Disclaimer: I do not own Troy. I wish I did! And Achilles! ) But sadly, those are the property of history, Homer and other poets long before me, and Mr. Wolfgang Petersen and his crew. I am simply one more person who is taking their ideas and forming my own fantasy from them. In other words, some characters... MOST characters are borrowed from pre-existing mythology, but most of their story is my creation and not what was supposed to have happened in mythology. In fact, if you try to match timelines, family lines, or any other lines, I can assure you that several discrepencies will pop up! But that's the charm of fanfiction... it's FICTION and therefore is completely made up! )

Author's Note: The beginning of this story occurs towards the end of the movie, Troy, right after Achilles's death and before Odysseus's scene at the funeral pyre. It focuses on Briseis and the other Trojans who fled from Troy, but the rest of the story is about the second-generation as you will soon find out. Hopefully, you will like the characters as much as I love them. Any feedback would be absolutely appreciated! And desperately needed.

Seriously, there is nothing more needed than feedback for me! ) And on that note...

Prologue

The night was merciless. In the distance, the sound of battle rang clear as the calls of a predator bird. The wind cackled and burned with the flames consuming the blue sky, carrying with it the smell of burnt flesh and death. Screams surrounded the night, the ring of blade and flesh overpowered existence. Briseis's senses shook with an overwhelming rush of emotions but her body was alarmingly still, her mind a blank backdrop to the blood and gore of the war tearing through her home.

"Briseis! Briseis, for God's sake, look at me!"

She turned, her eyes focusing on the gentle face of her cousin. Her mind registered the worry in his clear blue eyes, the fear chiseled into the lines beside his frowning lips, but emotions no longer made sense to her.

"Briseis, please forget him," he whispered to her. He dropped his bow to the ground with a solid thunk that vibrated through her ears. She gulped, feeling him take a hold of her shoulders. He shook her but there was no break to her stupor.

"He is gone, cousin," Paris told her. "He is dead—"

Is that Achilles? The son of Peleus and Thetis—the great warrior of Greece. He cannot be dead—it is impossible!

"He can't be dead, Paris," Briseis replied, staring straight through his eyes. The soldiers' words rang through her ears, infinitely more coherent than her cousin's. "The great warrior of Greece can never die."

"He killed your cousin, Briseis!" Paris's voice rang through the empty courtyard. His grip tightened on her arms. "Have you forgotten our beloved Hector?"

"He cannot be dead," Briseis whispered, shaking her head slightly. "He simply cannot—"

"Bri," Paris sighed, pulling her to him. He held her head against his chest, embracing her with a fierceness so full of pain and regret that Briseis felt it to her core. "I would have killed myself before killing your love, cousin. But your love was placed in the wrong man—the wrong demon."

Briseis suddenly pushed him away and slapped him. "Achilles may have been a demon for taking a sword to your brother, Paris, but you are the true reason Hector died. You are the true reason for all these deaths and you know it!"

Paris stared at her, his hands fisted at his sides. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Briseis knew she had hurt him than any mortal wound ever could. She knew that she was breaking her dear cousin to pieces with her words, but they were true words, and by God, if she had to take her rage out at someone, it might as well be the one person who was responsible for all the pain in her life and in everyone else's as well. "What were you thinking?" She shook her head, all the venom in her body hissing through her words. "Love is meant to bring joy to life, Paris, not death and blood. You tasted the euphoria of love, you lost yourself to your dreams, but how dare you forget that behind every dream is a reality? How dare you forget your people who look up to you for guidance and protection? And now a thousand ships have been launched against them, a thousand warriors thirsting for their blood and a thousand loved ones lost to blades of greed and lust. Look there!" She waved towards the flames crawling up the towers of troy. "Can you hear them, Paris? They are being forced to kill good men, they are being forced to give their own lives, and they are suffering! Blood rolls through Troy from their bodies and grief! Grief so horrible that it's tearing at their souls, Paris—tearing at my soul!"

