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Seated next to Achilles with an imperious Peleus and an erratically moody Thetis upon the dais, I received a favorable view of the jostling crowd below. An abundant amount of wealthy Greek city-states and islands representatives had made the journey; kings, princes, and princesses from various places in Greece were to be seen - Demophon and Acamas of Athens, Menelaus of Sparta and his brother Agamemnon of Mycenae, Odysseus and Penelope of Ithaca, Diomedes of Argos, Agapenor of Arcadia, Idomeneus of Crete, and so many others.
Some leaders were stationed in Phthia for the sake of trading riches and political negotiations, some were there for the sake of presenting prospective brides for Achilles, golden prince and marvelous leader and warrior as he was, with divine blood and a heroic fate. The latter reason worried me still; it was ominous fear and exasperation I felt for Thetis' resentment of our relationship, her constant strive to control and manipulate her son, the measures she could take to separate us, and the inevitable loneliness that Achilles' future wife would feel with his attentions, both romantic and lustful, spent only for me.
I do not doubt Achilles' love and passion for me, even now our hands subtly held each other's and his eyes would occasionally focus on me to see what I was thinking. I adored this about him, about us - our intimacy, memorizing each other's faces like maps and knowing each sentiment, each worry just merely from the downwards glance of our eyes, the twitches of our noses, the strained tug of our smiles. It was a level of adoration he never felt for Deidameia.
Nevertheless, I feared the future: it was extremely common for two male youths to be adjoined in a sexual (and sometimes romantic) bond through comradeship, but perhaps such a relationship was frowned upon when they aged. Perhaps Achilles would tire of me in our older years, discarding my love for the sake of his reputation. But smiling back at him, looking at the honesty in which he stroked my palm, seeing the pure affection that flooded his eyes, I cannot bear to ponder upon such depressions.
I reluctantly tore my gaze from his beautiful face and focused on the crowd again, surprised when I found a man looking at me. He was remarkable, it was peculiar I hadn't noticed him before. He was well-built, all the displayed strength and virility akin to a noble lion, evidently muscled beneath rich tanned skin, wearing a fine chiton with a few accessories placed on his arms and ankles. His facial features had a frank and honest quality to them - dark deep-set eyes, an aquiline nose, full lips.
“Achilles, who is that man?” I gestured to him, and he was still looking at me, but kept his expression composed and politely curious. It felt strange, mostly everybody focused on Achilles and his splendor, treating me like the silver to his gold, which I was quite fine with. But this man - yes, definitely looking at me and not him.
“Prince Hector of Troy,” Achilles frowned, settling his eyes on him. “Word has it he's the best Trojan fighter, won all the race games and achieved many military victories, the Trojans loved and trusted in him for nobility and bravery. Oldest of all of King Priam’s sons. Why do you ask?”
I shrugged. “It's nothing.” I have heard of Hector's strength, but never sighted the famed prince myself. He must be in Phthia for a political purpose then. I glanced at Achilles, who was frowning furthermore at Hector and clearly bored with the ceremony wherein each king or prince stood in front of Peleus and voices his purpose for visiting or presents his daughters as potential queens of Phthia, all of them innocent ingenues with hopeful glances for my Achilles.
“He has a wife. Andromache,” Achilles says. “Word has it she's a charitable, outspoken woman.”
I decided to tease him. “Of course he has such a wife, he's a startlingly handsome man. Really fills out his chiton.”
“Maybe so, but he's Hephaestus in comparison to my Ares.”
“I think we've established modesty isn't your forte,” I resisted the urge to bestow a bunch of kisses all over his face, plastered with endearing smugness, just to see him blush and stammer. Those were the only disarming moments of my lover.
“You knows it's true," he winks, squeezing my hand tighter.
“Even if you look like Thersites, I would still be enraptured,” I whispered in his ear, and in a flash of confidence, “I'll prove it to you tonight in our bed.”
“We do well up against the walls and floors and in the bathtubs, too.” Achilles' grin was beyond delighted, devouring me with his eyes. “I just can't wait for this bloody ceremony to be over, I'm hungry and starving for every line of your enticing body beneath that fine tunic.” I rolled my eyes despite the beet-red blush spreading unbecomingly all over my visage.
When it was his turn, Hector possessed all the regality of a seasoned leader, holding his head high. His strides oozed with assuring confidence and strong implication of expert experience, and the entire crowd hushed for him to speak, and when he does, a voice the blend of kingly authority and youthful glory rang for all to hear. It was so, so similar to Achilles in front of a crowd.
“King Peleus, the reason I have made this journey to your flourishing kingdom and dignifying court is a preposition I hope you may want to consider; King Priam harbors interest in gaining allies from all over Thessaly, and Phthia is an irresistible option. This is a wealthy city,” he glanced at Achilles, but only for a second, “and Prince Achilles establishes himself as a successful king in the future. Troy is also the home to lionhearted warriors, skilled training, noble horses, rich soil and plantations, political goals where we introduce revolutionary progress of economic advancement, such as all social classes develop into higher stations for themselves and a gender equality in education can evolve. Our harbor is accessible for transferring riches like oil, wood, and iron. Apollo and Athena are loyal gods to us so far, bless them.”
Peleus regards Hector, his reaction impressed. “Thank you, Prince Hector. That is an appealing choice to consider. I do admire Troy's constant progress in money, architecture, property, and political campaigns. For now, Phthia is stable in regards of materials and peace with other city-states, but the future is never stable enough to make sure for certain. You and your brothers are allowed to stay at court, if the breeze tonight isn't strong enough for you to sail back.”
Hector bowed. “I think staying for tonight would be necessary, thank you.”
“Convincing speaker,” I tell Achilles. “He reminds me of you.”
He arched a light brow. “I do hope he doesn't remind you of my charming self too much that you start to occupy his bed and dedicate your sweet kisses for him only.”
“Are you seriously jealous?” I chuckled, shaking my head.
He rolled his eyes, bashful. “You are so beautiful my face will be permanently lined one of these days from glaring at the men who ogle at you.”
“If that is not one of your many exaggerations, then now you know how I feel.”
Hector was now talking to one of his brothers. Prince Paris, I remember - the first time I saw him, he was crowded by a group of pretty girls in the corridor, and I overheard his name in the tone of infatuated giggles. I couldn't really blame the girls, for he was undeniably beautiful - while Hector possessed a stalwart figure, Paris was all dancing light and lean seduction, bright golden hair and flushed red lips, rosy cheeks and aristocratic arched eyebrows, adorning himself in gold jewelry with shameless vanity. Hector and Paris looked comical standing next to each other in contrast.
