𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑 ᵉᵖⁱᶜ ᵐᵘˢⁱᶜᵃˡ

˚＊✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・⚔️・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ＊˚

Chapter 20. ECHOES OF LOVE AND WAR

❝Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies❞

an: just had to do find a way to put of two of my favorite Madeline Miller's ​​The Song of Achilles quotes lol
˚＊✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・⚔️・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ＊˚

The night was heavy with stillness.

Along the banks of the Scamander River, where only hours ago blood stained the waters and cries filled the air, there was an eerie quiet.

Interference of the divinity had drained the fight from both sides—leaving a temporary ceasefire until dawn. And as uneasy and fragile it was, it was enough to allow the soldiers to regroup and tend to their wounds.

The Greek camp stood in quiet tension with scattered torches and campfires illuminating the surrounding darkness. Soldiers on watch-duty patrolled the perimeters, their faces weary but determined as they nodded respectfully upon passing you.

You returned the gestures with a faint nod of your own, your focus elsewhere.

From your vantage point at the edge of camp you could see the Trojans. Even from this distance you could make out the silhouettes of their tents and the faint movements of their sentries. Their watch mirrored your own, a tense standoff as both sides prepared for the inevitable clash to come.

Your brows furrowed as your thoughts swirled into a cloud of dread. Plans, doubts, and calculations warred within you as you tried to make sense of what tomorrow might bring.

The armor you wore weighed against your shoulders, its cold surface an ever-present reminder of your role and the responsibilities it carried. You adjusted your stance, fingers curling briefly against the hilt of your weapon as if to reassure yourself it was still there.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulled you from your thoughts. You turned, instinctively alert, only to relax as the familiar figure make their way toward you.

Penelope.

She was no longer dressed for battle, her armor and war cloak replaced with simpler garments befitting the rare chaces of rest. The Ithacan sword, Aionios, still rested against her hip—a constant companion even when peace temporarily reigned.

Soft light from nearby torches illuminated her features, casting shadows that accentuated the sharp angles of her face while softening the weariness that clung to her expression.

“There you are,” she stops a few steps away. Her lips tugged into a smile, one that carried both exasperation and amusement. “Briseis hasn’t stopped whining about your whereabouts. She’s been pestering everyone, worried sick about making sure armor and weapons are in top condition for tomorrow. Even managed to scold me into polishing my own—the nerve of her really.”

The mention of Briseis brought a faint smile to your lips. “I’m sorry,” you said absently, “Hadn’t even crossed my mind about it.”

Penelope tilts her head as her gaze flickered over you. She didn’t miss the subtle exhaustion in your posture, the way your shoulders sagged just slightly.

Without another word, she stepped closer, her presence steadying as she took her place at your side. The fabric of her sleeve brushed against your arm, the faint contact grounding you.

For a moment you simply stood there. The weight of the past days, weeks, and even years pressed against you like a physical force, your gaze fixed on the distant flicker of flames.

It wasn’t until you turned to speak did you realize she was already staring at you.

The intensity of her gaze caught you off guard as her honey-colored eyes gleamed in the moonlight, their warmth contrasting sharply with the cold night air.

“What?” you asked meekly, your voice quieter than you intended.

Penelope blinked as though snapping out of a trance and lets out a huff. “Nothing,” she muttered with a shake of her head.

You frowned unconvinced. But before you could press her further, a shout from the heart of the camp broke the moment.

“____!”

The sudden noise made both of you turn toward the commotion. Among the soldiers you spotted Briseis darting frantically from one man to the next. Her hair was disheveled, her movements hurried as she inspected weapons and armor, scolding those who failed to meet her standards.

“This blade is dull—replace it immediately!” she barked at one soldier, snatching the weapon from his hands and thrusting a better one in its place—one she had no doubt prepared herself.

You couldn’t help but smile faintly at her determination, though your amusement was short-lived as you moved toward the culprit who called your name. Achilles.

Seated in the center of a raucous group of Myrmidons was the Son of Peleus. His golden hair caught the firelight and his grin broad as he raised a goblet of wine in a toast.

The men around him sang loudly while they swayed in rhythm, their voices slurred with drink as they celebrate their commander’s fiery return to the battlefield. Realizing he caught your attention, he perked up, grin turning cheeky as he waved in your direction, spilling some of his wine in the process.

