Achilles awoke, weeping, from a dream where Patroclus' shade demanded to be sent to Hades.
How could he let Patroclus go and lose everything that made up a life together: fighting side by side, lying side by side afterwards, the scent of him, the taste of him, licking the sweat from his chest and the wine from his lips, the sound of his laughter, the sound of his weeping, the sound of his singing, his hardness and his soft skin, the sun shining on his brass helmet and the moon shining on his face, feasting and games, mourning the death of friends, celebrating the birth of sons, a mosaic of moments that make up a life.
Soon their bones would be buried together and crumble under the inexorable weight of time; would the bards remember and celebrate them, or would they fade from the world completely?
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How could he let Patroclus go and lose everything that made up a life together: fighting side by side, lying side by side afterwards, the scent of him, the taste of him, licking the sweat from his chest and the wine from his lips, the sound of his laughter, the sound of his weeping, the sound of his singing, his hardness and his soft skin, the sun shining on his brass helmet and the moon shining on his face, feasting and games, mourning the death of friends, celebrating the birth of sons, a mosaic of moments that make up a life.
Soon their bones would be buried together and crumble under the inexorable weight of time; would the bards remember and celebrate them, or would they fade from the world completely?