The hot sun beamed down on the two boys as they exited the stifling classroom, waving a hasty goodbye to their tutor who'd cooped them up in a cramped room for hours in an attempt to teach them dusty dates of days long past. Finally free, the boys headed outside into the beautiful day, golden hours lingering tantalizingly ahead of them in which to do whatever they liked, at least until the next day's lessons.

One boy was fair and one was dark. The blonde boy was about a head taller, and he exuded a sort of natural calmness which made his company delightful. His movements had an effortlessly lazy grace about them. He was carrying, as he so often did, a thick book which looked inappropriately large in his small arms. This was Patroclus.

Achilles was a couple of years younger and a few inches shorter than his companion, but his personality was much larger. He ran everywhere, talked incessantly, and never slowed down, because he never needed to. He had hot blood in his veins and fire behind his eyes. Yes, Achilles was certainly destined to be a great warrior, and even at such a young age, he knew it. Before fighting was written in his destiny, it was stamped in his blood.

Patroclus floated dreamily to his favorite reading spot, the soft patch of grass under the Cyprus tree. He opened the book before he even sat down, his feet guiding him rather than his eyes. He let himself evaporate into the pages, forgetting the world.

Achilles looked at Patroclus and sighed, exasperated. He'd never understood Patroclus's fondness for words. Achilles was not a strong student. He was certainly a bright boy, but he wasn't able to sit still for long enough to read more than a few pages at a time. He was too preoccupied to absorb what he was taught; his mind was constantly racing with thoughts of battles and glory, and he knew he'd be able to win more honor by fighting than by learning his lessons, so he deemed them unimportant.

Deciding that the best course of action was to ignore Patroclus, Achilles began swinging his wooden sword around, fighting invisible foes and talking incessantly in his usual manner. He was always daydreaming about how he would win kleos, or glory won in battle, for his father Peleus and for his city Phthia. "And then I'll kill them all and free the city," he finished his soliloquy finally with another flourish of his sword, turning around and facing Patroclus. "Papa will be so proud, won't he?"

But Patroclus did not appear to be paying attention to his younger cousin. His golden head was bent over the thick book, the sunlight twinkling on the words as his mind devoured them.

Frustrated to the point of provocation, Achilles poked Patroclus with the point of his sword. "Are you even listening to me, Pat?"
Patroclus's head raised immediately. "Yes."

"Then what did I say?" Achilles was skeptical.

"You were talking about how you'll save the city from attacks when you're a soldier," Patroclus answered without hesitation. He'd mastered the art of half paying attention to Achilles while simultaneously reading. Plus, Achilles always talked about the same thing: fighting.

Achilles smiled, mollified. His moods swayed like the temperaments of the gods; he was perfectly happy again, and did not even remember the overwhelming frustration he'd felt a few minutes earlier.

"Come on, I'll duel you," Patroclus said, picking up another wooden sword.

He would rather be reading, certainly, but he looked on Achilles as a younger sibling whose whims must be obeyed. Plus, Patroclus was a fair fighter himself. He wasn't as strong or fierce as Achilles, but he had an uncanny way of predicting his opponent's next move which had enabled him to win many a duel against the hotheaded Achilles.

The two boys were certainly very different, although they did not yet fully grasp what this would mean for them, and for their country.

Patroclus was a thinker. He was always grappling with difficult ideas, and conquering them. He was quiet, but deep. Although he didn't usually voice his opinions publically, he had firm resolve. His father Menoetius had sent him to live with Peleus, Achilles' father, at a young age, and Patroclus had slipped smoothly into palace life, forging an unbreakable bond with Achilles. Patroclus had the ability to quietly fit in wherever he went, and people naturally trusted him. These traits would one day lead him to his death.

Achilles was a fighter. From the time of his birth, his father Peleus and mother Thetis had known he would be special. Zeus and Poseidon had both wanted to marry the beautiful Thetis, but a prophecy which stated that the son of Thetis would be more powerful than his father caused them to turn from her. So Thetis had instead married Peleus, a mortal, so that her son would be half-mortal, and no threat to the gods. However, Thetis had not been satisfied with having a demigod for a son, so she had taken matters into her own hands and twisted the destiny of Achilles. In an attempt to protect Achilles from his fated death in battle, she'd dipped him in the River Styx when he was an infant, which made him invincible. This invincibility would one day cost him his life.

It was only a matter of time before these crucial differences would separate the two, and cruel fate would wrench them apart. But the bond they shared would never be broken.