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Chapter Text

The war with the Trojans had come to a standstill. Both sides were getting desperate, and neither knew what could be done. Worst of all, many gods and goddess, whom had previously been cheering on the battle or helping out in any way they could, had gone quiet. This worried soldiers and commanders alike.  

Among the Greeks many rumors flew around camps, blaming all of the princes for this sudden silence. The most popular one was that a prophecy foretold the death of one of their beloved demigods, and that whichever one it was doing everything to prevent his own death. Of course there was as much truth to this as there was water in the ocean, but the two that knew the truth were less than willing to tell. So, the rumors continued to spread as the Greeks continued to fight the same battle day after day. Their desperation began to sink in as the sun sweltered their beachside camp.

However, their desperation was nothing compared to the Trojans. Behind their wall their despair had boiled to an unsettling level.

And so it was that a plan was devised within the walls: A plan for how to truly wound the best of the Greeks- aristos achaion. You see, his body might have been invincible, but his heart was not. And it was no question to whom his heart belonged to. The rumors of him and his philtatos were as common as children of Zeus.

After much debate on the nature of this plan, Prince Hector finally overrode the opinions of his brothers and gave the go-ahead. One night as the two armies slept under constellation filled skies, two Trojan agents snuck into their enemy's camp. They crept through the night, careful not to wake anyone as they settled into the sleeping quarters of the common soldiers.

When morning came, they rose and readied for battle with the Greeks. No one suspected a thing- or even notice the two new additions to their side. There were so many men to begin with, and so many lost, it was hard to keep up with who was who if you didn’t have a personal interest in the person.

On the battlefield, the two agents calculated every move they made. They were careful not to kill their own men- and even more careful to not accidentally kill a Greek solider out of habit. Around midday, Paris shot an arrow at the calf of one agent, as planned. Once wounded the other carried him off to the medical tent where they knew Patroclus to be when he wasn’t on the field with the others. Lucky for the agents, Patroclus had chosen to spend his day there. Once inside he was quick to start work on the wounded.

The wounded agent noted that Patroclus was truly as handsome as Hector had claimed- or perhaps that was the blood loss.

Their target worked swiftly and efficiently to patch up his wound. It seemed like almost no time before he was done. Talented and Handsome, just as Prince Hector had said.

"I would keep off of that leg for about two weeks. You're lucky we didn't have to-" Patroclus turned his back and before he could finish his sentence he was stuck in head and knocked unconscious.

The able one dragged Patroclus’ body out of the tent, undressed him, and redressed him in their Trojan armor from the night before. The wounded one limped behind and worked as look out- risking the occasional glace at their target as he was being undressed. The able one noted and scoffed.

“If Prince Achilles and Prince Hector both love him, you haven’t got the slightest chance, Dado.” Dado made a noise of protest, but went back to keeping watching. He knew his brother to be right… but that didn’t stop him from looking.

 After he was dressed they rode back up to the battlefield, careful to hide Patroclus' face and their own accents. Dado asked the charioteer his name, as he was the more fluent one in the language. He man replied back with a smile.

“A-A-Automedon. I am meant to wait for My Prince Achilles, but gods know that he will be on the field until sundown. What do you need?”

"Dead Trojan." The wounded one explained, shifting his weight to his bad leg and instantly regretting it.

"Needs to be taken back for proper burial." The able one added. He worried for his brother, but knew that Paris promised to not shoot him where it would permanently injure him.

"What little respect they o-o-offer in war." The charioteer nodded as they rode. Dado wondered what the unconscious man next to him looked like the other times he had ridden in this chariot- in his full armor and full of valor.  When his brother noted his dreamy look, he shot him a nasty glance. The two rode back in silence, struggling to drag Patroclus over enemy lines without being caught.

After almost being killed by their own men the two agents made it back to Trojan lines where Hector and Paris waited.

“He should regain consciousness soon.” The able one guessed.

“Are you sure this will work?” The wounded one asked, forgetting his place.

Hector and Paris simply flinched in reply, so unused to twins.

*

When Patroclus awoke his head was pounding.

"Achilles?" He reached for the space beside him. It was cold.

Has Achilles left me without so much as a goodbye? Have I done something to anger my beloved?  He asked himself within the confines of this throbbing skull. When he finally opened his eyes he found that he wasn't in his tent- or anywhere even remotely familiar.

"Achilles?" He asked again, desperate. His mind tried to think back, but the last thing he remembered was yesterday morning. He and Achilles rising to the sound of armor being readied, and Achilles going off to battle and leaving him with one last passionate kiss when he announced that he would spend the day in the medical tent.

"Achilles?" He stood and cold stone beneath his feet. He instantly knew he was in trouble- the feeling of stone beneath him felt so foreign. The last time he had been in a proper home, or castle, felt like a lifetime ago. He looked around the room and found that it offered no help. If anything the different symbols and crests only made him feel more lost, more panicked.

As quietly as he could, he moved to a large set of wooden doors, trying his luck. They were locked. Of course. He tried to push and pull them, throwing all his weight either way with no anvil. After several minutes of trying, and nearly dislocating his shoulder, he gave up.  

Next he spotted a window- well not so much a window as very large and symmetrical crack that jutted outwards. He couldn’t fit through it, and even if he could he wouldn’t survive the fall. Outside the sun set on the horizon-

Was this west of east? Rise or set?

Below citizens clustered around, some in a loud drunken stupor and some speaking animatedly about the market place around them.

He was so focused on the noises below, straining to understand whatever he could, that he hadn't heard the large doors to his room open.

“What is this place?” He muttered to himself. He turned back, willing to try his luck with the doors again. When he turned he nearly jumped a foot at the sight of another man in the room.

"Troy." He replied. He had the same accent as Briseis. He was tall, taller than Patroclus, and had muscles that would have any common maiden swooning. Patroclus instantly recognized his face from the battlefield.

"Hector." He growled through gritted teeth. "What trickery is this?"

"Trickery of war and nothing more; I am sorry that you have to become involved…Patroclus, correct?”

"Yes." He stepped away from the Trojan and regarded him cooly. His mind was wild with all sorts of horrible scenarios.

Torture? Achilles' death? But if Achilles was dead than how was Hector standing before them? What would Patroclus have to do to be free again? Would he even want to live without Achilles by his side?

"What's the meaning of this?" he barked, his own ferocity surprised him.

"An attempt to end this standstill. Forcibly." The man tried to keep a warm demeanor, arms open and smile wide. It made a chill run up Patroclus’ spine, and yet felt like laughing. Didn't Hector know that the only way to make progress was his own death?

"Please, let us discuss this over dinner. I had considered sending a guard in here to check on you, but felt I owed you a personal apology." Hector was beginning to sound more like a host than a jailer. Everything about this was wrong. Patroclus looked him over uneasily, and tried to remember what little he’d been told of Hector before the war. He had been told… something about a family. He had a wife and a son. Patroclus had also been told of some good things he’d done. Overall he had sounded like a fairly good man when Odysseus had first briefed he and Achilles about him on their way to Troy. Patroclus closed his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed with grief. What I wouldn’t give to be back on that ship, back in that moment.

Hector might have been a good man, but war killed anything good in men. Patroclus had seen that first hand.

When he opened his eyes he found Hector staring at him curiously. Patroclus remembered the offer- the rumbling in his stomach was reminder enough of his need to eat.

"You lead the way, then." Patroclus watched the other man's movements carefully as they walked from the chamber he'd woken up into an extravagant dining hall. In the hall several men and women in extravagantly dyed clothes sat and ate, speaking in a tongue Briseis had only begun to teach him. A spot was made for him by Andromache- the wife Patroclus had been told of. He looked around at all the conversing and dinning Trojans uneasily, not even sure if he could trust his soup.

He took the bread from the center table, tearing off small bits to eat instead.

Soon the chatter died down and he felt all eyes on him.

He wasn't accustomed to Trojan dinning etiquette; perhaps he'd done something wrong. Or maybe the other men knew who he was-

"The Greek- is that him?" Someone he'd seen on the battlefield whispered to the man next to him in their mother tongue.

"Do you think the rumors are true?" The other man whispered back.

Suddenly he was very thankful for what little he knew of the language, and decided that feigning total ignorance of it might play to his advantage.

"Must you speak of him so openly, and in his presence?" A third man, older and far more scarred, chastised the two.

"It's not as if he understands." The first man quipped. Patroclus fought to keep a neutral expression, simply continuing to rip of pieces of bread and eat them. He hated to be written off as stupid or unimportant in such a way- the dishonor might have offended him, if he hadn’t had hit wits about him.

"You have caused quiet the fuss." Andromache said quietly to him in his language.

"Yes, well, next time you want me over for dinner, just send an invitation." He tried to keep his tone from being totally bitter. He still didn’t know why he was there, or where there was beyond the fact that he was in Troy. Lucky for him, his years at court by Achilles’ side had taught him well. Andromache couldn’t detect the anger that was hidden in his quip. She simply gave a warm laugh, as if kidnapping was something that occurred every day.

"I'll try telling Hector that next time." She returned to her soup and conversation with the other Generals’ wives.

He looked around the table, anxious to learn of his purpose here. As his eyes wandered from face to face, he made eye contact with Hector from his seat at the head of the table. Where is King Priam? Should he not be at the head of the table instead of his son? He did not stop to think over this question and quickly broke the contact. He felt a heat rise up his neck, as the weight of the older Prince’s eyes did not leave him.

On the other side of his sat his brother Paris, and next to him sat who he assumed to be Helen.

She was...truly beautiful as legend had told. Yet...somehow he felt her beauty lacking. Perhaps it was the way his beloved had conquered his heart so completely that prevented his true appreciation. Suddenly he thought back to when Achilles dressed as a woman and had to suppress a laugh.

He did allow himself a small smile. Achilles was truly the most beautiful woman in all of Greece. He would have to remember to tell him this next time he saw him-if there is a next time. He was suddenly overwhelmed with the anxiety and dread that he had been trying to suppress all evening.

“Tell me, brother, what exactly was your plan with this poor Greek?” Paris asked. As he spoke Patroclus slowly worked to translate his words.

Paris doesn’t even know? He thought, mind going back to all of the horrible scenarios that he’d imagined earlier.

“Patience.” Hector smiled at him. He then raised his class and, in Patroclus’ mother tongue, announced. “I would like to make a toast of sorts. Tonight, the Palace of Troy opens its gates the closest friend of the best of the Greeks.”

There was a murmur among the guests. Lots of so it is true’s and he’s not that handsome’s and even a few oh my, do you think we could convince him to fight for us instead?’s and one do you think he’s married?

“Patroclus,” His name in Hector’s mouth sounded weird. It wasn’t said with the quick disregard that most people had said it with, but it wasn’t the slow loving pa-tro-clus that Achilles used. It was unique. Somehow that made Patroclus even more uncomfortable.

“Patroclus,” Hector continued, unaware of his “guest’s” inner monologue. “You are a guest here in this palace, and we welcome you as such.”

Patroclus forced a small smile and raised his glass in return. Another thing he had learned from his days by Achilles’ side was to play the game. The game- as Achilles referred to it- was the way people acted in court or formal meetings. The way kings and queens thought that the way they looked, spoke, and acted were a simple character they could assume for fun. It bothered Patroclus that these people, who had the fate of every one of their citizens in their hands, acted like it was just a night at a play.

The night went on relatively smoothly after that. Patroclus would pick of bits of conversations and gossip here and there, telling himself to remember it for later- just in case. When the dinner ended a few delegates and generals went off with Hector and Paris to discuss tomorrow’s plan.

Tomorrow.

Another day of men killing men they don’t know, for a woman they’ve never met.

Helen and Andromache were still sitting at the table with him, and he had the sudden urge to ask her if s she was happy. Or if she’d chosen this. Or if anything that had happened the last 5 years had been worth it to someone.

But before he could work up the nerve to say anything to her a man tapped him on his shoulder. It was a Trojan guard of unassuming build.

“I am assigned to protect you, Sir Patroclus.” By protect Patroclus gathered that the man meant “make sure you don’t try to escape”.

Patroclus nodded and gave another fake smile. The guard continued “You are permitted to roam the palace grounds as you please, but I am to be with you at all times.”

This man reminded him of the nanny he’d had when he was small. Never exactly telling him “no” or what to do, but always gently reminding him of what he shouldn’t do.

“I believe that I would like to rest for tonight, if that’s alright.”

“Of course, sir. Right this way.” The guard led him to the room he’d awoken in. He explained that these would be his quarters, and that if he needed anything the servants were always available. At its core, this place really wasn’t that different from back home. The biggest difference was the lack of Achilles.

Now familiar dread and loneliness filled him once again and he sent the guard away for the evening. He refused to let this man- or any- see him cry.

*

That night he lay in bed alone, trying to fall asleep. Without the warmth of his beloved next to him he found it hard- even harder now that it had been when Thetis had stolen Achilles away from him before the war. It was harder now, he realized, because now he knew that one day he would have to live without Achilles by his side. The realization sunk deep into him. What if Achilles kills Hector for taking him, and Achilles dies before Patroclus can be reunited with him.

“At least Thetis is probably happy.” He said to no one, letting his eyes close.

Chapter Text

The sun danced across the sky as the humans below it continued their daily bloodbath. For Achilles this was just another day- another day of rising from his tent and slaughtering those who dare stand before him on the battlefield, but for others the morbid monotony of this war laid heavy on their souls. Achilles never seemed too phased by war- in fact war was what he was built for- but he knew that without Patroclus by his side he might have been a very different person. On the battlefield he was a warrior: fierce and hungry for blood. Back in their shared tent, this warrior personality would leave him at the sight of his beloved. Patroclus was, for all intents and purposes, his human half. Patroclus made him a better person simply by being in his life, and he didn’t want to think about the person that he might be without Patroclus by his side.

As walked back to his tent he felt himself calming down, simply from the thought of who waited for him behind the canvas of his tent. Patroclus had chosen not to fight today, and Achilles was somewhat grateful. Not only did this keep him from worrying about his beloved's safety as he fought, but the reunions they had after spending days apart were pure bliss. With each passing step Achilles' mind began to think of what would happen when he saw Patroclus again.

He would enter and Patroclus would greet him with a kiss, then help him strip and wash the blood off of him. Both processes would be filled with kisses, accidentally-on-purpose touches, and love abound. Then, Achilles would tell him of how heroic he had been on the battlefield and how he had shaken the Trojans so much that they had retreated from the field early. 

 “Patroclus! I have wonderful news!” He announced. When Patroclus did not respond, dread filled his stomach. Just as a mother knows when her child is in trouble, Achilles knew when his lover was in danger.

“Patroclus?” he called out for his lover again, now moving further within the tent. He searched their bed, under it, and all around the limited space within. Panic continued to rise within him. 

Had something happened? Perhaps he should check- the medical tent where Patroclus spends his days. Achilles, you fool. He somewhat scolded himself. This wouldn’t have been the first time that Patroclus and the other healers had been so busy that their work would have run over into the late of night. He thought of visiting him, but didn’t want to rush or distract his work. Instead he found himself making dinner and practicing his lyre. He ate and strummed until he fell asleep where he sat, waiting up for his love.

He opened his eyes as sunlight streamed through a crack in the fabric.

“Patroclus, why did you not awake me so that we may have lain together?” Sleep played heavy on his lips as he spoke. When his questions were met with more silence he panicked. Suddenly he was on his feet, muscled tense and all signed of drowsiness gone. He moved over to feel the bed- sheets cold and still made up.

He hadn’t returned.

More panic sat within him, which quickly turned to anger as he exited their tent. The men around him were readying for another day of battle, so oblivious to Patroclus’ absence. He had no explanation as to why this angered him so, yet he didn’t try to rationalize himself out of his emotions. That, and everything else, could wait until he found Patroclus.

He ran to Breseis’ tent. As he entered some of the women visibly jumped at the sight of him.

“Where is he?”

She didn’t even need him to explain to understand what he meant- the fear on his face was enough.

“I haven’t seen him since the night before last.”

“He wasn’t waiting for me last night, and he never returned after that. I fear the worst.” Without another word he left, content to finish his search alone. But Breseis was behind him, struggling to keep up.

“Achilles!” She called out again and again. He thought of running ahead and leaving her behind for a moment- after all Patroclus was his, not hers- but he slowed. Patroclus would have wanted him to slow for her. As he waited for her to catch up he imaged Patroclus emerging from a nearby tent.  I’m so glad you two are getting along! I knew you two could be just as close as the two of us were- oh, where was I? There had been a soldier with a terrible wound and I had stayed up all night helping save him. I am so sorry for not sending word, oh Achilles-

“Where have you looked?” Breseis’ heavily accented Greek pulled him out of his day dream.

“Just your tent. The healing tent is next.” He started walking again, this time as a slower pace.

“And where do you plan on looking after that?”

“I-  I do not know. He has to be around the camp somewhere. No one would have cause to harm him- there isn’t a soul who would dare take him from me.” Achilles heard his own voice fill with anger, but did nothing to stop it. He would calm when Patroclus was with him again.

And so the two searched amongst the healers.

And then the meeting area.

And then the armory.

And then the area where the soldiers awaited Achilles to be battle ready.

And there.

And there.

And there.

Until they had searched the whole camp. With the last tent searched he found himself screaming with rage.

“Where is he?” Achilles shouted at his men- hoping that perhaps Patroclus had chosen to fight today and was hidden among them. He was not. Breseis stood back and watched as he stormed to were Agamemnon stood before his own troops.

“Agamemnon, have your army stand down! We are not fighting until I find my companion.”

“It would seem to me that such a matter would be more personal, and something easily solved within the confined of your own tent.”  The king fired back, never responsive to Achilles’ attitude or demands.

“What happened to your companion?” Odysseus walked over to them, Menelaus and Ajax behind him.

“He has vanish. He was not in our tent when I returned from battle yesterday, nor did he return by morning light.”

“Could it be possible that he is simply busy- he does spend a fair amount of time healing our fallen men.” Odysseus offered.

“I have checked this entire camp myself. He is nowhere in sight, and it is not like him to abandon me like this.” Achilles turned back to Agamemnon, fists clinched. “I suspect something has happened.”

“Your tone is that of accusation!” The old king crossed his arms, basically spitting his words. “No one here would have reason to harm your little companion.”

“Then it must have been a Trojan!” Achilles shouted, no longer attempting to hide his anger.

“But the Trojans have been so civil with us until this point. A mutual respect for our holidays and funeral services has always been offered between the two sides.” Odysseus interjected, touching his chin as he thought.

“I think Achilles is right.” Ajax spoke up. “This is war- we knew that sooner or later either the Trojans would be knocking down our doors, or us there’s.”

“Regardless, why take Patroclus and not a general?” Odysseus looked around.

Achilles felt offence swell within him. Patroclus was better than any of the men that stood before him and it would take a fool not to see it.

Agamemnon sighed deeply, looking out to the walls of Troy. “There must be an alternative for doing so- a well thought out plan.”

Achilles remembered the news he wanted to tell Patroclus last evening, of Paris and Hector. “On the battlefield yesterday I saw Hector and Paris leave the fight before high noon…I had thought it a sign of weakness at the time, a sign that we were winning.”

Menelaus nodded, bitterly adding “It’s not exactly as if the Trojans are afraid to take loved ones from us.”

“What should we do then?”

The question hung in their air for half a second- or maybe an eternity. Achilles couldn’t tell time- found no need for time or anything without Patroclus by his side. He couldn’t help but think that Patroclus would have known exactly what to do if he had been here. Achilles imagined him behind the walls of Troy, shackled and hurt.

Was he being tortured? Was he being denied food and water? Was he in pain- calling out for Achilles?

A fire of rage spread within Achilles, and he found himself unable to think of anything other than the reward of slaughtering Trojan soldiers.

“We make them regret taking him from us.”

With that he turned to ready for battle.

Chapter Text

Patroclus tossed and turned, watching the last bit of sunlight burn from the sky and be replaced by the moon. Artemis.

He wondered if she- or any other immortal was looking down on him- thought his situation entertaining. Patroclus knew that her twin, Apollo, had taken more than enough interest in this war- did the goddess of hunting take interest in men hunting one another? For once he found comfort in imagining the inhuman eyes of ancient gods peering over at him. How morbid that this should be the only comfort he find at this hour. Perhaps it was the way the cold, empty space next to him become almost oppressive to his psyche- a bleak reminder in the night that he had been taken from his most beloved.

“Sleep. You will be less alert with less sleep.” A voice spoke within his mind. It hadn’t been his own, but it had been familiar enough for him to disregard any thoughts to the contrary. Without much warning to him, his eyelids slowly grew heavier until he was completely asleep.

*

No coldness,

no color,

 no moon,

there was only warmth, sent, hair- sandalwood and pomegranate and everything from before- choking and surrounding everything, almost as if in revenge for what has been done to him.

“Achilles?”

He tried to call, but nothing came out. He only thought the name aggressively, desperate to break his mute spell. “ Achilles! Achilles! Achilles!”

He tried again but nothing came. He could see nothing- becoming overwhelmed by the blinding and heavy darkness he sank to his knees.

“Achilles! Achilles! Achilles!”

A new voice came. It was cold and sharp as a razor, yet methodical and compelling like a field of flowers on a spring day. “There is no warmth here, Patroclus.”

*

He sprang upwards in his bed, cold sweat pouring down his back. Light poured in the room, as did noise from below, It seemed he had finally rid himself of the endless night.

“A dream, it was just a dream.” Patroclus muttered to himself, resting his head in his hands.

There is no warmth here rang through his ears. Had that been a god or a creation of his own subconscious? He had only ever heard the voice of Thetis, and knew that what spoke to him wasn’t human. Had it been her? Was she warning him?

A knock at his chamber door aroused him from his thoughts.

“Sir, Prince Hector has advised me to wake you for the day. He wishes for your measurements to be taken, so that he may provide clothing for you.”

Patroclus smiled at the guard from last night, taking a moment to remember his features in the sunlight. He had crooked nose and red, patchy skin all over. His hair was cropped short, which meant that he was either a slave or indentured servant, but he could still make out a brownish tent to it.

Behind him another man entered the room and introduced himself as the tailor for the royal family. He carried a small bag made of dried animal hid and an abundance of colorful fabrics.

