All the sons were expected to participate when the time came, an unspoken rite of passage. The best fathers equipped their boys with ropes, chains, rolls of leather, and blunted spears, small clubs, and whatever other weapons they saw fit. Capturing a monster was a trial of manhood, and the better the creature the more powerful the son. Older boys sparred against each other or commanded their creatures to do the same, impressive displays of power or agility or speed. There were games, too, beyond mere fighting, races and throwing and climbing, sometimes for the boys and sometimes for the monsters, but the main event was always the same. The youngest, uninitiated, without an animal on a thick lead, would enter the woods alone and find one.
Patroclus knew his father was particularly concerned with the ritual. It would determine status for years to come, amongst all the princes and the warriors and anyone else who could participate. It was a father's first chance to demonstrate the power of his sons, and a son's first chance to make a lasting impression. He was a disappointment otherwise, not fast or strong or particularly courageous. If he could come out of the woods with bruises and scrapes and a wild beast in chains he would finally win some approval from all the men who mattered. He pondered the creatures that were common in the woods, and the ones who preferred the fields just beyond the forest, and the rare monsters who were nearly impossible to find intentionally.
There were rufflets and spearows perched conspicuously on the tops of trees, observing the gathering boys with suspicious eyes. If he could catch either, grow it into a proud braviary or a savage fearow, he would have a grand position amongst the others. He wondered about gibbles, lurking the corners of the caves beyond the woods, aggressive and tough, a worthy prize for any prince. The waters teemed with potential beasts but no river ran through the trial fields and the ocean was miles away, so he set aside delusions of a seadra or a poliwhirl. He had strategies in mind, drilled into him by his father—who owned an impressive enough collection of beasts to be trusted—and he had been watching the older boys all day, noting how they moved their feet and used their eyes to steer the creatures under their control. Some were better handlers than others, and he was still trying to figure out why when a loud horn blast quieted the festivities.
His father shoved him roughly forward, in with other boys drifting towards the woods. A line had been marked out in the dirt and they shuffled along it like sprinters, prepping for a race of a kind. There were instructions, to return by nightfall with whatever creature they could or couldn't capture, and to start off at the sound of the horn. All Patroclus could carry was rope—he was nowhere strong enough for anything else. He attempted to prepare, to stand at the ready like all the bigger boys, but when the angry blast sounded off he was not quick enough. Everyone else hit the trees and disappeared, while Patroclus lagged behind. He still ran, heart pounding, rope in hand, and leapt over roots and prickly thorns until he was well within the woods.
All around him echoed the footfalls of other boys and the first few angry sounds of monsters. He listened for their calls and cries, the sounds they made naturally and not the ones of agony as they fought. He was a bit fearful; the stories sounded like bold conquest, not brutality. The rope dangled out of his hand, slipping down and dragging on the ground while he walked more deliberately. In the distance he could see the field, the grass shifting around wildly, teeming with creatures still undiscovered. His father's strategy was to run fastest, find the toughest, bravest monster, and tackle it, but the meadow at the edge of the trees was more tempting. No competition, no frantic searching, just him and the creatures of the grass.
His rope snagged on a root. He tugged once, felt the resistance, and pulled more frantically. He had to bring it, or he wouldn't have any tools. It was jammed too tightly, trodden down by a passing runner. Panic welled up in his chest. The one thing he could carry was now stuck in the middle of the woods. Something ran behind him while he struggled with the rope, and then a boy knocked into him while pursuing. He abandoned the rope and wiped frustrated tears from his eyes, grateful for a moment he was hidden by trees. His feet carried him sluggishly out of them, into swathes of swaying grass. He could see creatures fleeing, tails and tufts of fur, but then one tail stopped. It was jagged plumes in two shades of brown, wagging softly while he watched. He sniffed, reminding himself the important sons shouldn't cry during their first hunt, and knelt down to observe the little creature.
Its body was stocky, hidden well by the tail that swished more excitedly when he knelt. Beneath soft clumps of fur were four sturdy legs and large paws, and he could see sharp ears jutting out of a head level with the creature's back. It was sweet and naive, waiting patiently even though its fate was to be wrangled by a desperate boy. He recognized the striped pattern then: a zigzagoon. A quick animal but rather unassuming. He tried to steel himself, preparing his nerves for the inevitable, but his heart pumped erratically anyway.
The zigzagoon glanced over its shoulder, bright oaken eyes meeting those of Patroclus. He sniffed once more and balled his fists, feeling stubborn tears prick at his eyes again. He had to. There was no way around it, not in this ritual-wrapped patch of woods and meadow. He kept the gaze of the little animal, trying to convince it of the same. At any moment he would have to make a decisive move, grab the tail or the rear leg or a fistful of fur and pin the little creature until it submitted to him. He remembered it from his father's instruction. The zigzagoon circled all the way around, lifting its head curiously and watching his face carefully. Now it would be more complicated, but he had to make do. Something, anything, one clear action to claim status and make his father proud. A zigzagoon was better than a defeated trudge out of the woods as the sun set. He prepared, his whole body tense even as the zigzagoon's plume of a tail flopped back and forth, and acted.
