief-stricken.
Kallias, God help him, was the worst because if Alexander was his very image, then Kallias was Patroclus reborn. His curls, dimples, freckles, and cheeks all of it were like when Patroclus was young. All of it made it unbearable to see him grow before his eyes. He felt as if he was going to lose him all over again. Someone would hurt him again. Kill him again.
Bonding with Kallias made him feel like a failure of a father. Either he was too strict with him or spoiled him too much.
Alexander only ever watched, only intervening when needed. His grief is still too fresh even all these years, knowing what it was like to lose a mother. Kallias had little to no memory of Patroclus beyond what was told to him. Even then, Achilles restricted that, not wanting his youngest child to feel grief for not knowing his mother. Gods, Patroclus.
"Father, help me. I'm dying," Kallias shouted. Achilles was at a loss, and his child was crying so loudly and painfully with blood streaming down his legs.
Alexander came in and appropriately shuttled Kallias away from him. Yet his glare once again reminded him of his inadequacy as a father. What kind of father knew not even to comfort his child?
Patroclus, I’m sorry.