Hopefully the length of this chapter makes up for the lack of length of the last couple chapters. Warning: this one is a little intense, but I did have fun writing it!

Disclaimer: I do not own Troy or any of the affiliated characters

Chapter 21: Touched by the Gods, part 1

Adara tore through the tunnel, unsure of how long the trip was taking. She remembered how short the first trip had been - though had not felt - and knew that this one would be fast. It had to be.

She ran at full speed, and her breathing quickly became labored. She forced herself to slow to a jog or a walk every so often; it would do Patroclus no good if she fainted in the stuffy tunnel. Then she'd pick up speed again, the only thing keeping her going the fact that she was getting closer.

At a time when she was walking, the light from the torch showed a wall - the end. She turned in a full circle, impatiently slamming the stones, giving up all order to hit every inch of wall she could reach. Finally, she found it, and the statue above her moved.

First, she tossed the torch out of the tunnel a safe distance from herself. The flame extinguished, but there was still enough light from outside for her to see. Next, she had to pull herself out. Her height, though average, was no where near tall enough. She had to jump in order to get her elbows onto the floor above and pull herself up with much struggling. She took a brief - very brief - moment to check she had her ambrosia and healing herbs before running out of the semi-circle room, barely remembering to close the tunnel.

Her legs burning, she pushed herself to keep climbing the stairs until she reached the main floor of the temple. She caught her breath there, looking out around her, trying to think of a plan. There was still light from the evening sun, so the watch was not yet on duty, but if she waltzed into the camp, she was sure to be caught. Now she saw one of Daan's points. Patroclus couldn't protect her if she hadn't gotten to him yet.

She thought quickly, but came up with nothing. The longer she waited, the less time Patroclus had left. The darkness of night was setting in; camp fires burned brightly, and the watch would soon begin.

"Please," she said quietly, thinking of Apollo in his temple. "Please see him as worthy as I do. Please help me get to him. I've nothing to offer you now, but..." She trailed off, unsure of what to say. She looked around, helplessly trying to think of something, when she saw a figure in the light of the fires, a figure she recognized. "Thank you," she said quietly before running out of the temple and across the sand, clumsily sliding around.

"Odysseus!" she called out, loud enough for him to hear, but not for anyone else to notice.

"Adara?" he asked, bewildered, helping her over a sand dune. "What are you doing here?"

"Where is he?" she blurted out, searching as if he'd be out walking near the camp fire.

"You come back for-"

"Where is Patroclus?" she repeated, composure melting, desperation taking over.

His eyes softened. "Adara, he's...not-"

"Is he alive?" Her heart, which had momentarily paused, started beating again when she saw him nod. "Then take me to him. Please, Odysseus," she added when he sighed. He started to lead the way. "I can save him."

Odysseus turned to give her a sharp look before quickening his pace.

"Keep your head down," he warned her. They soon reached the camp, Odysseus blocking her from view by keeping her on one side of him. She waited for the eyes that would spot her, the finger that would point her out, but nothing of the sort came. Still, it was a relief when Odysseus threw open a tent flap, hastily making his way around the wounded inside. While following him, she kept her eyes open, darting from face to face down each row of injured soldiers. But he wasn't among them.

They soon reached the back of the tent, where Odysseus did not hesitate before pulling back a piece of cloth that separated this small room from the main ward.

The first thing Adara saw was a man crouched over a figure lying flat on his back. Eudorus turned at the sounds of an entry, and did a double take upon seeing Adara. He rose, and in doing so, brought Patroclus fully into her line of vision.

She hurried to his other side, taking in his appearance. The blood soaked bandage wrapped around his chest barely covered the practically gushing wound. Obviously, the healers thought he was a hopeless case and weren't going to waste their precious supplies, not even the herbs. She wasn't sure if the area around the wound was red from blood stain or inflammation. His skin was cold and clammy, but his damp hair clung to his forehead from the fever. His breathing was slow and uneven. His eyes were closed.

"I need a bowl of water, and lots more bandages and cloth," she said out loud, not taking her eyes off him. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw the flap open and close, and knew they were alone.

"Patroclus?" she whispered, placing a hand on his cheek, warm from the fever. After a moment of no response, she looked at his bandage and started to pull out her bags of herbs and ambrosia.

Then she heard something, barely audible: "Adara?" He breathed it more than said it, and his voice was rough and crackly. His eyes remained closed, but she was sure he was awake now. "Can't be here...must be...a dream..."

"I assure you," she said, taking his hand, "you are not dreaming."

She looked at him, just in time to see his eyes flutter open and the crystal blue irises focus on her. "What...are you-"

"I came back," she told him, feeling the need to match his voice level.

"You shouldn't," he mumbled, but behind the glassy look in his eyes, she saw happiness. "Dangerous."

"I know." She leaned over again, replacing her hand on his cheek. She felt him turn his head into her palm. "But I can't let you die." Fully bending over, she brought her head down to his and gently kissed his lips. Every so slightly, he kissed her back.

The cloth was pulled back and in strode Odysseus and Eudorus, bandages, cloth, and water in hand. Eudorus stopped, obviously feeling awkward about what he interrupted, unsure of where to look. But Odysseus, in all his kingly grace, barely batted an eye. "Here," he said, setting the supplies down next to her.