Hector's eyes, alight with amusement, found me again. Embarrassed to be caught staring, I lurched my gaze away. It reminds me of the days before mine and Achilles' friendship - curious stares across the room, a silent game of dare to see who can gaze upon the other more without getting caught.
Later that night, Achilles deliberately placed me next to him at the vast family dining table. The lesser nobles and minor royalty were given places at the tables below, or at the benches lining the walls.
On our table, Diomedes, Odysseus, and Penelope were across from us, carrying an excited conversation about traveling and Diomedes' recent journey in Egypt. Paris greedily asked Menelaus why his gorgeous wife, Helen, didn't make the journey too. Nestor and Agamemnon were engaged in a conversation about warfare and politics with Peleus, and I caught no sight of Thetis, to my relief. The other Trojan princes were in blatant flirtation with princesses, and the young king Demophon engaged in talk of finance in Athens and his younger brother Acamas urged to hear about sports and races in Troy with Hector, who was seated on the other side of me.
Agamemnon ensures that his youngest daughter, Iphigenia, was seated at Achilles' other side, a girl too young and sensitive to be the pawn of her father's political game. She didn't make an effort to start an actual conversation with the Phthian prince, only sat there in shyness and evident discomfort. She looked about fourteen or fifteen, with a meek smile and lily-white skin. How she came from the womb of the reportedly charismatic and scandalous Clytemnestra, Agamemnon's strong-headed queen, was a bafflement.
With the purpose of teasing me, Achilles rubbed his thumb lightly on my inner thigh, caressing the spot there with his hand. As payback, I drifted my hand down his lower torso - so the guests can't see - and let it linger on his crotch, gently squeezing, feeling him hardening beneath my touch. Emitting a cough, he glared at me through his eyelashes.
“Do you want some wine?” Hector asked me, offering a handsome smile. I withdrew my hand, though Achilles' still caressed my thigh possessively. I nodded.
Our shoulders brushed when he reached over to the wine bottle to refill my cup.
“Thank you, my lord,” I smiled at him.
“You're not Thessalian, are you? Your dialect is quite different.”
I nodded over the rim of my cup. “I was the prince of Opus, it's the capital of Eastern Locris. But my father sent me to Phthia as one of Peleus' foster sons and my education and childhood happened here.” No reason to voice the truth of my exile.
“I've heard that you two,” he granted Achilles an entrance into the conversation, “have been tutored by the famous centaur Chiron, is that right? There are many accounts of Chiron tutoring Greek heroes, including Heracles, Perseus, Theseus, and Jason. Must be an enormously significant experience.”
“Chiron was the most excellent and wisest tutor we had,” said Achilles, leveling his eyes on Hector. “And of course he would be, teaching such glorious heroes and warriors.” He squeezed my shoulder, “Patroclus though, possesses a different streak. He's one of the kindest and gentlest men I know, more interested in medicine and healing over warfare and drills.”
“I do not seek victory from bloodshed,” I said. “Violence is ultimately corrupt and full of injustice, ruining lives and creating destruction. When it is in training or in games, then I can tolerate it.” The only times I saw beauty coming from swords and spears and discuses was when they're handled by Achilles. I know he loves fighting, it's what he lived for, what he's great at, but sometimes I do fear his temper and praise and ambitions could twist the passion into hubris.
“My battles happen when they're against the name of Troy. I swore by the sword I will do anything and perish all the enemies for my homeland and family,” the light of humor dimmed from Hector's eyes, “and I'm not going to deceive your ears, there is an obsession with fighting, once you've plotted strategic warfare and absorbed new techniques, it pays off with admiration and veneration from your people.” He nodded to Achilles. “Surely, you know the feeling?”
“Of course. I will gladly battle opposing armies for a revolutionary cause,” he winked at me, “as well as for the people I fiercely love and cherish. Fighting can be exhilarating, especially when you're one of the best at it, famed for it.”
“Achilles is also beautiful with the lyre, not so much in humility,” I informed, nudging my lover. “You'd think a man as talented in music as he is on battlefields would be near impossible, but he's incredible.”
Achilles' gaze, the sea amid a heart-shaking thunderstorm, softened when he looks at me. Hector coughed, and I, embarrassed by our distinct lack of subtlety, looked expectantly at him. “I look forward to a chance of sword-fighting or racing with you, Prince.” He nods warmly at Achilles. “I have heard many accounts of your athletic prowess.”
“Of course, Prince Hector,” a wicked grin. “Patroclus can come and watch, decide which one of us possesses more admirable strength.” I wasn't oblivious to the competitive tone in his voice, and Hector wasn't deaf.
“I'm sure you would choose your Achilles,” he joked, but there was a rising welcome of challenge in his grin and eyes when he looks at him. “But such intimate friendships out of the way, I'm interested in your judgment, Patroclus. You are refreshing, everywhere I see men hunting for fame and drunk on masculinity, but you seem wise for your tender age.”
“Ah, alright then, because you're so much older than I,” I teased.
“Trust me, having a ginormous amount of younger siblings forces you to mature so much quicker and own a lot of wisdom unusually found in your actual age.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Which is?”
“With my obvious teenage glow, you'd find it arduous to believe.”
“You can't be a day over twenty,” I say.
“Oh really? Maybe Aphrodite has been gracious to me, like she has clearly been to you. No, I'm twenty-nine, nearing thirty. With this many little brothers over the years, of course I'm no longer a youth.”
I giggled with amusement, taking a swig of my wine. “You tricked me, my lord! You're an attractive fellow,” my audacity came from the wine, I was sure. I narrowed my eyes in playfulness, leaning forward to study him with more closer attention. “You're the handsomest of all your brothers. The gods must favor you so.”
“I heard that!” Paris yelled in drunken stupor.
“Excuse my gracious brother,” Hector rolled his eyes, but there was a frustrated fondness in them. “He definitely prides more on aesthetic than wisdom, a favorite of Aphrodite, I'm sure. Now Paris definitely looks his age, having seen nineteen summers, and displaying every bit of resplendent youth.”
“I know another who looks his age. Agamemnon,” I whispered into his ear, the alcohol creeping up my veins faster. Otherwise I daren't gossip about kings higher than my station who were seated at the same table. Hector nodded vigorously. “A nasty middle-aged tyrant filling his role perfectly.”
