Summary: Achilles' heel is not his only weakness. An AU crossover between Troy and Second Age Middle Earth. Focal characters are Patrolcus, Achilles, and Gil-galad, but others from the movie are also included. Please enjoy, and feel free to review!
Disclaimer: I own no people, places, or things in this story. Wow, that's like the definition of a noun - my old grammar teacher would be so pleased!
Author's Note: My most heartfelt thanks to Brandi, Torilei, and Whilom for their enthusiastic reviews! You three offer the opinions that I most highly value, so I feel confident and complete in continuing this fic with your support. I love you guys, you're all awesome! So, there's a lot of talking in the chapter here, but it lays the necessary groundwork for what's to come. Please read on, and enjoy!
Chapter 2
"Elves?" Agamemnon was clearly less than impressed.
"Yes, Elves," King Odysseus of Ithaca insisted. "They've come here to assist the Trojans in honor of a friendship that once existed between Trojans' ancestors and the Elven King's father."
Agamemnon just shook his head and began to pace about his tent which was now occupied by every Greek king or commander with the exception of Achilles, who had blatantly refused to show his face unless Agamemnon returned the girl he had taken earlier that day. Not surprisingly, the King of Kings had adamantly refused.
"Elves," he repeated in obvious agitation, downing a rather large swig of his wine. "This war is turning into a child's fairy tale!"
"Is that all you know of Elves?" Odysseus questioned him. "That which you've heard in children's stories?"
Agamemnon faltered. "What else is there to know?" he retaliated at last. "You certainly seem to know much about them, Odysseus. How is that?"
The Ithacan shrugged. "I suppose I've always taken a rather eager interest in such matters of history. There have not been any Elves in this part of the world for many centuries; but they are just as real as we are, and I've learned all I can concerning them. Although, I do admit I never believed such knowledge would be so useful in our present situation."
Agamemnon sighed. "How many are there? Let's at least start with that."
Old Nestor, the King's closest adviser, informed him, "Our scouts report that their host consists of no more than two hundred soldiers. It is presumed that they also came by ship, though we have not yet been able to locate the vessels."
"If their number is so few, why do we worry?" It was Ajax who spoke now, by far the strongest and most physically intimidating warrior in the Greek army. "There are over fifty thousand Greeks here. Two hundred more men behind Troy's walls will not be enough to save the city."
"It could be when these 'men' are Elves," Odysseus corrected him brusquely. "I confess even I'm surprised by their numbers, but these are no ordinary soldiers."
"Tell us more of them, Odysseus," Agamemnon commanded as he ceased his pacing and resumed his seat at the head of the gathering. "You certainly seem to be the expert."
If Odysseus was affected by the King's patronizing manner, he did not show it.
"Is it true that they cannot die?" This question was posed by Triopas, the recently conquered king of Thessaly. "For I have heard it said that they are immortal like the gods."
Odysseus hesitated, stroking his chin carefully. "They are immortal," he explained slowly, "in that they do not age or get sick as we do. But they can be slain in battle – by sword, by fire, by venom. Although it is my understanding that, overall, they are considerably more difficult to kill than men."
Menelaus, Agamemnon's brother and the slighted husband of Helen, inquired next. "What kind of warfare can we expect from them?"
"Like the Trojans, the Elves pride themselves in their archery," Odysseus began, leaning forward as though he were relating to them some long-forgotten secret or an epic tale of ages past. "In fact, it is quite possible they are even more skilled than the Trojans. The Elves, by their very nature, are simply stronger, faster, and more agile than men. But of course, that is not always the case." He nodded briefly toward Ajax as he spoke, but in truth, his thoughts were only with Achilles.
"They are also incredibly skilled swordsmen, capable of fighting with inhuman speed and precision, for their physical senses are far more enhanced than our own, and their sense of awareness heightened. I believe fighting them will prove very different from competing against another man."
