Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

His leg stings. A lot. It's red and gaping and only his hands holding down on it is keeping any of it inside of him.

He was taking Mrs. O’Leary for a walk. He's usually the first choice to do so, because he can shadow travel when she does. She bounded off. He tried to follow her- miscalculated- and ended up following through the lower branches of some trees. One of the branches tried to take his leg as well. 

And, of course, Will isn't here. 

He looks around, hoping that there might be some dryads around who can help, but none seem up to showing themselves. Great.

“You're just gonna sit there and watch me bleed to death?” He calls out, because what else is he going to do? Of everything he's survived, he's gonna die from dog walking. Lucky him.

He's uneasy about lifting his hand from the wound and using the energy to cut up his shirt to make a bandage. He is not a medic. A son of Death, yes, but apparently a gash in his leg is enough to fell him. This is so embarrassing. 

A crunching has him lifting his head up, turning towards the sound. A dryad? 

It is. It's a few of them, all escorting someone to him. That is more surprising than none of them helping at all- is he getting high class service? Enough that requires guards?

Or, and he considers this more likely, is in the way of the path for a sacred tree ceremony. Maybe someone's getting married. A tree wedding. Sounds sappy. 

And yet, the dryads- five of them- spread out around him, revealing a figure that isn't a dryad at all. 

It's a human. With shining olive skin and eyes gray as steel, such that Nico feels like he's being cut to the soul just from a glance. A son of Athena, then? He has rich brown, curly locks that fall around his ears, softening the effect of his eyes. They're big eyes, round and seeing. He realizes that they're the only sharp thing about him. His frame is lithe and soft with the lingering remnants of boyhood. Muscles have barely begun to form on him.

And, strangely, he is wearing a chiton.

 He holds himself tense, cautious and uncertain. One of the dryads rests a gentle hand on his shoulder and he startles. She gestures to Nico.

Silver eyes take him in, digesting his prone form before landing on the blood coating his fingers at his calf. His stance softens and he creeps forward, kneeling at Nico’s knee. His hands hover and he looks up at him, asking for permission to touch.

Nico hesitates. “Who are you?” He asks.

The boy- for he is a boy, around Nico’s own age of sixteen, maybe younger- scrunches his face at the sound of his voice. Nico tries not to be offended. It works. Barely. 

The boy takes a moment to speak, his words coming out heavily accented, dropping from him like rocks as gets them out. Nico notices the dryads nodding at the boy encouragingly. 

“I…am.” He pauses in thought. “A .. medicine man. I can help.” 

Ah. So he's new to English. That's why he was unhappy when Nico spoke, then- he struggles with the language he was speaking. Nico takes in his tanned, olive skin and dark hair and throws out a guess. 

“Do you understand me?” He asks in Italian, a language he's slowly been losing after so long with little practice and no one ro share it with. His hopes are crushed when he's met with confused, frightened eyes. The boy turns to the dryads for help understanding. 

One of them turns to Nico, explaining in place of the poor boy. “He does not speak any language that you know. Keep using English, he must learn, but let him help you.”

Nico nods, then turns to the boy. “My name is Nico,” he offers. 

The boy nods, but glances at his leg again. Nico gently removes his own hands and the boy makes swift work of cleaning the wound. 

“What's your name?” He tries.

That earns him a wary glance.

“Chironidies,” he tells him. 

Nico blinks at him. “Like …Chiron?”

The boy says nothing and reaches a hand out to a dryad who was grounding something up in a wooden mortar and pestle upon his request. He accepts the bowl, scoops a bit of poultice out, and brings it down towards Nico’s leg.

He yells out and jerks his leg away. “Woah woah! What are you doing? You can't put that stuff in my leg!”

The boy looks at him in surprise, poultice trying to drip out of his hands. He moves the hand towards Nico. “Medicine. For healing. To fight infection. To lessen the hurt.”

“Do not worry,” the dryad who spoke before reassures him, “it is safe in his hands.”

Nico takes in the clothing he's wearing. The warning before that he doesn't speak any language that Nico would know, his inclination towards holistic medical practices. 

“You're not from this time, are you?” He asks as he gives his leg back, uneasily allowing the boy to continue his work on it. And it's then that he gets a wave of wrongness from him. The scent of rot that comes more as a memory than anything this kid actually smells like. “You…are not even supposed to be alive.”

Gray eyes meet his own. A bandage, made of organic fibers, is secured around his wound and the boy helps to steady him on his feet.

“Chironidies…you know Chiron?”

He nods. “I know.”

Nico turns to the dryads. “Who is he? Why is he here?” 

“Best of the myrmidons,” a new one says, “Aristos Andras.”

The boy flinches at that title. 

“Take him back to the camp. Take him to Chiron.

Help him.” The one from earlier says.

Nico turns to answer, but they're gone.

Chapter Text

Nico doesn't want to shadow travel when he can't warn Chironidies of what will happen. He doesn't even know how to communicate that he's a demigod.

So they walk. They break out of the woods just before sunset, the sky tinged golden from the orange light of the setting sun.

Nico guides Chironidies through the camp, ignoring the quick and flightened glances he casts to their surroundings. He ignores the eyes of the other campers that trail after them- Chironidies seems to become a shadow himself.

So, then, he doesn't like attention. Nico can sympathize.

They reach the big house, standing just before the steps up onto the verandah when he turns his head to the sounds of horse hooves and, suddenly, he's enveloped by the warm and gentle embrace of a boy with blonde hair that smells like oregano and hyacinths.

“Where have you been?” Will asks, pulling away to look Nico over. “Mrs. O’Leary came back alone, we were about to send out a search party!” He dotes.

Nico gives a wry smile. “Yeah, the trees found me first.”

“What?”

“I tried to chase her through the shadows, I came out too high and fell through the trees.”

“Nico!”

“I'm okay! I met someone who-” Nico turns to introduce Chironidies, only to pause just as he and Chiron have. They seem to be stuck, in a standstill, frozen in time.

Will looks too and his expression becomes confused. “Who's this?”

Nico stutters out, “Uh- this is Chironidies…”

Chiron looks over at him at that, surprise etched into him. “Chironidies?” He asks, utterly shocked.

The boy himself ducks his head in embarrassment. Probably. When he speaks, it is, truly, in a language that Nico has never heard before- only a few words or snatches of phrases are able for him to translate through Ancient Greek. Chiron looks down at him and his expression softens. He replies to him in the same language.

Will and Nico share a confused glance.

Suddenly, Chiron drops onto his knees- horse knees, so he's lying down technically- and gently offers his arms to the boy. He looks shocked, but then his silvers eyes get watery and he falls cautiously into the centaur's embrace. Chiron looks haunted, yet entirely and strangely relieved.

Nico thinks he sees Chiron cry as well.

“He has been dead for over four thousand years,” Chiron tells them, his tone soft and solemn. “His name is Patroclus.”

Will tilts his head, resting his arm around Nico's shoulder- gray eyes flicker to the movement then back up to Will’s face as he speaks.

“Isn't…that name in The Illiad?” He asks.

Chiron nods. “It is.”

“So he was in the Trojan War?”

“He was.”

Nico takes in Patroclus anew. “That's the one about Achilles, right?”

Patroclus’ silver eyes cut to him at that, something in him seems suddenly taut, a desperation that has been kept at bay ready to snap. “Akhilleús,” he whispers, reverent and sure, the name is said like a prayer or a plea. Is there any real difference?

Chiron chuckles. “Yes, it is about the ninth year of the war. Where Achilles gets lost in his hubris and causes the death of thousands of Greeks for his honor. It is about the death…of Patroclus.” He gestures to the boy beside him. “The reason you cannot understand him is because he speaks Mycenaean Greek, which is older than the Ancient Greek you know instinctively as demigods- and has been long since lost to time as a language, not even the Ancient Greeks would have known it. It was the Ancient Greek of Ancient Greek.”

That would definitely explain it. “Why is he here?” Nico asks.

Chiron translates the question. And, with Chiron’s help, Patroclus does his best to explain his story.

“It was many suns ago-” a few months, Chiron is able to figure out- “that my Achilles has been…taken from me. I'm not really sure how- for she told me she couldn't go under the Earth, but we were happy in our Elysium for thousands of years. Finally, we were at peace as we never would have been allowed in life. And yet still, she came. She snatched him up and carried him away from me, despite how he kicked at her.” Tears well in his eyes as his fists clench in frustration. “She would not let him ago. So I followed him, because I had to. And she took him far. Ripped him out of Elysium, long days through Asphodel, and down to Tartarus itself. I was angry- what would she hope to achieve there? Did she truly want to attempt that silly Styx story? I followed him there as well. I was afraid I'd lose them, but I didn't. She didn't stop at the Styx, so I followed them across Tartarus until we came upon pitch black doors guarded by Titans.”

Nico sucked in a breath. “The Doors of Death,” he breathes.

Patroclus continues, his gaze distant as he sees the events in his mind. “I followed them through. It was up here that I realized I lost them. After that, I realized that I had accidentally stumbled into life once more. I did not recognize anything, and everything was so…loud. And big, and smelly and I did not know how to find my Achilles. I could only figure to follow the river to the sea and hope she hadn't gone too deep. I learned how to navigate this new world, slowly started picking up on the language, until I stumbled into those woods and met those dryads. They've been helping me adjust for weeks- teaching me the new language, the new plants, and explaining the new things about this world. They were very helpful, very kind, and said that they liked someone who was knowledgeable on traditional medicine. And then,” he turns to Nico, “they brought me to you. They said you could help me.”

“Who is ‘she’?” Will asks.

Patroclus blushes at having forgotten to explain that detail. “The Goddess Thetis- his mother.” Mater is what he says.

“Why would she do that?” Nico continues, trying to imagine any godly parent caring so much about their kid to do such a thing and risk the anger of both Hades and Zeus.

Chiron explains. “She has always wanted him to be a God, to live on forever as any mother does. I assume, when she realized that the doors of death were opened, she saw the opportunity and took it.”

Patroclus looks up desperately and Chiron and asks something in his Greek, something that sounds like a plea. Chiron places a gentle hand upon his chestnut curls and smiles so kindly, so much more like a father than he ever has before.

“Yes, Patroclus, of course we will help you.” He repeats it in Mycenaean Greek.

Tears of relief spring to his gray eyes.

“Is he a son of Athena?” Nico asks suddenly, the question has been nagging at him.

Chiron chuckles. “No- no, he is human. But he is known for his wisdom.”

Nico and Will blink at that.

“A human?” Will asks. “Can he see through the Mist then?”

“He must,” Chiron muses. “I would not be surprised. There was no Mist back then- humans and demigods were of one world. But he is no ordinary human either.”

Nico sits up straight. “So …we will be getting a quest then?”

Chiron nods. “Yes. And, I think we will need Percy for it.”

They both hesitate at that. “Why?” Will voices.

“Because, Thetis is a sea nymph.”

Chapter Text

Patroclus doesn't really know what's going on. He's managed to learn enough of the language to be useful, but it's not like learning a few words of the Anatolian of Briseis. The language is so entirely different. It has sounds he doesn't know how to make and missing ones that he does.

The dryads had been helpful, urging his progress along as well as they could, but it is a difficult task. It's easier, when the others try talking in that new Greek, but even that one is tangled and jilted to him and they still struggle to understand through his accent.

Achilles is better at this language- he has had to speak to various Gods and demigods through the years as the language evolved. He's learned many of the living languages and forgotten more than that as they died. He tried to keep Patroclus up to speed on it all, but after a while it seemed pointless. Patroclus did not ever leave to speak to demigods. 

He's heard of English- and Achilles updates him on the living world whenever he gets news- but they didn't care much to learn it. It is a rough language, chunky and harsh, as though the words are trying to cut up your mouth as punishment for speaking them.

Yey everyone he's met speaks it with ease. Like it doesn't hurt.

He understands a few things. That they will help him, that they need to wait for someone, someone named Percy- which is short for Perseus, which he's glad for. That name fits better in his mouth. 

He's stuck on the way that the blonde kid had his arm around Nico's shoulder- so openly, so casually. Like he won't lose everything and his life if he's seen with such affection. 

He asks Chiron. “They won't be dishonored?” 

“For what?” 

“For being so old and still…”

Chiron doesn't make him finish. He just looks at him sadly, a mixture of grief and affection. “No, my boy. This world is different. It still has its issues, but no one will be considered dishonored for their relationship by any good person.”

Patroclus nods. The knowledge is warming and painful all at once. 

He's considered a “camper” for now. He's spending his time following Nico and his lover- William- around the fields. He's overwhelmed by so many demigods being kept in one place. 

None of them are quite like his Achilles, but the Gods and their relevance have apparently changed throughout the centuries as well. Achilles told him that the Gods are only really still relevant to demigods. That the Gods still exist because they do, but most humans think that they are merely stories and believe in only one God. Larger portions of godly power go into demigods now, making them all the more dangerous. 

He was surprised to learn that Hades has had children- he is a God of rocks after all, nothing that lives. But, things change. 

They want him to participate in their activities. He can't help but find himself feeling eleven years old again, recently kicked from his home and surrounded by strangers to disappoint all over again. Yes, over the years of the war, his skill improved, but that is no longer who he is. In Elysium, he and Achilles returned to when they were most happy, spending most of their time as they were when they lived on Pelion. They got a rose quartz cave and wilderness to explore with mountain lions and everything. 

He is not in the form who knew how to fight at all, and his mortal brain is wired to what it was when he was fifteen, him and Achilles recently discovering that they can have what they both want. And a morbid shame weighing on Patroclus from his past. It felt like life time ago. Now it feels like it was only five years ago that he killed a boy his own age. He is afraid for any of his new peers to find out about this, even though he knows that they know he fought in a war. Wars are not shameless ordeals.

But, still, they have him knock arrows, throw spears, swim, duel, and…garden. He likes that part. They try to have him make music- he refuses.

He would not be particularly extraordinary in any of these activities in normal circumstances, but now he's continuously distracted. Constant thoughts flood him, worrying over Achilles and where he is. What his mother is doing to him, as he, too, is fifteen once again. Neither of them like to be sixteen again.

He doesn't try to make friends. It's difficult. And now he's even stranger to these people than he was back home. The rules have changed, and still, he does not entirely belong. He misses Achilles.

 After two days of being painfully, shamefully, less than mediocre in all that he does, he's pulled back to making and preparing politics and medical supplies.

He does this in the house that Chiron now lives in. He misses the cave. He dislikes the moving decapitated cat. 

Chiron finds him in the kitchen, separating herbs.

“Most people don't do medicine like that anymore,” he tells him. “They claim that it doesn't work very well.”

“It worked well enough for us. To keep us alive.”

“It’s less effective than what they have now.”

“It’s what I know.”

Chiron accepts that response. It's quiet. Guilt pools in his stomach. He speaks. 

“I'm sorry.”

“For what?”

“I keep losing him.” Chiron waits. “We were going to come back. He wasn't going to join the war. But…”

“But the prophecy.”

He feels the tears well up and he has to work hard to force them back down. “There was no other option.”

“I know.”

“He changed.”

Chiron doesn't say anything. He just comes forward and lets him cry into his arms.

He hates being fifteen again. 

It took two weeks for this new Perseus to arrive. Patroclus has spent most of his time with Chiron, while Nico and William do their best to help teach him their language and culture. 

They made him put on some new clothes. They tried to give him cut-off trousers and a tunic so vibrant an orange that it should be reserved for kings. But all of the demigods wear it, so he should at least not be put upon their level. 

He said this. They looked at him strangely and continued to insist. 

Selfishly, he does not like the shirt or its color. He wants to keep his chiton, but Chiron insisted trousers and a tunic onto him. Less rich ones however. The tunic is what he's used to, plain white and loose fitting. The trousers are light brown and cover his legs but don't overheat.

“It is more appropriate for modern day sensibilities,” he tells him. Patroclus accepts. 

At long last, a boy with short, dark hair and sea green eyes stands before him in the kitchen. He's tall and slim like a swimmer and he's looking at Patroclus like he's a problem to be solved. 

He's used to that look. He doesn't like it. 

A son of Poseidon. 

Patroclus likes Poseidon. He taught him how to tame horses. Patroclus tells him this.

“Really? That's cool. I can talk to horses. My Dad didn't teach me that, though. He didn't talk to me until I was eleven.”

Patroclus smiles at the small irony. “My father stopped talking to me when I was eleven.”

Nobody laughs. He misses Achilles and now he just wants to hide in shame.

“Why?” Nico asks him.

Patroclus pretends he didn't hear him. “So this is why you can help. You can ask Poseidon to make Thetis let him go.”

Perseus frowns at this. “Uhh, I dunno. The Gods don't really interfere with demigod business- they've got a hands off parenting streak….well, except for Thetis apparently.”

Patroclus frowns. “The…Gods do not interfere?”

“The Gods no longer interfere because of the Trojan War,” Chiron gently explains. 

Patroclus remembers a God lounging on a wall, knocking him down again and again. The Goddess who permitted the theft of a wife. He remembers why Zeus helped tear the Greeks apart.

“Because of Achilles,” he whispers. 

“In part. But the Gods themselves are also to blame for this rule.”

“Are we getting an official quest?” Asks Perseus. 

Chiron nods. “Yes.” Patroclus looks to him in question. “Like Delphi,” he explains. “We have the oracle here.”

Patroclus goes wide-eyed at that. Apollo’s sacred oracle. 

“Who's going?” Will asks warily, looking between all of them. “Because if Nico’s going, then I am too.”

“Of course I'm going!”

“We can't have four people on a quest.”

“Why not?” Asks Patroclus as his mind sluggishly translates the quick conversations.

“It's bad luck,” explains Perseus, “but there's no real rea

son not to.”

“We will talk to Rachel,” Chiron says, already walking out the door, “and see what she says.”

They all follow after him

Chapter Text

Chiron has never asked him for a favor before. In all of his years as a camper, and even the few months before that as his student. He never asked for anything. 

He gave suggestions, provided insight, and hinted at things he would like to be done. But it was always a choice. And, with the gods pulling him every which way across the world, he's never even had the chance to help Chiron pick something up off the ground or hand out t-shirts to new campers. 

So, when Chiron sends him an Iris Message, knowing he's all the way in California, settling down with Annabeth in New Rome, and asks him to help out an old friend, Percy would've been remiss to deny him. If any of the Gods is owed a favor from demigods, it's him. 

He's walking beside Chiron, the new kid trailing behind with Nico and Will, who are trying to talk to him and, surprisingly, managing to have a decent, if stilted, conversation with him. 

“What's so special about him?” Percy asks Chiron, then quickly backtracks on his wording. “Not that he's, like, not worth all of this. But enough for you to ask me for a favor? I don't think you'd do that for just anyone.”

Chiron is silent for a moment, walking with his hands folded behind his back, before he answers in a low voice, like he doesn't want Patroclus to hear. “I have trained and taught many heroes and demigods over the millennia, Percy Jackson. I have taught Jason, Heracles, even your very own namesake. They were always alone. I taught them music, I taught them medicine, I taught them how to survive, and I taught them how to fight.” He takes a moment, reliving the memories from a mountaintop that he had left so long ago. “But Achilles had Patroclus with him. He was late coming to me in order to wait for him. They both knew that his mother did not wish for Patroclus to be there with him, yet they were willing to risk both the wrath of me and Thetis herself just to stay together. I did not think it was worth it. Patroclus is a good kid, but he did not fit the mold of what a worthy son was in our time. He was awkward, shy, unexceptional. To most. But I saw what he was. And so did Achilles, and the women, and his comrades in the war to an extent.” He glances down at Percy who has been listening silently. “Even your own father saw the worth in him and taught him to ride horses like no other human could.”

“What was he?” Percy asks, knowing that Chiron is just waiting to be asked.

“Kind. Thoughtful, gentle, merciful. He was not a soldier. Everyone wanted their children to be warriors. But he was a medic, and a good one too. Achilles did not need to be taught how to fight- you bore his curse Perseus, you remember how instinctive those skills were. And Patroclus did not wish to be taught. He wanted to learn surgery. Achilles wanted to learn music. So that is what I taught them. And it was peaceful. For once, I was not training young boys to go off and die, I was just raising children into well-rounded and capable men.” He goes sullen, his tone turns dark. “And yet, I watched them march off into war anyway. They say that, when Patroclus was killed, Achilles’ grief was loud enough to shake the clouds loose of their rain and tear apart the earth. He became a warrior anyway, the weapon that kings always wanted him to be. But Patroclus stayed kind. He stayed gentle, tethering Achilles to himself. He was the best of them all.”

Percy is silent a moment and they pause before entering Rachel's cave. “You care for him a lot.”

“He called himself Chironidies,” he tells him. “It means Son of Chiron. And I have never before been quite so honored, or quite so proud.”

Percy nods. And they enter the cave.

Rachel is waiting there, with Apollo at her side. He's talking to her as she adds paintings to her wall, covering up prophecies that have long since been fulfilled with new shapes and colors. Rachel looks up, taking in the group before her.

“Percy!” She cheers, “you're here!”

“Yeah, I am,” he laughs, accepting her hug that leaves traces of pigment all over his clothes and even manages to get into his hair. “I'm doing Chiron a favor.” He looks up to greet Apollo, but pauses to see he's gone. Percy looks to Will, but he just shrugs in response. It's not worth questioning 

“What can I do for you guys?” She chirps, then her gaze lands on Patroclus as she walks over, taking him in curiously. “Oh, hello…you're new. Please, come sit!” she gestures at the scattered chairs, couches, and bean bangs, all covered in dried pigments. 

Will, Nico, and Percy accept the invitation, but Patroclus lingers next to Chiron, like a shy child hiding from new friends. Nico takes over explaining everything that's happened so far, including Patroclus's journey from the underworld, which Percy had heard from Chiron already. 

Luckily, they're on summer break right now, so Percy isn't missing any classes, but Annabeth is taking summer classes and took up an internship with the New Rome architects and neither of them could reasonably find a reason for her to come. She wants to, and she might've even been excited to meet Patroclus too, with all of her knowledge on Ancient History. Maybe he'll have time to introduce them once this is all over. 

Chiron explains to Patroclus who quests work in Greek as they explain everything's that's going on to Rachel.

“I actually read The Iliad for school once.” She casts a glance over to Patroclus, something star struck in her eyes. “So that's really him?”

“According to Chiron,” Percy shrugs. “What do you know about him?”

Rachel hums, leaning back on her beanbag as she watches the other two talk. “He was a very close companion of Achilles, but he wasn't very prominent as a character beyond that. He was kind though, he was wise. Part of his role was to provide counsel to Achilles, like the little angel on the devil's shoulder. I don't remember everything that happens, we didn't read all of it in school. I know that he dies and that's what led to Achilles finally rejoining the war. He died shortly after that.” She turns back to him. “But that's all according to Homer. All of that happened centuries before Homer was even born and passed down through oral tradition.”

“So it's one galactic game of telephone.”

“Basically,” she says apologetically. 

Percy’s attention is caught by snippets of the conversation going on between Patroclus and Chiron.

“No more prophecies.”

“This is how quests are done, child. It'll be okay.”

“Chiron…if it talks about…”

“We don't know that it will.”

“It will. Of course it will. He has always been destined to die.” 

It occurs to Percy, distantly, that he's trailing along with a conversation being had in a dead language. 

Patroclus steps forward, Chiron staying helplessly where he is.

“No prophecies. They should not be necessary. I can find him without the guidance of the fates.”

The other three and looking at him blankly.

“He says he doesn't want to involve prophecies,” Percy translates.

They turn their stares onto him now.

“You can understand him?” Rachel asks.

“Uh..yeah. Maybe it's because of my Dad?”

He doesn't think that this is a Poseidon ability specifically, he doesn't think that Patroclus is part horse. Although…he recalls what Chiron was saying earlier, and his father being fond of Patroclus. Is his dad listening? 

