#we all know jade could and would sit right beside peony

[ahsokaisawesome]

managed to pump out one last big picture before school, thank you mister jade tales of the abyss <3

[johaerys-writes]

Fandom: The Song of Achilles Pairing: Achilles/Patroclus

Chapter 10: Rosemary and Clove, of High-Flying Birds is up! Where Achilles and Patroclus try to get used to life in Phthia after leaving Mt. Pelion.

Read here or on AO3! Or read from the beginning

*****

The first few nights after we'd returned to Phthia, I could get no sleep.

Even lying next to Achilles I would toss and turn, restless, until he'd murmur groggily in his sleep for me to stop. I would sit up on the bed then, careful not to disturb him, with my back pressed against the smooth stone wall, and watch the sky turn for black to grey to gold, alight with the first fiery fingers of dawn. The air felt strange and different in Phthia. Heavy. The salt in it made my skin itch. It made me long for the crisp mountain breeze, the rustling of the centuries old maple trees, the chill waters of the stream we used to bathe. It reminded me of Thetis, of the cruel twist of her mouth, her dark, inhuman eyes and the hate that burned in them whenever her gaze fell upon me. It reminded me that, away from Chiron’s protection, she could see me. She could see us.

I watched Achilles as he slept, and longed for the trembling light of our single candle, for the way his silk-smooth golden skin looked in the rosy light reflected from the quartz crystals in the cave. The nights we would lie on our pallet and whisper the names of the constellations to each other, trace them in the air with our fingertips.

Not too long now, Achilles had promised. A few weeks more, a trip to Mycenae for Achilles to declare that we wouldn’t be following the army to Troy, and then we would return to the mountain, to our cave and Chiron’s gentle tutelage. I wouldn’t have to fight somebody else’s war, and neither would Achilles.

A stray streak of sunlight filtered through the open window. It fell on Achilles's closed, petal-soft eyelids, his straight, aristocratic nose. The nose wrinkled, and the eyes fluttered open, and Achilles gazed up at me, still bleary from sleep. "Awake already?" he murmured in his sleep-laced voice. I nodded. He let out a soft sigh and stretched like a large feline, the muscles in his arms tightening, his slender back arching. With a yawn, he sat up next to me. "Is something amiss?"

"I miss our painted constellations," I said quietly.

Achilles gazed at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable in the soft light. Then, his arms came around me, pulling my close. “I miss them too.” He let out a soft sigh and dropped his chin on my shoulder. "We can paint them on the ceiling here, if you'd like."

The thought warmed me. I shook my head. "It wouldn’t be the same."

"I know." He sighed again, pulling me closer. "I know."

We stayed like this for a long while, nestled in each other's warmth, listening as the foreign sounds of the palace stirring awake reached us.  

~

The palace was abuzz with gossip about the impending war, about Helen and the shamed husband she had left behind. Everywhere I went, I would hear the rumours spoken in hushed voices, the worry and the excitement that mingled in their eyes. They talked about Paris, his renowned beauty, his soft hands and even softer temperament that so matched that of the rest of his countrymen, mellowed after decades of peace. But it wasn’t just this that caused rumours to soar in the court. A bard had recently arrived in the palace from far Piraeus, the largest port in Greece. He had heard stories from sailors come from every corner of the Aegean sea, and claimed he knew this to be true: Paris had not stolen Helen’s heart and wits with his grace and soft manners alone. He was Aphrodite’s favourite, and the goddess had had a hand in bringing this misfortune upon the Mycenaeans.

Hera, Athena and Aphrodite had been locked in bitter dispute for years, arguing which of the three was the most beautiful. They had appeared to Paris one warm spring day when he’d been walking through the palace of Troy’s expansive gardens, and asked him for his counsel. The gods had long before taken notice of him, because of his beauty, his intelligence and his noble birth, but even he could not decide who was the fairest. The goddesses, then, had thought to bribe him. Hera had offered him power and riches, ownership of all of Europe and Asia. Athena had skill in battle to offer, powers to put all other warriors to shame. Aphrodite had promised him one thing, and one thing only: the love of beautiful Helen, among the mortal women the fairest and most gentle. Paris, of course, had chosen her.

