Because you are the reason

[gwenchan]

Fandom: The Song of Achilles, Iliad
Prompt: Il rapporto tra un personaggio protagonista ed "eroe" della storia e il suo fedele "compagno".

"Why did you choose me?"

Patroclus is sitting in Achilles' chamber when he asks this, on Achilles' bed to be precise.

Achilles has ordered the second bed the servants brought for Patroclus to be taken away immediately upon seeing it. "My bed is big enough for two," he said. "Right?"

He then looked at Patroclus, as if to ask for his approval.

The idea of sharing a bed attracts and terrifies Patroclus at the same time, two completely opposite forces that left him there, his mouth half open, unable to formulate a proper answer. 

"If it is alright with you" he muttered,  eventually.

Achilles bed is indeed large, on the pair of a wedding bed. Patroclus has heard rumours the Prince is quite the restless sleeper and a larger bed prevents him from falling over too many times

He supposes he'll soon learn if it's true or only another exaggerated story.

It has been so long since he slept with someone that he doesn't remember when last time was. Probably when he was still young enough to be allowed to sleep with the nurse or, if he was truly lucky, his mother after a nightmare.

He wonders rapidly if sleeping with Achilles will finally chase away the memory of what he has done.

So now he is sitting on Achilles' bed, the recent meeting with King Peleus still bright clear in his mind, Achilles taking his arm in a fierce but not truly hurtful grip and proclaiming he will be his therapon, his squire.

His companion. 

Achilles looks up from the basin in which he's currently washing face, arms and upper torso. "Because I like you," he says, without a hint of hesitation. 

"You like others too, though. People you've known longer than me." Patroclus retorts with a snort. He is not so naive as to think Achilles doesn’t have other friends. Correction, he doesn’t even dare to consider himself Achilles' friend. 

"And I like you most."

"But why?"

He has no discernable qualities to make him shine over the others. He is not particularly witty or pleasant to be around, even less in the past months. He doesn't even pose a good challenge as a training partner. He is neither older or more expert than Achilles.

This time Achilles ponders the question, shaking away the excess water before dabbing himself with a towel. Patroclus watches the perfect skin of his forehead scrunch. 

Everything he says, he realises suddenly, Achilles takes seriously 

"Because you're the only one who didn't try to woo my attention," Achilles says. 

***

Sometimes Patroclus loathes Achilles. It is the pang of envy and annoyance he felt when he actually spoke to him for the first time; lazily playing the lyre, completely unbothered, cherished and loved and with everything when Patroclus had been left with nothing.

He loathes Achilles’ confidence that borders on hybris, how he is never plagued by self-doubts, never has to second-guess anything.

He envies his prowess, the way he naturally excels in everything he does, never to lose, never to make a mistake.

"And you plan to play that before the king's guests? I don’t think they’ll appreciate it.” 

It's a lie, the ballad Achilles put together almost on the fly is perfect, so beautiful Patroclus has to fight back tears. But for that he feels a deep  visceral desire to tear it apart.

After all, he says to himself, a vague justification, it is his explicit duty as Achilles' therapon to advise him.

"Uhm, you think so?" Achilles muses, his fingers adjusting on the strings to play the first chords. The harmonies are absolutely stunning.

“What do you suggest?".

Again, it takes Patroclus aback. Achilles has to reason at all to care for his words—Patroclus is no musical genius—but he does. For the first time Achilles questions his choices. 

"The finale is too abrupt and the last chord should be a third below.”

Achilles plays the last few bars, slower this time, and changes the final chord to be lower. 

“Yes,” he says, after having tweaked at it a little more. “It sounds much nicer. Thank you.”

***

Patroclus wouldn’t go as far as to proclaim to be Achilles’ friend.

Maybe he won't ever. Inside, he knows it's stupid. They have shared secrets, deep ones, whispered in the heart of night.

He told Achilles about the moment of ferocious joy as he pushed Clytonimus to the ground, the fleeting excitement thinking his father for once would have been proud of him. 