Nico frowns. “But I can't understand him. Nevermind, that doesn't matter right now. Why no prophecies?”

“When they were sixteen,” Chiron elaborates. “Achilles received a prophecy. If he didn't join the Trojan War, he would live a long life, but lose his godly powers and be forgotten. If he went, he'd die young, but be embedded in the immortality of memory.”

Patroclus is trying hard to keep from crying anymore. “We were not going to join. We wanted to return to Pelion and wait a few years. To be older. Join the next war and let him find his glory there. We were happy.”

“Oh,” Rachel breathes, “You're afraid that this prophecy will speak of your deaths again.” 

He nods. “We were always meant to die. I do not want him to.” 

“It's not entirely unreasonable,” Rachel offers. “There's many possibilities for the way things can happen. But, as soon as a prophecy is spoken, it's extremely difficult to choose a different route. If it speaks of their death, and means their death, there's almost nothing you can do to change it. And, technically, this is not a mission assigned by any gods. A prophecy may not be required to go on it.”

“Prophecies are helpful, though, aren't they?” Will asks. “They help us figure out where to go and what to do.”

“Yeah,” Percy agrees, “but you usually only know what they mean after they've happened. They're not actually all that helpful, and I'm kinda done with prophecies talking about me and my friends dying.”

Dealing with the weird turmoil of Jason after the whole Leo thing is bad enough as is.

“Also..” Nico ventures, “if it's not a quest,

then all four of us can go.”

“Byt how do we know where to start?” Will argues.

“Simple: Find Thetis.”

Chapter Text

They decide not to take the prophecy. The four of them are left sitting with Rachel. Chiron had to get back to performing Activities Director tasks.

“I met Achilles once,” Percy tells him. “I went into the Styx too.”

“The Styx?” Patroclus asks. Realization dawns on him. “Oh, yes. That tale. He told me of this. He must have told me of you, then. I do not remember, he's called to speak to many heroes.”

Percy blinks. “It's not true?”

He shakes his head. “I had not heard of that tale until many many years after we died. He says he was never dipped, that his mother cannot access the underworld- which she had told me herself once. But heroes started asking him about it and he was tasked with giving them their warnings. It started working too.”

Percy looks to Nico who looks just as surprised at this news. “As far as I knew,” Nico defends, “it was true. I guess it became retroactively true because it worked. There was a chance of you dying either way.” 

“Well,” Rachel intercedes, “what's done is done. Now, it's time to set a plan for how you're going to find Achilles.”

“Yeah,” Will says. “How do we know where to look first?” 

“Scyros.”

They all turn to look at Patroclus. Percy translates. 

“Before the war, his mother stole him away and hid him. She was trying to hide him from the prophecy and I forced his father to tell me where he was. She had hid him on Scyros. A small island kingdom that was bound to be taken over soon enough.”

“In Greece?” Percy groans. He looks to Rachel. “Can you lead us through the maze to get there?” 

Rachel shakes her head. “I need to stay here to give out quests. Can't Patroclus see through the mist, too?” 

“Oh, right.”

Patroclus looks confused. They take turns explaining Daedalus’ Labyrinth. He looks nauseous by the end, which Percy considers an appropriate response. 

“I am not sure about this…” he frowns. 

“Yeah, me neither,” Will agrees. “I'd feel better knowing my Dad can see us.” He catches Patroclus’ questioning glance and answers, “Apollo.”

For a moment, Percy thinks he sees Patroclus tense and recoil, but he settles quickly enough for Percy to brush it off as nothing. 

“It is unlikely I will be able to take you through the Labúrinthos,” Patroclus continues. 

“It'd be the quickest way,” Nico argues. “We're all tired of the Labyrinth honestly, but we can't deny that it's faster than going by boat.”

“Could we shadow jump?” Percy asks. Which, apparently, was a stupid question, because Will looks scandalized at the suggestion.

“Not that far and not with this many people, absolutely not.” 

Oh, that's why. Nico, as a Son of Hades, has the ability to shadow jump and it takes a lot of energy to do it. Last summer he used a lot of energy to transport the Athena Parthenos all the way from Italy to New Rome. It took a lot of out of him and required a lot of naps. Even with help from their friend Reyna enhancing his strength, he was weak and sick for a while after. Will forbade him from shadow jumping for a while after that on doctor’s orders. Nico is a lot better now, but Will still gets nervous about him pushing himself too far. The kid has a bit of a self destruction streak. 

“Oh, no dude, I was thinking Mrs. O’Leary,” he clarifies quickly.

“No,” Nico sighs, “even for her, transporting four people that far would be too much. Plus, Patroclus has never done it before, and I don't wanna do it without being able to properly explain and prepare him for that. He's mortal, I don't wanna risk that.”

Fair point. Percy hasn't had much of an opportunity to get to know Patroclus, but there's a way about him that makes him want to handle him with extra care. Maybe it's the fact that he's a normal human. The only human they've had on their adventures is Rachel and technically Apollo that one time a few months ago. It feels a lot more dangerous to have someone so much more fragile around. 

“By boat, then?” Rachel offers. 

Percy shifts uneasy. “I don't like the idea of crossing the ocean when we're up against a sea goddess. Even with me there, I don't know that I could keep us safe.”

Rachel turns to Patroclus, who has been quiet, just letting them listen. Percy wonders if it's exhausting, have to translate everything they're saying and then figure out how to translate his response back. He's become remarkably fluent considering how long he's had to learn it and the minimal conversations he's been able to have, although the dryads almost definitely helped. Percy wouldn't blame him if he's shutting his brain off and taking a break from working that hard at communicating. 

He decides to talk to him in his own language, since he can apparently and allow him a break. 

“What do you think?” Percy asks him, watching gray eyes blink at him in surprise. “Is it safe to travel to Scyros by boat?”

He shrugs. Percy just now notices the dark circles under his eyes- the kid must be exhausted. How long has it been since he's slept? “As much as it ever is. You're a Son of Poseidon though, yes?”

“I'm his only demigod child, yeah.”

“That's all the better, then. Having you with us may be to our benefit- he is much more powerful than her and he's unlikely to allow her to hurt you.”

He hadn't considered that before. That, at sea, his father may feel inclined to look after him. Then again, wasn't The Odyssey about Poseidon being an overprotective Dad? He relays the idea to the others- that Poseidon might protect them at sea, and Rachel offers that the more traditional travel method may be more comfortable for Patroclus. 

When Percy entered his cabin, he hadn’t expected to find his Dad waiting there. 

Which is good, because he's not. 

Percy has invited Patroclus to spend the night in his own cabin. Apparently he's been spending his nights in the Big House with Chiron, but the centaur's been encouraging him to spend more time with the campers. He said that, out of all their godly parent options, Poseidon has the most affection for Patroclus so he should spend the night with Percy. Patroclus was horrified at the idea of spending the night under Hades’ watch- although he tried to hide it from Nico. And, for unknown reasons, he was vehemently against spending the night under Apollo, despite his affinity for medicine. So, it works out. 

Patroclus looks uncomfortable. He's quiet, making efforts to not get too close to Percy. When Percy invites him to get comfortable, he just perches uneasily on the other bunk. Percy asks if he's okay. He shrugs.

“It is…strange. Being here. Brings back memories.”

Percy pauses and looks around his room, made of limestone and perpetually moist with coral and other living rocks coloring the ceiling. 

“You spend a lot of time in undersea caves?”

He'd meant it as a joke, but Patroclus shudders.

“No. Absolutely not. I just mean…I shared Achilles' room with him when we were growing up back home. His room was isolated in a wing of the palace and it had windows open to the sea. I could smell the sea salt so viscerally, hear the waves washing the shore at night, and there were always grains of sand getting tracked inside no matter what we did.”

Now’s probably the time that he's supposed to offer words of comfort, since he's clearly missing his best friend. Or maybe just sit with him in silence and understanding of everything he's missing. But, because he's ADHD and dumb, mostly because he's dumb, he instead latches onto one of the least important things he said. “Palace?”

Patroclus blinks at him- not like he's dumb, because he's too nice for that, but like he should probably definitely know this information. “Yes. He was a prince.”

A prince. For some reason, Percy never thought of the Greek heroes as royalty. The idea of royalty, kings and princes, also being soldiers and laying down their lives probably makes sense on some level, but he can't help imagine the posh and spoiled softies in his head. Rugged soldiers and polished princes don't align in his head. Not to mention, most great hero stories are rags to riches- humble demigods who worked on farms or something who stumbled into greatness for a noble cause. That doesn't exactly match the image of Achilles, though, does it? He remembers his frenemy, Hecuba, then. She's a hellhound that used to be the Queen of Troy who's been living with Hecate and a gassy polecat for the past few millennia. Her sons, princes of Troy, all fought and died in that battle. 

“Was he a good prince?” He asks.

Patroclus laughs, but it's bitter. Grief stricken. “He never got the chance to be.”

Percy decides it best to just let him sleep.

He closes his own eyes. Can't sleep. Opens them and nearly wets the bed- which wouldn't have been noticeable anyway- when he catches a man with vast green eyes and sipping wet hair standing over him.

“Dad!” He gasps, sitting up. “What are you doing here?” Poseidon signals for him to be quiet and points to the sleeping Patroclus. Percy nods and says again in a whisper. “Why are you here?”

“To let you know that I will protect you while you're at sea.” 

Not exactly information worthy of a personal midnight visit, but maybe he's recently decided to make an effort to beat the “hands off parenting style” allegations. “Okay…?” He drags out. “Thanks. You had to tell me in the middle of the night?”

Poseidon turns and casts his gaze over Patroclus. “I wanted to assure that he's here, for myself. To have both him and Achilles back in the land of the living…” he lets out a low whistle. “Who knows what it could mean- if it means anything at all.”

Percy gives him a skeptical look. “And…this has nothing to do with your alleged affection for him?”

He coughs and brushes it off. “It's true, he had been a favorite of mine to an extent. He has pretty eyes.” 

Percy has to agree, but maybe it's just because they remind him of his girlfriend's own gray eyes, which mark her as a daughter of Athena. Percy asks Poseidon if he’s definitely not descended from the goddess. Poseidon affirms this.

“No, he's not related to her…maybe a distant ancestor of his was related to my brother, Zeus, but let's all be honest, who's not? No, but his gray eyes do indicate Athena’s blessing over him, which had gone mostly unappreciated when he was growing up. You and your friends will do good to defer to his wisdom on your trip.”

Percy is pretty sure they were planning on it anyway, considering he'll know most about what they're up against, but he still makes note to consider him the Annabeth of this mission…minus, y'know, the kissing him and stuff. He doesn't get Annabeth’s girlfriend status just by being the obligated Wise One of the quest. 

He suddenly remembers another question to ask him. “Oh! Do you know why I can understand him? Why I can suddenly speak Mycenaean Greek?”

Poseidon looks at him with affection. Or maybe it's just amusement. “As my only mortal son, you pick up on it much more easily. Also, I'm helping draw it out on you. All demigods have the capacity to know it, it's just not usually necessary so there's no point since it's a dead language. Most monsters use Ancient Greek and any heroes still interacting with us have even learned English and other necessary languages over the centuries of change. These are special circumstances.”

Percy nods. “Oh. That makes sense. So Will and Nico will be able to understand him too?”

“If their fathers are on top of it, it won't be very long until you're all fluent in his language.”

As long as he doesn't have to try to read it, it sounds cool.

“Awesome, thanks. And I'll try not to be offended that you personally paid him a visit and not me?”

Poseidon's expression turns amused again. “How do you know that I don't visit while you're sleeping too?”

Suddenly, Percy hopes that he really does visit actually.

“I still cannot interfere so much. But this is something that should take the attention of a few gods, seeing as it involves revival and some…people we may have wronged.” If Percy didn't know any better, he'd say that his dad, Poseidon, looks guilty. “I will do my best to search for where Thetis has Achilles. If they're where I think they are… I will explore other options first.”

That's unsettling, but when does a day in his life not include the potential of his eminent demise?

After that Poseidon says goodbye and Percy settles in to finally sleep.

He's not at all worried about the sea god coming back to watch him while he sleeps.

 He was probably joking about that anyway.

…

Probably.

Chapter Text

Nico dreams of his father. The God that's gaunt and pale like a corpse, with caved in cheeks, sunken eyes, and sleek black hair flowing down him like the Styx. He dresses himself in the unliving riches of the earth and the stone cold souls of the dead. 

He sits on a throne made of stygian iron and human bone. 

Souls have been stolen from me. He says.

“Patroclus is trying to get him back.”

Not him. I know what he's doing, I let him go. Thetis is a fool. She did not take only her son. 

Nico doesn't like where this is going. “Who did she take?”

Some from Elysium, some from Asphodel, some from the fields of punishment. Anyone who might be willing to kill that human again. Which, be glad, is not many. She's panicking, knows she's running low on time. 

“Who?” Nico urges. “What should we be preparing for?”

Give me some time, you'll be able to understand him soon. They must prove themselves again.

The first will strike tonight. 

Nico wakes with a start.

He scrambles out of bed, anxious to find Patroclus and figure out whatever his father was talking about. 

There's something about Patroclus…he thinks he understands him. In a camp full of demigods with heads full of glory, it's difficult to find someone else who's quiet, who doesn't enjoy the limelight, who feels out of place. Like he doesn't entirely belong. Patroclus didn't make any attempt to be friends with anyone here. He barely even speaks to him or Will. And being put back to being mentally a human teenager all over again is a curse all on its own.

He check’s Percy’s cabin and finds them both to be asleep.

He's turns to look around the cabins, making sure they're safe, when he sees a new figure by the fire pit. Nico grips his blade. And he approaches.

It's not a ghost, but that doesn't mean it's not undead. It sees him.

It speaks in accented English. 

“Hello,” it says, and Nico realizes that it's a young boy. Maybe thirteen or fourteen. He's round in shape, but holds himself with assurance and power. He clutches something in his non dominant hand. His dominant hand rests on a sheathed sword. “I'm looking for an old friend.” Nico doesn't respond. “Have you seen him? He's scrawny, small, and weak. He's simple too, he gets that from his mother.”

Nico recoils at that. He assumes that he's talking about Patroclus, but it's genuinely jarring to hear anyone sing anything but his praises. It makes Nico mad.

“What do you want with him?”

“To make things even. It's only fair, right? He takes something from me, I take something from him.” He pauses, taking in Nico’s lack of understanding. “Oh, he hasn't told you about me, has he?” He asks, smiling cruelly. Such a strange expression on a child. “Well, he is a coward, too.” 

Nico is definitely missing something. 

“Leave him alone,” he threatens, but no one's taken out their weapons yet. 

“Why?” Scoffs the kid. “He's a stain that's best wiped off. Exile was too good for what he did. His father would have had more respect if he'd agreed to execute him. Instead his punishment is…what, a nice cushy home in Phithia? A place at the side of Aristos Achaion? He's done nothing but disgrace him.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” he says, uneasiness churning in his gut. 

The kid's expression is savage. “Patroclus murdered me in cold blood when he was eleven. Should he not atone accordingly?” 

Nico goes cold. Does Chiron know about this? He must. 

“My name is Clysonymus,” he introduces himself. He turns to glare at the cabin. “That God is protecting him. But he can't run from me forever.” He holds out the hand that was clutching something, revealing a pair of nice looking dice. “Tell him that if he wants these, he can fight me himself fair and square.”

He walks away into the woods and Nico is left reeling.

Nico doesn't tell them what happened, yet. Not until he can talk to Patroclus about it alone. 

They're all standing on the shore of the sound, loading their supplies and saying goodbyes to Chiron, who looks reluctant to let Patroclus leave again.

“He has spent his entire life grieving something, even what he has not lost yet. He didn't have any other friend at this age,” Chiron tells the demigods privately as Patroclus prepares the boat that Percy’s Dad has provided. Nico catches Percy looking at him. He ignores it and leans into Will. “Please…keep him safe. The last time he went searching for Achilles…”

“There's no war, this time,” Will assures him. “We'll bring them back and get them back to Elysium.”

Chiron blinks at that, as though he forgot that Elysium was a part of this. “Elysium…right. The underworld. That's where they belong.”

“Thetis took more than just Achilles with her,” Nico tells them. “We'll have to be careful about returning all of the souls. Which is an issue…since some of them are human.”

“They'll be obstacles meant to block Patroclus from reaching Achilles. Patroclus won't back down, but he lacks confidence in himself and he is not a fighter. For the sake of us all, you will keep him safe and unharmed. He is a human, not a demigod, so he cannot have ambrosia or nectar. Will, you will be vital in helping him treat any injuries. And, in the case that any of you are hurt, he knows how to treat a demigod.”

The three of them nod. 

“We'll keep him safe,” Percy says with more confidence than any of them should feel. 

Chiron bids them farewell, placing one last comforting hand on Patroclus’ shoulder as they board the boat.

“I won't let him go,” Nico hears Patroclus assure Chiron.

Chiron looks wistful. “I know you won't.”

Patroclus boards the boat and off they go.

Chapter Text

It's an old, wooden sailing boat and it comes with oars. 

“The older boats are easier for me to control,” Percy explains. “The more complex and mechanical they get, they start to verge into Hephaestus territory. I can do it, but this should be good enough for us, especially for fast travel.”

They agree. Percy can do most of the work of controlling it, and Poseidon will do his part in speeding up their travel time, but he'll need help still with rowing occasionally.

“It takes energy and I need to sleep at some point.”

No one complains. 

Nico is dozing off on Will’s shoulder in the early morning sun. Will’s comforted, knowing that his Dad is there watching them too. 

Less comfortingly, Patroclus is staring at the two of them as well. Percy and Nico have reported slowly acquiring Mycenaean Greek because of their Dads. Will questions why his Dad can't do the same. His answer: Hades and Poseidon have a lot of divinity condensed into those two. Most gods have their divine fruit spread out- like how gold is more valuable when it's rare. I will do my best to draw it out in you, but I am also less powerful than them in general. 

Will guesses it's a good enough answer. 

He squirms under Patroclus watching where Nico sleeps on him. Percy is at the front of the boat, paying attention to where they're going and making sure they're not about to get attacked by a kraken or an angry sea nymph.

“What?” He finally asks. 

Gray eyes flick up to his and he bites his lip before speaking. “You are…unafraid?”

“Of what? Thetis?”

He shakes his head. “No. No, of being dishonored. Of being seen.”

It takes a moment for Will to understand what he's talking about. Then it clicks and a wave of sympathy rushes through him. 

“Oh,” he murmurs, “you mean because he and I are together.”

“You are…lovers.” It's a statement, a confirmation.

“Yes.”

His gaze flicks between them, searching for something. Or maybe just taking them in. “You do not hide it.”

“No.”

“Are you equal?”

“What? Yes, of course. We're a team!”

Patroclus looks at them with what Will can only identify as longing. A distant longing, for something that's far away. 

“You and Achilles…” he ventures. Patroclus snaps to attention and fear returns to him as tension. “Nico was scared too, at first. He was born a few decades ago. He got…stuck in time for a bit. This…” he gestures between him and Nico, “the ability for us to be together is new, societally speaking. There was a very, very long time where we would have been killed for being together. Almost a century ago, which is when he was born, it was dangerous. Many people like us are still afraid. But being together…it's good. And it's progress. And us being unafraid to be together is what paves the way for others like us to do the same. So that that fear can stay in the past.”

This boy is very obviously trying not to cry again. Maybe he didn't understand everything that Will said, but enough clearly got across.

“It was not…unusual,” Patroclus offers. “For young men to take one another as lovers in boyhood. You're expected to grow out of it and take a wife eventually. Soldiers were occasionally expected to as well, when there were no women or to help fortify our bonds on the battlefield. But still…an equal…um, partnership? Yes, partnership. It was not expected. To allow yourself to be taken by another man…it was an ultimate shame. Women were looked down upon for it. There was always one lesser in a relationship. Achilles and I…we pretending to only be friends for the most part. But some knew. He says that our Myrmidons knew. I guess they must have.” He looks up at them both suddenly. “Chiron is okay with it?”

Will nods. “Yes, of course.”

Relief suits him.

“I think…it's soothing,” Will tells him, “knowing that, even four thousand years ago, you and Achilles existed. To have living evidence that we have always been here and that we'll never go away.”

Nico shifts, slowly sitting up from his nap. Will can't help but pull back enough to give him a soft smile. 

Patroclus whispers. “I like that you are unafraid.”

Scyros is a small island. 

As Poseidon promised, their trip across the sea was quick and void of obstacles. Even the winds remained pleasant.

They dock the boat on the rocky beach and Percy assures them that their boat will be there when they get back. Patroclus looks around, taking in this island that's changed so much since four thousand years ago.

He's quiet as they begin walking up the beach and begin to navigate the streets. Will’s not entirely sure where they're going, but Patroclus seems to just be going up.

For the two weeks that they've known him, Patroclus has been quiet. Falling to the back of groups and keeping to quiet corners to stay hidden. It aches to see him like that and it reminds him so much of Nico. Nico himself has gotten better about getting involved and socializing, but he's still uneasy around others. Patroclus is like him at the beginning, and can they really blame him? Like Nico, he was a bit more unconventional than the people of his time could appreciate, yet he doesn't quite belong in the modern world. Unlike Nico and Hazel, though, Patroclus lived his entire life like that, grew up and became a man. Nico and Hazel were still children when they were pulled out of their time, with room still to adapt. 

Despite his naturally reclusive nature, he seems all the more sullen ever since the island came into view. He's silent and dull, as if this very island has sucked the color out of him as he treks further and further up the hill.

The streets of Scyros aren't very busy and the few people that they do see pay them no mind, likely passing them off as a few stray tourists. Eventually, Percy stops them all, suggesting that they get something to eat. Nico and Will agree. Patroclus hesitates, gazing up to the top of the hill, but eventually relents. 

“Did we bring bows?” He asks.

“Uh…I have one in the boat,” Will says. “Why?”

Patroclus stares at him for a moment, trying to find something in his tone or expression that might answer his own questions. “To hunt,” he says simply, but graciously even though it's clear he thinks it should be obvious.

“Oh…” Will says, “Uh, about that.”

Patroclus lays with his head down at the restaurant, groaning in embarrassment whenever Will tries to comfort him.

“I knew about restaurants!” He insists, petulantly and desperately begging for their understanding. “We have many heroes in Elysium, a few of them are chefs and open businesses. There was this lady…um.. she had a strange name. Child? She was very lovely and made such interesting foods. But Achilles and I spent a lot of time away from the main gathering of shades. And I'm back in my body, my human brain is not used to this way of life.”

Percy awkwardly pats his back in sympathy as Will and Nico offer their own absolutions. 

Nico tries to empathize. “Look, I get it. Being used to a different time and a different country? It's easy to forget that you're somewhere new, even when you're surrounded by loud cars and computers everywhere you go that isn't optimized for demigods. I mean- there's so many women walking around wearing pants all of the time now.”

“Yes!” Patroclus agrees enthusiastically. “There's so few chitons or exomis! And it's so hot here, and yet I see even women wearing trousers here in Greece. And everyone covers up their chest all of the time. I saw women feeding babies under a cloth. Isn't this impractical?”

Nico and Patroclus get swept up in comparing how disorienting it is, living in a modern world that's off kilter from how they grew up. It's kinda nice, watching the two most introverted boys he knows bond like this, even if it is a bit depressing. Suddenly, Will is extra grateful that Nico has Hazel, his sister and a daughter of Pluto- the roman version of Hades- now, even if they don't see each other too often due to their camps being on opposite coasts. He's at least had someone to talk to about being in a different time that gets it. 

When their food arrives, Percy takes the time to broach the more imminent topics.

