"You are Patroclus, are you not?" My mother's jet-black hair lined her shoulders as strings upon a loom. Her skin speckled in the sunset, refracting the light directly into Patroclus's eyes.
"Yes…. yes…" He whimpered. He covered his eyes with his arm, knelt into the sand, and cowered in fear. His first encounter with divinity, I thought. Each iota of humanity abhors the perfection encompassed within the gods and flees from it, if possible, like an army of ants running from a river. Humanity fears it will be swept away by the gods, and that fear is ingrained deep within their souls.
"Patroclus, as in, Glory of the Father?"
"Yes, Goddess…I mean My Lady…I mean, Queen…I mean, Your Majesty…I mean…" Patroclus did not know when to be quiet, which looking back with hindsight, was a rarity.
She placed a finger upon his dark chapped lips. He stopped. His eyes widened in surprise. Most mortals, upon meeting deities from the sea, assume that their skin would be cold and dark as chilled wine, as the deep waters themselves. Ichor does not go cold. Patroclus felt my mother's finger to be warmer than fire's heat. I often forget this myself when I cling to Mother for maternal love. I have the impulse jump back and stand defensively every time.
"I believe the proper response for a mortal to respond to a goddess outside of smiting is "My Lady" the first time and then "Madam" forthwith. Do you understand?" Mother hissed the last sentence. Her patience with mortal men did not extend far.
"Yes, My Lady."
"Good. Now be silent. Do not speak until I prompt you."
"Yes, Madam. After this sentence, I shall cease speaking as you requested but I speak to confirm I understand your orders and preferences."
Mother smirked an eyebrow up: if I did not know better, I would have said she was…amused… impressed? I could not delineate the feeling. Mother's fondness for humans ended with me. The rare moments she was at our palace, the servants treated her respectively, but she did not reciprocate. As lady of the house, she barked orders to slaves as an owner would to its dog. Father, in fairness, would treat slaves and servants with respect. Mother saw humans as stained cloth and herself as an immaculate embroidery.
"Achilles, what has caused you to be so despondent? The only salty water I tolerate is from the sea itself, not your tears. What can I do to stop your current state?"
I gazed at her, not at Patroclus. I could not, would not, lie to her. Deities love their mortal children, but do not let them be treated as gods. Mother told me of Phaeton, the mortal son of the immortal Sun, and how his father let him tear up the sky and scorch the earth by joyfully driving his chariot. Helios treated his mortal son as a god. This almost destroyed creation. Lord Zeus himself told all the immortals: "Mortals are not gods and do not treat them as such."
Gods had to be careful. And so do their children, I thought. I cannot tell her about my devotion to Patroclus. She would not, could not, understand the feelings of mortals, not even her son's. She could empathize, but not sympathize. Mortal emotions are academic exercises to the divine.
I chose my words carefully. Any misstep in thought could cause a physical or metaphorical typhoon. So fleeting is the temper of a god.
"Patroclus will be exiled due to a death we caused by accident. I cry as I fear how the gods will punish us."
This was not a lie, I thought, I do fear the punishment. Tisiphone, Fury of murder, would be sent by Hades, Lord of the Dead, to torment us. Despite what Menoetius and others think, the soul of the boy would tell the truth and plead for Nemesis's justice. I will be on the list for torture and retribution by the fuming Fury.
"Accidental deaths are not affairs for the Furies. Also, my son, you doubt the persuasive powers I have with the Olympians, specifically Lord Zeus. Even if the Furies attempted to attack you, they would face my wrath."
"Patroclus. I expect you to treat my son as your prince. Especially since your position as one is temporary. Since my son gains much pleasure from your presence amongst him, although reasons unknown to me, he may be able to alleviate your exile."
Mother descended to me and kissed me on the cheeks. She then sped beneath the foamy surface of the dark sea. Helios barely grazed the horizon.
It was Patroclus and I alone, the waves lapping gently against the beach sand. He had a hint of a blush across his face. At the time, I attributed it to the recent nervousness amongst meeting my mother. O, how ignorant I was!
We walked silently on the beach for a while. When the chariot of the Sun dipped below the horizon, Patroclus spoke:
"We probably should return to the palace. Your mother has a point. I need to find a place and path to head towards. A man without a city in this area becomes dangerous fodder for thieves, murderers, and vengeful beekeepers.
I guffawed; he turned towards me in offense.
"You find my predicament funny? I do this to ensure you do not lose your station and become the hero you are prophesized to be. I will be alone. I will be homeless within two days. I will not be alive by year's end. And you mock me?"
His eyebrows furrowed, and his loving eyes turned to those of fiery anger. His eyes became those of Ares, the god of war.
I gasped and gulped. I cannot live a moment with him angry at me. His tone hurt every iota, from alpha to omega, of my very existence. And it always did.
"No, I did not intend to mock you. Now forgive me for laughing, it was that your first two fears made adequate sense. I laughed because I did not expect the sudden juxtaposition of the beekeepers in your fears."
"Bees are very disturbing. They are flying balls of pain. Their hives are full of sweet honey to entice to in. You forget all cares and fears as you reach in for your sticky prize. You imagine all the sweets you will bake with it. And then, in the midst of pleasures daydreams…they swarm at you, attacking you with all force of an army. Which is what they are. They are an army of flying pain."
"I apologize again. Please forgive me. I meant no malice."
Patroclus turned toward me.
"You swear it was pure reaction?"
"I swear it was immediate reaction, no intent."
He mused for a minute. Each second was a bee stinging my very being, fear growing exponentially.
"I forgive you."
Sweet honey-like relief.
We joyfully walked back to the house, pretending there was not a problem in the world. It was just the two of us, as I already hoped it would be.
The entire universe could collapse, the entire human race could die. I would be perfectly content, as long as I had Patroclus by my side.