She stopped suddenly, feeling something dull slicing through her heart. "Achilles is dead," she whispered, the words barely slipping from her tongue. "And you know what the greatest tragedy of this war is, Paris?" She remembered Achlles's face that night. "There was nothing in his life that he regretted more than his compulsion to kill Hector. Nothing."

There was a ringing in Briseis's ears as she stood there, staring at her cousin. She was shaking like an autumn leaf caught in the wind. Her throat stung with unshed tears. Paris was looking at the ground, his jaw rigid. Finally, he looked up at her and there was a glint of tears in his eyes. He gulped several times, then said, "Follow the path behind you. Find Andromache and get to safety."

He slowly leaned down and picked up his bow. Then, without a glance back, he turned around and walked into the tunnel leading back to the Trojan caslte, to the mad heat of battle. Briseis watched him leave, her nails digging into her palms. She didn't know how long she remained standing there until suddenly… Dear Zeus, what have I done?!

"Paris," Briseis called, running toward the tunnel. "Paris--!"

"Briseis!"

She turned around to find Andromache standing at the entrance to the passage Paris had brought her to. Behind her stood Helen carrying Andromache's son, a joyful smile on her fair face.

"H-Helen," Briseis whispered.

"Thank God we heard your voice—Oh, Bri, we thought we lost you—" Andromache and Helen both ran forward and hugged her. "You weren't in your room when the—and I couldn't find you anywhere, I was so worried! Where's Paris?"

"I-I—" Briseis felt something wedge in her throat and blinked back tears. "He's gone back to battle!" She turned to Helen. "I-I'm sorry—"

"That was his decision," Andromache cut her off with a slight quiver to her voice. Helen's eyes dropped to the ground. "Come, we must leave quickly!"

Briseis felt her cousin's hand wrap around her wrist with startling strength as she pulled her into the tunnel behind her. "The citizens are far ahead of us and we must catch up to them quickly—it is far safer for us to remain in a large group."

"What of Uncle Priam?" Briseis asked her, stumbling slightly on the edges of her skirt. She reached down and held her skirt high over her knees. Her elbows grazed against the rough walls of the tunnel, but she hurried on frantically behind Andromache, Helen behind her.

"He's… gone, I'm afraid," Andromache replied, without turning back.

Briseis sighed, nodding softly in the darkness.

"Wait—what was that?!"

Briseis stopped at Helen's voice, turning around. In the silence, they could hear a faint echo coming down the tunnel. "Greek men!" Briseis gasped. "Run!"

She grabbed Helen, pushing her and the baby ahead of herself and fled down the tunnel behind them. "Quietly," Andromache whispered. "We're almost there—!"

"Can you hear that—sounds like footsteps! I think there's someone in here!"

Briseis gasped at the voice, turning around to see the faint glow of fire far behind them. Suddenly, her foot caught on a rough stone and she fell to the ground. She bit her lip against the cry that threatened to break through her lips. Her right leg seemed to vibrate painfully from the impact. Ahead of her, Helen and Andromache stopped.

"Bri!" Helen rushed towards her. She leaned down, extending her hand towards Briseis, but the motion stirred the sleeping baby who awoke with a resounding protest. Briseis groaned.

"No, my love, shh!" Andromache whispered, taking the baby from Helen's arms in an attempt to calm him, but the damage was already done.

"There's people in here—come on!"

Briseis grabbed a hold of Helen's hand and pulled herself up to her throbbing feet. "Go!" She shouted, practically pushing Helen on. She heard footsteps behind her, ringing so loudly. She saw the glow of the torch basking over the walls on either side of her. The men were were almost on top of them. In her mind, she began a frantic prayer to Apollo, begging him to save them.

Suddenly, a hand reached towards her and for the second time, she stumbled to the ground. She heard Andromache shout out her name over the cries of her baby. Briseis's eyes were stinging with tears as she flayed wildly against the hand and scrambled forward on all fours.

