We are sort of nearing the end, but there is still a bit more to go. Please enjoy this chapter and let me know your thoughts in the comments! Thanks for being here and happy reading:)

Chapter 36

Achilles awoke as Adara slipped from their bed, the furs rustling slightly and the midday sun beating down upon him. Through blurry vision he watched her splash water from the wash basin on her face, noting the dark circles under her eyes. He did not feel well rested, but it did not matter, Achilles did not think he would ever rest well again, with or without Adara by his side.

As if sensing Achilles' stares, Adara turned to look at him, her skin glistening with water, her hazel eyes hollow. Achilles winced, turning to face the roof of his tent so that he would not have to meet her scathing disapproval.

"I do not what overcame me," Achilles felt himself saying, the truth in his words palpable. He did not want to think of the night before, of the lives he had taken so recklessly, but his mind could not be stopped from hovering over the blood that had spilled on his hands, over the undeniable pleasure he had felt. Twelve more lives to haunt me Achilles thought, thinking of the shades of Hades that would welcome him when at last he fell. Beside him, he felt the mat dip as Adara once again joined him in their bed.

"The gods are haunting you," Adara murmured, pressing her face into his shoulder and wrapping her arm around his waist. Stray tendrils of hair danced across his chest. It would be like Adara to put the blame on another, let his madness be the fault of someone else, see only the good within him.

"No, Adara," Achilles replied, his voice hoarse suddenly with swallowed grief. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her in closer, desperate to feel her warmth against his skin. Achilles could not lie to her – all of Greece could think whatever they wanted of him, his destiny could not be denied – but Achilles would not go to the grave having Adara excuse him of this action. Someone must not.

"No," he said again, his voice cracking this time. "I just wanted Troy to burn, and she is not mine to topple." Beside him he felt Adara tense for a moment and then once again relaxed in his grip. Deep within his gut Achilles felt warmth begin to well. She is still here.

"You will sacrifice to the gods," Adara murmured, her voice growing strong as she spoke. Propping herself up on her elbows, she took his face within her hands and forced Achilles to look at her, to reckon with the bags underneath her eyes, the hollowness in her cheeks, the tears in her eyes. "You will supplicate yourself and weep and smother yourself in ashes." Her body was beginning to shake, and Achilles grabbed hold of her upper arms as if he could stabilize her. He had never seen her so confident – so sure of herself, and the warmth within him grew. "Those boys deserved better – Patroclus deserved better," Adara emphasized, her voice tripping when she mentioned Patroclus' name. "We can't bring him back so we must live for him, and what you did last night, it is unspeakable, it was wrong, defiling…" her voice trailed off as her unsplit tears began to fall on Achilles chest.

There was a stirring of resentment within him, and if any other had spoken to him in such a way Achilles might have struck them and thrown them from his quarters, but instead he sat up and pulled Adara close to his chest, wrapping a fur about her shaking shoulders. He did not feel remorse for his actions, but he knew Adara understood this. I would have murdered all of Troy for him had the gods given me the chance.

"I will do as you say," Achilles said, pressing his lips to her temple, giving himself this moment to hold her tight in a way that he had not for weeks. "For you," he murmured, kissing her jaw now, his hands creeping around her waist, drawing her ever nearer. "And for Patroclus."

For a moment he thought she might refuse him, but at last she turned her head to meet him and their lips met. She was gentle, the salt of her tears dancing across his tongue as they melted together, the warmth in his stomach blooming across his body. Adara's finger's tangled in his hair and pulled his head back, exposing his neck so that she could press her mouth to it, kissing and biting, a moan escaping from Achilles mouth as her teeth pressed into his skin. Somewhere inside some part of his mind new it was wrong to want her in this way despite everything that had happened, despite his grief over Patroclus and the anger that had ripped at his spirit for weeks, but perhaps the denial of everything he loved made his need all the greater.

Achilles felt like she would never be close enough, the flimsy layer of fabrics between them now only a barrier. With no ceremony he took the chiton he had gifted her and tore it down the front as if it was nothing but water, chucking at the small gasp she released. Before she could do the same to him, Achilles hands were everywhere – Adara's waist, her breasts, her thighs. It was as if their closeness proved to him that what he had suffered would someday end, that she was the reason for his still beating heart. They clawed at one another desperately, as if some emptiness within them might be healed. Only they could comprehend what they had lost, only they could once more bring warmth to each other.

