Briseis stumbled onto the clearing to see hundreds of women, men and children huddling to each other in the chill of the evening breeze. The air was filled with tension and grief as sobbed among themselves. They looked towards them with feeble eyes, the sight of their queen Andromache squeezing traces of hope into their defeated bodies. Briseis turned to her cousin to see her look back at them with tearful eyes. Unable to hold their gazes for long, she turned away quickly, clearing her throat. "Come here," she took a hold of Briseis's hand and sat her down against a rock. Helen sat down beside her, her eyes drooping with fatigue and sadness. "I need to go and… f-find some food or something," Andromache turned, hiding the wetness of her cheeks, and walked away from them.

"Let me look at your foot," Helen gently pushed up Briseis's skirts and turned her ankle this way and that in the feeble light of the torches burning around the camp. Briseis winced, looking at the blue-purple swelling around her ankle.

"Do you think it is broken?"

"Does it feel like the chariot of Apollo is resting on your foot?" Helen asked with a small smile.

Briseis frowned. "Not so much, no."

"I do not think it is broken… sprained, perhaps. But nonetheless, it would be best to keep your weight off of it for a few days."

"I don't think we have that luxury," Briseis whispered, looking around the camp. Helen's gaze followed hers and they sat in silence for a long time, listening to the strained silence around them with the single hope that they might hear the voices of their loved ones, waking them up from this nightmare. No voice came. Then, suddenly, Helen placed her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Briseis reached for her and wrapped her arms around her. "Shh," she whispered. "Calm down."

"It's all my fault," Helen whispered. "All my fault…"

Briseis felt guilt curl through her mouth. "Oh, Helen," she sighed, wanting so badly to give into the tears herself. She pushed Helen's face up, wiling her to look up at Briseis. Helen closed her eyes, letting two tears fall through her eyelashes. "I should never have come here. I knew it would spell disaster upon Troy, that the Gods would curse us, but I-I—"

"Yes, you should not have come here," Briseis replied calmly. Helen opened her eyes, her lips parting in surprise. Briseis took a deep breath and continued, "Yes, the Gods have cursed us, but they would have cursed us no matter what we had done. Their decision had been made long before we were even born." Helen shook her head, covering her eyes with a hand. "Fate is a bittersweet acquaintance, Helen," Briseis continued, leaning towards her slightly. "Once written, nothing we wish or do can change it. The truth is, Gods themselves forge our actions. And yet, we are the ones who must bear their consequences."

Helen dropped her hand and looked off to the side, her brow wrinkled with pain. "So much grief and suffering… so many lives lost—why would the Gods do this to us?"

Briseis leaned her head back against the rock and closed her eyes. Her mind seemed to rush backward through time, far away from the cold clearing to the warm insides of a tent not too long ago. She remembered the magical glint of the fire in his eyes as he looked at her with that very slight smile of his. Shall I tell you a secret? Those words—the way he had looked at her—they had robbed her lungs of every last ounce of breath. She had stared at him, suddenly so afraid of the warrior before her.

"The Gods envy us, Helen," she said, seeing him speak the words to her. She opened her eyes and realized there were tears in them. She let them roll down her cheeks. "They envy us because we're mortal. Because every moment could be our last."

(0)

"Briseis."

She frowned, hearing the whisper. More of a thought, really. She could not see—there was darkness pressing in on all sides of her. A cold wind swept over her, making her shiver. She moaned softly.

She knew that voice. Her eyes snapped open so suddenly that they were blinded by the light surrounding her. She shut them tightly again, then blinked. Soon, they widened upon the hazes of blue and silver light illuminating the night around her. She blinked furiously, turning her head this way and that in search of the person who had spoken to her. Her body felt extremely heavy, but light at the same time. It was as though she was floating in mid-air, but her muscles were stiff and burdensome. There was a low ringing in her ears mixed with what sounded like the wind… but the air around her seemed far too still to allow a breeze.

"Briseis…"

She knew that voice… "Achilles!" She called out. Her voice rung around her as though she had shouted the name from the bottom of a very large valley. "Achilles!"

