The Heir of a Thousand Lifetimes (A PJO Universe Story)

Hey, do you remember your legendary death?

It's getting late as Cassius walks me to my cabin. His jacket is draped over my shoulders to stave off the chilly evening air, and I'm practically hugging his arm as we walk.

"Tomorrow's it, then," I say quietly. He nods.

"It is. Our last day before the quest," he murmurs. His tone is somber.

"Would you...do you think you could spend the night?" I ask him. My voice shakes despite my best efforts. "We could, I don't know, read the Iliad more, maybe?"

Cassius looks down at me, and his gaze is soft. He smiles ever so slightly.

"You'll protect me from the harpies?" he asks teasingly. I crack a smile.

"I'd smite them all if I had to," I promise him. I tilt my head. "But, somehow, I don't think you'll need me to. You're plenty strong on your own."

He grins, and I hug his arm tighter as we walk. We reach my cabin, and I glance around to make sure we aren't being watched before I pull him inside. I give the massive statue of Zeus a glare. Even with it covered, its sheer existence is irritating. Any reminder of him pisses me off.

"C'mon," I say, leading Cas over to my alcove.

We get comfortable on my little cot, and Cas tucks the blankets around us. He picks up the Iliad, and he flips to where the bookmark is. He's silent for a moment.

"What is it?" I ask curiously. He coughs.

"It's, well-" he cuts himself off abruptly before shaking his head. "You'll see." Cas clears his thread. "Alright then. Book Sixteen."

He begins to read, and dread washes over me as he does. I realize very quickly what is about to happen.

The greatest regret of all my days, Achilles whispers mournfully.

He reads of Patroclus' tears at the deaths and injuries of the best of the Greek men. He reads of Patroclus' anger at Achilles' indignation and inaction. Harsh words are spoken, sharp as the stones of the sea from which Achilles was born. He has Achilles was no god at all. He was but a pitiless man, made of nothing useless valor and a heart of granite.

Words as cold as the winter sea, but true all the same, Achilles laments. His pain reverberates in my chest. It stabs me and blooms from my ribcage. I did nothing, so he did what I would not. They call me the greatest of the Achaeans, but it is he that truly is.

I cannot breathe as Cas' words fade, his retelling of Patroclus' and Achilles' fateful argument blurring into the background as I am suddenly brought to another time. I am in a war tent, and I am breathing heavy with fury and rage as I glare into the too-familiar whiskey eyes I have grown to love in every lifetime. His face is stained with tears and blood, and his chestnut hair is messy and longer than I have seen it in any other vision.

"If you are so deterred by the prophecy, if you so fear the words of Zeus relayed by your mother, then give me leave to take the field of battle," he says insistently, and his words are like acid. "I shall lead the Myrmidons if you will not. I shall bring hope to the Greeks where you will not. Grant me use of your armor, for the Trojans will believe I am you, and I will bring hope to our men if they believe you have returned to battle."

I glare sharply at him. I scoff.

"I fear no prophecy. I know of no such words."

Denial, denial. I am lying to myself and to him. We both know it.

"Take the armor. Win glory for me." I turn my head away, and he starts to leave.

"Patroclus." He stops. "Apollo. He will come for you if you try to take the city. He favors the Trojans. If you fight Hector, you fight Apollo." I clear my throat. It does not help me swallow my pride. "Do not allow the sun to blind you."

For all the anger I know he feels toward me in this moment, he offers a smirk. It is proud and strong and radiant. In this moment and every other, he is as beautiful as any god.

"I could never be blinded."

I'm shaking when my sight clears. I just bore witness to their last meeting.

And now, you have seen what has haunted me all my endless life, he mutters bitterly in my head. He is always there. Always reminding me how I could have done better in those final moments. If only I had gone with him, or not permitted him to go...

The welled-up tears in my eyes cloud my vision as I whisper, just under my breath, "I'm so sorry."

I can barely listen to Cas as he reads the rest of the book. I am still stuck in that final moment, the image of Patroclus' face through Achilles' eyes stained in my mind. I cannot help but imagine how I would feel if that had been Cassius. We just met, but...it would tear me apart to never be able to say a proper goodbye. To leave everything at a fight.

My gods, I think, my heart in my throat.

Cas' voice stutters suddenly, and I realize why. It is the part of the book when Patroclus goes to battle. I freeze, and my fingers grasp at his shirt. It occurs to me, though, how traumatic it must be for Cas to essentially be reading about his own death.

"Do you remember it?" I ask softly when he pauses to take a few breaths. I wince as soon as the question leaves my mouth. It sounds insensitive. Hey, do you remember your legendary death? You know, the one people have written songs and books and movies about? The one girls sob over? Yeah, that one!

Oh my god. I'm an idiot.

"In fragments," he says quietly. He runs his fingers through my hair. "It comes in dreams, mainly." He pauses. "I...I don't think I'm supposed to remember, actually.

"But since it's, y'know, Patroclus, and all, I think they- whoever they are- just kind of locked away the memories and are slowly releasing them." He reaches for my pendant and fiddles with it. He rubs his thumb over it, time and time again. "It only started happening a few days ago, after we met."

I nod in understanding. "That makes sense," I say. I look up at him. "Maybe we should stop reading for tonight. Before we get to...that part."

He nods shakily. "Probably for the best. Not a great pre-quest omen."

"No," I agree in a whisper. "So tell me about something happy then."

"Something happy?" he asks in a laugh. "Like what?"

"I don't know. How about your family?" I suggest. "Do you have any happy family memories?"

He thinks for a moment. "Not really at camp. I'm not very close with any of my half-siblings here. But I like my family back home. I try to visit every now and then, see my grandparents and cousins."

"What are they like?" I ask curiously. I look up at him, interested.

"Well," he shifts a little, making himself more comfortable, "my grandparents are really great, actually. They're both Greek, from an island called Karpathos. They got married at fourteen."

"Fourteen?" I choke, my eyes wide in shock. He shrugs.

"That's how it was in the old country," he shrugs. "Yiayia's father was abusive. So Pappou married her to take her away from that. Convinced everyone she was pregnant, and they came here when they were seventeen so he could work in the mines."

"And they're still married?" I ask, amazed.

"Well," Cas laughs, "divorce isn't really a thing in traditional families. But yes. They had seven children, including my dad. And they all had plenty of kids. I don't know my half-siblings very well, but when I see them, we get along fine. I prefer my cousins who are about my age."

"Understandable," I nod. "Have you been to Greece then? Ever?"

He shakes his head. "No. Mom always said it was too dangerous. That I'd go when it was time. Guess it's time now."

I reach for his hand, and he intertwines our fingers. "Maybe we could go to your island when everything is said and done? You could show me where your family comes from? If you wanted."

I watch a beautiful smile light up his face, and it is terrifying how much, for a breath of a moment, he looks like his past life for just a heartbeat. But I don't let the thought linger, and I only appreciate the beauty of his joy.

"I would love that."