A Prince's Journey

A Troy sequel by talking2myself

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any characters from Troy, The Illiad, The Aerid or any other of Homer's or Vigil's works and I'm not getting any money for this... what?! What do you mean I'm not?! Call my lawyer! Oh. Right. On with the story.

SUMMARY: Troy is destroyed and the royal family is scattered. Paris is enslaved by the Greeks. Aided by a Trojan boy Aeneas and his father Anchises and carrying the sword of Troy, Paris learns about what it means to truly be a prince while trying to return to his beloved Helen.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I first wrote this story in the year 2007... holy cow it was that long ago. I still like the story but I've made some editing changes in order to make it more consistent. Enjoy!

Prologue: Troy's Final Night

The night air was warm and balmy and soft hush had settled over the city-state of Troy. The moon shone bright in the distance casting shadows across the stone buildings and courtyards. It shimmered down upon the head of an enormous wooden horse that had been positioned in the center of the city square. The wooden horse loomed over the city, gazing down at the sleeping fortress. A victory trophy and a hard won one at that.

Behind Troy's mighty walls, the entire city slept easily for the first time in months, without fear that the Greeks would storm their walls and murder them in their beds. It was nearly two o'clock in the morning and the only person still awake was its prince. Its only prince.

Paris lay on his back in his bed staring at the ceiling. Helen lay there with him, her head rested on his chest. Paris had one arm wrapped around her and he absently trailed his fingers through her silky blonde hair with his free hand. He could feel her heart beating against his own heavy heart, slow and steady in sleep. Her arms were wrapped him as though she were still afraid that someone would steal him away from her in the night.

Hector will never be able to hold his wife again. He'll never see her again.

Paris shook his head struggling to rid his mind of such thoughts. It had been twelve nights since Hector's death and still Paris could not sleep. Everything he did, every movement, every thought led back to Hector. His commander. His older brother. His hero.

Paris's grief made him feel weaker than ever. Andromache, Hector's wife, was still crying at night. During his bouts with insomnia he could hear weeping when she didn't think anyone was listening. He watched her bravely wipe away her tears every morning and line her eyes with kohl. She didn't have a choice. She had to be strong for their child. She was the grieving widow, but she wasn't allowed to dwell on her loss.

Paris unfortunately wasn't as lucky. Every little thing no matter how insignificant made him think of his brother. He couldn't hold his nephew any more knowing that he would grow up without a father. Paris's father Priam moved through the palace like a ghost and nothing Paris said or did seemed to snap him out of his trance. One thought kept Paris from sinking into the same pit of depression. That was the thought that Hector's killer was still alive and living unpunished while Hector was dead in his grave.

Achilles! A fierce rage burned in Paris's heart. That man! That monster! Some called him a God, but Paris knew better. He was a savage! All a king needed to do was point him in the right direction and then pay him once he was done with his killings. They released on Troy like a trained dog.

Helen let out a cry in her sleep. Paris looked down. He had gripped her too tightly. He quickly released her murmuring apologies that she didn't hear. Helen rolled over in her sleep peaceful once again. Paris sighed. It was clear he wasn't going to get any sleep tonight. Only one thing would give him some peace of mind.

He slipped from their bed and quietly replaced the sheets over Helen. He took a few moments to gaze upon her peaceful face. His thumb gently stroked her soft cheek with his fingers. Helen was the only joy in his life now. He leaned over and kissed her softly on the forehead.

Paris reached out and picked up his quiver and bow which lay at the foot of his bed. Ever since Hector had died Paris had taken to carrying them around wherever he went just in case he ever caught sight of Achilles. Casting one final glance at Helen, he slipped out of their room and into the night.

Helen awoke sluggishly a few minutes later though she wasn't sure why. She reached over to snuggle closer to Paris but found only a vacant spot on the bed. Helen bolted upright in a panic searching for Paris. She frantically looked around the room as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

THWACK!

She heard a faint sound from the courtyard below. Helen frowned as she quickly got her feet and pulled a silk robe over her nightgown. She scurried across the floor to the window that overlooked the courtyard. She clutched her robe tightly and leaned out the window scanning the ground for her lover.

