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Chapter Text

Hera was walking down the long halls of Mount Olympus, her pace full of anger and gaze fierce, barely containing the fury that had overcome her. She knew that the culprit was a young man, a Trojan, and yet she could contain the inner battle within her as he realized the disaster that that man brought upon the human realm.

She tried to keep her mind off what was happening in the human world; the lives of mortals, the war between Troy and the Greek cities would have been none of her concern. But over the decade even the Gods could not stay away from the Mortal Realm, growing more and more involved in the human affairs and beginning to plot with the human lives.

“Athena!” Hera shouted angrily, knowing that Zeus’ favourite daughter would hear her from every corner of the Mountain. The subject which Hera wished to bring to the Goddess of Wisdom has been weighting on her mind a lot, and now, that it has been almost eight years since the war began, Hera had finally decided that it was time to bring the conflict to its inevitable conclusion. Unfortunately, however, she could not do it alone. “Come down, and meet me in the courtyard!”

The Goddess of Wisdom did not take long to answer. Hera’s eyes scanned her appearance, her high stature, the clever blue eyes and the brown locks that fell out of her helmet. Athena’s eyes narrowed, but her voice was calm and even, unshaken by Hera’s anger. 

“Why must you call upon me Queen of the Gods?”

“I have matters to discuss with you,” Hera said, slowly. “Ones that are not meant for other ears to hear.”

“Oh, how wonderful that I find both of you here, together!” the voice as sweet as melody sounded behind Hera’s back. The Goddess scowled; she wanted to keep the affair between the two of them. Athena was a difficult being to subject with, but she could promise to keep her word of secrecy when the Goddess of Love was as flimsy and ever-changing as the ocean wind. “I was looking for you! Please, don’t let my presence interrupt your little meeting!”

“Aphrodite,” Athena spoke, slowly, in greeting. There was a tension in her body that Hera could not help but notice. “How thoughtful of you to join us. Did you come to repair the damage you have done when you chose to favour that Trojan Prince?”

“Who knew that the scale of the trouble would escalate to such extremes!” Aphrodite gasped, her mouth forming a perfect circle, as she walked gracefully to join the other two Goddesses in the secluded circle. Her blond hair streamed behind her back like a silk veil, and her elegant arms threw themselves in the air in devastation. “I could not bear watching the deaths of the innocents for much longer. Oh, the damage they have done to the temples of Apollo and his priestess, poor daughters of Priam! No, this savagery can last no longer.”

“They say it is the hero Achilles who is called the Greatest of the Warriors who truly brings the weight of the battles to the advantage of the Greeks,” Athena announced, his forehead wrinkling in thought. “If we could control his actions, we could end this war and save Troy.”

“Achilles is a brute and he listens to no one for his ego,” Aphrodite huffed, folding her arms before her chest. “Not even the Gods could reason with him. He knows no love and no kindness, his mother, that soiled nymph, had spoiled him rotten, and now he thinks he is just as invisible as the Olympians.”

“There is something that can be done about that, Goddess of Love,” Hera replied, because, unlike the others she had thought about the plan to capture Achilles’ heart for a long while now. Her mind was set, and with the two Goddesses coming to aid in their help, she was determined to end the Trojan War once and for all. “We must come together in this time; for it was the arguments between the three of us that sparked the disaster. If you Athena and your Aphrodite would ally with me, you must keep your oaths to never speak with anyone about what has happened in here today.”

It was the secret agreement between the Goddesses, the plot that they intended to keep from the other Olympians, for they knew that the repercussions of what they were about to do were going to be beyond the Heavenly Realm and would force them to eternal suffering. For their secrecy lay in breaking the dimensions of time and space; of the dead and the living, and nothing like this was ever done by the Olympian Gods before.

Only the ancient Titans have the power to cast such spells.

“We must turn to the Goddess of Witchcraft to aid with our plan,” Athena spoke, her decision fuelled by the anger and the injustice that she knew was about to happen if the Greeks were to win; how they would burn and rape the city, cast it to ashes and the women and the children they would kill to celebrate their victories. She was a Goddess, but she could let herself live with the thought that it was her vanity that led to such destruction. “If your plan were to work, Hera, she is the only one that can help.”

“Hecate is a mean and old soul but she is the only one who knows how to turn the drifts of time and break the confinements of space,” Aphrodite muttered, too scared to say the name too aloud, so the other gods would not hear her. She had her reasons to aid Hera, but she was a little selfish too. The idea, that Achilles, the brave warrior, the man amongst all men, could succumb to her charms, could fall in love and turn his back to the bloodshed, made her heart flutter. She wanted to see him lose his composure, fall into the trap of Eros, lose his mind from aching love; and it is only through the spell that she could capture Achilles heart in her charms.

“Then it is decided,” Hera concluded. “We must descent into the Underworld. We will seek an audience with the Goddess of Witchcraft and she will show us how to form the spell.”

“And if she refuses?” Athen frowned. “What if she would not help but deceive us instead?”

“Everyone must obey to the will of the Queen of the Gods,” Hera said sharply. “But we must be prepared for she would demand a sacrifice from each of us to fulfil the part of the spell; you should be ready to give something in return for the forbidden magic that Hecate would perform to bring the human soul into our world. If you are ready and not afraid, then follow me. I will guide the way to the Kingdom of the Dead.”

The Goddesses were in seldom agreement with each other. They were bound by oath, but also by equal desire to establish peace and end the conflict, which had spurred for nearly a decade. For Gods, these years meant nothing at all, but for the mortals, a lot can happen in the lifespan. They age, they change, and they grow bitter from the constant violence around them, saddened and mourning their losses. They forget to worship their Gods, they destroy and rob their temples, and they refuse to offer their sacrifices. In times of war, all reigns were death and destruction. 

Hera could not sit still and wait around any longer. If her husband the King of all the Gods was not willing to act, then she would take matters into her own hands. 

The three Goddess moved with the speed of lightening. Their shadows travelled fast between the worlds unknown to any mortal men. The path to the world of the underworld was a long one. It stretched beyond the heavenly realm and the world of the mortals, it lay in such obscene darkness, that no light of the flames, no stars and no shadows were cast there. In the land where Titans wailed locked behind their iron cages, lived only those who were cast away or who decided that they had no place in the world of the Olympians. 

Hera grew aware that she was stepping into the lands that no Olympian Gods ventured to enter before. If not for the somewhat comforting presence of Athena and Aphrodite beside her, Hera would have hesitated to go further into the eldritch darkness. 

“Don’t you dare to think about turning back now,” Athena said, her immortal glow turning dim and golden, and even that did not break the thick darkness of the Underworld Kingdom around her. “We are already here. There is no going back.”

“I have to agree,” Goddess of Love sighed, his face twisted in the one of distaste, as she glanced around her. “This place is horrid. Hurry, my Queen, show your ways to guide us to the witch, the faster we complete the spell the quicker we will return.”

Hera shuddered. She knew that despite Aphrodite’s words there was no going back to the “normal” of their godly existence. “Nothing would be the same once the spell is complete.”

“You should have thought about it before, now is not the time for sorrows and doubts,” Athena made a step forward, her face stern. “We gave our oath to you. Now is the time to completely your part of the agreement.”

Hera nodded. She had her doubts, but the overwhelming fear of anger at her husband for letting the war stretch for so long was much stronger than her signs of momentary weakness. She went ahead, her inner vision guiding her through the paths of the Underworld. 

Hecate lived in an obscure place. It was however widely known that she could only be found, if she wished to be so. Hecate lived by her laws, which did not follow those of the other deities. She was an ancient Titan, daughter of Perses the Destroyer, she lived in solitude unbound by the laws of gods and men.

And unbound by the laws that she was, it meant she was the only one who could break them.

“I welcome you, Hera, Queen of the Gods, in my Adobe,” the voice from nowhere and from everywhere sounded around them. “I welcome you, Aphrodite, Goddess of Love and Beauty. I welcome you, Athena Goddess of Wisdom and War. It is so rare that I have Olympians come down to my Kingdom, and seeking my council.”

Hera felt a sudden chill gripping her body. She was not cold, for Gods can not feel the weather like the mortals do, but she felt the sudden dread overcome her. Hera knew of the powers that the Titans held, but she forgot, after long centuries on Mount Olympus, the true power contained within them. 

“We came to see you Hecate, Goddess of Witchcraft, for it is only you who can answer our prayers at this time of need,” Hera slightly bowed her head, and the two goddesses behind her followed suit. “For we believe it is only you in your power who is capable of doing what the other Gods would not.”

“We wish to ask the Goddess of Witchcraft to bring a mortal soul into our world,” Athena spoke after Hera. Her words carried weight even through the obscure darkness of the Underworld. “From the time many thousands of years from now, we ask to put a soul into the body of the boy who has been prophesied to die.” 

“We ask to put a soul into the body of young Patroclus, son of Menoiteus, the faithful friend of the warrior Achilles,” Aphrodite finished, her voice light and beautiful even in his God’s forsaken land. “We ask to bring his soul in our time, to shift the course of history forever.”

The silence fell upon them. Hera could hear nothing, could feel nothing, and for the first time since her own creation, she felt afraid. 

“The sisters Moira will not like this conspiracy,” Hecate spoke again, her body invisible, for her presence undeniable in the cave with them. She had three faces, or so Hera had heard, and he felt all three sets of her eyes upon her. “What are you willing to offer for me to act upon such treason?”

“I will offer you a feather from my sacrificial bird, the peacock as a sign of my patronage and virtue making you the ruling Queen of the Underworld,” Hera announced, feeling a strange sense of familiarity sweeping over her. 

“I will aid you in tactics and will give you my shield, the sign of my divinity, which protects me and a feather from my sacrificial owl, which grants me my wisdom,” Athena announced.

“And I will give you my vanity, my mirror which shows the true feelings of any man or woman, and a feather from a dove, which will grant you the power of fertility to bring successors after your reign,” Aphrodite called her offers with a light smile. 

“Nonsense!” Hecate erupted, the walls of the dark cave shaking in her wrath. “How useless, how pathetic, how foolish! You wish to turn the ways of the fates, to bring the soul of the future into the body of the old, I need no gifts from you or patronage! I need your sacrifices. Your blood. The blood of the Gods is the only way to bring them to their knees, and that is what the three of you would offer me for my spell.”

“Divine blood?” Athena’s voice rose, her discontent clear in the charged air. “This is blasphemy! Not once did the Titan held the blood of the Olympians in their grasp!”

“We made a promise, Athena,” Hera reminded her, her composure intact despite the inner turmoil inside of her. She knew that Hecate’s demands would be outrageous and high, but even she was unprepared to give an ounce of her blood to the Titan. 

One who controls the blood of the Olympians controls their body, their soul, and the entire meaning of their existence. The Gods exist only for as long, as humans believe in them, and if humans fear thunder there would be Zeus, if humans harvested crops in spring and summer there would be Demeter; but if humans would stop believing in those acts, will stop giving them their divine meaning, the power of the Gods would fade and they would seize to exist. They would turn to dust, but a part of them, their heavenly soul would still exist in the Devine Realms.  

But it is through the power of the God’s blood that one can be fully destroyed. Killed, disappeared from all three realms, their name lost and forgotten. Hecate had their lives in her hands, and so was the price of bringing one human soul from one world into the other. 

But Hera’s mind did not waver. She would bring justice to the city of Troy, she would make Achilles pay for his crimes. She was going to make him fall in love so strongly, that it would break his heart, and when his love would fall dead in battle, she would laugh at his agony, watching him suffer from the heartbroken heart, that he would forever regret the day he decided to make his ships sail to the shores of Troy.

But Hera did not know if the other Goddesses shared her thoughts. Each of them knew that the war was to end, and it was the soul from the future that could make it stop. But she did not know if her anger, her anguish was shared with Athena and with Aphrodite. In that, she must stay vigilant and watch over the Goddesses herself.

In the prolonged silence, the decision was made. 

“So will be your will, witch,” Hera reached out her white arm, her skin thin and translucent in the dark. “You can have the blood of these Olympians. But you must keep your word. You will find the mortal soul, and transfer him into this world, safely, and if you won’t the wrath of these Goddesses will fall upon you.”

Athena and Aphrodite reached their hands in almost perfect synchronicity. 

Hera did not remember what happened next. Was it a excruciating pain, the sharp laughter from everywhere around her or the darkness that fell upon her first? 

All she knew, was that at one moment she closed her eyes, and at another, she opened them she was back where she started in the courtyard of Mount Olympus with Aphrodite and Athena standing almost in a trans-like state beside her. 

Chapter Text

Patroclus woke up with a raging hangover. His first thought was: did he lose his wallet last night? His second thought was an unpleasant reminder that his boyfriend of almost three years just dumped him. 

He was not used to dealing with hangxiety, and honestly, the feeling of the pounding ache in your head, the sore neck and a nauseous dread in the pit of his stomach was not how Patroclus wanted his Sunday morning to begin. 

When he opened his eyes, he realized that yes, he did make it home last night somewhat safely, the screen on his phone showed that it was eleven in the morning and that he had about a dozen text messages from his friends regarding his wellbeing and another message from Uber, that he had a cleaning fee of a hundred dollars because he threw up in the car. 

Patroclus did not have the energy to say “fuck” even, all he could do was close his eyes, throw away his phone to the messy part of the bed, and pray that he did not lose his credit card at the bar. 

This weekend was a shit show. His boyfriend broke up with him on Thursday; and ever since Patroclus felt that he did not know peace. He went through all five stages of grief at once, from sadness to anger, back to sadness, and now he was back to feeling incredibly angry. They had been together since the freshman year, and now that they were about to graduate, he was getting broken up with by a guy who he invested so much time and energy into.

Patroclus did not see how it was fair. All we wanted was to be loved, cherished, and to love in return, was it really so much to ask for? His boyfriend said that he was too high maintenance, too blunt and that he was taking every little thing too close to heart. Patroclus could not believe what he was hearing, was it really the same person that stood beside him throughout all those years? Was he so blinded by affection that he failed to see the errors in their relationship?

Was he the reason it failed?

Patroclus only woke up, and he was already spiralling. He did not wish to check his phone again, but he did feel extremely thirsty, and he needed to take that ibuprofen before his headache would quite literally kill him. 

Was he too sensitive? Patroclus wondered as he was filling the glass in his kitchen. Was his version of love too much for real life, did he really believe in fairytales? Sure, Patroclus loved watching a good rom-com every now and then, and he did read those romance books with overly colourful covers because they were interesting and made his heart flutter, but that did not mean that he could not separate real life from fiction. 

Patroclus swallowed his painkiller and stared down at his kitchen sink. He could not deny it, his heart was broken. He was feeling sad and used, and the three nights of drinking that he forced himself to endure with his friends did not help at all. He just had to accept, that he was meant to be alone, and that he would never ever find a boyfriend as good as his previous one.

Patroclus shuffled to his bathroom, to take a hot shower to make himself feel just a tiny bit better. He washed his hair, tried to distract himself and focused on the things that he had to do in the upcoming week: he would ship his ex his stuff (Patroclus has already packed a lot of boxes), today he would clean his apartment, he would submit the bibliography for his thesis on Wednesday, and he would take it slow this week, one day at a time. 

Patroclus usually tried to stay atop his university work, so hopefully, he did not have to worry too much about it, maybe some readings that he had to catch up on, especially for his Ancient Greek Poetry and Literature class. Their professor assigned too many chapters and papers to read, but thankfully it was an interesting course, and Patroclus did put a lot of effort into trying his best to get the highest marks. 

He had a deadline for a paper approaching soon, so maybe he would go to the library in the evening and work a bit on that too. 

The hot shower helped. His thoughts no longer felt too heavy, and his painkiller kicked in, which meant that the headache started to feel like a slight buzz at the back of his skull, rather than the sharp pain that threatened to crack his head open. 

Patroclus finished his shower, brushed his teeth and changed into fresh clothes. He went around the room, picking up the trash and cleaning a bit of the mess that his friends left after pregaming at his apartment. It put his mind at ease, the cleaner the space was around him, the better he felt about his inner self.

Patroclus tried to think of some ways he could reclaim his balance in life. He could tidy up (which he was in the process of doing anyway), he could read for a little, not for school but for the first time in a very long time for pleasure, he could go for a walk, he could cook... Yes! It has been a while since he made something for himself, so he could totally cook, there was a new cookbook gifted to him a while ago collecting dust in the kitchen, and what a way to end the Sunday but with a homemade meal. 

Patroclus’ mind was set. He was going to get his life back together, and he would embrace the fact that now, at twenty-four years old, he was single, which to him was a little frightening. 

Patroclus never doubted his attraction to men. As a boy, he was always drawn towards his male classmates, and when he was going through puberty, it was the solid bodies of men or their stature and lean muscles that attracted him the most. Patroclus thought he was just mistakenly confusing his desire, that what he truly wanted was their attention or that he simply got too excited to make new friends. He did not think he was serious when seeking physically attention from the same sex. However, when he came to college all doubts about his orientation disappeared. 

Patroclus met his first boyfriend, now ex, Alexander at the freshman orientation. Patroclus back then was a scrawny kid, dewy-faced, a little lost, and not knowing where he was meant to be after moving to a new state and living away from his parents for the first time, and he clenched to Alexander like a lifeline, first, making him his friend and then, becoming his lover. 

It should have been easy. They were both studying in the same faculty, taking the same orientation courses. They met each other’s families, and they were thinking of moving in together after graduation. 

“I just don’t think this relationship is going to work,” Alexander’s voice was like a stab through his heart. “You are too intense, you take things too seriously, you get jealous, and you are so so .. gay.”

The last came a bit of a shock. Patroclus grew up in a very supportive family, and when he came out his mom and dad and his siblings were very encouraging towards his sexuality, but Alexander was not like that at all. When Patroclus met his dad, it became very clear that the true reason why Alexander introduced him as a “friend” rather than a boyfriend, was because he had not yet admitted to his parents that he was gay. Alexander would make jokes about dating girls before Patroclus’ nose to make his family laugh, and although those words stung, Patroclus knew that it was not his place to get involved in other family’s affairs. 

Alexander was a bit prudent in bed, sure, but sometimes especially when he got drunk or high, it was him beginning Patroclus for his fingers or his cock, and because he was so honest about it and so loving, Patroclus thought that the whole suppressing one’s sexuality thing was just a stage. That over some matter Alexander would stop suppressing his true self. After all Alexander would take Patroclus out on dates, and they went on several trips together around the country, and never once did Patroclus think that their relationship was not serious. 

Apparently, it was only him thinking that way. In Alexander’s words, “he could not see himself dating a guy for the rest of his life.”

This led to an argument and some tears (on Patroclus’ part) and eventually, it ended with the agreement that they were at different stages in life and they wanted different things so it was better for them to break up.

Patroclus did not know whether to laugh or to cry about it. He tried to forget all about that incident by drinking and partying, but now, that it was Sunday and he was feeling down, Patroclus decided that this was not the right way to deal with his sadness. 

He was going to pick himself together, and tomorrow, as the new week would begin, he would act like a whole new person. Sure, the relationship with Alexander did not end well, but he learned a lot about himself as a person by being with him and it allowed him to understand his likes and dislikes in a relationship, and build and shape his boundaries as a person. Alexander was his first romantic partner in bed and emotionally, and Patroclus would be grateful for that, but if other boy was inclined to move on, then so will he.

Patroclus had spent the majority of his day in his head. 

It was as if despite all the tasks that he was doing to distract himself he kept returning back to the incident on Thursday. He barely noticed how the whole day had gone by; he tried reading, cleaning, and watching a movie, but nothing really helped him to focus on the matter at hand. 

By the time the clock showed six in the evening, Patroclus had given up what he was doing (his attempt to go to the library was abandoned, he was not in the right headspace for Greek Tragedies) and he walked slowly into his kitchen.

Patroclus actually took great pride in his cooking. He liked to mix the ingredients, to follow the instructions of the recipe; it wasn’t even about eating the finished food, it was more about the process of it and the result which came from it. 

Patroclus was especially excited about the new cookbook that he had been meaning to use for a while now. It was actually Alexander’s gift, for their anniversary, and although Patroclus should feel strange about it, he liked the thought that his back then boyfriend put into the present so he decided to keep it. The cookbook was pilling dust on the shelf, but that evening he was determined to use it. 

Patroclus lit up a scented candle, dimmed the light, and boiled some water. He wanted to make orecchiette with broccoli sauce, which was great because he had all the ingredients needed already. 

Patroclus scanned the instructions with his eyes. It did not sound complicated at all, but maybe he was tired and the headache made him feel a bit dizzy because all the words before him jumped in a strange way like a wave-like motion. 

Patroclus frowned. He began to read the instructions for making the sauce, but the words sounded strange, at one point it said “add 3/4 teaspoon of dried chilli flakes” and at another-

“What the fuck,” Patroclus mumbled, eyes glued to the lines in the book. “Is that Greek?”

Maybe he was still buzzed from the night before, or it was the tiredness that made him slowly lose his mind. Whatever it was, Patroclus took a deep sigh and began to prepare the food. It was not long before he realized that he was following the recipe following the Greek lines and text, but Patroclus did not pay too much attention to it. He was tired, he had a bad day, and now, on top of it all, he was hallucinating. 

When he was done cooking, he ate his dinner slowly and to him, it tasted fine, just like the regular food he would always make. Patroclus hummed, maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. 

He spent the rest of his night as he always did, loading the dishwasher, cleaning up and brushing his teeth before going to bed. 

He felt incredibly tired. He could not wait for the day to be over. The moment his head touched the pillow, he already wished that the new week would start, where he would not worry about his ex, or his headache and would just return slowly to his routine of school and work.

His dreams were strange and dark.

For some reason, Patroclus fell asleep thinking he was drowning. 

Chapter Text

Patroclus woke up to the smell of ocean air and a loud cry of seagulls above his head. He thought it was all part of his dream, a strange fragile mixture of reality and distant imagination.

Patroclus frowned, the sun blinding him, even though he had his eyes tightly shut.

He was forced to gather his thoughts. He felt the land beneath him, the wet cold sand under his fingertips. He inhaled the air, it was salty and smelled like iron, and he was hot, as if he lay under the scorching sun for hours. 

Patroclus frowned, slowly opening his eyes. What kind of dream was this?

His eyes looked up at the clear blue sky. He heard the distant crashing of the waves against the shore.

Where is this? 

His thoughts were languid and lazy, his mind in scramble, as he tried to think back to his bed, the mattress he fell asleep on in his bedroom back on campus. 

Where am I?

It looked like Patroclus fell asleep at the beach. He sat up slowly, his muscles stiff, as if refusing to listen to him. The water was blue and crystal clear, and the sand was white and soft even despite its moisture. Patroclus forced himself to calm down, his heart beating incredibly fast, and his back growing sweaty from anxiety and fear.

How is that possible? Where is his phone? Where was he?

Patroclus wanted to cry, but he didn’t, because maybe he was still dreaming, although everything around him, his senses, the temperature, the noises, it all felt incredibly real. He looked down on himself. He was all wet, his tunic, dark brown, clinging to his body, his trousers dirty from the sand, and he was barefoot.

What happened to him?

Questions piled up inside his restless mind. He had no answers. Patroclus touched his head and nearly shrieked. He always got a haircut, his curls completely untameable if they grew past his ears, and this version of him had his hair grown long, up to his chin. Patroclus looked down on his arm, they were the same as his own, long calloused fingers, short nails, rough fingertips; he took a lock of his hair and curled it upon his finer to bring it to inspection. It was dark brown as his own. 

Patroclus took a deep calming breath. He had his body, still, at least he hoped he did, but he was at a completely different place, a beach of sorts.

He looked around. He saw nothing but the hills and miles of sand.

Was he at the shore? Should he go and find someone to ask them where he was?

Patroclus stood up, his muscles strangely sore, as if he did a very long workout or ran a marathon (he did, by the way, last summer, not like it mattered at this very moment). Patroclus walked in no particular direction, feeling the salt of the water sticking to his skin and his hair.

Was he drowning? Did he swim? He was definitely in the water before he ended up being thrown on the shore.

Patroclus did not know where he was going, but instead, he let his muscle memory lead the way. He was still himself, his thoughts were his own, and he looked like the version of himself from the past (or was it the future?) but something about his body, his muscles, his legs, his arms, felt a little foreign to him. 

Yet, he walked. The sun was shining, it was high in the sky, must have been way past noon, and for some reason that thought filled Patroclus with anxiety.

Was he meant to be somewhere?

His body reacted strangely like a massive piece of him was missing. 

Patroclus did not have the time to think too deeply about that. Because a distant voice called him name from somewhere far away.

“Patroclus!” 

He thought he was imagining things. Maybe he got a heat stroke. But the voice called out again, repeating his name and Patroclus turned around to face it.

A man stood further away along one of the sandy dunes. He had his hand stretched high, waving, trying to catch Patroclus’ attention. He was standing relatively far away, but Patroclus could see that he had curly hair, and a beard, and his skin was dark and brown. His voice was raspy, and because Patroclus did not sense any danger from that man, he turned around and walked slowly toward him. Sand burned his feet, and Patroclus hoped that the man would bring him sandals.

Sandals? He was meant to think of shoes. Or boots. Where did the sandals come from?

“Thank the Gods, I have found you,” the man smiled, his bright blue eyes light and glimmering under the sunlight. “You know who is madly worried about you. He had put the entire camp upside down trying to look for you. We could not find you all morning, your tent and bed have been empty since last night. Where have you been?” the man gave him a look up and down, inspecting his clothes. “Why are you wet?”

Were they speaking English? Why did Patroclus feel that he the man was talking in a different language? Did he lose some oxygen from his blood when he was in the water and now his brain is not working properly?

Oh God. Was he dead?

“I am- ughm, I am fine,” Patroclus nodded, slowly. His words were stirring slightly, and Patroclus tried to regain his pattern of speech under control. He stuttered. “I- I am sorry, I think the sun is getting to me. Do you mind telling me where this camp you are talking about it is? I need some water, and my feet are burning.”

The odd silence settled between them. Patroclus narrowed his eyes. Did he say something wrong?

“You are .. fine?” the man repeated, tilting his head to the side.

“Yeah, I am fine. You know, I am ok,” Patroclus kept nodding. “Not hurt or anything, I think, I am not bleeding, I check, just dehydrated maybe. Also, maybe I can borrow your phone? I can’t find mine, I think I have lost it or something.”

More silence. Patroclus squirmed uncomfortably under the man’s gaze.

“Dehydrated?” The man repeated, saying the word extremely slowly as if pronouncing the syllabus for the first time in his life. “My- my phone?”

Patroclus frowned.

“Yeah, you know, that’s what happens to you when you don’t drink enough water. Now do you mind telling me where the camp is? I am a little lost, so I think it would be great to get some directions and maybe even some service while I am here.”

The man looked at him, intently, his eyes scanning Patroclus from head to his toes. When he spoke again, his voice was dry and distant, but oddly curious. 

“Who are you?”

Patroclus stiffened. He felt an unease growing in his stomach. “My name is Patroclus. I- I am a student, and last night I went to bed in my apartment, and this morning I woke up thrown on the shore of the beach, my clothes gone, and I wear these rags instead, and I have no idea where I am.”

His little speech made him breathless. He stared at the man before him, Patroclus’ throat dry and raspy, and he wished that the man would already take him to the camp he mentioned. They would have food surely. And some water too.

At the moment of their silence, Patroclus took time to fully grasp the image of the man before him. His clothes especially made Patroclus frown; he had trousers on, not quite different from Patroclus’ own, but on top of his tunic the man wore silver breastplate armour. He had sandals on, open-toed, similar to the Ancient Greek fashion. 

Patroclus swallowed a large lump in his throat. He began to put the pieces together: he was at the beach, he was hot. He must be someplace with a dry climate and a sea nearby. The man wore Greek armour and had a thick accent. Was he in Greece?

He could understand the other man, despite his thick accent, but Patroclus was certain that neither of them was speaking English. 

“A student you say?” the man finally spoke after what felt like an eternity. “You call yourself Patroclus and you look like him. But I believe your soul has changed.”

“I- I don’t think I know what that means,” Patroclus felt a little uncomfortable under the gaze of the man. “But do you mind telling me what year it is? Or the land at which I ended up in.”

“Year,” the man spoke and rubbed his chin. “It is the eight years since the Spartan King Menelaus and his brother King of Mykonos Agamemnon began the war on Troy.”

Troy. 

This can’t be...

“This can’t be possible,” Patroclus felt that he started to lose the ground beneath him, his knees suddenly horribly weak. “That- that is like a thousand years ago! No, more, ten thousand years ago! It’s- it can’t be true. You are lying.”

“My name is Odysseus and I have been called a deceiver before, but now I am afraid I am speaking the truth,” the man, oh God Odysseus, spoke. Patroclus felt that he was going to throw up. “You don’t look well. I pity you, because you have a face of a friend, even if you don’t sound or talk like him. But I believe your intentions are honest so I will show you the way to the camp, but before we go, you must not talk about your identity to anyone. Act low, stay unnoticed, and don’t try to bring too much attention to yourself.”

“I promise I will keep my mouth shut,” Patroclus lowered his head. He felt the headache growing, and his stomach turning, and he wanted to collapse. He did not travel in time, he was having a crazy dream, and maybe the next time he woke up, he would be back in his bedroom, safe and unharmed. 

He should have not read all those Greek mythology books as a kid. His imagination was always running pretty wild, but this was beyond even his unimaginable way of thinking. 

“Whatever it is, this must be the cruel trick the Gods are playing on us,” Odysseus spoke his face dark. “Achilles must not know that you have taken the place of his friend. He will kill you.”

“Achilles, the Greek warrior?” Patroclus frowned. “Was I his friend?”

Patroclus tried to remember what he had read in the Iliad. Achilles was the greatest Greek warrior of his time, yet his arrogance made him a complicated character. Did he have any friends? He led the army of men, the Myrmidons, he died in the war, being shot in the heel by the Trojan Prince Paris. Patroclus knew the myth well, and yet he could not phantom if there was someone else he should be remembering. 

“The closest that he ever had,” Odysseus nodded. “But you must stay away from him. He was not in a good mood when I left the camp. He is worried about you. Or at least, about the Patroclus who was in your body before you took his soul.”

“I am Patroclus,” Patroclus huffed. “There was no one else in this body but me. It is my body, the one I have even thousands of years from today.”

“How peculiar,” Odysseus sighted, telling him to follow his lead. “Maybe it is for the best. But for now, you must stay hidden. You say you know Achilles. How much else do you know about the War?”

Oh. 

“Not that much,” Patroclus lied, shrugging. He can’t tell Odysseus that he was from the future where the Trojan War became an epic so wildly known, that men have been writing and talking about it for years to come. Was it like spoiling the ending of the story for the main character? Patroclus shuddered. He did not wish to be labelled as some sort of oracle. He had to follow the advice of Odysseus and lay low until he figured out how he could go back to his own .. world. Or time? 

Odysseus hummed, his blue eyes looking Patroclus up and down as if trying to see through his honesty. Patroclus tried to keep his composure together, despite the blood rushing through his body at an incredibly fast rate.

If this was Odysseus from the myths, then he would try and get more out of Patroclus, so it was better to remain aloof and distant, acting that a slip of mentioning Achilles’ name was merely an accident.

Instead, Patroclus asked about the situation at Troy. He read the Iliad, many times before, but the small details slipped through his mind, so he had to keep his head straight so he would not make any mistakes that could cost him his life.

“Do you mind telling me when was the last time you saw me, I mean, your Patroclus, erm, alive?” he asked Odysseus, as they started to walk towards the encampment of the Greeks. 

If Patroclus narrowed his eyes, he could probably see the looming stone walls of the impregnable Troy in the distance, or maybe, it was another part of his cursed imagination. 

“He was at the camp last night, having his meal with the Myrmidons,” Patroclus raised his eyebrows, questioning, and Odysseus exclaimed, “Achilles’ soldiers. It has been quiet in their part of the camp, Achilles has not been fighting for the Greeks, and Patroclus has been trying to reason with him. I suppose both of them succumbed to an argument, so I have not seen Achilles among the other soldiers at all last night. Whatever it was, when morning came, Patroclus disappeared and that was when Achilles raised the ruckus, saying that you have gone missing. He was on his feet since the sun rose. I imagine he would be pacing the camp like a raging animal, awaiting your arrival.”

“Are you sure it is a good idea for me to go back there then?” Patroclus frowned. His feet were hot, and the sand made the walking extremely difficult. “I don’t remember anything about my- Patroclus’ past. How would I even talk to Achilles? What if I say something wrong?”

Odysseys sighed. “For now we should get you some fresh clothes and feed you. Achilles will demand answers, and I will give him the truth: you are taking time away from each other to cool your nerves and come to your senses.”

Patroclus thought it sounded reasonable enough. 

“You say we are friends? Or that we were used to be?” Patroclus asked. “What kind of relationship was there between me and him?”

At that, Odysseys did not hurry to answer. Instead, he made a contemplative face, rubbing his chin in thought, as if he was trying to collect his thoughts.

“Achilles feels- tender towards you I suppose. He might seem high and mightily and even arrogant towards others, but your opinion is the only one that matters to him. He was feeling hurt when he found out you had left, and he blamed himself for being the cause of the argument you shared last night. Some say your bonds are tied by the ones of friendship, but I always thought there was something more going on between you than meets the eyes.”

Patroclus sighed. So that’s how this was going to go. He felt incredibly tired. Patroclus was never good at lying. “I see. If he truly knows Patroclus best out of all men alive, I should come clean to him about my identity. I don’t wish to hurt him by pretending to be someone that I am not.”

Odysseys gave him an odd look. “You know, for someone who says you are not him, you sure resemble Patroclus a lot. You might not talk like him, but your eyes, look especially similar. And people say the eyes are the mirrors of your soul. So maybe not all is lost with you.”

Patroclus did not know how to reply to that remark. His thoughts made him restless, and he still had a hard time wrapping his mind with the new reality that he found himself in.

Somewhere far away a cry was heard. Then, it was followed by the loud trumping of the drums, and accompanied by the sharp loud noises of what felt like the shout of a thousand men, getting ready for battle. Patroclus eyes turned wide, and Odysseus made a sign indicating to follow after the man, as he climbed on top of one of the sandy dunes. 

Patroclus was not sure what he expected to see, but the sight of the hundreds of marching men all dressed in silver armour under the blazing sun and moving in synch in the direction of what looked like a thousand tents stretched over the sand, was not one of them. 

Patroclus was still amazed when he heard Odysseus’ voice.

“Agh. Agamemnon must have returned.”

Chapter Text

Patroclus’ feet were getting swallowed by the sand. He was tired and sweaty from the walking, and when he saw the camp he did feel a sense of relief of no longer having to do such an atrocious and sweaty hike any longer and being able to rest.

The camp was settled on the ground overlooking the city of Troy from a much further distance than Patroclus had thought it would. He could not see the outlines of the fortress’ walls clearly, but Odysseus reassured him that the city lay ahead, just half a day’s march away.

“Half a day?” Patroclus exclaimed, surprised, as they began their descent downhill following the pathways toward the campsite. They met a few soldiers out on patrol, and Odysseus gave them a curt nod, while Patroclus looked with fascination at their armour and sharp-edged spears. He felt like a child, curious of all the new things surrounding him. “Is that not too far for an attack?”

“We plan our battles in the early hours of the morning, or during the nighttime when they can’t distinguish the silhouettes during the dark,” Odysseus explained. “If we settled the camp too close to the walls of the city, then the Trojans would have destroyed it in the first years of the war. But because it is so far out in the dune the enemy does not venture that deep into the desert. We can see them coming from miles away, which is great for defence, and it means we always know when the surprise attacks are coming. It does however makes us plan ahead, and if we want to attack the city we have to take the aggressive side before the enemy regroups. We can’t sit around and wait for the Trojans to come to us.”

The explanation made sense, and yet Patroclus still could not comprehend how different the reality looked from fiction. There were little historical details known of the Trojan War. Patroclus’ studies showed that there was a lack of historical evidence to be entirely certain of the logistics of the War, but even still, the image that Patroclus saw before him did not have much in common with his imagination.

The camp and the tents where the Greeks lived were huge; the camp was surrounded by earthwork for defence which separated it from the outside.

The tents spread sparsely across the sand, the narrow pathways between them filled with men and women, hurrying from one pavilion to another. Patroclus’ eyes could not fully grasp the overall amount of tents, but he could understand that Agamemnon had truly gathered most of the Greek Cities under his command.

“We will find rest in my tent. You must be hungry, and your clothes are ruined, I will order to have you bathed and fed before you head out to the others,” Odysseus explained, as he told Patroclus to follow him closely behind and to lower his head.

Most people didn’t pay much attention to their pair, only sparing them with a quick and bored glance. They were too busy with other things, a pair of soldiers was not a new sight to see here. Patroclus watched a scene of a wounded soldier getting treated by another, as his leg bleed out on the white sand. His cries made Patroclus's blood run cold. He quickly looked away and sped up his step to catch out with Odysseus.

The harsh reality of being at war made him feel a little dizzy.

Patroclus tried to distract himself by asking Odysseus questions about his current predicament. Patroclus grew wary about letting Odysseus know the truth, so he instead asked him of Troy, of Agamemnon, of Achilles. Odysseus' answers were curt and blunt, nothing that Patroclus had not heard or known before, but he knew it was better to appear ignorant rather than to answer questions of how Patroclus came to truly know the details about the Trojan War.

Patroclus tried to keep his questions as vague as possible. He asked about the wounded and the soldiers, who filled in camp, as they walked past.

“There must have been another raid,” Odysseus answered, his voice even.

Patroclus shielded his face from the rising piles of sand and dust which came with a single blast of wind. “Was it successful?”

“No. None of them were since Achilles stopped fighting.”

Patroclus tightened his lips. He did not ask for an explanation, but the stretched silence was enough to show how unsettled he was by Odysseus’ answer.

“You seem to appear to know a lot about him,” Patroclus said instead, trying to change the subject, thinking back to Achilles. “Are you two close?”

“I have known Achilles from the beginning; I did bring him to fight in this war after all,” Odysseus replied with a grin. “I will spare you the details. You can ask Achilles for them yourself if you choose to. But beware, he might not be comfortable talking about his past.”

Patroclus lowered his head and decided he should probably keep his mouth shut. He felt like he was put into a situation where his wits would cost him more harm than good. What kind of person he was before Patroclus woke up on the shore? What kind of relationship tied him and Achilles? Why was it Odysseus who found him on the shore, out of the other Greek heroes and soldiers?

Patroclus's head was heavy with thought. He looked around, but the sight made his headache only worse, not better.

Patroclus followed Odysseus, still trying to catch from the corner of his eyes the surroundings of the camp. More soldiers appeared around them, and listening to them talk from afar, Patroclus gathered that they spoke Greek, their syllabus rolling with strong “r”s and if he did not listen closely to what they were saying, it felt like he did not understand them at all.

Patroclus tried to keep his face remain calm but he could not contain his rising curiously. The soldiers in their armour, the barricades and tents with servants who were running around holding dishes of water overfilled his vision. The smell of dust and blood made the airtight and heavy. If Patroclus had any doubts that he had travelled back in time, by now they had all but disappeared completely.

He had to swallow the hard truth. The tiny details of the red silk of the tens, the sand beneath his feet and the smell of sharp alcohol used for treating the wounds were enough to convince him that now, he was on the land of Troy. There was another smell, the one that Patroclus did not think of but should have realized by now, the pyres of the burning bodies of the deceased. Patroclus could see them now, the smoke rising in the air, as the bodies were burnt and the soldiers mourned their dead. The sight made something twist inside Patroclus's gut, and he quickly looked away.

Troy was in Turkey, I think , Patroclus wondered, as Odysseus opened the part of the entrance to his tent and with a swift movement of his head told Patroclus to step inside. Even if I did travel back in time I have also travelled to a different country altogether .

The tent where Odyssey lived was not as huge as some of the others that Patroclus saw on his walk through the camp. Odyssey had a narrow campsite bed on the side, and his surroundings were relatively scarce. Patroclus did not know what he expected to see, but this was a poor imitation of the living he would imagine a King of Ithaca would have.

“Living the life of a soldier makes you get used to living with the excess of comfort,” Odysseus explained, with a slightly tilted voice, following Patroclus’ gaze. “I come from the small island of the Aegean, and hence my luxuries are not as grand as those of the other Kings, but I do not wish to complain.”

Patroclus nodded, unanswered questions still lingering on his mind. Odysseus gave him water and left the tent for a moment to call for a servant to order the bath so that Patroclus could wash himself. While they waited, Patroclus ate some food, a mixture of bread and fragrant cheese and drank a bit of wine, trying to settle his stomach.

The wine helped a bit. Patroclus found it easier to convince himself that he was not dead if he could taste the wood so well. At least, now a little more aware, he could fully take in his surroundings.

While he ate, Odysseus told him briefly of the events that led to war. Some were already known to Patroclus from his years of studying and reading, how Prince Paris seduced Helen of Sparta and brought her along to Troy, how Helena’s husband Menelaus vowed to see that Troy would be destroyed and how his brother Agamemnon rallied Greek towns under his banners to sail to war to fight against King Priam and return Helen to Sparta. The war lasted for eight years but now it was stagnant because Agamemnon stole Achilles’ slave, making the Greeks angry at the sign that Agamemnon had hurt his pride. And now, with Achilles refusing to fight and Agamemnon even after returning the girl to Achilles, there has been a rift amongst the Greeks which did not appear to reconcile any time soon.

Patroclus felt a dull pain in his chest, as he listened to the last words spoken by Odysseus dry, raspy tone. It felt strange, like a painful longing, that Patroclus did not know was there. His eyes stung a little; Patroclus was surprised because he felt that his vision blurred slightly as if at any moment he might start crying.

“Is everything alright?” Odysseus asked as he took notice of the pained expression on Patroclus’ face.

“It is fine,” Patroclus nodded, his eyes half closed, trying to recollect himself. He took a deep breath, forcing his heart to stop beating so fast. “Just- maybe it’s my body. I feel like myself, but at the same time, it is almost like it does not belong to me. It takes a while to adjust to being you know- here.”

“I would have assumed so. Is being in Troy much different from in your home country?” Odysseys asked, his voice genuinely curious.

Patroclus chuckled, darkly. “I don’t know, I guess yes, in a way. I am from the future, where everything is different. The way people dress, talk, what we eat and how we communicate. I am not sure what the others would think when I start talking. After all, you knew immediately that I was not the Patroclus that you were looking for.”

“That is because I was the first person you have met. It would be easier with the others. Now that you know who you are, you will notice some things would be much easier to say than others.”

“But how do I talk to them if I don’t even know who I am? Who was I in the past?” Patroclus shook his head. His hair was wet after the bath that we took, and truthfully, he did feel a little better, more refreshed after he was fed and bathed, and his mind started to come together. He began to think of questions he did not consider to ask himself before. “I can’t pretend to be someone who I am not. You have to help me. Tell me more about the Patroclus that you knew. What was his personality like? What were his habits? Who were his parents? Where did he come from? I need to know all of this if I were to act my role correctly”

“There is no need for that,” Odysseus smiled, his voice a little amused, his eyes twinkling, mischievously. Patroclus opened his mouth, but he did not get to speak, as Odysseus stopped him by the wave of his hand. “Why don’t you go and explore the camp a little instead? See what the soldier's life is like, talk to some people, and see for yourself the difference in time of today and your own. Forget about trying to learn of Patroclus. There will be enough time for that. I think for now, what is truly important, is how you act in your new surroundings.”

“But- what if I run into Achilles? He would surely know I am a pretender. Wouldn’t it be better for me to stay here until everything calms a little?”

Suddenly a voice sounded from behind the tent’s cover. There was a muffling sound, like a bunch of steps clustered together, and a few loud raised voices talking, but Patroclus could not understand them very clearly.

“I think this is for me,” Odysseus stood up, walking around the tent to the veiled entrance. “I guess the King of Kings required my presence.”

They turned around and gave Patroclus a long look. His face twisted in thought, but soon relaxed as he spoke again. “Think about what I said to you before, Patroclus. You might think you are different, but inside your nature remained the same as I remember. Achilles would sense it too. It will be no use hiding away, who knows, with time and with the right effort, maybe some of your memories would come back with it too.”

Odysseys left, leaving Patroclus a little speechless. His memories? Did he mean the memories of the past Patroclus, the one who decided to end up in the ocean, the one who argued with Achilles, and the one whose place he took instead? Something about it made Patroclus feel that there was a story to tell, something too intimate to share, but if that was so Patroclus had to follow the advice that Odysseus gave him and get out, to see, what the others thought about him before he had gone missing.

Maybe if he could put together the pieces of the puzzles which led to Patroclus choosing to run away, he could find a way to return to his real body.

The thought did not sound crazy at all. It might have been the first moment of clarity Patroclus felt he received ever since he ended up being thrown on the shore like some sort of dead fish.

He quickly put on the sandals and left Odysseus’ tent.

The new clothes that Odysseus left for him made him look like every other soldier who patrolled the perimeters of the camp. His looks did not cause any attraction; whatever Odysseus said about his face being recognized amongst the Greek soldiers must have been a great over-exaggeration.

He did not have his mind set on where he was going to walk. He wanted to explore the camp, see if maybe even the simple stroll would create a bulge in his stagnant memory.

The camp was busier now, that Agamemnon and his army had returned. Everywhere Patroclus looked he could see the soldiers geared up for battle, some still had the full around on, while others were exchanging words with each other, only sparring Patroclus with the briefest of glances.

Patroclus was not sure what he was looking for exactly. Did he wish to see the Myrmidons with whom he arrived in Troy? Did he have other friends outside of Achilles whom he might be familiar with?

He knew he was going to have to start somewhere.

He let his legs walk him forward. Maybe the muscle memory of his would guide him to the answers he was seeking.

“Sorry,” he stopped one of the soldiers who walked passed him. He had dark eyes and curly hair, and the way he looked Patroclus up and down made him a little confused. Surely he did not make any enemies amongst the others? “I am looking for the Myrmidons camp. Can you show me the way?”

“Show you the way,’’ the man laughed, unkindly, his eyes narrowing looking into Patroclus's face. “Why would you need to go there? The Myrmidons have not been fighting for weeks because of the command of their leader.”

Patroclus mind acted quickly, trying to put together a convincing lie. “I- they have not, but the Myrmidons are still here, in Troy. I have a message to pass along to the camp, and it is urgent.”

The man scoffed. “Achilles has moved the tents further to the ocean. They no longer camp together with Agamemnon and the others. He thinks he is too good for us so he does not even follow the orders of his King.”

“Is that so,” Patroclus frowned, disheartened. “So you are saying Achilles is not here?”

“Not here?” The man asked and then erupted in laughter. “Hey, Phaedo, did you hear, he is asking if Achilles is here.”

The other soldier walking by, Phaedo as Patroclus assumed, stopped and bristled, almost angrily. “You wish. This arrogant brat now camps near the sea. He thinks he is so much better than everyone with his men and his whore,” the man spat on the sand, making Patroclus wince. “Let him run away. We don’t need him, or his Myrmidons. We can take Troy in a day without them. What can one man do to compare to an army of thousands?”

Patroclus felt a dread in his stomach. “How long has it been since Achilles moved away?”

It was even more curious that Odysseus did not bring him to the other soldier right away. Did they argue? How big was the disagreement for even Odysseus to become aware of it? From his words, Odysseus made it sound like he and Achilles were friends, but these soldiers did not hold Achilles’ character in high regard.

Patroclus knew himself. He might have a bit of a temper, but he usually was not bad at choosing his friends. Partners sure, he had a bit of a mean streak going on, but his friends were his biggest support in life, he never truly argued with them unless it was a matter of life and death.

“Over a month now,” the man, Phaedo, said slowly. “It had been everyone everyone could talk about. There is not much gossip around the men, but the bed slaves surely make up for it.”

“He means to say that the dispute was over a girl,” Phaedo’s friend grinned, toothy and mean. “When is it not? One of the girls fell into Achilles’ arms and he fell head over heels for her. He grew so possessive over her, that when Agamemnon wanted to have a taste Achilles went berserk. Some said he wanted to go as far as to kill Agamemnon, but one of his companions revealed the King of his plan, and so Achilles failed. Although Agamemnon returned the girl, Achilles would still not go back to serve under his command.”

Went berserk, over a girl? Patroclus tried to remember this happening in a myth, but his mind was a little hazy, which was strange knowing how well he paid attention to the details when writing his essays. He did remember that Achilles refused to fight but the specifics of the event escaped his memory. Patroclus frowned to himself. He held pride in his memory, and having blanks was something he was not used to dealing with before.

“I see,” Patroclus shuddered. Did he want to find Achilles? His opinion of his was not very great. A guy who was willing to kill for his lover; would he kill him for taking his friend's body too? Patroclus felt a slight shiver rippling throughout his body despite it probably being way over a hundred degrees outside. He gulped. “I see. Thank you for your words. However, would you still mind showing me the path to the camp?”

He might be making a huge mistake, but there was no other way to calm the nerves in his stomach if he did not come face to face with Achilles. His heart ached at the thought, and Patroclus forced himself to calm down.

Maybe Patroclus from before had a dispute with Achilles, maybe they quarrelled. But he could have a level head, and he would not be wrapped around in the intrigues and the drama of the lives of ancient Greeks. He could look at the argument from an outside perspective and solve it. Surely it would benefit their friendship well.

“Fine,” Phaedo’s friend spoke first. “I can guide the way if you wish. But be aware that Achilles does not like intruders. And would not hesitate to draw your blood if you would wish to meddle with his business.”

Patroclus silently, but confidently nodded his head.

“Very well,” the man stretched his hand out, letting Patroclus shake it. “My name is Asterion, son of Hylas. I have come to fight in Troy under the banners of Ajax, son of Telamon. What is your name?”

Patroclus halted. He did not know who his father was in this world, so he chose to ignore the formal introduction instead muttering “Patroclus” under his breath, and praying that this Asterion would understand him.

“And who do you fight for Patroclus?” Asterion raised his brows, expecting an answer.

“I-,” Patroclus felt lost. His hands began to sweat. He tried to remember anything he could about the Greek cities and towns. Only one could come to mind. “I fight for Menoetius, from the Kingdom of Opus,” he mumbled, blushing, from the scrutiny of his answer.

