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k-nayee · 2 days ago

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CHAPTER 18. A MORTAL'S LAMENT

A/n: eek! last installment for Act Two! y'all know the roll - won't upload again for a lil bit to finish up on the next Act. love love LOVE the comments and views i've been getting, great to see my fellow EPIC fans out here. pls don't be shy to share your thoughts and see ya soon!🥰

❝And perhaps it is the greater grief after all—to be left on earth when another is gone❞

Warrior M.List | Act Two

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˚＊˚✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ⚔️・⚔️・⚔️・⚔️・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ˚＊˚

The days stretched on like an eternity, each dawn bringing fresh reports of Trojan advancements.

Two weeks had passed since Chryseis had been returned to her father. Two weeks since Briseis had been dragged to Agamemnon’s side.

In that time, the camp had become a pot of tension and whispered discontent.

Penelope and Diomedes had been unyielding in their punishment. One month without stepping onto the battlefield. No skirmishes, no glory, no purpose.

You understood their reasoning—to some extent—but that didn’t make the restriction any less grating.

Despite your confinement, Briseis managed to find her way to you during the late nights or early mornings. Her visits were a small solace in an otherwise maddening existence.

Though she bore the weight of her circumstances with grace, her spirit remained unbroken.

True to his word Agamemnon hadn’t laid a hand on her. But his barbs—cutting, vile insults—were frequent.

Briseis’ defiance was a quiet triumph; she only needed to mention your name and Agamemnon’s sneering would falter, his words dissolving into tense silence.

You’d always smirk when she recounted those moments.

The camp was not so fortunate. Achilles had withdrawn entirely, his fury at Agamemnon’s actions burning too brightly to be quenched by reason.

For two weeks the Prince of Myrmidons had refused to fight, and the ripple effects of his absence had grown catastrophic.

Captains and commanders were in near-constant uproar. Without Achilles’s presence Hector’s strength seemed unstoppable, his brilliance on the battlefield becoming a legend in real-time.

Whispers of doom hung heavy in the air. Hector’s forces, bolstered by divine favor, had pushed the Greeks back toward their ships and close to burning them.

The Trojan raids had nearly decimated the fleet—Ajax, Diomedes, and Penelope barely managing to stave off complete disaster even together.

It seemed the Gods themselves seemed to mock the Greeks, their loyalties clear in the endless string of setbacks. Morale plummeted further with every fresh loss.

It was Patroclus who approached you that morning, his face shadowed with worry and exhaustion. You had been leaning against the edge of your tent, absently watching the camp stir to life when he arrived.

“You’ve heard?” he asked, his tone weighed down by the obvious.

You nodded. “Hector’s driving us into the sea. If this keeps up we’ll be retreating home with our tails between our legs.”

Patroclus winced at the harsh truth. “Achilles won’t budge. I’ve tried everything. Nestor has tried. Even Briseis has pleaded with him in her own way.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve managed to get his blessing to lead the Myrmidons into battle, but only under strict conditions. He’s made me swear to stop at the ships and go no further. I’ll wear his armor to intimidate the Trojans, but…”

“But you know it’s not enough,” you finish for him, your eyes narrowing. “Hector won’t stop at the ships.”

The Myrmidons Second-in Command's gaze met yours, his desperation laid bare. “We need Achilles. Not just for his strength, but for what he inspires in the men. They’re losing hope.”

A long silence stretched between you as the weight of his words settled.

Finally Patroclus exhaled, his voice dropping as though sharing a secret. “If I push further...if I fight Hector maybe—”

“Don’t.�� Your sharp tone cut him off mid-thought. Your expression softened slightly, but your words remained firm. “Don’t go further than what you’ve been allowed. Achilles gave you his blessing for a reason, and you’d do well to heed his warning—even if you think it might do some good.”

He blinked at you before a crooked smile pulled at his lips. With a playful roll of his eyes he muttered, “That’s exactly what he said.”

Despite the lightness of his words the shadow in his expression betrayed his stubbornness. You wanted to press further—to shake sense into him.

But you knew his resolve was set.