The tale had made the Greeks sneer. My people disliked such men; perfumed, delicate, soft spoken. Besides, who in their right minds would pass up the opportunity to become the greatest warrior or the wealthiest king? Coward, they called him. A weakling that had shamed Menelaus and betrayed the sacred rite of philoxenia, the Mycenaeans’ hospitality. Hellas was astir, a boiling cauldron.

I listened to all the rumours, all the tales, as I walked through the palace corridors. Achilles was not with me. His father had insisted he be present in the councils with his generals, where they talked about the impending war, the soldiers, the army. I walked the palace halls, the hours drifting by slow and dull. I looked for ways to make myself useful, but could find none. There was no need for me to go searching for medicinal herbs, to hang them to dry, to grind them into a paste. My food was prepared and provided for me, so I did not have to go hunting or foraging for edible plants and fruit. I was no soldier, so I had no place in the training yard, even if I had felt like training. I could only glide by, and hope to go unnoticed.

The truth was, no one paid much mind to me, at least not openly. Some days I was even thankful that talk of war had drawn attention away from my and Achilles’ return, even if it was only for a little. It had not gone unnoticed that he always insisted on me sitting beside him at the large dining table, a place of honour reserved only for a Prince’s closest allies and friends. Or that we still slept in the same room, although we were both men grown now. Such practices were overlooked in children and young boys, but once one had grown fully into manhood, he was expected to grow out of his fondness for his male friends as well. The servants, the nobles that strolled about the castle grounds, the soldiers that I had once trained with as a boy would all eye me sideways, and I knew they wondered: why would Achilles choose someone like me for his loyal companion? Why not someone else, someone strong and fierce in battle, that would protect Achilles from harm and share his spoils, someone with promise of glory, someone that could be, if not his equal, then something very close?

He must know tricks, I heard some guards whispering to each other one day, grinning amongst themselves. Slender and lithe, good with his hands. They paled when they noticed me passing, standing hastily at attention. I pretended to ignore them. ~

That evening, a rich feast had been prepared in his honour, one of the many to celebrate his return. The air in the great hall was heavy and sticky with humidity and the scent of sweat, cooked meat and wine, abuzz with conversation and song, and once more I wished for the nights when we could hear nothing but our breathing, the sighing of the mountain wind and the hushed trill of crickets beyond our cave.

I sat next to Achilles on the table, though I doubted anyone would be looking at me when he was near. There was something about Achilles that demanded attention, even when he did nothing but sit leisurely on his ornate chair and swirl the wine in his goblet with casual disinterest. His robes were made of purple cloth, the rich hue complementing his tanned skin. The golden circlet in his hair seemed pale and dull compared to the lustre of the locks that framed his face. His shoulders were straight, his eyes keen and flashing like polished jade. His lips, twin peony petals, lightly stained red by the dark wine.

He had always had this glamour; wherever he went, whatever he did, he sparkled, drew the eye. It was something I had almost forgotten in those years we’d spent in Pelion, with no adoring eyes to fall on him— other than my own. Now, everyone in the room drank in the grace and confidence with which he moved; his cheeks had none of the childish roundness they used to before we’d left for Pelion, the line of his jaw was sharp and defined as if carved with sculptor’s tools, the muscles in his arms strong and defined. When we’d left Phthia, he’d been but a child. Now he was a man, and he was tall, broad of shoulder, and more fearsome in his beauty than he had ever been. Nobles and serving girls, soldiers and cupbearers alike would peer at him in awe, curiosity or fascination, trying to catch his eye or a word of his in passing, like parched earth lusting after rain.

I let out a soft sigh into my wine goblet when one of the cupbearers, a tall and willowy youth with his rich dark locks gathered in a braid at the nape of his neck passed me by to fill Achilles’ cup for the third time. His almond-shaped hazel eyes flicked brazenly towards Achilles’ as the wine splashed and swirled within the confines of the bronze goblet while he poured it. Achilles paid him little mind, talking quietly with his childhood tutor, Phoenix, instead. An absent-minded nod of thanks was enough to make the boy’s cheeks flush, his head to tilt coyly to the side as he retreated. He returned to his post, and I could see the envy that flashed in the other cupbearers’ eyes that he’d been granted such an honour.

