Chapter Text
It was still summer when Achilles and Patroclus left Mount Pelion and returned home to Phthia, well before the cold season. Their homecoming had been planned just a few days out from Achilles’ next birthday. It was to be particularly auspicious that year, for it was the one in which he would come of age, and at last be named a man. Those intermittent days therefore were ones of transition, as the two of them re-acclimated to palace life after their idyllic, isolated lifestyle on the mountain.
The morning on the eve of Achilles’ birthday found them in bed together, listening to the ambience of the ocean that they had long missed, the sound drifting into the airless room on a cool breeze from the window. Their bodies were joined in a careless tangle of limbs, still slick with sweat and heavy with warmth after lovemaking. Achilles’ face was buried in the hollow of Patroclus’ throat—he hummed softly as Patroclus cradled the back of his head, stroking him gently.
“The sun is rising higher and growing hot,” Patroclus remarked. “It will make drills miserable if we tarry much longer.”
His skin was beaded with moisture, but Achilles made no effort to move away, instead nestling closer into his heat, the smell of him, his beating pulse, all around him.
“Then perhaps we ought to forego them just for today,” he said. “I could not possibly move from this spot—not even if Lord Poseidon himself were to open up a fissure underneath the palace right at this moment and bring it all crashing down.”
Patroclus’ laugh rumbled in his chest, against Achilles’ ear. He lifted Achilles’ head, bringing their faces close, and muffled the sound against Achilles’ lips. There was a fond lilt even in his reproach.
“What is this? Of all the things in the entire world, I did not think it were possible for my Achilles to forsake something so important as his drills.”
Achilles only clung tighter to Patroclus in response, so that he could not pull away from him—though Patroclus did not bother to try.
“Oh, can I not have a lie in, just this once? I will be a man grown in one day’s time… I should be allowed to indulge in the careless leisure of boyhood one last time. The only spear I wish to practice with today is this one.” Achilles slipped a mischievous hand down in between Patroclus’ thighs. His companion gasped softly, and then chuckled, pressing his own hand against Achilles’, so that he might stay his movements.
“Have mercy, please,” he crooned, playfully beseeching. “I cannot hope to keep up with appetites blessed by divinity. At least give us a few more minutes of rest.”
“You would not stop me, then? I thought you would be displeased by your lazy prince.”
Patroclus extracted Achilles’ hand, placing it instead onto a jutting hipbone at his side. He pressed their hips against one another, their bodies now fully flush. Then, wrapping his arms around Achilles, it felt as though there wasn’t any one part of them that wasn’t touching. Achilles shivered at the feeling, despite the heat between them.
“Your entire existence is a blessing,” Patroclus murmured into his mouth. “There is nothing that you could ever do that would possibly displease me.”
Some time later, when their growling stomachs became too insistent to ignore and at last roused them from bed, Achilles and Patroclus were passing through a corridor when they encountered Master Phoinix. The old man seemed in a hurry, rounding a corner with some speed and a sense of purpose about him. He stopped suddenly upon spotting the boys.
“Ah, there you are,” he said. “We did not see you at breakfast, and so your father began to wonder where you had gone off to. I had just been sent to fetch you.”
“What does my father want?” Achilles asked.
“He has received tidings that he wishes to share with you both. He waits for you now.”
Master Phoinix turned around and began striding back in the direction he came; the boys followed him. After a moment, Phoinix turned his head around to look askance, and his steps slowed so that he could walk alongside them.
“Why, Patroclus,” the old man said with a paternal air of concern. “You appear rather out of sorts. Are you well?”
The question caused Patroclus’ still tinted colors to deepen. As though paranoid he had forgotten himself, he hastily smoothed down his tunic, checking the fastenings, and combed his fingers through his hair.
“Yes, sir,” he answered stiffly as he fussed.
Master Phoinix did not appear to be satisfied by this. He eyed Achilles sternly.
“Has Achilles been taking you along with him for early spear practice again?” When the boys did not answer, he sighed, taking their bemused silence for a tacit confession. “I know the two of you are still accustomed to the solitude of Mount Pelion and the careful supervision of Master Chiron… but surely there is a good reason your mother did not wish for others to watch you fight, let alone face off against you, Achilles. Your father defied her will and made an exception for Patroclus because he is your companion, but still you must remember to use restraint and not overextend him so. Is that understood?”
“I do not think you have to worry about it, sir. Patroclus enjoys it.”
Patroclus uttered a quiet, strained sound next to him. Achilles bowed his head with rueful affect, not daring to look at either Master Phoinix or Patroclus in the eye, and risk losing his composure.
“Well, be that as it may,” said Phoinix, appearing to find nothing amiss, “I should not like to see him swept up in your schemes, if you please. He has a tendency to do so to his own detriment.”
“Yes, sir,” Achilles replied solemnly.
Phoinix nodded his approval. “Very well, then. Trust that I do not say these things to wound anyone’s pride. I am simply a fussy caretaker, after all. Forgive me that I have become cloyingly softhearted in my old age.” They reached the doors to King Peleus’ audience chamber, and he opened it, stepping aside to allow Achilles and Patroclus to pass through first. “Go on, then.”
Achilles’ father was a man who was by now past the apex of middle age, but he possessed an air of charm and charisma that perhaps made him seem more youthful than he actually was. Achilles knew that he had experienced quite a few adventures in his prime, but had since settled down into statecraft ever since marriage and fatherhood (even if he was presently making his second forays into both.) He watched as Achilles and Patroclus traveled the length of the chamber before kneeling at his feet.
Behind them, Master Phoinix went past to take his own place at Peleus’ side. Achilles carefully aimed the small smile tugging at his lips toward the floor so that it would not be noticed. It was oftentimes a small thrill for Achilles to see them like this—old companions whose bonds of love and loyalty were reinforced by the number of years they had spent together.
For a moment, he pictured himself and Patroclus in their place, wrinkled and wise. They were gazing down at Achilles’ own son, who had his own companion next to him—and Achilles’ countenance full of quiet, unspoken pride was as unmistakable as the one he saw looking back at him presently.
“Father,” Achilles began, “We have been told there are tidings you wish to share with us.”
“Indeed,” Peleus said. “I have called you both here—however, these are matters that primarily concern Patroclus.”
Next to Achilles, Patroclus’ bowed head lifted.
“Me?”
“Yes,” Peleus answered him. “I have just gotten word of a disturbing incident out of Sparta—a grievous crime in violation of the sacred customs of hospitality. Prince Paris, son of Priam of Troy, has abducted Queen Helen, the wife of Menelaus, son of Atreus. And since Helen’s former suitors from all over our kingdoms had sworn by oath to honor and protect their union, King Menelaus, along with his older brother, King Agamemnon of Mycenae, have called upon all those men bound by that oath to assist in ensuring Helen’s safe return to her rightful place.”
Achilles turned to Patroclus, astonished by this news. Patroclus, however, did not seem to notice him. He lowered his head once more, closing his eyes as a small, knowing smile appeared on his face.
“Ah,” he said simply.
“They intend to wage war against Troy?” Achilles asked, turning back to address his father. “And you mean to tell us that they wish for Patroclus to join them? Because—“ he blinked, quickly putting the pieces together, “—because he is among those who made the oath?”
“That is correct,” Peleus answered.
Achilles turned again to Patroclus. “I did not know of this.” He hoped his tone did not come off as aggrieved, even if he did feel a considerable degree of shock.
Patroclus looked back at him, his expression solemn, but strained.
“I am sorry. I did not mean to keep any more secrets from you. The truth is, it is something I simply did not think would ever come to pass, so I had put it out of my mind completely. I was so young then—not even ten—I had petitioned for Helen’s hand at my father’s behest.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I did not have a choice back then… and it appears I do not have a choice in the matter now, either. So I shall go, and honor my duty. I suppose since I am no longer a prince, it is simpler this way. I have no army of men at my command, so I will be able to leave at once for Mycenae on my own.”
Achilles shook his head.
“What are you saying, Pat?” he exclaimed. “What in all of the heavens and earth makes you presume that I wouldn’t come with you?”
Patroclus’ eyebrows lifted, eyeing him seriously. “I presume nothing. You are not bound to this war,” he said.
“But I am bound to you, aren’t I? You are my dear companion, and my duty to you is just as important as your duty to myself. If this is something you must do, then of course I will be by your side to protect you, and keep you company. And it does not matter that you are not a prince, without an army to call your own. You are a Myrmidon now—one of us. If you have no contingent, then you may share mine, and together we will muster the most splendid army in all of our kingdoms!”
Peleus, who had been listening to their conversation all the while, appeared delighted. He grinned handsomely.
“A magnificent plan, my son,” he said. “Of course, the kingdom of Phthia would be honored to do right by Patroclus, and extend its means to assist the Atreides brothers in their righteous cause. The both of you shall secure glory and victory for yourselves, and for us all. How particularly fortunate you are as well, Achilles. A man could not ask for a finer gift for his coming of age. You should be very pleased.”
Achilles nodded, flushed with pleasure and excitement. “There, Pat, you see? We all love you. And I don’t just mean those of us here in this chamber. Every one of us in Phthia.”
Patroclus eyes darted between father and son, both of them smiling widely at him with warm enthusiasm. At first, he appeared almost stunned by this, but then he bowed his head once again, his eyes glistening.
“Thank you,” he murmured softly, his voice tight with barely suppressed emotion. “I am grateful.”
“Right, it is settled then,” said Peleus. “I shall make the announcement at dinner tonight, that anyone who wishes to join the cause may volunteer to do so, and in the meantime, we can begin to make preparations.”
“Thank you, Father. We shall go ready ourselves at once.”
Achilles rose, and Patroclus followed close behind him. They strode back down the corridor, and made it about halfway back to their bedroom before Achilles stopped them, taking Patroclus’ hands in his.
