Sooo I see most of the reviewers are worried about whether or not Patroclus dies...well, read on!

Disclaimer: I do not own Troy or any of the affiliated characters.

Chapter 22: Touched by the Gods, part 2

"What happened?" a trembling voice asked. She vaguely registered it as Eudorus, but payed him no mind. She couldn't bring herself to say the words aloud; instead, she screamed them in her mind:

I gave him too much.

He's dead

He's dead because of me.

"Adara!" This time, it was Odysseus, his voice strong and clear. She snapped her head up to look at him. "What happened?"

He allowed her a few moments to compose herself and take some deep breaths. "I gave him Ambrosia," she explained quietly. She watched his face, so calm and peaceful, like he was sleeping. But he wasn't sleeping.

At the thought, she wrenched her gaze from his face, knowing she would never see his eyes focus on her again. She continued, turned away, "But the dosage is hard to get right. Too little won't heal the wound; too much and he could-"

A ragged, shaking gasp for air interrupted her, causing her to involuntarily jump. All three turned their heads to the source, and neither of the men felt quite as much emotion as Adara did.

After that first gasp, his breathing became slow and shallow, but it and his pulse were steady and even and there. His chest rose and fell; his face remained calm.

She checked him over. A smooth, discolored scar was all that was left of his wound. The only remnant of the fever was the hair still stuck to his forehead.

Still holding his hand, Adara let herself relax, all the sadness, anger, and frustration gone, leaving joy and utter exhaustion.

But, hours later, when the dawn approached, Adara still hadn't slept. She remained by his side, keeping vigilant watch over his sleeping form, almost daring his chest to stop moving.

But it didn't. In fact, with every passing hour, his breathing grew stronger; the slow, long inhales and exhales were constant, rhythmic, soothing...

When Adara woke, it was light outside. But the first thing she saw when her eyes opened was Patroclus, exactly as she had last seen him right before falling asleep: peaceful and alive.

Having slept against the sturdy wall of the tent, Adara slowly and carefully took time for herself, rotating her neck gently. She rolled her shoulders and stretched her legs that had been curled up, letting the blood circulate. A few minutes later, her muscles ached, but she rose and, with a quick glance at Patroclus, left the room, hoping to find Eudorus, Odysseus, or some food.

Painfully and awkwardly, she limped through the main ward, where neither healers nor wounded paid her much attention. She exited the tent, blinking and squinting as her eyes adjusted to the sunlight. After a few steps away from the tent, Adara saw something in her peripheral vision, and turned in time to react to the body that ran into her, hugging her tightly. The sudden weight addition nearly made her sore legs buckle.

"Adara!" Briseis exclaimed, holding her at arm's length. On her face was a wide array of emotions; true happiness in her smile, but concern as she saw the dark circles under Adara's eyes. In Briseis's own eyes, Adara saw the sunlight shining off of unshed tears. "Eudorus told me what happened. Did you even sleep at all last night?"

"A bit," she replied, dismissing that subject. "Were you crying?" Immediately, Adara saw her friend's face fall, and watery pools glistened in the morning light. "Briseis, what's wrong?"

"Achilles," Odysseus answered gravely from behind her, entering the conversation. Briseis nodded helplessly, saying nothing. Her silence was unnatural, and it unnerved Adara by telling her something was very wrong. "Come," Odysseus said. "We can discuss this in my tent. You must be hungry, Adara."

She felt like her insides were completely empty, but she wasn't sure how long this would take. "Patroclus-"

"Eudorus is with him," Odysseus said. "He'll be fine." Of that, she was reassured, but his half-hearted smile and the worried look in his eyes did not set her at ease about Achilles.

"Yesterday, the healers did all they could," Odysseus explained inside the tent. Adara listened while absentmindedly eating the bread and fruit that had been put in front of her. "But Patroclus's wound had done too much damage. An infection set it, the fever started, and they said they lacked supplies they needed and would not waste the medicines they did have on him. Achilles stayed by him, but he grew worse. Finally, Achilles left, isolating himself to his tent."

Briseis spoke up. "He told me to leave. He said that he would kill anyone that entered the tent and disturbed him."

"It wasn't long after that you arrived," Odysseus continued. "And you saved him. But Achilles refused to speak to anyone. Eudorus and I decided to wait until morning, to give him time to settle down, but..." He trailed off, looking down at his feet. Adara waited, impatiently, though didn't press him because she saw his troubled features. "He was already gone when we arrived."

"Gone where?" When she received no answer and saw the distressed glances, she added, "Please, you two are scaring me."

"To Troy." Briseis's voice was so quiet, Adara wasn't sure if she heard it or not. "He's gone to challenge Hector."

