A/N— Here it comes, the chapter I know everyone has been waiting for…Patroclus' deception. Even I am waiting to see how I'll spin this lol. Just writing as I go, and praying it turns out good. Penny for your thoughts?
Also, quite surprisingly, a lot of you responded to my previous A/N and offered suggestions. After thoroughly reading through each one, I came to find that the majority of you wonderful readers proposed that Troy must fall, and personally, I agree, because it opens up more possibilities for the story to continue, either following the Odyssey or Aeneid or making Perseus a wanderer with Selene. And for those who asked, no I don't know if I'll be continuing this up to Uncle Rick's storyline in the modern world, but I'll give it a thought. I wish I could reply to every single one of your comments but time is a luxury I can't afford right now. The reviews were much appreciated, though.
Anyways, Enjoy! 3
ACHILLES watched from the prow of his ship at the far edge of the camp as the Trojans stormed through the hastily repaired gates once more. They were thundering across the beach, gutting Greeks, killing soldiers, and destroying tents, like they had done they day before. This time the fight had reached the ships, and Achilles watched unmoved as his allies' vessels were put to the torch. Served them right.
Beside him, Patroclus stood, watching uneasily, and shifting on his feet. Achilles could tell his friend was against his decision not to fight. Patroclus couldn't bear the thought of watching their friends get slaughtered from the safety of their ships, and he had told Achilles as much. But the Prince had reminded the other man of the slight to their Kingdom. It was about Briseis, yes, but it was also about respect. Or the lack of it. Agamemnon was a brute, and until he learnt how important the Prince of Phthia was to his war, Achilles wouldn't lift a finger to help him.
Patroclus wasn't content with his answer, and Achilles could still feel his awry emotions flying everywhere. A look of grim horror was plastered on his closest companion's face as they watched the god Apollo fire craters into the Greek forces from his chariot, where no doubt Zeus had sent him to aid their enemies in response to Poseidon's interference the day before. The only way to stop Patroclus from joining the fray, short of ordering him to stand down, was promising him that if the fight reached their own ships, they would defend themselves. And that was only if Hector and his companions refused to accept his withdrawal—which he would inform them of should they appear—and attacked anyway.
Achilles could see them; the Prince of the great city, in his bronze chariot, hurling spears into men as he hurtled through the Greek lines. Aeneas, Aphrodite's son, swords whipping around him and slicing through men and commanders and kings in a whirlwind of anger and power. Achilles vaguely recalled that Aeneas was a demigod…he had to have some degree of power. Every god-born did. Achilles' own powers were dormant and diluted, given that his mother was a nereid and he had never bothered to train himself. He probably couldn't even do as much as a son of Poseidon could…
His hooded eyes shifted to the surge of power he felt from the centre of the battlefield, and there he found him—his greatest enemy, Perseus. The dark haired immortal man sat atop a black horse, one hand on a sword that was cutting through the Achaean soldiers. He rode without reins or a saddle, and Achilles frowned. But surprisingly, Perseus was stable, barely even wobbling on the steed. His other arm was in the sky and Achilles' eyes narrowed as the green eyed warrior flicked his wrist.
Around him, the air seemed to condense, folding in on itself until about twelve spears of ice formed from nowhere. Patroclus swore, and with another flick of his wrists, Perseus sent the ice spears sailing through the sky and tearing through throats and breastplates. Achilles whistled in appreciation. He had only seen such a display of power once, about ten years back when they had first attacked Ilios. Another son of Poseidon, his face nothing worth remembering, his name a distant memory. But Achilles had cut him down easily, even then. Perseus was another problem.
For one, he couldn't kill him. And now, with the sudden appearance of these…powers…it would be like doing battle with a god.
Achilles sent a silent prayer for whoever was unfortunate enough to clash with the other demigod.
"Achilles," His name on Patroclus' lips made him turn to his best friend. The grimace which had adorned the mousy haired man's face had turned into a look of determination and righteous anger. "You have to help them."
"Patroclus," He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm getting bored of this conversation."
"They're dying out there!" The other man snapped. "And you are okay with kicking back and watching them—our allies—perish?"
"Until Agamemnon comes to apologise, yes," He said, truthfully, with a shrug. Patroclus had known him since they were children. He knew that Achilles had a hard head. And he also knew that whatever he set his mind to do, nothing or no one could hope to change his decision. "I cannot let Agamemnon's insult go unanswered. You were a Prince once, you should understand this."
Patroclus rolled his eyes. "Please. You and I both know this isn't about any injury to Phthia. This is about you, and your wounded pride." Achilles scowled at him. Patroclus' words had hit home. But like his friend had said, his hubris was his fatal flaw, and right now, said pride had enveloped his lust for war and greatness. He wouldn't budge. He wouldn't fight. And perhaps Patroclus was a fool for trying to make him do otherwise.
