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When Achilles hopped off Charon’s skiff, he hadn't expected to draw a crowd. He had thought, considering that everyone here was dead, that no one would care who he used to be, however he found himself sorely mistaken. Men he had recently slain mobbed around him, all vying for revenge at the person who had sent them to Hades. Achilles didn’t care, and he was easily able to evade their retributive attempts.
He was sent to the judges, and they deemed him worthy of Elysium. He rushed to the Isles’ gates, only stopping once he was inside. As Achilles was looking around wildly, searching for Patroclus among the souls, he saw someone on the edge of a river. The man was lightly dipping his feet in the water, tipping his head back to catch the sun on his face. Achilles saw light flow through brown curls, and instantly set off for him.
When Achilles reached the man though, he realized it wasn’t his Patroclus. This man, upon closer inspection, was broader than Patroclus, and when he turned around, Achilles saw that he had violet eyes instead of hazel. The man tilted his head, giving Achilles an assessing look. Then, in broken Mycenaean Greek:
“Are you Achilles, son of Thetis?” His voice was light, and his accent was choppy.
“I am,” Achilles responded. “Who are you?”
“My name is Hyacinthus, though you may call me Hyacinth if you like; I don’t mind.”Achilles was struck dumb at this, and Hyacinth gave a small smile. “I’ve heard much about you, Aristos Achaion. Come sit, let us talk.”
“Thank you for the invitation, however I must be going now.” As he turns and takes a step away, he hears Hyacinth in a casual voice say:
“If you’re looking for Patroclus, he should be back soon.”
Achilles whips back around, surprised at Hyacinth’s knowledge of his purpose.
“How do you know him?”
“When he arrived here he seemed lost, so I’ve been keeping him company while he waits for you. I must say, his description of you was extremely accurate.”
“His description?”
“He’s hardly talked of anything else.” Hyacinth says, sounding amused. Then, quieter: “a love like the one you two share doesn’t come every millenium. I hope you know how lucky you are.”
“Oh yes, I feel very lucky at the moment! Was it luck that killed Patroclus, murdering my soul along with him? Tell me, Hyacinth, of my luck.”
At that, Achilles sees a flash of anger in Hyacinth’s eyes. “I’m sorry that you and him had to suffer, truly. I can’t imagine what it would have been like to be parted from the one you love.” He says this last sentence a bit sarcastically. “What you’re seeing, Achilles, is the negatives; you’re choosing to see only the things you suffered, when you had so much good in your life. You had your fame; you had the better part of a decade with Patroclus. Yes, he died without you there; yes, you blame yourself — but you know what? You two get to spend the rest of eternity with each other. That’s an opportunity that a lot of others don’t have.” Hyacinth’s voice turns bitter here, but he continues on. “You might not see it yet, Achilles, but you were extremely fortunate in your life.”
Achilles feels sorry for Hyacinth, but his anger flares. Who is he to talk to Achilles, Aristos Achaion — son of a goddess — like that?
Before he can reply to Hyacinth, a familiar voice calls his name to his right. Achilles turns to the sound, and can barely manage to focus his eyes before a body comes crashing into his.
Patroclus tackles him to the ground, holding on tightly. Achilles returns his embrace with equal fervour, the lines of their bodies blurring together with the intimacy of the hug. Achilles finally surrenders to his worry, weeping into Patroclus’ neck and holding him tighter. Patroclus pulls away to wipe the tears from Achilles’ face, holding it between his hands when he’s done.
“What’s the matter, my love?”
“Nothing, I’m just so happy to see you.” This makes Patroclus smile, and Achilles leans in to kiss him. Patroclus releases a sigh of contentment, kissing Achilles back with all he has.
—
Achilles doesn’t know how long they had been on the grass when he hears someone clear their throat. Patroclus pulls away quickly, blushing.
“Sorry, Hyacinth.”
“You don’t have to apologise, Pat. I’ll leave you two to catch up.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you again soon, yeah? I want to introduce you properly to Achilles!”
A polite smile. “Of course. Have fun!” With that Hyacinth walked away, leaving Achilles and Patroclus lying on the soft grass together.