“He has aged unpleasantly, even I must say. Stressed lines carved so deep upon his face doesn't balance his oppressive personality. Odysseus is a lot of years younger, probably in his thirties, and he has many grins and a sense of humor suitable for a younger man, but he is wily and clever enough to charm many different individuals, so that suggests seasoned experience of politics over the years. Diomedes is slightly younger, but a very intrepid and brave man full of humility and courage, but possesses a perception of a man in wiser years.”
He whispered all that in my ear, and I was impressed. The wine was hooking my senses upon the stars. I flicked my gaze away to see Diomedes and Achilles in a discussion about warships, but Achilles' jaw was set with deliberate force and his chair inched slightly away from me. Hurt and mild anger invaded my drunkenness - I was only conversing in friendly tones with Hector, and he couldn't even handle my enjoyment spent with others? What does he think I felt when I saw him with Deidameia?
“A-apologies, but the wine is making me dizzy...I should retire to my bed. Free to have my wine, my lord. As remembrance.”
“Hector is my name, Patroclus. No need for formalities. I can assist you to your rooms, if you wish?” He stood up, and when I wavered slightly on my feet, he placed a strong hand on my lower back to steady me.
That caught Achilles' full attention. “You're the guest, Hector,” he stood up too, fixing him with an almost-glare. “Besides, Patroclus shares my bed. Every night. I can take care of him.” He wounded an arm around my waistline. “Good night, lords and ladies,” he announces to the rest of the table. “Keep the wine running, but tonight we retire.”
I could feel the whole table's eyes pierced on us, and Odysseus' amusement and Agamemnon's cold aggravation oozing through. When he thought we were out of hearing distance, Odysseus boomed, “Ah, the complexities of young romance! I thought you were a wedded old man, Hector? Going back to the erastes glory days, I see.”
Achilles didn't so much close the bedroom door as slamming it shut. My annoyance heightens when he swiveled upon me with jealousy and hurt so clear on his face, as if he caught me naked with Hector and not merely talking to him in an affectionate manner. The first and foremost quality about the boy I loved was that he was passionate, and his passion knows no bounds - it was a beautiful glow and burning fire, this passion, but it also includes meaningless anger.
“What was all that about?” he demanded, trying to rein his voice in control. “Flirting shamelessly with oh-so-attractive-and-full-of-wisdom Hector, batting your eyelashes and giving him coquettish smiles as if your lover wasn't sitting right next to you! He has eyes that are not immune to temptation, Patroclus. And excuse me, I've known you for the majority of my life, I've memorized the sounds of your laughter - and that stupid giggling doesn't sound like you!”
I rolled my eyes, flopping on our bed. “Lower your voice, please, you're giving me a headache...It was a friendly conversation, that's all. No flirting on my part, definitely none from his. Y-you tend to exaggerate things. Hector is merely a nice man with ex-exceptional v-values...” I yawned, tried to be more sober. “Achilles, we've loved each other too long for you to doubt me.”
Achilles sighs, sitting next to me. Puts his golden head in his hands. “Alright, you weren't flirting, but there's no convincing me the way he was looking at you was in a pure platonic light.”
“Please drop the subject. I don't like it when you sadden yourself with unnecessary envy, and I feel horrible being the origin.”
“You know I cannot for as long as I'm in love with you,” I snuggled my face into the nape of his neck, and he drew my languid form into his arms. “Stupid, beautiful boy,” I whispered, wounding my arms around his neck to pull him in for a messy, sloppy kiss. My legs were on either side of his slender hips, so I was in a straddling position.
“Remember the promise I made to you earlier in the evening that I'd prove how much I love you?”
Achilles frowned, looking at me pointedly. “But you're drunk now.”
“I'm sobering up,” I said, pressing more warm kisses against his neck, hearing him groan. “And it was my offer, it's yours to take.” I gave him the look of a wounded deer, and when he still pondered, I told him clearly, “Achilles, I want you to mark your passion and make me yours, make me scream out your name.”
Lust claimed his doubt, and I felt his erection when I rolled my hips. “You're mine for tonight, Patroclus.” His hands tightly kneaded my hips, getting higher and higher until my tunic rode over my thighs. “As I belong to you, I will always return to you.” He moaned when I ripped the beginnings of his tunic from his torso, lowering my flushed mouth to suck at one of his nipples.
Hands caressing my backside, he threw his head back, face sweetened by pleasure. “Ah...by the gods...Patroclus...I can't.” The light of his eyes, my light of the world, intensified. “I want more,” he grunted, grinding our hips together, “need to see all of your beauty right now.” Achilles ran his hands up and down my legs, and I shivered at the teasing touches against my inner thighs.
I flashed him a sultry glance before rolling the silky strap of my tunic down, the cloth covering my chest falling to the ground. The way Achilles looked upon me made me felt as if I was worth the world, possessing all the allure and intrigues in the universe, my eyes scattered with constellations and my lips made of the finest buds of roses. Even if I was merely a decent enough boy who Achilles happened to love. I stood up, so my entire tunic fell.
I knew the light unveils my nakedness, and that I was skinnier than most men our age, that I had bony ankles and weak-looking wrists, ordinary brown eyes, a thin nose, and short legs. But if you merely judged my looks by Achilles' reaction, you'd think I was Eros coming to life.
“By the gods, Patroclus,” he shook his head, “how are you a mere mortal?” He stood up, and my mouth dried when he ripped away his tunic, his bronze skin shining with wonderment, endless specks of jewels sparkling to life in his eyes, such beauty destined for glorious tragedy and devouring madness. By now, I was drunk on his brightness - he was a northern star guiding a lost, decayed angel home.
He bestowed a hot kiss on my mouth, our need increasing. I threw my head back, locking my legs around his waist, both of us loudly moaning into biting, wet kisses. Achilles, carrying me, laid us down on the bed with me beneath him, both of us writhing against each other. It took self-control for him to lean back, placing my legs over his shoulders, to look at me.
“You're my lifeline,” he said in a husky tone, bending down to kiss my lips. I savored his sweetness. “I love your kisses, sometimes endearingly timid and honest, and in moments like these they are attractively greedy and shameless,” his lips trailed to press against the spot of my rapidly beating heart, “and I love your heart, so brave and compassionate and truly kind and surged with profound emotion, you shame my selfishness and ruthlessness more than I'd love to admit,” he trailed light kisses up and down my thighs. “And your body...it's art, I hate to see you overlook its spectacularity.”