"There's no point in arguing with me, Patroclus," Achilles told him, eyebrows knitting. "You know your orders. I've made my decision." He made to move away, but the brown eyed man grabbed his bicep and whirled him around to face him.
"Please." Patroclus' eyes held pain, and his grip was tight. "I told you what Nestor said to me. They need us." The son of Thetis arched a brow and eyed the hand on his arm. He didn't really enjoy hitting his friend unless it was a friendly duel, but Patroclus was starting to irritate him. Around them, the sounds of battle rose and fell. "Please. At least, if you won't go," He hesitated, "Lend me your armour and your chariot. I'll pretend to be you. I'll defend the ships. I'll rout the Trojans and get them away."
The warrior prince met his friend's eyes and saw the plea in them. Patroclus was fed up with sitting on the sidelines. But he couldn't do anything until Achilles ordered it so. He could tell him no; force him to stand down. But his eyes shifted to the fighting below them, the flames which consumed two ships to his far left. His companion was right. He had been away from the fighting for so long. If he made a sudden appearance now, the Trojans would panic, and flee. Even if it wasn't him beneath the helmet. They wouldn't know that. A whirlwind of ideas and emotions bombarded him, thoughts roving through his mind as he weighed the pros and cons of what Patroclus was suggesting.
Perseus would be ready for him. And Patroclus would be in danger.
But Achilles couldn't bear to look into his friend's eyes and refuse him again. And maybe, if he allowed it, this once, and Agamemnon saw how fast the Trojans ran, he would realise that he really needed to apologise and Achilles' anger would be sated. He exhaled. "Fine." The Prince set his hand on Patroclus', and squeezed. "Okay. I'll lend you my armour. But you have to promise me not to pursue them past our wall. Let them run." His friend nodded, eagerly, the light and determination filling his eyes once more. Achilles felt his hardness thaw, resignation and acceptance filled him. He really didn't like it when Patroclus was mad at him. He couldn't bear to be at loggerheads with him for too long.
"Come on," The young prince shook his head. "I'll get the men ready. Just make sure to remember one thing," Unease surfaced in him, a shapeless, writhing monster, clawing at the walls of his gut, his throat and his chest. "If you see Hector, Aeneas or Perseus, you turn and run, like all of Nyx's daimons are after you, got it?"
Patroclus slipped into seriousness and nodded. "Understood."
~ • ~
EVERYTHING went to hell when Achilles drove his spear through Zeus' son, Sarpedon, bringing an end to the bolts of lightning which had been raining down onto the Greek ships. The effects of his appearance could be felt even from where Perseus fought, at the other side of the battlefield. Men writhed and screamed and Trojans turned and dropped weapons and bolted. Perseus bared his teeth. They would really need to work on their men's confidence. But after the destruction Achilles had wrought on their city for ten years, Perseus didn't really blame them for running. There was no call for retreat, but all the same, men hurled themselves through the gates to get away, and Perseus could see Aeneas being carried away by the hurricane of fleeing warriors.
Achilles wore that brilliant armour of his, one hand on the reins of his chariot, the other on a spear that he drove through several men, thundering across the lines in front of the ship. Behind him streamed the Myrmidons, his men. They had been missing in action for a little over a week, for whatever reasons of theirs. But it seemed like the Phthian had gotten tired.
The mice had come out to play.
Resolve hardening, Perseus murmured his instructions to Blackjack, and the horse launched itself through the throngs of people. The Greeks were fighting furiously, as though awakening from slumber. A cry of outrage was coming from the Trojan lines as the reinforced Achaeans slaughtered them. Perseus had to stop this madness. He sliced through the breastplate of an oncoming enemy, and was about to run another one through when a spear tore through the Greek's neck. Hector appeared in his chariot behind him, panting with exertion. His eyes were darting in the direction Perseus had been headed, where Achilles and his men were skewering any nearby Trojan in their defence of their burning ships.
"Fall back," The Prince ordered. "We need to go."
"I can get him, Hec," Perseus barked. "I'll cover the retreat, if you want."
"No, Perseus," Hector snapped, spear piercing another nearby soldier. "We have to leave now! Our men are in disarray."
"Hector," Perseus growled, sword whipping around and cutting through a neck. "I—"
"That's an order, General," Hector's voice was hard, unmoving. "Now come on!" Anger surged through him but he couldn't argue. As Hector dove away on his chariot, Perseus snarled to himself and patted Blackjack's flank. The horse whirled around instantly and they dashed through the racing soldiers, after his Prince.
As they soared through the gates, Perseus glanced behind him. As he had expected, Achilles was giving chase, his twin horses cursing as they raced faster and faster. Maybe Hector had a plan?
