#how DARE they call Agamemnon a moral guy. HES SUCH A BASTARD

[def-ace-ing-it]

Professor is spouting off a different version of a myth I know, currently foaming at the mouth

[ec-sanderssides]

Pride

Hey guys, So this one was inspired by my current location, and boy was it fun to write. For those of you that aren’t familiar with the story, it’s taken from the Iliad. Although I did alter a few things to better fit the characters (and make it angstier, shhh). This one goes out to @shadow-desu. I told you I would get revenge. TW: Character Death

“Roman,” Anxiety called out, as he entered the tent. "Are you there?”

Hands came from behind to grasp his waist, pulling him back. Recognizing the feel of them, Anxiety relaxed into the hold.

“Have you come to entertain me in my boredom?” Roman purred, his arms now fully wrapped around his lover.

Anxiety huffed. “You mean staring at yourself in a mirror isn’t entertaining enough?”

Roman chuckled. He sounded better than he had in days. Maybe this conversation wouldn’t end terribly. Still that didn’t mean he was looking forward to it.

Anxiety pushed Roman’s arms out of the way, and turned to face him. 

“Seriously though,” he said, all traces of teasing gone from his voice. “Agamemnon sent me.”

A scowl instantly appeared on Roman’s face. “So that bastard is making even you do his dirty work now. I didn’t think he would stoop so low.”

He whirled away from Anxiety and began to pace furiously. Feeling the conversation rapidly beginning to spin out of control, Anxiety moved to catch his shoulders.

“Roman. Roman!” he said, “Calm down. He’s not making me do anything. He just came to me because he knows you’ll actually listen to me. But if he’d tried to make me do anything, I would have told him to fuck off. You know that.”

Roman had stopped pacing, but his muscles were still tense and coiled under Anxiety’s hands. Wanting to get to the point before Roman could blow up again, Anxiety continued.

“Look, Agamemnon is a dick sometimes, okay, most of the time. But for once he’s got a point. You can’t spend the rest of the war in your tent, Roman. You have to fight.”

Roman jerked out of Anxiety’s grip. “You would dare ask that of me? After knowing the insult he paid me!” He laughed, but it lacked any of his normal warmth. “And here I thought I could trust you.”

Anxiety felt his face grow hot. “This isn’t about your stupid pride!” he shouted angrily. “People are dying, Roman. Our friends are dying. And you just sit here, knowing you could change that, and do nothing. Do you even care!”

“I am not the one in the wrong here,” Roman snapped back. “Agamemnon is the one who stole my prize. He is the one refusing to apologize. He is the one refusing to make amends. I only want what’s due to me.”

“So you don’t care,” Anxiety said flatly. “You and your ego. You are such a self-obsessed bastard sometimes. You don’t care about any of us out there. Not even me.”

“If you find me so unbearable, why not go seek out Agamemnon,” Roman said, his expression full of rage, “Clearly you prefer his company nowadays!”

“Maybe I will!” Anxiety told him, all thoughts of trying to stay calm now having fled. “At least he’s out there fighting, instead of hiding away like a coward.”

With that he stalked out of the tent, hands clenched into fists, storming through camp. He made his way to an empty fire pit, his palpable aura of rage keeping anyone else from approaching.

He stabbed angrily at the fire. Stupid arrogant prince. Why couldn’t Roman just get over himself. They needed him.

He sighed, his shoulders sagging as the anger was replaced by weariness. They really did need him. The Greeks were losing. And, as much as he hated to admit it, Roman’s pride wasn’t entirely unfounded. He was truly the greatest warrior in their army, maybe even of all times.

Not that it mattered with him not leaving his tent anytime soon. What were they going to do?

Just then, someone else sat down beside him.

“Well, hello there,” Patton smiled at him, “What has you all worked up?”

“Roman,” Anxiety answered shortly.

Patton’s smile faded a bit. “Ah,” he said, tipping his head back. “I take it he’s still being stubborn then.”

Anxiety didn’t bother to respond, only moodily poking at the fire some more.

“He’s young,” Patton said softly, “and prideful. But he’ll learn, in time.”

“And how many more of us will die before then?” Anxiety asked bitterly. “We can’t go on like this. And the worst part is that there’s nothing else we can do. It’s not like we can magically make another Roman appear out of nowhere.”

Patton was looking thoughtful. “Actually,” he said slowly, “Maybe we can.”

Anxiety stared at him. Right, clearly the stress of the war had made the old man finally crack.

“Are-are you feeling okay?” he asked cautiously.

“I’m fine,” Patton replied, his eyes now gleaming. “In fact I’m better than ever. I have a plan.”

