In the midst of the blood and war and shouts, Oliver mourns.
It's not a quiet mourning. Oliver sobs openly – gut wrenching sounds that mix seamlessly with the cries of war. He cradles a man, limp and cold, against his gold-plated chest, staring into his unseeing eyes and shouting at him – pleading with him – to wake up, please, I can't do this without you. He prays to his mother, Thetis, and to Hermes, a god who favoured the young man Oliver held and yet there is silence.
The gods are busy. Or they don't care.
If anyone paid closer attention to the greatest demigod of the ages, they'd be surprised. Why this desperate grief? Why mourn a man with such a shocking intensity? Whose death must it have been to undo the mighty Oliver?
Oliver would argue that the man was no ordinary soldier. He was not a minor character. He was not a figure in the backgrounds, hidden by Oliver's shadow. He was compassionate and loyal with a courageous and gentle heart who deserved better than what life threw at him.
He was Oliver's whole world. His anchor.
Barry.
In the age of Heroes, there is always one that seems to draw the short end of the stick. Barry was a disappointment to both his father and his kingdom. When other boys were going on their first hunt, Barry could barely raise a spear. Whilst other boys were adorned with laurel wreaths, Barry stood away from the competition. At the age of eleven, he had been taken in by King Robert of Starling Kingdom and lives there, an unwanted shamed prince, under the shadow of the king's golden son, Oliver.
Oliver, just a year older than Barry, is everything that Barry is not – strong, beautiful, the son of the goddess Thetis – and under normal circumstances their paths would never have crossed. Turns out, this wasn't normal and for reasons still unknown to Barry, Oliver takes an interest in him.
When he finds out Barry skips training, Oliver starts bringing him to his classes as an excuse. Turns out, Barry can't carry a tune on the lyre to save his life. When Oliver's tutor offers him a lyre and he attempts to play it, Oliver's electric blue eyes stare at the younger boy with a mix of confusion and laughter, "I never thought anyone could make the lyre sound bad." Oliver confesses, faux-wonder in his tone.
It's a different feeling to the burning humiliation when he's teased during training and, though he can feel his cheeks warm, laughter bubbles out of his throat and before long they're just two boys giggling uncontrollably with an exasperated teacher sitting by helplessly.
Their tentative connection falls into a steadfast friendship. Barry starts spending a lot of time with Oliver, often invited to events that would usually be exclusive to the royal family. Throughout the years, they only grow closer, spending almost every waking moment with each other.
They lie together on the floor by King Robert's feet as he weaves a tale of gods and creatures for them. At fifteen, Barry's reached that stage where everything is growing and now he's just a bundle of awkward limbs that seem to stretch out everywhere. Oliver, on the other hand, has grown into his body extraordinarily well all broad-shouldered and tanned muscle. Barry would complain that it was incredibly unfair if he didn't secretly think that Oliver was the most beautiful man he had ever seen.
Barely listening to the king's stories anymore, Oliver nudges Barry with his foot grinning like he's just played the perfect joke. Barry rolls his eyes, hoping the darkness of the candle-lit room conceals his quiet blush, returning the smile with one of his own, kicking Oliver back eliciting a short laugh from him.
Robert, sensing their fidgeting, sits up straighter in his chair and lets a fond expression (albeit slightly disgruntled at the interruption) cross his face. He rises, gesturing the two to follow as they leave the room to the corridor. Barry stands to the side as they share a quick, private conversation. Robert points at one of the slave girls down the corridor and he's not quite sure why but his heart drops to his stomach and an uneasy feeling overcomes him.
It's around this age that both the boys would be starting to bring girls back to their bedrooms. Barry knows for a fact that the other boys Robert fosters have as they brag about their conquest the next day. As far as he was aware, though, Oliver hasn't had anyone in his room and it seems that the king was getting concerned.
Having finished his conversation, Robert bids the two goodnight and returns to his chambers. The two stand silently for a moment, two silhouettes in the darkness.
Barry plays with his fingers for a moment before meeting Oliver's striking eyes (even though he's a year younger, he's fairly sure he'll be taller than the demigod) before asking quietly, "What did your father say?"
He can just about detect movement as Oliver shakes his head and responds in a low voice, "He told me that the girl has been staring at me the past few days. He says she's intrigued."
"Are you- are you going to bring her to bed?" Barry chooses his words carefully, swallowing the lump in his throat.
He almost can't hold back a sigh of relief when Oliver shakes his head again.