And Achilles in return has confessed sometimes he fears his mother deep down hates him, the product of a forced union.

They spend all their time together, do the things friends do, every day a new adventure, stunts that leave old Phoenix with more and more white hair.

Patroclus was supposed to calm Achilles, to mellow his infinite energy. 

The reality couldn’t be more different, Achilles a force too strong to be resisted and Patroclus has long abandoned the pretence to be indulging him only to avoid ever greater damage. 

Achilles wants to sneak into the kitchens at night? Patroclus is there hissing about how they’re going to get caught again. 

Achilles decides to climb onto the palace roof? Patroclus is already struggling behind and fighting against his own vertigo.

They cast glances at each other as, heads low, they receive the umpteenth scolding. Between Patroclus’ toes is still the sand of the beach, Achilles’ idea to sneak out the palace to watch the sunrise. He doesn’t regret anything. 

On the contrary, he has to bite his lips to fight back a new rush of giggles. 

On their way back to Achilles’ chambers, Achilles searches for Patroclus’ hand 

It’s warm and Patroclus wonders when the gesture has become so natural.

***

The first seeds of infatuation begin to put their roots when Patroclus has just turned twelve.

It is the age when a boy starts to be considered old enough to be taught about the secrets of love and pleasure.

Watching Achilles he feels a new pang in his chest as he notices things he never did before; and the things he already did, now he sees them through different eyes. 

He already knows the feeling of Achilles’ perfect skin, its texture, its warmth. They have bathed together plenty of times and fought naked in the training courtyard, but suddenly Patroclus’ fingers itch from the desire to touch. Suddenly Achilles snuggling to him as he sleeps leaves him breathless. 

They are sitting on the beach at sunset, fresh wet sand under their feet and Achilles is still glowing pink from the exertion of his recent run. He grins wide and his eyes glint.

Patroclus should really approach things slowly, test the waters, but with Achilles it has always been nothing but to dive in.

It is only a light brush of lips against lips, salty, the blink of an eye before Patroclus comes back to himself. 

Achilles stares at him for a second that lasts an eternity. Then, he scrambles to his feet and runs away. Hugging his knees, cursing himself and his stupidity, Patroclus cries. 

He spends the evening expecting the order to pack his things and leave Achilles’ room to be dropped at any time. Worse, they’ll tell him to leave Phthia. 

At dinner he gingerly sits next to Achilles and waits for him to scoot away. Achilles doesn’t, though he does turn his back to Patroclus when it’s time to blow out the lamp and go to sleep.

The next afternoon, Patroclus walks to Achilles with all the courage he has managed to gather. “Wrestle with me,” he says. 

If he doesn’t want things between them to change, he will act as yesterday never happened.

***

When Achilles leaves for Mount Pelion at the crack of dawn , Patroclus realises soon  he can’t envision spending the next three or more years without him. 

He finds himself running through the woods before mid day, before he could even make sense of his decision, for once determined to make a request and fight for it.

He is Achilles’ companion. He is supposed to be at his side, to soothe his dreams—Achilles is always in a sour mood the times he sleeps alone— and to bring him back down to earth when he flies too high.

Part of Patroclus hurts thinking Achilles could at least have asked him to follow, but when it comes to Thetis even he is powerless. Patroclus can still feel the frozen hand of the goddess tightening around his throat and the raspy threat underneath.

He doesn't care. Achilles needs him and Chiron can take one more student. 

As for Achilles’ mother, she’ll have to forcefully drag Patroclus away from her son if she truly wants to separate them.

***

Patroclus has buried his feelings down in the pit of his being for so long he forgot about them. Whatever took over him when he kissed Achilles is gone, a mistake not to be talked about ever again. He doesn’t even tell himself if Achilles doesn’t love him that way is fine, because neither Patroclus loves Achilles that way.

Not anymore. He is content with having his soul and mind, he doesn’t need his body as well.