"How long ago did he leave?" Adara asked, wondering why no one left to go after him.

Odysseus shook his head, seeing the plan she had in mind. "It hasn't even been an hour, but he would not be stopped. He was too far before Eudorus saw him, and I doubt he would listen to any of us if we tried."

She heard and understood, but stood up and could not bring herself to sit down. She fidgeted, ready to make a dash out of the tent and to the walls of Troy herself. That would have been pointless, she knew, but that irritating itch wormed its way into her stomach, and she couldn't stand still, let alone sit down.

"You've seen them both in battle?" she asked Odysseus. When he nodded, she continued, "What are the chances?"

He stared off for a moment, solemn, thinking. When he spoke, it was to his hands, not to her face. "I believe them to be evenly matched. But-" He picked up his head to look at her "-Achilles believes Patroclus to be dead. He's fighting for revenge, and anger makes him more dangerous, not sloppy."

With his kindness and eloquence, Odysseus had softened the blow, but the message was clear: Their prince was doomed.

Adara's thoughts swam around in her head. She'd already lost Carius, and knew what losing Patroclus felt like - she couldn't lose Hector too. Unconsciously, she touched her hand to her waist, where the ambrosia was safely protected. But she couldn't form a plan; she didn't even bother. If she understood anything about Achilles, it was that he would never leave a battle unfinished. If he won, he would ensure that Hector never saw the light of day again. She would be too late. Ambrosia couldn't revive the dead, only the dying.

A wave of guilt crashed over her, momentarily feeling that saving Patroclus meant killing Hector.

But, did it really? She thought of an alternate scenario, in which she had stayed in Troy, stopped by Daan in the palace temple. Patroclus would be dead, and Achilles would still have gone out to challenge Hector. What could she do from the balcony?

The ache of guilt turned to an itch of uselessness in her stomach. She clenched her fists, so hard her knuckles turned white and her nails broke the first layers of skin. It didn't help. There was no way to save Hector.

"I'm sorry," Odysseus said quietly.

He received no response from either girl, so when Eudorus pulled back the tent flap, he entered to an uncomfortable silence. It only took him a moment to process the solemn gloom in the atmosphere, but there was a small smile on his lips.

"Adara, could you come with me?" He held open the tent flap, and after a barely audible goodbye to Odysseus and Briseis, she exited in front of him. She allowed him to take the lead, keeping her arms crossed and her head down, following, lost in thought.

When he stopped, she nearly bumped into him, and she finally looked up, blinking a few times. Somehow, she'd been led into the healing tent. She tried to remember when they had arrived there, but drew a blank.

Eudorus looked at her with that small smile, his eyes holding a pity that told her he knew exactly what was discussed in the tent. "I thought you could use some good news," he said. "He's been asking for you."

It didn't take long for her to register what Eudorus was saying, and in an even shorter time, she was in the small room.

Patroclus's head snapped up at the sound of her entry and he smiled broadly. He was no longer lying down, but sitting up straight, every sign of injury and illness gone, except for the bandage around his torso. The ambrosia had healed the damage, but she assumed it still hurt and smarted from the burning.

She rushed to sit beside him, but when he saw her face, his smile faltered. He stroked her cheek, something in his touch telling her he knew why. Seeing her solemn reaction, he said, in a flat, teasing tone, "You look exhausted."

"It's nice to see you're alive too," she replied.

He allowed himself a little laugh before becoming truly serious, leaning towards her. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she mumbled before meeting him halfway in a kiss. "Glad I came back?"

He raised a finger in his defense. "I never said I wasn't glad you came back. I only said that it was dangerous."

"I know, but I wasn't caught."

"I meant that it puts a rather large hole in our story about you running away."

Immediately, her eyes widened and her stomach dropped as she realized he was right.

He hurried to calm her fears, grabbing both her hands. "No, it should be fine. Agamemnon hardly even noticed. He has wanted nothing to do with the Myrmidons." He moved his hands to cup her face, gently steering her gaze to his eyes. "It's all right. Everything will be all right."

She seemed to relax a little, and leaned into his touch, nodding. But as she did, the sound of horses reached both their ears, and murmurs of "Achilles" ran through the entire tent.

"Help me up," he requested, not wanting her to face what was outside alone. He wished he could take back the last words he'd said.

Kill him? KILL HIM?! Of course I wouldn't kill him! First, I'm a sucker for romantic, happy-sappy, mushy-gushy endings. Second, from a completely objective point of view, I'd have no story if Patroclus died. Our darling is safe and sound. Well, as safe and sound as he can be in the middle of the Trojan War, but you get my meaning. Anyway, reviews are welcomed!