[Pictures will be added soon, once I revive my ded laptop or get a new one]

“How did you know it was me?”

Two shadows passed the smooth, shades of ivory sandstone walls. Engraved across them in rich, brown-red figures and shapes was a story; a man named Theseus. Once heralded as a hero, but turned into a villain overnight for kidnapping a young girl named Helen. How ironic that the very same girl will be the cause of the soon-to-be war between two great Kingdoms. In the end, Theseus died a tragic death while taking shelter at Skyros after being exiled from his homeland. The recent king of Skyros is still very proud of what he has done years ago. He had led Theseus to the edge of the cliff before pushing him down to his awaiting doom.

“I didn’t.” came the honest reply after the short silence.

What.

As if sensing a wave of doubt from the other, Odysseus paused in his steps to glance over at Achilles. Puzzlement was etched on the younger’s face. “You revealed yourself to us all on your own.” The sides of the older man’s lips curled up. “Honestly, we had just wanted to lure you out. We’ve never expected someone as yourself to be feigning as a woman. Though, there were some noticeable inconsistency…”

Achilles cheeks were decked red, brows furrowed in hot embarrassment. No longer in that horrid dress, he donned a new look. He wore a dark-crimson, leather doublet vest, black pants, and a purple cape with intrinsic golden design to signify his royal status. There were belt straps then ran around his waist, and peaking out from behind his lower back were twin scabbards. A prince, a fighter and a dual wielder. “That wasn’t my decision nor my choice to make.” He decides to stride forward, a silent indication to end the subject.

Odysseus could only managed to stifle a snicker as he allows the other to led them on. They continued their walk through the courtyard’s hallway. To the side, the garden trees rustle in the mild breeze. Their leaves filtered the soft, midday light among the rows of supporting columns; Corinthian and high. They reached up to the groin vaulted ceilings, forming the sheltering hallway.

“So, how did you know that I was here? In the household of Skyros?” Achilles had his arms behind his head, acting in a nonchalant manner albeit voice full of curiosity.

“Ah. That. You’ll just have to ask a dear friend of yours.”

Friend.

Achilles has a strong hunch on who that was.

They strolled on in brief silence, down a short flight of stairs before coming to a large clearing that stretched out towards the vast sea and opened sky. The sandstone flooring continued on until the edge, where stone parapet balustrade lined them; to prevent a similar fate of Theseus. The smell of sea salt and breeze was stronger here, with the sun beating down on them. The soft cries of seagulls can be heard as they are seen gliding in the distance. In the corner, a reflective glint of bodied steel along with three resting feathered creatures were taking shelter under the grateful shade of a looming tower.

“Have you made your decision?”

“To join the war? I’ll need more time to think about it.”

“Very well. But do know we won’t leave without an answer. If you will, I shall excuse myself.”

Odysseus left towards the seen figures with a mumble, something about how wasn’t his companion already cooked under the sun in that ridiculous armor of his.

Achilles takes a glance back, taking in the sight of the rest of palace; elevated, grand, magnificent and tall. It stands out from above the cliff with thick, white washed walls and rounded towers, slightly weathered from the ages. A curtain wall of the same colour surrounds most of the palace along with -and as Achilles recalls on his first visit, a towering gatehouse at its entrance. The roofs were navy blue just like the ocean before them. Most of the windows were arched and large; sunlight was most welcomed here. Beyond the castle was a valley flanked with plateaus and mountains. This was where most of Skyros’ water source comes from. The river cuts through the palace and into the central courtyard before dispersing into series of various small canals, rolling over the cliffs into waterfalls.

He closes his eyes and paces off. He needs time to think. Odysseus words rang in his head. He told him to think about the people and the innocent lives that could be lost. Achilles had merely been in Skyros for a few days. The King was a prideful coward and the princesses were annoying and spoiled; he has no attachment to this place. The only reason he was here because the Queen of Pythia, his mother, had wanted to hid him after the recent rumours of war that might involve him. He doesn’t understand why. He would have been glad to bring back glory, much what his Father would have expected. Perhaps he could think of his family and people instead. Pythia wasn’t far off from Skyros either.

He hears the muffled roar of water, streaming from one of the canals before gushing down onto the bottomless sea. The sea. It was something familiar to him as he grew up around the sea. It brings him back to when he was child. The back end of the castle in Pythia had led towards the shore. Rough, grainy sand crushed under small feet with the waves rolling and foaming around him. And by his side, was another pair of feet. Another child. There was joy and fun between them both. And that child’s name was—

Achilles halted, his eyes fluttered open at the sound of approaching footsteps. The memories faded, now focusing on the present. The figure was a boy about his age, with short, tufts of russet hair, sun kissed skin and emerald eyes. He was shorter than Achilles. An ash brown cloth hung loosely from one shoulder, partially shrouding his dark clothes. His gaze was hardened, lips parted, as if he had wanted to say something.

