ILIAD
Remus was scared.
He generally tried to be brave despite his small frame, but when the other boy had loomed over him it was all he could do to push him away.
He didn’t mean to kill him. He didn’t mean to become an exile from his own land.
He didn’t mean to be scared.
He was.
The palace of Phthia was huge, strong marble standing tall and grand on top of the hill, olive trees surrounding it as the pelagos met the shore in gentle waves.
Peleus was a firm but kind man. Generous enough to take Remus in and train him along with his son.
Prince Sirius.
The first thing he registered about him was his curious eyes, piercing grey taking him in as King Peleus introduced him.
Remus tried to be good, bowing before the prince but managing to embarrass himself by stumbling a bit.
He was sure he’d be scolded and he clenched his fists in frustration.
Peleus steadied him with a firm hand, and Remus’ embarrassment shifted when he braved a glance at the prince to see him trying to hide a smile, eyes gleaming with something akin to mischief.
Remus smiled, a small one that barely stretched over his lips.
Sirius grinned.
He was taken under his wing then.
“Philos.” Sirius called him. A beloved friend.
Sirius had a lot of training to do, as a prince and future King.
Learning the ways of mousiki, playing the lyre, getting stronger, becoming a warrior.
He did everything with the same indifference and never yielding grace. But he was adamant on one thing. Remus had to be with him at all times.
When they didn’t have lessons Sirius would grab his hand and break off into a run. Sometimes they’d climb the fig trees, staining their mouths with the bittersweet taste of fruit under the warm sun of Phthia. Other times they’d walk along the shore, laying on the warm glistening sand.
Remus particularly loved the way the branches’ shadows would paint his skin.
They way rays of sun would bathe him in golden hues.
He would always laugh then, about this and that, freckles appearing on his shoulders as silky black hair created a halo around him.
His kallos & beauty unmatched.
One day Sirius insisted they skip lessons, leading Remus to a small pond in a clearing near the palace.
He told him, there, all laid under trees.. About godlike blood running through his veins, son of a nereid named Thetis. About a horrible prophecy, an early death which promised hysterophimia and glory.
His heel.
“She was scared, my mother. She dipped me into Styx, where no mortal has even been. Its waters are supposed to make you immortal.” He shrugged,as if he didn’t care about any of that. Remus wished he did.
“You’re immortal.” Remus whispered, even though it was only them and the sound of birds chirping to the streaming water.
“No.” Sirius said.
“My whole body is, except-”
He reached for Remus hand, sending shivers up his spine as he led it gently to the heel of his right foot.
“Here.”
Remus touched the most vulnerable part of Sirius, the only mortal part that could take him away from him. He grazed it with his thumb.
“You’re the only one who knows. Besides my parents.”
“I will never tell a soul.” Remus promised immediately, opting to give his own if harm was ever to fall upon him.
“I know.” Sirius said simply.
And that was that.
It was afternoons of watching his nimble fingers play the lyre, eating bread with oil and meat. Red wine staining his lips and calluses adorning his palms, from the spears no doubt.
Remus would watch him, always watching him. The epitome of beauty and grace.
A wonder.
“You are very pretty.” Sirius had said one morning.
They were in one of the vast halls of the palace and Remus was trying to concentrate enough to play the lyre with the same effortless way Sirius did.
His cheeks burned. Whether it was embarrassment or flattery he didn’t know. Being called pretty from Sirius was ironic.
“Your hair is longer.” He said.
Remus looked at him. He didn’t dare speak.
“I like it.” Sirius decided, and then went back to his lyre.
Remus didn’t manage to play again that morning.
A few years later found them in Sirius’ room, a window open to greet the moon reflecting on the calm sea.
“You will come with me, yes?”
Peleus was sending him to Mountain Pilio. He needed to study and train along the best, he said.
Chiron was the best.
“If I can.” Remus said from his place next to Sirius. They were laying on their sides, speaking quietly. Sirius would leave in two days.
“You will come.” Sirius decided. “You are my philos.”
He reached out, the soft pads of his fingers tracing the freckles on cheekbones.
I would follow you anywhere .
The centaur treated them as equals.
He trained Sirius in archery, music, singing, and Remus' favourite, medicine.
Sirius excelled in all, his skilled body adjusting to anything, beautiful voice gracing them along with soft melodies from the lyre’s horse strings.
Remus learned how to identify certain antidote plants, anatomy and how to mend wounds. He never wanted to harm again, only heal.
Only ever heal.
They got older with Chiron. Wiser, growing into young men there, in the cave surrounded by tall trees and wildlife.
Growing into strong muscles, harder and less round features.
