I'M BACK!
Good Gods it's been a long hiatus. A thousand apologies and double the number of thank yous at your continued comments and support. The good news is I've had a lot of time to figure stuff out (important stuff like life-future, not like just the plotline of this fanfiction) and because the winds are, at long last, in my favour I can give this story my pretty much undivided attention for a while.
First chapter's a little easy going, be chill with me I'm just getting back into the swing of things.
~chapter twenty-nine~
Patroclus could feel his heart leaping in his chest as he hurried to keep up with Achilles who had abruptly assumed a fast-paced march in his urgency. His quick steps made little sound on the marble floor while Patroclus' his feet slapped obnoxiously as he attempted to speed up and keep the pace. They did not talk, Achilles' keen eyes were fixed in front of him and steely, his carriage was that of someone readying themselves. Although his expression was a blank Patroclus could see the wheels turning in his mind as he mentally prepared himself for what was to come.
By the time they reached the War Room Patroclus' ribs and chest were complaining and his pulse fluttered with nerves and heavy breathing. Achilles however looked as if he had been carved out of marble. After knocking brusquely and receiving Peleus' wheezy "Enter" he opened the door with little ceremony and walked into the room, Patroclus hurrying after him.
At his arrival all heads in the room turned towards Achilles, like sunflowers to light. No wonder, he was the brightest thing in the room, the spun gold of his hair and gilded limbs acting almost like a candle in the cavernous gloom. The War Room was dark for there were no windows; the walls were roughhewn stone and all the furniture was hard, uncomfortable looking, and carved from darkest mahogany. The only colour came from a few imperious looking tapestries, dyed in deepest crimson and depicting scenes of battle.
It was hard not to feel intimidated in a room such as this one, and more so when Patroclus' eyes grew accustomed to the dark and he was able to make out the faces. Peleus was seated in his chair and grouped in a circle around him, on chairs or on cushions, were Acastus, Phoinix, Amyntor, Cleitus and Ampelius as well as a few other nobles whose names Patroclus didn't know. He felt their black eyes settle on him, weighing him up, and he resisted the urge to move behind Achilles.
Peleus' thin face cracked in a smile. "Welcome my son," he said, holding out his hand. "It is good you have come. And Patroclus as well."
"We are sorry to have kept you waiting father," answered Achilles, crossing the room swiftly to bend down and plant a kiss on the ruby ring glinting from Peleus' index. "My lords," he added, with a stiff nod to the rest of the company. Patroclus followed suit, trying hard not to blush as some of the men raised eyebrows at Achilles' use of the inclusive plural.
"Come both of you, sit beside me," Peleus gestured to his right side where two chairs lay empty; they took them, Patroclus feeling a little odd looking down at the people seated beneath him. He snuck a look at Achilles out of the corner of his eye. His face was still impassive, but beneath the calm exterior Patroclus could sense an almost imperceptible twitch of excitement.
"Now we are all here," began Acastus, getting to his feet. Patroclus had forgotten what a big man he was, he seemed to fill the room with his shoulders as well as his voice. "Let's get down to it. The Thessalians have crossed the border. They will be ready to attack in three days, four if we're lucky. The Myrmidon army can meet them at the frontier but I fear chances of repelling them will be slim-"
"-How so?" prompted Cleitus. "The Myrmidon army is the strongest force in all the Aegean. Empires quake in their greaves just hearing our name. Why shouldn't we send these Thessalian pig-dogs back home with their curled tails between their legs?"
"Because we are not just talking about the Thessalaian army," Acastus explained patiently. "It seems King Poeas has been as busy in diplomacy has he has in military matters. He has made alliances with forces all over the other side of the Othrys mountains. It seems your son's coming of age has made you a threat in the eyes of other rulers. Rumours of a Myrmidon Empire have provided fodder for paranoid fallacy. And Prince Achilles is, as they say, notorious."