"Do they fight with spears?" Ajax questioned, his face thoughtful as he considered these newest foes.
"Not with spears as we think of them," Odysseus answered, "for they are not meant to be thrown. The Elven spear, as I understand it, is approximately eight feet in total length. Six feet constitutes the shaft, and at the end is a curved two-foot long, single-edged blade. Their spear is essentially a short sword at the end of a very long stick, but in the right hands, it is almost invincible since no assailant can get close enough to strike a blow without first being cut down. It is exceedingly difficult to master, though do I believe it is the preferred weapon of Gil-galad himself."
Nestor frowned. "Gil-galad?"
"The High King of all the Elven realms and kingdoms," Odysseus elaborated, nodding. "He is to them what Agamemnon is to us Greeks."
Agamemnon grunted. "This is all very interesting, my friend, but what do you propose we do now that they are here?"
"I say we keep to our initial strategy, though perhaps with a bit more reservation. Only keep in mind that these Elves are not to be underestimated. And," he added with a pointed look at his superior, "I will speak with Achilles on the matter – try to persuade him to rejoin us with the temptation of a new challenge. Is there any message I might relay to him from you, my King?"
Agamemnon's face twisted into a nervous smile. "None whatsoever."
King Priam motioned for his two most prestigious guests to sit while wine and other refreshments were brought in for them and their troops, who were being graciously housed nearby.
"I trust your journey was well, friend Gil-galad?"
"Very well, thank you," the High Elven King answered with a courteous nod of his dark head. "Only very long. Our ships have been well concealed per your instructions, for which I must also thank you. I am pleased that you know your lands so well."
Priam smiled. "It was truly the least I could do. Your coming here is a gift from the gods themselves, and it is I who am in your debt. Though I must confess I had my doubts concerning your response. I am sorry."
Gil-galad only waved the words away. "There is no need for such an apology, good King Priam. Dor-Lomin was destroyed many centuries ago, and in all that time, there has been no contact between our two esteemed kingdoms. But I loved my father dearly and would honor his memory in any way I can."
"I respect such devotion," Priam said, nodding his understanding. "And now if you would introduce me to your companion here?"
Gil-galad turned to the silver-haired Elf who sat beside him and thus far had been silent throughout the entire conversation. He was also, interestingly enough, the only Elf of the company to have a beard.
"This is Cirdan the Shipwright, Lord of the Grey Havens," the Elf king explained with a warm smile. "He has been one of my oldest and dearest friends, and remains one of my most trusted counselors."
Cirdan and Priam exchanged greetings before Priam beckoned for the three men behind him to step forward.
"These are my sons, Princes Hector and Paris." The old king beamed. "Hector is the pride of our city's army, the finest warrior I have seen in my lifetime. And this is my chief general, Glaucus, who has fought with me through every war I've known. I owe him my life many times over."
Gil-galad rose and bowed his head, simultaneously placing a hand over his heart. "Well met, to all of you."
"Likewise," Hector said as he bowed with the others in return, though rather stiffly, and it did not escape the Elf king's notice.
"Something troubles you, Prince Hector?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow.
Hector longed to answer, but instead the intensity of the bright grey eyes made him want to squirm. It was almost as if they were piercing his flesh to see straight through him.
"You need not be afraid, young Prince." The Elf's voice was gentle, drawing out Hector's will to speak. "If something about our arrival concerns you, I would know it."
"Thank you," the Trojan prince began, feeling some of his anxiety wear off. At least he had been openly invited to speak his mind. "My only concern, my lord, is why you have come with so few men. I realize your abilities must be superior to ours, but less than two hundred Elves cannot be sufficient against the Greek masses that now hold our beach."
"Hector, show respect to our allies," Priam chastised his son, his brow furrowed in a deep frown.
"It is of no concern, my friend," Gil-galad broke in. "For you should be well aware right now that I have not come to aid this city through strength of arms."