She felt his hand on her shoulder and whirled around. She was frozen for the longest time, seeing him stand before her. His golden hair glinted brighter than it ever had before, despite the dimness of the world around them. His eyes twinkled with the blue and silver lights around them and his smile—the wonderful smile that had warmed her and protected her during those horrible nights—it was on his face, warm as ever. She jumped forward, wrapping her arms around him fiercely. She felt him hug her back tenderly. The dam broke inside her and the tears streamed out. She sobbed against his chest, so glad to be here finally. So glad to see him, feel him—just to be with him. "I-I thought I had lost you," she sobbed, her body shaking with emotion. "I thought—Achilles!"

"Shh," he whispered, resting his chin on her head. He tightened his grip around her, gently rubbing his hand up and down her back. "It's all right, Briseis."

"No," she pressed her cheek against his chest, pressed herself into him with a longing to be consumed by him. "I thought… oh, it was horrible thought, Achilles! I thought you were gone—" she looked up into his eyes, pleading him—begging him—to wipe the doubt from her mind, to ensure her he was here with her again.

As though reading his mind, he said, "Shh… I'm here now, Briseis."

"B-But the arrows—" she pulled away and looked down, her hands feeling for the wounds, but her hands fell on empty air. She froze. "W-wha—?" She looked up at his face, feeling something terrible fist around her insides. She could see him… she felt him, but he was not there? She closed her eyes, shaking her head slightly. He was there—his face, his body… but he wasn't there… Like solid smoke that one could capture in their hands but which escaped their grip as quickly as they capture it. There was an unshakable haze in her mind—something that should make sense but didn't, a familiar memory on the brink of being forgotten. "What's going on?" She whispered.

"Briseis," he took a hold of her chin and pulled her face up. When she opened her eyes, she saw the worry in his eyes and in the grim line of his lips. Suddenly, something clicked inside her mind. Her eyes widened as she slowly looked to her left, then to her right. The blue and silver hazes flickered in and out of focus long enough for her to see what they truly were—

She gasped, feeling as though she had jumped into a lake and had breathed in a lungful of ice-cold water. Her mouth opened to scream, but only short gasps of breath came out.

"No, Briseis, look at me… look at me, love."

Briseis turned back to him. "I-I'm in—I'm in the—"

He nodded slowly. "Underworld. You're in the Underworld."

She gulped, unable to control her ragged breath. Her eyes darted to her left and right. Her body was tense against her surroundings. "Am I d-dead?"

"No," Achilles replied, his hands roaming up and down her arm in a comforting manner. She shook her head slowly, that wonderful joy she had felt only seconds ago slipping away like sands in an hourglass.

"But… you're dead," she whispered the words, willing them not to be true. She looked up to see him nod. For the longest time, she could not make sense of that simple gesture. Or the sadness in his eyes, or the sadness in her own heart. Finally, she nodded back, taking a long, shaky breath.

"Don't be afraid," he whispered.

"Of you, my lord?" she replied with a short laugh. "I'm the only girl in Troy who can say I am not afraid of the great Achilles."

He smiled, laying a hand against her cheek. She shuddered, closing her eyes. She didn't know how she had gotten here, or why she was here, but she was beyond eternally grateful to feel his warmth one last time. She leaned towards him subconsciously, letting him hold her once again. "Why are you leaving me, Achilles?" She asked, choking on a sob. "Why did you leave me?"

He didn't reply for a long time, then sighed. "These men around us, Briseis… they're my demons. They're my past enemies—my friends and brothers. They're every single man I have ever killed in my life."

Briseis looked up.

"I owed them," he told her. "I owed them so much more than just my life." He looked around, a soft smile on his lips. "They have been waiting for me, Briseis. They welcomed me with open arms as I traveled the Styx. I repay my debts now, but I could not be happier anywhere else in this good world. The only thing—" He looked at her, his eyes sad once more. "If I could have done one thing differently, I would never have entered the temple of Apollo that day. I would never have brought this pain upon you—"

"Spare me your regrets, Achilles," Briseis cut him off. "For I have none myself. If meeting you brings about another Trojan war, a million more battleships or whatever the Gods decide as a punishment, I would walk into your camp again without a second thought."