Patroclus felt rather than saw the glee seize Achilles at the word. He turned to Patroclus grinning, eyes shining with mischievous delight. Notorious, he mouthed at him.
"So how many are there?" Phoinix asked, an empiricist as always.
Acastus took a steadying breath before he answered. "So far our sources have reported ten thousand strong."
The words gripped the room with dramatic effect; beside him Patroclus felt Achilles grow rigid in his seat as the number was echoed with scandalised disbelief and Ampelius swore loudly.
"We have just over half as many," Acastus continued. "And we are ill-trained and ill-equipped. We have not had to face so many for a number of years. The Myrmidons are indomitable yes, and if it were not simply a case of figures I would still say we would send them like mewling whelps back to their mothers. But the fact is we are outnumbered."
"So what do we do?" asked Peleus.
Acastus shrugged his heavy shoulders with a disturbing air of resignation. "Call for aid," he answered. "Send word to Corinth, Ithaca, Argos. We cannot win this battle. Our best hope is to let them have this one and catch them off guard while they are celebrating their victory with a full, combined force."
"Surrender, then?" Ampelius growled disapprovingly. "Is that what you're suggesting?"
Acastus shook his head. "Don't think of it as surrender," he suggested. "Think of it as…temporary submission."
His words were greeted with a heavy silence. Patroclus took a moment to scan the faces around him. None looked very happy. Both Peleus and Achilles looked as if they had been forced to swallow something repulsive, he tried to imagine the two of them with their arms raised in surrender as around them foreign soldiers looted and plundered. Achilles involved in a tug of war with a Thessalian trying to take his lyre. He suppressed a chuckle.
"Very well," said Peleus slowly after the quiet had become almost unbearable. Achilles' head snapped towards his father, his eyes wide. "Phoinix, send out a call for aid. Corinth have long been allies of Phthia, they will come. As for Argos and Ithaca…no doubt our plight will seem small fry to a son of Atreus and Odysseus is far too slippery to place my trust. But we cannot afford to be picky with so few friends to choose from. Send word to them too. With luck, help will arrive before the hoard reaches our gates."
"So you will just lay down," said Achilles hotly. "And wait for the problem to move out of our hands?"
Patroclus felt his insides sink. Around him men exchanged glances and raised eyebrows, Peleus looked singularly displeased. Magnificent, he thought to himself. His first time on an actual war council and he can't keep his mouth shut long enough to enjoy it. He wondered how many wars Achilles would start when he became king, as a simple result of his own impetuousness.The idea was strangely unsettling.
"I know I am young," Achilles continued. "But I must say, I never thought I'd see the day when the Myrmidons were reduced to bleating sheep and our finest war captains to cowering women."
"Achilles," Patroclus murmured under his breath.
Achilles waved him away impatiently. "We're talking about the greatest warriors Greece has ever seen," he went on. "The greatest commanders. The best tacticians. And of course, the noblest king. Are you really suggesting we lay down our arms so easily? Without even giving the Thessalians a chance of a fight? My lords, the humiliation itself will outlive us for generations."
"Once again the young prince betrays his naivety," Amyntor snarled, his lip curling. "Your words are commendable my lord, and, if it is what you were afraid of, no one doubts your bravery," a few men snickered. Achilles flexed his knuckles. "However, fine sentiments will not get us out of this fix. Submission is the only option, unless you have a better idea-"
"-I do," Achilles interrupted him and it was Patroclus' turn to snap to attention. "We send the army to meet the Thessalians at the border. They will be beaten yes, and severely. Yet it will force the Thessalians to exert themselves, to test their bronze against ours. By the time the battle is over they will be tired, their numbers scattered. They will not reach the gates for another two days, at which point the home defence will finish them off. Or at least buy enough time for aid to arrive before it is too late."
He finished and looked round the room expectantly for criticism or support. Acastus stroked his beard thoughtfully. Ampelius looked a little confused, his heavy eyebrows bustling and Peleus too was frowning.