So he buries everything, covers the lust and desire in layers of friendship and devotion till, inevitably, it explodes back full force in his face. From one day to the other staying too close to Achilles becomes unbearable, each casual touch hotter than molten metal, so much Patroclus doesn’t know by which high power above he hasn’t yet shoved Achilles onto the nearest flat surface to find satisfaction to his desire.

It fills Patroclus with repugnance. Then, he is a fool to think he could ever overpower Achilles, but in his despicable fantasies he can. Achilles would be soft and hot and tight and all Patroclus can do is to busy himself otherwise and hope he never notices. 

Then one evening, on his sixteenth birthday, Achilles abruptly says: “My mother can’t see us here.”

Patroclus frowns. He feels like there’s more to it, a hidden message that for some reason Achilles doesn’t say outright. 

Given, he gladly welcomes the reassurance the cave is a safe haven from Thetis’ terrifying presence, but Achilles is throwing him those glances as if he is expecting something.

Patroclus wrecks his brain. 

Thinking about it, Achilles has been restless since he came back from his talk with his mother—and it wasn’t because he fought with her. He has gobbled down his dinner and then insisted to retire for the night when normally he would stay awake for hours more to watch the stars, even more now that it is full summer.

Climbing into their pallet, he leans so close their noses almost touch. Patroclus can smell the fruit on his breath.

Thetis can’t see them here.

Achilles heavies a huffs before pulling away, a despondent expression on his face.

And then, it clicks. 

“Wait!” 

Achilles turns, stills, and Patroclus prays to not have misinterpreted anything. He wouldn’t stand to see again the horrified stare Achilles gave him that day at the beach, the fear of having ruined everything. 

Squeezing his eyes shut, he dives in. This time, Achilles doesn’t run away. This time, here away from the constant watch of the sea, Achilles does the opposite of running away. His hands buries in Patroclus’ curls and then he’s kissing him, truly, properly, not a shy peck on the lips, but open-mouthed, messy and demanding and with the absolute intensity that has always characterised everything Achilles has ever done.

Something inside Patroclus sings, as their bodies flush together. Achilles wants him, he is baring himself, giving him all to Patroclus down to its core.

It’s only fair for a joy so great to leave space to an equally large terror in the morning. 

Waiting for Achilles to stir from sleep and remember what happened the previous night is nerve-wracking. He blinks, rubs his eyes, gingerly slides a hand down between his legs and Patroclus expects nothing but accusations and disgust.

But then Achilles’ face softens into a bright smile as he greets Patroclus a sleepy “‘Morning” and all fears melt away.

***

Patroclus’ ears are ringing, Achilles’ arms still around his neck with the unbridled enthusiasm of his hug. 

Husband.

Achilles introduced Patroclus as his husband.

Given, currently Achilles is dressed in feminine clothes and nobody but Patroclus are aware of his real identity, but it doesn’t make it any less powerful.

Husband. 

Patroclus says it under his breath, testing how it feels in his mouth. Husband. Husband. Husband. 

He thinks about it all evening, instead of focusing on other things that rationally should concern him more. Like Achilles having been forced to lay with someone and that resulting in a child.

Even as Achilles takes his hands, after they are left alone, and beg for Patroclus' understanding—or the closest thing to begging when it comes to Achilles—Patroclus has to force himself to actually listen. 

“Patroclus, please,"  Achilles cries, frantically, cupping his cheeks. "I swear I didn't want it. Any of it. Please, forgive me."

Oh. Achilles thinks he’s angry at him. Patroclus wants to slap himself. He definitely should.

“Oh, Achilles,” Patroclus exclaims and drags him into a solid embrace. “I’m not mad at you.”

Sniffling, Achilles presses himself into the hug. “Then what’s got into you? There’s something, I know it. You feel so distant."

“You… you called me your husband.”

Achilles could have introduced him as a relative, a brother maybe. “You weren’t pretending,” he adds, without waiting for an answer. “You would marry me if given the chance.”

Achilles looks up at him. His eyes are lucid, but he’s smiling, the smile he has when waiting for Patroclus to catch up with him. 