He stuck his hand out to the creature, palm up. Immediately he realized it was the wrong choice, not at all in the strategies of the other boys and especially not something his father would ever recommend. The zigzagoon, however, stepped forward to sniff. Patroclus smiled softly at it and it nosed his fingers.
"You should be running," he mumbled. "Someone's going to get you."
The zigzagoon's tail wagged dramatically at his voice, then steadied when he fell silent. Its head tilted and it blinked a few times. He wondered if it had ever met a human before.
"I don't have anything," he explained, while the animal pushed at his hand. "Unless you want to go look for rope."
It leapt side to side playfully, and pushed its whole head into his hand. He chuckled and scratched, pushing back against the little creature as it leaned further and further into him.
"You really should leave," he encouraged quietly. "I'm supposed to capture a monster."
Two steps forward and the zigzagoon was in his lap, nuzzling his chest and pawing at his hand. It wasn't a big animal but he wasn't a big boy either, swayed easily by its endearing grin.
"I guess you could come, if you wanted." He ran his hand down its back, feeling the well groomed but erratic tufts ripple under his hand like a field under a soft wind. "We could be the first ones out of the woods if we hurry."
The zigzagoon bobbed its head in agreement.
He stood up and the zigzagoon scrambled up with him, front paws on his thighs. It hopped a bit so he scooped it up with difficulty. They would have to work on that, a better way for a small child to hold a lot of puffy fur and stumpy limbs, but the zigzagoon seemed content to throw its legs over his arms and rest its thick head comfortably on his shoulder. He smiled to himself and hefted the creature up just a bit, preparing to reenter the woods and avoid the more aggressive boys and the monsters they had no doubt angered. He scanned the field quickly, though it seemed empty, ensuring no one was following him and no one would try to steal the little animal from his arms.
Among the swaying grasses he caught sight of something potentially dangerous. It was a shock of gold, weaving through green and brown blades, a droplet of sun darting around the field. He craned his neck to see, just barely tall enough, and found the source of the gold was another boy. Patroclus froze, arms tightened around his zigzagoon, but the boy hadn't seen him and wasn't headed his way. Instead, he made his way gracefully through the field towards a crop of tattered rocks. They marked the field's far boundary, the difference between fertile ground and jagged boulders at the foot of the mountains. An orange shape lounged on them, blending fairly well with their earthy pigments, though its bright eyes seemed to be trained on the boy who pursued it. Patroclus leaned forward and his zigzagoon adjusted itself to see what was happening too.
The golden boy hesitated, poised to strike, with rope in one hand and a long strip of leather in the other. His quarry sat up, wary but not fearful. Patroclus could see its bright mane, similar in color to the boy's, and he recognized it then as a growlithe. They were rare but highly prized, and fiercely loyal if they could be tamed. His father said the way to do it was with an insurmountable will, and the iron fist of the gods. He wanted to call out, startle the boy and let the little flame escape being stamped out in such a way, but he was paralyzed. The golden boy readied himself and the growlithe's every muscle tightened in preparation. Patroclus held his breath.
Arms outstretched, rope spread between both hands and leather at the ready, the boy was a mural honoring this first hunt. It was the decisive moment, and the boy did not disappoint; his hands opened and the tools he carried fell. Tension eased out of the growlithe, but it was still wary. The golden boy relaxed out of his athletic stance and offered his hand to the creature, first knuckles up and then palm, and then he rested it on the growlithe's neck, just behind its ruff. Patroclus released his breath and smiled. Evidently he was not the only boy ignoring his father's advice today. The zigzagoon's tail wagged, pleased.
Patroclus carried his prize through the woods with extreme care, though the zigzagoon was fearless and smiled the entire trip. More than once a larger boy charged past and nearly knocked the pair over, but they had all been in pursuit of more impressive creatures. When the afternoon bled into evening things would be different, and any small boy still roaming the trees would be just as much prey as the creatures they pursued. It was the strategy of desperation, where the meager catch of the smallest boy was better than returning empty handed. He stepped carefully, purposefully, passing over his discarded rope and around the thorny bushes which he'd ignored in his quest to reach the woods initially. He saw the edge of the trees, ten steps away, then nine.
Something jostled him roughly from behind, a shove out of the way rather than an attack but it was enough. He stumbled, seven steps away from the edge, and lost his balance. Out of instinct he released the zigzagoon and focused on catching himself, but the minute his hands hit the forest floor he realized what was done. The creature was free, and if it started running he would never catch it again. So close he had almost fallen out of the treeline but now he would have to start all over.
The zigzagoon trotted a few paces away, out of range of the falling boy, and sat facing him. He met its eyes again, trying to convince himself he would find something just as suitable if he only tried harder. He sat up and it stood; he stood and its tail wagged furiously.
"Are you sure?" he asked it, and its paws batted at his knees. They were sticky with forest sap and wet leaves. This time when he scooped it up he was more intentional with balancing it against his body, much less precarious than before and affording him a free hand if he needed to catch himself again. Six, five, four more steps.
