Summary: Patroclus wants nothing more than a chance to kill his first Trojan. He soon learns to be more careful in his wishing. Movie-verse AU, starring Patroclus and Hector. Co-inspired by the movie "How to Train Your Dragon." Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Troy, The Iliad, or "How to Train Your Dragon" (the book or the movie).
Author's Note: It sounds like I confused most readers with my allusions to "How to Train Your Dragon," so you'll all just have to take my word that it's a very well-made movie, in which "Hector" is a fearsome dragon and "Patroclus" is a skinny Viking. All the more reason to say a big "Thank you!" to those of you who read and reviewed in spite of the confusion, and now I hope you enjoy Chapter 2!
How to Train your Trojan
Chapter 2
Hector knew the nooks and crannies of this gully better than the young Greek who had discovered his hiding spot by accident, only to then be shockingly helpful. The prince had hidden initially because he'd expected the lad to return at any moment with a force of Argive soldiers to flush him out – not with food that Hector could scarcely have found on his own at present.
But it was a dangerous game to let this odd, unspoken truce continue, and so today he planned to confront the youth. Not to do him any harm (at least, not at first), but to ascertain his intentions. Hector hid himself behind a large boulder along the path his benefactor had taken on the previous two visits and waited. Sure enough, the Greek returned at the same time and descended into the ravine by the same route as before; the predictability betrayed his naïveté indeed! And this time he had also brought a blanket along with the usual supply of food.
Once the youth had left these latest provisions beside the stream and turned to go, it was simple enough for Hector to stretch out his good leg and trip him. The prince's injured ribs restricted him to a large extent; but by utilizing the element of surprise along with the leverage of his weight, he managed to grapple the Greek to the ground and hold a dagger at his throat. The boy (for truly, he could not be described otherwise) didn't resist the treatment, but stared up at his attacker in open shock and fear.
"What are you doing?" The young Greek sounded almost insulted, but Hector only tightened his grip to warn against further noise.
"I think you need to answer that question first, boy," he demanded in a low voice.
"I'm just trying to help you!"
"Why?"
The youth faltered briefly before declaring with conviction, "Because you're trapped and wounded here like an animal, and that's no way for a soldier to die – even a Trojan soldier."
Hector narrowed his brown eyes without releasing his hold. "Have you told anyone else that I am here?"
"If I had, you wouldn't be alive right now."
The composure of that response impressed the prince, and he saw no deception in the boy's countenance. How fortunate that his refuge should be found by one so young, whose heart was not yet corrupted by the malice of their war.
"What's your name?" he asked at length.
"Patroclus," the other answered without hesitation. "And I swear by Athena whom the Greeks revere that I mean you no harm. May her judgement be on my head if I reveal your presence here."
Those may have been nothing more than the empty words of a young man desperate to escape, but Hector could hardly expect anything better at this point. After all, Patroclus had not betrayed him yet, even with no such vow to restrain his tongue; and so the prince let him go. The boy quickly regained his feet while Hector settled back, grimacing, against the same boulder behind which he had hidden.
Curious, Patroclus peered around to see where his attacker had come from, and too late Hector remembered what he had left there – his own helmet with that famous horsetail plume, by which foes and friends alike recognized him. And this boy was no exception. Without bothering to hide his surprise, he hastily took a few steps backward, while his wide blue eyes never left the Trojan.
"Prince Hector?"
Hector said nothing, but his silence was as sure as any spoken confirmation.
Patroclus looked like he expected the wounded man to suddenly jump up and this time follow through on the threat to cut his throat. "You should have killed me." He sounded resigned, as though the deed was already as good as done.
"Perhaps." Hector held his gaze steadily, rather surprised that the boy hadn't bolted. "But if I slay you or detain you, you will be missed, and the searchers may very well find this place. It would seem I truly am at your mercy, my young Achaean."
It took a few moments more, but the truth of that statement appeared to finally put Patroclus at ease.
The Trojan continued, "If anything, I am the one who is undone; for surely you must tell your superiors about me now, oath or no."
There was no point denying it. Hector wasn't afraid to die; in fact, he'd quite expected that he should fall at some point during this war. But he did not savor the thought of dying as an object of Greek sport, whereupon his mangled corpse would then be used to taunt his loved ones back in Troy.
Clearly conflicted, the youth at last averted his eyes from his enemy's face; but still he did not flee. "You spared my life here today," he said at last, "and I will do the same for you if I can. My promise still stands, even if you are the Crown Prince of Troy."
"All the same, I have naught but your word to protect me."
"My word is all I can give you."
That simplistic nobility almost brought a smile to the prince's lips. If he indeed spoke true, then this boy had more honor than most of the royals in Hector's acquaintance.
Prince Hector! Patroclus left the confrontation with his heart pounding and adrenaline surging. Eudorus had mentioned that the Trojans had been without their prince lately, but Patroclus never would have suspected that he'd been helping the man all along. Just imagine what Achilles would do to Hector, if he found him like this! Or to Patroclus, if he knew what was happening behind his back.
For perhaps the first time in his life, the youth spent the remainder of the day grateful to be ignored by his comrades. He pointedly avoided both Eudorus and his cousin, feigning sleep when the former joined him inside their tent later that evening.
He hadn't told Hector that he would return again the following day, but in all honesty, it never occurred to Patroclus that he should not go. It was almost easier going back today, now that his vow had essentially committed him to the prince's wellbeing. None of Hector's injuries had looked life-threatening yesterday, but Patroclus still brought some bandages and medicine with him to the ravine that afternoon. A simple herbal ointment would at least help to cleanse the smaller flesh wounds and prevent them from becoming infected.