Remus grew into a brave man, skilled and educated.
Grew into the man Sirius would kiss.
The tingling under his skin had grown into yearning over the years. A deep longing, pulling to his soul to trace his skin, the nectar running through his veins. He wanted to run his fingers through the black locks cascading on his shoulders, his strong jaw, the slope of his nose and the dip over his top lip that would taste like ambrosia.
Like reaching for the gods and the stars.
It was Sirius who kissed him first.
One night as they lay together after a hard day full of training.
They had caught a deer and were still riding the high of a successful hunt and good meal.
They were elated.
Chiron was sleeping in the cave but they laid next to the dying fire, Sirius’ lids getting heavier, the fire illuminating grey into something transparent.
The fingers trace freckles and run through long curls.
Remus’ eyes slipped closed as he felt his warm breath on his lips.
And then, he was gifted by the fates with the brightest star.
Hands wandered and lips worshipped every inch of each other's bodies as time went on.
Their intimacy grew, along with the rumours of an upcoming war.
Soon they made their farewells to Chiron, leaving as men for Phthia.
It was the second time Remus was scared. But Sirius’ hand in his put everything to rest.
Then the war broke.
Helen had been taken to Troy by Paris.
Agamemnon wanted Sirius to join the army.
Aristos Achaion, people said. The finest of the Greeks.
With the promise of death hanging over his shoulders.
“I will go.” Sirius said decisively.
It was either a long life in obscurity, or a tragic death full of fame and glory.
Remus only wanted what was best for him. To live the life he deserved, full of gifts and fame and adoration.
But he also wanted Sirius.
They were sure to win the war with Sirius, Odysseus said.
The best of the Greek army, a demigod born to be a great warrior.
A star born to shine on Remus’ life.
When Sirius turned to look at him a silent question Remus gave him a small smile.
I will follow you anywhere.
Until Thetis showed up one night.
No one saw her take Sirius away. No one could stop a sea nymph, a goddess, from doing as she wished.
Wishing to protect her son from whatever was coming, a prophecy and a war.
Remus was lost.
For a year.
He had to lay in Sirius’ bed alone, without his warm touch and gentle breaths.
He walked the empty halls, devoid of laughter and mischievous smiles.
Silence draped the palace as it lacked the lyre’s melodies.
Figs uneaten, sand burning, and Remus withering as he missed tasting the sun and sea salt off his skin.
He’s in Scyros, Odysseus said one morning. They would sail the next day to get him back.
“Thetis disguised him.” He said, and something unclenched inside him.
“I’m coming with you.” Remus said, leaving no room for argument.
Odysseus examined him with his eyes before nodding.
They sailed first thing in the morning.
Odysseus’ plan was quick and efficient.
He went to the palace bearing gifts and praises for the King, managing to get them invited in for a generous feast.
It only took the draw of a dagger for the hall to erupt into screaming and a familiar figure morphed into something softer standing up. Pyrrha. Fire, his star.
“Prince Sirius.” Odysseus said, and Remus’ breath caught.
He’d know him anywhere.
They way his chest moved with each breath, how his eyes were set on taking in anything and everything around him. The skin under his year he’d spent endless nights kissing, the lips he’d tasted ambrosia from, the body he’d worshipped.
His heel, the only part of him linking him to Remus’ mortality, and the inevitability of his death.
Thetis was furious when they set foot back to Phthia.
She wailed about her son being taken away to his death. About disgraceful mortals defying her wishes.
About the unborn son Sirius had left in Scyros and the pregnant Deidamia.
“It happened twice.” Sirius had said to him as the ship sailed back to their childhood’s land. “I swear to you.”
Remus didn’t know what to say, so he nodded, trying not to get sick at the thought of the body he worshipped like a temple laying with another as he laid alone in their bed.
“You are my philtatos.”
Most beloved.
Remus watched as his fierce gaze turned desperate, the downtown of his lips and nearly caved in shoulders.
Remus reached for his hand, and heard him breathe again.
The wind was a gift from the gods, offering them the safety they needed to sail across the pelagos to the unknown land of Troy.
“It’s Hector.” Sirius said. “Son of Priam.”
The prince of Troy.
“If Hector dies, then so do I.”
A chill went through his body, making him grip the chipped wood of the ship tighter.
Sirius is the only one who could kill him. “Don’t kill him.”
The wind danced through his hair, and there appeared the grin Remus adored.
“What did Hector ever do to me?”
The night before they arrived in Troy, Sirius pulled him close under the sheets, and whispered vows of eternal love and devotion to him. He whispered promises of defying the fates, ending the war unscathed and being the first hero to live a happy life.