“Such strange treatment for a prisoner. He must be important.” The tailor commented to the guardsmen in their native language as he sat out all his supplies.

“Too important to torture, too important to not be left alone, and smart enough not to talk too much.” The guard noted with an annoyed edge to his voice. Patroclus almost cursed himself for his stupidity. Of course the guard had been sent to spy on him. He would have to be more careful with who he did and didn’t trust.

“Sir, if you will.” The tailor held out his arms and stood straight. Patroclus imitated the action and hoped he didn’t look foolish. The other man went about draping the elaborate fabrics about his body, taking notes for length and width needed.

The fabric, Patroclus noted, was incredibly nice. This only made him more confused.

“Am I being used as some sort of pawn?” he thought to himself. “Does Hector think that he can convert me to be on his side instead, and why do none of the men know who I am?”

“Sir, measurements…uh… done soon. Sun down.” The tailor stuttered in broken Greek. Patroclus nodded his head respectfully.

“But you needn’t wear your old garments throughout the day.” His guard added, gesturing at a secondary wooden door. It was smaller than the one leading out into the hallway, and a lighter shade. Patroclus slowly went over to it and opened.

With a loud creak it opened to reveal a large step-in closet filled with the finest clothes he’d seen since before the war. The guardsman gestured for him to step further inside. Patroclus did, but not without great apprehension.

He tried to remember what he saw the generals wearing last night at dinner as he looked through the plethora of multicolored chitins and gold jewelry. He could feel his guard’s impatient glare after a while, and eventually settled on a dark maroon garment. He complimented it with golden arm bands and plain sandals. He felt so ridiculous. Even back home as Achilles’ squire he would never present himself in such decadence, but that was Trojan culture. Everyone within the walls seemed to be trying awfully hard to prove how rich they were to whomever could see. 

“Are you ready, sir?” The guard asked as he exited the closet. Patroclus noted the annoyed edge to his voice, and he suddenly questioned his earlier judgments of the man. Clearly he wasn’t used to waiting on other- and his posture was too sure.

No, no. This man wasn’t a slave or a servant- he had to be someone in disguise. Patroclus found himself disgusted by the sheer amount of deceit that surrounded him.

“Yes. Is breakfast any time soon?” Patroclus asked the man. He wanted to find a way to test his theory- perhaps through being rude? 

The guard offered a tight smile and a curt reply. “They are waiting on you to begin, sir.”

“Me?” He was a little taken aback. The deceit paired with the special treatment made his head spin.

“You are the guest of honor, sir.” The guard wore another forced smile, but it didn't travel to his eyes. Was that pity in his eyes?

“I shouldn’t leave them waiting any longer then. Let’s go.” Patroclus said, making a point to order the guardsman to gauge his reaction. Finding out who this man was might be the first step towards his escape.

The other man lead him out of his chamber and back through the labyrinth of hallways to the dining hall.

He paused upon entering the room as all of the other guests’ eyes fell on him. He felt the weight of every ounce of gold he wore.

Princess Andromache was the first to respond, greeting him with a smile and offering for him to sit by her and Helen. He accepted, taking the seat while his guard stood off to the side. Most of the men, save the very young and very old, were off fighting- Where I should be. Patroclus felt very awkward around the women, so he remained quiet. He hoped that his stay in Troy would be like life before Achilles- quiet, staying in the shadows, observing. He caught the occasional snippet of gossip, prayers, random conversations as he ate. Nothing was eventful until he noticed Helen’s eyes on him. He turned his head to look at her, really look at her.

She looked her age- eyes sunken in from lack of sleep, face cracked with worry, and hair pulled back in a haphazard way. The war was weighing down on her more than he had ever thought that it could.

“Good morning, Helen. Patroclus is also Greek- did you two ever meet?” Andromache said.

“I was actually one of her unsuccessful suitors.” Patroclus spoke before Helen could. He noticed how both of their eyes light up in surprise.

“You were? I thought only princes who would one day inherit their fathers’ thrones could try for her hand.” Andromache asked, looking him over as if in new light.

“I was a prince. I’m an exile now.” He wished to spare them the details surrounding of exile. Luckily, Andromache did not push the matter.

“That’s a shame.”

“I am sorry for not recognizing you, Patroclus.” Helen’s voice was deeper than he’d thought. Hearing it was like seeing a flower blooming after a long and bitter winter.

He smiled- all of his earlier resentment for her now gone. “I was just eight at the time. It’s completely understandable.”

“Wait, were you Son of Menoetius? You were so young, so different.” She offered a sad smile.

“Yes. I hope that the years have been kind to me.” He chuckled with a warmth he didn't think he could muster at such a time. He suddenly remembered the speech Odysseus offered when he took the solemn oath to protect her and felt a sharp pang in his chest. By the Gods, I even miss Odysseus. 

Helen smiled, resting her head in her hands. Suddenly their surroundings disappeared and it felt as if it was just the two of them. Her eyes and his memories forever. 

“I wonder how different things would have been if I had picked you.” Patroclus might have worried that her comment might have been taken offensively by anyone else, but now he was find it hard to think. 

“You would be truly miserable- married to an exile who spent all his time by the side of Prince Achilles? Miserable.” The smile she gave him wasn’t as sad as the first. He felt happy that he'd done something to lighten the obvious burden she carried...even if it came at the price of his own privacy. 

Helen tilted her head to the side in sudden amusement. “So the rumors of you two are true?”

“There are too many to confirm or deny, but I’m sure that there is some truth to many of them.” He felt a sudden surge of confidence. He was never the confident type, but wrote it off as being able to talk to another Grecian.

“Would you like to walk with Andromache and I after breakfast? It might do you some good to familiarize yourself with the grounds.” Helen looked over to the crowned princess for permission. Andromache nodded then looked to Patroclus, who was suddenly brought back into his surroundings at Helen's mention of the other woman. 

“It would be my honor.” Patroclus smiled at the two of them. He normally felt so uncomfortable at the center of attention, but for whatever reasoning he was flourishing today.  

The rest of the meal passed with little to no activity. Andromache would ask Patroclus questions about Troy and Helen would ask him questions about Sparta. He answered what he could, hoping it was enough to bring Helen comfort and Andromache satisfaction.

Their walk was a slow one. They went through the endless halls, occasionally stopping to admire the art work or look out a window. Hours passed and Patroclus grew weary of idle conversation, of being so on-guard. He was playing friendly with his captor’s wife, and felt the weight of every word he said to her.

Patroclus felt a great relief with a young child came running towards them.

“Mama!” The young boy cried in joy. Andromache smiled lovingly and bent down, taking the child in her arms.

“Patroclus, this is my son Astyanax.” The young boy waved at Patroclus from his place in his mother’s arms.

He smiled at the child, a sharpness in his chest, for he could only think of Achilles’ son Neoptolemus. Patroclus wondered if he would live long enough to have a child. Briseis had offered to mother any children that he might want…but that still didn’t feel right. Watching a mother and child interact made this feeling worse. Perhaps it was for the best that he hadn’t married or had children. What if I turned into my father? 

“Why don’t you attend to Astyanax while Patroclus and I finish our walk?” Helen offered, gripping Patroclus’ forearm. The warmth of another human’s hand on him settled down into his bones.

How long had it been since he had last touched Achilles? Just one day or two?

Andromache looked over the two before nodding. The two excused themselves and continued walking. Silence surrounded them for another two or three corridors, but once she was sure that they were alone Helen spoke.

“Does he speak of me often?”

“Menelaus?” He asked. She nodded. With a sigh, he continued. “If I’m being truthful…no. He mentions you in the speeches they give to the men, but I think the war is more about war than you.” The confidence he’d felt earlier still shrouded his judgment, otherwise he might not have been so honest.

Relief washed over Helen’s features. “So…I am not to blame for all of this bloodshed?”

He shook his head.

“I had lived with this guilt for so long…all this blood on my hands.” Helen stopped walking and looked down at her hands. It was as if she was seeing them as clean for the first time.

“I think your husband would have found other excuses to war with the Trojans, had you not left with Paris.”

Helen clasped her hands together and continued walking. Without much warning she turned to Patroclus, staring at him as if she had something she wanted to say. He tried to give a friendly smile to let her know that she could confess anything to him in confidence. 

“Hector is a good man.” Helen stated after a few minutes, stopping by a window to watch a sun set. Has the day really passed this quickly?

“I hope you are right about that.” Patroclus smiled at her, but dropped it once he saw the intensity of her gaze.

“I am. He is nice and kind, and if the war were not putting his family in danger he would not fight. He will not harm you, Patroclus.”

“Thank you for telling me this.”

“It is your right to know- to not have to live in unnecessary fear.”

Their gazes met for a long moment. It wasn’t unnerving like the gaze his guard gave him, but instead it was akin to the way Thetis looked at Achilles. He saw worry, protection, and guilt.

“I feel as though I have known you for years rather than hours.” Helen said with a small smile.

“I feel the same way. I-“

Patroclus was interrupted by Paris. He still in his full armor, crossbow in hand when he announced himself. 

“Helen, there you are. I have searched the whole castle for you- we returned from battle hours ago.” His arms wrapped around Helen. Patroclus assumed it to be a gesture of claiming her from him rather than a loving embrace.

“Your friend is angry.” Paris turned his attention to Patroclus.

“How angry?”

“Unstoppable. Our spies tell us he refuses to listen to reason from his fellow commanders, and you should see the massacre on the battlefield. He won’t stop until you are returned…or I believe the phrase he used was ‘back in my arms’.” Paris looked him over with an amused smile.

Patroclus felt his face grow hot despite himself. “He and I are close friends. I am, after all, his closest companion.”

“There’s more to that story, isn’t there?” Paris asked. With that Helen squeeze her husband’s arm lightly, giving him a strange look. Paris nodded at her. “I apologize, Patroclus. I suppose I’m not exactly an expert on love.”

The prince gestured to his armor. Patroclus laughed politely.

Paris handed Helen his helmet before pointing down one of the adjacent corridors. “Hector wishes to speak with you. You will find him in his bed chambers, just down the hall.”

“Thank you.” Patroclus bowed his head and excused himself. As he walked he chastised himself for squandering the opportunity to ask Helen all the questions he had for her. After walking down the impossibly long hallway he started to feel as though he had gotten lost.

His neck craned from side to side, looking for a door for the Prince in question.

“Patroclus!” Hector called behind him. He turned around to see the man leaning out of doorway that he had looked over.

“Prince Hector, forgive me. This palace is like a maze to me.”

Hector laughed, taking his comment in good spirit despite what Patroclus had been told about today’s battle.

“Please, come in. I need to finish removing my armor, then we can talk.”  

Patroclus did as told standing awkwardly by the door. As Hector fidgeted with several straps, he noticed that Hector’s room was not much larger than his own. Perhaps, Hector had planned it that way.

“I must thank you for your hospitality, Prince Hector. The garments you left for me are all wonderful, as is the room you’ve allowed me to stay in.”

Hector smiled warmly at him. “I am so thrilled to hear that you are comfortable here. I hope to be as…accommodating as possible.”

Hector continued to fidget with several straps, making quite a show of the difficulty.

“Patroclus, I am so sorry to ask this, but could you possibly help me?”

“Of course.” Patroclus answered without thinking. He had plenty of experience putting on and taking off Achilles’ armor…but this would be different.

Slowly, he walked over to where Hector stood. He kneeled before the other man, shaky hands going to undo the buckles and straps around his thighs. They were muscular, but not as defined as Achilles’. Strange, how Patroclus compares every man he meets to Achilles when he knows no man could ever hold a candle to him.   

Patroclus removed the rest of Hector’s armor with practiced eased. Hector's armor may have not been made by the gods, but it wasn’t all that different from what he was used to.

“Thank you, Patroclus. You’re such an accommodating guest…” Hector’s eyes lingered over him for a moment. Suddenly Patroclus felt very strange about kneeling before Hector in such an intimate way. He stood stiffly and quickly- so much so that he almost lost balance. Hector’s arm gripped his forearm to steady him.

“Uh- an accommodating guest for an accommodating host.” Patroclus replied, smiling with strained politeness. Something was very off- he could feel it in his gut.

There is no warmth here replayed in his mind without warning, causing him to visibly shiver. Hector dropped his grip on Patroclus’ arm and looked at him with concern.

Had Hector been standing that close before?

“Patroclus, I’ve hear rumors of you and Achilles. I know the two of you shared a bed, and I wish to keep up this trend of being an accommodating host. If ever you find your bed too cold…or yourself too lonely…there are several options available to you.” Hector smiled warmly. Hector gestured at his own bed; the meaning behind doing so went right over Patroclus’ head. He took it for meaning that servants or something of the like were available instead of Hector offering himself. “We can both continue to be…accommodating to one another if you would like.”

“How so?” Patroclus put up his full guard. Once again Hector’s advanced went over his head and he assumed accommodating meant giving away military secrets.

Hector chuckled at Patroclus’ surface level innocence. Hec assumed Patroclus, a military man in his early twenties, would have been used to such advances and was merely playing hard to get. Hector decided to take the assumed bait with another charming smile.

“Why don’t we skip dinner? I do tire of endless political games; even in war the generals feel the need to dance around important matters as if we were in a play. You and I can take a private dinner later.” Hector placed his armor on the bed, looking Patroclus over.

Patroclus was careful to keep a neutral expression as he agreed- a simple nod and a friendly smile followed by an even friendlier “As you wish, Prince Hector.”

“Very accommodating indeed.” Hector said, starting out of the room. Patroclus followed closely as the two ventured through the halls. He noted that there was a change in decoration in the halls. The walls were craved with intricate designs, and the designs filled with various precious metals. Every so often there would be a golden bowl filled with some sort of bird or wine or coin- offering plates perhaps?

Patroclus was quick to catch on to what Hector was doing. He was trying to show off his family’s wealth to impress him. He wondered if Hector knew how fruitless these attempts to persuade his favor were; he also wondered just how accurate the rumors of Achilles and himself were in regards to their dedication to one another. Patroclus’ mind delved further into the possibilities of these alleged rumors as the two walked on.

Hector lead and Patroclus followed 3 steps behind. He subconsciously realized that he looked like some doting bride to outsiders looking at the situation from afar, but he didn’t dwell on it too much. He was doing so because he wanted to seem as passive and simple as possible during this whole process so that he might learn as much information on the Trojans as possible and insure his own survival. After all, information wasn’t any good if one doesn’t live long enough to relay it.

An odd silence filled the air. Patroclus found it so strange how quiet the castle was, and how quiet the Trojans were too. The beaches were always loud with parties, arguments, and conversations. It was hard to believe that just 36 hours ago he’d been down in the warmth and noise rather than in this cold castle.

Before he could dwell on his nostalgia induced loneliness, Prince Hector stopped walking before yet another garnished wooden door. The servants that stood at either side bowed their heads to the men before opening the door to reveal a balcony over run with lush greenery.

“The gardens are a personal love of mind. I hope you find them as pleasing as I do.”

The two walked through the garden in silence. Patroclus would look over at Hector every few minutes, his untrusting attitude still reluctant to go away despite Helen’s promise. For some reason he found himself missing his guard- though he might have been a Trojan Patroclus still longed for the illusion of protection.

The two passed displays of large, colorful flowers. Between each new display the two men would cast glances at the other. Their game of cat and mouse went on until Hector stopped walking and turned to face Patroclus, unwelcome warmth in his eyes. Unease settled further into Patroclus’ bones. He desperately wished for another swell of self- confidence like he had felt earlier.

“Patroclus…you seem uneasy.” Hector’s ability to read him made him even more unnerved.

“It’s not every day your captor asks you to accompany him on an evening stroll before a private dinner.” He replied, hoping his banter conveyed more merriment than he felt.

“I must say I’m surprised.”

“What do you mean?” Patroclus asked. The other man breathed out a soundless chuckle at Patroclus’ innocence. 

“Your modesty is amazing. Forgive me, Patroclus,” His words were simply out of politeness. Due to his status and rank, he needn’t worry about how Patroclus felt about him in this, or any situation. “I had noticed you looking at me...these shy games can be rather tiresome to someone of my age and status. I am not ashamed to fully admit that I find you handsome- a rare type of handsome that’s almost beautiful.”

All Patroclus could do was blink, unsure of how to respond.

Hector used the silence to his advantage, continuing his flattery. “Men are normally so brute looking, and in this city there is such a preference for pale skin it can grow tiresome- but you Patroclus? You are a dark night sky, complete with constellations made of freckles- masculine without being too bull-like, like most of the Greeks.  You are unique, a breath of fresh air in an otherwise stuffy palace. ”

“Perhaps it is because your walls don’t offer enough ventilation.”  Patroclus said. A sudden confidence washed over him again, and suddenly this felt as routine as any other conversation with any other man.  “I am sorry for my guarded behavior, Prince Hector.”

Hector chuckled, eyes slowly racking over Patroclus’ body. “Please, just refer to me as Hector. I like to think that we could be friends.”

“As you wish, Hector.” Patroclus now felt rather guilty for his earlier mistrust. The sudden surge of confidence within him now worked to set his wired nerves at ease. Hector’s hand now rested on his freckled forearm. Patroclus desperately tried to ignore how wonderful human contact felt. The occasional touches or grips throughout the day hadn’t been anything like this.

“The toned, lean muscles of a solider…” He said as his eyes looked over Patroclus like he was a precious gem- something to stroke, to protect, to show off. Was his flattery more than just friendly banter?

Had Hector brought him out here for purposes other than a friendly conversation and exhibition of wealth? What was that dark look in his eyes?

A heavy silence fell over the two men as Patroclus’ mind raced.

No man had ever shown any interest in him other than Achilles. Surely he was misreading the signs. Hector was married! With a child!

Then again…so was Achilles-

Dear Gods-

All of Patroclus’ thought came to a sudden halt as Hector began to lean forward. He had never had to deal with unwanted attention- how would Achilles handle this?-  Patroclus found himself woefully under equipped for such social situations. He could only lean further and further back as a puckered-lipped eyes-closed Hector continued to lean forward. He continued to lean back until he lost balance, sending him falling backwards onto the ground.

“umph.” He exclaimed. He felt his face heat up as Hector’s eyes opened. Hurt and anger flashed across the other man’s features. Patroclus felt so guilty for his inability to properly handle such a situation, but couldn’t dwell on it for too long. Hector helped him back to his feet, muttering an apology and excusing himself for the evening. The warmth and friendship the other man had previously offered were now gone as he stormed out of the gardens.

Patroclus watched the other man go, his mind reeling.

Was that him? Was that me? He asked himself, mind going back to his dream. There is no warmth here.

He had not asked Helen earlier if she chose to come here or not, and now he was beginning to feel that he had gotten his answer. Hector and Paris were both handsome, but looks and wealth was no match for his utter devotion to Achilles- who was even more handsome and just as wealthy. Perhaps he had sent Hector the wrong message? Was this his fault, instead of the Prince’s?

He wandered to the edge of the balcony, utterly hopeless of finding his way back to his room alone. Below he saw the same hustle and bustle he had seen the evening before. He wondered for a split second if he would survive the fall, were he to jump.

What if he did? What then? Was he to limp back to camp like some wounded dog back to its master?

Sudden resolve echoed through Patroclus’ chest. I might be a prisoner of war, but I will not allow my capture to prove me useless. I am a soldier, beloved by the best, and I will do whatever it takes to get the information I need to help my men breach this wall.

Chapter Text

The absence of Patroclus shook his to his core. Without his beloved by his side- what was the point of continuing?  What was the point of mortality?

As he dawned his armor Menelaus tried to calm him- “They will treat him well. Surely my Helen will see to it.”

“Your Helen is whore who fled from you at first chance. My Patroclus is at the mercy of your wife’s villainous lover.” He snarled, all teeth and spear and bloodlust. His body was now made of gold and fire- nothing could douse him.

On the battlefield he slayed every Trojan who came towards him. He did not care about protecting his fellow man any more- he only felt anger, vengeance, and pain. Time that had been previously spent checking on his soldiers was now spent spilling more and more blood.  He wondered how many men he would need to kill to make Hector hurt as much as he did now. Even if it was every last Trojan, he would do it.

“They say no one leaves the bowls of Troy. Not even the lover of aristos achain.” Whispered one Myrmidon to another during a lull in the fighting. Achilles had killed so many that no one dared come near them.

“If he is not returned to me, then I will make it so there will be no Trojans left. I will watch the city burn as Patroclus’ body is on the pyre. ” Achilles raged. His hands tightened around his spear. Men lost their humanity in his eyes- if they wore the wrong armor then they were only targets to him.

He had slayed so many that the Trojans retreated early. He had slain so many, that many refused to fight. Disobedience was sweeping through their ranks.

“Cowards!” He screamed as Odysseus and Nestor tried to hold him down, drag him back to camp, calm him down, anything. He fought them off, throwing each to the ground. There was a moment when the Kings expected him to run towards the wall, but the angry prince only stomped back to camp.

“He told me of the way you claimed him as your husband once, when you were in disguise.” Briseis tried to comfort him. She was unlike the others, she didn’t try to dance on eggshells around him. In fact, when he first returned to camp she was awaiting him. She yelled at him, blamed him for Patroclus’ capture, shrieking at the top of her lungs before he had even removed his armor. She threatened so many things they both knew she would never be able to do, but he let her scream because he knew she was right. When she had screamed herself horse she turned to go, departing with these final words. “He told me that it made his heart flutter with happiness he didn’t know he could feel.”

“Regardless of what anyone says, of any laws, I have always been married to him. In my soul, since the moment I saw him I have been wedded to him.” Achilles sent her away and removed his armor alone. He missed the way Patroclus would wash the blood from him- the way Patroclus’ hands would brush against his skin as he removed his armor for him. Instead of warmth and love he only felt shame and chaffing. Once he was done he was left alone.  He could hear the laughter from other commanders’ tents, the crackling of his rage, the silence left behind.

 He was brought food, but dented it.

“I’m fasting.” He exclaimed. He would mourn for his love’s capture as a wife would mourn for her husband’s death.

He had prayed to his mother before battle, begging her to insure Patroclus’ safety despite her disapproval of him. She had told him to wait while she saw to it, but the unknowing silence was beginning to eat at him.

“Mother.” He prayed into the night. Only silence came. “Mother. I am sick of waiting. I am sick of his absence.”