“I wish to inform my mother of these tidings. She will help us,” he said. “Go on ahead of me and take your meal. If I am not back before you finish, you may return to the room and wait for me there.”
Patroclus watched himself as he rubbed his thumbs in soothing circles over Achilles’ knuckles. “I do hope you won’t tarry for too long, then,” he said. “I assume your father expects us both to be dressed appropriately for the announcement. I will prepare your attire for you while I wait.”
“Thank you, then. It is already the afternoon, so I shall be brief with her. I will make sure to return before dinner.”
He gently squeezed Patroclus’ hands, as if to seal the promise. They kissed one another’s cheeks in parting, and then Patroclus turned and strode away, while Achilles himself set off in the other direction, toward the winding path leading down to the beach.
As Achilles began to relay the news, his mother’s expression grew more and more grim, the more he spoke. Achilles was left cold by this reaction—he had not expected it at all.
“The son of Menoitius has been called upon to fulfill his oath,” she said, before Achilles had mentioned anything of the sort.
“Mother… how did you know?”
“I have always known that this day would come, eventually. I dreaded it since the day of my wedding, for it was there that Lady Eris imposed her will upon us, and Lady Aphrodite promised Helen, the most beautiful woman in the world, to Paris of Troy. But then Helen married Menelaus, son of Atreus, and so it became certain that it would not be long before conflict arose.”
Achilles stared at his mother, wide-eyed. “You knew all along then, too, that Patroclus was bound to this war. Surely that must have been the real reason you had a peculiar look on your face the day I introduced him to you. If you had disapproved of him, why didn’t you say anything?”
“It is true… I did consider forcing you to send him away that day. But after speaking with him, I could not. His love for you, and his devotion… I thought that it might protect you. That it would persuade you to consider possibilities for your life.”
“What do you mean? Protect me from what?”
“Achilles, listen to me. You must not go to this war. If you do, you will die.”
The incomprehensible enormity of a statement such as this to the simple, mortal mind. Shock and dread permeated through Achilles for only a moment, before denial quickly took them in their stead, and he rejected the notion entirely. He shook his head, disbelieving.
“Is it for certain? How can you know for sure?”
“Do not be a fool,” Thetis snapped. “It is prophecy, therefore it is certain. However, there is another choice. According to the prophecy, you will be able to live a long life only if you do not choose to go to Troy. So, stay here. Patroclus will surely be safe among your Myrmidons. You will only have to wait for a while. He will come back to you, and then you may live your lives as before.”
“Mother,” Achilles started, shaking his head again. “How could you suggest such a thing? This war means Patroclus needs me now more than ever. If I were to abandon him, it would be an utter betrayal of our vows. My place is by his side, just as his place is at mine. What if he were to die? I would never see him here alive again!”
“You do not know that. But if you go with him, you will for certain not live to see the day he returns home. Be reasonable. Can you not temper your desire to be with him for only a short time, so that you may have much more time together later?”
“It is not only that I wish for us to be together, Mother,” Achilles said. “I also want to be of service to the sons of Atreus, if they will let me. What would it look like to everyone else if I were to simply sit and wait patiently at home like an obedient wife, if I did not leap at this opportunity? Don’t you want your son to be glorious? To be honorable? Did you not tell me to use my abilities in goodwill and service to others? Surely they will want me to fight in their war. I am faster, and more skilled with a spear than any other man in our kingdoms. It was your divinity which gave me these gifts, and I am grateful for them—I do not wish to bring shame upon you by squandering them.”
“What of the skills Master Chiron taught you? I have heard your lyre playing, as well as your songs. Your voice is as beautiful as that of Orpheus. You could be a healer to rival Asclepius, and all of his sons and daughters combined. You do not need necessarily to commit yourself to a path of shedding blood, if honoring your divine side is your wish.”
Indignation began to simmer within Achilles, as the hurt he felt constricted the air in his chest and throat. He let out a strained scoff. “I thought you had always been proud of me, Mother. You seem almost repulsed by my abilities, and the path in life I want to pursue.”
“Silence, I have no such feelings in my heart.” Thetis’ response was dangerous, and knife-sharp. “There will be other wars, if that is the path you truly wish to take. Just not this one.”
Achilles’ mother was rarely so cross with him, and her tone sobered him away from his more childish impulses. He was almost a man now, he reminded himself, and there was virtue in temperance. He allowed himself to consider her words carefully, until another question came to him.
“Mother, tell it to me true. Does the prophecy say anything else? If I participate in this war, will I achieve glory? What will become of my name?”
Thetis looked as if there was nothing in all the world she desired less than to answer his question. But Achilles knew she would not lie to him.
“The prophecy says: if you go to Troy, you will die a young man. But your fame and your glory will live eternal.”
“Then I will go,” Achilles said at once. “Is it not a good thing? Even if the end comes while I am still young, it means for certain that my life will not go to waste, and my death will not be in vain. You can be assured that you will have a son who will make you proud. Is it not want you want?”
The sorrow in Thetis’ expression looked enormous enough to destroy whole kingdoms—an entire tsunami of grief. But she was a powerful goddess, and she had the ability and the strength to control it.
“What of Patroclus, then?” she asked quietly. “Are you content to leave him behind as well?”
This, at least, gave Achilles pause.
“He will understand, I think,” he said at last. “I know he will accept my decision, whatever it is I wish to do. And as long as I have him, I know I can live my life to the fullest. I will make certain that the happiness during our time together will be worth ten, twenty lifetimes. And then he can make his own choices about what to do after I am gone.” Achilles nodded firmly, as much to himself as he did to his mother. “There now, let us speak no more of this. I have made my decision. You cannot sway me to change my mind. All right?”
Thetis bowed her head silently. She did not move or speak—laid low by the heaviness in her heart. Then, all of a sudden, she began to weep. Her lamentation was not ostentatious; she quietly sobbed and sniffed while tears poured down her cheeks. But it alarmed Achilles as much as it might have if she had been shrilly keening with despair. Filled with pity, he was overwhelmed with a desire to console her. He reached out to her with both arms—not as a suppliant, or as a mortal to a god—but as her child, her beloved son. She accepted his entreaty, enfolding him in soft, sea salt and honey scented warmth.
“I am sorry, my son,” she murmured.
“It is all right, Mother,” he murmured back, reassuring her.
“No,” she said. “I am sorry. You are so very young, still. This is not a decision you should be forced to make—and I am your mother. You are coming with me.”
Before Achilles could even properly react, Thetis held him tight to her bosom, so that he could not possibly get away. The skirts of her dark dress enshrouded him. He could not see, he could not move. He was only aware that she had plunged them both into the water’s depths. The ocean’s churn filled his ears in a roaring rush, and then Achilles knew no more.
In the middle of the Aegean, off the coast of Euboea, there was once a stray ship that the sea nymphs discovered when it had blown off-course during sudden inclement weather. The sister goddesses had a reputation among seafarers as friendly, helpful faces, much unlike sirens, or fearsome sea monsters such as Scylla and Charybdis. And indeed, fearing for the lives of those on-board, the goddesses corrected its course, and towed the ship themselves toward its rightful destination: the small island kingdom of Scyros.
Among the ship’s passengers was a prince, and in his gratitude, he prayed to the nymphs, providing them offerings befitting of higher gods. This pleased the sea nymphs, and they began to regularly come ashore to receive his gifts, and then linger as mortal and immortal alike related stories to one another. They enjoyed his company, and so the prince earned their favor in a manner akin to friendship.
Thetis, of course, was among them, and it was perhaps she who liked him best of all. As the prince ascended to the throne of his father, she gave him valuable treasures from the ocean, and she found him a good woman to be his wife and queen.
Over the subsequent passage of years, King Lycomedes of Scyros had seven children: all daughters. The eldest princess was a lively and spirited young woman, with a petite figure that belied the size of her cleverness, as well as the leadership role she took on with her six younger sisters, along with their entire retinue of women and girls within the court, in the absence of her late mother. Even still, perhaps both of these paled in comparison to the depths of her imagination. It was one that was suggestive of a worldly person, who had traveled to many places far and near; though in truth, she had never once left the shores of her own small island.
Her name was Deidameia.
A woman Deidameia’s age certainly should have been married off by now, but it was rumored that her father could barely afford a dowry for one daughter, let alone seven. And so, the princesses were fated to languish together behind the castle walls of their island kingdom—spinsters who would spend their entire lives taking care of their heirless, elderly father. In his old age, King Lycomedes himself had become a man with a perpetually stern and sour demeanor—a simmering resentment perhaps toward this particular lot in life, in spite of all the generosity and good fortune he had once received.
The days on Scyros for all the many princesses, handmaidens, and ladies-in-waiting consisted mostly of activities such as weaving, telling stories and singing songs, playing music, and dancing. Finely dressed in matching attire, it was not so difficult for Achilles to simply blend in with the other girls as one might expect. He had always been admired for the transcendent beauty of his features, which on their own did not adhere to any particular hallmark of one sex or the other. And in many ways, the girls’ daily lives were hardly different than how it had been on Pelion—Master Chiron made no distinctions between work meant for men or women, for noble or slave. Even a prince like Achilles learned how to spin sheep’s wool to make clothes, how to hunt and skin animals for their meat, and how to cook his own meals. The girls marveled at his nimble fingers and his graceful feet, already well-practiced in the arts.
And yet there was no joy Achilles took in any of it—only distraction. He did not bother to participate in any of the many enthusiastic conversations happening around him as the girls sat together. He remained sullen and focused on his tasks, silent except for whenever he was addressed directly—for his mind was always elsewhere.
On most nights, Deidameia invited the girls to her bedroom, where she would tell them more stories. She was a talented, engaging storyteller, and her audience would oblige her with similarly engaged reactions.
