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It’s been too long since he’s had to do something like this, care for a baby that is. It’s been too long since he held a child like this, nurtured one in such a way, he’s missed it.
He’s never quite figured out what to do with himself after learning what he did of the Titan. Of his Prince and Beloved. He tried not to let that void open again, tried to remind himself that this situation was just a bit different from the last. It hurt all the same, being alone again, but at least now he did not tuck himself into any corner he saw fit and push anyone away. He allowed himself to stay strong rather than sulk in his crude shell of emotions and memories.
If anything, he was more put out than he was sad. For the Titan to come in and interrupt the eternity he had with his beloved. This time Achilles was truly snatched from him, and that alone was enough to keep his head up high and try his best to help with what he could for the Headmistress against the Titan, and that involved raising the baby princess, the Little Sprout herself, Melinoë.
The princess brought to him a happiness he thought he wouldn’t be able to have again unless Achilles returned to him. She was energetic and giddy, a benightedly and ironically happy baby. She was just like her brother. Good, Patroclus thought, she deserved all the content she could get despite all the circumstances against her.
As the veteran watched the infant sleep against his chest, a full belly driving her exhaustion, he began to be reminded of a baby who used to look exactly like this when she slept. So peace and radiant. A baby whose mannerism did not much differ from that of the Princess’.
Mel reminded him so much of Myrto. His sister was a delight to have around, he remembers when she was first born. It was a rocky road at first, Patroclus would never forget it, that would have been the time his Mother had passed on due to the intensity of the birth. He remembers growing weary of his mother’s absence by not being able to see her for so long. He had been told multiple times that he wouldn’t be able to see her for some time. He managed at first but eventually it had gotten much too long for his liking, so he figured that he’d just go to her himself without the order of his father or anyone. If he got in trouble, so be it, his mother would know his true intentions and all would be alright. She’d protect him.
He’d seen the nurse and his father speaking right outside of the room his mother was in before he heard them, he never cared to stay too long in the presence of his father if he could help it, so he only heard spatters of what was being said, and he heard enough to know no good seemed to be coming from what was going on behind that wall. He’d slipped into the room past them and went to where he saw his mother lying.
Patroclus climbed up onto the bedding, seeing that Philomela was asleep, her breathing seemed timely and labored.
"Máma," He whispered. He used a finger to sweep away a curl that was stuck to her forehead due to sweat. It wasn’t until the second time he called her when her eyes fluttered open. It must have taken her time to realize that it was Patroclus calling her, she did not react to him immediately.
"Patroclus," She gasped, "Oh, my heart, you shouldn't be here." You shouldn’t have to see me like this. If it was a scold but it sounded far from it, she remained soft-spoken and light. Plus, there was a small hint of a smile on her face despite her exhaustion. She was happy to see him.
"I was worried. 'Missed you."
"Ah, it’s been long, then. I hadn’t realized." Philomela relaxed again, sighing as the tension left her body, the phantom pressure still remained. "I’m sorry if I scared you, Kardoula mou, I would never mean to." She weakly lifted her hand to his cheek with Patroclus falling right into the warmth of her flesh, she felt soft, like the petal of a lotus after it’s poured, she was still a little damp from sweat.
"Have you seen her yet, your new sister?" Patroclus shook his head, and Mela kissed her teeth knowingly, "Go on, child, she’s just there. In the bassinet, go see her."
Patroclus begrudgingly got up from his spot next to his mother, upset that he was out of her comfort — but it all began to wash away with a new feeling of curiosity as he neared the bassinet.
He got close enough to see the slumbering child in it, she was swaddled tight, mohagany brown skin and the kinkiest of hair. While Patroclus was busy being dazed by her, Philomela shifted so that she could have a better, more comfortable look at her children, though she felt a sharp pain in her lower backside as she did. She winced, she was already told that it would be best if she hadn’t moved but she couldn’t help it when it came to her kids. The pain was a welcome thing, if anything. Still, no matter how welcome it was it still caught Patroclus attention.
"Máma?" He called for her worriedly, to which she raised her hand slightly,
"I’m alright, love... Her name is Myrto. Like the tree." Philomela said in a hushed tone, smiling to herself like she was clearly proud of her selection. Patroclus returned her smile then passed it onto his sister.