—Patroclus. Yes, that was the child’s name.

And they were standing right before him.

(I would like to thank art history for the columns and arches – and yes, arches are Romans but then again, I’m not going for historically accurate lawl)

<<< Chapter 2

Chapter 4 >>>

“Just what is the meaning of this?!” Came a shrill cry as the one of the doors slammed open and out came a lady donned in a vibrant dark blue dress. Her auburn hair was disheveled, dress unkempt from struggling as she was being dragged by the guards against her will. “Unhand me, you filth!”

When she finally managed to tore herself free, all eyes in the room were on her. Everyone who was from the palace were present in the room; from the ladies-in-waiting to the simple gardener. The young lady was rendered speechless and startled by the sight.

“Deidamia, my eldest daughter.” The King regarded her despite the unruly entrance. “How fortunate it is that you can finally join us all.”

“Father! What is happening?” The princess cried as shame coloured her cheeks.

Instead of giving an explanation, the elder simply gestured for her to gather by the rest of her sisters. All seven of them. They snickered at her foolishness. Begrudgingly with contempt, she did what she was told with her head held high and proud, not before trying to make herself at least presentable, like a bird preening itself.

“We have guests!” One of them muttered. “They’re the reason why we were all dragged here.” Another added to their hushed gossip. Deidamia decides to give a loud, haughty outburst. “And just who gave them the authority to order us around?! Don’t they know they are within OUR reign?”

“Deidamia!” The king’s deep voice boomed within the walls of the room, his tone filled with warning. The servants held their breath along with the rest of the seven younger princesses. Deidamia was close to retorting back.

Odysseus raised a hand up in dismissal, to excuse the girl’s rude behavior. He can’t help but to feel a tiny pang of pity at how easily the king can be pushed around. Of course, that was none of his concern. Not wanting matters to escalate into petty arguments, he speaks up. “Why, under the orders of King Melenaus of Sparta.” This effectively shuts the eldest Princess up. Odysseus was pleased. The Princess was not. Diomedes, his taller and sturdier companion of the trio can only give a small huff of disapproval at the abuse of power. His armor clinked as he crossed his arms.

“Your highness, I could have sworn remembering you had seven daughters instead of eight.” Odysseus couldn’t help but to point out this very simple observation of his.

Deidamia leered at the tallest of them all with disdain.

The tallest had long, scarlet locks cascading down to frame her face, and with eyes of pure blue as though reflecting the colour of the sky at day. There was great beauty in her, albeit her height and broad shoulders. She was dressed in a red flowing dress with its ends skirting the floor. Oddly, instead of reacting to the scornful gaze of Deidamia, her focus was elsewhere or rather on someone else. Her hands were balled up, clutching the sides of her dress as she stared intensely at the youngest of the three companions.

Said youngest of the three had been distracted the entire time, his gaze, wary yet searching, flitted from one servant to another. No, not, nope. Not them Nor them. There was a mixture of fear and expectation each time he moves on to another face. As he steered his gaze towards the princesses, there was a pause of hesitation. The tallest one. His eyes studied her feature, there was something uncannily familiar about her. And when their eyes met, everything made sense.

Green and blue eyes were locked onto each other. The former was filled with uncertainty and doubt, widening later with recognition and panic. The latter remained narrowed, a steady look of resentment growing. The atmosphere between them was taut, both gaze unable to tear away from each other. Though, it might have gone unnoticed by the rest as the King, meanwhile, had been trying to reassure Odysseus that it was a mistake before diverting everyone’s attention towards the gifts, encouraging his daughters to take a look.

Odysseus snapped the younger out of his transfixed state with a harsh whisper. “Patroclus. Is Achilles here?”

Patroclus took a moment to gather himself, averted his gaze, before replying with an unsteady voice. “Uh, no.”

Odysseus raised a brow up, suspicious and unconvinced. He directed his view at the excitement coming from the pile of gifts. The princesses were fishing out gleaming earrings, necklaces and such, ordering their servants to come forth with mirrors so they can vainly admire themselves. Everything seemed normal except the odd behaviour from one of them that was unable to escape the watchful eyes of Odysseus. One of the girls had been secretly taking sidelong glances towards the pile of weapons instead.

Odysseus glanced to his left, caught Diomedes attention and gave a nod. The latter, understanding the hidden command, discreetly signaled to the soldiers at the rear end. They swiftly exited the room and moments later a trumpet blast was heard followed by more. The song of incoming war was playing.

