Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to own Troy, or any of the characters presented here.
Coward
Paris' words had been brave. He would fight Menelaus to the death. When he had said that, he thought only of Helen. He loved her. He would do anything for her. If necessary he would die. Once he had suited up in his armor and approached Menelaus, however, some of those thoughts had gone out of his head.
He was walking, slowly, over to the large man. It was almost as though he was being pushed by some invisible force that was determined to make him face what was probably his doom. Inside the helmit, his breath was magnified ten times greater. It sounded harsh, ragged, terrified. He wanted to turn to the side, where Hector was, wanted to be reassured. But he thought he knew what his brother was thinking: Paris would never survive this battle.
Menelaus stood there, looking as though he had already won the battle. Triumphant. Glad. He couldn't wait to kill the prince. Paris did not want anyone to die. Not himself, not any other man. Maybe Menelaus. But no one else.
Paris' mouth was dry and sweat trickled down his handsome face.
Menelaus charged at him. He swung his sword and almost cut his head off. Paris held his shield in front of him, blocking the other man's sword, but Menelaus was undaunted. Paris tried to swing at him but Menelaus smashed him in the jaw with the hilt of his sword and knocked his helmit off. Fear coursed through the young prince as blood leaked from his mouth and nose.
He got up as Menelaus swung again. Menelaus grabbed his wrist, but Paris punched him in the jaw, knocking out one of his teeth. He felt a surge of triumph, but it did not last long.
Menelaus' blade cut Paris' thigh and his sword was knocked from his hand. All Paris felt was fear and pain. This was his first wound. He had seen wounds before, and cringed at them. Now he had his own and it felt as though his thigh were about to rip in two. It stung as the air rushed to meet it. Paris backed away, stumbling, then turned and ran to Hector. He would protect him, wouldn't he? He'd been ashamed of his brother, yes, but he loved him; he would save him. Paris, terrified, collapsed at Hector's feet, holding onto his brother's leg tightly. All he could think was that he did not want to die. He wanted to flee back into the castle and never have to face Menelaus and his taunting face again. Menelaus yelled at him to fight. He was a coward, a baby. He was not worthy of his title as Prince of Troy. But he would not fight.
Menelaus threatened to kill Paris at Hector's feet. Paris bit his lip and closed his eyes, but Hector plunged his sword right into his opponent's chest, killing him. Paris heard the body fall but did not look behind him.
And then the roar started. The Greeks began to charge at them. Hector grabbed Paris' arm and they jumped onto their horses, fleeing back into the safety of the castle. When they arrived inside its familiar walls, Paris collapsed against the wall. He was a coward, but he was alive. Alive. He sucked in a deep breath of air and slowly let it out. Never had life seemed so precious.