You shook your head with a sigh as you turned back to Penelope.

She hadn’t said a word but the expression on her face spoke volumes. Her brows were furrowed deeply, her lips pressed into a faint pout as she glared in Achilles’ direction.

The subtle rise and fall of her chest betrayed her irritation as she lets out a sharp breath and quickly averted her gaze, trying to mask her annoyance. She lightly stiffens upon realizing you were staring at her with a raises eyebrow and pointed look.

“What?” her tone was a mixture of defensiveness and embarrassment.

You didn’t respond immediately, letting your silence linger just long enough to make her shift uncomfortably before finally releasing a low unconvinced hum.

A light pink flushed Penelope’s face as she narrows her eyes at you. “What is it?” she demands, her voice rising in pitch.

The rare flustered tone made your amusement grow. You shrugged nonchalantly, though the teasing glint in your eyes betrayed your true intentions.

“Oh nothing,” you draw the words out lazily. “It’s just....been nearly a decade and you still look like you’ve bitten into a bitter fig whenever Achilles so much as glances my way.”

Your comment earned a sharp glare, but her reaction made you laugh as you nudge her playfully.

“How deplorable,” you say with mock seriousness. “A Captain so protective of her Second-in-Command. What would they say about Ithaca now?”

Penelope's lip twitched, instantly recognizing the same thing she had once said to Odysseus all those years ago. Opening her mouth as if to retort, she instead let out a soft laugh with a shake of her head.

“How could I not?” her voice was softer now. “Your beauty rivals Helen herself. If Paris had seen you before her, this war might never have happened to begin with.”

Heat crept up your neck and into your cheeks as you stared at her in disbelief.

“It’s not just your beauty,” Penelope continued earnestly. “It’s your mind...your kindness...your soul. You’ve drawn people to you in ways neither Odysseus nor I could have ever anticipated.”

Her gaze faltered then, her eyes darting away from yours as she admitted quietly, “It never occurred to either of us that there would be others vying for your attention. We thought—we hoped—that your closeness to us would be enough to deter them.”

The determination in her honeyed eyes made your breath catch when she lifted her gaze again. The moonlight illuminated her features, making her look almost ethereal.

You swore she had never looked more beautiful.

A half-crooked smile decorated Penelope's lips, “That’s why I think...maybe you should give in to Achilles’ advances.”

You blinked, taken aback by the suggestion. “What? No—Penelope I—”

She cuts off your protests with a raised hand. “I mean it. He and Patroclus...” Her voice trails off at the mention of the deceased man’s name, the grief evident in her tone before she continued. “They showed you a kind of attention Odysseus and I never did.”

A humorless laugh escaped her and she shook her head slightly as if chastising herself. “How foolish we were to believe that would be enough for you,” she murmured. “You deserve so much more.”

Her words struck a chord deep within you, guilt and longing swirling in your chest as you struggled to meet her gaze.

Shaking her head once more as though to clear her thoughts, Penelope reached out, taking your hands in hers. Her touch was warm—though you couldn’t tell if it was meant to comfort you or herself.

“And as much as it fills me with envy and distaste at the very thought of Achilles’ hands on you,” her brows twitch slightly, “knowing that he brings you happiness is all I need.”

You pursed your lips, your chest tightening with emotion. Unable to hold back any longer, you leaned forward, wrapping your arms around her waist as you rested your forehead against her collarbone.

The scent of her—calming and familiar—washed over you, grounding you.

A weak laugh escaped. “Odysseus would go ballistic if he found out what you're suggesting.” you softly muttered.

Penelope’s arms encircled you, holding you close as she let out an amused hum of her own. “He’ll get over it.”

The two of you remained like that, basking in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence with only the stars and moon as witness. A rare moment of solace amidst the chaos of war—one you weren’t sure how long would last.

You would try to hold on to it for as long as you could.

*･:*:★☽✧⚔️✧☾★:*:･*

The pale light of the moon spilled over the Greek camp in soft silver hues.

Hum of celebration that had once echoed along the Scamander River had finally quieted, leaving only the occasional crackle of dying campfires and the distant rustle of wind through the tents. Soldiers who had been singing and drinking mere hours ago now lay sprawled in various states of slumber, their boisterous joy giving way to the necessity of rest.