Doubtful, seeing how skittish the heir had been as he gave the order. Perseus followed his men through the beach, up the hills and towards the city. Already a few had gotten to the gates, and from his spot behind the lines, Perseus could see Aeneas and their allies trying to organise their forces. Behind him came a slew of Greek soldiers; he could see Menelaus atop a brown horse, beside his brother Agamemnon. Odysseus and Diomedes raced at the left flank, Idomeneus and Nestor, darting towards them at the right, Ajax and the Athenian King, leading their men behind them. And Achilles, a roar on his lips at the head of it all.
He urged Blackjack to go faster, and when they finally pulled up beside Hector, Perseus' eyes scanned his friend's face. Hector looked anxious. Something was worrying him. Something was wrong. Perseus made a mental note to query him later. Right now, they needed to find a way to get the Greeks off their backs. "I need you to organise the men, Perseus," Hector's voice reached him over the roar of the wind. Their eyes met and Perseus saw the raw emotion behind them. Something was going to happen.
The Prince continued, "Help Aeneas mobilise them and defend the walls."
"Hector, what's wrong?" He shouted over.
His friend—his brother—sent him a look. A look full of regret, and a plea.
A goodbye, Perseus realised with shock, as the other man said, "Can I trust you to do this?"
Perseus throat bobbed, and he nodded. That was all the confirmation Hector needed, and as Perseus came to a stop next to the lines of Trojan soldiers, the Heir Apparent whirled his chariot around. Above them, the sun glowed bright, scorching and burning as Apollo descended in a whirlwind of gold and air. The god of medicine and archery landed on his knees in front of the oncoming Greek lines. Apollo held out his hand and Perseus watched, his back straight, as the Greek soldiers stopped.
He couldn't hear the words that were exchanged, but he realised what was going on. Apollo was buying them time. Perseus patted Blackjack's neck and turned the horse around, his voice carrying across the wind, "Charioteers and riders, to me!" Instantly the men obeyed, those in chariots and those atop horses converging behind him in neatly arranged lines. At the other side of the terrain, Aeneas rose his hand in greeting and Perseus sent him a wave in return. His brother had already organised what was left of their troops into battle lines, stretching from the far end of the walls to where Perseus stood at the other end.
Apollo was saying something to the Achaeans and as Hector got to him, Perseus rose his sword. "We have fought the Myrmidons before. We have triumphed over them before. Leave Achilles to me, and do what you do best! FOR TROY!" His roar was carried across he plain and Perseus shot down the terrain, the roaring force of Ilios behind him. In answer, the Greeks surged forward to meet them, and Perseus ordered Blackjack to head towards the god and the Prince.
Whatever was going on with Hector, he was going to find out.
~ • ~
HECTOR KNEW HE WAS GOING TO DIE. His heart hammered in his chest as he rode, and he tried to keep his expression stable and the roaring in his blood down as he charged Achilles. Behind him he could hear Aeneas and Perseus, and several thousands of Trojan soldiers charging down behind him. He spun his spear in his hand and grabbed his shield. The Greeks were charging for him, and Hector cut down the first man to reach him. Achilles' horses were wild, trampling men in their path, making straight for Hector.
He had seen him approaching, then.
The lines clashed once more and the sun blazed from above them.
As he neared the other warrior, Hector sent a silent prayer to the gods. To protect his wife, and his son, and his best friends. And then he hurled his spear.
Achilles leaned to the side and avoided the blow, like Hector had anticipated. But what he didn't see coming was the Phthian Prince stumbling over his feet and tripping out of the chariot. Hector's eyes narrowed. Had his inactivity made Achilles' prowess diminish? No, that couldn't be. One didn't lose sure-footedness after just a week of sitting out the fighting. Hector's thoughts were interrupted by the roar from the helmeted warrior as he charged him, drawing a sword. The Prince of Troy drew his own weapon, and as Achilles drew closer, he swung down.
But the Greek was smart, and fast. He dodged under the blow, his sword arm coming down instead on the reins which Hector held. Hector swore as his horses reared and he lost control. The chariot wobbled, and the curly haired warrior dove out as both horses and chariot were overturned and crashed into a couple of oncoming soldiers. Panting, Hector got to his feet. In front of him the leader of the Myrmidons paced, swinging his weapon. Waiting. Brown eyes flashed.
No, that wasn't right.
Achilles' eyes were blue.
Hector didn't have any time to think over it as the son of Thetis charged him. He dodged underneath the first slash and sidestepped to avoid another, spinning around and kicking his opponent in the chest. Achilles stumbled back and then Hector was on him, his sword swinging for the man's arm. A shield rose, and the force of his strike sent a ripple of pain through Hector's arm. Achilles dove for him again with his sword and Hector raised his own shield to block, before slicing at Achilles' side.
