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Achilles and Patroclus.
Patroclus and Achilles.
Take my hand,
They have spent their lives together and now spend their afterlife the same way in Elysium.
Was it a reward? Or pity from the gods?
They did not know and did not care. They could now enjoy peace after the war, and both welcomed this with open arms. How could they not? After all the suffering, the loss, the pain, and the longing, simply being together would have made them more than overjoyed, since the perspective of it not being ever realized had them restless for so long.
Take my whole life too,
Achilles had longed for his lost love, fell into despair, and became a broken man. A broken boy.
And Patroclus had to watch it all. Had been an unwilling witness to it all. And without being able to do anything to stop it.
Why did the world seem to hate them so much, he often wondered. Part of him knew it wasn’t the world, but their destiny. Their blasted destiny.
Still, he couldn’t help but feel angry at everything. Everything except for Achilles.
For I can’t help
In the end, even if the world twists them into the ugliest forms of themselves, tortures them, and buries their past under thousands of hardships and trials, they are connected.
They are Patroclus and Achilles
Achilles and Patroclus.
Falling in love
And maybe, maybe, death wasn’t the end.
Perhaps it was only the beginning.
With you.
—
In another world, another life, they may have been able to live a normal life, one that is not ruined by war and enemies.
Maybe they could have lived happily then. Not as a hero and his companion. Not as a demi-god and a healer. Just as Achilles and Patroclus.
They had both died in the end, but the hope of a happy ending was not all lost.
Afterlife gave them something they had missed for many years: Peace and carelessness. The days passed in the Elysian Fields, and the months had made up slowly for what they had lost.
Still, Achilles and Patroclus kept count of the days to always celebrate, each year, the special days, like their birthdays or the day they met. Achilles was particularly insistent on those.
Of course, Elysium was not perfect, since perfection was an impossible concept, but it was close to it. No matter if they had to sometimes attend parties or meetings with other heroes (it was a bugging reminder of the fact that they weren’t alone in their little paradise), when they’d rather stay at home and not deal with the looks they got. It wasn’t that the concept of a relationship between two men was surprising or even scandalous, no, not when it had happened so many times, it was more the contents of this relationship that would make them the receivers of frowning brows and cold stares. Nobody had ever heard of a prince, a demi-god, a hero of war, choosing to love a mere companion forever, one only remembered by the tales as therapon of the great Achilles. Someone whose memory lingered only among a few and who had never achieved anything meaningful, who had only gotten here thanks to pure luck and pity from the gods. But Patroclus managed to ignore the few gossips well enough, and they did not affect him so much, since they were the truth, in a way.
Right, he hadn’t achieved any heroic deed, but it had never really mattered to him. He was always happier watching his love shine and never disliked being on the sidelines (except for when it came to Achilles’s safety). Plus, he knew for a fact that Achilles did not care for any of it.
So why should some inoffensive rumors affect him? He was with the love of his life and death and as long as this was was true, he knew nothing could come in the way of their happiness. Achilles’s presence was reassuring enough.
Every day, sunny and lazy mornings were followed by colorful afternoons which then gave their place to the beautiful sunsets which they were both glad existed.
Sat on the grass atop their favored hill, legs tangled, their bodies falling together like two pieces of a puzzle, and watching over the red and orange shades the sun was creating when disappearing, Patroclus didn’t recall ever feeling this complete. The thought crossed his mind for a second. ‘Elysium might not be the perfect paradise, but it is for certain a place of peace.’ He hummed quietly at his internal statement when the wind brushed softly against his curls as if approving of it. He shifted slightly his head, which was resting on his beloved’s chest, moving in time with the other’s breaths. Patroclus felt a hand grabbing him closer until they were truly glued to one another’s side, with the little space between them only being made of their clothes. Barrier they could easily lift, but it wasn’t the time for these things. As Achilles settled them still again, he spoke, voice only loud enough for Patroclus to hear, to not disturb the rested nature around them.
“What are you thinking of, Philtatos ?” He asked, his voice settled with calmness. Achilles was always more peaceful when they were together, simply enjoying precious moments of life – well, of death now – and not worrying about war, goddess-mother, fate, Trojan enemies, or Agamemnon. Mostly Agamemnon.
But when it was just them, only them and no one else, both would forget the world for an instant. What they were, what was their destiny, and how much time they had left. The only thing that mattered was their beating hearts that always, always fell into perfect synchronization. Nothing could ever disturb them, except for time.
And time right now was not a need anymore. It was a given, since they had it all to themselves, but it never took away the worth of these moments.