Asterion nodded, satisfied with his answer. “You sure you wish to see the Myrmidons?”

“Yes, I am certain,” Patroclus said again, his voice a bit stronger and more certain. “I will follow your way.”

Asterion gave another shake of his head, and turned south, in the opposite direction from where Patroclus knew he came with Odysseus. Phaedo watched them leave with a concerned look, but soon his figure and the entire Greek camp became indistinguishable from the distance.

“They say Achilles will no longer fight for the Greeks, but I think it is all goat’s shit,” Asterion snorted. He kept talking the entire way as if the idea of them walking together in silence did not sit right with him. Patroclus kept nodding along, uncertain whether he should get into the discussion or stay out of it. After a quick decision in his mind, he chose the latter. “He is just waiting for the perfect moment. You will see, soon he will be back in the ranks of those trying to siege the city.”

Patroclus worried his bottom lip. All he could do was follow what the other man was saying, his stomach suddenly twisting in anxiety, as they were walking further and further away from Agamemnon’s camp.

“Agh, look,” Asterion exclaimed, pointing his finger in the vague direction. Patroclus followed him with his gaze. He could see the camp a bit more now, as the sun shined brightly over it. The Myrmidons' banners waved proudly under the ocean’s breeze. “I guess we are here.”

Patroclus thanked Asterion for his service.

“I think I will be fine walking the rest of the path by myself. Thank you, Asterion, son of Hylas. Your help has been greatly appreciated by me.”

Patroclus bowed, as Asterion shrugged. “Don’t worry about this. But whatever it is you are looking for, I hope you find it. I hope to see you on the battlefield soon.”

Patroclus shuddered. Nevertheless, he gave a polite nod and watched Asterion’s back as he began to slowly walk away.

Patroclus heart was beating fast in his chest. He was starting to grow nervous. He descended the sandy hills towards the camp. It met him with busy and charged air; nothing like the strange tranquilly of Agamemnon’s tents. This camp was smaller, but it felt it was denser, with how many people were walking around.

His presence here, however, did not go unnoticed. The dozens of different eyes stared at him, as Patroclus walked further into the alley of tents. However, not one of the men seemed to approach him first. They looked at him with a wary expression, and not for the first time of that day, Patroclus felt that anxious feeling, almost like a bile, rise in his stomach.

He looked around. He was unsure what he was searching for, amongst those seas of strangers, unknown faces, ancient to his time, and yet so painfully familiar to his other soul.

A voice erupted behind him, almost at the same time as Patroclus felt a longing he had never felt before aching inside his heart. It felt familiar, like a sound he had heard and looked for countless times before.

It made him feel a strange mix of emotions: sadness, happiness, of love.

“Patroclus!”

Chapter Text

“Patroclus,” the voice repeated his name a little softer this time. 

He turned around. The group of people that surrounded him started to slowly make space for the one man who walked slowly forward, towards where Patroclus stood.

Patroclus knew immediately who he was. He did not need an introduction. 

Patroclus could not keep his eyes away from his hair. It was blond, almost golden in the light, and his green eyes were made even more dazzling on the bronze and flushed sun kissed face. There was a raspiness in his voice, and the way his bright eyes stared intently into Patroclus made him feel an almost overwhelming feeling of anxiety the reason for which Patroclus could not quite place. 

The closest explanation Patroclus could have for the feelings that had swept over him was love. But that could not have been true. Patroclus has never met this man before. How could he possibly be in love with him? 

“You came back,” the man said, his tone veiled by slight disbelief, and his face became twisted in an emotion mixed between bewilderment and mild anger. “I was looking everywhere for you. My men said you have left last night and never returned to the camp.”

Was that the story? Odysseus did not tell him of the details of his disappearance. But judging from his appearance, Achilles has been searching restlessly for him. Achilles’ hair was dishevelled and his clothes were a little a-screw. Achilles’ eyes burned with green flames as if trying to contain his own emotions, giving Patroclus a look so intense, that he felt sweat gathering at the back of his tunic. 

Patroclus suddenly grew aware of every single pair of eyes that had been drawn to them. He heard hushed whispers, which made Patroclus’ breath heavy and heart beat fast, letting a buzzing sound enter his scull. 

“I had to go away for a bit,” Patroclus swallowed awkwardly, trying to regain his composure. The silent murmurs of the soldiers sounded to him like a persistent buzzing of the flies. Patroclus however could not look away from the expression in Achilles’ eyes. He tried to figure out what he was thinking. Was it anger? Surprise? Was he happy to see Patroclus return? He could not figure it out no matter how hard he tried to take in the sharp lines of Achilles’ face. “I had to clear my head. But I have returned now. There is no reason for you to worry.”

The air around them felt charged, almost heavy, making it hard to breathe. Achilles made a gesture with his hand, the soldiers which surrounded them made a silent sound of disagreement, followed by more rumbling, but soon they turned their backs and left them alone, to stand in the middle of the campsite.

Achilles moved forward so fast and so sudden, it almost forced Patroclus to step back, overwhelmed by the intensity of his movements. Achiles’ steps were agile, like a fast feline animal, and for the first time, Patroclus could see for himself what the Greeks meant by calling him the greatest warrior of his time. 

Achilles got close, their faces mere inches apart. Standing so near to the man Patroclus noticed the details to which he did not pay attention before.

Achilles’s face looked young. His skin on his cheeks and chin was smooth, his forehead clear of wrinkles, and his eyes were bright and large. The locks of his hair fell across his face, making him look soft, and with the plump lips, he had something feminine about him. 

Achilles’ muscles were lean, his shoulders and chest almost as wide as Patroclus’ own, but there was no resemblance to the bulky image that Patroclus sometimes harboured in his mind when he read the stories of Achilles. Instead, Achilles looked like a marble statue akin to the spear-bearing Doryphoros, he looked lean and graceful, with long limbs and tight muscles on his arms and legs. 

What surprised Patroclus most was that Achilles was slightly shorter than him. Patroclus had to lower his chin and look down, to face Achilles’ somewhat angry stare. The other man did not seem at all uncomfortable as he tilted his chin upwards, to peer at Patroclus from under his thick blond eyelashes. 

“So? Did you take your time? Was it enough to clear your head?” Achilles’ words harboured a challenge in them that Patroclus was a little taken back to hear. His mouth twisted, forming a scowl, which did little to harm his beauty. “I thought you would leave for good. Or go behind my back again to plot with some scum. Why did you return?”

Those words were meant to leave a sharp remark in Patroclus's heart, but he really could not fully concentrate on what Achilles’ was saying. 

So pretty, Patroclus thought, watching the green eyes, the slight freckles dotting Achilles’ cheeks, his soft blond curls falling disastrously but a little charmingly around his face. 

Patroclus did not in a million years would have thought that Achilles was going to look like this. Patroclus was a little unnerved if not surprised, making him stare down at Achilles in a stupor and it was only by will alone that he did not gape at him like an idiot. 

Achilles fit exactly into Patroclus’ type. He liked guys who were a little smaller than him, with pretty eyes and soft skin, and his lips god, Patroclus had never seen this tempting colour of pink before. 

Patroclus mentally shook his head. It was his friend. Patroclus was not some pervert, but he could not lie to himself, if things were different, he would surely try and get this man into his bed. 

“Patroclus!” Achilles repeated, a little flushed. Patroclus blinked slowly at him. Was he supposed to be listening? 

Achilles’ face turned a bit red. His cheeks were pink, and Patroclus began to worry if maybe they should not stay out in the sun for that long.

“Sorry,” Patroclus replied, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head. “I just- must be the heat. I feel a little hot.”

Achilles’ eyes widened. Before Patroclus could understand what he was doing, the palm of Achilles’ hand was on his forehead, his brows tight with worry. 

“You do feel a little warm,” Achilles concluded, taking Patroclus by his arm. “Let’s get you inside. Have you eaten?”

Patroclus decided that he preferred Achilles when he was not trying to fight with him, so he went along with everything Achilles was saying. 

“No. Should we eat together?” he hoped his voice did not sound as desperate, as he felt the urgent need to change the subject. 

Achilles’ blush spread across his face, all the way down to his neck. Patroclus forced his face to remain impassive, despite the curiosity that boiled down inside of him at the sight of the other man’s reaction. 

“Sure,” Achilles’ eyes scanned him and down. “Are you sure you feel well?”

Patroclus nodded his head, firmly. He had to stop Achilles’ from suspecting him of anything, and to do so, Patroclus decided to act like everything between them was completely fine.

“Of course. I am sorry if I have made you worry. I promise I feel much better now. I simply had to put my thoughts in order. I feel- calmer now.”

Patroclus hoped these words were the right ones to say. He felt completely in the dark, not knowing if Achilles’ reaction would be one of calm or agitation. Patroclus felt the strange turmoil in his stomach as he watched the expressions on Achilles’ face. 

He exhaled when Achilles’ lips spread in a smile. 

“Good! I am glad. You know how much I lo- I care for you. I would never do anything to hurt you. I just wish we would go back to how things were, before everything. I mean, I understand it might be difficult, because of war and- and other things, but I truly just want you to come back to me, Patroclus. Would you do that?”

Patroclus felt that there was a hidden meaning behind those words which he could not quite grasp. However, he could not look away from the bright look in Achilles’ eyes. 

“Sure,” he said instead, a little uncertain, not knowing exactly what he was agreeing to. All he knew was that he did not wish the bright gaze of the man before him to stop looking at him with so much hope and adoration. 

Standing next to Achilles was almost like being close to the burning sun. Too close would get you burnt, but somehow you just could not move away, forcing the heat of it to consume you whole.

“Sure?” Achilles repeated, confusion laced through his delicate features.

“I mean, yes, I- I can go back to you,” whatever that was supposed to mean, he thought to himself, trying not to feel flustered on the outside. 

Achilles must have truly valued their friendship if he was going to such lengths to reconcile with his friend. 

Patroclus felt a slight wave of nausea overcome him. He was meant to figure out the troubles of his past self, not create useless promises. The argument that Achilles and Patroclus shared weighed heavy on his mind. 

Achilles’ smile made blood inside Patroclus boil. He did not fully grasp what was happening until Achilles reached out to grab him by the biceps and nudged him further into the direction of the many clustered tents.

“We will have some food brought to us soon,” Achilles insisted, too observed in his world to notice Patroclus's confusion, pushing Patroclus forward indicating him to follow. Achilles leaned closer, his whisper a hot breath of Patroclus’ open neck. “I missed you. I know I acted a little harsh last night, but your words hurt me too, you know. For a moment I was scared. I thought you made up your mind about not coming back,” Achilles’ grip felt iron on Patroclus's arm, almost possessive. “I am happy you are here.”

Patroclus’ body felt stiff. He found something endearing in the honesty of Achilles’ words, that made his chest tighten.

Achilles led the way and Patroclus could only keep up with his rapid step. He thought being so close to Achilles would make some of his memories come back to him, but instead, it felt that his mind was completely blank, making Patroclus rely only on his instincts and succumb completely to Achilles’ whims.

“Where have you been anyway?” he asked, as they walked through the campsite, catching the eyes of the passerby soldiers. They watched them curiously but Achilles did not seem to pay them any attention. If Patroclus flushed, Achilles remained completely unbothered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world that others would stare at them and give them sharp looks over their shoulder. 

As they moved closer to Achilles’ tent Patroclus felt his stomach turn as he thought of the answer to his question. His mind tried to think of the best moment when he could tell Achilles the truth. He could not deceive him for very long, Patroclus was not a good liar. But what would he say? That he was at Agamemnon’s camp? A strange nudge in his stomach made him keep his mouth shut. He felt that such words were wrong to say, even if he could not fully grasp to reason as to why that was.

“Just strolling near the sea. Odysseus found me by the shore. He told me you were upset and searching, so I came back when I could.”

Patroclus thought his explanation was reasonable. It was also not fully untrue. Odysseus did find him. So in that case he was telling Achilles the truth.

They entered Achilles’ tent. On the outside, it looked identical to the others. However, as they stepped inside, Patroclus had an odd feeling of familiarity. 

Achilles’ tent was a mess. Achilles had his armour and his weapons thrown together on the ground. There was a strange mix of clothing, breastplates and calf pads on the floor, making the bottom of the tent a little hard to walk across. Achilles noticed Patroclus staring and cleared his throat. “Sorry for the mess. I was a little angry last night, and this morning I did not clean much. I will order to have it all put together a little later today.”

Patroclus nodded his head, vaguely. 

“It is good that Odysseus had found you,” Achilles replied, focusing his entire attention on Patroclus again. “Come in. I will ask to bring you lunch. There was a fresh catch of fish this morning. You should try it. I think you might like it.”

Patroclus did not protest. The familiarity with which Achilles spoke to him made Patroclus a little nervous. He felt strangely overwhelmed with being the centre of Achilles’ sole attention. Patroclus felt that any wrong move or word would make Achilles’ suspect that something was strange about him.

It also did not help that Achilles was very handsome. Patroclus felt nervous by being even close to him. There was something godlike in Achilles, in his golden hair, toned body, and the cinnamon freckles that scattered around his cheeks and Patroclus wondered how much down their constellations went. He could not keep his eyes away from the graceful movements of Achilles’ body, his agile features and sharp eyes.

“I would love to,” Patroclus replied, half aware of what he was agreeing to. 

Patroclus body was rigid, but so far the conversation between him and Achilles flew smoothly. Patroclus ate the food which he was offered; he tried to act as if everything between the two of them was fine and that there was no cause for any disagreements. When Achilles asked him a question about his wellbeing, Patroclus would reply earnestly, bitting into the food eagerly, even though he was not very fond of fish. He chewed slowly, without feeling the taste. 

Achilles’ eyes, his attentive gaze, was everything Patroclus could focus on.

Achilles seemed to be talking about everything, and nothing at once. His eyes never moved away from Patroclus’ figure, and he felt oddly uneasy as if Achilles was waiting for him to do something, his body turned towards Patroclus and leaning so close, there was little space between them. 

“Do you like it?” Achilles moved his chin, gesturing to the plate of Patroclus’ lap. Patroclus would not lie, he would probably season the fish much better if he cooked it by himself, but he truly could not bear to witness the disappointed look on Achilles’ face, if he would state his true feelings about the blunt taste.’ 

“It tastes delicious,” he answered, instead, smiling a little. Achilles beamed.

Achilles’ plate was empty; he devoured his lunch too fast for Patroclus to notice. 

“I am glad,” Achilles said, his mouth full. “You know, you never really liked seafood much. But I am happy you have started to grow used to it. It makes my heart full.”

Patroclus was not sure how to respond to that. Should he be concerned? Was Achilles growing suspicious of him? But Achilles’ face was so calm, so tranquil. 

Patroclus decided it was safe to continue. 

“It tastes delicious,” he said, smiling slightly. Achilles chewed his food giving Patroclus a light smile in return. 

Patroclus saw the sun beginning to set behind the tent covers, making the insides of it almost golden, casting long afternoon shadows at the bottom of the tent. 

Patroclus could not believe that the whole day had gone by. The soft afternoon light made the tent look almost yellow. 

Patroclus could not stop his gaze from lingering over Achilles’ face. He looked so real and so close to touch that if Patroclus would stretch out his arm, he could brush his fingertips over the gentle slop of Achilles’ nose.

Maybe the wine he was drinking was starting to get to his head. Suddenly, his thoughts grew languid. His gaze dropped to the lush shape of Achilles’ lips. He knew it was wrong, they were friends, and now he was bluntly staring at Achilles, but he could not control himself. 

There was something about Achilles, something so alluringly inviting, that it made Patroclus feel a little strange inside. The way his green eyes looked at Patroclus, a little hungrily (or was Patroclus imagining it?), and the way he leaned forward as if unconsciously he was trying to get closer to Patroclus too. 

“Would you stay over tonight?” Achille asked, his voice sending shivers down Patroclus’ spine. 

Stay over tonight? Patroclus thought, almost ravenously. Was that something expected of him? Was it one of the Ancient Greek traditions? Whatever it was, Patroclus could not find it in himself to say no. 

“Of course,” he said instead, with a light nod of his head. “If you want me to.”

Achille shuffled in his seat. There was energy in him that Patroclus could not describe, and when the time came and their plates were empty, Patroclus could sense it weighing down on him like a heavy blanket. 

“I feel like- I have missed you so much,” Achilles said, a little breathlessly, as they were left alone again, servants come and gone. The outside of the tent was eerily empty. “Which is funny right? It had barely been a day. We have gone much longer without seeing each other in the past. Why does it feel like I have not seen you for forever?”

“It’s- I understand,” Patroclus replied, equally stuttering, feeling a slight flush creeping on his cheeks. They were at times of war. There must be little space left for friendship during all the bloodshed. “You don’t have to take the blame for our troubles.”

“But I do!”Achilles replied, his tone intense. Patroclus stilled. His body became strangely rigid at the sound of Achilles’ voice. “I missed you so much. I am sorry for being so- so unbecoming lately. But I see it now. I want you. Only you.”

Patroclus’ heart skipped a beat. His body became numb. Achilles moved, his movement graceful even as he took off his clothes, his tunic, making his torso completely naked, showing the expanse of his lean toned muscles and freckled shoulders, and leaving him sitting next to Patroclus wearing only his dark-brown linen trousers. 

What?

Patroclus mind was working too slowly, and he felt hot under his clothes, sweat gathering unpleasantly over his forehead. His eyes widened slightly at the sight before him.

Why was Achilles nearly naked?

In the spur of the moment, Patroclus felt the weight of another man’s body straddling his lap, 

Achilles’ hands wrapped around his neck and most importantly his lips, those plush pink lips Patroclus had fantasized about the whole of the afternoon, caught his mouth in a deep, honeysuckle kiss. 

Achilles’ kiss was demanding, his tongue hot and sweet, as Patroclus parted his lips in surprise, letting Achilles explore his mouth freely. Patroclus was too stunned to react properly, his thoughts slow, and his body refusing to move. He wanted to do something to stand or to push Achilles away. Patroclus could not gather his thoughts to do either. 

Kissing Achilles felt right. 

Patroclus could not hide his surprise when Achilles moaned into his mouth, his arms circling together around Patroclus’ neck, pushing their bodies together. Achilles moved his hips, and Patroclus could not control the sigh he let out when he felt Achilles’ hardness under his thigh.

Maybe that was what brought him back to reality, the desperate humping of Achilles’ hips, the scorching demanding press of his tongue against Patroclus’ mouth, and the response of Patroclus’ own body, sensing the closeness of a body so familiar and yet so distant against his own.

“Fuck wait- Achilles, what are you doing?” 

Patroclus was breathing hard, finally regaining control of his motions, as he put his arms around Achilles’ shoulders (god, even his skin was hot), and moved him slightly so that he could look directly into the green eyes before him. 

Achilles’ face was flushed and his cheeks and lips were red, and Patroclus had a strange realization growing in his stomach. Something like dread had overcome him. This was not the first time they had done this. 

“Kissing you,” Achilles said, as if it was obvious, his eyes just as wide, and his chest rising and falling heavily. “I missed you. I thought you wanted this too.”

Patroclus blinked trying to fully grasp the meaning of Achilles’ words. His grip became weaker because soon Achilles freed himself from his hold and leaned again close to Patroclus’ body, now lowering his head to leave a burning kiss on the column of his neck. 

“Wh- yes, but,” he stuttered, hissing as Achilles’ teeth breached his skin. He had to stop this madness, he would get hard, and he was not going to sleep with an Ancient mythological figure from over five thousand years ago. Patroclus groaned at the absurdity of that thought. Achilles’ mouth on his neck felt like heaven, and it appeared that he knew all of Patroclus’ weak spots, because when his kisses reached the spot beneath his ear and Achilles’ sucked tenderly on his earlobe, Patroclus could not contain his moan. “Wait Achilles, we can’t- stop it.”

Patroclus reached out his hand, and fully took hold of Achilles’ waist, holding him in place despite Achilles’ protests. 

“What is wrong with you?” Achilles finally said, his face twisting in annoyance and his voice irritated. Patroclus forced Achilles to move away from his lap, which was not an easy task, but there was something in his eyes that made Achilles give up and move aside.

Patroclus stood up. He wanted to scream and maybe rip his hair out. He thought meeting Achilles would make the situation clearer, but now his mind was even more muddled and he was confused.

“I am sorry I just- I need space,” the muttered awkwardly, avoiding eye contact with Achilles altogether. “Sorry, I- I will see you around.”

He did not turn around when Achilles shouted his name from behind him. Neither did he turn when he heard a crash of something erupting in the distance. 

Instead, Patroclus walked straight, his gaze looking at everything and focusing on nothing at all.

What the fuck was going on between him and Achilles?

Chapter Text

Patroclus did not know which direction he was going as long as he would stay away from Achilles for a while. He could not handle the pressure of confusion that had strangled his chest. 

The idea that he and Achilles could be more than friends did not once cross his mind. He thought of what Odysseus said to him, that they were friends, and their relationship was close. 

How close? Was it natural for one friend to climb onto the lap of the other and start kissing him senselessly? Patroclus somehow doubted it.

“Excuse me,” he stopped one of the soldiers who appeared to be on patrol. The sun was slowly setting down, and the dusk began to settle over the camp. The soldier gave him a look of barely hidden surprise at being approached so bluntly. “It might sound a little strange, but do you know where my tent is?”

Patroclus hoped he had his own place in the camp. He needed to be alone for a while and regain the control of his racing thoughts.

“Patroclus!” the soldier exclaimed, looking deeply into his eyes, suddenly familiar, recognising him. “Of course! Why, did you think we removed it already?” the soldier laughed, good natured, as Patroclus gave him a weak grin which did not reach his eyes. “It is just right here if you follow me.”

Patroclus felt relieved and a little grateful that there were no unnecessary questions about his behaviour.

He walked over to the tent and noticed a girl standing beside it, her head lowered. 

“Sorry,” she said a little intimated, as Patroclus walked closer towards her. She looked familiar, Patroclus thought. “Can we talk?”

Patroclus looked closely at the girl’s dark eyes and hair. She looked like someone he should be able to recognise, and his chest did a little squeeze like it always did when he saw someone he might have remembered from the past. 

The soldier lowered his head, said his goodbyes and quickly walked away, sparing a girl a quick glance over.

Patroclus eyes dropped and stared at the girl up and down. She was well dressed, she had jewelry on her wrists and around her neck, and her hair was long, darks and straight, and when she looked at him it was with no hostility but gentle worry. 

Patroclus wondered how true the rumours of Briseis were from the words of the soldiers who guided him to the camp. Patroclus decided it was better if he found out the truth himself.

“Briseis,” he said her name slowly, and he guessed he was correct in his assumptions when she gave a little smile in return. Patroclus pretended he did not want to sigh with relief. 

“I am happy you are back. I heard all about your fight with Achilles. Is everything well?”

Patroclus tensed. He thought back to the hurt in Achilles’ eyes when he pushed him away and the kiss, and he did not know if he could lie to the girl, who looked at him with an expression as if she knew better than himself about what was going on inside his head. 

“I don’t know,” Patroclus answered honestly. He looked down at his feet. “Are you worried about Achilles?”

That would make sense. Maybe Briseis was showing concern, trying to find the cause for Achilles’ anger. Maybe, the reason she was talking to Patroclus at all was for Achilles sake. 

“No,” Brisies’ answer startled him. When he looked up her face was difficult to describe. It was something in between confusion and hurt. “Why would I worry about him? It is you. You ran out so fast, and so frustrated I have never seen you so angry before. Is it about Agamemnon? Everything is good now. I don’t think he is going to come back, and he never did anything to me, just as he promised to you. He kept his word, I think your blood oath made a strong impression on him. So there is nothing you should be angry with Achilles about anymore.”

Patroclus blinked, his head growing heavy. Was Briseis, not Achilles’ lover? Was Achilles not interested in women at all?

That would explain why he did not hesitate to reach out to Patroclus the moment they were left alone. And Patroclus, past Patroclus, went to Agamemnon because he was worried about Breseis... That could be enough to spark Achilles’ anger. But he did not bring Briseis name when they talked, he said something else, something about Patroclus wishing to go away..

Whatever it was it only made Patroclus feel more confused.

Patroclus thought about his words carefully before his said them. 

“I- even if you are here, Achilles still would not return to the battlefield,” which was true, Achilles’ ego prevented him from going back to Agamemnon and bend the knee to bring apologies. Maybe that was what made Patroclus so angry. Despite all the deaths and the attacks, Achilles would not fight for the Greeks, because the sole reason he was in the war in the first place was to bring glory to his name, not to return Helen or treasures that Agamemnon promised to the Greek Kings. “I think that made me upset. People are dying every day, and the Trojans might take advantage of this war. Nothing will change if Achilles refuses to fight.”

Patroclus saw the pyres, the smoke, and the defences that were constantly surrounded by the patrolling soldiers. He knew the war had reached its final stretch, that soon Achilles would challenge Hector in a fight and meet his faith. He wondered if the past Patroclus knew that it was Hector’s death that would be the beginning of Achilles’ demise. He doubted it. How could he? Unlike Patroclus now, he had no way of knowing about the future. 

Patroclus felt tired. Briseis must have sensed it too.

“I think it is only you Patroclus who has the strength and the right words to say to him to make him do the right thing,” Briseis spoke softly. “He listens to no one else but you.”

He would listen to the past me, Patroclus thought bitterly. His skin crawled with goosebumps as he thought of what Achilles would think once he learned the truth about his identity.

“I think you are right,” Patroclus smiled a little. “Are you sure you are fine?”

Briseis nodded, her face a little brighter than before. “I will leave you to rest. I can see you are tired. I will see you soon, Patroclus.”

Patroclus watched as her petite figure disappeared into the night. He thought to himself that maybe he was wrong in his thoughts after all. Briseis was kind and she looked genuinely concerned for him. Maybe he could make some friends here, some allies to help him remember who he was in the past. The thought was the only thing that made his mood a little lighter than before.

He opened the flap of the tent and walked inside. 

Patroclus’ tent was very clean. It looked almost empty. Patroclus thought back to Achilles’ tent and frowned.

Patroclus felt his past headache growing. He also felt incredibly tired. All he wanted was to crash into bed and pray that everything that had happened to him in the last hours was just a bad dream, a spell, a hallucination which would clear itself after a good night of sleep. 

Patroclus undressed slowly. He moved all his clothes in a neat pile on top of one another. He just wanted to lay back, close his eyes and take a deep breath for a moment.

The heat of the day which made him a bit sluggish finally subdued. It was just a little more bearable in the night when the air turned lighter and Patroclus could breathe with his full chest. The night here was dark, and it was only because of the shadows of the flames from outside his tent that Patroclus even knew other people were patrolling around the camp. 

The night was eerily silent. It was a little strange how different the noises perceived when the time went backwards, no sounds of cars, or no loud conversations around him, no technology or no paperbacks to distract his racing thoughts. 

Patroclus got half-naked to lay in his bed. Despite it being a little cooler, it was still hot out. He was in the lands of Anatolia after all, he chuckled to himself dryly.

His mind was heavy, but his eyes closed almost involuntarily. He took a deep breath and thought of his bedroom, his bedsheets, and his unfinished school work. 

Before he went to sleep, it was the green of Achilles’ eyes he saw last.

Patroclus dreamt that he was in the forest. The trees grew dense around him. When Patroclus looked around it felt a little hazy, as if he was watching his surroundings through a deem-like smoke. Patroclus felt his limbs, but they were heavy and slow, and Patroclus could not turn around fast, instead, it felt as if his body was in a strange slow motion. If he had to describe his state it was like being submerged in a large trunk of water, and trying to move fast but unable to do so because of the water pressure around you.

Patroclus could hear voices from behind him. Patroclus tried to move his body, and when he did, slowly, his eyes widened.

Before him was he. Patroclus. His hair was the same colour, his eyes brown, and even the way he smiled was the same as him. He looked younger, in his late teens, but there was no denying it, he was looking at the stark image of himself.

Next to Patroclus, next to him?, stood Achilles. Achilles in this vision was young too, his height similar to Patroclus’ own, his chest thin and his skin dark and bronze from spending too much time in the sun.

They were walking side by side, their arms constantly brushing each other, and when Achilles’ turned his head from one side to another, checking if they were truly alone, he stood close to Patroclus, put his arms on his shoulders, and kissed him on the mouth.

Patroclus stood speechless.

There was something sensual in the gesture, something private, like a moment only lovers could share. What was even more surprising, was the way this other Patroclus reacted to Achilles’ affection; he did not push him away or stamped back with the surprised expression. No, Patroclus, the Patroclus before him, wrapped his hands around Achilles’ waist, he lowered his head, and when he returned the kiss with equal passion it felt that Patroclus was watching two lovers embrace.

Was this the reality or was Patroclus’ mind playing tricks on him again?

But the kiss before him looked so genuine. The embrace was honest. The Patroclus who held Achilles in his arms, who kissed his neck, and held him so close that there was not an inch of space between them, was in love, there was no denying that. And he was in love with the man who Patroclus pushed away and left alone, while running away in a stupor.

The kiss ended abruptly just as suddenly as it had started. Patroclus could hear why, the rustling of the leaves shuffled around, and a creature walked passed, looking at which Patroclus could not hold a loud gasp.

A half man, half horse. He had the legs of a horse, and a torso of a man, his body ending with a swishing of a dark tail. Patroclus could not believe his eyes; a mighty Centaur walked before him. When his huge body appeared, Achilles and Patroclus jumped away from each other, as if they were not trying to kiss each other breathless just a second ago.

“I understand you have lost track of the task upon which I insisted you two concern yourselves with?” Centaurus asked, his voice gruff. Patroclus watched his face darken, and Achilles’ cheeks brighten with a flush.

“Sorry, Master Chiron,” it was Patroclus who spoke first. His voice was breaking as it did during his teenage years, and if Patroclus had any doubts it was his before they completely disappeared now. “We will get back to work shortly.”

Chiron, for that, appeared to be the name of the creature, made a huffing noise and turned around, his body moving with grace despite its animal features. “I expect you two to be ready at the camp before nightfall. And do not forget that Achilles’ mother will join us tonight. Do not let the two of you forget or get distracted in her presence.”

It was the mention of Achilles’ mother that turned both of the youth’s faces sour. Patroclus was especially surprised at his reaction, the way his younger self’s corners of the mouth dropped and a frown settled over his forehead.

They must have answered something. Patroclus did not hear what it was. The dream ended, and when he woke up, he was in bed, gasping for air.

Patroclus made two observations when he woke up. 

First, he was still in Troy, in the same tent he went to bed in, the same campsite, with the same clothes he put on last night. 

Second, was that there was a rustling of loud noises just outside his tent, which made Patroclus sit up fast inside his bed, frowning from the overly realistic dream he experienced that night.

Patroclus did not have time to dwell on his dreams. He put on the first clothing his eyes saw and got up from the bed to run outside.

“What is going on?” he asked one of soldiers who was hurriedly walking by. 

“There has been another attack during the night,” he explained to Patroclus. “Just because Achilles is not fighting does not mean our lives out here are not in danger. We are going to work on the defences, to surround the camp, so we would have better ways to protect ourselves during the night.”

“I will come with you,” Patroclus nodded, his mind made. He was still in Troy. While he was here he might as well make himself useful. 

The soldier gave him a curt nod. “Thank you, Patroclus. Your help is always appreciated by our men.”

There was something in the way he said it that made Patroclus chest swell. He did not wish to disappoint this stranger, and honesty, he was a little curious about the warfare of the Greeks. While he was here, it would surely be great to learn more of their defences, if not through fighting, than through helping to build up the protection. 

“How frequent are these attacks lately?” Patroclus asked, following the man. He tried to keep his question vague, he did not wish to appear to ignore the soldiers, otherwise, it might seem suspicious how a man who had been in the war for over eight years now did not know anything about the enemy’s tactics. 

“They take us by surprise during the night or early mornings. These attacks come in small forces, a few men at most, but they damage our food supply or burn our defences. The damage is enough to make an impact. And because they act during the dark, and there are never too many of them, we can’t predict when they would appear next.”

Patroclus nodded thoughtfully. He was glad he had put on his light armour, the breastplate and some greaves before he left his tent. He wanted to be prepared for any kind of danger, despite there being no talk of them heading into battle any time soon. 

Patroclus followed the man to the edge of the campsite, where the soldiers had already begun to construct the barricades.

“It is not a job meant for a soldier like you, Patroclus,” the man said suddenly, his words taking Patroclus by surprise. “Let the common men do it. Therapon of the Prince should save his strength for battle.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Patroclus shook his head, breath staggering at the sound of the word so familiar and yet so foreign at the same time. He pretended to conceal his surprise with a scowl. “From what I heard there is no fighting for the Myrmidons. I wish to be somehow useful. What is a true disgrace is to sit back and do nothing while our men put the forces to protect themselves.”

The man smiled with the corner of his lips. He looked older than the others, Patroclus noticed; his skin wrinkling on his forehead and his face burned from the sun.

“It is great to have you back, Patroclus. The men needed the encouragement more than ever nowadays. Your presence alone is enough to lift their spirits.”

Patroclus felt a little flushed from the praise. From what he learned so far he was standing quite high ranked in the soldiers’ line of command so he must have acted as a General of sorts. It was good that he had the trust of the men around him, it meant he could relax slightly and question them without raising the suspicions. 

“How long do you think Achilles will continue to refuse to fight?” Patroclus asked.

The older soldier sighed, shaking his head. “Who knows? He is a mighty warrior, but his behaviour will continue to leave hoping for the best. When Agamemnon let go of the girl we all hoped that he would come to his senses. But now the word around the Greeks says that it is Achilles’ arrogance which would be the end of us all. These attacks are getting only stronger, and soon if we do not stand up to them they might get our ships.”

Patroclus’ memory steered at those words. Right, that was one of the passages in the Iliad. The Trojans burned the ships of the Greeks to leave them with no way to return home. Patroclus shuddered at the thought.

“What will make Achilles to change his mind?”

The soldier gave Patroclus a long look. “Who knows? He listens to himself and only. But it is not I who should be giving you advice on Achilles’ character. Out of all the Myrmidons, it is you, the only one who can truly bring him around and make him remember his purpose.”

This was not the first time Patroclus heard those words directed towards him. 

He slowly nodded his head. “I can give Achilles my council, but when it comes down to it, it is up to him to decide how he chooses to act. But I do not see the need to stay aside and wait for the Trojans to come to us. If so is needed, I too would like to take the actions into my own hands.”

Which was how he found himself under the scorching sun building the defences. The task was not too complex, but it left Patroclus gasping for air. He was not unused to physical labour, in the past he guessed he would say he played lots of sports and went to the gym enough times to give him a sort of definition of the muscles, but it was something else to be sweating under the weight of his armour and carry the weight to strengthen the defences around camp.

In a way it made Patroclus feel needed, but it also made him forget about the thousands of worries that swirled inside his mind. The sweat which rolled down his body by the end of the day was enough for him to forget about everything, even if it was for a brief moment.

During the day Patroclus talked to the soldiers, many of whom had come to recognise him. He was surprised by how easily the conversation between them flowed, and part of Patroclus wondered if the past him, the soul which inhabited this body before he took over, if the reason for it. He smiled easily and laughed; he almost did not think of his dream or about Achilles. 

Almost.

The sun was beginning to set when they were getting ready to complete their tasks. Patroclus accepted the offer to share dinner with some of the men, and after he did eat, he felt tired and sticky from the sweat and all he wanted was to come back inside his tent and clean himself in a bath, or whatever options of washing presented themselves here in this time and place.

Patroclus walked through the camp. He felt more collected now, feeling that he got a pretty good grasp on his surroundings and that he could recognise more faces now, some of them becoming even familiar. 

Patroclus’ tent stood a bit further from the others. Unlike the night before, there were no lingering figures beside the entrance. And yet somehow, Patroclus felt an uneasy feeling growing inside his stomach. 

He realised why that was when he stepped foot inside his tent.

Achilles was sitting on his bed, waiting for him. When Patroclus came in, the man lifted his head, and Patroclus once again felt his heart drop, from the sight of his ocean-like eyes. He was wearing a soft tunic which ended at the middle of his thighs, and Patroclus forced his eyes away so he would not stare so openly at the golden expense of his skin. 

“I heard you were with the others working on the defences.”

The words sounded almost accusatory. Patroclus took a deep breath and began to undress himself. He was tired, and the memories of the dream still made him a little uneasy when he looked at Achilles, almost as if it was not only that he could remember watching him kiss Patroclus, but as if he felt it all, the smell of the pine trees, the wet ground beneath his feet, the softness of Achilles’ lips and the grip Patroclus’ fingers had on his silk like hair.

“I was,” Patroclus said instead, nonchalantly. He took off his armour, then his tunic and walked over to the water bowl that stood in the corner of his room. Patroclus lowered down on his knees to get to clean himself.

“Let me help you,” Achilles jumped to his feet before Patroclus got to protest. He did not get to say anything when Achilles kneeled beside him a washcloth ready in his hand. 

Patroclus wanted to protest, he had to, during the long labour hours of working outside he had planned out a whole conversation of how his dialogue with Achilles would go, but none of the words that he was meant to say came out of his mouth. Instead, Patroclus let Achilles dip the cloth into lukewarm water, and wash his back, his arms, his biceps and his chest, which made Patroclus feel a tight clench at the bottom of his stomach.

“Why are you doing this?” Patroclus rasped out when he finally found his voice. Achilles was silent for a moment, and when he tilted Patroclus's body to face him, Achilles would not meet his eyes, instead focusing on the gestures of his hand, as he rubbed the washcloth across Patroclus's chest, briefly letting the cloth touch his dark brown nipples. “I thought you were angry with me.”

“I am,” Achilles said finally, his jaw tightly clenched. “But I- I had to see you. You have been acting strange since last night. I just wanted to see what is wrong.”

He did something, Patroclus remembered. They argued, and he was mad, and his past self was ashamed to admit how much his feelings were hurt during their quarrel. Yet, Patroclus was not aware of the details about it. In truth, some part of him, preferred to remain ignorant instead of having to repeat the mistake of heartbreak all over again.

The memories he possessed were there, inside him, yet his past self was still refusing to bring them to light, and Patroclus was content to keep it that way. For now.

“Achilles,” Patroclus took his wrist. There was a flush on the other man’s cheeks, and his eyes were glassy, and before Patroclus would do or say something stupid like kiss him, he had to come to truth with Achilles. “Look at me.”

Blond lashes fluttered, and slowly Achilles raised his eyes to face Patroclus's gaze. There must have been something inside it, the solidity, which made Achilles frown. “What do you have to say to me that I already don’t know about you, Patroclus?”

Patroclus took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. Now or never.

“When I left a few nights ago, I remember feeling angry at you. I remember the pains of hurt and betrayal. But Achilles, since that day, Patroclus that you remember is no longer here. Instead, I woke up in his body last morning, damp on the beach, my memory hazy, and I don’t remember much, but I am Patroclus just- just not, not the one from your time. I am not the man that you have once known.”

The washcloth fell from Achilles' hands. Patroclus looked him in the eyes, and he forced himself to not look away as the flash of something- like sorrow and madness and pain, covered his eyes. The green of Achilles’ gaze turned dark and grey, like a brewing ocean storm.

“What?” his voice sounded weak, almost distant. 

“I am Patroclus. I was born on March 14, 2000. I am twenty-four years old and I was a student in my last year of university. I am from the future, where I have my friends, my boyfriend, well, my ex-boyfriend now, and I don’t know how I ended up in this body. I don’t want to keep it a secret from you any longer. It felt wrong and- it kind of felt like I was cheating by making you assume that I was someone else. I am sorry. But there is no other way to come clean about this. So, I think, me and you, we should talk.”

Chapter Text

“You are a stranger,” Achilles said, his words stumbling together in anger and disbelief. He got up to his feet and took a step back from Patroclus. His face twisted in agony and there was a hint of fear in his wide eyes, as Patroclus saw Achilles come to realize the truth of the situation. Patroclus felt helpless as he watched uselessly Achilles pacing from one side of the room to the other, like some sort of caged animal, incapable of staying still as he gripped furiously into his hair. “A liar! What have you done to Patroclus?”

Patroclus pretended that he was not hurt by the harshness of those words. 

“I am him,” he said quietly. He felt hollow on the inside, the energy of fighting drained as he told Achilles about his identity, but he did not let his voice waver showing that he had intended to speak the full truth. “I am Patroclus. But I am not the same man that you have once known. The other me, my other soul from the past perhaps, is no longer in this body.”

Achilles let out a noise akin to a wounded animal. It was loud and held so much pain inside that Patroclus felt his insides clench at Achilles’ cry. 

“That’s not possible,” Achilles shook his head, his voice breaking as he avoided looking at Patroclus altogether. “How can it be? I spoke to you- to him! Just a few days ago, when we- when he got into that fight.”

Patroclus tightened his hands over the cloth of his trousers, making his knuckles turn white. He was still kneeling on the floor, and he doubted that he had enough strength in his body to get up. Patroclus opened his mouth but Achilles spoke over him. He knew that whatever it was that he had to say it would only make Achilles turn angrier. 

“This is the way the Gods intend to punish me,” Achilles’ muttered, his voice turning weak, as he hid his head inside the palms of his hands. “He loved me and I hurt him. And now they took him away from me.”

Patroclus wanted to scream, his mouth tightening and jaw clenching to prevent him from saying something he would regret. He wanted to get up and shake Achilles’ body; take him by his shoulders and make him look Patroclus straight in the eyes. 

He was still here! He might now be the same man, hell even his memories are gone, but his body remains. 

He did not die. Inside, Patroclus was still alive. However, in Achilles’ eyes, he might as well as been as good as dead. The mare shell of a human without a trace of the person whom Achilles loved.

“I know it can be difficult to accept,” Patroclus said slowly, finding the strength to speak despite the aching in his stomach. “But this is the reality now. I know that you loved him. I may not know the full story which connected the two of you, and I may not know the past of Patroclus’ soul, but I want you to know that will do anything to bring him back to you.”

Achilles did not give him an answer. Instead, he gave Patroclus a long look. It was harsh and painful, and his green eyes were a little red-rimmed around the edges. It looked like he was going to cry anytime soon. 

Despite all the rational thinking of his brain, which insisted that Achilles just needed some time alone to process his thoughts, Patroclus wanted to stand and rush to Achilles, wrap his hands around his body, brush the palms of his hands across his back, and inhale his salt ocean scent from his skin; to remind him that he was still here, that he would hold Achilles in his arms again just as he had done many times before. 

But instead, he did not do it. He sat still when Achilles stormed out of his tent. His last words hurt Patroclus to much, his heart shrinking inside his chest. 

“I don’t wish to see you again. Ever.”

Patroclus was left alone again. The size of the tent suddenly felt suffocating. He knew that what he did was the right thing to do; sooner or later Achilles would have found out the truth, and Patroclus did not want to lie to him, not after he figured out the truth which lay behind the relationship Achilles shared with Patroclus. 

It was not his place to get involved, and he should rather focus on the way he could get home, instead of worrying about the love affairs of people who had nothing to do with him.

That was the reasonable thing to do. He should give Achilles space, and instead, he should focus on his survival. The argument made Patroclus more awake, the tiredness of the day giving place to the anguish of Achilles’ words. He did not think he could go to sleep like that. He had to go outside and clear his head. 

Patroclus finished washing up and changed into fresh clothes. It was night out, the fires lighted up to show the way through the camp. Patroclus did not know where he was going. All he knew was that he wanted to breathe the fresh ocean air and clear out his head.

He did not know which direction he was going or how far away from the camp he strayed away when he felt another person’s presence beside himself.

“I thought I had recognised you from afar,” a familiar light voice sounded from behind him. Patroclus felt his body stiffen. When he turned around, it was the smirk on Odysseus’ face he saw first. “I was looking everywhere for you.”

“It is you,” Patroclus said, as a greeting. He looked around, no one was looking at them, and the camp was empty. “Did you walk from Agamemnon’s campsite?”

Odysseus looked the same as he did the day when he found Patroclus on the beach. There was a curiosity in his eyes, and his lips fell into a natural smile, but Patroclus felt oddly tense around him.

Maybe it was the agitation of his fight with Achilles, but he found it difficult to relax around a stranger. 

However, he had questions worth asking and he needed answers if he wanted to make peace with Achilles again. And Odysseus looked like the right person to speak to.

“It was not as far as you might think,” Odysseus shrugged. “Wanted to come see you sooner, but some things have gotten in the way. I was curious to see how you were getting used to this new .. reality of yours.”

Patroclus sighed. He sensed his chest grow heavy, his thoughts scrambling. He felt like he was beginning to lose the grip on himself, on his identity, on the sense of who he was. “I don’t know. Everything is just so .. confusing. You never mentioned anything about me and Achilles being lovers, and now he is mad after learning the truth.”

Odysseus nodded his head slowly, contemplating. “So you have told him.”

“Of course, I have told him! How could I keep something like that a secret? I could not pretend to be someone who I am not, and now he hates me. I have no memories of my past and I don’t even know how I know Achilles or what kind of relationship we had! It just feels like I am walking on the eggshells while everyone around me knows exactly what is happening.”

“Do you want me to tell you?”

Patroclus turned his head so fast, that he thought his neck would snap. “What?”

“About your past. Do you wish me to tell you?”

Patroclus swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. The possibility that he could learn about his past life from Odysseus did not cross his mind.

“I mean- I guess. I have to find out about myself one way or another. Who knows if my memories would even return back to me.”

“I believe the reason why they didn’t is because your past self, Patroclus from the before, did not wish to remember his childhood,” Odysseus spoke lowly. “He was an only son of King Menoitius, but his father never loved him, not truly. His mother was rumoured to be sick, and Patroclus never had much of a relationship with her. When he was young, Patroclus was given as a ward to Peleus, King of Phthia, which is how he met Achilles who was his son. You two grew up together, and became close friends in the past, tight with the bonds of your youth.”

Patroclus stood silent, listening. Odysseus’ explanation made sense. The reason why he and Achilles were close was because they grew up together, naturally, Achilles knew Patroclus better than everybody else did.

Patroclus felt a longing in his chest.

“Patroclus does not sound like he was a happy child,” given away at such a young age to live in another land, any child would be hurt by it. 

“No, I guess some would say that he was not. He was meant to be a Prince, but his father disowned him for his land and titles for the crime he had rumoured to have committed in a fit of anger. He became a ward of King Peleus instead, his status lowering as the aftermath. However, I don’t think it mattered to him. Patroclus served Achilles well, and he was happy with him. He did not wish for anything else”

Patroclus worried his bottom lip. “So that is why they were so close. They have known each other since they were both children.”

That would explain the details of Patroclus’ dream. In them he looked like a teenager, so they must have been even younger when Patroclus met Achilles first. Patroclus thought back to how far their relationship stretched, and he felt overwhelmed but how much he still did not know. “Was Patroclus’ Achilles friend?”

“He was his therapon,” Patroclus’ eyes widened in recognition as he heard those words again. “His brother in arms. They shared everything, a bed, their meals, their living quarters. They were as close as lovers, if one would define them that way.”

Patroclus thought about the anguish on Achilles’ face, how angry he was and how hurt. Patroclus chest ached as he thought back to words Achilles’ threw at him inside the tent.

I never wish to see you again.

Odysseus watched him as Patroclus grew quiet. 

“On the day when you two thought I have come to your tent with some men. We were speaking to Achilles if he was willing to return and fight for the Greeks but he refused. I think you were hurt by his words; you knew that the Greeks were losing and many of your friends were dying and you knew they held Achilles responsible for it. You wanted Achilles to maintain his honor and his glory, you did not want others to disrespect his name. I think in your argument to tried to dissuade him, but Achilles did not listen. Yet, this is just my speculation of what had happened. I was never there, so I do not know the details for certain,” Odysseus' clear eyes were visible even in the darkness. “Is there anything else you wish to know?”

Patroclus shook his head. “No. I have a pretty good grasp on things now. If Patroclus wishes me to know the past, he will show it to me, like in a dream or some sort of foreshadowing, giving me the names of the people whom I have never met. But if he stays quiet, it means the memories of it are still too painful for him to bring up. So I will wait, and see when the moment presents itself.”

“Well, that is up to you to decide then,” Odysseus smiled, his grin a little sad and lopsided. His light eyes darkened. “Do you think he did what I think he did?”

“You are asking if he killed himself?” Patroclus had asked this question himself a thousand times since he woke in this body. Patroclus was a lover with a broken heart, a disagreement with whom had made him want to space and now he was learning of his childhood which was far from perfect. “I- It is difficult to say. I don’t know. I think it is possible because his soul surrendered too easily to mine when our bodies changed. This body still belongs to him, so a part of him is surely alive within me. And maybe when I find the way to return, he will have a chance to regain control of it once again.”

Odysseus grunted. “I can not but help think that it was one sick twist of the gods to cause it to happen this way. I wonder what ploys were they playing, but even the smartest of men will never know their ways. In the mortal realm, we should not let ourselves be clouded by their judgment. Has anyone been suspicious of you lately?”

“Not that I can think of,” Patroclus shook his head. Gods? Ploy?

In his case, thinking that the magic was the reason for this to happen was not unheard of, but it did make his skin crawl unpleasantly. 

“Good,” Odysseus nodded. “What about Achilles?”

“He stormed out when I told him the truth. I think he is pretty upset right now. I would not bother him, he- he does not think I am the Patroclus he knew, which is not that far from the truth.”

“But what about you?” Odysseus tilted his head to the side, his clever eyes making Patroclus feel slightly unsettled. “How do you feel about him?”

“I- I don’t know, I only have just met him! I barely talked to him, and every time I did he acted different, one moment he was all nice and kind, and another he tried to rip my head off. I don’t know, whatever it is Patroclus like about him in the past, is not going to work on me. Achilles is not my type. Sorry. I don’t date douchebags.”

And if Patroclus was lying a little, Odysseus did not have to know about it. All Achilles was going for him was his looks. But his personality, Patroclus did not have enough patience to deal with it. He would have to figure out what to do with Achilles without getting too attached and getting his feelings involved.

“But you do- like men?” Odysseys asked, a little lost.

Patroclus squinted his eyes. “Yes. I have dated a man in the past. By he is my ex-boyfriend now, we broke up” Patroclus shook his head. “Never mind. It does not concern you”

Odysseus opened his mouth and then closed it. “You know what, I would trust to believe you said what I think you said, and will not question you on this matter further. I think you just need to be a little patient and give Achilles some time. He is sensitive, and he might show more emotions than you give him credit to.”

