Disclaimer: I do not own Troy, nor any Greek Myths. This story is intended for entertainment only.
Author's Note: This story will likely follow the movie closely, but do not expect it to be word for word, as I have not yet memorized it. I am seeking to build upon the romance of Briseis and Achilles, both during the Trojan War, and after. For every ending, there is a new beginning.
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A faint breeze stirred the thick Aegean air along the shore. Briseis sighed and lifted her long brown hair over her head, baring the skin of her neck to the cooling caress of the wind. The foam of the tide rushed up and over her feet and her toes curled into the moist sand as she walked slowly down the long stretch of beach towards the sacred spring of Apollo.
She clutched a ceremonial basin against her hip with one hand, its glazed surface cool, even through the fabric of her robes. The priests had been making offerings since sunrise, and although she would not speak the words aloud, the chance to escape the smell of burning meat was welcome.
A songbird twittered from its perch on a low-lying shrub as she passed by, then lofted into the air, circling once around her head. She followed its path with her eyes and wondered whether it was a sign. The High Priest would know. It winged its way seaward, until it disappeared from her sight.
Briseis squinted against the brightness of the sun off of the deep blue waves. The horizon looked somehow different. Almost as if it were moving, darkening. She wondered whether Poseidon was sending a storm. "As if we need one more trial to face," she murmured under her breath.
With a shake, she turned away from the vista and continued towards the sacred spring. As she walked, her thoughts drifted to the last words she had spoken with her cousin Hector before leaving the city in the dim haze of pre-dawn. "Be watchful, Briseis," he had said. "The Greeks are coming, mark my words. When they come, stay in the temple. Not even a Greek would raise a hand against the servants of the Gods."
"They come because of Helen," she'd replied, fingering a long-stemmed flower from the gardens.
"In part. For honor and revenge."
"I wish she had never come." It had felt like a betrayal to speak the words. Even Briseis had to admit to the change that had come over her cousin Paris, change for the better. And try as she might to hate the Spartan queen, it proved impossible. As much as Helen was beautiful to the eye, so was she inside. No word or deed gave insult. Briseis could see how Helen suffered day by day, knowing what would come. Knowing that she was the cause.
"As well to wish the sun to cease its path across the sky," Hector had replied, his eyes darkening, hand tightening around the spear he held at his side until the knuckles went pale. "What's done is done. We must make the best of it. Promise me you'll stay at the temple. It will give me one less care."
A fresh wave washed over Briseis' feet, bringing her awareness back to the present, and she smiled. "I will do as you bid me, cousin," she whispered, although Hector was far away, within the walls of the city. The breeze stirred again, and she fancied it caught her words and sent them towards Hector's heart. One less care. He carried the weight of Troy on his shoulders. She would not add to his burden.
Briseis came around a curve of beach and there, in a small circle of verdant growth, burbled the sacred spring. As she neared, the clean smell of the plants mingled with the salty sea air and she breathed deeply. "Great Apollo," she prayed as she knelt in the carpet of green grass and dipped the basin into the clear water, "Watch over my cousin -- both of them. Watch over this city. We serve you as best we may."
A sudden gust of wind from over the Aegean whistled around her, ruffling her robes, and she shivered. The light dimmed and she glanced overhead. A low bank of clouds crossed over the face of the sun. "Apollo?" she breathed. The calls of songbirds, which had not ceased as she passed by them, went still. Her fingers curled reflexively around the rim of the basin and her heart pounded against her chest.
Then, into the silence, a resonant echo reverberated like thunder. Briseis lurched to her feet, water sloshing over the rim of the basin as she moved. Her gaze flew in the direction of the city, but it was hidden from view by a low ridge of sand. The great tower bell sounded again, and again. In the distance she could make out shouts and cries. She turned and faced the sea.
The horizon, which had seemed so strange, suddenly came into focus. As far as her eyes could see, sails littered the surface of the waters, a wide range of colors: white, gray, tan, black and rust. The Greeks.
Go to the temple, Briseis, Hector's words echoed through her head. Without another thought, she gathered her robes up in her free hand and ran, heedless of the sacred water staining the sandy beach, of the burning of her legs and lungs.
Even as she ran, the armada raced towards the shore, as if the very breath of Poseidon blew them before it. One ship, with a sail as black as death, flew ahead of the others. Briseis tried to gauge its speed, whether she could reach the temple before its prow contacted the Trojan shore.
Out of the corner of her eyes she could see Trojans racing towards the safety of the city walls, while still others poured from the gates and raced towards the beach, spears and shields to hand. Hector would be among them.