In truth, Patroclus was sometimes overwhelmed with all this peace. If his years at war had taught him one thing, it is that peace does not last forever, and you should never entirely get used to it. This thought scared him from time to time, and had scarred him oftentimes, but always would Achilles be there to soothe his worries. “Nothing much.” He answered truthfully, but there was a tint of emotion to his voice that made Achilles raise an eyebrow and stroke gently his arm, obviously waiting for more than that, but not wanting to pressure him. A little sigh escaped Patroclus against his will. He knew he’d have to give an answer or the other would worry unnecessarily. “It’s no big deal. Just thinking about how lucky we are to be together.” And really, they almost hadn’t. Had it not been for Thetis and her last gift to her son, Patroclus would still be stuck between life and death. Or worse, they would’ve been separated for eternity if he hadn’t managed to convince the gods to let him enter Elysium.
As if guessing the spiraling thinking Patroclus was sending himself right into, Achilles immediately put a stop it to by grabbing his chin, forcing him to look him in the eyes. Meeting the bright and breathtakingly beautiful gaze that was Patroclus’s always felt like such a blessing. And the feeling was returned since Patroclus often lost himself in those green, piercing, and strong eyes, safe eyes captured by the feeling that these eyes, these very eyes only look at me this way. A beat passes, then another as both lose themselves in each other’s gazes. Nothing feels real anymore yet Patroclus can feel everything around him, the smallest breeze against their entangled bodies, the littlest sounds of the lake, and their breath mingling together, to form only one. The kiss following is expected, beginning like a natural suite of events but is no less sweet. It doesn’t grow more intense or heated, but that isn’t what’s needed for now. It feels just like this day, sweet and fresh like candy with a hint of bitterness. But no sadness, no. And no longing. Not anymore.
Achilles’s hand brought him closer while the other one traced circles over his back then trailed up to his hair, taking soft curls between his fingers, swirling and twirling them. It warmed Patroclus better than the sun over them. Calmed him more than the peaceful environment. It made him feel whole.
Loved.
They parted with a breath, lips still close.
“We’re here now. And it wasn’t luck. It’s all thanks to you, Patroclus. You were the one who didn’t give up, on convincing my mother, convincing the gods that we were meant to be together. I will spend eternity reminding you of that. Reminding you of my gratitude. Of my adoration. Of my love. You needn’t worry anymore my dear. Let me take care of you.”
How easy it was for him to say such things and mean them, Patroclus still didn’t understand. He, of course, communicated his love many times and still did so but Achilles had always been the bolder out of the two of them. It made Patroclus weak each time. Hadn’t he been lying down, he surely would have stumbled for his legs wouldn’t have supported him against such a declaration. Now, his face colored crimson so he buried it into the blonde’s neck, who, of course, noticed and chuckled, resting his hand on Patroclus’s head, stroking it still. There they lay, there they breathed, there they loved and there Patroclus had his worries vanished once again.
All because they were together.
—
It was not like they had nothing to do of their days. When they were not lying together, skipping stones on the lake, swimming, laughing, or enjoying the harmlessness of their preferred activities (Achilles would often train or run in the wild, because, being Achilles he always had much energy) and Patroclus could be found in the nature, reading or sometimes would join Achilles and they would spar together.
Life in Elysium was still mostly calm and while no real routine settled, both had made a habit of laying before this lake every day at sunset.
On rare occasions though, an event would take place that disturbed their peace for a while, the heroes’ feast.
It usually happened a few times a year, not too often though, and was mostly an excuse to eat and drink and tell old tales while reminiscing in former glory. Patroclus did not enjoy going to these banquets much but Achilles likes socializing once in a while and if he was lucky he’d find a nice person to discuss with, so while they didn’t go to each of them, they still attended some, if only for Achilles’s reputation.
These feasts would take place in the main courtyard of Elysium, where long tables were arranged to fit every hero who chose to come.
This time, Achilles and Patroclus had decided to do so. Achilles was wearing his nicest tunic and insisted that Patroclus match him, which he did after a little convincing against the arguments that it was not proper since he was only his greatest companion in public or his lover, not his equal or fear of what people may think. Those were quickly shut down by Achilles reassuring and reminding him that if anyone had a problem with Patroclus, then it meant they were not worthy enough to appreciate his value (and if he was honest, Patroclus didn’t mind the way his love was so eager to defend him, even from the insecurities of his own mind).
So, they woke up in the morning and took their time getting ready and presentable before leaving the comfort of their home.
