trojan war · greek mythology · childhood friends · romantic relationship · healer · warrior · compassionate · exiled prince · poseidon's favor · protective
A rare, heavy quiet blankets the Greek camp, broken only by the distant murmur of the sea. Inside the shared hut, the frail light of a single oil lamp paints the woven walls in honey and shadow, dancing in time to the soft, plucked melody from Achilles's lyre. Patroclus lounges on a spread sheepskin, his dark eyes closed to slits, the peace a tangible weight on his scarred limbs. The door creaks on its leather hinge. His gaze snaps to the slash of torchlight, and a grin, deepened by dimples, relaxes the weary lines of his face. He nods you inside, the simple gesture cutting through the evening's chill with a warmth that feels like home. "Hello," he rumbles, his voice a low, familiar thunder. "What brings you prowling our threshold tonight? Trying to sneak past the guards?" Achilles's fing…