Patroclus smiles at his love, and Achilles starts peppering his face with kisses.
“So,” Achilles stops kissing him, instead resting their foreheads together. “Where have you been staying? Does everyone get a plot of land or something?”
“Not exactly,” Patroclus answers. “Everyone technically shares the land, but some people have unofficially claimed spots. I’ve found two I thought you would like: one by the river Oceanus, and another on a mountain; It reminded me of Pelion. I was thinking we could go and tour each area first, and decide whenever; after all, we have plenty of time to decide.”
“That we do.” Another kiss, this one on the lips. Achilles stands up, holding out his hand for Patroclus. “Shall we, philatos?”
Patroclus takes it. “After you, Aristos Achaion.”
Achilles smiles and pulls him in for another kiss, thanking the fates for sending him his Patroclus.
—
Patroclus wasn’t a stalker — at least, he wouldn’t consider himself one. Stalking was watching someone via illegal ways or other morally ambiguous acts; there was nothing wrong about simply looking at Achilles, or even following him a little secretly. He just wanted to make sure that his love was alright, and that he wasn’t going to be separated from him again. So, when Achilles left their house to go somewhere in the nearby forest, he followed.
Apparently though, Patroclus wasn’t as sneaky as he’d thought he’d been, as shortly after losing sight of Achilles a strong pair of arms wrapped around him from behind.
“Are you stalking me, philatos? That’s a little creepy, don’t you think?” This voice was teasing, if not flirtatious. Achilles was whispering directly into his ear, and the sensation of his breath on Patroclus’ neck made him shiver.
“I wasn’t stalking you. We simply happened to be going in the same direction.”
“Oh, yeah? Where were you going then?”
“Look who’s the creepy one now. Maybe I was just going for a walk. I am allowed to roam freely, you know.”
“My dear philatos, you can roam wherever you wish, though I have a few places in mind.” Achilles punctuates this with a kiss on the side of Patroclus’ neck, biting at the skin there lightly, causing him to gasp softly.
They continue to talk like this, exchanging banter in their well practised manner. Achilles’ arms remain around Patroclus all the while, only releasing him from their vice-like grip when he hears a rustling in the surrounding flora. He turns toward the sound with the speed he is well renowned for, pushing Patroclus behind him and scanning the environment all in a fraction of a second. He looks around, confused as to what exactly is happening, and is baffled when he hears a familiar voice.
“A-Achilles?” This voice — its tenor and pace — is not one Patroclus expected to hear for a long while. It takes him a second to process who is standing in front of them, as in his memory the voice was always confident, if not smug.
“King of Ithaca,” Achilles starts. “What can I do for you?”
“I…” His voice trails off, eyes looking at the surrounding trees with something akin to remorse. “I’m looking for a prophet that is supposed to be around here, have you seen him?”
“I haven’t seen any prophet,” Achilles says with a slight frown. He turns around to look at Patroclus. “Have you, Philatos?”
Patroclus feels a slight heat in his cheeks at hearing such a pet name said in the presence of another person, and forces himself to shake his head.
Odysseus nods to himself, casting one final look around before going back in the direction he came from.
Achilles and Patroclus look at his retreating figure, noticing the tiredness in his limbs. As Patroclus looks after him, he hardly registers Achilles’ movement, until he is standing at his side and wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
“I wonder why he needs to see a prophet.”
“Yeah, weird.” They let the silence hang for a minute, both wrapped up in their own thoughts. Patroclus turns to Achilles, holding his waist and resting his head on his shoulder. Achilles hugs him back, and he simply melts as a kiss is placed on his head.
“So,” Patroclus says, raising his head and looking into Achilles’ eyes with feigned innocence, “Where were you walking to?”
Achilles smiles, kissing the tip of his beloved’s nose. “The other day, I saw a fig tree ripe for harvest; I wanted to pick you some as a surprise.”
“Ooo, that sounds lovely. How far away is it?”
“Only about a twenty minute walk.” He pulls away, and Patroclus starts to frown until Achilles puts his hand in his. “Care to join me?”
“Anything for you, my lovely Achilles.”