"My father…" Oliver starts hesitantly, "he said my mother wants me to go and train with Chiron the Centaur and…I want you to come with me."
Barry's head spins. This conversation has just taken a complete one-eighty and though the thrill of going somewhere – leaving the palace – with Oliver (!) instructed by a goddess is overwhelming, there's something about the statement that makes the whole situation seem almost forbidden.
He nods numbly, eagerly and still he asks, "Will your father be okay with it?"
A mischievous grin lights up his face, "Definitely not. You're going to have to sneak out."
"You're joking." Barry splutters, "I can't do that!"
Oliver places his hands reassuringly on Barry's shoulders, "You can," he takes a step forward so they're only an inch away from each other and he's back to staring at those beautiful blue eyes, "I believe in you."
The idea excites Barry more than it should. He's barely prepared and he's doubtful he'll be able to pull it off but Oliver believes in him.
It fills him with a hope and pride that he's never actually experienced. He spent the night going over a plan in Oliver's room until they were pretty sure it was foolproof and he feels almost prepared.
He stands next to the king as Oliver kneels in a goodbye, his father looking on in pride. As Oliver rises and comes over to Barry, Barry can feel his heart clench at the mere thought of Oliver leaving. It's a ridiculous reaction, especially since he knows he's literally going to be chasing after than man in a few hours.
"I- I'm going to miss you," Barry admits as Robert leaves the two alone in the courtyard.
"Me too, Barr," Oliver confesses, unaware of the butterflies he had released in Barry's stomach with the new nickname – how much of it was for show, Barry wasn't sure. He's not sure where the instinct comes from but he moves in to the man, arms outstretched for a hug. He can see the hesitance in Oliver's eyes before something like screw it crosses his mind and they embrace each other tightly.
"I'll see you around." Oliver breath tickles Barry's ear, his voice holding a secret only the two of them understand. He pulls away from the hug, cheeks dusted pink, turning sharply with his pouch over his shoulder, sword at his waist and venturing out of the castle and towards Mount Pelion.
King Robert seems to pity Barry, giving him the rest of the day off, leaving Barry with nothing to do until he sets his plan into action. The few hours without Oliver is harder than he'd thought it would have been. Without his company, there isn't much Barry could do…it had honestly been a while since he felt this lost.
The plan starts after nightfall. It's a simple plan really – the two had just decided to complicate it to entertain themselves. All Barry really had to do was take his weapons (of which he had little to no skill in using) and just run out of the gate. The hardest part is memorizing where to go. Thankfully this plan harnessed Barry's few and greatest talents – speed and memory – so it really isn't too much of a problem.
Running away from the palace is exhilarating. Ignoring the calls of guards who he knows will give up soon enough, this is the best feeling in the world. He can feel the air, the wind on his face and the ground beneath his feet, lifting him up and pushing him forward. The adrenaline pumps through his veins and he's never felt more powerful before – running towards Oliver.
In the blanket of night, Barry's hurtling through the jungle at the speed of light until he crashes into Oliver. The two of them fall to the ground and somehow they both know it's each other. There's no resistance as they tumble together across the dirt and leaves. Barry laughs breathlessly, flushing, as they roll to a stop, Oliver on top, a small but exasperated smile on his face.
"Sorry," Barry breathes, "I was just…running."
A small chuckle escapes Oliver, "It's okay."
Oliver's weight eases off him and he offers a hand to Barry, "C'mon, we've got a long trip ahead."
Barry grins and takes his hand.
It's a few days until they reach where Chiron's meant to be. They're both exhausted and sweaty from the journey and all they want is to collapse. Because, yes, Oliver's a demigod and he has a ridiculously high stamina and Barry can definitely hold his own but it's more out of the comfort zone than they had both expected.
"We should be close." Oliver announces, breathing heavily. Barry nods, a jerky motion, choosing to save his energy about ready to take a break. They both freeze as they hear a rustle in the trees. Oliver's sword is out in a second and he shoves Barry behind him. A shadow looms over them and they're met with a centaur…except he wasn't quite.
Barry couldn't help but stare, mouth slightly agape, at the human legs molding with the body of a horse. Chiron was different in that aspect, having two front legs that are human whilst other centaurs had the whole body of a horse. Though Barry had heard the rumours and seen the images, he was both fascinated and astonished by seeing the Great Chiron in real life. Chiron looked down on the duo, his dark eyes analytical and stern with a dusty grey beard that reminds Barry how old the centaur is and how much he must have seen. As the centaur towers over them Barry realises: This is what wisdom is.