He reached the edge and emerged from the woods. By no means was he the first out but he was assuredly not the last. More athletic boys gathered together, showing off rockruffs and bulbasaurs and machops. Some kept hoothoots and pidgies on long ropes, flying overhead. He saw a boy similar to his own size proudly presenting an emolga to a few friends. Patroclus was single-minded, though. He could show his father how easily he caught his own creature, and then they would get to leave behind the louder boys. Not the first but not the last. It was the best his father could have hoped for, surely this would be an accomplishment worthy of praise.
His father's face was easy to find in a crowd, stern and terrible as always. Patroclus hoisted the zigzagoon higher in his arms and approached his father, smiling tentatively. His father's gaze fell on him distastefully, as if he were holding soiled linens rather than a living, breathing creature.
"That's all?" he uttered.
Patroclus kept smiling, hoping it would sway the bitter man. "I didn't even need the rope."
The zigzagoon grinned lopsidedly, facing Patroclus' father with the same earnest.
"Why did I bother sending you with it, then?" His father huffed and turned back towards the woods. "It's too late now. You're–"
Patroclus followed his father's eyes, and the zigzagoon's head flopped over so he could do the same. A shimmer of gold was emerging from the woods, tunic splattered with earthen red paw prints and arms full of a particularly eager growlithe. The golden boy's eyes were bright and his smile pleased but not proud. A man rushed out of the crowds to greet him, clapping him on the back and praising him for the catch. Patroclus distinctly overheard him brag of how his son had caught his own creature without any tools. The golden boy beamed and the growlithe barked. It was as comfortable in the golden boy's arms as the zigzagoon was in Patroclus' but he was aware of the status conferred to someone who carried such a creature.
"You should have stayed out there until you found something like that," his father growled.
Patroclus held tight to the zigzagoon and sighed. Next to golden boy he was as dull and unkempt as the scruffy creature in his arms.
During the long journey home he was inseparable from the zigzagoon, partially in fear his father would have it chased off but more importantly because it was his, undeniably his. When they camped at night it curled up beside him, and when he ate he fed it from his own plate. His father ignored him outright during the trip and once they returned home barked the barest of instructions on proper monster treatment. Of course he demanded the zigzagoon be kept in kennels alongside the other wild beasts in his arsenal, and that Patroclus be solely responsible for its care and maintenance, and that its training began no later than that afternoon. He assured his father, and brought the zigzagoon all the way to the kennels before promising to the creature he would never lock it up in chains with his father's ill-behaved beasts.
He smuggled the zigzagoon into his room that night, and it slept at his feet until dawn. He rose early that morning to ensure they were both near the kennels when his father came to inspect them, and as soon as he made the rounds Patroclus took off with the zigzagoon at his heels. They ran along slender snaking trails, between scrub grass and collapsing boulders, under the shadows of steep cliff faces and along the teetering edges of jagged peaks. It was a daily game from then on, up early in the morning and out until late in the evening. Under olive and fig trees, over creeks and streams and through rivers, chasing clouds and fallen leaves. Every evening as they returned the zigzagoon would clamber atop a rocky outcrop that offered a decent view of the palace, and Patroclus would follow, and they would race from its meager summit back home. It was better training than his father's other creatures ever received. When it was expected he paraded the little zigzagoon around his father's halls, demonstrating the synchronization of their footsteps and the scrappy creature's endurance in a proper fight against his father's intimidating personal golems. His best efforts were often barely satisfactory, receiving weak strings of praise from guests and disappointed glances from his father, but it was fun enough in their few shining moments that Patroclus almost forgot how disappointing his little creature really was.
He came to call the zigzagoon Iolaus, as all the creatures of princes were supposed to have names. No surprise, his father criticized the name, declaring even a lowly zigzagoon should have a nobler name if it belonged to someone important, but he retreated on the idea as his time was better spent on different arguments. Patroclus continued sneaking Iolaus into his room each night, and they explored together each day as an escape from his father's suffocating palace. On the bluffs they sometimes sat and watched flocks of chatots and murkrows, and in the woods they followed the trails of caterpies and nincadas to trees dripping with sap or ripened fruits. They made games from these trips, hiding and chasing games, and when Patroclus' meager stamina ran dry they would lay side by side in the dirt. He listed all the creatures he hoped to meet someday, popplios and dewgongs and roselias and skiplooms, and if he was truly lucky, dragonite and gyarados and arcanine.
Arcanine, tall and striking, billowing golden mane and tail disguising jagged teeth and observant eyes. It was a perfect prince's companion. He thought back to the day of the rite, when he watched the golden boy seek out a growlithe and emerge from the woods with it lovingly in his arms. When he and the growlithe both grew, both matured, they would strike a figure more imposing than his father and the golems, but also worlds more beautiful. He was probably training intensely with the growlithe, honing its fiery powers and awing all the visitors to his father's halls. When the time came he would present the growlithe at an altar to Apollo and the fiery crystals gifted to these places by him would trigger a transformation. Growlithe and boy would be no more, and arcanine and man would be born. Arcanine was a prince's companion; Patroclus' only hope for similar recognition would be when Iolaus was granted Hestia's blessing to transform.