“Uh-huh” Anxiety said, now wondering if he should maybe go and fetch someone. Maybe Logan? He was probably the smartest person Anxiety knew, so if anyone knew how to deal with whatever was wrong with Patton, it was probably him.

“Hear me out,” Morality begged. “Look, half the reason we’re doing so badly right now is because half the army’s convinced we’re doomed without Roman.”

“I mean they’re not wrong,” Anxiety muttered, but shut his mouth when Patton huffed at him.

“What I’m saying is that we need something to lift everyone’s spirits, to get them ready to fight again. If we can just get them feeling confident, I know we can win.”

“And how would we do that?” Anxiety asked. He could see Patton’s point, but he wasn’t sure where this was going.

“Well, if Roman refusing to fight is what has them depressed, then to cheer them up, we just have to make them believe that he’s agreed to fight again.” Patton said, his voice filled with excitement

“I think they’ll figure out we lied to them, when they notice he’s not there,” Anxiety drawled.

Patton gave him a small, secret smile. 

“That’s where you come in,” he said. “Anxiety, you and Roman do look somewhat alike. You have relatively similar heights and build. With a helmets over your heads, no one could tell the difference unless they got up close. And if you’re wearing his armor….”

Anxiety thought about it. It… wasn’t a bad suggestion. Roman’s armor was distinctive. He’d insisted on getting it custom-made. So as long as nobody got too close to him, and they only saw the armor, maybe.

“That-that could actually work,” Anxiety said slowly, “As long as I can get his armor, then yeah, maybe.”

“I believe in you,” Patton said. “I’m sure you can do it.”

Anxiety watched and waited. He had been lurking near Roman’s tent since sundown, waiting until he felt sure the other would be asleep. Carefully, he crept up to the tent. Hopefully he hadn’t made a mistake.

He hadn’t. As he peered into the tent, he could see Roman sprawled across his furs, his face only just illuminated by the moonlight. Anxiety couldn’t help the soft smile that crept across his face. In moments like this, he remembered why he loved the idiot.

Making sure to keep his steps light and soft, he moved carefully towards the chest where Roman kept his armor. Keeping on eye on Roman to see if he was waking up, he bent and picked up the chest.

It was heavy, but Anxiety didn’t let that deter him. Arms straining, he quickly made his way out of the tent, with Roman still lost in dreamland. Once he was out, he let out a sigh of relief. He’d done it.

But then looking back at Roman’s tent, he felt a pang of sadness. If only none of this were necessary. If only Roman had listened to him. Looking back down at the chest containing the armor he was supposed to don when tomorrow came, doubt began to creep into his brain.

How was he supposed to imitate Roman? How could he measure up to his stupid, prideful, perfect lover? But he had to. There was no other way.

Sighing he glanced back at the tenet. Hopefully Roman wouldn’t be too furious when he found out what Anxiety had done. Hopefully he would understand.

“Sleep well, Princey,” he murmured. “I wish you could be with me tomorrow.”

With that, he picked up the chest again, and began to trudge back to his tent. He needed all the rest he could get.

Inside his tent, Roman’s brow furrowed, and he shifted restlessly in his sleep. His dreams had taken a dark turn.

When Roman awoke the next morning, he felt restless. This was not an unusual state for him recently, as staying in one’s tent was hardly stimulating, but this felt… different.

After hours of pacing, muttering, and attempting to read, he decided to give his hands something to do, and turned to polish his armor. But when he went to look for his chest, it wasn’t there.

Roman stared at the empty space, puzzled. He wasn’t sure where it would have gone. Unless, maybe it was Agamemnon. A dark scowl crossed his face, if Agamemnon had had the gall to steal his armor as well as his war prize, he was going to kill the man, consequences be damned!

His murderous thoughts were then interrupted by Logan racing into his tent in more disarray than Roman had ever seen before.

“Roman,” he gasped. “You have to come. Quickly. He’s calling for you. We don’t have much time.”

He was frantically tugging on Roman’s arm, but Roman shrugged him off, not in the mood to be manhandled.

“Who’s calling,” he asked cooly, ready to dismiss the other if it was something trivial.

“Anxiety!” Logan said, “He’s with the healers. They don’t know if he’ll make it. Roman, please, he’s begging for you!”

Roman’s heart turned to ice.

He shoved Logan out of the way, knocking the slighter man over, racing out of the tent. No, no, it wasn’t possible. This could not be happening.

As the healer’s tent came into sight, echoes of their last conversation drifted through his head.

This isn’t about your stupid pride! 

You don’t care about any of us out there. Not even me.

How could he have been so stupid? As he pushed open the tent flap, Roman begged to every god he knew for the chance to make amends. To not punish Anxiety for his pride.