Thetis materialized before him, all blue-gold-red veins and floating black hair. “So impatient.”

“What have you discovered?”

“I have done more than discover. I gave him strength and confidence when it was needed, gently whispering warning in his ear. He will not fall for the tricks of Trojan Princes while I am around, but I must warn you. I can only act as passively as the Trojan gods do, least I be found out.”

“Are they treating him well? In what ways are the Trojans trying to trick him?”

“I fear telling you, it will full your anger even more.”

“Is that such a bad thing? You saw the way the Trojans fled the battle early! My anger gets results.”

“Results that might not be needed now!” Her voice was as sharp as a razor. Achilles recognized it as the tone she would use on him as a misbehaving child. If Patroclus were present he would recognize it as the voice from his dreams, whispering warning in his ear.

“What do you mean? What are they doing to him?” He stood, staring her down.

“He is being treated well, trust that.” Achilles felt a large weight lift off of him. All his fears of Patroclus being neglected or tortured were now dismissed.  “Hector will not physically hurt him. I can promise no more.”

“What do you mean you can promise no more? What is Hector doing to him?”

“The two of them were alone at the request of Hector.” Thetis paused a moment. She was unsure of how to proceed. Telling her son would only fuel his violent anger, causing him to lash out on more soldiers. That, in turn, would only cause the Trojans to strengthen their defenses.  

However, his anger might soon fade into sadness if he is not given proper cause.

With caution, Thetis continued. “Your beloved is not only beloved by you. I gave him enough confidence to speak to his captures throughout the day, and even more to turn down Hector. However, I was not the only goddess there when the two of them were alone. Aphrodite was there, working her powers as well.”

“Paris is a favorite of Aphrodite. It would make sense for help his brother. ” His hands curled into fists and went quiet. His hair- golden and now moving like hers- wrapped and unwrapped itself around its own strands. His veins- golden and hot through translucent and flawless skin- bulged out in anger. He had never looked less mortal in his life.

After a long moment he spoke. “Do you think that what Aphrodite was trying to do was the same trick that made Helen leave?”

“I know that it is.”

“And if you were not there to protect Patroclus from it…” He turned suddenly, picking up a vase and throwing it out of the tent. It shattered, causing a passerby to shriek in surprise.

With that, Thetis left her son. She allowed him to take his anger out in peace, watching both him and Patroclus from a distance. She had done all required of her and then some.

Chapter Text

Andromache had already retired for the evening when Hector returned to his chambers. He was thankful for that, the fewer questions the better off he was. There was great shame in a prince being rejected by a common person, and an even greater shame in a prince being rejected by the squire of other princes. If word got out of that Patroclus would rather fall flat on his back than accept his advances, the rumors would be harsh.

He lay down on the lavish mattress, gentle and quiet so as not to wake Andromache. As he stared up at the darkness of the room he felt a slight rage bubble in his stomach. Aphrodite had, after all, promised to help him win the heart of Patroclus, and yet here he was lying next to his wife.

He loved Andromache, of course, but he was not completely free of temptation. He only proceeded to charm Patroclus with the consent of his beloved wife. She knew that she was the only woman to ever catch his eye, and therefore found no qualm when he took interest in the occasional prince or serving boy.

Patroclus’ recent rejected stung him.

He turned to his side to watch Andromache’s chest rise and fall, hoping this would calm his mind. He thought of the first time they had met. As was tradition, it was their wedding day. He remembered the way the veil fitted to her cheekbones, the soft voice in which she spoke the vows. As his eyes closed, he felt calmness wash over him. He didn’t know when he fell asleep, but next thing he knew Andromache was waking him.

“You must dress for battle, my dear husband.” Andromache’s voice was the first thing he heard. He mourned her warmth when she left to get ready for the day herself. Hector paused a moment, attempting to soak up his last bit of warmth and comfort before being shoved into too-tight armor to fight a too-bloody war.

“I must say that I was rather surprised to find you next to me this morning.” She said from an adjacent room. “With the way you were eyeing Patroclus two nights ago I had thought you interested in him- even more so when the two of you did not make an appearance at dinner.”

Hector sighed as one hand went to rub his sore shoulder.  He felt no shame in speaking the truth to Andromache. “I was. I thought him interest in me too, but it would seem his Prince Achilles has conquered his heart too thoroughly for there to be room for me in it.”

“What a shame.” Andromache reappeared in the room, going to ready his armor for him. “I might be a little biased, but I have to say that I’d pick you anytime.”

Hector chuckled, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “You want to know the most embarrassing part?”

“Do tell.”

“He would rather fall flat on his ass than accept a kiss from me.” Hector scoffed at the perplexed look on Andromache’s face.

“You pushed him?”

“No. I would never- well not intentionally. If I had been the reason he fell to the ground I-“ Hector scrunched his brow. Had he, somehow, accidentally pushed Patroclus? If so, that would have explained the look of shock and horror on the boy’s face. “I- I can’t seem to remember the details of last night, but I assure you that I did not shove him.” Despite how hard Hector fought to keep his voice calm, some panic still seeped through.

“I know that you would never do something so uncivilized on purpose.” Andromache said timidly. She finished helping him dress before departing with a simple “I must check on Astyanax.”

The sudden coldness that has clouded her presence was nothing something that went unnoticed by Hector. His wife should know him better than that; he would never force himself on someone let alone someone as lovely as-

“Patroclus, really Hector?” His younger brother’s voice filled the room with its chime-like tone. Hector turned to face Paris, not shocked to see him out of armor. Hector was even less surprised to see the man topless. “Of all the willing men in the city, you had to force yourself upon the lover of aristos achaion.”

“I did nothing of the sort!” Hector spat with clinched fists. How did the fool even hear of this? How dare he accuse him!

“That’s not what all the servants are saying. Even poor Deiphobus feels ashamed.” Paris crossed his arms and stomped his left foot. He always reminded Hector of a toddler who didn’t get his way. The reality of this wasn’t far off at times.

Hector didn’t bother to respond to the comment or the rumors. He expected so much more from Paris, his own brother for whom he was fighting a war for.

“Did you hear me, brother? I said our own brother- the one you had dress up as a guard-slave to spy on your little crush feels ashamed of your actions.” Paris stopped his foot again. Hector narrowed his eyes, his gaze going to where Paris’  blond hair feel at his shoulders in an unkempt way.

Yes, very much like a toddler who didn’t get his way.

“I heard you.” Hector said through gritted teeth. “I chose not to respond, brother, because I had hoped that you of all people would not take such abhorrent court gossip as fact. Do I not go on the battle field every day and risk my life for you? Did I not instantly believe you when you claimed that Helen had come with you willingly-“

“She DID come willingly. Unlike Patroclus!” Paris shifted his weight to one hip, arms still crossed over his bare chest.

“Not under her own influence! We both know Aphrodite influenced her, just as she promised to influence Patroclus.” Hector gritted his teeth. Frustration wracked through him, causing him to clench and unclench his fists.

Paris crossed over to him, bare feet slapping against the floor tiles as he stomped. “It’s not her fault! She agreed to help you as best she could, but another goddess intervened. Or, at least another goddess was present.”

“Which goddess?” Hector did not have to ask to know. It was obvious that the mother of Achilles would be sent to watch over her son’s beloved companion.  

“Thetis.” Paris confirmed. “If Thetis was witness to the way you dishonored her son’s lover, who knows what will come. Not only will this enrage the troops on the outside of the wall, but to dishonor such an esteemed guest is against court law.”

Hector tried to ignore how pleased Paris looked in this moment. The boy had been destined from birth to bring about the end of Troy, but now it would seem that it was Hector whose lust would cause their downfall. “Could prophecy change so easily?”

Paris did not need to ask what his brother meant. It was a burden he had carried for years. “You know as well as I do that it can.”

 Hector fought the erg to punch a wall. He wasn’t even all that angry so much as he was panicked. Most of his most prominent emotions had been burned out during the war, like a candle left lit through the night. All, that is, accept for panic.

Panic never seemed to leave him.

“Get the oracle. Get the priests. Get everyone we can.”

*

After Hector had left him, Patroclus wandered back into the castle. He felt great shame in his own social ineptitude, and this shame was only made worse when he noticed the large tear he’d left on his chitin.

The guards that had previously been at either edge of the garden were gone, most likely ordered to leave so that Patroclus and Hector could have had the privacy the older prince wished for. Patroclus shuttered at the thought of what might have happened.

Was it left? Or was it right? Or straight? Is this my punishment then- to wander about his palace utterly disheveled and disgusted simply because I did not wish to bed him? So much for being an accommodating host.

It was several minutes before Patroclus stumbled on two others, a guard and a servant. The pair looked him over with mild interest. He felt their eyes raking over every single flaw, tear, and imperfection on his being.

“I- Um- Can you show me to my room? I’m sorry but I seem to have lost my way.” Patroclus finally ended the staring contest, cringing as he heard his own voice. It more than betrayed his frightened bewilderment.

“Is the prince not with you?” The slow methodical voice of the servant washed over him in a strange way.  Her hair was a dark black that seemed to glow and pulse with the same beauty of the night sky.

“What happened to your toga?” The guard’s voice war harsh and accusing. Despite this, he was just as compelling as the servant. However, instead of black his hair was a bright red that seemed to burn with the same power of the sun.

“No- I.” Patroclus faltered. He found it hard to think or speak in their presence, and suddenly it seemed as though nothing had exists in his life before this moment. “He- I don’t- I- doesn’t matter.”

The two watched as Patroclus subconsciously pulled down the hem of his torn garments. They shared a look, completely black eyes shining with disgust.

Black eyes? His pulse doubled and his knees almost buckled. The same warning that had replayed through his mind all day suddenly rang as loud as bells, as clear as a river. There is no warmth here. There is no warmth here. There is no warmth here. There is no warmth here. There is no warmth here. There is no warmth here.

The servant and the guard watched as he backed against a wall to prevent from falling. With another shared look and more shimmering black eyes, the two stepped forward. Patroclus suddenly recognized them as Apollo and Artemis in disguise.  A mere mortal should not be able to see through the disguises of gods.

“Please, no further!” He held out his hands. The thought of their immortal skin groping him as they feigned to help made him sick.

“We only wish to help, sir.” Patroclus no longer heard the methodical tone in her voice, only the cold and calculated voice of a goddess with a plan.

“No, no. I- you’re kingdom has done enough to me.” He allowed the double meaning to stick, unsure if they knew how he saw through their disguises. The twins traded another look, concerned. Could it be? Pity for the mortal?

Apollo stood behind Artemis. He was light and fire and everything that Patroclus had claimed that Achilles was, yet here Patroclus was cowering from the light as the darkness closed in. Artemis kept stepping closer and closer with each passing second.

“Let us help you.” Artemis’ hands were suddenly gripping his wrist.

“Please.” Apollo’s request sounded more like a demand, and suddenly he was all around Patroclus.

Wasn’t he just on the other side of the room? When were his arms around me? Since when was I being moved? Patroclus mind reeled as Apollo’s hands wrapped around his torso and began to half drag him down the hall. He had expected the sun’s touch to burn, but instead it only froze him to his core. Somehow that was more unsettling.

“He is frightened and barely responsive. What put him in this state?” Artemis looked him over as the three of them progressed down an unfamiliar hallway.

“I do not know. Hector requested complete privacy, save Aphrodite.”

“Shush, brother. He might here you.”

“I doubt that we are his main concern.” The two looked down at him and Patroclus feigned a dazed, uncomprehending look. He stopped fighting to walk on his own and let Apollo drag him completely. Spying on the two might help him.

They rounded a corner. Suddenly they were submerged into a dark hallway, the only light coming through from the window and the immortals’ hair. With a twist of her glowing black and blue hair Artemis asked “Do you think Hector hurt him? Perhaps Aphrodite lost her temper again.” 

“She has grown rather bold since Paris named her the fairest. It wouldn’t surprise me.” Apollo stopped walking and slung Patroclus over his shoulder like a sack of grains. “Whatever has come over him is definitely not mortal in nature.”

Several more minutes of walking through darkened hallways passed. The twin gods no longer spoke but rather shared looks. It made Patroclus homesick. He remembered the way he and Achilles could communicate without speaking aloud.

I am separated from half of my heart.

“Did he say something?” Artemis swiveled her head around dramatically. Had he said that aloud? At first he had only been pretending to be dazed, but now he was beginning to feel dizzy.

“Something intelligible. It is no matter- we are near his room.”

Another mass of time passed before they arrived at the familiar garnished door. Outside, his guard stood slouched against the wall.

“I was told I would be given word if Hector succeeded or not.” His original guard’s impatience quickly rose to surface. Patroclus was a little shocked to see his disguise so easily thrown out the window, but figured that he didn’t look like he was in a very comprehending state.

Apollo and Artemis simply ignored him, pushing past into Patroclus’ room. Apollo gently placed him on the bed. The guard followed the two in.

“What happened to him?” He asked. There was an annoyed edge to his voice, but mortals knew better than to demand something from gods. It would seem that he knew who the two truly were just as Patroclus did, but how or why Patroclus didn’t know.

“We don’t know.” The twins replied in unison, sending shivers up and down Patroclus’ spine. The way the three were looking down at him made him twitch in discomfort. He fought his dizziness to speak again.

“I’m fine. I could have walked.” Patroclus’ voice sounded unfamiliar to him. His throat was as thick as was his stomach raw with hunger. He ignored both, feigning perfect health. He wanted nothing more than for this night to be over. “I’m fine. Nothing happened.”

The three stared at him for another moment- or maybe an eternity. Patroclus held his breath under their collective gaze. He suddenly remembered that, while they may be two gods and a spy they were under disguise as common guards and a servant.

“Please leave me for the evening. I tire and require rest.”

“As you wish, sir.” Apollo said as the fire that was his hair burned on into the night. Patroclus watched him leave, seeing the glow from his hair as he made his way down the adjacent corridor. It burned his eyes and he thought that for a moment he might go blind- but then he thought for a moment he didn’t care.

*

The meeting with the oracle had taken the rest of the day. Hector had not heard any news from Patroclus or his brothers on the battlefield. He had been told that Apollo and Artemis themselves had escorted Patroclus to his room.

“He seemed rather distressed. He could barely stand.” Artemis’ cool gaze never left Hector.

“He seemed more scared.” Apollo smirked as he spoke. Of course the twins would find joy in this.

After hours of waiting and offering gifts, the oracle finally spoke.

“Thetis.”

A silence followed as she tilted her head back, humming out loud melodies.

“Thetis.” She said again. “Thetis has told Achilles of what you have done to his beloved. Mmmmand Patroclus’ dishonor will bring out the fall of Troy.”

The oracle flung her hands up, head tittering from left to right on her head. “Fire. Destruction. The son, the son, the son will come for you if you do not make peace.”

*

Patroclus awoke, feeling sick to his stomach. The heat from the afternoon saturated the room, causing his sheets to stick to his skin by means of his own sweat. He threw the sheets off and a wave of dizziness fell over him.

He let out a low whine and allowed his body to fall back on the bed.

“I was beginning to think that you’d never open your eyes.” Thetis’ voice filled the room. All the heat left as the words settled into Patroclus’ ears. His mouth was dry and his body shook, but he was calmer than he had ever been before. He had never expected to find such comfort in her presence.

“Thetis?” His voice unfamiliar to him, it was shaky and fearful. Another trick?

The goddess ignored his question, powering on in her prepared speech. “You may feel something similar to a hangover. Last night I granted you the sight of the divine. Such…ability is often far too much for the mental capacity of a mortal.”

“That explains why I saw through Apollo and Artemis’ disguises.” He watched her hair move as he spoke and wondered if Achilles’ hair would one day move in such a way.   “But what does Hector want from me?”

“I believe he made his intentions with you more than clear last night.” Patroclus felt his cheeks grow hot under her scrutinizing gaze.

“I rejected him-“

“I am aware. I bore witness to the small catastrophe you went through.”

“What will he do now?” Patroclus tried to hide the fear in his voice, tried to seem stronger than he was before the mother of his most beloved.

“I do not know, but I will be watching over you in case anything does happen.”

He didn’t hide the shock on his face, and Thetis didn’t hide her boredom. If anything, at least they could be crass with one another.

“Why?”

“You mortals are so simple in your relationships. You think because I disapprove of you that I hate you. You think that because I hate all mortals I must have singled you out to hate. I have been mistreated by both god and man.”

Patroclus nodded solemnly. He had heard the story of her betrayal. Thetis had been destined to give birth to a fiercest warrior in history. The other gods, fearing her power, enticed Peleus to force himself upon her to make her his bride. Achilles was born from this union, yet despite the circumstances of his birth Thetis grew to love him. Patroclus’ power over her son had made her distrust of him quickly boil into what he thought was hate.

“I would do anything to make my son happy. You, Patroclus, make him happy. I will protect you, if anything, for his sake.”

Patroclus nodded solemnly. “I know you only want the best for Achilles. I do too. Even if that means he must leave me for immortality.”

A small but hesitant smile spread across Thetis’ face. His answer, having pleased her more than he could ever know, hung in the air for a few moments.

“If you need me, pray to me as Achilles does. I will be listened for you when I cannot be here.”

With that she vanished. The sweltering heat began to poor back in the room in her absence.

I will do anything to make him happy. Patroclus stood, instantly reliving the conversation. The vindication in her voice when she spoke, the way her inhuman voice vibrated and wrapped around each syllable…so…familiar.

There is no warmth here.

Patroclus backed against the nearest wall, his head going back to knock against the stone. Of course it had been her. Of course. Of course. Of course. His mind raced and replayed every interaction he’d had since he’d been taken.

“Such an accommodating guest.” Hector’s eye twinkled with malice he hadn’t seen in that moment. He remembers looking up at him from where he was on his knees. You fool, Patroclus. He screamed at himself.

“Hector won’t hurt you.” The sadness in Helen’s eyes, the way she gripped his arm like she was his last hope. How could he not have seen her cry for help? He rocked his head back, hitting it upon the stone.

“I thought only princes who would one day inherit their father’s throne could try for her hand?” Andromache’s question stung. He had once been a prince, once been someone worth something more than the lust of other princes.  His mind went further back to the boy whose skull he broke open. The funny angle of his neck, the blood, the smell-

“Guard!” He shouted. He could no longer stand to be in this room, to be left alone in his head while revolting memories played.

He began to doubt himself when no one showed up- no snarky attitude, no roll of eyes, nothing. Had he actually called out?

“Guard!” He called again. When no one came the second time he made his way to the door. With shaky hands and shaky legs, he pushed open the large door. He’d expected it to be locked, but when it easily glided open to reveal the familiar labyrinth of hallways he felt his heart stop.

“Helen.” Was his first thought. Helen was the only person in the whole palace that he could trust.

Sweat dripped into his eyes as he ran down random corridors and random hallways in a desperate attempt to find her. A non-Artemis servant stopped him and tried to calm him.

“Helen. Please take me to her.” The woman regarded him uneasily. He realized how he must look- half-crazed with anxiety and dripping with sweat.

“Sir, let’s get you some food.” She tried to pull him away from his destination. When he resisted she looked as if she might call out for help.

I had once been a prince. He stood up straight and squared his shoulders. With the best princely voice that he could must he demanded. “Take me to Helen.”

The servant nodded. Her previous concern had now faded into what he assumed to be a familiar hatred for the upper class. “Right this way, sir.”

He was lead down a few more adjacent corridors before he arrived at a set of open doors. The servant gestured to them before scurrying away.

Patroclus gently pushed open the doors and slipped in. Once inside he heard a woman singing. It was a soft voice wrapping a familiar tune about love and justice. A story of triumph forever immortalized in song.

“Achilles loves that song.” He said softly, worried about frightening her. She stopped singing and turned to face him from where she sat in front of her vanity.

“Achilles has good taste then.” Her smile was refreshing but worn.

“Helen, I-“ He cleared his throat. Hector was a friend of hers, was he not? How could he tell her what had happened to him? Perhaps he was a fool for coming her, perhaps he should leave.

Helen gestured to the space next to her. He took the offer. The skin of their arms grazed and suddenly he became overwhelmed with her- hair the scent of roses and skin the scent of pomegranates.

“What happened with Hector last night? No one’s heard from him all day; I suspect you wore him out.” Helen laughed in a good manner, as if this were everyday court gossip. His voice faulted. She knew?

Of course I can’t tell her the truth. Of course. Of course. Of course.

“I...” He cleared his throat. “He was very nice and charming…”

“But?” She asked. Her long golden hair fell around her shoulders like a waterfall. He wanted to dive in and drown.

“Achilles. My heart is already conquered. In another life…maybe.”

Helen’s face fell. Patroclus could tell the extent of their friendship in that moment, how deeply she cared about the older prince.

“How did he react when you rejected him?”

“He…I didn’t so much reject him as I…fell backwards.” He felt so ashamed at his own awkward ways. He felt even more ashamed to be admitting this to Helen. He looked to her, expecting her to mock him or throw him out of her room. Instead she only looked at him with a motherly concern.

She placed a hand on his forehead and. The cool, smooth sensation of her hand as it ran across his forehead made him shutter. He could remember his own mother doing that when he was younger. They were on the beach. The sun was hidden behind the clouds and a cold breeze swept off the tides. He remembers the goose bumps on his skin. When his mother saw she pulled him on her lap and kissed his forehead. “My little prince, are you cold?” He shook his head. He never wished to lie to his mother, but he knew that if he told the truth they would have to go back inside- back to his father-

“My friend, are you hot?” Patroclus swallowed despite their being no spit in his dry mouth. The present hit him hard as he readjusted to the room.

“It’s a little warm, yes.” He admitted. Helen’s face scrunched up in even more motherly concern. Patroclus’ own heart faltered at the similarities between Helen and his mother. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. “He leaned in to kiss me and I hadn’t the heart to say no. I- I have never been good with words. That was always Achilles’ strength.”  

Helen gave another smile and removed her hand from his face. “He will forgive you. He will understand if you explain.”

Patroclus rested his head in his hands. “This has been such a strange week, such a strange day. Things I haven’t thought about in months…people I hadn’t thought about in years.”

Helen’s hand rested on his back- he flinched at feeling. I remember when I was 8. I had fallen and scraped by knee. Father had said to get over it but mother, in one of her more present moments, scooped me up in her arms and kissed me.

