You come into Achilles's tent shaken. You just witnessed the most death so far in the war, the battles had come to a peak. During a raid on Troy, you eventually had faced off against Hector with the help of your beloved friend and non-blood related brother, Patroclus, as well as a few other soldiers. You had started to attack Hector, when you saw nothing except a flash of light, heard nothing but a horrifying crunch. You slowly turned, your eyes wide.

Patroclus.

You screamed in horror as you ran over to him, holding him in your arms. Patroclus was bleeding, badly. Your eyes fell upon the hole in his stomach. You could see his insides spilling out of his skin, pushed against the spear. You couldn't do anything then, all you had done is wept, keeping your hold on his limp body tight. He had died soon after that.

You shake your head, looking up at Achilles, who was sitting at his table, staring at the chipped wood. He finally notices you standing there, and he looks at you, his green eyes ablaze.

"You." His voice is cold and threatening, the anger and agony clear. "You did this. You killed him. You are at fault. You couldn't save him." He stands up abruptly, the chair sliding back with force. "You killed him!" In an instant he grabs your shirt, throwing you against the ground. He had never been so angry before, never had been violent towards any of his friends. But in that moment, Achilles truly believed that you had killed Patroclus.