There was no time for thought. She stretched her legs against the aching pain that threatened to slow her stride. Almost, she could make out individual men in the leading Greek ship. In the prow, sunlight glinted off of hair as burnished as gold. It caught her eye, for such a color was a rarity among Greek and Trojan alike. Did Helen have a brother? No, Briseis remembered no tale of a brother.
Ahead of her, the golden statue of Apollo on the steps of the temple came into view. She forced herself onward, turning her thoughts from the approaching ship. The pounding steps of soldiers and horses of Troy came closer and the first ranks of men passed her by, taking up position to guard against the attackers. Briseis ached to shut her eyes. She did not want to see those men, knowing that many of them would never see the setting sun again.
Her feet at last pounded onto the hard stone steps of the temple and she ran to the doorway. Within its shadows, she turned one last time, just as the first Greek ship made landfall. The golden haired Greek leapt lightly onto the sand, surrounded by his men. Arrows flew, felling many, but the rest did not falter.
Briseis closed her eyes and turned towards the shelter of the temple. She moved forward a few paces before opening her eyes to the familiar shadows, then hurried forward. The stone floor chilled her bare feet, helping to calm her frantic heart.
"High Priest?" she called.
"Here, child," the old man replied, from behind a large statue of the Sun God.
Briseis did not go immediately to join him and the other priests and acolytes in their hiding places, but went to the altar. "Mighty Apollo," she said, raising the basin over her head, "Accept this offering and hear my prayer. Guard your people. Please. Keep us safe."
With that, she poured what little remained of the sacred water over the smoldering embers. A fountain of steam hissed upward, beading on her face and the bare skin of her arms.
"Briseis!" She placed the basin beside the altar, then fled for the shelter of the statue. The High Priest, who had called to her, clasped her hands within his. "We feared for you, when the tower bell tolled."
"Do not fear for me. Fear for Troy," she replied, and bent her head to hide the frightened tears that at last began to well from her eyes.
She felt his old lips press against her forehead. "You are a true niece of the King."
An abrupt hiss of metal against metal shuddered down the stone hallway of the temple, and all around, the muttering servants of the Gods went silent. Briseis sank against the statue, pressing her back into the cold stone. Her body trembled and she clasped her arms around her legs in an effort to still them.
The hot flicker of a torch illuminated the darkness, casting strange shadows against the walls. Then, a voice from the doorway called, "Take what you wish! To the victors go the spoils!"
Laughter bounced off the walls, hot and hard, and footsteps pounded down the passageway. Briseis remained hidden in the shelter of the statue, but the High Priest rose and stepped forward. "Do not touch these things! They are sacred to Apollo! He will smite you--"
His words broke off into a terrible gurgling. "No!" screamed an acolyte, then another and another.
Screams erupted through the temple. Blood fountained over Briseis' hiding place, painting the walls a macabre scarlet. She pressed her hand to her mouth and bit down on her fingers, hoping to force down her own screams. It seemed to last for an eternity, listening to the death cries of her fellow servants of Apollo, her own body convulsing at each scream, each sound of sword rending flesh, cleaving bone.
Hector, she wanted to scream. Help us.
"Well, then," growled a low voice in her ear. "What have we here?"
Her eyes flashed open to be met by a pair of startlingly blue ones ringed by rangy black hair. Rough fingers grabbed her chin and forced her to face him. She drew back against the stone, forcing her body to stillness.
"A pretty one. I think you're worth keeping alive."
His breath was hot against her skin and she shuddered, then spat in his face.
His mouth split into a smile as he wiped away the spittle with his free hand. "Feisty, too." He released her face and grabbed her by the arm, hauling her upwards. "On your feet, slave."
The man dragged her from her hiding place and her eyes fell on the carnage at her feet. Every other servant of Apollo, every priest, every acolyte, lay dead, littering the ground. Briseis began to struggle wildly against her captor's iron grasp, but her feet slipped in the hot blood that pooled on the floor of the temple.
With a laugh, then man tossed her bodily over his shoulder and stalked towards daylight. Her eyes stung as they adjusted to the brilliance of the sun, but as her captor marched steadily towards the beach, which was still filling with Greek ships, many just landing, she caught sight of a troop of Trojan soldiers on horseback, pounding towards the temple. At the front rode the familiar strong form of her cousin.
"Hector!" she screamed, but he was too far away to hear her cry.
The black-haired Greek slung her to the ground and pulled out his sword. "I've had enough trouble with you."
He raised his arm and Briseis prepared to die, but instead felt a violent crack against her skull, then knew no more.