Of course, I own none of these characters: they belong to the mighty and wonderful Homer without whom I would not be writing this fanfic. Hope you enjoy the next chapter, as always, feel free to let me know any of the three Cs: comments, concerns, or cravings! Love you guys!

Chapter 2

Adara awoke to rocking. The motion was soothing, a for a moment, Adara lay still, letting her breath become even and her eyes remained closed. The movement reminded her of her mother who once rocked her to sleep every night before she had gone to work for Briseis.

Rolling onto her side, Adara opened her eyes to the dark world of a ship's underbelly. She was in a room so small and cramped she wondered how they had managed to fit the cot she lay on inside it. Rubbing her eyes and sitting up, she eyed the room, realizing that she must be either in the front or the back of a long wooden ship based off the odd curve to the wall.

Confused as to where she was, Adara turned her head to find the young, blond soldier from the night before leaning against the wall asleep.

The night before. Suddenly a wave of memories returned to her. Images of the destroyed royal chambers and bloody floors and Malthus filled her mind. Malthus. Tears stung at her eyes just thinking the name but Adara held them back. He died a warrior's death, you should be proud of him. And she was, but never before had she realized how cold death could be.

As she sat on the cot, unsure of what to do, Adara once again glanced over at the young man asleep against the wall. Even in the dark, she could easily see his beauty. He looked very much like the other blond warrior from the night before, but his hair did not shine like sunlight and his body was smaller. His face was delicate, with high cheekbones and pale, narrow lips parted in his sleep. Tendrils of long blond hair swooped down in his face and grazed his shoulders; the top half of his hair was pulled back into a braid. He no longer wore the bloody armor of the night before and was instead wrapped in a blue robe that was tied around his hips, exposing his whole chest and ending just above the ankles. A smudge of blood ran across his collarbone and his forehead, dried and flaking on his skin.

While Adara scanned the young man, she tried to find it in herself to hate him. He destroyed your home. He killed your soldiers. His people killed Malthus! But she knew it was not this boy's fault. He had been following orders most likely given to them from King Agamemnon himself.

Adara knew all about the Trojan War. Lyrnessus had been one of the first cities notified of the war after it began. The Achaeans had been in Troy for years, fighting the horsemen on the beaches with neither side winning the upper hand. As their supplies ran low, they were forced to pillage local town for their goods. For a time Lyrnessus had been safe and had received refugees from towns pillaged by the Achaeans, but years had passed and all people knew that their city was next in line if the Greeks did not win the war soon. Some people had chosen to run, but most had stayed, hoping that the war would end before it came to Lynessus. Maybe that is why I cannot hate this boy, she thought, because we had a chance to flee and we did not take it.

Suddenly, the boy gave a start and his head snapped up, his eyes wide and his body tense. Seeing Adara staring at him, her hazel eyes filled with fear, he relaxed and leaned his head against the wooden hull of the ship.

"So you are the handmaiden yes? To the Queen?" He asked her. Adara said nothing, eyeing the boy suspiciously. She did not hate him, but she did not trust him either and she certainly did not intend to tell him anything about herself. Almost as if he read her mind, the boy laughed. The sound fell lightly on Adara's ears like harp song or singing. "Do not tell me you have lost your voice since last night? I do not think I have ever heard a girl scream so loudly," he chuckled. Adara shrugged.

"Come now, I know you can speak to me. You were quiet willing to when it gave you the chance to save your Queen. A very brave thing to do I might add," he continued, almost as if he was talking to himself. Adara watched him, his face full of expressions and emotions. She felt a question burning inside her until she could hold it in no longer. Going against her better judgment, she spoke.

"Did you bury him?" She demanded, and then growing shy once more and asking more quietly, "Malthus I mean. Did you bury him?" The young soldier eyed her curiously.

"Yes. All of your dead were buried with the proper rites known to us," he replied gently. Surprised, she felt her mouth fall open. At the same time, Adara felt as if a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Malthus would now be able to rest in peace. She sent a quick prayer to Zeus in thanks for his works.

"Thank you," she whispered so quietly Adara wasn't sure if she had spoken the words or thought them.

"No, do not thank me, thank Achilles. It was his orders," the blond said, getting to his feet.

"Who?" she asked before she could stop herself.

"I forget you do not know us. I am Patroclus," he said with a small smile, offering her his hand to pull her to her feet. She took it, letting go the moment she felt stable on her feet. "Achilles is our leader. We look very similar people say; he too is blond with blue eyes." And then Adara remembered the beautiful man from the Queens chambers and she could feel her heart pick up speed.

"In fact, I am supposed to take you to him as soon as you are awake," Patroclus instructed. "Follow me?" Adara trailed behind the soldier through the door, walking unsteadily through several rows of hammocks to a ladder. Patroclus climbed first, offering her his hand, which she refused.

The sunlight was a blinding white as Adara reached the top of the ladder, her eyes unable to handle the contrast from the darkness of the ship. Fresh air filled her lungs and the sounds of men laughing clanged in her ears. Squinting, she saw full sails and a motley crew of men lounging about on benches with bread and wineskins. They were all dressed similarly to Patroclus with blue robes tied around their waists and long hair pulled half back in a braid. Patroclus ignored the men and instead led her down the elevated centre aisle to the rear of the ship were a golden haired man stood on a platform with his arms behind his back.

"Achilles," Patroclus called out in greeting, waving to the beautiful man and climbing up onto the platform beside him. The captain looked at Patroclus smiling warmly at him before glancing at Adara. She felt herself shiver involuntarily under his shrewd gaze, praying that she lived up to whatever expectation he wanted her to meet.

