Disclaimer: I do not own Troy or any of the affiliated characters
Chapter 8: An Immortal Explanation
The schedule Adara had gotten used to during her two weeks in the Greek camp was completely altered the next day. By the time she had collapsed on her blankets, the moon had risen to its peak, and she did not wake until late morning. She moved around, cleaning the tent, as she usually did. She went as quickly and quietly as possible, trying to make up for lost time and not wake Patroclus. The young warrior slept straight through the noises she made, but was wakened by a crash of thunder a little after midday.
Adara had watched with mixed feelings as the dark clouds slowly and ominously approached. She would miss her trip down to the shore, but it was better for Patroclus, who needed to rest and not move around. As active as he was, even he would not venture outside in a storm.
He sat up straight and stretched, letting out a yawn. He looked from Adara to the clean tent to what he could see of the weather outside. "How long did I sleep for?"
"Nearly twelve hours," she replied, bringing him the platter of food. Then she gathered a bowl of water and the remaining cloth, and sat down next to him. "Let me see the wound." Adara unwrapped the bandage and smiled. Seeing the wound was clear of infection, she washed away the turmac paste and threaded a thin, sharp needle.
Every time Patroclus winced as the needle pierced his skin, Adara felt a pang of guilt - she had nothing with her to numb the pain. Obviously, though, it couldn't have bothered him that much; during the time she was putting away her supplies, he had fallen asleep again.
Around early evening, the tent flap opened. A man, a little larger than Patroclus, entered without hesitation. Every inch of him, from his blond hair, to his armor, to his muscled limbs, was covered in a messy mix of blood, sweat, and rain. He put down Patroclus's armor in the corner where he always kept it, and Adara knew that this was Achilles. When he turned, his eyes focused on her. She involuntarily tensed, trying but failing to decipher the brooding look across his face. "You helped him last night?" he asked.
"Yes," she forced herself to answer before her mind raced too far ahead. She knew that voice: it belonged to the man who had cut off the head of Apollo. Immediately, she felt a strong dislike for him brew inside her. But there was a difference she noticed. The man who cut off the statue's head was cocky and arrogant, while this man was patient and concerned. He turned his attention to the sleeping form of his young cousin, and Adara saw his mouth curl into a small smile, a sparkle in his eyes. But then she blinked, and he was facing her, expressionless.
She could only nod in return. After one last glance at his cousin, Achilles left, leaving Adara with mixed feelings.
"See?" Patroclus said in a strained voice the next day. "I'm perfectly fine." It was mid-afternoon, and unlike the previous day, the sun was warm and bright. Patroclus had taken advantage of the weather to go outside and try walking.
"I really would advise against it," Adara had said. "Wait until tomorrow."
But the young, active soldier had only shaken his head. He had risen from his seat on the floor on his own, which she had to admit was quite a feat for someone in his condition. He further proved his strength - and recklessness - by exiting the tent and walking around the fire pit. He had started with a slight limp, but was now walking normally.
Adara didn't say anything. She could only wait for the stitches to break. But they never did. The longer he walked, the more her interest overtook her concern. He seemed to grow stronger, not more winded, with every step.
"You're part immortal," she asked when he came near her, "aren't you?" He stopped and looked at her, surprise evident on his face. But then he shrugged; she was smart and a healer. It was only a matter of time before she put the pieces together.
"Walk with me," he said, motioning towards the beach. "I am part god," he continued as she fell into step beside him. "A small part. The only pure immortal blood that entered my family line was only two generations ago, and many of my ancestors married into other lines with pure blood." They reached the top of the sand dunes and sat there, the shore visible. "I'm no expert on genealogy, so I don't know how much I have. What gave me away?" He asked this as though it wasn't obvious.
"Well, it might have been the way that your injury practically healed itself," she answered.
"Point taken," he agreed. "How long does it usually take to heal?"
"For a normal person to do what you've done it two days, it takes almost a week."
Patroclus nodded, seeming to really take in the information, so she couldn't help but laugh when he said, "So what you mean is that I'm not normal?"
Adara's tone was light and quiet, but she was genuinely serious. "No, I dare say you're not."
She felt his eyes on her, but she decided not to look at his face and chose to watch the waves instead.
Sorry it was on the shorter side, but it was important! Let me know your thoughts!