Summary: An AU in which Patroclus is not Achilles' cousin, but rather a captive whom Achilles has rescued and claimed. The early development of their relationship in this new context, slash not intended. Set approx. two years pre-movie. Rating for some adult themes, but nothing explicit. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: As usual, I own nothing and no one.
Author's Note: Lookie, all, a new chapter! My deepest thanks to SBPride, Trollmela, ILoveVampireDiaries, & triniwriters for their positive reviews, and to everyone else who's been reading along, showing an interest in this new fic. I appreciate it very much, and I do hope you enjoy the continuation here!
Chapter 3
When Patroclus next woke, he guessed by the light that it was late morning. He had been relocated since falling asleep last night, he noted, but Achilles was already up and about. That was odd. Patroclus had already noticed that the Lord of the Myrmidons seemed to prefer sleeping late whenever possible, but weren't they supposed to be traveling again this morning? And where were the sounds of everyone else in the camp?
He yawned and unthinkingly tried to sit up – a very bad idea. Any illusion of comfort vanished in an instant as the pain came over him like a tidal wave, and he slumped weakly back down to the furs. Gods, he was still so sore! He dreaded having to ride all day again, but it wasn't as though he could walk, either. What else was to be done?
Just then, Achilles came into the tent with food for both of them. He was dressed more casually than yesterday and appeared to be in no great hurry, for he had no orders that they eat quickly.
Patroclus' perplexity finally grew to the point where he felt bold enough to dare a question. "Are we not traveling again today?"
The warrior shook his golden head. "No, we – meaning you and I – are not. The rest of my men have already left with Eudorus. We two will leave again tomorrow, after you spend today resting."
The shock was as dazing as any physical blow. Achilles was staying behind…for him? He truly was sorry about yesterday!
There was only one thing to say to that, but a long moment still passed before Patroclus could articulate a very meek and simple, "Thank you, Achilles."
And the son of Peleus himself was not surprised so much by the boy's gratitude, but rather at how Patroclus had called him by his name, "Achilles," while addressing him for the first time. Even his own Myrmidon brothers, the fiercest soldiers in Greece, universally addressed him as "my lord." But Achilles was not about to discourage such boldness; after all, he had first introduced himself to Patroclus as "Achilles," so perhaps he should not have expected anything different.
"You are welcome," he said simply. "It was never my intention to see you hurt again like this."
"Then what are your intentions?" It was a brave question coming from a boy who could scarcely look him in the eye.
Achilles answered sincerely, "I intend for you to have a second chance at life – not the life you had before, I know. But a new life."
"A life with you?" Patroclus clarified.
"I think that would be fairly obvious, yes. At least for a while, Patroclus; for the day may come when you and I shall part ways, but until then, you are too young. Too young to be living on your own, and much too young to be despairing about your future."
What future? Patroclus thought dismally. Even if Achilles meant well, no kind words or good intentions would change the fact that he was now a captive and a slave to the most powerful warrior in all of Greece.
Patroclus remained in bed all day, resting as much as possible while battling the constant ebb and flow of his discomfort. Achilles came and went from the shelter at his leisure, checking periodically on his prisoner; and that night, when the warlord climbed into bed beside his captive, he took great care not to disturb him. Personally, he could see no point in moving Patroclus to new sleeping arrangements if the boy was comfortable here; there were only enough furs to make one suitable bed in the tent, anyway.
The younger Greek had been sleeping then, but dreams would not long permit him to rest peacefully. He later awoke in a cold sweat, weeping and trembling in remembered horror. His entire body ached fiercely, and he squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to block out the hateful memories. He also sought to quiet his involuntary sobs for fear of rousing the man next to him and incurring his anger. Little did he know that Achilles was already wide awake, feigning slumber with his back turned toward his prisoner.
The Myrmidon Lion had a distinct reputation for loving sleep too much, but in truth, he was a very light sleeper. A lifetime of warfare would not have allowed otherwise. He had been aware as soon as Patroclus' nightmares began their onslaught, much like had happened in previous nights. During those earlier times, no matter how badly he might have wanted to try to comfort the child, he had always decided against it, for it was still too soon. Perhaps tonight, though, he could attempt something to pacify those pitiable tears.
Achilles rolled over and reached out to lay his hand on the back of the boy's head. Patroclus immediately tensed under that touch, as though waiting to see what the older man would do. But Achilles only stroked his hair a couple of times before turning back over and leaving him in peace. The warrior did listen for a reaction, though, and was rewarded when Patroclus' tears gradually subsided and the youth grew quiet in slumber once again. Satisfied with that result, Achilles soon fell back to sleep himself.
Patroclus was entirely dependent upon Achilles as they traveled, an inescapable necessity no matter how much the boy wished it to be otherwise; his captor was surprisingly attentive, though. They made very slow progress on their first day of riding together, but Patroclus' pain still came back with a vengeance before long. Desperate for a reprieve, he was practically gasping in his efforts to speak around the pain as he begged.
"Achilles, can we stop? Please?"
The Myrmidon lord did so at once and without complaint. He lifted the boy down and let him simply lie there on the dusty ground, regretting all the while that there was not a spot of softer, grassier land nearby. Achilles gave his captive some water, but after that, there was not much either of them could do except wait for the worst to pass.
"I'm glad you said something this time."
Much to Patroclus' relief, the warrior didn't sound angry at all, but almost amused or very gently teasing instead. Achilles then waited patiently until some of the color had returned to Patroclus' face, and the youth mutely nodded to indicate that he was ready to start again.
