Let's switch mythologies, shall we?

Achilles was a young fae who's unusually compassionate to humans. He's never really enjoyed his time in Avalon, and has never really been one for the fae's life of trickery and mischief.

Hus ideal life would be one of grandeur - but due to fae's nature, he wouldn't be able to gain prestige with the fae simply because every fae is as obsessed with themselves as the other.

However, he recently has been attracted to a young boy who often enters the woods in search of sticks and firewood. A quiet boy - one that any usual fae wouldn't be that intrigued by.

Achilles however... Well. He wasn't what one would call usual.

Patroclus, on the other hand, was a quiet boy. The village's unspoken failure. He hadn't a penny to his name, nor a fire to his heart. Hope was lost in him long ago. Despite his grand heritage, he was standard in every aspect.

Collecting firewood was the only thing he had to call his own. That was - of course - besides Briseis, a slave of his father's and his only friend. Sometimes she came with, other times not, and today was when the latter came to pass.

Patroclus entered the wood in an unusual gaiety to him. These were the few times he was alone. Alone from father. Alone from the expectations. And so, these were the few times he was alive. With a cheerful hum, he sat about to collecting the firewood he needed. But a storm had passed through the previous night, and so most were damp and wouldn't make very impressive fires. Oh well. Patroclus thought. More time to myself.

But he wasn't alone. Quite the opposite, in fact. Achilles perched the trees nearby, his long blonde hair merging into the autumn leaves. He pranced through the trees, who all greeted his delicate toes with care. He knew little of why, but little cared why. He was fascinated by the boy. Some would call him boring... But to Achilles, he was quite the opposite. He watched him every time he came through, memorising every tune he sang, and sung them when he was gone. Patroclus was never especially good at singing, so they always sounded different whenever Achilles recited it.

That bothered Achilles. It bothered him greatly.

So when he came by, Achilles relished the song. It didn't matter that Patroclus couldn't sing, because when he broke a note, he'd stop and laugh at his own inadequacy. Achilles smiled with him, from the treetops, far out of sight. And when he did sing, he sang with all his heart. That's what Achilles came for. That's why he watched him every morning.

This morning, Patroclus was interrupted. Not by anyone - but by himself. It was odd. Patroclus never stopped singing unless to talk to himself or to laugh. This time, he just paused.

Achilles watched with concern.

Patroclus shook his head. "Come now." he'd said. "Get on with it. Breakfast waits as father said."

Fire flared in Achilles' chest. Patroclus didn't act himself. Of course, he wasn't. His father was starving him. Just from Briseis' and Patroclus' conversations taught him: Patroclus' father was cruel. Achilles didn't see rhyme nor reason in it.

So did what he did best. He tugged an apple from the branch of the tree and made his way down the tree. No branch announced his arrival. No snap sang out. Achilles had almost no weight in the trees. As he approached Patroclus, he grew nervous but pushed past it.

"Here."

Patroclus darted up, and stared at him. For a moment, time paused for Achilles. His eyes alone were far more moving up close. He wondered what his singing would be, only to him.

Achilles gave the boy a smile, and with a laugh, threw the apple. "Catch."

And Patroclus did. But he didn't eat it. He only looked from the apple, and then to the slim boy with long hair and crystal blue eyes.

"You're a fae, aren't you?"

"So what if I am?"

Patroclus looked back at the apple. "What's the game?"

Achilles only pranced forward like a fawn, and hovered his hand over Patroclus's head. A crown of flowers grew over, before rather clumsily finding it's way around his hair. A few of the petals flew around him.

"I'm not sure yet. I'll figure out soon."

For a few mornings passed with this routine. Patroclus would come to the woods as he did, and Achilles would join him in all the splendour a fae would. For the first few mornings, Patroclus was nervous. He'd been warned about the fae. Especially ones that knew about you. He agreed to nothing, and answered with questions. That was the way he'd been taught. But after a few suns had set and moons had risen, Patroclus learnt to trust.

They eventually found themselves laughing every morning. Smiled with an infectious geity that brought the leaves around them to life, despite their colours of death that decorated the leaves. Sometimes Patroclus' head spun. That seemed to be a side effect of laughter. But it was not unpleasant, like an illness, rather his head span with every moment he spent with Achilles.

It truly was odd.

One morning, Achilles decided to ask Patroclus why he sang.

"I couldn't say," Patroclus laughed. He still was recovering from a joke Achilles had told. "Perhaps I'm just odd."

"It's not odd." Achilles argued. He recovered far more easily then Patroclus. "At least not to me."

"Is it not?"

"Not that I can tell. Maybe 'odd' is different from humans."

The two broke out into laughter again.

"Would you sing for me?" Achilles ventured.

Patroclus paused for a moment. "Depends on what,"

"About anything."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

And so Patroclus sang. He sang of a boy in the trees, who grew flowers and laughed with triumph. He sang of a girl, who's unspoken words she shared only with her friend, and who was sweet despite the cruelty of it all. He sang of a father who never saw his son. He sang of a village who watched the stars.

And of a quiet boy who went looking for firewood.

// I decided to go for a more storytelling take this time. Hope the new style was enjoyable - and I hope my absence was too noticed - //