“Only with you. My philtatos.” He kissed the words in the dip of his hips, moving closer to his core. “My other half.”
As Remus let himself be worshipped by Sirius’ mouth, he also let himself believe him.
The land of Troy was oddly welcoming, allowing them to set their camp near the vast coast, with a central agora in the middle.
Remus prayed to the Gods that first night, and kept praying for many nights to come.
To keep him safe, unscathed, alive.
Years passed, and Remus cared about one thing and one thing only.
Was Hector dead?
It was with a relieved sigh that he got the news each time. “Not yet.” They said.
Not ever, Remus wanted to say.
Sirius was a vision in battle.
Untouchable, something moving swiftly, godlike, as if a golden shield had fallen upon him like a blessing.
He fought the way he did everything else, effortlessly, focused, mesmerising.
In the morning they fought, and at night they’d mend wounds, mourn losses, and lay next to each other with the sole purpose of breathing life into each other again.
Remus always revelled in listening to Sirius’ praise, his gasps like music to his ear, chanting his name like a prayer.
A demigod praying under the lips of an exile.
Remus’ pants of Sirius name had become silent now, words flashing behind his eyes, desperate urge to grasp into Sirius and never let him go.
Don’t kill Hector.
Please, don’t take him away from me.
He’d kiss his tears away, after. Remus didn’t bother to hide his embarrassment when he clung to Sirius.
He kept stroking his broad back, whispering promises of eternal love into the dark locks of hair.
“My other half, my other half, my other half. ” Sirius would kiss the words, etching them to his skin, making it so that Remus knew nothing but this.
Being Sirius' other half.
Ten years passed like that, but hubris was bound to happen.
Apollo sent the plague on their men and Agamenon had to return Chruseis to her father.
But their health came with the price of Agamenon’s wounded ego.
A fight broke out in the agora.
Agamemnon demanded Sirius’ laphyra, spoils of war. He demanded Briseis.
Sirius refused.
Agamemnon disgraced him in front of the whole army, calling him entitled, undermining Sirius’ part in the war.
Sirius was furious. Remus had never seen his eyes take such a stormy shade of grey, it made you recoil.
“Take her.” He said, something cruel in his eyes. “But to Gods, I promise, you will regret this.”
And he did.
Taking Aristos Achaion's gift would be like taking away his greatness, a disgrace never heard before.
Fighting his war, Sirius said, ungrateful old man. If it wasn’t for me he wouldn’t stand a chance no matter how many great men he’s dragged here.
Sirius was a storm.
Remus didn’t manage to talk him down from speaking to Thetis.
He didn’t manage to stop him from requesting from Zeus to make the Greeks loose.
He didn't manage to stop Sirius from refusing to fight.
Sirius was a storm that was bound to crush them. In a way, it did.
“Sirius, they are dying. ”
“That is not my concern.”
They were in the tent, and it had been 2 months since Zeus made good on his promise to make the Greek army lose battles, losing men along the way.
“Sirius.” Remus said firmly. He’d never raised his voice at him, and he knew it would be vain to fight a demigod’s wounded ego but he tried. Because Sirius had mortal blood in him, and he knew his soul carried empathy along with pride.
“Our men are dying. Do not punish them for what Agamemnon-”
“Agamemnon disgraced me!”
Remus shut his mouth momentarily, letting Sirius’ outburst fade into the walls of their tent before he spoke again.
“Agamemnon did.” Remus agreed. “Not our men.”
Something softened in him before his eyes hardened again. “I am not fighting again.” He said.
Remus nearly forgot about Hector when the meeting was called.
They had to do something, and Remus’ irritation spiked as the men struggled to form a plan while Sirius just sat there quietly.
The Trojans were fighting with renewed fervour now that the best of their soldiers was absent, and the number of the army was receding rapidly. Lives were lost.
Then Nestor spoke.
“What if we make them think Sirius is back on the battlefield?”
A few murmurs echoed.
“Someone could wear his armour.” He said. The men exchanged glances, but Sirius was still quiet.
“I will do it.” Remus said, the words escaping his mouth before he had time to think about it.
Sirius’ head snapped at him, and he was off his seat in a second.
“No.”
“I will go-”
“You will do no such thing!”
He nearly threw them all out the tent, moving around the table in a fury.
“Sirius-”
“No! You are not-”
“Men are dying!” Remus snapped for the first time, managing to make Sirius go quiet, his eyes like thunder.
Silence draped over them for a few beats, and when Sirius didn’t speak again, it was Odysseus who stood up.
“It is brave of you, Remus.”
Sirius glared, and Remus was sure for a second that he would pounce on him, but he just clenched his jaw and took a seat on the table.
