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Achilles roughly pushes past Antilochus leaving him stumbling behind as he leaps. His legs move on their own, the muscles of a warrior pushed him forward, farther. Men stand around hopelessly. The strongest of Greeks, of men, kneels before them over the body of his lifeless lover.
The armor Patroclus had, was gone leaving him only in an undergown blue-lined tunic. A painful broken scream tears apart Achilles's throat. The same one that had sung to Patroclus light and beautiful notes along with the tunes of a Lyra. The gentleness is long gone as Achilles holds Patroclus close. The Greek men can't do anything but painfully watch, Odysseus tries to pull Achilles away and make him eat after hours pass, but the man nearly kills him on the spot.
He doesn't try to separate them again. The stained cloth that Patroclus wears is bright red from blood. At first sight, it almost looked like scattered rose petals. Achilles can't help but remember the memories they have made. Chiron. The cave. Back in the palace. In their room. The beach. Patrocles's soft lips on his. Achilles weeps and cradles the dead body of his lover. Patroclus's marble white skin softly reflects the sea foam and waves as they crash against the sand of the beach.
Achilles has brought them there. For peace and quiet. His hands are stained with crimson as the blood of his lover weekly seeped through the tunic. The deep wound in Patroclus's stomach looked gruesome to look at, nauseating. Achilles holds his lover close to his chest as he rocks them back and forth. He softly mumbles through the choked sobs. It's quiet but between the soft murmurs of the sea Achilles's voice is clear as day if may broken.
"Patroclus, Patroclus, please"
Another wave softly splashed against the sand stretching with its reach to Patroclus's feet. The water has risen ever so slowly, they have been there for some time. Salt and the fresh wind sweeps by them, the blonde hair of Achilles softly moves sparkling under the dusk of light.
"You swore. You swore Patroclus."
Achilles weeps weakly running one hand through the dark hair of his lover. There is no response. He wonders if the gods have heard him that day they swore to one another. If they heard his declaration. Truly the gods don't let any hero be happy and famous. Everything comes with a prize.
The gods aren't fair.
As the sun disappears behind the horizon of the sea, Achilles lets himself gaze at the last bits of light breaking out of the water. It's silent, not even the birds dare to sing. They haven't sung since the start of the war. Everything is quiet except for the sea. The sand parts as a figure rises from the water. Her hair is dark, wet with ocean water and her skin pale.
"He is dead"
Achilles mother, Thetis, her voice is as cold and detached as it always been. Has she been that way always? Even before his birth? The sea-nymph rises her eyes to stare upon her son. Achilles lays on the sand, Patroclus on his back is spread on his lap. One hand hangs down and touches the sand. Patroclus is marble pale with blood stains and tracks around his body. Cuts, bruises, blood.
The water rose up to his ankles by now.
"Hector is dead,"
Achilles murmurs with his eyes still gazing far where the sun has been. It's no longer there.
"Tomorrow"
He continues.
"You have no armor."
The nymph says flatly as she stands knees deep on the ocean shore.
"I don't need it."
Achilles almost growls at her frowning ever so slightly.
"He did it to himself,"
She says letting her eyes stray back down to the dead body of Patroclus. As she takes a step closer Achilles snaps his eyes back at his mother. They are cold, full of vengeance and anger. The nymph doesn't say anything as they stare at one another.
"Don't you dare touch me."
Achilles growls at her clinging Patroclus closer to himself. His skin is ice cold at touch. Life has drained from him leaving nothing but a husk of who he once has been. Even under the dim light of the stars, Achilles couldn't escape the sight of rose petals scattered on his lover, the blood had long dried. A few pieces of thin layers of it flaked away on the sand. Thetis leaves not long after, leaving the pair utterly alone yet again.
The lights of the camp shined further away behind Achilles but he didn't return to the campsite yet. With a deep breath, he rose to his feet. The sand softened under his legs. He had Patroclus in his arms hanging lifelessly. Achilles took a few steps forwards in the water of the ocean. He lets the dead body of Patroclus float on the seawater. With careful and gentle hands he washed away the flaking blood with the crystal clear water and then carried him back to the shore. Moon cast soft rays of light on his path back to their tent.
There is no law that gods must be fair, Achilles.
Patroclus watches with dull eyes as his companions, fellow soldiers and a lover, burn his body to ash on the funeral pyre. His entire body is wrapped in a white cloth hiding it away from everyone's eyes. Patroclus's eyes linger on Achilles who stands straight in the front row of the people watching the fire grow stronger. His eyes reflect something that he hasn't seen before.
Achilles' green eyes are dulled, the vibrant color is in a numb shade and the red rims around the corners make him look so incredibly tired. With sadness, he approaches his lover. His golden hair is tied up in a small ponytail, still slightly wet from the seawater.
"I'm so sorry Achilles. Please don't blame yourself."
Patroclus whispers leaning close to Achilles. He can't touch him. His hand's simple slide right through his lover's body. So he stands in his shadow that is cast by the pyre light whispering. His words could not be heard by anyone.
It's quiet as the fire crackles.
"Go,” she says. “He waits for you." Thatis finishes.
Patroclus smiles at her one last time before giving in to the power of death. His body gets lighter and lighter before he disappears like ash scattered into the wind.
He awakes and gasps for air. It feels like reaching the shore of a sea. His limbs are heavy for a while before growing lighter, water runs across his face and Patroclus opens his eyes. Above him is nothing but darkness, taking a deep breath he raises on his arms pushing himself up to a sit.
He is on the shore of a river. It flows slowly. That must be Styx he thinks. The surface is dark but the water flows slowly down further in the cave. Fog is scattered everywhere. As he turns, his eyes meet the dim shadow like the silhouette of the one person which he could recognize even blind. Without any hesitation, Patroclus rose up and ran towards the figure. He reached out letting the fog around consume his body. The person seemed to notice and turned around.
They crash against one another. They hold each other close in a tight grip. It almost looks like they are dancing as their bodies rock back and forth.
Even by touch, Patroclus knows who it is.
Achilles.