“Fine,” you relent, your tone losing its edge. “If you’re going to be reckless, at least be safe. And…” You paused, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. “I guess I can go and try to speak with Achilles myself.”

Patroclus’ smirk softened into something more genuine, the gratitude in his eyes unspoken but obvious. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” you replied with a wry smile. “I’m about to do the impossible.”

As he walked away, you lingered for a moment, staring at the distant horizon where the Trojan banners loomed like a taunt. Gathering your resolve, you made your way toward Achilles’ tent.

The structure loomed ahead, its entrance flanked by his closest guards.

Silent as you passed, their stoic faces betraying no emotion, simply stepping aside to let you in without question. The air inside the tent was thick with shadows, the flickering candlelight barely illuminating the interior.

Achilles lay cocooned in his blankets. His head just peeking out as he stared blankly at the tent wall.

The weight of his stillness filled the space. He didn’t so much as flinch when you stepped inside, letting the flap fall closed behind you.

"Is this what the mighty Prince of Myrmidons has been reduced to?" your tone was laced with teasing mockery as you stepped closer. "Hiding in his blankets like a sulking child?"

No response. Not even a twitch.

You tilt your head, narrowing your eyes as you studied him. “Really? Not even a grunt? Gods, you must be worse off than I thought.”

Still nothing.

Sighing you move toward the bed and sit down at the edge near his head. His form shifted slightly under the weight of your presence, but he remained curled up, his face turned away.

Without thinking you slid a hand under his head, gently lifting to rest him upon your thighs. Achilles let out a soft exhale but didn’t resist, his blue eyes flickering shut as though the simple act of touch brought him solace.

Your fingers found their way to his hair, tangling in the golden strands as you began to lightly comb through them. The soft texture glided between your fingers and the tension in his body visibly ebbed.

The only sound heard was the quiet rustling of fabric as the Myrmidon leader sank further into the comfort of your lap. His breathing steadied, his features relaxed.

A fleeting smile tugged at the corner of your lips at the sight—this massive, fearsome warrior reduced to something so...human.

After a few minutes you broke the silence. “Is it Briseis?” you asked softly.

His face tightened almost imperceptibly, the faintest pout forming on his lips. The action was so juvenile you almost laughed.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you hum dryly. “She’ll be fine you know. Agamemnon wouldn’t dare lay a finger on her after what I did.”

That earned a reaction. His lips twitched and one eye cracked open to give you a pointed look. “I heard,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “Nearly took the bastard’s head off.”

You smirked. “Nearly? I call that self-restraint.”

Achilles chuckled softly, but the sound was short-lived. He shifted slightly, the mirth fading as quickly as it had come. “It’s not just that,” he admitted. “It’s everything. This war, these people...I’m tired of it all.”

His voice was raw, tinged with something that sounded dangerously close to defeat. Your fingers paused in his hair.

“So that’s it?” your tone was sharp enough to cut. “You’re just going to let Hector run rampant—let Agamemnon destroy everything...because you’re tired?”

Achilles frowned but didn’t answer. Instead, he reached up and grabbed your hand, pulling it down to rest against his hair once again.

“The war will go on with or without me,” he said quietly. “Let Agamemnon handle it. Maybe he’ll finally get the death he deserves.”

You stared at him, your frustration mounting. “And what about the rest of us? Do we deserve to be trampled because you’ve decided to throw a tantrum?”

His eyes snapped open at that—blue and piercing. The two of you lock gazes, the air between you charged with unspoken tension.

Then without warning Achilles smirked. “You’re feisty when you’re angry,” his voice dipped into a teasing drawl. “You know you could always stay here. Sleep in my bed. That’d make me feel a lot better.”

Your jaw dropped, the sheer audacity of the man leaving you speechless. “Are you serious?!” you demanded before pulling your hand back as you moved to stand.

But Achilles was faster.

With surprising swiftness, he wrapped an arm around your waist and dragged you back onto the bed with him, his sheer strength making escape impossible.

“Achilles!” you hissed as you struggled against his hold. “Let me go!”

He grinned up at you unbothered by your squirming. “Nope. You’re too comfy. Stay.”

