Chapter Text
The soldiers jumped in fear and kept backing away. Then, Agamemnon appeared in Achilles' eyesight and he backed away until his back hit the edge of the bed, his hand tightening his hold on Patroclus' arm.
Agamemnon sighed and ordered the warriors to get out of the tent by a gesture of his hand. Soon, the only people in the tent were Agamemnon, himself and the body of Patroclus. Achilles saw Agamemnon's eyes shift from Achilles to Patroclus and Achilles hardened his gaze.
"Get out." said Achilles, his eyes flaring, his voice cold, yet, he felt and heard the tiredness in it.
"You know you can't talk to me this way. No matter the circumstances." answered Agamemnon, his dark eyes landing back on Achilles, raising one of this eyebrows at him.
"What will you do? Kill me? Do it. Do it!" screamed Achilles, his voice filled with anger and pain, almost begging.
Agamemnon sighed again and crossed his arms in front his chest and stared down at Achilles.
"Unfortunately, for the sake of Troy, we need you."
"I am no hero no longer. I am no warrior." whispered Achilles, anger turning into helplessness, as he turned his back to Agamemnon, putting his chin on the bed where Patroclus' unmoving body laid.
"I don't want you to be the arrogant hero you used to be. I need you to kill Hector. It doesn't matter how you see yourself when you do it. People will still see a hero in you." replied Agamemnon, from behind him.
Achilles heard Agamemnon's feet moving and he looked up to see Agamemnon standing on the other side of the bed, looking down at him.
"I know you want to kill Hector. Now get up and do it." said Agamemnon, with authority, his lips set in a thin line as he glared down at Achilles.
Achilles looked away. Agamemnon rolled his eyes at him and Achilles wanted to wipe that annoyed glance from his eyes with his fists. Before he could say anything, Agamemnon spoke again.
"The others are complaining. Your… His body- he's starting to smell, Achilles. It's reeking in here. He needs to be cleaned up and burned."
As soon as Agamemnon's words were out, Achilles froze, and got closer to Patroclus' body, as if it was even possible. Agamemnon interrupted him before Achilles' refusal could be spoken out loud.
"The longer you keep him here, the longer he'll be stuck in the veil between the two of our worlds! Is that your selfish wish? To keep him trapped in the veil so he can see you mourning miserably? Get your mind back in place and do what you must to let him rest in peace!"
Agamemnon's words struck Achilles and he felt his breath catch in his throat. His eyes widen in horror and he looked up at Agamemnon, silent.
Agamemnon shook his head and breathed out deeply, moved his hand up and rubbed his forehead with his fingers.
"Look, just because your world stopped spinning doesn't mean ours did. Mourn and burn his body quickly so we can go back and win the bloody war which is still your duty. There are some fresh rags and a bowl of water next to the bed. Clean him up and bring his body out. We've prepared the pyre already. Just… Hurry up, would you? "
And without another word or another glance, Agamemnon left, walking out of his tent.
Achilles snatched his hands away from Patroclus' unmoving body, breathing rapidly, feeling his heart beat so fast, he thought it might leap out of his chest. A tight grip seized around his heart and he felt his breath stutter. He clenched his hands into fists, as he sat on the floor, staring in horror at his lover's dead body. It took him a few seconds before Agamemnon's voice ringed in his mind, making him flinch.
The longer you keep him here, the longer he'll be stuck in the veil between the two of our worlds!
Achilles felt a bile raise in his throat and he pushed it back down while he struggled to stand back on his feet, his eyes never parting from Patroclus' laying body.
Is that your selfish wish? To keep him trapped in the veil so he can see you mourning miserably?
Achilles shut his eyes off, digging his nails into his palms until he could shut off Agamemnon's voice from his head, and re-opened his eyes to stare at Patroclus' unmoving form on their bed.
Clenching his jaw, he turned away, a powerful and infinite feel of rage and hate toward himself took place in his heart. He let it consume him. He let his self-loathing took over him, almost choking on it, suffocating him from the inside. A part of him wished that this simple feeling of self-hatred would be enough to end his misery. But another part of him told himself that he deserved this heart-wrecking torment. He caused Patroclus' death. He sent his lover to his death. Achilles deserved this.
I deserve this. I deserve this. I deserve this. I deserve this.
He kept repeating this sentence to himself, hearing his own voice muttering those words to him, as he made his way to the side of the bed to find the rags and the bowl of water which were put on a wooden table. As he made his way back toward the bed where Patroclus was laying, he reached the point where he was muttering out loud those words, whispering them slowly yet steadily, to himself. He stopped in front of the bed, but he couldn't look at Patroclus. He kept his head low and his eyes down, staring at the wooden bowl filled with water in his hands, the fresh rags resting on his wrists. Soon, the clean water will be red and the white rags will be colored with Patroclus' blood. The blood he spilled. The blood of half of his soul. The blood he chose to sacrifice because he was filled with too much pride and anger. The blood of the most lovely and kindest man he had ever known.
The blood which was supposed to be his own.
When he looked up to finally look at Patroclus' body again, his heart throbbing with sorrow, cold, while he wished it would turn to stone, the voice in his mind wasn't his anymore. It was Patroclus'.
You deserve this. You deserve this. You deserve this. You deserve this.
You did this to me.
Achilles swallowed down the sob which threatened to come out of his throat and bite his lips. He blinked the tears back as he walked closer to the bed and slide down to the floor to sit on the ground.
He put the wooden bowl on the floor and the rags on the bed. He sat there, silent, as he stared at nothing in particular. His whole body felt numb and he could hear the sound of his heart cracking inside of him. As much as he tried to keep them inside, the tears fell down on his cheeks. He wiped them away with the back of his hands, angry at himself, knowing that keeping his pain inside was the torture he deserved for the death he had caused. He deserved more. But was there anything more painful than to live without the half of your soul?
He let out a breath, which clawed its way out of his throat, and he shuddered, feeling the physical effect of the deserving torture he was going through.
His numb finger closed around the rags and he washed them in the clean, cold water of the wooden bowl and squeeze them before bringing them close to Patroclus. Achilles' eyes fell on Patroclus' closed eyelids and he clenched one of the rags in his hand, the freezing water from the squeezed tissue falling on Patroclus' arm. The drop of water slipped from his arm onto the mattress and Achilles saw his own tear fall on his lover's cold arm.
"Do you remember when we used to swim in the lake near Chiron's cave?" asked Achilles, knowing that Patroclus wouldn't answer him, but hoping and wishing that he could.
He brought the tissue on Patroclus' arm and tried to wash away the dried blood on his lover's skin. It wasn't going away. Achilles swallowed and clenched the tissue tighter in his hand, and started to apply more pressure with it and started again.
''You hated swimming in the cold water during the winter. Chiron had to drag you away from his cave and push you toward the lake because you could spend days without cleaning yourself just because the water was cold.''
Achilles wanted Patroclus to look at him with exasperation, to shake in head fondly at him, to snort at him in amusement, to smile at him. Achilles looked up at Patroclus and all he saw was death. He inhaled sharply and shifted his attention back to cleaning the blood away. He couldn't feel his mouth move, his own voice sounded unfamiliar to him, as if it was one of a complete stranger. Maybe he was becoming one. He couldn't recognize himself. He hasn't been able to for quite a long time now.
The blood on Patroclus' skin wasn't going away.
A wave of anger and rage almost took over Achilles but he pushed them away, and let the pain, fear, desperation and heartbreak took over. It was the only thing he deserved to feel. He exhaled unsteadily and with shaking hands, he rubbed Patroclus' arm harder and faster, but with gentleness.
''When we were in the cold and freezing lake, you used to cling to me. You said … you said being close to me kept you warm, that it made you feel better. Alive. You wouldn't let me go.''
I'm sorry I let you go.
I'm sorry I pushed you away.
I'm sorry I couldn't keep you warm anymore.
I'm sorry I couldn't save you.
I'm sorry I couldn't keep you alive.
His pain and guilt washed over him like uncontrollable waves and he let them drown him, he let them pull him under, into the numb darkness. There was no light around him anymore. He better get used to the dark. It was all that was left for him.
''I'm sorry I couldn't find any warm water to clean you with. They- I didn't ask them. I should have asked them for warm water instead. I'm sorry.'' whispered Achilles, his eyes focused on Patroclus' bloody arm, not daring to look up and see his lifeless face.
Achilles missed the warmth he used to feel next to Patroclus, he missed the light which used to shine and enveloppe him whenever Achilles was loosing himself. He missed his smile. He missed him.
Without meaning to, his mind wandered to the moments he had spent with Patroclus, in his palace, in the cave with Chiron, in the tent, here, in Troy. He had felt grounded, all these years, next to Patroclus. Now, he was floating between life and death. He was suffocating, lost in sea, without his anchor. He was drowning. He was groundless. He just wanted to feel Patroclus' warmth again. Now, all he could feel from Patroclus was cold, emptiness and death. No light. No warmth. No life.
He let the darkness fill him, painting him black in all the places Patroclus had touched him with love and light, with kindness and warmth. The little bit of sanity and calm he had thanks to Patroclus vanished and the storm raged inside of him. He welcomed it.
More tears fell from Achille's eyes as the blood came off Patroclus' skin to taint the white rag in his hands. His vision clouded, one minute his fingers were holding the wet rags tainted with Patroclus' bood and the next second, his vision darkened and saw blood pouring out from Patroclus' wound on his arm, onto his own fingers. He felt the warm, red, hot blood of Patroclus' run down on his fingers.
He recoiled from Patroclus in fear. He felt the horrific scream leave his mouth before he even heard it. He flinched back and let go of the bloodied tissue, which fell on the ground and scrambled back, using his legs, shaking his hands widely in the air, trying to wash the blood away from his fingers.