Perspective Swap

Achilles (5)

I stopped Patroclus just before the bronze-studded doors of Peleus' audience chamber. The heavy door gleamed in the afternoon light, and I could practically feel the stifling heat emanating from within.

"Wait here," I murmured, a nervous tremor in my voice that I hoped he wouldn't notice.

Inside, Peleus sat on his high-backed throne, a frown creasing his brow as he spoke to an older advisor I recognized. The air hung thick with smoke from the crackling fire, and the room smelled of old leather and polished metal. Every nerve in my body screamed at me to turn back, retreat to the safety of my own quarters. But Patroclus' worried frown kept me rooted to the spot.

With a deep breath, I pushed open the doors and strode into the room. Peleus's gaze snapped towards me, surprise momentarily replacing his frown. "Achilles," he boomed, his voice echoing in the vast chamber. "You haven't requested an audience since..." He trailed off, leaving the unspoken criticism hanging in the air.

"Father, I come to ask your pardon," I blurted out, ignoring the way Patroclus flinched behind me.

His eyebrow shot up, one corner of his mouth twitching in a manner that hinted at amusement. "Oh? Do elaborate."

Shame burned in my throat, making it difficult to speak. But there was no turning back now. "I... I took Patroclus from his drills today." My voice sounded embarrassingly small, like a child caught red-handed.

The old king's gaze shifted towards Patroclus, who had shuffled in hesitantly behind me. "Who?" he asked, his voice devoid of warmth.

"Menoitiades," I clarified, my voice regaining some of its usual strength. "The boy the arms-master was about to punish."

A flicker of recognition dawned on Peleus' face. "Ah, yes. Eurybotas' son."

"No, Father," I interjected quickly. "Menoitius' son. Patroclus." A strange possessiveness welled up inside me at the sound of his name on my lips.

"Patroclus," Peleus repeated, acknowledging him for the first time. "Yes."

Suddenly, I felt compelled to justify my actions. "He wasn't to blame for missing drills," I explained. "It was my fault. I simply forgot to request him as a therapon." The word hung heavy in the air, a weight far heavier than I had anticipated.

A sworn brother-in-arms, a companion chosen by blood oaths and love. The highest honor a prince could bestow, something I had always rejected. But for Patroclus, the words seemed to flow effortlessly.

Peleus' eyes narrowed, scrutinizing me with an intensity that made me squirm. "Come here, Patroclus," he commanded, his voice sharp.

Patroclus knelt beside me, his head bowed. The king's gaze swept over him, a silent assessment. "For many years now, Achilles," he began, his voice low and rumbling, "I have suggested companions, and you have refused them all. What makes this boy different?"

Both Patroclus and I held our breath, waiting for my response. "He is... surprising," I finally managed, the word feeling lame even as I said it.

Patroclus shot me a questioning glance, but I couldn't meet his gaze. The truth, the real reason I needed him by my side, was something I couldn't even bring myself to admit to myself, let alone utter in front of my father.

"Surprising," Peleus echoed, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice. "Indeed."

I offered no further explanation, the silence hanging heavy between us. Peleus seemed to consider this for a while, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "He is an exile," he finally said, his voice laced with disapproval. "A stain on his reputation reflects poorly on yours."

"I don't care about my reputation," I blurted, surprising even myself.

Peleus' gaze locked with mine, his amusement replaced by a flicker of something that looked suspiciously like respect. "No," he conceded. "You never have."

"He doesn't need to enhance my reputation," I added, my voice softening but my resolve unwavering.

This seemed to mollify him somewhat. "However," he continued, his voice returning to its usual authoritative tone, "other boys will be envious. What will you say to them?"

There was no hesitation in my reply. "Nothing," I said, my voice clear and firm. "It is not their place to judge, nor will it ever be."

"Stand up, both of you."

I did so quickly. Patroclus, on the other hand, was dizzy.

"I pronounce your sentence. Achilles, you will give your apology toAmphidamas, and Patroclus will give his as well."

"Yes, Father." I said, my voice angry, though I didn't know why. We had gotten done what was needed to be done. So why couldn't I leave it at that?