“What happened when you got to Scyros the first time?” Percy asks him. Quests tend to involve reliving ancient history, so it's usually good to find out what that history is so you know what to prepare for.

Patroclus stays quiet for bit, before looking between Will and Nico. “If women wear trousers now…is it also not shameful for men to wear dresses?” 

Will hesitates. “Depends on who you ask. But I can assure you, none of us three will judge about it.”

Patroclus nods. “When I came here, I went up to the palace,” he says, pointing up to the top of the hill. Will guesses that that's where he was leading them before they stopped for dinner. “It was empty and sad and dull. I was brought to speak to the princess, Deidameia, who was speaking in place of her father, the old King Lycomedes. I asked her if she had seen Achilles, in unspecific terms, since his name was very well known by the time he was only seven. Lycomedes was known for his foster daughters, just as Peleus was known for his foster sons. But his girls, particularly because of Deidameia, were known for their skills in dancing, but I had spent two years in the mountains with Achilles and had not heard of them. So she had me stay for dinner and she gave me a performance. They danced for me. They were very good. She was very good. And then I saw Achilles, standing next to her, hidden but so obviously himself.”

Percy perks up at this. “He was disguised as a girl? My friend, Grover- he's a satyr- did that once to hide from a cyclops.”

“And…you were okay with this?”

“Yeah? I mean, do what you gotta do, man, right?” 

Will sees something in Patroclus relax at Percy’s casual tone. Sometimes, it's good to have a serious conversation and connect with people, like they had on the boat. But sometimes, it's also good to talk to someone who genuinely sees your strangeness as natural and normal. Not a defect, not something that you need to defend, something that just is. To see that, while your fears are valid, they're not universally true. 

“So…did you get him back after you found him?”

Patroclus levies his hand in a gesture to say kind of. “His mother hid him here to keep him away from the war. We meant to hide here until the recruitment moved on. But, thanks to our bad luck, Odysseus was part of Agamemnon’s recruitment efforts.”

It's strange, hearing him talk about these ancient kings and heroes as average, normal people. As if they're not names that have been used and tossed through the mess of time and stand strong despite the filter of History. Legends. And here he is himself, in front of them, someone even Poseidon and Apollo seem to have a vested interest in protecting. A legend in his own right, yet his name is nowhere near as well known as Achilles. Because why? He's not a warrior?

“So they found you,” Nico guesses.

“They did. Odysseus had Athena whispering in his ear. Thetis could not hide him from her. They tricked him into revealing himself. And then they told him the prophecy. And everything fell apart. In our time, being known to have dressed up as a girl to escape a war would have ruined him. Diomedes and Odysseus threatened to tell people about it if he didn't join their war.” 

Will tries to imagine it; two grown men blackmailing two scared kids into dying for their own personal cause and maybe a scoop of glory to make it seem like a sweet deal. 

“Did you face any kind of danger while you were here?” Will asks.

Patroclus is quiet again, but tense. “I am always in danger of Thetis killing me at any moment- she despises mortals and she hated that he kept me at his side, never mind as…” his voice trails off and he glances around, unable, or afraid, to call himself Achilles’ lover aloud. “Well. There was the threat of discovery. There was…” he hesitates.

“What?” Percy urges.

But Patroclus just shakes his head. “Nothing dangerous, nothing that would help us.”

Will looks up at the darkening sky as Artemis takes her shift. It's not as comforting as having his Dad above them, Apollo who, after his trials and growth as a human, might be more inclined to intervene in an emergency. But having his aunt up there is still good- it's also a sign that maybe they should rest before they go stomping around an island all night. He voices this idea, to which Patroclus looks reluctant- obviously eager to search for Achilles endlessly until he either finds him or drops from exhaustion. But, one medic to another- and from

the perspective of a besotted partner whose boyfriend has a tendency towards self neglect- he convinces Patroclus to wait until morning. 

Chapter Text

Being on Scyros again is jarring, both because it's changed and because it hasn't. The buildings pay homage, yet they're not quite what they once were. They're fancier, cleaner, kept in better condition. 

He likes that it's quiet. He likes that it's not destroyed. It's strange, how imminent this kingdom’s fall felt at the time, yet now it was four thousand years ago. He remembers the old King Lycomedes, with no sons and no legacy with a daughter who acted in his place. Given hope in the form of Achilles and a grandson, only for them to be taken away.

He and Achilles are technically sixteen now, aren't they? If they came back to Earth at fifteen in the Fall and now it's the end of the summer after. He and Achilles are sixteen. No wonder being here is so raw, his sixteen year old body physically remembers this and it's like the sea salted wind is trying to rub him raw. 

Sleeping is difficult. 

He feels like he can hear Deidameia’s cries. The news she gives them through her screams. The harsh grip on Achilles’ sleeve. 

He's my husband. 

Because Thetis made him. Stole him and married him off and then…

She told me, if I did as she said, she'd tell you where I was.

You actually thought she would?

He remembers the way his cheek stung, how it surprised him. He remembers pity. Shame.

If you try to leave, I'll scream. I'll tell them you attacked me. 

You're not even handsome 

You're nothing, why does he love you?

He can't tell if that last one was a memory.

He sits up. They decided to hole up in the boat, since they didn't want to waste drachma- or whatever the current Greek currency is. The demigods said that humans don't take gold coins anymore. They showed him the paper they use now. He thinks that it's foolish. Anyone can make paper. 

He wants to venture onto the beach, but doesn't want to risk rocking the boat and waking the others. So he sits up against the side and looks to the sky, staring up at the stars and taking in the humid air. He startles when someone sits next to him with a muffled thump

“Can't sleep?” Nico whispers. 

Patroclus huffs a quiet laugh. “Last to fall asleep, first to wake up.”

Nico gives him a small, rueful smirk. “Here here. I go to sleep and I hear ghosts begging me to do things for them half the time. And demigods tend to be riddled with prophetic dreams- Apollo has not been able to explain it yet.”

Apollo. They speak of Apollo so casually. As if he's not an Olympian. A God who starts plagues overnight and tears apart cities that bore him. But, he's Will's dad and he seems to like him. Will is nice, he thinks. 

“I do not have prophetic dreams. Only…” He stops, deciding not to finish, but Nico encourages him on. “I think I'm technically sixteen now- it's hard to keep track of, especially with this new climate. But we were sixteen when we lived here. When Achilles got told that prophecy and he decided to go to War. It was when…”

It was when he realized that the time he had with Achilles was finite. That his Achilles would end up as a weapon after all and die as one. Not as a musician or a son or a king. He’d die as a boy for other kings to use. For Gods to cast lots on. It was the start of the death of the boy he knew.

“I couldn't stop imagining how it might happen. To me, he was always invincible. The pinnacle of humanity, the idol for men and sons to follow. But for the next ten years of my life…I dreamt of all the possibilities. I saw him die a thousand times in my mind. Each time was excruciatingly unbearable.”

Nico doesn't give him pity, or look at him like he's crazy, or even tear up. He just…smiles. It's a pained thing, one that Patroclus knows well. When you smile because anything else is too vulnerable and everything already hurts too much to deal with that. 

His voice is low in the night, it's calm and oddly comforting. Or maybe it's just the notion that somebody can see what he's feeling and see it in themself too. Sometimes, he'd spend entire days wanting to cry or break down screaming. He'd want to stay in the tent and sleep, either until Achilles came back to him alive or never wake up at all. He remembers the days he would imagine Achilles death so vividly, that he genuinely…

He had felt crazy. Even more isolated because he couldn't tell anyone about it. He couldn't reveal the nature of his relationship with Achilles, couldn't seem to be worrying like a wife. He couldn't even talk to Briseis about it because…well, so many reasons. 

Nico doesn't react like he's crazy.

“It's hard to feel like you deserve him,” he says quietly. “Someone so…bright and good. Someone you know will do great things and shine, while you're destined to always stick to the shadows. And always knowing the things you've done…terrible things and things that let people down. They stick to you, and they build, until everything you've ever done wrong feels like all you are and could ever be. It's unfathomable that someone so…flawless could look at someone so flawed and see anything worth touching. It feels like you're just waiting for the universe to realize its mistake and take him away.”

Nico may not be the type to cry, but Patroclus apparently is these days. His eyes water and he tries not to sound choked. “Yeah.” 

They don't say anything for a bit. There's no comfort for either of them to give the other. Neither have quite figured out how to deal with all of that yet. Maybe Patroclus should have, but that takes a type of growth that being dead doesn't allow. On some level, Patroclus has always been the same as he was when he died- not quite grown enough and terrified of losing the best thing he's ever had. It's nice, sometimes, to put that pain out there and let yourself just sit in it. 

“I've been meaning to talk to you,” Nico says. “About something that happened back at camp, before we left.” The more he explains, the more likely it becomes that Patroclus is going to be sick. Suddenly it's a very good thing that they're on the ocean. He speaks of a young boy and dice and Patroclus looks up and prays for Artemis’ grace. Nico asks, because of course he does, “Did you actually…?”

Patroclus swallows salty air and nods. “Yeah. It was an accident. Achilles says I should've told them it was self defense.” He laughs and it's bitter. “It's no secret that I was never the brightest prince there was, but as a kid I was just…I figured people would do whatever they wanted with me. Death or exile or nothing.”

He waits for disgust, horror. He waits for the disdain and the fear- that he must be cursed, that just touching him will get you killed too.

 It doesn't come. Not yet.

“Does it haunt you?”

“Yeah.” It did. But then he met Achilles and suddenly everything felt a bit better. “For a while, I had nightmares. When I started staying with Achilles, in his room, under the moon, they finally started to go away. After that…life went on. There were other things to worry about. In a twisted way, my life became better for it.” His exile did end up being more of a gift than a punishment, and maybe that's wrong or maybe it's what the gods had meant to happen. “I still regret it. I'll always regret it…and I'd prefer if the others didn't find out.”

Nico nods, agreeing to keep it a secret for a while longer. Then, he offers secrets of his own. He doesn't go into detail, but he gives snips and pieces of his life. He describes a hotel of Lotus Eaters, he talks of ghost kings and betrayal, he speaks of loneliness and malalignment and children not meant to exist, who live on the basis of a broken oath. And he thinks that, maybe, this son of Hades understands the darkness much better than he ever has.

At some point, they finally fall asleep. 

It feels better in the morning, with the sun chasing away their shadows, their darkest form of existence. The ache is still there, but it's an ache of release. From having opened yourself up and been left the way you were found. Still, they do not discuss it with the others. 

He leads them up to the palace. It's not entirely what it used to be. It's been built upon, symbols and architecture have been added that he doesn't recognize. But he's impressed that it's still here at all after 4,000 years and more. It's falling apart, in poor condition, but it's here. A part of him dreads that it is. He can still picture the dance floor, the shocked faces of nobles and weary guards. 

They ignore the obvious signs and ropes that probably say that they're not allowed to just walk in. They do it anyway. Achilles has told him about “tourism” and he recognizes that the palace must be a popular location for it. 

They stand where the throne room would have been. The floor is still tiled in a circle, for Deidameia and her girls to twirl around and tease in. 

“So…” Perseus says, drawing out the sound. “Is Achilles really… here?”

Patroclus sighs and something in him breaks a little with the gentle force of it.

“It was very unlikely that he was going to be hidden here again. It was just…worth looking. Just in case she thought that I wouldn't.”

He's pretty sure that he does actually know where Thetis is hiding her son. It's where she's always wanted to take him. But…he can't go there. And he doesn't feel right asking these young demigods to go for him. He also just…can't lose him. He doesn't know what he's going to do. He knew that this was a dead end and he's wasting time. It's highly unlikely that Thetis is hurting him, at least not knowingly. But who knows what she'll do to get him his immortality? 

Worst of all…he's not sure that Achilles would fight her on it. He never really knew what his answer to that offer would be, but in those final years of the war? Sure, Achilles was happy enough with him in Elysium, but they didn't exactly get a choice about that. They were told that they were going to die and that's the fate they had accepted. But, alive again, with his mother offering him eternal glory and solidifying his legacy in godhood…

Patroclus isn't sure that, to Achilles, eternity with him in death is better than eternal glory in life. And he wouldn't even resent him for it. Achilles will become a God, forever by his parents’ side, and Patroclus…

Patroclus will probably go to where he was always meant to be and fade away into the fields Asphodel. 

He's snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of Nico’s voice echoing around the room.

“Well, we could at least look around, right?”

So they do. It's hard to recognize most of it- it's changed a lot and Patroclus had only been here once. And it wasn't exactly a trip that either of them liked to remember. Most of the original palace is in ruins, centuries of war, occupation, and rebellion led to neglect of the, now historic, feature. Additions have been added onto it above and below, holding signs and architecture that he doesn't recognize. At last, they reach the height of the new structure, built above the original palace. It's an open space, for the sky to see, with an open alcove hosting a throne. That by itself isn't all too striking. What is, is the figure that's sitting in the chair. 

It's a middle aged woman, with brown hair tied up in the style of a traditional Greecian Queen from what Patroclus remembers. She adorns a pelop that looks to be made of pure gold peacock feathers.

He hears Perseus hiss under his breath, surprisingly bitter and forlorn, considering the name he utters. “Hera.”

Instantly, with a racing heart, Patroclus drops to his knee and bows his head, unmoving until she speaks and bids him to rise.

“I must say,” she says, her voice unstrained, yet easily heard, as though she were right next to them, “it is nice to finally talk to someone who still has some sense of decorum.”

Patroclus’ mouth is dry. He cannot speak, he would embarrass himself if he tried. Noticing this, Perseus steps forward. “What do you want?”

Patroclus stares at him wide-eyed and hisses sharply, “What are you doing?”

Perseus looks back at him. “What?”

“You can't speak that way to the Queen of the Gods!”

“Why can't they all be like you?” Hera simpers.

The look on Perseus’s face is that of a man run weary of the Gods and their 'decorum'. “The “Queen of the Gods” kidnapped me and made me miss over a year of my life.”

Patroclus stays silent and Perseus turns back to Hera.

“Why are you here? Are you working with Thetis?”

Patroclus hadn't even considered that. If Hera is on Thetis’ side, they have almost no hope of ever finding Achilles.

“I haven't decided yet.” Hera stands up and walks over to them, staring down at them from where she towers. Patroclus thinks he dies again when Hera’s gaze turns onto him. “That depends on Patroclus.”

He forces his throat to work. “What do you mean?”

Hera steps back and gestures to the palace around them. “I let it go at the time- I was preoccupied with the ineptitude of a certain Goddess of Love. Plus, there were prophecies and all that involved that I didn't feel like dealing with the fine print. You were both going to die soon enough anyway, you didn't need me getting on your tails. But now… now you're both alive again and, I must say Patroclus of Opus…I am not much a fan of adulterers.”

Patroclus feels himself pale.

Chapter Text

He may as well have been slapped in the face. He physically recoils at that, and maybe she did physically slap him with her words. She is a goddess, why couldn't she?

The words that have been haunting him since they got here slam into him all at once and suddenly he's falling. He hears someone yell something, he feels someone catch him, and then it's dark. And then he's standing once again in Lycomedes’ throne room, but as he remembers it and full of people. The courtiers are chattering at dinner, Patroclus is sitting with him, and in the circle… there, Deidameia dances with another girl, taller than the rest. Patroclus remembers, before it happens, the way his green eyes seemed to glow amongst the drab, gray background of everything else. 

The scene comes in at full force, the sounds start up and he's here again. Only… he looks to his left and standing next to him is Nico. He's wearing his modern clothing, his bomber jacket-as he's called it- and jeans, which is enough to snap Patroclus back into awareness of his current state. 

This is the past.

“You're having a flashback,” Nico tells him, apparently able to read the confusion and disorientation on his face. “My sister was also pulled from the underworld and into a different time. She had them all the time, reliving her past so that her soul could catch up with her present.” He turns to take in the dull revelry. “I guess Hera triggered your first one.”

Patroclus shakes his head, responding to Nico. “No…no I've had them before, I think. I was mostly reliving my childhood with Achilles. They didn't happen very often, I've had maybe two or three.”

“They're likely going to become more frequent. Does this one have to do with what Hera said?”

The dancing has stopped. Deidameia is speaking. Patroclus looks up… and he meets the verdant eyes that could never be hidden from him. He stands. He croaks out, “Yes.”

It's at that moment that the Achilles from his memories, sixteen and wearing a dress, lights up and throws himself at Patroclus. Deidameia is screaming, Lycomedes is too. 

“Pyrrha!” 

“Pyrrha what is the meaning of this? Who is this man?”

Nico murmurs, quietly, in awe, “I can understand them.”

He doesn't know if that's for better or worse when Achilles claims, brazenly, “My husband.”

Nico’s gaze snaps to Patroclus’ own. Patroclus holds onto him and answers Lycomedes' question. “Yes. It's true.”

And Deidameia's screaming. She's crying. She was always crying in his memories. “No! No, it's not true!” She's tugging at his sleeve. Courtiers are being corralled out. 

Nico steps around, taking in the scene. “This will all happen as it went whether you play along or not,” he tells him, “you don't have to comply.”

Patroclus huffs, burying his face in the neck of this Achilles. The feeling is fuzzy, unreal, like his face has been numbed with poppy seeds. He tightens his hold. “I never really considered it adultery,” he answers, quietly. 

They turn to watch as Deidameia reveals, “He's my husband! We're married! His mother is a goddess and she oversaw it!”

He clings tighter, but this isn't real and it doesn't ease the aching emptiness in his chest. “He was mine first.” 

Thetis bursts in after Deidameia threatens to reveal Achilles' secret. He doesn't know how he feels about Nico being here. Right now, he just feels as numb as he did on that day, being claimed as Achilles' husband, only to immediately find out he has a wife, and then she points a sharp finger at Achilles and says, “I'm pregnant! With his child!”

Nico whips around, but the scene shifts and they're outside, their backs to the palace. 

“Patroclus!” Achilles calls his name and they turn, watching his figure approach, his skirt hiked up in his hands so he can run. 

“He looked so scared,” Patroclus says to Nico, who hasn't yet commented on any of what he saw. “I don't remember him ever looking quite so scared before. Only once, on Pelion. I fell down a ravine and broke my arm- he was frantic until we were able to take the sling off, insistent on doing everything for me. He insisted on carrying me everywhere the first day or two.” He laughs jaggedly as Achilles talks. “I don't know what he was afraid of here. Losing me or hurting me. He manages to do both a lot after today.”

“I did not want it!” Achilles says desperately, clinging onto him, arms around his waist and pulling him in. The touch isn't cold. It just…feels like nothing. “She said she'd tell you where I was.”

Patroclus whispers. “Did you honestly think she would?”

The memory fades. He’s sitting on the ground, propped up by Will, with Nico kneeling in front of him, hands on his shoulders. Nico blinks at him and pulls his hands away. 

Perseus and Will help them to their feet. They turn to Hera as Patroclus gains his bearings back.  

“You're not even what I would consider adultery, back then at least,” Hera drones on, unsettlingly still as she speaks- like the foundations of a stable union- ironic as that is. “Many kings and queens had their side pieces, you were not the worst offense.”

That stings. It makes somethings acidic crawl up his throat, a desperation that has been asleep, held at bay for years. One that didn't have the space to exist in Elysium, but returns to him in full force; alive, sixteen, and forced to face it all once again. He says, with conviction, “My relationship with Achilles was truer than anything he did with anyone else for political gain.”

Hera regards him. She doesn't look impressed. “Love is of Aphrodite and Eros’ realm. I care more about union and loyalty. Faithfulness. Honesty and respect and partnership. In all honesty, I do quite like you two- you and Achilles.”

“Oh… thank you?”

“Then why are you here?” Perseus asks again. Is he incapable of backing down? He tries to not think of Achilles with that thought.

“Because, Achilles was still married. He was unfaithful and cruel to the only union that was actually sanctioned by the Gods!”

“Sanctioned by Thetis. His own mother," Nico challenges.

Hera shrugs. “As it was done. It was valid. And then he went off to war and tried to marry another princess. And then he wanted to marry that war prize. As if the sanctity of his marriage to Deidameia was null. As if she didn't matter!”

“Of course she mattered!” Patroclus cries out, that old guilt stirring in him once more, ancient and unending. “But she wasn't our only problem. He never actually married anyone else.” He takes a breath, accepting his reality. “Goddess, we offended you and I apologize. Name your price and you shall receive it.”

He doesn't expect for her to blow him off with a floppy wave of her hand. “Oh, no. No, dear, we're done with the whole…blood on the altar thing. This new world is bursting with abundance! All of that is unnecessary and not very meaningful anymore. No, that's not what I want.” Perseus opens his mouth again, but Hera cuts him off. “I am about to answer your question, Perseus Jackson, if you would lower your hackles, lest I get the urge to turn you into an actual cat! Very good, thank you.” She paces around the four of them in a circle, her steps so light that he can't even hear them. He feels like he's being stalked. The eyes of a predator set on him and all he can do is wait for the inevitable dig of its claws into his chest. He imagines it would feel like a sword and a spear. “No, all that I require from you is to make up for what was lost to me. A true union, based on trust, respect, and utter devotion. That is how I may be appeased.”

It takes a moment for her words to process and register. It takes a moment more for him to confirm that it's indeed what she said.

Will is the one to voice the question. “You…want him to get married?” 

Hera’s grin is bright, joyful, but sharp and immoveable. “Yes.”

“Like…right now?” Patroclus asks.

The smiles drops and she scowls at him. “No! No, of course not right now. Who would you marry right now?” Patroclus looks around and sees three people he barely knows and one and half couples. “Exactly. I want loyalty and commitment. I can't get that here.”

All at once, his heart is racing, his cheeks are on fire, and even his light cotton tunic is too hot. “You…want me to marry Achilles?”

Hera laughs, it's a bit scathing, but it's genuine. “That is up to you, Patroclus. I told you what I want. Who you marry doesn't matter, as long as it's unbroken and sturdy. Which means that you may also never get divorced. So many couples get married so frivolously just to then serve divorce papers these days, it breaks my heart. Literally, it's my very spirit. So many people, yet basic respect and communication is impossible for most of them.” She shakes her head in dismay, lamenting the state of marriage in this modern age. She walks back and settles on the seat she was in originally. “If you fail to appease me within this lifetime, Menotidies, the Underworld will not be so pleasant this time around. Understood?”

Patroclus goes icy, but he nods. He knows it's a futile effort, but he asks anyway, “Do you know where he is?”

Her eyes are brown. On some level, everything about her is so normal that she could be any average Grecian wife. But there's power underneath her, an assuredness and self righteousness that she holds for all women, especially those who can't find it in themselves. He wonders if anyone's ever been able to appreciate Hera as anything other than Zeus’ jealous, vindictive wife.

“You know where he is.”

She lets them go. 

Chapter Text

Percy voices what they're all thinking as they walk down the hill of Scyros, winding through the streets that climb the hillside like vines. But, considering how quiet and subdued Patroclus is being, Nico doesn't think that their luck is quite so simple.

“This is good, right?” He says, hopeful but wary at the same time. “We find Achilles and you two can just…get married. It's easy…isn't it?”

Patroclus chews on his lip, his hands fiddle with the hem of his shirt, wringing it and shaking it out over and over again. “Maybe.”

“It's not like the Gods to make things easy for us,” Nico says, willing to be the voice of pessimism- not that most demigods are particularly optimistic about their luck. “There's gotta be something to make this worse than it seems.”

He watches Patroclus, but he doesn't say anything. He just looks lost, staring straight ahead of them, but unseeing. Like he's floating. Nico worries that the vision he saw has anything to do with it. Maybe it was intrusive to join Patroclus in that without his permission, but he didn't want him to go through it alone and freak out- he wanted to explain what was happening. He wasn't expecting the scene to be…quite so personal. He saw Patroclus undergo the weight of utter betrayal. The feeling of being forgotten and cast aside, for the briefest moment, by the person he trusted the most out of anyone. And it's because of that trust that Patroclus took him back- heard his side of things and believed him. Nico can't judge him on that- Achilles seemed genuinely happy to see Patroclus, then genuinely distraught when he was on the verge of losing him. But Nico can't help but wonder if that trust was ever really rebuilt and fortified properly, or if the news of the prophecy and the war that came soon after took over any chance they had for growth.

