3. Hector - Steel

You took it all away from me, Prince of Troy. One swing of your blade was enough to take Patroclus' life, Briseis' love and my own hopes for the future. It was all it took to bind me in merciless shackles of loss and vengeance. For how would Patroclus' shadow find rest in Hades, knowing that I did not honor his memory enough to avenge him? How would Briseis lie with me again, speaking words that a priestess of Apollo was never meant to utter to a man, after I've slain her beloved cousin?

Fragments of cherished moments spent with Patroclus and Briseis flash before my eyes and it seems enough for my rage to soar high into the heavens. But it isn't. For all the grief you've caused me, Hector, I feel nothing.

I cannot kill you enough times for what you've done to me. Yet try as I might, I cannot find it in the core of my being to hate you as passionately as I crave.

This hollow inside eats away at me like a disease. I need to feel hate, fear, remorse, passion – anything. I will myself to hate you just enough to fuel my battle-lust, yet all that grows within me is an even greater void. I would give my life this moment for the ability to cry for the anguish I don't feel. For the lives of thousands that I've run through with my blade and the ones I condemned to mourning. Because I begin to understand how they felt, or rather how having everything dear taken away from them robbed them of feeling, leaving them to roam the earth bereft of purpose and forced to carry on with a life that no longer held meaning. Maybe in the end I would even feel enough remorse for your own family who will be mourning your death by the end of today. But I know that, above all, I need your blood, as if to try and convince myself that killing you will make it all better or that my pathetic self-pity could become emotion.

I would even be willing to trade places with you this morning, if only to feel whatever emotion is tearing you apart. Even if it is helplessness and rage at facing the ruin of your world, watching your family eaten away by worry and the knowledge that you alone bear a burden far greater than all of them. Do you ask yourself who will bear that burden once you are gone? Surely, you must, and surely you look around in vain seeking the one who would be worthy enough to take your place.

The sight of my armor and weapons, ready and waiting inside the tent, sickens me like never before. My beautifully crafted shield catches what little light there is and mocks me with its splendor. I look at it as if seeing it for the first, or the last time. It is adorned with the stars and the moon and two great cities: one celebrating a wedding, the other one at war. I run my hand along its edge and will myself to touch it like I would have days before: as if it were a lover and a protector. Only days before, it would have felt my reverence and filled me with its power. But not this morning. I'm sorry, old friend, I want to say. But I cannot and the words choke in my throat. From now on, my weapons are no longer extensions of my body, but mere killing implements.

The sun has barely risen as I step outside and look around to see nothing but the grey, frightened faces of my Myrmidons. The blur of madness clears a little from my eyes yet my vision is still tinged with a shadow that hangs about me like a shroud. My men watch in awe and silence, most of them lowering their eyes as they meet mine. They know me well yet they have never seen me quite like this, I'll wager. And I know that they are afraid of me, rather than for me.

What would they say if they knew that I did not feel victorious, as I will undoubtedly return, but afraid of facing life afterwards? How can I tell them that you, Hector, will be indeed better off in Hades, amongst the greatest heroes, while I will be wandering the Earth looking for something I can never again find?

Without the shadow of a doubt, I know the outcome of our battle. The warrior part of me is not riding out to the gates of Troy to fight you, but to obliterate you. Yet the other side of me, the other Achilles, who could live in peace and maybe even raise a family, will most certainly die with you. The part of me that was naïve enough to believe that perhaps there was another chance to make amends will be crushed to dust as if it never existed.

Whatever is happening to me now, I deserved it. The thousands I've killed can have their vengeance for they shall see me walk this earth alive and consumed by the horror I alone lovingly crafted with my own two hands. A just punishment, they would say.

Of course, I could turn away and flee, take Briseis with me and forget this war, my vow of vengeance and all this madness, but I cannot. The wind shrieks through the slits of my helmet and makes my eyes water, as I would like to believe. I leave the sun behind as I ride out towards the gates of Troy, deaf to Briseis' tearful pleas.

The thought of Hades does not daunt me as it had moments ago. For I have begun to die a little from the moment they brought the news of Patroclus' death. I do not wish to do this more than you probably wish to leave your loved ones behind. Yet we both must abide by what honor dictates. We are fools, of course, yet the knowledge is not enough to stop us. We are nothing more than miserable instruments of fate.

Damn you to Tartarus, Prince of Troy, for forcing me into this position. And because I cannot blame you for defending your country or for believing you were fighting me yesterday.

Damn you, because hating you is all that I have left.

The End