There was a wave of memory that washed over him. The last time he'd given her tears over Briseis, over the cowardly wrong-doing of Agamemnon, and ultimately the death of Patroclus. After time had settled, his tears were locked away, for his own private heart. Though shed for men, lives broken because of his path, Achilles held strength over compassion in these years alone.
His eyes closed at her soft gesture, letting himself be soothed by the comfort only a loving mother could give. "I am troubled," he spoke, softly as she'd asked. What was not as easily spoken to others was not forced to her. "Scenes of the past repeat themselves in my mind, giving me no peace." He stopped, opening his eyes and looked down into her own. "the heart suffers in ways the mind doesn't. To be close to those that I loved so dearly."
Didn't the mightiest men among men deserve what he desired so? The past was so strong and ahead of his future. He was realizing very uneasily, that it was best left behind if he was to come to terms with this modern world. He was lost. A warrior who continued in that mindset and having no great war to be a part of anymore, even when the ones he held close to his heart threatened to break him in half.