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you want the acclaim, the mother of mothers

Chapter 41: Unmasked

Summary:

The Trojans, afraid and confused, retreat. Apollo and his sister talk.

Notes:

TW: graphic description of injury (decapitation), vomiting

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The head that fell to the ground at Periphery’s feet, spraying scarlet upon his boots, had short brown curls, not long golden locks. It had dead amber eyes, not the deep blue expected of a sea goddess’ son. It was not Achilles.

It was Patroclus. 

Blink leapt back and withheld a scream as the headless body, still disguised as Achilles, crumpled to the ground, dark blood spurting from the wound in pulsing waves. Periphery took one step back, then two, then fell as his knees gave out below him. Across the field, Heartbreaker gagged, and Phasma felt a white-hot bolt of pain flash behind his eyes as Heartbreaker tried and failed to keep himself from vomiting. 

“What the fuck ?” Odysseus whispered, and as the Owl’s Talon slipped from Diomedes’ shocked fingers and clattered upon the concrete, Menelaus leapt to his feet and bit back a sob that threatened to shake his entire frame. Agamemnon’s hand flew to clutch his brother’s as he followed, and Menelaus gripped it tight, his whole arm trembling. It had all happened too fast to recount: one second, Patroclus was deep in hand-to-hand combat with Periphery, and the next, one of the enemy’s portals had closed around his neck, slicing clean through.

Heartbreaker coughed again, his throat sore, and scrambled away, wiping his mouth and chin with his glove and glancing up at the sons of Atreus. They stared ahead at the body, paying him no heed as he rushed to Lotto’s side and leaned against him. Lotto’s arm reached out to wrap around Heartbreaker, pulling him close, and Heartbreaker buried his face in Lotto’s dark cloak. 

Menelaus forced a step forward, then another, until he knelt beside the body that looked like Achilles’. Dark-browed Zeus directed Menelaus’ eyes to the ring around Patroclus’ finger, and as Menelaus slipped it off, the clothes that marked him as Lionheart faded away in a haze, and there was Patroclus’ body, in Achilles’ dark green hoodie and black shorts.

Aeneas rushed to Hector’s side, trying to pull him to his feet, but in his arms, Hector felt heavy as lead. 

“I’ve got you--” He tried to shake Hector from his daze, but Hector just stared on, his vision dipping in and out of focus as the crimson pool beneath Liniment’s body grew and spread. 

Wrack’s hands dropped into his lap as tears pricked at his eyes, gripping the ring in his hand so tightly that it left a deep, damning imprint. A breath from Eurus, the east wind, kicked up dust as the air whistled past, lightly rattling what few arrows were left in Deadeye’s quiver. 

“I didn’t…” Hector murmured, barely audible over the blood rushing through Aeneas’ ears. “I didn’t mean…” A movement to Reynard’s right caught his eye, and he looked over to see Troilus, all alone, back turned to the carnage as he paced, hands clasped at his chest and his entire body tense like a tightly wound spring. Helenus stood stiff as a board, unblinking, his white eyes staring off into the distance and his clairvoyance clearly elsewhere. 

“I’ll be right back,” Aeneas murmured, lowering Hector to the ground several feet away and appearing beside Troilus in an instant. Troilus at first paid no attention to him, only becoming alert when he collided with Aeneas, who took him by the shoulders and looked into Troilus’ averted eyes. 

“Can you take Periphery’s powers?” he whispered; Troilus merely blinked, distant. “Periphery. Take his powers. We need to get out of here.” Slowly, as his hands unballed themselves from fists, arms still bent before him like a mantis, he followed Aeneas over to where Hector sat, knees to his chest and his hands covering his face. 

“What the fuck do we do?” Aeneas heard Reynard hiss at Ruin, who opened his mouth as if to say something, then shut it. Troilus knelt beside Hector and pressed his bare palm to Hector’s cheek, and Aeneas noted the way Hector failed to react--he could have then passed for a second Galatea. Troilus wrenched his hands away and, fingers still twitching, ripped open a portal beside Liniment’s body. 

“Please,” Aeneas called to the Achaeans. “Take him. Go. Get out of here.” Through the portal, he could see the same lounge area in which Razorback and Gaius had appeared as reinforcement. Pallad took a few purposeful steps forward, his hands tightly balled into fists in the absence of his weapon and his teeth bared in fury.