Tonight, her story was the myth of Iphis and Ianthe.
A girl Achilles knew to be Deidameia’s own lady-in-waiting seemed particularly pleased by this choice. Her eyes lit up.
“Oh, I expect that I shall enjoy this one,” she said, her hands behind her head as she worked to unbind the plaits of her long, dark hair for bedtime.
The other girls laughed.
“Yes, I too expect that you will, Iphis,” said Deidameia, pressing a fond kiss to her disarmed companion’s forehead. “Now, then. The story starts with a man named Ligdus, and his wife, Telethusa. Telethusa had fallen pregnant, but her husband fretted terribly over the baby’s sex. He was worried that it would be a girl, because if it were, he would not be able to afford a dowry for her once she was old enough to be married. He told his wife that if this unfortunate scenario came to pass, he would kill their baby.” (This provoked gasps and scandalized murmuring from the girls.)
“Telethusa was disturbed by this, for of course, they had no control over whether their baby would be born as a girl or a boy. But then one night, the goddess Isis came to Telethusa. Isis told the woman:
“‘Expectant one, dry your tears, and do not be troubled by your husband’s words, for I say to you now, you shall be able to happily raise your child, no matter the sex. And if any troubles should befall you or your child in the future, you may call on me, and I will help you.’ So Telethusa’s fears were soothed.
“The day finally came for the baby to be born, and Telethusa gave birth to a healthy girl. Overjoyed, but still fearful of what her husband might do to the baby if he found out, Telethusa decided to hide the truth from him. And so, with the help of the nursemaid, baby Iphis was raised as a boy, with Ligdus none the wiser.
“Many years passed. By the time Iphis had come of age, they had fallen in love with a girl named Ianthe. Ianthe returned Iphis’ feelings, and so their fathers began making arrangements for the marriage. However, Iphis and their mother worried that the marriage would reveal Iphis’ nature. Moreover, Iphis worried that Ianthe herself would reject them if she knew the truth, and as much as they loved her, they were not sure if they could pleasure her in lovemaking as well as they believed a natural-born man could. So together, both mother and child appealed to Isis, and offered her prayers at the temple. Isis came to them, and in return, offered reassuring words.
“‘Tell me this,’ she said, addressing Iphis. ‘Have you been happy with the way you are living your life?’
“Iphis considered this. Then they said: ‘I do not know what my life would have been like if I had been raised another way. I do not even know if I would have been able to live at all. But this is the life I have grown accustomed to. I would be satisfied to stay the way I am now. Either way, I have always been, and I will always be me. I do not have to change.’
“‘You do not have to be afraid, then,’ Isis said. ‘A person worthy of you will love you as you are, just as you love yourself. If Ianthe does not accept you for who you are, then it is no fault of yours. Go to her, then, and tell her your truth.’
“Iphis did. They told Ianthe everything, from the circumstances of their birth, to the predicament they found themselves in now. Ianthe listened very quietly the entire time Iphis spoke, which made Iphis quite nervous.
“They said: ‘Your silence frightens me, for I cannot see the contents of your thoughts. Please tell me if the truth about myself offends you, and if it does, please let it be over quick.’
“Then Ianthe said: ‘Oh, my beloved Iphis, what are you saying? Despite now knowing all this, you are no different than the person I have already fallen in love with, are you not? Your existence is a blessing to me. There is nothing about you that could possibly offend me, and there is nothing you lack that would leave me unsatisfied. As long as we are together, I will accept any sort of life given to us by the Fates.’
“Ianthe then kissed her beloved’s handsome, youthful face, and Iphis was glad that the goddess had told them true: they did not have to be afraid. And as they had hoped, their precious Ianthe was indeed worthy of their love. And so, they lived happily together for the rest of their days.”
The group of girls all sighed in unison, pleased by the happy, romantic ending. It was silent for a while as they all reflected on Deidameia’s story. Then a girl spoke up.
“Wait a moment,” she said. “I remember the story another way. Didn’t Isis transform Iphis into a man physically?”
“Yes!” another said. “If Iphis didn’t actually become a man, how would they be able to produce an heir? Does that not concern them?”
Deidameia laughed. She did not seem at all bothered that some of the girls had qualms about her story.
“I do know the version you speak of… but this is the way I have chosen to tell the story.”
“Were they even able to get married?” another girl asked.
“Perhaps… does it matter? Isn’t it enough that they are happy? I believe telling it this way is more freeing. Wouldn’t it be nicer if we didn’t have to worry about things such as marriage and heirs and all the other ways in which men and women must be? I like it when Iphis doesn’t have to choose between one or the other, if they don’t want to.”
There was a murmuring of agreement among the girls.
“I think you’re right, I like your version the best,” Iphis the lady-in-waiting chimed in. “I wouldn’t necessarily want to change the way I am in order to do the things I often dream about. I like being me. I wouldn’t want to disguise myself as a man, for instance, just so I could go on adventures like they do.”
“But you do not know how to fight,” another girl said. “You are not a shield maiden like Lord Ares’ daughters, the Amazons. You would not be able to wield a weapon to protect yourself!”
Iphis chuckled, airy and girlish. “I do not care, I have no need of weapons. Even if I cannot participate in the same way as the men, I would still be able to witness the stories being made right in front of me. I would see them with my own eyes, and then I’ll be able to come back home and tell all of you about everything I saw. Wouldn’t that be exciting?”
Deidameia nodded in affirmation. “It would, indeed. They often go on the adventures, but they also often die, don’t they? So it is our prerogative as women that we get to tell the stories ourselves. And in a way, are we not already inhabiting the mind, heart, and spirit of a man when we tell their stories? I sincerely believe there is a part of our soul that is every gender, and no gender at all. So that is why it gives my heart such great joy and pleasure to inhabit the point of view of many different kinds of people and experiences at once.”
“What about our own stories, though? Shouldn’t we be able to tell stories of girls and women as well?”
Deidameia considered this.
“Well, of course we should. Let us keep telling our own stories as well, so that they too will survive. Either way, we get to tell them all! And if no one listens to us, we will simply keep telling them our stories, until they too are heard and appreciated.”
“I do not care whose story you tell, as long as it has a good love story to go along with it.”
“The men’s stories of adventure are more exciting, anyhow… stories of domestic life can be so boring.”
“I would listen to them if Deidameia told the stories. She can make anything seem compelling!”
The chatter continued to rise amongst the girls, as a lively, lighthearted debate broke out, and they talked over one another until Deidameia was finally able to quiet them down again.
“Girls, I am tired. As genuinely fascinating as I find this conversation, I think it is time for all of us to sleep. We may continue tomorrow, if you wish.”
If not somewhat reluctantly, the girls all nodded in acquiescence and rose, cooing their goodnights to the princess and each other as they left the room. Achilles stood up along with them, trailing silently behind the chatting girls, before he heard Deidameia’s voice behind him.
“Pyrrha, wait. Would you stay? I wished to speak with you, if you’re not too tired.”
Achilles was indeed tired, but his manners did not allow him to refuse a princess, and so he turned back, standing before her at the end of her bed, dutifully curtsying in his long nightgown.
“You have need of me, Princess?”
Deidameia was nestled under the covers, with Iphis close by her side. The two women regarded Achilles in silence for a long stretch, long enough that it began to make him feel nervous. But then Deidameia smiled kindly, her eyes full of sympathy and concern.
“Are you well, Pyrrha?” she asked. “There seems to be something on your mind that is weighing on you. What is wrong? Was the way I told the story not to your liking?” She giggled a little, perhaps hoping to lighten his mood by suggesting Achilles’ troubles were over simple, frivolous matters, but he did not smile.
“No, it’s nothing to do with the story,” he said earnestly. “I am simply tired, is all.”
Deidameia and Iphis looked to one another.
“I am not sure if that’s really true,” Deidameia said. “Forgive me for saying, but we have always noticed your wistful, forlorn expression. And you rarely socialize with the other girls. Are you homesick? My father told me your mother brought you here because you could not stay at your home any longer.”
Achilles felt his heart pounding in his chest. There was a part of him that ached, longing to speak of all his woes, but stubbornness on top of nerves surpassed any desire for catharsis. He stared at them in stony silence, his lips pressed together, refusing to answer.
Iphis pulled back her covers, angling her legs to rise from the bed. Deidameia looked to her questioningly; Iphis placed a reassuring hand upon hers.
“It’s all right, my lady. I can see that Pyrrha is nervous, so I will allow her some privacy. I will sleep with Polydora tonight. Apparently she is on the second day of her monthly bleeding, so she is likely wanting of a warm bedmate.”
“Thank you Iphis, that is kind.” Deidameia reached out to hold her companion’s face; Iphis leaned back in to give the princess a kiss—it was a simple press of their lips, but this time was much more amorous than the playful forehead kiss Deidameia had given her earlier. The two gazed at each other lovingly for another moment, before Iphis finally rose from the bed and stepped lightly out of the room.
“You don’t have to speak with me if you truly do not wish,” Deidameia said. “But please know that I am willing to listen, and help you, if I can. I promise your secrets are safe with me.”
There wasn’t much about Deidameia in looks that reminded Achilles of Patroclus, but in manner, he thought, they held several similarities. It was in the way the other girls seemed drawn to her kindness and grace, like flowers to warm sun. It was perhaps the same as how Patroclus was behaving at this very moment: clad in battle armor, his lovely eyes proud and gleaming as he congratulated their Myrmidons on a job well done after a long day of fighting. How Achilles longed to see it. How devastated he was that he could not. He found himself utterly at the mercy of the compassion Deidameia was proffering to him.
“It is because of the war,” he blurted out, laying his heart bare.
“The war?”
“Yes… you asked if I was homesick, and I am, but you are only half correct. The other half is that I am also heartsick.”