"You will not touch her!" Andromache and Helen both stepped past her, their figures shading the firelight from Briseis. She turned onto her back and saw them standing resolutely between her and the men.

"Helen… and Lady Andromache!"

Briseis froze. She knew that voice.

"M'lord, that is Hector's heir," a second voice spoke.

Andromache turned away slightly from the men, clutching the baby to her bossom. "You will have to kill me before you touch this babe."

"At your orders, my lord!"

"No!" Briseis gasped, rising to her feet. She shoved her way in between Helen and Andromache to face the men. "You will not touch them, Odysseus."

King Odysseus of Ithaca looked as though he had been slapped in the face. There was a glimmer of relief… or happiness in his eye as he looked at the woman before him. "Briseis, you're alive!"

The torch in his hand cackled slightly. Behind her, Briseis heard Andromache whispering her baby into silence. She straightened her shoulders and looked at him straight in the eye. "You will let these women go," she told him. She did not know what confidence she had to give such a blunt order, but she swore to Apollo that she would die before she let any harm come to either Andromache, Helen, or the babe.

"My lord, I can finish them all with a single blow," Odysseus's man stepped towards them slightly, his hand on his hilt.

"Stop!" Two voices cried at once. Odysseus grabbed the man by his collar and pushed him back. "Keep your sword in its sheath or you will be the first to die here."

Briseis looked at Odysseus, her breath catching in her throat slightly. Could it be that Apollo had heard her prayer? Odysseus threw the torch to his man and turned around again, his face thrown into shadows. "You cannot leave," he whispered.

"She must!" Andromache replied. "Troy is burning and we are in danger—"

"Achilles will destroy the world if he thinks you are dead, you cannot leave, Briseis," Odysseus spoke over her, leaning towards Briseis urgently. Briseis felt her stomach drop as she stared into his face. Something was gripping at her throat, restricting her from speaking or breathing. "He searches for you all over the kingdom. Come with me now, and I can assure you that no harm will come to you. You will receive safe passage from Troy, Briseis—"

"Safe passage to the Underworld, Odysseus?" Briseis whispered so softly that she herself could not hear what she said. Odysseus stopped, a frown wrinkling his kind face.

"The Underworld?"

"The world would be in danger of destruction, were it not for the death of Achilles."

"Wha—?" Odysseus jerked his head back slightly. In the chisled shadows of the torch, Briseis could see the shock on his face. "What are you talking about?"

"Achilles is dead, Odysseus," Briseis told him, her voice incredibly steady. "His body lays before the statue of Apollo."

"Oh, God," Odysseus gasped, his hand coming up to his forehead. He dropped it jerkily, his other fist tightening around the hilt of his sword at his waist. Briseis's eyes followed the motion, her heart beating a breath faster.

"He died trying to save from Agamemnon's men," she said, "If you touch Andromache or Helen or the babe, you will also have to kill me. Please do not let Achilles's death be in vain."

Odysseus looked up, his hand suddenly letting go of his sword. He took several steps away from Briseis, his eyes wandering around the tunnel in shock. After several minutes of silence, he finally said, "I would have cut my own throat before thinking of hurting you, Briseis." He looked up, his eyes fixing on the baby. "And if it means I must sacrifice the end to this madness to honor Achilles's death, then so be it."

"My lord!" His men gasped behind him.

Odysseus ignored his protest and stepped forward. "Go and hide yourself thoroughly from this war." He looked to Andromache and Helen. "If you are caught by the Greek, you will not be shown any mercy. May the Gods be with you."

Briseis felt something break inside her. She bit her lip, closing her throat against the waves of pain crashing through her. Behind her, she heard Helen say, "Of all the kings of Greece, Lord Odysseus, you are by far the kindest. The Gods will smile upon you in life and death."

Odysseus nodded towards her, then at Briseis. She tried to smile, but couldn't manage it. So, she simply nodded back, and turned away. May the Gods be with them all.