Hermes went back to Olympus. Priam left Idaios with the animals and went straight in where Achilles sat. Achilles had just finished eating; Automedon and Alkimos were near. Priam came unseen, clasped Achilles' knees, and kissed the terrible man-slaying hands that had killed many of his sons.
As when a killer flees to a rich man's house in a strange land and those who see him wonder, so Achilles wondered at godlike Priam. Remember your father, Priam begged — of like years, on the threshold of old age. That father hears you live and hopes to see his son from Troy. Fifty sons I had when the Achaeans came; Ares has broken most, and the one who guarded the city — you killed him, Hector. For his sake I bring ransom beyond count. Respect the gods, and pity me, remembering your father. I have endured what no other mortal has: I have lifted to my lips the hand of the man who killed my son.
So he spoke, and stirred in Achilles a yearning to weep for his own father. Achilles took the old man's hand and gently pushed him away. The two remembered. Priam wept at Achilles' feet for Hector, and Achilles wept for his father, and then again for Patroclus. The sound of their lament filled the house.
When grief had had its fill, Achilles lifted the old man by the hand in pity for the gray head and beard. Unhappy man, he said — how had he dared come alone to look in the eyes of the one who killed his brave sons? Sit, and let sorrows rest for a time. The gods spun it so for wretched mortals: to live in pain, while they themselves are without care.
Priam would not sit while Hector lay uncared-for. Give him back at once, he said, and take the ransom; may you go home safe, since you have spared me to see the sun. Achilles looked darkly and told him not to vex him further. He was already minded to give Hector back — his mother had come from Zeus — and some god had brought Priam to the ships. Stir his grief no more, lest he transgress Zeus's command even against a suppliant.