"You would have me risk good men?" he asked. "Sacrifice half my army in an impossible battle to buy us temporary glory?"
"To buy us time," Achilles corrected. "True, Corinth has been our ally for years. But it will take them long enough to get here, by which time Thessalians could already be making off with the best of our silver. At least this way we have a chance at gaining a foothold over them before they wreak wrack and ruin throughout the country."
Phoinix turned to Acastus, his forehead layered with deep creases. "What do you think about this?"
Acastus scratched his jaw philosophically. "Our losses will be many," he answered after a while. "But we might save a few if we retreat back to the citadel before it gets too hot. Prince Achilles is right, there is no guarantee help will come to us to save the situation in time. If we can delay them even a little…it might prove useful."
"But the home defence?" spluttered one of the lords. "You would trust the safety of your country into the hands of some feckless adolescents? They will be speared where they stand, if they don't run for clean undergarments first."
Achilles eyes flashed. "You underestimate the youth my lord," he said dangerously. "This is a mistake."
He looked appealingly at his father, as did the rest of the room. Peleus tapped his long-fingernails on the arm rest of his chair, his rheumy eyes uncharacteristically focused. He still looked unhappy. Finally however he looked up. "We will do as the prince suggests," he replied reluctantly. "Acastus, ready the troops. Ampelius, the home defence. Time is of the essence, preparations must begin at once."
At his words people started getting to their feet, heading off to assume their various duties. Achilles and Patroclus made to get up and follow them out the hall when Peleus' raspy voice called them back. "Wait a moment."
Achilles turned expectantly. Peleus was watching him levelly, his mouth set into a tight, thin line. It was as if a shadow had fallen over the pale, aged face, the darkness over the room creeping into the deep lines and crevices, like the flit of Death's wing. Patroclus swallowed as Peleus began to speak.
"Do not think you have won a victory today," he said coldly. "You spoke offensively and out of turn. If that is the kind of behaviour you think I expect from a leader of this army you are wrong."
"But-" Achilles started indignantly.
"-Don't interrupt me," Peleus raised a palm, his eyes suddenly bright as Achilles' had been. "You are young, you are naïve, you have no experience of battle. Yet you speak to hardened veterans as if they are below you. I will not have it. You will show respect. Otherwise I will not allow you at the next council. Do you understand?"
Achilles' body was rigid and tense as marble. Patroclus watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard. "Yes," he muttered.
"Good," said Peleus. "You may go."
Achilles gave a stiff bow which Patroclus copied hastily before sweeping after him out the room. If he had thought his strides were long before it was nothing to what they were now; Achilles walked like a man possessed in his haste to put as much distance between himself and the war room as possible. At his sides his fists were bunched so tightly his knuckles shone white against the skin.
Once outside he lost it. Patroclus leaped out the way instinctively as Achilles kicked at a laundry basket, sending linens into the wind like large flapping birds. "Can you believe it?" he rounded after swearing so forcefully that a washerwoman jumped in startled surprise. "How dare he! And after I practically wrote his strategy! Clearly the old man cannot handle a fresh voice. Perhaps he fears his son will steal all the glory from him in talk as well as on the battlefield. Mother always said he hated debate. Naïve. I've killed a man for Gods' sake, how many 'feckless adolescents' can claim that-"
"-Ding ding," said Patroclus.
Achilles broke off and stared at him incredulously. "What?"
"Hm? What?"
"Why did you just ding me?"
"Oh that?" Patroclus waved dismissively. "That was just the warning bell that goes off whenever it's time for you to stop talking stupid. Although apparently you can't hear it, so I decided to start sounding it out for you."
Achilles' eyes, already narrowed, became slits. "You have thirty seconds to amend the situation."
"You know perfectly well that had nothing to do with jealousy. You addressed a room of experienced, hardened war veterans as if they were your sparring buddies. As if you've been through everything they have and come out of it laughing. Sure, you came up with a viable alternative to retreat but at the cost of sounding like a complete dickhead. Oh, and you were just about to use killing Mynax as evidence of your competence. That's pretty uncool."