Right away she could see how Achilles and Patroclus looked alike. They were both tall with thick blond hair worn in the same style and tough, tanned skin—but that is where the similarities ended. While Patroclus' eyes were a calm, gentle blue like a freshwater lake or the ocean in the morning, Achilles eyes were like a tempest sparking with some internal anger; they reminded her of a violent summer thunderstorm. His face was not delicate like Patroclus' and instead his jaw was set in a hard line bordered by full, rosy lips pulled tight in a grimace. His arms were folded across a thick muscular chest and muscles were taught under heavily scarred skin. Adara noticed that his wounds from the night before had not been tended to too were still bleeding.

"What is your name?" Achilles asked her in a voice so gentle Adara wondered if Patroclus had said it for him and the great warrior had just moved his mouth.

"Adara"

"Adara," he repeated as if testing the name on his own tongue to see if he liked the way it tasted. However, her name seemed to pass and Achilles continued. "Adara, my name is Achilles. I am the leader of the Myrmidons and a warrior under King Agamemnon of Greece." He spoke calmly with deep, vibrating tones. "Do you know of our quest in Troy?"

"Yes," she whispered, fer voice trembling with fear. Achilles eyes softened at her as she spoke and Adara felt herself consumed with wonder once more. How is it that such a horrible man can be so kind she mused.

"Then you should know you need not fear me or my Myrmidons. However, when we arrive at Troy in two days time, things will be different," he said, his voice calm and reassuring even though the news he was giving her was not pleasant. "If I had my wish, you and your Queen would never have left Lyrnessus." Adara could not help but wonder if she would have been killed with the rest of her people or if she would have been set free. "But it is not my decision and so you have to return with me."

"Sir, might you tell me what has become of my lady?" She asked quietly.

"The Queen Briseis is asleep in my chambers," Achilles replied coolly. Adara felt her face grow hot and her eyes widen. Seeing her reaction, the warrior smiled.

"No, she is just asleep. I did not force your Queen into any such activities nor do I plan to," he said almost jovially. Adara relaxed and nodded her head to the man in thanks. Silence fell and Patroclus turned to her; clearly Achilles was done with her. Adara didn't mind that their short conversation had come to an end. Although the great warrior had been very kind to her, she couldn't help but notice the cold air he seemed to emit as if this world was a burden to him.

Jumping off the platform, Patroclus came to stand next to Adara, beaming at her. Adara wasn't sure if she liked the smiling boy yet, but she at least found it in herself to relax while around him.

"If you would like, I can get you a new robe," he offered. Glancing down at her dress, Adara saw the blood that soaked through the front of it and grimaced in disgust. She nodded to him after a moment and the boy scampered down into the underbelly of the ship, returning moments later with a bundle of blue fabrics. Handing it to her, Patroclus made no offer to take her below to change. Hey eyes widening once more in alarm, Adara glared at the boy. Suddenly understanding, he motioned her towards the stairs and she rushed down into the dark, safety of the ship's stomach to change.

The clothes he gave her were strange under her hand. They were light and smooth, a long blue skirt that tied at her hips and a short shirt of the same color and material with a deep v neckline. Wind tickled stomach at the crack between her skirt and shirt and caused the folds of the skirt to billow in the breeze. Adara had never felt so exposed in her life, but this was not time to argue and so steeling herself for any looks she might receive, Adara climbed the stairs once more and approached Patroclus.

"Thank you," she whispered again, her face burning with shame at the attire she wore. Patroclus seemed to understand what she was thinking.

"There is no need to be ashamed at these clothes. All of the women at camp will be dressed similarly. The blue signifies you as a Myrmidon," he said, reaching out with his hand to finger the sleeve of her shirt. "Once we reach Troy, this is the safest color any woman can wear."

"What do you mean?" she asked, confused.

"The women at camp wear colors based off of who their captor is," he said. Adara felt herself shiver at the word captor. So we are to be slaves she thought grimly, frowning just slightly. "The women of Agamemnon wear gold, Odysseus' green, and Achilles' blue. Of course there are hundreds of others, but soon enough you will learn them all." Patroclus dropped his hand from her sleeve. "The other men at camp are not like the Myrmidons. They are brutal, and often cruel. They take different women every night if they so desire," he said angrily as if the words were sour on his tongue. Adara closed her eyes; remembering the rough hands of the man the night before and how Achilles had beaten him away. "But no one will touch you if you are wearing Achilles' colors. You are his property now, and no one would risk hurting anything that belongs to him," he finished cheerfully, as if the news that she was now a slave was a thing she should be thankful for.

Turning to look away from the young man, Adara looked straight into the wind, her caramel colored waves blowing in the breeze and her eyes watering from the
reflections of the sunlight on the water. Forgetting Patroclus and Achilles, she made her way down the center aisle of the ship to the bow, ignoring a whistle or two from the drunken Myrmidons. She heard footsteps following her, but she paid them no mind as she leaned against the rail in order to look out across the water.

Patroclus came to stand next to her, leaning against the rail and glancing over at her now and again. She could see the faint outline of the shore off to her right but there were no other ships and no other sounds that that of the waves lapping against the boat.

She stood watching the waves for some time, ignoring the hunger that gnawed at her insides and the exhaustion that seeped through her limbs. Finally she was awoken from her stupor when there was a shout from behind her.

"Patroclus," Achilles called, waving him over good naturedly with his uninjured arm. They young man smiled at Adara to follow him before making his way once more the rear of the ship in order to listen to his leader.

"Aeson has challenged you do a match," he grinned madly, nodding to a black maned man a good five inches taller than the already massive Patroclus. Smiling happily back at Achilles, her young guard turned and scampered off, leaving Adara alone with Achilles.

"What is about to happen?" she asked, confused. Achilles laughed, and then turning to look at her with his summer blue eyes informed her:

"They are going to fight."