"Son of Thetis, Prince Oliver of Starling," Chiron's voice, when he speaks, is rough and commanding, leaving no room for questions, "I have been expecting you."
Oliver bows deeply and Barry scrambles to copy his movements, what were they to do in the presence of someone who has seen it all?
The centaur gestures them to rise and turns to Barry, "Bartholomew," he starts, noting how Barry stiffens at the use of a name he hadn't heard since he was exiled, "You are not supposed to be here."
Quickly, Barry is reduced to nothing but a fumbling mess and crazy hand gestures, "Well- I –uh –just…" The words that leave his mouth are incoherent and he knows it, his cheeks flaming red.
He's silenced by Oliver's hand on his shoulder, squeezing it tightly and with the eloquence and confidence of a king responds for Barry, "He's with me, Chiron."
Chiron regards them silently, "and if I choose not to take him in?"
"We're both coming," Oliver's confidence wavers at the question, "I –I'm not going without him."
A knowing look crosses Chiron's face, fleeting but definitely still there. Barry's not sure if Oliver notices but puts it out of his mind as Chiron faces Barry once again bending down to him. "So, Bartholomew, this question is for you," he directs, holding Barry's gaze, "do you want to train with me?"
"Uh –it's Barry," he corrects without thinking, "and…yeah I'd be honoured to be trained by you."
Chiron nods, seemingly pleased with Barry's response. He gestures to his horse back, "Climb on and we will begin your training."
Training with Chiron is hard, even for Oliver. Whilst they spend a lot of their time training with weapons like swords, spears and bows (a weapon which Oliver quickly grows attached to), they discover that Chiron has a lot more to offer than just combat training. The centaur pushes them to keep adapting and changing. He teaches the two simple medical practices – lessons that are not all that interesting to Oliver but something that Barry thrives at.
Often they're left alone in the woods for a day. A test, Chiron explains, to practice adapting and survival skills. Together, they manage to make it through mostly unscathed, stretching Oliver's hunting skills and Barry's medical ones.
Even though they've both found something that they're good at and want to practice further, Chiron forces them to keep up with all the training. Even if it means an exhausted Barry struggling to keep a bow in place and somehow hitting Chiron (who was behind him!) and if it means Oliver just accidentally killed his fake patient by giving him a poison instead of an herb.
It's tough but together they endure it. They're bond deepens until the word 'friends' can't describe it. It's more than that. They're partners – they have each other's backs, they understand the other without having to say a word. A connection like this, Chiron muses as he observes the boys (men – Oliver has just turned eighteen), it is something precious and rare and he hopes that the terrors of the future will not ruin that.
There's a prophecy, you see, that Thetis revealed to Chiron a few months back. Oliver has two fates: to gain glory and die young or live a long and uneventful life of obscurity. Chiron barely had to take one look at the man and know which Oliver would choose. It isn't that Oliver craves glory, but that he seeks to save his city. And Barry, Chiron is sure, will follow Oliver in a heartbeat wherever the man went. Regardless, they would both find themselves on a battlefield.
So when the announcement reaches the hills of Mount Pelion, Chiron doesn't hide it from either of them.
"This is from King Menelaus?" Barry confirms brows furrowed in thought, though he knows that this is primarily Oliver's decision.
"King Agamemnon of Greece, actually," Oliver corrects distractedly, skimming the paper Chiron had passed to him, "Helen of Sparta has been kidnapped by the prince of Troy."
Helen of Sparta. Now, there was a name Barry could remember from Robert's stories. She is supposedly the daughter of Zeus and the most beautiful woman in the world. She had married Menelaus and now, for some reason, has been kidnapped by Paris, the younger prince of Troy. The situation itself seemed straightforward enough. Attack Troy. Rescue Helen. Do this by recruiting the greatest heroes of their time.
Barry can tell by the light in Oliver's eyes that he's intrigued or more likely, that he's already decided he wants to go. Chiron had told Oliver in confidence about the prophecy and Oliver had of course told Barry (why did Chiron even attempt to keep it a secret he himself wasn't sure). There was nothing more Barry wanted to do but just keep Oliver here – safe – at least for a little longer. At the time, as they rested in the comfort of Chiron's cave upon a bed of emerald moss, the thought of war had seemed so distant.
"I'm going." Oliver declares, leaving no room for argument, though he looks towards Barry slightly uncertainly.
Barry offers up a small smile and nods his encouragement, "I'm coming with you." There's an obvious relaxation in Oliver's shoulders as he turns to retreat into the cave to pack, leaving Barry alone with Chiron.
