The Song of Patroclus

Chapter 2

I was summoned to the king. I remember hating this. For these past few weeks, the only thing on father's mind seemed to be my choosing a companion. I saw no benefit in it. Although my father had a reputation of taking exiles under his wing, there were but little of them I'd like to make my companion.

They saw me only as a way to rise through the ranks, to rid of the stain tainting their reputation once and for all.

That was not what a companion was for.

They were friends, they were those who'd stand beside you as the world burned.

Unfortunately, I had met none of the sort. Therefore, claiming a companion seemed unnecessary.

I entered the court, and knelt before the throne. My father Peleus sat greatly, power seeping from him and his throne.

"You may stand." I did so. "Achilles, I am sure you were informed of the recent news of Sparta?" My father's voice was smooth, but with an edge of impatience.

I certainly was not. I look up, not giving away that I was clueless to anyone but the king.

"King Tyndareus' daughter is finally ready for marriage," came the words.

Gods, why could this not have been about my companion? He coughed at the uncomfortable silence.

"Princess Helen would be a suitable wife for you," This was a plead.

Helen was rumoured to be the most beautiful in all the land, born to Leda and Zeus himself, they had said. Men of all our countries had been holding their breath until the day she was finally to belong to one of them, although I had not been one of them.

Such things meant nothing to me.

My father cleared his throat. He was waiting for an answer.

"Father, there will be much time for such affairs in the coming years," Lie. And my father seemed to know to.

His expression becomes grim, but he curtly nods. I will not do this, and he cannot make me.

"I understand, Achilles, but people will talk. How will you defend yourself?" He challenged.

He has asked me this countless times before, and it has never once worked.

"I do not need to defend my decisions to anyone," I answered again. It's comedic how he still holds out hope this tactic will work. He smiles at yet another defeat.

"Let me know if you change your mind," He waves his hand to dismiss me. I bow my head and walk out.

I will never tell my father, but I know such things will never matter to me. There will always be an excuse, a reason to delay it as long as I can. I cannot tell him, or myself, why.

I walk to my lyre lessons, slightly jogging as I was already late due to meeting with my father. I open the door, and Agnes still isn't there. Obviously. He is only my music teacher, why would he need to be at my music lessons?

Rather than waiting, I open the box and grab the lyre. It is simple, but beautiful. It looked almost like other lyres, but the painted white wood shone in a way other instruments did not.

I had been playing for the gods know how long before Agnes finally burst through the door.

A self-proclaimed brute, I originally was surprised he wasn't leading our armies into battle. Turns out, he had tried, and had realized he wasn't nearly as good at it as a man of his size should be, and had instead decided to teach music, far, far away from the battlefield.

I put the lyre down. "Hello Agnes," I say. He grunts a greeting in response as he pulls up a chair to sit in front of me.

"Let's start, shall we?" He asked as my hand went to the lyre. I ignore the urge to point out I had started playing when the class begun.

I start playing, a song taught to me not by Agnes, but by street performers. It consisted of the lyre and the voice, to sing of Athena's glory and greatness. I started singing too. Agnes was no singer, voice rough and scratchy from the two years he spent trying to be something he was not. He was gentle only with instruments and nothing else.

Agnes' fingers moved in harmony with mine, although he was not holding his lyre. His eyes were closed and his fingers were moving through the air quietly.

After I had finished, he had breathed out a sigh and asked me to play another.

It went like this for an hour, me playing and singing, him playing in his mind and sometimes humming, and ever so rarely correcting me for a note or a lyric.

After I had finished the last song, he give me the slightest of smiles, one you wouldn't notice unless you had learnt to read his expressions. However, it disappeared as soon as it came, and he quickly dismissed me.

After music lessons, I was to practice drills, alone, without anyone's assistance. My father worried of what could happen if people found out about my gift before it was necessary. As far as anyone else was concerned, I had god blood flowing through my veins, and it did nothing but give me high status. I was but a child, and he wanted me to have a normal childhood. Well, as normal a childhood a royal demigod could have.

Since there was no one to know if I went to my drills, I decided not to.

Mortal practice does little for god-given gifts.

Instead I went back to my room, located much west of the music room.

I remember falling on my bed, and seeing the leather balls stacked cleanly in a corner. I remember practicing juggling, and every worry disappearing as the flying balls took my focus. There was something special about juggling, this I had always known.

The next few days were more of the same. Waking up to scathing sun, training, lunch with the exiles, music lessons, sometimes meeting my mother, training again, and talking in my father's court until the time came to sleep.

My childhood was mostly a blur, routine was followed obsessively and there was no reason to remember it.

My life had not yet begun.