"I always knew you were royalty."

"And I always knew you were a dumb brute."

A grin split across his face. Unable to help herself, Briseis grinned back through her tears. She reached up to brush a golden curl off his forehead. Her entire face was shaking with effort to keep her emotions at bay. "I-I'll miss you."

"We will see each other again," Achilles replied, capturing her hand in his and pressing it to his lips. "And in the meantime, I want you to promise me something, Briseis. Promise me that you will live your life. Everyday that I watch over you, I want to know that you are happy. I regret so many things in my life, Briseis, and I couldn't bear to see you unhappy—"

"No," she cut him off. "I'll never be unhappy, Achilles, not as long as your child is with me."

Achilles blinked. Briseis saw a glint of a tear in his eye as he looked down, then up at her again. He smiled, his head tipping slightly to one side as he looked at her. She took his face in her hands and kissed him. All his strength and courage gave away to complete joy as he wrapped his arms around her tightly and crushed her to himself. Tears filled Briseis's eyes as she clung to him. "Thank you," he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers. She choked a sob down, feeling his warmth engulf her like a blanket. "Thank you."

His arms loosened around her waist… his lips rubbed against hers softly one last time. She shut her eyes tightly, feeling him slip away bit by bit until all that was left was his wonderful warmth, protecting her in the bitter wind. His voice faded, his touch faded, but his warmth remained.

And she could still feel his warmth as she opened her eyes slowly, letting the dream fade into the darkness of the night.

(0)

TWENTY YEARS LATER…

Briseis awoke with a start. The sounds of clashing swords rang through the air from nearby. She searched her vicinity for their source, "Not again," she muttered, rising to her feet and walking around the tree she had fallen asleep against. She set off into the trees before her. The sounds of swords became louder and louder as she went further into the trees until finally—

"Ha—gotcha'!"

Briseis jumped. "Scamandrius, what are you doing?"

The young man looked up, surprised. In his moment of weakness, his opponent kicked aside his sword and jumped up from the ground. "Thank you, mother," the young woman grinned, her eyes glinting with the reflection of her sword. She charged forward, rising her sword high in the air.

Scamandrius blocked her blow swiftly and jumped backwards over a fallen tree branch. He brought up his sword to block another attack. At the same time, his foot locked beneath the fallen branch and kicked it up straight towards his opponent's chin. With a grunt, she somersaulted backwards just in time and the branch fell to the ground again. Scamandrius laughed and leaned back against a tree, watching her.

"Pyrrha! Dru, stop this at once!"

"Aunt, stay out of this," Dru replied, pushing off the tree and swinging his sword with an expert ease at his side. In front of him, Pyrrha stood with a sigh, her hand on her hip.

"Careful, Dru, that is my mother you are speaking to."

"Pyrrha, put down your sword."

"Yes, Pyrrha," Dru grinned. "Put down your sword, you might as well give up now."

"Giving up is not in my bloodline," Pyrrha replied. Suddenly, lifted her sword and began to jump forward when—

"Stop! Immediately!"

As one, both voices sighed with exasperation.

"Mother!"

"Aunt Briseis!"

Briseis looked at both of them, the finality of her statement clearly shown in her stance. Secretly, however, she could not have been happier to find her daughter and her nephew in this clearing. It was true that their 'sword-training' antics nearly drove her out of her mind with worry, but who could complain when the two most important people in her world had formed such a strong bond of friendship?

"We need to go back home. Andromache is doubtless waiting for us."

(0)

Scamandrius, son of Hector and rightful heir to the throne of Troy had seen much death in the twenty summers of his life. Forced to scatter from his own kingdom with his people when he was barely two years old, his life had been marred with bloody raids and cruel deaths. He had witnessed the death of his dearest friend, Peleus, at the hands of a six-foot-four warrior with grotesque, blood-covered tree trunks for arms. Peleus had been ten at the time of his death. Scamandrius still saw his face in his dreams to this day. So, at the tender age of twelve, Scamandrius had become wholly aware that Death would forever be his sadistic companion in his life. Death… whose storm cloud hovered over him day and night. He lived everyday knowing that this faithful companion of his was waiting for him. In his mind, his prophecy was written and delivered—he would fulfill a destiny of greatness and glory, but in the end, mortality would rear its ugly head and claim him for itself at an early age.