"What troubles you, Bartholomew?" Barry supposes he shouldn't be surprised by Chiron's intuition or his persistent use of his full name, for that matter.
He shrugs, half-heartedly, "Is there any other way we can protect him?" he asks, letting a touch of desperation leak into his words, "I just-" Barry bites his lip, "I don't want to lose him so soon."
A despondent expression decorates Chiron's aged face, "Fate has a funny way of working out…" he hesitates, "there is one way he can be better protected. But you should be warned it is a risky move for him."
Barry swallows the lump in his throat but nods, waiting for Chiron to continue. To his surprise, he calls Oliver back. Barry looks at the centaur questioningly but is ignored.
"There is one more task I need you to fulfill." Chiron instructs, "If you want to survive longer in this war, you need to bathe in the River Styx."
Both pairs of eyes widen. "I thought the Styx was a myth." Oliver states, questioningly, "Would I really become invincible?"
Chiron gives them both one of those I know all looks that they've grown accustomed to. "Maybe in a couple of millennial, people will think you're myths," his eyes sparkle for a moment but darken once again as he continues, "It will be a difficult journey. That you'll have to take alone."
Almost immediately, the men's eyes jump to each other as they exchange a silent conversation until they reach an agreement. It's almost amusing how they seem to instantly jump to each other for support, Chiron marvels; it has been a while since he has seen a love so strong.
"I'll do it." And with those three words, Oliver seals his fate.
Barry has to wait at Mount Pelion. It's an agonising wait, especially since he doesn't know whether Oliver is alive. He finds himself fretting about the man day and night. It's almost like it physically pains him to be away from Oliver. He figures out early on the real reason why Oliver has to carry out the quest alone.
"You separated us on purpose, didn't you?" Barry accuses Chiron on the cliff outside his cave, sounding more resigned than angry.
The wise centaur shrugs, facing the overlooking lake, "Why exactly would you think that?"
"Because we rely on each other too much. We're too close?" Barry's not entirely sure what the reason is, "Together we're weak?"
At this suggestion, Chiron turns sharply towards Barry, "That is entirely false. I believe that together you are both stronger."
He leans closer, his beard almost tickling Barry's face "I also believe that you two have a loyalty towards each other that – if left uncontrolled – could lead either of you with a tough choice: to save the world or Oliver."
Without sparing Barry an answer, the centaur gallops down the mountain and into the greens below. Logically, Barry knows he should save the world. That's what a hero does after all. But in his heart, he realises that he would do anything to save Oliver even if it did mean bringing the world down in his wake.
He also realises that he loves Oliver. It's a fierce love that Barry had never nurtured before but he had brushed it aside, thinking it may have just been a childhood crush. They had kissed and touched each other a few times whilst they were at Mount Pelion (usually when Chiron abandoned them for the night – it kept them warm!). Nothing more than that and although the feeling left both of them warm and buzzing with the heated touch of the other, it had never developed into something deeper.
Presumably, their love wasn't just about the physical aspect. It was obvious in the way they move closer together when they were uncertain and confide everything in each other. It was obvious in the way they looked at each other when the other wasn't looking and how they're minds always jumped first to the protection of the other.
Barry doesn't need to wonder if Oliver loves him. He knows that he does – it's just that maybe Oliver hasn't realised it yet. And even if he does, neither of them will know where to go from there. Although not frowned upon, most couples in Greece were of a different sex – and that was mainly for childbirth. If Oliver had been any other man in the city, it would not matter that he doesn't have children. But as a prince, the eldest and only son of Robert no less, it was absolutely essential for him to bear a son to be the next in line to the throne.
He forces the thoughts out of his mind. There is no use in worrying about something that may not even happen, especially with the war coming up and the fact that Oliver still isn't back yet.
Oliver returns a few days later, his strides are more confident and Barry can almost see a certain aura around him that screams powerful demigod. Yet, there's a slight darkness to his eyes, a weight on his shoulders dragging him back. When he sees Barry though, his eyes brighten and he breaks into a jog towards the other man. Barry, grateful to every god and goddess that Oliver is alive, is already running towards Oliver for a very much longed for hug.
He gets something better.
Barry barely has his arms around Oliver when the stronger man picks him up so Barry ends up straddling Oliver, his legs wrapped around Oliver's waist, he's pressed up against his bare chest and his face is only a few inches apart.
