a/n: just something I wrote awhile ago after reading the Iliad!

disclaimer: I do not own the Iliad (though I wish I wrote like Homer)

glory&gore.

we wear our battle scars like armor

….

He lives for the glory.

With every man felled by his hand, he feels a humming in his body, the rush of adrenaline through his veins. He is unstoppable, and his adversaries cower before him like field mice.

But he gives no mercy.

….

He lives for the honor.

The honor that Agamemnon forsook him when he stole away Briseis—all out of spite. The lion in him roars, but not so much for lost love than the fact that she is his woman. And nobody takes away what is his.

Agamemnon will learn his lesson.

….

He lives to live.

They come to him with piles of gold and promises, begging for his aid. He relishes in their remorse, relishes in the look on their faces when he tells them no.

I fought for you, Ajax says with betrayal in his eyes, and it is perhaps the only thing that makes him hesitate. (he sees the accusation there, the unsaid words lingering in the air—I thought you of all people would understand.)

He does.

I wish to live a long and peaceful life, even if it is without glory, he replies firmly.

After they leave, he hears the echoes of his own lies ringing in his ears.

….

He lives to die.

This is the simple truth of being human. Mortality is both a blessing and a curse, he finds. The gods know nothing of true glory. Glory is gore, and glory is death. Whoever burns the brightest, dies out the quickest.

He should have known.

….

He lives for revenge.

Thousands of men die that day, and he is soaked in red. He relishes it, basks in the blood of his enemies. He kills and he kills, and in the face of each man he strikes he sees Patroclus. He strikes harder, each blow filled with more rage than the last. They are not who he wants—the one he wants is Hector.

Hector, who is a coward at heart—he sees it. Hector, who chases his hubris under a faux delusion of glory—glory in name only. But he doesn't care so much for exposing this as he is hell bent on destroying the man who killed the one he'd loved like a brother.

The Trojan prince is no match for Achilles' rage, and he knows it. Still, he has nowhere left to run and so he fights, fights like he actually has a chance.

Achilles strikes him down, and watches as he crumples to the ground like a broken doll.

Don't feed my body to the dogs, he begs, pitiful and bleeding out into the dust. And once, Achilles' heart may have wrenched in pity for the wretched soul before him now.

But today, he gives no mercy.

….

(and this is the price of mortality—there is no glory without gore.)