“Stop!” Troilus screamed, the cry wrenching itself from his throat startling the rest of the combatants. “Just--Just go ! We don’t wanna fight anymore! Take him and--and just go !” It was Ruin’s turn to advance, but as Troilus screeched another desperate plea, he placed a hand on Pallad’s shoulder, gripping him firmly, and pulled him back with a few curt, whispered words. He then turned and pointed to Aegis, motioning him forward with a quick wave of his hand.

As Aegis took up Liniment’s limp body, the blood that ran down his arms began to puddle at his feet, dripping a trail that marked each step he took towards the portal. Reynard undid the scarlet bandanna from his throat and, with Wrack’s help, did his best to staunch the sanguine flow oozing from the severed head. He bore it in his slim hands, then glanced back at the Trojans with a fury in his eyes that frightened Aeneas. One by one, the Achaeans filtered through the portal until they were all gone. Once Troilus pulled it shut, he collapsed at Aeneas’ feet, sobbing. 

“Hey,” Aeneas murmured, crouching down beside him. “I’ve got you. We’re right here. We’re gonna go home now. I just need your help one more time, okay? I’m gonna go get everyone, so just hang on.” Troilus nodded, slow and delayed, and as Paris and Deiphobus appeared beside him, he saw Hector supported between his brothers. 

As he fetched Helenus, gently grasping the prophet’s hands and gently squeezing them to ground him, just like Helenus had asked of him countless times before, he remembered his mother’s resigned observations. A blessing for a price; he wondered what price the Trojans would pay for the death of Liniment. In the same silent breath, he cursed the gods and begged them to punish him in place of Priam’s sons.

 


 

Twisting the wilting stem of a wildflower between his nimble fingers, Phoebus Apollo sat in the grass of Olympus’ main courtyard, far from the elm tree in the opposite corner. His head hung in pensive thought as he glared ahead, out into the sea of clouds. The birds dancing back and forth between the trees dared not whistle their tune, and though he could tell by the swaying of the leaves that the winds were passing through, he felt none of their breeze. 

The grass behind him crunched beneath another immortal’s feet, though he didn’t have to look to determine who it was. His hand froze, pinching the flower’s stem tight. One second passed. Then another. Patroclus’ death continued to play itself in his mind. 

He almost breathed a sigh of relief when Artemis finally decided to sit beside him, arrows rattling in her quiver as she took it off and set it aside. 

“You… good?” She reached for the stem of a long, thin plant growing amid the grass, snapping it away from its roots with ease. Apollo glanced at her, his gaze drifting back down to the plant in his hands. 

( APOLLO gives her a cursory glance, then goes back to fidgeting with the plant. After a few seconds, he tosses it aside. )

APOLLO: It never feels good. 

ARTEMIS: Being the one to end it?

APOLLO: Yeah. 

ARTEMIS: Mm. The one thing you and I can agree on. ( They sit in silence for a bit before APOLLO turns away, eyes shut, like he’s trying not to cry. )

APOLLO: The boy. Troilus. 

ARTEMIS: ( Knowingly. ) Can’t save ‘em all. 

APOLLO: Fuck. I know. ( He puts his head in his hands and takes a deep breath. ) I owe someone a prophecy. 

ARTEMIS: The Trojan girl?

APOLLO: Won’t do any good. But she deserves to know. 

ARTEMIS: Does she? 

APOLLO: I mean… ( Sighs. ) It’s complicated. 

ARTEMIS: No, no, do what you need to. I don’t… have many prophets of my own. I don’t do all that. I don’t really know how it works. I’m being serious. 

APOLLO: Things are already going downhill. Might as well give them all a sense of just how much further it’s going to go. 

ARTEMIS: Fair. ( Pause. ) Sucks having to do it alone. 

APOLLO: Yeah. ( He stands. He’s done with the conversation. ) Alright. I’m gonna head to the springs. ( ARTEMIS watches him go. )

Notes:

this is the last chapter i ever wrote for this. i can't put my finger on why i lost motivation to work on it; it might have just been me feeling disconnected from the original fic idea i had 6 years ago. i have the rest plotted out, but it's entirely bare bones, and unless i get a huge wave of inspiration, i don't foresee myself working on this again anytime soon.
thank you for reading!!! <3