Expertly, the other man blocked the blow, twisting and jumping out of Hector's reach. Achilles bared his teeth at him andsurged forward, sword flashing. He let loose a roar and raised the weapon to stab at Hector. The prince sidestepped the attack, spinning nimbly on his feet. He ducked low to slash at Achilles' chest.
The younger warrior darted back again, narrowly avoiding the blade. What the Hades was Achilles playing at? Why was he toying with Hector in this way? Alarm bells were ringing in his mind. Achilles was here. He was going to die, he was going to die, HE WAS GOING TO DIE, HE WAS…
He bent quickly, kicking out to sweep Achilles off his feet. The son of Thetis leaped into the air, then brought his sword downwards in an overhead strike. Hector rolled out of the way and the blade struck the ground. His arm shot out and he sliced at the Greek's calf. Achilles wasn't fast enough. Hector's weapon tore through his grieves…and tore through his skin. Hector started with surprise as Achilles swore and stumbled on his feet, away from him.
He had drawn blood.
Hector rose slowly to his feet, about to question what he had just seen when Achilles dove for him with a yell. Their weapons slammed into each other and Hector gritted his teeth when he caught the shining brown eyes behind the helmet. This wasn't Achilles. "Who are you?" He snarled, ripping himself away. "And what the hell is Achilles playing at?"
The man just bared his teeth and sailed to attack him again, and Hector rose his shield to deflect the blow. But it never came. Another sword interrupted the imposter's, and a muscled arm reached out to shove him backwards. Hector shot his saviour a look of gratitude, expecting Perseus—he had seen him coming towards them—but he was instead met with the scowling face of Euphorbos, one of his trusted Generals and allies. The man was blond and bearded, with piercing blue eyes and he looked like he was hewn of rock. Swinging his sword, he slipped into a stance, "You didn't look like you needed help, but I want at him. He killed my brother, and he's going to pay."
Hector shook his head. "That's not Achilles."
"But he wears his armour," Euphorbos grunted. The other man exchanged a glance with Hector. "I'll enjoy hurting Achilles the same way he hurt me." The son of Priam nodded. He spun his sword as the fake Achilles scoffed and said, "I can hear you, you know."
"Good," was all Hector said before he charged.
Euphorbos darted to the side as Hector went on the offence, stabbing at the armed imposter, who blocked with his shield. Hector's general slashed at his side, but the enemy rose his sword and parried the blow. But instantly, Hector was on him, knocking the shield away and tearing at the man's arm. His sword cut through flesh and the dark eyed soldier cried out as Euphorbos hurled him backwards.
Right into a waiting sandal.
The man's back connected with the immaculate feet of the god Apollo, and the sun deity pushed, sending him sprawling into the sand. Apollo looked as regal as ever, the power rolling off him in waves. Hector felt his skin grow hot. Apollo let out a laugh. A loud, soothing thing, like the notes of a lyre. The usually jovial and friendly god looked amused. Amused and dangerous. Golden eyes glinted as he leaned down, to the man slowly picking himself off the ground. Fear rolling in his eyes as he saw he was surrounded by a god, a prince and a general.
"Surely, my dear Patroclus," Apollo's soft voice addressed the imposter. "You didn't think you could pose as god-born and get away with it, did you?" Hector blinked in understanding. Of course, it all made sense.
Achilles wasn't here.
Hector wasn't going to die today.
Patroclus swallowed. "My quarrel is not with you, Lord Apollo. Let us mortals settle our differences without your interference."
Hector winced as the air crackled with power. Apollo's voice was dangerously low. "You dub me a meddler. You attack my city, and you want me to sit by idle." He flicked his wrist and a sword materialised in his hand. "No matter. I have seen your fate, Patroclus. Your journey ends here. You die today." With that, the god of the sun launched himself at the mortal. Hector watched, stunned and in a bit of awe as Apollo dove around the imposter, almost too fast to be seen. He was a blur of gold as he quickly disarmed Patroclus, slicing his sword out of his hand.
"Come on!" Euphorbos roared, throwing himself into the fray. Hector was right behind him as Patroclus drew a knife.
But he couldn't defend himself forever.
Apollo flicked his wrist and the shield on Patroclus' arm went flying. As one, they surrounded Patroclus, like vultures converging on the dead; crows around a carcass, and pounced.
Euphorbos slashed at Patroclus' neck. The man raised his arm to defend with a yell, but then Hector was there, slicing at his shoulder and causing Achilles' friend to drop his weapon and scream. He didn't care. He tuned it out as Apollo sliced at Patroclus' already injured calf. Euphorbos darted forward and drew a knife. Patroclus spun in a confused circle, his arm raised as he collected and deflected a blow from Hector on his vambrace. He kicked the sand into Apollo's face but the god laughed and the sand hurled itself back into Patroclus' eyes, making him shout and stumble back. Euphorbos slammed his knife into Patroclus' side.
