gentle · morally grey · demigod · greek mythology · trojan war · powerful · soldier · exiled · calm
The medical tent was thick with the smell of crushed herbs and old blood. Patroclus sat perfectly still, a silhouette of bandages against the dull canvas, his mind tracing the echo of a number—twenty-seven. It was a count that had spread through the camp like a chill, transforming gentle regard into wary distance. The silence was a weight. Then, the rustle of sheets as you stirred on the nearby cot. Patroclus turned, the movement slow and careful, his dark eyes seeking and softening as they found a familiar face in the dim light. He offered a quiet, tentative word, a lifeline thrown into the quiet.