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I was breathless as I crossed the camp, my ears deafened with the pounding of my heart. I always felt this way after battle, like my heart was going to grow wings and carry me into the clouds, too close to the sun until I plummeted back to earth like Icarus.
I wasn’t too afraid, though. Patroclus would be there to catch me.
Patroclus, who was surely in the medic’s tent at the moment. I could go there, though I should lose the armor first, should clean the blood from my body. It clung to me, and I wanted to wash myself before my heart rate settled. Drunk on the adrenaline of the fight, I was hardly aware of the death that coated my hands. I knew that once I calmed, though, the smell would get to me, the metallic scent would seep into my pores, like a bitter, defiant perfume that would follow me even once I had washed.
So first, I would clean myself. But then I would go find Patroclus.
I burst into our tent, already unbuckling my breast plate and tossing it aside to be followed by the rest of my armor, making it to the basin before my eyes were dragged to the bed by the flash of dark curls peeking out from under the blankets, spilling onto the pillow. “Patroclus?” I called as I washed my hands, quickly soaping up to my elbows. I was already trying to answer my unspoken question, trying to find a reason he would be in bed at this time of day. He was always the more restless of the two of us. On our days away from battle, I was the one who wanted to stay in bed. He was the one who would slip away, who would return with breakfast to coax me out of the tent.
“Hmm?” He acknowledged me, but fell quiet, still hiding under the blankets.
I tugged my tunic over my shoulders, stripping down as I continued to clean myself. “Did you not sleep well last night?” Perhaps he had been kept up by his nightmares. He didn’t often tell me about them, but I had woken on occasion to find him already awake, silently staring into the dark.
He didn’t answer me. Frowning, I finished cleaning my chest before setting the rag aside. I moved towards the bed, reaching out to pull the blankets back, careful not to pull on Patroclus. “Patroclus?” I said, watching as he blinked against the sudden light, looking up at me, but really looking past me. “Are you alright?”
“‘Chilles? ‘M okay.” He answered, dropping the first syllable of my name, his voice hoarse. I could see immediately something was wrong; Patroclus didn’t ever slur through his words like that. He was always so painfully careful. I was used to hearing him pause when he spoke, picking over his words cautiously, selecting them with the precision of a lyre-player plucking out notes.
“You don’t seem yourself,” I told him, reaching out to cup his cheek, pressing my palm to his skin. Patroclus turned his face into my touch, kissing my wrist.
“You feel warm, love,” I told him, my fear jumping into my throat. His skin was burning. “Have you told Machaon?”
Patroclus rolled his eyes, a bit of attitude peeking through, which tugged my fondness to the surface. He was so tame with everyone else, and with me, too, most of the time. It made me treasure any hint of feistiness I could capture. “He sent me back here. Said I wasn’t hearing him and needed to rest before going back tomorrow. Old codger.”
I leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, assuming Machaon hadn’t realized he was so ill. Patroclus was good at powering through most things. It worried me. I knew it was his father’s fault, knew Patroclus had been taught to make himself useful, to secret any problems away so he wouldn’t add to anyone else’s burden. The thought that he would find himself tiresome made my heart ache.
“I will change and find Machaon.”
Patroclus was already shaking his head, reaching out to grab my hand. “Do not bother him. There are soldiers he needs to attend to. I should not even be around you, lest you catch this.” He pushed himself to sit up, strong arms shaking with the effort. “I will take Briseis’s tent? And ask her to sleep in the second tent with the other women so I do not pass it to her?”
“No,” I answered, pulling out my firm voice, the one I used with Agamnemnon and so rarely brought out for Patroclus. Placing my hand on his shoulder, I gently pushed him to lay back down. “You will stay here, where I can keep an eye on you. I will fetch medicine from Machaon, and you will be here when I return.”
I wasn’t too worried he would disobey me. He didn’t seem to have the energy for it. Returning to the basin, I finished washing and changed into clean clothes as quickly as I could, the adrenaline of the battle having been replaced with worry over Patroclus. I knew he would likely be okay, knew he was strong and young. It scared me anyways, the idea of him being ill.
