Chapter Text
“Yet again I have taken our time together for granted. The longing I once felt was not but a speck of dust to the emptiness I feel now. When will you return to me, I wonder?”
The grass in the Fields of Mourning was different to that of Elysium. Rougher, unforgiving like the ceaseless tears that echoed in every corner. Patroclus refused to add to the chorus of melancholy— he had shed enough tears for a lifetime, all he had left with the bitter aftertaste of mirthless pessimism.
It sounded different too. Elysian meadows whispered delicately in phantom breezes, quietly relenting beneath footsteps that danced in endless battle. Here it crunched and cracked, dried shoots poking uncomfortably with every lumbered step taken by those who sought to lament their heartbreak elsewhere.
Patroclus could hear it now, those sizzling footfalls that heralded the arrival of a particular firebrand that he still owes his afterlife to. He shook his head, the scorching was unlike the one he heard countless aeons ago. It was louder with no dampness to muffle the burning ground. Closing his eyes, Patroclus attempted to will the sound away. His mind had played tricks on him before, this must be no different.
To his great dismay he felt a presence approach, it hovered over him and watched quietly while he sat with knees tucked to his chest.
Refusing to open his eyes, Patroclus greeted them with his usual unwavering charm. “I do not wish to speak to you, wanderer.”
“Oh,” a woman’s voice replied. “I’m sorry, I did not mean to disturb you. I’m Melinoë.”
A sickening swoop ravaged his senses. Had he any blood, it would have run cold. An unfamiliar, lost feeling overtook him; his eyes opened and a flash of hope shimmered in his irises.
“Melinoë?” Patroclus looked up, and it all made sense.
Those sizzling footsteps were not merely a memory of a certain stranger, but a sign of a new one to come. The flames that licked her shins, the curious mismatched gaze that met his own, her blazing laurels and moonlit skin. They even had a similar nose.
Patroclus swallowed thickly. “Someone I knew mentioned that name once.”
Melinoë tilted her head, just like how Zagreus used to. “I would be curious to know if my reputation had begun to precede me. Who was this someone?”
She even carried the same lilt as he did, and she would never even know. Patroclus waged silent war with himself for a moment; he’d ought to tell her, to shower her with every anecdote he could recall. To perhaps even get an answer to all the questions that tormented him like Furies. But a more selfish, bitter part of him wanted this painful reminder of what once was to leave him be. He was in no shape to answer an onslaught of questions or deal with heightened emotions. Patroclus willed his tongue to say one thing, but his treacherous body said another.
“Someone you do not know.”
Taken aback, the goddess’ green lips curled into a frown. She quickly decided to change the subject. “Well, your attire is unlike anyone else’s I’ve seen around here. Were you a decorated warrior in life?”
Another question, just like her brother.
Patroclus sighed, and reluctantly gave an answer. “If you must know, I was placed in Elysium. Though not through any effort of my own. I resided there until the Lethe dried up and… I sought greener pastures here.”
A determined look shrouded Melinoë’s face, her brows pinched and eyes sharp. “I am doing everything in my power to return the Underworld to its former glory, to seek vengeance for my family. We will prevail and you will return to the blessed fields of Elysium, I promise you.”
Patroclus bit back a caustic chuckle. “I have yet to hear of a promise well-kept, wanderer. I thank you for your efforts nonetheless. Here, I collected these trinkets but have not found a use for them at the moment. Perhaps they shall help you on your journey.”
He presented her with ashes, pomegranates and soul tonics. Melinoë took a pomegranate and thanked him.
“That’s very kind of you– erm… I’m sorry I never caught your name.”
“Names are there to be forgotten, wanderer.” The ghost of a smile pulled at the corners of his lips. “Be on your way now.”
With one more nod of acknowledgement, Melinoë dashed onward from his little hideaway. As soon as she was out of sight Patroclus’ entire body relaxed, unfurling and laying supine on the ground. Weary, he rubbed his eyes with a sigh, staring up at the endless darkness above him.
Patroclus laid in a pool of his own feelings— a horrid nuisance they were. He thought he had long since given up any remnants of hope; yet here it was crawling out from whatever dark crevice of his mind it resided in, battered and bruised and ready to face even more hardship.