The entire room was turned upside down. It was filled with the blur of people, mostly servants rushing about in terror to escape. The king was up on his feet. His guards close and surrounding him. Even Patroclus and the rest of the soldiers were on guard, grasping their weapons for battle. The princesses shrieked and fled for safety. All but one. She had snatched a sword and a shield from the pile with ease, before taking stance, a look of fiery and readiness to fight. The once red haired beauty; now replaced with short, boyish tousled golden locks as the red wig was knocked aside and left abandoned on the ground. The disguise gone. This wasn’t a princess. This was a prince. In a torn dress.

In the midst of the chaos, Odysseus and Diomedes, still remaining where they once stood, took in the sight with baffled amusement. There was a brief recall, a scene earlier this morning, where they were betting on the success of this plan despite how crazy it was. Diomedes now owns Odysseus a pack of smoke rolls.

“Is that Achilles, Odysseus?”

“It is so, Diomedes.”

They have managed to fish our their prey into revealing themselves; Achilles, Prince of Pythia and also a young and rumored skillful fighter of these lands.

Extra:

[To be honest, I chose to write about this story because of this scene.
Funfact: Achilles in the greek mythology was really disguised as a girl.]

<<< Chapter 1

Chapter 3 >>>

“Promise you’ll never leave.”
Green eyes gazed back at blue ones, belonging to a young boy just of his age.
He grasped the outstretched pinkie of the other’s with his own.
A pinkie swear.
A childish promise made.
“Never. Till death do us part.”

Ships of all sizes were docked at the port and the usual, daily hustle and bustle can be seen. Travelers and traders from afar were unpacking their goods, ready to show off their wares to the locals of Skyros. In exchange, the marketplace was lined up with stalls of food and busied sellers, ready to serve the weary traveling customers. The harbour is the main reason why the kingdom of Skyros was thriving well. The citizens lived a carefree life, untainted by any events of wars so far. This is due to the king’s persistence in maintaining diplomatic ties with their neighbouring kingdoms. Such was the result of years of peace and harmony. Though there is the occasional theft from a pickpocket or two within the city itself, it causes not much of a concern at all. In all, Skyros was a city where life moves in a slow-pace. However, that very image of tranquility was to be shattered at a palace that was situated on a cliff, overlooking the entire kingdom. It was home to the Royal household of Skyros

“And why is it, may I ask, that an urgent audience was to be seek abruptly?”

A middle aged man, with dirty blonde hair messily tied back into a small bun and a stubble spotting his face, stepped forward to give his respect. His footsteps resonated around the hushed, spacious throne room until he was noticeably standing right in the middle of it,

“Apologies, your highness.” The man hoped to appease the other before introducing himself. ”I, Odysseus, have an important request from Menelaus, King of Sparta.”

The silence broke into harsh murmurs among the few servants. The King of Skyros perked up from his seat, attentive. Sparta was somewhere further down south of Skyros. Despite the distance, being allies rather than rivals was much preferred with such a huge and strong Kingdom.

“And what is it?” The King egged on, gesturing for the other to continue with a small roll of his hand.

“A request that Achilles be handed over to us.”

Silence once again befall in the room, leading to a slow built up of confusion and tension in the air. The clueless servants watched on, though Odysseus was quick enough to spot the visible stiffen from the King himself. The latter stuttered.

“I…I don’t quite understand-”

“Achilles. Prince of Pythia. Son of King Peleus and Queen Thetis.” Odysseus went on, straightforward as ever, as if mocking the other’s act of being puzzled.

“…I can assure you that there is no such person-”

“We have information that the Prince of Pythia has taken residence in your household.” He give a brief glance behind him. A figure moved from somewhere within his own companions, flinching. Odysseus then focus his attention back onto the King. “We request that you have everyone gathered here right away, your highness.”

In disbelief of the other’s ridicule behavior towards him, the King could only gape in bewilderment. He was still King! He deserves an ounce of respect at least rather than being ordered around as the other so please to do so! Especially in his own kingdom!

However, Odysseus wasted no more time before turning around, signalling for the rest of his followers to do as he has instructed them to beforehand. Soon, soldiers after soldiers piled the ground right in front of him with jewelries, of fine gemstones and crystals. Along later, came weapons and shields made from the most skillful smiths. The last of the soldiers were followed by a well-built warrior clad in armor and a meek, average looking boy with a worn-out cloth draped around his neck, one end hanging loosely over his shoulder. Both of them took their positions right by Odysseus, though the boy seemed reluctant to do so, as if he yearned to stay in the shadows.

Still sullen with anger, though mostly dissipated upon the sight and greed for treasures and the fear of soldiers, the King arched a brow up in question.

“It’ll be rude as a guest not to present gifts while visiting someone’s home. A gift from King Menelaus to the royal household of Skyros.” Odysseus explained with a simper.

Why how cunning…!

There was a moment of contemplation before the King eventually beckoned one of the servants to make the announcement within the palace.

Chapter 2 >>>