“Tell me.” She whispered. Suddenly, Patroclus felt as if it was only the two of them again. Not just in the palace and not just behind the wall, but just the two them alone in the world. “Tell me everything.”

Each of her touches unlocked another memory he had long since suppressed for his own sake. “Tell me” she’d said. Tell her his brain whispered. So he did.

*

“Is everything in place?” Hector’s borderline frantic ravings were the only sounds in the grand courtyard.

Paris looked up from his nails just long enough to roll his eyes. “Yes, brother. For the thousandth time: everything is ready.”

“Are you sure?” The older man asked again. He fidgeted with his hands in a way that Paris abhorred. There was something about seeing ones future king scurrying about like a little girl that made one rather agitated.

“Am I sure that all the nicest flowers from every garden in the city have been taken and placed here? Am I certain that every priest for every god is here? Am I certain that you’ve set out this little display instead of fighting on the battlefield, allowing that blood hungry lover boy and his army of bulls to gain more advantage? Yes, Hector, I’m rather certain.”

Hector shot a nasty look back at him, prompting Paris to roll his eyes once more. The oracle had said that the dishonor of Patroclus would bring about their end, so it would only make sense that they needed to honor him to save Troy. Right?

Hector just needed to calm himself down and bear through these proceedings. The young exile might even change his mind about Hector in the process. Now I’m just getting ahead of myself. They couldn’t even find poor Patroclus.

He’d first sent guards to his room an hour ago, but they had found it empty. There was no way for the young man to escape Hector reassured himself. For all he knew, the boy could have wondered off to find food.

Suddenly two guards ran out towards him. “Sir, we’ve located the prisoner.”

“GUEST! GUEST! He is a GUEST!” Hector corrected before processing the weight of what the guard had said.  “Where is he? Bring him out here at once!”

“Helen requested otherwise, sir. They were in her room talking privately.” The first one explained.

“She demanded we leave them alone. The pri-er-guest looked pretty torn up.” The second one interjected.

Hector sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t care what you have to do, just get them out here.”

With that the two ran off.

Another half an hour passed before the two returned with Patroclus and Helen in tow. Helen’s hand rested protectively on Patroclus’ shoulder. It reminded Hector of the way Andromache would walk with Astyanax.

“Welcome, Patroclus and Princess Helen!” Hector gave the friendliest smile that he could offer. “We here in the kingdom wish to offer you a warm welcome and let you, Patroclus, know how valued you are as our guest!”

 Patroclus looked to Helen, hoping she knew what was going on. When she returned his gaze with a simple shrug his heart rate doubled.

“I understand I kept you from dinner last night. In compensation, may I present the finest foods our kingdom has to offer!” Hector gestured to the other side of the guards. There sat several larges tables overflowing with various foods from across Greece. Seeming pleased by Patroclus’ reaction, Hector continued. “I also understand that you have a great love of music. I have brought out the finest musicians behind our walls!” 

Behind the two “guests” a band of musicians started to play a familiar melody on a combination of lyres and pan flutes. One of the orchestra members held a lyre that looked sickingly similar to Patroclus’ mother’s old lyre. The way she would be so fascinated by musicians. I wish I could play for her now, see that look on her face when I showed her how much I have progressed as a musician thanks to Achilles.

He noticed the lavish display of golden decorations and abundance of flowers. His heart fell into the pit of the stomach. He’s still trying to seduce me! He’s trying to make it so apparent and public that I would have to choice but to accept his advances.

The mortal were so steadfast in their assumptions- always accepting what they theorized as fact and running off with it blindly. If anything, it at least entertained the gods long enough for them to lose interest in the aforementioned bloodshed.

Helen released him from her grip to be claimed by Paris. Patroclus’ stomach grumbled with a raw hunger, and he realized he hadn’t eaten since breakfast the day before. As he made his way across the courtyard he would sneak glances as the pair. She seemed happy enough with him, and that was enough for Patroclus.

“The finest delicacies for our finest guest.” One servant commented with a bowed head. There was an edge of anxiety to their voice, and Patroclus realized that it had been the servant from earlier this morning.  Patroclus felt as though he should say something to her, tell her the truth of his status or perhaps apologizing for being half mad, but any words he might have possibly formed died in his throat. Instead he simply went through and ate the offered foods. He tried a little bit of almost everything, trying to make a show of complying with his ceremony and being grateful to Hector. Accommodating host for an accommodating guest.

Between bites and fake smiles to politicians who tried to make strained small talk Patroclus would hear Thetis whispering in his ear. The first time it happened he’d jumped and almost chocked on his food.

“This man is a cousin of your friend Briseis. He was always kind to her, be kind to him.” She whispered about dark-skinned man who looked to be around his age. Patroclus wanted to tell him that his cousin was safe, that they were friends, that she hadn’t been hurt- anything- but Thetis held him back. She said that if he told him these things than everyone would know of her presence. So instead she watched him walk passed and tried to ignore the look of tragedy in his eyes.

After him came an older, fatter man. He looked more like Agamemnon than Patroclus cared to admit. He wishes to know who you are.

“Good afternoon, sir!” The man greeted. “I am Lord Celeste of the High Court here.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lord Celeste.” Patroclus put on his most polite smile, ignoring how disgusted he felt.

“Ah, young sir, but the pleasure is all mine. It would seem that you’re incredibly important to our Crowned Prince Hector.” The man’s not-so-subtle way of fishing for information made Patroclus’ skin crawl. Oh, how he loathed the game. “I do not remember catching your name, young sir.”

“Well, I don’t remember throwing it.” Patroclus jabbed and the two shared a strained laugh. Behind his façade of good nature, he could see malice in the man’s eyes. Paris seemed to have noticed the strained interaction, for he and Helen were by Patroclus’ side in seconds.

Paris butted in a quickly as possible. “Lord Celeste, I see you’ve made the acquaintance of our most honorable guest.”

“Indeed. I was rather curious as to the nature of importance to the royal family.” Lord Celeste offered a smile that reminded Patroclus of a snake that had just finished digesting a mouse. Stuffed and deadly.

“You know as well as I that Hector, my dearest brother, is very fond of his secrets. Truth be told, I haven’t any idea what he intends for our guest.” Paris smiled and excused the man so that he and Patroclus could speak alone. The four of them- Paris the social savior, Patroclus the honored guest, Helen the suddenly quiet, and Thetis the invisible goddess- watched the politician wander off to find another guest to leech information off of.

Paris speaks the truth. He hasn’t the slightest clue of Hector’s plans for you. Thetis whispered in his ear.

That’s comforting. Patroclus thought, sarcasm being the only defense mechanism he had left.

“Are you enjoying the festivities? Hector went all out for you, Patroclus.” Paris’ voice was smooth and light. It was very similar to Achilles’ singing voice. It caused Patroclus’ heart to pang once more with homesickness.

“Yes, it’s all lovely, but I don’t know if I warrant such an affair.”

“Of course you do!” Helen interjected, her hands gripping her husband’s forearm. “Hector is fond of you and so am I. It’s only fair that we show you how much we appreciate your cooperation.”

Patroclus saw something in her eyes and knew that she was trying to communicate something. He couldn’t tell what it was exactly, but he knew that it was urgent.

He had hoped Thetis would help him. Can’t you tell me what she is trying to say? Have you not the power?

I am afraid I do not, but I do know that Hector spoke with her before she and Paris made their way over here. The sea nymph, naturally, knew more than she let on. Whether she wanted to tell Patroclus or not, it did not matter for she could not, least she give away her position.

Paris cleared his throat, bringing Patroclus’ mind back to the present situation. Something Patroclus hadn’t noticed the other day was that Paris was very…pretty. Similar to Achilles he had a thinner figure and high cheekbones. In addition to that he also had rather full lips and a delicate chin. Hector was rather attractive himself, but in a more stereotypical way. He was broad with a strong jawline and large muscles- the complete opposite of Achilles.

Patroclus realized he’d been staring at Paris the entire time and felt a blush creep up his neck. Must I always commit such social blunders?

 “Hector wishes to show off the rest of the festivities when you are ready.” Helen broke the silence.

His heart dropped. Hector wished them to be alone again. He has tasted rejection once before, he might not be patient enough for a second attempt. He thought nervously. Ultimately he would end up going, as Helen had been the one to ask him. He was her friend, and Hector was also her friend.

Thetis gently reminded him that he will not be alone. I will be there, Patroclus. I will protect you.

“This is such an elaborate celebration already. I can’t imagine what I have done to be deserving of being honored in such a way.” Patroclus smiled at the couple, and then took around the gardens for Hector. He wasn’t hard to find. His aforementioned wide build made him stand out from his fellow man, and his expensive robes only aided this.

He thought of making an excuse to eat more or perhaps listen to another song or two, but knew that the sooner this nightmare was over the better off he was.

Troy was a decadent place filled with lush gardens, riches, and handsome princes, but once one looked beyond the surface the saw the truth. The truth of stolen seeds from conquest, repressed and impoverished masses, and perverted princes. Patroclus missed how ignorant he had once been of what lay beyond the walls of Troy.

Hector looked up from a conversation he’d been having with Andromache; the two made instant eye contact. This turned into a stare- Patroclus’ golden brown eyes boring holes into Hector’s hazel eyes and vice versa. In the end it was Patroclus who broke contact.

“Hector,” He called over in a friendly tone as he made his way across the gardens. If I can be friendly towards Agamemnon, surely I can manage to be polite towards Hector. “I was told you wished to speak with me.”

The way Hector’s eyes traveled over Patroclus’ body did not go unnoticed by either him or Thetis. “Yes, I wished to apologize for last night.”

“All is forgiven, Hector. It was a simple misunderstanding and entirely my fault at that.”

The two shared warm smiles as the orchestra continued to play behind them. “I would be delighted if you would walk with me so that we may discuss this matter further in private. Too many prying ears in the court yard.” Hector wasted no time on subtly as he jerked his head in the direction of a lone Lord Celeste.

Patroclus tried to calm his nerves, but despite himself his mind began racing through every possible scenario.

 I will be with you. Thetis said.

 I will be with you. Thetis lied.

“Of course, Hector. A tour of the courtyard would be lovely.” Patroclus allowed Hector to lead them off. As they departed from the rest of the crowd, Thetis departed from Patroclus to be with her son. If she had another choice, she would have stayed. To be honest she found the entire situation almost amusing, but because this involved Patroclus instead of anyone else, she had to stop it.

Hector began to tell an antidote from his childhood- something about how he and Paris used to get in trouble for constantly fighting one another at the dinner table. Patroclus listened and laughed along at all the right parts.

Hector, talking and thinking he was making amends.

Patroclus, listening and thinking he was in danger.

Thetis, abandoning her post at Patroclus’ side.

Chapter Text

Achilles did not sleep at all the next night. Instead he continued to train into the night. With Patroclus’ life in such danger- with his safety in such precarious care- he found it hard to bother with his own needs.

Sometime after day break Briseis came by the armory to offer him breakfast, but he only declined.

“Patroclus wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself like this, Achilles.” Her voice was sweet- far too sweet for him. Achilles felt like he deserved her screaming and yelling again- he felt like he deserved all the blame he was placing on himself.

“He wouldn’t want to be a prisoner either. It would seem that, once again, I cannot give him what he wants.” Frustration overwhelmed him. He took the spear in his hand and began to beat it against a nearby post until it split in two.

Briseis flinched, but tried remained calm. Almost everyone had grown accustom to Achilles’ rage within the last few days. “Achilles, he loves you. Patroclus never shuts up about you when we’re alone. You know what he calls you? His soulmate. You’ve given him everything he could ever want and more.”

Achilles gave a hollow laugh. “You don’t know everything.”

“Everything?” She asked.

For a moment he hated her for her ignorance. For a moment he also didn’t hate himself. “There are things that I will never be able to give him and things I will never be able to take back. You said he told you of how his heart stopped when I called him my husband?”

When Briseis nodded, Achilles continued to speak.  “It made my heart stop too. I can’t even begin to properly express how being able to claim him so publically made me feel…especially after I had been claimed by another in private.”

He visibly shuttered at the memory of Deidamia crawling into his bed. It was the first sign of weakness- or humanity- that he’d shown in days. He looked to Briseis to see if she would ask more, but she seemed to remain silent out of respect. He could still see more questions in her eyes, so he continued.

“My mother had tried to keep me hidden from the war, because she knew it would lead to my end. She found refuge for me in a foreign court…but in order to blend in I had to dress like a woman.” Achilles smiled a little. He remembered the way Patroclus’ hungry eye would look over him in his makeup and dress, and the way that he would leave a trail of lipstick marks all down Patroclus’ freckled torso in revenge. “I didn’t mind that part, and neither did Patroclus.”

Achilles looked over to her and sighed. Signs of concern mixed with apprehension were etched into her face. “You don’t have to tell me this.”

“I do. I need to tell someone.” Achilles struck the post with what was left of the broken spear. “My mother told me that if I…if I laid with one of the King’s daughters and produced an heir that she would tell Patroclus where I was, but she lied. I was forced to lay with Deidamia twice- twice- and the bitch thought she owned me because of it. The worst part of it all is that Patroclus had to forcibly find out where I was from my father! Thetis didn’t even bother to keep up her end of the deal!” He struck the post again. And again. And again. And again.

He struck it for each time he’d been made to lay with a woman.  He struck it for the tears Patroclus cried when he heard of the union. He struck it for each time Deidamia treated him like her plaything.

“She treated you exactly how the soldiers treat us.” Achilles flinched as he felt Briseis’ soft hands on his shoulders. She coaxed him to put the spear down, to calm down, to do anything, and for the first time in days he did as told. He let her hold him, and as he did he found himself thinking I was wrong to dislike her. I can see why Patroclus adores her so.

The sounds of soldiers beginning to wake and dress for the day filled the air, but neither of them cared. They stood there, holding each other for a moment. This was the one thing that they held within their hearts that Patroclus could not understand, the one thing that their narratives shared.

“Let me help you with your armor, Achilles.” Briseis whispered when they parted. There was a new light in her eyes, like she understood something for the first time. “Let me help you, Achilles.”

His hair still moved on its own in an immortal fashion, his veins still glowed inhuman colors beneath translucent skin, and his rage still resided at full capacity within his heart, but he felt a little more at peace. He wanted to let her in and fill his heart again with compassion, but he couldn’t.

 Not yet. Not until Patroclus was back in his arms.

So he dressed for battle alone.

*

The Greeks rode off into battle to find their enemy nowhere in sight.

“There aren’t even archers on the wall.” Odysseus commented. Achilles’ former rage boiled as badly as the day before.

“COWARDS!” Achilles screams echoed off the walls. 

The troops all stood behind their commanders at the ready. After what seemed like an hour unrest swept through the ranks.

“Where are they? They can’t be refusing to fight, can they?” Menelaus asked. Achilles looked over to him and his brother to see both equally befuddled. I would love nothing more than to smack that stupid look off of Agamemnon’s face.

Part of Achilles prayed that it would be Agamemnon to speak next, for pure sake of having an excuse to argue with him. However, it was Ajax’s voice he heard. “Perhaps Achilles has killed so much that they simply refuse to fight us.”   

“COWARDS!” Achilles screamed again. He returned any concerned, judgmental, or amused glances from his fellow commanders with an icy stare. “If they do not wish to fight, then I do not wish to abide by the rules of war. Let us march forward onto the field- LET US STORM THE CITY!”

Behind him, Achilles’ own troops rallied and cheered for their prince. Even some of the other commander’s troops cheered, for this war had gone on too long. Many men had grown weary and were ready for something, anything to bring means of an end.

“We can’t.” Agamemnon was, of course, the first to discredit Achilles’ plan.

“He’s right.” Odysseus looked almost pained to interject. “I could very easily be a trap. They’ve already taken Helen and Patroclus from us, we don’t want any more causalities do we?”

After two hours of arguing and four commanders dragging him back to camp, Achilles agreed to wait. Luckily, the waiting didn’t last long.

Just before sunset two spies came running into camp with very odd news.

“What have you heard?” Achilles’ hand gripped the front of one’s chiton, bringing him down to Achilles’ eye level. Despite the fact that Achilles was almost half his size and nearly a foot shorter, he quaked beneath the demigod in fear.

“The- the- party- Trojans- the-“ He stuttered in an illegible way.

“Spit it out.” Achilles grunted, dropping the spy to the ground.

“The Trojans are having a party. For what purpose we do not know, but we know that Patroclus is the guest of honor.”

“A party? In the middle of war?” Menelaus asked, as befuddled as everyone around him. It wasn’t a festival or holiday for the Trojans, so it made no sense that they should celebrate instead of fight.

Realization and rage filled Achilles. He took a nearby spear and broke it in half over his slender leg. “Hector you bastard!”

“What is Hector doing? What is going on?” Nestor stepped forward to stop Achilles from making any advancement towards troy- or any solider unfortunate to stand in his way. 

The growl that escaped Achilles’ throat sent chills down everyone’s spin. Nestor even dropped his hand from Achilles’ shoulder and took a step back. “Hector wants what isn’t his. He has taken Patroclus physically from me already, but he seems to think that coercion and greedy displays of his own decadents will replace me in Patroclus’ heart.”

The crowd grew silent, for no one knew what to say. Everyone at camp had seen the powerful love between the two warriors. Many were envious, yes, but many more were happy for their two best soldiers. The way they both worked together on the battlefield, the way Patroclus healed the men and taught the women the language, the way Achilles could rally the troops with speeches, and the way it was so apparent that they were one soul split between two bodies. The IT couple. The power couple. The couple that no one dared break up.

No one, that is, but Hector.

“We will tear down the walls o-of Troy brick by brick i-i-if we have to, Prince A-A-A-Achilles.” Automedon was the first to speak, to everyone’s surprise. His usually stuttering was almost completely set aside by his rage and loyalty. He may not have been a commander, but he had been Patroclus’ friend and Achilles knew that he was making a promise he would keep to the death. The crowds cheered and rallied around his charioteers words. For a moment, Achilles raged slowed. The loyalty to his lover and the love they shared was touching.

“Tonight we will send out agents to seek out an oracle to tell us what to do!” Odysseus announced. Before the troops could cheer once more, Thetis appeared.

The wind slowed as she appeared before the men. Unlike when Achilles and Patroclus had first returned home from Chiron’s mountain, she stood large and powerful. The sight of blue-gold-red veins and floating black hair that normally brought Achilles so much comfort, seemed to put the men at ill-ease.

“Mother. What have you seen?” Achilles walked away from the men to kneel before her. Her cold touch brushed through his golden curls to claim him.

“The spies have already told you of the festival. Patroclus is being treated well still.”

“And what of Helen?” Menelaus interrupted. Achilles and Thetis gave the King of Sparta identical glares.

Thetis’ irritation seemed to cause the temperature to drop exponentially. “Your Helen has found quiet the friend in Patroclus.”

“They have something in common, being kidnapped by the Trojans.” Agamemnon pointed out. The way his wrinkled skin clung our his face- the curve of his nose- the glint of his eyes all seemed to trigger Achilles’ anger much more than they had before.

Thetis’ hands brushed through her son’s hair before he could lash out in anger. With her cruelest tone she spat “Do not be so sure, mortal king.”

Menelaus wanted to ask more questions, but was interrupted by the ever enraged Achilles.

“Is she-“

“She is only mentioned when you see it fit, Menelaus. When she was by your side you treated her like nothing but a trophy, and now that she is gone she is nothing but an excuse to you. She left you, and it’s probably for the best.” Achilles spat.

Menelaus’ ego had been hurt by his comment, so he drew his weapon. “You dishonor me, Prince Achilles.”

“Then be dishonored. I do not have time for the petty egos of mortal men.” The words left Achilles like venomous arrows pointed at the King. He didn’t notice how inhuman he sounded until he heard the amused chuckled of his mother behind him.

“Yesterday you said Helen was nothing but a whore, but the moment your- your- glorified bed slave deems her worthy of his friendship she is the victim?” He drew his spear and stepped forward. Achilles mirrored his actions.

“You will lose this battle, Menelaus. I swear it.”

Before either man could strike a blow, Thetis intervened.  “Gentlemen! I have not come to your camp to start a fight. I have come to say that going to the oracle will not be needed, for I already know what will turn the tides of this war.”

“And what is that, goddess?” Odysseus asked. A cruel smiled spread across the goddess’ face and her hair spread about her as if to mimic her mouth.

“Achilles’ son is 12 years of age as of last week. I have been raising him to be as great a warrior as my son.”

Murmurs swept through the crowd of soldiers- commander and commoners, mortals and demi-gods alike.

“Prince Achilles, I did not know you had a son or a wife.” Diomedes looked almost amused as he spoke. Of course, he had been the one to comment that he didn’t even know you liked girls, Achilles.

“He is a bastard spawned against my own will, and his mother is a whore. I would not claim either of them.” Achilles turned all rage and resentment, towards his mother. The two shared a challenging stare.

“You will claim your son and his mother just as I have claimed you and King Peleus.” She demanded. She might have been his mother, she might have been a god, she might have been nearly two feet taller than him, but Achilles stood firm.

With this head tilted up to make eye contact he snarled. “I will claim the bastard for the sake of the war, but you cannot stop me from taking my place by Patroclus in Hades.”

No one spoke, no one dared, as mother and son glared. Achilles would not change his argument, and he knew that his mother would eventually bend to his will. She had been aiding his beloved these past few days despite her disapproval of him- had she not? Achilles had given this war so much: his prospect of a long life, his safety, and his time. He would not give the gods the satisfaction of him being claimed by anyone but Patroclus.

After what felt like an eternity- but was really just minutes- the sea nymph gave a residual sigh. “As you wish, my son. I will bring Pyrrhus forth before day break tomorrow.”

*

Thetis had been good on her word. Sometimes in the night Achilles’ restless pacing had been interrupted by Phoenix and a redheaded boy.

“May I present your son, young Prince Neoptolemus.” Achilles looked from the uneasy Phoenix to a beaming teenager. He looked surprising to similar to what Achilles had at his age, save the hair.

“Father. You may call me Pyrrhus. I was named so for my hair.” He spoke with too much confidence for Achilles liking. In all reality he had planned on dying long before he could meet his son, so this interaction was unsettling.