"What was that–" He's cut off as Oliver's lips crash into his – it's a desperate, hungry kiss mixed with blood and salt. A kiss more passionate than either of them had ever shared.
When they finally pull away from each other, lips red and swollen, Barry's hazel-green eyes stare into Oliver's a question evident.
"I'll tell you later," Oliver promises, "I just know that…I don't want you to leave my side." He mumbles, letting Barry slide down and pressing a kiss to the younger man's forehead.
A flush spreads across Barry's face, coupled with a smile, "I'd never leave your side, Ollie." It's not the first time Barry's used that nickname and yet it sets Oliver's heart on fire because it's the first time it means something more.
Later doesn't seem to come. As the two pack their sacks with their sparse belongings and some food for the journey, Oliver seems to delve into a spot of quiet consideration. Barry chooses not to push, trusting that Oliver will tell him when he wanted to, but worries silently by his side, hoping that no matter what happened, they would face it together.
When they reach Troy, the war has already gone on for five months and is in full chaos. There's no way to tell which side is winning – there are high casualty counts on both. They'd like to believe that the Greeks are at an advantage with great heroes to help them like Heracles and Odysseus. And now, Oliver.
Barry feels like it's obvious when Oliver joins the war. Even without prior experience, Oliver seems so…at ease with war. He makes fighting seem like a mesmerizing hacking art. His spear moves faster than the eye can follow, never stopping, ever-changing. It whirls, flashing forward, reverses, then flashes behind. On the battlefield, it is Oliver who leads men into victory, even though he is not the commander. It is Oliver who slays more of the Trojans than all the other Greeks do in total. He seems to be an unstoppable force and the Greeks love him for it.
They shower him in praises at the campsite; raise him on their shields as they return from their most recently won battle. The tent that Oliver shares with Barry soon becomes crowded with loot and other spoils of war. Everyone wants to talk to the greatest demigod of the ages.
Oliver, whilst civil in front of the soldiers, seeks solace after every battle with Barry. They keep their relationship quiet, sneaking kisses between battles and stealing touches every time their paths crossed. As the Greeks slept through the night, Barry and Oliver would bask in each other's warmth, savouring each and every short moment they could share together.
At first, Barry is uncomfortable at the prospect of war, hesitant because there must be another way rather than killing. He had brought the worry up to Oliver once and the man had looked at him strangely. There is no other way, he'd said, not unkindly, he kidnapped a king's wife. Oliver hadn't laughed at him but he had been concerned and almost tried to stop Barry from going on the battlefield – worried that it would be too much for him to handle.
It took a lot in Barry not to snap back that he could handle himself. He may not be the most skilled, but gods help him if he sits by in Oliver's tent as every other man goes out and fights for his country.
The war stretches on longer than they expect. What starts out as a couple of months turns into a year, which extends even longer to six years. There are heavy losses on both sides and yet neither side appears to give. At this point, Barry wonders if anyone actually knows what the Greeks had started out fighting for. If they still remembered Helen of Sparta who could be locked away in her ivory tower, watching as men still fought and died for her. It must be a difficult existence.
Barry spends his time either on the battle, barely scraping death, or in the Greeks' temporary medical bay of the day. He does admit he likes it there more than he ever did on the battlefield. Here, he heals people with the skills Chiron taught him. He learns their names, faces and of their families back at home and listens to how much they misses them. This war has gone too long, men would often complain after thanking Barry, I just want to go home.
Home…Barry muses. Unlike these men, he has no connections outside of the battlefield. Yes, he misses Mount Pelion with its groves and rivers and Chiron always watching. But for him, home was wherever Oliver was.
Their relationship was still going strong over the course of six years. It was difficult to keep the façade, especially when King Menelaus keeps questioning why Oliver won't take a slave girl for his pleasure when Oliver seems to capture so many of them. It wasn't just because of Barry that Oliver wouldn't keep the slaves.
He'd confided in Barry one night, "I feel powerful on the field…like I can do anything. But every life I take…I feel like I'm trading away…little pieces of myself…everything that makes me good." He had hesitated as Barry squeezed his hand encouragingly, "I thought, if I didn't keep the slaves…at least they wouldn't have to look at the face that captured them in the first place."
Barry had nodded in understanding, and drew the man into a kiss and capturing his cheeks with his hands as he pulled away. "You have nothing to compensate for," he'd said, "You would not have come out the other side of this as a hero, if you didn't have a light inside of you."
The words had brought tears to Oliver's eyes as he had let the younger man draw him close and rested in his protection.
