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"You cannot go to war." Achilles insisted once again. This had been a constant debate among them since Thetis had failed to protect Achilles from war. He had to go fight the Trojans, but he was determined to spare Patroclus the bloodshed. Hence the argument about Patroclus staying back and not going to war, simply because Achilles didn't want Patroclus hurt.
"I have to!" The sound ripped out of Patroclus like some wretched, twisted vow. He took a deep breath, and all Achilles could do was stare. He had never seen Patroclus so angry. He was a calm person, usually. This drastic change in attitude was worrying.
"Why? If this is about the oath, we can find some way to get past that and—" Patroclus turned to look at Achilles. His eyes reflected unshed tears. He took a deep, shaky breath and said, "Achilles, no. That is not what this is about. I understand why you don't want me to go with you—"
"Then why won't you listen to me? Why won't you heed my pleas when I tell you to not follow me to war. This is not some ordinary skirmish, Patroclus. The gods are playing a game and we are their pawns. So why will you not stay?"
"I don't even know how to explain it to you, Achilles. I know that this will surprise you, but I care about you as much as you do about me. And I love you. I refuse to sit by and do nothing while my love dies. You are nearly invincible, but not entirely so. And I cannot bear to sit back while the Trojans wreck the Achaean armies."
"You could send help. You could still be useful. Please, Philtatos, you don't have to be involved in the actual war." Achilles tried to plead once more, already aware that Patroclus had made up his mind. He had been stubborn from a young age, and once his mind was made up, very little could sway him.
Patroclus just shook his head. "You forget who we are, Achilles. We are different. And this difference will come between us sooner or later, unless we try to bridge the gap. I have to go to war if I want to spend my afterlife with you. The only other option is for you to be condemned for all eternity, and I will not allow that to ever happen to you."
Achilles looked like he was hearing up for screaming, but then, abruptly, he deflated. The wind went out of his sails and he collapsed into his seat. The setting sun caressed his face, lighting him up in gold. For a moment, Achilles was a god, with metal for skin and ichor for blood. Patroclus felt his own humanity even more keenly in that moment. And then the ship turned away from the dusk and Achilles was mortal again.
Patroclus knew he was going to die in battle. There simply wasn't another option for him. You did not get to Elysium by being ordinary. Even your cowardice had to be legendary. And Patroclus knew that he was, for all intents and purposes, ordinary. He was the son of a king who wasn't famous, but neither was he infamous. He could heal, but was not a good enough healer to be remembered. He was a warrior, but not as good as Achilles. No one was as good as Achilles, of course. But then what would he be remembered for, if he was mediocre in all respects? So no. Patroclus knew he would never return from battle, but here at least he had the chance to be something extraordinary.
Achilles had closed his eyes in despair. He knew that all hope was lost. He knew, sure as the ebb and flow of tides, that Patroclus would accompany him in battle. A small selfish part of him was glad that he wouldn't have to face the battlefield alone. Achilles quashed the whisper ruthlessly. Patroclus might come out alive, he dared to hope. But even as he said that to himself in his mind, he knew it was not true. His heart knew that Patroclus would die, and he would die with him. Perhaps Achilles would be avenged by Patroclus, or perhaps he would die of heartbreak. Both seemed plausible and implausible at the same time. He could not even save his beloved from this one final thing. What good was his heritage if he couldn't even save the life of the one person he cared about the most?
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Achilles looked at the body without really seeing it. The dark eyes he had seen alight with humour were closed. If one ignored the blood, they could almost pretend that Patroclus was only asleep. (There was so much blood. How could anyone ignore that?) The great Achilles fell to his knees. The crowds flinched back, expecting— expecting something. It hurt to think. It hurt to look at Patroclus, maimed and bloody and broken. He looked so vulnerable. His face held the last traces of a smile. Distantly Achilles wondered what his beloved had smiled about in his last moments. It hurt Achilles to look at Patroclus. He closed his eyes. A moment later he opened them back again, because it hurt more to not look at him.
Achilles looked at the body, pierced by a spear, contorted in ways only the dead are capable of. He had brought this upon himself. He had been blind for so long, and this is what he had opened his eyes to. He remembered Patroclus's pleas to let him go into battle wearing Achilles's armour. He remembered how Patroclus had begged him to save the Greeks. He remembered how he had decided to let Patroclus go dressed as him. Of how he had ignored his best instincts telling him that this was wrong. That this was bad.
A whisper of denial came up to his lips. Patroclus would never smile again. No. He would never look at Achilles, tilt his head just so, and ask to spar. He would never almost beat Achilles while play-fighting. He would never again be alive, breathing, eating, walking, smiling, crying. The whisper became a statement, then a sob and finally, finally turned into a scream. The scream built up within his heart, coiled like a snake and ready to strike. It rose from the pit of his stomach, and the base of his throat. It rose with the beating of his heart. Rage and grief and agony turned a simple "No" into something incoherent and animalistic. Achilles screamed. And then when it did not help the burn of his eyes and heart recede, the hero screamed again.
The sound shook the earth. It reached the Trojan camps where Hector was admiring Achilles's armour. The same armour he had torn off the body of Patroclus. It was a terrifying sound. It reached the bottom of the ocean and Thetis came running to see what had hurt her son.
She saw Achilles kneeling beside the body of Patroclus and in an instant, it was all clear to her. Her son would not live to see another day. She approached Achilles slowly, wishing to give him a moment to compose himself. All she had ever wanted was to see her son happy.
Achilles heard her and turned his head. His face was red with the blood of Patroclus. His once golden hair now looked like he had been in a bloodbath. But the worst part about him was his eyes. The bright green eyes were dull with agony. Thetis wished to hold her son and comfort him. But she knew what he wanted now. He wished for the blood of Hector, killer of Patroclus. She touched his shoulder, knowing that he might flinch away. To her surprise, he leaned in closer and sobbed. Her darling child was heartbroken.
She convinced Achilles to wait until she came back with new armour for him. When she returned from Hephaestus's forge with the armour, it is to the news that Hera had sent Achilles to battle already. For a moment, she felt rage for the Queen Goddess before she managed to supress it. She gave Achilles the armour and knew that he would never come back to her alive again.