Now it was Priam's turn to balk. "You have not?"
"No. My purpose in coming here is primarily to offer assistance in the area of military strategy." Glaucus opened his mouth as though to offer an objection, but Gil-galad continued unhindered. "No doubt you believe yourselves quite capable in this regard, and I shall respect your input. However, there are some things learned over centuries of warfare that no mortals can truly comprehend."
When the men present could make no counter to his argument, the Elf King elaborated further.
"As for your specific concerns, Prince Hector, I would, in all honesty, rather have my two hundred soldiers at my back than this city's entire army. I pray you take no offense, my friend – it is simply the truth."
But Hector shook his head, disbelieving. "I cannot see the logic in that statement. In a true battle, our archers would have all your men lying in the dust within minutes."
Gil-galad only smiled. "I think not. With all due respect to your own troops, my archers would out-shoot your own. Again, I mean no offense, but this is the truth."
Out of the corner of his eye, Hector saw Paris shift uncomfortably and understood completely. His younger brother was extremely proud of his skill with a bow, for indeed it was the only area of battle in which he excelled. The elder prince frowned. Perhaps this alliance would not go quite as smoothly as his father had hoped. But Priam, a diplomat as always, was already working to smooth out the tension.
"Any help you might offer will be greatly appreciated, my friend," he said to Gil-galad. "And would you now deign to share with us any plans you may already have in store for this war?"
"There won't be a war." All eyes now turned to Paris, who had spoken for the first time that evening. "This is not a conflict of nations," he went on, the words coming out rather rushed. "It is a dispute between two men. And I don't want to see another Trojan die because of me."
"Paris…" Priam's tone was one of warning, but his son went on undaunted.
"Tomorrow I will challenge Menelaus for the right to Helen. The winner will take her home, and the loser will burn before nightfall."
The young prince then hurriedly offered an awkward bow and fled the room, leaving the others in stunned silence behind him.
"If the boy goes through with his plan, we may indeed be gone from this place in short order," Cirdan later observed in the beautiful, lilting language of the Eldar as he and Gil-galad returned to the lodgings that had been previously assigned to them.
"I hope so," the dark-haired Elf replied, his voice low. "I trust Elrond with everything I have, but all the same, I wish to return home as quickly as possible. My unease has only grown since we first left Lindon, though I do not understand why. Surely you have felt it also, my old friend?"
"Yea, I have," Cirdan concurred, passing a hand over his silver beard. "And I agree it would be wise to spend as little time here as possible. To tell the truth, I was surprised when you decided to come in person, rather than sending Elrond in your stead."
"That possibility did occur to me," Gil-galad confessed quietly. "But it is my father whose legacy brings us here, and I would be ashamed, Cirdan, to allow anyone else this honor."
The ancient shipwright nodded wordlessly in reply, but the Noldorin king knew from experience that his dear mentor was pleased with his words. The two friends continued their walk in the silence of their own thoughts until they came into Gil-galad's chambers, and the younger Elf could contain himself no longer.
"A woman!" he exclaimed suddenly, though Cirdan showed little surprise at the outburst. He simply looked on in quiet amusement while his former charge paced the room and raved on. "This entire war is being fought over one woman! I cannot believe we have been brought here for something so trivial."
"You should not be so quick to judge, Ereinion," Cirdan scolded gently. "You may recall that we once waged war over nothing more than three jewels. And I can promise you that war was far more devastating than this one could ever possibly be."
Gil-galad sighed, his patience wearing thin. "I know that, Cirdan. But you may also recall that I had no part whatsoever in instigating that particular conflict."
"Neither did I, young one." Cirdan's gaze grew distant, and the old Elf smiled sadly. "Neither did I."
Author's End Note: Sorry, there'll be more Achilles and Patroclus in the next chapter, I promise! Unfortunately, that hasn't been started yet, but I don't anticipate the next update being any longer than one week. Thanks, I'll talk to you all soon!