Tomorrow would bring another day of bloodshed.

You moved quietly through the maze of tents and glowing embers. The flicker of torchlight revealed faces relaxed in sleep; some smeared with soot and blood, others pale with exhaustion.

As you weaved through the makeshift pathways, your mind raced, your thoughts circling back to the tent you were steadily approaching.

Achilles.

The very name made your heart thrum unevenly in your chest. It wasn’t fear—no, you had seen enough of him to know the golden warrior would never hurt you. But there was an energy that radiated from him, an intensity that could unnerve even the most steadfast soldier.

And tonight as you reached the flap of his tent, you found yourself hesitating. Taking a deep breath to settle your nerves you step inside.

The soft glow of candlelight greeted you, bathing the interior of the tent in a warm amber hue. It smelled faintly of leather, sweat, and the faintest trace of the sea—a reminder of Achilles' divine connection to his mother.

Your gaze swept the tent before landing on the man himself sprawled on his bed of furs and blankets. His bare chest rose and fell in an unhurried rhythm as he stared blankly at the ceiling, his features relaxed but devoid of their usual sharpness.

The faint rustle of the tent flap caught his attention and his head turned toward you. His eyes, as piercing as ever, lit up with recognition as slow smile stretched across his face.

“Well well,” Amusement tinged his voice. “I was beginning to think you hadn’t heard me calling for you earlier.”

You falter as you hovered near the entrance, your fingers fidgeting with the strap of your sword. You found yourself offering a faint nod as you spoke his name softly. “Achilles.”

His grin widened, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Don’t just stand there little warrior. Come in. Or are you too shy now?”

Lips pursed as heat crept into your face, you stepped further into the tent, your boots scuffing lightly against the dirt floor. “I—” You pause, glancing down at the sword in your hands before finally blurting, “I need assistance with removing my armor.”

At your words Achilles’ smile grew into something almost wolfish. “You need my help?” he repeated, sitting up fully.

The movement caused the blankets draped over his body to slip down, pooling around his waist and exposing the expanse of his bare chest and stomach, the flickering candlelight accentuating every muscle and scar.

He didn’t bother to hide his grin as he caught your pointed glance away.

“To think you’re actually asking me to help you out of something rather than into it.” he coos, his voice low and undeniably smug. “Well if you must know it would be my honor.”

You force yourself to ignore his remark, choosing instead to focus on unfastening the scabbard from your waist.

Achilles wasn’t making it easy though.

“Come closer,” he urges with a velvet tease. “I won’t bite...not too hard at least. Just enough to make sure everyone knows who you belong to.”

Your fingers fumbled slightly at his words. The amusement dancing in his eyes was infuriating, but you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. “Can you please just help me?” you said, your voice calm but firm.

Achilles chuckled softly and motioned for you to sit. You moved to the edge of the bed, your movements careful as you set your sword scabbard and dagger on the floor.

As you sat the bed dipped slightly beneath your weight and you could feel Achilles shift closer. His hands were warm as they came up to deftly work on the leather straps that held your armor in place.

You felt the tension fade as he loosened the chest piece, his hands brushing against your shoulders as he pulled it free. You grabbed the piece from him and set it on the ground before he moved on to the next.

The silence that settled between you both was surprisingly peaceful, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric and the occasional brush of his fingers against your skin. One by one, pieces of your armor were removed.

The bronze chest plate, the shoulder guards, the arm braces; each item placed carefully at your feet—your body feeling lighter with every removal. The breastplate came last, and when it finally came free you let out a quiet sigh of relief, your shoulders slumping slightly.

Achilles noticed, his hands lingering on your shoulders as he let out a soft chuckle. “Better?” he asked.

“Much,” you admitted softly.

You thought he was finished but then his hands moved to your hair. Your breath hitched slightly as his fingers brushed against your scalp, his calloused hands careful not to tug too hard as he undo the clips and pins that held the strands in place.

As the pressure eased and your hair began to fall freely, you felt a strange mix of comfort and vulnerability.

For a second the only sounds in the tent were the faint rustle of your hair and the soft uneven rhythm of your breaths. Then quietly, barely above a whisper....

“Patroclus...”

The name left your lips as if it had been lodged in your chest for days.