“Ah, I think I understand,” Deidameia said, with a knowing smile. “Do you have a lover who is heading off to fight at Troy? Has he been forced to leave you behind?”
Achilles nodded mournfully. He could not properly see the princess’ face anymore—his eyes were brimming with tears. A sob escaped before he could stop it.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Deidameia murmured, holding out her arms. “Come, you may sleep with me tonight, if you would like.”
Though full of misgivings of one kind or another at this prospect, Achilles found himself suddenly wanting someone’s arms around him. He had quietly cried himself to sleep every night since he arrived here, his arms so empty and cold, his muscles twitching at the mere memory of kneading his fingers into Patroclus’ soft hair and skin as he used to sink into calm slumber. He wanted solace from this heartbreak; he could not come up with a clever enough excuse to say no, and so he found himself unable to refuse her.
Deidameia continued to hold out her arms in welcome, and Achilles went to her, climbing into the bed. He sank into her embrace as her arms curled around him. She was so warm and soft.
Achilles wept openly into her bosom, and Deidameia let him—rubbing his back and shushing softly into his ear. Eventually, after several long minutes, his weeping finally ceased, but still he clung to her. Her easy breathing and the slow, steady beating of her heart put him at ease. After a while, she began to fuss at the headscarf atop Achilles’ head, disguising his rare golden curls.
“May I take off your scarf?” she asked. “Surely it must be much more comfortable to rest this way.”
Achilles hesitated for only a moment, but he agreed that it would be easier to rest his head without it. Wordlessly, he nodded. His skin tingled as Deidameia unwrapped the scarf, ever so gently, careful to ensure that it would not hurt if it snagged at his hair. Achilles heard the whisper of the cloth as it fell, and felt the cool of the air on his scalp. Deidameia gasped softly.
“Oh, Pyrrha,” she said. “What lovely honey-colored curls you have. So unique and beautiful. It is such a shame that you hide them all day.” She began to stroke Achilles’ hair, admiring it fondly. He allowed it, relaxing further with a long, drawn-out sigh.
“Tell me about your beloved,” Deidameia said. “What is his name?”
“Patroclus,” Achilles answered. It was the first word he had uttered in so many minutes, after weeping for so long. His throat felt raw, and the name he always relished to speak escaped his lips as a weak croak.
Deidameia hummed pleasantly all the same. “Such a fine name,” she said. He could hear the smile in her words. “What is he like? Is he young and handsome? Strong? Kind?”
“Yes,” Achilles said, answering for all.
“He must be very brave to be going on such a grand adventure at his age.”
“Yes,” Achilles said again. “Though I worry for his safety. Do you think he’ll be all right? Do you think he’ll survive?”
“I am not privy to the weavings of the Fates, of course,” Deidameia said. “But my father said that the campaign is not supposed to last long, and he will be surrounded by all of the finest warrior kings in our lands. Your Patroclus will come back soon, and surely he’ll bring back much wealth and glory with him. I’m sure he’ll make you very proud.”
“I worry that he’ll be all alone, that he will grow sick with longing while we are apart.”
“Do not worry, Pyrrha. Perhaps he will have a bedfellow to keep him warm and satisfied during the long nights.”
“You think so?” Achilles asked, trying not to let his sense of jealousy smart.
“Perhaps,” Deidameia said, sensing the apprehension in his voice. “But I know this for certain, simply by looking at you: he will only think of you the entire time.”
Achilles chuckled softly. It was difficult for him to imagine Patroclus bedding someone else out of heartsickness. They always did everything together, and anything they did apart would create an imbalance that would be difficult for them to rectify. He didn’t think that either of them would personally be able to stomach it, no matter what other men in Patroclus’ circumstances might typically do.
Deidameia continued to speak, choosing her words very carefully. “You know… it is not just for the men to seek comfort while they are away from home. When the men are at war, we women can give one another comfort, too.”
Achilles grew very still at this.
“You wish to offer it?”
“I am already giving you comfort now. But I simply mean to say… if you desire more—“
Their hands were already on one another, tentative but curious. Then Deidameia reached up, placing a soft, reassuring hand at his cheek. Achilles closed his eyes at the gentleness.
“Pyrrha…”
The name soothed like a balm. It was easier like this, to imagine them both as two girls, giving each other comfort, like they might when their lovers were off at war and they simply needed a friend to warm their bed.
“Tell me more of Patroclus,” he heard Deidameia say. “If he were here now… if I were him… what would he do to please you?”
Achilles imagined it. If Patroclus were here, he would probably kiss Achilles until the both of them were completely out of breath. And then, once they had their fill of kisses, their still hungry mouths and yearning fingers would travel the expanse of their bodies, composing new love songs as familiar as old favorites, yet still each time as unique and lovely as every individual pearl in the sea.
With such thoughts on his mind, Achilles slipped a gentle hand under the princess’ skirt, up between her thighs. Even knowing in advance that it would be different, the absence here surprised him. Deidameia’s eyes fell shut as he explored, appearing to experience pleasure from his simple, curious touches, even if he was not endeavoring in earnest. She was breathing quickly now, and she reached under his own skirts, seeking to offer an exchange, and then—
Her eyes flew open in surprise, connecting with Achilles’. He froze for a moment as they stared wide-eyed at one another—but then she did not stop, and Achilles bucked helplessly into the warmth of her hand, moaning from how good it felt. They were suddenly in a frenzy, rucking up their skirts so that they could press their skin together; the thighs and belly Achilles pushed up against felt round and soft, and he sighed, melting into them.
“Pyrrha,” Deidameia breathed.
In this quiet, secret moment where time did not exist—like the dawn of existence when primordial Chaos themself first came into being—things like sex and gender and identity blended into everything and nothing, becoming irrelevant. They were simply two small creatures underneath the vast heavens, who despite all that, could feel profound things like pleasure and pain and sorrow, and it was in their nature to share empathy enough for one to comfort another in times of need. There was simplicity in this moment, but there was something like great courage here, too. It had always felt this way with Patroclus as well—that no matter what might happen, or what anyone would think of them, they would allow the pleasure and intimacy they shared to be their only guide, leading them into this mysterious, magical state of being—like the twilight. A thrilling, freeing feeling.
She is Deidameia.
And she is Pyrrha.
They moved against one another, and Pyrrha held Deidameia’s hips as she angled herself, seeking warmth, not even quite sure exactly what she was looking for—but then there was a sharp intake of breath from the princess, and she felt herself surrounded by tight, slick heat. Deidameia’s thighs were trembling around her, but neither of them let go.
That awkward first time with Patroclus was also just like this—quick and uncoordinated and mindless, and so overwhelming it was nearly impossible to comprehend what they were even doing until it was already over. Pyrrha moved in whatever way felt good, chasing the feeling until the hot heat burgeoned in her loins and then released in pulses, like the pounding of her heart.
Deidameia licked at the pads of her fingers and then sent them down between her legs, panting heavily into the crook of Pyrrha’s neck until she jerked suddenly with a gasp and a small moan, and then was still.
Their heavy, labored breaths sounded loud in the quiet of the night. Deidameia lifted her head and pulled away. Chestnut brown curls clung to the sweat on her rose-flushed forehead and cheeks. She stared at Pyrrha, chest heaving as she continued to catch her breath. Pyrrha could not tell if she was pleased, or shocked, or furious.
“Pyrrha—” Deidameia said, and then stopped, hesitating, perhaps unsure of what to say.
Pyrrha averted her gaze, bashful and now suddenly remorseful, as the last wisps of the fog in her mind cleared away, the spell cast between them now broken.
“My name is Achilles,” he whispered.
“Achilles…” Deidameia repeated, softly. “Why, you’re the missing prince… the one they wish to join them in Troy.”
“Yes,” he said. Then: “Please do not tell.”
Deidameia reached out to take Achilles’ face in her hand once more. He flinched, but her touch was gentle. She smiled.
“I will not,” she promised.
Achilles slept in her arms that night, but at dawn he woke up in a cold shock. He quickly pried himself away, climbing out of the bed and sneaking back to his own quarters before she awoke.
Afterwards, Achilles avoided the princess’ eyes, and to her credit, she granted him his space. It had meant nothing to either of them, other than what it was in the moment. They would never have to think or speak of it again—and so, Achilles put it out of his mind.
Weeks passed, in much the same way as it did before: days of weaving, of singing, of dancing, of storytelling, that all blended into one another.
Of course, it could not last forever. Even the twilight would eventually darken into a long night.
Achilles and Deidameia prostrated themselves at King Lycomedes’ feet, quaking in fear like delicate children as he paced back and forth, groaning and raging at them in turns. He spoke out ostensibly to them, but he sounded more as if he were speaking to himself.
“Lady Thetis entreated me to take in her child, and in return she promised me that she would provide dowries for all seven of my daughters. And moreover, she said would find good husbands for each them as well. It seemed like such a simple request in return for such a reward, so I had my suspicions, even if I considered myself to be in her good graces. O gods! I know you are wily, and I hadn’t taken Lady Thetis for a swindler who makes deals in doublespeak, but perhaps such deceit had been her true intention all along.”
At this, Deidameia began to laugh bitterly into the plush carpet on the floor, her shoulders trembling. Slowly, she lifted her head, and her cackles began to echo hauntingly off the walls of the chamber.
“I am frankly rather surprised to see you so distraught over this, Father. You cannot even afford a dowry for me, your eldest daughter. Surely you ought to have hoped that a man would ravish one of us so that he would become bound to us, or else pay a handsome sum as recompense. How lucky for you that it was a half-god prince who finally did the deed. Is this not exactly the deal you had made? Your grandchild will have not just nobility, but divinity in their blood, as well.”
