gwenchan

Fandom: The Song of Achilles
Characters: Achilles, Patroclus, Phoenix
Prompt: Antica Grecia
Tag: Missing moment

The corridors of Peleus' palace are quiet at night, but never completely silent or empty. There is always one guard returning from a shift or this or that maid tending to some late chores.

Sometimes it's Phoenix, on his way to check that the king isn't overworking himself again till the break of dawn.

"Achilles!" Patroclus hisses, quickening his pace to keep up with the child before him. "They'll see us."

Not bothering to stop or turning, Achilles waves it off. “Nobody ever comes in this wing at this hour. Relax, It’ll be fine.”

That doesn’t make Patroclus any less worried. He nervously glances over their back. He’s pretty sure to have just heard approaching footsteps.

"Phoenix said explicitly we can’t sneak into the kitchens again.”

Especially not after they got a stomachache gouging themselves with honey pastries way past their bedtimes.

Phoenix scolded them profusely and then Patroclus got another, private, shovel talk.

“Phoenix is with father,” Achilles says, turning sharply left.

“And I want those glazed figs".

Patroclus is about to reply something along the line some figs aren't worth a week of detention, when Achilles grabs his tunic and forcefully drags him behind the nearest column. Just in time for a guard to walk where they were standing moments before.

Patroclus is pretty sure his heart jumped from his natural place up to his throat

“See? And what if Phoenix decides to check on us?”

Maybe he is doing it right now, coming to tell them goodnight only to find their cot empty. There would be no saving grace then. And an angry Phoenix isn’t a nice show.

“You worry too much.” Achilles takes him by the hand. It’s warm and dry and it immediately makes Patroclus feel safer. “Come, we’re almost there.”

They walk flush with the wall, Achilles leading, his pace brisk, Patroclus tailing him, eyes constantly going around and heartbeat spiking at every movement.

“It’s only the wind.” Achilles seems to read his mind.

They reach the kitchens without further hindrances. They’re empty, too early at this hour even for the cook to bake the bread and flatbread for breakfast, and smelling of herbs and sweet things. On one wall, little fishes have been hung to dry. In the fireplace the ashes glow reddish with dying embers.

Achilles goes straight to the pantry where leftovers are usually kept. He swiftly retrieves a bowl, covered in a linen cloth. He pulls it away, revealing the purple spotted with green of honey-glazed figs.

Grabbing one, he launches it to Patroclus, a “catch” the only warning. Patroclus scrambles forward and the fig is soft in his hands. Some pulp pours out where he has smashed it.

He carefully bites into the fruit. It’s delicious.

Meanwhile, Achilles must have already devoured at least a couple, judging from the state of his lips and chin. Spot of juice has stained his cream tunic.

“You’ll get sick,” Patroclus reminds him, remembering all too well last time. Achilles only pops another fig in his mouth.

"Don't worry," he says, munching, "I learnt my lesson."

"Did you?"

"In case I know where father keeps the salts."

The salts that Nereus, Achilles’ maternal grandfather, gifted the king on his wedding day, rumoured to cure all kind of indigestions.

"Can we at least grab some and return to bed?”
The longer they stay here, the higher the chances someone notices their absence. “Please?”

“Uh, fine.”

Achilles relents, grabbing the entire bowl without a second thought.

“Achilles …”
“What?”

“Maybe that’s a bit too much. How many have you eaten already?”
Achilles answers with his mouth full. “Uhm, five, I think. No, six.”
There are still about ten figs in the bowl and Patroclus doesn’t doubt Achilles is going to eat them all. That would definitely be too much.

“Sorry,” he says and walking to him to snatch the bowl from his hands, “it’s for your own good.”

Or try to. While a few years younger, Achilles is stronger and doesn’t let go.

“Pat, I’m fine, I’m still hungry,” he insists.

“No, it’s not true,” Patroclus bites back. Standing his ground, he pulls with all his strength, just as Achilles does some kind of twisted movement with his arm.

They stumble on top of each other as the bowl shoots to the ceiling and the figs scatter all around the floor.

"Well, what do we have here?"

Patroclus' blood freezes in his vein. On the threshold Phoenix looks very tired and very, very upset.

"It was my idea," Achilles jumps to Patroclus’ defence. He knows Phoenix can't really stay mad at him. But tonight, by Phoenix’s glare, he might not be so lucky.

"You two, come. We'll talk with the king tomorrow. Quick."

Begrudgingly, Achilles adapts. Patroclus rushes to follow. In the darkness, Achilles swiftly presses something in his hand, soft and sticky.

"Sorry," he says, low enough for only Patroclus to hear. “Do you forgive me?”

Biting into the fig as Phoenix isn’t looking, Patroclus knows he has already.