𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑 ᵉᵖⁱᶜ ᵐᵘˢⁱᶜᵃˡ

˚＊✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・⚔️・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ＊˚

Chapter 22. THREADS OF FATE

❝Fate leads the willing and drags along the reluctant.❞

˚＊✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・⚔️・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ＊˚

A stillness blanketed the camp along the Scamander River as the night had stretched on endlessly.

The chaos of battle had ebbed for now, the Greeks securing a temporary advantage after their surprise attack on the Trojans following Hector’s death. Though the victory felt hollow as a shadow weighed over what should have been a time of celebration.

Three days.

Three days since Achilles killed Troy’s most revered Prince.

Three days since he dragged Hector’s corpse behind his chariot, circling the walls of Troy as the city’s people watched in horror and despair. The act, meant to defile and humiliate, had unsettled both Greek and Trojan alike.

It was said that the Gods themselves were growing restless with his unrelenting display of hatred.

You had spent that time trying to focus on your duties; burying yourself in the mundane responsibilities of leadership. But the image of Hector’s broken body haunted you.

Even now as you moved through the camp the distant memory of it seemed to whisper in your ear.

Penelope had noticed the strain on your face. And so, with the authority of someone who rarely took no for an answer, relieved you for the night.

With Eurylochus and Polites taking on your responsibilities for the night, you decided to use this rare moment of peace to head toward Achilles’ tent. As you walked your thoughts swirled with unease.

Achilles had not been himself these past few days.

His grief—a once simmering thing—had boiled over into something unrecognizable...something dangerous. You had seen him at his worst before, but this?

This was something else.

Upon approaching his tent your brows furrowed. The two Myrmidon guards usually stationed outside were sprawled on the ground in deep slumber. Their snores filled the quiet night air as their weapons lay discarded carelessly at their sides.

Knowing Achilles would never allow such negligence, the sight immediately set your nerves on edge.

A faint shimmer in the air caught your attention before disappearing just as quickly as you noticed it. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, an inexplicable feeling settling in your chest.

Your fingers brushed the hilt of your sword as you stepped closer. Without hesitation, you pushed the tent flap aside and stepped inside.

You paused as your gaze swept across the room.

King Priam stood in the center of the tent—a figure both regal and broken. He looked older than you expected as weariness lined his face. His robes, once pristine, were now wrinkled and smudged from travel. His shoulders were slightly hunched from the sorrow pressing down on him. And yet there was a quiet dignity to him, a fire in his eyes that refused to be extinguished.

Beside him stood Thetis—radiant and otherworldly as always. Her silvery-golden hair seemed to catch the faint candlelight, her sea-green eyes piercing with a sternness as they fixed on her son.

Your gaze shifted to Achilles. He was seated on a low bench, his brows furrowed in frustration. He looked up at you briefly, his stormy green eyes softening for a fleeting moment before his expression hardened again.

Whatever conversation had been happening before your arrival was clearly a tense one.

You hesitated for a moment before stepping further inside, your hand falling away from your sword as you took in the scene. It wasn’t until you reached Achilles’ side that you dared to speak.

“Lady Thetis,” you greeted first, inclining your head out of respect.

Her lips curved into a soft smile. “Child,” she greeted gently. “It’s good to see you.”

Turning to Priam, you gave him a nod as well. “King Priam.”

To your surprise a faint smile touched the man’s lips. “Ah, Commander ____,” he said.

Your eyes widened slightly at his words and you blinked. “You...know my name?”

““How could I not?” The smile on Priam's face softened the deep lines etched into his features. “Word of you has reached even the walls of Troy—an Ithacan Second-in-Command, a woman leading men in war alongside a Queen. It is not every day one hears of a warrior whose skill and intellect rival the great Odysseus himself.”

Before you could respond Achilles’ voice cuts through the moment impatiently. “Enough small talk King of Troy,” he snaps. “Tell me—what stupidity compelled you to cross enemy lines, to risk your life for this? Even with Hermes guiding your path this was a fool’s errand.”

Your brows shot up in surprise. Hermes? The faint shimmer in the air suddenly made sense. A God had been here.

Priam was unshaken by Achilles’ sharp tone. Lowering his head slightly, his voice became heavy with emotion. “I would risk my life a thousand times over,” he said quietly, “if it meant bringing my son home. I ask—no I implore you—return him to his family so he may be buried with honor.”

The air in the tent seemed to grow heavier with his words.

Achilles sneered, his lips curling into a bitter smile. “Begging runs in your family I see,” he says coldly. “Hector did the same before I drove my spear through his throat.”

Priam flinched but did not look away.

“Yes...I know,” he trembled with both sorrow and resolve. “My son was proud. His refusal to retreat behind the walls in belief he could best you costed him his life. I know he brought this fate upon himself—that I do not deny.”

He paused, his breath hitching as grief cracked through his resolve. “But what you have done to him...dragging his body around before the eyes of his people, his family, for days. Was killing him not enough? Does your rage have no end? Must you result to desecration?!”

Achilles’ fists clenched at his sides.

