[How strange it is that when encompassed in Patroclus' radiance he feels all at once that he is the youth who in the verdant wilds of Mount Pelion fancied himself a great king; and so too is he the young man whose breast swelled with the sails of the ships when from Pthia the Myrmidons set sail for Troy the young man whose eyes were keen upon the horizon beyond which he would find the glory that was promised him. Yet so too does he feel the length of these years, and he feels that he is the old man that neither of them shall ever become. Achilles feels the full reach of a man's life compressed into so small a space, folded within his bones, for that is how rich his love is.
Yet in love he cannot help but sway to cupidity, ever yearning for more. Gladly does he accept Patroclus in his embrace, pressing his lips to his friend's cheek and murmuring these words against his skin where curves the jaw into the neck.]
So glorious a turn of chance could hardly be wrought by mortal hands. Moreover, if ever I have deceived your dear heart, such was my last intention, and if ever I must leave your side, it shall be by no choice of my own. This I vow upon my worthy name, and upon the truest love that ever man has held in his bosom. O, that men might be granted second chances! Into your lips is breathed new life, which never shall I take for granted. Thus I am loath to so much as turn my eyes from you, lest I lose forever my chance to take pleasure in gazing upon your comely features - lest you never return to me, as once I was made to suffer.
[At last he draws back but releases not his friend from the circle of his arms. His eyes dance over him in delight, fluttering as do bees that seek the next flower upon which to land and of whose nectar to partake, and his grin is bright upon his countenance.]
Still you are clad in noble Peleus' cuirass. Come now, let us settle into this camp which now must suffice for our home. Have you a tent erected, or have all of your labors gone toward aiding others?
[For all the familiarity he may possess in this far-flung land, for all the essence of their shared home he effuses, Achilles is clad not in the garb of the Achaeans but rather in that of the wild-eyed Qorral. Where the chiton might usually drape his shoulders and flow down from his waist, instead is found a red flannel shirt and denim, with his feet bound not in sandals but boots. All of this is stained with soot, as is his skin and his golden hair, a testament to the trial through which they had all toiled.]
no subject
Yet in love he cannot help but sway to cupidity, ever yearning for more. Gladly does he accept Patroclus in his embrace, pressing his lips to his friend's cheek and murmuring these words against his skin where curves the jaw into the neck.]
So glorious a turn of chance could hardly be wrought by mortal hands. Moreover, if ever I have deceived your dear heart, such was my last intention, and if ever I must leave your side, it shall be by no choice of my own. This I vow upon my worthy name, and upon the truest love that ever man has held in his bosom. O, that men might be granted second chances! Into your lips is breathed new life, which never shall I take for granted. Thus I am loath to so much as turn my eyes from you, lest I lose forever my chance to take pleasure in gazing upon your comely features - lest you never return to me, as once I was made to suffer.
[At last he draws back but releases not his friend from the circle of his arms. His eyes dance over him in delight, fluttering as do bees that seek the next flower upon which to land and of whose nectar to partake, and his grin is bright upon his countenance.]
Still you are clad in noble Peleus' cuirass. Come now, let us settle into this camp which now must suffice for our home. Have you a tent erected, or have all of your labors gone toward aiding others?
[For all the familiarity he may possess in this far-flung land, for all the essence of their shared home he effuses, Achilles is clad not in the garb of the Achaeans but rather in that of the wild-eyed Qorral. Where the chiton might usually drape his shoulders and flow down from his waist, instead is found a red flannel shirt and denim, with his feet bound not in sandals but boots. All of this is stained with soot, as is his skin and his golden hair, a testament to the trial through which they had all toiled.]