Achilles gave a dismissive wave of hand and said “Show him to his tent and around camp. I will deal with him before the summit.”

The other commanders agreed to have a summit to plan their next course of action when their spies told them that the festival within the walls had gone on a second day. They were even more lost when the gods and goddess that once supported them had ignored every prayer and offering given. It would seem that they were alone out on the beaches.

At the beginning of the meeting young Pyrrhus sat on Achilles’ right side. The commanders watched with guarded interest.

“Move to my left side.” Achilles ordered.

“But as your son I should sit-“

“Do not question me.” Pyrrhus bowed and did as told. In all truth he must have felt ashamed for getting scolded by his father in such a mature and public setting, but Achilles did not care. The sit to his right was reserved for Patroclus, and only Patroclus.

The meeting itself was of no interest to Achilles. All he needed to know what where to go and who to kill. As he sat slouched in his chair he zoned out- daydreaming on times he’d spent with Patroclus. The time he kissed me on the beach and I ran from him. I will never run from him again.

His son whispered something in his ear, looking overly pleased with himself, but Achilles ignored him in favor of the cinema of memories play behind his eyes. The first time I’d met Patroclus and he thought the freckled boy boring. I was stretched across a bench strumming a lyre. If I had known now what he had in that moment- what would I have done? Would I have kissed the mortal, despite it being our first time meeting? Would he have showered the boy in affection? What would I have done differently?

Diomedes made a snarky comment, getting laughter from Ajax and Odysseus, but Achilles continued to zone out. When I see him again, what will I do? I will run up to his and kiss him and kiss him and kiss him. I will give him one kiss for every freckle he has. I will kiss him until he begs for breath, and then I will compliment him until I, myself, turn blue. I will tell him of every single thing I love about him. Then, we will return back to camp and I shall have him. I shall claim him and let myself be claimed by him in the most intimate of ways. I shall-

“Father?” Neoptolemus nudged his arm.

“Yes?” He asked, feeling the weight of all eyes on him.  

“Our plan to storm the palace in the night via horse. Does this suit you?”

“It will do. I would wish it to be sooner, but I know the risk we face.”

Beside him his son smiled and looked up at him. Achilles knew the look in his eyes all too well; for he was sure he had the very same excited gleam when the men arrived at Troy. He was ready for his first fight and to prove himself to all the men around him.

“How old are you?”  Briseis asked him later that night in the tent. They had been training all day and were now putting on their armor for final training fights. All throughout the day Pyrrhus had sparred the other commanders and won each time. At the end, he’d look to his father in hopes of seeing a glint of approval in his eyes, but instead he’d only find the man staring off into space.

Achilles would be so focused on his own thoughts of Patroclus that he hardly noticed anything going on around him.

I wonder if they have figs inside the walls for Patroclus.

I wonder if mother had protected Patroclus from any more of Hector’s advances.

I wonder what Patroclus will say when we are reunited. He would imagine the way the other man’s hair laid on his head in flowery curls, the way his freckles would crinkle as he smiled, and feel his mortality or a moment. Then the vision would be interrupted by the mid-pubescent voice of his son.

“Father! Did you see that I almost made Odysseus cry!”  The young prince practically danced in front of his father in such a boyish manner than Achilles almost hated him.

Perhaps it was the endless adoration without merit that Pyrrhus seemed to give him, simply because he was his father. Perhaps it was because Achilles felt he should be hated rather than loved while Patroclus was in danger. Perhaps it was because of who the boy’s mother was.

Achilles couldn’t place the exact feeling, nor did he care to, at that moment. All he could think, breath, or dream was training and Patroclus. Training and Patroclus. Training and Patroclus. Training and Patroclus.

He dismissed the boy with a wave of his hand and walked over to his tent. As he left he noticed Phoenix coming up behind the boy to congratulate Pyrrhus, only to be dismissed just as Achilles had dismissed the boy.

 Briseis was waiting for him back at his tent, an amused look on her face.

“Do I dare ask?”

“I simply wished to see your son. Patroclus did not wish for me to bare him one for the three of us to raise, so I suspect he’s the closest thing to a son that Patroclus will ever have. His unofficial step-son.” Her kinky hair was falling over her shoulders and back in a loose and almost haphazard way. He recognized that she was also lacking the flowers in her hair that he would normally notice when he came back from battle- he wasn’t the only one denying himself things in Patroclus’ absence.

The cold realization that Pyrrhus was, in fact, the closest thing to a son that Patroclus would allow himself tore Achilles in two. He wondered what Patroclus would say of the situation if he were there.

Achilles, you should be nicer to your son! Look at what a good warrior I am so proud of him…he gets that from you. And then Achilles would smile and throw his arm around Patroclus’ shoulder and say.

“Gods be damned. Hera specifically. Our souls are married- he is your son too. He claims us both. He gets that from you too.” Patroclus would roll his eyes and blush in the most modest, and adorable, way and then they would melt into each other’s arms.

But Patroclus wasn’t here. The only ones here were himself, Briseis, and-

“Father! I was told you’d be in your tent.” The red head’s voice filled the formerly quiet room. Achilles turned to see the boy’s confidence fade into embarrassment as his eyes landed on Briseis. “Oh- I didn’t realize that you were with your prize.”

Anger flared within Achilles at the word. “Her name in Briseis, and she is no prize.”

Both Briseis and Pyrrhus were taken aback by the outburst. Pyrrhus was the first to speak. “If she is no prize than what is she? Your bride? I had heard the men speak of your beloved-“

“She is a human being. She is mine and Patroclus’ friend.” Achilles felt the familiar all-consuming wrath rise. What little humanity was left within him whispered “this is your son. He does not know better- explain and forgive him.” But these silent pleas threatened to fall on deaf ears.

“Then who is your beloved?” The boy was confused. His grandmother had told him of Patroclus- the slave- who was bound to him, but he wondered why his opinions of this woman should matter. He also wondered why a woman won through conquest would be treated as anything other than what she was- a prize.

Briseis reached out and gripped Achilles’ forearm. Her grey eyes offered a silent plea to spare him of Achilles’ wrath. “Patroclus is his beloved.”

Pyrrhus scoffed. “The captured slave? Don’t be ridiculous- and do NOT slander my father’s name in front of me in such a manner, bitch.”

The anger that he had been trying to calm within Achilles finally boiled over to the surface. Faster than the other two could process, Achilles’ hand slapped across Pyrrhus’ face. The boy fell to the ground, clutching his red cheek in surprise.

“I-“ He squeaked, as if to defend himself.

“You will not talk to her, or any woman, in such a manner. Do you understand?” When he nodded, Achilles continued. “And Patroclus is not my slave. He is a soldier- one of the best soldier in our ranks- and my beloved. When he is returned you will respect both this and him as if he were your own father. Do you understand?” Pyrrhus nodded. Achilles held out a hand and helped him up to his feet.

“I am sorry, father. I did not know better.” He would not look up from the ground. Achilles found the boy’s sudden embarrassment almost amusing to him.

“Now you do. Learn from your mistakes, and get something cool to place on your cheek. Phoenix or Briseis will attend to you- I must talk to mother.”

With that Achilles left to tent. Behind him he heard Briseis apologizing for Achilles and explaining how “normally isn’t like this. Being separated from Patroclus has changed him.” It prompted him to stop and listen in on the conversation.

“Am I to claim Patroclus as my father now too, as he said? Thetis had told me that he was nothing more than a stain on my father’s legacy.”

“Thetis lied. Patroclus is anything but a stain.” He heard her sigh and soak something in water. “As for claiming him as your father…let us wait until he is returned to us to decide that. I do not, truthfully, know how he feels about you.”

 The two went quiet after a while and Achilles left for the beach. He was furious at his mother for raising his son to believe such things. As he neared the ocean, the hair made his already moving hair to whip about his face.

“Mother!” He yelled, strong legs stomping across the sand.

His feet touched the cold water, but he kept walking. “Mother!” He yelled out to the purple-grey horizon. The sun had just set beyond the waves. Achilles was hit with grief. This is Patroclus favorite time of day. He should be here to view it with me.

“MOTHER!” He screamed again. When his mother finally appeared before him all his rage fizzled out and he was left to fall on his knees before her.

“Is that what you wanted me to be like?” He pointed back at the camp, back at his son. “Uncaring? Wanting only to kill innocent men and impress you?”

“It is not just what I wanted, Achilles. Patroclus has fooled you into thinking that you feigning humanity has made you any better than you actually are. You cannot hide from what you really are, my son.”

“I am more than just a killer. I am so much more than that, mother!” He slammed his fists down on the sand, causing water to splash everywhere. “And there is nothing wrong with that!”

Thetis looked down at her son. He had the rage and appearance of a god, but the soul of a mortal. She had wanted to make him a god so badly- to undo the wrong that had been done to her. She had thought immortality his birth right, but she saw now how little he cared for it. Both stayed in silent, the wind and the ocean were the only sounds about them for the longest time.

After what seemed like an eternity, Achilles looked up. He expected to find his mother gone, but when he was met with her shimmering black eyes he felt…he didn’t know what he felt.

“I cannot make you a god.” Her voice was hollow. Thetis spoke the words as if she were delivering the worst news she had ever heard. “I have failed you, Prince Achilles, my son, I have failed you, and my failures have left you mortal and broken.”

“I am not broken I am whole. I am half mortal. I am half immortal- half you.” Achilles whispered. For a moment, a small moment, his rage died down. Thetis almost didn’t recognize his old self after the last two days. Achilles leaned into his mother’s touch. “You have not failed me, mother. I love you. You have protected my most beloved, Patroclus, despite your disapproval of him, and you have raised my son.”

“But you hate how I have raised him, and your Patroclus hates me.” She whispered. The moon was now rising and reflecting off of her translucent blue skin. The goddess wondered if Artemis was watching them now, Apollo at her side. She hadn’t the energy to care or check.

“You did your best. I will fix what is wrong. And Patroclus will love you as his own mother when we are together again.”

Thetis froze at the mention of the other boy’s mother. It was the perfect way to win back both her son and his lover. “Speaking of Patroclus’ mother- she is in the palace with him.”

“What? I- he had assumed she’d been killed after he was sent away. His father always thought her stupid.”

“Yes, well, through a chain of events she in now in Troy. I told Patroclus when he awoke this morning, and since then he has located her. I cannot guarantee anything, but I can try to keep her safe.”

“Please, mother. For me, for Patroclus.”

“Anything for you, Achilles.”

Chapter Text

Everything is heavy, but nothing hurts. I do not feel the grief that I have been living with for so many years .It is gone, and I am young again.

Home floods all of my senses. It is once again a part of me- a real place- and I am no longer left to be nostalgic for a place that doesn’t exist.

 The smell of our ocean’s cold northern winds. The sight of my father’s family’s crest on everything. The sound of my mother’s singing. The feeling of my old bed under me- and the cold that accompanied sleeping alone. Have I died? Is this Hades?

“Is my little prince awake?” My mother’s voice shatters all calm that I had felt. I looked to where she sat next to my bed and feel my pulse double. It’s really her, my mother. 

“Mother!” I cry and jump into her arms. She snuggles me, trying to coo something about a bad dream, but I do not listen. I cannot, for it would be far too much. Instead I simply inhale the essence of her. For a brief moment I feel loved, safe, and at peace. But it is only a brief moment, for I look up at her and am taken aback. Looking at her- really looking at her- I know that she isn’t my mother. She is too competent and confident- my mother would forget my name most days, and lived in constant fear of the sky. Her skin is too perfect- my mother had the same all-over freckles that I had, but in this vision her skin is as smooth as Achilles’.

That was when I knew this was a dream. I tried to stir myself awake, but found the illusion too heavy to break. Like chains binding me to a cell within my own mind.

“Mother, please.” I tried to break free of her grip. This dream made her stronger than she ever had been. Before it was easy for me to run from her or be taken from her.

I suddenly remember the way she tried to hold on to me the day I left to court Helen, and I am brought back to tears.

“Shush, my little prince. It’ll be okay.” My head goes back into the nap of her neck as I cry. This is fake and I detest it, yet I never want this moment to be over. I would give anything to see her again, to say goodbye, and if this is the closest that I will ever have then it will have to do.

“Mother, I missed you. I missed you so much.” Her hand brushes through my curls. It is cold and inhuman. I recognize it as the touch of a goddess.

This more than a dream. I thought. Aloud I only continued to sob. Whatever constitution was left in me seemed to seep out with my tears, for before I knew it I was saying “This is a cruel trick. I have been ripped from her side once before and now I have been ripped from the side of my Prince Achilles, yet you still seek to torment me with comfort I will never know?”

I knew it was bold of me to speak in such a tone to a goddess, but I could not find it in me to care. The fog of this imaginary realm clouded everything- my judgment, my will to live, and my most basic thoughts.

“No.” An all-too-familiar voice spoke from my mother’s mouth. “Patroclus, look at me.”

I removed my face from her neck to look up. I saw the perfected version of my mother age before me. I was taken aback she looked so…so…

A sudden image flashed before me, something from the day before- “Sir, let’s get you some food.”

Familiar.

“The servant from yesterday? Is that her? How did she get here? Has she been hurt?” Panic seized me. Was my mother really that close? Could this be trusted?

My panic doubled when I felt the edges of the dream realm slip. Slowly I began to lose clarity, and knew that I would awake soon. The vision did not answer my questions, but instead dropped me from her grip with a cold remark. “You mortals ask too many questions.”

Patroclus’ body awoke with a dramatic muscle spasm, causing him to fall off the bed.

“Fuck!” He exclaimed and rubbed his head. His curls were weighed down and dark with his body’s own oils. He realized he hadn’t had a proper bath since before he’d been taken. Yes, he’d been using the perfumes and scented oils provided- as well as a cloth and bucket of warm water- to keep him smelling nice and clean, but none of those things really gave him the feeling of clean.

The thought of bathing hit him with another long forgotten memory. I was 6 and had fallen in mud. I was crying and filthy, so mother- in one of her more present moments- took me into her arms and then carried me into the bath house. She had servants fill up the tub with warm water while she sang me a little tune. I sang the tune back, so that she would know it was me. She was kind and would care for anyone, but it took certain vocal patters or musical tunes to make her remember things.

The memory and the dream combined to make a painful ache in his chest. His mother, the woman he’d been ripped away from all those years ago, was so close to him. He would finally see her again.

Patroclus decided to combine his need to bath and wish to converse with his mother. To anyone else it would seem like he was just ordering some random servant to draw him a bath, when in reality we would use it as an excuse to help his mother remember him. 

Before he could make it to the door, his guard was in the room. “Sir Patroclus, are you alright? I heard a commotion.”

“Yes, I’m fine. I just had a…strange dream.” Patroclus offered a meek smile to show the man that he was okay. The last thing he needed was anyone- especially someone he was convinced was a spy- to ask too many questions.

The guard gave a smile back that looked a little too similar to Paris’ for Patroclus’ own comfort. Of course it wasn’t uncommon for Kings and Princes to take servants as lovers, but Patroclus suspecting that he was more closely related than a half-sibling. “Good. We wouldn’t want to guest of honor to be hurt.”

“Yes. Ah- I was wondering if you might have one of your servants draw me a bath. I was told that the festivals would continue today, and I don’t want your other guests to think of me as some filthy savage.”

“As you wish, sir. Do you have any other needs to requests?” The guard’s earlier distaste for taking orders seemed to have vanished since last night. Patroclus figured that it was the dire situation that the royal family thought the court to be in that caused his sudden attitude change.

“Uh- yes. Have my breakfast delivered to the bath house; I’ll head over there shortly.” The guarded nodded and left him to go fulfill his request.

Were his orders to not leave me alone? Patroclus thought the way he had been treated was rather ridiculous, if not flattering. They acted as if he was some world class beauty with a death grip on the fate of the world thanks to his powerful lover.  Patroclus considered that to be the furthest thing from the truth- he was just some clumsy exile who got caught up in the games of greedy princes playing at war. Right?

 Shaking the thought from his mind, he left the room in search of his mother. He followed the same path he stomped down yesterday while half-mad. He looked at every servant that he passed with a less than subtle desperation. After 10 minutes he resolved to give up for the morning. It would look suspicious if he took too long getting to the bath house, and as long as he found her before he was rescued he would be fine.

Right?

*

After the servants left him and his guard said he’d be waiting outside, Patroclus disrobed. It had been several days since he had been completely nude, and the open area of the bathhouse didn’t help his embarrassment. He tried to focus on the lavish pools, statues, columns, and art work that littered the bath house in a most coquettish way rather than his vulnerability. He began to wonder if this were the personal bath house of the royal family themselves. Looking down into the crystal clear water, he saw his reflection looking back up at him.

Patroclus didn’t have the worst body- in fact he considered it to be a rather nice one thanks to years of training as a soldier and trying to keep up with Achilles- but when compared to his half god counterpart he felt inadequate. Achilles’ perfect white skin made Patroclus dark freckled skin seem almost disgusting to himself in comparison. Patroclus risked another glance down at his reflection on the water’s surface.

“That is what a son should be.” Father hissed at me, his voice a vile mix of disappointment and disgust. I looked down at my body and could only see my too-large stomach and thighs and weak looking wrists and ankles.

Each time Patroclus pictured himself, he’d pictured that pathetic version of himself. Being next to the blinding light of a demigod seemed to have blinded him to himself, for now that he looked himself over he was not all that disappointed.

You are a dark night sky, complete with constellations made of freckles. The memory of Hector’s whispered words made a fresh head crawl up his neck. All this fuss that Hector was making about courting him, and all the fuss Achilles made to do romantic gestures for him were flattering. But am I really worth all of this?

“Don’t tell me that the famous modesty I love is false.” The voice of Hector behind him made Patroclus nearly jump out of his skin. So much for maintaining composure in front of the prince.

He turned to face him and felt his jaw drop in shock when he saw the man was also nude. So much for composure.

“I- um-“ His mind was completely scattered. Strangest of all he felt the earlier heat rise up his neck and spread across his face with a burning intensity. He didn’t have feelings for Hector, certainly, and this wasn’t his first time being around another man while he bathed, so what was his sudden nervousness around Hector? And why was he here with him?

Aphrodite. It didn’t take long for him to guess the answer, for there was a large statue in tribute to her located just over Hector’s shoulder.

“I suppose I am only modest when compared to my prince.” Patroclus fought to find confidence, all the while internally praying to Thetis to arrive and shield him from the goddess powers.

Hector laughed at his remark and walked passed Patroclus. The man made sure his toned shoulder brushed up against his as he passed. Patroclus body filled once more with anxiety and dread…yet somehow he felt compelled to stay.

Aphrodite. Patroclus thought with anger and set his jaw. He would have to keep his wits about him if he wished to escape with situation as a faithful companion and without social blunder.

“Did you wish to bath, Hector? I can leave you if you wish.” Patroclus offered, walking stiffly back to get his robe. Despite the fact that he was doing all he could to avoid eye contact he could still the older prince’s eyes on his body.

“Bathing alone is so boring don’t you think? Please, Patroclus, stay.” Hector reached out of the pool and lightly grabbed Patroclus’ ankle. Normally Patroclus would have been reminded of a time when Achilles had done the same thing to him while Peleus was telling them a boring story, but thanks to Aphrodite his mind was fogged up.

“I-“ Patroclus couldn’t resist without seeming rude, and he couldn’t let on like he knew of Aphrodite’s intentions. Furthermore, he didn’t want Hector to continue to peruse him…maybe if he just joined Hector for this bath and let him down gently, this would all stop. “It would be my honor, Hector.”

Patroclus turned, slowly, and stepped down into the pool. The warmth from the water spread through his body and calmed him. He felt the tension in his muscles drift away. He let out an audible groan as he sat down, which caught the attention of Hector.

“I suspect it’s been far too long since you’ve had a proper bath.” Patroclus had been careful in sitting on the other side of the pool, but suddenly Hector was next to him and whispering in his ear. Normally, Patroclus would have moved away within an instant, but Aphrodite’s powers fogged his mind just as the steam that rose off of the water.

“Far too long.” Patroclus’ voice was but a whisper. Around him he saw the flower petals that sat on top of the water shift as Hector moved even closer. When he felt the other man’s calloused hands brush against his lower back, he noticed just how powerless he was. His eyes didn’t seem to want to open all the way, but rather stay frozen in half lidded comfort. His body didn’t cooperate either- the second he thought of moving his aching muscles begged for him to stay just a moment longer.

Hector’s hands brushed through his curls, coated in some oil. “Maybe I can help you then… it would seem a massage would do you wonders.”

All inhibitions or thoughts of anything else but the feeling of hands petting his head and warm water left him. Patroclus suddenly couldn’t remember why he wouldn’t want to stay here with such a handsome and strong man to do what he pleased with, but whatever small part of him was still out of Aphrodite’s control prayed for some interruption to free him.

Hector’s hand wrapped around Patroclus’ waist and his lips brushed against his ear. “Let’s get you all cleaned up, dirty boy.”

But before he could do anything more, another person entered the bath house.

The interruption Patroclus had prayed for came in the form of Aphrodite’s favorite himself. “Patroclus! Hector! How wonderful to see you both- oh this’ll be excellent! All of us bathing together just as if we were all brothers!”

Paris jumped in the pool in a way that reminded Patroclus of a small child. Hector’s irritation at his brother had caused him to pull away from Patroclus- who now became clear headed with breathing room. What was I thinking? How could I let Hector and Aphrodite influence me so! If Achilles were to ever find out-

Paris came up from underwater and shook his hair just like Patroclus’ dogs would do after they got wet.

“So, what were you guys talking about?” He asked, oblivious to what had just been happened.

Patroclus’ senses came back to him quickly. He was the first to respond, as it seemed Hector would rather stay silent and glare at his brother. “Just how nice it must be to return from battle and have all your luxuries so close at hand. I haven’t had a proper bath in years.”

Paris’ eyes widened. “Oh my, Patroclus. I would die without bathing.”

“Yes, it seems to be the only thing he’s good at.” Hector growled through clenched teeth.

Paris rolled his eyes at his brother’s jab. “It is rather hard, Prince Paris, but you get used to it. It helps when you share a tent with aristos achion, you get all the nicest amenities.”

“Please, call me Paris! After all, you have just seen me naked.”  He and Patroclus shared a laugh while Hector continued to seethe at the mention of Patroclus sharing a tent with Achilles.