Inside the tent, Patton looked up tearfully, Anxiety’s head cradled in his lap. His lover lay still, his only movement the faint rise and fall of his chest. Where his skin wasn’t crusted over with drying blood, it was pale and waxy. His eyes weren’t open.

Roman slid to his knees beside him, his arms reaching out to cradle the other.

“Anxiety,” he whispered. “Anxiety, please open your eyes.”

But the other didn’t stir.

“Anxiety!’ he begged. "Please, please, just open your eyes. I’m so sorry. I love you please. Let me make this up, let me make this better. Just open your eyes.”

Pulling the other man closer, he could feel tears beginning to drip down his cheeks.

“There’s so much more I have to say to you,” he murmured. “So many things we haven’t done. I didn’t mean any of what I said earlier, can you forgive me? You were right, and I was foolish. I should I have listened to you. I will always listen you in the future, just please wake up!”

Rocking back and forth, Roman begged and begged, all thoughts of pride forgotten.

“Wake up! Wake up, I need you. I can’t do this alone. Please, Anxiety, stop doing this, I love you, please!”

His voice broke on the last please, choked by sobs. Logan came up hesitantly beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Roman, I’m sorry,” he said shakily. “We were too late. He’s gone.”

“No,” Roman whispered hoarsely, “No, he can’t be.”

“His last words were of you,” Patton said, sounding choked. “It- it was your name. That was the last thing he said, your name.”

Roman keened, a high-pitched sound more akin to a wounded animal than a human. He screamed, his grief echoing throughout the tent. Anxiety was gone. Gone, gone, GONE!

So lost in his sorrow, he barely noticed the hands shaking him, only reacting when they tried to pull Anxiety from him. He snarled up at Logan, his hands clutching around the body possessively.

“Roman, please” Logan said. “You have to let him go. We have to bury him.”

Let him go, how could he ask such a thing.

Seeing his refusal on his face, Logan tried again. “Roman,” he said, “I know you’re upset, I am too, but he must be buried.”

Roman snapped.

“You think you understand my grief, Logan of Ithaca!” he roared. “You know nothing! You still have a life waiting for you. All that I am has been destroyed. You would dare take him from me? I would kill you where you stood.”

Logan paled, but did not move.

“Roman,” he said softly, “If he’s not buried, his spirit will never find rest. You can’t hold onto him forever.”

Roman flinched as the words bit into him. Turning away from Logan, he pressed his face into Anxiety’s cold chest.

“Go,” he said bitterly. “Leave me. I will prepare his body. You can go and build his pyre.”

As Logan and Patton moved to leave the tent, Roman lifted his head up, and called after them.

“And Logan,” he said, making sure his tone conveyed the full weight of his words. “Make sure it’s fit for a king.”

Logan met his eyes and nodded solemnly, before exiting the tent with Patton. Roman turned back to face Anxiety, one hand reaching out to softly caress his face.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, my love. I failed you.”

Later that night, as the pyre burned and the women of the camp wailed, Roman turned to Logan.

“What happened,” he said, his voice flat and cold.

Logan looked uncomfortable, but he answered.

“He took your armor,” he said dully. “Pretended to be you, so he could lead the troops. So they’d stop being convinced things were hopeless. He was doing well actually. You-you would have proud of him. But then Hector came.”

Roman’s eyes narrowed. So it was Hector.

Logan continued, his voice sounding more broken by the minute. “Anxiety tried to hold out against him, but he’d gotten trapped behind enemy lines. We couldn’t help him, and Hector just wouldn’t, he wouldn’t stop. By the time we broke through and reached him, we were too late. He was already, well you saw.”

Roman stared at the pyre, his eyes burning, his jaw clenched. Yes, he had seen.

“I’m going to burn Troy to the ground,” he said, feeling the bloodlust rise within him. “I will take Hector and throw his body to the dogs. I will grind their city to dust, bring their people to ruin, and when that is done, I will fly Anxiety’s standard above it, so that they might know, that even in death, he surpasses them.”

Logan was staring at him, pale and uneasy. “Roman, please don’t do anything stupid,” he said quietly.

“I will only do what is necessary,” Roman replied harshly, turning from the other. He had to visit the blacksmith.

Two days later, Roman stood ready. His new armor gleamed. He had not needed the blacksmith after all. No, this armor was forged by the gods themselves. He was pleased with it, it would suit his purpose well.

As he marched through the camp, his hand went to the space above his heart. That had been his one request to Hephaestus, that Anxiety’s name might be inscribed above his heart. The god had looked at him with sympathy, and then agreed.

Once he had reached the front lines, he donned his helm. It was time.

“I will avenge you, Anxiety,” he murmured. “I’ll avenge you if it’s the last thing I do.”

It would be.