One Last Time - Apollo and Anastasia

One Last Scream

I walked alongside my guilt, on the way to our camp on port. It was midnight, and at large, almost every soldier was either drinking wine, playing drunk or torturing the war prizes, thus I walked in the shadows, hoping I would not be seen by them. I felt the weight of the dead over my body, the hair of Patroclus flowing over my arm, and his body already cold. I had wrapped his gashed neck with a cloth, but his blood stained my armor. 

"Anastasia?" A familiar voice called out. I froze in fear, and looked behind to see Odysseus, in his night coat, flowing over his body. His hair was messy, which I guessed was because of sleep. Until now I didn't realize my tears had mixed with the blood of mine that stained my face, since Odysseus quickly retrieved Patroclus's body. His mouth fell, and he stared at the face of the fallen.

He looked at me dead in the eyes. "Achilles would have you killed no matter the fun you had with each other if he realized you killed him-"

My eyes widened in fear and I quickly spoke. "I swear on the Styx I did not! It was the Prince of Troy, Hector!"

Odysseus quickly bowed his head in apology and took Patroclus's body to the room where the dead were dressed for final rites. He looked at me and said, "Go inform Achilles about the death of his love."

My breath hitched on Odysseus's orders. I did know that he knew what he was doing, but me going to Achilles to inform about his death was as same as suiciding. I hesitantly nodded, bowed and walked towards his camp. The night was cold, and air kept slapping my face and the stray strands from my hair let me look tired. I stood infront of the sea, and slowly let out my breath. 

Ten years ago, my father had cast me into a cyclone, leaving my crew to perish while the Trojans escaped. I had changed since then—honed my skills in warfare, built strength, witnessed the bodies of forgotten soldiers. Yet here I was, haunted still.

I could fee; the sand stuck on my toes, and the water on my ankles as I called out for Achilles. I tried once again, and the blond finally walked out. He looked peaceful, his hair on his shoulders, in his night cloak as it dusted itself on the sand. His blue eyes shone in the night light, and his hands behind him.

Achilles smiled. "I suppose you're here for another game for wine? You're a brave one!" I looked down and figured that I could die here and now, or explain him about Patroclus's death.

"I come here with a message." I spoke. I figured my voice was deep, because Briseis walked out in a hurry.

His laughter faded as he stepped closer. "What does a general have to say that I would care about?"

I looked down as I started. "I had joined todays battle. As I fought amongst the crowd, I saw you. You were fighting with Hector, brave and strong. I smiled, thinking that you'd come to get back to Phithia safely back again. But suddenly, Hector cut your throat. I screamed as I ran forward. Your defense was always stronger than your strikes, so I crawled to your body. That's when I found out it was not you."

Achilles frowned. "What do you speak? I let Patroclus borrow my armor for a while for he wanted to train!"

I backed up and kneeled, something unusual in kingdoms, unless it was an apology. "Patroclus took your armor Achilles. He-He pretended he was you and joined the war, thinking your crew would follow him. He died."

Achilles stared at me for a long time. I almost felt that he had not heard me well. "Where is Patroclus?" He asked.

"I am sorry-" I was interrupted by a scream. It woke up everyone, as Briseis  shrieked in horror. He kicked my neck with a force that sent me crashing to the ground, gasping. I rolled around on the side while holding my neck, which I felt was already bruised by the impact. He screamed the name of Patroclus loud, and stomped my neck with his foot. I groaned loud, trying to push his foot away with all my might. Briseis had started crying begging him to stop. He kneeled down and choked me with both his hands. I panted, slapping his chest in reflex, managing to mutter his name and begging him to stop.