Summary: Patroclus wants nothing more than a chance to kill his first Trojan. He soon learns to be more careful in his wishing. Movie-verse AU, starring Patroclus and Hector. Co-inspired by the movie "How to Train Your Dragon." Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Troy, The Iliad, or "How to Train Your Dragon" (the book or the movie).

Author's Note: It's been too long since I wrote for the Troy fandom, and frankly, I've missed it. I'm taking some liberties with the timeline in this story, as I need events to last longer than in the movie but still much shorter than in the book. Another important note is that Briseis is NOT related to the Trojan royal family in this AU, and the reasons why will become apparent in later chapters. Enjoy!

How to Train your Trojan

Chapter 1

Hector – Breaker of Horses

Clearly, the gods did not lack a morbid sense of irony.

For Prince Hector, the grandest warrior in Troy, now found himself face-to-face with the deadliest predicament of his life – and all because a spooked horse had thrown him.

On King Priam's orders, the Trojan army had today ventured closer to the Argive encampments than ever before, hoping to perhaps catch them off guard and deliver a crushing blow to their ships. Sadly, such had not been the case. The Trojans' southern flank had suffered most under the retaliatory hailstorm of Greek arrows, and Hector, after shouting a command for General Glaucus to lead the rest of the army in retreat, had ridden to the aid of his beleaguered troops. But he'd never reached them.

He still didn't know exactly what had startled his steed so badly – maybe a serpent partially hidden in the sand, or even the capricious whim of some deity. At any rate, the horse had bolted, carrying Hector beyond his own soldiers and into a small wooded area that had lately served as the chief source of fuel for Greek funeral pyres. Those trees had ultimately been his undoing. The horse had weaved madly in its prolonged terror, and Hector had only been able to dodge so many thick, gnarly branches before one finally caught him in the midriff and sent him tumbling. Had he fallen on sand, the damage would likely have been minimal; but the ground was rockier here, and he landed awkwardly.

Pain lanced up his right leg, and a sickening crunch reached the prince's ears as he felt something snap inside his ankle. Separated now from horse and friends, Hector crawled along on his stomach as well as he was able, and no doubt staying so low to the ground saved him from being shot. He didn't dare call for help, as any such efforts were now far more likely to attract his enemies. A quick estimate of his position suggested that he was already behind Greek lines, although miraculously still undetected.

The wounded Trojan dragged himself onward. Instinct drew him in the wrong direction, coming even closer to the ships, but his ultimate destination was the one place within reach where he knew he might be safe – at least temporarily.

Hector had known of this little ravine for years. Getting there proved no easy task, scrambling over sharp rocks and protruding tree roots; but at last he arrived and half-slid, half-fell down to the gully's floor. Exhausted, covered in sand and sweat, he lay gasping for breath a few moments before finally addressing his injuries. His chest ached terribly with every breath, leading him to guess that he had damaged some ribs in the fall as well. His ankle, meanwhile, was horribly swollen, and he could scarcely coax any movement at all from his foot. He certainly couldn't walk for the time being, as the ankle would by no means support his weight, and climbing out of the gully before he was fully healed seemed more of a prayer than a possibility.

Surrounded by steep walls and hedged by thick shrubbery on all sides, the ravine had always been a good place to play and to hide in his youth. Now he was here again, wounded and hiding for his life behind enemy lines. The natural stone walls offered shelter from the sea wind, which would be a blessing at night when the temperature dropped. But currently, at the peak of daytime's oppressive heat, this lack of airflow was stifling. At least he had plenty of water, provided by a clear stream that ran through the length of the ravine, and Hector painfully crawled over to splash his hands and face.

What a disastrous battle it had turned out to be! Hector rather doubted his father would call for such a costly campaign again anytime soon. Without their prince, the Trojans were surely being driven back with grievous loss now, and Hector raised his head as the familiar, hateful chant of "Achilles!" rose in the air – much too close for comfort. What if his hiding place was near to the Myrmidon ships? And if so, how much further did that fact decrease his chances of survival? He had no way of knowing for certain. But by Poseidon, that Achilles was going to be the death of him, one way or another, by the time all was said and done!

Breaker of Horses. Hector snorted under his breath in disgust. Breaker of Bones was more like it.

Patroclus had stumbled across the secluded gully shortly after the Greeks' arrival in Troy, and it had quickly become his favorite haunt when he needed to temporarily escape either his cousin's overprotective smothering or the rowdiness of the other soldiers. He found it easier to commiserate with his countrymen in defeat than to celebrate with them in victory, and today was very much an example of the latter. The youth simply felt that he didn't deserve to participate in the festivities; after all, he wasn't really a soldier yet, and he wouldn't be until he had killed his first Trojan in combat. They had been here for several months now, and still Achilles had allowed him no taste of battle.