It made for a long day, though, and by the time they finally stopped for the night, it was Patroclus' turn to wait. For all he could do was lie pitifully on his side until Achilles constructed a simple structure and then carried him in to the bed they shared.
Laid at last on the soft furs that had come to symbolize rest, Patroclus longed for nothing more than to close his eyes and forget the outside world entirely. Unfortunately, Achilles had other plans.
"Patroclus, I'm afraid we still have to do this," he announced gravely, sitting down at the edge of their bed and lifting one of Patroclus' feet onto his lap. The youth's heart immediately sank in trepidation; nevertheless, he nodded weakly and stuffed a handful of cloth from his tunic into his mouth for good measure.
It was different this time without Eudorus. Achilles was not rough in his work, but it was still extremely difficult for Patrolus not to let his reflexes take over and kick out against the pain. For he truly did want to cooperate and had no desire whatsoever to accidentally hurt his captor. That wouldn't go over well, even though it was probably more difficult than he realized to actually damage Achilles.
The warlord kept one eye on his captive throughout the excruciating process, pausing every now and then to allow Patroclus a respite. The youth's hands were clenched into fists around the plush furs while he shook, panting and sweating in his agonizing efforts to remain still.
But as the following days of their journey passed in a similar manner, the regular treatment thankfully grew more bearable, and the bandages on Patroclus' feet progressively shrank.
One afternoon they stopped earlier than usual to rest for the night, and when the noise from the horse's hooves had ceased, Patroclus could hear the distinctive gurgling of a brook nearby. Achilles began the mundane chore of setting up their camp, but long before he had finished, he came over and lifted Patroclus once again in his strong arms. The youth wrapped one arm around the older man's neck as they walked, suddenly apprehensive of their destination since Achilles was obviously headed away from the camp. Yet the warrior stopped when they reached the creek and set the boy down beside its banks, near enough that he could easily reach the water without much movement.
"Here," Achilles said, handing the child some soap and a clean cloth. "These waters are cold but fresh. Wash up as best you can, and I will come back for you shortly."
Patroclus nodded and set about the necessary task as soon as his captor had disappeared from sight. The water was indeed cold, but the boy was determined to make sure he was finished before Achilles returned to collect him.
"We are only two or three days from Phthia now," Achilles informed his prisoner late one evening.
He hoped it would only be two days, considering how the boy's health had improved recently. Though their pace continued to be slow, the two Greeks were now able to travel with minimum stops. Achilles would halt once or twice when he deemed it best, but apart from that, Patroclus had no need to ask for additional reprieves. Furthermore, the boy was no longer so inclined to fall asleep in sheer exhaustion at the first given opportunity, but rather had enough energy to stay awake and keep his captor company at night for a time. The resiliency of youth had indeed been kind to him thus far – at least physically.
At that moment, Achilles was again examining Patroclus' feet, and the warrior was greatly pleased with what he saw. The burn wounds had improved significantly over the past two weeks; and although the boy's feet were still bandaged to keep them clean, Achilles could now touch them without causing much pain.
"Are you ready to start walking again?"
Patroclus propped himself up on his elbows but did not answer right away, nervously running his tongue over his lips; he had grown so accustomed to not being able to walk that the return of such a normal function was almost intimidating.
"Do you think I'm ready?" he asked at length.
Achilles pressed his callused thumb against what had been one of the worst burns. "Does that hurt?"
The boy shrugged. "Not really."
"Then I think you should try. After all," the elder Greek teased, "you're getting heavier to carry now that you're no longer made of just skin and bones. We'll have you try taking a few steps in the morning, with me to help you."
He began to rewrap the bandages for the night before broaching another subject. "And tell me, Patroclus, how are you feeling now apart from your feet?"
"What? Oh." Patroclus felt his face flush as he suddenly understood the implications of Achilles' question. "Umm…it feels better, I suppose."
"But are you still in pain?" the warrior pressed him.
It was certainly the last thing Patroclus wanted to talk about, yet he answered truthfully all the same. "It doesn't hurt so much in the morning anymore, but by the end of the day, yes."
"Good." Achilles nodded his satisfaction. "I'm sorry it's taken so long, but you are healing."
"I know." Patroclus closed his eyes and laid his head back against the furs, marking an end to the conversation.
The next morning, Achilles lifted Patroclus from their bed like usual, but he then removed his arm from under the boy's knees so that his feet dropped to the ground. With both of them standing upright now, it finally became obvious that the two traveling companions were nearly the same height in spite of their age difference.
Patroclus laid his arm across Achilles' shoulders while the warrior had one arm wrapped securely around his waist to prevent him from falling. It was embarrassing to have to lean against Achilles like this, but since when did Patroclus care about that after having been daily carried for the past two weeks? Somehow this was almost more humiliating, more indicative of his weakness, even if there was no one else to witness it. After all, it was one thing to be literally "carried away" as a captive; it was another altogether to realize that he did not even have the strength to stand under his own power.
With Achilles supporting him, the boy took a couple of limping steps forward. His feet were not hurting him, yet the mere memory of pain made him hesitant to put his full weight on them. And besides that, Patroclus was still weak. Even if his feet were completely healed and ready to carry the burden of his stride, the rest of his body had a long way to go before regaining its former strength and endurance.
"You are doing well," Achilles encouraged him when the experiment was concluded. "All it will take is time."