Hector greeted Achilles and I the next morning at breakfast. I hoped he couldn't tell that we lacked too much sleep last night, our senses alive making love to each other and only getting a short nap around dawn, cladded in each other's arms. Achilles, insisting that Hector found me beautiful, kept a wary eye on him but acted amicable and charming on the outside.
“Are we still up for some physical competition?” he asked the Trojan prince.
Hector grinned. “Of course, Prince. I look forward to competing.” He politely nodded at me - I was looking down at my plate, “how are you, Patroclus? Considering that you retired from dinner due to the wine's influence last night.”
“It was nothing, thank you for your concern. I sobered up very quickly.”
Achilles' face lights into gleeful satisfaction. “Sorry for worrying you, Hector. I made sure he was alright - more than alright,” he yawned, stretching his arms over his head, “how did you sleep last night, Hector? Well, I hope?”
“I slept like a dead man, in the good sense of the expression. And yourself?”
Achilles whistled, squeezing his eyes. “Barely got any shred of rest, I swear to Aphrodite. We both haven't slept for the most part, you'd think a drunk man would fall asleep the second his head hits the pillow.” I kicked his shin beneath the table.
Hector's face didn't change, however. He retained a respectful, neutral expression, spooning more soup into his mouth and turned his attention towards his brother Deiphobus. Avoided looking at me. I found myself slightly disappointed by his lack of attention, he was such an interesting man. A messenger boy then scurried into the dining room and reported something into Achilles' ear.
He squeezed my hand. “Father calls for me,” he turns to Hector, “if you are able, you can wait for me in the practice field after breakfast. I will be gone shortly.”
“Patroclus, have I done anything to offend you?” Hector surprised me with that inquiry. Besides from Achilles, I cannot recall another who cared enough about my honor.
I shook my head. “Not all, my lord - I mean, Hector. You've been the utmost gracious and respectful. I apologize if Achilles came across as rude, his temperament has never been that tolerable.”
Deiphobus arched a brow at me. “You have the free audacity to criticize your prince so openly?” he asked.
“Achilles and I have been close since boyhood. I'm the one he trusts himself to show the gentler, rarer side of his fiery personality. We are expertly well-versed with each other.”
“I think such a relationship should be savored forever,” said Hector. “I myself yearn for a companion, something akin to what you and Achilles share.”
His brother turned to look at him quizzically. “But brother, what of Andromache? You two are one of those rare wedded couples who are friends as well as lovers.”
“Merely because we are both generally agreeable and generous people, doesn't mean our marriage holds the myriad complexities of love. I cherish her as one does a friend and an ally, despite her being a stunning woman.”
“I think she's lucky,” I said. “To be wedded to you. You are an admirable man, and most husbands are patriarchal monsters, silencing and abusing their wives.”
“Andromache will most likely punch me in my guts if I dare enforce such misogynistic treatment. She's an ambitious woman, her head set upon liberating women into equal stations to their male counterparts and eradicating ingrained systematic sexism in Trojan society.”
Paris ambled in a cocky stride towards the table, as if we were awaiting his grand entrance, clasping his brothers' shoulders. “Menelaus had challenged us into swordsmanship, him and that feral pig Agamemnon. You should come and prove those hogs wrong.” He winks at me. “Prince Achilles' pretty boy can come along as well.”
Hector glared at him in reprimand. “Call Patroclus by his real name. You have such atrocious manners, what kind of prince are you?”
“The kind that make all the women pray to Anteros,” Paris mimed wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “Speaking of which, where is Achilles? He will surely bring us the victory.”
“He and I actually planned to go against each other earlier. Ah, there is.” Achilles saunters his way over, and I hadn't missed how Paris' eyes raked, impressed, over his body - the clearly sculpted muscles subtle but defined enough beneath his skin to the finely lean dancer's legs from his days as a graceful golden-haired maiden in swishing skirts and a honeyed tongue back in Skyros.
“Change of plans: we will fight against Agamemnon and Menelaus, by their request,” Hector told Achilles.
“Well, I won't miss any definite opportunity of defeating Agamemnon.”
“Good luck. Make sure you live up to your talk of defeating Agamemnon,” I told him, dodging the temptation of kissing Achilles with all of my pent-up enthusiasm from that morning. Which was naïve, almost, seeing as we weren't as convincing as we thought we were.
From behind Achilles, I noticed Hector glancing in our direction, already armed and prepared, and I knew he wouldn't judge. I stood on my tiptoes to peck a sweet kiss on Achilles' nose, seeing it scrunch in an endearing and confused manner, and he leaned down to nestle his face against my neck, softly kissing the spots there, his earnest smile tucked against my skin. My heart sped up, since it was our first time showing an outright public display of our affection, and I feared humiliation.
Hector smiled a little at me, before turning his face away. From the corners of my peripheral sight, I detected an expression of nausea from Agamemnon, which only drove me further into my dislike of the man. If he could have his way, Achilles once told me, he would've constantly kissed me with all the fire in his heart and held my hand in public ceremonies and bragged about my charms to all his fellow men and read aloud written odes dedicated to my apparent beauty and declared to the world his love for me. To Hades with the world's opinions, he won't allow his honor to rise and fall upon our relationship.
But I feared the wrath of his mother - and deep down I knew he does, as well - and the judgment of others, therefore I insisted upon secrecy. He was gratefully surprised by my initiation, considering my panicked fears of others' condemnation before, pulling my body closer against his. It took several loud and significant coughs from the other men to signal for us to come for air. I playfully pushed him away, sure my cheeks would be set alight if he carries on with the smitten display.
Deiphobus had to join Menelaus and Agamemnon for balance, with Hector, Paris, and Achilles on the opposing side. I lost the amount of times I watched Achilles sharpening his skills in the practice field, the place almost a sacred shrine for his talents where human eyes were banned upon observing except me after he declared me as his companion. The greenery was cropped by the palace goats; occasionally there were athletic games held in honor of the gods, particularly Ares and Athena. Achilles was always the champion, and sometimes I would be honored to pour the libations to the gods.
It became quickly clear there would be more men eager to challenge each other. Penelope arrived at the courtyard to watch Odysseus, her eyes as swift and clever as the Ithacan king's. “Aren't you going to join in with all that battling?” she questioned me, tilting her head. “I assumed men of your age and stamina would be more enthusiastic about proving your manly worth,” her eyes narrowed teasingly, “or has Achilles turned you into the equivalent of a doting bride?”
