He was a new god.
drunk on immortality, of invulnerability.
High on the idea that he could change the world,
be remembered for all of eternity,
glorified by statues and hymns and songs.
Where his story will be in the chapters of epics and history forever.
Where he could love with no restraint,
he could live with no limitation.
But he was a new god,
so very young
and so very naive of eternity.
Of mortality
and of the silence that comes after death.
He does not know that if you loved a mortal,
they will die.
He does not know that if you love a mortal,
you will also die.
And so he loved.
He loved a sweet boy
with skin the shade of russets,
of eyes the colour of ochre,
of hair who shone a soft umber.
He loved a boy whose touch was soft as feathers,
whose embrace was sweet as figs
and whose smile lit up like the sun.
And the boy loved him back,
with the same passionate affection.
With the same amount of devotion,
of loyalty.
And for a brief time,
they loved without interruption,
without war nor pestilence.
Without being tainted
by blood and murderous crusades.
The young god still had stars in his eyes and the moon in his heart.
The boy was still the same:
mortal, but in one piece, at least.
But the young god wanted more,
he wanted those promises of epics and hymns in his name to come with haste.
He could not wait,
he did not want to wait.
And so he went, to join the savages,
who called the defence of a woman who never chose her fate either, in The War.
He was a god, he said,
what could go wrong?
The boy followed, of course.
The boy would follow the young god to the ends of the earthly planes,
would fight to follow him beyond that.
And the young god let him,
thinking that with him he would be safe.
Swearing he would protect the boy,
that no one would hurt his love.
And yes,
when the boy was with him, he was safe.
No one could come close to him,
the young god would slit their throats open before they could lay a step in his direction.
The boy, his love, will be safe.
He will be safe, he will be safe, he will be safe, he will be safe, he will be safe-
The young god did not want to go back to war. He did not!
They disgraced me, Patroclus! Did you not see how that bastard Agamemnon had taken Briseis away?! How he tarnished my honor?! No! Let them die, I do not care.
But the boy had a big heart,
full of compassion and of love.
He could not let thousands of unnecessary deaths bloody his love’s hands any further,
he could not let the number of dead men rise any higher.
And so he had proposed a plan,
a reckless plan born out of desperation.
Let me go in your armour, Achilles. They will think it is you. Please, I will not go farther than the ships, I will not go near the wall. I promise.
The young god had reluctantly agreed, making the boy swear to keep his promise.
The young god was the one who had strapped the boy in his armour,
golden and regal, fit for kings.
Had sheathed his own sword in the scabbard,
had handed him the shield he was most famous for,
fashioned in the fires of Hephaestus’ forges.
The young god did not know he had strapped the young boy, his love, his world, to his death
and consequently, to his own.
“I do not care if all the greeks and trojans burn Patroclus, as long as you and I are alive.“
