Chapter Text
The sea was a glittering silver that afternoon, sunlight flashing across the ruffled surface with the same joy as the spinning gulls overhead. On days like this, Patroclus could easily believe for a moment that the capricious, icy nymphs and tritons who lived beneath the waves were smiling on him. It was an idle fantasy, but he allowed himself to enjoy it, leaning back on his elbows in the sand, sunlight streaming onto his face and the sweet notes of his Mother’s lyre played next to him.
The day had not been particularly unusual, as far as any day could be usual around Achilles. They had trained together, Achilles a blur of limbs and flashing bronze, and Patroclus stumbling and failing to block lunges. Achilles was always slow and patient with him, pausing his own practice to help adjust a handhold, or explain how best to parry a lance. It warmed Patroclus’ heart, to know that one of the greatest warriors of the age was willing to help him as he failed to manage the weapons most princes would have been familiar with by the age of seven.
Afterwards, the pair climbed the trees in the orchard and sat amongst the leaves, pointing out distant places to each other, or laughing at a swooping eagle overhead. Mount Pelion, there across the water is the mainland - look, do you think that ship belongs to King Agamemnon? Conversation flitted lazily, like a butterfly amongst golden corn. They ate some of the figs that clustered in the tree round them, before rapidly jumping out and running from the irate gardener, hair blowing wildly, sandal laces trailing.
After music lessons, they had come to the beach. Patroclus sat up, and eyed the water thoughtfully, wondering if he dared swim. It looked very inviting, and the sun’s warmth was just starting to be oppressive, instead of delicious and sweet as honey. Achilles put down the lyre, and smiled, leaning back on an elbow with a gentle ripple of muscles, as transient as the waves.
“Shall we go swimming?”
Patroclus made a noncommittal noise, watching the thin strip of sand between their feet, barely the width of a lyre string. It was constantly astonishing to him, how perfect Achilles is. No blemishes or casual bruises picked up from hurtling around corners, just flawless bronze skin and golden hair. There are times where he could well be a statue.
“You haven’t answered my question, Skops. Come on, the water looks very inviting. I’ll race you to the rock out in the bay and back.”
Patroclus smiled at the nickname, and raised his head to answer, only to stop, still as a hunted deer at the first sound of danger. Achilles’ sea green eyes bore into his, multi-faceted and intense, waiting for a moment that neither of them could name if asked to. Patroclus shifted slightly, and tucked a dark curl of hair behind one ear, keeping his eyes locked on Achilles.
Then, slowly and in a rush, Patroclus leaned forward. Perhaps it was simply to get up and run into the water, perhaps for something more unusual, but the end result is a clumsy meeting of lips. Patroclus was frozen for a moment, the taste of honey filling his mouth, brushed off Achilles’ lips like pollen from a low hanging flower, then he drew back, eyes wide with panic.
Achilles stayed still, lips slightly parted, surprise flashing over his features faster than a kingfisher. In that moment, he looked more beautiful than Patroclus had ever seen him before. Then in a rush, the golden boy stood, looking at his companion with an unreadable expression, as cold and ferocious as his goddess mother. Patroclus opened his mouth to say something, anything to save the situation, but Achilles was already sprinting down the beach, fleet footed and desperate to be away.
They did not see each other again until after dinner, whilst preparing for bed. Peleus had called them to his quarters, and was telling a story, eyes half closed in memory, the firelight catching in his silvering hair. Unlike previous nights, Achilles sat carefully beside his father, legs crossed and back straight, watching the fire and listening intently, paying no attention to Patroclus, balanced as he was on the edge of his couch.
After an hour or so, Peleus paused to drink from a cup of wine, and glanced at the two silent boys in concern, waiting for the usual little scuffles and excitable conversation to start whilst he was silent. When they did not come, he set down the cup, and shifted himself into a sitting position.
“You are both very quiet tonight. I hope there has not been an argument?”
After a moment, Achilles spoke, fidgeting with his tunic.
“We had a… disagreement, on the beach after lunch.”
“What about, boys?”
Neither Patroclus or Achilles spoke, both looking in opposite directions, a light flush of embarrassment colouring the former’s cheeks. Peleus watched for a moment, then laughed, and placed a hand on Achilles’ shoulder.
“Come now, you need not be so possessive! Why do you not both entertain the girl in question? I am certain she would be glad indeed to have the combined attentions of the Prince and his comrade lavished upon her.”
Achilles shifted awkwardly, and momentarily flicked green eyes towards Patroclus in a question. A pause, and then a slight nod from the dark haired boy. They would forget what had truly happened at the beach, and pretend to themselves and the King that they had argued over a serving girl.
“We did not think of that, sir,” said Patroclus, looking embarrased.
Peleus smiled, and leaned over to pat Patroclus’ shoulder affectionately.
“Dear me, you are idiotic. Go and see the girl once we have finished our tale, and explain the situation to her. Now, where were we?”
As the evening wore on into night, Achilles seemed to relax slightly. He dropped into the usual luxurious spread-eagle on the carpet, and began to idly tug at Patroclus’ foot in their time honoured tradition whenever a part of the story was amusing or exciting. Patroclus felt a flood of relief fill him, and smiled as he allowed himself to be half dragged from the couch.
~
“Why did you do that, Skops?”
Patroclus propped himself on an elbow on his pallet, and turned to where Achilles was sitting on his couch, hair glinting in the moonlight, and dusting his skin with a glow that was not mortal.
“I… I don’t know. It was an accident, I suppose. I am sorry, I did not mean anything by it. I just… I have never kissed anyone, and I am too shy to ask the girls. I imagine I wanted to practice. I am truly sorry.”
Achilles’ face cleared, and he smiled, before lying down, and glancing out of the window to where the moon was riding high in the sky on a foam of cloud.
“I understand. I am shy of the girls also. But you must not do such things without warning, and not so near my mother’s domain. She may interpret things awry.”
Patrolcus shivered, and shut his eyes, trying to block out his encounter with Thetis earlier that day. His bones still ached from the icy terror that he had felt during their conversation, and in the moonlight, Achilles looked alarmingly like his immortal mother. It was best not to think on her power, or what she might do to him if she caught him with her precious Achilles.
“She might. I am really sleepy of a sudden. Do you mind?”
“Well, I had something to tell you.”
Achilles shifted onto his side, looking into the dark to where the faint light shone in Patroclus’ eyes. Slight ripples ran across his forehead, and he fiddled idly with the corner of his couch, before softly speaking.
“I have to go. I am going to Mount Pelion to be taught by Chiron. Mother says that he is a fitting tutor for a hero.”
Patroclus bit his lip, and said nothing, heart aching. Achilles could not be leaving already. It was too soon. They had only known each other a few years. But who was he, to go against the will of an immortal? If Thetis wanted her son to go, he would go. She controlled everything about Achilles’ life, and not even Peleus could challenge her.
The silence hung heavy in the room, and Achilles waited a few more moments for a response, before tugging off his tunic and settling down to sleep, a slightly frown gracing his features. Patrolcus tried to breathe slowly, but he could not sleep, and spent ages watching the darkness as it shifted around the room, until the sky turned grey with the early morning, and then the pink fingers of the dawn goddess brushed the sky.