Iolaus always pushed the thoughts from his mind, though, with his wagging tail and rapid jumps back and forth. Out in the wilds with just the two of them there were no princes and no statuses to uphold. Zigzagoons earned their name from how they moved, sharp lines joined by jagged, angular turns, and Patroclus was learning to chase Iolaus more effectively by copying those moves. Neither of them were fast, but the zigzagoon running pattern made Patroclus evasive. It was only ever playful, studying the placement of Iolaus' sturdy feet and jumping along, but sometimes he convinced himself it was battle strategy. Different from his father's idea that a fight could only ever be won by brute strength, this was the tactic of the small and quick.
It was a losing tactic after all, when one evening he was returning to the palace and a bigger boy grabbed Iolaus roughly from the rocky outcrop. Patroclus had not yet climbed it, but once he saw the intruder lay a hand on Iolaus he leaped up the rock miraculously. Iolaus growled fearfully and squirmed as best he could in the boy's lopsided grip, uncomfortable with anyone but Patroclus lifting him and especially put off by the sudden rough treatment.
"Put him down," Patroclus insisted, his voice wavering slightly.
"It's mine now," the boy retorted snobbishly.
"He's not yours." Patroclus lunged for Iolaus, brushing his outstretched paw but the boy yanked him back sharply. In fear and frustration he balled his fists and demanded, "Put him down or else."
"He's mine!" the boy enunciated.
Patroclus dove forward this time, and Iolaus wiggled free enough of the boy's grasp to leap towards Patroclus. He grabbed the zigzagoon's shoulders while the boy struggled to regain a grip, and Iolaus held fast as possible to Patroclus' arm. With that same arm Patroclus gripped Iolaus, and with his free other hand he shoved the boy hard. The boy's grip failed, as did his balance, and as Patroclus pulled Iolaus safely back towards himself the boy fell backwards off the outcrop. It was not the tallest place to have fallen but there was no soft ground immediately surrounding it, and the sound of the boy landing was sickening.
He set Iolaus down then, and though he was aware of glancing over the edge of the rock he could not bring to mind the image of what he saw. It was locked away in his mind. He ran, this he knew for sure, ran with Iolaus back to the palace and straight to his room, diving into a corner as if he could hide among chests and urns. Iolaus followed, ducking under his bed and cowering with his face between his paws. He seemed not to understand aside from knowing Patroclus was deeply unsettled, but it was customary for the zigzagoon to wedge himself under something when Patroclus was fearful—reflex, after hiding all this time from his father.
After reaching his room he truly remembered nothing, whole days vanished from his mind. One moment he was hidden with Iolaus and the next he was packed in a cart, Iolaus in his lap, cresting the final hill on the path to Phthia. The circumstances of why eluded him along with all the details of those past few days, but he knew it was tied to the boy collapsed in the bloody rocks. The benefit to riding was he could watch the world; this final path was filled with swablus, eevees, and jangmo-o, creatures he had heard about but had never seen roaming the wilds around his own home. He was cargo, dejected, cast from one port to the next, but if it were to be this way at least he would be in a place like this, with rare animals and the sounds of the sea in the distance. He loosely comprehended the idea that he had been exiled to this place. His mind was occupied by thoughts of the monsters of the sea, beasts who could overpower even an arcanine, and of the new trails for him and Iolaus to discover. Perhaps he could make something of his banishment, not an adventure per se but more than just a prison sentence in a new palace.
Optimism ebbed as the cart drew closer. He could hear the snarls of pyroars and ursarings in the distance and the squeals of sawsbucks and stantlers who fell prey. It was a necessary aspect of nature but it did not inspire confidence. He tried to focus instead on the nearby farms, mainly large herds of mareep with the odd ampharos standing by as their shepherds, roaming ponytas guarded by a granbull, even a pen of gogoats stomping their tough hooves. A tough mudsdale pulled the cart he was currently in, but this close to the sea a farm would struggle to care for such a massive creature. He almost hopped out of the cart then and there, to intermingle with the mareep and join whatever farmers tended them with the zigzagoon in tow. Iolaus had his head rested on Patroclus' knee, a calming pose but he was radiating the same nervousness as Patroclus himself. In their time together he had never known the little zigzagoon to lose confidence.
The cart was suddenly slowing, and the slope of the hill was gone, and Patroclus lifted his gaze towards the palace. There was no grand welcoming, just a servant to unload the treasures shipped alongside Patroclus as payment for his exile. He was pointed inside, and disembarked the cart with Iolaus limp in his arms. He set the zigzagoon down in the palace entrance so they could walk in together, and their footsteps echoed uncomfortably on the cold stone. Once he heard Iolaus misstep, and the call of the farms rang out again, a better option than shutting them both up in an unfamiliar place. Unfortunately he was not enough of a runner to escape the clutches of his captors, and he didn't trust himself enough to keep his nerve once he left. Iolaus could run away easily but Patroclus would hate to see him go alone, not when he was so easily trusting. For better or worse they were stuck together down the silent hallway, the only moving things in the forest of stone.