When at last they slid into one, his forehead pressed against her own, he felt Adara whimper and then sigh, Achilles own name sliding from her lips. It sounded like Aphrodite herself was whispering in his ear, and he felt as if his heart might burst.

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Achilles' fingers were tracing up and down her spine, leaving her skin warm and tingling. Adara did not know how she felt, but his presence beside her was comforting – some of the tension that had haunted her these past few days melting away. She had not known how much she craved their closeness until he had ripped her clothes away, his skin under her fingers reminding her that despite what they had lost that the two of them still remained, living and breathing.

He had agreed to her demands for the supplication of the Trojan youths. When was the last time I spoke to him in such a way she wondered, and with a small smile she recalled the way his eyes had filled with desire as she ordered him to pay respects to the dead Trojan soldiers. As she lay, feeling his chest rise and fall beneath her, Achilles hands grew still upon her back and Adara turned so that her eyes met his. Achilles seemed somber after the closeness they had shared, his tempest blue eyes resolute with some decision in them, and a coolness crept into Adara's limbs. How in tune we are to one another, despite it all.

"What is it," she asked, reaching out and brushing a stray, golden hair from his face, her fingertips dancing across his cheek.

"Something I must tell you," he began, his voice lower than normal. "I should have told you long ago."

Adara felt her breath catch in her lungs, her mind whirring attempting to think about what he could possibly need to tell her. Has he not been more open with me than anyone beyond Patroclus? What is there left to share between the two of us. Adara could tell by the slant of the sun's rays through the smoke hole in their roof that the sun was beginning to set. The pair of them had spent the entire day together in Achilles bed, yet the mood had shifted to one of tension and suspense. Adara waited, hardly daring to breathe, for some sign from Achilles. Her emotions had been strung across mountains over the past few days – the flight from the Spartan camp to finding Patroclus' corpse, the fear in her eyes and Achilles rode off to hunt down Hector, her disappointment in his waiting to bury their friend, her madness when he killed the Trojan boys, and finally their closeness after it all. She was uncertain how much more she could handle, yet Achilles seemed prepared to inform her of something of great magnitude.

"It's ok," she finally murmured at last, her finger tracing his collar bone. "Whatever it is you must tell me, you can," Adara insured. Is this about the Trojan sacrifices? Achilles closed his eyes for a brief moment, and with a deep sigh, he spoke.

"The fates visited my mother when I was only a child," Achilles began. His voice was tight, and each word seemed to cross his lips with extreme caution, as if they dreaded to be free of his tongue. Adara felt her body go rigid – rarely did he speak of his interactions with the gods, not even to her. This is not what I expected, but then again, what had she expected? His words reminded her of Thetis' warning, about Achilles' and Hector's dual fates. A prophecy.

"They told my mother that one day there would be a great war – unlike any the known world had ever seen, and that I would be faced with a choice. I could either remain in Greece, and become king after my father and rule well with a just hand and a kind wife and have many children." Achilles sat up here, suddenly invigorated."All who knew me would love me, but when I passed from this world and my children and their children after them, so too would my name fade. The other choice was war – to fight and win glory for myself that could be rivaled by no other living man, to prove myself the greatest warrior that ever lived, but to die in battle away from my home. Yet my name would live on timeless throughout the ages." Achilles got to his feet, pacing manically before the bed where Adara sat frozen. The great war her thoughts seemed to focus upon. No war but the Trojan conquest has ever been this large – ten years, two nations, hundreds of thousands of men. The tent felt cold to Adara in a way that it never her Achilles continued.

"I had no way of knowing, could never have understood," he said, an urgency in his voice that Adara rarely heard. "I was only seven and ten summers when I at last heard of the prophecy after Odysseus came to fetch me, and then what did home or family mean to me? My mother abandoned us when I was young to live in the oceans, my father both loved and feared me, I had no siblings, and I had been shipped off to live in the mountains with Chiron and then to Skyros. Only Patroclus had stayed with me, he was more family than any other I have known."