"Myrto," He echoed, as if he was getting his tongue used to the syllables of his sister’s name. "Like the tree."
"Like the tree." He repeated now in his current time to a whole new little one. Little sprout was as much as a gift to the little princess in his arms as much as it was a name. He cherished it, just as he cherish his sister, just as he’ll cherish Melinoë.
"What tree?" Spoke a voice that almost made Patroclus roll his eyes, He also had to remind himself that he wasn’t technically by himself anymore. His ramblings would catch any and every ear. This time, it just had to catch Odysseus’.
"Odysseus, lower your voice, if not for my sake then for the princess’."
"Eh — Sorry mate, didn’t see her there."
Odysseus neared Patroclus and the child, adoring the sight of Melinoë as she slept. "Look at her… She almost looks as peaceful as sleep themself over there."
"Mm." Patroclus agreed, although he did not like the thought of her succumbing to anything like the deep cocoon Lord Hypnos seemed to be in.
"I wouldn't mind a good rest like that, I think. Do us all some good, yeah?"
"Oh yes, if only we were all small enough to fit into the arms of another and be lulled into a peaceful deep sleep again. Alas." Odysseus chuckle kind-heartedly.
"Alas," The older of the two echoed.
"Have you come to take her up from me? Have I hogged her for too long?”
"Well, yes… fairly put, friend. Only because Headmistress summons you and frankly I would also like a chance to hold little Mel."
"Right," At word of the headmistress, Patroclus straighten up, though he did so slowly. He leaned towards Odysseus as to carefully pass him the infant and stand to his feet once she was safely put in the mans arms. "Off I go then, Little Sprout."
✭ ✭ ✭
If Patroclus has learned anything from raising a godling he’s learned this, godlings develop at a rate that he’s never seen before. Much faster than any mortal child could. In what felt like a few days Melinoë was attempting to stand up on her own. She couldn’t quite take steps correctly but she’s got the concept down. Patroclus would have liked to be able to carry her around for just a little while longer but seeing her struggle broke his heart a little more than her growing up.
The infant — toddler was trying to make her way to her wooded rattle that was only a few steps away from her. Patroclus kept an close eye on her, watching to see if she’ll manage to at least take one step. Alas, each time Melinoë got to her feet she fell right onto her butt with a light thud. Why didn’t she just crawl to it? Patroclus could tell she was getting agitated by the way she huffed and slapped the floor with her little hand. Patroclus thought to not interfere yet, she got up once more, then again, and a third time. That would have been her last time because after hearing her whimper and seeing her bottom lip quiver, Patroclus stepped in.
"Now now, little Sprout. What’s all this?" He swooped her up off the ground and she yelped upon hearing the voice but hugged onto Patroclus after seeing who it was.
"Pa…" He pulled her back so that she was in arms length of him, allowing her hands to rest on his arms. She was definitely close to breaking down now that Patroclus could see her face a little better, the way her big mix-matched eyes glossed and her faced flushed. She glanced towards the out-of-reach toy and whimpered again as she turned back to Patroclus. It was her way of asking if he could go and get it for her.
"Hm…" Patroclus set Melinoë down on her scorching feet. She was working so hard to get it on her own, Patroclus wouldn’t want to take that from her. He would have set her onto his own feet but he couldn’t quite do that so they would both have to settle with just Patroclus’ helping hands. "You’ve got it, Sprout, we’ll do it together."
He’s said this before, too long ago.
He remembers Myrto being so bowlegged that she was never able to start walking properly on her own. Patroclus would have to help her maneuver with her hands wrapped around his fingers and her feet on his. Much like he and Melinoë now. He’d go as slow as he possibly could to get to and fro with Myrto on him and eventually, her legs would straighten just enough for her to be able to start walking on her own.
He started walking with Melinoë, her hold was so tight on him that he didn’t believe she’d let go soon enough to take a step of her own. That would be alright though. They could always do this again, and again, and again, however many times it’ll take for Mel to feel comfortable enough with her efforts to try it herself. Just like with Myrto.
"That’s right, Little Sprout, one foot in front of the other." Patroclus said to encourage as Mel stepped and stepped and stepped, each step scorching the floor below her. Little my little, her hold loosened and Patroclus’ paces slowed as he watched her.