He didn't think he was afraid of his own mortality, really. Death was nothing to be afraid of. One lives and lives and one day, his heart shall stop and his breath shall fade and he will be no more. He will be nothing… and what is there to fear in nothing? No, Scamandrius was not afraid of Death. He was afraid of Life. He was afraid of his unknown destiny, of what he would gain at the end of his life… and what he would lose. He was afraid of this uncertainty he felt everyday, knowing he was wasting time in hiding, knowing that as Death looms over his head, something else looms just before him. Where Death is in his plain sight, that something else… he did not know what else to feel but fear at his own fate. And what scared him the most was the fates of those whose lives were already woven through his, those that he loved.

Now, as he held his mother's bloody hand in his, that same fear threatened to consume him. "Mother," he whispered, his voice shaking uncontrollably. "P-Please—"

"Scamandrius," Andromache whispered, a pained smile drawn upon her lips. Her face, like the rest of her body, was covered in a rusty combination of blood and dirt. Sweat beaded her forehead from the heat of the flames cackling around them. Her body trembled in her son's arms as her soul fought to be free from it. She was on the doorstep to the Underworld, and there was nothing Scamandrius could do about it.

Suddenly, she gagged, a spurt of blood trickling down the side of her cheek. Scamandrius's eyes widened—mirrored images of his mother's eyes. "No—" he whispered. He looked down where a slick wound at her side revealed torn flesh and splintered bone. The world seemed to fall silent around them as her body convulsed violently. Scamandrius's eyes searched her face, searched for the unwavering guidance he had always received from her. He didn't know what to do… For all his bravado and all the toughening of his heart, he simply did not know what to do as he sat there in the suffocating silence and heat, watching the horror in his mother's eyes.

"Astyanax," Andromache choked on her final breath. The next second, he felt her collapse in his arms. The air rushed out of his body as though someone had thumped him in the back. He watched as her head fell back and, as though moving against the current of water, he brought up his hand to catch it.

Scamandrius cupped the side of her face, staring mutely at her glazed brown eyes. He brushed back her matted hair from her forehead, his hand trembling. His lips formed the word 'mother' once more without a sound.

"Dru!" Pyrrha screamed behind him. Her voice echoed in his ears with no affect. He let his forehead drop to his mother's lips, expecting the tears to hit him at any time, but they didn't. His mind was horridly blank, unable to command any part of his body to move—not his arms, not his lungs, not even an eyelash. Somewhere above him, he thought he heard thunder.

"Dru, for Zeus's sake!" He felt someone shove him backwards. Suddenly, the world resumed its terrible existence around him, bringing with it the sounds of the fire burning across the roof above his head and screams somewhere in the distance. He blinked several times, the smoke from the flames stinging his eyes… or perhaps those were the tears he had been waiting for. He was not sure.

In front of him, Pyrrha was looking at Andromache, her hands cupping either side of her face. He saw her face tighten with realization. "S-She's dead," he told her nonetheless. He felt as though he had to tell someone... or ask someone. "Isn't she?"

Pyrrha looked up at him, her eyes perplexed. "Come on, we need to get out of here. Can you lift her?"

Without waiting for an answer, she placed an arm below Andromache's neck and the other below her knees and lifted her upwards with a soft grunt. Scamandrius rose to his feet with her as though his hands were connected to his mother's body. Together, they carried Andromache out of the burning building as though in a dream.

"We have to find my mo—Briseis." Pyrrha gulped, her eyes wandering around the black hills outside. They stayed far away from his. "Can you carry Andromache?"

He didn't reply, forcing her to turn to him. "Scamandrius!" She shouted. "Can you carry her?"

"Yes," he replied, his body snapping to reality at her raised voice. He felt her arms slip out from underneath his mother's body, hesitant at first to make sure he could keep his word. His arms felt heavy as did all of his limb, but his mother was not a burden.

