Perspective Swap

Achilles (9)

He paused, surprised by my sudden invitation. But after a beat, a slow smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Alright," he agreed simply.

The afternoon sun hung heavy in the sky, casting long shadows across the deserted courtyard. The heat had driven the usual bustle of the palace indoors, leaving us the sole occupants of the grounds. An opportunity for solitude, or so I had initially thought.

We opted for the scenic route, a meandering path that snaked through the verdant embrace of the olive grove. The silence between us was comfortable, devoid of awkwardness. As we emerged from the trees and approached the armory, a new wave of nervousness washed over me.

Reaching inside, I selected my weapons with practiced efficiency. But as Patroclus started to reach for his own spear, I found myself shaking my head in negation. "No," I said, the word firmer than intended.

"Should I...?" His voice trailed off, laced with a hint of confusion.

"I do not fight with others," I clarified, my voice low.

We exited the armory, the packed sand training circle shimmering in the afternoon heat. Patroclus followed me in silence, his curiosity piqued.

"Never?" he finally queried, the question hanging in the air.

"No," I replied, my tone leaving no room for argument.

Silence descended once more, this time heavy with unspoken questions. His next words surprised me. "Then how do you know that..." he began, then trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished.

Taking his cue, I strode towards the center of the circle and assumed a fighting stance, spear grasped firmly in hand and sword secured at my waist. A silent challenge, perhaps, to the unspoken doubts that lingered in his gaze.

For a long moment, I focused on the wooden training dummy in the center, channeling the turmoil within into the practiced movements of the Myrmidon fighting style. But the image of Patroclus, his watchful eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and concern, kept flickering at the edge of my vision.

With a final thrust of my spear, I brought the session to an abrupt end. Panting slightly, I lowered my weapon and met his gaze head-on. "Who trained you?" he finally asked, his voice soft but firm.

The question hung heavily in the air, a stark contrast to the previously lighthearted exchange. "My father," I answered, forced to admit the truth, "a little." Out of breath, but far from winded, I added, "No one else."

A flicker of defiance sparked in Patroclus' eyes. He took a step forward, his voice firm. "Fight me."

The absurdity of the request made a sound escape me, almost a laugh. "No. Of course not." The thought of raising a weapon against him was unthinkable.

"Fight me," he repeated, his voice laced with a fervor that surprised me. He seemed almost possessed, driven by an unknown force.

Anger, hot and unwelcome, flared within me. "I don't want to," I growled, pushing his challenge back. Hurting Patroclus? Never. The very thought filled me with a suffocating dread.

"I dare you," he pressed further, audacious in his defiance. The nerve of him!

"You don't have any weapons," I pointed out, desperately hoping he'd back down. My voice held a pleading note I loathed.

"I'll get them," he insisted, already turning towards the armory.

Fear for him spurred me into action. Dropping to my knees, I laid my weapons down in the dirt. My gaze met his, my voice firm and low. "I will not fight you. Do not ask again."

Frustration bubbled over, a potent cocktail of fury and protectiveness. I wouldn't let him risk himself, wouldn't let him fall prey to this sudden madness.

His defiance only escalated. "I will ask you again," he declared, his jaw set in a stubborn line. "You cannot forbid me." Who did he think he was, issuing demands like this?

"Patroclus, no!" My face contorted in anger. This wasn't him, not the calm, collected Patroclus I had come to know.

Pride, or perhaps something deeper, wouldn't let me back down. Wouldn't let him win this strange battle of wills. With a determined stride, I turned away, leaving my abandoned weapons behind like discarded trophies.

"Come back!" he called after me, his voice laced with a hint of desperation. He had no right to dictate my actions. I defied him, walking away from the confrontation.

"Are you afraid?" he taunted, his voice echoing across the training ground.

Of course I wasn't afraid! I was Achilles, the greatest warrior of our time! He was... Patroclus.

"You should be," he continued, his words laced with a challenge.

I remained rooted to the spot, an immovable object in the face of his taunts.

Suddenly, I felt him behind me. Before I could react, his legs covered the short distance and he slammed into my back. The unexpected impact sent me stumbling forward, landing in a heap on the sand.

Even as I fell, I felt him scrambling on top of me, clinging to me like a desperate vine. We landed in a tangle of limbs, his body heavy against mine.

Before he could speak, I reacted. Twisting with surprising agility, I found myself on top, my hands grasping his wrists with a strength fueled by adrenaline.

He struggled, caught off guard by my sudden reversal. Uncertainty flickered in his eyes, a stark contrast to the earlier fervor. But this struggle, this resistance, was something I could understand. Something I could respond to.

"Let me go!" he yelled, yanking against my grip.

"No," I growled back. In one swift motion, I rolled us both over, pinning him beneath me. He lay there, panting, a mixture of anger and something else, something primal, flickering in his gaze. "I have never seen anyone fight the way you do," he finally managed, his voice husky.

Was it an accusation, a confession, or perhaps both? Uncertainty swirled within me, mirroring the confusion in the air.

"You haven't seen much," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. The meaning hung heavy between us, a challenge veiled in a statement.

A tense silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken emotions. He glared up at me, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"You know what I mean," he finally gritted out, frustration lacing his voice.

"Maybe," I conceded, feigning ignorance even as a flicker of understanding sparked within me. "What do you mean, Patroclus?" I prodded, hoping to draw him out.

He twisted beneath me in a sudden burst of defiance, and I instinctively loosened my grip, allowing him to roll free. We sat up, the coarse sand sticking uncomfortably to our sweat-dampened backs.

"I mean..." his voice trailed off, the fire in his eyes replaced by a simmering anger. It was a new emotion on him, one that sent a jolt through me.

"There is no one like you," he finally declared, his voice hoarse.

I watched him for a moment, the weight of his words settling in. "So?" I replied simply, my voice as devoid of emotion as I could manage.

The dismissive tone seemed to have the opposite effect of what I intended. His anger drained away, replaced by a profound sadness that tugged at my heartstrings. "I had minded, once," he seemed to be saying, not with words, but with a telepathic clarity that startled me. Who was he now, to feel envious of a destiny already set in stone?

A smile, genuine and unexpected, bloomed on my face. I had heard his thoughts, clear as day. The revelation sent a wave of warmth through me, a connection deeper than any sparring match, deeper than any shared meal or conversation. We were bound by something more than friendship, something more powerful and more intimate. And in that moment, amidst the dust and the silence of the training ground, I knew, with a certainty that defied logic, that this bond would forever alter the course of our lives.