That was why his feet led him back to the ravine now, seeking a few moments of solitude and quiet away from the others. Eudorus probably would have called it shameless brooding, but Patroclus didn't care; the brief escape truly did help to calm his thoughts and quiet his emotions. However, as he reached the gully's edge, the teenaged Greek abruptly realized that he would find no solace in this place tonight. Apparently, someone else had already beaten him to it.

The boy hesitated, debating whether he should stay or leave, yet his curiosity ultimately proved stronger than prudence. Keeping low, he peered through the shrubs and noted with instant amazement that the intruder below was in fact a Trojan – a straggler from the battle! Or perhaps even a cleverly-planted spy, taking advantage of this ideal shelter as a base of operations? It was difficult to tell in the fading light, but that dusty armor appeared very fine indeed, like something befitting a member of the Apollonian Guard.

Patroclus' heart sped to a gallop inside his chest, while a flurry of excitement and nerves raced through his blood like an electric charge. What should he do now? He could tell Achilles, which was probably the smartest course of action and would certainly guarantee the man's death. Or he could fetch a weapon and go down to dispatch the soldier himself. The latter was sorely tempting, as the defeat of an elite warrior such as this would surely garner some respect for him even among the Myrmidons. This could be exactly the opportunity he'd been hoping for!

But then, as he watched, the youth realized with shameful tardiness that this particular Trojan had an injured leg and was unable to walk. He couldn't possibly fight to defend himself now, no more than he could escape back to the city in this condition. Such handholds that existed for climbing in and out of the ravine were precarious at best – a surmountable challenge for a hale man, but not a wounded one.

Patroclus had explored enough of the ravine to know that it drew to a dead end in the east, and in the west, it narrowed until there was just enough space to let the little creek run out to the Aegean. Clearly, the Trojan wasn't going anywhere anytime soon – but it was high time Patroclus did. He slipped away as quickly and quietly as possible, back to the Myrmidon camp where he went straight to his tent without sparing a single glance for his comrades. He couldn't trust that his own eyes wouldn't somehow betray what they had seen only moments before.

The youth shared his tent with Eudorus, Achilles' second-in-command; partly because Patroclus knew Eudorus best out of all his cousins' devoted followers, but no doubt also because Achilles wanted the older man to keep an eye on his ward for as long as the Myrmidons were on enemy shores. Patroclus lay down with his back to the door, but he was still wide awake when a somewhat intoxicated Eudorus returned to his own bed much later. Fortunately, that meant he slept soundly, not to be disturbed by the endless tossings and turnings of his young companion.

After a restless and largely sleepless night, Patroclus had finally allowed his conscience to overpower his bloodlust – such as it was. He wanted to fight, absolutely! But killing a trapped, wounded soldier would prove nothing in regard to his own skill or bravery in combat, no matter who that soldier might be; it would only prove his utter lack of honor. And if Patroclus knew nothing else about Achilles, he knew that the man valued honor as highly as his own life.

So later that day, while the armies were engaged, the boy's thoughts lingered more on the wounded Trojan than on the fact that he'd once again been left behind. That alone was an almost pleasant change, having something new and different to distract him. Yet the more he dwelt on it, the more Patroclus realized that, left as he was, the Trojan soldier was doomed to die a slow death of starvation and exposure; and that thought sat no easier on his heart than did the idea of taking his sword to the man's throat.

After midday, his conscience could endure no more, and Patroclus set off again for the ravine, carrying some fruit and bread with him in a small satchel. He didn't see the Trojan upon arriving. Was the man hiding now, or had he somehow manage to flee after all? As improbable as the second option seemed, a god's favor certainly could have orchestrated it. Nevertheless, the lad climbed carefully down into the gully, deposited the food near the stream, and hurried back up again without once looking behind.

He slept much better that night, his conscience appeased, and the next day he returned with more food, anxious to see if his first offering had been discovered. The food of yesterday was gone, but the satchel was still nicely intact – a clear sign that no wild animal had raided its contents. Patroclus still couldn't see anyone, but he left the food with confidence this time before climbing back out of the ravine.

He couldn't help feeling a moment of panic, however, when Eudorus approached him later that evening and simply stated, "I need to talk with you – in private."