“Wouldn’t you?”

To be fair, he never thought deeply about it. It isn’t like he would love Achilles any more in case. He will always be at his side, with or without oaths before the gods and men.

"It would be nice," he murmurs, taking Achilles hands in his. “I think I’d like that.”

***

One day, overall between the third and fourth years of war, Briseis asks Patroclus why he loves Achilles.

Patroclus can’t answer. He doesn't love Achilles for a specific reason, or even for a ensemble of them. It simply happened, slowly, a little more each day, growing on him till it encompasses everything else.

"I don't know. I simply do."

It wouldn’t be love otherwise.

With someone as intense as Achilles, after years spent at his side, Patroclus had no other choice than either to loathe him viscerally or fall impossibly in love.

A third, milder option has never been in the picture 

It would be a lie to say Patroclus hasn't find himself attracted by anyone else in the years, especially after returning from Pelion. And though nothing but drunken kisses and some heavy petting ever happened, Achilles wouldn’t mind. As he told Patroclus once, he sees no reason to concern himself with jealousy. Leave that to people so unsure about their partner’s love that they’d rather chain them.

Not when Patroclus loves him in a way that surpasses everything else, so rooted into him than to stop would mean losing himself.

***

Patroclus has lost Achilles. He has spent years trying to prepare for when the moment would come and now that it happened he is completely lost.

Maybe with a corpse to bury and a tomb on which to cry it would be easier.

But Achilles is still alive and more distant than ever, lost to an abyss of anger, resentment and pride. 

Patroclus hasn't felt so abandoned since he still lived in Opus. 

Maybe the others were right about Achilles.  

He is a weapon, a killer. Using a sword as a walking cane won't change its nature 

Odysseus' words ring in Patroclus' ears. 

Maybe Patroclus has been too blinded by love and devotion to see the truth.

Now all he wants is to punch Achilles, to shake him till he comes back to his senses.

Achilles says he wants to leave, pack everything, gather the Myrmidons and sail back to Phthia.

For the first time Patroclus isn’t sure he will be able to follow. 

Yet he swore, years ago, promise to never abandon Achilles, no matter the circumstances. If they leave, countless men will die, the weight of their deaths on Patroclus’ conscience.

But Achilles will live. They could find some forgotten place and rebuild and be content with a simple life. 

It would be hollow, joyless, not with the foundations on which they had built it. Eventually the guilt and the resentment would bring them both to destruction. They’ll hate each other.

Nor he can let Achilles leave alone. And not because cutting a limb would be less painful, not because he could sooner pluck his heart out of his chest and give it to Achilles to pack with the rest of his belongings.

It’s not him. It’s the fact Achilles will be ruined if he leaves, his name stained, the glory for which he fought lost.

Leaning onto a tree, Patroclus prays to the gods to show him the way.

***

Patroclus is about to cry again. Achilles is worried about him. After days Achilles is looking at him and really seeing him. 

It tugs at the strings of Patroclus' heart, stronger than any rational thought.

For a moment Patroclus himself be egotistical, relish in the knowledge Achilles would let the world burn to the ground if that saved him.

If Achilles truly loved Patroclus he would be putting on his armour instead of helping him wear it.

If he truly loved him he would have never chosen the war. 

But that person wouldn’t have been Achilles and Patroclus has fallen in love with Achilles, not with some hypothetical other, humbler and more reasonable version. 

I love you, he thinks, climbing onto the chariot but doesn’t say. It’s already in the look he gives Achilles and the way Achilles’ squeezes his arm just a bit longer

“Be careful. Come back to me," he urges 

Patroclus nods. 

You could come with me, he thinks too, but doesn’t say this either. He can’t ask Achilles to put aside his pride more than he could demand him to learn how to fly. It is part of him, and Patroclus accepted that a long time ago. 

"Don’t worry.” He forces a smile, despite the shaking that is slowly taking over his limbs.. “I’ll be fine.”