Will says, opting to be the voice of optimism, because he is one of the few optimistic demigods- Apollo kids; they're delusional. “If the shoe drops, then we'll deal with it. We've dealt with worse things than a marriage proposal.”

“Yeah,” Percy says, “but you can't typically just kill your spouse to make your problems go away. I think that would break Hera’s deal.”

Nico shrugs. “He's already supposed to be dead, isn't he?”

Patroclus really isn't paying attention, since he doesn't jump to arguing against killing Achilles. Nico isn't sure if he's qualified to ask him about it. 

When they make it back to the shoreline where their boat is waiting, they're faced with the million dollar question. Which Percy asks, since he's apparently the question guy.

“So where do we go?” He looks to Patroclus. “Hera says that you know where he is. Do you have any idea what that means?”

Patroclus hesitates. He doesn't answer directly. “I think we should head to Phithia.”

“He's there?”

“No,” he answers with a shake of his head, “but someone who can confirm my suspicions might be.”

“Who?” Nico asks, as they all climb once more into their sailboat. 

“King Peleus- Achilles' father.”

With a steady lurch, Percy has set the boat sailing, the sail itself filling out with an unseen wind and pushing them ahead. 

“He’s not dead?”

Patroclus shrugs. “I don't remember ever seeing him in Elysium. Granted, Achilles and I kept separate from a lot that was going on.”

Nico stares at him, slightly impressed, slightly concerned. “You didn't talk to anyone else at all?”

“No, we did. But our happiest moments were when we got to be alone together, without the drama that other gods and people brought to us. We don't like or care for more than a few others down there, and even they get on our nerves eventually.”

Nico can relate- he likes people, but wow they can be too much. Still, there's something weirdly sweet about that.

“So your Elysium was each other. Neither of you could really be there without the other.” Patroclus looks down and doesn't respond, so Nico prompts him, “Right?”

He sighs, one of his hands becoming preoccupied with running through his dark curls. “I…don't know. Maybe? For me, I know that's true. I would be nowhere without him. But…if he never met me?” He shrugs. “He would have ended up in the same place.” 

“But that's not how Elysium works, right?” Will cuts in. “You get in based on your own merit and feats in life.”

“Yes, but all I am is tied to him.”

Nico frowns. “That's not how it works. No- listen. You're your own person, no matter what relationship you're in. Achilles is famous, yeah, but if you got into Elysium it's because you earned it. I'm a son of Hades, so I know what I'm talking about. You'd both be fine on your own, but you wouldn't be truly happy without one another. That's what makes Elysium worth it for you, for both of you.”

Patroclus just nods his head and agrees. “Okay.”

Nico shares a look with Will. One that communicates their concern for their friend, but also the melancholic note that they get it. And the knowledge that, in order to fulfill Hera’s order, he's gonna have to grow past this mindset. Which is, unfortunately, much harder than killing monsters.

Patroclus is up front with Percy. Watching the clouds pass by, sharing small murmurs of dialogues, but it doesn't look like anything that could be called a full conversation. He and Will are leaning against each other, hand-in-hand, at the back. Will nudges him, a teasing smile glowing on his face.

“You're attached,” he remarks cheekily.

Nico glares at him. “Am not.”

“You are! You haven't even known him for a month, but you've adopted him!” He should not be feeling so victorious about this. “It's okay though, it's understandable. After all, he's, apparently, supposed to be the most likeable person to ever exist.”

“Deidameia didn't like him,” Nico argues.

“That's different.”

“I dunno,” Nico says quietly, “I get the feeling that a lot of people didn't like him growing up. Otherwise, why was he exiled, and why was Achilles his only friend?”

“Maybe he thought people didn't like him.”

Nico smiles ruefully. “It's hard to tell the difference sometimes, isn't it?”

Will laughs and nudges him playfully.

The day passes by slowly like that. The sea is calm, Percy keeps them away from danger, and Poseidon helps to speed along their travel, his blessing adding an extra layer of protection around them. The four of them chat idly and Patroclus takes over steering and navigation by nightfall, when Percy needs to tap out and take a nap.

An hour or two in, Patroclus calls out hesitantly, “Um…Nico, Will?”

“Yeah?” Nico responds. 

“I see another boat.”

Nico and Will move next to him and look where he is. Indeed, in the near distance, a vessel similar to their own is sitting. And it's coming closer.

“Maybe it's just some late night fisherman?” Will suggests hopefully. 

“On a sailboat? In the middle of the ocean?”

Will shrugs. “Maybe.”

Nico shakes his head, exasperated but fond. “Not for us demigods.”

Will scowls at demigod luck, but goes to wake up Percy. 

The other boat gets larger as it approaches them. It's a modern one, and fancy. It's got seating areas at the front and back. The steering is on a raised section in the middle that's protected by windshields and a roof. Patroclus looks appropriately wary about it as Percy and Will come back to stand with them. Percy rubs the sleep from his eyes and Nico notices him pull out Riptide, but doesn't unsheath it just yet. 

A figure stands at the prow. If they doubted this was something mythical, they don't any longer. The figure is wearing a starch white chiton, which accentuates his muscled pale figure and fiery red hair. It's hard to make out who's driving, but Nico can just barely make out the long curly hair of a woman. 

He hears Patroclus suck in a quiet breath and whisper, awed and unsettled, “Neoptolemus.”

“Who's that?” Percy asks. “And please tell me he was your best friend during the war.”

“No,” Patroclus answers, not engaging in the sarcasm, “he is Achilles' son.”

Nico's eyes widen and he takes in the scene again, recalling the memory he witnessed earlier on Scyros. “That's…”

Patroclus nods. “Yes. He is Achilles and Deidameia's son. He was raised by Thetis and the sea nymphs. He is…” his expression goes dark and distant, remembering something Nico cannot see. “He is a warrior and nothing else. He has no heart. Every moral idea and violent custom we had, he wore with his entire being. He has done things that shocked even Agamemnon.”

The figure, Neoptolemus, jumps easily from his own boat onto their own, a shadowy figure under the moon making him look like a flame being shot at them. He lands on the edge of their boat, not rocking it only for Percy’s diligence.

“I'm also Aristos Achaion,” is how he introduces himself. His grin is broad and delighted as he unsheathes and wields his sword. “Don't forget that.”

Patroclus scowls. “Not while Achilles is alive.”

The boy’s glare is lethal as he turns his sword onto him and says something in Mycenaean Greek that Nico sluggishly translates as ‘Dirt.’

Patroclus replies in the same language, effectively cutting Will out of the conversation.

“Stand down, Pyrrhus.”

“I'll stand down once you're dead. I won't let you sully my father’s grave again.”

“You dishonor yourself.”

“Me! And what on my father?” 

Patroclus doesn't get a chance to respond before Neoptolemus is lunging at him, swinging out his sword. Patroclus dodges, but he would've been too slow if it weren't for Will rushing in to grab Neoptolemus’ arm and yank him back, throwing him to the back of the boat. 

“I thought your Dad was protecting us!” Nico exclaims to Percy who looks at him exasperated as he uncaps Riptide and readies his blade.

“He can't do everything!”

Their foe is up in an instant, flying forward, but a wave of salt water comes up and smacks him off into the sea. This is followed by a scream as the woman from earlier rushed over to the front of her boat. “Pyrrhus!”

It's a small woman, with long curly hair and big dark eyes. She's dressed in a deep purple Grecian dress. Nico recognizes her from Patroclus’ memories- Princess Deidameia. Nico looks back at Patroclus, who appears stricken. 

“Deidameia,” he greets. “Good to see you alive again.”

The look she gives him isn't loathsome. It's just…tired. Exasperated. “Believe me, I didn't ask to be here. This world is strange.”

He laughs. “I'll toast to that.” Strangely he walks over and offers her a hand. She takes it and hops into their boat, her dress fluttering, making her look like a deity. 

“I'm confused,” Nico says, “don't you hate each other?”

“Yes,” Deidameia agrees.

“I don't hate her,” Patroclus says, genuinely puzzled. 

It’s at this point that Neoptolemus- Pyrrhus- finally scrambles back onto the boat, rushing at Percy with his sword raised. Percy sighs, long-suffering and still relatively tired, and meets him in the middle with a clang of bronze meeting bronze. Percy’s attention is preoccupied, resulting in the mild but uneasy swaying of the boat. 

“Doesn't she want to kill you?” Asks Will, keeping a close eye on the battle.

She scowls, scrunching up her face that suddenly makes her seem so much more real. “I've had decades of life to process everything that happened. We lived in a prejudiced time, for both women and for…men like Patroclus and Achilles. Patroclus was as kind as he could be to his lover’s mistress.” She shrugs. “Thetis dragged me up here, but she hadn't actually talked to me since she ripped my baby from my arms and dragged him under the sea and turned him into…” she gestures at the battle. “That.”

“I never resented her,” Patroclus elaborates, “It's always been Thetis at the source of my issues, regarding my relationship with Achilles. Deidameia got caught in the crossfire. She was basically alone, in charge of a kingdom in a world that didn't believe she should or could. Achilles provided status and legacy. It's as Hera said- marriage and love are two different things.”

Deidameia sighs and sits next to Patroclus. “I had accepted my fate, I found a way to be content with who I was and where I ended up. Now Thetis has drug me and my psychopath son up again just to…I don't know, hinder you. Pyrrhus has been enjoying it. I've liked getting to know him, but I hate what that woman did to him.” She turns to Patroclus, scrutinizing, but not resentful. “It's a good thing Achilles had you. Otherwise…I don't know what he would have become.”

Patroclus stays silent at that, watching the rather high stakes battle going on in half of their sailboat. Nico isn't entirely sure what to do about all of this, but he figures Percy might need assistance soon, even if he does seem to be holding his own just fine for now. 

“Is your son going to kill our friend?” He asks. 

Deidameia shrugs, bored. “He does enjoy killing.”

Nico sighs, looks at Will, salutes, and joins the fray. 

He taps Percy on the shoulder to let him know that he's there. Nico takes out his blade, brandishing the Stygian Iron and entering a give and take with Percy. Nico attacks his back while his attention is on Percy and Percy attacks when his attention is on Nico. The issue is that this kid is really good and somehow seems to sense each incoming threat. He deflects and parries like a windstorm. He and Percy are barely able to dodge and block in turn. No one is able to land a deciding blow.

“Why are you fast?” Percy gasps out as Pyrrhus jumps over a swing at his legs.

“My father is Achilles!” Is the elated response. “No one's ever been able to put up such a fight before!”

With his barely rekindled energy, Percy manages to call up another wave to blast Pyrrhus over the side of the boat. With one last desperate haul, the boat is jetting forward, knocking over everyone that was standing and causing Patroclus and Deidameia to clutch onto their seats. 

He turns onto Deidameia, sword at the ready. She puts her hands in the air. “Hey, I can't wield a sword.”

“Yeah, I don't believe you.”

She smiles. “This is a very exciting time for women, isn't it?” She turns to Patroclus, excited about what she says. “I've been able to explore for a bit! There are women in law making positions and no one sells them off to be married! Some women even choose not to have children without shame! They fight in wars, they wear pants! I have no need for Achilles and I don't hold my grudge against Patroclus. There's better paths for me. I'm simply here to control my son while Thetis is busy with hers.”

Patroclus’ smile is soft and genuine. “I'm glad.”

“So…” Will tries. “Can you tell us where he is?”

She frowns and looks at Patroclus. “You know where he is.”

His expression falls and he nods with a sigh. “So it's true.”

“Of course it's true.”

“Where‽” Percy exclaims, tired and obviously a bit fed up. 

Deidameia opens her mouth to explain, but at that moment a slash of lightening crashes through their boat, splitting it down the middle.

And soon they're sinking.

Chapter Text

He manages to haul Nico up onto the boat, following after him steadily. Catching his own breath, he calls the water and salt out of Nico’s lungs and tosses it brazenly back into the Atlantic as he calls the rest of it out of his clothes. He already did what he could for the princess, but since she can't eat ambrosia or nectar, she's having to just rest for now to gain her energy back. 

He tips a bit of nectar into Nico’s mouth and he gasps awake, drinking in the air more deeply than the nectar. He takes a moment to breathe and regain his bearings. Then his gaze lands on the jagged planks of burnt wood just behind Percy.

“What the heck?” He exclaimed, which is putting it mildly. “Did we anger Zeus?”

“When are we not angering Zeus?”

Nico looks around, taking in Deidameia, then asking the inevitable question. 

“Where's Patroclus? Where's Will?”

Percy remembers the lightning breaking their boat in half and everyone going under. Being a son of Poseidon, he managed to maintain his consciousness long enough to find Deidameia in time to hurl her aboard their half of the wreck. It took a bit longer to find Nico, which was made especially harder by being exhausted and half blinded by the lightning. 

For Chiron. He's doing this for Chiron. Patroclus too, because he's a good guy and deserves help, but mostly this is for Chiron. For Mr. Brunner. Who never asked him for favors, only for him to live up to what he could be. And apparently, he can be a living life preserver and a boat. 

“I saw the other half of the boat sailing off in a different direction. But…I didn't see them. I don't know where they are.”

As expected, Nico’s expression devolves into barely concealed panic. He meets Percy’s eyes and takes a deep breath, sitting up properly and shaking out his hands, trying to regulate. “Okay. It's okay. They're both capable.”

“And they have Apollo and Poseidon looking after them,” Percy adds. Although, how reliable are any of the Gods, really?

Although he's likely thinking the same thing, Nico nods anyway. They can't do anything about them right now. Their attention is caught by the sounds of the princess waking up, pushing herself up from the bottom of the boat and groaning. She brushes wet curls out of her face and stretches out her shoulders and back with audible cracks. She blinks at them. 

“Uh…are you alright?” Percy asks her.

She nods. “I'm okay. How about you two?”

“Same here. I guess Zeus wasn't trying to kill us.”

“If that was even Zeus' doing." She looks past his shoulder. "Well boys; welcome to Phithia.”

Percy turns abruptly. Last that Percy was aware, they should have had many more days to go before they got anywhere near mainland Greece. But, paying attention to nautical senses again, he finds that she's right. They have reached Thessaly.

“We should find them both, shouldn't we?” Percy asks as they climb onto the shore. “We need Patroclus.”

Deidameia shakes her head as she wrings out her hair, which is curling and frizzing ferociously from the salt water. “Patroclus cannot go where you will need to. We must trust that the Gods have a plan for them and you can complete this next part by yourselves.”

Nico scrutinizes her. They begin walking up the shoreline, ignoring all the locals and tourists and hoping they just look like a bunch of teens finishing up with their day at the beach. 

“Why are you helping us?” He asks.

She shrugs. “I'm also angry with Thetis, but I am mortal only. Helping you foil her is all I can do.”

Percy remembers hearing what she and Patroclus mentioned on the boat. The Goddess tricked them into a loveless pairing, hurting them both, then stealing her child away from her. She also didn't sound too happy about being pulled back into the land of the living, only to be tasked with doing Thetis' dirty work and reigning in her whirlwind of a son. Suddenly, Percy remembers that, even though she looks about sixteen, she lived an entire life before she died. 

“So what do we do? Where do we need to go to find Achilles?”

She smiles at him. “When Thetis took Pyrrhus from me, she took him to the caves under the sea. There, she raised him with her sisters and the naiads. She wanted to take Achilles there as a child, too. But it was his choice. And between the advice of his father and later incentive to stay with Patroclus, he never did, and instead climbed the mountains to Pelion, where he was taught by the centaur Chiron.”

A look of understanding overcomes Nico. “She took him under the sea. To the caves.”

Deidameia nods. “Yes. No mortal has gone there and come back alive or unchanged. Even for demigods…but maybe you, sons of Poseidon and Hades, will be powerful enough to withstand it.”

“Are you sure it wouldn't be better to go find Patroclus first?” Percy asks, looking off towards the expansive Aegean Sea. “He should be here once we retrieve Achilles, right?”

“Who knows how long it would take to find him?” Deidameia argues. “You're here now and you're the ones that can go under the ocean to find Achilles. Besides, if you go and tell Achilles that Patroclus is missing or in danger, he'll stop at nothing to find him. He'll help you.” The look on her face is fierce. “Don't waste time. I don't know everything about her plans, but the less you delay the better.”

“She's right,” Nico concedes hesitantly. “Patroclus would want us to get Achilles first and we're here.”

He knows they're probably right, but there's just an itch of worry in the back of his mind. Regardless, he nods. “Alright. Okay.”

“How do we find the caves?” Nico asks.

“I don't know,” she says, apologetic. “I have never been there.”

“It's okay,” Percy says, turning back towards the ocean. “I'll work it out.”

“Maybe you should try talking to your dad first,” Nico suggests, walking over and kicking at the water. “I can't breathe underwater.”

Oh, right. That would be an issue. Percy could extend his power to provide breathing space for Nico, but that would require him to maintain focus. But asking that as an ADHD kid, especially when there's likely to be imminent peril…not a smart ask. Percy nods.

“I'll be right back.”

He dives into the sea.

What greets him isn't his father- yeah, shocker.

Instead, he’s greeted by the friendly face of his old guidance counselor. A sea nymph named Eudora. Her smile is bright and she excitedly waves at Percy.

“Percy! Hello! I have something for you! From your father- Lord Poseidon.” Her hair is full seashell and clams here in the ocean, with eyes like bubbles. She's adorned with fins and flippers.

“Hi, Eudora. You're here to help us?”

“I am!” She grins wide. They stand there silently for a moment before she realizes what he's waiting for and scrambles around her body.  Her hands are a flurry, patting herself and unseen pockets. “Oh! Right- yes yes, where I put it? Hmm…oh!” She pops up as she remembers and reaches up into her hair. One of the clams opens up and she brings out a string of pearls. She holds it out to him. “This will allow the creepy…um..your friend to breathe underwater for as long as the pearls are there. Once the magic of a pearl is used up, it'll crack and fall away, so he can't stay down here for too long. But it should be enough to find the lost hero and escape.”

Her excitement is barely contained when he takes it from her with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Eudora.”

“Oh, don't thank me!” He cries, although she's blushing a nice shade of blue. “Lord Poseidon sent them, I'm simply the messenger!”

“Well, Messenger of Poseidon.” she squeaks at the title, denouncing it. “Can you tell us how to find the caves?”

“I'll send you some hippocampi!” She offers. “They'll take you right where you need to go. Oh! And for that!” She reaches somewhere and pulls out a miniature conch shell that's also attached to a string to wear as a necklace. “When you're ready to return, blow this and they'll come right to you!”

He takes that as well and grins. “Thank you so much.”

“Of course! It's the least I can do to help!”

“Oh yeah. About that, how are things going with Hecate and the school? No disasters?”

The look on her face goes dreamy and he swears he can see starfish in her eyes. “Oh, there's a disaster at least twice a week. Percy, it's wonderful! You must visit soon. The pets would love to see you.”

The mention of the pets brings Percy back to everything that happened recently. What with Hecate’s hellhound being Hecuba, the last queen of Troy.

“Oh, by the way, you wouldn't happen to know where…” he trails off, unsure if she would know debating worrying her about it.

“Where your friends are?” She guesses. “I'm afraid I don't know.”

Percy sighs. “Right, of course, thanks anyway.”

“I'd tell you if I did.”

“I know. It's okay, you've done more than enough already.”

She smiles again, although it's sadder this time. “I wish you luck, Percy Jackson!”

“Thanks, you too.”

She fades away.

He relays everything back to Nico and Dedameia. Nico takes the necklace and puts it on appreciatively.

“I can't promise I'll be here when you return,” she says, “if Thetis or my son find me I'll have to go with them.”

“That's alright,” Nico answers as Percy floats in the water, “we appreciated your help.”

She waves them off. “Yeah, okay. Just…good luck.”

They bid farewell, Nico closes his eyes, and they plunge.

Nico opens his eyes and he blinks, letting out a breath and some bubbles. 

“Woah,” he says, the sound muffled and distant. “This is sweet. Weird, but sweet.”

Percy snickers at the old man slang, but lets it go. “It was terrifying when I first did it. Then again, I also fell from the Gateway arch while fighting Echidna.”

“Woah, really? How old were you?”

“Twelve.”

Nico whistles. “That's a lot.”

Percy shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. You ready?”

Nico nods. As Eudora promised, two hippocampi were sitting there waiting for them in the open ocean blue. Percy’s a little disappointed to find that neither of them are Rainbow- Tyson's, his little cyclops brother’s, friend. He's probably busy doing seahorse things, like eating seaweed or pulling Poseidon's chariot.

They both climb onto one and the hippocampi take them even deeper below the water pressure. Percy keeps checking in on Nico. Can you see? Yes, child of Hades thing, being able to see in the dark. Is the pressure bothering you? It's weird but I'm okay, again, my home is under all of this. The deep sea creatures don't freak you out? Are you kidding? They're awesome!

After a few more rounds of those questions, and confirmation that all twelve of his pearls are intact, Percy is finally able to relax and just enjoy being able to experience all of this with someone. He's the only child of Poseidon, so the only ones that can appreciate this without worrying about dying are the naiads at camp. They don't have any demigod children of any nymphs at the moment. If he wants to take anyone underwater with him, he has to make sure he's focused on their ability to breathe. He'd never risk taking them to the ocean if he can help it. Which he can't now.

A few more leagues and his nautical senses tell him they're in the middle of the Aegean Sea. Natural bioluminescence begins to clear their vision. As they get closer, a towering cave system appears, like a giant piece of coral made out of limestone. It's coated in strange glowing algae and colorful jellyfish floating around, acting as lanterns. It's busy, filled with nymphs of all genders and some minor sea gods. There's hippocampi, giant squids, dolphins and sharks. 

Fields of seagrass and forests of kelp dance around it, various naiads at work around them- harvesting and preening. Down in a clearing, a group of lobster people- like centaurus, but with lobster bodies instead of horse bodies- are going through drills. Guards, then. In the distance, a group of hippocampi run wild.

It's mesmerizing. 

“How do we find him?” Nico asks. At the same moment, one of his pearls cracks and floats away, dissolving into sea salt with an audible snap and sizzle.

They look at one another.

“Quickly,” Percy says.

“What are you doing here?”

The two of them startle, whipping around with racing hearts to find…Percy tries to hide the panic stirring in him.

“Kymopoleia,” he greets, “how are you?”

Kymopoleia is a sea nymph and Percy’s half sister. She's the Goddess of ocean storms and nearly wrecked the Argos II last summer on their mission to defeat Gaea. Percy and Jason Grace only barely managed to keep their ship intact long enough to strike a deal with her. One that Jason brokered. 

He promised her that, if she let them go, once they were done with their mission, that he would personally ensure that Camp Half-blood and Camp Jupiter would both make efforts to honor her and all the other minor gods who are at risk of being forgotten. Camp Half-blood has been making efforts to build extra cabins for all of the children and Camp Jupiter has been building their shrines and temples accordingly. It was Jason's dying wish to see these efforts through. 

“I am well, little brother. Your friend kept his word.”

“Yeah,” Percy croaks, “he did. He's…” he glances at Nico who doesn't react, which is good enough. “He's dead now.”

“Oh. That's sad.” Despite the tone of her words, she does genuinely look a bit put out by this news. Percy supposes he'd also be upset to lose the only person who thought he was worth remembering. “I'm sorry to hear that, he's done amazing work.”

“Yeah. He did.”

“How can I help you?”