Suddenly he could hear soft music, a lyre trilling in a nearby room, and the murmuring of humans in discussion. He followed it, intrigued by the tune even though he knew it would lead him right to his new captors. Iolaus' ears pricked up at the sound, and he was better at tracking sound so Patroclus followed him. They entered a larger room at the same time, one that was refreshingly full of life compared to the earlier halls, with an open roof in places and several boys running back and forth across it. The music came from one boy in particular, a drop of gold strumming the lyre with practiced fingers while a growlithe slumbered at his feet. Patroclus froze in the doorway, fixated by the golden boy. Iolaus glanced between Patroclus and the golden boy, tail wagging slowly but emphatically.
There was an older man seated against the far wall of the room, his throne simple but tastefully crafted. When he caught sight of Patroclus in the entryway he smiled warmly, beckoning him forth with a hand.
"You must be Patroclus," he greeted. When Patroclus approached he noticed the wary eyes of a kingdra and a dragalge seated on either side of the man. Originally they had seemed part of the throne, or else sculptures set to adorn the place where the noble man was to sit, but they both breathed with the suspicious life of the sea. Even if the man was friendly the two draconic creatures at his side were not.
"I am," Patroclus brought himself to say, trying to focus on the man. Peleus, he remembered, Peleus was to be his captor. As far as kings and princes went he was certainly one of the more famous, able to claim a sea nymph for a wife. That of course meant the boy was golden because of the ichor in his veins, and Patroclus suddenly felt like he had observed a godly secret when he had witnessed him taming a growlithe.
"And this?" Peleus reached a hand to the zigzagoon, who offered a friendly sniff but remained loyally by Patroclus' side.
"Iolaus," Patroclus introduced quietly, allowing his gaze to rest on the creature's familiar fur instead of sorting out the new man and the new room.
"You are both welcome here," Peleus soothed kindly, understanding the boy's fear. "There is a place prepared for you. My boy, Achilles, can show you."
At mention of the name the music subsided. Patroclus turned around to see the golden boy and his growlithe stand, running the name through his mind a few times as if testing it before trying to speak it aloud. The last he had seen Achilles was the day of the ritual hunt, but Patroclus had been tucked away in the stalks of undistinguished grass while the demigod found his prince's creature. If Achilles even remembered him it would be like that, hidden by a tangled field.
The growlithe stretched and the boy tucked his instrument under his arm. They both approached dutifully, though Patroclus imagined it grew tiresome to keep shepherding new exiles to their quarters, especially for someone this dignified. Achilles' face was not bored, however. Perhaps it was almost inquisitive.
"This way," Achilles instructed, approaching Patroclus for a moment and then veering off, walking towards a narrow doorway. He nodded respectfully at his father but felt no need to stop and discuss matters further.
"Thank you," Patroclus said quickly to Peleus. He then followed, haltingly at first as he tried to find a suitable gait. Iolaus fell in step behind Achilles with ease, tail swishing pleasantly, and the growlithe hesitated a moment to walk beside the zigzagoon rather than his own master.
Once through the doorway Achilles seemed to relax himself, away from the eyes of his father and the two sea dragons. It was not the release of nervous energy, rather a lightening of the mood. In this quiet hallway he glowed not like the glint off a bronze sculpture but like the rose-red fingertips of Dawn, the first reaches of new sunlight. Understated, soft, kinder but of a separate world. He was grounded by the quick, heavy steps of his growlithe, a creature who had not yet grown into its grace.
"His name is Argos," Achilles said suddenly. He slowed and glanced over his shoulder. "I remember you, from that day. You beat me out of the woods."
"Iolaus," Patroclus blurted out in response, processing this revelation. "His name is Iolaus."
"You didn't use anything to catch him," Achilles continued, speaking with the sort of clarity that comes from many hours spent on a thought. "Everyone else had a rope or a chain, but not you."
"Or you," Patroclus pointed out.
"But you were first." Achilles' eyes glimmered with intrigue. "How did you do it?"
Patroclus regarded the zigzagoon. "I didn't, really. I just found him in the meadow, and he didn't run away. I was supposed to keep looking until I found something like… like Argos. But I couldn't."
Achilles shook his head and the pace quickened once more. "They think it's a fight, that you have to conquer the best one. I think it's supposed to be different."
"I saw you, too," Patroclus admitted reluctantly, though he was soothed by Argos and Iolaus' matching fumbling footfalls. "I was in the meadow when you found him."
"Really?" Achilles was walking very fast now, almost an entire pace ahead of Patroclus. He had a new determination, and darted sharply down an adjacent hallway as if on a whim. Of course Patroclus followed, no knowledge of where he was or where he was supposed to be without his guide. "I have something for you. I've been saving him since that day, for the one who beat me."
They were in an antechamber of sorts, but it had a gaping door leading outside. Patroclus couldn't bring any more words to mind, but he resisted the idea somewhat. Achilles set down his lyre and stepped outside, Iolaus wiggling past him to reach the soft grass and Argos following the striped tail with glee. Achilles chuckled but even that was not enough to tempt another thought from Patroclus' mouth.
"My father gives all the boys an eevee," Achilles explained, leading Patroclus down a well-worn path to a cluster of boulders and small bushes, arranged almost intentionally. "This one is special, though. He belongs with someone like you."