“Desecration?” his voice was like a thunderclap. “Desecration is what he did to Patroclus! My Patroclus! He killed him—took him from me! And you dare speak to me of honor?”

He roared through the tent. “He deserved worse than what I gave him! I should have done more!”

Priam took a step forward, meeting rage with sorrowful steel. “You go against the world son of Peleus, but even you cannot defy the Fates. Your end has already been written. You may drag Hector’s body...desecrate it as much as you please. But the Gods will not turn a blind eye forever. You will die Achilles. You will fall before Troy just as my son did.”

Priam’s words caused the atmosphere to thicken.

Achilles’ sneer faltered for a split second before he recovered. He narrowed his gaze, his lips curling into a cruel smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “So be it,” he said lowly. “All men must die King of Troy. If that is my Fate then I will meet it head-on. But not before I take every last one of your sons with me.”

The tension in the tent was suffocating. And it felt as though neither man would relent.

Then, softly but firmly, you broke the quiet.

“Achilles,” your voice was steady yet tinged with an unmistakable sadness. His blazing eyes snapped to yours, the fury in them momentarily dimmed by confusion. “Let him go,” you said each word slow and deliberate as though they carried the weight of the world.

Achilles blinked at you, disbelief etched across his face. “What are you saying?” he asked almost accusingly, his tone as if the suggestion itself was unthinkable. “You of all people would ask this of me?”

Your gaze didn’t falter. “I’m saying he’s already dead. You've got your vengeance. It is done.”

Achilles’ lips parted as if to retort, his words caught in his throat. A serene voice joins in before he could respond.

“She’s right my son,” Thetis said gently. She stepped forward, her calm presence radiating an almost divine authority. “Let Hector’s body return to his family so that he may rest. You’ve done what you set out to do. Let the cycle of pain end here.”

Achilles’ gaze flickered between you, his mother, and the grief-stricken King before him. His chest rose and fell with the weight of his emotions but he said nothing.

Emboldened by your words and Thetis’ support, Priam moved closer. His hands trembled as he clasped them together, his knees buckling to the ground.

“I beg you Achilles,” Priam pleads. “Not as a King, but as a father. A father who has lost his son. I know Hector took someone precious from you, and I will never forgive him for it. But you are better than this. You are greater than this.” His voice cracked, tears streaming freely down his weathered face. “Return him to me. Let me bury my child.”

Achilles stared at Priam, his hand gripped the shaft of his spear so tightly that it seemed he might snap it in two.

“He wouldn’t want you to carry this anger forever.” Thetis faintly hums “He wouldn’t want you to desecrate a man’s body no matter what he’s done. Let him go—for Patroclus.”

Achilles’ shoulders sagged slightly. The fight seemed to drain out of the Prince.

“Fine,” he says at last. “Take him.” He turned away, his voice hollow as he adds, “But know this Priam—I do not forgive. And I never will.”

The old man nodded. His tears soak the ground as he whispered his gratitude. Moving to his side, Thetis' delicate hands steady him as she helps him to his feet.

“Come King Priam,” she said, her voice gentle. “I will ensure your safe passage out of the camp.”

With Hector’s body in tow, Priam followed Thetis out of the tent. You watched in silence as they disappeared into the night, the tent flap swaying gently behind them.

The quiet that followed was deafening.

Priam’s words still haunt your thoughts. “Achilles...” you began tentatively, your voice barely above a whisper. “Is...is what Priam said true? That you will die if you continue this war?”

Achilles didn’t answer right away. His gaze remained fixed on the ground.

“I’ve always known,” he finally admits. “Ever since I was a boy my mother told me of the prophecy. She said I had two paths before me: I could live a long quiet life and die an old man, my name forgotten in time...or I could die young in the height of glory, my name living on forever.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you reached for his arm. “You don’t have to do this,” you say desperately. “You’ve already gained so much glory. You’ve avenged Patroclus. Let it end here Achilles. You don’t have to die. The Greeks can finish this war without you. Please, go home. Live.”

Achilles lifts his gaze to meet yours. The sadness in his eyes struck you like a blow as a rueful smile pulled at his lips.

“You don’t understand,” he said softly. The quiet resignation made your stomach churn. “The path I chose cannot be changed. It was decided long ago and there is no turning back now. My Fate is sealed.”

He silenced you before you could protest.

His free hand reached up to gently cup your face. Calloused thumb brushing your skin, his touch was tender despite the strength that defined him.

“But,” he continued, his voice faltering for the first time, “if I had known you before all of this—before I chose...maybe things would have been different.”

Your breath hitched. Tears spilled freely as you clutched at his wrist. “Achilles...”

He leans forward, his forehead resting gently against yours, his eyes closing as if savoring the moment. “But I didn’t,” he murmured. “And I can’t change what has already been woven by the Fates.”

A sob escaped as you clung to him and buried your face in his chest. His arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly as though he could shield you from the harsh reality he had just laid bare.

“I hate this...” you whispered through your tears. “The Fates....the Gods. All of it. It’s so cruel.”

Achilles presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “They are cruel,” he assures, “but I made my peace with them long ago. You must too.”

But you couldn’t. Not now.

Not with the weight of inevitability bearing down on your heart.

