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Chapter Text

4 times Patroclus was there in Achilles’ anger (and the one time he wasn’t) 

They sing of Achilles and his rage, his wrath. His temper, volatile like the sea which bore him. Languid waves kissing the sun can quickly become sharp crushing torrents in only a moment. 

Gods are capricious in their nature and their children are worse. 

Patroclus knew this better than anyone, how Achilles' emotions were a threshold.

 But he had not always.

I. When Patroclus had become Achilles therapon, Achilles himself remained  a mystery. 

Achilles’s temper, Patroclus would soon find out, was easily prompted, loud and often.

 —---------------

“What do you mean we cannot see Balius and Xanthus without being supervised?” Achilles yelled, stomping. With his golden hair, in the red hues of sunlight he seemed to be the living embodiment of fire itself. Phoenix exasperated, tried to find words to placate Achilles. 

“Those horses are divine and do not take kindly to mortals or strangers, Achilles.” He says gently. Wrong choice of words Patrolcus thought as he saw the flare of Achilles’ eyes.

“I have met them before! And they liked me just fine!” He juts his chin defiantly, while seeming a bit happy at his quick response. Patroclus resists the urge to smile 

“That was with your father. And besides I am supervising Patroclus since they have not met him before.”  Phoenix flashes him a quick look that says Go along with it.

Achilles mouth forms into an o shape and begins to argue but Patroclus stops him.

“Come now Achilles, I for one do not want to be bit by godlike horses and could use Phoenix’s guidance.” Patrolclus says with spirit as one would say an inside joke with a friend. 

“I would not have let them bite you.” Achilles huffs  but his shoulders slack, and he ponders the idea in his head. “Fine. But only for this. We don’t need a babysitter.”

Patroclus smiles and Phoenix leads them to the stables.

—------------------

Perhaps anger was the wrong word for that instance.

It was after Patrolcus’s meeting with Thetis, where he had truly seen his ire. Whereas before Achilles’ tantrums were just that, slights over being out of figs and other musings of a spoiled prince this event was something else entirely. 

Tucked into the gnarled roots of the old fig tree Patroclus held his hiccups and quickly wiped away the straying tears as Achilles stood over him. 

“She said that you will die soon.” Achilles said cooly and Patroclus spares a glance at him.

He stands, arms folded, perfect as always but there is an unfamiliar emotion strewn across his face. Embarrassment , Patrocus realizes, sees the flush of his cheeks but what is more unnerving is his anger. His lip twitches and his face scowls, his hands continuously clenching then clenching again. He is angry and embarrassed. 

Achilles seemed slightly older, his green eyes more inhuman and his face cruelly beautiful. At that moment he was no longer the boy of toothy smiles juggling figs with princely charms. Demigod the cool winds whispered against his ear. Godlike nature spoke, as all the ambience of critters froze in the eerie silence of his displeasure. He is unmistakably Thetis’s son.

Patrolus looks down again, holds himself tightly, the goddess was terrifying. Seven feet tall, towering over him, her inky black hair seemed to enclose him. His eyes still burned with salt, the sea air still choking him. He felt like a bug in her presence, finite and so small. 

“My mother  is wrong.”  Achilles says angrily but with such assertiveness that it scares Patroclus. His gaze intense and without a hint of doubt or consideration of his mothers words. Only pure venom at her words, at the idea of separation from Patroclus.

That was all Achilles had said and neither spoke of the situation again. 

—--------------

Months after Achilles had chosen Patroclus for his therapon, his cousin Ajax came to visit.  Ajax towered in height and was built like an ox. And he already had the beginning of leanness cutting away the roundness of childhood. He had shoulder length brownish black hair unlike Achilles golden curls. Despite this he had a sharpness to his face where Patrolucs could see his shared lineage with Achilles. 

Handsome , Patroclus thought, and he wondered how he would look when he grew older.

As they walked towards the beach Ajax recounted his fairings and Patrolus could not help but think there was an ease to Ajax’s words that made him likable. In court Patrolcus learned that one man’s words were never quite what he meant, but Ajax spoke of things how they were with a sense of straightforward honesty.  It was another shared characteristic of Achilles.

—------

Ajax laid upon the sand as they began building castles and digging moats. Achilles ran to pick up seashells near Ajax,muttering something about Patroclus needing some to use as their castle walls.  

