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Achilles watches as they bring the body to him. He wonders which of his mean have died today. Which of his beloved Myrmidons has fallen? Patroclus will tell him. Patroclus will recount the story of the man’s great last deed, however true or false it is. The man will live on in the stories he tells. But it still tugs Achilles’ heart to know yet another of his men will not see his way home.
Perhaps it is denial that keeps his thoughts going. At first his eyes do not see the limp foot he knows so well, and the dark hair he knows so well. The curve of his body in the shroud, he knows it so well.
It hits him.
He reaches for his sword but by some cruel fate it isn’t there. He cannot end it before he must face the sight of it.
They set Patroclus before him. Achilles weeps with rage and sorrow as he throws himself over the body. His reaction is no longer under his control. He does not feel the locks of golden hair he tugs from his own scalp. He does not feel hunger or the ache for sleep. He screams into the heavens. Patroclus. Patroclus. Patroclus.
…
“Who did this?”
“Hector…”
Fate is a cruel thing.
…
He sees Briseis touching Patroclus and he cannot stand it. He screams at her. Do not touch him. Do not touch him.
She reminds him that it is his fault. Entirely his fault. Patroclus is gone because of his own pigheadedness. His own stubborn quest for honor and glory. He chose those things over Patroclus from the moment he decided to join this war.
“He was worth ten of you. Ten! And you sent him to his death!”
He responds, defends himself because he knows no other way. But what she says it true.
“You have never deserved him. I do not know why he ever loved you. You care only for yourself!”
It hurts because it is true. It is all true. He had not been thinking of anything but his own selfishness. He had not been thinking of the thing that had more power of his heart than even himself. He had not been thinking of Patroclus.
“I hope that Hector kills you.”
He responds with what he has been thinking from the moment Patroclus was laid at his feet. He hopes the very same. To go another moment in this life knowing he condemned his dear Patroclus to death, he could not bear it.
…
All he sees is Patroclus. Dead. Cold. A cloth wrapped around the remains of his torso that had been torn apart by Hector’s spear.
Patroclus. Pale. Lifeless. Gone.
Patroclus.
….
A flash of a stone obelisk, rising high into the sky. The comrades walking away, leaving it there to be remembered for ages to come. They are buried together there, under the earth. But that is as close as they come.
For engraved in the stone is only one word.
Achilles.
…
“Patroclus…Patroclus…please, no, Patroclus…” Achilles sobs. His eyes are screwed together tight as his body refuses to let him wake, to release him from the horrors of his nightmare. He pleads my name, and it wrenches at my heart. I sit over him, my hands on his shoulders, shaking him.
“Achilles, wake up. Achilles, it is alright,” I try to tell him. Eventually my efforts work and his eyes open. They are filled with tears as he looks up at me, panic in his eyes. He is breathing heavily, his skin drenched with sweat.
“Patroclus?” His voice is harsh and rasping. He looks up at me in disbelief, and I sit back, allowing him room to breathe. He grabs my hand before I can go far.
“You were dreaming,” I tell him, lacing out fingers together.
He stares at me for a moment, then he sobs with relief. He lunges toward me and wraps his arms around my waist, burying his face in my stomach. One hand comes around and feels the bare skin of my stomach, caressing it like he is in awe that I am whole.
“A dream…it was just a dream. Just a dream.” He mutters as he nuzzles his cheek against my skin and breathes me in. I feel pain and anguish radiating from him, and wrap one arm around his shoulders and rest the other in his sweat soaked hair.
“Shh, I’m here,” I whisper softly. He sobs again at that, louder, his body shaking.
I hold him while he cries, and finally, he pulls back and wipes his tears. I wait for him to speak when he is ready. He is slow in finding words, something I never imagined him to be.
“Patroclus…” He speaks my name first, like it is the most precious word he has ever spoken. “I dreamt…no. It was more real than that. It was no dream. It was like…a prophecy. You had gone into battle without me, and you died. Hector killed you. It was so real. You were so cold and dead and the pain I felt. It was like nothing I have ever imagined. Seeing you like that, knowing it was my fault for being so stubborn. I do not know why I was not fighting, or why I would let you into battle on your own.”
