This chapter is dedicated to Silver, who braved the hellpit that is Wattpad in order to see if any of my stories were plagiarised there. Love you buddy.

Chapter Twenty-One

Patroclus' funeral pyre was constructed from the timbers of Achilles' flagship. He had insisted upon it, and none had the desire to argue with the King of Aeolia on the matter. Nor did any address the fact that the funeral was happening weeks after it should have. It had taken Percy summoning his spirit from the underworld for Achilles to finally allow Patroclus to be cremated and sent on his way. That had been a…depressing conversation to witness. They were just lucky that Percy had also chosen to cast a spell over his body that prevented it from decomposing, otherwise they'd have been dealing with a horribly smelling event.

Not a word was spoken as the assembled audience waited for the ceremony to begin. Achilles had the right of speaking first, but he'd been silent for days ever since the conversation with Patroclus' ghost. Percy would not be the one to break the silence, but someone needed to start the procedure. He was the one to do so. Thousands of eyes were upon him as he walked up the steps to the pyre, where Patroclus' body rested. Percy had spared him the indignity of decomposing, but the wound that had killed him was barely seen under his arm, which was folded over the other on his chest. A coin was placed on each eye, and the expression on his face was one of peace.

With the Achaean army focused on him, Percy drew his dagger from its sheath, reached up and took his hair in one hand, and cleanly sliced it off. He'd tied it up in advance, and the length of hair was placed besides Patroclus' body. With the cool sea breeze blowing on his neck, Percy stepped down from the pyre, handing his dagger to the next Achaean—Agamemnon—who quietly stepped up and repeated the same action. As did the next, and the next, and the next. An hour later, the last of the Achaean princes and kings had placed their shorn hair on the pyre. Only Achilles remained.

As wordlessly as all the others, he climbed the pyre, cut his hair was a savage hack, and tossed it onto Patroclus. He held out a hand, and waited until a torch was handed to him. He held it down to the oil-soaked wood, and before long, the flames were roaring high.

It took the better part of the morning for the body to fully burn, and after about three hours, people began filtering out from the crowd. The Myrmidons remained throughout the whole process, as did Percy, Diomedes, Menelaus, Nestor and his sons, and Odysseus. Achilles, naturally, stood as close to the pyre as he could, and Percy stood right beside him. Neither spoke to one another, and neither had any intention of doing so. When the embers finally cooled—several hours after the body was fully cremated—Percy helped Achilles gather the ashes. There was no way to know for certain which was wood ash and which were those of Patroclus, but at the same time, they knew.

"When I die," Achilles said, breaking his day-long silence, "mix my ashes with his."

"I will," Percy promised. There was not much else to say. Both men knew that Achilles was not going to long survive this war. Not anymore. "But only if you die a worthy death. Patroclus died fighting for something he believed in. For you to do anything less is an insult to his memory."

"I will die when Troy is nothing but ash and dust. If the war does not kill me, you will do so."

"Will I?"

"I am asking it."

"And I will consider it." Percy conceded. "But first, we have to win the war."

"How? We have been doing the same thing for nine years. Nothing has changed."

"Well," Percy began slowly, "I know one thing that will help speed up the process."

Achilles arched an eyebrow at him. "And that is?"

XXX

"DEATH!"

Percy wasn't sure if the son of Thetis was describing what he was or what he was doing, but the unfortunate souls before him likely weren't wondering the same. Mostly because they were dying before they truly got a chance to start philosophising. Then again, most men likely wouldn't stop in the midst of a battle to contemplate the meaning behind a blood-crazed demigod's choice of threats to hurl.

Luckily, Percy wasn't most men. With Achilles cutting a swathe through the Trojan lines, he paused and leaned against his spear. Men streamed past him on either side, but thankfully, no one crashed into him from behind. He had spent too many years fighting with these men for them to make such a foolish mistake anymore. With the reprieve in the fighting, Percy took the opportunity to study the battlefield. He'd placed the Myrmidons on the left—something they'd never done before—and the elite force had crushed the Trojans placed across from them, the weakened levies and allies who hadn't expected them to be there. Normally, the lesser Achaean princes and their retinues were placed on the left, with the stronger and better ones in the centre and the right. The Trojans did the same—it was an unwritten rule of war, hence why Percy had broken it.

The Trojans had paid dearly for it, their most experienced troops caught in the fury of the Myrmidons when they had been expecting a relatively tame clash against the others. If he wasn't mistaken, it was the Lycians who faced them now, and they had been pressed hard the past several days since the death of their King. Whatever respite they had been hoping for was gone in the face of Achilles rage and the Myrmidon's lust for revenge. Of all the men to make the mistake of killing, Patroclus was high on the list. The man had been quick to make friends, not just amongst the Myrmidons, but among the Achaeans as well, and they all bayed to avenge him in some capacity. His death was a tragedy, make no mistake, but it had done something for the Achaeans that he would not have been able to do in life.

"Lord Perseus," Antilochus, son of Nestor, arrived on his chariot. "My father sends his regards, and wishes to tell you that the Trojans have withdrawn from the right."

"They don't have much of a choice," Percy replied, climbing up beside him. The elevation gave him an even better view of the field. "Achilles has all but single-handily driven back their own right flank. They need to withdraw to keep the lines cohesive, otherwise they'll open themselves up to being flanked."

"Why not counter on their left, then?" The prince asked. "Attempt to force the same?"