Adara felt a chill seep from her limbs down to her very core. She knew what he was trying to say, but he had yet to say it – to speak it into existence. He does not mean it, this is some sort of test. The other option was unimaginable. Before her, Achilles fell to his knees taking her hands and pressing his lips to her palms.

"I chose to have my name live on, filling my grave early, and so Patroclus and I set sail for Troy without a second thought, and for nine years I have cheated death," he murmured, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Then for nine years more you will continue to deny your fate, and for nine years after that and after that until I give the god's permission to take you" Adara suddenly said so fiercely she felt as if her lungs might rip. Anger flared within her. I have already lost too many that I love, I will not lose him. Her words, however, brought tears more strongly to his face. She thought of Apollo, how he had expressed an interest in her – in a name that would not be remembered in the tale. This is the tale he spoke of – of Achilles and the battle of Troy. Apollo had known all along of Achilles' prophecy and not warned her.

"I cannot, I sealed my fate long ago, and I have now set the final stages into action," Achilles said.

"They cannot have you," Adara countered, uncaring about what he wanted to explain. "The gods can take all of Greece, they cannot have you. I will speak to Apollo when I see him next, I will demand Hades return you, I….I…." she stuttered, unable to say the words. He cannot… die. Thinking the word brought forth an image, unbidden, to the forefront of her mind. Achilles laying on the table where Patroclus had lain only one day before, his eyes closed, blonde hair limp, tanned skin waxy; so lifelike, and yes response less.

"The fates spoke again after we reached Troy," Achilles elaborated, his entire frame convulsing, "that upon Hector's death my own would follow soon after. For so long Patroclus and I laughed, for only I would be able to kill Hector, and so I never challenged him. This war has continued for nine years because I refused to end my own life, but when…when he died, I could not bear it," Achilles whispered. Adara found herself shaking her head, unable to rip her eyes away from the quaking figure before her.

"But there is no one upon the field of battle that could hope to challenge you," Adara countered. And this was true. Hector was the best of the Trojans, if he could not face Achilles, who could possibly fulfil the prophecy of the fates?

"It is no matter. Perhaps Zeus himself will strike me down, I know no answers, only that my time is coming, and I should have told you long ago, after all that you have suffered on my behalf," Achilles said.

Adara pressed her lips together, and slid from their bed to sit in the sand beside him, pulling one of the furs with her to wrap around her body. It seemed like too much to comprehend, what he was saying. That his fate was sealed, that Hector was the signpost, that the would not be with her soon.

"I did not know what I would lose when I chose this path, I did not know I had things to lose," he admitted, his tempest blue eyes meeting hers. They did not touch, only sat across from each other, considering what was said.

"Patroclus was not a part of the fates words?" She asked, considering the hurricane of emotions that had flown through Achilles over the past days. There was no way he had known that was coming.

"No," Achilles said, choking on a bitter laugh. "He came to Troy to bury me – I asked he to accompany us."

"He would have never left your side, whether you'd asked him to come or not," Adara comforted, thinking of the expression she had often seen on Patroclus' face when he gazed upon Achilles when he thought no one could see. She felt hollow, as if the air had been sucked from her lungs.

"All the same, if I had known, I would not have chosen this."

They sat in silence for a time, but although her body was still, Adara felt as if her mind was racing at a thousand beats per moment. She considered Apollo's warning and Achilles own admission that he had chosen wrong those many moons ago. Her status, her role, her friendships – those she still had and those she had lost. All of it centered around Achilles. Early on, she had been his subject, his possession, and now she simply loved him, and he her. And I will lose him. She wanted to laugh. How had she lured herself into thinking that this place was her home? He is my home she thought. Adara wondered if the gods sat upon Olympus laughing at her now. I would not have chosen this Achilles had said. It was clear what he meant – "this" meaning Troy, fame, an undying name. Patroclus would still be alive, and he would be married to some other woman and you would be in Lyrnessus, naïve, pacified, uninteresting. Adara did not know which was worse, to have her world broadened only to have it all ripped away, or to have never know any of this – to never know Melitta or Odysseus, Patroclus, Menelaus, Achilles.

"What will become of me," Adara finally asked, her voice hoarse. She tried to keep the resentment from her voice and failed. How could he have not told her? They, who had shared everything, even one heart.