Achilles pauses and brings a hand up to rest on my chest, over my heart. He feels it beating, feels how alive I am, and lets out a relieved sigh.
“I am alive,” I whisper. He nods once.
“In the morning, we sail home,” Achilles tells me. I stare at him in shock for a moment.
“You would base such a big decision on a dream?” I ask him, taking his hand in mine and moving a little closer.
“I told you, it was more than a dream. Like I was seeing what will happen if we stay in this war. We are always so concerned about when I will die, but it never occurred to me what would happen if you died first. I see it now, I see what Hector will do to me and I cannot let him take you from me. The rage, the heartbreak. It would be too much. I am selfish in so many ways, Patroclus. Let me be selfish in this. Let me take you home and love you until we are old and grey.” Achilles leans closer to me, his breath almost mingling with mine.
His words confuse me. The very reason we are fighting this war to begin with is because on some level of his selfishness. His need for honor and glory is why we bothered to come in the first place.
“But the prophecy. Your honor. Your name.” I look at him, giving him a chance to change his mind.
“None of those things matter if I cannot share them with you. How is it fair that my name shall go down as legend in the song while yours goes forgotten? I have been wrong all these years. It is not me that is Aristos Achaion. It is you. You are my heart, my soul, my courage that pushes me forth into battle. Without you, what am I? A name on a stone obelisk, pictures carved of the brutal last deeds I committed. While you get nothing. I cannot stand it, Patroclus. I will not let it happen!”
I do not know what he is talking about. Nonsense, it seems. But it makes sense to him, I can see it in the anguish in his eyes.
“Then we will go home tomorrow,” I say to him. I lean in to kiss him, soft and tender and loving.
“We will go home on our ships back to Phthia. After that, we decide. Maybe we go back to Pelion. Perhaps we stay and rule the kingdom. Whatever we choose, I would rather love you until you are an old man than face losing you because of my own pride,” Achilles tells me.
I nod.
“Alright, but what of the war? Are we to abandon the cause? The men? The others? After all we have done, are we to leave while the walls of Troy are still standing?” I still cannot believe he is making this decision. I feel the need to question it, just to make sure it is true.
“It is known that neither you nor I will see the insides of the walls of Troy. And the men, let those who choose to fight for kings who do not value their lives do so. Let them fight for Agamemnon if they so choose. But I will not fight his war. In the morning, I will address our Myrmidons. Those who wish to fight for glory may stay. Those who wish to go home to their wives and children shall leave with us.” Achilles has made up his mind, that much I can see now.
I lean into his arms and embrace him. I am tired of war, I cannot deny it. Fear and death have been hanging over us for so long now, I am relieved at last. Tomorrow, we will be on our way home.
…
A few of our men choose to stay behind. Achilles leaves them ample provisions and takes note of their names, saying that history will not forget them for on his voyage home he will write songs of them. Twenty of our ships sail for home that day, and I do not regret leaving the beaches of Troy.
I stand at the bow of our ship, listening to the sounds of oars hitting the salty sea water. I close my eyes and feel the wind on my face. It feels like relief. Like safety.
Achilles comes up to me and stands behind me, pressing his front to my back. His arms wrap around my waist. He does not care who sees us anymore, and I find that a relief as well. His chin rests on my shoulder and I realize he is breathing me in again, feeling the warmth of my body.
“This,” he whispers, kissing my neck. “And this.” He brushes a hand down the front of me, down low before coming to rest at my hipbone. “And this.” His other hand comes up to rest over my heart. “These are my honor, my glory, and my name.”
“Achilles…” I breathe softly, turning just enough to look into his eyes. “Have I ever told you that you have a way with words?”
He smiles as I kiss him. And right there, on the bow of our ship, all immortals and mortals alike can see that Achilles has chosen life, so that he may spend it with me.