“Silence, insolent daughter!” Lycomedes snarled. “How could I be pleased by such dishonor? It is an outrage! The only reason I will not send him away entirely is because his mother is goddess, and I have already sworn to Lady Thetis to guard her secret, no matter the cost. I expect you to guard it as well.”
Deidameia’s face was pale, her features strained as she struggled to keep her bearing dignified.
“I shall. But there will be no keeping this a secret.” Deidameia placed a hand on her swollen stomach, the child within already quickening. “My honor will be sullied as long as the father’s identity remains unknown. Perhaps my reputation is to be tarnished forever.”
“That is no fault of mine. The blame can be only placed onto you when you invited that boy into your bed, you fucking slut.”
“Father, stop it!” Deidameia cried angrily, her voice tight as tears began to spring from her eyes. “I could not have known.”
Lycomedes inhaled, and then released from the very depths of his lungs a long, weary sigh.
“Youth is perhaps the most cursed of all ages,” he muttered darkly. “All of the same abilities and desires as properly grown adults, but absolutely none of the good sense or self-control to go along with them. You will both say the words here and now, and be done with it.”
And so, Achilles and Deidameia kneeled together before King Lycomedes as he spoke the words over them, and they drank the wine from their single, shared cup, together as one; it burned Achilles’ throat, which was raw and tight as he tried not to weep.
Afterwards, Deidameia retired to her room. Achilles followed her, and she allowed it—though maybe it shouldn’t have come as a surprise, for any man would normally be entitled to sleep in the same bed as his wife. As it was, they stood apart from one another at some distance, on opposite sides of the room.
“Why didn’t you stop?” Achilles asked her.
“What?” Deidameia’s voice was restrained, but quietly menacing.
Achilles pressed on anyway.
“Is it because what you said to your father is what you hold in your heart? Did you wish for this to happen, so you could secure a marriage through deception?”
“What do you mean?”
“You betrayed me.”
“I did not!” Deidameia snapped. “That wasn’t the reason why! I only wished to help you! Why didn’t you stop? Why did you come into my bed at all when you knew all along what might happen, if you didn’t want your secret to be discovered?”
“Because you had asked me! How could I refuse you without seeming rude or suspicious?”
“So you are going to blame me entirely, then? I see, it is no fault of yours, after all. A man has appetites that cannot be controlled, and must be sated one way or another, isn’t that so?”
“No, it is not! You knew why I went to you! I had grown sick with longing—I was missing Patroclus, and my spirit was weak. I suppose that is the reason why you seduced me.”
“Why are you acting so cruel?!” Deidameia cried.
“Why are you?! I didn’t ask for any of this! I just wanted to be left alone! If you hadn’t stopped me from leaving that night, then none of this would’ve happened!”
Deidameia stared at Achilles for a long while. Her eyes were white, and she was trembling. Achilles braced himself, as he thought she might scream, but then all of the tension drained from her, and she hung her head down.
“You’re right,” she mumbled. “I’m such a fool. My father always told us that kindness is a weakness. It will never give us an advantage, and it will only cause us trouble. I didn’t want to believe him, because I thought I could help others and make them happy, but that was stupid of me. He was right all along, because now look at where my attempts at kindness have gotten me—I must completely sacrifice my honor and my reputation to protect you. I cannot even tell my beloved Iphis the truth of what has happened, because it is the will of an all-powerful goddess that I do not. So, I hope you are happy with our arrangement. Even when your identity no longer remains a secret, I shall always be the one who will be suffering the consequences of what we have done.”
Guilt impaled Achilles like the swift point of an arrowhead. But there was nothing he could do about it. He wouldn’t be here doing any of this at all, if he had the choice—his mother’s will pinioned both of them to this fate. And it was because of this dalliance that they risked spoiling her efforts. He feared her anger if she found out—he did not know what she might do to punish him even further.
But even more concerning: what of Patroclus…?
“I am sorry,” Achilles managed to say. This, at least, he could give the princess as consolation.
Deidameia’s gaze scrutinized him, perhaps considering the sincerity of his apology.
“Leave me,” she said at last. “I wish to be alone now.”
Achilles did as he was told. Still in his disguise all the while, he curtsied politely, and left the room for his own quarters. He fell asleep on his wedding night curled up alone, with tear-stained cheeks and thoughts of Patroclus.
A few more days passed this way, in which Achilles and the princess did not speak to one another. Deidameia’s foul mood and sickly physical condition seemed to have rubbed off on the other girls; the atmosphere among them had grown heavy. There was not nearly as much laughter and light-hearted conversation as there used to be, and Deidameia ceased inviting the girls to her room to tell her stories, in attempt to preserve her secret for as long as possible.
There then came an evening in which the girls sat around, restless yet spiritless. They were bored, Achilles could see, but no one bothered to move, or even speak. Deidameia in particular yawned over her weaving. Achilles fingers itched suddenly—and so he stood, striding to the corner where the instruments were kept, taking the lyre from its stand.
He had not played since he arrived in Scyros, but it did not matter: the ability returned to him in an instant. His fingers raced against the strings as he began a lively, fast-tempo tune, meant for dancing on festival days.
The girls all perked up at once, astonished. Their cries of Pyrrha! were mirthful, as this hidden talent from the quietest, most unsociable one among them was suddenly revealed. They all stood, and began dancing, and Achilles’ own heart soared, glad that he had managed to rouse them.
There was a brief moment among the merrymaking, in which Achilles’ eyes connected with Deidameia’s. She smiled at him, before turning back to her dancing with Iphis, joining her in delighted laughter as they snapped their fingers and twirled together under the spell of the music.
Achilles knew that he could not magically solve all of their problems. But at least for a while, he could give them all a bit of pleasure and comfort, and for the moment, it was enough.
Once more, life seemed to carry on within a sort of isolated, static pocket of reality, in which the same things happened every day, and no time passed except for the gradual swelling of Deidameia’s belly. It was peaceful. It was maddening.
And then the ships arrived.
Two kings came calling—Diomedes of Argos, and Odysseus of Ithaca. They claimed they were ferreting all over, in even the most remote of their lands’ kingdoms, to see if they could find capable and willing men to join the Atreides brothers’ campaign at Troy. They were circling the whole archipelago, from north to south, before returning to Mycenae. It was subtly apparent, however, what they were really here for.
And among them, was Patroclus.
“It’s him,” Achilles whispered excitedly in Deidameia’s ear, their arms linked as they and the other ladies of the court stood to the side, watching King Lycomedes receive and offer hospitality to his esteemed guests.
It had been months now since the last time Achilles laid his eyes upon him, and already Patroclus seemed to have changed much since then: taller, leaner, his face sharpened with newly acquired manhood, the hair on his face and body fuller now than it had been before. Yet he still looked wholly himself, with his black skin and gentle eyes—still the most beautiful person Achilles had ever seen. Achilles’ heart ached with want as he watched Patroclus settle onto a bench in the great hall, while the servants brought him food and drink.
It would be so easy, Achilles thought, once formalities were over with, to act as a welcoming committee, to politely introduce himself as Pyrrha to the handsome young stranger who had just arrived. All it would take was a look for Patroclus to know him, and then he would understand everything that had happened.
However, just as Achilles made to go towards him, Deidameia re-seized his arm, holding him back with surprising force.
“No, you silly fool!” she hissed, squeezing his arm tightly. “What do you think you’re doing? They could be using Patroclus as bait to lure you out. You might inadvertently reveal yourself to them if you go up to him too eagerly, or if you speak to him as if you know him. You must be cautious.”
As if he were able to sense them talking about him, Patroclus’ gaze flickered over to the two of them. Just as Achilles expected, it only took him a moment before his eyes grew keen with recognition. Yet, as if confirming Deidameia’s suspicions, he shook his head subtly—his movements quick and slight—before he carefully averted his eyes away from them. The sense of warning in his expression made his message clear: We are in danger. Do not come near.
Odysseus still got his man in the end, of course. He laid out gifts of weapons and shields among the jewelry and perfumes he brought for the women in Lycomedes’ court. When the two visitors engineered a false alarm, warning of an attack on the palace, Achilles instinctively took up the arms amidst the manufactured crisis, exposing his identity to all.
With his secret revealed, and his mother’s plan foiled, discussions were had, and arrangements were made. Achilles, along with Patroclus, would sail with Odysseus back to Phthia in the morning. There, they would muster their army, and together join the rest of the assembled Greeks to Troy. Achilles did not know if his mother would try anything else to stop it from happening, but for now, she had made herself scarce.
Achilles and Patroclus were given their own room to sleep in for the night, and Achilles was glad, not the least because he was relieved that he no longer had to act with extreme care to maintain his disguise at all times. But more than anything, he was overjoyed that he and Patroclus were reunited at last. No sooner did the door shut behind them did they cling to one another, peppering each other’s faces with ecstatic kisses.
Eventually, the tears came, and Achilles could not stem their flow.
“Oh, Patroclus… so much has happened while you were not here. I fear you’ll be angry with me for all the things I have done.”
Patroclus’ brows furrowed with concern. “What do you mean? What have you done, Achilles?”
It should be preposterous, Achilles thought—the entire notion that a young prince would feel ashamed of things such as bedding girls and getting married and siring an heir. And yet the wholly dishonorable manner in which it all happened marred his conscience like a stain. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way, without his parents, without Patroclus to give him their blessings. Such an important event in his life—especially for such a short one that Achilles would now have, and Patroclus wasn’t there.
Achilles shook his head fretfully as his face crumbled. “The young woman who was at my side when you recognized me—do you remember? Princess Deidameia. She—“
A knock on the door interrupted him.
Achilles hesitated for a moment, tempted to tell whoever was there that they didn’t wish to be disturbed, but Patroclus offered a reassuring smile.
“It’s all right. I shall answer it,” he said, striding to the door, and opening it.