“Uh…what?” Nico says, sounding as surprised as Percy feels.

She scowls at them. “What? You've all proven to be trustworthy and true to your words. I appreciate not being forgotten and fading into the abyss. You're obviously here for a reason, I will help if I can.”

“Oh…that's very generous of you.” He looks at Nico, who just shrugs. Why not? “You're not…friends with uh…Thetis…are you?”

Kymopoleia scowls again, her expression stormy- ha- and disapproving. “Ah. So this is about the mortal boy.” Percy nor Nico answer, so she continues. “Fine, I'll take you to him.”

“Really?” Percy asks. It's too good to be true.

“Really. Leave your hippocampi, they'll find their own way back where they belong.”

They do. They follow her.

She leads them through a confusing twist of caverns and caves. There's very little light, which is luckily okay with him and Nico. The corridors are mostly empty, which is odd.

“Why is no one here?” Percy asks.

“No one wants to deal with him,” Kymopoleia huffs in response. 

He's tempted to ask why, but he gets the feeling that he's about to find out either way. He wishes he read the Iliad at this point. He basically lived The Odyssey, but he's considering asking Annabeth to go over it with him just in case. 

“What's he like?” Nico asks instead.

“Petulant.” Her answer is quick and decisive.

Percy tries to reconcile that with the soldier he met on the shore of the River Styx and he knows that Nico must be doing the same. He was regal, then. Subdued and a bit like Chiron in his guidance. He was somber, weighed down by grief and the consequences of his choices in life. Percy remembers the Battle of Manhattan. What happened with Clarisse and Selena…

Later, Annabeth recounted the similarity it had to The Iliad, but with everything going on at the time it wasn't the most important information to retain, especially when it was all quickly followed by being kidnapped by Hera and kept comatose for months. 

But Achilles will also be sixteen again now. And if he was a prince and a famous demigod even as a child…should it be surprising that he's childish? 

Kymopoleia stops at a door at the end of the final corridor. It's made of bronze, with scenes engraved into it like the paintings on an ancient greek vase or chiseled into a wall. Pictures are easier than words for Percy, but it's still difficult to understand what the story is supposed to be. If he had to guess, he'd say it's Achilles' feats and moments of personal glory. 

He must be behind this door. Belatedly, Percy doesn't recall seeing doors anywhere else while they've been down here. 

“No one else is willing to risk Thetis' wrath and release him. Whatever you plan to do with him, you should do it while she's still busy doing over Pyrrhus. She'll be back soon.”

They both nod.

“Thank you, Kymopoleia. We owe you,” Percy says, trying to get his sincerity across.

Her smile is like a slash of lightning. “Don't thank me yet. Although I might hold you to that. Be wary, Thetis is already angry about something else being stolen from her.”

With that, she pushes the door open.

Nico and Percy are about to enter, but she holds them back, standing out of the doorway. A moment later, a golden tripod comes flying out of the room and clatters against the wall it hits before slowly sinking to the ground. They both jump, startled, and look at one another with large eyes.

 Ah. Petulant

Chapter Text

She enters confidently after that and bids them to follow. 

What they find is chaos- a lavish room that's been torn to shreds. Bedsheets shredded into pieces float through the water. A wardrobe that's been knocked over, spilling out an array of colorful fabrics. Barrels of gold and treasures have been kicked over and stomped into pieces, the contents decorating the floor, a few lighter pieces floating. 

In the midst of it is a boy, around Percy's height with tanned golden skin, shiny yellow hair, and furiously green, stormy eyes. He stands there cross-armed, a white chiton accentuating his lithe figure and broad arms and shoulders. He resembles a large cat, serene in its preparation to pounce on its prey.

“Hello Achilles, you do know how to woo a girl,” Kymopoleia drawls sardonically. 

He flicks his gaze over her, barely acknowledging her, before turning onto him and Nico. “Who are they?” He asks Kymopoleia despite staring straight at Percy.

She clears her throat and announces, “This is my half brother, Perseus Jackson, the only demigod child of Poseidon. And this is his friend, Nico di Angelo, the only child of Hades.”

“Hades has a kid?”

Kymopoleia smirks. “Yup.”

He stares at Nico a moment then turns his attention onto both of them. He just looks bored now. “And what are you doing here?”

“Oh, uh,” Percy starts, “I'm doing a favor for Chiron.”

Achilles seems startled at that, his stance relaxing and his gaze softening. “Chiron?”

“And Patroclus!” Nico adds. “We're also doing his for him.”

At the mention of Patroclus, Achilles immediately snapped to Nico, who manages to stay strong under the scrutiny. “Patroclus? He should be in Elysium.”

“Oh, uh…well, no, he says he followed you the moment Thetis kidnapped you.”

An expression of abject horror overcomes him and he looks just about ready to bolt- which is fair enough. “That would mean that he ventured through Tartarus.”

“Uh…yeah, I guess,” Percy answers. He hadn't really considered that before. Patroclus, a human soul, trekking through the damned planes of primordial prison. 

Achilles curses in Greek, running a hand through his hair and kicking at a cup on the ground. “He is such an anóitos.” A fool. But he says it so softly, with a look of such deep infatuation that any insult in the words is fully overridden. He sighs. “I should have known he'd do such a thing. He once said he'd…” his expression falls, a hint of archaic grief overcoming him before he shakes it off. 

“He wants to get you back,” Nico says softly.

Achilles nods. “Yes. Yes, I have been trying to get back to him, but my mother is…well, how mothers can be.”

Percy considers his own mom and finds that he disagrees. His mom would never kidnap him from Annabeth and refuse to let him leave until he promised to never risk his life again. That's something only gods and bad parents do. Like Hera. And Thetis. 

Achilles sighs, walking over to his bed flopping back on it dramatically. Percy had a hard time seeing Achilles as a prince with the image of the grown soldier he'd met at the Styx. He sees it now.

He sits up abruptly. “Do you know her plan to make me immortal? She wants me to marry a goddess! And she hopes that that will convince Zeus to turn me. It's ridiculous. I did not want to get married the first time she made me. Now she does this again? I was so angry at her and last time she at least offered to give Patroclus back to me. She thinks I will forget of him if he stays a dead human and I an immortal God. Four thousand years and she has learned nothing about me!”

Kymopoleia raises an eyebrow at that. “Don't you want to be a god?”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. But he hesitates. That flicker of uncertainty in the words he's about to say. “Only if he does- which he does not, because of course he doesn't, because he's him and he's perfect.”

“I dunno if not wanting to be a god makes you the peek of humanity," Percy mumbles, but receives a glare from Achilles. At least he's not as bad as Heracles...yet. "Right so…” Percy interrupts. “Let's bring you to him.”

Achilles shakes his head, morose. “I cannot, Perseus.  My mother has a date set up for me. Two actually. Her anger if I do not attend will be worse if I disappear. Maybe, if I do these dates and she sees that I am still not interested, she will finally leave me alone about this.”

“I dunno…” Nico says. “If being dead for thousands of years didn't stop her, what makes you think that this will?”

He shrugs. “I am not dead."

“I think it would be easier to just get you out of here right now,” Percy tells him. “No offense, but your mom doesn't seem like the most reasonable God.” Although, the bar isn't high. It lies with Hades rather than Olympius, or even the ground floor of the Empire State Building.

“She…just wants what's best for me. She's a goddess, she doesn't understand mortal sensibilities. She's never even been in love, really. She doesn't get it.”

“You don't want to antagonize her,” Percy guesses. 

Achilles nods, then hesitates. “You said…he is alive again? Truly?”

Percy nods.

He bites his lip, and he looks so much like a kid. It suddenly hits Percy that this is how old he was when men exposed him and dragged him to war. Percy tries to picture it, this child afraid of disappointing his mother being used to steal countless lives.

Yes, Percy has been fighting and saving the world since he was twelve. He fought his own war against a Titan when he was sixteen and lost a friend in more ways than one. And don't get him wrong, he's still trying to reconcile with everything he's been through. But everyone and everything he's personally killed, he knew would reappear in the Underworld and reincarnate one day. He's lost friends, but he's never been asked to kill another mortal. Yet, Kings and Gods looked at this boy before him and decided that he could and that he had to. What a cruel fate; for demigods, lovers, and mothers alike.

“My mother has two dates planned for me today,” Achilles tells them. “I will do this. I will please my mother by entertaining them. But tonight, when it is all done, come back and I will leave with you. You will take me to him.”

Nico frowns. “Do I have that long?” 

He brings a hand up to the pearls along his neck. As if to prove his point, one shatters and dissolves, leaving him with ten pearls left. 

“They should last you until sunset,” Kymopoleia tells him. “The activities should be finished before then.”

Achilles nods, resolved. “I will do my best to keep them concise.”

"Can we risk to stick around that long?" Nico worries, drumming his fingers along his collar bone, where his pearls lie. "Percy and I aren't really supposed to be here."

"Don't worry about that," Kymopoleia smiles. "I have an idea."

Chapter Text

Believe it or not, sand is not a substitute for food and sustenance. Despite this fact, Will and Patroclus seem to have both been force fed their own portions with a refreshing side of seawater. 

They threw up the ocean for quite a bit too long and both they agree to not discuss it again.

Will was able to take a sip of nectar that was, thankfully, safe in his bag. But he's having to search the island they landed on for any possible source of fresh water for Patroclus. Unfortunately, it's just one long expanse of sand and heat. Will glares up at Apollo, praying for reprieve that he cannot offer. 

Patroclus is working on a contraption meant to purify the saltwater. He's weakening though, under the heat, and Will’s resorted to looking for plants that they can take water from. They've been unsuccessful. 

Will plops down by Patroclus in defeat just as the moon begins to show her face. “I can't find anything. It's getting late, we'll have to move more inland in the morning- hope to find a town with fresh water.”

“That wouldn't be hard,” A voice interrupts. It sounds feminine and young. “Although, I have some right here you can have.”

The two of them stand up, turning to a figure approaching them in the darkness. As she comes closer, the moonlight unveils more of her details. She has a girlish face, light splatterings of freckles, and dark curls. She is young, or at least she looks it. It's hard to be sure, seeing as she's wearing a silver dress that marks her as a Huntress of Artemis. 

Patroclus, however, gasps. Will gets the suspicion that he knows her for different reasons. 

“Hello, Patroclus. It's been a while.”

Patroclus just stares at her, stricken. “You…”

She smiles, playful but seemingly sympathetic to Patroclus’ shock. “Yes, I'm supposed to be dead.”

Will blinks, looking between the two. “I don't get it.”

Patroclus clears his throat. “Iphigenia. Daughter of Agamemnon. Before we left for Troy, we gathered our forces in Aulis. Artemis was angry about the war we were about to wage and stopped the winds, demanding a sacrifice.” Patroclus raises a hand to the girl. “Agamemnon offered her marriage to Achilles- a claiming it to be a way to please the gods and build bridges between him and my Achilles. He agreed. Agamemnon called for her, claiming she was going to marry Achilles. Then…at the altar…”

His gaze goes cloudy, distant, reliving things he hasn't had to think about- hasn't been able to think about in a long time. Iphigineia graciously took over for him. 

“My father and his men drug me from the altar, away from Achilles, and slit my throat in front of his face. They offered me to the Goddess- a princess, a daughter of the King of Men, intended for Aristos Achaion. It was a worthy sacrifice. The Goddess was appeased.”

“And yet…” Will says, skeptical, “you became a hunter.”

The girl shrugs. “She did not ask for me specifically. I was a worthy sacrifice yes, but so would a lot of people. Yet my father lied to me, my mother, and Achilles and let his men slaughter me. Artemis had to accept me, so she saved me too. Claiming me as part of her pack and offering me a life detached from my parents and their misdeeds. They could have just as well decided not to go to war, as well. Yet they all chose death, at every turn they had, they chose death.”

Patroclus blinks back awake, tears in his eyes as he focuses on her once more. “Iphigenia…” he starts, his voice crooked.

But she shakes her head and holds up a hand for him to stop. “Don't. Do not apologize. You nor Achilles knew what would happen. You both grieved me more than my father did. You were angry for me. Achilles fell apart about it and you confronted them for their cruelty and deceit. I have no qualms with you. You were both honest.”

“He does not like to lie,” he croaks.

Her smile is sweet, like mountain water. “I admire that. Such a rare trait in men.”

“If you don't want revenge…” Will says, breaking the moment a bit, “then why are you here?”

She looks a bit guilty now, pulling her arms behind her back and kicking at the sand. “Oh…a few reasons. First…um…I couldn't let you go to Phithia.”

They both blinked at that.

Patroclus asks, “Why?” At the same time that Will says, “You caused our boat wreck?”

She shrugs. “I asked my Goddess for some assistance. That was her solution. We needed to separate you. Because,” she's quick to explain, “Patroclus, you would have insisted on following them into the naiads’ caves and you, as a mortal, cannot go there. And you, son of Apollo, should not go to a place that is so hidden from the sun. Artemis would hate to see her brother so distraught.”

Will feels a little, tiny bit pleased at the reminder of his Dad's affection. Patroclus just scowls. 

“That is my choice to make.”

“Not anymore! What happens if you get yourself killed again? Do you remember what happened last rome?”

Patroclus accepts it, but he's clearly not happy about it. 

“And besides. I need your help with something else. Follow me.” They do, after she hands them some fresh water to down, and continues to talk. “Thetis is many things, she's even a fool from time to time. It's easy to resent her. It's easy to pity her. I almost respect her, being such a…dedicated mother. But she's not stupid. She's very smart and she knows you Pátroklos. So, she decided to take a bargaining chip with her- from the fields of Asphodel. Someone she knows you would struggle to choose against.” Iphigenia ares at the ground, stomping on plants and listening to the snap of their stalks. “This I cannot respect, and I cannot forgive. She can mess with her demigod beast all she wants, but to drag an innocent soul into this…who's entire life has been only suffering, suffering for Achilles once again? It's barbaric!”

Patroclus frowns. “He's not a beast…all the time,” he amends.

“You know who I'm talking about,” she answers, crisp and gentle as the night.

He stops in his tracks. “Please don't,” he whispers. “We're on Aulis, aren't we?” He looks around, looking at the terrain but seeing something else. Some time else. “I don't…”

Iphigenia turns to him, staring him dead in the eye. “The winds still blow, don't they? No one is going to die today.” She turns to Will, who’s honestly shocked to be drawn into this. He was perfectly fine just observing and going along for the ride. “But…we may need your friend.”

Suddenly, he's nervous.

She leads them to a small cabin- of course a Hunter would choose a woodland cabin for a safe space. 

The place is obviously godly- the roof glitters silver, the wood is white as a sickle. The door is dark wood, with a full moon carved into it, overseeing a scene of woodland creatures. Strangely, they're all youths- fauns and cubs and pups and chicks. Flocking underneath the circle as the mothers lurk in the shadows. Will isn't excited about what he's up against. 

Iphigenia pauses and looks back at them over her shoulder. “Just…don't freak out, okay? She is…sensitive right now.”

Will nods. Patroclus is still, staring at the door with fear. Will means to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, but he flinches- violently, tugging away from Will’s hand and he snatches it away readily.

“Who…are we about to meet?” Will asks, uneasy.

Iphigenia looks to Patroclus, waiting for him to a

nswer. He does.

“We…are about to see…” He winces, folding in on himself, “Briseis.”

Chapter Text

He wishes he'd realized Patroclus had been following him.

Of course, after all of these years, he should have known. He supposes he'd forgotten just how devoted, how…desperate Patroclus could be in the face of losing Achilles. And he manages to do it in a wholly unselfish way- it's a pure, unwavering affection. Like a mountain that watches over the ever-moving sea. 

Of course, he couldn't have realized. His mother was…diligent. The entire journey is a blur. One moment, he was in a recreation of the spring on Pelion, diving underneath just to pop up again and surprise Patroclus, grabbing onto him and pulling him under as well- the next, he's waking up made of flesh and breathing salt water. 

He's gone between feeling enraged and just tired for the last few months. His tantrums worked to keep the naiads away from him. They also worked to make sure that he was alone. 

That was fine. When he was growing up in Phithia, he preferred being alone until he started to prefer being next to Patroclus. 

The thought of Patroclus, his Patroclus journeying through Tartarus. Alone. For him.

There is not enough time in eternity to make up for what Achilles did to him the first time. He can never make up for the way he abused his trust and his devotion the way he did the first time around. Nothing will mend the betrayals, in matters of fidelity, of love, of the basic morals that they had once shared.

It was so easy for honor and glory to overcome humanity and gentleness. 

He loved Patroclus for those traits- honorable because he is gentle. Somehow, along the way, Achilles had assigned their roles in his head. Patroclus is the kind, gentle, and humble half. The heart and the medic. And Achilles is the soldier, the warrior, the hero. He is the half that will protect them and make sacrifices to ensure their glory. For Patroclus will always be attached to him and will be buried with him and Achilles' glory will be his as well.

He expected Patroclus to carry all the kindness, to preserve it for the both of them and of course he did.

It was a common romanticism between the two of them- that they were two halves of a whole, completing one another. They would whisper it into the sighs of the night and on the winds of their breaths. They said it so much, maybe they started to truly believe that they were both only halves of what they could be. 

But it's not true. And that's not how souls work. 

They were only ever two entire people. Irrevocably a pair, never to be torn apart (even though they were and it truly felt like half his soul was torn away from him). But they were still just relatively normal mortals with their souls whole and intact as they're meant to be. They're reasonable for their own completeness. And Patroclus managed to remain born kind and honorable. Achilles forgot how to be gentle- including towards the one he was meant to love the most. The one he swore to protect, to never hurt.

And yet. 

And yet, when it mattered most. He loved his pride more than he loved his husband. He loved himself more than his other half, more than their partnership. He was selfish and stupid and he broke them. 

If you love me-

I can't.

He hurt him. Nothing will ever excuse that he hurt him. And his actions- or his inactions- rendered him a hero. Seen him fit to guide young demigods in the centuries to come while Patroclus took a backseat, staying behind in Elysium. A hero to the gods, but a background character to mortals.

Mortals never were truly capable of seeing Patroclus for what he was- for what he is.

Achilles is reminded, painfully, that he, too, is only mortal. Despite it all. He died. He went to the Underworld. 

And still. Still, his Patroclus is the one chasing him. Following him through primordial prison, across oceans. His only reprieve is that he was not foolish enough to come to these underwater caves or face Thetis head on. 

He's still making him wait though. Insisting on appeasing his mother, trying to calm her. Get her to give up. 

If Thetis is angered, he fears that it is not himself or the demigods that she will turn her wrath on.

Kymopoleia arrives on the training field- a sandy clearing surrounded by kelp- with her brother and his friend. She introduces them to Thetis. 

“This is my brother, Perseus,” Kymopoleia says, presenting him, “And his servant, Nico. They are here to act as chaperones and ensure fairness.”

Nico shoots a subtle glare at Kymopoleia for being called a servant. Achilles notices it. His mother probably wouldn't recognize it even if she did see it too.

Kymopoleia has been a reprieve in all honesty. When Thetis first pushed him into a date with her, she was quick to make sure to get him alone and give it to him straight.

My father is Poseidon, I'm here to keep an eye on things and report back to him. I am not interested in marrying you. 

Why, he had asked her. Why is he involved?

A few gods feel indebted to you, but more so to your lover. Poseidon especially has a long-standing affection for the best interest of your boy.

Achille has never felt particularly jealous. He and Patroclus have always been hopelessly devoted. But…well, it's difficult for even him to not shrink when compared to a God. 

She's icy and distant. She doesn't have much of an interest in everything that's been going on, but Achilles appreciates it. He gets it, too. His mother wants him to care about the goddesses she's shoving at him. She wanted him to care about Deidameia or one of the other foster boys for his Thereupon. But he didn't, he just couldn't. They were boring, predictable. Not many people challenge him, not much is difficult for him.

Only Patroclus.

But she's become a friend. A kindred spirit, even. 

“Does Poseidon not trust my judgement?” Thetis challenges.

“Poseidon just wants to be sure that there's no…cheating or impairment of Achilles' right mind.” She states it so assertively. She leaves no room for questioning. She and Thetis are about matched in hierarchy. Thetis may be queen of the Nereids, but that's not much against a daughter of Poseidon, no matter how minor a goddess she may be. 

Thetis scowls. “And how do we know that his son will remain fair in his judgement?”

Kymopoleia scoffs. “Surely you know who Percy Jackson is? He's notorious for not caring about gods and their sensibilities.”

Is that true? One look at Perseus- Percy?- only shows him embarrassment and a healthy dose of dread.

“He doesn't even want to be here.”

The boy catches Achilles' questioning look. He just shrugs.

Alright then. A man who cares not for the gods’ favor. Achilles can appreciate that. He's only ever really cared about his own mother. 

Thetis scoffs, not impressed by a mortal with no piety, but he technically manages to outrank her, being Poseidon's son and, seemingly, a favored one at that. 

Achilles can't afford to be angry with his mother right now. He is, extremely so, but throwing tantrums only works to make the naiads leave him alone. His mother simply indulges him or ignores him. He also can't afford to bring Patroclus into this, lest she get angry. 

And, at the end of the day, she's still his mother.

She relents. “Fine, then. Perseus may stay. His servant, however, will be brought to the others to perform his duties.”

Kymopoleia barely hesitated. “Very well.”

“I shall leave now- let it be known that I am not meddling!” She announces as she guides the gloomy boy away. He and Perseus share a nervous look, but comply nonetheless.

They wait until they're out of sight. 

“Will he be okay?” Perseus asks anxiously, fiddling with something in his pocket. “She won't, like, eat him, will she?”

A smile tugs at him until he really does have to laugh. “No, she prefers seafood.”

Perseus frowns. “I've been told that I smell like salmon.”

Kymopoleia joins him in his laughter.

“Hey, you both probably do as well!” He protests, but he's smiling. 

“I've been told I smell like squid,” Kymopoleia concedes, mirthful.

“Kalamari," he calls her.

“I resent that.”

“Of course you do. So what's the plan for right now?”

Kymopoleia and Achilles just plop down onto the sand. Achilles lays back, staring up into the dark expanse that's lit by occasionally anglerfish and jellies.

“We usually take this time to relax. Enjoy being away from my mother's leering.”

He feels Percy sit as well. “Do you remember us?”

Achilles sits up. “Remember you?”

“Yeah, me and Nico. You talked to us at the Styx about two years ago.”

Achilles frowns and tilts his head. He squints at him- his tall and lanky frame, short dark hair, and murky green eyes. “Oh…yes. You were having issues with Titans. You were the first in a very long time willing to do that- going into the Styx.”

Percy nods. “Yeah. That was me. It worked- we won. Saved Manhattan. Lost some friends to do it.”

Achilles nods, memories flickering across the back of his mind. “That happens in war.”

“Yeah. The curse is gone now- dissolved when I entered Camp Jupiter.”

“Ah, the Romans.” Achilles starts picking up clumps of sand and throwing it around. “I’ve told Patroclus very little about them. I don't think he'd like them very much.”

“Why?”

“He doesn't like war all that much- fighting, violence, all that. I heard what they did to that one oracle- terrible ordeal. I didn't tell Patroclus about that either.”

Percy blinks at that, a smile tugging at his lips. “You mean Jesus? Patroclus doesn't know who Jesus Christ is?”

Achilles smiles as well. Being considered a Hero, he got pulled into a lot of god and demigod business. He and some of the other dead heroes- including the original Perseus, Hector, Odysseus, Aeneas, and some of the other kings- occasionally got together and discussed anything they knew about the living world. From getting called upon to provide guidance or challenges for new heroes. Patroclus is worthy of Elysium, but he isn't a hero that gets called upon, so Achilles has to pass on any news he gets. He usually likes to leave out the grimier bits. If he's asked for them, he'll tell him, he won't lie. But Patroclus doesn't usually ask for more details, and it's so much more lovely to see him smiling than disappointed or saddened. 