Patroclus sighed. “I will trust you only because I think you know what you are talking about.”

Odysseus hummed content. “I will stay in Agamemnon’s camp. Come find me when you need me, but for now, I have a feeling you might be on the right path.”

What path that was, Patroclus did not know. 

Odysseus lowered his head, as if deep in thought. “Before I leave may I ask you something?”

Patroclus raised his brows. “Sure.”

“In the future, where you are from, do they know about me?”

If Patroclus was surprised by his question he did not show it. He wondered what Odysseus’ face would look like if he told him he studied the poems about him in Classical Studies classes in high school, and then later in University as a much greater depth, that the Odyssey became his curse with how many times he had to go through the different translated versions to annotate and how many essays he had to write on the structure of the Greek prose all because of Odysseus and his never-ending journeys. 

“No,” he said instead, simply. He could not speak of the future; if Odysseus would learn he would surely try and find out if Patroclus knew about the ending of the war, which he did. He knew how Troy would burn, how people would die, and how it was Odysseus and his ticks that managed to snick the Trojan Horse inside the city gates. 

But if he knew the history surely he knew about Achilles’ faith too? He did. In the legends, Achilles’ was not a family man, but he had a son, Neoptolemus, with a Greek Princess Deidamia; according to the myth he had a girl slave Briseis who loved him even after his death. In the myths and stories, he was wedded and engaged. But now after meeting Breseis, she did not show concern for Achilles at all, so maybe, not everything that he had read in the past was truthful. So why was it here, in this history, it was Patroclus who stayed so persistent on Achilles’ mind?

Was the history wrong? Did the past not happen the way Patroclus thought it did?

These thoughts plagued his mind. If Patroclus knew about this, his other self, how could he see his loved one being wedded to another and having a child with her? Was he devastated, was he hurt and betrayed? Patroclus did not know the answers to these questions. 

It was only Achilles who could tell him where the truth of his heart lay. 

“I see,” Odysseys said, quietly. “Do you have more questions for me before I head back?”

“Just one,” Patroclus closed his eyes, thinking. “The Trojan War. Am I fighting in this because of Achilles? Was it my decision to follow him to battle? Or was it something else?”

Odysseys took a deep breath. “Ah. I was wondering when you were going to ask me that,” he let a brief silence settle between them. “Your father, a long time ago, made a travel to Sparta, to offer you, as one of Helen’s suitors,” Odysseus said which made Patroclus widen his eyes, surprised. “Yes, you were rather young, nine years old age I believe, but it did not stop you from taking the oath, which all of Helen’s suitors had to take - the oath to protect her if any harm were to come to her. So, when he was abducted by Paris, Menelaus and Agamemnon made use of that oath, and so you were summoned to fight in this war.”

Patroclus remembered now. It was Odysseus who came out with that oath. Patroclus no longer felt that he could trust that man with anything. Instead, he silently listened, realizing how much Patroclus’ life intertwined with the past. 

“I understand. Thank you, Odysseus. You were a great help to me. I will remember it for the future.”

Odysseus gave him a long look. “Of course. You can count on me for anything. If you need something, just let me know. I will offer what help I can give.”

Patroclus nodded, a smile tight on his lips. 

Odysseus might be a useful man, but Patroclus knew enough to not let himself be trapped in Odysseus’ trust. There was a layer of mischief hidden behind the man’s eyes, and Patroclus did not want to know the price he could pay for the trust he would put in Odysseus’ hands. 

Despite that, the conversation he shared did make him feel a little better. Patroclus felt his mind turn clear, and he no longer felt a tight knot of anger and sadness tied together inside his chest.

His mind was calm. Tomorrow he would go to Achilles. He would speak with him and they would try and rekindle what was left of their friendship, again. 

For now, Patroclus would go back to his tent and sleep.

He prayed for no worrisome dreams that night.

Chapter Text

Patroclus heard the music of the lyre in his dream. It was soft and it made him feel like he was floating on a distant cloud. It was swallowing him like a blanket, the music which he thought led him back to the memories of his childhood. Which was strange, Patroclus never had anyone who could play a musical instrument in his family. 

Was it another of the recollections which did not belong to him? Did he began losing control of his own body already?

Patroclus woke up with a gasp. He was breathing hard and laboured as if he just reached for air after being submerged in the water for way too long. It was a strange feeling to wake up to, his heart was beating loudly in his eardrums and his fingers trembled slightly, gripping into his bedsheets so tightly that his knuckles turned white. 

Patroclus swallowed hurriedly and blinked, looking up at the ceiling of his tent. He tried to regain control of his senses, of his feet, his fingers, his breathing, his rapid heartbeat. For a moment, when he was dreaming, he had a feeling that his body did not belong to him. Did the other Patroclus began to regain his consciousness? 

Whatever the explanation for this feeling was, it made Patroclus a little scared. 

Patroclus had just woke up, and he already felt a headache emerging. 

His body was sore. He must have pulled a muscle working so hard on the defence line yesterday, but he did not feel much regret about it. 

Patroclus got up slowly, putting on the fresh tunics (he would not lie, it did take him a while to learn how to put and tie the pieces of fabric together in the correct way) and headed out for breakfast. He was starving, and he needed to see other human beings before he would decide that he was slowly going a little mad.

His appearance was met with polite nods, but Patroclus could sense there were questions soldiers were waiting to ask him, as he made his place between them to grab the bowl offered. 

“It is just in the past you never really showed much interested in talking to us,” someone muttered, making Patroclus frown, as the man began explaining the feelings of many gathered around soldiers. “You were existing in your world, or working with Machaon, assisting him with treating the wounded, or trailing around Achilles. Sometimes you would look sullen and lost in thought. It felt a little hard to approach you in conversation.”

Is that what he was like in the past, Patroclus thought slowly, chewing on his food. Back home, he would say that he was more of an extrovert, he had enough friends to not make him feel lonely, and he never had trouble talking to strangers. 

“We have been around each other for a long enough time now,” Patroclus answered instead. “We might as well get used to the company of others if we can.”

He noticed it in relations of many soldiers, how they would huddle in groups together, some would even have a sort of family they have created in the camp; the soldiers knew each others names and would greet when see a familiar face from afar. 

Surely Patroclus knew many of the Myrmidons too. He seemed like everyone knew who he was and that he was helpful when he needed to be. In that way, Patroclus would assume they shared commonalities with one another. 

Breakfast lasted until the sun was high in the sky. While he was eating, Patroclus thought about his plans for the day.  

“Do you know by chance where I would find Achilles?” Patroclus asked the man closest to him. The soldier gave him a sidelong glance.

“At this time of the day, he must be training. No one is allowed to join him for practice, but I heard he heads out to the ocean to be in solitude.”

Patroclus nodded, saying a polite “thank you”. 

Achilles enjoyed training alone. Patroclus would have assumed so. Achilles being the warrior prodigy would surely make him seem that he was in a different world from others. 

Patroclus quickly finished his food and got up. 

In his head be was already thinking of the words he would say to Achilles when he would see him again.

Patroclus asked if anything was required of him today. “You have done enough work on the defence wall yesterday, I think you deserve a rest,” was the response he received which did make Patroclus smile a little.

He could not help it, ever since he was young he always liked the feeling of being useful. He would pester his mom or his siblings if they needed help, and because he was the youngest they would spoil him and give him some sort of distraction to occupy himself with, while the others were busy. 

Patroclus guessed his family situation differed strongly from this other, past version of him. Patroclus tried to put himself in his shoes. Achilles was his only family. Patroclus could not ruin their relationship if Achilles was all he had left in this world. 

The man who spoke to Patroclus at breakfast was right because Patroclus did find Achilles training alone near the beach. It was a long walk away from the campsite, and Patroclus was all sweaty by the time he found Achilles standing alone, wielding his sword, near the crashing ocean waves. 

Achilles did not notice him approach yet, and so Patroclus got for the first time, the view of the other man, training, alone in his world, unaware of being watched. 

Patroclus could not keep his eyes away from Achilles’ tall, lithe form. His muscles were lean and his movements fast, and there was something graceful in his footsteps, as he moved effortlessly across the sand. Patroclus never saw anyone who could possess both such grace and such power. 

He felt his blood rushing faster across his body. His eyes focused on Achilles and Achilles alone.

“How long are you going to stay there watching me?”

Patroclus shuddered. The sharp voice of Achilles cut through the air. Ah. So he was aware that he was being watched. Of course, he was the greatest warrior, Aristos Achaion, as many called him, his instincts were much sharper than those of Patroclus. 

He did not reply. Instead, Patroclus began his descent down the sandy dune, to join Achilles below where he stood. 

“You know this gawking is not different from how you used to follow me around in the past,” Achilles said again, his eyes catching Patroclus’ gaze. In the sun, his features looked slim and handsome, like a careful sculpture cut out with a knife. 

Patroclus blushed. “I am sorry. I should have made my presence known. I did not wish to disturb you.” 

“You were not disturbing me,” Achilles said, sliding his sword back inside the sheath on his back. 

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Good. Because I wanted to talk to you too.”

Patroclus frowned. “You did?”

“Yes,” Achilles nodded, his face hard and serious. “Last night, I might have- said some harsh words to you which I did not mean. The revelation that you told me just came as a shock but I had enough time to think it over. I am sorry if I hurt you.”

Patroclus stood still. Was Achilles .. apologizing? 

“That’s, wow, yes, that’s a lot, but thank you. I just wanted to come clean, and I know that Patroclus, I mean from before, the soul of this body which was here before me, meant a lot to you, and I did not want us to break off that bond because we could not find a way to- to make things right again.”

Achilles took a step towards him, making Patroclus breathe a little harder at the newfound closeness. “You are right. I want to make things right between us again. So. From what I come to understand, are you saying, you came from the future?”

Patroclus swallowed, a little nervous under Achilles’ scrutinizing gaze. “Yes. I was born many years after you.”

“And in the future are we also together?”

Patroclus’ breath halted. He was not sure how to answer this question. “Like- like friends?”

“No. Like we were together there. Like lovers.”

Patroclus was still in shock, trying to scramble his thoughts together for an answer. Achilles’ eyes bore into his, waiting. 

“I... I liked men in the past, but I never- I mean I have never met you in my life, or anyone who can even come close to you!” Patroclus stuttered. “So.. I can’t answer that question because we have never met.”

Achilles frowned. A line formed on his forehead, which Patroclus against all rational thought wanted to smooth out with his fingers. “I would think we would be together even in a different life. Yet you saying that you prefer the company of men?”

Patroclus sighed. This conversation was making him slightly uncomfortable. “Yes. I did have a boyfriend before- before all this had happened.”

Achilles blinked, a question forming in his eyes. “A boyfriend?”

“Yes. A lover, I guess that’s how you would call it, or a partner,” Patroclus nodded, reluctantly. It felt a little strange talking about his past life to Achilles, and he was slightly nervous about how Achilles would react to such news, but Patroclus promised that he would no longer keep any secrets away from him. “We broke up by the way. As in, we are no longer together, so who he was and what he did does not matter now.”

Achilles’ face turned sour at hearing the news. He curled his lips and huffed. “Sure. I don’t care.”

Patroclus stifled a smile. Achilles did pout a little but Patroclus was not going to say anything about it. 

Instead he gave Achilles a long look, putting as much power into his words to make Achilles listen. “I know I might be overstepping my boundaries when I say this, but is it possible for us to become friends again? How we were before our argument? Maybe if we figure this whole thing out together we could bring Patroclus back. We could make your Patroclus return to you.”

Achilles looked at him silently. He had an expression on his face that Patroclus could not quite place. It was a mixture of torment and muted searching, like he trying to solve the puzzle of the plain features of Patroclus’ face. 

“No,” Achilles said in a solid voice. “My Patroclus is still here. I can see him, inside of you. I was wrong when I said you were dead to me, I can sense that his soul still lingers in this body,” Achilles gaze turned dangerous, his pupils thin, and Patroclus felt a shiver of something running down his spine. “I know you are there, Patroclus. I am determined to bring you back.”

Patroclus’ body grew stiff. It felt similar to the sensation he had in his dream. For a moment he had lost control of his movements, and some other part of his brain was in charge of him and his body. Patroclus looked at Achilles, and his eyes, bright and almost blue under the sunlight, had an indistinguishable emotion in them, something like hope.

“Can I kiss you?” Achilles asked, making Patroclus part his mouth in surprise. Did he hear him correctly?

“Kiss me?” his voice sounded strangely meek.

Achilles shook his head. “Yes. I felt it, the first time we kissed, that maybe if we tried and acted the same way we did when we were together, your memories would come back and you would come back to me. How much of us do you remember?”

Patroclus’ mind thought back to that dream he had of them in the forest, or how easily Patroclus’ body gave in to Achilles’ touches when they were inside his tent a few nights ago. Instead, Patroclus shook his head. “Not a lot.”

“Oh. I see,” Achilles’ face darkened a little, the edges of his mouth dropping in frustration. “I can remind you. Tell everything that happened to us in the past years. How much we cared and loved each other.”

“Look Achilles, I know, I understand it, but I also feel like a part of me is still hesitant to accept that all of this is real.”

“Then let me prove it to you that your body still remembers me. If you would reject it, I know a part of you still remembers the memory of our embrace.”

Patroclus flushed crimson. There was something deeply intimate in the way Achilles had said those words, which made him blush. The intensity of Achilles’ gaze added fuel to Patroclus’ fire within him. He could not deny the attraction he harboured towards Achilles, he was good-looking and charming, and his body made Patroclus feel hot all over, but Achilles craved something stronger than physical attraction, and Patroclus was not sure that he could replicate his feelings without getting to know Achilles first. 

It was a dangerous game he was playing with his feelings. But agreeing to Achille’ demands felt so right, and so easy.

“Alright.” 

Achilles’ eyes fell shamelessly on Patroclus’ lips. Patroclus forced his face to remain calm despite his barely hidden amusement.

Achilles looked like a pleased cat who just got the cream. “So. What are you waiting for?” Achilles asked, like the brat that he was. 

Patroclus thought to himself that two can play this game. “I thought you said you wanted to kiss me. So go ahead. Make your move.”

Achilles scowled. “But you always kissed me first.”

Patroclus wanted to argue that this was also not the case; the instance in the tent came to his mind. He kept his mouth shut and instead took a deep breath. “It was your idea. I am just trying to see if your prediction would even work.”

Achilles huffed and puffed, his mouth falling into a pout, but he did not argue further. Instead, he made a tentative step towards Patroclus, shortening the already tight distance between them. Patroclus lowered his chin slightly, so he could look into Achilles’ eyes. They were dim and determined, and they still searched for something along the lines of Patroclus’ face, which must be the remains of his past lover. 

Patroclus felt his heart skipping a beat, an unreasonable jealousy sparkling in his chest. 

He pushed those feelings away, for later (or for never). 

“Lower your head,” Achilles, said, almost commanding. Patroclus did as Achilles told, watching curiously what Achilles was going to do next. “Now close your eyes. I don’t like the way you look at me.”

Patroclus mouth twisted in displeasure, but he obeyed, closing his eyes without complaining. 

“How do I look at you?” he asked regardless, his eyelids shut. 

“Like you are my Patroclus from the past.”

Patroclus bit down on his tongue before he would say something foolish. He did not hear a sound apart from the crashing of the waves, and he felt the hot rays of the sun falling on his face. His back began to sweat, and so did his armpits and his chest. 

Patroclus focused on the slow breathing of his lungs when suddenly a feather-like touch brushed against his lips. Achilles’ mouth was soft and wet, just as Patroclus remembered, and this kiss was sincere like a man reuniting with his long lost lover again. 

Patroclus stood motionless. He felt his blood rushing faster through his veins, as Achilles’ arms reached to wrap around his neck, and when Achilles’ tongue brushed curiously, almost as if asking for permission, against his bottom lip, Patroclus gave in to the seductive touch and parted his lips. 

Kissing Achilles was nothing like Patroclus ever experienced before. He had not kissed many people in the past and had only fooled around one or twice in high school before dating Alexander, but this was nothing like those squirming teenage experiences. 

Achilles kissed similar to the way he fought, with grace and passion; with intimacy which made the hairs of Patroclus’ body stand in electrifying arousal. He could not control himself, when his arms tightened around Achilles’ slim waist, a gesture he felt he had done countless times before. His body was more responsive than his mind, recognizing Achilles’ touch and falling in synch with his movements. 

Patroclus did not need to think when he let Achilles’ tongue inside his mouth, or when the palms of his hands reached beneath Achilles’ tunic to seek contact with the naked expanse of his skin. When Patroclus’ fingers brushed across his lower back, Achilles’ moaned into his mouth, and this sound, a soft intimate noise only lovers shared, made Patroclus realize with slight panic that he was incredibly hard. 

“Achilles,” he said slowly, trying to level his breathing, as he moved almost painfully away from the tempting mouth. “We have to stop.”

“Why?” Achilles almost whined, his eyes suddenly glassy, his arms still intertwined behind Patroclus’ neck. “We have done this before. We have done so much more than just kissing before. You know it, your body remembers.”

Achilles not so subtly rolled his hips against Patroclus’ hard length, making him wince. 

“Yes, but I am not him,” Patroclus spoke through his gritted teeth.

“You are!’’ Achilles exclaimed loudly. His vivid green eyes darkened. “I know you are! I can feel it. Your mind just forgot it, and now you think you are someone else.”

“I- I don’t know, okay? I am confused, and scared, and trust me this is doing more harm than good. You are very attractive, fuck, you are the most handsome boy I met, but please, it feels like I need more time to just, get my mind in order. I can see that you are right, that our bodies know each other, but my thoughts are still in chaos over everything.”

There must be a pain in his eyes, which Achilles took notice of, because he tightened his lips, and took a step back, leaving Patroclus standing strangely alone and cold, irrationally wishing to have Achilles’ warm body back into his arms.

“I know. I hurt you and now Gods are punishing me for it. But I will promise to make things right this time. I will make you remember only the good things. So you can forgive me, and we will go back to how things were.”

Patroclus sighed. “We will figure this out together.”

Achilles met his eyes. For the first time, Patroclus saw a true sincerity in them, a gentleness which made his chest ache. When Achilles smiled it was almost like it was directed towards someone else, a man Patroclus was not.

“Sure. We will.” 

Chapter Text

By late afternoon Patroclus returned to the camp with Achilles. 

They stayed behind at the beach for a while, Achilles practicing his throws with his spear, while Patroclus tried to calm his racing heart. It felt odd that between the two of them, it was Patroclus who felt the most confused by the newfound dynamic between them. Were they friends? Were they something more? Patroclus watched Achilles from the corner of his eyes, his feline movements and agile steps. 

To him, Achilles was a God in human form. But it was what lay behind this facade that drew Patroclus in; a strange curiosity to see more of Achilles’ character and what was hiding beneath his divine-like demeanor. 

The sun was starting to slowly set, making the air and sand cooler and shadows longer, when Achilles looked like he had enough of sweating.

“We should return for lunch,” Patroclus said, noticing that Achilles had slowed down in his movements. He was cooling down, stretching the muscles, and Patroclus tried not to ogle too much at the plain expanse of his golden skin or the long uncovered legs, over which Patroclus did not drool. 

“You are doing it again,” Achille said, letting go of the leg he lifted for a stretch of his hamstrings, instead going to where Patroclus sat on the pile of sand. There was no shade in the desert, and Patroclus’ already dark skin, must have turned another shade of brown under all that sun.

“Doing what?” Patroclus asked, pretending that he was not bothered by the swift change in subject. 

“Staring,” Achilles replied lightly, smiling. He crouched before Patroclus, his green eyes staring into Patroclus’ brown with a strange layer of mischief in them. “You did this a lot in the past too. You would look at me, and then turn away as if I would not notice how hot you got at the chance of getting caught. I knew you liked me them, that you found me handsome, so don’t try to hide your feelings from me now too,” Achilles’ narrowed his eyes, and Patroclus felt his whole body flush. “Out of all men, it is me who knows you best, Patroclus. Even when you might forget yourself, I will guide you to return your memories.”

Patroclus fought an urge to sigh. Achille was still thinking that it was a plain memory loss, an incident which could be easily reversed if treated accordingly. Patroclus could only wish it was that easy. 

“We should head back,” he said again, unnerved by Achilles’ words. “The others would worry.”

“Since when do you care what others think,” Achilles frowned.

“Well, maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

The tension that settled between them lasted back to the camp. Patroclus bit down on his tongue. He was too blunt; he should have kept those words to himself. He lowered his head, trailing behind Achilles obediently like a sorry dog. 

“You will sleep in my tent, like you always do, tonight,” Achilles said, once they reached the camp. “You are my companion, my therapon, and you might not remember this, but we always shared a bed. I should have known something was wrong with you when you never returned to sleep with me. You never go back to your tent, not after all those years we have spent together.”

Patroclus did not know what to say to that. Achilles’ words, however, made a lot of sense, it surely explained why Patroclus’ tent was so clean and almost had no signs that anyone lived in it. 

Achilles turned around when Patroclus remained quiet. He leveled him with a long gaze, a hint of worry appearing in his eyes. “You will come back to sleep with me right?”

There was a hint of desperation in his question. Patroclus felt his eyes soften. “If that is something that you want, then I will.”

Achilles tightened his lips. There was a tick in his jaw. Patroclus knew immediately that this was not the answer that Achilles had hoped to hear. 

“Yes. This is what I want. Now come. You must be hungry.”

They had lunch together in Achilles’ tent. It was a simple affair of fish and bread, and Achilles’ ate it well. Patroclus watched him throw the bones away on his empty plate and tilted his head slightly. “You like fish?”

Achilles turned his head. For the first time, he looked at Patroclus like he was a stranger. “I do. My mother is a sea nymph, so I tend to prefer eating sea creatures the most.”

Patroclus grinned. “You mean you think your mother is a sea nymph?”

It was a myth after all. Things like Gods and magic didn’t exist in real life. Patroclus doubted that Achilles was truly born of a divine creature, it was a popular rumor amongst the Greeks to show his status as the best of the men.

“No. I know it. You have met her too.”

Patroclus blinked, smile stilled on his lips. “I have?”

Achilles nodded. “Yes, many times in fact, in the past. Now that you have mentioned it, I should probably bring up your condition in my next conversation with her. Maybe she knows a way to make your memories return back to norm- Patroclus!”

Patroclus felt a horrible headache split his head. He never felt such excruciating pain before. He dropped his plate, it crashed into little pieces on the floor. He reached for his head and squeezed his eyes, it felt almost like someone was pushing a large dagger deep inside his brain. Somewhere on the periphery of his mind, he heard Achilles’ worried cries, and his hands on his own.

Patroclus forced himself to breathe slowly, trying to calm his racing heart. His vision whitened. It felt almost like a panic attack, and Patroclus did not know what caused such a violent reaction of his body.

“Patroclus! Say something! Are you hurt?”

Was he? He was not bleeding. Patroclus shook his head, trying to regain the control of his limbs. 

“I don’t think we should tell your mother about me,” Patroclus gritted through his teeth. It was almost like a realization, a thought that struck him in the middle of a simple conversation. He turned towards Achilles and he knew his eyes were bloodshot because they ached, when he stared into Achilles’ twisted from worry face. “Promise me, Achilles. Promise you will not talk to her about what happened to me.”

It felt strange. Patroclus was saying those words, his mouth was moving according to his will, but the idea, the thought behind them, belonged to someone else. A voice which Patroclus could not place. He thought back to himself drowning, his body in the cold dark waters, the darkness that enveloped him. 

Bile rose to his throat. The moment he finished saying the last of his sentence, he threw out his lunch right under Achilles’ feet.

“Patroclus,” Achilles whispered, his voice so soft, that Patroclus almost missed him saying it. Patroclus grunted, his body bent in half, his head dropping between his knees. “What has happened to you?”

Patroclus wished he knew the answer to that question. Achilles’ hand gently rubbed his back, soothing his ache. “I will clean it. I think you should rest. Maybe you have spent too much time out in the sun. You are too hot to the touch.”

Patroclus silently nodded. Neither of them brought up the topic of Achilles’ mother again. 

Against Patroclus’ arguments, Achilles forced him to go to bed. Achilles cleaned the tent and washed Patroclus’ sweat off his body with a wet cloth, and Patroclus was too weak to argue about how he could have done all of that by himself. 

But he did feel a little better once his head touched the pillow. Something about the scent of Achilles’ around him, the oils and the warmth of his mattress that smelled like him, made Patroclus feel calm for the first time in a day. 

He did not know how he fell asleep. 

His dreams was deep and dreamless. When he opened his eyes, it was dark out. 

Patroclus groaned; somewhere far away soft sounds of music played, and then stopped, and he felt a body lowering on the mattress beside his own. 

“How are you feeling?” Achilles asked softly, his fingers brushing the locks off Patroclus’ face. 

“What time is it?” Patroclus grunted, still half asleep. He felt the fingers brushing down his covered with stubble cheek, moving gently against his chin, and up again to touch his brow. Patroclus had his eyes closed. The touch was pleasant, like a ripple in calm water, and he did not want Achilles to stop. It made heat pool at his stomach, and Patroclus almost whined when Achilles’ moved his palm away from his face. 

“You should shave,” Achilles said quietly almost to himself. “It’s late. You slept through the day. Your body must be exhausted, Automedon told me you helped with the defenses yesterday when you really should not have. Look at you now. Sick in bed and useless.”

“I am not sick,” Patroclus rasped, but even to him, the words lacked their strength. He moved around on his back, turning his head to face Achilles’ concerned gaze. “Sorry for scaring you like that. I don’t know what happened. I have never experienced anything like this before.”

Achilles watched him silently. His features were soft in the moonlight, and there was a frown between his brows, a line which Patroclus desperately wanted to kiss away. “I thought I lost you again.”

Patroclus shifted on the sheets. He lay on his side, putting his head on the bent of his elbow, looking up at Achilles. He could not find the right words to say. He did not want to leave Achilles again. That sounded superficial. He wanted to mean what he said, to say something to comfort him, but whatever Patroclus had in mind was his own words, his feelings, nothing that Achilles’ was used to or familiar with. Instead, he chose to remain quiet. 

A fragile silence settled between them. 

Achilles bit down on his bottom lip. “I know I should have asked this before, but- How much do you remember? Of the past? Of us?”

Patroclus thought of his answer. He had not spoken to Achilles about his encounter with Odysseus, and judging by the way his body acted when Achilles brought the subject of his mother, he was not sure it was a good idea to speak of it now. 

“There is not much to remember,” Patroclus admitted quietly. “It comes inside my dreams mostly. Like a vague feeling, a memory so blurry I can barely see it. There was one which felt the most real, but I watched it from afar like a stranger. It was happening before my eyes, but I was not taking part in it, just observed it.”

Achilles perked up at his words. He leaned forward on the palms of his hands against the bed. In the deemed nighttime light he looked younger than he was, and Patroclus wondered for the first time about Achilles’ age. 

His voice sounded youthfully hopeful. “What was it?”

Patroclus flushed, thinking back to the memory of him and Achilles kissing. 

“We- we were in the forest,” he started slowly, a little unhelpful, and Achilles bobbed his head, listening intently. “It was spring, or early summer I think. We were busy, we had to do some task, assignment by someone else, maybe our- our teacher?”

Patroclus was trying to scramble together his thoughts. Achilles’ eyes were glimmering with barely contained excitement.

“Yes! The teacher! We spent three years in Pelion tutoring with Master Chiron!”

“The Centaur?” Patroclus frowned.

“Yes!” Achille repeated, brightly. “Have you seen him in your dream too?”

“I think so. He was half-man half-horse? Something in between? He appeared huge. I think it might have been him?” Patroclus asked as Achilles kept nodding his head, elated. “I see,” Patroclus drawled. Maybe the magic of this world was real. If something like Centaur could exist, Achilles’ mother could be a real divinity. No matter how bizarre it sounded even as a mare thought inside his head.

“What were we doing inside the forest?” Achilles asked, his face innocent. Patroclus blushed. His cheeks turned red and he could not ignore the heat that spread throughout his body. 

“We kissed.”

The words fled his tongue before Patroclus could think too deeply of their meaning. However, he could not tear his eyes away from the look on Achilles’ face.

Achilles was blushing. His cheeks were cherry pink, and his eyes blinked rapidly, looking at Patroclus with the expression of wonder.

“You remember it? Our kiss?”

It was Patroclus’ turn to squirm. “I was watching us. It was me, but- younger? We were together, and you kissed me, and it felt like we had done this before, that it was something natural between us, that we knew each other bodies well enough to not be shy anymore. That’s how I knew. That we were more than just companions to each other.”

Achilles made a sound, like a quiet hum. Patroclus could not control the way his eyes widened as Achilles lay in bed with him, moving closer to him and settling on the cold side of the mattress, facing Patroclus. He must have washed himself, because Patroclus could smell his clean hair and the fresh scent of his skin, and suddenly being so close to Achilles in the deem light made his body turn heavy from a strange anticipation building in his muscles.

“That is because we were,” Achilles said so quietly, it was almost a whisper. “We spend years learning each other’s bodies. There was no one else for me but you, not since we were children. You were my first, the first to kiss me, the first to touch me, the first to let me touch the man’s body, to let me learn every curve and muscle, better than I know my own.”

Patroclus could hear the beating of his heart inside his eardrums. It was so strange, he never felt such tension in his body before. Achilles made him nervous, in a good way, he made his body tense, and he made his heart ache like no one had ever done before.

When Achilles spoke again, his voice was laced with a hint that Patroclus could only explain as seduction. 

“Do you remember the first time between us, there, in the cave?”

Patroclus’ memory stirred. There must have been a look of confusion on his face, because Achilles moved a little closer, his hot breath leaving a sweet taste on Patroclus’ lips.

“Do you want me to show you?”

Patroclus did not get to protest, when Achilles’ hand moved to touch him on his chest. Patroclus fell asleep half naked, his tunic must have gotten dirty from the puke, which was why Achilles’ took it off for him before he went to bed. It was too hot for wearing one anyway. Patroclus did not think that it would leave him vulnerable to Achilles’ touch, to the palm of his hand rubbing softly across his chest.

Patroclus swallowed, hard. “We shouldn’t.”

“Why?” Achilles asked, his hand moving down, fingers brushing just past Patroclus’ dark brown nipple, moving slowly towards the tense muscles of his stomach. Patroclus tried to even his breathing, but he could not hold his gasp when Achilles palm touched the dark curly hairs leading down to the bottom of his trousers. “I know it is you, Patroclus, deep down you body recognizes me too if you mind does not. Let me help.”

Patroclus should have fought against it. He should have argued. He should have pushed Achilles’ away. Yet he could not.

Patroclus looked into the deep green of Achilles’ eyes, his breath staggering. His words sounded too loud in the stillness of the tent.

“You can keep going.”

Achilles’ lips were so close it felt almost like a sin to not kiss them. Patroclus barely registered his movement as he lowered his head, capturing Achilles’ mouth, their tongues touching, and he moaned, as Achilles’ hand moved below his waist, taking his length fully in the palm of his hand. Achilles’ movements were slow and torturous, moving with practiced ease, but Patroclus could not deny hot good it felt.

He let his body move on its own. He wanted to bring Achilles pleasure too, he needed to touch him, to feel his body melt under his hands. Achilles’ mewled into his mouth, as Patroclus grasped his waist, his hands exploring the skin untouched by his touch, his hands moving lower, tugging Achilles’ pants off leaving his lower body exposed to the night air.

Achilles’ moaned, when Patroclus took both of their lengths inside the palm of his hand and rubbed them close. It was a but dry, but Patroclus never felt anything that brought him so close to pleasure at this.

“Let us make a new memory together,” he whispered hotly against the slightly swollen plush of Achilles’ lips, as he jerked them off, his palm wide enough to touch them both, and when Achilles spit on his hand, to join him, Patroclus swore and almost came at the sight. “You are so fucking hot.”

Achilles giggled. “I like when you speak so strangely. I think I might want to keep you.”

Patroclus would have laughed it he was not so close to spilling on their entangled fingers. He felt the familiar pleasure pooling at his stomach, but Patroclus could not tear his eyes away from Achilles’ face. It was twisted in pleasure, so soft and so enduring, Patroclus kissed him again, because he could, and he tightened his grip, pushing them closer, rougher, wanting to consume Achilles whole. His body was filled with a strange wave of jealousy.

It was him making Achilles’ feel good. He wanted to be the only one this beautiful boy was capable of thinking about.

“Tell me,” Patroclus gasped, his release coming near. “Say my name as you cum.”

Achilles gasped, soft and gut wrenching. 

“Patroclus.”

Chapter Text

The sky over the mountain was dark and clear. Hera opened her eyes slowly and looked up at the dim light of the constellations scattered above her. She felt a dull a headache growing inside her skull and a rapid pulsing behind her eyelids; she had spent the whole day watching over the body and the soul of this mortal whom she had brought onto this earth. His name flashed through her mind. 

Patroclus.

His soul had grown accustomed far too easy for an intruder, his body did not protest when it had a new life placed inside of it. Hera did have a habit of dwelling over the lives of the mortals, but even to her, this change appeared too simple; too perfect to be a reality. She would have expected the boy to struggle and to protest, his soul grappling and tearing itself apart, doing all it could to fight against the spell of the divine, but instead, it surrendered overly eager to the ways of the Gods. 

Hecate’s spell turned out to be a success. 

A soul for a soul. A body for a body.

All that was left for their scheme to succeed was for Athena and Aphrodite to follow their part of the plan. Hera took a deep breath, inhaling the notes of incense and the growing smoke of the sacrificial pyres in the air. Troy was bustling with life again, the rumors of the Greek defeat growing stronger day by day. 

Hera thought of the other Goddess who followed her into Hecate’s den. She did not know if she could trust them. Aphrodite and Athena had the minds of their own and Hera suspected neither of them had much time had before the Gods of Olympus would figure out the truth — that a human soul put in motion the shift in the plains of time and space. 

Hera decided that to let her mind rest at ease she would keep watch and put herself as the guardian over the mortal. She looked after Patroclus day and night; guiding him gently through the difficulties he might find himself facing in Troy. She put the familiar names of his comrades and friends inside Patroclus’ head and the memories of his past to ease him through the unfamiliar surroundings; she gave Patroclus the confidence he needed and she glamoured him enough to let the boy pass for the soldier from Ancient Hellas. 

She felt a tug of content at her chest. Achilles was losing himself to the bounds of affection for his lover, and Patroclus fell weak to Achilles’ charms and beauty. The arrows sent by Aphrodite found their ways into their hearts.  

But why was it then that Hera felt such a strange sense of unease?

Achilles was still not fighting, and the war efforts had stalled. She thought back to the night before. Apollo exclaimed just last night, over dining and the feast of the ambrosia, that the temples of Troy began to resume their sacrifices and some even celebrated the early victory over the Greeks, as many doubted that without Achilles’ help, Agamemnon could truly take on the city. Priam and his sons and daughters prayed for the Gods’ blessing behind the large city walls, their songs reaching even the halls of Mount Olympus. 

Hera should feel accomplished. But for now, she felt anything but. 

“My Queen,” the voice of a messenger of the Gods’ sounded from behind her. Hera shuddered, distracted. She did not hear him approaching her. 

“Yes, Hermes,” she spoke lowly, looking over her shoulder at the intruder, turning away from the balcony railings and the hills of green mountains spread from behind them. 

His eyes were dark and clever. Not for the first time Hera began to worry about who besides her and the Goddesses’ knew of their secret affair. Gods are prawn to deceiving. But what Hera had done was much worse than lying. 

She betrayed the Olympians. She gave power to the Titian. She deceived the Fates. 

“There is a visitor who wishes to see you,” the messenger said, his face motionless, but Hera did not miss the light tilt of his voice. “She has been here a while. She requests an audience with the Queen. From one mother to another. That was what she said.”

Hera’s face turned dark. “How long has she been waiting for?”

“A whole day. She came at sunrise.” 

A nymph requesting an audience from a God. Hera scowled. “Lead me to her. Let’s see what this mother would have to say.”

Thetis was growing arrogant. Hera felt her anger rising as she began to follow Hermes. Who did she think she was? Her son might have been the greatest warrior, but he was still a mortal. Thetis thought his actions would give him the blessing of the Gods, for Hera knew the truth. She could foresee the future, she knew better than the others, that cruelty does not earn you a place on Olympus. 

“Do you know what it is she wishes to speak to me about?” Hera asked the messenger, her voice light and her skirts of purple silk moving gently with each step she made. 

“I believe it is a matter of her son and his therapon. She has noticed a change in the later’s recent behavior. She thought she would discuss this matter of concern with the Gods.”

Hera’s chest squeezed in worry. Was it possible that Thetis knows about what they have done? But there was no chance she could have known of the conspiracy. Yet Hera was aware that Thetis had always kept a close eye on her son and it was Thetis who could sense if something had changed in the hearts of those who surround him.

“I see,” Hera kept her voice grounded. “And why is she coming here, to the plains of Olympus to talk to me of such matters?”

“She hopes that the Queen of the Gods will give her the strength to punish the deceiver. She thinks as a mother you most of all the Olympians would understand the importance of protecting one’s child.”

Hera’s jaw tightened. Thetis lived in the oceans, and Hera had little power over its vast expanse. But she could give comfort to the worried mother. However, she knew that whatever words Hera had in store for her would bring Thetis little pleasure.

“Lead the way, then, messenger.”

Thetis was waiting for her further away from the Palace residing by the Gods. Hera could see her from a distance, the way her luminescent skin was almost silver in the moon light and long hair which the nymphs took great pride in flowed like waves across her back. Thetis turned her head, she must have noticed them approach from afar, and lowered her chin and body, in greeting, when Hera stepped close. 

She waved her hand, dismissing the God who followed closely behind her. In a spawn of a moment, Hermes disappeared into thin air. 

They stood alone. The night skies over their heads reminded Hera of the darkness of the underworld, but she pushed those thoughts far away to the depths of her mind. Hera straightened her back, standing tall despite the odd anxiety which crept inside her heart as shivers ran down her spine.

“Queen of the Gods, I greet you,” Thetis bowed, in servitude. Her voice sounded low and rough, surely obscured by the years of living in the cold ocean waters. “I am grateful you listened to my pleas to speak with you. I am afraid this matter must not have waited any longer.”

“You are free to speak your mind to me, Thetis,” Hera replied, her expression turning into one of aloof indifference. “What does a nymph wish to ask for the Olympian Gods?”

Thetis flinched, a little. Her posture tensed, and when he raised her head, it was the look in her pale eyes that made Hera turn cold. A thought rushed through Hera’s restless mind.

She knows.

“My son, Achilles, as you might know, Queen of the Gods, has been fighting in a long and ruthless war against the mighty city of Troy. His heroism knows no bounds and he is the greatest warrior this World has ever seen. I have raised him as well as I could, I have given him more love and taught him more lessons than any mortal woman ever could. He is my only son, my only child, and I would do everything it takes to protect him from any harm.”

Hera listened to her intently. Thetis continue her speech, her tone turning rigid from her inner agitation: 

“And yet, I failed him once. When I did not stop him by taking that boy as his companion, I failed him. I should have taken him away, should have done more to defend Achilles’ innocence from that lecherous mortal. Achilles’ soul was corrupted and twisted by his words. And now- I thought he would grow out of it. He is a man now, I made sure of it, but he still clings on to the memories of their past with that boy. He calls it love, but I know him best. It is not love that he shares with that mortal, it is an obsession, a clouded lust-driven mind, which does not see any reason. I can see now that I was wrong. Everything I had done for him had been destroyed.”

Hera stiffened. She was waiting, patiently, that Thetis had much more to say and she was right in her deductions.

“And now that man, that Achilles calls his companion, had his soul twisted by the forces so dark that I am frightened to speak of it before you, Queen of the Gods. Patroclus’ soul has changed, I have seen it with my own eyes, he had become a demon, a strange creature which belongs to neither this world nor the other. Achilles can’t see through this deception, he is blinded, he is innocent and pure, and soon he too would follow Patroclus into a world so dark and cruel even I would not be able to follow. Please, Hera, as a mother, you must know how much agony it brings me to see my child suffer. You must help me, you must bring justice to my son, you must take Patroclus away from him.”

Hera has listened to everything Thetis had to say. The nymph was pleading, she was begging for Hera to answer her prayers. 

“The Gods do not meddle in the lives of the mortals,” Hera spoke, sharp and distant, after a silence which made Thetis turn pale. “Your son, Thetis, is not hero in the eyes of the Gods. He is a soldier, a man who killed and let his soldiers rape and destroy the temples and humiliate their priests. I have little sympathy for your son and the campaign he fights in. But as a mother, I can understand your suffering. I promise to keep an eye on Patroclus, and from this moment, I command you to not intervene in his mortal destiny. If what you say is true, I wish it to remain between us only, no other soul should have heard of what you told me here today.”

If Thetis was angry she did a good task of keeping her face unmoved. Instead, she raised her dark blue eyes and her voice rang in Hera’s ears.

Neoptolemus, the son of Achilles, the man to whom Troy would fall, is dead.

How did it happen? Thetis cried and yet Hera could not answer. The boy was destined for greatness, even more so than his father, and yet his body and his soul were killed and destroyed in a tragic accident to which Thetis knew nothing about. Thetis anger turned the grass beneath her white and dead, like ash. “The prophecy foretold that he was the one who would bring Troy to the flames.”

“The prophecies of the mortals are often misleading,” Hera spoke, despite the loud and powerful ringing in her ears. 

An uneasy silence settled between them. Thetis sensed that Hera’s mind was unshaken, she would give no mercy to the dead boy whose whole life was destined to bring a disaster. Neoptolemus was dead, Hera thought with strange and dark glee. 

A soul for a soul. A body for a body. 

The prophecy had been changed. Troy will fall no longer. 

Thetis face turned into a mask of cold stone. She knew better than anyone how powerful the Fates were, how unknown and how dark their ways were. She would blame it on the three Moiras, Hera reasoned with herself, Thetis would never suspect that there was something darker, something much more powerful involved in the child’s demise. 

Thetis lowered her head, hiding her eyes from Hera’s gaze. “I thank you for listening to me, Queen of the Gods. You must forgive my brazenness but Achilles’ is still my son, and I can’t simply turn away from him in this time of need. I will watch him, from afar, and I hope the Queen would keep her word and protect him from the evil.”

“And your silence?” Hera narrowed her eyes. “You promise to speak to no one of today?”

Thetis jaw tightened. Hera could see it; the flesh of anger through her skin, the silent nervousness that had gripped through her body. Hera was reminded once again of Thetis' burden; of the child she was to carry and the power he would hold, how even her husband Zeus feared what would grow inside Thetis’ womb. 

A mere nymph with the power to overthrow the gods. Hera sneered silently. 

Thetis nodded her head. “I will speak to no one about this.”

Hera watched her disappear. She was an ocean nymph, she must not feel at peace being so far from the water on top of the mountain. Hera felt little ease as she watched Thetis’ silhouette dim in the darkness.

She waited for a while until no sign of Thetis remained in the air around her.

“How much of it have you heard?” Hera asked as Hermes loomed silently behind her.

“Enough to make my judgments,” was his answer. Hera sighed.

“Will you tell him about it?”

Hermes was silent for a long time. When Hera turned around, she met his eyes. She could not read the expression on his face, but she knew there was a mischief in his gaze, a plan forming as quickly, as his quick speed; mind working in the pace which Hera knew enough to be frightened about.

“Who knows? For now, I would keep my own close eye on this mortal. What was his name again? Ah. Patroclus.” 

Chapter Text

Patroclus was awakened by the first rays of sun that burst through the thick white covers of the tent. He had his eyes closed, but his mind was wide awake against his will, and he could not stop his thoughts from conjuring the images last night. The memories flooded his head. The events of the past days reappeared all at once, making Patroclus feel a little nauseous. 

Talking to Odysseus, traveling back in time, meeting Achilles, God, Achilles.

Patroclus frowned in his sleep, trying to ease the pressure of his tired muscles. Patroclus grew slowly aware of his body, of the soft mattress beneath him and the closeness of hot sticky from the sweat and sleep skin of another laying next to him. 

When Patroclus slowly opened his eyes he could see the mop of Achilles’ golden hair, bright and soft even in the morning darkness. Achilles’ face was turned away from him, his back pressed tightly against Patroclus’ chest as if the closeness in which they slept together came naturally to him. Patroclus’ hand was thrown over Achilles’ waist, pushing their bodies even closer, and Patroclus did not realize that he was seeking out Achilles even in his sleep. 

Patroclus was glad that he could not see the lines of Achilles’ sleeping face, because Patroclus’ body turned rigid and a little cold, as he felt a strange mix of guilt and early morning arousal sweeping over him. 

Last night he did the one thing he promised to himself he would not do. He had slept with Achilles. A man he barely knew anything about, a man whom he fell in love with in his past life. 

Patroclus was meant to fix things between them, not make them turn to worse. He felt that what he did last night, how he let himself act upon his desires had only ruined the already fragile balance in this new “friendship” him and Achilles had built between each other. Achilles will surely hate him now, he will think Patroclus took advantage of him, and they will never be able to rekindle the past that they shared. 

In the dark, when his body was still pressing against Achilles’ back, Patroclus made a vow to himself that this was a one-time thing. That he would never do it again; he would not break Achilles’ trust and he would not put his own selfish needs before their friendship. Once Achilles awakens he shall talk to him and Patroclus will say that they made a mistake, that they should remain friends and instead of getting mixed up in each other, they must instead focus on returning Patroclus’ old soul into his body.

The plan sounded fairly simple inside his head. 

A body in his arms shuffled a little, and Patroclus felt Achilles gradually moving himself awake, yawning loudly and twisting in Patroclus’ arms, so much so that his golden hair ticked Patroclus on his face. Patroclus felt a little numb from his sleep, so he let Achilles turn to face him and hide his sleepy face in the crook of Patroclus’ neck, Achilles’ warm breath feather light against his skin, and Patroclus felt a shiver running down his spine as Achilles’ soft lips left a kiss just below his ear. 

“Good morning,” Achilles rasped, his voice hushed, and when he moved his hips closer, Patroclus realized with both terror and excitement, that they were both hard. Achilles’ hips lazily humped Patroclus’ thigh, a smile sounding in his soft voice. “You are still here. It was not a dream.”

Patroclus caught Achilles’ by his wrist, as the other man’s hands moved lower down his stomach to reach for his hardened length. Achilles’ touch was hot and familiar, and Patroclus had to harshly compose himself to not give in to Achilles’ seductive voice.

“Wait. Achilles, we have to- we have to talk about what happened last night.”

Achilles huffed, irritated, looking up at Patroclus with a stormy expression. “Talk? I thought we have moved passed it,” Achilles eyes narrowed and he took his hand out of Patroclus’ tight grip and sat up angrily on the bed. “Those were not the words you said to me last night.”

Patroclus could not bear to listen to Achilles’ accusing voice. Instead, he followed suit, sitting on the bed and getting up to collect the clothes that were left washed and folded on the stool beside the bed. Achilles watched him with a strange distant expression as Patroclus moved purposefully around the tent. He winced as he felt dried cum on his lower stomach and between his thighs. He should have washed himself last night, but he completely forgot even the most basic rules of hygiene.

“Sorry,” he said, an overwhelming mixture of emotions making his voice break. Patroclus avoided looking in the direction of the bed, as he became aware of how cowardly he must look, how desperate he was to run away. “I need to wash up. I will go back to my tent and return when I am dressed.”

Achilles’ was sitting uptight, his back tight like a string, with only a thin blanket covering his lean tan naked body, but despite the soft image of a youth sprawling in the bed, Patroclus's body felt cold from the rigid voice with which Achilles said his next words. “Do you regret it?”

He was talking about the night they shared.

No, Patroclus thought desperately, no, I don’t regret anything that happened last night, I want you, I want to return to bed with you and make you feel good, but I can’t because I will never be the man you want me to be. 

“I-,” Patroclus stiffened. It is for the best, he reasoned. He could not look at Achilles’ face, not now, he knew that he would not find the comfort or the gentleness in his face, only cold stillness which made Patroclus’ whole body turn rigid and his skin too tight. He dropped his gaze, as he stood awkwardly in the middle of the tent, his hands hanging uselessly by his sides. “I do. We should have not- I should have not done it. I am not your lover, Achilles, and I am not the companion you seek. No matter how much you believe it, there are no lost memories to return. I am a completely different person, and I don’t want to replace someone dear to your heart by acting like someone else. I am sorry. I will help you bring your Patroclus back, but whatever happened between us last night should not have happened. It was a mistake.”

Patroclus left the tent before he could say something foolish. 

He did not remember how he found his way through the camp, his mind was blank and his head was pounding angrily. 

When Patroclus returned to his tent he felt lonely and frustrated with himself. He thought he did the right thing, that if he said those words he would ease the painful aching in his chest, but instead it made him feel much worse than before. Patroclus felt regret, but a part of him, his part, a rational brain which he prided himself on, said it was for the best. He could not grow attached to the people here, it was only temporary that he resided in this strange — universe. Timeline? Sooner or later he will return to his world, back to school and university, and things would just go back to the way they always were. 

Achilles would get his lover back, and Patroclus would continue with his studies and his future. 

Everyone would be content. 

So why did it feel so wrong? Why did he want to stay in that bed with Achilles, why did it feel so good to let him touch his body last night and kiss him? Why was it that the cutting words he said inside the tent hurt Achilles so much? Patroclus did not wish to see him suffer, but a part of him, a strange one, which he still was not used to accepting, felt an odd almost pettily gleeful satisfaction at Achilles’ sadness. 

Patroclus felt a headache growing behind his eyelids. 

It was way too early to be thinking about all of this. 

He washed his body and his face. Patroclus saw no mirror in his tent so the only way he could figure out the sense of his reflection was to look at the silver of his water bowl. His dark eyes were the same, and his curly hair too. He had no change to his face or his body features, he even had the same scar on his thumb from where he injured himself during basketball and had to go to the hospital to put stitches on it. His body was his own. So why did it feel so strange? But did he have those dreams? Why did the thoughts he harboured felt like they were not his own? Why did Achilles bringing pleasure to his body feel so familiar?

