#the first one is based on that scene in the iliad where he gets stabbed | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

littlesparklight · 4 years

Text

Death of Heroes : Patroklos

A variation on Patroklos’ death scene in the Iliad because I super hate how it plays out, so this lets both Hector and Patroklos fight about it before the inevitable.

***

Kebriones fell, and people died to take his corpse, or to keep it.

Watching Patroklos slaughter the Trojans after Kebriones had finally been dragged behind the Achaean lines and stripped of armour, Apollo considered his next actions. Around him men fought and fell, but the god was untouched, the warriors stepping around him as if they could see him and knew to avoid him, even as they were blind to him. His first intention had been to humiliate Patroklos to get a first strike at Achilles, but...

He could do that, yes, but maybe in a slightly different way than he'd first intended.

A glance over his shoulder and fear struck Automedon's heart, touched the horses at the yoke; not even Balios and Xanthos were spared, and in his fearful folly, Automedon spurred the spooked horses away over the battlefield, leaving the man he was supposed to offer a place of retreat stranded. Satisfied, Apollo strode across the battlefield, stepping over a couple bodies as if they were no more obstacle than pebbles on the ground, ignoring the men around him who, once again, stepped out of his way without seeing him.

Strolling up to Patroklos, Apollo smiled with all the warmth of winter as he gently ran a finger down the shaft of that sturdy spear. It didn't break, not just get.

"You might take comfort in that many Trojans will die for your death," Apollo said, his tone idle, though he didn't allow Patroklos to hear him, not in any way more than a suggested whisper at the back of his mind, like a breeze ruffling at a peasant's sweaty nape. Patroklos frowned underneath the edge of his helmet, but didn't loose concentration. "But for your sake Achilles will be dying, too. It'll be your fault, son of Menoitios."

A shiver went down Patroklos' spine, though he didn't quite understand why, for he was certainly winning, had been since he'd set foot on the battlefield.

Eyeing the man Patroklos was currently fighting critically, Apollo pursed his lips, ready to interfere. He didn't need to. Euphorbos skittered back, quick on his feet and warding off the next strike with his shield. Patroklos, of course, followed. One step, two. Three. Still too close to use their spears, more so a pity for Euphorbos for he was excellent with it, so instead the swords glanced off the edges of the two men's shields, and then, finally, Hektor was coming through the crowd.

Perfect.

Apollo tapped Patroklos between his shoulderblades, and the man staggered forward as if struck. Apollo smacked the base of the swaying horsehair plume and the gleaming helmet flew off, light catching in the rows of bronze-covered boar tusk plates, bouncing to a stop at Hector's feet. Apollo pushed faintness into the hearts of the Achaeans too close, and they retreated. Unknowing they were leaving Patroklos without easy protection, and then Apollo stepped back while Euphorbos retreated and Hector came forward.

"Take that spear and face me, valiant Patroklos, and cease tearing through lesser men like a rabid dog." Hector paused, shifting his sword and shield into better grip and position, lips pressed thin under the sharpening tilt of the grin, though it was more like a grimace of bared teeth. "Unless you would like to prove yourself as worse than the unfortunate soldiers you've felled?"

They had fought over Kebriones and been parted; this time, neither intended to let that happen unless one of them were lying on the ground.

"A god surely landed me here, like this, Achilles' helmet in your hands instead of on my head, but I've killed many today, and unless you'd insult them all, allies and kinsmen as they are of yours, some of them have been skillful... just not skillful enough. And do you believe you will be?"

A question for a question, equally as pointed as Hector had been, Patroklos' usually light hazel eyes turned dark and meeting Hector's fathomless stare as they both hefted their spears.

"Have already been shown to be," Hector said, perhaps surprisingly mildly as he called back to their fight over Kebriones' body, and then they both lunged, spears preceding them. Hector didn't aim quite truly, but he did not miss either, and the sharp bronze edge tore up the finer edge of the chest piece, cutting through the flesh in Patroklos' side and the strap there that partially held the armour together. It flew on, and clattered to the ground. Patroklos' spear shattered against Hector's shield like it'd been made of dry kindling. Dismayed, Patroklos drew the sword - Achilles' sword - and while the cut in his side made the swing he took ache and pull sooner than he'd like, he was not so hurt as to be immobilized.

Their swords clashed together, then locked, and the two glared at each other past their interlocked blades, Hector a little taller, Patroklos' a litter wider in the shoulders, both of their usually fair faces and short, neat beards spattered in dried gore.

They staggered apart, and Hector lunged back first, for Patroklos, thanks to his injury, needed a shade more time to catch his strength and balance. Time Hector wouldn't give him. Patroklos' sword rang against the edge of Hector's shield, though compared to the spear it didn't break; Hector's sword struck the plane of a shoulderguard and dented it, but caused no damage as Patroklos flung aside to avoid any strike to his unguarded head. They parted, circling each other like rival lions over a kill, but this time there was no body between them, only hard ground and flattened grass.

Patroklos feinted, and Hector was almost fooled; the keen bronze edge bites into his elbow, the cut dangerously close to the soft inside bend, to the vein. Close. Almost but not quite. Patroklos cursed and Hector grinned, one of those bared-teeth grimaces, and bore down on him again. They almost fell into the same back-and-forth as they had over Kebriones' body, but with the wound in Patroklos' side constantly tugging his swings back, like a hobbled horse straining against its bonds, and the cuirass no longer sitting quite as it should, things were different. Just different enough as Patroklos couldn't put the same strength and finesse into his strikes and the cuirass chafed, biting into the sore wound whenever Patroklos turned wrong.

Their blades locked again and they strained. Hector leaned in, heavy and unyielding. Before, they'd slipped apart when both of them failed at the same time; this time, Patroklos' arm started to shake before Hector's, the metal shuddering just slightly against the other blade, and Hector, fine warrior that he was, noticed both.

He put more weight into it, and Patroklos yielded.

"Hah!"

Like a mountain, Hector fell forward while Patroklos stepped back, losing ground without being able to be careful where he put his feet, fire eating his side from knee up to armpit.

Then Hector shifted back, easing all that heavy weight off, and Patroklos didn't have the energy or speed to guard against it. The first stab cut a long slash along the side of Patroklos' face, up into his hairline. It unbalanced him and with it, Patroklos fell. That was the only thing that saved him from immediately getting his head full lopped off, saved his throat just enough to leave him enough time and voice to speak, but his shoulder and upper chest was soaked crimson through before he even met the ground.

If the world was a romance, or Achilles more divine than mortal, he might have known it the second Patroklos fell. But the world could only be as it was, and Achilles, though with a mother counted among the Deathless Ones, bled as red as any of his comrades, as the lover bleeding out on the battlefield. He would know only later, and his grief would be as much of a boon to the Achaeans as his rage had been a bane.

His grief would also be his own bane.

#greek mythology #the iliad #patroclus #hector #lightart

3 notes · View notes