Log in

No account? Create an account
09 December 2008 @ 04:32 pm
In All but Blood, ch 30  

Title: In all but Blood
Rating: PG-13, for now
Summary: When Patroclus accidentally kills a friend in an argument, he and his father are forced to flee to Phthia, where the queen is said to be a goddess and he's asked to look after her tiny son, unknowing that a series of events has been put into play that will change the world forever.

Achilles was learning how to avoid drinking too much at supper. When he was in Skyros, the women simply didn't have the chance. The wine was heavily water, and there was no pressure to drink it. Men would sit up late afterward, sometimes until dawn, and there always seemed to be more wine. Still, Achilles was determined to make Patroclus love him, and getting drunk was obviously the wrong way.


Not that he hadn't been getting attention otherwise. Some of the young men who were attempting to court him were more obvious than others. One had even tried to kiss him. Achilles had declined them with the same amount of respect each gave him.


He watched across the room as some lovely youth flirted with Patroclus. Patroclus himself was taking it well; he was stretched out on his couch, reclined and resting his head on his hand. His face was flushed, and he laughed at whatever his companion was saying. The youth leaned closer, and Achilles wanted to go over to them and punch him. He knew, though, that it would only make him look the fool.


Patroclus locked eyes with Achilles, and his smile softened into something much more suggestive. It was barely for a moment, though, and Achilles almost wondered if he had imagined it. Patroclus was back to talking to the youth, who had noticed that Patroclus had looked past him and was somewhat deflated. That look, though, had served to strengthen his resolve on a decision he made earlier that day.


He glanced at his father, whose couch he was sharing. Peleus gave a small encouraging smile. It was for Achilles to announce. Achilles got to his feet.


“Hey!” he yelled, then realized it wasn't the most tactful way to get people's attention. There was dead silence as everyone turned to lookat him. Achilles felt his face grow hot. “Um...” Once again, he felt stupid. “I know that I've been putting off making any sort of decision about this, and I apologize. But I've decided that, although it's not really our fight, we're going to Troy.”


There was a deep silence for a few moments, and Achilles shifted awkwardly. Then someone laughed, and all of a sudden everyone was talking at once. At first Achilles wondered whether he was being made fun of, but realized that a good number were looking very excited. He looked at Patroclus, who only met his eyes, smiling happily. Then the youth sitting next to him took his attention back. Achilles' mood sank as fast as it had lightened, and he sat back down.


He stared despondently into space. He realized he was being spoken to, and forced a smile onto his face. After some time he excused himself, not sure how much longer he could keep it up. He didn't know where he wanted to go, and simply ended up in his rooms, where he lay down in the dark.


He knew he was being silly and unfair. Patroclus had the right to talk to anyone he wanted to, and would probably be angry if he told him how he felt. But the thought of someone else monopolizing his attention so easily made him feel almost sick with jealousy. Achilles realized that he had been thinking of Patroclus as being his, even though he had already been turned down once. Part of him was afraid that if he pushed too hard, he'd drive off the one person he felt he couldn't live without.


At the moment the conflicting feelings just made him exhausted. Despite everyone's excitement at the idea of going to war, including his own, he thought he could just lay there and never get up again.




Patroclus left dinner a little after midnight. In a way he felt responsible for having brought the war to Phthia in the first place, and it didn't seem right to sneak out early. At some point, he had noticed that Achilles was gone. Though he had tried to brush it off, he knew that something had happened to make Achilles upset.


There was no anser when he went to Achilles' room, and when he peered in he saw Achilles laying on his bed, still fully dressed. He went to sit on the bed next to him and ran a hand over Achilles' hair. He didn't wake up. Patroclus unstrapped Achilles' sandals and took them off. He took his own off and lay down on the bed on his side.


“I'd love some advice,” he whispered. “How do you sleep so well, as if everything is fine, even when you know it isn't. 'Course, you've always been like that, haven't you? Why won't you talk to me about it? You used to insist on telling me everything, even stuff that I didn't need to hear. I used to get too much information, but now you don't give me any. I preferred it that way.” Patroclus gave a heavy sigh and Achilles continued sleeping as heavily as before. “You know, you're supposed to be our great leader and all, and yet you're not alert enough to tell when someone comes in your room in the middle of the night.”


Carefully, he scooted closer and rested a hand on Achilles' waist, then wondered if he was being too indulgent. Still he didn't move it. They had been dancing around each other for weeks. At first Patroclus had been upset by his desire; the last time they had seen each other, Achilles had been nine years old, and when he returned he was suddenly grown up, and quite possibly the most beautiful person he had ever seen. It didn't seem right, and now it felt too right.

I hate you, Medeus. You were right,” he whispered. Then, “Thank you...”

Notes: I don't know what to say about this one. I didn't even know what to call it.

Oh, one think I can say though: Both Achilles and Patroclus seem to be ruled by their emotions. It seems that while when Patroclus is upset he wouldn't be able to sleep, Achilles would get so worked up that he'd run out of energy so effectively that he'd completely conk out.

Now I really am going to make y'all wait till Christmas.

Thirty-one: A Turn