There was a little walk to the feast, but it was filled with light chatter and speculations about the food this time and the people they’d see here. Patroclus hoped that Agamemnon wouldn’t be present today, like every time, but the man always seemed to attend each one for some unknown reason. Maybe he just liked talking about himself and the achievements he made during his life. It wouldn’t be a surprise.
“I hope there’ll be those little cakes from last time, how were they called--- Patroclus?”
It was Achilles' voice who brought Patroclus out of his head, like always. The boy has been quiet for a little while, letting his thoughts wander.
“Hm? Oh, sorry, you were saying?” he simply answered, eyes focusing back on Achilles, who sighed in response, used to him acting this way whenever they went to that kind of event.
“Patroclus. Pa-tro-clus. It’ll be fine. We’ll just make an appearance, talk for a bit, and eat the most food we can. And if anything happens we’ll go home immediately. I won’t let anyone say things about you.” The words reassured Patroclus because they were said like promises. And Achilles always held his promises. He promised they’d be together in life like in death, for instance.
A swift kiss and a smile were all it took of Patroclus to convey his gratitude.
The feast was exactly what they expected, not much different from the last one. Long tables with all kinds of food and all kinds of heroes. They were greeted by Odysseus, whose friendship they had regained in death, even after everything. He was actually one of the only people who Patroclus enjoyed seeing and talking to.
They sat down on their respective seats and soon enough, more heroes arrived, more greetings were exchanged and regardless of Achilles’ earlier words, Patroclus wasn’t naive. He saw the barely hidden looks thrown his way, he heard the undertones, those who made sure not to talk to him directly but to only address him as companion of the legendary Achilles. Of course, he was used to it. He did not care anymore, why should he, when the only opinion that mattered to him was the one of his most beloved? No, this feast would pass, slowly and intensively, but it would pass. Then he’ll go home again.
The food was good, at least. It might have been the only positive part of the evening. Everything that happened after the main dish was pure nightmare, and for more than one person.
—
Maybe he should’ve been more careful. Maybe he shouldn’t have trusted too easily, should have backed away at the first warning signs but maybe they should have not come to this event in the first place and maybe the maybes won’t change anything. Patroclus was a trusting person after all. Always ready to see the good in others.
At first, it was not so bad. Once the pleasantries were exchanged, neither Patroclus nor Achilles really found the need to speak to anyone who didn’t address them first. That was normal. Watching Achilles shine when he was at the center of attention also was. Might even be the only enjoyable part. That and the hand his beloved would sometimes slip under the large table, right atop his thigh, bringing promises for when they returned home.
Yes, from the point of view of anyone else, nothing was amiss.
Except an insisting gaze, lingering on Patroclus who wasn’t unaware of it. While this made him uncomfortable, it wasn’t harmful. Meaning he didn’t think it was worth mentioning or even worrying about. Perhaps this person was simply shy and wanted to talk to him. Very well then, he’d go over himself, see what this is about. After a gentle tap to Achilles’ shoulder, signaling he was leaving his seat which was answered by a nod, he made his way over to the man who, while surprised and a little fidgety, stood up to greet him.
“Son of Menoetius. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Patroclus managed not to flinch at such respect, especially at the mention of his father. Not many people were aware of his past and as such, he wasn’t about to tire himself with explanations. Though he still tried not to be associated with the name.
“The pleasure is all mine. And you are?” He forced himself to be as polite as possible, even if everything in the demeanor of the man shouted ‘wrong!’ to his ears. He had a lean, quite advantageous, and muscular figure that had certainly gotten him the quality of a warrior. It was also obvious to anyone that he was proud and probably considered himself mighty and powerful, given the way he stood. Back straight, arms crossed and a smirk giving off an arrogant personality. He also had a certain beauty to himself but to Patroclus, it was a superficial one. Maybe he was biased, having found the most beautiful lover of all time, but one thing was for sure. Nothing in the fine qualities of the man inspired him anything but nervousness and put him on the edge. He also couldn’t remember ever seeing him before. Still, he knew better than to judge on first appearance. He could act perfectly civil to anyone, thank you very much, unlike his bull-headed husband.
‘Husband’. The word still warmed him to his core even in thought. He smiled. The person before him took it as an appreciative sign and his face brightened even more.
“Indeed, you must excuse my manners. My name is Learchus Telephus. I also apologize if I made you uncomfortable earlier, I did not realize my staring would be an inconvenience.” Ah. At least he was polite then. I was right not to judge him too quickly. Still, this didn’t explain the reason for the staring and when nothing came to add to the man’s response, he cleared his throat because, against what he had said, Learchus went back to look at him in an... Intimate way. The apology was not so sincere then.