I swiveled my head to determine if it was in jest. “I tend to stray away from the idea of conventional masculinity and general violence. If that makes me a doting bride, so be it.”
Penelope threw her head back and laughed. “Where else can I find men like you? That's what I tell Odysseus all the time; embrace so-called traditional femininity, women are so underestimated we are pushed to be the pinnacle of insults towards men and masculinity, but we are also as heroic and intrepid and sagacious, if not more.”
“Agreed. All this pressure about masculinity pushes men into untamable heights of domination and power and perpetuates control over women to express influence,” I shook my head. “You seem contented with Odysseus, though.”
“Oh, I am,” a secretive smirk transformed the natural timidity of her face, “Odysseus is an unconventional man, wouldn't mind spending days in women's dresses and being in my company whenever he can. His uniqueness is what makes him a creative genius of political plots and cunningness, and we've always made a fitting pair. He couldn't have chosen a more impressive bride.”
“I remember he was one of Helen of Sparta's suitors, I was forced by my father to propose,” I said. “I heard she's your cousin.”
“Odysseus is a man interested in women, and Helen has power to stir the loins of any man just by her radiant beauty. I've never seen a woman more objectified and sexualized than Helen. She doesn't deserve it. Before she supposedly chose Menelaus - lord knows why, even his beastly brother is braver than him - Odysseus and I were already carrying debates about Greek tragedies and ancient civilization, sitting together at dinner tables and making excuses to walk together in the gardens. He was relieved Helen hadn't chose him, and proposed to me right away.”
“That's so romantic,” I said. “So do you get along with Helen? And you are incorrect, by the way - I'm interested in both men and women, and she never stirred my loins.”
Penelope made a matter-of-fact hand gesture. “I was protective of Helen; most of my childhood was at the Spartan court, and I knew her to be intelligent, perceptive, softhearted, sometimes docile, but aware of herself and her wants, never hesitating to reject a suitor or voice her beliefs when needs be. The idolized way men treat her is despicable.” She paused, grinning. “And dear, we all know why Helen doesn't do it for you.” She raised an eyebrow at the general direction of Achilles.
My face flushed with embarrassment. “That's an interesting account of Helen. I've only heard of her looks, never her personality.”
She rolled her eyes. “Obviously, women's narratives are overshadowed by the voices of men. I'm more closer to her usually ignored sister, Clytemnestra, now that's a riveting and exciting woman. We loved outwitting the men in card games and riddles, surprising them with sexual innuendos and independent minds. Marriage to that sweaty pig Agamemnon doesn't tie her down from having her secret dose of carnal lovers,” she winked.
“And what about you?” I smirked, feeling myself warming up to Penelope, who was humorous and fascinating.
“Never. I'm devoted to Odysseus, even though we have arguments and disagreements and cutting insults and lethargy together, we are a seasoned pair already. My loyalty is as stubborn as the crashing waves, it will always return to shore.” The fierceness in her eyes made me believe in her statement. “And what about you? Your sweetheart is such a protective lover, I can tell.”
“From the banquet last night?” I grimaced.
“Definitely. He was drilling holes of spite into poor Hector's forehead whenever you compliment him,” she chuckled.
“Do you think it's right of him to be jealous? He thought we were flirting madly, but I knew I wasn't, and I haven't a clue about Hector.”
She mulled it over, scratching her chin. “Odysseus sometimes get jealous of men pursuing me, but not so publicly in fear of looking potentially weak in front of others. But our love has always been a permanent fixture, and we are not reckless teenagers seeing the world in rose-colored glasses due to our romance. I say it's Achilles' personal issue, but to be frank, I don't blame him for interpreting that you were flirting with Hector. You mainly ignored him to talk to the man. Pretty understandable why a young lover would be driven to jealousy.”
“He could've joined in the conversation,” I pointed out. “And do you think...that Hector might be interested in me? Achilles insists it is so, which would be absurd.”
“Why would it be absurd? Hector was reported to have kept several male lovers, and you are eye-catching and bright enough,” she winked. “Hector clearly at least likes you, and Achilles couldn't take his eyes off you most of the time.”
“It's Achilles. I know he loves me already,” but there was a fluttering in my heart. I let my mind wander to the prospect of Hector being interested, but it still sounded unbelievable, whether he also had male lovers or not. Achilles had already managed to disarm Deiphobus, laughing when he deflected Agamemnon's blows with impressive speed.
Hector and Achilles fighting together was a terror beyond control. They both possess raw talent with the sword, as if inspired by divine influence crowding over the limitations of mortal men, though their display of that strength and stamina was different. Achilles was a vicious, brazen licking flame of fire, his movements ruthless and deadly and sped with reckless thrill, he made violence look like a beautiful, exotic dance with his sun-drenched limbs, and I felt myself getting breathless with worried anticipation over his movements even though knowing well he was indestructible from besides the heel.
Hector, meanwhile, was intimidating with his mind as well as his straining muscles, eyes quickly adjusting to each blow and counterattack and parry, he was wise and experienced in battle. It was evident, and admiring, that he knew his limitations towards his opponents, respecting peace and equality as much as fighting and disarming. He was truly a sight to behold. If Achilles fought more like Hector, then perhaps I wouldn't worry about him as much. He doesn't so much as chase after death as stray away from it.
Hector managed to throw Menelaus' sword to the ground. The Spartan king growled in frustration, but picked the weapon up and stalked away from the field in a flurry of angry dejection and inherent envy. Even Paris was still on, his aims scarily specific, even managing to catch Ajax of Locris' knee and drawing blood from there. Odysseus and Diomedes were with Achilles, and they too fought with stunning speed - Odysseus was well-trained with quick thinking as well as attacking, his blows abrupt and striking, surprising the opponents off-guard. Diomedes was daring, fighting against older men with twice his experience, and managing to derive victory.
Eventually it simplified down to Hector and Achilles, with Agamemnon, Ajax of Locris, Menestheus, Lykomedes, and Ajax the Great on the opposing side. Ajax the Great would be difficult to take down with his towering form and overbearing power, but Menestheus of Athens and Lykomedes of Argos should be easier. Achilles doesn't scratch where he could stab, and soon enough Menestheus left the field with his elbows bleeding. Lykomedes surrendered to Hector and soon enough he and Ajax of Locris limped to the sidelines.
