Cassandra and Apollo

Chapter 17

"Are you sure about this, agape mou?"

My love. Achilles is fierce in battle, but tender in these moments of peace. At first, Patroclus was embarrassed by the warrior's attentions; now, he collects such endearments as prized jewels.

They are stretched out on the ground, lying on blankets and furs that have served as a makeshift bed for the past ten years. Patroclus traces the strong line of Achilles's jaw with his index.

"About what? Being you for a day?" he smiles back impishly. For a moment, he looks every bit as young as he is.

"Not at all, it sounds dreadful!" he laughs, replacing his finger with his lips.

Achilles sighs and closes his eyes. Gathering his wits, he takes Patroclus's shoulder and gently pushes him away.

"I'm serious," he says, a thin line forming between his straight, dark brows. "There is great danger in this."

Patroclus waves one hand. "I know it. I haven't been sewing sails the past ten years, but skin and flesh!"

"Then why do you agree to do this?"

Patroclus's carefree smile fades.

"Do you swear not to judge me harshly if I speak the truth?"

Achilles takes his hand, kisses the inside of his wrist.

"When have I ever judged you?"

Patroclus leans back on the blankets, cushioning his head on one arm.

"You have not, but others have."

"Who?" scowls Achilles.

Patroclus cannot help but smile at this. Achilles the protector, guarding his love from an unkind word.

"Never you mind," he answers, folding Achilles over his chest.

For a moment, the quiet wraps around them, like another blanket.

Achilles, ever restless, breaks the silence first. "You have not answered. Why do you fight in my stead?"

Patroclus debates whether an artful lie would be preferable to the petty truth. But, he has never lied to Achilles, not as boys, and certainly not as men.

"I wish to forge my own legacy," he says mildly.

Achilles raises his head.

"You are a healer, that is legacy enough."

Patroclus knows he means it, but Achilles always set lower expectations for him. In their world, it is the women who create and repair, men's worth is measured by the value of what they break.

"I want a legacy worthy of..." Patroclus hesitates, these are words he cannot take back.

"Worthy of what, my love?"

"...of you," he blurts. It is the rock that breaks the dam. He does not let Achilles ask the question on his lips.

"You are godborn Achilles, unmatched fighter and Best of the Greeks. Your name will live for a thousand generations, while mine... what will become of mine? Will I even be remembered as the object of your affections?"

"Of course!"

Patroclus knows Achilles means this as a comfort, but it is not.

"Even so, dear one. I would be the moon to your sun. And if I'm to do that, I need deeds worthy of your glory."

Achilles makes a skeptical face, one Patroclus is very familiar with by now.

"You need nothing of the sort, I would—"