The sun was bright as I made my way to him, the battle surrounding the docked ships and us. Bright, merry rays seemed so unfitting to the scene of death and destruction, and the wounded man's words spun round and round in my mind as I walked. Though I had willed myself to seem strong, I could not help but fall into tears at the sight of him, brave Achilles seated back, safe and unwilling to fight as his countrymen fell in scores around him. I remembered the proud man he had once been, so bent on defending the Achaians and so disgusted by the disregard and selfishness among the higher ranks of her armies. The man I laid my eyes upon then was but a shell of who he had once been, now dissolved into the same type of man he had once looked upon with utter repugnance. No, he was not the same man at all.

"My dear Patroclos, why are you crying like a baby?" Not the same man I had once loved. The cold, dead eyes staring at me incredulously told me that. "You might be some little girl running to her mother, and pulling at her apron, and keeping from her work, and blubbering and looking up and saying, Nurse me mammy dear!" The chill in his voice was painful. I wondered what had changed him, if it was me, if it was the war, or something else all together. "That's what you look like, my dear man, crying like that. Have you some news for the men, or just for me, or is it a special message from home to you? Why, your father Menoitios is still alive, for all we know, and Peleus Aiacides is alive and on his throne; we should be sorry indeed to hear of their deaths." With his emotionless features, I doubted he would feel much of anything over the news. Sorrow, I thought, he was no longer capable of. How he had changed, or why, I didn't quite know. I don't believe it was for me to ever understand the will of the gods, but oh how I grieved all that had happened to him, and in turn to the men he had let down.

"Are you really lamenting for the Achaian people, can't endure to see them falling thick and fast among the ships? It's their own fault, their own tyrannical dealings. Speak out, don't hide it, then we shall both know." I closed my eyes, willing the tears to cease falling. His cold, outright hatred frightened me a bit. It was obvious that he no longer recalled his remorse for the wrongs done to innocent men. No, he was too busy locked inside of his own sorrow to spare any for anyone else. His pride, I was sure, would one day be the death of him, and quite probably the entire Achaian army as well if nothing was done. I sucked in a breath, resolving myself to halt the unnecessary downfall of the army, and I decided that it was up to me to convince Achilles to return to the fight; if he did not yield to me, I felt, then the army was doomed.

"Don't be angry, Achilles my prince, our strong deliverer!" As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew that I no longer felt the same way about him, but nonetheless I continued. More flies are caught with honey than with vinegar, I reasoned. "Such misfortune has come on our people! They are, all who used to be the best in the field, lying wounded, shot or stabbed, somewhere among the ships! Diomedes Thydeides is wounded, Odysseus is wounded, Agamemnon is wounded, Eurypylos is wounded too - shot in the thigh with an arrow." I listed off all of the great warriors, hoping to persuade the man before me into action by showing him the need, however when his face didn't so much as change expression from the incredulous stare, I forced myself to continue with all the might I could muster. "They have surgeons busy about them with all their medicines curing the wounds - but there's no curing you, Achilles!" I felt my anger boiling up inside of me at his uncaring gaze, and I wondered what I or anyone else could have ever seen in this brute of a man. "I pray I may never have a grudge in my heart as you have. Curse your courage! What good will you be to any one from now to the end of the world, if you will not save the nation from destruction?" I saw a flicker of emotion cross his face, but there was no stopping me now. I felt all of my frustration pouring out, directed unswervingly at the cold shell in front of me. "Cruel Man! Your father was not Peleus nor your mother Thetis - you are a son of the green sea and the stony rock, with that hard heart!"

"If there is some prophecy you are afraid of which your mother told you from the lips of Zeus, let me go at least and take out our Myrmidons, to see if there is any hope in that way!" Having seen that there would be no persuading him, I fell upon my last argument, the only choice I felt remained which might bring any hope to the Achaian army. "Put your armour upon my shoulders, and perhaps the Trojans may think it is you, and give a little rest to our tormented people." I could only hope, that disguised in his armour and bearing his horses, that I would be able to pull off the charade well enough to drive back the opposing force. Gods knew that our men needed the break. "Little time to take your breath face to face with sudden death! And it will be easy for us coming into the battle fresh, to drive weary men from our camp away to their city!" I finished with a brief flourish, somewhat proud of myself for my argument, hoping that it would help. With that I prayed that it would be the case, as of yet not knowing that such worse death and destruction were to come of it, both for me and my best friend, the man I loved.