Patroclus scoffed a little at the thought of magic. That seemed impossible. He was over twenty years too old to be thinking about Gods, witches, and spells. He did read Harry Potter. But this situation felt much more chilling than any of the wizard tricks of Hogwarts combined. 

Patroclus put on his fresh clothes. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he had not had any proper food inside his stomach for a while. 

He promised Achilles he would return to see him once he changed, but after what he said he was not sure if Achilles would want to be next to him. Maybe they needed some time away from each other. 

Patroclus still had to figure out the cause of their argument. Despite how Achilles felt about him, Patroclus doubted that Achilles would be able to tell him calmly about what happened. However, the puzzles inside Patroclus’ head began to collect themselves, even with all the information he already had.

If the girl, Breseis was the reason, the argument could have been a matter of jealousy, but after meeting her she did not seem to attached to Achilles, or at least she did not show her affections openly. If the argument between them was about the girl, Patroclus could have said that he felt hurt by Achilles, that maybe in the past Patroclus felt jealous that Achilles had taken Breseis as his .. lover. Or bed slave? Was a girl able to give Achilles something that Patroclus could not?

But there was another matter that Patroclus could not push away from his mind.

It was on his way here, that Patroclus found out that Achilles’ argument with Agamemnon almost ended with Achilles losing his temper; so what was Patroclus’ role in this, and why did Achilles assume Patroclus would go back to Agamemnon and plot with him? Could it be that the argument was about the lack of trust, that Patroclus acted behind Achilles’ back and now Achilles could no longer put faith in him?

But whatever it was, Patroclus knew deep inside that his past self would never do anything that could harm Achilles, so was it something else that pushed his past self to go to the enemy’s camp and ask something of Agamemnon that Achilles did not approve of?

All those thoughts did not bring back any sensations or memories of the past, so maybe Patroclus was wrong after all. But there was one part that he was clear about. Past Patroclus was hurt by something Achilles had said or did. The argument between them made him want to abandon his body, break away from his soul, and succumb to darkness. After all, there was no pushback for Patroclus’ soul to return to its host. Even his dreams have been quiet as of late. 

Did Patroclus stop loving Achilles after everything that had happened between them? Or did he want to forge away his feelings and choose to forget everything that had ever connected the two of them?

Patroclus did not know what to make of it. If that was true, there was not much left for him to do, but to focus on his reality. He could sympathize with Patroclus’ hurt, after all his boyfriend in the past refused to acknowledge their relationship choosing to instead break up with him because he could not see their relationship as something serious. Patroclus did not doubt that Alexander enjoyed their time together, maybe he was happy in his way, but the topics of marriage, children and living together had always made him a little paralyzed. He could not see committing himself to a relationship with a man; Patroclus understood it now. 

He relied on Patroclus to make all the big moves and decisions. It was Patroclus who always had to have the upper hand in their arguments; who always had to apologize first, to think of the right words to say after their arguments; to pretend it did not hurt when Alexander would flirt with girls before his eyes as if it was not that big of a deal. 

Patroclus sighed heavily. He did not want to bring his mistakes of the past (or the future?) into this. He was projecting his failed relationship onto other people’s business and it only hurt him more. Whatever happened between Achilles and his lover is between them; Patroclus knew only a small drop of history between them, who knew how much more has dwelled in their unspoken words and actions. 

All the thoughts there were swirling inside Patroclus’ head had only turned his mood for the worse. 

The sun was rising but the heat of the day had not settled over the camp yet. Patroclus decided that before he started the day he should probably eat first before his stomach would start twisting itself inside out from anxiety.

He found the soldiers gathered outside one of the pavilions sharing their meal. Patroclus joined their circle quietly. He greeted some of the familiar faces; some were known to him from the past memories and some he grew to recognise during his few days of living in the camp. They were chatting, familiar with one another, getting ready for the day ahead, while Patroclus attempted to engage in the conversation, without trying to stand out too much.

The chatter quietened when a shadow fell over Patroclus’ sited form.

“Achilles,” one of the men stood up, showing him to the empty seat at the head of the semi-circle, but Achilles raised his arm and shook his head, choosing to sit at the empty spot beside Patroclus instead. The man who stood up and offered his place was young, and Patroclus squinted his eyes under the sun trying to see his features. Automedon, his mind aided, familiar. “My Prince. Will you join us for breakfast today?”

Patroclus did not turn his head to look at Achilles, but he felt the heat of his body close, the naked skin of their thighs touching, and when Achilles nodded and agreed with that light tone of his someone passed him the bowl, and Achilles began to eat delinquently and calmly, making Patroclus tense in strange anticipation.

“You should not make it a habit to keep running away from me,” Achilles said quietly so that only Patroclus could hear his voice. Patroclus stopped eating, putting down his spoon and plate, his appetite all but gone. “It is getting frustrating. In the past, you never were so desperate to get away from me.”

Patroclus looked at Achilles from the corner of his eye. The man was looking at him intently, waiting for his answer. Patroclus voice was quiet, trying not to draw too much attention to himself. “I am not running away.”

“You were. You never came back to my tent to eat together.”

Achilles’ blunt arrogance made Patroclus lose all his composure. Patroclus scowled. “I had to think about what happened last night. I don’t know how else to explain to you that things are not the same as they once were for you.”

“I don’t believe it,” Achilles replied, his eyes burning, as his grip tightened over the spoon his was holding. “You simply forgot who you were. I can remind you. Give me a day. Today I can answer all the questions you have, about us, about what happened in the past.”

“And what about your fight with Agamemnon?” the words escaped Patroclus’ mouth before he could stop himself, leaving a sour taste on his tongue. “That you are refusing to fight against Troy because of your anger? Will you speak to me about this too?”

Achilles stared at him dumbfounded. “If you wish we can discuss this matter as well,” Achilles said, his voice unfamiliar and overly official. 

Patroclus knew he should not have brought this up so openly, not when everyone could see them. He felt the odd looks of the soldiers on them, and the quiet murmuring of curious noises. Patroclus sighed, as he realized that Achilles had no intention to speak further, instead looking at him, like a stranger that Patroclus was.

Patroclus turned around on the log where he was sitting. The soldiers who were eating around them began to move away, some hastily as if to avoid Achilles’ stare and others giving them long looks but choosing to instead leave the two men alone. 

“If you say now is the time to discuss matters of the past then I would like to start first,” Patroclus said. “I did not tell you this but I think it is the time to be true about how much I know about you, Achilles. You are famous even in my time. A hero that many remember. I should not be telling you this, who knows how history will turn in the future, but I know about your story. That you were a Prince of Phthia, that your mother was a sea nymph Thetis and your father King Peleus,” Patroclus’ anger was growing from the frustration he felt with himself, for hiding the truth from Achilles for so long.

“I know that you have a wife, princess of Skyros named Deidamia and that you have a son with her. I know about your fight with Agamemnon because he took Breseis, your war slave, and how even after she was returned to you, Agamemnon’s arrogance made you turn against him. I even know-” how you will die, Patroclus wanted to say, but he could not. How Achilles’ would be shot in his heel by Paris, and how it was the death of Hector that would lead Achilles to his downfall. Yet those words were too painful to say.

“Is that you that all your mind remembers?” Achilles’ voice was odd and quiet. Patroclus caught his eyes and he was not sure what he saw in them, but it made his chest felt tight and squeeze painfully. Achilles’ face was devoid of any emotion, and it was cold and sharp like a mask. “I see. Then you might also know that it is here, by the walls of Troy, that I will meet my end.”

Patroclus shuddered. His surprise must be evident in his gaze, because when he looked up, Achilles’ was watching him with dim glassy eyes. 

“Who told you this?” Patroclus’ throat felt constricted and dry.

“My mother. She said there was a prophecy that I would be remembered in the future, but my death in Troy would be inevitable. I thought this fate was determined. I- I tried to do everything to keep you close, to protect you, to show that I was not scared, to be the soldier, the strongest of the Greek, the Aristos Achaion, that you saw in me,” Achilles fell silent. His eyes looked down and his whole body almost shrunk under the weight of his words, as he was hiding his face away from Patroclus’ stare.

“But now I think how foolish it all was. Because no matter how much affection I gave you, no matter how much time we spent together or how many nights we shared, it was all a waste. Your memory does not hold meaning to any of those times,” Achilles’ voice was rough and constricted, and with fear and panic, Patroclus noticed how Achilles' cheeks turned wet with tears. “None of those years mattered to you, did they? You do not remember the time we spent together, your mind only holding place for mistreatment and anger. How could it? It does not even remember all the love I gave to you.”

Chapter Text

Patroclus felt helplessness bind his body. He could not fully grasp the gravity of the sight before him. Achilles was crying. Achilles was crying because of him. Patroclus felt his breath staggering in his throat. 

“That’s not true,” Patroclus whispered into the still air, his voice weak and foreign to his ears. His heart was beating fast and heavy, and Patroclus was closing and opening his mouth as if the words he had prepared to say were unable to leave his throat. “How would I- oh, god, I am sorry, I don’t wish to see you upset. But how do I know? How can I bring back the memories that for me do not exist?”

Patroclus knew instantly that those were the wrong words to say. Achilles appeared even more distraught than before. Achilles’ green eyes turned watery around the edges, the red-rimmed gaze focusing hazily on Patroclus’ still figure. 

Patroclus could not suppress the feeling of affection when he stared at the wet trails of tears on Achilles’ flushed cheeks. Achilles looked pretty even when he was balling his eyes out and Patroclus hated how much he wanted to come close and pull Achilles into a tight embrace and never let him go. 

But even more than that Patroclus wanted to slap himself. He could not believe he made this beautiful boy cry. Patroclus did not deserve his tears. He wanted to make them stop, but Patroclus did not know what to do, he wanted to reach out and take Achilles into his arms, but he was terrified that Achilles would recoil from his touch. The quietness of Achilles’ sobs made Patroclus fold his feats, his nails bitting into the palms of his hands from anger.

Not for the first time was Patroclus growing aware that despite how close they were sitting Achilles was still so far away from his reach. And now Patroclus knew that he was willing to do anything to change it. 

“I want to try,” Patroclus said, quietly. He was feeling defeated, but when the words left his tongue Achilles’ sniffing stopped and he looked at him intently from underneath his wet eyelashes. “I want to try to help you, to make me remember again. Should we do it? Can we bring back my memories? Today, let’s try and follow your plan. Let us do things together that we did in the past.”

Achilles’ raised his head, and Patroclus looked down at the hopeful expression on Achilles’ face. “Really?” Achilles asked, his voice still a little wet and uncertain. “You would do that for me?”

Patroclus let out a small smile, meaning to sound encouraging. “Sure. You can guide us today. What shall we do? Should we train? Head back to the sea?”

Patroclus stiffened a little. Could he really be so nonchalant during the times of war? But Achilles did not seem at all bothered by it. His eyes turned light again, and the only sign of his sadness was the slightly dried tears on the tip of his eyelashes that Patroclus could not stop staring at as they glistened like raindrops under the bright morning sun. 

“Wait,” Achilles said, holding Patroclus by his arm as Patroclus was about to get up. “I think if we are being honest with each other I should tell you the truth too. About what happened on the night when we fought.”

Patroclus tensed, his nerves high on alert, but he remained quiet as he let Achilles continue speaking. Patroclus was not sure how he would react to the truth and so he did not realize that every muscle of his body turned stone cone and rigid. 

“I should have known something had happened to you when you returned to the camp on that day,” Achilles spoke slowly, looking down on his knees, his gaze veiled, trying to recreate the events of the day. “We argued, that was true. You wanted me to return to Agamemnon, to apologize and get back to battle; but there was something else you said to me that night. You asked me to return home, to Phthia. You said my refusing to fight was foolish, that the war had changed me. I have never seen you more angry or upset, those thoughts must have plagued your mind for a while. You said that being here without fighting was useless, and I, it was a spur of the moment, I did not think when I was saying, I said maybe you should go back to Phthia if that was something that you wished to do and leave me here alone.”

“And when I left you thought that was exactly what I have done,” Patroclus said lowly. Achilles nodded. 

“I should have not spoken to you that way. The moment you left my tent I wanted to rush after you, to take you by the arm and bring you back to me. But the anger in me made me blind and furious, I thought if I went after you I would end up hurting you even more and so I stayed back and let you leave like a coward. I knew the next morning that I should apologize, but when you left and no one could find you, I thought back to the words I said to you in my head, my mind thinking of everything that went wrong, with the war, with the prophecy and with Troy. I love you, and I knew I hurt you that night so I wish that I could apologize to you, but I can see that maybe saying this is not enough. Maybe some actions cannot be undone by mere words alone,” Achilles looked up at Patroclus, his eyes filled with quiet determination. “So I promise to you, Patroclus, that I will resume to fight. That I can end this war. And when I will do it, we can return to Phthia together.”

“But the prophecy-,” Patroclus breathed out, his heart hammering against his chest. Achilles was speaking the truth, and a part inside of him steered at the raw honesty of Achilles’ confession. “If you will continue fighting in this war you will die.”

Achilles smiled, his eyes softening. There was sadness in it, but Achilles’ gaze remained on Patroclus as if he finally grew to recognize him as someone he knew in his life. “That was what you said in the past too. But I have a feeling that the ways of the fates have changed. It might be just a wild thought, but something happened that we mortals do not understand. That maybe the Gods gave us a chance. That they returned you to me to show how easy I could lose you, how fast and cruel the end can come. Maybe if I please the Gods, I can be with you, happy, again.”

Patroclus’ heartbeat echoed drumming in his ears. He could not control his emotions, Achilles was offering him his heart and his promise. Patroclus knew that he should do the same. He wanted to help, he wanted to make Achilles happy. He could not bear to see him cry again; Achilles’ face must always light with a smile.

“Alright,” Patroclus said quietly, still processing the weight of Achilles’ words. “We can try that. But you promise to keep no secrets from me this time?”

Achilles nodded, his face twisted in determination. “And you too. Tell me everything about your life, in the future. I need to know how you lived too.”

Patroclus grinned a little at Achilles’ enthusiasm. “I thought I had told you everything at the beach when you were training the other day.”

Achilles leaned forward towards Patroclus, close enough that Patroclus could count every one of Achilles’ golden eyelashes. “Not everything. I have to get to know you, the future you. I want to love every version of Patroclus that could ever exist in this world. Or the next.”

Patroclus let out a breath he did not know he was holding. “And what about your promise to return to fighting?”

Achilles scrunched his nose in thought. He must be dreading having to explain to Agamemnon why he chose to go back to the war. Patroclus privately thought that his even considering making such a large step that could turn the tides of battle was a huge step to the end of the war. “It can wait till tomorrow. Today, I want to spend the day with you. The real you.” 

Patroclus could not say no even if he wanted to. He still had questions that needed answering, and he still felt that there was more to which Achilles was not telling him; but for now, he could try to restore his memory. Despite everything, Patroclus felt that a massive weight had been lifted off his chest. The endless spiraling of his mind, when he was wondering about the fight, could now stop inside his head, and Patroclus could put all his efforts into rebuilding his relationship with Achilles. Patroclus wanted to put the needs of Achilles first, his desires and feelings he had for another had to be pushed away and never brought up to light again. No matter how much Patroclus ached to touch Achilles and feel the heat of his skin against his own, there were boundaries he knew he should not cross unless he was going to lose himself in the entanglements of his feelings. 

When they finished eating, Achilles insisted Patroclus and he would go for a patrol together. The perimeter of the camp was still under the threat of the attack from Trojans and so they both headed out together to check on the defense. Patroclus got ready, with Achilles trailing behind him, as if afraid that the moment he would stop keeping a watch on him, Patroclus would simply disappear. 

“I am happy you chose to join me, you know. You were a good soldier, and you did well in battle. It is so wonderful really. We grew up training together in Phthia and in Pelion after all,” Achilles spoke quickly when they left the camp. Achilles’ mood visibly brightened and when he walked there was almost a spring in his step. 

“So I lived with you in Phthia as a child?” Patroclus asked trailing not far behind but still finding it hard to keep up with Achilles’ fast pace. Achilles nodded, looking at Patroclus over his shoulder. “How come?”

That question had bothered Patroclus since his conversation with Odysseus. He told him that Patroclus’ father was not fond of him, but he did not speak of the details which led to Patroclus becoming Achilles’ friend.

Achilles stopped abruptly, making Patroclus halt in his step, almost bumping into Achilles’ back. “You have killed someone,” Achilles said sullenly, looking at Patroclus with expecting eyes as if waiting for his reaction. “And you were sent to my father to Phthia as a ward. That was how we met.”

“I.. I killed someone?” Patroclus could not believe it. He was not cruel, rather far from it. He could hardly believe he had the strength to do it as a child. But Achilles’ gaze did not waver.

“You told me that story in the past. The boy who teased you was cruel, and your actions were of you simply defending yourself. You have done nothing wrong,” I would have done the same in your place, remained unsaid, but Patroclus could see the though flicker in Achilles’ gaze.

“I never thought I would be capable of that,” Patroclus’ voice was distant and foreign. He tried to imagine himself as a child, pushing another boy, protecting himself without realizing what he was doing. 

“You said the nightmare of the boy’s death plagued you for years to come,” Achilles held out his arm to touch Patroclus’ cheek. “But you also told me that it was my company that put your mind and soul at ease. I never told you this in the past, but I want to protect you from ever having to kill anyone ever again. I was too scared to speak of my feelings so openly, I needed you to think of me as strong and relatable, as an unwavering soldier, who could do no wrong. I wanted to always be there for you, no matter in life or death. I regret not speaking to you of my feelings sooner.”

Patroclus did not know what to say. Was Achilles regretting it? Did he hate seeing such a distant look in the eyes of the man whom he loved? Patroclus closed his eyelids, he could not bear it and unconsciously leaned into the palm of Achilles’ hand. He tried to listen to his heart, to see if maybe some fragments of his childhood would put themselves together like pieces of the puzzle. 

But Patroclus felt nothing. Only the warm touch of Achilles, and the distant ocean breeze which ruffled his hair. 

When Patroclus opened his eyes, Achilles was looking at him, his eyes bright and green, as if waiting to see the change in Patroclus’ face. When nothing happened, he dropped his arm, and turned around, continuing their hike, as if nothing was wrong.

Patroclus pretended that it did not hurt him when a sting of something like jealousy ripped through his heart. 

He should not have his hopes high. He was not Achilles’ friend from the past. Of course, Achilles would continue to treat him as a stranger. He might give Patroclus his body. But he will not have Achilles’ heart. 

Chapter Text

Patroclus realized that not all of Troy was surrounded by dust and sandy plains. As he followed closely behind Achilles on their patrol he could see the green of the forest growing in the distance, the river that flew closer to the city walls. If he looked at what lay beyond the dune he could see the blue expanse of the ocean, and even further behind the cliffs and rocks, he noticed the outlines of the ships, the wooden masts of the Greek warships that came with Agamemnon and his army. 

Patroclus asked how come was it that the Greeks did not run out of supplies to which Achilles replied they had the nearby villages and islands to rely on for provisions. The fights of the first years emptied out their barracks, but the Greeks still took advantage of the conquered land by raiding them of food, clothes and servants for labour.

Privately Patroclus thought it was rather brutal, but his version of humility might not align with once’s Ancient Greek ideals, so Patroclus decided to not keep his disagreements to himself. Instead, he listened to Achilles speak of their past. 

Achilles did it in the form of a song. 

Patroclus was surprised when he saw that Achilles had brought a lyre along on their walk. When they grew a little tired and had to stop to refill their water, Achilles sat in the shade of the tree and took the musical instrument out for Patroclus to stare at.

“Do you play?” Achilles asked, tilting his head to the side, a question lingering in his eyes. Patroclus shook his head. “Is there an instrument similar to this from where you come from?”

“Yes,” to that Patroclus nodded. “But I am not good with music. I have no sense of rhythm. My fingers are too large and I think my voice is not that suitable for singing either. I am probably a much better listener.”

Achilles smiled. “That’s how it was like in the past too.”

Now that Achilles grew more comfortable around him, he would say that remark often. 

That’s what you were like in the past, Achilles would say when Patroclus would admit that he enjoyed spending his time around the closest people that he loved and cherished. 

That’s what you liked in the past too, Achilles would nod when Patroclus told him he always had only dated men in the past and did not have much experience with girls. 

That was what interested you in the past too, Achilles would note when Patroclus spoke about his studies and classes in the university. 

Patroclus was not sure what to make of those remarks. Were they meant to comfort Achilles, the similarities reminding him of his lover, therapon, Achilles told him the word, or was it meant to soothe Achilles’ ache thinking that Patroclus has not changed that much, and this whole endeavor was a temporary mistake which would soon resolve itself?

Patroclus had no idea what to make of it. Achilles was so many things, he was a little blunt and distant, in one moment he would act cold and dismissive, and at another, he would demand Patroclus’ attention like an overgrown puppy. It made Patroclus head dizzy, the whole game of cold and hot. No wonder that he found it so hard to read into what was going through Achilles’ mind.

When they sat in the shade of the trees Patroclus studied Achilles intently. He needed to see what thoughts were running through Achilles’ head, and what kind of emotions was plaguing his heart. When Achilles looked up from the strings he was gently caressing with his fingers, he met Patroclus’ gaze with a small smile.

“Would you like me to sing to you?”

Patroclus blinked, surprised. Out of all the questions Achilles could ask this was the least expected one. Patroclus looked at Achilles’ fingers, they were moving silently but skillfully along the strings. His mouth turned dry. For the first time, he felt a strange sense of deja vu, his body gripped by an unknown force, and his mind racing, Achilles holding his lyre was an image ingrained deeply into Patroclus’ memory.

His past self was talking to him.  

“I think I would like that a lot,” Patroclus said, voice low and raspy. 

Achilles’ song was akin to a sweet melody. His voice was quiet, but Patroclus felt it fit well with the music of the lyre, the soft sound which followed through the gentle sway of the wind. Patroclus listened to Achilles’ singing as if he was under a spell. He learned more than he thought he would about himself, about the plains of Phthia, about King Peleus who told them stories of mighty Heroes when they were children, of Chiron who was their teacher and of Pelion where they spent there youth together, about the isle of Skyros and how lonely Achilles was there, now terrified of the wrath of his divine mother, about his fate and destiny of being the best of the Greeks, Aristos Achaion, how much he wanted to stay strong and protect him, how Achilles’ failed in showing Patroclus his love and how he repented for not speaking the words of his true feelings sooner. 

Patroclus did not know that he was crying. He knew his eyes were wet, and his throat constricted, but it was when Achilles’ words stopped and his nimble fingers stopped moving that he grew aware of his Patroclus’ tears. 

They sat in silence for a while. Achilles’ watched him, eyes wide and unblinking, as Patroclus wiped his wet cheeks. 

“I am sorry,” he said a little hushed under Achilles’ gaze. His words felt too loud and too rough in comparison to Achilles’ graceful singing. 

“I am glad you got to hear it. Yet, you have always cried too easily,” Achilles replied slyly, and Patroclus huffed despite himself. Achilles’ face turned serious. “I meant everything that I was singing about. I want there to be no more mistakes between us.”

“I am sorry your lover could not hear this song,” Patroclus said quietly looking down at his feet. Achilles’ body stiffened. Patroclus could not see his face clearly, but he knew that he was frowning. “It was beautiful.”

“What do you mean by that?” Achilles’ tone turned cold. 

Patroclus flinched. “You know what I am saying. I think you wanted your Patroclus to hear it too.”

Achilles jumped to his feet before Patroclus could react to what he was doing. “I hate it when you speak like that. How can you not understand? It is you. You two are the same. Same body, same soul, from different times. When you speak, I hear him talk, the way you act, the way you walk, the way you stretch your vowels, even the way you brush your hair, everything about you is similar to him! I would never kiss you if I did not know you. I would never lay in bed with you if I was not sure. So stop speaking like you are pretending to be someone else.”

“But you said it yourself,” Patroclus raised his chin, unable to keep his voice leveled. “You called me a stranger that first night.”

Achilles puffed out his chest. His jaw ticked, and his eyes narrowed like he was getting ready for attack. “I was wrong. Happy? I said things I should not have said, and now I regret it.”

Patroclus stared at Achilles with surprise. The apology was the last thing he expected to hear. 

Patroclus knew he was starting to grow selfish. He should just drop the subject, move on, and lay low in Achilles’ eyes but he could not. Not after everything he had heard, he felt that he was already growing too attached. The truth he had the moment Achilles’ lips touched his on their first day together in the tent.

Patroclus took a deep breath in. He asked the question he was thinking about constantly but was too afraid to ask. “But I am still me, Achilles. With my memories, my thoughts, my opinions. Can you truly accept me for who I am without seeing someone else inside of me?” 

That, Patroclus thought immediately as he said it, is the thought I should have kept to myself. 

What was wrong with him? Things have only started to look up between them; and how he had to go and ruin it all. He was being selfish. Patroclus felt his cheeks turn red and his look low, to hide away from Achilles’ eyes. 

“I- I did not mean it like that. I am sorry. You have every right to grief for your companion. I should not get in between you two coming back together.”

Achilles was mute and silent. Patroclus did not know if he was angry or upset, but when Patroclus felt the fingers on his chin tilting his head up he had no other option but to move, and look up at Achilles who stood silently before him.

“I would love you in every dimension and time if you let me. In every time, past and future I would recognize you.”

Patroclus’ heart felt too loud and too heavy for his chest. The sincerity in Achilles’ eyes made his breath stagger, and he could not tear his gaze away. The sun was beginning to set, and the golden light made Achilles’ hair bright, almost in flames in its light.

“There is one more place I wanted to show you,” Achilles said, almost shy, as he let go of Patroclus's face. Patroclus already missed the feeling of Achilles’ fingers on his chin. “We should watch the sunset at the beach. The view is much better there than from here in the forest.”

Patroclus wanted to quickly forget the awkwardness that overfilled him as he confessed to Achilles, so he agreed. He followed Achilles close behind as they began to descend towards the ocean waters.

They did not speak, but the silence did not bother him. Patroclus watched Achilles back as he walked. He wondered not for the first time, about what his old soul saw then he looked at him. Was it their past that they shared? Were those the memories of youth that drew them together? Patroclus knew that inside his heart were the strings tugging painfully, longing for the past happiness they shared before the war. But if Achilles was destined to die, should he be grateful for his decision to return to the battlefield? Or should Patroclus trust his words and believe that the ways of the fates had changed?

After all, Patroclus was able to come into the past. If magic and Gods did exist, maybe he could also be certain that Achilles’ life could be spared. But would it not change things? If Troy had not fallen, if Achilles lived, what did it make of the history itself? Patroclus shuddered at the thought. Could saving the life of one man could shift the course of history so strongly? Would it mean that his own life in the future could change too?

Achilles stopped and turned around, making Patroclus bump into him, without looking clearly where he was going. 

“What are you thinking about?” Achilles asked, alert, as Patroclus stood still looking down at Achilles with a sheepish expression. 

“Sorry. I was daydreaming. Are we here yet?”

Patroclus took a look around. He was buried so deeply inside his thoughts that he had completely lost the track of time. He did not recognize the beach; it must have been the opposite shore from the one closest to the camp. It was facing the direction of the setting sun and Patroclus watched it, moving lower towards the sea in fascination.

“We should have a little picnic here while we watch the sun set down.”

Patroclus nodded, still looking in wonder at the ocean before him. He almost forgot about the cheese, the nuts and the dried meat that he had brought along with him. Patroclus set them up along the beach, and Achilles’ helped.

“You have not answered my question.”

Patroclus raised his head, catching Achilles already looking at him. He played dumb to keep his flustered feelings at bay. “What question?”

If Achilles was annoyed with him he did not show it. “What were you thinking about when he was coming here?”

Patroclus bit down his lower lip, sitting down on the shore and stretching out his legs before him. He sighed heavily trying to think of the right way to answer Achilles’ question to not make it appear that he was hiding something from him.

“It is my death, is it? You think I am wrong about the ways of the fates?”

Patroclus did not expect Achilles to say those words so easily. He did not like how fast Achilles had come to expect his fate. 

“I just don’t think you should talk so lightly about it,” Patroclus said instead. Achilles narrowed his eyes and leaned forward on his arms, their faces close. Patroclus listened to the sound of the ocean and felt the last of the eastern sun on his cheek. It felt so incredibly real, he could do nothing, not even move, when Achilles’ mouth was inches away from his own.

“You know something. In the future. You know they remember me. You know that it is true that I will die by the walls of Troy.”

“It does not have to be.”

Patroclus did not know what forced him to say it aloud. But he knew it was true. He knew how Achilles would die, that he would be shot in the heel by Paris, but if he knew it, that meant he could prevent it. Patroclus could hint to Achilles to stay away from the Prince; he would tell him which part of his body needed to be protected. But in the myth, Paris was guided by Divine help, the god Apollo gave him strength. Patroclus was a mortal. Could his words stand against the wishes of the Gods?

There was something else in the myth, the details of which Patroclus knew he was missing, but he forgot entirely, and he felt a headache growing in his scalp again as he tried to remember it.

Achilles stared at him in silence, as if studying his face. When Patroclus looked up, the sun had lowered even more. It was golden. Achilles’ features were lit up by it too, bright and close, and yet so distant from him. Patroclus needed to touch him. His fingers ached, he had this desperate urge, a burning need, to feel Achilles’ skin under his fingertips. 

“Our first kiss was similar to this,” Achilles smiled. Patroclus watched as small dimples appeared on his cheeks.

He swallowed a lump inside his throat, suddenly nervous when he spoke his next words. “I think you should remind me how it went too.”

His eyes fell on Achilles’ lips. He did not know who moved first, but the next thing he knew was a touch of Achilles’ mouth on his own. 

Patroclus savored the kiss. It was slow and unhurried, and Patroclus wanted to remember it, the feeling of Achilles’ tongue, his lips, his hot breath. There was no urgency between them, but it lacked no passion or desire. Patroclus’ mind clouded, his blood boiling in his body, and when he felt he was lacking air, he moved away slowly, Achilles’ nose brushing his own, as they separated only a few inches from each other.

When Patroclus looked at him, Achilles’ expression turned from one from adoration to mild terror. Patroclus frowned, did he do something he was not supposed to?

But Achilles did not push him away. He did not get angry or recoiled or try to move away from Patroclus's touch. No, instead he looked like he was a bit scared, a little self-conscious, as if someone might see them, but there was no one around them, no single soul who could catch them together kissing like this.

“Is something wrong?” Patroclus breathed out, watching Achilles anxiously.

Achilles looked up at him with wide eyes, surprised by the concern in Patroclus’ voice, and then he did something that Patroclus did not expect him to do at all, he laughed.

“Of course, you would not remember. How could you? I am glad. I always found that peculiar fear of yours a little silly. Come here. Kiss me again.” 

Patroclus did not have to be told twice. He moved slowly as if he were underwater, but he felt everything so real and so intense; there was no denying that this was real life. He pushed Achilles gently on the sand , pinning him down with his body, watching Achilles with dark from desire eyes. 

This time, when he kissed Achilles, there was no hesitation in the way his mouth moved or his tongue intertwined with Achilles’ own. They both wanted it. They craved the touch, the raw closeness of naked skin to skin. Patroclus’ body moved as if it was not his own. Just as Achilles knew of places which made his mind go blank from pleasure, his body appeared to know every weak spot on Achilles’ body which made him moan and throw his head in abandonment too. On the column of his neck, along his chest, the graze of sharp teeth against Achilles’ pink nipples, cold and pebbled from the cool ocean air. 

Patroclus pressed fleeting kisses down Achilles’ toned stomach, his unkept stubble must have brought tickling arousal when Patroclus moved to bite at the sensitive skin on the inside of Achilles’ thighs. Patroclus thought somewhere on the periphery of his mind that when he got back to the camp he really needed to shave.

Patroclus did not hesitate to take Achilles into his mouth. He was always a giving lover, he did not wish to leave Achilles denied of pleasure. Achilles’ moans were a sweet sound above his head, and when Patroclus felt his fingers intertwined in the brown of his curls and tugging urgently, Patroclus could not hold back the pleased heady sigh of his own. He wanted to taste Achilles’ cum on this tongue, and he urged his movements to grow almost too rough, his fingers digging into Achilles’ thighs, leaving ugly bruising shapes of his hands on the tanned skin. Patroclus never considered himself to be possessive, but the thought that Achilles would bear his marks made Patroclus grow painfully hard in his own trousers. 

The noises which Achilles’ made when he reached his pleasure sent shivers down Patroclus’ spine. He never heard anything so sweet as the sound of Achilles’ moans, and Patroclus wanted to savor them all, so he did not hesitate, when he moved away leaving a soft partial kiss on the softness of Achilles’ length and pressed his body against his own to capture Achilles lips in a bruising kiss. 

Achilles’ body was relaxed from his orgasm, his muscles lax and soft, and Patroclus would have felt satisfied to leave it at that, but he could not hold back his moan when Patroclus wrapped his legs around Patroclus waist, letting his clothed erection brush the smooth skin of Achilles’ arse. 

“We don’t have to do that,” Patroclus barely heard himself speak, his words lost to him behind the drumming sound of his heart echoing loudly in his ear. 

“I want to,” Achilles whispered just as softly against his mouth, and when Patroclus looked at his his eyes were wide and green, and pleading, and his cheeks were the color of early dawn. “I want you Patroclus. Please?”

Patroclus could not deny him anything even if he tried. All Achilles had to do was bat his long  eyelashes as him and suddenly Patroclus was willing to drop on his knees and do everything for him. It was no wonder his other soul could not handle the pressure of being loved by Achilles, Patroclus could not blame him for giving in and succumbing under the intensity of its emotions. Patroclus now was willing to do the same.

He did not speak, but there was a silent agreement between them. Patroclus moved his hand, and kissed Achilles on his mouth to distract him from pain, as he stretched him out, first two fingers, then three. Achilles’ body was moulded for his own, and Patroclus could sense it know how true it was. They have done it together before, but Patroclus wanted Achilles to remember him, to fall apart on his touch, and he did not realize that his thoughts made his fingers reach deeper, that his pace got faster, and they kept pushing relentless against the spot that made Achilles throw back his head and expose his lovely throat in a load moan.  

“So possessive,” Achilles laughed, breathlessly, when he regained his ability to speak, his fingers leaving crescent-shaped marks on Patroclus’ shoulders.

“Sorry,” Patroclus whispered, dropping his head, his forehead touching a space near Achilles’ collarbone, kissing him softly in an apology.

“Don’t apologize for it. I like it,” Achilles said, raising his hands and cupping Patroclus’ face in between his palms. He kissed his softly, almost chastely, which did not suit well with the lewd sounds that Patroclus’ fingers made as they stretched Achilles’ hole. “I am ready. You can put it in.”

Patroclus moved slowly with Achilles’ words. Achilles spread his legs wider, a space in between them meant only for Patroclus to fit it, and and he lifted his knees, dropping one leg over the bent of Patroclus’ elbow so that Patroclus could move easier inside of him.

Patroclus was so hard, and so desperate the feel the tightness of the hot walls of Achilles’ hole around him. The moment the tip of his cock reached past Achilles’ puffy rim, he gritted his teeth and pushed his hips in a restlessly slow pace. Achilles was so tight and so warm inside of him, his walls hugging Patroclus so tight, it was almost painful to move. Achilles’ mouth fell into a round shape of a silent moan, and they sighed together when Patroclus nested fully inside of him. 

Patroclus knew he could move, when Achilles hugged him by the neck, and urged him by the shameful roll of his hips. Patroclus knew it was stupid of him, but he wanted to fuck Achilles’ like no one had before. Competing with himself was not something that Patroclus would ever admit to doing, but he needed to show Achilles the pleasure that his body could give him, that Achilles’ would think of him, of this Patroclus, who was making him moan loudly from pleasure and who was making his head lose all trail of rational thought as he was fucked into the wet sand under the clear starlit sky. 

Patroclus knew he was close but he wanted this to last for so much longer. They legs entangled together, their arms, and their bodies so close, and when they kissed it was hard to know where Patroclus’ body began and Achilles’ ended. Their bodies fit so right together like the pieces of a complicated puzzle. Patroclus moved his hips slowly, the drag of his cock making Achilles let out sweet gasps against his mouth, and the there was no other way Patroclus could describe it but making love. He wanted Achilles to know how deeply he felt it, how much it meant for him to see Achilles’ open up and grow so vulnerable before him. 

Patroclus’ pace grow faster and he was losing his rhythm, and he knew he was going to spill inside and if he wanted to move he could not, Achilles was holding to him like a little octopus, not letting him to move an inch, and Patroclus gritted his teeth, bitting the plush of Achilles’ earlobe. 

“I am close,” he grunted against him, kissing Achilles of the side of his face. “I will cum soon, my love, if you keep on holding to me like that.”

“I want to feel you inside,” Achilles moaned, his hold on Patroclus’ body so tight it was almost painful. “Like you always do. I need to feel you close. Don’t deny me that, Patroclus. I know that he wouldn’t.”

Patroclus would be too ashamed to know that this was what did it. The thought of his past self fucking Achilles, and cuming inside of him. Would his lean stomach bulge with his seed? Would he see his pink hole dripping from his cum? The thoughts made Patroclus head spiral. He was so aroused, he felt delusional with it, and he reached down his hand to take Achilles’ hard licking length. The jerked him off, urgently, and he needed them to cum together, to feel the pleasure at once as they bodies connected once more. 

Achilles came, and when Patroclus felt his hot seed on his fingers, he felt his own release that was building low in his stomach explode. It felt good, he never would admit that he wanted to cum without a condom, and having to experience it now, the raw pleasure that Achilles gave him, he did not know if he would ever be able to compare anything to this. He did not want to. Having Achilles close and holding him tight was enough for him for the rest of his life. 

Patroclus knew that he had to move, and that he was probably crushing Achilles under his weight, but he was pleasantly tired, and his body was too soft and too languid to listen to him. 

“I can’t believe you got jealous over yourself,” Achilles chuckled as they lay in silence for a while, enjoyed the warm night air. Patroclus shoved him gently, making Achilles let out a full on belly laugh. “I am just joking. I have a space in my heart enough to fit both of you.” 

Patroclus looked at him, as he lay on his side, his heart full. Achilles gaze met his own as he turned his head, to give Patroclus a tired smile. 

Patroclus wished he could capture this moment inside his head for forever. 

Chapter Text

The sky over their heads was pitch black when they returned to the Myrmidon’s camp.

It was a clear night. Patroclus had never seen the stars shine so brightly as they did, glimmering with the soft silver light of the ancient constellations splayed over the city of Troy. Achilles showed him a few when they were lying in each other’s embrace, the shapes of Orion and the tail of Scorpio, traced by Achilles’ forefinger, as he stared mesmerized at the night sky. 

Patroclus was interested in the stars but there was something about Achilles’ dreamy voice that made Patroclus unable to look away. Patroclus’ face was close to Achilles’ own and he felt his heart beat slow and steady as he counted the freckles on Achilles’ cheeks, followed the graceful slope of his nose with his eyes, or touched the silky gold of his hair with his fingers. There was something ethereal about Achilles, even more so than of the mythical creatures trapped forever in the stars above. 

Patroclus regretted the moment it was time for them to head back. It was dark and their only path to the camp was guided by the silver light of the moon. 

“Will you stay over with me tonight?” Achilles asked a little awkwardly, looking at Patroclus from the corner of his eye as they were getting dressed by the shore. Patroclus felt his chest grow tight from knowing that even despite their intimacy, there was some part of Achilles that still had his doubts hidden at the corners of his heart. Patroclus wanted to take him by the shoulders, to shake him up, and say that yes, he will stay over, tonight, and maybe for the rest of the days if Achilles would let him. 

Instead, Patroclus gave a curt nod of his head, and let out a soft “of course.”

The camp was silent and asleep when they came in. It was unusual to find the busy sight to be so quiet. The thick darkness concealed the shapes of the tents, so Patroclus had to rely on Achilles’ much better eyesight to guide the way. 

There was familiarity between them, a newfound bond of trust, which Patroclus felt was a big step forward. They talked little as they step inside Achilles’ tent and washed up quickly, helping each other to get clean. It did not take them long to crawl inside the softness of the bed and prepare to go to sleep. 

Despite the tiredness that chained his body, Patroclus lay awake for a while. No matter how hard he rubbed the wash cloth along his skin, his body still smelt of seaweed, sweat and ocean water, but somehow Patroclus found that he did not hate it. Achilles smelt the same, like the mixture of sun and salt, and Patroclus was desperate to sink his nose in the tight space between Achilles’ throat and his shoulder, to take a deep breath of his body and settle the growing need to pull Achilles’ lax body close. 

Patroclus squirmed slightly and he was a little shy, not knowing what to do with his limbs, but when Achilles moved his arm to throw it over Patroclus’ body, he stopped worrying and pulled Achilles close to his chest which earned him a content puff from the other boy. 

Patroclus’ hands rubbed absently down the naked skin of Achilles’ back. He knew that Achilles was awake; there was an air of strange stagnant anticipation weighing heavily in the tight space of the tent. The words that Patroclus felt on the tip of his tongue felt too loud to say in the stillness of the night. 

Will you speak to Agamemnon tomorrow? Patroclus wanted to ask. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. They have only just begun to truly understand each other, Patroclus did not want to ruin what little trust they had built just because of his restless anxiety.

“What are you thinking about?” even half-asleep Achilles voice was sweet and lovely. Achilles steered a little, nuzzling into Patroclus’ neck, almost like a newborn cub which made Patroclus tilt the corners of his lips in a small smile. 

“Nothing. It is late,” Patroclus pressed a short kiss at the top of Achilles’ head. “You should rest. You had a long day today you must be exhausted.”

“You are worried about Agamemnon, are you not? You think I will not keep my word?” Patroclus cursed to himself, as Achilles shuffled under the thin blanket which lay over their bodies, and lifted his chin so that even in the dark Patroclus could see the brightness of his eyes. Patroclus stared at Achilles’ face, deemed by the shadows, and he was surprised to see that Achilles’ gaze was calm, his forehead smooth and mouth relaxed. “I will go to him. I might not bend the knee, but I will say the right words. If it means keeping you by my side I think I don’t mind letting go of .. my pride.”

Patroclus inhaled sharply at the last words. He closed his eyelids again and his breath turned even, heart rate slowing down, no longer hammering like crazy against his chest. “Thank you.”

Patroclus hoped that he could sleep easy now. Or he wanted to at least. His dreams have been strange and eerie even when no worries of instant danger troubled his mind.

But that night what he dreamt of was a woman, her stance tall and her gaze fierce. Her eyes were deep and purple and her long dark hair was crowned by a golden circuit that only a ruler would bear. When she opened her mouth she spoke to Patroclus words which he could not understand. Inside the dream it appeared as if she was talking through a thick glass, and it was only distantly that Patroclus heard her repeat the same word over and over again.

Paris.

Paris.

Paris.

When Patroclus opened his eyes he knew two things: that he had a dull headache throbbing at his skull and that it was late. The sun burned brightly into his eyes, and Patroclus groaned and turned over to his side, feeling the empty space of the mattress beside him, but it was cool to the touch; only a brief hint of Achilles’ body lingered in its warmth and smell.

“Sorry. Did I wake you?” Achilles asked from the corner of the tent as he was getting dressed. Patroclus sat up slowly, leaning back on his elbows. He blinked a few times, trying to dispel the odd memories of his dream from his head. Was it meant to be a warning? Paris shot Achilles in the heel which was how Achilles’ death came to be. Should he tell Achilles about it? But even inside his head it sounded a little strange if Patroclus would suddenly tell Achilles, of all people, that he must protect his feet. 

“No,” Patroclus replied, a little groggy. He rubbed his face with the palm of his head. “What time is it? Are you getting ready already?”

“It is almost noon. Agamemnon’s army is getting ready to march for battle soon. I will go straight to his camp. I see no reason to delay this matter any further,” Achilles’ voice was lacking any emotion as he put on his breastplate. He held his helmet under his armpit turning around to face Patroclus, his gaze lingering for a brief moment over his naked torso. There was a raw gentleness in his voice when he spoke again. “Would you like to come with me?”

Patroclus did not need to be told twice. Achilles helped him to get dressed, so familiar with every inch of his body, that Patroclus did not even need to guide him as he thought back absently to the details of his dream. Was his mind playing tricks on him? What is just an act of his imagination? Did he worry about Achilles so much that subconsciously he began to lose the thin line between reality and reverie? But Patroclus knew that the words inside his dream were not wrong; after killing Hector, Achilles would fall in battle because of Paris’ arrow. However, as Patroclus began to remember, Paris was not acting entirely on his own, the arrow was pierced through Achilles’ heel because of the foreseeing words which God Apollo spoke to the Trojan Prince. 

Patroclus frowned to himself, as Achilles held out his hands to strap on Patroclus’ armor. Maybe it was the face of the woman that Patroclus should be remembering instead. She had purple eyes with no pupils and dark hair, the vision oddly clear in his mind. He had never met anyone who would resemble her. She looked rather intimidating. Her voice was hoarse and distant. She wore a dress of the color of dark red wine. That was all Patroclus’ mind could conjure. 

“You are ready,” Achilles announced, as he was done. “We should go. The sooner I speak with him the sooner this matter would be dealt with.”

Patroclus nodded absently. He wondered if now that Achilles and the Myrmidons would return to battle it would mean that Patroclus had to fight too. To him it was obvious, he was putting on his armor after all. Achilles caught his gaze, and he must have noticed the worry in his face, as he cradled Patroclus’ cheek in the palm of his hand.

“Don’t worry. You do not have to fight today. Or ever.”

Patroclus shook his head, his gaze solid and clear. “I want to.”

Achilles tightened his lips in disapproval. “You don’t know how.”

“I will remember. And if my mind hesitates, my body remembers. It is hidden in my muscles, sometimes they act in their own way as if refusing to follow the commands coming from my brain.”

It was a little hard to explain, and judging by the skeptical twist of Achilles’ face he did not believe Patroclus’ words either. But Achilles did not press him further. Instead, he spared Patroclus with a long look, turned around on his heels and walked out of the tent, giving Patroclus a silent order to follow. Achilles did not show it but Patroclus could notice the tension in his shoulders and his back as he stepped away.

Patroclus hurried closely behind him.

As they walked the eyes of the Myrmidons lingered upon them. Achilles did not speak but his pace was unwavering and determined and soon a whisper began to spread like wild fear across the camp. There was little in the image which was bestowed upon them: Achilles was dressed in full armor and he was heading directly towards Agamemnon’s camp.

Prince Achilles was going to speak to King Agamemnon. 

No, not just speak. Achilles was going to apologize to him and return to fight for the Greeks. Myrmidons rushed to their tents, to prepare their armor and their weapons. Patroclus felt the change of the energy around himself, in the tense and charged air, as the mood shifted between the soldiers. The morning air turned into the agitation of the upcoming battle. Despite the heat of the Anatolian sun, Patroclus felt his skin crawl with shivering sensation. 

The walk towards Agamemnon’s camp was much faster than Patroclus remembered it being when he crossed the desert the first time. Maybe it was because Patroclus started to get used to the sand around him, and the plain stretches of the dune, but he barely thought about the road and the distance, his thoughts focused entirely on the lone figure of Achilles’ before him. 

He looked shining, almost like a God, in his golden breastplate, his shins, his high helmet. Patroclus felt almost intimated by him at that moment, and he knew that Agamemnon would feel it too. Although Achilles was going to apologize before him, Agamemnon knew that Achilles was not doing him a favor, that there were much more antagonizing forces which made him change his mind.

Maybe it was because the soldiers grew so close to one another over almost a decade of being close in the camp, but when they entered Agamemnon’s territory every person seemed to know exactly why Achilles was present. 

The whispers followed him as he went, but Achilles paid no attention to them. There was an unshakable resolve in his gaze, and Patroclus did not wish to stand in his way. 

It was little surprise that Agamemnon was waiting for them, geared up and ready for battle, surrounded by the soldiers of his camp. His looming form made Patroclus suddenly nervous and he felt the reality of the situation crashing upon him.

“Achilles!” he greeted him, but there was little pleasure present on his face. Patroclus wondered if Agamemnon knew that Achilles was not going to bend the knee, that it was something else forcing him to come forward and stand before the King of Mycenae, but Patroclus could not read the expression on the older man’s face at all. Agamemnon was old, he was close to fifty Patroclus would have to guess, and he had a strong face and solid jaw, and his eyes were dark, almost black under the sun. Patroclus body knew that he was standing before the King who united the Greeks, the man who would conquer Troy, but his muscles were not shaken by his presence, instead, he was fueled by the same resolve that appeared to flow through Achilles’ veins. “I hope you have come to beg for forgiveness, Prince of Phthia.”

Agamemnon’s words were met with more worried murmurs. Patroclus tightened his jaw, feeling the growing agitation of the crowd around him. 

Achilles stood before Agamemnon unwavering and he met his gaze. “The Greek soldiers are dying, Agamemnon. I can see the pyres of the burning from our camp. I hear the cries of anguish of the wounded and the celebrations of the Trojans behind their impregnable walls of the fortress.”

Agamemnon sneered. “So was it guilt that forced you to come to me?”

Achilles did not bite his bait. “Someone spoke with me lately. He asked me: “How can my pride stop me from protecting my people? How can I stand aside and watch the Greek soldiers die, weak and defenseless as they get slaughtered by the Trojans?” I felt his words rippling through my soul. I refuse to be played by your scheming, King of Mycenae, I refuse to submit to the trickery that you fool me with my your words. I will not be anyone’s pawn. I will have no more men die for my sake. I have proven my point, and I need to see it for no longer. Without me, you are weak. Without me, you will die. Without me, you will lose.”

Patroclus watched Achilles with an unblinking gaze. Before him the boy transformed into something else, something divine, his voice was strong and it sounded across the camp, his muscles tense and his eyes burned with green flames. “I chose to fight, Agamemnon, but I will not fight for you. I fight for myself. I fight for my people. I fight for the safety of my soldiers and the man I love. I fight to protect the ones I hold dear to my heart. I don’t care for the riches and least of all do I care for you. But if your weakness puts the lives of my loved ones on the line, I can’t stand aside and watch this slaughter no longer.”