She was doing it! She was taking her first steps! Patroclus bent down and clasps his hands together, bringing them over his mouth. She was walking all by herself, even if she did indeed fall down she got to where she wanted to be.
"Well done, Little Sprout!" Patroclus ran to scoop little Mel on up, the toy rattling away at this sudden movement. He threw her up in the air and hugged her tight once she got back down to him. Little Mel was quite startled at the quick reaction but it flowed right away as soon as she was in the air, then she was just as happy as Patroclus was, though it meant much less. She only saw that Patroclus seemed uplifted and the feeling spread to her. She was just happy because he was happy.
✭ ✭ ✭
As soon as Melinoë was able to talk, she chanted Patroclus’ name.
"Pat-pat, wook!"
"Pat-pat, want…"
"bed, pat-pat."
Her first word had been Pot. The headmistress was the first to hear it, and taught her many other words regarding it. Melinoë just caught onto ‘Pat’ so easily because it was the closest thing to ‘Pot’.
Patroclus was shocked upon hearing her say his name with such confidence, but he was also all the more content about it.
The first time Myrto muttered his name, or some piece of it, was when she was a little older than Melinoë. She called him Pack, usually because she would always hear their father say his entire name instead of the short version and try to say it herself. It was adorable to Pat, really, but he did have to teach her how to Properly pronounce his name.
"Patroclus, little sprout, say it with me."
"Pack!"
"Aha, no, Patroclus! Here, sound it out with me, Paaa,”
“Paa..”
“Trooo,”
“Traa—oo”
“Clus,”
“Clus!”
“Pa-tro-clus.”
“Pack!” When Myrto jumped into his arms he was quick to catch her, letting out a defeated but all the more loving laugh himself.
“Another time then, little sprout.”
Eventually, after a whole lot of patience with sounding out her words, that ‘ck’ became a ‘t’.
Myrto hadn’t even gotten too far past her toddling years when Patroclus… departed—but Patroclus is forever grateful that he was able to teach her these things before his departure. She’d be able to at least remember his name if not his face, or maybe she’d remember his face and not his name. Patroclus would be alright with either. As long as she remembered him like he so vividly remembers her, it would be enough.
✭ ✭ ✭
Melinoë had grown old enough to began her training.
Patroclus had bid both the Headmistress and the Little Sprout farewell.
He knew it was in due time but he still could not quite rid of the feeling he got when he saw her walk away with the Headmistress to the training grounds.
Some ache in his stomach, the need to protect and keep the child safe—which they had been already doing for so long that Patroclus had grown accustomed to the routine.
It felt a little Hypocritical for him to feel this way because he believes he was just a bit younger than her when he started fighting and training himself. But she wasn’t him. And he wasn’t her father, in any sort of way. He’s had to remind himself of that one too many times lately. It’s bothering, but it’s helpless. He’s watched her grow up, he’s taught her some things, fed her, rocked her to sleep, played her songs on the flute and lyre he’s taken from his beloveds own playing.
Now, the girl he watched play hide-n-seek with the Headmistress on countless occasions was going to fight to end a doom thats haunted all of them for years now. For some reason, not even that could satiate the feeling.
He’d found a way to distract himself while she went and trained. Trying not to let his mind wonder to the worst that could happen or even the best. It would be good if she was excelling in this, but that only made the feeling of her not being the jolly, waddling child Patroclus couldn’t carry around anymore worse.
The knife in his hand chipped away idly at the wood that was beginning to shape into a crescent moon. It was dangerous to let this go on without a mind to it, luckily he was skilled but even the most professional of sculptors can slip up and chip the wrong piece.
His thoughts went against him, Patroclus could only skillfully carve for so long before he cut the tip of his finger that happened to be positioned in the worst way possible, something simple that Patroclus would usually be sure to manage. He hissed at the slight burn of the cut carefully putting down the knife and the piece of wood, which he had thankfully avoided getting any blood on.
He’d have to finish this later, he was too conflicted, his mind was too busy to have pursued something like that and he should have known better. The wound was small so he wouldn’t need much to let it heal. For some reason the smallest wounds can release the most blood, so he held his injured hand close to his chest with his unscarred hand covering it, sure to catch any blood from trailing on the floor.
