Forbidden Gods

I. First Defeat

It was going to be a hot day. Hot and dry, which Achilles loved because it reminded him of home. However all the other men longed for their villages of green grass and crowed cities, or wherever they originated from before the decade war.

All the royal family of Troy was destroyed except the snake that began to seal their fates, still lived only to entertain Mecuelus' cockiness that he won the war. It wasn't about who got the women anymore but who had something and who had nothing to Mecuelus. But to Paris, the youngest prince of Troy, and the reason why his family is dead, city gone, riches taken away, and his love killed herself; to him it was about who got the girl. It was 10 long years ago that he left a peace treaty with the most beautiful women he saw. That woman was the wife of Mecuelus and when her presence was lost in his bed, he sent a thousand ships to seize her, with the help of his brother Agamemnon, King of Kings. The war hero was Achilles, the greatest warrior. When their army took hold of Troy and killed Paris' brother and father, they grabbed him and Helen, who was undressed in his bed. Helen knew she would never see Paris again so she took her own life, leaving both her husband and her lover in grief. Paris was known for getting out of sticky situations by the sight of his fair face. And the rumor was true when Agamemnon saw him for the first time and decided to keep him prisoner. He stationed the imprisoned prince in 4 different camp sites and both times he almost completed escaping.

"Bring him in!!" Three men jostled in but the fourth was the one that spoke. "What is the meaning of barging in a hero's quarters?" Achilles whipped out his blade toward the captain's throat. His Adams apple bobbed with anxiety of having a blade to it. So he choosed his words carefully, "My lord requests for you to watch the prince. He's escaped 4 times! And killed 6 of my men." "There will be 7 more if you don't get him out of here!" Achilles roared. The captain backed away and before following two men out of the tent said this. "Go talk to the king about it then" Without seeing what they brought in his tent, he rushed out sarcastically saying "Which king? There are seven kings in this field."

Achilles ran to the king's tent, ignoring all of the soldiers in awe of his presence, bowing to him like a god. Looking at him, the way he talked, the way he carried himself, the way he walked, all of it written in greatness. His body was built, his strong cheekbones and blue eyes and blonde hair hung to his shoulders and some of it roped in thick messy braids.

"What is the meaning of this Agamemnon?" Agamemnon sat sulkily at his cushioned throne picking at grapes. "I have made my decision and it will be so." His voice was on the brink of shouting. His blood red robes hung over his great body, and long black mane with a clean beard was specked with gray. His dark eyes never glanced at the hero. Achilles began his way down the red carpet to his lord's throne. "I fought for 10 years to not baby sit some royal brat!" He rested his hands on the chair's own staring the king in the face, forcing to look into his. The king did and snapped at him like some child needing to get back to their place. "Then think of this as another challenge to fight!" That was all the so called wisdom the king gave to Achilles and he stormed out of the tent more bothered.

Now everything was uncomfortable. The air he breathed, the sun on his back, the armor that weighed down his skin. He wanted to break out of his shell that he created on his own. Most said to this was the wanting of a woman, but Achilles sworn off any women because he thought them the source of mortality. Or to him, weakness.

Achilles wasn't in a rush to go back to his tent, so he went towards the cliffs that hung over the crashing waves, overseeing the ocean he once crossed. The water looked different then the one that he sailed on 10 years ago. To him, he believed it aged with him. The waves were slower and its threatening appearance didn't tingle his fear of drowning any more. He wanted to go home, but then he thought what home? Last winter, his mother died and all he would be returning to is the cold stone castle in the middle of an island. Achilles wanted to be alone, but not completely, he needed someone to share it with. As dusk approached he made his way back to his tent.

He dragged his feet through the party of warriors that once again were celebrating their conquering of Troy. "Hail Achilles!" was all he heard from the drunken men. One of them caught his eye. It was just another endless face of a solider; probably use to be a trader. But it was his eyes that caught his attention. The solider was looking at a woman who sat on his legs, opening hers to his torso with love and satisfaction in her smoky eyes. The same reflected back into the man's and after he told her something, they kissed. Achilles' cold doubtful thoughts were gone after he saw love's true face. He felt jealous of the humble solider but grateful that there was some good in this world. When he was just about to enter the tent a young man spoke to him from a distance, sitting around a camp fire. "My lord, I heard some rummaged in your tent. Don't be the 5 man that let the prince get away." The rest of his peers burst into laughter. Drunk they were, because no man would have ever say anything like that to a superior killer. When he stepped into his tent a jolting movement caught his eye.

A young man froze at the sight of him, holding a dagger at his side, and broken ropes dangled at his wrists. He was breathing heavily from the heat and sweat sprinkled all over his bronze body. Achilles stood where he was; not wanting to move an inch to startle the prince away. His eyes began to scan his prisoner's body. The young man had dark hair that scrunched on his forehead to see through. His eyes were dark and pierced through Achilles skin. His lips were thin but the other was fuller then the upper one, which formed a perfect bowlike figure and his fine features were sharp and angled. He wore only a long sarong that hung loosely on his hips, which exposed his wiry chest. It wasn't lanky but athletic and toned nicely. He wore a golden medallion; probably the only object he owned now that wasn't worthless; and thick bracelets, one on each wrist that were probably three inches thick. You could tell he was recovering from a recent beating because blood, not yet dry, still dripped from the corner of his mouth ever so slightly.

Achilles came back from his dazed moment. "There is no point in running from one danger if you're heading toward another." The prince, Paris, knew what he was talking about and began to inch his way towards the back entrance that faced the desert. As he got close enough, he spun around to dash for freedom, but Achilles was on top of his every move and pounced on him before he got out of the tent. "No!" the prince yelled as he tried to squirm Achilles' weight off of him, which he did. But Achilles' hand slightly tapped Paris' foot, which toppled him to the ground once again for the thousandth time. Achilles pinned each of the prince's limb with his and harshly whispered. "Look, I don't like looking at your face either every day, but we must accept our place." And guess where Paris' place was, in the corner, next to boulder size pottery where he was tied to. Achilles began sharpening his sword which was already stained with blood before the war. He was waiting for the prince to ask him thousands of questions on how he defeated his country, but surprisingly he did not. Achilles only sifted his eyes up to see the prince still every 3 seconds. Until a minuet of this passed his pride broke the silence. "Aren't you going to ask me the question yet?" Paris turned his way towards him, confused. What was he talking about? He thought to himself, but his face reflected the idea more. "Every time I see you Trojans, you ask the same question in different ways, but the same none the less." Paris hated when someone talks badly of his people and he has been getting it often now. "And what question is that?!" he snarled.

Now that he has won Paris' attention, he continued his sharpening with a face of vanity on it. "How we defeated your kingdom? Yours that has never been taken by an enemy in more then 4 generations" Paris ticked his tongue in a sound of disgust, and began picking a spot in the tent and focused on that.

Achilles chuckled and continued. "Its okay to be angry, that you are now the worm of failure at this camp with nothing great at all to at least say you had." After his chuckling ceased a voice of confidence spoke from the other side of the tent. "Yes I have." Achilles was shocked by his comeback. He sprang up from his position to the prince's throat that now stood below him. "You had nothing, nothing, better then me." Prince slowly stood up, eye leveled with the warrior and fixed into his blue eyes. "I had love... Much more then I could say about you." He looked up and down at Achilles while he said this last line. Making sure every syllable was slurred. Achilles didn't know what to do, didn't know what to say....He's right. The defeated warrior stormed out, with embarrassment on his cheeks. And Paris smirked as he exited.