"Fifteen seconds," snarled Achilles. "I'm not feeling improvement."
"You need to accept that you're not just a prince anymore," Patroclus told him calmly, as if explaining mathematics to a child. "You're a councillor. That's going to require skill in debate as well as on the field. Remember what Phoinix taught us, much of warfare happens behind closed doors. If you want your father to respect you as a war chief you're going to have to curb your tongue, and your temper. Otherwise you'll just get a reputation as an impetuous hot-head who likes to shout for attention. No one will ever take you seriously."
Patroclus waited patiently, arms crossed over his chest in anticipation of challenge. Achilles looked sulky and his eyes were cast downward as he scuffed his foot against the ground. "But you like my temper," he muttered eventually.
A smile tugged at Patroclus' lip. "Yes," he replied admittedly.
Achilles glanced up, a wicked look crawling into his features. "And you also like my tongue."
"Oh for Gods' sake," Patroclus rolled his eyes and Achilles tittered smugly. "That has nothing to do with anything, stop trying to change the subject, you can't just win me over-"
"-Can't I?" purred Achilles, gently taking Patroclus' chin with the crook of his finger and tilting his face towards him. Patroclus felt all strength leave his limbs, his legs going wobbly at the huskiness of Achilles' voice and the proximity of his pricked, teasing mouth. His breath was warm and sent shivers along his spine; Achilles closed the gap between them and Patroclus allowed himself to surrender to the soft pressure of his lips, the skilful probing of his tongue as it flickered across his bottom lip like a leaping flame.
They parted and Patroclus' eyes fluttered open. "See, now you can't do that to the people in there," he scolded him. "You will have to use your other persuasive charms."
Achilles grinned. "I think I can manage that," he conceded diplomatically. "Of course, they won't be able to dismiss me for long. Not when I'm holding the last resistance against the Thessalians. Speaking of," he glanced over his shoulder, as if something had suddenly occurred to him. "I should go and talk with Acastus, start planning the defence. Come with me?"
Patroclus almost nodded before remembering the message they'd received before attending the war council. "I have to see Ampelius," he replied. "Need to get kitted out."
In his mind's eye he pictured himself holding a sword twice his size, in helmet and armour that were far too big. He cringed inwardly. Achilles nodded. "I'll see you on the beach when you're done," he said. "Wait for me."
Patroclus agreed and Achilles squeezed his hand before heading off in the direction of the barracks. Patroclus turned and made for the opposite direction, toward the practice fields where Ampelius would be waiting for him, like some giant excitable puppy eager to start a new adventure. As he walked through the long grass he was aware of a certain feeling of change. It felt strange to cross the fields now after passing through them so many times as an outcast, so unsure of his place in the world. Now it was a different person who ran his fingers through the long green stalks, a person who loved and was loved, and whom the Gods had finally, finally seen fit to bless. But now everything was changing all over again and he wondered whether another person still would come out of this in the end.
Ampelius was ready for him, massive palms outstretched in greeting and Patroclus thought it had been a long time since he'd seen disappointment on that hulking face. Then again, he thought grimly to himself, I've never fought in a war before. Clearly Ampelius as thinking along quite different lines for as Patroclus drew nearer his grin only broadened until it threatened to split his face in two.
"Here he is!" he announced jovially. "Hello Patroclus, welcome. Well, would you look at this! All the best young fighters of Phthia lined up together, ready to save the country that has become more like home to them than their mother's own breast. Each one prepared to raise the spear and echo the cry of war! War, my children! Isn't it exciting?"
He beamed round at the collection of foster boys who stared wide-eyed back at him, hoping to look keenly excited rather than vaguely nauseous. Patroclus exchanged a look with Deiomachus before falling into step with him as they followed Ampelius to the armoury.
"So it's true?" Deiomachus asked in an undertone. "We're actually at war with Thessaly? Like a real war?"
