Just graduated last night :0 Still can't really wrap my head around it, but my graduation gift to myself is a nice vacation, and my graduation gift to you is this update! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Troy or any of the affiliated characters
Chapter 26: The Pain of Another
At the Greek camp days earlier, Achilles dismissed the entire fleet of Myrmidons, giving them explicit orders to return home. It took them half a day to dismantle their camp and pack everything on the ship. Had Agamemnon interfered, it would have taken even longer.
In the evening, Achilles watched the ship sail over the horizon, beyond his line of vision. When Odysseus approached the other leaders with his horse idea, Achilles knew it was this invasion, this last attack, that would take his life, as his mother had said. But even while distracted by his thoughts of his impending doom, he felt as if something was wrong.
He was right.
On instinct, he turned around. Standing on the beach with all his belongings was Patroclus. Achilles's temper flared as he remembered how they'd said goodbye earlier that day and he'd watched his cousin board the ship.
"I told you to go home," Achilles growled. "I thought you left."
Patroclus shook his head, being as careful as he could not to trifle anymore with his angry cousin. "I can't."
"Patroclus." Achilles's voice was full of warning.
"I'm staying."
Achilles shook his head and turned away. "Go, Patroclus."
"They've already set sail." The younger man crossed his arms, not going anywhere. He'd made his decision; there was no way he could back out of it now.
"Then you better start swimming." The reply came through gritted teeth.
Patroclus dropped the bag on his shoulder to the ground. "I'm staying," he repeated.
Achilles whirled around and covered the distance between them. He jabbed an angry finger at his cousin. "You are leaving on the next departing ship, no matter where it's going." His voice grew lower, but not softer. "There is no cause for you to stay. As it is, I'm only here for personal reasons."
"As am I." Patroclus answered in the same low, harsh tone, surprising his cousin. Achilles blinked in response to the defense, and, now noticing that they were the same height, saw how his cousin had matured in the brief time since they had landed on the Trojan beaches. "You know that."
The following awkward silence weighed heavily on Achilles, as Patroclus knew it would. Both knew Achilles was to blame for the death of Hector, the only reason why Briseis and Adara were back in Troy.
Finally, Achilles looked away, towards the sea, and willed the ship to come back so he could tie up his cousin and throw him on board. No dot on the horizon came into view.
Fidgeting uncomfortably, Achilles sighed. "I thought I lost you once." He faced his cousin again. "I swear by the gods, Patroclus, if I have to watch you die..." He trailed off, leaving the threat hanging in the air, thoughts of his own demise out of his mind.
In the dead of night, ropes fell from the wooden horse, adding no noise to the silence of Troy. The inhabitants were sleeping off their celebratory drinks, oblivious to the invaders they thought had left.
Slowly at first, then by fours and fives, Greeks slid down the ropes, taking extreme care to land as lightly as cats on their feet.
But two, in the confused, hurried silence, slipped away, noticed only by Odysseus, who let them go. While their countrymen slit the throats of the drunken citizens of Troy, Achilles and Patroclus ran through the city, ignoring those they passed, eyes on the palace.
It wasn't long before the first scream sounded. It rang through the silence like scraping metal, sending chills running the length of Patroclus's spine. He turned his head just enough to see an orange glow over the tops of the houses below him. If he didn't know any better, it could have been the sun rising.
But he did know better; the sun did not rise from the south, and it was not accompanied by smoke. Most importantly, there was not a doubt in his mind that Troy would never again see another morning.
He returned his attention to running, taking the steps three at a time to keep up with Achilles, making his legs burn by the time they reached the doors to the palace courtyard. But there was no time for even a brief respite. Adrenaline pumped through his veins with renewed force as he scaled the palace walls, searching for holds and repeatedly reminding himself not to look down.
He could remember climbing trees as a boy, quickly and agilely grabbing a branch and swinging himself up onto it without a thought or care. Now, heart thundering as he occasionally slipped and scrambled for a hold, his fingers bleeding, Patroclus thought how different walls and trees were.