It wasn't a fight.
It was an execution.
Patroclus screamed as Hector slammed the butt of his sword into his helmet, denting it.
Blood was dripping from the warrior, pooling around his feet. The wind whipped through Hector's hair. "Fuck you, all," Patroclus swore through the pain, gritting his teeth. Euphorbos delivered a solid right hook into the Greek's jaw, snapping his head to the side. Apollo appeared behind him, drawing his sword in an arc and ripping the tendons behind Patroclus' kneecaps. The man released a scream of pain which tore through the battlefield, dropping onto his knees. Tears streamed out of his helmet. His body was shaking with pains Hector was sure was unimaginable.
But he didn't care. He wanted to get Achilles back. He wanted to show the man what pain was. He wanted him to suffer, like Hector's city had suffered at his hands for ten years.
Apollo laughed. "You wanted to come here, to fight us, against Achilles' own orders. Because you wanted to prove yourself worthy to him. Worthy of his love. For years and years you have pined over your best friend, hoping he saw the way you always looked at him. Foolish. The lot of you mortals." Patroclus hung his head. Apollo stepped back, his eyes meeting Hector's. The air seemed to still around him as the god nodded. Hector swallowed. "Your folly was your undoing, Patroclus." Hector stepped forward, grabbing Patroclus by his chin. In a fluid movement, he raised the other man's head and drew his sword across his neck.
He wouldn't realise the implications of what he had done until it was too late.
~ • ~
WHEN PERSEUS finally reached his friend, Achilles was already dead. Perseus' eyes were wide. Hector had done it. Hector had finally accomplished what they had all been trying to do since the war had started ten summers ago.
On his way to his Prince, Perseus had been held back, by the teeming mass of soldiers who wanted to kill him. He'd gotten distracted, only catching glimpses of the ferocious fight happening across from him when there was a lull in his own continuous battles. But the Greeks weren't giving him much breathing space, and Perseus had already made short work of two of the four captains of the Boeotians. He'd injured Abantes, another good Greek commander, and Sthenelus, who was one of Diomedes' generals. He had lost count of the number he had killed, but the battle was still ongoing, and when he had caught glimpses and flashes of gold, along with the sudden spike in power, Perseus knew that Apollo was there, and Hector would at least be safe for the time being.
Now, his eyes flickered to his best friend. "Are you sure he's really dead?"
"Yes," Hector's eyes were hooded and dark. "But it's not Achilles, if that's what you were hoping."
Something died inside the son of Poseidon. "No?"
"Patroclus," Hector licked his lips, glancing around. As though searching for the god who had aided them, but Apollo was already gone. "Come, Perseus. Help me get the armour off."
"What?" Perseus arched an eyebrow. Hector hadn't ever stripped a soldier off his armour when he felled him. What was going on with his best friend?
"We can sell it," Hector shrugged. "Gods know we need the money. The royal coffers can't hold us up anymore. With a piece like this…" Perseus didn't need much convincing about that. He slid off Blackjack and silently ordered the horse to get back to the safety of the city walls. He knew Blackjack could manage it.
"I'll watch your backs," Euphorbos supplied from beside him. "Just keep his body intact. I want it." Before he could ask what for, the blond haired general had already darted away. Perseus knelt in the sand and began to help Hector take off the breast piece. Dead dark eyes stared up at him. Hector's face was closed off as he removed the dented helmet.
"Hec," Perseus whispered. "What's eating you up?"
The prince smiled slightly, then shook his head. "Later. Now is not the time."
Perseus gave him a dubious nod. He needed Aeneas. If anyone could get the curly haired royal before him to get down his walls, it would either be Aeneas—who's descent helped him understand emotions better than Perseus did—or Hector's own wife. Finally, battle still raging around them, Perseus peeled off the vambraces—the last of the armour. He glanced at Hector. "How do you propose we get this back to the city? It's pure gold."
"Good thing I found a chariot, then," Aeneas rode towards them in a golden chariot driven by one of the soldiers, bloodied and exhausted, but alive, and Perseus was grateful for that. He sent his brother a smile. Aeneas always knew when he was needed. "Figured you'd need it when I saw you desecrating Achilles' body."
Perseus shot him an exasperated look. Okay, sometimes his brother's righteousness irked him. But the son of Aphrodite rolled his eyes in response and deadpanned, "So, Achilles died pretty easily."
"Not Achilles," Hector stood, and Perseus followed his movement. They hauled the armour into the chariot. "I'll explain later," Hector shook his head.
"That's an awful lot of explanations for later, Hector," Perseus arched a brow. Hector shot him a look and Perseus rolled his eyes, backing away. Hector was right, as always. Now was just not the time. Perseus' eyes were drawn to a scream from behind them. They whirled, readying weapons and slipping into stances. Aeneas swore, and Perseus' eyes widened as Menelaus drove his spear through Euphorbos' chest. The fair haired general slumped down, eyes unseeing.
