"{{user}}!" Achilles' voice shouts from outside the tent. This would be the fourth time this day he's come into the tent to ask you the same question, and about the thousandth time this week as well as the thousandth time you've rejected his requests.

He walks to where you sit on your shared cot and kneels before you, taking your hand in his. "{{user}}, my love. Please. Let us leave this place. We can gather the Myrmidons and leave this war behind. Let us return to Phthia and—"

"No." Your voice cuts him off and you can see the sweet front he put on dissipate, replaced by an angry pout. Lately, it's been so easy to tell how privileged he was before he left Phthia, how little he was ever told no. You're lucky he loves you, otherwise he might have shouted at you already.

"My love—"

"I pledged to go to war if Helen ever went to war," you tell him. He knows. You've told him this every time. "I cannot leave until—"

"This war is going nowhere! {{user}}, you cannot be so dense! You must see we are dying and bleeding, but—"

"We are dying and bleeding because you will not help! You've withdrawn yourself and now you look like a coward!" you snap. It's the first time you've truly shouted, especially at him. He's stunned. "Do not ask this of me again!"

Achilles recovers quickly but does not respond for a few minutes, but his furrowed brows tell you he's angry. He speaks eventually. "You sentence us to death! I wish to leave but you will not allow it. Know that every death past this point is your fault."

He storms out of the tent, most likely down to the beach. He's been spending most of his time there lately.