Chapter Text
I have always known I was destined for greatness.
My mother had told me as such the first day she had bore me.
"Aristos Achaion"
The best of the Achaeans.
Now I see the foolishness of such a statement. I would not meet the best of the Achaeans until much later.
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My father was a raucous man. He enjoyed the chaos of festivals and fights. Competitions that were held systematically from before my time which he had surely seen before. Yet each one seemed to excite him. Although I knew little of the contests, or even what they were for, I enjoyed seeing my father cheer the racers on, spilling spittle from his mouth. Perhaps that would be I when I grew to be his age, I thought.
One year the games were hosted in a man's kingdom. The king himself was "nothing extraordinary" as my father said when riding us there. But he had a son my age who would be watching.
"Why isn't he running?"
My father laughed. A low rumble in his chest. "Not every boy is you, Achilles."
I was prideful, then.
That boy I would come to know, but in that moment he was nothing more than someone to whom I was superior. More and more people filled that group in my mind, so another one was just that. Another.
The racetrack was made of rock, orange in color and hardly anything spectacular. But to me, it was a realm of possibilities. The wide space called to I as the victor. My body seemed to boil yet my forehead was cool. The only sound I had heard was the rhythmic tapping of my own heart. A drum to signal the start of my wonders. And what a wonder I was, faster than every boy racing with, before and after me. When it was over, for it was over so quickly, I almost began to run another lap. But I stopped once I noticed my father coming from the sidelines. He clapped my back with his calloused hand.
"Well done, my Achilles," he scooped me under his arm and handed me a wreath. "What a warrior you will become."
The wreath was warm and lacked the chill of something metallic. The edges seemed rubbed and shined. I tossed it into the air, watching the dulled reflections of the sun move around it. It was only then I realized what my father had said. I turned to him with a look of displeasure.
"Will?"
He laughed again, lifting me even higher. "Are."
We were happy, as a family should be.
My mother saw me for the man I would be. Even then I knew. But I listened to her praise and gentle pressure to succeed. I was just a boy eager to please his mother, out of hope that pressure would turn into love.
I believe now her pressure and love were born from each other. Neither could exist alone or apart. She would urge me to train more, to omit things from my father. To come to the caves with her and learn all there is to know.
I almost said yes once. But my father had sent a squire to fetch me for supper, so I was interrupted. My mother seethed when he came, diving underneath without a goodbye. After that, I never entertained the idea again. It was too much to think of. It is still too much. My father was always watchful when I visited her.
One day, she told me the story of my conception.
Such cruelty seemed so foreign to the father I knew. The gentle smile that would bloom whenever our eyes would meet. His firm decorum with his trading partners and allies. His laughter that infected everyone and made them sick with giggles.
"You know your father as such, because he is your father," my mother said when I told her. "But he is not my father. If I were to raise you, you would see the same. That man is not capable of being one."
Her eyes were dark with recollection. I did not speak of my father with her after that.
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I trained alone. I ate alone. I was always surrounded by boys. Boys who wanted to become my ally and friend. I was Aristos Achaion after all.
Still, in the ruckus of voices all around me, I was alone.
At times I almost wondered if I should leave. They would follow, but I could outrun them with little effort.
I never did however. Part of me believed in the boys just as much as they believed in themselves; perhaps one of them really was the one. I couldn't let that chance escape me. So I played along. Learning their names was impossible, but their mannerisms proved to be a simple game. The one who always parted his lips with his mouth full, the one who'd guffaw each time I'd speak, the one who'd watch silently with pleasure dancing in his eyes.
Then that game became boring. And they became just boys to me once more. Another.
Another boy, banished and brought before me.
Although this time, it was him.