It was Deidameia. She stood there, her small form alone in the doorway. Her eyes widened a little as she looked up at Patroclus, taking him in. His appearance was in slight disarray, and his mouth was still shiny and kiss-swollen. Perhaps she was expecting to be unceremoniously sent away.
“You must be Patroclus,” she said.
“Yes, I am,” he answered. “How do you do.”
“How do you do,” she echoed, along with a light curtsy. “I am Princess Deidameia.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Princess.” He paused for a moment, eyeing her swollen belly. “Why don’t you come in and sit down? Your feet must be getting quite tired in your condition.”
“Thank you,” she said, and entered. “I am not tired, but I—er… forgive me. I simply wanted the opportunity to bid you goodnight one last time. Goodnight to you, Prince Achilles, I… I shall miss you when you are gone.”
“Goodnight then, Princess,” Achilles answered with polite stiffness, not sure exactly what else he ought to say. He was certain he looked out of sorts as well—his eyes and cheeks felt sticky and hot from crying.
Patroclus, however, did not say goodnight. Instead, he shut the door behind her. He reached out, wordlessly taking Deidameia’s hands in his; he lowered himself down to his knees to kiss them gently.
From where he knelt, Deidameia’s belly was right in his line of sight. He smoothed back the loose drape of her dress to expose the round swelling. His expression was reverent—somehow, he already understood everything, without a word of it being spoken. He knew already a piece of Achilles was inside of her. Achilles should have known—that to Patroclus, anything created by him was beautiful, so how could he resent even something like this?
Patroclus looked up at Deidameia, and he smiled—Achilles could see that his eyes were shining with tears.
“Thank you, Princess… for taking care of my Achilles.”
Deidameia smiled back. She reached out, gently running her fingers through Patroclus’ hair, detangling the yet still briny, windswept ringlets from his day at sea, tucking them behind his ears.
“Pyrrha… she is a friend of mine,” Deidameia said. “It broke my heart so to see her weep with such longing for you. I only meant to offer her comfort. We didn’t intend for this to happen.”
Patroclus nodded. “Of course,” he said. He stood. At his full height, the top of Deidameia’s head barely reached the curve of his shoulders. She looked up at him.
“It’s strange,” she mused, tilting her head to one side as she regarded him. “We’ve only just met, and yet I feel as if I already know you very well. Though, I must say—“ her eyes flickered to Achilles, “—as much as Pyrrha’s adoring words painted a vivid picture, it pales in comparison to beholding you in the flesh.”
Patroclus hummed, apparently pleased. He brought a hand to her cheek, stroking it with this thumb. She leaned her face into the touch, as a contented, purring cat might while receiving attention. Patroclus smiled again, turning to Achilles. His next words were addressed to the princess, but he did not take his eyes off Achilles as he said them:
“I can see why my Achilles would be willing in the first place to receive comfort from a lady such as you. You are so very kind. And quite lovely, too.”
Deidameia looked to Achilles as well, Patroclus’ hand still on her cheek, with her own there too now, holding it in place. There was a question in her eyes, as if seeking permission.
Achilles nodded—one deep, slow bob of his head.
The two turned back to one another. Deidameia took Patroclus’ other hand and brought it to her breast. His fingers molded around it, and her breath hitched; and then they were kissing, Patroclus holding her close as she stood on tiptoes to reach him. They parted, and Patroclus leaned over to whisper something in her ear that was unintelligible to Achilles. Deidameia giggled from the warm tickling of his breath, as well as whatever he had said to her. She nodded, blushing sweetly.
How Achilles had fretted over his dalliance with Deidameia, and how he thought it might cause discontent between him and Patroclus. But of course, he should have expected this; in his boundless, princely magnanimity, Patroclus was able to make the solution seem so effortlessly simple. Deidameia, like most others, was immediately put at ease by the soft cadence of Patroclus’ voice, taken in by his natural charm and kind demeanor. She untied the sash of her dress and then sat on the edge of the bed nearby. Patroclus unhooked the pins of his tunic, allowing the fabric to slip from his shoulders, and it fell, forgotten on the floor.
They wasted little time. It wasn’t long after Patroclus laid the princess’ naked body against the soft pillows and furs of the bed that he pressed her round hips flush against his own. He sank himself between her thighs carefully, and then kept himself upright as he started to move, while Deidameia’s voice rose with pleasure.
Achilles remained where he was as he watched them, his heart racing as quick as a rabbit’s. He was unable to take his eyes off Patroclus, who was radiant with erotic vigor, his body positioned expertly, movements precise and well-practiced, as if he were indeed made for this life to simply give and receive pleasure.
“Achilles,” Patroclus turned to him and called, slightly short of breath; it was a summons.
“What is it?” Achilles responded, going to his side at once.
“Achilles, I would like to give the princess a kiss… but… ah… I’m afraid from my position… it might be a bit difficult to reach… I wouldn’t want to cause her discomfort—” He eyed her belly by way of explanation. “Will you give her this for me?”
Achilles took the cue and leaned in; Patroclus captured his lips in a breathy kiss, warm and tender. The swipe of his tongue was like flint, igniting a fire of desire that began to spread hot and burning within Achilles.
“Go on,” Patroclus murmured into his mouth, prompting him.
Achilles obeyed, climbing the bed and leaning over to bring his face close to the princess.
“My beloved wishes for me to relay a message to you,” he said, as if Deidameia hadn’t been listening to their every word. She giggled at his playfully stiff affect.
“Let’s have it, then,” she said.
Achilles kissed her. He realized just then it was the first time he had ever done so. They had not thought to kiss one another in the mindless frenzy of their one and only encounter together. It surprised him how different her lips felt—small and thin where Patroclus’ were fuller—but no less soft. Patroclus continued to move inside her all the while, and the air from her soft moans blew from her, floating between their parted mouths, fanning the hot flames inside of Achilles.
Achilles used a knuckle to stroke Deidameia’s cheek; he gently smoothed back the chestnut curls that clung to the dewdrops on her forehead as the both of them watched Patroclus’ movements. Deidameia once again had her fingers working between her thighs, her legs spreading wider and her hips lifting to meet Patroclus’ thrusts as she climbed. Her throbbing ecstasy then drew sighs from Patroclus, and she and Achilles continued to watch him, rapt as his hips quickened and then came to an abrupt stop as his body and voice trembled with climax.
A sudden, great swell of serenity burgeoned inside of Achilles, as if it had been his own release. With this, everything of his now belonged to Patroclus as well—his wife and child both. The satisfaction that the scales in his mind were now rebalanced put him at ease.
Patroclus’ chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath. His face glowed with perspiration, and he was smiling, weary yet pleased. Achilles had perhaps never desired him more than he did at this very moment. He slid back over to his side, embracing him from behind. Patroclus entwined his own arms with Achilles’, gently lacing their fingers together, just as they had always done since they were boys.
“You must be tired, my love,” Achilles purred, holding him close. “Please, let me take care of you.”
He slipped himself between the soft skin of his thighs, and Patroclus squeezed tightly around him, bending over as he anchored them to the bed. Patroclus’ nearness—solid and real in Achilles’ arms—on its own, was enough for him. Achilles did not last long, and soon he shivered, panting into the space between Patroclus’ shoulder blades as he climaxed. He rested his forehead against him as he came back down; Patroclus twisted himself around, arching backwards so that their mouths could meet once more—Achilles could feel Patroclus’ contented smile on his lips. They parted, and they gazed at one another with a tenderness that in one simple moment seemed to encompass the whole of eternity.
Returning to themselves, they turned, looking down towards Deidameia, still splayed out on the bed below them. Her brow was knotted tightly as she gazed back up at them with utter reverence. Her mouth was slightly agape, while warm tears slid down her cheeks as they overflowed freely from her shimmering eyes.
“Oh, wow…” she whispered, her words breathless.
Later that night, Achilles and Patroclus lay facing one another, pressed close so they could whisper in the dark as they listened to the princess’ steady breaths on the other side of the bed.
“When I kissed you goodbye that day,” Achilles said, “I could not have possibly imagined that it would be the last time I saw you in so many months.”
“Nor I.”
“You must have been sick with worry all this time. What did you do while I was away?”
“I was trying to find you, of course. After you disappeared, I went down to the beach every day, and prayed to your mother. Through my tears, I begged her to tell me where you were. Yet for as many days as it takes for the moon to wane and then wax again, she did she did not answer me, and she did not come.
“But then finally, on the twenty-eighth day, my prayers were answered at last, and Thetis appeared to me. She said only this: ‘I cannot tell you where he is. I have hidden him, so that he will not die in this war.’
“‘Why not let me go into hiding with him, then?’ I asked her.
“‘I cannot,’ she answered me. ‘If you do not heed the call to fulfill your oath, they will come looking for you. If they find him with you, it is possible that he will be forced to go as well. You must not put his life at risk.’
“I was devastated to hear her say this. Did she not think that I also wanted you to be safe? Did she not think I wouldn’t be able to protect you?
“‘I am no longer a prince,’ I insisted, in my desperation. ‘The oath I made was in my father’s name, but I am no longer the son of Menoitius. My exile has stripped my titles from me. Perhaps I am not bound to it after all.’
“Thetis’ reply was firm and dismissive. ‘You may think so, but these men will not.’
“I said: ‘If I were to go to them on my own, willingly, before they come to fetch me—at the very least, would you take me to Achilles so that I may be able to tell him goodbye before I leave for the war?’
“She regarded me for a long while after that. I think I saw pity in her eyes, but she did not waver. In any case, her answer was simply this:
“‘No. Do not ask me again.’ And then she dove back into the sea.