“Oh, I should probably tell you,” the demigod says suddenly, staring at Achilles. He seems hesitant. Achilles does not like it.

“We don't actually know where Patroclus is right now.”

Suddenly the world drops through his stomach. “What?” He hisses. A part of him regrets the frightened look on the kid. But he's busy restraining the anger and panic.

“We got shipwrecked. We got separated from him and our friend- Nico’s boyfriend.”

His mind falters a bit on that word- boyfriend. It was spoken in English, but Achilles only barely recognizes it. Separately, he knows the translation of boy and friend. He's lost on their meaning put together as one word. But, that's not what's important right now.

“He is in trouble?” He gets to his feet, staring up into the dark blue expanse.

They have only been separated twice before in their lives- this would make the third time he supposes. Each time, was a horrible experience for them both. First was….Scyros. Then it was Troy and that was a separation that tore their souls apart. He ignores the way his heart stumbles in its rhythm, he takes in a breath- as much as he can under water. He turns his glare onto Percy, who shifts uncomfortably.

“Why didn't you tell me this before?” 

He shrugs. Achilles takes another breath and makes a conscious effort to unclench his fists.

“Get me out of here, take me to him.”

Percy’s eyes widen, but his posture relaxes, clearly pleased with this turn of events. 

Unfortunately, they're interrupted by a screeching yell.

Chapter Text

Iphigenia opens the door. It doesn't squeak when it opens- a huntress of the night would never overlook that.  

The inside of the cabin is perfect for a huntress relaxing from a long night of prowling around the woods. The floor is absolutely covered in fluffy animal pelts, clean and silky to the touch through Patroclus’ sandals. There's a fire going, warm but not suffocating. It's lit with fire and moonlight, giving the place a sleepy feel, especially with the plush seating and pillows thrown about. There's a kitchen and a dining table made entirely of wood. There's a deer head above the fireplace. It moves. It watches. 

Patroclus would be unnerved by it, but his nerves are distracted with something else.

A girl. She sits among the rugs, tanned skin and silky brown curls, cared for with scented oils to curl so crisply. She's strong, a toughness in her calloused hands. 

She looks up at them, brown, soothing eyes glisten with curiosity and caution.

She stops on Patroclus and he cannot breathe. No words, no breath. A simple apology is not all that she is owed. 

Iphigenia speaks first. “Hello, Briseis.”

She stands, slowly, but steady. Briseis moves over to him. She smells like firewood and rosemary.

“Patroklos,” is what she says first, in easy, steady Anatolian.

“Briseis,” he answers. He feels the tears come, tears that he always shared with Achilles so freely. Tears that Briseis had never needed to see from him. But they come now, a millennia later, guilt and affection that will never grow to anything else. “Can I hug you?” He whispers, choked.

Her expression softens and he sees that she's crying too.

“Oh, Aristos Andras. Of course.”

He embraces her. She returns it.

They explain what they need to to Will, but there isn't too much to say. She loved Patroclus, Patroclus loved Achilles, everyone died.

Briseis explains. “I was mean to be an ultimatum. She thought you might choose me over him, this time.”

Patroclus really winces at that, that old and soured guilt has moved into his stomach for a bit. “I…don't know if I could have.”

“You wouldn't have. We both know that.”

That will always be his biggest downfall with Briseis. The thing that means that, no matter how hard he tries, he will always fail her. Over and over and over again. 

Because he loves Achilles too much. Because he couldn't be alive without him. And if he gave her everything she deserves …she'd find out exactly why she shouldn't have wanted it at all. 

But if their lives were in danger…if he could only save one? Well, he'd follow Achilles anywhere. 

“Don't say you're sorry,” she stops him, apparently able to read his face. “I know. We both know. It doesn't change anything.”

Patroclus slumps forward and closes his eyes. “I'm so tired.”

“Actually,” Iphigenia says. “It's probably a good idea for you all to get some rest. You've been through a lot this past week. After you eat, though.”

She and Will place the food on the table- some hearty looking rabbit stew. 

“Why did you say you might need me?” Will asks after scarfing down his first few bites. It reminds him of Achilles after a long day of battle. 

Iphigenia frowns. “Thetis was keeping her trapped in the sea caves. She was there for a while before I caught wind that she was kidnapped and being kept there. That's not a place that mortal souls should spend a lot of time. We need to make sure she's okay.”

Will nods. They finish their stew, then Will sits with Briseis by the fire. Patroclus and Iphigenia stay close by, reassuring her that she's safe with Will, but he doesn't even need to touch her exactly.

“It’d be easier if I could just look at you and touch you,” he says for Iphigenia to translate. “But if you're uncomfortable, I can use my abilities to sense your state without any of that, it just may be less accurate.”

Briseis opts for the second option for now, glad to stay clothed and uninvaded.

“How can demigods be so powerful, now?” Patroclus asks in awe as he watches Will work.”

“The Gods’ power has become more condensed over the years. It's amazing what mortals can do now, isn't it?” Iphigenia replies.

“Yeah.”

She watches him for a moment- he can feel her eyes on him.

“I'm sorry for diverting you so abruptly,” she says. “I know you've been anxious to find him. But she needed you right now and you couldn't have helped if you'd gone.”

Patroclus curls up on himself. He's been trying not to think about the mission they got barred from. Trying not to picture Achilles; sixteen and dissolving into something not quite a god, but less than human. 

His fists clench and he has to take a breath to relax. 

Before he can figure out how to respond, there's a knock on the door. It's solid and breaks through the easy serenity of the cabin. Iphigenia pulls out a dagger, holding it protectively over her chest as she stands up and creeps to the door, “No one should be able to find this place,” she murmurs.

Patroclus follows her as Will and Briseis watch carefully.

She creaks the door open the tiniest sliver and she hardens. “You are not welcome.”

A small voice answers her. Only it's not small, it's just as loud and leering as Patroclus remembers. It crashes through his mind, rattling his bones until he thinks he'll rejoin the sand in billions of tiny pieces.

“I thought Artemis welcomes all women and children.”

“The Goddesses can offer assistance or not to whoever she pleases,” she withstands.

“So not me, but an actual murderer is okay?”

Iphigenia starts to argue, but Patroclus puts a hand on her shoulder. She steps back to look at him in surprise, and that's when Patroclus sees him for the first time since he was eleven over four thousand years ago.

He didn't get to go to Elysium- Patroclus didn't let him live long enough to earn it.

He was always strong looking. Big, but beefy, perfectly capable of snapping a trachea or two. His hair was well groomed, cared for with oils and living grooming, always laying as right as a playful, rowdy boy could let it. 

Clysonymus just looks…young, now. Like a kid, two years younger than Patroclus is now. That old guilt washes over him- how much of that is there?- and he wants to be sick.

Clysonymus offers out a hand to him. In his palm, rest two dice. They're beautiful, onyx set in ivory. They're clean, too. The bloodstains that should be there aren't. 

Patroclus wants to cry. Wants to grab those cursed dice and throw them into the ocean. Let the salt rub them down to nothing.

“Wanna play?”

Patroclus wants to shove him away again. He feels eleven years old again, with a world full of bigger, older people who hated him for something he didn't fully understand. With a mother who isn't present enough to know him, nevermind love him. With a father so upset at his existence that he breaks things and screams at him. With an entire kingdom that expects him to take care of it one day, while everyone around him tells him that he can't. He feels eleven again, when he was so lonely and overwhelmed and ashamed and he just wanted it all to stop.

But he's not eleven anymore. He's sixteen now. Clysonymus was fifteen when he died.

Patroclus steps forward, despite Iphigineia’s protests.

“Okay.”

~~

The screech was a battlecry. 

The cry of a soldier so close to victory, he knows that one more step, one more swing of his blade will secure it. A cathartic scream, to unleash the months of tension before the tide turned and your enemy was finally subdued. And when the figure breaks into the clearing, tackling Kymopoleia, it's like the release of a breath you'd been holding. Like from the Greeks, when Achilles would join the frey those first nine years. 

The figure- that screamed- is Nike.

Percy blinks at her. He looks at Achilles, who's also still, taking in the scene.

“Nike?” He asks, snapping Achilles out of it.

Achilles turns to him, frazzled and hurries to explain. “My mother's spent the entire time telling her that matters of the heart is the one category she couldn't win in. She sees this as a competition.”

Percy doesn't even try to bite back his amused smirk. “Is there anyone else?”

“She tried to convince Hebe to try, but we all agreed that was weird considering how much she likes to be a kid. She thinks marriage is a ‘grown up’ thing.”

“So no one here actually wants to marry you.”

Achilles blinks at him, then rolls his eyes. “I'll try not to take it personally.”

Percy tunes into Nike’s yelling. She looks like an Olympian athlete, with brown hair and hazel eyes- brown, with a circle of green and to resemble the haphazardly gilded laurel that circles her head. She's wearing a traditional Greek chiton.

“I will not lose to a fish!” She screams, throwing Kymopoleia into the sand- who's getting increasingly angrier as she fends Nike off. “It has been months! Months! What is taking so long!? Then I find out that you got the first date today! You cheater! Cheater cheater cheater!”

“Nike!” Percy yells, but she's not listening. Well, it's a good thing they're at the literal bottom of the ocean. He reaches out with his sense and he doesn't think he's ever been quite so surrounded by water when he's needed it. It's quite simple, really, for the water to move in a turret and tear Nike away from his sister kicking and screaming. When she catches a glimpse of him, however, she stops, blinking. “Oh, Percy Jackson. Hello, what are you doing here?”

He just stares at her. “What are you doing?”

She frowns, glaring over at Kymopoleia who's rubbing her chest, where Nike was beating.

“I cannot condone cheating.”

“You're cheating!” Percy argues, exasperated.

She gasps, offended. “I am not!”

“Wait your turn!”

She frowns at that, thinking. “Oh. Maybe.”

Achilles comes up next to Percy. “You've been cheating this whole time! Aphrodite knows how many love potions you've been trying to slip me this entire time!”

Nike frowns again, kicking her legs out. “It's not cheating, it’s winning. By any means necessary.”

“You mean it's okay when you do it,” Percy chides. Sometimes the gods are worse than children. 

Nike’s pouting now. “I am not the goddess of justice and fair things.”

“Clearly.”

Last year, Percy fought Nike with Leo and Hazel when she was being split between Nike and Victoria, her Roman counterpart, in Olympia, Greece. She attacked them and claimed, it they won, then she'd accompany them to defeat the Titans.

They beat her. They tied her up and kept her in the Argo II until they did, in fact, defeat the Titans. It's only because they're in the ocean that Percy is able to restrain her now, though. 

“Let me go, now, Son of Poseidon.”

Percy regards her warily. “Do you promise not to attack any of us?”

“Fine! Yes! I will not harm you three!”

Percy nods his approval and releases her, the bubbling current dispersing back into the sea.

Nike turns to Achilles, a determined look on her face. “Why is it taking you so long to choose?” She asks petulantly. “Why haven't I won yet? I don't get it! I've followed all of Aphrodite's tips!”

“Aphrodite knows about this?” Percy asks, but he gets blocked out by Achilles' answer.

“Because I don't want to marry either of you,” he says firmly, bored, a bit detached. 

She blinks at him, disbelieving. “What?”

He glares. “There is only one person I would ever want to marry. And he's not here right now.”

She stares at him, then blinks and relaxes. “Oh! Oh that human boy! Oh I like him! Almost as much as I like this fish boy!”

“You like me?” Percy asks, gaping like the fish she calls him.

She whirls onto him. “Oh, yes! You win a lot.” She watches him with fascination. “I've never had a more dedicated and loyal follower.”

“Right… it doesn't feel like I win that much.”

She just stares at him, disbelievingly. “If that were true, you would not be alive to argue about it right now. You've beaten and survived so many gods and creatures... I'm almost flustered! And Patroklos!” She grins. “Well, most living beings have a soft spot for that one. He has such a noble view on what victory means.” She turns back to Achilles. “The moment you accepted him entirely, his underlying sense of victory rarely wavered. Only thrice did he feel lost entirely. Oh, to feel victory so simply…” she gets a dreamy glaze over her eyes.

Achilles, surprisingly, looks uncomfortable at that. Where Percy expected him to look flushed and pleased, he instead seems pale and horrified. He crosses his arms over his chest. He's a lot more lean than he looked, when he was grown up at the Styx. Now, he really does just…look like a kid, carrying the weight and actions of a grown up version of himself. One that technically doesn't exist yet. Or does it just exist as a different version of what he is now? Reincarnation is confusing. ...Are they reincarnated? These are questions for Nico. 

“Patroclus has always been the better of us all.”

Nike grins, throwing an arm around Percy's shoulders, draped across his shoulders. “Now, he's only ever been matched by this little fish boy!”

“Can you stop calling me that?”

“Fish boy!” Nike cheers, grabbing Percy by the waist and hauling him into the…well, not the air, but above her head in a display of, you guessed it, victory.

“Hey!” Percy yelps, “stop that!”

After a brief moment of marching him around in the seaweed clearing, she lets him go to float there as she turns back to Achilles and Kymopoleia.

“Where is the silly boy?” 

After briefly filling her in, and Achilles explaining to her what Thetis has been doing to her this entire time, she's standing there seething with a fire in her eyes- like the Olympic torch.

“Nobody takes advantage of me!” She declares.

She grins downs at them. “Fear not, fish children, I am on your side. Thetis will not be allowed what she wants after what she has done to me and my favorite gold medalists!”

Even though he's smiling, Percy can't help but notice that Achilles looks…uneasy. 

But he can't worry about that now. They have Kymopoleia and Nike on their side and Achilles is willing to leave now. All they have to do is collect Nico and they can go.

Easy.

Chapter Text

Thetis leads him through the caves, the winding, swiss cheese structure of limestone. Every time she glances at him, it's with disdain for having accidentally put him in her sightline. If he were at camp, it might have hurt a bit. But under the Aegean Sea from the Queen of the Nereids? It's a bit funny.

She's kinda beautiful, here under the water. Something about her seems to glow- although, Nico probably does too, considering how pale they both are. Her hair flows around her like ink, catching a rainbow of colors like an oil spill. Her lips are red, like an open wound, like a scavenger, like survival.

He feels like a conversation with her might yield interesting results.

She drops him off at the kitchens, not offering a second glance as he's left to help prepare nectar and ambrosia in different forms.

The kitchens are underwater geysers. Clay and bronze pots are held over the heated waters, no nymph seems particularly bothered by the heat. It's very cool, but he's realizing he may not be able to help if it involves sticking his weak, mortal hands into water that reaches temperatures far beyond boiling- they're heated literally by the Earth’s core. He is not immortal enough for this.

None of the Naiads pay him much mind, so he takes the liberty to slip out and gain some intel. He sticks to the shadows, as he does best, but this may not have actually been a great strategy, considering that down here is only shadows. 

There's no layout, he realizes quickly. Each twist and turn is random, following the natural progression of underwater growth and steam vents. There's very little decoration, even the luminescent algae and jellyfish are there of their own accord, coming and going as the currents shift. Perhaps wandering off on his own was a bad idea. He stops in the middle of a corridor, only to realize that he doesn't know where he is.

A snap and sizzle startled him, his heart racing as he looks down and sees he's lost a pearl. That's nine left. 

Dread starts to sink in a bit.

He should find Percy.

He turns to try and retrace his steps, only to startle at a figure floating there. One with glowing fiery hair and a vicious sneer.

“You shouldn't have come here,” Pyrrhus snaps, but his sneer becomes a grin and Nico realizes it's because he thinks Nico is easy prey.

Well, that should be his mistake.

Nico backs up steadily, gripping his stygian iron sword, the faint purple sheen glowing ominously in the dark. Pyrrhus looks thrilled as he slides out his own bronze sword with a shing.

Pyrrhus lunges at him, Nico’s only barely able to deflect in time, meeting his strike and turning to let Pyrrhus’ own momentum throw him across the hall. 

Pyrrhus, unlike Nico, grew up in these underwater caves. He regains his footing easily, spinning through the water to catch himself and turn back to lunge at Nico again. 

Nico ducks, letting Pyrrhus fly over him and helping him along by kicking him in the back when he pops back up.

To his surprise, Pyrrhus laughs. Not bitter, or cruel, or annoyed. Genuine, entertained mirth bubble from his angry red lips- literally, little air bubbles carry the sound through the water. “This is fun!” He exclaims, readying his sword again.

“Fun?” Nico asks, bewildered at this child.

“I've never fought another demigod before!”

Nico scoffs as he deflects another blow, saying as he goes in for his own attack, “You're not a demigod.”

Pyrrhus scowls at that, taking a jab at his torso and slashing his side. Nico hisses at the sting. “I have divine blood.”

“You're like, one third god, two thirds mortal.”

“Then why can't you beat me?”

Nico pauses at that. He floats in the middle of the water and, yeah, why hasn't he? They're surrounded by darkness.

Nico tilts his head, taking in the entirety of this malignant, angry child. A lonely mortal, who grew up here, surrounded by darkness and immortals that could never understand him, and the legacy of a father he never got to know to live up to. Nico at least got to meet both of his parents- and one’s the God of the underworld. 

“I don't actually want to hurt you,” he says finally. “I'm not a killer.”

That's not exactly true, but…it could be.

Pyrrhus scowls again, apparently displeased with that answer. “Don't go easy on me!”

Nico isn't able to withhold his breath of laughter. He's really such a kid. “Alright then.”

He encases Pyrrhus in darkness.

It's not hard to escape after that. The kid must be pursuing him, but he's swam out a window already. He catches sight of some commotion in a clearing of seagrass. 

Percy! 

He's prepared to swim over and see what's going on, but something catches his arm. He turns back and sees a pale man with poofy copper curls and glaring blue eyes. 

“Intruder,” he snarls.

And this- this is a demigod.

In a moment of panic, Nico shadow travels.

Stupid? Yes, maybe, considering how dark it is down here- the deep sea pressure, darkness, and lack of oxygen make it feel like he may constantly be shadow travelling- but he manages to make it work, coming out right in between Percy and the demigod they actually came here for.

The two men startle, although not as much as Nico would have liked- Percy is used to Nico’s antics by now and Achilles is, well, Achilles apparently. He simply blinks at Nico after taking a step back.

“I'm being chased,” Nico states in lieu of greeting. “Can we go now?” He looks at the scene in front of him. Kymopoleia is in a heated argument with…”Nike?”

Nike pops up and turns to him. “Ah, angel boy. Keep accumulating victories and your failures will soon seem small!”

“What?”

“Kymopoleia and Nike have, apparently, been in a competition for Achilles' hand in marriage and nobody actually wants that. Now they're both trying to help us make a plan on how to sneak Achilles back up to the surface and also find Will and Pat.”

Achilles turns to him sharply, glaring. “Patroclus,” he corrects. “Do not treat him like something to be quickly done with.”

Percy reels back. “Oh, uh- sorry. Just- it's a nickname, y'know? For friends. Like, how I'm Percy, Nico is Nico, and Will is Will.”

Achilles blinks and tilts his head. “Those are…not your names? Oh- yes…you are Perseus.”

“Yeah,” Nico adds. “I'm technically Nicolo and Will’s William. No one calls us those things.”

Achilles pursues his lips and turns away. “We do not use nicknames. Well…” Even in the dark, Nico can see his cheeks redden. “Except for…you know- pet names.”

A grin splits across Nico and Percy’s faces and they look at one another. The idea of these strong, macho Greek soldiers calling each other soft names of endearment like baby is too much. Nico refuses to admit to finding it adorable.

“Who's pursuing you?” Percy asks suddenly. 

“I don't -” before Nico continues, the figure from before crashes into the clearing, sword drawn.

Achilles turns to him abruptly. “Sarpedon,” he snaps, readying his position to fight. “Son of Zeus. Killed by Patroklos.” He sounds proud.

Sarpedon scowls at that. “Wearing your armor!”

“It was still him.”

"Because you are a coward!"

Achilles glares. "I am not a coward. And you were killed by a great man. You should be honored he bothered with you."

The blade comes up to Achilles' chest. “Prove you are not a coward, then. Fight me fairly. Defend your honor, that you don't need your eromenos to fight for you.” Apparently, he doesn't consider being killed by Patroclus an honor.

Achilles' expression darkens. 

Kymopoleia rushes over with Nike and tries to usher them away. “You really don't want to watch this,” she insists. “Let Achilles handle this.”

Nico and Percy try to argue, insisting they should help, but Nike cuts in her insistence too.

They allow the goddesses to pull them into the grass as the sounds of combat begin after hearing Achilles say, "You will not insult him."

Nico explains what he did while he was away- which wasn't much. Thetis was just gonna make him cook and clean stuff, which didn't really require much security. He talks about his exchange with Pyrrhus. 

Percy winces. "Poor kid."

Nico can't help taking that as a compliment and feeling a little proud about being considered scary by Percy Jackson.

“Pyrrhus will alert Thetis. Once Achilles takes care of Sarpedon, it won't be long until Thetis realizes that something's amiss and makes things that much more difficult,” Kymopoleia tells them. “Once you guys are back on the beach, I can summon a boat and storm to send you guys away, but if I don't know where you're going it'll be random.”

Percy frowns and looks at Nico. “We don't know where they are, we don't even know who made that lightning. I don't think it was Zeus.”

“Oh!” Nike exclaims, perking up. “A Huntress recently stole one of Thetis' prisoners. A girl. This means Artemis is involved somehow.”

Kymopoleia brightens with a smile, too, grinning brightly at Nike. “Oh, Nike, that's brilliant!” Nike grins, pumping her fist in the air. Kymopoleia turns back to them. “I'll send you to Aulis!”

"Why?" Nico asks.

"Because, that's where she stopped the winds and took Iphigenia. If Artemis is involved, a huntress stealing one of Thetis' prisoners, it's likely that that's where she'd send your friends.

Nico is about to comment when the silence catches up to him. “Did the fighting stop?”

Kymopoleia immediately goes neutral, wincing. Nike looks like she’s holding back elation. Suddenly she can't hold it back anymore. She jumps up. “And the winner isssss!!!” She rushes back over to the clearing. Nico and Percy follow her. “Achilles!” 

When they break back through the seagrass, Nike is trying to lift Achilles' in the air.

Achilles is covered in blood. His expression is wild.

On the ground, Sarpedon lays motionless, his own sword protruding through his stomach. 

“Woah” Percy mumbles quietly beside him. “Did Achilles…”

Nico nods, slightly dazed. “He killed him.”

Nike puts Achilles down and he turns to them. 

He's sixteen. He's a prince. He's at ease, covered in blood.

Chapter Text

He follows Clysonymus out of the cabin. The forest borders the beach directly, the foliage is rough and scratchy; mostly dirt, grasses, sand and rocks. The dirt is mingled with sand until that is all there is.

That's where Clysonymus leads them- out of the forest, into the open night, where the moon and the sea stand in judgment. They leer, these godly celestial bodies, cold and distant and uncaring. 

Iphigenia is at their heels, bow readied and cautious.

She catches Patroclus' arm, holding him back as Clysonymus moves further onto the sand, until it starts to become rocky.

“Patroclus…” she cautions.

He gives her a placating smile. “I'll be okay.”

“No, Patroclus, listen to me, okay?” She waits for him to nod and give her his full attention. “Don't…give up so easily, you hear me? Don't let go unless there's no other choice.”

He pauses at that, her words reflecting something Chiron said to him so long ago, before they left Pelion for the first and last time. 

“I don't do that anymore. I've held onto Achilles for more than my entire life, I'm stronger now.” He knows it so intimately, holding onto Achilles like holding the blade of your sword, like holding onto the sun, until it becomes too ambitious a task and burns you up and your hands become useless, covered in blood.