"Like an actual, real, honest-to God war, yes," Patroclus replied.
Deiomachus let out a low whistle. "Fuck," he said. "I never…I guess I thought it would be a few years, you know? I mean, I knew we'd have to eventually but not… I thought at least until we turned eighteen…"
Patroclus didn't have anything to reply to that so he settled on a gesture of agreement. The reality of the situation was only just starting to dawn on him; he was going to have to fight, not friends in a ring or competition but strangers, intent on killing him. The idea sent a blossom of nausea swelling at the pit of his stomach.
One by one the boys lined up at the door of the storeroom and looked nervous as Ampelius handed them chest guard, greaves, sword, spear and shield. The armour was made of thick leather, a fact Patroclus saw Deiomachus weigh up dubiously, mentally calculating the resistance needed in the face of a spear flying at a ninety miles an hour. When it was Patroclus' turn however, Ampelius gave him the once-over before retreating back inside the storeroom and emerging with a complete new set of armour, gleaming in the sun as it splayed light from all directions. Patroclus gawped along with the other boys and tried not to let his knees buckle as it was placed into his hands.
"What's this?" he managed to gasp.
"Your armour," Ampelius replied. "The king has ordered that the prince's companion will wear bronze." He smiled good-naturedly at Patroclus, as if at an inside joke. "You've come a long war son," he told him. "Don't worry. I think it will suit you."
Patroclus nodded dumbly and stammered out his thanks. He felt suddenly embarrassed, the armour was heavy in his arms and the sun made the metal burn hot against his skin. He tried to avert the other boys' gawking stares as he struggled to carry it away.
When he had reached the beach he set the burden down, the muscles in his neck and shoulders sighing with relief. He sat down cross-legged in the sand and propped the shield up against his knee, allowing himself to examine it properly. The bronze was smooth and felt strangely soft to his touch, as if it were fresh out the kiln. The sun had warmed it so that when his fingers skimmed the raised surface it was like there was a beating heart somewhere deep within it, pumping away streams of red-gold molten. Shivers shot down his fingertips and along his nerve endings and idly he stroked the hilt of his sword.
"My what a romantic display," came a voice and instinctively Patroclus' fingers tightened; in one swift movement he raised the sword into the air and held it challengingly in front of him, heart hammering in his ears.
A high, shimmering laugh answered him, a laugh like the tide rushing over the rocks. In a moment Thetis stood before him, her long red hair hanging in heavy ropes around her white shoulders. In contrast to her skin, the armour looked positively dull. Patroclus' felt something lodge within his throat.
"Perhaps I should give you some privacy," she said. "Tell me, is the weapon responsive to your caress?"
Patroclus realised he was still holding the sword and instantly felt foolish. He dropped in unceremoniously into the sand and sank clumsily to his knees. "My lady," he mumbled embarrassedly. "Forgive me, I did not know it was you."
Thetis raised an eyebrow, an expression that was so painfully familiar Patroclus almost forgot to breath. "Well obviously," she said, in the tone of one addressing an imbecile. "I did sneak up on you."
Her footsteps made no sound on the sand, indeed there was no indentation of her movement except for the trail of tiny droplets that slipped from her skin and hair as she walked. Her grey dress barely fluttered in the wind, it was as if the rules of this world had no bind on her whatsoever. Patroclus watched her approach hesitantly and tried not to take comfort in the fact that his weapons were close by when she folded her legs and sat near him on the sand.
"So," Thetis began with the air of settling down to a pleasant conversation. "I hear there's some sort of war on."
Patroclus wondered if this was a test. He had no idea how much news reached her down there, in the dark depths of the underwater caves although surely gods had their own networks of information. It was impossible to tell anything from her face however so he settled on a standard response. "Yes," he replied warily. "Thessaly is attacking in three days hence. We are preparing the home defence for the onslaught."