Patroclus felt the silence that fell upon the camp with every inch of his skin. He could not describe it, but it appeared electrified, like a volt charging through his body. Patroclus’ chest turned constricted, his heart too loud and too large for his body. 

He wanted, he loved, he felt it, the affection, the yearning emotions that his past self had nested deep inside his heart. Patroclus felt that Achilles was confessing his love for him, before all these men, and he could not hold back the sigh he let out as Achilles turned his back on Agamemnon and looked towards him, his eyes meeting Patroclus’ in a fierce gaze.

“I will fight today. The Myrmidons will fight today. We will fight for this war to be over. We will fight for our people. We will fight for victory.”

The excited and vigorous shouts exploded around Patroclus. 

Greatest of the Greeks! They shouted out, their voices reaching far and beyond.

They repeated Achilles’ name like a chant. Achilles had made his decision. Today, they will fight. 

Patroclus was still shaken to the core by the noises around him when Achilles approached him closely. His eyes burned with green flames, and his cheeks were pink and flushed.

“Stay close to me,” he spoke to him urgently, holding the weight of Patroclus’ gaze. “Do not stray away. I will look after you like I always had.”

Patroclus nodded his head, a bit dumbly. He was so focused on Achilles’ speech that the thought that he had to go to battle completely escaped his mind. He did not even have time to grow anxious when Achilles pressed a spear and a shield into his arms. Patroclus’ arms buckled slightly under their combined weight.

Achilles leveled Patroclus with a hard gaze. “Not a step away! Repeat after me.”

Patroclus shook his head again, Achilles’ voice forcing him to say the words which did not feel at all sincere. “Not a step away. Got it. I will be close.”

Achilles clicked his tongue and Patroclus did not need to rely on his bodily senses to know that Achilles was not pleased by his slow reaction. But it was too late. 

The lines of the rigid phalanx were already forming and Patroclus was already a step too late from everyone else. He forced himself to concentrate and focus on the battle, or at least on how he should act fast to not get himself killed. 

The thought of murder did not occur to him once, but once it did, he sensed a cold chill creeping down his spine. No, he was not going to die today. He could not afford to die today.

The Myrmidons marched in solid formations towards the direction of the city. Patroclus lost sight of Achilles as soon as they began to move ahead, but the thought alone that was out there, with the others, did calm Patroclus down a little. Achilles had been in countless battles before. Surely he knew what he was doing. 

Patroclus did not know when the fighting began, all he could remember was that the phalanx neat order had halted, and the lines began to crush under the pressing forces of the enemy. Patroclus barely had the time to react when the first soldier fell next to him, with an arrow shot right through his chest. Patroclus felt his panic rising, his vision obstructed heavily by his helmet. Everything was happening too fast. Patroclus could not see where the arrows were coming from, and he grew disoriented, countless faces around his meshing into one big lump of strange nothingness. 

The noise was rising around him, the clash of metal and the cries of the wounded all intertwining together into the horrific bone-chilling noise. 

He felt bile rising in his throat and his heart buzzing in his ears. Patroclus had never experienced a panic attack before, but the rush of adrenaline that took over his body felt overwhelmingly familiar to that, as he raised his spear in poor defense to protect himself against the swarm of the enemy. 

Calm down.

A female voice resonated in his ears. Patroclus turned around but behind him was no one but the scene of the two soldiers fighting. Patroclus was pushed from behind, clearly losing focus, and managing just barely to not fall forward on his stomach. He panicked even more; no way he was hallucinating in the middle of the battlefield. 

I am not a hallucination. I am providing you with guidance. Right behind you.

Patroclus reacted faster this time, the voice sounding a tad more familiar, and he took his spear which he almost forgot about and as he turned around and pierced it right through the enemy’s stomach. The man’s eyes bulged from his head, as he stared at Patroclus with a wide dead stare, blood and drool frothing at his mouth. Patroclus’ stomach twisted and he almost tasted the puke at his mouth, when another blade punctured through the man’s scalp, his blood splashing over Patroclus’ face, as he collapsed soundly on the ground.

“Patroclus!” Achilles’ voice sounded loud even through the brutal rage of fighting. Patroclus lifted his eyes from the corpse, seeing Achilles’ figure shouting at him from afar. “Are you hurt?”

Patroclus shook his head. He found the words to speak, proud of himself for how unshaken he sounded. “I am fine. Don’t worry about me!”

Achilles gave him a quick nod, turning around and disappearing just as quickly as he appeared, Patroclus losing the sigh of him again in the sea of the bodies. Patroclus took Achilles’ blade from the man’s head and shook it in his arm, enjoying how light and cool it felt to the touch. 

Stay vigilant. You must notice the enemy before they come to you.

Patroclus realized that his voice was similar to the sound of a woman in his dreams. 

“Who are you?” Patroclus shouted aloud, the loud noises of the battle around him making it hard to hear. He was still feeling a little shaken from the encounter. I had killed a man, he thought, but he had no remorse; by the looks of it, the man would not hesitate to kill him first if he could.

Your benefactor, let us put it that way. Now, listen carefully. You must stay away from the arrows. 

The arrows? Patroclus thought as he looked around him. Most of the weapons used by the soldiers were spears or swords, he did not see a bow anywhere close to where he was standing; almost at the back of the phalanx line. 

As he thought about it, his eyes noticed a movement from the corner of his vision. Patroclus did not realize what it was at first, it was so fast and so swift, but it took him a moment to see that it was a chariot. 

Patroclus had never seen one close, and he was a little dumbstruck. The chariot was golden and the man riding it was dressed in bright armor, which made him stand out against the fighting field like the sun. He was bright and blinding, and Patroclus felt the immediate sign of danger as the man lifted his bow. There was a light coming from him, almost like he was divinity, or maybe it was the reflection of the bright rays across the golden metal framing the chariot.

The man was not fighting, his gaze instead fixed on the soldiers’ faces, seeking someone out, as he held tight reign of his horses and twisted his head from one side to another. His speed was fast and Patroclus found it difficult to keep his attention drawn to him and to maintain vigilance when fighting. 

Patroclus followed him, running behind the chariot without a second thought. He had a strange feeling growing inside of him, and he did not wish for this feeling to be true.

When Patroclus got close enough to see the sharp look in the man’s eyes he knew exactly what it was he was afraid of.

It was Paris. The Trojan Prince. And he was not simply searching for any man. No. He had a target in mind and he now had found him. 

Patroclus followed his gaze. He felt lighting strike his body, his eyes widening and his body moved on its own, without Patroclus having to think twice about it.

No! No, you must—

Patroclus did not wish to listen to her. The man held his bow and narrowed his eyes. Patroclus knew exactly where he was aiming for. Achilles had his back turned towards him and he would not even know it was the stark skin of his heel which drew the man’s attention.

The man shoot an arrow, the sharp edge crossing the distance swiftly, with a swishing sound rippling through the blood-fueled air.

Patroclus jumped on its way before it could reach its end. 

Chapter Text

Patroclus thought that he would feel much more pain, but the sharp edge of the arrow that pierced through his shoulder blade did not ache as much as he thought it would. It was the surprise and the shock that had overcome Patroclus when he felt its sharp edge bite into his skin. The first arrow hit him in the back, but it was the second, aimed right at his hip which forced Patroclus to collapse on the sand. 

Patroclus’ vision grew blurry under the pressing weight of the helmet. Sweat was gathering along his hairline, and Patroclus could not focus on the figures fighting before him, their silhouettes growing unfocused and their voices muffled. Patroclus realized that he began to lose consciousness when the could not longer hold himself upright. He thought he heard the sound of his name shouted from afar, but he was too unaware to grasp it. 

He did not feel the third arrow piercing him right in the middle of his chest. 

The last of what he remembered was the female voice still ringing inside his head. It was cold and emotionless as if Patroclus’ hurting was nothing to her but obscure irritation.

Paris. I warned you to stay away from Paris. 

Patroclus was not sure if the last words were the ploy of his imagination or the strange reality.

His mind drifted into the cold and unbearable darkness. His body was light and weightless as it navigated through the thick shadows. He was barely aware of his surroundings and the thoughts which passed aimlessly through his head were equally his but also not really his own. 

Patroclus’ body felt as if it had split into two, and there was a buzzing inside his skull which would not stop. Patroclus did not know if he had his eyes opened or closed, all he sensed was the strange cold that chained his muscles and his entire body, making in unable to move.

A familiar voice sounded in the distance. There was no light and no warmth but the tight anticipation in his chest made Patroclus want to hear it once more. In his barely lucid state, Patroclus chose to follow it. 

Somewhere far away in the distance and time another soul had opened their eyes. 

***

Patroclus was waking up slowly. At first, he regained control of his breathing, the slow and steady movements of his chest up and down. Then he found the strength in his fingertips to move them over the mattress. Finally, he could feel the tingling of blood rushing through his veins and the tight stretch of his skin wrapping over his body. 

Patroclus’ heartbeat echoed in his eardrums and that was the only sign his body had given him that he was still alive. 

His mind came together trying to scramble the last of his memories. 

He was in the middle of the battlefield. He saw Achilles and the arrowhead directed at him from the bow held by the golden Trojan Prince. Patroclus jumped guided by the instinct; he knew that he had to do it, otherwise, Paris would have fulfilled the prophecy of Achilles’ death. Patroclus’ body fell forward and he took the shot in his back and in his leg; the final arrow finding its way through Patroclus’ chest.

Patroclus could feel that ache now, the pain in his body, the bleeding wounds that were covered by something wet and stinky. Patroclus’ body lay on a soft mattress, and his eyes were closed, but as he gradually came to his senses he began to hear people speaking around him, the muttering of their voices and the muffled sounds of their steps all mixing into one lump of noise. 

Patroclus’ eyelids twitched and he slowly opened his eyes.

He was surrounded by the smell of herbs and something like iron, which he guessed could be the stench of his own stale blood. He looked above at the ceiling of the pavilion, blinking a few times, as his eyes got used to the natural light coming through the flaps of the tent. 

A familiar face emerged right in front of his line of vision and Patroclus breathed out with relief. Achilles looked like an angel, his hair a bright halo and his eyes so deep and green, Patroclus was almost drowning in them.

“Patroclus,” Achilles spoke, his face twisted in concern and worry. “Thank the Gods. Are you awake?”

Patroclus made a slow sound like a sign that he was listening. Was Achilles waiting here the whole time for him to wake up?

Patroclus’ mouth felt incredibly dry and he could not force a single word to come out. Achilles must have sensed it because he moved his body somewhere outside of Patroclus’ sight and appeared again holding a bowl of what looked like plain water in his hands. He lifted it up and held it before Patroclus, reaching out with one of his hands to lift Patroclus’ head up and let him drink from it.

Patroclus felt weak, and even swallowing water felt like a workout. He could not deny however that it did make him feel slightly better, and as Achilles helped him lay back on the pillows, Patroclus could open his eyes fully and his lips were no longer dry.

He tried to part his lips and speak but Achilles covered his mouth with the palm of his hand.

“Rest. Your bleeding might have stopped but that does not mean you have the strength to speak just yet. Just nod if I say something, alright?” Patroclus nodded, his eyes smiling a little as Achilles still kept his hand to his mouth. Achilles’ whole face tensed as his eyes were dark and serious. “Do you know who I am?”

Patroclus nodded again, more urgently this time around. Achilles could not hide the sigh of ease as he breathed out. “Good. You were unconscious for three days. They said you were tossing in your sleep, and that you were mumbling something strange in a language they could not understand. I said I had to stay with you the whole time before you would come back to yourself.”

So Achilles was here with him. That would also mean that he had possibly stopped fighting. 

Patroclus did not know how he should feel about that.

Patroclus dropped his head on the pillow and shut his eyes again. The ache in his head grew stronger. His shoulder blade where the arrow pierced in the unprotected flesh between his skin and the armor burned, but it was bearable. His chest was tight but not overly painful, he could take deep calming breaths and sensed no sharp ache as he did so. He was more concerned about the wound on his hip; Patroclus feared he could not return to fighting if he would limp, let alone walk. 

And if he had to stay behind who would then protect Achilles? Who would defend him from Paris’ arrows if more were to come in the future?

“I know what you are thinking,” Achilles said suddenly as the pavilion grew quiet. Achilles must have been waiting for other people to leave so he could speak again. Patroclus turned his head to the side at the strange sound of Achilles’ voice. His face was hard as stone and Patroclus feared the words which would inevitably come out of his mouth. “You wished to protect me. But there will be no need for that any longer. Odysseys told me he had come up with a plan. Troy would be taken soon, and we could go back to Phthia much sooner than we thought. Troy will be conquered,” Achilles took a deep breath and Patroclus’ heart felt overly large, beating heavily against the tightness of his ribcage. “Paris is dead. I killed him.” 

Patroclus expression froze. Achilles was not looking at him, his gaze turned away to his hands, and Patroclus could not see the emotions that swiped through his face. Achilles’ back was arched, as he slumped while he sat on the edge of the bed.

“I don’t regret it,” Achilles spoke quietly, but there was a certainty in his voice which made Patroclus feel unease. “He hurt you, he tried to end you with his blade, but I killed him before he could act. The Trojans knew the end was near, they could not even save the body of their Prince. Menelaus is beside himself from joy; he thinks that now Paris is dead his wife would return to him, but I did not kill him for his gratitude. I killed him because I was angry. I thought I had lost you again. In those moments when you fell, for the first time in my life, I felt fear. I could not watch the Gods take you away from me again. I killed him, and I would kill him again if I could.”

Patroclus let out a long sigh. He could not believe what he was hearing. His face twisted and he thought that if Paris was now dead it would leave Hector, and now the Trojan Prince would surely want to avenge his brother, and if Hector died, Achilles would fall right behind him.

Patroclus wanted to cry out but he could not. Instead, he watched Achilles’ figure, the soft lines of his body clad in a white tunic, and let the emotions overcome him.

“I will spare Hector’s life,” Achilles spoke as if he heard Patroclus’ thoughts. “Even if we fight I will not kill him. I give you my word.”

Patroclus observed Achilles closely as the boy turned towards him. His eyes were as light as Patroclus remembered and when he leaned down to press a soft kiss against Patroclus’ lips it was with such gentle care as if Achilles thought that Patroclus would crumble from a single touch. 

Achilles’ words were muffled against Patroclus’ mouth. “I prayed every night for you to survive. I begged for your soul to my mother but lately, she does not wish to see me. I wonder if that is because she knows of the truth of your existence. But I don’t care. I love you. I love you. And I know that you love me too because you came back to me.”

Patroclus’ eyelids fell heavy. He was growing weak, there was a sour taste of herbs in his mouth and the buzzing in his head did not stop. The words which Achilles said to him made him feel the reality of the situation he had found himself in; the history was was being changed as they were speaking. 

Patroclus felt that he was floating somewhere outside of his body and he needed something to hold on to. He lifted his arms to wrap them around Achilles’ shoulders and pulled him close, making him lay beside him, Achilles on his side and Patroclus turning his head to glimpse at Achilles’ green eyes. 

He knew there must be more to be said between them, but for now, he was content with falling back asleep. 

Patroclus mind was well-rested when he woke up again the next day. 

His head was turned slightly to the side and when he opened his eyes he saw Achilles, his breath calm and shallow, as he was sleeping beside him. The low medical pallet upon which they both laid was not large enough to fit the bodies of two grown men in it, but Achilles seemed to fit just fine, curling into a tight ball, his body close enough to radiate a pleasant heat which made Patroclus smile a little.

Achilles looked peaceful in his sleep, with no angry lines of worry and frowns on his forehead, just the sound of soft breaths and an even rise and fall of his chest. Patroclus’ body did not ache as strongly as it did when he first woke up and how he could lift his arm to brush against the silken skin of Achilles’ cheek, touch soft and light to not awaken him just yet. 

Patroclus felt that the time had stilled around them; that nothing existed outside the walls of this tent, even though he could hear the distant sounds of the soldiers’ shuffling feet and shouts of orders and commands, that the war was still not over and they yet had their parts to play, but for now, this moment was enough.

Patroclus did not know how long he lay there, stroking softly at Achilles’ face before he felt his stomach making a horrible sound, clearly noticing that he regained consciousness and reminded him of how hungry and thirsty he was. 

Achilles stirred beside him, his brows frowning a little and when he opened his eyes they were bright and conscious, and awake. 

“You are up.”

“I didn’t want to wake you,” Patroclus replied quietly, trying not to break the silent moment between them. “How long was I asleep?”

“Almost an entire day. How are you feeling?”

“Much better,” Patroclus spoke the truth. The sleep did help, and he could feel his body was not as heavy as before and it did not weight him down. 

“How much do you remember?” Achilles leaned back on his elbow as he began to stand, expression worried and his blonde hair curling gracefully around his face, even when it was loose and untied. “From what I spoke to you last night?”

“Everything,” Patroclus replied. “I feel better now. We should return to the camp soon enough.”

“Return?” Achilles frowned. Then, as if grasping the meaning of Patroclus’ words his entire face twisted in discontent. “No. You will not go to the battlefield anymore. Letting you in that time was my mistake, which I will not repeat again.”

“But what you said about Odysseus and his plan,” Patroclus began to stand too, but Achilles was faster as his hands pressed urgently at Patroclus’ shoulder, forcing him to lean down and admit defeat. “I have to be there too.”

“You will not be a part of Odysseus’ conspiracy,” Achilles snapped, cutting his excuses short. “I do not trust that man. And even more, I don’t trust you around him; who knows what Odysseus would be willing to do to put this war to an end,” noticing that Patroclus was quiet but his face twisted in defiance he let out a long breath and scowled. “Lay here, I will go for a washing bowl and bring you some food and new clothes. I will let the others and Machaon know that you are awake.”

Patroclus watched Achilles leave with a heaviness in his chest. He moved up slowly, despite how he felt there was still a presence of tension in his muscles, which Patroclus was painfully aware of. 

He sat up on his bed, his legs hanging over the edge as he braced himself, his knuckles holding onto the edge of the mattress. Patroclus felt a little dizzy from sitting uptight but nothing that he could not handle.

He looked down at himself. Patroclus had his chest bandaged; it must have been freshly cleaned, because there were no stains of dried blood, and there was another set of bandages around his thigh, which he only saw a glimpse of because he was wearing wide linen trousers and no shirt. He smelt horrible, the mixture of sweat and blood, and he needed to wash up and soon; his mouth had a sour taste in it and he could smell his own dried armpit sweat. 

Patroclus lifted his chin, determined to stand when a sudden movement at the corner of his eyes forced him to remain seated. 

At first, Patroclus did not know what was it that had caught his attention. His vision darkened and he blamed it on his own dizziness; when at the next moment when he blinked slowly to clear his blurry gaze, an outline of the figure of a man appeared before him. Patroclus’ ears popped as if he was suddenly elevated to a high height, and there was a low ringing in the air around him.

Patroclus could not hold back his surprise or slight parting of his mouth as he stared at the creature before him. 

A man had a helmet, and sandals with wings on its heels, and his eyes were nothing like Patroclus had ever seen before. They were bright blue, almost unnaturally so, and Patroclus sensed that something about this man was not from this world; at least not from the world which Patroclus was used to.

“I am happy to see you alive and well, Patroclus of Opus,” the man’s voice had a cutting edge to it, but it was also strangely melodious. “I am afraid we do not have much time. Your companion is afraid to leave you alone even for a minute, and he made a famous name for himself that even the Gods dare not face his wrath.”

Patroclus swallowed harshly. His brain did a little shortcut, and he felt a rush that felt almost like an electric current running underneath his skin. “Hermes?”

The man smiled, yet his eyes remained cool and expressionless. “That is the name I carry as the messenger of the Gods. I am glad you’re familiar. And as a messenger, I have one to deliver straight to you, Patroclus, from the Queen of the Gods, who has been watching you for some time now.”

Patroclus was not sure if he was having visions from all the painkiller drugs he received but he decided to nod along, curious as to what Hermes, or at least he assumed that was who he was, had to say. 

“You are not hallucinating, Patroclus. I am afraid this conversation that we are having is not just real, it is important to you too,” Hermes’ eyes looked Patroclus up and down finally locking on his face, their eyes meeting each other in a tense gaze. “Hera wishes for you to know that the path for you to return to your home world is closed. You have made your final choice to stay. You had the chance to die and to bring your soul back to your body, but you did not. Now, that the ritual is complete, and the souls have completely switched, the spell is finished and the debt it paid.”

Patroclus felt lightheaded. “I had an opportunity to die and I didn’t? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Hermes nodded his head, as if in understanding, bringing out more to his explanation. 

“When Paris shot you with his arrows, there was a brief moment when the Fates could have broken your thread of life but they did not. Because you decided that you will not die, that you do not want to return to your previous life, that you can’t abandon Achilles anymore. After that decision was made, inside the depths of your mind but with the power of your soul, your Fate has been sealed. Hera wants me to let you know that from today, you can never return back to your world, and instead, you will spend the remainder of your days here, following this path which you will create for yourself no longer bound to the prophecy.”

“So, the only way I could return was if I died?” Patroclus spoke, faintly. He did not know what emotions he had felt at that moment. He thought back to his old life, but he could not find the previous threads that connected him to the past. All he had thought was Achilles and how much he wanted to stay by his side. “And what about the other Patroclus? You said our souls were switched?”

“That, I cannot answer. Not because I don’t want to, but because I do not have enough knowledge on this matter. Hera only spoke to me what I had to pass along, no more, and no less.”

Patroclus felt his early headache rising to surface again; he had so many questions placed at the tip of his tongue but he could not speak out any of them. When he finally got a hold of himself to speak again, Hermes had vanished into the shadows, as quickly as he came. 

He felt like he was standing on the verge of a dark abyss.

He could have died but he did not.

He could have chosen his previous life back but he refused. 

Patroclus did not even know how deeply he had fallen; how much he had sacrificed for the love he held in his heart. He did not know how it started, all he knew was that he let something take root inside his heart and now he could never turn back.

“Patroclus,” Achilles called him when he got back. Patroclus did not hear him coming in; his footsteps were quiet but when he pressed a hand to Patroclus’ shoulder, Patroclus knew he had to get out of his stupor. 

When he turned his head he saw that Achilles’ looked at him with a worried expression, the wash basin standing in the corner of the tent and there was some food and what smelled like wine mixed with water in the cups. 

“I am fine,” Patroclus said quietly, pressing a kiss on Achilles’ wrist. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Then stop making me feel worried,” Achilles tried to smile and Patroclus could not hold back his huff of low chuckle. 

He thought that there was nothing he could do, he made his final decision when he put his body under the arrow, but Patroclus wondered what expression Achilles would make once he realized that his lover could never come back again. 

Patroclus felt nauseous at that thought; the gentle touches with which Achilles washed his body and changed the bandages on his shoulder made his skin crawl slightly. He knew he had to speak up, he had to say to Achilles about what he learned from Hermes, about the involvements of the Gods and the exchange of their souls but he could not bring himself to speak.

This thing between them, emotion which Patroclus still feared to define as love, was still new and unexplored, and Patroclus did not want to be the one to break the small bit of trust and intimacy that they had created between each other. 

If Achilles noticed the tension in his body, he did not speak of it, but Patroclus knew that he noticed that something was bothering him, by the tense feeling in his muscles, the tightens in his jaw and the way he avoided Achilles’ eyes when they began to eat. 

“What is troubling you?” Achilles’ eyes were pleading to ask and when Patroclus held his glance for much longer he almost said it, almost spoke of his encounter when the flap of the tent moved and a man walked in.

Achilles’ whole demeanor changed. His body tensed and he scowled at the stranger. 

Patroclus sighed and felt his head grow heavy again, now with upcoming anxiety which overcame him every time this man came into his view. 

“I thought I might find you here. Prince Achilles, Patroclus. How glad I am that you are both awake.”

Chapter Text

Odysseus took a seat on the only free stool available inside the tent, making himself comfortable. He crossed one leg over the other and put his chin on his folded fist, looking intently from Achilles to Patroclus, and back.

“I can see that you are on your way to full recovery, Patroclus,” Odysseus smiled, his voice light, but Patroclus was not easily swayed by his cheerful demeanor. 

Instead, he nodded silently, sensing how Achilles had tensed right beside him.

“If you are here on Agamemnon’s command you must repeat to him the same words I have told you,” Achilles said with a note of threat barely veiled in his voice. 

Odysseys lifted his arms, palms of his hands turned towards them in mocking surrender.

“There will be no fighting tonight, or if the plan will succeed in its work, ever. We will proceed with the planned attack under the disguise of the Horse, and by tomorrow morning all camps should be packed and soldiers who are not fighting must return back to the ships,” Odysseus replied to Achilles, with a tilt in his voice. 

He then turned to Patroclus with an expression of curiosity. “Has Achilles spoken to you regarding the strategy for tomorrow then? Or,” Odysseus’ eyes narrowed, his body leaning forward just slightly, “were you aware that it would all come down to this all along?”

Patroclus tightened his jaw. He was yet to tell Achilles that Odysseus had known the truth of his identity. Patroclus bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from snarling. If Achilles had not suspected so before, now he felt that Achilles would surely figure out that Odysseus knew about Patroclus’ disguise. 

But instead of bursting out in anger, Achilles’ hand was placed slowly on Patroclus’ bicep, as if Achilles was trying to smooth his slowly building agitation.

“Even if he was aware of the future, it was not his place to speak about it, Prince of Ithaca. What lies ahead and what the fates have prepared must remain unknown to us. Patroclus did the right thing by not speaking out about the outcome of this war.”

“Even if so, he needs to know what will happen tomorrow,” Odysseus dismissed Achilles’ words with a shake of his head. “Even if he will not be one of the men inside the belly he still needs to know what is at stake if we lose.”

“You are going to use deceit to sneak your way into the city,” Patroclus interrupted. He tried to force himself to stay out of the conversation but his anger was too large for him to handle. “You are going to trick the Trojans to open the city gates for you so you could slaughter these people in their sleep. You will show that the Greeks are surrendering and giving the Horse as sacrificial offering to the Gods and Trojans would bring the horse inside, unknowing of the threat of Greek soldiers hiding inside of it.”

A heavy silence fell inside the tent. Patroclus felt his skin itch from restless anxiety. He turned towards Achilles. 

“And you agree with this?” Patroclus asked, his voice raised slightly, somewhat accusing. “You agree to murder those civilians? The people who have done nothing to you but tried to survive in times of war?”

“If this is the only way to end it, then yes,” Achilles tightened his lips and turned away from the intensity of Patroclus’ stare. “I don’t have to agree with Odysseus’ plan, but I know that it will work. If we hide the ships and strike when they are drunk and asleep we will take Troy from within. The city will burn.”

Patroclus had never heard Achilles speaking so openly of violence before. Achilles’ face turned cold and his eyes were never meeting his so Patroclus could not tell what kind of expression Achilles was hiding from him. 

“We will strike tomorrow at dawn. Be prepared by then,” Odysseus noted curtly. “You should head back to the camp towards the Myrmidons and speak to them of the preparations some more. They have been a little rowdy in your absence.”

Achilles scowled. “I know how to take care of my men.”

“That we will see,” Odysseus sighed, stood up and squeezed Patroclus’ shoulder on his way out as if knowing what kind of thoughts were swirling inside his head. 

As he left the air inside the tent felt colder. Patroclus quietly finished his food.

“You are angry,” Achilles spoke, listlessly moving his food around the plate. 

“No,” Patroclus shook his head and moved away his bowl. “You are a soldier. A warrior. Doing your part in war is what you do. Is what I asked you to do when you went and spoke to Agamemnon.”

Achilles frowned. “Then why are you acting like this?”

“Because it is still hard to wrap my head around that innocent people will die in this war; people who had nothing to do with Paris or with Helen. But I also worry about you,” Patroclus stood up and as he was getting dressed, he squeezed his eyes shut from the pain as he prepared to put on his tunic. Achilles as if summoned by Patroclus’ thoughts appeared right beside him, helping to put the clothing on. “If you fight you will surely have to face Hector. And if you do- if you might not kill him, he will surely try to kill you.”

Achilles did not reply anything; his face was focused on tying Patroclus’ tunic. The silence of his answer made Patroclus angry.

And worried. 

“Answer me,” he said again, a hint of desperation laced through his voice, as he turned to face Achilles. Patroclus took his face in the palm of his hands so that Achilles would not turn his face away from him. Achilles’ eyes shined like gemstones even through the darkness of the tent. Patroclus’ eyes searched for any signs of clarity on the other’s face. “Tell me you do not intend to kill Hector.”

If Paris was dead it did not not mean Achilles was safe. Any arrow could bring him death, any archer could be guided by Apollo to shoot him in his heel.

“Do you think that the prophecy has changed?” Achilles asked his voice barely anything but a whisper. 

What?

“What?” Patroclus frowned. 

“Do you think that now that your soul has changed, the prophecy would be different too? That may be my death will not come after Hector’s?” Achilles’ voice wavered in uncertainty. His face looked young in between the rough palms of Patroclus’ hands. “I tried to ask Mother, but she would not answer my calls, not since you have appeared again. I wonder if she knows the truth if she holds anger at the fate that the Gods have given you.”

“I don’t know,” Patroclus replied honestly. “But if that was me I would not try and play trick with my fate. Hector must live, Achilles. That is the only matter that must remain certain.”

“Troy will not fall if Hector remains alive,” Achilles spoke, and Patroclus knew that he was right. Patroclus took a deep breath and let his hands drop. There was a pain in his heart and a tightness in his chest. “If Hector dies the war will not last much longer. I could still live.”

The possibility did not seem real. Patroclus knew that the Gods were not that merciful, Achilles’ fate had been sealed, and yet Patroclus felt truly powerless to do anything about it. It was his fault; he urged Achilles to fight and now he had to face the inevitable. 

He had to think of something. A way to save Achilles’ life.

“We have to return to the camp,” Patroclus said finally, looking anywhere but Achilles’ sullen face. He feared if he looked at him again he would do something stupid like fall on his knees and beg Achilles to not get inside the stomach of that wooden horse.

They left the tent in silence. Around them the preparations for seemingly hurried departure was happening; Patroclus had no doubts that the Trojan spies would notice the unusual activity inside the Greek camps and would want to investigate what their next move would be.

“There was another attack when you were unconscious,” Achilles spoke, noticing how intently Patroclus was studying the soldiers and the surroundings. “Hector’s men reached the ships; he almost succeeded in destroying some of them but the advances were stopped in time.”

“Were you fighting against them?” Patroclus asked. He looked in the direction of the sea but he could not see much from where he stood. At the back of his thoughts, he remembered the scene in the Iliad where the ships were in danger of being burnt, but his memory of late had been not very reliable and the details escaped him.

“No. I was in the medical tent with you,” Achilles shrugged, his voice unbothered, as if the devastating loss of the Greeks was none of his concern.

Patroclus tightened his lips. Achilles would refuse to fight on a whim, but he was eager to put himself in danger to end the war. Patroclus did not know how he felt about it; part of him was aware that Achilles was a warrior who needed the triumph of battle like he needed air, but another part of him just wanted to leave the battlefields of Troy and never return.

“Do you think Odysseus’ plan will work?” Achilles asked when they began to walk in the direction of the Myrmidons’ camp. This was the first time Achilles raised his uncertainty with Patroclus; the raw exhaustion in his voice made Patroclus halt in his step. 

Patroclus did not want to say that it had worked in the past. All he could remember was the blood that Greeks had spilled in Troy; the women they kidnapped and the children they killed. There were lines of women jumping off the city walls to their deaths rather than being captured by the Greek soldiers to avoid the fate of becoming their bed slaves. 

Patroclus’ silence was enough of an answer for Achilles. Patroclus felt a heavy weight on his chest; he knew he had promised to keep nothing from Achilles, but his secrets were too much of a burden to share. How would Achilles react if Patroclus told him that there was a God in their tent? That Patroclus’ soul is forever bound to this body? That is why they would enter Troy the city would fall and Achilles’ would meet his death.

Patroclus felt panic grow inside of him. He wanted to do something, he needed to act; to save the one person he knew he loved. And if Achilles’ would forever hate him for it.. so be it. 

At least Patroclus knew that he had done the right thing.

“Achilles,” Patroclus spoke softly before they reached the tent. They stood alone in the middle of the white sands and Achilles turned slowly, a question lingering in his eyes. Patroclus took a deep breath to steady himself. “Whatever happens tomorrow; I want you to know that- there is a part of me, the old bit of Patroclus’ soul, that loves you. That longs for me and the one that wants you to be safe no matter what. Don’t break his heart again by doing something you would regret.”

Achilles stood still for a moment. “And what about you?”

Patroclus blinked. “Me?”

“Yes. Is there a larger part inside of you that loves me?”

Patroclus moved forward, Achilles’ body close and when they looked at each other their faces were so close their noses brushed. “There is. I don’t want to lose you. I love you.”

Patroclus never said these words before. He never confessed his feelings so openly, and when Achilles’ lips touched his, he knew something between them had changed forever.

“I love you,” Achilles replied, creases folding near his eyes as he smiled. “It feels good to say it again. Let’s go. They are waiting for us.”

They are waiting for you, Patroclus wanted to correct him but he didn’t. 

Achilles had to get things prepared to board the ships so it was no wonder he had to separate from Patroclus for a while. He gave him a quick kiss on his cheek before he rushed off and Patroclus watched him leave with a heavy heart. 

He turned towards the tent. 

It was getting dark, and he thought he would help to pack up their things when a gentle female voice called out from behind him.

“You are leaving,” Briseis spoke, more on a statement than a question. Patroclus shuddered; he almost forgot about her still living inside the camp.

Patroclus nodded. Briseis looked at him differently, the past gentleness with which she gazed at him that night near the tent had all but vanished leaving place for something like suspicion in her eyes. Patroclus was still questioning how close their relationship was, but being friends was probably the first thing that came to his mind. “I heard you were wounded in battle.”

“I feel a little better now,” Patroclus nodded, his shoulder giving a dull ache as he moved it under Briseis’ watchful gaze. “Briseis- I wanted to let you know that-”

“I know,” he said, her voice low, but non-threatening as she interrupted him. Briseis’ eyes were dark and she looked at Patroclus with a stone-cold expression. “You are not the same Patroclus who I one’s knew. You are someone else.”

Patroclus’s body froze. He thought he had stopped breathing for a moment, hastily looking around himself, hoping that no one around them heard her voice. It felt way too dangerous felt discuss this matter out in the open like that. Instead, he made a step towards Briseis and spoke lowly, trying to keep his composure. “Can we talk about this someplace else?”

Briseis did not argue. She nodded, and turned around, making a silent sign for Patroclus to follow her, and she walked over to the small red tent which stood a little further away from the rest of the camp.

“How did you figure it out?” Patroclus asked her the moment they stepped, the flap closing noisily behind them. Briseis sat on her bed and Patroclus paced slowly from one corner to another. He felt a dull headache starting to grow at the back of his skull. “How did you know I was not the same Patroclus from before?”

Briseis was silent for a long time. When Patroclus turned around to look at her exactingly she had eyes eyes lowered on her lap. 

“The way you talk is different,” she said slowly, as if in thought. She fiddled nervously with her fingers. “Your words are rougher, blunter. You look different too, the way you carry yourself and how you tilt your chin. In the past, you never cared about your height and stature, but now it feels like you are not afraid to hide it.”

Patroclus nodded. No one had told him about it before, but he guessed as a woman, Briseis was more observant than others. 

“How long have you known?”

“Since the night we spoke near your tent,” Briseis replied, a little calmer. “I sensed that there was something different in you after you fight with Achilles. I have assumed you were upset about his behavior. It took me a while to put the piece together.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Patroclus tried to speak calmly but it was hard to keep his composure. “Did you speak to anyone about this?” 

The questions kept coming out of his mouth without Patroclus being able to control his slow-rising anger. Should he be scared? What if Briseis would let others know of his secret?

“You have questions,” she said, sensing his agitation. “I understand that you are worried but I promise you I have not spoken to anyone about this. I was not sure until you proved it yourself. We were .. friends in the past. I would never betray your trust.”

Patroclus let out a shaky breath, sensing only a slight wave of relief cursing through his tense body. Briseis raised her eyes, finally looking Patroclus straight in the face. “I know something is troubling you. I will try and help you answer any other questions you have for me. I will try to give you the truth you seek.”

Patroclus’ mind reeled. What questions did he want to ask Briseis? Even if she says they were “friends” in the past, there was only one thing Patroclus needed to know about. 

“It is about Achilles,” he said, and she made a nod of her head as if he expected him to talk about it. “What exactly happened between you too? We’re you truly his lover?”

Patroclus did not doubt Achilles, but he needed to know Breseis’ side of the story too if he were to make sense of their relationship.

“He took me in because you asked him too,” Breseis said her voice soft, remembering. “You said you didn’t want to see me hurt, but neither you nor Achilles ever laid a finger on me. You showed the truth of your love for him the first time we met, when you kissed him, to show that I have nothing to be frightened about.”

“So you and Achilles were never together?”

She huffed, almost as if he was offended by Patroclus’ words. “No. He never took me in his bed and never attempted to do it. You two were only observed with each other. You never needed anyone else.”

Patroclus nodded sullenly. There was a strange way in which Briseis spoke the last words, almost as if she was nostalgic about the past, but Patroclus did not have the time to dwell upon the meaning of it. “So, what will you do now?”

Briseis stilled, her fingers twirling with the fabric of her skirts. “My family is dead, and my home is burnt down. There is no place else for me to go.”

“You could always just run away,” Patroclus said a little unsure. “You can be safe as a priestess in a temple, but you will not be safe after tomorrow.”

“Is that true that the Greeks are leaving?” Briseis asked instead.

Patroclus worried his bottom lip and stood up. “I can’t talk about it, but you can’t stay in the camp for much longer. Something bad is going to happen I can feel it. And I know the Patroclus from the past would not want to see you hurt. So f you have a chance you should leave and forget about me, and the war, and Troy and Greeks, and run as fast as you can. I have a bad feeling about tomorrow and I don’t think I can protect you, because I will be barely able to protect myself.”

Briseis let out a long sigh and when he looked up there was a solid determination in her gaze. Whether she understood the significance of his words or not; Patroclus did not know. All he needed to do was warn her, everything else was up to Briseis. 

“You have changed,” was all she said. “You are nothing like him at all.”

Patroclus tightened his jaw. He did not know how he should take such words. There was not much more he could have said to her. As he left he pretended it did not hurt him when she said it. 

“Goodnight Briseis.”

Patroclus did not look back. When he left Briseis’ tent it was already dark. He walked back; his mind a swirling chaos of thoughts and constant worry. 

Achilles was already waiting for him inside the tent when he entered. He was in the middle of changing, his naked back turned towards him, and Patroclus could not hold himself back as he wrapped his hands around Achilles’ waist to pull him close and kiss him on the side of his neck.

“I missed you,” he rasped leaving a bruising kiss on Achilles’ tanned skin, the sight of which made Patroclus chest swell with affection.

“You have just seen me this afternoon,” Achilles chuckled under his breath, throwing his head to the side and barring more of his skin for Patroclus to explore with his mouth. “Where have you been?” Achilles tensed just slightly as he asked the question, but he melted in his arms when Patroclus's fingers played with his chest, brushing against the pink swell of his nipples. 

“Just walking about,” Patroclus lied because he did not want to bring Briseis when he was so close to the tempting scent of Achilles’ skin. “I want to sleep with you tonight.”

“We shouldn’t-,” Achilles muttered but there was a little fight in his voice when Patroclus’ hand grasped Achilles’ hardening length, “You are still recovering and your injury is not healed, Patroclus.”

“Please,” Patroclus whispered again, holding Achilles close as if the mere idea of letting him go could hurt him. The desperation in Patroclus overfilled him from the burning desire. “I need you.”

Achilles turned himself in Patroclus’ arms, and kissed him again, on Patroclus’ lips, hungry and demanding. Patroclus could do nothing but give in. He wanted to forget himself in Achilles’ warm embrace and to distract his racing thoughts from the betrayal he was going to commit.

***

It was dark and silent, but Patroclus lay in bed in the middle of the night with his eyes open. 

Are you ready? A familiar now female voice sounded through his head.

Patroclus looked at the motionless figure of Achilles sleeping beside him, his face calm and his hair a blond halo of messy locks spread across the pillow. 

“I love you,” he whispered against his golden shoulder, leaving a parting kiss before he stood up from the bed. “Don’t loathe me after tonight.”

He got up from the bed and got dressed, quiet and fast. 

When he walked out of the tent he closed his eyes and let his thoughts form a message in his head.

”Lead the way.”

Chapter Text

They walked far enough from the Greek camp for Patroclus to grow tense, agitating himself with the thoughts if the plan was even going to work.

Why are you helping me?

Hera had been oddly quiet throughout their route. If not for the persistent buzzing in his ears and the strange cold that seemed to have found its place beneath Patroclus’ skin; Patroclus would not even assume that the Goddess was watching over him at all.

“Because the fate of Troy can be changed, and you can put the end to it all.”

Just me? Are the other Gods not all-powerful enough to end the fighting?

Patroclus could hardly keep his thoughts from floating astray. He was too worried about Achilles’ impending death to consider the possibility that the Greeks could truly lose this war. The thought that he could make the history shift had not crossed Patroclus’ mind. It was too scary to consider the possibility that he could defy something as large as Fate.

“Gods are selfish beings; we resemble the mortals in that way. Many emotions that we feel are the same as humans, we can get angry and resentful. We can feel weak and powerless too. I guess I wish to use my little strength to bring equilibrium to the fight that I have helped to start.”

Patroclus did not expect Hera’s reply to sound like that. She sounded almost .. regretful.

But why me? Why would you use .. Patroclus?

“Because Patroclus had already sacrificed himself for this war in the other life. I knew your selfish acts would make you attempt to do so again. But when you died in the past, leading to the downfall of the Trojans, in this life I can use your soul to trick the Fates. If I give you the power of something greater we can change the course of history forever. I put my existence on the line, as well as your life. But I do not fear death. I would do it all again if that means the city can survive this war.”

Patroclus stayed silent. His sense of justice wanted Troy to survive this war too. But he could not push away the egotistic part of him that more than anything wanted Achilles to escape his impending death and to live life away from the hardships of the battlefield.

“You are in love and easy to manipulate. Which was why it had to be you to be used in this plot, Patroclus.”

Patroclus did not even have it in him to be angry. At least Hera was being honest with him. He scoffed to himself. We are helping each other. Let’s call it mutual agreement.

Patroclus took Hera’s sullen silence as a “yes”.

Patroclus’ only protection from getting recognized by the enemies who were standing on patrol of the city was the disguise of the night and the looming shadow of the Goddess who was guiding him in the direction of Troy. Hera insisted that he must stop fearing getting caught because she would use a divine veil his hide his appearance, but that did not stop Patroclus from growing paranoid at each approaching shadow he saw on his way as he moved hurriedly through the dusty plains of Troy.

There was something eerie about the stillness of the night and the utter silence which surrounded Patroclus. He recognized the fires of the city watch from afar. The impending doom of reality of what he was about to do chained his body like icy shackles. As Patroclus approached the thick walls of the fortress he could not shake off the feeling that he was setting himself up for danger.

Hera must have sensed his growing anxiety because her low voice sounded like gravel inside his head: “There is no use for worry, mortal. I will conceal your presence. I will grant you the power to make your voice heard when you shall speak to King Priam. No danger will come to you when you enter the city.”

Patroclus found little comfort in her serene attitude. It was common knowledge that the Gods cared only about their virtue; he had little doubt that if the suitable chance would present itself Hera would not hesitate to take away her blessings, leaving Patroclus to fend for himself.

The Greeks will think I have betrayed them. The Trojans would think that I am a liar and a spy and a coward whose words are nothing but empty promises , Patroclus’ unsettling thoughts must have reached Hera because he felt a chill running down his spine despite the hot dry air of the night.

“Would you wish to turn back instead?”

No , Patroclus thought immediately. He wanted this war to be over, he wanted to save Achilles’ life.

What purpose served Patroclus’ life against the fates of many? Patroclus was not afraid to sacrifice himself for the sake of victory. Even if Achilles hated him for the rest of his days, at least his life would be spared and he could return to Phthia; Achilles could reunite with his father and rule his kingdom as a Prince, spending the rest of his life in peace and being loved by his people.

Patroclus, the soul which belonged to him and the soul from the past, would both be content if everything were to turn out this way.

“What about you?” Hera asked, recognizing the vision which Patroclus drew inside his mind of Achilles returning to Phthia under the sails of the Myrmidon ships. “What part do you play in this future?”

He will hate me , Patroclus shook his head in denial. He would not even lay his eyes on me after he learned everything that I had done. He would never forgive me for the betrayal.

Hera grew quiet but her mute contemplating made Patroclus even more troubled.

He refused to dwell on the meaning of her silence. Instead, Patroclus focused on thinking about the words he was going to say to King Priam after he breached the walls of the Palace. Hera gave Patroclus the disguise of the male servant, he could walk within the shadows and when he made his way into the palace, Patroclus would find a way to seek Priam and talk to him directly.

There was no going back now. If Patroclus could save Troy; this had to be his only option. Patroclus’ mind was set.

He reached Troy after a long and tiresome walk. When he had to raise his chin to fully look at the looming walls, Hera guided him towards the hidden entrance used for merchants to transport their products inside the city. In more tranquil times it was a popular path used by both civilians and city watch, but during the war, it was blockaded to prevent spies like Patroclus from finding the way inside. The door would commonly be locked on a night like this and there would be several guards stationed to protect every weak breach which could lead to the city, but Hera’s magic worked in the ways that no mortal could have intervened with the Goddess’ doing.

Hera’s low voice sounded inside Patroclus’ skull as he moved closer to the dark brown door.

“Open the door. Step inside. In their eyes you are a manservant of the household, sent out to fetch produce for the meals of tomorrow, your clothes are plain but note that you belong to the royal family. Move fast. The veil of your disguise is strong but don’t let too many people see you walking through the streets.”

Patroclus nodded silently to himself and reached for the door handle. It opened with a soft creak and Patroclus moved forward, his heart beating rapid and fast against his ribcage. Patroclus held his breath as he walked along the silent streets. It appeared that all of Troy was asleep and he was guided by the rare flame light, walking like a shadow driven by the power of Hera’s divinity.

The tower of the palace where Priam and the family live was the only large building which was lit by the fire from the inside.

When Patroclus raised his head he felt his heart sink. He would never get inside it unnoticed, he already caught the attention of five guards when he walked past and although they did not appear to pay him any notice his look would certainly draw questions. Hera only created him a presentable disguise, she did not make him invisible. The others could still easily assume that he was hiding something by loitering outside in the dark.

Patroclus took a deep calming breath. He had to go forward. He could not let the fear of being seen stop him from acting. There were only so many hours left until the sunrise. He had to act fast or all of this was for nothing.

Patroclus hurried his step. The way to the tower lay in the steps which were heavily guarded but once the soldiers noticed the emblems sewn on Patroclus’ clothing he had let him go. There was a heaviness in Patroclus’ chest but the adrenaline and the fear of getting seen made him move forward.

Once inside, he was faced with the maze of the corridors of the palace but he felt that there was an invisible string pulling him forward, making his step closer to the quarters where the royal family lived, where King Priam still held feasts with his sons and daughters to show that he was not discouraged by the war and the efforts of the Greeks to capture the city.

Should I try and search for him in his sleeping chambers? Patroclus asked, feeling like he was lost as he kept going in circles from one corridor to another. The white stone walls and the equally shaped square windows which opened the view of the sleeping city made Patroclus’ head spin. As he thought of the houses below being thrown to fire and the streets spilling with blood he felt nausea rising at his throat. Or would it be too much and he would panic and refuse to listen to me?

“Head to the Great Hall,” was all Hera replied, almost commanding. “They will be waiting for you.”

The identity of “they” remained unknown, and Patroclus felt that now was not the good time to pester the Goddess with the questions. Instead, he decided to follow her guidance and stepped in the opposite direction in which he was walking, choosing the staircase leading upwards, which Patroclus assumed was where the Throne Room and the Great Hall of the Palace of Troy would be.

Patroclus’ steps were echoing as he walked up the stairs, and even from some distance away, he could hear the sounds of music and laughter. The previous nervousness had returned to Patroclus tenfold and he was feeling the tight ropes of unease strangling his stomach as he walked up the stairs.

More people were passing him by; girls in light dresses, young boys with their hands filled with golden cups and large plates with cheeses and fruit, their dark lock curling youthfully, and their eyes glimmering on their tanned skin from the flame light. A few gave Patroclus a curious look but none of them stopped him, instead, his form was followed by sidelong glances and smitten laughter, but Patroclus chose to ignore it.

He was not sure how he felt about the feast which was unfolding under King Priam’s orders. Did his son not die? Was Paris not to be mourned? Patroclus thought of Helen, and how she must feel after the death of her beloved; would that mean the Trojans would return her to the Greeks? But there were no messengers sent, at least none of which Patroclus was aware of.

Patroclus stepped hesitantly inside the large room. Never in his life, he had seen so much extravagance entangled in the same space. The gold glimmered on the walls, the reliefs and the drawings of the Hall depicted the myth of the divine creation of the city. The trophies of Troy were put on display for everyone to see, and Patroclus could understand why they called Troy the richest of the cities in the realm. Patroclus could surely understand why Agamemnon was so determined to rob Troy of its gold and treasuries.

The music was playing around Hall, and the dancers were circling each other at the front, their skirts flowing with the graceful moves of their arms and legs. Patroclus did not know where to rest his eyes, he was overwhelmed by the smell of wine in the air, the colours of the dresses and the loud conversations spoken around him.

Patroclus slightly shook his head, a few curls falling over his forehead. He had to focus on his purpose. He came here to speak to Priam. He came here to warn him. Patroclus walked slowly around the long tables where the guests were seated as they talked enthusiastically about the soon ending of the war. Patroclus gathered from the bits of conversations and after hearing the voices of the Trojans, that the prophecy of Apollo predicted the fall of the Greeks, that soon the war would be over and Troy would return to its previous might.

Patroclus’ heart skipped a beat but he did not stop in his tracks. So this was the cause of their celebration, he realized with strange calmness. The prophecy of Apollo gave the Trojans the hope of their victory.

Patroclus walked across the hall, and as his eyes narrowed on the centre where King Priam sat surrounded by his children next to his Queen Hecuba, he let out a staggering breath.