“Achilles is the only thing you haven't let go of in your life, Patroclus.” He frowns at her, about to argue, but she continues. “Part of why I brought you here is so you can see her again, talk to her. She told me what you both talked about, when the Trojans were breaching your camp’s walls.”

He's sent back reeling to that time, so harshly it's dizzying. He doesn't feel sixteen anymore, he feels like the almost thirty year-old soldier that he was at the time- twenty six years and nowhere near his next. Without Achilles fighting, with Aristos Achaion curled up and sulking in his tent, with Zeus' favor making the demigod’s absence known; the Greeks were losing.

 They were outside their walls. Patroclus had run to Briseis, told her what was happening. He told her to run, but where would she go?

The Trojans were her saviors.

If Achilles dies- They'll save me, I'll tell them you're my husband, they won't harm you!

Perhaps it's what he said next, that Iphigenia is talking about.

Briseis…if he dies…I will not be far behind.

And she had looked devastated. And so…alone. That in a choice between a life with her and death he should choose…

But it was not a life with her he couldn't handle. It was a life without him. 

He couldn't take that, he'd fall apart. He wouldn't be the Patroclus she wanted in the first place because he is not wholly himself without Achilles. 

But still, he knows that it hurt her. He didn't take it back.

He comes back to Iphigenia.

“I didn't…it wasn't my intent to abandon her.”

He stares at her, the moon shines on her honeyed skin and she really is beautiful. He thinks he can see the traces of her dad in her- in her wild curls, the firm set of her jaw, the way she digs in her heels and bites.

It's a good thing Artemis saved her, that she was able to become this woman. And…he feels so foolish, standing here on this peninsula so many centuries after watching her die, getting scolded by her for being a little too dedicated to his relationship.

“I don't want you to go talk to Clysonymus and see only your mistakes. See yourself, see him in the entirety of what you both are. He is not your fatal flaw.”

“I-” he croaks, “I'm not gonna just…let Clysonymus kill me.”

Her expression hardens. “Wouldn't you? If you felt like it was justice?”

He hesitates. “I…not when Achilles is still…”

“Or in a choice between killing him or letting him kill you?”

“No- no one has to die tonight. You said no one would die tonight.” He says it desperately, pleading, begging. He's not a killer. He won't be a killer. “He's just a kid.”

“So were you.”

He chews on his lip and turns to glance at the boy that's waiting for him on the rocks. “It was an accident the first time, self defense. We're just…we're just going to play dice now.”

Iphigenia slides her grip down so that she's holding his hand- like a sister making sure her little brother doesn't get lost. Again.

“You're a good person, Pátroklos. I'm not asking you to lose that or change that. But, when you're next given a choice, remember that you have friends here. There's a girl and boy in that cabin, waiting for you to return to them. There's three boys underneath the sea, fighting to find you. There's me, here, desperately hoping that history won't repeat itself and the Gods who might just wish to make up for past mistakes. I'm not asking you to stop loving Achilles, I'm asking you to start choosing yourself.”

And what does he say to that? That, of all the things we should hold on to…she's calling him out on something that has never really mattered. He was never going to live long enough to live a fulfilling life, not for himself or Achilles or anything. Achilles was destined to die young. So was he. And once he finds Achilles, they'll go back to paradise together. 

He nods to her, silent as he turns away and joins Clysonymus on the rocks.

“Took you long enough,” the boy taunts. There's something about seeing him now- so detached from who Patroclus is now. He doesn't seem so…intimidating. He's not bigger or older or more powerful anymore. He's just…a kid. Tired, maybe a little cruel, maybe a little vindictive, but he hasn't threatened or attacked him yet.

“What do you want?” Patroclus asks him, feeling 

 anxious and thrown off course at once, Iphigenia’s words working their way through his system. 

“To play dice. You know, whoever gets the higher score wins.”

Patroclus waits for more, but it doesn't come. “That's it? What happens when we win? How many rounds?”

Clysonymus shrugs. 

He lowers to the ground and sits. Patroclus follows, allowing the sand and rocks to dig into his knees.

Clysonymus rolls. 

One and five- six.

Patroclus picks up the dice, tentative and fearful. He lets them roll. 

Two and five- seven. 

Clysonymus looks up at him. “If you lose, part of your soul will return to Hades.”

Patroclus sucks in a breath, looking at the boy with dread and- yeah- Clysonymus’ face is bruised yellow in a way it wasn't before.

Regardless he rolls again.

Five and six- eleven.

Patroclus picks them up. He hesitates. He looks up at Clysonymus, who watches him, and he's aware of Iphigenia watching them.

He rolls.

Two and six- eight.

Patroclus gasps as a sharp ache pangs through his body, originating from his very heart. He looks up at Clysonymus, frightened.

“I don't want to play this game.”

Clysonymus looks him in the eye, unflinching and furious. “You could shove me into the rocks again.”

“It was an accident!” He argues, “You were- you were stealing from me!”

He rolls. “So the penalty is death? I was- I am a kid.”

“Barley. I was younger and I knew better.”

“You were more stupid too.”

Patroclus pretends that those words don't bother him.

Clysonymus rolls again. 

One and eight- nine.

Patroclus glares down at them. “I won't.”

“If you forfeit, you die.”

Patroclus tries to argue, but he feels the pain in his chest spreading, getting stronger. He remembers what Iphigenia said and he hates to admit that she's right. Because isn't it only fair that he should give this to Clysonymus? Play this game with him and let the fates choose what's next?

Patroclus rolls.

Six and four- ten. 

Blood trickles down Clysonymus’ face, red and sticky, inky in the darkness. It could almost be ocean water.

He doesn't want to play anymore. And maybe that's the trick here- maybe he and Thetis are betting on Patroclus being unable to accept this again, that he would forfeit for the sake of levity and accept his fate in death once more.

But he's not just fighting for himself right now. So he keeps going.

Clysonymus loses two more times before Patroclus does again. He feels the ache in his bones, like he’s fallen twice from a great height. 

He did, all those years ago. 

He looks up at Clysonymus as he loses again. And again. And again.

“I'm sorry,” he says quietly.

Cousin glares at him, angry, vengeful. “I don't want your apology.”

Something in him hardens, something defensive, something that he's used to seeing in Achilles.

“It's not for you,” he says, surprising himself. And suddenly he's angry, glaring down at the dice. “You were a bully. You were older and bigger than me and you got off on putting down your prince. Those dice actually mattered to me. You knew that and you tried to take it away. That in itself would've been enough for me to get you exiled. I was- I am your prince,” he looks up at the shocked boy, not expecting Patroclus to speak this way. “You disrespected me, you stole from me, it was in my right to punish you appropriately. But I don't believe in that, I don't believe in death as a punishment, so I'm apologizing because it gives me peace of mind to be able to. Because I am, and I wish I could've taken it back.” He rolls the dice again. “But don't think that that's the same as feeling sympathy or anything for you. You were horrible and you didn't deserve the inheritance you would have gotten, because you didn't earn it, and people would have gotten hurt with you in my court.”

Clysonymus raises a hand to his head. The blood has drenched his tunic at this point and he looks panicked all of a sudden. Maybe he didn't expect to lose. Maybe he didn't expect Patroclus to choose himself this time.

He snarls at Patroclus. “You are a pathetic excuse of a prince. I should have been the heir and I wish you had been executed instead of exiled. You didn't deserve any of what you gained and you still don't.” Rage becomes him and he lunges. “I hate you!!”

Patroclus rolls again. 

The sound of an arrow whistles through the air and Clysonymus is knocked off course, sprawling on the rocks. His head soaked in blood, an arrow in his side, and his eyes left unseeing once again.

Fifteen. He's only fifteen. He never got to be older and he never will. Patroclus ignores the emotion choking him, the guilt and the shame being stirred anew.

Achilles wouldn't be guilty, but maybe that's why Achilles is the better half. 

Patroclus scoops up the dice and slips them in his pocket as he stands. 

Iphigenia joins him. She looks over his face, trying to read him. “Are you okay?”

He nods. Maybe the fact that he can't speak is telling, but she lets it go and takes him back to the cabin.

They host a small funeral for Clysonymus. 

Poor Will looks sick as Patroclus prepares the body.

It's fair- Will is sixteen.

 Patroclus asks him if he's okay and he stumbles over his words.

“I've…seen death before. There was a war two years ago…and a few months ago with Nero…. I've seen my friends dead. I tried to save them because that's my job, but…”

Briseis pulls Will into an embrace.

Patroclus never knew her at sixteen. Only the woman that Achilles stole everything from. But she looks strong, healthy, and steady and caring as she comforts the kid. Beautiful.

They burn the body. 

“How do you handle it?” Will asks them all at large. “Seeing…so much death. Seeing your friends die.”

Patroclus grins ruefully at the burning corpse. “I think it's harder for healers, because we feel like we should be able to prevent it. But that's not how life works. When you're in a war, you get used to it, you accept that death is part of it and know each fallen soldier will live on in memory.” He looks at Will. Golden hair, tanned skin, blue eyes. He knew demigods are beautiful, but he's only technically met three in his first life- now he's surrounded by them. Suddenly, Helen doesn't seem all that special. He looks haunted, subdued, like Achilles did, splattered with blood on an altar.

Patroclus looks up the length of beach and he can almost see the tents, the men strown about trying to endure the heat. The spot where the altar was.

He looks out at the sea and remembers how he and Achilles would play in the waters, all on their own, pretending they were still kids as they splashed one enough and wrestled. As though there was no prophecy, as though their world wasn't ending. 

“I killed Clysonymus when I was eleven. It was an accident, but he haunted me, followed me to Phithia. It wasn't until… until Achilles came into my life that I was finally able to really sleep at night. You don't get used to it, you just go numb after a while. Your soul twists into something crooked, avoiding all the painful stuff when there's too much to avoid. You learn to laugh at it, to not care. We may be monsters, but that's just what we are now. The world is full of monsters, why must we be different?” He chews on his tongue a moment then finally says, “If you're asking me how to feel okay with living, after? I don't know, but I've never been good at just living with myself.”

Will blinks then scoffs, inviting humor to a very dark statement. “You and Nico are so alike. He…carries so much guilt with him, holding onto this self anointed darkness, a penance for just surviving. I guess…I get what you mean. The grief will never really go away, the horror of it. But, you seemed to have lived with it just fine.”

Because he lived for Achilles. He died for him too. 

“You don't want to get used to it,” Briseis says, but she watches Patroclus. “That's what turns men into monsters.”

Patroclus looks up into her eyes, despite his urge to shy away. “Did you think him a monster in the end?”

Something in her flares, a fire that has never gone out. “No. Be was just a sad, sad, desperate man.”

Will looks between them. "You don't like Achilles? I thought you were his wife?"

Patroclus sighs. "It's complicated. Let's not talk about it right now."

Will nods, accepting their privacy and turns back to the pyre. 

They watch Clysonymus burn.

Chapter Text

“I have this conch shell to call the hippocampi who brought us here.”

“Call them!” Kymopoleia commands.

Achilles is watching him, blank and cold and utterly apathetic to the blood sticking to his skin, despite how the water should be washing it away. 

Logically, theoretically, Percy hadn't forgotten that Achilles was a born and raised killer. But, his entire life, the past few years since he was eleven, there's been a firm line drawn in his head- those who kill demigods and humans are bad, those who just kill monsters, when necessary, are good.

Shakily, he calms himself with a breath and brings his conch necklace to his mouth and blows. The tiny thing lets out a whistle of a noise that sounds like a siren shrieking, then shattering into pieces in his hand. 

“They should come here…hopefully.”

He supposed that this uncomplicated mindset is his own fault. He got out lucky, all things considered, when Luke finally had his revelation and atoned by killing himself and taking Kronos out without him.

But if he hadn't.

If Percy had to take him out? 

He knows, now, that Achilles wouldn't have hesitated. It's amazing, really, how these heroes of legend manage to underwhelm him over and over again in regards to their heroism. 

Jason, Heracles, Achilles.

Percy’s glad he wasn't named after any of them. 

Kymopoleia has given Sarpedon an appropriate Underwater burial so that he returns to Hades. Hopefully he didn't lose his place in Elysium, but Nico doesn't comment on that likelihood and Percy doesn't ask. 

“Do you wanna uh…” Percy points to his own face as he looks to Achilles. “Clean off the…uh…”

Achilles blinks and wipes at his face with the back of his hand, which only gets more blood on him. “Oh…Patroclus usually…”

Percy offers his assistance, sending some water at him to clear away the mess. With the blood gone, he looks like a kid again. 

“Thank you.”

“Yeah…anytime.”

It doesn't take long for the Hippocampi to arrive. Unfortunately, they're not very discreet, and the demigods have to be quick in case anyone saw them coming this way. 

“You may not see us,” Kymopoleia tells them, “but Nike and I will be with you.”

Nike agrees as she helps steady Achilles on his Hippocampus with Nico. “Whatever happens, do not worry, for you have Victory and the Ocean on your side!”

“What does that actually mean?” Percy asks as he gets settled. “Like, functionally?”

“I am with you!” She cheers.

Percy nods, slowly. “Right…”

“Willingly!”

“Uh huh.”

“Not tied up and bound against my will.”

Achilles looks at him curiously and Percy definitely reddens a bit at that.

“Oh. So you do remember that…” He mumbles uneasily.

Nike nods serenely then waves him off. “It was a dire situation that led to glorious victory! Be not fooled, I will get my retribution for that, Perseus Jackson. Just not now.”

Percy pretends that that doesn't drop a stone in his stomach and nods stiffly.

The two goddesses back away. “Be quick, boys. Remember, we are with you.”

Percy nods and watches them fade into the sea.

Percy looks down to Memory- the hippocampus he's on. “Were you two followed here?” He asks her.

Neigh! She tells him. Which, she could just be making horse noises, but he's going to assume that she's being helpful. 

And with that, the Hippocampi take them away. 

He doesn't want to say that this has been too easy, since jinxes are absolutely real. But…well, it's been suspiciously smooth going to get in and out with Achilles, plus him having killed a man. He's going to hope that it's having the two goddesses on their side that's helping them, and especially that they've been in Poseidon's realm.

Nico loses one last pearl by the time they can see the moonlight through the waves. A sense of relief crashes over him like a wave as they break through the surface, finally breathing in fresh air rather than salt and seaweed. Don't get him wrong, the ocean is his second home, but there's very heavy emphasis on that “second”. 

Memory and Shell drop them off as far as they can and Percy uses his control to wash them all up onto the sand.

As soon as they land, Achilles collapses onto it and lets the grains flow through his fingers. 

That's when Percy remembers where they are. Thessaly. Phithia. His home. 

Nico and Percy watch silently as Achilles feels the sands of his childhood home once more. He looks down the stretch of the shore, wistful and stricken.

“This is where he kissed me the first time,” he says quietly. He holds a hand up to his chest and blinks at them both. “I miss him. He usually washes the blood off of me.”

A demigod seeking absolution at the hands of a human. Percy thinks of his own mother and, in some way, he thinks he gets it.

Actually, he thinks that his mom would really like Patroclus. He hopes they can meet before he has to go back to the underworld. 

Nico speaks, “We'll get you back to him.”

“I don't think so actually.”

The three of them whip around, readying their weapons, and turn on the new voice.

Achilles growls out, “Pyrrhus.”

The boy glares at his father, fiery and wild. “Grandmother doesn't want you to go.”

Achilles scoffs. “Despite what you both think, that's not her decision.”

“Have you no piety?” He snaps, sardonically.

“Only for one.”

Pyrrhus wastes no more time on words or arguing- he is a warrior, after all. He lunges at his father, drawing out his celestial bronze swords. Achilles, unfortunately, has no weapons at the moment- as it was left buried inside Sarpedon. So Percy is quick to uncap Riptide and jump in the way. Percy has to hold onto the blade of his sword with a wince as Pyrrhus crashes into him, blocking him from Achilles and throwing him off to the side, into the edge of the sea. 

He gets back up quickly. Percy is about to go on the offensive when Nico touches his shoulder and steps in front. “You get a boat ready,” he orders, “Achilles and I can hold him off until then.”

“Achilles doesn't have a weapon!”

Achilles scoffs as he steps next to Nico, rage coiling through him. “I'll be just fine.”

Percy hesitates, but nods, and lets them take the fight. He's more useful securing their escape. 

He looks towards the harbor of Thessaly and runs over to it. Hopefully, he'll find something that works.

That night, they go back inside that cabin and they talk. And Will learns about their history and the things they could bear to tell him. And, through this, he learns about Achilles.

The entire time, Will feels his reverence for the hero fading away. He hears about carnage, rape, slaves, murder, fury, hubris. 

He's read The Iliad before, bits of it at least that could give him some insight into his Dad. But he's never thought too hard about it, in part because he was so young, and the world of demigods so new, that it still just felt like a story he didn't have to take too seriously.

But now, it's real, and the three before him give him details that Homer would have never had. 

It's when he asks Patroclus if he's mad at Thetis that his thoughts on Achilles twist to the less favorable.

“I've been…scared of her. And maybe, at times, I've hated her. But, at the end of the day…she's his mother. And I think he would agree. Did you know that she has seven children before him? They all died in childbirth. And the way in which Peleus got her…it was a violent act, Will. One that Zeus himself ordained. I could never comprehend the pain that she's going through, I cannot blame her for being obsessed with him. For, truly, she and I are the same. We want the same things for him, life and glory. She's not wrong- I'm not good for him. I'm just…too selfish to give him up.”

Iphigenia scoffs at that. “As if he would have given you up!”

And Briseis has her own protests. “You are the kindest man alive Patroklós.”

And suddenly, Will can't help but find Achilles incredibly selfish.

Patroclus has been quiet. He stares out at the sea, as if it will tell him something sacred. He waits, as though change will find him on its own. He cries, as though nobody notices.

He doesn't sob or fall apart. Perhaps he'd already done that, moved on and dealt with his guilt.

No, now he merely grieves. Grieves Clysonymus and the man he never gets to be, grieves his own life, grieves Achilles before he’s even dead and while he still has him. 

Is that all Achilles leaves people? Grief?

A wife he never loved, a son he never wanted, friends he’s turned away. A mother desperate for him to survive, a lover resigned to watching him die? 

And how many did he kill on that battlefield?

How many lives did he trade for his own glory? How many mattered to him?

Briseis’ family? Iphigenia? Patroclus?

Not even his own life was worth as much as fame. 

Patroclus has long gone to bed and Iphigenia has gone to report to Artemis. 

That leaves him alone with Briseis. They sit on the floor, in front of the fireplace that should be too hot, surrounded by all these furs in the Mediterranean, but he only finds comfort.

He's finally been gaining his Mycenaean Greek, so his father was telling the truth. But, right now, it doesn't feel right to celebrate it loudly. Maybe he will when Nico gets back. Of course, Will is worried about him, nervous about what might happen to him under the sea, but he can't focus on that while there's nothing he can do about it.

But he's able to talk to Briseis on his own.

“How does he still love him?” Will asks her after a serene stretch of silence. “I know what it's like to love a fighter, someone who's made questionable choices and survived to the best of his abilities while he felt that he had no one. But…that's not Achilles, is it? Achilles had other choices. Yet…it doesn't sound like he valued Patroclus very much before he died.”

Briseis frowns, taking a few moments to think before looking at him steadily and answering, “It is hard to not be in awe of him, no matter how one feels about him. That is not unique to him, even being in your presence, demigod, is surreal and humbling.” Something in him shifts at that- shock, at being talked about as something other than normal. He supposes, he's not to humans, is he? He's been spoiled in Camp Half-blood, surrounded by enough people like him to let him feel mundane. “I hold little affection of my own for Achilles. It angers me, to watch Patroklós fawn over him, as if that man could ever be good enough for him.” She clenches her fists and glares at the fire before relaxing and turning back to him. “But you're wrong to say that Achilles did not cherish him. Maybe a life with Patroklós was not as important as a legacy, but it was a very close contest. You must remember, Achilles thought that he was going to die, not Patroklós. If he had known? If he realized that it wasn't only he who would die? I don't know that he would have continued on the path he was on. Maybe he would have snapped out of it and saved them both.”

Will shakes his head, still not getting it. “But that's still…you keep saying that Patroclus is so good. How can he just…ignore what Achilles has done to you?”

Briseis shrugs. “That is something I never understood either, demigod. You must ask him that. They're not perfect, either of them, but is it fair to ask them to be?"

The answer leaves him still frustrated and confused, but he supposes that it's fair enough. 

"Still," he argues, "there's a difference between imperfection and...what they did to you."

She concedes to that.

Finally, they both go to sleep as well, opting to enjoy the comfort of the furs and the fire. 

The next day at breakfast, Iphigenia confirms that they're now just waiting for the others to come find them. To which, Will asks, “How are they supposed to find us?”

Iphigenia just smiles and takes another bite of soup before saying. “I'm not the only one concerned with the fate of these two and a debt to repay.”

Will looks to Patroclus for answers with a frown, but the boy just shrugs and continues to push his food around.

And so, they wait.

Chapter Text

Nico doesn't really have to do much. 

He hands Achilles his Stygian Iron blade and mostly plays support. He sends Pyrrhus a few shadow nightmares, occasionally encasing him in darkness, sends a few skeleton piranhas to snap at his ankles, but Achilles really has it handled.

It's a bit mesmerizing to watch, like watching the sea fight itself, with waves like fists that crash back into its own body.

Does the entire world loathe itself so much? 

He's about to allow himself to sink into a feeling of kinship, but he gets stuck on the flash of Achilles' golden hair. Which sends him back to thoughts of his own literal sun and the promise he made to his father. 

Maybe it does. Maybe he does too. But it isn't all like that, and it doesn't have to stay that way. 

Watching a sixteen year old Achilles fight his twenty year old son is…disconcerting. Reincarnation is dizzying. 

After taking a moment to catch his breath, Nico joins the fray again, just to keep things interesting.

From as far as he can tell, Achilles is actually holding back. For a guy that took a son of Zeus down in less than fifteen minutes, a one-third god should be no issue, but neither of them seem entirely interested in actually killing Neoptolemus. 

Things are in their favor until Pyrrhus stands up from the water with a sudden rush of rejuvenation. Achilles and Nico step back in surprise. 

Achilles has his blade and Nico armed himself with fish bones. They keep their weapons ready to throw at him. 

That's when the very sea itself seems to turn against them, sweeping them off their feet in a rush and holding them out.

Nico gets a quick glimpse of Achilles, who looks more surprised and panicked than Nico.

“What??” He exclaims, trying to pull out of the restraint, but each time he breaks free he's pulled back again.

Nico is experiencing a similar problem and is immensely glad that he hasn't taken off the necklace yet.

He finds himself trying to hit the water, which is pointless and not working obviously, but what else can he do? How do you fight water? 

They need Percy.

A voice whispers in their ear. Something deep, feminine if rocks can be feminine when salt water seeps in to erode them. 

Maybe that's the fate of all feminine things. 

You fight me. You fight this. My son, when have I ever wanted anything but the best for you? Come back to me, my child, come back to me and live. Stay by my side as the Prince of the Nereids. 

He can't see Achilles, can't hear how he responds if he does at all. Water rushes by his ears when he hears Achilles shout out. Where's Pyrrhus? What is he doing? What is Thetis' play here?

And then everything is dark as his head goes under water. He focuses on breathing and loses some time, because when he resurfaces, Achilles is free.

And he seems to be…yes, fighting the sea. A wave comes up at him, he slashes it down. When it tries to suck him down, he jets back up. When it vortexes around him, he pulls it apart.

Nico wonders what's happening before he realizes. Achilles is Thetis' own son. A son of the Nereids. 

He easily finds his footing in this battle. Nico turns his attention onto Pyrrhus, who's benefiting from Thetis’ presence. Nico tackles him and they begin to wrestle in the water, struggling desperately to gain the upper hand and restrain, or kill, the other.