He was heading to the tent where they kept plants and herbs that meant to heal. Having to use herbs when it came to healing nowadays rather than fountains had been a bit more timely process but Patroclus thinks he liked it that way. It took him back to Mount Pelion, where most memories he held dear to his heart were.
Before he could make it he nearly ran into Odysseus. The other had two nectar bottles held in one hand and a look on his face Patroclus doesn’t think he’s ever seen on Odysseus. He didn’t think he could even have a look like that on his face. It was one of worry, strain.
Plus, Patroclus hasn’t seen too much of Odysseus all day. The drink explained that he must have been wasting time away at the taverna, just as Patroclus tried to in his own corner, mindlessly carving. The Tactician always did have a tendency to drink his woes away.
"Odysseus,"
"Ah, Patroclus. Uh, are you alright there?"
"This here? A pinch. Are you alright?" Patroclus’ sight flickered between the two bottles and Odysseus. More to just get the attention off of him than to worry about Odysseus.
"These old things? Why, it’s a treat, if you must know. To.. myself." Odysseus tried fixing his stature, his chest pushing out just a bit more, his wit and slyness back in its respectful place. Patroclus lowered his lids knowingly, he’s been around enough kings and men like Odysseus’s to see right through this act.
"You are worried about her too." This had been enough to let Odysseus know that he didn’t have to hold his chin up. He ran a hand through his hair and huffed. A pitiful laugh escaping his lips.
"Agh, it’s helpless old friend. I’m getting over a feeling. The Headmistress knows what she’s doing, she was just as we are when me and her last talked."
"That’s warming to know… at least I wasn’t alone in how I felt. I was carving when this happened. It’s nothing significant but it hasn’t happened in a long time." Odysseus looked between Patroclus and his wounded hand sympathetically.
"Say, why don’t you get that cleaned up and join me in the taverna, ey? We haven’t had any time to catch up ourselves, it would be nice to know how you've really fared down here all this time. Maybe we can even reflect if we get drunk enough." Odysseus let out a deep chuckle at his last words, which earned him a grin from Patroclus.
"I haven’t drowned my worries in far too long, Friend. So maybe I will join you. Wait for me now, hm?"
✭ ✭ ✭
The Taverna had all that you would expect from a regular old saloon. The whopping laugher, the thuds of cups hitting the tables. The tired old souls of merchants and soldiers — common workmen and women alike drinking themselves away or staring into the deep, dusty blue waters that the tavern was built above. Lurid chatter every way you turned, these shades still had so much to say, and Patroclus and Odysseus were only two of many. The air was filled with a mist that radiated a thrilling but calm and controlled titillation that only pushed what little intoxication the nectar offered, which wasn’t a lot, especially for men like the two veterans. Still, it pulled even more memories to their mouths from their rushing heads that urged to keep the rush going. Time flowed carelessly between them now.
All that was really missing was the misty smoke and the smell of freshly baked bread and woodsy smell of rich wine Patroclus remembers endearing when he was a growing boy in Phthia. He and some of the other boys would often treat themselves to an eventful night in the town, maybe even with some other girls and boys they could waste the night away with if they were lucky and daring.
They both had long finished the nectar’s, it never did the justice that wine did — or Ambrosia from Patroclus’ own experience — it was too sweet, too light for Patroclus’ tastes that were used to sharper, stronger beverages, but it was just enough to get them by. Just enough to distract them both from what was most important.
"So… tell me more about that doggo you speak of, Patroclus. He sounds like brilliant beast."
"Cerberus? Oh, he most certainly is. He’s not what you’d expect him to be. Well… not considering anyone else’s experience, I suppose. I’ve never seen him be the callous brute of a beast we mortals know him as, not saying that I have any plans for seeing that in the near future. His fur is a murderous red, each of its heads grander than the next, and his canines are dangerously sharp. The height of a mountain, he is. Oh, Odysseus I fear I may not be doing him the justice he deserves. You truly must see him for yourself to get a genuine understanding of what he beholds." Odysseus hums, impressed without any evidence.
"Oh no, I—I believe he is a grande as you say. You’ve always shared the same eye as me when it came to canines, and that, my friend, is a good as hell eye." Odysseus set both of his elbows on the table as he leaned in from where he was sitting across from Patroclus. Patroclus chuckled at the man before him, he claims that the nectar did him no good but he couldn’t deny the tickle it seemed to give him.