Patroclus could see ears and tail tufts poking out of the prickly leaves, and the pleasant trilling of the eevees attempting to hide within. As they approached the little tan specks disappeared and the calls hushed promptly, save one. It churred as bold eevees did, and popped entirely out of the bushes to sit on the highest boulder. Even from its perch it was only eye level with Achilles, but it was not deterred. This was an old game for it, always taunting the golden boy. Patroclus peered over Achilles' shoulder, afraid to stand beside him even when he was supposedly receiving a gift.
The eevee's tail swished humorously but then it noticed Patroclus. It was assertively curious, leaning to the side to see around Achilles, poised as if to jump right at him. Achilles stepped aside, eyes bright, facing them both. Argos circled Achilles' feet and sat at his side, while Iolaus sniffed curiously at the bushes. Patroclus inhaled deeply and extended a hand to the eevee. When the eevee waited, he held out both hands and the creature leapt into them, surprising him even though its weight was easy to bear as he pulled it to his chest. He smiled instinctively and the eevee smiled back. Iolaus straightened up and seemed to grin as well, happily placing a paw on Patroclus' thigh to balance while he sniffed at the new eevee.
"My father thought he should be mine," Achilles continued. "He showed up the day we got home from the rite, acting that way. I told my father I was training him but I knew he wasn't meant for me."
"Are you sure?" Patroclus mumbled, peering at Achilles timidly.
"You'll have to tell my father he already gave you an eevee," Achilles advised insistently. "He'll believe it. This will be our secret, okay?"
Patroclus nodded, and he thought he felt the eevee nod as well.
"He needs a name," Achilles urged. Each time he spoke it seemed expectant, awaiting a true response.
"Kallos," Patroclus said boldly. Beautiful. He quickly corrected himself, "Kallias."
"Kallias," Achilles agreed, grinning. "He'll do well with you."
The rest of that afternoon was reasonably manageable, with introductions to other boys and the creatures they kept, and the customary eevees darting back and forth between feet and down hallways, always within eyesight of their handler. He saw Peleus again at dinner, though the boys sat with one another and the old man sat with his son away from them all. The kingdra and dragalge guarded their table stoically. He understood the nature of these creatures was to be serious but he was accustomed to his father's golems being quietly angry after years of brutal training. Peleus' two guards were different; they respected their master and wished the best for him, suspicious of anyone who could bring him harm. The night was bright and pleasant, at first, with everyone free to their own devices and the paths to and from the palace rich with boys and beasts. It began so idyllic, with the last flickers of sunlight used for short adventures. Patroclus kept Kallias on his shoulder—or head, depending on the whims of the eevee—and Iolaus bounced giddly by his feet no matter where he walked. Admittedly he saw little of Achilles, with so many people around vying for the golden boy's attention, but he did not feel cast aside. It was a welcome party of sorts, running and chasing and fleeing with everyone, no concern for status. They were all family to one another, illuminated by bright stars and morelulls.
The moon was high in the sky when they were summoned back, and Patroclus was forced to fall in line with the boys. He hadn't actually found out where he was supposed to stay, between Peleus and Achilles and the new Kallias yawning on his shoulder. Iolaus paced sluggishly behind him so he took the zigzagoon in his arms, noticing with pride many of the other boys were doing the same with their creatures. They all filed into one room, a barrack of sorts with little personal space allotted to each boy. All of the beds were disheveled in some way, save one, and when no one went to claim it Patroclus determined it was his. There were spare linens spread on the floor, and when he scanned the room they were all occupied by an eevee and the boy's other animal, if he had one. Patroclus set Iolaus down on the neatly folded piece by his bed, and the zigzagoon instinctively crawled underneath to hide. Kallias stirred so he set the eevee down on the linen too. The whole room was dark, moonlight hidden behind thick curtains, and Patroclus fumbled his way into bed.
He stared sleeplessly until the darkness turned dim and he could see the boys asleep around him, their creatures dreaming peacefully on the floor. Unable to even think of shutting his eyes he reached a hand down, searching for Iolaus. The zigzagoon's head pushed into his fingers with ease, and Iolaus was well versed in their routine and knew this was his invitation onto the bed. Patroclus sat up as Iolaus' paws appeared, and attempted to push his head down but Iolaus was determined. He scrambled up, taking his customary spot at Patroclus' feet. He couldn't help but smile, comforted by the familiar routine, until Kallias' bright eyes and soft huff caught his attention.
"But–" he whispered urgently, as the eevee landed on the bed in one smooth hop. Kallias regarded him bravely, daring him to lay down the law. He sighed, resigned, and laid back down. Within moments Kallias was curled up tightly beside his head. Sleep came easily after that.
The morning was much harsher. Every curtain had been pulled back and the full fury of the sun glared in, and while Patroclus was accustomed to rising at dawn to hide Iolaus he was not prepared for the noise. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, trying to block out the screech of beds being shoved aside and boys roughhousing with one another while they prepared for the day. Iolaus jumped up easily and Kallias yipped, stretching out his small paws and whirl of a tail in anticipation. All around eevees bounced and called to one another, more noticeable than any other creature in the room though they too darted around and played with their boys. It was chaotic but not entirely bad yet.