They formed a plan.
He’d wear Sirius’ suit of armour, golden as he led a chariot and went to the battlefield.
He was not to go any further than any of the squads, just make the rounds and cause the Trojan retreat. He’d watched Sirius for years, he knew it all too well to try and imitate it.
The longer Sirius stayed quiet, the longer he felt like throwing up.
In the end Sirius stormed off without a word, leaving Remus and the rest of the board to go over the technicalities.
Remus was good on the battlefield, opting to lead chariots with archers or stay further back and mend to the wounded.
But suddenly he felt like a kid, his small frame shaking as a dead boy laid before him.
He swallowed his fear, and agreed to do it.
It was late when Sirius returned to the tent, a warm body lining up behind Remus’, strong arms wrapping softly around his waist, sweet lips resting on the nape of his neck.
“I can’t go back, Remus.”
Remus sighed, relaxing back in his embrace.
“I know.”
Because it was true. He knew that going back to the battlefield would mean stripping himself of all integrity, glory and dignity.
“I am sorry I can’t go.”
“I know.” Remus said again, turning around to face his worried eyes.
That night it was Remus whispering reassurances as he kissed Sirius’ tears away, promising him of his return, of laying back in their bed together, souls tangled up and intertwined.
“Half my soul.” Remus said, kissing his tears away after leaving Sirius panting. “We will be okay.”
He promised, unbeknownst to the fact that he was leading them both to their inevitable doom.
As the men strapped Sirius’ army on his body, Remus put everything he had into avoiding Sirius’ worried unrelenting gaze.
Odysseus walked him through their plan again and again, Remus nodding but hearing nothing other than the buzzing in his ears.
“They will fear you upon sight.” Odysseus said, and everyone stepped back when Sirius approached, holding his own helmet.
He looked at him, searching, and Remus forced himself to meet his sad eyes with reassurance.
Sirius stepped closer, placing the helmet on the wooden stool next to them and framing his face with his palms.
“You are not to go further than any of the men.”
“Okay.”
“Say it.” Sirius urged.
Remus lifted his hands to hold his wrists, thumbs stroking over his skin, the veins that gave him life. “I will not go further than any of the men.”
“Promise.”
“I promise.” Remus said, leaning closer to rest his forehead against Sirius. He felt him take a deep breath and say his eyes close.
“Please, Remus.” He whispered, Remus listening to the plea for what it was; Don’t go.
“I have to.” Remus said. “For you.” Anything for you.
Sirius took a shaky breath and lifted his head, troubled eyes looking back at him.
“Half my soul.” Sirius said.
“Half my soul.” Remus promised.
“Come back to me.” It was not a request, it was more like a fact. An order.
“I will.” Remus promised, leading Sirius’ hand on his own armour, palm laying where his heart was beating under all the layers. Beating just for his star.
Sirius kissed him, then. Pouring out all the promises and fears, sealing the deal that under no circumstances was Remus not to come back to him.
It was the first and last time he’d had to break a promise.
Remus' head was buzzing and everything moved by in a blur as he was led to the battlefield he’d been in countless times before. Only now, it was in a heavier set of armour, and was bound to be noticed instantly.
He thought about Sirius, how it must feel for him to enter battle knowing that everyone would be coming for him even if he was mostly untouchable.
He thought about their days back in Phthia, the breeze moving through leaves, the fruit juice glimmering on his lips under the sun.
That grin, the fingers playing the lyre.
His touch.
They way his breaths came when he surrendered himself to Remus. Only ever Remus.
His sweet kiss, deep and rich, pouring out all the wondrous love that keeps them intertwined.
His bright laughter and gleaming grey eyes. Soft, silky hair and smooth skin.
The nooks of his body he’d worship with his mouth, the chanted prayers of eternal eros, the beating of his heart as their souls transcended to heavens.
Perhaps it was the high of thinking about Sirius, or the elation of being in his armour, but Remus found himself feeling like the world wan in the palm of his hand.
He felt drunk at the sight of people making way as he neared the Trojans, felt wired as he saw men retreat with panicked shouts of “Sirius, Sirius, Sirius!”
He barely registered the shouts of Antilochus to stay close, or the voice in his head warning him to not go any further, don’t go, come back to me .
Perhaps it was the thought of all the men gone, the disgrace of Sirius, his rage, his glory, the shame. The love, his godly nature of gold and nectar.
Remus found himself amongst Trojans, chariot running in rounds until it didn’t.
Until the sun was burning too bright.
Until there was a searing pain in his stomach and a spear through his body.