She had to reach his wound, remembering that Daan said it could be healed quicker if given direct treatment. She couldn't unwrap the bandage without moving him, but when she tried to tear the cloth, neither saturated nor dry area would rip.

"A knife," she said. "I need a knife." She held out her hand and immediately gripped the leather hilt of Odysseus' dagger. She cut through the threads and pealed back the bandage, revealing the wound.

Patroclus let out a weak hiss of discomfort as the air stung, and in the brief second Adara took to look at him, more blood poured out of the cut. Though she'd expected as much, she'd hoped it would not happen. She applied a new piece of cloth to the wound, letting it soak up the blood, knowing that the Ambrosia wouldn't do much good if he bled to death first.

"Hold this here," she said, not addressing either of the men in particular. Quickly, though, someone's hand - Eudorus's, she thought - took the place of her own. She turned to her bag and pulled out the blood rose, only hoping she had enough. With a drop of water and no mortar or pestle, she balled up the plant in her hands and smeared it until it was a paste.

"On my count, remove the cloth," she commanded, eyes on where the blood was staining the cloth. On three, hands moved out of the way, and Adara spread the paste over the slit.

Odysseus and Eudorus watched in awe as the pink past and red liquid met, staunching the blood flow. Adara cleaned her hands with some water and placed the extra bandages around the wound to absorb any blood left.

Now, she turned to a second bowl and opened the pouch of Ambrosia, its light shining gold. For the first time, she hesitated, looking from pouch to bowl and back again. Just a pinch, Daan had told her. But how much, exactly, was a pinch? Did the ratio of water to Ambrosia matter? Questions swam in her mind and she realized how stupid and unprepared she truly was. What if she didn't get it right? What if she added too much, or too little?

What if she killed him?

He'll die if you do nothing, she consoled herself, taking deep breaths. He deserves this chance.

She didn't think about much after that. She stuck her hand in the bag, taking what she hoped was the right-sized pinch and sprinkling it in the water. Immediately, the clear liquid took on a faint, glowing, golden hue.

Ignoring Odysseus's and Eudorus's slack jaws, Adara moved directly next to Patroclus's head. He was looking up at her with half-closed eyes, his face slightly scrunched from the pain of his wound.

"I'm so sorry," she said quietly. "But you have to swallow it." After a barely noticeable nod, she helped him raise his head up and tilted the bowl, letting mouthfuls fall past his lips.

Immediately, his face contorted with pain as the liquid burned his insides. He kept swallowing, like she'd told him, but eventually he couldn't take anymore. His head fell back, his eyes shut tight as he gasped for air and relief.

None came. No matter how much he writhed and twisted, nothing could stop the burning agony that was coursing through his veins, not even the hand that took hold of his own.

Then, the pain was suddenly renewed, adding to the torture from a different source, though he couldn't tell from where. His senses were scrambled, his directions completely altered.

A darkness came, starting small, displaying its power. Wherever it was, the pain there lessened considerably. Still, there was something about it he wasn't sure of, something a voice seemed to scream at him from the back of his mind...

But he couldn't hear it that well, and this miracle medicine was taking away the pain. It couldn't be bad. He welcomed it, letting it ease the agonizing gold with comforting black. It wasn't long before he couldn't feel the pain. Any of it. In fact, he couldn't feel anything.

Anything, except the hand that was holding his. And that was slowly fading too.

That voice called again, but this time he heard it, much like words being whipped around and torn from lips by the winds...

"Please...don't die...live..."

He knew that voice.

Adara.

He remembered her, and knew she was the one holding his hand. In his mind, he saw her face and remembered. There was something important he needed to say to her, but something in his entire being told him that if he went with the darkness, he wouldn't see her again.

He made his decision, but the darkness only grew stronger as he resisted. The little strength he had left was fading fast...

He surprised her by how much he swallowed before his endurance ran out. She'd seen the pain growing on his face until his eyes shut and his head fell back. He gasped and writhed in agony, crying out.

"Help me keep him down!" she yelled, her horror mirroring that of the two men. But they did so, with Odysseus at Patroclus's feet and Eudorus at his left arm. Adara had his other arm, but instead of keeping it pinned down, she took hold of his hand.

"I'm so sorry," she apologized as she poured the remainder of the water over the wound. Patroclus arched his back and struggled against the hands keeping him down as his skin hissed and burned upon contact. Adara saw the faint steam rising as the slit sewed itself together.

Suddenly, his tossing lessened. Adara watched with joy as his breathing returned to normal and he settled down.

Then joy turned to terror as his breathing passed normal, continuing to slow until she could barely even see his chest rising and falling. He still held her hand, but when she checked his pulse, it was uneven, hardly there at all.

"No, Patroclus," she said, panicking. "No, you can't die! Not after all this!" It made no difference; if there was any change, it was only subtly making him worse. She squeezed his hand tighter, bringing her mouth down to his ear. "Please, Patroclus, please don't die. You have to live. Please, I need you." Her voice died down to the faintest whisper.

It took a moment before she registered that the soft air she'd been feeling on her shoulder from his breath was gone; the hand she had on his chest was no longer rising and falling with his body. She searched for a pulse, soon realizing she couldn't find it because it wasn't there.

Thoughts and comments are welcomed!