It wasn’t jealousy, exactly, that made the wine turn sour in my mouth. I knew how Achilles must look to everyone around me, how the allure and mystery surrounding his name, his divine birth and the prophecy that dogged him had only grown in the years we’d been away. That Peleus and his advisors wished for Achilles to lead the armies to Troy was no secret to anyone, despite his declaration that he would not. They had all waited for years for the moment that Achilles’ talent and rare skill in battle would unfold. They were in themselves a spectacle, the events that would finally lead him to fulfilling the prophecy that had been foretold since the moment of his birth, that he would be the greatest warrior this world had ever seen. The people around me could only see the effortless grace in his limbs that would serve him so well in battle, his spears that would never miss their mark, the flashing edge of his sword that would never dull. They would all stand back and watch with keen interest as Achilles would leave death and ruin in his wake, as his delicate hands would be stained crimson.

My stomach tightened at the thought. No one saw him the way I did. No one saw his slender fingers, which were meant to hold a lyre as well as a sword, the sweetness of his boyish pride, the warm mischief of his smiles. To our people, he was the one that would lead them all to glory; Aristos Achaion, the best of the Greeks. Achilles, my bright, fair Achilles, belonged to everyone and no one, not truly. Not to the gods, not to the Greeks, not to me. Not even to himself.

Achilles turned to me, stirring me out of my grim thoughts as he set his goblet beside mine on the table. His jaw was locked, his gaze roaming the hall with cool detachment. I could see that he had grown weary of talk, of his father and his friends, of all those that vied for his attention. “Let’s go outside,” he told me, leaning close to my ear. His breath smelled of wine and spices, warming the side of my neck.

I blinked, taken aback. A shiver ran down my spine at our proximity; it was the closest we’d come to each other since that morning. “We can’t leave,” I replied quietly, careful not to be overheard by Peleus who was sitting close by. “This feast is in your honour.”

“And my honour has grown weary.” He scanned the room with keen eyes, his gaze gliding straight past the dancers that had come from Delphoi, boys and girls fair and lithe like water snakes. Achilles barely glanced in their direction. He pushed his chair back and turned to his father. “We are going.”

Peleus did not approve, I could see, but he only looked at his son with a blank expression. “Will you not stay a while longer? Antinoros wishes to make a toast after the dance.”

“I am tired, and so is Patroclus.”

Peleus let out a soft sigh. He looked terribly weary all of a sudden. “As you wish, my boy.”

We left the stuffy dining hall behind. The cool night air was a pleasant change to the heavy smells of wine and spices, of roast lambs and quails. I took a deep breath, tilting my head this way and that, bringing my arms over my head to stretch my muscles. “Much better,” I sighed. Achilles’ fingers threaded through mine when I brought my arms down again, guiding me forward. He was not leading me to our room, nor to the small inner yard he usually went to play his lyre as a child.

I followed him, curious, through the palace gardens, past the side gates. There was a narrow path that veered off the main road, that led past the olive groves with their neat rows of trees and gnarled roots, and to the beach nearby. I could hear the soft whisper of the waves as they rolled against the shore, could see the moon reflecting on the sea’s dark and glassy surface. Achilles stopped, his hand squeezing my own gently.

I turned around, then gasped softly when Achilles’ lips were pressed against my own. The sudden contact sent sharp desire racing through my veins; his lips were lush and moist, tasting of wine, of rosemary and clove. I hadn’t kissed him since that morning, and it felt to me like a year had passed since then. A soft sigh left me and my wrists came to lock behind his neck to pull him close, as if by instinct.  

Achilles walked me back against a tree trunk, his palms smoothing up my spine. I grew breathless as I kissed him, my mind slipping away from me slowly, silk threads running through my fingers. Mere moments before it was all but gone, I pulled back to look up at him. “What if someone sees us?” I whispered. “We’re still close to the palace.”

“Then they’ll see two people kissing.” His eyes glittered, his hair and skin silver in the moonglow. His lips were curled in his cat’s smile when he leaned forward to kiss me again. Before I knew it, my heart was racing with the pressure of his body against my own, my fingers tangling in his hair. I wanted to melt in his arms, to dissolve and lose myself completely, but the distant sound of the waves brought me back to my senses.