"Will these supplies be missed?" Hector asked after the two had exchanged an uneasy greeting.
Patroclus shook his head, unconcerned. "No one will miss medical supplies like these when they're in such high demand across all the camps. And I've spent a lot of time helping the healers recently, so it's not unusual for me to be seen taking these items."
It was true. With the battlefield still forbidden to him, the teen had tried to keep busy by applying himself to the area where he saw the greatest need – the healing tents. Now he helped Hector by tending to wounds that the prince was incapable of reaching on his own. Setting the ankle properly proved more difficult, but Hector had once had a similar injury in his youth; and so between his and Patroclus' limited knowledge, they together managed to complete the task well enough.
"Thank you," the older man acknowledged wearily when they were finished. "Now there is nothing to do but wait and allow time to work its wonders."
"How long do you think it will take for you to heal?"
"Until I am well enough to leave this ravine on my own power and attempt the journey home?" Hector closed his eyes and looked as though he would rather not think about it. "I can only guess it will be at least a matter of weeks, if all goes well."
He then reached for the fresh food Patroclus had brought and, after the slightest of hesitations, offered some to the young Greek.
But Patroclus only grinned and shook his head. "Thank you, but that would defeat the purpose of my bringing it to you." He watched the Trojan eat in silence for a few awkward moments before concluding, "I should be heading back now. Is there anything else I can bring for you tomorrow, Prince Hector?"
"Hector."
When that single word drew a confused frown from his benefactor, Hector explained, "It doesn't seem right for you to call me 'Prince' when you hold the power of life and death over me, Patroclus. And no, I don't believe there is anything else I need now. You've done a great deal of good for me already."
More days passed, each including a secret rendezvous between a Greek teenager and a Trojan prince; and as the strange pair grew more comfortable in each other's presence, Patroclus began to linger longer and longer with each visit. He had adapted to addressing his companion simply as "Hector" out loud, although he couldn't completely drop the "Prince" title from his own private thoughts about the man.
"What is your business here, Patroclus?" Hector once asked him.
The youth blinked, confused, as though that answer should have been obvious. "I'm helping you."
The prince chuckled softly. "No, I mean here in Troy. You must not be a soldier, otherwise your afternoons would be spent on the battlefield rather than in this gully with me."
"Oh." Now comprehending, Patroclus reflected back on that conversation in the tent and slowly lied, "I am a servant of Eudorus, Achilles' second-in-command."
Hector nodded. "I know the man. I remember him most from the battle inside the temple when the Myrmidons first stormed the beach. I did not realize he was Achilles' right hand, but somehow it doesn't surprise me; he is a fierce fighter. How long have you been in his service?"
"About five years," Patroclus improvised. "My parents both died of sickness when I was ten, and I was given into the guardianship of my cousin, who was my nearest relative." Here he paused for a shaky breath, hoping that the delay would be seen as repressed emotion rather than uncertainty while he searched for the right words.
"My cousin was…fond of drink, which led to many unwise habits and decisions. Within two years, he had accumulated such debts that he decided to sell me as a means of paying them off. The Myrmidons were passing through our village at that time, returning to Phthia after some war campaign or another; and so it was the perfect opportunity for my cousin to ensure that I would be taken far away from him, with no chance of ever returning."
"I am sorry," Hector offered in all sincerity, his brow drawn in a deep frown. "Does Eudorus feel no remorse over his part in all of this?"
The boy merely shrugged. "Perhaps he saw that it would be best for everyone in the end. Eudorus may be a man of war, but he is a good man. In many ways, I really do feel that I'm better off with him than I was with my cousin; he has dealt very kindly with me, for the most part."
"For the most part?" Hector echoed.
Patroclus pasted a brittle smile on his face. "I can't imagine any slave is truly happy with his lot in life."
"I have known a few who claim to be, but that has been their lifelong vocation. They have never known anything else. You, however, were born a free man, forced into a life of servitude through no fault of your own. That is different. Do I judge correctly, then, that you are seventeen now?"
"I am, yes."
"And does Eudorus intend for you to fight here?"
The youth dropped his eyes to the ground before replying, almost reluctantly, "I have some training in combat, but so far, he has not asked me to fight."
"Good, I am glad to hear it. You are too young for a war like this, although it doesn't surprise me that the Myrmidons would give even their slaves and children some basic knowledge of swordplay. But it is interesting," the prince went on thoughtfully. "The only other Greeks I've seen with your coloring are Helen and Achilles, and they both have a claim to divine parentage. Are you sure you're not descended from some deity as well?"
His companion sounded half-teasing, albeit genuinely curious, which made Patroclus want to squirm. For how many times in recent years had he been told that he resembled his godlike cousin?
"My mother was more fair than most Greeks," he divulged in a low voice. "I'm sure that's all it is."
"How well do you remember your parents?"
"Well enough that I still miss them…but not nearly as well as I would like."
When it became clear the boy would say no more on that sensitive subject, Hector gestured toward the sinking sun and suggested, "You should probably leave soon. I wouldn't want you to get into any sort of trouble with your master."
Hearing Eudorus referred to as his "master" for the first time had a more profound impact on Patroclus than he would have anticipated. Despite knowing full well that it was a false claim, he felt an unpleasant knot twist and tighten in the pit of his stomach when those words were spoken aloud; surely the discomfort must have shown on his face as well.
"No one will be looking for me until later," he revealed at last. "It's easy for me to slip away as long as the armies are off in battle. I won't be missed."