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Across The River

Death.

I had never been afraid of it. In my short years, not once had I cowered at the thought of it. It was never a case of the unknown for me. I knew what death entailed, I was not scared of it.

The Underworld.

That moment seemed to last eternally. I felt myself slip down, yet I did not properly leave the world above. How could i? I had no coins for the ferryman, so I was left stranded at the point between worlds. There, I thought upon my death.

I had tried as hard as I could to defeat the Trojan prince, to better him, to make him think I was my cousin. He was fooled until he pulled the helmet free from my sweat soaked face. I saw the look of forgiveness and sorrow in his eyes. He hadn't meant to kill me, he regretted it. As I began spilling my blood, he took pity and made death take me fast.

The River Styx.

I stood at the shore of the great abyss, water stretching far and deep in every direction except the way I had come. The scene was monotone; black, grey and white. The last ripple of colour came from the world above, rich gold from a sun I would never set eyes upon again. I felt a saddening feeling as I realised that I would never again look upon true colour. It was banished from my new eternal home.

I felt my soul lead me across the river. I knew the ferryman had come for me, guiding me across the great breadth of the river. Over the far side, just as Achilles had said, I saw men. Men like me, still in their battle armour. Their eyes were white, their voices hushed like a cool breeze. Staring at them as if in wonder, I knew I was home.

Elysian Fields.

Paradise. The grey surroundings held hints of colours, bringing a peace over me. The smell of asphodel tinged my nose, the light pink colour of the flower standing bold in the fields of death.

I died young, yet standing in the eternal meadow of death, I felt wise beyond my short-lived years. When alive, I was always told I was too young to know; to young to try; too young to fight. I held no bitter judgements of the men who told me that. I realise that I was too young to know, or try, or fight.

I was too young to die.

Yet I smiled. I was at peace, far away from war and the destruction it caused.

Death was written in my path long before I was born, I realise that now. Everything dies for a reason. Mine was clear; to force Achilles to finish what he'd been born to do. I knew his path as soon as Hector's sword slashed open my gullet, stabbed me through the mid-section and left me to bleed.

I always knew I'd leave the living world in battle armour. It was an honour to have died in his.