"You flatter me, Tactician."
"You intrigued me, Sýntrofos." Odysseus responded proudly. Patroclus noticed that the tacticians eyes started to become less and less visible. Not from tire, as that was a feeling they were now devoid of, but from something else. Something a little more unwrapped, of sorts. He looked to go back that far, did he.
"You are also a little shallow in the head, you’ve thrown back much more of these than I have." Patroclus said in a hushed tone, turning his head to look outside of the tavern, attention caught there.
"Perhaps… truth be told I didn’t expect company. You just so happened to emerge from that little corner and run right into me." Patroclus snapped his head back to Odysseus.
"You ran into me, I think! But… fair." He said, devoid of any real venom, and moved to stand. Odysseus reacted immediately.
"Wait—that wasn’t me telling you to your company isn’t welcomed, Patroclus. Did I—"
"Didn’t you hear that? The Princess is back. Freshen up, don’t let her see you like that!" Patroclus crossed the floor out of the taverna before Odysseus could say much else.
He’d seen the Headmistress first, to which he greeted respectfully, ever faithful in and out of her presence.
"Welcome back, Headmistress. I trust your ventures went without trouble?"
"Patroclus," she greets in turn, "The little witch is still in one piece, so you could assume it went well enough." She seemed lighthearted, strained though. Patroclus could have miscalculated that.
Speaking of the little witch, she happened to jump in from nowhere between Hecate and Patroclus, giddy as ever, out of breath.
"*Pat!* I had so much fun! Guess what? I got to use some of the spells Hecate taught me!"
"Did you, now?" Patroclus bent a little lower so that he was level with Melinoë, "Well then, little sprout, it’s good to know you enjoyed yourself."
"And there will be plenty more where that came from, Melinoë. More lessons, more spells — *stronger* spells. Ready yourself, little witch. Freshen up. we’re doing this again on the morrow."
Melinoë stared up at Hecate with the widest eyes, nodding her head with a little 'mm!' to let Hecate know that she will certainly be heeding her words. Her childlike seriousness a little amicable and precious to the two adults before her. Without another word, Melinoë ran off to her chambers, likely to do whatever she thinks will deem herself prepared.
"She still has so much to learn. We still have so much to do." Hecate spoke up first, she walked towards the main area where Patroclus was quick to follow. Hecate had been hard at work these past few days, working harder than Patroclus had ever seen her. The witches that stood near her pot greeted her with a trill upon sight, Patroclus went to the other side of the pot so that he was opposite of the Headmistress.
"Our efforts to take down the titan will shine through, yet. You've been hard at work Headmistress, everything that we’ve hoped for will act in due time, I think. Time… though in its scarcity, will still favor us."
"Hm. Wishful thinking, Patroclus."
"Is it unwarranted, Headmistress?" Patroclus asked, some unsureness behind his question but his unruffled stature still remained.
"Not exactly, no. It’s appreciated. My patience is not so washed up as it seems but I think you make up what I may have lost touch of in all this." Patroclus smiled, lightly bowing his head, pleased that he was taking the slightest bit of effect.
"Anything, Headmistress. Patience is a virtue, especially in this time of need."
"Indeed. What happened to your finger?"
"Ah — an accident. I lost my way while working some wood. A small thing, nothing yarrow can’t fix." Patroclus was afraid if he had given Hecate the real reason as to why he’s been so clumsy lately that it’d be too sentimental, too worrisome for the likes of any of them. To his relief, Hecate only sighed.
"I am aware it’s been quite rough lately, but don’t let yourself fall at the end of it, Patroclus. Stay on your guard.”
“Of course, Headmistress.”
“I’ll be attending to this,” she motioned towards the pot, “for the rest of the day. I’ll call you when you’re needed, in the meantime, you could freshen up. I can smell the nectar on you from here.” It sounded as if Hecate spoke with a smile but Patroclus flushed in embarrassment anyway, not thinking that the nectar could have been ruminating off of him. As weak as the drink itself was, the sweet smell of it was more than apparent.
“I—of course, yes. I’ll go do that.” Patroclus turned to leave but just before he could Hecate spoke up again:
“Farewell for now Patroclus, Death to Chronos.”
“Death to Chronos, Headmistress. Farewell.”