Note: Huge thank you to AkatsukiOfNight for looking over my work

They were outnumbered. Well into the night the bloody battle raged. In the early hours of the morning when the remaining Spartans believed they were going to die, they prepared to embrace death. They would never surrender.

"What should we hold in our minds during these final hours, my lord?" One of the Spartan's asked Kratos.

The young commander standing next to Kratos' laughed softly when his brother's question was met with silence. He clasped his brother's shoulder firmly with a tired smile, dirt and blood speckled across his handsome features.

It was not the God of War who inspired and strengthened morale that day, but rather the young commander at his side.

"Fight for the man who stands at your shoulder. He is everything, and without him you are nothing."

The strength and bravery Atreus displayed on the battlefield breathed new life into the remaining Spartans. The tide of the battle turned.

Blood, sweat and hope brought forth their miraculous victory.

His son turned to Kratos, inquisitive. "So… Why'd you want to name me Atreus? I know it can't be for a god." He asked as they walked back from spreading Faye's ashes.

"No. He was a soldier. A Spartan," Kratos replied.

Kratos knew Atreus was starving. Spartan's were intentionally underfed as boys to grow accustomed to hunger for when they fought for long periods of a time on the battlefield.

He was all smiles though, his sandy gold curls framing his face. "Eat, please," the young soldier insisted.

Kratos frowned at the red apple Atreus had handed to him.

"You need not worry about me," The young mortal assured.

"I am not worried,"

Atreus' deep chuckle and knowing green eyes infuriated him. The younger Spartan could read him so easily, like no one else he'd known.

"A great warrior?" Atreus asked, his eyes drifting to the drawings on the walls.

"All Spartans are great warriors. We train from birth. Our lives were discipline, duty, battle and death. Life was grim, and we greeted it grimly." Kratos told him, his expression hardened.

Atreus' moans filled the humid night air. His blunt fingernails dug into Kratos' muscular back, drawing blood.

Kratos did not care. The young man bared his throat to him, gasping at a particular hard thrust. Atreus' heated gaze was primal yet loving.

The god drew him closer so they were chest to chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat. Atreus' hands wandered over Kratos' back, whispering his praises in his ear.

He was so beautiful in the throes of passion.

The young commander's arms tightened around him, pressing their foreheads together. "I love you, Kratos." The words ghosted on his lips, capturing them in a heated kiss.

"But Atreus of Sparta was unlike the rest of us," Kratos explained, "He wore a smile even in the worst of times. He was… Happy. He inspired us to hope… That though we were machines of war, yet there was humanity in us. Goodness. When the day came for him to lay down his life in battle, his sacrifice saved countless others, and turned the tide in our favour."

He son hummed quietly as he listened, surprised by the story of such a warrior.

Kratos slashed through his enemies, hot white rage blinding him. He spared no one, butchering every last man to reach the fallen Spartan.

He did not stop, even as they begged for mercy.

There was no mercy in him.

Kratos cradled Atreus in his arms in an instant.

His fallen brother wheezed, a small smile on his crimson stained lips. The commander reached up to caress Kratos' face, his fingertips cold.

The god tightened his arms around him, trying to keep the mortal warm. He was dying.

Kratos looked into Atreus' soft green eyes and could see nothing but love in them.

Nothing was said. Nothing needed to be.

He held his body long after he passed, brushing the golden curls out of his face. In his grief he lashed out at his brothers who tried to tear him away.

"I carried him home on his shield, and buried him with all the honours of Spartan custom. His memory was a comfort in dark times." The young Spartan never left his heart or mind. His memory was a comfort no one else understood.

"Wow. You actually told a good story. Mimir missed it."

Kratos grunted softly as he walked across the bridge to return to the realm of Midgard.

His relationship with the Spartan was unlike any other. Now Kratos' son was his motivation. His strength to keep fighting and never slacken. When his body ached and he could not move – he persevered against all odds. His son was the ray of sunshine in his otherwise dark life, much like his Spartan lover.

When Kratos looked at his son, his chest swelled with pride. Atreus knew who he was named after, but not the fact the young man remained in Kratos' heart alongside the women he loved - Lysandra and Faye.

He could not think of a more fitting name.