Everlasting (A Greek Tragedy)

Everlasting Ch II

The two boys returned to the palace and made their ways straight to the dining area. The only thing they enjoyed equally as much as playing was the well deserved lunch time. Smoked ham, buttery potatoes and a slice of the cook's peach pie made for a lovely meal.

Patroclus scarfed everything on his plate, the rules of table manners had slipped completely out of his mind. With a full mouth,he challenged his friend, who was neatly cutting his ham into bite sized peices.

"What do you say we play a game of dice when we're done. I have yet the break the tie,"Patroclus asked before gulping down his glass of milk. 

Clysonymus lifted his shoulders before sipping the milk from his cup. "You'll probably just lose again, dear friend," he grinned with a spark of confidence in his hazel eyes. "But I'll accept your challenge."

After Clysonymus finished his food, they both retreated to Patroclus' room and retrieved a pair of dice. Both of them had an equal spark of confidence when it came to playing the sport. Yet both were equally as good in playing. They were fairly matched, no one for sure could ever tell who would win the match, which made for a interesting game.

"The first person who wins 20 games will be tilted the King of Dice," Patroclus said while shaking the pair of cubes in his hand. He was so sure that he would win against his friend that he didn't give him a chance to respond. Clysonymus shrugged, he hadn't cared as much for winning as he did the amusing faces and determination Patroclus would put into the game. In the end, whether he lost or win he would of got a good chuckle out of the experience.

The two played for a good hour, smirking and hissing at their victories or defeats. They taunted one another with each win and laughed at each lost. A harmless scene nontheless.

Eventually 38 games of dice were played, and all Patroclus needed was one more game to obtain bragging rights. Clysonymus had already rolled for the match; the number he needed to beat was "3". It was a low number, and the chances of him possibly losing was incredibly low. He could taste victory on his tongue.

His hands began to moisten with sweat; his eyes focused. All he had to do was beat the number "3", and he would be the victor of the game. With a determined shake, he pulled back his hand and tossed the dice on the ground. Both of them watched as the dice rolled and landed in a single position. The first cube froze on a side with the number one facing the ceiling. The other landed with.....

.....the number one.

Clysonymus chuckled, "I win, Menoetius. I am the king of dice." He rose to his feet and laughed, exuberant from his victory. Patroclus stared at the pair of dice dumbfounded. He couldn't believe that he had actually lost to him. He was supposed to win. He was supposed to be the best at everything!

He was the prince for God's sake.

Suddenly his blood boiled and he felt a wave of stubborness clog his veins. Quickly, he stood up to meet the eyes of his friend. "No fair! I demand a rematch."

His friend stopped his small celebration and tilted his head. "A rematch? Of course not. I won fair and square."

"It is not fair! I want to play again," He yelled stepping closer to his excited friend.

Clysonymus laughed again, ignoring Patroclus' persistent protest to his well deserved winning. And the fact he was so joyous about his victory made Patroclus ball his hand in anger. Before he could register his actions, he pulled back his tightened fist and swung at his friend. Clysonymus was so stunned that he lost his balance and toppled on the floor. He gave his friend an expression of astonishment as he held his sore jaw. "Menoetius! What the-"

Patroclus' fist connected with his jaw once again, and then his nose and finally his head. Each blow was more powerful than the next. Each blow slowly ending the life of young Clysonymus... 

*****

Achilles frowned and rubbed Patroclus' back, "It was an accident. You were furious."

The older male sighed and stared at the floor of the foyer. "I still did wrong. I will never forget the look in his eyes when I brutally murdered him with my own hands. I was even more of a monster than that bully." He sighed and rubbed the side of his face. "My father found me in the room a brief time after and discovered the mess I had made. He buried the body and bought me here, fearing that someone would crave revenge. He changed my name to Patroclus and had your grandfather foster me. And well, that's how I ended up here..."

Achilles nodded compassionately, "Now everything makes sense. I always wondered. You must feel relief in sharing your past. I am always here to help you if you need it."

Patroclus gave him a warm smile. Indeed his friend had became his main pillar of strength and stability. "I thank you, Achilles."

The two men were interupted by the sound of the door opening and Achilles immediately released his embrace on Patroclus. He was unsure of how to express this new emotion, but he knew for sure he wasn't ready to project it for everyone to know just yet.

A troop walked in timidly, intimidated by the presence of two of the greatest warriors he knew.

"What is it?," Achilles asked, his voice firm.

"We've got reports of spotting the Trojans, my highness...They are heading towards our base right now."

"Dammit," Patroclus muttered before grabbing the his sword from the table. "Tell the others to form a barrier."

The troop nodded and ran out leaving the two men alone again. Achilles smiled and gave his friend a firm nod. "Be careful out there," he said.

Patroclus nodded back before tightening the grip on his sword and walking out.