At breakfast the boys continued fighting, tossing their food around to the delight of many a poochyena and sneasel. Finding a place to sit was much more treacherous, too, and Patroclus had to protect his plate with his body just to ensure Iolaus and Kallias had something to eat themselves. Rattatas scurried about the halls, cleaning whatever the owned animals missed, invading Patroclus' space when he finally found a spot at the table. Iolaus and Kallias warded them off with tooth and claw and warning growls. When the meal seemed to be done and the pack of boys prepared to move on Patroclus scanned the room for Argos or Achilles, but neither were to be found.
It was lessons then, the spear and short sword, with animals wandering about at first and then with them actively participating. Fighting was as much about the beast as it was the boy, after all. Kallias knew all the moves and steps and performed them easily with Patroclus, evidence of his training with the oddly absent Achilles, but his eyes were dull as he did them and Patroclus began to worry he was already the wrong person to have accepted the prized eevee. Iolaus, kind and determined, performed just as well as Kallias. He moved with rigid poise, showing Patroclus he could be just as polished as the other creatures who trained daily before this, and while it inspired Patroclus to do the same he knew the both of them were out of place trying.
They were freed for the hottest hour of the afternoon, and while boys sparred with each others' monsters Patroclus took his two and set off on a small beaten path. It took a winding route but ran parallel to the edge of the grass and the beginning of hot sand. Iolaus tested the shifty ground and began darting around gleefully, kicking up great sprays with his crooked pathways. Kallias, no stranger to sand, chased Iolaus with new joy, and Patroclus watched them fondly. He longed to run with them but his limbs ached from the morning's drills and his throat burned with thirst. For a moment he thought he caught a glimpse of gold just beyond Kallias and Iolaus, but it wasn't anything more than a flash of sand.
He tried to reach the trees again by following the path, where it would finally leave behind sight of the stone fortress and he could hide from the sun, but he had no such luck as stern yelling from the palace drew all the boys back. There was water and old fruit waiting for them all, which Patroclus accepted for himself and the two animals that chased his heels, but then they were whisked back to training. The afternoon was hand to hand, physical, and Patroclus was thrown into the dirt by enough larger boys to forget all about the morning of spear work. Once he landed particularly sharply and Iolaus leapt between him and his attacker, growling. Kallias joined in but the sight of an eevee trying to protect anything drove the boys to laughter while Patroclus attempted to soothe the two creatures. And of course there were similar results when the boys were made to command their animals in fights, Kallias and Iolaus rushing to defend one another no matter how tightly Patroclus held back the assigned spectator.
When dinner came he was thankful the rest of the boys were exhausted, so the evening was temporarily peaceful as boy and beast alike enjoyed a richer meal. Peleus' kingra and dragalge were sentinels again, casting stern eyes over the sea of dust and sweat, and Patroclus managed to find Achilles at one of the boys' tables this night. Argos sat patiently at his feet, even as boys clambered to impress the golden prince and their creatures ran wild to match their energy. It was too far to tell, but to Patroclus it seemed Achilles barely noticed the antics of those around him.
He wanted to try talking to Achilles again, but even if he was able to fight his way to the golden boy he had no idea what to say. Yesterday Achilles was so fascinated by him, pressing for conversation and praising an accomplishment no one else had ever noticed. Patroclus had nothing else interesting enough to tell the demigod. When dinner ended he scrambled with Iolaus and Kallias back to the bunk room before the other boys, and threw off his soiled tunic when there was no one around. He heard the way the boys teased one another for things that didn't exist, and he loathed to think what they would say of things that did. When he clambered into bed Iolaus rested on his feet and Kallias sat on his chest, easing his breathing. It was hours before the others returned to the room, after another evening playing with one another. He didn't regret missing it.
The next day was more of the same, and the next and the next. He began to improvise with Kallias during morning practices, extending his spear not in a mock thrust but as a step for the eevee to climb onto his body. They made a better team this way, Kallias springing off his weapons or swiping from his perch or changing locations to help Patroclus maintain balance as he drilled. Iolaus, too, began switching his moves rather than mimicking the others. Though Patroclus was often clumsy when it came to footwork Iolaus darted between his legs in time, and practiced his own set of attacks that complimented Patroclus'. Their midday runs alternated between beach and forest and rocky bluff, Patroclus feeling assured he was not developing any new stamina. He was determined to make the most of his new surroundings anyway, and Iolaus and Kallias were always eager to explore with him regardless. He drank deeply from the water they were provided but he started turning down the fruit, stomach always in knots from the harsh mornings and fleeting moments of free time. He tried less and less to keep Kallias and Iolaus separated when fighting in the afternoon skirmishes, ultimately letting them work as a team whenever they saw fit. His instructors were heavy-handed with their criticism, telling him he lacked a spine if he so easily surrendered to the whims of his tiny animals and that he needed to enforce better behavior. For every boy that wrestled Patroclus into the dirt, however, there were at least two creatures who fell to the synchronized partners Iolaus and Kallias.
