SkylessKnights

My attention wandered to the dais, where I noticed, for the first time, the three veiled women seated at Tyndareus’ side. I stared at the white cloth over their faces, as if I might be able to catch some glimpse of the woman behind it. My father wanted one of them for my wife. Three sets of hands, prettily adorned with bracelets, lay quiet in their laps. One of the women was taller than the other two. I thought I saw a stray dark curl peek from beneath the bottom of her veil. Helen is light haired, I remembered. So that one was not Helen. I had ceased to listen to the kings

In the age of heroes, Patroclus, an awkward young prince, is forced to travel with his father to the council of kings to discuss what to do with the ill-famed ring that belongs to the Dark Lord, Hades. During the meeting, Patroclus feels himself drawn to the artefact and unconsciously steps forwards as the one to bear its burden. 

Soon, he begins his journey to the Underworld, the only place where the ring can be destroyed. Travelling with him is no other than Achilles, the best of all the Greeks, whose fame echoes throughout every Kingdom in Greece. But there are many challenges that come there way, including the power of the ring and how keen it is to get back to its master… 

Even I knew it was my turn to speak. “I am Patroclus, son of Menoetius." My voice sounded high, and scratchy with disuse. "I am here as a suitor for Helen. My father is a king and the son of kings." I had no more to say. My father had not instructed me; he had not thought that Tyndareus would ask me to speak. I stood and carried the bowl to the pile of gifts, placed it where it would not topple. I turned and walked back to my bench. I had not disgraced myself with trembling or tripping, and my words had not been foolish. Still, my face burned with shame. I knew how I must look to these men.

The Song of Achilles - A Netflix Original Series

⤷ template by @storytellerdorian (thank you so much for making it - I had so much fun!)

Achilles' eyes were bright in the firelight, his face drawn sharply by the flickering shadows. I would know it in dark, or disguise, I told myself. I would know it even in madness.

                                               ― Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles