Last Notes of a Symphony || Song of Achilles Oneshots

1- the Last Notes of a Symphony

Stream of consciousness from Patroclus' POV, in the infinitesimal flicker of time between death and his life.

-'Somehow, someday, we will be us again. Not the army's, not the Gods' plaything and not some puppet of the fates. We will be Patroclus and Achilles. Silver and gold. Dark and light. Sun and shadows. The best of the Greeks.

My last thought before I lose my footing is:

Achilles.'-

***

I am slipping away. To that infinitesimal crack between worlds; the slip of time between one beat of a tiny wing and the next; the silence between the last notes of a symphony.

Shining threads of my being cling frantically to that golden realm called Life- as a drowning man clings to his life raft; as a hero clings to their pride and a lover clings to their love.

My love...

Achilles.

His name is like a siren in the shadows of my mind.

Who knew that one word, one name, one person, could become the bearer of such infinite, infinite love? 

All my memories, all my hopes and dreams for the two of us crash upon me, as the waves broke onto that blessed beach where the fantasies of my youthful self finally crossed into reality. I still know the pressure of those lips on mine, the silk of that hair and every curve and hollow of his face, cupped in the warm embrace of my hands. 

My skin against his, and his against mine.

I knew him like I knew my own soul- a map of his own is printed on the insides of my eyelids, on the backs of my hands. Still I know all this, even as my own past is fading- fleeing from the grasping hands of my memory like sand running through my fingers, the grains scraping the soft skin of my palms and trickling away the last seconds in the hourglass. My last moments. And in my last moments, I am thinking of him.

A shard comes through, fractured as a shattered glass- an image. The curve of my fingers, wrapping around the hilt of a spear. The leather is sticky with sweat and blood, but I do not feel it. I feel only... and it slips away. If I still had lips, I would cry out. In fiery anguish or ocean sadness, I do not know.

More memories come now- fragments of days and nights long gone, whispers of speech and snatches of bright laughter. I reach for them, groping and clumsy, but they drift out on the retreating tide, leaving me with only fleeting impressions.

'Catch'.

'Swear it.' 'I swear it.'

And then one memory shines brighter than the others.

We were sitting under the beaming summer sun, the grass damp with dew beneath my skin. We were staring up at the sky; cornflower blue in its shining joy. The faint hum of flies filled the air around us, and Achilles swatted away at them absently. He hit them each time- even back then, he had always been extraordinary. But back then, he had been my extraordinary. Mine. Not the army's, not the Gods' plaything and not some puppet of the fates.

He was talking, his voice like the warm breeze whispering through the trees behind us. And then he turned to me.
'Name one hero who was happy.' My brow creased as I considered it. 'You can't.' His lips turned down in a slight frown, a hint of a crack in that perfect face. I loved it, as I loved all parts of him- even the torn and broken ones.
'I can't.' I repeated. Now, a smile tugged at his face. I loved it when I made him smile.
'I'll tell you a secret.' Achilles leaned forwards, and the sun tangled in his hair. I reached out absently to touch it as I replied.
'Tell me.'
'I'm going to be the first.'

Oh, Achilles. If only we had known what would come to pass. He had made me swear it- that he would be happy. I should never have agreed to- perhaps I was some sort of curse upon him, for now he never would be.

I felt it from somewhere within me, felt the crash of sorrow and shadows upon the string inside of my heart that bound me to him, body and soul. I wished he would not weep. I wanted to think of his smile, his golden, shining laugh, one last time, before I stumbled in the impenetrable darkness and fell. Down, down, to the black palace of Hades. And I would wait for him there, and I knew he would find me, and I would find him, because we were entwined together. He was me, and I was him. There could not be one without the other. Even if Gods kept us apart, we would find our way back to each other.

Somehow, someday, we will be us again. Not the army's, not the Gods' plaything and not some puppet of the fates. We will be Patroclus and Achilles. Silver and gold. Dark and light. Sun and shadows. The best of the Greeks.

My last thought before I lose my footing is:

Achilles.