In the evenings he still looked for Achilles, both during and after the meals when he was at his most active with the rest of the boys. Often he caught Argos' attention, and the growlithe wagged his tail happily to see him and his two animals, but it never drew the eye of Achilles. Some nights Patroclus was up for the nighttime games, which were much more lighthearted than the day's training but still energetic and rough. It made days bearable but he was usually too tired to stay long and he was only ever favored to be tackled or tagged like a buneary pursued by flocks of skarmories anyway. When it was a better day Kallias merely pressed against him but when it was long, brutal and exhausting the eevee laid on his chest or back and the pressure from his meager weight lulled Patroclus to sleep.
Days bled into weeks, then months, and Patroclus grew more and more detached from the daily training. He noticed there was much more variation in the lessons, some days filled with marching or sprints or long runs all across the hillside and the rules of the afternoon spars were altered frequently. Instructors paid him no mind and he preferred it that way. When they were released in the middle of the day he, Iolaus, and Kallias travelled further away from the palace on grand trips, always distracting him from the inevitable return to fighting. At night he began a similar routine of wandering the grounds rather than play prey to the bigger boys, and Kallias made an excellent guide of all the best little secrets. He knew where diglets had made tunnels between walls, and where starlies perched in the rafters around the open throne room. If the palace held no new secrets he would wander away, to the forests teeming with zubats and hoothoots or the rocks where houndours howled. Iolaus and Kallias kept him safe more than once and he repaid the favor when possible, though the three of them all seemed to recognize Patroclus was not meant to wrestle even the frailest of wild animals.
It was over a year since he initially came to Phthia, but he was losing track. Without Iolaus or Kallias, he thought, it would have been impossible to stay so long. Once Peleus caught him on his daily escape from training and asked how he fared, and he knew from the look in the old man's eyes his lies were not convincing. The kingdra and dragalge seemed disappointed in him too. His nighttime roaming grew bolder, almost as if he entered a new world by the light of the moon, and he, Iolaus and Kallias all took turns leading down unexplored paths. Like a game itself they pushed the limits to how far they could get in a single night while still returning to bed before the rest of the boys. He was so often ignored by the others that it came as a surprise when his closest neighbor suddenly pointed out he slept with an eevee on his chest. Of course there were jokes and incessant teasing infesting every moment of training and every raucous meal after that. Every boy had an eevee, but none of them would dare crawl onto their master's bed once the barrack was settled in for the night. It was simply the rule. Patroclus couldn't explain to them his eevee was different, that Kallias was a gift from Achilles himself and was unaccustomed to following the strict rules of men. He was pushed further and further from the other boys and did little to improve his standing when he avoided them at all costs.
Finally he had enough. When they were released for midday break he sprinted away, Iolaus chasing worriedly and Kallias gripping his shoulder frantically to stay on. The first path his feet could find was the one running parallel to the beach, but he veered off and plunged himself right into the sand. It was impossible to keep pace but his legs worked tirelessly to propel him forward anyway. The beach was long and unfamiliar, perfect for wandering, and he raced it until he collapsed on the sea-facing side of a dune. Kallias leapt off in time to protect himself and Iolaus flopped down beside him, nuzzling his arm with concern while Kallias churred and swished his tail anxiously. He panted hard and felt his skin withering under the sun but this stretch of beach was out of view from the palace so he felt safer. Iolaus whined, and Kallias yipped with increasing worry, and Patroclus kept his eyes trained on the blue sky overhead while his chest heaved.
A shadow crossed the sun suddenly, but his vision was blurry and he didn't recognize the silhouette. A warm muzzle shoved into his shoulder, not Iolaus or Kallias because they had both jumped up to greet the newcomers. Patroclus turned his head to identify the muzzle, which was yellow and round and attached to none other than Argos.
"What are you doing out here?" Achilles asked, his face coming into focus.
Patroclus, still a good ways away from catching his breath, stared up at the golden boy. He managed to shake his head but he wasn't sure how that answered any questions.
"They're looking for you," Achilles cautioned.
Patroclus felt tears prick in his eyes. "I can't go."
Achilles seemed to assess him. "Do you need water first?"
"I can't go back."
"You can't stay out here either." For a moment Achilles stared back in the direction of the palace, and then he sat down. Argos crawled into his lap.
Patroclus dragged himself up, supported by Iolaus and encouraged by Kallias. He was not about to cry in front of the golden prince. Let the gods strike him down before that happened.
"They say Kallias sleeps with you," Achilles said suddenly, regarding the eevee. "And that you can't fight without Iolaus trying to protect you. You all three protect each other, even."
Patroclus nodded, rubbing his eyes with gritty hands.
Achilles scratched Argos' head and stared intently at Patroclus, his eyes a comforting green reminiscent of the woods and somehow free of the usual critical edge most people took when observing Patroclus. "Come on. Let's get some water."
As he stood Argos stepped out of his lap. He offered a hand to Patroclus, which of course he could not refuse. When their fingers touched Patroclus blurted, "Please don't let them take me."
He was surprised but then it ebbed into craftiness. "They can't, not when you've been running with me and Argos all this time."
His voice made Kallias smile and Iolaus hop side to side, and Patroclus shook subtly as he stood with the golden boy's aid. "Really? And this afternoon?"
"Well," he shrugged, "they can't take you if you're in the middle of lyre practice with me."