A few weeks later, Oliver brings a girl to their tent. She's dark-skinned with brown wavy hair and chocolate eyes. Barry and Oliver can barely communicate with her, only just getting across their names and receiving hers in turn – Iris.
Even with the communication barrier, Iris is incredibly talented with healing, making her useful in the med bay. As they treat the men, Barry manages to teach her little pieces of Greek and in turn she teaches him Latin, making it so that they could have basic conversations with each other.
They grow close. It's a nice feeling to have an actual friend to talk to. They talk about anything they can, heavily avoiding the topic of war (to be fair it's not in either of their vocabulary). Only after Oliver storms out of the tent upon seeing Barry and Iris laughing together does Iris bring it up.
"Oliver…uh…upset? Why?" She asks in her broken Greek though Barry gets the gist of her sentence even before she has to ask.
He hesitates for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck, "I- He might be…jealous?" He tests the word, meeting her eyes to convey his message. He's fairly sure she doesn't understand the actual word but she already knows why Oliver's upset.
"You two are…happy." She states, smiling widely at him, "I go." She points to the tent flap, as Barry stands up frantically, waving his hands in a panic.
Laughing at his concern that he'd hurt her feelings she puts her hands out to pacify him, "I help." she punctuates her sentence with a wink, leaving Barry in a state of realisation as she leaves him alone in the tent.
Sure enough, Oliver returns seconds later, simmering with barely controlled rage.
"Ollie, what's wrong?" Barry asks, concern colouring his tone.
Oliver shakes his head, "Look, I just… I need to clarify. Are you…doing anything with that girl?"
"Iris," Barry corrects automatically, "and no, of course not!" I love you lingers on his tongue but it just seems too soon.
Oliver bites his lip and doesn't meet Barry's eyes, clearly not completely at ease.
"What else happened?" Barry pushes gently.
He sighs before delving into an explanation, "King Agamemnon captured a daughter of a priestess of Apollo and refuses to give her back even though Apollo has threatened," Oliver clenches his fist, voice hardening, "to send a plague throughout our camps. I've tried to reason with him – to talk some sense into him – but he refuses unless-"
He hesitates, meeting Barry's eyes carefully, "Unless I give him Iris."
Barry's world seems to stop for a second, glitch and then carry on, "I'm sorry –what?"
Oliver purses his lips and drops his gaze, nodding once more.
"No. No." Barry repeats, coming up close to Oliver, "you can't do this. There has to be something- "
"There isn't anything!" Oliver all but shouts in his face. Barry stares at him for a moment stunned as Oliver closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, "The plague is already spreading. Soldiers are getting sick. They're going to the medical tent. That's where you are."
He swallows and raises his eyes to the roof of the tent, closing them and then looking Barry straight in the eyes, "I can't – I don't want you to get infected." Oliver's eyes are glistening now and Barry understands now, why Oliver wants to do what he's going to do.
"Look, the king promised he wouldn't harm her and I just thought…"
Barry nods as Oliver pulls him into an embrace, "I understand…just let me talk to her."
The conversation with Iris is a quick but tearful one. They convey their goodbyes in long hugs and he wishes her luck as Oliver takes her away to King Agamemnon.
Barry hoped everything would have been resolved in that moment. His heart plunges when Oliver strides back in to the tent and sits himself on their bed, fuming in quiet rage. Barry doesn't ask questions this time. Instead he waits for Oliver to open up to him. There's a long almost suffocating silence in the tent.
"I'm not fighting anymore." Oliver states, his voice quiet and even. The proclamation startles Barry out of his spot on the cushions.
"What do you mean – What? Why?" Barry splutters. He can't be serious. The Greeks – we – can't win without him.
Oliver shakes his head stiffly, "Agamemnon – the king – he's taken my honour."
"You're going to let the Greeks lose because the king wounded your pride?" Barry demands, infuriated. This is absolutely ridiculous.
"The Greeks aren't going to lose." Oliver growls, "He's ruined my reputation! Everything I've built up over the years is overlooked now because he took my slave from me unwillingly!"
"You're reputation?" Barry questions incredulously, "Oliver, you can easily get that back up within a battle. Nothing has been taken away from you! And Iris, she isn't some object to be tossed around! She's a person!"
"You can't just abandon us because of something as petty as this. We need you."
"When did it change from 'the Greeks' to 'us'?" Oliver snaps, "When were you suddenly such a supportive member of their cause? You told me yourself: You didn't think this was right."
