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Wrath

"Hektor is dead", I say, as I pull open the tent and throw the helmet at his feet. Achilles freezes, while the slave girl he is holding in his arms – Daïda, a young girl who has been spending most of her time at camp in Achilles' tent – frantically attempts to cover herself. Even though he made such a big deal out of Briseïs being taken, she never was his favourite.

"Leave", he snarls at her and she obeys, running out of the tent while clutching her torn dress to her chest. When she passes me, I can see that she is crying.

"What did you say?" He slowly gets up but does not turn to look at me.

"Hektor is dead", I repeat, louder this time.

"How?" He still does not face me. "That is impossible. I am the only one who is able to kill him." There is a quiver to the edge of his voice, barely audible, betraying his uncertainty. Or his fear.

"I killed him", I say, the words filling me with pride.

The knife is against my throat before I can even see him move. "You?" He laughs mockingly. "You killed him? You are lying! You are not capable of that. No one is. Only I am!"

I can feel the sharp blade against the skin of my neck, not yet hurting me, but ready to end my life if he wishes to. "Whether you believe me or not, he is dead anyway. You can ask the men, or anyone else. They all saw his body and they saw me kill him. You can ask them, and they will tell you I am telling the truth."

"No!" He pushes the knife down with more force, a small cut appearing on my neck. I do not move away while the blood trickles down. After all the fighting I have endured today, a cut like this feels like nothing.

"Do you really wish to kill me, Achilles?" I ask calmly. I see the rage burning in his eyes, a madness that would have been useful on the battlefield today. "Do you not realise what would happen to you if you kill me?" I gesture to the world outside, where our men are celebrating the death of their fiercest enemy. "I saved their lives today. I killed Hektor for them, something you would not do for the past nine years. I am their hero. They already dislike you, do you want them to hate you? They might even kill you. Is that what you want to achieve, Achilles?"

He moves the knife away from me, stumbling a few steps backwards. He is crying, large tears rolling down his face while he chokes on his own breath. He used to cry a lot when we were boys, every time he would get hurt or disappointed, but he got used to feeling pain quicker than I would have liked, and tears were now reserved for the occasions when hurting someone else would not work.

He hesitates, his whole body shaking, before he jumps forward again. I instinctively block whatever attack it is he will throw at me, but he just holds out the knife, the handle ready for me to grab, the blade pointed right at his heart. "Then kill me", he says. "Kill me yourself, so they will not have to do it." His eyes do not meet mine, but I can see his entire soul displayed in them. They remind me of Hektor's, right before he died. There is nothing left of the fierce warrior he once was, no confidence or fearlessness or pride, only sadness.

When I do not accept the knife, he forces the handle into my hand and guides the blade up to his neck. "Kill me. I want you to do it. I will die soon anyway. It does not matter whether it happens now or later." His hands keep mine fixed in place, with the knife pointed at his neck, his frantic eyes looking for any sign of agreement on my face. "There is nothing left for me. No honour, no title, no enemies to fight. You have taken it all away from me! I am useless!" He yells the words, jerking my hands closer to his throat. "I am useless now. I do not deserve to live any longer." He has stopped crying, the tears run dry. In their place is a pleading look, the same one Hektor used when he asked me to return his body. "Please."

"No." I pull my hand free from his, surprisingly easily, and let the knife drop to the ground. "I will not kill you. Not now." He does not resist when I pull his trembling body close to me in a tight embrace, afraid he will collapse if I let him stand on his own any longer. "You are not useless. You are Achilles, son of Peleus and a goddess, best of Greeks and best of men. You made a mistake, but you can make it right again. I will help you. You can be better." I can feel his head nod against my shoulder, his golden hair stained by the blood from the cut on my neck. "There are still many more Trojans to kill. We will take the city together and with it, you will regain your honour. You will die in fierce battle, like you are supposed to, not in this tent by my hand."

He pulls away from me, wiping the last of the tears off his face. "I will fight tomorrow", he says, determination in his voice. "I will show Agamemnon what he lost when he insulted me, and he will have no choice other than honour me like he should."

I smile. "We will fight tomorrow. Together."

"Together."