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There was a god on Phthia's throne. Nobody knew his name.
They called him the Beast. The Bloodthirsty. The monster of Phthia.
Patroclus knew the rumors by heart by now, how the god took the place of the previous king in a more or less peaceful way and ruled the Myrmidons with an iron fist.
He was a bloodthirsty and violent being, but whoever went to him could apply for asylum and make his reasons about him hearing.
If you wanted help, you had to pique his interest from him.
And Patroclus was desperate enough to try that too, despite the rumors.
He was a prince deposed in error, his father had died in shame. He had to reconquer the throne, to regain his honor and let his father's shadow rest in peace in his underworld.
Even at the cost of dealing with a monster.
"So, you are Prince Patroclus," the god king said, slouched on his throne.
"They call you a perjurer and a murderer. And yet, you are here."
"Only one of those things is true, and I've always had respect for the gods," Patroclus said, keeping his head down.
"Me too?"
"Especially you."
"Oh? Still, you mustn't have heard pleasant stories about me."
"Not even on the king of gods, yet I pray to him every day. Gods and humans have similar morals, your grace."
A little later he realized his mistake, and prepared to be flayed alive.
The god did an unexpected thing: he laughed.
"You have balls. It's rare these days. I like you."
His heart started beating again, but Patroclus didn't allow himself to relax. Not yet. The gods were capricious and powerful creatures. Now this strange god liked him, but who was to say he wouldn't change his mind?
He had to keep his guard up.
“You should raise your head.”
Patroclus licked his lips, "I don't think that's respectful."
“I'm not interested in pleasantries. I want to see the face of those who have come all the way here to ask for my help."
It wasn't a request. It was an order.
Even though he knew it was a bad idea, Patroclus complied. And he was shocked. Not literally, thankfully.
In front of him was the most beautiful being his eyes had ever laid on. It was not lawful for mortal eyes to rest on such beauty, and for a brief moment he feared that the god would deprive him of his sight. It was no silly concern: mortals who had looked at what they shouldn't have gone blind before. Or worse.
He had been told to keep his gaze down before entering. He now he understood why. Such a sight could lead to a man's damnation or blessing.
"Well? Have you nothing to say?” the god provoked him. He knew what he was doing to Patroclus. He had to know. No god was unaware of what he looked like.
“Do you want to take away my sight?”
One day Patroclus will regain his mental faculties, but this was not the day.
The god laughed, “Why should I do that? You have beautiful eyes, Prince Patroclus."
“Only Patroclus. I'm not a prince."
Not anymore, not since his cousin accused him of murder and impiety and forced him into exile. Patroclus had killed a man of his age, but it had been an accident. Nobody had believed him. How could a boy almost a man be so sloppy with his weapons?
But it had been an accident, the teen had suddenly come out and when Patroclus had seen him, it was too late.
The accusation of impiety was a touch of genius from his cousin: if he, too, had still had supporters, they would have preferred not to associate their names with someone who mocked the gods.
You could have killed a family member, a guest, even your own mother, and you would have been forgiven.
But to insult the gods? No, cursed forever.
He had tried to be purified by another king, but he had not been received by anyone.
They are preparing for war, he had been told.
They don't have time for you.
War was a convenient excuse, but if that had been the reason, he would now be on an Achaean ship bound for Troy.
No one had summoned him, although his father had sworn in his name when Helena chose Menelaus.
Nobody wanted an impious.
"You are a prince," the god said confidently.
"Who cares what you're called? You're a prince, and your cousin can't take it away from you. That's what you are."
Patroclus blinked in surprise, "How do you know…"
"Rumors are flying around, Prince Patroclus. Even in my kingdom. Although I must say that you have someone who has taken a great interest in you."
"Who?"
"One of my aunts. Who happens to be married to the god of the sea."
"Oh…"
The blond god continued, "She saw you during your exile and felt sorry for her. She saw you weeping on the beach, asking the gods for a sign."
Patroclus blushed, embarrassed that anyone had witnessed a moment of weakness in his.
Exile was a very sad thing especially when no one wanted to welcome you. Before, there was his father as a companion in misfortune, but Menoetius was dead, from age and from shame.
Patroclus had to regain his honor. He had to be cleansed of his crime, and come home to take back what was of him.
Only then will his father's soul have peace in Hades, and he will be able to rest.
"I didn't think anyone was there."
"I guess you were lucky," he told him, smiling.
There was something sinister in his smile as he added, "Your cousin is about to leave for Troy. It would be a shame if his ship sank before we get to Asia. What a sad, inglorious death."
"Very sad," he agreed, his gaze fixed on the god's lips.
"And without a direct heir, the throne would revert to you."
"So will you purify me?"
"Sure. But on one condition," he said, holding up a finger.
"What condition?"
"I will purify you, but you will have to serve me for ten years."
His breath caught in his throat, "Ten years? But…"
"Do you want more?"
"No! I meant…what if someone takes the throne while I'm here?"
"That won't happen. I'll make sure of it."
He saw her eyes light up with a tremendous red light. Many would tremble at that sight. But Patroclus felt something else stirring in his gut, an excitement he couldn't explain.
"Why do you need a mortal servant?"
"So many questions, prince…well, I'll tell you. I'm bored. I can't even go to Troy because I wasn't invited. Agamemnon even sent a messenger to say that I was exempt from my father's oath because it's a war of men, not gods."
He laughed as if it was a bad joke, "War of men, do you believe it? That idiot thinks the gods will stand by. He is dumber than his father."
Patroclus knew the story of Atreus, and agreed with the god.
All Atreus' misfortunes were his fault, and his alone.
The god continued, “With the most powerful kings of Greece out of the way, there will be chaos. Many will pray for divine intervention. And I will intervene.”
"And the others?"
"They'll be too busy. It will be the perfect opportunity for me to be known. People will build temples to me, and I won't be just another nameless minor god."
Patroclus would not have called him a minor god, since he was quite feared, even by Agamemnon. But what did he know of divine affairs?
"I still don't understand why you need me."
"I don't need you. But they say that a solo quest is very boring. Besides, don't you want your fame to be known to all the Achaeans for something other than homicide?"
It was true. Patroclus was raised to be a warrior, to bring glory to his father's house.
He hadn't had a chance to do it, and no one trusted a known impious man to protect him.
It was the opportunity he wanted to honor himself and his father. He would have been crazy to refuse.
Ten years was a long time, but he will endure. Besides, he would spend them with a more beautiful god than Apollo himself.
It was almost a blessing.
"So?" the god pressed him.
"Do you accept?"
"I accept."
It seemed to him that the god lit up at his answer.
"Good, Prince Patroclus. From today and for the next ten years, you belong to the god Achilles."
"I'm yours," he said, with a fervor he hadn't expected.
"As long as you want me, I will serve you."
Neither of them expected that addition, and for a moment, she saw him blush. Oh, what a captivating sight.