I did not want to voice my fear, yet knew I had to. “Your mother.” I took a shaky breath as I broke our kiss, held his gaze levelly. “What if she sees us?”

Achilles stayed silent for a moment, watching me. His features were smooth and tensionless, his expression unreadable, but I could see the hunger that flashed in his eyes, the want, the desire that I had come to know so well. I shivered slightly when he traced the line of my jaw with his thumb, when his tongue brushed over his wine-stained lips. “Then she, too, will see two people kissing.” His gaze on me was steady, his mouth only a breath from my own when he whispered, “I would not stop.”

I had heard him say this many times before, yet it still took me by surprise. The fact that he could do something that his mother or father would disapprove of, but he cared not at all. I swallowed thickly, my skin getting warmer as he studied me, as his lips hovered before my own, his breath mingling with mine.

I raised an eyebrow and flashed him a small, cheeky smile. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

Achilles leaned back, blinking at me in surprise. “I am not. I only had two cups of wine.”

“We both know that’s all it takes.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Are you insinuating,” he said slowly, “...that I, the son of Peleus and the immortal Thetis…” he leaned closer still, so close our noses were almost touching, “... am a lightweight?"

We stared at each other, holding our breaths, before we both broke out in laughter. We laughed and laughed, until my stomach hurt. It was the first time I had seen him laugh like this since we had set foot in the palace.  

Achilles wiped a tear of mirth from his eyes, catching my hand to pull me towards him. “Come,” he said. “Let’s go for a swim.”

~

We stood at the water's edge for a long while, our hands still entwined. It felt like an act of bravery to take the next step into the sea. The waters had always been Thetis' realm, and to do something like this was like the ultimate defiance. My heart trembled; I wanted to turn back and run.

You don't give things up as easily as you once did, Chiron had told me, his last words to me before we'd parted. They filled me with strength as I took a step forward. I turned to Achilles, and his grin mirrored my own. Of all my small victories, this was the most thrilling.

I shivered when the cool, dark waters enveloped me as we dove in headfirst. We swam and played and wrestled like we always did. Achilles dove in and out of the water like a dolphin, then circled me like a shark. I raced him, again and again, and again and again he won, yet I couldn’t help but feel we were both victors. We laughed until we were breathless, until my skin was warm and tight. After we'd swam to our hearts’ content, we lay on the cool sand to catch our breaths and dry. The stars shone above us, silver bright.

"Look," Achilles said, pointing to the cluster of stars in the horizon that was just starting to twinkle shyly into the dying night. The Pleiades, the winter stars that signalled the ripening of autumn, when the northern winds would blow high and crisp over the verdant valleys and olive groves of Phthia. Seven stars, one for every daughter of the Titan Atlas and the nymph Pleione, each more beautiful than the one before her. Merope, the youngest and fairest of them all, had been abducted by Orion, the giant huntsman, whose star shone close by her; thus her light had been diminished, the first to disappear when the sun rose.

"Can you imagine," Achilles whispered by my ear, "if a god swooped down and abducted you, just like that?"

Gods can do worse than that, I almost said, but held the words back. It was too quiet, too mellow a moment to mar with bitter thoughts of misfortune and divine cruelty. So I turned to him and smiled instead, as if to ward off my own fears, kissing the drops of seawater from his cheek. "I would never let them take me from you."

He smiled, leaning into my touch. "How would you stop them?”

“Anyway I had to.”

“Would you fight them?"

I shifted on my side to face him, caressing the smooth angles and planes of his face with my fingertips. I felt brave, invincible, like I could conquer the world with my will alone. "I would,” I whispered, leaning in to taste his petal soft lips. “I would do anything to be by your side.”

He sighed into our kiss as he pulled me closer. "I would never let anything take you from me, Patroclus."

We lay there, under the stars, until their light dwindled and the sun rose shyly over the distant horizon, and the first fishermen's boats rowed back to shore. We returned to our room with the dawn and lay on our bed with the salt and sand still sticking to our skin. That night was the first one that I finally slept, snuggled safely into Achilles' arms, lulled into slumber by his rhythmic breathing, his soothing, undulating warmth.

When I woke up, Achilles was gone.