Disclaimer: Technically the Trojan War is public domain, but I am using the interpretations shown in the Wolfgang Peterson movie so I guess those belong to him or someone affiliated with the film.
Author's Note (AKA 'I'm not crazy, well, not too crazy…'): In Greek mythology, Patroklus is credited as Achilles' senior. However, Garrett Hedlund is about 20 years younger than Brad Pitt. For the sake of this story, Achilles will be about 5 years older than Patroclus. As for Odysseus, in The Odyssey he struck me as clever but not one to study. Again, this is a story about the movie (and Sean Bean is just awesome).
The sun edges closer to the horizon. Flakes of light sparkle off the Aegean. The shadows are long and the sun hot. Cool water laps around Patroclus' calves. It might be uncomfortable, had he not spent the better part of his life in the sun. Patroclus sighs. He has been standing in the water for nearly an hour now. If not for the brace of freshly caught fish resting across his back, he might be annoyed with the heat, and himself a Greek!
His attention is nearly diverted but then—ah! A pattern beneath the water! Patroclus spots the familiar shape of the spiked ridge atop the dusky perch and lets his spear fly. Spear, as though it were! Patroclus can only wish. He fishes with a sharpened stick.
He imagines the conversation. Achilles will make some vaguely offensive comment about Patroclus' war being against the fish, or openly condescending remark about the importance of keeping the warriors well fed. In truth Patroclus knows he needs no true spear.
Patroclus takes the end of his fishing spear firmly in hand and levers the huge fish from the water. Gobletfuls of sea water cascade in a brilliant arc of reflected sunshine and for the briefest of moments he does not resent his assignment.
Patroclus carries the fish aloft like a flag.
A little over an hour later the men begin to return, the real men, the fight men. As usual Patroclus watches them for that gold flash of Achilles' armor. Late, Achilles is late—near the last—what if he isn't coming home?
Patroclus shakes himself. That is impossible. Achilles can not die. It is the one, only thing he cannot do.
"Achilles!" Patroclus yelps. He can't help himself. Achilles is so far from the head of the line he nearly feared his life. Nearly. Patroclus dares not lose faith, but sometimes, in those fleeting moments between the seconds…
He flies. Wheels of hot sand rise from beneath his heels as Patroclus sends himself in bounds across the beach until, there, he hits Achilles square in the breastplate and wraps his arms around his neck. "Achilles, thank the gods!"
Achilles pats Patroclus on the back, then pushes him away and cuffs him. Patroclus shies from the rebuff. He touches the place on his head where Achilles smacked him. It smarts and melts. "You never, Patroclus, you never!" Achilles snaps. He takes hold of Patroclus' arm and leads him back to their tent, ranting, "You never leave the beaches! You're too young to understand this, Cousin, but you stay here because you will die the moment you step foot on the battlefield, you will be shot through with a dozen arrows!"
Before their tent, Achilles hurls Patroclus to ground. Sand stings his arms and sides, everywhere, but Patroclus hurries to his feet. "Achilles, your supper--!"
"I don't want it."
And the tent flap falls shut.
Patroclus sleeps there, too, but he dares not approach. Not yet.
To be continued!