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Achilles wasn’t sure what had brought the memory, but it had come to him during one of his pitiful attempts to sleep. He could hear his mother’s voice as if she was speaking to him today, “A prophecy, that the best of the Myrmidons will die before two more years have passed.” All at once a new wave of grief hit him, so tangible he felt as if he was choking on it. He pressed himself to the body lying next to him, wishing it’s coldness brought any comfort. They had been warned. They had been warned and Achilles had been too wrapped up in his own pride and ego to see it.
He remembered sitting outside of their tent after his mother’s visit that day. He remembered being slightly jealous of the way the wind gently ruffled Patroclus’ hair. He remembered their deep discussion about who the best of the Myrmidons would be, remembered Patroclus’ soft “It is not you, at least there’s that.” Achilles wasn’t even crying anymore, he had no more tears to give. He wrapped himself with what used to be Patroclus’ arms and struggled to breathe. How had neither of them considered the obvious? Of course it was Patroclus, with his gentle hands and his good heart. Achilles closed his eyes and remembered his gentle way of speaking and laughing, remembered suddenly how many girls Patroclus had saved from horrible fates: he remembered the hundreds of men Patroclus had helped save as if it was nothing. All Achilles had done was murder. Yet when asked, “who is the best Myrmidon?” Patroclus was not even considered.
It was Achilles’ job to truly see Patroclus for all the million things he was, and he had failed. He should have heard that prophecy and knew instantly, should have taken Patroclus and hidden him away. Achilles felt sick with self-hatred and regret. His Patroclus, the very best of not just the Myrmidons but the whole world. If longing could make something happen, Patroclus would be standing in this tent now. He would look at Achilles with his big dark eyes, would take his hand and would tell him it was okay. He could almost picture it. The body he laid on didn’t rise though and no one would ever tell him it would be okay again because it wouldn’t. The only person who had ever mattered was lost and it was all because of Achilles.
Another memory popped into his head, Chiron sitting beside them at a fire, saying “And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on Earth when another is gone. Do you think?” Achilles knows the answer to this question now. The tears finally started to come as he buried his face in the stomach of the man he loves more than life itself and started his almost constant prayer for the only thing left that could bring him peace; a swift death.