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He had not meant to eavesdrop, truly. He had only been looking for Patroclus, knowing he’d be with Briseis in her tent.
He was about to make his presence known when he’d heard his name being mentioned. Of course, he wasn’t immune to the pull of curiosity, so he’d backed away from the tent’s entrance and had ducked out of sight.
He’s grateful now for his superior hearing (as a demi-god he does have certain perks) as he is able to follow the conversation happening inside without too much strain.
“The men… They are angry with Achilles. They blame him for their losses. Agamemnon sends his people among them to stir up talk. They have almost forgotten about the plague. The longer he does not fight, the more they will hate him.”
He’d be angry at Agamemnon’s actions but what Briseis said echoes in his ears. The men hate him? Surely that can’t be true! They must know that it is because of their pompous leader’s actions that they are in this predicament. Yet they blame him! Him who won all their battles and defended them against Hector’s troops. If he weren’t already refusing to take up arms, he would have shown those ungrateful—
“Will he not fight?”
“Not until Agamemnon apologizes.” He can hear the disappointment in his beloved’s voice.
It saddens him so to know that he has let Patroclus down, but his philtatos must realize that all he has left now is his honor.
All these years of sacrifice would have been for naught if he let scum like Agamemnon walk all over him and sully his name.
A moment passes in total silence.
“I’ve lost him” he hears Patroclus sob and his heart aches in his chest, practically screaming at him to go and comfort the other half of his soul.
It takes all of his strength not to move, listening as his love sheds tears, and knowing he is the cause only worsens his sorrow.
“I— I don’t even recognize him anymore” at that he frowns. Patroclus’ voice is small and pained, as if talking is physically hurting him.
“Every time he says how pleased he is that our men are suffering at the hands of the Trojans, every time I look into those cold eyes… I can almost feel my heart cracking inside my chest” Patroclus sniffs, sobbing even louder.
“His glory is all that matters to him now. I was foolish to believe that my love would be enough for him, that I would be enough” and Achilles wants to shout that he is enough— even more than what he deserves.
The worst thing is that Patroclus actually believes what he is saying, he can hear it in his voice and he can tell from the way his love sobs freely.
“From what I’ve seen of you two, it’s pretty obvious he loves you more than anything, Patroclus” he hears Briseis say gently and perhaps for the first time he is grateful that his love has a friend like her (even if she’s in love with him).
“But he’d still see his pride to the end before me! He came to Troy for glory, knowing he’d die young. I could not fault him for that, he didn’t have a choice back then.
But now, even though he has a choice, he’s still choosing his glory— nay, his pride— over the love we share!” and Achilles feels as if he has been slapped across the face.
His philtatos’ words sting, but not as much as the shame he feels for having dishonored their love.
A few minutes pass and the only thing he can hear is his Patroclus crying as Briseis tries to comfort him.
His chest feels hollow. His beloved’s words echo in his mind. Had he really lost himself so much in his need for vengeance that he had made Patroclus feel like he couldn’t talk to him about how he truly felt?
(Evidently so, since he was confessing to Briseis.)
But, most importantly, now that he knows how Patroclus really feels, what will he do? Achilles knows his love and Briseis speak the truth, but he can’t have Agamemnon thinking that he may always do as he pleases without facing the consequences.
The men… They are angry with Achilles. They blame him for their losses
He would need to find another way to make that arrogant brute pay… perhaps it would be best that his men returned to the battlefield.
That could better the situation: with the Myrmidons’ help the Greeks would certainly fare better in their battles, and the men would stop cursing his name; he could still refuse to fight, showing Agamemnon he is still angry with him, and also, more importantly, gaining the time he needs to mend his philtatos’ broken heart.
That is all that really matters.
That is his priority.
All the other things, they are secondary.
He hears voices and realizes that Briseis and Patroclus have resumed speaking.
He is pleased to hear that his beloved sounds a bit better, but he is also aware of the fact that he cannot let those destructive thoughts fester in Patroclus’ mind any longer. He needs reassurance, and that is exactly what Achilles will give him.
All the reassurance and care and happiness and love. This and this and this.
Everything he is capable of giving, he will give.
He’d do anything for his Patroclus, and it is high time he proved it.
He hears his name being mentioned again and this time he tunes the conversation in.
“The Trojans, they will kill him if they can tomorrow, and all who are dear to him. You must be careful.”
Oh. Right… the Trojans are at the gates. He’d thought he had more time. If it came to it, he’d fight for Patroclus, and Patroclus only.
He barely manages to suppress a growl at the thought of someone even harming his philtatos.
(He does realize how hypocritical that sounds, but he’d never intentionally hurt Patroclus, especially not with weapons.)
“He will protect me.”
‘Damn right I will’ he thinks. He’ll tear to pieces anyone who even tries to come near him.
“I know he will, as long as he lives. But even Achilles may not be able to fight Hector and Sarpedon both” he frowns at Briseis’ words.
Patroclus doesn’t answer.
“If the camp falls, I will claim you as my husband. It may help some. You must not speak of what you were to him, though. It would be a death sentence.”
Part of him burns with jealousy at the thought of Briseis basically trying to replace him, but at the same time he is also comforted, because if he really does fall in battle, he knows that Patroclus will not be alone and at the mercy of the Trojans.
“If Achilles is dead, I will not be far behind. Either by another’s hand or my own, I will follow him, even in death.”
The ground collapses beneath his feet. Breathing becomes hard because of the horror he feels.
His beloved’s voice is firm and unwavering, as if he hadn’t just declared that he would— he would—
No. There is absolutely no way he would ever let that happen. The only reason why he’d felt even remotely comfortable with dying was because he’d hoped his philtatos would eventually get over him and live a long and happy life, away from the war and suffering which Achilles had dragged him into.
If there was even a small chance that his beloved would claim his own life, then he’d fight tooth and nail to assure Patroclus’ safety as well as his own.
If the Trojans were going to burn the ships tomorrow, he needed to start planning battle strategies and an escape route (just in case) as soon as possible.
Without making his presence known he left his hiding place near Briseis’ tent and quickly returned to the one he and Patroclus shared.
He’d make sure this blasted war ended tomorrow without dying, for his philtatos.
Anything for him.
°°°
That night, as he held his beloved in his arms, he thought of how close he’d come to sealing their doom and thanked the gods for allowing him to listen to that conversation and possibly change their fate.
He brushed a stray curl from his Patroclus’ face and looked at his sleeping face.
He looked as breathtaking as always but there was a small frown line between his eyebrows. He gently smoothed it out with the pad of his thumb and watched as his love’s face relaxed.
Better, but not perfect.
He’d make sure nothing ever troubled his beloved again, if only to watch him live and sleep carefree and happy. He smiled at the thought.
Pressing a soft kiss to his Patroclus’ forehead, he pulled him even closer to his own body. The movement caused Patroclus to shift in his arms, as he turned around and buried his face in the crook of his neck.
Achilles wanted to chuckle fondly, but he limited himself to pressing another kiss to his beloved’s head.
Tomorrow he’d end the war, so that he could go back to holding his love in his arms, kissing him, laughing with him. He’d dedicate his life to making sure the other half of his soul was absolutely and immeasurably happy.
He realized that that thought was more appealing than dying for glory.
After all, what need did he have for glory, when he already had love.