The two of you wrestled, twisting and turning as you tried to break free, your indignant huffs mingling with his laughter.

“Am I interrupting something?”

The voice froze you both in place. Your head snapped up to see Patroclus standing at the entrance of the tent, his expression caught somewhere between shock and amusement.

“I...what?” you stammered, your face heating as you realized the position you were in.

Patroclus’ wide eyes quickly narrowed into a grin, his lips twitching with suppressed laughter. “Well if I’d known being sad got you into our bed, I’d have tried it sooner.”

Your face burned hotter and you immediately started to stammer a response, but Achilles (ever the opportunist), took the chance to roll onto his back, taking you with him.

You let out a startled yelp as his arms pinned you against his bare chest. The heat of him makes your face burn in realization.

“Achilles!” you shriek. “Are you naked under there?!”

“Possibly,” he grins up at you, his tone far too smug. “Why? Does it bother you? Nothing you haven’t seen I bet.”

You took a deep breath as you glared down at him while trying to muster whatever dignity you had left. “You are impossible,” you snapped.

He smirked up at you, golden hair splayed out like a halo on the pillow beneath him. “Admit it—you love it.”

“Shut up!” you snapped, your hands smacking against his chest as your embarrassment reached new heights.

Patroclus, meanwhile, could only stand there and watch with a fond smile. He walks over to the bed, his russet skin glowing faintly in the dim candlelight as he leans down.

Without warning he presses a kiss to Achilles’ lips. The sight made your breath hitch.

When he pulls away Achilles’ cheeks were dusted pink and his eyes dazed.

Using your distraction, Patroclus turns to you before reaching out to gently cradle your jaw, tilting your face toward him. His vivid blue eyes held yours, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race.

“I have to go,” he said softly. “Try not to cause too much trouble while I’m gone.”

You blinked, flustered and overwhelmed. Opening your mouth to respond, the words caught in your throat as he leaned in.

For a second you thought he might kiss you. But just as his lips were about to brush yours, he shifted, pressing a kiss to your forehead instead.

Your mind went blank.

By the time you managed to recover Patroclus had already stepped away making you realize he was wearing Achilles' armor. The bronze gold metal gleamed faintly in the dim light.

“Keep the bed warm for me!” he called over his shoulder, his voice laced with teasing as he made his way out the tent.

You let out a strangled sound, grabbing the nearest pillow and hurling it after him. Sadly for you the soldier dodged it with a laugh of his own.

Achilles laughed, his hands still resting on your hips as you sat atop him. “Relax,” he said, his voice low and playful. “He’ll be back before you know it.”

The tent goes silent except for the distant sounds of the camp preparing to battle—horses whinnying, men shouting, weapons clanging.

“So,” Achilles breaks the quiet with a purr, his voice laced with amusement. “What do you want to do while we wait for Patroclus to come back? We’ve already got one position down. Maybe just lose a few layers of clothes and—”

“As if!” you snapped, glaring down at him. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in bed with—”

“Where is ____?”

The voice from outside the tent was firm and insistent. Your head snapped toward the sound just as Patroclus’ cheerful and mischievous tone followed.

“Oh she’s in Achilles’ tent!”

Your heart dropped to your stomach, you didn’t even have time to process the words before the tent flap was yanked open.

Eurylochus and Diomedes stood in the doorway, their gazes flicking from Achilles—grinning smugly beneath you—to your utterly mortified expression.

Their eyes traveled to the scene: you straddling Achilles, your hands braced on his bare chest, his hands still casually resting on your hips as covers are wrapped around both your waists.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Eurylochus blinked, his lips parting as though to speak but no words came out.

Achilles, however, was positively beaming. “Ah gentlemen!” he said, his voice filled with mock innocence. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You tried to scramble off him, but his arms tightened around your waist, holding you firmly in place. His grin widened as you shot him a furious glare.

“T-this isn’t what it looks like!” you sputtered, your voice higher than you would have liked.

Diomedes raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because it looks exactly what it looks like.”

You opened your mouth, searching desperately for some way to salvage the situation but Achilles beat you to it. “There’s no need for explanations,” he says breezily as he rest his head back against the pillow. “We were just…getting comfortable.”