"And if you don't help them, they're going to die, Ollie. And you don't want that on your conscience." Barry's voice breaks slightly as he stares into his lover's beautiful, broken blue eyes. He can tell he's gotten through to Oliver because of the flicker of regret that dances across his eyes.
A horn sounds in the distance – the signal for a battle about to come.
The two of them stare each other down in the doorway of the tent, Barry urging Oliver to go and Oliver wanting to go but hesitating to nurse his pride. Sighing Barry gathers Oliver's armour.
"Just this once, I'll go out in your armour," he compromises, not letting Oliver speak, "we can't let them lose any of the battles when we're so close to defeating the Trojans."
"Hopefully, just seeing your armour alone will scare people away." Barry shrugs, "Even then, I should have enough skill to manage myself."
Oliver looks doubtful at the idea, concern written across his face and yet, still too stubborn to take up the armour himself. One day, Barry swore, Oliver's pride would be his downfall.
"I'll lead them well," Barry reassures Oliver, adjusting the straps of armour to fit him a bit better.
"I know you will." Oliver murmurs, pulling the man into a final kiss before he left. It's a soft and quick kiss before Barry moves away, smiling at his best friend and lover.
"Come back to me," he pleads, "As soon as you beat the Trojans back to their ships bring the armour back and I'll take over."
"I'll do whatever I have to." Barry promises.
He takes to commanding with a surprising amount of ease. With people already believing he was Oliver, it isn't difficult to have the sway he needs to convince them to attack. Though his technique is not as swift as Oliver's, Barry is able to disarm and injure many of the Trojan army. He understands now, why Oliver is so involved in fighting. There's a tiny taste of power every time a man falls, coupled with a bitter taste in his mouth that quickly diminishes the euphoria. It does give him that tiny boost of confidence, though.
Barry had been involved in enough battle plans to know a good strategy and he managed to push the Trojans back almost, dare he say it, easily. It makes a further attack all too tempting.
In a split second decision, he continues the fight, leading the Greeks towards the already weakened Trojans in an attack that Barry is almost sure they can win. He knows he's smart enough to pull it off.
As they're charging to attack, Barry stops suddenly. His mind completely blank – wiped clean – so that he can't even remember what he's doing, he doesn't even know what he's doing. A single name sits on his lips as he tries to shake off the disorientation and remember what he is doing. It's important. It's a mission. I was doing it for…for… the Greeks no…for Oliver.
And it's with Oliver's name that the disorientation clears and his wits return to him. Barry can barely understand what just happens but he doesn't have time. He needs to find Oliver and –
a sharp pain blossoms from the middle of his stomach. He clutches blindly at the shaft of a spear, searching for the end of it until – oh – it's inside him. Barry stumbles backwards, for a battlefield it's surprisingly empty until he realises he's no longer on the field.
He must have chased the man – Hector, prince of Troy – around the walls unknowingly. But how did that happen? Surely, Barry couldn't have been stupid enough – the gods. A god must have cursed him – taken his wits in that moment – weakened him so that Hector could finish him off.
Barry is no longer wearing Oliver's armour. Hector must have taken it before he retreated. "Oliver," he mumbles half-deliriously, "I need to get the armour to him." A face hovers over his, blue-eyes but Not Oliver because this man does not have the same chiseled jaw as Oliver. Voices are swimming in his head, blending together so they don't make sense.
There's just one voice he wants to hear. "Oliver."
The man, King Menelaus, protecting his body nods and in a moment of clarity Barry hears, "I've sent someone to get him."
His body relaxes in relief. Oliver is coming.
The spear sends a last pulsing, shuddering throb throughout his body. Barry's eyes close. A final, trembling breath leaves his lips. And then, as Oliver sprints across the field calling Barry's name, Barry lets go.
In the midst of the blood and war and shouts, Oliver mourns.
He had run straight into the midst of all the chaos with only one man in mind – Barry. He finds him soon enough or rather his body, protected by King Menelaus and Ajax. Barry is laying so incredibly still, a spear buried in his stomach, a small pool of coppery blood watering the ground beneath him.
He gathers the man up in his arms. He's so cold – nothing like the warmth Barry radiates the moment he steps into a room. It's so rare to see Barry still – there had barely been a moment where the boy hadn't been moving. He was always fidgeting with something or other or even when he was standing still… it felt like he was flittering.
