A/N: Happy Barricade day (or not)!

This year's fic is based on this post which states that Patroclus more or less died on June 5, which as we all know, is also the day the failed June rebellion started and when our favourite gay French boys died.

Setting: Troy/Canon Era

Rating: T

Genre: Tragedy, Friendship

Characters: Achilles, Patroclus, Combeferre, Enjolras

Warnings: character death, misogynistic language

Word Count: 1,620

i shall follow you to the ends of the earth

But you are a hard case,

Akhilleus! God forbid this rage you nurse

should master me. You and your fearsome pride!

What good will come of it to anyone, later,

unless you keep disaster from the Argives?

Have you no pity?

Pêleus, master of horse was not your father,

Thetis was not your mother! Cold grey sea

and sea-cliffs bore you, making a mind so harsh.

Now the Trojans surround the black-sailed Akhaian warships, and in vain the Argives fight on as Patroklos enters the tent of Akhilleus.

"Why are you weeping, dear cousin? Do you weep over our fathers, fated to die before long? Or perhaps those tears are for these Argives, dying like flies on Trojan land for their own faults?" the son of Peleus starts, a smug smile on his lips.

"Spare me your rage, Akhilleus. Our greatest heroes are laid low by these Trojans, yet you sit here doing nothing," Patroklos says as he waves away his cousin's arm about to wrap itself around him in a gesture of brotherhood.

"It is Agamemnon's fault, that wretch. He will not give me back my Briseis." Akhilleus turns his back to Patroklos like a sullen little child deprived of his toy.

"And because of a woman, you let our people die? The Argives do not deserve being punished for the greed of a single person, Akhilleus," Patroklos sighs.

"You speak as if we are not here for another woman. That wanton Helen is the cause of all this, you remember."

Enjolras was a charming young man, who was capable of being terrible. He was angelically handsome. He was a savage Antinous. One would have said, to see the pensive thoughtfulness of his glance, that he had already, in some previous state of existence, traversed the revolutionary apocalypse.

"You are a hard man, Enjolras."

Enjolras inclines his head to indicate that he heard, never standing up from the barrel of gunpowder he was sitting upon.

"Are you not to join us inside the café? Prouvaire is reciting another of his compositions," Combeferre asks as he sits on another barrel nearby.

"No. Someone must stay here and watch for the National Guard." Enjolras shakes his head, then returns his gaze to the street ahead of him.

Combeferre smiles. "I do not intend for you to do that alone. May I join you?"

"As you wish."

Then send me out at least, and send me quickly,

give me a company of Myrmidons,

and I may become a beacon of hope to the Danáäns!

Lend me your gear to strap over my shoulders;

Trojans then may take me for yourself

and break off the battle, giving our worn-out men

a chance to breathe. Respites are brief in war.

"Speak, cousin. I know you are not here merely to argue with me. What do you desire?" Akhilleus asks suddenly, breaking the tension in the air.

"I cannot convince you to fight, can I?" A grimace forms in Patroklos' face, fully knowing what answer his cousin will give.

"No more than you can convince them to return Briseis."

"Then would you allow me to take your armor and use it in your place?"

"Whatever for, Patroklos?" Akhilleus says, taken aback by the request.

"They will fight beside me if they take you for me. Seeing the brave Akhilleus fight will restore their morale, and our Myrmidons are itching to leave these camps and prove themselves."

Akhilleus nods in understanding, an idea forming in his mind. Then he sighs in defeat.

"Very well. Lead our men and drive the raging Trojans away from our shipyard. But go no further than this, take not my glory and do not attempt to breech the walls of Troy. Danger waits for you there."

"As for myself, constrained as I am to do what I have done, and yet abhorring it, I have judged myself also, and you shall soon see to what I have condemned myself."

Those who listened to him shuddered.

"We will share thy fate," cried Combeferre.

He found Enjolras by the cartridges.

"Cousin?"

Enjolras did not deign to do anything, keeping his back turned to Combeferre. Combeferre shook his head and closed the distance until he was standing side-by-side with Enjolras.

"If you will admonish me for doing what I did, you waste your breath."

Combeferre managed a smile and merely mussed Enjolras' hair.

"I will do no such thing. What you did was…brave and just. He took an innocent life, and paid for it with his own."

Enjolras held Combeferre's hand, still not meeting his cousin's eyes.

"Thank you. For being there."