Achilles crouches now, his hands softly hold a pink stained conch as if weary of breaking it. He tilts the shell at different angles to inspect it.

“I was quite surprised to hear you chose a therapon, cousin.” 

Sea green eyes meet him before dismissing him in favor of the shell, “How so?”

“You were so adamant about not having one before. Ajax imitates Achilles' voice then- which is just an obnoxious shrill - “What use is a companion who cannot match me in anything !” 

“I did not sound like that!” Achilles hisses.

Ajax remembers his last visit- how the foster boys would  follow Achilles presence like ducklings. Always praising and watching but never seeing him. Achilles shined in their attention, soaked it up like a sponge but despite it all there was still a loneliness to his cousin that saddened Ajax.

“You seem content.” Ajax muses. He wants to say calmer, less bratty but his better judgment advises not to. Last time he visited Achilles had wanted Ajax’s constant attention, piggyback rides and arm wrestles. Months ago he wouldn't have sat still for a minute like he was now.

Achilles is puzzled for a moment and opens his mouth for a quick retort but surprises both of them by the soft smile that follows, “I have found someone surprising.”

Chapter Text

1. Achilles would not consider himself an animal person. He walked past farm cats uninterested and sacrificed goats to gods with ease from a young age.

Dogs he liked playing with, they were competent hunters and he liked their swiftness. Occasional amusement, his  mind supplies.  But that was all they were to him. 

Patrolcus was not like him. When a dog was around he was bound to pet it. Bound to love it.

But there was one, especially one Patroclus loved . A sleek red thing, with long limbs and floppy ears. Anthos he called her. Flower 

—--

“Isn’t she pretty Achilles?” Patroclus asks, his fingers threading over the dog's silky ears.

“Yes.” He breathes, watching him. Laying  against the old fig  tree with Anthos’s head resting on his thighs, Achilles cannot help but compare Patroclus to a nymph.

As if reading his thoughts Anthos tilts her head at Achilles, 

—----

“Get him girl!” Patrolcus shouts as Anthos chases Achilles down the sun-kissed beaches of Phthia.

“A dog won’t best me in a race.” Achilles declares joyfully  as Patroclucs pours water for a panting Anthos later. 

“But she was getting awfully close, weren't you girl?” Patrolus coos in his puppy voice, resulting in Anthos bowing playfully and the eccentric wagging of her tail.

“She was not!” Achilles shouts in pretend anger and he crouches down to  fight her. In the end Anthos recedes and rolls over letting Achilles scratch her belly. 

—----

It was hot out that day Achlles remembered. He had met with his mother earlier and was striding through the sand dunes to return to the castle when he heard the scream. His body moved instantaneously. 

Patroclus' knees were the dirt, the grass staining his bronze legs. He holds Anthos fiercely and upclose Achilles can see that her hindlegs are crushed. 

“What happened here?” Achilles says, his eyes narrowing as they shift from Patroclus to the two men he notices, who cannot be much older than himself. 

“Prince Achilles” they say in unison, bowing.

One swallows before saying, “It was an accident! We were returning from the village and the dog ran close before we could steer the horse away.” 

Achilles frowns. Unfortunate. But there were many other dogs for Achilles and Patrolcus to play with. 

He opens his mouth to speak but the sound of sniffling stops him.

Cradling Anthos, Patroclus tenderly brushes the dirt off her fur, his eyes red and tears stream down his face. Achilles' heart clenches and Patrolus’s tears melt his apathy.  He suddenly feels helpless at the situation. 

It dawns on him that he and Patrcolus will not be able to play with Anthos anymore. That Anthos was  special and could not be replaced. 

The sadness at seeing Patroclus crying for Anthos twists into sharp sudden anger at the boys. 

“Are you not coordinated enough to not run over dogs when driving?” Achilles hisses, his hands itching to hit something.

Panic flashes through the two mens eyes. This is the princelings’ infamous temper they've heard of, the searing green eyes, his cruel face still perfect in its twisted scowl. Patroclus looks up from his grief, moves his sad doe eyes to the scene before him.

A quick breath then, “Fifteen lashings.” Achilles says icily. 

Patroclus stood up still clutching the dead dog, “Achilles.” His voice chides, still wanting to protect the men even in their wrong. But his crying is evident in the hoarseness of his plea and it only reinforces Achilles decision.

“Their rashness has killed a hunting dog. My dog.” He growls, his voice giving way at the last part, and he tries to hide it by wiping away the newly formed tears. 

