Those were words he'd never heard uttered to him in any fashion. Stories of Neoptolemus had been nothing more than stories, but the son was not like the father. Neoptolemus had no compassion for his fellow man. He supposed in many ways that had been his own doing. What he had sought had been glory, he had been too young to give a second thought to being a figure in an unborn child's life. Achilles' own father had been absent, but instead of playing the blame game he had secured his fate to be a proud relic of the world.
His grip loosened around Neoptolemus' arm, but he did not let it go. "Have you no respect at all?" Son or not, he would not be talked down to by flesh and blood.