Patroclus took a carafe of wine and began to approach the table, looking at the unfamiliar faces, but the names popped up inside his head. The man with deep set wrinkles around his eyes with silver hair, wearing a deep purple toga, was King Priam; the darken-skinned man with curled hair and sharp eyes must be Hector and the beautiful woman with flowing brown locks was his wife, Andromache.

Patroclus tried to look for the fair golden hair but he failed to find her. Helen was not present at the celebration. Patroclus did not know how to react to that so instead he gritted his teeth and stepped forward.

A servant was preparing to refill the King’s cup but Patroclus was faster. He walked before the male servant, surpassing the slightly startled boy as Patroclus appeared almost as if out of thin air. He could only gasp, surprised, as Patroclus stepped forward to refill King Priam’s cup.

“Let me assist you, my King,” Patroclus muttered. Priam barely paid him any notice, his chin doing a slight twist almost as if he was about to nod but decided against it at the last minute.

There was a long heavy gaze thrown on his figure and Patroclus knew immediately that Hera’s powers were lifted off him. It was Hector, who had seen through Hera’s disguise. Patroclus felt it in his body when the mood of the table changed.

The music stopped even before Patroclus could do anything. Perhaps it was Hector who gave the sign, but suddenly all eyes turned to Patroclus who felt the intent gaze of every person in the room at him. Patroclus put down the carafe of wine and raised his head.

Hector was already standing; a sword lifted at his arms as he directed the sharp edge of the blade at Patroclus, fury and confusion mixing in his dark eyes.

“ You !”

There were a few strangled screams around the hall but no one moved. The shouting came and went, the surprise must have overtaken the guests as they saw the weapon being unleashed and Hector getting prepared for a fight. Andromache closed her ears, his mouth parting slightly in shock, and King Priam turned his head, giving Patroclus a glance from his clear blue eyes.

“Prince Hector,” Patroclus saw no need to hide it any longer. He raised his arms, marking his surrender. He tried to keep his voice calm despite the panic swelling in his chest. “Please lower your sword. I have come here in peace. My name is Patroclus. I came from the Greek camps. I am here to warn you that tomorrow the city of Troy will fall.”

“How dare you sneak inside the walls of the city, you treacherous rat,” Hector’s voice, low and dangerous like a snarl, raised across the Hall. When he made a move almost as if he was preparing to strike King Priam stopped him with the cold strength in his tone.

“Hector! Calm yourself,” the King stood, and hushed whispers rippled through the crowd. Priam turned towards him and Patroclus straightened his back under the intense gaze of the King. “Why are you here Patroclus? What disguise brought you here to the city, and why must you speak of the fall of Troy as if it was already decided?”

“Because if you will not listen to my words tomorrow Troy will fall. In the morrow the Greeks will use trickery to get inside your city,” Patroclus spoke, feeling a little breathless, but his voice was ringing loud and clear for every person to hear.  “The Greek ships will sail away, and the Greek camps will be gone and the people of Troy will think that Greeks have agreed to their surrender. They would leave a horse outside, as an offering, a wooden horse to sacrifice to the Gods; a sign of their peace and defeat. But inside the horse, there would be Greek soldiers hiding in its belly. When you shall bring the horse inside and drink and celebrate your victory, the Greeks under the cover of the night would storm the city, kill its men, rape their women and put Troy to the flames.”

Shocked cries followed his words. There was a worried murmur between the guests, the men and women speaking to each other in fear. Patroclus let out heavy shallow breaths; his words had to be vulgar and cruel unless no one would understand the severity of what was about to happen tomorrow.

“You are a liar,” Hector gritted through his teeth, his grip on the sword turning stronger and fiercer. Hector spat in the direction where Patroclus stood. “You came here to deceive us.”

“I came here to warn you!” Patroclus nearly shouted. The room fell to abysmal silence again. “If you ignore my words Troy will burn. Your fates would be worse than death. I want this war to be over as much as you. If you know of what is coming tomorrow, you would know how to protect your city and destroy the Greeks once and for all.”

“Patroclus,” Priam said slowly raising his hand to stop Hector from moving forward. His face was calm but there was a strange storm brewing in his blue eyes. “Why must you speak your warning? You are a Greek fighting for the Greeks. You have been aiding our enemy for ten years. Why now do you come and betray your people? What is the reason that guides you to do this?”

“Because I know that if I would not do anything many people would die. The destruction would fall upon Troy and I can’t sit down and watch more of the people suffer,” Patroclus’ voice shook from barely hidden despair and he lowered his eyes, his feast folded tightly as he let his arms drop by his side. “I cannot let the man I care about fall victim in this bloodbath. I choose to put my life at risk for love.”

“For love,” Hector chuckled cruelly in disbelief. “What about the love of my brother who died from Achilles’ spear? What about the love of my father for the sons he had lost in this war.”

“I have no power to bring Paris back,” Patroclus refused to let down his guard. “But if I can prevent countless people to follow his fate I choose to surrender my knowledge to you.”

“How can we be sure to trust you?” it was Queen Hecuba who questioned him. Her words flowed gracefully like water as she rose from her seat. Her voice carried enough weight for the Hall to grow entirely silent and Patroclus felt a slight relief from sensing that he could truly pass his worries across the room, without being mocked or threatened.

“You can’t,” Patroclus replied softly. He let his voice grow in strength again as he spoke: “But tomorrow you will see the signs. You will see that the camps are gone. That the ships have disappeared,” Patroclus raised his chin and looked sharply at Priam to give him the full intensity of his next words: “And you will most certainly see the Horse.”

The moment of hesitation spread through the Hall. Patroclus’ words weighed heavy in the tense silence, and it was only broken by Priam’s sombre voice.

“They cannot take the city by force so they have to use the cunning of their brains to get inside,” Priam spoke slowly, as if he was contemplating. “It would be rather sensible of them, if not cruel. Their minds turned vicious and violent from waiting. They are hungry for death and blood. I heard your words, Patroclus. But you must understand that I cannot make any decision lightly. If you choose to surrender yourself for the time being you will be held prisoner inside the city walls. You shall be treated with respect, but before that, you must understand that I cannot have you return to your people.”

Patroclus could not put a word on the feelings which swayed through his as he bowed his head at Priam’s words. It was not quiet relief. But it was not helplessness either. “I understand.”

“Everything you have said gave me and my family grave concern, Patroclus, but we will think thoroughly about what to do next. We will heed your warnings and we shall stay vigilant for you made me and my wife and my children fear for our future,” Priam turned to the guests who were stunned to silence as they listened to the unfolding conversation. “People of Troy will not stay deaf to this warning. We will be ready to face the Greek soldiers. If they come under the disguise of darkness like thieves and bandits we will know where they are hiding and we shall take our victory back. Here, I tell you, that tomorrow Troy shall not fall.”

Patroclus watched with unfocused eyes as people cheered for their king. As he felt a slight relief he noticed a guard tugging at his elbow, dragging him back to the corridors.

“I will follow him,” Hector said to his father, as he trailed behind Patroclus and his so-called convoy.

They walked down the long corridors of the palace but instead of going up the stairs like Patroclus did they headed to the lower floors. Patroclus felt cold sweat gathering behind his tunics. His head felt light but dizzy. 

“You don’t trust me,” Patroclus said over his shoulder as he was walking towards the lower levels of the palace with the guard pushing him forward.

“No,” Hector replied after a heavy pause. “My father is too kind, but I am not so easily swayed by easy words. I need to keep an eye on you are all times. You could have been a spy, you could be the reason we shall all be killed.”

“I have no reason to lie to you or your father, Hector. It is my life that I put at risk when I come here to tell you of the plans of your enemy,” Patroclus reasoned slowly.

It was dark around him and it took a moment for Patroclus to realize that he was guided to the lower floors because this was where the Trojans kept their prisoners. Patroclus felt panic at his chest but he let it go. There were empty cells which stretched along the corridor and Patroclus was shoved inside one of them.

He fell backwards from the impact and as he did a glance around he felt a little easy from how wet and dumped the cell was. But at least he was alone.

“You have all sorts of reasons to lie to me and my people. You could have been a spy or worse. You were the reason my brother died. Don’t think I can forget it.”

Patroclus scowled. Without the flame light, he could barely distinguish Hector’s features. He ignored the remark feeling that there was not much he could say to lessen Hector’s anger. “I have not seen Helen at the feast. Is she still alive?”

Hector was silent. The large shape of his body stood motionless, his muscles tense and unmoving. “When she found out that Paris was dead she almost fled the city. That woman is the bigger coward than you are. She cried and begged us to let her go to the camp, to make amends with Menelaus and ask to return to Greece back to Sparta, back to her sister. But we could not let her go. Too many people died for her mistake.”

“So- she is still in Troy?”

Hector gave him no answer. He only glared at Patroclus with a long look in his dark eyes. “You better hope that your predictions come true tomorrow, Patroclus. Because if your warnings would be false, I shall strip you naked and feed you to my dogs for the whole of Troy to see. I shall send what is left of your remains to Achilles. And then we can see who would be the real victor of that bloodbath.”

Patroclus watched him leave with a heavy chest. As Patroclus was left alone he felt little ease. He sat up, his back leaning over the dark wall of his tiny cell. It smelled like sewage and piss, and Patroclus already missed the smell of fresh ocean air.

Oh Hera if you can hear me , Patroclus begged silently. Keep Achilles safe. Don’t let him succumb to madness. Make him keep his head straight and protect him when I am not there.

Patroclus's head ached as he heard no words from her. It was unusual to feel ignored by the divine after sensing their presence for so long. Patroclus took a sharp inhale, leaving him sobbing in the abysmal darkness.

Chapter Text

Achilles did not stir when Patroclus had left the tent during the night. His breathing was slow and even, and his eyes were tightly shut. He did not follow him, he did not ask for an explanation. 

All he did was slowly risen from the bed, got dressed and when he had calculated that enough time had passed since Patroclus’ departure, Achilles had walked out of the tent completely unnoticed. 

Achilles could not wait any longer. He had to find a way to reach his mother. 

Many days have passed since Patroclus’ soul had changed within his body, but ever since their fight, Achilles had not been able to talk to Thetis. It felt as if the tight rope which connected the two of them together had been severed. 

Achilles suspected something was weighing heavy on his mother’s mind; the will of the Gods which prevented her from talking plainly of her worries. It was only now that Achilles suspected the true reason for why she had been avoiding him.

Something bad had happened in the path of the fates. The prophecy which foresaw the fall of Troy had changed. 

Achilles was still uncertain if that was the truth, but when Patroclus woke up from the wound that should have almost killed him, Achilles finally realized that their lives were no longer bound by destiny. Patroclus had lived on, and Achilles thought that if Patroclus was able to break free from fate, perhaps Achilles could do so too. However, if Achilles wanted to be sure, he had to seek his mother first. 

Achilles’ rapid pace was fueled by anger and worry. Why was this Patroclus inclined to be so blunt and stubborn? Why must he do everything to make Achilles fear for his life? 

After giving it a deeper thought Achilles guessed that, in their past lives, he had harbored such questions too. A day did not go by without Achilles questioning Patroclus’ mind, his thoughts and decisions. But that did not mean that Achilles had stopped trusting him. 

For now, Achilles wanted to keep Patroclus’ sudden disappearance a secret. He could not let any of the Greek Kings know what Patroclus was going to do. 

Achilles would get inside the Horse as he promised to Odysseus and the others. He would follow the plan; his only hope was that Patroclus knew what he was doing because Achilles would not hesitate to murder everyone in that gods-forsaken city if even a hair fell out of his head. 

The beach was as quiet and as deserted as he remembered it being the first time he stepped foot on the shores of Troy. There was no wind and the air smelled of seaweed and salt, the scent so familiar to Achilles and reminded him so much of his past, that he did not notice his mother, emerging slowly from the foam of the ocean waves. 

“You have come,” she spoke, and her expression was soulless. For as long as Achilles had known her he could never fully figure out the complexity of emotions on his mother’s face, but under the full bright moon, her eyes were particularly dark and heavy. “I was not sure if you would.”

There were a lot of things Achilles could have asked her. He could try and get her to tell him the reason why she had been refusing to answer his calls, or about the destiny of his own life if the prophecy of his death was still true; but those things appeared trivial at the moment, none of them truly mattered to Achilles anymore. 

“Tell me about Patroclus. All this time you have known about the change that had overcome him.”

Thetis’ body stilled as if she was frozen. Even the ocean waves that were gently swaying around her feet turned motionless and clear like glass, and when Thetis spoke her voice was akin to a shudder of ice. 

“I have learned about his transformation. Patroclus has been cursed by the Gods, and his soul has been taken away and instead, a new one was placed inside the body which you once known as your companion. Patroclus, unknown to himself and deceived by the Olympians, has made a pact with death and now his fate is no longer in the hands of the three sisters, but instead, it is bound to something much darker and much more ancient than anything me or you could have ever imagined.”

Achilles suspected that to be true, but that did not stop him from inhaling the air sharply from frustration. Wherever the old soul of Patroclus has gone, he whispered to himself, I will find you again in the future. For now, he had to protect his lover in this life more than anything. 

“So you do not know anything of his fate?”

“I see the death looming over him no longer,” Thetis answered, his tone far and distant. “But as of lately, I found out there a fates much worse than dying.”

Achilles scowled. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Have you given much thought to your son Pyrrhus?”

Achilles felt something hollow erupting in his chest. No, the name was vague and removed from his memory, and he tried to push the events of the nights which made him to the darkest corner of his mind. He was young and scared and he did not know what he was doing and he did not wish to be reminded of his shame by the thought of that .. creature. 

“No.”

Thetis lowered her head as if her skull was heavy and hard to keep upright. “And you will need to trouble yourself with him no longer. Neoptolemus is dead.”

Achilles did not know how he was supposed to feel, but the strange relief that washed over him was surely not what his mother anticipated by telling him such news. He thought he ought to say something but no words had overcome him. All Achilles could do was watch his mother closely to see her reaction but she had none. Instead, she was blank and emotionless once again. 

After a heavy silence, Thetis spoke once more. “His death means that Troy will not fall. Whatever tactics and tricks you have prepared tonight will fail. The Trojans know of what is coming and by continuing with your plan you are preparing to fall yourself into their trap.”

“I will go, no matter what you say,” Achilles had to keep Patroclus safe, he had to get him back; Achilles’ refusal would make the other Kings suspicious and he was not going to ruin what careful plans Patroclus had made inside his mind. “Is Patroclus’ life in danger?”

“Patroclus is under the patronage of the Queen of the Gods,” Thetis replied, making Achilles’ eyes widen. Hera? “Her efforts will keep him alive. There is nothing I can do against the divine protection which the Queen had put over that mortal.” 

Achilles nodded slowly. So Patroclus had the protection of the Gods; Achilles had to speak to him about it when they will see each other once more. 

If he thought thoroughly about it, Achilles would have suspected Patroclus was somehow connected to the will of the divine because of the change that happened to his soul, but knowing that the mighty Goddess Hera was behind Patroclus’ soul made Achilles nervous. He knew to not trust the Gods, and he feared for the price Patroclus could have to pay if Hera changed her mind and decided that she no longer needed him.

“I have no more questions to ask you, Mother,” Achilles lowered his head. “I have to head back. Thank you for the time you have given me. I will cherish the knowledge you gave me well.”

“Achilles,” Thetis called out as he was about to turn her back towards her. “The prophecy which the Fates have prepared for you has not changed. Patroclus was able to escape the Fates but that does not mean you can be the same. If Hector dies, you will follow him soon. As you head into Troy, you should remember it well.”

“I know,” Achilles said quietly, turning away from his mother. “I understand. I know what to do.”

Achilles walked away from the blue of the ocean with his decision made. He was going to win this war. He was going to be the pawn of Odysseus or Agamemnon no longer. If winning meant killing the Greeks and betraying them, Achilles would do so without hesitation. He breathed out the dusty air, feeling the familiar anticipation of the battle running through his veins.

***

The agreement was to meet at the early dawn to hide the ships and remove the tents, and when the first rays of the sun were showing over the horizon of Anatolia Odysseus sought him out. 

“Is Patroclus not joining us today?” Odysseus’ bright blue eyes shined with intelligence that Achilles both despised and admired. 

“No,” Achilles’ voice was tight, as he cleared his throat. “He is going to stay with the other Myrmidons on the ships. Patroclus had already left with them into hiding. It is not your place to worry about him.”

“Perhaps not,” Odysseus replied lightly, “but you understand the reason for my worry since Patroclus is not exactly .. like the other men.”

“I am aware, which was why I told him to wait for us on the ships. I don’t want to see him killing and fighting. And if Patroclus knew about the butchery which would happen in Troy tonight, it is for the best that he would not witness it firsthand.”

Odysseys’ head tilted slightly seemingly content with the answer. “Very well. We are all ready so why don’t you follow us inside.”

The wooden body of the horse stood in the middle of where Agamemnon’s camp used to be, dark brown and large, with a large belly where thirty Greeks would be nested inside. Achilles exhaled slowly, feeling the moment when his decision was made. It came upon him with crystal-like clarity, and when all thirty of the brave Greek warriors climbed inside, the cramped space making it hard to breathe, Achilles looked intently into the eyes of every one of them. Agamemnon was there, Menelaus was too, and Ajax and Odysseus, and more who made their names during the war. Achilles felt little likeness towards any of them. He formed no brotherly bonds or companionship. For these men, he was nothing but the soldier, who could kill on command. 

And today he was going to prove to them how right they were. 

The men were clad in their armor and held tightly to the weapons in their hands. No one knew how long they had to wait inside the wooden mascot before the Trojans would let them inside the city gates. Good thing Achilles did not intend to let them stay alive for much longer. 

The sun was up and they felt the heat of it inside the wooden belly. The air was hot and heavy and made it hard to breathe. Achilles made eye contact with Odysseus and it was that one moment which decided what was going to happen next. 

Achilles killed Ajax first. The man was large and if he made a loud noise it would draw the attention of the others, so Achilles cut with throat with the quick sharp edge of his blade; Menelaus fell next because he was sited close, in the darkness no one even knew what was happening, when Achilles put a sword through his chest. Achilles felt blood spilling down his face. Achilles tried to move in silence but even he could not stop the sounds of slashing and blood spilling over the inner walls of the Horse.

Five, ten, twenty, numbers pulled up inside his head. He would leave Agamemnon for last but the King of the Men was screaming and cursing too loud Achilles had to cut his throat before to make him quiet. It was strangely easy to kill those Kings and Prices, and soldiers and commanders, they did not know what was coming for them, and they could not believe their eyes when death was already coming to take them to the Underworld. 

Achilles’ breath was labored. He was not used to moving so hurriedly in such a cramped space. Not all of them had gone down easily, but Achilles preferred a battle which proved to be a challenge. 

The whole belly of the Horse stanched of blood and sweat, and Achilles felt the familiar tension of a battle leave his body. Odysseus was the only one who remained alive, breathing slowly; in the darkness it was hard to tell the expression which was shown on his face.

“You knew I would do it,” Achilles spoke into the silence, as the air settled and the last of the men stopped groaning and let out their last breath. “You did not warn them.”

“Where is Patroclus, Achilles?” Odysseus asked instead, his voice tight. Achilles chuckled. 

“Guess we will have to wait and see.”

Achilles leaned his back over the cramped inside of the horse. With fewer men, it made it a little easier to breathe but the bodies would rot soon, and Achilles did not feel much enthusiasm about spending days trapped with the decaying corpses of the Greeks. 

“I had a vision from the Goddess of Wisdom herself on the night when Patroclus returned,” Odysseus replied after a prolonged silence. His voice turned to his usual almost careless self. “She spoke to me of Patroclus’ soul.”

“So the Gods know what happened to him,” Achilles closed his eyes in silent prayer. Be safe, please, stay safe. 

“Some,” Odysseus answered evasively. “Only Athena and her other two companions are aware of the transition which Patroclus has undergone. Troy had to be saved and it was through Patroclus’ actions that this decision could have been fulfilled. I have a hunch that Patroclus had managed to find his way inside the city walls under the disguise, and warned the Trojans that we will be coming.”

“The Trojans are accepting the attack once the Horse is brought inside,” Achilles concluded.

“It is surely easier to kill thirty men inside the city walls than fight a whole army outside of it,” Odysseus answered darkly. “But what they don’t know is that now there are only two of us. I do hope you know what you will say to Hector if you face him.”

“I have no blood to spill with Hector if he would return Patroclus to me,” Achilles tightened his jaw. 

Odysseus threw back his head against the wooden interior and took a sharp breath through his nose.

“Would you like to hear my plan?”

Achilles turned his head to glance to the side. In the dim shadows, he could see Odysseus leaning over, their poses shadowing each other and once their eyes locked, Achilles knew that there was a fragile agreement made between them. “If it helps me to get Patroclus back I am willing to hear all about it.”

“Very well,” Odysseus’ voice spoke through the darkness, a smile tilted through his voice, which sounded too strange inside the stomach of a horse with twenty-eight dead Greek Kings and heroes lying around them. “I suggest that we surrender.”

“Surrender?” a thought did cross Achilles’ mind but he did not expect Odysseus to speak so plainly about it.

“Yes. Unless of course, they decide to burn the horse without bringing it in, which would make us both die here from the lack of air and smoke, I suggest we could make peace with Priam, both me and you.”

“Priam would not want peace,” Achilles sneered. “Too many of his men died, he would want vengeance for his sons.”

“Well, surely, but here we have practically offered him victory on a platter. Agamemnon is dead and Menelaus is too. The moment Priam realizes it he will understand that he has his victory. If Patroclus spoke to him, Priam would recognize that if was because of Patroclus’ help that he could win the war, maybe he could buy us our lives. All we have to do it so give in and surrender.”

Achilles thought about it for a moment. He stopped caring about the war long ago. He stopped caring about his legacy, and his pride. He knew that not much mattered to him but the happiness of his love, and Achilles would prove it by getting Patroclus back, unharmed. 

“You think they will burn the horse?”

“If I knew there were some of the greatest Greeks alive of course I would,” Odysseus laughed. “But Priam might not be that cruel. He will surely want a spectacle made inside of it. So I suggest the moment we get inside, why don’t you throw out that body on the city street and show them how serious we are about our defeat?”

Achilles looked around. A familiar face caught his eyes. “Sure. What do you think about letting go of Menelaus from the start?”

Achilles glanced at the dead body of the Spartan King. He felt little emotions stirring inside of him at the sight of his sprawled-out body and loose limbs. Achilles nodded, deciding that it was the right body to proclaim their message.

Achilles thought of how long they would have to wait inside before they could venture inside Troy but the answer came much sooner than he expected. 

The horse began to move close to nighttime. Achilles dozed off for a little, he and Odysseus sharing the silence that fell between them. As the day went by the stillness inside the confinements of the horse fell heavier and thicker, the stink of blood made Achille almost nauseous, and the lack of fresh air inside made it difficult to breathe through the smell of dead bodies lying around them. Achilles fell into the strange half-awake dream, still conscious of his surroundings but his mind drifted back to the thought of Patroclus and the words his mother spoke to him at the shore when he felt a nudge from beneath him. 

Odysseus’s body swayed and Achilles was shaken awake as they felt the horse slowly wheel underneath them, but what was strange was how quiet the procession was, how little Achilles could hear the voices from the outside. There was a heavy sense of anticipation weighing around them and Achilles’s body tensed as the Horse moved further, closing on to the walls of the looming city. 

Achilles tried to look through the gaps of the wooden planks but the sun was setting and it was growing dark so Achilles could see little beyond the pyres which burst at the walls of the city. 

“Now,” Odysseus commanded when Achilles saw that the Horse had been pulled inside. 

Achilles reached for the bottom of the Horse where the entrance lay and tugged the lifeless body of Menelaus close. Odysseus helped him to kick open the entrance and they pushed the body off together, watching it falling with a loud thump on the city streets. 

Someone screamed, and the Horse stopped. Achilles and Odysseus pulled the bottom of the Horse close and watched through the cracks as the Trojan soldiers came to look at the body, inspecting it from head to toe. 

They realized who it was soon, and their bodies stiffened. One of the men looked up, his face deemed under the light, and it was the sign for Odysseus to speak again. 

“Mighty men of Troy,” Odysseus’ voice rang across the streets from inside the horse. “We have come to give you our gift of Horse to mark the beginning of our surrender. The Greek Kings who fought mightily over the past years have fallen. We have come with nothing but the promise of peace and we seek to beg audience with your King, Mighty Priam.”

“Who dares to speak to us of forgiveness?” one of the soldiers shouted, his head and spear raised. Odysseus opened the pit his face and body visible from the inside of the Horse. As he did so, the bodies of Agamemnon and others followed suit, falling into the pile of blood on the streets. 

“My name is Odysseus, Prince of Ithaca, and here I am accompanied by Achilles, Prince of Phthia.”

“Bring us to your King,” Achilles spoke impatiently after him. “Tell him we shall speak to him and that we wish to see him soon. We will bring him no harm.”

The Trojans were startled. There was a wave of hushed whispers spreading through them as they discussed what they had witnessed. Achilles could not blame them, if he was in their place we would have been plenty startled too. Once they made a sign that they were willing to listen, Odysseus and Achilles lowered themselves from the Horse. 

“Prince Hector and King Priam will meet you at the Great Hall,” a soldier said facing Achilles, looking at him as if Achilles grew another head. “We shall take you to the Palace. You are not the first Greeks we have received in Troy who wished to speak to the King.”

Odysseys put a heavy hand on Achilles’ shoulder, calming him. “What happened to the man you speak of?”

Soldier shrugged. “King Priam had put him to prison for detention until the matter was to be resolved. Do not worry. You shall see him soon.”

Achilles gritted his teeth, but the warning presence of Odysseus by his side made him hesitant to act out of his fury. 

“Is our friend safe?” Odysseus asked carefully. 

“That he is. King Priam promised that he would be treated well. He spoke of the men who were hiding inside the belly of the Horse but it appears that the Greeks had truly wished to show their will to lose.”

“He was right that it was a trap,” Achilles said. “But those who intended to harm you and your people are dead. Patroclus did not know about it; he wanted to see Troy win and he could have not known of the death of Menelaus and Agamemnon.” 

The soldier frowned, thinking over Achilles’ words. “I will take you to the King. He shall decide what to do with you after he hears of the news.”

Achilles was again reminded of Odysseus’ words from earlier that day. No matter what had happened he must stay calm, but Achilles found it hard to do. Patroclus was here, in prison, and his fingers clenched into feasts from the helplessness that bound his body.

The Trojans escorted them through the city. The Horse was left behind, and Achilles did not turn to look back at it but he knew Odysseus glanced over his shoulder to get one last look at his creation. 

The Palace of Priam rose above their eyes, and Achilles could not stop his heart from breathing fast and heavily as he walked up the stairs which must have led to the Throne Hall. 

Just as the soldier had told them, King Priam and Prince Hector were anticipating their arrival. Achilles had not been to many great halls apart from his father’s throne room in Phthia, but there was something about the way King Priam sat on the golden seat with his son by his side which gave Achilles the impression of might and power he rarely came across of. Odysseus had met Priam before, and they spoke to one another at the start of the war, hence Odysseus would be the one to talk and to argue their cause. 

Achilles looked around but he saw no sign of Patroclus in the round room. He glanced at the faces of Hector and the King, but he saw little which could speak to them of whether Patroclus was indeed unharmed as the Trojans promised he would. 

“Prince Odysseus, Prince Achilles,” King Priam greeted them with a nod of his head. “We have been waiting for the Greek ambush, what we did not expect was for you to surrender yourself to the enemy so willingly.”

“There was a discontent amongst the Greek rules, King of Troy,” Odyssey replied, his voice calm and even, despite the tension in his eyes. “The decision to create the Horse and ambush Troy during nightfall was met with certain discontent and not many agreed with such plan, hence, although thirty men hid in the belly of the horse only two survived.” 

“Two men who wish to bow to my Father and end the war?” Hector asked, his eyes dark and narrowed on Achilles. 

“Yes,” Achilles answered instead. “Menelaus and Paris are dead. Helen can either stay in Troy or return home safely whatever her decision is. The war is over, and as Odysseus said, our will is to bring peace and stop fighting.”

“What a statement to make of the Greatest of the Greeks,” Hector spoke slowly. 

“I had a revelation fall upon me in the past days,” Achilles replied. “Nothing in this life is permanent. Your love can be taken away from you at any time and moment. We must cherish it and keep it safe while we can.”

“Your companion has said the same,” King Priam’s lips curled in a quiet smile. “Let him in, Aeneus.”

Achilles turned around at the same time to face Patroclus who walked slowly into the room. His clothes were clean and he looked washed, and when Patroclus eyes drew to Achilles his face went from relief to worry in a span of a moment. Achilles was so drawn to Patroclus that he had completely not noticed the blond woman who followed behind him, and it was Odysseus’ sharp inhale which made him look over Patroclus’ shoulder. 

“Queen Helen of Sparta,” King Priam announced as she walked. “And Patroclus. Both of them have been guests of my castle, and both have made me consider the future which lies for both of them after they leave Troy. For Patroclus it was a little simpler, hence he requested to spare Achilles’ and Odysseus’ lives and let the three of you return back to Greece. While for Queen Helen I believe the truth is a little more complex than that.”

Helen walked towards Priam kneeling silently at his feet. Her face was covered with a thin transparent veil but despite the disguise, Achilles could see her soft features and the shape of her almond eyes. This woman who made thousands of men fight for her on the enemy soil and was willing to die for her made Achilles frown. He thought she would look divine like all children of Zeus would look, a demigod and the most beautiful woman alive. But all Achilles could see was a scared and timid girl, her head bowed and her finger clenching over the hem of her dress. 

“King Priam,” she spoke, “Prince Hector. Thank you for the kindness you showered me and for the patience you granted me. I never wished for things to turn this way, and I would have never thought they would end the way they did.”

Paris is dead, Achilles thought bitterly, her husband Menelaus was dead too. What was left for this woman to do? She had no lover and no man to protect her. But who would have known, maybe that was her desire for things to turn out this way all along. 

“What do you wish to do, Helen?” Priam asked her, leaning slightly over his seat. “If you want to stay in Troy we will protect you and let you live in the palace out of respect for the memory of Paris.”

“I am grateful for your offer, my King,” followed Helen’s soft answer, “but I have to return back. My family is waiting for me. My daughter, and- and I wish to see my sister, Clythemstra, whom I have not seen in a long while. Her daughter died during my Agamemnon’s hand and she must be filled with rage. I have to see her, I have to offer her the words which I could not write on paper.”

The girl, Achilles remembered. Patroclus stiffened too, he must have been aware of the sacrifice from the future. Clytemnestra was a Queen of Mycenae, Achilles thought of her dark hair and dark eyes and her cries of despair when her daughter was dragged away from her to burn at the pyre. Clytemnestra’s anger and rage at Agamemnon’s sacrifice spread through the camp, and Achilles knew that she would be waiting for the news of her husband’s return to seek revenge. He would do the same if he was at her place. 

“I understand,” King Priam tilted his head. “Then so it would be decided. Prince Achilles and his companion will accompany you to Mycenae and will ensure you have travelled safely to your sister. What of you, Odysseus, we will spare your men and your ship and let you sail back to Ithaca to spread the word of the defeat and of Trojan victory. The men who were hiding on the ships would be treated as war prisoners, and the Greek vessels would burn. I believe Hector and I came to the decision to let the Myrmidons keep their lives and protect you on your journey. You have protected me and my city, but this is the most kindness I can give you. The other Greeks will not be so lucky.”

“This would be more than enough, my King,” Odysseus replied. He bowed, and Achilles did the same, noticing that Patroclus had followed their movements from the corner of his eye. 

“It is late,” Priam said. “Stay in the rooms of the Palace tonight and rest. You are my guests and I shall treat you as such for tonight. You can return back to your land in the early hours of the morrow. The guards will show you to the rooms.” 

Achilles threw one last glance at the seat of the King. There was no relief in Priam’s eyes no glory. Too many of his children died during the war, and too many men had suffered. There was no victory to celebrate that day. For the King and Prince Hector, the end of the war just meant commemorating the dead. Helen returned to Greece, and Prince Paris was dead. But the city of Troy would never be the same.

Achilles locked eyes with Hector who was watching him in his seat as a Prince. You better go live to be a hundred, Achilles thought bitterly to himself, his brows tightening. Whatever Hector read in his eyes remained unspoken, but at that moment both of them thought it escaping the will of the Fates could only be possible with Patroclus’ sacrifice which saved the lives of both of them.

Achilles walked slowly down the corridors, Patroclus following silently behind him. They had the room together, Odysseus choosing to sleep separately, only nodding them with a bow of his head as he retreated behind the soldiers. 

“I will see you in the morning for the departure,” Odysseus said as he went to his room to rest and sleep and wash the blood drying unpleasantly on his skin. Achilles felt his exhaustion too; he wished to have some sleep and rest as well.

The soldier, Aeneus, Achille remembered, left him and Patroclus alone, saying that he would come back in the morning to escort them with Queen Helen back to the camp. 

Patroclus had his back turned towards him as they were left alone. The room was direct and silent. Troy was surrounded by the sands and there was no crashing of the waves to break the fragile silence. 

“How long have you-”

“Why didn’t you-”

They both stopped. It was all too much. Achilles did not feel like talking. He stepped closer and as Patroclus turned around he kissed him, hard and deep. Achilles needed him to know how much he felt at the moment, the longing the fear of losing him again, and Patroclus only hugged his close, his mouth so familiar and yet so different to the past gentleness which he was used to. This Patroclus was rough, he took as much as he gave, and Achilles could not get enough. 

The darkness covered the sounds of their moans and the soft shuffling of the clothes as they undressed each other in a haze. Achilles was covered with old blood but Patroclus did not seem to mind, kissing him with reverent desire, down his neck, down his chest and taking him in his mouth. Achilles could only pull at his hair, asking and begging for more. 

They ended up not making it into the bed, and Achilles’ back scrubbed against the cold marble of the floor, as he took Patroclus inside of him, his lips wet and busied from kissing, stomach heavy from the weight of Patroclus inside and yet he could not get enough only wishing for more, and more, and more. 

Chapter Text

The songs and dances of Troy’s celebrating the end of war lasted for fifty days, or so Patroclus heard.

He never got to witness them. 

He and Achilles boarded the Myrmidons ship in the early morning just as King Priam insisted they would. The morning was dark and hazy and they were both exhausted. During the night Achilles was unable to fall deeply asleep, his body constantly twisting and turning, his hands reaching for Patroclus in his dream-like state as if afraid that Patroclus might slip away even in his sleep. 

At night Patroclus was wide awake. He was tired and his body was aching from the stiffened muscles of waiting and sitting inside the cell, but even though he was laying on the softness of the mattress he could not let himself fall into a dream.

Too many thoughts were swirling inside his head, and all of them kept Patroclus awake until dawn. 

He helped Achilles to bath the night before, and so all they had to do was leave the palace under the watchful escort of the guards and head in the direction of the ships. The corridors of the palace were quiet, and so were the city streets of Troy. The Horse was left standing in the city square, its massive wooden body contrasting with the white stone of the city. 

Patroclus assumed they would want to burn it for the festivities to celebrate the victory, or maybe they would keep it as a reminder to mark the defeat of the Greeks. Patroclus did not know. A part of him did not really care what was to happen to it.

They left Troy when the sun was only starting to rise. 

“Queen Helen is waiting for you at the ship,” Aeneus, the young guard who was stationed to look after Patroclus inside the city, spoke. Patroclus and Achilles exchanged a quick glance and nodded sullenly. Bringing Helen back to Mycenae was a task Patroclus did not quite expect to happen, but Helen was determined to see her sister again, so they had to fulfill her wishes. 

Patroclus was on keen alert the whole time they were walking to the beach and Achilles was too. Their weapons and armor were taken away from them; when Patroclus would glance at Achilles who could tell by his agitation and tense body that it was affecting him deeply. Patroclus could understand it, Achilles felt the loss of the protection of the weapon if he was to get attacked by the enemy. 

Patroclus glanced to the side but the Trojans made no sign that they were going to harm them. Once they reached the places where the Greek ships were anchored Patroclus realized the reason why. 

He stopped in his tracks and Achilles halted, his body colliding into his not expecting Patroclus to stop so suddenly. They both looked at the dreadful sight in front of them not quite believing their eyes. Patroclus saw the smoke rising from the distance but he could not imagine the image that spread before him. 

All the thousands of ships, so that was according to the legends, which Agamemnon had brought along with him to conquer Troy were burnt. It was a massive funeral pyre, the bodies of the soldiers who were hiding inside the ships were indistinguishable, ashen and black as coil. The stench which rose from them made Patroclus’ eyes water, and he had to cover his nose, to prevent the thick smoke from reaching his nostrils. 

“We had sent a message to the ships of the Myrmidons late last night,” Aeneus said gravelly, noticing the deep frown on Achilles’ face. “They have navigated their ships to the further island. We will take you there by boat. This is what was left of the others who were hiding and awaiting for your Kings and Princes to return.”

There were no words that Patroclus could use to describe the vision before him. It was like a burial ground, but he knew that no one was coming to sweep their bodies, that instead they would lay here in decay, their names and their deeds forgotten. 

“Then take us there,” Achilles spoke first, pulling Patroclus out of a shocked slumber. “The smell is atrocious. And we have to set sail. There is nothing left for us here but dust and the dead.”

Patroclus almost missed the little boat swaying over the curt waves. It was more like a raft, and it fit the five of them, three guards and Achilles with Patroclus. The swift morning breeze was easy on the sails. Patroclus wondered if even the Gods wished for them to leave Troy soon.

Patroclus had never been in the middle of the ocean before. He did not anticipate for the raft to sway so much and he did end up gripping into the rough wooden edge to calm himself a little. Achilles reached out for his shoulder, his voice soft and patient. “Are you alright?”

Patroclus cleared his throat, glancing up at Achilles’ green eyes with what he hoped was a calm expression. “I am fine. Just a little seasick maybe. Nothing that I cannot handle.”

“Tell me if it gets worse,” Achilles nodded, his face stern. Patroclus looked around. The shore of Troy was visible on the sea line but it was getting further and further away; there were still traces of smoke rising from the beach and Patroclus turned away, feeling unease rising at his throat. Instead, they focused in attention on the rocky islands that were emerging around them. 

“We are not far away from the ship at all,” Achilles noted quietly. 

“The young Prince is right,” Aeneus replied, raising his hands and gesturing in the direction of where the boulders of cliffs pilled together to form a wall of stone. “The Myrmidons should be right there.”

“They did not question you when you told them to move their ship further from the shore?” Patroclus asked, frowning.

“It was veiled as the order from the Prince and was passed along with one of your other Commanders Odysseus. They had no other choice but to obey.”

Odysseus had passed by them earlier that morning, wishing Achilles and Patroclus safe travels and that if he got the chance he would come and visit them in Phthia. Patroclus said nothing; he wondered if Odysseus would still take a decade to travel back home to Ithaca and if he would encounter the Goddesses and monsters on his way, but he guessed if his own fate had changed, little is known of what it had in store for heroes like Odysseus. 

Achilles was right; the mast of the ship appeared soon on Patroclus’ line of vision. He could recognize the sails of the Myrmidons and the long body of a boat. Patroclus felt a slight relief at the sight of it; the weight lifting off his chest as he recognized the familiar to his past lines of a ship. 

He was going home, Patroclus thought. He glanced at Achille. They were both returning to Greece. 

“Queen Helen would be waiting for you on the deck. She had arrived during the night. I was told the man called Automedon would be in charge of her safety.”

“Yes,” Achilles nodded to Aeneus’ words. “He is responsible. You can speak to King Priam that he has nothing to worry about. We shall bring her safely to Mycenae and once Helen is back with her sister she will send King Priam a letter of her wellbeing.” 

That seemed to please the Trojans. Achilles turned his attention to the ship. He waved his hands and shouted a word Patroclus could not quite distinguish, and soon several heads popped up from the deck. 

“Look it’s Prince Achilles!”

“It’s Patroclus too!”

“Hurry, help them get on board!”

Their words all mashed into one lump but Patroclus was never more grateful to hear the familiar sounds. 

Achilles insisted that Patroclus would go first. Getting onto the ship proved to be a much more complicated ordeal than he thought it would be. He felt a little frightened when the ladder made out of thick rope moved under Patroclus’ shaky grip. He had to put his core muscles to use, but the lack of sleep and proper food in the past days made him weak; it took twice as long to get on board than Patroclus anticipated it would take. 

As he got to the ship he fell backwards on the deck breathing heavily. A familiar young face appeared above him. Patroclus recognized him as one of the Achilles’ soldiers whom he had seen around the camp. “Patroclus! Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Patroclus breathed out, looking up at the slowly turning blue cloudless sky. “Just tired. Let me lay like this for a bit.”

Achilles climbed aboard and the men surrounded him, asking him of what had happened at Troy. Achilles’ face turned grim but his words flowed truthfully as he recalled the news of the Greek defeat. Patroclus sat up, looking around. “Where is Helen?”

“She is resting at the cabin beneath the deck, Patroclus,” Automedon replied, helping Patroclus stand on his feet. “She was tired and nervous. I think she just wishes to stay alone for a while,” Patroclus nodded. “And also-”

Automedon fell silent. Patroclus turned to face him with a question in his eyes. “What is it?”

“Breseis had insisted on coming with us too.”

Patroclus did not know how he felt about it. He was surprised, he thought Breseis would escape but she chose to stay with the Myrmidons instead. Patroclus threw a look at Achilles who was helping the crew to navigate through the rocks and putting up the sails for their journey. “Is that so?”

“She is helping Queen Helen now,” Automedon nodded. “I think they both are content to keep each other company during these .. unpredictable times.”

Patroclus sighed. He guessed Automedon was right. Helen was unused to taking care of herself and living life on her own, and Breseis was feeling lonely, so maybe they could find comfort in one another. “Thank you for telling me Automedon. I will speak to Achilles about it.”

“Speak to me about what?” Achilles appeared from behind Patroclus’ back. Patroclus was about to answer the question when Achilles caught the look in his eyes and frowned. Patroclus could guess what he had seen when he studied Patroclus’ face: the dark circles and the sullen cheeks. “You should head over to the cabin too. I will show you the way. You have not slept last night and you have not eaten anything from the dinner too. I can’t have you fainting from exhaustion again.”

Patroclus did not have it in him to argue. “I can take care of myself, Achilles,” he muttered still when he and Achilles walked across the busy deck. 

“I know. But these past days have been too much for you. And your injury is still healing. I need you to sleep and rest and eat, and once you do,” Achilles turned around as they reached the cabin where Patroclus saw a single colt standing, a space clean and small. “We will talk about everything that happened to you. You will speak to me about the Gods and the prophecies. Don’t you think that I will forget it all?” 

Patroclus nodded. He was grateful Achilles was giving him more time to adjust and to gather his thoughts. He needed time to gather himself, right now Patroclus felt as if he was moving through a state of half reality and half dream. He leaned to kiss Achilles softly on the mouth; a plain brush of lips that made him feel grateful that Achilles was truly on board of the ship, alive, breathing and well. 

“Thank you,” Patroclus whispered. “I promise to tell you about it all. But I don’t regret it. I managed to keep you safe and that is all that matters,” Patroclus looking deep into Achilles’ green eyes. “But you must tell me what happened inside that Horse. Why did Agamemnon and the others end up dead? I thought the plan was already in motion?”

“It was. But I never doubted you. I knew why you disappeared that night and what you wanted to do. I figured out the truth once I learned of Odysseus’ plan. So I could not let you do everything on your own. The Trojans were already setting up the trap for us inside the city walls. I only made it easier for them to kill the others.”

“I never wanted to harm you,” Patroclus said quietly but Achilles smiled, his face soft and open, as if he could never expected Patroclus to say the opposite. “I thought you would hate me for betraying you and the others.”

“I never cared for anyone as much as I care about you Patroclus,” Achilles replied, “The Troy and the Greeks and Helen never interested me in the past and even less I care about them now. You are all that matters. If you chose to run away I would follow, if you chose to surrender, I would do it too, if you insist to the change the Fate, I can only do the same.”

It was Achilles who kissed him and Patroclus pressed their bodies together, their minds too absorbed with each other to notice the soft movements of the ship below them as they sailed out into the open sea.

Achilles’ touch was feather soft, but there was a slowness in his movements which proved to Patroclus that Achilles was feeling the weight of tiredness too. “Go to bed,” Achilles whispered against his mouth. “I will join you soon.”

Patroclus was left alone in the cabin, and he sat on the colt, laying down on the mattress and looked up at the wooden ceiling over him. His lower back was aching, he could still feel the coldness of the cell wall pushing against his spine. Patroclus closed his eyes trying to gather his memories; the short time he spent in the cell before the guards came to get him because his warning about the Horse came true made him feel fear for the first time in a long while. 

Afterwards, they brought him to the guest rooms, not unlike one of the those in which he and Achilles had spent the night together, and gave him food and water and fresh clothes but Patroclus could not force himself to eat or stay calm. He kept worrying about Achilles and what would happen to him once the Trojans would set the trap for the Greeks as they pulled the Horse into the city walls. Patroclus spent the day in a frenzy, circling around the room like a caged animal and with no words of Hera he could only think of the worst. 

The guards came to get him only late in the evening. It was a different one this time and no matter how much Patroclus tried to look into his face to figure out the truth he could not get him to speak. Patroclus walked into the Throne Room of Priam with a heavy heart but as he heard the familiar voice his heart began pounding hard and heavy.

He thought his eyes were deceiving him when he saw Achilles standing in the middle of the room. Patroclus did not know if he was angry or feeling betrayed but when Achilles eyes caught his own, it was the sign of relief that was written all over his face. They said no words to each other and even as they came to the rooms Patroclus craved no explanations, but the closeness of Achilles’ touch to prove himself that he was real, that he was warm and breathing, and that his touch on Patroclus’ body was as heavy and sensual as before. 

There was a desperate need of lust and longing which swept Patroclus over his feet. He could not get enough, he left marks and bruises and took Achilles on the cold marble floor like an animal, wishing to make Achilles think of nothing but Patroclus inside the walls of their enemy city. 

But that was during the night. Now, as they were sailing to Mycenae, Patroclus knew there was much left unsaid. Patroclus wondered if Achilles already knew about the presence of Goddess Hera in his mind and if Achilles managed to find a way to speak to his mother before they left Troy, but the thoughts were so heavy on his mind, that he fell asleep thinking of divine beings pulling him into the depths of death like sleep. 

***

The ship was rocking him like a cradle. Patroclus did not long how long he was asleep but when he opened his eyes the cabin was dark. He turned to the side but nobody was lying next to him. Patroclus got up slowly, his body pleasantly heavy from the sleep. Patroclus looked around but the room was the same as it was when he came in; he must have not been disturbed the whole time as he dreamt. 

When he stepped out on the deck he was faced with the dark night sky. There stars were bright and silver and when Patroclus looked around all he could see for miles around him were the dark waters of the sea. 

Patroclus took in a breath of salt air with a long inhale. He walked over to the edge of the ship looking down at the way it split the waves in two. 

“Have you ever been to the sea before?” 

Patroclus turned around. Achilles was leaning over the mast, wearing a white sleeveless tunic despite the chilly nighttime breeze. 

Patroclus shook his head. “No. Where I lived in the past it was all land and forest. We did not get out to the sea much.”

Achilles walked slowly over to where Patroclus was standing, leaning over the deck with his lower back pressed against the wooden edge. “I did not want to disturb your sleep; you needed rest as much as any of us do. We are heading to Mycenae, Queen Helen said her sister Clytemsntra would be waiting for her there. She was scared, but I think the company of that girl, Breseis, makes a little calmer. She ate her dinner and she fell asleep well. I don’t think she would cause much trouble for us in the future.”

Patroclus felt relieved to hear it. “Do you think Breseis would wish to stay with Helen once we get to Mycenae?” 

“I would not know. She will do as she pleases, there is no one left in the world who can tell her what to do,” Achilles looked back at the calm waves. “But I think if she makes that decision it would be much better for her to live with Helen in Greece; both of them lost too much to return back to their past lives.”

Patroclus silently agreed with that. “How long does it take to sail to Mycenae?”

“If the Gods are graceful we shall arrive there in five days,” Achilles replied. “There are no large storms predicted on your journey. I do not think it would take long at all,” Achilles grew quiet. “Have you given thought to what you wish to do after we leave Mycenae?”

Patroclus worried his bottom lip. He tightened his grip over the wooden planks, Achilles’ question stirring a storm of emotions inside his chest. “I am not sure. I think I would like to go to a place which could bring back the memories of our time together. Somewhere where we both have a strong connection to the place, to see if I can create new memories there together.”

Achilles grew silent and when Patroclus turned his head, he was studying Patroclus’ face with such gentleness that it made Patroclus’ stomach turn. When Achilles noticed that Patroclus was looking at him his lips curved in a smile. “Then we should have to Pelion. I think it is time for you to meet Chiron. He would surely feel excited to have us back for a while.”

Pelion. The place where Patroclus’ first dream took place. It felt as if the memory was from so long ago when in truth it could not have been longer than a month when Patroclus first stepped foot on the Trojan shore. Or was the time flowing differently in here? Patroclus felt as if he had known Achilles for longer than that; that a part of him had known Achilles his entire life. 

“I would love that,” Patroclus replied. “I- is it too selfish of me to say that? Don’t you wish to go to Phthia first and see her father? Or what about-”

Patroclus closed his mouth. How much did Patroclus really know about Achilles’ life before the War? 

Achilles took a harsh breath in, his eyes closing just slightly as if he were trying to think back to the memories of the past days. 

“I did not tell you this but before I got inside the Horse with Odysseus, on the night when you left to go to Troy, I went to speak with my mother,” Achilles’ eyes were closed but his face was calm and sure, the wind making his gold locks curl as they fell around his brows and cheeks. “It has been a long while since I got to talk to Thetis but this time she has answered my call. It was she who told me that you were under the patronage of the Gods, that somehow Goddess Hera had the power to determine your destiny. When I spoke to her of your safety she replied you were protected by Hera and hence she could do nothing to stand in her way. It was she who told me that the should of you and Patroclus from before have switched,” Achilles quietened for a moment, “I realized this a long time ago, but she confirmed it, and I have a feeling that somewhere in the future I will find you again. I don’t know how or why, but I am sure in the time where you live, we will find a way to meet again.”