“Oh, it was no problem at all. Was there anything you wished of me?” Better to keep it straight to business.
“Forgive me if I overstep, but it looked like you might want some company. I saw you looking intently at the conversations happening, yet, without intervening in any way.” He pronounced these words slowly like he wanted to make Patroclus wait for them or make him understand he was saying things of great importance.
Patroclus winced awkwardly before answering, weighing his words. “Ah, well, you must have had the wrong impression then, because I do not mind listening to chatters. It quite amuses me, even.” And there was truth in that statement, most people thought that he couldn’t possibly understand the subject of their conversations because he wasn’t at the center of it, but one must know that many things happen and are heard quite clearly on the sidelines. The response, however, did not seem to impress the warrior in the slightest for he just sat back down and pushed a chair to Patroclus, an invitation.
“Well, then you won’t mind listening to my chattering then. I could even make it an interesting conversation for you.” He simply said, with a smile. So sure of himself.
And really, Patroclus should have listened to his instincts and refused. But another part of him, the one that accorded great importance to politeness and treating everyone with the same kindness, forced him to sit down. It might also have been the emanating silent fact that told him he might not have given up so quickly on partaking in a moment with Patroclus. Worse comes to worse, he’ll just excuse himself and go to Achilles. The man wouldn’t keep him against his will.
... Right?
—
Goodness. For someone who offered conversation, he talked a lot more than he listened. Ever so patient, Patroclus quietly let him, not engaging more than needed to make him finish faster. How long has it been? Perhaps not an hour but it felt like one.
The man spoke of his accomplishments, his life, and all the importance he held in the Elysian fields. It was right boring but some people can speak of nothing but themselves. Yes, it sounded bad but all humans are flawed, it did not make him a bad person. Yet.
At one point he had turned his head back to the main table and crossed Achilles’s eyes. The edge to them held a silent question but Patroclus only smiled reassuringly. Looking at the heroes eating, he found himself quite hungry by now and thought this was the best excuse he could get.
Learchus was speaking of another beast he had killed and had been doing so for a few minutes already.
Patroclus couldn’t help but think Achilles would have ended the retelling of the event in a few short sentences and chided himself for such thinking. “I apologize but I think I will go get something to eat. Perhaps we can continue this conversation later?” Something didn’t feel right about the way the hero looked at him as he got up, emphasizing his statement. Patroclus almost flinched in surprise as Learchus stood in a rapid movement and pushed him back down easily as if assessing some show of strength in the action.
It left Patroclus tense and gripping the seat, knuckles going white.
“Please, don’t bother yourself. I can go fetch some for both of us. It is no problem.”
And really, how could he argue with such a polite proposition? It would have been much too rude. So he dumbly thanked him. Learchus’s steps echoed away on the stone ground. Patroclus’s sigh was both of relief and despair. He would be stuck keeping the hero company for a while now when he only longed to go home...
Slumped in his chair, he failed to notice a different person walking up to him until a heavy hand, not unfamiliar came to rest on his shoulder.
“Patroclus, are you quite alright? Is this man bothering you?” Asked Odysseus’ low voice, concern lodged within it. Patroclus wanted to say yes, that he’d rather do anything but stay in this situation, but as usual, his morals would not let him. This kind of rudeness would not only make him feel bad for the rest of the week, but it might also impair his lover’s reputation. And while none of them cared about such things anymore, Patroclus’s mind unconsciously liked to remind him of the time Achille’s reputation had been damaged. The circumstances might have been different. They were different.
But our minds are, more often than not, treacherous as much as they are our guidance. No matter, thought Patroclus, somewhat bitterly. No harm in enduring Learchus’ company for a little longer.
Plus, he was already coming back.
He smiled at Odysseus, deliberately relaxing his body to appear unbothered. Patroclus couldn’t fool Odysseus with such cheap tricks, of course not, but he could at least ask him implicitly to stop prodding into a situation that was already complicated enough. “I appreciate your concern, Lord Odysseus,” He stammered, the words betraying him in coming out feeble and weak, “But as you can see I am having a perfectly good time with this nice sir.” Patroclus ended his sentence right when Learchus showed up next to Odysseus.
He didn’t miss the way the burly man eyed the latter’s hand on Patroclus and the way his eyes tightened into slits.
The tension in the air was palpable. Both heroes stared at each other suspiciously, waiting for the other to make a move. Patroclus’ explanation had nowhere near convinced Odysseus and Learchus understood this as well.