You felt Achilles’ hands still against your scalp for a heartbeat, the brief pause almost imperceptible before he resumed his movements. His fingers were slower now—almost hesitant. As though the name itself had knocked the air out of him.

You didn’t stop. “I never...I never got a chance to talk to you about him. Not properly.” Your voice was almost apologetic as you treaded on sensitive ground. “With the war and...and how you locked yourself away after—”

“There’s no reason to.”  Achilles interrupts you. He exhaled shakily, his hands now resting on your shoulders as he leaned back slightly.

“He’s in the Underworld now. In the Fields of Elysium.” His words were heavy but steady, as though he were trying to convince himself as much as you. “He’s waiting for me. And when the time comes, we’ll be reunited. There’s no need to talk about it...not when I know where he is.”

Your chest tightened, the rawness of his emotions causing tears to blur your vision.

“Still,” your voice trembled as you tried to push the words out. “Even knowing that...it doesn't make it hurt any less.”

Achilles was silent, his hand in yours. Then, he slowly lowers himself until his forehead pressed gently against your shoulder.

The heat of his bare chest seeped through your back as his other arm came around your waist to pull you closer. He held you as though you were the only thing tethering him to the earth, his body radiating grief and longing.

And then you heard it—the crack in his voice.

“It will haunt me,” his words were thick with emotion. “For the rest of my life it will haunt me. Even now after all this time, it feels like he had only just died. It feels like he’s still here. Just...out of reach.”

His voice cracked as you felt warm tears trail down from where his face was buried in the crook of your neck.

“Seven nights,” he continues barely a whisper now. “Sevennights I lay awake loving him in silence. And I’ll keep doing it for as many nights as the Fates will grant me.”

The lump in your throat became unbearable as his grief poured out of him.

His voice became almost inaudible, “I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell. I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came, by the way his feet struck the earth.”

You closed your eyes, letting his words wash over you. You could feel his sorrow press down on you like a physical force.

He suddenly inhaled sharply as if forcing himself to stop, to pull himself out of the trance-like state he had been casted into. Achilles moved back slightly, his arm loosening around your waist as he straightened.

“But it’s alright,” he says softly.

You turned to face him fully, your eyes searching his face.

His red-rimmed eyes met yours. And though his lips trembled, he forced a smile. “Because when death comes for me...we’ll reunite. And we’ll be one again.”

The small wavering smile on his face broke something in you.

“Achilles...” You broke the silence that was beginning to form, eyes avoiding his in favor of reaching for one of his hands, your fingers curling around his calloused palm. 

“I may not be Patroclus, nor will I ever replace the bond you lost. But...” You simply press a kiss against the inside of his wrist, hoping your actions would say what you could not.

A light flickered in his eyes.

Before you could say more Achilles reached for you. His large battle-worn hands—hands that had slain thousands, coated in the blood of countless enemies—cupped your face with the gentleness of a man afraid to break something precious.

His thumbs brushed against your cheeks as he leaned in closer. “How can I have lost,” he murmured in sincerity, “when I have you here?”

And then he kissed you.

Your heart stuttered in your chest, your body tensing at first before melting into the kiss. His lips were warm and desperate, full of passion and longing. The kiss wasn’t gentle—it was messy, full of clashing teeth and unspoken emotion as though he were trying to pour every ounce of his grief and love into you.

One of his hands remained on your jaw while the other moved to your waist. In one swift motion, Achilles shifted, pulling you onto the bed entirely.

You let out a startled squeak into the kiss as you found yourself straddling his waist.

Your knees sink into the furs on either side of him as the weight of his hands on your hips keeps you upright. When the need for air became too much you pulled away, gasping softly as you moved just enough to playfully glare down at him. “You need to stop manhandling me like I’m a piece of furniture.”

Achilles' laugh rumbled through his chest. His green eyes were half-lidded, his grin nothing short of mischievous as he smiled up at you smug and teasingly. “As if you don’t love it.”

“Don’t make me regret coming here,” you shot back in attempt to regain some semblance of control. You shift and to try to move off him, but his hands tightened their hold to keep you firmly in place.

“Oh no,” Achilles said, his voice dropping to a playful growl. “You’re not going anywhere my little warrior.”

Before you could open your mouth to argue his hand slid to the back of your neck. With a firm but gentle tug, he pulled you back down and captures your lips in another kiss.

This time you didn’t resist.