Until his face met sand, and the only thing he could think of was a broken promise, a vow of love reaching the depths of Hades, and the mischievous smile of an 11 year old prince choosing him.
Sirius, Sirius, Sirius.
He had been stripped of his armour when he was brought back, and the grave silence stretched over the Achean camp like the plague.
And then it was wails of agony.
Flashes of worried eyes, feet running and running until they bucked, knees meeting sand as wretched sounds echoed.
Sirius’ grieving was bone-chilling, enough so that even the nymphs of sea, miles away at the bottom of sea, started grieving with him, Thetis in agony over her son’s pain.
Sirius tried to reach for his blade, chanting Remus’ name over and over, but Antilochus reached for his hands quickly.
It was no use either way, he’d given his blade to Remus.
Remus, whose dead body was laying naked under Sirius’ spasming body, tears of greatest loss falling on his limp frame, eyes lacking warmth and curls surrendering to wind and soil.
He blamed everyone.
He blamed Agamemnon. He blamed the army for not keeping him back. He blamed Hector. He blamed Paris and Helen and Menelaus and the gods for taking him away-
He even blamed Remus for breaking his promise, for what was left for him now?
Only glory that seemed like an hourglass counting down his days. Pointless, pointless, pointless.
Half his soul, all of it, gone.
Mostly, he blamed himself.
His stubbornness, the prophecy, the war.
Letting him go.
Remus went to save Sirius’ pride.
Sirius had sent him off to his death.
And in the process, he’d killed everything worth living for.
Sirius kept Remus in the tent for days, refusing to part from him.
He slept and then woke up again to fill the camp with screams that pierced through whoever was close enough to bear witness.
He wept, passed out from the exhausting shaking of his body while clinging to Remus, then woke up and wept again in his cold embrace. He spoke to him over and over, wishing for forgiveness and mercy from an unresponsive body.
It was days later that Sirius eyes the blade, the sweet release of death and coming back together with his Remus alluring as ever.
But then Remus came in his half drunk state, like a vision.
Sirius watched through blurry eyes as he framed his face with his soft smile, forgiving and gentle as ever. Heard his voice through sobs.
Sirius.
The forgiveness came with a heavy burden and a plea to let him go. He needed to bury him so his soul could rest.
Until you find me again, in eternal reunion.
Half my soul.
He would do anything Remus told him, ever.
Except this one time when he was selfish and it cost him everything.
Now he had to live with the burden of his loss for the rest of his life.
Which wouldn’t be long.
He had to watch.
Watch as Sirius orders for a majestic burial ceremony.
Had to watch Sirius become a ghost of himself. Bright eyes holding all the stars turning hollow, smooth voice like a siren's song turning to gravel.
Remus had to watch as Sirius demanded their ashes to be mixed, wishing their spirits to rest together for all eternity.
I shall never be parted from him again, he told Odysseus, who assured him of making sure his wishes were to be respected.
He watched as men paid their respects while Sirius’ demeanour shifted.
He watched him put on a new set of armour, watch his loving hands that bear the gifts of life turn into killing machines.
He watched as he made vengeance his purpose.
As he slaughtered whoever stood in his way, man after man, the fear in the eyes barely noticeable before they fell upon ground, drenched in their own blood.
He watched as the angry river God turned furious upon his waters turning crimson red.
He watched as Sirius took on Scamander, the God himself, nearly killing him raw if it wasn’t for Hera’s interference.
He watched as Zeus himself had to step in, in fear of Sirius’ rage defying the Fates, like he once promised Remus he would. He watched Zeus hold him back, for his grief and persevering love was capable enough to end a war before its time.
Because the Gods always underestimate the power of love, its force enough to upturn the worlds and change destiny.
He watched him reach Hector.
He watched as Hector begged for his corpse to be respected.
There are no bargains between lion and men. I will kill you and eat you raw.
He watched as Hector's life left his body upon the blade meeting his throat.
He watched his star drenched in maroon blood, rage and cruelty in his eyes as he dragged Hector's body across Troy, as he carelessly committed hybris in exchange of the love that had been stripped away from him.
He watched Hector’s limp body as a signal that Sirius's life was coming to an end.
He watched Sirius’ tear stricken face, calloused fingers touching the marble of his grave with a promise to meet him soon.
At last, he watched him become reckless.
He watched destruction and pain and fear.
Apollo led Paris’ arrow to the soft pad of his right heel.
He watched as Sirius met soil, helplessly, so unlike him.
Watched half his soul smiling, contentment etched on his beautiful scarred face as he fell.
Tragic eyes, a fulfilled prophecy and a fallen star.
Coming back to him.
"In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun."