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A Childhood Story & A Lover's Anger


esotericas
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“Vonce upon ein time...” 

 

The memory hit Friedrich like a punch to the gut. 

 

“Vonce upon ein time vhat, vater?” Freddy asks. He’s nine again, in his little windmill bedroom. Pink sheets, muddy boots by the door. Plush lamb clutched against his chest.

“Shh, mein boy. Let mich tell it.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

 

Lying in his bed, it startled Friedrich how well he could remember his father’s face, even then. Two decades after his death, every crease and smile-line was still etched into his mind.

 

“Vonce upon ein time..”

 

---

 

Every night, Patroclus watches as a wounded Achilles returns to their tent. Each time it’s the same. The golden prince, struck mortal by unknown enemies. Red, mortal blood. Red, mortal cuts, as unnatural on his perfection as a snowstorm in summer.

Patroclus says nothing. He welcomes his lover back with all the softness he can muster, and keeps his private curses to himself, as he has always done.

You see, Patroclus and Achilles have known each other since their earliest days. 

Since they were just two boys running on the beach. Two boys sneaking sips of ale when nobody was looking. Two boys sneaking furtive glances at each other across rooms.

Two boys, hands laced tightly together out of sight. Two boys sleeping curled up in a bed with red sheets, red as blood.

One day it’s different. Achilles stumbles back to the tent bandaged, his very life leaking from a near-fatal wound. This time Patroclus can’t swallow down his anger.

 

---

 

Nine-year-old Freddy wonders if his father knows. He wonders if his father understands what he’s really asking when he says,

“Vater, did Achilles und Patroclus love eachozer?” His father’s answer is a slow one, but Freddy is patient.

 

Friedrich stared at the ceiling, throat tight with dry tears. It had been a long time since he’d thought of this day. He had no clue if it was his last moment with his father, no way of remembering anymore. It was long ago.

 

“Zhey did, Freddy. Zhey did.”

 

---

 

It is only when Achilles has fallen into a fitful sleep that Patroclus allows himself to be angry. It was wrong. Achilles, a great warrior. Son of a god and nearly a god unto himself. And yet there he lay, half-dead before Patroclus.

Hot, wet rage spills down Patroclus’s cheeks, and he does what he has sworn to do every time that Achilles returns to him with red blood spilt.

They look nothing alike, but Achilles’s armor fits when he puts it on.

 

---

 

Achilles, no- Raggy slept soundly next to Friedrich, bandages peeking out from underneath his shirt. 

Friedrich watched him sleep, grateful that the ever-present furrow in Raggy’s brow was fainter than when he was awake. He couldn’t help himself when he reached out to lift his lover's hand, the iron ring still secure in its place.

Friedrich wondered if it will ever be accompanied by another. He had heard promises of yes, of ‘someday’ from Raggy, but the promises had been coming for years.

 

Freddy can’t sleep, his mind awhirl with questions. He tiptoes past Erwin’s bedroom, careful not to wake the only sibling he’s seen in years, and softly knocks on his father’s door.

“Vhat ist it, mein boy?” 

Freddy looks up at his father, plush sheep clutched to his chest.

“How did zhey love eachozer, vater? Zhe men at church alvays tell us it ist vrong.”

It’s a long time before Freddy gets a response.

 

---

 

When Achilles wakes too-early one morning, Patroclus knows that it’s time. He softly ushers his lover back into bed, calming him with a gentle palm on his cheek and promises to wake him before the battle.

Inside, Patroclus sends prayers of apology up to the heavens. He never lies. Just this once, however. Just this once, it’s for something worthwhile.

Patroclus is not a warrior, but with Achilles’s helmet obscuring his face, he finds it a bit easier to pretend.

The generals don’t notice when Achilles doesn’t speak. They don’t notice that he never removes his helmet. They don’t notice that his grip on his spear is too tight, too far down. 

All they see is the angry red path he cuts through the enemy, a sea of bloody mortality swimming around his feet as Patroclus finally lets his anger free. 

 

---

 

It wasn’t until Friedrich was on the other side of the room that he realized he had gotten up at all. As he stood in front of his mirror, it wasn’t his own face that stared back at him.

When he took off the helmet he hadn’t remembered putting on, the face that looked back at him was Freddy and Friedrich and Patroclus. All three of them stared through the glass, nine and thirty and centuries beyond death.

The weight of the helmet was a comforting one when Friedrich put it back on.

 

---

 

Patroclus is not a warrior. When he reaches his destination and turns back to look - just once - at the river of anger, he knows why.

Achilles stands across the battlefield, visible even beyond the bloodied men. Patroclus turns to face him.

A mortal red scar, neatly slicing them in half.

He waits, and the gods themselves must know that this moment can not end yet, because the battlefield falls into a singular breath of silence.

Patroclus removes Achilles’s helmet, holds it high. Achilles sees him, and even from this distance, Patroclus can see the betrayal in his eyes. 

The son of a god, a prince and a warrior and perfect steps down onto the battlefield, heedless of the blood spilling around his bare feet.

Patroclus doesn’t have time to return the helmet to his head before the world goes dark.

 

---

 

When Ragnvald ( @Javert ) woke, the other side of his bed had long gone cold.

 

[OOC:] NOT a pk, Freddy sure is missing tho...

alternate music:

 

 

Edited by wowsirss
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Torstein Eiriksson Ruric climbed up the stairs on all fours, giggling to himself as he went to the dining room table. "I had such a good dream, I was swimming in the ocean!" Nobody was around to hear the child's energetic dream, but he didn't mind! He tried to make the table to surprise his vater, washing the dirty plates by licking them.

 

And he sat. And waited.

 

And he sat some more. And he waited some more.

 

All he could do was sit. And all he could do was wait. Sit and wait for someone who had gone missing.

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For countless nights upon Freddy's disappearal, Ragnvald stood awake constantly sending out fliers and messages in hopes of finding something, anything, that could lead to his return. He vowed not to rest until he found him once again and brought him home safely.

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