Your hands curled into fists, your face burning hotter than the noonday sun. “Achilles,” you growled through gritted teeth. “Shut. Up.”

The blond warrior only chuckled, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “Why? I think they’re enjoying the show.”

Eurylochus cleared his throat, his expression torn between exasperation and disbelief. “If you’re quite done…Captain Penelope requests your help on something.”

Right as Achilles reluctantly releases his hold you scrambled off him, tugging at your tunic in a vain attempt to smooth it. You send him one last glare as Diomedes gave a pointed cough to draw your attention.

“I suggest you make yourself presentable,” he said dryly.

Eurylochus nods, his lips twitching as though he were holding back a laugh. “And maybe next time, choose a less...hectic time for your comfort.”

Face buried in your hands, you groan loudly as Achilles’ laughter rang out behind you.

*･:*:★☽✧⚔️✧☾★:*:･*

The low-hung sun in the sky casted long fragmented shadows across the camp.

Each step you took felt heavier than the last, though you refused to slow. The pounding of your racing heart was so loud it drowned out the sounds of the bustling camp.

Soldiers blurred past as you weaved through the narrow paths, their faces indistinct against the swirl of panic clouding your mind. 'Let this be nothing.'

The words repeated like a mantra, your panic rising with every step closer to the Myrmidon section of the camp as your injury throbbed with every movement.

It didn’t matter. You couldn’t stop.

Not when the urgent summons had come so unexpectedly.

The weight in the air shifted as you entered their domain. The usually proud and fearsome soldiers were subdued, their postures heavy with exhaustion and something darker—mourning.

Some tended to wounds in silence, their faces pale and grim, while others sat hunched over their weapons, hands shaking as they cleaned blood from the blades.

The sight only twisted the knot in your chest tighter.

When Achilles’ tent came into view you didn’t hesitate, your legs pushing faster despite the ache. The lack of guards at the entrance barely registered in your mind as you reached to throw open the flap.

Just as you did out stepped Eurylochus and Nestor. You froze mid-step, your gaze locking onto their faces.

Eurylochus’ expression was a blank mask, his lips pressed into a thin line. Nestor wasn’t much better; his shoulders sagged under an invisible weight.

“Eurylochus? Nestor?” you called in concern. “Were you summoned too?”

The two men froze for a moment, exchanging a quick glance before turning to you.

Eurylochus could only shake his head wordlessly and move past you in a brisk pace. Nestor lingered just long enough to place a gentle, almost apologetic hand on your shoulder before following after him.

Confusion bubbled in your chest as you turned to watch their retreating figures. “Wait—” you called again, but your words died on your lips as the tent flap shifted once more.

Penelope, Diomedes, and Polites emerged this time; their faces caught somewhere between surprise and discomfort at the sight of you.

“____” Polites was the first to break the tense silence. “What are you doing here?”

You raised a brow at his reaction. “I was summoned by a runner. Why else would I be here?”

A low curse escaped Diomedes as his jaw tightened. You caught a fragment of his words as he leaned toward Penelope, “I told them not to send for her.”

“What?” you asked, your tone sharp. “What does that mean? Why wouldn’t—”

“____!”

Before you could question him the broken cry of your name reached your ears.

You barely had time to turn before Briseis burst through the tent flap with tears streaming down her red face. She flung herself into your arms, her body trembling as she clutched at you like a lifeline.

“Y-You’re here,” she sobbed, “Oh Gods you’re here.”

Confusion took hold as you wrapped an arm around to steady her. “Briseis!” you exclaimed, holding her tightly as she buried her face in your shoulder. “Are you okay?! What happened?”

She could barely get a word out, her tears choking her voice into incomprehensible blubbering.

“Briseis,” you try again, quieter now, but the girl only shook her head against you, unable to form the words.

Smoothing a hand over her hair, your own panic began to build as you glanced around for answers—but the camp surrounding Achilles’ tent offered none.

There were few soldiers nearby, and those who were avoided looking in its direction like it was the plague.

“Polites?” your voice break the silence as you looked over Briseis’ shaking form. “What is this? What is going on?”