“Perhaps I ought to be ashamed to say it, but I did not follow your mother’s command. Her rejection only made me more zealous, and more desperate, and so I did not give up. Every day after that, I continued to come to the ocean to pray. My desire to be with you took precedence even over the risk of incurring a goddess’ wrath. But she did not come back again after that one time, even after several more months had passed.
“Of course, I searched for answers from King Peleus, as well as Master Phoinix and everyone else at the palace. But not a single soul in Phthia knew anything about your whereabouts. They were worried as well, and they missed you just as I did, but since your mother is a goddess, they resigned themselves to the fact that she had the final say on the entire matter, and if it was her will to keep you hidden, and your whereabouts a secret, there was nothing any of us could do about it.
“Eventually, your father and Master Phoinix told me I should begin to prepare for my departure to Troy, and they promised that as an act of goodwill towards me, your sworn companion, they would still assemble an army for me in your name. And so, I listened to your father, and I made preparations by day, while still praying to your mother on the ocean at night. I could not sleep, I could not eat—I cared of nothing else but you.
“Then finally, one day, a pair of ships arrived to Phthia. It was Odysseus, son of Laertes, and Diomedes, son of Tydeus. King Peleus welcomed them into his palace, and we feasted in their honor. Then, when the meal was finished, Peleus asked them why they had come.
“‘We have come to escort young Patroclus to Mycenae, where the supreme commander, King Agamemnon, is waiting for him,’ Odysseus said. ‘Although, we had hoped that we might also meet Prince Achilles. Word of his talents as a warrior have begun to spread far and wide across our lands, and we wish to see if we could convince him to join the war effort as well. Where is he now? Is he unwell?’ The two of them looked around, as if expecting you to appear out of the shadows at any moment.
“Your father seemed reluctant to answer them, but I saw no reason to lie. So I said, ‘His mother does not wish for him to go to Troy. He is with her, now.’ Odysseus seemed to accept this explanation.
“‘I see, I suppose there’s no helping it, then,’ he answered plaintively. ‘I would not like to defy the will of a goddess. Be that as it may, at the very least, you, Patroclus, shall leave with us on the morrow, and we will take you to join King Agamemnon’s army.’
“Immediately I thought this was suspicious. Would they not allow me to take the Myrmidons with me, so that I would not have to go alone, and fight under the banner of a king different to the one I served? I questioned such concerns aloud, but they insisted that the proper arrangements would be made in due time.
“So, we set sail the very next day. I attempted to let myself believe their assurances that we were headed for Mycenae. But my suspicions grew greater still when it seemed our ship continued to head east, rather than turn south. Perhaps we were going directly to Troy after all, I thought, and everyone else was already there waiting for us. But then, after three days at sea, we landed here in Scyros. As soon as I saw you, I realized that it was a trap, and that they were using me to lure you out of hiding.”
Achilles chuckled softly.
“That is precisely what Deidameia figured out right away, as well. If the both of you had not warned me, I would have immediately risen to their bait.”
“She is a clever woman. Your child will be quite clever as well, I’m sure. Would that they inherit her good looks, as well as her brains.”
Achilles pouted. “What shall the child inherit from myself, then?”
“Not your stubbornness or impertinence, surely,” Patroclus chuckled. He pressed his nose into Achilles’ neck, and Achilles bit his lip, stifling his giggles at how it tickled while Patroclus scented him.
“Shh, you’ll wake the princess,” Patroclus whispered into his skin.
“Would it be such a bad thing?” Achilles asked. “It is her last night with her husband, after all. Perhaps she would be keen to have another go.”
“Don’t you dare. Someone in her condition needs plenty of rest. She will have so little of it very soon.”
“Shame. I suppose you’ll do, then.”
Patroclus did not protest, or indeed, say anything at all. The two of them stayed as silent as they could as their eager bodies, still starved for one another after so long, attempted to sate their appetites once more.
“You’ll come back to me, won’t you?” Deidameia asked quietly, as they all stood together the next morning, making their final goodbyes. Iphis was at Deidameia’s side as always, holding her hand tightly.
Achilles did not have the heart to tell Deidameia that he wouldn’t be coming back at all.
“Even if I do not, then surely at least Patroclus will come back,” he replied, hoping he sounded convincing. “He will help you raise our child, and teach them everything I would have. So you do not have to worry.”
This did not seem to alleviate her fears, but she nodded for him anyway.
“Would that I could come with you,” she murmured. “I could disguise myself just as you had done, so I could join the war effort, rather than avoid it.” She smiled as she said it, as if in half-jest. “If only I could hold a weapon.”
“Do not say such things, Princess,” Patroclus told her gently. “It is we who ought to wish we could stay here with you, in a time and place of peace. You do not need to indulge the egos and bloodlust of powerful men simply to prove yourself.”
Deidameia cast her eyes down. She did not answer him, but appeared thoughtful.
“There are some men,” she said slowly, “who sometimes take their wives’ companions as lovers…” She paused. “And perhaps… my Iphis would be keen for a bit of adventure… if you yourself were keen to take her with you.” She turned to look at Iphis, and something unspoken passed between the two women as they stared at each other.
Achilles and Patroclus looked to one another as well. Achilles was not sure if he particularly cared one way or another if he had his wife’s companion in his bed, but the way Deidameia spoke of it implied that it was merely a pretense, in any case. Patroclus’ expression communicated that he would defer to Achilles on the matter, and so Achilles turned back to the women. He nodded.
“Oh, Dei!” Iphis cried, and she burst into tears, throwing her arms around her princess. Deidameia held their faces close, her own tears overflowing.
“Go with them,” she insisted, her words heavy and thick.
“But what about the baby? I don’t want to leave you here all alone.”
“It’s all right, I’ll be fine. I have my sisters, and everyone else here to help me. Just promise me you’ll come back someday, and tell me about everything that happens. I want to hear your stories.”
Iphis sobbed, squeezing her eyes shut; it seemed to require her tremendous effort and courage to do so, but at last she nodded. The women kissed each other, pressing their lips together over and over as they wept their goodbyes.
Later, Achilles watched from a distance as Patroclus stood at the boat’s edge with Iphis, where together the two of them observed dolphins leaping from the water’s surface nearby. He listened as Patroclus shared knowledge of the dolphins that he had learned from Achilles, who in turn learned from his mother. Patroclus told Iphis jokes, and she indulged in his every word, her countenance bright with fascination and mirth. Achilles, even after witnessing it countless times, still marveled at the way Patroclus’ endless charm gave him the ability to form a rapport with almost everyone he met.
Behind him, the sound of footsteps approached, and then Odysseus joined Achilles at his side.
Odysseus was tall and sun-darkened, with sleek long hair he kept tied up, even as the sea winds were blowing it loose again. He was disarmingly good-looking—with quick, clever eyes that wrinkled under a charming smile—all of which Achilles was sure he often used to his advantage. Achilles had a particular distaste towards those who were duplicitous, and Odysseus was positively foul with the stench of knavery. And yet, if not for his scheming, Achilles might not have found a way out from his predicament. Odysseus had told him that the other kings learned through prophecy that their war effort would not be successful at all without Achilles in their ranks. Even if he had not taken an oath like the others, he was apparently indispensable to their cause.
“Are you afraid?” Odysseus asked. He was balancing the pommel of a dagger on his finger, and he began tossing it casually as he spoke—each time always catching it on the grip.
Achilles turned to him. “What?”
“Of the war, I mean. Is that why you hid? Because you’re afraid?”
“No,” Achilles said.
“That is good,” Odysseus said. “Fear is for the weak.”
Achilles bared his teeth. “I am not weak, son of Laertes. And I am not afraid.”
Odysseus chuckled amiably. “I am sorry, you misunderstand me. When I say fear is for the weak, I do not mean that I believe anyone who experiences fear is weak… after all, having courage means being able to go on, despite your fear. What I truly mean to say is that weakness comes from letting your excessive fear consume you and cloud your judgement. Fear stops you from considering possibilities. Being able to conquer your fear is what helps you to make clearer, more level headed decisions.”
“Perhaps you are right,” Achilles said. “Because I know who is the strongest man of all.”
“Who is that?” Odysseus asked.
“The man who fears nothing. When a man fears nothing, not even death… then he has nothing to lose.”
“To me, that sounds like a man who has lost all hope. If he truly does not fear death, then that means he must have given up his will to live. That man has my pity.”
“Perhaps he is a man who is promised glory in death.”
“Perhaps. But why would anyone wish to live for death, when they could live for life?”
Achilles turned away from Odysseus. He continued to watch Patroclus and Iphis in the midst of lively conversation.
“I do not live for death,” Achilles said quietly.
Odysseus hummed, and then tossed the dagger once more. The spin was mistimed, its descent coming too quickly. Achilles could see it coming even before it started to fall; his hand shot out instinctively, quick and certain with divine reflex—and grabbed the handle of the dagger just before the tip of the blade landed directly in Odysseus’ hand, where it would have sliced his palm wide open, and the overflowing handful of his own blood would be dripping copiously onto the wood of the ship’s deck.
“Oh, my, that was close,” Odysseus said. “Thank you, son of Peleus. I am quite lucky to have someone like you here with me.”
Helios’ chariot appeared over the horizon as another morning arrived on Phthia’s shores. It was the eve of the Myrmidons’ departure towards Troy. Hoping to get away, Achilles and Patroclus took their breakfast atop a hill overlooking the ocean. Behind them, not far away was a herd of goats; their bells clanged gently as they ate their grass. The goatherd was elsewhere, some distance away.
“I have a surprise for you,” Patroclus announced suddenly, as he swallowed the last of his meal.
“What is it?” Achilles asked him curiously. He had not been expecting Patroclus to say something like this, and he had no inkling as to what it could be.
Patroclus pulled out a bundle of something, wrapped in cloth. The objects inside clinked against one another. Patroclus seemed thoughtful for a moment, then said, “Close your eyes. And hold out your hands.”
Achilles laughed. “Why? Are you going to try and kiss me while my guard is down?”
Patroclus’ own laughter joined him. “No, you lecherous fool, not this time. Just do it.”
Achilles did. He could hear Patroclus unwrapping the cloth, and then a moment later, he felt something cold and smooth pressed into his warm palms. He opened his eyes.
In this hands was a grand silver brooch, polished to an opulent shine. In the center was an engraving: the profile of a young man, long hair coiled in buoyant curls, large keen eyes, a handsome, tall nose, and full lips. And around his jaw and chin, there were markings that resembled his budding manhood—the sprouts of his young beard.
Achilles grinned as he looked back to Patroclus. “It’s you,” he said.
“Yes,” Patroclus replied, somewhat bashfully. “That one is for you. And there’s one more for me.”
Patroclus placed another brooch beside the first. Its twin was a bit heavier, made of the finest gold. It was engraved with a profile matching the other: a youth whose exquisite beauty was apparent even in replica, with the same long curls, bright eyes, and a nose line over lips as precise as a bow and arrow.
“Who is this maiden?” Achilles exclaimed. “Is this the girl you’re going to marry?”
He winked. Patroclus shoved him.
“Oh, hush! You wound me, Achilles,” he said in mock affront. “I had thought the artist reproduced the subject quite faithfully. I thought you would be pleased.”
“Do not worry, I am very pleased. Thank you. They are breathtaking.”
Patroclus smiled, the most breathtaking of all. Though it soon faded slightly, like sunlight hidden beneath passing clouds.
“It is said that the dead forget in Hades,” he murmured softly.
“I won’t,” Achilles insisted, with all the confidence a young man his age could muster. “Even if all the other dead men forget their loved ones when they die, I could never forget you.”
Patroclus’ smile returned, though he kept his eyes on the brooches. “There is no telling what might happen, or when. During the war, I mean. So I had hoped, as long as we wear these—no matter how long it takes—we shall always find our way back to one another, and know each other. Even in Hades’ halls.”
Achilles looked down at his brooch with Patroclus’ likeness on it, then back again at the Patroclus himself sitting in front of him.
“Every man in Troy—Trojan and Greek—will be able to see who it is I hold closest to my heart. For every enemy I kill, it will be the last thing they ever see. And then they too will know your face as they make their way down below. I shall never take it off.”
“Nor shall I. Although—” Patroclus uttered a half-chuckle, “—I am sorry that I asked for the engraving of me in silver, when it was meant for you. I don’t think gold is my color.”
He brought one of his black curls into his line of view. He examined it for a moment, emphatically, then carelessly tossed it away.
Achilles exploded with laughter.
“My friend, I could adorn myself with all the gold and riches in Troy I won by my own spear, and none of it will ever be as precious to me as this one treasure.”
He touched the cool metal to his lips. Then he put the brooches down so he could use both of his hands to cradle Patroclus’ face, bringing it close to his own; he dotted full, swift kisses over every part of it, including the eyes and brows that wrinkled in mirth, the fluttering lashes, until he finally smothered the delighted chirps Patroclus emitted from his own lips, reducing them to low, honey-sweet rumbles in his throat. Their kisses, Achilles always thought, smelled and tasted of spring: bright and fresh and fragrant, in its fullest flush.
From somewhere not far off, a goat bleated loudly, as if to scold them for disturbing its peace, caring not even if it were in the presence of the kingdom’s crown prince and his companion. Their broken kiss melted into boyish giggles at the interruption, and so the two of them stood, conceding the hill to the goats, leaving them to their grass.
Later that evening, Achilles and Patroclus went to the sea to pray to Thetis.
“We are leaving tomorrow,” Achilles told her. “Will you try to stop me this time?”
“No,” his mother said.
Achilles nodded, acknowledging this. Yet there was one other thing on his mind that he had wanted to ask her.
“You told me that if I did not go to this war, that if I stayed home, I would be able to live a long life. Do you think I still would become famous if I made that choice?”
Thetis lifted her chin, eyeing him dispassionately. “No. I know it for certain that you would not. I did not tell you the rest of the prophecy: if you do not go to Troy, you will never become famous. Your life may be long, and perhaps you would even be happy. But you would never be able to achieve fame, and you would die an old man, unremarkable and unknown.”
“You had not told me this before,” Achilles said. “Why not? Did you not think that I would willingly consider such a life?”
His mother lifted a brow. “Will you consider it now?”
For a moment, Achilles imagined his alternative life. In the best case scenario, Patroclus would survive the war, and come back to Phthia to be with Achilles. Deidameia would remain in Scyros, or perhaps she would come to live with them. Their baby might be a boy, but perhaps it would be a girl, leaving Achilles without an heir. It would not matter to him either way, because his life with Patroclus would be as before. It would be quiet and happy, the brilliance of Achilles’ divinity known only to Patroclus for the rest of their lives.
Achilles realized he could not stand the thought. He did not ever again want to be hidden away like some secret. There was an untapped euphoria inside his soul, now that he was about to be able to show the world who he truly was, to at last make himself and his talents known to all.
And if Patroclus died at Troy while Achilles stayed home, what then? Achilles would never see him again. Would he still be able to live his life happily and carefree? If he was destined for obscurity, he could already foresee himself withering, doomed to a long life of misery, unable to overcome the loss of that essential part of it he would be missing. He could not accept such a possibility, either. He did not want to risk it.
“I will not,” he said at last.
“I see,” said Thetis.
“I am sorry.” Once again, his apology was the only thing he was willing and able to concede. “Will you be leaving me to my fate in Troy, then?” Achilles then asked her, plaintively. “Are we to make our final farewells?”
Thetis’ expression softened at once.
“Oh, my child… of course not. You are my beloved son, and now you are destined for a short life. You are much too precious for me to ever forfeit, even if we disagree. So I will still come to visit you on the shores of Troy. I will aid you in your endeavors, in whatever way I can.”
Achilles took heart at this. It was perhaps in the nature of all children to please their parents, and so it filled him with warmth and courage to have her support.
“Thank you, Mother,” he said.
Thetis bid them both a safe journey, and with that, Achilles turned away, and began to step over the sand, back towards the hill. He stopped however, when he realized Patroclus was not following him. He turned around to look.
There, he saw Thetis holding Patroclus in a tight embrace. Though Patroclus was a man grown, he appeared as if he were still a child. And while Thetis was a goddess—her immortal bearing made her look large and authoritative—she was also, in this moment, simply a concerned mother. She looked weary and utterly vulnerable in a way Achilles had never seen before. She held Patroclus close to her bosom, stroking his dark curls as she gently pressed her lips against his hair, and whispered words that Achilles could not hear.
Then at last, like the breakers below her, she backed away, and in another instant, dived back into the sea, and was gone.
Patroclus remained where he was, gazing silently at the distant waves, as the sun continued to sink below the ocean’s horizon. Achilles returned to his side to watch it with him, and when at last it disappeared, he spoke into the cool air of the pale twilight.
“What did she tell you?” he asked.
Patroclus turned to Achilles.
“She said—” He stopped. He hesitated for a moment, and then tried again. “She said, that you, Achilles, are the son of a goddess—higher born than I, who is but a mere mortal and exiled prince. She told me that you are stronger than I am, and faster, and my talents will never outmatch yours.” He paused again, taking a breath. “However, she believes that I am mature beyond our years, and that I am much, much wiser than you. She told me that I must therefore do my best to advise you, and to always give you good counsel, so that you will stay out of trouble and make good decisions in the short life you have chosen. She believes there are few in this world who you will listen to, but she hopes that you will always be able to listen to me. In her stead, I am to protect you at all costs, to the best of my ability.”
“Will you, then?” Achilles asked.
Patroclus smiled.
“Of course I will,” he said. “I would not dare to disobey a goddess, even if she were not your mother. But she did not have to tell me these things. I would do it all for you of my own free will. I would do anything for you.”
Achilles chuckled, and dropped his head onto Patroclus’ shoulder. Patroclus smelled like his mother now, married with his own scent underneath. Achilles breathed it in, scents he associated with the utmost in comfort and love.
“Patroclus?” he mumbled into the skin.
Patroclus was stroking at his hair. “Mm?”
“Are you afraid?”
“What do you mean?”
“About the future… about what will happen to me… to us.”
Patroclus hummed.
“Perhaps a little,” he answered. “In circumstances like these, I cannot help but dwell on death at times.”
Achilles lifted his head. “Do not worry, then. It will be fine. We are together. I fully intend to enjoy every moment I have with you. And you have already ensured that we will always be able to find one another again, even in death.” Achilles eyed Patroclus’ golden brooch, and circled his finger around it. “Fear is only for those who are afraid of losing something dear to them. So promise me this: we will not let our love for one another be a weakness. I wish for it to only make us stronger. Please remember this, always. Fear is only for the weak.”
Patroclus nodded. “Yes, you are right. Fear is for the weak.” He looked pensive as own fingers brushed against the silver at Achilles’ shoulder. “Achilles… when you die, I shall come with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“If I must live the rest of my life without you, then it is no life at all, to my mind. Whenever you die, no matter how soon… I will follow you close behind. I swear it.”
“Patroclus…”
Achilles tried to think of a way to dissuade him, but he found that he could not. He knew that if he were in Patroclus’ situation, he would do precisely the same, without any hesitation. He grinned.
“I shall be waiting, then. Come find me in Hades, my love.”
The next morning, Achilles stood at the prow of his fleet’s flagship, silver brooch pinned to his cloak that flapped in the warm ocean breeze. The likeness of Patroclus winked back at Helios ahead of them, while the young man himself, adorned in princely gold, stood steadfast at Achilles’ side.