A few men called out to me as I crossed the camp, but I ignored them, focused only on making it to the medic’s tent, swiftly ducking through crowds until I found it. Ducking inside, my eyes quickly adjusted to the dim interior, my nose wrinkling at the scent of wounded men. It was hard to fathom how Patroclus stomached these working conditions, so different from the battle front, where it all faded to nothing, my mind only focused on winning the fight, unable to process any tragedy I was creating until it was far behind me. I watched as Machaon wrapped a wounded man’s arm, forcing myself to be patient.
When he was finished, I called out to him. “Machaon!”
He turned and glared, eyes narrowing in what could only be termed irritation. I was unaccustomed to such a look. “I sent Patroclus to the tent. You will find him there.”
“Yes, I know. He’s ill. I was hoping for herbs to keep his fever at bay.”
“Fever?” Machaon’s eyebrows climbed towards his hairline as he moved to the next wounded man. He pointed to the corner of the tent. “Herbs are over there. An eighth of a dose of poppy will be sufficient to help him sleep if he’s restless. Mix some yarrow and basil if the fever gets too high. Tell him not to come back until the fever has been gone for several days. I cannot have more infection in the tent.”
Thanking him, I found the herbs he was referencing and took small portions of them, knowing better than to take too much from the medical tent. I carried the herbs back across camp, glancing up at the gloomy sky as I did. Knowing I wouldn’t want to leave Patroclus again, I stopped by the cook’s station on my way back, taking two portions of stew, meant to guard against the Autumn chill.
I had just cleared the ridge, drawing our tent into view, when I felt rain against my face, a few droplets to warn of the impending storm. The wind picked up, and I hurried, ducking into the tent. Patroclus was sitting up, cross-legged inside and talking to Briseis, who stood near him. She offered me a shy smile, though she grew quiet, as she often did when I entered. I didn’t think too much of it, just moving to set the stew next to the bed.
“He’s ill,” I told her, though I was sure she must have noticed. She nodded in response.
“Yes,” she agreed. “But he keeps trying to tell me that he is not. I filled a skin with hot water so you may use it to keep warm. A storm is coming.”
She hesitated for another moment before adding. “I will return to my tent before the rain comes.”
I nodded. “Thank you for your help.”
She cast another look towards Patroclus, who lifted his hand in gratitude, before slipping out of our tent.
He looked at me, and I noticed he was shivering, trying to clench his jaw to keep me from noticing. “I am really alright,” he said, solemn as ever. His eyes were still wide, watching me. It was funny, almost, how after all these years they still seemed too big for his face. I remembered him as a child, how he used to move like his body was some unwieldy chariot he had been ordered to pilot. He had grown into it, adopting a sort of grace that was all his own. He had grown into his nose, his chin, his shoulders.
But his eyes were still too large, dark and filled with this warm intensity that kept them aglow, like they could swallow me whole. “I brought you dinner,” I told him, not arguing the point. “I want you to eat it and then sleep some more. You need to keep warm, alright?”
Patroclus nodded, reaching out to take the warm mug, wrapping his hands around it, trying and failing to discreetly warm himself. He moved to the head of the bed, leaning back against the wall of the tent, which he had reinforced and insulated with slats of wood the previous winter. I went to my chest and pulled out a warm pair of woolen socks. Returning to Patroclus, I knelt at the side of the bed and reached out to run my fingers over his shin, gently caressing him. The contact caused him to stare intently at his stew, pointedly ignoring me. Leaning in, I pressed a kiss to one ankle before sliding the first sock on him, my lips lingering over the curve of the delicate bone until it was covered in wool. Slowly, I placed another kiss on his second ankle before putting the other sock on, adjusting the seam over his toes so it wouldn’t bother him. He flushed at this, now gazing down at me, embarrassed to be taken care of.