Like a hunter too possessive of his prey, the man greeted Odysseus with a biting tone, and, in the same second tugged Patroclus closer to him harshly enough to almost make him stumble out of his chair hadn’t he caught himself. Odysseus stood stunned but understood he could no longer use brute force without putting Patroclus at risk.
“It is as he said.” Learchus’s hand slipped from Patroclus’s shoulder to his neck, thumb resting on his jugular and touching him in a way that had the curly-haired man’s skin recoil. “You wouldn’t want to doubt his honesty, would you?”
“I do not doubt his intentions,” Like many who knew him, Odysseus was familiar with Patroclus’s gentle and forgiving nature. “Only my friend here tends to keep part of the truth to himself in order to... Protect others.”
“Oh? Is that true?” Learchus asked sickeningly sweetly, bending further over Patroclus.
“I...”
“It seems to me you are the one making him uncomfortable here, Odysseus.” Patroclus’s eyes widened. What? The man behind him at taken a menacing tone, a smile still in place as he stared at the other hero darkly. “Perhaps you should return to your seat... Wouldn’t want your wife to be left to herself...”
Odysseus visibly tensed up at the mention of Penelope. From the corner of his eye, Patroclus saw the woman eating with Briseis. The two had become close friends in the time they’d been here. At first sight, there seemed to be no danger to them, but Learchus had revealed to know more than he let on if he was aware of Odysseus’s only weakness and greatest strength: his family.
“...Is that a threat?” Odysseus said, coldly. His fists had tightened as he seemed to live an internal battle whether to stay or leave. Learchus only shrugged.
Unable to watch his friend stuck in a corner and worried for Penelope and Briseis as well, Patroclus managed to find his words.
“It’s... It’s alright Odysseus. I’m fine, I promise.” This did not help convince the hero, on the contrary.
But Odysseus had no other choice but to leave and all three of them knew it. So, with a saddened look to Patroclus and one of warning to the man attached to him, he turned around and left.
Patroclus sighed, mostly relieved. Well, partly relieved, for the other cause of his worry still restrained him. Now that Odysseus had gone, Patroclus felt the gaze of Learchus returning to him, even more insistent than before.
It was at this moment that Patroclus started fearing for his safety. His position was everything but comfortable. Learchus disgusted him and the only thing he wished for was Achilles’s presence.
Unwilling to bear this any longer, Patroclus shifted in his seat, trying to leave it but the other’s arm kept him in place with surprising strength.
“Learchus, while this meeting was... Pleasant,” he had to lie through his teeth, and keeping a smile up was becoming more difficult by the second, “I should return to the banquet. Achilles will probably be waiting for me.”
In truth, Patroclus hoped Odysseus hadn’t gone and warned his lover of the situation, for Patroclus didn’t want to cause Achilles any more worry or take him away from the many people who wanted to converse with him. Who was he to do that?
His husband, maybe? A small voice in his head supplied. He banished the thought from his mind. No, no. He will get this solved on his own. He is very capable after all. Then he’ll return to Achilles’s side and forget all about that awful encounter.
“But we were just starting on the fun!” Patroclus battled against a look of disgust. They had two very different ideas of fun.
“Anyway, I don’t think your master needs you right now, so you don’t have to tend to his needs.” His what? Patroclus stared, dumbfounded. What exactly did Learchus think of him, of Achilles and his' relationship?
“There seems to be a misunderstanding, Lord Learchus,” Patroclus explained as calmly as he could. “I am not Achilles’s servant, I am—”
Patroclus was silenced as Learchus, out of nowhere, put his greasy hand over his mouth, squeezing Patroclus’s face hard enough for it to start hurting.
“I know exactly what you are. Philtatos he calls you. I do not believe it.” Learchus, suddenly reached with his right hand to grab at Patroclus’s forearm and forcibly tug him out of his chair. This would have brought out a yelp out of Patroclus hadn’t it been muffled.
“Hmph—!”
“You know what I think?” Learchus shifted so he was closer to Patroclus and spoke so only he could hear. “I think you’re just a bed-warmer. A whore that’s good enough for him to entertain and keep at his side. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see you get under that table earlier.”
“Hmph— Hmmph!” Patroclus’s struggles were useless. The hands on his arm and face only tightened their hold. They’d leave a mark for sure.
Internally, though Patroclus feared the bigger man’s intentions, he could not help the pang in his chest at the words uttered. They cut deep, though he knew they were all but true. There was nothing in this world he trusted more than Achilles’s love.
But what this how everyone else saw him? A simple bed warmer? A servant, unworthy of Achilles’s affections?