Patroclus washed out the shampoos that Hector had rubbed in his hair and continued to make small talk with Paris.

Conversation with Paris was very different than conversation with Hector, in that Paris only seemed interested in doing all the talking-mainly about himself- and none of the listening. Patroclus didn’t mind this, as with each word Paris spoke Hector seemed to grow more and more aggravated. At least he’s not flirting with me anymore.

Eventually there was a lull in the conversation, during which Patroclus used to excuse himself to get ready for today’s festival. It was to start within an hour, and that left Patroclus with very little time to find his mother.

*

Patroclus was still wearing his bath robe as he and his guard started to walk back to his room. Patroclus was in such a hurry that he didn’t notice a servant walking his way, and he promptly ran into her. He reached out to help the poor woman back to her feet, fully intending just to help her up and continue on. He didn’t have time to worry about this he needed to find his- mother.

He looked at the servant in awe. His knees went week, his eyes waters….it was her. It was really her.

“Mo- Miss, I’m so sorry.” He apologized, trying to think of any excuse he could to get her back to his room. “What is your name?”

“My name is Sthenele and the fault was entirely my own, Sir.” It was, without a doubt his mother, he could tell from the dream he’d had last night. He’d been preparing for this moment all day, but it took all his willpower not to break down into sobs and hug her when she said her name. Patroclus internally thanked every god he could remember that he had found her. She seemed to be in one of her more present episodes, which meant it would be easier to explain the truth to her.

“Guard, you are dismissed. I would like for Sthenele to escort me back to my room.” The guard himself looked rather shocked, but did as told. Patroclus knew what this looked like to him: first Hector and Paris with him in the bath house this morning and now this seemingly random servant.

“You do not tire, Sir Patroclus. Enjoy your afternoon- I shall me by your room before the festival to pick you up.”

Patroclus wanted to vomit at what the man was implying. Not that he knows that she is my mother. He reminded himself, and turned to the woman before him.

“Shall we go then?” He asked, hoping to sound as friendly as possible.

His mother nodded slowly and walked by his side. He could tell she was nervous, but tried to ignore the disgust that came with that realization. Instead, he tried to focus on remembering the little rhyme and rhythm tricks he invented to help her remember.

When they reached his room, he let her go inside her just before he dismissed another servant that was inside cleaning.

 “I wish for us to be alone, please.”

When the woman left Patroclus shut and locked the door behind her. He could not risk anyone over hearing. It would put his mother’s life in danger, and he would sooner die than put her in harm’s way.

He turned back to the room and found her sitting on the bed. Her hand was in a first and lightly hitting her right collar bone. That was something they had come up with together for, on her worst days, when she was inarticulate. Patroclus crossed the room and crouched before her. He placed both hands on her shoulders to mean “you are here” And “look at me”. When she finally looked up from her lap, he made a fist and light tapped his left collar bone. This meant “happy” and “safe”, as opposed to the right which meant “sad” or “scared”.

Her eyes widened, not understanding how this unknown noble could communicate with her. “You must be a very good boy.” She whispered. With her free hand and rubbed the side of his cheek. “My son used to communicate with me like that before he…I don’t know. I haven’t seen him in a while, but he used to know how to talk to me.”

The tears from earlier fell from Patroclus’ eyes, and she ran her thumb over them. “Tears. Why?” She asked.

“Sthenele, mother, it’s me.” Patroclus gripped her hand.

She only looked down at him with blank disbelief. “Lying isn’t very nice, sir. You aren’t my son- I know because my son was only a boy the last time I saw him, and you are a man.”

He snapped his finger three times to mean “the truth” and squeezed her knee to say “remember”. “Mother it has been nearly a decade since you’ve last seen me.”

She closed her eyes and let out a low humming sound. Patroclus couldn’t remember if it was her panicked noise or thinking noise. When she hummed a tune that he vaguely remembered he knew she was processing. As she thought, he closed his eyes and rested his head against her knees. He would wait as long as possible for her to understand.

When her hand slid into his hair he looked up. There were tears streaming down her face and she was crying.

“My Patroclus, my little prince. You’re not so little anymore.”

“I’m not a prince either.” He rose and held her in his arms. She held back tight, as if she thought she would lose him again. “Mother, I’m not letting us be separated ever again.”

She nodded, tears still falling. “I won’t either, my love.”

“But, mother, for that to happen you have to keep this a secret, okay?” He squeezed her hand.

“Why? I was never ashamed of you, Patroclus.” She looked hurt and confused. Patroclus was careful to not distress her any further.

“It’s not that. Things are just…very complicated. But I will get you out of here soon; you just have to keep this a secret.”

“I will.” Patroclus let her hold him as if he were but a child. For a moment he felt peace, felt like everything was doing to be okay, then a sudden heat and brightness filled the room. Almost as if he son it’s self was inside- Please, no.

“She might be willing to keep a secret, but I’m not.” Ice filled Patroclus’ veins as a familiar voice came from behind him. He turned to have his fears realized. Apollo stood tall, proud, and undisguised before them.

“Apollo.” Was all he could say as his mouth gaped. He was defenseless against a God, especially a God that could hold such an emotional weight over him.

First Hector, then finding his mother, and now Apollo? Can’t I catch a break?

“Yes. You know, many are usually more welcoming of me.” Patroclus did not move, did not dare say a word in spite, but he did allow himself to glare at the man. Throughout his life he had heard people compare his Achilles to Apollo. Now, as the god stood before him, he could see the similarities.

Is this what Achilles will be like when his mother grants him Godhood? The thought made Patroclus sick. He couldn’t stand to think about his beloved Achilles ever being this uncaring- this inhuman.  

Patroclus had a million things he would have liked to have said in that moment, but instead he could only manage a meek. “Please. I’ll do whatever you ask, whatever Troy needs. Just please don’t tell the others about her.”

Apollo cocked his head to the side, as if to mock him by pretending to think. After a few seconds a dark smile spread across his face, and with a laugh he said “Interesting offer, Patroclus, but I do believe that I’ll pass on it. Enjoy what little time you have with your mother- oh, and enjoy the festival today.”

Just like that he was gone, along with all heat and light from the room. Patroclus turned to his mother and held her close. She mirrored his actions, happy to have her son back in her arms. Patroclus feared for her greatly- he never wanted her to become a pawn in some war sponsored by the gods. He left like he’d failed her. He felt like blaming Hector. He felt like doing anything but just sitting here and waiting for the end.

He decided that the best thing he could do was get ready for the second day of the festival, and act as if nothing had happened. He let his mother pick out his clothes and watched her as she beamed at him. For a moment he could pretend that everything was going to be okay and that he was just a normal boy with his mom. But moments can’t last forever.

As he left with his guard, he told his mother to hide in his room until he was able to get back to her. When he left with his guard she was laying back on the bed, humming some old tune from his father’s kingdom.

*

Artemis stood on Olympus and looked down on the festivities below. Anger filled her. It wasn’t the usual anger of war, but instead it was an unfamiliar anger brought about by the actions of her brother.

Footsteps echoed on the tile near her. She didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

“Apollo.”

“Artemis, I have good news.” Her brother announced, coming up beside her. She looked down at the humans below instead of responding. Patroclus stood in the center of everything, chaffing under the attention. Artemis knew that he had once been a prince and that he sometimes he missed that, but as she watched him now she knew that he regretted that wish. Below her Patroclus was ripped and inserted into an endless amount of random conversations. Politicians, desperate to know who he was, refugees desperate to know if their relatives had lives, and Princes desperate to save their kingdom all paraded around Patroclus.

The similarities between immortals and mortals disgusted Artemis.

“Artemis, did you not here me? I have good news.” Apollo moved beside her so that he could see for himself what was so interesting. When his black eyes landed on Patroclus he allowed a wicked smile to spread across his face.

“I already know what it is, brother.” The goddess sighed with a heaviness she never hoped to bare. “And you cannot go through with your plan, you cannot threaten Sthenele.”

“You misunderstand- I am not threatening Sthenele. I am threatening her son-“

“-By using her, Apollo! It’s wrong to break up a family in such a way.” She wrapped her arms around herself. Her mortal-like compassion made her feel vulnerable.

Apollo was deeply hurt by his sister’s words. Why would she stand against him in such a way? “But Artemis! Think of what we could accomplish by keeping Patroclus idle.”

“By we do you mean the Trojans?” Artemis moved her arms towards him for emphasis. Her deep purple-blue skin’s constellations were normally calm, but now the sky that was her skin moved with an unknown fury. “Apollo, this family has been through enough. You will leave Patroclus and his mother alone.”

In resistance, Apollo’s skin burned brighter- brighter than the sun. With squinted eyes and a tight mouth he dared ask “Oh I will, will I? Do you command it?”

“In fact I do! As your sister, if you love me, I beg- nay command- that you leave Patroclus and his mother alone!” Artemis stomped away from where she watched the festival, too disgusted to bother with it anymore.

Apollo followed with interest. He had always been able to understand her without words and her him, but now he found it hard to read her. He could tell she was upset- angry and disgusted mainly- but there was something else happening. Some deeper emotion running through her core and making her constellations spin.

He let his light fade as he neared her again. In a voice that was practically a whisper he asked “Arti…What’s wrong?”

Artemis hesitated for a moment, then turned to face him. “They say that you are just like him- Achilles- and look at what happens to him when separated from his love. Look at what this war has done to him, to us…all of us. I’m sick of it! I wish it to be over even more than Princess Helen does!”

Apollo nodded, understanding. He hadn’t realized how much she pitied the humans- or how much she cared for them, he supposed. “For your sake, sister, I will keep the truth of Patroclus’ mother a secret.”

And for a moment, a brief moment, all seemed calm in the world.

Then came the sound of spears.

After all, you know what they say about moments.

Chapter Text

The sound of horses charging and warriors screaming is what they expected to hear when the end came. Some kind of warning for the fire and blood that the citizens of Troy knew would spill all over the streets of their beloved city.

But nothing is expected in war.

What came instead of screaming, horses, and warning was a horse. A very large wooden horse.

“You’re not serious.” Briseis looked up at the thing in wonder, then back at Achilles. “Is he serious?”

Achilles growled. “The fate of my Patroclus rests in the hands of some stupid trick?”

“My father is right, they’ll see right through this.” Pyrrhus piped in. The pink on his cheek from last night had faded but a small bruise remained. Achilles had apologized in the morning when his rage had somewhat faded within him. Peleus never laid a hand on him and he felt terrible for doing so to his son. Even if he was somewhat of a brat.

Odysseus and Menelaus turned to glare at the boy. Achilles gave an inhuman growl in response. He might have found his son annoying, but he would be long since dead before he let any kings treat him poorly. 

“It’s a brilliant plan you two, rest assured.” Odysseus said with too much confidence. Achilles got the sneaking suspicion that this was his plan.

“Odysseus, how did you find the resources to build this thing so quickly?” Ajax stared up at the larger than life horse in disbelief.

“Athena finally stopped ignoring us. I offered her the best wine and foods left in Agamemnon’s share-“

This brought about a rather displeased “You what?” from Agamemnon. Odysseus only flashed a cheeky grin and continued.

“-and prayed to her throughout the night. When I stopped at daybreak this was in our camp.”

Briseis shared a look with Automedon, who in turn shared a looked with Menelaus’ charioteer.  This was, by far, the most desperate attempt made by the offending side.

“Are you sure Athena did this to help? It seems more like she’s setting us up for failure.” Pyrrhus spoke. His voice cracked in a pubescent and almost endearing way as he spoke. Achilles knew it should have reminded him of himself or one of his brothers, but it only reminded him of Patroclus. Everything reminds me of Patroclus.

“I am sure. I know this seems strange, but even stranger things are happening with the gods as of late.” Diomedes said in Odysseus’ aid.

“It’s true. Last night I saw the stars spin as if they would fly off of the sky.” Briseis whispered into Achilles’ ear. All of them assumed it was the war. It had been weighing down on everyone, god and man, equally, but none of them could have even begun to guess the conspiracy in place.

“Prince Achilles and Prince Neoptolemus do not worry. The goddess Athena will guide us to both Patroclus and victory.” Odysseus smiled up at the ridiculous thing. He would take complete credit for the idea, of course he thought it brilliant, but he wouldn’t take credit away from the goddess. He’d seen where that got people.

“-and Helen.” Menelaus offered in a gruff, annoyed tone. It sounded more like he was annoyed at the thought of retrieving his wife.

“Taking her and making sure that she is safe would take away from his time spent fighting.” Achilles hissed to those closest to him. “That is not love.”

Briseis sighed from where she stood next to him. He could tell that she wanted to say something, but knew it better to keep silent. No one wanted to speak anything against Achilles while he was in this state.

With their heads turned up at the sky to stare at the large gift before them they drowned in the heavy silence. Everyone was quietly asking themself Will this work?

“There is no time to ponder, only time to act.” Odysseus said as he started to walk towards the horse, as if he could read their minds. “Before we can act, we need to see what exactly this thing can do.”

Diomedes nodded and walked forward to stand by his friend. They began to prod and poke about the wooden structure.

Achilles stood back and watched the two. The way the old friends, and alleged lovers, worked and bantered with one another made Achilles’ heart ache even more than he thought possible. He realized now that no matter how many Trojans he slaughtered, nothing would make him feel as whole as having Patroclus back by his side.

“There’s an inscription on the side of the horse here!” Diomedes announced. “It says…that we surrender and the horse is a gift. Does Athena wish us to surrender and sail back home?”

“NOT without Patroclus!” Achilles barked and stepped forward in a manner that was just as menacing as it was quick.

“We do not care to defy the will of a goddess in order to rescue my father’s companion!” Pyrrhus added brandishing the spear in his hand.

Odysseus ignored the two and jumped up from where he stood under the horse; he reached out his hand to hit again what looked like a weak spot on its underbelly.  When the hand made contact the weak spot gave out and a rope tumbled out from the inside.

“I do not think that’s what the goddess was intending, Princes.” Odysseus laughed, feeling joy and hope spread through the on-looking ranks. “It seems she was listening to our plans after all…only with her own twist on things.”

“So, what? She expects us to climb into that thing and…?” Menelaus asked, walking over to look up into the horse with Odysseus.

“According the message she inscribed on it for us…yes.” Diomedes reread the inscription again, a steady hand going to brush throw his lose brown hair. “I think we’re to hide inside and wait until Troy least suspects it.”

“If we offer this in faux surrender then, in addition to the festivals for Patroclus, they’ll party into the night. When the good majority of them are passed out in a drunken stupor or asleep we can jump out and make our attack.” Odysseus’ familiar overly confident manner of speaking continued to annoy Achilles. He would normally consider the man one of the few people that he called a friend, outside of Patroclus, but anymore he could barely tolerate anything anyone said.

“The sooner we do this, the better off we will be as far as position.” Diomedes’ eyes were lit with the thrill of planning battle.

Just when Achilles felt that his annoyance couldn’t grow anymore, Agamemnon spoke. “He’s right. For the initial siege we should take the highest commanders and their companions inside of the horse. Once night falls we will find a way to send a signal to the rest of the troops.”

A silence followed. The men all processed the fact that if this plan worked out that they would finally, finally, get to go back home. From somewhere in the back of the crowd of common soldiers a cheer was started. Then, suddenly, it spread up through the ranks until all commanders were cheering.

Achilles watched, cold demeanor and distant minded, as the men all raised their spears in the air with such enhanced vigor. He wished to join them in their joy but found his circumstance so heavy to bear, for he was destined to die in this war after the death of Hector. He wanted nothing more than to see his beloved once more before his death, but the more he thought about it amongst the throng of screaming soldiers the more he realized how unlikely that was.

What has Hector ever done to me? He thought back to the version of him that was still young and fresh-faced. He resented the time that Achilles had left with Patroclus, for the only conclusion that Achilles could make was that Hector had killed Patroclus.

All around him, the men ran off in the direction of something Achilles didn’t bother to pay attention to. As they did he was left alone with his own dark thoughts. He tried to reason with himself. Mother would have told me.

He trusted his mother with all of his being- just as much as he trusted himself. Hector hasn’t killed Patroclus…Hector will try to kill him, but I will kill him before he can lay another hand on my beloved.

*

After two more hours of prepping and planning the commanders and their chosen companions boarded the horse. The rest of the soldiers unlucky enough to remain outside the walls of Troy were made to push the large horse up to the front gates.

Waiting to be seen by the guards felt like an eternity to Achilles. He tried to calm down by observing the men around him. Next to Achilles sat his son, whom Thetis had convinced him to take with him. He was more eager than any of the other men; most likely to compensate for his young age. On the other side of Pyrrhus sat another father and son pair: Nestor and Antilochus. Antilochus had been an unsuccessful suitor of Helen just as Patroclus had. For a moment Achilles was almost jealous of that connection. I wonder what Patroclus looked like back then- small and fragile. Achilles imagined himself in Antilochus’ place- he imagined himself announcing to all the suitors that he rejected the idea of marrying Helen and was far more taken by the young son of King Menoetius instead. He allowed himself to smile at the scandal it would have caused.

Before his eyes could find their way to Ajax the Greater’s inhumanly muscular form and bulging green and gold veins the horse began to move. All eyes fell on Odysseus, who shushed them all with a gesture. Achilles craned his neck in an unsuccessful attempt to try and hear what the guards were saying. It was all muffled and whispered. He could vaguely make out a few phrases like “strange” and “King Priam”, but other than that heard nothing useful until it stopped moving.

Once there he heard the unmistakable voice of King Priam speaking to who he assumed to be advisors. Suddenly a hysterical female voice pierced through the structure.  

“Father you must send this out!” The young woman was sobbing and screaming. The soldiers around Achilles instantly stiffened at her next words. “This is a trick not a gift! Father, please! It will bring down the fall of Troy!”

“Quiet, Cassandra. Your twin brother has not told me of such visions- I doubt that this simple statue will do such a thing.” Priam’s voice sounded strained, as if he’d had this argument with this Cassandra a thousand times before. “See this inscription? It says that they surrender- it’ll be fine.”

Instead of being comforted, the young woman’s sobbing only grew louder. “Father, please! For once just believe what I say!”

King Priam did not respond, and from the sound of things it seemed as he could not. The woman’s sobbing faded away. Once it was gone he gave the order the men inside had been waiting for. “To the gardens so that the guests may see.”

The princes and kings inside all felt themselves being moved again. Soon enough loud music was muffled through the wood.

“I hate this. We have no idea what’s happening.” Agamemnon grumbled, only to be shushed by Odysseus.

“If they hear us we’re dead.”

Silence and sweltering heat once again filled the air between the men. Achilles’ entire being was itching to see Patroclus once more. The lack of his beloved combined with the lack of an outlet for his anger was beginning to eat away at him, and the longer they sat in the sweltering statue the worse it got.

“Do you hear that?” Pyrrhus whispered to him. It took a moment for him to process the words, but once he did nodded. Once again he heard the voice of King Priam.

“What should we do?”

A higher pitched but still male voice was the first to answer. “We could have my Helen and Patroclus look it over. They might tell us if it’s a trap.”

Achilles looked over to see Menelaus’ fists clinched in anger at hearing who Achilles assumed was Paris refer to Helen as his.

“Doubtful.”  A deeper voice answered, and for a moment Achilles considered forgetting the plan and attacking the speaker then. Hector. “We do not know the true extent of Princess Helen’s loyalty to us, and furthermore I doubt Patroclus would sell out his Prince.”

“Have you not been working to win him over?” There was a teasing edge to Paris’ voice. Achilles felt himself relax at the implication that Hector and Aphrodite had not been successful in seducing his companion.

“I have been trying, but I fear he is far too loyal to Achilles.” He heard Hector sigh. “And furthermore I might have accomplished my goal yesterday had you not interrupted us.”

“I fail to see how getting Aphrodite to help you molest Patrcolus-“

“Boys! Please settle down. We have a very serious manner on our hands. Your petty squabbling can wait.” Priam sounded more like an exhausted father than a king in that moment. Yet another thing that might have been endearing to Achilles, had he not been focused on feeling all the other inhabitants of the wooden horse’s eyes on him.

Ajax the Greater reached out in an attempt to squeeze Achilles’ shoulder in some gesture of comfort, but he was quick to shrug it off. He didn’t want anyone to touch him right now- he’d only burn them.

“I agree with Paris’ plan. We should at least let Patroclus and Helen look this thing over to gage their reactions; it might tell us something.” Silence filled King Priam’s last statement. Tension filled the small space, as the other men didn’t know how Achilles would react upon hearing Patroclus’ voice for the first time in days.

Suddenly Helen’s voice rang clear and sharp.  “If it is true that they are leavening tomorrow, then they are leaving Patroclus behind. The man who he thought to love him most in this world is just leaving him, Paris! Look at how torn up he is.”

Achilles’ heart stopped as he imagined Patroclus in tears. Patroclus would normally trust Achilles with all of his being, but clearly his time in Troy had changed that. What if he had been subjected to torture that mother couldn’t bear to tell me of? What if he has been brainwashed by one of the gods?

Hector said something muffled and unimportant. Then finally the moment Achilles had been waiting for came.

Patroclus’ voice was not as strong as Achilles might have hoped, but he blamed that on the emotional turmoil of the situation and the wood of the horse. “Thank you, Hector. You have been…just so accommodating and wonderful. I cannot think of a way to ever repay you.”

“You will have plenty of time to do so, Patroclus. If you are being abandoned by your prince I will see to it that you are treated like a prince yourself in my court. Troy can be your new home.” Hector spoke with so much warmth that Achilles could practically see him lusting after Patroclus. With no warning to himself or the others around him Achilles’ hand crushed out to snap his spear in half as he let out an inhuman hiss.

“Who do you think would be stupid enough to come up with a plan like this?” Helen’s voice was clear again. The offended look on Odysseus’ face brought Pyrrhus dangerously close to laughter.

“I cannot say…probably Agamemnon. He seems stupid and vain enough.” With Patroclus words, Agamemnon gave Achilles a deadly glare. Achilles replied by standing in a threatening way. It took both Ajax the Greater and Nestor to force the prince to sit back down. By the time he did, Helen was speaking again.

 “And if it’s not some sort of trap? What I mean to say is that, what will happen if Achilles has truly abandoned you?”