"Ah, what have you said, Patroclos, my dear friend! I care for no prophecy, if I do know any; my mother has told me none from the lips of Zeus. But I feel bitter grief in my heart, when here is a man who will rob his equal and take back his prize because he is stronger. This is a terrible grief to me, and this has been my torment. The girl that the army chose out for my prize, whom I made my own by force of arms when I took that city - that girl my lord King Agamemnon tore from my hands as if I were a foreigner without any rights!" As he spoke, I yet again bore witness to the depressing effects of his pride. This thick mixture of anger and grief had coated his heart, mind, and body so he was blind to all that he had once held close; all that was now being destroyed just within reach of his help but receiving none of it.

"But we will let bygones be bygones. I see it was impossible to bear resentment for ever and ever. I did think I should not forget my resentment until fire and battle came to my own ships. - You go then; put on my armour and lead our brave men into the field, now the enemy have swallowed up the Achaian ships like a great cloud, now that our people have their backs to the sea and only a small space is left them to hold, now that all Troy is here confident - for they see not the face of my helmet shining near them! - that would soon rout them and fill the gullies with their dead, if my lord King Agamemnon were kind to me!" I was glad to see that he seemed to bare some care for the Achaians, but there was the reason that he held back, still being merely how the King Agamemnon had treated him, still somewhat disgusting. If only he could remove the shroud of courage that clouded his vision, perhaps he would notice his own regression and repeal his vows, going to fight for his countryman. Alas, it was not to be, and the burden fell heavy upon my own shoulders.

"But now they are fighting round our camp! There is no spear in the hands of Diomedes Tydeides, furiously raging to defend the Danaans from ruin. I have not heard yet the voice of my lord King shouting out of his hateful head! But Hector's words of command are breaking upon me all round, his Trojans cover the whole plain with their clamour - they vanquish the Achaians in fair fight!" I went to leave then, not wishing to fill my mind with such low thoughts of our army and commanders before battle. It was true, Hector's war cries were louder, bolder, and more furious than those of our own king, however it was no longer him that the Achaians were fighting for. No, now we were battling for ourselves, for our brethren, and for our pride. Damned be any man who choose to look down upon us for that. Still, I paused as he continued.

"Never mind - fall on them and beat them, Patroclos! Save our ships, or they will burn them and we shall never see home again. But listen carefully while I tell you exactly what to do, that you may win honor and glory for me from the whole nation, and they may send back that lovely girl and handsome gifts besides." I did not want to hear his instructions, however I never was as bold as to interrupt or disregard his statements. I stood, however impatiently, waiting for him to finish his newly begun spiel of pride and glory. Frankly I had had enough of his sickening selfishness, but I vowed that I must stand strong in front of him and do nothing to jeopardize my chances at helping the Achaians. And thus I stood silently, nodding when appropriate as he reeled off one selfish command after another, knowing full well that I intended to follow naught of them.

"When you have cleared them away from the ships, come straight back. If after the loud-thundering lord of Hera gives you a chance of triumph, never think of fighting on your own account without me, you will steal my honours in that way." At such a comment I bit back my tongue, wishing to spit out that I didn't care and that his honours could go to Hades for all that I did. "Don't be excited by fighting and victory so as to lead our men as far as the city walls, or one of the Olympian gods may meddle; Apollo Shootafar is very fond of them. You must turn back as soon as you have saved the ships, and let them ravage the plain." I did not care if the Olympians chose to meddle; I simply wanted to lead my countrymen to safety, glory, and hopefully victory. His pride couldn't have mattered less to me then than the lost seamen's spittle forgotten on the ocean floor. I would not leave the men to suffer the same fate on the field of battle.

"O Father Zeus, Athenaia, Apollo! If only not one single Trojan could be left alive, and not one Achaian, but you and I might be left, that we alone might tear off the sacred diadem of Troy!" At that I turned and left to ready myself with his equipment, not wanting to hear anymore and knowing that what was once admiration for the hero had long since turned sour. Now it would be up to me to take the place of the fallen warrior.