Polites hesitated as if searching for the right words. “Maybe it’s...not the right time for you to go inside.”

“And why not?” you shot back. Gently coaxing Briseis into Penelope’s waiting arms, the older woman cradled the girl with soothing words as she buried herself into the Queen's embrace.

With Briseis momentarily settled you turned back to the tent. But before you could open the flap of the entrance completely, Diomedes moved swiftly, his hand closing over yours.

His grip was firm but not forceful, his face etched with something that looked like regret. “Don’t,” he said softly. “This isn’t something you should see.”

Even Penelope, who usually had no qualms about speaking her mind, remained silent with pursed lips. Though the look in her eyes echoed Diomedes’ and Polites' sentiment.

Frustration flared in your chest.

“I have every right to know what’s going on,” you snapped, pulling your hand free. “For the last time I was summoned here, so it must be important. Now I'm not leaving until someone tells me what in the Hades is—”

“Let her.”

Low, dull, and hollow; a voice slices through the tense air silencing everyone in an instant.

Your breath hitched as you turned toward the sound. You knew that voice.

Ignoring the others you pulled the flap open, your gaze sweeping the dim interior. Shadows danced in the flickering candlelight, and at first, the space seemed empty.

But then you saw him—slumped in the corner half-hidden in the darkness. Achilles sat motionless, his head resting back against the tent's post.

The faint glow of candlelight illuminated his face; his eyes were red-rimmed and swollen as they stared blankly at the far wall. Faint streaks of dried tears glistened on his flushed cheeks.

Even his golden hair hung disheveled over his forehead, his hands resting limply in his lap as though drained of all strength.

“Achilles,” you breathed, your worry spiking as you took a step inside. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

He didn’t respond at first, his shoulders rising and falling with a shallow breath. Then, barely above a whisper, he said two words that sent a chill down your spine.

“My fault.”

Your chest tightened. “What?” your voice faltered. “Achilles...what do you mean?”

His lips moved soundlessly as he muttered under his breath. You stepped closer, straining to hear the words that spilled from him like a broken mantra.

“It’s my fault,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have let him...should’ve stopped him…”

As you stepped further inside, the others retreated, leaving you alone with Achilles.

A soft brush against your hand made you pause. Turning, you saw Penelope lingering just beyond the tent flap, her hand rested lightly on yours.

She didn’t say a word but the gesture spoke volumes. Giving you a nod, she gently guides Briseis to join Diomedes and Polites as they moved out of sight.

Now alone with the Prince of Phthia, you shift your attention back to him, taking slow deliberate steps as you ignore the way your heart hammers against your ribs.

“Achilles,” you call softly.

He didn’t respond.

“Achilles,” you try again, firmer now. “Wha—”

You froze mid-step as your eyes caught a glimpse of something beside the bed. It was barely visible beneath the folds of a blanket.

Your breath stuttered as your gaze traveled downward, the details sharpening with each agonizing second.

A still figure lay on the floor shrouded in simple white garb. Two silver coins rested over closed eyes, their cold gleam catching the dim candlelight.

The sight made your stomach churn violently.

Vivid blue eyes that had always looked at you with warmth and fondness were now hidden—lifeless and unmoving. Skin, once rich with a warm sun-kissed glow, had faded to a pale ashen hue, the life drained from it.

“Achilles,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “No…”

He didn’t look at you, his gaze still fixed on the wall as his muttered words repeated like a broken chant. “Shouldn’t have let him go…it’s my fault…my fault…”

You couldn’t tear your eyes away as you took a shaky step forward, the tears welling up and spilling over no matter how hard you tried to stop them.

Knees buckling, you sank to the floor, your hands reaching as you hesitate just inches away.

You wanted to touch, to confirm that this wasn’t real, that the cold skin would somehow spark back to the warmth you remembered. But the sight of the hands folded neatly over his chest stopped you.

They looked rigid, devoid of the gentle gestures you had come to know—the way they'd ruffle Briseis’ hair, clap Achilles on the shoulder, or hold a spear with effortless strength.

You clutch at the fabric of your clothes as the weight of reality crashed over you.

“Patroclus?”

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