"Give me the armour," The King of Sparta called. "Give me Achilles' body and we'll be on our way!"
"Aeneas, get out of here," Hector ordered. Perseus frowned. They didn't know. The Greeks didn't know that goldilocks wasn't the one who had led them. Perseus could see Odysseus, making his way towards them. Gods, he wished that man would just drop dead. The Ithacan's presence was getting annoying, and Perseus wanted to run him through, no matter what friendly relations they had had in the past. Behind him Aeneas and the armour dashed away and Menelaus snarled in frustration, spinning his spear.
"I want the body, then," The King boomed. "And maybe I won't kill you."
"Good luck," Hector called. And then he charged. Perseus ran a hand through his hair, spinning his sword in his grasp. He glanced at the sky. Nightfall seemed so far away.
Selene seemed so far away.
No matter. Hector needed his help.
As Odysseus pushed himself out of the crowd of people, Perseus pushed all his racing thoughts to the back of his mind. And then he launched himself into the skirmish, green eyes flashing with power.
~ • ~
"I'M SORRY." The words felt like a punch to the gut and Achilles recoiled, doubling over. His vision turned blurry. His head felt heavy. But he wasn't really sure that was what he had heard. They were lying. They were trying to trick him into fighting again. The son of Peleus held on to the mast of the ship tightly, and swallowed. He blinked, furiously. But his eyes betrayed him, and he felt the first of the tears fall. Achilles' mouth felt bitter and shakily, he wobbled on his feet.
It wasn't possible. They were lying.
Agamemnon was a liar and a cheat and Menelaus was his brother. What made him any different?
Achilles ran a hand through his hair frantically, trying to get a rein on his emotions. He wouldn't accept this. Patroclus wasn't dead. Patroclus, who had been at his side since he was ten summers, would not leave him just like that. Achilles' eyes shifted to Odysseus, trying to find the tell in the King's eyes. But the Ithacan looked at him with pity, and Achilles felt grief rear inside him. It was clawing at his throat, his eyes and he sank onto his knees. Patroclus.
Gods, Patroclus. It just couldn't be true.
"Get out," Achilles barked. He couldn't see them through his tears. He didn't want to see them. "Get the Hades out."
"We thought it was you," Menelaus said softly, placing a hand on Achilles' shoulder. He wanted to shove him off. But he couldn't lift his hand. He felt the heavy, oppressive feeling of anguish sit on his chest and press him down. Misery shrouded him and Achilles put his head in his hands, and released a gut-wrenching sob. His body shook, his head ached, but he didn't care.
Achilles wept.
Patroclus was gone.
Patroclus was dead.
Memories slammed into his head. Climbing the hills to get to Chiron. Learning to ride the horses together. His first time sparring. Agony whirled inside him and he felt his despair growing. Menelaus squeezed his shoulder and that possibly made him cry more. "I tried…" The Spartan hesitated. "Your chariot is safe. I tried to get your armour back. But the Dardanian King carted it away."
He didn't care about the chariot or the armour. His best friend was dead.
Achilles tried to regain his composure. But then it hit him again. Patroclus had gone to Hades.
He chocked, but forced himself to ask, "The—the body…"
"We couldn't get to it," Odysseus shook his head sombrely.
The most important question came from his lips then, and Achilles shakily asked, "Wh—who killed him?"
Menelaus and Odysseus exchanged a glance. Achilles felt a chill settle over him. His chest rose and fell slowly. "Who killed him?" His voice was low and quiet now. Dangerous. A cold fury filled the son of Thetis. His eyes glinted.
"Patroclus was set upon by the god Apollo, the General Euphorbos and Prince Hector," Odysseus listed off slowly. "But…it was the Prince who cut his throat."
Achilles felt a laugh bubble in his throat and burst out of his lips. Hector? Hector had killed Patroclus. He laughed, tears falling out of his eyes. The fair haired warrior placed his head in his hands and laughed. He felt his mind fraying and his head pulsing. He couldn't feel anything anymore. Black spots danced across his vision. Patroclus was dead. Patroclus was dead and Hector was going to pay.
His eyes widened and his body shook as he rocked back and forth. He didn't care. He didn't care if anything happened to him. But Hector was going to pay. Hector had to die.
"I'm going to carve his heart out," Achilles ran a hand through his hair. "I'm going to kill him. I'm going to kill him and avenge Patroclus," He wiped his tears. "I swear it on the Styx."
~ • ~
HECTOR'S HEART STILLED when he heard his name roared from the Greek walls. His head snapped up and his breath stuttered. He knew exactly who that voice belonged to. Hector tried to push back the feeling of panic which tried to engulf him as his gaze focused on the figure in a simple white tunic at the beach. It was Achilles.