"Because I placed the Mycenaeans and Lacedaemonians there. They'd have better luck attempting to break through the middle—"

"Except that is where Odysseus, Diomedes, and Telamonian Ajax are," Antilochus noted. "The outcome of this battle was never in doubt, was it?"

"Have you lost a single engagement when I was on the field of battle?"

Antilochus paused, head cocked to the side. "No, we have not. The only losses I can recall were when you were absent."

"Exactly."

"Then why have we not won yet?"

"Because the Fates had decreed it to be so. If they had not, I'd have ended this war within a day of arriving." Percy told him. "Now come, let us retrieve Achilles before he finds himself at the walls of Troy and surrounded."

He took the reins of the chariot from the driver and flicked them, sending the horses forward. They followed the stream of bodies and retreating Lycians, Antilochus and his driver launching the occasional javelin at one of the fleeing men. When they finally reached Achilles, he was sitting on a pile of bodies. His spear was broken, his sword slightly bent, and the literally divine armour forged by Hephaestus and gifted to him by Thetis was drenched in blood.

"Where are the others?" He asked as they approached.

"Withdrawing to camp, Achilles," Antilochus answered. "The day is won."

"Troy still stands. The day is not won."

"For now, it is." Percy said. "Were this an army of men like you and I, Achilles, we'd end it by nightfall. But these men, talented as they are, are mortals. They cannot fight as you and I fight. Return to camp. Mend your arms, clean your armour. Tomorrow, you will do the same. And the day after tomorrow. Soon, Hektor will have no choice but to take the field, and you will be free to seek your vengeance upon him as you please."

"That is what you told me yesterday," Achilles grumbled, but accepted Antilochus' proffered hand, pulling himself up into the chariot. Percy, on the other hand, clambered out. "What are you doing?"

"The four of us would weight it down too much. I will return on foot."

"Are you certain?" Antilochus asked.

"Worried about me?" He smirked. "I will be perfectly fine. Head back to camp."

The two young men exchanged glances, but they left without any further questions. Percy moved through the field, finding the unfortunate men who still clung onto life. He gave them blessings and then sent them onto their next life in his uncle's realm. It was brutal work, but it needed to be done. Spirits circled the battlefield, desperate to move on, but tethered by something in the mortal realm. It could be hours, days, weeks, or even years before they were able to move on.

Percy had just slit the throat of a suffering warrior when he was joined by another.

"Now this is unexpected."

"Is it?" Hera asked. "All the others have had their moment with you. I have not."

"The others have all tried to attack me at some point in the past decade. You're not nearly foolish enough to try, so what is it that you want, dear aunt?"

"I have a favour to ask of you." She told him. "One that you will not want to accept."

"But you seem to think I will, which means…ah. Calling in that favour, are we?"

"Yes."

"Very well then. What is it that you want?"

"The Amazons have committed to the war. Hektor and Paris have won them over, despite my…wishes otherwise. And so, they sail for Troy."

"And you wish me to…"

"Spare them."

"This is a war, Hera, that is a little unreasonable."

"Obviously some will die. I am not a simpleton, Perseus, but I want your word that you will not kill a single Amazon. If they are to die, let it be to other mortals, not to you." Hera said. "That is what I am calling my favour in for. I am not saying you cannot fight them if you must, but I ask that you not kill them."

"That's it? Don't kill any of them?"

"Yes."

"Very well. I swear on the Styx that I will not intentionally and personally kill any Amazons." He swore. "But nor will I be certain to save them if the opportunity is placed before me. Their lives are destined by fate. It may not be my blade that kills them, but I cannot say the same for my actions."

"That is the best I can hope for, I suppose," Hera sighed. "Thank you, Percy."

"I'm not sure why you called your favour in for that, but who am I to judge?" He shrugged. "I am nothing if not a reasonable man. Although you are aware that I will be passing on the information that the Amazons are coming to the Achaeans, yes? I swore no oath to keep that secret from them."

Hera's eyes widened before she swore under her breath. "I don't suppose—"

"Not on my immortality," he interrupted her. "You should have thought ahead. Remember that in the future."

She huffed and flashed away—accidentally incinerating a few dying men. Or perhaps intentionally. Percy was not entirely sure which it was. He glanced around the battlefield. Perhaps a hundred men still lingered. Better to put them out of their misery now than let them suffer. With a deep breath, he drew his sword and got back to work.

He hoped Hades didn't hold this against him.

MMXXII

Once again, shoutout to Silver for doing what I am too cowardly to do and going into Wattpad. You're the real MVP.

Anyway, we got Patroclus funeral, and, fun fact, the tidbit about the Achaeans cutting their hair and placing it on the pyre is from the myths themselves, and symbolised both their grief and as a symbol for the separation of the living and the dead, which speaks to how well respected our boy was. Anyway, Achilles is in his 'Kill-Maim-Kill' phase of mourning. Percy's being a good little grim reaper and mercy-killing those left on the field of battle, Achaean or Trojan. Hera is worried about her traitorous amazons. I do find it funny that the Amazons (patronised by Hera, who supported the Achaeans) fought for the Trojans. Absolutely based move. Anyway, as always, leave reviews telling me what you think.

Random fact: I wrote like, 95% of this chapter listening to Take Me Home, Country Roads on repeat. It has nothing to do with anything, I just thought it was neat.

And again, I have a discord! Come yell at me there! The code is aQyrha34Pu

Cheers, CombatTombat