“Thetis will not be around to protect me from Hector’s endless advances, I’ll be indebted to him even more if he truly does allow me to stay, and I cannot say what else Aphrodite will do to me to help him.” The rage within him boiled even more, and Achilles found the confined space of the horse too small for him to stand. He stood once more with even more fury than the first time, for he felt as if he had a personal mission to accomplish. He had to destroy Hector for laying a hand on his beloved. His enraged mind saw no way around it.  

Several moments passed- which were filled with the men trying to hold Achilles back within the horse- before they heard Patroclus’ voice again.

 “I’m sorry for have to see me like this, Helen.” His voice was thick with tears. Achilles had only ever seen him cry once before-

“I’ve only ever cried twice before in my life.”

“So you have told me. When you found out Achilles had married and when you had killed that boy.” Achilles’ face burned with more than just rage for the first time in days. He felt both the stares of the other men on him, as well as the guilt of being the source of Patroclus’ heartbreak. His beloved knew he did not have any say in the matter, but it still hurt Achilles when he remembered Patroclus’ face upon hearing the news.

Ajax and Nestor made another move to hold Achilles back, but were surprised to find the half-man not moving. Instead he was sitting there just as he had been in the days before: all anger and rage and exhaustion lined with the desire to make others pay for the pain he felt with their life.

Patroclus voice spoke once more, but his words were eaten by the wood. Achilles could have listened to him talk for hours; he even silently prayed that Helen and Patroclus would stay and continue to talk, but instead silence came.

There would be time later, when the siege of this horrible city was complete, for them to talk. They would talk about anything and everything- all the words left unsaid and then some- they would talk through the night and into the next morning.

There will be time. Achilles told himself. There will be more time.

*

There was a loud fanfare that was quickly followed with an announcement that chilled Patroclus to his core. “The Kingdom had just received a gracious gift from our enemies during this time of celebration.”

The festival-goers all craned their neck to see the gift bequeathed to them. Tensions were high, for this could just as easily be a fabricated plot as it could be a sign of good will.

King Priam, whom Patroclus had not seen until that moment, meekly made his way to the front of the large wooden horse. His eyes scanned over the spectacle until they landed on what looked like a small note inscribed in the horse.

“People of Troy,” He started to read aloud. His weathered voice and sure manner reminded him of how King Peleus had been just before they left for Troy, but Patroclus knew that there was a distinct difference between the two men. King Priam had seen his sons die, he had known of his sons’ mortality. King Peleus, on the other hand, had only ever been told of his son’s glory and ability to slaughter all before him; he had no idea that Achilles was destined to die in this war. Achilles will never be this old.

 “People of Troy,

We have seen your festivals just as we have seen your seemingly infinite skill on the battlefield. Athena herself must have blessed you, and so as a peace offering we send this horse for your festivities. We know that Prince Hector’s horses are the envy in all kingdoms and we hope this will be sufficient enough a means to say that we surrender.

You have taken far too much from us, and this fighting has taken far too many people from both sides. So, Father Zeus and Mother Hera approving, we surrender to pull out of the fighting. We sail back tomorrow at first light, and hope that peace will one day be restored to all of our kingdoms.”

A silence fell through the crowd while a simultaneous sense of dread filled Patroclus. Surely this had to be a trick- they couldn’t leave him behind in Troy. Achilles would never leave him behind like this…unless Achilles has somehow perished or been stopped by his mother.

Patroclus tried to stop himself from visibly shaking, hand going to grip Helen’s forearm. She put her hand on top of his and squeezed, instantly reading the fear in his eyes.

“He would never leave you.” She whispered and ran her free hand over his forehead.

“But what if Thetis has ascended him to godhood somehow?” He fought to keep his voice even as the mental imagine of Thetis burning all of the mortality out of Achilles’ body flashed in his mind. He could be easily manipulated by his mother more so than anyone else, and what if his new godhood came with apathy for Patroclus. The cold, black, and uncaring eyes of Apollo and Artemis...is that what he looks like now? Am I no more than dirt beneath his immortal feet?

Suddenly Helen’s arms wrapped around him in a crushing hug. “Patroclus, I promise that Achilles would never leave you. I also promise that this is no more than a simple trick.”

Despite the controversy that it might have caused Patroclus, he leaned into the hug. Human contact felt so good, and she was such a motherly figure to him that he refused to see how the gesture could be taken as anything else.

Patroclus turned his attention back to the large horse. Under it stood King Priam, Prince Hector, and Prince Paris most likely discussing what to do. The three all traded looks with one another then the horse for several minutes. I have never seen Hector look so unsure.

“What type of trick do you think this is?” Patroclus whispered to Helen. He felt a lot like a small child being comforted by his mother, but didn’t care how he looked to other. In all honestly, that was exactly what Patroclus needed in that moment: comfort, love, and a mother. Of course his mother was perfectly safe and hidden upstairs in his room, but she didn’t have the complete understanding or capacity to provide what he needed right now.

The three men looked up from their conversation and over at Patroclus and Helen. Patroclus saw a spark of jealousy flare within Paris’ expression for a moment before suddenly dissipating into a friendly smirk. He tried to step away from Helen, but her hand’s had an iron grip and kept him close.

“Whatever it is, speak loudly about the horse. I think they may be hiding within, and they need to know that you and I are out here with the rest.” She whispered in their native language. King Priam gestured the two over.

As they started to make their way over, Helen whispered one final thing in Helen’s ear. “Whatever happens, I will protect you. I swear it, Patroclus.”

“I swear it too, Helen. I will do whatever it takes to make sure you get out of this safely.” Patroclus’ voice held such conviction that he surprised himself. He hadn’t realized how deep the connection he’d made with the woman was until that moment, and now that he did there was no going back.

The conversation ended their and the two parted, save Helen’s hands on Patroclus’ shoulders, as they neared the others.

Hector jerked his hand in the direction of the horse. “We were just discussing what to do with this thing. Of course, we’re honored that your fellow countrymen should be so kind in their defeat, Patroclus, but we aren’t sure what to do.”

“I say that we leave it outside the gates of Troy so that they can see what our acceptance of it.” Paris suggested as he not-so-subtly snaked his arms around Helen’s waist.

“Patroclus and I should like to look it over.” Helen spoke, much to Patroclus’ surprise. Women were normally expected to remain silent during such important talks in most kingdoms, but he supposed that Sparta was much different from what he was used to. Women were treated much better there, and perhaps they were treated even better in Troy.

“Why, dear?” Paris tilted his head to the side. His golden curls fell into his eyes and the flower-headband he’d been wearing did the same. Neither group- the three royal men and then Patroclus and Helen- had any clue as to what the other’s plan was.  

“If it is true that they are leavening tomorrow, then they are leaving Patroclus behind. The man who he thought to love him most in this world is just leaving him, Paris! Look at how torn up he is.” Patroclus noted that her voice was louder than usual, most likely to make sure anyone that could have been hiding within the horse could overhear. To play along Patroclus channeled all the grief and frustration from the last few years into his face.

Hector was the first to bend to the glorified pout that Patroclus was giving. Perhaps his feelings for him would come in use after all. “Of course, Patroclus. Say your goodbyes…gods above I can’t imagine the pain that you’re in.”

Patroclus remembered the way Achilles had acted when they were at Skyros- the way he would glide in and out of his female persona with practiced eased. He tried to mimic that ease, taking on the mask of a tragic lover.  He found it easy thanks to his own fear of actually being abandoned by Achilles.

“Thank you, Hector.” He side stepped closer to the horse so that his words would be heard. He only wished for the others- if they were hidden within- to know that he was there. “You have been…just so accommodating and wonderful. I cannot think of a way to ever repay you.”

The crowned prince smiled, warmth overflowing from him. “You will have plenty of time to do so, Patroclus. If you are being abandoned by your prince I will see to it that you are treated like a prince yourself in my court. Troy can be your new home.”

Patroclus thought he heard a loud snap and hiss, but he appeared to be the only one that did. This either confirmed Helen’s suspicions of men hiding within, or it was just the wood of the horse settling. “Thank you, but please…I need time.”

The king and two princes nodded in deep understanding and left Helen and Patroclus alone with the horse. Behind them, the musicians began to play their music again and the party continued.

Patroclus looked up at the thing in wonder. This had to be a stupid ploy, it just has to be. He refused to believe that Achilles would abandon him.

“How do you think would be stupid enough to come up with a plan like this?” Helen put her hands back on Patroclus’ shoulders.

“I cannot say…probably Agamemnon. He seems stupid and vain enough.” Patroclus could have sworn he saw the horse sway. He looked to Helen to find her with the same intrigued expression. Helen’s face then transformed to a slightly malicious expression. Patroclus knew what she was thinking, that he best way to find out if the men were in there was to go some sort of reaction from them.

 “And if it’s not some sort of trap? What I mean to say is that, what will happen if Achilles has truly abandoned you?” Helen squeezed his shoulders, beckoning him to play along. He felt it rather cruel, but was too desperate to refuse.

“Thetis will not be around to protect me from Hector’s endless advances, I’ll be indebted to him even more if he truly does allow me to stay, and I cannot say what else Aphrodite will do to me to help him.” The truth of this made Patroclus a little sick. It wasn’t that he thought that Hector would ever intentionally force himself on him; it was that he didn’t know if the man would ever stop trying for his favor if he were made to stay. Achilles with golden hair like Apollo, with cold and uncaring black eyes- Achilles with immortality in his veins. That was truly his worst nightmare.

His thoughts were interrupted when heard what the thought to be an animal’s growl. Soon after the horse started to shake violently.

“That’s certainly not the wood settling.” Helen whispered in Patroclus’ ear. Hope grew strong within him, for he took this as a sign that Achilles could really be in there.

“They probably wish to wait until tonight to attack.” Patroclus whispered as the hope within him faded to guilt at teasing his beloved in such a way.

“When the defenses are down and the rest of Troy is celebrating the victory, yes. We must find refuge before the attack.” Helen was careful to make sure that her words were barely heard, even by Patroclus.

“You can find refuge with my mother, protect her, but I must-“

“You will not fight, Patroclus.” Helen cut him off, pressing herself again him in yet another crushing hug. Patroclus noticed Prince Hector and Paris watching them and put on his best fake crying face.

“But I must.” He whispered into her shoulder. “I am a solider, one of the best, and my people need me.”

“No. The war is nearly over and I do not wish for the bloodshed of any more of my subjects.” Something clicked within Patroclus’ brain, causing him to realize that she meant the people of Troy. Perhaps her leaving was completely of her own accord and had nothing to do with Aphrodite. She’s really happy here. She’s really happy with Paris, even if he is a coward.

He pulled away from the embrace to look up at her. When their eyes met there was an understanding, a familial type of love he hadn’t made for many years. It made all the repressed emotions within him spill out like water out of a broken damn, and he actually started to cry.

“I’m sorry for have to see me like this, Helen.” He tried to wipe away the tears. They were in the middle of a festival and here he was a soldier none the less, crying.

“Letting your emotions out is good.” She cooed, rubbing his back as she pulled him into another hug.

“I’ve only ever cried twice before in my life.”

“So you have told me. When you found out Achilles had married and when you killed that boy.” The two heard another commotion from within the horse. Helen mentally kicked herself for allowing her voice to be so loud. She opened her moth to apologize to Patroclus, but before she could he was pulling away from the embrace.

“Come; let’s tell Hector that I have made my peace.” He grabbed her hand and led her away.

*

Thetis watched the events inside the gates of Troy unfold. As a goddess she had the ability to watch both her son and his lover.

Thetis smirked at the cleverness of Helen and the loyalty of Patroclus. She also found joy in the agitation of Agamemnon and Odysseus. In Thetis’ opinion, mortal kings could always stand to be harassed every now and then. 

When the interactions started to fade out and the threat of fighting became elevated, she momentarily abandoned Achilles and Patroclus to keep up the other end of her promise to her the two boys. She found Sthenele alone in the room Patroclus’ provided room.

With a kindness almost foreign to herself, Thetis sat next to where the woman lay. Thetis didn’t recognize the tune she was humming, but felt compelled to leave the woman be for a few more moments. It was hard to imagine that this woman was the mother of Patroclus- she was so small and harmless. Thetis herself was taller than any mortal woman and deadly if she so chose to be, but she figured that within those differences was the line between god and man.

“Sthenele.” She almost whispered, working to make her voice as gentle as the shore line on a sunny spring day.

The other woman stopped humming and looked up at her. “Your hair looks like the man’s that was in here earlier. He didn’t seem too nice.”

 Thetis knew exactly who she was referring to. Apollo. The voice in her mind thought with the same tone as a spear head being sharpened.

“I am not like him, Sthenele. I am the mother of Patroclus’ best friend.” Her voice stayed calm and even with an inhuman melody to it. She watched Patroclus speak to her earlier and tried to mimic it now.

The other woman smiled fondly at the mention of her son. “Patroclus never did have very many friends growing up. I’m glad he has one now.”

“Patroclus actually has a lot of friends now: some soldiers, some nice young women, and even some princes.” She also made sure to speak slowly and to pronounce her vowels softer like they did in the north. It was vital to the woman’s survival that she agreed to what Thetis was about to ask. “Would you like to meet some of the nice young women?”

“Where are they?”  Sthenele sat up in bed, looking over Thetis’ inhuman form in wonder.

“They’re on the beach. It won’t take long, and you’ll be back before Patroclus even knows that you’re missing.”

“Oh…alright.” Thetis held out her hand and the other woman took it with a gentle grip. Thetis transported her down to the beach where Briseis and the other girls waited for the return of the soldiers.

The girl looked up at Thetis with wide eyes. She had seen Thetis for the first time just yesterday while she addressed the men.

“Briseis.” She spoke, trying to get the girl out of her fear and wonder induced trance. “This is Patroclus’ mother.”

Sthenele smiled at Briseis, but Briseis only continued to stare at Thetis. “That’s impossible, Patroclus said his father had his mother killed after he was sent off into exile.”

“No. Patroclus said he assumed that he had.” Thetis guided Sthenele to stand by Briseis. “I fear that the battle inside of Troy will be a dangerous one, and I want you to protect her. She is safe out here.”

“What about Patroclus- is he safe?” The goddess could see the hope swell within the young woman as she asked her question. She knew she loved Patroclus but could never have him, and for a moment Thetis almost pitied her.

“For now.”

With that Thetis, all blue-gold-red veins and floating black hair left the beaches to return to witness the siege of Troy. She wished to comfort Briseis, but knew that it would do greater to damage to make a promise she could not keep than to make no promise at all.

When she arrived at Troy she was instantly rewarded for her silence, for the first sight she was greeted with was Patroclus being held at knife point by Artemis.

Chapter Text

The question that many on lookers were asking themselves was What made this man so important?

So important that he should be honored in a festival intended to last a week.

So important that the Trojan War should be put to a halt because of him.

So important that the two best warriors from both sides should fight for his favor.

So important that the Goddess Artemis herself should come out in her true form to hold a knife to his throat.

In all honesty the man in question did not know either, but he wished with all he was that he weren’t. As he felt the cool metal of a blade press against his throat he longed for the days that he could thrive in the shadows of his best friend and, later, lover. He even missed the days when he was still in his father’s custody and when his father’s friend’s sons would outshine him with ease. He would give anything to be that boy again, because that boy did not know what the cold, unforgiving, skin of a goddess felt like as she personally threatened his life.

“Achilles!” The goddess’ inhuman voice screeched. Patroclus’ ears nearly began to bleed from the harsh pitch.

All eyes turned from Artemis and her human captive to the Trojan horse.

“Prince Achilles!” Artemis called again, the knife tight against Patroclus’ throat. With the pressure she applied it to his neck he should have already been cut and bleeding, and yet he wasn’t. That was when he realized she was holding the dull side of the knife to his throat. She doesn’t really want to hurt me. “If you do not come out I will slit the throat of Patroclus!”

With that the horse started to sway dramatically, for the commotion inside of it was almost too much to contain. Patroclus could imagine the other men attempting to hold his Achilles back.

“Call for him.” Artemis whispered in his ear. Patroclus shivered under her touch and did as told. He did not know that she had his best interest in mind, and how could he, a mere mortal, possibly grasp the concept?

“Achilles…Please!” Patroclus’ voice was shaky, scared. A million things were going through his mind. Artemis could easily flip the blade around to kill him if Achilles did not do as told, or if she simply wished to. The gods were not known for their staunch principles or patients when plans fell through. And what if Achilles does come out? Would the other men view him as a trader?

After no more than 3 second the bottom of the horse gave out and two soldiers fell out. Patroclus instantly recognized Achilles in his godly armor, but he failed to recognize the shorter soldier next to him.

“Release him!” Achilles’ voice demanded in the same inhuman tone it had kept for the last three days. Patroclus felt himself choke up at the sight of Achilles- he had remembered the soft human-like version of him all love and lyre playing, not this god-like stranger.

“I will do no such thing until your men reveal themselves and disarm!” Patroclus saw the constellations on her arms spin wildly, just as the sky had the night before.

Patroclus couldn’t stand to look at Achilles in this state- both torn between selling out his men or saving his love, and how inhuman he’d started to look. Instead he looked over to his left side, where he saw a frantic Helen being held by Paris. The two made eye contact and she tried to mouth something to him, but he couldn’t make most of it out. All he got was “Cassandra” and “I’m sorry.”

Without warning a spear was thrown across the yard, hitting a Trojan guard in the neck. Blood squirted out of him as wildly as the screams of those around him. Patroclus looked back to Achilles to find the other commanders standing by his side. Patroclus didn’t know who threw the spear, but guessing at how close it had been to Paris and Helen he figured Menelaus was a safe bet.

“Disarm!” Artemis demanded, taking Patroclus right arm and raising it in the air as she dragged him further away from the horse.

“We will disarm if I get to punish my unfaithful wife.” Menelaus offered. He was the only commander still holding his weapon.

“You dare bargain with a goddess?” She gave a cruel laugh and Patroclus’ ear drums throbbed. “What do you think Prince Achilles and his son will do to you after I slit the throat of Patroclus because you wouldn’t do as told?”

The dull side of the knife pressed harder against his throat. He’d definitely had a bruise from this, if I live through this. Patroclus then realized that the shorter solider by Achilles’ side must have been Achilles’ son. He couldn’t make out most of his features due to his helmet, but he could see the boy’s fox-like eyes. The same eyes as his mother.

Menelaus instantly dropped his spear after hearing Achilles’ inhuman growl. The noise was something Patroclus had never heard, and- as much as he hated to admit- it scared him. Achilles was scaring him. He never thought he’d see the day when that happened. Patroclus was the only thing to ever be taken from him in his life, and it was clear how much he hated to be slighted in such a way.

“Foolish mortals, all of them.” Artemis’ words were barely above a whisper. Patroclus found it odd for her to whisper to him, as it felt like such a personal thing to do. “Calm down, Patroclus. The more scared you are, the angrier Achilles is.”

Patroclus found this to be a completely ridiculous thing to say. Despite himself and all he had been taught, he decided to say. “I apologize that I fail to find comfort in being held at knife point by a goddess.”

A small smile cracked Artemis’ stoney expression. “I don’t plan on actually hurting you.”

“Release him!” Achilles’ immortal voice demanded. “Please, I will do whatever it takes.”

“I know you will, Prince Achilles.” The goddess’ voice was infused with amusement. Achilles’ ignorant assumption that he had any claim to godhood had displeased several gods and goddesses, and she was one. There was a natural order to things, and these men had done more than enough damage to that. With Patroclus as her captive, she could have a little fun.

Tension swept across the courtyard as mortal kings were made powerless by the war torn mind of a goddess and her poor mortal captive. The captive in question was busy trying not to feel so ashamed at being rendered completely useless while being used as a bargaining chip.

Suddenly he felt his body being pushed forwards by her. After they were a few feet closer to the commanders, she asked. “Achilles and Patroclus- you two have killed so many men with such ease. Achilles, what were you thinking of when you killed?”

“The glory and honor promised to me most of the time, but sometimes I would think of nothing at all.” Achilles, even in all his immortal rage and god-made armor, looked so weak. His green eyes held a sadness and hunger that Patroclus knew his own brown eyes mirrored. The two lovers were so close to one another, the closest they’d been in days, yet still so far.

“Patroclus, what did you think of when you were killing?” Artemis put a hand over his mouth to keep him from immediately answering. “Or better yet- who were you thinking of?”

He tried to keep his body from shaking as he answered. So many factors- feelings, sensations, and emotions were rubbing his already delicate mind raw. “Protecting those around me.”

Artemis hummed; seemingly satisfied with his answer she loosened her grip on Patroclus. “Tell Thetis that she was wrong, and that within those two answers lie the difference between god and man.”

With that Artemis released Patroclus completely, pushing him to Achilles. The blonde was by his side within an instant, catching him before he fell. Once he had Patroclus in his arms all god-like feature vanished within an instant. His wild hair settled, his translucent skin regained its color, and his rage subsided. All he could do was hold Patroclus in his arms tightly.

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again, I swear to every god that will listen.” Achilles sounded so meek, so vulnerable, compared to the enraged version of him everyone had just listened. Is my love truly that much of a weakness to him?

Patroclus could only wrap his hands around Achilles. He couldn’t think of the words to say that could have even begun to express how he felt, so he kept quiet. Neither cared about the on-lookers, neither cared about how this might have looked. Their relationship had already been made such a public spectacle, and both deserved this moment of peace.

However, their moment of peace was like the eye of the storm. Around them the chaos was only just beginning. Artemis disappeared from the garden to let the humans decide their next course of action.

Princess Cassandra was the first to move, running as if her life depended on it towards the temple of Athena. She had seen two endings in her visions, and feared the worst. She thought that the goddess might protect her if she was hiding there by the siege came.

After that Menelaus moved for Princess Helen and Prince Paris. Everyone assumed Paris would run, like he always did, but instead he stood tall before Menelaus and shielded his wife.

“She is mine you pathetic coward.” The Spartan king growled.

Paris only stared him down. In part, his bravery mainly came from the fact that his brothers and father were all about him to defend him.

“She belongs to no one but herself.” Hector was the first to speak up. He had a dagger in his hand and a tired look in his eyes.

