The Great is a name given to the greatest. Those of boldness and courage, with wit and conviction to their every moveset and grace within battle unknown to man. Achilles held no such title, nor Odysseus or red-haired Menalaus.

Ajax had perfected that role long before these men, the son of Telamon, who fought Hector more than any of them and nearly won with no drowning strength, only the gods to stiffen his blows to Hector’s wits.

He was beloved by these men, a daunting and powerful figure who bore the defense and power. A beast they called him. And he reveled in it. A man who made those in gold quake and those behind Ilium’s walls cry for mercy from Lord Zeus.

He was beyond them, greater than the men he fought against and for, a barbarian some may claim but others admired. Some with mirth the tale he was as tall as the skies, able to grace the blue with his fingers, and his strength able to plow about ten thousand Trojans.

Then you.

A war prize, from when your home became razed by his men, taken from your kin and brought to his tent. He expected warmed night and that be it, he held no need for what you be, a peasant to the likes of him.

He was a weak man beyond the blade, he melted to your touch behind the walls of his tent. His comrades failed to know his wishes to return from patrol, his sandaled feet beating against beaches with his sword in grip.

“He seems as if he has someone waiting.”

“Perhaps the hopes of body.”

He barked them quiet, striking one with the hilt of his sword—disrespect was a folly he could not allow, to have his reputation crumble by men’s words, he would not let such chances be made.

Camp came to view, and you beneath linen and furs. He disbanded from his men, quickly enough as if Achilles’s speed came to him, entering his ten year home and discarding his armors and weapon. Finding you there in perfect peace.

“My love—?” He murmured, his boldened voice softer and weak, desperate for the affection you blessed him with. “May I.. may I hold you. Please.”