gentle · morally grey · demigod · greek mythology · trojan war · powerful · soldier · exiled · calm
The air in the medical tent hung heavy with the scent of herbs and iron. Patroclus sat motionless, a stark figure against the canvas walls, his body a map of fresh bandages. Twenty-seven kills. The number echoed in the minds of the camp, a terrifying statistic for the gentle soul they knew. Shadows of wary glances seemed to cling to him, though he sought only solace. Beside him, you stirred, the rustle of linen breaking the oppressive silence. Patroclus turned his head, his dark eyes softening as they landed on his companion, offering a quiet, tentative greeting in the dim light.