Patroclus felt his mouth go dry with dread as he instinctively followed the older man inside their tent. Eudorus looked a little more subdued than usual. Did he already suspect, or even know, of Patroclus' secret deeds? The boy tried with moderate success to quiet his fidgeting hands; but even so, his eyes roved anxiously to and from the darkest corners of the tent, looking anywhere except Eudorus' face.

"Is something wrong?" he managed to ask with a straight face.

Eudorus only sighed at first, taking a seat on his bed and motioning for Patroclus to follow suit. When he did speak, his voice reflected the same unease that tightened the younger Greek's chest.

"This war has been going on for some time now," he began at length, "longer than most of us would have expected or wanted." The warrior shook his dark head. "Patroclus, Achilles is the best warrior I've ever seen…but I don't know that he's invincible. He may believe himself to be, which is why he hasn't had this conversation with you himself. But for all his skill, your cousin is not a god – and even he cannot guarantee safety here for those under his protection."

The tension immediately left Patroclus' shoulders as he understood that this conversation had nothing to do with his mysterious Trojan. But in that case, what was Eudorus trying to tell him?

"As far as we know, the Trojans are not even aware of your presence here," the other continued, "and that is an advantage we must protect at all cost."

Patroclus frowned anew at the urgency in his companion's voice and the intensity in his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"You are Achilles' ward and kinsman – just think how valuable you could be as a hostage!" Eudorus explained earnestly. "And you know that your cousin cares more deeply for you than for any other human being on this earth. The Trojans could ask virtually anything of him in exchange for your safety, and he would do it. They must never learn who you are, Patroclus, or this war will become even more dangerous for both you and Achilles. Do you understand?"

The youth nodded. "I do. But what am I supposed to do, then, if by some chance the Trojans do capture me before the war is over? They will most likely know that I come from the Myrmidon camp."

"I agree. So if it ever becomes necessary, I want you to say instead that you're my servant. That will give you a plausible connection to the Myrmidons, and hopefully make you valuable enough in other ways that they won't kill you outright. They may even ask me to pay a ransom for you, at a price far less than what they might demand of Achilles; and of course, I would comply."

"All right." Patroclus forced a smile then and tried to lighten their spirits by half-joking, "I don't know much about acting, but I suppose I can try my best to play the part. If I'm your slave, then what's my history? Am I a captive from one of your earlier war campaigns?"

Eudorus' somber expression didn't waver. "Since you are clearly Greek, I think it would be better to say that your parents died when you were younger and entrusted you to the care of a relative – an elder cousin, if you like. But for the story to work, we'll need your imaginary cousin to be less kind than your real one. Let's say he later sold you to me in order to repay a debt."

The boy balked visibly at those last words. "That seems a little…harsh. Don't you think?"

But his companion gently reasoned, "Your eyes are still pained whenever there is mention of your parents; that will work to your advantage in this tale, unfortunate though it may be. And Odysseus will tell you that the best lies always contain some grains of truth. Patroclus, promise me you'll remember this and use it, should the need ever arise."

Patroclus heaved a deep sigh in his turn now. Clearly, Eudorus meant well in this matter, desiring not only to protect a young friend, but also his revered lord. Yet one thing still puzzled him. "Why are you talking to me about this now, when we've already been at Troy for months? You've clearly put a lot of thought into this whole scheme."

"I admit it has been on my mind ever since our arrival," Eudorus confessed with an empathetic smile. "But now I can see that you're more restless than ever; and the longer we're here, the greater the chance that Achilles will finally grant your wish and allow you to fight."

Perhaps those words had been meant to encourage him; but the youth remained silent, thinking that his most recent anxiety, if Eudorus had noticed it, stemmed from an entirely different source.

The Myrmidon captain went on, "I also do this now because Prince Hector has been notably absent from the battle for a couple of days, and if he is injured, it was no Greek who struck the blow. Odysseus wonders if the Trojans might be plotting some sort of trickery, and I want you to be prepared, Patroclus – just in case. There's no telling what strange events the gods may bring forth in a war such as this."

Strange indeed, Patroclus mused. Such as finding a lone Trojan warrior stranded behind the Greek lines.

A Trojan warrior who had been placed directly under his mercy…but he couldn't bring himself to deliver the killing blow. Couldn't – or wouldn't? Any other Greek would have killed this Trojan by now, or at least captured and tortured him for information regarding the city's defenses. A real soldier would have done so! But Patroclus had not, and the shame of it almost consumed him. All the same, wasn't this an honorable deed in its own way, lending aid to an individual in dire need? Or did the fact that he was helping a Trojan make it an act of treachery instead?

It all resulted in another restless night.