Ajax might be humongous, but Achilles was sneaky. He managed to dodge all the bigger man's attacks, this time using his brain to plot his movements, unrelenting until Ajax can't focus on the whipping speed of his opponent's sword and fell upon his lumbering back. With his defeat of Ajax, he missed the opportunity to shame Agamemnon. Hector and the Mycenaean king were parrying, and in a flash of momentum the latter was pushed to the ground, a thin line of blood cracking the skin of his cheek, murder swelling in his hateful eyes.
The surrounding crowd howled with appreciation, clapping and congratulating Hector and Achilles. I picked up my pace to run to Achilles, and his eyes brightened when they fell on me.
“You two make for a terrifying team,” I shook my head at Achilles, ruffling his hair. “Well done, Hector. You fought brilliantly.”
Hector smiles. “With your attention, of course I had to step up my skills.”
Achilles puts an arm around me. “Patroclus and I are going to venture into the city, you should come along,” he offered, his smile courteous but it held a mocking flavor so I knew it was a forceful smile. “Give you a taste of Phthian revelry.”
We rode into the city together, heading for the agora. I was fast enough on horseback, enjoying the taste of freedom in the form of the winds stirred in my hair, urging me to push myself to the limits. Hector rode his horse beside me, gracious enough to slow down to be within the same range as I was. Though grateful, I was slightly annoyed that he thought I needed assurance, so I rode faster. He caught up, and I hadn't failed to notice the smooth ripple of his muscles as he rode effortlessly and freely, his shoulder blades catching the sun. Guilt towards Achilles made me look away.
The agora was buzzing with activity, a rich concoction of exotic flavors and foods flourishing everywhere, pigs and goats presented on sale, sweets and ingredients from over the Aegean laid in the open. Citizens immediately noticed Achilles, bowing to him whenever passing by, all flustered with how to present themselves. Young country boys playing field hockey either eagerly or shyly ran up to crowd around Achilles, whose eyes softened and he leaned down to amuse them with stories of war.
“Is it true you cannot be hurt anywhere else but your heel?” one of them piped up, instantly blushing after voicing his inquiry. He was so little, skinner than the rest, with eyes too melancholy for a child and burdened with a meek voice.
“That is true,” Achilles said. “When I was a baby, my mother Thetis dipped me into the River Styx for my indestructibility, holding me by the heel.”
The little boy mulled this information over. “But isn't it unfair? You got special treatment while other warriors have no control over their pain.” After speaking, he again blushed all over, darting a lingering look at the ground. His peers exchanged disgusted faces and nudged each other in vicious amusement.
Achilles peered at me over the boy's bowed head. “I guess so, yes. That is very unfair compared to the limitations of other men, but that's the treatment demigods are accustomed to. However, being a demigod has its own trials - you get pressured and pushed over your humanity by divine intervention, but true strength relies in your capability to stand up for yourself and fight for the people you love. And it's also brave, to choose to fight when there are cowards who'd run away from a starving war.”
The boy looked up, his face alight with surprised joy. “You're an honest hero. You didn't condemn and brag over others.”
I fondly watched his kindness, the affectionate humor on his face as he entertained children. That was the Achilles I fell in love with. The honest man who can make such a sad child look like the most overjoyed little king.
After that, us three sauntered through the area, looking at the products on display and cracking humor about all its strangeness. We stumbled into a drunken rogue, his grinning teeth stank with absinthe and stained with rotting yellow, his hungry eyes digging onto me.
“O' lovely boy, stop and spread your ass for me,” he slurred, trying to fondle, but by instinct I knocked his head to the side with a hard punch. Hector glared at the slumped form of the man, and ignoring the stares of passing strangers, dropped to roughly grab his at the collar.
“You will apologize,” he gritted his teeth, pulling the man with him to stand up. I restrained Achilles from leaping forward to knock the life from my would-be attacker.
The rogue, apparently, seemed to be too drunk on wine and stupidity. “And why s-should I? Is h-he only exclusive for you two?”
Not strong enough to hold Achilles back, he surged forwards from my grasp to strike the man across the face, who begun emitting a furious cry before crumpling to the ground. It was not enough to sate Achilles' rage, for he landed a few brutal kicks to the stomach and genital area, spitting on him.
“Achilles, that's enough!” I warned, holding him back. “You're going to murder him soon if you continue.”
“And so what if I do so? Look at him,” he redirected his glare to the pathetic form of the drunkard, “just another nameless disreputable lowlife who dared lay a hand on you!”
“It's over. Leave him to revel in his failure.” Hector had appeared by my side, a look of concern flooding his usually composed face. “Are you alright, Patroclus?” he squeezed my shoulder and I nodded.
Achilles, fire still blazing in his veins, looked between us. I caressed his tense knuckles, running soft circles, and the flames dimmed.
I spent that evening in the royal gardens alone. The gardens had always been a presence of calm and serenity; it was like a little Elysium, flowers blooming by the kiss of beauty and life on flourishing bushes, orange and apple trees lining perfectly beneath the bleeding horizon that dripped over the skyline like an unfinished painting.
“Patroclus, I can see why Achilles fell in love with you,” Hector's amused voice startled me, and I nearly slipped, my weight pushing clumsily against his.
“Excuse me?” I steadied myself, tidying my mussed hair.
“You are extremely lovely.” His eyes crinkled, the bathing light of the waning sunlight shadowing his face. “Pardon me, if that was out of line. I don't think you appreciate that enough: but you are lovely.”
“Thank you,” I said, with a light blush. “I don't give up on myself as much as I used to. And Achilles has many other reasons to fall in love with me, but I guess physical beauty can be one of them.”
“Not merely because of physical beauty!” Hector's smile widens. “You are also beautiful for your kindness, and the strive to search not mindless praise but wisdom.”
This garden blissfully reminded me of late night walks with Achilles, the stars in his eyes brightening when they shined on me, devouring me like a sweet perfume before we kissed, our needy, aching kisses always wrapped in moonlight. But his presence was inevitably demanded to entertain the guests and play the flawless, omnipotent hero by Peleus' side tonight.
“Then you could say I admire you for those qualities as well. What happened today at the agora, thank you. For keeping...calm. I love him, but his savage temper can be too much to handle.” I looked at the ground, feeling as if I betrayed Achilles.
“That punch you delivered was surprisingly effective,” Hector grinned, squarely avoiding the topic of Achilles.