It was his death.
He swallowed.
Achilles was bathed in gold, glowing with a brilliance no mortal should possess. Hector could see the shimmering giant form of Pallas Athena behind him, bathing the demigod in godly light. Achilles' face was tear streaked and hard. Hatred was etched on his face. Anger, and the rage of a thousand daimons. His hair was in disarray, but the warrior didn't seem to care. From his spot at the ramparts, Hector watched as Achilles screamed his name again, his fury and grief resonating across the battlefield.
A promise.
Hector winced once more as Achilles continued to prowl the Greek wall, screaming bloody murder. His murder. His gaze flickered to the battle beneath him, where Perseus and their allies battled with the Greek forces. The sun was high in the sky—it was almost midday. He had gone in to see his son and Andromache, and now, it was time to join the fray again. Hector sent a silent prayer to the gods. He knew how erratic the gods were. But now more than ever, he needed their protection.
From his spot above the fight, Hector could see soldiers carting carting Patroclus' body away, Menelaus leading them by carving a path to their camp through the endless fighting.
Hector heard the click of heels on stone and turned. Something in him died when he saw Polydamas marching towards him. The seer had a serene expression on his face as though the battle happening below was music played from the strings of a harp. Hector nodded jerkily in acknowledgement to the advisor.
"Here to warn me of my death again?" He asked wryly.
The man passed him an expression Hector couldn't read. "You killed Patroclus."
"I did." There was no point in denying it. His fate was already sealed anyway.
"You can still protect yourself, My Prince," Polydamas' voice was low and full of warning. "Leave the battle to your friends. Retreat deep into the castle. If necessary, leave this madhouse. Run far away with your family."
Hector shook his head. "I can't. I can't, Polydamas. I can't desert my people…my friends."
"Then you are a fool," The man shook his head. "A fool for refusing to be selfish. Noble, but foolish nonetheless."
"Be that as it may," Hector placed a hand on the pommel of his sword. "Even if I die today, I will die fighting, alongside my brothers." He steeled his nerves and shrugged. "There is no better way to go."
"Perhaps you should tell them, then," Polydamas' head snapped to him.
"And place an unnecessary burden on their shoulders?" He laughed shakily. "I would think not." He knew what Aeneas would say, and how Perseus would shake him furiously if he knew. You are not unnecessary. He didn't want to leave them.
"You are too selfless, Prince Hector," Polydamas began to hobble away. "It will be your undoing."
Hector watched him go. And then he descended down, himself, and into the battle.
~ • ~
HE STOOD UNMOVING as Patroclus' body was wrapped. Achilles' heart ached. He didn't have the heart to carry out the burial rites. Not now. Not until Hector was in the ground. His bottom lip wobbled, the threat of his grief coming up to swallow him whole once more.
The battle had been forfeited, once more. And so Patroclus' death had been for nothing. Achilles placed his hand in his head and exhaled. And then he trudged slowly into his tent behind him.
The Trojans had camped on the plain at nightfall, waiting, like a snake preparing to launch itself, to sink their fangs into the Greeks once more.
But he wouldn't allow that. He was going to avenge his brother. He had no armour now. But come morning, he knew his mother would appear with the set she had gone to ask Hephaestus to commission for him. His mother had been crying when he had last spoken to her. They had cried together. Deep within him, he knew she wept for him. His death was imminent, he supposed. But he didn't care. As long as Patroclus was avenged, he would be okay with joining his best friend in the Underworld.
He slowly opened the flap of the tent and marched inside.
He needed to converse his energy for tomorrow. He didn't know how he would kill Hector yet. But he would do it. He didn't really care which method he used.
Achilles glanced up and started, and then he felt a warmth replace his sorrow and anger. His hard exterior cracked, and her name fell from his lips as he made his towards her, seated on his bed.
"Achilles," Briseis murmured. She stood as he got close and engulfed him in her arms. Achilles placed his head in the crook of her neck and sobbed. She was back. She was healthy. She was unharmed.
"Did he touch you?" He began. "Did—"
"Achilles," Her voice was soft. Her hair was untied, and her clothes were new. He barely noticed the chests of gold occupying the other side of the tent. Briseis placed a hand on his chest. "I heard about…Patroclus." Instantly the weight of what had happened seemed to collapse on him, her presence which had chased his thoughts away seeming irrelevant. Briseis placed her head on his chest and murmured. "I'm sorry."
Achilles was silent for a few heartbeats, and his arms tightened around her. "No, I am. I should have come for you sooner. I should have—"
"I'm here now, aren't I?" She pulled away. "That was in the past. You did what you could—"
"Not enough," He said, bitterly. "Whatever I do is never enough. It wasn't for Patroclus."
She shook her head. "That wasn't on you."