“It’s alright,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “It’s alright.”

It wasn’t.

The tent fell into a sorrowful silence, your quiet sobs the only sound. Achilles held you as though he could absorb your grief, his chin resting atop your head, his fingers thrumming gently against your back.

And in that stillness you both remained, clinging to each other against the inescapable tide of fate that loomed ever closer.

*･:*:★☽✧⚔️ BONUS  ⚔️✧☾★:*:･*

You were still cradled in Achilles’ arms, your sobs having quieted into trembling breaths. You’d lost count of how long you’d been there—minutes...hours...maybe days for all you knew.

For a moment it was easier to pretend—pretend that the world hadn't shattered, that the war hadn't taken so much from you, that Achilles was just Achilles and not the immortal warrior whose fate would soon come to an end.

But Achilles wasn’t one to let you drown in sorrow for long.

“Come,” he murmured against your hair, his voice a gentle rumble that vibrated through your bones. His fingers traced soft grounding circles along your spine. “Enough crying for one day don’t you think?”

You didn’t answer. You weren’t ready to pull yourself from the fragile cocoon of his arms, but Achilles had never been one for patience.

“Hey,” he pulls back just enough to tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His green eyes were soft, lacking their usual sharpness, but there was an undeniable spark behind them—a quiet insistence. “I want to show you something.”

You blinked at him, the words catching in your throat before you finally managed a croaky, “I don’t want to go anywhere.”

Achilles only huffed a soft laugh, brushing a stray tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “You will,” he promised, his lips quirking in that way that always made your heart flutter despite everything. “Trust me.”

And of course you did.

You followed him through the sleeping tents, his hand warm and steady against the small of your back as he guided you. You didn’t even realize where he was taking you until the faint sound of snorting and the gentle stamping of hooves reached your ears.

The familiar scent of hay and leather mixed with the crisp night air, and before you knew it, you were standing at the edge of the camp's makeshift stables, the soft flicker of a lone lantern casting long shadows on the ground.

And there they were.

Xanthos and Balius, the immortal horses gifted by the Gods, their coats gleaming like molten gold and liquid silver in the dim light.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Xanthos and Balius were just as you remembered them—majestic, almost otherworldly. Their manes shimmered with every slight movement, their powerful forms exuding a kind of quiet divinity.

Achilles gave you a moment to take them in before stepping forward, his voice low and almost reverent as he began to speak. “They’re beautiful aren’t they?” he murmured, reaching out to stroke Xanthos’ mane. The horse responded with a soft whicker, nudging Achilles’ hand like an old friend.

"I want you to meet them properly," Achilles said. "You’ve seen them in battle, pulling my chariot." His voice dipped slightly at the memory of Hector’s body tied to that same chariot but he quickly pushed past it.  "A gift from the Gods—Poseidon himself. They’re faster than any mortal horse could ever hope to be." 

He chuckled, glancing over at you. “But you already knew that.”

You nodded silently when your eyes were suddenly drawn somewhere else.

There, a few feet away in the corner of the shared stabled, you spot another horse standing in the shadows. 

The horse was midnight-black; coat sleek and glistening like polished obsidian as white freckles dusted its muzzle and lower legs like scattered stars. And the eyes...they were a striking shade of illuminating silver, the color seeming to glow in the moonlight.

“And that one?” you asked quietly once finding your voice.

Achilles’ gaze softened as he followed your line of sight. “Pedasus,” he said, his tone shifting into something gentler. “He’s mortal. Caught him during a raid. Strong, fast...almost as fast as them,” he nodded toward the other two horses, “but he’s got something they don’t.”

Curiosity piqued despite yourself. “What’s that?”

Achilles smiled, a fondness in his expression you rarely saw. “Heart....loyalty.” He took a step toward Pedasus who immediately perked up at his approach with flickering ears. “He doesn’t just run because he’s fast. He runs because he trusts the one riding him.”

You watched in awe as Pedasus moved toward Achilles, the massive stallion nudging his shoulder with an almost playful insistence. But then his silver eyes flicked to you and something shifted.

Pedasus stepped away from Achilles, his gaze locked on yours as he approached slowly, cautiously. Your breath hitched as the horse came to a stop in front of you. For a heartbeat you simply stared at each other, his warm breath fanning against your face.

Tentatively, you raised a hand, your fingers trembling as they brushed against his muzzle. But Pedasus didn’t shy away. Instead he leaned into your touch, his large frame pressing gently against your hand as if recognizing something in you.

Achilles watched with a knowing smile. “Appears he likes you.”

You let out a breathless laugh. “I’ve always had a soft spot for animals,” you admitted quietly as you continued to stroke Pedasus’ muzzle. “Especially the loyal ones.”

Achilles stepped closer to your side. “Loyalty’s hard to come by in this world. But when you find it...it’s worth everything.”

You didn’t need to look at him to know he wasn’t just talking about the horses.

The heaviness in your chest suddenly began to ease. The grief was still there, a persistent ache, but in this moment it felt just a little easier to bear.

"Thank you," you whispered, though whether it was to Achilles or even Pedasus...you weren’t sure.