"My son is coming to Troy, the fates have decreed that he will be the one to bring down Troy. He is amassing more men in Skyros and will be here in a few moons. After nine years, what more is a few more months wait," Achilles replied, his brow wrinkled. There was a regret in his voice as he said it, and Adara thought she understood why. Achilles does not believe he will live to see his son arrive. "He will take you with him, I will instruct all my commanders that you are to maintain the highest honors after I am gone." Adara knew that what he was saying was the greatest gift he could give. He is making you his wife, he is giving you protection even after he is dead. No man would be foolish enough to touch the wife of the greatest warrior to grace the earth. And yet, would it be worth it without him? A life of luxury without the one person whom she loved? Again she was overwhelmed by the sense of unfairness, of being a pawn within a much larger game.

Achilles had mentioned Neoptolemus to her many moons ago. His mother had been nothing more than a dalliance to Achilles, although from his stories, it seemed that Achilles had meant a great deal more to her. He had never even seen the child, and only after he had been born had he sent back a message from Troy to Skyros and named the boy.

As they sat across from one another, Adara felt the blooming of an emotion, unbidden, within her. Betrayal. For the first time, she truly comprehended the anger and hurt that Achilles must have felt when he saw Patroclus and her together on the beach. The someone you loved could keep something from you? Adara knew that Achilles had wanted to protect her, but by not telling her, he had lured her into a false sense of security.

Suddenly unable to bear the confines of their tent, Adara got to her feet and pulled on Achilles chiton, her own in tatters beside the bed, and left the tent without a word, unsure where she was going but unable to bear the grief that surged within her, threatening to burst forth at any moment. She could feel Achilles eyes upon her, and knew her silence hurt him, but it did not matter. I hurt Patroclus for you she thought as she wandered through the tents of the Myrmidon camp, the sky a pale blue fast fading to black. I was shipped off like a cow to the Spartan camp for you, I cleaned your armor, held your camp, grieved with you, loved you. In the center of camp the body of Hector still lay, preserved by some unholy power, and she shuddered and forced herself forward.

In truth, she knew she was not angry with Achilles, but with the gods who insisted upon toying with her. She wondered if Apollo would come if she summoned him. She had never tried, and aching for something to distract herself, she moved into the woods and toward the creek where often she had met him in the past.

At last when she heard the gurgle of the water, she stopped and closed her eyes and spoke.

"Apollo," she murmured, her voice firm. Speaking to a god was not something taught during prayer, it was considered hubris to demand things from Olympians. But I am not demanding she thought, I just wish to speak with him. "Apollo," she said again, this time louder. She felt a contracting in her gut and the sudden radiation of warmth before her, and she knew that he was here.

Apollo stood before her, golden haired and green eyed and so bright she was forced to squint, and immediately she bowed her head.

"I do not typically answer the summons of mortals, but I told you once before that you interested me, and I do not lie," he said, his mirthful voice echoing in the clearing. Now that she stood face to face with the god, Adara felt at a loss for words, and so she asked the only thing she could think of.

"Is it true, what Achilles says of the fates?"

"Of his prophecy?" Apollo said, one of his eyebrows raising slightly. "Yes of course it is true, but he chose it, Adara."

Adara felt her hands curling into fists. How could he be so casual about Achilles life. Before her Apollo laughed, his golden girls bouncing as he shook his head, his voice like birdsong so beautiful Adara stood captivated.

"Better men than Achilles have died because of him, Adara. Patroclus was far greater than Achilles, Hector too. I loved both of them, and they are both gone because of your lover, and yet they will only be remembered in relation to him. You deem the end of Achilles life unfair because you love him, and what of those that I love, or that were loved by Trojan wives and daughters and sons?" Apollo's voice was full of pity and he spoke to her as if she was a child. "I hold no great love for Achilles – he is ruthless and proud, and yet it will be his name that lives on for centuries, not men that I consider worthy. You think the gods are playing games with your life? Perhaps they are," he said with a knowing smirk, "but the fates play with us gods. In the end, nobody gets entirely what they want." His words were matter of fact, and as they sank within her, she knew their truth.

"Why did he not tell me?" Adara asked, feeling her grief swell to the surface. It did not matter that Apollo cared naught for Achilles. Her life would be forfeit when he was gone, his queen or his servant, it did not matter.