“I do need to resort to violence when certain situations demands it. It's not like I'm a priest.”
“You're certainly not, I'm not sure they'd let you into their temples. In fear you'd outshine the gods instead.”
“Dear lord, Hector!” I shook my head. “Your tongue is too wickedly sweet for the rest of you.”
“And what is the rest of me? I'm only seasoned warfare and the rapid progression of seasons as proof of my age.”
“You still look and talk like a dazzling youth.”
His eyebrows knotted in jest, tapping his chin in contemplation. “Even more dazzling than my brother Paris?”
“Didn't I say so last night? And dazzling isn't always synonymous to beauty - dazzling means that your absent presence means a remarkable presence still.”
The playfulness on Hector's face ceased; his hazel eyes, the shade of rich soil shone in the bronze of summer, grew shy and vulnerable. And dare I say it - hopeful. My own remorse washed back to me, at the thought of Achilles' disappointed and bellicose reaction, considering how our love had been the one constant in his life.
Us wading past layers of entangled complications weaved by the fabric of divine power, but again and again we managed to find our way into each other's arms. The stars were fated to lead us into an uncertain future, but we directed their light.
The guilty part of me has a mind to attend the banquet, but the rest enjoyed the warmth of the untroubled summer night on my skin, my breathing melting into the black winds, and, yes, conversing with Hector.
“So when do you suppose you can sail back to Troy?” I changed the subject, and we fell into step with each other again.
“After King Peleus signs the contract, so tomorrow. And after my brothers win some of the ladies' hands, or so they say.” Hector rolled his eyes, but the brotherly affection was clear in them. “They have hot blood, never settling with one girl.”
“Are you anxious to go back to your city?” I suppressed down the block of disappointment at the thought of him leaving.
“Not in my current state, no. Troy is my homeland, no other city is more gorgeous and honorable than her, but right now I am content. Though I do miss my parents.”
This surprised me, for I rarely ever do felt nostalgia for my parents, except little moments of sentimentality for my mother; my father was oppressive and intimidating, a looming figure with raised knuckles and bulging eyes, and my mother was a young foolish bird who had loved me at times despite not understanding my peculiarities, but she was dependent on my father.
When we were at Mount Pelion, Achilles had missed Peleus for quite some time, but he grew weary of Thetis' frequent requests of his presence. He must've hated awakening by the first crack of light every morning to go to her. I teased him once in a while that his first sentiment when, upon finding out that she was unable to observe us from Chiron's sacred mountain, was to make love to me that night.
I told Hector this. Well, about my parents, not Achilles'. And definitely not of the lovemaking. “Chiron was the closest father figure I had,” I confessed. “He taught us all the ropes and philosophies of life. He told us that the way we handle the past is proof of the current states of our existence.”
“Wise words. My mother, Hecuba, sounds similar. She is my father's equal in political affairs and judgments, and yet abided private time to care for all her children. She fiercely approved of my proposal to Andromache, both of them being independent and strong-willed women,” he chuckled, shaking his head fondly back at the memory. “To give you an example of her personality, she'd disapprove of me sauntering through these gardens instead of widening my horizon of politics and culture at the banquet.”
I imitated finding offense, taking a step backwards. “Have you tired of my company so fast?”
“Not at all. The opposite, in fact. I'd rather be out here, with the skies and nature and fresh company.”
“Not interested in court life then?”
“I'm routinely accustomed to it, not addicted to it. There is too much pressure and spectacle, all grandeur with no substance. What you say and who you say it to, how you present yourself and who you mingle with, they are all dictated for you. However, at the Phthian court, I feel considerably more free. Perhaps it's because I am a temporary guest and the future king of Troy with an enticing political and economic offer.”
“Then perhaps you should visit Phthia more.”
“I imagine I will be returning here often.”
“Oh? How often?”
“As often as there are many excuses or expeditions I could find just to sail here,” his gaze fastened on my face. “With the new alliance, I'm sure it will be easier. I'd even sail to Egypt if you were from there, only to see your face again.”
“Hector, I -” cannot reciprocate, my heart already conquered, “am deeply flattered.”
We ambled down the narrowing paths for awhile, which necessitated our hands to brush in fragile friction, warmly conversing about various subjects. He talked about his sister Cassandra, her reliable candor and precious valor and how in Troy she was perceived to be as desirable-looking as Aphrodite herself and how the citizens even began making offerings to her, which in my opinion, could only end badly. We decided to attend the dinner table when our stomachs growled for attention.
“You missed a quarter of the banquet tonight,” Achilles murmured into my hair after we tasted each other's lips with frenetic excitement, both of us cuddling beneath the covers, his sturdy arms wrapped lovingly around my torso with his chin nestled on my shoulder. I was thinking of Hector, specifically how to handle the truth of the nature of his affections for me, now that it became apparent - the narcissism ate off flattery, but the rest of my mind felt guilty, both for him and Achilles. The latter knew me too well, and noted my lack of attention.
“Tell me what's been gnawing at your mind,” he tilted my face upwards, caressing my cheek. Whenever he attempted to unveil a mystery or riddle, he kept a frustrated, yet adorable expression upon him - pressed lips and knotted brows and a tense jawline. I could not have resisted if I tried; I kissed that uptight mouth, glad to know that my strong devotion to him hadn't wavered.
“Don't try to seduce your way out of this, especially when you know I can't deny you anything,” Achilles huffed, pulling from me. “With all seriousness, what is it? You have such a guilty look on your face, and - oh,” he stared at me for a second, face blank, then an expression of rejected vehemence took over, and he harshly disentangled himself away from me.
“Achilles, what is it?” I demanded, reaching for him in a panic. I cannot stand the look on his face, a mixture of sadness and fervid fury.
“Don't think I hadn't recognized Hector was also missing and that the pair of you arrived together! You've been trading smiles and glances all dinner, for fuck's sake. Do not think that my love for you is a weakness and that I am so blinded by adoration and lust!”
“It's not what you claim at all!” I stood up and my strides ate at the distance between us. “I could never betray you like that, no matter how much or how less I am in love with you. You know I am an honest man. I was alone at the gardens in the first place, then he happened to be walking in the area too. We had a friendly conversation. I wanted you with me but you were occupied! He's leaving tomorrow anyways, so what's the use of infidelity now?”
