AN: Sorry if spaces get deleted between words. I hate it when that happens.

Danen had watched from a distance while Achilles practiced with Patroclus. He sat cross legged on a rock, sharpening his sword. He watched just as calmly while Achilles spoke with Odysseus, knowing well what the King of Ithaca wished of his brother.

There was only one reason why kings sought out the young lord of Phtia. They needed him to lead the men, war with them, win for them.

Dane ran the whet stone down the edge of his blade in a long sweep, grinding away the resistance, the dullness, with a patience that came from a lifetime of handling weapons.

Weapons he loved.

He swore to you.

You knew he didn't mean it.

It was a time to turn inward, away from thoughts that would interrupt his focus.

Remove the impurities, leave only the sharp edge behind. Focus, sweep, sweep, turn, and begin all over again. This was the way of the sword, of any weapon. Simple, so much simpler than most men ever dreamed.

He finished, wiping the blade with a soft cloth and then sheathed it. He picked up his dagger, only briefly glancing up to notice the tall shadow towering over him.

After some time of standing silence, Achilles sat down before him, on another rock, watching placidly while he cared for the metal in his hands.

"So, what do you think?" he finally asked, almost demanding, but not quite. If nothing else, Achilles knew Danen could outlast him in a battle of silence. He had an iron will, the only one Achilles ever encountered rivaling his own. His older brother knew it was best not to provoke his stubbornness.

Dane barely shook his head, the expression on his face like stone. "I don't know why you waste your time on that fool." His reply was soft, measured.

"I would hardly call Odysseus a fool, little brother. Wily, perhaps. Anything but fool." Achilles leaned forward, his elbows resting on his thighs and his hands dangling between his knees. Danen recognized the thoughtful expression on his face; he was curious what his little brother would say next and, cocked his head slightly when Dane finally looked up from his work.

"I meant that fool," Dane corrected, using his knife to motion to the place where Patroclus practiced his assigned drills with a wooden sword. "I don't know why you waste your time on him."

Achilles almost smiled, but managed to hide it behind a fist, pretending to clear his throat. He forced his eyes to become almost stern as he gazed at the boy. "He is our cousin, Danen, you know it is our obligation to teach him all we can. If possible, all we know. Who are we to judge a man based on what he can, and cannot do?"

"You're only shortening his life by letting him think he knows how to fight, Achilles. Do him a favor and send him to become a priest of the gods. If you don't, he'll only get himself killed—and he'll probably take you with him," Dane stated, as though the idea were a fact that had already been proven to be true.

"Oh, stop it, Dane. You're getting as bad as mother with your prophesies and visions."

Danen didn't even pause in continuing his work. "It is not prophesy that concerns me, it is the path I envision as the future. You put the idea of glory into his head, and I imagine all the horrible places such knowledge will take the poor fool. Fate has a love for irony; you of all people should know this."

"Will you just once answer the question I have asked of you, instead of leading the conversation around in circles, little brother? I came here to ask you what you think of going to war with Troy."

Danen young man sighed, at last putting away his knife. He had a tendency to talk with his hands at times, and holding a weapon while doing so never benefited the health of those around him. "Have I mentioned yet today that I think you were dropped on your head as a child, Achilles? Your obsession with being remembered through the ages, gaining your immortality, it is ridiculous! I said that fate and irony are constantly part of a great love affair, and I meant it. You never stop to consider that, you, possibly the greatest warrior in the known world, will in all likelihood be remembered as the giant felled by the sword of a dwarf. Yes, your name will be immortalized for all time. In a thousand years men will still be laughing at you! All the sons of Achilles will beg and plead to be spared your legacy, for they will be shamed by it. That is my prophesy. See if it does not come to pass!"

"And which part do you fear more, brother? My impending death, or the shame that it will cause my sons?" the great warrior questioned, allowing his jaw to come to rest on one fist, taking on the look of the great thinker. Only with the small difference that he appeared morbidly amused by the course of the conversation.

Dark eyes considered him. A rare privilege. It wasn't often that Danen afforded eye contact to another being. "Kings will never kneel before soldiers, Ilios. You are the most powerful man alive, and yet never have I seen a king tremble in fear before you." Danen's tone was soft, respectful. Rarely did he call his brother by the childhood nickname he'd bestowed on him, before he was able to pronounce 'Achilles'. Ilios, or 'the sun,' was the best he'd been able to do before he reached his fifth or sixth year of life. He used it now, because whether he agreed with his brother or not, this was Achilles' dream. What he believed he was born to do.

Achilles stood, once again casting his long shadow over the rocks surrounding them. "It is not fear that I wish to hold over them, Danen, it is respect. Perhaps I am not that man, the one they will prostrate themselves before. Perhaps that man will be you," he suggested softly.

Dane scoffed, rolling his eyes. Yet another fool in a family of fools. "Kings only have respect for the gods. It is not respect that drives them to worship before statues and temples; it is the desire to appease, to gain favor. The respect of a king is his fear. Have I taught you so little you don't even know that?" Danen teased, all the while keeping his face like stone. Only his eyes gave him away. They took on a certain, spark, at such times.

Achilles finally did allow himself to chuckle, marveling at the brilliance on display before him. It was a good thing he'd been born a warrior. Otherwise he might've actually been expected to match his younger sibling in wit.

"So, am I to take it that you would not be terribly disappointed if I were to go?" he asked at last, as another spell of silence washed over them.

Dane smiled, but on a face that wasn't accustomed to smiling, it appeared as something of a grimace. "Are you asking me if I would forgive you? If you left after swearing you were through with war?"

"Yes, Dane. I'm asking you if you would forgive me."

Danen nodded, letting out a long, cleansing breath. He looked up at his brother, wondering just for an instant if this would be the last conversation they would ever have. "No, Achilles, I would never forgive you. If you leave, and if you die, you know what will be brought upon me. I will become lord of Phtia, and it will be up to me to fend off the wolves who will come for everything I have. Including mother. Are you willing to die knowing that?"

Ever so softly, Achilles touched the shoulder of the young man who had so much faith in his brother's strength, and not nearly enough in his own. "I can die knowing that because I know one other thing as well. There will be a day when Danen of Phtia will shine brighter than all the stars in the night sky. They will call you the greatest son of the gods, Dane. Who else on this earth would be more qualified to fight off the wolves when I am gone, than you?"

Danen shrugged off his brother's hand, standing to stare him almost straight in the eye, an angry fire burning bright in his gaze. "I'm not like you!" he growled low. "I'd rather have my brother than all the glory in the world."

Sharp blue eyes watched as the youth stalked off to once again be alone. They didn't soften in the least, until the boy was far out of view.