As ever, thank you to Anemone Lee, Guest and Maria for your reviews. Thank you also to everyone reading, faving and following this story.

CHAPTER THIRTY

I remained on the beach for the rest of the day, daydreaming about what I was sure would be our imminent reunion. I began to run every possible scenario in my mind - from you asking for forgiveness for having let me go, to you being aloof and cold and still believing that I had preferred Agamemnon, to all variations in between – imagining what I would do and say to you, what your reactions would be, and how I would then respond. I knew it was all rather silly and pointless; such things never really turn out the way we imagine, regardless of how many different ways we try to imagine them. Still, it seemed that was all I really wanted to think about.

Somewhere in the periphery of my awareness I could hear the roar of the battle, which carried through the clear air, even though it was receding progressively until I guessed the fighting must be taking place near the walls of Troy itself.

By late afternoon, however, I woke from my reverie to find the racket had become closer again, and decided to walk back up to the tents to try and find out what was going on.

There was not a single Achaean leader in sight, so I assumed they would probably be all either out on the battlefield or up by the camp's makeshift wall. I didn't want to go there, partly because I was wary of getting too close to the scene of the fighting, partly because I didn't feel comfortable mixing with the angry, frustrated soldiers I was sure to find there. There was nothing to do but wait.

After a while there was a commotion by the camp's entrance. Dozens of voices calling and shouting, then messengers running back and forth. I thought I saw Antilochus race past, but I wasn't sure.

Suddenly I saw you. You were sprinting like a madman, wearing nothing but your everyday clothes. No armour, no shield, no weapons. There was dirt on your face, mixed with traces of blood. Antilochus followed close behind and I noticed there seemed to be tears streaming down his cheeks.

Fear settled on my stomach like a ball of ice cold led. Something terrible had happened. Something that had you racing toward a battlefield without even thinking to arm yourself. Something…

"Patroclus!", I cried out loud, running frantically after you and Antilochus.

You made a beeline to the camp's wall. When I got there, my lungs burning from the effort, you had already climbed to the top of the high wooden fence and were turning toward the plain. The sun hung low over the horizon, lending a reddish hue to the dust particles in the air and reflecting off your golden hair in a strange fiery halo. You raised your fists and let out a blood curling shout. Then another. Then another.

I had never heard anyone shout like that. I don't think I even believed it was possible for someone to shout that way. Your voice carried, reverberated like a bronze gong, echoed off the hollow of the ships and the wooden wall itself, becoming eerily amplified. It held pain, despair, menace, unfathomable rage.

It was a promise of death.

A silence spread over Achaeans and Trojans alike. Everyone must be looking at you, staring at that strange figure standing on the wall in the blood red light. Even to me, you looked like some kind of supernatural creature about to unleash a terrible revenge.

You were a promise of death.

It lasted only a moment. Then the effect faded and you were simply a man again. But that moment had been enough. In their surprise, the Trojans broke their lines, a group of Achaeans, led by Menelaus, darted forward and returned carrying the limp body of a man soaked in blood and stripped of his armour. You crumpled over yourself in a heap and I tasted the salt of my own tears on my lips.

It was Patroclus. Patroclus was dead.

It was unbearably unfair. It was too high a price to pay.

Pain and shame washed over me. I had spent the whole afternoon daydreaming selfishly about what I expected my immediate future to be, lost in my wants, hopes and needs, only superficially aware of the battle where men were killing and being killed a scant few thousand paces from where I sat, a battle I definitely was not the cause for, but that had become that much fiercer due to circumstances that were undeniably related to me.

And now Patroclus had paid the ultimate price for it. Patroclus, the first person among the Achaeans to show me sympathy and support, the very first person to try to offer me help, reassurance and friendship when my life had changed so dramatically after the fall of my city. Patroclus, whose good-natured personality and level head had so often provided a much needed balance when your volatile temper and my impulsiveness combined to breed trouble between you and me. Patroclus, who had so often been the voice that told me what you were too proud or too stubborn to disclose yourself. Patroclus, who, along with Iphis, had been my closest and most dependable friend throughout these insanely intense nearly five years of my life.

A new, brutal ache made my heart stop for a beat. Iphis! It was her man lying there. Her hopes and dreams scattering in the dust, slain by a spear through the stomach of the man she meant to spend her life with. What would become of her now?

It couldn't be true. It just couldn't! He was too young, too strong, too kind, too loved. Too full of life. He couldn't be dead.

A few Myrmidons were putting their shields together to lay him upon them. I rushed over, forgetting completely that I didn't even know whether you'd want me there. All I could think about was to hug Patroclus, give him the heat of my own living body, search for some tiny sign of life that would prove this was all just a terrible mistake.

You were grasping your friend's arms as if you wanted to shake him awake. Your grip was so tight it seemed it wouldn't be possible to pry your hands away from him ever again. Your eyes were wide and unseeing, your face bleach white with angry red streaks running down your cheeks, from where you had dug your nails into your own skin.

I pushed Patroclus' matted hair back from his forehead, touched his lips lightly. But I had no longer any hope to find a hint of breath: the gaping wound on his stomach had clearly let out all of his life's blood. It was over.

Unfair. Way too high a price to pay. It hurt too much.

I looked up and my eyes met yours. At first it seemed like you weren't even seeing me, then a spark of recognition flickered in your features. I reached out and gingerly put my hand on your wrist, in both an offer and a plea for comfort. You looked down at my fingers circling your forearm, then back up at me.

"He marched in my place", you murmured, your voice flat and hollow, almost ghostly. "He was doing my job. He died in my stead."

I shook my head in a vehement denial, but you ignored me.

"It should have been me", you said, staring into Patroclus' lifeless face. "It should have been me."

The Myrmidons lifted the shields and began carrying the body solemnly to your camp. You went with them, not letting go of Patroclus' arms.

I stayed frozen on my spot. We would be reunited, there was no doubt about it, but none of us would ever be the same again.

x x x x

A.N.: Well, everyone did know the inevitable was about to happen, right? :(

On another note, I know this one is a bit shorter than my usual chapters, but somehow I didn't feel right swamping this topic with words. Pain has a way of being terribly economic and straight to the point.