"Wasn't it?" He quipped.
"Achilles." His name on her lips sounded like a prayer. Her eyes shone with love. And Achilles felt the warmth engulf him again. Briseis was…something else. She placed both of her hands on his face and drew him close so their foreheads were touching. In that moment, their breaths mingling, he felt like he could tell her anything. He could place his life in her hands. He loved her, and she loved him. She would carry his burdens with him. Patroclus might be gone but Achilles wasn't alone.
He kissed her.
Softly, at first, and sweet. Their lips slanted around each other and she let out a breathy groan as his arms pulled her even closer. Briseis would be there. She would be his rock.
He pulled away, blinking, and licked his lips. "I missed you," she whispered. "Every night and every day, I thought of you. I—"
"I'm here now," He took her hands, and squeezed. "I'm here now." There were things he needed to get off his chest. So many secrets. So many things he couldn't bear to keep hidden anymore. Things not even Patroclus had known. He was overcome with feeling as he looked into her dark eyes. He could tell her. Everything that ever bothered him. He loved her. "Briseis…I…I have something to tell you."
Her brow creased, but with her nod, he directed them onto his bed.
He didn't notice the shimmering form of a red haired goddess blinking out of existence from his tent with a smile.
~ • ~
HIS MOTHER HELPED him strap on his armour. They didn't speak. Her face was still tear-streaked as she adjusted the straps of his imperial gold breastplate. Achilles adjusted first the vambrace on his left hand and then the one on his right. His heart thundered in his chest. But he felt light. At least someone out there knew now. Someone he trusted with his life.
Briseis watched with a small heavy smile from the tent flap. Achilles smiled back at her, although he was sure it was more of a grimace. His mother's nimble fingers worked behind him and Achilles stood still, until she finally drew back. The armour Hephaestus had crafted was beautiful. Worthy of a god. It was made from imperial gold, and his giant round gold shield was etched with impressions of the war over the past decade—engravings of the enemies Achilles had slain and the men he had conquered. He was grateful for it.
There were golden grieves along with a new pair of sandals, and a white cape which billowed in the wind behind him. His helmet was also golden, radiating power, with the white horsehair plume on it standing straight. He clutched a spear in his arm. Solid gold, but light and wieldable. With a long piercing spearhead. There was a sword at his belt, golden and bejewelled, sharp. Knives adorned his biceps and his waist. He was ready. Achilles waved to Briseis and made his way to the front of their section of the camp where Phoenix stood waiting, with a servant readying his chariot.
As he neared them, his horses Balius and Xanthos skittered and neighed, and Achilles nodded grimly to Phoenix, coming to a stop before the noble steeds. They shifted on their hooves, and the son of Thetis raised a hand to Xanthos' head. They were uneasy, Achilles realised. He ran his hand soothingly down the brown horse's snout. And then suddenly Achilles stiffened when he felt the foreign presence invade his mind.
"You go to kill the Trojan Prince today," The voice was harsh and animalistic. It resonated in his mind making him wince. Achilles went to grab his head but couldn't move his hand from his horse's snout. And then his eyes widened when it hit him.
"Xanthos?" He asked cautiously.
The horse skittered and neighed. "You are destined to fall in a few days, My Prince! If you kill Hector your life is forfeit. Not even the gods can save you! A being stronger than any on this battlefield, and a guided arrow. They shall mark the end of your days. Your rage and pride shall be your downfall!"
Achilles swore, and tried to wrench his arm away. It came free and he cursed again as he stumbled on his feet. Phoenix shot him a worried expression, and approached, but Achilles held up his hand to stop him. His fingers went to his temple and he shook his head. He had imagined it. Animals didn't speak.
"Let's head out," Exhaling, he pulls the reins on his emotions. It was nothing. Even if Xanthos had spoken, his mother had warned him already, years before. He had come to terms with this. He did not fear Thanatos.
But doubt crept up inside him and Achilles swallowed, quelling any straying thoughts. First, Hector. Then everything else came second. He would think about the rest later. "It's almost morning. Come." Achilles moved jerkily to his chariot and jumped inside.
~ • ~
PERSEUS swung his sword as the two forces clashed in battle for the millionth time that decade. He gritted his teeth, making sure to keep Aeneas and Hector in his periphery. He could see Achilles, thundering up the path and towards them in his chariot, shining in his new armour with the brilliance of a thousand suns.
Perseus heard a rumble from the above him and risked a glance upwards. He swore as Blackjack reared upwards.
The sky tore open.
Around him men screamed and blades clashed. Perseus' own ichor roared as the gods descended among the mortals, in all their glory, power engulfing the terrain, their presence almost too much for even him. He watched, mouth open as the great Olympians waged war amongst themselves, not even trying to hold back their might.
Lord Zeus had lifted the ban on the interference.
And all hell broke lose.