Sir, exalt his heart,

so Hektor too may see whether my friend

can only fight when I am in the field,

or whether singlehanded he can scatter them

before his fury! When he has thrown back

their shouting onslaught from the ships, then let him

return unhurt to the shipways and to me,

his gear intact, with all his fighting men.

Akhilleus listened within his tent as Patroklos roused the army outside. He felt something brewing in the pit of his stomach. Pride? Worry? Jealousy? He did not know, and he had no wish to.

For a moment, he wanted to go out and take the armor back. Patroklos did not have to fight in his stead, yet he allowed it. He was painfully aware that death awaits his friend if Hektor falls for the deception. Akhilles himself was invincible, made so by a protective mother, yet Patroklos was not, being fully mortal.

"Almighty Zeus, keep him safe, I beseech you."

He heard the army leaving for the battle, and a prayer was sent to the Father of gods and men, yet it was one request too many for the Fates to concede.

"Citizens," cried Enjolras, and there was an almost irritated vibration in his voice, "this republic is not rich enough in men to indulge in useless expenditure of them. Vainglory is waste. If the duty of some is to depart, that duty should be fulfilled like any other."

"That was such a thing to say, Combeferre. You are no orphan yourself. Or have you forsaken your mother for the Republic?"

There was a playful smile on Combeferre's lips as he replied. "Speak for yourself. You are an only son. My mother has two others."

Enjolras placed his carbine next to Combeferre's and sighed. "We are to die here today."

"I know."

"Do you have any regrets?"

"Only that I never finished my internship."

Sarpêdôn missed again. He drove his spearhead

over the left shoulder of Patróklos,

not even grazing him. Patróklos then

made his last throw, and the weapon left his hand

with flawless aim. He hit his enemy

just where the muscles of the diaphragm

encased his throbbing heart. Sarpedon fell

"It must be done. It is just. It is war," Patroklos thought again and again as he turned and left the son of Zeus' swiftly cooling body to lie on the ground.

As Zeus wraps the fog of war around them to shield his fallen son, he musters his troops, Akhilleus' warning all but forgotten.

"Rally to me! Now is the time to strike Troy and gain the city for ourselves. We shall break the gates of Troy and burn it to the ground."

Thrice Patroklos attempted to charge the lofty walls of Troy. Thrice too did Lord Apollo drive him back. Yet he persisted, and at last, his cruel destiny unfolds before him, as he faces Hektor, tamer of horses, in fierce battle.

"What a pity!" said Combeferre. "What hideous things these butcheries are! Come, when there are no more kings, there will be no more war. Enjolras, you are taking aim at that sergeant, you are not looking at him. Fancy, he is a charming young man; he is intrepid; it is evident that he is thoughtful; those young artillery-men are very well educated; he has a father, a mother, a family; he is probably in love; he is not more than five and twenty at the most; he might be your brother."

"He is," said Enjolras.

"Yes," replied Combeferre, "he is mine too. Well, let us not kill him."

"Let me alone. It must be done."

And a tear trickled slowly down Enjolras' marble cheek.

Combeferre refused to meet Enjolras' eye after the shot.

Liberty should not come at the price of death, yet here they are, in the middle of a war long since lost.

He shook his head as he fixed his aim. He never was good at keeping oaths.

the lion conquers the great panting boar:

that was the way the son of Priam, Hektor,

closed with Patróklos, son of Menoitios,

killer of many, and took his life away.

Patroklos coughed blood as he felt Hektor's spear pierce through him. Then he laughed, a low, guttural laugh that made Hektor retreat from where he was standing.

"You have killed me, son of Priam. But know this. Akhilleus shall avenge me, and we shall come full circle."

The thought of Akhilleus comforted him as he succumbed into Thanatos' waiting arms.

Combeferre, transfixed by three blows from a bayonet in the breast at the moment when he was lifting up a wounded soldier, had only time to cast a glance to heaven when he expired.

He thought of Enjolras as he fell, and he didn't know why. Maybe it was the color of the sky, a shade of blue whose intensity was as familiar as his cousin's eyes.

He lied, though, when he said that it was his unfinished internship that he regretted. Leaving Enjolras behind was the only thing he really regretted.

A/N: Bit obvious, really, just where I gave up.

The title is based on one of my class' reader's theatre performances, which, coincidentally, is about the death of Patroclus.

The Iliad passages are from Book 16 of Robert Fitzgerald's translation.

Passages from the Brick came from Hapgood.

Enjolras and Combeferre being cousins is a pet headcanon of mine.