It's not a quiet mourning. Oliver sobs openly – gut wrenching sounds that mix seamlessly with the cries of war. He cradles a man, limp and cold, against his gold-plated chest, staring into his unseeing eyes and shouting at him – pleading with him – to wake up, please, I'm sorry, Barry please, I can't do this without you. Barry. He prays to his mother, Thetis, and to Hermes, a god who favoured the young man Oliver held and yet there is silence.
The gods are busy. Or they don't care.
If anyone paid closer attention to the greatest demigod of the ages, they'd be surprised. Why this desperate grief? Why mourn a man with such a shocking intensity? Whose death must it have been to undo the mighty Oliver?
Oliver would argue that Barry was no ordinary soldier. He was not a minor character. He was not a figure in the backgrounds, hidden by Oliver's shadow. He was compassionate and loyal with a courageous and gentle heart who deserved better than what life threw at him.
He was Oliver's whole world. His anchor.
Barry. He's crying now, choking on his grief, tears mingling with the sweat on his face and dampening Barry's tunic as he holds the man closer to his heart.
Barry was more than a lover. He was Oliver's best friend and closest confidant. They were partners who held each other on a special level of trust. Barry had been the first person he had thought of when
the nymph of the river Styx had said, "You need a mortal point."
"A what?" Oliver had asked. A mortal point for an invincible body? That sounded ridiculous.
Styx, had calmly uncreased the folds in her dress, sighing as though she had heard this kind of incredulity all before. "You need to stay anchored to your mortal life."
When she's met with even more confusion she rolls her eyes, "Imagine a spot on your body that will remain vulnerable. This is where your soul will anchor your body to the world. If you lose sight of what keeps you mortal, the River Styx will burn you to ashes. And you will cease to exist."
Oliver had stared at her for a moment and then at the river. Thinking carefully before he chose, he concentrated on a small spot under his left armpit. It was unlikely that anyone would aim a weapon there and, with armour, it would be relatively well protected.
Closing his eyes to brace himself, he imagined a string like a bungee cord connecting him to the riverbank. Without thinking, he jumps.
It's a terrifying moment when everything burns and he can't control his muscles. Every nerve was dissolving, screaming in pain. This was one of his first real battles. And he was already losing.
Oliver could feel his soul literally burning away, being ripped from his body. His hands and feet felt like they were melting into the river. He wanted to give up.
But he couldn't.
"Oliver! The cord!" Oliver could hear a voice through the murky water, "Remember your lifeline."
Oliver focused on the cord, imagining it thicker and stronger, ignoring the pain and the oh gods, what's my name. He felt a tug through the cord and looked up.
Barry stood on the bank, smiling down at Oliver, "Hold on, Ollie! I'll give you a hand."
Barry's voice was clearer now. Oliver could feel himself stop dissolving.
"Come on," Barry says, a light in those beautiful hazel-green eyes, "Take my hand."
Memories came rushing back, sharper and clearer than before. Memories of him with Barry in the palace in Starling, plotting to escape together, tasting the sweet fruits of the forest Chiron offered. The current stopped pushing him down. His name was Oliver. He reached up and took Barry's hand.
He had emerged from the river, gasping and spluttering, scanning the area for Barry even though Oliver knew he shouldn't be there. It had seemed so real. No one was there but Styx, relaxing on a rock, looking only mildly impressed that he'd survived.
The pain had subsided. He wasn't sure if it had worked but…at least he was alive.
"Thank you, Lady Styx." Oliver bows, not entirely sure how to treat a river nymph.
Styx shrugs indifferently, "You've just committed yourself to a lifetime or hardships." She hops off the rock and rises to his height. "I'll give you a piece of advice though."
"Whoever you saw…whoever pulled you out? He is your real lifeline. You have to protect him because without him, you'll lose all sense of mortality. It won't be a fast process but his death will weaken you. Do not, under any circumstances,
lose Barry. Oliver had lost Barry.
Barry, who on his journey back, Oliver had realised he loved with a burning passion.
Barry who only wanted the best for everyone.
Barry who Oliver had tried so hard to protect just for his arrogance to get in the way and now…
Barry was gone.
And it was all Oliver's fault.
I really hope you enjoyed this one because I live for Greek mythology and if I screwed this up I would be so disappointed in myself. This is completely inspired and draws from Madeleine Miller's The Song of Achilles (incredible book - go read it) so if you see anything familiar, it may be adapted from that. The river Styx bit was a concept I used from Percy Jackson because that's pretty damn romantic and you can't get a deeper connection than that. I actually really enjoyed writing this and I'm kinda thinking about doing some one-shots in this au? Let me know what you think!