Achilles’ eyes opened, turning to Patroclus who could not move his gaze away from Achilles’ calm face. “You are the only family that matters to me. I want you to be selfish. We have lost so much time already. I don’t think we can afford to waste it any longer.”

“Yes,” Patroclus whispered quietly. “I don’t want to make you wait. I am here. We can fall in love again, just as we did in the past.”

Achilles’ cheek flushed. “I think I have never stopped loving you at all.”

“Then let’s go back to the bed,” Patroclus whispered, his eyes never leaving Achilles piercing gaze. “You will catch a cold standing out on the deck for so long.”

Achilles took his hand and it was his reassuring touch that made Patroclus understand that no matter what fate or destiny would have in store for them, Patroclus would never be able to leave Achilles’ side again. 

Chapter Text

The winds were kind to them. The journey to Mycenae was rather smooth sailing. Patroclus tried to help out on the deck when he could; he scarcely saw Helen and sometimes a familiar dark hair of Briseis was noticeable from the corner of his eyes but they have not talked to each other since that day in Troy, and so they decided maybe it was for the best that they should ignore each other’s presence while they were on the ship.

It was on one of the first days as they were sailing when Briseis asked Patroclus if he was angry that she did not run away like he told her to do.

“As long as you keep yourself safe, I have no place to say whether you are right or wrong,” Patroclus shrugged. “If being beside Helen and serving her as a maid and being her friend suits you then I cannot prevent you from doing so. But I am happy you escaped. I hope the life you have away from Troy will be a good one.”

It was strange being next to her. Patroclus found that Briseis was quiet and was content with being on her own, but her presence on the ship was still noticeable. A part of Patroclus, a selfish part which belonged purely to him, wanted to leave the business of Helen and Breseis behind him; he counted the days till they reached Mycenae so he could stop worrying about the fates of the women who had so little to do with him.

But having Helen around was dangerous. Men whispered between each other; her beauty troubling their minds, and the raw surrender of the Greeks to the Trojans was still fresh in their memories. To them, Helen was the scapegoat, someone whom they could blame for the countless deaths and the defeat of the Greeks, but to Patroclus, she was only a girl who was trying to get home safely to her sister.

“Have you met Queen Clytemnestra before?” Patroclus asked Achilles one night as they prepared to go to bed. Achilles was polishing his sword, and when Patroclus asked the question, he nodded, his lips tightening in a thin line.

“I met her briefly a couple of years ago when she brought her daughter to Agamemnon.”

Ah , Patroclus thought, somehow in the middle of everything he forgot about the past that belonged to Achilles alone. “To make her your wife?” Achilles did not reply to that. “How would that even work? Were you not married to Princess Deidameia at that time? Surely you could not have two wives.”

Achilles grew visibly stiff at Patroclus’ words.

“I was never going to get married to Agamemnon’s daughter in the first place,” Achilles whispered softly. “The girl died as a sacrifice for the Goddess Artemis so we could sail to Troy with the winds. Clytemnestra did not know about the plan, no one did apart from Odysseus and Agamemnon, and so she had to watch her daughter getting ripped out of her hands and brought to the altar to get murdered. To this day I can hear her cry. I have never seen anyone so distraught in my life before.”

Patroclus turned on his side, watching Achilles carefully. “You think she would be happy to see Helen return back to her?”

Achilles breathed out, putting aside the sword and turning his full attention to Patroclus. “I don’t know. But Clytemnestra is the Queen of Mycenae and she would know what to do with Helen. Maybe she would keep her in the Palace, or maybe she would let her return to Sparta to be back with her daughter. I do not know. I don’t really care.”

Patroclus huffed a short laughter. “I think she would be happy to see Helen. They are siblings after all. It must be hard to be so far away from each other for such a long time.”

Achilles remained silent. Something was troubling him, as he tilted his head. “I don’t understand Queen of Sparta. She chose Menelaus out of all the suitors on that night, she had a daughter with him and she was the Queen of her Kingdom. But when Paris, a mare shepherd and the youngest of Priam’s sons comes for a night she runs away with him simply charmed by his beauty. Then she remained in Troy, but once the war was over she refused to stay back with Priam, and decided she had to return to Greece, to be back with the same family from whom she had escaped before. Why would she do all of that?”

“Do you think that perhaps Helen was not right in her mind when Paris took her to Troy?”

Achilles frowned. “Why? Do you think he raped her?”

Patroclus shook his head.

“I mean, don’t you think, that the Gods could have been standing behind her choices too,” Patroclus sat up on the bed. “I have been thinking about it for a while, but, don’t you think it is strange that Hera out of all the Gods of Olympus chose to help me to get inside Troy? That Odysseus had known the truth about me from Athena? If Gods truly exist and guide us through life, there was a moment when Paris had to give an apple to one of the three: Athena, Hera and Aphrodite, and he chose the Goddess of Beauty because she promised him to most beautiful woman, who was Helen. Because of the Goddesses, the war began, and maybe it was the three of them who wished to stop the fighting once they realized how much destruction it had caused. But they could not stop the war by themselves, they had to find someone else to do it for them.”

“So the Goddesses chose you to act instead,” Achilles finished quietly. “The reason the Gods brought you back was to end the war?”

“I- I am only speculating, Achilles,” Patroclus said catching Achilles’ clouded gaze. “I just think there is more to our lives and fates which we don’t know. Maybe the love that Helen had for Paris was fleeting and not real. Maybe a part of her did not even know the consequences of what he was doing when she got inside his boat and sailed to Troy.”

“And what about you?”

“Me?” Patroclus asked, a little surprised.

“Do you think everything you have said and done was under the influence of the Gods?”

“No!” Patroclus exclaimed angrily. “Of course not. I don’t regret anything I have said, I meant every little thing I did to you and I never acted out of anything but my own will. I never wished that things would have turned out differently Achilles. I am many things, but I have a strong will of mind. Once Hera told me that I shall never get back I felt relieved. There was no possible way I could leave you again. My heart would be broken.”

“Good,” Achilles nodded. “Because I don’t think I can let you go anyway.”

Patroclus laughed softly, pulling Achilles by the back of his neck in a kiss. Patroclus could never get enough once he got the taste of Achilles on his tongue.

He wished to make them both forget about their arrival to Mycenae tomorrow, but there was a charged anticipation when Patroclus stepped out on the deck in the early hours of the morning. The Myrmidons shouted excitedly as they saw the shores of Greece; in the sun’s light Patroclus saw what got them so fueled with anticipation, the green forests and the high mountains could be seen standing proudly along the shore.

They were less than a day away and Patroclus’ stomach tightened anxiously. What if Clytemnestra did not wish to see them? What if she grew angry at Achilles was the murder of her husband? Patroclus could only gather from the words spoken around him that the Queen was a mighty and clever ruler; surely she would be reasonable when she would receive them in her Halls.

It was closer to nighttime when they reached the shores of Greece.

Patroclus and Achilles said their farewells to the crew, they would return to Phthia alone, while the both of them would head to Pelion by foot after bringing Queen Helen to the city. Patroclus wondered if were to be walking alone, just the four of them, when a group of men with lion sigils approached them on horseback.

“We were sent by Queen Clytemnestra to greet you, my Queen,” one of the guards spoke as he bowed first to Helen, and then to the rest of the party. “Your sister shall be expecting you inside. She had prepared a great feast to greet you and your companions.”

The large city of Mycenae was surrounded by walls as thick as those which circled Troy. The city was lit by oil lamps when they walked through it as the darkness imposed itself on the bustling streets. Their company grew the attention, but because women and Achilles had a veil thrown over their heads, it added to the part of their disguise. The news of the fall of the Greeks in Troy must have not fully reached the people, but for now, to get Helen to safety, it was important to hide their presence, and even Achilles with his gold hair could draw the unnecessary attention of the curious civilians.

Patroclus was still unable to relax as they entered the palace. Queen Clytemnestra was to await their arrival at the Throne Room, and when they walked Patroclus felt the eyes of the guards and the servants on their procession. There were hushed whispers; Patroclus thought what would these people say if they learned that their King was killed by the one man whom they could not keep their eyes off as he walked past.

“They are staring,” Patroclus noted quietly.

Achilles nodded absently. “Let them. Tonight they will have to learn the truth.”

The dinner which the Queen had arranged for them was not a large affair but it was rather thoughtful. Patroclus noticed the spread of the food and the long table before his eyes landed on the Queen who sat at the front, Clytemnestra’s dark eyes and dark hair made her look sinister in the dim light of the room.

“Your Highness,” the guards who led their small procession bowed, and Patroclus followed them as well, his head lowered to greet the Queen of Mycenae. Clytemnestra raised the palm of her hand, standing up; silently letting them go.

Patroclus felt the sound of his heartbeat against his chest when Clytemnestra approached. She was tall and she was wearing purple, the color of royalty, and when he took the veil off Helen’s head it was impossible to see what kind of expression flickered through her dark eyes.

“So the rumors are true,” she whispered into the stiff air. Clytemnestra’s eyes studied Helen’s face, her mouth and her chin. Patroclus could not tell what the Queen was thinking from the complicated expression which made her brows tight and her forehead frown. “The Greeks have truly fallen at the walls of Troy. But why is it that you are here?”

“I am sorry about what happened to Iphigenia,” Helen spoke softly Patroclus could hardly hear her words. “No mother should have gone through what you had been through.”

There was a strange pause which filled the room. The stillness made Patroclus uncertain; it felt as if there was more to Helen’s words, the history only the two sisters have shared.

“You are right. I would not wish that upon anyone,” Clytemnestra replied, her voice odd and cold. “But this is not what I asked. I have asked you a question, Helen, why did you come back.”

“Because I could not stay in Troy. Paris is dead. They have hated me there, they wished the whole time that I was gone,” Helen answered, her voice broken like a sob. “I wanted to get home. I needed to see you because I have nobody else to return to.”

Clytemnestra breathed in harshly, the air tense, as she watched quietly as her sister cried in silent sobs. She gave in, her pose softening and her shoulders relaxing as she brought Helen in, hugging her closely to her chest. Clytemnestra’s eyes were closed, but Patroclus could see how relieved she felt, how much she missed holding her sister close as much and how much Helen was touched by her affection.

“Thank you for making her get home safe,” Clytemnestra said looking at Patroclus over her sister’s shoulder. “You must forgive me for my rudeness, for I have not asked you for your name? I believe I have heard of your companion, Prince Achilles, which I believe would make you Patroclus, his .. partner?”

Something in a way she said it made Patroclus blush. “That is right. I and Prince Achilles are honored to meet you, my Queen. We are happy to have brought Queen Helen back to Mycenae safely.”

Clytemnestra touched Helen by her shoulder, rubbing her sister’s back she pulled away slowly looking down at her with a gentle expression. “You must have been exhausted from your journey. Please come and share the dinner with me. Your rooms are ready and you can stay in Mycenae as long as you like. You are our honored guest, and it has been a while since we have had any visitors from Troy.”

“We thank you for your hospitality, Queen of Mycenae, but I am afraid we cannot stay for long,” Achilles bowed lowly, his head tilting with his body. “Patroclus and I would love to share dinner with you and we will stay the night, but we must leave in the morrow. There is an old friend we have to see before we leave for Phthia.”

Achilles’ slightly nervous energy was easily explainable. He must feel uncertain about Clytemnestra, after all, it was he who had killed her husband and his pretense of marriage to Iphigenia might have been a farce, but knowing Achilles, Patroclus was sure that he must feel a certain responsibility for her death. It made sense that he was feeling unnerved by Clytemnestra’s presence.

What was surprising was her quiet laughter.

“I shall not keep you for long. I am sure young men like you would want to spend time alone without the disturbances of others. I shall not blame you,” Clytemnestra’s gaze hardened just slightly. “But I shall ask you for the news from Troy. You might spare me the details, but at least I deserve to know what came of my cured husband’s faith. There are many things I regret. But between us five I shall say, I pity that it was not me who had put a blade through his stomach and watched him bleed before my eyes.”

Patroclus’ blood ran cold but he could see from the corner of his eyes that Achilles grew still too. They both exhaled; Patroclus’ chest fell a little lighter from the worrisome anxiety.

“And you?” Clytemnestra had turned to look at Briseis who stayed quiet the whole time. “I believe I have missed asking for your name too. How rude of me. Helen had mentioned you briefly in her letters, but I have been longing to meet you in person.”

“My name is Briseis, my Queen,” Breseis replied, looking down at her feet, her eyes half closed afraid to make eye contact with Clytemnestra’s curious gaze. “I have been a servant in the camps of the Myrmidons in Troy. I- I was promised safety in this new land, and so I followed Queen Helen to build a new life for myself, away from the destructions of war.”

“So you are my sister are close?”

“Briseis have been a great help when we were on the ship!” Helen spoke, touching her sister’s hand. “She is sweet and caring and I would love her to stay with us if it is possible. Briseis is smart and she is good with herbs and sewing. I would have felt utterly alone if it was not for her.”

Patroclus glanced at Briseis from the corner of his eyes. How much her fate has changed. Patroclus did not know what kind of life she lived in the past, but there was a look on her face as if he could finally breathe easily as if her life was not doomed any longer. She looked so different from the girl he had seen that night in the tent, and a part of Patroclus felt a little proud of her for that.

“I am sure if Breseis decides to stay we can find a room to accommodate her,” Clytemnestra smiled a little. “Depends on what Briseis decides would be the best for her.”

“I thank you for your kindness, my Queen,” Briseis replied, her chin tilting slightly. “If you allow me to, I would love to stay in Mycenae for a short while. This land is foreign to me and I do not yet know what kind of fate awaits me in the future, but I would want to decide for myself what I want to make of the life that the Gods have given me.”

Clytemnestra hummed slowly, nodding her head. “Very well, then you may stay for as long as you like,” she a gesture to the dinner table. “Now. Shall we proceed to have some food? Sea voyages can be harsh, especially from such a faraway place as Troy. Please. Enjoy the hospitality of Mycenae.”

Clytemnestra was a good guest. As they ate, she listened silently to Patroclus’ words of what happened in Troy. He tried to speak as plainly as possible; he admitted to going to King Priam and speaking to him of the plan which the Greeks had intended to use to get inside the walls of the city but he took great responsibility to admit his surrender. He did not mention Hera or the Gods, Patroclus spoke from his plain heart, how he felt that Odysseus’ plan was a trick and that Troy would have never fallen if not for the deceitful plan of the Prince of Ithaca.

Patroclus recalled the day when the Horse was brought behind the walls of Troy, but it was Achilles who admitted that it was because of him that Agamemnon and Menelaus died inside of it.

“I knew that Patroclus would attempt to get inside the city to warn the Trojans of what was coming,” Achilles said easily under Clytemnestra’s dark eyes. “And when we got inside I knew what I had to do. I have no compassion for Agamemnon, I had never given him my respect. I have killed him and I would do so again if I had the chance.”

Patroclus tightened his lips but he said nothing about it. Instead, he said, when Achilles and Odysseus were brought to King Priam, their surrender was taken with acknowledgment from the King of Troy.

“The rest of the Greeks will not like that story when they hear about it,” Clytemnestra said after a long silence.

“I care not what the others would say or what they believe,” Achilles shook his head. “Paris and Menelaus were dead. Troy was an impregnable fortress which we would not take. They fought for a woman and we fought for nothing but our pride. They deserve to win, and as Greeks, we can only admit to our defeat.”

“The truer words have not been spoken,” Clytemnestra said raising her cup. She looked at Achilles and then she caught Patroclus’ eyes, her face again a stone-like mask of hidden emotions. “But I must admit I am relieved that the war is over. Those who have been cursed by the Gods received their deserved, and those who have had their blessings now have a chance for a new life. I hope you treasure it well. My sister. Briseis. Achilles. And you Patroclus. Now let us drink together, to bring the memories of those who had died to an end, and celebrate the new life which lies ahead of us.”

Patroclus raised his cup and drank the dark red wine. A part of him wished to spill it to give his blessing to the Goddess who made this all possible. But the tart taste of sweet grapes made him think that there would be a different moment in time when he would kneel before Hera and tell her his blessings.

Chapter Text

Patroclus woke up slowly. For the first time in a long while he felt truly rested. The most pleasant part of his morning was realizing that his body lay on the softness of a real bed, rather than a tough pallet of a ship or inside the enemy’s bed chamber. Patroclus forgot when was the last time his body was so well rested; despite all the strong red wine that he drunk last night his head was not heavy and not buzzing from a hangover. For a brief moment, Patroclus did not know where he was; the room was dark and he was utterly comfortable in the fragile state of half slumber. 

Patroclus smiled with his eyes closed when his nose brushed against the hair splayed on a pillow next to him. 

Achilles was snoring softly. That was the only sign Patroclus needed to know that Achilles was truly deeply asleep. He never let himself rest so thoroughly when they were in Troy, only a few times had Achilles fallen in deep sleep on the deck of the ship on their way back from Troy, but now Patroclus could truly be at peace, and watch Achilles without the fear of disturbing him. A few rays of the sun were trying to peak through the thick navy curtains; but someone must have pulled them together, hiding the large windows behind the long fabric, making the room dark and cool, so that no morning sun was disturbing them from restful sleep.

Patroclus recalled the events of the night, the taste of sweet wine on his tongue, Clytemnestra’s conversations, the mixture of fragrant cheeses and the olives, and the bread and the fish they ate the night before. Everything was delicious, it made Patroclus stomach full, something that he had not experienced since he — transformed? Exchanged his soul to enter this new world? Whatever it was, Patroclus decided, that living without the fear of war waging constantly over him was much better than the persistent worry over his and Achilles’ lives. 

Clytemnestra was kind enough to offer the both of them these rooms for the night, but Patroclus was itching to see the rest of Greece with Achilles by his side. He wanted to travel; even the other night when Achilles mentioned their mutual desire to go to Pelion Patroclus could not help but stir with excitement. He wondered if his recollection of the past would budge when he would encounter the familiar sights of the mountain. Patroclus desired to take Achilles with him back to the place of their youth to make new memories together, to show his intention to stay by Achilles’ side for the rest of their lives.

A few months before this resolve would have made him scared; but now Patroclus did not have to think twice to make this decision. Maybe if the Gods truly existed, it would explain why Patroclus’ soul remembered the love he held for Achilles in the past. Patroclus never gave much through to the ideas of soulmates and true love, but the weeks that he had spent by Achilles’ side made him rethink that. It would explain why him and Achilles kept finding each other is all these different timelines.

Achilles sighed softly in his sleep, and Patroclus kissed his carefully on his bare neck. Achilles’ skin was salty and warm, and Patroclus left fluttering kisses down to the sharp slope of his shoulders. Patroclus was half hard from his sleep. They never had a proper conversation about it in the past, but knowing that Achilles felt safe and at ease in Patroclus’ arms, that it was lying in Patroclus’ bed which made him fell truly content, made Patroclus lose his mind a little.

Patroclus did not want Achilles to wake up just yet. They both needed this moment of rest from the past weeks of stress and worry. But Patroclus needed to make Achilles feel good, and from the thought of Achilles waking up to Patroclus pleasuring him with him mouth, Patroclus’ blood turned hot like lava. 

Patroclus shifted slightly letting the blankets pool around their legs, intertwined between his and Achilles’ bodies. He moved Achilles gently on his back, Achilles making only a sweet noise of muffled mumbling, but he must be utterly exhausted because his eye lids did not twitch when Patroclus moved him over gently, pinning Achilles down to the bed. 

Patroclus’ throat gulped at the sight below him. Achilles’ chest was slowly rising and falling, his head turned slightly to the side and his hair was spilling in a pretty mess across the pillows. Achilles’ tanned skin contrasted to the witness of the bedsheets, and Patroclus’ mouth watered from wanting to have a taste, to leave marks down the column of Achilles’ throat or on the delicate skin of his inner thighs. 

Achilles and him fell asleep naked, and it was Achilles’ nudity which drew Patroclus’ gaze lower. Achilles was soft between his legs, his thighs spread slightly with the blanket twisted between his legs and Patroclus swore he had never seen a sight more enticing than this. 

Patroclus barely registered his movements when his kissed the line of Achilles’ throat, a light peck over a slight bruising hickey which Patroclus must have left over Achilles’ skin last night; he traced his own marks with carnivorous attention, down to Achilles’ chest, towards the pink of his nipples and then to the flat lines of his stomach, tracing down to the the golden curls around Achilles’ groin. 

Achilles was still asleep, his eyes closed shut but his length was hardening slightly in between his thighs. Patroclus mused to himself, pressing his lips on the insides of Achilles’ thighs closer to his bulging cock.

“Sweet dreams, sweetheart?” Patroclus whispered to no one in particular, before he took Achilles in his mouth. Nothing could ever compare to the taste of Achilles on his tongue. Patroclus swallowed him down to the hilt, and Achilles let out a soft breathy sound which made Patroclus shudder from pleasure. It was not long before Achilles’ nimble fingers twisted in his hair; pulling him close or away Patroclus was not sure; when Achilles was not yet fully awake, he was as weak as a kitten. 

“Patroclus,” Achilles mumbled hoarsely, raising his hips, meeting the warmth of Patroclus’ mouth with needy desperation. Patroclus loved how broken Achilles sounded and how much his desire made Patroclus’ mouth move faster, taking Achilles by his hips and throwing his legs over his shoulders to take Achilles wholly inside his wet mouth. Patroclus could not get enough of the sweet moans, or the tugging of Achilles’ fingers in his hair. Patroclus’ own arousal was hard to ignore and he humped slowly into the mattress below him, but he could not take his mouth away from Achilles, not until he felt the taste of his release. 

Achilles’ orgasm was slow and pleasant, and Patroclus saw how Achilles’ toes curled from coiling pleasure. Achilles’ cum always left a pleasant aftertaste of Patroclus’ tongue, and he had barely enough time to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand when Achilles pushed him down on to his back, leaning over him with a beautiful flush on his face. 

“My turn,” was all Achilles said with his raspy voice before he lowered his face towards Patroclus’ groin. 

It took them a while to get out of bed. The sticky spill of cum on their stomachs had to be washed away, and Achilles was needy, wanting to feel Patroclus hands on his body at all times making it difficult to get out of the warm sheets. 

“We should hurry if you want to leave for Pelion before noon,” Patroclus reminded him when Achilles insisted on kissing him instead of letting Patroclus let go and put on the fresh clothes. “We should eat first too. We cannot offend Queen Clytemnestra by not taking the offer of her hospitality.” 

“Fine,” Achilles huffed, as he stood up languidly from Patroclus’ lap, and started getting dressed. Achilles turned his back towards him, busying with the tunic in his hands. “What do you think of her?”

The question took Patroclus slightly off guard. “Of Clytemnestra?”

Achilles nodded. “She is a Queen of Mycenae now, and she must be used to making difficult decisions. But do you think she took Helen in a little too easily? After all her daughter died because of her, and her husband too. It was because of her that the war had begun.” 

Patroclus rubbed his smooth chin; it felt great to have been able to shave and take a proper washing after a long journey. “I believe Helen is still her sister and hence Queen Clytemnestra’s only surviving family. She still loves her no matter what. And regarding her daughter... I believe it was Agamemnon who decided to bring Iphigenia to sacrifice; it was his decision to kill his own daughter for the sake of the war. Neither Helen nor Clytemnestra could have seen it coming. It was the arrogance and the greed of Greek kings that led them to War against Troy and it was that why they were defeated. Helen was merely following the will of her heart; she thought that she was doing the right thing if she could follow the man who she thought she truly loved.”

“Truly loved,” Achilles muttered quietly. “How do you know? If you love someone truly?”

Patroclus’ heart felt a little too large for his chest. Achilles’ face was so open and a little naive that Patroclus felt that no matter what words he used, none of them could truly capture how he felt. “Loving someone with a full heart I believe, would be loving them despite their flaws and wishing only what is the best for them. Knowing when you love someone can be difficult, even in my time, people fail to commit to the only person and to deviate their whole life to loving them. But I think for me it is something bigger, like wishing to be next to that person all the time, wanting to take care of them, and even if possible I guess I could-”

“Die for them,” Achilles spoke, his eyes burning into Patroclus’ own. Patroclus took a sharp breath of air, and Achilles pressed a curt kiss against his mouth. “I would die for you. I would kill for you. I truly love you Patroclus, I wish you knew that. I want to tell you this all the time; in every universe if I can.”

Patroclus did not what kind of expression he made, but when Achilles’ face softened he knew there was something tender flashing through his eyes. “Let’s go,” Achilles tugged him by his biceps, “we should eat and start our journey.

***

Patroclus was still a little shaken when he walked into Clytemnestra’s dining hall. Achilles’ confession made his head spin. He felt that he should have said more, confessed to Achilles that he loved him too but now the moment was lost and Patroclus could only blink, and now he was sitting down behind the large wooden table, his plate filled with bread and cheese and a side of figs and honey, while Achilles ate enthusiastically beside him speaking to Clytemnestra of their road to Pelion. 

“I can give you some provisions to last for your journey,” Clytemnestra answered when Achilles spoke of their plans to travel by horseback. Pelion was days away from Mycenae if riding there, and Patroclus assumed that traveling by foot would take an even longer time. 

“The Queen is very generous to us,” Achilles spoke politely. It had been the three of them during breakfast, Helen and Briseis were asleep and a part of Patroclus wished he could have said his farewells to both of them before he left. 

Clytemnestra must have noticed the expression on his face because when she turned her head to Patroclus she smiled tenderly. “It is my pleasure to help the Prince of Phthia and his companion. I want your journey to Pelion to be smooth and safe. I am sure Helen and her new friend would love to say their goodbyes before your departure; I believe they were going to be waiting for you at the courtyard.”

“That is very kind of them,” Patroclus replied, mirroring the Queen’s smile. “You have done a lot for us, your Highness. Is there anything we can do for you before we take our leave?”

Clytemnestra’s face twitched slightly as if a momentary thought passed through her mind. “You have accomplished much more than you can imagine, Patroclus, Achilles. Bringing Helen to safety was a task thousands of men failed to achieve, but the two of you have succeeded in it better than anyone would have imagined. Tell me, however, once you departed Troy, were there any other Greek soldiers who survived the war?”

Patroclus tensed a little. It was Achilles to answered Clytemnestra’s question. “Odysseus, Prince of Ithaca was the only one. He was given a Trojan ship by King Priam to return to his homeland. Unfortunately, we have not heard any news from him ever since he left Troy.”

“I see,” Clytemnestra hummed, her eyes darkening. “Odysseus is my cousin’s, Penelope, much-beloved husband. I will write her one of these days, ask her if she has any news of him. But that is more than enough. He is alive. I am sure Penelope would be glad to hear such news.”

There was a shift in her tone which made Patroclus doubt the genuine relief laced through her words, but Patroclus did not have the time to dwell on it. Achilles and he were to leave soon, and after a farewell with the Queen and the promise to write her a letter once they reached Phthia, Achilles and Patroclus made it to the courtyard where their horses and provisions were awaiting them. 

The two women, who were absent during breakfast, were expecting there too. 

“Is everything alright?” Achilles tilted his head noticing how rigid Patroclus’ body had become. 

“Yes,” Patroclus breathed slowly, giving Achilles an encouraging smile. “I have to speak to Briseis for a bit. Do you mind if I do it alone? I- she knows about my past, and I promise I did not tell her, she kind of figured it out herself, and I just wanted to say a few words to her before we depart.”

Achilles gave Patroclus a long look, but eventually, he nodded reluctantly. “Sure. I will pass Queen Helen your farewells. I will see you by the horses when you are done.”

Patroclus did not like how curt Achilles’ words to him were but he decided that now was not the time to focus on it. He knew he should have told Achilles about Briseis earlier, but they did not have much time to discuss matters outside of the War; Patroclus made a note in his head to have a conversation with Achilles about it as they travelled.

He walked towards Briseis who lifted her head and turned her gaze towards Patroclus, her eyes dark even under the bright sun. She wore clean clothes, her tunic white, with golden embroidery and she looked much better than the days when he saw her in the camp. She did not look so tired, and her skin looked healthy and there was not even a tilt in her mouth as if the constant worry which she was holding inside of her had finally disappeared.

“Patroclus,” she spoke slowly, greeting him.

“Hi,” Patroclus replied a little hesitantly, waving his hand. “I am sorry I did not speak much to you on the ship. I was told you were with Helen and the two of you were close so I assumed you were doing well,” Patroclus took a slow breath out. “You did not run away.”

It came out more as a statement than a question. “There is nothing left for me in Troy but dust and ashes,” came out Briseis’ solemn reply. “I cannot rebuild what was already destroyed. I could only follow my gut and save myself if I wanted to survive.”

“I understand,” Patroclus glanced to the side where Achilles was bowing to Helen. He looked back at Breseis who appeared to look in the same direction. “Are you happy here then? In Mycenae?”

Briseis bit down on her lower lip in thought. “I am happy with Queen Helen. She was lonely and she was scared; both of us were. I would be happy where she is, and if that is Mycenae or Sparta I shall follow her there. Queen Clytemnestra allowed us to stay in her Palace for as long as we could, but I fear that Helen’s duties still lie in Sparta. We will return to her homeland when the time is right,” Briseis looked up at Patroclus with a question in her eyes. “And you? Will you follow Achilles in his travels?”

Patroclus lowered his head. “I will. I am happy you found a safe place for yourself Briseis. I am sure he would be happy to know about it; you were his friend and I am sorry if I could not do much for you compared to what he did.”

“That is alright Patroclus,” Briseis’ smile was a little sad. “You tried to do the right thing in your own way. I can see that. I am glad I got to meet the two of you. I hope maybe one day we can meet each other again. As friends.”

Patroclus could not help the genuine smile that spread on his lips. “Yes. I hope to meet you one day too.”

Briseis nodded her head towards Achilles. “I think he is waiting for you.”

The sun was already high and it was time to go. Patroclus gave Briseis one last look over his shoulder before he got on his horse, with Achilles already in the saddle waiting for him by his side. 

“Ready to go?” he asked and Patroclus nodded. Achilles nudged the horse and they moved forward. “Then follow me.”

Patroclus was grateful that Achilles was not a fast rider. It was not often that Patroclus even considered the possibility of riding on horseback and if he was being honest this was the first time when he was riding a real-life animal. It took him a good moment to adjust comfortably on a saddle and take control of the reins in his hands and even as they moved slowly through the gates and into the busy city, Patroclus felt unsure and a little frightened of the live breathing creature between his legs. 

“Horses can sense your fear,” Achilles told him when they had finally moved beyond Mycenae and past the looming walls of the city into the open road. “Be assertive with it, but not too rough. You can hurt the horse if you pull on the reins too hard.”

“I think I am more scared of her than she is of me,” Patroclus muttered uselessly trying to get a grip over the reins. They were moving uphill and Patroclus was still struggling, squirming slightly on his saddle. “You make it look so easy.”

“Maybe I am just practiced at riding,” Achilles snorted, and Patroclus could not hold back a blush high on his cheeks when he gave Achilles a dirty look. Achilles’ face suddenly took a sullen turn. “Why did you not tell me that Briseis knew about who you were?”

Patroclus’ body grew cold on his seat. The sun was shining and it was hot but the tone of Achilles’ voice made him freeze, and the horse must have sensed his stiffness, letting out an angry huff which made Patroclus pull tightly on the reins. “Because there was no other time we could talk about this. She saw me after I got injured and we spoke a little; she told me she figured out the truth and I did not argue with her. I told her she should run away and save herself, so she would not get caught by the Greeks or the Trojans, but I had no idea she would stay with the Myrmidons instead. I tried to warn her that the end of the war was near; it was her decision to stay. There is not much else to say on this matter, Achilles.”

Patroclus had no reason to hide the truth. Achilles’ face was blank and he only turned his glance away curling his lips not quite in displeasure, but in a persistent pout. 

Patroclus nudged his horse to move closer to Achilles. “Are you jealous?”

“No!” Achilles turned his head so fast that their noses almost brushed against each other. Patroclus could not help the smirk that spread on his face. “I am not jealous. And it’s fine. I don’t care. You can talk to whoever you want; it is not of any of my concern.”

“Achilles,” Patroclus said slowly until Achilles did turn to look at him again. His green eyes looked so bright amongst the thickening forest around them. “I care only for you. I love you. I am sorry I did not tell you about Briseis earlier but I promise it is all true. Don’t pout. Let me make it up to you.”

“You can sleep on your own tonight,” Achilles flushed almost sticking out his tongue at Patroclus who could not hold back a whiff of laughter. He still kissed Achilles on his pink cheek. They both knew it would be Achilles who would snuggle to his side as soon as the night would fall. Patroclus was looking forward to it; burring his nose in Achilles’ hair, breathing in the smell of nature and Achilles’ own sweet scent mixing at his nostrils. 

Patroclus however spoke nothing about that. He saw no reason to not indulge his prince in a brief moment of his rather adorable petulance. 

Chapter Text

A strange anticipation was building inside Patroclus’ gut the closer he and Achilles were reaching towards the mountain. It felt almost like a deja vu. There was something about the scenery surrounding Patroclus that felt oddly familiar to him.

Patroclus felt as if he had been to these places before, that he had seen the trees which grew thicker the deeper they dwelled into the forest, that he had travelled along the path which led up the hill; Patroclus even recognized the shapes of certain plants which grew alongside the road as if he had seen and touched them before. Patroclus’ recollection of the nature around him grew starker and more real almost like he was coming back to the place rooted inside his memory.

“It is so strange,” Patroclus tried to explain the sensation to Achilles one night while they were getting ready for bed. The stars were bright and the sky was clear above their heads. Even during the night, it was still warm and Patroclus found himself sleeping on a thin blanket stretched across the solid ground without the covers of a blanket. They were halfway into their journey; Achilles assured him that Pelion should be a three-day trip away. “This is my first time traveling to these lands but it also feels as if I had passed these places countless times before.”

Achilles shuffled closer to Patroclus’ back. He threw one arm over Patroclus’ waist, the warmth of Achilles’ breath tickling the naked skin of Patroclus’ nape. “You will remember more the closer we get to the mountain. Who knows, when we arrive in Phthia, you might even put all the pieces of our past together.”

Patroclus’ heart skipped a beat inside his chest. He had not even considered that possibility. “I don’t want to be stuck in the past. I want us to look forward to the future. I don’t want either me or you to be bound by the memory of the war. I want to build something new, entirely, from scratch.”

Achilles huffed, which sounded a lot like a muffled laughter. Patroclus did not blame him, the words which were coming out of his mouth were the reflection of his own staggered thoughts which Patroclus had been harboring inside him for a while and only now grew the courage to speak out loud.

“I forgot how possessive you can get over such things,” Achilles’ hand found its way beneath Patroclus’ tunic, stroking his warm skin from the tense muscles of Patroclus’ stomach up to his slowly rising chest. “Worry not. Just let these memories come naturally to you.” Achilles grew quiet for a while as if trying to find the right words to speak in the quiet of the night. “In the past, I was too scared to even imagine what would life have in store for us after the war. Even now, that we are far from Troy, traveling together with you does not feel entirely real.”

Patroclus turned over from his side so he could look Achilles right in the eyes. “It is real. You have nothing to be scared about anymore. I will not let anyone take you away from me.”

Patroclus was not afraid to say it, he meant every word. He won’t make the same mistake of leaving Achilles alone as he did in the past. This time, he was determined to stay. Patroclus did not know what memories were hidden at the back of his mind, but as he approached Pelion Patroclus was not scared to find out.

Pelion was a mounting peak looming over the branches of the cyprus trees. The road towards the mountain was rocky and narrow and it led constantly uphill. Achilles insisted that he knew a shortcut towards Chiron’s layer but when Achilles took yet another wrong turn which managed to get them more lost in the depths of the forest, Patroclus started to doubt Achilles’ certainty.

“I thought you said you were supposed to know where you are going.”

“I am!” Achilles puffed his cheeks, sulking, turning away from Patroclus’ raised brows and intent stare. “It has been almost ten years since I have been here last! Of course, I might forget some details.”

“Alright,” Patroclus sighed, giving up. Patroclus grew a little more confident with riding the horse over the days of their travel, so he dismounted it with ease and led the animal by the reins towards Achilles who was still trying to look for the right path. “The sun is going down. There will be no use in trying to find our way through the dark. We should find a safe place to sleep and try searching again tomorrow.”

“I swear it was around here somewhere,” Achilles muttered, unwilling to give up.

“If it was here ten years ago, then it would remain here still,” Patroclus led Achilles off the road to find a secluded spot where they could make a camp for the night. Achilles made a grumbling sound, but at least he seized to argue and followed Patroclus closely until they found a little cave near a small pond, which was tucked away from the main road making its surroundings appear nice and quiet.

Patroclus was starting to get used to sleeping in the wild. Sure, his back was sore the next day, and his body ached from laying on the ground, but the fresh air and the morning sun in his eyes made up for the mild discomfort. Achilles and he took turns making dinner and breakfast, and Patroclus did not mind eating the berries or chewing on the leaves, the occasional fruits like figs or nuts, or even the meat of wild animals that Achilles hunted for both of them. In modern terms, for Patroclus, it felt like going campsite hiking, only without the tents and sleeping bags, but the weather was hot and dry, with little wind and almost no rain, so Patroclus did not mind sleeping under the open sky.

“This place is nice,” Achilles nodded his head, looking around, preparing to spend the night as he looked around the small cave. “And we can wash up in the pond. I can go and search for the food while you prepare the camp.”

“You did it yesterday,” Patroclus reminded him gently, rubbing the sore muscles of his thighs which grew tense from riding. “It is my turn to get dinner today. You stay here and rest. I am sure it will not take long to find us something to eat.”

Whatever protests Achilles had on his tongue died down when Patroclus kissed him softly on the mouth. “Seriously, I mean it, you should stay and rest. You have done too much for me. Allow me to take care of you too.”

Achilles narrowed his eyes, but Patroclus’ kisses always made him soft and a little gullible. “Fine. But take my blade with you. Who knows what’s hiding within these woods at night.”

Patroclus did not have the mind to argue with that. The forest was scary and utterly dark at night and having a bit of protection next to him made Patroclus feel slightly less worried. Achilles had his own knife tucked safely on his side and when Patroclus left him he made sure that Achilles had everything he needed, as Patroclus reluctantly left him alone.

It was a mare caution, but Patroclus never liked leaving Achilles alone for a long time. They were traveling for a few days and so far their journey had been safe but Patroclus could not shake off the feeling as if he had to be on a constant lookout for danger. Perhaps it was the result of the war, but Patroclus could not relax when they were out in the open, and he did not wish to stay away from Achilles for long.

The sun was almost hidden beneath the forest when Patroclus started searching for dinner. He managed to sneak a few berries and nuts into his tunic; he might not have been the best of hunters, Achilles was surely much better at catching rabbits and fish than him, but Patroclus was a good gatherer and he usually had a keen eye for all sorts of edible vegetables, plants and fruit which passed on their way.

Patroclus did not wish to stay till full darkness. Patroclus remember how the first time he tried to figure out the way back to their camp during nightfall, he got himself lost and nearly fell off a cliff, his legs catching into the entangled vines of nettle on the ground, leaving sharp painful scratches on his calves, and if not for Achilles’ efforts Patroclus would have been completely lost, wondering alone in the woods till morning. Trying to look for the path to the campsite in the night was not the kind of experience Patroclus wanted to repeat often.

Patroclus was buried so deeply in his thoughts that he did not notice the crack of the branch nearby. Patroclus stopped what he was doing and stilled his breath.

He was being followed. Patroclus reached for the blade laced tightly to his hip. His breath was even despite the panic that was creeping up his throat. Patroclus tried to make as little movement as possible when he heard another crunch of the wooden brunch and the labored breathing of a figure hiding in the thick leaves of the bushes nearby. Patroclus did not know what to do; it was growing dark and he could not see how many men were secluded from his sight. Patroclus could not let a sound attract anyone’s attention; the thought of just slipping his blade from the confinements of its sheath and piercing it through the man’s throat sounded like a good idea inside his head.

Achilles warned him of the bandits and the robbers which they could have encountered on their road. Patroclus however did not expect to meet any so close to Pelion.

Patroclus could not even finish his thought when he felt a cold sharp steel at the base of his neck and a rough hand gripping him by his hair. “Be quiet and no one will be hurt,” a harsh voice spoke next to his ear.

Patroclus could scarcely recall what happened next. He must have moved, rather swift and agile to his captor’s surprise, and when Patroclus freed himself from the man’s grasp he pulled out the knife and cut the man by his wrist, which was still holding Patroclus’ hair. There was a loud cry of outrage and more struggling. Patroclus could not see how many there were in the dark; three shadows moved towards him if he recalled correctly, but the second fell with a thump on the ground when Patroclus cut the man through his throat. There was a noise of an enraged cry right beside him and Patroclus could barely collect himself to prepare for the fight when a sound of cutting through the thin swished right next to his head.

Patroclus stilled.

He looked around, and he was frozen, his body twisted as he started at the figure approaching him slowly, too stunned to speak or even thank the stranger.

Patroclus had seen the figure of Chiron once in his dreams, but he never imagined that meeting him in reality would be so overwhelming . Patroclus was still gazing in awe at the creature of half-man and half-horse when two bodies fell with dull sounds on the ground, arrows stuck in the bodies.

“They never dare to venture this far into the mountain,” Chrion’s voice was just as Patroclus remembered from his dreams, low and grunting, coming deep from within his chest. “They must have been following the two of you for a while. I must say, I never would have thought that we would meet again this time, Patroclus of Opus.”

“I- thank you,” Patroclus spoke, his throat dry and he regained his breath. His mind raced, the adrenaline of the attack pumping blood rashly through his body. “I must find Achilles. He is getting ready for sleep and I should not have let him stay alone for long. We were looking for you as we reached the mountain but- I am sorry, Master Chiron, I am rumbling. Thank you for saving my life.”

A centaur made a humming noise seemingly unbothered by Patroclus’ anxieties. “Some things never change even if your soul is no longer as it was. As for Achilles worry not. I have seen him on my way. It was him who told me to come and find you.”

Patroclus let out a sigh of obvious relief. “Is he safe?”

“Very much so,” Chiron spoke and Patroclus swore he could hear the notes of smile in his voice. “Please follow me, Patroclus. I will guide you back to your camp for the night. Achilles would be already there as we walk. There were also some, questions , I wished to ask you, which are rather private, if you don’t mind me prying.”

Patroclus walked closer to Chiron; the centaur’s massive body made Patroclus tilt his head so he could get a proposer to look at his savior. “I can try and answer as truthfully as I can, Master Chiron.”

Chiron slowed his step so Patroclus could fall at a similar pace with him. They walked in silence for a while and Patroclus felt his nerves starting to grow tense again. Chiron did not look like he was in a hurry, quite the opposite, he took the longer route and after they surpassed what Patroclus thought was their original camp to spend the night and headed upwards towards the mountain, he started to speak, his voice calm and slow.

“I did not think I would ever get to see the two of you again. The prophecy of Achilles reached my ears not long after you left Pelion to return to Phthia because of King Peleus’ call to gather his men for the campaign against Troy. But there had been ripples in the air as if something in the world had shifted. I lived a long life, Patroclus, but never have I encountered anything like that before.”

“I know it might sound strange and even impossible, but I see no reason to hide it from you if you already suspect the truth, Master Chiron,” Patroclus looked uncertainly at his feet. “I have travelled from the future, or at least my soul has transferred into this body. Me and Patroclus of the past are two of the same; our body is one, but it is the soul that had been switched to our different timelines.”

“There is a heavy price one must pay if they wish to commit the sin of defying the ways of the Fates,” Chiron replied solemnly. “Even if you might not be aware you, your other soul in the future might be the one to pay this price. No one can escape death unless- no, that would be even impossible to think about.”

Patroclus raised his eyes, feeling a little restless in his stomach. “Unless what?”

“Before the Gods of Olympus came to power it was the Titans who ruled this Realm. The Titans were not bound by Fates like the Gods were, they could escape their destiny and shift the tides of space and time. Unless a Titan was involved in your transformation; your path is determined to end in death as it was prophesied before. But I do not know much of the power that brought you back, Patroclus. What I know is that there would be repercussions you must pay in the future, and the heavy price of that could be impossible to escape.”

Patroclus tried to wrap his thoughts around Chiron’s words. He did not know if he should be scared or anxious, but at least he got to know what he was dealing with. “Thank you for telling me this, Chiron. But please do me a favor. Achilles must not know about this. He must not know that we spoke of it or of anything that you have told me about my destiny.”

Chiron turned his head and Patroclus felt unnerved by the weight of his gaze. “I find it admirable how even in different times you have the strength to love him as much as he did. I believe Thetis’ concerns were not unbiased. The two souls destined to be together will always find a way to stay near each other.”

Patroclus found only slight comfort in those words. It was oblique and dark when they reached the top of the mountain. There was a small fire burning near what looked like a massive entrance of the cave and Patroclus could not hold himself back from rushing forward.

“Achilles!”

Achilles turned his head as he heard the sound of his name. His face brightened when he recognized Patroclus and he stood up to head towards him after halting just slightly as he felt Chiron’s eyes on him.

“You have made it,” he smiled, and after a brief uncertainty, he hugged Patroclus and pulled him close, nuzzling into the crook of Patroclus’ neck. “I am glad Master Chiron found you on time. I wanted to come seek you out myself but he said he wished to speak to you first. Is everything alright?”

Patroclus wrapped Achilles around his waist, enjoying the solid press of his body as if it were grounding him back to reality. “Yes. I hope we did not make you wait for long.”

“Not at all. Sit you must be hungry,” Achilles gestured towards the fireplace and two steaming bowls of what looked like vegetable stew placed near it. Achilles looked at Patroclus expectingly as he took his plate. “Do you recognize his place?”

Patroclus was too busy eating to take in his surroundings. It was dark too so Patroclus could hardly see the outlines of the nature around him. Chiron made a huffing sound as he watched Patroclus closely as if he too was waiting for Patroclus’ answer.

“It’s rather dark, so I am not sure. I might feel more familiar with this place in the morning.”

Achilles blinked, but then his expression turned into one of a challenge and he nodded his head. “Yes. I will show you all around this place tomorrow. We can explore the forest, and go down to the lake when he can.”

“You may stay for as long as you like but do know that your father is expecting you back in Phthia soon, Prince Achilles,” Chiron pointed out making Achilles’ words waver just slightly.

“Well, we can spend a few days here before we return, is that right, Chiron?”

“As I said, I am happy to have you here. But please don’t try to escape from your responsibilities before your kingdom just because you hesitate to return back to your father,” Chiron replied.

Patroclus turned his head to glance at Achilles from the corner of his eyes. Is that why Achilles was hesitating to go back? But instead of meeting his gaze Achilles lowered it on his plate and shoved another spoonful of dinner inside his mouth. Patroclus did not like the silence that followed Chiron’s words but he knew for now that had to do. There would be enough time to question Achilles about his home. For now, they were both tired and needed rest, and Patroclus felt grateful when Chiron showed him towards the cave where Achilles had already prepared the bed, with the blankets and the pillows shuffled together in the middle of it.

“Just like before,” Achilles spoke in wonder as if he could not believe that things had remained the same despite nearly ten years of their absence.

Patroclus heard a strange yearning in his voice. When Patroclus went to sleep that night his body was for the first time in a long while at ease. It felt too familiar, the press of Achilles’ body close, the cool night air and the sounds of the cicadas from the forests outside. If Patroclus had to put a word on it, he would say that it felt almost as if coming home.

***

Patroclus was not in a rush to wake up. Overnight his and Achilles’s legs intertwined beneath the blanket, and Patroclus wrapped his hands around the other boy holding him tightly against his chest.

Patroclus had to take a moment to gather his thoughts. It was pleasantly cool inside the cave but Patroclus already heard the sounds of the birds and nature outside. They must have slept for a while; Patroclus did not realize how exhausted he must have been from the road.

Patroclus entangled himself slowly from the warm embrace of Achilles’ limbs. He did not wish for Achilles to wake up yet, so he left a chaste kiss on his lips before he headed outside. Patroclus thought that he would start on breakfast; he was a good cook and he preferred having something fresh in the morning. He was pleasantly surprised to find that Chiron had left some buckets of berries and fruit covered with cloth to protect from the birds and insects to get inside. Patroclus washed his face and his body to freshen up from the sleep.

It was almost a routine for him to take his time cooking in the morning and now that they could rest and get the day to themselves Patroclus could truly concentrate on preparing the food.

Patroclus was too engrossed in the cutting of the fruit to notice Chiron approaching him softly from within the woods. “You are awake.”

Patroclus raised his head and greeted him with a nod of his head. “Good morning. Yes. Achilles is still sleeping so I thought I would start on breakfast.”

“Very well,” Chiron put down the logs which he was carrying with him; but me for the fire. “When Achilles wakes up let him know that his mother is seeking him to speak to the both of you. She will be waiting by the lake. Achilles knows the way so he will guide you to it.”

Patroclus stopped what he was doing.

Chiron must have noticed the unease that flickered through his eyes. “Don’t trouble yourself with anxious thoughts,” he spoke as if answering Patroclus’ unspoken question, “she is not here to punish you. I believe Thetis has come to bear the news of Troy and of the Gods. The time for her long harbored resentment has long passed.”

Patroclus thought back to the time when even thinking about Achilles’ mother made his stomach twist and bile rise up his throat. He did not know what changed in the ways of the Gods or what exactly was the purpose of Thetis’ visit but Patroclus saw no reason to doubt Chiron’s words.

Chiron went away soon after, saying he had to go to run some errands at the village below and would be back closer to nightfall, leaving Patroclus alone strewing in his thoughts.

She won’t take him away from me, right? Patroclus thought anxiously, as he took out the two plates to put the breakfast inside of them. The thought that Thetis could somehow find a way to steal Achilles away made Patroclus visibly nauseous.

There was a rustling sound coming from the entrance of the cave and Patroclus turned his head to face it. Achilles looked a little ruffled from his sleep; his blond hair was a mess of tangled curlers and there was a dent from the pillow on his cheek but Patroclus had never seen a sight softer than that. He did not even have the time to say his greetings when he had a handful of Achilles in his arms, as the boy nuzzled softly into Patroclus’ neck making him chuckle.

