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Patroclus died trying to fulfill Achilles' dream of becoming Aristos Achaion. But with Patroclus' death, Achilles lost all that he had. His Philtatos, and his dreams. For what good are the dreams you can't share with your lover upon achieving? No. What good are the dreams that cause the death of your lover? The only person that cared for you. The only person you cared for.
To quote Circe by Madeline Miller:
"Achilles nearly went mad when the best part of him died."
"What was his best part?"
"His lover, Patroclus."
Achilles knew that it wasn't Hector that had killed Patroclus. It was his own pride. His hubris. So when he went to kill Hector, sure it was to avenge his lover. But perhaps, it was also because he didn't wish to live anymore. Perhaps, all he wanted was to reunite with his Philtatos: not his body but his soul. Surely, it had to be the only thing he craved. To cry in his arms and beg him for forgiveness and to be caressed and told that it was alright— for Patroclus had assured him of that, even when it hadn't been alright.
I like to think that when Achilles found Patroclus' body, he couldn't bring himself to sleep for endless nights. Not until he killed Hector. That day, however, sleep took over his guilty conscience and soon he would hear his lover's voice again. He woke up immediately, then, looking for Patroclus. When he didn't find him, however, he realised it had been nought but a dream, and so he went back to sleep. And Achilles would sleep more often now, hoping to find Patroclus there, even if it was just the phantom of him.
When Achilles dragged Hector's body for people to see, many reasons come to mind as to why he did it. Maybe it was to carry the weight of his lover's death upon him and remind himself that it was his fault. Maybe it was to reflect upon what his hubris had cost him. Or maybe it was to show the Gods and the Fates of what he had done. To remind them of the prophecy.
I took his life. Now take mine.
When death finally struck, Achilles smiled. All the days of torment, all the days of being separated from his lover, they would finally come to an end. They shall be reunited.
But in the underworld too, he didn't find Patroclus. Years passed, more torment. Even in the underworld, the beautiful heavens and gardens looked all the same as Troy. Or even worse. At least he had had his body to hold on to. But here, every moment, he would think of a different memory of Patroclus and find himself alone again. He would see fig trees sometimes and wish himself back at Pelion, hoping he had never left. He would look at lyres and find himself thinking of his first lyre lesson with Patroclus, of how he had loved watching him play. He would look at the sea and think of their first kiss, and his fingers would brush over his lips, trying to remember the touch of Patroclus' on them.
Achilles had plenty of time to think of what he would do when Patroclus would come to him, if he ever did. He would embrace him, cry in his arms and beg and apologise. He would ask him why it had taken him so long. He would kiss him. He would tell him so many things. This and this and this!
But when he truly reunited with him, he found himself unable to do any of these things. He couldn't say a word, nor could he cry. No, he couldn't even move, let alone embrace him or fall and beg for forgiveness. He could only look. Later, he would wonder if it was disbelief or relief that had him standing there so still, looking at the face he couldn't forget even if the Gods took away all of his memories. They couldn't take his Patroclus from him.
Achilles would look, then, at the big brown eyes he had stared into for years. Skops, his father had called him. He would look at his hair, and his eyes would land onto the spot he loved the most, right behind his ear. He was right, that part of his hair still didn't quite lay flat. He would look at his shoulders and his chest and his stomach and his legs. He would look at him until every line and curve of his body that had faded in his memory came back to him and was etched there, forevermore. Never again, he would never let him go.