are you mine[?]

.trois.

Patroclus grabbed his white blazer and put it over his shoulders. He looked in the mirror, dark blond hair curling around his face.

He clenched his fists, then he strode out of his room. He began to walk up to the throne room. When he arrived, the doors banged open and families stared at him in his white getup, completely different from his father's, six years prior. He walked through the hall, white shoes clapping against the stone and echoing. He knelt before the minister who laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Before you, people of New Troy, kneels your new king! Hail, Patroclus, son of Hector!"

"Hail, Patroclus, son of Hector!" the people repeated.

"My king," the minister said, voice resounding through the hall. "Is there anything you'd like to say before you're crowned?"

Patroclus hesitated, then nodded. The minister held out his hand and Patroclus took it to stand.

He turned to face his people. They were silent as they stared at him.

He took a deep breath. "My name is Patroclus," he said. "Before my father died, I told him that if we could not trust you, then we cannot trust our allies. I am only fourteen years old. I have no knowledge of how to lead, no ideas on how to fight against the Titans. I want to trust you and know you. My people, can we trust each other?"

Silence.

"My people, I need your support. I am not my predecessors. I am too young to know how to lead you. I need you to tell me."

The minister lifted the gold and silver laurel off of the red cushion. Patroclus bowed his head as it was placed on his head. His dark blond hair curled around his crown and he felt a power rushing through his veins. And suddenly, he knew why his father had become cruel.

Patroclus stepped up to his throne. He ran his fingers over the armrest, as though he had not sat upon it for the past month. And he sat. His father's ring was slid onto his right index finger and he ran his fingers over the stone.

He stared out over his people.

"I want to lead you well," he announced. "I want to be a shining ray to you in our dark city's kingdom."

The people began to clap. Patroclus managed a smile. The next day... his father's funeral would haunt him. But today? Today he would rejoice with his people.

}{}{}{

Patroclus knelt by a boy. He had fallen over. Patroclus helped the six-year-old to his feet and watched him run off with a sad smile.

His people had a long way to go. But he knew, he knew, that they would be able to do it. He had confidence in them. After all, they were New Troy. If Andromache could rebuild after her family and everyone she knew had died, then they could with everyone they knew all around them and a new king.

They would survive. They would thrive. They could bear the weight of the sky together.

Together.

}{}{}{

I know, it's short and I'm late. Kill me later.