Too quickly, Pyrrhus gets the upper hand and shoves Nico down under the water. When he comes back up, he has his sword readied over his head, ready to come down on Nico’s neck in a second.

Before Nico can react, something whistles through the air and slams into Pyrrhus, throwing him off into the sea. 

Nico scrambles to his feet and races out of the water, desperately catching his breath and reassessing where he can help. 

When he looks over to Achilles, he sees the hero already trudging back onto the beach, coughing up sea water and gasping. Nico hurries over to him.

“Are you okay?”

Achilles waves him off, hunched over. “Ah, yes. You know how mothers are- quite literally smothering, but she would never hurt me.”

Nico watches him quietly. “I think you should meet Percy's mom.”

Achilles looks up at him, confused, but they don't have time to worry about that. 

“How did you escape her?”

“Our Goddess allies helped me.”

In all honesty, Nico is a bit surprised that they kept their word to help them. He'll have to make sure to pay some tributes to them when they get back to camp. 

“How did you escape Neo?” Achilles asks in return.

Nico frowns and looks around the beach, trying to find his savior. “I don't…really know. Something knocked him off me, but I don't see…”

He's cut off by someone calling his name and he turns his attention to the bay, where Percy is hanging off the mast of a new sail boat and floating over to them. “I got a boat!”

Nico smiles as he and Achilles go to meet him.

“Good job, man! Did you steal it?”

Percy hops off and suddenly the old comparison to a pirate comes back full swing, crashing into his head. Percy would never say it himself, Nico doesn't even know if he realizes it, but Percy is incredibly agile. The way he moves is seamless, mesmerizing, and he could spend hours watching him just walk when he was younger. If Achilles moves through the world like a tsunami, a giant wave crashing down and taking everyone with him, then Percy is like the smaller ripples. Humble, small, yet with a subtle impact that reaches miles out, creating dizzying movements and pleasant beach days and white noise. 

Percy would probably call himself clumsy. Occasionally, he's an oblivious, fumbling and awkward idiot, but he's not clumsy.

The fact that he's taken must break the hearts of all the bisexuals. (Except Will’s. Will’s is his.)

They all climb onto the boat. Nico makes one last attempt to find his savior, but comes up with nothing. He really does want to thank them, he feels bad that he can't offer to repay the favor. He turns back to his friends and nearly jumps out of his skin. 

Standing on at the back, bow drawn and ready at something off board, is a huntress. Thin and pale, with straight blonde hair like starlight that's tied back in a ponytail, and a fierce look in her brown eyes as she releases another arrow at Pyrrhus.

Achilles is staring at her, looking noticeably pale.

The Huntress shoots a sharp look to Percy. “Go!” She commands. And he does.

As the boat picks up speed and jets it out of there , Nico sees a figure rise from the sea in a whirlpool of Sea spray, salt, and rocks.

Thetis. It's hard to make her out from here, but she looks like a wraith. 

She cries out, shrill as a shipwreck, “No! Achilles! My son!”

But the whirlpool darkens with the sky, changes directions, and pulls her back down. 

Kymopoleia rises, one with the clouds as lightning crashes through her eyes. She raises her hand and they're sent flying out to sea.

When they finally slow down, they take a moment to collapse and catch their breath. Well, Nico and Percy do. Achilles and the Huntress stare helplessly at each other. 

Percy coughs, his eyes flicking between the two. “Okay, who are you?” Percy asks the Huntress. “And how do you two know each other?”

The Huntress turns to Percy, straightens her stance, and answers. “I am Chryseis. Daughter of Chryses, beloved Priest of Apollo.” She marches forward and sinks to her knee before Achilles, her head bowed. “Aristos Achaion. Over the centuries, the world has changed much. Me and many of the other women who have made it to this point, with Lady Artemis or some other means of survival, have learned our worth and are grateful to be able to fight for it. I am saying this, because I do not owe you anything. I have no debt to you, for you have done many things and what you did for me was merely a fraction of your atonement.”

Achilles blinks at her. He tilts his head, blank and confused. “Then why do you kneel?”

She looks up at him, steadfast. “Because our paths crossed at a time where this was not true. For everything you knew, you should have backed down and let Agamemnon have me. But you didn't.”

He scowls at her. “You are right, Chryseis, you owe me no debt. I did not do that for your own good, I did it because Lord Apollo was striking down our own men and women and livestock for you. I did it because Agamemnon was a fool and for my own pride. I gave you nothing.”

“You are the only one who fought for me. I know what you did for the other girls. You would have done that for me if that king did not act so quickly.”

He just watches her helplessly. “I did this because Patroclus asked me to.”

Chryseis nods. “Yes, my gratitude lies mainly with him. Achilles…Patroclus was the best man at that time of our world. And he chose you. You were both only boys when you were sent to War, when you were given the impossible choice of one death or two. I do not blame you for the monster that men made you to be. For when you were with your beloved…you were something different. I owe you nothing, you did not do it for me, but still I am grateful. Because despite everything, you were different from the rest of the men at that time.”

Somehow, Achilles does not look relieved or put at ease with this news. On some level, Nico gets it. If he had been allowed to grow up with the moral teachings of the 1940s- Italy or America- what gratitude would he deserve for not hitting the wife he could have never loved? 

She sighs and relaxes. “You do not have my debt. But still, you have my gratitude.”

Something in the hero solidifies, and the next time he speaks it's with certainty. “Then, for your help, my debt is yours.”

Her smile is bright, blessed by the sun. Gods above, he misses Will. 

“See?” She says, awed. “You are different. And now you get to grow up differently.”

Nico and Achilles frown at that, but Percy speaks before they can follow that thread.

“How can you help?”

She moves over to the prow, watching the ocean ahead of them. “I know where your friends are.”

Percy throws out Kymopoleia’s guess. “Aulis?”

She whirls on them, surprised. “Oh. Well- yes. You figured it out?”

“Nike and my sister did.”

Chryseis smiles. “Ah, yes. Of course. Well, that's where you're headed. My Goddess got your friends there, I will help you navigate- not that the Son of Poseidon needs it, but I figured you'd appreciate some rest.”

Percy nods. “Thank you, Chryseis.”

“And thank you for saving my life,” Nico chimes in.

She makes an attempt to look humbled, but it stays firmly in the category of an attempt. “My pleasure, truly.”

“However …” Percy continues. “Kymopoleia said she'd help us get there, so I don't know how much we'll have to navigate.”

Chryseis shrugs. “We will do what is needed.”

Beneath the waves, The Queen of the Nereids shrieks, struggling to escape the clutches of her own stolen whirlpool.

From up above, lightning crackles and strikes hard into the water. Thetis is just barely pulled out of the way. With one final struggle, she throws herself out of the funnel.

She watches the wretched goddess return to the surface.

Thetis sinks back to the bottom of the sea. When she hits

the rocky floor, she hunches over. She shrieks, as loud as she can, hoping anything that hears shatters into pieces just as she is.

She sits there alone. And she sobs. 

Chapter Text

The sun sets on the day of Clysonymus' funeral. 

Will insists on inspecting the wound on Patroclus' chest. Indeed, sitting there is a scar that his seventeen year-old body shouldn't have. Yet it sits there, taking up space on a chest too small for it just yet. It doesn't hurt, the Son of Apollo can't find evidence of anything wrong. 

The only thing left of it all is a scar. 

Will sits with him quietly. 

When he goes for a walk along the shoreline, wondering what he's meant to do now, looking for the other half of their boat to float over the horizon, Briseis finds him.

It's nice, talking to Briseis and Iphigenia in his own language- even talking to Briseis in a mix of Greek- Mycenaean- and Anatolian is comforting. Leaves him feeling less unsteady. He's not afraid that he's saying something wrong or misunderstanding or having to take pauses to find what he wants to say. 

He can just speak …even if his Anatolian is broken.

“Patroclus,” she says. When she doesn't continue, he feels oddly relieved.

She's nervous too.

He stops in the sand. He turns to her and looks into her eyes.

“Briseis…” he says, with care and weight. “What we did to you…what I did to you…you did not deserve. I hurt you, and I spend every day since I've been alive regretting what happened.”

Brisieis shakes her head. “It was different times back then. You did what you could.”

He takes her hand. It's warm, but not electric.

“You asked for my love..I could only offer you your safety. In even that, I failed. You asked for a family, all I could offer was a facade next to Achilles. In that I failed. We took everything from you and I could not give you anything that might have made it hurt less. You…deserve better, and yet still…”

She shushes him, using her other hand to caress the side of his face. “You gave me you.” He tries to argue, but she continues. “You gave me your kindness, your gentleness, your protection. An ear to talk to, a mouth to teach my language. You offered me a position as his queen, as the wife of Aristos Achaion and, had the gods been less cruel, you would have. You made it all hurt less. Seeing a man like you in war was painful, but I was glad that you were. I am mad at Achilles for bringing you there. But I am thankful too. You never owed me your love. I may never understand what you see in that man, but your happiness is just as important to me. It's important that good men get to be happy, too.”

He takes her hand, feels the pulse that thrums warm through her palm. “What about yours?”

Her smile is sweet, pitying. It reminds him of Myrto. (He has not thought of that name in a long while.)

“This is why…you don't even see it, do you? A man from your time wouldn't normally ask that. Loving you may be the smartest thing Achilles has ever done.”

But Patroclus shakes his head. “You both have always glorified me, I can't imagine why. But, yesterday, Iphigenia spoke to me. She told me that…she said that Achilles is the only thing I've ever truly held on to. And …I fear that she is right. And I fear that it hurt you.”

She's quiet for a moment. She was always thinking back then, stuck in her own head, the only place that preserves her past and her family. “She may be right. But you focus too much on other people. Pátroklos, you have let yourself go. You said that if Achilles died, then you would follow. Surely you see how wrong that is? That you've bound yourself to him as if you have no worth of your own?”

He wishes he could explain it to her. He wishes that anyone could possibly understand it. But he doesn't know if they can. He has no honor of his own, there is nothing good enough about him. He's mediocre on his best day. 

He becomes aware of the weights in his pocket. The two little dice, ivory smeared with blood. 

He shakes his head. 

Briseis’ words slosh through his brain like water, difficult to hold onto. “I …he is my other half.”

“No,” she whispers, “he's not. Achilles is Achilles, you are you. You're already whole, Pátroklos. You always have been, Achilles doesn't change that. You love each other in a deep and confounding way, but you're two wholes becoming something better. You're not broken, you're not worthless on your own.”

Perhaps he's crying. He wipes at his face to check and- yes, he's stuck cleaning away tears.

“I know what it's like to feel worthless,” she tells him. “When he took everything from me, you were the only thing that gave life meaning. You mean something to more people than just Achilles. You always have.”

He leans down and presses his lips gently to her hand. He does kiss her. Just rests there for a moment, a quick gesture of intimacy at arms length, at an innocent and simple affection. “The same goes for you.”

She throws his arms around him. And she lets him hold her as she cries. 

It's hard not to feel useless, waiting here on this peninsula. He does his best to help Iphigenia hunt and forage, he and Will trade medical secrets, and Will sings modern little songs that leave Patroclus blushing and overwhelmed by their complexity.

But overall, it's peaceful. Patroclus can't decide if it's better or worse than his first and, back then, only time in Aulis. He supposes that that depends on what happens with the other two demigods and Achilles. Although his first time here was plagued by heat and the sacrifice of Iphigenia, it was also the last bit of true peace he had with Achilles. They were soldiers, leaders, but not quite. They splashed in the water, talked well into the night, and for just a bit longer, they could pretend that nothing had changed in Scyros.

It was the calm before the storm, yes, but it was all the sweeter for it. 

Now, the temperature is average for a place in the Mediterranean, Iphigenia is alive, and he's waiting for Achilles to be brought back to him.

He hates the waiting. He hate that he's not with them, looking for Achilles and bringing him home. He's glad to be surrounded by Briseis and friends of old and new. But he feels lost. 

Maybe this is what Briseis and Iphigenia meant. That he wouldn't be lost without Achilles if he hadn't let himself be taken by him so entirely. If he held on to some parts for just himself.

Although, he feels he should get a pass at this moment- this isn't just a bit of healthy distance. Achilles was kidnapped, held hostage by his mother under the sea, and he went through Tartarus and Earth to get him back. 

And besides, what does any of that matter now?

He's dead.

He and Achilles made their choices, no matter how anyone else feels about it. They made a legacy out of blood and they earned eternity in paradise for it. Perhaps their own humanity, their very identities, was the cost. 

At noon of their third day on Aulis- days full of awkward silences, comfortable silences, idle chatter, and intense discussions- Iphigenia calls them all to the western shoreline.

“I see a boat!” She said excitedly. “It's moving too fast to be humans!”

By the time they all make it to the beach, that boat is close enough to make out the shadowed details of four figures.

The one standing on the prow is a girl, with pale hair and the outfit of a Huntress.

Three more are scattered behind her and the breath seizes in Patroclus’ chest. 

A few more moments, and one of them is scrambling to their feet, joining the Huntress at the prow. He leans forward, a hand up to block the sun. And then he jolts up straight. In an instant there's a splash and roar of commotion from those on both the boat and the beach. 

Patroclus only moves forward, until his feet- dressed in sandals not made of leather- feel the cold shock of the salted waves, but it doesn't reach his brain.  

All he can think of is the tresses of gold, the flash of seagreen eyes, the glare of a sure-fire grin. 

And then he's falling back in the water. It would concern him, the way his head goes under, but there's a languid, golden body wrapped around him. It keeps him warm, it gives him air. It's the sun and the wind and Patroclus feels whole for the first time in months. 

The ocean washes them safely to shore, and Achilles has yet to let him go. Patroclus would be fine if Nico sent them back to the House of Hades right now, just like this. 

He senses when the boat lands with a groan and a thud. He hears the sound of the water being sliced in half with a swoosh. Patroclus sits up, but Achilles clings on to him, locked in and immovable. 

A shadow falls over them, and he looks into the eyes of Nico di Angelo. 

A part of him jumps at all the people who are here to witness this display. The way they cling to one another…he casts a cautious scope across their audience, searching for any sign of malice or disgust.

But then Will Solace walks right into the ocean, quite literally glowing from his very core, grabs the lapels of Nico’s jacket, and hauls him in for a kiss. And Nico…Nico simply smiles into it. He laughs, then wraps his arms around his lover, reverent as Patroclus himself could understand. 

They both know what it's like, to be shadows holding the sun in their hands.

Chapter Text

Achilles will never let him go again. 

He knew that his skin ached without Patroclus' there to touch. But having him in his arms again makes the very memory of that absence burn.

He knows that Patroclus is nervous about their audience, but when is this man not nervous? So Achilles just holds him closer, squeezes tighter, and tries his best to merge into one.

Patroclus is soaked in ocean water and Achilles only wants to drink it off of him. How could becoming a god ever feel as good as having his Philtatos in his arms?

But eventually, the ocean sways between them and they must come apart, although Achilles anchors tightly to Patroclus’s hand. He hauls his love up and out of the water, salt and sand soaking his white tunic and Achilles gets the urge to lick - not an unusual urge in his sixteen year old body, in all honesty. 

The wade back onto the shore, rocks and sand soaking up the water from their feet as they join their new companions. 

He notices Nico holding a blond boy close to him as the blond boy frets over him. It garners such a surreal feeling of deja vu, a sure feeling that he's been in both those positions before. He glances to Patroclus who isn't paying attention to the display- not with his eyes, but it's in the pointed way that he doesn't look that Achilles knows his mind is stuck on them. 

Achilles has never cared about human sensibilities the same way Patroclus has. And now, without his honor and glory on the line, he can't find a single shred of hesitation inside of himself. Yet, Patroclus knows only to hesitate, so he limits how he holds him, keeping his desperate touch as light and deniable as he can bear it.

But Patroclus jerks out of his grip, a sensation so startling that he almost cries out, an image of bloodsoaked curls flashing across his mind. But Patroclus falls to his knees before the demigods, head bowed as he speaks.

“Thank you,” he says, “all of you. For everything. I don't…I have no way to repay you. I am in your debt until my memory is cleared from your minds.”

Percy brushes him off with a wave of his hand. “Nah, you're good. It's a favor for Chiron, and besides, you got me out of school work for a bit. You’re chill, helping you out is much cooler than running errands for the Gods.”

Patroclus looks up at that, confusion scrunching his face. He didn't interact with the new generations as much as Achilles has…that string of words is probably taking him a bit to translate accurately, especially with all the slang behind the references to temperature.

It's the blond boy who speaks next, offering a hand to lift Patroclus onto his feet. Achilles doesn't know if he wants to cut off his hand or offer them six tripods for treating his thereupon with the respect he ought to have.

“We've been over this, man. You're our friend, we're glad to help you out.”

Patroclus looks simply stricken- confused and lost and it's a crime that he can't kiss his contemplative pout. 

“We should probably get back to camp as soon as possible,” Nico comments. “I don't want to be facing Thetis alone, I don't know if we'll have help again.”

Percy blinks and looks around then. “Where are the girls- there were like, two other girls here, right?”

The blond boy frowns. “Other girls?”

They take that moment to reconvene and share stories. Achilles learns that the blond boy is Will- a son of Apollo (admittedly, Achilles got a bit stabby about that, but no one got hurt and Patroclus says he's nice). And apparently he fixed up Patroclus after he got hurt- a circumstance that they'll have to talk about later.

He's not looking forward to coming face-to-face with Briseis again, but he supposes it's only right. Probably. He doesn't like that Patroclus was alone with her, but he can deal with that later. 

The mention of Iphigenia makes something ancient within him ache. It brings only the memory of blood, betrayal, marriage, and islands he's fought in part to forget. 

The girls, however, join them again near the end of their debrief. Achilles catches first on Iphigineia, a face he barely remembers. He freezes, slightly, stuck on the visage of that face splattered with red from the slit across her throat. Those eyes he only remembers wide in shock before dropping into death. Brown curls that were splayed across the altar. Seeing those cheeks, red from the blood inside her body, twists and releases and old grief within him.

“Iphigineia,” he breathes, caught up in emotions only Patroclus could reliably identify. 

Her smile is soft, indulgent, yet they're caught in a moment only they two can truly immerse in. For his was the last face she saw. Hers was the first death he’d witnessed. The first spill of blood on his hands. 

She moves forward, a quick and silent movement honed by centuries of tracking and hunting flighty prey. She wraps her arms around him, warm and gentle and alive. Her own voice is choked as she says, quietly to him, although the others might hear it. “Thank you for grieving me.”

Achilles wraps her in a hug and something warm simmers within him. Something that feels like healing. 

Briseis and Iphigenia get to work on preparing a meal for everyone, Patroclus and Will quickly volunteering their assistance. They dance around the kitchen area, working to get it done quickly. Achilles sprawls over the bench, leaning his elbows on the wooden table and watches Patroclus move. He used to help the girls make food during the war, often insisting on being the one to serve Achilles his food. It was such a warm thing that they kept for themselves. Something that a wife should have done if they were regular, humble farmers. 

He's always looked delicious in firelight. 

He and Briseis have been avoiding each other, and that feels wonderfully normal too. 

Nico plops down next to him. The boy chuckles, low and teasing. “You look lovesick,” he teases.

Achilles turns to him slowly and blinks. A grin stretches across his face. “Perceptive.”

“You don't hide it very well.”

That makes Achilles laugh. “You wouldn't know that by asking him.”

Patroclus turns to them then, relaxed by the domestic environment and the need to defend his honor. “Since when is juggling figs a form of flirting?” 

“It worked though. You were impressed.” 

“Was I?”

He glances briefly at Nico and, suddenly, he realizes that everyone in this room already knows. So really, what on Earth is Patroclus hiding from? 

Achilles stands abruptly, startling Patroclus into stepping backwards. He leaps over the table in one fluid movement, ignoring the jumbled exclamation of their company. He barely gives himself a moment to feel smug before he's grabbing Patroclus by the neck and hauling him in- possibly a bit too roughly, and kissing him like it's their first time. 

They've kissed plenty during their sixteenth year, but this is a new life, a revival, and it seems that their new bodies don't know that they've done this before. Truly, they're sixteen and finding each other for the first time all over again. 

It's bright and delicious and vivid. Patroclus is slower to return it and suddenly, ridiculously, his stomach swoops in worry that Patroclus will run away this time. Like Achilles did that first time, at that golden age of twelve years old on the beach he just escaped from yesterday. 

Determined to keep him, Achilles walks him backward into the counter, trying to push in as close as possible. Patroclus finally gets his wits together and returns it, clutching at the exomis’ folds across his chest as he arches to fit into the curve of Achilles’ body. 

It's sloppy, as if they're inexperienced again. As if they get to map each out again. 

Suddenly, dizzyingly, Achilles is hauled back and off of Patroclus, who's blinking– wide-eyed and just as dazed, if not more. He always melted more under a gentle touch. Mentally, he can picture it– the things they used to do. But the feeling doesn’t return to his hands, the sounds don't echo in his ears, the only taste that lingers on his tongue is what he just got.

He wants more. He needs to consume Patroclus whole again.

But he turns and finds Briseis glaring at him, arms crossed. Achilles glares back, indignant that their first interaction is her getting in-between them again. 

But he needs to be better. So, he doesn't get angry. He doesn't get violent. But the vindictiveness requires some retribution.

“Jealous?” He scoffs, mocking and juvenile. 

“I don't think our new, dear friends want to witness how you take off his pants–”

Patroclus jumps to life at that, frantic and flushed. “Okay! Okay, sorry.” He winces. “Uh– sorry.”

Achilles hates how genuine he sounds. As if they need to apologize for anything. He turns to look at their guests. The Hunters are paused, smirking,

 and teasing with their looks. Percy has his head buried in his arm on the table. Will and Nico are flushed and wide-eyed, looking between each other and the two of them. 

Then a wide grin splits across Nico’s face, something sly, something proud, hiding emotions Achilles doesn't know him well enough to identify. 

“Guess we've always existed, huh?” He says, slightly awed and choked. 

Achilles looks to Patroclus, who's pleasantly sheepish and quiet.

And then Will slides to lean over the table, abandoning his chore of chopping herbs and vegetables, to press a gentle kiss to Nico’s lips. 

And then, then Achilles understands. 

He's never been ashamed of his feelings, never truly stopped to contemplate who and what he is, what his feelings mean. He just decided that, as a demigod, he doesn't need to worry about the sensibilities of mortals.

But despite that, something warm and soft cracks open in him at the sight. And he knows that Patroclus feels it too.

Dinner is a roast when it's finished. Finished quickly by whatever magic the cabin holds. It's herbed and soft and wonderfully juicy as he feeds bits to Patroclus from his fingers. 

Patroclus resisted at first, but he never puts much of a fight up against Achilles. 

The scene makes Achilles giddy. They pause plenty of times to exchange stories. They come to the topic of Percy and his treatment of the gods and their grins are vibrant, almost painful. 

Achilles doesn't remember ever being surrounded by so many people that actually matter to him. He's always been surrounded by suck-ups and false reverence. He's been surrounded by kings and gods only concerned with war, power, and status and how many lives they must pay to have it all. He can't remember when or how it infected him, too. 

But here, he's next to beloved and feeding him a warm meal made by friends. There's people who want nothing from them. People who are surprised when he comes back bloody and victorious. The way Percy looked at him after he killed the demigod…it wasn't proud, or awed, or calculating. It was plain judgement, complex fear and maybe a bit of respect. 

No one here wants him to go off and kill anyone. They're all here on a favor, as a favor, voluntarily and with more disregard for the Gods and status than he's ever witnessed in anyone. 

For once, in all of his years, he feels relaxed.

He feels at home.

He doesn't want this to end.

He doesn't want to go back to the Underworld.