“I am really alright,” he said again, a weak protest. “You do not need to take care of me.”
“I like taking care of you,” I assured him, before I began giving him teasing kisses, kissing along his calves, up to his knees, higher. He closed his eyes, lips parting slightly, evidence I was winning. As my lips found his inner thigh, still only a couple inches above his knee, I bit at the soft skin, letting him feel my teeth, drinking in his response as he gasped, hands still glued to the mug.
Too quickly, I drew back and moved to the head of the bed to press kisses over his jaw. He lifted his chin, giving me access to his neck. I kissed him there, too, finding the hollow of his throat, enjoying how he just handed me every soft part of him. He was too ill to have very much fun with, so I pulled away when I decided he’d had enough.
I found another blanket to add to the bedding and made him move over, so I was between him and the entrance to the tent, keeping him edged between me and the wall. I tugged the blanket up around his waist, making sure his legs were covered and the hot water skin was beneath the blankets, so its heat would be trapped to warm him. I spread the second layer of blankets over him, and made sure he had plenty of pillows to support him. He was still shy, but accepted the babying, not bickering as he might have if he was feeling better.
Finally, I took my own mug of stew, beginning to eat it quickly, my body demanding energy as a repayment for what I had expended on the battlefield. I sat close to Patroclus, my hip against his, my leg extended so our knees and ankles were matched. He leaned into me, eating slowly. Even with his head start, I still finished first, and I waited for him to be finished, so I could set both mugs aside.
“Do you want to tell me about today?” He asked, turning into me, hugging me tightly, strong hands coming to rest at my back.
In truth, I did. But, I supposed that it would be unwise, when I wanted Patroclus to sleep. The stories always left him tense, not with worry so much as a preoccupation with the deaths on both sides. I didn’t want to give him anything to dwell on, so I shook my head. “No, you should rest.”
Carefully, I eased us down and pulled the blankets up over his shoulders, reaching around him to tuck them under his body, cocooning him. He settled into the pillows, looking up at me. “I am sorry,” he murmured, his voice raspy.
“Whatever for?” I asked, bringing my hands to rest over his waist, pressing into the space between his ribs and his hipbone.
“For… this,” he said, expression giving into worry, like it was a flooded river he couldn’t contain anymore, an emotion I could read in the lines of his face. “You should not have to take care of me.”
I shook my head. “You take care of me all the time, even when I do not ask, even when I am not sick.”
“Yes, but that is… different.”
“It is not different. There is no one else I would worry over.” I pulled him close to me again, hands drifting to rub his back.
“I am sorry all the same,” he said, and this time I could hear tears in his voice, which assured me he truly was ill, if I had had any doubt. Patroclus never cried, not that I had seen. He grew quiet when he was upset, and that was always bad enough, in his way that made the air grow still.
I moved back from him, bringing my hands to cup his face, beginning to press more kisses over him, along the sharp points of his jaw, over the crest of his lips and the dull ridge of his brow. “Stop this,” I said when I finished, quietly urging him. “You are mine. Taking care of you is my reward, stop trying to deny me it.”
He only looked at me, with a face still wet with tears, nodding once. I continued caressing him, trying to soothe him, kissing him from time to time, trying to make my affection clear. His muscles relaxed after a while, as he began to doze off, his breath evening out.
As he slept, I gazed at him, seeing how his cheek was pressed against my shoulder, his face otherwise smooth, having lost the worry from earlier. I ran my fingers through his hair, smoothing the curls back from his temple. He was so warm; I really felt too hot beneath the blankets with him. I didn’t want to be separated, nevertheless.
Above us, rain began to patter against the tent, drilling out an easy rhythm. I wondered what Patroclus would do after I died, wondering if he would find another lover. The less selfish part of me wanted to hope he would.
I didn’t though, not really. I hated the thought of his eyes on anyone else, the thought of him watching someone else. My jealous arms held him tighter, wondering if I could cling to him tightly enough to keep Hades from pulling my soul beneath the withering grass.