As my father said, I headed towards the palace and sat on its front steps. I could not understand why my father thought I would die because of Patroclus. It was expected that I would die one day, as all mortals do. One day, Lord Hermes would take one's soul down to the Underworld, be judged, and reside there for eternity.
It was destined I be mortal. I had accepted that. Most demigods and heroes hope, hoped, and will hope they could break the cycle of mortality due to the innate fear of death. I learned incredibly young about my mother's infamous attempts, her well known failures. She was a minor goddess and yearned above her station. Deification was possible, of course, if you knew how. Mother did and she failed to succeed. The Fates made it clear that I was to be a heroic mortal and not a forgotten immortal. Mother would see my life as a blink of an eye, and I do not think she could handle the loss. What immortal mother would not make her children immortal if she could?
Clouds started to darken the sky. It did not take an augur to note that rain was forthcoming. I remembered the joy I had as a child whilst leaping around in the rain. It always grounded me when I was stressed. But my father would stop me, saying it was unbecoming of a prince.
There were two thoughts I had.
The past few days, I surmised, were exhausting.
My father was not there.
The clouds soon opened; the rain fell. I reminded myself of sailors dropping ropes overboard to moor the boat. Cords of assorted sizes and lengths connected the ground to sky.
I jumped across the growing puddles. I savored the decreasing humidity, the increasing wetness on my skin. A smile crossed my face. I did not fear the pending discussions with Menoetius, with my father and mother, with Patroclus. I did not think ahead to the future, worrying of what was to come. I could live in the moment.
I made an extra special start and ran to the largest puddle. My hair wetted, stuck to my skin.
I ran.
I ran and leapt.
No one to stop me. No one to judge me.
I landed and the water washed my anxiety away. It was the biggest splash I had ever made to that day.
I was a child again.
For now.
"Oh, my liege, you returned! You are wet. Shall I fetch you new clothes and put your old ones on the fire to dry?"
Patroclus asked as I returned to his chambers. I started to undress but stopped.
"What are you doing? Is this a joke?" I asked him.
"What do you mean, sir?" He pondered; his back turned away. He was searching for something. I took the moment to savor his back muscles, the way even then they moved in unison…
He brought me some towels and dry clothes. I stared at him incredulously.
"You are not my servant."
"I…am not? Therapons' duties are usually domestic in nature. At least…"
"You are my equal, if not my superior. I will not listen to anyone demean you, including yourself. You are my therapon not in the servantly manner, but as a friend, an advisor. You excluded yourself from the latter interpretation."
I went up to him and stared into his warm eyes, feeling the warmth of his breath on my cheeks. I yanked the clothes and towels from his hands.
"If you feel incumbent to take an order as a servant, I order you to stop being a servant."
I took them and continued to undress.
"Thanks for the clothes!"
Patroclus's dark eyes widened as I took off my chiton.
As I finished dressing, I saw him with his hands over his eyes. I chuckled. His sense of decency had always been extraordinarily strong.
"I am clothed now, but thanks for the modesty. To be honest, I would have been honored and pleased if you watched me."
Patroclus's jaw was agape, and he blushed.
Looking back with hindsight, I was very innocent then. Or just very thoughtless.
The clouds had moved quickly on, and the courtyard became unbearably hot thanks to Helios's swift return.
Patroclus and I explored the palace. I wanted to see as much as I could. It would not be likely I would return, given my recent actions. And Patroclus would not return, so it behooved us to enjoy the cooler insides of the palace than the midday sun.
We had played a local pastime of Patroclus's: apodidraskinda. He counted to one hundred and I ran away to some random place in the palace. He would have to find me, and I would then count to one hundred and then repeat. We had a similar game in Pythia but there was not a specific name for it. We learned about it from the adults who learned it from their adults and so on, the same way the bards had passed on their tales.
One of these turns, I crept into a darkened room, and looked for a place to hide. There was a chest that was big enough to hold me.
I heard Patroclus say "ninety, ninety-one, ninety-two…"
I opened the chest, saw there was not much in there, jumped in, and closed the lid.
"ninety-nine, one hundred. Coming!"
I heard his running grow quieter and quieter. He went away from me.
I sighed.
"I am good for now."
I looked at the items that were with me in the chest. A blanket and some other baubles. I saw a lyre amongst them.
A lyre.
I had lessons to learn how to play, as all the Pythian boys did. I enjoyed the lessons immensely, and I saw my love of music growing. Father did not allow me to pursue that particular passion, thinking my athleticism was the path to greatness. I personally think he did not want another Orpheus, whom he rarely enjoyed on the Argo. Mother did not care for human banalities.
I took it, mesmerized by its intricate carvings, the tautness of the strings. I haphazardly strummed my index finger across the instrument.
TWANG. TWANG. TWANG. TWANG.
