Title: Fires

Author's Note: By now, you should know that none of the writers in this section own Troy. I'm afraid that Wolfgang Peterson deserves that.

Briseis could feel the heavy tension in the room even before she entered it. She could see that men's eyes were openly gaping at the vision of the young woman who was standing at the doorway. She could feel the bristling annoyance of their wives who gazed in bitter jealousy. And she had arrived just in time to hear Paris, dear Paris, say,

"Father, this is Helen of Troy."

He was speaking to Priam and confusion flashed across the old king's face, but it was smoothed over by a warm, welcoming smile that he gave to Helen. Not Helen of Sparta, but Helen of Troy. The old men, the advisors of Priam looked troubled. The young men, especially Deiphobus, looked delighted. And the women all turned to each other and whispered.

"Honored queen," Deiphobus spoke, his voice awed. "Your presence is that of a living goddess."

A living goddess. She could certainly imitate one.

"More of a cursed goddess than a blessed one!"

Everyone whipped around to see Cassandra, daughter of Priam, standing in the room. They backed away from her as if she had some protective bubble around her.

"If you let this goddess dwell among us, she will bring doom upon all of us!" Cassandra shrieked, a slender finger pointing at Helen in accusation.

"You're right," Helen whispered, her own blue-green eyes gazing at Cassandra. "Menelaus will come for me."

Helen's voice was a tender caress, deep and sorrow-filled, to Cassandra's harsh crows and the men heard only Helen's voice, a song to their ears.

Deiphobus let out a huge bellow of laughter that sounded more like a roar. "We shall see if Menelaus, a man who couldn't even hold on to his wife, can dare to step up to the great gates of Troy!"

Deiphobus beckoned for a servant and announced, "We shall have a feast to celebrate the safe arrival of Queen Helen!"

And among all the cheers and careless jolly, Briseis could hear Cassandra hiss at Deiphobus.

"Fool."

No one else heard her though and Paris rushed forward to take Briseis's hands in his own.

"Dear cousin!" he said, laughing and smiling, placing a kiss on each cheek. "Are you not glad to see me safely home?"

Briseis forced a smile onto her face and in her mind, she thought, 'I am not glad to see her safely at your home.'

"Of course, I'm glad, Paris," she responded warmly.

He touched her white dress that had been spun of light silk. "White," he murmured and looked at her, surprised. "You chose the virgin robes of a priestess?"

She nodded, loving the chance to shock him. "My own choice and no one else's."

But Paris looked disappointed. "I thought that you were going to marry Mynes," he said slowly and turned his head to observe Mynes who was also standing in the court.

"Did you not like him?" he questioned.

'More like despise him,' Briseis thought and shrugged. "It was my choice." And not yours.

Days later, Menelaus did indeed come storming to the gates of Troy, yelling for a private meeting with King Priam. He had brought three important figures with him for counsel was his explanation. But it seemed more as if they had been brought to impress and threaten.

Briseis and Cassandra had gone out of the gates for a ride in the meadows and when they returned, they found a herd of unknown horses in the stables.

"This one's a beauty," Briseis remarked, rubbing the nose of a tall, handsome stallion.

Its coat was the color of deep, dark ebony and its hair was very fine and well-combed like a lady's hair almost. But its eyes had a wild, feral look in them. 'A war horse,' Briseis guessed.

"I wonder if the owner would let me ride it," Briseis spoke out loud.

"Depends if you can handle him or not."

It wasn't Cassandra's voice. Briseis turned around to see a young man with rather long hair the color of gold and sunshine. Then, she noticed his eyes, light blue and light hearted. An Achaean, she realized. No doubt with his fair hair and eyes.

"Patroclus," he introduced himself, holding his hand out.

Briseis stared at it. She hardly ever touched a stranger, especially a Greek stranger. Slowly, she untangled her fingers from the horse's mane and slipped them into Patroclus's hand. His hand had calluses. From the use of weapons.

He was also stronger than her and when she tried to pull her hand out of his grasp, she realized that she couldn't. Glaring at him furiously, she tugged on her hand, using her free hand to slap him on the wrist.

"Let go!" she exclaimed, frustrated.

"Tell me your name first," he laughed, his eyes sparkling at her displeasure.

"My name's Briseis!" she replied and he let go and she fell backwards onto the floor.

Patroclus was laughing even harder now, but he did help her up.

"It's not really my horse," he explained. "It's my cousin's, but he always says that whatever belongs to him belongs to me."

"Does that mean that you'll let me ride it?" she asked eagerly.

"It's a him," Patroclus corrected and he opened the stable door, observing her closely.

"Why don't you meet my cousin and he'll decide if you can ride it?" Patroclus suggested. "I mean, if you break a bone, our hosts wouldn't be very happy. You are royalty, right?"

Briseis looked up at him, surprised. "How did you know?"

"I just do," Patroclus replied, grinning. "Anyway, you're lucky if you ever get to meet my cousin. Perhaps, you've heard of him? His name is Achilles."

And they walked off to meet Achilles.