The moon was big and bright above them. It was easy to spot the lone figure who stood there silhouetted against the moonlight. Paris. She watched him raise his bow and slowly knock an arrow to it. He pulled the string taut before he released it with a soft snap. The arrow flew through the night before landing in the stuffed dummy that hung a distance away. The dummy swung and danced in the night as though possessed as the arrow struck it with another loud THWACK.

Helen let out a sad sigh. It didn't take a wise man to understand what was on Paris's mind. She slipped into her sandals and hurried out the door and down the stairs to the courtyard.

Paris watched the dummy swing back and forth, the shaft of his arrow protruded from its stuffed chest. Another perfect mark. Paris whipped out another arrow from his quiver without taking time to relish in his successful shot. None of them mattered until it was Achilles with arrows protruded from his body. Paris knocked another arrow and released it. This one flew down towards the leg of the dummy striking through its heel. Achilles. Paris thought to himself, I long for the day when it's your body hanging there!

"Paris?"

Paris jumped, releasing his third arrow in surprise. The arrow went wide striking the dummy in the head. Not a perfect match, but it still achieved the desired effect.

Paris whirled around. Helen stood on the edge of the courtyard looking more beautiful than ever. Her long blonde hair was shining bright under the stars. Her big blue eyes were locked on him, wide with concern.

"I didn't mean to wake you," Paris said dully.

"It's not yet dawn," Helen said.

"I couldn't sleep," Paris said. He reached for another arrow. Helen frowned. She took a few steps closer to him. "Don't do this, Paris," she said softly. "I watched Menelaus drive himself mad with war..."

"I am not a warrior!" Paris snapped. "And the whole world knows it by now. I know nothing of war." Hector had been right. Hector had always been right. Paris released his taut string and watched the arrow soar into the dummy with a satisfying smack!

"No, Paris you're not and I thank the Gods for that every day," Helen cried. She flung her arms around Paris. Paris's bow clattered on the ground besides him. She clung to him for a few moments. "I do not want to love a warrior," she whispered. She lifted her chin so her damp eyes met his. "But this war has consumed you..."

"That's because it's my war," Paris burst. His glare had softened. He looked away from her and stared at the sandy ground. "I am the cause of it. My weakness."

Helen instantly pulled away. "Me?!" she demanded fiercely.

"No!" Paris cried suddenly." I couldn't kill Menelaus. I wasn't strong enough. I couldn't win your hand…"

"Our love is not the cause of this war!" Helen cried. "Do you think Menelaus so innocent that he would just hand me over if you won? That there would be no war if you beat him and the Greeks would just row back home empty handed?!"

"They looted half our temples," Paris muttered weakly. Helen let out a heaving sigh. She clasped Paris's face in her hands.

"Paris," she whispered. She gently stroked his cheek with her thumb. "There's nothing you can do. Nothing you could have done. She slipped her arms around him and pressed her lips to his ear. "You can't blame yourself for Hector's death. It was not your doing and nothing you can do will bring him back."

Paris frowned and melted into her embrace. He buried his face into the crook of her shoulder. Helen held him close stroking his brown curls with her long fingers. After a small eternity, Helen pulled away from him and took a few steps back towards the palace.

"Come back to bed," she said.

Paris frowned. "I'm not done yet..."

"Come!"

Paris wanted to protest. He wanted to stay there until that dummy was filled up with arrows like a pincushion. But Helen met his eyes firmly. Her hand held out for his. Her gaze steady. Paris sighed and slung his quiver over his shoulder, walking back to her like a child who had just received a whipping. He offered her his hand and she clasped it tightly in hers.

As the two lovers walked back to their room they passed the large courtyard where the large wooden horse loomed besides the city. Paris looked up at in disgust. There was something wrong about it. He couldn't place his finger on it, but something was not right. He remembered the people of Troy dancing around it in celebration. As though no one had died. As though the war had never happened. As though the Crown Prince had not been slain.

