Ok, so in my Mythology class, we had to take a small section of the Iliad, and rewrite it from one of the characters point of views. I chose the part where Patroclus confronts Achilles and wrote it from his point of view. Hope you like it!
Background Info on Trojan War: http://www.stanford.edu/~plomio/history.html
My feet felt heavy as I marched to Achilles’ tent, but I forged on, tears sliding down my cheeks. For the past few days, I had waited and prayed for Achilles to change his mind. But my prayers were in vain, for Achilles seemed determined to sulk in his tent. When Achilles had first told me that he would no longer fight, I was confused. When I learned of the reason why, I was shocked and surprised. The greatest warrior of them all, behaving like a spoiled child who’s toy had been stolen? However, I had chosen to hope for the best, that he would come to his senses soon enough. When he remained prideful and bitter, pouting in his tent, my shock turned to disappointment, and now anger.
I reached his tent and marched in, not ashamed of my tears, for Achilles needed to see, if only a little, the damage of what he had done. Upon my entrance, Achilles turned around and his sullen face turned to one of concern.
“Patroclus, why are you crying like a little girl? Have you bad news for our Myrmidons? Or perhaps myself?” Achilles frowned, concerned and perplexed at the same time. “Is is news from Phthia? I have heard your father is still alive, and I know that mine is, for there are many Myrmidons that surround him. But if they are dead, that would explain your tears.”
When I shook my head, his frown grew, and he turned his back towards me, walking to the other side of his tent. “Perhaps you are weeping for the Greeks,” he said, just a trace of bitterness in his voice, cleverly disguised as concern. But if anyone could see through Achilles, it was I. “Maybe it saddens you,” he continued, “that they are being slaughtered for their stupidity.” There was a pause, in which the air seemed to thicken as Achilles’ godly face turned sour. After a moment, he shook his face slightly and turned to face me.
“But enough with these guessing games,” he said, once again looking distressed, “Tell me the reason for your tears, Patroclus.”
I sighed, my heart heavy with the worries I was so quick to get off my chest. But now, about to do so, I was having second thoughts. Tossing them aside, I bravely plunged forward.
“Achilles, you are a brave and strong warrior, by far the greatest of the Greeks, and I beg of you, please do not be angry at what I have to say.” Here I paused, and Achilles, looking wary, nodded for me to continue.
“It is the Greeks!” I cried, the words bursting out of me like a tidal wave. “I cannot take it anymore! Our best men are falling one by one – Diomedes has been hit, Odysseus and Agamemnon stabbed, and Eurypylus with an arrow in his thigh! Even right now, as we speak, healers are trying to heal their wounds!” Achilles’ face was impassive, and only darkened slightly at the sound of Agamemnon’s name. I was now pacing back and forth in distress. “And you! You – you are impossible! I pray to God I will never be as bitter as you are! You and your pride and greatness – Do you think you will be thought of as great if you just sit and watch as the Greeks are destroyed? Future generations will not pity you for your loss, rather blame you for sulking like a child! If I didn’t know that Peleus was your father and Thetis your mother, I would think that you were born from the cliffs and the gray sea, judging by your cold, hard heart!”
I took a breath, not daring to look at Achilles’ face until I was finished. “But, if you are not fighting perhaps because of some other reason, some prophecy, at least let me go out and fight. I can’t sit and watch any longer. Let me wear your armor, as so to scare away the Trojans and place hope into our soldier’s weary hearts.” I turned around to look Achilles in the eye, to show him I was serious, and, to my surprise, he didn’t look angry. His eyebrows were raised, looking almost amused, as if he couldn’t care less.
“Patroclus, I don’t know what you’re talking about. There is no prophecy keeping me from battle. But it is offensive and hurtful when a man who is my equal robs me of my prize. I won her with my own spear, she is rightfully mine, yet, because he has more power, he snatched her from my arms as if I am someone of no importance. But enough about that for now.”
Achilles began pacing back and forth. “You may wear my armor and lead the Myrmidons into battle, because the Trojans are indeed in a threatening position to our ships. It is your duty, Patroclus, to save our ships. But listen, because you must do it in the way I instruct.” He stopped pacing abruptly and strode across the room to me. Seizing my shoulders, he continued, “I want you to win me great honor and glory, so that I will receive my woman back and many other splendid gifts. So don’t even entertain the thought of taking the honor for yourself. And no victory march to Ilium, but turn back after you have saved the ships. Leave the rest to do the fighting on the plain, do you understand?”
I nodded, and Achilles let go of my shoulders, looking at me with an expression I couldn’t quite place.
“Go on,” he commanded, turning around and busying himself with something in the tent. I left his tent to go suit up. Walking away from the tent, I realized that the expression might of been pride. I entertained myself with the thought as I got ready to fight, not knowing I was heading for my own certain and dreadful death.