Achilles + Patroclus

Devotion is not a strong enough word. The love that ran between Achilles and Patroclus was a deeper bond than either had ever known before. The two were raised together, they trained together, they fought together. Their connection was more than a brotherhood, the pair was inextricably linked. 

Though they both knew the other would say the same, neither ever spoke the words to each other. They were simply bonded, and that was enough – they didn’t need to speak it, their actions proved it plenty. They were comrades until the end, the final breath of both men an act of devotion for the other.

Even though the two trained side by side, Achilles always held an unfair advantage. His mother, Thetis, received a prophecy on the day of his birth – Achilles would be the greatest warrior Greece had ever known. He would fight above and beyond anyone he faced, and his very presence would strike fear into the heart of his enemies. Fearing for his life, Thetis took baby Achilles to the River Styx and dipped him in the holy waters, making him invincible everywhere but the small patch of his ankle from which she held him. 

The prophecy rang true, and Achilles could not be beat. By the dawn of the Trojan War, his name was known across the Mediterranean, revered by Greeks and Trojans alike. So, as the fighting began, both sides were shocked to discover that Achilles and his ever-present Patroclus were nowhere to be found. 

After days of sitting at the helm of a sinking ship, Agamemnon sent his men to find Achilles. Odysseus and Ajax arrived at a tent on the outskirts of the Greek camp that glowed with the light of dozens of candles. The distinct sound of Patroclus plucking away at his lyre floated through the night, and the men hesitated to interrupt such a peaceful scene with their morbid request. Though they wished they did not have to, the men entered the tent. 

Achilles seemed to know they were coming. “No,” he stated simply, not even allowing the men to ask him to fight. He turned back to Patroclus and motioned for him to continue his song. 

“Please, Achilles. Our friends, your friends, are being slaughtered by the hundreds. We need you.” 

“No.” 

Ajax and Odysseus were at a loss. Neither had been prepared for such staunch refusal. Odysseus caught Patroclus’s eye, and, skilled negotiator as he was, knew that he had found his way in. “Can we join you then? We’ll only stay until morning, and then we will leave you be.” 

 All four men sat and enjoyed the evening together, chatting about their families back home and listening to the lyre. After a few skeins of wine had been drained, Odysseus tried again. 

“Achilles, without you, we will lose. There is no path forward without the fear you strike into the hearts of your enemies.” 

But Achilles could not be convinced, for a second prophecy had been laid upon him, one that only Patroclus knew. Though he was physically nearly invincible, he was cursed to perish at the hands of the Trojans. A well-shot arrow would pierce his single weak point, and he would be no more. 

Patroclus could not lose his Achilles, but he knew that Odysseus spoke the truth – the Greeks could not win without Achilles. And so, he began to scheme. The night wore on, and the men dozed off, all but Patroclus. At the break of dawn, he silently gathered Achilles’s golden armor and headed for the battlefield. 

As he approached the crowd, he donned Achilles’s iconic helmet. As he joined the fight, the shouts from both sides made Patroclus confident he had made the right call. 

“Achilles! Achilles!” Patroclus heard from all around him – some in joy, some in fear. He fought fearlessly, as he knew Achilles himself would have, a convincing performance to fool even those that fought the closest to him. He slashed with Achilles’s sword, blocked with his shield. He felt unstoppable. 

Unlike his Achilles, though, he was not. A single misstep was all it took, one second too slow with his shield. An arrow, fired by an unseen assailant. The sound of clanging metal echoed in Patroclus’s ears as he crumpled to the ground, realizing suddenly that the prophecy had not meant what he thought. He bled, and bled, until the life drained from his eyes. 

His comrades dragged his body away from the fight, not understanding what they were seeing. Achilles could not be hurt by an arrow, so who was this? They unclasped the helmet to reveal, of course, the bloody and beaten face of Patroclus. Tears began to flow, everyone suddenly understanding the sacrifice Patroclus had made for his Achilles. A runner was sent to fetch Achilles from his tent, and what seemed like seconds later, Achilles appeared at the battlefield’s edge. 

His wails were enough to cease the fighting, if even just for a moment. He embraced the lifeless body that was once his best friend, and he too realized the prophecy had been misleading. He thought back to the oracle, her words echoing in his head. “An arrow will pierce your weak point, and you will be no more.” He knew now that his ankle was not the target, but his heart. With Patroclus’s death, Achilles felt his own life drain away, his reason for living stripped from him. 

He grieved for months as the war waged on around him. Patroclus’s body was returned home to Greece, and a lavish funeral was held, though Achilles could not bear to attend. Once he had seen to it that his friend was honored properly, Achilles returned to Troy. This time, he was out for blood. 

In the same armor Patroclus once wore, Achilles tore through the battalion lines until he was in the thick of the fight. Like his friend before him, he slashed and parried, a torrent of blood and sweat surrounding him. His rage emanated from him, anger coursing through his veins. Finally, he made it through the Trojan front lines, crossing fully into enemy territory. 

“Tell me who fired the arrow!” he bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls of the city. “Present yourself!” 

Hector, leader of the Trojan forces, stepped forward. He accepted his fate, but he would not go down without a fight. Leveling his sword, he charged Achilles, his final act of defiance against the Greeks. 

Achilles struck the oncoming Hector between the pads of his armor, piercing down through his clavicle and fatally wounding him. Tears poured from his eyes as blood pooled beside the defeated Hector. 

“For Patroclus,” Achilles whispered, locking eyes with Hector as he drew his last breath. With that, Achilles yanked the spear from Hector’s body and stood tall, daring those around him to challenge his strength. No one did.