“You must be quite skilled if he convinced the gods to let you, a nobody, in Elysium. I’ll admit, it got me curious.” As he spoke, Learchus had begun pulling Patroclus away and far from any eyes. The shorter man was powerless in his predicament, as the other’s grip was much too strong (he hadn’t lied about his strength) and he could distinctly feel a knife hidden underneath the warrior’s tunic. Of course, you couldn’t die here and any external damage disappeared immediately, but that was all it was. External. One could feel pain and that was not something Patroclus particularly enjoyed.
They approached a tent some heroes had chosen to set in case they were too drunk to get back to their lodgings after the feast. Learchus yanked Patroclus inside, who fell to the floor. He grinned sadistically like a hunter who’d caught his prey. Patroclus was petrified. This couldn’t be happening.
“I’d like to personally see if the rumors are true...”
Achilles...
—
“What do you mean he’s in danger?!”
Achilles’s shout erupted through the banquet, making all heads turn. The demigod did not care, however, for these people were irrelevant. What mattered was Patroclus and Patroclus only. And given what he’d just heard from Odysseus, his anger had reason to be, and no disapproving stare could make him relent in it.
“I said it was likely. Still, I prefer to warn you. This man acted much too aggressively, and Patroclus seemed all but comfortable in his presence.” Odysseus’s voice was careful, weighing his words. Achilles, already on his way to where he’d been indicated to find the two, turned sharply.
“Why did you not chase him off, then?!” The warrior’s tone was accusing, adding to Odysseus’s guilt.
“He had a hold on Patroclus. I feared he might hurt him if I tried anything. And he...” Odysseus trailed off, eyes on the ground.
“He what?!”
“He threatened Penelope. I couldn’t take the risk.” At this, Achilles tensed. He, too, knew of how precious Odysseus’s wife was to him. And, having someone he held just as dear, he couldn’t find it in him to bear a grudge at the other hero for what he did.
Instead, he just cursed under his breath and ran. To Patroclus.
Hang on my love, I’m coming!
—
Patroclus couldn’t breathe. Or hear. It felt as if all his senses were plugged underwater. He’d backed up as far as he could but was now trapped.
Earlier his eye had caught the sight of a decorative spear behind some stacks of food. As soon as it had entered his mind, he abandoned the idea. Learchus would get to him before he could even grab it.
Unless...?
No, Patroclus wouldn’t go down without a fight. He wasn’t helpless for Athena’s sake! Perhaps he didn’t have Achilles’s strength or Odysseus’s cunning, but he sure knew how to stall and was agile enough (thanks to years of trying to catch up with the fastest of the Greeks) to succeed.
“If I were you,” Patroclus began, trying to suppress a shiver, “I’d fear for my safety.”
The man threw his head back and laughed. “Ha! And why is that?” Learchus snickered. “You are in no position to be making threats.”
He took a step closer. Patroclus used that moment to slide a little bit to the left.
“No, not me.”
“Then who? Achilles?” Learchus spat, mockingly.
“He won’t spare you once he learns of this.”
This seemed to anger Learchus quite a bit. He moved forward, gripping his knife tighter and marching threateningly. Patroclus eyed the spear. Almost there. “You think too high of yourself.” Just a bit closer. “I’ll teach you to learn your place!”
Patroclus dived out of the way just as Learchus launched at him. Patroclus extended his arm, praying to grab the spear on his first try or his opponent would not let him have a second chance.
Thanks to the mercy of the gods, he felt the hilt graze his fingers and snatched it before pointing it at Learchus.
“You would dare use a weapon against me?!”
“Definitely,” Patroclus said trying to sound firm but there was an edge of fear to his voice he’d not managed to hide. Learchus heard it and his confidence was boosted. Perhaps too much.
“You are weak,” he replied, twisting his knife in the palm of his hand as if he were partaking in a daily, repetitive affair. Patroclus didn’t want to imagine why he seemed to behave with so much experience.
How did someone like him get into Elysium in the first place?
Just then, Learchus seemed to realize something and visibly relaxed. He smiled menacingly. “You can’t hurt me; it would impact your master’s reputation.”
Fuck. He was right on this point. Patroclus would defend himself if it came to it, but he couldn’t just cause harm to another hero. It sure would look bad on Achilles.
No, Achilles wouldn’t care. Wouldn’t he? He’s changed. Do you want to take that risk? I know him! Shut up!
Patroclus did his best to not listen to the voice inside his head (which sounded awfully like Learchus at the moment).