Thetis nodded disinterestedly. "A chance to stand in the sun I suppose," she said. "Time for the mighty Menoitides to prove his noble worth."
There was no malice in the jibe, only boredom. Patroclus remembered Achilles telling him that she had little interest in mortal concerns and dismissed war matters as bringing about only more swiftly an inevitable end. But if that was the case, then why was she here now?
"A chance for Achilles as well," he suggested and, as expected, her green eyes glittered a little.
"Yes," she murmured. "This is true. Although in all honesty I'd really rather he sit this one out. I don't have a good feeling about this war."
The words were spoken so idly, so casually that anyone else might have taken them for a passing comment. But to Patroclus, who had spent many hours in the company of the mother goddess and her son, they were not lost. His eyes widened. "Why?" he said quickly. "What is it? What have you heard?"
Thetis' bone white arms raised and lowered. "Oh, this and that," she answered airily. "Through the grape-vine or whatever the ocean equivalent is. This war's going to mean trouble, for everyone involved. Important people as well I mean, not just humans. One of those big "turn of history" deals. And I might have had a tiny little prophecy that someone was going to die."
It was Patroclus' turn to raise his eyebrow. "You had a prophecy that someone was going to die," he repeated. "In a war."
"Someone important, sponge-brain," Thetis snarled. "Someone you know, or who my son knows. Might even be you actually, come to think of it. Although as you so perceptively implied you people die all the time so. No harm done, really."
With that Thetis got to her feet, stretched and yawned. "And there's Achilles now," she observed, looking into the distance. Patroclus craned his neck. Sure enough there he was, his blond head almost white against the blue of the sky. "I should head off. I've got some things to discuss with that man," she spat the last derisively, as if even the epithet of Peleus tasted stale in her mouth. "Nice talking to you. Try not to die."
Patroclus opened his mouth to reply but before he could form the words she was gone, leading nothing but a trail of damp splodges against the sand leading away from the shore. A few moments later Achilles had replaced her and was taking her place in front of him.
"Hey," he greeted him. "Nice armour. Not as nice as mine though. It's got gold inlay."
"I couldn't be more jealous," Patroclus responded dully.
Seeing the troubled expression, Achilles frowned. "You look like Hephaestus asked you to take a bath with him," he said. "What's the matter?"
Patroclus made an airy gesture. "Just had a chat with your mother," he replied.
A look of dumb shock and horror struck Achilles like a brick. "She doesn't know," he whispered.
"No, no," Patroclus reassured him, although the fact that this possibility could produce such an effect was probably something he should think about later, as well as the speed in which Achilles visibly relaxed. "She's had a bit of a prophecy. Says she has a bad feeling about this war with Thessaly, that she isn't mad about you taking part and that someone is going to die. Who could be me, incidentally."
Perhaps predictably, these words didn't have generate quite the same response as the former except that Achilles' frown deepened. "My mother had a prophecy that someone was going to die in a war," Achilles deadpanned.
"Well, yes, that was pretty much my reaction," shrugged Patroclus. "Although she said it would be someone we know. Which is possibly more frightening."
Achilles shook his head. "I really don't think so," he said. "Between you and me, my mother isn't exactly a natural talent when it comes to prophesising. A while back she predicted this massive storm that would totally obliterate a nearby settlement we were trading with. It turned out she was right in the end, although she failed to mention it wouldn't come for another four years." He shook his head again, a mixed gesture of amusement and exasperation. "Either way, it's a war, for Gods' sake. There will be death. That's just something we're going to have to get used to. Anyway, people die all the time."
He got to his feet, dusted the sand off his tunic and offered a hand to pull Patroclus up. "Come on," he announced, turning on his heel. "Race you to the sea."
He took off, pink heels flashing against the golden sand. Patroclus smiled and watched his retreating figure grow smaller. However, even as Achilles looked back to yell childish abuse at giving him an unnecessary head-start, Patroclus could not suppress the dark disturbance that had unsettled him as Achilles repeated his mother's words.
