Title: The Gift

Disclaimer: The characters belong to Homer and Warner Brothers. This story is solely for fun, not profit. The characters of Tydeus and Xuthos are mine and appear off and on in From Ashes Reborn.

Summary: Eudorus has a chance at redemption for a past crime. Eudorus & OC.

Eudorus is sadly neglected in fic. C'mon, where's the love, fandom?? Not that I expect my meager little story to start a ball rolling, but it'll be one more than there was. I suppose this fic could be considered a bit of backstory to my other fic, From Ashes Reborn. I now wish I had written this first so it would be a true backstory. There are inconsistencies. This will be complete in 4 chapters.

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Chapter 1

Sand was sand, and Eudorus thought there was damned little difference between the shores of Troy and those of Phthia. Perhaps the Trojan sand captured the light and heat of the sun more than the rockier seaside terrain of home, but he was of a mood to not consider that an advantage. His eyes had already been blinded by the unrelenting rays of Apollo, and his legs ached from the brutal stamina he had been forced to maintain during the beachhead assault. This wretched sand had fought against him with every step he took, but to allow it to gain the upper hand would have meant losing a limb or his life to a Trojan spear or sword. His feet burned, and the hellish heat that radiated from it now was not lessening that pain in the slightest.

He scratched at the drying patch of gore on his arm, the action making the blood on his neck itch as well. As he walked along the shore, he kept his eyes turned towards the sea, glimpsing the beckoning blue-green waves every time he passed a grounded ship. Hundreds of vessels were lined up with only the barest distance between them, looking like a fearsome phalanx that dared the Trojans to try to break the formation.

Even if the Achaeans cannot hold ranks in friendship, Eudorus thought, at least the ships seem capable of it.

He heard a familiar chuckle and looked up to see Odysseus striding through the sand as though it were air. His arms were unbloodied, his armor only bearing marks from the spray of the sea voyage. White, even teeth were set within a charming, expansive smile that was in turn framed by a sunset-gold beard that looked newly groomed for greeting a mistress in a bedchamber rather than an adversary on a battlefield. Despite this fresh, unsullied appearance, Eudorus did not despise him for it as he would other, lesser men. Achilles liked him, trusted him.

For Eudorus, that was enough.

"I saw that long, lingering look, Eudorus. Are you thinking of a bath? Or heading for home?"

"A bit of both, my lord," he replied, his blunted fingernails now working on his stiffening beard. "I knew the Trojans would bleed, but didn't expect this much. Ajax might have to take his hammer to me to get it off."

"Consider it the first spoils of war, but I don't recommend you wear it for long. The flies will find you soon enough." Odysseus pointed the way he had come. "I just met Agamemnon's own fly, your commander. He insulted my honor terribly by implying I deliberately held my ship back and let you do all the work."

The broad smile on the Ithacan's face told Eudorus that no offense had been taken from Achilles' jibe. Yet he did not return the smile, and Odysseus' eyes glinted in eager suspicion.

"This should be a glorious day, my friend. The Myrmidons took the field and won!"

"Would that you had been with us," Eudorus said, his weariness overcoming prudence. "You could have prevented it. Achilles dared Apollo's wrath by sacking the temple..." Even now, he could see the sun god's head, cleaved from the statue with but one strike of a sword. His spine shivered as he imagined all possible violent consequences of blasphemy.

Odysseus surprised him by laughing heartily. "Yes, he would have done that, wouldn't he? Goes for the throat, he does! When Troy hears of it, that pious old king will waste precious time waiting for the gods to retaliate for him."

Eudorus shifted in discomfort, as much from the drying, itchy blood on his skin as from his proximity to Odysseus. He glanced up at the sky, as though expecting one of Zeus' bolts to come hurtling through the brilliant blue vault.

This only made Odysseus laugh harder. "You worry too much, Eudorus! The day is ours and our arrogant Achilles is alive today to kill tomorrow. The gods have seen fit to leave him to us for awhile longer." He clapped Eudorus on the arm, then flicked a sticky clot of blood and bone from his fingers. "I'm off to listen to old kings fart praises through their mouths as they lick Agamemnon's sandals like ambrosia. Tell no one I said that!"

"Of course, my lord," Eudorus replied.

"You're a good man, Eudorus. Achilles could not be better served. Well, except perhaps by my wits. But loyalty and discretion count for much, and you possess that more than anyone." He surveyed Eudorus from head to toe, giving a sad shake of his head. "You need to clean yourself and make ready for the feast tonight. There's some foraging parties already spreading out to relieve a farm or two of their stock. Should be some girls among the spoils. They might not turn up their nose at a dung-eating shepherd, but reeking soldiers are another breed altogether. Take a bath, I implore you. You're wearing a Trojan's brain on your left shoulder!"

He departed with a breezy salute and left Eudorus to ponder what to do next. He ached to see to his own needs, but if Achilles was already prowling along the shore, it meant that there were matters to attend to. The slaves they had brought with them had no doubt already erected a makeshift tent and were at work on more sturdy structures made of reed mats now that the beach had been secured. Despite the first quick success, everyone prepared for a long siege. Already, men were at work digging ditches and fortifying them with pikes to prevent the Trojans from mounting a full, unimpeded offensive.

"Eudorus!"

He turned to the voice behind him and groaned at the tug of dried blood on his neck. "What is it?" he snapped, fingers again working at his throat. Even in the chaos of erecting the various camps, he could not find anonymity.

A group of five Myrmidons were sauntering towards him, parting the milling Achaeans simply by the sight they presented. Their arms were weighted with temple treasure, rightfully gained by their audacious vanguard action under Achilles' command.

Eudorus blinked in confusion, however, when the men drew closer and he saw what he thought was a sack of loot transform into the lifeless shape of a woman slung over the shoulder of a Myrmidon whose arm was sporting a bandage that had begun to seep blood. Despite the wound, he was grinning.

"Where did you find her, Xuthos?" Eudorus asked.

"Cowering under the statue of Apollo inside the temple," was the reply. "The looting became too much for her devoted little priestess spirit to bear and she stupidly showed herself. We thought she should go to Achilles by rights, since he left with nothing. The first piece of sweet Trojan flesh going to him'll make Agamemnon spit in envy, eh?" He bounced the prize on his shoulder with a laugh and smacked her rump for good measure.

"It looks like angering him is the order of the day," Eudorus muttered to himself as he rounded Xuthos. A tangled mass of curls shielded the woman's features, and he held them aside to gain a better view. As he did so, he detected the scent of myrrh.

She was thankfully unconscious, her face slack and oddly at peace, although he could see where tears had coursed their way through dirt on her cheeks. She seemed harmless enough; never had he encountered temple virgins to be otherwise.

"You didn't mark her up any," he said approvingly. He gave one of the other Myrmidons a stony look. "Must be you were never close enough to her, Tydeus."

"I consider myself duly warned, Eudorus," the towering soldier replied with a smirk. "Any women I win will be treated like lilies, just so you have no cause to complain...ever again."

Eudorus looked down, shaking the sand from his sandal to mask the burning discomfort that poked at him. He let the woman's hair fall. "I'd rather we kept ourselves to gold and jewels, but that's not possible. Yes, I think she will please Achilles. He's gone further upshore. I was heading there just now."

The Myrmidons proceeded along the beach, their burdens of cold metal and soft flesh proclaiming the first victory of what all hoped would be a short, profitable war.

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