What if it was right though? After all, Patroclus had gotten here because of pure luck— “We’re here now. And it wasn’t luck. It’s all thanks to you, Patroclus. You were the one who didn’t give up, on convincing my mother, convincing the gods that we were meant to be together.”
As Patroclus struggled internally, Learchus advanced toward him. Seeing that it got no reaction from the man he was taunting, he took another step. And another.
Until he stood right in front of Patroclus’s wavering spear. It would not budge. Learchus extended his hand and-
The tent’s flaps burst open.
“What’s going on in here?!”
—
Achilles was furious. Scratch that, he was enraged. In fact, he hadn’t felt such rage since he lost Patroclus. While in death there was no such kind of danger, that didn’t mean anyone had the right to put their hands on his Philtatos. No one could touch what was his. And to know that Patroclus might be in harm’s way without Achilles to protect him made his blood boil.
As he ran, opening the tents one by one and shouting his husband’s name, Achilles cursed himself for being so careless. Forgetting how good Patroclus was to anyone he crossed and his complete selflessness. But most of all he cursed the man who had foolishly thought he could threaten Achilles’s most beloved without consequences.
Then he stopped. He’d heard some commotion from one of the tents further along. He took a sharp turn and opened his mouth, ready to shout for Patroclus one more time. However, when he arrived at the scene, what he saw had him freeze for a tense second.
And then all went to hell.
—
When Patroclus saw the tent being opened, he let out a deep sigh of relief, but it was short-timed. A moment later, Learchus turned around as the voice rang, and— Patroclus recognized this voice.
Agamemnon. Gods, why did it have to be him?
Well, at least he could use this arrival as a diversion and escape the tent. Quietly, since the attention of both warriors was on each other, he focused on a small gap in the corner of the tent. Maybe he could just slip out without being noticed. The adrenaline was still high enough to keep him on his guard and react quickly if anything went wrong.
Across the small space, Agamemnon still stood tall, waiting for a response. This was probably his tent, and he had the right to wonder why it’d been infiltrated. Though Learchus was big, he was nothing compared to the former king before him. Both in strength and in reputation. And he was well aware of it.
“M—My Lord...” It could have been funny to watch the man being so visibly troubled when he acted most arrogantly a moment before, had the situation not been so tense. But then, Learchus seemed to regain his composure and at the same time his overconfidence. “I assure you, I had no intention of impeding on your property. I was simply reminding a low servant of his status.”
Agamemnon raised an eyebrow, confused. Low servants, in Elysium? He looked around, not having yet spotted Patroclus. When he saw him on the ground holding one of his spears, his eyes widened further.
“Patroclus?”
Let it be known that Agamemnon had never appreciated Patroclus and the feeling went both ways. He had, during his lifetime, always looked down on him for his stature and his behavior which he found out of line. He never understood Achilles’s practical worship of his therapon either. Surely, had he come upon a similar scene while he was alive, he’d have let it go, encouraged it, even.
But now things were different. Agamemnon had come to learn of his role in Achilles’s spiral of despair and death. He’d seen Pyrrhus’s destruction and how much better his father was, at least when he still had Patroclus. And lastly, Patroclus had been accepted into the afterlife. If the gods had deemed him worthy by giving him the greatest honor, something usually only reserved for the mightiest of heroes, then who was he to judge?
Most importantly, he knew Achilles would try to kill him if he learned he’d just let his husband be assaulted. No matter if they were already dead.
Also, he despised Learchus. The man was arrogant, vile, and in his opinion, unfit to be called a hero.
“There must have been a misunderstanding. That boy is not a servant. He is...” Agamemnon had to fight back a sigh. “...Achilles’s lover. The Therapon of the great Aristos Achaion. I suggest you leave him alone. For your own good.”
By now, quite a crowd had gathered at the entrance to the tent, since Agamemnon had originally come here to show his friends some fancy shield he’d gotten as a prize during his younger years. The chatter grew louder, and people wondered what exactly was happening. A chatter that alarmed Learchus. Sure enough, in his opinion, would he be able to convince Agamemnon to keep quiet on this but a whole group? Some goody-two-shoes eager to get into Achilles’s favors might come in his way.
Under the stress caused by the rapidly shifting situation, Learchus could only laugh in the other hero’s face as if daring Agamemnon to stop him. Perhaps he was joking. Why would anyone defend someone like Patroclus?
Then a thought crossed his panicked mind. He smirked and reached out to roughly grab an almost-escaped Patroclus. Then, grabbing the back of his neck, Learchus forced Patroclus to kneel. The latter could only yelp in surprise.