“Then what are you so anxious about then?” Achilles demanded. He looked at me, analyzing if I was lying or not, then when truth won let himself relaxed. Slightly.
“That he bears unrequited love for me.” I noticed the beginnings of satisfaction from being right flashing across his face.
“Just reject him,” he twirled me around, dipping me onto the bed. I laughed when a rain of kisses splattered hungrily on my skin. “Can't you see? The unfortunate lovesick prince was in the gardens searching for a chance to talk to you without me watching over. You have to admire the man for trying.”
“Hector is an admirable man,” I pointed out, “and I need to assure that I will be gentle and kind if a situation demands direct rejection. And besides, I am guilty - him for his inevitable disappointment and you for the dishonor of our love.”
“So you're going to dangle potential prospects around him unless it becomes directly necessary for you to reject him?”
My cheeks flushed. “No, of course not. I'm saying if he wants me as a lover, then I'll have to voice my disinclination. I doubt it will occur, though - he was courting me in such a sweet, cherishing sense, but bears no obvious questions for future romance.”
Achilles wrinkled his nose. “Sweet, cherishing sense,” he mimics my voice, adding a high exaggeration to it. “Are you so utterly charmed by him?” There were creases around his eyes, his lips pursed.
“Yes,” I admitted, “but not enough to leave you. It will never be enough. Even if Apollo himself tries to court me, my kisses are dedicated for you only and my heart is only yours to behold.” I raised my head to press my mouth to his, finding my hands wrapped in his gold halo of hair.
He groaned into the kiss, delving into the welcoming warmth of my body, his own hands moving down to caress my thighs. “And tell me, do your unblemished thighs spread for me only as well?”
“Oh, yes,” I moaned, shameless of the wanton display, careless if passing people outside our bedroom doors overhead.
His devilish grin sliced through my heart. “Then show me.”
I saw the world blooming in his mouth, then it all crashed down in a resounding delicious quiver.
The next morning after breakfast, Peleus announced that since the contract was mutually signed, the Trojan princes were ready to set sail. At the breakfast table, Hector was celebrated and appreciated by fellow men and charmed women, his accomplishments being counted and brought up as conversation topics.
Even Achilles, half-envious, listened attentively to Hector's experiences with war and military training. Hector explained and narrated with modesty and humility, but the unsurprised lines on his face suggested he experienced all this praising sensation already too many times. I wished I had the talents to receive such reverence, but it was a burden that my favorite specialty was medicine, a field usually underestimated unless it became necessary.
I found I could not pay attention. In my chest, I was waiting. After finishing my meal, I paced from the dining room, past the galleries and the megaron, heading for the olive grove. Olives rattled from trees above, the lush grass stretching out in front of me, pressed with memories of feet toasted by the summer sunshine from boyhood years running through. A part of me ached; to be a clumsy, bony-skinned boy and to run freely with the gusts of wind and to climb upon the branches of olive trees again.
“Worrying about sentimental goodbyes?” Hector's voice surprises me. He sauntered towards me, sunlight weaving in and out of his hair.
“I have begun thinking that you've purposely crept up on me,” I laughed, folding my arms. “And I guess so. We knew each other too short a time, but already I count you as a trusted friend.”
“I am flattered,” he bowed. “And me with you, as well.”
“Really?” I raised a eyebrow. “Even if I am known to their ears as Achilles' favored comrade and exiled prince?”
“That is not true!” Hector stated, clasping my hands in his. “Look at these trees, kept prisoners in this garden, and yet they bear fruits and strive to face the sun everyday. You are like that, Patroclus. Achilles might possess surpassing strength and magnificent influence and glorious leadership, but you have profound humanity and needed empathy and broad horizons. He needs you, and Greece needs you.”
“But don't you see?” I shook my head, though it was spinning like the spirals of summer leaves. “You are already an honored hero, an illustrious protector of your people. My past has already been tarnished by court gossip. And in this world, you know that gentleness and empathy are overlooked next to ambition and savagery.”
“Then they are the fools, not you! It takes time and patience and drive and many suppressions of the heart to be a warrior of my status, and yet there are days when I resent my decisions and social standing, because it brings bloodshed and chaos. I am no more a protecter than I am a killer. But with you, I know you can be great and your life will be poetry in accordance to how you write it yourself.”
“I was right, your tongue is too wickedly sweet for the rest of you. You will go far.”
“You too.” He looked like he was contemplating on a notion, chewing his lip. “I know this sounds ridiculous, but would you consider sailing with me to Troy? You'd love it there, the most golden city you'd ever see, a place of celebration for the arts and scholars and philosophy and medicine, every night there are tragedies played onstage and gorgeous dancing and singing ceremonies every month,” he looked at me with no pleading, but curiosity. “You don't have to stay there forever, I just want to spend more time with you.”
“Right now?” I stammered. “Specifically only me?”
Hector nodded, a smile tugging his lips. “It won't count as eloping, trust me. I want you by my side without secrecy and with permission, and if it means coming back here again for me to take you to Troy, I'd gladly do so.” His gaze ravished my face with numbing intensity. “If you hadn't guessed already, I care for you, Patroclus.”
“Well, yes, I got that clearly. Troy sounds enticing, and were it under any other circumstances, I would have gone with you. But as it looks, I am loyal to Achilles, and even if he's quite fond of you, he would reject the prospect of living in the Trojan court,” I framed his face with my palms; he didn't even look surprised by my answer. “If I wasn't in love with Achilles, there's a strong possibility you would have swept me off my feet.”
“But I didn't,” he nodded in solemn acceptance, lifting my hand to press a kiss there. “I wish you all the best, Patroclus, and if the future grants us opportunity to meet again, I at least hope it wouldn't result in one of our deaths,” he chuckled wryly. Our foreheads pressed against each other's.
I later watched the departure of the humongous Trojan ship from the harbor, its sails flapping thunderously in the winds and reflecting the light. I could smell the sweet Thessalian herbs from the barge, saw the handsome scatter of Trojan princes carrying their belongings and gifts. And Hector at the head of the ship, looking every bit the rapid progression of seasons, waving goodbye at me. Achilles was next to me, but the wave felt more personal. I watched as the ship sailed away until it became more or less a charcoal sketch in the horizon.
I had told Achilles of Hector's offer, and he handled it silently well. “I'm looking forward to show you the many ways of why you made the right decision,” he drew me in closer, and we held each other as the heat of sunshine dimmed and my world narrowed to us, Achilles and me, until we became shadows.