"Oh no." The words gasped out breathlessly. I heard far away footsteps, growing louder and louder.
"I think I got you!" I heard a voice resound.
The steps grew louder and louder and louder and louder. And then, silence. I heard regular steps and they got closer.
Patroclus sprung the chest open. His tooth gapped smile and dark eyes looking down at me in sheer delight. He then leaned down and his arms hugged me, pulling me up. My face flushed and an odd feeling arose me.
His embrace felt amazing.
"I found you!" He poked my nose.
"Your turn!" He started to run away.
"Patroclus…wait."
He turned back to face me.
"What, Achilles? Did I do something wrong?" His face tensed up in concern.
"No no no, of course not!" I hastened to confirm. I held up the lyre.
"Can…may I play this? I very rarely get to."
He relaxed and his grin returned.
"Sure, we can go to the myrtle tree outside!"
We ran and sat beneath it. Patroclus jumped up.
"Wait, one minute! Stay here!"
He ran away. A few minutes later, he returned with bread, cheese, grapes, nuts, honey, and a satchel each of wine and water.
"It is getting unbearably hot, so let's sit here in the shade and eat!"
After we ate a bit, I started to sing. I cannot remember what I sang, but my fingers moved across the lyre. The lessons returned to me. My hands nimbly crossed each string, as a child jumps across a stream one rock at a time. My voice resounded.
Patroclus sat agog, amazed by my talent. His admiration fed back into me, and I made it better.
For him. As I always will. He is my Muse, and I will not sing ever again. How can one sing with joy when the reason for the joy is gone?
I motioned for some bread and honey. I scarfed it down. Patroclus tried the lyre while I ate. He was not as talented as I, to say the least. The birds nearby detested every note he played, and them flying away proved it. Although his singing was horrifying to listen too, his passion was admirable. His joy in his face was infectious, and while my eyes screamed, my face formed into a smile.
I motioned for the lyre back. Patroclus waved at where the birds were.
"I was not very good, huh?"
"You were beautiful." I said instantaneously.
"Everyone with working ears says I am not. I know I am not, but it is fun to play. Some of the servants hid the lyre in that chest to make sure I would not play it."
He stood up, against the tree trunk, looking up at the sky.
"Even though I am not gifted by the Muses with musical ability, I enjoy playing the lyre so. Truly, is that not enough, Achilles? To take joy. Our lives, our positions as princes, we must live for others, to lead them, as we are their kings, and they are our subjects. Living for others is not life! It is a good fortune I am disinherited and exiled. I do not live for my father or the people anymore. I live for me. I am what I am. I am Patroclus. I am a bad lyrist. I am free from the bonds of royal service, and thanks to you, from slavedom. I am a free man, in every sense of the concept."
I stood up; my mouth open as his was earlier.
"You are the smartest person I ever met." I stated.
He laughed and smirked.
"My dear Achilles, thank you for recognizing talent." He said sarcastically.
My dear Achilles. That…that sounded right.
A thought crossed my mind.
"I have a question for you, Patroclus. Who is Philomela?"
He stopped abruptly and I gulped, not expecting my question to affect him so.
"How…How…How do you know that name?" He barely whispered.
"You invoked it to get the dinner tomorrow. You cited her when your father…"
"I remember now. It is…was…my mother's name."
He leaned against the tree's trunk and slid down to the ground. His golden robes became stained by the grass. As it would be forever: his life of golden royalty dulled by the earthen slave.
He motioned for me to sit down.
"How did she die?"
"Childbirth. Father was excited at the prospect of another heir. Given his open discontent with me, of course." He motioned to himself.
I sat in awe. I did not know what to say.
"My mother was not fated to survive the ordeal of labor.
He waved up.
"We planted this myrtle tree when my mother announced she was pregnant, so my father named her Myrto. Very smart of him." Patroclus said the last phrase with derisive wit.
"Mother would have thought of a better name. But the dead do not possess the gift to name new life."
"So where is your sister now?"
Patroclus sighed.
"My sister died a few days later. Complications from childbirth, we thought. She was laid down and then the next morning she never woke up. It was a sudden shock to us all. First my mother and then my sister. Father went apoplectic. He berated me for a while and blamed me for their deaths."
"That is horrible to say!" I stood, looking for Menoetius to follow through on my previous threat.
He shrugged.
"Yes, it is but I am accustomed to it. After he stopped yelling, he became very depressed. He did not leave his chamber for a month. His court openly talked of overthrowing him, but they were held back by pity. Luckily, he broke out of it, so we remained in our stations. This is why I was exiled. The depression broke all ties my father had and since then, his actions had been more scrutinized. But there is one good thing that came out of this exile. I get to live with you."
We both faced in the opposite directions for a second. That feeling arose in me again.
It would be a decade before I could name it.
Love.