Helen followed Paris's gaze to the wooden horse. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Paris muttered bitterly. His eyes flicked upwards darkly at the structure. "We should burn that horse."

"The war is over, Paris," Helen said gently.

"No, it's not!" Paris said fiercely. "You said so yourself the king of Greece will not take defeat in stride."

"Paris…" Helen sighed in exasperation. Paris immediately clamped his mouth shut. Helen was accustomed to this life. A lover who was never there always fighting wars in faraway places. She did not want this fate for her and Paris. Paris was so young. So naive is so many ways. He had never seen war before. She feared that this war and his brother's death would harden his heart. "May we have peace just for one night?" Helen asked softly. Paris said nothing he just squeezed her hand tightly in his. Helen smiled. In a world of uncertainties one fact held true. Paris loved her.

The two of them silently stole back into their bedroom. Helen slipped out her shoes and let her robe drop to the ground. Her nightgown swished around her bare ankles as she crossed back to the bed. Paris followed her and slipped his arms around her slim waist pressing his face into her hair inhaling her sweet scent. "I love you," he whispered.

Helen slid her hands around his before turning her face to kiss him. A long gentle kiss. When they finally parted, she slipped from his arms and sat down on the bed. She patted the spot besides her. He sat next to her and allowed her to recline him back down onto the mattress. Helen's arm wrapped around his waist and she nestled against his shoulder. "I love you too," she whispered as she drifted off to sleep.

Andromache was awoken by the baby crying. She got up slowly and stiffly feeling far older than she was. It was as though she had aged twelve years in the twelve days since her husband had died.

She walked over to the cradle a short distance from her bed which seemed to have grown in the past twelve days. It was far too big and wide for her alone. Her son lay swaddled in a blanket in the cradle. His red face was open and his little feet kicked against the white fabric She smiled at him before she gently lifted him and cradled him against her shoulder. "Shh, shh shh," she cooed. "What's wrong little one ?" she asked in her gentle voice that all mother's seem to inherit sooner or later," Do you miss your papa?" She wiped tears away from her face as she rocked him. "I do too." She paced about her chambers, lightly bouncing her son and rubbing his back until his crying ceased. She halted at the window and glanced down at the courtyard. She could see the young lovers walking back to their suite.

She let out a heavy sigh. Paris walked a little slower and not as tall as usual. It was hard for her to feel sorry for him at first. War was destined to come to Troy, but his affair had certainly sped the process along. The baby's face crinkled and he began to fuss again forcing her to resume her walking. Andromache smiled down at him. "I'm very sorry. I'll keep walking." She shuffled down the familiar path that she had done so many nights before. Twelve steps across to her bed. Twelve steps back to the window. Repeat as necessary. Hector would walk with her some times insisting that he wouldn't sleep until she and the baby did. She wiped away more tears at the thought. Somehow she felt like a longer walk this time.

She held her son close wrapped up tightly in a warm blanket. He was starting to quiet down. She stroked his downy head and walked down the long corridor. The servants were lounging on their straw pallets in one room exhausted from their long day's work. Briseis was sitting in her room twisting a piece of her hair absently, lost in thought. King Priam was fast asleep in his room. Resting peacefully for the first time since Hector had died. The last room was Paris and Helen's. The two were lying in their bed again. Helen was asleep with her head nestled against Paris's shoulder. Paris was lying there, his elbow was propped up. His head rested against it. His eyes were open. He seemed tired, but it was nothing that sleep could cure. His eyes briefly glanced up and met hers. Andromache quickly hurried by. She couldn't speak to him. It was still too soon.

She made her way back to her rooms slowly. Her baby was now asleep against her shoulder. She pressed her lips to his forehead before gently laying him back down in his cradle. She smiled at him as she watched him sleep peacefully. Resting at his side was the wooden toy that Hector had carved for him. She wished that she could sleep as soundly as him.

She crawled back into her bed, pulling the blankets over her. She closed her eyes, but still lay awake. Go to sleep! She told herself over and over. All is peaceful. All is well. But sleep still did not come.

Perhaps all was not as well as it seemed.