“Good morning,” Patroclus whispered when he felt a kiss pressed to the side of his neck.

“Good morning,” Achilles replied, his voice rough and low, which sent warmth down Patroclus’ stomach. “I am so happy you are here.”

Patroclus’ heart squeezed from the tender feelings that swept over him. “I did not want to wake you. I made breakfast while you were sleeping. It should be ready by now.”

Achilles made a low-content noise as he turned to look at the food Patroclus had prepared for them. Patroclus knew he should speak to Achilles about his mother, but he looked so happy and relaxed that Patroclus did not find the strength to bring out the news just yet.

He wanted them to enjoy this moment together in peace while they could. It was warm and the birds were flying above their heads, and Patroclus never felt so whole in his life with Achilles eating his food with those quiet moans of pleasant satisfaction.

“Is it good?” Patroclus asked nodding to the empty plate in Achilles’ hands.

“Very much. I think I would eat anything you cook without complaints.”

Patroclus kissed Achilles on the cheek with a soft “thank you.” Patroclus cleared his throat before his next words came out. “Chiron had stopped by before you woke up.”

“I thought I heard some noise from outside,” Achilles said as he leaned on Patroclus’ shoulder. “Did he say something to you?”

Patroclus took a short breath as he looked down at Achilles’ eyes.

“He mentioned that your mother had wanted to see us both at the lake,” at the mention of Thetis a small crease formed above Achilles’ brow. “Chiron wanted us to talk to her while we are here.”

Achilles’ face turned conflicted, his light brows frowning with thought. “Fine. If those are my mother’s wishes then we should go. Did Chiron say if there was anything she was worried about?”

Patroclus shook his head. “I think she might just want to make sure that you have made it to Pelion in safety.”

“Yeah,” Achilles spoke and his face grew dark for a moment. “I- I saw her last before the attack in Troy. She told me something there; something that back then I did not give much thought to but I guess it could explain why your soul has been brought back in time.”

Patroclus swallowed a lump in his throat watching as Achilles sat up, looking vaguely in the direction of the forest. “What is it?”

“She said that my son, Phyrros, who was prophesied to burn Troy to the ground was dead. That the price of his soul was to bring you back to this world. She said it was the will of the Gods who chose to exchange his life for yours and to change the Fate of Troy.”

Patroclus thought he had stopped breathing for a moment. Hera did not mention that was Patroclus to return another man should die. “I- I am sorry I did not know about this,” he stuttered, his voice coming out broken.

“It is not your fault,” Achilles calmed him, taking Patroclus’ trembling hands in his own. “This- this child should have not existed in the first place. It was an accident and it was my mother’s cunning that led to its birth. I guess if you are born by divine intervention, it is the will of the divine that can lead to your demise.”

“He was still your son,” Patroclus spoke softly but Achilles only shook his head.

“I did not know him. I do not care for children,” something in Achilles’ voice made Patroclus tense. “Do you?”

“I don’t have any children Achilles so I would not know.”

“But- would you like to have children? In the future?”

Patroclus felt a little stunned, his hands growing clammy in Achilles’ tight grip. “I- I never gave it much thought. In my time two men can adopt a child and bring him up together, so it is not unusual for a child to have two fathers. But I am not sure if I want children of my own. I can hardly take care of myself, let alone another human being.”

Achilles looked at Patroclus silently for a long time. “Adopt a child.. like take him in as a ward?”

Patroclus tilted his head in thought. “I guess you can call it that.”

“How interesting,” Achilles nodded, something like a thought forming inside his head. “Well, whatever it is you choose to do I think you would make a great father. You take care of me all the time.”

“Of course I do. Because you are my partner and I love you,” Patroclus leaned to kiss Achilles on his temple. “But a child is a great responsibility that I am not sure I can take. Having a romantic partner and wishing to build a family with them is something that. I do want to make it in the future. But we don’t have to rush into it. For now, I think we should try and fix the things between your real family. Your mother and your father.”

Achilles appeared a little more cheerful when he heard that. “Fine. Then I will go change. We should see her today. I see no reason in making her wait any longer.”

Patroclus did not protest. The fear of anticipation would have been nagging him for days so he too would like to get this over with.

When Achilles was ready they headed out towards the lake together. Achilles explained that during their youth that they spent on Pelion they usually swam there together, and it was when Achilles learned of his desire for Patroclus’ body and no matter how much Patroclus tried to get hold of himself, Achilles would not stop teasing him about the furious flush that spread on Patroclus’ cheeks.

The walk was not long and Patroclus knew they must have still been close to the camp. The round shape of the lake was surrounded by green forests and Patroclus was awed at the azure color that flickered under the bright sunlight.

Patroclus had a few encounters with the divine beings so he knew that Thetis could appear quite literally out of thin air.

What he did not expect her to do was to emerge slowly from the crystal blue waters. Her skin looked almost as if it was made out of thin glass, blue and nearly translucent, and it was only Thetis dark hair and deep-set eyes which added color to her being.

“Mother,” Achilles spoke first while Patroclus stood in complete awe and silence. There was no rustling of the leaves or the chirps of the birds, it felt as if the entire world had gone quiet from the emergence of the nymph.

“You must be Patroclus,” Thetis spoke, after greeting her son, her voice a low gravel similar to the tones of Hera. Her eyes settled on Patroclus, looking at him as if she could see through his entire being. “I heard so much about you and I can finally see you for myself.”

Patroclus was not sure was was expected of him so he bowed his head and repeated the same words as Achilles did when he welcomed his mother.

Achilles grew a little tense, as he stepped forward to the water. “What do you wish to speak about, mother?”

“Can I not come by and see my son?” Thetis tilted her head but there was no amusement in her tone. “I am here to see the ways of the Gods. Queen Hera sends her regards to you, Achilles, and to your companion. Her blessings are to be celebrated and I am here to let you know that once you return to Phthia there will be a month-long festivities held to honor the Goddess and sacrifices will be made in her name. She will be expecting you to make a lot of gifts and sacrifices in her name, Patroclus.”

Patroclus kept his gaze lowered but he did not let his voice shake when he spoke. “I will do so once he returns to Phthia, my Goddess.”

Thetis made a low grunt-like sound. She then returned to Achilles as if her business with Patroclus was complete. She reached her hand caressing Achilles softly down the side of his face, from his brows to the swell of his cheeks. Even her voice appeared more gentle when she talked to her son. “Was your journey to the mountain safe, my dear?”

“Very much so,” Achilles replied. “We stopped at Mycenae to bring Queen Helen to her sister, Clytemnestra. I believe the both of them were happy to finally meet each other again.”

“I have heard of that,” Thetis spoke slowly. “Queen Helen is set to return to Sparta. She appears in high spirits despite everything that happened in Troy.” Patroclus let a short sigh of relief. Thetis continued to speak, “There is however troublesome news of your other companion. Odysseus, Prince of Ithaca, I believe?”

“What about him?” Achilles frowned.

“Odysseus had run into some trouble with his crew which angered the Gods of the Seas, Poseidon, and his journey to Ithaca has been delayed. Not even the Gods know when he would be able to return back home from his travels.”

Patroclus bit down on his lower lip. Somehow he found little remorse what everything that Odysseus would have to go through in the future.

“I hope he will make it home safely,” Achilles spoke quietly.

“His fate is in the palms of the Gods,” Thetis gaze flicked over Patroclus’ figure. “Do not stay on Pelion for too long. Peleus is waiting for you home and he cannot wait to see you. He is your father and your duties as a Prince must not be neglected.”

“I will not neglect my duties,” Achilles answered, promising. “Thank you for coming here, mother. I know how difficult it can be difficult for you to stay away from the sea.”

“I had to ensure that you were safe,” Thetis replied. “But now that both of you are your … companion are under the guardianship of the Queen of the Gods I can rest a little easily. It is hard to live with the weight of destiny looming over you. I can only feel relief at knowing that your life will no longer be bound to the prophesy of the fates and you can live freely in your own ways.”

“It is all thanks to Patroclus,” Achilles said turning his head and giving Patroclus a smile which made his heart beat faster. “It was him who made it possible.”

Thetis gave Patroclus a long stare. “Yes. Patroclus has overcome all the divine expectations. But that does not mean I will stop watching you closely, mortal. You must understand that no matter how many Gods give you their blessings are you still a mortal in the companionship of a demigod. Do not let the pride get the better of you.”

Patroclus did not expect Thetis to grow so protective, but he assumed it would make sense. Achilles was her only son. She would want what was best for him. Patroclus lowered his head, almost in a bow.

“I will promise to keep Achilles safe. I will cherish his body, his soul. And his heart.”

For the first time since he saw her, Patroclus thought he saw a glimmer of something like hope passing through Thetis hardening features.

If this was her way of giving Patroclus her blessing, then, Patroclus thought, he might as well consider it to be one.

Chapter Text

Thetis’ unexpected visit was the only ripple that brought disturbance to the long days spent on Pelion. The time flowed slowly on the mountain. Patroclus’ days stretched into a dreamlike and restful slumber. Patroclus did not know how long he and Achilles had been surrounded by the greenery of thick pine forests and crystal blue lakes; it must have been a month since they had first arrived at Pelion if he truly had strain his mind and think about it. 

Patroclus spent most days exploring the mountain with Achilles hot on his heels. Patroclus felt that the longer he was staying on Pelion the more it felt as if long-lost pieces of his memory were finally slotting together in one complex puzzle which was his past.

Some things took a while to get used to but Achilles was patient with him. 

Patroclus felt lost and confused when his mind was at haze from the sudden rush of memories from his past and it was Achilles whom he turned to for answers. To Patroclus, it almost seemed like he was reliving the life of someone else. But every day when he woke up or strolled beneath the clear sky, or felt the cool waters of the lakes when he swam in them fully naked it was undeniably him who experienced these moments for the first time. The memories came naturally to him almost as if heavy fog was clearing inside Patroclus’ mind. 

There was an instance when they were picking up the mushrooms for dinner when Patroclus felt a rush of familiarity in his mind; as if his body has done something familiar before. There was this one time when Patroclus felt a sense of strong deja vu when he was helping Chiron to make provisions for the upcoming autumn, his hands trembling slightly as he stared at the tips of his fingertips as if he was seeing them for the first time in his life. Or when Achilles would kiss him after a long swim in the lake, some strings would tug inside Patroclus’ body reminding him of something similar, reminiscing of the familiar moment shared between them a long time ago. 

Patroclus felt frightened when these memories came to his mind. He thought he was losing the sense of his identity, that he, Patroclus, was becoming someone else entirely.

“I think you are just scared of the feeling that comes over you when you start remembering things,” Achilles told him one night after they had dinner and were back in the coolness of their cave, heavy blankets thrown away in the humid summer heat, their bodies sweaty and naked. Achilles’ head was resting on Patroclus’ stomach, and Patroclus’ hands were entangled in Achilles’ hair, brushing the knots through the golden curls. Patroclus felt when Achilles lifted his head and turned to look up at Patroclus with a youthful expression. “It is like two people inside of you are trying to see which one wins. I think there is nothing wrong with that. You two are one of the same person. I would not stop loving you whether you come from the past or the present or the distant future.”

Patroclus’ hand stopped, a question brewing in his mind when he met Achilles’ green eyes. “But wouldn’t it be .. confusing to you? Always not knowing which one of us you are talking to?”

Achilles’ smile made his eyes glimmer. “I am just happy that you are here. The more Patrocluses I get the better. I see no reason to be confused about it.”

Patroclus let out a heavy sigh and turned over, pinning laughing Achilles to the ground, and let himself pepper Achilles’ face with kisses before he let their bodies join together in the quiet stillness of the night. 

Achilles was right. It was confusing for him at the start, but if Patroclus let his mind wander and let his body remember the moments from the past, he could stop confining himself to the single reality and learn more of what Patroclus was like before their souls were switched.

The intensity of his desire for Achilles, for one, was a frightening thing. It seemed to him that he had known Achilles his entire life. Patroclus’ love for Achilles did not belong to him only, it was rooted deep inside his muscles and his soul. Patroclus had to understand that his past wouldn’t fully go away, and it could come back in sudden rushes of waves which would sweep over him, and once Patroclus learnt to live with it, suddenly a heavy weight was lifted off his shoulders.

He knew that they could not stay in Pelion forever. Achilles’ father, King Peleus was waiting for them in Phthia. Achilles and Patroclus were expected to celebrate the festival dedicated to Goddess Hera and Achilles had to return to his duties as the Prince. So, after nearly a month of leisure, it was decided that they had to take their leave. 

Patroclus did not feel sorrow leaving Pelion. They had to move along. In the future, Patroclus was sure there would be more hot, long summer days, not unlike the ones he and Achilles have spent together living on the mountain. Patroclus was looking ahead to see what this life and destiny had in store for both of them.

Chiron helped to guide them down the mountain, and once Achilles felt confident enough, he was willing to take the lead. Achilles insisted on showing Patroclus the way to Phthia. 

“We will come back soon,” Achilles turned to Chiron, his words filled with confidence that made Patroclus’ chest warm. Chiron smiled back at them with a slight tilt of his lips.

“I will be waiting.”

To Patroclus, it appeared to be the kind of promise that he and Achilles were determined to keep.

***

They reached the city of Phthia closer to nightfall. Similar to Mycenae the city was surrounded by a thick wall, marking it protected from the outside. There were sounds of music coming from far away, and even in the darkness of early dusk, Patroclus could see the smoke rising from the pyres built in celebration. The festival of Goddess Hera must have been in full swing.

Patroclus dreaded their upcoming arrival. Patroclus felt inside his gut that the moment he and Achilles would cross the walls of Phthia, Achilles would seize to be just his companion. He would stop belonging to Patroclus alone. Instead, he would become a Prince, a future ruler, someone whose responsibilities were much greater than just being a soldier on the battlefield. 

Patroclus squirmed inside his saddle, the thoughts turning his mood dark and gloomy. 

“Don’t be afraid,” Achilles whispered softly as they noticed a group of soldiers approaching them. “Just act like you always do and no one would suspect a thing.”

“I am not afraid,” Patroclus insisted, but Achilles gave him a long knowing look. Patroclus let out a deep sigh. He must let go of his worries, Achilles had trusted Patroclus in the past, and now it was Patroclus’ turn to do the same. “I am just- what if your father does not like me? I mean, the real me.”

“My father loves you,” Achilles answered with a certain smile. “You have to calm yourself. Enjoy the dinner and the presence of me and my people. If you will be on your best behavior I promise to give you a little present tonight.”

Patroclus frowned. “A present?” 

Achilles face brightened, all dimples and glistening eyes. “You are not the only one who receives secret visits from the Goddesses. Someone gave me a little blessing for everything you have done in Troy. Guess you just have to wait and see what it is.”

“Wait, a Goddess, Achilles what are you even talking-”

Patroclus was so flustered that did not get to finish his sentence when the convoy of five men on horseback approached them. Patroclus recognized their armor and the emblems of their sigils, similar if not identical to the Myrmidons he saw during the campaign in Troy. 

“Prince Achilles!” they saluted at once. Patroclus greeted them, his heart hammering loudly against his chest as anxiety of going inside the city slowly filled up his body.

Achilles felt at ease with them. He chatted and laughed easily with the soldiers as they rode through the city gate. The moment they entered Phthia, Patroclus was swept away by the lush celebrations bustling through the busy streets. 

“You returned just in time for the festivities to begin!” one of the soldiers exclaimed, their horses moving through the narrow city streets, recognizing the smell of food and wine in the air which made Patroclus’ head heady. 

Hera would be content with such rituals, Patroclus thought as he looked around, noticing people dancing and singing, the oil lamps burning bright and the air thick with animal blood and something sweet mixed in it, upon which Patroclus could not quite put a finger on. 

The palace of King Peleus was built on a hill overlooking the city. The massive marble structure made Patroclus swallow nervously as it came to his line of sight. The palace appeared even more grandiose as they entered through the large gates. The heavy white columns supported the high floor, with wide corridors and massive balconies overlooking the glimpse of the dark ocean. Patroclus did not even have the time to react or to get used to his surroundings before a sworn of servants surrounded him, tugging him to the side the moment he stepped foot inside the palace.

“They are going to wash you and give you fresh clothes,” Achilles explained quickly before kissing Patroclus on the lips. “I will see you at the dinner. Remember, don’t be anxious. Everything will go well and-”

“And be on my best behavior, got it,” Patroclus finished quickly. Achilles gave him a sly wink before he was whisked away to the quarters where the prince lived and for the first time in a long while Patroclus found himself entirely on his own. 

Patroclus gave himself over to the servants who circled around him. They said something about him needing to take a long a bath before he was allowed to see the King. He had to take time to get ready because meeting King Peleus was a great honor and even if Patroclus made a name for himself ruing the war he was still expected to be in best attire before the royal family. If Patroclus wanted to make a good impression after a long time of being away, he had to be wearing his best garments.

Patroclus’ body was winded up in anticipation, but when he was shaved, oiled and had the cream-colored toga put on him, Patroclus did, in fact, feel much better and almost .. like his old self. 

When he looked straight at his reflection Patroclus felt a little like a stranger. His skin was darker, the time spent under the brutal sun reflecting on his face and arms, and his hair was a little longer and curled tightly at his nape. His face was sharp, and his jaw prominently defined, with the shadow of the aftershave, darkening on his cheeks and chin. He looked older, and a little broader, his chest and his back must have been filled out during the times of war. He knew he was taller than Achilles, and he was aware of the difference in the size especially when they were in bed together and how easy it was for Patroclus to encompass Achilles’ frame in his arms, but seeing how much larger Patroclus was made his belly hot and tight with anticipation of seeing Achilles again tonight.

“They are ready for you,” one of the guards told him, leading Patroclus along what must have been the direction towards the Throne Hall. 

As he walked down the palace’s long corridors, Patroclus was met with nods of recognition and polite greetings. He was utterly unused to it; having to hide in shadows in Troy, and worry about the safety of Helen in Myecene, made Phthia seem almost like a safe heaven. 

Patroclus heard the sounds emerging from the Throne Room from afar. The palace was busy with the rushing guests and servants who were coming in and out of the multiple rooms. There were sounds of music and loud conversations all around him, and Patroclus grew more nervous the closer he got towards the Throne Room.

Patroclus took a deep calming breath before walking inside the large hall of the palace. The swarm of people inside made his vision grow blurry. Patroclus tried to remember that he was here only for the king and his family, and he will have enough time to get used to the lives of the people around him. There would be more dinners like this, and more songs and dances Patroclus could join in. For now, he must focus on Peleus. 

The Throne Room was well lit and bright and Patroclus’ eyes spotted the King from the moment he entered the room. 

Peleus stood at the front, his tall frame difficult to miss amongst the disarray of guests. Patroclus straightened his back and walked through the Hall towards Peleus with his head held high. Patroclus stepped closer to the King, his form followed by the hushed whispers and muffled conversations. Patroclus did not pay them any attention. Because beneath the Throne, just a step away from Peleus, stood Achilles.

Patroclus’ mouth turned dry when he made contact with the other boy. Achilles was wearing deep purple garments which suited well with his golden skin. Achilles’ usual unruly golden curls were put up in a lavish hairstyle leaving his neck and collarbones exposed to the leering eyes. Patroclus took in the bare sight of Achilles’ slim calves and the gentle slope of his toes. In a brief time that Patroclus had not seen him, Achilles transformed into a Godlike Prince of the myths which Patroclus so loved to read as a child. 

“Patroclus,” the looming voice of the King distracted Patroclus was ogling at Achilles so openly. “Come in here. I prayed to the Gods that the day when I can see both of you by my side will come soon.”

“My King,” Patroclus lowered his head in greeting and he huffed in surprise when Peleus took in in a strong embrace. Patroclus felt the King patting him on his back and Patroclus hesitantly did the same as he lifted his arms to wrap them around the old man’s shoulders. He was thin but tall, and his limbs were long and lithe, and when he stepped away to glance at Patroclus fully, Patroclus saw the weight of age in his face. 

“Words cannot describe how glad I am to see you,” Peleus’ voice broke into hushed whisper, his eyes a little gassy, and Patroclus realized with mild horror that the King was almost crying. “You have grown into a fine man, Patroclus. Thank you. Thank you for keeping his safe.”

Patroclus did not know whether he was expected to smile or cry as he looked into the King’s face. There was no denying however to the storm of emotions sweeping inside of him which made him feel almost overwhelmed. He was grateful when he felt Achilles touch his lower back, guiding him towards the table that was set with bread, wine, cheeses and variety of meats, the amount of food enough to feed an army.

“Let him go, Father,” Achilles scolded him gently, tugging at Patroclus’ elbow. “Patroclus is hungry after the journey. There would be other times for sentiments.”

Peleus must have agreed because the next thing Patroclus knew, he was sitting on one of the chairs, a servant pouring wine in his cup and Achilles was right beside him plopping a grape inside his mouth.

“You look delicious enough to eat,” Achilles drawled and Patroclus glanced at him with wide eyes. Now that they were close Patroclus could see that Achilles skin was flushed and there was dusty gold-like glitter on top of his eyelids. When Patroclus glanced at his mouth, Patroclus noticed with a gradual heat pooling at his stomach that Achilles lips were bright, pink and somehow glossy under light of the lamps.

“Are you wearing makeup?” Patroclus asked instead, feeling so captivated by Achilles’ face that he forgot that he should look away unless his staring would make the people around them uncomfortable.

“Makeup?” Achilles repeated slowly, tasting the foreign word on his tongue, as he chewed on another grape. “What is that?”

Patroclus head turned blank and then he cleared his throat. “Nothing, it is just, you look very pretty tonight. You always do look pretty but there is something about you that just makes you look well-,” Patroclus thought of Achilles’ comment and grinned a little, “delicious.”

Achilles laughed, a boisterous sound that felt so fitted to the high excitement that filled the room. “I told it I got the blessing from the Goddess. This disguise is one of them. Do you like it?”

Patroclus nodded his head a little over enthusiastically. “Very much.”

“I am glad,” Achilles leaned a little in his seat, looking at at Patroclus from beneath his golden lashes. When he spoke, his voice was low and sultry and it did something to Patroclus’ brain that he could not look away from Achilles’ green eyes. If he looked too close he could see the sparks of gold dancing in them and it felt so familiar that Patroclus chest squeezed tight. “Because this is not the only gift she gave me.”

“What is the other one?” Patroclus asked, but his words were coming out raspy and harsh. 

“I am wearing in beneath my garments,” Achilles replied teasingly, straightening his back and bitting a piece cheese, licking the honey off his fingers. “Guess you will have to undress me if you want to get a glimpse of it.”

Patroclus was truly losing his patience. He had only just arrived at the dinner, but now he wanted to pull Achilles close and push him into the nearest dark corner to have his way with him. His pained thoughts must have been expressed strongly on his face because Achilles noticed his expression, his eyes light and mischievous.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

“Achilles!” Patroclus gasped in slight shock. “I only have just got here. Your father-“

Patroclus glanced to where the King was sitting but Peleus was in light spirits, talking to one of his advisors, his wine cup filled to the brim, and his laughter echoing loudly across the hall. 

“Won’t mind,” Achilles finished the phrase. “Let’s go. No one is going to notice.”

Patroclus breathed in sharply. He did not even feel bad when he escaped the feast, with Achilles laughing and tugging him down the dark corridors of the palace, away from the songs and dances, and into the intimacy only they have known and shared.

*** 

Achilles’ rooms were almost the same to how Patroclus had envisioned them inside his head. High ceilings and large windows opened the view of the quiet beach, with the sea echoing in rumbling waves at the distance. The bedroom smelt like ocean air and salt, and Patroclus would not have it any other way. The night was dark but the moon was large and bright in the clear sky, so it made the room lit up with soft silver lighting. There were candles lit around the bed, some on the floor and someone on the desk standing beside the stone walls. It was quiet; only because the large balcony doors were parted wide open could Patroclus hear the distant noise of the festival outside.

Achilles took Patroclus’ face in between the palms of his hands and turned it gently towards him, away from the open windows and the sea, but towards the dark green intensity of Achilles’ eyes. There was something about the other boy, almost divine, and his skin felt as if it was glowing in the darkness. Patroclus wondered if it was another blessing of the unknown Goddess but Achilles’ lips covered his own and Patroclus’ mind turned empty from any concrete thoughts. 

Achilles’ mouth was soft and pliant under Patroclus’ touch. Achilles’ hands moved down across Patroclus’ arms, caressing his hot skin and wrapping around Patroclus’ neck to bring their bodies close, chests touching leaving not an inch of space between them. 

Patroclus moaned when Achilles’ sharp teeth bit down on his bottom lip, brushing it softly with his tongue almost in an apology, and then tugging Patroclus gently in the direction of the bed. Patroclus did not notice the soft mattress beneath him before he landed on his backside, Achilles’ body looming over him.

Patroclus hands brushed the back of Achilles’ thighs, pulling him close, so that Achilles was nearly straddling his lap. 

“You look divine tonight,” Patroclus whispered, leaving fleeting kisses down the column of Achilles’ throat.

Achilles laughed, soft and airy like a giggle, and squirmed a little on Patroclus’ lap. His arousal was rubbing intently across Patroclus’ stomach and there was something primal brewing in Patroclus’ Chest at how needy Achilles was acting for him, how desperate they were both for the closeness of each other’s touch. 

“Undress me,” Achilles whispered hotly against Patroclus’ lips. Patroclus did not question Achilles’ demand, when he lifted his arms to untie the complex knots of Achilles’ garments, letting the purple fabric pool like fine silk on the ground beneath them.

What Patroclus found underneath left him a little speechless with his jaw hanging half open. 

Instead of his usual undergarments, Achilles wore the silver straps of fabric, thin and glistening, clinging sinfully to the arousal between Achilles’ legs. The clothing was smooth to the touch and almost translucent in the moon light, and it was decorated with lace around the edges, bitting into the soft flesh of Achilles’ hips. Patroclus’ mouth watered at the erotic sight.

“Fuck,” he whispered because no way was this happening in real life. 

Patroclus had never experienced so much desire towards another person in his life. It was hidden somewhere at the back of his mind, someplace dark and shameful; he refused to admit how much he craved to see his partner wearing the tiniest lace and some makeup, how Patroclus needed to fuck them well and deep into willful submission, crying and begging for Patroclus to keep making them feel good. Never in a million years could Patroclus ever imagine this fantasy coming true in real life.

“Do you like them?” Achilles asked, his voice unnaturally small and shy, and Patroclus nearly cooed because of how uncertain he sounded. 

“I love them,” Patroclus whispered, molten heat coiling in his stomach as he pressed a kiss on top of Achilles’ nose making him giggle. “You look gorgeous, love.”

Patroclus could not keep his hands away from Achilles’ thighs. He brushed the soft skin as he traced the hem of the fabric. They looked like the tiniest panties that Patroclus had ever seen. He was sure there must have been a proper Ancient Greek word for this item of clothing but Patroclus could not care less about it at the moment, tracing the lace with the rough pads of his fingertips. 

Achilles smelled so good like honey and something floral and Patroclus almost wanted to sink his teeth in him and never let go. 

“Let me make you feel good, sweetheart,” he whispered into Achilles mouth, as their lips met in a long kiss, gripping Achilles tightly by his thighs so he could flip the other boy over on to his back. 

Achilles let out a soft sound at being manhandled so roughly and Patroclus was determined to bring more sinful noises out of him by the end of the night.  

Patroclus could never get enough of seeing Achilles splayed underneath him. Patroclus wanted to take his time kissing every inch of Achilles’ body, from his dusty pink nipples down to his tight stomach to the pressing length which tainted the thin fabric of his little panties. 

The contrast between the silver silk and the golden skin of Achilles thighs made Patroclus swallow harshly, as he felt his blood boiling at the alluring sight. His eyes were drawn the wet spot on the silk, but no matter how much Patroclus wanted to put his mouth on Achilles’ arousal, there was something tempting him even more.

He leaned down, settling comfortably between Achilles’ spread thighs as he heard a soft breathless sigh which erupted from Achilles’ chest. “What- Patroclus, wait-”

There was a long mewl coming from Achilles’ lips when Patroclus’ fingers reached to tug the flimsy fabric to the side, opening the mouthwatering view of Achilles’ pink clenching hole. Patroclus pressed a kiss on the insides of Achilles thigh before he moved to press another chaste kiss closer to the pink opening, which tempted him with how shy it was curling, almost in anticipation, around painful nothing.

“Patroclus this is embarrassing,” Achilles’ cried prettily above him, but he was still aroused and his fingers twisted in Patroclus’ curls, unconsciously pulling him closer towards the place where Patroclus’ mouth wanted to be the most.

Patroclus let out a soft rumble from his chest, when he pulled Achilles by the back of his thighs, letting his face bury inside Achilles’ tempting heat. It was a crime that he had not done it sooner, but having Achilles spread before him on his childhood bed while Patroclus was eating him out like a man starved was better than any feast that he could ever imagine. 

Achilles’ hole was clenching tightly around his tongue, and by the soft needy gasps above his head Patroclus knew that he was not the only one who was enjoying himself. Achilles tasted sweet and tangy on his tongue and Patroclus felt that no matter how much time he spent burried between Achilles’ plush thighs he could never get enough. 

Achilles always took everything that Patroclus had to give him so well. His tongue, his fingers, his cock. At the thought of Achilles’ tight heat squeezing around his length, Patroclus grew horribly lightheaded. 

“Please- fuck, my love, I want you inside me,” Achilles gasped trying to catch his breath, but Patroclus wanted to see him come apart on his tongue. There was something raw in watching Achilles giving in to pleasure that made Patroclus’ pride grow with satisfaction; knowing it was him who made this beautiful boy come apart, and that it was Patroclus who could put him back together again.

Achilles spilled on his stomach with a whorish moan. It made excitement coil inside Patroclus’ belly but he ignored it because there were more grave matters to concern oneself with, such as putting Achilles’ needs before his own. Patroclus barely had the time to lift his body up when he was pushed right onto his back with Achilles leaning over him, his eyes glimmering in the darkness of the room.

Achilles’ mouth was on him in a moment, and Patroclus could not get enough of Achilles’ tongue and his wet lips, and when Achilles squirmed above him, rubbing his ass against Patroclus’ rock-hard arousal he moaned, low and grunted. 

“Let me make you feel good too,” Achilles whispered against Patroclus’ mouth, his hole wet and ready from Patroclus’ spit, as Achilles reached behind to free Patroclus from the confinements of his clothes.

Patroclus’ hands caressed Achilles on the soft dips on his waist, his hands moving down to press gently at his naval, when Achilles’ mouth parted in soft circle shape, feeling the tip of Patroclus cock rubbing against his dripping hole.

“You are going to hurt yourself, love,” Patroclus muttered, trying to help Achilles to ease in but he batted Patroclus’ hand away, giving him a sharp heated look.

“I want to do it on my own,” Achilles panted with a slight pout, making Patroclus roll his eyes a little at his attitude. Patroclus hissed when Achilles let the tip slide inside, and he held his breath, holding the bedsheets tightly between his clenched fingers so he would not do something stupid like grip Achilles’ by his hips and slam fully inside the tempting heat.

“So big,” Achilles sobbed wetly almost in wonder, as let his rim open up to accommodate the thick girth of Patroclus’ cock. Achilles moved painfully slow, sitting himself back on Patroclus’ hard length trying to muffle his whimpers by bitting into his pink full lips, but when his ass fully sat back on Patroclus’ hips they both could not hold back the longing moan. 

“Feel so tight,” Patroclus spoke slumbering his words, as he rubbed Achilles’ back in long soothing motions. “Such a good boy for me.”

Achilles made a pitiful sound. He leaned forward, squeezing so tightly around Patroclus that he could not hold back a sharp inhale at being nested so deeply inside Achilles. 

Patroclus’ hands lifted to grip tightly into Achilles’ waist. “I can move us now.”

“No,” Achilles shook his head, his face flushed and red, a few loose curls falling apart from the fancy hairstyle he had for the night. Patroclus’ chest squeezed tenderly at the sight. “I want to do it. Please, I wanted for so long.”

Patroclus could not hold back a chuckle that he let out from his chest, but he did not protest, letting Achilles’ get used to the feeling of Patroclus inside of him. He could only wrap his hands around the other boy, nuzzling into the warm sweet neck. 

Patroclus pressed a comforting kiss on Achilles temple, and traced his lips lower, bitting Achilles on his earlobe as he sensed that Achilles started to grind his hips, moving painfully slowly, but picking the pace as he got used to the fullness and stretch of Patroclus’ cock. 

Achilles always took so much during their time together; he never did anything half heartedly and Patroclus could sense it now, when Achilles grew more comfortable and confident in riding Patroclus with graceful movements of his hips. Achilles arched his back, Patroclus’ hands falling natural on the curve of his spine. 

The wet sounds of them jointing together were ringing inside Patroclus’ head but he could not get enough, and he raised his hips to match Achilles’ pace, both of them growing sweaty and hot from desire. 

“Please,” Achilles made a strangled sound as he lowered himself fully on Patroclus’ cock, the stretch of his tight hole making Patroclus groan. “This is- ugh, so good.”

“Feeling tired pretty?” Patroclus growled against Achilles’ reddened ear, feeling how Achilles was growing lax in his arms, letting Patroclus move on his own, helping Achilles to bounce up and down on his cock like a little ragdoll, hitting against the swell of his prostate that turned Achilles body putty in his arms. “Let me help you, let me make you cum.”

“Want to make you feel good too,” Achilles slumbered a little, his forehead touching Patroclus’ own as their lips met in a harsh kiss, all teeth and tongue, as Patroclus’ hips moved rougher, his desire building like tight knots at his stomach. 

“You are-,” Patroclus whispered, trying to get more of Achilles’ heat, craving it as Achilles’ squeezed tightly around him, “making me feel so good. You always do. My love, my heart, want to have you like this all the time.”

Achilles’ moans turned into wanton cries and Patroclus felt a sharp tightening around his cock, at the same time as he felt himself cum from the arousing pressure, spilling inside the warm and wet hole, knowing that Achilles’ cum was sticky and messy between their stomachs. 

Achilles’ grew soft in his arms, and he let himself be coddled close to Patroclus chest, all pleased purrs and soft breaths.

Patroclus rubbed Achilles against his back, softening inside Achilles’ hole. Pleasant silence filled their room, as neither wanted to move from the comfortable space on the bad.

“Let’s get you comfortable sweetheart,” Patroclus wanted to shuffle both of them on the bed but Achilles refused, clinging to Patroclus like a little koala.

“Want to stay like this,” Achilles muttered, and who was Patroclus to argue with him. 

“Guess we should give this unknown Goddess our gratitude,” Patroclus spoke lowly, as his fingers tugged on the string of the panties, still hanging off Achilles’ hips. Achilles made a low noise of agreeing.

A short comfortable silence stretched through the room. Achilles’ body moved closer to Patroclus as he wrapped his hands around Patroclus’ neck. Patroclus felt himself slip out of Achilles’ hole, but he knew it won’t be long before Achilles would grow needy to fill it inside him again. 

“It was the Goddess of Love,” he whispered into Patroclus shoulder, kissing Patroclus on the edge of his jaw. “She wanted to bless our union, so I agreed. I am happy you liked it.”

Patroclus moved to look Achilles in his eyes, as he whipped the traces of tears of his cheeks and could lift his chin to place a kiss on his mouth. 

“It was the best I gift ever,” Patroclus smiled. “We will go do the sacrifices tomorrow. I think Hera would grow angry if I make her wait any longer.”

Achilles nodded, his head bobbing adorably. “I will show you around Phthia. We can go swimming in the afternoon. We can spend as much time together as we want. Just like before.”

The yearning in Achilles’ voice was enough to make Patroclus’ heart melt. Achilles was right. They have got all the time together in the world. 

He was still hard, he realized almost shamefully, and the longing look which Achilles was throwing his way from beneath his long blond eyelashes did not help him to calm down the raging desire burning in the pit of his stomach. 

They were fine. They were together. Patroclus moved before he knew was he was doing, Achilles opening his arms to welcome him close. 

“I love you,” Patroclus spoke, moving to pin Achilles down beneath him, lifting his leg to sliding back into the tight wet heat, and it felt that in the dark of the room those words passed somewhere far away, past the realms of time and space, their eyes catching the reflection of each other, as Achilles whispered the confession against Patroclus’ mouth, their hearts beating in synch one more.  

Chapter Text

Patroclus woke up to an unusual sound. Never in his life had he heard anything like this before. His first thought was that it was a part of his dream. It took Patroclus a long time to stir in his bed, turning over onto his back, and realizing that no, he was not imagining it, — the sound was real and it was coming at him from his left-hand side.

The sound was beeping angrily next to his ear. Patroclus frowned with his eyes closed and reached his arm into the empty space to try and figure out how to silence it. But no matter how far he stretched his hand, Patroclus could not find the shape of an object that was making an alarmingly consistent beep-beep-beep.

Patroclus slowly opened his eyes. There was a heaviness in his body almost as if he was waking up after a night of intense drinking. His memory was scrambled; his head was pounding but he knew that he was lying on something warm and soft. His head was resting on the pillow and his body was covered by the blanket which was much thicker than anything he had ever owned.

Patroclus looked up at the strange white ceiling above him, frowning. He did not remember going to bed in any place other than his own tent.

Panic was slowly seizing control of his body as he tried to recall the events of the previous night.

Odysseus came over to their camp, he wished to speak to Achilles and he wanted him to stop being stubborn and return to battle since the Trojans were closing in on their camp. Patroclus recalled how frustrated he was at Achilles for being so incredibly bull-headed and refusing to even consider the idea of fighting to protect his people. They argued Patroclus remembered; they argued so hard as never before in their whole life. Patroclus did not know why he was so angry, but the fury simply blinded him when he stormed out of Achilles’ tent into the plains of Anatolia, walking away, just hoping that his feet would carry him far from the impending disaster that way awaiting their camp.

That was the last clear recollection he had of the night before. Everything else after the incident appeared to be in a blur and when Patroclus tried to put the pieces of his memory together, he felt sick and lightheaded, as if at any moment he might throw up.

The beeping stopped for a moment. Patroclus was grateful because if it went any longer his head might have exploded.

Patroclus blinked rapidly as he looked around. The room felt familiar and entirely strange all at the same time. The curtains were drawn shut but Patroclus could see the sun rays picking through the grey blinds. He sat up, staring confused at a large bed. He was most certainly in what looked like another person’s bedroom. There was a bedside table, a wardrobe standing by the white wall and even the blankets with linen sheets shuffled across the bed.

The beeping resumed and Patroclus patted the blanket trying to see where it was coming from. It took him a short while to figure out that it was a result of a bright screen with numbers on it. Patroclus stared at the rectangular object at the palm of his hand, growing more and more confused.

For a moment he felt utterly scared.

He was completely sure that he was not at the camp anymore, and he was most certainly not in Troy. Patroclus did not know how or why he ended up in this strange bedroom. He had barely any time to collect his thoughts before he sprang out of bed and rushed out, staring stricken by shock at the rest of the .. room?

It was not large by any means but it was nothing that Patroclus had ever seen before. As he looked around he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the large full-body mirror on the opposite wall. He looked carefully at his own dishevelled look with disbelief. It was still the same him , Patroclus could not be deceived by his own reflection in the mirror, but something about him felt unfamiliar as if Patroclus was facing a completely different version of himself.

Patroclus studied his face and hair; sure, he looked a little bit younger but nothing about his features stood out too strongly for Patroclus to start doubting his own identity. He had the same curly hair and tanned skin, his eyes harboured the familiar darkness to them that Patroclus grew accustomed to over the years.

Patroclus walked around in circles between the different rooms, pacing almost like a caged animal. By pure luck he figured out how to turn off the frustrating sound of the bright screen by pressing the different images, but that did not stop Patroclus from growing agitated. There were all these strange furnishing pieces he kept bumping into and books and papers scattered over the flat surfaces of the room.

Patroclus woke up in another man’s home, but for some odd reason, Patroclus did not feel as if he did not belong there.

He had no idea where he was or what was happening to him. Patroclus wanted to seek out answers but his mind was blank and refused to remember anything that was not related to Troy or the battlefield or the war.

Patroclus grew tired with himself after a while. Patroclus washed his face hoping to bring some clarity to his mind. He browsed through his closet but it was filled with unfamiliar items like dozens of short-sleeved shirts and long-legged pants. He got dressed in the first thing that he pulled out, a dark blue shirt and brown trousers. The clothes felt too tight on his body but he decided this was a better choice than going out in public completely naked.

He could not stay confined to the tiny space of the room, Patroclus decided. He was growing restless stumbling over the unknown objects and Patroclus felt vaguely faint as he grew the courage to step outside, following the long corridors and walking down the stairs towards the unknown.

The weather was warm. The sun was bright and Patroclus squinted as he looked at the sky.

Patroclus could not describe the emotions that swept over him as he stepped into the streets. The closest word he could put on them was dread. He staggered at his step turning his head from one side to gawk opened eyed at the streets around him. There were large buildings, most of them constructed in square-shaped form, with triangle roofs and large windows; there was loud noise coming from everywhere and all the people that Patroclus encountered on his way were smiling and murmuring the conversations which seemed to go over Patroclus’ head.

Patroclus was definitely not in Troy anymore. When he went out he was almost immediately knocked off his feet by a fast-moving vehicle with two wheels. He heard a loud cursing directed towards him and Patroclus started to feel truly frightened.

What was happening to him?

Patroclus could barely make a few steps before he ran into something he had never seen before. People, who smiled at him cheerfully, overly playful dogs who tried to nuzzle into his knees with their owners unhurriedly following after them, more two-wheeled vehicles which made frustrating ringing sounds when Patroclus ended up walking in their lane, or the loud-spoken voices around him. Nothing about this was like the city life to which Patroclus was used to.

Everything was moving so rapidly fast that Patroclus barely had the time to react to the changing world around him.

“Patroclus!”

The voice came from behind his back. It was the only thing that Patroclus thought before he let out a sigh in between relief and mild hysteria. He was too overwhelmed to feel surprised by her sudden presence. He did not know how long had passed since he heard it last, but seeing Briseis again made Patroclus feel as if not all about this strange world was completely unknown.

Briseis looked almost the same as Patroclus remembered. She had familiar dark eyes and a soft smile which comforted Patroclus a little. The only thing which stood out to him was her short shoulder-length hair and the clothes which definitely did not look like something Briseis had worn in the past. She had a long skirt and some sort of shirt, but giving one look at the garments was enough for Patroclus to fall into deeper confusion about where in the Hells did he woke up at.

“Patroclus, hi,” she smiled, her breath slightly laboured from hurrying across the street to meet him. “I’m so happy I ran into you. How is the work going on your paper?”

All of his determination to ask Briseis about their past completely disappeared from Patroclus’ mind. He saw himself as if from outside his body, him standing in the middle of busy road, with Briseis looking excitedly up at him as if they have known each other for the longest time before, and here was Patroclus his mouth slack, his eyes wide and his gaze lost in confusion.

It was not a pretty picture.

Patroclus was already regretting leaving the safety of his room. At least he could have done better at figuring out what kind of person his other self was before Patroclus somehow ended up in his body.

Patroclus swallowed nervously. “I- yes.”

He thought, if he was going to keep his answers short and simple perhaps Patroclus could learn more about the world around him. He was enormously grateful for Briseis who kept talking enthusiastically about words such as “essay,” “professor” and “research” which separately made sense to Patroclus but put together into long sentences, which Briseis spoke with clear dedication, it seemed to Patroclus that she was speaking a different language.

It felt weird. It was almost as if Briseis had known Patroclus from before, while for him she remained a complete stranger.

“Should we get coffee together? I am starving and we have some spare time before the class starts.”

Patroclus nodded his head, only vaguely knowing what he was agreeing to. His stomach twisted in hunger. He skipped breakfast in the morning but that was because Patroclus could not find the familiar food in the cupboards except for some stale white bread. Patroclus would be grateful to take a break and sit somewhere and just get his mind to stop thinking for a moment. All the wandering around made him exhausted.

Patroclus lifted his head, trying to read the signs on the buildings. He was feeling so lost he thought he was going to break down, but instead, his eyes were glued to the letters “cafe” placed together at the top of a small building. His eyes drifted on to the groups of people who were sitting tightly together at round tables, drinking and eating with one another. Patroclus could only assume that this was some sort of eating area and judging by Briseis’ words of them getting breakfast this was where Patroclus could find something to eat.

“It’s pretty busy this morning huh?” Briseis laughed, opening the door and stepping inside.

Patroclus hesitated slightly before going in. He had never seen so many people clustered together in such a small space.

There was a line of people waiting for their food and Patroclus stood behind them, his heart thumping slowly against his chest. The line moved fast, and Briseis was still chatting before she stopped and waved towards someone, who called out her name from the other side of the crowded room.

Briseis gave Patroclus a slow pat on his shoulder. “I will go say hi to Cass! You go ahead to order and I will see you at the table okay?”

Patroclus nodded absently although he did feel as if losing Briseis in the crowd of people left his more or less exposed. Patroclus hoped to ask for her for advice on what to order, so it did came as a bit of a shock when Patroclus appeared to be standing before a long stretched sideways table.

“Good morning. What can I get for you?” a girl, roughly around Patroclus’ age, smiled at him pleasantly. Patroclus stared at her blankly. Was he supposed to tell her what he wanted? Patroclus glanced up at the options written above her and picked the first one.

“I will have a turkey sandwich,” he spoke slowly, the unusual letters falling into clear sentences inside Patroclus’ head. He just hoped that the girl would understand his slight stutter without any difficulties. She clicked on the screen before her and looked up at Patroclus again.

“Anything else?” Patroclus tensed at the question and shook his head. “Wonderful, that would be ten dollars fifty please.”

Patroclus breathing halted. Was he supposed to pay too? He had no money on him and Patroclus was about to decline his meal altogether when a voice too painfully familiar sounded from behind him.

“I got him, Angie. Can I get one oat milk latte and your BLT please?” a boy stood next to Patroclus as the girl nodded quickly and placed the order. “I will pay, don’t worry about it.”

The boy smiled and turned to Patroclus who could not control the loud sound of his beating heart. His vision turned dark for a moment, and Patroclus had to steady himself over the edge of the table, otherwise his body was going to simply collapse right in front of everyone. 

It was him, there was no denying that. The same blond hair, same green eyes, same freckles, and the same smile. Achilles was standing right beside him and Patroclus could not tear his eyes away from him.

If this was Achilles from now, then what has happened to the Achilles from the past?

The thought fled Patroclus’ mind as quickly as it appeared.

“Thank you,” Patroclus heard himself say as if the voice was not his own.

“No worries. We have all been there before,” the boy said somewhat mischievously as he studied Patroclus’ face with undivided attention. “Have we met? I mean your voice sounded familiar, but now that I look at it, I feel like I have totally seen you before. You might be in one of my classes, but I don’t seem to remember. Sorry if it sounds weird, it is just I got this strong deja vu when I heard you speak,” the boy nodded as they walked to the side waiting for their food. “My name is Achilles, by the way,” he reached his hand. Patroclus glanced down at it with uncertainty.

He shook his head slowly. In this world, they appeared to be strangers. Patroclus did not like how hollow his stomach felt as he took Achilles’ palm into a weak handshake.

“I am Patroclus.”

“Patroclus,” Achilles spoke slowly, tasting the vowels on his tongue. The moment he said it, Patroclus felt the ground disappear from beneath his feet.

It was him . Patroclus could not stop staring at the familiar green eyes. He could not shake off the feeling that if he looked into Achilles’ eyes hard enough he might remember perhaps even a glimpse of them. Instead, Achilles kept studying him with a fascinated look, just like the one you would give when meeting a handsome stranger.

“I will remember it. It feels strange, right, we probably ran into each other on campus once, but I can’t shake off this feeling as if we totally met before.”

“Yes,” Patroclus whispered quietly. He cleared his throat. “Very strange.”

Achilles smiled at Patroclus. Patroclus stared as if hypnotized at the dimples on Achilles’ cheeks. “What is your major? Although most of my lectures are pretty small, and I definitely would have remembered a face like yours.”

Patroclus tried to get his brain to work. His major? What in the name of the Gods was that? He thought back to the countless textbooks back in the room he woke up in, the papers stuck to his wall with random words and numbers which made little sense to Patroclus.

He was about to open his mouth and reply with some complete nonsense when Bresis thankfully appeared right by his side.

“Patroclus! Did you manage to get everything?” Patroclus turned his head. Bresis came out to them and her eyes rested on Achilles, “hello. Sorry, I did not mean to interrupt the two of you.”

“It is alright,” there was something in Achilles’ crooked smile that made Patroclus’ chest hurt. “We were just chatting. I have to go now anyway, but it was a pleasure to meet you. I will see you around, Patroclus.”

Patroclus did not think his heart could beat any faster. He could swear there was sweat gathering at his temples, and for a moment Patroclus feared that he was going to simply pass out.

This could not be happening.

“Do you know this guy?” Bresis asked, her brows slightly raised. She was curious about Achilles too, but she did not know who he was. Patroclus did not know what to make of it.

Patroclus felt his whole body stay horribly still. “No. I don’t think so.”

Despite the words, he couldn’t stop following Achilles’ straight back with his eyes. His presence made others smile at him and when Achilles was surrounded by his companions he twisted his head slightly to the side, and Patroclus almost imagined him throwing one last glance at Patroclus’ direction. His heart was trembling, and his hands were shaking so much he had to hide them in the pockets of his trousers to hide his rising anxiety away from Bresis’ eyes.

“Alright. Should we try and find a spot for us to sit then? We have about an hour before our class.”

Patroclus did not know what he replied but he did end up sitting next to Bresis, his appetite all but gone. He stared at the unusual food and the only thing that made him finish the whole plate was that Achilles had offered to pay for it.

When he listened to Bresis he could not shake off the feeling that he needed to get up and run after Achilles before he would disappear.

Patroclus thought he was being childish. They were in this strange world together. They ended up meeting once again, perhaps by accident, or perhaps by fate. Patroclus won’t repeat the same mistake twice. If this was the new reality, Patroclus needed to quickly grow to accept it.

He found Achilles again. This time he was going to do everything right. He was going to save them both, and no prophecies were going to change their fate. For now, Patroclus thought, planning how else he was going to run into Achilles again, this was going to be enough.