“Stay out of this, Hector. I think we can all agree that we’re sick of fighting someone else’s battles.” Ajax the lesser picked up his spear. “Let Menelaus and Paris settle this themselves, like men.”

“No!” Patroclus surprised himself by speaking out. He wanted nothing more than to drop this issue to return home, but he couldn’t let Helen be treated like a prize. Both sides turned their eyes to him.

“No?” Ajax the lesser asked mockingly. “Has your time in Troy turned you into a traitor?”

“No! And No to your question. I am no traitor, but I am sick of Helen being mistreated in such a way.” Patroclus gripped Achilles’ forearm for dear life. He’d never stood up to his allies in such a manner before. “We should let her decide what she wants and find peace in that.”

He looked over to Helen to find her smiling at him. The smile dropped as soon as Menelaus spoke again. “She has already chosen, and she chose me first.”  

“She did not chose, you simply got lucky.” Achilles spoke up from Patroclus’ side. “And I fail to see how you have any ground to stand on when it comes to adultery, Menelaus.”

“How many mistresses have you had? How many servants have you taken? What about the women from the villages we have pillaged, the ones you treat like prizes?” Patroclus demanded. His confidence swelling within him now that Achilles was back to his normal self and by his side.

“That is a different matter entirely.” The king tried to defend himself. He was clearly unhappy about the lack of support he was receiving. Even Agamemnon kept quiet. That’s a first.

“Because I am a woman?” Helen asked in a way that demanded all look at her with respect. In the days before this, she and Patroclus had told one another of everything in their lives they could remember. He knew how sick she was of being docile, how sick she was of being treated more like a statue than a human being.

“Exactly. Women have their duties and one of them is to remain faithful to their husbands.” Menelaus reached to pick up another spear. It did not slip passed Patroclus the way he was beginning to lunge his body toward Paris.

“The unfaithful do not deserve the faithful. The weak do not deserve the strong. Women do not deserve to be treated the way you treat them.” Helen spat. She was strong, a force to be reckoned with. Patroclus wondered if she thinking about Iphigenia’s murder. He had told her the morning before, and it took all of an hour to calm her down.

Without thinking Patroclus felt his body pull itself in the direction of Helen. He felt some overbearing need to protect her.

“What are you doing?” Achilles whispered in his ear as his arms wrapped around Patroclus’ body. Both reveled in the feeling of being able to touch one another for the first time in days. “We should leave; we should stand with our men.”

Patroclus set his jaw and looked from him to Helen. “I feel like I must protect her. I cannot explain it, but she and I have created an unimaginable bond.”

“Mother has told me of your friendship. I am loyal to you first, Patroclus, but I cannot kill our friends.” Achilles’ arms wrapped around him tighter still. Another glance over at the showdown showed that the Trojans were all staring down a lone Menelaus.

Patroclus placed a chaste kiss on Achilles’ temple. “I will not make you. I only wish to make her happy and protect-“

As he spoke Helen pulled the spear out of the fallen guard’s neck and hurled it at Menelaus’ feet. The king only laughed.

“You missed.”

“I missed on purpose.” She snarled. The on-lookers were so shocked to see the delicate Helen so lively and wild. Even her hair had begun to move just as Achilles’ had to its own accord and her veins glowed red.

“I don’t believe she needs your protection, Patroclus.” Achilles whispered, pulling him back. “Coming into Troy, I thought Hector had killed you. I thought I would have to kill him in revenge, and thus seal my fate. But, Patroclus, you are live and we can live through this. We can defy fate together.”

Patroclus allowed himself to be pulled back over to where the other commanders stood, his eyes never leaving Helen. He was loyal and devoted to those who he loved, but his devotion would always be to Achilles first.  

Once they joined their friends, Patroclus felt various commanders clap him on the back in silence. He knew they were glad to have him back by Achilles’ side, especially after the way he had acted the last few days.

“You will leave Troy. Without me.” Helen commanded. Hector grabbed a weapon that had appeared by his feet- Apollo’s doing- and stood by her.

“The sooner, the better.” Patroclus was shocked to see Hector look and sound so vicious. On some level, he should have expected this due to Hector’s time on the battlefield, but he was never expected Hector’s anger to make him appear so different. Then again, I had not expected Achilles’ anger to drain him of his mortality so thoroughly.

Even Paris was still standing tall against the imposing Greek forces. Yet all this courage seemed to be for not, as the Greeks were not deterred.

“We will not return home from a decade long war as losers.” Agamemnon’s voice was as tight as the bindings of a wound. How desperate had he gotten for similar faces that Agamemnon’s voice brought comfort to him? Whatever the answer, he found it rather unsettling.

“We will return as Victors, and with my wife.” The Spartan king declared. Menelaus took a few steps back from where he had been lurking in a more than menacing manner at Helen to stand by his brother.

Patroclus looked with horror to see the men around him and Achilles raise their weapons and shields.

“What shall we do, Father?” A voice that was just as unfamiliar as it was unwelcomed asked in a hushed tone. Patroclus looked over to see a redheaded young man holding his helmet in one hand and spear in the other, uncertainty spreading across his features.

Patroclus knew who the boy was in an instant and, for a moment, wanted to hate him. Yet he found he could not. The events of the past few days had washed out any strong emotions he might have formed. Patroclus also noted that the boy seemed to be looking between both Achilles and Patroclus with his fox-like eyes, as if the question had been meant for both. Strange.

“I would like to hurt Troy, to hurt it for all it has put us through-“ The others around them turned to listen to Achilles’ words. It didn’t take a scholar to know that he was referring to the taking of Patroclus more so than the war itself. The men may have loved Achilles, but that didn’t mean that they were not aware of his narrow-minded interests. “- but I do not think that it would be wise.”

“We need to learn to move on. We are not the men we once were, and if we continue to let this war wage on then we will become but shells of the men we are now.” Patroclus voiced a great fear that had lived within him since they arrived at Troy. More specifically since Achilles had made his first kill.  His words hung heavy in the air, unseen and trapped before them like the spirit of a man who had not been given a proper funeral.

“And if we return as losers, what will become of us?” Nestor’s voice was but a whisper. Patroclus knew that he feared for his son’s future as well as his own. After all, kings and princes were seldom the sons of traitorous failures. At that point they would be, as Patroclus once was, castaways.

Without warning Odysseus stepped up. He held no weapons and only raised his hand to stroke his bread. “Perhaps there is another way.” 

His wit will never cease to amaze me. Patroclus found himself thinking. He looked over to Hector, making eyes contact and giving the crowned prince of Troy a small nod. Hector nodded back and then, to everyone’s surprise, dropped his weapon.

“I should like to hear what you have to suggest, King Odysseus of Ithaca.” Hector moved towards them so that he was in between his wife, Helen, and Paris. A previously unseen fear overtook Andromache’s features. Patroclus, despite it all, wished to comfort her.

“I propose that we call the war to an end and make a truce, a formal recognition that the war is over. We can have a meeting, peace talks, to negotiate the terms of this end.” A million questions buzzed about, both inside Patroclus’ mind and between the men around them, but there was an ultimate agreement.

“And who shall be recognized as the loser?” Agamemnon asked with the noise had died down.

“We can discuss that.” Odysseus offered. He was never afraid of attention, never unsure the cleverness of his ideas. Patroclus envied him for that. Not that I would ever admit it.

“And what if the peace talks fall through? What if an agreement cannot be reached?” Priam hobbled towards Hector’s side. The old king was even more vulnerable than his eldest son in that moment.

Odysseus was quiet for a moment, contemplating. Patroclus wondered if Athena herself was whispering in her ear, but when he heard the simplicity of his reply he knew that this wagering was only between men. “Let’s hope they don’t.” 

*

The peace talks took place after a few hours. The commanders said that the time was for each side to “gather their recourses”, but everyone knew that it was to diffuse Menelaus’ anger. Achilles and Patroclus didn’t mind this, in fact that reveled in the chance to spend time alone.

Achilles sent his son off to explore the castle, and had Patroclus show him to his room. Once there, all thoughts of the war, their mothers, or anything else faded away.

“I have missed you more than words can say.” Achilles pulled Patroclus close to him, his lips ghosting across his freckled ear. Patroclus tried to fight the slight swell of pride that rose within him at the thought of making his lyrical lover speechless in his absence. It was nice to know how loved he truly was. Philtatos.

“I have always thought that actions spoke far more than words.” His voice was warm as he dragged his arms around Achilles’ waist. They stood toe-to-toe, eyes locked, and with their breathing synced. Even then, Patroclus did not feel close enough to him.

“I had thought to wait until we were back in our tent on the beach.” Achilles whispered as Patroclus began planting kisses on his jawline.

“Do you wish me to stop?” He asked, mouth going up to kiss Achilles’ temple.

“Never.” Achilles’ hands were now running over Patroclus’ body in a desperate attempt at separating him from his tunic. It almost hurt to see Patroclus dressed in Trojan gear- in Hector’s gear. Seeing him wearing nothing at all would be a welcomed sight.

“Good,” Patroclus lightly pushed Achilles onto the bed, then climbed on top of him and continued kissing him. He kissed his nose, his jaw, his neck, his mouth, his collar bone- everywhere and anywhere he could. “Because I don’t think I could stop.”

*

“What should we do?” Paris sighed, looking more defeated than ever. His golden hair fell about his head and shoulders in a messy way, which was a far more endearing sight than his usual perfectly manicured appearance. Helen looked over the way his slim limbs fell about the window seat in the castle’s high chambers; she looked over the way his chiton hung to his body, skewed by his movements. I have spent most of this war regretting my decision- regretting him. But in this moment I can feel nothing but the upmost adoration and fondness towards him.

“I think the better question is: what do we want?” Andromache sighed. Her hair was out of its traditional bun, hanging in a similarly messy way. Helen had grown to look upon her as a sister and friend in the past years.

Helen’s eyes then moved to Hector, who sat stoically in the corner of the room. He had been Helen’s truest friend during the war. He had never said a word against her, nor had he ever shown her the least bit of malice in all of this time.

As she sat, looking over this small collection of people whom she loved- whose lives she had ruined- she felt a painful sadness grow from within her gut. It felt like a knife slicing upwards to her throat, which grew thick with tears she would not allow herself to shed. She didn’t want to leave them. This was her home now.

But at the same time, she didn’t want to cause them any more pain.

“I should wish for Helen to choose her own fate. Whatever that may be.” Hector said after a long while. His voice was as gentle as it always was when he spoke to her.

With unabashed hope and a wavering voice the princess said “I would choose to-“ 

“No.” Hector raised his hand to interrupt her. “I do not wish to know now. I will do all I can at the talks to give you this luxury, so I wish for you to take what time you have left to think on it.”

Helen nodded and silence took the room once more. The last time she had been able to have control over her life, she chose wrong. She chose Menelaus.

From where he was sprawled by the window, Paris sat up. Out of the corner of her eye Helen could see him looking at her, a strange look on his face. It reminded her of the look he had given her when she agreed to return to Troy with him. His is scared of the future. He is surprised.

His hands ran through his hair, nimble fingers going to braid it. “Don’t. I like it down like that.”

Paris was shocked by the softness in her voice, or perhaps he was shocked by the noise that broke the wall of silence. Either way he dropped his hands and left his hair down at the request of his wife.   

Andromache looked on at the two and leaned to rest her head on her husband’s shoulder. “May I ask you something, Helen?”

“Anything.” Helen looked away from her husband and to Andromache. The intimacy of Hector and Andromache touch made her long to be by Paris’ side, yet she did not move from her place on the floor.

“When Achilles was separated from Patroclus he turned…so….” She pursed her soft lips, mind searching for the right word. “Inhuman. He was almost unrecognizable.”

Helen nodded. “Achilles’ rage is most likely a product of his mother’s left over resentment as to the circumstances of his conception. That and he was raised to be a warrior.” Helen chewed on her lower lip. She debated on whether or not she should say what she was about to, what Patroclus had told her. It was not her information to tell, but with everyone’s eyes on her she felt compelled to explain. “Patroclus had said that Thetis resented their relationship, because being together made Achilles more mortal than she would have liked.”

Andromache thought back to the moment Patroclus was returned to Achilles: the way all of Achilles’ immortal features left him the second his most beloved was back in his arms.

“When Menelaus began to threaten our family…your appearance changed just as Achilles’ had in Patroclus absence.” Andromache sat up and scooted so that she was sitting in front of Helen, her voice but a whisper. “And I don’t know what to make of that.”

Helen’s eyes dropped from Andromache to the floor. Her head, suddenly too heavy on her on shoulders dropped as well. “And what is your question?”

Andromache blinked, eyes forced on the nape of Helen’s neck. “I think I have answered it myself, but I guess we’ll find out after the peace talks.”

And then that moment felt like so much more than it was. It was more than tired princes and heartbroken princess sitting together discussing politics. It was more than the way the books poked Helen’s back as she sat against the bookshelf. It was more than the way Andromache sat between Hector and Helen, holding both of their hands in a way to both receive and give comfort. It was more than the way Paris looked at Helen as if she was truly worth this war.

And it was so much more because the before, the war and the adultery and the pain, all didn’t matter now. It was so much more because greater things would come.

It was so much more because Hector would get his way.

*

Peace talks began just a few hours after the sun as fallen from the center of the sky. The Kings and Princes all walked in wearing their best robes with their respective therapons, generals, wives, and children all filing in behind them to take their proper seats.

When Patroclus had entered with Achilles and Pyrrhus he feared that he would no longer have a place by his side, but found his fears laid to rest when Pyrrhus took the seat to Achilles’ left and left the seat to his right open for him. The men around them were more than happy to see Patroclus back by Prince Achilles’ side.

Before the negotiation officially started, a bull was sacrificed at alter of each god present. The smell made Patroclus’ stomach curdle as memories of death resurfaced once more. He tried to find peace as this blood spilled by telling himself that it would be the last blood spilt for this war.

“Odysseus, since this is your idea, we would like to hear your plain in details.” King Priam, as the host, spoke first.

“I have made a list of things that we should discuss, matters to lie to rest before we sail home.” He motioned to Diomedes, who pulled out the list.

“The first matter listed is of Queen Helen of Sparta and if she is to remain Queen Helen if Sparta or Princess Helen of Troy.” Diomedes’ eyes bore holes directly into Paris. Patroclus could understand his resentment, even more so when he considered the fact that the Greeks still assumed she had been raped and kidnapped.

“I, and the rest of the Trojan family, would like to motion that Helen should get to choose her own fate.” Hector spoke in a voice that demanded respect and admiration. He was no longer the would-be lover from the guards- all sweet-talk and soft whispers-, nor was he the enraged general from the courtyard.  

Patroclus, not caring what it may look like, leaned into Achilles and whispered “Agree with him on this- Helen deserves her happiness.”

“As do you and I and if we are branded as traitors then we will not have it.” Achilles searched Patroclus’ face. When he saw that his companion wouldn’t budge, he raised his voice so that the others could hear. “I second Hector’s proposal. Helen should choose her own fate.”

“Does your companion not wish to speak for himself?” Agamemnon’s mouth drew tight. Patroclus could not tell if it was from amusement or disgust.  “What of your son as well, Prince Achilles? Or is he expected to be a puppet just as you are?”

“I agree with my father and his companion.” The young red-headed princes’ words were full of venom. His father found slight amusement in their, apparently, shared hatred of the old king.

“As for me, I simply inform my prince on my stance on matters. The decision is entirely up to him.” Patroclus’ nostrils narrowed in anger. Something that had once been a strange movement he did to make Achilles laugh had combined with his anger to make him look far angrier than he was. In truth, he had grown exhausted to the point of apathy at Agamemnon’s malicious words towards him long ago.

“I do not trust your judgment, nor do I trust Helen’s. I think that your time in Troy has changed the both of you, and worse yet Helen is but a woman. It is clear she cannot be trusted to make her own decisions.” Agamemnon folded his arms over his chest. The utter hatred in his eyes was matched only by Hector’s steadfast determination. “Therefore I move to say that Helen should be forced to return to Sparta with her rightful husband.”

Menelaus looked over at Helen, eyes narrowed in mild hatred. As his moth opened to speak Patroclus fought the erg to scream You never loved her! You only wished to own her as but another prize!

“I wish the third Hector’s motion. I wish to see how faithful my wife is, and if she is not faithful then I do not wish a whore to be by my side.” Menelaus’ words left the table feeling conflicted. Yes, he surprised Patroclus by being a decent man and allowing her to choose, but he could also tell that the Spartan King had meant his words to sting.

Helen, however, held her head high in pride, for she refused to be a prize, or a whore, or whatever others labeled her.

Odysseus looked back at Diomedes, who shrugged. “I suppose I forth the motion then.”

“And I fifth, making majority rule.” Nestor chimed in. Antilochus, who sat in between Pyrrhus and Nestor, seemed to be content with his father’s ruling. Patroclus wondered if he had missed him at all, and found it strange that Antilochus had not been on his mind at all since being taken. Of course he knew that there were far more important things when being kidnapped than to think of all of one’s friends, but he still couldn’t help the guilt that swelled within him. I will make time for him later.

Diomedes stood once more, reading from the list that he and Odysseus no doubt labored over. “Who shall be known as the victors?”

King Priam cleared his throat. “Enough of my sons have died already, enough of my kingdom has been destroyed already, and so I find no qualm in accepting defeat.”

“Wonderful. Let’s hope the rest of these matters go just as quickly.” Diomedes read from the list again. Some issue regarding prizes, the next one regarding economics, and so on and so forth for several hours. Achilles lost interest once his glory and victory were sealed in place by the contract, so he looked over at Patroclus. He looked at every freckle, ever line on his face, and every mark left by the other’s throat by Artemis with such open admiration that many servants and soldiers began to whisper. He heard them but did not care. As it was, it took all of his might not to kiss his companion breathless before the counsel. He should not be expected to not even look at him, for not looking at him after such a great separation would be a torture too great to bear.

He could have sat there staring at Patroclus forever; soaking in the little glanced he would sneak at him, the way his nose crinkled whenever Agamemnon spoke, or the way he would smile at his old friends when they asked him his opinion. All the years they’d had together and all the days they had spent apart were but tiny dots on the endless timeline of their love.

Achilles hoped that Patroclus’ story would be intertwined with his own. He hoped that when people sang songs of his heroic deeds, that they also included a verse or two for Patroclus’ strategic skill and healing hands. He hoped he was famous for his love, not his bloodshed.   

Patroclus’ hand- hands that have saved just as many as they have killed, hands that were marked in more contradiction than bloodshed- gripped his bicep to bring his attention back to the room. Achilles gave a quick look around the table and noticed that everyone was staring in the same direction. Their gazes were desperate and pleading, begging for mercy. Mercy from what?

He followed their gazes to see Helen standing at the front of the room. She looked between Paris and Menelaus, then between Menelaus and his sword, then to Hector who nodded, and finally she looked to Patroclus. Patroclus gave a warm smile and a soft nod of encouragement just as Hector had. Achilles smiled as he remembered what Patroclus had whispered in his ear while ravaging him. Achilles didn’t care about the outcome, so he allowed himself to shut his eyes and relive the memory.

Patroclus’ breath was warm against my ear, his voice loud and without restraint as it normally was during our most intimate moments in camp. “Do you want to know something?”

“Tell me.” I pleaded in a voice closer to a moan than any sort of command. He could tell me of the Trojan crop cycle for all I cared; I just needed to hear him as I felt him.

“They say that Helen is the most beautiful woman in the world, but I have to disagree. I think you made a far more attractive woman.” We shared a laugh that was far closer to a pant as we continued. His hips rocking into mine with a gentle force like the current in winter, his-

Achilles was pulled from his thoughts by Helen’s voice. He had expected uncertainty, even fear, from her, but once more she surprised him.

“It is with no doubt or remorse that I chose Troy. I chose Paris.” Her chin was defiant in a stereotypically masculine way and her head was high.

Menelaus muttered something not-so-quietly along the lines of Helen being a filthy whore as Agamemnon agreed.

The Greeks and Trojans both stood and looked at one another with uncertain trust. Helen went to stand by Paris, but not before giving Patroclus a hug. “You will write of absolutely everything.” She whispered in his ear.

“Only if you do the same.” He rubbed her back, arms still hanging in the air when she pulled away. She took her place by Paris. Achilles noticed the way the back of their hands grazed with quiet affection. In response he took Patroclus’ hand in his own.

“We will sail back tomorrow at first light.” Agamemnon announced as he and Menelaus left the meeting without a formal goodbye.

“Tomorrow we go home.” Patroclus smiled at him, squeezing his hand. “The four of us.”

Pyrrhus, Briseis, Achilles, and Patroclus would all defy fate and survive the war.

Thank you. The lovers thought as one to any and every God that would listen. Thank you.

*

“You’re welcome.” Artemis whispered. She stood hidden in the corner of the room, her twin brother by her side.

“And all is right with the world?” He asked, inner radiance shining through as always.

“All is right with the world.” Her own constellations spun in response. “What do you think will happen now? The prophets have not said.”

“Achilles will go back and take his father’s throne, Priam will abdicate and Hector will become King of Troy within a week, Helen and Patroclus will continue writing, and Achilles will spend the rest of his life glaring at the moon for holding his would-be husband at knife point. Oh! And maybe Hera will even change the marriage rules for them.” Apollo listen his predictions off by his fingers. Artemis ignored the immature smile that break across his face. “Do you want to bet on it?”

She rolled her eyes at her brother’s jovial nature and continued to ignore him. She wanted nothing more than to leave humanity alone for a long while.

 Aphrodite appeared next to them, her pink tinted skin glowed as her golden hair actively intertwined with fresh flowers. “I think we are done betting on the mortals for a while.”

“Hardly. If anything I think you have something akin to a gambling addiction when it comes to mortal affairs.” Apollo- all golden-yellow-orange everything with hair that floated as wild as a solar flare- smiled with enough light to shine a torch to the whole universe.

Aphrodite paused a moment, arms crossed over her chest. Her pink skin changed to purple for a moment as she thought. “Fine, but do not tell anyone.”

“I would never.” He acted faux-shocked.

As the two continued their interaction and made wild predictions on the future, Artemis went to the beaches of Troy to watch something she’d been waiting to happen for a long while.

*

“Achilles, this is my mother Sthenele. Mom, this is Achilles.”

“Achilles. I think I remember you.”