"And why should he? He made his decision, and in so doing sealed his fate. He cannot change it – he wanted to spare you the misery," Apollo said.

"He has spared me nothing." Adara spat, her fists tightening. Here Apollo laughed, again rendering Adara breathless as his voice reverberated through every inch of her body. She understood why so many women in the tales had fallen in love with this god.

"I am loathe to commiserate with Achilles, but what of his misery? He chose Troy thinking he would find glory, and glory he will find when this is all over, but he also found companionship and love and family. In his men, in Patroclus, in you. He came here thinking he would not have to reconcile with the things he had not chosen, a long life, family, a wife, and instead he stood before you today and admitted that his love for you was so strong he felt that he had made the wrong decision long ago," Apollo explained as if this was the most obvious thing to be seen.

"Yet if he had chosen Pythia, we would have never met," Adara countered.

"Then is all the more pity for Achilles. He does not come to Troy, does not meet you, and therefore loses you, or he comes to Troy, meets you, dies, and therefore loses you. Either way he cannot win. Does that make you feel better?" Apollo demanded.

The betrayal that had welled within her in Achilles' tent siphoned away at once, leaving guilt pooling within her. She thought of him sitting alone on their bed – he had told her his greatest secret, and she had left him, and in his unhinged state after Patroclus' passing… what have I done she thought, horrified.

"I must go," Adara found herself whispering, once again looking up to seen Apollo peering down at her. His head was cocked to the side, and he was not smiling, although his green eyes held their undeniable warmth.

"Achilles and I have unfinished business, Adara. I cannot promise it will end well. As I said, I loved Hector and Patroclus, and I hold him responsible, and I hold no warmth for Achilles. But I do enjoy your company, despite your choices, and so I must advise you to cherish the time you have with him," Apollo said, his voices suddenly dry and emotionless. Adara nodded, and before he could disappear, she had turned on her heels and begun to run back to the camp.

Her breaths came in short spirts and her malnourished body begged her to stop and walk, but she could not. She could only think of the man she had left alone in the tent. What a fool she had been, an absolute fool. If Odysseus had been there, he would have laughed at her. Weaving through the tents, she forced herself not to look in the direction of Hector's corpse and to move towards hers and Achilles tent, which she could just see the top of over the other structures. In the darkness of night, only the flickering of a few dying fires lit her path, but it was enough to guide her back to her home, pushing through the flaps of her tent to come to an unruly stop in the sand.

Achilles sat in the chair she typically occupied, his hands resting on the sides, his expression blank and chest bare. When Adara burst through the flap like wild animal, however, he sprang to his feet, immediately alert, his warriors senses undeniable despite his hurt. His immediate reaction to protect her sent warmth crashing through her, and without restraint she ran the few remaining strides to him, throwing her arms around his neck, pressing her body as close as it could be, her lips locking against his own and fingers in his hair.

It took Achilles only one moment to react, his hands snaking around her waist, so tight that they threatened to push the air from her lungs. His mouth was desperate against her own, and he could feel the way his fingers curled into claws on her back, as if in his need he would rip her limb from limb. Pulling on her hair he exposed her neck and pressed his lips to her throat, slowly forcing her backwards towards the bed.

"I love you," she gasped, her eyes closed as she felt his hands move across her body. At her words, Achilles sank his teeth into her shoulder and Adara moaned. There was a twinge of pain, but he sucked at the spot and it turned to pleasure.

"I love you, I am so sorry," she said, and she felt the edge of the bed behind her and they toppled onto it, Achilles weight bearing down upon her. For a moment they stilled and Achilles brushed hair out of her face with his finger pads, their rough texture familiar to Adara even in the darkness. Apollo had been right, she would cherish the time she had with him. They could have lived six lives together and it would not have been enough, and so she would have to make do with what the gods had given her.

"Can you forgive me," he asked, pressing his lips to hers in a gentle kiss, and then another. Adara placed a hand on his shoulder and forced him to roll over, and with one fluid motion she found herself seated atop him, one leg on either side of his chest. She bent forward so that she leaned flush against him and their lips hovered only one breath apart.

"It is already forgiven," Adara whispered, and then she leaned back and pulled his chiton from her form, letting themselves find release once more.