Tears from what? Anthos dying? Patrolcus crying?   Achilles in all his divine and princely glory standing incompetent in the face of death?  Achilles couldn’t say.

Patrolcus’s eyes stare and opt around as if to find an answer to a question. His lips open to speak but nothing comes out. More tears stream from his eyes and he can only gape when he sees Achilles wiping his face vigorously then walking away.

—--------------

Long after Anthos was burned and the men lashed,  Helios  made way for nyx to mantle the sky with her darkness.

They are laying in Achilles' bed in silence. They have not spoken since dinner and even that was short remarks about food, neither breaching the subject of Anthos. Patrolcus' eyes are closed but Achilles knows he is still awake-can tell by his brisk intakes of breath.  

“I believe that dogs come with us to the afterlife.” Patrcolus says suddenly, softly as to not wake others, but with a strong conviction as if he were saying a fact and not a thought.

Achilles sits up, angling his face so that he can make out Patroclus’s character. The moonlight casts a pearly glow on his face and his doe eyes are filled with determination.

“Yeah?” Achilles asks and his head tilts to a side in his curiosity. 

“Dogs are loyal companions. I think they have souls in their own way. With every ounce of their body they love.” 

Achilles finds himself nodding in agreement, enthralled by Patrolcus’s words. 

“Anthos is in Hades then.” Achilles says softly and in the moonlight he can see both the smile and the tears in Patrolcus’s eyes.

“Yes.” Patroclus says, even softer.

Before Achilles falls into a deep slumber he absently notes that should someone die alone, their dog buried with them would accompany them to the afterlife.

It is a comforting thought.

Chapter Text

iii. 

“Mà tôn Día.  By Zeus!” He swears and Patroclus pauses from brushing Bailus who huffs in disapproval at the lack of pampering.

 Patrolcus had stayed with the council to help in the healers tent, then took the opportunity to clean Balius and Xanthus. Achilles’ huffing briefed Patroclus that the council did not go well. 

Achilles paces around and his hands swim  through his golden mane to calm himself. “That silver tongue snake Odysseus!  Kovalos. Parasite.” 

“What happened at the council?” Patrolcus hums. 

“That cur Odysseus did! Wants to take Troy by negotiations. We have made the soil soak red with Trojan blood yet he wants to negotiate with them to win the war.”

“Love, pay no mind about Odysseus-

“No Patroclus, this is my honor.  I’ve given them my life already! And no glory will come from Troy through treaties and negotiations. I will not die here for nothing!” He screams and the divine horses drop their nuzzles, bowing at their demigods' displeasure.

“Achilles!” This stops his pacing.

They have not  spoken  of Achilles’s death in a while. But it looms over them nonetheless and Achilles takes the moment to breathe in, his heart furiously pumping adrenaline and his body hot with anger.

Patroclus tentatively grabs Achilles hand, his thumb brushing over calluses formed from bloodshed.

Achilles lowers his head to rest on Patrlcluse’s neck and breathes in his scent. Lavender and honey he smells and crushed flora for medicine.

“Your Honor is not something that can be snatched away like spoils.  It is what you do.” Patrolcus says lovingly but the chastisement is there; like a mother scolding their mud ridden child but washing them  with affection nonetheless. 

Achilles takes in a deep huff and the smell of lavender and honey again embraces him.

“Odysseus and his treacherous schemes. He is a toad.” Achilles huffs into Patrolcus’s neck,  but there is unmistakably less venom in his tone. 

“Treacherous and snakelike I have heard before, but toad is new.” Patroclus says with a smile, trying but failing, to hold in a fit of laughter. 

His laughter is warm and melodious and any lingering annoyance Achilles had melts away at that joyous sound. 

“Are you unimpressed with my insults, love?” Achilles says smiling, his catlike playfulness becoming  apparent in the keenness in his eyes, and the all too knowing smile.

“No I’m sure anyone would be quite offended at being called a toad my Prince!” Patroclus laughs before Achilles crashes their lips together.

The fury and anger he felt moments ago had vanished,  it would undoubtedly come back but not here. Inside their shared tent Achilles no longer was a pawn to the gods, a weapon to the Greeks or a monster to the Trojans. 

He was simply a man.

And when the rage in due course came back from Gods’ cruelty and mens schemes, Patrolucs would be there to make him human again.