Finally, he and Achilles pulled themselves up over the wall, landing on hard stone ground. In this part of the palace - and, as they looked more closely, all parts of the palace - chaos had already set in. But two guards appeared to still be somewhat levelheaded.
Somewhat.
They charged at the intruders, and were disarmed all too easily. Achilles took one at sword point while Patroclus pushed the other up against the wall of a stone arch.
"Do you know Adara?" he asked, haste making his voice sound threatening. The guard nodded, unable to make words. "Where is she?"
The man's eyes bugged out of his head. "Her chambers are in the north hallways, but the healing rooms are in the west wing. I don't know where she would be. Please don't hurt me. I-I have a-"
"Get out of the city while you still have the chance," Patroclus said, interrupting the guard's hurried, pitiful excuse; he had gotten the facts he desired. He let the man drop from where he held him by his chest against the wall. Truth or lie, he had no time to waste on hearing the man's life story.
"I believe this is where we part, Cousin," Achilles said, having elicited his information as well.
Realizing he was right, Patroclus hugged his cousin, clapping him on the back. "Take care."
He heard Achilles's soft, humorless laugh. "You as well," he mumbled.
Then the two parted, going in opposite directions.
In a split second decision, Patroclus raced time to his chosen hallway, his sandals slipping on the dirty, dusty floor as he rounded corners.
"Adara!" he called, pushing past those around him, Greeks and Trojans alike. He and Achilles had only saved themselves a few minutes; the rest of the Greek army had pushed open the doors to the palace and swarmed inside. He yelled her name again, slowing now that he was in the north wing, wary of the weapons around him.
Then he heard it: her name, said by another, frantically, from around the next corner. "She's not in her room!"
Patroclus skidded to a halt, knowing he had picked the wrong way, and bolted down the nearest westward corridor. "Adara!" he continued to yell, his eyes darting from room to room as he sped through the palace.
In the west now, he glanced at the open windows and slowed, taking in the scene of the once great city of Troy. Fire, everywhere, was illuminating the destruction it was causing. Black smoke reached up to the night, blocking the stars and blending with the dark colors so it was impossible to tell what was smoke and what was sky. The agonized cries of the dying and the terrified shrieks of the living met his ears, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
Everything was moving towards the palace. The Greek soldiers were already in, and they were closely tailed by the flames, which were growing in size and heat. The yells and screams grew louder as the killing and chaos moved into the very corridors he'd been running through. Suddenly, in his mind's eyes, he saw Adara trapped in the flames, screaming for help. He shook his head, ridding himself of the vision, and hastened his pace, calling for her even more loudly. His feet and heart pounded in sync, creating a rhythm he had no time to appreciate. He never slowed, not even thinking about it as he skidded around corners and barely avoided slamming into walls and the occasional frantic person. With every step, he knew he was getting closer to her-
"Paris!" a voice screamed. He slowed, then stopped, breathing hard. It wasn't the name that caught his attention - he really didn't care about the Trojan Prince. It wasn't the volume of the shout - there were far louder noises pervading the city. It was the voice, the voice of a woman who was so distressed and distraught that she felt the pain of another. It was exactly how Adara sounded after seeing Carius fall on the battle field.
He backtracked, entering an area opened to the night sky. It took all his will power to remain unseen. Had he voiced a cry, it would have replicated the pain of the one he heard moments ago.
THUD. Another arrow sunk itself into Achilles's chest. The warrior pulled it and the others out, but made no move to extract the one through his ankle.
Patroclus watched, enraged by his helplessness as Briseis fled with her murderous prince and Achilles fell, not rising again.
Moments later, Greeks entered the room from another entrance. Knowing his cousin's body wold be safe, Patroclus tore himself from that spot and pushed himself to run faster - and think faster. Achilles was gone; Patroclus needed a new plan.
The best graduation gift ever would be lovely words in that empty box below ;) Seriously, this story has almost hit 100 reviews, you guys are fantastic! Thanks for reading