"Mother!" Pyrrha reached for the dagger strapped to the belt of her robes and pulled it out with a clear ring.

"Pyrrha!" The call came back from behind the burning building. Scamandrius followed Pyrrha as she ran towards her mother's voice. Before them was a second burning building… and a third and so many more beyond that. Residents were fleeing down the streets, clutching blankets and babes to their chest as their homes burned to ashes behind them. Chasing them were dark men with gleaming armor and swords, their laughter echoing sadistically. Suddenly, a man jumped before Pyrrha, a bark of triumph erupting from his filthy mouth. A second voice rang out behind Scamandrius who whirled around to face the man with a growl in his throat.

Two swords swung through the air on either side of his head. Scamandrius ducked and straightened quickly, sending his booted foot straight to the man's groin before he could so much as end the path of his swords through the air. The swords fell to the ground as he doubled over, clutching his belly. With a grunt, Scamandrius kicked him beneath his chin and sent him flying backwards. When he turned around, it was to find Pyrrha tugging her dagger out of her own enemies' heart.

"Mother!" She shouted, running down the street between the burning houses.

"Aunt Briseis!" Scamandrius joined her, turning around as his eyes searched for his aunt through the chaos. Suddenly, he heard something crash and whirled around to see his aunt's body sprawled on the ground over the broken pieces of a wooden door. She groaned, curling onto her side. Before her, a large man with grizzly brown hair matted with blood stepped out of the nearest burning house, a sneer upon his face. The next second, he gasped as a dagger embedded itself cleanly in his throat.

Pyrrha ran to her mother's aid, helping her to her feet.

"I'm all right," Briseis gasped, wiping blood from her lip with the back of her hand.

"Stay here," Pyrrha told her running towards the man she had just killed to retrieve her dagger. She picked up his own sword and turned towards the other men further down the street.

"Pyrrha, no!" Briseis cried out a little too late as her daughter charged towards them.

"Aunt!" Scamandrius rushed to her side. "Take care of mother," he told her, placing Andromache's body beside her. He dropped a kiss on her forehead and took a hold of the hilt of his sword at his side.

Three hours later, a red son rose from the horizon upon Apollo's chariot, its bleak beams falling upon a ruined landscape. Wisps of toxic smoke rose eerily from piles of ashes and charred remains of what were once homes. The whimpering voices of survivors could be heard as they searched for loved ones and precious possessions in the destruction. The streets were strewn with piles of dead bodies, some covered with dirty armors, some barely covered at all by scraps of burnt and torn clothing. Among the chaos, Scamandrius and Pyrrha stood, panting, their slick hands meekly holding blades at their sides.

"Another city," Pyrrha sighed. "And more innocents."

Scamandrius felt the bitter taste of guilt and hatred in his mouth as he dropped his swords and ran towards the figure of his Aunt Briseis huddling over Andromache. As he neared them, he saw the tears on Briseis's face as she gently rocked her cousin's dead body. He stopped several feet away, all energy draining from his body suddenly. He dropped to his knees with a sigh. Pyrrha walked past him and leaned next to Andromache's body. She laid a hand on her forehead. "She will forever rest in peace in our memories," she said.

Scamandrius's jaw tightened as he looked at his mother's lifeless face once more.

"She deserves a proper burial," Briseis replied, her voice remarkably steady. "We must go to Aeolis before more men come."

"No."

Both Pyrrha and Briseis looked up at Scamandrius with surprise, but his eyes were on the rising sun far beyond them. "She is the queen of Troy. She will be buried in Troy."

"What?" Briseis whispered. "Have you gone mad, Scamandrius?"

"Too long have we been running from city to city, Aunt Briseis," he replied, a bite of conviction to his voice. "Too long have we been cowering from men who should fear us, who should be serving us, the rightful kings of Troy. For twenty years they have chased us, fueled by our weakness and submission. We will no longer allow them the luxury."

"What are you suggesting?" Briseis asked him.

Scamandrius looked at her, his lips pursed into a thin line. "It is time we take back what is ours."