ηδη πασα γαρ εστι τεϕρη || for my heart has been ashes all along
Achilles remembered every moment that he spent on Mount Pelion: the crack of the ice on the river that Chiron had taught them meant spring was on its way; the perfect times of year when fig trees were ripe; the hot summer nights spent in the cave beside Patroclus. Looking back on it as he rode back toward home, it seemed almost a dream. Few knew that the Mountain was the only place the gods couldn't see, it was blinded from their vision and thus he was finally free. Any destiny that had been bestowed upon him vanished in those short years. At that time he was still just a boy, he wasn't expected to be anything else.
So when the messenger came bearing news of a war, Achilles's heart almost broke. Certainly, a part of him rejoiced that he would be the mighty warrior he knew he had the potential to become. But he also knew that his lack of attraction toward women would soon become a problem. As he got older, it would become more and more strange when he didn't take a woman to bed. It would be even more strange when he refused suitors from his father.
It wasn't that he cared what the people thought of him; his reputation lived up to, and went far beyond, anyone's expectations. But he had heard stories of heroes who had completed great feats worthy of immortality but were forgotten because of their poor reputation. Part of him wished he could be different, but mostly he just wished he didn't have this fate bestowed upon him.
The messenger came as the sun was setting; Achilles lay on his back, with Patroclus resting his head on his stomach, throwing figs into the air and catching them in his mouth. The frightened cry of the messenger's horn had caused him to grab his knife and jump in front of Patroclus, to protect him from any danger. The figs dropped from the bowl he had been holding and clattered across the ground. It had only taken a few hours for the message to be delivered and them to pack up their belongings. It seemed that their boyish dream was coming to an end and any semblance of a happy ending was being ripped from their fingers.
Achilles knew how his story was going to end. He had known for longer than he liked to admit. When he was younger, it hadn't meant anything to him. What was dying if it meant he was a hero remembered for all of time? Now, with something to live for, death didn't seem so valiant. It just seemed like a failure. Surely, if he was the greatest of all the Greeks, he should be unable to die. But his mother had told him that if he is to be a hero, he must die in battle.
So Achilles and Patroclus rode their horses back to Peleus, unable to even begin to understand what they were getting into...
The last thing Archer remembered before he woke up was the smell of the ocean as he approached his father's castle. His heart was still pounding in excitement as he thought of becoming a hero. But as he breathing slowed and his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he felt himself fill with dread. He was suddenly glad he couldn't remember how that dream ended.