“Do you want him then?” Learchus taunted, gripping Patroclus’s neck even harder. It would leave a mark for certain, but Patroclus had other worries at the moment. “I mean, it’s understandable. I would have taken him for myself, but it’s nice to share.”
That was what truly did it. Agamemnon didn’t fool himself into thinking he was a good person, but to him, life in Elysium meant a new start. A life in death where he would no longer have to worry about reputation or conflicts. He only wished, like many, to rest and bask in his hard-acquired peace. This pathetic inconvenience of a man who thought himself better than that would not stand in his way.
“Let him go,” Agamemnon said, coldly. Learchus stilled for a moment.
His hesitation didn’t last long, however, and the smugness crawled back onto his face. Learchus foolishly thought he held Agamemnon in the palm of his hand “Oh, you do want him then? I’m ready to lend him, but I did find him first, so you’ll have to ask more nicely—”
“What in the gods' name are you doing?”
Patroclus, struggling to breathe under the pressure, felt his heart drop at the voice, which he recognized immediately. If he could have heard the intake of breath, he would have recognized it too.
Ça allait chauffer du cul.
—
The silence was deafening. Achilles slowly repeated his words.
“I said: What are you doing to Patroclus?”
Said man had never seen his husband so angry since they died. A pang of guilt hit Patroclus in the chest. He was the reason for it. In wanting to avoid worrying his soulmate, he’d let this mess happen, which could have been ten times less bad if he’d just... left earlier. Would Learchus even have let him?
He certainly won’t now. Patroclus despaired. He hated this. All of it. To have Achilles witness him so defenseless, to be defenseless in the first place, to be so naïve, so easy to manipulate.
Achilles’s next words brought him back to the present. Rather, the distinct sharp sound of a sword being unsheathed did. Which confused him; Achilles didn’t carry a weapon around at all. He could barely stand the sight of them. Too many regrets are linked to them.
“Get your hands off him.”
The demigod sounded cold. Cold but fueled with a raging fire, ready to take down anyone who stood in his way. Agamemnon understood this and swiftly backed away a few steps, cold sweat dampening his tunic, “He... He’s all yours,” and just as swiftly exited, to not provoke Achilles further. And he was right to do so.
Achilles’ threats did not have the desired effect on Learchus. The man was terrified, obviously, but still did not grasp the error of his ways. “Y—you don’t get it! My Lord, I was doing this for you!” He exclaimed.
Panic made him grip Patroclus harder, who hissed in pain. The fingers digging into his neck must have pierced the skin by now.
Hearing this sound, this pained sound only enraged Achilles further.
If time had been standing still a moment before, it now flew a hundred times faster.
A blur of movements, a strangled shout. Patroclus felt the force keeping him down disappear. His airways cleared and he fell down, coughing.
Learchus sprawled on the ground, recoiling in fear of the figure that towered over him. Achilles.
Achilles. Achilles.
Achilles.
Achi—
A gentle arm held Patroclus’ shoulder and helped him up and away from the scene. Not Achilles. A smaller person. Dark, tangled hair and a comforting presence lead him through the crowd. Briseis. A presence he usually welcomed but now he only wanted to be held by one specific person. He tried to resist, to follow the voice inside him that screamed for his soulmate. Patroclus found he had no strength to do so.
“Ac— Achilles,” He choked out, to no one in particular. It just had to get out.
The hand that held him down had left but the pressure hadn’t. Simple breathing felt like an impossible task. Briseis was still here. She pushed him down gently, seeing as Patroclus’ shaking legs would not hold him up much longer. Patroclus went with the movement, still gasping his lover’s name, over and over and over and over and over again.
Only a few minutes had passed. For all he knew, it could have been hours. Their secluded house, their peaceful pond, their sunsets, and their sunrises were so far away now.
The world fell away.
Patroclus fell away.
Apart.
But then he was held together again. Pieced back together again. Patroclus climbed into waiting arms that supported his weight, his trembling and aching form. His ever-so devoted love. Blond hair fell like a curtain over them. Guarding. Protecting.
“Patroclus. Patroclus. Shh, my Patroclus.”
“ ‘Chilles. Achilles. He... He—”
Take my hand,
“I know. I know, shh. You’re safe now. My love. You’re safe. Patroclus.”
Take my whole life too,
“Achilles. Don’t let me go—”
For I can’t help,
“I won’t. I’ll never let you go. Not as long as your soul is linked to mine. As our bodies are bonded.”
Falling in love,
“Achilles.”
“Patroclus.”
With you.